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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christian August Crusius: Draft of necessary truths of reason, in so far as they are set opposite to contingent ones - What’s in an essence?

An important division of things in Crusius’ ontology we didn’t consider last time is that of incomplete things. An incomplete thing, Crusius explains, is such that, if it should exist, it must be connected to some other thing. A good example would be a location of a thing in relation to other things: clearly, if a location exists, there must be a thing which is located in this manner.

In addition to such external circumstances (umstände) like location, examples of incomplete things, Crusius says, are provided by the relation of subsistence. Crusius has inherited this notion from tradition, but as it is simple and cannot therefore be really defined, it is difficult to understand what is meant by something subsisting in something else. Crusius does provide illustrations of the relation, examples being relation of a certain shape to a piece of matter, understanding to a soul and even foot to a human being. Here, that which subsists Crusius calls property (rather confusingly, because properties were also parts of essence) or predicamental accident, while that where something subsists is called a subject.

In a rather inconsistent manner, Crusius sometimes speaks as if subjects were the stable element in the relation, although in many other places he underlines that subject and its accidents are incomplete and only their combination - essence or substance - is the true complete thing, just like matter and shape or form are just two aspects of a shaped material object, like a book.

Subsistence relation forms chains, with subjects subsisting in further subjects, Crusius explains, just like science subsists in understanding and understanding in soul. Crusius suggests that these chains cannot go on indefinitely, but there must be some absolute subjects, which do not subsist in anything else. Well, to make the matters more difficult, Crusius suggests then that even absolute subjects can subsist in a further subject, just not like a property subsists in a subject.

In some cases a subject is necessarily connected to a certain property, in other cases not, Crusius says. Examples of the latter would be, on the one hand, red colour of a house, on the other hand, person’s ability to speak Latin. These two examples are very different in nature. Someone might not have an ability to speak Latin, without having an ability to speak anything else, Crusius notes. Then again, if the house is not red, it still has some colour. Colour is what Crusius calls a house’s possible way of existence or its determination.

A thing with some determinations missing cannot really exist, Crusius explains, although we can think of such an indeterminate thing as a subject of further determinations. Just like Wolffians, Crusius defines an individual thing as being fully determinate. With all its determinations, an individual is differentiated from all other individuals, while abstractions from individuals can exist only in several individuals.

Crusius also divides properties into positive and negative properties. This division is linked with the notion of determinations in the sense that when we think of a negative property, we then implicitly think of some positive property, but only indeterminately (what is not yellow is still coloured somehow). Crusius divides negative properties further into merely negative and privative determinations (think how it is different to say that coal is not alive and that JFK is not alive). Similarly, he divides positive properties into absolute properties and relations.

To further explain what makes property positive, Crusius states that all of them are forces, that is, they make other things possible or even actual by themselves or with the help of something else. This leads Crusius to deal with the notion of causality. Epistemically, he says, causality is justified by it being impossible to think of something being generated without being an effect of some cause. The corresponding principle of sufficient reason, Crusius insists, cannot be deduced from the principle of non-contradiction, because there is no contradiction when things are different at different times. Furthermore, he continues, causality is a concept we cannot really define - it is so simple that we can only show how this concept can be abstracted from our experience by noting e.g. how our experiences of fire and warmth are linked to one another, without one being part or determination of the other.

Crusius also links causality to what he calls a principle of contingency: what can be thought as not existing must have really not existed at some point in time. The idea behind this principle is that if we then find such a contingent thing existing at some point, it must have been actualised by some force.

Forces or causes are for Crusius one type of ground. There are also other types of ground, he continues. For instance, because a triangle has sides of certain lengths, it must also have angles of certain sizes. Here, the lengths of the sides are a ground for the sizes of the angles, although the sizes clearly do not cause the angles to be of a certain size. Crusius calls such an existential ground.

Both causal ground and existential ground fall under what Crusius calls a real ground: the idea is that in these cases what is grounded is something outside thought. Ideal ground, on the other hand, Crusius defines as something generating knowledge and conviction of something. He also divides ideal grounds into a posteriori and a priori grounds. In an a posteriori ground the concept of what we are about to prove is already present, while the ground at most reveals that this something exists. A priori ground, on the other hand, generates also an idea of what we are grounding.

Returning back from this detour to an essence and its properties, we find Crusius dealing with what he calls the fundamental essence of a thing and attributes, which are constant properties, grounded in the very fundamental essence of the thing. Some of these attributes are necessary or essential: the existence of these attributes is inevitable, once the fundamental essence behind them is supposed to exist. The other type of attribute Crusius deals with is natural attribute or property, which is present in things of certain type usually, but could be absent in extraordinary cases, although the fundamental essence of the thing would remain the same. He notes also that some attributes are based only on the fundamental essence of the thing, while others are based also on external, but constant causes.

Crucius notes also that some attributes mark a real existence of some condition, while others mark only a capacity for something, activated by external causes, contingent activity of the fundamental essence or both. Such activation of capacities makes then possible the change of contingent properties or modi of a thing. By a modus Crusius refers to properties that make an indeterminate thing more determinate by adding to constant properties something variable, which could be replaced by another modus.

Crusius also considers the distinction between a necessary and a contingent fundamental essence. In a necessary fundamental essence properties constituting the fundamental essence of a thing cannot be separated from one another without supposing some contradiction. In this case, also the attributes flowing from the fundamental essence of the thing must be necessary, and indeed, the only thing that can be up to chance is whether the thing itself exists at all. Contingent fundamental essence, on the other hand, refers to a fundamental essence, where some of the constituent properties can be removed without any contradiction. Crusius notes that all finite substances have in this sense a contingent fundamental essence.

These notions lead Crusius to consider a more general question: what does it mean when we consider whether presupposition of a certain determinate essence contradicts a presence or absence of a certain property? His answer is that all this question can reveal is that presence or absence of a property is necessary for a certain concept. Thus, we cannot add a fourth angle to a triangle, without making it not agree with the concept of a triangle. This does not mean that the properties of the thing would be necessary outside our concepts (e.g. a triangle could be changed into a quadrangle). Such a substantial necessity of properties is present only in the cases, Crusius explains, where removal of this necessary property would make the thing incapable of even existing.

Joachim Darjes: Elements of metaphysics 1 - Connecting substances

While in previous post I discussed Darjesian notions of entity and substance, when regarded in abstraction from other entities and substances, now we shall see what happens when entities and substances are connected to one another. Darjes notes that these connections fall into three general classes, depending on whether the connection exists between mere entities, between both mere entities and substances or between substances. In case of the first kind of connection the things connected are regarded as just being impenetrable to one another. Example of a such a connection would be placing many entities into a same space so as to form a figure.

If in addition to or in place of mere entities substances are added to the connection, Darjes notes, we get forces to the equation. Such connections involve either the existence of substances or then their states – for instance, existence of certain substances might be connected with a state of one substance. In other words, such substantial connections concern various interactions between substances, for example, when one substance acts upon a passive substance or when one substance removes obstacles stopping some substance from acting.

All connections involving mere entities are extrinsic in the sense that it doesn't affect entities if we e.g. arrange them to form a figure. Thus, these connections are completely contingent. One might think that the case might be different with substantial connections, but Darjes notes that this is not so – substances can exist independently of one another, so there is no necessity that e.g. a substance affects another substance. Because no connections between entities or substances is necessary, Darjes says, these connections must ultimately be dependent on some necessary entity.

A particular type of connection Darjes mentions is the relationship between cause and what is caused. Like always, Darjes makes interesting divisions rarely seen in previous Wolffian philosophy. Thus,he notes when discussing cause or caused, one can firstly regard cause and caused as mere subjects – that is, as a material cause and caused – secondly as containing a reason for the possibility of something or having a reason of possibility in some other entity – this is what Darjes calls active/passive causating reason – and finally, as containing or having in something else a reason for actuality – active or passive causality. Like many other Wolffians before him, Darjes goes into great lengths in describing various causal notions, such as principal cause and instrumental cause or mediate and immediate cause, and we need not follow him in such a detail.

Just like almost all Wolffians thus far, Darjes defines the notion of space through the spatial relations an entity could have. Indeed, spatial relations are based on certain connections between entities, in which one entity cannot take the place of the other entities. Such space is then no true entity, but merely an abstraction out of real entities and their relationships. While spatial relationships are completely external to the entities or substances, if one adds activities to the equation, the connection becomes at least more internal. Darjes speaks of presence, by which he means the factor of one substance affecting another – the more a substance affects another, the more present it is to that other substance. Darjesian presence is then a much stronger relationship than mere spatial closeness – if one unites entities by bringing them close to one another, the union is merely external, while a union involving substances being present to one another is internal.

Before moving to more particular parts of metaphysics, Darjes finally considers the notions of infinity and finity, which he defines simply through the notion of perfection – finite entity is such that something can be more perfect than it, while an infinite entity is as perfect as is possible. The finity of an entity does not mean it couldn't be also perfect in some measure. It just isn't completely perfect and all perfection it has must belong also to the infinite entity. It is then immediately clear that all passivity, incompleteness and possibility of non-existence are signs of finity.

Already at this place in metaphysics, Darjes introduces Wolffian aposteriori and apriori proofs of God's existence, although he is, of course, not yet speaking of God. He notes, firstly, that since all finite entities are contingent, they must ultimately depend on a necessary infinite entity. Hence, if finite entities exist, an infinite entity surely must exist also (aposteriori proof). Since it is clearly possible that a finite entity would exist, an infinite entity must also be a possibility. Because infinite entity can be only impossible or necessary, it must then exist necessarily (apriori proof). We see here a similar dual role played by the two proofs as in Wolff's theology, the difference being that Darjes has to assume only the possibility of something finite.

Infinite and finite form then the major division of entities. Infinite entity is essentially unique, so no further division of that species is possible. Finite entities, on the other hand, can divide into further subspecies, depending on whether they are simple or complex.

Baumgarten: Metaphysics – Relational predicates

The rest of Baumgarten's ontology is perhaps not as original as the earlier sections, but it is at least interesting, because Baumgarten rearranges topics and includes in general relational predicates some issues that Wolff did not consider under relations. The first of these topics is identity and the related notions of diversity and similarity. Here we find Baumgarten, for instance, endorsing the Leibnizian principle of the identity of indiscirnibles: two different things cannot be completely similar.

Space and time or simultaneity and succession are also dealt by Baumgarten in the chapter on relations. Although Wolff had also endorsed the idea that space and time are nothing but relations, Baumgarten is making this notion even more explicit by this simple choice of how to present the topic.

Just like with Wolff, the central relational notion in Baumgarten's ontology is obviously causality. Cause is for Baumgarten, just like it was for Wolff, a more special modification of ground or reason. For Baumgarten, cause is specifically a ground for the existence of something. Just like Wolff before him, Baumgarten defines several notions important to causal considerations – some causes might coordinate with other causes in producing some effect, while others may be called more proximate, when compared with more immediate causes of something.

The most important type of cause for Baumgarten is probably the efficient cause, which has actively produced some reality or positive characteristics in something else (Baumgarten also invents the notion of deficient cause for those actions, which produce some negative characteristics). A number of other causal notions can then be defined in terms of whether they help an efficient cause to do something or whether they hinder it.

In addition to efficient cause, Baumgarten does also, just like Wolff before him, consider the other three Aristotelian causes: form, matter and final cause. This part of Baumgarten's ontology seems rather quaint, like a remnant of a past long gone.

The final relation Baumgarten considers is that between signs and what the signs express. Although Wolff did briefly consider this topic, Baumgarten somewhat expands Wolff's writing. For instance, he considers several sciences, in which one should either make up more signs (heuristics) or help us recognise past signs (mnemonics), and also tries to explain the genesis of human language.

So much for Baumgarten's ontology. Next time I'll look at his cosmology

Hoffmann: Study of reason – Subordination of ideas

Next task in Hoffmann's logic is to investigate the various relations ideas might have to one another. Here the notion of grounding plays an important role: in a pair of two ideas, either one is a ground of existence for the other or then neither is, that is, either one cannot exist without the other or both can exist independently. The former possibility Hoffmann calls subordination, and it contains a subset consisting of pairs in which both ideas could be the ground and were thus necessary to one another's existence – in that case, the ideas are said to be equal, somewhat like 12 – 3 and 9. Note that in the case of subordination, one can always abstract from the grounding idea the other idea. This does not mean that the possibility of abstraction would be a sufficient criterion for recognising subordination, since in case of external abstraction (for instance, when we abstract time and place from a concrete event), what is abstracted is not subordinated to the starting point of abstraction, because e.g. certain time can exist without an event occurring in it.

As we saw in the previous post, in many cases Hoffmann distinguishes between cases where things truly have some structure and cases where the things have this structure only in relation to understanding. In case of subordination, we might speak of absolute and relative subordination, where relative subordination means cases in which subordination exists only in thought, because we have abstracted both sides of the subordination at the same time. An example would be the notional pair of high and low. We couldn't call anything high without at the same time assuming the existence of some relatively low places and vice versa, but places that we happen to call high might well exist without the places we happen to call low – we just wouldn't call them high in that case.

The notions of relative and absolute subordination are not clearly divided, since from cases of absolute or proper subordination we can produce examples of relations, if we move to a new order of abstraction. That is, birds and animals form one example of a proper subordination, since birds cannot exist without animals existing. Yet, we can abstract from the relation of birds and animals the more abstract relation of genus and species. The notions of genus and species are then relations, since both notions are dependent of the other – while animals could exist without bird existing, no genus can exist without some species.

Although relations are then, according to Hoffmann, somewhat dependent on understanding, we can still distinguish between proper and accidental relations. In latter it is not so much a case of relations that are not really relations, but of relations that are not as natural as could be. Thus, the idea of species is naturally related to the idea of the closest genus, but only accidentally related to the idea of a more proximate genus.

In an absolute subordination, one type consists of cases where the subordinated actually exists in its ground. This could either mean metaphysical subordination, in which the ground is subject and subordinate is something subsisting in that subject, like figures subsist in matter, or existential subordination, in which the subordinated is a part of the ground, which is then its respective whole. Hoffmann only mentions the metaphysical subordination and concentrates mostly on the existential subordination.

Existential subordination is then just another name for the relation of whole and part. Hoffmann notes that there are in fact many wholes. Whole could be an essential whole and the subordination then essentially qualitative, in which parts are independent of one another and also of the whole: this is the relation between humans and their souls. Then again, whole could be an integral whole and the subordination then quantitative, in which parts cannot really be detached from one another nor from the whole: this is a relationship holding between numbers, like 6 and 12. Slightly different is the case in essential mathematical subordination, in which a whole is essentially mathematical and parts can at least in thought be separated from the whole, since they are of completely different type, like sides of a triangle as lines differ from the two-dimensional triangle. But most interested Hoffmann is of the logical subordination, in which whole is a logical whole, like animality, and its parts (different types of animals) share the essence with the whole, but can be separated from one another.

Logical subordination is then either total – both ideas are subordinates of the other, just like rational animal and animal capable of deliberation – or then partial, in which only one of the ideas is subordinated to the other. The partial logical subordination seems on a closer look just another name for the relation of some genus to a species – the genus is considered extensionally as a class of individuals and species is then a part of this class. One could then think that there isn't that much of interest that Hoffmann could really say about this tired old topic. Yet, it is of interest how Hoffmann notes that this relation has varieties differing from the usual norm embodied in the classification of living creatures.

Thus, just like in many other cases, logical abstraction might be accidentally logical, or it might hide a further, non-logical abstraction within it – thus, when I seemingly subordinate the species of electric eel to a genus of animals capable of producing electricity, I am actually describing its causal capacities. Even in properly logical abstraction, the connection between supposed genus and idea might be just accidental. For instance, when I divide learned persons into those who are pious and those who are not, the piety is not intrinsically connected with being learned. Indeed, one might as well begin with a class of pious persons and divide them into learned and unlearned

Then again, the supposed genus might also be impure in the sense that it contains attributes not necessarily existing in the species. Thus, Hoffmann says, we might speak of the idea of a theologian and consider it as a species in the genus of academics, yet the genus would be impure, because a theologian need not be academically learned person. In addition, genus might also be incomplete in the sense that what belonging to a genus means might be dependent on what the more determined species if. As an example Hoffmann notes the idea of correspondence: the notion is incomplete, since correspondence between, on the one hand, a picture and the original, and on the other hand, purpose and means are quite different in nature.

Hoffmann's divisions of different modes of logical subordination serve then once again to reveal paralogisms in reasoning. Even more so is the case of distinguishing cases where the subordination between ideas is based more on possible connection, that is, where the ground, as it were, potentially contains the subordinated idea. This is what happens in various causal relations, in which then, Hoffmann thinks, cause and effect must be necessarily connected.

When we are speaking of causes, Hoffmann elucidates, we might be either discussing proper or efficient causes or then mere ground of possibility, which merely determines a simultaneously existing thing, which is then dependent on the ground, but still not created by it, just like two sides and an angle determine the rest of the constituents of a triangle. Hoffmann complains that Leibnizians have often confused the two topics, speaking of proper causes, when all they had was a ground of possibility and sometimes even just an ideal ground for cognising something. Cause is a ground, but its a very peculiar type of ground.

It is then of interest for Hoffmann to distinctly separate proper causes from various grounds. Thus, Hoffmann notes, cause must have existed previous to the effect it causes – hence, if world is eternal we cannot say that God has caused its existence. Furthermore, cause must have proper force, by which it makes something happen – thus, unlike Descartes thought, mere geometrical shapes cannot be causes of anything. Finally, force must be directed to produce this very effect – hence, in Leibnizian pre-established harmony soul cannot be said to be cause of bodily movements, since the force of soul is directed only to changes in soul itself.

An important notions pertaining to causes and grounds are perfection and sufficiency. Cause is perfect, Hoffmann defines, when the cause is the cause of the whole effect, down to every last detail and circumstance. Ground is sufficient, on the other hand, when it lack nothing that is required to make what it is ground of to exist. Imperfect cause is might still be sufficient – it just cannot account for all the details of it has made to exist. Then again, a cause that is an insufficient ground, is always sufficient ground for some detail in what has been caused.

A perfect cause must then account for why something exists, why it has the properties it has and why it continues existing. All of these three aspects must be based on some acting force in the cause. All of these causes might then be analysed into various partial causes and grounds. For instance, within a cause of existence one might distinguish between sufficient cause of existence, which truly makes that something to appear, and efficient cause of possibility, which merely adds some ground to make the final result possible. For example, in case of sensation, the human body acts like a cause of possibility – without bodies we couldn't sense – but the actual sufficient cause is the thing affecting sense organs.

Causes in general can be analysed into various constituents, Hoffmann notes. Firstly, there is the cause as a concrete subject with a certain active force directed to something – this is what Hoffmann calls principal cause. Then again, we might abstract from the fact that this force belongs to some concrete subject – then we are investigating merely the causality or act of causation. We might also be interested just of the impulsive cause or the events that the cause makes happen and activates. Finally, we might be interested of the various modes or intermediaries between the act of principal cause and the final impulsive cause.

The principal cause might be mechanical or act merely through figure and magnitude of matter, like force and pressure of lever. Then again, it might also be physical or based on inner activities of matter, like movements of elements. It might also be ideal or based on understanding and ideas, like memory can be caused by sensations. Finally, it might be voluntary or based on force of will acting toward some end, like reproductive urges of animals.

Of the various types of principal causes, Hoffmann is especially interested of voluntary causes. Voluntary causes, he says, can be physical or unintentional, like a feeling of desperation, or they might be intentional or moral, like love. Focusing on moral causes, Hoffmann notes that these can be analysed into the act of will in pursuing something or the subjective final cause, the object that the subjective final cause strives to make happen or objective final cause and the intermediary effects of subjective final cause meant to produce the objective final cause or means. All the three notions can then be further analysed and classified: for instance, we can regard the means merely as the formal activity directed toward some end or as a material object, like gold, good for making some things happen.

Moving then from principal to impulsive causes or from the subject of causation to the events caused, Hoffmann notes that these either mechanically make some other forces act, like compressing air makes it expand later, or then ideally affects some spiritual entity, like some sensations make a person anxious. Hoffmann is again more interested of the affairs of persons and notes that ideal impulsive causes are either natural, that is, not caused by a free agent, like certain bodily reactions may make us feel uncomfortable, or moral, that is, caused by a free agent, like a piece of oratory may arouse in us some emotions. Hoffmann also notes that some ideal impulsive causes may be internal to the person affected, somewhat like anger might make us act aggressively. These internal impulsive causes must then be carefully distinguished from final causes, since the former are not intentional.

Finally, Hoffmann speaks of the intermediary modes. Of course, an act of causation might not use any intermediaries, but if it does, these either somehow modify the events caused or then merely remove some obstacles preventing them. They may mere passive instruments of the principal cause or they may have their own active force meddling with the proceedings, and they might be either necessary requirements or not. An important subgroup is formed by what Hoffmann calls objective causes, that is, the nature of the object of causation itself modifying the act of causation.

Hoffmann also notes that causation might activate only relativistic effects, that is, effects occurring only within an understanding. Thus, when summer changes into winter, nothing happens with a temperature of well insulated cellar, but to human touch the cellar now feels warmer. Completely different matter are then accidental causes, for instance, when a known gambler happens to lose all his fortune playing cards and because of that changes his complete lifestyle. In such an accidental causation, the cause itself is not directed toward the effect that follows it or it is not controlling cause, unlike in a case, where a gambler changes his lifestyle because of a convincing speech made by his psychiatrist. This does not mean that such a controlling cause could be certain – psychiatrists cannot help all their patients – but might be assisted or prevented by various external factors. Indeed, Hoffmann goes on to classify various grades of certainty in causal acts: causation might be e.g. such that it cannot be stopped, once it has started to affect, or then it might be prevented, although its effects are otherwise quite certain, like death caused by cutting of the artery might still be prevented by quick surgery.

Hoffmann's account of subordination is thus full of detailed analysis and classification of various relations, and especially his study of causality is quite extensive for a book that is supposed to concern only logic. Next time I'll take a look of what more Hoffmann has still to say about relations between ideas and deal especially with varieties of opposition.

General cosmology (1731)

After Wolff's huge works on logic and ontology, his Cosmologia generalis feels refreshingly short with its under five hundred pages. The shortness of the book might also reflect its lack of importance in the purely philosophical part of Wolffian system. Wolff's cosmology works mostly as an introduction to general natural science or physics and is thus firmly connected with Wolff's more empirical studies. Then again, of other parts of metaphysics only theology is essentially said to be based on cosmology, because Wolff argues for the existence of God from the existence of a certain type of universe.

The topic of Wolffian cosmology is then world or universe and general types of objects in it. The very existence of universe is not so much proven by pure reasoning, but assumed – or at least the existence of a universe is justified by certain empirical observations we have. What we actually perceive or observe are certain things – rocks, trees, houses and such. Now, all of these entities are finite, that is, their existence requires a number of other entities, either existing at the same time (like trunk supports branches) or existing before them (like rain requires gathering of clouds).

As they say, no smoke without fire.

The entities we observe are then connected to various other entities in space and time through causal influences. These intricate relations form a kind of web or nexus, in which one thing can be connected to any other thing of the nexus through a string of causal relations. A totality of such interconnected spatio-temporal things is then a world or a universe. There might be different possible universes, because a number of possible strings of events might have occurred, but only one of them truly has occurred, that is, the string of events constituting the history of our world.

I have investigated the nature of this Wolffian universe in quite a detail earlier, but there's no harm in going through it all again. World is a composite of things, and as a composite, its nature is dictated by the nature of its parts. Thus, Wolff concludes, if we replaced just one peck of sand, the world would be completely different, because its identity is determined by the very entities constituting it.

Now, in the actual universe, all things we happen to observe are composite substances, that is, they consist of other things and what they are or their essence is determined by their constituents. If we then want to change these substances, we must essentially change their constitution, that is, remove some parts or add other (for instance, if we want to make blackened metal objects shiny, we must remove all the grime on the surface of the objects), or then we can change the way they happen to move at the moment. All these changes require then direct contact with the object to be changed: you cannot pluck something out, if you are not close enough. In effect, this means that world and all the composite objects that we observe can be changed only through motion that comes in contact with what is to be changed. Wolff can thus add that the world is like a machine or a perfect watch which remains in action, even if its creator fails to wind it.

As we have mentioned number of times, Wolff does not think that his account of world could be called necessary in the strict sense of the word. Indeed, it is easy to see that even if we could explain all the events of a current day, we would be forced to explain them by referring all of them to past events, which would then be completely unexplained and required a new explanation. At the end, these events would be necessary in the strict sense, only if no other series of events would be even conceivable, which is clearly not so.

Then again, Wolff also claims that worldy events are not completely inexplicable facts. Indeed, this non-explicability of some facts should be contradicted even by the principle of sufficient reason, which states that all contingent things and events arise out of some more primary things and events. In case of universe, these primary things and events are movements of material bodies, which with machine-like predictability leads to further things and events. This deterministic view of universe does not completely cancel the non-necessity of the worldly events, because a deterministic series as a whole is not necessitated by anything,

This is enough for the Wolffian scheme of macrocosmos, next time I'll take a look of what he has to say on microcosmos, that is, bodies and their parts.

Variety of causes

The world we experience is clearly a world of interacting things, and one rarely finds anything that is completely isolated from its environment. Despite this evident importance, relations have often been relegated into a subservient position in traditional ontologies. It is like philosophers were interested only of classifying things into neat categories, but when it comes to explaining their interconnections, they soon loose their interest. It is then no wonder that Wolffian theory of relations is presented almost as an afterthought, attached to the discussion of complex and simple substances.

Wolff begins with the general notion that a thing is related to another thing – this happens when we consider two things together in such a manner that one of them cannot be understood without a reference to another. Thus, when we think of a person as a parent, we must think of some other person who is a child of this parent. Now, many things could be considered without such a reference to something else, just like we can describe George Bush Senior, without ever invoking any reference to other human beings. Still, we might also consider some aspect of Bush Senior that requires an essential reference to another person, for instance, when we see him as a father of Bush Junior.

These aspects then are relations. Note that with Wolff's definition it is natural to single out the subject of relation, thinking of which requires the reference to someone else, just like consideration of a father requires at least implicit reference to someone to whom he is the father. It just now dawns to Wolff that he has already described several relations, such as equality of quantities or similarity of qualities. There is still no indication that he would have felt a need to transfer his general account of relations to an earlier position in the book.

An important relation is the one between that which contains a reason (principle) for something else (principate). Thus, as forces are a reason for changes in substances, they could be called the principle of change. This leads to a new possible definition of substance. Changes of finite simple substances are based on their inner force and changes of composite substances are ultimately based on the inner forces of their constituent substances, thus all finite substances contain in themselves a principle of change. Then again, accidences cannot really change – that is part of their definition – thus, they also cannot have any principle of change. This only leaves infinite substance out of account, as Wolff admits it cannot really change. Still, Wolff can always fall back to the option of saying that an infinite substance has eminently a principle of change in itself (it does some have force, evidently). Thus, substances can be defined as those entities that have a principle of change in themselves.

Wolff also defines species of different principles. Some principles contain reason for possibilities – in this sense essences are principles of things being modified in a certain manner – while others contain reason for something actually occurring – in this sense modes and other things are principles of thing being modified in a certain manner. Beyond these, there are also cognitive principles, which are essentially propositions explaining other propositions.

Probably the most important point in defining the notion of principle lies in explicating the concept of cause. Simply put, cause for Wolff means a principle, on which the existence of something different depends. Wolff's definition of cause extends far beyond what nowadays is usually called cause, because even if Wolffian cause differs from what it causes, it might still be an aspect or part of the caused, as long as it contributes to understanding why this thing exists. Thus, it is no wonder that Wolff mentions Aristotelian notions of formal and material cause, the former being identified with the essence of the caused, the latter with the constituent parts of the caused, if it has any.

The important notion of cause from the modern point of view is then efficient cause, which Wolff defines as a cause, the causality of which consists of actions – that is, which acts and thus explains the existence of something else. As Wolff's notion of activity is essentially connected with the concept of force, his idea of efficient causality is based on the traditional mechanistic scheme of bodies striking one another and transmitting movement (needless to say, there is no indication in Wolff of the Humean problem how we can recognise causal interactions). Wolff also notes that often one efficient cause is not enough, but the existence of something has required action of many causes, and that efficient causes form series, in which more distant causes lead on to more proximate causes.

Finally, final causes Wolff defines as reasons why an efficient cause starts to act. Final causes are thus causes for efficient causes and thus must precede them, which is only possible, Wolff concludes, if there has been some entity which has previously thought these ends and now decides to actualise them. In effect, Wolff denies the existence of ends without any conscious beings that can set ends to things. Thus, although he has borrowed his scheme of four causes from Aristotle, he clearly rejects some essential underpinnings of the scheme – all events might not have intrinsic final cause. Then again, since Wolff also supposes the existence of an infinite entity or God that has created the world because of its perfection, he would have to admit that all things have some extrinsic end.

In addition to cause, the only relation Wolff dedicates a whole chapter on is the relation between sign and signified. We may leave this topic almost completely untouched and just mention that Wolff admits the possibility of natural signs, that is, things which by nature refer to other things.

So much for ontology then. Next time I will start by looking at a new generation of Wolffians.

Mr. Christian Wolff's opinion on the essence of soul and spirit in general; and Dr. Andreas Rüdiger's opposing opinion (1727)

We could say that Neoplatonists like Proclus and Simplicius with their studies of Plato and Aristotle were the latest possible point at which the use of commentary as a philosophical tool was introduced. During the Middle Ages the success of commentaries was obvious and one could even say that the modern indiscriminate use of references in articles resembles a form of commentary.

We have already seen a philosophical commentary, in which Lange presented a number of passages ripped out of their context from Wolff's writings and then criticized what he thought was meant in those passages. A more faithful reading of Wolff is presented by Andreas Rüdiger, a follower of Christian Thomasius we have met a few times before, in his work Herrn Christian Wolffens Meinung von dem Wesen der Seele und eines Geistes überhaupt: und D. Andreas Rüdigers Gegen-Meinung. Rüdiger gives his reader not just isolated passages, but a whole text of Wolff's rational psychology from the German metaphysics, and leaves his own opinions to a preface and footnotes.

As the name of the work belies, Rüdiger belongs to Wolff's critics, not to his followers. Some of what Rüdiger has to say is clearly based on confusions already dealt by Wolff. For instance, when Rüdiger complains that regarding soul as consisting of a mere force of representing the world would deprive it of all the complexity of its characteristics, such as freedom of its will, we could just point out to Wolff's answer that the force of representation is not meant to be all of what soul is, but only a convenient point from which to deduce all the characteristics of soul.

This does not mean that Rüdiger's criticism is wholly based on confusion. For instance, Rüdiger asks how Wolff can suppose there's an essential difference between souls of humans and of animals, when the difference is based on nothing more than the degree of clarity in their representations. Indeed, he continues, we cannot even say in earnest that animals have less clear experience of things, when their sensory apparatus is sometimes far subtler than ours.

What is probably the most crucial point is the already discussed uneasy synthesis of the notions of the pre-established harmony and the freedom of will. The pre-established harmony is explained by pointing out that even two clocks can show same time without any causal interference, but the problem is how a free agent and a deterministic mechanism could follow the exactly same course of actions. Yes, neither of these series is necessary, but still in one series the later events are determined by the previous events. The problem is exaggerated by Wolff's suggestion that in soul all events are grounded on previous events, just like in the material world: how could one not think of Wolffian soul as a sort of automaton after this?

The problem lies, as Rüdiger points out, in Wolff's notion of ground that combines quite distinct types of relations. Material causes are grounds, but so are human motives (Rüdiger adds animal movements as a group distinct from these two). True, causes and motives do share some characteristics, but they appear to have also crucial differences: cause produces always certain effect necessarily, while motive requires still the will of a person to become reality, that is, while there is not motiveless action, motive does not necessarily lead to action. This distinction is one that Wolff himself noted and he has made it quite clear that he believes in human freedom in choosing what motive to follow. Furthermore, his willingness to distance himself from the pre-established harmony might show a certain skepticism of this theory.

What is remarkable in Rüdiger's book is his willingness to actually suggest an alternative solution to the problem of soul/body-interaction, while earlier critics had just expressed their faith on the possibility of said interaction. Rüdiger notes, firstly, that the matter/soul-distinction can be understood in two separate ways. Firstly, there is the Aristotelian distinction between matter and form, where soul is stated to be one type of form. Aristotelian matter, Rüdiger says, means just substrate (that which is) of a form, which then is the force or activity of the matter (what it does) – thus, form or soul of a living thing consists just of living and its other essential activities. Clearly, such a soul cannot exist without corresponding matter or substrate, and the distinction is more conceptual than ontological.

Still, this does not mean that we could not separate an independent spiritual substance from an independent material substance, and this is what e.g. Descartes did – there is an entity, Descartes said, that is conscious of itself and its own body and various other things, but is still separable from the spatial body. What Rüdiger finds troubling is the identification of spatiality as the distinct characteristic of material substances. Instead, he claims that all created substances must occupy space – and this he thinks is the key to the problem of soul/body-interaction. Soul is not antispatial, but occupies space and even has extension, even if it doesn't act like material substance and exclude other entities from a certain place: thus, a body and a soul can share the same space and also interact with one another, even if this interaction is not like interaction of material substances. What Rüdiger has in mind is then a sort of astral body floating around the crass physical body, and soul is then identified either with this more spiritual body, or in the Aristotelian manner, with its activities.

This seems like a good place to turn to consider Rüdiger's philosophy in general, as the book here will be his last seen in this blog. Of all the philosophers considered thus far, I think I have done least justice to Rüdiger. Partially this has been caused by difficulties in tracking down his works, but most of the blame must be put on my original inability to recognize his independence of the more pietist side of Thomasian legacy, embodied in Lange.

Sure, Rüdiger does have his antiscientist streak, evident best in his vitalistic physics, which cannot but feel quaint nowadays – just look at his theory of soul. Then again, even here Rüdiger is just part of general progression, following Paracelcian influences inherent in German thought and anticipating ideas of Schellingian philosophy of nature. Furthermore, Rüdiger is not speaking from the standpoint of a mystic, but of a practicing doctor, with considerable empirical information.

Still, the most lasting legacy of Rüdiger lies in his methodological considerations on the differences of mathematical and philosophical thinking and on his criticism of Wolffian notion of ground. Both topics were later on picked up by Kant, and the connection is probably not just accidental. Kant has in both cases been influenced by Crucius who had been taught by a person called Hoffman, who was a follower of Rüdiger. I shall see in a couple of years whether Hoffman considered these topics, but for now, I shall leave this school of philosophy and start to consider eloquence.

Christian Wolff: Remarks on Reasonable thoughts on God, the world and the human soul, also on all things in general - Causality vs. indeterminism?

One of the most outrageous bits of Wolff's metaphysics was his apparent attempt to deduce principle of sufficient reason from the principle of non-contradiction. Some readers have even declared that Wolff has thus Leibnizian distinction between logical and empirical truths: Leibniz said that logical truths were based on the principle of non-contradiction and empirical truths on the principle of sufficient reason, so Wolff's deduction apparently showed empirical truths to be logical. This is clearly a mistaken reading, because Wolff still accepts the Leibnizian distinction and use of the two principles as criteria. Indeed, Leibniz had merely said that logical truths were necessarily true, because their opposites were contradictory, while the empirical truths require some previous explanation and were thus not necessary. Wolff just added that the latter criterion was itself necessarily true and in need of no further explanation.

Although Wolff's proof of the principle of sufficient reason does not reduce all truths into logical truths, the proof itself was rather unconvincing and based on a very ontological reading of the principle of non-contradiction. Now, Wolff apparently felt the need to justify the principle once again.

First of all, Wolff notes that actually the principle as such requires no proof, because no philosopher and indeed no human being would truly doubt it – or at least if someone says he doubts, he is still bound to use the principle unconsciously, when asking causes of events and motives of actions. I already noted that Wolff had used in the original book a strategy where the principle of sufficient reason was justified as a necessary presupposition of us having coherent experience. Here Wolff is then suggesting that the principle is somehow natural to human mind. Both strategies have a Kantian feel, especially if one combined them: we couldn't have experience without using the principle of sufficient reason, thus, the principle must be ingrained in us.

Still, there is a difference. While Kant apparently speaks determinedly of causality as a necessary presupposition of experience, Wolffian ground is something in thing A that explains something else in thing B, where A and B might be also the same thing. Examples Wolff uses clearly show that in addition to causal influences he is also thinking of motives as possible grounds. Wolff is thus not saying that ”every event has a cause” would be true of all experience, but instead the more general statement ”every event either has a cause or is a motivated action”.

Wolff also explains his original proof of the principle through the simile of scales: if two sides of the scales are evenly balanced, the scales does not tip to either direction, and if the scales do tip, something must have been added or taken away to change the balance. In effect, this simile confirms my interpretation of the proof: the different possibilities, as it were, compete with one another for the chance of actualisation and because of their opposition, they would remain eternally in a state of null actuality, unless something came and changed the scales in favour of one possibility. What appears different in Wolff's new account is the admission that in case of human actions grounds or motivations might not completely determine the action: human being has still the opportunity to choose what motive he is going to emphasize – we shall later see what effects this admission has on Wolff's psychology.

Wolff also presents a completely new line of defense for the principle. In essence, he outlines three possibilities: firstly, the principle of sufficient reason might hold always, it might hold never, or it might hold sometimes, but not always. Somewhat hastily, Wolff concludes that the second option cannot be true, because experience tells us that at least some events have had a preceding ground (remember that Hume's criticism of causality was still to come). How about then the third possibility? Wolff suggests that if there were no possibility to actually say when something has a ground and when not, then we would actually land back to the second possibility. Thus, there must always be ground telling whether there is a ground or not – and then we are actually in the first option that the principle holds in all cases.

Wolff's argument is based on his fault of not underlining yet another form of ”ground”. This ground is more of an explanation based on ”form” or structure of events: just like we can justify the proposition that a figure has angles adding up to 180 degrees by its being triangle, similarly events might have some structural features that either make the principle to apply them or not. Indeed, Wolff has not managed to justify the principle, but he has noted the possibility of a third ontological position between full determinism and full indeterminism, which we might call restricted or controlled indeterminism. That is, if we do not want to admit that all events are deterministically caused, we do not have to take everything to be indeterministic, if we suppose that indeterminism applies only within some restricted area of events, which does not hinder the determinism outside this area. This possibility seems interesting, firstly, because it appears to fit in with current state of physics (the area would have to be defined in terms of e.g. size of entities involved). Secondly, it might even be compatible with Kantian notion of deterministic causality as a presupposition of experience, that is, indeterministic causality might not hinder the possibility of experience, if it was restricted to some area that was a) rarely seen in experience and b) controlled in the sense that effects in that area would have no real effect outside that area.

So much for the principle of sufficient reason, next time I'll wrap up with Wolff's comments on the rest of ontology.