Rational philosophy or logic (1728)

I recently had the distinct displeasure of reading a rant of a would-be philosopher who disparaged a logician, because modern logical texts are like circuit diagrams – useful perhaps, but meant only for people with no literary taste and ultimately unphilosophical. Personally, I find logical texts of all sorts – whether they be ancient, modern, formal, informal, transcendental or even Hegelian – to be aesthetically pleasing in a way that a beautiful calculation or a brilliant game of chess is also: as delightful in their very existence as brightest of poems, no matter how useful they otherwise might be. And if someone complains about non-existent philosophical import of logic, I am always reminded of Hegel's clever quip about enthusiastic youth who are enamored by Plato's more vivid and lively dialogues and who later become very disappointed when they hit the abstract heights of Plato's Parmenides and its study of dry concepts like one and many. Thus, I am not afraid of the supposed dryness of next book in line, Wolff's Philosophia rationalis sive logica.

Is this all there is to logic?

As someone might remember, Wolff had already published a book on logic, the first in his famous series of reasonable thoughts. The current book, on the other hand, begins Wolff's philosophy anew, except this time in Latin. While the German series was meant mostly for domestic markets and especially his students, the publication of Latin versions of different parts of his philosophy served the purpose of making Wolff's work more known throughout Europe. Because of their more scholarly ambitions, Wolff's Latin books contain also more material than their German equivalents. Thus, while I first thought that Wolff's Latin logic would contain only about 300 pages and not be much longer than its German counterpart, I noticed quickly I had actually picked up a separately published compendium for Latin logic, containing just the table of contents for the actual book, which happened to be over 800 pages long.

Just like its German counterpart, Wolff's Latin logic contains much that would not be dealt in a logic course these days: it is more of a book of methodology. Thus, it is also meant to be the first book of Wolff's Latin philosophical works in the sense that reader should first grasp how philosophy works before actually reading some philosophy: the true first philosophy is then ontology, because all the other parts of the philosophy depend on it.

As starting points of series, both books begin with an account of what philosophy is all about. But the inflatedness of the Latin logic shows itself in the very start, with Wolff's novel discussion of three forms of cognition – well, it is actually novel only from the perspective of Wolff, because it is quite reminiscent of Bilfinger's disputation with this very topic. What is important in this beginning, is Wolff's clear commitment on empiricism: all cognition begins with a historical phase, where one can just learn facts through observation. The cognition could then develop into mathematical cognition, by quantifying the results of observation, or it could turn philosophical by attempting to find explanations for the facts (note that nothing speaks against cognition that is both philosophical and mathematical, especially if the quantification helps us to discern causal relations).

If philosophical cognition means finding explanations for observed facts, philosopher is then a person who can give such explanations – that is, an expert on some topic. Philosophy, on the other hand, is for Wolff not just any expertise. Just like in his German logic, Wolff defines philosophy as a science of what is possible. I already noted that this definition means actually just what science does: capacity to demonstrate assertions from indubitable premisses.

Whereas German logic left a rather rationalistic impression, in Latin logic Wolff admits that experiences and experiments can well give science its required premises, provided that they just are reliable. Indeed, although Wolff does equate philosophical and mathematical method, he does accept also the construction of hypotheses or reasonable, but unproved assumptions as an incentive to scientific development. Thus, completely axiomatic-deductive system is admitted to be a mere ideal that we can perhaps approach, but never completely satisfy. The ideal also instigates philosophers to remain moderately skeptical in dilemmas where none of the options can be proven indubitably.

Wolff also notes that philosophy might be cognized only historically, that is, we could just e.g. read Wolffian system and learn all its propositions. Such a historical knowledge of philosophy might be useful, but true philosophical cognition of philosophy is achieved only when we try to understand what philosophers say, for instance, by repeating the experiments described in a text book.

Just like in German logic, in Latin logic Wolff also presents a general division of philosophy. What is remarkable is that the new division is more detailed, especially as it comes to more empirical parts of Wolffian system. This no doubt reflects the fact that Wolff has now actually worked out his system in more detail and has especially realized how important empirical observations are to the development of science. In addition, Wolff also helpfully indicates how each part of his system depends on some parts and serves as a foundation for others.

I’ll be continuing for a while with my account of Latin logic, and next time I shall take a look at the difference between natural and artificial logic.

Reasonable thoughts and judgements on eloquence: Of influence and use of imagination for improvement of taste or detailed study of all sorts of writings (1727)

We have finally reached a time, when Wolffians are not just content to explicate what their master said and defend his views from attacks, but also attempt to develop his ideas to their own direction. It was aesthetics, a matter that Wolff himself had left almost completely unnoticed, which was the first new field to be tackled by German philosophers.

Johann Jakob Bodmer's appreciation of Wolff is evident even from the name of his planned book series on poetry, Vernünfftige Gedancken und Urtheile von den Beredsamkeit. The series was meant to study the topic from various angles, and while the first book, Von dem Einfluss und Gebrauche der Einbildungs-Krafft; Zur Ausbesserung des Geschmackes: Oder Genaue Untersuchung Aller Arten Bescreihbungen, concentrated on imagination, the later books were meant to consider e.g. wit, taste and sublime. As far as I know, the first book of the projected series was also the only one ever written.

Bodmer in his old age

The Wolffian leanings of Bodmer are especially revealed by his attempt to situate aesthetics within the context of Wolffian cosmotheology. World was meant by God as something to be studied by rational entities, that is, human beings were meant to investigate the works of nature and thus see the glory of its Creator. The first means by which humans get in contact with world are senses, but with these we can merely come to know what is directly before us.

What is at least required for a more complex knowledge is the capacity of imagination, which at that time meant not just a capacity for creativity, but referred to all mental activities in which the object is not necessarily present to our senses – the object may then well be something that has existed and that we are only recollecting. Indeed, it is not complete fictions imagination should try to convey, but real things that do not happen to be present to our senses at the moment.

Art, for Bodmer, is then a matter of imitation – rather conservative view from modern perspective. Among the different types of artists, poet then ranks higher in Bodmer's view than painter or sculptor. While fine arts in general are based on visual sensations, to which in sculpture tactile sensations are added, poetic descriptions can use the whole range of sensations and emotions to convey the likeness of an object. Poet should even be master of all arts and skills, knowing everything from anything, Bodmer concludes.

Bodmer's criterion for good art and especially good poetry is then its capacity to evoke realistic ideas of things it describes. The majority of the book presents then examples of poetry, evaluated with this criterion. It seems clear that Bodmer is clearly wanting in decent German poetic works: when one has to elevate Brockes, rather repetitive writer of poems evoking teleological reasoning over and over again, as an example of what Germans can do at their best. Bodmer himself has to confess that while German language has evocative vocabulary for describing nature, in affairs of culture one must turn to Latin, Italian and French poets - especially Pierre Corneille appears to have been a favourite of Bodmer's.

While then especially many of the German works quoted by Bodmer feel rather artificial, Bodmer's own evaluations seem also rather misplaced. We might think it rather trite, if a writer compares lips of a woman to Red Sea, but it feels somewhat strange to condemn the lines containing this comparison, because Red Sea isn't actually red at all. Yet, it falls perfectly in line with Bodmer's naturalistic ideal of poetry. Thus, he is often disparaging unnecessary use of wit and prefers writings that reveal actual experience of things described. In case of human emotions, he praises writers who have clearly, for instance, suffered the sorrow of a lost wife.

Red Sea, not that red actually

When giving guide lines for poems describing human behaviour, Bodmer also touches on some quaint philosophical notions. Physiognomy or the idea of the character of a person showing through one's appearance is familiaralready from Wolff's writings and Bodmer himself mentions Wolff as a great source for future poets for finding good descriptions of the external effects of human emotions. Another rather old-fashioned idea is the notion of national characteristics determined partly by natural environment, partly by mores and customs of the nation – this is probably something that we will see in more detail with later German philosophers.

So much for Bodmerian aesthetics for now, next it is finally time to begin Wolff's Latin works.

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.

Thoughts over philosophical bigotry, whereby at the same time is sufficiently answered what the so-called J. F. Müller from Württemberg or more likely Mr. Court Counsillor Wolff in the published writing True medium etc. etc. has argued against author's Eleatic graves, and against his system new and incontrovertible doubts are made (1727)

I have literally no idea who the current author, Johann Gottfried Walther, is supposed to be: the only person with that name from the 18^th century I have managed to discover was a musician. Of course, it could be possible that an organist might want to dabble with philosophy in his spare time, but it still feels rather peculiar.

As far as I know, Walther published only two philosophical texts, first one in 1724, titled Eleatische Gräber, oder Gründliche Untersuchung der Leibnitsischen und Wolffischen Gründe der Welt-Weißheit, which was meant to, as the title indicates, criticize Wolffian philosophy. This work had the pleasure of awakening the interest of J. F. Müller, a minor Wolffian, who wrote a defense of Wolff against it. Finally, Walther answered Müller with Gedancken über die philosophische Bigotterie, wobey zugleich auf dasjenige, was der so genante J. F. Müller aus Würtemberg, oder vielmerh der Herr Hof-Rath Wolff in der herausgegebenen Schrift Wahres Mittel etc. etc. wider dessen Eleatische Gräber eingewandt, zureichend geantwortet wird, und wider dessen Systema neue und umstößige Zweiffel gemachet werden.

The reason why I chose to write about this rather obscure work is that it shows much better style and philosophical acumen than other critiques of Wolffian philosophy I have met thus far. The nominal topic of the essay is bigotry: Walther portrays Wolffians as philosophical zealots, mindlessly following their leader who has contaminated their head with mumbo-jumbo.

In a truly original manner Walther compares Wolff's philosophy with Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. A superficial reason for this comparison lies in the supposition that both works combine factual statements with pure fiction. Yet, Walther has a more substantial analogue in his mind. Walther thinks that Crusoe's deserted island where the castaway manages to live by his own is as convincing as the solitary state of a human soul supposedly cut away from any real connection with other souls. And just like the interaction of Crusoe and Friday is at first made impossible by a language barrier, so is the interaction of soul and body denied apparently by Wolff.

Walther did understand that Wolff later downplayed the idea of pre-established harmony, but this just made him more convinced that Wolff was a devious fraud wanting to deceive his followers. It is remarkable that Walther found only this single issue not to his tastes and would have admitted the whole of Wolffian philosophy otherwise. He was also singularly aware of the reason why Wolffians adopted the pre-established harmony, namely, because laws of mechanics appeared to deny change of motion coming out of thin air. Walther understood the reason, but couldn't care less: if the interaction between soul and body contradict with laws of mechanics, so much worse for the laws.

Furthermore, Walther was not just satisfied with showing his disgust, but also had a good argument against Wolffian position. It is a reasonable assumption that the incapacity of human soul to control its body lies in the essence of the soul: spiritual beings just cannot have causal interactions with material beings. Then again, Wolff's system relies on God as the creator of everything there is, including the material world. Yet, God is obviously spiritual being also and thus essentially incapable of doing anything for the material objects, let alone creating them.

Walther's argument appeared already in the Eleatische Gräber, and it was answered in turn by Müller. The answer relies clearly on Christian assumptions. Müller suggests that there is nothing essential in spiritual substances that would prevent them from controlling material substances. Then again, in this particular world human souls appear to have no effect on bodies, so this must be just an accidental thing: current world is just built in such a manner that souls cannot interfere with it.

Müller's answer feels unconvincing, if you don't buy in the idea of creation or don't believe in afterlife. Yet, it has its own difficulties, even if you do. Walther points out that Müller's suggestion would make human souls in their current condition unfree, because they would be prevented of doing something that they would naturally be capable of. Thus, God would have made human unfree, when he created the world – a rather peculiar result in a Christian setting.

Next time we shall see another critic of Wolffian philosophy.

Speech about Chinese practical philosophy, recited in solemn panegyric (1726) and New anatomy or analytical idea of Wolffian metaphysical system (1726)

I have already mentioned the lecture ofChinese philosophy held by Christian Wolff and explained the rather drastic consequences of this lecture, namely, the accusations of atheism and the expulsion from hisposition. What is still left is to actually describe the lecture itself. While it was held in 1721, written versions of it appeared only few years afterwards. I am especially interested of a version that was published in 1726, called simply Oratio de sinarum philosophia practica, in solemni panegyri recitata, because in this version Wolff had annotated his original speech and thus explained his ideas further.

The lecture itself holds no surprises after reading Bilfinger's more detailed presentation of the topic. Wolff notes that while form of the Confucianism differs from modern moral philosophy – Confucius uses examples, where Europeans would have preferred deductions, and rituals form a large part of moral education – but essentially emphasizes the commonalities. For instance, Confucius divided human being into two parts – sensuousness and reason – and advised one to subjugate senses to guidance of reason, because this is what made human beings perfect and led to tranquility, just like states were happier if governed by wise men. Furthermore, Confucius suggested we should use external glory as an incentive for moral progression: one had more motive to be e.g. kind to other people, if kindness was something that the community thought worthwhile and commendable.

What especially the annotations show is Wolff's wish to downplay the possible atheist leanings in Chinese philosophy. As I have already mentioned in a previous post, it is rather difficult to say whether Confucianism endorsed the idea of a personal god or merely just the existence of an impersonal force. Wolff appears to speak for the more theist interpretation of Confucius or at least he attempts to argue for its plausibility.

A completely opposite view of Confucianism is suggested in Lange's Nova anatome, seu idea analytica systematis metaphysici Wolfiani. The work is actually a collection of Lange's texts, and a large part of it contains a more summarized version of Lange's earlier works attacking Wolffianism. Thus, we see Lange again criticizing Wolff for combining ridiculous idealism with at least equally ridiculous materialism through the Leibnizian notion of pre-established harmony. Lange has clearly just ignored Wolff's many explanations of these questions, so the result is a somewhat skewed view of them. Lange has still read at least Bilfinger's summary of Wolffian metaphysics: for instance, he dismisses Bilfinger's notion of hypothetical necessity, as far too deterministic to form any getaway road.

While these parts of the work feel hence fairly repetitive, Lange also takes some time to attack Wolff's lecture with its annotations. Some of the criticism is rather amusing, for instance, Lange attacks the legends meant to justify the longevity of Chinese wisdom by noting that some of the people involved apparently lived, when the world and China with it was covered by deluge according to the biblical story.

Lange's main complaint about Confucianism is rather predictable. He is convinced that Chinese have no divinity and at times appears to identify Confucianism even with the dreaded Spinozism. No wonder he is outraged when Wolff casually compares Confucius and Mohammed with Moses and even Jesus – a known atheist and a heretic put on the same level with a holy prophet, and even worse, with the son of God.

All in all, there's only one serious piece of criticism against the ethical theories of Confucius and Wolff, namely, that both use glory and ambition as an incentive for moral behaviour. Even here, Lange's argument misses the point. True, it is not truly ethical to do good deeds only because you desire the fame and reputation of a benevolent person – after all, this would leave the possibility that you acted mischievously in cases where no one could ever know. Still, glory and ambition might well be used as tools for educating moral behaviour, and indeed, this is what we do when we thank and praise children for their good behaviour.

So much for Confucius, next time we shall see how Wolff's metaphysics resembles the tale of Robinson Crusoe.

Philosophical commentary on the origin and acceptance of evil, especially moral evil (1724)

A considerable problem for most theistic systems is presented by the question of theodicy. God is usually portrayed as infinitely benevolent person who wishes good for everyone. Furthermore, he is also thought to be omnipotent or capable of anything possible. Given these premises, it would seem a necessity that God would eradicate world of all evil. Yet, the world is clearly full of evil things, and not just minor evils, like the pain that I got when my toe hit a stone, but also evil of major proportions, such as earthquakes and wars. These considerations thus present a challenge for anyone accepting the existence of omnipotent and benevolent deity.

Bilfinger considers the problem in the section of Dilucidationes concerning natural theology, but he had also dedicated for it earlier a whole treatise, De origine et permissione mali, praecipue moralis, commentatio philosophica. While apparently only about this particular question, Bilfinger takes considerable time defining and explicating all concepts involved in the problem and thus goes through a significant portion of other metaphysical issues. Thus, it is no wonder that central concepts for solving this problem are actually physical or psychological: causation and letting things happen.

Of the two concepts, causation appears easier to understand: if A does something that makes B happen, then A has caused B, that is, if my pressing the trigger leads to the death of the person, the pressing was the cause of the death and I am thus to be blamed. Being a cause of something then requires a) that the cause was active in causing something and b) that without this activity that which was caused wouldn't have happened.

Letting or allowing things to happen is then, in a sense, a concept contrasting with the concept of causation. The crucial difference lies in the clause a), which in this case would say that the allowing factor was in a sense passive or did not act in some manner. Furthermore, the clause b) would be otherwise identical, but instead of activity, the lack of activity is the crucial element required for the event. Thus, if I don't push a person away when she is about to be hit by a rock, I could be said to have allowed the rock to hit the person.

Now, it is clear that the notion of allowing something to happen is meaningful only from the perspective of conscious agents, who can be said to have considered whether to act or not. Thus, we wouldn't say that an immovable stone allowed a robbery to happen by not dropping onto the head of the robber, because stones usually don't have any say in how they happen to be moved.

An intriguing question, especially from the viewpoint of ethics and justice, is whether allowing something to happen should have the same status as causation. In one sense, causation is something more: I am punished by law, if I actively make bad things happen, but not if I allow them to happen with my own passivity. Thus, it is no wonder that Bilfinger adopts this distinction as a partial explanation of the problem of evil. That is, he argues that we couldn't blame God for all the evil in the world, because he hasn't really caused it, but merely admitted it within the world.

Bilfinger's justification might still not completely satisfy us. After all, we do sometimes reproach people also for not doing things, especially if they are very powerful and would have had the capacity to prevent some extreme evil to happen: politicians who do nothing for things such as pollution and poverty fall to this category. It appears preposterous to suppose that God Almighty could get away from all guilt merely by saying that he had nothing to do with the evil in the world, he just watched it unfold.

Bilfinger thus must also have recourse to the Leibnizian idea that God has chosen the optimally good of all possible worlds. Whatever evil there is, it should be just a necessary ingredient of and condition for ultimate goodness – and if we could see things from God's viewpoint, we could immediately see how all the seeming evil falls into a greater pattern of goodness.

What then is the real cause of evil, if not God? Ultimately, Bilfinger says, it all comes down to the finiteness or imperfection of the world and its denizens: only God can be perfect, so all things outside him might possibly lead to some evil consequences. God cannot be faulted for their imperfections, because imperfection is in their nature. Instead, God merely gave these finite substances actuality, which is positive in itself.

A particular source of evil Bilfinger emphasizes is free will: because humans and other conscious beings are imperfect, but free to choose their own fates, they might e.g. make their egoistic desires into maxims guiding their action. Evil following from perverted use of free will Bilfinger calls moral, distinguishing it from general metaphysical evil associated with finity and from physical evil.

The most problematic is Bilfinger's account of physical evil: if a stone falls on my head and kills me, I cannot blame the stone, because it had no choice in the matter. Some responsibility obviously lies with free agents: if I get angry to a person and drop a stone on him, it is my fault and not stone's. In these cases physical evil is just a consequence of moral evil, but it appears that a fair portion of physical evil is not of this kind: witness, for instance, earth quakes. True, we could suppose that there is an evil supernatural entity behind all such phenomena, but this seems overly complicated. Bilfinger himself adopts a different defense: physical evil that has not been caused by actions of a morally evil person is probably God's punishment for immoral life. Although this notion is consistent, I find it rather barbaric that a God would have to unleash earthquakes and volcanoes for punishing criminals.

So much for Bilfinger, next time I shall return to the beginning of the atheism controversy, that is, Wolff's lectures on Chinese philosophy.

Intuitive and symbolic cognition

Both Leibniz and Wolff divided cognition into two kinds: intuitive and symbolic. I've had some difficulties clarifying to myself how these two relate to the progression from sensations through imagination and memory to intellectual faculties of understanding and reason, so it feels a bit helpful to see what Bilfinger has to say about the issue.

The basic definitions deriving from Leibniz are pretty straightforward: intuitive cognition is caused by attending the nature of things directly, while symbolic cognition is connected to things only via mediation of signs. Leibniz then had supposed that composite concepts are usually cognized symbolically: after all, analysis of concepts into its constituents happens usually through signs, e.g. if I define square as a rectangle with all sides equal, the definition would be expressed verbally. Primitive concepts, on the other hand, might be cognized either intuitively or symbolically: e.g. point could be defined either by looking at points or by saying what one means when speaking of a point.

Furthermore, all distinct concepts – that is, concepts that can be analysed into clear concepts or into concepts through which we can distinguish objects – must be based on intuitive concepts. In other words, if we had an analysed concept, in which we would know all the constituent concepts only through further linguistic explications, somewhere along the line we would have to use a circular explication, which clearly wouldn't help to distinguish any objects. Thus, an analysis or explication that is successful should at some point meet some cognitions which are directly connected to things. Intuitive cognition is therefore a necessary ingredient of good cognition: if our cognition is not grounded on things, it might well deteriorate into a shamble of contradictions and meaningless expressions.

From the perspective on what Leibniz has to say, intuitive cognition is essential to well-founded science. What good is symbolic cognition then? Bilfinger answers by turning into Wolff's account. While symbolic cognition cannot by itself be a source of true cognition, it can be used in inferring truths from known truths. In particular, symbolic cognition is required whenever we want to move to general truths about classes of objects: we cannot literally be effected by any class of objects, because classes are not real entities. Thus, symbolic cognition makes it also possible that the Leibnizian ideal of an algebraic art of thinking could be one day found. In addition, symbolic cognition is also useful in transmitting cognition from one person to another: we cannot share intuitions, but we can share signs and symbols.

Interesting here is how the division of cognition into intuitive and symbolic kinds corresponds better with Kantian division of sensibility/intuition vs. spontaneity/understanding than Wolff's own division of sensations and concepts. Indeed, Kant's famous statement that intuition without understanding is blind, while understanding without intuition is empty, could be easily translated into the Leibnizian-Wolffian statement that intuitive understanding by itself is blind, because it cannot be generalized, while symbolic understanding by itself is empty, because it fails to connect cognition with actual things. Of course, Kant doesn't call his intuitions and concepts alone cognitions, but reserves this name only for the result of the interplay of the two.

So much for Bilfinger's take on Wolffian psychology, next time I'll discuss his notes on Wolffian natural theology and especially the problem of evil.