Kant's Critique of Spinoza

A Dissertation Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School

of Yale University

in Candidacy for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

by Omri Boehm

Dissertation Directors: Karsten Harries, Michael Delia Rocca

December 2009

UMI Number: 3392507

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©2010byOmriBoehm All rights reserved.

To my grandmother, Shoshana Boehm

Acknowledgments

My work has benefited from discussions with many friends, including Joerg Fingerhut, Alex Kirshner, Dan Avi Landau, Rocco Rubini, Anat Schechtman and Gilad Tanay. My parents, Eti and Amnon Boehm, have provided invaluable help and support along the way. My girlfriend, Ulrika, read and commented on every word.

Several professors have read drafts of chapters and offered helpful comments and criticism, including Karl Ameriks, Abraham Anderson, Andrew Chignell, Gideon Freudenthal, Hans-Friedrich Fulda, Sebastian Gardner, James Kreines, Peter McLaughlin, Susan Neiman, Alan Nelson, Ian Proops, Eric Watkins and Reiner Wiehl.

This work on Kant and Spinoza was very much motivated by my interest in the relation between nihilism and the principle of sufficient reason. This alone attests to my debt to my teachers, Karsten Harries and Michael Delia Rocca.

Table of Contents

Introduction 1

1. The One Possible Basis, The Ideal of Pure Reason

and Kant's Regulative Spinozism 31

2. The First Antinomy and Spinoza 79

3. The Third Antinomy and Spinoza 117

4. On Conceivability and Existence 157

5. Radical Enlightenment, the Pantheismusstreit and a Change of Tone in the Critique of Pure Reason 196

Bibliography 241

Abstract

Kant's Critique of Spinoza

Omri Boehm

2009

It is commonly assumed that Kant did not read Spinoza and did not consider the Ethics

worthy of a philosophical reply. I challenge this assumption, arguing that Kant engaged

with radical, Spinozistic challenges throughout the development of the critical

philosophy. The dissertation's first chapter analyzes the pre-critical Beweisgrund. I argue

that Kant's pre-critical espousal of the Principle of Sufficient Reason [PSR] committed

him to Spinoza's substance monism. The second and the third chapters analyze Kant's

attack on the PSR in the Antinomies and the Ideal of Pure Reason. These texts, I argue,

need to be evaluated in light of Spinozistic challenges (not only Leibnizian, as is often

assumed). Does Kant's attempt to "deny knowledge in order to make room for faith"

succeed against Spinoza's Rationalism? I offer a defense of the Kantian position,

securing it, in the fourth chapter, also from more recent rationalist challenges. I argue that

Kant's critique of rationalism fundamentally depends (even though Kant may not have

seen this in this way) on the refutation of the ontological argument, and offer a defense of

that refutation from recent rationalist threats. I conclude the dissertation in the fifth

chapter with an interpretation of Kant's relation to the Pantheismusstreit, by reading the

Critique's B-Preface. That Preface redefines the goal of the Critique as an answer to

radical, Spinozist metaphysics, which became an explicit threat during the Streit.

Introduction

I

1. The term 'nihilism' is most often associated with Nietzsche but it dates back to the last

days of the Enlightenment. It was first used by Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi, who had argued

that philosophy in general—and Enlightenment rationalism in particular—necessarily

culminates in the ethical position prescribed by Spinoza's Ethics.1 That this is indeed a

necessary outcome of Enlightenment rationalism is one thesis that the present study will

call into question; that nihilism was its outcome is a fact that today can hardly be

doubted. Spinoza's Seventeenth-Century position is not altogether different from our

Nietzschean own: two hundred years before Nietzsche it was Spinoza who argued that it

is deluded to think that we ever "desire anything because we judge it to be good"; in fact,

he wrote, "we judge something to be good" because we "desire it" (E IIIp9s). It should

not be surprising that Nietzsche found in the Jew from Amsterdam a kindred spirit. The

differences between their philosophies, Nietzsche observed, are due mostly to differences

of "time, culture and science":

I have a precursor, and what a precursor! I hardly knew Spinoza: that I

should have turned to him just now, was inspired by "instinct." Not only is

'it is sometimes overlooked that Jacobi first used the term only in 1799, referring to Fichte's position. (See Jacobi's "Brief an Fichte," in Appelation an das Publikum. Dokumente zum Atheismusstreit [Leipzig: Reclam, 1987] p. 153-67.) There is little room for doubt, however, that Jacobi's conclusion that philosophy as such is Spinozist (and hence pantheist, fatalist and atheist) is the origin of his use of the term 'nihilism'.

his overall tendency like mine—making knowledge the most powerful

affect—but in five main points of his doctrine I recognize myself; this most

unusual and loneliest thinker is closest to me precisely in these matters: he

denies the freedom of the will, teleology, the moral world order, the

unegoistic, and evil. Even though the divergencies are admittedly

tremendous, they are due more to the difference in time, culture and science.

In summa: my lonesomeness, which, as on very high mountains, often made

it hard for me to breathe and made my blood rush out, is now at least a

twosomeness. Strange.2

2. What precisely in Enlightenment rationalism entails Spinozist nihilism? Determinism

or necessitarianism—i.e., a denial of freedom—immediately come to mind but this may

be too quick. First, because it is not obvious that determinism or necessitarianism exclude

freedom (think of Leibnizian or of Spinozist compatibilism); and second, because it is not

immediately clear that or in what way freedom is a necessary condition of value (one

could think, perhaps, of a perfectly determined teleological order). Enlightenment

rationalism entails nihilism to the extent that it deems appropriate only blind, mechanical

conceptions of nature. If what exists is the result of what precedes it, and what precedes it

has no relation to some separate ('transcendent') non-accidental good, talk of value is

relativized to some anchor within the world. However, if ex hypothesi everything within

See F. Nietzsche's postcard to Overbeck (July, 1881) in trans., W. Kaufmann, The Portable Nietzsche (New York: Penguin Books, 1976), p. 92. The similarities between Nietzsche's position and Spinoza's are discussed by G. Deleuze in his Spinoza: Philosophiepratique (Paris: Les Editions de Minuit, 2003). See also R. Sigad Truth as Tragedy (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1990), p. 13-124 [in Hebrew]. More recently M. Delia Rocca discusses Nietzsche's conflicted relation to Spinoza in Spinoza (New York: Routledge, 2008), p. 292-303.

2

the world is an accidental consequence of blind causality, any anchor can only be as good

as any other. Talk of value thus becomes either consciously fictional (a noble lie,

perhaps) or meaningless. (The point is this: if all value is arbitrarily fixed in relation to

some anchor, x, there is no reason not to fix value to non-x. Talk of value then becomes,

as Stanley Rosen writes, "indistinguishable from silence."3)

Arguably, the most consistent mechanistic position, in which everything is

(supposed to be) accounted for by a mechanical-naturalistic explanation, is Spinozist. For

some form of Spinozism seems to be required in order to make conceivable by "blind"

considerations not merely everything within the world but also the existence of the world

itself. This is not to deny, of course, that one could hold such a position before 1677:

Epicurus or Lucretius can be regarded as Spinozists, just as Spinoza can be regarded as

an Epicurean (Kant, who was fond of Lucretius, certainly saw this continuity—).5 This

Spinozist conception of nature was ultimately unrivaled in its influence on the political

and ethical consequences of the Enlightenment.6 For a thoroughly mechanistic

3 S. Rosen, Nihilism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1969), p. xiii.

4 Recent Spinoza scholars tend to emphasize that Spinoza does not deny teleology—that he denies only that nature as a whole is teleological. (See for example M. Lin: "Teleology and Human Action in Spinoza," Philosophical Review 2006 115[3], p. 317-54; D. Garrett: "Teleology in Spinoza and Early Modern Philosophy," in New Essays on the Rationalists, ed. R. Gennaro and C. Huenemann [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999], p. 310-35.) In fact, Kant, as far as I can tell, is among the first to insist on this interpretation of Spinoza (see especially KU AA 5:391-4). For present concerns, however, Spinoza's acceptance of ("thoughtful"/"unthoughtful") teleology within nature makes no difference. For there is no doubt that Spinoza denies teleology and goal-directed action in relation to some non-relative good, a source of value. (In fact, if anything, goal-directed action in Spinoza is a source of negative value insofar as it is based on inadequate ideas.)

Kant brings a quote from Lucretius as the motto of The One Possible Basis for a Demonstration of the Existence of God, BDG AA 02:65. He recognizes the continuity (and importantly also the differences) between Spinoza and Epicurus in KU AA 5:391. In the following I will at least try to distinguish between Spinoza's position and Spinozist positions. The latter I understand, roughly speaking, as positions that can be identified as substance monistic or with the consequences of substance monism.

J. Israel in Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity 1650-1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). See also I. O. Wade, The Clandestine Organization and Diffusion of Philosophic

3

conception of nature had to be instilled in order for Enlightenment values as we know

them—values fixed in relation to life in this world—to become the ethical basis of

society. A thoroughly mechanistic conception of nature had to undermine religious and

broadly teleological conceptions in order for individual happiness in this life—worldly

pleasure, even—to become the standard of value. However, and this is just the point, if

life in this world is a product of blind causality—as most rationalists today still believe—

individual happiness in this world cannot be regarded a non-arbitrary anchor of "value

that has value." This is the root of nihilism in Spinoza: the reason why the Enlightenment

is also associated with the vulgarity of de Sade or of Nietzsche's "last man"; the reason

why the third Reich is sometimes counted among its consequences. When in the

following I argue that Kant criticizes Spinoza's position, I hope to show that he criticizes

a position that has become very much our own.

3. A good example of the problem at hand is the meaninglessness of the term 'natural

right'. When making value judgments we often adduce nature as a measure: women and

men are said to have, by nature, rights to their bodies; human beings are said to have the

right, by nature, to freedom of speech; by nature, it is said, we are all equal. Consider the

following assertion:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that

they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that

among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Ideas in France from 1700 to 1750 (New York: Octagon Books, 1967); and P. Verniere, Spinoza et la pensee francaise avant la Revolution (Paris: Presses universitaires de France 1954).

4

What grounds the self-evidence of these truths? The answer is found in the Declaration of

Independence's preceding lines, appealing to the "station" to which all men are "entitled"

by the "Laws of Nature" and "Nature's God." Thus in order to grant as self-evident the

truths announced by the Founding Fathers one must hold a conception of nature similar to

that of Locke. There seems to be a way in which, as Jeremy Waldron has recently argued,

a religious understanding of the world is not only compatible with—but a necessary

condition of—modern liberalism. Waldron's argument, roughly, is a version of the

arbitrary-anchoring problem presented above: in order to regard members of a certain

group as sharing equal rights, Waldron says, it is necessary to regard these members not

only as equal among themselves but also as being "more equal" than what (or who) falls

outside the group. However, without relying on some teleological conception of nature it

is in principle impossible to draw the boundaries of such a group: for lack of teleology

one must extend the group of equals such that it ranges over everything, leaving

meaningful talk of rights behind. Some, perhaps out of politeness, have described

Waldron's argument a "salutary" indication that there is an "integral relationship"

between liberalism and religious faith. But Waldron himself is less interested in

relieving the tension between liberalism and religion than in exposing liberalism's grave

7J. Waldron, God, Locke, and Equality: Christian Foundations in Locke's Political Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002).

8 Ibid. Especially chapter three.

9 N. Stolzenberg and G. Yaffe: "Waldron's Locke and Locke's Waldron: a Review of Jeremy Waldron's God, Locke, and Equality," Inquiry 2006 49(2), p. 186.

5

inconsistency. Anyone claiming to be an atheist liberal, he writes, is in fact "taking

advantage of a tradition that he pretended to repudiate." 10

Needless to say, if this argument is used to convince liberals to accept faith it is

unsatisfactory. Secular liberals refuse religious positions like Locke's not merely because

they are averse to their "religiousness." Nor do they refuse religious positions merely

because they recognize in them a radically illiberal potential. Secular liberals refuse

Locke's position or any other asserting divine intent because they cannot but deem such

positions irrational. This in turn aggravates their—or rather our—predicament: if one

stands in matters of reason and faith closer to Spinoza than to Locke one cannot too

easily get around Waldron's challenge. One must admit that far from being self-evident,

those truths declared by the Founding Fathers are de facto assumed to be false. Leo

Strauss, in, Natural Right and History, writes:

The majority among the learned who still adhere to the principles of the

Declaration of Independence interpret these principles not as expressions of

natural right but as an ideal, if not as an ideology or myth. Present-day

American social science, as far as it is not Roman Catholic social science, is

dedicated to the proposition that all men are endowed by the evolutionary

process by a mysterious fate with many kinds of urges and aspirations, but

certainly with no natural right.

Waldron, God, Locke, and Equality, p. 227

"L. Strauss, Natural Right and History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965), p. 2.

6

4. The problem more generally is the value/fact distinction. Under a teleological

conception of nature it could be meaningful, perhaps, to speak of moral or normative

facts. Under a mechanical conception talk of values as matters of fact must be doomed

from the start. Wittgenstein presents a clear articulation of this in 6.4-6.5 in the Tractatus.

Consider 6.41:

The sense of the world must lie outside the world. In the world everything is

as it is, and everything happens as it does happen: in it no value exists—and

if it did exist, it would have no value.

If there is any value that does have value, it must lie outside the

whole sphere of what happens and is the case. For all that happens and is the

case is accidental.

What makes it non-accidental cannot lie within the world, since if it

did it would itself be accidental.

It must lie outside the world.12

Of course, for Wittgenstein it is not merely the case that everything within the world is

accidental; he also holds that talk of what lies outside the world is meaningless. The

upshot is that all meaningful propositions are of "equal value," that "ethics cannot be put

into words."1

12 L. Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (London: Routledge, 2008), p. 86.

13 Ibid.

7

When present-day ethicists aspire to go beyond this decree they usually insist on

fixing value in relation to anchors that could be regarded as worldly facts—most often

some (basic) human needs and interests. The motivation behind this approach, I think, is

to eliminate reference to what are considered dubious religious or metaphysical

('transcendent') ideas. But it must be admitted that the value of these needs and

interests—whether one is a Mill or a Rawls makes no difference here—must itself be

regarded as null. Unless one has reasons to believe that human beings, or rationality as

such, is purposive to some non-accidental good, any anchor of value is as good as human

needs and desires. Because this is where post- and anti-metaphysical thinkers turn a deaf

ear, their theories are likely to come out as nihilist as Nietzsche's or Spinoza's. Without

justifying the assumption that humanity or rationality is of non-accidental value—ah

assumption, again, that most modern rationalists positively reject—there is nothing less

cynical in Rawls's or Habermas's positions than in Spinoza's conclusion that we judge as

good what we desire. Indeed their theories become manifestations of doing just that.

5. The problem of justifying morality is sometimes discussed in the literature as the

problem of'what could be said' to a moral skeptic. Bernard Williams describes the

problem like this: "when an amoralist calls ethical considerations into doubt, and

suggests that there is no reason to follow the requirements of morality, what can we say

14In Rawls, this is clear from his attempt to give legitimacy arguments from such notions as 'primary social goods' (which are nothing but conditions of human well-being, i.e. reducible to basic human interests); and more significantly, from his understanding of rationality as a type of prudential decision making, understood by the lights of decision theory (which itself assumes, one way or another, self-interestedness). For a discussion of Rawls's position on this, see O. Hoffe, Categorical Principles of Law (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press), p. 215-32.

8

to him?" According to Williams, the problem is in fact that of justifying rationality

itself: when properly understood, the question is not so much whether there is a rational

justification of morality that could be presented to the moral skeptic; it is rather what we

could tell the moral skeptic even assuming that there is such a justification. Why should

he listen?16 Suppose, Williams says, that there is an argument that can count as a

justification (or even a proof) of morality: does it follow that an amoralist ought to be

convinced by it? Can one show that the amoralist is "being imprudent" in some

fundamental way, or that he is "contradicting himself or going against the rules of logic?

1 7

And if so, "why should he worry about that?" asks Williams.

Robert Nozick gives a similar articulation of the problem:

Suppose that we show that some X he [the immoral man] holds or accepts or

does commits him to behaving morally. He now must give up at least one of

the following: (a) behaving immorally, (b) maintaining X, (c) being

consistent about this matter in this respect. The immoral man tells us, "To tell

you the truth, if I had to make the choice, I would give up being

consistent."18

Such an approach to the problem seems to me off the mark. The presumption

standing behind it—to wit, that being moral is being rational and that the problem of

15 B. Williams, Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press), p. 22.

16 Ibid., p. 23.

17 Ibid.

18 R. Nozick, Philosophical Explanations (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1981), p. 408.

9

morality therefore has to do with justifying rational consistency—is inadequate to the

current understanding of reason and science. The immoralist's answer to the dilemma

presented to him above would be different from the one Nozick gives in his name. "To

tell you the truth," he would say, "as a rationalist I know that nothing I do or believe

commits me to acting morally." And he would continue: "in fact, justification of rational

consistency is a problem that I, as an amoralist, worry about when talking to you. For

both of us de facto accept rational premises that entail the meaninglessness of morality

but you, somehow, give up consistency and accept morality." The point is this:

justification of morality is not, pace Nozick and Williams, a problem about 'what we can

we say to him'. Nor is it a problem about what he can say to us. The problem rather is

what we moralists—insofar as we seek to be rational—can say to ourselves.

Note that this precisely was the problem facing Jacobi upon his discovery that

Enlightenment rationalism leads to Spinozist nihilism. And, as a moralist, he reacted just

as Nozick and Williams predict that an amoralist will react: Jacobi gave up rational

consistency. And we—there are reasons to think that insofar as we consider ourselves

moralists we stand in a position very similar to Jacobi's. Empirical evidence of this is the

frequency with which we use what Susan Neiman recently described as the "ultimate

postmodern gesture":

Weary of simplification, and even more afraid of sounding sappy, the left tends

to reject not only words like true and noble, but even words like legitimate and

progress, which were meant to replace them. If used at all, such words are

subject to quotation marks—sometimes called scare quotes—that express the

10

speaker's discomfort in the ultimate postmodern gesture, fingers wiggling

beside ears in a little dance that says: / can use it, but I don 7 go so far as to

mean it, and it all matters so little anyway I can make myself look silly to boot.

What matters is putting a distance between you and your beliefs.19

Quotation marks are used not only with true and noble but also with good. Their function

is to relieve moralist speakers from the (by now almost internalized) inconsistency

involved in using normative vocabulary.

6. If nihilism in its postmodern form has roots in Spinozist rationalism, Kant's critical

position can be read as a conscious attempt to answer that challenge. His answer operates

in two main stages, which can be understood in light of the assertion, "I found it

necessary to deny knowledge, in order to make room for faith" (Bxxx). This is perhaps

the most famous sentence in Kant's Werke; what exactly does it mean? First, why is it

necessary to deny knowledge? The implication is that Kant does not consider the

metaphysical position of moderate Enlightenment thinkers—specifically, of the Leibnizo-

Wolffian school, which strove to preserve the compatibilism of rationalism and value—a

satisfactory alternative to the radical and Spinozist position. I will argue that Kant's

critique of reason—which to a large part consists in a critique of the Principle of

19 Susan Neiman, Moral Clarity (New York: Harcourt, 2008), p. 18. What Neiman here calls "the left" should be a group close enough to what I have been referring to as "secular liberals."

20 Note that Kant never makes (this or similar) assertion in the opening lines of the A, 1781 edition. A bold assertion that saving faith and freedom is one of the Critique's main goals is first made in the post-Pantheismusstreit B. I discuss this point at length in chapter five. Here suffice it to note that Kant was certainly of the same opinion already in A (see for example, A536).

2'For the distinction between radical and moderate Enlightenment see Israel's Radical Enlightenment.

11

Sufficient Reason—is carried out as an attack on a Spinozist, necessitarian position. If

successful, Kant would show that a mechanistic conception of nature cannot be regarded

as a thorough description of everything real: everything in the phenomenal world needs

to be understood by mechanical causality—what is articulated by the deconstructed

Principle of Sufficient Reason, i.e., by the Second Analogy of Experience—but

phenomenal reality is only a part of the picture. This part does not necessarily include all

that there is, and it does not include all that is important. Nor is it the limit of what can

meaningfully be spoken about.

For, as Kant says, the denial of knowledge was necessary to "make room for

faith." What is the meaning of this part of the sentence? I think many Kantians prefer to

read Kant as saying, 'I found it necessary to deny knowledge in order to make room for

freedom'. But while this approach is obviously not mistaken, it does no justice to the fact

that Kant says faith (Glaube). Is he expressing himself in this way only to appease those

readers and critics concerned by the refutation of the ontological argument? Or is faith

inherently important for Kant as a critical philosopher—as a rationalist even—who seeks

to contest nihilism? Arguably, freedom (or autonomy) is not sufficient to establish moral

value. As pointed out above, even if we suppose that one acts on the basis of rational

maxims, there is still little meaning to rationality if autonomous rationality is not destined

to some telos. There are two related problems here, and Kant was conscious of both. The

first was alluded to above: suppose it can be shown that rational-autonomous beings have

to behave in a certain way, which most of us would recognize as moral. Morality here

would still be valueless if the existence of rational beings is meaningless. Under such

circumstance, Kant writes, autonomous beings would behave morally until

12

one vast tomb engulfs them one and all (honest or not, that makes no

difference here) and hurls them, who managed to believe they were the final

purpose of creation, back into the abyss of the purposeless chaos of matter

99

from which they were taken.

Some sort of teleology seems to be required, then, in order to give meaning to Kantian

ethics. However, given that no scientific teleological conception of nature is available to

us as it was available to Aristotle, some form of faith in teleology—one at least

9"3

compatible with non-teleological science—is required.

There is a second related problem here. Kant famously insists that moral worth

can be evaluated only on the basis of intentions, an insight he articulated in the

Categorical Imperative. It does not follow from this, however, and it is not true, that for

Kant ethics can be done on the basis of this moral law alone. As Kant repeatedly argues,

whereas that law captures only intentions human beings are necessarily interested in the

meaningful outcome of their moral conduct. There is an apparent tension here, but Kant

11 KU AA 5:452.

23In the most obvious way, this is clear from Kant's talk of persons being ends in themselves (e.g. GMS 4:428f.) and, as such, as the final purpose of creation (KU 5: 435-443). C. Korsgaard, who stresses the centrality of the 'formula of humanity', certainly notices the indispensable role teleology assumes here (see for example her Creating the Kingdom of Ends [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996], p. 110-32.). Our rational action, she argues—given that we are the final purpose of creation—has "value conferring status." However, I am not sure that Korsgaard gives due recognition—let alone is willing to defend—the metaphysical picture that is accordingly necessary to take a Kantian position seriously. Precisely because that picture is metaphysical but cannot be accepted on theoretical grounds, treating humanity as value conferring requires belief in teleology and faith in what makes such teleology possible. Korsgaard is aware of this, for in another essay, comparing Aristotle and Kant, she points out that whereas for the former teleology was a part of science for the latter it is a matter if "religious faith" (Creating the Kingdom of Ends, p. 245). But when discussing Kant's humanity formula the fact that faith is a necessary condition of making sense of that formula goes unmentioned. In fact Korsgaard's ultimate conclusion is that according to Kant, "even the justification of nature is up to us" (p. 131). While this seems, strictly speaking, right, to the extent that it suggests that we are sufficient to confer value on nature it is inaccurate.

13

is obviously right: one cannot have good intentions without being interested in the

outcome; it is senseless to aspire to act morally without hoping by that intention to bring

about meaningful progress in the world, corresponding to the intention. However,

conceiving such meaningful outcomes as consequences of moral intentions is possible

only under a certain teleological conception of nature. First, because only under such a

conception is it meaningful to talk about value (this is just the point considered above);

and second, because only in such a framework is it possible to imagine a correspondence

between moral intentions and consequences in the world. Therefore, if one accepts as

legitimate only non-teleological explanations of nature (i.e., non-teleological science) one

can only accept teleology on the basis of some kind of faith. One way or another, faith, as

Kant himself recognized, is a necessary condition of Kantian and rational ethics.

7. But in this light, the task of Kantian ethical thought is not so much to articulate

versions of the Categorical Imperative that are, on their own, of little value. Kant will

emerge as an infinitely more significant ethical thinker if he can help us overcome the

meaninglessness of the Categorical Imperative—if he can convince us that it is because

we are rational and not despite our rationality that we can have faith in a type of

framework required for morality.24

Readers of Kant are likely to recognize in this line of reasoning the traces of the

Critique of Practical Reason's Postulatenlehre. It is true that this doctrine is relevant here

but as it stands it is hardly satisfactory and does not represent Kant's mature account of

4 John Hare presents a very relevant discussion in The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God's Assistance (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996). However, Hare's discussion is consciously written from the perspective of'traditional Christianity' (p. 1). In this sense it does not designed to address the problem of nihilism from the position of those who, like myself, consider themselves secular rationalists (in a broad sense of the term).

14

faith.25 Kant's elaborate conception of faith, I will argue, is provided in the Critique of

Judgment, where Kant defends a kind of experience that could support belief in what had

been, in the second Critique, only postulated (more below). It is also in the Critique of

Judgment that Kant considers the consequences of acting on the basis of the moral law

without recognizing the necessity of faith. In a passage, part of which was quoted earlier,

he gives the following example:

Let us consider the case of a righteous man (Spinoza, for example) who

actively reveres the moral law [but] who remains firmly persuaded that there

is no God... how will he judge his own inner destination to a purpose,

[imposed] by the moral law? He does not require that complying with that law

should bring him an advantage, either in this world or in another: rather, he is

unselfish and wants only to bring about the good to which that sacred law

directs all his forces. Yet his effort [encounters] limits: For while he can

expect that nature would now and then cooperate contingently with the

purpose of his that he feels so obligated and impelled to achieve, he can never

expect nature to harmonize with it in a way governed by laws and permanent

rules (such as his inner maxims are and must be). Deceit, violence and envy

will always be rife around him, even though he himself is honest, peaceful,

and benevolent. Moreover, as concerns the other righteous people he meets:

no matter how worthy of happiness they may be, nature, which pays no

attention to that, will still subject them to all the evils of deprivation, disease,

25See E. Forster: "Die Wandlungen in Kants Gotteslehre," Zeitschrift fiir philosophische Forschung 1998, 52(3), p. 341-62.

15

and untimely death, just like all the other animals on the earth. And they will

stay subjected to these evils always, until one vast tomb engulfs them one and

all (honest or not, that makes no difference here) and hurls them, who

managed to believe they were the final purpose of creation, back into the

abyss of the purposeless chaos of matter from which they were taken. And so

this well-meaning person would indeed have to give up as impossible the

purpose that the moral laws obliged him to have before his eyes, and that in

Oft

compliance with them he did have before his eyes.

We may say that the situation facing most modern ethicists—Kantian ethicists

included—is the situation Kant here ascribes to Spinoza. Their theories formulate

versions of the moral law but their position on matters of metaphysics (broadly

conceived) forces them, in the final analysis, to give up the meaning of their theories.

Kant might be equipped to answer that challenge if he can convince us (as he tries) not

only that practical reasoning is not reducible to theoretical, but also that faith can be taken

seriously as a condition of ethics. This in my view is why Kant's thought should be

studied as an answer to Spinoza, for whom practical reasoning collapses into theoretical

and ethics is done on the basis of knowledge. Of course, Kant was not the first or only

philosopher to attempt an answer: most Enlightenment philosophers of ambition

explicitly strived to refute Spinozism (consider Leibniz, Hume, Wolff and

Mendelssohn).27 The question is whether Kant's answer is more successful than theirs.

26KU AA 5:452.

" Indeed many think that unlike these philosophers Kant was never genuinely interested in Spinoza. I discuss the reasons for this below.

16

For at least in Kant's own judgment, if his own philosophy is rejected "only Spinozism

remains."

8. This part of Kant's response to the problem of the Enlightenment and modernity often

90

remains overlooked. Strauss, for example, whose History and Natural Right is an

attempt to understand nihilism's origins (Strauss describes the problem as the 'crisis of

modernity' and equates it with the emptiness of the term 'natural right'), deals neither

with Spinoza nor with Kant—certainly not with Kant's critique of Spinoza. "The

fundamental dilemma in whose grip we are," Strauss writes in the introduction, "is

caused by the victory of [mechanical] natural science. An adequate solution to the

problem of natural right cannot be found before this basic problem has been resolved."

He moves on to discuss the problem as it emerges in the thought of Hobbes, Locke,

Machiavelli and Burke, concluding with a discussion of Rousseau's (for Strauss

ultimately unsuccessful) attempt to resolve it. The fact that there is no serious

confrontation with Spinoza is most likely due to the by now outdated assumption (more

on this below) that his impact on the development of the Enlightenment was insignificant

compared to the philosophers just mentioned. But the fact that Strauss concludes the book

KpV AA 5:102. Note that despite the fact that in this passage Kant seems to have theoretical concerns in mind (he speaks of transcendental idealism's conception of space and time as opposed to Spinoza's) it is not a coincidence that it appears in the Critique of Practical Reason. When Kant speaks of Spinozism being the only alternative to transcendental idealism he certainly has in mind the ethical conclusions of a Spinozist position.

2 I will not offer here a survey of relevant examples but Alasdair Maclntyre's claim that there are only two ethical alternatives—Nietzsche's or Aristotle's—has to be mentioned. Maclntyre's position does not do justice to Kant's struggle with Spinoza's (Nietzschean) position—his Hegelian reading of Kant's Categorical Imperative overlooks the role of teleology in Kant's ethical thought. (Perhaps when brought to see this Maclntyre would answer that this simply posits Kant on the side of Aristotle.—)

30Strauss, History and Natural Right, p. 8.

17

with a chapter on Rousseau's rethinking of the term 'nature' is harder to make sense of.

For Strauss had correctly realized that the 'crisis of modernity' emerges from the impact

of a mechanical-worldview on ethical thought he fails to see that Kant—arguably an

important player in the development of modern philosophy—confronts the

-J 1

Enlightenment precisely on that point. IT}

Another case in point is Horkheimer and Adorno's Dialectic of Enlightenment.

In an influential chapter on Kant and de Sade, "Juliette or Enlightenment and Morality,"

they argue that Kant's thought represents the climax of Enlightenment morality, in which

formal systematicity replaces, and stands for, the only meaningful value. Because

Kant's conception of value is merely formal, they argue—and because his Enlightenment

rationalism dictates that any "substantial goal" which might be adduced to the mere

formal conception be considered a transcendent-religious "delusion"—Kant's concept of

reason in the final analysis can only be put to the service of individual pleasures and

personal interests.34 According to Horkheimer and Adorno, the Marquis de Sade's life

and works embody the consequences of this position: the meaninglessness of sin, the idea

that reason is to serve personal interests and pleasure and, most of all, the elevation of

31 Strauss omission of Spinoza and Kant in this context is all the most puzzling because one could think that his interest in the 'crisis of modernity' emerged from his occupation with the Pantheismusstreit. As far as 1 know Strauss is the first to have written extensively about the Streit (in a book-length introduction that he wrote to Mendelssohn's Schriften, of which he was the editor). Strauss also wrote his dissertation on Jacobi, and his first book was Spinoza's Critique of Religion.

32M. Horkheimer and T. Adorno, Dialecitc of Enlightenment, (London: Verso, 1979).

33Ibid., p. 80-119. This interpretation has become commonplace. Jacques Lacan and Salvoy Zizek followed up with articles on the topic, and David Martin wrote a book about it, Sublime Failures: the Ethics of Kant and de Sade (Detroit: Wayne University Press, 2003).

34Horkheimer and Adorno Dialectic of Enlightenment, p. 87.

18

systematicity as the greatest value because it is the greatest pleasure. (Indeed, a similar

interpretation of Kant and the Enlightenment was assumed by Adolf Eichman who

claimed in his Jerusalem trial that he had been obeying a mere formal duty, in accordance

'is

with Kant's Categorical Imperative.)

This reading of Kant is founded on a crude understanding of the term

'Enlightenment' and on a partial understanding of Kant's reaction to it. Horkheimer and

Adorno put much effort into showing the continuity between Kant and de Sade but fail to

observe the fact that de Sade, an author of clear philosophical ambitions, was consciously

influenced by Spinoza. His valorization of systematicity, his subjection of reason to

personal pleasures and his bold discounting of sin are arguably consequences of that

influence.37 These elements of de Sade's thought can only be superficially connected to

Kant, who went to great pains to avoid these consequences precisely. In Horkheimer and

Adorno's reading, the difference between Kant's ethical thought and Spinoza's are

blurred.

The reason behind this partial reading is not far to seek. Horkheimer and

Adorno's Marxist perspective is one in which Kant's discussion of faith is bound to be

treated as it was treated by Heinrich Heine. And, of course, one need not be a Marxist

interpreter of Kant in order to overlook or severely downplay this element of Kant's

Recall for example of the mathematical construction of Sade's 120 Days of Sodom.

See H. Arendt's Eichman in Jerusalem: a Report on the Banality of Evil (New York: Penguin Books, 1994). A helpful analysis of Horkheimer and Adorno's comparison between de Sade and Kant is given by Carlo Accetti: "Kant et Sade," Raisons Politiques 2009, 33(1), p. 149-69

37For an account of the similarities and the differences, see T. Kuhnle: "Une anthropologic de l'ultime consommateur: Quelques reflexions sur le spinozisme du Marquis de Sade," in French Studies in Southern Africa 2007, 37, 88-107.

19

thought: it is fair to say that most secular Kantian ethicists have de facto accepted Heine's

approach. Yet, if Heine was right—if Kant's thought is atheist, and Kant introduced faith

only because "Old Lampe had to have a God"—the differences between Spinozist and

Kantian ethics become insignificant. If Heine was right then Kant, just like Spinoza,

relativizes the good to the merely desired.

Before turning to study Kant's critique of Spinoza, let me make a few historical-

interpretive clarifications.

II

1. Scholars commonly assume that Kant never read Spinoza, and that he did not

consider the Ethics worthy of a philosophical reply—certainly not before the Spinoza-

renaissance of the late Seventeen-Eighties, certainly not when conceiving the Critique Of

Pure Reason's attack on metaphysics. This assumption draws, as far as I know, on three

pieces of historical evidence. First, it is usually thought that in Kant's day Spinoza was

considered passe, a defeated philosopher. The prevalent metaphysics of the time was

Wolffs systematic presentation of Leibnizian principles; Spinoza, as Lessing famously

i n

put it, was considered a "dead dog." Second, there is a letter from Hamann to Jacobi

(dated October 1785) in which the former reports that Kant had told him, in a private

conversation, that he had "never been able to understand Spinoza's philosophy."40 This

8A recent example of this assumption is B. Longuenesse and D. Garber's Kant and the Early Moderns (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2008). In this collection of essays, encompassing excellent work on Kant and Descartes, Leibniz, Hume, Berkeley and Locke, Spinoza goes completely unmentioned.

"9F. H. Jacobi, Uber die Lehre des Spinoza in Briefen an den Herrn Moses Mendelssohn in Jacobi's Werke, ed. K. Hammacher and W. Jaeschke, vol. 1, Schriften zum Spinozastreit (Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 1998). For Jacobi and Lessing's conversation, see p. 3-44.

20

report is cited as an indication that Spinoza was irrelevant to Kant.41 Third, Kant never

mentions Spinoza or Spinozism within the Critique of Pure Reason. This fact is

significant, because Kant does mention in his magnum opus almost every other name in

the philosophical canon, including Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus, Descartes, Locke, Hume,

Newton, Leibniz, Wolff and Mendelssohn.

Before moving to consider Kant's confrontation with Spinoza, then, let us

examine each of these pieces of evidence. As for the first, the once-accepted assumption

that Spinoza was considered a "dead dog" in Kant's day is no longer tenable. This is not

the place to document in detail the abundant historical evidence supporting just the

opposite conclusion (and this has been done by others). Suffice it here to recall the

well-known fact that Spinoza is the subject of the single longest entry in Bayle's

Dictionnaire. It is true that Bayle attempts to refute Spinoza (though some have provided

strong reasons to doubt his intentions) but unlikely that so much space would be

dedicated to refuting a neglected philosopher—unlikely, indeed, that Spinoza's relevance

would wane once this high-profile entry had been published about him. J. Zedler's

Grosses Universal Lexikon gives a similar impression, devoting to Spinoza a five-page

discussion. Descartes, by comparison, is discussed over one page. Hume, Locke, Hobbes

and Plato are equally dealt with in one page (or less) each. D. Diderot and J.

d'Alembert's Encyclopedie similarly dedicates to Spinoza five times more space than to

most relevant thinkers in the history of philosophy. While speaking of Spinoza's

40Hamann to Jacobi, October 1785, in Hamanns Briefwechsel ed. A. Henkel (Wiesbaden/Frankfurt: Insel, 1955-79).

For example, H. Allison: "Kant's Critique of Spinoza" in Philosophy ofBaruch Spinoza, ed. R. Kennington (Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1980), p. 199f. (Allison focuses on Kant's treatment of teleology in the Critique of Judgment.)

"See especially J. Israel's Radical Enlightenment.

21

metaphysics in extremely hostile terms, the Encyclopedic gives a reliable account of the

Ethics' definitions and axioms and discusses at length its most important demonstrations,

especially £lpl-11. The Dictionnaire, the Lexikon and the Encyclopedic were the main

transmitters of Enlightenment thought.43 The attention they devoted to Spinoza ensured

him a place at the heart of Enlightenment debate. It would be impossible for any educated

reader to avoid contact with Spinoza's ideas. It would be easy for every metaphysician to

get a grasp on the system of the Ethics. And it would be tempting, for every

philosophically inclined thinker, to read Spinoza for themselves.44

As for Hamann's report to Jacobi, much caution is required with this report, not

merely because it is second-hand. Consider the context of Hamann's letter. Jacobi's

book, Uber die Lehre des Spinoza, had been published shortly before Hamann's

conversation with Kant, igniting a national-scale scandal about Lessing's Spinozism.

Jacobi sent a copy of the book to Hamann, asking him to deliver it to Kant. In the book,

Jacobi accuses not only Lessing but also Kant of Spinozism, writing, for example, that

Kant's discussion of space in the Critique of Pure Reason was written "ganz im Geiste

des Spinoza"—fully in Spinoza's spirit. When later he was pressed by Hamann to

" Whereas Kant quite certainly read all three sources, Bayle's Dictionnaire is probably the one most relevant for the present discussion. It can be ascertained that Kant read Bayle, and it is extremely likely that he was influenced by Bayle's method of criticizing reason by antinomial dialectic in his entry on Zeno. (Indeed Kant discusses Zeno in the context of the Antinomies. More below.) See J. Ferrari's entry on Bayle in his Les Sources Francoises de la Philosophie de Kant (Paris: Librairie Klincksieck), p. 91-99 (as well as p. 267-70 for a list of Kant's references to Bayle). See also Ferrari's "Le Dictionnaire historique et critique de Pierre Bayle et les deux premieres antinomies kantiennes de la Raison pure," Etudesphilosophiques et litteraires 1967, 1, p. 24-33.

44Israel comments on philosophers' tendency to overlook Spinoza's impact on the Enlightenment, "philosophers are... saddled with what are really hopelessly outdated historical accounts of the Enlightenment and ones which look ever more incomplete, unbalanced, and inaccurate, the more research into the subject proceeds." (See Israel. "Enlightenment! Which Enlightenment?" Journal of the History of Ideas 2006, 67(3) p. 528.)

22

disclose his opinion of the book, Kant replied (or so Hamann reports) that he was "very

pleased with the presentation" and that he had "never been able to understand Spinoza's

philosophy."46 There are reasons to think that Kant was not completely frank with

Hamann. And, if one insists on taking Kant's reported words at face value one must also

grant that Kant was "very pleased" with Jacobi's presentation.—

As for the observation that Kant never mentions Spinoza in the first Critique, it

should be noted that on at least one occasion the Critique does discuss an unmistakably

Spinozist theme—the geometrical method—and does not mention Spinoza still. Over ten

Akademie pages, Kant criticizes the use of "definitions," "axioms" and "demonstrations,"

arguing that, "in philosophy, the mathematician can by his method build only so many

houses of cards" (A727-38/B755-66).47 Kant explains that while in mathematics

definitions, axioms and demonstrations are appropriate, in philosophy they are not;

whereas in mathematics one can successfully begin with definitions, in philosophy

definitions "[ought] to come at the end rather than at the beginning" (A730/B758). That

this is directed at Spinoza's Ethics seems clear. Other philosophers apply mathematical

methods, of course, but none uses definitions, axioms and demonstrations as Spinoza

45Jacobi, Uber die Lehre des Spinoza, p. 91.

4 In Hamanns Briefwechsel, October 1785.

47Kemp Smith translates, "in philosophy, the geometrician can by his methods build only so many houses of cards" (my emphasis). This is not a literal rendering of Kant's use of Mathematiker but this is not necessarily a translation mistake. Kant means by the "mathematical" method what we mean by "geometrical". Kemp Smith must have been aware that Kant elsewhere refers to Spinoza as a mathematician because of his method, not a geometer (see below).

48For a short interpretation of this passage, see F. Heman: "Kant und Spinoza," Kant-Studien 1901, 5. p. 273-339.

23

does. To be sure, Kant repeats the same argument also when explicitly arguing against

Spinoza in his Lectures on Metaphysics:

Spinoza believed that God and the world were one substance... This error

followed from a faulty definition of substance. As a mathematician, he was

accustomed to finding arbitrary definitions and deriving propositions from

them. Now this procedure works quite well in mathematics, but if we try to

apply these methods in philosophy we will be led to an error. For in

philosophy we must first seek out the characteristics themselves and acquaint

ourselves with them before we can construct definitions. But Spinoza did not

do this.50

There is then at least one moment in the Critique where Kant does engage with

Spinoza—one moment where it is untenable to conclude that Kant did not think of

Spinoza from the fact that he did not mention his name. Are there other such moments in

the Critique?

2. This question is intriguing, because when Kant mentions Spinoza by name—

admittedly late in his career—his words are remarkable. In Reflection 6050 Kant writes,

Indeed, in the Second Set of Replies also Descartes explores a similar method (in trans. J. Cottingham, R. Stoothoff, and M. Frederick The Philosophical Writings of Descartes [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985], p. 111-20). But of course Descartes did not attempt to build his philosophy on the basis of the geometrical method, as the philosopher here targeted by Kant. Moreover, if Kant had Descartes' discussion in mind, he would have known also that Descartes in fact criticizes as impossible the geometrical method in philosophy.

50AA 28:1041. As far as I know Kant never makes similar accusations against Descartes, Leibniz or Wolff.

24

"Spinozism is the true consequence of dogmatic metaphysics."51 In the Critique of

Practical Reason he claims that if transcendental idealism is denied, "nothing remains

but Spinozism, in which space and time are essential determinations of the original being

itself." In Lectures on Metaphysics Kant pronounces: "if space is taken to be a thing in

itself, Spinozism is irrefutable—that is, the parts of the world are parts of the Deity, space

is God."53 And then again: "Those who take space as a thing in itself or as a property of

things are forced to be Spinozists, i.e., they take the world as the embodiment [Inbegriff]

of determinations from one necessary substance." In short, when Kant mentions

Spinoza by name he recognizes his position as the most consistent form of transcendental

realism.

The relevance of Kant's words to his critical position—especially to the Critique

of Pure Reason—must be examined with care. The quotes appear only in Kant's later

writings and only after the Pantheismusstreit had provoked a Spinoza-renaissance in

Germany. Moreover, it is not immediately clear what Kant understands by "Spinozism":

such a term can have a number of different meanings, or denote particular aspects of

Spinoza's system (similar problems arise when interpreting Kant's relation to Leibniz).

5lRefl.AA 18:436.

52KpVAA 5:102.

53ML2 AA 28:567.

54V-MP-K3E/Arnoldt AA29: 132.

55A. Jauernig has recently dealt with this complexity in her "Kant's Critique of the Leibnizian Philosophy: Contra the Leibnizians, but Pro Leibniz," in ed. B. Longuenesse and D. Garber, Kant and the Early Moderns, p. 41-63; Garber reflects on this problem in "What Leibniz Really Said?" (in the same volume) p. 64-78. Note that, in some respects, tracking what could be known to Kant of Spinoza's philosophy and how accurate this picture was is less problematic than with Leibniz. Whereas much of Leibniz's thought needs to be distilled from material unpublished in Kant's day and unknown to Kant, Spinoza's official position receives definitive articulation in two published works, the Ethics and the Theological Political Treatise. In

25

Nevertheless, it must also be taken into account that the Spinoza-renaissance caused by

the Streit was not a Spinoza rediscovery because Spinoza's ideas—as pointed out

above—had not been forgotten. The Streit does not so much mark the moment in which

Spinoza's thought first became familiar as the moment when one could write about

Spinoza more openly (and even favorably).

To my mind, the above quotes must one way or another be relevant to the

Critique. For even if Kant discovered Spinoza only in the late Seventeen-Eighties, he

(and we) would still have to worry that some parts of his Critique do not argue against

transcendental realism's superior exponent. (This strikes a nerve especially when

considering the Antinomies of Pure Reason: if the Antinomies fail to address and rebut

the most consistent form of transcendental realism, they fall short of sustaining Kant's

aspirations. Spinoza's metaphysical position may escape refutation and, thereby, disarm

the antinomy.)

Ill

1. The present study takes up the first part of Kant's answer to Spinozism—the denial of

knowledge. I interpret Kant's critique of reason as a critique of the Principle of Sufficient

Reason; specifically, of the Spinozist (rather than Leibnizian) consequences of that

principle. The first chapter focuses on Kant's pre-critical essay, "The One Possible Basis

for a Demonstration of the Existence of God." I analyze the argument as drawing on the

Principle of Sufficient Reason and argue that Kant's espousal of that principle commits

him to Spinozist substance monism. Moreover, textual evidence suggests that Kant was

the case of Spinoza, however, the problem is to distinguish his thought from what was taken to be 'Spinozism'. We will see some examples of this below.

26

aware of this commitment. I conclude the chapter by explaining and defending Kant's

transformation of the pre-critical demonstration into a regulative ideal of reason in light

of his critical attack on the Principle of Sufficient Reason. The continuity between the

ideal of pure reason and the pre-critical demonstration, however, suggests that the

regulative ideal of reason has the structure of Spinozist substance—all entities are

conceived through this "All of nature" as its limitations.

In the second chapter I analyze the first Antinomy, which deals with the "age and

size of the world." I argue that the Antithesis, which affirms that the world is infinite and

uncreated, reflects a Spinozist position (rather than Leibnizian, as was influentially

argued by Sadik Al Azm). Such a Spinozist position, however, poses particular problems

in the antinomy, stemming from Spinoza's conception of substance (or the world) as an

infinite totum analyticum, in which an infinite whole is conceived as prior to its parts. I

conclude the chapter with a defense of Kant's position, suggesting that one can have

reasons to accept Spinoza's reliance on the infinite only on the basis of an experience of

one's own freedom (in so doing, I bring Kant's account of the sublime to bear on the

Antinomies). Arguably Spinoza cannot rely on an experience of freedom to ground his

reliance on complete infinity because his monistic-necessitarian position excludes

freedom. (This line of defense, however, will not be completed before the discussion in

the fourth chapter.)

In the third chapter, I interpret the third Antinomy, arguing that its Antithesis, too,

which denies freedom by an argument from the Principle of Sufficient Reason, reflects a

Spinozist rather than a Leibnizian position. Concluding this chapter I continue to defend

Kant's antinomy from the Spinozist reliance on a totum analyticum—in the case of the

27

third Antinomy, the conception of the world as an infinite and complete explanatory

whole. Specifically, I consider the Spinozist answer to the Kantian defense of the

antinomy suggested in chapter two (demanding that an experience of freedom ground the

reliance on complete infinity). That Spinozist answer consists in Spinoza's doctrine of

adequate ideas: according to Spinoza, one is free insofar as one conceives an adequate

idea. If this is granted, Spinoza's reliance on the notion of substance may escape the

Kantian challenge presented above. I will argue, however, that this account of adequate

ideas relies beforehand—and hence circularly—on the notion of the complete infinite.

This challenge to Spinoza threatened by more recent rationalist approaches if one

can equate, drawing on an argument from the Principle of Sufficient Reason, existence

and conceivability. The fourth chapter departs from the more historical confrontation of

Kant with Spinoza in order to meet that challenge. I argue that the ontological argument

plays a more significant role in the attack on (or defense of) rationalist metaphysics than

is usually acknowledged—by Kantians and rationalists alike. Rationalists sometimes

assume that the rationalist espousal of the Principle of Sufficient Reason is independent

of endorsing the traditional ontological argument—i.e., the claim that existence is a

predicate.5 Kantians on their part tend to assume that the refutation of the ontological

argument is but a refutation of a metaphysical doctrine—namely, the doctrine of rational

theology—standing alongside rational psychology and rational cosmology. (This is

certainly the way Kant himself presents the picture.) I argue that the debate over the

ontological argument is more far-reaching for both parties. It isn't a debate over the

philosophical-theological question of God's existence but is the key to the attack on or

56A good example of this is the belief that Spinoza's proof of God's existence—a proof which is indispensable for the viability of rationalist and Spinozist positions—is immune to Kant's refutation of the traditional ontological argument.

28

the defense of the rationalist and Spinozist position. The rationalist position, I believe,

presents here a difficult challenge to Kant (exposing deficiencies in his argument to the

extent that existence is not a predicate). I will try to offer Kantian answers to that

challenge, some of which draw on practical considerations. We may have a reason to

believe that existence is not a predicate because we believe that 'ought' is distinguished

from 'is' and implies 'can'.—

In the fifth (and in the dissertation, last) chapter, I provide an historical recount of

Kant's relation to the Pantheismusstreit. In recent years the Streit has received growing

attention. Most interpreters assume that it marks the moment when Spinoza's philosophy

was rediscovered—revived from the grave. This, however, is inconsistent with the better-

informed recent conclusion that Spinoza's thought had never truly been forgotten. I will

argue that the Streit marks not the moment in which Spinoza was rediscovered but the

moment when his radical ideas moved from the "clandestine" background to the

Enlightenment's political fore. We will see that the Critique of Pure Reason provides a

striking example of this transition precisely: Kant had been combating radical

metaphysics before Jacobi ignited a scandal, but this combat was never presented as a

main goal of his work. It is first with the post-Pantheismusstreit B-Preface that Kant

presents the Critique as the (only) answer to atheism, fatalism and Schwarmerei; and as

denying knowledge "in order to make room for faith."

My discussion in the fifth chapter, which ends with an interpretation of the B-

Preface, also prepares the ground for the next part of this project. That part concerns

Kant's account of rational faith, for which the Critique's attack on rationalism "made

room." The account of faith, I will argue, is elaborated mostly in the Critique of

29

Judgment. For example, Kant's justification of the demand for the universal validity of

judgments of the beautiful and of teleological judgments, I will argue, is an attempt to

defend the universal validity of rational faith. According to the first Critique rational-

moral faith, despite its rationality, cannot pose such a demand. Further, Kant's account of

genius, I will argue, can be read as a reply to Spinoza's attack on prophecy: Kant redeems

the unique role of the imagination in the cognition of ethical-religious ideas which,

without perfected imagination, cannot be represented. The account of the sublime can,

along similar lines, be read as a reply to Spinoza's critique of religion as originating in

mere fear. The sublime is thus a source of a rational 'fear of God'. This discussions,

however, will await a different occasion.

30

1

The One Possible Basis, The Ideal of Pure Reason and Kant's

Regulative Spinozism

"If I deduce the existence of the ens realissimum from its concept, this is the way to Spinozism" {Lectures on Metaphysics 28:706).

Kant was accused of Spinozism several times throughout his career. Jacobi argued

in his Uber die Lehre des Spinoza that the Critique's account of space and time was

written "wholly in Spinoza's spirit" and Hermann Pistorius claimed to have found in the

Ideal of Pure Reason "a deduction of Spinozism."1 In light of such accusations, Kant's

disciples, too, demanded clarifications. Christian Schiitz wrote Kant from Jena (February

1786), pleading for confirmation that Jacobi had "completely misunderstood" the

transcendental philosophy: "He cites your ideas about space," Schiitz complains, "and

says that they are written wholly in Spinoza's spirit"; "there are some people, not at all

fools in other respects, who take you for an atheist."

Was Kant guilty of Spinozism? To the extent that Spinozism is a sin, in an

important sense, Kant was guilty. His pre-critical essay, The One Possible Basis for a

Demonstration of the Existence ofGod (1763) [henceforth: Beweisgrund], suggests

1 F. H. Jacobi, Uber die Lehre des Spinoza in Briefen an den Herrn Moses Mendelssohn, in ed. K. Hammacher, Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi. Werke, vol. 1, Schriften zum Spinozastreit (Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 1998) p. 121f. (my translation); H. Pistorius, Erlduterungen uber des Herrn Professor Kant 'Kritik der Reinen Vernunft von J. Schultze, Allgemeine Deutsche Bibliothek, 60 (1), May 1786 (my translation).

2SeeBriefeAA 10:430.

substance monism.3 Arguably, it commits Kant to the thesis that there exists a single

necessary being, God, whose nature excludes other substances' existence. Finite entities

do not enjoy the status of separate substances. Their essences, or what Kant calls internal

possibilities, are conceived as predicates inhering in God. This Spinozist conclusion,

moreover, reaches beyond Kant's pre-critical demonstration. It leaves significant traces in

the Critique of Pure Reason, most notably in the Ideal of Pure Reason.

In the first part of this chapter I analyze Kant's pre-critical demonstration. It does

not rely on the traditional mechanisms of the ontological argument (i.e. the assumption

that existence is a predicate) but, rather, on an application of the Principle of Sufficient

Reason [henceforth: PSR] in the analysis of modality.4 The argument consists of the

following three premises: (1) necessarily, something is possible; (2) possibility

presupposes something actually existing, in virtue of which it is made possible; and (3)

all possibility is grounded by a single being. By relying on these premises in proving

God's existence, I argue, Kant is committed to Spinozist substance monism.

In the second part of the chapter I turn to assess whether Kant was aware of this

commitment. Much textual evidence suggests that he was.

In the third part I consider the significance of Kant's pre-critical demonstration

within his critical philosophy. Was the critical Kant, too, committed to Spinozism?

3 BDG AA 02. Unless noted otherwise, English citations of the BDG are to G. Treash's translation, The One Possible Basis for a Demonstration of the Existence of God (Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 1979).

For present purposes we may describe the PSR as the claim that everything admits of an ultimate, complete explanation. To borrow a term frequently used, 'there are no brute facts': if a given fact cannot be explained, its existence is denied. Very little has been written on Kant's stance to the PSR (with at least one important exception being B. Longuenesse's "Kant's Deconstruction of the Principle of Sufficient Reason," Harvard Review of Philosophy 2001 [4], p. 67-87). This neglect is surprising and unfortunate because Kant's critique of reason is intimately connected to his criticism of the Principle of Sufficient Reason. I will discuss this point in more detail below, as well as in chapter five. But a thorough analysis of Kant's reaction to the PSR has to await a separate paper.

32

Whereas Jacobi and Pistorius suggested just this, modern readers of Kant—on the

prevalent assumption that Spinoza was irrelevant to the critical philosopher—may regard

that question as absurd. I argue that the critical Kant is not committed to Spinozism

proper, but that the danger of Spinozism is far from absurd. The metaphysical structure of

the Critique's Ideal of Pure Reason—as the regulative idea of that entity through which

all possibility is grounded—bears the "image and likeness" of the Beweisgrund's deity.

In this sense, Kant's ideal is committed to what can be called regulative Spinozism.

"[OJne comes strongly to suspect," he writes, reflecting back on the ideal, "that this

metaphysical God (the realissimum) is one with the world (despite all protestations

against Spinozism), as the totality of all existing things."

To be sure, I don't think that recognizing the ideal's commitment to regulative

Spinozism infringes on the Kantian defense of freedom, faith and morality. Kant's

defense of practical reason remains just as strong as we are used to thinking (or, as the

case may be, just as weak): a regulative Spinozist conception of the deity is no more

dangerous to Kant than, say, a regulative Leibnizian conception. Within the limits of this

chapter, however, I cannot offer a defense of that claim. Instead, a more pressing issue

will be addressed: is Kant's rejection of the pre-critical demonstration—his

transformation of the demonstration into a (mere) regulative ideal—warranted? Scholars

sometimes deem this an open question.7 But especially in light of the ideal's commitment

5On the common assumption that Kant was virtually uninterested in Spinoza. See my discussion in the introduction.

6 FM AA 20:302. To be on the safe side, note that in this passage the critical Kant makes it clear that he is opposed to this metaphysical idea of the 'One'. But the passage leaves little room for doubt that he thinks that if one does thinks metaphysically, this Spinozist idea is necessary—is the only consistent way to represent the realissimum. Moreover, his wording evokes the terms used in the Beweisgrund: Kant speaks of the realissimum as the material ground of possibility.

33

to Spinozism, the demand for an answer is even more urgent. Kant explains (albeit in

passing) that he rejects the demonstration on the basis of the Critique's doctrine of

transcendental illusion. I will argue that insofar as this doctrine holds against Spinozism,

the demonstration is successfully rejected—the ideal's status is secured as regulative.

Before entering into the details of Kant's demonstration, it is worth mentioning a

comment made by Jacobi, in the Introduction to his David Hume (1787). Jacobi is known

today for his thesis that "there is no philosophy but the philosophy of Spinoza." The

rationality of the Enlightenment, he argued—more specifically the Enlightenment's

endorsement of the PSR—leads necessarily to Spinozism.9 In an autobiographical

comment in David Hume Jacobi recalls what philosophical work made him see this

conclusion. It was neither the Ethics nor any other treatise by the Spinoza but, indeed,

Kant's Beweisgrund. That essay shows, writes Jacobi, not only that God's existence can

be demonstrated, but also for what God a demonstration is possible: it is the God of

Spinoza, an infinite substance, devoid of understanding and will.

7 See for example W. H Walsh, Kant's Criticism of Metaphysics (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1975), p. 218; M. Fisher and E. Watkins: "Kant on the Material Ground of Possibility: From the Only Possible Argument to the Critique of Pure Reason," The Review of Metaphysics 1998, 52(2), p. 369-397.

This is noticed by D. Henrich in Der Grund im Bewusstsein: Untersuchungen zu Hoelderlins Denken (1794-1795) (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1992), p. 50f. But Henrich doesn't elaborate on this point. Interpreters sometimes suggest that in the Ideal Kant "passes in silence" over his pre-critical demonstration. See for example Walsh, Kant's Criticism of Metaphysics, p. 218; Fisher and Watkins, "Kant on the Material Ground of Possibility: From the Only Possible Argument to the Critique of Pure Reason"; I. Logan: "Whatever Happened to Kant's Ontological Argument" Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 2007, LXXXIV (2).

9 For historical analysis of the Streit, see F. Beiser The Fate of Reason, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993), p. 44-126. We will see below that Kant unequivocally agrees on this point with Jacobi. But he believes that his transcendental philosophy suggests an answer to that challenge, saving the Enlightenment's rationality from Spinozism. Reinhold made the latter thesis public, in his first Briefen iiber die Kantische Philosophie (published at 1786-7). Kant repeats it in the Preface of the Critique's second edition, when he writes that only transcendental idealism can answer fatalism atheism and freethinking; and when he writes that he "had to deny knowledge in order to make room for faith" (Bxxiv-xxxi). See chapter five.

34

Scholars sometimes dismiss Jacobi's reading of Kant as "tendentious." Jacobi,

writes Beiser, "enthusiastically endorsed Kant's new proof of the existence of God... but

he accepted it with one significant qualification, one that would have horrified Kant:

namely, that it was true only for Spinoza's God. Kant, in Jacobi's view, had unwittingly

demonstrated the necessity of pantheism." Jacobi's interpretation of the Beweisgrund,

however, needs to be taken seriously. Kant himself was aware of his Spinozist

commitment.

I

1. Kant opens the essay by criticizing the traditional ontological argument. His

argument is well known to modern readers from the Critique: existence is not a (real)

predicate. A subject's essence is "completely determined," Kant argues, regardless of its

existential status: "The actual contains no more than the merely possible, a hundred

actual thalers do not contain the least [coin] more than a hundred possible thalers,"

despite the fact that the actual ones "have more effect on my financial condition than the

mere concept of them (that is, their possibility) does" (A599/B627). The point is that if

existence were a real predicate, the concept of the possible hundred dollars and the

concept of the actual hundred dollars would not be identical—which, Kant claims, is

absurd. The above quote is taken from the Critique but Kant had made an equivalent

argument some twenty years earlier, in the Beweisgrund. Here, he uses Julius Caesar as

10 See F. Beiser The Fate of Reason, p. 54f.

1' M. Frank is more sympathetic to Jacobi, observing that there is at least a "hint" of truth in Jacobi's reading ("Unendliche Annaeherung" [Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1997], p. 666). Frank develops his discussion in another direction, showing that Kant's analysis of existence as "absolute positing" is pregnant with Spinozist implications. See below.

35

an example: "Combine in him all his conceivable predicates, not excluding even those of

time and place"; "you will quickly see that with all of these determinations he can exist or

not exist."12

The conclusion is that existence is not a "real predicate" (Bestimmung). In a

thing's concept, or essence, no predicate is missing—regardless of its existential or modal

status. Furthermore, because existence is not a predicate, it does not participate in any

essence—not even in God's. God's essence may enclose all predicates and still lack

existence. It follows that there is no contradiction in the thought that God does not exist;

the ontological argument fails. This enables Kant to claim that the alternative "basis of

demonstration" he elaborates is the "only possible one."

2. Given the conclusion that existence is not a predicate, Kant introduces new

definitions, to be used in the alternative demonstration. He defines existence (Dasein)

as "the absolute position of the thing." A being absolutely posited is one that cannot be

conceived as a predicate or property of another. The meaning of that term is "totally

simple" Kant says, and cannot be explicated further; it is "identical with the notion of

being in general."14 To that absolute notion, he contrasts the "relative positioning of a

l2BDG AA 2:72f.

BThis refutation is lacking. Kant assumes that it is possible to have a complete concept of a merely possible being. A necessitarian like Spinoza could object that in a strictly necessitarian framework this is impossible and, hence, that there is no reason to think that existence is not a predicate after all. This is argued for by M. Delia Rocca in "A Rationalist Manifesto: Spinoza and the Principle of Sufficient Reason," Philosophical Topics 2003 (31), p. 65-93.1 consider this challenge in detail and offer a Kantian answer in chapter four.

I4BDG AA 2:74-6. For more discussion of 'absolute positing', see W. Rod: "Existenz als Absolute Position. Uberlegungen zu Kants Existenz-Auffassung im Einzig Moglichen Beweisgrund," in ed. G. Funke and T. Seebohm, Proceedings: The Sixth International Kant Congress (Washington D.C: The University Press of America, 1989), p. 67-81.

36

thing." A thing thus posited cannot be regarded as properly existing. It is thought

merely as a property of a thing, a predicate of a subject. Kant explains that relative

positioning is identical with "the copulative concept in a judgment." For example, in

the proposition 'a rose is red', the predicate, 'red', is only relatively posited (this is not

Kant's example). It is ascribed to the rose, as a predicate, by 'is'—the copula of the

proposition. However, because existence (or absolute positioning) is not a predicate,

the copula expresses no existential claim; the property 'red' is assigned no existential

status by that judgment.'

II

1. I will analyze Kant's essay in accounting for the following steps:

1. Internal possibility (the essence of a thing) depends on formal and material

possibility.

2. Formal possibility (the logical consistency between a concept's predicates)

depends on material possibility (the predicates themselves).

From this definitional steps Kant continues to elaborate his argument:

3. Material possibility is grounded in something actually existing.

4. Necessarily, something is possible.

I5BDGAA2:75.

16 To illuminate the difference between absolute positing (existence) and relative positing (predicate) Kant invokes the following example:

This relational being [expressed by the copula] is quite properly used even for relations that non-entities [Undinge] have to one another. For example, Spinoza's God is subject to incessant modifications (BDG AA 2:74).

37

5. Necessarily, something exists. [By 3 and 4]

6. There is a being that exist necessarily.

7. There can be only one necessary being.

The crucial step is from 5 to 6. That step requires additional assumptions; we will see that

these are based on the PSR and carry significant metaphysical implications. Let us

examine the stages of the argument in order.

2. The first proposition is the claim that a thing's "internal possibility" requires not

only "formal possibility" but also "material possibility." "Internal possibility" is identical

with a thing's essence; "formal possibility" stands for the logical relation between the

predicates that participate in that essence; "material possibility" is that set of participating

predicates, regardless of their formal relation to one another. Kant considers these

predicates to be the "content of thought," the "real element" of a judgment.17

The separation of material from formal possibility relies on the following claim:

A quadrangular triangle is absolutely impossible. Nonetheless, a triangle

is something, and so is a quadrangle. The impossibility is based simply on

the logical relations which exist between one thinkable thing and another,

where the one cannot be a characteristic mark of the other. Likewise, in

every possibility we must first distinguish the something which is thought,

17 BDG AA 2: 77

38

and then we must distinguish the agreement of what is thought in it with

18

the law of contradiction.

Judgments of possibility employing the principle of contradiction determine the relation

between "something" [Etwas] and "something" else (a predicate and a predicate or a

predicate and a thing). Thus, internal possibility consists of a formal element and a

material one: the formal element is the relation posited between the predicates,

determined according to the principle of contradiction; the material element consists of

those things of which the relation is posited.

Another example may help explain Kant's claim. The notion of a right triangle is

internally possible because 'having three sides' and 'having an angle of 90 degrees' are

not contradictory. This judgment does not involve only the formal element of possibility

(lack of contradiction) but also the material element (the given predicates). First, the

given predicates may not be contradictory themselves: had they been contradictory, the

concept involving them would have been inconsistent as well. But more significantly, a

right triangle's possibility also relies on the said predicates: it depends on the predicates

('90 degrees'; 'having three sides' etc.) being in some sense given, or available to

thought.19 Let this be principle Dl:

'*BDG AA2:77

191 refer here to the availability or givenness of predicates to thought as their existence, but it is important to remember that Kant does not consider this as existence in the strict sense of the word. This is only relative, not absolute positing (see above).

39

[D1 ] The possibility of an essence does not depend merely on the principle of

contradiction. It relies on formal and material elements. The first is

consistency according to the principle of contradiction, the second the

availability, or givenness, of the predicates.

The meaning of "availability" or "giveness" at this stage is somewhat ambiguous. Still,

Dl makes sense. Given that formal consistency is a kind of relation, it is hard to see how

such consistency can be conceived without the material element—the building blocks of

that relation. The following steps of Kant's demonstration consist in further unpacking

the conditions for something to be given, or available, to thought.

From here, Kant takes a step further. He argues that formal possibility depends on

material possibility, because judgments by the principle of contradiction are possible only

if the material element is given, available to thought, prior to judgment. When

determining formal possibility, one must consider predicates that are already given. Let

this be D2:

[D2] Formal possibility depends on material possibility.

D2 is plausible. The formal relation combines two (or more) separate elements in one

concept. It is hard to see how such a combination would be possible if the separate

elements were not given—available to thought prior to the judgment in which they join

into a concept.

BDG AA 2:111

40

3. Thus presented, the material element of possibility may be regarded as relative or

context-dependent. In the example of a right triangle, the concepts 'triangle' and 'having

an angle of 90 degrees' function as elements of material possibility, but each must be

internally possible as well. This requires, in turn, not only that these notions be formally

consistent but also that the material elements of their essences be provided: 'side',

'angle', 'three', 'extension', etc. Kant argues that the notion of possibility requires that

the material element, at bottom, refer to ontologically stable ground. The most

fundamental building blocks of material possibility, he argues, must exist. Kant explains

this with the example of'extension':

Given that you cannot analyze the concept of extension any further into simpler

data [...] as you must necessarily come anyway in the end to something whose

possibility cannot be analyzed, then the question here is whether space and

extension are empty words or whether they denote something [...] If space does

not exist, or is not at least given as a consequence through something existing,

then the word space means nothing at all.

Let this be principle D3:

[D3] Material possibility is given in something actually existing.

If D2 is accepted, D3 is at least plausible. Given that possibility depends on the priority,

or the givenness of the material element, this element must at bottom be more than a

21 BDG AA 2: 78

41

mere concept: whereas the meaning of concepts is determined by analysis, the meaning

of simple notions cannot be accounted for by analysis. And given that by D2 these

notions must be given as the material elements of possibility, it is hard to see how they

are given if not as existing. Without reference to existence, Kant says, these notions

would be "empty words."22

D3 also relies on the PSR, formulated by Kant in the Critique in the following

way: "if the conditioned is given, the whole series of conditions... which is therefore

itself unconditioned—is likewise given [i.e. exists]" (A308/B364). (By the PSR, the

complete explanatory series must itself unconditionally exist, because otherwise its

existence would require further explanation and not everything would be ultimately

explained.) Formulating that principle over modality: if something is possible, the

complete series of the conditions of this possibility—a series which itself exists

unconditionally—must be given as well. Otherwise the fact that something is possible

will not be ultimately explained, which is rejected by the PSR.

Note that Kant claims in the above-quoted passage that the material element of

possibility can be given either as something existing or at least "as a consequence [Folge]

of something existing." Later on he uses more specific terms, writing that material

possibility may be given as a determination (Bestimmung) of something existing (i.e. a

property), or as its "consequence" (Folge). This distinction, between determinations and

consequences, will become crucial. Possibilities grounded in "determinations" are

certainly not ontologically independent substances—they are properties inhering in the

22 It is interesting to note the similarity between Kant's present claim and his argument in the Aesthetic of the Critique of Pure Reason. The insight that the most fundamental notions must be more than conceptual occurs also in the Critique: whereas here these notions are regarded as "actually existing," the Critique transforms them (space and time) into forms of sensible intuition.

42

being in which they are grounded. The question is whether Kant thinks of

"consequences" (finite entities) as ontologically independent substances or, perhaps,

regards them, too, as properties inhering in the being that grounds them. The answer to

that question will become clear as we move along.

4. Kant's next step is from D3 to the claim that, necessarily, something exists. This

can be established if it is the case that, necessarily, something is possible. Kant defends

that proposition by arguing that the state of affairs in which nothing is possible is itself

impossible. Of course, he cannot ground that claim with the aid of the principle of

contradiction. He has argued that contradiction is a relation obtaining between pre-given

existing elements (Dl-2) and, therefore, there can be no contradiction where nothing

exists. Kant is well aware of this. "There is no internal contradiction," he writes, in a state

of affairs "involving a complete deprivation of all existence."

The proposition that "it is absolutely impossible that nothing is possible" is

justified by the claim that these terms ("absolutely [schlechterdings] impossible" and

"nothing is possible") are identical, "meaning the same thing."24 Kant seems to think that

he is stating an analytic proposition: if absolutely nothing is possible, then nothing is

possible, including the claim that nothing is possible. ("Absolutely" here is meant to

extend the claim over the state of affairs in which nothing is possible, or over the claim,

"nothing is possible"). If this is so, it is inconsistent to say that absolutely nothing is

possible. Accordingly, necessarily, something is possible.

BDG AA 2: 79

BDG AA 2: 79

43

As some readers have suggested, this argument seems like a trick of words.

However, the claim that it is impossible that nothing is possible can also be supported by

the PSR. Kant does not offer such a justification explicitly but, given that the

Beweisgrund otherwise relies heavily on the PSR, it is reasonable that he would be

content to argue along the following lines. (1) If we demand that modal claims be fully

explained (as Kant certainly does, for example in D3), then there has to be a reason for

nothing being possible just as much as for something being possible. However, (2) if

nothing is possible, nothing exists. But then (3) there can be no reason why nothing is

possible. Therefore (4) something is possible. Thus, whereas the idea that nothing is

possible isn't contradictory, it is rejected by the PSR.

Let that be D4:

[D4] Necessarily, something is possible.

From D4 onwards the argument moves in a familiar Kantian way: it states that

something is possible [by D4] and moves on to inquire about the necessary conditions of

possibility. Moreover, the next step quite immediately follows; from D4 and D3 it is

concluded that, necessarily, something exists. Let that be D5:

[D5] Necessarily, something exists.

25 R. Adams, "God, Possibility, and Kant," Faith and Philosophy 2000, 17(4), p. 431.

26 To be sure, it is not my intention here to show that that argument actually works. Objections can be raised against the way in which the PSR is applied in this context, as well as to the application of the PSR in the first place. (Kant himself raises the latter objection in the critical period. More below.)

44

5. The next step is crucial. From D5, Kant needs to show that there is a being that

exists necessarily. That is, he needs to exclude the possibility that possibility is grounded

in beings that exist contingently. Now, from D4 it follows that if a single being grounds

all possibilities, that being exists necessarily. For the non-existence of that being would

abolish all possibility, which contradicts the claim that necessarily, something is possible.

(To be sure, I mean 'single' in the following strong sense: (1) all possibilities are

grounded in one being; (2) it is not the case that two (or more) entities ground all

possibilities; see more below.) And indeed, Kant assumes in the Beweisgrund—an

assumption he repeats throughout his career—that only a single being can ground all

possibilities. "That whose annulment or negation eradicates all possibility," he writes, "is

absolutely necessary." "The necessary being contains (enthalt) the ultimate ground of

the possibility of all other beings." Let this be D6:

[D6] All possibility is grounded in a single being.

M. Fisher and E. Watkins contend that it is hard to see why Kant thinks that D6 is true.

"One may agree with Kant that each possibility requires a material ground, but reject his

98

claim that there is one being which serves to ground all possibilities," they write. This is

indeed a deficiency of Kant's essay but not in the argument itself. Pace Fisher and

Watkins, the PSR justifies D6 in the following way. First, by the PSR, all possibilities

27BDGAA2:81f.

28 M. Fisher and E. Watkins: "Kant on the Material Ground of Possibility: From the Only Possible Argument to the Critique of Pure Reason", p. 375 ft. 15.

45

must be grounded. For if some possibilities weren't grounded, there would be

inexplicable possibilities, which is rejected by the PSR. Second, by the PSR, only a single

being can ground all possibilities. For if all possibilities must be grounded, then relations

and inter-relations between possibilities must be grounded as well. However, only a

single being can ground all such relations: had certain grounds of possibility been

scattered in two or more beings, the relation(s) between these beings themselves would

have had to be grounded by yet another being—and so regressively ad infinitum. But

then, not all possibilities would be grounded. Now, given that Kant does, as Fisher and

Watkins observe, endorse D6, it is probable that he assumes this (or a similar) argument,

albeit implicitly. It may be noted that Leibniz uses the same PSR-argument in his

argument for the existence of God from the existence of necessary truths. But more

telling here is the fact that later in his career Kant indeed reasons along analogous lines,

and in some of the most essential doctrines of the Critique. Consider for example Kant's

account of the transcendental unity of apperception: he argues that it must be possible to

ascribe all representations to a single subject of thought, because only a single subject

One may object that the relation between two entities need not be grounded by a third entity, but can be grounded by both of them, simultaneously. Thus one may try to argue that whatever grounds possibles— say, a plurality of platonic ideas—can also ground the relation between the possibles. This seems to me unsatisfactory, however. The question, from the standpoint of the PSR, will be what grounds the relations between these ideas.

301 take that argument to also exclude the possibility that two (or more) beings may ground all possibilities. For if two (or more) beings grounded all possibility, the relation between these beings, too, would have to be grounded. It is hard to see how that relation could be grounded if not by a third entity (see ft. 29). But then, not all possible relations are grounded in either of the said entities. Kant offers a similar argument, which I unpack below in more detail.

3'Leibniz argues that all truths, including relational ones, must be grounded by an existing being (at least by God thinking these truths); and that grounding all of these requires a single being. By that argument, Leibniz excludes a 'Platonic' account of grounding of truths, in which grounds can be scattered in different ideas. (See Leibniz, "Vorausedition zur Reihe VI," Philosophische Schriften—in derAusgabe der Wissenschaften der DDR, Bearbeitet von der Leibniz-Forschingsstelle der Universitdt Munster. Fascicles 1-9, 1982-90). See Adams' discussion in "God, Possibility and Kant" p. 434f., as well as Adams' Leibniz Determinist, Theist, Idealist (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 177-191.

46

can account for—make possible—the unity of experience. Which is to say: only a single

subject of thought could ground all relations and inter-relations between all possible

representations.

R. Adams has argued that Kant does not proceed on D6 but on the assumption

that a being is necessary if its non-existence abolishes any possibility (rather than all

possibility, as in D6).32 Call this assumption D6*. Adams acknowledges that D6, not

D6*, is Kant's "usual formula for necessary existence," but he insists that in the

Beweisgrund Kant must have assumed D6*. This line of interpretation runs contrary to

all, or almost all, existing interpretations.34 There is no doubt that Kant reiterates in the

Beweisgrund what Adams himself calls the "usual formula," i.e. D6. (Kant writes, for

example: "That whose negation eradicates all possibility is absolutely necessary"; "the

i f

necessary being contains the ultimate ground of the possibility of all other beings";

"that which contains the ultimate ground of an internal possibility also contains it for all

things in general";36 see also below.) Perhaps one reason behind Adams' interpretation is

the fact that Kant, as pointed out above, doesn't attempt to justify D6. But this is not a

compelling reason: first, because Kant explicitly relies on D6 in the essay—not on D6*—

Adams: "God, Possibility and Kant," p. 433.

33Ibid..

34 As noted above, Fischer and Watkins ascribe D6 to Kant in "Kant on the Material Ground of Possibility"; see also A. Wood's Kant's Rational Theology (Ithaca/London: Cornell University Press, 1978), p. 67; Logan: "Whatever Happened to Kant's Ontological Argument" p. 353. The only exception known to me is Andrew Chignell who on this point seems to follow Adams (in "Kant, Real Possibility, and the Threat of Spinozism" [unpublished manuscript]). I believe that Chignell takes D6* to obviously be Kant's view (rather than D6) (in any event he doesn't offer a justification for diverging from the common view).

3 5BDGAA2:81

36 BDG AA 2: 83

47

even if he doesn't try to justify it; and second, because Kant does have a Kantian

justification of D6 at his disposal (considered above). Perhaps another motivation for

Adams' insistence on D6* is that he sees D6's metaphysical implications. He points out

that if Kant justified D6 by the PSR-argument that all relations and inter-relations must

be grounded, he would be committed to the view that God "exemplifies" all possibilities.

But whereas Kant may have thought that God thinks all possibilities, Adams holds, he

didn't think that God exemplifies all possibilities. This observation, however, is only

partly accurate. It is true that D6 commits Kant to the view that God exemplifies all

possibilities. To use Kant's own terminology, D6 commits him to the view that all

possibilities are in God (in ihm)—that God contains (enthali) all possibility. However, we

will see that this is a commitment that Kant saw and, pace Adams, approved—"despite

all protestations against Spinozism," as Kant wrote. We will return to this.

6. It follows from D5 and D6 that there is a being that exists necessarily. But in what

sense is it the ground of all possibility? How does Kant understand the grounding

relation? The Beweisgrund is somewhat unclear about this. Kant said that all possibility

must be ultimately grounded by something existing, and he pointed out that such

possibilities maybe grounded either in "determinations" (Bestimmungeri) of the existing

thing, or in its "consequences" (Folgeri). By 'determinations' he clearly means properties

of the existing being: possibilities grounded in determinations are thus possibilities that

are grounded because they inhere in the existing being; it is in this sense that the non-

Adams: "God, Possibility and Kant," p. 433.

FM AA 20:302.

48

existence of the said being would abolish them. But how does Kant understand the

grounding relation between possibilities grounded in consequences (finite, complex

beings) and the (necessarily existing) being that grounds them? Are consequences, like

determinations, properties of that being? Or are they ontologically separate beings?

To be sure: we've already established that the necessary being grounds all

possibilities. The question, again, is how Kant understands the grounding relation. There

are two possibilities. First: consequences (finite beings) are ontologically separate from

the necessary being; they ground possibilities by existing (as required by D2); however,

as finite beings, they must be created by a necessary being, and it is in this sense that all

possibility depends on a single being. Second: consequences, like determinations, are

properties of the necessary being; they inhere in it. In this sense all possibility depends

on a single being—it is in this sense that if that being didn't exist, nothing would be

possible.

The first alternative can be ruled out, for it is all too obviously the cosmological

argument. On that alternative, Kant's demonstration boils down to the claim that, in order

to exist, contingent beings must be created by a necessary being. But of course, re-stating

the cosmological argument was not Kant's intention when he set out to provide the new

and "only possible" demonstration of God's existence. More precisely: Kant's

Beweisgrund relies on an analysis of the (necessary) conditions of possibility. It attempts

to show why a being that grounds all possibility necessarily exists. On the first

alternative, however, the necessity of the necessary being would not be accounted for by

an analysis of the conditions of possibility. It would be accounted for by the cosmological

argument, which is to say: by an analysis of the conditions of a contingent being coming

49

into existence. It is hard to believe that Kant could overlook this difference, just as it is

hard to believe that he was interested in merely restating the cosmological argument.

The other way to understand Kant's claim that the necessary being is necessary as

the 'ground of all possibility' is to recognize that he assumes that all possibilities,

including those grounded by what he calls "consequences," inhere in that being. Kant's

language indeed indicates that this is what he has in mind, as he writes that the necessary

being "contains," or "encloses" (enthdlf), all possibility. Furthermore, speaking about the

ideal as the 'ground of all possibility' in the Critique, Kant unequivocally spells out that

he thinks of the grounding-relation as one of inherence:

it is not merely a concept which, as regards its transcendental content,

comprehends all predicates under itself, it also contains them within itself,

and the complete determination of any and every thing rests on this All of

Reality [dieses All der Realitat] (A 577/ B605; emphasis added).39

This passage is by no means spurious. I will have more to say about it and similar

ones below. Let us return to the last stages of the argument.

7. Kant presents a separate argument to the effect that there can be only a single

being that grounds all possibility. The argument proceeds as the following. (1) "Because

the necessary being contains (enthdlf) the ultimate ground of the possibility of all other

The structural identity between the 'ground of all possibility' described in the Ideal of Pure Reason and the ground of all possibility described in the Beweisgrund is undisputed (see for example Walsh's Kant's Criticism of Metaphysics p. 214-19). Of course in the Ideal the status of the said entity is modified; it is taken to be a regulative ideal, not an existing entity. Here, however, we are not concerned with the Ideal's existential status but with its conceptual structure, which is the same in both texts.

50

beings, every other being is possible only insofar as it is given through it as a ground"

[D6]. Therefore, (2) possibilities of all other beings "depend on it." However, (3) a being

whose possibility depends on another "does not contain the ultimate ground of all

possibility." (For at least one possibility, namely its own, is contained in another being.)

Therefore, (4) "the necessary being is unitary," which is to say: a 'ground of all

possibility' there can be only one.40

Adams, assuming that Kant relies on D6* rather than on D6, argues that Kant's

demonstration fails at this stage.41 And there is no doubt that, from his perspective,

Adams is right. If Kant were relying on the assumption that a necessary being is one on

which some (but not all) possibilities depend (D6*), there would be no reason for him to

conclude that there can't be several necessary beings. However, as we have seen, Kant

relies on the assumption that all possibilities are grounded in the necessary being. Adams

fails to observe that Kant's words in this context reinforce his commitment to D6 (cf.

"because all possibility is contained in the necessary being..."; "a being whose

possibility depends on another does not contain the ground of all possibility..."). Adams'

reading is thus at odds with the principle of charity, not merely because on that reading

Kant's argument fails but because it obviously fails. And what is more, because it is hard

to see why Kant would think "any" but repeatedly write "all."

4U BDG AA 2:83f.

41 Adams: "God, Possibility and Kant," p. 434.

42 The same difficulties also confront Chignell's interpretation. Like Adams, he ascribes to Kant D6* rather than D6. This brings him to claim that Kant's argument that there can be only one necessary being is "hopeless" (p. 18). However, the argument appears hopeless only if one fails to observe that Kant operates on the (quite reasonable) assumption that the necessary being is one that grounds all possibility. Note that already before the Beweisgrund, in the New Elucidation, which contains the Beweisgrund's argument in nuce, Kant leaves no room for doubt about the way in which he builds his demonstration, "...nothing can be

51

In any case, on the assumption that all possibilities are grounded in a necessary

being, Kant's argument is plausible. A necessary being, a ground of all possibility, there

can be only one.

8. For convenience, here is an overview of the argument:

1. Dl: Internal possibility (a thing's essence) depends not only on the formal

element of possibility (the consistency of the predicates participating in the

essence) but also on a real or "material element" (the predicates or properties

participating in the essence).

2. D2: Formal possibility depends on material possibility. Contradiction is a relation

posited between given predicates or things. There is no contradictory/consistent

relation where nothing is pre-given that can enter into relations.

3. D3: Possibility is grounded in something actually existing. (By the PSR, if

something is possible, there is something in virtue of which it is possible; further,

by the PSR, ultimate grounds, existing unconditionally, must ground possibility;

otherwise the fact that something is possible would remain inexplicable.)

4. D4: Necessarily, something is possible. Kant considers it impossible that

absolutely nothing is possible. This claim can also be justified by the PSR. If

nothing is possible then nothing exists. But, then, there can be no reason why

nothing is possible. Therefore, something is possible.

5. D5: Necessarily, something exists. [By D3 and D4]

conceived as possible unless whatever is real in every possible concept exists and indeed exists absolutely necessary...Furthermore, it is necessary that this entire reality should be united together in a single being" PNDAA 1:395.

52

6. D6: All possibility is grounded in a single being. [By the PSR, all possibilities,

including relations and possible relations, have to be grounded. But this can be the

case if and only if the same being grounds all possibilities; had different

possibilities been grounded in two or more beings, the relations between these

beings would have to be grounded as well by yet another being etc.; by the PSR,

this cannot regress ad infinitum.]

7. There is a being that exists necessarily. [By A6 and D5]

8. There is only one necessary being. [By D6, a necessary being is a being on which

all possibilities depend. Therefore, if two necessary beings existed, the possibility

of each of these would have to be grounded in the other. But then, for each being

there would be at least one possibility whose ground were external to it (namely,

its own possibility). But then, that being would not be necessary].

This argument commits Kant to Spinozism in several ways. First, the claim that

fundamental (non-analyzable) possibilities exist as divine determinations

(Bestimmungeri) invites the conclusion that space is a divine attribute. To be sure, Kant's

term 'determination', implying limitation, may seem inappropriate for describing

something like a Spinozist attribute, which is infinite. However, Kant uses this term also

when explicitly describing Spinoza's conception of attributes. For example, in the

Critique of Practical Reason he writes that if transcendental idealism "is denied, nothing

remains but Spinozism, in which space and time are essential determinations

53

[Bestimmungen] of the original being itself." Note that Kant uses extension as a chief

example of a fundamental property:

"Is a body in itself possible?" Because you must not call upon experience here

you will enumerate for me the data of its possibility; namely extension,

impenetrability, force, and who knows what else, and add that there is no

internal conflict therein. I grant all of this... and yet you must give me some

justification of your right immediately to assume the concept of extension as a

datum: for assuming that it denotes nothing, the possibility of the body for

which it is a datum is an illusion. It would also be quite wrong to appeal to

experience for the sake of this datum, for the question is just whether there is

an internal possibility of a fiery body even if absolutely nothing exists. Granted

that henceforth you cannot analyze the concept of extension into simpler data

in order to show that there is no conflict in it, since you must necessarily

finally come to something whose possibility cannot be analyzed, then the

question here is whether space and extension are only empty words or whether

they denote something...44

AA KpV 5:102. Note that Kant makes a mistake, ascribing to Spinoza the view that space and time are divine attributes (determinations). In fact, Spinoza regards thought, not time, as a divine attribute alongside extension (space). Whereas for present purposes it matters only that Kant uses the term 'determinations' (Bestimmungen) for Spinozistic attributes, his mistake is telling. For it indicates that Kant thinks of Spinoza's system in the light of his own, in which time—not thought—is the second fundamental notion, alongside space (extension). Kant, in other words, seems to think that his own system takes what had been, for transcendental realism, divine attributes, and transforms them into forms of sensible intuition. To be sure, 'thought' and 'time' are not equivalent to one another, despite being importantly similar. For Kant, time, as the form of inner sense, is the medium in which all thought takes place; for Spinoza, by contrast, thought is prior to time. It is very plausible that as a result of this similarity-with-difference Kant slips and ascribes to Spinoza the view that space and time are divine attributes. The disagreement between Kant and Spinoza regarding the priority of time to thought constitutes a key difference between them. I hope to return to consider that difference—which seems to lead directly to Hegel—on a different occasion.

54

Given that Kant arrives at the conclusion that the most fundamental properties, like

extension, is a divine determination, the Spinozist threat is clear. Every contemporary of

Kant's would have to wonder how, or if, Kant intends to evade the conclusion that

extension just is a divine attribute. Later in his career Kant says something by way of

answering that question. In Lectures on Metaphysics he comments that "if I take space to

be a thing in itself, then Spinozism is inevitable; that is, the parts of the world are parts of

the deity. Space is the deity." To be sure, in the second Critique Kant argues that a

Leibnizian-idealist conception of space (and time) cannot avoid Spinozism, either. It is

inconsistent, Kant writes, to maintain that space and time are essential determinations of

created entities, but deny that God—who created these entities—has these

determinations:

I do not see how those who insist on regarding time and space as

determinations belonging to the existence of things in themselves would avoid

fatalism of actions; or if (like the otherwise acute Mendelssohn) they flatly

allow both of them [time and space] to be conditions necessarily belonging

only to the existence of finite and derived beings but not to that of the infinite

44 BDG AA 2:78.

45Kant certainly sees the common interest of theologians to deny spatiality from God, for example in B70-2.

46ML2 AA 28:567. See also V-MP/Dohna: "If we take space as real, we accept Spinoza's system" (AA 133; my translation). As well as V-MP-K3E/Arnoldt: "Those who take space as a thing in itself or as a property of things, are forced to be Spinozists, i.e., they take the world as the embodiment [Inbegriefj] of determinations from one necessary substance... Space as something necessary would have been also an attribute [Eigenschaft] of God, and all things [would have] existed in space, thus in God." (AA 132). See also V-MP-K3E/Arnoldt 65f. The crucial question is what argument brings Kant to this view. In chapter three I argue that this is an argument he presents in the fourth antinomy.

55

original being—I do not see how they would justify themselves in making

such a distinction, whence they get a warrant to do so, or even how they

would avoid the contradiction they encounter when they regard existence in

time as a determination attaching necessarily to finite things in themselves,

while God is said to be the cause of this existence but cannot be the cause of

time.47

This brings Kant to the claim, mentioned in passing above, that if transcendental idealism

is denied "only Spinozism remains, in which space and time are essential determinations

of the original being itself."

Further, Kant's argument comes dangerously close—and arguably even closer

than that—to substance monism. The fundamental premise of the argument is the

assumption, supported by D4, that a being that grounds all possibility necessarily exists.

The argument clearly fails if grounds of possibilities can be scattered in different beings,

or grounded by finite (complex) entities—and by D6 they cannot be. Thus all

possibilities—whether grounded in God's determinations or consequences (Folgen)—

inhere in the necessary being. This invites comparison to Spinoza's substance monism, in

which one being exists necessarily (substance) and everything else is considered as its

properties—attributes (determinations) and modes (consequences).

4 /KpVAA 5:102.

48 KpV AA 5:102. In the Critique's Aesthetic, Kant reiterates the same argument, but without mentioning Spinoza or Spinozism. In a passage inserted into the Critique's second edition, he writes that if space and time are regarded as properties of things in themselves, one has no right (Recht) to deny that these are divine attributes. Thus, only transcendental idealism has the right to deny this conclusion (B 7If.).

56

How genuine and unambiguous this association with substance monism is

depends on whether Kant identifies consequences with existing finite things. The

Beweisgrund is committed to full-blown Spinozism only if he does, and the text is

somewhat unclear about it. If Kant does not associate 'consequences' with existing things

(but only with their 'possibility') then the argument—despite its Spinozistic strands and

dangers—may still look compatible with a Leibnizian version (and I take it this is the

way this argument is usually read). However, in some instances the text seems to talk of

'consequences' interchangeably with existing worldly objects;49 and it appears that

Kant's argument fails if consequences aren't finite existing things.50 What is clear enough

is that elsewhere in his writings Kant unambiguously recognizes that the being that serves

as the material ground of all possibility contains all existing things; and that he explicitly

associates the conception of that being with Spinoza's God. For example, referring back

to the Critique'?, ideal Kant writes:

See BDG AA 2:84. Kant seems to identify consequences (Folgen) with contingent existing particulars. (To be sure, I find this passage obscure and it is far from my intention to rely on it as significant textual evidence; see more below.)

50 Whereas Leibniz thought that God grounds possibilities by thinking them, Kant holds that God grounds possibilities by exemplifying them (see especially Adams' "God, Possibility and Kant" p. 433f.). But then if I, as a finite being, exist as a substance that doesn't inhere in God, God doesn't seem to exemplify (i.e. ground) those possibilities that I ground by existing. If this is so, the argument fails, for a being exists necessarily only if all possibilities are grounded by its existence (and grounded not, as we have seen above, by a relation of creation, which would render the argument, again, the cosmological argument). Adams seems to assume just this point when he decides to revise D6 into D6*. He reasons that if Kant operates on the assumption that a being is necessary iff all possibilities are grounded by it, the argument would fail: "Your existence or mine," writes Adams, "would surely be enough to give a toehold in reality (though precariously contingent one) to the possibilities of those properties that we exemplify. So God's nonexistence would not take away all possibility unless it excluded the existence of beings like us" ("God, Possibility and Kant," p. 434). As we have seen above, this leads Adams to revise Kant's argument and claim that it relies on D6* (a being that grounds any possibility is necessary). As we now see, however, there is no need to render D6 into D6*; Kant's argument doesn't fail with D6 because all possibilities— including those exemplified by finite beings like us—are grounded in God. (Of course this argument, too, is open to interpretation; my interpretation relies on the textual evidence presented below, which I believe leaves no room to doubt that Kant thinks of finite existing things as inhering in the being that grounds all possibility.)

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This One [...] contains the material for production of all other possible things,

as the supply of marble does for an infinite multitude of statues, which are

altogether possible only through limitation (separation of the remainder from a

certain part of the whole, thus only through negation) [...] In a world

fashioned this way one comes strongly to suspect that this metaphysical God

(the realissimum) is one with the world (despite all protestations against

Spinozism), as the totality of all existing things (my emphases).51

In Lectures on Metaphysics he explains:

The conceptus originarius of Being in general, which is supposed to be the

ground of all concepts of things, is a concept of the ens realissimum. All

concepts of negations are derivative, and so we must first have real concepts if

we want to have negative ones. The embodiment [Inbegriff] of all realities is

considered also as the stock [Magazin] from which we take all the matter for

the concepts of all beings. Philosophers name 'evil' the formal, and 'good' the

material. This formal can mean only the limitation [Einschrankung] of all

reality, through which things [Dinge] with realities and negations, i.e. finite

things are produced. All difference between things is thus a difference of form

51 FM AA 20:302. In some reflections made in the Opus postumum, Kant repeats similar claims and goes even further, writing that "Transcendental idealism is Spinozism," insofar as it "it intuits all objects in God." But I do not enter here into the problematic of Kant's Opus postumum. For discussion of Kant's comments on Spinozism in the Opus postumum, see B.Tuschling: "Transzendentaler Idealismus ist Spinozismus. Reflexionen von und ueber Kant und Spinoza," in: ed. E. Schuermann, N. Waszek and F. Weinreich, Spinoza im Deutschland. Zur Erinnerung an Hans-Christian Lucas, (Muenchen: Frommann-Holzboog, 2002), p. 139-167. Tuschling shows that Kant's identification of transcendental idealism as Spinozism in the Opus postumum is not the result of senility. My only reservation is that in light of the evidence brought here, Kant's intention may have been that transcendental idealism is committed to regulative Spinozism.

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[...] All conceptus ofentia limitata are conceptus derivativi and the conceptus

originarius for our reason is that of an ens realissimum. If I deduce the

existence of an ens realissimum from its concept, this is the way to

Spinozism.

These passages—speaking of the stock of all real possibilities, or of the material ground

of possibility—are clearly continuous with the Beweisgrund's conception. Both indicate

that Kant views finite existing things as inhering in God and both associate this

conception with Spinoza.

52 V-MP-K2/Heinze AA 28:706 (my translation). Consider also the following:

Metaphysical bonum is what has reality. God, seen as the metaphysical summum bonum, is the matter of all possibility. In our conception [of that being] there is always something anthropomorphic, and it directly approaches Spinozism (V-MP-K2/Heinze AA 28:20 [my translation]).

53 It is interesting to consider the connection between Kant's position that all possibilities inhere in

God to another Kantian doctrine—namely, the doctrine named by Ameriks "derivative influx" (see "The Critique of Metaphysics: Kant and Traditional Ontology," The Cambridge Companion to Kant [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992], p. 262-274). That doctrine consists in "the idea of a unifying God who makes things interactive in the very act that makes them what they are" (Ameriks, p. 262). This conception of Kant's seems connected to and possibly justified by the Beweisgrund's theory that all possibilities inhere in God. As Ameriks notes, Kant describes the derivative influx theory such that "there must be a being from which all derive. All substances have their ground in it" (V-MP/Dohna AA 28: 133), what brings Kant close to Spinozism (see also Ameriks' explanation of how Kant may have sought to avoid Spinozism by what Ameriks calls the "Restraint Argument." p. 263) It is important to notice that Kant recognizes also that 'derivative influx' is committed to Spinozism. He writes, for example, "There must be a being from which all derive. All substances have their ground in it. If we take space as real, we accept Spinoza's system. He believed that only in one substance and all substances in the world he held as—divine inhering determinations: he named space the phenomenon of the divine omnipresence" {V-MP/Dohna AA 28:133; translation mine). To be sure, Ameriks notes that (the critical) Kant may claim that 'derivative influx' leads to Spinozism by means of reducing this position ad absurdum. I believe, however, that putting this in this way may be too quick. For we know from other passages that Kant regards Spinozism as the "most consistent form of dogmatic metaphysics." Therefore, while this remark may well be a normative "threat" posed by Kant to transcendental realists, it does not seem that Kant thinks of it as a theoretical reductio.

59

The same view is also expressed in the Critique's Ideal of Pure Reason. Here Kant

speaks of all possibilities as inhering in the most real being, the 'All' of reality, as

limitations:

If, therefore, reason employs in the complete determination of things a

transcendental substrate that contains, as it were, the whole store of material

from which all possible predicates of things must be taken, this substrate

cannot be anything else than the idea of an All of reality {omnitudo realitatis).

All true negations are nothing but limitations [Einschrankungen]—a title

which would be inapplicable, were they not thus based upon the unlimited,

that is, upon "the All" (A575/B603).

Kant's recognition in the passages above that finite things are conceived as mere

("nothing but") limitations of the 'All' is telling. A prevailing objection to Spinozism—

which was famous in Kant's time and put forward by both Wolff and Mendelssohn—

unfairly ridiculed Spinoza's conception of substance as an unconditioned totality which is

produced as a sum—an aggregate of separate finite parts. They mistakenly argued, to use

Wolffs language, that Spinoza thinks of modes as Theile in dem Ganzem—parts in the

whole.54 Of course, Spinoza doesn't make this mistake: he holds that substance is

ontologically prior to its 'parts', which are nothing but mere limitations (substance is

Mendelssohn writes: [Wolff] proved that Spinoza believed that it is possible to produce, by combining together an infinite stock of finite qualities, an infinite [thing]; and then he proved the falsity of this belief so clearly, that I'm quite convinced that Spinoza himself would have applauded him.

(M. Mendelssohn: "Dialogues," in trans. D. Dahlstrom Philosophical Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) especially p. 96-105.)

60

ontologically simple). Thus, by insisting that the ideal's parts are contained within it as

mere limitations Kant closes off the possible Wolffian objection, remaining thereby

faithful to a genuine Spinozist conception. He repeats the same point later, as he

emphasizes that the 'All' contains all possibilities "as their ground, not as their sum"

(A579/B607).

Allison comments on this passage that Kant's "prime concern was to avoid the

Spinozistic implications of the identification of God with the sum total of reality."

Ward similarly argues that Kant's claim that the ideal is the ground but not the sum of all

possibilities reflects an attempt to dissociate himself from Spinoza. More recently,

Franks writes: "it is true that Kant talks at first of the omnitudo realitatis as if it were

identical with the ens realissimum, which might suggest a Spinozist construal. But Kant

explicitly revises his formulation, indicating that the omnitudo realitatis is grounded in

God, so that God is not to be identified with the sum-total of all reality." As evidence that

Kant revises his formulation Franks brings the same passage discussed by Allison and

Ward: "the supreme reality must condition the possibility of all things as their ground,

not of their sum" (A579/B607).57 Now while all three and especially Franks correctly

sense Spinoza's relevant here, they seem to me to misinterpret Kant's 'All' and—in this

context perhaps not less significantly—Spinoza's. Far from dissociating himself (or

"revising his formulation") Kant makes sure to remain faithful to a genuine Spinozist

conception. (Certainly, had Kant written that the 'All' is the sum of reality he wouldn't

'Kant's Transcendental Idealism, p. 403f.

"'Spinozism and Kant's Transcendental Ideal," Idealistic Studies 2002, 32, p. 229.

'Franks, All or Nothing, 96f.

61

have been a Spinozist—not a good one.) Significantly, when Kant classifies the kinds

of Pantheism in the Lectures on Metaphysics he marks Spinozism precisely as that kind

in which God is the ground rather than the 'aggregate' of all things:

Pantheism still has Spinozism as a special kind... I can say, everything is

God, and this is the system of Spinozism, or I can say the 'All' is God, like

Xenophanes said, and this is Pantheism. Pantheism is either one of inherence,

and this is Spinozism, or one of the aggregates... Spinoza says: the world is

inhering in God as accidents, and so worldly substances are his consequences

[ Wirkungen], and in itself exist only one substance... In Spinozism God is the

ground [Urgrund] of everything that is in the world. In Pantheism he is an

aggregate of everything that is in the world (my emphasis).59

8. Kant argues in the Beweisgrund that the necessary being whose existence he has

demonstrated has understanding and will. The argument relies on the claim that God, as

the being that possesses all possibilities, also has "the highest reality." The "maximum

possible" realities are inherent in it, Kant writes, and "both understanding and will" are

realities. Therefore, God has these properties.60

At first glance, this line of argument seems to contradict the Spinozist

interpretation I have given. A Spinozistic necessary being (substance) does not seem to

58 This is something that Franks knows well, for he comments on this point precisely when in the very next pages he points out that Spinoza's God is not a collection of finite beings but a totum analyticum—the ground of all beings.

59 V-MP-K2/Heinze AA 28:713.

60BDGAA2:87.

62

be the kind of entity to which the attributes of understanding and will can be conveniently

ascribed. Yet Kant's argument actually supports the Spinozist interpretation of the

Beweisgrund. For Kant is quick to raise doubts regarding the way in which the necessary

being is said to have understanding and will: it must "remain undecided," he writes,

whether "understanding and will" are in fact "determinations" of the necessary being or

are ascribed to it merely as "consequences [Folgen] of it in other things."61 Given the

argument just provided (God has all realities; "understanding and will" are realities;

therefore, God has "understanding and will"), Kant's reservations are telling. They show,

first, that he realizes that the necessary being whose existence he has proven is not easily

considered a person. And more importantly: Kant's reservations indicate once more that

he views consequences as divine properties, inhering in God. Otherwise his claim is

false: it is possible that God has a property x (understanding or will) in virtue of his

consequences having them only if consequences are themselves properties of God.

(Properties of God's "consequences" are transitive to God only if consequences are

themselves God's properties.) Thus, Kant's reservation indicates, once more, that he

views "consequences" as properties of God. The position whose possibility he suggests,

to be sure, is just the Spinozist position, in which God does not have understanding and

will as defining attributes (determinations)—and yet God has them in virtue of finite

beings (modes) having them.

IV

61 BDG AA 2:89f..

63

1. I have argued that Kant's demonstration is committed to Spinozism. Was Kant

aware of this?

Charity makes it difficult to hold that he wasn't. And much textual evidence

supports the impression that indeed he was—passages in which Kant claims that

Spinozism is the "true consequence of dogmatic metaphysics," passages in which he says

that "if transcendental idealism is not adopted, only Spinozism remains"; and passages in

which Kant identifies the Ideal's ens realissimum with Spinoza's substance.

However, the relevance of these passages to Kant's pre-critical writings needs to

be examined, for they were written much later in Kant's career. Kant doesn't explicitly

endorse Spinozism in the Beweisgrund; and he doesn't write that Spinozism is inevitable

in the pre-critical writings or in the Critique of Pure Reason. The first text in which such

a view is expressed is the Critique of Practical Reason (1788). Some scholars, I believe,

would cling to the hypothesis that Kant never took Spinoza seriously before the outbreak

of the Pantheismusstreit in 1785. On that view, Kant's comments on the inevitability of

Spinozism during the late 1780's are spurious, made in the context of the Streit. They

indicate nothing about Kant's thoughts in the pre-critical period or in the first edition of

the Critique of Pure Reason. The upshot of this view would be that even if Kant came to

agree with Jacobi's thesis that "the only philosophy is the philosophy of Spinoza," this

came to him as a genuine discovery. On this account, even if Kant's 1763 demonstration

and 1781 Ideal of Pure Reason are committed to Spinozism, he recognized that this was

the case only much later. From this perspective, given that Kant doesn't explicitly

endorse Spinozism in the Beweisgrund it would be hermeneutically irresponsible—or,

what is worse, Straussian—to suggest that he was aware of his Spinozist commitment.

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My first response is that I think we should care less about Kant's conscious

commitments in 1763. The Beweisgrund is committed to Spinozism, and the Ideal of

Pure Reason to regulative Spinozism. As we have seen, this is something that Kant—at

least later in his career—concedes. And, even if today one may tend to think that the

"inevitability of Spinozism" thesis is something that Kant learned from Jacobi, it is

intriguing that Jacobi actually reports that he learned it from Kant.—

Further, it is reasonable to assume that //"Kant was aware of his Spinozist

commitments in 1763, he would remain silent about them—even deny them. And it is

less reasonable to assume that if Kant was aware of his Spinozist commitments, he would

say so out loud. Failing to recognize that some views couldn't be expressed in 1763

Prussia would be historically insensitive. Moreover, even today not many of us

academics—living in liberal democracies—would publish views that may get us into

trouble with our universities' ethics committees. For Kant the price of explicitly

discussing Spinozism would have been higher.

The fact that Kant speaks of Spinozism only later in his career isn't due to a new

and surprising discovery, learned from Jacobi, that he had been committed to Spinozism

all along (together with, one way or another, all philosophers). It is due to the fact that

now this commitment is no longer as dangerous as it had been. In the critical period, Kant

isn't committed to Spinozism proper but to regulative Spinozism. (Moreover he now

presents his philosophy as the only reply to Spinozism.) And, after the outbreak of the

Pantheismusstreit, Spinozism had become something that could be more openly

discussed. It is worthy of notice that Kant chooses as motto of the Beweisgrund a line

from Lucretius' On the Nature of Things. While that line contains little that is

65

philosophically informative, contemporaneous readers would certainly have asked

themselves why this well-known pantheist poet—famously a favorite of Spinozists like J.

Toland—should have been Kant's choice.

I mentioned above Kant's claim, in the second Critique, that if transcendental

idealism is denied, "nothing remains but Spinozism, in which space and time are essential

determinations of the original being itself, while the things dependent upon it, ourselves,

therefore, included, are merely accidents inhering in it..." Kant adds to this:

One may say that the dogmatic teachers of metaphysics have shown more

shrewdness than sincerity in keeping this difficult point out of sight as much

as possible, in the hope that if they said nothing about it no one would be

likely to think of it.63

Kant believes that Spinozism's inevitability is a detail that every competent

metaphysician must have seen, nay—has seen but actively concealed. He claims that the

"dogmatic teachers of metaphysics"—Leibnizian philosophers like Wolff, Baumgarten

and Mendelssohn—have recognized Spinoza's inevitability but remained silent about it.

Surely Kant didn't fail to remember that he, too, before announcing a philosophical

revolution, was a member of the same club. This comment sheds light on the fact that

Indeed there is at least one passage in the Beweisgrund that seems more poetic, more in the spirit of a Lucretius: "God is all-sufficient. What exists, whether it be possible or actual, is only something insofar as it is given by Him. A human language may let the Infinite speak to himself thus, 'I am from eternity to eternity, besides me there is nothing, something is but only insofar as it is through me.'' This thought, the most sublime of any, is yet much neglected" (BDG AA 2:151; my emphases). 63 KpVAA 5:103

66

Kant doesn't mention Spinozism in 1763, despite being committed to it. It also sheds

light on the fact that Spinoza's name doesn't appear in the Critique of Pure Reason.

V

1. Whatever Kant's conscious commitments in 1763 might have been, it is his 1781

commitments that are of interest when it comes to the critical philosophy. Is the critical

Kant committed to Spinozism? What is the nature of this commitment? The Critique, it is

well known, excludes demonstrative knowledge of God's existence. In the Ideal of Pure

Reason Kant systematically rejects all demonstrations prevalent in his time: he refutes the

ontological argument by claiming that existence is not a real predicate and, building on

that refutation, rejects the cosmological and the physico-theological arguments. This is

puzzling, however. The proof that Kant himself had presented in 1763 as the "only

possible" one goes unmentioned in the Critique—unmentioned even as he now discusses

and refutes the three and, he claims, only, possible demonstrations. One would think that

Kant should first and foremost refute his own demonstration, but such a refutation is

never provided—at least not directly.

2. In fact, the Ideal of Pure Reason does not merely fail to address the 1763

demonstration. Albeit with some changes, it adopts its main argument. The regulative

ideal of reason, which provides and contains the "supreme and complete material

64 This puzzlement is repeatedly expressed in the literature. Wood presents an exception to this. He finds Kant's demonstration weak to begin with and, accordingly, doesn't think it surprising that Kant doesn't confront it in the Critique. This relies on Wood's claim that Kant irresponsibly moves from the proposition that 'necessarily, something exists' to 'there is a being that exists necessarily.' However, I suggested above a defense of that move, consisting of a defense of D6. We will see below that whereas D6 is defensible, it is indeed the premise that Kant came to criticize and, accordingly, to reject the proof.

67

condition of the possibility of all that exists," bears the metaphysical structure of the deity

whose existence Kant pledged to prove in 1763. This fact, which has been noted by a

number of scholars, comes forth most clearly in Kant's account of "complete

determination":65

This principle [of complete determination] does not rest merely on the law

of contradiction; for, besides considering each thing in its relation to the two

contradictory predicates, it also considers it in its relation to the totality of

all possibilities, that is, to the totality of all predicates of a thing.

Presupposing this sum as being an a-priori condition, it proceeds to

represent everything as deriving its own possibility from the share which it

possesses in the sum of all possibilities. The principle of complete

determination concerns, therefore, the content, and not merely the logical

form. It is the principle of the synthesis of all predicates which are intended

to constitute the complete concept of a thing, and not simply a principle of

analytic representation in reference merely to one of two contradictory

predicates. It contains a transcendental presupposition, namely, that of the

material of all possibility, which in turn is regarded as containing a-priori

the data for the particular possibility of each and every thing (A572-

3/B600-1; emphasis added; translation slightly modified).

65 See for example Fisher and Watkins, "Kant on the Material Ground of Possibility: From the Only Possible Argument to the Critique of Pure Reason," p. 369-397; as well as Adams and Wood (above).

68

Kant is still committed to Dl, granting that possibility depends on a material element (the

predicates, the data, which participate in an essence). He is still committed to D6: the

ideal contains the material data of all possibility. Lastly, Kant is still committed to D6's

implications which, here, in the Critique, he states more clearly than in the Beweisgrund.

The ideal contains (enthdlt) "a-priori the data for the particular possibility of each and

every thing."

These principles, together with D4 ('necessarily, something is possible'),

sustained in 1763 the conclusion that the 'ground of all possibility' necessarily exists.

The Critique accepts the same principles but rejects the proof-status of the conclusion: it

grants the notion of a necessary being that provides the "material data" of all possibilities;

and it identifies that being as a metaphysical God, the ens realissimum; but it considers

that being as a mere thought entity, a regulative ideal:

The concept of what thus possesses all reality is just the concept of a thing in

itself as completely determined; and since in all possible [pairs of]

contradictory predicates one predicate, namely, that which belongs to being

absolutely, is to be found in its determination, the concept of an ens

realissimum is the concept of an individual being. It is therefore a

transcendental ideal which serves as the basis for the complete determination

that necessarily belongs to all that exists. This ideal is the supreme and

complete material condition of the possibility of all that exists - the condition

to which all thought of objects, so far as their content is concerned, has to be

traced back (A576/B604).

69

3. Two questions come to mind. First, if Kant still accepts the principles

demonstrating God's existence, on what grounds does he reject their conclusion? Why

does the Critique recognize the "ultimate ground of possibility" as a regulative notion,

not a constitutive principle? Second, assuming that Kant's demonstration is legitimately

transformed into a regulative ideal, how significant is the difference between Kant's pre-

critical Spinozism and his critical regulative Spinozism? Is Kant's defense of freedom,

faith and morality affected by this commitment to Spinozism? I do not think it is, but I

will have occasion to address this question elsewhere. Let us consider the first question.

Kant's rejection of the demonstrative knowledge achieved in the Beweisgrund

could rely on his new, critical perspective: the critical Kant no longer thinks that what

human beings can or cannot conceive generates existential claims. The analysis of the

"possibility of possibility," on which he relies in the pre-critical demonstration, may

determine only what finite discursive thinkers must assume as existing, not what actually

exists. As W. Rod points out, the critical Kant views the modal notions of'possibility',

'actuality' and 'necessity' as subjective categories. They describe the relation of objects

to the faculties of the mind, and do not correspond to independently existing relations.

Therefore, such principles as D4 ('necessarily, something is possible') must undergo a

subjective interpretation, rendering the ideal a regulative principle, not an existing

entity.66

Fisher and Watkins have argued against this solution. They point out that the

notions of possibility, actuality and necessity employed in the Critique are not restricted

to the critical subjective meaning; they are used also in their broader, traditional sense.

66R6d: "Existenz als Absolute Position," pp. 67-81

70

For example, Kant famously conceives of the "possibility of an object in general," which

would seem to imply a wider notion of possibility than the merely subjective one. Indeed,

if Kant is committed to such general notions, he has no reason for rejecting his pre-

critical demonstration. Fisher and Watkins conclude that the early demonstration may

still commit Kant, also in the critical period, to a constitutive principle. It should be

noted that, if this is so, Kant is committed not merely to theoretical knowledge of God's

existence but to Spinozism.

However, Kant does provide, if only in passing, his reason for rejecting his pre-

critical demonstration. He writes that reason has come to "regard all possibility of things

as derived from one single fundamental possibility" because of an "illusion" which is,

nevertheless, "natural" to reason (A581/B609). Hence, Kant's reason for rejecting the

proof-status of the pre-critical demonstration has to do with his doctrine of transcendental

CO

illusion. More specifically, Kant has come to regard D6—the claim that all possibility is

grounded in a single being—as a result of transcendental illusion. It is the giving up of

D6 that justifies the transformation of the proof into a regulative ideal. Let us examine the

doctrine of transcendental illusion in more detail.

"' Fisher and Watkins: "Kant on the Material Ground of Possibility," p. 388-395

Kant's reliance on the Critique's doctrine of illusion also clarifies his claim, in his lectures on religion, that "[the demonstration] can in no way be refuted, because it has its basis in the nature of human reason. For my reason makes it absolutely necessary for me to accept a being which is the ground of everything possible, because otherwise I would be unable to conceive what in general the possibility of something consists in" (28:1034). The Critique's doctrine of illusion, considered below, shows how a demonstration that cannot be refuted—a demonstration which is "absolutely necessary" due to the "nature of human reason"—is, nevertheless, rejected. For a detailed discussion of the inevitability of the illusion, see M. Grier's discussion in Kant's Doctrine of Illusion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 101-30.

71

4. Kant's doctrine of illusion consists of his analysis of two rational principles—

principles that, he argues, cause the illusions and misunderstandings that entrap

metaphysical thought. Recent Kant literature sometimes refers to these principles as PI

and P2.69 I retain these signs here but add that it is often overlooked that PI and P2 are

but formulations of the PSR—a subjective and an objective formulation, respectively:

P1: Find for the conditioned knowledge given through the understanding the

unconditioned whereby its unity is brought to completion. (A308/B364)

P2: If the conditioned is given, the whole series of conditions, subordinated to one

another—a series which is therefore itself unconditioned—is likewise given,

that is, is contained in the object and its connection. (A307/B 364)

PI prescribes a task: to look for the unconditioned element of knowledge that

grounds conditioned elements of knowledge. The conditioned elements are conceived

as parts of a regressive series—a series such as that of past events in time, causes of

change in the world, or grounds of existence. That principle describes reason's

instinctive theoretical endeavor to search for ultimate knowledge. (Kantians

commonly refer to it as reason's effort to secure a "systematic unity of thought"

[A305-6/B364], i.e., to unify concepts of the understanding [e.g. natural laws] under

ultimate universal principles.) Kant stresses that PI is subjective: it implies an

interest of reason but does not entail synthetic propositions regarding the existence of

This is following M. Grier's analysis in Kant's Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion.

72

objects (specifically, it does not make a claim about the existence of an

unconditioned object). In a less Kantian fashion we may say that PI is subjective

because it asserts a fact about reason (its aspiration to arrive at ultimate knowledge)

but doesn't assert a positive fact about the world.

PI is the PSR formulated subjectively because it describes reason's desire to

find an ultimate explanation for everything (to eliminate brute facts).

P2 has the same content as PI but it asserts that content objectively rather than

subjectively. It does not state a fact about reason but about the world. If a conditioned

element of knowledge is given, the entire series of its conditions is likewise given

(exists). Moreover, it states that that series of conditions itself exists unconditionally. Had

its existence depended on some further condition, the said ultimate knowledge would not

be genuinely ultimate but would require further explanation.

P2 is the PSR formulated objectively because the claim that there are no brute

facts—that everything has a full explanation—asserts that there is an explanation for

everything. This amounts to asserting that an unconditioned being exists: if such a being

didn't exist there would be at least one inexplicable fact (namely, the fact that anything

exists at all; arguably, this would render all facts inexplicable). P2 thus represents the

move from reason's operative task, expressed in PI ('eliminate brute facts, find ultimate

explanation') to an existential claim ('there are no brute facts; reason's effort is not in

vain').

According to Kant, metaphysicians affirm and assume the truth of P2 because

they are naturally (and legitimately) driven by PL Given PI, P2 appears to be inevitable

and justified: if reason naturally impels us to search for an unconditioned element of

73

knowledge, it is rational to think that such an entity is there to be found, that it exists. In

fact, Kant would grant even more: he would agree that P2 is a necessary working

assumption for anybody engaging in theoretical philosophy; for it wouldn't make sense to

strive to find the ultimate explanation for everything without believing that everything

can be, at least in principle, ultimately explained.

However, appealing (and psychologically necessary) as that working hypothesis

may be, metaphysicians fall prey to an illusion if they are tempted to believe that they

know that there is an ultimate explanation (i.e. that P2 is true). For the transition from PI

to P2 is unjustified and in principle, or so Kant argues, cannot be justified. First, this

transition cannot be accounted for analytically, because the concept 'conditioned'

conceptually contains only 'having a condition'—not 'depending on an unconditioned'

(we may analyze as much as we can the concept 'conditioned', it will never turn out to

have 'unconditioned' entity as one of its components; it is only a tautology that it has one

or more 'conditions'). Moreover, P2 is an existential claim and, as such, at least

according to Kant, must be justified synthetically—it needs to be verified by experience.

Experiencing an unconditioned entity, however, is impossible. An unconditioned entity

cannot be experienced through the mediating conditions of experience which depend on

space, time and causality.

Take the principle, that the series of conditions (whether in the synthesis of

appearances, or even in the thinking of things in general) extends to the

unconditioned. Does it or does it not have objective applicability? What are its

"Again, see Grier's discussion of the inevitability and the necessity of transcendental illusion in Kant's Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion, p. 101-30.

74

implications as regards the empirical employment of the understanding? Or is

there no such objectively valid principle of reason, but only a logical precept, to

advance toward completeness by an ascent to ever higher conditions and so to

give to our knowledge the greatest possible unity of reason? Can it be that this

requirement of reason has been wrongly treated in being viewed as a

transcendental principle of pure reason, and that we have been overhasty in

postulating such an unbounded completeness in the series of conditions in the

objects themselves? (A309/B366)

One way to understand P2's illusory nature is to compare Kant's doctrine of

illusion to Descartes' reliance, in the Meditations, on the claim that God is not a deceiver.

If reason naturally commands me to search for an unconditioned element of knowledge

(PI) but that element doesn't exist (so that P2 is false) God would be (for Descartes) a

deceiver. Thus, Kant's claim that we may operate on the basis of PI but may not assume

that P2 is true is equivalent to refusing to assert, with Descartes, that we know that God is

not a deceiver. (In fact, insofar as the illusion that P2 is known to be true is itself natural

to reason, Kant comes close to affirming that God is.a deceiver. Moreover, other and

related arguments in the Critique's Dialectic bring Kant even closer to blasphemy; he

claims that reason generates, by means of the P2, clear and distinct illusions. The

Cogito—i.e., the perception of the I as a thinking substance—is itself one of them.—)

Still, Kant leaves room for God's benevolence—and in a true Cartesian fashion—

by arguing that reason is capable of detecting its own illusions. And, despite the fact that

detecting these illusions doesn't make them disappear—for they are natural and

75

necessary (see A297f/B354f)—it does prevent the erroneous metaphysical judgments that

they cause. Indeed, the Critique'' s Dialectic is supposed to have just this curative

function: by "exposing the illusion ... [it] takes precautions that we be not deceived by it"

(A298/B355).

In the Antinomies, Kant tries to show that P2 is not only unjustified but also false,

by arguing that it forces reason into proven contradictions. That part of his argument is

less relevant here; for present purposes, Kant's insistence that P2's (or the PSR's) status

is problematic is sufficient: given that that principle has grounded the pre-critical

demonstration all along (in D3-6), the demonstration loses its force if the principle cannot

be known to be valid. Let us spell out the ways in which the pre-critical demonstration

assumes P2 (i.e. the PSR).

Consider first D3 ('possibility is grounded in something existing'; i.e. if

something is possible, something exists). Assume that something is possible (say, the

concept 'man'). That possibility depends (i.e. is conditioned) on further conditions—the

material conditions of that possibility, predicates that participate in that concept's

definition (say, 'rational', 'animal'). These predicates, in turn, depend on other

predicates—further material conditions of their possibility (say, 'animal' depends on

'body', which in turn depends on 'extension'). So far along the argument, we are at D2

('essences depend on the material conditions of their possibility') and operate on PI: we

persistently search for the conditions of conditioned possibilities. However, once we

move from D2 to D3—from assuming that each conditioned possibility has its conditions

to assuming that its ultimate condition (hence an unconditioned condition) exists—we

slip from PI to P2. For we don't assume merely that we can always search for further

76

conditions, but that once the conditioned is given, an unconditioned exists. But that

assumption, Kant had argued, can be accepted only dogmatically. It can be justified

neither by conceptual analysis (analytically) nor by experience.71

Kant does not seem to have exactly that analysis in mind when dismissing the pre-

critical demonstration (or, what is the same, when he grants the ideal regulative but not

constitutive status). He writes that reason, "regards all possibility of things as derived

from one single fundamental possibility" because of a "natural illusion"—thus, he refers

to D6 as the demonstration's illusory element. In order to see why D6 results from P2, the

analysis provided above for D3 needs to be applied to relations. Given any relation

between two possibilities (or concepts), the condition of that relation must be given,

too—a third entity (or concept) capable of grounding the relation. Moreover, driven by

the PSR, one would demand that all relations and inter-relations have their conditions.

Furthermore, one may claim that (/"all relations and inter-relations are grounded, a single

entity must be the ground of them all. (Again: if two or more entities grounded these

relations, the relations between these entities would have to be grounded, too, by another

It is fortunate that Kant has a tenable rejection of his own Spinozist argument, for at least at one instance in which he criticizes Spinoza's conception of substance he is clearly unsuccessful. In Lectures on Philosophical Theology he writes that "If only a single substance exists, then either I must be this substance, and consequently I must be God (but this contradicts my dependency); or else I am an accident (but this contradicts the concept of my ego, in which I think myself as an ultimate subject which is not the predicate of any other being)." (A. Wood's translation, Lectures on Philosophical Theology [Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1978] p. 86 [28: 1052].) And similarly: "when I think, I am conscious of that my ego thinks in me, and not inhere in another thing external to me, but inheres in myself. Consequently I conclude that I am a substance, that is, that I exist for myself and am not a predicate of any other thing... But if I myself am a substance, then I must be God himself or God is a substance different from me, and consequently different from the world" (Wood's translation, p. 75. [28:1041-2]). The main problem with this line of argument is that it is inconsistent with Kant's critical position about the nature of (and our knowledge of) the soul. The above claims, made well into the critical period, are inconsistent with the conclusion of the Paralogisms that show precisely that the soul cannot be recognized as a substance. (Noted also by Ameriks, see "The Critique of Metaphysics," p. 269.) In chapter two I begin to elaborate what I take to be a version of this criticism of Spinoza which could be consistent with the Paralogisms. I will suggest to draw on the experience of the sublime as an experience of our own independence and freedom.

77

entity and so on ad infinitum. But then, not all relations would be grounded.) So far along

the argument we proceed on PI. However, once we move from the demand that all

relations be grounded—and from determining the necessary conditions under which all

relations can be grounded—to the claim that all relations are grounded, we operate under

the spell of P2. For we do not claim merely that all relations need to be grounded

according to our rational principles, or that if all relations are grounded then they are

grounded by a single entity. Rather, we assert that all relations are so grounded. But this,

Kant argues, we haven't justified, and cannot know.

Understanding Kant's rejection of the demonstration in terms of the doctrine of

transcendental illusion sheds much light on his position. That doctrine ensures that Kant

has defensible grounds for denying the pre-critical demonstration; and it explains why,

despite the fact that the demonstration is rejected, it is not given up altogether. Whereas

P2 illegitimately compels us to assert the existence of an unconditioned being, PI shows

why we cannot but assume the existence of such a being. It also shows how we must

conceive of its metaphysical structure.

Kant, in other words, is committed to regulative Spinozism. The Critique's ideal,

which isn't taken anymore as an entity whose existence has been proven but as an idea

that can direct our theoretical reasoning, has a structure resembling Spinoza's substance.

It must be conceived as the stock of material possibility, in which all existing things

inhere: "it is not merely a concept which, as regards its transcendental content,

comprehends all predicates under itself, it also contains them within itself, and the

complete determination of any and every thing rests on this All of Reality [dieses All der

Realitat]" (A577- B605; emphasis added). All finite beings are conceived as "nothing but

78

limitations" of the 'All' (A575/B603). As Kant wrote in 1793, this metaphysical God is

conceived as "one with the world (despite all protestations against Spinozism), as the

79

totality of all existing things." The difference between Spinozism, which the critical

Kant certainly rejects, and regulative Spinozism, to which the critical Kant seems to be

committed, is that the latter doesn't pretend to know or be able to prove that the

metaphysical God—the realissimum—exists. The critical Kant seems to think of the

mistake involved in concluding the realissimum's actual existence from its concept as

one of anthropomorphism:

Metaphysical bonum is what has reality. God, seen as the metaphysical

summum bonum, is the matter of all possibility. In our imagination [of that

being] there is always something anthropomorphic, and it directly approaches

-71

Spinozism.

We have seen that passages like this do not introduce a genuinely novel conception.

The view that possibilities inhere in the deity, as limitations, was present just as much in

the Ideal and in the Beweisgrund (albeit in a constitutive, what Kant calls

'anthropomorphic' manner, in the latter). It may be that Kant can be more explicit about

the Spinozist structure of the most real being only now because now he isn't committed

to Spinozism but to regulative Spinozism; because he is now presenting his view as a

response—the only one—to Spinozism; and because what has been politically dangerous

72 M M 20:302

73 V-MP-K2/Heinze AA 28:20 (my translation). By anthropomorphic Kant seems to think not of imagining God in human body, but of dogmatically assuming that our conceptions are veridical regarding things-in-themselves.

79

in 1763 and 1781 has become by 1793—eight years after Jacobi's Uber die Lehre des

Spinoza—almost Kosher.

5. Scholars commonly assume that Kant was virtually uninterested in Spinoza. For

that reason, reflection on the connection between Kant's thought and Spinoza's has been

almost completely neglected. In 1901, F. Heman wrote: "Kant's relation to Spinoza has

never been clarified. Neither has it been determined what Kant thought of Spinoza's

philosophy, nor how their systems relate to one another. Not even once was it decided

how far and how precisely Kant was familiar and acquainted with Spinoza's writings. All

these questions still demand definitive treatment."74

More than a hundred years later, it is safe to say that the same questions still call

for an answer. Perhaps we now see an answer's beginning. Let us move to examine the

Antinomies of Pure Reason.

74 F. Heman: "Kant und Spinoza," Kant-Studien 1901, 5, p. 273-339 (my translation).

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2

The First Antinomy and Spinoza

Kant argues in Refl 6050 that "Spinozism is the true consequence of dogmatic

metaphysics." In the Critique of Practical Reason he similarly claims that if transcendental

idealism is denied, "nothing remains but Spinozism, in which space and time are essential

determinations of the original being itself." In Lectures on Metaphysics Kant pronounces:

"if space is taken to be a thing in itself, Spinozism is irrefutable—that is, the parts of the

world are parts of the Deity, space is God."3 And yet again: "Those who take space as a thing

in itself or as a property of things are forced to be Spinozists, i.e., they take the world as the

embodiment [Inbegrijf] of determinations from one necessary substance." Scholars may

quarrel over whether Kant held that Spinozism is the most consistent form of transcendental

realism also when constructing the Antinomies, in the Critique of Pure Reason. Most

certainly assume that he did not. The fact remains that if the Antinomies fail to address and

rebut the most consistent form of transcendental realism, they fall short of sustaining Kant's

aspirations. That is, Spinoza's position may escape refutation and, thereby, resolve the

antinomial conflict.

1 Refl. AA 18:436.

2KpVAA5:102.

3 ML2 AA 28:567.

4 V-MP-K3E/Arnoldt AA 29: 132.

This chapter has three parts. In the first, I consider Kant's first antinomy, arguing that it

does not fail to address a Spinozist position. The metaphysical stance articulated by the

Antithesis reflects a Spinozistic position regarding the world's infinity and eternity—not a

Leibnizian position, as is often assumed. In the second part, I raise what I take to be the chief

Spinozist challenge to the antinomy, namely Spinoza's reliance on a cosmological totum

analyticum, in which an infinite whole is conceived as ontologically prior to its 'parts'. We

will see that Kant and Spinoza's disagreement on the cosmological totum analyticum leads

directly to the fundamental clash between their positions; and that, if granted, Spinoza's

position may endanger the antinomy's (specifically, the Thesis') refutation.5 In the

concluding part of the chapter I suggest a beginning of an answer to Spinoza's challenge.

This defense, however, cannot be concluded before we discuss Kant's refutation of the

ontological argument, in chapter four.

I

1. Several attempts have been made in the literature to identify the Antinomies'

historical sources. S. Al Azm's The Historical Origins of Kant's Antinomies, which traces

the antinomial debate back to the Leibniz-Clark controversy, remains highly influential.6 On

5 A similar challenge has been raised by P. Franks but to the third antinomy. (See P. Franks and S. Gardner: "From Kant to Post-Kantian Idealism," in Aristotelian Society Supplementary, 2002 [76], p. 229^16.) Franks does not sugest, however, that Kant had Spinoza's position in mind; and he does not undertake an attempt to defend Kant's position with Spinoza's. I interact with Franks regarding the third antinomy in chapter three.

6 S. Al Azm, The Origins of Kant's Arguments in the Antinomies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972). Interpreters in the English-speaking tradition sometimes overlook that Al Azm is not the first to draw on the Leibniz-Clark connection. E. Cassirer and G. Martin did so earlier, among others. (For a thorough discussion, see L. Kreimendahl, Kant—Der Durchbruch von 1769 (Koln: Dinter, 1990), p. 156-85. Nevertheless, Al Azm's interpretation is the most comprehensive in this respect. H. Heimsoeth provides a much more general account of the historical influences on Kant's Antinomies, drawing extensively on Ancient and Medieval sources as well. (For the first antinomy see especially H. Heimsoeth: "Zeitliche Weltunendlichkeit und das Problem des Anfangs," Kantstudien ergdmzungshefte 1961, 82, p. 269-92.

80

that reading, whereas the Thesis corresponds to Clark's Newtonian position—assuming

space and time as 'empty containers'—the Antithesis corresponds to Leibniz's position,

which denies empty containers with an argument from the PSR.7 Other attempts to trace the

Antinomies' historical origins sometimes associate the Platonic-theistic Leibniz-Tradition

not with the Antithesis, but with the Thesis. Indeed similarly to the Thesis Leibniz grants a

theory of creation (as well as freedom, which is relevant in the case of the third antinomy)—

the very position that the Antithesis denies.

Such discrepancy in the secondary literature is puzzling. Given the Antinomies'

unequivocal cosmological statements, one could expect to meet a consensus. How can

contradictory metaphysical positions ("there is a beginning of the world"; "there is none") be

ascribed to Leibniz?9 Confusion is increased by the fact that both lines of interpretation

seem, at first glance, persuasive. In view of Leibniz's PSR-based critique of Newtonian

empty containers, Al Azm's identification of the Antithesis as Leibnizian seems conclusive.

Yet just as conclusive is the observation that Leibniz does not deny, but affirms, the creation

of the world. Moreover, he rejects the world's infinity—which is affirmed by the

Al Azm, The Origins of Kant's Arguments in the Antinomies, p. 1-42.

See for example W. Walsh, Kant's Criticism of Metaphysics (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press 1975) p. 198; Grier comments on this more recently in M. Grier, Kant's Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 182.

One could perhaps doubt the relevance of any actual historical position—why need the Antinomies correspond to actual historical sources at all? The answer is that Kant has a somewhat historical—albeit pre-Hegelian—conception of Reason's development (for a recent discussion of that position, see Longuenesse, B. and D. Garber, Kant and the Early Moderns [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007], p. 1-3). In order to argue that Reason necessarily leads to contradictions, Kant needs to be able to show that the Antinomies, which he constructs abstractly, can be mapped onto actual (historical) positions—i.e., have actually confused metaphysical thought. Note in any event that Kant does identify the theses and antitheses with originating historical fathers—Plato and Epicurus, respectively. (It will become clear below that Kant sees Spinoza's metaphysical position as the more-recent and more-consistent embodiment of Epicurus' position.)

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Antithesis—and reserves infinity exclusively for God. Here I shall argue that this confusion

is due to the questionable supposition that the Antithesis reconstructs a Leibnizian position.

Despite the fact that the Antithesis' PSR-argument is reminiscent of Leibnizian principles,

the position derived from it is not Leibnizian but Spinozist. Let us consider the first antinomy

in more detail.

2. The first antinomy debates the world's beginning in space and time. The Thesis states

that the world has a beginning in time and space: "The world has a beginning in time, and is

also limited as regards space" (A427/B455). Its proof can be outlined as follows:11

Thesis: Prove: The world has a beginning.

1. Assume (for the sake of a reductio) the Antithesis: the world has no beginning; it is

infinite.

2. It follows that up to any given moment, an eternity has elapsed.

3. This means that an infinite number of successive changes (successive events) has

actually taken place. That is, an infinite series has been completed.

4. However, the concept of infinity ("Unendlichkeit") is just that which cannot be

completed through a successive synthesis ("sukzessive Synthesis").

5. The notion that an infinite number of worldly events has passed, therefore, is

contradictory.

10The infinite/indefinite distinction is more often associated with Descartes than with Leibniz. Moreover, Leibniz is remembered as affirming an infinity (not an indefinite number) of monads. However, while he uses the infinite/indefinite terminological distinction less carefully than Descartes, Leibniz, too, explicitly rejects the world's infinity and reserves it exclusively for die absolute—that is, for God. Leibniz's understanding of the infinite/indefinite distinction is discussed in detail below. " Here I focus on Kant's argument regarding time, which can be applied almost interchangeably to space.

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6. Therefore, there is a beginning of the world in time, a first event.

The third and fourth steps establish the core of the argument. Step three states that if the

world has no beginning, then an infinite number of events—happenings in the world—has

taken place, i.e. that an infinite series of events has been completed. Step four argues that this

is impossible since an infinite series is just that which cannot be completed. The Thesis'

proof, then, relies on the claim that the notion of complete infinity is inconsistent.

Al Azm associates the Thesis with Newton's position, as expressed in Clark's

controversy with Leibniz. "The ideas expressed in the thesis," he writes, "are straightforward

statements of the Newtonian position as it was expounded and defended in his letters to

Leibniz. In fact, the observation on the first antinomy leaves little doubt that the thesis is

meant to state the Newtonian point of view."12 As Al Azm points out, Kant observes that the

Thesis is committed to viewing space and time as pre-given, 'empty containers'—that is, to

the idea of time existing prior to the world and space extending beyond it (A430-34/B458-

63). This is indeed Newton's conception of which Kant, of course, is well aware. Al Azm's

claim seems conclusive.

3. The Antithesis states that the world has no beginning and is infinite: "The world has

no beginning, and no limits in space; it is infinite as regards both time and space"

(A427/B455). Its proof can be outlined as follows:

Antithesis: Prove: The world is infinite

Al Azm, The Origins of Kant's Arguments in the Antinomies, p. 9.

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1. Assume (for the sake of a reductid) the Thesis: the world has a beginning in

time.

2. The concept of beginning presupposes a preceding time in which the thing

that comes into being does not yet exist.

3. Therefore, the concept of beginning presupposes an empty, pre-given time.

4. However, it is impossible for anything to come into being in empty time. For

no part of such a time (empty) has any distinguishing condition

("unterscheidende Bedingung") of its existence rather than its non-existence.

5. Therefore, the world itself cannot have a beginning in time.

6. Therefore, the world is infinite with respect to time.

The fourth step establishes the Antithesis' argument. It states the impossibility of coming

into being in empty time (or space), on the grounds that "no part of such a [empty] time [or

space]... has any distinguishing condition of its existence rather than its non-existence." As

mentioned, Al Azm claims that this argument is best understood as Leibniz's refutation of

Newton's empty containers by the PSR. In such empty containers, there would be no reason

for God to position an event in a specific place, or create it as the world's first. Consider the

following passage, quoted by Al Azm from Leibniz:

(supposing space to be something in itself, besides the order of bodies among

themselves): 'tis impossible that there should be a reason, why God,

preserving the same situations of bodies among themselves, should have

placed them in space after one certain particular manner, and not otherwise;

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why everything was not placed the quite contrary way, for instance, by

changing East into West.13

Leibniz does not speak of the creation of the world in this passage, but he draws on the PSR

in rejecting the possibility of empty containers. Precisely the same logic is applied in the

Antithesis' fourth, crucial step.

4. Note, however, that the Antithesis is committed to two propositions, not only one. It

denies a beginning of the world in (empty) time and space, and it states that the world is

infinite. The two propositions are not equivalent. A rejection of the world's beginning does

not necessarily entail its infinity. Descartes, for example, distinguished between the

"indefinite" and the "infinite", ascribing the first to the world and reserving the second

exclusively for God. Crucially, Leibniz, too, preserves the infinite/indefinite distinction:

despite rejecting Newtonian empty containers he does not affirm, but denies, that the world

is positively infinite. According to Leibniz, the existence of infinite wholes contradicts the

whole-part axiom, which states that a whole must be larger than its part. If it existed, an

infinite whole would admit to having an infinite part that were just as large as the whole

itself (both being infinite). "It would be a mistake", writes Leibniz in the New Essays, "to try

to suppose an absolute space which is an infinite whole made up of parts. There is no such

thing: it is a notion which implies a contradiction." And he continues: "the true infinite,

strictly speaking, is only in the absolute [God], which precedes all composition."14

nThe Leibniz-Clarke Correspondence (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1956), Third Letter. 14 G. W. Leibniz, New Essays on Human Understanding (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1981), p. 157f.

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This line of reasoning brings Leibniz to maintain the Cartesian infinite/indefinite

distinction also regarding the 'size' of the world:

Descartes and his followers, in making the world out to be indefinite so that we

cannot conceive of any end to it, have said that matter has no limits. They have

some reason for replacing the term 'infinite' by 'indefinite', for there is never

an infinite whole in the world, though there are always wholes greater than

others ad infinitum. As I have shown elsewhere, the universe itself cannot be

considered to be a whole.15

Modern readers are sometimes unfamiliar with the Early Modern infinite/indefinite

distinction, so let us introduce it as the following:

1. The indefinite: conceived as the negation of the finite. This conception consists in the

unceasing potential to add, for any given magnitude, an additional unit. This

conception therefore has no actual size and is not a conception of an actual infinite

measure.

2. The infinite: conceived as an actual infinity, the absolute, or the biggest possible

actual measure.

l5Leibniz, New Essays, p. 151. Indeed Leibniz is not as consistent as Descartes in distinguishing between the terms infinite and indefinite; yet he does not consider the universe to be a completed whole—that is, he considers it to be indefinite and not infinite. Hence, even when speaking of an 'infinity' of monads, the implication is an endless number of monads (hence, indefinite number) but not a completed infinity, which, as the passages above make clear, Leibniz strictly denies. On Leibniz's infinite/indefinite distinction see O. Bradley-Bassler, "Leibniz on the Indefinite as Infinite," The Review of Metaphysics 1998 (51)4, p. 849-74; M. Futch: "Leibniz on the Plenitude, Infinity, and the Eternity of the World," British Journal for the History of Philosophy 2002 (10) 4, p. 541-60; R. Arthur: "Leibniz on Infinite Number, Infinite Wholes and the Whole World: a Reply to Brown," The Leibniz Review 11 2001.

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The world is composed of distinct parts—it is a collection of objects—and cannot be

genuinely infinite. (Again, otherwise it would contradict the whole-part axiom.) Hence,

despite rejecting empty containers (similarly to the Antithesis), Leibniz denies the world's

infinity (contrary to the Antithesis). Rather, he affirms its indefiniteness: the world is larger

than any given magnitude but not absolute, or positively infinite. As we have seen, Leibniz,

not unlike Descartes, reserves true infinity exclusively for God, the "absolute", which

"precedes all composition and is not formed by the addition of parts." Because God is

simple, he may be an infinite whole without contradicting the whole-part axiom.

A reader of Leibniz and Wolff, Kant is well aware of the infinite/indefinite

distinction. In the first Critique he explains that whereas in mathematics and geometry the

distinction is an empty "Subtilitat", in metaphysics, when the question concerns the length of

a series ("Fortgange") from something given as "conditioned" to its "conditions", the

distinction has crucial implications (A511-515/B539-543). Of course, the Antinomies debate

a metaphysical matter—of the very same character referred to by Kant when speaking of a

series moving from the "conditioned" to its "conditioned". Hence, the fact that the first

antinomy states the world's infinity rather than its indefiniteness is crucial. It indicates that

despite the strong Leibnizian PSR echo in the Antithesis, one ought not too quickly to

identify it as Leibnizian: whereas Leibniz's denial of empty containers leads him to assert the

world's indefiniteness, the Antithesis' denial of such 'containers' leads straight to an

affirmation of the world's infinity.

Here is a fundamental difficulty with Al Azm's otherwise elegant reading and, in a

sense, with Kant's formulation of the first antinomy in general. The antinomy's insistence on

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the world's infinity seems at first glance anomalous, differing from most acknowledged

metaphysical positions. This is a good moment also to recall the puzzle I alluded to earlier:

due to Leibniz's PSR-rejection of absolute space and time, Al Azm convincingly identifies

the Antithesis as Leibnizian; however, due to Leibniz's acceptance of creation (as well as

freedom), it seems reasonable to identify the Thesis—not the Antithesis—as Leibnizian. We

may now have a better understanding of that puzzle: it arises because the Antithesis, despite

providing a Leibnizian argument from the PSR, does not arrive at a Leibnizian position. It

denies the possibility of the world's creation and affirms its infinity and eternity.

5. This invites a closer consideration of the metaphysical positions articulated in the

Antinomies, especially by the Antithesis. Kant provides important information in the setting

out of the Antinomies:

The unconditioned may be conceived in either of two ways. It may be viewed

as consisting of the entire series in which all the members [Glieder] without

exception are conditioned and only the totality of them is absolutely

unconditioned. This regress is to be entitled infinite. Or alternatively, the

absolutely unconditioned is only a part [Teil\ of the series - a part to which

the other members are subordinated, and which does not itself stand under

any other condition (A 417/B 445).16

Let us call the first conception of the unconditioned Al and the second A2. The former is an

infinitistic conception and the latter a finitistic one. The clash between them generates the

I thank James Kreines for pointing out this passage to me.

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Antinomies. Al thus maps onto the Antithesis: it consists of an infinite existing series which,

taken in its totality, constitutes an unconditioned whole. Kant explains that it eliminates the

possibility of a transcendent unconditioned (hence the Judeo-Christian deity), creation and

freedom. A2 maps onto the Thesis: it relies on a transcendent unconditioned entity to which

the series is subordinated, and it allows room for creation ("Weltanfang") and freedom

("absolute Selbsttatigkeit") (A 418/B 445-6).

Al strongly suggests Spinozistic substance monism. The infinite series itself,

considered as a totality, may be conceived as Spinoza's unconditioned substance, whereas

the series' conditioned members may be conceived as its modes. Kant's passage makes it

clear that the relation obtaining between the unconditioned entity and the conditioned items

of the series is that of a whole and its 'parts'. (An important qualification to this quasi whole-

part relation is that these parts are not true parts but only as limitations of the whole. This is

so because the unconditioned whole cannot possibly be conceived as constituted by its

conditioned parts—it is ontologically prior to them. Kant's passage implies this point by

referring to the unconditioned as members [Glieder] of the series but not as parts [Theile] of

the whole; and by suggesting that the members of the whole are in it [in ihr)). Moreover, the

unconditioned series, taken as a whole, is infinite and complete: unlike in Leibniz and

Descartes, substance monism in Spinoza has no need, or room, to deny the unconditioned's

infinity. Spinoza explains his position thus:

[I]t is nonsense, bordering on madness, to hold that extended Substance is

composed of parts or bodies really distinct from one another... Therefore the

whole conglomeration of arguments whereby philosophers commonly strive to

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prove that extended Substance is finite collapses of its own accord. All such

arguments assume that corporeal Substance is made up of parts.

It is hard to think of any philosopher other than Spinoza who holds a conception so

similar to that portrayed by Kant's conception of the unconditioned. G. Bruno may have

held an analogous pantheistic conception, but Leibniz and Wolff certainly did not. It can be

safely assumed that Kant either has Spinoza in mind, or invents Spinozistic substance

monism independently—construing it as the Antithesis' cosmological conception.

The impression that Kant has Spinoza in mind is strengthened when considering the

structure of the ideal of pure reason. As we have seen in the previous chapter, the latter is a

(regulative) idea of an unconditioned being, conceived in the form of Al: it is the "All of

Reality," encompassing all other conditioned beings as "nothing but limitations (nichts als

Schrankeriy (A575/B603). Kant elsewhere associates this conception of the ideal with

Spinoza's substance:

[This One] contains the material for production of all other possible things, as

the supply of marble does for an infinite multitude of statues, which are

altogether possible only through limitation... In a world fashioned this way

one comes strongly to suspect that this metaphysical God (the realissimum) is

l7B. Spinoza: "Letter 12," in The Correspondence of Spinoza (London: Allen & Unwin 1966), p. 103. In the same letter, Spinoza explicitly explains the difference between the absolutely infinite, which 'cannot be conceived' in any other way, and the merely 'indefinite'.

l8Heimsoeth suggests Bruno as one source, among others (see Heimsoeth, "Zeitliche Weltunendlichkeit und das Problem des Anfangs," p. 286.)

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one with the world (despite all protestations against Spinozism), as the totality

of all existing thing.19

6. Spinoza's conception of God, as an unconditioned entity expressed by the totality of

its infinite 'parts', was well known to German academics throughout the Eighteenth Century.

This conception was often presented and contrasted with the 'true', transcendent, conception

of the deity, which was pictured along Leibnizian lines and resembles the second

unconditioned conception (i.e. the one mapping onto the Thesis). That contrast is clearly

portrayed by C. Wolffs 'refutation of Spinozism' in the Theologia Naturalis. The book

offers not only a 'refutation' of Spinoza, but also an extremely methodological analysis of

the Ethics. Wolff argues that unlike other metaphysical standpoints, Spinozism is committed

to the world's infinity (since attributes and modes express God's infinite essence), as well as

to a whole-part relation between God and the world (so that the infinite whole is constituted

as the totality of its infinite parts). Granted these two claims, Wolff refutes Spinoza by

adducing the argument that an infinite whole cannot be constructed of an infinite number of

parts. We shall come to evaluate the success (or failure) of that argument below, when

considering some Spinozist objections to the antinomy. For present purposes suffice it to

notice that Wolff presents the contrast between the two conceptions of the unconditioned

(God)—the immanent and the transcendent one:

[Spinoza maintained], that bodies and souls, as well as any other conceivable

things, are found in God as parts in the whole (Note to 708§): accordingly he

19FM AA 20:302. Note that Kant later associates the thesis with Plato and the Antithesis with Epicurus (A471/B499). This is significant, because he elsewhere associates Epicurus and Spinoza's positions and argues that the latter is more consistent than the former (KU AA 5: 393). More on this below.

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invents a God that is different from the true God, which has the highest wisdom

and freedom of the will—a God who rules this world by his wisdom—a God,

finally, to which bodies and souls are real and external, and are not included in

him as parts in the whole

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(716§ emphasis added).

M. Mendelssohn gives the following summary of Wolff s Spinoza-critique in the Dialogues:

[Wolff] proved that Spinoza believed that it is possible to produce, by combining

together an infinite stock of finite qualities, an infinite [thing]; and then he proved

the falsity of this belief so clearly, that I am quite convinced that Spinoza himself

would have applauded him.

7. Mendelssohn's words provide a good occasion to return to consider the first

antinomy. The Thesis argues that the world is not infinite and, therefore, that it has

beginnings in time and space. Al Azm's interpretation of that position as Newton's

argumentation against a Leibnizian position needs to be rejected for two reasons. First, the

view that the world is not infinite and has a beginning is common to most dogmatic rational

thinkers, including Descartes, Newton and Leibniz. Newton and Leibniz may disagree

regarding the characterization of the world's beginnings, and they certainly disagree

regarding the possibility of empty containers. But they ultimately agree that the world has

20 Translation mine. It is hard to doubt that Kant was familiar with Wolffs Theologia Naturalis before 1781. (In fact, he may be referring to it, in connection with Spinoza, in the Nachtrage Metaphysik Herder, dated 1762-4 [MNHerder AA 28: 41].)

21M. Mendelssohn: "Dialogues," in trans. D. Dahlstrom Philosophical Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) especially p. 96-105.

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beginnings and that it is not infinite. There is only one relevant rationalist thinker who has a

good reason to insist, as does the Antithesis, that the world is positively infinite. Secondly,

Newton's actual line of argumentation against the world's infinity appeals to the definition

of matter in Newtonian physics and, as such, has nothing to do with the argument invoked by

the Thesis. As we have seen, the Thesis' argument relies on the claim that an "infinite

successive synthesis" cannot be completed (see above). This reflects (in fact, relies on)

Wolff and Mendelssohn's reading of Spinoza's infinite as an infinite—not indefinite—

whole, which is composed as a collection of parts; and more importantly, it invokes the same

reasoning in refuting that conception: an infinite entity cannot be composed by combining

("zusammensetzen") an infinite number of finite entities. In other words, the Thesis does not

only criticize a Spinozist infinitistic position, as understood by Wolff and Mendelssohn: it

also invokes a characteristically Wolffian argument against Spinoza.

We will see below that a sophisticated Spinozist may be able to answer this argument

rather effectively, for it relies on an inaccurate reading of Spinoza's position. Spinoza

conceives the world (substance) as infinite but does not think it is composed of an infinite

number of parts: substance for Spinoza is ontologically simple. The first Thesis, therefore,

like Wolff and Mendelssohn, needs further argumentation in order to answer this argument.

We will address this in detail below.

The Antithesis states that the world has no beginnings (by the rejection of empty

containers) and, therefore, that it is infinite. We have seen above that only Spinozistic

substance monism, collapsing the distinction between God and the world, generates such an

infinitistic conception. Moreover, that position corresponds to the first conception of the

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unconditioned, presented by Kant at the setting of the Antinomies, which corresponds, in

turn, to Spinozistic substance monism.

To be sure, there is no need to deny the clear Leibnizian echo in the Antithesis'

argument, which invokes the PSR against the world's beginnings (empty containers). This

Leibnizian strand, it seems to me, cannot and need not be disputed. But it creates a

discrepancy, a confusion, whose solution is the key to understanding the Antithesis. Unlike

the Antithesis, Leibniz does not infer from this argument the world's eternity and infinity.

Instead, he relativizes space and time to worldly objects—viewing them as properties of

things—a move that enables him to claim that space and time are not positively infinite,

since they began with the world's creation. Hence, Kant's Antithesis employs a truly

Leibnizian argument, but infers from it a conclusion that is not Leibnizian; it infers the

Spinozist conclusion that the world is infinite and eternal.

Kant's move, in turn, requires an argument: what excludes the Leibnizian strategy, of

relativizing space and time and viewing the world as indefinite rather than infinite? In other

words, what legitimizes the Antithesis' direct inference that, because the world is not finite,

it is infinite?

8. Kant offers such an argument later in his career, in the second Critique. Towards the

book's conclusion, he addresses the Leibnizian-Wolffian denial of the world's infinity and

eternity—in fact, he refers to the Leibnizian denial of Spinozism—and rejects it as

inadequate. Whoever relativizes space and time by viewing them as properties of things

(monads), Kant argues, cannot genuinely avoid affirming the world's infinity and eternity:

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I do not see how those who insist on regarding time and space as

determinations belonging to the existence of things in themselves [Leibniz,

Wolff, Mendelssohn, considering space and time to be relativistic, i.e.

properties of monads] would avoid fatalism of actions; or if (like the otherwise

acute Mendelssohn) they flatly allow both of them [time and space] to be

conditions necessarily belonging only to the existence of finite and derived

beings but not to that of the infinite original being—I do not see how they

would justify themselves in making such a distinction, whence they get a

warrant to do so, or even how they would avoid the contradiction they

encounter when they regard existence in time as a determination attaching

necessarily to finite things in themselves, while God is said to be the cause of

this existence but cannot be the cause of time (or space) itself.22

Kant's point is that if one is committed to viewing space and time as divine attributes, one is

committed to viewing them as infinite and eternal. Hence, Leibniz's denial of Spinozism,

relying on the indefinite alternative, holds only by denying the claim that space and time,

which are properties of things, are also as attributes of God. Kant dismisses this denial as

arbitrary and inconsistent. It is arbitrary because if one considers space and time as

properties of things-in-themselves (monads), why not also consider them as properties of

God (Spinozistic attributes)? It is inconsistent because if time and space are essential

properties of created beings—and God is conceived as the cause of these beings—God must

22 KpVAA 5:102

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have these properties as well. That is, space and time must be divine attributes or, as Kant

says, "essential determinations of the original being itself [des unendlichen Urwesens]". It

follows that Leibniz's position is not, in fact, different from Spinoza's, that is, that from the

denial of empty containers Spinozism necessarily follows. Kant explicitly draws this

conclusion:

Hence, if the ideality of space and time is not adopted [i.e. Kant's transcendental

idealism rather than Leibniz's], nothing remains but Spinozism, in which space

and time are essential determinations of the original being itself, while the things

dependent upon it... are merely accidents inhering in it... Thus Spinozism...

argues more consistently than the creation theory can, when beings assumed to be

substances and in themselves existing in time are regarded as effects of a supreme

cause and yet not belonging to him and his action as substances themselves.

I emphasize the sentence "things that inhere in it as merely accidents" to highlight the link

between this passage and the passage in the first Critique that discusses the two alternative

conceptions of the unconditioned. I argued above that the first conception described in that

passage, which underlies the Antithesis' infinitistic position, corresponds to Spinozistic

substance monism: it conceives the unconditioned as "an infinite series in which all the

members are conditioned, only their totality unconditioned." In the second Critique, then,

Kant explicitly names it Spinozist. Note also the term Schopfungstheorie ("creation theory"),

23 In fact, Kant does argue for this already in the Antinomies—namely in the fourth thesis. I will consider that argument in chapter three.

24 KPVAA 5:102

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emphasized above. Referring to the Platonic Leibnizian-Wolffian theories, it indicates that

Kant has in mind not only the problem of freedom (which occupies the third antinomy) but

also that of the world's beginning, which applies directly to the first antinomy.25

Kant's comment in the second Critique is not spurious. In his Lectures on

Metaphysics it becomes clear that Kant considers Spinozism the most consistent form of

transcendental realism—an unavoidable conclusion of dogmatic metaphysics. "If we take

space as real", Kant writes, "we accept Spinoza's system". Or elsewhere:

Those who take space as a thing in itself or as a property of things are forced to

be Spinozists, i.e., they take the world as the embodiment [Inbegriff] of

determinations from one necessary substance... Space as something necessary

would have been also an attribute [Eigenschaft] of God, and all things [would

have] existed in space, thus in God.

It is important to emphasize that these texts, from the second Critique and from the

Lectures on Metaphysics, appear only after the first edition of the Critique. Indeed,

they appear only after the break of the Pantheismusstreit (1785). Kant does not

explicitly name Spinozism as the most consistent form of metaphysics before the break

25 The case of the third antinomy I discuss in chapter three.

25 V-MP/Dohna (AA 28:103).

27 V-MP-K3E/Arnoldt AA 29: 132. As well as AA 29: 65f. More passages were cited in the beginning of the chapter. Kant reiterates the same argument also in the second edition of the Critique. He does not mention Spinoza or Leibniz by name, but stresses the very same point: if space and time are regarded as properties of things (monads), one has no 'Recht' to deny that they are also divine attributes; therefore, only transcendental idealism can rightfully deny the world's infinity and eternity (see B 7If.)

28 For a detailed analysis of the Streit see F. Beiser, The Fate of Reason (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993), p. 44-126.

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of the Streit. The question is whether this is due to Kant's ignorance of Spinoza, or to

his political prudence. What is clear is that soon after the break of the Streit

Spinozism became, if not completely acceptable, then certainly something that could be

written and spoken about in public. Perhaps a clue to Kant's opinion about Spinozism

before the Streit can be found in the remark he adds in the second Critique,

immediately after claiming that Spinozism is the only consistent form of traditional

metaphysics:

One might rather say that the dogmatic teachers of metaphysics have shown

more shrewdness than sincerity in keeping this difficult point [the collapse of

Leibniz's position into Spinozism] out of sight as much as possible, in the

hope that if they said nothing about it no one would be likely to think about

it.30

Kant thinks that any competent metaphysical thinker must recognize that Leibniz and Wolff

could not genuinely avoid Spinozism: he does not regard their "indefinite alternative",

allowing room for creation and freedom, as sincere. This explains the position Kant

constructs in the Antithesis: if one denies the possibility of empty containers—that is, if one

denies that the world is finite—the world's infinity and eternity necessarily follow.

Recall Kant's discussion of the geometrical method, made without mentioning Spinoza's name. F. Heman sees this as an indication that Kant was avoiding Spinoza's name for political reasons only ('Kant und Spinoza' Kant-Studien 273-295).

30 KpV AA 5:102.1 will return to comment on this passage in chapter three.

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9. Note that Kant writes that the Antithesis position is that of "pure empiricism":

In the assertions of the antithesis we observe a perfect uniformity in manner of

thinking and complete unity of maxims, namely a principle of pure empiricism,

applied not only in explanation of the appearances within the world, but also in

the solution of the transcendental ideas of the world itself, in its totality (A

465f./B 493f).

At first glance, this passage seems to complicate the association of the Antithesis with

Spinoza. Does Spinoza explain everything—worldly phenomena and the world itself—by

what Kant call an empiricist principle?

To see that he does, one has to get clearer on what Kant means by "empiricist". What

is the empiricist explanatory principle, characterizing the Antithesis position, through which

everything—worldly phenomena and the world itself-—is explained? This principle, Kant

writes, is that of granting only philosophical knowledge acquired by naturalistic principles,

i.e., by the standard of "possible experience" (A 468/B496). More specifically, that principle

consists in an overriding acceptance of a mechanism of nature: on the Antithesis position

only mechanistic-natural explanations are legitimate. Now, whereas Spinoza is not what we

call an empiricist, he fits rather well with Kant's notion of "pure empiricism". Spinoza

pledges to explain worldly phenomena and the idea of the world itself, substance, by solely

31 That such a mechanism of nature is what Kant has in mind is, I think, fairly clear. It is strongly supported by the 2nd analogy's dominant role in the 'possibility of experience'; by the principle of causality adhered to in the third Antithesis; and, importantly, by Kant's identification of the Antithesis' empiricism with Epicurus [A 471/B499]) (more below)

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mechanistic (and in this sense, empiricist) principles. To be sure, Spinoza's use of these

principles eventually transcends the limits of experience, by adhering to the dogmatic-

metaphysical notion of substance. However, and this is just the point, so does the Antithesis:

it derives from empiricist principles the metaphysical notion of the 'World'.

II

The Thesis' argument against the Antithesis' has been extensively discussed in the

literature—criticized as well as defended. Identifying that position as Spinozist, however,

introduces some new challenges to Kant. Let us consider these challenges in detail; they lead

directly to the fundamental metaphysical antagonism between Kant and Spinoza's positions.

1. The Thesis' argument against the world's infinity relies on the claim that completing

an "infinite successive synthesis" is impossible. The most common objection against that

argument is that of a psychologistic fallacy. Kant, it is argued, draws on a finite human

epistemological perspective in deriving an illegitimate metaphysical conclusion. Kemp

Smith famously writes that "from a subjective impossibility of apprehension... [Kant] infers

an objective impossibility of existence." 4 B. Russell similarly contends that Kant's appeal to

a synthesis is infected with "that reference to mind by which all of Kant's philosophy is

32 Note that Leibniz does not fit Kant's conception of pure empiricism at all. He does not claim to explain the existence of the world itself by exclusively (what Leibniz would have called 'blind') mechanistic principles. This speaks strongly against Al Azm's commonly accepted interpretation.

33 Kant writes in the same passage that the Antithesis 'deprives us of the practical interests, or at least seems to deprive us of them' because it excludes the existence of a 'primordial being distinct from the world [von der Welt unterschiedenes Urwesen]' (A 468/B 496; translation mine). This again suggests the association of the Antithesis with Spinozism. As said, Kant associates the Antithesis' empiricism with Epicurus (A 471/B499). This is significant because Kant elsewhere associates Epicurus' mechanistic conception with Spinoza's. In fact, Kant maintains that Spinoza's mechanistic conception is superior to Epicurus' (KU AA 5:391). 34N. Kemp-Smith, N. A Commentary on Kant's Critique of Pure Reason (New York: Humanities Press, 1950), p. 485.

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infected." Infinite classes, Russell argues, are not generated by a successive synthesis. They

are given instantly by the defining property of their members.

The charge of psychologism is ineffective, however. It oversimplifies Kant's appeal

to the notion of synthesis in this passage, which is not epistemological or psychologistic. As

H. Allison points out, Kant's argument relies on a conceptual, not psychologistic, distinction

between an analytic whole (totum analyticum) and a synthetic one {totum syntheticum). A

totum analyticum is a whole whose parts are not independently conceived: they cannot be

regarded as existing, pre-given entities but must be thought of as mere qualities, or

limitations, of the whole. A totum syntheticum, by contrast, is a whole whose parts are pre-

given entities: they may be separated, at least in thought, from the whole, which is conceived

as the product of its parts. An infinite and complete totum analyticum is possible, since its

'parts' are mere limitations of the whole, whose infinity is given as prior. (Such would be

also Russell's infinite, instantly given sets; they are tota analytica precisely because they are

produced by the 'defining property' of their members). An infinite and complete totum

syntheticum, however, is impossible: the whole is produced by its parts, whose enumeration

proceeds ad infinitum. The world is a totum syntheticum, since it is metaphysically

constituted of pre-given parts (such as material bodies, minds, etc.). Therefore, if completed,

it is not infinite. This is the reasoning applied by the Thesis' claim that 'completing an

infinite successive synthesis' is impossible. The conclusion is that the world has beginnings.

B. Russell, Our Knowledge of the External World (London: Routledge, 1914), p.l60f..

36 For a full discussion, see H. Allison, Kant's Transcendental Idealism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004) p. 369f.

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2. Allison points out that the Thesis' argument leaves two alternatives open, not just

one: (1) to allow the world's infinity by denying its existence as a given, complete whole; or

(2) to grant that it is finite and has beginnings.37 The first alternative cannot be ruled out but

it does not effectively criticize Kant's antinomy. On the contrary, it grants the conclusion

that Kant is trying to establish by the Antinomies—namely, that conceiving the world as a

completed given entity is a cosmological misconception, indeed, an illusion. Thus, if one

clings to the assumption that the world is a given whole, one is committed to the second

alternative, which is equivalent to granting the Thesis' proof (i.e. that the world is finite).

Yet a third alternative, not considered by Allison, is Spinoza's. Since this alternative

specifically is the "true conclusion of dogmatic metaphysics", it requires careful

consideration. The challenge is the following: according to Spinoza, worldly objects are

nothing but divine modes. They 'exist in' and are 'conceived through' substance {E Id4) and

cannot be regarded as separate subsisting entities. Hence, the unconditioned whole, God, is

given prior to its parts, whose separate existence is denied. (That is, substance is

ontologically simple [E Ipl2]). Spinoza's cosmological infinity is thus a totum analyticum,

not a totum syntheticum. (Recall Spinoza's argument, quoted above, that conceiving

substance as a complex entity is "bordering on madness". The whole "conglomeration" of

argument, he writes, by which "philosophers commonly strive to prove that extended

Substance is finite, collapses [...] All such arguments assume that corporeal Substance is

made up of parts".) Indeed, Spinoza's position may seem to escape the Thesis' proof and

Allison, Kant's Transcendental Idealism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), p. 369f..

Refl. AA 18:436. Spinoza, "Letter 12."

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constitutes a consistent metaphysical position in which God, who is identical to the world, is

infinite and complete.40

3. Kant observes a similar challenge and attempts to respond to it. In the Observation on

the Thesis he writes:

.. .if we are to think the totality of such a multiplicity, and yet cannot appeal to

limits that of themselves constitute a totality in intuition, we have to account for

a concept which in this case cannot proceed from the whole to the determinate

multiplicity of the parts, but which must demonstrate the possibility of a whole

by means of the successive synthesis of the parts. Now since this synthesis must

constitute a never to be completed series, I cannot think a totality either prior to

the synthesis or by means of the synthesis. For the concept of totality is in this

case itself the representation of a completed synthesis of the parts. And since

this completion is impossible, so likewise is the concept of it (A431/B459-

A433/B461).

The core of the argument is found in the first lines of the passage. A complete totality,

if pre-existing as such, hardly accounts for the fact that it is not experienced as a totality but

as a manifold of discrete parts. An analogy to Kant's notion of space can perhaps help see

the force of the argument. Kant views space as an infinite totum analyticum, whose parts do

not exist as separate entities: the Aesthetic of the Critique argues that spatial parts (regions)

40As said, a similar problem is raised by P. Franks regarding the third antinomy. (See Franks: "From Kant to Post-Kantian Idealism.") See also chapter three.

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are mere limitations of a singular, infinite space (A24-25/B39-40). Crucially, however, the

first antinomy does not concern space (or time), but the world. In contrast to space, the world

in space is not given as a totum analyticum—in fact, it is not at all given as a world. Rather,

it is assumed as the object unifying an immense number (problematically, an infinity) of

separate entities. Hence, conceiving the world as a complete object requires apprehending in

thought (not in the Kantian sense of apprehension) a manifold of pre-given objects—uniting

them under reciprocal participation in a single entity. Therefore, an appeal to a totum

analyticum seems unjustified: the notion of the world is composed as a totum syntheticum;

therefore, the world is either incomplete or finite; and, therefore, if we take the world in the

traditional cosmological sense (to be complete), it must be finite.

4. A Spinozist would object. The fact that the world is experienced as discrete is beside

the point. The appropriate order of metaphysical reasoning is directed by the intellect, not by

the senses. (In fact, the senses reverse the appropriate order). According to the intellect, the

unconditioned whole is metaphysically prior to its conditioned 'parts'. Therefore, it must

also be methodologically and epistemologically prior; therefore, a consistent notion of an

infinite totum analyticum remains justified and, therefore, the world may be infinite and

complete.

The crucial point is that Spinoza does not generate the notion of an unconditioned-

infinite entity by looking at finite worldly objects and, subsequently, deducing the

cosmological unconditioned idea. Rather, he relies on the claim that an innate, adequate

cosmological idea of the unconditioned is available to him, prior to sensual experience of

finite worldly objects. A clear articulation of such a perspective is offered by Spinoza's

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predecessor, Descartes, who claims in the third Meditation that the concept of an

unconditioned infinite is not the product of 'merely negating the finite'. Rather, it is a true

idea: "I clearly understand that there is more reality in an infinite substance than in a finite

one, and hence that my perception of the infinite, that is, God, is in some way prior to my

perception of the finite, that is myself (my emphasis).41 Spinoza pursues that Cartesian

insight to the extreme. In a sense, it becomes the fundamental premise of his thought.

Whereas Descartes does begin to philosophize from the perception of the conditioned

individual—himself, via the Cogito—and only subsequently states that the unconditioned

notion, God, must have been prior within him, Spinoza begins to philosophize from the

unconditioned notion itself. He does not generate that unconditioned notion from finite

(conditioned) experience but claims to have it. The entire Spinozist system thus unfolds from

the definition of the unconditioned, the causa sui. "By that which is self-caused", writes

Spinoza, "I mean that of which the essence involves existence, or that of which the nature is

only conceivable as existent" {E Idl).42 The self-caused entity is God, or nature, "a being

absolutely infinite—that is, a substance consisting in infinite attributes, of which each

expresses eternal and infinite essentiality" {E Id6). Since the entities expressing Spinoza's

substance are not numerically distinct from it, substance is simple—an infinite totum

analyticum. Crucially, that notion is not only ontologically but also epistemologically prior:

the unconditioned substance is conceived through itself, whereas finite modes are conceived

through substance, as participating in it. Hence, Spinoza's position is not liable to Kant's

4IR. Descartes, "Third Meditation" in The Philosophical Writings of Descartes I/II [CSM] (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p. 31.

42 It is here that Kant's criticism of the geometrical method becomes relevant. Kant criticizes the use of definitions as illegitimate in philosophy because definitions can be given only in the end of the philosophical process and not—like in Spinoza—in the beginning. Elswhere Kant ascribes to Spinoza precisely the fault that, "as a mathematician," he started with an arbitrary definition of substance." I discuss this point in detail in 'Kant on the Geometrical Method' (unpublished manuscript).

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argument in the Observation on the Thesis that the world is perceived as discrete. In the

Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect, moreover, Spinoza argues that the unconditioned

idea can be conceived only clearly and distinctly (since it is simple) and, therefore, that its

adequacy is infallible and certain:

Since the first principle of nature cannot... be conceived abstractly or universally,

and cannot extend further in the understanding than it does in reality, and has no

likeness to mutable things, no confusion need to be feared in respect to the idea of

it.. .This is, in fact, a being single and infinite; in other words, it is the sum total

of being, beyond which there is no being found (TdlE 29).

5. At this point, we seem to face an impasse between two philosophical perspectives.

The first, shared by Spinoza and Descartes, admits a notion of the genuinely (i.e., complete

or actual) infinite, which is epistemologically and ontologically prior to finite entities. When

appropriated by Spinoza, it generates a forceful cosmological position in which nature is

conceived as an infinite and complete totum analyticum. That position is immune to Kant's

antinomy, which relies on the claim that an infinite totum syntheticum is impossible. The

other perspective is that assumed by Kant, in which an innate notion of an infinite whole is

denied. Kant would insist that an adequate notion must conform to the conditions of

experience, space and time, to which an infinite unconditioned notion cannot possibly

comply—hence, that the cosmological idea is not given as a totum analyticum but generated

by apprehending a multiplicity of worldly objects. The cosmological notion is therefore a

totum syntheticum, which cannot be infinite and complete. The point is that Kant has to have

at his disposal an argument against Spinoza's initial perspective. Otherwise, a consistent

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Spinozist would remain unaffected by the first Antinomy's Thesis and, thereby, resolve the

Antinomy. (Note that similar problems would occur with the other Antinomies as well, most

clearly the third, which concerns freedom and the PSR. In the present context that discussion

needs to be omitted). What would be Kant's answer to this challenge? What is the Kantian

stance towards the innate infinite unconditioned notion assumed by Spinoza?

6. Kantians will have to insist, and quite justly, I think, that relying on an infinite totum

analyticum the Spinozist makes it too easy for herself. That Spinozist conception requires

that substance (the World) be conceived as an absolutely unlimited infinite whole—a

determinable (measurable) maximum necessarily greater than any other. Whereas Kant

grants that that conception is commonsensical, he deems it incoherent: given any measurable

totality (or magnitude), it is possible for a greater magnitude to exist (cf. A527/B555). This

position is supported by standard set theory. Measurable totalities accounted for by set theory

are all sets and, given any set, a greater set exists. Therefore, every set—infinite ones

included—is only relatively large; no set can be conceived as the genuinely unlimited, which

is the way Spinoza claims to conceive of substance.4 The truly unlimited—the Absolute

Infinite44—can be perhaps thought of as the class of all sets rather than as the set of all sets.

But then, such Absolute cannot be regarded an actually measured totality, like Spinoza's

For a thorough discussion of Kant's conception of infinity, see A. Moore: "Aspects of the Infinite in Kant," Mind 1988, 97, p. 205-23. (See also Erratum 1988 [98] 501.)

**G. Cantor: "Letter to Dedekind," in ed. J. van Heijenoort, From Frege to Godel: A Source Book in Mathematical Logic, 1879-1931 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967) p. 114.

45 Moore shows nicely how the problem of the universal set can be treated as an antinomy. (See Moore "Aspects of the Infinite in Kant," p. 217.) See also Ulrich's treatment in M. Ulrich: "Das Unendliche—eine blosse Idee?," Revue Internationale de Philosophie 1993, 47, p. 319-41.

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This places a heavy burden of proof on the Spinozist. If wishing to rely on a notion of

complete infinity that's prior to its parts, one will have to show explain why this notion

should be accepted as coherent, legitimate notion: certainly we do not know the existence of

such entity through ordinary empirical experience. Why should we grant it as legitimate?

It is important to point out that Kant himself does not altogether reject actual

infinity. In fact he grants something of its metaphysical significance, and in a way that

eventually brings him close to Spinoza. However, we will see that Kant's reasons for

accepting this notion are ones that the Spinozist will have to reject. Consider first the

following passage from the Dissertation:

Those who reject the actual mathematical infinite do so in a very casual manner.

For they so construct their definition of the infinite that they are able to extract a

contradiction from it. The infinite is described by them as a quantity than which

none greater is possible, and the mathematical infinite as a multiplicity—of an

assignable unit—than which none greater is possible. Since they thus substitute

maximum for infinitum, and a greatest multiplicity is impossible, they easily

conclude against this infinite which they have themselves invented. Or, it may be,

they entitle an infinite multiplicity an infinite number, and point out that such a

phrase is meaningless, as is, indeed, perfectly evident. But again they have fought

and overthrown only the figments of their own minds. If, however, they had

conceived the mathematical infinite as a quantity which, when related to measure,

as its unit, is a multiplicity greater than all number; and if furthermore, they had

46 See also Kemp Smith's discussion in A Commentary To Kant's 'Critique of Pure Reason' (New York: Humanities Press, 1962), p. 486f.

108

observed that measurability here denotes only the relation [of the infinite] to the

standards of the human intellect, which is not permitted to attain to a definite

conception of multiplicity save by the successive addition of unit to unit, nor to

the sum-total (which is called number) save by completing this progress in a

finite time; they would have perceived clearly that what does not conform to the

established law of some subject need not on that account exceed all intellection.

An intellect may exist, though not indeed a human intellect, which perceives a

multiplicity distinctly in one intuition [uno obtutu] without the successive

application of a measure.

Especially the concluding lines indicate that Kant's approach to the infinite is subtle. On the

one hand, he allows room for its possibility: he thinks that rejecting the notion of the infinite

on the grounds that "the greatest multiplicity is impossible" is too quick, because actual

infinity need not be constituted as a multiplicity. (On that score, Kant agrees with Spinoza;

as we have seen above Spinoza argues that it is ineffective to refute the possibility of an

infinite whole on the presupposition that it is "made out of parts.") On the other hand, Kant

maintains that even if actual infinity may be possible, this infinite cannot be grasped by the

human intellect. (On this point, Kant completely disagrees with Spinoza; as we have seen

above Spinoza holds that if anything at all can be known adequately, without "fear" or

"uncertainty", this is substance.) In the Critique Kant explicates the same point when he

writes that even if the infinite "whole of nature" is "spread before us," no experience can

sustain knowledge "in concreto" of this unconditioned whole; for it would be impossible to

have "consciousness of its absolute totality" (A482f/B510f). In the Critique of Judgment

47 MSI AA 2: 388n (Kemp Smith's translation).

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Kant remains faithful to a similar position but changes the points of emphasis. This change

sheds light also on his stance to Spinozism. Let us consider, by means of conclusion, Kant's

account of infinity in the Analytics of the Sublime. The connection between the third

Critique's account of the sublime and the first Critique's Antinomies deserves more attention

than it usually receives.

Ill

1. Kant's discussion of the sublime begins by introducing the notion of mathematical

infinity, which consists in the potential to add, for any given magnitude, an additional unit—

thus enlarging it without hindrance ad infinitum ("ungehindert ins Unendliche"). This

mathematical notion Kant explains does not sustain the notion of actual infinity: first,

because the mathematical notion consists merely in negating the finite (the possibility of

enlarging any given series); and second, because the mathematical procedure is abstract,

consisting in successive addition of units regardless of their size (for all that matters, the

units added could be mathematical points). An estimation of magnitude (GroBenschatzung)

cannot be purely mathematical: actually estimating a magnitude requires an aesthetic

measure, a criterion of judgment, which provides, through the senses or the imagination, the

basic unit's actual size.

Now, to the successively generated mathematical infinity, so Kant, Reason adds a

further demand, namely that the infinite succession be completed:

The mind listens to the voice of reason within itself, which demands totality for

all given magnitudes, even those that we can never apprehend in their entirety

48 KUAA 5:251-2.

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[...] and it exempts from this demand not even the infinite (space and time).

Rather, reason makes us unavoidably think of the infinite (in common reason's

judgment) as given in its entirety (in its totality).49

By granting such an inner voice of reason (Stimme der Vernunff) Kant admits the presence of

a notion of actual infinity. Moreover, that notion is the cosmological notion of the complete

world:

If the human mind is nonetheless to be able to think the given infinite without

contradiction, it must have within itself a power that is supersensible, whose

idea of a noumenon cannot be intuited but can yet be regarded as the substrate

underlying what is mere appearance, namely, our intuition of the world.50

This cosmological notion is similar but not identical to the transcendentally real notion

assaulted in the first Thesis. It is rather a noumenal substrate of nature, the "supersensible":

The proper unchangeable basic measure of nature is the absolute whole of

nature, which, in the case of nature as appearance, is infinity comprehended.

This basic measure, however, is a self-contradictory concept (because an

absolute totality of an endless progression is impossible). Hence that magnitude

of a natural object to which the imagination fruitlessly applies its entire ability

to comprehend must lead the concept of nature to a supersensible substrate

49 KU AA 5:254

50KU AA 5: 254f.

I l l

(which underlies both nature and our ability to think), a substrate that is large

beyond any standard of sense.51

This text is condensed, and it is outside my scope to suggest that Kant present a defensible

argument. Suffice it here to observe that Kant recognizes a notion of actual infinity, and

grants that that notion "leads to" a cosmological notion of the "substrate of all nature". Two

questions call for an answer in the present context. How does the notion of actual infinity

lead to a substrate of "all nature"? And why does Kant consider that notion legitimate?

(Clearly, no possible experience in the traditional Kantian sense can vouch for that notion.)

The answer to these questions is roughly the following. First, Kant considers it

significant that the notion of actual infinity cannot be mathematical because the latter is

abstract whereas the former is not. Actual infinity involves a determination of magnitude

(namely of the absolutely large) and, as mentioned, this requires an aesthetic measure of

judgment, which provides the basic unit's actual size. Kant maintains that in order to

produce the 'absolutely large' that basic measure itself must be the largest conceivable—

thus, it must be the notion of'everything', or of the 'world'. However, if this measure is

generated by relying on concrete experience with finite worldly objects, it is inconsistent

(Kant's argument here seems to draw on the same argument invoked in the first Thesis [see

especially step four of the Thesis' argument].) Therefore, the need for an aesthetic measure

of the largest possible unit "must lead", from the "concept of complete nature" to the concept

5IKUAA5:255

52 For a more comprehensive discussion see P. Guyer: "Kant's Distinction Between the Beautiful and the Sublime," Review of Metaphysics 1982, 35, p. 767f. For an analysis of infinity and the sublime, see Moore's "Aspects of the Infinite in Kant," p. 218-20; L. Roy: "Kant's Reflections on the Sublime and the Infinite," Kant-Studien 1997, 88(1), p. 44-59. See also Kant's MNHerder AA 28:568f.

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of a "supersensible substrate"—some substrate that is large beyond any standard of sense

and underlies the complete phenomenal reality. The latter just is the notion of the infinite

whole—the "voice of reason" inducing us to think infinity in its totality.

Still, why does Kant grant that that infinite unconditioned notion is meaningful? In

order to justify accepting this notion, it has to be, for Kant, illustrated or exemplified in

experience. Yet, clearly, there isn't possible experience, in the traditional Kantian sense (nor

for that matter, on other accounts of experience) that illustrates that notion. Kant thinks that

the experience of the sublime, which is an experience of spontaneity and freedom, is what

justifies that notion: through this experience we are presented and become conscious of a

measure that is absolutely large: in relation to this measure everything in nature is small:

[We find] in our power of reason a different and nonsensible standard that has

this infinity itself under it as a unit; and since in contrast to this standard

everything in nature is small, we found in our mind a superiority over nature itself

in its immensity... [It reveals in us] an ability to judge ourselves independent of

nature, and reveals in us superiority over nature.

Kant formulates the same point in the conclusion of the second Critique, which describes the

experience of the sublime:

Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and respect

[Ehrfurcht], the more often and more steadily one reflects on them: the starry

heavens above me and the moral law within me... The first begins from the

53 KU AA 5: 261 (emphasis mine).

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place I occupy in the external world of sense and extends the connection in

which I stand into an unbounded magnitude with worlds upon worlds and

systems upon systems... The second begins from my invisible self... and

presents me in a world which has true infinity but which can be discovered only

by the understanding... The first view of countless multitudes of worlds

annihilates, as it were, my importance as an animal creature... The second, on

the contrary, infinitely raises my worth as an intelligence by my personality, in

which the moral law reveals to me a life independent of animality and even of

the whole sensible world.54

2. There are some significant similarities between Kant's conception of the infinite and

Spinoza's. Like Spinoza, Kant views the infinite "supersensible" as an all-encompassing

cosmological substrate: "[an] idea of a noumenon [that] cannot be intuited but can yet be

regarded as the substrate underlying what is mere appearance, namely, our intuition of the

world". Moreover:"[a] supersensible substrate (which underlies both nature and our ability to

think)." This all-encompassing notion is not foreign to Kant's thought. Most importantly, it

echoes Kant's understanding of the (regulative) notion of the ideal of pure reason:

The transcendental major premise which is presupposed in the complete

determination of all things is therefore no other than the representation of the sum

of all reality; it is not merely a concept which, as regards its transcendental

content, comprehends all predicates under itself, it also contains them within

54KpV AA 5:161 f. (emphases mine).

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itself; and the complete determination of any and every thing rests on this All of

Reality [dieses All der Realitat] (A 577- B605).55

Yet Kant's reasoning is far from being truly Spinozist. The all-encompassing "substrate of

nature" cannot be known as a substance; it is a noumenal entity. There cannot be

philosophical determinative knowledge of that entity—this "severs the root" of Spinoza's

speculative ambitions and makes room for freedom and faith.

Kant himself suggests at some point the following brisk argument against Spinoza's

substance monism:

If only a single substance exists, then either I must be this substance, and

consequently I must be God (but this contradicts my dependency); or else I am an

accident (but this contradicts the concept of my ego, in which I think myself as an

ultimate subject which is not the predicate of any other being).56

And elsewhere:

When I think, I am conscious that my ego thinks in me, and not inhere in another

thing external to me, but inheres in myself. Consequently I conclude that I am a

substance, that is, that I exist for myself and am not a predicate of any other

55As argued in chapter one, Kant himself understands the ideal as a Spinozist (albeit regulative) conception.

56 V-Phil-Th/P61itz AA 28: 1052.

115

thing... But if I myself am a substance, then I must be God himself or God is a

substance different from me, and consequently different from the world.57

However, this attempt to rely on the doctrine of'rational psychology' in refuting substance

monism is not promising. An obvious objection is that Kant's argument won't survive Kant's

own criticisms of rational psychology in the Paralogisms, which excludes knowledge of the

self (or the 'ego') as a substance. Worse, we have seen above that Kant affirms that the all

encompassing 'noumenal substrate' underlies "both nature and our ability to think." This

makes it hard to see why Kant should suggest that thought or self-refection proves our

existence as separate substances, or entities numerically distinct from the "substrate of

nature."

It may be more effective for a Kantian to insist, as suggested above, that the notion of

actual infinity has not been justified by the Spinozist—moreover, that justification has to rely

on the basis of one's consciousness of freedom, like the sublime. If not for that

consciousness, actual infinity remains an empty (mis)use of words—certainly not a notion on

which one can successfully base metaphysical demonstrations. As we have seen above it is

reasonable to argue that if an unconditioned infinity can be grounded in experience, this must

be an experience of freedom: any sensory experience remains essentially bound and limited,

conditioned upon space, time and causality.58 Also the opposite holds: if an individual claims

to conceive an unconditioned notion, that individual must grasp that notion independently of

51 V-Phil-Th/P61itz AA 28: 28: 1041

58 This is clearly Kant's position in the first Critique and, to be sure, not because of the argument of the Antinomies. It is fairly uncontroversial that regardless whether we accept transcendental idealism, or Kant's antinomial argument, our experience of the world is as a matter of fact limited.

116

such limiting conditions as space, time and causality. In this sense, she becomes aware of the

unconditioned insofar as she is genuinely free. Here lies a problem for Spinoza's position,

with respect to the first antinomy but also more generally. The Spinozist cannot rely on an

experience of spontaneity and freedom, as this would be inconsistent with Spinoza's

necessitarianism. Spinoza's totum analyticum excludes an experience of freedom because it

excludes the substantiality (or independence) of finite entities. Thus, deriving necessitarian

substance monism from the notion of actual infinity, Spinozism threatens to undercut its very

foundations.

Now Spinoza may have a way of answering this challenge, drawing on his own

theory of freedom. We will consider this in the following chapter.

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3

The Third Antinomy and Spinoza

We saw in chapter two that Spinoza's challenge to Kant's antinomy stems from his

reliance on a cosmological notion of a totum analyticum—an infinite whole which is

conceived as prior to its parts. That notion, if granted, may resolve the antinomial

conflict. The Kantian answer to this is epistemological: in virtue of what, a Kantian will

ask, does the Spinozist accept the totum analyticum as legitimate? That notion may be

accepted, I argued, only on the basis of an experience of freedom (in Kant, the sublime;

in Descartes, the Cogito), what this threatens Spinoza's metaphysical aspirations: by

deriving necessitarianism from the notion of a totum analyticum Spinoza renders freedom

a human illusion, thereby undercutting his own position.

In this chapter I consider the possible Spinozist reply to that challenge by bringing

Spinoza's theory of adequacy and freedom into dialogue with Kant's third Antinomy. If

one can become, in virtue of acquiring an adequate idea, free, Spinoza's notion of

complete cosmological infinity may be granted, as well as the Spinozist resolution of the

third and the first antinomies (see chapter two). Along the lines of the third Antinomy,

however, one may argue that the task of acquiring an adequate idea is impossible. If that

is the case, the Spinozist challenge to the antinomies has to be given up—as does

Spinoza's more general rational-metaphysical aspirations. I will argue for the latter

position.

In the first part of the chapter, I offer an interpretation of the third Antinomy. In

line with the previous chapter, it will become clear that the antithesis' argument against

freedom is best understood as a Spinozist application of the PSR—not as a Leibnizian

application, as is often assumed. In the second part of the chapter I raise the chief

Spinozist challenge to the antinomy, stemming from Spinoza's cosmological totum

analyticum—in the case of the third Antinomy an infinite explanatory whole. If that

notion is granted, the Antinomy's thesis—which argues for the necessity of freedom by

presupposing the incompleteness of infinity—fails.1 In the third and concluding part of

the chapter I continue to defend Kant's position along the lines initiated in the previous

chapter. We will see that Spinoza's reliance on a totum analyticum, which has to be

accepted on the basis of an adequate idea (or an experience of freedom), cannot be non-

circularly justified.

I.

1. The third Antinomy deals with the problem of causality and freedom. The Thesis

maintains that there are two types of causality—that of "nature," whereby worldly events

follow necessarily from antecedent states; and that of "freedom," whereby events occur

through a power "of generating a state spontaneously." The Antithesis argues in

opposition to this that there is only one type of causality, and that this is causality "in

accordance with the laws of nature" (A444/B472). On the Antithesis' view, every

worldly event necessarily follows from the cosmos' preceding state. The idea of freedom

is therefore an illusion, an "empty thought entity" (A445/B473). The third Antinomy is

1 Franks has raised a similar challenge to the third Antinomy in P. Franks, and S. Gardner: "From Kant to Post-Kantian Idealism II," in Aristotelian Society Supplementary 76 (1), p. 229-246. I discuss Franks' account below.

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systematically related to the first, which deals with the problem of the world's beginning.

Kant explains that "ifyou do not, as regards time, admit anything as being

mathematically first in the world, then there is no necessity as regards causality, to seek

for something that is dynamically [causally] first" (A449/B477). Thus whoever sides with

the first Thesis (arguing that the world is finite in space and time) will also side with the

thesis of the third (arguing that there is freedom); while those who side with the first

Antithesis (arguing for the world's infinity) will also side with the Antithesis of the third

(arguing against freedom). The third Antinomy is also systematically connected to the

fourth, which deals with the (non-) existence of a necessary being. This is due to the fact

that they draw on similar cosmological (first cause) arguments. In interpreting the third

Antinomy I will at times be assuming these connections.

As pointed out in chapter two, the prevalent historical account of the Antinomies

follows Al Azm's interpretation, mapping the Antinomies' arguments onto the Leibniz-

Clark correspondence.3 On that view, the theses correspond to Clark's Newtonian

position, while the antitheses correspond to Leibniz's. In the case of the first Antinomy,

for example, whereas the thesis assumes space and time to be Newtonian "empty

containers," the antithesis represents Leibniz's rejection of empty containers by an

argument from the PSR. In the case of the third Antinomy, it is assumed, the Thesis

reflects Newton's occasionalist position—in which the "world machine" requires God's

intervention in order "to keep running properly"—whereas the antithesis reflects

2Kemp Smith writes, "Kant's proof of freedom in the thesis of the third Antinomy is merely a corollary from his proof of the existence of a cosmological or theological unconditioned..." (A Commentary To Kant's 'Critique of Pure Reason' [New York: Humanities Press, 1962], p. 497.)

3S. Al Azm, The Origins of Kant's Arguments in the Antinomies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972). For a through bibliographical survey, see L. Kreimendahl, Kant—Der Durchbruch von 1769 (Koln: Dinter, 1990), p. 156-85.

119

Leibniz's determinist position, in which freedom is excluded by an argument from the

PSR.4

This reading has become deeply entrenched but it suffers from some immediate

problems. Some of these were considered in chapter two. For example, it must be noted

that despite rejecting Newtonian empty containers by an argument from the PSR Leibniz

does not affirm the world's infinity: he affirms rather that the world is indefinitely large,

and reserves infinity exclusively for God. (This is significant, because Kant was well

aware of the infinite/indefinite distinction [A511-515/B539-543] and does use the term

"infinite" in articulating the first Antithesis.) Moreover, contrary to the Antithesis Leibniz

does not deny, but affirms, that the world is created. As for the third Antinomy, Leibniz

does not offer an argument from the PSR against freedom: in contrast to the third

antithesis he argues that freedom and the PSR are compatible, even complementary. Al

Azm deals with this fact by commenting briefly that Leibniz is "couched in the language

of freedom" when articulating a determinist position.6 This is unsatisfactory. Leibniz is

not merely "couched" in the language of freedom: contrary to the Antithesis, Leibniz is a

compatibilist. Let us examine the case of the third Antinomy in more detail.

2. The thesis states that causality in accordance with the laws of nature is not the only

causality from which "appearances of the world" can be sufficiently explained. To

explain the world's appearances, "it is necessary to assume that there is also another

causality, that of freedom" (A445/B473).

4 Al Azm, The Historical Origins p. 87-90.

5 See my discussion of Leibniz's position in chapter two.

6 Al Azm The Historical Origins p. 87.

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Thesis: Prove: to sufficiently explain all worldly phenomena it is necessary to assume

both natural causality and causality of freedom.

1. Assume (for the sake of a reductio) the antithesis: there is no freedom; all worldly

phenomena take place solely in accordance with laws of nature.

2. It follows that every worldly event (E3) "presupposes a preceding state" (E2),

from which it necessarily {unausbleiblich) follows.

3. Further, it follows that the preceding state (E2) also came into being "in time." [If

E2 always existed, E3 would also have always existed. But this contradicts the

assumption that E3 came into existence subsequently to E2].

4. Thus every worldly cause (such as E2) presupposes a preceding worldly cause,

which itself follows "according to the law of nature," and so forth, ad infinitum.

5. Therefore, on the assumption that "everything happens according to the laws of

nature," there will always be a "deeper" {subaltemeri) cause but never an ultimate

one. Because the regress continues ad infinitum, the series of causes remains

incomplete.

6. However, the "law of nature" consists in the claim that nothing happens without

a cause "sufficiently determined a-priori."

7. Therefore, when taken in an "unlimited universality," the claim that all causality

takes place only in accordance with the laws of nature is contradictory.

8. Therefore, causality in accordance with the law of nature is not the only kind of

causality. There is also causality of freedom.

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At first glance, the argument only licenses the negative claim that "causality of nature" is

not the only kind of causality. No positive argument is provided for the affirmation (in

proposition 8) of a causality of freedom. However, as often noted in the literature, Kant

considers natural causality and causality of freedom (spontaneity) contradictories

(A533/B561). If freedom just is liberty from natural causality then, on the assumption

that the thesis' argument goes through, the conclusion is warranted.

The core of the argument is the move from the fifth proposition to the seventh by

the mediation of the sixth—the claim that "the law of nature consists just in this, that

nothing happens without a cause sufficiently (hinreichend) determined a-priori." As has

been noted by several interpreters, "determined a-priori" does not carry the ordinary

Kantian sense (of independence of experience) but rather the traditional sense, of 'in

advance of or 'priori to.'7 On that reading, the Thesis' argument is the following:

(a) A thing is understood by natural causality (henceforth: naturalistically), if and only if

it is understood mechanically, i.e. by an antecedent event.

(b) Had there only been natural causality, no explanation would be ultimate or complete

(i.e. some facts would remain unexplained) [by Prop.6]. However,

(c) This violates the demand that "nothing happens without being sufficiently

antecedently determined."

o

Despite the textual plausibility of that reading, J. Bennett rejects it. He points out that

this interpretation commits the Thesis' target—that is, the Antithesis—to a position more

7 For example H Allison, Transcendental Idealism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), p. 378f..

122

sweeping than that in which "there is only causality of nature." Indeed, given (b) and (c)

the Antithesis is refuted by the thesis only if the former assumes, first, that there is only

natural causality; and second, that every event admits of an ultimate explanation. Bennett

argues that the latter position cannot be the thesis' target because it renders the

Antithesis' proponent "such an obvious straw man that Kant cannot have taken it

seriously or supposed that the thesis-arguer would do so."9

Bennett's position is puzzling. It seems clear that the thesis argues against a

position committed to (a)-(c) but it is less clear why that position is that of an obvious

straw man. In fact, thus understood, the antithesis articulates nothing but a thorough­

going commitment to the PSR. In this light, the metaphysical dispute that constitutes the

third Antinomy is no longer understood as a dispute over freedom and causality in

general but, rather, as a dispute over freedom and the PSR. This interpretation is endorsed

by H. Allison (among others) who is similarly puzzled by Bennett's position. The

Antithesis' fully universalized version of the PSR is not that of a straw man, says Allison,

but the Leibnizian version. "Leibniz," Allison adds, "is one of Bennett's favorite

philosophers."10

Contra Bennett, then, it seems reasonable to read the thesis as debating the PSR.

The argument assumes, for the sake of a reductio, (a) that there is only naturalistic

causality and (b) the PSR: every event has an ultimate explanation. This position is then

challenged by showing that (a) and (b) pull in opposite directions: the PSR's demand for

explanatory completeness is inconsistent with the claim that all causality is naturalistic.

8 J Bennett, Kant's Dialectic (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), p. 184-6.

9 Ibid.

10 Allison, Transcendental Idealism, p. 380

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For if the latter were the case, the explanatory (causal) regress would have continued ad

infinitum and, therefore, there would be no explanatory completeness.

Note that in understanding the antithesis as Leibnizian Allison is following Al Azm. Yet

Leibniz does not argue from the PSR against freedom. On the contrary, he holds that

freedom and the PSR are compatible and complementary. For Leibniz, despite the fact

that every worldly event is determined (or explained) by its causes, no such event is

genuinely necessary precisely because an ultimate naturalistic explanation is

impossible.11 A thing's or an event's existence does not follow directly ('blindly', as

Leibniz would put it) from its possibility (or nature). Every worldly event is contingent

and requires an act of choice in order to occur, because the causal series determining it

regresses ad infinitum.

Consider Leibniz's doctrine of infinite analysis. According to Leibniz, fact x is

necessary if and only if its existence can be proven by an analysis of its reasons. (For

only in that case can x's existence be shown to obtain by identity propositions; thus only

in that case does x's contrary imply a contradiction.) It follows that fact x is contingent if

the analysis of its reasons consists of an infinite series. (For in that case it cannot be

proven that x exists; x's contrary is not a contradiction.) Given that the existence of the

"indeed this might be the reason why Bennett does not ascribe the Antithesis to Leibniz as other commentators do. Moreover his view that the antithesis cannot convey a necessitarian position because necessitarianism is (so he thinks) a straw man's position is at least continuous with his belief that also Spinoza did not hold a necessitarian position.

12 Cf. Leibniz, The Monadology, in ed. C. Gerhardt, Die philosophischen Schriften von G. W Leibniz (Berlin: Weidman, 1875-90) [Gerhardt] 6:612. For more detailed accounts of Leibniz's doctrine of infinite analysis see B. Russell, A Critical Presentation of the Philosophy of Leibniz, (London: Routledge, 1997) p. 25-35; L. Couturat: "On Leibniz's Metaphysics," in ed. H. Frankfurt, Leibniz: A Collection of Critical Essays (Garden City/N.Y: Doublenday Anchor, 1972), p. 30-35; R. Adams, Leibniz Determinist, Theist, Idealist (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994) p. 25-30. The success of this doctrine is controversial, of course. See D. Blumenfeld: "Leibniz on Contingency and Infinite Analysis," Philosophy

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world as a whole, as well as the existence of worldly entities, depends on an infinitely

regressing series of causes, their existence cannot be proven. It is contingent.

Leibniz invokes the doctrine of infinite analysis in defending divine and human freedom

alike. God must have chosen freely to create the present world because it cannot be

proven that this world is the best. The same doctrine is also applied to human freedom:

the series of causes that determines a given human action is contained in the notion of its

agent but, because that series regresses ad infinitum, each action is contingent. No action

or decision is fully accountable (provable) by an analysis of the said series. Consider the

following claim from the Discourse on Metaphysics:

As the individual concept of each person includes once for all everything which

can ever happen to him, in it can be seen a priori the evidences or the reasons

for the reality of each event... But these events, however certain, are

nevertheless contingent, being based on the free choice of God and of his

creatures. It is true that their choices always have their reasons, but they incline

to the choices under no compulsion of necessity. (DM 13)

This claim is supported by the following example, which invokes Caesar's successful

crossing of the Rubicon:

If anyone were capable of carrying out a complete demonstration by virtue of

which he could prove [the] connection of the subject, which is Caesar, with the

and Phenomenological Research 1985, 45(4), p. 483-514; as well as M. Lin: "Rationalism and Necessitarianism" (unpublished manuscript).

125

predicate, which is his successful enterprise, he would bring us to see in fact

that the future dictatorship of Caesar had its basis in his concept or nature...

but one would not [thereby] prove that it was necessary in itself, nor that the

contrary implied a contradiction... [For] this demonstration of this predicate as

belonging to Caesar is not as absolute as are those of numbers or of geometry,

but this predicate presupposes a sequence of things which God has shown by

his free will. This sequence is based on the first free decree of God. (DM 13;

emphasis added)

By claiming that the demonstration of the connection between 'Caesar' and 'crossed the

Rubicon' is "not as absolute as those of numbers or of geometry," Leibniz implies that

his doctrine of infinite analysis relies on the infinite/indefinite distinction. Leibniz accepts

complete infinity (which he terms the 'Absolute') in geometry and mathematics but

rejects it in metaphysics. Accordingly, every causal series (like the "sequence" he alludes

to above) is indefinite: its conclusions cannot be demonstrated. Therefore, the contrary of

its conclusion is not contradictory. Without the further assumption of divine will, choice

and freedom, no explanation can be complete. This invites Leibniz's claim that the

sequence is "based first on the first free decree of God."

3. If anything, Leibniz's understanding of freedom and the PSR bears interesting

similarities to the argument presented in the Thesis (especially to proposition 5).

Certainly it is not related to the argument of the Antithesis. The crucial point, I think, is

Leibniz's strategy of argumentation: despite arguing that every event is determined,

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Leibniz doesn't argue from the PSR against freedom. On the contrary, invoking the PSR

in combination with the doctrine of infinite analysis, Leibniz argues for freedom. This is

also the strategy of the Thesis.

An objection often raised against Leibniz's doctrine of infinite analysis is worth

repeating here. That doctrine, it is argued, renders freedom an illusory human fancy: if

everything is determined by a series of causes, the fact that that series regresses ad

infinitum is immaterial. Due to the limitations of our finite intellects, we cannot complete

an infinite series of analysis. God, whose intellect is infinite, can complete an infinite

analysis—there is no place for assuming genuine contingency and no need for a causality

of freedom.13 As A. Lovejoy puts it, despite the fact that we are "unable to apprehend the

necessity," we can still "be sure that the necessity is there, and is recognized by the mind

of God."14

The Leibnizian reply to this objection needs to be understood in terms of the

infinite/indefinite distinction. Leibniz denies cosmological-metaphysical infinity; he

maintains that every cosmological series of causes can be only indefinite (i.e. proceed ad

infinitum). God cannot completely analyze an indefinite series because it is essentially

incomplete. If this is so, no event is necessary; there is room left for contingency and

freedom.15

1 Cf. Russell: "Recent Work on the Philosophy of Leibniz," reprinted in ed. Frankfurt, Leibniz: A Collection of Critical Essays, p. 378.

14 A. O. Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1936), p.175.

This Leibnizian reply is well known. See for example N. Rescher, The Philosophy of Leibniz (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1967), p.44; Adams, Leibniz, p. 28. However, while much work has been done on Leibniz's doctrine of infinite analysis, and some work has been done on Leibniz's infinite/indefinite distinction, I do not know of any work that combines the two.

127

We will see below that the Spinozist challenge to the antinomy comes from a

similar direction. Unlike Leibniz, Spinoza denies that the infinite/indefinite distinction

applies in this case, what threatens to render freedom illusory after all.

4. The Antithesis states that "there is no freedom. Everything in the world takes place

solely in accordance with laws of nature" (A445/B473).

Antithesis: Prove: there is no freedom, all events happen according to the laws of nature.

1. Assume (for the sake of a reductio) the thesis: there is freedom in the

"transcendental sense" i.e. a power of "absolutely beginning a state."

2. It follows that there is "a series of consequences" of the state that was freely

initiated.

3. It follows (a) that a series of events have their absolute beginning in a

spontaneous cause and (b) that that spontaneous cause has an absolute beginning,

i.e. it does not take place as a state in any preceding series.

4. However, every beginning of an action presupposes a state of the "not yet acting

cause."

5. Moreover if the beginning of action is not only the beginning of a causal sequence

but also a first beginning, it presupposes a state that has no causal connection at

all with the preceding state of the cause, i.e. there is no sense in which the event

follows from the cause.

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6. Therefore, transcendental freedom is contrary to the causal law, and is a

connection of the successive states of effective causes in accordance with which

no unity of experience is possible, which thus cannot be encountered in any

experience.

7. The idea of such freedom is, therefore, "an empty thought entity," that is, there

can be no transcendental freedom.

The heart of the argument is the fourth proposition, stating that every change must be

connected to the antecedent state of the changing agent. The fifth proposition extends that

proposition to the notion of "absolute beginning" and the sixth concludes (by the second

and the third propositions) that causality of freedom violates the fourth and the fifth

propositions, because it posits that a state can begin without connection to the agent's

antecedent state. The sixth proposition claims, further, that causality of freedom violates

the "unity of experience" and, therefore, cannot be met with in experience. It is an

"empty thought entity."

The third Antithesis is less controversial than other antinomial arguments. This

may be due to the commonsensical conclusion that freedom and naturalistic causality are

mutually exclusive. Schopenhauer, for example, who is otherwise hostile to the

antinomies, accepts the third antithesis as an adequate proof, consistent with Kant's

transcendental idealism.16 Strawson similarly approves of the antithesis as a "simple

denial of freedom," which can be deduced from Kant's Second Analogy of Experience.17

16A. Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Representation I, trans. E.F.J. Payne (New York: Dover, 1969), p. 498.

17 .F .PStrawson, The Bounds of Sense (London: Methuen, 1966), p. 208-10.

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Indeed the fifth proposition ("every beginning presupposes a state of the yet not acting

cause") could be interpreted as a disguised statement of Kant's Second Analogy, which

argues that every causal change must be connected to the antecedent state of the agent of

change (A189/B232). On that reading, which is widely adopted in the literature, the sixth

proposition (i.e. the conclusion) is derived from the fourth and fifth, which are

understood as the Second Analogy: because freedom violates the "unity of experience"

(contradicting the second Analogy) it cannot be met with in experience. Therefore, it is

i o

"an empty thought entity."

There is something inaccurate about that reading, which, indeed, raises a

suspicion of circularity. It would be inappropriate for Kant to assume transcendental

idealism in the fourth and the fifth propositions (by bringing in the Second Analogy)

because the position to be assumed and refuted in the antinomy is that of transcendental

realism. From the latter perspective, what can or cannot be met with in experience does

not license conclusions about what there is. Accordingly, the claim that freedom destroys

"the unity of experience," which is raised in the sixth proposition, does not license the

desired conclusion: the fact that freedom cannot be met with in experience does not show

that there is no freedom.

There is no doubt that Kant's terminology of'experience' evokes transcendental

idealism and, to that extent, is unfortunate. However, the argument itself is carried out

from the position of transcendental realism and is not circular. To see this, let us recall

18For example Allison, Kant's Transcendental Idealism, 282f; P. Guyer, Kant and the Claims of Knowledge (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987), p. 41 If.; H. Hudson, Kant's Compatibilism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994); W. Malzkorn, Kants Kosmologie-Kritik (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1999), p. 214.

l9See E. H. Rottges: "Kants Auflosung der Freiheitsantinomie," Kant-Studien 1974, 65, p.45-48; B. Ortwein, Kants Problematische Freiheitslehre (Bonn: Bouvier, 1983), p. 24-26.

130

the argument of the Thesis. We saw that the Thesis is effective only if its target—the

Antithesis—relies on the PSR. The Thesis argues against the position that (a) there is

only naturalistic causality and (b) every event has an ultimate explanation (if you'd like,

'there are no brute facts'). Now because the Thesis and the Antithesis are constructed as

mutual refutations it is appropriate—in fact, necessary—to use the one in the

interpretation of the other. Therefore, the Antithesis' fourth proposition is not Kant's

Second Analogy of Experience (which would be the PSR's transcendentally ideal

version) but the PSR. The claim that "every beginning of action presupposes a state of the

not yet acting cause" is identical to the claim that there are no brute facts: the abrupt

emergence of an event, a sudden beginning which is not connected to the previous state

of the "not yet acting cause," is just such a brute fact. On the reading proposed here, the

fifth proposition universalizes the PSR, which is announced in the fourth proposition, to

causality of 'absolute beginning'. Such a beginning cannot occur because it violates the

PSR by the emergence of a state that bears no causal (explanatory) connection "with the

preceding state of the cause"—ex nihilo nihil fit. (Put simply, the Antithesis' denial of

freedom does not depend on the claim that freedom violates the "unity of experience". It

depends rather on freedom violating the PSR.)20

5. Once more we see that the Antithesis cannot be understood as a Leibnizian application

of the PSR. It is Spinoza who, in contrast to Leibniz, excludes freedom by an argument

from the PSR. Now it is clear that Kant recognizes the relevance of Spinoza's position to

the Antithesis's fatalistic position. In the Critique of Practical Reason he writes that the

20Eric Watkins advocates a similar reading, relying on the Antithesis' text rather than on comparing it to the Thesis. See his Kant and the Metaphysics of Causality (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), p. 309f.

131

Leibnizians pretend to preserve room for freedom by taking space and time as properties

of finite beings but not of God. Their position, however, collapses into fatalism:

I do not see how those who insist on regarding time and space as determinations

belonging to the existence of things in themselves would avoid fatalism of

actions; or if (like the otherwise acute Mendelssohn) they flatly allow both of

them [time and space] to be conditions necessarily belonging only to the

existence of finite and derived beings but not to that of the infinite original

being—I do not see how they would justify themselves in making such a

distinction, whence they get a warrant to do so, or even how they would avoid

the contradiction they encounter when they regard existence in time as a

determination attaching necessarily to finite things in themselves, while God is

said to be the cause of this existence but cannot be the cause of time (or space)

itself.21

The shortcomings of this position bring Kant to conclude that if transcendental idealism

is not adopted,

only Spinozism remains, in which space and time are essential determinations

of the original being itself, while the things dependent upon it (ourselves,

therefore, included) are not substances but merely accidents inhering in it; for if

these things exist merely as its effects in time, which would be the condition of

21 KpVAA5:101f.

132

their existence itself, then the actions of these beings would have to be merely

its actions that it [God] performs in any place and at any time... [Thus

Spinozism] argues more consistently than the creation theory can when beings

assumed to be substances and in themselves existing in time are regarded as

effects of a supreme cause and yet as not belonging to him and his action.22

Without transcendental idealism "freedom could not be saved," Kant writes:

A human being would be a marionette or an automaton... built and wound up

by the supreme artist; self-consciousness would indeed make him a thinking

automaton, but the consciousness of his own spontaneity, if taken for freedom,

would be mere delusion.

It is true that this passage was written after the Pantheismusstreit had begun. Yet

for that reason precisely the most surprising element about it is the fact that it contains

little which should be surprising or new. Kant's words are consistent with his

characterization of transcendental realism in the first Critique''?, Antinomies and in some

pre-critical texts, the only novelty being the mention of Spinoza's name. Kant's claim

that transcendental realism leads to viewing space and time as "divine determinations" is

continuous with the infinitistic position articulated in the first Antithesis (with its denial

of the world's creation); it is consistent with Kant's claim that the Antithesis deprives us

of a "primordial being distinct from the world" (A468/B496). The claim that

22 Ibid.

23 Ibid.

133

transcendental realism cannot but regard freedom a "delusion" is continuous with the

argument presented in the third Antithesis that freedom is a "mere thought entity"

(A447/B475). It should be at least noted that already in the pre-critical period Kant had

little taste for Leibnizian compatibilism. In the New Elucidation he comments on

Leibniz's position on freedom and the PSR:

I readily admit that here some of the adherents of the Wolffian philosophy

deviate somewhat from the truth of the matter. They are convinced that that

which is posited by the chain of grounds which hypothetically determine each

other still falls a little short of complete necessity, because it lacks absolute

necessity. But in this matter I agree with their illustrious opponent: the

distinction, which everyone recites parrot-fashion, does little to diminish the

force of the necessity of the certainty of the determination. For just as nothing

can be conceived which is more true than true, and nothing more certain than

certain, so nothing can be conceived which is more determined than determined.

The events which occur in the world have been determined with such certainty

that divine foreknowledge, which is incapable of being mistaken, apprehends,

both their futurition and the impossibility of their opposites.

Some of Kant's most distinguished interpreters hold that in the New Elucidation Kant is

faithful to Leibnizian compatibilism. In light of the above passage, however, this view

24 PNDAA 01:400.

134

is untenable. Kant is clearly mocking Leibnizian compatibilism and complains that

everybody recites it "parrot-fashion" despite the fact that it is futile. It is worth noticing

what is probably the source of the confusion surrounding Kant's position. In the New

Elucidation, Kant rejects Crusius' conception of freedom as action without a reason and

grants compatibilism instead. He insists moreover that freedom worthy of that name is

nothing but one's determination to action according to inner reasons. This has suggested

to interpreters that Kant was a Leibnizian. Longuenesse, for example, reasons: "To the

question: 'is this principle of reason [PSR] applied to human action compatible with

freedom of the will and freedom of action?' Kant answers—again against Crusius—that

being free is not acting without a reason, but on the contrary acting from an internal

reason... Kant, here, is faithfully Leibnizian." However, Kant's rejection of Crusius'

position—his acceptance of compatibilism—does not entail that he has granted

Leibnizian compatibilism. For in the same passage Kant had also sided with Crusius

against Leibnizian compatibilism in embracing Crusius' accusation that the PSR—which

the Leibnizians and he, Kant, posit—entails necessitarianism. Thus Kant's compatibilism

consists in the view that every action (God's action included) is completely necessitated

(for there is nothing "more determined than determined") and that we are free

nevertheless. "The question hinges," he writes, "not upon to what extent" things are

necessary but "whence" the necessity derives: even though necessitarianism obtains one

5 See for example Longuenesse's important paper on the PSR: "Kant's Deconstruction of the Principle of Sufficient Reason" The Harvard Review of Philosophy 2001, 9, p. 74; H. Heimsoeth: "Zum kosmologischen Ursprang der Kantischen Freiheitsantinomie," Kant-Studien 1966, 57, p. 215.

26 This is argued also by J. Byrd: "Kant's Compatibilism in the New Elucidation of the First Principles of Metaphysical Cognition," Kant-Studien 2008, 99, p. 68-79.

"Kant's Deconstruction of the Principle of Sufficient Reason," p. 74. Heimsoeth reasons along similar lines (p. 215)

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is free if the reasons of one's action (again, God's actions included) are internal. Kant's

compatibilism in the New Elucidation best resembles the compatibilism of the Stoics.—

Returning to the second Critique passage, the crucial question is what argument

brings Kant to conclude that those who regard space and time as properties of things-in-

themselves are committed to regarding them as properties of God. This assertion draws

on the proposition that it is arbitrary to regard space and time as "necessary properties

belonging to the existence of finite beings" but not to the existence of the "infinite

original being itself; as well as that it is less consistent to maintain that finite beings "in

themselves existing in time" are "effects of a supreme cause and yet not belonging to him

and his action." There is not much of an argument here but Kant is assuming a position

he already defended in the first Critique. The fourth Antinomy's connection to Spinoza

deserves a separate study but here consider the Observation on the Thesis. Kant writes

that after invoking the cosmological argument in establishing the existence of a necessary

being one must decide "whether that being is the world itself ox a thing distinct from it"

(A456/B484; my emphasis). This formulation is intriguing but slightly inaccurate, or

careless, because Kant in fact holds that even if the unconditioned is not distinct from the

world, two possibilities still remain. The unconditioned can belong to the world as "the

highest member of the cosmological series"; or as the whole series taken in its totality

(and hence as "the world itself). There are three possibilities, then. God is either (1)

distinct from the world (not spatiotemporal); or (2) the highest member of the

cosmological series (spatiotemporal); or (3) the "world itself," i.e., the whole

cosmological series taken in its totality (spatiotemporal). Kant's position in the fourth

PNDAA 01:400.

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Antinomy is that if appearances are taken to be things-in-themselves—what is equivalent

to saying: if transcendental realism is true—one cannot uphold (1). God must be

spatiotemporal:

If we begin our proof cosmologically, resting it upon the series of appearances

and the regress therein according to empirical laws of causality, we must not

afterwards suddenly deviate from this mode of argument, passing over to

something that is not a member of the series. Anything taken as condition must

be viewed precisely in the same manner in which we viewed the relation of the

conditioned to its condition in the series which is supposed to carry us by

continuous advance to the supreme condition. If, then, this relation is sensible

and falls within the province of the possible empirical employment of the

understanding, the highest condition or cause can bring the regress to a close

only in accordance with the laws of sensibility, and therefore only in so far as it

itself belongs to the temporal series. (A458/B486)

The explanatory dependence relation obtaining between conditioned and condition

asserted of appearances (or of things viewed by transcendental realists) is causal-

temporal: the condition exists in a time prior to the conditioned (the latter comes into

existence by necessity following the former). Moreover, every condition (or at least any

condition of a conditioned in the world) is itself conditioned—i.e., it came into existence

in a moment of time following another condition. (Kant does not defend this claim here;

he is silently relying on proposition 3 of the third Thesis [above].) This forms a series

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which is "supposed to carry us by continuous advance to the supreme condition." Now

because it is the explanatory power of causal (temporal) dependence relations that

establishes the existence of a necessary being, it would be illegitimate to appeal to a

different dependence relation between the unconditioned and the world. (Otherwise the

argument will not go through.) This means that if one uses this argument to establish the

existence of God, it is legitimate to assume only that the explanatory dependence relation

between phenomenal conditioned things (i.e., conditioned things viewed by

transcendental realists) and the supreme condition of their existence is also causal-

temporal. This means that the unconditioned condition exists in time prior to the

existence of the (first) conditioned being. (For Kant it follows from the definition of a

temporal cause that it itself comes into existence in time; see for example proposition 3 of

the third Thesis.) Therefore, the unconditioned being exists in time. Therefore, if time is

viewed as a property of things, time is a property of the unconditioned being.

This argument rules out the first view of the unconditioned (i.e., 1): the

unconditioned is not distinct from the world; it is temporal. This excludes the Wolffian-

o n

Leibnizian position. In other words, it establishes Kant's claim in the second Critique

that it is illegitimate to view space and time as essential properties of things but not of the

unconditioned being that created them. Now, note that we are still left with two

Regarding the fourth Antinomy, some have already noted the relevance of Spinoza to the argument of the Thesis. See Heimsoeth's "Le Continu metaphysique de la Quatrieme Antinomie de Kant," in L 'histoire de la philosophic: ses problemes, ses methodes [Paris: Librairie Fischbacher, 1964] p. 89-91. Heimsoeth comments that Spinoza's doctrine, "telle que Kant la connaissait ou l'imaginait, a ete, pour lui toujours, plus qu'on ne le remarque ordinairement, l'objet de meditations critiques, et cela precisement au cours de l'itineraire qui le menait vers sa position definitive." While I agree with every word of this extremely controversial remark, Heimsoeth does not offer much historical or philosophical support for it. More recently, Grier offers some discussion of Spinoza as a possible historical source of the argument (see her Kant's Doctrine of Illusion, 224f). In fact, also Al Azm concedes that the Newtonian position (which he assumes is represented in the Thesis) is pushed to Spinozism, and that Clarke came close to conceding as much (see his The Historical Origins p. 117f.).

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alternatives. God can be conceived as a part of the cosmological series (i.e., 2) or as the

"world itself (i.e., 3). At first glance the former perhaps seems less damaging or less

'Spinozisf than the latter. However, (2) cannot sustain the theistic practical aspirations of

those who, like the Leibnizians, cling to (1). For if the unconditioned exists in time (on

that view, it does) then it always so existed; but then, so did the cosmological series

following from it—which therefore always exists as a whole. (If a temporal

unconditioned cause always existed, Kant writes, "its consequence would have also

always existed" [A444/B472].) Hence, once (1) is ruled out the spatiotemporal view of

the unconditioned sooner or later collapses into (some sort of) Spinozism. This

precisely licenses Kant's conclusion in the second Critique that transcendental realism is

committed to Spinozism. Thus the same considerations that bring Kant to say that he

cannot "see" how transcendental realists would "justify themselves" in allowing that

space and time are "conditions necessarily belonging only to the existence of finite and

derived beings but not to that of the infinite original being"—the same considerations that

lead him to think that Leibnizians fall back to Spinozism—are already at work in the first

Critique. In other words, the Pantheismusstreit did not change Kant's mind about the

Heimsoeth remarks that the conception conveyed by (2) expresses the Stoics' fatalist and Spinozist conception of the world soul (see his "Le Continu metaphysique de la Quatrieme Antinomie de Kant," p. 90f.; as well as his "Zum kosmologischen Ursprung der Kantischen Freiheitsantinomie," p. 209.) Heimsoeth does not offer much argumentation for this claim. But it is strongly supported by the fact that Kant discusses Zeno's paradoxes in connection with the Antinomies. While I cannot discuss this point in detail here, it is highly relevant for the present discussion. As we have seen above, Kant's pre-critical conception of freedom arguably resembles Stoic/Spinozist compatibilism. Moreover, Kant's position in the Antinomies was certainly influenced by Bayle's use of antinomial dialectic in connection with Zeno in the Dictionnaire (indeed Kant discusses Zeno in the Antinomies [A502f/B530f]). Surprisingly little attention has been paid to Bayle and the Antinomies, an exception being J. Ferrari's entry on Bayle in his Les sources francaises de la philosophie de Kant p. 91-99. See also his "Le Dictionnaire historique et critique de Pierre Bayle et les deux premieres antinomies kantiennes de la Raisonpure" p. 24-33.

31 One advantage of reading the second Critique passage in light of the fourth Antinomy's thesis is that it provides a possible explanation for a mistake Kant makes about Spinoza. Kant writes that if transcendental idealism is denied, "only Spinozism remains, in which space and time are essential determinations of the

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Leibnizian position. He had seen their collapse into Spinozism all along. In this

connection, note a comment Kant makes in the second Critique immediately after

arguing that transcendental realism is committed to Spinozism:

One might rather say that the dogmatic teachers of metaphysics have shown

more shrewdness than sincerity in keeping this difficult point out of sight as

much as possible, in the hope that if they said nothing about it no one would be

likely to think about it.32

II

After the break of the Pantheismusstreit, Kant repeatedly claims that only transcendental

idealism can prevent Spinozism—that only his philosophical revolution can prevent the

threats posed by radical metaphysical rationalism. In the Preface to the second edition of

the Critique of Pure Reason (published at the height of the Streit) he writes that only

transcendental philosophy can answer the injury of such doctrines as materialism,

fatalism and atheism (Bxxxiv); that he had "found it necessary to deny knowledge, in

order to make room for faith" (Bxxx). This promise to have saved the practical interests

of reason depends to a large part on the success of the Antinomies. Kant's promise is

fulfilled only if he has shown that transcendental realism—which he thinks necessitates

original being itself..." But of course Spinoza does not regard time, but thought, as an "essential determination" (attribute) of substance alongside space. This mistake could be the result of the fourth Antinomy argument because that argument proceeds by showing that the unconditioned being must be temporal—i.e. that time must be an "essential determination of the original being itself." Kant's mistake shows that what Kant understands by Spinozism may not correspond exactly to Spinoza's own system.

32 KpVAA 5:102.

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Spinozism—leads to contradictions. Yet does Kant challenge Spinozist transcendental

realism as successfully as he pledges?

1. The third Antinomy (as well as the first) draws heavily on the infinite/indefinite

distinction. It relies on the assumption that a series regressing ad infinitum—that is, an

indefinite, not an infinite regress—cannot be completed. The first Thesis relies on this

assumption in claiming that the "infinity of a series consists in the fact that it can never

be completed through successive synthesis" (A426/B454). The third Thesis relies on this

assumption in claiming that in order for a regressing series to be complete, causality of

freedom (i.e., a first beginning) must be postulated (A444/B472). As we have seen in

chapter two, this type of argument, which trades on the incompleteness of indefinite

regresses, was a commonplace challenge to Spinoza and his fatalism in Kant's day.

Mendelssohn, for example, summarizes Wolffs (alleged) refutation of Spinozism in the

following way: "[Wolff] proved that Spinoza believed that it is possible to produce, by

combining together an infinite stock of finite qualities, an infinite [thing]; and then he

proved the falsity of this belief so clearly, that I am quite convinced that Spinoza himself

would have applauded him." These words apply more readily to the first Antinomy's

Thesis but a similar idea is also found in the Thesis of the third. Moreover we have seen

that Leibniz's doctrine of infinite analysis (conceptualized not without an eye on

Spinozist fatalism) gives another relevant historical example: Leibniz's position requires

(among other things) that an analysis of reasons be indefinite rather than infinite—that

the regress of the analysis be incomplete.

33M. Mendelssohn: "Dialogues," in trans. D. Dahlstrom Philosophical Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) especially p. 96-105.

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As we have seen in chapter two, however, Spinoza has a ready answer to this

challenge. His monism collapses the distinction between God and world, what enables

him to view substance as a positively infinite whole. Recall Spinoza's words to in his

letter to L. Meyer:

[I]t is nonsense, bordering on madness, to hold that extended Substance is

composed of parts or bodies really distinct from one another... Therefore the

whole conglomeration of arguments whereby philosophers commonly strive

to prove that extended Substance is finite collapses of its own accord. All such

arguments assume that corporeal Substance is made up of parts.34

In Kantian terms, Spinoza views the world as an infinite totum analyticum—a simple

infinite whole whose parts are conceived as the whole's limitations, not its proper parts.

This enables Spinoza to view the world as an infinite existing entity (targeted in the first

Antinomy) as well as a complete explanatory whole (targeted in the third Antinomy). If

this is granted, Spinoza's position escapes refutation by the Thesis. It threatens thereby to

disarm the antinomy.

2. Franks has brought up a similar challenge to the antinomy, developed from

Jacobi's account of Spinoza as it was presented during the Pantheismusstreit. Franks

observes that Jacobi deduces from the PSR a consistent position in which an infinite

34B. Spinoza: "Letter 12," in The Correspondence of Spinoza. (London: Allen & Unwin 1966), p. 103. It is clear from the letter that Spinoza is well aware of the infinite/indefinite distinction.

35 P. Franks in P. Franks and S. Gardner "From Kant to Post-Kantian Idealism II," Aristotelian Society Supplementary p. 229-46; All or Nothing, p. 98-108.

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whole is affirmed and every event is sufficiently explained—without requiring an

assumption of freedom. "The finite is in the infinite," Jacobi writes, "so that the sum of

all finite things, equally containing within itself the whole of eternity.. .is one and the

same as the infinite being itself." Jacobi points out, moreover, that such an infinite sum

of all things is a coherent conception because it is conceived as a totum analyticum: "this

sum is not an absurd combination of finite things, together constituting an infinite, but a

whole in the strictest sense, whose parts can only be thought within it and according to

it." 37 Jacobi thus anticipates and checks the anti-Spinozist challenge raised by Wolff,

Mendelssohn and Kant's Antitheses.

This brings Franks to conclude that Kant's transcendental idealism is not the only

resolution of the antinomy. Transcendental idealism and Spinoza's substance monism, he

writes, offer the "hope" of a solution: Spinozism may "outflank" the Critique "because it

provides a solution to the Third Antinomy that competes with Kant's transcendental

idealism, a solution unsuspected by Kant.

In fact, Kant's problem is more severe. Transcendental idealism and Spinozism

cannot be concurrent resolutions to the antinomy because the Spinozist position is

transcendentally real. If Spinozism constitutes a possible solution, there is no antinomy at

all, for transcendental realism does not conflict with itself. Moreover, we have seen that

this (alleged) Spinozist challenge to the third Antinomy concerns the first Antinomy just

the same. Unlike the third Antinomy, the first is supposed to provide a proof of

Jacobi, Uber die Lehre des Spinoza, 95. See Franks' "From Kant to Post-Kantian Idealism II" p. 239f.

Ibid.

Ibid p. 241-44

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transcendental idealism (A506f./B534f.). Therefore, if Spinoza's cosmological totum

analyticum is granted, transcendental idealism loses force.

Ill

1.1 began to develop a Kantian answer to that challenge at the conclusion of the previous

chapter. Let us briefly reiterate that beginning-of-an-answer in order to continue it here.

i n

The notion of complete infinity, on which Spinoza crucially relies, is highly

problematic. Why should we grant that notion as consistent and coherent? Why should

we grant that, besides our ability to add to any determinate magnitude an additional

unit—an ability that generates the notion of the indefinite but not of the infinite—there is

also a notion of an all encompassing, absolute entity? Concluding the previous chapter I

argued that if such a notion can be granted (a possibility that Kant does not rule out), it

must be verified through an experience of freedom. (In Kant this would be the sublime, in

Descartes, the Cogito).40 Without such a primary experience of freedom the notion of an

infinite unconditioned whole remains an unverified, unwarranted concept—an "empty

thought entity."

This challenge to Spinoza strikes a nerve especially when considering the

Spinozist assault on the third Antinomy. Here, more than anywhere else, Spinoza's

position seems problematic. Spinoza needs an experience of freedom in order to account

for his innermost assumption—an absolute, infinite whole.41 At the same time, however,

39This notion, it seems to me, is Spinoza's most fundamental assumption. Without that assumption none of his other assumptions and definitions, explicit and implicit, fail.

40 For a discussion of the Cogito's reliance of an experience of freedom, see my "Descartes' Cogito and Kant's Sublime: Paralogisms, Self-Knowledge and the Experience of Freedom" (unpublished manuscript).

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precisely by granting that notion he is forced to dismiss freedom as illusory. Spinoza thus

seems to undercut his own position: by denying freedom, his reliance on complete

infinity undermines the grounds on which he needs to ground his own philosophy. This is

where the discussion was left off in the previous chapter, and it is time to pick it up again.

2. The Spinozist would argue that he denies neither freedom nor its experience. He would

answer that he only denies freedom in the Kantian sense, of independence of naturalistic

(mechanical, efficient) causality. According to Spinoza's own definition, one is free

insofar as one acts from within one's nature, unaffected by external causes. Moreover,

human agents are so acting (freely) precisely when conceiving the notion of an infinite

unconditioned entity. This point is significant. Spinoza in fact agrees with Kant and

Descartes that the infinite-unconditioned notion can be genuinely thought only by a free

thinker; he seems to agree, in this sense, that one has reason to accept his infinite and

complete cosmological conception only if this conception enables the thinker, acting

from within nature, to verify it by acquiring freedom. Spinoza claims, further, that his

system enables this: by doing Spinozist philosophy one can become, in virtue of having

adequate ideas, free—acting (thinking) solely from within one's nature. If this is so, by

doing Spinozist philosophy we can gain freedom and come to justify the basic Spinozist

notion—an infinite unconditioned whole.

This suggestion is extremely tempting. It gives philosophers—these passionate

lovers of knowledge—a hope of consummating their love. But is the hope warranted, or

is this a false temptation? Can Spinoza provide an account of freedom and adequate ideas

41 The notion of complete infinity is Spinoza's innermost assumption since his notion of substance is inconceivable without it. (Also the PSR requires the prior assumption of complete infinity, since without it that principle cannot be coherently applied.)

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that will justify the notion of complete infinity? Let us consider Spinoza's theory of

adequacy and freedom in more detail.

3. "That being is called free," Spinoza writes, "which exists from the necessity of its

nature alone, and is determined to act by itself alone" (E Id7). Because only God exists

solely from the necessity of his own nature, it follows from that definition that only God

is genuinely free. However, it seems reasonable to grant that man, too, is free, if man is

"determined to act by himself alone." Let us say that insofar as man can be determined to

act solely by his own nature, man partakes in, or has a "taste" of (experience of),

freedom. Moreover, let us grant that such partaking in freedom, if possible, is what is

required to justify accepting the notion of an infinite unconditioned whole.

On the assumption that man is a rational being, man acts from his own nature

when man thinks, i.e. when he has ideas in the mind. According to Spinoza, having an

idea of x in the mind consists of having ideas of the series of x's causes (E Ia4).42

However, some ideas are said to be fully contained in the mind, whereas others only

partially contained. If an idea is only partially contained (that is, if the series of the ideas

of its causes is not completely enclosed in the mind) then that idea is inadequate. We may

say that idea x is inadequate in mind y (itself an idea in God's mind) iff one idea or more

of the causes of x is not a part of y. (In other words, idea x is inadequately conceived in

mind y iff God's idea of x is not given solely in virtue of having idea y.) Whenever this is

For discussion of Spinoza's theory of adequate ideas, see M. Wilson: "Spinoza's Theory of Knowledge" in ed. D. Garrett, The Cambridge Companion to Spinoza (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 111-116; M. Delia Rocca, Representation and the Mind Body Problem in Spinoza (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), p. 55-57

146

the case, y is compelled into thinking by external forces (ideas) that act upon it and is not

genuinely free.

The opposite holds in the case of adequate ideas. An idea x is adequately

conceived in mind y (itself an idea in God's mind) iff x is a proper part of y. Put another

way: idea x is adequate in mind y iff God's idea x is given in virtue of having y. When

this is the case, mind y is not compelled into thinking by any external forces: it thinks

only ideas that are contained within it and, in that sense, it is genuinely free. Let us grant

that if the human mind can satisfy this criterion, man is free when conceiving an adequate

idea. It follows that in virtue of having an adequate idea—particularly, in virtue of having

an adequate idea of the infinite unconditioned substance—we have a justified notion of

such substance.

Spinoza says that we can have adequate ideas of finite modes, common notions

(infinite modes) and God's nature. Let us consider each of these claims.

4. Finite modes are created individual entities (people, stones, tables). Spinoza maintains

that such entities are caused by God's infinite and eternal essence by an infinite series of

causes:

The idea of a singular thing which actually exists has God for a cause not

insofar as he is infinite, but insofar as he is considered to be affected by

another idea of a singular thing which actually exists; and of this [idea] God is

also the cause, insofar as he is affected by another third [idea], and so on, to

infinity (E IIp9).

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In this light, Spinoza's claim that the human mind can acquire adequate ideas of finite

entities is doubtful. First, if human mind y is a finite idea in the infinite mind of God,

and x is an idea of an individual thing, it is impossible for y, which is finite, completely

to contain the infinite series of the ideas of x's causes. In other words, whereas God's

infinite mind has an adequate idea of x, that idea cannot be adequate solely in virtue of

God having y.43 Hence, y cannot have an adequate idea of a finite entity and cannot be

regarded free in virtue of having such an idea.

The latter difficulty is internal to Spinoza's system. It faces anyone who has

already bought into Spinoza's presuppositions (including the premise of an infinite

whole) and tries to work out, from within the system, adequate knowledge of individual

entities. The following difficulty is external to Spinoza's system. It is a difficulty that

must concern anyone who wishes to justify the notion of complete infinity by the doctrine

of adequacy and freedom in order to do so. Mind y cannot completely contain an infinite

series of ideas of causes not merely because it is finite. It cannot completely contain such

a series of causes because we do not, yet, have a reason to think that an infinite series can

be completed at all. We may put that problem in terms of Kant's third Antinomy: as

claimed by the thesis, an infinite series of naturalistic causes will always have a relative

[subalternen] but not a "first beginning." Or we can put it in terms of Leibniz's doctrine

of infinite analysis: a given event cannot be fully explained by an analysis of its causes;

for such analysis is indefinite and, as such, incomplete. To put this in slightly more

4 This problem is raised by Delia Rocca in Representation and the Mind Body Problem in Spinoza, p. 183 (n. 29). See also "The Power of an Idea: Spinoza's Critique of Pure Will," Nous 2003 37(2), p. 205. That problem is discussed in E. Marshall: "Adequacy and Innateness in Spinoza," Oxford Studies in Early Modern Philosophy (forthcoming).

148

Spinozist terms, we are still doubting whether God, too, can have an adequate idea of a

finite entity. For we have not granted the notion of complete infinity and, indeed, require

an adequate idea in order to do so. Therefore, disregarding the problem that the human

mind cannot contain an infinite series of ideas of causes, it would be circular to assume

that an infinite series of ideas of causes can be contained at all.

5. Let us see if Spinoza is more successful at generating adequate ideas of common

notions—such notions, or ideas, that are "common to all, and which are equally in the

part and in the whole" (E IIp38). An example of such a notion is the property of

movability: it is common to all bodies in virtue of participating in the same attribute

(Extension), that they are capable, to the same degree, of motion and rest. "All bodies,"

writes Spinoza, "agree in that they can move now more slowly, now more quickly, and

absolutely, that they now move, now they are at rest" (EII L2). Spinoza considers

common notions as movability as infinite modes, i.e. fundamental properties of a divine

attribute (in that case, Extension). As such, they are equally present in the part as in the

whole and are not generated through an infinite series of causes; rather, they follow

directly from the nature of the attribute.

This invites Spinoza's conclusion that common notions can be conceived only

adequately:

P38 Dem.: Let A be something which is common to all bodies, and which is

equally in the part and in the whole. I say that A can only be conceived

adequately. For its idea (by P7C) will necessarily be adequate in God, both

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insofar as he has the idea of the human body and insofar as he has ideas of its

affections, which (by PI 6, P25 and P27) involve in part both the nature of the

human body and that of external bodies, That is (by P12 and PI 3), this idea

will necessarily be adequate in God insofar as he constitutes the human mind,

or insofar as he has ideas that are in the human mind. The mind, therefore (by

PI 1C), necessarily perceives A adequately, and does so both insofar as it

perceives itself and insofar as it perceives its own or any external body. Nor

can A be conceived in another way, q.e.d (EII P38 Dem.).

Assume that x is an idea of a part of a body and that y is a human mind conceiving that

body. By having an idea of x—and regardless of how partial y's idea of x actually is—the

notion of movability is fully contained in y. For movability is found in its entirety in

every part as in the whole.

Such an account of adequacy is internally sufficient and may satisfy someone who

has already granted Spinoza's system. However, it does not give a good reason to buy

into the notion of complete infinity, because it already assumes that notion. The premise

that common notions are "equally in the part and the whole" presupposes that the

(infinite) attribute of which these notions are fundamental properties (in this case,

Extension) is given as a whole and is simple. For if the attribute had been a complex

entity—or if it had not been given as a totality—then arbitrarily and partially conceiving

any of its parts would not have been identical to conceiving the whole of it. This point

can be conveniently understood in terms of the first Antinomy: the claim that movability

44 That strategy is developed by Marshall as reply to Delia Rocca's "problem of adequate ideas" (see his "Adequacy and Innateness").

150

is contained in the whole attribute of Extension as in each of its parts presupposes that

Extension is a given as an infinite totum analyticum. However, as we have seen in the

previous chapter, the legitimacy of an infinite totum analyticum is just what needs to be

established by the doctrine of freedom and adequate ideas. Here, too, therefore, it would

be circular to appeal to adequate ideas of common notions in order to justify complete

infinity.

6. We now turn to see if one can plausibly acquire an adequate idea of the

unconditionally-existing infinite substance. For the Spinozist, this task is crucial. In

possession of such an adequate idea there would be a good reason to grant the notion of

complete infinity and, with it, Spinoza's resolution of the antinomies. Without that

notion, however—and given that God is the efficient cause of everything that exists—

none of our ideas can be adequate to begin with. If this is the case, the Spinozist will have

to moderate his rational-metaphysical aspirations.

Roughly speaking, there are three ways in which a Spinozist may ground his

claim to posses an adequate idea of God. He may ground it through his claim to posses

adequate ideas of divine attributes; through the Spinozist version of the ontological

argument; or through a direct grasp of the meaning of the notion of substance. Let us

consider each of these.

(a) Having an adequate idea of God is grounded through an adequate idea of an

attribute in the following way. In virtue of having an idea (cf., of our body), we have an

adequate idea of a common notion (such as movability in space)—such notion which is

found in the part as in the whole. Common notions are fundamental properties of an

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attribute—in the case of movability, as we have seen, of Extension. Thus, in virtue of

having an idea of a common notion, we have an idea of an attribute. However, an

attribute, too, is found in the part as in the whole. Hence, in virtue of having an idea (cf.

of our body), we have an adequate idea of a common notion (as movability), as well as of

its attribute (as Extension). However, an attribute just is God's essence [EI D4].

Therefore, in virtue of having an adequate idea of an attribute we have an adequate idea

of God's essence.45

Clearly, this account of adequacy cannot validate Spinoza's notion of an infinite

whole. It assumes that notion in two crucial steps of the argument: first, in relying on the

claim that common notions are equally found "in the part as in the whole" (see above);

and, then, by making the same presupposition regarding attributes. Hence, whereas it may

give a coherent Spinozist account of freedom, it may not, via that account of freedom,

give an argument for accepting complete infinity.

(b) Spinoza's version of the ontological argument can be briefly outlined as

follows.46 For every thing, there must be sufficient reason that determines its existence or

its non-existence. Therefore, if there can be no reason for the non-existence of an entity,

that entity necessarily exists. A reason for a thing's existence or non-existence can be

either external to its nature or internal to it. An external reason for the non existence of

substance is impossible: that reason will have to be in a substance* that shares no

attribute with substance (otherwise they will be identical; [E lp5]); however, if substance

See for a detailed discussion, D. Garrett: "Spinoza's Ontological Argument," The Philosophical Review 1979, 88(2), p. 198-223; M. Lin: "Spinoza's Ontological Arguments," Philosophy andPhenomenological Research 2007 75(2), p. 269-97. Spinoza offers several arguments for God's existence. Here I refer only to the truly Spinozist one, which relies on the PSR and not on the assumption that existence is a predicate.

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and substance* share no attribute, they can have no causal interaction (E la5; p3). Hence,

substance* cannot cause the non-existence of substance. Further, an internal reason for

the non-existence of substance is also impossible. An internal reason for a thing's non­

existence is a contradiction in its notion and, Spinoza argues, it is "absurd to affirm this

[contradiction] of a Being absolutely infinite and supremely perfect" (E lpl 1). Thus,

because there can be neither external nor internal reason for substance's non-existence, it

necessarily exists.

That argument, too, draws on the assumption that the notion of an infinite whole

is coherent. Spinoza's claim that a being "absolutely infinite" and "supremely perfect"

cannot be contradictory relies, albeit implicitly, on a further premise—namely, that the

notion of an absolutely infinite entity is a notion of a simple entity. Only that assumption

makes it absurd, as Spinoza claims that it is, to consider its notion as contradictory. (A

simple entity has no separate elements that can contradict one another; all elements are at

the first place conceived through that entity). However, if we do not begin by assuming

the notion of complete infinity, there's nothing absurd in thinking that the notion of an

infinite whole may be incoherent. In fact, for all that we know it is incoherent (for the

most reasonable account of infinity that we have been given so far consists of our ability

to add, for every determinate measure, an additional unit. Actually completing such

infinity is impossible). Therefore, whereas Spinoza's ontological argument may satisfy

someone who has already granted his cosmological totum analyticum, it would be

circular to invoke that argument in support of that cosmological conception.47

47 Garrett and Lin claim that Spinoza's argument is not liable to Kant's refutation in the Critique, which is based on the claim that existence is not a predicate. For Spinoza's argument is based on the PSR and on an analysis of possibility; not on existence being a predicate. Garrett, however, seems to suggest that that argument, too, has to fail, if only for the reason that God's existence cannot be proven. (In other words,

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(c) The last strategy for Spinoza to take is, I suspect, the truly Spinozist one. It

consist of directly grasping the force of the claim that substance is the causa sui, the

cause of itself. Spinoza argues that because a thing is conceived through its cause, the

causa sui is conceived through itself. No external idea is required to understand that the

causa sui exists—neither an infinite series of ideas of causes nor a further assumption

regarding complete infinity. By simply and directly grasping the meaning of the claim

that substance is its own cause, we obtain adequate certainty that substance is. This must

be Spinoza's intention when he writes, in his Letter on the Infinite, that he has proven the

existence of substance "without the help of any further propositions."

The notion of the causa sui is unsatisfactory, however, not only for a Kantian's

perspective but also from a Spinozist's. Let us put it first in Kantian terms. The third

Antinomy's antithesis states not merely that everything admits of an ultimate

explanation—it states that everything has an ultimate explanation in terms of naturalistic

causality ("in accordance with the law of nature"). In Kant, naturalistic causality is

understood as mechanical, or efficient causality. We naturalistically understand an event

if and only if we see how it necessarily follows from another event that precedes it.

Arguably, Spinoza favors a similar conception: A thing A is said to be the cause of

another, B, if B necessarily follows from A (e.g. E Ipl6cl; Ip25; Hp5); this mechanistic

conception the hallmark of 17th century scientific naturalism, of which Spinoza was a

Garrett seems to view the conclusion that "God exists" as a reductiol) This seems to me mistaken, for God's existence is probably not a greater absurdity than his non-existence (nor is knowing that God exists a greater absurdity, in my opinion, than being in principle incapable of knowing God's existence.—) At all events, we will see in chapter four that Spinoza's reliance of the PSR in fact assumes the traditional ontological argument, i.e. the assumption that existence is a predicate. If this is so, even if Spinoza's PSR-argument for god existence does not directly relie on existence being a predicate, it fails together with the traditional ontological argument.

48 Spinoza: "Letter 12" in ed. and trans. A. Wolf, The Correspondence of Spinoza (London: Frank Cass, 1966), p. 102.

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champion. Now, if one clings to this efficient-naturalistic conception, as, I believe, the

Spinozist should, the notion of a 'self-caused entity' is rendered into the notion of an

entity that is 'not caused at all'. For the causal conception that's assumed in the notion of

a self-caused entity is entirely different from—in fact, it excludes—the naturalistic-

efficient conception.

To be sure, Spinoza does not define causality exclusively in naturalistic or

efficient terms. He writes that "[w]hat cannot be conceived through another, must be

conceived through itself (E Ia2). That is, a thing is conceived through another—i.e. by

naturalistic, efficient terms—or through itself. Yet, for anyone aspiring in good faith to

understand everything naturalistically, that position is unsatisfactory. For whereas the

human intellect genuinely grasps how one thing can cause another, it has no handle on

the claim that an entity is its own cause.

Let us consider this point more carefully. Spinoza seems to assume the following

line of reasoning: (a) a thing is understood through a thing's cause; therefore (b) a self-

caused entity is understood through itself. (That this is Spinoza's position is suggested by

the fact that he defines substance as the 'cause-of-itself rather than as 'un-caused-

cause'.) To the extent that this is indeed Spinoza's line of reasoning it is flawed, because

the conception of'cause' assumed at (a) is of naturalistic-efficient causality, whereas the

conception of'cause' assumed at (b) excludes naturalistic-efficient causality. In (a),

49 In my opinion Kant is implicitly giving a similar argument against Spinoza in the New Elucidation, when he argues against the notion of the cause of itself. "Whatever contains within itself the ground of the existence of something is the cause of that thing," he writes. "Suppose, therefore, that there is something which has within itself the ground of its own existence, then it will be the cause of itself. Since, however, the concept of a cause is by nature prior to the concept of that which is caused, the latter being later than the former, it would follow that the same thing would be simultaneously both earlier and later than itself, which is absurd" (PND AA 1:394). Longuenesse claims that Kant here "expressly" opposes Spinoza ("Kant's Deconstruction of the Principle of Sufficient Reason," p. 72) and, while I find this plausible, it must be admitted that he does not mention Spinoza or refer to the ethics.

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causality is understood as a relation between non-identical entities, whereas in (b) it is a

reflexive relation. It is mistaken to assume that because we understand everything in

virtue of an (a) kind of relation (everything is understood through its cause), we

understand something in virtue of a (b) kind of relation. The term causa sui, a self-caused

entity—allegedly understood though itself—is unaccountable in naturalistic terms.

Existential knowledge of that entity cannot be gained by consideration of causes that

conforms to our ordinary naturalistic-scientific standards. Contrary to Spinoza's claim,

we have no adequate knowledge of God's essence—i.e. of God's existence. Affirming

God's existence we find ourselves affirming a big—if you'd like, an infinite—brute fact.

This is not the end of the story. The Spinozist will be able to maintain his position

a while longer, by giving primacy to the notion of 'conceivability' over 'causality' and

'existence'. Considering that strategy, however, will take us away from discussing Kant

and Spinoza themselves—more recent rationalist challenges to Kant will have to be

debated.

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4

On Conceivability and Existence

If the world were not something that, practically expressed, ought not to be, it would also not be theoretically a problem. On the contrary, its existence would require no explanation at all, since it would be so entirely self-evident. (Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Representation II)

In order not to lose the thread of the argument, let us begin with a brief overview. The

Spinozist challenge to Kant's Antinomies, like Spinoza's challenge to the critique of

reason in general, stands and falls with the notion of complete infinity. Substance

monism's (the most relevant being Leibniz's) are embedded in Spinoza's promise to have

provided a metaphysical-cosmological totum analyticum, in which the world is accounted

for as an infinite and complete explanatory whole. In order for that position to hold

ground, however, the cogency of its key notion (namely complete infinity) has to be

justified.

In the previous chapter I argued that such a justification, if possible, has to be

provided by an account of freedom. In Spinozist terms this means that complete infinity

needs to be accounted for by a theory of adequate ideas. (According to Spinoza, we are

free and are aware of that freedom insofar as we are capable of acquiring adequate ideas.)

This, however, presents a problem to the Spinozist, for within a Spinozist framework it is

difficult to account for adequate ideas without assuming beforehand (and thus circularly)

complete infinity. We have seen that the possibility of acquiring adequate ideas of

concrete entities relies on complete infinity, as does the possibility of acquiring adequate

ideas of infinite modes, of divine attributes and of God. Indeed, Spinoza's PSR-version of

the ontological argument assumes complete infinity as well.

The last Spinozist resort is the notion 'cause-of-itself. Because that notion is

(supposedly) simple, one conceives it adequately merely in virtue of conceiving it,

without appealing to further notions. In concluding the previous chapter, however, I

argued that the term 'cause-of-itself is inexplicable: whereas we understand mechanical

causal relations in which one entity causes another, we have no handle on the claim that a

thing causes itself. Our scientific understanding of causes is restricted to naturalistic

relations, which obtain between two non-identical entities one of which is prior to the

other. Hence, if we assume that a thing is understood through its causes, the notion

'cause-of-itself becomes meaningless.

A Spinozist answer to this challenge was suggested to me by Michael Delia

Rocca. That answer consists in a radical (and, I believe, attractive) rationalist train of

thought, which equates existence and conceivability.1 If sustainable, this position may

enable the rationalist to account for the notion of a self-caused entity—thus to answer the

problem of adequate ideas. The aim of the present chapter is to confront Kant with this

rationalist position (one which need not be historically identical to Spinoza's) and

Delia Rocca answered this in our personal correspondence. However, his reply draws on a position he articulates in two papers especially: "A Rationalist Manifesto: Spinoza and the Principle of Sufficient Reason" Philosophical Topics 2003, 31, p. 75-95; and "PSR" (unpublished manuscript). I will refer to the arguments presented in these papers whenever possible.

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introduce the Kantian counter-argument (which just as much needn't be identical with

what is actually found in Kant).

Perhaps the most interesting lesson learnt form this confrontation is that the

ontological argument plays a much more important role in the justification of rationalist

metaphysics than is usually acknowledged—by rationalists and Kantians alike.

Rationalists sometimes think that a rationalist argument for the existence of God like

Spinoza's PSR-based proof of God's existence—a proof that is indispensable for the

viability of both Rationalism and Spinozism—is immune to Kant's refutation of the

traditional ontological argument. They assume that Spinoza's PSR-proof—in

contradistinction to the proof in the tradition of Anselm and Descartes—does not rely on

the assumption that existence is a predicate. Kantians on their part tend to assume that

the ontological argument's refutation is but another refutation of another metaphysical

doctrine—namely, the doctrine of rational theology—which stands alongside rational

psychology and rational cosmology. We will see that the debate over the (traditional)

ontological argument is more far-reaching for both parties. It isn't a debate over the

philosophical-theological question of God's existence but is the key to the attack on or

defense of rationalist metaphysics.

That the ontological argument plays a chief role is in a way obvious, but it may be

helpful to flag at the outset the way in which it plays this role. Rationalism is (arguably)

committed to the following two claims. (1) If x is true, there is (exists) a reason why it is

true; (2) all truths are conceptual. (1) and (2) seem to pull in opposite directions—I will

argue that they do—and threatens to tear the rationalist position apart. Bringing (1) and

2This is D. Garrett's interpretation in "Spinoza's Ontological Argument," The Philosophical Review 1979 (88) p. 198-223; see more recently M. Lin's "Spinoza's Ontological Arguments," Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 2007, 75(2), p. 269-97.

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(2) back together depends on justifying the claim that existence is a predicate or a

property of a thing. If that rationalist recovery enterprise proves successful, the rationalist

may be in a good position to tackle Kant's critique of rationalist metaphysics. For the

same reason, reinforcing Kant's critique of reason consists in ensuring that (1) and (2)

remain apart by defending the claim that existence is not a predicate—or what is the

same, that the ontological argument fails. That Kant himself did not appreciate the

ontological argument's centrality on that score is attested among other things by the fact

that he did not attempt to secure his refutation from some significant rationalist

objections. I will argue, however, that there are powerful Kantian reasons for insisting

that one cannot know that the ontological argument goes through (which will be

sufficient for what the Kantian critique of metaphysics aims to establish). I will also

suggest that there is pregnant in Kant a more positive argument, showing that we have a

reason to believe that existence is not a predicate. This argument stems from the Kantian

claim that 'ought' and 'is' are distinct, and that 'ought' implies 'can'. But there is a long

way to go before we can see how such an arguments, brought from the realm of practical

reason, come to bear on the critique of rationalism.

I

1. We get a handle on the notion of a self-caused entity, argues the rationalist, as

soon as we come to affirm the following two propositions. (1) 'Existence' is coextensive

with and follows from 'conceivability': a thing's conceivability does not depend on

representing the causes of its existence, for 'conceivability' is prior to both 'causality'

and 'existence'. A thing exists if and only if it is conceivable. (We will consider the

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argument for that proposition presently.) (2) Concepts are conceived through themselves:

we do not conceive a concept in virtue of something over and above that concept; we

conceive it simply in virtue of having that concept. Take the concept 'bachelor' for

example: it is inappropriate to ask, argues a rationalist like Delia Rocca, 'in virtue of

what bachelors are conceived as unmarried men', because answering that question is a

matter of merely explicating the concept ('bachelor'). The question thus merely discloses

the ignorance of the person asking about the concept's definition: a bachelor is unmarried

and is a man in virtue of the fact that he is what he is.

If granted, (1) and (2) present a model with which we understand the notion

of a self-caused entity—we get a handle on the kind of thing that is the cause of itself.

For conceivability implies existence and concepts, which we undeniably have (e.g.,

'bachelor'), are conceived through themselves.

2.1 find this rationalist stance unsatisfactory for several reasons. Before we approach (1)

let us briefly consider (2). The claim that concepts are conceived through nothing but

themselves is somewhat inaccurate. Most concepts (in fact all but one) are not conceived

through themselves but through other concepts. Consider 'bachelor' once more: it is

conceived through a long, possibly infinite, list of concepts—starting precisely with

'man', 'married' and the operator 'un'. Neither of these is identical to 'bachelor' yet each

is individually required for conceiving that concept. Moreover each of these concepts

requires in turn its own set of concepts, in virtue of which it is conceived: 'man' requires

'animal' and 'rational' (let's say), 'animal' requires 'body' (among others), 'body'

'extension'—up to 'substance', defined as that thing which is conceived through itself.

3 Delia Rocca: "A Rationalist Manifesto," p. 77-90.

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The latter is the only concept that is conceived—or so the rationalist needs to argue—

through itself.4 Therefore, the rationalist claim that concepts are conceived through

themselves, insofar as it is invoked in defense of the conceivability of substance, is

viciously circular. One cannot defend the conceivability of the self-conceived being by

the claim that concepts are conceived through themselves and rely on the concept of a

self-conceived being as the exclusive example of a concept that's conceived through

itself. That this concept is conceivable—to say nothing of'through itself—is what needs

to be shown.

To avoid circularity, the rationalist may attempt to rely generally on the

notion of conceivability, instead of relying on the example of'self-conceived being' (or

any example at all). He may claim that we should believe (2) (i.e., that concepts are

conceived through themselves) because we are committed to the initially plausible view

that conceptual truths are true (and known as such) in virtue of nothing over and above

the concepts involved. Thus, 'triangles have three sides' is true and known to be true in

virtue of concepts alone, without the aid of anything that is not conceptual. On this view,

even if we will eventually discover (and according to the rationalist, we will) that strictly

speaking there is only one truth and that that truth is conceptual—namely, 'substance

exists'—the argument was not premised on the concept 'substance'; it was premised,

again, only on the plausible assumption that conceptual truths require nothing but

concepts to be true (and known as such).

However, is this view as initially plausible as the rationalist

suggests? Conceptual truths are always hypothetical. This complicates the rationalist's

4To be sure, this account is presented from Spinoza's perspective. Spinoza maintains that all concepts are conceived through the causa sui, which is itself conceived through none but itself.

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stance because it indicates that conceptual truths and their knowledge depend on

existence, which is—unless one starts out on the assumption that existence is a

predicate—something over and above the concepts themselves. Consider again the

example, 'triangles have three sides'. It isn't conceptually true that triangles have three

sides; it is only conceptually true—or is it?—that if a triangle exists, it has three sides. A

triangle's existence is thus a necessary condition of a triangle having three sides—a

necessary condition that's not included in the definition of the triangle. (Knowing that a

triangle exists is therefore necessary for knowing that a triangle has three sides.) To be

sure, the same holds for the hypothetical claim itself: insofar as modal truths are

themselves true, their truth is ultimately grounded in something that actually exists. For

example, if it is true regardless of the actual existence of any triangle that triangles have

three sides, then that truth, too, depends on something that exists but isn't a triangle—

probably an existing mind conceiving the said modality, be it mine or God's.5

Thus, the rationalist claim that conceptual truths are true in virtue of

concepts alone has to be turned down. Ironically, the reason for this is the PSR: if

anything at all is true then there is something in virtue of which that truth obtains. The

only way to do justice to this latter claim—which the rationalist obviously must—and

maintain that conceptual truths are true in virtue of nothing but concepts is to assume that

existence is a predicate or a property, included in a thing's concept. However, the need

for that assumption is a red flag: it indicates that contrary to what the rationalist claimed

we are anything but committed to an 'initially plausible' view that conceptual truths are

true (and known to be so) in virtue of concepts alone. Most of us believe just the

5 This insight constitutes the heart of the Leibnizian argument for the existence of God; and more relevant in our context, Kant's Beweisgrund relies on the same type of argument. (See chapter one.)

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contrary, and while some rationalist argument may invite us to change our mind, we

shouldn't be expected to operate on the assumption that conceptual truths are true in

virtue of concepts alone. (We will consider the rationalist argument for existence being a

predicate below.)

3. Let us move on to consider (1), the claim that conceivability implies existence.

The rationalist argument for this is the following.6 Assume the PSR:7 (a) It follows that a

thing, x, is conceivable if and only if its existence involves no brute facts. Thus if x's

existence involves brute facts, it is inconceivable. [This is just the meaning of the fully

universalized version of the PSR]. (b) It follows that if x is conceivable, x exists. To see

that this is the case assume, for the sake of a reductio (c) that x is conceivable and that the

existence of non-x is conceivable, too. (d) State of affairs (c) implies that the existence of

both x and non-x involves no brute facts. [By (a)]. If this state of affairs were possible,

x's conceivability would not entail its existence (it would entail its possibility). However,

this state of affairs is impossible. For (e) if both x and non-x are conceivable (hence by

[a] involve no brute facts) and, say, x exists rather than non-x, there can be no reason

why x exists and non-x does not. [By (c) non-x is equally conceivable as x]. (f) However,

this implies that x's existence contradicts (c). [For its existence involves, contrary to what

(c) states, a brute fact], (g) Therefore, if x is conceivable, non-x is inconceivable, (h)

Therefore, if x is conceivable, x exists. [By (g)].8

6Della Rocca lays out that argument in more detail in "Rationalist Manifesto," p. 82-90.

7Of course assuming the PSR requires separate justification. Delia Rocca's justification, suggested in "PSR", is considered in detail below.

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The moral of this argument is that, given the PSR, x and non-x cannot be

simultaneously conceivable: if x is conceivable, x exists. Note that also the opposite

holds: if x exists, x is conceivable (by the PSR, there are no brute facts). It follows that if

we assume the PSR, a thing's existence is (at least) coextensive with its conceivability.

As Delia Rocca points out, this also implies a strong necessatarian conclusion. The

distinction between a thing's conceivability (or its possibility) and its existence (or

actuality) collapses: everything we take to be merely possible in fact exists, and

everything that doesn't exist is impossible. This necessatarian conclusion is significant,

as will soon become clear.

4. That argument, too, is unsatisfactory, especially if invoked to support the

conceivability of'substance'. Let us embrace the rationalist claim that everything needs

to be ultimately explained. We then have to ask: in virtue of what is a thing conceivable?

What does it mean to conceive or understand something? If x's existence is accounted for

in terms of x's conceivability, a rationalist cannot but ask how x's conceivability is

accounted for. (We will see below that Delia Rocca is aware of that question, and

considers it "inevitable and inevitably annoying.")10 Here is one attractive answer that a

rationalist cannot give: we conceive a thing, or understand it, by representing the causes

of its existence. The rationalist must reject this answer because he aspires to account for

A more exhaustive argumentation is offered also in Delia Rocca's "Rationalism Run Amok: Representation and the Reality of Emotions in Spinoza," Interpreting Spinoza, ed. Charles Huenemann (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008).

9 Delia Rocca "A Rationalist Manifesto," p. 90.

10 Delia Rocca: "A Rationalist Manifesto," p. 90f.

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both 'existence' and 'causality' in terms o f conceivability'. It would be circular to go

back to these concepts in order to account for 'conceivability'.

Delia Rocca advances a different account of conceivability. It is in fact

identical to proposition (2) which I considered above, namely the claim that concepts are

conceived through themselves. Delia Rocca explicitly considers that challenge. "What is

it in virtue of which a is conceivable?" he asks,

And, more specifically, what is it in virtue of which a is conceivable in terms

of such-and-such? The answer is this: a is conceivable in a certain way because

otherwise it would not be a. That's what it is to be a. Asking why a is

conceivable as such-and-such a way is analogous to asking why bachelors are

unmarried. In each case, the question betrays a misunderstanding of the very

concepts at work.

On this account, 'conceivability' is a primitive notion, bringing to a halt the regressing

'in-virtue-of-what' questions fueled by the PSR. Whereas most notions (e.g. 'existence',

'causality') require an account—and are given one in terms of 'conceivability'—

'conceivability' itself is conceived (or accounted for) through itself.

5.1 pointed out above that the 'bachelor' example is somewhat inaccurate. The

question in virtue of what bachelors are conceived as unmarried men is, in fact,

appropriate; the answer is that bachelors are conceived through more basic concepts such

as 'marriage' and 'man'. The only concept that is not conceived through other concepts

11 Delia Rocca: "A Rationalist Manifesto," p. 91.

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and can be conceived through itself (if it can) is 'substance'. Thus, Delia Rocca's only

valid case in point is the question 'in virtue of what is "substance" conceived as

existing?' and, to that question, he can answer (again, ifhe can) by denying the validity

of the question: 'Substance', he will say, 'is conceived to exist because it is what it is'.

Only in the latter case may the PSR's 'in-virtue-of-what' question be a bad question,

reducible to a genuine misunderstanding.

Thus, as pointed out above, it turns out that rationalism ultimately assumes

the validity of the traditional ontological argument. The question in virtue of what

substance is conceived to exist can be dismissed as a mere misunderstanding of the

concept only if existence is a predicate, participating in substance's essence. What needs

to be underlined is that at stake is not merely a rationalist argument concerning the

theological question of God's existence. At stake is the viability of the rationalist position

itself: without the ontological argument, the edifice of conceivability and of the PSR falls

apart. If God's existence is not primitively conceived through itself—if God's existence

(or his conceivability) is not conceptually self-explanatory—nothing has been sufficiently

accounted for by the rationalist. Everything remains a brute fact.

Let us spell out why this is so. The rationalist is committed to the claim

that everything needs to be accounted for (we may say that this is the subjective version

of the PSR, prescribing to explain everything; Kantians call this PI. See chapter one); as

well as that everything can be accounted for (i.e., that there is an ultimate explanation of

everything; Kantians call this P2). The mechanism doing this work, the device serving to

As said, by 'traditional' I mean the one in the tradition of Anselm and Descartes, in which existence is regarded a predicate or a property. I emphasize this because it is sometimes suggested that a rationalist like Spinoza can do away with this form of argument, and rely more fundamentally on the PSR in order to achieve his rationalistic aims. (See note 2 above.)

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explain as much as possible, is the notion o f conceivability'. That notion, however,

which like everything else requires some account, is given one by the ontological

argument. To see this, consider again the 'bachelor' example. That concept is not

conceived through itself but through other concepts, for instance 'man'. The latter in turn

is conceived through further concepts: 'animal', body', 'extension' and, finally,

'substance'. Whereas up to 'substance' each concept was conceived through other

concepts, 'substance', in virtue of which all concepts down to 'bachelor' are conceived,

cannot be conceived through further concepts. And so we ask, 'In virtue of what is

substance conceived?', and receive the ontological argument as an answer: 'this is not a

good question; substance is conceived as existing because it is what it is'. If the latter

argument, the ontological argument, fails, or loses credibility, so does the rationalist

position. The rationalist remains without an account of'conceivability' and, in this sense,

without anything at all.

6. Given this situation, the natural Kantian response is to insist on the well-known

slogan that existence isn't a predicate or a property of a thing—bring in Kant's refutation

of the ontological argument. For present purposes let me focus only on what I take to be

the core of Kant's argument, and exclude one interpretation that has gained much

currency but doesn't survive a closer reading of the text.

Kant's views on existence and predication are pronounced most clearly in

the Critique's Dialectic and in the pre-critical Beweisgrund. In the Critique Kant writes:

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By whatever and by however many predicates we may think a thing—even if

we completely determine it—we do not make the least addition to the thing

when we further declare that this thing is. Otherwise, it would not be exactly

the same thing that exists, but something more than we had thought in the

concept; and we could not, therefore, say that the exact object of my concept

exists (A600/B628).

And in the Beweisgrund:

Take anything you like, for example Julius Caesar. Combine in it all its

conceivable predicates (not excepting those of time and place). You will then

see that, with all these determinations, it may or may not exist. The being that

gave existence to the world and to this hero was able to recognize all these

predicates—not a single one excluded—and could still regard him as a merely

possible thing which, save for His decree, did not exist. Who can deny that

millions of things that really do not exist are, with all the predicates they would

contain if they existed, merely possible; that in the conception which the

highest being has of them, not one of these determinations is lacking, although

existence is not among them. For He knows them only as possible things.

Therefore, it cannot occur that if they exist they contain one more predicate;

for in the possibility of a thing according to its complete determination, no

predicate whatsoever can be missing. And if it had so pleased God to create

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another world, then it would have existed with all the determinations, and

nothing more, that He discerned in it, although it is only merely possible.13

Kant's argument in the latter passage is the following.14 (1) God has concepts of merely

possible things (the "highest being" has "millions" of complete concepts of things that

don't exist; reference to the highest being here is a mere rhetorical device). (2) Although

these concepts are complete, existence isn't one of their predicates ("existence isn't

among them"). The reason for this seems to be (3) that God knows these things as merely

possible, not as actual ("for he knows them only as possible things"): had existence been

among their predicates, God would have known them as actual, not as merely possible.

However (4) given that existence isn't a predicate of a merely possible being, if such a

being comes into existence then 'existence' will not be added to its predicates ("therefore,

it cannot occur that if they exist they contain one more predicate"). The reason for this,

stated more clearly at A600/B628, is that if existence would be added to the concept of

what had been a merely possible thing, as soon as it comes into existence the concept of

the merely possible and the concept of the actual wouldn't be of the same thing. However

(5) this contradicts the assumption that the merely possible could come into existence ("if

it had so pleased God to create another world, then it would have existed with all the

determinations").

The skeleton of the argument is roughly this:

13 BDG AA 02:72

4 For a recent analysis see W. Forgie: "Kant and Existence: Critique of Pure Reason A600/B623," Kant-Studien

170

(Al) It is possible to have a complete concept of a merely possible thing, z.

[Assumption]

(A2) The merely possible can become actual. [Assumption]

(A3) Existence isn't a predicate of a merely possible thing, z. [If existence were a

predicate of the merely possible z, z wouldn't be merely possible but actual.]

(A4) Therefore, if z would come into existence, existence won't be among its

predicates. [If it would be, the existing thing wouldn't be identical to z; the concept of

z would be altered by the addition of a further predicate, namely 'existence']

Because existence isn't a property of a thing—existing or non-existing—it isn't included

in the concept of God. There is no contradiction involved in the thought 'God, the being

possessing all properties, doesn't exist'. The ontological argument fails.

One challenge facing Kant interpreters is that of understanding how

Kant views A3, and why he thinks it is true. Indeed, on a prevailing interpretation of the

argument A3 is false.'5 For let us say that property <p is included in the concept of a thing,

z, iff cp is a necessary condition for anything being an instance of z (thus 'having three

sides' is a property of triangles because having three sides is a necessary condition for

anything being an instance of a triangle): there is no reason why existence cannot be a

property of a merely possible z. Assume that existence is included in z's concept: it

15 J. Shaffer: "Existence, Predication and the Ontological Argument," Mind LXXI, p. 309-11. Schaffer's position has become standard. See for example J. Barnes The Ontological Argument (London: The Macmillan Press, 1972), p. 48; J. Bennett, Kant's Dialectic (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), p. 230; G. Oppy: Ontological Arguments and Belief in God (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 230.

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follows that existing is a necessary condition for anything being an instance of z, not that

z actually exists. On this interpretation, A3 is false.1

Of course, it doesn't follow from this analysis that the ontological

argument goes through—it doesn't follow that existence is, or can be, a property of a

thing in the relevant sense. Existence can be a property of a merely possible thing

precisely because even if it is, in the relevant sense it still isn't—in the relevant sense

existence can only be a property of a concept of a thing (i.e., the second-order property,

'being instantiated'). Thus even if a concept of a thing is complete—including within it

'existence', if you'd like—it does not follow that that thing exists. What follows is that if

it exists, it has all the relevant properties. The ontological argument fails: define God as

that being possessing all predicates, and allow existence to be one of them; it follows that

if there exists a being possessing all predicates, that being is God.

If only for the purpose of historical precision, however, it should be noted

that this analysis, which is sometimes presented as part of a criticism of Kant's refutation,

seems to be what Kant himself is groping for. A couple of passages should make this

clear:

l6Indeed such analysis renders all positive existential propositions tautological, and all negative existential propositions contradictory. Some have used this very fact to carry out a reductio ad absurdum, i.e. to argue that for diat reason existence is not a predicate. A. J. Ayer states, for example that, "Existence is not an attribute. For, when we ascribe an attribute to a thing, we covertly assert that it exists; so that if existence were itself an attribute, it would follow that all positive existential propositions were tautologies, and all negative existential propositions self-contradictory; and this is not the case. So that those who raise questions about Being which are based on the assumption that existence is an attribute are guilty of following grammar beyond the boundaries of sense" (Language, Truth, and Logic [New York: Dover Publications, 1952], p. 43). A similar reductio is given by J. Wisdom, Interpretation and Analysis (London: Regan Paul, 1931), p. 62. G. Nakhnikian and W. Salmon suggest to embrace the claim that all existential claims are tautological—i.e. to reject the reductio. See their "Exists as a Predicate," The Philosophical Review 1957, 66(4), p. 535-542.

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In whatever mariner the understanding may have arrived at a concept, the

existence of its object is never, by any process of analysis, discoverable within

it; for the knowledge of the existence of the object consists precisely in the fact

that the object is posited in itself, beyond the [mere] thought of it (B667).

[existence] appears in common usage as a predicate, not so much as a predicate

of the thing itself, as it is of the thought one has of it. E.g. existence belongs to

the sea-unicorn but not to the land-unicorn. This is to say nothing more than:

the conception of the sea-unicorn is a concept of experience, that is, the

conception of an existing thing... Not: regular hexagons exist in nature, but:

the predicates which are thought together in a hexagon belong to certain things

in nature.

Lastly:

If I say, 'God is an existing thing', it appears that I express the relation of a

predicate to a subject. But there is an incorrectness in this expression.

Expressed exactly, it should say: something existing is God, that is, those

predicates that we designate collectively by the expression 'God' belong to an

1R

existing thing.

17BDGAA02:72f.

18 BDG AA 02:74.

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Thus, A3 needs to be interpreted as a claim about existence not being a predicate in the

relevant sense:

(A3*) Existence in the relevant sense cannot be a property of a merely possible thing,

z. [Existence in the relevant sense isn't a property of a concept of a thing but a

property of a concept—a second-level property, 'being instantiated'. Moreover: had

the property 'being instantiated' been a property of the concept of z, z wouldn't have

been merely possible; it would have existed.]

It is important for Kant to insist not only that existence (in the relevant sense) isn't a

predicate of a thing but also that from a thing's concept one cannot know whether in the

relevant sense existence applies. "In the mere concept of a thing," he famously writes,

"no mark [Charakter] of its existence is to be found" (B 272).

Now, if existence in the relevant sense isn't a property of a thing, then

existence is something over and above the concept of a thing. It is neither true nor known

to be true from the mere concept of substance that it exists. From definitions like the

Ethics' first—that the causa sui is "that whose essence involves existence, or that whose

nature cannot be conceived except as existing"—follows nothing existentially

informative.19 Accordingly, the rationalist remains without a genuine answer to the

This criticism of the ontological argument is implicitly assumed in Kant's critique of Spinoza's geometrical method in the Critique of Pure Reason. "In philosophy," Kant writes "the geometrician can by his method build only so many houses of cards." Kant dismisses the use of "definitions," "axioms" and "demonstrations" in obtaining metaphysical truths as impossible. His chief argument is that no philosophical definition can generate non-empirical metaphysical-existential knowledge. In this light, Kant's critique of the geometrical method depends on the refutation of the ontological argument. If existence is a predicate, geometrical methods in philosophy might be appropriate. I will return to consider Kant's critique of Spinoza's geometrical method elsewhere.

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question 'In virtue of what is substance conceived as existing?' He remains short of an

9ft

account of conceivability and, for all that matters, of anything at all.

7. This Kantian refutation doesn't successfully debunk the rationalist's position—

not without further argument. One implication of the rationalist insistence that

conceivability is coextensive with existence is its necessatarian conclusion (if x is

conceivable, non-x is inconceivable). This conclusion indicates that there is something

fundamentally lacking in Kant's claim that existence isn't a predicate. Delia Rocca

writes:

This argument shows that a standard and Kantian criticism of the ontological

argument fails to address what are, perhaps, the most powerful reasons in

defense of that argument. In that famous section of the Critique of Pure

Reason, Kant claims, in effect, that conceivability is separate from existence.

But a rationalist who has his wits about him (as Spinoza does) will simply

deny this by saying—and plausibly so, as I have argued—that conceivability

is identical to existence. Kant's criticism of the ontological argument fails to

confront the reasons that be marshaled for the claim that conceivability is not

separate from existence. These reasons depend, of course, on the PSR, and

this shows that the defense of the ontological argument may, in the end,

Schopenhauer gives an intriguing description of the situation faced by the rationalist attempt to rely on self explanatory devices: "The right emblem for causa sui is Baron Munchhausen, sinking on horseback into the water, clinging by the legs to his horse and pulling both himself and the animal out by his own pigtail, with the motto underneath: causa suC (On the Principle of Sufficient Reason in trans. K. Hillebrand [Amherst: Prometheus Books, 2006]). As we will see presently, Schopenhauer is too quick to ridicule this position. Much more Kantian sweat is required to obtain the claim that existence is not a predicate.

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surprisingly rest on a defense of the PSR. This is surprising because the PSR

is generally associated with the cosmological argument which Kant claimed

was dependent on the ontological argument. But now it may seem that the

explanatory considerations at the heart of the cosmological argument may be

more fundamental.

The rationalist denies Kant's opening assumption, A1. It is impossible to have a complete

concept of a merely possible z, a rationalist maintains, because, by the PSR, a complete

concept of z shows that non-z is inconceivable, hence that z exists. Therefore, A2 is false

as well: obviously, the merely possible z cannot come into existence if there isn't a

conceivable concept of a merely possible z. Therefore, and this is just the point, A3* is

false: we can know from z's concept whether it is instantiated or not, for z's complete

concept shows that non-z is inconceivable. Kant's claim that in the mere concept of a

thing "no mark of its existence" can be found is thereby rejected.

From the rationalist's perspective, Kant, in assuming Al, is begging the

question. He assumes that there is a genuine distinction between existence and

possibility—that necessitarianism is false—in arguing that existence isn't a property of a

thing, but assuming that existence is not a predicate is a necessary condition of making

that very assumption. (We believe that it is possible to have a complete concept of a

merely possible thing only if we believe that existence isn't a predicate; for if existence is

a predicate, the rationalist can show that necessitarianism is true and thereby deny A1-3.)

While this does not mean that Kant's argument is formally invalid, it does show that the

argument isn't known to be sound. It is ineffective against someone who denies the

21 Delia Rocca: "A Rationalist Manifesto," p. 90.

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premises altogether. Therefore, the argument licenses a weaker conclusion than the one

proclaimed by Kant: if we believe that there is a distinction between the merely possible

and the actually existing (if we assume that necessitarianism is false), we are committed

to believing that existence isn 't a predicate. But this doesn't show why or that we should

believe that this circumstance actually obtains. Given that Kant's critique of rationalism

depends on the refutation of the ontological argument, the weaker statement above is

unsatisfactory. And more problematically still: at this point the rationalist will surely

invoke the PSR to argue that necessitarianism is true—i.e., that Al is false and that the

Kantian refutation fails. (This is just what Delia Rocca suggests in the above-quoted

passage.)

8. This latter step, however, is one that the rationalist cannot legitimately take. In

arguing from the PSR that necessitarianism and the ontological argument are true he is

begging the question just as much as Kant. We have seen above that believing that

necessitarianism is true is necessary for believing the ontological argument (for if

necessitarianism is false, Kant's refutation goes through). We have also seen that

believing the ontological argument is necessary for believing the PSR (for if we don't

believe the ontological argument, we cannot maintain that all truths are conceptual).

Therefore, believing necessitarianism is necessary for believing the PSR. Therefore, it is

circular to assume the PSR in showing that necessitarianism obtains in order to redeem

the ontological argument. To be sure, here too circularity need not imply a formal

fallacy.22 Let us grant that the argument is valid—let us grant that arguing from the PSR

For present purposes I'm assuming a quasi-pragmatic conception of question begging. D. Sanford formulates this so: "Question begging is not a purely formal matter. An argument formulated for Smith's

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we establish that necessitarianism obtains. The problem is that the rationalist is trying to

use an argument in order to show not merely that the conclusion validly follows but also

that the argument's own premises are themselves true (i.e., that the argument is sound).

But of course even if the argument itself isn't viciously circular, the attempt to use it to

show that its premises are true is. Just like Kant, a rationalist has to rest satisfied with a

weaker claim: if we believe necessitarianism, we have a good reason to believe that

existence is a predicate—and to believe in the PSR. But the PSR shouldn't be anybody's

reason for granting necessitarianism in the first place.

9. As so often, the dispute between the Kantian and the rationalist has to be settled

by debating the legitimacy of each side's initial position—not by arguing over what

follows thereafter. Let us take a moment to articulate each of these positions.

Significantly, both begin by admitting a rationalist commitment to the PSR: both agree

that rationality demands that we strive to explain everything (in Kant, this is PI); as well

as assume that everything can be explained (in Kant, this is P2). They part company,

however, when it comes to the status of the latter rational assumption (P2). Kant

maintains that PI must remain essentially unsatisfied—that the task prescribed by PI is

benefit, whether by Smith himself or by another, begs the question either if Smith believes one of the premises only because he already believes the conclusion or if Smith would believe one of the premises only if he already believed the conclusion." {Analysis 1972 32[6], p. 198.) F. Jackson holds a similar conception, which he understands as 'egocentric reasoning' (in which the premises selected are consistent with the beliefs of the arguer and not the target audience) (see his Conditionals [New York: Blackwell, 1987], Chapter 6).

23Some refuse to take that step. Relying on Leibniz's conception of per se possibilities, Martin Lin advances an argument for the claim that the PSR does not necessitate necessitarianism. (See "Rationalism and Necessitarianism," [unpublished manuscript]). Lin argues that that Spinoza's reasons for rejecting Leibniz's defense of contingency from per se possibilities is not motivated by the PSR. Here I cannot discuss Lin's position in detail but will assume for the sake of argument that the PSR does necessitate necessitarianism. However, it is important to keep in mind that if the PSR does not entail necessitarianism, this would have further consequences for rationalism. As I argued, rationalism depends on the success of the ontological argument, and the latter is rejected if necessitarianism is rejected.

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Sisyphean—because the assumption that everything can be explained (P2) isn't known to

be true. He thinks that the rational belief that we know that everything can be ultimately

explained is illusory: it is unjustifiable at best (given that the existence of a necessary

being has to be known as a conceptual truth for the ultimate completeness of

explanation); and arguably known to be false (given the Antinomies). However, both

claims turn on the assumption that there is a modal distinction between existence and

possibility: only on the assumption that necessitarianism is false does Kant successfully

reject the ontological argument and, thereby, the rationalist 'edifice of conceivability'.

The rationalist, however, takes just the opposite stance. Assuming that there are no mere

possibilities he recovers the ontological argument. The edifice of conceivability and of

the PSR is thereby sustained—is more stable than a "geometrical house of cards."

Moreover, as we have seen in the previous chapters such a position enables him in turn to

outflank the other anti-rationalist arguments, like those presented in the Antinomies. Is

there a reason to favor one initial position over the other?

II.

One way to answer that question is to examine the modal intuitions that drive the PSR. I

will argue that these intuitions give a reason to favor one initial position over the other,

and that that position is Kant's.

1. The most natural, pre-reflective moments in which we apply the PSR occur

when we raise simple why-questions. We encounter concrete worldly states of affairs and

instinctively demand an explanation: 'Why did this thing happen?', 'Why did this happen

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as it did?' or even 'Why didn't this happen?' One can fill into these formulas the most

basic content there is: 'Why is the table here?' 'Why is the table here rather than there?'

'Why is there something rather than nothing?' Most philosophers would agree with Kant

and Spinoza that we raise these questions instinctively, and that once we start raising

them it is difficult to stop. 'Why is this table here?' 'Because the waitress put it here.'

'Why then did she put it here?' 'Because her boss told her to do so.' 'But why did he tell

her to do so?' This regress is motivated by a familiar instinct: we ask why something

happened because we instinctively assume it happened for some reason, and the moment

we learn about the reason we assume that that reason, too, is conditioned on another. And

so, we ask again.

Behind this instinctive demand for reasons are two basic intuitions, which

can be viewed as necessary conditions of why-questions being raised. (1) Everything that

happens happens for a reason. And (2) everything that happens could have happened

otherwise (it is contingent).

Delia Rocca elegantly accounts for the first intuition but only at the

expense of the second. This is not a welcome sacrifice; the relation between (1) and (2) is

such that (1) depends on (2): the modal intuition that what happens is contingent is

essential for the application (and, we shall see, the justification) of the PSR. That is, our

rational insistence that what happens happens for a reason (i.e., 1) is fueled by the

intuition that things could have been otherwise (i.e., 2). It is because we think that things

could have occurred otherwise that we think that there has to be a reason why they

occurred. Effectively, we never ask why something happened but what made it happen

despite the fact that it didn't have to happen.

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Take two examples. 'Why is this table here?' This is a good question, but

only because we think that the table could have been elsewhere, or that it could have

failed to exist. Had we 'seen' that the table were here necessarily we wouldn't have asked

why—would have had no reason to question its location. This modal intuition becomes

clearer with the following question. 'Why is there something rather than nothing?' Had

we thought that something's existence is necessary we would never raise that question.

But we do naturally wonder why anything at all exists, and we do so because we assume

that something's existence is contingent. Only on the assumption that the world exists

contingently do we demand to know why it exists. (Some think that it makes sense to ask

why the world exists only because the world is unjust. I will get to this.)

At the heart of the cosmological argument, so intimately connected to the

PSR, lies a strong belief in contingency—an anti-necessatarian conviction. The argument

begins with the claim that the 'world of becoming' exists contingently and, hence,

requires a reason to come into existence. Moving up from that contingency premise,

Ancient and Early-Modern philosophers would proceed to derive the existence of an

ultimate 'world of being'—an 'uncaused-cause'. The latter, being necessary, requires no

explanation. Now, to be sure, the validity of the cosmological argument does not concern

us here in the least; of interest is only the insight it provides into the modal intuitions

driving the PSR. The cosmological argument illustrates, first, that we naturally demand

reasons for things we take to be contingent; and second, that we don't demand reasons for

things we take to be necessary.

Thus, our motivation to apply the PSR is based on the assumption that there

is a distinction between existence and possibility. Therefore, in applying the PSR we are

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led to reject the claim that existence is a predicate—reject the ontological argument. But

as we have seen, if the ontological argument fails, so does the rationalist edifice of

conceivability.

Let us be more specific. If we assumed or had the intuition that the table's

existence here or something's existence in general were a matter of conceptual necessity,

asking why they exist as they do would be in vain. Our questions wouldn't be genuinely

good questions but misunderstandings of the concepts at work (as in the case of asking

why bachelors are unmarried men).24 Let us say that only on the assumption that things

are not conceptually necessary is there a genuine reason to ask why they happened as

they did. This means that when we employ the PSR we assume a genuine distinction

between existence and possibility.

At first glance, the rationalist seems to have an obvious reply. He may claim

that it is not the case that we apply the PSR because we think that things are contingent,

One could suggest that a rationalist like Spinoza maintains, in fact, an important distinction between the necessity o f substance exists' and that of 'the table is here'—the former but not the latter is completely conceived through itself. EHaxl for example states, "the essence of man does not involve necessary existence", what could suggest that the existence of particular modes is not necessary. This doesn't seem an acceptable answer. Even if the source of the necessity of a finite modes' existence is not the (finite) modes' essence, the degree of its necessity is no lesser than anything else's. Spinoza's EIp33sl makes it clear that despite the distinction between these sources of contingency, any appearance of contingency is a mere appearance, an illusion due to a "defect of our knowledge." (See also D. Garrett's "Spinoza's Necessitarianism" ined. Y. Yovel, God and Nature: Spinoza's Metaphysics [Leiden: Brill, 1991], p. 199f.)

25In a way, Delia Rocca concedes this intuition. This is so to the extent that that intuition constitutes his account of 'conceivability'. As we recall, Delia Rocca argues that everything needs to be accounted for, and suggests that this can be done in terms of 'conceivability'. When faced with the "inevitably annoying" question 'In virtue of what is conceivability accounted for?' however, he dismisses the question—the answer being a matter of conceptual necessity—as a misunderstanding of the concepts at work. Important for our purposes at this point is only Delia Rocca's assumption that if x is conceptually true—as in the case of 'the cause-of-itself exists' (or of 'bachelors are unmarried')—there is no point in asking in virtue of what this is the case. Bachelors are unmarried because they are what they are; the cause-of-itself exists because it is what it is. This challenges Delia Rocca's position because his necessatarian conclusion—itself a necessary condition for universalizing the PSR—renders all truths conceptual. Asking 'Why is the table here?' on this account would be just as hollow as asking 'Why are bachelors unmarried?'. The appropriate answer is that 'the table is here because it is what it is'. (Or rather because substance is what it is.)

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but because we don't see how they are necessary. The point is this: asking why

bachelors are unmarried is vain because the conceptual truth that they are unmarried is

something that we instantly see—the conceptual containment is "more or less on the

97

sleeve of the relevant concept." We have a reason to raise why-questions about

conceptual truths when those truths are not, to us, obviously conceptual. On this view, the

purpose of asking 'why' is to further inquire into and articulate our concepts. The

rationalist would argue that whereas it makes no sense to ask why bachelors are

unmarried, it makes sense to ask why there is something rather than nothing. The answer

to the latter question, unlike that of the first, isn't something that's readily seen. It has to

be articulated out of the concepts 'something', 'nothing' and so forth.

I don't think that this rationalist claim can be denied—and it need not be.

Indeed even if all truths are conceptual, we, creatures of finite intellects, don't see all of

them as such. Philosophy's task from this point of view would be none other than the

Socratic aspiration to further articulate and inquire into the meaning of our concepts.

However, the present philosophical debate is of a different nature. We're asking whether

all truths are in fact conceptual, and whether a rationalist may claim to know that they

are. By granting that we ask why because we don't see how truths are conceptual, the

rationalist has granted the only point that we sought to establish: we raise why-questions

because it seems to us that things are not necessary. It doesn't follow from this, of course,

that things are not necessary; but then, the PSR cannot be used to show that they are.

See Delia Rocca: "The Identity of Indiscernible and the Articulability of Concepts," Linguistics and Philosophical Investigations 2008 (7). This in reply to a challenge raised R. Jeshion's "The Identity of Indiscemibles and the Co-Location Problem," Pacific Philosophical Quarterly 2007, (87), p. 163-76.

27 M. Delia Rocca: "The Identity of Indiscernible and the Articulability of Concepts"

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Thus, when we apply the PSR we initially (though not necessarily) believe in

contingency, and there is no reason why we should change our mind.

Here is another way of putting the same point. Let us ask, if some

conceptual truths are easily seen as such, why aren't others? The rationalist answers: (1)

because our mind is finite; and, moreover, he would say: (2) from God's perspective all

truths are conceptual and are intuited as such. However, (1) is equivalent to granting that

we ask 'why' because a state of affairs seems to us contingent; and there will be a reason

to believe (2) only if there is an argument justifying the existence of such a divine

perspective in the first place. We have seen above that the PSR cannot provide that

justification because believing that that perspective exists—believing the ontological

argument—is necessary for believing that the PSR is true. Thus, we turned to inquire into

the reasons that drive the PSR in order to see if they give an independent clue into our

initial modal intuitions, and they do. In fact we found that the rationalist has to agree with

us that we apply the PSR because we believe in contingency.

Ill

I pointed out earlier that Delia Rocca attempts to provide a separate justification of the

PSR. This justification proceeds bottom up: Delia Rocca points out that basic theoretical

procedures are initially committed to the PSR; from this fact, he generates a commitment

to a fully universalized version of the PSR—a commitment to the claim that everything

that exists is fully explicable. If successful, such a justification could give an independent

reason for accepting the PSR and the conclusions it entails (necessitarianism, the

ontological argument, etc.). I will suggest that even if successful this justification does

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not provide a genuine commitment to the fully blown version of the PSR, as sought by

the rationalist. It generates a commitment to a subjective version of the PSR, which Kant

in fact grants and which is consistent with his critical position. Let us begin by briefly

examining Delia Rocca's argument.

1. Consider a state of affairs in which two equal weights are hung at the ends of a

balance. We make the judgment that the balance will not move; it will not tend in either

direction. Why? What is the basis of that judgment? Leibniz, quoted by Delia Rocca,

gives the following explanation:

[Archimedes] takes it for granted that if there is a balance in which everything

is alike on both sides, and if equal weights are hung on the two ends of that

balance, the whole will be at rest. That is because no reason can be given why

one side should weigh down rather than the other.

Delia Rocca points out that "Leibniz (or Archimedes) here rejects a certain possibility—

on

viz. that the balance is not at rest—because this possibility would be inexplicable."

Such a procedure Delia Rocca defines as an 'explicability argument'—an argument in

which a certain possibility is rejected because its existence cannot be explained. He

explains that, in explicability arguments, "a certain state of affairs is said not to obtain

In ed. R. Ariew, G. W Leibniz and Samuel Clarke: Correspondence (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 2000), p. 7.

29 Delia Rocca: "PSR" (unpublished)

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simply because the existence of that state of affairs would be inexplicable, a so-called

brute fact."30

Delia Rocca does not try to justify his reliance on explicability arguments.

And, at least at first glance, this seems unproblematic. Indeed anybody who is even

minimally rational would be reluctant to deny such arguments, which are as intuitive and

necessary as a theoretical argument can be (just consider the Leibniz-Archimedes case

above). Delia Rocca claims that invoking explicability arguments like the one above

creates a serious pressure to accept the PSR itself. This pressure is generated by what we

may call the rationalist 'principle of inertia' (this is not Delia Rocca's term). A body,

once moved, will move in the same direction and speed unless acted upon by external

force. Similarly, if we accept explicability arguments, we have an initial, if minimal,

commitment to go on using the PSR. (One can deny that commitment only at the price of

giving up the buonafida of arguments such as the Leibniz-Archimedes argument

mentioned above, what seems unattractive.) But given this initial commitment, we cannot

but keep on going in the same direction—demand that existence itself be explicable. It

would be inconsistent to refrain from going on and appealing to explicability arguments,

unless we have a reason to do so. Hence, for lack of a reason to stop using explicability

arguments, we cannot but raise them continually and eventually to demand an account of

existence itself. But as soon as we demand this, argues Delia Rocca, we have conceded

our commitment to the PSR itself:

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the explicability argument concerning existence does [commit one to the full­

blown PSR], for to insist that there be an explanation for the existence of each

existing thing is simply to insist on the PSR itself, as I stated it at the outset of

this paper. So the explicability argument concerning existence, unlike the

other explicability arguments, is an argument for the PSR itself, and it is our

willingness to accept explicability arguments in other, similar cases that puts

pressure on us to accept the explicability argument in the case of existence,

i.e. puts pressure on us to accept the PSR itself.31

With one important qualification, most Kantians would probably accept this argument.

Kant himself, though admittedly without elaborate argument, grants that human beings

are as a matter of fact committed to striving to explain absolutely everything. The

qualification is this: the commitment generated by Delia Rocca is in fact more limited

than rationalists are tempted to believe. From a Kantian point of view (a point of view

Kant names 'critical-rationalist') an argument like Delia Rocca's only seems to justify the

full-blown PSR. Let us distinguish between two different claims:

(1) For every p that exists, we demand a reason why p exists.

(2) For every p that exists, (we know that) there is a reason why it exists.

Note first that (1) and (2) correspond exactly to PI and P2, respectively. The Kantian

objection to Delia Rocca's justification of the PSR is thus none other than the Kantian

objection to the slip from PI to P2. Delia Rocca's argument puts pressure on accepting

31 Delia Rocca: "PSR"

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(1): he shows that the most obvious theoretical explanations commit us to demanding

("insist") that everything be fully explicable. However, in the above-quoted passage

Delia Rocca argues that in virtue of accepting (1) we accept the fully blown PSR; i.e., (2).

This move from (1) to (2) was not argued for and is suspicious; Kant suggests that it

occurs because of that "necessary and natural illusion of reason," tempting us to slip from

subjective claims about our commitments to objective claims about the way the world is.

The point is this: Delia Rocca seems to suggest that in virtue of accepting that we are

committed to ''''insist that there be an explanation for the existence of each existing thing,"

we are committed to accepting "the PSR itself,"—i.e., that there is an explanation for

everything. But what justifies that claim? Is it not legitimate to affirm our commitment to

explaining everything without affirming what we do not know—that everything is or can

be explained?

Rationalists, speculative or critical, are committed to the view that one

ought not claim to know that a given metaphysical proposition is true unless one has

sufficient grounds for making that claim. What, then, justifies the claim that there are no

brute facts? Is the fact that we are committed to demanding explanations for everything—

a fact about reason, as Kantians call it—sufficient to establish that we know that

everything is explicable? What justifies this optimism?

I suggested in chapter one that there could be a Cartesian assumption

doing the work in the background: if we assume that a benevolent God created us, we

have grounds to believe that our reason's natural inclinations do not deceive us.

Accordingly, if we grant (that we know) God's existence and goodness, we may claim

that if we know that we are committed to eliminating brute facts, we know that there are

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none. Cold-blooded rationalists like Kant and Spinoza, however, would be reluctant to

perform such a Cartesian salto mortale. What then, could justify the rationalist's leap of

faith? Kant is only true to rationalist principles when he refuses to take that step.

Let me translate this point into the set-up of Delia Rocca's own argument.

Faced with the pressure to appeal to explicability arguments about existence, Delia Rocca

claims, a "non-rationalist" may embrace one of the following three options:

(1) Claim that some but not all explicability arguments are legitimate

(particularly, that explicability arguments about existence are not legitimate).

(2) Claim that no explicability arguments are legitimate.

(3) Claim that all explicability arguments are legitimate.

Strictly speaking Kant, who does not understand himself as a non-rationalist but as a

critical rationalist and thus as rationalism's true keeper, embraces (2). This sounds

somewhat harsh; a more positive way of putting this is to say that a critical rationalist like

Kant embraces something like (2) as well as something like (3). Kant would argue, first,

that no explicability argument is known to be true—call this (2*). The reason behind this

(very costly) claim is that in order for any explicability argument to be known to be true,

existence itself must be (known to be) explicable. (If existence isn't explicable, nothing is

explicable. And in order for us to believe that existence is explicable, we need to believe

the ontological argument, etc.) However, the Kantian will at the same time accept that we

are rationally committed to striving to explain everything, eliminate all brute facts—call

this (3*). Thus, insofar as Delia Rocca is arguing that we are committed to explaining

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everything—insofar as he insists that the commitment to eliminate brute facts ought not

be given up—he has found in the Kantian an ally. However, as soon as the rationalist

moves from speaking about our commitments to speaking about the way the world is, the

Kantian disapproves. In fact, at that moment he becomes a powerful foe and would argue

that the dogmatic rationalist has betrayed the most basic rationalist principle. Despite

what many assume, this is not, I believe, adherence to the claim everything is

explicable—that there are no brute facts. It is rather the maxim never to believe

anything without reason.33

The rationalist, then, hasn't grounded the claim that there are no brute facts.

He has justified the claim that we are committed to striving to explain everything; but we

still don't know that everything can be ultimately explained. Therefore, we have no good

reason to revise our modal intuition that necessitarianism is false. Accordingly, we do

have a reason to believe that the PSR cannot be known to be true. The truth of the PSR

requires the ontological argument, and that argument collapses if necessitarianism is

false. A Kantian maintains the commitment to explaining everything without knowing

that everything can be explained, that the PSR is true. Depending on personal taste this

will be regarded as the beauty or the folly of Kant's position.

I believe that this is Delia Rocca's position; Lin defines "metaphysical rationalism" as the doctrine which proclaims the truths of the PSR ("Rationalism and Necessitarianism," p.l); perhaps this reflects an attempt on this part to recognize that accepting the truth of the PSR need not be the defining feature of rationalism as such.

330ne could ask which principle comes first. Perhaps it is possible to argue that without believing that there are no brute facts there is no point in refusing to believe something without sufficient reason. If this is so, the rationalist may be able to suggest that the foremost code of rationalism is the belief that there are no brute facts. To me this does not seem to be the case. The justification of the 'code' of not believing anything without sufficient grounds, a code embraced by both Spinoza and Kant—as well as by most philosophers in general and certainly most Enlightenment thinkers—draws on a normative decree rather than on theoretical justification: 'think freely!'—refuse to believe what you cannot yourself understand. In my reading of Spinoza, this is also his primary motivation.

190

Keeping this in mind, I would like to make another comment on Delia Rocca's

justification of the PS

2. It is telling that the PSR's justification proceeds by stressing our need for

explicability arguments, because these arguments reaffirm the modal intuition that

necessitarianism is false. In the Leibniz-Archimedes case considered above, an

explicability argument is employed to reject a certain possibility (namely, the possibility

that the balance would move in a certain direction) by the claim that the actual existence

of that possibility would be a brute fact. Leibniz has a genuine reason to invoke an

explicability argument to reject a certain state of affairs only if that state of affairs is

genuinely possible: rejecting it requires an argument. If Leibniz or Archimedes had

deemed it conceptually impossible that the balance would move in a certain direction,

rejecting its motion by an explicability argument would be in vain. If the balance's

motion were taken to be inconceivable, the only genuinely good argument rejecting the

"possibility" of its motion wouldn't be an explicability argument but the claim that it is

impossible (contradictory) that the balance would move.

We may say that what is true of simple why-questions is true of explicability

arguments: we demand to be given an account of or a reason for p because it seems to us

that p is not necessary—it seems to us that non-p is conceivable. Similarly, we go to the

trouble of accounting for the non-actuality of certain states of affairs by means of

explicability arguments because we think that these non-actual states of affairs constitute

genuine possibilities. We would not have a reason to reject a possible p—would not have

a reason to appeal to explicability arguments—if we assumed that p were impossible.

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Delia Rocca's justification of the PSR indicates once more that the PSR is applied with

an intuitive belief in contingency.

Of course, this does not show that things are in fact contingent. I already

conceded above that even if necessitarianism obtains, finite mind like ours would not see

how they are necessary; this would constitute a reason to ask why and exploit

explicability arguments and the PSR. However, if this is the rationalist's eventual defense

of the PSR—if he maintains that this not-seeing-how is the reason to accept the PSR—he

has come to concede the core of the Kantian position: the PSR is invoked from an

essentially limited human perspective. For he has granted that we do know that we

invoke the PSR because things (at least) seem contingent; that we would not have asked

why had we seen that and how things are necessary. He has granted, in short, that if there

is a divine perspective from which everything is intuited as necessary, from that

perspective—which is the only genuine one—no explicability argument is truly required.

For if such a perspective exists there are no possibilities whose non-actuality needs to be

explained. But then, why should we believe that a principle that is known to be used

because and insofar as our perspective is limited could show that an ultimate perspective

exists?

Let me press that point a bit further. The PSR's justification consists in

what I called a principle of inertia: if we initially apply this principle in good faith, we

cannot stop applying it without a reason to do so. For lack of a reason to stop we must

carry on all the way. This argument is appealing, but there's no reason why the same

doesn't hold for starting to apply the PSR. If we initially apply the PSR in good faith, we

need to have a reason to start to apply it just as much as we later need a reason to stop.

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Delia Rocca would probably agree to this, for he accepts that the PSR requires

justification: he grants that because the PSR is the PSR, using that principle for a reason

is essential to using it. However, this justification—the reason to get going with the

PSR—is couched in the need for explicability arguments, and those are truly needed if

and only insofar as we don't see that or how things are conceptually necessary. This can

be seen by considering the following situation. Let us grant for the sake of argument that

all truths are necessary. It follows that nothing that is non-actual is possible. No

explicability argument is required. No mere possibility is denied actuality because its

actuality would involve a brute fact. So the PSR, if it is used, is essentially used from a

limited perspective: we reject a possibility because it seems to us that its existence will be

a brute fact, but this is not the reason why this possibility doesn't exist. There is in fact no

possibility to reject. But then, there is no genuine reason to apply the PSR: the reason to

use that principle would consist merely in, to put it in Spinoza's own language, "a defect

of our knowledge" (EIp33sl). In this light, it would be irresponsible (dogmatic) to use the

PSR to draw metaphysical conclusions. Worse, it would be self-defeating: how can a

principle whose justification loses its status if all truths are necessary be used to show

that all truths are necessary? Are we expected to use the PSR as a Wittgensteinian

ladder—a tool you dispense with as soon as it has taken you to the top? It would be more

reasonable to concede that that ladder simply doesn't take us to the top—and precisely

for that reason that there is no reason to dispense with it.

3. Let me conclude this chapter by saying something about the more positive

Kantian reasons for applying the PSR. Why does Kant think we apply this principle in the

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first place and why are we justified in doing so? Why, according to Kant, do we strive to

explain the world?

I have so far operated on the minimal claim that we strive to explain the

world because it seems to us contingent. My strategy was to show that the rationalist

cannot give us a reason to modify that modal intuition; accordingly, we insist on our

rejection of the ontological argument. However, whereas the seeming contingency of

things may be regarded a necessary condition for demanding to know why, it is not a

sufficient condition. It is entirely conceivable (in fact, it is evidently true) that even when

we view the world as contingent we don't always ask to explain it. There is no necessary

causal connection between experiencing the world as contingent (or not seeing how it is

necessary) and asking why. Why, then, do we ask? What is the more positive reason, or

motivation, for demanding an explanation?

The Kantian explanation, which Kant himself, as far as I can see, never

articulated, is that we believe that things could have been different because we know that

they ought to have been different. Our modal intuition that necessitarianism is false is

grounded in a moral conviction, which is also a positive cause for demanding an

explanation of the world. In the most authentic manifestations of the PSR we do not ask

'why' but cry—in moral outrage. Outrage against an earthquake taking thousands of

innocent lives, the premature death of a loved one; or the course of history, teaching us

about the political evils generated by human society. 4 We ask why the world is as it is

because we demand justice from God; we strive to theoretically understand the world

34 Susan Neiman gives a detailed account of the history of philosophy as the problem of theodicy, showing beautifully that the theoretical strife to explain the world is motivated by the moral objection to the way the world is. See Evil in Modern Thought: an Alternative History of Philosophy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002).

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with a commitment to changing it, bringing about justice. (Kant himself took the story

of Job to be a model of such a relation to God. I will examine Kant's discussion of this

story when examining Kant's account of the sublime.—)

Of course, a rationalist like Spinoza believes that everything is just the way

it ought (or "ought") to be. This follows from his belief that necessitarianism is true.

Moreover, building on that belief, the rationalist will prescribe some powerful rational-

psychological methods for remedying our outrage—methods for "curing" our rebellion

against nature, or God, a rebellion whose grounds the rationalist takes to be illusory and

anthropomorphic. However, the moral-metaphysical proposition that everything is the

way it ought to be, as well as the success of rationalistic prescriptions for remedying

anthropomorphic moral rebellion, depend on the PSR legitimately showing that we know

that things are necessary. This is an assumption that we cannot make. In the final

analysis, then, if deciding whether our moral outrage against nature is unfounded and

illusory—or whether illusory is the thought that everything is known to be explicable—

there is good reason to think it is the latter.

It is perhaps not a coincidence that Schopenhauer, who wrote a dissertation

on the Principle pf Sufficient Reason and who was fascinated not only by Kant but also

by Spinoza, articulates this Kantian stance most lucidly:

Allison once named PI (i.e., reason's command to strive to explain everything) as the Categorical Imperative of theoretical reason. I think he meant this metaphorically, but it seems that the relation between PI and the categorical imperative is such that the later grounds the former. Kant as far as I know never says so explicitly, but his talk of the fact that there is only one reason—and, indeed, the fact that an image of Rousseau was hanging in his study—suggests that he was thinking along similar lines.

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If the world were not something that, practically expressed, ought not to be, it

would also not be theoretically a problem. On the contrary, its existence would

either require no explanation at all, since it would be so entirely self-evident

that astonishment at it and enquiry about it could not arise in any mind; or its

purpose would present itself unmistakably. But instead of this it is indeed an

insoluble problem, since even the most perfect philosophy will always contain

an unexplained element, like an insoluble precipitate or the remainder that is

always left behind... Therefore, if anyone ventures to raise the question why

there is not nothing at all rather than this world, then the world cannot be

justified from itself.

36 A. Schopenhauer, The World As Will and As Representation II, trans. E. F. J. Payne (New York: Dover, 1958), p. 579.

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5

Radical Enlightenment, the Pantheismusstreit, and a Change of Tone in the

Critique of Pure Reason

Kant claims in the B-Preface of the Critique of Pure Reason that the book's

second edition does not differ significantly from its first. "In the propositions

themselves," he writes, "I found nothing to alter." Changes were made only in the "mode

of exposition," intending to prevent misunderstandings regarding some of the arguments.

In a footnote Kant adds that the only change, "strictly so called," is the insertion of the

Refutation of Idealism (Bxxxvii). This is indeed the only part that was neither revised nor

rewritten but added anew to the body of the text. Still, it does not seem that the

Refutation, either, reflects a major change made in the Critique.

Yet one modification inserted in the second edition goes unmentioned in the

Preface. This is the rewriting of the Preface itself, which, arguably, constitutes the most

significant change made in the book. To be sure, the Preface does not alter the content of

any of the Critiqued philosophical arguments. But by announcing at the outset a new

philosophical problem it redefines the meaning, or the function, of the critical

philosophy.

The task announced in the A-Preface is to recover philosophy from its degraded

status among the sciences (Avii-xxii). This status, Kant writes, is historically rooted in

two philosophical positions: dogmatism, an irresponsible speculation with metaphysical

concepts; and skepticism, a counter-reaction to dogmatism, which denies the possibility

of knowledge altogether. Three years after the publication of the A-edition Kant would

recall how Hume's skepticism woke him up from a "dogmatic slumber," inducing him to

write a "critique of reason."1 These are the words of the Prolegomena (1783); in the

Critique Kant never expressed himself in this way. Still, this later reflection is faithful to

the motivation announced at the first edition: by assaulting the metaphysical status of

causality, Hume's skepticism subverted metaphysical knowledge; by introducing

transcendental idealism, and by checking dogmatic rationalism by the test-stone of

experience, Kant undertakes to answer that threat.

The Preface to the second edition of the Critique (1787) introduces a noteworthy

change of tone. Appearing seven years after the first edition and four after the

Prolegomena, the B-Preface no longer designates Hume as Kant's chief opponent or

skepticism as his foremost philosophical threat. What in the Critique's first edition was

presented as the exclusive goal of the book is in the second edition only one of its goals

and, indeed, only the "negative" one (Bxxiv). The second edition redefines the goals of

'ProlAA:4:10

2 In fact, Kant's relation to Hume may be not so easy to define; but the present purposes, this seems accurate enough. (One question that has to be asked is whether Kant was disturbed by Hume's attack on causality or on his attack on dogmatic metaphysics. To the extent that the answer is, contrary to common opinion, the latter, this might become relevant to my purposes here. For Hume's attack on the Principle of Sufficient Reason has to do with his attack on Spinoza.—)

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the Critique as the ones we today take for granted: not only to protect philosophy from

skepticism but also—and foremost—to offer a final defense of freedom, faith and

morality. To be sure, in the A-edition Kant already maintains that transcendental realism

leaves no room for freedom. He writes in the Antinomies, "if appearances are things in

themselves, freedom cannot be upheld" (A536). Moreover, the Antinomies and the Ideal

of Pure Reason provide strong instrumentarium in defending practical reason. These

chapters, however, come late in the book. A-readers would have had no reason to think

that this practical enterprise was the, or even a, major aim of the book. (We will see

below that they in fact did not think that.) In the B-Preface Kant moves the practical

interest in destroying metaphysics to the fore and announces it as the Critiqued main

motivation: transcendental idealism is now prescribed as the only rational defense against

"fatalism, materialism, atheism and Schwarmerei," as "denying knowledge in order to

make room for faith" and as the last defense against a pending political scandal, a result

of theoretical controversies (Streitigkeiten) made public (Bxxxi-xxxv). This is now the

"positive use" of the Critique of Pure Reason, which was not mentioned in the original

Preface of the book.

This change of tone is not surprising. The philosophical discussion in 1787 was

dominated by the worries Kant now highlights. Does philosophy necessarily lead to

materialism, atheism and fatalism? In the language of the time, does rationality, as such,

lead to Spinozism? And if so, can the authority of reason, so dear to the Enlightenment,

be trusted? Jacobi's book on Spinoza was the first to attract public attention to these

questions. The echo they received in Mendelssohn's Morgenstunden (1785),

Wizenmann's Resultate (1786), Kant's "Was hei!3t" (1786) and Reinhold's Briefe uber

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•3

die Kantische Philosophic (1786) made them the burning issue of the time. As Beiser

writes, this discussion engaged most of the "celebrities" of the time, almost "all the best

minds of the late eighteenth-century Germany." It is hard to imagine, he adds, a

discussion whose "effects were so great."4 In such an atmosphere it is hardly surprising

that Kant should invoke the Critique in defense of rational faith and morality. He brings

his attack on metaphysics from the Critique's background to its fore because answering

Spinozism's metaphysical threat has become the need of the time.

Note that Kant redefines the Critique's official goal without introducing a change

in the Antinomies or in the Ideal of Pure Reason. Changes were made throughout the

Aesthetic, the Analytic and the Paralogisms but, apparently, no change was required in

those parts of the book that answer to its newly announced philosophical goal. Given that

one of the central arguments of the Pantheismusstreit was that Spinoza's rationalism was

superior to any other (specifically, to Leibniz's)—an argument, we have seen, that Kant

empathically endorsed—this fact is telling.

My aim in the following chapter is to examine in detail the historical development

of the Pantheismusstreit—the well-known controversy that sent Germany's intellectual

scene reeling in the late Eighteenth Century. In recent years the Streit has received

growing attention but it deserves still more.5 Two aspects of the event require specific

F. H. Jacobi, Uber die Lehre des Spinoza in Briefen an den Herrn Moses Mendelssohn in Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi. Werke, ed. K. Hammacher, vol. 1, Schriften zum Spinozastreit (Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 1998) (Unless noted otherwise, translations are mine); M. Mendelssohn, Morgenstunden in Moses Mendelssohn: Gesammelte Schriften III.2, ed. L. Strauss (Stuttgart: Holzboog, 1974) (unless otherwise noted, translations are mine); Kant: "Was Heifit" WDO AA: 08; K. Reinhold, Letters on the Kantian Philosophy, trans. J. Hebbeler, ed. K. Ameriks (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005).

4 F. Beiser, The Fate of Reason (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987), p. 44-6

5 For detailed accounts of the Streit see Beiser's The Fate of Reason (especially p. 44-126); L. Strauss' book-long introduction to Mendelssohn's Morgenstunden; J. Zammito, The Genesis of Kant's Critique of

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attention here. First, it is sometimes thought that the debate between Jacobi and

Mendelssohn led to the rediscovery of Spinoza in Germany. This is based on the

assumption that Spinoza was regarded a "dead dog" whose philosophy had been

forgotten.6 This assumption, however, is outdated. Spinoza's radical writings and ideas

were well known before the Streit and never lost relevance. Second, Kant's reaction to

the Streit is commonly underestimated or misunderstood. A prevailing assumption is that

Kant, who in his pre- and early critical days was uninterested in Spinozism, strived as

much as he could to stay out of the Spinoza-debate—short essays like "Was heilit" or

side passages in the Critique of Judgment notwithstanding. However, we have seen in

previous chapters that Kant was occupied with Spinoza already before the break of the

Streit. In considering the historical development of the Streit and interpreting the

Critique's B-Preface we will see that Kant's reaction to the controversy culminates in

redefining the main function of the Critique of Pure Reason.

I

Judgment (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), p. 228-262. Despite the fact that in the following I significantly differ from these interpreters, my discussion is indebted to them.

6This assumption was expressed for example by E. Cassirer's The Philosophy of the Enlightenment, trans. F. Koelln and J. Pettegrove (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1951). "Spinoza seems hardly to have had any direct influence on eighteenth century thought," Cassirer writes (p. 187).

7 Below I offer a brief discussion of relevant historical evidence but for a thorough and recent discussion see J. Israel's Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity 1650-1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Israel stops at 1750, however, and therefore does not come to discuss the Pantheismusstreit in light of this position. (I understand that a manuscript dealing with later years and with the Streit is underway.)

8 Zammito provides a helpful discussion of the Pantheismusstreit's impact on the third Critique in his The Genesis of Kant's Critique of Judgment, p. 228-262. However, he too operates on the assumption that Kant first became interested in Spinoza because of the Streit. I hope in the future to account for the third Critique's relation to the Streit (see my introduction above for more detail).

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1. On March 25, 1783 Elise Reimarus, mutual friend of Jacobi, Mendelssohn and

Lessing, wrote to Jacobi from Berlin, informing him of Mendelssohn's intention to write

a book on Lessing's character. The latter had died two years earlier and was not only a

close friend of Mendelssohn's but an ideal of the Enlightenment, a modern, tolerant

Aufkldrer. Jacobi did not answer Reimarus' report for several months. But his delayed

reply, dated July 21, 1783, would fire the first shot of the Pantheismusstreit. In his letter,

Jacobi confidentially inquired whether Mendelssohn was aware of his deceased friend's

"later religious convictions." For Lessing, reports Jacobi to Reimarus, "was a Spinozist!"9

According to Jacobi, Lessing had confessed his Spinozism in a private

conversation, held in Wolffenbuttel in 1780, a few months before his death. Upon

Mendelssohn's distrust of Jacobi's report—Reimarus had communicated Jacobi's inquiry

to him, as Jacobi certainly expected—Jacobi decided to put his conversation with Lessing

in writing and publish it in a book. This is Jacobi's Uber die Lehre des Spinoza, which

saw light in 1785. Mendelssohn's Morgenstunden was published a few months thereafter.

The Wolffenbuttel conversation conveys not only the historical background of the

Streit but also, in a nut-shell, the philosophical challenges that occupy Kant in his attack

on metaphysics. Jacobi reports that the first part of the conversation took place in his

room in Wolffenbuttel, as he handed over to Lessing "Prometheus"—a poem by the

young Goethe. The poem articulates strong Spinozistic inclinations and Jacobi hoped that

it would provoke Lessing. "You have offended a few people [in your writing]," he says to

Lessing upon giving him the poem, "so you too may once be offended."

9See Jacobi's report in the introduction to his Uber die Lehre des Spinoza, 1 f.

1 See Jacobi's recount of the conversation in Uber die Lehre des Spinoza, p. 22-36.1 use Beiser's translation in The Fate of Reason, p. 65-68 (though at times differ from it or translate parts that Beiser skips.)

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Lessing: [Having read the poem and given it back to Jacobi] I find the poem good. I

already have it in first hand.

Jacobi: You know the poem [then]?

Lessing: I have never read the poem; but I find it good.

Jacobi: In its own way, I too, otherwise I wouldn't have presented it to you.

Lessing: I mean this differently... The point of view from which the poem is written is

also my point of view... the orthodox concepts of the divinity are no longer for me; I cannot

enjoy them; 'One and All'! I know no other. This is also where the poem is going and, I must

confess, this pleases me.

Jacobi: Then you would be pretty much in agreement with Spinoza.

Lessing: If I were to name myself after anyone, then I know no one other.

Jacobi: Spinoza is good enough for me: but what a mixed blessing we find in his

name!

Lessing: Yes, if that's the way you look at it... and still... do you know something

better?

The conversation was interrupted by the director of the famous Wolffenbuttel

Library, which Jacobi and Lessing were scheduled to visit. It was continued the next

morning, as Lessing came back to Jacobi's room, eager to clarify his expressions

regarding Spinozism.

Lessing: I came to talk to you about my 'One and All'. You were shocked yesterday.

Jacobi: You surprised me... but [I] was not shocked. It surely wasn't my expectation to

find you a Spinozist or Pantheist; and you revealed this so directly. I had come for the most part

in order to receive your help against Spinoza.

Lessing: You know Spinoza then?

Jacobi: I believe that I know him like very few others.

Lessing: Then one cannot help you. It is better for you to become his friend. There is no

philosophy other than the philosophy of Spinoza.

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Jacobi: This might be true. For a determinist, if he wants to be consistent, must become a

fatalist: the rest follows from there.

Lessing: I see that we understand each other. I am therefore eager to hear from you, what

you consider to be the spirit of Spinozism; I mean that, which was working through Spinoza. [Ich

meine den, der in Spinoza selbst gefahren war]

Jacobi: This was surely nothing else, but the old [saying]: ex nihilo nihil fit...

Lessing: ... So we will not be parting company over our credo.

Jacobi: We don't want this on any account. But my credo is not in Spinoza.

Lessing: I would hope that it is found in no book.

Jacobi: Not only that. I believe in an intellectual, personal origin of the world.

Lessing: Oh, all the better -1 will be getting something new to hear!

Jacobi: I wouldn't be so excited about it. I help myself out of this business by a salto

mortale, and [I take it] you find no special pleasure in standing on your head.

Lessing: Don't say that; as long as I don't have to imitate it. And you will stand on your

feet again. So - if it's not a secret - I'd like to see what's in it for me.

Jacobi: ... The whole issue [of salto mortale] is that, from fatalism, I directly conclude

against fatalism, and [against] everything else that is connected with it...

At this point, Jacobi turns to explain in more detail his rejection of fatalism, based

on an unconditional acceptance of teleology and final causes: if one accepts, with

Spinoza, only mechanical causes, one must conclude that our thoughts never determine

our actions but only accompany them: "we do not do what we think, but think about what

we do." As Lessing recognizes, Jacobi's chief concern is with the problem of freedom;

yet, somewhat surprisingly, he is indifferent to it. "I notice you would like to have your

will free" he tells Jacobi "I desire no free will." Faithful to the Ethics he dismisses this

notion as a dispensable human fancy, and continues to challenge Jacobi:

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Lessing: .. .Ok. How do you imagine your personal Deity then? Something like the way

Leibniz imagined it? I'm afraid that he himself was at heart [im Herzen] a Spinozist.

Jacobi: Do you speak seriously?

Lessing: Do you truly doubt that? - Leibniz understood the concepts of truth so, that he

could not tolerate them being limited. From this way of thinking flow many of his thoughts, and it

is often very difficult, also for the best thinkers, to discover his actual opinion... exactly because

of that I find him so valuable; I mean, because of this big way of thinking and not because that

opinion or another that he only seemingly had, or in fact did.

Jacobi: Completely true. Leibniz wanted to "make fire of every match." But you speak of

some specific position, namely Spinozism, which Leibniz was essentially fond of...

Lessing and Jacobi agree that Leibniz's metaphysical concepts, most crucially the

pre-established harmony, force him into Spinozism. "The two have basically the same

theory of freedom," concludes Jacobi: "only a work of deception [Blendwerk]

distinguishes them" (my emphasis). Yet, despite all that, Jacobi clings to faith in

freedom, teleology and a personal Deity, which brings Lessing to argue:

... With your philosophy, you will have to turn your back on all philosophy.

Jacobi: Why all philosophy?

Lessing: Because you are a complete skeptic.

Jacobi: On the contrary. I withdraw myself from a philosophy that makes skepticism

necessary.

Lessing: And withdraw yourself- where?

Jacobi: To the light, the light Spinoza speaks about when he says that it illuminates itself

and the darkness. I love Spinoza since, more than any other philosopher, he has convinced me

that certain things cannot be explained, and that one must not close one's eyes in front of them

but simply accept them as one finds them... even the greatest mind will hit upon absurd things

when he tries to explain everything and make sense of it according to clear concepts. Whoever

does not want to explain what is inconceivable but only wants to know the borderline where it

begins: he will gain the largest space for human truth.

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Lessing: Words, Jacobi, mere words! The borderline you want to fix cannot be

determined. And on the other side of it you give free rein to dreaming, nonsense and blindness.

Jacobi: I believe that the borderline can be determined. I want not to draw it, but only to

recognize what is already there. And as far as dreaming, nonsense and blindness are concerned...

Lessing: They prevail wherever confused ideas are found...

Jacobi: More where false ones are found... As I see it, the first task of a philosopher is to

disclose existence. Explanation is only a means, a way to this goal: it is the first task, but it is

never the last. The last task is what cannot be explained: irresolvable, immediate and simple.

Lessing: Good, very good. I can use all that; but I cannot follow it in the same way. In

general, your salto mortale does not displease me; and I can see how a man with a head on his

shoulders will want to stand on his head to get somewhere. Take me along with you if it works.

Jacobi: If you will only step on the elastic spot from which I leap, everything else will

follow from there.

Lessing: Even that would demand a leap which I cannot ask of my old legs and heavy

head.

2. Was Lessing a Spinozist? This was the initial question of the Pantheismusstreit

but one irrelevant for Kant. In fact, also Mendelssohn and Jacobi eventually moved on

from it. Lessing was certainly not an enemy of Spinoza. This is evident from his personal

conversation with Jacobi, as well as from his published writings. Together with Spinoza

and the Spinozists, Lessing believed in liberalism, biblical criticism and natural religion.

This is indeed a political taste, in the spirit of Spinoza's Tractatus, not an atheistic-

pantheistic metaphysical position in the spirit of the Ethics. Yet there is a strong sense in

which metaphysics and political philosophy are connected, especially in Spinoza, and all

the more so in such matters as biblical criticism and natural religion.

For fall discussion of Lessing's theology see T. Yasukata, Lessing's Philosophy of Religion and the German Enlightenment (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). Cassirer discusses Lessing's debt and divergence from Spinoza in The Philosophy of the Enlightenment, p. 190-196.

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A more important question raised by the Streit concerns Lessing's philosophical

taste, not as a personal figure but as a symbol—an ideal of the Enlightenment. His

character and lifestyle personified the qualities of tolerance, broadmindedness and

liberalism. In sharp contrast to Lessing, the Jew from Amsterdam was associated with

abomination and danger. He was conceived as a symbol of atheism, dubbed by many as

the Euclides atheisticus or theprincipus atheorum. By bringing Lessing's and Spinoza's

names together, Jacobi was seeking a reductio ad absurdum of the Enlightenment: if this

is where rationality leads, the argument goes, one should reconsider rationality.

3. The most significant challenge raised by the Streit concerns neither Lessing's

philosophical taste nor the reductio of the Enlightenment by his character. There is a

philosophical question at stake. Does rationalism, as such, lead to Spinoza's atheistic

necessitarianism? Must rational philosophy override faith, freedom and morality?

This question is pregnant already in Jacobi and Lessing's conversation. Lessing

tells Jacobi that he cannot help him against Spinoza, implying that such help is in fact

impossible: if one truly grasps Spinoza one better "become his friend," for "there is no

philosophy but the philosophy of Spinoza." Jacobi embraced Lessing's statement and

would make it the slogan of the Streit. Moreover, he agreed with Lessing that Leibniz's

position, too—which was commonly acknowledged as the more acceptable, moderate

alternative to Spinoza—only proves Spinoza's indispensability. If one truly enters the

matter, claims Jacobi, one finds that Leibniz was a Spinozist "at heart." We already know

that Kant agreed on this point.

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Jacobi's claim that Spinoza's philosophy is the only possible one relies on his

understanding of the PSR; first, as the normative criterion of rationality; and second, as

the "spirit of Spinozism." Ex nihilo nihil fit—Jacobi argues that this principle necessitates

not only necessitarianism but also pantheism because it implies that all contingent entities

depend on an absolute being, whose properties they are. Interestingly, Jacobi claims—not

without reason—to have learnt this lesson from Kant's Beweisgrund (see chapter one).

Of course, Jacobi recognizes that other metaphysicians, most characteristically those of

the Leibnizo-Wollfian school, have employed the PSR in their writings without deriving

pantheism. But he maintains that only Spinoza had the philosophical integrity to draw the

logical conclusions that follow from that principle. Accordingly, he thinks it would be

vain to try to give a rational defense of freedom, morality or faith, because such a

defense is beforehand committed to the PSR—hence necessitating fatalistic pantheism.12

There are only two philosophical alternatives, then. One can submit to Spinoza's

philosophy or turn one's back on philosophy altogether.13

In previous chapters we have seen that whereas Kant endorses much of Jacobi's

argument, he denies this twofold alternative. Kant rejects the claim that the PSR, as

understood by Spinoza and Jacobi, is a genuine standard of rationality. The subjective

formulation of the PSR (PI) may be such a standard but the objective formulation (P2)

certainly is not (see chapter four). Accordingly, whereas Kant agrees with Jacobi that

dogmatic rationalism leads, by the PSR (P2), to Spinoza's position, he rejects the claim

that the only other alternative is to turn one's back on rationality altogether. After the

12 Jacobi, Uber die Lehre des Spinoza, p. 172.

For a detailed discussion of Jacobi's salto mortale, see B. Sandkaulen, Grund und Ursache: Die Vernunftkritik Jacobis (Munich: Fink, 2000), especially p. 11-64 ("Uberlegungen zur Topographie des Sprungs").

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break of the Pantheismusstreit, Kant's writings are saturated with the claim that there are

only two philosophical alternatives: transcendental realism, which is Spinozist and

dogmatic; or transcendental idealism, that is, his own philosophy.

Jacobi, who before the publication of the Critique's second edition completely

overlooked Kant's challenge to the PSR and to Spinoza, claimed that one can overcome

philosophy's Spinozist destiny only but performing a salto mortale. That is, he confesses

that he cannot avoid rationally conceiving of God in terms of Spinoza's substance—a

notion leaving no room for faith in a personal deity—but, at the same time, he accepts the

existence of a personal, good deity. His religious conviction thus depends on a simple

acceptance of the Christian doctrines and does not require validation by rational proofs or

theoretical arguments. His faith therefore remains—contrary to everything believed by

the Enlightenment—irrational and subjective. This is something that Jacobi openly

admits: religious conviction is based on "feelings," he writes, which not everybody must

share. These feelings and religious convictions cannot be rationally supported or

universally communicated (mitgeteilet werderi).14 Mendelssohn, in opposition to this,

wanted to preserve at all costs reason's sovereignty in matters of morality and religion.

His Morgenstunden therefore takes up two major opponents which Mendelssohn thought

endangered reason's role—Jacobi and Kant. Against the former, Mendelssohn wanted to

show that philosophy as such need not culminate in Spinozism (or, at the very least, that

Spinozism need not entail the injurious implications normally associated with it)—thus

that a salto mortale is note required. Against the later—whom in the Morgenstunden" s

introduction Mendelssohn famously dubs the alles zermalende—Mendelssohn wanted to

14 Jacobi Uber die Lehre des Spinoza, p. 109.

15 Mendelssohn, Morgenstunden, especially p. 104-114.

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defend knowledge of the traditional metaphysical ideas—especially knowledge of the

soul (rational psychology) and of the existence of God (the ontological argument).16

Lastly, Mendelssohn was trying to invoke intuitive common sense to check the dangers

involved by theoretical (speculative) rationality.17 The clearest example of this move is

Mendelssohn's adherence to physico-theology as reply to the overriding mechanistic

consequences of Spinozism. Beholding natural beauty, writes Mendelssohn, and

considering even the simplest natural organisms, make it impossible to deny nature's

creation by a wise author. The conviction produced by such observations is as strong as

that of a "geometrical proof," he writes.1 If conceptual reasoning like Spinoza's comes

to contradict that conviction, says Mendelssohn, one must assume that fault is on the side

of speculation. In the second part of my project I will read the Critique of Judgment as

defending a similar insight (albeit with allowing the compatibility of speculation and

physico-theology by modifying the status of both).

4. As said, authors writing on the Pantheismusstreit often assume that the debate

ignited by Jacobi eventually lead to Spinoza's rediscovery. This relies on the assumption

that before Jacobi's 1785 publication Spinoza was a neglected, defeated philosopher. (His

system was allegedly crushed by Wolffs comprehensive critique, among others.) On that

assumption, Lessing and Jacobi's agreement that Spinoza's philosophy is not only

relevant but is "the only possible one" would have to be a coincidence—a genuine

16 Ibid., p. 3; it is not always noted that in the same introduction, Mendelssohn also speaks very fondly of Kant, expressing his belief that the business of defending rational morality will be better served in Kant's hand than in his own. "Hopefully [Kant] will rebuild with the same spirit with which he destroyed" (p. 5).

17 Ibid., especially 76-81.

18 Mendelssohn, An die Freunde Lessings, p. 198.

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surprise not only for Jacobi's readers but for Lessing and Jacobi themselves. It is

doubtful, however, that Lessing's confession of Spinozism to Jacobi was a matter of a

surprising coincidence. Just as doubtful is it that Spinoza ever had to be "rediscovered."

First, Jacobi's decision to provoke Lessing, of all things by a Spinozist poem like

"Prometheus," was not arbitrary. Jacobi knew that Lessing would be neither shocked nor

offended by Goethe's Spinozist poem. As mentioned above, Lessing was fond of

liberalism and biblical criticism, a tendency associated with Spinoza's TTP. Lessing was

also a close friend of Mendelssohn, who famously argued that Leibniz plagiarized the

doctrine of established harmony from Spinoza. A well-known manipulator, Jacobi

probably expected Lessing to react just in the way that he did.

More significantly, the still prevalent assumption that the Streit led to Spinoza's

rediscovery is inaccurate. The first indication that Spinoza had not been forgotten is the

fact that he reached to the hearts of such diverse intellectuals as Lessing, Jacobi and the

young Goethe. This suggests that his writings were available and read, and that his ideas

exercised significant force. Was the ban on Spinoza's ideas and the censorship of his

writings ineffective? Were the philosophical attacks on Spinoza's metaphysics—

culminating in Wolffs refutation of Spinozisterey—not quite convincing? Jacobi and

Lessing agreed that Wolffs refutation of Spinoza was "hardly useful." They agreed that

Leibnizo-Wollfian rationalism was, "at heart," Spinozist. Kant, we have seen, agreed on

this point. Yet matters cannot be quite so simple: Wolff was the critic of Spinoza and the

systematizer of Leibniz. Did he fail to see the consequences of his own work? Or did he,

19For example, in 1783 Jacobi fabricated an anonymous critical reply to his own article, Etwas, das Lessing gesagt hat, basing it on personal remarks he had received from Mendelssohn. He then published a reply to the "reply"—dragging Mendelssohn to a public debate and promoting by means of promoting his work. On this affair see Beiser, The Fate of Reason, p. 63.

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too, like possibly Leibniz, conceal Spinoza's inevitability? "Only a work of deception

[Blendwerk]," Jacobi tells Lessing, separates the Leibnizian position from Spinoza's. As

we have seen, on this point, too, Kant agreed.20

The impression that Spinoza was forgotten may have been caused, among other

things, by the fact that his philosophy was never taught in the university seminars of the

time; his books were forbidden and his ideas passed over in the classroom—of course, he

was not surveyed seriously in philosophy textbooks. However, one can learn more about

Spinoza's reception and influence outside of the official pedagogy of the schools by

studying his prevalence in the Enlightenment's lexicons, encyclopedias and dictionaries.

(For a modern reader, the equivalent is something like running a Google search on a

name: the number of hits yielded is at least a rough indication of how widely known the

subject is.) It is well known, for example, that Bayle provided an extensive discussion of

Spinoza and Spinozism in his philosophical dictionary. In fact, Bayle's Spinoza entry was

the single longest article dedicated to any subject in the Dictionnaire. There is no need in

this context to address the question of Bayle's own philosophical stance towards Spinoza

(some think he was a clandestine supporter of Spinoza, some think a harsh critic). Suffice

it here to call to attention the significance of the entry's length: it is hard to see why the

longest entry in one of the most important philosophical media of the Enlightenment

should be dedicated to a forgotten, defeated philosopher. Deliberately or not Bayle

supplies in his entry abundant information about Spinoza's metaphysics: lesser readers

0 Wolff himself was accused of Spinozism several times in his lifetime. These accusations were often unfair and politically motivated, but this does not mean that they were altogether off mark. Wolff certainly differed from Spinoza on many a doctrine but his sober, thorough discussion of Spinoza was intentionally or not a major engaging source with Spinozism. In 1744, J. Schmidt's German translation of Wolff s refutation of Spinoza saw light and, in the same binding, the first German translation of the Ethics. (See U. Goldenbaum: "Die erste deutsche Ubersetzung der Spinozachen 'Ethik'," in eds. H. Delf, J. Schoeps and M. Wanther, Spinoza in der europaischcen Geistesgeschichte [Berlin: Hentrich, 1994].)

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than Kant would gain from the entry a good grasp of Spinoza's position. This entry

certainly attracted much attention to Spinoza and insured that many would think about

Spinoza on their own. It is difficult to see how once such high-exposure entry is

published Spinoza's relevance could fade.

Searching in Zedler's Grosses Universal Lexicon reinforces this impression.

Zedler dedicates separate entries to 'Spinoza' and 'Spinozisterey': the first is accorded a

five-page discussion, the latter a three-page discussion. The entry 'Descartes', by

comparison, is discussed in one page. Plato, Aristotle, Thomas, Augustine, Luther, Locke

and Hume are similarly accorded one-page discussions. To be sure, Zedler, like Bayle,

presents Spinoza in a denouncing and critical tone. But his extensive discussion, too,

provides abundant information about Spinoza's thought. Given that Zedler dedicates to

Spinoza five times more attention to many of the most prominent thinkers in the history

of philosophy, the assumption that Spinoza was forgotten or neglected is untenable. J.

Israel comments on the common assumption among philosophers that Spinoza was

overlooked by Enlightenment thinkers: "philosophers are... saddled with what are really

hopelessly outdated historical accounts of the Enlightenment and ones which look ever

more incomplete, unbalanced, and inaccurate, the more research into the subject

proceeds."

On Israel's account, Spinoza's influence on the Enlightenment has to be

understood as constituting a radical, clandestine strand of the European movement, acting

behind the scenes of the moderate, official movement.22 Whereas the moderate

21 J. Israel: "Enlightenment! Which Enlightenment?" Journal of the History of Ideas 67:3 528.

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Enlightenment was (more or less) consistent with conservative political and religious

ideals—its thinkers defending theistic metaphysics and conformist political rules—the

radical Enlightenment was characterized by Spinozist metaphysics, Spinozist rejection of

biblical theology and Spinozist support of democratic egalitarianism. Although officially

banned, radical thought exercised severe philosophical and political force throughout

Europe. In Germany, it was spread through the works of such authors as Leenhof,

Kuyper, Lucas, Boulainvilliers, Lau, Stosch and Toland. While many of these are today

almost forgotten, their writings served at the time a vehicle for Spinoza's ideas. Indeed

most of these authors are surveyed in Zedler's Lexicon.

Diderot and d'Alembert's Encyclopedic is another relevant example. Like Bayle

and Zedler before them, the Encyclopediests denounce Spinoza in a harsh tone. But like

Bayle and Zedler also they dedicate to Spinoza significantly greater attention than to

almost every other prominent thinker in the history of philosophy. (Spinoza receives

about five times more space than Descartes, Locke, Hume, Plato or Hobbes.) The entry

gives an overview not only of Spinoza's life, character, political philosophy and

metaphysics, but also a systematic discussion of the Ethics'' definitions, axioms and

foremost propositions. Together with laconic denunciations of Spinoza's view (examples

will follow) the Encyclopedic provides in-depth discussions of Spinoza's accounts of the

finite and the infinite, substance-mode relation, his argument for substance monism and

more. For example, it is claimed that the source of Spinoza's "errors" is his definition of

substance. Spinoza's £Id3 is then quoted in full. The definition is denounced as

"meretricious" but discussed in some detail. A similar procedure follows in the

22 See for present purposes especially J. Israel's Radical Enlightenment, "Germany: The Radical Aufkldrung."

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discussion of Spinoza's conception of "essence." The next passage then opens with the

claim that "The definition [Spinoza] gives of the finite and the infinite is no less

unhappy," followed by (almost) full quotes of £Td2 and £ld6, and moving to a survey of

Spinoza's conception of the finite as that "which can be limited by the same nature" and

of that "which includes all formal realities in itself (i.e., the infinite). By the end of this

part of the entry, much of Spinoza's most important definitions had been laid out. The

next passage then opens, "Spinoza's axioms are no less alluring and false than his

definitions." Ela4 and Ela5 are quoted in full. These axioms are denounced and discussed

in two long passages. The new passage then proceeds to examine "the main propositions

that form Spinoza's system." The author discusses £lpl-7 almost exhaustively. The entry

ends by denouncing Spinoza's system more generally as "irrational," "absurd" and

"fallacious." The author claims that there is no need to survey the other propositions

found in the Ethics because "once the foundations have been destroyed, it is a waste of

time to demolish the building." Indeed the opposite holds too: once the foundations of the

system have been so systematically laid out, there is little need to reconstruct the Ethics

much further. At the very least, every discerning reader would have to wonder, as Israel

put it, "Why on earth so much attention was being lavished on a thinker whose doctrines

are absurd and irrational" —why this absurd system, which according to the entry "so

few people follow," would be discussed at significantly greater length than Locke or

Descartes. (We know that Kant was acquainted with the encyclopedia by 1759 [in letters

dating that year he recommends some of its entries to his friends].)

The general impression received from the dictionary, the encyclopedia and the

lexicon is not that Spinoza was not ignored but that he could not be. The space he

Israel, Radical Enlightenment, p. 712

214

received in the canonical vehicles of the Enlightenment ensured that philosophers and

intellectuals would be aware of and worried about Spinoza's metaphysics; they ensured

that some, perhaps many, would gain first-hand knowledge with Spinoza's writing; and

they ensured that sometimes, despite the fact that very few would actually name

themselves Spinozists, Spinoza's position was actually embraced. It is worthy of mention

that the Encyclopedic—which was edited by Diderot, 4 who had been imprisoned for

publishing Lettre sur les aveugles, a rather Spinozist essay—contradicts itself in this

regard. At one point in the Spinoza entry it is claimed that "very few people are suspected

of adhering to [Spinoza's] doctrine" but shortly thereafter such lines as the following are

repeated: "what is surprising is that Spinoza, who had so little respect for proof and

reason, would have so many partisans and supporters of his system."

This brings us back to the conversation between Jacobi and Lessing. Their

agreement that "Spinoza's philosophy is the only possible one" is yet another expression

of Spinoza's lasting relevance: Lessing, Jacobi and the author of Prometheus were all

independently influenced by Spinoza's radical thought. (It is hard to doubt that all three

had read the Dictionnaire, the Encyclopedic and the Lexicon.) In this light the break of

the Pantheismusstreit does not represent Spinoza's rediscovery. It represents the moment

in which his radical thinking moved from the clandestine underground to the center of the

public debate. The Streit marked the moment in which Spinoza's impact on

Enlightenment thinking was made public. The Streit's technical philosophical question—

Does the PSR lead to Spinozist metaphysics?—was politically and publicly interpreted

as: Is there room for a genuine moderate version of enlightened rationality? If Leibniz

24 For Diderot's relation to Spinoza see P. Verniere, Spinoza et la pensee frangaise avant la Revolution, (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1954), p. 555-611.

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himself was (consciously or not) committed to Spinozism—and before Kant went

critical—Enlightenment thinking could only be radical.

This was just Jacobi's conclusion, and it led him to reject the rationality of the

Enlightenment—moderate and radical alike. Mendelssohn, until his death, was trying to

show that Spinoza himself was a moderate thinker (or at least could be rendered one).

What is important to see is that much (though of course not all) of the theoretical

argument raised for and against Spinoza can be traced back to arguments from Wolff,

Bayle, Diderot and Zedler. The one new thing about the Streit was that, for the first time,

Spinoza's challenge had to be dealt with: whereas questions asked on the philosopher's

armchair can remain theoretical disagreements, questions asked in public—political

questions—demand definitive answers. For the first time, it was not the destiny of

Spinoza's metaphysics that was debated but the destiny of the Enlightenment's scientific

and political project. For the first time, radical metaphysics had to be discussed in the

open.

No book represents this political-philosophical transition better than the Critique

of Pure Reason. We have seen in previous chapters that in the pre-critical period Kant

was committed substance monism and that, with the Critique, Spinoza's foremost

philosophical principle, the PSR (P2), undergoes a severe attack, leading Kant to modify

the (Spinozist) proof of God's existence into a regulative ideal. Despite all that, in 1781

the Critique still announces itself as an answer to Hume (or skepticism). It is only with

the publication of B, two years after the break of the Streit, that Kant's attack on radical

metaphysics is emphasized. Leaving the Antinomies and the Ideal virtually unattached,

Kant opens the book by referring the reader to these chapters, and claiming that these

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constitute the only response to the challenge of the Streit—i.e., the only response to

radical, Spinozist thought. We will return to a closer reading of the Preface after the Streit

has been considered in more detail.

II

1. Jacobi sent his book to Hamman, who was supposed to hand it over to Kant. His

intention, it would seem, was to force Kant to respond publicly, thereby attracting

attention and promoting the book. This is the only explanation for Jacobi's move: his

book contains two unnecessary provocations of Kant, presenting him as a Spinozist.

The first of these occurs in Jacobi's explanation of Spinoza's conception of the

infinite as a whole that is prior to its parts. "[The parts] exist only in him [the whole] and

after him," writes Jacobi, "only in and after him can they be conceived." In a footnote, he

brings a quotation from the Critique which, he says, can "serve to clarify" Spinoza.25

This quotation is from § 2 of the Aesthetic, Kant's famous claim that only one infinite

space is conceivable—one space whose parts are merely limitations of the whole:

We can represent to ourselves only one space; and if we speak of diverse

spaces, we mean thereby only parts of one and the same unique space.

Secondly, these parts cannot precede the one all embracing space as being, as

it were, constituents out of which it can be composed; on the contrary, they

can be thought only as in it. Space is essentially one; the manifold in it, and

therefore the general concept of space, depends solely on the introduction of

limitations (A 25).

25 Jacobi, liber die Lehre des Spinoza, 121-3.

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Jacobi proceeds to quote also from Kant's account of time. A determined

measure of time, Kant argued, can be thought of only as a limitation of time as an infinite

whole:

The infinitude of time signifies nothing more than that every determinate

magnitude of time is possible only thought limitation of one single time that

underlies it. The original representation, time, must therefore be given as

unlimited. But when an object is so given that its parts, and every quantity of

it, can be determinately represented only thought limitation, the whole

representation cannot be given though concepts, since they contain only

partial representation; on the contrary, such concepts must themselves rest on

immediate intuition (A 32).

Jacobi does not explicitly say so but his words suggest that Kant's space and time, the

forms of intuition, correspond to Spinoza's attributes: space corresponds to the attribute

of extension; time, the medium of inner sense, to the attribute of thought.

The second mention of Kant in association with Spinoza, again a clarifying

remark, brings together the heart of Kant's philosophy with the heart of Spinoza's. Jacobi

clarifies Spinoza's notion of substance as an "absolute thought," an "immediate absolute

consciousness of general existence." In order to explain this he invokes Kant's

transcendental unity of apperception: Kant had argued that the unity of experience is

possible only by the unity of consciousness, actively apprehending a manifold passively

26 Jacobi Uber die Lehre des Spinoza, p. 140.

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given in the forms of intuition. Thus the numerical unity of consciousness, in Kant, is an

a-priori condition of all thought:

There can be in us no modes of knowledge, no connection or unity of one

mode of knowledge with another, without that unity of consciousness which

precedes all data of intuitions, and by relation to which representation of

objects is alone possible. This pure original unchangeable consciousness I

shall name transcendental apperception. That it deserves this name is clear

from the fact that even the purest objective unity, namely, that of the a priori

concepts (space and time), is only possible through relation of the intuitions to

such unity of consciousness. The numerical unity of this apperception is thus

the a priori ground of all concepts, just as the manifold of space and time is

the a priori ground of the intuitions of sensibility (A 107).

The similarity between Kant's unity of apperception and Spinoza's substance is

suggestive. Jacobi seems to think of Kant's theory of knowledge along the lines of

Spinoza's metaphysics: the unity of apperception parallels Spinoza's substance; the forms

of intuition are the attributes. (We have seen in chapter one that Kant makes the same

comparison, in which Spinoza's attributes correspond to the forms of intuition.)

What was the motive behind Jacobi's comparison of Kant and Spinoza? As a

clarification of Spinoza the passages quoted from the Critique are not particularly

helpful: there is something awkward about explaining one philosophical thesis, which

had originally been put in more or less familiar early modern terms—'substance',

219

'attribute', etc—by the neologisms of the latest philosophical revolution ('transcendental

apperception' etc). Besides, Jacobi was well aware of the danger he was bringing to

Kant's door. He had just started a scandal over Lessing's Spinozism and knew that his

words could, at the very least, harm the reputation of the Konigsberg professor. Jacobi

writes in a footnote that Kant's passage was written "fully [ganz] in the spirit of

97

Spinoza." He then sends a copy to Hamann and waits for Kant to react.

Hamann wrote back to Jacobi on November 30th 1785, informing him that Kant

9R

had received the book, read it, and liked it. Zammito suggests that in those early days of 99

the Streit, "Kant simply had nothing more to say." However, given that Jacobi's book

accuses Kant of Spinozism, there are reasons to suspect that Kant may not have been

completely frank with Hamann. (Certainly he did not like Jacobi's claim that the Critique

is written fully in Spinoza's spirit.) Moreover we know from Kant's correspondence how

he saw Jacobi's intention: in reply to Marcus Herz's request that he join Mendelssohn

against Jacobi, Kant writes (April 7l ): "The Jacobian farce is no serious matter... [it is

only] designed to make a name for himself and therefore hardly worthy of an earnest

refutation. Maybe I will do something to the Berlinische Monatsschrift to expose this

hocus-pocus."30 In the above-mentioned letter to Jacobi, Hamann also relates that Kant

had told him that "he never read Spinoza and could never understand his philosophy."

"Jacobi, Briefe p. 121.

28Hamann to Jacobi, October/November 1785, in Hamanns Briefwechsel ed. A. Henkel (Wiesbaden/Frankfort: Insel, 1955-79).

Zammito The Genesis of Kant's Critique of Judgment p. 233.

30April 1786 in e.d E. Cassirer, Immanuel Kants Werke IX (Briefe von und an Kant) (Berlin: Bruno Cassirer, 1922) p. 295 (this and the following translations from the correspondence are mine.)

220

Kant interpreters sometimes quote this line as evidence that Kant was unfamiliar with

Spinoza. The context is not often taken into account.

V

There is no need here to examine in detail the Pantheismusstreit's recognized writings,

most of which have been studied by others. Let me go on with just a brief survey of the

relevant publications and correspondence, culminating in the publication of the second

edition of the Critique of Pure Reason.

1. By 1786, all sides of the debate had made much effort to draw Kant into battle. Jacobi

had Hamann deliver to Kant the Spinoza-Buchlein, containing, as we have seen, a threat

to the transcendental philosopher. In the introduction to the Morgenstunden Mendelssohn

dubbed Kant an "alles zermalmende" an all-destroyer, accusing him of subverting the

rational basis of religion and morality. Immediately after Mendelssohn's death in 1786

his colleagues and friends of the Berlin Aufklarung continued to put pressure. Biester, the

editor of the Berlinische-Monatsschrift, wrote to Kant early in 1786 asking him "not to

forget to write a word concerning J acobV s philosophische Schwdrmerei." It is clear

from the letter that Kant had contacted Biester earlier, expressing his concern about

Jacobi's book. Schiitz, another ally of the Berlin Aufklarung, wrote Kant shortly after

Biester, urging him to publicly reject Jacobi's association of the Critique with Spinoza.

"He names your notion of space and argues that it was 'written fully in the spirit of

Spinoza." "It is fully inconceivable," he writes, "how often you are being misunderstood;

31See Kant 5rze/e p. 276f.

221

there are men—not at all stupid ones—who take you for an atheist." Biester wrote again

two weeks later, informing him from Berlin that the "Jacobian-Mendelssohnian" Streit

had escalated:

No doubt, the Schwarmerei is growing too much in the writings of the

modischen Philosophen. Demonstration is dismissed and tradition (the lowest

kind of faith) is recommended instead of rational faith. It is truly the time that

you, the noble designer of thorough and consistent thought, would rise up and

put an end to this mischief [Unwesen]. Do this soon, in a short essay in the

journal, until you find the time to do it in a complete book.33

Two factors are known to have had a decisive influence on Kant's decision to get

explicitly involved: Thomas Wizenmann's essay, Resultate der Jacobisher und

Mendelssohnischer Philosophic (published in May 1786); and another letter Kant

received from Biester (June 1786). Both uncover the philosophical and political threat

pregnant in the Streit; and both expose the danger awaiting Kant himself should he not

reject the charges raised against him.

The Resultate appeared at first anonymously, identifying the author as a

"Freiwilligen" a "volunteer." A few months after the essay's publication the author was

identified as Thomas Wizenmann, a young philosopher, at the time unknown.34

"Ibid., p. 287.

33Ibid., 289-90

T. Wizenmann, Die Resultate der Jacobischen und Mendelssohnischen Philosophic von einem Freywilligen (Leipzig: Goeschen, 1786).

222

Wizenmann's main point was that there was, in fact, no significant difference between

Mendelssohn's and Jacobi's positions. For by subjecting speculative reason to common

sense, the former, like the latter, subjects rationality to an irrational faculty—allowing

belief even where belief is contradicted by reason.35 Wizenmann concludes his essay with

an argument for positive religion; an argument, perhaps oddly, with a clear Kantian ring.

Religious conviction, Wizenmann writes, requires an existential premise, namely belief

in the existence of God. Reason, however, is incapable of proving existence—not even in

the special case of the "most perfect being." What kind of experience, then, could

rationally substantiate God's existence? Surely not an empirical experience of the sort

mediated by space and time; God cannot be objectified and apprehended by the senses.

No room is left for rational religion: if any religion is possible, one must accept it on the

grounds of revelation. "Man of Germany!" writes Wizenmann,

Either religion of revelation or no religion at all... I challenge you to find a

more correct and impartial judgment of reason. Is from my side another

relationship to God possible other than through faith, trust and obedience? And

can from God's side another relationship to me be possible other than through

revelation, command and promise?36

Kant certainly welcomed Wizenmann's claim that we cannot know God's

existence by conceptual analysis. The dramatic conclusion of the essay, however—its

elevated tone and the "Kantian call" to positive religion—must have made him uneasy.

'Ibid., p. 196f.

223

For Kant, excluding theoretical existential knowledge as basis of faith does not mean a

return to a religion of revelation—far from it. Wizenmann's position indicates once more

what was bound to be overlooked in the Critique's A-edition: the destruction of

metaphysics was supposed to make room for rational faith.

2. Then came Biester's third letter from Berlin (June 11, 1786). Zammito refers to that

letter as a "masterpiece of a small scale." Indeed Biester made Kant see, perhaps for the

first time, the necessity of explicitly taking a stand. Biester opens his letter by pointing

out that the "unfortunate Streif between Mendelssohn and Jacobi involves "two issues."

First, the "Factum" of the debate: the questions whether "Lessing was really an atheist"

and whether Mendelssohn would be able to concede this if it was in fact the case. These

questions however are "beside the point," writes Biester, a Nebending. "Let us suppose

that it is fully proven that Lessing was an atheist and that Mendelssohn was somewhat of

a weak person—is there anything more to it?" "The second point is more important,"

Biester continues, "and concerns the reason why the philosophical Schwarmerei is at the

moment heating up." This is the tendency, growing in intellectual circles in Berlin, to

dismiss "rational cognition of God" and accept instead "positive religion" as the only

alternative to Spinoza. Jacobi is promoting, writes Biester,

[an] undermining mockery of every rational theory of God, the celebration and

virtual idolatry of Spinoza's incomprehensible chimeras, and the intolerant

Zammito The Genesis of Kant's Critique of Judgment, p. 237

'Kant, Briefe, p. 304-9

224

directive to take up positive religion as the only necessary and at the same time

the only available way out for any rational man; atheism and Schwdrmerei: it is

a miraculously strange occurrence that both confusions of the human

understanding should be so unified in these dizzy-heads of our time.

The matter is more severe in Berlin, Biester continues:

Perhaps in no other place in the world are the scholars (Gelehrten) less united

than here, contradicting one another so candidly; perhaps in no other place in

the world are scholarly disputes (gelehrte Streitigkeiten) more light-headed than

here and are undertaken with a less serious approach... Only from you, dear

man, can one expect a serious reprimand; only [a Kant] can stop this dangerous

philosophical Schwdrmerei.

At this point, Biester moves to remind Kant of the "highly indiscreet" manner in

which Jacobi had tried to pull him into the Streit, by associating the Critique with

Spinoza. "You now owe to your contemporaries a clarification of your good intentions, in

order to calm them down," he writes. As Schiitz before him Biester warns Kant that

Jacobi's Spinoza-5wc/i/em made many people think that he, too, was an atheist:

39lbid.

40Ibid.

225

When readers find that a writer in every sphere defiant of truth and innocence

[Jacobi] has taken you as a supporting witness, they don't know what to think,

and in the end come to believe his claims. I can assure you that this is already

the case with many very respectable people, who have been misled in this

manner. No accusation that an enlightened philosopher can endure is more

odious than that his principles foster overt dogmatic atheism, and thereby

Schwarmerei. Schwarmerei via atheism! That is Jacobi's doctrine, and he does

not shrink from trying to delude the world into thinking you agree with him....

You must at least teach the public {Publikum) and emphasize: that Mr. Jacobi

has misunderstood you, and that you could never teach and promote atheism

and fatalism... moreover: we will soon experience a change, of which one (as

with all future things) cannot know if it will favor free thought or not? It must

disturb any good person when someone, with a few pretences, accuses the first

philosopher of our land and philosophy in general, of favoring and encouraging

dogmatic atheism. These spiteful accusations would perhaps be able to have an

effect; but this effect would be fully weakened if you already beforehand break

apart from those fanatic atheists. '

Biester's latter, political argument, proved crucial. The days were the last days of

Fredrick Wilhelm H's rule over Prussia—a relatively liberal, open-minded king. As the

Aufklarer feared, his successor would prove much more conservative, exercising strict

control and censorship over universities. The Pantheismusstreit was thus heating up at a

bad time: the achievements of the Enlightenment in Berlin could be easily jeopardized;

41 Ibid.

226

Jacobi had put reason, their philosophical vehicle, under a radical, un-orthodox suspicion.

Now is the time for Kant to engage says Biester, if not for the sake of the Enlightenment

than for his own—as a philosopher who aspires to establish a school.

Biester concludes his letter by dissuading Kant from writing a reply to Feder and

Tittel. The two, it is well known, had argued that Kant's idealism was equivalent to

Berkeley's, an accusation Kant was planning to systematically refute. (Indeed it is

sometimes thought that the major changes in the Critique's B-edition were implemented

to refute this claim.) "I cannot convince myself," writes Biester, "that Feder constitutes a

real threat... I believe that defending yourself [against him] cannot be at the moment as

important as clarifying yourself [against Jacobi's accusations], as I ask you to do... the

danger impending from Jacobi and the author of the Resultate is much more urgent."42

3. Kant responded by sending Biester "Was Heifit, sich im Denken orientieren." The

essay was published in October 1786 at the Berlinische Monatsschrift. A few months

thereafter Kant received from Biester a letter of gratitude: "hearty thanks, dear man, for

your excellent essay on the J—and M-ian Streitigkeit !"43

The essay makes clear that Kant's stance to the Streit is complex—he approaches

the debate as an outsider. On the one hand, Kant agrees with Jacobi: metaphysics

culminates in Spinoza's position; strictly speaking, there is no rationalist answer to

atheism and fatalism, at least not by traditional terms. Kant endorses, moreover,

Wizenmann's claim that Mendelssohn's subjection of reason to common sense arrives at

Ibid., p. 312

a position very similar to Jacobi's. Such an unfortunate position, Kant writes, is

unavoidable when one begins to doubt that

reason has the right to speak first concerning supersensible objects like the

existence of God... a wide gate is opened to all Schwarmerei, superstition and

even atheism. And yet in this controversy [Streitigkeii] between Jacobi and

Mendelssohn, everything appears to overturn reason in just this way.

Still, Kant's sympathies and motivations certainly lay with Mendelssohn. Despite the

radical consequences of metaphysics, the Enlightenment's trust in reason's sovereignty

must be defended at all costs. This allows Kant to present his own philosophy as the only

answer to Spinoza; and, from this perspective, to answer Jacobi's claim that the Critique

was written in fully in Spinoza's spirit. "It is hard to comprehend," Kant writes,

how the scholars just mentioned could find support for Spinozism in the

Critique of Pure Reason. The Critique completely clips dogmatism's wings in

respect to the cognition of supersensible objects, and Spinozism is so

dogmatic in this respect that it even competes with the mathematicians in

respect to the strictness of its proofs. Spinozism leads directly to

Schwarmerei... Against this there is not a single means more certain to

eliminate Schwarmerei in its roots \Wurzel\, than that determination of the

bounds of pure faculty of understanding.

44 Ibid.

228

Kant concludes the essay by addressing the public, political worry concerning the

Streit. This worry has three levels. First, a plainly political one: as Biester warns in his

letter, a change of rule was going to take place. The public debate over Spinozism,

atheism and fatalism was thus developing at a difficult moment. Second, there is a social-

historical worry: Kant thinks that free thought would be lost if unconstrained speculation

or irrational Schwarmerei would govern intellectual discourse. Third, Kant also expresses

a moral-political worry, namely that the debate over atheism will not remain confined to

academic circles. The Streit may influence the moral-religious worldview of the public

{Publikum), which accepts received opinions without subjecting them to critical

examination. Kant therefore urges the quarreling parties to show more responsibility

when attacking reason in public:

Men of intellectual ability and broadminded disposition! I honor your talents

and love your feeling for humanity. But have you thought about what you are

doing, and where your attacks on reason will lead? Without doubt you want to

preserve inviolate freedom to think; for without that even your free flights of

genius would soon come to an end. Let us see what would naturally become of

this freedom of thought if a procedure such as you are adopting should get the

upper hand.45

WDO AA 08:146. (English translation taken from ed. A. Wood and G. di Giovanni, Kant: Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason and Other Writings [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998], 13f.) p. 6.)

229

Friends of the human race and what is holiest to it! Accept what appears to you

most worthy of belief after careful and sincere examination, whether of facts or

rational grounds; only do not dispute that prerogative of reason which makes it

the highest good on earth, the prerogative of being the final touchstone of truth.

Failing here, you will become unworthy of this freedom, and you will surely

forfeit it too; and besides that you will bring the same misfortune down on the

heads of other, innocent parties who would otherwise have been well disposed

and would have used their freedom lawfully and hence in a way which is

conducive to what is best to the world.

4. Karl Reinhold's Briefe iiber die Kantische Philosophie is mostly known for

popularizing Kant's Critique of Pure Reason. This was achieved by pointing out, for the

first time explicitly, that the Critique constitutes an answer to Spinoza's challenge as

formulated in the "disputes [Streitigkeiten] between Jacobi and Mendelssohn."47

Reinhold's book was published in 1790. The first four letters, however, had been published

in 1786-7. In a letter to Reinhold Kant confirms that he has read the letters and found them

"completely in agreement" with his own thinking.48

The pivotal concept in Reinhold's Briefe is the "need" of the time, which, he

claims, is embodied in the debate between Jacobi and Mendelssohn. That need is

reducible to two questions, corresponding to the Spinozistic challenge that Jacobi had

46 Ibid. To be sure, when Kant refers to "innocent parties" he refers to the public realm, as opposed to the metaphysicians; for he is emphasizing their lawful usage of freedom, being conductive to the best of the world.

47Reinhold, Briefe, p. 34.

48 Kant, Briefe, p. 343f.

230

raised. First, "does reason contain apodictic proofs for God's existence—proofs that

make all faith dispensable?" Second, can there be "conviction in God's existence that

requires no grounds of reason?"49 Reinhold informs his reader that Kant's Critique

answers both questions negatively. It demonstrates "from the essence of speculative

reason" the impossibility of rational theology—the vanity of "apodictic proofs" of God's

existence; and, at the same time, the necessity of rational "moral faith." Kant thus

"shuttered the weapons" of the debate over atheism, making future dispute (Streitigkeit)

impossible:

He displayed as a chimera the atheism that today more than ever haunts the

moral world in the forms of fatalism, materialism and pantheism, and he did so

with a vivacity that our modern theologians cannot claim in their unmasking of

the devil. So if there should still be fatalists, etc... in the present or future, they

will be people who have either not read or not understood the Critique of Pure

Reason.

How does the Critique constitute such an effective instrument against "atheism,

fatalism, materialism and pantheism"? Reinhold asks the question somewhat differently.

What does religion gain from the destruction of speculative theological knowledge,

which in "traditional metaphysics" had sustained all rational religion and morality? As

.p ,Letters ,Reinhold 20 (translation slightly modified).

50 Ibid.

51 Ibid., p, 21.

231

we recall, Mendelssohn had accused Kant that by destroying metaphysical knowledge he

subverted also the foundations of rational faith and morality. Reinhold most certainly has

an eye on Mendelssohn when he explains that just the contrary is true: Kant had to

destroy theoretical-theological knowledge in order to save rational religion; for it is only

by the "clearing" of rational theology "in the manner accomplished by the by the Critique

of Pure Reason, [that] religion gains nothing less than a single, unshakable and

universally valid ground of cognition, one which completes by means of reason the

unification of religion and morality."

Reinhold's claim turns on the argument that in view of the Spinozistic-Atheistic

threat to rational religion, the possibility of dogmatic theology must be refuted, not only

silenced or weakened by counter-argumentation. Again, it is helpful to recall of

Mendelssohn in order to see what Reinhold has in mind: Mendelssohn had attacked

Spinoza's substance-monism in the Morgenstunden, hoping, thereby, to secure the

rational path to theology—and indeed moderate thinkers, followers of Leibniz and Wolff,

had for years engaged in similar enterprises. According to Reinhold such attempts are

bound to fail: they leave the Spinozist radical threat unsettled, leaving an atheistic

temptation, one that can only irrationally answered. Rational faith becomes possible,

then, not by ad-hoc arguments against Spinoza (again, like those raised by Bayle,

Leibniz, Wolff or Mendelssohn) but by decidedly terminating Spinoza's appeal:

If the moral ground of cognition is to be forever guaranteed its singular

preeminence, and reason is to be forever suspended from its endless striving

"Ibid.

for new proofs (a striving that would otherwise be sustained by the mere

doubt regarding the undecided impossibility of such proofs), then the

arguments that uncover the emptiness of metaphysical proofs for and against

God's existence must count not only against previous proofs that have been

brought forward but also against all possible proofs of this kind - or rather,

against their very possibility. Such state of affairs cannot be conceived until it

is apodictically proven that reason does not posses any faculty for recognizing

the existence or non-existence of objects that lie outside the sphere of the

world of sense.54

Modern readers of Kant are already familiar with such line of argument. A-

readers, however, had not yet come across them in the Critique as clearly. Reinhold's

main contribution then is in formulating clearly, for the first time, what Kant had already

thought in A but never clearly pronounced: the moderate metaphysical options cannot

satisfactorily defend practical reason from the radical threats. Reinhold writes:

The Critique of Pure Reason has carried out [an] investigation of the faculty

of reason, and one of its preeminent results is 'that the impossibility of all

apodictic proofs for or against the existence of God follows from the nature of

speculative reason, and the necessity of moral faith in the existence of God

follows from the nature of practical reason.' Thus, with this result, the

54 Ibid., p. 38

233

Critique has fulfilled the conditions by which alone, as we have seen, our

philosophy... [can] ground the first basic truth of religion and morality.55

Now there is no doubt that the Critique provides a serious argument to the extent

that theoretical proofs of the existence of God (and metaphysical knowledge in more

general) must be given up. It thereby fulfils a necessary condition for developing rational

faith drawing on practical reasoning. The Critique, however, does not provide much of an

argument in defense of rational practical faith—that task, despite Reinhold's positive

words, still await Kant. Nor will Kant provide a satisfactory defense of such faith in the

Critique of Practical Reason. Here, Kant's Critique of Judgment, I will argue (though not

in this dissertation), constitutes the major text.

VI

1. The Preface to the second edition of the Critique can be divided, somewhat

roughly, into two parts. The first (Bvii-xxiv) reiterates the aim and function of the

Critique that had been announced by the A-Preface: by subjecting the flights of reason to

the criterion of experience, the book is designed to turn philosophy into a rational

science, matching the model of the mathematical Naturwissenschaften. In the B-edition

this goal is dubbed a "Copernican Revolution"—a term never mentioned in 1781. The

introduction of a new term, however, does not add much to the understanding of the

critical philosophy; this revolution was, in fact, already announced in the A-Preface.

234

The second part of the B-Preface (B xxiv-xliv) adds a new dimension. It defines

the function of the Critique discussed thus far as the "negative" function of the book; and

it relativizes this negative function to a higher, "positive" one:

So far, therefore, as our Critique limits speculative reason, it is indeed negative;

but since it thereby removes an obstacle which stands in the way of the

employment of practical reason, nay threatens to destroy it, it has in reality a

positive and very important sense (B xxv).

The A-Preface did not mention this function of the Critique, not because the book

did not fulfill that function but because there was no point in mentioning it as a (or the)

goal of the book. In fact, there was no room to mention this goal: claiming that

metaphysics has to be destroyed in order to defend practical reasoning would have

amounted to expressing publicly a feeling that, before Jacobi, was never publicly

expressed: moderate metaphysics does not satisfactorily answers radical metaphysics.

Indeed, claims that rigorous metaphysics necessitates fatalism, atheism or pantheism

were occasionally made—most famously against Christian Wolff. But this was not a

current view and, when these charges were raised, they were raised together with the

accusation of Spinozism. In 1781 any talk of the need to refute metaphysics in order to

refute radical thought would have been a problematic admission that rational metaphysics

yields Spinozism. And, in 1787, when Kant did come to write explicitly about the need to

235

destroy metaphysics, that claim could not be seen as anything other than an answer to

Spinoza—a reaction to the Pantheismusstreit.

"There will always be some kind of metaphysics," Kant continues, that threatens

to destroy religion and morality. The "inestimable benefit" of the Critique is therefore

that all objections to morality and religion will be forever silenced, and this in

Socratic fashion, namely, by the clearest proof of the ignorance of the objectors.

There has always existed in the world, and there will always continue to exist,

some kind of metaphysics... It is therefore the first and most important task of

philosophy to deprive metaphysics, once and for all, of its injurious influence,

by attacking its errors at their very source.

This is the first time that Kant expresses himself so strongly in the Critique itself, but

not the first time that he articulates such an argument. He had already done so in the

context of the Pantheismusstreit, in Was Heifit and in reply to Mendelssohn's

Morgenstunden. As we have seen, this was also the central thesis of Reinhold's Briefe.

Commentators writing on Kant's involvement in the Streit often overlook the fact that the B-Preface, more than texts like "Was HeiBt," constitutes the Kantian answer to the hitting debate. As far as I can see, George di Giovanni is the only to notice in writing that despite the fact that "the most important changes and additions" that were made in the Critique were intended to answer charges of "psychological subjectivism" raised in the "Feder-Garve review," in the "new Preface one can also hear echoes of the Jacobi-Mendelssohn dispute" ("The First Twenty Years of Critique: The Spinoza Connection," in ed. P. Guyer, The Cambridge Companion to Kant [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992], p. 426.) But even this seems to me an understatement. First, because the "echoes" of the Streit are in the Preface very loud, and include its most significant parts (examples will follow); and more importantly, because the very writing of the new Preface, as pointed out above, redefines the function of the critical philosophy in a way that was not even mentioned in the first Preface—namely as an answer to those Spinozist challenges raised by the Streit.

236

2. At this stage of the Preface Kant turns to address the "most rigid" of dogmatic

philosophers. He contends that theoretical proofs of God's existence, freedom and

immortality, never exercised the "slightest influence" on the moral-religious convictions

of the public; and therefore that the Critique subverts only the dogmatic demonstrations

of the "schools"—not the practical faith of the public. "The change affects only the

arrogant pretensions of the Schools, which would fain be counted the sole authors and

possessors of such truths... reserving the key to themselves" (B xxxiii).

Kant's writing in this passage is highly polemical. It seems plausible to read it as

a reply to Mendelssohn's accusation that by destroying metaphysics the Critique subverts

the rational basis of religion and morality. In his private correspondence, Kant had

referred to Mendelssohn's Morgenstunden as a "perfect work of dogmatism."57 His

answer to the "most rigid of dogmatists" seems clear, then: the Critique subverts only the

phony, dogmatic convictions of the schools. Not the genuine conviction of the general

public.

3. The Preface next addresses the philosophical "schools," urging them to stop their

metaphysical "controversies" (Streitigkeiten). These controversies, Kant warns, would

sooner or later cause a public "scandal":

It is the duty of the schools, by means of thorough investigation of the rights of

speculative reason, once and for all to prevent the scandal which, sooner or

later, is sure to break out even among the masses, as the result of the disputes

Kant Briefe 174.

237

[Streitigkeiten] in which metaphysicians... inevitably become involved to the

consequent of perversion of their teaching (Bxxxiv).

It is clear what Streitigkeiten Kant has in mind, who the "intellectuals" he refers

to are and what "scandal" threatens the public. The "metaphysicians" are Jacobi,

Mendelssohn and Wizenmann. The public "scandal" Kant worries about is the loss of

freedom of thought—a "misfortune" (Ungliick) he first became aware of through

Biester's letter and already warned about in Was Heifit. This scandal (or "misfortune") is

advanced, first, by Jacobi and Wizenmann's attack on rationality—endorsing intellectual

Schwarmerei instead of serious philosophical practice; and second, by the political

change that is about to take place, threatening to censure the Enlightenment's intellectual

freedom. Kant also feared, as we have seen, that through the Pantheismusstreit the

general public would embrace a distorted metaphysical world-view. Kant moves at this

point to address directly also the government:

If governments think proper to interfere with the affairs of the learned, it would

be more consistent with a wise regard of science as well as for mankind, to

favor the freedom of such criticism, by which alone the labors of reason can be

established on a firm basis, than to support the ridiculous despotism of the

schools, which raise a loud cry of public danger over the destruction of cobwebs

to which the public has never paid any attention, and the loss of which it can

therefore never feel (Bxxxv).

238

4. In passing, Kant also makes a metaphysical claim in the above passage: only

criticism, he says, can establish the "labors of reason." Any other philosophy, that is, falls

short of answering the radical challenge. Later in the Preface this argument is repeated.

"Only the critical philosophy," Kant writes, can "eliminate" the threat posed by

speculative reason at its root:

Criticism alone can sever the root [Wurzel] of materialism, fatalism, atheism,

Schwdrmerei and superstition, which can be injurious universally; as well as of

idealism and skepticism, which are dangerous chiefly to the schools, and hardly

allow being handed over to the public (B xxxiv).

This passage refers directly to the Pantheismusstreit. Not only because atheism,

fatalism, materialism and Schwarmerei are the designating marks of Spinozism in the

writings of the Streit but because all terms used in it have been referred to in Was Heifit,

Blester's last letter and Reinhold's Briefe. No contemporaneous reader of Kant—

somebody like Jacobi, Biester, Reinhold or Hertz—would have failed to see the

connection.

Kant's claim that there is no answer to atheism, fatalism and Schwarmerei other

than his own was not self-evident. Moderate thinkers such as Leibniz, Wolff and

Mendelssohn generally thought otherwise. We know from previous chapters that Kant

completely agreed with Jacobi that traditional metaphysics leads by necessity to Spinoza:

he consistently presents the thesis that if transcendental idealism is denied, "only

239

Spinozism remains," that "Spinozism is the true consequence of dogmatic

metaphysics."59 Without mentioning Spinoza, the same arguments had been presented in

the A-edition: already in 1781 Kant claims that freedom cannot be upheld if phenomena

are taken to be things in themselves.

In the Critique of Practical Reason Kant claims that unlike the "dogmatic

teachers of metaphysics," he proposes a genuine answer to Spinozism. Unlike the

"shrewd" metaphysicians he admits in the open that deterministic mechanism of nature

cannot be denied but, by opening a gulf between phenomena and noumena, he allows

mechanism and practical reason to co-exist. "Of such great importance," concludes Kant,

"was the separation of time (as well as space) from the existence of things in themselves

that was accomplished in the Critique of pure Speculative Reason".

Constituting the only answer to Spinozism, which in the Critique of Practical

Reason is characterized as the "great importance" of the Critique of Pure Reason, is

precisely the "positive function" of the Critique of Pure Reason, which is announced in

the B-Preface:

[since the Critique] removes an obstacle which stands in the way of the

employment of practical reason, nay threatens to destroy it, it has in reality a

positive and very important sense (B xxv).

KpVAA 5:102

Refl. AA 18:436

Ibid

240

5. "I had to deny knowledge, in order to make room for faith." Kant never wrote this

sentence in the A-edition. It conveys a multi-layered answer to Spinoza's thinking, as

now comes to the fore through the Pantheismusstreit. No contemporaneous reader of

Kant's would have failed to read Kant's sentence in this light. First, as an answer to

Jacobi: rational philosophy does not lead to atheism; a salto mortale is not necessary if

Spinoza's radical position is severed from its root by the transcendental philosophy.

Second, it is an answer to Mendelssohn: Kant is not an "all-destroyer." The theoretical

basis of religion had to be destroyed in order to save religion from radical thinking.

Lastly, it approves officially a point so far stressed mainly by Reinhold: in order to secure

religion and morality, the threat imposed by metaphysics cannot merely be argued

against. It must be eliminated, destroyed in its root. Only the Critique of Pure Reason,

thinks Kant, can prevent the scandal that will emerge as soon as irrational or Spinozist-

radical metaphysics becomes—through the Pantheismusstreit—the world-view of the

public. Jacobi would later coin a term for that world-view.

241

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