Christian August Crusius (1715–1775): Philosophy between Reason and Revelation 9783110647563, 9783110645811

Table of contents :
Contents
Introduction
1 Metaphysics und Natural Philosophy
Crusius and Kant on Distinctness, Certainty, and Method in Philosophy
Crusius’ Critique of the Leibniz-Wolffian Ontology and Cosmology
Crusius and Wolff on Mind and (Self-)Consciousness
Crusius on the Fundamental Powers of the Soul
Crusius’ Naturphilosophie
2 Freedom of the Will
Crusius on Human Nature – An Interpretation of His Telematologie
Crusius on Freedom of the Will
The »human weakness« of Wolff’s Secret Recommendation
Crusius on Liberty of Indifference and Determinism
3 Practical Philosophy
Crusius on Moral Motivation
Sleeping Conscience – Crusius on Moral Fallibility
Dependence and Obedience
Pflicht aus Liebe zu Gott
»Unter allen Wissenschaften eine der unumschräncktesten«
4 Theology
The Systematic Place of Natural Theology in Crusius’ Work
»… man müste denn schon ein so apocalyptisches Auge haben, wie Bengel«
Crusiusʼ Gedanken über Geister, Teufel und Aberglaube
5 Appendix
Biographical Note
List of Sigla
Bibliography
Index

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Christian August Crusius (1715 – 1775)

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Philosophen und Literaten des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts Herausgegeben von Frank Grunert, Stefan Klingner, Udo Roth und Gideon Stiening Wissenschaftlicher Beirat: Stefanie Buchenau, Wiep van Bunge, Knud Haakonssen, Marion Heinz, Martin Mulsow und John Zammito

Band 11

Christian August Crusius (1715 – 1775)

Philosophy between Reason and Revelation Edited by Frank Grunert, Andree Hahmann and Gideon Stiening

ISBN 978-3-11-064581-1 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-064756-3 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-064615-3 ISSN 2199-4811 Library of Congress Control Number: 2021935842 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2021 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

Christian August Crusius, 1747 Copper Engraving by Johann Martin Bernigeroth (1713‒1767) based on a Painting by Elias Gottlob Haußmann (1695‒1774)

Contents Frank Grunert, Andree Hahmann, Gideon Stiening  Introduction  | 1

1 Metaphysics und Natural Philosophy  Tinca Prunea-Bretonnet  Crusius and Kant on Distinctness, Certainty, and Method in Philosophy  | 21 Andree Hahmann  Crusius’ Critique of the Leibniz-Wolffian Ontology and Cosmology  | 41 Sonja Schierbaum  Crusius and Wolff on Mind and (Self-)Consciousness  | 65 Andree Hahmann  Crusius on the Fundamental Powers of the Soul  | 89 Kay Zenker  Crusius’ Naturphilosophie  | 115

2 Freedom of the Will  Ansgar Lyssy  Crusius on Human Nature ‒ An Interpretation of His Telematologie  | 173 Michael H. Walschots  Crusius on Freedom of the Will  | 189 Gideon Stiening  The »human weakness« of Wolff’s Secret Recommendation Crusius’ Philosophical-Theological Critique of the principium rationis sufficientis  | 209 Steven Tester  Crusius on Liberty of Indifference and Determinism  | 229

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3 Practical Philosophy  Sonja Schierbaum  Crusius on Moral Motivation | 251 Martin Sticker  Sleeping Conscience ‒ Crusius on Moral Fallibility  | 279 Gabriel Rivero  Dependence and Obedience Crusius’ Concept of Obligation and its Influence on Kant’s Moral Philosophy  | 301 Dominik Recknagel  Pflicht aus Liebe zu Gott Prinzipien und Inhalte des Naturrechts bei Christian August Crusius  | 319 Jutta Heinz  »Unter allen Wissenschaften eine der unumschräncktesten« Die Klugheitslehre in Crusius’ Anweisung vernünftig zu leben  | 333

4 Theology  Stefan Klingner  The Systematic Place of Natural Theology in Crusius’ Work  | 351 Hans-Peter Nowitzki  »… man müste denn schon ein so apocalyptisches Auge haben, wie Bengel« Christian August Crusius’ ›finstre Philosophie‹ | 371 Paola Rumore  Crusiusʼ Gedanken über Geister, Teufel und Aberglaube  | 393

Contents | IX

5 Appendix  Biographical Note  | 411 List of Sigla  | 415 Bibliography  | 417 Index | 431

Frank Grunert, Andree Hahmann, Gideon Stiening

Introduction Christian August Crusius is notorious for being appreciated only as an influence on the development of Kant’s philosophy. As a consequence, a large number of studies have been carried out to investigate this influence in more detail for a wide range of different topics. Admittedly, it is no small merit, especially for research on Kant, to consider the extent to which Kant’s philosophy depends on the approaches of his predecessors and thereby contribute to the contextual and conceptual clarification of Kant’s own philosophical development. However, this must not mean that German philosophy before Kant, and especially 18th-century philosophers, should be considered exclusively from a Kantian perspective. Rather, they also deserve an independent consideration from a philosophical-historical point of view. This assessment is particularly true of Christian August Crusius.1 As Giorgio Tonelli pointed out in 1969, a comprehensive study of Crusius’ philosophical and theological works remains an urgent task for scholars. Although the situation has changed slightly since the publication of two monographs by Magdalene Benden and Martin Krieger,2 many aspects of Crusius’ thought remain obscure even among historians of philosophy. This is even more surprising given that Crusius is said to have been one of the most influential philosophers during his lifetime, a judgement that is confirmed not least by Kant. The effects of his philosophical and theological works are evident in numerous problems and debates. His extraordinary position in the philosophical development of the 18th century is primarily due to his decisive and in part also very successful opposition to Christian Wolff. Not only does Crusius belong to the fiercest critics of Wolff’s philosophy but also to the first anti-Wolffians who developed a serious systematic opposition to Wolff’s rationalism. However, as a closer reading quickly reveals, Crusius shares more than just his first name with his famous opponent. Despite his firm rejection of some of Wolff’s central ideas, one can also find numerous, in part significant, similarities. In detail, however, the problematic rela-

|| 1 As Tonelli complains in his Preface to Christian August Crusius: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Vol. 1. Hildesheim 1969. Crusius is often made the representative of a mere prehistory to Kant, which makes the recognition of his independent philosophical standing almost impossible: See, for example, Heinz Heimsoeth: Metaphysik und Kritik bei Chr. A. Crusius. Berlin 1926, who explicitly conceives of Crusiusʼ metaphysics as a »Beitrag zur ontologischen Vorgeschichte der Kritik der reinen Vernunft«. More recently, Chang Won Kim: Der Begriff der Welt bei Wolff, Baumgarten, Crusius und Kant. Eine Untersuchung zur Vorgeschichte von Kants Weltbegriff von 1770. Frankfurt a. M. u. a. 2004, places Crusius in Kantʼs prehistory alongside Wolff and Baumgarten. 2 Magdalene Benden: Christian August Crusius. Wille und Verstand als Prinzipien des Handelns. Bonn 1972 and Martin Krieger: Geist, Welt und Gott bei Christian August Crusius. Würzburg 1993.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-001

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tionship with Wolff is far from being sufficiently clarified. Equally inadequate remains the clarification of numerous other aspects and central concepts of Crusius’ philosophy. At the same time, it should be clear that even clarifying Crusius’ influence on Kant can only be adequately accomplished if Crusius’ own philosophical approach has been sufficiently grasped and analyzed beforehand. It is one of the major aims of this anthology to contribute to this goal. Therefore, this volume builds on existing approaches and at the same time tries to open up new perspectives for further research into one of the most enigmatic and innovative thinkers of 18thcentury German philosophy.

1 Short Biography and Intellectual Development Crusius was born on the 10th of January, 1715 in Leuna, a small town in Saxony, near Merseburg where his father was a pastor.3 It is reported that he was a bright and intelligent boy whose talent was noticed early on. Crusius first attended the Domschule, a grammar school, in Merseburg. The Domschule was a well-known and highly respected institution at that time. Until 1738 it was the only secondary school in the duchy. The former rector Christoph Cellarius, who was in office from 1688 to 1693, was an important scholar of his time and wrote scientific texts on a wide range of subjects. Probably only a vestige of this splendour was left in 1729, when Crusius came to Merseburg. As was customary at the time, the focus of his education was the acquisition of ancient languages. In 1734 Crusius then moved to the nearby University of Leipzig, where he studied theology, philosophy, experimental physics, mathematics, and history. In Leipzig he obtained his doctorate and then his habilitation in 1740. In 1744 Crusius was appointed extraordinary chair of philosophy. Only a few years later, in 1750, he accepted a chair of theology. Crusius had several offers of various positions from the University of Göttingen: as a professor of philosophy, a professor of theology and even as a chancellor. But he rejected these offers as well as other offers from Schleswig-Holstein, Coburg, and Rinteln. Instead, Crusius stayed in Leipzig where he was awarded highly respected and distinguished honorary positions. He was still unmarried when he died on October 18th, 1775, at the age of 60. The cause of death was said to be an advanced pulmonary disease. It appears that Crusius’ early Latin academic works laid the foundation for his later philosophical career. In fact, the main features of his later philosophy are pre|| 3 The only comprehensive printed account of Crusiusʼ life is the Kurzgefasste Lebensgeschichte Herrn Christian August Crusius, an anonymous necrology published in Acta historico-ecclesiastica nostri temporis, oder gesammelte Nachrichten und Urkunden zu der Kirchengeschichte unserer Zeit. XVII. Weimar 1776, pp. 970–993.

Introduction | 3

figured in these early writings, and most of the ideas later considered to be particularly innovative can be traced back to his earlier writings. His first text De praecipuis cognoscendae veritatis obstaculis commentatio logica (Leipzig 1737) is probably most influenced by his teacher Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann. In this work, Crusius aims to emphasize the significance of sensibility for cognition. Thus, the anti-Wolffian and anti-Leibnizian character of his philosophy already comes to the fore, and this is clearly affirmed by De usu et limitibus principii rationis determinantis vulgo sufficientis published in 1743. The text was translated into German twice and to some extent made Crusius known as Wolff’s opponent. It also provoked some reactions.4 Two earlier published texts – the Dissertatio philosophica de corruptelis intellectus a voluntate pendentibus (Leipzig 1740) and the Dissertatio philosophica de appetitibus insitis volantatis humanae (Leipzig 1742) – are devoted to topics from practical philosophy. In his Anweisung, vernünftig zu leben – published in 1744 – Crusius worked out his Ethics and provided the voluntaristic and incompatibilistic framework of his philosophical work, thereby taking up two essential topics of his previously published Latin writings. This and the following three texts were primarily intended for use in philosophical teaching. It should be noted that Christian Wolff’s textbooks dominated philosophical education at German universities until then. With his systematic textbooks Crusius actually provided a viable alternative to Wolff. All of his textbooks appeared in a fairly short period of time, between 1744 and 1749. Only one year after his Ethics Crusius published his Metaphysics, Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunftwahrheiten (Leipzig 1745), which is divided into ontology, theology, cosmology, and pneumatology. Remarkably, rational theology directly follows ontology. For Crusius the existence of God is a necessary condition of cosmology and pneumatology. However, God’s existence can only be proven by moral evidence. Crusius’ Logic followed in 1747 with the title Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverlässigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntnis and in 1749 he finally published his Physics with the title Anleitung, über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudenken. His philosophical system – comprising four textbooks – was completed before Crusius accepted a chair in theology in 1750; a reprint of his Latin texts

|| 4 This text has been translated into German by Christian Friedrich Kraus and appeared also in a second edition: Ausführliche Abhandlung Von dem rechten Gebrauche und der Einschränkung des sogenannten Satzes Vom Zureichenden oder besser Determinirenden Grunde. Leipzig 1744; Ausführliche Abhandlung von dem rechten Gebrauche und der Einschränkung des sogenannten Satzes vom Zureichenden oder besser Determinirenden Grunde. Aus dem Lateinischen übersetzt und mit Anmerkungen und einem Anhange begleitet von Christian Friedrich Krausen, bey dieser zwoten Ausgabe mit anderweitigen Anmerkungen des Herrn Verfassers und einer andern hierher gehörigen Schrifft des Uebersetzers auch einem Vorberichte vermehrt von Christian Friedrich Pezold. Leipzig 1766.

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– Opvscvla Philosophico-Theologica – published in 1750, combined philosophical and theological texts and indicated Crusius’ transition from philosophy to theology. With the exception of the Epistola ad Ioannem Ernestum L. B. ab Hardenberg de summis rationis principiis (1752) Crusius devoted his later publications exclusively to theology. His Abhandlung von dem wahren Begriffe der Frömmigkeit (1763) and his Kurzer Begriff der christlichen Moraltheologie (2 vol. 1772–1773) are also noteworthy in this context. Crusius’ main theological work Hypomnemata ad theologiam propheticam – published 1764–1778 in three volumes – shows him to be a biblicalprophetic theologian who was influenced by the pietist Johann Albrecht Bengel (1687–1752). However, this brought Crusius into strict opposition to neologist theologians like Johann August Ernesti, professor of theology at the University of Leipzig. Ernesti was a colleague of Crusius, who developed a historical grammatical method of Bible exegesis which demands that the biblical texts conform to logical, historical and grammatical requirements. The contrast between the two methods – the historical-grammatical method of Ernesti and the biblical-prophetic approach of Crusius – divided the theologians at the University of Leipzig into two parties. Both were influential during the later decades of the 18th and even into the 19th century. After his death, the interest in Crusius’ philosophy quickly vanished. He had only direct successors in theology.5 This does not mean, however, that certain aspects of his philosophy did not become very influential during his lifetime and in the aftermath. This is demonstrated not least by Kant’s statements, who at a young age speaks very highly of Crusius,6 even if this assessment eventually changed.7 The latter was probably also due to Crusius’ later theological publications, which partly called into question his contributions to the German Enlightenment. In any case one may assume that the reception of his philosophical and theological works did not take place independently of one another, as later research suggested. This research concentrated almost exclusively on his philosophical work despite the fact that Crusius’ immediate influence in theology appears to be even more impactful. This perspective probably also led to the fact that Crusius’ philosophical and the theological works were separated from each other in the later edition, which, in turn, may

|| 5 For a comprehensive list of all of Crusiusʼ followers, see Franz Delitzsch: Die biblisch-prophetische Theologie, ihre Fortbildung durch Chr. A. Crusius und ihre neueste Entwicklung seit der Christologie Hengstenbergs. Leipzig 1845. 6 Kant very positively speaks about Crusius in some of his pre-critical texts. So, for example, he praises Crusius for having discovered the difference between formal and material principles (Immanuel Kant: Untersuchung über die Deutlichkeit der Grundsätze der natürlichen Theologie und der Moral. In: AA II, p. 295, see also Immanuel Kant: Kritik der praktischen Vernunft. In: AA V, p. 40). 7 In later writings mocking remarks about Crusius are frequent. See, for example, Immanuel Kant: Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenschaft wird auftreten können. In: AA IV, p. 319.

Introduction | 5

have been one of the reasons why the close relationship between philosophy and theology in the work of Crusius has been underestimated.

2 Philosophical Influences and Crusius’ Methodology As Giorgio Tonelli has already pointed out, in elaborating many of his metaphysically basic theses, Crusius follows a path that Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann had previously embarked upon or rather had shown to his students. Unfortunately, Hoffmann himself did not have the chance to publish most of his thoughts because he died at an age of thirty-eight.8 Crusius does not conceal his debts towards his teacher and refers openly to his teacher’s lectures as an important source of inspiration for his own metaphysical conceptions.9 During his lifetime Hoffmann published just a couple of texts including his Vernunft-Lehre (1737).10 This work was considered by contemporaries to be an innovative and high-quality work, quite able to compete with Wolff’s philosophy. Crusius’ own Logic clearly bears the signature of this work. Unfortunately, Hoffmann died shortly thereafter and was unable to realize his plan to address the other areas of philosophy in the form of textbooks. The connection between Crusius and the ›school‹ of Christian Thomasius is also seen in Hoffmann’s work. In this context Sonia Carboncini speaks emphatically of a »Thomasian-pietistic tradition«11. Hoffmann was a student of the philosopher and doctor of medicine Andreas Rüdiger, who studied philosophy in Halle and was instructed by the jurist and philosopher Christian Thomasius. The close relationship between Rüdiger and Thomasius is evidenced by the fact that Rüdiger was a tutor for Thomasius’ children. So via Rüdiger and Hoffmann there exists indeed a certain line between Crusius and Thomasius. Since Thomasius was first and foremost a legal scholar whose philosophy, without a strict theoretical foundation, was heavily influenced not least by his legal interests, Thomasius’ followers as a whole did not

|| 8 See the biographical note by Robert Theis: Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann (1703–1741). In: Aufklärung 21 (2009), pp. 275–278. 9 Crusius states in his Vernunftlehre that he adopted these thoughts from his teacher Hoffmann, as he had presented them in lectures. Christian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen VernunftWahrheiten wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzt werden. In: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Vol. II. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1964, p. XI. 10 Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann: Vernunft-Lehre, Darinnen die Kennzeichen des Wahren und Falschen aus den Gesezen des menschlichen Verstandes hergeleitet werden. Leipzig 1737. 11 Sonia Carboncini: Die thomasianisch-pietistische Tradition und ihre Fortsetzung durch Christian August Crusius. In: Werner Schneiders (ed.): Christian Thomasius 1655–1728. Interpretationen zu Werk und Wirkung. Hamburg 1989, pp. 287ff.

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form a school in the strict sense, as the Wolffians did. Nevertheless, there are remarkable similarities between Thomasius and Crusius, such as the asserted independence of revealed philosophy from theology, the emphasis on the importance of experience, and the methodological emphasis on the limits of human understanding. We can also find the claim, later adopted by Kant, of the general unrecognizability of the essence of substance as well as the rejection of the ontological proofs of God.12 Regarding the opposition to Wolff’s philosophy, it is important to note that both emphasize the real as opposed to the possible, accept the idea of a physical influence between body and soul, assert the independence of the will from the understanding, and stress the dependence of moral laws on the free will of God. Crusius’ philosophical approach stands out from the philosophy of his time mainly because of a number of methodological features. At first it is striking that Crusius, again following Rüdiger and Hoffmann, dismisses the mathematical method in philosophy. Instead Crusius emphasizes that philosophy should be based both on moral certainty and some basic facts of reason that cannot be further analyzed. These facts form a natural limit to analysis and thus human knowledge. It is therefore crucial to Crusius’ approach to assume that a fundamental theoretical insight into the inner nature of all things remains impossible. Crusius even goes so far as to claim that the last secrets of revealed religion are not only beyond reason, but can also oppose it. For Crusius the fundamental principle of human knowledge is neither the principle of identity nor the principle of contradiction, but a principle concerning what we can and cannot think. He believes that what cannot be thought at all is false, and what cannot be thought as false must be true. The principle of identity and the principle of contradiction, however, are both based on this principle, which he called the principle of cogitabilitas. He conceived of the principle of cogitabilitas as an inner criterion that depends on the nature of human understanding. The starting point of human knowledge, however, is provided by internal and external experience.

3 Questions and Problems As mentioned above, Crusius’ oeuvre remains, to a large extent, terra incognita. Looking at the bibliography of the present book,13 one immediately notices that the problems of research on Christian August Crusius listed by Gert Röwenstrunk in

|| 12 See Tonelli: Vorwort (see note 1), pp. XVIIf. 13 Bibliography, pp. 424ff.

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198114 are far from being solved. It remains therefore a pressing task to map out various aspects within the philosophy of Crusius, its relationship to Crusius’ theology, Crusius’ debts to his predecessors, and his reception by later philosophers and theologians. Since these questions mark a vast field of research, it is obvious that the present volume can only be one small step towards completing the research that needs to be done by both historians of philosophy and theology. Against the background of previous and current research it is only possible to focus on a few questions at this point: namely, the relationship between philosophy and theology, Crusius’ criticism of Wolff, and his influence on Kant. Almost all of the following contributions deal with one or more of these questions.

3.1 Philosophy and Theology The exact relationship between theology and philosophy is without any doubt a problematic aspect of Crusius’ work. Strikingly, Crusius stopped publishing in philosophy after having accepted a chair in theology. This is remarkable in that he wrote and published his main philosophical works during a fairly short period of time between 1744 and 1749. Since we know that Crusius continued his teaching in philosophy even when he was holding his position as professor of theology, we cannot assume that Crusius simply lost his interest in philosophy, especially since his philosophical works were still published – improved and increased – several times after 1750, which indicates that Crusius was still convinced of the theoretical value of his philosophical books. Since Crusius always emphasized in his introductions to the later editions of his philosophical works that he did not change the substance of his books, it seems obvious that Crusius considered his philosophical ideas to be sufficiently clear and worked out. Nevertheless, the striking division between philosophy on the one hand and theology on the other raises the question of whether Crusius stopped his philosophical production for purely academic or practical reasons, or whether he continued his philosophical work in a theological vein after 1750. This may have been intended from the outset or his philosophical work was at least open to theological expansion or reshaping. So the question is how the relationship between Crusius’ philosophical and theological writings should be understood. Is it a real change or a consistent continuation or development of philosophical thoughts or conceptions already laid out in the earlier philosophical writings? In this regard, it should be noted that Crusius makes conspicuous use of theological assumptions in important philosophical contexts, especially in

|| 14 Gert Röwenstrunk: [Art.] Crusius, Christian August (1715–1775). In: Theologische Realenzyklopädie. Vol. 7. Berlin, New York 1981, pp. 242–244, see also Krieger: Geist, Welt und Gott (see note 2), pp. 6–8.

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his practical philosophy. For Crusius, it is possible that theological findings may be against or outside the realm of theoretical rational insight. The anonymous author of the Kurzgefasste Lebensgeschichte Herrn Christian August Crusius may be right in stating not long after Crusius’ death that Crusius’ philosophy aimed to show that true philosophy demonstrates, affirms, and defends the truth of the revealed Word of God.15

3.2 Crusius und Wolff Crusius’ fame rests most of all on his distinctive opposition to Christian Wolff. Crusius adopted this opposition very likely from his teacher Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann, to whom he also owned some of his crucial methodological ideas.16 Hoffmann had excellent knowledge of Wolff’s philosophy. This is also true for his student Crusius. Both can therefore also be counted among the first to uncover serious weaknesses in Wolff’s philosophy, so that their attacks – according to Giorgio Tonelli’s assessment – contributed not insignificantly to the downfall of Wolffianism.17 What is however remarkable is that, despite all the criticism, Wolff’s philosophy nonetheless positively influenced Crusius. Thus his textbooks (like those of Hoffmann) are based on the writings of Wolff in their structure and share the same ›scholastic‹ mode of presentation. As a matter of fact, the similarities even go beyond the mere form of presentation. Tonelli points out, for example, that the division between cosmology and physics seems to be grounded in a similar division by Christian Wolff. Crusius’ opposition to Wolff thus requires much closer examination in order to properly grasp not only obvious differences between the two but also to reveal underlying similarities shaping their respective philosophical approaches. In this respect, Crusius’ rejection of the unlimited validity of the principle of sufficient reason certainly assumes a special status in the investigation. For Wolff, every existing thing must have a sufficient reason from which follows why it is so and not otherwise, and on the basis of which it must also be understood. In particular, Crusius opposes the resulting consequence of this principle that everything happens necessarily. But if this were true, free will would be undermined, and so too would the very prospect of moral behavior. However, Crusius does not dismiss the principle of sufficient reason altogether. Rather, he distinguishes between a preceding and a sufficient reason. Free will must be able to move in different directions at the same time. Crusius claims therefore that free will must provides a sufficient reason whereas cognition requires a preceding reason. As a consequence of

|| 15 [Anon.] Kurzgefasste Lebensgeschichte Herrn Christian August Crusius (see note 3), p. 979. 16 Tonelli: Vorwort (see note 1), p. XVIII. 17 Ibid., p. XX.

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this classification, however, it follows that the effects of free will can never be fully understood. Crusius developed and elaborated his voluntaristic conception of the will already in his first published Latin texts. Based on these first texts, it is therefore necessary to trace back the various aspects of Crusius’ opposition to Wolff. Remarkably, as mentioned above, it is always necessary to note in detail what exactly Crusius adopted from Wolff and what exactly he rejects in the end. This is the only way to arrive at a balanced judgement about the relationship between Crusius and his famous predecessor.

3.3 Crusius and Kant Our judgement about the relationship between Crusius and Kant was and still is determined by the perspective of the development of Kant’s philosophy. However, the exact nature of Crusius’ impact on Kant’s philosophical development still raises numerous questions, and only recently have less obvious issues and aspects increasingly received more attention. After all, the relationship between Crusius and Kant is not easy to characterize. First of all, it should be noted that Crusius himself, as far as we know, was not aware of Kant’s early writings. This is not true of Crusius’ students, however. Two of them were involved in an academic dispute that flared up over a prize question announced by the Berlin Academy of Sciences in 1753. In 1755 the Academy invited a discussion of Pope’s philosophical system and a comparison with the so-called »Systeme de lʼOptimisme«. It was clear that Leibniz’ Theodicy and the idea that this world is the best possible world was the real target of the prize question. The philosophical prize questions of the Berlin Academy of Sciences were not only addressed to a wider public but also pursued a strategic goal, ever since the first question from 1747, which was concerned with Leibnizian monads. At least the early questions all asked for a critical discussion of core topics of the so-called Leibniz-Wolffian philosophy.18 Responsible for this was Maupertuis, an explicit opponent of Leibnizian metaphysics. In the end, the work of Adolph Friedrich Reinhard, a student of Crusius, who in his work advocated Gods absolute freedom of choice claimed by Crusius, was awarded the prize in 1755. The German translation of the work, originally written in French, appeared in 1757, and we know that Kant owned a copy.19 In a letter to Johann Gotthelf Lindner – dated October 28, 1759 – Kant explains that he intervened in this debate and that he was addressed by Daniel || 18 Cornelia Buschmann: Philosophische Preisfragen und Preisschriften der Berliner Akademie 1747–1768. Ein Beitrag zur Leibniz-Rezeption im 18. Jahrhundert. In: Deutsche Zeitschrift für Philosophie 35.9 (1987), pp. 779–789. 19 Kant had this edition in his personal library (see Arthur Warda: Immanuel Kants Bücher. Berlin 1922, p. 53, Non. 95).

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Weyman, another Crusian philosopher in Königsberg, whom Kant, however, did not consider worthy of any further critical engagement. Of course, we cannot draw any immediate conclusions about Crusius’ rejection of Kant’s philosophy from this debate, which has only recently come into the focus of research.20 However, at least certain anti-Kantian tendencies are evident among those who draw on Crusius’ philosophy.21 As far as Kant is concerned, however, his view on his predecessor’s philosophy and his judgement of the value of this philosophy seem to have changed over the course of his own philosophical development. Initially, Kant overtly venerated Crusius. In his early writings he counts Crusius among »the most penetrating philosophers of our age«.22 However, from the Träume eines Geistersehers onwards, he started to scornfully reject Crusius and refers to him as a »Luftbaumeister« and dreamer.23 Although it remains unclear why Kant decided to turn away from Crusius, the changing relationship between Kant and his predecessor has increasingly attracted the attention of Kant research in recent years. A burning question is what influence Crusius had on the development of Kant’s philosophy, especially regarding crucial aspects of Kant’s Critical philosophy. Apparently, there are many similarities between the two thinkers, already mentioned by Tonelli.24 Given the importance of Crusius’ rejection of the principle of sufficient reason both for Crusius’ own philosophical development but also 18th-century German philosophy in general, it is not surprising that this criticism attracted a lot of scholarly attention. It has been asked, for example, how exactly one has to determine the extent and nature of the influence Crusius exerted on Kant’s own account of the principle of sufficient reason in his pre-Critical work and his later discussion of causality in the Critique of Pure Reason.25 Only recently have related questions come into focus as well. Accordingly, the practical consequences of this discussion have been addressed and more specific issues concerning the development of Kant’s conception of freedom which is crucial to his overall philosophical development from pre-Critical to his mature Critical || 20 See Alexei N. Krouglov: Kant and the Crusians in the Debate on Optimism, in: Kantian Journal 37.2 (2018), pp. 7–31. 21 Christian Friedrich Pezold, for example, wrote a book against Kant (Progr. de argumentis nonnullis, quibus, Deum esse, philosophi probant, observationes adversus Imman. Kantium. Leipzig 1787). It is remarkable that Pezold was later also a teacher of Fichte. 22 Immanuel Kant: Principiorum primorum cognitionis metaphysicae nova dilucidatio. In: AA I, p. 397, see also p. 405. 23 Immanuel Kant: Träume eines Geistersehers, erläutert durch Träume der Metaphysik. In: AA II, p. 342. 24 Tonelli: Vorwort (see note 1), pp. Lf. 25 See Eric Watkins: Kant and the Metaphysics of Causality. Cambridge 2005 and Adriano Perin: The Proof of the Principle of Sufficient Reason: Wolff, Crusius and the Early Kant on the Search for a Foundation of Metaphysics. In: Revista Portuguesa de Filosofia 71.2‒3 (2015), pp. 515–530.

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writings. We can see that Kant’s account of freedom moved away from a LeibnizianStoic-inspired conception as inner spontaneity, visible in the Nova dilucidatio, towards a conception of absolute freedom as self-legislation in his later work. It has been suggested that this development might have been inspired by Crusius’ critique of Wolff. This raises the question to what extent Kant might have taken up elements of Crusius’ thought into his mature conception in practical philosophy.26 Considered again from a different perspective, Crusius’ opposition to Wolff’s and also Leibniz’ theory of freedom as spontaneity, understood as inner causation, could also have provided the starting point for a debate on spontaneity more generally. Up until that point it was common among scholars of 18th-century German philosophy to consider it Kant’s achievement to distinguish the spontaneity of the understanding from the receptivity of sensibility. However, it is likely that this alleged Kantian innovation too is heavily indebted to Crusius who laid the foundation for this view with his conception of the mind.27 This also shows that we still know too little even about important debates that shaped post-Wolffian philosophy in Germany. Things are only slowly beginning to change, and current research becomes more and more interested in questions that have not received much attention so far. As a result, many other of Kant’s key philosophical conceptions have come under close scrutiny, such as the nature of consciousness.28 Again, Crusius stands out among Kant’s predecessors because he set forth a theory of consciousness as inner sense, which placed him in fierce opposition to Wolff but also offered an alternative to Wolff and his school. Given the controversial and long-lasting debate on the nature of consciousness in Kant, it appears very promising to turn to Crusius in order to find new incentives to tackle this question. This also applies to two closely related questions in psychology. It is well known that the question of the union of body and soul counts among the big controversies of the 18th century. Kant contributed to this debate already in his preCritical work. In fact, Kant modified his view on the nature of this union from his early work in the 1750s to his Inauguraldissertation. Crusius famously claims that simple substances can fill a space but still are not extended. It is on this ground that he could argue for his concept of influxus physicus. Apparently, Kant adopted this

|| 26 See David Forman: Appetimus Sub Ratione Boni: Kant’s Practical Principles Between Crusius and Leibniz. In: Kant und die Philosophie in weltbürgerlicher Absicht. Ed. by Stefano Bacin, Alfredo Ferrarin, Claudio La Rocca and Margit Ruffing. Berlin, Boston 2013, pp. 323–334. 27 See Corey W. Dyck: Spontaneity Before the Critical Turn: Crusius, Tetens, and the Pre-Critical Kant on the Spontaneity of the Mind. In: Journal of the History of Philosophy 54.4 (2016), pp. 625– 648. 28 See Jonas Jervell Indregard: Consciousness as Inner Sensation. Crusius and Kant. In: Ergo: An Open Access Journal of Philosophy 5.7 (2018), pp. 173–201.

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view at least at one point in his philosophical development.29 A further important issue of 18th-century psychology is the problem of the immortality of the soul. Here, too, Crusius took an independent path that distinguishes his account from that of his predecessors. Strikingly, his argument for the immortality of the soul is strictly based on moral grounds, which puts him in sharp opposition to most of his contemporaries, but not to Kant. This alone gives reason enough to warrant a closer inspection of Crusius’ account in order to determine more sharply what Kant might have adopted from his predecessor.30 As new topics emerge in Kant scholarship, the perspective on Kant’s predecessor also shifts. Inspired by recent work on Kant’s novel ideas on faith and the epistemic status of faith, this conception, central to Crusius as well, has also become a subject of more thorough examination, and Crusius has been recognized as a possible source of Kant in this respect as well.31 Admiteddly, the extent of influence in this regard is rather limited, especially with respect to Kant’s Critical philosophy; for there is nothing comparable to the postulate doctrine to be found in Crusius. Nevertheless, one will have to acknowledge Crusius as an important precursor of Kant once more. Even though all these studies have repeatedly shown that the influence Crusius had on the development of Critical philosophy remains problematic in detail and, if ascertainable, then rather limited, these investigations nevertheless proved to have had a considerable effect even now: the more or less common disdain for Kant’s immediate predecessors turns out to be untenable in the light of more recent research. For what is becoming increasingly clear is that the philosophy of the 18th century did not only begin with Leibniz and Wolff and then end by Kant’s masterful throw. After all, Crusius seems to belong to those German philosophers who contributed a significant set of new ideas to the development of an entire epoch. That is what the present volume may demonstrate.

|| 29 See Stefan Heßbrüggen-Walter: Putting Our Soul in Place. In: Kant Yearbook 6.1 (2014), pp. 23– 42. 30 See Paola Rumore: Kant and Crusius on the Role of Immortality in Morality. In: Kant and His German Contemporaries: Volume 1, Logic, Mind, Epistemology, Science and Ethics. Ed. by Corey W. Dyck and Falk Wunderlich. Cambridge 2017, pp. 213–231. 31 See Brian A. Chance: Kantian Non-Evidentialism and its German Antecedents: Crusius, Meier, and Basedow. In: Kantian Review 24.3 (2019), pp. 359–384; and Gabriele Gava: Kant and Crusius on Belief and Practical Justification. In: Kantian Review 24.1 (2019), pp. 53–75.

Introduction | 13

4 Contributions to this Volume TINCA PRUNEA-BRETONNET (Crusius and Kant on Distinctness, Certainty, and Method in Philosophy) analyses Crusius’ methodological remarks in his treatises on logic and metaphysics and their reception in Kant’s Preisschrift of 1764. She claims that the importance of analysis is emphasised by Crusius’ novel and influential division of distinctness and certainty, which, in addition to his discussion of probability, plays a major role in the controversies on method up to the 1760s. Then, she discusses Kant’s Inquiry Concerning the Distinctness of the Principles of Natural Theology and Morality in the light of his explicit endorsement of Crusian views. However, she argues that despite an undeniable influence of Crusius’ work, Kant substantially revises Crusius’ position by adopting an independent perspective on the role of analysis as an appropriate philosophical method and rejecting Crusius' supreme principle of truth. ANDREE HAHMANN (Crusius’ Critique of the Leibniz-Wolffian Ontology and Cosmology) addresses some crucial differences between Crusius’ and Wolff’s metaphysical approaches. He argues that Crusius sharply distinguishes between Leibniz and Wolff and points with remarkable acuity to where they differ from each other. He shows that Crusius’ critique essentially draws on these differences, providing the foundation for his own aim of establishing an alternative metaphysics to both Leibniz and Wolff. SONJA SCHIERBAUM (Crusius and Wolff on the Mind and (Self-)Consciousness) argues that a conception of higher-order self-consciousness can be ascribed to both Crusius and Wolff insofar as both authors hold that we can become conscious of our mental acts through second-order acts. Nevertheless, there are crucial differences between their accounts that can be attributed to differences in the underlying metaphysical conception of the human mind and its powers. She argues that Crusius conceives of consciousness as a higher-order cognition of oneʼs mental acts, whereas for Wolff, thinking in general implies consciousness. However, this does not preclude Wolff from allowing for the possibility of higher-order cognition as a kind of self-consciousness. In his later Latin works, for example, Wolff explicitly distinguishes between perception and apperception. For this reason, Schierbaum assumes that one can also attribute a kind of higher-order conception of selfconsciousness to Wolff. ANDREE HAHMANN wonders in his second paper (Crusius and the Fundamental Powers of the Soul) whether a simple substance can have more than one kind of power. He shows that Crusius’ understanding of fundamental powers heavily influenced the debate concerning cognitive capacities and the structure of the human mind in the 18th century. Although Crusius adopts simple substances he does not want to rule out that they can have several fundamental powers despite their simplicity.

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KAY ZENKER’s contribution (Crusius’ Naturphilosophie) is devoted to the significance of Crusius’ philosophy of nature within the framework of his overall philosophical approach. Starting with Crusius’ own conception of philosophy as set out in Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverlässigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß, Zenker stresses the systematic relevance of Crusius’ largely forgotten major work on physics. He argues that Crusius’ doctrine of nature is essential for understanding the complete systematics of Crusius’ overall project. ANSGAR LYSSY (Crusius on Human Nature – An Interpretative Take on His Telematology) outlines the unique aspects of the conception of human nature underlying Crusius’ doctrine of the will and his theory of basic human desires. Lyssy shows that there are several methodological and systematic approaches to human nature at work in Crusius, whose philosophical approach is thus best understood in light of the newly emerging interest in anthropological research. MICHAEL H. WALSCHOTS’ paper (Crusius on Freedom of the Will) aims at providing an accurate account of how Crusius understands the freedom of the will. Some argue that what is most notable about Crusius’ view on freedom is his claim that this must entail a capacity to choose between given alternatives. Walschots argues that, although this is one feature of how Crusius understands freedom of the will, it is only one piece of a much more detailed view. As Walschots shows in his paper, Crusius reserves the notion of libertas indifferentiae for a very specific situation. GIDEON STIENING addresses the Counter-Enlightenment character of Crusian philo-theology in his text (The »Human Weakness« of Wolff’s Secret Recommendation. Crusius’ Philosophical-Theological Critique of the principium rationis sufficientis). Stiening concentrates on Crusiusʼ critique of the Leibniz-Wolffian conception of sufficient reason. The principle of sufficient reason was subjected to vehement criticism early on, both in its Leibnizian-axiomatic as well as in its Wolffian-demonstrative version with regard to its logical as well as its ontological validity. It is only by paying adequate attention to these critical positions that one can achieve a complete historical reconstruction of the philosophical meaning of this principle as it was reflected throughout the 18th century. In this critical context, Christian August Crusius plays a prominent role, as Stiening examines in detail. STEVEN TESTER discusses in his paper (Crusius on Liberty of Indifference and Determinism) Crusiusʼ criticism of the Leibniz-Wolffian conception of freedom in his Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten and his Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß. Both Leibniz and Wolff argue that man has no freedom of indifference, although a certain freedom of spontaneity can be attributed to him. In his contribution Tester shows in detail how exactly Crusius can hold on to the freedom of indifference without completely abolishing the principle of sufficient reason. SONJA SCHIERBAUM discusses in her second contribution (Crusius on Moral Motivation) how precisely Crusius conceives of the relationship between cognitive and conative states as central aspects of moral motivation. She shows that for Crusius

Introduction | 15

moral motivation is conceived in analogy to motivation in general, how conscience plays a role here and how exactly it is to be understood that the representation of the content of desire functions as a motivating reason (moving ground). As Schierbaum claims, the dependence of man on the will of God as the reason for the binding or normative power of divine law deserves special attention in this context. MARTIN STICKER (Sleeping Conscience – Crusius on Moral Fallibility) takes a closer look at Crusius’ conception of conscience and discusses its functions within Crusius’ practical philosophy. According to Crusius, conscience is a basic human instinct and of central importance for an actor to recognize duties, to get to know what is required in concrete situations and to be motivated to follow this commandment. One of the central characteristics of conscience in Crusius, especially in contrast to Kant, is his adherence to the traditional idea of the erring conscience. Sticker reconstructs the cause of such errors in more detail and explains how Crusius could deal with the phenomenon that actors can act conscientiously but immorally at the same time. GABRIEL RIVERO’s contribution (Dependence and Obedience. Crusius’ Concept of Obligation and Its Influence on Kant’s Moral Philosophy) concentrates on the influence of Crusius’ conception of obligation on the development of Kant’s mature conception of this concept. Rivero argues that the extent of Crusius’ influence becomes clear if one considers more closely how the concept of dependence ties into both Crusius’ and Kant’s ideas on obligation. DOMINIK RECKNAGEL (Pflicht aus Liebe zu Gott. Prinzipien und Inhalte des Naturrechts bei Christian August Crusius) reconstructs Crusius’ conception of the law of nature. Remarkable is, for example, how Crusius combines human striving for perfection with obedience to divine command and how this results in the unconditional validity of natural rights. JUTTA HEINZ (»Unter allen Wissenschaften eine der unumschräncktesten«. Die Klugheitslehre in Crusiusʼ ›Anweisung vernünftig zu leben‹) examines the position of Crusius’ doctrine of prudence as he conceives it in the last part of his Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Heinz recalls that since Aristotle, prudence has been considered one of the cardinal virtues, which is necessary to discern in every concrete situation the right and useful behaviour to achieve certain ends. Heinz wonders whether Crusius contributed to the long tradition of theories of prudence with his remarks. STEFAN KLINGNER’s paper (The Systematic Place of Natural Theology in Crusius’ Work) is devoted to the question of the systematic place of natural theology in Christian August Crusius’ philosophical system. Indeed, natural theology assumes a peculiar place in Crusius’ major philosophical works. On the one hand, Crusius emphasizes up until his late theological writings the necessity of an orientation towards the revealed divine truths for every piece of knowledge. On the other hand, in his Ethics but especially in his Metaphysics Crusius ascribes a distinctive position to natural theology and gives reason an unique insight into the existence, the characteristics and the will of God. As Klingner shows, natural theology is not only an

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integral part of Crusius’ philosophy, but also a fundamental part of his philosophical system as a whole. HANS PETER NOWITZKI (»... man müste denn schon ein so apocalyptisches Auge haben, wie Bengel«. Christian August Crusius’ ›finstre Philosophie‹) discusses whether Crusius should be counted among the representatives of the German Enlightenment or whether his work rather bears the marks of a Counter-Enlightenment thinker. Strikingly, the latter reflects the judgement of Crusius’ contemporaries, who in part associated Crusius with the Counter-Enlightenment. Accordingly, Crusius’ main theological work, the Hypomnemata ad Theologiam Propheticam, has been repeatedly characterized as ›dark‹ or ›obscure‹ and Crusius has been accused of promoting prophecy and miracle healing. Particularly instructive in this respect, as Nowitzki shows, is Crusius’ approach in the case of the notorious Johann Schröpfer, who caused a great stir among his contemporaries with his necromancy. PAOLA RUMORE’s contribution (Crusiusʼ Gedanken über Geister, Teufel und Aberglaube) points in a similar direction. Rumore demonstrates that Crusius’ approach is exemplary for divergent and partly incongruent currents of the Enlightenment itself. Thus, on the one hand, she identifies a sharp criticism of superstition, as it is also found in Crusius. On the other hand, however, there is equally strong scepticism of the explanatory possibilities of reason. Rumore states that the reflections on superstition run like a red thread through Crusius’ entire theological and philosophical activity. She argues that Crusius, with his unique combination of psychological and anthropologically oriented investigation of superstition, ultimately makes a significant contribution to the anthropological discussion of the »Hochaufklärung«. This volume ends with a biographical note, a bibliography of the works of Christian August Crusius and the research literature published to date, prepared mainly by Ronny Edelmann, and an index of persons.

The core of this anthology goes back to a conference that took place in Göttingen in March 2015 with the generous support of the Fritz Thyssen Foundation as a cooperation between the Department of Philosophy at the University of Göttingen and the Interdisciplinary Centre for European Enlightenment Studies at the University of Halle. Our thanks go to all the institutions involved. For valuable practical and administrative assistance before, during and after the conference, we would like to express our sincere thanks to the Lichtenberg-Kolleg Göttingen. The conference was held as a purely German-language conference. As interest in Crusius is currently increasing internationally, the editors have subsequently decided to publish the proceedings of the conference in two languages, together with additionally solicited contributions. We would like to take this opportunity to thank all those colleagues who have taken the trouble to translate their contributions. The linguistic conver-

Introduction | 17

sion meant a considerable additional effort, which unfortunately also had an effect on time. Without the proven and not always easy patience of the contributors, the volume could not have been published, at least not in its present form – the authors involved therefore deserve special thanks in this respect as well. Many thanks are also due to all those who contributed to the direct production of the book with great commitment: Elena Haase (Münster), Ronny Edelmann and Paula Anaid Sturm (Halle), who produced the index of persons and undertook a substantial part of the corrections. Finally, special thanks are due to the publisher Walter de Gruyter – especially to Marcus Böhm and Anne Hiller –, who has supported our anthology on Christian August Crusius with interest and unceasing vigour. Halle, Münster, and Siegen January 2021

| 1 Metaphysics und Natural Philosophy

Tinca Prunea-Bretonnet

Crusius and Kant on Distinctness, Certainty, and Method in Philosophy In 1761 the Berlin Academy published one of its most famous prize questions, which focused on the problem of method in philosophy and asked for a detailed account of certainty and distinctness (»evidence«) with respect to »metaphysical truths in general«.1 It had a huge impact on the philosophical community, not only in Prussia but in Europe in general, as had the prize essays that won two years later and were published in 1764, namely Moses Mendelssohn’s Abhandlug über die Evidenz in metaphysischen Wissenschaften,2 which endorsed a Wolffian perspective and won the first prize, and especially Kant’s Untersuchung über die Deutlichkeit der Grundsätze der natürlichen Theologie und der Moral, which advanced an antiWolffian standpoint and was awarded the accessit. Favourable to English, Scottish and French enlightened ideas, Pierre-Louis Moreau de Maupertuis, the influential president of the Academy after its reorganization by Frederick the Great in 1744–1746, had promoted these movements in Prussia while attempting to discredit the ›Leibnizian-Wolffian‹ philosophy. Several significant members of the Academy supported Maupertuis in this endeavour, albeit without reaching a consensus within the Academy, where Wolffian disciples, such as Jean Henri Samuel Formey or Johann Georg Sulzer, were also active. 3 Nevertheless, the institution regularly rewarded anti-Wolffian responses and favoured competing

|| This essay draws on my article Crusius et la certitude en 1763 (Astérion 9/2011). I am very grateful to Antony McKenna and Pierre-François Moreau for their invaluable support in the publication of the present chapter. 1 »On demande, si les vérités métaphysiques en général et en particulier les premiers principes de la Théologie naturelle et de la Morale sont susceptibles de la même évidence que les vérités mathématiques, et au cas qu’elles n’en soient pas susceptibles, quelle est la nature de leur certitude, à quel degré elle peut parvenir, et si ce degré suffit pour la conviction?« (»One wishes to know whether the metaphysical truths in general and the first principles of natural theology and morality in particular, admit of distinct proofs to the same degree as geometrical truths; and if they are not capable of such proofs, one wishes to know what the genuine nature of their certainty is, to what degree the said certainty can be brought, and whether this degree is sufficient for complete conviction«). 2 Dissertation qui a remporté le prix proposé par l’Académie royale des sciences et belles-lettres de Prusse sur la nature, les espèces, et les degrés de l’évidence avec les pièces qui ont concouru. Berlin, 1764; reprint in Moses Mendelssohn: Gesammelte Schriften. Jubiläumsaufgabe. Vol. 2. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1972, pp. 267–328. For a summary in English, see Immanuel Kant: Theoretical Philosophy, 1755–1770. Transl. and ed. by David Walford and Ralf Meerbote. Cambridge 1992. 3 On this debate, see Tinca Prunea-Bretonnet: La méthode philosophique en question. L’Académie de Berlin et le concours pour l’année 1763. In: Philosophiques 42.1 (2015), pp. 107–130. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-002

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views. By 1761, however, after both Wolff’s and Maupertuis’ demise (in 1754 and 1759, respectively), the standpoints defended within the speculative philosophy class had reached a certain balance and common ground.4 As regards the philosophical method, scholars no longer supported the exclusive relevance or even preeminence of the synthetic method, unless it had at least been preceded by an analytical section. Indeed, analysis emerged as the method of choice for philosophy and theology in most of the essays submitted for the 1763 academic prize;5 furthermore, with respect to the exclusive use of the synthetic (›demonstrative‹ or ›mathematical‹) method in philosophy, an explicit anti-Wolffian attitude prevailed on the philosophical scene. This is why, despite the fact that Sulzer managed to award the academic prize to Mendelssohn’s essay that was clearly inspired by Wolff, it is Kant’s anti-Wolffian Untersuchung that embodied the novel take on method and effectively closed the era of the demonstrative method promoted by Wolff and his disciples. Interestingly enough, Kant claimed to defend a Crusian viewpoint in his essay. In this chapter, I will examine the role played by Christian August Crusius’ conception in the controversy about method in philosophy around the mid-century, and its reception in Kant’s Preisschrift of 1764. I argue that Crusius’ treatment of distinctness (»Deutlichkeit«) and certainty (»Gewißheit«), and his views on the distinction between mathematics and philosophy had a decisive influence on Kant’s account in the Untersuchung. In order to shed light on this relationship, I will first examine Crusius’ account of the task, specificity, and appropriate method of philosophy (Sections 1 and 2), and his treatment of distinctness and probability (Section 3), as elaborated in his treatises on logic and metaphysics. I will then analyse the reception of these methodological theses in Kant’s Preisschrift by discussing Kant’s aims in the Untersuchung (Section 4), views on the distinction between mathematics and philosophy (Section 5), and the role granted to principles (Section 6). I will conclude with a general assessment of Kant’s relationship to Crusian philosophy.

|| 4 See also Tinca Prunea-Bretonnet: Eclectic Philosophy and »Academic Spirit«. The Berlin Academy on Metaphysics and the Thomasian Legacy. In: Philosophy at the Berlin Academy in the Reign of Frederick the Great. Ed. by Peter Anstey and Tinca Prunea-Bretonnet. Oxford Studies in the Enlightenment, forthcoming. 5 See Giorgio Tonelli: Der Streit über die mathematische Methode in der Philosophie in der ersten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts und die Entstehung von Kants Schrift über die ›Deutlichkeit‹. In: Archiv für Philosophie 9 (1959), pp. 37–66.

Crusius and Kant on Distinctness, Certainty, and Method in Philosophy | 23

1 The Definition and the Division of Philosophy according to Crusius From 1743, Crusius became one of the main challengers of the Wolffian system. Representative of the Thomasian school, he was the heir of the more intellectualist movement supported by Andreas Rüdiger (1673–1731) and a disciple of August Friedrich Müller (1684–1761) and Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann (1703–1741), as he explicitly declares in the prefaces to his main treatises on logic and metaphysics. Crusius gave a consistent and in many respects original expression to Hoffmann’s anti-Wolffian methodological stance. Like his teacher, he was very familiar with Wolff’s works, and the controversy against Wolff shaped the way in which he articulated his own writings. Scholarship agrees in considering Crusius’ critique as decisive for the decline of Wolffianism.6 For many years, even after 1752 when he devoted himself almost exclusively to theology, Crusius’ philosophy represented a competing doctrine to Wolffianism and enjoyed an indisputable longevity in university education as well.7 As his philosophical system was founded on his opposition to Wolff and structured by the – sometimes implicit but always present and precise – criticism of his theses, one can surely speak of an indisputable »contamination« at the doctrinal level.8 The activity of the Academy did not seem to have attracted Crusius’ attention, not even in its combat against Wolffian philosophy. Nevertheless, he was indirectly present in the Academy at least twice: first in 1755, when his disciple Adolf Friedrich Reinhard won the prize for an essay on optimism, and in 1763, when Kant’s essay on distinctness was awarded the accessit.9 Crusius’ opposition to Wolff is manifest from the first paragraphs of his treatise on logic, titled Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß. He mentions the Wolffian distinction between historical and philosophical knowledge,10 while arguing against Wolff that philosophy cannot be defined as

|| 6 See, for instance, Giorgio Tonelli: Introduction. In: Christian August Crusius: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Hildesheim 1999, vol. 1, p. xx. 7 For details on the University Albertina in Königsberg, see Martin Oberhausen and Ricardo Pozzo: Vorlesungsverzeichnisse der Universität Königsberg (1720–1804). Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1999. 8 See Sonia Carboncini-Gavanelli: Christian August Crusius und die Leibniz-Wolffsche Philosophie. In: Autour de la philosophie wolffienne. Ed. by Jean École. Hildesheim 2001, pp. 263–278. 9 Three other memoirs for 1763 (nos. 2, 13 and 25) refer implicitly or explicitly to Crusian doctrines. I thank Paola Basso for this information. 10 On this, see Christian Wolff: Discursus praeliminaris. Ed. by Günter Gawlick and Lothar Kreimendahl. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1996, §§ 1–12.

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merely »the science of the reasons [Gründe] of things«.11 He also rejects the Wolffian claim that we cognise something with certainty only if we are able to unveil its cause, hereby preparing the path for a redefinition of both certainty and the philosophical investigation of existence.12 On Crusius’ account, philosophy in the broad sense should be understood as the science investigating »in as much as possible« (»so viel möglich«) the reasons of things »with evidence and certainty« and the existence of some things or states of affairs; as such, philosophy also relies on perception and experiences (»Erfahrungen«).13 As some of its objects escape our capacity of investigation with regard to their causes (»Realgründe«), Crusius argues, they should be considered according to their existence. Therefore, philosophy, while being concerned with the unchanging truths of reason (»unveränderlichen Vernunftwahrheiten«), also addresses the truths that can be obtained through the consideration of the natural things (»natürliche Dinge«) in the world. Among these unchanged or necessary truths, Crusius mentions the necessarily given (or existing, vorhanden[e]) beings, or that which should happen in every world. In this endeavour philosophy should aim to be true and thorough (»gründlich«), to go beyond the mere existence of things, to be useful, insightful and rise above common sense.14 Philosophy in the broad sense is said to comprise two sciences: one that deals with magnitudes of extension (»Grössen der Ausdehnung«) and is called mathematics, and the other, called philosophy in a narrow sense. He divides the latter into, on the one hand, metaphysics, which is concerned with the necessary theoretical truths of reason, and, on the other hand, Disciplinalphilosophie, which deals with the truths that are either contingent or practical.15 We should note that metaphysics is said to also comprise »the highest reasons of all practical truths«.16 In his treatise Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, Crusius advances a negative definition of metaphysics as »the science of those necessary truths that are something else than determinations of extended magnitudes«.17 He confers to metaphysics the eminence of the fundamental science containing the first reasons

|| 11 Cf. Christian August Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß. Leipzig 1747, §§ 1–4. 12 On Crusius’ (and Rüdiger’s) reception of Wolff, see Raffaele Ciafardone: Von der Kritik an Wolff zum vorkritischen Kant. Wolff-Kritik bei Rüdiger und Crusius. In: Christian Wolff 1679–1754. Ed. by Werner Schneiders. Hamburg 1983, pp. 289–305. 13 Cf. Crusius: Weg (see note 11), § 10. 14 Cf. ibid., § 3. 15 On his account, the Disciplinalphilosophie deals with three objects: bodies, the nature and the use of the understanding (Vestand), and the truths which concern our will (cf. Christian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten. Leipzig 1745, § 13). 16 Cf. Crusius: Weg (see note 11), § 11. 17 Cf. Crusius: Entwurf (see note 15), § 4.

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of all the other sciences.18 Crusius takes up the common division of metaphysics in ontology (or general metaphysics) and the three disciplines of special metaphysics: natural theology, cosmology and pneumatology. However, he does not endorse the order advanced in this respect by Wolff (cosmology, psychology, theology);19 rather, aiming to highlight the distinction between the theoretical and practical branches of philosophy understood in a narrow sense, he speaks of ›theoretical‹ natural theology and ›metaphysical‹ cosmology and pneumatology. As a science based on the necessary and the actual – and no longer on the possible, as Wolff defines it20 –, philosophy is determined by the limited nature of human understanding. It must, therefore, start from given existences or individuata21 and be satisfied with probability. This is also why, according to Crusius, thought cannot account for the unity of the whole reality by applying a single principle, but it imperatively needs several principles (to the principle of contradiction, he adds the principle of inseparables and that of incompatibles). And this is also why, constrained to start from existence and to verify its conclusions in experience, philosophy has to deal with many unanalysable and indemonstrable concepts. After having included mathematics within philosophy understood in a broad sense, Crusius seeks to highlight the distinction between mathematics and philosophy »in the narrow sense« and devotes several decisive paragraphs of his Logic to the crucial differences in the objects and methods of these two sciences. Notably, the differences listed in § 10 of the Weg would find a large echo in the 1760s owing to Kant’s reception in the Untersuchung. On Crusius’ account, mathematics is concerned with quantities or magnitudes and its objects are simple; their qualities are essential (not accidental). Thus the addition or removal of a quality produces a new being. In mathematics, it is therefore possible to abstract a definition from a single example, which is impossible in philosophy where we deal with qualities. Mathematics, through definitions, generates its object. Moreover, it disregards the moral consideration of final ends (»moralische Betrachtung der Endzwecke«) and the efficient causes (»wirkende Ursachen«), which is unthinkable in philosophy, where the essence (»Wesen«) of things most often depends on them. Mathematics seldom appeals to the division into species, as its objects are usually too simple for that, and proceeds by demonstration, drawing necessary conclusions from necessary principles – whereas in philosophy »one would be gravely mistaken« if one thought that it is necessary to proceed likewise or that it is profitable for the perfection of philosophy to always (»allezeit«) choose demonstration.22 Mathematics is based on a single

|| 18 Cf. ibid., § 6. 19 Wolff: Discursus (see note 10), §§ 55f. 20 Ibid., § 29. 21 Cf. Crusius: Weg (see note 11), §§ 3f. 22 Cf. idid., § 10.

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principle, that of contradiction, while philosophy requires several principles; mathematics only uses syllogisms, something that is neither possible nor advantageous in philosophy. This comparison allows Crusius to conclude that anyone who reflects on these crucial differences will understand that the use of the mathematical method has been only partially beneficial to philosophy and has also caused considerable damage despite the wish of »famous men« to help this science: Moreover, whoever properly reflects on these differences, will understand why philosophy, beyond the benefit that it has drawn in some [of its] parts, has also suffered prejudice in others, due to the fact that certain famous men thought to remedy the verbiage which has occasionally spread in philosophy, by making use of the mathematical method [in this discipline], but have not always paid sufficient attention to the distinct nature of the two sciences. 23

2 Philosophy and its Methods Any attempt to assess the proper method in philosophy ought to take into account this distinction, Crusius argues, and his elaborate reflection on methodology is indeed based on this initial comparison. He devotes a long chapter of his Logic (»Von dem Nachdencken und Lehrart«24) to a precise and subtle account of the analytical and synthetic methods. He claims that the aim of thinking (»Nachdencken«) is to widen (»erweitern«) our knowledge of truth; thinking is based on one or several fundamental thoughts (»Grundgedancken«) that constitute its beginning and object. Crusius defines thinking as the effort to reach a more distinct, more complete, more certain or more extensive knowledge of truth).25 The way we proceed is crucial, he argues, and therefore a ›logical‹ theory of method is very helpful even if the common or ›natural‹ intellect (»natürliche Verstand«) is also apt to reflect on this issue. According to this logical approach, there are two main but inherently distinct kinds of thinking (»Hauptarten des Nachdenckens«). The first is the analytical (or ›decomposing‹, ›resolving‹ – »auflösend«, »zergliedernd«) method, which starts with fundamental thoughts and attempts to reach a more complete knowledge of

|| 23 »Wer übrigens diese Unterschiede wohl überleget, der wird begreiffen, warum die Philosophie ausser dem Nutzen, den sie in einigen Stücken gezogen hat, in andern auch wiederum Schaden dadurch gelitten habe, nachdem einige berühmte Männer dem hin und wieder eingerissenen Gewäsche in der Philosophie dadurch abzuhelfen gedacht haben, dass sie sich in derselben der mathematischen Lehrart haben bedienen wollen, dabey sie aber auf die unterschiedene Natur beyder Wissenschaften nicht allezeit aufmerksam genug gewesen sind« (Crusius: Weg [see note 11], § 10). 24 Cf. ibid., §§ 566‒584. 25 Cf. ibid., § 566.

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these thoughts by »going back« to their simplest elements and increasing their distinctness, completeness and certainty.26 The second kind is the synthetic or unifying (»zusammensetzend[e]«) method, which seeks to produce new knowledge by moving forth (»fortgehen«) from known truths towards truths that are not contained in the Grundgedancken. Crusius further distinguishes between a ›resolving‹ analytical method and a ›proving‹ one; the latter collects proofs while the former has two components: the ›merely resolving or pure‹ (»bloß zergliedernde oder reine«) method, which seeks to make the fundamental thoughts or concepts more distinct (»deutlicher«); and the ›determining‹ (»determinirend[e]«) method, which also aims to determine them further.27 This last type of the analytical resolving method is in fact, Crusius argues, a mixt (»gemischt[e]«) procedure, because the synthetic way of thinking is involved in adding further determinations. He regards it as more important than other methods, especially for philosophical topics, and devotes two further paragraphs to the investigation of its features. On Crusius’ account, distinctness is related to the analytical procedure – a point to which I shall come back. The synthetic method is said to include three subdivisions: the geometrical or mathematical method, which deals with possible beings or with their relations,28 the physical (»physikalische«) method and the »moral« one. The last two deal with existent beings, that is, with experiences or existences (the physical method), and with the final aims of things (the moral method).29 Crusius proposes to call these two latter subdivisions the ›philosophical synthesis‹.30 In the physical method we always start with experiences and examine their causes and further consequences; on his account, this is the proper approach in disciplines such as natural philosophy, medicine and revealed theology).31 He emphasises here the limits of the geometrical method, which can be used only when we deal with possible beings or relations among possible beings (or essences), and not with really existing beings. Two crucial aspects should be underlined here: the relationship between the analytical and synthetic methods and the specific use of each subdivision. Crusius insists on the fact that each discipline and topic should be assigned a particular kind of method according to its ›nature‹ (»Natur«). The correctness and fruitfulness of any scientific endeavour depend on the appropriate identification and application of these methods.32 For instance, in § 584 of the Weg he explains that with respect to existences (»Existenzen«) we should employ either the analytical determin-

|| 26 Cf. ibid., §§ 571f. 27 Cf. ibid., § 574. 28 Cf. ibid., § 578. 29 Cf. ibid., § 581. 30 Cf. ibid., § 578. 31 Cf. ibid., § 580. 32 »Eine iedwede Sache muß nach derjenigen Methode überdacht und abgehandelt werden, welche ihre Natur leidet« (ibid., § 584).

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ing method or the synthetic physical or moral one, or a combination thereof. Essences, however, should be examined with the help of the mathematical method (which is synthetic) or of the analytic resolving or determining method. Moreover, when combining the two main methods, one should always keep in mind that the analytic procedure grounds the synthetic one and must always be applied first: it is impossible to acquire new knowledge if the ›fundamental thoughts‹ are not distinct and properly known. In the ›orderly way‹ of thinking, the two methods go together, but the analytical one has epistemic primacy and can stand by itself. While the synthetic method definitely enriches the analytic procedure, Crusius argues, it cannot exist without it.33 On his account, in philosophy the two methods are most of the time combined.34 It is imperative to correctly discern, Crusius argues, what principles and axioms are involved in these procedures. For instance, the principle of identity and that of the indiscernibles are specific to analysis, while the principle of causality belong to the synthetic method.35

3 Distinctness and Probability In his Logic, Crusius devotes an important part of the chapter »On the completeness of concepts«36 to the question of distinctness (»Deutlichkeit«), advancing a nuanced classification that allows him to expand on the differences between mathematics and philosophy, to further clarify his understanding of the role of analysis and to denounce the most common errors committed by philosophers in this domain. The same topic is dealt with more succinctly in his Metaphysics,37 where his main target is unsurprisingly the Wolffian school.

|| 33 »Es ist vor bekannt anzunehmen, daß man nicht eher zu neuen Gedancken fortgehen soll, bis die Grundgedancken genugsam deutlich sind, und ihre Wahrheit untersuchet worden«; »[d]as synthetische Nachdenken kan nicht eher, wenigstens nicht gründlich, angewandt werden, als bis die Grundgedancken deutlich sind, und ihrer Realität oder Möglichkeit nach, welche man ihnen zuschreibet, vor bekannt angenommen werden können. […] Das analytische Nachdencken wird fruchtbarer, wenn das synthetische hinzu kommt. Das synthetische aber kan ohne irgend ein vorher gegangenes analytisches gar nicht seyn« (ibid., § 573 and § 583, my emphasis). 34 On the methodological theories within the Thomasian school and in the first half of the eighteenth century, see Giorgio Tonelli: Analysis und Synthesis in the XVIIIth Century Philosophy Prior to Kant. In: Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte 20 (1976), pp. 178–213. 35 Cf. Crusius: Weg (see note 11), § 583. 36 Cf. ibid., §§ 166–199. 37 Cf. Crusius: Entwurf (see note 15), §§ 7f.

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Let us look closer at this classification, as it will prove particularly influential in the debates on method up to the 1760s.38 According to Crusius, human understanding has access to only three kinds (»Arten«) of distinctness.39 At the lower limit of our cognitive faculty he situates the ›common distinctness‹ (»gemeine Deutlichkeit«), which is specific to unanalysed concepts issued from experience and representing the matter of our reflections. A concept that is distinct in this way can be differentiated (»unterschieden«) from any other concept. Crusius gives here the example of colours.40 This kind of distinctness is sufficient for every-day life, he argues, and, if our conscience is not ignored or contradicted, it can also be attained in the moral domain. At the higher end (»oben«),41 Crusius places the »logical« or »abstractive« distinctness (»logikalische oder die Deutlichkeit des Abstractionsweges«), which is obtained through the analysis or resolution (»Zergliederung«) of compound concepts acquired through the senses. Our senses, he claims, are »touched« or moved (»rühret«) by composite things (»zusammengesetzte Dinge«); thus, our first representation is of a concretum.42 All the determinations that do not belong to the concept in question are left out until we remain only with »what belongs to« it.43 Thus, through analysis, we attain the simplest concepts. Crusius insists that this kind of distinctness is specific to ontology (defined as the science that must attain the ›most simple concepts‹, »allereinfachsten Begriffe«), as well as to metaphysics in general, and denies that the lack of definitions or the absence of an ascribable cause bring along obscurity in metaphysics.44 Whether after having obtained the simplest concepts we should proceed according to the synthetic method remains to be established, he argues, in a statement that announces Kant’s own apparent hesitation on this subject. Further clarifications in this respect will be brought by his theory of principles. Between these two limits (»extrema«), he situates the third type of distinctness, i. e. the distinctness ›of essential content‹ (»die Deutlichkeit des wesentlichen Inhaltes«). This latter kind makes it possible to become aware of what differentiates a concept from other concepts, that is, of its parts and determinations. It is obtained by decomposing the representation of the content of a concept and also – in other sciences than ontology – through the definition of a concept.

|| 38 Cassirer regards this classification as the starting point of the ›fight‹ (›Streit‹) against Wolff’s methodology; see Ernst Cassirer: Das Erkenntnisproblem in der Philosophie und Wissenschaft der neueren Zeit. 4 vols. Darmstadt 1974, vol. 2, p. 532. 39 Cf. Crusius: Weg (see note 11), §§ 171‒173), cf. Crusius: Entwurf (see note 15), § 8. 40 Cf. ibid. 41 Cf. ibid. 42 Cf. Crusius: Weg (see note 11), § 172. 43 Cf. ibid., cf. Crusius: Entwurf (see note 15), § 8. 44 Cf. ibid., § 7f.

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Crusius laments the errors and confusions that stem from the conflation of these types of distinctness and from the desire to attain one or the other type in domains that are not suited for that precise kind of distinctness. Ontology in particular, if it does not aim at logical distinctness but pursues other goals, becomes obscure, difficult (»schwer«) and futile: instead of grounding knowledge on simple and distinct concepts, it acquires »mere relative and negative« ones, which lead to »pure circles and empty words«.45 For a correct understanding of metaphysics, Crusius argues, we should moreover admit that we cannot rely exclusively on proofs and demonstrations: on the one hand, because of the limited character of our intellect, and on the other hand, because we are also dealing with concepts that stem from experience and do not rely on the principle of contradiction alone. As soon as we leave the realm of possibility and make use of the principle of sufficient reason or of another fundamental principle probability must be considered as satisfying and sufficient. Nevertheless, he holds, metaphysics should be regarded as capable of attaining certainty because »[c]ertainty is simply something in the intellect« (»Gewissheit ist bloss etwas im Verstande«.46 Thus, Crusius disjoins certainty from necessity: not only does necessity belong to the thing (»Sache«) and certainty to our mind, he contends, but we are apt to reach certainty even if we do not have a distinct insight into the necessity of a thing or state of affairs.47 Therefore, not strictly dependent on necessity and demonstration, as Wolff and his school advanced, certainty is perfectly compatible, on Crusius’ account, with probability. This is a crucial statement for the decades to come, and especially for the 1763 prize essays. While a detailed account of his rich and subtle analysis of probability developed in chapter 9 of the Entwurf is beyond the scope of this essay, Crusius’ notion of »moral certainty«48 must be mentioned here, because it will directly influence Kant’s Inquiry. Experience provides only probable knowledge, according to Crusius, but we can sometimes be certain of it even if its opposite can be thought and is not contradictory. Probable knowledge (or the knowledge acquired through probability, »Erkenntnißweg der Wahrscheinlichkeit«) stemming from experience can be divided into three types: 1) the verisimile, which is probable in a narrow sense, that is, more plausible than its opposite; 2) the credible (»probabile« or »glaubwürdige«), which deserves to be considered true; and 3) the »morally certain«, which we cannot consider otherwise than true and certain. Thus, experience can provide a precise kind of knowledge that we take to be certain even if its necessity cannot be demon|| 45 Cf. ibid., § 8. 46 Cf. ibid., § 10. 47 »Eine deutliche Erkenntniß der Notwendigkeit einer Sache giebt zwar eine Gewißheit; aber es folgt nicht umgekehrt, daß man nicht eher Gewißheit habe, bis man die Nothwendigkeit deutlich einsiehet« (ibid., § 10). 48 Cf. ibid., §§ 360f.

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strated. Crusius gives the example of the existence of the city of Athens49 and claims that this precise type of certainty founded on experience should be added to the types of certainty grounded on demonstration and analysed in § 359 in the Entwurf.50 A decisive element of Crusius’ doctrine becomes manifest in this account, namely the fact that truth is founded on a datum of »inner sensation« (»innerliche Empfindung«51), also called the »highest mark of truth« (»obersten Kennzeichen der Wahrheit«52). It is this inner conviction that tells us that »that which cannot be thought otherwise than true is true«, while »that which cannot be thought otherwise than false is false«.53 Interestingly, he explicitly associates logical or abstractive distinctness with a finer and more accurate inner sensation. In a similar way, Crusius grounds the other ontological principles in the essence of the intellect (»Wesen des Verstandes),54 and justifies this foundation by positing a »natural drive to perfection« inherent to our soul, of which the »drive to truth« (»Wahrheitstrieb«) is a consequence.55 The principle of sufficient or determining reason applies to existing things, but the three ›highest‹ principles apply to both possible and actual or existing things; the principle of contradiction, the principle of inseparables (»Grundsatz des nicht zu trennenden«: that which cannot be thought without each other, can neither exist without each other) and the principle of incompatibles (»Grundsatz des nicht zu verbindenden«: that which cannot be thought with each other or next to each other, can neither be with or next to each other).

|| 49 Cf. ibid., § 359. 50 Crusius establishes a distinction between geometrical demonstration and what he calls the »disciplinale« demonstration, which he explains as follows: »Dahingegen [haben] die Neuern die Erfahrungen, den Satz von der zureichenden Ursache, und andere Sätze, welche unter den andern und den dritten Grundsatz der Vernunft gehören, in der Demonstration zugelassen [...]. Sie haben nemlich wahrgenommen, daß sonsten der Begriff der Demonstration in den Wissenschaften, welche reale Objecte, und nicht bloß mögliche Begriffe, z. E. Grössen, betrachten, nicht nützlich werde; und daß doch, wenn man ihn nützlich machet, der Gewißheit nicht nothwendig etwas abgehe, sondern nur dasjenige beobachtet werde, was die Natur solcher Objecte nicht anders leidet« (Crusius: Weg [see note 11], § 521). 51 Cf. ibid., § 172, cf. Crusius: Entwurf (see note 15), §§ 8, 16. 52 Cf. ibid., § 15. 53 Cf. ibid., cf. Crusius: Weg (see note 11), §§ 256, 261; 54 »[W]as sich nicht ohne einander denken läßt, das ist auch in der That mit einander verbunden: Man kan diesen den Grundsatz des nicht zu trennenden nennen. Und was sich nicht mit und neben einander denken läßt, das kan auch in der That nicht mit einander verbunden werden; Dieses kan der Grundsatz der nicht zu verbindenden heissen« (Crusius: Entwurf [see note 15], § 14). See also ibid., § 15: »Das allerhöchste Kennzeichen aber, der möglichen und wirklichen Dinge, ist das Wesen des Verstandes, daß nehmlich dasjenige nicht möglich oder wirklich sey, was sich nicht also denken läßt; und daß hingegen dasjenige möglich sey, was sich denken läßt; dasjenige aber gar nicht wirklich sey, bey dessen Leugnung man mittelbar oder unmittelbar etwas zugeben müßte, was sich nicht als wahr denken läßt«. 55 Cf. Crusius: Weg (see note 11), § 256.

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Even if Crusius hereby maintains the homogeneity between the ontological and epistemological realms by positing that the same principles apply to both domains, he emphasises the foundational role of the intellect with respect to principles. To these fundamental principles, he adds not only the principle of sufficient or determining reason, but also numerous ›material‹ principles involved in the cognition of existing beings and indemonstrable by our intellect.56 He highlights in his treatises the importance of experience, of the actual (»wirklich«) and the given, as well as the limitations of our cognitive powers – a rather common theme at the time. Nevertheless, his appeal to experience is not grounded on induction, but mostly on an abstractive and analytic procedure, as we have seen, and his emphasis on »inner sensation« does not testify to an empiricist commitment as such, his standpoint remaining within a rationalist framework. Despite this fact, his methodological views will have a large echo up to the 1760s, and this especially in a context where the new physics and empiricist theses were favoured. The significance granted to inner experience as a criterion of truth, however, will turn out to have a mixt reception and even be contested, notably in Kant’s pre-Critical philosophy.

4 Kant’s Preisschrift on Distinctness Kant’s prize essay titled Untersuchung über die Deutlichkeit der Grundsätze der natürlichen Theologie und der Moral, written in all likelihood during the last weeks of 1762, expresses his clearly anti-Wolffian convictions. Despite a hasty drafting, it summarizes a methodological perspective that had been long in the making and articulates the defining arguments of Kant’s philosophy circa 1762–1764, thus belonging to a group of closely related writings whose chronological ordering remains controversial. Kant once again sides here with doctrines opposed to the Wolffian school, and namely to the use of the mathematical method in philosophy.57 He shows a deep concern for the question of method, in which he had placed for more than a decade the only hope of »saving« metaphysics from the serious crisis it was going through.58 If other influences are undoubtedly relevant for Kant’s methodo-

|| 56 Cf. ibid., § 259. 57 See Norbert Hinske: Zwischen Aufklärung und Vernunftkritik. Studien zum Kantischen Logikcorpus. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1998, pp. 108–111. 58 See Kant’s letter to Lambert from December 31, 1765 (AA X, pp. 55–61). Lambert, who wrote a draft in response to the prize question but did not send the essay, told Kant: »The method that your writings exhibit, sir, is undeniably the only method that one can use with security and progress« (Letter to Kant, February 3, 1766, AA X, p. 63). Lambert’s response was published by Karl Bopp in 1918 under the title Über die Methode die Metaphysik, Theologie und Moral richtiger zu beweisen. Kant’s writings are cited according to the volume and page number in: Kants Gesammelte Schriften.

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logical position – such as the perspective promoted by the Berlin Academy59 – it is the role played at the time by Crusius’ conception that seems particularly significant and will be addressed in the following sections. Kant had been reading Crusius’ works for at least a decade, without however abandoning all critical distance. Even if his admiration for him would not pass the test of Kant’s mature philosophical thought, it is indisputable that Crusian philosophy was still decisive for Kant in 1762, and some of Crusius’ intuitions would prove consequential in the elaboration of Kant’s main critical theses. Kant came fairly early into contact with his writings: by 1755, he had read closely a Crusian text published in Leipzig in 1743, Dissertatio philosophica de usu and limitibus principii rationis determinantis, vulgo sufficientis. The Nova Dilucidatio discusses in detail the theses developed by Crusius in this work and takes up the criticism of the supremacy of the principle of contradiction in Wolffian philosophy. At the beginning of the 1760s, Kant also became aware of Crusius’ main treatises, that is of his Ethics,60 and of his Metaphysics and Logic. In a 1760 letter to Ludwig Ernst Borowski,61 Kant wrote that he wanted to keep for some time the copy of Crusius’ Metaphysics that the latter had lent him, in order to read it more thoroughly before purchasing his own copy. It is thus legitimate to situate to the beginning of the 1760s the more attentive reading of Crusius’ treatises and closely link the development of Kant’s reflection of the time to certain central theses encountered there. Crusius’ thought was familiar to Kant thanks to the previous reading of the dissertation De usu, but the overall picture and the finer and more diverse articulations of his conception became accessible to him only from 1760 onward. His admiration for Crusius was still intact in 1762, and Kant, who in the Nova Dilucidatio (1755) and in later works used to call him »the celebrated Crusius«,62 »the most distinguished and penetrating Crusius«,63 »this great man«, one of the »most penetrating philosophers of our time«,64 pays him homage in the Inquiry: I have deemed it necessary here to mention the method of this new philosophy. It quickly became so famous and it has been so widely admitted to have been instrumental in clarifying

|| Ed. by Deutsche (formerly Königlich-Preussische) Akademie der Wissenschaften. Berlin 1900ff. I will use the English translation provided in Kant: Theoretical Philosophy (see note 2). 59 Mariano Campo: La genesi del criticismo kantiano. Varese 1953, especially pp. 312 sq. 60 Cf. Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Leipzig 1744. 61 Letter to Ludwig Ernst Borowski, June 6, 1760 (AA X, p. 33). 62 See for instance, AA I, pp. 393, 396, 397; AA II, p. 168. 63 AA I, p. 398, p. 405. 64 AA I, p. 128.

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many of the things we know that it would have been a major omission not to have mentioned it in a work which is concerned with metaphysics in general.65

The very core of the Kantian argumentation about philosophical method and the certainty attainable in metaphysics is related to the Crusian approach. Kant establishes a real kinship with his predecessor: I shall briefly indicate the true character of the first fundamental truths of metaphysics; at the same time, I shall offer a brief account of the true content of Crusius’ method, which is not as different from that of the philosophy contained in this treatise as may, perhaps, be thought.66

Indeed, he invokes Crusius in the last paragraph of the third reflection devoted to metaphysical certainty and chooses to present his own conclusions in a double movement of endorsement and revision of Crusius’ theses. In the introduction to his Inquiry, Kant sets himself the goal of showing »the true degree of certainty to which [metaphysics] may aspire, as well as the path by which the certainty may be attained«.67 The method he wishes to establish is meant to achieve the highest possible degree of certainty in metaphysics and is regarded as an essential condition to fully grasp »the nature of this kind of conviction (»Überzeugung«).68 As we can see, from the very first lines we come up against an ambiguity that will remain constant throughout the text: is metaphysical certainty (or philosophical certainty – Kant will unify the two) different in kind from other types of certainty, or only in degree? To articulate this new method, which he considers apt to »unite reflective minds in a single effort«,69 Kant implicitly appeals to two fundamental theses of Crusius’ thought, namely the requirement to rely on the given, that is, on experience, and the conviction of the fundamental limitation of human understanding, incapable of grasping reality in its ultimate determinations. Kant presents his methodological reflection as grounded only on principles which he regards as »assured, based on experience and on the consequences which immediately follow«. The first step he takes is to distinguish carefully between the method proper to mathematics and the method suitable for philosophy, since, Kant argues, »nothing has been more detrimental to philosophy than mathematics, and in particular, the imitation of its method in contexts where it cannot possibly be employed«.70 In order to illustrate this radical heterogeneity, Kant makes a detailed comparison between the two disciplines and their specific procedures, a comparison which presents an obvious kin-

|| 65 AA II, p. 293n. 66 AA II, p. 294. 67 AA II, p. 275. 68 Ibid. 69 Ibid. 70 AA II, p. 283.

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ship with the paragraphs devoted to this question in Crusius’ Metaphysics71 and Logic.72

5 Philosophy and Mathematics The differences between philosophy and mathematics are deemed »substantial and essential«73 and they concern the acquisition of knowledge, the specific object and task of each science, as well as the features of the certainty that they can attain. On Kant’s account, mathematics constructs its concepts through arbitrary combination and starts with the definition, which gives the concept of the object. Philosophy, on the contrary, where the concept of a thing is given at the outset but »confusedly or in an insufficiently determinate fashion« proceeds by abstraction »from knowledge that analysis has made distinct«.74 Thus, the proper task of philosophy is to render given concepts determined and complete through analysis; the task of mathematics, whose approach is synthetic, is to combine and compare constructed concepts of magnitude in order to establish what can be further inferred. Mathematics uses signs instead of things and considers universal rules in concreto, while philosophy uses words and represents the universal in abstracto; it focuses on the »thing itself«. In mathematics, there are very few, if any, unanalysable concepts, because the mathematician »defines by arbitrary combination, and the thought of that object first becomes possible in virtue of that arbitrary combination«.75 The approach is entirely different in philosophy and necessarily presupposes analysis. In the analysis of a confusedly-given concept, philosophy inevitably arrives at a considerable number of concepts that are unanalysable or partially unanalysable, and the indemonstrable propositions which constitute its foundation as a science are also infinite. In mathematics, on the contrary, there are only a few indemonstrable propositions, Kant argues. Philosophy deals with data that the intellect perceives immediately and that serve to form a primitive, indemonstrable judgement. The studied object is likewise distinct: in mathematics, it is magnitude, in philosophy, quality. »There are infinitely many qualities which constitute the real object of philosophy, and distinguishing them from each other is an extremely strenuous business«.76

|| 71 Cf. Crusius: Entwurf (see note 15), § 115. 72 Cf. Crusius: Weg (see note 11), § 10. 73 AA II, pp. 280, 283. 74 AA II, p. 276. 75 AA II, p. 280. 76 AA II, p. 282.

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On Kant’s account, the method that allows philosophy to achieve the highest possible degree of certainty is based on two rules: 1) one should never start with definitions, but first seek in the given concept what one is immediately certain of, draw conclusions from it and acquire true and certain judgements; and 2) what is known as certain must be distinguished from other cognitions: immediate judgements about the object must be »distinguished« by relating them to what was first encountered as certain in it, and these judgements should become the foundation of further inferences.77 Kant advances here an analytical process inspired explicitly not only by Crusius, but also by the Newtonian method, an exemplary methodological paradigm in the eighteenth century: »The true method of metaphysics is basically the same as that introduced by Newton into natural science«.78 »Likewise« metaphysics, defined as »a philosophy which deals with the first foundations of our knowledge«, must ground its approach, according to Kant, on the data of experience. It must seek, by a »certain« or »immediate and self-evident inner consciousness«,79 the marks of the given concept. Even if the nature or complete essence of a thing may not be grasped by our finite understanding, these marks are sufficient to allow reliable further inferences about the thing itself. Mathematics and metaphysics are undoubtedly two distinct sciences, each with its specific object and method. Kant consequently denies the universal character of the demonstrative method and supports the possibility of scientificity independently of demonstration. Nevertheless, the relationship between philosophy and mathematics remains ambivalent in the Untersuchung: even if Kant postulates the heterogeneity of these two sciences and philosophy is associated with physics on account of the role conferred to experience and data, mathematics continues to embody in his eyes the ideal and the model of scientificity.80

6 The Ambivalent Role of Crusius’ Methodology: The Theory of Principles The question of the general or rational principles on which metaphysical certainty is based is treated by Kant in close connection to Crusius’ position. In line with Crusius, Kant disputes the pre-eminence of the principle of contradiction and holds || 77 Cf. AA II, p. 285. 78 AA II, p. 286. 79 Ibid. 80 On mathematics as Wissenschaftsideal, see Hans-Jürgen Engfer: Philosophie als Analysis. Studien zur Entwicklung philosophischer Analysiskonzeptionen unter dem Einfluß mathematischer Methodenmodelle im 17. und frühen 18. Jahrhundert. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1982, pp. 55–61.

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that there are two formal principles which »together constitute the supreme universal principles, in the formal sense of the term, of human reason in its entirety«:81 the principle of identity for affirmative propositions, and the principle of contradiction for negative propositions. To these, Kant adds what he calls, following Crusius, material principles – and it is here that Crusius’ valuable contribution is most evident. Material principles are defined as indemonstrable propositions, they are said to be very numerous and conceived as immediately subsumed under the first formal principles. Moreover, they constitute »the foundation of human reason and the guarantor of its stability«. They provide, on Kant’s account, »the stuff of definitions and, even when one is not in possession of a definition, the data from which conclusions can be reliably drawn«.82 In the third consideration dealing with the nature of metaphysical certainty, Kant defends three theses: metaphysical certainty is of a different nature than mathematical (geometrical) certainty, but can attain the same degree as the certainty of the fundamental truths of rational knowledge in general; finally, metaphysical certainty is sufficient to produce conviction. Without endorsing the rather elaborate classification of certainty in Crusius’ Logic, Kant adopts its central statements. He agrees with Crusius83 that, despite a clear difference in kind, philosophical certainty is just as »assured« and »complete« as geometric certainty. Even the negative Kantian definition of certainty is inspired by the negative form proposed by Crusius: »One is certain if one knows that it is impossible that a cognition should be false«.84 For all these reasons, Kant insists, including the means by which we attain it, mathematical certainty is different in kind from metaphysical certainty.85 Less intuitive, using general and abstract concepts, and built on confused given concepts, metaphysical certainty is more difficult to achieve and more prone to error. Kant presumably attempts here, even if still hesitantly, to shield certainty from a conviction understood only in a subjective, psychological way. It is through »rational«, »general« principles that metaphysics can be certain, and experience is said to provide many examples.86 However, because of the limitation of our intellect, caution is needed: one must never venture to judge and give definitions hastily, but must seek certain and distinct knowledge. After having established the radical distinction of the methods, tasks and objects in mathematics and philosophy, and argued for the specificity of the proper

|| 81 AA II, p. 294. 82 AA II, p. 295. 83 Cf. Crusius: Entwurf (see note 15), § 234. 84 AA II, p. 290. 85 See for example AA II, pp. 290f. 86 On the question of experience in the Untersuchung, see Karin de Boer: Kant’s Inquiries into a New Touchstone for Metaphysical Truths. In: The Experiential Turn in Eighteenth-Century German Philosophy. Ed. by Karin de Boer and Tinca Prunea-Bretonnet. London 2021, pp. 274–296.

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philosophical method, Kant thus concludes in a somewhat puzzling way that certainty in each of these sciences can attain the same degree. He holds that the formal and material grounds of certainty are not »different in kind« in metaphysics and geometry: the formal element is governed in both sciences by the principle of contradiction, and both sciences ground their inferences on indemonstrable foundations which are equally certain: mathematics on definitions, metaphysics on indemonstrable propositions which »provide the primary data«. This is why, on his account, the certainty in both sciences »may be just as great«87 and suffices to produce conviction: Metaphysics therefore has no formal or material grounds which are different in kind from those of geometry […]. Metaphysics is as much capable of the certainty which is necessary to produce conviction as mathematics. The only difference is that mathematics is easier and more intuitive in character.88

It seems, nevertheless, that by the last statement, Kant weakens the difference between metaphysical certainty and mathematical certainty, a difference that he had attempted to argue for throughout the Untersuchung. It seems that, still a prisoner of his admiration for Newton and for the mathematical model, Kant remained convinced that mathematical certainty is the scientific ideal to be pursued in all domains. At the point in which he postulates the radical distinction between the logical realm and reality, between the possible and the actual, and regards the proper philosophical method as the only way to save metaphysics, Kant seemingly still hesitates. I believe, however, that Kant endorses here Crusius’ understanding of certainty: independent of necessity or demonstration, certainty is said to be attainable in other sciences than mathematics because it ultimately belongs to the intellect. The means to achieve it might be different, but its degree can be the same, as is its result, namely conviction. Nevertheless, the absence of Crusius’ nuanced division of certainty which takes into account the distinction between metaphysics and mathematics, prevents Kant’s conclusion in this respect from being fully consistent and coherent with his claims about the specificity of the philosophical method. Similarly, in the end, Kant’s methodological position seems to lack clarity and to fail to advance an uncompromising solution. In the conclusion to the second reflection, he apparently maintains an undecided use for the synthetic method in metaphysics, even if he clearly advances the epistemic primacy of analysis. In a controversial statement that echoes Crusius’ views on the collaboration between the two main methods, he writes:

|| 87 AA II, p. 296. 88 Ibid.

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Metaphysics has a long way to go yet before it can proceed synthetically. It will only be when analysis has helped us towards concepts which are understood distinctly and in detail that it will be possible for synthesis to subsume compound cognitions under the simplest cognition, as it happens in mathematics.89

Many commentators consider this passage to prove that Kant fails to set himself free from the rationalist frame of the Wolffian school,90 despite his ambition to articulate a novel, Newtonian, account of the philosophical method. I rather hold his conclusion on the proper method in philosophy to ironically dismiss the synthetic procedure associated with Wolff’s position and to signal the beginning of a new period. And this despite the undeniable influence of Crusius’ suggestion to combine both methods. Kant’s tone is perhaps more palpable in German: »Es ist noch lange die Zeit nicht, in der Metaphysik synthetisch zu verfahren.« Thus, his intention in the Untersuchung is, in my view, not to complete the analytic method by a synthetic procedure in the future but, on the contrary, to depart from Crusius’ more consensual methodological views by radicalising their spirit and clearly arguing for analysis – and analysis alone – as the proper philosophical method. Let us underline, by way of conclusion, a final aspect of the relationship between Kant and Crusius, as it appears in the Untersuchung. Despite the admiration and praise abundantly displayed and the numerous borrowings, Kant does not consider Crusius’ conception a consistent metaphysical theory after all. His verdict is clear: »Metaphysics is arguably the most difficult of all human knowledge, but one has never yet been written«.91 What Kant contests in the first place is the relevance of the highest principle that grounds certainty and in fact the whole theory of truth in Crusius’ philosophy: »What cannot be thought as other than true is true«,92 For Kant, to postulate such a principle amounts to making subjective conviction the criterion of truth, to mistaking a »feeling of conviction« which Kant defines as the »avowal« of the truth of these indemonstrable principles for the ground of truth, for »an argument« that establishes the truth of cognitions. Kant agrees with Crusius that the »correctness« of the supreme material principles can be »established by appealing to the nature of our understanding« and also holds that their indemonstrable character means not only that they are immediately thought under the formal principles, but also that »they cannot be thought in any other way«93 and that

|| 89 AA II, p. 290. 90 See, for instance, Hermann Jan de Vleeschauwer: The Development of Kantian Thought. London 1962; see also Michael Friedman: Kant and the Exact Sciences. Cambridge (MA) 1992, p. 21. 91 AA II, p. 283. 92 AA II, p. 294f. 93 AA II, p. 294.

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their status (of supreme material principles) is »obvious to every human understanding«.94 Nevertheless, he explicitly rejects Crusius’ »highest mark of truth«:95 It is my conviction, however, that a number of the principles adduced by Crusius are open to doubt, and, indeed, to serious doubt. This celebrated man proposes setting up a supreme rule to govern all cognition and therefore metaphysical cognition as well. The supreme rule is this: what cannot be thought as other than true is true, etc. However, it can easily be seen that this proposition can never be a ground of the truth of any cognition.96

Regrettably, Kant does not give further details on this point. He merely brings up this issue, but does not insist here on this weakness of Crusius’ doctrine – although it is so central that it calls into question the whole edifice – nor does he propose a convincing alternate criterion for certainty.97 In the following years, Crusius’ principle of truth proved to be the main stumbling block which caused Kant to distance himself more and more from his predecessor and adopt an increasingly critical attitude. He would call this rule, almost every time he mentions its author, a qualitas occulta invalidating all Crusian logic and justifying the rejection of his position. It was indeed impossible for Kant to endorse, especially in the critical period, a logical conception so strongly based on psychological criteria. Critical remarks against Crusius were to become more and more sarcastic and follow a reverse trend to those about Wolff. Moreover, Kant never chose a Crusian textbook in his teaching, despite the fact that many of the professors at the Albertina based their lessons on Crusius’ works. His admiration for Crusius did not survive beyond 1770.

|| 94 AA II, p. 295. 95 Cf. Crusius: Entwurf (see note 15), § 15. 96 AA II, p. 298. 97 Contrast with Friedman: Kant and the Exact Sciences (see note 90), esp. pp. 22–24.

Andree Hahmann

Crusius’ Critique of the Leibniz-Wolffian Ontology and Cosmology In a letter to Remond dated July 1714, Leibniz writes: Mr. Wolff has embraced some of my views […], and since we have not had much communication with each other concerning philosophical questions, he would scarcely know anything of my thoughts other than what I have published myself. I have seen what young students wrote under his direction; I find much good among these, but also positions with which I do not agree.1

As Leibniz points out shortly before his death (1716), most of the correspondence with Wolff was devoted to mathematical topics. Nevertheless, this does not mean that they did not correspond about philosophical questions at all, as Wolff emphasizes in his Lebensbeschreibungen, where he distinguishes his philosophical approach from that of Leibniz.2 However, as we can see from the above quote, Leibniz does not agree with everything Wolff apparently taught his students. One must wonder therefore to what Leibniz is pointing in this short remark given that it was important enough for him to explicitly mention his disagreement. Although it is impossible to determine what exactly Leibniz had in mind here, we will see that for our purpose it is worth considering in more detail the points where Wolff refuses to fully embrace Leibniz’ position.

|| 1 Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Die Philosophischen Schriften. Vol. III. Ed. by C. I. Gerhardt. Hildesheim 1978 (reprint Berlin 1887), p. 619: »Monsieur Wolfius est entré dans quelques uns de mes sentimens; […] et que nous n’avons pas eu beaucoup de communication ensemble sur la philosophie, il ne sauroit connoitre presque de mes sentimens que ce que j’en ay publié. J’ay vû quelque chose que des jeunes gens avoient écrit sous luy; j’y trouvay bien du bon, il y avoit pourtant des endroits dont je ne convenois pas.« For a useful collection of Leibnizian texts in English translation, see Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Philosophical Essays. Ed. and translated by Roger Ariew and Daniel Garber. Indianapolis, Cambridge 1989. Consider that among Christian Wolff’s major writings so far only the German Logic had appeard (Vernünfftige Gedancken von den Kräfften des menschlichen Verstandes und ihrem richtigen Gebrauche in Erkäntnis der Wahrheit. Halle 1713). The German Metaphysics followed a few years later (Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen, auch allen Dingen überhaupt, den Liebhabern der Wahrheit mitgetheilet. Halle 1720). For what Wolff might have read of Leibniz, how he came into contact with Leibniz, and his actual sources, see Charles A. Corr: Christian Wolff and Leibniz. In: Journal of the History of Ideas 36.2 (1975), pp. 241–262; here pp. 244–249. 2 See Max Wundt: Die deutsche Schulphilosophie im Zeitalter der Aufklärung. Tübingen 1945, p. 129, who points to Lebensbeschreibungen, pp. 142f. and Corr: Christian Wolff and Leibniz (see note 1), pp. 242–243. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-003

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We know that Wolff was indeed familiar with Leibniz’ key philosophical assumptions. He knew, for example, about Leibniz’ conception of pre-established harmony fairly early.3 Also other important parts of Wolff’s metaphysics, not least his ontology, reveal a considerable influence by Leibniz and his conception of monads. But it should also be noted that both ideas, i. e. pre-established harmony and monads, were highly contested among Leibniz’ and Wolff’s immediate followers in the 18th century.4 So it is not surprising that, for example, Kant much later praises himself for having finally succeeded in overcoming these two remnants of the Leibniz-Wolffian5 philosophy with his own critical approach. Although Kant occasionally distinguishes between the two, and his praise of Wolff’s schoolmasterly thoroughness has shaped the general impression of Wolff’s philosophy even until the 20th century, Kant is for the most part not so much interested in highlighting the differences between the two thinkers correctly. He thus stands in a tradition that goes back to Wolff’s first students, who very likely introduced the term LeibnizWolffian philosophy to support their claims to being part of a uniform philosophical school. This idea has been firmly established up to the present day, despite the considerable differences that have been identified between Leibniz and Wolff.6 However, this perspective on the relationship between Leibniz and Wolff becomes problematic if one turns to Crusius and his critique of the philosophical approaches of Leibniz and Wolff. Contrary to what has been assumed in research so far,7 Crusius

|| 3 Christian Wolff: Dissertatio methodum serierum infinitarum sistens. Leipzig 1705, Coroll. 6. 4 See Eric Watkins: Kant and the Metaphysics of Causality. Cambridge 2005 and Andree Hahmann: Kritische Metaphysik der Substanz. Kant im Widerspruch zu Leibniz. Berlin, New York 2009. 5 Indeed, Wolff did not appreciate the term Leibniz-Wolffian philosophy and tried to distance himself from Leibniz. The term has been traced back to Bilfinger and was later adopted by Hartmann and Ludovici. For a detailed discussion with further references to literature, see Sonia Carboncini: Christian August Crusius und die Leibniz-Wolffsche Philosophie. In: Beiträge zur Wirkungs- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. Ed. by Albert Heinekamp. Stuttgart 1986, pp. 110–125, here pp. 110–112. As Carboncini (ibid., pp. 112f.) points out, Crusius did not use the term Leibniz-Wolffian Systema before 1753. For a critical discussion of the relationship between Wolff and Leibniz, see Corr: Christian Wolff and Leibniz (see note 1); Dirk Effertz: Zur Monade bei Leibniz und Wolff. In: Studia Leibnitiana 46.1 (2014), pp. 64–75; Hans Poser: Zum Begriff der Monade bei Leibniz und Wolff. In: Akten des 11. Internationalen Leibniz-Kongresses. Vol. III, Wiesbaden 1975, pp. 383– 395. Especially for the historical context and development of the notion of monad, see Hanns-Peter Neumann: Monaden im Diskurs. Stuttgart 2013. 6 For a good overview of the major differences concerning the distinct parts of philosophy, see Corr: Christian Wolff and Leibniz (see note 1). For a slightly more balanced conclusion, see Effertz: Monade bei Leibniz und Wolff (see note 5), p. 75. 7 Finster emphasizes »daß Crusius nicht im erforderlichen Maße zwischen Leibniz und Wolff unterscheidet. Dies wiegt um so schwerer als die Wolffische ›Ablehnung der Monadenlehre die entscheidende Differenz zwischen Leibniz und Wolff‹ darstellt« (Reinhard Finster: Zur Kritik von Christian August Crusius an der Theorie der einfachen Substanzen bei Leibniz und Wolff. In: Studia Leibnitiana 18.1 (1986), pp. 72–82, here pp. 81f.). Finster quotes from Poser: Zum Begriff der Monade (see

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indeed sharply distinguishes between his two predecessors and points precisely to where Leibniz differs from Wolff. As I want to show in this paper, Crusius’ critique essentially draws on these differences, providing the foundation for his own aim of establishing an alternative metaphysics to both Leibniz and Wolff. In particular, I argue that Crusius’ objections against Leibniz’ ontology and cosmology turn on the claim that they are contrary to ›sane reason‹ (›gesunde Vernunft‹), that is, a reason which abstains from metaphysical abstraction and is founded in experience,8 whereas his arguments against Wolff point to the failure to establish a coherent philosophical system.9 It should be noted that Wolff praises himself for having accomplished this in contrast to Leibniz who, in Wolff’s view, did not succeed in integrating his ideas into a systematic whole.10 We are dealing therefore with two distinct strategies by which Crusius wants to distinguish his account from his predecessors’ and therefore establish his own philosophical system in contrast to theirs. In short, Wolff’s failure to establish a coherent philosophical system together with Leibniz’ paradoxical account provides an important starting point for Crusius’ discussion of ontology and cosmology. For this reason, my discussion will pick up on the differences between Wolff and Leibniz and then look in more detail at Crusius’ criticism of his predeces|| note 5), p. 385 to highlight the importance of the conception of monad regarding the differences between Wolff and Leibniz. Although Carboncini: Crusius und die Leibniz-Wolffsche Philosophie (see note 5) is generally more careful in assessing Crusius’ view of his predecessors and also suggests that Crusius in fact emphasized the differences between Leibniz and Wolff, she wonders why Crusius did not use the term philosophia Leibnitio-Wolffiana (ibid., p. 118). On her view, the reason for this is that Crusius identifies a certain philosophical attitude both in Leibniz and Wolff that Crusius eventually traces back to the Stoics. Although this might be true I want to show in this paper that the differences between Leibniz and Wolff are actually also important for Crusius’ argumentation as such. 8 According to Raffaella Ciafardone: Über das Primat der praktischen Vernunft vor der theoretischen bei Thomasius und Crusius mit Beziehung auf Kant. In: Studia Leibnitiana 14.1 (1983), pp. 127–135, here p. 128 »›Recta ratio‹, ›Gesunde Vernunft‹ sind die Ausdrücke, die die Philosophen und Theologen, und besonders Thomasius, Rüdiger, Crusius anwenden, um das Erkenntnisvermögen zu bezeichnen, das sich der eigenen Grenzen bewußt ist, sich von den metaphysischen Abstraktionen fernhält und in Erfahrung wurzelt. Die gesunde Vernunft wird dadurch zur Grundlage des gesamten Denkens der Aufklärung und der kritischen Philosophie selbst.« 9 Contrary to Carboncini: Crusius und die Leibniz-Wolffsche Philosophie (see note 5), p. 114, who argues that Crusius develops his whole approach in antithesis to the Leibniz-Wolffian philosophy understood as a whole, I want to show that at least regarding Crusius’ conception of simple substance and his conception of the world, he not only seems to navigate carefully between Leibniz’ and Wolff’s accounts but also builds his position by picking up on the problems he identifies with their approaches. My presentation therefore provides a more nuanced view of the relationship between these three thinkers and also sheds light on how much Crusius’ own account depends on his predecessors’ views. 10 For the importance of the term ›system‹ for Wolff, see Corr: Christian Wolff and Leibniz (see note 1), pp. 251f.

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sors’ main ontological and cosmological assumptions. This will shed light both on Crusius’ unique account of physical elements and how they are united to constitute a world. I will show in particular how Crusius develops the following three theses in clear demarcation and opposition to Leibniz and Wolff:11 Firstly, according to Crusius, one must sharply distinguish between the simple substances that underlie material bodies and the soul both concerning their essential powers and their material constitution. Secondly, physical elements must have a specific shape and fill a space in order to account for the physical world. Thirdly, all substances must be in a state of physical interaction in order to constitute a world. I proceed in the following way. I begin by briefly outlining Wolff’s basic ontological and cosmological ideas and by contrasting them with Leibniz’. Then, I address Crusius’ critique of Wolff’s and Leibniz’ ontology. We will see that Crusius not only notices the fundamental differences between Wolff and Leibniz but also adopts some of Wolff’s ideas. The last section is devoted to Crusius’ critical discussion of his predecessors’ cosmology and will present Crusius’ alternative account based on his conception of physical influence.

1 Wolff’s Deviations from Leibniz Although Wolff is eager to distinguish his philosophy from Leibniz, he praises himself for having systematized Leibniz’ philosophy and thus made it suitable for its use in the philosophical schools.12 According to Wundt, this is one of the major accom-

|| 11 The fact that Crusius developed his philosophy in constant opposition to Wolff has already been noted by Raffaele Ciafardone: Von der Kritik an Wolff zum vorkritischen Kant. Wolff-Kritik bei Rüdiger und Crusius. In: Christian Wolff 1679–1754. Interpretationen zu seiner Philosophie und deren Wirkung. Studien zum achtzehnten Jahrhundert 4. Ed. by Werner Schneiders. Hamburg 1983, pp. 289–305, here p. 296, who stresses that: »Crusius ist der einzige deutsche Denker, dessen Philosophie aus seiner fortwährenden Auseinandersetzung mit Wolff entsteht.« Ciafardone, however, does not consider that the same applies to Crusius’ relationship to Leibniz, although in a different way as we will see. 12 Christian Wolff: Vorrede zur deutschen Übersetzung des Briefwechsels Leibniz – Clarke vom 16. September 1720. In: Heinrich Köhler: Merckwürdige Schrifften. Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1720: »I have brought the most noble of my thoughts into correct order in the book von Gott/ der Welt und der Seele des Menschen/ and one finds there also Leibniz’ truths combined as links in a chain. Lord Leibniz provided his metaphysical thoughts especially in his Theodicee, and in these present letters: however, because he speaks of these only coincidentally/ and does not conclude them from their first reasons/ I do not wonder/ if many do not fully understand them/ nor see their certainty. Meanwhile, since in my vernünfftigen Gedancken von Gott/ der Welt und der Seele des Menschen/ auch allen Dingen überhaupt/ I have derived the metaphysical truths of the Lord Leibniz from their first reasons; so one will understand both the Theodicy, as well as present writings, much better and more thoroughly/ if one applies more diligence and time to my metaphysics« (»Das vornehmste von

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plishments of Wolff’s philosophy and basically the reason why some of Leibniz’ ideas essentially shaped German philosophy during the 18th century.13 To point out therefore, as Crusius does, that Wolff has failed to provide such a coherent philosophical system would actually be a serious objection to Wolff’s overall approach. Moreover, there are important differences between Leibniz and Wolff, as becomes clear especially with respect to their conception of simple substances and the question of how they can be united to form a world.14 Wolff knows that Leibniz calls his simple substances monads.15 He is also familiar with Leibniz’ basic arguments for the existence of these monads. Indeed, he seems to have adopted the more simple and fundamental arguments; most importantly, Wolff infers from the existence of composite things to the existence of simples.16 However, Wolff is hesitant to call these simples monads. Instead, he chooses the term ›element‹ for the substances underlying physical bodies17 and ›soul‹ for || meinen Gedancken habe ich dem Buche von GOtt/ der Welt und der Seele des Menschen in eine richtige Ordnung gebracht/ und findet man daselbst in meiner Kette auch die Leibnitzischen Wahrheiten als Glieder. Der Herr von Leibnitz hat sonderlich in seiner Theodicee, und in diesen gegenwärtigen Brieffen seine metaphysischen Gedancken eröffnet: allein da er nur zufälliger Weise davon redet/ und sie nicht aus den ersten Gründen ausführet/ so wundere ich mich nicht/ wenn viele sie nicht völlig verstehen/ noch ihre Gewisheit einsehen. Unterdessen da ich in meinen vernünfftigen Gedancken von Gott/ der Welt und der Seele des Menschen/ auch allen Dingen überhaupt/ zugleich die metaphysischen Wahrheiten des Herrn von Leibnitz aus ihren ersten Gründen hergeleitet; so wird man sowohl die Theodicee, als gegenwärtige Schreiben viel besser und gründlicher verstehen/ wenn man gehörigen Fleiß und Zeit auf meine Metaphysick gewendet«). 13 Wundt: Die deutsche Schulphilosophie (see note 2), pp. 149, 199f. Wundt also emphasizes that Wolff thus picks up on and advances positions from scholastic philosophy (ibid., p. 152). For a critical assessment of this traditional view on the relationship between Leibniz and Wolff, see Corr: Christian Wolff and Leibniz (see note 1). 14 For the special importance of the question of monads in this respect, see Poser: Zum Begriff der Monade (see note 5), Hahmann: Kritische Metaphysik (see note 4) and Effertz: Monade bei Leibniz und Wolff (see note 5). 15 Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Monadologie. In: Die Philosophischen Schriften. Vol. VI. Ed. by C. I. Gerhardt. Hildesheim 1978 (reprint Berlin 1885), pp. 607–623. For a brief discussion of Leibniz’ conception of monads, see Effertz: Monade bei Leibniz und Wolff (see note 5), pp. 64–67 and Hahmann: Kritische Metaphysik (see note 4), pp. 11–16. For a more detailed discussion, see Anthony Savile: Leibniz and the Monadology. London 2000, pp. 63–102. See also Neumann: Monaden im Diskurs (see note 5). 16 Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen, auch allen Dingen überhaupt [Deutsche Metaphysik]. In: Gesammelte Werke, Abt. 1 (German texts). Vol. 2.1. Ed. by Charles A. Corr. 4. Reprint. Hildesheim 2009 (Halle 1751), § 76; Philosophia prima, sive Ontologia, methodo scientifica pertractata, qua omnis cognitionis humanae principia continentur. In: Gesammelte Werke. Abt. 2. (Latin texts). Vol. 6. Ed. by Jean École. 4. Reprint. Hildesheim 2011 (Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1736), § 686: »Si entia composita dantur, simplicia etiam dentur necesse est«. 17 Christian Wolff: Cosmologia generalis, methodo scientifica pertractata, qua ad solidam, inprimis Dei atque naturae, cognitionem via sternitur. In: Gesammelte Werke. Abt. 2 (Latin writings). Vol. 4.

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simple mental substances.18 As such this does not account for a big difference between both thinkers.19 But it looks different as soon as we consider the essential nature of these elements. First of all, Wolff agrees with Leibniz that spatial extension, size, shape, and motion can only be attributed to composites. Consequently, a simple thing can have neither shape nor size; it does not fill space and cannot be moved.20 However, this raises the question of how to distinguish simple elements from each other. Clearly, they cannot be differentiated on account of their spatial position because space itself for Wolff results from the positional relationships of simple substances. Moreover, being simple and thus not extended, they cannot differ by external features. As substances they do however have an internal source of change, that is, a power or force (»Kraft«) and,21 as we shall see in what follows, it is because of this internal state that simple things differ from each other.22 Leibniz famously holds that the internal state of a simple substance can only be ideal, and he identifies this internal state with a representational state.23 The monads are thus essentially non-physical, atoms of nature, endowed with a representa-

|| Ed. by Jean École. Hildesheim 1962 (Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1737), §§ 181, 182; Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), §§ 584, 604. 18 Ibid. §§ 747, 753. 19 However, as Effertz: Monade bei Leibniz und Wolff (see note 5), pp. 66f. points out, Wolff deliberately rejects the term monad in order to highlight the differences between his and Leibniz’ account. 20 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 81; Wolff: Cosmologia (see note 17), § 184; Wolff: Ontologia (see note 16), §§ 682, 675, 677, 679: »Simplex nullum spatium implere potest« 21 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 114: »Namely, a thing that exists for itself or a substance is that which has the source of its changes within it« (»Nemlich ein vor sich bestehendes Ding oder eine Substanz ist dasjenige, welches die Quelle seiner Veränderungen in sich hat«); § 115: »The source of change is called a force (power); and such a force (power) is found in each thing that exists for itself« (»Die Quelle der Veränderungen nennet man eine Krafft; und solchergestalt findet sich in einem jeden vor sich bestehenden Dinge eine Kraft«). The English translation of Kraft is problematic insofar as the German Kraft also refers to spiritual powers, such as the representational power. 22 Wolff: Cosmologia (see note 16), §§ 776, 777; Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), §§ 107, 125, 585: »The simple things that make up the elements of the world cannot be distinguished from each other in any other way than by their inner state [...]. The state of a thing is the degree of its limitation (§ 121). And thus they are distinguished from each other by the degree of limitation« (»Es können demnach die einfachen Dinge, welche die Elemente der Welt ausmachen, nicht anders von einander unterschieden werden, als durch ihren inneren Zustand […]. Der Zustand eines Dinges ist die Art seiner Einschränckung (§. 121). Und demnach sind sie durch die Art der Einschränckung von einander unterschieden«). 23 Leibniz: Monadologie (see note 15), §§ 8, 9, 14, 15, 17. See also Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Discours de Métaphysique. In: Die Philophischen Schriften. Vol. IV. Ed. by C. I. Gerhardt. Hildesheim 1978 (reprint Berlin 1880), pp. 427–463, § 9. For a good discussion of the different aspects of Leibnizian monads, see Savile: Leibniz and the Monadology (see note 15), especially pp. 81–119.

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tional power. How does Wolff conceive of this internal state of simple substances? Firstly, he emphasizes that the individual elements are distinct from each other due to their unique limitation of force or power.24 Given, however, that also for Leibniz the representational power is restrained on account of the finite nature of monads and thus provides a distinct or limited perspective on the world, the difference between Wolff and Leibniz appears to be only marginal here as well. However, Wolff goes even further as becomes clear from his notes on the Deutsche Metaphysik: Nevertheless, I have not yet been able to determine myself to give him [Leibniz] applause regarding the doctrine of the monads. Of course, I do realize that by virtue of what I have shown in a demonstrative way regarding the general qualities, that the simple things in general, and thus also the elements, must have a power that constantly produces something changeable in them, in such a way that the difference of the state in each from all the others becomes clear: except I do not yet see any necessity why all simple things should have one kind of power. I suspect rather that there must be a power in the elements of physical things from which the power of the bodies can be derived in an understandable way, which they show along with their other changes in motion.25

|| 24 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 112; Wolff: Cosmologia (see note 17), § 201. 25 Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen, auch allen Dingen überhaupt: Anderer Theil, bestehend in ausführlichen Anmerkungen [Anmerkungen Deutsche Metaphysik]. Ed by Charles A. Corr. In: Gesammelte Werke, Abt. 1 (German writings). Vol. 3. Hildesheim 1983, § 215: »Allein dessen ungeachtet habe ich mich doch noch nicht determiniren können, ihm [Leibniz; A.H.] in der Lehre von den Monadibus Beyfall zu geben. Ich erkenne freylich wohl, vermöge dessen, was ich von den allgemeinen Eigenschafften auf eine demonstrativische Art ausgeführet, daß die einfachen Dinge überhaupt, und also auch die Elemente eine Krafft haben müssen, die in ihnen beständig etwas veränderliches hervor bringet, und zwar dergestalt, daß dadurch der Unterscheid des Zustandes in einem jeden von allen übrigen sich klärlich zeiget: allein ich sehe noch keine Nothwendigkeit, warum alle einfache Dinge einerley Art der Krafft haben sollen, und vermuthe vielmehr, es müsse in den Elementen der cörperlichen Dinge eine Krafft anzutreffen seyn, daraus sich die Krafft der Cörper, die sie nebst derselben Veränderung in der Bewegung zeigen, auf eine verständliche Weise herleiten lässet.« The note refers to Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 598: »What this actually is, what is so produced by the effects of simple things, we want to leave open for further investigation. The Lord Leibniz has the thought that in a simple thing the whole world is represented: whereby it can be comprehensibly explained how each thing can be distinguished from the other thing and how it can refer in a special way to the whole world [...]. Only I am still hesitant to accept this claim« (»Was eigentlich dieses ist, so durch die Würkung der einfachen Dinge hervorgebracht wird, wollen wir zu weiterer Untersuchung ausgesetzt seyn lassen. Der Herr von Leibnitz stehet in den Gedancken, daß in einem jeden einfachen Dinge die gantze Welt vorgestellet werde: wodurch sich begreiflich erklären lässet, wie ein jedes von dem andern unterschieden seyn kan und sich auf eine besondere Art auf die gantze Welt beziehen […]. Allein ich trage noch Bedencken dieses anzunehmen«). See also Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 599: »And from this one understands what the Lord Leibniz wants with his monads or units of nature [...]. However, since we let the investigation still be suspended for this time (§ 598); so it is enough for us that we have taught a clear concept of the Leibnizian units of nature, and at the same time have shown how they are not contrary to that which we have proved of the simple things

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Apparently, Wolff does not adopt Leibniz’ identification of the internal states of simple substances with representational states. Instead, he does not want to exclude that the elements of bodies can in principle have a distinct kind of power that also accounts for the motion of the body. However, this would indeed account for a fundamental deviation from Leibniz. As mentioned earlier, for Leibniz monads can have only one kind of power, that is, their perceptual striving. Wolff does not, in general, reject the idea that simple substances have ideal internal natures. He only confines this ideal internal nature to a special class of simple substances, namely, souls.26 This explains why, as we have seen above, Wolff distinguishes between two kinds of simple substances: on the one hand, substances that are at the same time souls with the power of representation, and, on the other, elements that are also simple but do not necessarily have ideal internal states. Given the importance of the internal nature of monads for other parts of Leibniz’ philosophical system, such as his system of pre-established harmony, it becomes clear that Wolff’s reservations about following Leibniz on this point will have significant consequences for many

|| in the world (§ 597). And if the Lord Leibniz had wanted to prove that he was not attributing impossible things to his units of nature, he would have had to prove it in such a way as we have brought out the nature of the elements. We will prove below (§ 742) that the soul belongs among the simple things and has a power to represent the world according to the state of its body in the world (§ 753). We will also show that many other simple things are possible which present the world in a less perfect way than the soul (§ 900). And thus such things are possible as Leibnizian units of nature; all that we have proved of the elements of things applies to them, and when the elements are made into these units, all simple things remain similar to each other [...] and constitute one kind of thing (§ 177)« (»Und hieraus verstehet man, was der Herr von Leibnitz mit seinen Monadibus oder Einheiten der Natur haben will […]. Jedoch, da wir für dieses mahl die Untersuchung noch ausgesetzet seyn lassen (§. 598); so ist uns genug, daß wir von den Leibnitzischen Einheiten der Natur einen deutlichen Begrif beygebracht, und zugleich gezeiget haben, wie sie demjenigen nicht zuwider sind, was wir von den einfachen Dingen in der Welt erwiesen (§. 597). Und wenn der Herr von Leibnitz hätte erweisen wollen, daß er seinen Einheiten der Natur nicht unmögliche Dinge zueignete, hätte er es auf solche Art erweisen müssen, wie wir die Beschaffenheit der Elemente heraus gebracht. Wir werden unten (§ 742) erweisen, daß die Seele unter die einfachen Dinge gehöre und eine Kraft habe sich die Welt nach dem Stande ihres Cörpers in der Welt vorzustellen (§. 753). Wir werden auch zeigen, daß noch viele andere einfache Dinge möglich sind, welche die Welt auf eine unvollkommenere Art als die Seele vorstellen (§. 900). Und demnach sind solche Dinge möglich wie die Leibnitzischen Einheiten der Natur; ihnen kommet alles zu, was wir von den Elementen der Dinge erwiesen, und wenn man die Elemente zu diesen Einheiten machet, bleiben alle einfachen Dinge einander ähnlich […] und machen eine Art der Dinge aus (§. 177)«). Wolff raises similar concerns about adopting Leibniz’ conception of the internal nature of simple substances at other places too. These concerns are discussed in more detail by Effertz: Monade bei Leibniz und Wolff (see note 5), pp. 68–70. 26 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), p. 753: »[…] since the effects of the soul arise from its power (§ 744), the soul has a power to represent the world« (»[…] da die Würckungen der Seele von ihrer Krafft herrühren (§. 744), hat die Seele eine Krafft sich die Welt vorzustellen«. Ibid., § 747.

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related topics in metaphysics and the application of the conception of simple substance. Wolff himself draws an important inference from his modified view of the internal nature of substance: Since henceforth I do not agree with Leibniz that this power should produce unclear, even dark ideas of the world, I cannot agree with his explanation of general harmony.27

Clearly then Wolff is well aware of the consequences that his modification of Leibniz’ conception of simple substance has for other parts of his metaphysics, but especially for the »explanation of general harmony« that is essential for Wolff’s conception of the world. Accordingly, Wolff does not want to rule out that there are better ways to explain this harmony aside from Leibniz’ model of pre-established harmony, although he admits that pre-established harmony is still the most plausible way to explain the relationship between body and soul.28 However, despite his reservations concerning Leibniz’ theory of pre-established harmony, it does not follow, as some interpreters assume,29 that Wolff embraces some form of physical influence instead. But how exactly does Wolff conceive of the harmonious constitution of the world? The first thing to notice is that Wolff emphasizes the close relationship both between simple things or elements themselves and between simple things and compound things. And it is this composition, i. e. between simple things and the things composed of them, that constitutes the perfection of the world for Wolff: Because all composite things of the world are connected with each other (§ 544.) and the simple things with the other simple things, so with them a composite thing is formed (§ 595); so the inner state of every simple thing must also conform to all composite things which are around the same as around a center point. And in such a way each of the simple things is in harmony with the whole world: from which the perfection of the world arises (§ 152).30

|| 27 Wolff: Anmerkungen Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 25), § 216: »Da ich nun dem Herrn von Leibnitz darinnen nicht beypflichte, daß diese Krafft undeutliche, ja dunckele Vorstellungen der Welt hervor bringet; so kan ich auch seiner Erklärung der allgemeinen Harmonie nicht beypflichten.« 28 Christian Wolff: Psychologia rationalis. In: Gesammelte Werke. Abt. II (Latin texts). Ed. by J. École. Hildesheim 1994 (2nd reprint from Leipzig 1740), § 638. As Corr: Christian Wolff and Leibniz (see note 1), p. 258 points out, »Wolff insists on the limited and distinctive character of his view of pre-established harmony […].« 29 This is assumed by Effertz: Monade bei Leibniz und Wolff (see note 5), p. 68, who points to Cosmologia (see note 17), § 207. However, Wolff does not attribute a physical influence or a moving power or force to the elements but claims that the elements contain within themselves the reason according to which »elementa a se invicem patiuntur.« The fact that Wolff’s account actually does not allow of real physical influence has been pointed out by Crusius, as we will see in what follows. 30 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 596: »Weil alle zusammengesetzte Dinge in der Welt mit einander verknüpft sind (§. 544.) und die einfachen mit denen übrigen einfachen, so mit ihnen

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By ›world‹ Wolff means »a series of changeable things [...] which are next to each other and follow each other, but which are connected to each other as a whole.«31 Things are interconnected with each other when the reason can be found in each of them for why another thing is beside it.32 In this way, all things that together form a world stand in mutual agreement with each other; this means, for example, that each contains in itself the reason for its neighboring thing. Strikingly, Wolff uses only examples of composite things to illustrate how one has to conceive of the interconnected states of things. So, for example, »the sun and the earth are connected because the earth is preserved in its changeable state by the sun«.33 Composite things, however, have the reason for their composition in the simple things, more precisely, in the limitation of the power of the elements. The reason for this is that insofar as they are simple the reason for their interconnection (»Verknüpfung«) cannot be external because there is nothing external to a simple thing which as such lacks spatial extension and therefore also a determinate shape.34 At the same time, it thus follows that each element, due to this internal reason, is in complete agreement or harmony with the whole world. To illustrate this complete agreement that constitutes the world Wolff employs the simile of a machine with which he identifies the world:

|| ein zusammengesetztes Ding ausmachen (§. 595); so muß der innere Zustand eines jeden einfachen Dinges sich auch nach allen zusammengesetzten richten, die um dasselbe als um einen Mittelpunct herum sind. Und solchergestalt stimmet jedes von den einfachen Dingen mit der gantzen Welt zusammen: woraus die Vollkommenheit der Welt erwächset (§. 152).« 31 Ibid., § 544: »[…] die Welt eine Reihe veränderlicher Dinge sey, die neben einander sind, und auf einander folgen, insgesamt aber miteinander verknüpffet sind.« For a more detailed discussion of Wolff’s conception of world, see Chang Won Kim: Der Begriff der Welt bei Wolff, Baumgarten, Crusius und Kant. Eine Untersuchung zur Vorgeschichte von Kants Weltbegriff. Frankfurt a. M. 2004, pp. 27–105. See also Hahmann: Kritische Metaphysik (see note 4), pp. 23f. 32 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 545. 33 Ibid., § 545: »Die Sonne und Erde sind mit einander verknüpfft, weil die Erde durch die Sonne in ihrem veränderlichen Zustande erhalten wird […].« Other examples that Wolff uses include rain and growth of plants (§ 545) or the example of a clock (§ 553) that we will consider in more detail below. What is essential to him, however, is that experience can teach us that there is some teleological order of the world: »It teaches it the experience that the sun is for the sake of the planets and our earth to enlighten them altogether, and in particular to warm up our earth and make it fertile. For if the sun were taken away from us, the earth would soon become a desolate and empty lump. Again, each one finds that he cannot live without air and warmth, and therefore both are here for the sake of us« (»Es lehret es die Erfahrung, daß die Sonne um der Planeten und unserer Erde willen ist, dieselben insgesamt zu erleuchten, und insonderheit auch unsere Erde zu erwärmen und fruchtbar zu machen. Denn wenn uns die Sonne weggenommen würde; so würde die Erde gar bald ein wüster und leerer Klumpen werden. Wiederum befindet ein jeder, daß er ohne Lufft und Wärme nicht leben kan, und demnach beyde uns zu Gefallen da sind«. Wolff: Anmerkungen Deutsche Metaphysik [see note 25], § 174). 34 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 595.

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For the world is also a machine. The proof is not difficult. A machine is a composite work, the movements of which are based on the type of composition. The world is also a composite thing whose changes are founded in the way it is composed.35

In his attempt to clarify this thought, Wolff employs the well-known Leibnizian example of time measurement. Leibniz had compared the system of pre-established harmony with two clocks that the watchmaker tuned to one another to ensure that they run synchronously.36 In Leibniz’ example the clocks represent body and soul or individual substances that constitute the world and which are synchronized by God. For Wolff, however, the clock does not represent a substance that stands alongside other substances as clocks, but the whole world. Consequently, Wolff recognizes the essence of the world in the type or form of its composition. This is exactly how the clock corresponds to the world: The changes that take place in the world are based on the nature of its composition (§ 554): the movements in the clock also have no other reason than the nature of the composition found in the clock (§ 33). And so the world and the clock are similar in this respect (§ 18).37

However, the clock was set up by an artist who arranged the parts of the clock according to the principle of sufficient reason.38 In his Anmerkungen zur Deutschen Metaphysik, Wolff also emphasizes the teleological character of the world. He states, that always one body is for the sake of the other, and the preceding change is to contain the reason of the following one in itself. [...] This teaches [...] the experience that the sun is for the sake of the planet and our earth [...] so we shall see how in our bodies and plants there is always one for the sake of the other. On the other hand, that even among those things which follow one another, one always contains the reason of the other within itself, [...] and that the things which follow one another are founded within one another, constitutes the connection of things in the world with one another [...] and thus the world becomes Ens unum or a unified thing [...].39

|| 35 Ibid., § 557: »Denn die Welt ist gleichfals eine Maschine. Der Beweis ist nicht schwer. Eine Maschine ist ein zusammengesetztes Werck, dessen Bewegungen in der Art der Zusammensetzung gegründet sind. Die Welt ist gleichfals ein zusammengesetztes Ding, dessen Veränderungen in der Art der Zusammensetzung gegründet sind (§. 554).« 36 Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Extrait d’une Lettre de M.D.L. In: Die Philosophischen Schriften. Vol. IV. Ed. by C. I. Gerhardt. Hildesheim 1978, pp. 500–503. 37 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 556: »Die Veränderungen, die sich in der Welt ereignen, sind in der Art ihrer Zusammensetzung gegründet (§. 554): die Bewegungen in der Uhr haben gleichfals keinen anderen Grund als die Art der Zusammensetzung, die man in der Uhr findet (§. 33.). Und also sind die Welt und eine Uhr in diesem Stücke einander ähnlich (§. 18).« 38 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 578. 39 Wolff: Anmerkungen Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 25), § 174: »[…] daß immer ein Cörper um des andern willen ist, und die vorhergehende Veränderung den Grund von der folgenden enthalten soll. […] Es lehret es die Erfahrung, daß die Sonne um der Planeten und unserer Erde willen ist […]

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The elements constitute a world by being interconnected in a certain order so that one is for the sake of the other.40 Likewise within a machine, the individual parts are arranged relative to each other in such a way that the position of one part depends on that of all others so that the machine can carry out its movements purposefully.41 Even though Wolff, as we have seen, in his conception decidedly distanced himself from Leibniz’ idea of general harmony, his conception of the world as a machine seems to take up essential points of Leibniz again, above all the agreement between effective and final causes. At this point and also in his later works, Wolff does not explain, how one must conceive in detail the agreement between simple substances. For our purposes, however, the significance that Wolff attaches to the concept of the world in this context is particularly important. In the following we will see that Crusius addresses this point in his critique.

2 Elements and Extended Bodies In this section I want to show that Wolff’s hesitation about following Leibniz in defining the substantial power or force did not escape the notice of Crusius who also takes this observation to highlight his own conception of simple substances as elements of physical bodies. In his book on physical phenomena (Anleitung, über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudenken) Crusius points out: The Freyherr of Wolff, who does not accept the representative power in the elements but embraces the Leibnizian elements as being without shape and size, and only attributes to them a power and striving to change their condition, thus sets forth an undetermined concept with negation of all possible determinations, the existence of which is therefore not possible, but contains a contradiction in itself. For no other power can be conceived than either a power to think or to will or to move; and therein consist the possible determinations of the change of the state of a substance. Now he does not want to attribute the first two types of powers to the ele-

|| so werden wir sehen, wie in unserem Leibe und den Gewächsen immer eines um des andern willen ist. Hingegen, daß auch unter denen Dingen, die auf einander folgen, immer eines den Grund von dem andern in sich enthält, […] und daß die Sachen, die auf einander folgen, in einander gegründet seyn, machet die Verknüpffung der Dinge in der Welt miteinander aus […] und dadurch wird die Welt Ens unum oder ein einiges Ding […].« 40 Ibid., § 175. 41 In the same remarks Wolff admits shortly afterwards that the interconnection of things includes both causae finales and causae efficientes and that both types of causes are dependent on God (ibid., § 176).

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ments. The last, however, is not possible in them because having no parts they cannot be moved [...]. So what is left?42

Even if in the end it is uncertain what exactly Crusius knew of Leibniz,43 it becomes clear from the quote that Crusius nevertheless correctly assessed the significance of Wolff’s hesitation in this question. Most modern interpreters of Leibniz’ and Wolff’s philosophy agree that the differences between the two philosophers regarding the question of the internal determinations of simple substances and the subsequent determination of the unity of substances count among the most serious differences between them. So one should not be surprised if Crusius does not simply refer to the Leibniz-Wolffian philosophy in this question, but instead takes the two philosophers as independent thinkers and thus worth considering individually. But even more importantly, regardless of what might have motivated Wolff’s decision not to follow Leibniz, Crusius’ criticism calls into question whether Wolff is able to offer an acceptable alternative to Leibniz’ account after all. Crusius wonders what other internal powers could belong to a non-spatial simple substance if not ideal ones.44

|| 42 Christian August Crusius: Anleitung, über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudenken. Leipzig 1749. In: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Bd. 4.1 Kleinere philosophische Schriften. Ed. by Sonia Carboncini and Reinhard Finster. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1987, § 72, p. 136: »Der Freyherr von Wolf, welcher sich auf die vorstellende Kraft in den Elementen nicht einläßt, übrigens aber die leibnitzischen Elemente, ohne Figur und Grösse, annimmt, und ihnen nur eine Kraft und Bestrebung ihren Zustand zu verändern beyleget, setzet hiemit einen undeterminirten Begriff mit Verneinung aller möglichen Determinationen, dessen Existenz daher nicht möglich ist, sondern einen Widerspruch in sich hält […]. Denn es lässet sich keine andere Kraft denken, als eine solche, welche eine Kraft zu denken, oder zu wollen, oder zur Bewegung ist: und darinnen bestehen eben die möglichen Determinationen von der Veränderung des Zustandes einer Substanz. Nun will er die beyden erstern Arten, den Elementen nicht zuschreiben. Die letzte aber ist in ihnen nicht möglich, weil sie nicht beweget werden können, indem sie keine Seiten haben […]. Was bleibt also übrig?« 43 Regarding what Crusius could have known of Leibniz and what he read of Wolff, see Carboncini: Crusius und die Leibniz-Wolffsche Philosophie (see note 5), pp. 116–117. 44 Later Kant stresses the same problem although he emphasizes another aspect. See Kant: Kritik der reinen Vernunft, A 265f. / B 321f.: »As object of the pure understanding […] every substance must have inner determinations and forces that pertain to its inner reality. Yet what can I think of as inner accidents except for those which my inner sense offers me? – namely that which is either itself thinking or which is analogues to one.« See also A 274 / B 330: »But that which is inner in their state cannot consist in place, shape, contact, or motion (which determinations are all outer relations), and we can therefore attribute to the substance no other inner state than that through which we internally determine our sense itself, namely the state of representations«; A 283 / B 339f.; see also Über eine Entdeckung, nach der alle neue Kritik der reinen Vernunft durch eine ältere entbehrlich gemacht werden soll, AA VIII, p. 248; Preisschrift über die Fortschritte der Metaphysik, AA XX, p. 285. Kant’s writings are quoted with volume number and page number following: Immanuel Kant. Gesammelte Schriften. Ed. by the Preußischen [later: Deutschen] Akademie der Wissenschaften. Berlin 1900ff. The Kritik der reinen Vernunft is quoted with the page numbers of the first (A) and

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And in this regard Wolff has failed to provide a coherent alternative to Leibniz, which is why Crusius believes he did not live up to his own standards, as it was his major aim to work out a philosophical system. However, Wolff recognized the paradoxical45 nature of Leibniz’ conception of the kind of simple substances that supposedly underlie material bodies. This is exactly the point that Crusius picks up in his own conception – because Crusius agrees with Wolff in one fundamental respect, namely that he also refuses to attribute an ideal determination to the elements. He claims that in attributing an ideal determination to all elements, Leibniz transforms the »whole world into a pile of spirits«.46 For Crusius, however, this approach is unacceptable for the following two reasons: First of all, it deprives the elements of any use for physics.47 On the contrary, all effects of physical bodies can be explained »by mere powers of movement«.48 The assumption of a power of movement is therefore sufficient in this respect. This however contradicts Crusius’ basic idea of a useful metaphysics. Secondly, Leibniz’ conception of monads does not conform to common sense, which in turn undermines the importance that Crusius’ lays on the sane use of reason. The latter especially is exceedingly important for Crusius, as the related conception of a »sane philosophy« allegedly characterizes his overall approach in philosophy.49 We thus see that Crusius positions himself against both Wolff and Leibniz by criticizing Wolff for falling short of his own standards and Leibniz for contradicting common sense and therefore not pursuing a »sane philosophy«.

|| second (B) edition. Translation is taken from: Immanuel Kant: Critique of Pure Reason. Translated and edited by Paul Guyer and Allen Wood. Cambridge 1998. 45 Paradoxical is understood here as conflicting with common sense. 46 Crusius: Natürliche Begebenheiten (see note 42), § 72, p. 135: »[…] so verwandelt man in der That die ganze Welt in einen Haufen Geister.« Ibid., § 72, p. 135: »That which distinguishes the spirits from matter depends only on the fact that they think and will, and that thinking and willing is not possible by mere movement; the representations may be dark or clear, they may be without being conscious, or connected with it« (»Dasjenige, wodurch sich die Geister von der Materie unterscheiden, kommt doch bloß darauf an, daß sie denken und wollen, und daß das Denken und Wollen durch bloße Bewegungsfähigkeit nicht möglich ist; die Vorstellungen mögen dunkel oder deutlich seyn, sie mögen ohne Bewußtseyn, oder mit demselben verknüpft seyn«). 47 Ibid. § 72, p. 136: »[…] therefore his monads are useless in all physics […]« (»[…] daher seine Monaden in der ganzen Physik zu nichts nütze sind […]«). 48 Ibid., § 72, p. 137: »[…] aus bloßen Bewegungskräften erklären lassen […].« See also ibid., § 72, p. 137: »However, it is against the basic rules of physical probability to attribute mental powers to elements as long as the mere powers of motion are sufficient to explain their effects« (»Es ist aber wider die Grundregeln der physikalischen Wahrscheinlichkeit, denen Elementen geistige Kräfte zuzuschreiben, so lange die bloßen Bewegungskräfte zur Erklärung ihrer Wirkungen zulänglich sind«). 49 See Carboncini: Crusius und die Leibniz-Wolffsche Philosophie (see note 5), p. 115. For the emphasis Crusius puts on sane reason, see Ciafardone: Über das Primat der praktischen Vernunft (see note 8), p. 128.

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Does Crusius offer a more coherent account of simple substance? At first glance, there are many similarities between Crusius’ and Wolff’s conception of simple substance. Crusius also believes that the existence of simple substances must follow from the existence of composites and that these simple substances as substances must possess certain powers.50 However, he rejects the standard definition of simplicity according to which something is simple if it does not consist of separable parts.51 It will later become clear why he believes that simple substances can actually have distinct parts. Nevertheless, similar to Wolff and Leibniz he defines a simple substance as »a single metaphysical subject that exists in a perfect way by itself«.52 Crusius also calls simple substances, which are at the same time constitutive of matter, elements.53 Accordingly, as elements they are not composed of real smaller parts but are themselves »the real first units of nature«.54 Because of fineness the elements are not possible objects of perception, and their existence follows necessarily from the principle of non-contradiction.55 We need not look at the details of Crusius’ account of substance in general.56 We can focus instead on the elements underlying physical bodies. At first glance, Crusius’ approach appears to be similar to his predecessors’ account. However, the similarities are rather superficial. Consider again Crusius’ criticism of Wolff and Leibniz presented above. In general, Crusius identifies three types of powers (»Kräfte«): the power to think, the power to will and the power to move. Wolff agrees with Leibniz that a simple substance can have only one kind of power (or

|| 50 Christian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzet werden. In: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Vol. II. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1964 (Leipzig 1745), § 111, pp. 181f. 51 Ibid., § 105. The definition can be found, for example, in Leibniz: Monadologie (see note 15), § 1; Christian Wolff: Ontologia (see note 16), § 673; Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 75; but also Kant: Monadologia physica AA I, p. 477. 52 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 50), § 107: »Demnach ist eine einfache Substanz nur ein einziges metaphysisches Subject, welches auf vollkommene Art vor sich selbst bestehet«. 53 Crusius: Natürliche Begebenheiten (see note 42), § 66, p. 121: »We call elements the smallest substances that make up the bodies, which therefore are not composed of other things, but are real first units of nature« (»Wir nennen Elemente die kleinsten Substanzen, daraus die Körper bestehen; welche daher nicht wieder aus andern zusammen gesetzt, sondern wirkliche erste Einheiten der Natur sind«). 54 Crusius: Natürliche Begebenheiten (see note 42), § 66, p. 121: »[…] wirkliche erste Einheiten der Natur […].« 55 Crusius: Natürliche Begebenheiten (see note 42), § 66, p. 121: »A quantity of finite things is always finite itself, and the opposite is contradictory« (»Eine Menge endlicher Dinge ist allezeit selbst endlich, und das Gegentheil hat einen Widerspruch«). In this way, the simple, as the smallest element of matter, must follow from the principle of contradiction (otherwise a drop of water would consist of as many parts as the whole ocean). 56 See my second contribution to this volume: Crusius on the Fundamental Powers of the Soul.

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force).57 Given that there are only these three distinct types, the elements must necessarily have one of these powers. Moreover, Wolff also holds that simple substances cannot fill space due to their simplicity. However, he refuses to adopt Leibniz’ account of the inner determination of simple substances, leaving it open whether elements also have an ideal or representative power (»vorstellende Kraft«). Crusius notices that there is no other option for Wolff then embracing Leibniz’ view because his elements have no sides and thus must have some kind of non-physical power. This is exactly where a fundamental difference between Crusius, on the one hand, and Wolff and Leibniz, on the other, becomes evident. Similar to Wolff, Crusius finds it implausible to assume that elements of physical bodies have nonphysical internal determinations. However, his conception of elements is strikingly different from both Wolff’s and Leibniz’. He claims that any substance must be in space because every existing thing is somewhere and at some time.58 Existence thus implies both spatial and temporal determinations.59 Contrary to Wolff, Crusius does not define space through the order of coexisting substances60 but instead puts substances into space and time. Consequently, also simple substances must be somewhere in space and in time.61 But even if simple substances exist in space Crusius believes that they exist in space differently than composites. He distinguishes between being extended and filling space. On his view, simple substances in fact fill

|| 57 Ibid. 58 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 50), § 48. As Karin de Boer pointed out to me, this is criticized by Kant in his Inaugural Dissertation (De mundi sensibilis atque intelligibilis forma et principiis, § 27, AA II, pp. 413–415). 59 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 50), § 49: »Another is the absolute and not at all relative concept of space itself, through which first of all the termini relati of the order which is to be abstracted from them are made possible« (»Ein anders ist der absolute und gar nicht relativische Begriff von dem Raume selbst, durch welchen allererst die termini relati der von ihnen zu abstrahirenden Ordnung möglich gemacht werden«). 60 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 46: »[W]e must take space to be the order of those things which are at the same time« (»[S]o müssen wir den Raum für die Ordnung derer Dinge annehmen, die zugleich sind«). Crusius, however, gives a critique of Wolff’s conception of space: By allowing space to emerge from the juxtaposition of substances, Wolff, according to Crusius, already presupposes what he wants to prove. For the conception of space is already implied in the words ›next to each other‹ and ›apart from each other‹, i. e., one cannot imagine anything at all in this case, if one does not already have some understanding of space (see Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten [see note 50], § 49). Crusius, on the other hand, distinguishes between the relationship that can be abstracted from the simultaneity of things and an absolute, i. e. non-relative, space. The notion of spatial relations is based on the latter. Therefore, as Crusius summarizes, space cannot be determined by these relations. Cf. Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 16), § 46. 61 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 50), § 59: »If a substance is to exist: it must exist immediately somewhere, and at some time« (»Wenn eine Substanz existiren soll: So muß sie unmittelbar in einem irgendwo, und zu einer Zeit existiren«).

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space although they are as such not extended. Spatial extension, however, requires a composition of simple substances.62 Now we are also in a position to explain why Crusius rejects the standard definition of simplicity as the absence of any parts; for Crusius distinguishes between simplicity in mathematics and simplicity in philosophy.63 In mathematics one abstracts from the extended things and considers only the quantities themselves, which is why mathematics only deals with possible abstractions of space separated from real substances.64 Therefore, the simple in mathematics can be without extension insofar as one abstracts from any positive determinations. This is why the simple thus understood, the mathematical point, cannot really exist.65 But this does not apply to the simple elements in natural philosophy because they actually fill a certain space.66 Accordingly, they are not simple from a mathematical point of view and it is possible to further distinguish geometrical parts of them. However, these parts are not really separable from them but only geometrically. Crusius claims that one must either assume that extended bodies can actually be infinitely divided or that the simple components of bodies cannot be simple from a mathematical point of

|| 62 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 50) § 51: »The simple is only in a different way of being in space than the composite. The simple only fills it. But the composite is extended therein« (»Das einfache ist nur auf eine andere Art in dem Raume, als das zusammengesetzte. Das einfache erfüllet ihn nur. Das zusammen gesetzte aber ist darinnen ausgedehnt«). With respect to simple soul-substances Stefan Heßbrüggen-Walter: Putting Our Soul in Place. In: Kant Yearbook 6 (2014), pp. 23–42 calls this view localism, according to which the soul is impenetrable and in space although it is not spatially extended as composite substances are extend. Kant seems to have defended some version of this view, at least with respect to physical elements, in his preCritical work. See Kant: Monadologia Physica, AA I, p. 480. 63 As Ciafardone: Von der Kritik an Wolff (see note 11), p. 296 pointed out, Crusius adopted the sharp distinction between mathematical and philosophical cognition from his teacher Hoffmann. 64 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 50), §§ 114, 117. 65 Ibid., § 115. 66 Ibid., § 117: »Rather, it is certain that not a single substance in the mathematical understanding is simple. And in the sense in which the mathematicians take the word extension, one should also call the simple substances extended, because they occupy a space at which exterior parts can be imagined, and at which one thus encounters extension in the mathematical understanding. [...] The same applies to the double meaning of the word extension, which in philosophy is abstracted from substances, and in mathematics, if it is to be an extensio continua, from space« (»Ferner ist vielmehr gewiß, daß keine einzige Substanz im mathematischen Verstande einfach sey. Und in der Bedeutung wie die Mathematici das Wort Ausdehnung nehmen, müßte man auch die einfachen Substanzen ausgedehnt nennen, weil sie nemlich einen Raum einnehmen, an welchem sich Aussen-Theile gedencken lassen, und an welchen man also eine Ausdehnung im mathematischen Verstande antrift. […] Eben so verhält es sich mit der gedoppelten Bedeutung des Wortes Ausdehnung, welche in der Philosophie von den Substanzen, und in der Mathematic, wenn sie eine extensio continua seyn soll, vom Raum abstrahiret wird«).

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view. They must therefore have a specific figure, i. e. sides, in order to make up corporeal bodies.67 Now everything falls into place: Wolff’s elements cannot have any motive power or force because they have no sides. Crusius, on the other hand, ascribes physical sides to elements. Accordingly, they can themselves be moved and move other elements. Moreover, one can easily explain how they constitute physical bodies. To serve this function, elements must be in contact with each other, and for Crusius contact consists in the fact that things are in such a position that nothing can be placed between them.68 Understood in this way, material extension results from an accumulation of extended elements.69 As they are physically extended, it is also not necessary to attribute an ideal power to the simple elements. Instead Crusius reserves the power of representation solely for mental substances, that is, souls (also similar to Wolff). The elements of physical bodies, however, must not have any ideal or non-physical determinations.70 Crusius emphasizes instead that finite things can

|| 67 Ibid., § 119: »On the other hand, what concerns in particular the simple parts that make up the bodies: Thus one must either assume that any material part is divided into infinite parts, or one must admit that the simple parts it consists of are not simple in the mathematical understanding, but have sides, and that this is also true of the smallest possible substance« (»Zum andern was insonderheit die einfachen Theile anlanget, daraus die Körper bestehen: So muß man entweder annehmen, daß ein iedwedes materiales Theilgen ins unendliche getheilet sey, oder man muß zugeben, daß die einfachen Theilgen daraus es bestehet, nicht im mathematischen Verstande einfach sind, sondern Seiten haben, und daß dieses auch von der allerkleinesten möglichen Substanz gelte«). 68 Crusius: Natürliche Begebenheiten (see note 42), § 68, pp. 126f.: »For the body shall not be a mere number, which of course arises from units which are not numbers, but it shall be a quantity continua, which cannot arise otherwise than by the composition of such parts, which themselves have the same quantities, and touch each other« (»Denn der Körper soll nicht eine bloße Zahl seyn, welche freylich aus Einheiten erwächset, die keine Zahl sind, sondern er soll eine Quantitas continua seyn, welche nicht anders entstehen kan, als durch die Zusammensetzung solcher Theile, die selbst dergleichen Quantität haben, und einander berühren«). 69 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 50) § 108, p. 178: »If a substance is composed of other separable substances, the latter are called partes extra partes or outer parts. The composition of partibus extra partes or real parts that are outside each other is called the extension. According to this, an extended thing is called a thing that is composed of substances that are actually distinct.« (»Wenn eine Substanz aus andern trennbaren Substanzen zusammengesetzt ist, so heissen die letztern partes extra partes oder Aussen-Theile. Die Zusammensetzung aus partibus extra partes oder wircklichen Theilen, die ausser einander sind, heißt die Ausdehnung (extensio). Demnach heisset ein ausgedehntes Ding ein solches, welches aus wircklich unterschiedenen Substanzen zusammen gesetzt ist.«) 70 Ibid., § 362: »[...] when we call one type of substance matter, the other spirits« (»[…] als wenn wir die eine Art von Substanzen Materie, die andere aber Geister nennen«). Shortly before (p. 680) Crusius defines the internal activities of simple substances accordingly: »However, not all internal activities of substances are movement, but it can also be thinking or willing« (»Hingegen ist nicht

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only act on each other through movement; only in this way is it possible to change the location of another thing.71 This is also the reason why there must be powers of motion in matter.72

3 World of Interacting Substances This ontology also provides the backdrop of Crusius’ objections against Leibniz’ and Wolff’s conception of the general harmony of the world. Recall that Leibniz assumes that simple substances stand in mutual agreement with each other because they are pre-established by God. Wolff, on the other hand, differs from Leibniz insofar as he confines the conception of pre-established harmony to the relationship between body and soul. Nevertheless, Wolff holds on to the idea of a harmonious agreement of the world, even if he based it on other reasons as we have seen. For Wolff, decisive is the close connection of final and effective causes. We have seen that he considers this connection ideally realized in machines, which is why he also compares the world with a machine. In this section I want to show that Crusius turns both against Leibniz and Wolff by claiming that the real interaction presupposed by the concept of the world requires a physical and not ideal influence of substances. Moreover, he rejects Wolff’s approach to regard the world as a machine since this precludes for Crusius the existence of free spirits within the world.

|| alle innerliche Thätigkeit der Substanzen eine Bewegung, sondern sie kan auch Dencken oder Wollen seyn«). 71 Crusius: Natürliche Begebenheiten (see note 42), § 19, p. 33: »For a finite thing cannot have any other effect in another than through movement [...] But through this nothing more than the change of the place of the other is possible, to which it is determined by the impenetrability of finite substances« (»Denn ein endliches Ding kan in das andere nicht anders als durch Bewegung wirken […]. Hierdurch aber ist nicht mehr als die Veränderung des Ortes des andern möglich, zu welcher es nemlich, vermöge der Inpenetrabilität endlicher Substanzen determiniret wird«). 72 Ibid., § 61, p. 106: »Thus one will obtain from matter the further concluded notion that it is a thing in which mere mobility can be found. The subjects, on the other hand, in which thinking powers are, are called spirits; and in this matter is essentially distinguished from spirits, that it lacks the thinking and willing powers, and that the mere ability to move is left« (»So wird man von der Materie den fernern geschlossenen Begriff erlangen, daß sie ein Ding sey, in welchem bloße Bewegungsfähigkeit anzutreffen ist. Hingegen die Subjecte, darinnen denkende Kräfte sind, heissen Geister; und darinnen ist die Materie von den Geistern wesentlich unterschieden, daß ihr die denkenden und wollenden Kräfte fehlen, und die bloße Bewegungsfähigkeit übrig gelassen ist«). See also § 70, p. 131: »The powers of the elements, though they are only motive powers in all respects, nevertheless undergo many possible differences« (»Die Kräfte der Elemente aber, ob sie gleich allerseits nur Bewegungskräfte sind, leiden doch noch viel mögliche Unterschiede«). Crusius relates the differences to speed, duration etc. However, the exact nature of the elements cannot be understood other than from their effects.

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First, Crusius opposes Leibniz and his theory of a pre-established harmony on the grounds that it contradicts the commonly accepted meaning of words. In general, Crusius distinguishes between a connection »only in thoughts and one outside of thoughts«.73 The former connections are distinguished by the fact that they are merely subsumed under one concept by the understanding. The latter, or real external connection, however, must be based on a »causal connection of things«.74 It still remains unclear how precisely Crusius conceives of the causal connection beyond the idea that things should in some sense interact with each other or be affected by each other. We shall return to this later. Crusius points out that he is targeting Leibniz’ conception of pre-established harmony, which on his view only allows of an ideal or merely mental connection of things. If, according to Crusius, one assumes that the connection primarily consists in souls representing the world, it also follows that God and the world are equally interrelated and thus »God and the world must constitute an animal, in good Stoic terms, as well«.75 This is clearly absurd for Crusius and contradicts the common usage of words. The same applies to speaking of reasons instead of causes when considering the union of the world. Moreover, it remains open, according to Crusius, why God created matter in the first place when the inner reason of souls and thus their ideal determination is eternal and necessary: »For there remains no real connection between matter and souls, and the preordained metaphysical association is an empty word«.76 Crusius is also not convinced by Wolff’s approach, which identifies the world with a machine. However, similar to his discussion of the elements, Crusius agrees with Wolff that there are indeed living machines within the world, and that these machines together with souls constitute animals. But to consider the world itself a machine violates the common usage of words, which Crusius believes should be taken as the standard according to his conception of ›sane reason‹.77 Since a machine is said to consist of material parts only, the same should apply to the world on Wolff’s definition. However, according to Crusius this does not take into account the spirits (»Geister«) that Crusius even considers the »noblest and main part« of the world.78 Even more serious is the closely related objection according to which

|| 73 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 50), § 93: »eine Verknüpfung nur in Gedanken, oder auch eine Verknüpfung ausser den Gedanken«. 74 Ibid., § 94: »Causal-Verknüpfung der Dinge«. 75 Ibid., § 94: »auch Gott und die Welt auf gut Stoisch ein Thier ausmachen müßten«. 76 Ibid., § 364: »Denn es bleibt ja keine reale Verbindung zwischen der Materie und den Geistern übrig, und die vorgegebene metaphysische Vereinigung ist ein leeres Wort«. In the same section Crusius also turns against Leibniz’ idea that this world is the best of all possible worlds (ibid., §§ 385, 388) and against his principium indentitatis indiscernibilium (ibid., §§ 383, 384). 77 Ibid., § 382: »I hope this is the most accurate way to follow the usage of language« (»Hierdurch hoffe ich dem Sprach-Gebrauche am genauesten gefolget zu seyn«). 78 Ibid., § 382: »Allein der edelste und Haupttheil derselben sind ja die Geister.«

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Wolff’s view contradicts the final purpose of the world, which consists »in the reality and the consequences of free actions of the spirits [...] for which the whole structure of the physical world is only a means«.79 As he adds: »The comparison with a machine is thus much too bad for the world«.80 Leibniz and Wolff therefore equally fail in their understanding of the harmony of the world by opposing the general usage of language. Leibniz does this above all because he cannot establish any real relationship between things on the basis of a merely ideal connection, which is why the function and thus existence of matter on Leibniz’ view ultimately remains questionable. Wolff, on the other hand, according to Crusius, emphasizes the mechanical aspects of the world too much and in this way destroys the freedom of spirits, which Wolff, for Crusius, reduces to mere parts of a superordinate machine.81 Against this background let us now consider the positive alternative Crusius offers to his two opponents. At least at first glance, if one looks at Crusius’ definition of the world, the similarities with Wolff predominate. He says for example: »a world is called such a real connection of finite things, which is not itself a part of another, to which it belongs through a real connection«.82 On closer inspection, however, the differences are decisive. As the definition implicitly suggests, Crusius does not want to exclude the existence of more than one world. For Crusius, there may well be different worlds next to each other existing independently from each other.83 However, to assume merely one world is, according to Crusius, just as arbitrary as to summarize all creatures and systems under a single term and then present this arbitrary or only conceptual summary as a world: »For according to the usage of language, the world shall not be an ideal, but a real whole.«84 This objection is obviously directed in equal parts against Wolff and Leibniz. For they both emphasize that there can only be one world, and especially according to Leibniz, the harmonious relationship between substances is based exclusively on a pre-ordained agreement established by God. || 79 Ibid., § 382: »[…] in der Wirklichkeit und den Folgen freyer Handlungen der Geister […], darzu der ganze Bau der körperlichen Welt nur ein Mittel ist […].« 80 Ibid., § 382: »Die Vergleichung mit einer Maschine ist also viel zu schlecht vor die Welt.« 81 Thus Wolff also renews for Crusius the fatum of the ancient philosophers, i. e., the Stoics. We have already seen above that, for Crusius, Leibniz makes the world a Stoic world-animal in the end. Accordingly, Crusius objects against both Leibniz and Wolff that they aim at reestablishing crucial aspects of Stoic philosophy. For the same reason, Crusius also argues against Spinoza who is explicitly targeted by Crusius with his doctrine of material elements (ibid., § 366). 82 Ibid., § 350: »[E]ine Welt heißt eine solche reale Verknüpfung endlicher Dinge, welche nicht selbst wiederum ein Theil von einer andern ist, zu welcher sie vermittelst einer realen Verknüpfung gehörte.« 83 Ibid., § 356. 84 Ibid., § 349: »Denn nach dem Sprach-Gebrauch soll die Welt kein idealisches, sondern ein reales Ganzes seyn.«

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Crusius’ objection that Wolff and Leibniz confuse the common use of language thus addresses the main problem and thereby introduces the most important innovation in Crusius’ conception of the world: For in his opinion the world presupposes a real, i. e. according to Crusius’ understanding, physical connection of things. Only under these conditions can this connection also exist beyond the mind.85 And this can only be accomplished if substances are causes of movement. This is because: »No finite thing can act differently on the other than through movement«.86 This does not mean, of course, that simple substances have only this one kind of power (or force), namely one that causes movement.87 On the contrary, Crusius firmly believes that simple substances, despite their simplicity, have different types of powers (or forces, including mental powers).88 This becomes particularly clear in the example of soul substances, which must not only have a power of representation,

|| 85 Ibid., § 359, p. 677: »Because the world is such a system of things, the parts of which have a real interconnection also outside the thoughts [...]: So the things in the world must be able to act on each other, so that one can change the state of the other [...] as an effective cause« (»Weil die Welt ein solches Systema von Dingen ist, dessen Theile auch ausserhalb der Gedancken eine reale Verknüpfung haben […]: So müssen die Dinge in der Welt in einander wirken können, so daß das eine als eine wirckende Ursache […] den Zustand des andern verändern kan«). 86 Ibid., § 362: »Kein endliches Ding kan in das andere anders wirken, als durch Bewegung«. See also §§ 145, 390. 87 Ibid., § 362: »Thereby one substance affects the other through movement; so it either drives the same out of its place only by the impenetrability of both; or the movement or effort caused in the other becomes, according to a law of actions, a condition under which a certain active force works in the other substance, or is awakened [...]. On the other hand, not all the inner activities of substances are movements, but it can also be thinking or willing« (»Indem aber eine Substanz in die andere durch Bewegung wircket; so treibt sie entweder dieselbe nur vermöge der Undurchdringlichkeit aller beyder aus ihrem Orte; oder die in der andern verursachte Bewegung, oder Bemühung darzu, wird nach einem Gesetze der Actionen eine Bedingung, unter welcher in der andern Substanz eine gewisse thätige Kraft wircket, oder erwecket wird […]. Hingegen ist nicht alle innerliche Thätigkeit der Substanzen eine Bewegung, sondern sie kan auch ein Denken oder Wollen seyn.« We have already seen above that Crusius, similar to Wolff, also assumes two kinds of simple substances. Those that underlie matter and those that are souls. Ibid., § 362: »Either they have no other power than the ability to move: thus we shall call them matter. Or they have another power which is something other than the ability to move, they may have the ability to move with it or not, so we want to call them a spirit in the broad sense« (»Entweder sie haben keine andere Kraft, als Bewegungs-Fähigkeit: So wollen wir sie Materie nennen. Oder sie haben eine andere Kraft, welche etwas anderes als Bewegungs-Fähigkeit ist, sie mag nun die Bewegungs-Fähigkeit nebst derselben darzu haben, oder nicht, so wollen wir sie einen Geist im weiten Verstande nennen«). See also ibid: »[...] so it is not likely that God, when he creates a world, should not bring in both kinds of creatures« (»[…] so ist nicht vermuthlich, daß Gott, wenn er eine Welt erschaffet, nicht beyde Arten von Geschöpfen hineinbringen sollte«). This is as we have seen immediately directed against Leibniz who, according to Crusius, gives no reason in his philosophy for why God should also have created matter. 88 See again my other contribution in this volume.

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but also other kinds of powers in order to be able to account for the different activities of the soul. We have already seen that Crusius thus distinguishes in principle between two types of substances, namely matter and spirits (or souls). So far we have been interested in those elements that underlie matter. But what about the relationship between spirits or souls and material elements? In fact, Crusius sees no problems in holding that souls can have a similar effect on material elements and vice versa, just as material elements have an effect on each other: »So one must admit that the same [matter] can affect spirits, and the spirits affect it«.89 Accordingly, spirits or souls and matter can influence each other. Otherwise the connection between them would not be real but at best ideal. But how is that possible? Crusius emphasizes that »no substance can be conceived other than being impenetrable«.90 Consequently, for Crusius spiritual substances must also be impenetrable. We have seen above that Crusius believes that simple substances actually fill a space although they are not extended. Crusius claims that this applies equally to simple substances that underly matter, i. e. elements, and soul substances.91 Only this way can the spiritual and the material substances be properly connected and together constitute a single world.92 Within such a world machines are now quite possible, which behave according to determined movements. However, this does not mean, as said above, that the world itself would actually be a machine. And if these machines are connected with

|| 89 Ibid., § 363: »So muß man auch zugeben, daß dieselbe in die Geister, und die Geister in sie wirken können.« 90 Ibid., § 364: »Denn keine Substanz lässt sich anders als also denken, daß sie undurchdringlich ist.« 91 Ibid.: »Since now therefore also the finite spirits are impenetrable, just as matter is: So matter must evade when in the spirits there is a sufficiently strong effort to occupy the place of a matter. Again also the spirits have to evade and therefore be moved when in the surrounding matter there is a sufficiently strong effort to go to the place where they are now. Consequently, the ability to move is graspable from the essence of any finite substance« (»Da nun also auch die endlichen Geister undurchdringlich sind, gleichwie es die Materie auch ist: So muß die Materie ausweichen, wenn in den Geistern eine genugsam starke Bemühung ist, den Ort einer Materie einzunehmen. Wiederum müssen auch die Geister ausweichen, und also beweget werden, wenn in der umliegenden Materie eine genugsam starcke Bemühung vorhanden ist, sich an den Ort zu begeben, an welchem sie sich ietzo befinden. Folglich ist die Bewegungs-Fähigkeit aus dem Wesen einer iedweden endlichen Substanz begreifflich«). See also ibid., § 366: »Furthermore, here the Leibnizian elements are set against us, which have no size at all, but should be in a mathematical point« (»Ferner sind uns hier die leibnitzischen Elemente entgegen gesetzt, welche gar keine Grösse haben, sondern sich in einem mathematischen Puncte […] befinden sollen«). 92 Ibid., § 370: »But it belongs to the purpose of every possible world that the material and physical world should be properly connected with the spiritual world § 354, 363« (»Zu dem Zwecke einer ieden möglichen Welt aber gehöret, daß die materiale und körperliche Welt mit der Geister-Welt gehörig verbunden werde § 354, 363«).

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spirits or souls, they are animals.93 But in general, the world cannot contain only animals and lifeless matter. In order to fulfil its ultimate purpose, the world must also contain rational living beings. Crusius agrees once more with Wolff and Leibniz here that the world actually has a final purpose: »But the end purpose of God in the world is the moral governance thereof according to the nature of free actions«.94 And this ultimate purpose becomes impossible if the world is regarded as a machine, and Stoic fate is thereby introduced in such a way that the freedom of rational souls is abolished through the automatic constitution of the world.95

4 Conclusion The starting point of my discussion was Wolff’s reluctance to embrace Leibniz’ view on the ideal internal determination of simple substances. We have seen that this also has important consequences for other parts of Wolff’s metaphysics but in particular for his understanding of the unity of substances. Contrary to what has been assumed in the secondary literature, we have seen that Crusius indeed distinguishes between his two predecessors. His main objections against Leibniz draw on the claim that Leibniz’ account is contrary to ›sane reason‹ and does not provide a useful metaphysics. Against Wolff, Crusius points out that his position falls prey to serious contradictions which arise from his departure from Leibniz. Against this background we considered Crusius’ alternative account that apparently picks up on the differences between Wolff and Leibniz but eventually goes much further. Similar to Wolff, Crusius distinguishes between simple substances underlying physical bodies and the soul. However, his approach differs strikingly from Wolff’s insofar as it places simple substances in space. Accordingly, Crusius conceives of simple substances as spatial elements possessing several fundamental powers. This also has important consequences for his conception of the world. Contrary to Wolff and Leibniz, he can therefore also argue that there is real physical influence between the substances and that this is required for the real interconnection of substances that constitute the physical world.96

|| 93 Ibid., § 372. 94 Ibid., § 358: »Der Endzweck Gottes aber bei der Welt ist die moralische Regierung derselben nach der Beschaffenheit der freyen Thaten.« See also § 354. 95 Ibid., § 380. 96 For insightful written comments and suggestions on an earlier version of this paper I thank Karin de Boer.

Sonja Schierbaum

Crusius and Wolff on Mind and (Self-)Consciousness 1 Introduction It is well known that Christian August Crusius is one of the most important opponents of Christian Wolff in the first half of the 18th century. It is somewhat difficult, however, to adequately describe in a nuanced and detailed manner the characteristics that constitute the very differences between their views. This also applies to Wolff’s and Crusius’ discussion of consciousness, or more precisely, of selfconsciousness, that is taken to have shaped the later conceptual developments of the issue.1 It should become clear that for Crusius, consciousness is a kind of selfconsciousness insofar as we can become conscious of our own acts. My aim in this paper is to show that Crusius and Wolff can be ascribed higherorder accounts of self-consciousness, insofar as the two authors hold that we can become conscious of our mental acts by means of second-order acts. Yet, there are crucial differences between their accounts that can be traced back to differences in the underlying metaphysical conception of the human mind and its powers. It might be more difficult to pin down exactly the differences than it appears at first view. I argue that Crusius conceives of consciousness as a higher-order cognition of one’s mental acts, whereas for Wolff, thinking in general implies consciousness. This, however, does not preclude Wolff to admit of the possibility of higher-order cognition as a kind of self-consciousness. In his later Latin works, he explicitly distinguishes between perception and apperception. Thus, I argue that it is possible to ascribe a kind of higher-order account of self-consciousness to Wolff as well. I proceed as follows. I first present Crusius’ conception of the mind in contrast to Wolff’s conception (2). I then discuss their respective accounts of (self-)consciousness in some detail (3). Against this backdrop, I show that the differences between their accounts of (self-)consciousness are shaped by the differences of the underlying metaphysical conceptions of the mind (4).

|| 1 For discussion, see Falk Wunderlich: Kant und die Bewußtseinstheorien des 18. Jahrhunderts. Berlin 2005; Udo Thiel: The Early Modern Subject. Self-Consciousness and Personal Identity from Descartes to Hume. Oxford 2011; Jonas J. Indregard: Consciousness as Inner Sensation: Crusius and Kant. In: Ergo – An Open Access Journal of Philosophy, 5.7 (2018), pp. 173–201; Corey Dyck: A Wolff in Kant’s Clothing: Christian Wolff’s Influence on Kant’s Accounts of Consciousness, Self-Consciusness and Psychology. In: Philosophy Compass 6.1 (2011), pp. 44–53. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-004

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2 Crusius’ and Wolff’s Conception of the Mind My aim in this section is to show that and how Crusius’ and Wolff’s account of the mind differ as to the conception of its powers. More precisely, there is a metaphysically motivated difference as to both the kind and number of powers of the mind. Against this backdrop, it should become clear in section 3 that differences between their accounts of (self-)consciousness can be traced back to the differences between their conceptions of the mind. Crusius’ conception of the mind is broader than Wolff’s insofar as Crusius also ascribes a mind to non-human animals. Crusius claims that animals and humans ‹share› the general nature of minds. They are different species insofar as the »general nature of minds is determined in different ways«.2 In his own words, this is the »general nature common to all substances able to represent things and to act according to their representations«. Both animals and humans are able to represent things and to act according to their representations, therefore both have minds. Species of minds are determined by the nature of their power to represent things, that is, the understanding (»Verstand«), and to act according to their representations, that is, the will.3

|| 2 »Es ist sehr viel daran gelegen, daß man das allgemeine Wesen, welches alle Substanzen, welche die Fähigkeit haben, sich etwas vorzustellen, und nach ihren Vorstellungen zu handeln, gemeinschaftlich besitzen, wohl erwege und vor sich betrachte, indem die thierischen Seelen und die eigentlich sogenannten Geister nur besondere Gattungen ausmachen, in denen dieses allgemeine Wesen angetroffen und nur immer anders determiniret befunden wird«. Crusius: Anweisung, § 3, pp. 5f. My discussion of Crusius in this paper is based on the following of Crusius’ works: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben, darinnen nach Erklärung der Natur des menschlichen Willens, die natürlichen Pflichten und allgemeinen Klugheitslehren im richtigen Zusammenhange vorgetragen werden. In: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Vol. 1. Hildesheim 1969 [1767]; Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzet werden. In: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Vol. 2. Hildesheim 1964 [1745] (henceforth: Entwurf); and his Logic, Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß. In: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Vol. 3. Hildesheim 1965 [1747] (henceforth: Gewißheit). My discussion of Wolff is based on the following works of Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen, auch allen Dingen überhaupt. Halle 111751 (henceforth: Deutsche Metaphysik); Philosophia Rationalis sive Logica, methodo scientifica pertractata et ad usum scientiarum atque vitae aptata. Praemittitur discursus praeliminaris. Frankfurt, Leipzig 31740 [ND Hildesheim 1994, WGW II. 6] (henceforth: Philosophia Rationalis); Psychologia empirica, methodo scientifica pertractata. Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1738 [ND Hildesheim 1968, WGW II. 5] (henceforth: Psychologia empirica); Christian Wolff: Vernünftige Gedanken von den Kräften des menschlichen Verstandes und ihrem richtigen Gebrauch in der Erkenntnis der Wahrheit. Ed. by Hans Werner Arndt. Hildesheim 1965 [1713] (henceforth: Deutsche Logik). 3 This is Crusius’ very explication of the will. He writes: »Ich verstehe unter dem Willen die Kraft eines Geistes nach seinen Vorstellungen zu handeln. Ich meine, der Wille ist die wirckende Ursache,

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The general, unspecific activity of the understanding (»Verstand«) can be explicated as follows: to think, in a broad sense, just means to have ideas.4 Thus, generally speaking, understanding, as the power to think, is the power of a mind to have ideas.5 A mind can have ideas if it can perceive things. Crusius explicitly states that the »power of sensation or perception (»Empfindung«) is the principal power of the understanding (»Verstand«)«.6 When a person has a sensation of something, then she is forced to take the object of her sensation as present and existing. As a consequence, it is not possible to arrive at a sensation by inference or deduction from other representations. This is why sensation is the principal power of the understanding: its acts do not presuppose any acts of any other power. Crusius holds that the understanding (Verstand) is a »collection« of basic powers. That is, there is a plurality of powers that cannot be reduced to any other power. Among the least derivative powers humans are able to identify are external and internal sensation.7 Accordingly, sensations are not deriva-

|| die Vorstellungen aber sind das Modell oder die causa exemplaris.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 2, p. 4. 4 »Einen Geist aber nenne ich hier im weiten Verstande eine iedwede Substantz, welche Ideen hat, oder, welches bey mir gleichviel ist, welche dencket.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 2, p. 5. 5 »Darzu also, daß man einer Substantz den Verstand in der weiten Bedeutung, oder eine verstehende Kraft beylegen kan, wird nichts weiter erfordert, als daß sie der Ideen fähig sey.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 2), § 442, p. 857. 6 »Die erste Hauptkraft des Verstandes ist die Empfindungskraft.» Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 2), § 64, p. 111. In this passage, Crusius admits that it might be impossible for us to detect the very first, basic powers (»Grundkräfte«). Therefore, we must confine us to identify the least derivative powers of the mind. This is the power of sensation or perception. The German term »Empfindung» covers actual states of sensation and of perception. In what follows, I will simply use the two terms »sensation» and »perception» interchangeably. See also my contribution Crusius on Moral Motivation in this volume for the discussion of »Empfindung« in sect. 3. 7 See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 2), § 444, p. 360. The conception of basic powers (Grundkräfte) is one of the most crucial and problematic features of Crusius’ metaphysics. It gives rises to the question of what the conceptual advantage of positing a plurality of basic powers (Crusius) over positing only one power of the simple substance (Leibniz and Wolff) is. Unfortunately, I cannot address this issue adequately here. Suffice it to say that the view that there is a plurality of basic powers of the understanding corresponding to the plurality of its possible effects, is at least not more problematic than the opposite view that one and the same power can have many effects such as perceiving, acquiring concepts, judging, and even willing things, that seem to be very different in kind. According to Crusius, the ontological simplicity of the substance is compatible with a plurality of its powers. See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 6, p. 9. Crusius conceives of powers as properties of a substance. See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 2), § 29, p. 46, § 111, p. 182. His point is that a plurality of properties does not imply that the substance is composed of other substances. Substances and its properties are not on a par, ontologically speaking. Of course, this leaves open the question what the respective advantages and problems of the »single power«-view and the »plurality of powers«view are. My point here is that it is possible to account for the differences between Crusius’ and Wolff’s conceptions of (self-)consciousness by virtue of these differences regarding the number and

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tive.8 Also, it is not possible to reveal sensations as illusory at a later time.9 There are two kinds of sensations, namely »external« and »internal«, distinguished by the kind of object that is represented. »External sensation« is nothing but sense perception, involving the five senses.10 It is common to human agents and animals. »Internal sensation« is restricted to human agents, since it is the »power of consciousness«. Crusius writes: Internal sensation is [the power] by means of which we perceive (empfinden) something that we represent as being inside our soul. Internal sensation is the power of consciousness. Partly, we perceive that we are thinking by means of [internal sensation], partly [we sense] the parts, quality and relations of our concepts; partly we also sense certain activities and states of our will.11

According to Crusius, we are conscious of our acts of thinking and willing when we use the power of internal sensation. It is only when we use our power of internal sensation that we become conscious of the mental state by means of another, higher-order state taking the mental state as its object.12 Non-human animals do not need to be conscious of their representations, nor of themselves, in order to be able to act according to their representations. To be able to act according to one’s ideas, again, is Crusius’ general explication of a mind. Suppose, for instance, that a fox smells and sees a rabbit. Rabbits happen to be the possible objects of a natural desire of foxes, i. e. to eat in order to sustain themselves. Therefore, the perception of a rabbit is sufficient to determine the fox to chase the rabbit in order to catch and eat it.13 || kind of powers of the mind. – On the issue of basic powers, see Andree Hahmann’s contribution to this volume Crusius on the Fundamental Powers of the Soul. 8 »Die Empfindung ist ein solcher Zustand des Verstandes, darinnen er [der Verstand] ein gewisses Object als existirend und gegenwärtig zu denken dergestalt unmittelbar genöthiget ist und bleibet, daß die Vorstellung des existirenden Dinges, welche er hat, nicht allererst aus andern Begriffen durch einen Schluß entstehet.« Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 2), § 64, p. 111. 9 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 29, p. 33. 10 »Die äusserliche Empfindung ist, wodurch wir etwas empfinden, welches wir uns als ausserhalb der Seele vorstellen. Bekannter massen haben wir fünf äusserliche Sinne: Das Gesichte, das Gehöre, den Geruch, den Geschmack und das Gefühl im engern Verstande, gleich wie im weitern Verstande das Gefühl mit der Empfindung überhaupt einerley ist.« Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 2), § 65, p. 113. 11 »Die innerliche Empfindung ist, wodurch wir etwas empfinden, welches wir uns als in unserer Seele vorstellen. Sie ist also die Kraft des Bewußtseyns. Wir empfinden durch dieselbe, theils daß wir dencken; theils die Theile, Beschaffenheit und Verhältnisse unserer Begriffe; theils auch gewisse Thätigkeiten und Zustände unseres Willens.« Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 2), § 65, p. 113 (my emphasis). 12 I discuss Crusius’ higher-order account of consciousness in the next section. 13 »[…] giebt es noch eine Gattung von dem natürlichen Bestreben der Thiere auf gewisse determinirte Weise in ihren Körper zu wircken, welche nicht beständig fortwähret, sondern an gewisse Bedingungen verknüpft ist, und dahero sich nicht eher, auch nicht weiter, äussern kan, als

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The cognition of objects of desires are only efficient causes of the actions of animals.14 This is why animals are determined by the cognition of the objects of their desires. Still, they act according to their ideas; only they do not act freely, since they cannot choose. Animals do not have the power of freedom, which is the power to choose which of one’s prevailing desires to adopt as action-guiding. This choice, however, presupposes consciousness insofar as one has to be conscious of one’s desires in order to adopt one of them as action-guiding.15 Crusius is well aware that his conception of a mind is broader in scope than other, traditional conceptions, because his conception of the two powers of the mind is broader. He states: I, however, contrary to common approaches, widen the concepts of mind, will and of thought. According to others, thinking comprises only representation involving abstract concepts. Also, for them, the will, which they set against sensual desires, is only the power to act according to abstract concepts. And they call ›minds‹ only those substances that know the truth with consciousness and distinct differentiation.16

Although Crusius does not explicitly mention it here, a target of his criticism is Wolff’s rival conception. According to Wolff, a mind is an entity that has the powers of the understanding (»Verstand«) and free will. This excludes non-human animals

|| die erforderte Bedingung gegenwärtig ist. […] Die Bedingung kan entweder eine gewisse Empfindung seyn, bey deren Gegenwart der Trieb rege und wircksam wird, als wie z. E. eine gewisse Empfindung im Magen das Kind veranlasset, die Brust zu suchen«; Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 146, pp. 178f. (my emphasis). 14 »Denn die Begierden wircken in ihnen [den Tieren] nur als physikalische Ursachen ohne Bewustseyn.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 2), § 448, p. 875. One could also say that they are merely efficient causes, but no motivating reasons. 15 »Insonderheit ist nicht eher eine freye Thätigkeit möglich, als wenn der Verstand mit Abstraction und Bewustseyn gedencket, und also ein Geist den Gebrauch der Vernunft hat. Denn vermöge der Freyheit soll zwischen etlichen möglichen Handlungen dergestalt gewehlet werden, daß bey eben den Umständen auch das Gegentheil geschehen könnte § 450. Und die Absicht Gottes, warum er diese Kraft einem Geschöpfe giebt, ist diese, daß gewisse Thaten nach den Regeln der Vollkommenheit ohne allen Zwang und Nothwendigkeit sollen geschehen können.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 2), § 462, pp. 905f. 16 »Ich mache aber solchergestalt den Begriff sowohl des Geistes als des Willens und des Denckens weiter als gemeininglich geschiehet. Andere verstehen unter dem Denken nur die Vorstellung abstracter Begriffe. Der Wille aber ist bey ihnen ebenfalls nur die Kraft nach abstracten Begriffen zu handeln, welchen sie der sinnlichen Begierde entgegen setzen. Und nur diejenigen Substantzen nennen sie Geister, welche die Wahrheit mit Bewustseyn und deutlicher Unterscheidung erkennen.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 3, p. 5 (my emphasise). In the last sentence, the indicative »substances that know the truth etc.« should be taken to refer to a disposition or ability, as in the statement ›this machine cooks rice‹. This statement is true even if the machine is turned off at the moment of utterance. The point is that ›cooks rice‹ can be taken in a dispositional sense: The machine can cook rice. Something similar applies here.

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in two respects. Animals lack understanding, and therefore, they also lack the power of free will since free will in the strict sense presupposes understanding.17 For the purpose of the paper, I discuss only the lack of understanding.18 Animals only have the lower cognitive powers of sense perception and imagination (»Einbildungskraft«) and the lower appetitive power of sensual desire. Wolff uses the terms »human soul« and »mind« interchangeably, since all human souls are minds, due to their power of understanding, but no non-human animal soul is a mind, due to their lack of understanding.19 Wolff defines understanding as the power of distinct cognition. The lower cognitive powers differ from understanding in that if a person only perceives something without using her understanding, then this perception can only be clear, but never distinct.20 A cognition of a thing is merely clear, but not distinct, if it is sufficient to distinguish the thing from other things, whereas a cognition is not merely clear, but also distinct if it is sufficient to also distinguish between the parts of the thing (or of the corresponding concept). In this sense, distinct cognition presupposes clear cognition.21 Distinct cognition, as the power of understanding, is further described as the ability to know what the difference be-

|| 17 »Wir nennen insgemein einen Geist ein Wesen, das Verstand und einen freyen Willen hat.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 896, p. 556. 18 The lack of understanding is crucial insofar as understanding is a presupposition of free will in the strict sense. Negatively speaking, to be free means to be independent of sensory perception as the basis of one’s willing. Positively, freedom is the ability of a person to choose among all the options available to her the one she conceives to be best. (See Wolff: Psychologia Rationalis [see note 2], § 526, p. 446. See Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), §§ 516–519, pp. 315–317.) Choices are consistent with the Principle of Sufficient Reason. See Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), §§ 29–30, pp. 15–16. That is, we always choose what we conceive to be best. Still, Wolff calls this kind of determination free insofar as the determining principle is not alien or external to the mind, but, quite the contrary, is the mind’s very own principle. In his conception of freedom, Wolff closely follows Leibniz. See Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Versuche in der Theodicée über die Güte Gottes, die Freiheit des Menschen und den Ursprung des Übels. Ed. by. Artur Buchenau. Hamburg 1996, §§ 288–292, 301f., 323–326. His idea is that freedom is nothing but rational self-determination: we rationally determine ourselves if our volition is determined by our clear and distinct cognition of the quality of things, since the power of clear and distinct cognition is the very nature of our mind. Therefore, only humans have minds insofar only humans can determine themselves. Non-human animals, by contrast, are determined by their sensory cognitions. Crusius and Wolff agree on this very aspect. 19 See Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), §§ 892–894, pp. 553–555. 20 »Das Vermögen das Mögliche deutlich vorzustellen ist der Verstand. Und hierinnen ist der Verstand von den Sinnen und der Einbildungs-Kraft unterschieden, daß, wo diese allein sind, die Vorstellungen höchstens klar, aber nicht deutlich seyn: hingegen wo der Verstand dazu kommet, dieselben deutlich werden.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 277, p. 153. 21 » [...] da die Klarheit aus Bemerckung des Unterscheides im mannigfaltigen (§ 201) und die Deutlichkeit aus der Klarheit der Theile entspringet (§ 207): so lässet sich auf eben die Art begreiffen, daß die Klarheit und Deutlichkeit der Gedancken das Bewustseyn gründet.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 732, p. 457.

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tween things exactly is, as opposed to clear cognition, which can also be described as the ability to recognize that things are different, but without the ability to tell what the difference between things exactly is. If, for instance, a person, say, a child, only has a clear cognition of two geometrical shapes, that is, a triangle and a square, she is able to distinguish the triangle from the square, but she is not able to tell what exactly the difference between them is.22 What is crucial is that clear cognition implies consciousness insofar as for Wolff, to think is nothing but to be conscious. He calls a thought the »action of the soul by which we are conscious«. He further observes that it is common to say that one does not think (of anything), if one is not conscious (of anything).23 In this respect, Wolff is close to John Locke who holds that »thinking consists in being conscious that one thinks«.24 This is sometimes also called the »transparency-view« of the mind. Gary Hatfield puts it as follows: »The mind is fully transparent: if it has a thought or sensation or other mental state, it knows it«. Wolff suggests that consciousness is the very distinctive feature of thinking: we know that we are thinking by being conscious.25 In what follows, it should become clear that although on the one hand, Wolff admits that non-human animals are also conscious, non-human animals differ in nature from human beings. To start with the difference in nature, although human beings and non-human animals both have the power of clear cognition, that is, the power to »represent things«, as Wolff phrases it, their powers differ to such a degree

|| 22 This is Wolff’s example. »Unterweilen geschieht es, daß wir den Unterscheid dessen, was wir gedencken, bestimmen, und also auch auf Erfordern ihn andern sagen können. Und alsdenn sind unsere Gedancken deutlich. Z. E. Wenn ich an ein Dreyecke und ein Vierecke gedencke; so kan ich den Unterscheid des Dreyeckes und Viereckes bestimmen, und wenn mich jemand fraget, wodurch ich diese Figuren von einander und beyde von allen übrigen unterscheide; so kan ich den Unterscheid auch sagen. Nehmlich es kommet hier auf die Zahl der Seiten an. Im Dreyecke sind drey Linien, im Vierecke aber vier Linien, die dem [sic] Umfang ausmachen.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 206, pp. 114f. For a recent discussion of Wolff’s conception of cognition as »relying on the doctrine of distinctness«, see Mihaela Vatavu: Kant’s innovative theory of judgment and cognition in the False Subtlety of Syllogistic Figures. In: Kant-Studien 110 (2019), pp. 110–114, pp. 527–553, here pp. 532–538. 23 »Diejenige Würckung der Seele, wodurch wir uns bewust sind, nennen wir einen Gedancken: denn jedermann saget, er dencke nichts, zu der Zeit wenn er sich nichts bewust zu seyn vermeinet.« Wolff: Deutsche Logik (see note 2), Kap. 1, § 2, p. 123. 24 John Locke: Essay concerning Human Understanding. Ed. with an Introduction by Peter H. Nidditch. Oxford 1975, book II, § 19, p. 115. 25 »Solchergestalt setzen wir das Bewustseyn als ein Merckmahl, daraus wir erkennen, dass wir gedencken. Und also bringet es die Gewohnheit zu reden mit sich, daß von einem Gedancken das Bewust seyn nicht abgesondert werden kan.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 195, pp. 108–110.

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so as to constitute a difference in nature. Wolff’s argumentation can be rendered as follows:26 (1) The power of representation constitutes the essence and nature of the human soul. (2) Non-human animals have a power of representation. (3) Therefore, this power of representation constitutes the essence and nature of the animal soul. (4) The human power of representation is of a higher degree of clarity than the nonhuman power. (5) Powers of the same kind can differ only with respect to their degree. (6) Therefore, the essence and nature of the human soul is different from the essence and nature of the non-human soul. It seems inconsistent that on the one hand, human and non-human beings have the same kind of power, but on the other, that the difference in degree of clarity is such that the nature of humans is different from the nature of non-humans. Wolff attempts to justify his argument by pointing out that the degree of clear cognition that is required for distinct cognition »changes the whole power of representation [...] since this degree brings distinctness in particular sensations [...] and makes the soul capable of a general knowledge of things, [...] of which no animal is capable of reaching«.27 His point is that distinct cognition is different in quality from clear cognition in that the ability to acquire knowledge presupposes distinct cognition, whereas the ability to distinguish between things only presupposes clear cognition. It could be contested whether Wolff’s argumentation is conclusive. What matters in the present context is that the human soul has only one power, namely the power of representation (and of distinct cognition, as its perfection), which constitutes the essence or nature of the human soul. The crucial point, for Wolff, is, that since the soul is sim-

|| 26 »Die vorstellende Kraft machet das Wesen und die Natur der menschlichen Seele aus (§ 775, 756). Da nun die Thiere gleichfalls eine dergleichen Kraft haben (§789); so muß auch ihr Wesen und ihre Natur darinnen bestehen. Unterdessen weil die vorstellende Kraft bey den Menschen in einem höheren Grade der Klarheit ist als bey den Thieren (§ 893): Kräfte aber von einer Art nur in Graden unterschieden seyn können (§ 125); so ist das Wesen und die Natur der menschlichen Seele von dem Wesen und der Natur der Seele der Thiere unterschieden.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 894, p. 555. 27 »Allein wenn man die Sache recht überleget, wird man bald sehen, daß nicht ein jeder Grad einen wesentlichen Unterscheid geben kan, sondern nur ein solcher, der die gantze vorstellende Kraft überhaupt ändert. Und dergleichen ist der höhere Grad der Klarheit, den die vorstellende Kraft in der Seele des Menschen für der vorstellenden Kraft in der Seele der Thiere hat. Denn dieser Grad bringet Deutlichkeit in den besonderen Empfindungen und Einbildungen zuwege, und machet dadurch die Seele zu allgemeinen Erkäntniß der Dinge fähig, […]: wozu keines von den Thieren gelangen kan.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 895, p. 556 (my emphasis).

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ple, it cannot have but one nature and thus, one power, since the nature of the soul just is its power »from which all of its changes flow.«28 What humans and non-humans have in common, in Wolff’s view, is that they can be conscious. The point is that consciousness, or being conscious (of something, including oneself) only presupposes clear cognition. And clear cognition requires nothing more than sense perception. Wolff explicitly concedes that animals and humans have sense organs similar in kind; therefore, their perceptions must be similar. He concludes: »Therefore, animals are conscious of themselves and of that which they perceive«. That an animal is conscious of itself and of what it perceives means that »an animal knows that it sees, or hears or feels, etc.«29 This matches Wolff’s explication of »clear thoughts«, since a thought is clear if »we know what we think, and are able to distinguish it from other thoughts«. Remarkably, in the context of his explication, he chooses the example of a visual perception: »For example, I see now buildings, people and other things. I am [...] conscious of what I see, I can discern everything and distinguish it from other things. Therefore, I say that my present thoughts are clear«.30 This underscores the interpretation that for Wolff, both human and non-human animals can be conscious insofar as both have the power of clear cognition. It is common in the secondary literature to claim that, as Dyck puts it, Wolff »understands consciousness in general to amount to ›differentiation‹«.31 One could, however, say just as well that Wolff explicates clear cognition in

|| 28 »[...] so muß auch die Seele eine dergleichen Kraft haben, daraus ihre Veränderungen herfliessen.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 744, p. 464. In the next paragraph, Wolff explains: »[...] da sie [die Seele] ein einfaches Ding ist [...], in einem einfachen Dinge aber keine Theile seyn können [...]; so können auch nicht in der Seele viele voneinander unterschiedene Kräfte anzutreffen seyn, indem sonst jede Kraft ein besonderes für sich bestehendes Ding erforderte, dem sie zukäme.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 745, p. 464. 29 »Wiederum da die Klarheit und Deutlichkeit der Empfindungen verursachet daß wir uns unserer und dessen, was wir empfinden, bewust sind (§ 732); so kan man auch begreiffen, daß die Thiere sich ihrer und dessen, was sie empfinden, müssen bewust seyn, das ist, ein Thier weiß es, daß es siehet, oder höret, oder fühlet etc. Denn die Thiere haben solche Gliedmassen der Sinnen, wie die Menschen. Daher mahlen sich z. B. die Cörper in ihren Augen eben so ab, wie in den Augen der Menschen. Da nun diese Bilder Klarheit und Deutlichkeit haben; so muß auch in ihren Empfindungen Klarheit und Deutlichkeit seyn. Und demnach sind sich die Thiere ihrer und dessen, was sie empfinden bewust.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 794, p. 495. It is a little unfortunate that Wolff here speaks of clarity and distinctness in the context of animals, since, on the other hand, he denies animals the power of distinct cognition. 30 »Einige Gedancken sind so beschaffen, daß wir gar wohl wissen, was wir dencken, und sie von andern unterscheiden können […]. Z. E. Ich sehe jetzund Gebäude, Menschen und andere Sachen. Ich bin mir gar wohl bewust, was ich sehe, kan ein jedes erkennen und von andern unterscheiden. Derowegen sage ich, daß meine jetzigen Gedancken klar sind.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 198, p. 110. 31 Dyck: A Wolff in Kant’s Clothing (see note 1), p. 45; see also Wunderlich: Kant und die Bewußtseinstheorien 18. Jahrhunderts (see note 1), p. 23.

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terms of the ability to differentiate between things. It seems that Wolff, at least in the context of the German Metaphysics, uses »clear cognition« and »consciousness« interchangeably insofar as to say that a person clearly cognizes a thing just means that the person is conscious of it. The point is that in this context, we are dealing with a kind of object-awareness. I use Fred Dretske’s terminology here. According to Dretske, we are conscious of an object by cognizing it.32 Wolff would say that we are conscious of a thing only if we are clearly cognizing it. I now want to show that according to Crusius, it is not possible to explicate cognition in terms of differentiation. Also, it would be wrong to use »(clear) cognition« and »consciousness« interchangeably. Crusius does not conceive of consciousness in terms of object-awareness. For him, it is not the case that whenever there are cognitive states such as perceptions, there is also consciousness. Rather, consciousness requires more than clear cognition. Understanding is nothing but the power to represent things, but its perfection is the power to know the truth, that is, reason (»Vernunft«). Wolff agrees that knowing the truth is distinctive of reason (»Vernunft«).33 For Crusius, the power to know the truth necessarily involves consciousness. Crusius writes: The degrees of reason’s perfection can be manifold. An understanding (»Verstand«) that has sufficient power to know the truth with consciousness, is called reason (»Vernunft«).34

The point is that knowing the truth not only involves, but presupposes consciousness. And since consciousness is a distinct power, namely the power of internal

|| 32 »That to see and feel a thing is to be (perceptually) conscious of it [...]. Hence, (1) S sees (hears, etc.) x  S is conscious of x.« See Fred Dretske: Conscious experience. In: The Nature of Consciousness – Philosophical Debates. Ed. by Ned Block, Owen Flanagan, and Güven Güzeldere. Cambridge, Mass. 1997, pp. 773–788, here pp. 773f. 33 Contrary to Crusius, however, Wolff explicitly holds that reason (»Vernunft«) is the power to »see the connection between truths«, and not to know the truth simpliciter. Wolff writes: »Die Einsicht, die wir in den Zusammenhang der Wahrheiten haben, oder das Vermögen, den Zusammenhang der Wahrheiten einzusehen, heisset Vernunft.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik, § 368, p. 224. The difference, however, is smaller than it might appear at first view, since Crusius explains that all our judgments concerning the truth of propositions are inferential insofar as in general, we infer the truth of any proposition from the falsehood of its opposite. In this sense, we are also aware of the relations between propositions. Crusius writes: »Und so ofte wir noch einer solchen uns in Gedanken schwebenden Regel, um eines oder etlicher vor wahr angenommener Sätze willen, auch einen andern vor wahr halten, so machen wir einen Schluß. Ja weil wir die Wahrheit eines ieden Satzes aus der Falschheit des Gegentheiles erkennen; so geschiehet alle Erkenntniß der Wahrheit im menschlichen Verstande durch Schlüsse, wiewol wir sie ihrer Leichtigkeit wegen oft selbst nicht gewahr werden.« Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 2), § 53, p. 97. 34 »Die Grade der Vollkommenheit des Verstandes können sehr mannigfältig seyn. Ein Verstand, welcher so viel Vermögen hat, daß er Wahrheit mit Bewustseyn erkennen kan, heisset Vernunft.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 2), § 441, p. 857 (my emphasis).

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sensation, it follows that the use of reason as the power to know the truth presupposes the power of consciousness. Thus, the understanding (Verstand) admits of the highest degree of perfection only with respect to humans. This becomes clear if one takes a look at the conditions for human reason as the power to know the truth. To have ideas is necessary, but not sufficient. It is further required that the mind be conscious of its ideas.35 Consciousness is required in yet another respect, namely as a presupposition of the power of abstraction. The power of abstraction is also required by reason as the power to know the truth. A person uses her power of abstraction if she analyzes (»zergliedern«) her concepts by distinguishing between their parts.36 Crusius writes: [...] it is the power to distinguish between ideas, and between their [conceptual] parts. ›To distinguish‹... means, roughly, to be conscious of the distinction between two things. But consciousness occurs by means of internal sensation.37

In order to analyze one’s concepts, that is, to distinguish between their constitutive parts, it is necessary to be conscious of them. As Crusius puts it: We are not conscious of things because we distinguish between them, rather, we can distinguish between them in the first place, because we are conscious. Consciousness, by nature, is prior to making distinctions, and it is one of the efficient causes of making distinctions.38

Note that the view Crusius rejects in the very first line »we are not conscious of things because we distinguish between them«, can be ascribed to Wolff: if a person distinguishes a thing from other things by perceiving it, she is conscious of the thing. This was the very explication of clear cognition.39 As Wolff puts it: »Accordingly, we find that we are conscious of things, when we distinguish between them«. By contrast, »if we do not notice the difference between things that are present to

|| 35 »Der Geist muß sich ihrer bewust seyn.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 2), § 442, p. 857. 36 »Er [der Geist] muß abstrahiren, d. i. das Mannigfaltige in seinen Begriffen zergliedern können.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 2), § 442, p. 857. 37 »[...] so ist es die Kraft, die Ideen unter einander, und auch das Mannigfaltige in einer iedweden, zu unterscheiden. Nun heißt [...] unterscheiden so viel, als sich des Unterschiedes zweyer Dinge bewust werden. Das Bewußtseyn aber geschiehet durch die innerliche Empfindung.« Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 2), § 93, p. 164. 38 »Allein wir sind uns der Dinge nicht darum bewußt, weil wir sie unterscheiden, sondern darum können wir sie allererst unterscheiden, weil wir uns bewust sind. Das Bewustseyn ist der Natur nach eher als das Unterscheiden, und ist eine von den wirckenden Ursachen des Unterscheidens.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 2), § 444, p. 863. 39 See Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 198, p. 110. As Indregard points out, it is unclear whether clear cognition, and thus, consciousness, requires only the ability to differentiate or whether it also requires actual differentiation. See Indregard: Consciousness as Inner Sensation (see note 1), fn. 7. There is textual evidence, however, that actual differentiation is required. See note 40.

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us, then we are not conscious of what we might look at«.40 In the latter case, our cognition is obscure. For Wolff, an obscure cognition is not conscious in the following sense: if a person does not distinguish between two things, then she is not conscious of the two things.41 It is interesting that Wolff marks the difference between being conscious and not being conscious by means of differentiation of what is cognized, including consciousness of oneself. The point is that if we are conscious of other things, then we become also conscious of the difference between these other things and ourselves, namely by taking the action of distinguishing as an operation of our soul.42 It is by means of this operation of the soul that we distinguish our soul from the things that the soul is representing and distinguishing.43 By contrast, for Crusius, consciousness, as the power of internal sensation, is a distinct power. Non-human animals are unable to know the truth because they lack the power of consciousness, not because they lack the power of understanding in general. It should have become clear that Crusius’ and Wolff’s conceptions of the mind differ insofar as Crusius ascribes to the mind a plurality of powers, of which consciousness is a separate, non-reducible power, whereas Wolff seeks to explain clear cognition, differentiation and consciousness in terms of each other. He thereby maintains that the human mind has only one single power which can differ as to its degree of perfection. In the next section, I discuss Crusius’ and Wolff’s accounts of consciousness further.

|| 40 »Wir finden demnach, das wir uns alsdenn der Dinge bewust sind, wenn wir sie voneinander unterscheiden […]. Wenn wir den Unterscheid der Dinge nicht bemercken, die uns zugegen sind; so sind wir uns dessen nicht bewust, was in unsere Sinnen fället.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 729, p. 454. 41 »Hingegen wenn wir selbst nicht recht wissen, was wir daraus machen sollen, was wir gedencken; so sind unsere Gedancken dunckel. Z. E. Ich sehe auf dem Felde von weitem etwas weisses, weiß aber nicht, was ich daraus machen soll, indem ich einen Theil von dem andern nicht recht unterscheiden kan; so ist der Gedancke, den ich davon habe, dunckel.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 199, p. 111. In my view, the example is rather problematic. Unfortunately, I cannot discuss it here. 42 »Eben hieraus erhellet, wenn wir uns unser bewust sind; nehmlich wenn wir den Unterscheid unserer und der anderen Dinge bemercken, deren wir uns bewust sind. Dieser Unterscheid aber zeiget sich so gleich, so bald wir uns der anderen Dinge bewust sind.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 730, pp. 455f. See also Wolff, Deutsche Metaphysik, § 794, p. 495. As Indregard holds, Wolff’s account was criticized by proponents of the Thomasian-Pietist tradition. See Indregard: Consciousness as Inner Sensation (see note 1), p. 175. Crusius belongs to this tradition. I will discuss Crusius’ criticism of Wolff in the next section. For a discussion of Crusius’ criticism, see also Thiel: The Early Modern Subject (see note 1), pp. 347–349. 43 See Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 730, p. 456. I discuss this point in more detail in the next section.

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3 Crusius’ and Wolff’s Accounts of Consciousness Crusius illustrates the distinction between cognizing an object, and being conscious of one’s representation of the object by way of an example. It is worth quoting the passage in its entirety here, because it also contains some illuminating considerations concerning his account of consciousness. Crusius writes: Further, consciousness deserves much attention in particular, since thereby, something is added to the action [i. e. the cognitive act] by means of which an object is represented which is not contained in the representation of the object at all. We have an idea of our thoughts themselves by means of consciousness. Just as the sun itself is not the same as the representation of the sun, so the representation of the sun, that is, the action, by means of which [the sun] is conceived, cannot be the same as the representation of that action [i. e. of the act of representing the sun]. Since the sun is the object of the idea of the sun, just as, regarding consciousness, the idea of the sun is the object of that idea by means of which [the idea of the sun] is represented and conceived of. Therefore, one should concede that consciousness requires a particular basic power, by means of which it is possible.44

Crusius uses the terms »idea« (»Idee«), and »representation« (»Vorstellung«) interchangeably. In this paper, I simply follow Crusius in his use of the terms.45 Here Crusius clearly draws a distinction between the two mental states or acts, namely of (a) cognizing a thing and (b) of being conscious of one’s state of cognizing the thing.46 These two states require quite different things. To begin with, they have different objects, namely (a) the sun and (b) the idea of the sun, and second, they require different powers, namely external and internal perception.47 Crusius calls cognitive states »actions« (»Thätigkeiten«) of the mind insofar as they are actualizations of the corresponding cognitive power.48 The representations or ideas are noth|| 44 »Ferner verdienet insonderheit das Bewustseyn viel Aufmercksamkeit. Denn dadurch kömmt zu der Action, wodurch ein Object vorgestellet wird, etwas hinzu, welches in der Vorstellung des Objects gar nicht enthalten ist. Durch das Bewußtseyn haben wir von unsern Gedanken selbst eine Vorstellung. So wenig nun die Sonne selbst, und die Vorstellung der Sonne, einerley ist: So wenig kan auch die Idee der Sonne, d. i. die Action, wodurch sie gedacht wird, mit derjenigen Vorstellung einerley seyn, wodurch die vorige Action selbst gedacht wird. Denn wie die Sonne das Object der Idee der Sonne ist: So ist die Idee von der Sonne beym Bewustseyn wiederum das Object derjenigen Idee, wodurch sie selbst vorgestellet und gedacht wird. Man wird dahero zugeben müssen, daß das Bewußtseyn eine besondere Grund-Kraft erfordere, wodurch es möglich ist.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 2), § 444, p. 863 (my emphasis). 45 See also Schierbaum: Crusius on Moral Motivation, this volume, note 30. 46 Also, in this paper, I use the terms »act« and »state« interchangeably, although only the latter is usually used in contemporary discussions. Also, it is common in contemporary discussions to speak of mental states or events. See Tyler Burge: Individualism and the mental. In: Midwest Studies in Philosophy (1979) 4.1, pp. 73–122. 47 See Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 2), § 65, p. 113. 48 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 41, pp. 49–51.

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ing but these »actions«. This is why in the passage quoted, the representation is explained in terms of the action of conceiving the sun: »the representation of the sun, that is, the action, by means of which [the sun] is conceived«. To have an idea of the sun requires external perception, whereas to have an idea of one’s idea of the sun requires internal perception, that is, consciousness. Of course, one can become conscious of one’s perception of the sun only as long as one is actually perceiving the sun. In this sense, becoming conscious of one’s actual perception presupposes that one is actually perceiving something. That is, the two acts have to obtain simultaneously, and they have to be ordered in such a way that the first act is the object of the second act. That is, if a person is conscious of her perception of the sun, then her act of perceiving the sun is the object of the act of internal perception by means of which she is conscious of her act of perceiving the sun. I call an act that takes another act as its object a higher-order act.49 To be precise, the act that takes another act as its object is a higher-order act only if the two acts pertain to the same subject.50 Thus, for Crusius, consciousness is a kind of selfconsciousness insofar as we necessarily become conscious of our own thinking. By contrast, I call an act that does not take another act of the same subject as its object, but rather, some external object, such as an act of perceiving the sun, a firstorder act. The consciousness of one’s act is a kind of object-awareness, since it is strictly analogous to the perception of external things as the objects of sense percep-

|| 49 I employ here the terminology used by contemporary higher-order theories of consciousness. Note that there are distinct types of higher-order theories, corresponding to the type of cognition involved, such as the »higher-order perception« (HOP) theory that was defended by David Armstrong: A Materialist Theory of the Mind. London 1968 and William Lycan: Consciousness and Experience. Cambridge, Mass. 1996, or the »higher-order thought« (HOT) theory. The latter further divides into the actualist camp (for instance, David Rosenthal: Consciousness and Mind. Oxford 2005) and the dispositionalist camp (Daniel Dennett: Toward a cognitive theory of consciousness. In: Perception and Cognition: Issues in the Foundations of Psychology. Ed. by C. Wade Savage. Minneapolis, 1978, pp. 201–228; Peter Carruthers: Language, Thought and Consciousness. Cambridge 1996). All of these higher-order accounts agree that first-order acts or states become conscious by means of higher-order acts. That a first-order act becomes conscious means that one becomes conscious of the act. 50 It might seem superfluous to stress the identity of the subject, yet, the point is that this higherorder consciousness is a kind of self-consciousness, insofar as one becomes conscious of one’s own acts. If mind-reading were possible, then we could grasp the thoughts of other persons. Yet, grasping another person’s thought would not constitute a second-order act, and it would not establish consciousness, since consciousness necessarily involves one’s own acts, and thus, a kind of selfconsciousness. There was an extensive medieval discussion of mind-reading substances (angels) concerning the issue of higher-order cognition. See Sonja Schierbaum: Ockham on Awareness of One’s Acts: A Way Out of the Circle. In: Consciousness and Memory in Medieval and Early Modern Philosophy, special issue of Society and Politics 12.2 (2018) (online edition). Ed. by Martin Klein, Naomi Osorio-Kupferblum, and Oliver Tóth.

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tion.51 Accordingly, we can say that we are conscious of an external thing such as the sun by means of a first-order act of cognition, just as we are conscious of our act of seeing the sun by means of another, second-order act. Crusius commits himself to the view that we are conscious of our cognitive act only if it becomes the object of another, higher-order act because he seems to think that this is implied by the distinction between the act (as the mental vehicle of representation) and what it represents (its representational content), that is, its object. A perception of the sun represents the sun, since the sun is the object of that act. Thus, the very act of perceiving cannot be part of what the act itself represents, since the act is not its own object.52 Therefore, the act of perceiving the sun can be represented only by becoming itself the object of another act. As Crusius puts it, consciousness »adds« something to the first-order act which is not »contained« in the representation of the act’s object, namely the representation of the act itself. In Crusius’ view, this also shows that it is necessary to posit consciousness as a distinct power, since the mere power of representing things is not sufficient to explain how cognitive states as the vehicle of representation can become themselves the objects of representation. Thus, Crusius is committed to a higher-order account of consciousness.53 He reserves the term »consciousness« and its cognates to the higher-order activity of representing one’s mental acts. In what follows, I want to show that Wolff can also be ascribed a higher-order account of consciousness, or rather, self-consciousness. However, it should become clear that Wolff’s account crucially differs from the view I presented as Crusius’. This difference is indicated by Crusius’ rejection of the view which can be ascribed to Wolff, namely that we are conscious of ourselves because we differentiate between ourselves and other things. The major difference, in short, is this. According to Crusius, consciousness is prior to differentiation, whereas for Wolff, consciousness is not prior to differentiation.54 To show this, it is helpful to reconstruct Wolff’s account of consciousness. || 51 Again, I use Fred Dretske’s terminology here. According to Dretske (Conscious experience [see note 32]), we are conscious of an object by cognizing it. 52 This argumentation is characteristic of higher-order accounts of consciousness in the history of philosophy. A medieval example is William Ockham, who is criticized by his contemporary co-friar Walter Chatton. See Selbstbezug und Selbstwissen. Texte zu einer mittelalterlichen Debatte. Ed. by Sonja Schierbaum and Dominik Perler. Frankfurt a. M. 2014, chap. 8, pp. 407–450, chap. 9, pp. 451– 488. 53 As Indregard points out, we are dealing here with what is referred to in contemporary debates as »state consciousness«. See Indregard: Consciousness as Inner Sensation (see note 1), p. 173. 54 It is unclear whether consciousness is identical to differentiation or whether consciousness results from differentiation. On this point, see again Indregard: Consciousness as Inner Sensation (see note 1), fn. 7. In the same place, Indregard points out that the exact relation between consciousness and differentiation is also a controversial issue in the secondary literature (ibid.). There is a structurally similar ambiguity with respect to the question whether pleasure (»Lust«) is nothing

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The presentation so far was based on Wolff’s German Metaphysics (1719). What complicates the matter is that both in his later Psychologia Rationalis (1728) and his Psychologia Empirica (1732), Wolff explicitly distinguishes between perception and apperception, and thus, between first-order and second-order cognition.55 In the latter, he explicates perception as follows: The mind is said to perceive, when it represents itself some object. Then the perception is indeed an act of the mind, by means of which it represents itself an object. In this manner, we perceive colors, odors, sounds. And the mind perceives itself and the contingent changes that occur in it.56

In the very next paragraph, Wolff explicates apperception: »Apperception is attributed to the mind, insofar as it is conscious of its perception. The name ›apperception‹ is used by Leibniz; [apperception] however, coincides for him with consciousness [...]«.57 First, to perception. That a person perceives a thing means that she represents it by means of an act of perception.58 For instance, that Peter sees the sun means that he is representing the sun to himself by means of his act of seeing. The act of seeing is the means or vehicle of representation, whereas the sun is the object of the act of seeing. Seeing is a first-order act. Strikingly, however, Wolff goes on to say that a person can also perceive herself and »the contingent changes that occur in« her.

|| but intuition of perfection or whether pleasure results from the intuition of perfection. Wolff writes: »Indem wir die Vollkommenheit anschauen, entstehet bey uns die Lust, daß demnach die Lust nichts anders ist, als ein Anschauen der Vollkommenheit [...].« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 404, p. 248 (my emphasis). 55 One reason why this distinction is not to be found in Wolff’s earlier, German Metaphysics and other writings might be that Wolff was not aware of Leibniz’s distinction at that time. See Leibniz’s letter to Remond dated July 1714. In: Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Die Philosophischen Schriften. Vol. III. Ed. by C. I. Gerhardt. Berlin 1887 (reprint Hildesheim 1978), p. 619: »Monsieur Wolfius est entré dans quelques uns de mes sentimens; […] et que nous n’avons pas eu beaucoup de communication ensemble sur la philosophie, il ne sauroit connoitre presque de mes sentimens que ce que j’en ay publié. J’ay vû quelque chose que des jeunes gens avoient écrit sous luy; j’y trouvay bien du bon, il y avoit pourtant des endroits dont je ne convenois pas.« For an account of how Wolff became acquainted with the writings of Leibniz and what his sources were, see Charles A. Corr: Christian Wolff and Leibniz. In: Journal of the History of Ideas 3.2 (1975), pp. 241–262. I thank Andree Hahmann for drawing my attention to this fact and for providing the references. 56 »Mens percipere dicitur, quando sibi obiectum aliquod repraesentat: ut adeo Perceptio sit actus mentis, quo obiectum quodcunque sibi repraesentat. Ita percipimus colores, odores, sonos: mens percipit seipsum & mutationes in se contingentes.« Wolff: Psychologia Empirica (see note 2), § 24, p. 17 (my emphasis). 57 »Menti tribuitur Apperceptio, quatenus perceptionis suae sibi conscia est. Apperceptionis nomine utitur Leibnitius: coincidit autem eum conscientia, [...].« Wolff: Psychologia Empirica (see note 2), § 24, p. 17. 58 Of course, the subject of perception for Wolff is, strictly and ontologically speaking, a »mind«.

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These »changes« pertain to the person’s mental acts. Wolff basically distinguishes between »things that can persist for themselves« and »things that can only persist by means of others«. The former are substances. The human mind is a substance insofar as it has the power to think, whereas its thoughts can only exist by means of this power, namely as the power’s actualizations. He also calls these actualizations or acts »restrictions« (»Einschränkungen«) of this power.59 Now, if an act of, say, representing the sun, ceases to be, and another act of, say, representing the trees occurs, then this can adequately be described as a transition or shift (»Abwechslung«) from one sort of restriction of the mind’s power to another, namely from the sun-representing kind to the trees-representing kind.60 This, however, raises a question. According to Wolff’s own explication, that a person perceives something means that she represents it to herself by means of an act of perception. Thus, if a person is said to perceive the succession of her acts, this seems to imply that she represents the succession of her acts by means of an act of perception. The act of representing the succession, however, should be different from the succeeding acts themselves. The problem is that the act of perception is the means of representation; thus, it is difficult to see how the means of representation can be represented itself without yet another act. Recall that that was Crusius’ reason for positing the power of consciousness as a separate power. Wolff, by contrast, does not distinguish a distinct power to explain consciousness of one’s mental acts. This would be inconsistent with his view that the soul or human mind, as a simple substance, only has one power, namely to »represent the world according to the position of the body«.61 As regards apperception, Wolff is in line with Leibniz who explicates apperception in contrast to perception. Perception is »the monad’s inner state of representing the external things« whereas apperception is the »reflexive cognition of this inner state«.62 In his Psychologia rationalis, Wolff picks up on Leibniz’ characterization of

|| 59 See Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 114, pp. 59f. 60 »Alle Veränderungen, die sich in einem Dinge ereignen können, sind Abwechslungen seiner Schrancken. Denn wir treffen in einem Dinge weiter nichts an, als sein Wesen und die Einschränckungen dessen, was es in dem Wesen fortdaurendes hat. Das Wesen ist an sich unveränderlich, und also bleibet nichts übrig, was verändert werden kan, als die Schrancken dessen, was fortdaurend ist in einem Dinge. Und kan demnach bey einer Veränderung nichts anders vorgehen, als, daß dasjenige, was auf diese Art eingeschräncket war, nur andere Schrancken erhält.« See also Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 107, pp. 55f. 61 »[...] hat die Seele eine Kraft sich die Welt vorzustellen, nach dem Stande ihres Cörpers in der Welt.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 753, p. 468. For further discussion, see Stefan Heßbrüggen-Walter: Die Seele und ihre Vermögen: Kants Metaphysik des Mentalen in der Kritik der reinen Vernunft. Paderborn 2004. 62 »Ainsi il est bon de faire distinction entre la Perception qui est l’état interieur de la Monade representant les choses externes, et l’Apperception qui est la Conscience, ou la connoissance reflexive de cet état interieur, laquelle n’est point donnée à toutes les Ames, ny tousjours à la même

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apperception when he explicates that »when the soul is conscious of itself and the things that it perceives, then it reflects upon its total perception«.63 The point is that if a person is conscious of her perception, she apperceives her perception. Thus, to apperceive one’s act means to reflect upon it. As Wolff rightly remarks in the above quote, for Leibniz, »apperception coincides with consciousness«. In the preceding section, we saw that Wolff does not reserve the term »consciousness« and its cognates to higher-order cognition of one’s mental acts, but also applies it to first-order acts of object-awareness. Thus, it appears that Crusius, against Wolff, agrees with Leibniz in the restriction of consciousness to higher-order cognition. The question, therefore, is, what it should mean to perceive one’s act by means of a first-order act. Here is another example. Wolff writes: Since we are thinking, when we are conscious of those things, that come to pass in us, and that we represent to us as external to us, every thought involves perception as well as apperception. For example, while I am now writing, I am conscious that I write. Insofar as I am conscious of the act of writing, I apperceive the act; but insofar as the same [act] is represented in the mind, to the effect that I could be conscious of it, I perceive the very same [act]. The act of writing is not perceived, insofar as certain motions of the hand and fingers that are necessary for the conduct and order of the letters occur.64

Wolff’s claim seems to be that the act (of representing the act of writing), which is the vehicle of representation in the first place, is also represented in the mind. This representation, however, seems to be merely potential, as long as it pertains to the level of first-order acts, namely insofar as one can become conscious of the act. To perceive the act (by a first-order act alone) just means to be able to become conscious of it by reflecting upon it. It is clear that the perception of the act of writing is not the perception of the content of the act of writing, that is, of what is represented by perceiving the movement of the hand and fingers holding a pen etc. Wolff explicitly states this at the end of the quoted passage. Perhaps this is Wolff’s version of the transparency view of the mind.65 Since the nature of the mind just is the power to

|| Ame.« Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Prinzipien der Natur und Gnade/ Principes de la nature et de la grâce fondés en raison. In: Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Kleine Schriften zur Metaphysik. Philosophische Schriften Band 1. Ed. and transl. by Hans Heiner Holtz. Frankfurt a. M. 2005, p. 421. 63 »Quando anima sibi sui rerumque perceptarum conscia est, super perceptione totali reflectit.« Wolff: Psychologia rationalis (see note 2), § 23, pp. 17f. 64 »Quoniam cogitamus, quando nobis conscii sumus eorum, quae in nobis continguntur, & quae nobis tanquam extra nos repraesentantur (§ 23); omnis cogitatio & perceptionem (§ 24) & apperceptionem involvit (§ 25). E. gr. Dum jam scribo, conscius mihi sum me scribere. Quatenus mihi conscius sum actus scribendi, eundem appercipio; quatenus vero idem in mente repraesentatur, ut ejusdem conscius esse possim, eundeum percipio. Actus enim scribendi non percipitur, quatenus motus quidam manus & digitorum contingunt ad literarum ductum atque seriem necessarii.« Wolff: Psychologia Empirica (see note 2), § 26, p. 17. 65 See above, sect. 2.

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represent the world, this includes the mind’s own acts, since these occur »in the mind«.66 Any perception that occurs »in the mind« must also be able to be represented. Again, Wolff calls a »thought« (»Gedancken«) »that effect of the soul by means of which we are conscious«.67 This fits the explanation at the very beginning of the passage just quoted from the Psychologia Empirica, namely that »we are thinking (»cogitamus«), when we are conscious of those things, that come to pass in us, and that we represent to us as external to us«. The point, as Wolff explains in the German Metaphysics, is the following: when we say that our thoughts are »in us« what we mean is that we recognize ourselves by means of our thought insofar as we distinguish ourselves from what we represent as external to us, just as we recognize a sphere (»Kugel«) by its shape (»Figur«): we then say of the shape that it is »in« the sphere, just as we say of our thought that it is »in us.«68 Thus, if an act of perception occurs »in the mind«, it must be able to be represented. And it seems plausible to say that the act is in fact represented if the person is conscious of her act by apperceiving the act. Wolff stresses that »any thought involves perception as well as apperception«. And since it follows from his view that the human mind has only one power, being conscious of one’s act of perception must also be derivable from that power.69 One could say that apperception is nothing but the power to represent as applied to the mind’s own acts as they occur »in the mind«. Thus, Wolff can be ascribed the view that whenever we represent things to us, we also become conscious of our representing acts.70 This view follows from

|| 66 »Da dasjenige, was ein Ding thätig oder vermögend etwas zu würcken machet, seine Natur genennet wird: die Seele aber vermöge ihrer Kraft, dadurch sie sich die Welt vorstellet, ein würckendes Wesen ist; so ist diese Kraft zugleich die Natur der Seele.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 756, p. 469. 67 »Diejenige Würckung der Seele, wodurch wir uns bewust sind, nennen wir einen Gedancken«. Wolff: Deutsche Logik (see note 2), chap.1, § 2, p. 123. 68 »[...] daß ich vor allen Dingen erkläre, woraus wir erkennen, daß etwas in uns sey: […] Weil ich aber bey mir weiter nichts als das Bewust seyn (sic) finde, das ist, meine Gedancken (§ 194); so rechne ich weiter nichts zu mir, als das Gedencken, und was demnach zu diesem gehöret, das sehe ich an als in mir. Und daher ist es kommen, daß die Cartesianer vermeinen, das Bewustseyn mache das gantze Wesen der Seele aus, und könte in ihr nichts vorgehen, dessen wir uns nicht bewust wären. Auf solche Weise setzen wir in uns, wenn wir befinden, es sey eben dasjenige, daraus wir es erkennen, gleichwie wir überhaupt in ein Ding zu setzen pflegen, daraus wir uns erkennen. Z. E. Aus der Figur erkenne ich die Kugel; wir setzen aber auch diese in die Kugel. Und hat also überhaupt keinen anderen Verstand, wenn ich sage, es sey etwas in einem Dinge, als diesen, daß ich daraus das Ding erkenne und von anderen unterscheide.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 197, p. 110. 69 »Da die Seele nur eine einige Kraft hat, von der alle ihre Veränderungen herkommen; so muß von dieser Kraft, dadurch sie sich die Welt vorstellet, auch alle das übrige herrühren, was wir in ihr veränderliches wahrnehmen.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 754, p. 468. 70 Indregard interprets Wolff’s view in a similar way. See Indregard: Consciousness as Inner Sensation (see note 1), p. 175.

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his metaphysical conception of the mind and its nature. In this sense, Wolff can be taken to hold a kind of higher-order account of self-consciousness insofar as whenever we are conscious of something (by perceiving it), we also become conscious of our being conscious of it (by apperceiving our act of perception). In other words, clear cognition implies consciousness of one’s clear cognition. As stated above, a cognition of a thing is clear if it is sufficient to distinguish the thing from other things. The ability to distinguish is an essential part of what it means to have a clear cognition of something. Clear cognition implies differentiation.71 To connect the terminology of perception and apperception in the Latin writings with the terminology of clear cognition and differentiation in the German writings, one could say that since to have a clear cognition (a perception) of a thing implies being able to distinguish it from other things, it also implies the ability to distinguish that thing from the very act that represents the thing (by apperception). If we do not have a clear cognition of a thing, we cannot distinguish it from other things and hence, we are not conscious of that thing. As Wolff states, our thought of the thing is obscure: »By contrast, if we do not know what to make of what we think, then our thoughts are obscure. For example, I see something white from afar in the fields, but I do not know what to make of it, since I cannot distinguish any parts of it. Then the thought I have of it is obscure«.72 In this case, a person is conscious of that thing insofar as she can at least distinguish it from other things such as the fields, etc., even though she might not be able to distinguish between the parts of the white thing. A lack of clarity implies a lack of consciousness. The lesser I am able to distinguish a thing from another thing, the lesser I am conscious of that thing. The degree of consciousness seems to be nothing but the degree of clarity and distinctness of the cognition. Again, if one takes into consideration the German and the Latin writings, then Wolff’s idea seems to be that due to the nature of our mind to represent the world, our being conscious of things is commonly accompanied by consciousness of our own cognition, where the former only requires first-order acts of clear cognition or perception, and the latter requires second-order acts of apperception. Acts of per-

|| 71 One could worry that put this way, clear cognition implies differentiation only in a dispositionalist sense insofar as the subject is able to distinguish between things by means of her cognitive act. The point is that clear cognition also admits of degrees. That is, the more we actually differentiate between the parts of a thing, the clearer is our cognition. Thus, it seems that a clear cognition requires some minimal actual differentiation with respect to the thing. Otherwise, the cognition of the thing would be obscure. 72 »Hingegen wenn wir selbst nicht recht wissen, was wir daraus machen sollen, was wir gedencken; so sind unsere Gedancken dunckel. Z. E. Ich sehe auf dem Felde von weitem etwas weisses, weiß aber nicht, was ich daraus machen soll, indem ich einen Theil von dem andern nicht recht unterscheiden kan; so ist der Gedancke, den ich davon habe, dunckel.« Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 199, p. 111.

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ception and of apperception, however, are nothing but actualizations of the single power to represent. Some scholars take Crusius to raise an objection against Wolff that can be put as follows: if we become conscious of ourselves by distinguishing ourselves from other things, then this seems to presuppose some kind of consciousness of a self. Otherwise, how could we possibly be able to distinguish between ourselves and other things? According to these scholars, this is the reason why Crusius conceives of internal sensation as a distinct power, namely in order to explain why consciousness of oneself does not presuppose consciousness of something else.73 I think this objection is mistaken in two respects. First, it is mistaken as to Crusius’ conception of internal sensation as a distinct, principal power. That internal sensation is a principal power does not preclude its operation to be bound to the actual operation of another power, such as the power of external sensation.74 It would be misleading, therefore, to claim that since internal sensation is conceived as a principal power, it would follow that we are conscious of ourselves in some basic, pre-reflexive sense. Again, for Crusius, consciousness is a kind of self-consciousness insofar as we are aware of our own acts. Crusius, however, does not discuss the question of consciousness of one’s self.75 Second, to the objection. Some scholars take Wolff to posit consciousness of one’s self.76 And they refer – inter alia – to the following passage to support their claim: »The representation of things as well as [...] this [operation of] distinguishing is an effect of the soul, and we thereby recognize the difference between the soul from the things that it represents to itself, and that [the soul] distinguishes. And thus, we are conscious of ourselves«.77 || 73 I thank Corey Dyck for drawing my attention to this kind of objection that is raised in scholarship against Wolff, and is taken to be raised by Crusius and the Thomasian-Pietist approaches. Indregard: Consciousness as Inner Sensation (see note 1), p. 175, points to Wunderlich (Kant und die Bewußtseinstheorien 18. Jahrhunderts [see note 1], pp. 43–45) and Thiel (The Early Modern Subject [see note 1], pp. 347–349) for analyses of Crusius’ criticism. It seems that in the view of some scholars such as Udo Thiel, Crusius is an important predecessor of Kant’s conception of consciousness because in their view, for Crusius, self-consciousness is something basic or fundamental that is different from and presupposed by perception. I thank Courtney Fugate for turning my attention to this point in Kant-scholarship. 74 See Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 2), § 85, pp. 155–157. In this paragraph, Crusius states that the actualization of internal sensation presupposes a sufficiently vivid idea. He does not specify the kind of idea further. In a passage quoted in the preceding section, however, Crusius states that we can also become conscious of our acts of will by internal sensation. Ibid, § 65, p. 113. I thank Andree Hahmann for pressing me on this point. 75 Udo Thiel notes this, too. See Thiel: The Early Modern Subject (see note 1), p. 349. 76 See Dyck: A Wolff in Kant’s Clothing (see note 1), p. 47. 77 »Allein sowohl die Vorstellung der Dinge, als auch [...] dieses Unterscheiden ist eine Würckung der Seele, und wir erkennen demnach dadurch den Unterscheid der Seele von den Dingen, die sie sich vorstellet, und die sie unterscheidet. Und demnach sind wir uns auch unserer bewust.« Wolff: Deutsche Metapyhsik (see note 2), § 730, p. 456.

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An answer to the objection could take its cue from the point that, strictly speaking, Wolff does not presuppose consciousness of the self. This self should be the soul that Wolff defines as »that being which, in us, is conscious of itself and of the other things external to us«.78 In this passage, Wolff says that we can recognize the difference between the soul and the things it represents by means of the operation of differentiation which is an operation of the soul. This, however, does not imply that we are conscious of our soul, in the same sense in which we are conscious of the acts of our soul, namely by apperception. Wolff does not presuppose that we can be conscious of our soul by apperception. He only presupposes that we can distinguish between what an act represents and the representing act itself, as an »effect« of what we call our soul. That is, when Wolff says that we are conscious of ourselves, then, strictly speaking, what he should mean is that we are conscious of ourselves insofar as we are conscious of our mental acts (by apperception). This becomes also clear from his explanation of the lack of self-consciousness. In the same passage, Wolff continues: […] if we do not think of the effects of the soul [its acts] which occur in the soul, and thereby differentiate ourselves from the things of which we are thinking; then we are not conscious of ourselves as well; and if someone were to ask us whether we are conscious of ourselves in that moment, we could only answer that we weren’t thinking of ourselves right now.79

Wolff states that it is by means of our mental operations that we distinguish between the things of which we are thinking and ourselves. He makes it very clear that we are not conscious of ourselves if we »do not think of«, that is, if we are not conscious of our mental acts. It is at least consistent with the view expressed here that we are conscious of ourselves insofar as we are conscious of our own mental operations (by apperception). It is not imperative to read Wolff here as if we were also conscious of our »self«, that is, the soul as the subject of our mental operations, in the same sense we can be conscious of our own acts, namely by apperception. Quite the contrary, Wolff’s statement that »we could only answer that we weren’t thinking of ourselves right now«, if we are not conscious of our mental acts, indicates that when we say that we are conscious of ourselves, what we mean, strictly speaking, is that we are conscious of our occurring mental acts (by apperception). If this is right, then Wolff could reply to the objection that we can apply our power of representation to the representing act itself, in the form of apperception. || 78 »Ens istud, quod in nobis sibi sui & aliarum rerum extra nos conscium est, Anima dicitur.« Wolff: Psychologia Empirica (see note 2), § 20, p. 15. 79 »[...] wenn wir an die Würckungen der Seele nicht gedencken, die sich in ihr ereignen, und uns dadurch von denen Dingen, die wir gedencken, unterscheiden; so sind wir uns auch unserer nicht bewust, und wenn uns alsdenn jemand fragen solte, ob wir uns jetzund unserer bewust wären, würden wir ihm keine andere Antwort geben, als, wir hätten jetzund nicht an uns gedacht.« Wolff: Deutsche Metapyhsik (see note 2), § 730, p. 456 (my emphasis).

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We thereby become conscious of something that is actually there, namely a mental act, and hence, we distinguish between our acts and what they represent. The pivotal point is that we are conscious of ourselves insofar as we are conscious of our acts. Wolff’s conception of (self-)consciousness does not presuppose consciousness of one’s self.

4 Conclusion My aim in this paper was to show that Crusius and Wolff can be ascribed higherorder accounts of self-consciousness, insofar as the two authors hold that we can become conscious of our mental acts by means of second-order acts. Yet, there are crucial differences between their accounts that can be traced back to differences in the underlying metaphysical conception of the human mind and its powers. Crusius posits internal sensation as a principal power because, in his view, cognition in general is not sufficient to explain how the vehicle of cognition (the act) can become the object of cognition. Consciousness, in the guise of internal sensation, is a principal power insofar as it cannot be reduced to other powers such as the power of external sensation; nevertheless, though, internal sensation presupposes the operation of another power such as of external sensation. Crusius’ metaphysical conception of the mind implies a plurality of what he calls principal powers, i. e., powers that he posits to explain the fact that the effects we experience in our mental life are so different in kind that it is hard to see how they could be effects of one and the same power. Crusius can thus maintain that the general nature of the mind is common to humans and non-human animals, since both are able to act according to their ideas: the power to represent things, that is, the power of external sensation is common to both. The human mind, however, differs from the non-human mind in that it has, in addition, the power of internal sensation. Crusius restricts the term »consciousness« to higher-order cognition of one’s mental acts. Thus, consciousness is a kind of self-consciousness. According to Wolff, by contrast, the possibility of cognizing one’s acts does not presupposes a separate power. On the contrary, this would be inconsistent with Wolff’s view that the soul has only the power to represent which constitutes its nature. Accordingly, he can argue that since it is the nature of the mind to represent, everything that is »in the mind«, as part of the world, must be able to be represented, by the mind’s single power to represent. In this sense, apperception would be the power of representation as applied to the mind’s own acts, resulting in selfconsciousness, that is, consciousness of one’s acts. Therefore, Wolff can be ascribed a higher-order account of self-consciousness. Wolff does not restrict the term »consciousness« to higher-order cognition of one’s mental acts. Rather, he also applies the term to first-order acts of object-awareness. In the end, it should have become

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clear that Crusius’ and Wolff’s higher-order accounts of self-consciousness are shaped by the two different metaphysical conceptions of the mind and its powers.80

|| 80 Acknowledgements: Work on this paper has been generously funded by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG, German Research Foundation), project number 417359636.

Andree Hahmann

Crusius on the Fundamental Powers of the Soul Can a simple substance have more than one kind of power or force?1 This question leads us to the heart of a discussion that began in the first half of the 18th century, continued into the middle of the 20th century, and is supposedly decisive for determining whether Heidegger’s Kant interpretation makes sense or not. The protagonists in this debate are Leibniz, Wolff, and the Anti-Wolffians, on the one hand, and Kant and his modern interpreters, especially Heidegger and Henrich, on the other. However, the true focus of the debate is Christian August Crusius, who is barely known even by historians of philosophy today. Although I do not intend to consider Heidegger’s interpretation of Kant in detail, this paper will help to clarify the historical context out of which Kant’s philosophy arises and especially his methodical constraints on determining the ultimate foundation of the cognitive powers of the soul. I will also draw attention to Crusius’ role in the development of 18th century German philosophy. It is well known that Crusius’ critical assessment of Wolff’s understanding of the principle of sufficient reason was very influential among 18th century philosophers.2 Less known, however, is the fact that his understanding of fundamental powers (»Grundkräfte«) heavily influenced the debate concerning cognitive capacities and the structure of the human mind.3 Crusius’ primary objection is directed against Wolff’s assumption that simple substances can have only one power or force. Although Crusius subscribes to the widely shared idea that there are simple substances, this for him does not exclude the possibility of several fundamental powers. In the following, I will discuss

|| This paper is a revised and further developed translation of Andree Hahmann: Die Einbildungskraft eine »General-Kraft«? Mit Crusius zu den letzten Kräften der Seele. In: Konzepte der Einbildungskraft in der Philosophie, den Wissenschaften und den Künsten des 18. Jahrhunderts. Festschrift für Udo Thiel zum 65. Geburtstag. Ed. by Rudolf Meer, Giuseppe Motta, and Gideon Stiening. Berlin, Boston 2019, pp. 91–113. 1 The German term is ›Kraft‹ which can be both translated as power or force. Since we are dealing with the soul as simple substance, I will use power as translation. However, the same applies to simple substances that constitute matter. 2 See the contribution of Gideon Stiening in this volume. 3 Important exceptions include Dieter Henrich: Über die Einheit der Subjektivität. In: Philosophische Rundschau 3.1 (1955), pp. 28–69; Stefan Heßbrüggen-Walter: Die Seele und ihre Vermögen. Kants Metaphysik des Mentalen in der Kritik der reinen Vernunft. Paderborn 2004 and Steven Tester: Mental powers and the soul in Kant’s Subjective Deduction and the Second Paralogism. In: Canadian Journal of Philosophy 46.3 (2016), pp. 426–452. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-005

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this view and show that Crusius made a remarkable contribution to the philosophical debate in Germany in the second half of the 18th century. My paper is divided into two parts. The first part presents Crusius’ conception of power or force and explains why simple substances can have several powers despite their simplicity. In the second part, I will look further at the influence of Crusius’ ideas on the nature of human cognition on Kant and post-Kantian philosophy.

1 Crusius on Simple Substances and their Powers In his Psychologia rationalis, Wolff contends that the soul can ultimately have only one power: Vis animae nonnisi unica est. Anima enim simplex est (§. 48), adeoque partibus caret (§. 673 Ontol.) [...]. (The power of the soul is only one. For the soul is simple [§ 48], which is why it has no parts [§ 673 Ontol.].) (Psychologia rationalis, § 57)4

Wolff justifies his assumption by referring to the simplicity of the soul as substance. The soul’s simplicity consequently prevents a multitude of powers in the soul. Wolff also explains that the soul itself is this power. All activities usually associated with the soul are therefore only modifications of one and the same power (Psychologia rationalis, §§ 60; Vernünfftige Gedancken, §§ 53; 755). Eventually, Wolff identifies this single power with the power of representation (»vis repraesentativa« or »Vorstellungskraft«).5 || 4 Christian Wolff: Psychologia rationalis. In: Gesammelte Werke. Abteilung II (Latin texts). Ed. by J. École. Hildesheim 1994 (2.nd reprint from Leipzig 1740). See also Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen, auch allen Dingen überhaupt. In: Gesammelte Werke, Abt. 1 (German texts). Vol. 2.1. Ed. by Charles A. Corr. 4. Reprint: Hildesheim 2009 (Halle 1751), § 745: »Meanwhile, since it [the soul] is a simple thing (§ 742), but in a simple thing there cannot be any parts (§ 75); so neither can there be in the soul many powers distinguished from one another« (»Unterdessen, da sie [die Seele] ein einfaches Ding ist (§. 742), in einem einfachen Dinge aber keine Theile seyn können (§. 75); so können auch nicht in der Seele viele voneinander unterschiedene Kräfte anzutreffen seyn«). For the partly problematic assumptions and argumentative background of Wolff’s position, see Heßbrüggen-Walter: Die Seele und ihre Vermögen (see note 3), pp. 78–84 and Tester: Mental powers (see note 3), pp. 428–432. For a more comprehensive discussion of Wolff’s account of the soul, see Richard J. Blackwell: Christian Wolff’s Doctrine of the Soul. In: Journal of the History of Ideas 22.3 (1961), pp. 339–354. 5 Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken (see note 5), § 755: »Because, therefore, this power is the ground of all that is changeable in the soul (§ 754); so therein consists the essence of the soul [...].« (»Weil demnach diese Kraft der Grund ist von allem demjenigen, was veränderliches in der Seele vorgehet (§ 754); so bestehet in ihr das Wesen der Seele […].«) See also ibid., § 756: »Since that which makes a thing active or able to act is called its nature (§ 628); but the soul is an active being by virtue of its power, by which it represents the world (§ 753); thus this power is at the same time the nature of the

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Wolff’s statements here suggest three distinct but closely related theses: First, because of its simplicity a simple substance can have only one power. Second, this is the power of representation, and third, the soul as substance is this power itself. Crusius firmly rejects all three theses. On his view, it cannot be ruled out that even simple substances have more than one power; the power of representation does not assume a special status, and this power must not be identified with the substance itself. Crusius’ criticism culminates in contending that this would make the power of representation a »general power« (»General-Kraft«, Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, § 70), which means that it is not even a real power for Crusius but merely a word under which different effects are subsumed. Crucial to Crusius’ critique of Wolff are therefore, on the one hand, his conception of power and, on the other, his conception of substance. 6 In the following, I will first address his discussion of the nature of power and then of substance.

1.1 Power In his Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten Crusius defines power as follows: The possibility of a thing B, which is connected to another thing A, is called a power in the thing A in the widest sense. Thus, a thing has some, and at least one, power. Therefore, if one considers any positive quality in another sense, it is a power. In fact, it is called a quality, in the

|| soul« (»Da dasjenige, was ein Ding thätig oder vermögend etwas zu würcken machet, seine Natur genennet wird (§. 628): die Seele aber vermöge ihrer Kraft, wodurch sie sich die Welt vorstellet (§. 753), ein würckendes Wesen ist (§. 754); so ist diese Kraft zugleich die Natur der Seele«). Henrich: Einheit der Subjektivität (see note 3), p. 34 points out that Wolff adopted this view from Leibniz although Wolff presents a shortened version of the Leibnizian argument. 6 In the preface to the Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten Crusius points out that his understanding of power is owed to his teacher Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann (Christian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzt werden. In: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Vol. 2. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1964, p. XI). Unsurprisingly therefore, Crusiusʼ criticism of the connection between the simplicity of substance and the assumption of a single power goes back to his first Latin writings. See his Dissertatio philosophica de corruptelis intellectus a voluntate pendentibus (Leipzig 1740, especially §§ I–IX). Hoffmann himself, due to an early death, never wrote a metaphysics textbook. He did, however, present the material in his lectures. Crusius refers to these lectures. The reference to Hoffmann is significant because Hoffmann closely followed his teacher Andreas Rüdiger, who also critically examined Wolff’s psychology. See for instance his book published in 1727 Wolffens Meinung von dem Wesen der Seele und eines Geistes überhaupt. Cf. Henrich: Einheit der Subjektivität (see note 3), p. 35.

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sense in which the thing can be distinguished from any other thing. But it is called a power, in so far as something else is made possible, or made real, wholly or in part, by it.7

Strikingly, Crusius does not distinguish between possibility and reality at this point. The power contains both the possible and the actual relationship to another thing.8 Furthermore, Crusius makes an inference from a real connection of things to a power grounded in one of the things. As a consequence one must assume a power for each quality. Various powers can therefore be abstracted, depending on the qualities that are focused on. If you consider, for example, that man can write letters and books, he has a power to write. Intestines, however, have a power to digest, and the magnet has a power to attract the iron etc. (Entwurf der nothwendigen VernunftWahrheiten, § 70). In short, any quality, even accidental ones, derives from a power that must have produced it.9 Crusius later confines this first definition to power in the wide sense, which he distinguishes from power in a narrow sense. We will see

|| 7 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), § 29: »Die Möglichkeit eines Dinge B, welche an ein anderes Ding A verknüpft ist, heißt in dem Dinge A in dem weitesten Verstande eine Kraft. Folglich hat ein iedwedes Ding einige, und wenigstens eine Kraft. Daher ist eine iedwede positive Eigenschaft, wenn man sie in anderer Absicht betrachtet, eine Kraft. Nehmlich sie heißt eine Eigenschaft, wieferne sich das Ding dadurch von irgend einem anderen unterscheiden lässt. Eine Kraft aber heißt sie, wieferne dadurch etwas anderes ganz oder zum Theil möglich, oder wirklich gemacht wird.« 8 See, however, Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken (see note 4), § 117: »But the power must not be mixed up with a mere capacity: for the capacity is only a possibility to do something: but since the power is a source of change (§ 115), there must be in it an effort to do something [...]. By the capacity a change is only possible; by the power it becomes actual« (»Es muß aber die Kraft nicht mit einem blossen Vermögen vermenget werden: denn das Vermögen ist nur eine Möglichkeit etwas zu thun: hingegen da die Kraft eine Quelle der Veränderungen ist (§. 115), muß bey ihr eine Bemühung etwas zu thun anzutreffen seyn […]. Durch das Vermögen ist eine Veränderung bloß möglich; durch die Kraft wird sie würklich«). On Wolffʼs distinction between power and capacity, see HeßbrüggenWalter: Die Seele und ihre Vermögen (see note 3), pp. 76f.; see ibid., p. 91 also for a discussion of the decisive differences in this matter between Wolff and Crusius. 9 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), § 63, p. 113: »Therefore, one can also say that the power is the possibility of a certain thing B, linked to a substance A, by which something subsists in A, whereby B has or obtains its reality [...]. So it belongs to the concept of power [...] the concept of causality and subsistence. In fact the causality, by which A contributes something to B, is a quality subsisting in the subject A, which is also connected to the subjectum as such, if nothing is produced. Now this quality is called a power in the subject A« (»Daher kan man auch sagen, die Kraft sey die an eine Substanz A verknüpfte Möglichkeit eines gewissen Dinges B, vermöge welcher in A etwas subsistiret, wodurch B seine Wircklichkeit hat oder bekommt […]. Es gehöret also zu dem Begriffe der Kraft […] der Begriff der Causalität und der Subsistenz. Nehmlich diejenige Causalität, vermöge welcher A zu B etwas beyträgt, ist eine in dem Subjecte A subsistirende Eigenschaft, welche an das Subjectum auch alsdenn verknüpft ist, wenn nichts hervor gebracht wird. Diese Eigenschaft nun heißt in dem Subjecte A eine Kraft«). The origin of this idea also goes back to the Dissertatio philosophica de corruptelis intellectus (see note 6). See ibid., § IV.

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however that this first understanding of power became influential among later philosophers. Regarding Crusius’ criticism of Wolff, an important point already follows from this first understanding of power: If a substance has several qualities, it must also have several powers. But does this also apply to simple substances? To answer this question, we have to consider Crusius’ underlying metaphysics. His distinctions concerning essences and how they relate to powers are especially important here. According to Crusius, the metaphysical essence (»metaphysische Wesen«) of a thing accounts for its discernability.10 Qualities contained in this essence can also be conceived as powers according to the above explanation. Crusius makes a further distinction between the metaphysical essence of a thing and the fundamental essence of a thing (»Grundwesen«). The fundamental essence contains such qualities that are themselves not grounded in other qualities of the same thing. Crusius takes the fundamental essence to be the essence of a thing in the strictest sense and the powers that are derived from the properties of the fundamental essence are accordingly its fundamental powers.11 He declares that the fundamental essence has at

|| 10 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), § 17: »With each thing, one may take the word in the broad, or in the narrow sense, one must think something, by which one can distinguish it from other things. That which one thinks of one thing, and by which one distinguishes it from another, I will call the metaphysical essence of a thing« (»Bey einem iedweden Dinge, man mag das Wort im weiten, oder im engen Verstande nehmen, muß man etwas denken, dadurch man es von andern Dingen unterscheiden kann. Dasjenige, was man bey einem Dinge denket, und wodurch man es von andern unterscheidet, will ich das metaphysische Wesen eines Dinges nennen«). 11 Ibid., § 39, pp. 60–62: »So that which is mutable in a thing has its origin in the end either from that which is enduring in it; or it is even founded in something external to it [...]. But this series cannot go on indefinitely, but one must finally reach one or several essential qualities which are not in turn founded in other qualities of the same thing. And these are called the fundamental essence, or the essence of a thing in the strictest sense [...]. The fundamental essence of a thing, then, is that which is first in it, which is not again founded in other qualities of the same thing, and in which, on the other hand, everything else has its ground, which belongs to the thing, or can belong to it, in as far as it has its ground in it, and not in external causes. [...] It should be noted here that, with good reason, I have not required a single quality for the fundamental essence of a thing, or, if it is to be a substance, only a single power. For I would accept it without any proof. It is possible that the fundamental essence of some substances is the combination of several fundamental powers« (»Das also, was in einem Dinge veränderlich ist, hat seinen Ursprung zuletzt entweder von demjenigen, was in demselben beständig ist; Oder es ist gar in etwas ausser demselben Dinge gegründet […]. Diese Reihe aber kan nicht unendlich fortgehen, sondern man muß zulezt auf eine oder etliche wesentliche Eigenschaften kommen, welche nicht wiederum in andern Eigenschaften eben desselben Dinges gegründet sind. Und dieselben heissen das Grundwesen, oder das Wesen eines Dinges in dem engesten Verstande […]. Das Grundwesen eines Dings ist also dasjenige, was in demselben das erste ist, welches nicht wiederum in andern Eigenschaften desselben Dinges gegründet ist, und darinnen hingegen alles andere seinen Grund hat, was der Sache zukommt, oder zukommen kann, in so ferne nehmlich, wieferne es in derselben und nicht etwan in äusserlichen Ursachen seinen

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least one quality because otherwise the thing could not be distinguished from other things and consequently could not exist independently. However, it is not necessary for the same thing to have only one quality or power. This is because, as Crusius explicitly emphasizes: »It is possible that the fundamental essence of some substances consists of the combination of several fundamental powers.«12 He takes up this point again a little later: Even in the combination of several fundamental powers in a single subject, and even in a simple subject, one will not find anything inconsistent if one does not conceive of the powers as something corporeal, but realizes that innumerable many can be connected to a single subjectum, which do not subsist in different spaces, but in a single point of the subject, and, if it is simple, penetrate the same completely.«13

For Crusius it is therefore clear that a »subject« does not necessarily have to have only one single power. If, however, it is assumed that a subject must have only a single power, a special problem arises: Recall that a power for Crusius supposedly explains the actual qualities of a thing. Given that the human soul as a subject of powers has only one single power, then all characteristics and activities of the human should be comprehensible as effects of this single power. As Crusius points out this is how Wolff has to conceive of the fundamental role of representation. The reason for this is that representation is the only thing that results if one abstracts from all different mental activities since they equally depend on representations. For Crusius this makes the power of representation a »general power« (»GeneralKraft«, Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, § 70) under which one subsumes all kinds of activities of the soul. However, as Crusius points out, this »general power« is not actually a cause because without taking account of further qualities – i. e. powers – it does not contribute anything to the explanation of the effects: If one believes to have found such a power of the human soul in the representative power of the world, then that which is found therein can be understood from it. Only it may be that the

|| Grund hat. […] Man merke hierbey, daß ich mit gutem Bedacht nicht eben zum Grundwesen eines Dinges nur eine einzige Eigenschaft, oder daferne es eine Substanz seyn soll, nur eine einzige Kraft erfordert habe. Denn ich nähme solches ohne allen Beweis an. Es ist ja möglich, daß das Grundwesen einiger Substanzen in der Verbindung etlicher Grundkräfte bestehe«). See also § 70, p. 130. 12 Ibid., § 39: »Es ist ja möglich, daß das Grundwesen einiger Substanzen in der Verbindung etlicher Grundkräfte bestehe.« 13 Ibid., § 73: »Man wird auch in der Verbindung mehrerer Grundkräfte in einem einzigen, ja in einem einfachen Subjecte nichts ungereimtes antreffen, wenn man sich nur nicht die Kräfte als etwas körperliches vorstellt, sondern mercket, daß deren unzehlig viele an ein einziges Subjectum verbunden werden können, welche nicht in unterschiedenen Räumen, sondern in ganz einerley Punkte des Subjects subsistiren, und dasselbe, wenn es einfach ist, ganz durchdringen.«

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effect, which one abstracts, and from which one names the assumed power, is only an effect, which comes from many grounds taken together.14

In a nutshell, Crusius claims that Wolff’s conception of a fundamental power of representation is by itself not sufficient to explain the observable effects of the human soul clearly. On his view, however, this would be necessary in order to call it a power more strictly speaking or a fundamental power.15 Yet for most mental phenomena it cannot be excluded that additional powers are involved. Assuming therefore that the power of representation serves as a common basis of all mental activities, this is still not sufficient to make it a true »fundamental power«, that is, a power founded in the essence of a thing.16 This is because it cannot be ruled out that the effect was produced only in part by it. Crusius then explains how he conceives of a true fundamental power:

|| 14 Ibid., § 70: »Wenn man sich einbildet, in der vorstellenden Kraft der Welt eine solche Kraft der menschlichen Seele gefunden zu haben, daraus sich dasjenige, was darinnen angetroffen wird, verstehen lasse. Allein es kan ja seyn, daß der Effect, den man abstrahiret, und davon man die angenommene Kraft benennet, nur eine Wirckung ist, welche von vielen Ursachen zusammen genommen herkommt.« 15 Ibid., § 70: »Thus we are hereby led to the concept of a power in the narrow sense, which is opposed to the mere capacity and the arbitrarily abstracted general powers. A power in the narrow sense is a possibility of other things connected to a subject, which in the same subject is a special quality, and also beyond our thoughts distinguished from others in such a way, that it is a certain something and distinguished from others, without it becoming it only by our way of looking at it, and which is also in the subject something constant. One can also call it a fundamental power. Now it cannot be denied that it is not possible to penetrate everywhere to the knowledge of these true powers belonging to the fundamental essence, but that one must often be pleased when one only knows at all what kind of effects a thing might produce, and in which substance one must look for the ground for certain effects« (»Wir werden also hiermit auf den Begriff einer Kraft im engern Verstande geführet, welche dem bloßen Vermögen und denen willkührlich abstrahirten GeneralKräften entgegen gesetzt ist. Nehmlich eine Kraft im engern Verstande ist eine solche an ein Subject verknüpfte Möglichkeit anderer Dinge, welche in demselben Subjecte eine besondere, und auch ausserhalb unserer Gedanke [sic] dergestalt von andern unterschiedene, Eigenschaft ist, daß sie etwas einiges und von andern unterschiedenes ausmacht, ohne daß sie es erst durch unsere Betrachtungs-Art werden darf, und welche auch in dem Subjecte etwas beständiges ist. Man kan dieselbe auch eine Grundkraft nennen. Nun ist zwar nicht zu leugnen, dass sich nicht überall bis zu der Erkenntnis dieser wahren und zu dem Grund-Wesen gehörigen Kräfte hindurch dringen lasse, sondern daß man sich öfters daran begnügen lassen muß, wenn man nur überhaupt weiß, zu was für Wirckungen ein Ding aufgelegt sey, und in welcher Substanz man den Grund zu gewissen Wirckungen suchen muß«). 16 Heinz Heimsoeth: Metaphysik und Kritik bei Chr. A. Crusius. Ein Beitrag zur ontologischen Vorgeschichte der Kritik der reinen Vernunft im 18. Jahrhundert. Berlin 1926, p. 19 recognizes in Crusius’ conception of fundamental powers a profound dependence on Leibniz and refers at this point to the distinction between primitive and derivative powers. It is also possible, however, that both Leibniz and Crusius emphasize different aspects of the same Aristotelian tradition. See also notes 23, 27, and 28.

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A true fundamental power must accord to the thing constantly, otherwise it is a mere capacity which comes from the present mutable application of the true fundamental powers and the accidental connection of the thing with others.17

According to Crusius, we are not dealing with a true fundamental power as long as one cannot clearly understand that which is attributed to the very power as an effect of the same power because the causal character of the relationship would remain unclear. It is therefore first necessary to determine the relevant changes in things as a constant correlation. Consider that Crusius allows differences in the observable effects only in terms of intensity or direction.18 However, the changes of the soul, which Wolff attributes to the power of representation, do not satisfy this requirement.19 If one assumes that the human soul has only one fundamental power, that is, the power of representation, then all its effects or activities should be sufficiently explained by the power of representation. This means that the soul will feel, think, reason logically, desire, hate, feel pain etc. only by means of this power. For Crusius, however, this makes no sense because the differences between these activities cannot be traced back to differences only in direction or intensity, as would be the

|| 17 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), § 71: »Eine wahre Grundkraft muß der Sache mit einer Beständigkeit zukommen, sonst ist sie ein blosses Vermögen, welches von der gegenwärtigen veränderlichen Application der wahren Grundkräfte und der zufälligen Verbindung des Dinges mit andern herkommt.« 18 Ibid., § 73: »What is to be a fundamental power, if the power is finite, must have no more than a continuous next effect, and its next effects must not be distinguished from one another more than in direction and degree; but the more distant effects must be comprehensible from the next one and from the different degrees and directions of it: and such must be truly shown, inasmuch as the concept of the fundamental power is to be completely clear« (»Was eine Grundkraft seyn soll, dasselbe muß, wenn die Kraft endlich ist, nicht mehr als einerley nächste Folge beständig haben und die nächsten Wirckungen derselben dürfen unter einander nicht weiter als der Direction und dem Grade nach unterschieden seyn; die fernern Wirckungen aber müssen sich aus der nächsten, und aus den unterschiedenen Graden und Richtungen derselben begreiffen lassen: und dieses muß man wircklich zeigen können, dafern der Begriff der Grundkraft völlig deutlich seyn soll«). See also Dissertatio philosophica de corruptelis intellectus (see note 6), § III. Tester: Mental powers (see note 4), pp. 433f. identifies eight characteristics of fundamental powers in Crusius. 19 Ibid., § 444, p. 861: »[...] because the actions and changes of the understanding are more distinct than according to direction and degree: So the given power would only be a mere general power, but not yet a true physical fundamental power [...]. But there must be more than one [fundamental power; A.H.], because we can think of things of quite different determined nature« (»[…] weil aber die Actionen und Veränderungen des Verstandes mehr als der Direction und dem Grade nach unterschieden sind: So wäre die angegebene Kraft nur eine blosse General-Kraft, noch nicht aber eine wahre physikalische Grundkraft […]. Mehr als eine [Grundkraft; A.H.] aber muß da seyn, weil wir Dinge von ganz unterschiedener determinierten Beschaffenheit dencken können«). See also the early version of this argument in Dissertatio philosophica de corruptelis intellectus (see note 6), § VII.

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case if we were dealing with a true fundamental power. 20 Instead, one would only have a »general power« here, i. e. an abstract power under which a mere collection of effects is subordinated. But merely subsuming various effects under one term does not actually explain anything at all for Crusius. What is more, this assumption even prevents one from »ever attaining real knowledge of the thing«.21 Crusius, on the other hand, emphasizes »that the very first fundamental powers of our understanding are impossible to identify by number«.22 This makes it clear why, for Crusius, the power of representation cannot be the fundamental power of the human soul and why Wolff erroneously turned a mere abstract »general power« into a fundamental power, which is supposed to be grounded in the fundamental essence of a thing and is that from which its essential qualities follow. Since the activities of the soul cannot be explained by a single fundamental power, one will have to accept a multitude of such powers. As we will see in the following, it is Crusius’ conception of substance, in contrast with Wolff’s conception, that allows him to explain why it is not impossible to assume that the soul as a simple substance can have several powers.

1.2 Substance and Accident Crusius also presents his conception of substance within the framework of the discussion of the essence of things. His approach in this regard appears somewhat reminiscent of traditional Aristotelian approaches.23 This impression, as we will see,

|| 20 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), § 446: »For, assuming that thinking and willing would come from the same single fundamental power, or at least willing would depend entirely on such fundamental powers that constitute understanding taken together [...]; then either willing would have to be only a kind of thinking which would be distinguished from other kinds of thinking by content, direction or degree; or willing would have to be an adequate effect of thinking, namely from certain kinds of thinking. But both are contradictory« (»Denn gesezt, Dencken und Wollen käme von einer einzigen Grund-Kraft her, oder wenigstens dependirte das Wollen gänzlich mit von denenjenigen Grund-Kräften, welche den Verstand zusammen genommen ausmachen […]; so müste entweder das Wollen nur eine Art von Dencken seyn, welche etwan von andern Arten des Denckens dem Innhalte [sic!] der Direction oder dem Grade nach unterschieden wäre; oder das Wollen müste ein adäquater Effect vom Dencken, nemlich etwan von gewissen Arten des Denckens, seyn. Es ist aber beydes widersprechend«). See also Dissertatio philosophica de corruptelis intellectus (see note 6), § VII–X. 21 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), § 73: »[…] iemals zur Erkenntnis derselben zu gelangen […].« 22 Ibid., § 444: »[…] daß sich die allerersten Grund-Kräfte unsers Verstandes der Zahl nach unmöglich ausmachen lassen […].« In his Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß Crusius claims that it is impossible to »discover completely all fundamental powers of the human understanding« (Leipzig 1747, § 63). 23 Heßbrüggen-Walter: Die Seele und ihre Vermögen (see note 3), p. 88 points to Suárez.

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is further reinforced by his subsequent elaboration. In his discussion, Crusius assumes that one has to distinguish between two aspects in a complete thing: first, that which is presented as subsisting in another; and second, that in which other things subsist but which itself does not subsist in something else. Crusius calls the first a metaphysical quality or »accidens praedicamentale« (Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, § 20), and the latter a »metaphysical subject« (ibid.). Both subject and quality are regarded by Crusius as incomplete things. Neither can exist without the other. When Crusius speaks of »substance« here he means the complete thing, which is composed of subject and qualities. He clarifies this thought as follows: Things can be distinguished according to their form and matter.24 With a book, for example, one can distinguish between the underlying matter and the particular shape. Accordingly, one can also say that the shape as a quality inheres in matter as the subject. However, the specific matter of the book, i. e. the paper, can also be distinguished into form and matter. Paper, too, is matter formed in a certain way, which means it is composed of underlying material elements. This distinction between matter and form can be continued a little further, but according to Crusius one will finally reach an ultimate metaphysical subject, to which the formal qualities then adhere. In view of this ultimate or fundamental subject, all preceding subjects can be regarded as only relatively persistent subjects and thus as mere qualities, whereas only the ultimate subject is »absolute« (Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, § 21). According to Crusius, this absolute subject exists in a perfect way in itself, precisely when it does not itself again inhere in another subject. The relative subject, on the other hand, exists in an imperfect way, insofar as it remains dependent on another subject (ibid., § 22). Two points are of particular importance for us in Crusius’ subsequent discussion: First, it seems to follow from this assumption that the subject as such has no particular quality. Crusius therefore distinguishes in a substance between an unqualified material substrate and the intrinsic qualities of this substrate. This leads Dieter Henrich to assume that Kant’s assumption of the intrinsically unqualified substantiale could have drawn on Crusius’ conception of substance.25 It must be noted, however, that although Crusius allows for an ultimate metaphysical subject that underlies every predication in a certain sense, substance itself is for him the

|| 24 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), § 30, p. 48: »The former is called matter in the ontological understanding, or the material, while the other is called form or the formal. Both, therefore, are incomplete things, and if one abstracts them, it depends only on a particular way of looking at them« (»Das erstere nennet man die Materie im ontologischen Verstande, oder das materiale, das andere hingegen die Form oder das formale. Beydes demnach sind unvollständige Dinge, und es kömmt, wenn man sie abstrahiret, nur auf eine besondere Betrachtungsart an«). 25 Henrich: Einheit der Subjektivität (see note 3), p. 40. See also Heimsoeth: Metaphysik und Kritik (see note 16), p. 25.

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complete thing. Even in his discussion of simple substances, he does not give up the idea that substance is composed of subject (or substrate) and quality.26 We know already that for Crusius qualities are based directly on powers, which suggests in turn that substance consists of a quality-less substrate and certain powers.27 This ambiguous understanding of substance, of course, also has a famous predecessor in Aristotle, inasmuch as Aristotle already described the compound of form and matter, as well as form and matter in themselves, as substance (in certain respects). The fact that, as Kant observes, such a substance cannot be an object of knowledge applies accordingly also to Aristotle’s ultimate substrate: unqualified matter.28 But if one assumes that substance as a complete thing is always at the same time a composition of an underlying substrate and its qualities, the question arises whether there can be anything like simple substances at all. This brings us to the second point, namely Crusius’ conception of simple substance. Contrary to this initial assumption, Crusius believes that there are simple substances. He therefore shares this doctrine with the Leibniz-Wolffian philosophy. Nevertheless, as we will see soon, there are also decisive differences here between Crusius’ account and the Leibniz-Wolffian position. But first consider that analogous to his predecessors Crusius develops the concept of simplicity from that of composition. According to this view one can distinguish a multitude of parts in a real thing, even if it is a unit (that is one). Such a thing is therefore a whole (»ein Ganzes«).29 And a little later in his discussion, Crusius even explicitly takes up the

|| 26 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), § 111: »And this is precisely what makes a substance possible when subject and power are together« (»Und eben dadurch wird eine Substanz möglich, wenn Subject und Kraft beysammen ist«). Ibid., p. 182: »This also illuminates a more elevated definition of a simple substance. A simple substance is a next subject in which a power directly subsists« (»Hiermit erhellet zugleich eine erhöhete Definition einer einfachen Substanz. Nehmlich eine einfache Substanz ist ein nächstes Subject, in welchem eine Kraft unmittelbar subsistiret«). 27 Ibid., § 30, p. 48: »As far as form subsists as a property in matter as the subject, so the last one is called materia in qua, but insofar as it is something that arises from the composition of several substances and their connection, it is called materia ex qua. One understands at the same time that the form can be an active power or something else according to what the thing is« (»Wie fern die Form als eine Eigenschaft in der Materie als dem Subjecte subsistiret, so heißt die leztere materia in qua, wiefern sie aber etwas ist, was aus der Zusammensezung mehrerer Substanzen und deren Verbindung entstehet, so heißt dieselbe materia ex qua. Man verstehet zugleich, daß die Form eine thätige Kraft oder etwas anderes seyn könne, nachdem die Sache ist«). Identifying the form with the power or force comes quite close again to the position of Leibniz. For Leibniz, too, form or entelechy is primarily a certain activity. From this perspective, the difference between Leibniz’ and Crusius’ conception lies in the fact that for Crusius the form is not substantial, but accidental, and is inherent in a substrate with which it constitutes the substance. 28 See Andree Hahmann: Kritische Metaphysik der Substanz. Kant im Widerspruch zu Leibniz. Berlin, New York 2009, pp. 174–195. 29 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), § 103.

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classical proof for the existence of simple substances: »Here, however, we only have to make clear that if there are composite things, there must also be simple ones.«30 What is decisive for Crusius’ further discussion is the distinction between ideal and real simplicity. The former designates a simple, from which no further parts can be differentiated even in thought; the latter, however, has no real or actual parts that could really be separated from it. »True simplicity of a thing is that constitution of it, by which it has no real part, that is, it does not consist of separable things, as far as it does not consist of them.«31 The strange addition »as far as it does not consist of them«, means that Crusius does not want to exclude that further parts of it can be separated in thought. Accordingly, there are still parts in the substance but these are only what Crusius calls »parts of thought« (»Gedanckentheile«; Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, § 104). Separation in thought and real separation are indeed closely connected, for that which can really be separated from a thing must also be separable from it in thought. But this should not be understood as meaning that everything that can be separated in thought can actually be separated.32

|| 30 Ibid., § 111: »Allhier aber haben wir nur klar zu machen, daß, wenn es zusammengesetzte Dinge giebt, auch einfache seyn müssen.« Cf. Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken (see note 5), § 76; Christian Wolff: Philosophia prima, sive Ontologia, methodo scientifica pertractata, qua omnis cognitionis humanae principia continentur. In: Gesammelte Werke. Abt. 2. (Latin texts). Vol. 6. Ed. by Jean École. 4. Reprint. Hildesheim 2011 (Frankfurt a. M. Leipzig 1736), § 68; Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten: Metaphysica. Halle 1757, §§ 224–226. 31 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), § 105: »Die wahre Einfachheit eines Dinges ist diejenige Beschaffenheit desselben, vermöge deren es keine wircklichen Theile hat, das ist, nicht aus trennbaren Dingen bestehet, wiefern es nicht daraus bestehet.« 32 Ibid., § 106. Crusius’ solution to one of the most fiercely debated problems of the 18th century, namely the problem of the compatibility of the infinite divisibility of space with the assumption of simple substances as the last constituents of composite bodies, also results from this. Thus, Crusius distinguishes strictly between the realm of philosophy and that of mathematics. Consequently, the same words are understood differently in mathematics than in philosophy (§ 113). Mathematics for Crusius is only concerned with the magnitudes of extended things. However, it does not address the real nature of things. »Since now in mathematics the concept of all extended quantities, which are quantitates continuae, had to be built on the concept of the mathematical point: So one cannot deny that they cannot all be together in this condition, but that the true lines, surfaces and bodies in nature are composed of the smallest substances in the same order as one imagines them in mathematics as consisting of points« (ibid., § 115: »Da nun in der Mathematik der Begriff aller ausgedehnten Grössen, welche quantitates continuae sind, auf den Begriff des mathematischen Punctes hat gebauet werden müssen: So kan man nicht leugnen, daß sie in dieser Verfassung allezusammen nicht seyn können, sondern daß die wahren Linien, Flächen und Cörper in der Natur in eben der Ordnung aus kleinesten Substanzen zusammen gesetzt werden, wie man sich dieselben in der Mathematik als aus Puncten bestehend gedencket«). Decisive for Crusius is the respect in which something is called simple. Thus he distinguishes between a metaphysical and a physical simple. The former would be simple in every respect, a definition which is fulfilled for Crusius by

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Crusius introduces his conception of simple substance against this backdrop: Simple, by definition, is that which has no really (i. e. physically) separable parts. A metaphysical being would thus be simple if no further qualities could be separated from it. The substance, which as such is a complete thing and thus a metaphysical subject with qualities, would be simple under this condition if no further substances can really be separated from it.33 For Crusius, extended things are compound substances (ibid., § 108), which does not necessarily mean that simple substances have no extension. In a simple substance parts can also be differentiated in thought. It is precisely in this sense that the soul is simple: »For those who attribute only one fundamental power to the soul, as those who attribute several to it, claim the simplicity of the soul«.34 The soul would therefore also be simple if more than just one quality and, assuming Crusius’ conception of power, more than one power can be found in it. This would also prove to Crusius that the conclusion drawn by Wolff from the simplicity of the soul as substance to the necessity of a single fundamental power is not valid: Thus, out of the multiplicity of mental powers and their actions, no composition of substance results, but only a multiplicity of activity, and a perfection of the subject and its essence far exceeding that of matter.35

Now only Wolff’s third thesis, according to which the power of representation is the soul itself and thus a simple substance remains. Crusius also rejects this thesis with the following reasoning: »First of all no power can be thought without a subject [...], therefore it cannot be the same.«36 This conclusion follows, as we can now see, from Crusius’ conception of substance, which is composed of a »subject« and its formal determination or power. Accordingly, the power must be inherent in a »subject« and cannot subsist without this foundation.

|| God (§ 107, p. 177), the latter is such »which consists of no more physical parts« (§ 109: »[…] was nicht mehr […] aus physicalischen Theilen besteht […]«). 33 Ibid., § 107: »[A] substance is simple if it is not composed of separable substances. Accordingly, a simple substance is only a single metaphysical subject which exists in perfect form for itself« (»[E]ine Substanz ist einfach, wenn sie nicht aus trennbaren Substanzen zusammengesetzt ist. Demnach ist eine einfache Substanz nur ein einziges metaphysisches Subjekt, welches auf vollkommene Art vor sich selbst bestehet«). 34 Ibid., § 109: »Denn es behaupten so wohl diejenigen die Einfachheit der Seele, welche ihr nur eine einzige Grundkraft zuschreiben, als diejenigen, welche ihr mehrere beylegen.« 35 Ibid., § 444: »So erfolget aus der Mannigfaltigkeit der geistigen Kräfte und ihrer Actionen keine Zusammensetzung der Substanz, sondern nur eine mannigfaltige Thätigkeit, und eine die Materie weit übersteigende Vollkommenheit des Subjectes und seines Wesens.« 36 Ibid., § 118: »Erstlich läßt sich keine Kraft ohne ein Subject […] dencken, mithin kann sie auch dasselbe nicht seyn.«

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2 The Idea of a General Power in the 18th Century Crusius’ criticism of the Wolffian conception of the soul had a profound impact on the subsequent development of German philosophy in the 18th century. In this section we will consider Kant and Schmid, to whom Dieter Henrich already refers.37 We will also take a look at Platner. The treatment of Platner’s position is particularly revealing for our purposes, because he initially remains unimpressed by Crusius’ critique of the fundamental role attributed to the power of representation but then distances himself from this view due to his more thorough engagement with Kant. This in fact shows that Kant was read by his contemporaries in light of Crusius’ discussion of fundamental powers.38

2.1 Kant As is well known, Heidegger refers to the introduction of the Kritik der reinen Vernunft to support his thesis that imagination as a special form of the power of representation is the common root of sensibility and understanding.39 Kant seems to suggest there that the individual cognitive faculties could »perhaps spring from a common but unknown root« (A 15 / B 29).40 Admittedly, Kant himself rows back in what immediately follows and refers instead to the difficulties of finding such a root. Henrich already pointed out, however, that his reservations can be understood in two different ways.41 Thus Reinhold, Fichte, Hegel, Cohen and also Heidegger supposedly understood this in such a way that the systematics of Kant’s critical project after all require the search for an underlying principle although Kant did not suc-

|| 37 Henrich: Einheit der Subjektivität (see note 3), p. 38 also mentions Tetens, who was also skeptical about the assumption of a single fundamental power. However, as Henrich convincingly argues, it is unlikely that Tetens had any influence on Kant in this matter. 38 That Kant was well aware of Crusius’ critique of Wolff and his conception of a fundamental power is also emphasized by Tester: Mental powers (see note 3) who focuses in particular on the Paralogism section of the Kritik der reinen Vernunft. 39 Martin Heidegger: Gesamtausgabe. 1. Abteilung: Veröffentlichte Schriften 1910–1976. Bd. 3: Kant und das Problem der Metaphysik. Frankfurt a. M. 1991, p. 37. The second passage Heidegger refers to is A835 / B863. Kant’s writings are quoted with volume number and page number following: Immanuel Kant. Gesammelte Schriften. Ed. by the Preußischen [later: Deutschen] Akademie der Wissenschaften. Berlin 1900ff.). The Kritik der reinen Vernunft is quoted with the page numbers of the first (A) and second (B) edition. Unless otherwise noted all translations of Kant follow the Cambridge Edition of the Works of Immanuel Kant. Ed. by Allen Wood and Paul Guyer. Cambridge 1992– 2016. 40 In the Anthropology Kant emphasizes that it is impossible for us to cognize this common root (AA VII, p. 177). 41 Henrich: Einheit der Subjektivität (see note 3), p. 31.

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ceed to determine this principle. Henrich now holds against this that it is quite conceivable that Kant resisted this project for different and more profound reasons. In fact, Kant not only saw insurmountable difficulties in deriving the different cognitive faculties from one single principle but actually considered this endeavor to be impossible. This is also suggested, for example, by a passage taken from the first introduction to the Kritik der Urteilskraft: We can trace all faculties of the human mind without exception back to these three: the faculty of cognition, the feeling of pleasure and displeasure, and the faculty of desire. To be sure, philosophers who otherwise deserve nothing but praise for the thoroughness of their way of thinking have sought to explain this distinction as merely illusory and to reduce all faculties to the mere faculty of cognition (»Erkenntnisvermögen«). But it can easily be demonstrated, and has already been understood for some time, that this attempt to bring unity into the multiplicity of faculties, although undertaken in a genuinely philosophical spirit, is futile.42

It should be noted that when Kant speaks about faculty of cognition here, he may well be understood as referring to the power of representation. In fact, Kant does not use the term ›power of representation‹ (»Vorstellungskraft«) as a technical term in his Critical philosophy. However, in the Kritik der reinen Vernunft (B 130) he also calls the understanding as such a power of representation. It should be noted that for Kant representation as such is a generic term that encompasses both intuition and thinking, a fact, to which Heidegger draws special attention. However, it is also clear that there is an important difference between the power of representation and the power of imagination. Although both faculties are closely related, they are not the same. From a certain perspective, the power of representation can be considered more fundamental than imagination, since imagination also operates with representations. But despite the crucial differences between these two faculties the general idea of a common root of intuition and understanding put forward by Heidegger displays central aspects of Crusius’ so-called fundamental power as Henrich has already demonstrated. However, besides the fact that Heidegger’s interpretation is

|| 42 Kant: Erste Einleitung in die Kritik der Urteilskraft, AA XX, p. 205f.: »Wir können alle Vermögen des menschlichen Gemüths ohne Ausnahme auf die drei zurückführen: das Erkenntnißvermögen das Gefühl der Lust und Unlust und das Begehrungsvermögen. Zwar haben Philosophen, die wegen der Gründlichkeit ihrer Denkungsart übrigens alles Lob verdienen, diese Verschiedenheit nur für scheinbar zu erklären und alle Vermögen aufs bloße Erkenntnißvermögen zu bringen gesucht. Allein es läßt sich sehr leicht darthun, und seit einiger Zeit hat man es auch schon eingesehen, daß dieser, sonst im ächten philosophischen Geiste unternommene Versuch, Einheit in diese Mannigfaltigkeit der Vermögen hineinzubringen, vergeblich sey.« Guyer in the English translation also refers to Wolff and the debate concerning the fundamental powers of the soul. See Immanuel Kant: Critique of the Power of Judgment. Ed. by Paul Guyer. Translated by Paul Guyer and Eric Matthews. Cambridge 2002, p. 358.

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highly problematic for several other reasons too,43 he simply overlooks that Kant himself emphasizes elsewhere the unfoundedness of the assumption that the power of imagination could be the ultimate and most original capacity of the soul and even compares it with the power of representation in this respect. Consider the following quote from Über den Gebrauch teleologischer Prinzipien in der Philosophie.44 E. g., the imagination in the human being is an effect that we cognize to be not the same with other effects of the mind. Therefore the power related to this effect can only be called power of the imagination (as fundamental power). […] Several have thought that they had to assume a single fundamental power for the sake of the unity of the substance and even have thought to gain cognition of it simply by coining the common title of various fundamental powers, e. g. that the fundamental power of the soul is the power of representing (Vorstellungskraft) the world. This would be the same as if I were to say: the sole fundamental power of matter is moving force, since repulsion and attraction both stand under the common concept of movement. Yet one desires to know whether the former could also be derived from the latter, which is impossible. For with respect to their specific difference, the lower concepts can never be derived from the higher ones. And as far as the unity of the substance is concerned, which appears to include the unity of the fundamental power already in its concept, this illusion rests on an incorrect definition of power. For the latter is not that which contains the ground of the actuality of the accidents (i. e., the substance) but only the relation of the substance to the accidents insofar as the former contains the ground of the actuality of the latter. But different relations may well be attributed to the substance (its unity notwithstanding).45

|| 43 So, for instance, Heidegger simply ignores Kant’s cautious formulation, which expressly emphasizes that this could »perhaps« be the case, i. e. under certain circumstances and not necessarily. For a still very good critical assessment of Heidegger’s crucial thesis, see the early reviews of Ernst Cassirer: Kant und das Problem der Metaphysik. In: Kant-Studien 36 (1931), pp. 1–26 and Heinrich Levy: Heideggers Kantinterpretation. Zu Heideggers Buch ›Kant und das Problem der Metaphysik‹. In: Logos 21 (1932), pp. 1–43. 44 Henrich: Einheit der Subjektivität (see note 3), pp. 32f. 45 Immanuel Kant: Über den Gebrauch teleologischer Prinzipien in der Philosophie. In: AA VIII, pp. 180f.: »Z. B. die Einbildung im Menschen ist eine Wirkung, die wir mit andern Wirkungen des Gemüths nicht als einerlei erkennen. Die Kraft, die sich darauf bezieht, kann daher nicht anders als Einbildungskraft (als Grundkraft) genannt werden. […] Zu der Einheit der Substanz haben Verschiedene geglaubt eine einige Grundkraft annehmen zu müssen und haben sogar gemeint sie zu erkennen, indem sie blos den gemeinschaftlichen Titel verschiedener Grundkräfte nannten, z. B. die einzige Grundkraft der Seele sei Vorstellungskraft der Welt; gleich als ob ich sagte: die einzige Grundkraft der Materie ist bewegende Kraft, weil Zurückstoßung und Anziehung beide unter dem gemeinschaftlichen Begriffe der Bewegung stehen. Man verlangt aber zu wissen, ob sie auch von dieser abgeleitet werden können, welches unmöglich ist. Denn die niedrigern Begriffe können nach dem, was sie Verschiedenes haben, von dem höheren niemals abgeleitet werden; und was die Einheit der Substanz betrifft, von der es scheint, daß sie die Einheit der Grundkraft schon in ihrem Begriffe bei sich führe, so beruht diese Täuschung auf einer unrichtigen Definition der Kraft. Denn diese ist nicht das, was den Grund der Wirklichkeit der Accidenzen enthält (das ist die Substanz), sondern ist blos das Verhältniß der Substanz zu den Accidenzen, so fern sie den Grund ihrer Wirk-

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Although Kant does not explicitly refer to Crusius, the above discussion clearly reveals the Crusian origin of his thoughts: First of all, the terminology used by Kant is striking. Like Crusius, Kant speaks of »fundamental powers«. Moreover, by referring to the different capacities of the human mind, he rejects the assumption that the »power of representing the world« could be the only fundamental power. When Kant speaks here of the unity of substance, he alludes to Wolff’s argument that a simple substance can only have one power because of its simplicity.46 However, the proximity to Crusius is most evident in Kant’s reasoning for rejecting a single fundamental power. According to Kant, this assumption results from an incorrect definition of power (or force). For Kant, power refers to the relationship between substance and accident. With Crusius one could also say that the individually ascertainable qualities of a thing are powers, which is why a simple substance has just as many powers as qualities; or in other words, one can ascribe just as many powers to it as one can ascertain relations between the substance and its accidents. I would like to draw attention also to a passage from the ›Elementarlehre‹ of the Kritik der reinen Vernunft: At first glance the various appearances of one and the same substance show such diversity that one must assume almost as many powers as there are effects, as in the human mind there are sensation, consciousness, imagination, memory, wit, the power to distinguish, pleasure, desire, etc. Initially a logical maxim bids us to reduce this apparent variety as far as possible by discovering hidden identity through comparison […]. The idea of a fundamental power ‒ though logic does not at all ascertain whether there is such a thing ‒ is at least the problem set by a systematic representation of the manifoldness of powers. The logical principle of reason demands this unity as far as it is possible to bring it about, and the more appearances of this power and that power are found to be identical, the more probable it becomes that they are nothing but various expressions of one and the same power, which can be called (comparatively) their fundamental power. […] These comparatively fundamental powers must once again be compared with one another, so as to discover their unanimity and thereby bring them close to a single radical, i. e., absolutely fundamental, power. But this unity of reason is merely hypothetical.47

|| lichkeit enthält. Es können aber der Substanz (unbeschadet ihrer Einheit) verschiedene Verhältnisse gar wohl beigelegt werden.« 46 See once more Wolff: Psychologia rationalis (see note 4), § 57; Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken (see note 4), § 745: »However, it is not the case that a thing that is simple can have different efforts at the same time, in that it is just as much as if a body, which in its movement is to be regarded as an indivisible thing (§ 667), should move to different regions at the same time« (»Es gehet aber nicht an, daß ein Ding, was einfach ist, verschiedene Bemühungen zugleich haben kan, indem es eben so viel, als wenn ein Cörper, der in seiner Bewegung als ein untheilbares Ding anzusehen ist (§. 667), sich nach verschiedenen Gegenden zugleich bewegen solte«). 47 Kant: Kritik der reinen Vernunft, A 648f. / B 676f.: »Die verschiedenen Erscheinungen eben derselben Substanz zeigen beim ersten Anblicke soviel Ungleichartigkeit, daß man daher anfänglich beinahe so vielerlei Kräfte derselben annehmen muß, als Wirkungen sich hervortun, wie in

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Thus, as Henrich points out, we obtain the explanation for Kant’s remark from the introduction to the Kritik der reinen Vernunft. For in referring to the common root of the stems of knowledge Kant in no way wants to rescind his critical separation of these stems. It is more important to him, on the one hand, to maintain the explanatory openness in the treatment of these powers already demanded by Crusius and, on the other hand, to provide methodical guidance, which in turn aims at systematic unity in the apparent multiplicity. The required unity – following the superior systematics of the Kritik der reinen Vernunft – is provided by the »idea«, which is why in this context Kant also refers to the »idea of a fundamental power«. However, although Kant’s reflections are thus placed within the systematic framework of Critical philosophy, the proximity to Crusius is clear. For as we have seen, Crusius also warns philosophers not to infer too hastily to the effect of a single fundamental power, where in reality several powers may be effective. In order to reveal the true fundamental powers, i. e. powers in the strictest sense, it is necessary to carefully compare the supposed fundamental powers with each other and »thereby bring them close to a single radical, i. e., absolutely fundamental, power« as Kant says, even if the latter might remain undisclosed forever. As we will see in what follows, this methodological assumption in particular had a demonstrable influence on the development of philosophy after Kant.

2.2 Platner before and after Kant Little impressed by Crusius’ criticism of Wolff and not yet touched by Kant’s Kritik der reinen Vernunft,48 Platner insists in the new edition of his Philosophische Aphorismen from 1784 that »the substance [...] is the power itself, (in the strictest sense), and the sum of the determinations or qualities; and a substantial subject, in which

|| dem menschlichen Gemüte die Empfindungen, Bewußtsein […]. Anfänglich gebietet eine logische Maxime, diese anscheinende Verschiedenheit soviel als möglich dadurch zu verringern, daß man durch Vergleichung die versteckte Identität entdecke […]. Die Idee einer Grundkraft, von welcher aber die Logik gar nicht ausmittelt, ob es dergleichen gebe, ist wenigstens das Problem einer systematischen Vorstellung der Mannigfaltigkeit von Kräften. Das logische Vernunftprinzip erfordert diese Einheit soweit als möglich zustande zu bringen, und je mehr die Erscheinungen der einen und anderen Kraft unter sich identisch gefunden werden, desto wahrscheinlicher wird es, daß sie nichts, als verschiedene Äußerungen einer und derselben Kraft seien, welche (komparativ) ihre Grundkraft heißen kann. […] Die komparativen Grundkräfte müssen wiederum untereinander verglichen werden, um sie dadurch, daß man ihre Einhelligkeit entdeckt, einer einzigen radikalen, d. i. absoluten Grundkraft nahe zu bringen. Diese Vernunfteinheit aber ist bloß hypothetisch.« 48 In the new preface to the completely revised edition of his Philosophical Aphorisms of 1793, Platner admits that he had previously »not yet sufficiently thought through Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason« (ibid., p. III).

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the qualities and the power are to exist, is a fictitious idea of imagination«.49 In this statement Platner explicitly turns against Crusius’ assumption of substantial subjects. 50 He argues here that such a subject must either be itself a composition of qualities and consequently an active power or something different from the power. If, on the one hand, one assumes the latter, one must wonder what it could be. Platner contends, alongside Locke and Baumgarten, that only that which has an effect exists.51 On the other hand, Platner also expressly concedes to Crusius that it would not contradict the simplicity of substance if it had more than one power.52 He does, however, emphasize that there has to be one fundamental power »on which the activity, direction and strength of the others depend«.53 The plurality of powers would therefore be founded in a single fundamental power – systematically arranged –, which for Platner represents the »substantial in the stricter sense«.54 This is an explicit objection to Crusius, who, as was pointed out, does not want to exclude a plurality of fundamental powers for methodical reasons. Of course, this position poses the problem that Platner has to subsume all capacities of the soul under one single fundamental power, which leads him to maintain, for example, that both the will and human desires follow from this single fundamental power. On his view, they are effects that the ideas of good or evil have on

|| 49 Ernst Platner: Philosophische Aphorismen nebst einigen Anleitungen zur philosophischen Geschichte. Erster Theil. Neue durchaus umgearbeitete Ausgabe. Leipzig 1784, § 930, p. 324f. 50 Ibid., § 930, p. 325 refers to Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 6), §§ 20ff. and §§ 62ff., where he says (pp. 112f.): »The power in the widest understanding is the possibility of another thing connected to one thing § 29. Finally, it must always be connected to a substance. Therefore one can also say that the power is the possibility of a certain thing B which is connected to a substance A, by which in A something subsists, whereby B has its reality or obtains it § 59. Thus it belongs to the concept of power, if it is to be clearly thought of, the concept of causality and subsistence« (»Die Kraft in dem weitesten Verstande ist die an ein Ding verknüpfte Möglichkeit eines andern Dinges § 29. Zuletzt muß dieselbe allezeit an eine Substanz verknüpft seyn. Daher kann man auch sagen, die Kraft sey die an eine Substanz A verknüpfte Möglichkeit eines gewissen Dinges B, vermöge welcher in A etwas subsistiret, wodurch B seine Wirklichkeit hat oder bekommt § 59. Es gehöret also zu dem Begriffe der Kraft, wenn der deutlich gedacht werden soll, der Begriff der Causalität und der Subsistenz«). 51 At this point Platner points to Baumgarten’s Metaphysica, §§ 132 ff. and Locke’s Essay Concerning Human Understanding, II.23. See Platner: Philosophische Aphorismen Erster Theil (see note 49). § 930, p. 325. 52 Ibid., § 931, p. 325: »The combination of several powers does not contradict the simplicity of substances« (»Es widerspricht der Einfachheit der Substanzen nicht, das Zusammenseyn mehrerer Kräfte«). 53 Ibid., § 932, p. 325: »[…] von welcher abhanget die Thätigkeit, Richtung und Stärke der übrigen […].« 54 Ibid., § 932, p. 326: »[…] Substanzielle im engeren Verstande […].«

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this single fundamental power.55 Yet one should not infer from this that there are separate capacities. On the contrary, for Platner both understanding and the will do not exist separately, but they are equally based on only one fundamental power. Platner explains in this regard that for Leibniz and Wolff the will essentially depends on the power of representation.56 In accordance with his metaphysical view on the necessary justification of different powers in a substantial fundamental power, he then claims that even the different powers of the soul are ultimately grounded in a common fundamental power.57 For Platner this fundamental power can only be the power of representation.58 Consequently, he concludes that the power of representation provides the sufficient basis for knowledge of all phenomena of the will. By the power of representation he means a »spiritual being, which partly looks at ideas presented to it, i. e. perceives them as something external to itself, partly compares them [...], and the latter either with ideas as characteristics, or with ideas as sensations of its own state«.59 From the comparison also follows the idea of the good, and thus the emotions of the will also depend on it. In addition, the power of representation also contains the striving to expand one’s own power.60 But the power is extended by all ideas that promote mental and physical activity, coincide with the urge of life, or bring about the perfection of one’s state. The power of the will is therefore ultimately nothing other than the endeavor of the soul to expand the

|| 55 Ernst Platner: Philosophische Aphorismen nebst einigen Anleitungen zur philosophischen Geschichte. Anderer Theil. Leipzig 1782, § 361, p. 149: »The volitional activities, desire and abhorrence, are effects of ideas of good or evil [...]. Accordingly, activities of the will are distinguishable from the ideas from which they arise. And to this extent the essence of the faculty of will does not consist in ideas, but in the effects that occur upon them« (»Die Willensthätigkeiten, Begehren und Verabscheuen, sind Wirkungen von Ideen eines Guten, oder Übels […]. Demnach sind die Willensthätigkeiten unterscheidbar von den Vorstellungen aus denen sie entspringen. Und in so fern besteht das Wesen des Willensvermögens nicht in Vorstellungen, sondern in den Wirkungen die darauf erfolgen«). 56 Ibid., § 362, p. 151. 57 Ibid., § 362, p. 149f.: »Still, this distinction among presentations of the will and activities of the will [...] proves nothing for a segregated independence of the power of cognition and the power of the will. For in a single being it is impossible to assume more than a single fundamental power [...] and one erroneously concludes from divisions of abstraction to a separation in the thing« (»Jedennoch beweiset diese Unterscheidung unter Willensvorstellungen und Willensthätigkeiten […] nichts für eine abgesonderte Selbstständigkeit des Erkenntniß- und Willensvermögens. Denn in einem einigen Wesen ist nicht möglich mehr denn eine einzige Grundkraft […] und man schließt irrig von Theilungen der Abstraktion auf Trennung in der Sache«). See also § 363, p. 154. 58 Ibid., § 364, p. 154: »The basic concept of the power of representation is a sufficient basis of knowledge of all phenomena of the power of the will«. 59 Ibid., § 365, p. 154f.: »[…] geistiges Wesen, welches Ideen die sich ihm darstellen theils schauet, d. i. als etwas außer sich empfindet, theils vergleicht […], und das leztere entweder mit Ideen als Merkmahlen, oder mit Ideen als Empfindungen von ihrem eigenen Zustande […].« 60 Ibid., § 366, p. 155.

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power of representation.61 Platner also explains all other mental activities in this way and argues that they all depend on a supreme cognitive faculty, which is the power of representation.62 Platner thus essentially follows the Leibniz-Wolffian conception in 1782/84 although he is well acquainted with Crusius’ criticism, as his explicit rejection of Crusius’ view proves. This changes, however, in the revised and elaborated version of his Philosophical Aphorisms from 1793. What, however, prompted this change is not a new reflection on Crusius’ critique, but his careful reading of Kant’s critical work in the intervening period. Platner explicitly addresses Kant’s works at the points in question and revises his view accordingly in questions relevant to the problem of fundamental powers. He still claims that substance is the power itself and refers to Baumgarten and Leibniz.63 In addition, however, he also considers Kant’s explanation of the relationship between substance and power set out in the short text Ueber eine Entdeckung nach der alle neue Critik der reinen Vernunft durch eine ältere entbehrlich gemacht werden soll from 1790.64 In this text Kant adopts Crusius’ rejection of the claim that substance is a power and further justifies it against the background of his own transcendental philosophical approach. For Platner, substance itself still remains a system of subordinate powers that depend on a single fundamental power.65 But in contrast with the previous editions, where he emphasized against Crusius that this fundamental power is the power of representation, he contends: »But which exactly is the fundamental power: this is difficult to determine«.66 Platner now explicitly refers to Kant’s Kritik der reinen Vernunft and the passage already quoted above (KrV B 677f.), where Kant, as we have seen, emphasizes that it is impossible to prove that there is only one fundamental power in a substance. This concession by Platner is remarkable for two reasons. First, it shows that Platner, in this matter explicitly associated with Crusius, came closer to Crusius’

|| 61 Ibid., § 368, p. 156: »Accordingly, the capacity of will which always manifests itself in the production or destruction of a foreseen idea [...] is nothing other than a striving of the soul to expand its power of representation«. 62 Ibid., § 373, p. 157. 63 Ernst Platner: Philosophische Aphorismen nebst einigen Anleitungen zur philosophischen Geschichte. Ganz neue Ausarbeitung. Erster Theil. Leipzig 1793, § 768, p. 445. 64 Platner refers to the annotation on page 73 of the 1790 edition: Immanuel Kant: Ueber eine Entdeckung nach der alle neue Critik der reinen Vernunft durch eine ältere entbehrlich gemacht werden soll. Königsberg 1790. See accordingly Kant: Ueber eine Entdeckung. In: AA VIII, p. 224. 65 Platner: Philosophische Aphorismen. Ganz neue Ausarbeitung (see note 63), § 770, p. 446: »If there are several powers in the substances together [...]: however, one of them, the supreme one, must be the fundamental power on which the activity, direction, and strength of the others depend. And so a substance would be a system of inseparably connected powers subordinate to a fundamental power, and the fundamental power would be the substantial in the narrow sense.« 66 Ibid., § 771, p. 447: »Welches aber die Grundkraft sey: das ist schwer zu bestimmen.«

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position after reading Kant’s Kritik der reinen Vernunft, giving it more weight than before. Secondly, this also makes it clear that Kant’s position was understood within the context of this problem. It therefore comes as no surprise when Platner suggests a little later, this time, so to speak in agreement with Kant, that it is still permissible, even necessary, to accept this fundamental power, and that this is due to the striving for systematic unity founded in reason itself. 67 If Platner is allowed to do this, he believes »there should be no further dispute with Mr. Schmid about this point«.68 Platner is referring in this remark to Schmid’s Empirische Psychologie (1791), which refers not only back to Crusius, but already in advance to the post-Kantian discussion regarding this issue.

2.3 Schmid In the first part of his Empirische Psychologie, which deals with the human soul and its faculties and powers, Schmid explicitly picks up on Crusius’ remarks on the problem of fundamental powers. And the caution in determining the inner nature of the soul, which Crusius and Kant demanded, is already reflected in Schmid’s initial definitions. He defines the human mind as the appearing determinations of the soul or recognizable grounds of these determinations, which he contrasts with the nonrecognizable grounds.69 Similar to Crusius, Schmid distinguishes between logical and a real essences, whereby the latter are inscrutable insofar as they contain the ultimate laws and grounds of the appearing effects in the soul. Unlike Crusius, however, Schmid distinguishes between capacity and power. A capacity is presupposed as a condition of the actual exercise, »a power of the mind is the ground of the ac-

|| 67 Ibid., § 771, p. 447. 68 Ibid., § 771, p. 447: »[…] mit Herrn Schmid über diesen Punkt [...] weiter keinen Streit [geben; A.H.].« 69 Carl Christian Erhard Schmid: Empirische Psychologie. Jena 1791, (no page number): »We think of this as a problematic possibility: 1. that precisely the same subject, as whose accidences we recognize the representations, still possesses other determinations unrecognized to us, which are not connected with the representations. 2. that the representations themselves depend on other determinations (grounds) which are neither representations themselves nor also possible objects of our representations. 3. that the perceivable effects of the soul, apart from the perceived relationship to representations as their causes, still stand in another causal connection which is inscrutable to us« (»Wir denken uns dabey eine problematische Möglichkeit davon: 1. Dass eben dasselbe Subject, als dessen Accidenzen wir die Vorstellungen erkennen, noch andre uns unerkannte Bestimmungen besitze, die mit den Vorstellungen nicht zusammenhängen. 2. Dass die Vorstellungen selbst noch von andern Bestimmungen (Gründen) abhängen, die weder selbst Vorstellungen noch auch mögliche Gegenstände unsrer Vorstellungen sind. 3. Dass die wahrnehmbaren Würkungen der Seele, ausser dem erkannten Verhältniss zu Vorstellungen als ihren Ursachen, noch in einer andern uns unerforschlichen Causalverknüpfung stehen«).

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tual application of a capacity«.70 It is noteworthy that the appearing multiplicity of capacities and powers is presented as united in the unity of self-consciousness, or, in short, the I.71 Strikingly, this unity is not identified with the unity or simplicity of substance. Schmid thus explicitly distinguishes between the question of the unity of substance and the unity of the mental effects or the mind (»Gemüth«). The simplicity of substance which Wolff still presupposes for the unity of the soul’s activities is thus separated from the methodically required unity of selfconsciousness in the organization of the powers of the soul.72 Schmid also refers to the Kritik der reinen Vernunft here and points out Kant’s proof that the idea of simplicity conflicts with intuition.73 In the subsequent explanation, Schmid declares that Crusius’ methodical caution, which consists in asserting that different effects must also be attributed to different fundamental powers, is the »one maxim of reason«.74 But Schmid also moves towards Wolff and explains that Wolff has the interest of reason on his side; reason as such aims at unity. Wolff’s mistake, however, was to conclude »from real connection to identity of powers and from this to unity of substance; or from unity of a general, subtracted term to unity of real being and substance«.75 The criticism corresponds to the objection that Crusius already made against Wolff and that amounts to his conception of a »general power«. Schmid does not hide the fact that he adopted this idea from Crusius. In the subsequent explanation of the essence of a fundamental power he refers explicitly to his predecessor, but also, and this is remarkable, to Kant, whom Schmid also sees as a successor of Crusius. A radical fundamental power would thus be one that »makes all existing capacities and powers, i. e. states and phenomena of the mind comprehensible«.76 Schmid emphasizes that the nature of reason itself poses the task of seeking out this ulti-

|| 70 Schmid: Empirische Psychologie (see note 69), § VI, p. 157: »Eine Kraft des Gemüthes ist der Grund von der würklichen Anwendung eines Vermögens […].« 71 Ibid., § VIII, p. 158: »But we relate this manifold, determined by the laws of our reason, to one thing by tying it without distinction to the simple notion of I as its subject, i. e. linking it in selfconsciousness.« 72 According to Tester: Mental powers (see note 4), p. 438 already Knutzen distinguished between the cognitive and substantial unity related to the claim of a single fundamental power. For Kant, however, »it does not follow from the unity of thinking that the ground of this unity must be a simple soul« (ibid.). 73 Schmid: Empirische Psychologie (see note 69), § VIII, pp. 158f. 74 Ibid., § VIII, p. 159: »Eine Vernunftmaxime«. 75 Ibid., § VIII, pp. 159f.: »[…] von Realzusammenhang auf Identität der Kräfte und von dieser auf Einheit der Substanz; oder von Einheit eines allgemeinen, abgezogenen Beygriffes [sic!] auf Einheit des Realwesens und der Substanz […].« 76 Ibid., § IX, p. 160: »[…] alle vorhandenen Vermögen und Kräfte d. i. Zustände und Erscheinungen des Gemüthes begreiflich […].«

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mate fundamental power. In his opinion, however, this does not mean that it must conform to the nature of the thing. For him it is not excluded that this ultimate fundamental power does not actually exist. Eventualty, it is up to man to determine the comparatively ultimate fundamental powers. In this context Schmid also explicitly takes up Crusius’ concept of a »general power«, which Crusius, as we have seen above, had used only negatively, i. e. to reject Wolff’s approach. Schmid, on the other hand, derives a positive meaning from the term: The subsumption of the activities under a general power contributes to the methodically demanded unity of reason by summarizing the »manifold of mental capacities and powers … in a general generic term«.77 Like Crusius, Schmid sharply distinguishes between a general power and a fundamental power and then, like Crusius, rejects Wolff who takes the vis-representativa or power of representation to be the sole basic power of the soul, from which all activities of the soul derive. 78 The combination of the comparatively determined fundamental powers requires a system of powers. Schmid also criticizes Platner at this point although he admits that all appearing effects are to be methodically traced back to this underlying root. However, this is clearly not the power of representation; this renders Platner’s critique of Crusius untenable, as Schmid states, because this common root is merely assumed methodically but does not correspond to the actual nature of the thing. This brings us back to our starting point. We can see now that Crusius’ conception of a general power was not only highly influential in 18th century discussion of the faculties of the soul but also that Heidegger in some respects committed the same error as the early Platner, who took the methodical claim of a single fundamental power for the nature of the thing itself. In contrast to Heidegger, however, Platner corrected his mistake after a careful reading of Kant’s Kritik der reinen Vernunft.

3 Outlook I want to conclude by briefly pointing out the forward-looking relevance of Schmid’s discussion of fundamental powers. Shortly after its publication, his book was reviewed very positively by Salomon Maimon in the Magazin zur Erfahrungsseelenkunde, which was published by Maimon and Karl Philipp Moritz. In his review, Maimon emphasizes in particular the distinction between a fundamental power and a general power. In his view, a fundamental power means an inner prin|| 77 Ibid., § XII, p. 163: »Mannigfaltigkeit von geistigen Vermögen und Kräfte[n] […] in einen allgemeinen generischen Begriff […].« 78 See the long quotation from Crusius’ text, which Schmid cites on pages 163f. (Schmid: Empirische Psychologie [see note 69], § XII).

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ciple of the possibility or reality of appearances, whereby fundamental powers are determined by the analysis of appearances in the mind (»Gemüth«). A general power, on the other hand, is merely a generic term that encompasses all species belonging to the same genus.79 Maimon’s understanding corresponds to Schmid’s to this extent. What is remarkable however is the conclusion Maimon draws from this: In his opinion, Schmid’s criticism does not only apply to Platner and Wolff, but instead aims at Schmid’s colleague in Jena, Carl Leonhard Reinhold, who also calls »all kinds of effects of the soul [...] representations (»Vorstellungen«)«.80 Accordingly, the power of representation that Reinhold takes to be fundamental would also not be a real fundamental power of the soul but merely a general power und thus not the absolute first principle that he seeks. 81

|| 79 Salomon Maimon, Karl Philipp Moritz (eds.): Gnothi Sauton oder Magazin zur Erfahrungsseelenkunde als ein Lesebuch für Gelehrte und Ungelehrte. Neunter Band. Berlin 1792. 80 Ibid., p. 7: »[…] alle Wirkungsarten der Seele [...] Vorstellungen nennt«. 81 For Schmid’s significance for the development of Reinhold’s elementary philosophy, see Andreas Berger: Systemwandel zu einer „neuen Elementarphilosophie«? Zur möglichen Rolle von Carl Christian Erhard Schmid in der Entwicklung von Reinholds Elementarphilosophie nach 1791. In: Athenäum. Jahrbuch für Romantik 8 (1998), pp. 137–210; for the role of the objection related to the general-power in particular, see pp. 166–174.

Kay Zenker

Crusius’ Naturphilosophie 1 Neue Physik in der Kritik Im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert bildete sich eine starke Opposition zur sogenannten ›neuen Physik‹ heraus, als deren Hauptprotagonisten zunächst Galileo Galilei und René Descartes, später Isaac Newton und, v. a. in Deutschland, Christian Wolff betrachtet werden können. Die wissenschaftsphilosophischen Vorwürfe ihrer Opponenten richteten sich v. a. gegen die Mathematisierung der Physik und gegen eine durchgehend mechanistische Weltsicht, die man als Konsequenz einer mathematisierten Physik befürchtete. Dabei konnten die Kritiker auf die Lehren der aristotelisch dominierten Scholastik zurückgreifen, denen zufolge Mathematik und Physik als Wissenschaften mit unterschiedlichen Untersuchungsbereichen anzusehen sind und auf jeweils für sie spezifischen Grundbegriffen und Prinzipien gründeten. Der Ansatz, die Gesetzmäßigkeiten physikalischer Phänomene mathematisch zu beschreiben, wurde aus dieser Perspektive als unzulässig abgelehnt. Ferner wurde den Vertretern der neuen Physik vorgeworfen, neue, aber unklare und leere Begriffe in die Naturphilosophie einzuführen. Vor diesem Hintergrund wurde, v. a. im 18. Jahrhundert, die Frage nach der richtigen Methode der Hypothesenbildung zum Gegenstand breiter Auseinandersetzungen. Die Kritik an der neuen Physik thematisierte allerdings nicht nur wissenschaftsphilosophische Aspekte der Naturphilosophie, sondern richtete sich zugleich gegen mutmaßliche Tendenzen zu einem mechanistischen Weltbild als der Vorstufe zu deterministischen, materialistischen und letztlich atheistischen Überzeugungen. Nicht nur das Bild des Menschen als eines von Gott mit einem freien Willen begabten Geschöpfes, sondern die Existenz immaterieller Wesen (Seele, Engel, sogar Gott) sahen die Gegner der neuen Physik in Frage gestellt. Die sich hierdurch entzündenden Debatten wurden auf philosophischer wie theologischer Ebene geführt, nicht selten auch auf beiden zugleich. In Deutschland hatte sich mit der sogenannten Pneumatologie schon im frühen 17. Jahrhundert eine an der Tradition der Spätscholastik anknüpfende, neue philosophische Teildisziplin herausgebildet. Sie etablierte sich im Laufe des 17. Jahrhunderts und blieb, wenngleich oft nicht prima facie erkennbar, noch bis weit ins 18. Jahrhundert und sogar darüber hinaus wirksam. Aus dieser Tradition, in der sich physikalische und metaphysische Aspekte berühren, konnten die Gegner der neuen Physik diverse naturphilosophische Argumente für ihre Kritik schöpfen, die sie dann nicht selten mit offenbarungstheologischen Dogmen verknüpften. Dieser bislang kaum erforschten Traditionslinie ist auch Crusius’

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-006

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Hauptwerk zur Naturphilososophie, die Anleitung über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudencken (2 Teile, Leipzig 1749, 21774), zuzurechnen.1 Crusius reagierte mit seiner Anleitung auf von ihm diagnostizierte methodologische Mängel der neuen Physik und auf die grassierenden Gefahren, die von den Naturphilosophien seiner Zeit mangels Ordnung und Vorsicht mutmaßlich ausgingen. Das Ziel der Physik wurde, nicht zuletzt im Fahrwasser des Thomasianismus, im Sinne ganz pragmatischer Ziele zusehends ›profanisiert‹ – was an sich noch kein Problem darstellte. Das eigentliche Problem war ein anderes. Einerseits drohte die Physik nach Crusius’ Überzeugung durch ihre Mathematisierung und die allgemeine Euphorie des Erfolges ihr eigentliches Erkenntnisziel aus den Augen zu verlieren, nämlich die Grundlage abstrakter philosophischer Erkenntnis zu liefern. Andererseits befürchtete Crusius, dass die neue Physik sich zusehends der Rechtfertigungspflicht entzog, die – mit methodologischen Begründungen – nicht nur von der Metaphysik, sondern auch von der Offenbarungstheologie traditionell an sie herangetragen worden war. Die Grundauffassung, die hinter dieser Rechtfertigungspflicht stand, war, dass Offenbarungswahrheiten keine Vernunftwahrheiten, sondern göttliche Wahrheiten sind und als solche auch die Theoriebildung der Physik einschränken müssen. Diese Problemlage war alles andere als neu, sie führt zurück zu den fundamentalen Transformationen des Wissenschaftsverständnisses seit dem 16. Jahrhundert, aber sie spitzte sich erst durch die Physik Galileis, später v. a. durch die Naturphilosophie Newtons und die mit ihr verbundene Durchsetzung der neuen, meist mechanistisch gedeuteten Physik rasant zu. Der skizzierte wissenschaftsphilosophische Kontext erklärt den programmatischen Titel von Crusius’ Hauptwerk zur Naturphilosophie, der eben nicht ›Naturlehre‹ oder ›Physik‹ o. ä. lautet, sondern Anleitung über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudencken. Die Bezeichnung der Anleitung als ›Physik‹

|| 1 Ich zitiere im Folgenden, sofern nicht anders angegeben, nach der beide Teile durchlaufenden Paragraphenzählung der 1. Aufl. Der erste Teil umfasst neben Widmung und Vorrede (beide unpag.) die §§ 1–282, der 2. Teil die §§ 283–571, das Inhaltsverzeichnis zu beiden Teilen sowie ein detailliertes Sachregister. Die weiteren im Folgenden zitierten Schriften Crusius’ werden nach folgenden Ausgaben zitiert: Dissertatio philosophica de usu et limitibus principii rationis determinantis vulgo sufficientis. Lipsiae 1743 (ND in: Christian August Crusius: Opuscula philosophico-theologica, Lipsiae 1750. Reprint des ND mit Appendix in: Christian August Crusius: Kleinere philosophische Schriften. Hg. von Sonia Carboncini und Reinhard Finster. Teil 1. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1987 [Christian August Crusius: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Begr. von Giorgio Tonelli. Bd. IV, Teil 1, S. 182–324]); Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Leipzig 1744 (ND mit einer Einleitung von Giorgo Tonelli Hildesheim 1969 = Christian August Crusius: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Hg. von Giorgo Tonelli. Bd. 1); Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzt werden. Leipzig 1745 (ND Hildesheim 1964 = Hauptwerke [s. o.], Bd. 2); Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß. Leipzig 1747 (ND Hildesheim 1965 = Hauptwerke [s. o.], Bd. 3); Probatio quod verbo Dei instrui naturae humanae essentiale sit. Lipsiae 1755; Monita de cosmologia vera et adaequata. Lipsiae 1772.

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kann den zentralen Anspruch dieses Werkes leicht verdecken. Es handelt sich vor allem um eine wissenschaftsphilosophische Anleitung, die sogleich praktisch angewandt wird, und zwar unter Heranziehung einer äußerst umfangreichen und seinerzeit durchaus aktuellen Forschungsliteratur. Dafür brauchte Crusius noch nicht einmal selbst experimentelle Physik zu betreiben. In der Widmung an den sächsischen Kurprinzen Friedrich Christian (1722–1763) merkt er an, dass Zeit und Umstände es ihm noch nicht erlaubt hätten, »den Spuhren der wirckenden Natur durch eigene Versuche […] nachzugehen«, und dass er daher nicht mit »neue[n] und sonderbare[n] Entdeckungen« dienen könne. Stattdessen habe er sich darauf beschränkt, »die Erfahrungen und Schriften anderer zum Grunde zu legen, und zuzusehen, wie weit sich auf die Ursachen natürlicher Begebeiten [sic!] hie und da möchte kommen, oder wenigstens ein näherer Weg bahnen lassen, dieselben künftig zu finden.«2 Im Fokus steht die Interpretation physikalischer Beobachtungsergebnisse anhand einer adäquaten Methodologie der Physik. Insofern braucht und will Crusius’ Anleitung gar keine eigenständige Experimentalphysik sein, sondern kann sich der Ergebnisse anderer Naturforscher bedienen; ihr Ziel ist vielmehr, die von anderen beobachteten Phänomene auf ihre Ursachen hin zu untersuchen oder – wo dies (noch) nicht möglich ist – Überlegungen anzustellen, wie eine weiterführende Ursachensuche aussehen sollte. Crusius möchte, ausgehend von der Schnittstelle zwischen Logik, Epistemologie und Metaphysik, nicht nur eine Erkenntnistheorie liefern; das hatte er bereits im Rahmen seines Werks Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß (1747) getan. Ihm geht es darum, die neueren, nicht selten kontroversen Behauptungen, Hypothesen und Theorien, die auf neu gewonnenen Ergebnissen der Experimentalphysik basierten, unter Anwendung einer angemessenen Methode zu prüfen, dabei falsche Hypothesen zu widerlegen und eine adäquate naturphilosophische Darstellung zu erarbeiten.3 Crusius geht davon aus, dass dem Menschen mit der Vernunft und der göttlichen Offenbarung zwei Quellen der Wahrheitserkenntnis zur Verfügung stehen. Da die aus diesen Quellen gewonnenen Erkenntnisse nicht zueinander in Widerspruch stehen dürfen, stellt sich die Frage, wie bei Fällen, in denen ein solcher Wider-

|| 2 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), Widmung (unpaginiert). 3 Diese spezifische Herangehensweise hat Crusius auch 25 Jahre später, in der 2. Auflage der Anleitung (1774), nicht geändert. In ihr hat er zwar, wie er schreibt, »vieles neu entdeckte und neu bestätigte [...] nachgetragen«, aber »als unrichtig zu ändern nöthig« habe er an der ersten Fassung nur »sehr wenig, und eigentlich gar nichts erhebliches« gefunden. Vorbericht zur andern Auflage. In: Christian August Crusius: Anleitung über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudenken. 2 Theile. Leipzig 21774, 2. Theil (unpag.). Dem 1. Theil wurde daher lediglich ein Nachtrag zur Abhandlung von der Electricität (S. 665–708) hinzugefügt und dem 2. Theil ein Vorbericht zur andern Auflage vorangestellt; alle anderen Veränderungen beschränken sich auf Einschübe und neue oder vermehrte Anmerkungen. Die Literatur, die Crusius in der 2. Auflage zusätzlich herangezogen hat, wird am Ende dieser Untersuchung aufgelistet.

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spruch zu Tage zu treten scheint, vorzugehen ist. Prinzipiell gibt es drei Möglichkeiten, solche Widersprüche aufzulösen: Entweder ordnet man den Gültigkeitsanspruch der durch den Vernunftgebrauch gewonnenen Erkenntnis der offenbarten Wahrheit unter; in diesem Fall dient die Offenbarung zur Korrektur der Vernunfterkenntnis bzw. als höherrangige Interpretationsgrundlage bei der Deutung physikalischer Phänomene. Oder man ordnet den Gültigkeitsanspruch der göttlichen Offenbarung der durch den Vernunftgebrauch gewonnenen Erkenntnis unter; in diesem Fall wird der Wahrheitsanspruch der göttlichen Offenbarung zurückgewiesen oder zumindest in Frage gestellt, was faktisch die Verneinung des göttlichen Charakters der Offenbarung impliziert. Die dritte Möglichkeit besteht darin, den Wahrheitsanspruch all jener Interpretationen der göttlichen Offenbarung abzulehnen, die mit der durch den Vernunftgebrauch gewonnenen Erkenntnis nicht in Einklang zu bringen ist, und deshalb eine alternative Interpretation der Heiligen Schrift zu fordern; in diesem Fall kann der göttliche Charakter der Offenbarung und damit auch ihr Wahrheitsanspruch unangetastet bleiben und stattdessen auf Defizite der Offenbarungsinterpretation – letztlich also auf Defizite einer fehlerhaft durchgeführten, vernunftgegründeten Erkenntnis – verwiesen werden. Philosophie ist für Crusius »der Inbegriff derjenigen Erkenntniß [...], welche mit solchen Vernunftwahrheiten zu thun hat, deren Object beständig fortdauret«.4 Vernunftwahrheiten werden aus der Betrachtung der natürlichen Dinge in der Welt erkannt und sind daher den offenbarten Wahrheiten »entgegen gesetzt«.5 Diese Entgegensetzung ist allerdings nicht so zu verstehen, dass es sich um unterschiedliche Wahrheitsarten handeln würde; vielmehr bezieht sich der Gegensatz auf die unterschiedlichen Quellen wahrer Erkenntnisse: die vernunftgeleitete Betrachtung der natürlichen Dinge in der Welt einerseits und die göttliche Offenbarung andererseits. Die erste erfolgt in der Philosophie, die zweite in der Theologie. Nach Crusius zeichnet sich die philosophische Erkenntnis dadurch aus, dass sie sich »durch die blosse Vernunft erkennen lassen« und »ein Object haben [müsse], welches entweder schlechterdings nothwendig und unveränderlich ist, oder welches wenigstens in der gegenwärtigen Welt dergestalt beständig fortdauret, daß es natürlicherweise niemals völlig zu seyn aufhöret«.6 Aus diesen beiden Kennzeichen philosophischer Erkenntnis ergeben sich die eigentlichen Gegenstandsbereiche der Philosophie: das »Wesen der Dinge« und die »Ursachen desjenigen, was wir wahrnehmen«, denn beides sei »etwas beständiges«. Dass dennoch auch »individuale Begebenheiten« in der Philosophie betrachtet werden, sei kein Fehler, sondern vielmehr notwendig, weil nur solche Betrachtungen den Weg zur »Erkenntniß philosophischer Wahrheiten« bahnen könnten. Aus seiner Entgegensetzung von Vernunftwahrheiten und

|| 4 Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit (s. Anm. 1), § 1. 5 Ebd. 6 Ebd.

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offenbarten Wahrheiten wird bereits verständlich, dass Crusius die Heilige Schrift prinzipiell als Wissensquelle anerkannt hat. Faktisch gilt dies auch in naturphilosophischer Hinsicht, beispielsweise bezüglich der in ihr enthaltenen ›historischen‹ Informationen. So zieht er die Bücher Mose und Hiobs als Beleg dafür heran, dass die Physik neben der Morallehre die älteste Wissenschaft überhaupt sei, nämlich ein Streben nach der »Erkenntnis der Werke Gottes«, das übrigens aufgrund der enormen Lebensspannen der alttestamentlichen Personen nicht erfolglos habe sein können.7 Die dieser Interpretation zugrunde liegende Einstufung der Heiligen Schrift als garantiert wahrer Quelle auch im historischen Sinn findet sich freilich nicht nur bei Crusius, sondern war in der Frühen Neuzeit, gerade auch unter Erforschern der ›Historie‹, durchaus weit verbreitet. Crusius’ Deutung der Heiligen Schrift als Quelle wahren historischen Wissens ist offenkundig. Man könnte daher vermuten, dass er biblische Erklärungen physikalischer Phänomene zur Grundlage der Physik macht. Faktisch ist dies jedoch nicht der Fall, im Gegenteil, und die Begründung dafür liefert Crusius selbst: »Die H. Schrift ist [...] darzu nicht eigentl. gegeben, daß sie uns in der Naturlehre unterrichten soll.«8 Den Wahrheitswert der Bibel stellt Crusius dennoch nicht in Frage: »Die Quelle aller Wahrheit aber saget uns […] niemals, auch in historischen oder physikalischen Sachen, etwas falsches. Die heil. Schrift bedienet sich aber wohl gar oft allgemeiner Ausdrückungen, welche zwar die determinirte Beschaffenheit der Dinge nicht lehren, aber auch der Wahrheit nicht widerstreiten.«9 Es sei also ein Unterschied zu beachten: Einerseits liefere die Heilige Schrift durchaus historische oder physikalischen ›Daten‹, und diese Daten seien unter allen Umständen als wahr anzusehen und könnten daher auch vom Physiker als solche herangezogen werden. Andererseits jedoch liefere die Bibel keine Aussagen über die den beobachtbaren Phänomenen zu Grunde liegenden Gesetzmäßigkeiten, also keine physikalischen Erklärungen. Eine »determinirte Beschaffenheit der Dinge« lasse sich nicht aus der Heiligen Schrift beweisen. Damit bestreitet Crusius allerdings nicht die Wahrheit der historischen Tatsachen, von denen die Bibel berichtet, im Gegenteil; sie gelten ihm als zweifelsfrei wahr, weshalb sie in der naturphilosophischen Hypothesenbildung eine wesentliche Rolle spielen sollen: Physikalische Hypothesen, denen biblisch bezeugte Phänomene widersprechen, müssen falsch sein, und nur Hypothesen, denen die biblischen Daten nicht widersprechen, können wahr sein. Hieraus wird ersichtlich, dass Crusius von den drei oben genannten Möglichkeiten die dritte ins Auge fasste.

|| 7 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 3. 8 Ebd., § 473, Anm. 9 Ebd.

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Die philosophische Relevanz von Crusius’ Naturlehre angemessen und hinreichend differenziert zu beurteilen, ist aufgrund der Forschungslage nicht einfach.10 || 10 Eine differenzierte Auseinandersetzung mit Crusius’ Anleitung ist bislang noch nicht erfolgt. Die spärlichen Hinweise, die in der Forschungsliteratur auf diese Schrift zu finden sind, vermitteln den Eindruck ihrer mutmaßlichen Bedeutungslosigkeit; faktisch wurde sie meist gar nicht berücksichtigt. Beispiele für diese Ignorierung finden sich von der Wende zum 19. Jahrhundert bis zur Gegenwart in nicht geringer Zahl und an prominenten Stellen: Johann Gottlieb Buhle: Geschichte der neuern Philosophie seit der Epoche der Wiederherstellung der Wissenschaften. Bd. 5. Göttingen 1803, S. 24ff. Buhle befasst sich zwar ausführlich mit Crusius, den er als »tiefdenkenden und scharfsinnigen, aber schwerfälligen und zum Mysticismus geneigten Kopf« beschreibt (S. 24), dessen Naturlehre nimmt er allerdings nicht zur Kenntnis (vgl. ebd., S. 36, Anm.). Heinrich Christoph Sigwart: Geschichte der Philosophie vom allgemeinen und geschichtlichen Standpunkt. Bd. 1. Stuttgart, Tübingen 1844, S. 438ff. Sigwart schreibt im Wesentlichen die Betrachtungen Buhles aus. Er sieht in Crusius vor allem den Gegner Wolffs, »welcher das meiste eigenthümlich Positive hat« (S. 439). Dennoch wird die Anleitung in seinem Abriss nicht erwähnt. Carl Festner: Chr. Aug. Crusius als Metaphysiker. Halle 1892. Festner führt, im Gegensatz zu Buhle und Sigwart, Crusius’ Hauptwerk zur Naturlehre zumindest bibliographisch an. Max Wundt: Die deutsche Schulphilosophie im Zeitalter der Aufklärung. Tübingen 1945, S. 263: »Das letzte Lehrbuch [des Crusius], die Physik, hat keine größere Bedeutung und kann heute überhaupt nur noch geschichtlich gewertet werden.« Crusius habe hier, wie auch sonst, die Naturerkenntnis eng mit der Religion und Moral verknüpft und sich dabei zwar »in alle […] Teile« der Physik vertieft, aber, insofern er »alles auf die Absichten Gottes« bezogen habe, der Naturerkenntnis keine selbständige Bedeutung zuerkannt. Ganz der Einschätzung Wundts folgend, bemerkt Tonelli: »Crusius’ Physik ist der bei weitem weniger originelle Teil seines Systems.« Giorgo Tonelli: Vorwort zum ND v. Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (s. Anm. 1), S. VII–LXV, hier S. XXXVIII. Ernst Feil: Religio. Bd. 4: Die Geschichte eines neuzeitlichen Grundbegriffs im 18. und frühen 19. Jahrhundert. Göttingen 2007 (22012), S. 50–66, hier S. 50f. Michael Albrecht: Distanznahmen gegenüber Wolff. In: Die Philosophie des 18. Jahrhunderts. Bd. 5: Heiliges Römisches Reich deutscher Nation. Schweiz. Nord- und Osteuropa. Hg. von Helmut Holzey und Vilem Mudroch. Basel 2014, S. 206–217, zu Crusius: S. 206–212. Albrecht konzentriert sich in seinem Überblick zu Crusius’ Person und Werk auf die Darstellung von vier Bereichen der Crusius’schen Philosophie: (1.) auf die frühe Kritik am Leibniz-Wolff’schen Prinzip des zureichenden Grundes (Crusius: De usu et limitibus principii rationis determinantis vulgo sufficientis [s. Anm. 1]); (2.) auf die Moralphilosophie (Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben [s. Anm. 1]); (3.) auf die Metaphysik (Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten [s. Anm. 1]); und (4.) auf die Logik (Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß [s. Anm. 1]). Dass die zahlreichen theologischen Werke Crusius’ in einem philosophischen Überblickswerk weitgehend oder ganz ausgeblendet werden, leuchtet ein. Was aber an Albrechts Überblick auffällt, ist, dass Crusius’ Naturphilosophie, abgesehen vom bibliographischen Hinweis auf die Anleitung, überhaupt nicht erwähnt wird. Aber diese Vernachlässigung erweist sich, wenn man Crusius’ Philosophie im Ganzen oder die wissenschaftsphilosophische Debatte in Bezug auf die ›neue Physik‹ im Verlauf des 18. Jahrhunderts verstehen will, als durchaus problematisch. So hat Tonelli schon 1959 auf die Bedeutung von Crusius’ Überlegungen zum Begriff der physikalischen Hypothese und der Naturlehre als einer auf metaphysischen Prinzipien und Erfahrung beruhenden Disziplin hingewiesen. Giorgio Tonelli: Elementi metodologici e metafisici in Kant dal 1745 al 1768. Saggio di sociologia della conoscenza. Torino 1959, S. 83 (mit Verweis auf Crusius: Anleitung [s. Anm. 1], § 49) u. S. 176 (mit Verweis auf Crusius: Anleitung [s. Anm. 1], §§ 8–10). Aufgrund der thematischen Ausrichtung seiner Untersuchung hat Tonelli diese Aspekte allerdings nicht weiter-

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In jedem Fall stellt Crusius’ Anleitung, auch unabhängig von ihrer philosophischen Bedeutung, eine nicht unbedeutende Quelle für die Wissenschafts- und Philosophiegeschichte dar, denn sie liefert einen überaus facettenreichen und detaillierten Querschnitt der Naturphilosophie und Physik seiner Zeit.11 Außerdem ist ihre Untersuchung auch im Hinblick auf ihre Rezeption lohnenswert; insbesondere Kant hat sich, wie mit etlichen anderen Aspekten der Philosophie des Crusius, auch mit dessen Naturlehre auseinandergesetzt.12

|| verfolgt. Es sei aber darauf hingewiesen, dass auch in dieser Hinsicht, d. h. mit Blick auf die Genese der Philosophie Kants, Crusius zwar eine nicht unwichtige Rolle gespielt hat, dass aber dessen Naturlehre (im Gegensatz zur Logik und Metaphysik) dabei von nachrangiger Bedeutung geblieben zu sein scheint. Und Martin Krieger hat 1993 im Rahmen seiner Darstellung »einiger grundlegender philosophischer Positionen« des Crusius auf die bemerkenswerte Tatsache hingewiesen, dass »Crusius […] im Gegensatz zu anderen antirationalistisch-pietistischen Denkern seiner Epoche ausdrücklich mechanistische Interpretationen physischer Vorgänge« akzeptiert habe. Weiter heißt es: »Diese beziehen sich jedoch nur auf den Bereich der leblosen Natur, während er im Hinblick auf Kreaturen vitalistische Vorstellungen entwickelt: So geht die Entstehung jedes Individuums im Tierund Pflanzenreich direkt auf Gott zurück; und das Leben der im Gegensatz zu den Pflanzen beseelten Tiere besteht in der psychischen Aktivierung des Körpermechanismus.« Martin Krieger: Geist, Welt und Gott bei Christian August Crusius. Erkenntnistheoretisch-psychologische, kosmologische und religionsphilosophische Perspektiven im Kontrast zum Wolffschen System. Würzburg 1993, S. 72. Obwohl auch Krieger die Naturlehre aufgrund seines thematischen Interesses aus seinen Betrachtungen weitgehend ausklammert, weist er, sich damit gleichsam von der älteren CrusiusForschung mit Ausnahme von Tonelli abhebend, auf das Grundverständnis hin, von dem Crusius in der Ausarbeitung seiner Naturphilosophie geleitet war, und berührt damit einen wichtigen Aspekt Crusius’ naturphilosophischen Denkens, der, wie schon angedeutet, nicht nur von der älteren, sondern auch von der neueren Forschung nahezu vollständig unberücksichtigt geblieben ist. 11 Eine Übersicht der von Crusius in der Anleitung herangezogenen Literatur findet sich am Ende dieser Abhandlung. 12 Vgl. z. B. Immanuel Kant: Versuch den Begriff der negativen Größen in die Weltweisheit einzuführen (1763). In: AA II, S. 165–204, hier S. 169 (ich zitiere wie üblich nach Kant’s gesammelte Schriften. Hg. von der Königlich Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Berlin 1910ff.). – Der junge Kant setzte sich schon früh mit der von Daniel Weymann (1732–1795) in Königsberg offenbar zunächst erfolgreich propagierten Philosophie des Crusius auseinander, insbesondere mit dessen Kritik an Leibniz’ Theorie de mundo optimo. Siehe dazu Manfred Kühn: Kant. Eine Biographie. München 2003, S. 150ff. Vgl. auch: Ulrich L. Lehner: Kants Vorhersehungskonzept auf dem Hintergrund der deutschen Schulphilosophie und -theologie. Leiden, Boston 2007, S. 91ff. (Auch Lehner geht über die bloße Nennung von Crusius’ Anleitung nicht hinaus.)

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2 Die Naturphilosophie in der deutschen Frühaufklärung Crusius positionierte sich bekanntlich schon zu Beginn seiner akademischen Laufbahn als Gegner der Philosophie Christian Wolffs.13 In Leipzig, wo er seine akademische Ausbildung erhalten hatte, waren es vor allem Schüler und Enkelschüler von Christian Thomasius, die ihn maßgeblich beeinflussten, woraus sich seine frühe Gegnerschaft zu Wolff hauptsächlich erklärt. Allerdings zeichnen sich die Thomasianer im Allgemeinen und die Leipziger Thomasianer im Besonderen durch eine weitgehende Selbstständigkeit in der Ausarbeitung der Lehren des Meisters aus. Von mehr oder weniger repetitiven Darstellungen eines Systems, wie sie bisweilen im Wolffianismus zu finden sind, kann hier keine Rede sein. Dies hängt mit Thomasius’ im Vergleich zu Wolff geringerem Interesse an der Entwicklung eines umfassenden, in sich geschlossenen philosophischen Systems auf Grundlage einer alles überspannenden, einheitlichen Methodik zusammen. Zwar erlaubt auch Thomasius’ Philosophie die Rekonstruktion einer systematischen Anordnung, aber deren Trennlinien sind – vor allem wegen der mit ihr verknüpften eklektischen Verfahrensweise – weitaus weniger scharf gezogen als in dem nach ›philosophischer Methode‹ entfalteten Wissenschaftssystem Wolffs. Daher überrascht es nicht, dass der Thomasianismus eine größere Vielfalt an Varianten hervorgebracht hat als der Wolffianismus; man kann sogar von der Konkurrenz unterschiedlicher Varianten des Thomasianismus sprechen. Leipzig ist für diese Vielfalt ein einschlägiges Beispiel. Trotz ihrer gemeinsamen Wurzeln in der thomasischen Philosophie und trotz der sie verbindenden Opposition zur Wolff’schen Lehre weisen die hier entwickelten Philosophiekonzeptionen teilweise signifikante Unterschiede auf, wie z. B. die Adolph Friedrich Hoffmanns (1703–1741), Andreas Rüdigers (1673–1731), August Friedrich Müllers (1684–1761) und auch die des Crusius. Im Feld der Naturlehre waren derartige Abweichungen geradezu unvermeidlich, und zwar nicht nur aufgrund der systematischen Offenheit der thomasischen Philosophie im Ganzen, sondern auch aufgrund der Tatsache, dass Thomasius selbst kein Werk zur Physik verfasst hat. Zwar hatte er im Versuch vom Wesen des Geistes (1699) eine gegen die neuere experimentelle Physik gerichtete Pneumatologie entwickelt, die er, der Zweckbestimmung dieser philosophischen Teildisziplin entsprechend, eng mit physikalischen Überlegungen verknüpft hatte,14 aber Tho|| 13 Bereits 1743, in De usu et limitibus principii rationis determinantis vulgo sufficientis (s. Anm. 1), hat Crusius die Philosophie Wolffs auf fundamentaler Ebene kritisiert. 14 Christian Thomasius: Versuch Von Wesen des Geistes. Halle 1699 (21709; ND der 1. Aufl. Hg. von Kay Zenker. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 2004 = Christian Thomasius: Ausgewählte Werke. Hg. von Werner Schneiders. Bd. 12). Thomasius’ Kritik richtet sich, sofern sie die Physik betrifft, übrigens ausdrücklich nicht gegen Descartes, wie schon aus der Introductio ad philosophiam aulicam

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masius hat der Physik eine nur geringe Beweiskraft zugebilligt und stand den Versuchen einer umfassenden Mathematisierung der Wissenschaften ablehnend gegenüber. Bisweilen stellte er den Wissenschaftsstatus der Physik sogar grundsätzlich in Frage. Schon in der Introductio ad philosophiam aulicam findet sich der warnende Hinweis darauf, »was man vor geringe Demonstrationes bey der Physic zu gewarten hat«, ja, dass »die Physica in Ansehung ihrer meisten Lehren, welche die Substanz der Sachen betreffen, gar keine Scienz sey, sondern nur eine probable Opinion zuwege bringe«.15 Wenig später, in der Einleitung zur Vernunftlehre, hat sich Thomasius nochmals mit Vehemenz gegen die Mathematisierung der Wissenschaften gewandt. Man dürfe nicht meinen, dass »alle Wissenschafften aus der doctrin de numeris tanquam conclusiones ex primo principio hergeleitet werden müsten oder könten« und dass man die Algebra als »Grund zu allen Wissenschafften« auffassen und auf ihm »auch die fundamente zur Physic oder Morale« aufbauen könne.16 Die »fundamente zur Physic« könnten nicht mittels der mathematischen Methode erbaut werden; Gott habe den Menschen nicht ohne Grund »mehr als einen Sinn gegeben die euserlichen Dinge mit zu concipiren«. Gleichwohl sei im Gebrauch der unterschiedlichen Sinne stets die Regel zu beachten, dass »similia non probant, sed illustrant«.17 Die Physik ist nach Thomasius’ Auffassung eine zwar unverzichtbare, aber zugleich überaus problematische Wissenschaft. Ihr Erkenntnispotential betrachtet er aus methodischen wie epistemologischen Gründen als prinzipiell beschränkt.18 Hinzu kommt das unaufhebbare Defizit der Physik, als empirische Wissenschaft prinzipiell keine endgültig gesicherten Erkenntnisse liefern zu können. Schon Thomasius mahnt daher, wie später auch Crusius, zur Vorsicht in der Natur-

|| (1688) und dann nochmals aus der Einleitung zu der Vernunfft-Lehre (1691) hervorgeht. Christian Thomasius: Introductio ad philosophiam aulicam. Lipsiae 1688 (ND mit einem Vorwort von Werner Schneiders. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1993 = Christian Thomasius: Ausgewählte Werke. Hg. von Werner Schneiders. Bd. 1), dt.: Einleitung Zur Hoff-Philosophie. Leipzig 1712 (ND mit einem Vorwort von Werner Schneiders. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1994 = Christian Thomasius: Ausgewählte Werke. Hg. von Werner Schneiders. Bd. 2, danach zitiert); Christian Thomasius: Einleitung zu der Vernunfft-Lehre. Halle 1691 (ND mit einem Vorwort von Werner Schneiders. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1998 = Christian Thomasius: Ausgewählte Werke. Hg. von Werner Schneiders. Bd. 8), Vorrede, S. 52. 15 Thomasius: Einleitung Zur Hoff-Philosophie (s. Anm. 14), Cap. VIII, § 21. Thomasius’ Hinweis auf das begrenzte, sich lediglich auf Wahrscheinlichkeiten beschränkende Erkenntnispotenzial der Physik hat in der Folgezeit – auch bei Crusius – eine enorme Wirkung entfaltet. Allerdings hat Crusius, wie noch zu zeigen ist, der Physik dennoch einen ganz anderen und weitaus bedeutsameren Platz im Feld der Wissenschaft zuerkannt. 16 Thomasius: Einleitung zu der Vernunfft-Lehre (s. Anm. 14), 6. Hauptstück, § 90f. 17 Ebd., § 92f. 18 In der Kritik an der später von Wolff ausgearbeiteten ›philosophischen Methode‹ konnte man auf die schon hier erarbeiteten argumentativen Grundzüge zurückgreifen.

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lehre, und vielleicht war dies auch der wesentliche Grund für ihn, kein Werk zu dieser Disziplin zu verfassen. Christian Wolffs Philosophie, in der von Anfang an die Methode der Mathematik zur Richtschnur nahezu aller Wissenschaften erhoben wird, begann spätestens seit den 1720er Jahren eine breite Wirkung zu entfalten. Thomasius’ Anhänger haben Wolffs methodischen Ansatz zwar kritisiert, betonten in ihren Lehren nun aber – möglicherweise infolge der Konkurrenz zum erfolgreichen Wolffianismus – auch selbst verstärkt den Aspekt der Systematisierung. Das Ziel, umfassende Systeme der Philosophie zu entwerfen, führte im Thomasianismus zu verschiedenen Versuchen, das Fehlen einer Physik von der Hand des Meisters zu kompensieren. Den ersten dieser Versuche unternahm Andreas Rüdiger, der »eigenständigste und bedeutendste unter Thomasius’ Schülern«.19 Von Thomasius übernimmt er v. a. die kritische Haltung gegenüber dem tradierten Aristotelismus und dem Cartesianismus, aber schon in seiner Philosophia synthetica (1707) nimmt er eine in Einzelaspekten zwar an Thomasius orientierte, im Ganzen jedoch durchaus von ihm abweichende Einteilung der Philosophie vor, indem er zwischen Sapientia, Justitia und Prudentia unterscheidet. In der Sapientia werden die Logik (anders als seinerzeit üblich unter weitgehender Ausklammerung erkenntnistheoretischer Aspekte) sowie die Physik behandelt, in der Justitia die Metaphysik und das Naturrecht, in der Prudentia schließlich die Erkenntnistheorie (mitsamt der Affektenlehre), die Ethik und die Politik.20 Rüdigers Naturphilosophie hingegen, dargelegt in der Physica divina (1714 abgeschlossen, 1716 erschienen),21 bleibt in wesentlichen Grundpositionen an Thomasius’ Pneumatik orientiert, propagiert wie diese einen »Mittelweg zwischen Aristotelismus, cartesianischem Mechanismus und epikureischem Materialismus (Gassendi)« und arbeitet die thomasische Pneumatik zu einer umfassenden Physik aus, deren Hauptzweck in der »wahrscheinlichen Erkenntnis der Prinzipien, nach denen Gott bei der Schöpfung verfahren ist«, besteht.22 Rüdigers ›göttliche Naturlehre‹ füllt insofern die von Thomasius hinterlassene Lücke und bildet zugleich die || 19 Werner Schneiders: Aufklärung und Vorurteilskritik. Studien zur Geschichte der Vorurteilstheorie. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1983, S. 142; vgl. Ulrich G. Leinsle: Andreas Rüdiger. In: Helmut Holzhey, Vilem Mudroch (Hg.): Die Philosophie des 18. Jahrhunderts. Bd. 5: Heiliges Römisches Reich deutscher Nation. Schweiz. Nord- und Osteuropa. Basel 2014, S. 83–88, hier S. 85. 20 Zu Rüdiger: Leinsle: Andreas Rüdiger (s. Anm. 19); Martin Mulsow: Idolatry and science: against nature worship from Boyle to Rüdiger, 1680–1720 In: Journal of the History of Ideas 67 (2006), S. 697–711; Raffaele Ciafardone: Von der Kritik an Wolff zum vorkritischen Kant. Wolff-Kritik bei Rüdiger und Crusius. In: Werner Schneiders (Hg.): Christian Wolff. 1679–1754. Interpretationen zu seiner Philosophie und deren Wirkung. Hamburg 1983, S. 289–305; Heinrich Schepers: Andreas Rüdigers Methodologie und ihre Voraussetzungen. Köln 1959. 21 Andreas Rüdiger: Physica divina, recta via, Eademque inter superstitionem et atheismum media, ad utramque hominis felicitatem, naturalem atque moralem ducens. Frankfurt a. M. 1716. 22 Ulrich Leinsle: Vorwort. In: Andreas Rüdiger: Philosophia pragmatica. Hg. von dems. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 2010, S. 5*–12*, hier S. 7*.

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Grundlage aller weiteren naturphilosophischen Reflexionen innerhalb des Thomasianismus. Auch Crusius’ Anleitung ist dieser Traditionslinie zuzuordnen. Teils in Anlehnung an, teils aber auch in Auseinandersetzung mit Rüdiger hat August Friedrich Müller in seiner Einleitung in die philosophischen Wissenschaften die thomasianisch geprägte Philosophie maßgeblich weiterentwickelt.23 Anders als Rüdiger teilt Müller die Philosophie ein in Logik (im Unterschied zu Rüdiger unter Einschluss der Erkenntnistheorie), Physik, Metaphysik (die er mit der Natürlichen Theologie gleichsetzt) sowie Ethik und Politik. Was Rüdiger und Müller verbindet, ist, dass sie die Physik unmittelbar nach der Logik – und d. h. vor und damit unabhängig von der Metaphysik – abhandeln und wie Thomasius die Anwendung einer universellen Methode in allen Wissenschaften ablehnen.24 Müller, der in Leipzig seit 1732 als Ordinarius für die Lehre des aristotelischen Organons zuständig war, hat seine Wissenschaftsauffassung allerdings in deutlicher Anlehnung an Aristoteles entwickelt, was ihn, wenngleich aus anderen Gründen, wie Thomasius und Rüdiger zur Ablehnung einer allgemeinen Mathematisierung der Wissenschaften führen musste. Seiner Auffassung nach erfordern die Regeln der Klugheit nicht nur, dass alle praktische Wissenschaft sich auf eine theoretische gründen müsse, sondern auch, dass jede wissenschaftliche Disziplin jeweils nur nach Wahrheiten, »die einerley object, und einerley zweck betreffen, die also aus einem gemeinem grunde, nemlich der natur dieses objects, dargethan werden können, und solchergestalt in unzertrennlicher ordnung an einander hangen«, suchen dürfe. Weil also jede Wissenschaftsdisziplin nach einer bestimmten »gattung« von Wahrheiten suche, müsse jede »ihren eigentlichen grund oder principium haben«. Der menschliche Verstand müsse sich zuerst »von seinen eigenen kräften, und deren klugem gebrauch« unterrichten; erst dann dürfe er diese Kräfte »zu erkentnüs der dinge, die auser ihm sind«, anwenden. Ihre Anwendung bezieht er zuerst auf die »geschöpfe«, dann auf

|| 23 August Friedrich Müller: Einleitung in die philosophischen Wissenschaften. 3 Bde. Leipzig 1728, 2., vermehrte und verbesserte Ausg. 1733 (ND der 2. Ausg. in 6 Bden. Hg. von Kay Zenker. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 2008. Vgl. ferner: Riccarda Suitner: Jus naturae und natura humana in August Friedrich Müllers handschriftlichem Kommentar zu Andreas Rüdigers Institutiones eruditionis. In: Aufklärung 25 (2013), S. 113–133; Kay Zenker: August Friedrich Müller. In: Holzhey, Mudroch (Hg.): Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie (s. Anm. 10), S. 88–92; Giuseppe Motta: Art. Müller, August Friedrich. In: Heiner F. Klemme, Manfred Kuehn (Hg.): The Dictionary of Eighteenth-Century German Philosophers. 3 Bde. London (u. a.) 2010, hier Bd. 2, S. 829–831; Kay Zenker: Vorwort zu: Müller: Einleitung in die philosophischen Wissenschaften. S. 5*–24*; Joachim Hruschka: Die Person als ein Zweck an sich selbst. Zur Grundlegung von Recht und Ethik bei August Friedrich Müller (1733) und Immanuel Kant (1785). In: Juristenzeitung 45 (1990), S. 1–15; Henry F. Fullenwider: »Sozial« und »Sozialität« bei August Friedrich Müller (1684–1761). In: Neophilologus 71 (1987), S. 634–637; Schneiders: Aufklärung und Vorurteilskritik (s. Anm. 19), S. 148–150. 24 Vgl. Gunter E. Grimm: Literatur und Gelehrtentum in Deutschland. Untersuchungen zum Wandel ihres Verhältnisses vom Humanismus bis zur Frühaufklärung. Tübingen 1983, S. 458.

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die »erkentnüs gottes, als ihres schöpfers«.25 Die »natur der dinge«, d. h. die »in den geschöpfen befindlichen kräfte, und wirckungen«, könne der menschliche Verstand zum Teil, nämlich sofern sie »natürliche grund-ursachen« haben, aus dem Grund ihres Wesens erkennen. Diese Erkenntnis stoße aber notwendigerweise auf eine Grenze, wenn sie das Ende der »an einander hangenden reyhe« von »wirckenden kräften der natur« in den Blick nimmt. Hier wirkten nicht mehr die Kräfte der Natur, sondern die »von übernatürlichen wesen«, letztlich »unmittelbar« die göttliche Allmacht. Diese Grenze bildet nach Müller gleichsam den Abschluss dessen, womit sich die Physik zu beschäftigen hat. »Die natur der geschöpfe [...], deren wesen natürlich ist, und sich also aus seinem grunde, d. i. per causas & modum, erkennen lässet, lehret die Physic«, ihre Größen untersuche die Mathematik und die Kräfte übernatürlichen Ursprungs seien Gegenstand der Metaphysik. Den »gipfel« der Metaphysik bilde die Natürliche Theologie; er müsse bestiegen werden, um von ihm aus wieder hinabsteigen und – nun gefestigt durch die einmal gewonnenen Erkenntnisse – die praktische Philosophie, insbesondere die Ethik, entfalten zu können.26 Rein mechanistische Naturauffassungen lehnt Müller ab. Es sei ein »vorurtheil, daß die natur eine blosse maschine sey, und alles, was in derselben vorgehe, aus einem pur lauteren mechanismo mathematico erfolge«.27 Neben »mechanischen oder blos cörperlichen grundursachen und bewegungskräften natürlicher dinge«, die »ohne geist und leben sind«, gebe es nämlich auch die »idealischen oder geistigen grundursachen dessen, was in der natur lebendig ist«.28 In der Naturlehre müssten nicht nur die Akzidenzien, sondern auch die Substanzen und sowohl die Körper als auch die Geister betrachtet werden.29 Daher handelt Müller zwar – ganz in Thomasius’ Sinne – auch Von dem wesen des geistes (und wendet sich in diesem Zusammenhang u. a. ausdrücklich gegen Leibniz’ Theorie der prästabilierten Harmonie), aber er subsumiert die Pneumatologie unter die Physik.30 Auch die von Thomasius übernommene Auffassung Rüdigers, dass die Physik kein gesichertes Wissen, sondern nur wahrscheinliche Erkenntnisse liefern könne,31 wird von Müller ins Feld geführt und ausführlich reflektiert.32 Als entscheidender

|| 25 Müller: Einleitung in die philosophischen Wissenschaften (s. Anm. 23), Erster Theil, Eingang Von der Weißheit, Gelehrsamkeit, und Philosophie überhaupt. Cap. 2, §§ 36ff. 26 Ebd. 27 Ebd., Physic Oder Natur-lehre. Cap. 7, § 17. 28 Ebd., § 1. 29 Ebd., Cap. 1, § 1. 30 Ebd., Cap. 7, das den Titel Von dem wesen des geistes trägt. Die Auseinandersetzung mit Leibniz: ebd., § 17 (unter Bezug auf Pierre Bayle). 31 Rüdiger: Physica divina (s. Anm. 21). Lib. I, Cap. I, Sect. IV, § 78. 32 Müller: Einleitung in die philosophischen Wissenschaften (s. Anm. 23), Erster Theil, Die Logic, oder Vernunftlehre. Cap. 19, § 17.

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Faktor gilt ihm die »scharffsinnige unterscheidung« der sinnlich wahrgenommenen Eigenschaften natürlicher Dinge. Nur wenn diese Unterscheidung »durchgehends auf unläugbare empfindungen der sinne sich gründet«, könne eine Erkenntnis »von demonstrativer gewißheit« gewonnen werden. Demonstrative Gewissheit ist nach Müllers Auffassung also auch in der Physik möglich, aber nur in Ausnahmefällen. Die Regel sei, dass insbesondere die »causae efficientes, und also das wesen natürlicher dinge, unsern sinnen verborgen, und aus den effecten mit demonstrativer gewißheit sich nicht schliessen lässet«, sondern nur als wahrscheinlich gelten dürfen. Es sei daher ein Zeichen von »schädlicher faulheit«, wenn »hypotheses oder vermuthungen in untersuchung physicalischer dinge, unter dem vorwand der ungewißheit, [...] ohne unterschied« verworfen würden und stattdessen »mit den blossen sinnlichen erfahrungen, und daher genommenen abstractis existentialibus der phaenomenorum oder effecte der natur [...] unläugbaren gewißheiten« proklamiert würden. Ebenso wenig dürften »wirckliche physicalische hypotheses [...] vor apodictische wahrheiten« ausgegeben werden. Wer sich – gemeint ist hier zweifellos Wolff – rühme, die Natur »apodictice zu übersehen, und ihr innerstes wesen a priori, wie etwa ein exempel aus der rechen-kunst, zu demonstriren«, sei der größte vorstellbare »auffschneider«. Im Gegenteil seien besonders in der Physik »moderation und bescheidenheit« unerlässlich. Den Nutzen der Naturlehre bestimmt Müller einerseits in Anlehnung an Rüdiger: Trotz der angesprochenen epistemologischen Schwierigkeiten sei dieser Nutzen ungemein groß. Er bestehe keineswegs in bloßer Belustigung und der Befriedigung von Neugier. Ihr unmittelbarer Nutzen bestehe, wie Francis Bacon bereits richtig erkannt habe, vielmehr darin, »daß der mensch mit natürlichen dingen [...] klüger und vorsichtiger möge umgehen lernen«. Vor allem aber sei »die naturlehre der natürlichste weg zur erkentnüs gottes, und vermittelst dessen ein gegengift wieder atheisterey und aberglauben«, letztlich sogar ein »fester grund der ganzen sittenlehre«, und diene so der »beförderung der glückseligkeit des menschlichen geschlechts«.33 Diese Zweckbestimmung findet sich bereits in Rüdigers Physica divina, später ebenso bei Wolff und auch bei Crusius. Die mit Rüdiger einsetzende, vor allem durch die Auseinandersetzung mit dem Wolffianismus provozierte Tendenz zur stärkeren Systematisierung auch der in thomasianischer Tradition stehenden Philosophie wurde nicht nur von Müller, sondern auch von anderen Leipziger Thomasianern aufgegriffen. Hier ist insbesondere Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann zu nennen, der einflussreichste Lehrer von Crusius in der Philosophie und einer der vehementesten Gegner der Wolff’schen Philosophie. Hoffmann unterscheidet die Philosophie im engeren Verstande, die von den Qualitäten der Dinge handelt, von der Mathematik, die ausschließlich die Größen der

|| 33 Ebd., Physic Oder Naturlehre. Cap. 1, § 5.

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Ausdehnung untersucht.34 In diesem sich vor allem gegen Wolffs Methodenlehre richtenden Schritt ist ihm Crusius gefolgt. Auch die Gegenüberstellung von Metaphysik und Disziplinalphilosophie hat Crusius von Hoffmann übernommen. Die Disziplinalphilosophie untersucht nach Hoffmann das »Grundwesen« der Dinge, und zwar durch Betrachtung des menschlichen Willens oder Verstandes einerseits und der menschlichen Erfahrung oder innerlichen Empfindung andererseits; sie folgt damit im Wesentlichen dem Vorbild der thomasischen Philosophie. Eine weitere Differenzierung erfolgt durch die ebenfalls auf Thomasius zurückverweisende Berücksichtigung zweier Perspektiven: Der Wille wird einerseits daraufhin betrachtet, wie er von Natur aus ist – dies untersucht die Thelematologie – und andererseits daraufhin, wie er nach Maßgabe des göttlichen Willens sein soll – dies untersucht die Moralphilosophie. Insgesamt zergliedert Hoffmann die Disziplinalphilosophie in neun Disziplinen: (1.) Vernunftlehre, (2.) Naturlehre, (3.) Willenslehre (Thelematologie), (4.) natürliche Theologie, (5.) Naturrechtslehre, (6.) Privatklugheitslehre, (7.) Staatsklugkeitslehre, (8.) Kosmologie und (9.) die höhere Philosophie oder Metaphysik. Die Naturlehre, d. h. die Physik, betrachte die Dinge, deren Wesen in wirkenden Kräften besteht.35 Ihre Methode bestehe darin, zuerst »aus den schon bekandten Wirkungen die wirckenden Ursachen, und höchsten wirckenden Kräffte« zu identifizieren und anschließend »aus ihnen andere Wirckungen, die uns vorher verborgen waren«, zu entdecken. Da die »höchsten wirckenden Ursachen natürlicher Dinge in der Philosophie enthalten« seien, sei auch »eine jede physicalische Wissenschaft, ohne Philosophie, eine angefangene«, nämlich nur praktisch und insofern unvollständig ausgeführte Wissenschaft. Eine Schrift zur Physik hat Hoffmann bis zu seinem frühen Tod im Jahr 1741, im Alter von nur 38 Jahren, nicht verfasst.

3 Die Physik im Rahmen der Philosophie von Christian August Crusius Crusius entwarf eines der elaboriertesten systematisch angeordneten philosophischen Gesamtwerke, die der wolffschen Philosophie im 18. Jahrhundert entgegenge-

|| 34 Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann: Vernunft-Lehre, Darinnen die Kennzeichen des Wahren und Falschen Aus den Gesetzen des menschlichen Verstandes hergeleitet werden. 2 Theile. Leipzig 1737 (ND mit einem Vorwort von Robert Theis. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 2010, Christian Wolff. Gesammelte Werke. Hg. von Jean École [u. a.]. III. Abt., Bde. 99.1 u. 99.2), [1. Theil], §§ 13ff.; zu Hoffmann: Robert Theis: Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann. In: Holzhey, Mudroch (Hg.): Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie (s. Anm. 10), S. 93–98; Machiel Karskens: Hoffmann, Adolph Friedrich. Een vergeten filosoof. In: Krisis 50 (1993), S. 81–89. 35 Hoffmann: Vernunft-Lehre (s. Anm. 34), [1. Theil], § 12.

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stellt worden sind. Der mit diesem systematischen Ansatz verbundene Gültigkeitsanspruch macht es für das Verständnis von Crusius’ Philosophie notwendig, alle wesentlichen Elemente seines Systems zu berücksichtigen. Dies muss selbstverständlich auch für die Physik gelten, der nach Crusius’ Auffassung im Rahmen dieses Systems eine unmittelbare und unverzichtbare Bedeutung zukommt. Anders ausgedrückt: Crusius’ Naturlehre nicht zu berücksichtigen, wäre ebenso wenig gerechtfertigt wie die Ausblendung z. B. der Metaphysik oder der Ethik. Es dürfte zweckmäßig sein, zunächst das philosophische System Crusius’ zu skizzieren, um anschließend den Standort der Naturlehre innerhalb dieses Systems zu bestimmen. Zuvor muss aber auf einige Aspekte hingewiesen werden, die zeigen, dass Crusius nicht nur wesentliche Elemente der thomasianischen Philosophie aufgegriffen und teils ausgearbeitet, teils umgearbeitet hat, sondern auch gegenüber der Wolff’schen Philosophie eine in eklektischem Sinn durchaus offene Haltung eingenommen hat. Anders als Rüdiger und Müller baut Crusius seine Physik nicht nur auf die Logik (als den instrumentellen Teil der sogenannten Disziplinalphilosophie) auf, sondern auch auf die Metaphysik. Die Entfaltung der Physik erfolgt nicht vor, sondern – wie es auch Wolff in Bezug auf die ›Methode des Beweisens‹ empfohlen hatte36 – nach jener der Metaphysik. Wolff hatte die Philosophie der Verschiedenheit ihrer Untersuchungsobjekte entsprechend (»Deus, animae humanae ac corpora seu res materiales«37) in die drei Hauptdisziplinen Theologia Naturalis, Psychologia und Physica eingeteilt.38 Die Logik, die er als Teil der Psychologie betrachtet, bildet seiner Auffassung nach das Instrumentarium aller Wissenschaft und müsse daher zuerst erlernt werden; da sie aber ihre Grundsätze aus der Ontologie und Psychologie entnehme, müssten diese »der Logik vorangehen, falls in ihr das Einzelne durch Anführung echter Gründe für die Regeln streng bewiesen werden soll«.39 Kurz, der ›Methode des Beweisens‹ nach kann die Logik erst nach der Metaphysik behandelt werden, der ›Methode des Studiums‹ nach muss aber die Logik der Metaphysik vorangehen. In beiden Fällen könne die Behandlung der Physik erst erfolgen, nachdem Metaphysik und Logik entfaltet worden sind. Darin stimmen Crusius und Wolff überein. Wolff hatte den Vorrang der Metaphysik vor der Physik damit begründet, dass diese ihre Grundsätze aus jener entlehne; dies deckt sich voll und ganz mit dem Vorgehen Crusius’ in den ersten Passagen seiner Anleitung. Auch die Abhän-

|| 36 Christian Wolff: Discursus praeliminaris. De philosophia in genere. Einleitende Abhandlung über Philosophie im allgemeinen. Hist.-krit. Ausg. Übers., eingel. und hg. von Günter Gawlick und Lothar Kreimendahl. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1996, Cap. III, § 91. 37 Ebd., Cap. III, § 55. 38 Ebd., §§ 56–59. 39 Ebd., § 90. Der damit entstehende Zirkel, der darin besteht, dass die Psychologie zu ihrer Entfaltung als Wissenschaft der Logik bedarf, die Logik ihrerseits aber erst auf Basis der wissenschaftlichen Psychologie entwickelt werden kann, wurde von Wolff allerdings nicht aufgelöst.

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gigkeit der Teleologie von der Physik, die Wolff betont hatte,40 wird von Crusius nirgends in Frage gestellt; vielmehr erhält der Nutzen der Physik und der eng an sie geknüpften Teleologie für die Erkenntnis Gottes bei Crusius einen (schon bei Rüdiger zu findenden) noch stärkeren Akzent. Wolffs und Crusius’ jeweiliges Verständnis von Philosophie mögen stark voneinander abweichen, faktisch ähneln sich die sozusagen äußerlichen Bestimmungen der Physik und ihre Bezüge zu den anderen Kerndisziplinen der Philosophie allerdings mehr, als man aufgrund der bekannten Opposition der beiden Philosophen in anderen Aspekten ihres Denkens vermuten mag. Betrachtet man Crusius’ eigenes ›System‹, d. h. seine Anordnung der philosophischen Teildisziplinen, so erscheint prima facie vieles wie bei Hoffmann. Bei genauerer Analyse zeigt sich jedoch, dass die Anordnung der philosophischen Teildisziplinen bei Crusius wesentlich differenzierter und zudem stärker hierarchisch geprägt ist. Die Philosophie im Allgemeinen unterteilt Crusius in die Mathematik einerseits und die »Philosophie im engern Verstande« andererseits.41 Die Mathematik befasst sich mit den »Grössen der Ausdehnung« ohne Berücksichtigung der Qualitäten der ausgedehnten Dinge. Zur reinen Mathematik gehören die Arithmetik, Geometrie und Algebra, zur »applicirten Mathematik« gehören die »astronomischen Wissenschaften«, nämlich Astronomie, Geographie, Chronologie und Gnomonik, ebenso die neueren, z. T. noch nicht ausgearbeiteten Disziplinen der Dynamik und Mechanik, ferner die »optischen Wissenschaften«, nämlich Optik, Katoptrik, Dioptrik, die Lehre von der Perspektive, Hydrostatik, Hydraulik und Aerometrie. »Von dem Schalle, der Wärme, und andern Bewegungen in der Natur mehr, fehlen noch gewisse Wissenschaften der applicirten Mathematik«.42 Zum Gegenstandsbereich der Philosophie im engeren Sinne zählen »alle unveränderliche[n] Vernunftwahrheiten«: Die Metaphysik handelt als ihr erster Hauptteil »von den nothwendigen theoretischen Wahrheiten«; der zweite Hauptteil, den Crusius in Anschluss an Hoffmann als »Disciplinalphilosophie« bezeichnet, untersucht jene Wahrheiten, »welche entweder zufällig, oder doch practisch sind«.43 Unter die Metaphysik fallen die »Ontologie«, die »theoretische natürliche Theologie« und die »metaphysische Kosmologie« einschließlich der »metaphysische[n] Pneumatologie«.44 Die »Disciplinalphilosophie« betrachtet (a) die Wirkungen der Körper, und zwar ausdrücklich auch die Verknüpfung der Seelen mit belebten Körpern als Ursache dieser Wirkungen (Physik), (b) die »Natur« und den »Gebrauch des Verstandes« (Logik, Noolo-

|| 40 Ebd., §§ 100f. 41 Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit (s. Anm. 1), § 5. 42 Ebd., §§ 6ff. 43 Ebd., § 11. 44 Ebd., § 12.

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gie45) sowie (c) den menschlichen Willen, wobei die Willenslehre nochmals unterteilt wird in die Thelematologie (Lehre von den natürlichen Kräften und Eigenschaften des Willens) und die praktische Philosophie (Naturrecht und Klugheitslehre). Crusius hat sein System der Philosophie im engeren Verstande (d. h. unter Ausklammerung der Mathematik) vollständig ausgearbeitet. 1744 hat er in seiner Anweisung, vernünftig zu leben die Willenslehre einschließlich der ihr untergeordneten Moralphilosophie abgehandelt.46 1747 folgte mit der Schrift Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverlässigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß die Logik.47 Dazwischen hatte er im Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (1745) die nicht zur Disziplinalphilosophie gehörende Metaphysik mitsamt der Pneumatologie entwickelt.48 Mit der umfassenden Anleitung über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudencken, die als Physik im zuvor bestimmten Sinne angesehen werden kann, komplettierte er 1749 die Disziplinalphilosophie. Die Physik wird von Crusius als erster und selbständiger Teil der Disziplinalphilosophie verortet. Damit wird sie faktisch als ebenso bedeutend wie die Logik und die Willenslehre betrachtet und erfährt, z. B. im Vergleich zu Thomasius, eine enorme Aufwertung. Auf allgemeinster Ebene definiert Crusius die Physik folgendermaßen: »Derjenige Theil der Disciplinalphilosophie, welcher mit Betrachtung der Körper zu thun hat, heisset die Physik. Will man die Definition etwas vollständiger machen [...]; so ist die Physik derjenige Theil der Philosophie, da man von demjenigen, was uns die Erfahrung von den Körpern lehret, auf die Ursachen zurücke gehet, und von beyden auf fernere Eigenschaften und Wirkungen fortschliesset.«49 Dementsprechend wird in der Anleitung der Untersuchungsgegenstand der Physik bestimmt: »Das eigentliche Object der Physic [...] sind die Körper, und zwar nach ihrer Beschaffenheit, Wirkungen, und wirkenden Ursachen.«50 Innerhalb der Philosophie nimmt die Physik nicht nur aufgrund ihres besonderen Objektbereichs, sondern vor allem wegen ihrer fundamentalen epistemologischen Bedeutung eine Sonderstellung ein. Allein sie »liefert [...] den ersten Stoff der Realsätze, wodurch die abstracten Sätze [nämlich die der anderen philosophischen Teildisziplinen] brauchbar werden, und von welchen man immer zu mehrern Realsätzen fortgehen kann«.51 Da die Physik ausschließlich Erkenntnisse a posteriori liefern kann, muss ihr die Logik (einschließlich der Erkenntnistheorie) vorangehen. Aber dadurch, dass sich der Objektbereich der Physik auf die sinnlich wahrnehmbare Welt erstreckt, ist es erst die Physik, die »uns inson-

|| 45 Erklärung vom Wesen des Verstandes (von Crusius als Sonderdisziplin toleriert, aber nicht empfohlen). 46 Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (s. Anm. 1). 47 Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit (s. Anm. 1). 48 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (s. Anm. 1). 49 Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit (s. Anm. 1), § 14. 50 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), Tl. 1, § 7. 51 Ebd., § 2.

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derheit Gott aus seinen Wercken erkennen [lehrt], und sie bahnet den Weg, sowohl die Absichten unsers Lebens und mithin die Gesetze, als auch die Klugheitsregeln, zu erkennen und bündig zu beweisen, wodurch sie demnach den Grund zu aller wahren Weisheit leget«.52 Darin drückt sich die Aufwertung der Naturlehre besonders handgreiflich aus: Ohne Physik ist keine Erkenntnis von Gesetzmäßigkeiten möglich, ebenso keine Erkenntnis von Klugheitsregeln, ja überhaupt keine Weisheit! »Physikalische Untersuchungen« zielen insofern nicht auf den profanen Nutzen;53 vielmehr dient die Physik als »eine von den Grundwissenschaften« der »Erkenntniß Gottes und der Religion«.54 Wie schon bei Müller wird die Physik auch bei Crusius als zweckbestimmt verstanden, nämlich als Mittel zur Erkenntnis Gottes, aber während Müller den Zweck der Physik darüber hinaus vor allem darin gesehen hatte, durch sie ein Fundament von Moral und, darauf aufbauend, von Glückseligkeit zu errichten, wird sie von Crusius zur unverzichtbaren Grundlage der Erkenntnis von Gesetzmäßigkeiten, Klugheitsregeln und Weisheit überhaupt erhoben. Die Zweckbestimmung der Physik, die Müller formuliert hat, wird insofern von Crusius erweitert. Die Physik kann nach Crusius’ Auffassung Erkenntnisse auf zwei Ebenen liefern. Auf der ersten Ebene ist sie, weil sie Gott aus der Natur, d. h. aus der Schöpfung, erkennt, Gotteserkenntnis, also gewissermaßen der empirische Teil der natürlichen Theologie. Auf der zweiten Ebene bildet die Physik die Grundlage für eine Erkenntnis in teleologischer Hinsicht; sie ist zwar selbst keine Erkenntnis der Absichten menschlichen Lebens, aber sie »bahnet den Weg« zu dieser Erkenntnis. In gleicher Weise verhält es sich sowohl mit den Gesetzen als auch mit den Klugheitsregeln; auch sie können zwar mit den Mitteln der Physik nicht unmittelbar erkannt werden, aber die Physik ist der Weg ihrer Erkenntnis. Mehr noch: Die Physik zeigt nicht nur den Weg, der zu diesen Erkenntnissen führt, sondern auch den Weg, wie die erkannten Gesetze und Klugheitsregeln »bündig zu beweisen« sind, und liefert insofern den in methodischer Hinsicht ersten Zugang zu derartigen Erkenntnissen und Beweisen. Sie ist nicht selbst Weisheit, aber »Grund zu aller wahren Weisheit« und insofern »Grundwissenschaft«. An Schärfe gewinnt diese Charakterisierung allerdings erst durch die Klärung der von Crusius zur Bestimmung der Physik herangezogenen Begriffe. Dies gilt insbesondere für die Begriffe »Gesetz« und »Klugheitsregeln«, dann aber auch für den der »wahren Weisheit«. Den Gesetzesbegriff unterscheidet Crusius hinsichtlich seiner moralischen und seiner physikalischen Dimension und weist ausdrücklich darauf hin, dass beide Dimensionen keinesfalls

|| 52 Ebd. 53 Ebd., § 4. 54 Ebd., § 2; vgl. Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit (s. Anm. 1), § 14: »In der [...] Physik [...] handelt man nur die allgemeinesten physikalischen Wahrheiten in der Absicht ab, daß der Verstand zu fernern Specialuntersuchungen geschickt gemacht werde.«

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miteinander vermengt werden dürfen.55 Diese Unterscheidung wurde später bekanntlich von Kant aufgegriffen. Das spezifische Charakteristikum eines Gesetzes besteht generell darin, dass es die »Nothwendigkeit der Folge, mit welcher aus einem Real-Grunde [...] dasjenige erfolget oder erfolgen kan, was in ihm gegründet ist«, beschreibt.56 Die jeweilige Virulenz des skizzierten zweidimensionalen Gesetzesbegriffs ergibt sich nach Crusius’ Auffassung aus dem jeweiligen Gegenstand, den die Wissenschaft in den Blick nimmt, nämlich entweder die sinnlich wahrnehmbaren Dinge oder den Verstand. Empirische Betrachtungen zielen auf die Beschreibung von Gesetzen, die aus den »Verknüpfungen der Dinge selbst« erkannt werden können; die Untersuchung des Verstandes zielt auf die Beschreibung von Gesetzen, die aus den Sätzen, »darinnen man sich vorstellet, was bey gewissen Umständen erfolget oder möglich ist«, erkannt werden können. In seiner moralischen Dimension bezieht sich der Begriff des Gesetzes auf die gottgewollte Ausrichtung des menschlichen Willens auf den göttlichen Willen. Gott will notwendig das Gute und muss daher auch mit Notwendigkeit den vernünftigen Geschöpfen ein Gesetz geben, an dem sie ihre Willensbildung ausrichten können.57 In seiner physikalischen Dimension bezieht sich der Begriff des Gesetzes auf die »physicalische Verknüpfung der Dinge in einer Welt«.58 Die von Thomasius einerseits, von Locke andererseits propagierte epistemologische Grundauffassung, dass alle Erkenntnis auf sinnlicher Wahrnehmung und Selbstreflexion des Verstandes beruht, die übrigens auch von Wolff geteilt wurde,59 spiegelt sich bei Crusius in der doppelten Bedeutung des Begriffs des physikalischen Gesetzes wider: Die Nothwendigkeit der Folge, mit welcher aus einem Real-Grunde [...] dasjenige erfolget oder erfolgen kan, was in ihm gegründet ist, heißt ein physicalisches Gesetz der Actionen. Man betrachtet dasselbe entweder ausserhalb der Gedanke [sic!], so ist es nichts anders als die Verknüpfung der Dinge selbst: oder man betrachtet es im Verstande, so heißt ein physicalisches Gesetz der Actionen nichts anders als ein Satz, darinnen man sich vorstellet, was bey gewissen Umständen erfolget oder möglich ist.60

|| 55 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (s. Anm. 1), § 360, vgl. § 459. 56 Ebd., § 360. 57 Ebd., § 284. 58 Ebd., § 359. 59 Vgl. Jean École: En quels sens peut-on dire que Wolff est rationaliste? In: Studia Leibnitiana 11.3 (1979), S. 381–396 (ND: Jean École [Hg.]: Études et documents photographiques sur Wolff. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1988 = Christian Wolff. Gesammelte Werke. Hg. von Jean École [u. a.]. Abt. III, Bd. 11, S. 184–199). 60 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (s. Anm. 1), § 360.

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In dieser Bestimmung wird die seinerzeit dominierende Auffassung des epistemologischen Verhältnisses zwischen der Physik als aposteriorisch-induktiver und der Metaphysik als apriorisch-deduktiver Wissenschaft deutlich. Hinsichtlich der Betrachtung von Verstandestätigkeiten geht Crusius davon aus, dass »die Welt ein solches Systema von Dingen ist, dessen Theile auch ausserhalb der Gedancken eine reale Verknüpfung haben«,61 dass also die Dinge ein- oder wechselseitig als »wirckende Ursachen« zueinander in Beziehung stehen, je nachdem, ob es sich um tätige oder leidende Dinge handelt.62 Das, »was eine Ursache zu Hervorbringung eines Effectes beyträgt«, sei allerdings nochmals zu differenzieren. Sogenannte »Existential-Gründe« seien jene Ursachen, die »durch ihr blosses Daseyn, weil durch dasselbe die Existenz oder eine gewisse Art zu existiren eines andern Dinges möglich oder unmöglich, oder nothwendig gemacht wird«, wirken können; die »Kraft« dieser Existenzial-Gründe sei das »unwircksame Vermögen eines Existenzial-Grundes«.63 So wohne diese Kraft z. B. einem Keil oder einem Hebel aufgrund ihrer Figur und Struktur zwar inne, aber, obwohl Träger dieser Kraft, können Keil und Hebel diese Kraft nicht selbst wirksam werden lassen. Diese Kraft sei nicht selbsttätig, d. h. sie ist nicht aktiv, sondern als facultas existentialis nur potentiell. Um aktuell wirksam zu werden, bedarf es der unmittelbaren oder zumindest der mittelbaren Einwirkung eines Wesens mit der Fähigkeit zur »Activität oder Selbstthätigkeit« als einer »thätigen Ursache«, die über eine »thätige Kraft«, also eine facultas activa, verfügt. Hinter dieser Differenzierung steht, wie schon bei Thomasius, eine ablehnende Haltung gegenüber mechanistischen Auffassungen. Die tätige Kraft bestimmt Crusius als »an eine Substanz verknüpfte Eigenschaft ihres innerlichen Wesens, vermöge deren durch sie etwas anderes wircklich ist, oder entstehet, ohne daß dasselbe bloß eine Conclusion wäre, welche man bey Setzung der Existential-Umstände des ersten vermöge des Satzes vom Wiederspruche zugleich mit einräumen muß«.64 Schon diese Bestimmung soll offenbar darauf hindeuten, dass man es in der Physik keinesfalls ausschließlich mit mechanistischen Zusammenhängen zu tun hat, sondern auch die tätige Kraft vernünftiger Wesen als einen wesentlichen Faktor in Betracht ziehen muss, d. h. das physisch wirksame Phänomen geistiger Spontaneität. Die Annahme der Existenz von Dingen, die sowohl über eine facultas existentialis als auch über eine facultas activa verfügen, kompliziert die wissenschaftliche Praxis der Physik allerdings ganz wesentlich. Dies gilt besonders für die Hypothese über die Existenz von Geschöpfen mit einer facultas activa, also von Wesen, die sich selbstständig, d. h. aus freiem Willen, selbst zu wirkenden Ursachen

|| 61 Ebd., § 359, vgl. § 350. 62 Schon Thomasius hatte diese Unterscheidung vorgenommen. 63 Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (s. Anm. 1), § 79. 64 Ebd.

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machen können. Sie bildet den Kern der Kritik an Wolffs Bestimmung des Satzes vom zureichenden Grund als Fundament der Erkenntnis, dem Crusius, ausgehend von der Annahme der facultas activa, die Unterscheidung zwischen zureichendem und determinierendem Grund entgegensetzt. Die positive Bestimmung der Physik als einer Grundwissenschaft, welche die Basis zur Erkenntnis der Absichten des menschlichen Lebens und letztlich zur Gotteserkenntnis liefern soll, steht nach Crusius’ Überzeugung offensichtlich in einem Spannungsverhältnis zu einem seinerzeit unter etlichen Naturphilosophen verbreiteten anderen Verständnis von Physik. Dieses Spannungsverhältnis betrifft im Kern einerseits das Verhältnis von ›neuer‹ Physik und Offenbarungstheologie und andererseits das metaphysische bzw. pneumatologische Element in der Physik. Bestimmend für das Verhältnis von Physik und Offenbarungstheologie ist für Crusius die Überzeugung von der garantierten Wahrheit der Offenbarung. Diese Überzeugung impliziert einerseits, dass auch die Aussagen über physikalische Phänomene innerhalb der Offenbarung als unbezweifelbare Wahrheit angesehen werden müssen, und andererseits, dass alle physikalischen Hypothesen widerspruchsfrei zu den Aussagen der Offenbarung sein müssen. Jede physikalische Hypothese, die der Offenbarungstheologie widerspricht und dennoch zum Grundsatz erhoben wird, wäre aus dieser Perspektive als Zurückweisung des Wahrheitsanspruchs der Offenbarung anzusehen, als Einfallstor für Deismus bzw. falschen Glauben (Aberglauben oder Irrglauben). Dieser theologisch-dogmatische Standpunkt wird von Crusius im Rahmen seiner Naturphilosophie mit pneumatologischen Auffassungen verbunden, die im Wesentlichen auf Thomasius zurückgehen. Die Pneumatologie war erst in der ersten Häfte des 17. Jahrhunderts von dem Wittenberger Philosophen Johannes Scharff als Teildisziplin der Philosophie eingeführt worden und hatte sich innerhalb weniger Jahrzehnte v. a. an deutschen Universitäten etabliert.65 Gegen Ende des 17. Jahrhunderts schien sie, in den lutherischen Territorien v. a. infolge der Metaphysikkritik Christian Thomasius’, zunächst wieder zu verschwinden, blühte dann aber, ausgerechnet auf Grundlage der thomasischen Philosophie, mit einer anderen Zielsetzung, in modifizierter Form und nun mit deutscher Terminologie, wieder auf. Thomasius hatte in seinem Versuch vom Wesen des Geistes die neueren Experimentalwissenschaften dafür kritisiert, dass sie keinen plausiblen Grund für ihre mechanistisch angelegten Modelle der Weltbeschreibung liefern könnten und dass sie sich, statt vernünftigerweise auf das naheliegendere Erklärungsmodell der Pneumatologie zurückzugreifen, auf leere Begriffe und unbeweisbare Hypothesen beriefen. Crusius teilt diese Haltung. Zwar sucht auch er überall nach physikalisch-

|| 65 Johann Scharff: Pneumatica, seu Pneumatologia, hoc est Scientia spirituum naturalis. Wittebergae 1629 (ND mit einem Vorwort von Walter Sparn. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 2014 = Christian Wolff: Gesammelte Werke. Hg. von Jean École [u. a.]. Abt. III, Bd. 140).

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mechanischen Ursachen, unterscheidet aber strikt zwischen »mathematischen und philosophischen Abstractionen« und damit – seiner Auffassung nach – zwischen »mathematischen Kräfte[n], welche blosse General-Begriffe sind«, und »den Grundkräfften der wirkenden Ursachen, welche man in der Philosophie zu betrachten hat«, oder anders ausgedrückt, zwischen »bloß möglichen« und »wirklichen« Ursachen.66 Damit wendet er sich zwar nicht grundsätzlich gegen jedes mechanistisch-mathematische Erklärungsmodell, betont aber deren begrenztes Erklärungspotential. Für ihn steht (wie schon für Thomasius) fest, dass »thätige Wirkungen der Geister in einander, und in die Materie, und umgekehrt«, zugegeben werden müssen.67 Derartige grundsätzliche Überlegungen waren es, die Crusius dazu bewogen haben, zur Vorsicht in der Naturlehre zu mahnen und die unvorsichtigen Physiker zur Ordnung im Denken zu rufen. Ausdrücklich richtet er sich gegen jene falsch betriebene, zu »Deisterey« oder »Aberglauben« führende Physik.68 Dass Crusius hier nicht zugleich den Atheismus nennt, deutet übrigens darauf hin, dass nach Crusius’ Einschätzung die einschlägigen naturphilosophischen Konzeptionen keine atheistischen Positionen propagierten. Das ist keineswegs selbstverständlich; immerhin hatte sich der Leipziger Philosoph Andreas Rüdiger in seiner (Crusius zweifellos gut bekannten) Physica divina (1716) ausdrücklich um die Nutzbarmachung der Naturphilosophie für den Kampf auch gegen den Atheismus bemüht. Nichtsdestoweniger ist Crusius der Überzeugung, dass die wahre Zweckbestimmung der Physik von vielen Physikern in eklatanter Weise ignoriert werde – mit dem Ergebnis, dass sie »erschlichene und erdichtete Grundsätze [...] vor physikalische Wahrheiten« ausgeben und sich, auch wenn sie »von natürlichen Sachen in gewissen Stücken eine schöne Kenntniß haben, den gesunden Begriffen von der Religion« nicht nähern, sondern sich von ihnen entfernen würden. Schon »ein einziger falscher Grundsatz« in der Naturlehre habe katastrophale Folgen. Die Physik ist daher nicht nur enorm wichtig, sondern auch extrem fehleranfällig, und deshalb braucht es nach Crusius’ Überzeugung eine Anleitung über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudencken, also im Grunde eine stabile und handhabbare Methodologie der Physik.69 Die Grundregeln dieser Methodologie fasst Crusius in fünf Regeln zusammen: (1.) Alle Wahrheiten müssen widerspruchsfrei sein. (2.) In der Physik müssen die Regeln der Logik streng beachtet werden. (3.) Die aposteriorischen Erkenntnisse der Physik müssen stets auf ihre Vereinbarkeit mit den in den »höheren Wissenschaften« bereits erkannten Wahrheiten überprüft werden – und umgekehrt. (4.) Die in der Physik behaupteten Wahrheiten dürfen nicht mit den in der Heiligen

|| 66 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), Vorrede. 67 Ebd., § 18. 68 Ebd. 69 Ebd., Vorrede.

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Schrift offenbarten Wahrheiten in Widerspruch stehen, wie auch die Heilige Schrift zur Herstellung dieser Widerspruchsfreiheit keinesfalls auf »gezwungene« Weise ausgelegt werden darf. (5.) In der Physik ist stets zwischen drei Erkenntnisebenen zu unterscheiden, nämlich zwischen der Ebene, auf der man »Ursachen mit einer völligen Gewißheit« findet, jener, die nur wahrscheinliche Gewissheit liefert, und jener, die nur zu »blosse[n] Muthmassungen« führt oder lediglich »Möglichkeiten« aufzeigt, wobei letzteres nur bei der Widerlegung falscher Hypothesen eine Rolle spielen dürfe.70 Diese Regeln bilden zugleich die Grundlage für Crusius’ Theorie der Hypothesenbildung in der Physik. Von der so bestimmten methodologischen Grundausrichtung ausgehend, will Crusius die Erkenntnisse der neueren Experimentalphysik zusammentragen und zu einem »systematische[n] Ganze[n]« zusammenfügen. Der damit verbundene eklektische Ansatz erklärt,71 warum die Anleitung dennoch über weite Strecken den Charakter eines konventionellen Physiklehrbuchs aufweist. Dennoch lässt sich unter Rückgriff auf einige zentrale Stellen des Werkes die naturphilosophische Position seines Autors nicht nur in methodologischer, sondern auch inhaltlicher Hinsicht rekonstruieren, und zwar einerseits ausgehend von der Kritik am Konzept einer vollständig mathematisierten Physik, andererseits im Hinblick auf ein diesem entgegengesetzten, maßgeblich auf der eigenen Metaphysik beruhenden Konzept der Naturlehre. Die vollständige Mathematisierung der Physik lehnt Crusius als eine unzulässige Vermischung von Naturlehre und angewandter Mathematik ab. Letztere sei lediglich adäquat für die Untersuchung der Größen physikalischer Körper und ihrer Bewegungen. Die Erforschung quantitativer Größen sei Aufgabe der Mathematik und nicht der Naturlehre; deren Zweck sei vielmehr die »Betrachtung des Wesens« der Körper, ihrer »Eigenschaften und Wirkungen«.72 Anders als die Mathematik untersuche die Physik die Qualitäten der natürlichen Körper und lasse sich dabei

|| 70 Ebd. Zu Crusius’ Wahrscheinlichkeitskonzeption s. Carlos Spoerhase: Die »mittelstrasse« zwischen Skeptizismus und Dogmatismus: Konzeptionen hermeneutischer Wahrscheinlichkeit um 1750. In: Carlos Spoerhase, Dirk Werle, Markus Wild (Hg.): Unsicheres Wissen. Skeptizismus und Wahrscheinlichkeit. 1550–1850. Berlin, New York 2009, S. 269–300, bes. S. 274ff. u. S. 282ff.; Oliver Robert Scholz: Die Vorstruktur des Verstehens. Ein Beitrag zur Klärung des Verhältnisses zwischen traditioneller Hermeneutik und ›philosophischer Hermeneutik‹. In: Jörg Schönert, Friedrich Vollhardt (Hg.): Geschichte der Hermeneutik und die Methoden der textinterpretierenden Disziplinen. Berlin, New York 2005, S. 443–461, bes. S. 457ff.; Werner Alexander: Pluraque credimus, paucissima scimus. Zur Diskussion über philosophische und hermeneutische Wahrscheinlichkeit in der ersten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts. In: Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 78 (1996), S. 130–165, bes. S. 140ff. 71 Zu Crusius’ Haltung gegenüber der Eklektik s. Albrecht: Eklektik (s. Anm. 10), S. 578–581; vgl. Sonia Carboncini: Christian August Crusius und die Leibniz-Wolffsche Philosophie. In: Albert Heinekamp (Hg.): Beiträge zur Wirkungs- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. Wiesbaden 1986, S. 110–125. 72 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 5.

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»auf die Grundkräfte und das Wesen derselben ein«, während die Mathematik als Wissenschaft von den Quantitäten die Kräfte nur als »Generalbegriffe« betrachte, ohne danach zu fragen, ob die Kräfte »Grundkräfte oder abgeleitete Kräfte« sind und »worinnen das innerliche Wesen der wirkenden Ursachen bestehet«.73 Trotz des unbestrittenen wechselseitigen Nutzens von Mathematik und Physik seien beide keinesfalls miteinander zu vermengen oder gar gleichzusetzen. Aufgrund der prinzipiellen Verschiedenheit der Fragestellungen beider Disziplinen dürfe auch die mathematische Beweismethode nicht auf die Physik übertragen werden. Eine ausschließlich mathematisch beschreibende Naturlehre vermittle nicht einmal die Fähigkeit, »gute Hypotheses zu erfinden«. Gute Hypothesen müssen nach Crusius’ Auffassung auch Ursachen für Sachverhalte anführen, aber eine solche Physik müsse zwangsläufig an der »Untersuchung der Ursachen« scheitern.74 Aus diesem Grund wird die Physik von ihm nicht nur im Hinblick auf ihre Untersuchungsobjekte und ihren Zweck, sondern auch in Hinsicht auf ihre Methodologie als eigenständige Disziplin profiliert. Physik ist nicht nur angewandte Mathematik, sondern die Mathematik ist neben der »Erfahrung« eines der zwei »vornehmsten« und »unentbehrlichen Hülfsmittel« der Naturlehre.75 Damit wendet sich Crusius – auch hier – klar gegen die Methodologie Wolffs. Die Mathematik dürfe weder missbraucht noch ihr Nutzen überschätzt werden. Die Vermengung der »bloßen Generalbegriffe« der Mathematik mit den »wahren und von der Natur selbst unterschiedenen Kräften« sei ebenso unzulässig wie die Übertragung von Aussagen über mathematische Gegenstände auf physikalische Körper. Die Mathematik könne – im Gegensatz zur Physik – prinzipiell keine Erkenntnis über Ursachen liefern, da sie nicht von realen Körpern, sondern von abstrakten Begriffen handelt. Diese Kritik an der neueren Physik war übrigens nicht neu, sie wurde bereits 1670 in der Physica des Leipziger Philosophen Jakob Thomasius formuliert und am Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts, ausge-

|| 73 Ebd. 74 Ebd., § 6. 75 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 8. Die Erfahrung als materiale Basis der Physik definiert Crusius als »Sätze«, in denen »die gesetzte Verknüpfung zwischen dem Subjecte und Prädicate unmittelbar durch die Empfindung wahrgenommen wird«. Der Begriff der Erfahrung setzt selbst bereits ein sprachliches System voraus, in dem zwischen Subjekten und Prädikaten unterschieden wird, und rekurriert insofern keineswegs auf den bloßen Sinnesreiz. Zudem geht die »Verknüpfung« zwischen Subjekt und Prädikat als eine »gesetzte Verknüpfung« – der Begriff Satz ist insofern wörtlich, nämlich als Setzung, zu verstehen – der Erfahrung voraus, und erst die unmittelbare Empfindung dieser gewissermaßen willkürlichen Verknüpfung qualifiziert sie als Erfahrung. Damit unterscheidet Crusius deutlich zwischen dem bloßen Sinnenreiz und der Erfahrung. Vgl. Crusius’ Theorie der Erfahrungssätze in seiner Logik: Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit (s. Anm. 1), §§ 461f. Dieser durchaus voraussetzungsreiche Begriff der Erfahrung korrespondiert dem ebenso voraussetzungsreichen Begriff des Versuchs, d. h. des Experiments (in Absetzung von dem der bloßen Observation), den Crusius in maßgeblicher Anlehnung an Francis Bacon entwickelt.

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hend von Christian Thomasius, auch im späten 17. und im frühen 18. Jahrhundert mehrfach wiederholt.76

4 Die Prinzipien der Naturlehre Die Anleitung ist in einen allgemeinen und einen »besonderen« Teil gegliedert. Zu Beginn entfaltet Crusius seine Methodologie der Physik. Besonders ausführlich erörtert er die »allgemeinsten Eigenschaften der Körper« und die »Gesetze der Bewegung«.77 Dabei bilden – programmatisch beabsichtigt – die Logik und die Metaphysik den theoretischen Rahmen. In ihrer thematischen Anordnung bleibt die Anleitung weitgehend an der konventionellen, im Grunde noch scholastisch geprägten Einteilung der Physiklehrbücher des 17. Jahrhunderts orientiert, wenngleich neue Themenbereiche (z. B. Elektrizität und Magnetismus) in sie eingefügt werden. Auf die methodologischen Prinzipien, die Crusius im ersten Kapitel seines Werkes entfaltet,78 insbesondere auf die von ihm geforderte strikte Unterscheidung zwischen Naturlehre und angewandter Mathematik und seine Betonung des weitgehend probabilistischen Charakters der Naturlehre,79 wurde bereits hingewiesen, ebenso auf die aus methodologischen Gründen enge Anbindung der Crusius’schen Physik an die Metaphysik und auf Crusius’ Begriffe des Versuchs und der Hypothese.80 Im ersten, allgemeinen Teil seiner Anleitung entfaltet Crusius zunächst den bereits erläuterten Begriff der Naturlehre, handelt »von den Gründen der physikalischen Wahrscheinlichkeit« und entfaltet die aus der Metaphysik abgeleiteten Grundsätze der Naturlehre. Er unterscheidet zwischen drei Arten von Ursachen natürlicher »Begebenheiten«, nämlich mechanischen, physikalischen und geistigen.81 Mechanische Ursachen wirken durch »Figur und Lage« der Teile von Körpern, physikalische Ursachen beruhen auf »einer thätigen Bewegungskraft der Materie«, geistige Ursachen sind »Thätigkeiten der Geister, welche nach gewissen Ideen wirken, und Veränderungen in den Körpern verursachen«. Dabei lässt Crusius bemerkenswerterweise zunächst ausdrücklich offen, ob außer Gott (der »unendliche Geist«) ausschließlich der Mensch über eine Seele (einen »endlichen Geist«) verfügt

|| 76 Jakob Thomasius: Physica perpetuo Dialogo. Lipsiae 1670 (ND d. Ausg. Lipsiae 1678: Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 2004 = Jakob Thomasius: Gesammelte Schriften. Hg. von Walter Sparn. Bd. 5), Praefatio ad Lectorem. 77 Auf über 260 Seiten. 78 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), Cap. I: Von der Naturlehre überhaupt, und von den Gründen der physikalischen Wahrscheinlichkeit (§§ 1–55). 79 Ebd., § 5; vgl. § 11, §§ 33ff. 80 Ebd., § 8, vgl. §§ 48f. 81 Ebd., § 15.

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oder dies auch auf Tiere und möglicherweise sogar auf andere Wesen zutreffen könnte; letzteres dürfe man nicht von vornherein ausschließen. Anschließend erörtert Crusius die wesentlich metaphysisch fundierten Grundsätze der Naturuntersuchung. (1.) Es muss von der Existenz tätiger Substanzen in der Welt und sogenannter »Grundthätigkeiten« ausgegangen werden.82 Andernfalls, nämlich unter bloßem Verweis auf mechanische Ursachen, sei es unmöglich, jemals zureichende Ursachen für die Naturgeschehnisse anzugeben. Die Beschränkung auf mechanische Erklärungen natürlicher Begebenheiten führe unweigerlich zu einem unendlichen Regress der Ursachenbestimmung. Es müsse »erste Thätigkeiten« geben, daher auch »erste Substanzen«. Diese Auffassung wurde grosso modo bereits von Thomasius vertreten und bildete auch bei ihm den Kern seiner Kritik an der neueren (mechanistischen) Physik. Nun, bei Crusius, richtet sie sich explizit gegen Newton, erkennbar aber auch gegen Wolff. (2.) »Die Grundkräfte endlicher Dinge müssen aus ihren Wirkungen erkannt werden, und kommen ihnen nicht aus einem innerlichen Grunde der Nothwendigkeit zu, sondern durch den Willen des Schöpfers, welcher sie ihnen um weiser Absichten willen gegeben hat.«83 Gott ist der Ursprung aller Grundkräfte, also auch jener Kräfte, die den endlichen Geistern gegeben sind. Endliche Geister verfügen zwar über »gewisse Grundkräfte«, mithin durchaus über »thätige Kräfte«, aber haben diese nur aufgrund göttlichen Willens. (3.) »Es müssen ohne Bedenken thätige Wirkungen der Geister, sowohl ineinander, als auch in die Materie, gleichwie auch thätige Wirkungen der Materie in die Geister zugegeben werden.«84 Crusius geht davon aus, dass alle Dinge in der Welt »in einer realen Verknüpfung« stehen,85 wobei die Materie den Geistern dazu diene, diese wechselseitige Verknüpfung zu ermöglichen.86 Gebe es keine wechselseitig tätige Wirkung zwischen Geistern und Materie, so sei keine reale Verknüpfung der Dinge in der Welt möglich, also auch keine irgendwie geartete Interaktion zwischen den Geistern. (4.) »Bey der Erklärung der Wirkungen der Dinge ineinander, und der Entstehung gewisser Thätigkeiten in ihnen, muß man zuletzt nothwendig auf gewisse Gesetze der Actionen kommen, und dabey stehen bleiben, welche Gott selbst gemacht hat ...«87 Wie schon aus dem zweiten Grundsatz ersichtlich, bezieht Crusius alle Tätigkeiten endlicher Geister auf die Absichten Gottes zurück, mithin auf dessen Tätigkeiten als die ursprünglichen. Damit bestimmt er gleichsam den Gegen|| 82 Ebd., § 16. 83 Ebd., § 17. 84 Ebd., § 18. 85 Vgl. Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (s. Anm. 1), § 359, § 94. 86 Vgl. ebd., § 363, §§ 463f. 87 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 19.

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standsbereich der Physik. In methodischer Hinsicht bedeutet diese Rückbeziehung, dass der Naturforscher zwar Grundkräfte einzelner Subjekte bestimmen und erforschen könne, aber dass er sich dabei stets der genannten Rückbeziehung bewusst bleiben müsse. Andernfalls laufe er Gefahr, »zur Unzeit Grundkräfte und Gesetze der Actionen« zu erdichten, eine »Qualitas occulta, nemlich vitiosa«. In der Tat hätten einige unter den »Neuern« genau diesen Fehler begangen. Ihre Theorien seien daher ebenso dunkel und unbrauchbar wie die von ihnen kritisierten scholastischen Spitzfindigkeiten. Das wesentliche Problem, das sich in diesem Zusammenhang ergibt, dass es nämlich fraglich ist, anhand welcher Kriterien man erkennen könne, ob man »in einem Subjecte mehrere Grundkräfte« oder aber tatsächlich eine einzelne, möglicherweise bis dahin unbekannte Grundkraft vorfindet, wie man also eine tatsächlich vorhandene Grundkraft von einer qualitas occulta unterscheiden könne, nimmt Crusius dabei durchaus ernst. Diese Frage sei »eine Sache, welche in den meisten Fällen auf Postulatis« beruhe; eine eindeutige Antwort scheint es nach Crusius’ Auffassung nicht zu geben. (5.) »Zur Erklärung der körperlichen Wirkungen müssen die mechanischen und physikalischen Ursachen beständig zusammen genommen werden. [...] Daher ist der Grund der Wirkungen der Körper theils in ihrer Structur; theils in der thätigen Kraft ihrer Theile zu suchen.«88 Die von Crusius vorgenommene Unterscheidung zwischen mechanischen, physikalischen und geistigen Ursachen (s. o.) führt hier zu methodischen Forderungen. Figur und Lage der Teile eines Körpers allein können ohne eine hinzukommende tätige Kraft keine Veränderungen bewirken, die bloße Betrachtung der mechanischen Ursachen reicht daher auch nicht zur Erklärung von Veränderungen aus. Will man die Ursachen der Veränderungen eines Körpers ergründen, müssen daher stets auch die physikalischen Ursachen in den Blick genommen werden, d. h. die Kräfte, auf denen die jeweilige Veränderung beruht. Umgekehrt ist auch die bloße Betrachtung der physikalischen Ursachen, d. h. ohne die der mechanischen, nicht zur Erklärung körperlicher Wirkungen zureichend, da hier die durch Figur und Lage der Teile des Körpers gegebenen Bedingungen unberücksichtigt bleiben. Beides, Materie und Kräfte, müssen für eine solche Erklärung in den Blick genommen werden. (6.) »Wenn man von einer Wirkung nur die nächsten Ursachen erklären will: so muß man doch theils darauf sehen, daß man in der That auf wirkende Ursachen, und nicht auf blosse Generalbegriffe, kommt; theils daß man nicht die Möglichkeit der entfernten Ursachen aufhebet, oder schwerer machet.«89 Genau genommen handelt es sich hier um zwei Grundsätze für die Erklärung physikalischer Kausalbeziehungen. (A) Bei der Erklärung der nächsten, d. h. einer Wirkung unmittelbar vorhergehenden Ursache, ist die tatsächlich wirkende Ursache anzugeben und nicht

|| 88 Ebd., § 20. 89 Ebd., § 21.

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etwa Zuflucht in die bloße Angabe eines Generalbegriffs zu nehmen. Als Beispiel für die Nichtbeachtung dieses Grundsatzes führt Crusius den Versuch einiger neuerer Physiker an, die behaupten, aus dem Konzept der vis inertiae physikalische Wirkungen von Körpern aufeinander erklären zu können. Dies sei unzulässig. Das Konzept der vis inertiae sei ein bloßer »Generalbegriff«, dem man den »Begriff der Kraft« kurzerhand hinzusetze, ohne eine tatsächlich »thätige Ursache« anzugeben; daher könne er nichts zur Erklärung der physikalischen Wirkung beitragen. Hier werde der »Unterschied der Causal- und Existential-Abstraction« nicht beachtet.90 – (B) Wenn in der Natur Kausalbeziehungen entdeckt werden sollen, so ist (wie im 5. Grundsatz hervorgehoben) zum einen zwischen mechanischen und physikalischen Wirkungen zu unterscheiden, zum anderen zwischen unmittelbaren und mittelbaren Kausalbeziehungen, d. h. Ketten von Kausalbeziehungen. Letztere Unterscheidung ist hier von zentraler Bedeutung, denn die Physik kann im Prinzip beides in den Blick nehmen. Nach Crusius’ Auffassung darf bei der Betrachtung einzelner unmittelbarer Kausalbeziehungen deren mögliche Einbettung in eine Abfolge von Kausalbeziehungen nicht ignoriert werden, sondern es müsse geklärt werden, ob es sich um den Beginn, einen mittleren oder den letzten Teil einer Kausalkette handelt. Wenn eine Ursache »schwerer«, d. h. voraussetzungsreicher, als ihre Wirkung ist, so könne sie nicht der Beginn einer Kausalkette sein. Aus diesem Grund hält Crusius u. a. »die anziehende Kraft der Newtonianer, wenn sie eine physikalische seyn soll«, für unmöglich. Ebenso lehnt er Bernoullis These von der Determinierung der Planetenbewegungen durch die Eigenrotation der Sonne als physikalische Erklärung ab, da die physikalische Ursache der solaren Eigenrotation ungeklärt bleibe. Derartige Erklärungsversuche seien bestenfalls mathematische Erklärungen, die in ihnen angenommenen Kräfte nur mathematische. Newton habe dies – im Gegensatz zu einigen seiner Anhänger – durchaus erkannt, wie Crusius betont.91 Der »Endzweck« der Physik sei aber nicht die mathematische, sondern die physikalische Erklärung, und beide dürften in keinem Fall mit einander gleichgesetzt oder miteinander verwirrt werden. (7.) »Wenn eine angegebene Ursache zu einem Effecte eine zureichende seyn soll: so muß man daraus nicht nur den Effect überhaupt, oder eins und das andere davon als möglich begreifen können; sondern es müssen auch die Unterschiede, Stufen und sämmtlichen Umstände desselben daraus entweder verständlich seyn, oder doch wenigstens nicht damit streiten.«92 Mit diesem Grundsatz wird von Crusius das Kriterium der Reichweite einer Erklärung angesprochen. Diese muss mehr als einen konkreten Einzelfall erklären können, nämlich prinzipielle Aussagen

|| 90 Zu dieser Unterscheidung vgl. Crusius: Logik (s. Anm. 1), §§ 96f. 91 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 22, mit Verweis auf Isaac Newton: Philosophiae naturalis principia mathematica. [Genenvae] 1739, Praefatio ad lectorem, S. XIf., vgl. S. 11 (u. a.). 92 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 23.

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über die Wirkungen einer Ursache erlauben. Kurz, eine physikalische Erklärung müsse stets die jeweils »zureichende Ursache« angeben können; zu einer solchen gehöre aber immer auch eine »allgemeine Ursache«. (8.) »Wenn zu einer Wirkung mehrere Ursachen hinlänglich, oder gar in gleichem Grade, erweislich sind; so muß man nicht nur eine als real annehmen, wenn gleich der Effect daraus noch so verständlich ist: sondern es sind, wenn man von dem Effecte überhaupt redet, sämmtliche Ursachen zu verbinden; in einzelen Fällen aber ist jedesmal besonders zu untersuchen, welche, und wie viele darunter, daselbst anzunehmen sind.«93 Dieser Grundsatz trägt dem Gedanken Rechnung, dass bestimmte natürliche Phänomene nicht durch einzelne Ursachen, sondern durch das Zusammenwirken unterschiedlicher Ursachen bewirkt werden könnten. Da dies vor der Untersuchung der Ursachen eine prinzipiell offene Frage sein muss, ist es nach Crusius’ Überzeugung notwendig, stets von der Möglichkeit der gemeinsamen Wirkung unterschiedlicher Ursachen auszugehen. Insbesondere in Fällen, in denen zur Erklärung eines Phänomens unterschiedliche Erklärungshypothesen vorliegen, in denen unterschiedliche Ursachen zu seiner Erklärung angenommen werden, eröffnet sich dadurch der Raum für die Überlegung, ob jene angenommenen Ursachen erst gemeinsam den beobachteten Effekt bewirken würden – vor allem, wenn beide Hypothesen für sich genommen miteinander unvereinbar erscheinen. (9.) »Daß es ausser den Seelen der Menschen und Thiere noch andere Geister giebt, welche auch auf dem Erdboden geschäfftig seyn können, und zwar solche, welche uns an Verstand und Macht übertreffen, ist nicht nur eine reale Möglichkeit, sondern es ist auch aus der blossen Vernunft sehr wahrscheinlich; daher man auf dieselben in der Beurtheilung der natürlichen Begebenheiten mit zu rechnen kein Bedenken haben, sondern ihnen die Wirkungen zuschreiben muß, welche ihrem Begriffe gemäß sind, und andern Ursachen ohne Ungereimtheit nicht zugeschrieben werden können.«94 Crusius erweitert damit den durch seine Metaphysik bedingten Dualismus, der jetzt nicht nur die Existenz von Gott und menschlichen Seelen, sondern auch die Möglichkeit der Existenz weiterer endlicher Geister als möglich und sogar als wahrscheinlich proklamiert. Die Möglichkeit der Existenz anderer endlicher Geister glaubt er ex negativo zeigen zu können: Erstens spreche nichts dagegen, zweitens wäre es unvernünftig, von der Nichtexistenz anderer endlicher Geister auszugehen. Letzteres ergibt sich für Crusius aus der Annahme, dass Gott »so viele Millionen vortreffliche Werke«, nämlich die Menschen, nicht geschaffen habe, wenn sie nicht »von jemanden erkannt würden«. Die zur Erkenntnis der menschlichen Seelen befähigten, mithin »vernünftigen Geister« seien – aufgrund dieser Erkenntnisfähigkeit – »an Einsicht und Macht« den Menschen weit überlegen, und zugleich, weil wie die Menschen nur als frei denkbar, mit »moralischer Tugend« be-

|| 93 Ebd., § 24. 94 Ebd., § 25.

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gabt und daher potentiell gut oder böse.95 In der Physik müsse daher stets die Möglichkeit berücksichtig werden, dass man es mit Wirkungen zu tun hat, die von diesen Geistern verursacht worden sind. Damit stelle sich das Problem, »in welchen Fällen man auf die Wirkung dergleichen Geister schliessen kann«. Hier sei »jedesmal aus den Umständen mit Hinzunehmung der allgemeinen Regeln der Vernunftlehre und physikalischer Untersuchungen« zu urteilen: Sofern eine beobachtete Wirkung nicht mit bekannten physikalische Ursachen oder nicht ohne Inkaufnahme begrifflicher Inkonsistenzen erklärt werden kann, sei es »höchst vernünftig«, die entsprechende Ursache »andern mächtigern Geistern zuzuschreiben«, nämlich entweder Gott oder anderen ›nichtmenschlichen‹ Geistern. Der aus metaphysischen Gründen angenommene Dualismus, den Crusius von vornherein als für die gesamte Methodologie der Physik grundlegend ansieht, wird hier – möglicherweise angeregt durch die Pneumatologie des Thomasius, vermutlich aber v. a. theologisch motiviert – nochmals differenziert.96 Diese Differenzierung ist allerdings keineswegs neu; die Pneumatologie des 17. Jahrhunderts hatte sich, gerade im Hinblick auf die Physik, als jene Disziplin etabliert, die das physikalische Wirken von Geistern untersucht, und zwar nicht nur das physikalische Wirken Gottes und der menschlichen Seele, sondern auch das anderer Geister, die in theologischer Tradition meist als »Engel« bezeichnet wurden. Schon Thomasius war 1699 dieser ›pneumatologischen‹ Auffassung gefolgt, und auch Wolff war davon im Prinzip nicht abgewichen, obgleich er die Lehre von Geistern, die nicht Gott oder Seelen sind, schon im »Discursus praeliminaris« zu seiner Philosophia rationalis sive Logica (1728) aus epistemologischen (nicht aus ontologischen) Gründen aus der Philosophie und damit zugleich aus der Physik ausgeklammert hatte und sich auch später, im zweiten Teil seiner Theologia naturalis (1737), darauf beschränkt hatte, die Möglichkeit der Existenz von Engeln philosophisch zu verteidigen. Engel sind nach Wolffs Auffassung keine Arten des Seienden, die dem Menschen ohne Kenntnis der Heiligen Schrift bekannt wären. (10.) »Noch weniger hat man Ursache die göttlichen Wunderwerke in der Welt [...] gleich im voraus auszuschliessen, oder sich einzubilden, daß alles, was wirklich geschieht, nothwendig durch bloß natürliche Ursachen geschehe.«97 Crusius vertritt die Auffassung, dass Gott sich prinzipiell auf zwei Wegen zu erkennen geben kann, »nemlich in dem ordentlichen Laufe der Natur, und durch die übernatürlichen Thätigkeiten«. Es sei nicht beweisbar, dass er nur einen dieser beiden Wege beschreiten könne, und es sei möglich, dass Gottes »Endzwecke« teils den einen, teils den anderen Weg erfordern. Dabei geht Crusius von der metaphysischen Überzeu-

|| 95 Ebd., vgl. Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (s. Anm. 1), § 477. 96 Vgl. Thomasius: Vom Wesen des Geistes (s. Anm. 14); Wolff: Discursus praeliminaris (s. Anm. 36), § 56. 97 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 26.

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gung aus, dass »Gott die Welt zur Offenbarung seiner Eigenschaften gemacht hat«. Damit liefert er zugleich eine Bestimmung des Wunderbegriffs: Ein göttliches Wunder besteht seiner Auffassung nach in der von Gott bewirkten singulären Durchbrechung des im Prinzip geordneten Laufs der Natur, also in einer vorübergehenden Aufhebung der Naturgesetze.98 Das Problem der Erkennbarkeit von Wundern wird hier allerdings nicht angesprochen; es bleibt mithin unklar, wie ein göttliches Wunder von einem natürlichen Phänomen, das kein Wunder ist, und damit prinzipiell mit den Mitteln der Physik erklärt werden könnte, aber faktisch, z. B. aufgrund epistemischer Schwierigkeiten, nicht erklärt werden kann, unterschieden werden könnte. (11.) »Man verwirre nicht die physikalische Betrachtung, da man die Gründe untersuchet, wodurch etwas möglich ist, mit der historischen Nachricht, da man wissen will, wie es wirklich damit zugegangen ist.«99 Dieser Grundsatz beinhaltet eine fundamentale Mahnung zur Vorsicht im Erklären physikalischer Kausalzusammenhänge. Während die »historische Nachricht«, d. h. der empirische Befund, die bloße Beobachtung, lediglich zur Beschreibung von Tatsachen dienen kann, erfordert die physikalische Erklärung mehr als eine solche Beschreibung, nämlich die Angabe der Gründe, aus denen die beobachteten Tatsachen aktuell geworden sind. Dies könne nur unter Einbeziehung »disjunctivischer Schlüsse« zwecks Analyse »aller möglicher Ursachen« und der anschließenden Reduktion auf eine Hauptursache erfolgen. Die bloße empirische Beobachtung führe lediglich zu »Muthmaßungen«. (12.) »[...] was durch richtige Vernunftgründe erwiesen ist, das ist nicht überhaupt ungewisser, als was durch Erfahrungen sinnlich gemacht werden kann.«100 Dass einerseits die Erfahrung und andererseits das vernünftige Denken die beiden Quellen der Erkenntnis sind, ist in der Philosophie der Neuzeit die dominierende Überzeugung. Kontroversen entzündeten sich vornehmlich an der Frage, in welchem Verhältnis die Erkenntnisse, die aus diesen beiden Quellen gewonnen werden, zueinander stehen. Zwar gründen »alle richtige[n] Arten zu denken« letztlich auf den »obersten Kennzeichen der Wahrheit«, d. h. rationale Erkenntnis und empirische Erkenntnis basieren beide auf diesen Kennzeichen und dürfen daher nicht in Widerspruch zueinander stehen, aber daraus – so Crusius – dürfe keineswegs gefolgert werden, dass rationale Erkenntnisse ohne die Bestätigung ihrer Wahrheit durch Versuche (Experimente) falsch seien. Während empirische Daten allein lediglich zu Mutmaßungen führen könnten (s. 11. Grundsatz), könnten rationale Überlegungen durchaus auch ohne empirische Bestätigung wahre Erkenntnisse liefern. Im Ansatz

|| 98 Zu Crusius Bestimmung des Wunderbegriffs vgl. Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen VernunftWahrheiten (s. Anm. 1), §§ 339ff. 99 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 27. 100 Ebd., § 28.

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deutet sich hier bereits die moderne Unterscheidung zwischen theoretischer und experimenteller Physik an. (13.) »Auf gleiche Weise verstehet man [...] daß ein Satz deswegen nicht nothwendig in der Physik unbrauchbar, ja nicht einmal weniger gewiß zu seyn brauchet, weil er etwan nicht geometrisch erwiesen wird.«101 Dieser offensichtlich vor allem gegen Wolff gerichtete Grundsatz bestreitet die Notwendigkeit der geometrischen Beweisführung in der Physik. Insbesondere sei die »moralische Gewißheit der geometrischen nicht allezeit nachzusetzen«. (Gerade in dieser Bemerkung tritt die grundsätzliche Verschiedenheit zwischen dem Crusius’schen und dem heutigen Verständnis von Naturwissenschaft im Allgemeinen und der Physik im Besonderen hervor.) Aber auch die Strenge der geometrischen Beweisführung, die vor allem Wolff in der Philosophie und damit in der gesamten Wissenschaft gefordert hatte, um zu gesicherten Erkenntnissen zu gelangen, wird von Crusius als nicht in allen Hinsichten notwendig betrachtet; vielmehr seien bisweilen auch »Wahrscheinlichkeiten und bloße Muthmaßungen« durchaus geeignet, um »zu endlicher Erfindung einer Gewißheit« den Weg zu bahnen.102 Wichtig sei allerdings die genaue Unterscheidung der »Arten der Sätze«, die in der Naturlehre verwendet werden. (14.) »Man verwirre nicht die Vollständigkeit der Erkenntniß, oder die anschauende Deutlichkeit, welche man von einer Sache haben kann, mit der Gewißheit derselben.«103 Auch bei diesem Grundsatz handelt es sich primär um eine Mahnung, die sich gegen unbegründete Vorwürfe an die Naturlehre richtet. Im Kern dieser Vorwürfe stehe die falsche Auffassung, dass eine partielle Erkenntnis über ein Ding, die keine Aussagen über das »Wesen der Substanzen, der Kräfte und der Bewegungen« im Ganzen beinhaltet, keine gewisse Erkenntnis sein könne, dass man also, kurz gesagt, entweder über umfassende oder gar keine Erkenntnis verfüge. Dem hält Crusius entgegen, dass partielle Erkenntnis durchaus gewiss sein könne. Insbesondere die Unkenntnis oder nur teilweise Kenntnis von »Endzwecken« sei in der Physik oft unproblematisch, solange nämlich »die Evidenz der Argumente« gegeben sei. Dies führt unmittelbar zur nächsten Regel: (15.) »Daraus folget: [...] Daß auch eine unvollständige Erkenntniß von dem Wesen und den Eigenschaften einer Sache, wenn sie nur ihren gehörigen Beweis vor sich hat, dennoch zu einer deutlichen und gewissen Erkenntniß sehr vieler andern Dinge gebrauchet werden kann.«104 Partielle Erkenntnis kann und darf, sofern sie gewiss ist, zur Grundlage weiterer Schlussfolgerungen dienen, wenn das, was für den Schluss relevant ist, als gewiss anerkannt worden ist. Das Streben nach Er-

|| 101 Ebd., § 29. 102 Wolff lehnt dies ab; seiner Ansicht nach können Wahrscheinlichkeiten oder Mutmaßungen niemals zu gewissen Erkenntnissen führen, sondern nur zu weiteren Mutmaßungen. 103 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 30. 104 Ebd., § 31.

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kenntnis des »ganzen Wesens der Ursachen« sei vielmehr schädlich, ein Wunsch unserer nach Vollkommenheit strebenden Wahrheitsbegierde. Gewissermaßen zur Erläuterung dieses Aspekts fügt Crusius deshalb noch hinzu: (16.) »Man kann deswegen auch noch als einen besondern Satz anmerken, [...] daß man die logikalischen Schwierigkeiten bey einer Sache mit den bloßen Lücken in unserer Erkenntniß nicht verwirren muß.«105 Bereits aus der Darlegung der Prinzipien der Crusius’schen Naturlehre wird deutlich, dass sich deren Charakteristik grundsätzlich von heute gängigen Auffassungen von Physik unterscheidet. Insbesondere die Differenzierung zwischen mechanischen und physikalischen Ursachen und die damit verbundene Einbeziehung der Betrachtung tätiger Substanzen in den Gegenstandsbereich physikalischer Untersuchungen begründet diesen Unterschied. Allerdings ist zu bedenken, dass dieser Aspekt auch im Hinblick auf die moderne Physik nicht folgenlos geblieben ist: Das Konzept der Kraft bildet hier gewissermaßen das Substitut für das Konzept der tätigen Substanz, aber mit dem fundamentalen Unterschied, dass die physikalische Kraft nicht mit dem Attribut selbstständiger Tätigkeit, d. h. mit keinerlei Form von Spontaneität, assoziiert wird, sondern ihrerseits unter mechanische und insofern mathematisch beschreibbare Gesetzmäßigkeiten subsummiert wird. Das metaphysische Fundament des Kraft- und des Substanzbegriffs, das Crusius – durchaus nicht vom seinerzeit gängigen Verständnis abweichend – im Gottesbegriff gesehen hat,106 spielt in der Physik allerdings keine Rolle mehr. Die Annahme der physikalischen Wirkung tätiger Substanzen führt Crusius unvermeidlich zu der Frage, inwiefern »die Lehre von Geistern, und die Betrachtung der Endursachen in die Naturlehre gehören«.107 Dagegen spricht (auch nach Crusius’ Auffassung von Physik), dass das »eigentliche Object der Physik [...] die Körper, und zwar nach ihrer Beschaffenheit, Wirkungen, und wirkenden Ursachen« sind. Aus demselben Physikverständnis leitet Crusius aber auch ab, dass die Physik die »Wirkungen, die wir an den Körpern wahrnehmen«, erklären soll: Wenn diese Wirkungen nicht durch die bloße Betrachtung der Körper erklärt werden können, wovon Crusius aufgrund metaphysischer Überlegungen ausgeht, so müssen diese auch in der Physik mit Verweis auf die Wirkungen der Geister erklärt werden. Diese Wirkungen, welche die Geister als tätige Substanzen hervorbringen, sind allerdings stets als Akzidenzien anzusehen, nicht als Element ihres »nothwendigen Wesens«. Letzteres zu untersuchen, sei nicht Sache der Physik, sondern der Metaphysik. Dass Crusius die Physik wesentlich als Betrachtung der Wirkungen tätiger Substanzen bestimmt, erlaubt es ihm zudem, die Naturlehre mit teleologischen Überlegungen zu verbinden. Jede tätige Substanz, insbesondere die unendliche geistige

|| 105 Ebd., § 32. 106 Vgl. Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (s. Anm. 1), § 257. 107 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 7.

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Substanz (Gott), verfolgt nach Crusius’ Auffassung einen Zweck, Gott sogar einen »bestimmten Endzweck«. Durch diesen Endzweck seien die Bedingungen der von den endlichen Substanzen angestrebten Zwecke bestimmt, die daher umgekehrt auf den göttlichen Zweck zurückführbar seien. Der von Gott intendierte Endzweck sei allerdings nicht mittels der Philosophie, auch nicht durch die Naturphilosophie, erkennbar, wenn nicht zugleich das »geoffenbarte göttliche Wort« bekannt ist. Nach Crusius ist somit zwar eine deskriptive Physik ohne göttliche Offenbarung möglich, aber keine Teleologie (Physikoteleologie), d. h. die Erkenntnis des göttlichen Endzwecks; sie setzt eine göttliche Offenbarung in sprachlicher Form voraus.108 Die Grundsätze, die Crusius der Physik zuschreibt, erklären seine Haltung in einigen wesentlichen naturphilosophischen Streitfragen der Zeit. Einige davon finden sich im Erste[n] Teil, andere im Andere[n] und besondere[n] Theil der Anleitung. Die Grundsätze aus dem ersten Teil lauten: (1.) Der leere Raum existiert, aber nicht als vacuum continuum, sondern ausschließlich als vacuum disseminatum.109 (2.) Die Elemente sind nicht unendlich teilbar, sondern sind die kleinsten Substanzen, aus denen die Körper bestehen. Sie verfügen über eine Figur und tätige Kräfte, die aber nicht durch die Physik, sondern nur durch die Metaphysik – und zwar durch die des Crusius’, nicht aber durch die der Leibnizianer (!) – erklärt werden können.110 (3.) Die Gesetze der Bewegung dienen als Grund der allgemeinen Naturlehre und müssen daher nicht nur geometrisch, sondern auch philosophisch bewiesen werden. (4.) Anziehungskraft als physikalische Kraft gibt es nicht, sondern ist eine bloße »qualitas occulta vitiosa« und als solche potentieller Ursprung von »Materialisterey und [...] Aberglaube«;111 stattdessen ist die Existenz des Äthers anzunehmen. Der von ihm erzeugte Druck bildet die physikalische Ursache sowohl der Bewegung als auch der Schwere der Weltkörper. (5.) Eine der (noch unzureichend erforschten) Ursachen von Elektrizität sind besondere Atmosphären der Körper. Die im zweiten Teil formulierten Grundsätze lauten: (1.) Es gibt vier Hauptmaterien: Feuer, Luft, Wasser, Erde. Beim Feuer ist zu unterscheiden zwischen der Materie des Lichts und der Materie der Wärme. Die Ergebnisse von Newtons optischen Versuchen können auch ohne die Annahme der Anziehungskraft erklärt werden. Unter Berücksichtigung der Experimente Boerhaaves und van Musschenbroeks können Theorien des Feuers und der Kälte entwickelt werden. (2.) Die Theorie der Verwandelbarkeit von Luft in andere Materien und umgekehrt ist falsch. (3.) Die

|| 108 Crusius hat sich auch später, nunmehr als Theologe, intensiv mit dieser Frage beschäftigt und ist von der hier beschriebenen Auffassung nicht abgewichen. Vgl. seine Probatio quod verbo Dei instrui naturae humanae essentiale sit (s. Anm. 1) sowie seine Monita de cosmologia vera et adaequata (ebd.). 109 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), §§ 73ff., S. 138ff. 110 Denn die (hier gemeinte) Wolff’sche Metaphysik spreche den Elementen Figur, Bewegung und Berührung ab. Sie sei daher für die Naturerkenntnis unbrauchbar. 111 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), Vorrede.

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Teile des Wassers sind kleiner als die der Luft. Die Teile des Wassers sind elementarisch, Wasser ist elastisch. Ebbe und Flut sind mechanisch erklärbar und hängen mit dem Druck des Mondes auf die Erdatmosphäre zusammen. (4.) Die Figur der Erde ist zwar irregulär und unerklärlich, aber als solche dennoch eine Vollkommenheit, weil sie den unentbehrlichen Grund für ihre Bewegung bildet. (5.) Die magnetische Materie kann es geben; sie ist zwar noch unbekannt, ihre Existenz muss aber nicht bestritten werden. (6.) Die Atmosphäre der Erde reicht mindestens bis zum Mond. (7.) Der Tod ist ein dem Menschen widernatürlicher Zustand. Der Ursprung aller Lebewesen in individuo ist von Gott abgeleitet; ihre zufällige ›Ausprägung‹ ist hingegen aus der Vereinigung von Leib und Seele sowie den Bedingungen der Zeugung abzuleiten. – So weit, und nur schlaglichtartig, einige von Crusius’ Positionen.

5 Naturlehre und Offenbarung In den 571 Paragraphen der Anleitung (1. Aufl.) finden sich nur sieben, in denen explizit auf die Bibel verwiesen wird. Schon diese Tatsache legt nahe, dass die Bedeutung der offenbarungstheologischen Dogmatik für Crusius’ Naturphilosophie begrenzt ist. Um ihren Umfang und v. a. die Funktion, die Crusius der Bibelexegese im Rahmen der Naturlehre zuweist, zu bestimmen, sei auf einige hierfür zentrale Stellen eingegangen. Ein expliziter Verweis auf die Heilige Schrift findet sich im Abschnitt Von den physikalischen Gründen der Bewegung.112 In den vorhergehenden Ausführungen hat Crusius die Hypothese entfaltet, dass »alle Materien in der Welt, nur die äusserste ausgenommen, sich in dem Stande einer Zusammendrückung befinden, welche ihnen widernatürlich ist«.113 Crusius geht von einem räumlich begrenzten Kosmos, einem physikalischen nexus rerum, aus, dessen Grenzen sich u. a. dadurch beschreiben lassen, dass sie anderen physikalischen Gegebenheiten unterworfen sind als alle Körper innerhalb dieses nexus. Letztere befinden sich aufgrund einer externen Einwirkung permanent in einem widernatürlichen Zustand, da auf sie dauerhaft ein Druck ausgeübt wird, durch den sie an ihrer natürlichen Ausdehnung, nach der sie aufgrund der ihnen innewohnenden »thätigen Kraft« streben, gehindert werden. In Bewegung geraten die Körper (nur) dann, wenn der äußere Widerstand nicht von allen Seiten konstant bleibt; in diesem Fall geschieht die Bewegung in Richtung auf den nachlassenden Druck. Wenngleich die so entstehenden Bewegungen daher immer in bestimmte Richtungen, nämlich die des geringeren Widerstandes, gehen, ist den Körpern dennoch eine »Tendenz« zur Bewegung

|| 112 Ebd., Cap. 3, hier § 100. 113 Ebd., § 98.

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»gegen alle Seiten« zuzuschreiben. Die Hypothese einer auf Druck und Gegendruck beruhenden Körperbewegung bedarf allerdings – wie Crusius erkannt hat – der Zusatzannahme, dass die Elemente, aus denen die Körper bestehen, »mit Größe und Figur« versehen sind. Diese Annahme begründet er mit Verweis auf die Ausrichtung der Bewegung auf eine bestimmte Richtung (nämlich die des geringeren Drucks): Nur etwas, das über Figur und Größe verfügt, könne seine Bewegung in eine bestimmte Richtung lenken, und nur auf etwas, das über Figur und Größe verfügt, könne auf ein anderes Ding einen physischen Widerstand ausüben. Aus diesen Überlegungen gewinnt Crusius einen »wahren und natürlichen Begriff vom Raume«, den er streng vom »relativischen« Begriff des Raumes als eines »erdichteten Raumes«, in dem »keine Bewegung begriffen werden kann«, unterschieden wissen will. Die Frage, ob die »Zusammendrückung, darinnen sich alle natürliche Körper befinden, beständig unmittelbar von Gott verursachet wird, und solches ein Stück der Erhaltung der Welt ausmachet; oder ob, indem immer eine Materie die andere drücket, die letzte Materie durch ihre bloße Inertiam [...] sie sämmtlich in dem gleich anfangs von Gott bestimmten Raume beysammenhält«,114 sei, wenngleich die zweite These die vernünftigere sei, letztlich zwar nicht entscheidend. Dass aber diese zweite These, dass nämlich der Druck, der auf jeden physikalischen Körper einwirkt, unmittelbar auf die ihn umgebende Materie und nur mittelbar, quasi als Anfangspunkt einer mechanischen Abfolge, auf die inertia der letzten, d. h. von Gott erschaffenen, Materie zurückzuführen sei, vernünftiger sei, lege einerseits die plausible, aber noch begründungsbedürftige Annahme nahe, dass man »ohne Noth Gott unmittelbar nichts zuschreiben muss«, andererseits – und hier kommt die Bibel ins Spiel – die Übereinstimmung dieser These mit der Schöpfungsgeschichte, wie sie in der Heiligen Schrift überliefert ist. Das »Wasser unter der Feste« und das »Wasser über der Feste«, von dem in 1. Mos. 1, 6–8, die Rede ist, wird von Crusius im Ausgang von physikalischen Überlegungen als Bezeichnungen für zwei unterschiedliche Bereiche interpretiert: einerseits, nämlich als »die Wasser, welche Gott über die Ausdehnung aller Himmel gesetzt hat«, zur Bezeichnung der Sphäre, die jenseits des Raumes der sich bewegenden Körper liegt, andererseits, nämlich als »Wasser unter der Feste«, als Bezeichnung des Raumes der sich bewegenden Körper. Hier werden also die Ergebnisse physikalischer Reflexionen als Ausgangspunkt für ein besseres Bibelverständnis herangezogen. Keineswegs wird die Physik einer dogmatischen Deutung der Heiligen Schrift nachgeordnet. Dies zeigt sich auch an anderer Stelle. In seinen Überlegungen über den Grund der Erdbewegung geht Crusius zwar von der Hypothese aus, dass alle Bewegungen sämtlicher Himmelskörper aus einem mechanischen Zusammenhang zu erklären sind. Dieser Zusammenhang könne aber nicht mit dem Verweis auf die Gravitati|| 114 Ebd., § 100.

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onskraft – einem aus Crusius’ Sicht unbestimmten und insofern leeren Begriff – erklärt werden, sondern nur durch die Annahme der Existenz des Äthers.115 Der Äther gilt ihm als die Substanz, über welche der das ganze Universum durchdringende Druck vermittelt wird; sein Ursprung könne nicht innerhalb der Welt der physikalischen Körper angenommen werden. Der vom Äther vermittelte Druck könne nur wirksam werden, wenn sein »mechanisches Vermögen« auf verschiedene Seiten eines physikalischen Körpers wirkt, d. h. nur auf figürliche Körper. Es ist nach Crusius’ Überzeugung deshalb notwendig, »die Figur der Weltkörper unter die Ursachen ihrer Bewegung zu zehlen«.116 Mit dieser Theorie von der Bewegung und Figürlichkeit physikalischer Körper kann Crusius allerdings nicht deren Entstehung erklären. Seine diesbezügliche Hypothese bleibt auffällig schwach begründet: »Endlich da unzehliche Gründe und sonderlich die Ordnung in dem Baue der thierischen Körper und der Pflanzen unwidersprechlich lehren, daß die Erdkugel von Gott selbst im Anfange mit ordentlich gebildeten Geschöpfen besetzt worden ist; wer will zweifeln, daß er auch das Wohnhaus vor dieselben zu der Zeit selbst zugerichtet hat, da er diese erschuf?«117 Bezeichnenderweise nennt Crusius keinen der vorgeblich unzähligen Gründe, die für seine Schöpfungstheorie sprechen sollen, und es bleibt auch unklar, warum die empirisch wahrnehmbare »Ordnung in dem Bau« lebendiger Wesen ein Indiz dafür sein soll, dass diese wie die Erde und zudem gleichzeitig mit ihr unmittelbar von Gott geschaffen worden sein sollen. Crusius’ Behauptungen scheinen sich hier ausschließlich auf die biblische Schöpfungslehre zu berufen. Ähnliches gilt für die Überlegungen zur Stabilität der Erdbewegung. Crusius behauptet, dass »in der Figur der Erde allererst ein Grund zu ihrer Umdrehung« liege.118 Keineswegs geht er davon aus, dass die Erde kugelförmig sei; vielmehr stellt er die Frage, ob sie »im grossen [...] eher mit einer länglichen oder breiten Sphäroide zu vergleichen, und also eher Citronen- oder Pomeranzen-förmig zu nennen« sei.119 Dass die Erde vom sphärischen Charakter einer Kugel abweicht, sei auch »in kleinern Stücken« klar zu erkennen, nämlich an den unterschiedlichen Höhen der Erdoberfläche (z. B. bei Gebirgen). Geht man, wie Crusius, von der Theorie aus, dass der Äther Druck auf die physikalischen Körper ausübt und dass die Größe dieses Druckes proportional von der Oberfläche des Körpers, auf die er drückt, abhängt, so folgt daraus, dass jede Veränderung der Oberflächen auch zur Veränderung der vom Druck des Äthers provozierten Bewegungen des Körpers führt. Geringfügige Schwankungen, z. B. hervorgerufen durch die Bewegungen der Menschen oder

|| 115 Ebd., § 254. 116 Ebd., § 253. 117 Ebd. 118 Ebd. 119 Ebd., § 254.

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meteorologische Veränderungen, würden aufgrund ihrer relativen Geringfügigkeit keinen nennenswerten Einfluss auf die Erdbewegung ausüben. Anders verhalte es sich aber bei »allzugrossen Veränderungen der Erdfläche«. Hier müsse man »sein Vertrauen auf die göttliche Vorsorge setzen, welche so gewiß ist, als wir selbst sind, und glauben, daß, so lange Gott den gegenwärtigen Bau der Welt erhalten will, er auch keine Veränderungen verhängen wird, welche der Ordnung, welche fortdauern soll, nachtheilig sind, und daß, wenn er dergleichen an einem Orte geschehen lässet, er die nachtheiligen Folgen davon an einem andern Orte wieder aufhebet«.120 Crusius greift hier erneut auf theologische Hypothesen zurück, aber es ist die physikalische Hypothese des Äthers, die hier zuerst ins Feld geführt wird und die ihrerseits auf der Annahme beruht, dass Gott mittels des Äthers einen konstanten Druck auf den Kosmos und die in ihm existierenden physikalischen Körper ausübt. Die Konstanz dieses Drucks erlaubt die Identifikation von Gesetzmäßigkeiten, d. h. von Naturgesetzen, deren Begriff aber dadurch stets an metaphysische Annahmen gebunden bleibt. Diese Gesetze bleiben nur in Geltung, solange Gott den Druck des Äthers konstant hält, und sobald dies nicht mehr der Fall wäre, würden auf der Erde zuerst die gasförmigen und flüssigen Körper aufgrund ihrer größeren Bewegungsfähigkeit in chaotische Bewegung geraten. Durch diese Hypothese gewinnt die offenbarungstheologische Deutung der Zeichen, die im Lukasevangelium für das Bevorstehen des jüngsten Tages genannt werden,121 aus Crusius’ Sicht an Plausibilität, aber sie werden keineswegs als Beweiskriterium für die Richtigkeit einer physikalischen Hypothese verwendet. Der »besondere Theil« der Naturlehre beginnt mit einem Kapitel Von dem Feuer, dem Lichte, der Wärme und Kälte,122 also mit der Untersuchung des Feuers als eines der physikalischen Grundelemente und seiner Erscheinungsformen. Unter anderem sucht Crusius hier nach einer Erklärung für das Phänomen, dass »in einem eingeschlossenen Raume das an einem Orte befindliche Feuer die Kälte in denen entlegenen Gegenden vermehren kann«.123 Zuvor hatte er, im Rahmen einer Theorie, die von der Existenz des Äthers als eines weiteren Grundelements der Materie ausgeht, den Begriff der Kälte näher zu bestimmen versucht. Der Äther ist die »Ursache der Wärme«,124 Licht ist eine besonders elastische und subtile Art von Äther,125 mithin materiell.126 Kälte zieht die Körper zusammen, Wärme dehnt sie aus. Absolute Kälte

|| 120 Ebd. 121 Vgl. Luc. XXI, 25. 122 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), §§ 283–338. 123 Ebd., § 330. Dieses Phänomen hat Herman Boerhaave im ersten Band (Qui continet historiam et artis theoriam. Cum tabulis aeneis) seiner Elementa Chemiae, quae anniversario labore docuit, in publicis, privatisque scholis (2 Bde. Lipsiae 1732) untersucht. 124 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 326. 125 Ebd., § 287. 126 Ebd., § 284.

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(völlige Abwesenheit des Äthers) ist unmöglich; der Grad der »comparativische[n] Kälte« hängt vielmehr von der »Beschaffenheit« der Körper ab.127 Die Wechselwirkung von Feuer und Kälte kann bei bestimmten Körpern dazu führen, dass sich deren Aggregatzustand ändert. Die Bewegung des Äthers reißt die Luft mitsamt der in ihr enthaltenen Salzteilchen mit sich fort und kann bewirken, dass sich letztere an einzelnen Orten anhäufen, was aufgrund der Eigenschaft der Salzteilchen, den sie umgebenden Körpern die Wärme zu entziehen, zu enormer Kälte führen kann. Deshalb kann man in gewisser Weise sogar von einer »besondere[n] Materie der Kälte« sprechen.128 Diese physikalische Hypothese wird nun von Crusius, allerdings mit offenkundiger Vorsicht, als Interpretationsgrundlage für Hiob 38, 22 vorgeschlagen.129 Auch hier dient also eine physikalische Hypothese als Ansatzpunkt für ein besseres Verständnis schwer zu verstehender Bibelstellen – keineswegs aber umgekehrt.130 || 127 Ebd., §§ 324f. 128 Ebd., § 330. 129 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 330, Anm. (**). 130 In der Erklärung des Phänomens des Regenbogens fügt Crusius ebenfalls eine Überlegung zur Bibeldeutung ein: Vor der Sintflut habe es vermutlich nicht oder kaum geregnet und daher keine Regenbögen gegeben; erst danach habe Gott mit dem Regenbogen »eine natürliche Begebenheit zum Denckmahle seines Gnadenbundes [...] setzen« wollen, nämlich gerade weil es diesen zuvor noch nicht gegeben habe und er sich – da er »doch sehr angenehm in die Sinne fällt« – als solches Zeichen geeignet habe (§ 455). Crusius verweist auf 1. Mos 2, 5, 7, 9, 11 sowie 8, 2. – Hinsichtlich der Bibelstellen, die gemeinhin gegen die Hypothese der Erd- bzw. Sonnenbewegung angeführt werden, merkt Crusius Folgendes an: »Wenn man nicht zum voraus etwas falsches oder unerwiesenes annehmen will; so kan z. E. der erste Begriff von dem Auf- und Untergange der Sonne nichts anders anzeigen, als daß sie über dem Horizonte sichtbar wird, und sich unter demselben verlieret. Wenn nun gesaget wird, die Sonne hat stille gestanden; so zeiget es nach dem ersten und dem Gebrauche aller Sprachen gemässen Begriffe nichts anders an, als daß sie ihren Stand gegen die Erde nicht verändert hat, wobey aber die Frage wie und wodurch solches geschehen, nicht ausgemacht wird, oder wenigstens nicht folget, daß sie der redende hiermit habe ausmachen wollen. Nimmt man nun die Worte Jos. X, 12–14 so an; so entscheiden sie weder vor die Bewegung noch vor die Ruhe der Erde etwas. Vielmehr kan man die Worte v. 14: und die Sonne stund mitten am Himmel und eilete nicht zum Untergange einen ganzen Tag, ungezwungen also ansehen, daß die letztern die erstern erklären sollen. Ob Josua den Weltbau, den man iezt den Copernicanischen nennet, gewußt habe, kan man nicht gewiß sagen. [...] Man hat aber bey der ganzen Wundergeschichte nicht auf Josua, sondern auf Gott zu sehen, ohne dessen besondern Antrieb Josua ein so unerhörtes Wunder zu fordern die Verwegenheit nicht gehabt haben würde. Ohne einen solchen Antrieb siehet man auch nicht, warum er den Mond ebenfalls stille stehen hieß, den er doch nicht nöthig hatte, um sehen zu können. Gott hat aber damahls ohne Zweifel, um Unordnung zu verhüten, das ganze PlanetenSystema stille stehen lassen, und die andern Planeten sind nur nicht erwehnet worden, weil sie nicht sichtbar waren.« Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 473, vgl. Jos 10, 12–14; Ps 19, 6, 7; Pred 1, 5; Ps 104, 5; 1. Chron 14, 30; Ps 27, 5; Ps 8, 4 (eigentlich 3). Bemerkenswert an dieser Erläuterung ist, dass die kontroverse Interpretation dieser Bibelstellen sich einerseits zwar an einer möglichst präzisen Begriffsanalyse orientiert, also sozusagen maximal textimmanent erfolgt, dass sie aber andererseits – und zwar geradezu handgreiflich – methodisch durch bestimmte physikalische Hypothesen

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Anders stellt sich das Verhältnis von Offenbarung und Naturlehre dar im Zusammenhang mit der Frage, wie man sich die »Gränzen der sichtbaren Welt« vorzustellen habe.131 Dass solche Grenzen anzunehmen sind, leitet Crusius aus seiner Metaphysik ab. In der Erforschung ihrer Beschaffenheit stoße man allerdings auf die Schwierigkeit, dass man weder »a priori von dem Baue der Welt« etwas wisse, »noch durch Schlüsse aus unsern Empfindungen weiter kommen« könne. Unter diesen Umständen greift Crusius auf die Heilige Schrift zurück: Mit Verweis auf 1. Mos 1, 6–8 und 14–17 behauptet er, dass »der ganze Sternhimmel« zu jener »Veste« gehöre, welche Gott als Trennlinie zwischen den Gewässern habe entstehen lassen, woraus folge, dass der Sternenhimmel von Wasser umgeben sei. Dadurch wird deutlich, dass Crusius dort, wo die Metaphysik und die empirische Physik an ihre Grenzen stoßen und nicht einmal wahrscheinliche Erkenntnisse gewonnen werden können, die Heilige Schrift als Erkenntnisquelle zu Rate zieht. Die Bibel wird insofern als Basis kosmologischer Theoriebildungen akzeptiert, wenn weder die bloße Vernunfterkenntnis noch die empirische Wissenschaft Erkenntnisse liefern können.132 Das erklärt, warum sich Crusius im Rahmen seiner Naturlehre nur sehr selten auf die Bibel beruft. Von diesen wenigen Fällen abgesehen hat die naturwissenschaftliche Erklärung bei ihm den Vorrang vor der theologischen; letztere hat bestenfalls in einigen Fällen eine ergänzende Funktion oder dient als Entscheidungskriterium in Fällen, in denen mehrere naturwissenschaftliche Hypothesen miteinander konkurrieren und sich weder a priori noch unter Rückgriff auf die Empirie entscheidende Kriterien finden lassen.

|| motiviert und ausgerichtet wird. Die Interpretation einzelner Bibelstellen erfolgt insofern abermals unter Rückgriff auf physikalische Hypothesen, wodurch das Interpretationspotential erweitert werden soll. Im vorliegenden Fall wird aus dem biblischen Bericht, dass Sonne und Mond durch Gottes Eingreifen vorübergehend zum Stillstand gebracht worden seien, in Verbindung mit der physikalischen Hypothese, dass die gesetzmäßig synchrone Bewegung des gesamten Planetensystems zur Aufrechterhaltung der Ordnung notwendig sei, darauf geschlossen, dass das gesamte Planetensystem zum Stillstand gebracht worden ist. 131 Crusius: Anleitung (s. Anm. 1), § 478. 132 In ganz ähnlicher Weise, nämlich ausgehend von der ›historischen‹ Überlieferung in der Heiligen Schrift, behauptet Crusius, dass Gott die Erde ursprünglich »wahrscheinlich« in »einer Verfassung geschaffen« habe, »in welcher sie ihre Gewächse bis zur Vollkommenheit ausbilden konnte«, und dass dieser optimale Zustand der Erde erst infolge des Sündenfalls und dann nochmals in Form der Sintflut von Gott verändert worden sei (§ 566, vgl. 1 Mos 3, 17f.). Auch hierin wird deutlich, dass Crusius die Berichte über physikalische Phänomene in der Heiligen Schrift als wahr voraussetzt und sie daher – gerade dort, wo keine physikalischen Erklärungen zu wenigstens wahrscheinlichen Erkenntnissen führen – heranzieht.

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6 Rezeption Offenbar fand Crusius’ Anleitung keine große Verbreitung und wurde auch nicht sehr stark rezipiert.133 Im Jahr 1757 veröffentlichte Justin Elias Wüstemann (gest. 1762), Assessor der Philosophischen Fakultät an der Universität Wittenberg und einstiger Student bei Crusius, eine Einleitung in das philosophische Lehrgebäude des Herrn D. Crusius zum Gebrauche seiner akademischen Vorlesungen.134 Darin rühmt er seinen einstigen Lehrer als »Ehre unsers Sachsenlandes« und als »eifrige[n] Vertheidiger sowohl der geoffenbarten als vernünfftigen Wahrheiten«, d. h. als Theologen wie auch als Philosophen.135 Wüstemann geht davon aus, dass das Wesen des Verstandes und seiner Wirkungen soweit »erforscht und aufgeklärt« werden könne, dass man auf dieser Basis Grundsätze und Regeln zur Gewinnung wahrer Erkenntnisse zu finden vermag.136 Faktisch sei dies sogar schon, zumindest teilweise, v. a. aber richtungsweisend, geschehen. Crusius habe »in Verbesserung der Philosophie so viel geleistet«, dass die bislang nur schwankende und zweifelhafte philosophische Erkenntnis nun bald in eine gründliche, gewisse und zuverlässige überführt werden könne. Sein »Lehrgebäude der Philosophie« – eine »Philosophie der Natur, der Vernunft, und des Hertzens« – sei, offenbar anders als alle anderen Philosophien, »der Natur und Beschaffenheit der Dinge« und der »innerlichen Empfindung des Wahren und Falschen gemäß« und auf eine aufmerksame Analyse des Wesens des menschlichen Verstandes gegründet. Crusius’ Philosophie habe v. a. zwei besondere Vorzüge. Erstens stütze sie sich in der Bestimmung der »Grundsätze und Regeln unserer Erkenntniß« auf die natürliche menschliche Empfindung und deren Bestätigung durch die »Erfahrung«, wodurch die Willkür der älteren Philoso-

|| 133 Die Rezension zur 2. Aufl. wurde laut ihrem Verf. nur deshalb ausführlich vorgenommen, weil die Anleitung seit ihrem Erscheinen zumindest außerhalb Sachsens weitgehend unbekannt geblieben sei. Anon. (unterzeichnet: »Fm.«): Rez. zu Crusius, Anleitung. 2. Aufl. (s. Anm. 1), in: Allgemeine Deutsche Bibliothek 27 (1775), 1. St., S. 5–20, hier S. 5. 134 Justin Elias Wüstemann: Einleitung in das philosophische Lehrgebäude des Herrn D. Crusius zum Gebrauche seiner akademischen Vorlesungen herausgegeben. Wittenberg 1757. Wüstemann selbst berichtet davon, dass er in seinen »akademischen Jahren […] das Glück hatte, mündlichen Unterricht« von Crusius zu erhalten (Vorrede, unpag.). Crusius hat den Druck der Einleitung übrigens persönlich bewilligt und begrüßt. Vgl. Friedrich Carl Gottlob Hirsching (Hg.): Historischliterarisches Handbuch berühmter und denkwürdiger Personen, welche in dem 18. Jahrhundert gestorben sind; oder kurzgefaßte biographische und historische Nachrichten von berühmten Kaisern, Königen, Fürsten, großen Feldherren, Staatsmännern, Päbsten, Erz- und Bischöffen, Cardinälen, Gelehrten aller Wissenschaften, Malern, Bildhauern, Mechanikern, Künstlern und andern merkwürdigen Personen beyderley Geschlechts. Bd. 1, Abt. 2. Leipzig 1795, S. 341. 135 Wüstemann: Einleitung (s. Anm. 134). Widmung an Johann Gottlieb von Globig, Gottlob Heinrich Heydenrich, Johann Gottfried Herrmann, Johann Gottfried Leyser und Johann Joachim Gottlob Am Ende (unpag.). 136 Ebd., Vorrede (unpag.).

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phie in der Auffindung von Begriffen und Wahrheiten überwunden worden sei. Zweitens berücksichtige sie die naturgegebene »Schwäche und Eingesch[r]änktheit« des menschlichen Verstandes und zügele dadurch den stets auf vollständige Erkenntnis drängenden und damit den Verstand überfordernden Willen zugunsten des Glaubens. Damit wird zugleich das enge Verhältnis von Philosophie und Religion betont, das Crusius’ Denken in der Tat charakterisiert. Aufgrund der Beschränktheit des menschlichen Verstandes fordert Wüstemann in Anlehnung an Crusius, dass die von der Philosophie gefundenen Begriffe und Lehren stets anhand der Offenbarung zu prüfen und ggf. zu verbessern oder zu verwerfen seien. Nicht nur Wüstemann hat Crusius als einen der bedeutendsten Gelehrten seiner Zeit betrachtet. So wurde dieser beispielsweise vom jungen Immanuel Kant als einer der vorzüglichsten Philosophen und Beförderer der Philosophie betrachtet.137 Wenn Kant von den »scharfsichtigsten Philosophen unserer Zeit« spricht, so nennt er Crusius als einzigen mit Namen, und zwar ausdrücklich honoris causa.138 Crusius’ Philosophie erlebte um die Mitte des 18. Jahrhunderts nicht nur in Wittenberg und Königsberg eine Blüte. Aber bereits in der zweiten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts war von dieser Wertschätzung nicht mehr viel übrig. In Königsberg soll schon um 1763 per Edikt das Lesen über Crusius’ Philosophie verboten worden sein.139 Im selben Jahr glaubte Kant ein Grundproblem von dessen Naturlehre erkannt zu haben, nämlich Crusius’ Mangel an mathematischer Kenntnis. Wenn Crusius sich mit dem Begriff der negativen Größen, wie ihn die Mathematiker gebrauchen, bekannt gemacht hätte, dann, so Kant, hätte er vermutlich auch Newtons Theorie der Gravitationskraft richtig verstanden.140 Wenig später distanziert sich Kant auch von Crusius’ Bestimmungen der Ideal- und Realgründe,141 ebenso von der Methode, die Crusius in die Metaphysik eingeführt habe,142 auch wenn er diesem zugesteht, als erster die Bedeutung »materialer Grundsätze« (neben den »formalen«) erkannt zu haben.143

|| 137 Vgl. Immanuel Kant: Principiorum primorum cognitionis metaphysicae nova dilucidatio (1755). In: AA I, S. 385–416, hier S. 398. 138 Ebd., S. 386. 139 Zumindest berichtet Hamann in einem Brief an Jacobi rückblickend von einem solchen Edikt. Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi’s Werke. Hg. von Friedrich Roth. Bd. 4, Abt. 3: J. G. Hamann’s Briefwechsel mit F. H. Jacobi. Leipzig 1819, S. 304. 140 Kant: Versuch den Begriff der negativen Größen in die Weltweisheit einzuführen (s. Anm. 12), AA II, S. 169; vgl. dazu Christian Kanzian: Kant und Crusius 1763. In: Kant-Studien 83 (1993), S. 399– 407, hier S. 406f. 141 Kant: Versuch den Begriff der negativen Größen in die Weltweisheit einzuführen (s. Anm. 12), AA II, S. 203. 142 Immanuel Kant: Untersuchung über die Deutlichkeit der Grundsätze der natürlichen Theologie und der Moral (1764). In: AA II, S. 273–301, hier S. 295f. Vgl. Giorgio Tonelli: Der Streit über die mathematische Methode in der Philosophie in der ersten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts und die Entstehung von Kants Schrift über die ›Deutlichkeit‹. In: Archiv für Philosophie 9 (1959), S. 37–66. 143 Ebd., AA II, S. 295.

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1766 wird Crusius von Kant schließlich zu einem bloßen »Luftbaumeister« erklärt, der in seiner Metaphysik Begriffe »durch die magische Kraft einiger Sprüche vom Denklichen und Undenklichen aus Nichts hervorgebracht« habe.144 Fortan bleibt Kant in oppositioneller Haltung zu Crusius; dessen Naturlehre spielt nun nicht einmal mehr eine Rolle in der kritischen Distanzierung. Seit dem späten 18. Jahrhundert wurden Crusius’ wissenschaftliche Leistungen nur noch unter Einschränkungen als solche anerkannt oder aber völlig bestritten. Bezeichnenderweise wurde – wenn man von einer umfassenden, milde urteilenden Rezension zur 2. Auflage der Anleitung absieht145 – Crusius’ Naturlehre, deren Darstellung in Wüstemanns Einleitung noch mit Abstand den größten Raum eingenommen hatte, dabei überhaupt nicht mehr berücksichtigt.146 Carl Friedrich Bahrdt (1741–1792), wie Wüstemann einst Schüler von Crusius,147 bescheinigte seinem ehemaligen Lehrer zwar, »der größte Philosoph seiner Zeit« gewesen zu sein, »der als systematischer Kopf und tiefer Denker, an Gründlichkeit, Scharfsin, und besonders in Analysirung und genauer Bestimmung der Begriffe, wenig seines gleichen hatte«, ja sogar »als Philosoph der richtigste Denker« gewesen sei – aber »als Theolog der größte Phantast«, ein Wahnsinniger mit einer »fixen Idee«.148 Diesen negativen Stellungnahmen war ein in den siebziger Jahren des 18. Jahrhunderts beginnender Popularitätsverlust der Crusius’schen Philosophie vorausgegangen. Ende 1775 erging von Berlin aus ein Erlass Friedrichs nach Königsberg, der, wie schon das Edikt von 1763, entschied, dass »die Crusianische Philosophie, über deren Unwerth die erleuchtetsten Gelehrten längst eins sind«, nicht mehr gelehrt werden dürfe, da man »die Köpfe der Studirenden nicht mit nahrungslosen Subtilitäten« verdüstern wolle.149 Ob sich die Gelehrtenwelt über den Unwert von Crusius’ Philosophie tatsächlich so einig war oder nicht, mag dahingestellt bleiben; sie war durch dieses königliche Reskript jedenfalls öffentlichkeitswirksam wie auch juristisch als obsolet gebrandmarkt worden, und dies betraf natürlich auch Crusius’

|| 144 Immanuel Kant: Träume eines Geistersehers, erläutert durch Träume der Metaphysik. In: AA II, S. 315–373, hier S. 342. 145 Anon.: Rez. zu Crusius, Anleitung (s. Anm. 133). 146 S. beispielsweise Johann August Eberhard: Versuch einer Geschichte der Fortschritte der Philosophie in Deutschland, vom Ende des vorigen Jahrhunderts bis auf gegenwärtige Zeit. Erster Theil. Halle 1794, S. 245ff. Eberhard liefert einen Abriss zu allen philosophischen Hauptwerken Crusius’, in dem die Anleitung bezeichnenderweise schon gar nicht mehr berücksichtigt wird. Die Bewertung der Philosophie des Crusius fällt durchgehend negativ aus. 147 Bahrdts Vater Johann Friedrich Bahrdt war als Theologieprofessor in Leipzig Crusius’ Kollege gewesen. 148 Carl Friedrich Bahrdt: Geschichte seines Lebens, seiner Meinungen und Schicksale. Von ihm selbst geschrieben. Erster Theil. Berlin 1790, S. 118ff. 149 Das Reskript Friedrichs ist gedruckt in: Friedrich Wilhelm Schubert: Immanuel Kant’s Biographie. Zum grossen Theil nach handschriftlichen Nachrichten dargestellt. Leipzig 1842, S. 59–61, hier S. 60.

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Naturlehre. Andererseits ist gerade dieses Verbot durch den preußischen Landesherrn ein Indiz dafür, dass deren faktische Popularität nicht durch den innerphilosophischen Diskurs allein überwunden worden war, denn sonst hätte es keines solchen königlichen Erlasses bedurft. Die Entscheidung des Hofes, die übrigens die Durchsetzung der Philosophie Kants indirekt förderte, mag einer der Gründe sein, aus denen Crusius’ Naturphilosophie sowohl in der älteren als auch der jüngeren Forschung entweder gar nicht erwähnt oder aber als wenig originell betrachtet worden ist. Dass sie aus wissenschaftsphilosophischer Sicht für die moderne Physik nicht mehr von Interesse ist, hat jedoch einen anderen Grund: Metaphysische Annahmen (z. B. die der Existenz wirkender Geister), teleologische Überlegungen oder das Selbstverständnis als Gotteserkenntnis haben in der modernen Physik keinen Platz mehr. Aus ihrer Sicht dürfte Crusius’ Naturlehre, wie alle von der ›Pneumatologie‹ durchsetzten Naturphilosophien des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts, tatsächlich nur noch aus wissenschaftsgeschichtlicher Perspektive von Interesse sein.

7 Von Crusius in der Anleitung herangezogene Literatur A. In der 1. Aufl. herangezogene Literatur 1. Periodika Acta eruditorum (ab 1732: Nova acta eruditorum) Jg. 1686, S. 474–478 (Ant. de Leuvvenhoeck Observationes circa generationem & conceptionem foetus in utero. Übersetzung von: An Abstract of a Letter of Mr. Leeuwenhoeck Fellow of the R. Society. Dated March 30th. 1685. To the R. S. Concerning Generation by an Insect. In: Philosophical Transactions. Jg. 1685. Übers. von Christoph Pincker, S. 1120–1134). Jg. 1701, S. 82–84 (Michael Ernst Ettmüller: Rez. zu: Abraham Cyprian: Epistola Historiam Exhibens Foetus Humani Post XXI. Menses Ex Uteri Tuba, Matre Salva Ac Superstite Excisi. Lugduni Batavorum 1700). Jg. 1745, S. 79–84 (Rez. zu: Jacobo Belgrado: De phialis vitreis ex minimi silicis casu dissilientibus acroasis: experimentis et animadversionibus illustrata. Patavii 1743). Jg. 1747, S. 415–422 (Rez. zu: Jean Antoine Nollet: Leçons De Physique Expérimentale. Tom. 2 u. 3. Amsterdam 1745/46). Jg. 1748, S. 21–27 (Rez. zu: Giovanni Lodovico Bianconi: Due lettere di fisica al Signor Marchese Scipione Maffei. Venezia 1746). Hamburgisches Magazin Jg. 1747, Bd. 1, St. 1, S. 135–143 (John Fothergill: Anmerkungen über einen Vorfall, der in dem letzten Bande der medicinischen Versuche erzählet wird, von einem Menschen, der dem Ansehen nach todt gewesen, und durch Ausdehnung der Lunge mit Luft wieder zurechte gebracht worden ist. Übersetzung von: Observations on a Case published in the last Volume of the Medical Essays, &c. of Recovering a Man Dead in Appearance, by distending the Lungs with Air. In:

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Philosophical Transactions. Vol. 43 [1744/45], S. 275–281). – S. 267–290 (Auszug Herrn Paul Rolli [...] aus einer italienischen Schrift, die [...] Joseph Bianchini [...] von dem Tode der Gräfin Cornelia Zangari und Bandi, Zu Cesena, herausgegeben hat. Diesem sind beygefüget Nachrichten von dem Tode Johann Hitchells, der von einem Blitze zu Asche verbrannt worden; und Gratia Pett zu Ipswich, deren Körper sich entzündet hat und zu Kohlen geworden ist. Übersetzung von: An Extract, by Mr. Paul Rolli, F. R. S. of an Italian Treatise, Written by the Reverend Joseph Bianchini, a Prebend in the City of Verona; Upon the Death of the Countess Cornelia Zangari & Bandi, of Cesena. To Which are Subjoined Accounts of the Death of Jo. Hitchell, Who was Burned to Death by Lightning; And of Grace Pett at Ipswich, Whose Body was Consumed to a Coal. In: Philosophical Transactions 43 [1744], S. 447–465). – St. 3, S. 286f. (Auszug aus einer kleinen Schrift, unter dem Titel: »Feuer vom Himmel, dadurch der Leib eines Mannes, mit Namen Johann Hitchele, von Holmhurst, des Kirchspiels Christchurch in der Graffschaft Southampton, am 26 Junius 1613. verbrennet worden ist.« Von Johann Hilliard. Gedruckt zu London, 1613). – S. 346–351 (Nachricht von einigen magnetischen Versuchen, welche Donnerstags, den 15 Nov. 1744. vor der königl. großbritt. Societät der Wissenschaften durch Herrn Gowan Knight gezeiget worden. Übersetzung von: An Account of Some Magnetical Experiments, shewed before the Royal Society, by Mr. Gowan Knight, on Thursday the 15th of November, 1744. In: Philosophical Transactions 43 [1744], S. 161–166). – St. 4, S. 399–411 (Nachricht von den Entdeckungen Hrn. Nedhams durch Vergrößerungsgläser. Übers. eines Auszugs aus: John Turberville Needham: Découvertes faites avec le microscope. Leide 1747). – St. 5, S. 3–41 (René-Antoine Ferchault de Réaumur: Anmerkungen über die Türkisgruben in Frankreich, die Natur der Materie, so man daselbst findet, und die Art, wie man ihr die Farbe giebt. Übers. von: Observations Sur les Mines de Turquoises du Royaume; sur la nature de la Matiere qu’on y trouve, & sur la maniere dont on lui donne la couleur. In: Mémoires de l’Académie Royale des Sciences, Jg. 1715 [ed. Amsterdam 1719], S. 230–268). – S. 91–101 (Auszug aus des Herrn William Goulds Nachricht von den Englischen Ameisen. Übers. eines Auszugs aus: William Gould: An Account of English Ants. London 1747). – S. 154–171 (Rez. zu: [Eusebio Sguario:] Dell elettricismo: o sia delle forze elettriche de’ corpi, svelate dalla fisica sperimentale. Venezia 1746). – St. 6, S. 192–193 (Astronomische Anmerkung, daß Merkur von dem letzten Kometen keine Veränderung in seinem Laufe gelitten. Übersetzung von: A Letter from John Bevis [...] to John Machin [...] containing some Observations concerning Mercury. In: Philosophical Transactions 43 [1744], S. 48–49). Jg. 1747, Bd. 2, St. 4, S. 454–476 ([Möller, Georg Friedrich:] Muthmaßliche Gedanken von dem Staube der Pflanzen während der Blühte). – St. 6, S. 629–631 (Auszug aus einem Briefe von Herrn Johann Browning von Bristol an Herrn Heinrich Baker: [...] Die Wirkung der Elektricität auf Pflanzen betreffend). Jg. 1748, Bd. 3, 1. St., S. 11–24 (Abraham Gotthelf Kästner: Anmerkungen über die muthmaßlichen Gedanken von dem Staube der Pflanzen). – S. 30–46 (Einige Gedanken und Erfahrungen, das Wachsthum der Pflanzen betreffend, von Johann Woodward. Übersetzung von: John Woodward: Some Thoughts and Experiments Concerning Vegetation. In: Philosophical Transactions 21 [1699], S. 193–227). – St. 4, S. 410–455 ([Georg Friedrich Möller:] Fortsetzung der muthmaßlichen Gedanken vom Bluhmenstaube). Histoire de l’Academie Royale des Sciences […] Avec les Mémoirs de Mathématique & de Physique, pour la même Année. Ed. Paris Jg. 1701, Hist., S. 50–55 (Diverses observations anatomiques). Jg. 1702, Mém., S. 298–308 (Joseph Guichard Duverney: Observations Sur un Foetus trouvé dans une des Trompes de la matrice).

160 | Kay Zenker Jg. 1709, Hist., S. 22–33 (Diverses observations anatomiques). Jg. 1716, Mém., S. 322–325 (Jean-Nicolas de la Hire: Mémoire Pour la Construction d’une Pompe qui fournit continuellement de l’Eau dans le Réservoir). Jg. 1727, Hist., S. 27–32 (Pierre-Louis Moreau de Maupertuis: Observations et experiences sur une des escpeces de salamandre). Jg. 1734, Mém., S. 341–361 (Charle du Fay: Cinquième mémoire sur l’électricité). Ed. Amsterdam Jg. 1702 (ed. 1707). Jg. 1713 (ed. 1717), Hist., S. 90 (Sur les taches du soleil). – Mém., S. 267–296, (René-Antoine Ferchault de Réaumur: Expériences et Réflexions sur la prodigieuse ductilité de diverses Matières). Jg. 1740 (ed. 1745), Mém., S. 176–210 (Jean Hellot: Théorie chimique de la teinture des etoffes. Premier Mémoire). Jg. 1741 (ed. 1747), Hist., S. 69–76, (Antoine Ferrein: Sur l’organe immédiat de la voix). – Hist., S. 169–176 (James Short: Sur un Satellite apperçu auprès de la Planète de Vénus). Histoire de l’Academie Royale des Sciences et des Belles Lettres de Berlin Jg. 1745, S. 13–17 (Johann Theodor Eller: Sur la production de l’air formé dans le vuide de la Machine Pneumatique par le mélange de quelques Corps hétérogènes). Mémoires de mathematique et de physique, tirez des registres de l’Académie Royale des Scienses (ab 1699 zus. ed. mit Histoire de l’Academie Royale des Sciences, ed. Paris) Jg. 1692, S. 74–79 (Guillaume Homberg: Manière de faire le phosphore brûlant de Kunkel). – S. 97– 101 (Guillaume Homberg: Diverses expériences du phosphore). Neue Zeitungen von Gelehrten Sachen Jg. 1729, St. 29, S. 433–448. Jg. 1748, St. 39, S. 347–348 (Rez. zu: Giovanni Francesco Pivati: Della elettricità medica lettera. Lucca 1747). Neuer Büchersaal der schönen Wissenschaften und freyen Künste Bd. 7 (1748), St. 3, S. 267–272 (Siegmund Sämler: Rosen ohne Dornen, oder die gegen den Herbst sich eingefundnen grünen Weidenrosen, als der alten Friedensrosen). Sammlung von Natur- und Medicin- wie auch hierzu gehörigen Kunst- und Literatur-Geschichten so sich von 1717–26 in Schlesien und anderen Orten begeben [...] und als Versuch ans Licht gestellet Jg. 1718. Versuche und Abhandlungen der Naturforschenden Gesellschaft in Danzig 1. Th. (1747), Nr. VI, S. 173–304 (Daniel Gralath: Geschichte der Electricität). – Nr. XIII, S. 506–534, (Daniel Gralath: Nachricht von einigen Electrischen Versuchen). – Nr. XIV, S. 534–545 (Michael Christoph Hanow: Verschiedene neue Versuche mit den gläsernen Springe-Kölbchen).

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166 | Kay Zenker S. 1338–1344 (Rez. zu: De Bononiensi scientiarum et atrium instituto atque academia commentarii. Tom. IV. Bononie 1757). Jg. 1759, Bd. 1, St. 14, S. 131–134 (Rez. zu: Observations périodiques sur la physique, l’histoire naturelle et les arts ou Journal des sciences et arts. Jg. 1756. Okt.-Dez.); Bd. 2, St. 107, S. 931– 935 (Rez. zu: Verhandelingen, hg. von der Hollandse Maatschappye der Weetenschappen te Harlem. Vierde deel, 1758). Jg. 1763, Bd. 1, St. 86, S. 692–694 (Rez. zu: Carl von Linné: Amoenitates Academicae; Seu dissertationes variae physicae, medicae, botanicae, antehac seorsim editae; nunc collectae et auctae, cum tabulis aenaeis. Vol. V. Holmiae 1760). Jg. 1765, Bd. 1, St. 146, S. 1171–1176 (Rez. zu: Lazzaro Spallanzani: Dissertazioni due, Modena 1765, enthält: Saggio di osservazioni microscopiche concernenti il sistema della generazione de Signori di Needham e Buffon u.: De lapidibus ab aqua resilientibus Dissertatio); St. 156, S. 1249–1756 (Rez. zu: Histoire de l’Académie Royale des Sciences. Jg. 1762 [Druck: 1762]). Jg. 1766, Bd. 1, St. 48, S. 380–382 (Rez. zu: Anton Brugmans: Tentamina philosophica de materia magnetica eiusque actione in ferrum et magnetem. Franequaere 1765). Jg. 1767, Bd. 1, St. 39, S. 305–307 (Rez. zu: Ruggiero Giuseppe Boscovich: Dissertatio de lunae atmosphaera. [Wien] 1766). Jg. 1771, Bd. 1, St. 15, S. 126f. (Rez. zu: Adam Gottlob Schirach: Erläuterung der Kunst junge Bienenschwärme oder Ableger zu erzielen. Budissin 1770). Jg. 1773, Bd. 1, St. 2, S. 12–14 (Rez. zu: Atti dell Accademia delle Scienze detta de’ fisio-critici. Tom. IV. Siena 1771). Leipziger Zeitungen 36. W., 2. St. (nicht verif.). Neue Zeitungen von Gelehrten Sachen Jg. 1765, St. 28., S. 217–222 (Rez. zu: Giovan Battista Scarella: De magnete libri quatuor. 2 tom. Brixiae 1759). Jg. 1767, St. 91, S. 723–727 (Rez. zu: Maximilian Hell: De satellite Veneris. Vienna 1765). Histoire de l’Académie Royale des Sciences […] Avec les Mémoirs de Mathématique & de Physique, pour la même Année (ed. Paris) Jg. 1731, Mém., S. 379–389 (Jean Jacques de Mairan: Observations de quelques Aurores Boréales. Qui ont paru cet Automne 1731, à Breuillepont en Normandie, Diosèse d’Evreux). Jg. 1758, Mém., S. 119–133 (Pierre Joseph Macquer: Mémoire sur un nouveau métal connu sous le nom d’Or blanc de Platine). Jg. 1762. Nova acta eruditorum 1749, S. 292–314, (Rez. zu: De Bononiensi scientiarum et artium instituto atque academia commentarii. Tom. II, pars II. Bononiae 1746; Tom. II, pars III. Bononiae 1747). Suite des Nouvelles d’Amsterdam 1761, n. 45. (nicht verif.) [S. 1139].

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2. Monographien Ahlefeld, Johann Luwdig (Praes.); Ludwig Jakob Marschall (Resp.): Observationes selectae de aurora, subiuncta brevi theoria. Giessae [1757]. Barhow, Laurids: Richtig angestellte und aufrichtig mitgetheilte Observationes von dem seit eines halben Seculi sich in den meisten europäischen Ländern sehr merklich zeigenden und bekannt gewordenen Phaenomeno, unter dem Namen von Nord-Licht. Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1751. Boehmer, Philipp Adolph: Observationum anatomicarum rariorum fasciculus. 2 fasc. Halae Magdeburgicae 1752–1756. Bonnet, Charles: Recherches Sur L’Usage Des Feuilles Dans Les Plantes, Et Sur Quelques Autres Sujets Relatifs À L’Histoire De La Vegetation. Gottingue 1754 (dt.: Untersuchungen über den Nutzen der Blätter bey den Pflanzen, Und einige andere zur Geschichte des Wachsthums der Pflanzen gehörige Gegenstände. Nebst dessen Versuchen und Beobachtungen von dem Wachsthume der Pflanzen in andern Materien als Erde. Übers. von Johann Christian Arnold. Nürnberg 1762. Boscovich, Ruggiero Giuseppe: De litteraria expeditione per pontificiam ditionem. In: De Bononiensi scientiarum et atrium instituto atque academia commentarii. Tom. IV. Bononiae 1757, S. 353–369. Crusius, Christian August (Praes.): Dissertation[es …] de superstition. Diss. prima (= De dissimilitudine inter religionem et superstitionem dissertatio tertia. Resp.: Johann Gottlob Tittmann). Lipsiae 1755; Diss. secunda (= De dissimilitudine […] diss. Quarta. Christian Friedrich Schmid). Lipsiae 1766; Diss. tertia (= De dissimilitudine […] diss. Quinta. Resp.: Johann Georg Eck). Lipsiae 1766; Diss. quarta (= De dissimilitudine […] diss. sexta, Resp.: Christian Friedrich Pezold). Lipsiae 1766; dt.: Gründliche Belehrung vom Aberglauben zur Aufklärung des Unterschiedes zwischen Religion und Aberglauben. Übers. von Christian August Pezold. Leipzig 1767 (Diss. I: Cap. I–II, Diss. II: Cap. III, Diss. III: Cap. IV–VII, Diss. IV: Cap. VIII–IX). Crusius, Christian August: De reliquiis gentilismi in opinionibus de morte. Pars prior: Lipsiae 1756, pars posterior: Lipsiae 1756 (dt.: Abhandlung von den Ueberbleibseln des Heidenthums in den Meynungen vom Tode. Übers. von A. F. R. [d. i. Adolf Friedrich von Reinhard]. Leipzig 1765). Crusius, Christian August: Probatio Quod Verbo Dei Instrui Naturae Humanae Essentiale Sit. Lipsiae 1755 (dt.: Beweiß, daß die Belehrung durch ein göttliches Wort der menschlichen Natur wesentlich ist, in: Christian August Crusius, Belehrung von der christlichen Kirche, ehemals ein einzelnen academischen Abhandlungen vorgetragen, zu gemeiner Erbauung hier gesammlet und aus dem Lateinischen übersetzt. Übers. von Johann Valentin Kornrumpf. Leipzig 1767, 5. Abh., S. 229–270). Crusius, Christian August: Hypomnemata Ad Theologiam Propheticam, Pars I: Introductio Generale Ad Theologiam Propheticam Complexa. Lipsiae 1764. Dt.: Beytrag zum richtigen Verstande der heiligen Schrift, insonderheit des Prophetischen Theils des göttlichen Wortes. Erster Theil: Welcher die erste Hälfte der allgemeinen Anleitung, als eines Handbuches zur ganzen Bibel, enthält. Übers. von Christian Friedrich Pezold. Leipzig 1772. Crusius, Christian August: Monita De Cosmologia Vera Et Adaequata. Lipsiae 1772. Duhamel du Monceau, Henri Louis: La Physique Des Arbres. 2 part. Paris 1758. Dt.: NaturGeschichte der Bäume. 2 Theile. Übers. von Carl Christoph Oelhafen von Schöllenbach. Nürnberg 1764/65. Hartmann, Johann Friedrich: Electrische Experimente im luftleeren Raume. Hannover 1766. Jacobi, Johann Friedrich: Vermischte Abhandlungen. Erste Sammlung. Hannover 1764. Klingenstierna, Samuel [Praes.]; Brandes, Iohannes [Resp.]: Dissertatio physica de magnetismo artificiali. Stockholmiae 1752. Kölreuter, Joseph Gottlieb: Vorläufige Nachricht von einigen das Geschlecht der Pflanzen betreffenden Versuchen und Beobachtungen. Leipzig 1761, Forts.: 1763, 1764, 1766.

168 | Kay Zenker Krause, Carl Christian: Dissertatio de qeaestione […]: Quaenam sit causa proxima mutans corpus foetus. Petropoli 1756. Dt.: Abhandlung von den Muttermälern. Übers. von Christian August Wichmann. Leipzig 1758. Krause, Carl Christian (Praes.); Carl Samuel Krause (Resp.): De Homine Non Machina Disputatio Physica. Lipsiae 1752. le Cat, Claude-Nicolas: Dissertation sur les Polypes d’eau douce. Prononcée dans une des Séances de l’Académie Royale des Sciences de Roüen. In: Le nouveau magasin François. Jg. 1750, S. 7– 17. Dt.: Abhandlung von denen Polypen des süssen Wassers. Übers. von Johann Georg Krünitz. In: Sammlung Vermischter Beiträge zum Dieste der Wahrheit, Vernunft, Freiheit und Religion. Hg. von Christian Ernst Simonetti. Bd. 2. Frankfurt an der Oder, 1751, S. 239–272. [Ledermüller, Martin Frobenius:] Physicalische Beobachtungen derer Saamenthiergens, durch die allerbesten Vergrößerungs-Gläser und bequemlichsten Microscope betrachtet; und mit einer unpartheyischen Untersuchung und Gegeneinanderhaltung derer Buffonischen und Leuwenhoeckischen Experimenten in einem Sendschreiben mit denen hierzu gehörigen Figuren und Kupfern einem Liebhaber der Natur-Kunde und Warheit mitgetheilet. Nürnberg 1756. Ledermüller, Martin Frobenius: Versuch zu einer gründlichen Vertheidigung derer Saamenthiergen; nebst einer kurzen Beschreibung derer Leeuwenhoeckischen Mikroskopien und einem Entwurf zu einer vollständigern Geschichte des Sonnenmikroskops, als der besten Rechtfertigung derer Leeuwenhoeckischen Beobachtungen. Nürnberg 1758. Ledermüller, Martin Frobenius: Physikalisch-Mikroskopische Zergliederung und Vorstellung einer sehr kleinen Winterknospe des Hippocastani seu Esculi oder des wilden Roßkastanienbaums. Nürnberg 1764. de Mairan, Jean Jacques: Traité Physique Et Historique De L’Aurore Boréale. Amsterdam 1735. Martin, Benjamin: Philosophia Britannica. 3 vols., London 31771. Dt.: Philosophia Britannica. Übers. von Christian Heinrich Wilke, mit einer Vorrede von Abraham Gotthelf Kästner. 3 Teile. Leipzig 1772. Maupertuis, Pierre Louis Moreau de: Lettre sur le progrès des sciences. Berlin 1752. Dt.: Über den Wachsthum der Wissenschaften. Übers. von Justus Friedrich Vitus Breithaupt. Berlin 1752. Nebel, Daniel Wilhelm: Dissertatio inauguralis philosophica De magnete artificiali. Trajecti ad Rhenum 1756. Nollet, Jean Antoine: Lettres Sur L’Électricité. Paris 1753. Nollet, Jean Antoine: Leçons de Physique expérimentale. Tom. VI. Paris 1765. Dt.: Physicalische Lehrstunden. Sechster Theil. Erfurt 1766. Nollet, Jean Antoine: Recherches Sur Les Causes Particulières Des Phénomènes Électriques. Paris 1749. Nollet, Jean Antoine: Essai sur l’électricité des corps. Paris 1746. Dt.: Versuch einer Abhandlung von der Electricität. Erfurt 1749. Peifer, David: Epistolae public nomine scriptae statum ecclesiae et reipublicae sub Augusto Saxoniae electore egregie illustrantes. Mit einer Praefatio von Johann Franz Budde ed. Friedrich Gotthelf Gotter. Ienae 1708. Perrault, Pierre: De L’Origine Des Fontaines. Paris 1674. [Popowitsch, Johann Siegmund Valentin:] Untersuchungen vom Meere, die auf Veranlassung einer Schrift De columnis Herculis, welche der hochberühmte Professor in Altdorf, Herr Christ. Gottl. Schwarz, herausgegeben, nebst andern zu derselben gehörigen Anmerkungen, von einem Liebhaber der Naturlehre und der Philologie, vorgetragen werden. Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1750. Priestley, Joseph: Geschichte und gegenwärtiger Zustand der Electricität. Übers. von Johann Georg Krünitz. Berlin, Stralsund 1772. Schäfer, Jacob Christian: Abhandlungen von Insecten. Bde. 1 u. 2. Regensburg 1764.

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Trembley, Abraham: Mémoires, Pour Servir À L’Histoire D’Un Genre De Polypes D’Eau Douce, À Bras En Forme De Cornes. Leide 1744. Virgin, Johan Bernhard: Swar På et, Auctoren til det, nyligen utgifne Rön om Sädes-arternes förwandling Ifrån sämre til bättre Slag, Tilkommit Bref utan Namn. Stockholm 1757. von Gleichen, Wilhelm Friedrich Freyherr (gen. Rußworm): Neuestes aus dem Reiche der Pflanzen, oder mikroskopische Untersuchungen und Beobachtungen der geheimen Zeugungstheile der Pflanzen in ihren Blüthen, und derer in denselben befindlichen Isecten. Hg. von Joh. Christoph Keller. Nürnberg 1764.

| 2 Freedom of the Will

Ansgar Lyssy

Crusius on Human Nature – An Interpretation of His Telematologie 1 Introduction The philosophical conception of human nature in early modern philosophy is situated within a broader field of diverging philosophical and scientific assumptions and methods. Two tensions run through this field. The first tension relates to what is often called the ›anthropological difference‹, that is, the non-trivial differences between humans and animals. Here we find two relevant but conflicting preconceptions: On the one hand, most (if not all) philosophers subscribe to the thesis of a ›great chain of being‹, which commits them to the view that there is a continuum of possible forms in nature.1 This entails that, given any two natural forms A and B, we can always conceive – and there will occasionally be realized – an intermediary form C that is more similar to A and B than both are to each other. On the other hand, however, most (if not all) philosophers also embrace the assumption of an irreducible and all-important ontological difference between human beings and animals derived from unique properties of the former. Accordingly, human beings were supposedly created in the image of God but animals were not; human beings have reason, while animals do not; humans acquire and use language, a capacity animals lack; etc. Consequently, the difference between humans and animals represents both a difference of degree and of kind, depending on the framework of debate or inquiry. This also entails that hypothetically there could be animals that, even though physically virtually indistinguishable from humans, would be without the ability to reason and would have no soul – an idea that came to the fore in the debates concerning whether the great apes could be conceived of as human beings or not.2 The second tension consists in a tension between the sciences that deal with human nature. Within the Cartesian tradition, which posits an ontological difference between body and soul, a methodological and epistemic difference emerges:

|| I am grateful to Joseph Carew and Michael Walschots for helping me with my English here and Andree Hahmann for many helpful suggestions. All mistakes are my own. 1 Arthur O. Lovejoy has described this with great influence in: The Great Chain of Being. A Study of the History of an Idea. Cambridge, Mass. 1976 (first published in 1936). 2 It should be noted that the Latin term for Orang Utang, ›homo Silvestri‹, literally means ›man of the woods‹ and refers to all great apes. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-007

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the human body is to be understood through mechanics and medicine, while the soul is the object of metaphysics and rational psychology. Early modern anthropology – or at least the early modern predecessors of what later would be called anthropology – therefore usually deals with the duplicity of human nature and considers our body and our bodily functions as well as the seat, role and function of the soul, or our mental or cognitive faculties respectively. Broadly speaking, anthropology thus originates from the tension between understanding the human body by the means of science (sometimes called somatology) and by means of rational psychology.3 That being said, it is only with the later Enlightenment that anthropology is conceived of as an independent field of inquiry distinguished from the other sciences both by the definition of its object, its guiding principles, and methodology. Core properties of human nature are then identified and discussed as such, namely, epistemic faculties (reason, language, educability, impulse control, etc.) or universal cultural traits (agriculture, civilization, self-cultivation, etc.). Other Enlightenment thinkers also concern themselves with the specific normativity that holds for humans by virtue of their nature – here we have on the one hand the natural rights tradition stemming from Grotius, Pufendorf, and others; and on the other hand we find later authors such as Spalding, Abbt, Mendelssohn, and Kant who also concern themselves with the specific teleological vocation of humankind.4 In addition, it is common for them to pose the question, at least implicitly, how much of our human nature is fixated, and how much can be improved through education, civilization, and enlightenment, taking into account the different social or religious factors that might motivate such a self-improvement. Two observations would frame this debate: first, the indigenous societies that, according to Enlightenment thinkers, were still in the original state of nature; secondly, the enfants sauvages, i. e. children who developed without any meaningful human interaction and who could concretely illustrate our need for human community in order to become human in the first place.5 A whole slew of authors, including Kant, Herder and Humboldt, for example, combine this need for social integration with a normative demand for self-realization as a human being, for which the

|| 3 For the history of the term Anthropologie in German Enlightenment thought, see Mareta Linden: Untersuchungen zum Anthropologiebegriff des 18. Jahrhunderts. Frankfurt a. M. 1976. 4 On the vocation of humankind, see, for example, Reinhard Brandt: Die Bestimmung des Menschen bei Kant. Hamburg 2007; Laura Anna Macor: Die Bestimmung des Menschen (1748–1800): Eine Begriffsgeschichte. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 2013; Georg Raatz: Aufklärung als Selbstdeutung: eine genetisch-systematische Rekonstruktion von Johann Joachim Spaldings »Bestimmung des Menschen« (1748). Tübingen 2014. 5 See Anthony Pagden: European encounters with the New World: from Renaissance to Romanticism, Reprint edn. New Haven 1998; Sergio Moravia: Beobachtende Vernunft – Philosophie und Anthropologie in der Aufklärung, Frankfurt a. M. 1989, pp. 92–96.

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Enlightenment provides the social means. According to this line of thought, humans are still primarily animals, which, without developing and exercising their genuinely human capacities such as reason, compassion, or freedom, will never be able to distinguish their humanity from their animality. In the following, I will try to flesh out some aspects of the implicitly developed theory of human nature that we find in Crusius’ theory of the will. While some of the tensions mentioned above have not yet fully surfaced, they are nonetheless implicitly present in them. For example, Crusius seems to subscribe to both the idea of a continuum of forms in nature (i. e. the great chain of being) and the uniqueness of human capacities. Indeed, how else should we make sense of the statement, made en passant and without any explanation, that humans are distinct from animals »not just in degree, but also […] in their essence«?6 I will pick up on these themes sketched here in relation to Crusius’ thought: the problems with the demarcation between humans and animals; the necessity of a unique conceptual approach to human beings; the vocation of the human being; and the dependency of human nature on socialization. However, I do not want to suggest that Crusius’ philosophy contains some kind of philosophical anthropology avant la letter. Since human beings are the only rational beings on earth, any conception of reason or of a rational will in embodied beings will contain aspects of a theory of human nature insofar as reason is usually conceived of as the distinctive property of human nature. In order to count as ›proper‹ philosophical anthropology, a theory of human nature would have to develop a methodology of its own and at least implicitly include a conceptual demarcation from other approaches to human nature, such as physiology, psychology, medicine, theology, etc. – none of which we find in Crusius. In this sense, most, if not all early modern epistemological or ethical theories incorporate a meaningful preconception of human nature. However, hardly anyone has developed an approach that is conceptually and sufficiently distinct to be called a proper theory of human nature. In Crusius, however, we find several preconceptions as well as several methodological and systematic approaches towards human nature that will allow us to shed light on the specific character of Crusius’ philosophy, which contains one of the more nuanced theological perspectives on human nature in early modern times. To put this differently: while Crusius may have been aiming at developing an a priori theory of the will – a theory that describes the will of rational subjects and serves as a basis for a universal ethical theory –, he also deals a lot with the will of embodied, not-sorational subjects that have, by means of being part of the human species, a specific place and role to play within the context of creation. Here, his theory of rational subjects develops into a theory of human beings.

|| 6 Christian August Crusius: Kurzer Begriff der Moraltheologie. Leipzig 1773, chap. XII, p. 1146: »[…] nicht etwa nur dem Grade nach, sondern […] auch dem Wesen nach«.

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Crusius sets out to develop his theory of the will as part of a theory of the mind. However, he emphasizes that the human mind should not be understood by analogy with the divine mind or as an image thereof. The divine mind is defined by its infinity and infinity evades any attempt to capture it in positive definitions or descriptive approaches and is only accessible by reflecting upon our own conceptual limitations.7 Human beings can understand God only ›negatively‹, that is, only insofar as he is conceived of as something radically different from anything we can actually conceive.8 This leads him to start out his philosophical exploration in the Telematology with the human mind. Crusius combines this approach with early modern theories of natural religion inasmuch as he also assumes that God can in fact be understood – at least in principle – as a divine cause of all worldly effects. Thus, God is not the center piece of philosophy, but not outside of it either – rather, the concept of God becomes a useful tool to illuminate the possibilities, principles, and limitations of human understanding. Crusius does not value empirical anthropology or empirical psychology as approaches towards human nature and instead he proposes a kind of rational or ›metaphysical‹ psychology, i. e. a philosophical doctrine of the human soul, as a core element of his philosophy. In the Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (1744) he presents his own approach towards a science of the human will, which he calls »Thelematologie«,9 which stands in sharp contradistinction to any theological understanding of divine will. This new science is conceived along the lines of a practical philosophy that not only investigates the normative demands imposed on human beings, but also requires a dedicated investigation of the human will as a prerequisite. This turns the ontological and conceptual divide between human beings and God into a systematically relevant starting point for practical philosophy – as opposed to theology. Within this not merely descriptive, but at least partially normative doctrine of the will he situates a discourse concerning the unity of the human being as a whole, encompassing, on the one hand, both will and reason, and, on the other hand, both rational freedom and affection by desires. Normativity, or more precisely the logic of deontological demands, becomes relevant for our selfconception as proper human beings. Given that Crusius rarely explicitly points to the human being as a philosophical problem, analyzing his theory of the will through the lens of an implicit anthropo-

|| 7 Cf. Christian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten. Leipzig 1766, chap. IX, § 133, pp. 225ff. See Jerome B. Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy. Cambridge 1998, p. 445. 8 This idea seems to be taken from a particular brand of theology called ›negative theology‹, which means that our knowledge of God is somewhat paradoxically defined by what we cannot know about God. We find this idea developed by very different thinkers, such as Proklos, Dionysius the Pseudo-Areopagite, Nicolaus Cusanus, and many others. 9 Cf. Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Leipzig 31767, Vorrede.

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logical preconception of the human being may seem a bit anachronistic. But such an approach that applies later terminological developments onto earlier positions can still help to outline some of the unique aspects of Crusius’ philosophy. In the following, I will first look at his theory of basic desires, then at his theory of human freedom.

2 Crusius’ Theory of Basic Desires Human beings are the only beings on earth that are morally obliged to follow the moral law that Crusius identifies with the divine law. Consequently, the human will is essentially different from both the divine and the animal will such that investigating the human will merits its own method. God is never disinclined to follow his own will and animals simply follow their instincts or basic desires, which are adjusted to optimally meet both the harmony in nature and their own individual needs. For Crusius, the question concerning the nature of the will is relevant for ethics and therefore for our understanding of the human being as such, which has an essentially practical or normative nature: normative demands are derived from the divine law and often stand in contrast to human self-interest. Here Crusius deviates from his tradition: Leibniz, for example, discusses in the Theodicy the question of the relation between reason and the will with a specific theological regard to the origins of evil and the possibility of divine justice. The doctrine of the will is introduced at the beginning of the Anweisung. Crusius conceives of it as a conceptual basis for the explanation of why we are receptive to the divine law and why we are able to adjust our actions in accordance to such a law, without falling into the trap of a servile, voluntaristic dependence on revelation. The unique nature of humans shows itself in this difference between reason and the will, which are, despite this difference, united in the human being. Crusius rejects the idea of the human mind as a mirror of the divine mind and thereby also discards the well-established methodology of understanding the human mind as a specific form of a more universal conception of mind. In a similar vein, the human will is also distinguished from the divine will: God’s will consists of only one singular power, an »infinite force«, while creatures contain different and potentially conflicting »basic forces« that determine their will.10 Crusius cautions us, however, from reading too much into this difference between reason and will. Since the human soul is an indivisible and uniform entity, this conceptual distinction between reason and will does not reflect an ontological opposition of two distinct entities, but rather

|| 10 See ibid., § 6, pp. 7ff.

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two aspects of the same mental activity of a substance. This position is later reiterated by Wolff in his Psychologia Rationalis.11 Such an assumption concerning a conceptual difference between the notions of reason and the will is necessitated, for Crusius, by the need to explain a distinctive feature of human life: We can ascribe agency to human beings in such a way that they strive towards virtue by themselves, that is, as genuinely free agents.12 Virtue is defined as »the accordance of the moral state of a mind with the divine law«.13 But while human reason deals with ideas and inferences, the will decides which possibilities should be brought into reality. Consequently, a purely cognitive mind, which would contain only reason but no will, would be unable to act and would therefore not further the purpose of creation – that being said, God would never have created such a useless mind.14 While it is a philosophical commonplace that the finite rational mind is a specific quality unique to humans, Crusius adds the will as a second »basic force« that is uniquely human. This will is the foundational activity responsible for freedom.15 But Crusius does not conceive of it, as does the Leibniz-Wolffian tradition, as a capacity that is grounded in reason. Genuinely free actions cannot be determined through reason alone; such a determination would fail to provide a ground of genuine freedom. Rather, freedom requires an undetermined activity that can equally incline towards one action or another.16 According to Crusius, then, the will is spontaneous in an irreducible sense and thereby undetermined: there is no higher principle that determines which volition is brought forth. This emphasis on an undetermined will goes along with his rejection of the universal validity of the principle of sufficient reason, which Crusius refers to as »the principle of determining reason«: He distinguishes between a determining

|| 11 See ibid., § 234, pp. 325f. On the influence of Wolff’s conception of forces on Crusius, see Andree Hahmann: Die Einbildungskraft eine »General-Kraft«? Mit Crusius zu den letzten Kräften der Seele. In: Konzepte der Einbildungskraft in der Philosophie, den Wissenschaften und den Künsten des 18. Jahrhunderts. Ed. by Rudolf Meer, Giuseppe Motta and Gideon Stiening. Berlin, Boston 2019, pp. 91–114. 12 See Jerome Schneewind’s concise assessment: »What allows God to create, and not merely to consider, the world is, after all, only the fact that obedience freely chosen out of a sense of dependence creates relations to God that otherwise could not exist; hence bare freedom is not enough but, as with all our potentials, it must be developed.« Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy (see note 7), p. 455. 13 Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 161, p. 228: »[…] die Übereinstimmung des moralischen Zustandes eines Geistes mit dem göttlichen Gesetze.« 14 See ibid., § 4, pp. 6f.; cf. Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 7), § 435, p. 886. 15 See the contribution of Steven Tester in this volume. 16 See Katsutoshi Kawamura: Spontaneität und Willkür. Der Freiheitsbegriff in Kants Antinomienlehre und seine historischen Wurzeln. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1996, pp. 59ff.

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reason or real ground (»Realgrund«), which determines the possibility or existence of a mind-independent thing; and an epistemological reason or ground of cognition (»Erkenntnisgrund«, which is alternatively also called an ideal ground, an »Idealgrund«) as that which leads us to the cognition of a subject matter with conviction.17 This distinction is motivated by the notion of God sketched above: by means of such a distinction, we can assess the existence of a force (especially the divine will) by means of its effects (such as creation itself), without knowing the essence of such a force. The human will is spontaneous in a primitive sense: any freedom by means of external reasons (such as an act of will that is determined by imagination or desires) can be, at best, an »imperfect« freedom.18 If a given volition or act is just as possible as its opposite, only then is it a perfectly free act or volition.19 In other words, the will may take its orientation from moral convictions or deliberations, but it should not be grounded in or determined by them. Crusius elaborates upon this point in his later Entwurf:20 Free will is nothing but the actio prima libera, the first free action. Such a free action may have a sufficient reason in the capacity for moral judgements, which determines the direction and the content of the action; but freedom itself consists in determining whether this otherwise merely possible action is actually to be undertaken.21 Within the greater context of creation itself, humans hereby take up a distinguished position, for they are the only beings on earth that can be free in such a way – everything else is completely determined by the chain of causal events. The good is comprehensible through reason, but only by making use of their free will humans can turn toward it. For Crusius, there is, in fact, a correlation between the human and divine mind, but only insofar as they both agree on the nature of the good; notwithstanding this correlation, the human mind does not depend on the divine mind, nor is it directed by divine intervention, inasmuch as human actions are always free to determine their own course. This conception of the will relates to another conception of the will as a causal element within all actions: Because it is the cause of all human actions, the will can also be conceived of as a radically independent force on which all decisions depend.22 Here Crusius seems to assume a correlation between mental spontaneity and the forces of physical causation: the will can direct or even initiate a chain of causal events – indeed, otherwise we would not be able to attribute any action to ourselves || 17 Cf. Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 7), § 34, p. 55. 18 Cf. Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 51, p. 69. 19 Cf. ibid. 20 Cf. Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 7), especially § 83, pp. 148ff. 21 Cf. ibid., § 83, p. 149. 22 Kawamura: Spontaneität und Willkür (see note 16), p. 67.

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as agents.23 But it is difficult to relate the conception of the will as a normative element of freedom with the conception of the will as a causal element within agents and their actions without falling prey to the is-ought fallacy. Trying to understand this difficulty leads us to a much broader one: Crusius accepts a fundamental divide between causal-nomological explanations and normative theories of values. Science, including Crusius’ own approach towards understanding the human will, and the morality provided through revelation can be incompatible at times. Lewis White Beck has a concise formulation for this: We cannot think an action without a cause; therefore there is no freedom. We cannot think a moral action without freedom. Hence some actions must be both caused and uncaused. Thus our causal and moral knowledge are in conflict. […] Since revelation gives knowledge (and not merely the substance of faith) and gives knowledge that goes beyond, and indeed against, the knowledge we have through the use of the other principles of thought, Crusius is, in the final analysis, espousing a theory of twofold truth.24

This leads to another tension that is constitutive of the unique nature of human beings (of human morality in particular): both our animal drives and our human desires can be determined as the causes of our actions. Only the human will, however, is directed towards the pursuit of perfections. These perfections are not defined by the mind alone. Instead, they are understood as that which conforms to the good will or is affirmed by it, but they exist independently of the will.25 Crusius refrains from finding a common denominator for the objects of the human will and our human desires (seeing them both, for example, as being undergirded by selflove, love for the common good, etc.). He consequently accepts that the objects of human desires are fundamentally heterogeneous in nature. The good is not conceivable as a means towards something else, but rather through the intentional structure of the will, whereby the good is defined as whatever is the object of a rational (and thereby good) will. Crusius establishes a correlation between the definition of the will as the force to identify the good and the definition of the will as the force to adjust one’s actions accordingly towards the good.

|| 23 On the complicated historical background of the debate concerning the basic forces of the soul, see Dieter Henrich: Über die Einheit der Subjektivität. In: Philosophische Rundschau 3.1 (1955), pp. 28–69; and Stefan Heßbrüggen-Walter: Die Seele und ihre Vermögen. Kants Metaphysik des Mentalen in der Kritik der reinen Vernunft. Paderborn 2004. I’d like to thank Andree Hahmann for directing my attention to both texts. 24 Lewis White Beck: Early German Philosophy: Kant and His Predecessors. Cambridge, MA 1969, p. 400. Philosophy cannot make humans properly virtuous. See Christian August Crusius: Weg zur Gewissheit. Leipzig 1747, § 31, p. 50. 25 Cf. Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 24, p. 29; Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 7), § 149, pp. 326f.

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In this context, Crusius identifies three (to be described in what follows) types of basic human desires, which the will can use to strive towards an idea and to adjust one’s actions accordingly. These three types are opposed to animal desires insofar as they all relate to abstract and non-sensual ideas. They are also heterogeneous in nature, namely »basic forces distinguished by nature itself«.26 They belong to the universal nature of human beings and cannot be conceived within the framework of individual relations between concrete individuals (e. g., as some physical traits can be transmitted from the parents onto the children27). Since they are part of human nature itself, they can be conceived a priori; but since they only realize themselves through individual forces and their respective actions, they can also be identified a posteriori. Crusius suggests that we do not necessarily know the cause of a desire, but sometimes have to investigate it.28 That is, because of their causal history, through which they can be identified after their effect has already taken place, ideas do not have to be recognized consciously. The basic desires also have a bodily aspect given that they are part of our physical nature and Crusius maintains that body and soul are indissolubly interconnected and interacting.29 However, they also have an abstract dimension to them that can only be understood through the mind alone: they follow abstract ideas. Once again, these ideas do not have to be consciously perceived, for they can be causally efficient even without being perceived clearly and distinctly. As a result, examining these desires through their effects can occasionally be the only means to identify these ideas.30 Because Crusius rejects the Platonic concept of our mind as participating in the realm of ideas, we cannot conceive of these abstract ideas that govern our will other than as innate. Despite this, the ideas themselves have no causal powers, which follows from Crusius insistence on a distinction between causal relations and logical inference.31 As has already been suggested above, desires should be understood as forces. They bear a strong resemblance to the conception of a conatus in Spinoza and Leibniz. Crusius himself distinguishes between primitive forces and derivative or composed forces, which correlate with mental drives and desires. To be more precise, Crusius places the notion of »drives« (»Triebe«) in this theoretical framework of forces, conceiving of drives as the same as human desires when they relate to ideas, but as different from human desires in other instances, such as it is the case with

|| 26 Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 94, p. 133: »[…] durch die Natur selbst unterschiedene Grundkräfte«; see ibid., p. 135. 27 See ibid., § 90, p. 129. 28 Cf. ibid., §§ 89f., pp. 128ff. 29 Cf. Christian August Crusius: Anleitung über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudenken. Leipzig 1749, § 543, p. 1186. 30 See Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 94, p. 133. 31 See Christian August Crusius: Dissertatio philosophica. Leipzig 1743.

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animal drives. Empirically given drives or desires can be analyzed, so that we may find out their components or whether they are derived from an underlying irreducible and simple drive. Interestingly, this distinction between simple and composed forces and its application to the striving of the soul implicitly undermines the traditional division between lower and higher faculties: here, the forces related to the lower faculties are composed of those of the higher faculties and are thereby not radically distinct – so much so that sometimes the distinction between drives and desires seems a bit blurry. The composition of simple forces and drives into more complex ones is postulated a priori, but it can be verified empirically – »one can assume that, as it is taught by experience [about drives and desires], these [drives] do, in fact, exist«.32 The first basic desire strives »towards our own perfection« and follows »the idea of a continuous increase of our forces and perfections.«33 This basic desire is the source or origin for the derived or composed desires for actions conforming to reason; and it is equally the source or origin of logical inferences, that is, for our striving towards truth, epistemic clarity, argumentative rigor, and the conformity of reasonable judgments to human agency. Furthermore, from this basic desire follows the urge towards the increased perfection of the body and its social or political equivalent, namely the desires for power, wealth, friendship, and honor, all of which create pleasure in conversation and association. These derived manifestations of this desire are not entirely self-sufficient, but can be stimulated through the experience of other people’s virtue (meaning, for Crusius, striving towards the good). The socialization of human beings in a harmonious society allows them to realize their innate striving towards increasing one’s own perfection to a degree that would otherwise be unattainable. The human being is, by virtue of their own nature, therefore directed toward society and community, especially such that allows for the greatest self-realization. In the Anweisung, Crusius writes: The final goal of the world, insofar as it concerns humans, is that they can form virtue in their souls through collaborative efforts, exert it and to strengthen it – and insofar as it allows them to enjoy the goods of the world to their satisfaction and enjoyment.34

|| 32 Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 90, p. 129: »[…] so kann man doch aus dem, was die Erfahrung lehret, abnehmen, daß dergleichen in der That da sind.« Crusius seems to follow Leibniz’s idea of primitive and derivative forces. The argumentation developed here seems to resemble the argument proposed in the Monadology, §§ 1f. Both derive the existence of simple entities from the empirically observable existence of composites. 33 Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 111, p. 154. 34 Ibid., § 208, p. 287: »Der Endzweck der Welt, wiefern sie die Menschen angeht, ist, dass sie durch ihre gemeinschaftliche freie Bemühungen die Tugend in ihren Seelen bilden, ausüben und stärken – und sofern erlaubt, die Güter der Welt zu ihrer Zufriedenheit und Vergnügen zu genießen.«

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This final goal is to be achieved through sociable behavior: humans need each other’s help, for they (as islands unto themselves) are too weak and too imperfect to steadily resist their physical or animal drives. The second basic desire is the unselfish »desire for association (»Vereinigung«) with such objects in which we perceive perfection«.35 From this desire follows an aesthetic need for a perception of perfections as well as a need for using such objects for our own self-love and self-development. Further, the drive of moral love also derives from it, which »cannot consist in anything else than in such a state in which one makes the will of someone else into one’s own final end, without benefitting from it«.36 This striving is nothing but »a desire towards unification with rational minds«.37 Here Crusius again emphasizes the self-realization of humans within society – or at least in harmonious and reciprocal interpersonal relationships: Our striving towards association (»Vereinigung«) with perfections should not be understood as an incorporation or assimilation of these perfections, but rather as a recognition of these perfections as externalities that are withdrawn from our reach. To put it differently: We do not use these perfections as means, for they will always remain ends in themselves and we align our own goals with them. In the case of rational minds, this will inevitably lead to a basic form of community. It should be noted that this conformity of striving is not the result of an obligation or duty, but simply the result of us acting upon our natural drives. But we have other desires or drives that push us towards other forms of community as well. The drive for love for family, just like the bodily, ›venereal‹ drive for physical love, is not a basic drive, but a merely ›biological‹ or instinctual drive – even though they often combine with basic drives like moral love.38 While the family has a natural unity that results from mutually reinforcing and harmonious drives, the union of minds for the purpose of mutual self-realization and self-advancement has no biological or instinctual basis at all and is therefore a basic human desire by virtue of our innate abstract ideas. Crusius stands here, despite his theological and metaphysical commitments, in agreement with other, more secular minded strands of Enlightenment philosophy. Christian Thomasius, for example, also argues that humans need to be embedded in a community or a society in order to develop a proper form of humanity that elevates us beyond our mere membership in the species called humankind. But Thomasius confined himself to pointing out the necessity of education and to redu-

|| 35 Ibid., § 122, p. 168. 36 Ibid., § 125, p. 171: »in nichts andere[m] bestehen [kann], als in einem solche Zustande, da man den Willen des andern zu seinem Endzwecke macht ohne Absicht auf sich selbst.« 37 Ibid., § 125, p. 171: »[…] ein Verlangen nach der Vereinigung mit vernünftigen Geistern.« 38 Cf. ibid., § 127, p. 175.

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cing civil society to a mere guarantor of peace and security.39 Crusius rather emphasizes our self-development within society as a consequence of our drive for perfection. Society is no pre-existent entity into which the human being is simply born into, but it should be taken as founded upon a continuously renewed and mutual recognition on which the spiritual unity of humans is based. In this sense, society and human nature are mutually interdependent and help realize one another. The third drive urges us »to understand the divine moral law«.40 From this follows perceptions (»Vorstellungen«) of good and evil and the urge to act conscientiously. This latter drive pushes us towards the creation of a harmonious and relatively equal society: humans strive towards fulfilling their duties, paying their debts, and following through with their promises. This shows that Crusius conceives of the divine law as an innate idea: »All humans agree that […] there must be such an obligation towards such actions and omissions as we can perceive only […] in the obedience to God«.41 Even in the absence of divine revelation through scripture we can therefore distinguish between right and wrong by virtue of our inborn conscience; the duty that follows from the demands of our conscience must be obliged as strictly as if it were a duty derived from God.42 We can safely assume, Crusius insists, that even without revelation, the pagans and heathens will at least indirectly follow the inborn divine law.43 As I have already indicated above, Crusius holds that human beings are both continuous with nature by means of their bodies and external to it by means of their soul. As embodied or organic beings, humans are only gradually different from animals – we are, similar to them, at least partially incentivized by our animal urges for nutrition, safety and procreation. But we are also radically different from animals: Humans have chosen God as their vocation (»Bestimmung«). In this sense, the human being realizes itself to its fullest in submission to the divine law. Moreover, the nature of the human being relates to its role within creation itself. Through their communal and free strivings, humans should bring forth virtue in their souls and strengthen it through exercise44 – and consequently we are named the stewards of creation and are allowed to use and enjoy worldly goods for our satisfaction. As a result, the heretic, who rejects God and the divine law despite recognizing them,

|| 39 Christian Thomasius: Einleitung zur Sittenlehre. Halle 1692, chap. 2. See Raffaele Ciafardone: Über das Primat der praktischen Vernunft vor der theoretischen bei Thomasius und Crusius mit Beziehung auf Kant. In: Studia Leibnitiana 14 (1982), pp. 127–135. 40 Cf. Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 132, p. 180. 41 Ibid., § 133, p. 183: »Denn alle Menschen kommen darinnen überein […] als daß eine Schuldigkeit ein solches Thun oder Lassen seyn muß, welches wir bloß aus Gehorsam gegen Gott […] beobachten sollen.« 42 See the contribution by Martin Sticker in this volume. 43 Crusius: Kurzer Begriff der Moraltheologie (see note 6), § 10, p. 27. 44 Cf. Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 176, pp. 251f.

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sheds his own humanity: »Not to love God humiliates the human such that he is not worth being called a human«.45 In a similar vein, only through guidance and repentance can the sinner become »a new human«46 – and one may be reasonably inclined to take Crusius literally when he says this. It is not the human body that changes, but the moral renewal that reconstitutes what is essential to human beings and which had been lost in the sinful act. It should be highlighted that the basic human desires have no common ground or origin – while they are all grounded in the same substance, they cannot be described by means of the same causes or principles. Looking at the actions of the human mind by themselves and ignoring the metaphysics of the soul, we find that all human behavior is shaped by an irreducible multitude of forces that seem to have no unifying foundation. The desires direct us toward diverging, sometimes even contradictory aims and goals – for example, the striving towards power can obviously conflict with our conscience. Humans are, by nature and therefore according to the divine will, inconsistent and internally torn. If there were such a thing as a Leibnizian pre-established harmony between the basic desires, Crusius’s Anweisung would simply not be necessary at all, since ethical and rational behavior would happen spontaneously by itself. But then again, this divergence of desires opens up room for human freedom in the form of self-control through the will, which is notably different from divine freedom. It is this latter point, human freedom, to which we will now turn.

3 Human Freedom and Human Duty Crusius offers multiple arguments for human freedom. Of course, I cannot deal with them here in detail, but a brief sketch may be helpful to emphasize the human dimension of his conception of freedom. One argument concerns our self-understanding as genuine agents. We attribute a force to ourselves that is conceived of as the origin of agency.47 This force originates from us, it allows us to act (i. e., determine our physical actions through our will), but it does not in turn determine us through any logical necessity. The existence of such a force is, as a part of our nature, purely contingent, as the existence of human beings is not necessary; however, it is in fact necessary that the world contains free beings, as a world without

|| 45 Crusius: Kurzer Begriff der Moraltheologie (see note 6), § 294, pp. 1257f.: »Gott nicht zu lieben, erniedrigt den Menschen so, daß er nicht werth ist, ein Mensch zu heißen.« 46 Cf. ibid., § 261, p. 1065. 47 Cf. Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 42, p. 55.

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freedom would be without purpose and thereby would not have been created in the first place.48 The realization of what is otherwise just the mere possibility of action requires more than just the removal of an obstacle to such possibility. It requires a force that enables the transition from possibility to reality. Human freedom is possible (and real) when this force is responsible for both an action and the omission of such action. But reason does not yet play a determining role in this: free will is grounded in the force of the will, but the will is not a faculty that depends on reason. In other words, humans are not free insofar as they are ›rational animals‹, but insofar as they possess a force that can causally determine their agency. In this sense, freedom consists in an unconditioned force and is not to be understood as state or property, but rather as something that has to realize itself in our actions: forces are not simply there; we can only think of them ex post facto, i. e., as the causal origins of perceived effects. To attribute this force to ourselves, we need to display the appropriate sort of agency, namely one cannot be traced back to other causes such as instincts or impulses. Freedom, however unconditioned, does not consist solely in ungrounded activity – the relevant agency of the will also needs to be guided, for otherwise it would be only lead to arbitrary behavior. Crusius insists that the will can choose to realize one of the desires to which it relates.49 Freedom consists in an internal perfect activity of the will, which is capable of connecting its efficacy [Wircksamkeit] to any of its momentarily aroused drives, or of omitting such a connection and remaining thereby inactive, or of connecting its efficacy instead of the former [drive] to any other drive.50

This attests to a kind of self-reflexivity. The will here is taking as defining its own causal determination inasmuch as it defines the origin or intention of its own causal efficacy. This can be understood as freedom assuming the form of some kind of selfrealization, which is not to be understood as a mechanical process. The will chooses a causal connection (out of many possible connections) through an act of freedom, that is, without being conditioned itself. The intellect participates in every actual decision insofar as it distinguishes between agency and inactivity in the first place.51 It contributes to defining and evaluating a space of possible actions by appealing to

|| 48 Cf. ibid., § 42, p. 57; see also Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (see note 7), § 272, pp. 505ff. 49 Cf. Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 9), § 43, p. 58. 50 Ibid., § 43, p. 58)»[…] in einer innerlichen vollkommenen Thätigkeit des Willens, welche vermögend ist, ihre Wircksamkeit mit einem von denen jetzo erregten Trieben des Willens zu verknüpfen, oder auch diese Verknüpfung zu unterlassen und unthätig dabey zu verbleiben, oder auch dieselbe an statt des vorigen mit einem anderen Triebe zu verbinden.« 51 Cf. ibid., § 45, p. 60.

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innate ideas and its insight into the divine law. Again, there is nothing comparable to be found in the animal world. Crusius introduces what Schneewind calls »a quite novel distinction«52 between two types of obligation: We are obliged to use certain means for a given end; and we are obliged to do something despite all other means and ends.53 This is important for our understanding of the free will: The will can only be free when it chooses its ends (and thereby its causal efficacy) in accordance with the second type of obligation – and only here can it conform to rationality in a sense that we can call it a rational free will. In so doing, Crusius rejects Leibniz’s suggestion that all our striving and willing is directed by our insight into perfections and that these perfections cannot conflict with our idea of the objective good. The will, Crusius argues, needs to find an end that is independent from all our given and contingent ends or perfections, since directing the will at any old end that is not an objective good will always remain questionable. Human beings are thus obliged by their own nature to want what God wants. Everyone shall subject himself or herself to God’s will, which is given to us in the form of the moral law. Obedience to God is the means for human happiness and therefore implanted in the human soul; but this happiness will always remain relative to our given nature and real, unconditioned happiness is not achievable on Earth. Despite this promise of salvation, all human affairs in this world only follow human nature. This means that, according to Crusius, we are bound by a double standard of obligations: We are allowed to follow our human ends; but we also have to follow the ends given through revelation and the divine will, which may conflict with our human ends. Since human nature is directed towards absolute ends as well as towards our human ends, we would act against our own nature if we display preference for our conditioned or human ends over these unconditioned or absolute ends. This double standard of obligations is unique for humans and marks our difference from animals, angels, and God.54

|| 52 Jerome B. Schneewind: Natural Law, Skepticism, and Method of Ethics. In: Kant’s Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals: Critical Essays. Ed. by Paul Guyer. Lanham, New York 1998, p. 19. 53 According to Schneewind, we find in this distinction the origins of Kant’s categorical imperative, as Kant also argues that for all relative or conditioned ends we need an unconditioned end (an end in itself) that does not depend on other ends, as only with an unconditioned foundation of the will we can avoid an infinite regress of interconnected conditioned ends or an ultimately unjustifiable contingency of ethical decisions based on contingent ends. Schneewind: Natural Law (see note 52). 54 Since our free striving towards the good is defined as the final goal of creation (see above), we are allowed to use creation itself as a means to an end. Divine virtue, which we have to imitate as well, commands us to use these means only within the boundaries of our conscience, through which we measure ourselves according to divine virtue. But as we still can conceive of ourselves (or at least our free agency) as the end of creation, we can hope for eternal bliss in the afterlife.

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Another related dichotomy can be understood through our causal agency. On the one hand, we can recognize that all actions are causally determined; but, on the other hand, there are theological reasons why we need to conceive of ourselves as genuinely free and self-determined agents. This entails that freedom can never be fully comprehensible for a finite being.55 As human freedom can be conceived of as the final goal of creation and as one of the essential attributes of human nature, we can also assume that we can fully understand neither creation nor our own nature. In the end, the conception of human nature that is implicit in Crusius’ writings agrees in several crucial regards with the more developed anthropological accounts of Kant and Herder. They all agree that the human being can best be understood through the powers or forces and capabilities through which it develops or determines itself as a proper human being and which distinguish it from a mere animal; they all in addition agree that humans can and should realize their humanity in a society that furthers this kind of human development; and they all also agree that the human being differs from the animal both gradually (regarding his physical body) as well as principally (regarding his moral nature.) However, such an agreement should not be mistaken for influence, which would be difficult to prove.56 But this nonetheless indicates that Crusius’ conception of the human being is reasonably to be located in the history of early Enlightenment anthropology, since it clearly distinguishes itself from the conception of human nature developed by earlier philosophers.

|| 55 See Beck: Early German Philosophy (see note 24), pp. 396f. 56 Manfred Baum considers Crusius’ influence on Herder’s Versuch über das Sein »obvious«, but he (consequently?) doesn’t offer any evidence. See Manfred Baum: Herder’s essay on Being. In: Herder Today: Contributions from the International Herder Conference. Ed. by Kurt Müller-Vollmer. Berlin, New York 1990, pp. 126–137, here p. 132.

Michael H. Walschots

Crusius on Freedom of the Will The questions of whether or not the will is free, and in what way, undoubtedly belong among the perennial questions of philosophy. It should come as no surprise that philosophers in early eighteenth-century Germany ascribed considerable importance to such questions as well. In the Theodicy, for example, Leibniz claims that the question of human freedom is one of two labyrinths in which the mind can get lost.1 Freedom of the will even became a somewhat controversial topic when Frederick Wilhelm I accused Christian Wolff of endorsing fatalism and thereby denying freedom and moral responsibility, expelling Wolff from Prussia in 1723 as a result.2 Given this controversy in particular, one would expect there to be relatively extensive accounts of how philosophers from the period conceived of freedom, both prior and subsequent to Wolff’s expulsion. Unfortunately, this is not the case. It is the aim of this paper to make a step towards correcting this situation by providing an account of the conception of freedom offered by one of the most important philosophers in mid-eighteenth-century Germany, and one of Wolff’s most important critics, namely Christian August Crusius. Crusius’ conception of freedom is interesting not only as a view subsequent to Wolff’s, but also as a view that influenced Immanuel Kant.3 In fact, the few discussions of Crusius on freedom that currently exist in the literature consider his view in exactly this respect, namely as a predecessor of Kant’s. The existing studies, however, offer either only a very partial account or even misrepresent Crusius’ conception of freedom of the will. Henry Allison, for example, has written extensively on Kant’s conception of freedom.4 In an account of how Kant’s view relates to that of Leibniz, Wolff, and Crusius, Allison argues that what is most notable about Crusius’ view in this context is his emphasis on freedom of the will as entailing the »capacity to choose between given alternative«.5 As we will see, although this is certainly one feature of how Crusius understands freedom of the will, it is only one piece of a much more detailed view. Additionally, Reinhard Finster provides what may even be an inaccurate account of Crusius’ view. In a study on spontaneity, freedom, and || 1 See Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Theodicy. Ed. by Austin Farrer. Translated by E. M. Huggard. London 1951, p. 53. The second labyrinth is what Leibniz called the ›labyrinth of the continuum‹ and is the problem of how space is composed of points which allegedly do not fill space themselves. 2 For an account of this event see Lewis White Beck: Early German Philosophy. Cambridge, MA 1969, pp. 258f. 3 For a discussion of how Crusius’ account of freedom and determinism compares to both Wolff and Kant, see Steven Tester’s contribution to this volume. 4 See especially Henry Allison: Kant’s Theory of Freedom. Cambridge, New York 1990. 5 Henry Allison: Kant on Freedom of the Will. In: The Cambridge Companion to Kant and Modern Philosophy. Ed. by Paul Guyer. Cambridge, New York 2006, pp. 381–415, p. 386. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-008

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unconditioned causality in Leibniz, Crusius, and Kant, Finster claims that Crusius understands freedom as »libertas indifferentiae seu aequilibrii«, i. e. as liberty of indifference.6 What Finster fails to realize, however, is that Crusius reserves the notion of libertas indifferentiae for a very specific situation, and this is not how Crusius conceives of the condition of the will overall. Given Crusius’ importance as a philosopher both subsequent to Wolff and prior to Kant, and given the, at best, only partial and, at worst, inaccurate treatment that his conception of freedom has received in the literature thus far, my aim in this paper is the modest one of providing an accurate account of how Crusius understands the freedom of the will. The focus of the following is Crusius’ first philosophical work and his text on ethics, the Guide to Living Rationally [Anweisung vernünftig zu leben], first published in 1744. More specifically, I concern myself primarily with the first part of the text, which is devoted to ›Telematology‹ [»Thelematologie«], i. e. Crusius’ science of the will. The discussion of freedom takes place in the third chapter of the Telematology, entitled: ›On the Freedom of the Human Will‹ [»Von der Freyheit des menschlichen Willens«]. My discussion is divided into two parts. I begin in part one (1) with a brief account of ›Telematology‹ and Crusius’ conception of the will itself. Part two (2) is the main body of the paper, wherein I provide an account of Crusius’ conception of freedom of the will. I concentrate on two topics: Crusius’ metaphysical understanding of freedom as self-determination, and his more psychological understanding of free choice. I conclude with a brief discussion of the relation between freedom and moral progress.

1 Telematology: The Doctrine of the Will Crusius understands moral or practical philosophy to include both the doctrine of natural duties, as well as the doctrine of prudence.7 More generally, however, moral philosophy is divided into four sciences: 1. Ethics, 2. Natural Moral Theology, 3. Natural Law, and 4. the General Doctrine of Prudence. Ethics concerns the virtuous arrangement of our condition and the grounds of virtue as applied to the soul and

|| 6 See Reinhard Finster: Spontaneität, Freiheit und unbedingte Kaualität bei Leibniz, Crusius und Kant. In: Studia Leibnitiana Volume 14.2 (1982), pp. 266–277, p. 268 and p. 268n. 7 Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Leipzig 1744, Preface. References to Crusius’ works are abbreviated as follows: Crusius: Anweisung – Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Leipzig 1744. Crusius: Entwurf – Christian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunftwahrheiten. Leipzig 1745. The Preface to the Anweisung contains no page numbers, and modern reprints do not assign page numbers either. When citing from this section, I therefore simply refer to the ›Preface‹.

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its unification with the body. Natural moral theology concerns our duties to God. Natural Law concerns both our duties to others as well as a discussion of universal practical philosophy (»allgemeine practische Philosophie«) more generally. Finally, the general doctrine of prudence is the art of finding the means to human ends in general.8 The Anweisung is divided into five parts, four devoted to each of these topics, and a fifth part that precedes the others devoted to the doctrine of the will. Crusius calls this doctrine of the will Telematology [»Thelematologie«] and defines it as »a theoretical science of the characteristics, powers, and effects of the human will«.9 As a theoretical science, Telematology is not strictly speaking a part of moral philosophy. It should rather be regarded as a part of theoretical philosophy, but one that is also distinct from metaphysics. This is because metaphysics does not treat the entire doctrine of the human soul, but only the doctrine of the necessary being of a spirit in general according to laws.10 A science of the will precedes ethics for good reason: »Since the guide to living rationally has to do with the good arrangement of the human will, a precise understanding of the human will is required by those who wish to thoroughly understand and prove everything«.11 This is consistent with Crusius’ general style of presentation in the Anweisung, which he describes as »synthetic [synthetisch]« in the sense that what comes first is that through which the following must be understood.12 The science of the will thus precedes the four parts of ethics, because ethics presupposes certain features about the will. In this way the doctrine of the human will is a »preparation [Vorbereitung]« for ethics: since the guide to a rational life contains within it only such rules that are prescribed to the will, and which therefore for the most part must be extracted from the constitution of the will, it is easy to see that one must first comprehend how the will is constituted from nature and how it functions, before one can sufficiently explain how the same ought to be.13

|| 8 Crusius: Anweisung, Preface. 9 »[E]ine theoretische Wissenschaft von den Eigenschaften, Kräften und Wirkungen des menschlichen Willens«, ibid., § 1. Crusius is not the first to make the study of the will its own science. As is explained in the preface to the Anweisung, this title goes back to Crusius’ teacher, Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann (1707–1741), though Hoffmann only discussed the topic in his lectures (see ibid., Preface). 10 Ibid., Preface. 11 »Weil die Anweisung vernünftig zu leben mit der guten Einrichtung des menschlichen Willens zu thun hat, so wird bey denenjenigen, welche alles gründlich verstehen und beweisen wollen, eine genau Erkenntniß des menschlichen Willens vorausgesezet« (ibid., Preface). 12 Ibid., Preface. 13 »[D]a die Anweisung zu einen vernünftigen Leben lauter solche Regeln in sich begreifft, welche dem Willen vorgeschrieben werden, und welche demnach gröstentheils von der Beschaffenheit des Willens hergenommen werden müssen, so ist leichte zu erachten, daß man erst erkennen müsse, wie der Wille von Natur beschaffen sey und wirke, ehe man hinlänglich erklären kan, wie derselbe seyn solle« (ibid., § 1).

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Telematology is therefore the descriptive study of the nature and function of the will, which precedes the normative investigation of how the will ought to be. The first term to define in Telematology is the will itself: »I understand under the will the power of a spirit to act according to its representations«.14 More specifically, the will is the »effecting cause [wirkende Ursache]« itself, and the representations are the »model [Modell]« or causa exemplaris of our actions.15 Action takes place either when we actually bring about the represented object or when we merely strive to do the same but do not successfully bring the object about.16 A spirit is a substance that has ideas or which thinks.17 This is an intentionally broad understanding of spirit, because Crusius does not wish to reserve the concept to only those things that have abstract representations and concepts, or those things that can think with consciousness, i. e. can think with clarity and distinctness. Animals thus have spirits as well, meaning spirits can be noble or ignoble, rational or nonrational.18 Furthermore, all spirits have a will.19 This is significant because it means that the will is not to be understood as the power to act according to abstract representations only. In fact, Crusius believes that it is necessary for all spirits to have a will, for otherwise they would have representations that are not useful for anything. Since it is against the perfection of God to create anything useless,20 all spirits, i. e. all things capable of thinking, necessarily also have a will. Crusius claims that his definition of the will corresponds to the common use of language, which ascribes desire and aversion, as well as action and omission, to the will.21 We should distinguish these terms of course and, if we do, then desire [»Begehren«] and aversion [»Verabscheuen«] are specific kinds of willing. Desire is »[t]hat willing whereby we endeavour to make real or bring about a unification with ourselves of that which does not yet exist«.22 Strictly speaking, however, such a willing is a desire only »insofar as one regards it as an action inside of the willing spirit«.23 Desire, for Crusius, is therefore an internal action. It is the internal »endeavour [Bemühung]« that seeks to bring about an object, or unify our bodies with an object. Similarly, aversion is »when we endeavor to prevent the reality of a thing

|| 14 »Ich verstehen unter dem Willen die Kraft eines Geistes nach seinen Vorstellungen zu handeln« (ibid., § 2). 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid. 17 Ibid. 18 See ibid., § 3. 19 Ibid., § 4. 20 Ibid. 21 Ibid., § 2. 22 »Dasjenige Wollen dadurch wir etwas, das noch nicht ist, wirklich zu machen oder insonderheit eine Vereinigung desselben mit uns hervorzubringen bemühet sind« (ibid., § 9). 23 »[W]iefern man es noch al seine Action innerhalb dem wollenden Geiste betrachte« (ibid.).

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or exclude our unification with the same«.24 As internal actions, Crusius distinguishes from desire and aversion a distinct kind of »striving [Bestreben]«, »where one also seeks to effect that which is willed outside of the soul«.25 As internal actions distinct from such external aspects of willing, desire and aversion are to be regarded as »the ground and effecting cause«26 of what takes place externally, e. g. bodily movements. Crusius notes that these two »activities [Thätigkeiten]« of the will, namely its internal and external aspects, are often confused with one another because they fall under the same heading of »willing and not-willing«.27 A subset of the more general category of desire is a »drive [Trieb]« or »appetite [Begierde]«, which is the kind of willing »which even without intention continues with some permanence«.28 Such drives can be of the desiring sort, or the averting sort. What is distinct about drives, and which anticipates the focus of this paper, is that they take place even without freedom, or as Crusius states in the above passage, without »intention [Vorsatz]«. Crusius defines an »intention« or »decision [Entschluß]« as »[t]hat application of freedom to a present case, whereby one actually wills the same«.29 I will turn to freedom shortly. The important point to stress here is that a drive is a kind of willing that does not require intention or decision to be active, and thus takes place without freedom. An important element of Crusius’ conception of the will is its relation to the understanding. Crusius does not believe in a single foundational power,30 but takes the will and the understanding to be distinct powers.31 The understanding is the faculty responsible for our representations, and thus every willing relies on the understanding representing that which we will.32 Importantly, and as I discuss again in what follows, willing is not always in accord with what the understanding represents as good.33 This largely has to do with the fact that the good, for Crusius, is not in the first instance grasped by the understanding, but rather relates to willing. Crusius

|| 24 »[W]enn wir die Wirklichkeit der Sache zu verhindern oder insonderheit die Vereinigung mit derselben hinweg zu schaffen in Bemühung sind« (ibid.). 25 »[D]a man das Gewollte such ausserhalb der Seele zu bewerkstelligen suchet« (ibid.). 26 »[D]er Grund und wirkende Ursache« (ibid.). 27 »[D]as Wollen oder Nichtwollen« (ibid.). 28 »[W]elches auch ohne Versatz mit einer Beständigkeit fordauret« (ibid., § 23). 29 »Diejenige Anwendung der Freyheit zu einem vorkommenden Falle, wodurch man denselben wirklich will« (ibid., § 22). 30 For a discussion of the debate surrounding the idea of a fundamental power or force, see Corey Dyck: The Subjective Deduction and the Search for a Fundamental Force. In: Kant-Studien 99 (2008), pp. 152–179. 31 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 7), § 7. 32 Ibid., § 5. 33 This is of course an important point of contrast to Wolff. See Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen. Fifth Edition. Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1733, § 421.

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defines goodness as »[w]hat is in accordance with the willing of a spirit«, and evil as »what is against« the willing of a spirit.34 Crusius then distinguishes between three distinct types of goodness. First, »metaphysically good« is when »something is found to be consistent with the natural ends of God«.35 Second, »physically good« is »the extent to which something is consistent with the will of created beings«.36 Crusius claims that if a created being has a will, we call those things good that serve as the fulfillment of what it wills. Third is »moral goodness«, namely what is »in accordance with the moral ends of God« and which God wishes to bring about »through reason and the free will of created spirits«.37 What these three types of goodness have in common is that they all relate to a will, either God’s will or a created being’s will, and things are called good and evil by means of their relationship to such a will. In addition to the features of the will discussed above, towards the end of the first chapter of the Telematology Crusius claims that »many spirits can possess the perfection such that at the same time and in the same circumstances, where they willed something, they could have also refrained from willing or directed their will towards something else«.38 This perfection, of course, is freedom: »That willing, which one can in the same circumstances omit, or direct towards something else, is called a free willing, and the power for this [is called] freedom«.39 Crusius devotes the third chapter of the Telematology to freedom, and in the next section I reconstruct the most important aspects of how Crusius understands this concept.

2 Freedom Crusius’ first task in his discussion of freedom is to clearly define the concept. This is consistent with his overall aim in the Anweisung, which does not amount to presenting new truths: »Moral truths are all just as old as the world. […] But the dis-

|| 34 »Was dem Wollen eines Geistes gemäß ist, nennet man insofern gut, gleichwie dasjenige, was ihm zuwieder ist, insofern ein Uebel heisset« (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 7], § 26). 35 »[W]ieferne nun etwas mit den natürlichen Absichten Gottes übereinstimmend befunden wird [...] insofern ist es metaphysice gut« (ibid.). 36 »Wiefern etwas mit dem Willen der Geschöpfe übereinstimmet, so heisset es physice gut« (ibid.). 37 »Das moralische Gute aber ist, was den moralischen Absichten Gottes, das ist, denjenigen, welche er durch die Vernunft und den freyen Willen der erschaffenen Geister befördert wissen will, gemäß ist« (ibid.). 38 »[M]anche Geister die Vollkommenheit besitzen können, daß sie zu eben der Zeit und bey eben den Umständen, da sie etwas wollten, das Wollen auch hätten unterlassen oder ihren Willen auf etwas anderes richten können« (ibid., § 21). 39 »Dasjenige Wollen, welches man bey eben den Umständen unterlassen, oder auf etwas anderes richten kan, heißt ein freyes Wollen, und die Kraft darzu die Freyheit« (ibid., § 22).

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tinctness and order, the certainty and completeness, the insight into the grounds and connection of moral truths is something that is considered by the majority to only a very low degree«.40 He further explains that he takes there to be a certain degree of »unfruitful generality [unfruchtbare Allgemeinheit]« prevalent in moral philosophy, such that it is his aim to more precisely define what is meant by certain concepts.41 This aim manifests itself in Crusius’ discussion of freedom: I first wish to determine the correct concept that must be connected to the word freedom in accordance with the general use of language, when it is taken to be a natural power of rational spirits, and thereafter also show that there is the same freedom of the will in actuality.42

With this general aim in mind, the first point that Crusius clarifies is that he is not discussing freedom in that political sense, where it occasionally illustrates only so much as a right to be able to do something without fear of punishment; or where it says only so much as a condition, where one may follow their own judgement in the pursuit of their own ends, in which meanings freedom is set in contrast to the condition of subservience and rule.43

Crusius’ focus is rather freedom as »a natural power of the will [eine natürliche Kraft des Willens]«.44 The focus is not the rightful or unrightful use of freedom, but is simply to spell out »the natural properties or essential constitution [den natürlichen Eigenschaften oder der wesentlichen Beschaffenheit]«45 of freedom as a power of the will. This, of course, is consistent with Telematology as a descriptive science. When defining the concept of freedom as a natural power of the will, Crusius stays true to his aims as laid out in the Preface, where he says that what matters when one offers a definition is that one pay attention to »what seems to be proven with a definition, whether one demonstrates the reality of the defined thing, or the

|| 40 »Die moralischen Wahrheiten sind allesammt eben so alt, als die Welt. [...] Allein die Deutlichkeit und Ordnung, die Gewißheit und Vollständigkeit, die Einsicht in die Gründe und den Zusammenhang moralischer Wahrheiten ist etwas, das bey den meisten sich in gar niedrigem Grade befindet« (ibid., Preface). 41 Ibid. 42 »Ich will erstlich den rechten Begriff aufsuchen, welchen man den allgemeinen Sprachgebrauche gemäß mit dem Worte Freyheit verknüpfen muß, wenn es vor eine natürliche Kraft der vernünftigen Geister genommen wird, und hernach zeigen, daß es auch dergleichen Freyheit des Willens in der That gebe« (ibid., § 38). 43 »Wir nehmen hier das Wort Freyheit nicht in denjenigen politischen Bedeutungen, da es zuweilen so viel anzeiget, als ein Recht etwas ohne Furcht der Strafe thun zu können; oder da es so viel sagen will, als ein solcher Stand, da man in Besorgung seiner Endzwecke seinem eigenen Urtheile folgen darf, in welchem Verstande die Freyheit dem Stande der Unterwürfigkeit und Herrschaft entgegen gesezt wird« (ibid., § 37). 44 Ibid. 45 Ibid.

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agreement with general use of language, or the utility of the definition’s structure and the rationality of one’s procedure«.46 As already mentioned, Crusius’ aim in defining freedom is in line with the first two of these purposes: he wishes to properly define the concept of freedom in a way that accords with the general use of language, and he also wishes to prove that we have such a power.47 With respect to the former, Crusius describes the general usage of the concept of freedom as follows: A free willing, according to the common concept, should be no externally forced and also no internally necessary willing. It should make the human being capable of the kind of responsibility of their actions, such that one can ascribe these [actions] to it not only as the real cause, but also because it proceeds in one way rather than another, [it should] recognize it [the human being] as capable of a blame attributed to it, praise or condemnation, and thereby be able to hold it to be deserving of punishment or reward. Freedom should be that which makes us capable of being subject to a law and obligation, and of being held accountable for the character of our actions.48

With this in mind, Crusius offers us a first definition of freedom: »a free being is none other than one that, at the same time and in the same circumstances, can do or omit something, or can do something else instead, and the power, by means of which it is capable of this, must be called freedom«.49 At a very basic level, freedom is therefore reduced to two capacities [Vermögen], namely the capacity to either do or omit an action in the same circumstances, what Crusius calls »libertas contradictionis« or liberty of contradiction, and the capacity to undertake to do a different action instead of the present one in the same circumstances, i. e. »libertas con-

|| 46 »Man muß jedesmahl Achtung geben, was bey einer Definition zu bewiesen vorkomme, ob man die Wircklichkeit des definirten Dinges, oder die Uebereinstimmung mit dem Sprachgebrauche, oder den Nuzten einer solchen Einrichtung der Definition und die Vernunftmäßigkeit seines Verfahrens darzuthun habe« (ibid., Preface). 47 In this paper I do not discuss Crusius’ three »proofs [Beweise]« of freedom, which he offers in § 42 of the Anweisung. Adequately reconstructing these three proofs would be a significant task on its own, and requires attention to Crusius’ epistemology, as well as his theology. For a brief discussion of these proofs, see the contribution by Ansgar Lyssy in this volume. 48 »Ein freyes Wollen soll nach dem gemeinen Begriffe kein äusserlich erzwungenes und auch kein innerlich nothwendiges Wollen seyn. Es soll dem Menschen einer solchen Zurechnung seiner Thaten fähig machen, da man ihm nicht nur dieselben als der wirckenden Ursache zuschreiben, sondern auch deswegen, weil er vielmehr so als anders verfahren, loben oder tadeln, ihn einer sich zugezogenen Schuldfähig erkennen, und ihn einer Strafe oder Belohnung deswegen würdig halten kan. Die Freyheit soll dasjenige seyn, welches uns tüchtig macht, einem Gesetze und Verbindlichkeit unterworffen zu seyn, und von der Einrichtung unserer Handlungen Rechenschaft zu geben« (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 7], § 38). 49 »[E]in freyes Wesen [kann] nichts anders seyn als ein solches, welches zu einerley Zeit und bey einerley Umständen etwas thun oder lassen, oder an dessen statt etwas anders thun kan, und die Kraft, vermöge welcher es darzu fähig ist, muß die Freyheit heissen« (ibid.).

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trarietatis« or liberty of contrariety.50 Understood as a combination of these two capacities, freedom is the ability to choose for or against a given option, and/or among alternatives.

2.1 Freedom as Self-determination As a concept that explains our subjugation to law and obligation, which makes us capable of being held morally responsible for our actions, and which is neither an externally forced nor an internally necessary willing,51 freedom, for Crusius, is above all else a concept that signals our independence from complete causal determinism. This is stated explicitly in the preface to the Anweisung, where Crusius states that he pays considerable attention to the concept of freedom because, without a correct concept, we risk admitting a real necessity of all things.52 Crusius is thus not a strict determinist, but an incompatibilist with respect to the relationship between freedom and determinism.53 Defining freedom correctly is so important, because if we do not define it properly, then it would be possible for us to still use the word but nonetheless believe in a strict necessity of all things.54 This is the background against which Crusius further clarifies the concept of freedom in terms of self-determination: »One can thus express the essence of freedom through this concept, that it is a power, to determine oneself to an action, without one being determined to it by something

|| 50 Ibid. This is a scholastic distinction that was also used in many discussions of freedom published during the reformation. Franciscus Junius (1545–1602), for example, is a thinker who employed the distinction. See e. g. Willem J. van Asselt, J. Martin Bac, Roelf T. te Velde: Reformed Thought on Freedom. The Concept of Free Choice in Early Modern Reformed Theology. Michigan 2010, p. 101. 51 Crusius wants to avoid defining freedom as internal necessity because to do so would make virtue into a matter of luck. Even if we were internally determined by clear representations, »[a]ll of our virtue would thereby be transformed into mere luck in that it only takes place if one were to have a good nature, or has been placed into such connections with other things, whereby one would be determined to such actions that are in conformity with perfection« (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 7], § 40). Similarly, vice would be merely unlucky (ibid.). Freedom as internal necessity removes the possibility of true responsibility and blame, because everything would rather depend on whether God gave us a good nature, and on whether God placed us into a favourable relationship to other things (ibid.). In order to preserve real virtue and vice, as well as real responsibility and blame, we need the idea of self-determination, understood not as internal necessitation, but as uncaused causation. 52 See ibid., Preface. 53 See the contribution by Steven Tester in this volume for a discussion of Crusius’ libertarian view of freedom, in opposition to the compatibilism of his contemporaries and predecessors such as Wolff. 54 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 7), Preface.

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else, whether in us or outside us«.55 Although Crusius describes this as ›determining oneself‹, it should be clear from his rejection of freedom as internal necessity that self-determination here does not mean that one is necessitated by one’s own representations, as is Wolff’s view, for example.56 For Crusius, we need a concept of freedom that implies real self-determination in the sense of uncaused causation, for if we were to allow that freedom essentially consists in our being determined by internal representations, our actions would not stop being necessary: »because all that is determined, no matter how it is determined, is necessary«.57 On the contrary, selfdetermination implies the complete absence of prior determination: If therefore apart from the free act something is at hand which makes it that the same [the act] now receives this and no other determination, then the effected substance is thereby determined. But if the same is not at hand, and it [the substance] has nonetheless the power to undertake something, then it determines itself.58

Freedom as self-determination therefore involves being able to perform an action, even in those circumstances where there are absolutely no conditions that would make it necessary to act in one way rather than another. Freedom thus amounts to the capacity to begin a causal series without prior conditions.59 How Crusius conceives of freedom as self-determination, i. e. uncaused causation, is further clarified when he turns to offer a proof of how such a determination is possible. The question he addresses is how freedom as self-determination is possible as a metaphysical concept, a topic covered in both the Anweisung and in Crusius’ text on metaphysics, the Sketch of the Necessary Truths of Reason (Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernuftwahrheiten), first published in 1745. In both of these texts Crusius argues that in order to avoid an infinite regress of causes and effects, we need to suppose that there are first causes, which he calls »foundational activities [Grundthätigkeiten]«: It is a matter that belongs to metaphysics to prove that, since action or activity must be between the effect and the effecting cause, and this series cannot proceed indefinitely, I say, [to

|| 55 »Man kann derowegen das Wesen der Freyheit auch durch diesen Begriff ausdrücken, daß sie eine Kraft sey, sich zu einer Handlung selbst zu determiniren, ohne daß man durch irgend etwas anders, es sey in uns oder ausser uns, darzu determiniret werde« (ibid., § 39). 56 See Wolff: Vernünftige Gedanken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen (see note 33), § 521. 57 »[W]eil alles determinirte, wiefern es determinirt ist, nothwendig ist« (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 7], § 40. 58 »Wenn dahero ausser der freyen That etwas anderes vorhanden ist, welches machet, daß derselben jetzo diese und keine andere Determination zukommen muß, so wird die wirckende Substanz dadurch determiniret« (ibid., § 39). 59 For a discussion of Crusius’ relation to Leibniz and Kant on this topic see Finster: Spontaneität, Freiheit und unbedingte Kaualität (see note 6).

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prove] that one must eventually come upon first actions or foundational activities, before which there cannot be another activity of an effecting cause, but which immediately arises from the essence of an active foundational power itself.60

In the Entwurf, Crusius lists two types of »foundational activities [Grundthätigkeiten (actiones primas)]«.61 First are the foundational activities that »continue incessantly [beständig fortdauern]«62 and which constitute the inner essence of active substances. These can take two forms, depending on whether the substance is necessary or contingent. A necessary substance, such as God, requires no more distant cause for the foundational activity to be active, and thus simply possesses foundational activities necessarily, which thus continue incessantly or persist necessarily as well. Crusius lists as an example the divine understanding as such a substance.63 Contingent substances, namely all finite substances, also must have an essence that must be preserved in order for them to continue to exist. Examples here are the active powers of elements.64 In both these cases such foundational activities ›arise immediately from the essence of an active foundational power‹ and do so ›incessantly‹ i. e. constantly. The difference is that with contingent substances they need only be established as existing in order for such activities to continue or persist. The second type of foundational activity is that which does not continue incessantly [»beständig geschehen«],65 and these are in turn of two forms. First, there are those activities that necessarily take place, but only when their conditions are posited. Thus, the reason why these do not ›continue incessantly‹ and are a distinct kind of foundational activity is that, even if the substance exists, these activities are not active if certain conditions are not in place. Examples Crusius gives are »sensations [Empfindungen]«66 and the powers of the human understanding.67 The second form of foundational activity that requires a condition to be active are those that do not necessarily take place when the conditions are present, but which, when the conditions are in place, either may take place, may not, or may happen in a different way. In this case »the active power determines itself to one among many ways of acting,

|| 60 »Es ist eine Materie, welche in die Metaphysik gehöret, zu erweisen, daß, weil zwischen der Wirckung und der wirckenden Ursache die Action oder Thätigkeit darzwischen seyn muß, welche Reihe aber nicht unendlich fortgehen kan, daß man, sage ich, mithin endlich auf erste Actionen oder Grundthätigkeiten kommen müsse, vor welchen nicht wiederum eine andere Thätigkeit einer wirckenden Ursache vorhergehen muß, sondern welche unmittelbar aus dem Wesen einer thätigen Grundkraft selbst entspringen« (ibid., § 41). 61 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 7), § 81. 62 Ibid. 63 Ibid. 64 Ibid. 65 Ibid., § 82. 66 Ibid. 67 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 7), § 41.

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which are possible for it with the establishment of certain circumstances«.68 This, of course, is the kind of foundational activity that freedom of the will consists in. In each of these various kinds of foundational activities the substance acts of itself, and its activity proceeds from the essence of a foundational power within the substance, not from an effecting cause outside of it. In other words, each kind of foundational activity amounts to a substance being a first cause. The case of the will is such that it has a foundational power of the sort that when certain circumstances are present, it does not necessarily bring about things on its own,69 but it can choose to act, to not act, or to act in other ways. With this in mind, Crusius offers an additional definition of the freedom of the human will as a foundational power: »freedom is the highest degree of activity in a will, by means of which it can begin, direct, and even cancel a reality, regardless that such a reality is no more than made possible by all the required conditions for the same«.70

2.2 The Psychology of Freedom Thus far we have seen that Crusius understands freedom as self-determination, and as a foundational power that amounts to a human being’s capacity to act as an uncaused cause. With this in hand, we can now turn to how Crusius conceives of the ways in which free choices are made. In this respect we turn from a metaphysical to a psychological discussion of freedom. Crusius even offers a new definition of freedom, which he calls the »most complete [vollständigsten]« explanation of freedom, when he switches to this focus:

|| 68 »Alsdenn determiniret sich die thätige Kraft selbst zu einer inter mehreren Arten zu agiren, welche ihr bey Setzung gewisser Umstände allerseits vollkommen möglich sind« (Crusius: Entwurf [see note 7], § 82). 69 It might seem paradoxical to assert that a substance acts as an uncaused cause when it necessarily brings about a state of affairs when certain conditions are present. Crusius attempts to make sense of this with the notion of a foundational activity as one that proceeds from the essence of a foundational power. Thus, even though a substance necessarily brings about a state of affairs in certain conditions, the substance does so on its own, i. e. the causal series begins with the substance and its foundational activity, not with the conditions. 70 »[D]ie Freyheit sey der höchste Grad der Thätigkeit in einem Willen, vermöge welcher er eine Wircksamkeit selbst anfangen, richten und wiederum abbrechen kan, ungeachtet dieselbe durch all dabey erforderliche Bedingungen nicht mehr als möglich gemacht worden« (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 7], § 41).

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Freedom consists, namely, in an inner, perfect activity of the will, which is capable of connecting its efficacy with one of the currently aroused drives of the will, or to omit this connection and thereby remain inactive, or similarly instead of the former to bind it with another drive.71

In the first part of this paper I illustrated that Crusius conceives of desires as internal endeavours to make something real, or unify ourselves with something that does not yet exist, and the concept of an intention or decision captures the fact that we choose to actually bring about what we endeavour to bring about. As consisting in both a liberty of contradiction and of contrariety, freedom is our ability to decide to will or not will what we desire, as well as our ability to will something in accordance with a different desire altogether. The key point here, of course, is that willing requires the presence of desires in order to be efficacious. Generally speaking, when we freely will something, we are in a situation where there are many desires aroused in us, and we decide to connect our efficacy with one of these desires and in turn act in accordance with it. An important distinction that Crusius makes in this context is that between complete [»vollkommen«] and incomplete [»unvollkommen«] freedom: Freedom is either complete or incomplete (libertas plena vel minus plena). A complete freedom is where refraining from something or the direction of another, with which it [the action] is now compared, would be just as easy for us. An incomplete freedom is where it would not be as easy for us to decide for the opposite.72

Complete freedom is called »libertas indifferentiae or aequilibrii«,73 i. e. liberty of indifference or equilibrium. Importantly, this is not the condition we always find ourselves in. Rather, Crusius claims it only takes place »when two objects are indifferent towards ends, at least according to our understanding; or when, among two ends that we desire to the same degree of strength, we determine ourselves to one of the two«.74 Incomplete freedom, on the other hand, is the situation human beings find themselves in most often, and is »by contrast, when one must overcome an

|| 71 »Und hiermit entdecken wir den vollständigsten Begriff der Freyheit. Es besteht nemlich die Freyheit in einer innerlichen vollkommenen Thätigkeit des Willens, welche vermögend ist, ihre Wircksamkeit mit einem von denen jetzo erregten Trieben des Willens zu verknüpfen, oder auch diese Verknüpfung zu unterlassen und unthätig dabey zu verbleiben, oder auch dieselbe an statt des vorigen mit einem anderen Triebe zu verbinden« (ibid., § 43). 72 »Die Freyheit ist entweder eine vollkommene oder unvollkommene (Libertas plen vel minus plena). Eine vollkommene Freyheit ist, da uns die Unterlassung der Sache oder die Verrichtung einer andern, mit welcher sie jetzo verflichen wird, aber so leicht seyn würde« (ibid., § 49). 73 Ibid., § 50. 74 »Sie findet aber nicht überall, sondern nur alsdenn statt, wenn zwey Objecte zu den Endzwecken wenigstens nach unserer Einsicht gleichgültig sind; oder wenn wir unter zwey Endzwecken, die wir in gleichem Grade der Stärke begehren, uns zu einem von beyden determiniren sollen« (ibid.).

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opposition in their decision«.75 The opposition we must overcome is presented to us by the strength of our other desires. This opposition can be larger or smaller, and thus these oppositions can vary in strength. Crusius is careful to note that incomplete freedom [»unvollkommene Freyheit«] is not always an imperfection [»Unvollkommenheit«] of the substance in which it takes place.76 It is only an imperfection when the end of freedom is contradicted, i. e. »when one does not find oneself in the position to be able to choose the good or the better«.77 I return to a discussion of this imperfection when I discuss Crusius’ distinction between three types of freedom. First, let us take a closer look at how he conceives of the opposition that desires can present to free choice. Crusius does not say much directly about how free choice is affected by the strength of our desires. What he does offer are some examples wherein the strength of our desires is assigned a number to reflect their strength. It is important to note that Crusius acknowledges that »the activities of the soul cannot be calculated according to numbers«.78 At the same time, he believes that they nonetheless must have »the same relation as numbers to one another«,79 despite the fact that we do not know the true unit of measurement for them. With this provision in mind, Crusius offers his examples. The first is of a person who wakes up in the morning and considers that it would be much better to get up and do their chores than to continue sleeping. If we posit that the strength of this person’s desire to do their chores is 100, the strength of freedom is 20,80 but the desire to remain sleeping is 200, then this person »will be passionately determined to remain sleeping«81 despite the fact that they would regret this given they think it better to get up and do their chores. The reason for their being determined is that the strength of the desire to remain sleeping (200) far outweighs the combination of the desire to do one’s chores and the power of freedom (120). In a variation of this example, if we assume that the desire to remain sleeping is 80, the desire to do one’s chores is 100, and the capacity of freedom is still 20, then this person »can also freely decide to remain sleeping«.82

|| 75 »[W]enn man bey der Entschliessung zum Gegentheile einen Wiederstand überwinden müste« (ibid., § 51). 76 Ibid., § 52. 77 »Sie ist es nur alsdenn, wenn dadurch dem Endzwecke der Freyheit wiederstritten wird, nemlich wenn man sich ausser Stande befindet, das gute oder das bessere erwehlen zu können« (ibid., § 52). 78 »Ich weiß zwar, daß die Thätigkeiten der Seele sich nach Zahlen nicht ausrechnen lassen« (ibid., § 55). 79 »[S]ie doch eben dergleichen Verhältniß wie die Zahlen unter einander haben müssen« (ibid.). 80 Crusius is extremely unclear how freedom itself can have a strength and thus contribute to decision making in such a way that assigning it a quantitative value, like 20, makes sense. I discuss this idea again below, but it should be noted that I have not attempted to make sense of how exactly this works. 81 »[S]o wird er leidend determiniret werden, lieber liegen zu bleiben« (ibid.). 82 »[S]o wird er sich auch frey entschliessen können liegen zu bleiben« (ibid.).

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In this case, both options are open to the person, since the combination of the capacity of freedom and the desire to remain sleeping (100) is equal to the opposing desire to do one’s chores (100) and thus we are not passionately determined in one direction. There are a number of important points to note about the above examples. First, it is unclear just how far the strength of a desire needs to outweigh another in order for it to ›win‹ the battle of forces taking place. Although Crusius suggests in one of the above examples that action is possible as soon as the strength of freedom plus another desire is equal to an opposing desire, he gives no indication as to what the threshold might be. Second, the main point Crusius wishes to make with them is that the strength of our desires can determine us to act in certain ways: If therefore the opposition, which it [freedom] must overcome with the election of the opposite, amounts to more than the capacity of its [freedom’s] activity, and it has no assisting causes, whereby its capacity would be strengthened in this case, or it does not avail itself of any; then it cannot make the opposite actual.83

In other words, freedom is what Crusius calls a »finite power [endliche Kraft]«,84 meaning we are not in complete control of all of our actions. On the contrary, the strength of our passions can determine us to certain actions, and in his examples Crusius assigns freedom the strength of 20, which appears to be no accident. Freedom itself, as a ›finite‹ power, does not make us capable of choosing any option whatsoever, and therefore must have a relatively low strength. The strength of 20 seems somewhat arbitrary, but Crusius’ point is simply that freedom is an »all too weak power [die sonst allzuschwache Kraft]«85 on its own, and is therefore limited in the sense that it is incapable of overcoming desires when they have a sufficient strength. If freedom were an infinite power, we would always be in a position to either do or not do a given action, or to do one action rather than another. Only God possess such an infinite power, which means only He is capable of willing all possible actions.86 Crusius is clear, however, that even though finite spirits like human beings possess freedom as a finite power, they can still be called free: »because the essence of the power of freedom still befits it [a rational spirit], even if not all of its

|| 83 »Wenn also der Widerstand, welchen sie bye Erwehlung des Gegentheils überwinden muß, mehr beträget, als das Vermögen ihrer Thätigkeit, und sie hat keine beyhelffenden Ursachen § 51, dadurch ihr Vermögen in diesem Falle verstärkt würde, oder sie bedienet sich derselbigen nicht; so kan sie auch das Gegentheil nicht wircklich machen« (ibid., § 53). 84 Ibid. 85 Ibid., § 51. 86 See ibid., § 6.

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acts are free or not completely free, because one is not allowed to extend the ability of freedom further than its essence and the limits of its power allows«.87 A second point illustrated by the above examples is that the essence of the human will cannot be described as »a power to will the good«.88 Although we may think it better to do our chores, depending on the strength of our desires we might be passionately determined to continue lying in bed. As such, Crusius does not hold an intellectualist conception of motivation like Wolff, according to which we necessarily will in accordance with our representation of the good.89 This is further illustrated if we return to Crusius’ three kinds of goodness discussed in the previous section. We saw there that goodness consists in the relationship between an object and the will of a being, whether a human being or God. Although it is true that a thing is physically good »because we will it«, moral good is not something we necessarily will, »rather we ought to will it«.90 Thus Crusius denies that we only ever will what is physically good. We can also will what we hold to be morally good. We do not necessarily will what we take to be morally good, rather we ought to will it. If the will is not to be understood as a power to will the good, Crusius leaves room for genuine weakness of will, where we recognize what is morally good but will something else instead, perhaps even what is morally evil. This of course can happen in two ways. First, we can will what is evil against our own will. In such a case, we have, for example, the intention to not do something (e. g. what is morally evil), but the drives or desires urging us to do that same thing are so strong that they cannot be overcome by freedom.91 Alternatively, we might will what is evil by freely choosing to do what the understanding represents as evil. Crusius claims that we are capable of freely deciding to do what we represent as evil by imagining that the good or better alternative is more difficult, thereby pairing freedom with our natural aversion to things that are difficult, and allowing us to choose the more evil, i. e. less difficult option.92 Indeed, an important aspect of freedom that is implied by Crusius’ examples above is that freedom can have »assisting causes [beyhelffenden Ursachen]«,93 i. e. our ›all too weak‹ power of freedom can be

|| 87 »[W]eil ihm das Wesen der Kraft der Freyhet zukömmt, obgleich nicht alle seine Thaten frey oder nicht völlig frey sind, weil man das Vermögen der Freyheit nicht weiter ausdehnen darf, als ihr Wesen und die Schranken ihrer Kraft zulassen« (ibid., § 53). 88 »[E]ine Kraft sey allezeit das Gute zu wollen« (ibid., § 27). 89 See Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen (see note 33), §§ 520ff. 90 »Denn das physicalische Gute heißt allererst deswegen gut, weil wir es wollen. Das moralische Gute aber wollen wir auch nicht nothwendig, sondern wir sollen es nur wollen« (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 7], § 27. 91 Ibid., § 54. 92 Ibid., § 55. 93 Ibid., § 53.

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tied to other, stronger desires so that we may overcome the strength of distinct, opposing desires. For example, we can undertake to do things we have an aversion to, such as eat something we know to be sour. In order to assist ourselves, we can think of reasons to do what we wish to do, e. g. that it would be healthy to eat the sour object, and avail ourselves of other desires, e. g. the desire to be healthy, that help us bring the freely willed object about. In this way we need to make use of »reflection [Nachsinnen]« and »intelligence [Klugheit]«94 to find reasons for doing such things. Freely choosing to do the less good or even evil option is thereby possible in that we are capable of using reflection and intelligence to link our freedom with desires that are capable of overcoming the desires that speak in favour of the morally better option. If it is possible for us to freely choose evil as well as the good, we must be capable of moving between the two states. Crusius illustrates this with his distinction between three types of freedom. First, there is a freedom only for the good, whereby one can only choose among the possible good actions.95 Second, there is a freedom only for the morally evil, whereby one can only choose among possible evil actions, which is also called »slavery of the free will [die Sclaverey des freyen Willens]«.96 Third, there is a freedom for the morally good and evil, whereby one can determine oneself to good as well as evil actions, because they are both possible. Crusius claims that a finite spirit must be placed in the position of the third scenario at least once, if it is to be capable of a true moral virtue.97 The second option, i. e. slavery of the will, is a despicable corruption of a free spirit.98 But the first scenario, i. e. a freedom to only choose the good, is the final end of a finite spirit and is therefore the reason why freedom has been given to it, and to which it ought to strive through the correct use of freedom.99 Again, freedom is not necessarily a power to act according to the understanding’s representation of the good. Rather, wherever there really are one or many morally good options among the actions we represent to ourselves as possible, freedom should be the power of being able to choose only among those morally better options. Although Crusius does not specify when this would take place, presumably it would be when our desires that speak in favour of the morally good options are all stronger than the desires that oppose them. Similarly, ›slavery of the will‹ or the freedom to only do the morally evil would consist in our desires for morally evil actions to be so strong that we only have the freedom to choose among them.

|| 94 Ibid., § 51. 95 Ibid., § 54. 96 Ibid. 97 Ibid. 98 Ibid. 99 See ibid., § 46.

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2.3 Moral Progress The above picture raises the question of how Crusius conceives of moral progress and degradation, i. e. movement from one kind of freedom to another. This is a topic, however, on which Crusius intentionally remains silent. In the preface, for example, he says that his ethics contains no separate »science [Wissenschaft]« of »the means of virtue [die Mittel der Tugend]« because »[t]he ethical virtues are at all times also the means to virtue itself«.100 A separate science of the means to virtue would therefore be »a superfluous repetition«101 that ought to be avoided. At the same time, Crusius gives some indication as to how moral progress might proceed. Moral progress happens in two ways. First, if the ethical virtues are the means to virtue itself, then perhaps Crusius believes that moral progress takes place via habit. This would fit well with the importance he ascribes to the strength of desires in his account of choice, and how free choice can be limited and even denied if certain desires become too strong. In order to improve morally, what we would want to do is strengthen the desires for the morally good, and weaken those for the morally bad. An obvious way in which the strengthening of desires takes place is by continually acting on and satisfying them. A second way in which moral progress might take place is via »reflection« and »intelligence«, whereby we link additional desires to the things that we freely will.102 For example, towards the end of the chapter of freedom, Crusius suggests that it is by linking other drives to our »drive for perfection [Vollkommenheitstrieb]«103 that we are capable of overcoming drives that oppose what is morally good. Doing so would indeed improve our moral condition, but reflection, intelligence, and above all the understanding are required for this: If I now suppose, that the intention to do the thing will nevertheless proceed, there necessarily arises from this an endeavor, whereby we drive the understanding to search for reasons that excuse our present intention, and can defend it as just as good, or even better, or as not much worse. We therefore direct our understanding towards that which we regard as in service of our inclinations.104

|| 100 »Die Ethischen Tugenden sind allerseits auch selbst Mittel zur Tugend« (ibid., Preface). 101 »[E]ine überflüßige Wiederholung« (ibid.). 102 See ibid., § 51. 103 Ibid., § 56. 104 »Wenn ich nun setze, daß der Vorsatz die Sache zu thun, dennoch fortgesetzt wird, so entsteht daraus nothwendig eine Bemühung, wodurch wir den Verstand antreiben, auf Gründe herum zu sinnen, wodurch sich unser jetziger Vorsatz entschuldigen, und als eben so gut, oder gar besser, oder doch als nicht viel schlechter vertheidigen lasse. Wir richten dahero unsern Verstand auf dasjenige, was uns zum Behuf unserer Neigungen einfällt« (ibid.).

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This can, of course, work both ways; we can also direct the understanding to justify our intention to do what is morally bad. The point, however, is that the mere intention to do good (or evil) is not sufficient, and that the understanding is required for moral improvement (and degradation). What is essential is that we have the will to improve, or that our ›drive for perfection‹ is at least strong enough to encourage the understanding to think of ways to help strengthen it. The position we want to avoid is the one where we can only choose among morally evil options. Again, this presumably takes place if we allow the drives to evil action to become so strong that they cannot be overcome. It may also arise if the drive for perfection becomes too weak. If this is correct, then so long as our drive for perfection is relatively strong, there is hope for our own moral progress. Moral progress thus seems possible if we sufficiently strengthen our morally good desires via habit, and if we utilize our understanding to help strengthen them by searching for »assisting causes« in other desires. This will prevent us from reaching the condition Crusius calls »slavery of the will«, where we risk being beyond the hope of saving.

3 Conclusion May aim in this paper has been to give an account of the way in which Crusius conceives of freedom, as he presents it in the third chapter of his ›science of the will‹. After summarizing some key concepts of this science of the will more generally, I illustrated that freedom, for Crusius, is a foundational power of the will that makes us capable of self-determination in the sense of acting as an uncaused cause. Furthermore, and contrary to what is suggested in the literature on the topic, I illustrated that Crusius’ understanding of freedom is not best described as merely the capacity to choose otherwise. On a basic level, freedom consists in both the freedom of contradiction and the freedom of contrariety. I also showed that his conception of freedom is not to be described as liberty of indifference. Rather, indifference or ›complete freedom‹ is only a very unique situation that the human will might find itself in. More often than not, the human will is in the situation of having ›incomplete freedom‹, where our choices must overcome the opposing strength of conflicting desires. Freedom is also a ›finite power‹ in the sense that we are often determined to act because of the strength of our desires. I concluded with a brief discussion of how moral progress might work, on Crusius’ account. Many further questions could be raised concerning the topics discussed in this paper. It is my hope that the reconstruction of Crusius’ conception of freedom of the will that I have offered will inspire further research on a number of these questions. Above all, with the above in hand I hope that Crusius’ conception of freedom can more meaningfully be compared to Wolff and Kant, and that his position between these two figures can be better appreciated as a result.

Gideon Stiening

The »human weakness« of Wolff’s Secret Recommendation Crusius’ Philosophical-Theological Critique of the principium rationis sufficientis The treatise concerning sufficient reason, from Mr. Magister Crusius, which the young Krause translated into German, seems to me to have no other sufficient reason than that the author likes to quarrel and wants to become famous.1

1 Introduction ‒ Genesis and validity of the Principle of Sufficient Reason In his 1755 Metaphysics, the Halle philosopher Georg Friedrich Meier declared in § 32: Therefore, we naturally encounter the principle of reason which exists in this truth: Everything that is possible has a reason; or where there is something, there must also be something, why it is, why it is just like that and not different. This is the well-known and disputed principle on which the philosophers cannot yet agree. The adversaries of this truth do not entirely deny it. They would be crazy to say that nothing has a reason. […] Just one argues about the generality of this truth. One does not want to admit that nothing is without reason, and one claims that something can be possible even though there is no reason. We claim this truth in general. We do not exclude anything and say: everything has its reason. Everything, God and the divine things, finite things, all changes, all free actions, the necessary truths, the essence of things, everything that is possible, may it be real or not, everything without exception has a reason. We do not say that everything has its cause, because we distinguish causes from reasons. We also do not say that everything has its origin outside of itself, and we do not just claim that everything has a cognitive reason. Rather we say: everything that is possible, be it what it may, and be it constituted how it may, if it is only possible, it has a reason why it is. Now this reason may be merely possible or at the same time actual, and it may or may not be external to the

|| 1 Letter from Johann Wilhelm Gohrs to Johann Christoph Gottsched, from December 14, 1744. In: Johann Christoph Gottsched: Briefwechsel unter Einschluß des Briefwechsels von Luise Adelgunde Victorie Gottsched. Ed. by Detelf Döring, Franziska Menzel, Rüdiger Otto and Michael Schlott. Berlin 2007ff., here vol. 10 [March 1744–September 1745. Berlin 2016], pp. 299–310, here p. 301. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-009

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matter. This is how one must understand this principle if one wants to understand it in its full extent.2

At this point and in the following paragraphs, which are among the most comprehensive and sophisticated contemporary discussions of this crucial principle of rationalism, Meier’s point is clear:3 Despite all criticism and the inclusion of important and striking distinctions, such as between real and cognitive reasons,4 inner and outer reason, cause and reason or the possibility of freedom (of God and human beings) against the background of a continuous rational interconnection of all beings,5 this principle must have unlimited validity in order to avoid a recourse to nothingness and thereby establishing the impossibility of explanation at all (here Meier follows Descartes, Spinoza, and Wolff more than Leibniz6). Either everything has its reason or nothing does. For Wolff as well as for Meier and, although for other reasons, even for Leibniz there are no middle and no compromise solutions, according to which some things have a reason, but others not. This is so because the pricipium rationis sufficientis »tolerates no exception, since this would weaken its strength«.7 It is axiomatic for Leibniz that everything must have a reason. However, it does not follow from this that all these reasons are comprehensible to humans. It does imply, however, that Leibniz distinguished between real and cognitive reasons, a fact that has rarely been considered in contemporary debate or its historiographic reconstructions.8 || 2 Georg Friedrich Meier: Metaphysik. 4 vols. Halle 1765, vol. 3, p. 55 (§ 32). 3 See Jürgen Mittelstrass: Neuzeit und Aufklärung. Studien zur Entstehung der neuzeitlichen Wissenschaft und Philosophie. Berlin, New York 1970, pp. 453–477 as well as Gertrud Kahl-Furthmann: Der Satz vom zureichenden Grund von Leibniz bis Kant. In: Zeitschrift für philosophische Forschung 30 (1976), pp. 107–122. 4 For the historical significance of this distinction inaugurated by Crusius, see Ernst Cassirer: Das Erkenntnisproblem in der Philosophie und Wissenschaft der neueren Zeit. Berlin 31922 [ND Darmstadt 1991], vol. 2, pp. 550ff.; for the importance for Kant, see Christian Kanzian: Kant und Crusius 1763. In: Kant-Studien 84 (1993), pp. 399–407, esp. pp. 401f. 5 The thesis that through the principle of sufficient reason Wolff made God’s freedom impossible became one of the central arguments of the Pietists, which led to Wolff's expulsion from Halle 1726; see Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann: Metaphysik als Provokation. Christian Wolffs Philosophie in der Ideenpolitik der Frühaufklärung. In: Christian Wolff und die europäische Aufklärung. Ed. By Jürgen Stolzenberg and Oliver-Pierre Rudolf. 5 parts. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 2007, part 5, pp. 303– 317. 6 See also Gideon Stiening: Substanz und Grund bei Spinoza. In: Societas rationis. Festschrift für Burkhard Tuschling zum 65. Geburtstag. Ed. by Dieter Hüning, Gideon Stiening and Ulrich Vogel. Berlin 2002, pp. 61–82. 7 Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Die Theodizee. Transl. and ed. by Arthur Buchenau. Hamburg 21968, p. 125 (§ 44). 8 See Michael Albrecht: Christan Wolff. In: Helmut Holzhey, Vilem Mudroch (eds.): Die Philosophie des 18. Jahrhunderts. 5: Heiliges Römisches Reich Deutscher Nation. Schweiz. Nord- und Osteuropa. Erster Halbband. Basel 2014, pp. 109–157, especially pp. 138f.

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From Meier’s energetic remarks, however, it becomes evident that there were considerable disputes about this fundamentum inconcussum (i. e. firm foundation) of rationalism, which arose not only from the question of its status as an axiom or a demonstrative truth, but also from the »generality of this truth«.9 Of course, it was above all Protestant Orthodoxy tending towards strict voluntarism that saw the free will of God unfailingly restricted by such rationalism.10 However, the question of the systematic or rational status of the principle was at the centre of philosophical controversy. The particular problematic situation within the rationalist paradigm that was realised in this controversy can be outlined as follows: Leibniz had clearly stated both in his Monadology and Theodicy that the principle of sufficient reason, in addition to the principle of non-contradiction, constitutes one of the fundamental truths of his philosophical system: Our knowledge of reason is based on two great principles: firstly, on that of contradiction [...] secondly, on that of sufficient reason, by virtue of which we assume that no fact can be true and existing, no statement can be correct, without a sufficient reason being available, why it is so and no different, although in most cases these reasons may not be known to us.11

In the Theodicy Leibniz formulates the same facts even more succinctly when he notes: In order to better understand this, we must distinguish between two basic principles of our use of rationality: firstly, the principle of contradiction, according to which one of two opposite claims must be true, the other false, and secondly, the principle of sufficient reason: that nothing ever happens without a cause or at least without a particular reason, i. e. without a certain reason a priori, why it would rather exist in this way than in any other way. This important principle applies to all events, and there is no contrary example: although we are usually not well aware of these sufficient grounds, we understand that there must always be such reasons.12

It is easy to see from both passages that Leibniz, as already mentioned, differentiates between the real and the cognitive reason and that the reasons which are always present, i. e. necessary, are never recognizable for humans. Leibniz has re|| 9 See, for example, Gideon Stiening: »Ein jedes Ding muß seinen Grund haben«? Eberhards Version des Satzes vom zureichenden Grunde im Kontext der zeitgenössischen Kontroverse um das principium rationis sufficientis. In: Hans-Joachim Kertscher, Ernst Stöckmann (eds.): Ein Antipode Kants? Johann August Eberhard im Spannungsfeld von spätaufklärerischer Philosophie und Theologie. Berlin, Boston 2012, pp. 7–42. 10 See, for example, Walter Sparn: Theologische Aufklärung. Kritik oder System? In: Albrecht Beutel, Martha Nooke (eds.): Religion und Aufklärung. Akten des Ersten Internationalen Kongresses zur Erforschung der Aufklärungstheologie. Tübingen 2016, pp. 21–42. 11 Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Monadologie. In: ders.: Hauptschriften zur Grundlegung der Philosophie. Ed. by Ernst Cassirer. 2 vols. Hamburg 31966, vol. 2, p. 443 (§§ 31/32). 12 Leibniz: Die Theodizee (see note 7), pp. 124f. (§ 44).

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peatedly defended this status of the principle of sufficient reason as an axiom against objections, inter alia against Samuel Clarke’s criticism, which demanded proof of validity. Leibniz rejected the latter as an irrational demand. By contrast, he emphasizes that this »great principle« is irrefutable both a priori and a posteriori: This principle is that of sufficient reason for the fact that a thing exists, that an event occurs, that a truth takes place. Is that a principle that would require proof? [...] I have often asked for proof against this enormous principle, for some undisputed case where it fails ‒ but one has never and will never do so. On the other hand, there is an infinity of cases where it applies; or rather, it applies to all known cases where it has been applied. From this one must draw the conclusion, reasonably and in accordance with the maxim of experimental philosophy, which a posteriori proceeds, that it also applies to unknown cases; or to those which will come to our knowledge through its application; ‒ even if it would not also be justified out of pure reason, i. e. a priori.13

Michael Wolff has shown in an important study that the principle of sufficient reason – although not derived or indirectly proven14 – is closely connected with Leibniz’ theory of analytical judgement, whose central theorem praedicatum inest subjecto has decisive consequences for both logic and ontology.15 The philosophical contemporaries of the 18th century, however, acknowledged that Leibniz did not provide any proof or deduction of the principium rationis sufficientis because he took it to be impossible and unnecessary. This is illustrated, for example, by the article Zureichender Grund in Zedlers Universal-Lexicon from 1750: Leibniz himself did not attempt to prove it [i. e. the principle of sufficient reason] but he was convinced that experience would have reaffirmed it without ceasing, and that no example, despite all his inquiries, would have been raised where there was no sufficient reason.16

The argumentation of the Theodicy, as quoted here, was omnipresent and well accepted. In his ontology of 1730 (21736) Christian Wolff had already pointed out critically, however, that Leibniz regarded the »principle of sufficient reason to be valid as an axiom«, even though Samuel Clarke had demanded proof: He [i. e. Leibniz] referred to an experience that was in any case obvious and denied that an example of the opposite could be given, while appropriately recalling that, even if there were ex-

|| 13 See, for example, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Streitschriften zwischen Leibniz und Clarke. In: Leibniz: Hauptschriften zur Grundlegung der Philosophie (see note 11), vol. 2, pp. 120–241, here pp. 212–214 (italics mine). 14 For a deductive experiment by Leibniz that was not published during his lifetime, see Wolfgang Röd: Die Philosophie der Neuzeit 2. Von Newton bis Rousseau. München 1984, pp. 87f. 15 Michael Wolff: Der Satz vom Grunde oder: Was ist philosophische Argumentation? In: Neue Hefte für Philosophie 26 (1986), pp. 89–114, see pp. 92ff. 16 Johann Heinrich Zedler (ed.): Großes vollständiges Universal-Lexicon aller Wissenschafften und Künste. 64 vols., 4 suppl.-vols. Halle 1732–1764, vol. 64 (1750), cols. 395–430, see cols. 397f.

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amples in which the sufficient reason was hidden, there was still no example in which it was not clear that there had to be a reason.17

The critical or affirmative reference to the fact that Leibniz did not prove the validity of the principle of sufficient reason was hardly missing in any of the contemporary publications on the subject. Among many other authors, the Leipzig philosopher and theologian Christian August Crusius emphasizes in 1744 »that he [i. e. Leibniz] did not even attempt to prove this principle«;18 and fifty years later, the Leibnizian and Kant-critic Johann August Eberhard draws attention to Leibniz’s lack of demonstration: »Leibniz [...] never gave proof of the principle of reason.«19 The question of the provability or proof-independent axiomatic nature of the principle of sufficient reason reveals some fundamental differences between Wolff and Leibniz,20 which point to general differences between various explanatory programs of the Enlightenment with regard to the rationalization of human thought and action as well as the world in general.21 Wolff disagrees with Leibniz that the principle of sufficient reason must and can be proven.22 He presents this view in the Ontologia and – although slightly different regarding the demonstration ‒ in the German Metaphysics on the basis of a derivation of the principle of sufficient reason from the principle of non-contradiction set as the original truth.23 Wolff's deduction by a petitio principii has been so frequently and so precisely reconstructed in secondary literature that a detailed consideration

|| 17 Christian Wolff: Erste Philosophie oder Ontologie. Nach der wissenschaftlichen Methode behandelt, in der die Prinzipien der gesamten menschlichen Erkenntnis enthalten sind. §§ 1–78. Translated and edited by Dirk Effertz. Lateinisch – Deutsch. Hamburg 2005, p. 175 (§ 75). 18 Christan August Crusius: Ausführliche Abhandlung von dem rechten Gebrauche und der Einschränkung des sogenannten Satzes vom zureichenden oder besser determinierenden Grunde. Aus dem Lateinischen des Hrn. M. Christian August Crusii […]. Übersetzt und mit Anmerkungen nebst einem Anhange begleitet von Christian Friedrich Krausen. Leipzig 1744, p. 36. 19 Johann August Eberhard: Kurzer Abriß der Metaphysik mit Rücksicht auf den gegenwärtigen Zustand der Philosophie. Halle 1794, p. 12; for Eberhard, see Kertscher, Stöckmann (eds.): Ein Antipode Kants? (see note 9). 20 For the complex relationship between Wolff and Leibniz, see Sonia Carboncini: Nuovi aspetti del rapporto tra Christian Wolff e Leibniz: il caso della ›Monadologie‹. In: Luigi Cataldi Madonna (ed.): Macht und Bescheidenheit der Vernunft. Beiträge zur Philosophie Christian Wolffs. Gedenkband für Hans Werner Arndt. Hildesheim 2005, pp. 11–45. 21 See, for example, Heiner F. Klemme: Causality. In: Knud Haakonssen (ed.): The Cambridge History of Eighteenth Century Philosophy. Cambridge 2006, pp. 368–388. 22 Wolff: Ontologie (see note 17), pp. 151f (§ 70). 23 See the excellent study by Vitali Ivanov: Principium omnium primum. Zur Frage nach der Stellung des Widerspruchsprinzips in der Ordnung der Explikation des Begriffs des Seienden in der Wissenschaft der Ontologie. In: Stolzenberg, Rudolph (eds.): Christian Wolff und die europäische Aufklärung (se note 5), part 2, pp. 273–289.

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of the argumentation is unnecessary at this point.24 It should be noticed however that Wolff conceived of this demonstration to be possible and in substance necessary, and that many of his disciples followed him, such as Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten, Georg Bernhard Bilfinger, Hermann Samuel Reimarus, Moses Mendelssohn and even Ernst Platner or Johann August Eberhard.25 Other Wolffians, however, such as his most famous propagator, Johann Christoph Gottsched, denied him allegiance on this point.26 For a proper assessment of this controversy within Wolffianism, one has to consider what Ernst Cassirer, who outlined the problems of Wolff’s proof on the basis of Crusius’ criticism, stated in this connection: If, in Wolff’s case, the principle of non-contradiction and the principle of sufficient reason as independent truths are at first opposed, then the tendency of his system is increasingly pressing for the annulment of this fundamental distinction. Only when it has been possible to derive the principle of factual truths from the highest constitutive principle of thought in general does the goal of rationalism seem attained. If the proposition of the ground is to assert itself as a necessary rational truth, then it must be shown that its annulment would include a contradiction.27

|| 24 See, for example, Cassirer: Erkenntnisproblem (see note 4), vol. 2, pp. 546f.; Röd: Philosophie der Neuzeit 2 (see note 14), pp. 242–245; Hans-Jürgen Engfer: Art. Principium rationis sufficientis. In: Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie. Ed. by Joachim Ritter and Karlfriedrich Gründer. Vol. 7: P‒Q. Basel 1989, cols. 1325–1336, especially cols. 1327f.; Lothar Kreimendahl: Christian Wolff. Einleitende Abhandlung über Philosophie im allgemeinen (1728). In: id.: Hauptwerke der Philosophie. Rationalismus und Empirismus. Stuttgart 1994, pp. 215–246; Hans-Jürgen Engfer: Rationalismus versus Empirismus? Kritik eines philosophischen Schemas. Paderborn 1996, pp. 281f.; most precise and complete Ludger Honnefelder: Scientia transcendens. Die formale Bestimmung der Seiendheit und Realität in der Metaphysik des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit. Hamburg 1990, pp. 328– 333, with details of the older literature; recently Dirk Effertz: Einleitung. In: Christian Wolff: Erste Philosophie oder Ontologie (see note 17), pp. XXIVf. 25 For the first authors, see Cassirer: Erkenntnisproblem (see note 4), p. 547 note 2 and Engfer: Principium (see note 24), cols. 1328; for Platner’s derivation of the principium rationis from the principle of non-contradiction, see Gideon Stiening: Platners Aufklärung. Das Theorem der angeborenen Ideen zwischen Anthropologie, Erkenntnistheorie und Metaphysik. In: Aufklärung 19 (2007), pp. 105–138. 26 See Johann Christoph Gottsched: Erste Gründe der gesammten Weltweisheit. Darinn alle philosophischen Wissenschaften in ihrer natürlichen Verknüpfung abgehandelt werden. Zum Gebrauch Academischer Lectionen. Leipzig 1733, vol. 1, pp. 112f. (§§ 213–216); for Gottsched as an independent Wolffian, see Eric Watkins: The Development of Physical Influx in Early EighteenthCentury Germany: Gottsched, Knutzen, and Crusius. In: The Review of Metaphysics XLIX.2 (1995), pp. 295–339, esp. pp. 300–307. For Gottsched’s and Wolff’s view on the relationship between principium rationis and principium contradictionis, see Gideon Stiening: »[D]arinn ich noch nicht völlig seiner Meynung habe beipflichten können.« Gottsched und Wolff. In: Eric Achermann (ed.): Johann Christoph Gottsched. Philosophie, Poetik, Wissenschaft. Berlin, Boston 2014, pp. 39–60. 27 Cassirer: Erkenntnisproblem (see note 4), pp. 546f.

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Wolff’s attempts to rationally ground the principium rationis sufficientis, described by Christian August Crusius as »human weakness«,28 are thus not the result of a hypertrophic fury of rationalization, but follow the systematic tendencies of a consistent, self-contained rationalism.29 This ›consistency‹, however, produces incoherency or even antinomies, which were already debated as subjective or objective problems by contemporaries.30

2 Crusius’ Critical Limitation of the principium rationis sufficientis Meier’s vigorous defense of the universal validity of the principle of sufficient reason indicates that not only subjective mistakes but also objective problems of an unlimited rationalism were already recognized and criticized by his contemporaries. The principium rationis sufficientis, both in its Leibnizian-axiomatic and in its Wolffian-demonstrative form, was subjected to vehement criticism early on with respect to the logical as well as the ontological status of its validity.31 In 1743, Christian August Crusius published his Dissertatio Philosophica De Usu Et Limitibus Principii Rationis Determinantis Vulgo Sufficientis (Philosophical Dissertation on the Use and Limitation of the Principle of Determining or Sufficient Ground), which was translated into German one year later under the title Ausführlichen Abhandlung von dem rechten Gebrauche und der Einschränkung des sogenannten Satzes vom zureichenden oder besser determinierenden Grunde. In the above context, this text played a prominent role,32 which was already known in the 1740s and beyond.33 The letter of the Königsberg administrative lawyer and Aletophile

|| 28 Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), p 55 (§ 14). 29 See Mittelstrass: Neuzeit und Aufklärung (see note 3), pp. 476f. 30 See also the reconstruction of the objections to the ontological status of the principle of noncontradiction and the derivation of the principle of sufficient reason by Joachim Georg Darjes in Temilo van Zantwijk: Der Kanon-Begriff der Logik und die empirische Psychologie in der nachkantischen Tradition. Erläuterungen zum intensiven Umfangsbegriff. In: Georg Eckardt, Mathias John, Temilo van Zantwijk, Paul Ziche (eds.): Anthropologie und empirische Psychologie um 1800. Köln, Weimar, Wien 2001, pp. 21–72, esp. pp. 46ff. 31 See, for example, Raffael Ciafardone: L’illuminismo tedesco. Metodo filosofico e premisse eticoteologiche (1690–1765). Velino 1978, pp. 117–132. 32 See Christian August Crusius: Dissertatio Philosophica De Usu Et Limitibus Principii Rationis Determinantis Vulgo Sufficientis Leipzig 1743, translation: Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), quoted in the following. 33 See, for example, the Art. Zureichenden Grundes (Satz des). In: Zedler (ed.): Universal-Lexicon (see note 16), cols. 395–430, esp. col. 420.

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Johann Wilhelm Gohr,34 quoted in the motto, makes more than clear Crusius’ popularity as a critic of Wolff.35 In fact, the most influential objections to Wolff’s argument for an unrestricted validity of the principium rationis sufficientis came from Crusius, the philosopher and theologian who was even one of the sharpest anti-Wolffians for Herder in the late 1760s.36 Crusius repeatedly advanced his fundamental criticism of the rationalist principle of nihil sine ratione. In addition to the treatise of 1743–44, which is especially devoted to the principium rationis, one should also consider Crusius’ remarks in his Metaphysics, the Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunftwahrheiten from 1745 and 1753.37 Of course, Crusius is not concerned with the complete rejection of a general principle of justification; rather, in 1743 and 1753 the Leipzig philosopher aims at a well-founded restriction of the scope of the principium rationis sufficientis. Crusius conceives of himself as the torchbearer of rational light already in his criticism of the naming of the principle, which should be referred to as the principle of determining rather than sufficient reason.38 To call it the principle of sufficient reason, »honest spirits are turned into tobacco smoke«,39 because they take for granted the demand for a sufficient reason for everything that is: For this reason it will be more conducive to clarity, if we prefer to call this principle the principle of determining reason. For to determine means to leave no more than a single possibility, as a thing is or could be in these circumstances.40

Crusius pursues his goal of proving a limited but within these limits effective validity of the principle of determining reason in three steps.41 The arguments refer to the problem of freedom, to the concept of God, and to the above-stated justificatory relation between the principle of non-contradiction and the principle of sufficient reason, the possibility of which Crusius denies and disaproves. || 34 For Gohr, see also Kai Zenker: Denkfreiheit. Libertas philosophandi in der deutschen Aufklärung. Hamburg 2012, p. 332. 35 On this position in the epistemic situation around 1750 cf. Sonia Carboncini: Christian August Crusius und die Leibniz-Wolffsche Philosophie. In: Albert Heinekamp (ed.): Beiträge zur Wirkungsund Rezeptionsgeschichte von Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. Stuttgart 1986, pp. 110–125. 36 In his famous Viertem kritischen Wäldchen, Herder speaks about Crusius as a »great antiWolfian«; see Johann Gottfried Herder: Viertes kritisches Wäldchen. In: Herder: Werke. 3 vols. Ed. by Wolfgang Pross. Darmstadt 1984–2002, vol. 2, p. 68. 37 Christian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunftwahrheiten, wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegengestellt werden. Leipzig 21753. 38 See Sonia Carboncini: Transzendentale Wahrheit und Traum. Christian Wolffs Antwort auf die Herausforderung durch den Cartesianischen Zweifel. Stuttgart Bad-Cannstatt 1991, pp. 200–207. 39 Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), pp. 7f. (§ 2). 40 Ibid., p. 9 (§ 3). 41 Ibid., pp. 14ff. (§ 4).

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2.1 Fatalism? The Principle of Sufficient Reason and Freedom First of all, Crusius is convinced that by accepting the unlimited validity of the principle of determining reason, freedom, and indeed the freedom of God and freedom of the human will and freedom of action, become impossible. This would destroy every morality and every religion. In spite of Wolff’s distinction between hypothetical and absolute, immediate, and indirect necessity, which Crusius underestimates as an argument against complete determinism and therefore rejects too quickly, Crusius considers the moral and theological consequences of an unrestricted principle of determining reason to be highly problematic: If I consider this [i. e. that the differentiation of the concept of necessity does not help], I find that those who have asserted that destiny, or fate, is introduced by the principle of determinative reason, as it were through the back door made no unfounded objection. Because fate consists in an invariable entanglement of all things.42

Leibniz’ theory of sufficient reason is expressly not excluded from this criticism of fatalism. Here Crusius is not primarily concerned with the impossibility of human freedom, which results from this strict determinism, but rather with the fact that this intellectualist determinism excludes the free will of God; Crusius demonstrates this in a reductio ad absurdum: In the world everything is determined, and indeed not by God’s will, but by the nature and essence of things themselves. God produced this σύγκλωσιν των πάντων but he was determined for the production of these things and no other things, in this and no other time period, and so on. This wisdom of God will therefore exist in no more than that he knows and understands the necessity to which he himself and all things are subject. And what will his freedom consist? In that he is determined to obey necessity.43

This pithy criticism, which accuses Leibniz and Wolff of deism, leads to an energetic examination of the rejection of »Sittlichkeit or morality« which arises from the negation of human free will, that is, the possibility of determining and distinguishing between »virtue« and »vice« and thus the difference between good and evil. It is noteworthy that before the theologizing of his criticism, Crusius argues largely empirically against the disastrous consequences for all normativity that follows from the unlimited validity of the principium rationis sufficientis. In the context of an initially moral-philosophical examination of the consequences of a strict determinism he refers to nature and the Holy Scriptures: Nature teaches us, and we are taught in greater detail by revealed religion that man has a free will, that there are laws, that there is guilt, imputation, virtues, vices, rewards and punish-

|| 42 Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), p. 24. 43 Ibid., pp. 27f. (§ 7).

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ments, but that God is just and kind, who hates and punishes wickedness, and who in fact punishes no one, punishment being for the purpose of that, for which one is truly guilty.44

That are all these concepts and forms of moral and legal normativity exist is determined by conscience, Scripture, and philosophy; that is to say, presupposed as existent, so that the consequences of speculative rationalism, which remove all normativity, can be rejected as inadequate and wrong. However, criticism does not take place on grounds of foundational theory, but rather on that of the consequences for practical reason, but above all on the grounds of faith. Crusius presents further consequences of determinism for each of the above concepts, such as the weakening of the availability of postmortem judgment and the associated »punishment and reward«.45 With this argument, which simply presupposes the truth and reality of moral, legal and religious normativity and judges the efficacy of a theoretical and justificatory program by its consequences on such normativity, Crusius is part of the mainstream of German Enlightenment, especially after the emergence of materialistic tendencies in philosophy and science.46 Thus Albrecht Haller’s rejection of materialism, which is an anthropological consequence of his natural research, is explained by the fear of consequences from a moral, religious and ultimately sociopolitical point of view: without God and the morality guaranteed by him, Haller as well as Herder, Wieland or Lessing fear Anarchy and Chaos.47 In this context, not only the ideological, but also the scientific-theoretical backwardness of the middle and late German Enlightenment becomes obvious. It is the contemporary of both thinkers, David Hume, whose philosophy was intensely received in German speaking countries from the 1750s onwards,48 and which ridiculed this form of argumentation: There is no method of reasoning more common, and yet none more blameable, than in philosophical debates, to endeavour the refutation of any hypothesis, by pretence of its dangerous

|| 44 Ibid., p. 28 (§ 8). 45 Ibid., p. 29 (§ 8). 46 See, for example, Gideon Stiening: Glück statt Freiheit – Sitten statt Gesetze. Wielands Auseinandersetzung mit Rousseaus politischer Theorie. In: Wieland-Studien 9 (2016), pp. 61–103. 47 See Thomas Kaufmann: Über Hallers Religion. Ein Versuch. In: Albrecht von Haller im Göttingen der Aufklärung. Ed. by Norbert Elsner and Nicolaas A. Rupke. Göttingen 2009, pp. 309–379. 48 See, for example, Günter Gawlick, Lothar Kreimendahl: Hume in der deutschen Aufklärung. Umrisse einer Rezeptionsgeschichte. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1987 and Annette Meyer: Von der Wahrheit zur Wahrscheinlichkeit. Die Wissenschaft vom Menschen in der schottischen und deutschen Aufklärung. Tübingen 2008.

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consequences to religion and morality. When any option leads into absurdities, it is certainly false, but it is not certain, that an opinion is false, because it is of dangerous consequences.49

Besides the scientific and political implications of this kind of argumentation, which, as Hume points out, only makes opponents stronger than they are, in the case of Crusius one can also analyze the reasons that led to his reference to »dangerous consequences«. For Crusius, these reasons are contained in the presumed theological foundations of his thinking.50

2.2 Deism or Atheism? God and the principium rationis sufficientis For it is above all the restriction of God’s omnipotence that challenges Crusius’ polemic, because of the context of complete determination created by rationalism, »no sin can displease God«.51 The second argument for the need to weaken the scope of the validity of the principium rationis sufficientis is based in this resolution of a theology of sins – even more than in the sublation of secular normativity. In the framework of determinism sketched by Crusius, God’s commands for virtuous action and the world ruler’s revealed intervention into the world would only have the following status: Therefore, such an order is just as little in accordance with reason as if one orders the stone he throws into the river with a high and serious face to sink to the ground, or, if, in the perception of the rain, one warns the falling rain drops, that they should be careful not to descend because they would have to fall down finely on the earth.52

In addition to the dissolution of all normativity into the descriptive laws of nature, it is above all the theological premises on which this polemic is based that promote Crusius’ actual interest in the confrontation with Wolff and Leibniz. This controversy culminates in the assertion that the righteousness of God is made impossible by the system of determining reason.53 For this reason, the subsequent proof of a petitio principii54 in Wolff's argumentation for the validity of the principium rationis

|| 49 David Hume: Enquiry concerning human understanding. Ed. by Peter Millican. Oxford 2008, p. 69. 50 Michael Albrecht: Christian August Crusius. In: Holzhey, Mudroch (eds.): Die Philosophie des 18. Jahrhunderts 5 (see note 8), pp. 206–212, esp. p. 210. 51 Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), p. 31 (§ 9). 52 Ibid., p. 32 (§ 9). 53 Ibid., pp. 32ff. (§ 9). 54 Ibid., p. 43 (§ 11).

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sufficientis is not exclusively interested in coherence, but can rather be seen as the instrument of the author’s ultimate theological intentions.55 This connection between the theological premises and the criticism of rationalism becomes even clearer in Crusius’ critical examination of that other great principle of rationalism, the principle of non-contradiction. In his Metaphysics56 it is said: However, it does not yet follow that everything is a possible thing, in which nothing selfcontradictory is accepted, but this would only follow if it were allowed to establish, that the principle of non-contradiction is not only a true principle of the features of possible things, but also the only one.57

But this is what Wolff, Baumgarten and Meier had claimed; in 1767 – i. e. after Crusius’ critique – Meier still explicitly states: »Just as everything is nothing, which is not in accordance with the principle of contradiction, so everything is possible and something, or a possible thing, which is in accordance with it.«58 For Crusius, on the other hand, it is clear that there are things that cannot be thought and yet do not contain any contradiction, because for the time being they are supra and not contra rationem. However, for the acceptance and demonstrative use of such unthinkable and yet consistent things, it is necessary to adopt a more perfect mind than ours. Under this assumption, which one no longer has to accept in philosophy in the 18th century,59 the following can be stated: Therefore, it follows that we cannot know whether or not a combination of terms which we cannot think, but which does not contain anything inconsistent, may represent a possible thing; which can be thought of by an understanding more perfect than we have; and furthermore, as long as we do not have any explicit information about it, that the same is a possible or real thing in the mind of a perfect spirit, we will be foolish and act contrary to human perfection, insofar as we nevertheless take it as such.60

First Crusius commits himself to restricting the validity of the assumption of a divine understanding, namely that man cannot and should not accept such a mind without clear information. Nevertheless, it is precisely this limited possibility of reference to || 55 For the fundamental function of theology or theological arguments in and for metaphysics, see Heinz Heimsoeth: Metaphysik und Kritik bei Christian August Crusius. Berlin 1926, pp. 15ff. and Martin Krieger: Geist, Welt und Gott bei Christian August Crusius. Würzburg 1993, pp. 72f. 56 See also Crusius’ Abhandlung (see note 18), pp. 55ff.; in the Entwurf, which does not pursue popular-philosophical intentions like the Abhandlung does, Crusius is more precise. 57 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 37) p. 24 (§ 13). 58 Meier: Metaphysik (see note 2), p. 38 (§ 23). 59 This even applies to the theory of natural law, which in itself is not possible without theonomic prerequisites. See Dieter Hüning: Das Naturrecht der Atheisten. Zur Debatte um die Begründung eines säkularen Naturrechts in der deutschen Aufklärungsphilosophie. In: Beutel, Nooke (eds.): Religion und Aufklärung (see note 10), pp. 409–424. 60 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 37), p. 25 (§ 14).

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an unthinkable and yet possible thing itself that is restricted; in a double negation, Crusius can now state the following: However, this reason does not apply in the following cases 1, if we want to establish a thing that was inconceivable to us as possible or actual, we would have to admit something contradictory. 2. if we receive confirmation from a perfect spirit who cannot deceive us, or who does not want to deceive us, that an inconceivable thing is possible or actual. 3. if we recognize a commitment to respect something inconceivable for possible or actual, so as not to violate the most important rules of human perfection, jeopardize our final purpose, or to violate a legal duty.61

It is evident that here we are dealing with theoretical and practical truths of the only true religion, such as the Trinity, the duties against God and the truth or certainty of the immortality of the soul. The principle of non-contradiction thus nevertheless becomes – and here Crusius follows Luther’s strict voluntarism62 – restricted in its validity by the truths of revelation.63 According to Crusius, it is therefore possible not only to do something that is inconceivable and yet does not contain any contradiction, but also to include what appears to be a manifest contradiction for the human mind, and yet – like the Trinity of God – is not only possible, but also real and certain. The same applies similarly to the principle of sufficient reason, the limitation of its validity being justified at this point primarily by the impossibility of a genius malignus (evil demon),64 generated exclusively from the premise of the existence of an ens perfectissmum.65 For the truths of the human understanding arise from the correlation of individual judgments with the three basic truths developed by Crusius, the principle of non-contradiction, the principle of the incombinable, and the principle of the inseparable.66 Human beings must presuppose the efficiency of this correlation for the truth of their judgement, otherwise God would have been a cheater in the creation of their understanding, which contradicts his concept of ens

|| 61 Ibid., pp. 25f. (§ 14) 62 See especially Martin Luther: De servo arbitrio. In: WA 18, pp. 600–787 and Kurt Flasch: Menschenwürde oder Allmachtstheologie. Erasmus gegen Luther. In: Flasch: Kampfplätze der Philosophie. Große Kontroversen von Augustinus bis Voltaire. Frankfurt a. M. 2008, pp. 243–273, esp. pp. 270f. 63 It is this theonomic foundation of the »erheblichen Begrenzung des Intellekts« that Panajotis Kondylis (Die Aufklärung im Rahmen des neuzeitlichen Rationalismus. München 1983, pp. 554–557) suppresses and thus interprets Crusius’ attitude as an epistemological and above all moral-practical one. 64 See also Carboncini: Transzendentale Wahrheit und Traum (see note 38), p. 206. 65 See, for example, Wolfgang Röd: Der Gott der reinen Vernunft. Ontologischer Gottesbeweis und rationalistische Vernunft. München 2009, pp. 58–79. 66 Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), pp. 74ff. (§ 27).

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perfectissimum.67 Nevertheless, there are also truths that fail in this truth process and yet still have to be considered true; at this point, Crusius has achieved the goal of his proof: Moreover, those things which indisputably present their truth and, at the same time, the limitation of our understanding, for the sake of evidence derived from the principle of contradiction, can adequately be called secrets of reason, of which we know that they are true, but from which the manner in which they are constituted, or the determining possibility; how they are connected or separated is unknown to us.68

The truths of metaphysical reason are therefore in a state of tension with respect to revelation and its truths; they are rather put in their place by the latter. However, the limits of reason indicated by Crusius here as the limits of the scope of validity of the principle of sufficient reason are already presupposed in the »secrets of reason«; also his theonomic metaphysics thus employs a petitio principii and is as such neither skeptical nor empirical, that is, not epistemologically justified at all,69 as compared to Hume or Kant, but rather of theological origin. Accordingly, one must assess its validity and the accomplishment of its criticism in accordance with the principium rationis sufficientis.70 What is certain is that his epistemological starting point from experience can only be described as critical of cognition to a limited extent, but rather bears on his theonomic metaphysics71

|| 67 Ibid., p. 79 (§ 29). 68 Ibid., p. 79 (§ 28). 69 But in connection with an uncritical concept of eclecticism, see Sonia Carboncini: Die thomasianisch-pietistische Tradition und ihre Fortsetzung durch Christian Thomasius. In: Werner Schneiders (ed.): Christian Thomasius 1655–1728. Hamburg 1989, pp. 287–304. 70 Crusian theology is not yet sufficiently explored to adequately consider its significance for philosophy and its limits in his thought. For preliminary attempts, see Giorgio Tonelli: Vorrede. In: Christian August Crusius. Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Ed. by Giogio Tonelli. Hildeheim 1969, vol. 1 [Anleitung vernünftig zu leben], pp. XLI–XLIII as well as Ulrich L. Lehner: Kants Vorsehungskonzept auf dem Hintergrund der deutschen Schulphilosophie und -theologie. Leiden, London 2007, pp. 91–108. 71 Cf. Crusius: Entwurf (see note 38), pp. 77ff. (§ 45ff.) as well as the reconstruction of Crusian epistemology, which however is oriented towards its function for Kant and therefore without any recourse to theonomic foundations by Stefan Heßbrüggen-Walter: Die Seele und ihre Vermögen. Kants Metaphysik des Mentalen in der ›Kritik der reinen Vernunft‹. Paderborn 2004, pp. 100ff. The abstraction from the theonomic categorizations of Crusius, however, leads to blurring in the interpretation; this is especially true of Carlos Spoerhase’s more ideological historical consideration of the Crusian concept of probability, which, due to the lack of consideration of the theological intentions of reason criticism as a whole by Crusius, already leads to the question why »kontradiktorische Gegenteile [sic] zwar rein formal nicht zugleich wahr, wohl aber zugleich wahrscheinlich sein können«, can only express his own limits of comprehension. See Carlos Spoehase: Die »mittelstrasse« zwischen Skeptizismus und Dogmatismus. Konzeptionen hermeneutischer Wahrscheinlichkeit um 1750 – am Beispiel der Methodenlehre von Christian August Crusius. In: id.,

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2.3 Deductivism? The Principle of Contradiction and the Principle of Sufficient Reason However, Crusius also achieves a truly critical demonstration, namely that of a petitio principii in Wolff’s proof of the validity of the principle of sufficient reason, and this according to all rules of the art of logic: For whoever denies the principle of sufficient reason does not have to assert that nothingness is the cause of existing things, but he says only so much that there is no cause for an existing thing.72

Nothingness can have no effects for Crusius, not even negative ones, but this assumption is presupposed by the proof. In fact, Wolff presupposed what he intended to prove.73 Even Georg Büchner will use this argument in his confrontation with Spinoza ‒ but without reference to Crusius.74 As already mentioned, this argument was ignored by the majority of Wolffians until Johann August Eberhard; it is nonetheless relevant and contributed to the erosion of Wolffianism in the late eighteenth century in many ways.75 In his Entwurf der notwendigen Vernunftwahrheiten, Crusius provides another argument for the impossibility of deducing the principle of sufficient reason from the principle of non-contradiction. After drawing a sharp line between the terms »reason« and »cause«, attributing a sufficient cause to all finite things, reasons however linking also other objects, and in other ways as well, it is said: Those who have not overlooked all signs of truth, and who have therefore meant that everything should be proved from the principle of non-contradiction, have endeavored to prove this principle as well [that is, the principle of sufficient reason] from the principle of noncontradiction. But it does not work because the cause and its effects are not at one point of time, but should follow each other first and foremost; whereas the principle of noncontradiction is an empty principle, and it says only that nothing can be conceived of to exist and not to exist in one sense and at the same time, with which it says nothing more than what is, that is, and what is not, that is not.76

|| Dirk Werle, Markus Wild (eds.): Unsicheres Wissen. Skeptizismus und Wahrscheinlichkeit 1550– 1850. Berlin, New York 2009, pp. 269–301). However, it is one of the »Mysteries of Reason«, which make the opposite of a true judgment not impossible for Crusius but probable. 72 Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), pp. 43. 73 See also Albrecht: Wolff (see note 8), pp. 138f., who speaks of a »blemish«. 74 See Gideon Stiening: »Der Spinozismus ist der Enthusiasmus der Mathematik«. Anmerkungen zu Georg Büchners Spinoza-Rezeption. In: Georg Büchner Jahrbuch 10 (2000–04), pp. 302–339. 75 See Albrecht: Crusius (see note 51), pp. 207f. 76 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 38), p. 51 (§ 31).

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Against the intentions of Leibniz and Wolff,77 here Crusius reduces the principle of non-contradiction to a logical law, while the principle of sufficient reason is given recognizably ontological status, a derivation of the last one from the former would thus be a μετάβασις εἰς ἄλλο γένος (assault to another area) and is therefore rejected. Summing up both arguments, Crusius states in the treatise that the attempt to derive the principle of sufficient reason from the principle of non-contradiction has failed: For the principle of non-contradiction is a completely identical principle, and where it can therefore be applied, it is necessary that there should be talk of just one thing in quite a single purpose and at one time. Therefore, not a single question that is raised by causes and effects, by reasons and what is founded in them cannot be decided on the basis of this very principle, as long as one does not seek help by taking a different and independent principle into account.78

This argument is undisputedly true when the principle of non-contradiction is understood as a purely logical law, as the early Kant states in his Nova Dilucidatio.79 However, this is by no means necessary, as not only Kant but especially Wolff’s variant in the German Metaphysics also showed. However, if one takes the principle of non-contradiction as an ontological rule, then – according to Wolff or even Leibniz – it does not exclude space and time, but rather underlies them as their constitutive rule. Crusius’ second argument against a proof of the principium rationis sufficientis is therefore based on a reductive interpretation of Wolff. This does not apply to an argument against a third justification of the validity of the theorem developed by Wolff in the Latin ontology and which Crusius readily denounces: Wolff had claimed on the basis of his theory of »experientiae indubitatae et axiomatae«, set forth in his Latin Logic,80 that the universal validity of the principle of sufficient reason can also be demonstrated by experience. In doing so,

|| 77 For Leibniz’ understanding of the principle of non-contradiction, see Michael Wolff: Der Begriff des Widerspruchs Eine Studie zur Dialektik Kants und Hegels. Königsstein/Ts. 1978. For Wolffs understanding of the principle of contradiction, see Honnefelder: Scientia transcendens (see note 24), pp. 327–333. 78 Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), p. 55. 79 Immanuel Kant: Principium primorum cognitionis metaphysicae nova dilucidatio. In: Ders.: Gesammelte Schriften. Ed. by the Preußische Akademie der Wissenschaften [u. a.]. Berlin 1900ff. (in the following: AA, vol., page), here vol. 1, pp. 390f. English translation is taken from Immanuel Kant, Theoretical Philosophy 1755‒1770, translated and ed. by David Walford in collaboration with Ralf Meerbote. Cambridge 1992. 80 Christian Wolff: Philosophia rationalis sive Logica, Methodo Scientiarum atque Vitae aptata. Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1728, p. 379 (§ 498): »In specie autem probatio Demonstratio dicitur, si in syllogismis, quos inter se contractenamus, non utamur praemissis, nisi definitionibus, experientiis indubitatis, axiomatis & propositionibus jam demonstratis: Ut adeo demonstrationes tandem nitantur definitionibus, experientiis indubitatis & axiomatis.«

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he called into question the foundations of his rationalism, i. e. the substantial difference between the truths of reason and facts. For this claim, Crusius rightly rejects Wolff and sends him back into the limits of his own rationalism: Much less, however, can the principle of sufficient reason be proved by example. For no general proposition is proved by example, but on the highest level one may accept it as a postulate, i. e. demand that others should admit his truth because of the great number of examples in which it is realized.81

Kant will still agree with this argument, which for Wolff illustrates the laws of consistent rationalism, in the Critique of Pure Reason.82

3 Crusius, a Religious Enthusiast? All in all, Crusius’ argumentation was not aimed at a complete negation of the principium rationis sufficientis, but rather at limiting its validity to finite things of the natural context. But God and freedom must be excluded from this scope.83 It is this philosophical-theological interest in the limits of the principium rationis sufficientis that makes Crusius a predecessor of the later Enlightenment criticism, which was to have its most important representative in Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi.84 Based on this critical argumentation, Crusius formulates the principle of sufficient reason as follows: Everything that is not a fundamental activity of freedom has a determining reason if it arises, that is, such a reason whereby when the reason is posited, it is impossible that it will not happen or happen differently.85

|| 81 Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), pp. 55f. 82 CPR, B 876: »Once one gives up the hope of achieving anything useful a priori, where does that leave empirical psychology, which has always asserted its place in metaphysics, and from which one has expected such great enlightenment in our own times? I answer: It comes in where the proper (empirical) doctrine of nature must be put, namely on the side of applied philosophy, for which pure philosophy contains the a priori principles, which must therefore e combined but never confused with the former. Empirical psychology must thus be entirely banned from metaphysics, and is already excluded by the idea of it.« 83 Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), p. 71 (§ 25). 84 See Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi: Über die Lehre des Spinoza in Briefen an Herrn Moses Mendelssohn. Auf der Grundlage der Ausgabe von Klaus Hammacher und Imgard-Maria Piske bearbeitet von Marion Lauschke. Darmstadt 2000, pp. 282f. See also the still very valuable interpretation of this special philosophical approach that focuses on emotions by Hermann Timm: Gott und die Freiheit. Studien zur Religionsphilosophie der Goethezeit. Frankfurt a. M. 1974, pp. 185–197. 85 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 38), pp. 154f. (§ 85).

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Freedom of the will and action is removed from the sphere of influence of the principium rationis sufficientis; free will and free action – human or divine – is for Crusius therefore without reason, arbitrary in the abstract sense. With respect to the principle’s scope of validity within the limits of those movements and entities not affected by freedom, however, Crusius endeavors to develop a system of reasons considerably different from Leibniz and Wolff, in which he succeeds with farreaching consequences.86 In particular, the distinction between real and cognitive reasons, which in fact had already been developed by Suárez, Spinoza, Leibniz or Wolff. However, it was innovative in the form of its systematic irresolute difference and it shaped further debates. Thus, one can read in Christoph Lichtenberg: The principle of sufficient reason, as a merely logical proposition, is a necessary rule of thought, and so far no one can argue about it, but whether it is an objective, real, metaphysical principle, is another question.87

Other distinctions, too, will have a significant impact on the debates on the principle of sufficient reason, such as the one concerning the theoretical or practical dimension of the principle. The latter however allows only of probability.88 Already Kant states, however, that by refuting all of Wolff’s evidence for the validity of the principium rationis sufficientis, Crusius had to come to the conclusion that this principle ‒ adequately restricted – is fully valid and could not be proved: It has been sufficiently noticed that the most penetrating philosophers of our age, among whom I mention the celebrated Crusius for special honour, have always complained that the demonstration of this principle, as we find it hawked around in all the books written on the subject, has lacked solidity. The great man so despaired of a cure for this malady that he seriously maintained that this proposition was altogether incapable of demonstration, even if it were admitted to be in the highest degree true.89

Under the reservation of limited validity, which Leibniz would not have accepted, Crusius, with this axiomatization of the principium rationis sufficientis, is visibly opposed to Wolff and keeps company with Leibniz. Thus, he assumes – at least with regard to the rational status of the principle of sufficient reason – by no means a third independent position, but rather remains within the framework of the Leibnizian paradigm.

|| 86 Ibid., pp. 58ff. (§§ 16ff.). 87 Georg Christoph Lichtenberg: Sudelbücher, Heft J, [757]. In: id.: Schriften und Briefe. Ed. by Wolfgang Promies. München 1968, vol. 1, p. 760. 88 See Crusius: Abhandlung (see note 18), pp. 85f. (§ 50): »One does not have to calm down on a truth of a proposition until one either clearly recognizes and sees the proof of it, or feels it to be a binding emanation of the perfection of God or of our being, and according to this knowledge must be done justly. See here the sentence of morally sufficient reason […].« 89 Kant: Nova dilucidatio (see note 79), p. 396.

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Against this background, the objection seems justified that Crusius, in view of the provability and scope of the principle, although successfully touched upon Wolff’s proof, but not Leibniz’ conception of the validity of the principle. In the Theodicy Leibniz had not only claimed that his system was compatible with a concept of freedom; on the contrary, only then did he develop an appropriate model for the relationship between freedom and necessity. He even proposes a criticism that anticipates a reply to Crusius’ objections to the principle of sufficient reason. In § 320 it says: This false idea of freedom, conceived by those who, not content with exempting it, I do not say from constraint, but from necessity itself, would also exempt it from certainty and determination, that is, from reason and perfection, nevertheless pleased some Schoolmen, people who often become entangled in their own subtleties, and take the straw of terms for the grain of things. They assume some chimerical notion, whence they think to derive some use, and which they endeavour to maintain by quibblings. Complete indifference is of this nature: to concede it to the will is to grant it a privilege of the kind that some Cartesians and some mystics find in the divine nature, of being able to do the impossible, to produce absurdities, to cause two contradictory propositions to be true simultaneously. To claim that a determination comes from a complete indifference absolutely indeterminate is to claim that it comes naturally from nothing. Let it be assumed that God does not give this determination: it has accordingly no fountainhead in the soul, nor in the body, nor in circumstances, since all is assumed to be indeterminate; and yet there it is, appearing and existing without preparation, nothing making ready for it, no angel, not even God himself, being able to see or to show how it exists. That would be not only the emergence of something from nothing, but its emergence thence of itself. This doctrine introduces something as preposterous as the theory already mentioned, of the deviation of atoms, whereby Epicurus asserted that one of these small bodies, going in a straight line, would turn aside all at once from its path, without any reason, simply because the will so commands. Take note moreover that he resorted to that only to justify this alleged freedom of complete indifference, a chimerical notion which appears to be of very ancient origin; and one may with good reason say: Chimaera Chimaeram parit.90

Not only is Leibniz in a position to save and clearly distinguish his principium rationis sufficientis from fatalism, he shows, moreover, that the determination of freedom as indefinite indifference attributes to nothingness the status which Crusius rightly criticized in Wolff’s proof of the validity of the principium rationis suffivientis. Thus, Crusius also makes something out of nothing that is only possible through a negation of the universal validity of the principle of non-contradiction. However, this unprecedented process is justified not before Hegel: From his speculative logic we are still worlds away from Crusius’ philosophical-theological concept.91 Leibniz rather points to another context, which found its way into philosophy in such concepts as those of Christian August Crusius: those forms of religious fanati|| 90 Leibniz: Theodicy (see note 7), pp. 341f. (§ 320). 91 See Stefan Schick: Contradictio est regula veri. Die Grundsätze des Denkens in der formalen, transzendentalen und spekulativen Logik. Hamburg 2010, pp. 298ff.

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cism or radical voluntarism, which empowered the divine authority to deny the basic laws of reason. However, this requires no reference to Boehme, even Luther and his docile student Crusius see God in his thought and action as spared from the principle of non-contradiction and thus also from the principle of sufficient reason.92 This counter-Enlightenment character of Crusian philo-theology may have been one of the reasons why the early Kant aimed at a refutation of the foundations of Crusian criticism, especially when he tried to provide a proof, although modified, of the validity of the principle of sufficient reason. The early Kant of the Nova dilucidatio is and remains a Wolffian. Only years later, in the Metaphysic L2 notes, did he convince himself of the opposite, which includes a clear revision of his own positions. There he states: »There has not been any philosopher yet who had proven the principle of sufficient reason.«93

|| 92 See Max Wundt: Die deutsche Schulphilosophie in Zeitalter der Aufklärung. Hildesheim 1992 [EA Tübingen 1945], pp. 254–264, esp. pp. 255ff. 93 AA XXVII, 2.1., p. 551.24f.

Steven Tester

Crusius on Liberty of Indifference and Determinism Freedom of the will was one of the central themes unifying Crusius’ considerations of metaphysics and ethics as well as his discussions of his philosophical predecessors and contemporaries throughout his career. His positive position on freedom, which seeks to find a place within his ontology for both libertarian freedom and physical determinism is also entwined with a critique of the view of freedom of the will proposed by Leibniz and especially by his contemporary Christian Wolff. Crusius’ surprising marriage of libertarian freedom and physical determinism was to some degree also later taken up by Kant in his attempt to reconcile noumenal libertarian freedom with phenomenal determinism. In this regard, Crusius’ thoughts on freedom have made an important if largely unacknowledged historical contribution to the discussion of freedom of the will. This paper provides a critical evaluation of Crusius’ discussion of freedom of the will. It consists of three sections. Section one (1) provides an overview of Wolff’s views on freedom of the will. Section (2) focuses on two strands of Crusius’ objection to the Wolffian account of freedom and determinism. The first strand of this objection (i) is Crusius’ rejection of Wolff’s use of the principle of sufficient reason in justifying his account of freedom. And the second (ii) is Crusius’ rejection of the Wolffian doctrine that all mental faculties including the will and the understanding are reducible to a single fundamental power of representation. Crusius attacks both supports for the Wolffian view of freedom. This section then discusses Crusius’ positive view. In place of the Wolffian view, Crusius offers an ontology that explains how free actions of the will can have sufficient grounds in the understanding without such grounds necessitating actions. As such, he offers a genuinely libertarian view of freedom that accepts so-called liberty of indifference or the idea that when all antecedent grounds for some action are given, an agent is free to act or not act, to do one thing or the contrary.1 This is opposed to the compatibilist view of freedom offered by Wolff, which maintains so-called liberty of spontaneity or the idea that an agent is free when he or she is not coerced and acts in accords with antecedent

|| 1 For further discussion of Crusius and liberty of indifference, see Reinhard Finster: Spontaneität, Freiheit und unbedingte Kausalität bei Leibniz, Crusius und Kant. In: Studia Leibnitiana 14.2 (1982), pp. 266–277. See also Michael Walschots’ essay in this volume. Walschots argues there that liberty of indifference is characterized by Crusius as »complete freedom« and that human beings rarely actually have such freedom. In contrast, humans generally have only »incomplete freedom«, in which free choices have to overcome conflicting desires. In my discussion, I focus on the metaphysics surrounding Crusius’ conception of freedom rather than the practical possibility of exercising this freedom in light of our conflicting desires. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-010

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grounds. Insofar as Crusius does offer a libertarian option, he differs from most compatibilists in the 17th and 18th centuries including Hobbes, Descartes, Leibniz, and Wolff. But he also differs from other libertarians such as Bramhall, whose view was motivated to a greater degree by Arminian religious commitments, insofar as Crusius thought that libertarian freedom and causal determinism can co-exist. Section three (3) offers a critical evaluation of Crusius’ view and its relationship to Kant’s views on freedom in the Critique of Pure Reason.

1 Wolff on Liberty and Spontaneity Christian Wolff’s account of the nature of human freedom is embedded within an ontology that borrows elements from Leibniz’s metaphysics but also offers a unique combination of rationalist and empiricist principles, which he develops in his Deutsche Metaphysik, or Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen, auch allen Dingen überhaupt (Rational Thoughts on God, the World and the Soul of Human Beings, Also All Things in General) (1720). The central principle governing Wolff’s ontology is the principle of sufficient reason (or ground), which he derives from the principle of contradiction and which serves as a central premise in his arguments for identity and indiscernibility, causation and the nature of grounds, the distinction between mental faculties, and ultimately his account of freedom of the will. He defines the principle of sufficient reason as follows: »Everything that exists must have its sufficient ground for why it exists, that is, there must always be something from which one can understand why it can become actual«.2 According to the Wolffian account of a ground: If a thing A contains in itself something from which one can understand why B is – B can be either something in A or outside A – one calls that which is to be found in A the ground of B. The ground is that by which one can understand why something is, and the cause is a thing that contains the ground of another in itself.3

The Wolffian account of this principle is similar to the Leibnizian account insofar as it makes no distinction between metaphysical and epistemological or explanatory grounds, between the ratio essendi and ratio cognoscendi of something. The metaphysical aspect of the principle claims that for anything B, there is some cause A,

|| 2 Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen, auch allen Dingen überhaupt. Halle 1751, § 30. This text is referred to as the Deutsche Metaphysik throughout this essay. All translations of Wolff’s Deutsche Metaphysik are from Eric Watkins (ed. and trans.): Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason: Background Source Materials. Cambridge 2009. Translations from other Wolff texts are my own. 3 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 29.

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which brings it about that B rather than some other thing exists. B can include both internal or external properties of some substance that are caused by A and can also include other substances. So, for example, A can cause in itself the property of thought to emerge, or through procreation it can be the cause of the origin of some other substance. The epistemological aspect of the principle states that for anything B, there is some reason A whereby one can understand or come to know why B rather than some other thing exists. This epistemological principle is widely accepted when this knowledge is restricted to a posteriori knowledge. Thus I can come to know why my coffee is hot rather than cold by coming to know that heat was applied to it. In this regard, my knowledge of B is grounded in a posteriori knowledge of A. However, Wolff’s principle is more radical insofar as it claims that we can have a priori knowledge of why B rather than some other thing exists when we have knowledge of A. When we have knowledge of a metaphysical ground, we can also have deductive knowledge of all things that will follow from this ground. Among the world of substances, essences are grounds and are that whereby we can have a priori knowledge of what follows from this essence. In this regard, Wolff offers a formalized account of the principle of sufficient reason that shares a great deal of similarities with Leibniz’s account insofar as the Leibnizian predicate-containment principle also maintains that the concept of a substance can be analyzed such that all facts about this substance can be known a priori. This of course can only occur for Leibniz through God’s infinite analysis. Wolff on the other hand does not appear to restrict such knowledge to God’s infinite analysis but simply concludes that a priori knowledge of the facts that follow from something’s essence can be gained if we have knowledge of the essence of the substance. There are of course limitations, however, insofar as we must have knowledge of all essences in order to derive these features since there will also be extrinsic grounds that contribute to a ground having the properties it does. In contrast with Leibniz, who had suggested that the principle of sufficient reason should be accepted since no counter-argument can be raised against it, Wolff attempts to provide robust arguments for the principle throughout his writings.4 In the Deutsche Metaphysik, there are three prominent arguments. The first of these argues as follows: (1) If A exists and B allows us to understand the existence of A, then A has a sufficient ground. If B were not present, there would be nothing to explain the existence of A. If this is the case, then A must arise out of nothing. Since it is impossible that something can arise out of nothing, A must have a sufficient ground for why it exists.5 There was no shortage of criticism of this argument among Wolff’s contemporaries such as Crusius and Buddeus. One problem is that the ar-

|| 4 See Roger Ariew (ed.): Leibniz and Clarke: Correspondence. Indianapolis 2000, letter 2. See also Gideon Stiening’s essay in this volume. 5 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 30.

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gument is fallacious and guilty of a paralogism because it trades on an ambiguity in the understanding of the term nothing. This is evident if one understands the second premise as claiming ›If B were not present, then it would not be the case that there is a ground that explains the existence of A‹ and the third premise as claiming that ›A must arise out of nothing‹. The fact that there is no explanatory ground present for the existence of A does not mean that A arises from nothing. The fourth premise, which claims that ›Since it is impossible that something can arise out of nothing, A must have sufficient ground for why it exists‹ trades on this ambiguity in the antecedent so the consequent does not follow from the antecedent. The antecedent can be understood as ›It is impossible that something arises out of nothing‹ or ›It is impossible that something can exist for which it is not the case that it has an explanatory ground‹. A second problem is that the ratio essendi and ratio cognoscendi are conflated. Contra Wolff, it might be argued that simply because a ground is not or cannot be known does not mean that such a ground does not exist. By placing too much emphasis on the epistemic point, Wolff overlooks that it is at least conceivable that there may be unknown ontological facts that ground the existence of some things. A second argument Wolff provides for the principle of sufficient reason is a reductio argument that relies on the identity of indiscernibles:6 (2) Assume that two things, A and B are identical. If there is no sufficient ground for why something exists, then A can undergo a change that does not occur in B when B is substituted for A. But if one assumes that A and B are identical and denies the principle of sufficient reason, then A and B are not identical. But A and B cannot be both identical and not identical. So the denial of the principle of sufficient reason in conjunction with the acceptance of the identity of indiscernibles leads to a contradiction. And we can only assume that Wolff thinks we should accept the principle of sufficient reason rather than reject the identity of indiscernibles. But one strategy to block this argument is simply to say that A and B are not identical in all respects if some change can occur in A that does not occur in B. Although they may be identical in all relevant respects at t1, they may differ at t2. Although it would be open to Wolff to argue here that their possibility of differing at t2 must have some sufficient ground that is either internal or external to them, this response would seem to beg the question. A third argument provided by Wolff suggests that the principle of sufficient reason is at the foundation of our ability to distinguish between reality and dreams and by extension presumably to ward off the skeptical worries raised by Descartes and others:7 (3) In reality we understand how and why things come to be. Thus, for example, we know why a friend has arrived at our house or why he intends to leave. But in dreams this is not the case since events occur without any reason. However, if

|| 6 Ibid., § 31. 7 Ibid., § 143.

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the principle of sufficient reason did not apply to reality, we could not distinguish between it and a dream. Although it might be conceded to Wolff that the coherence of reality requires that some things happen for a reason and that such reasons are discernible to us, there is no reason to think that all things must be this way if we are to avoid global skeptical doubts. We still do not completely understand quantum mechanics, but this is no reason to doubt that you are actually hungry when you feel hungry or doubt that you actually are in the place where you seem to be. Whatever the merits or demerits are of Wolff’s efforts to argue for this very strong version of the principle of sufficient reason, it has broad consequences for his ontology and particularly for his account of the nature of mind and human freedom. On the Wolffian account, the good is »what makes us and our state more perfect«.8 When we represent something as good we are inclined toward it, which in turn evokes in us a desire to pursue this good. The inclination toward something on the basis of representing it as good is what Wolff calls the will (»Wille«).9 In contrast, not willing something is the aversion to something that arises from representing this thing as evil.10 In this regard our aversion to something is not merely the absence of a will to pursue it on the basis of a representation of it as good but is an active representation of it as evil and as something to be avoided.11 Given this understanding of the will and his adherence to the principle of sufficient reason, Wolff argues that all acts of the will require some ground for motivation, either the representation of something as good or evil. This is to say that there must be psychological motives present that ground the will’s inclination toward some action. Insofar as Wolff takes the representation of the good to incline the will, he is very close to Aquinas’ view of the will as a rational appetite. However, on such accounts the will is distinguished from the intellect and it is argued that the will is inclined toward the good insofar as it is represented as good by the intellect.12 Or, for example, as in Descartes, it is argued that human error arises when the will exceeds the intellect and thus in certain circumstances in which the will is not necessitated by the representation of something as clearly and distinctly good, the will may be in

|| 8 Ibid., § 422. 9 Ibid., § 492. 10 Ibid., § 493. 11 Ibid., § 494. 12 I do not intend to argue here that Wolff’s view is based on Aquinas’ view, only that there are some structural similarities. A discussion of influence here would also need to consider other important figures such as Suarez or German Aristotelians of the 17th and 18th century. Important interpretations of Aquinas on the will include: Scott MacDonald: Aquinas’s Libertarian Account of Free Will. In: Revue Internationale de Philosophie 2 (1988), pp. 309–328; Robert Pasnau: Thomas Aquinas on Human Nature. Cambridge 2002, chap. 7; Eleanore Stump: Aquinas. London 2003, chap. 9; Alan Donagan: Human Ends and Human Actions: An Exploration in St. Thomas’s Treatment. Milwaukee 1985. See Thomas Aquinas: Basic Writings of Thomas Aquinas. 2 vols. New York 1945.

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conflict with the intellect.13 Wolff in contrast argues that the various faculties of the mind such as the understanding, the senses, memory, reflection, the will and so on are not ontologically distinct powers14 but can be reduced to a single efficacious power, the power of representation, which brings about these other activities of the mind as distinct effects.15 On the basis of this account of the power of representation as the ground of both the understanding and the will, Wolff argues that the will is necessitated by its constitution to pursue the good. All powers drive substances to change their inner states. So the soul, insofar as it has a power of representation, also always strives to alter its state by bringing about new representations.16 The transition from one representation to another is grounded in previous representations.17 Since the will arises from the representation of something as good, and because we take pleasure in the good, the soul is determined to strive to bring about this representation. And this striving to bring about something that is represented as good is the will.18 This is to say that the will is nothing other than the striving to bring about things represented as good. And in this regard, there is no room for the will to stand outside of what the intellect represents as good in order to pass sovereign judgment on whether some action the intellect represents as good is to be pursued or not. This account of the will and its grounding in the power of representation of course raises questions about whether one can be mistaken in what one represents as good, i. e. one might be subject to hedonism and so on. To answer such questions, Wolff argues that our wills are perfect and are not in conflict with one another insofar as they represent what is best in a sense that overcomes temporal representations of the good: »The most perfect will is one that has a complete representation of the best as its motive«.19 Sadly, however, human beings do not possess such a perfect will since they do not have a picture of their entire life course and its relation

|| 13 For Descartes on the will, see Meditations, Meditation IV and Principles of Philosophy §§ 33–44. In: René Descartes: The Philosophical Writings of Descartes. 2 vols. Translated by John Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff and Dugald Murdoch. Cambridge 1985; see also the Letters [to Mesland] from 2 May, 1644 and 9 Feb. 1645. In: René Descartes: The Philosophical Writings of Descartes. Vol. 3. Translated by John Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff, Dugald Murdoch and Anthony Kenny. Cambridge 1991. 14 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), 747. 15 Ibid., § 753. The German term Kraft is used by Wolff and Crusius, which can be translated as force or power. I follow Eric Watkins’ translation and use the term power throughout this essay. 16 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 876. 17 Ibid., § 877. 18 Ibid., §§ 878f. On our striving to bring about what we represent as good, see ibid., §§ 846–879; see also Christian Wolff: Psychologia rationalis. Frankfurt a. M. 1734, §§ 489, 495, 497, 515, 517, 519, 522, 529. 19 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 907.

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to others,20 and so it appears they are doomed to be mistaken sometimes in what they will. Given this picture of the will and its striving to bring about what is represented as good, it is, however, unclear where freedom of the will can reside for Wolff. It would appear that the will is psychologically necessitated by antecedent motives on the Wolffian account and thus that its actions are not free but necessitated. The will must after all pursue whatever is represented as good. He argues, however, against the idea that psychological motives necessitate. Wolff’s argument for freedom relies on the distinction between absolute and hypothetical necessity, which he explains in the following way in his Ontologia: That whose opposite is impossible or which involves a contradiction when considered absolutely in itself is called absolutely necessary. But that whose opposite has not been given except in hypothesis or is impossible under some condition or involves some contradiction, is hypothetically necessary.21

When we consider something absolutely, i. e. intrinsically (Res in se aut absolute spectari22), then we consider only what belongs to its essence. And if the opposite of the thing considered absolutely is impossible, i. e. if it is contradictory, then it is absolutely necessary. When we consider, for example, the essence of a triangle, we discover that it would be contradictory to posit that it is not a thing whose angles add up to 180 degrees. If, however, we consider something according to a condition or hypothetically (sub data autem conditione aut in hypothesi spectatur23), and discover that its opposite involves a contradiction only under this condition, then it is hypothetically necessary. For example, physical events are necessary given certain laws of nature. However, there is nothing contradictory in the idea that the world could have been governed by different physical laws and thus that certain events would not have been necessitated by these laws. Regarding whether antecedent motives necessitate actions, Wolff writes: Now although motives are present for why the action is favored, they still do not for that reason make it intrinsically necessary. For they leave the constitution of the object and the faculty of executing it in the one case as in the other, and cannot make a change in it. E. g. although I take into account that the book is useful to me and thereby I have the desire to buy it, this still does not change anything in the book or in the motions in the parts of the body that are re-

|| 20 Ibid., § 909. 21 Christian Wolff: Philosophia prima, sive Ontologia, methodo scientifica pertractata, qua omnis cognitionis humanae principia continentur. Frankfurt a. M. 1736: »Id, cujus in se sive absolute spectate oppositum impossibile est, seu contradictionem involvit, dicitur absolute necessarium; illud vero, cujus oppositum non nisi in hypothesi data, seu sub data quadam conditione impossibile, aut contradictionem involvit, hypothetice necessarium est« (§ 302). 22 Ibid., § 301. 23 Ibid.

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quired for the purchase or in the other circumstances that are required for it; rather, everything remains as it was before. Namely, it can happen and it can not happen. The one is just as possible as the other.24

This is to say that there arises no contradiction with respect to the essence of the will when we think that it could have pursued some action or another. Wolff clarifies this to some degree in the Psychologia empirica where he writes: Similarly, the motions of the body, which the mind wills, and whose command they follow, are thus to be compared, as the body is apprehended as having been arranged for those [actions] and the opposites equally. Thus, by the structure of the body it is equally possible that I should sit as it is that I stand or walk; that I should open my mouth or close it; that I should extend my arm or hold it motionless. Since accordingly all motions are equally possible with respect to their opposites, and to such a degree that they involve no contradiction in themselves as far as, of course, they are movements of only that body; therefore, they are contingent.25

The idea is that some motion or another is not contradictory to the essence of the body since the body is composed in such a way to allow for these motions. Flying would clearly be contradictory to the essence of a human body since it does not have wings and hollow bones, but walking in one direction rather than some other direction is not contradictory to its essence. Similarly, the will as a faculty is structured in such a way that may serve as the ground for a variety of actions. Since there is no contradiction in the essence of the will if it were to pursue some action over another, there is no absolute necessity that the will pursues some action rather than another. Therefore, it remains possible for the will to act otherwise and so it retains freedom.26 The actions of the will are instead only hypothetically necessary given certain antecedent motives. So, given that some action A is represented as good, the will is necessitated to bring it about. But when we consider these actions and the will according to their essence, there is nothing contradictory in the essence of a will that could choose one action over another. Therefore, the actions of the will are only hypothetically necessary and so contingent, or as Wolff sometimes says, the actions are certain but not necessary.27

|| 24 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 516. 25 Christian Wolff: Psychologia empirica. Frankfurt a. M. 1738: »Similiter motus corporis, quos anima vult, & qui ad nutum ejus in corpore consequuntur, ita comparati sunt, ut corpus ad eos atque oppositos iisdem aeque dispositum deprehendatur. Ita per structuram corporis aeque possibile est, ut jam sedeam, quam ut stem, vel ambulem; ut os aperiam, vel ut idem claudam; ut brachium extendam, vel ut immotum idem detineam. Quoniam itaque motus opposite aeque possibiles sunt, adeoque contradictonem nullam in se involvunt, quatenus scilicet istiusmodi corporis motus sunt (§ 85, Ontol.); ideo contingents sunt (§ 294, Ontol.)« (§ 935). 26 See also Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik, § 515. 27 On hypothetical necessity and freedom, see Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik, § 414 and Christian Wolff: Noethige Zugabe zu den Anmerckungen über Herrn D. Buddens Bedencken von der Wolffi-

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Having argued that the certainty of actions following from motives does not entail their absolute necessity, Wolff provides the following characterization of freedom: [F]reedom is nothing other than the faculty of the soul to decide, by means of its own power of choice, between two equally possible things whatever pleases it the most, such as a book that we see in a bookstore, either to buy or refrain from its purchase, or (which is the same thing) to determine itself toward whatever it is determined to neither by its nature nor by something external to it.28

Freedom for Wolff has three conditions. First, it requires that the actions of the will are neither internally nor externally coerced. And Wolff argues that the human will cannot be coerced since it cannot be made to represent something as good that it does not take to be good,29 although it is clear that the body may be forced to carry out some action. Second, it requires that actions are not necessitated in the sense that the obtaining of the opposite of the action would neither be contradictory nor would change anything in the essence of the object or the will: »[A] human being is not coerced to choose the better, because he could have chosen the worse instead, had he so desired, given that the one is just as intrinsically possible as the other«.30 Third, freedom requires that the actions that arise from the will occur by means of its own power. This is to say that the actions of the will must be grounded in the soul in order to be voluntary (»freywillig«).31 Thus all representations required for the will and its motivation must have their source in the soul: »[I]nsofar as the soul has within itself the ground of its actions, one attributes choice [»Willkühr«] to it and for that reason calls action and passion arbitrary [»willkührliches Thun und Lassen«] if its ground is to be found in the soul«.32 This is to say that freedom for Wolff is simply liberty of spontaneity. It is the liberty to do that which it is in one’s will to do without internal or external coercion. Regarding this spontaneity Wolff writes: »Spontaneity is the principle of intrinsically determining itself to act. And actions, it is said, are spontaneous insofar as they determine themselves to act by an intrinsic principle without an extrinsic principle of determination«.33 For Wolff one can choose one

|| schen Philosophie auf Veranlassung der Buddischen Antwort. Frankfurt a. M. 1724, § 41; see also Wolff: Ontologia (see note 21), §§ 317–319 for a discussion of absolute and hypothetical necessity. 28 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 519. 29 Ibid., § 522. 30 Ibid., § 521. 31 Ibid., § 518. In the Psychologia empirica, Wolff provides the following definition of liberty: »Animae libertas est facultas ex pluribus possibilibus sponte eligendi, quod ipsi placet, cum ad nullum eorum per essentiam determinata sit« (Wolff: Psychologia empirica [see note 25], § 941). 32 Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 518. 33 Wolff: Psychologia empirica (see note 25), § 933.

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action over another, insofar as actions are only hypothetically necessary given these antecedent conditions.34 Although it is often suggested that Wolff’s account of freedom is very similar to that of Leibniz, it differs in a very important respect. Leibniz develops his account of the contingency of human freedom by appealing to the notion of possible worlds whereas Wolff does not. According to Leibniz, there is nothing contradictory in the idea that God could have chosen a world in which different antecedent motives obtained and thus also different actions followed from these motives. This would simply have required choosing a different monad along with its complete concept and all other compossible individuals. Although there are questions about whether such a world would have been the best possible world and thus whether it was in fact morally possible for God to choose such a world, there would be nothing absolutely contradictory in God choosing such a world.35 One issue that this raises for the Leibnizian account is, however, that it is unclear whether the individual God chooses is identical with the individual whose possible actions are in question. Since individuals are defined by their complete concepts, it appears that the actual individual and its actions is not identical to the possible individual and its actions. And so it is unclear how God’s possible choice of another individual and another world is supposed to explain how alternative actions are possible for the individual in the actual world. Interestingly, because Wolff does not appeal to the notion of a possible world, his account is able to avoid this kind of objection. On Wolff’s account, we consider the essence of the individual in the actual world and assess whether certain actions would be contradictory to its essence. If there is nothing contradictory to the essence of some individual in positing that it could have acted in some way rather than another, then the actions of this individual are contingent and therefore free. Thus, Wolff’s account ensures that the individual whose possible alternative actions are under consideration is the same individual. And in this respect Wolff’s account of freedom of the will and his identification of freedom with liberty of spontaneity makes a contribution in its own right that is not merely a reformulation of the Leibnizian view. Wolff’s account enjoyed a great deal of popularity and won a number of adherents who adapted his position in various ways including Ludwig Philipp Thümmig, Georg Bernhard Bilfinger, Johann Christoph Gottsched, Friedrich Christian Bau-

|| 34 »Spontaneitas est principium sese ad agendum determinandi intrinsecum. Et actiones dicitur spontaneae, quatanus per principium sibi intrinsecum, sine principio determinandi extrinseco, agens easdem determinat« (ibid., § 933). Wolff argues against liberty of indifference in Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 2), § 511. 35 See Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Discourse on Metaphysics, § 13. In: id.: Philosophical Essays. Ed. by Roger Ariew and Daniel Garber. Indianapolis 1989.

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meister, and Johann Peter Reusch.36 This is not to say, however, that Wolff was without his detractors. Buddeus, Stähler, Creiling, Langhansen, Feuerlin and a host of others aimed their attack squarely at the principle of sufficient reason upon which Wolff’s account of freedom relies insofar as they took this principle to be tantamount to an acceptance of necessitarianism and thus as antithetical to freedom.37 However, the most fruitful and systematic attack came at the hands of Christian August Crusius, who offers an alternative account of freedom of the will and whose view eventually influenced Kant’s attempt to reconcile noumenal freedom with phenomenal determinism.38

2 Crusius on Liberty of Indifference As with many of his contemporaries, the central line of Crusius’ attack on the Wolffian view stems from his rejection of Wolff’s principle of sufficient reason. Crusius is critical of this principle as early as his Dissertatio philosophica de usu et limitibus principia rationis determinantis vulgo sufficientis (Dissertation on the Use and Limits of the Principle of Determining Reason, Commonly Called Sufficient Reason) (1743) where he offers a point by point attack on Wolff’s a priori and a posteriori arguments for the principle. Many of the criticisms also resurface in Entwurf der

|| 36 See for example: Ludwig Philipp Thümmig: Institutiones philosphiae Wolfianae. 2 vols. (1725/26). In: GWG III, 19.1–19.2., particularly the Institutiones psychologiae; Georg Bernhard Bilfinger: Dilucidationes philosophicae de Deo, anima humana, mundo, et generalibus rerum affectionibus (1725). In: GWG III, 18; Johann Christoph Gottsched: Erste Gründe der gesammten Weltweisheit (1762). In: GWG III, 20.1–20.2; Friedrich Christian Baumeister: Institutiones metaphysicae: Ontologiam, cosmologiam, psychologiam, theologiam denique naturalem complexae methodo Wolfii adornatae (1738). In: GWG III, 25; Johann Peter Reusch: Systema metaphysicum antiquiorum, atque recentiorum item propria dogmata et hypotheses exhibens. 2 vols. (1735). In: GWG III, 27. 37 See for example: Johann Conrad Creiling: Principia philosophiae autore G. G. Leibnitio. Tübingen 1722; Daniel Strähler: Prüfung der vernünftigen Gedancken des Herrn Hoff-Rath Wolffes von Gott, der Welt, und die Seele des Menschen. Erstes Stück. Jena 1723; Daniel Strähler: Prüfung der vernünftigen Gedancken des Herrn Hoff-Rath Wolffes von Gott, der Welt, und die Seele des Menschen. Zweytes Stück, worinnen die Lehre von dem Willen vornehmlich untersuchet wird. Leipzig 1723; Daniel Strähler: De sensu atque usu principii rationis sufficientis succincta commentatio. Halle 1727; Christoph Langhansen: Apologiam dissertationis de absoluta omnium qua existunt necessitate in Theodicea Leibnizii asserta. Königsberg 1725; Jacob Wilhelm Feuerlin: Observationes eclecticae ex controversiis: De metaphysica Leibnitio-Wolffiana, Specimen I–VII. Altdorf 1726; Jacob Wilhelm Feuerlin: De libertate mentis humanae et supremi numinis. Altdorf 1730; Johann Franz Buddeus: Bedencken über die Wolffianische Philosophie. Frankfurt a. M. 1724. 38 My reconstruction of Wolff and Crusius is indebted in part to Anton Seitz: Die Willensfreiheit in der Philosophie des Chr. Aug. Crusius gegenüber dem Leibniz-Wolff’schen Determinismus in historisch-psychologischer Begründung und systematischem Zusammenhang. Würzburg 1899.

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Nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten (Sketch of the Necessary Truths of Reason) (1745). Regarding the a priori arguments, Crusius rejects Wolff’s attempt to derive the principle of sufficient reason from the principle of non-contradiction. Whereas the principle of non-contradiction claims only that »nothing can be and also not be at the same time in the same sense«39 and so concerns only things existing simultaneously, the principle of sufficient reason makes claims about causes and effects and so concerns things that exist sequentially and not simultaneously.40 Although the exact structure of Crusius’ criticism is opaque, the central premise appears to be that we cannot derive principles that apply to the domain of temporal things from principles that are merely logical. In this regard, although he employs his critique to different ends, Crusius anticipates the Kantian insight that we cannot derive principles of experience from merely logical principles.41 In addition to the dubious attempt at deriving the principle of sufficient reason from the principle of noncontradiction, Crusius also criticizes arguments for the necessity of the principle on other a priori and a posteriori grounds. For example, since there is nothing contradictory in the idea of an effect that arises without a cause, the principle has no claim to necessity.42 And while it may be demonstrated that in certain circumstances some particular effect requires some particular cause, there is no ground for making such a claim universal43 since necessary principles cannot be demonstrated from examples. In his discussion of this principle, Crusius also distinguishes between determining grounds and merely sufficient grounds. And he argues that Wolff conflates them. A ground for Crusius is »anything through which something else is made either actual or possible […] (§ 34)«.44 Such a ground is determining when it is a ground »through which what is grounded in it is made actual or possible in such a way that it cannot be otherwise under these circumstances (§ 23)«.45 This is to say that determining grounds produce effects necessarily. These grounds are also effi-

|| 39 Christian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten. Leipzig 1766, § 31. 40 See ibid. See also Christian August Crusius: Dissertatio philosophica de usu et limitibus principii rationis determinantis vulgo sufficientis. Leipzig 1743, §§ 11–14, 20. I have consulted Eric Watkins (ed. and trans.): Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason: Background Source Materials. Cambridge 2009 for the translations of Crusius. However, all translations are my own. See also Gideon Stiening’s essay in this volume. 41 See Kant’s discussion of the principle of contradiction, Kant: CPR, A150 / B189ff. All references to Kant are to the Akademie Ausgabe: Immanuel Kant: Kants gesammelte Schriften. Ed. by Preussische Akademie der Wissenschaften und Deutsche Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin. Berlin 1900ff. – The Critique of Pure Reason is cited according to the standard A/B edition and page number, and other works are cited according to volume and page (e. g. AA X, p. X). 42 Crusius: De usu (see note 40), S. 14. 43 Ibid. 44 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 39), § 84. 45 Ibid.

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cacious causes insofar as they cause something to exist that did not previously exist.46 Such a cause is also a real ground (»principium essendi vel fiendi«) as opposed to an ideal ground (»principium cognoscendi«) since it is a ground that »brings about or makes possible, either in part or in whole, the thing itself, outside our thoughts« rather than a ground of cognition whereby we cognize something.47 Crusius accepts that »everything that arises presupposes a sufficient cause, that is, a cause in which nothing is lacking that is necessary for causality, and that it must receive its actuality through the power of the cause (§ 31)«.48 This is to say that Crusius denies that anything can arise ex nihilo just as Wolff does. All things must have a real causal ground that is sufficient to bring about their existence. However, as Crusius notes, not all grounds that are sufficient are also determining grounds. For example, some cause A may be sufficient for some effect B but also for effects C or D. Thus, a certain machine may be sufficient for producing a variety of motions but the machine does not necessitate only one motion. Although Crusius accepts the principle of sufficient grounds unrestrictedly, he argues that the principle of determining grounds can be accepted only with restriction: »Everything that is not a fundamental activity of freedom has, when it arises, a determining ground, that is, a ground according to which, after it is posited, what it posits cannot be or occur otherwise«.49 Crusius uses this distinction between sufficient and determining grounds to provide an account of free actions or activities. In contrast with activities that are necessitated by a determining ground and so cannot occur otherwise then they do, »fundamental activities of freedom« (»Grundthätigkeiten der Freyheit«), or »first actions of freedom« (»actiones primas liberas«), »can occur or fail to occur under one and the same circumstances«.50 Such activities do not have determining grounds but only sufficient grounds: »The fundamental activities of freedom need merely a sufficient cause. Now if the arising thing about whose ground one is inquiring is a fundamental activity of freedom, due to its definition (§§ 82, 83) one cannot ask for more than a merely sufficient cause of action«.51 Such fundamental activities also provide for the liberty of indifference required for genuine libertarian free will because when all antecedent grounds for some action are given an agent is free to act or not act, to do one thing or the contrary. And such fundamental activities of freedom could have occurred otherwise since their grounds are merely sufficient but not determining.

|| 46 Ibid., § 31. 47 Ibid., § 34. 48 Ibid., § 84. 49 Ibid. 50 Ibid., § 83. 51 Ibid., § 84.

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Crusius also notes, however, that whereas these fundamental activities of freedom are not necessitated, the effects of these activities are necessitated because these activities are themselves determining grounds for their effects. To elucidate this point, consider the activity of raising a hand. If this activity is a fundamental activity of freedom, then there is some sufficient ground for it, perhaps in antecedent psychological motives, and this activity can occur or fail to occur given these antecedent conditions. But the effect of this activity, which terminates in my raising my hand occurs necessarily on the basis of this fundamental activity of freedom. This is to say that the fundamental activity itself is free and has merely a sufficient cause, but the effect of this fundamental activity is hypothetically necessary given the occurrence of the fundamental activity of freedom. In this case, the activity has only a sufficient cause or ground, but the effect of this activity has both a sufficient and determining ground in the fundamental activity of freedom. In this regard fundamental activities of freedom are not necessitated but their effects are integrated into the deterministic causal fabric along with all other actions.52 Crusius also identifies some consequences of this account of fundamental activities of freedom for our knowledge of free actions. According to Wolff, all real grounds are also ideal grounds. This is to say that a ground is both a metaphysical cause and is also that whereby one can know a priori and with certainty why some effect occurred rather than another. Crusius also accepts the Wolffian doctrine regarding the derivation of consequences from ideal and real grounds but argues that fundamental activities of freedom are an exception: Everything that is not a fundamental activity of freedom has, when it arises, such a real ground that is at the same time able to deliver an ideal ground a priori, or equivalently, it has such a real ground from which it can be understood why it rather than something else exists.53

Fundamental activities of freedom have real causal grounds, but knowledge of such grounds does not yield a priori knowledge of the fundamental activity of freedom because such activities have only real and not ideal grounds. As such, fundamental activities of freedom cannot be known a priori with certainty from their sufficient grounds but only a posteriori or probabilistically.54 We cannot know, for example, whether someone will steal or not, we can only make an estimation of their likelihood to steal given their previous actions and a consideration of their motives. He is also skeptical of the Leibnizian-Wolffian arguments that aim to show that accepting the principle of determining grounds does not entail that all actions are

|| 52 On fundamental activities of freedom, and determining and sufficient grounds, see also Christian August Crusius: Kurzer Begriff der Moraltheologie. Erster Theil. Leipzig 1772, § 31. 53 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 39), § 87. 54 See also ibid., § 38 and Desmond Hogan: How to Know Unknowable Things in Themselves. In: Noûs 43.1 (2009), pp. 52–54.

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absolutely necessary. According to Leibniz whom, Wolff follows to some degree, human freedom is possible because the actions of individuals are merely hypothetically but not absolutely necessary. Something is absolutely necessary when its negation leads to a contradiction. But there is nothing contradictory in the notion that an individual could have acted otherwise than she or he in fact did. God could have chosen a world in which the individual in question acted otherwise than she or he did in some other world. In this regard, the action of the individual is necessary only under the condition that God has chosen to actualize this world with this individual and her actions. And since the actions of individuals are only hypothetically necessary, they are also contingent. Thus, Leibniz argues that the actions of individuals are not absolutely necessary but actually contingent.55 Crusius argues, however, that this account is undermined if one accepts the principle of determining ground as Leibniz does. If all things have a determining ground, then God himself must have a determining ground why he created this world and not another. And since his ground is determining, God was necessitated to choose the world that he did. He was not at liberty to choose otherwise.56 But if this is true, then God’s choice of the world was absolutely necessary and all things that are chosen along with this world are also absolutely necessary. So it turns out that the actions of individuals in this world are not merely hypothetically necessary as Leibniz argues but are in fact absolutely necessary.57 Crusius offers instead a libertarian account of God’s choice that parallels human liberty. It is unclear, however, how successful Crusius’ argument here is given that he overlooks the crucial point in Leibniz that God is only morally necessitated but not metaphysically necessitated to choose the best possible world. The upshot, however, is that Crusius’ fundamental activities of freedom are not hypothetically necessary in the sense that they depend on God’s choice of some particular world. They are actions that are absolutely free in the sense that they are neither hypothetically nor absolutely necessitated. The discussion of pneumatology in the Sketch of the Necessary Truths of Reason, which concerns the necessary essence of spirits and their distinguishing features insofar as these can be known a priori, also elaborates on the relationship between our mental faculties and the metaphysical conception of freedom developed

|| 55 See Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Discourse on Metaphysics, § 13. In: Philosophical Essays (see note 35). Wolff himself does not argue in this way in his account of how our actions are hypothetically necessary and so merely contingent and therefore free. 56 See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 39), § 388, pp. 776f. For Crusius’ extensive criticism of Leibniz and the doctrine of optimism, or God’s choice of the best possible world, see also ibid., §§ 385–389. 57 See the discussion of absolute and hypothetical necessity and fundamental activities of freedom in ibid., §§ 125–129, especially pp. 215ff.; see also Crusius: De usu (see note 40), §§ 5–7. Crusius argues that freedom is necessary for hypothetical necessity and for the use of hypothetical necessity to explain the conditions for moral responsibility (see Crusius: Entwurf [see note 39], § 126).

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through the doctrine of fundamental activities of freedom.58 In contrast with Wolff, who argues that the faculties of the intellect and the will are not ontologically distinct but reducible to a single spontaneous representative power of the soul, Crusius argues that for finite creatures the will (»Wille«) and the understanding (»Verstand«) are distinct irreducible faculties or powers (»Grundkräfte«) of the mind, both of which are involved in free actions.59 To secure this point, he provides some positive arguments for their irreducibility and also attacks the Wolffian alternative. For example, he first asks us to imagine that the will and the understanding have their source in a single power (»Grundkraft«). In this case, either the will would have to be a type of thought distinguished from other types, or the will would have to be the adequate effect of thought. But both of these are contradictory. The first horn of the dilemma is contrary to experience because we are conscious of the fact that not all instances of understanding are instances of willing and vice versa. We can after all think about death for example without willing it. And the second horn of the dilemma fails because it would posit more perfection in the effect than is found in the cause.60 So Crusius concludes that the will and understanding must be distinct.61 Not only does Crusius argue that there are positive reasons for accepting their distinctness, he also argues that the alternative Wolffian account fails for a variety of reasons. According to Crusius, there is simply no demonstration given of how the activity of the will can be derived from the power of thinking. And without such a proof, there is no reason to think that the will and understanding are reducible to a single representative power.62 This separation of mental faculties has important consequences for Crusius’ account of libertarian freedom. Given the structure of the mind and its faculties in Wolff, the will must pursue whatever the intellect represents as good and avoid whatever the intellect represents as evil. And because psychological motives are determining grounds of the mind’s subsequent activities, the drive for the good is necessitated. This is to say that if the Wolffian mind is faced with a choice between drinking beer and going to the gym, and it represents going to the gym as the good

|| 58 See ibid., § 424. The subsequent arguments are from ibid., § 446. 59 See also Steven Tester: Mental Powers and the Soul in Kant’s Transcendental Deduction and the Second Paralogism. In: Canadian Journal of Philosophy 46.3 (2016), pp. 426–452, as well as Andree Hahmann’s essay in this volume. 60 This doctrine about perfections and cause and effect is discussed in Crusius: Entwurf (see note 39), § 78. Crusius does not, however, recognize that the existence of emergent properties would undermine his claim that effects can have no more perfection than their causes. 61 See ibid., § 446. 62 Crusius offers a variety of arguments against the Wolffian position; see, for example, ibid., § 446; Christian August Crusius: Dissertatio philosophica de corruptelis intellectus a voluntate pendentibus. Lipsiae 1740, §§ 1–9; Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Leipzig 1767, §§ 6f.

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thing, then it will pursue it necessarily. And the liberty of this mind is liberty of spontaneity, which rests in willingly pursuing this good without hindrance. There is simply no room in the structure of the mind for anything like liberty of indifference on the Wolffian account. Crusius in contrast as we have seen not only argues for the possibility of fundamental activities of freedom but also develops a philosophy of mind and mental faculties that can accommodate this view of freedom. When the mind is faced with a choice between drinking beer and going to the gym, and it represents going to the gym as a good thing that ought to be pursued, it may nevertheless abandon these reasons and choose to pursue what it represents as evil.63 Although the representation of going to the gym as being good is a sufficient ground for a fundamental activity that would produce the effect of going to the gym, insofar as there is nothing missing that would contribute to the free action and its effect, the motive that comes with representing something as good is not a determining ground. By separating the faculties of the mind and arguing for their independence and sovereignty from one another, Crusius is able to distance himself from the Wolffian model and clear enough space for the will to act with sovereignty despite the motives and dictates of the intellect.64 It is, of course, another question whether the will acts with such sovereignty in practice. For Crusius, we are never in a state of equilibrium with respect to some action, as in the tale of Buridan’s ass who cannot choose between two stacks of hay.65 Motives always incline us one way or another and are sufficient grounds for actions. And at times, given the constitution of our mind, previous associations, and habituation we may fail to exercise our liberty of indifference and simply act on the basis of whatever motives incline us. But there is nevertheless according to Crusius the theoretical possibility that one can exercise a fundamental activity of freedom and will something that one knows is not good.

|| 63 See ibid., §§ 55f. Crusius also uses the Scholastic terminology of libertas contradictionis and libertas contrarietatis to distinguish between types of freedom: »That is precisely why one also distinguishes two faculties with respect to freedom; namely first, the faculty to do or refrain from doing something under the same circumstances, which is called libertas contradictionis, and the faculty to be able to undertake some other action instead of the current one under the same circumstances, which is called libertas contrarietatis« (ibid, § 38). The latter is the freedom associated with fundamental activities of freedom. For an extensive discussion of this distinction and its relation to Crusius’ view of complete and incomplete freedom, see Michael Walschots’ essay in this volume. 64 On the issue of whether motives necessitate, see for example Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 52), § 31. Motives necessitate only when accompanied by a free choice. 65 See ibid., § 32; Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (see note 62), §§ 50–52, 60.

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3 Assessing Crusius’ View Having got some sense of Crusius’ objections to Wolff and his own positive view of freedom, we can now consider a few objections that may be raised against his account. (1) One objection that may be raised is this: Suppose that some subject S brings about through its fundamental activity of freedom some action A on the basis of an antecedent reason. Then it appears that on Crusius’ account there is some possible world that is identical to the actual world with respect to the antecedent conditions that lead to the fundamental activity of freedom. But in this possible world S brings about through its fundamental activity of freedom action B. Now it appears that there is nothing in the world prior to the fundamental activity of freedom that makes a difference between S’s bringing about A or bringing about B. But it might be objected that if the worlds are identical in this regard, then S’s bringing about A or B is simply a matter of luck. And if it is a matter of luck, then S cannot be held morally responsible for bringing about A or bringing about B. In this regard, Crusius’ account cannot provide the support for moral responsibility that he suggests it can. He does, however, appear to be in a position to respond to this kind of objection. It might be argued that for Crusius the difference between these possible worlds resides in the fact that in the actual one there was a fundamental activity of freedom that brings about A, whereas in the other possible world there is a fundamental activity of freedom that brings about B. The worlds are distinct with respect to the fundamental activity of freedom exercised in each. The worlds envisioned are in fact not identical. And if this is so, then whether a fundamental activity of freedom brings about A or B is not a matter of luck. And if it is not a matter of luck, then the scenario cannot undermine moral responsibility. (2) A second and perhaps more damaging objection is this. Crusius takes himself to have shown that fundamental activities of freedom are at least conceivable without contradiction and so possible a priori.66 In doing so he tries to reconcile two positions: First (a), a scientific and to some degree mechanistic view of the nature of physical interaction where all interactions are causally grounded in their antecedents, i. e. all actions have real causal grounds. And second (b), the idea that there are fundamental activities of freedom sufficient for libertarian freedom of the will that have sufficient but not necessitating grounds and necessitate their effects. But these positions appear incompatible insofar as their conjunction yields a contradiction. One might wonder, for example, how exactly fundamentally free activities intervene in deterministic causal chains. If they do intervene, then their intervention appears to render causal determinism false since it is possible for any causal

|| 66 Another objection might be that the account also requires an explanation of substantial mindbody interaction. On the will and mind-body interaction, see ibid., §§ 31–33.

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event that some fundamental activity of freedom could have intervened and thus the event could have occurred otherwise than it did. One way Crusius might be saved from this consequence is to argue that deterministic causal events are only hypothetically necessary. They are only hypothetically necessary because their occurrence depends upon whether and how fundamental activities of freedom intervene. But this line of response would undermine the idea that events in nature are absolutely necessitated by their real causal grounds. If a fundamental activity of freedom can intervene at any point, then these real causal grounds do not necessitate absolutely. Another strategy would be to argue that fundamental activities of freedom are indeterministic events and that in fact the world is mostly deterministic except for indeterministic events brought about by fundamental activities of freedom that might intervene. But this strategy would again undermine Crusius’ commitment to the determinism of real causal grounds. Moreover, he also explicitly rejects Epicureanism because the indeterminately swerving atoms it posits in a deterministic universe would mean that there can be events for which there are no sufficient grounds.67 The way out of these problems does not appear easy for Crusius. Interestingly, these problems do not disappear in the eighteenth century with Crusius. Crusius’ attempt to reconcile causal determinism with a libertarian account of freedom of the will also has an important legacy in Kant’s discussion of freedom of the will in the Third Antinomy of the Critique of Pure Reason. Here Kant takes up the project of showing that genuine libertarian freedom of the will as the ability to do or not do some action regardless of antecedent conditions is compatible with causal determinism. Moving beyond Crusius’ ontology of real grounds and fundamental activities of freedom, Kant marshals the resources of transcendental idealism to argue that freedom and causal determinism apply to distinct worlds: the world of phenomena or appearances and the world of noumena or things in themselves. Since spatial and temporal categories do not apply to the world of things in themselves, we are free as things in themselves. And since these categories do apply to the empirical world of appearances, we are determined as appearances in the same way that any object of nature is. On one interpretation of Kant’s account of freedom, Kant is not presenting a metaphysical picture of the possibility of freedom here, but is only pointing out that freedom and determinism can be reconciled if we understand them from two distinct vantage points.68 However, numerous criticisms have been raised against this interpretation; other interpretations maintain instead that Kant is making metaphysical claims about freedom and its possibility. Inter-

|| 67 See Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 52) § 31, 156n. Such swerving atoms would have no sufficient ground and so would violate the principle of sufficient ground. 68 For such an epistemological two-aspect interpretation, see Henry Allison: Kant’s Theory of Freedom. Cambridge 1990.

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preted as a metaphysical account, the legacy of Crusius’ account of freedom in Kant becomes evident. But it also becomes evident that Kant’s account inherits the same problems that Crusius’ account has.69 Again, it is unclear how the world can count as deterministic if there is the possibility that some fundamentally free activity will intervene and thus whether libertarian freedom and determinism are genuinely compatible.70 Regardless of whether such problems can ultimately be resolved, however, it is clear that Crusius offers a striking criticism of Wolff’s account and presents an account of freedom of the will that was unique for the period and has continued to have an important impact through Kant.

|| 69 On metaphysical interpretations of Kant’s views on freedom of the will, see Allen Wood: Kant’s Compatibilism. In: Self and Nature in Kant’s Philosophy. Ed. by Allen Wood. Ithaca 1984, pp. 73– 101; Eric Watkins: Kant and the Metaphysics of Causality. Cambridge 2005; Ben Vilhauer: The Scope of Responsibility in Kant’s Theory of Free Will. In: British Journal for the History of Philosophy 18.1 (2010), pp. 45–71; Ben Vilhauer: Kant and the Possibility of Transcendental Freedom. In: Palgrave Handbook of German Idealism. Ed. by Matthew C. Altman. New York 2014, pp. 105–125; Ben Vilhauer: Can We Interpret Kant as a Compatibilist About Determinism and Moral Responsibility? In: British Journal for the History of Philosophy 12.4 (2004), pp. 719–730. 70 I would like to thank the participants of the 2015 Conference Christian August Crusius: Philosophie im Spannungsfeld zwischen Vernunft und Offenbarung at the Lichtenberg-Kolleg in Göttingen for their helpful comments, especially Andree Hahmann, Bernd Ludwig, Corey Dyck, Ansgar Lyssy, and Karin de Boer, and I would like to thank Jordan Almanzar for his help translating a few difficult Latin passages. Thank you also to my children Vivian and Elliot for their exciting and imaginative ideas.

| 3 Practical Philosophy

Sonja Schierbaum

Crusius on Moral Motivation 1 Introduction It is a basic voluntarist intuition about normativity in general and morality in particular that voluntary deviation must be possible in order to act as one should act.1 This intuition is not only shared by voluntarists. Medieval and early modern voluntarists, however, are firmly committed to strong, metaphysical assumptions about the will.2 The will is typically conceived as a kind of self-moving power ultimately controlling its acts.3 The voluntarist intuition is of central importance since it appears to be constitutive of our idea of (moral) responsibility. It is a strong intuition that we are (morally) responsible for an act only if we could have acted otherwise.4

|| 1 To be precise: it is not the notion of normativity itself that is at stake here in the first place, but rather what is required by the agent to comply with the requirements for normative action. I am not primarily interested here in the question of the source of the binding force of a normative reason. This is a metaphysical issue that can and should be treated separately from the question of what the conditions are for something to be a normative or justificatory reason for an agent. See Maria Alvarez: Kinds of Reasons. Oxford 2010, p. 36; Ruth Chang: Grounding practical normativity: going hybrid. In: Philosophical Studies 164 (2010), pp. 163–187, esp. p. 163. The view that the source of the normative force of reasons are to be located in God’s will is generally called theological voluntarism. See also M. Murphy: Theological Voluntarism. In: The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2019 Edition). Ed. by Edward N. Zalta. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2019/entries/ voluntarism-theological/ (last accessed 20 August 2020). One can be a voluntarist with respect to the level of normative or moral action and their ascribability to the agent without at the same time being a theological voluntarist with respect to the source of normativity. In this context, I do not argue for but simply proceed from the assumption that moral reasons are a kind of normative reasons. 2 See Marylin McCord Adams: The Structure of Ockham’s Moral Theory. In: Franciscan Studies 46 (1986), pp. 1–35; Marylin McCord Adams: Ockham on Will, Nature, and Morality. In: The Cambridge Companion to Ockham. Ed. by Paul Vincent Spade. Cambridge 1999, pp. 245–272. 3 The idea of control is cashed out by Crusius, as well as other voluntarists such as Ockham, in terms of partial self-causation. The will is in control of its acts insofar as it partially causes its own acts. By contrast, the power of reason or intellect is usually conceived by voluntarists as a non-free or »natural« power that is not in control of its acts in this sense. Voluntarists therefore also think that the will, in view of its unique metaphysical status as a free power, must be conceived as ontologically distinct from the power of reason: it is a power in its own right. There are also more »radical« voluntarists who conceive of the will not only as a partial, but rather, as a »total« cause of its acts. Henry of Ghent is a proponent of this more radical view. See Heinrich von Gent: Ausgewählte Fragen zur Willens- und Freiheitslehre. Ed. by Jörn Müller. Freiburg i. Br. 2011, pp. 118–203. 4 In contemporary philosophy, there is a strong, compatibilist tendency against this intuition that moral responsibility presupposes the possibility to do otherwise. Frankfurt’s approach is among the https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-011

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The possibility of acting otherwise is also known as freedom of indifference.5 In this paper, though, I am concerned with freedom of indifference only indirectly, namely as a voluntarist condition for moral motivation. In contemporary discussions, many philosophers refer to moral judgment in order to explain moral motivation.6 Some main, even mainstream positions can be distinguished by means of the answer to the question of how to conceive of the relation between the relevant cognitive states (i. e. moral judgments) and the relevant conative states (i. e. desires): do moral judgments motivate by the intermediation of a desire or conative state?7 If the answer is ›No‹, then we are dealing with a kind of what is called in the contemporary discussion motivational judgment internalism.8 The idea is that moral judgment itself motivates so that in this sense, motivation is internal to moral judgment.9 According to this position, there is a necessary connection between moral judgment and motivation. By contrast, if the answer to the question is ›Yes‹, then we are most likely dealing with a kind of motivational judgment externalism. According to this position, if there is any connection between moral judgment and motivation, it is ultimately contingent, not necessary, however strong it might be otherwise.10 Rather, a moral judgment can motivate to act only in connection with a desire,

|| most prominent and influential, of course. See Harry Frankfurt: Alternate possibilities and moral responsibility. In: id.: The Importance of What We Care About. Cambridge 1988. See also Donald Davidson: Freedom to act. In: id.: Essays on Actions and Events. Oxford 1980. 5 Note that the designation »freedom of indifference« by no means implies that the agent is not interested in the different options of action. Rather, it means to imply the agent’s »real« or »physical« possibility of having taken a different course of action, as opposed to having a mere logical possibility. Rationalists, by contrast, conceive of this possibility as »logical« or »metaphysical«, since they are at the same time committed to the principle of the best as the principle of choice. For an overview of the – medieval – debate between »rationalists« and »voluntarists« on this issue see Tobias Hoffmann: Intellectualism and Voluntarism. In: The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Ed. by Robert Pasnau. Cambridge 2011, vol. 1, pp. 414–427. 6 See Connie S. Rosati: Moral Motivation. In: The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Winter 2016 Edition). Ed. by Edward N. Zalta. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2016/entries/moral-motivation/, Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, sect. 3. 7 Ibid. 8 Ibid., sect. 3.2. 9 At this point, I ignore the further differentiation between this form of internalism and a »weaker form« of motivational judgment internalism according to which there is a necessary connection between moral judgment and some motivation such that moral motivation can be overriden in some cases by other, conflicting desires. See for further discussion Sigrun Svavarsdottir: Moral Cognitivism and Motivation. In: Philosophical Review 108 (1999), pp. 1–219. 10 For helpful and illuminating discussion of the internalism-externalism debate, see Stephen L. Darwall: Impartial Reason. Ithaca, NY. 1983, chap. 5; David O. Brink: Moral Realism and the Foundations of Ethics. Cambridge 1989, pp. 37–80; Michael Smith: The Moral Problem. Oxford 1994, chap. 3 and Russ Shafer-Landau: Moral Realism: A Defence. Oxford 2003, chap. 6.

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where the content of the judgment and the content of the desire are closely related so as to allow a rationalization of the action. My general aim in this paper is to determine how Crusius conceives of the relation between the cognitive and conative states involved in and central to moral motivation. According to the above distinction, Crusius holds an externalist position, since he frankly admits that if there were no moral desire, then moral action would simply not be possible.11 One sort of criticism against conceptions of this kind seems to be rooted in the long tradition of sharply distinguishing between the »higher« and even metaphysically worthier faculty of intellect or reason and the metaphysically »lower« senses; in ethics, the rationalist thesis is that moral motivation clearly originates in the metaphysically higher faculty, and not in the lower.12 The rationalist criticism seems to amount to a discomfort vis-à-vis the idea that »underlying moral motivation is a desire«, since in the view of some rationalists, this somehow seems to denigrate moral motivation or threatens to »make those motivated on account of their moral judgments somehow less worthy, if this view of moral motivation were correct.«13 Among Crusius’ contemporaries, Christian Wolff, his main rationalist opponent, clearly articulates this kind of criticism. In his version, Wolff suggests that only unreasonable, childlike people need to be motivated to perform good actions by the prospect of reward and to omit bad actions by the threat of punishment.14 The desire to be rewarded and the desire not to be punished, are not based on any rational insight. Rational insight, however, is the basis for Wolff’s internalist position, since according to him, knowing what actions are good necessarily motivates the agent to || 11 Crusius writes: »Wäre nicht der Gewissenstrieb in uns vorhanden, so würde freylich weder Gehorsam noch Tugend möglich seyn, weil wir vermöge unserer übrigen wesentlichen Triebe sonst allezeit unsern Nutzen oder Vergnügen zum Zwecke machen, oder wenigstens bloß aus Liebe agiren würden […], welches aber noch kein Gehorsam wäre.« Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben, darinnen nach Erklärung der Natur des menschlichen Willens, die natürlichen Pflichten und allgemeinen Klugheitslehren im richtigen Zusammenhange vorgetragen werden. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Hildesheim 1969 (1767), § 176, p. 219. 12 »[…] at least Kantians seem to think that the dignity and authority of morality hangs on the truth of the rationalist thesis (i. e., that moral evaluation and motivation is a manifestation of our rational side).« Svavarsdottir: Moral Cognitivism and Motivation (see note 9), p. 216. 13 Ibid, p. 215. Svavarsdottir rejects this criticism by showing that underlying this criticism is a rather crude conception of desire that is incompatible with her own conception of a moral desire; ibid., p. 216. 14 »Hingegen da ein Unvernünftiger ausser der natürlichen Verbindlichkeit noch eine andere brauchet, wenn er dem Gesetze der Natur nachleben soll […]; so sind auch bey ihm die Belohnungen und Straffen Bewegungs-Gründe die guten Handlungen zu vollbringen, und die bösen zu unterlassen [...]. Und dannenhero vollbringet ein Unvernünftiger das Gute, und unterlässet das Böse aus Furcht vor der Straffe, und in Ansehung der Belohnung: worinnen sie den Kindern gleich sind, [...].« Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von der Menschen Thun und Lassen zu Beförderung ihrer Glückseeligkeit. [Deutsche Ethik]. Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig, § 39, p. 29.

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perform these actions just as knowing what actions are bad necessarily motivates the agent to refrain from performing these actions.15 In this paper, I want to ask whether Crusius can successfully avoid Wolff’s general objection that only unreasonable people need to be moved by the prospects of reward and punishment, because they lack rational insight into the quality of things. It should become clear that the answer is ›Yes‹, although fear of punishment appears to play a role in Crusius’ account. Things, however, are a little more complex.16 I proceed as follows, first, I roughly sketch Crusius’ conception of freedom as the basis of rational action in general and moral action in particular (2.). The point is that motivation in (rational) action and motivation in moral (rational) action are structurally alike.17 I then discuss motivation in general (3.) by discussing the cognitive acts involved and their criteria (4.), namely the criterion of distinctness (4.1) and the criterion of vivacity (4.2). Against this backdrop, I finally turn to moral motivation (5.) and discuss the rationalist reservation against the idea that moral desire is a constitutive element of moral motivation (6.).

|| 15 »[…] vollbringet […] ein Vernünftiger das Gute, weil es gut ist, und unterlässet das Böse, weil es böse ist«; ibid., § 38, p. 28. 16 My discussion in this paper is mainly based on Crusius’s main work in ethics: Anweisung, vernünftig zu leben (see note 11). Cross-reference to other works by Crusius include reference to his Metaphysics: Christian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzet werden. In: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Vol. 2. Hildesheim 1964 [1745] (henceforth: Entwurf); and his Logic, Christian August Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß. In: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Vol. 3. Hildesheim 1965 [1747] (henceforth: Gewißheit) and the early Christian August Crusius: Dissertatio philosophica de corruptelis intellectus a voluntate pendentibus. In: Christian August Crusius: Kleinere philosophische Schriften. Ed. by Sonia Carboncini and Reinhard Finster. Part 1, Hildesheim 1987 [1740]. 17 In this paper, when I speak of »rational« action, I mean that an action is performed for a reason, that is, there is a motivating reason that can be used to rationalize the action. See Christoph Horn, Guido Löhrer (eds.): Gründe und Zwecke: Texte zur aktuellen Handlungstheorie. Berlin 2010. pp. 8– 17; Abraham S. Roth: Reasons Explanations of Actions: Causal, Singular, and Situational. In: Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 59 (1999), pp. 839–874; G. F. Schueler: Actions Explanations: Causes and Purposes. In: Intentions and Intentionality. Foundations of Cognition. Ed. by Bertram F. Malle, Louis J. Moses and Dare A. Baldwin. Cambridge, MA 2001, pp. 251–264.

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2 Will, Freedom and Choice For Crusius, the will is not just one power, but rather, it is a bundle of powers. Crusius writes: […] in all finite minds, the will is a particular basic power, distinct from the intellect, or, to be precise, it is a collection of particular basic powers called »the will« in virtue of their common essence.18

Crusius thinks that freedom is just one of the different powers collectively called »the will«. That all these powers are »basic« for Crusius means that they cannot be reduced to other powers. Crusius generally explains the will to be »a power of a mind to act according to its ideas or notions«,19 but distinguishes between (a) a nonfree power of willing and (b) the power of freedom. The non-free power is desire (and aversion). Crusius explains what it means to desire something as follows: The willing by means of which we take pains to realize something which does not yet exist, […], is called, insofar as it is conceived as an internal action of the willing mind, a desire: by contrast, it is called an aversion, if we attempt to prevent the realization of the thing […].20

We can say that (a) S desires x means that S wills to bring about the existence of x, whereas (b) S rejects x means that S wills to prevent the existence of x. Crusius holds that desiring is not yet sufficient for action. Also, desires are not free, because, as Crusius puts it, they can »persist without any intention and with constancy«.21 The intention is distinctive of freely willing to do something: it is the choice to do something. This is Crusius’ account of the power of freedom: That willing is called a free willing which can also be omitted or directed at something different in the same situation, and the power to do so (is called) freedom. The use of freedom in an actual case by means of which one really wills (what one wills) is called ›intention‹ or ›decision‹.22

|| 18 »[…] ist der Wille in allen endlichen Geistern eine besondere und von dem Verstande unterschiedene Grundkraft, oder wenn man ganz genau reden will, ein Inbegriff besonderer Grundkräfte, welche man wegen ihres gemeinschaftlichen Wesens unter einem Nahmen zusammen fasset und den Willen nennet […].« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 6, p. 7. 19 Ibid., § 2, p. 4. 20 »Dasjenige Wollen dadurch wir etwas, das noch nicht ist, wircklich zu machen […] bemühet sind, heisset, wiefern man es noch als eine Action innerhalb dem wollenden Geiste betrachtet, ein Begehren: hingegen wird es ein Verabscheuen genennet, wenn wir die Wircklichkeit der Sache zu verhindern […] in Bemühung sind.« Ibid., § 9, pp. 12f. 21 Ibid., § 23, p. 24. 22 »Dasjenige Wollen, welches man bey eben den Umständen unterlassen, oder auf etwas anderes richten kan, heißt ein freyes Wollen, und die Kraft darzu die Freyheit. Diejenige Anwendung der

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»Really« willing something here means that the volition causes the action. The passage contains the general explanation of freedom. Crusius distinguishes two »sorts of freedom«. I quote: Two powers of freedom are to be distinguished. The first is the power to do something (or)23 to omit it in the same situation. This is also called the »freedom of contradiction«. Second, the power to perform an action different from the one actually performed in the same situation is called »freedom of contrariety«.24

Freedom consists in two constituent powers. These powers are conceptually distinct, yet, they can be exercised simultaneously, since freedom entails the ability to commit or omit a given action as well as the ability to choose between different actions in any situation.25 According to the voluntarist, there is always more than one option for action (or omission) open to the agent, insofar as the agent is not determined to choose the option she conceives to be best. That the agent is able to exercise these two powers in any situation implies that she is able to choose any option she conceives to be good in some respect, for instance, as satisfying one of her prevailing desires. The voluntarist is only committed to the principle of the good, not to the principle of the best. The difference can be made explicit by way of comparison; according to Wolff, an agent is necessarily inclined to do whatever she conceives to be good and necessarily disinclined to do whatever she conceives to be bad.26 But inclination to act is not the same as choice of action. Although an agent can, and often has many inclinations, she necessarily chooses the option that seems best to her in a given situation.27

|| Freyheit zu einem vorkommenden Falle, wodurch man denselben wirklich will, heißt ein Vorsatz oder Entschluß.« Ibid., § 22, pp. 23f. 23 Note that Crusius writes »and«, not »or« in the German text (see note 24). This, however, is a little unfortunate, since one could take the ›and‹ as implying the possibility of doing and omitting the same thing simultaneously. For further discussion of Crusius’ conception of freedom of indifference in the context of the so-called arbitrariness objection see Sonja Schierbaum: Choosing for no reason? An old objection to freedom of indifference. In: History of Philosophy Quarterly (fortcoming). 24 »[…] unterscheidet man auch in der Freyheit zweyerley Vermögen, nämlich erstlich das Vermögen etwas bey eben denselben Umständen thun und auch lassen zu können, welches libertas contradictionis heisset, und das Vermögen bei eben denselben Umständen an statt der ietzigen Handlung auch eine andere unternehmen zu können, welches libertas contrarietatis genennet wird.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 38, pp. 44f. It is not entirely clear whether Crusius always includes the point (or interval) of time into the »sameness« condition of the situation. See other passages such as in ibid., § 42, pp. 51f. 25 I thank Michael Walschots, John Walsh and Guido Löhrer for pressing me to clarify the relation between the two powers of freedom. 26 Cf. Wolff: Deutsche Ethik (see note 14), § 6, p. 7. 27 Christian Wolff: Philosophia Practica Universalis. Halle 1740, § 335, p. 308.

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Options for action can be considered in two respects, namely (a) intrinsically and (b) in relation to other options. The difference can be put as follows. According to the rationalist, an agent can only choose an option in relation to all other options available to her, namely the one she prefers over all other options. By contrast, according to the voluntarist, an agent is able to choose any option that she conceives to be good in some respect. In other words, an agent is able to choose any option independently of any other option, that is, on the basis of its ›intrinsic‹ goodness. Freedom of indifference is therefore the power to choose any intrinsically good option. The point is that the agent’s will cannot be determined by what she conceives best because the will itself is a necessary condition of a choice. In another passage, Crusius explicitly holds that »freedom is the power to determine oneself to an action without being determined by anything else, whether internal or external.«28 »To determine« here means the »real positing of one of the possible kinds or modes of existence pertaining to the thing«.29 The will itself is a necessary condition of choice; this renders the »determination« contingent. What are the necessary conditions for such a determination? There are three necessary conditions which are jointly sufficient for a choice. I quote: »[…] the ideas or notions of the intellect, the presence of one or many awakened desires, and the active power implanted in the substance constitute the sufficient cause of any (free)30 action«.31 Let us start with the first, the »ideas or notions«. Crusius accepts the voluntarist saying that the will is »blind« in the sense that it is not in the will’s power to make cognitively accessible, and thus represent, possible objects of desire to itself. This is the job of the intellect.32 And Crusius adds, »thoughts« in general are useful only insofar as they can be either the model (»causa exemplaris«) of how to proceed to get what one desires or the »motivating reasons« (»Bewegungs-Gründe«) of »certain actions of the will«.33 Their efficiency depends in the end on what Crusius calls their

|| 28 »… daß sie [die Freyheit] eine Kraft sey, sich zu einer Handlung selbst zu determiniren, ohne daß man dadurch irgend etwas anders, es sey in uns oder ausser uns, darzu determiniret werde.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 39, p. 45. 29 Ibid. 30 I add »free« here because the context of the passage makes it clear that free actions are at issue here. In the paragraph, Crusius replies to the objection that free actions (in the voluntarist sense) are not performed for a reason, but just happen randomly (»durch ein ungefehr«). See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 48, p. 60. 31 »Denn die Vorstellungen des Verstandes, die Gegenwart einer oder etlicher erweckten Begierden, und die der Substanz eingepflanzten thätige Kraft machen bey einer iedweden Handlung eine zureichende Ursache derselben aus.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 48, p. 60. 32 »Der Verstand also und die Vorstellungen desselben sind ein unentbehrlicher Grund der Möglichkeit zu einem iedweden Wollen. Und dieses soll die Meinung des Satzes seyn, wenn man saget, der Wille sey eine blinde Kraft, welches aber von vielen übel verstanden und gemisbrauchet wird.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 16), § 445, p. 867. 33 See ibid., § 454, p. 885.

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»vivacity« (»Lebhaftigkeit«).34 Note that Crusius uses the terms »ideas« (»Ideen«) and »representations« (»Vorstellungen«) interchangeably.35 In the context of this paper, I also use the two terms interchangeably. The last of the necessary conditions is nothing but the actualized power of freedom itself. In still another passage Crusius characterizes freedom as follows: »Freedom is a power that can only choose one among its many desires; and it chooses to act in accordance with this (desire) or to connect its activity to it.«36 What is desired are objects as ends.37 According to Crusius, one is free to choose which of the desired ends to actually pursue. An end is, in the widest sense, »what a mind wills«.38 Crusius distinguishes three elements involved in desiring an »end«: (i) the desire, (ii) the object of this desire, and (iii) some relation the action is thought to be able to establish between the agent and the desired object. Crusius gives the example of Alexander the Great, who went into war against the Persian Empire. In this case, (i) Alexander’s desire was to rule, (ii) the object of his desire was the Persian Empire which (iii) he willed to bring under his sway.39 The necessary (and jointly sufficient) conditions for a choice can be summarized as follows:40

|| 34 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 60, p. 75. The question is what this »vivacity« amounts to. It certainly has something to do with intensity. It may be appropriate to compare it to Hume’s account of the »vivacity« of impressions, as opposed to the »dullness« of ideas. For a discussion of Hume’s distinction, see David Landy: Humes Impression/Idea Distinction. In: Hume Studies 32.1 (2006), pp. 119–139. 35 See quote in note 84. The point is that Crusius uses a variety of terms to refer to mental acts by means of which things become cognitive accessible to persons and are represented to them. 36 »Die Freyheit ist demnach eine Kraft, welche nur unter unsern vielen Begierden eine wehlen kann, nach welcher sie handeln oder mit welcher sie ihre Thätigkeit verknüpffen will.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 16), § 43, p. 54. At this point, it becomes obvious that Crusius, unlike other, more »radical« voluntarists, restricts the scope of freedom to the choice or adoption of existing desires. 37 I use »object« here to include anything, not merely concrete particulars (existing or possible). 38 »Dasjenige, was ein Geist will, kan man in dem weitesten Verstande eine Absicht oder Endzweck nennen. In der engern Bedeutung aber verstehet man unter einem Endzwecke nur etwas, was man mit Bewußtseyn und deutlicher Erkenntniß will.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 13, p. 15 (italics mine). Consciousness (»Bewußtseyn«) is central for an end in the strict sense. 39 »So oft sich ein Geist nach einem Endzwecke bestrebet, so kömmt bey dem Bestreben desselben dreyerley zu unterscheiden vor. (1) Es muß zuvörderst ein wircksames Wollen vorhanden seyn, welches die wirckende Kraft ist, welche sich nach etwas bemühet. Ich will dieselbe den subjectivischen Zweck nennen. Es wird sich im folgenden zeigen, daß man sich hin und wieder in nicht geringe Schwierigkeiten verwickelt, wenn man in Zergliederung der Umstände, welche bey dem Bestreben nach einem Endzwecke vorkommen müssen, diesen Begriff nicht deutlich genug bemercket und von den andern absondert. (2) Ferner muß eine gewisse Sache gedacht werden, nach welcher man sich bemühet, welche der objectivische Endzweck genennet wird. (3) Endlich muß ein gewisses Verhältniß derselben Sache gegen den wollenden Geist gedacht werden, welches er zu bewerckstelligen suchet, und um welches willen er die Handlung unternommen, welches der formale Endzweck heisset. Z. E. als Alexander den Feldzug wieder die Perser vornahm, so war das Persische Reich der objectivische Zweck. Der formale Zweck war, daß er dasselbe unter seine Both-

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A subject S chooses to perform an action on account of a thing F if S has some actual representations of F such that these representations cause a desire for F as an end and if the desire for F is adopted as action-guiding and if the will sets itself into operation. We shall now take a closer look at the ideas or reprentations that Crusius calls »motivating reasons« (»Bewegungs-Gründe«) in order to better understand how motivation works in general. This will enable us to understand how moral motivation works in particular, since, as indicated earlier, motivation and moral motivation are structurally alike.

3 Motivation in General As we saw above, rational, free action presupposes desire as a necessary element. Desires have objects.41 The idea of such an object can move the agent to actually desire the object. In other words, ideas of the objects of desires are one kind of motivating reasons (»Bewegungs-Gründe«).42 Some desires are basic insofar as they are not derivable from other desires. Conversely, any desire that is not basic presupposes at least a basic desire or desires that, in the end, can be traced back to such a basic desire.43 Basic desires are divided

|| mäßigkeit bringen und beherrschen wolte. Die Herrschsucht Alexanders aber war der subjectivische Zweck.« Ibid., § 13, pp. 15f. (italics mine). 40 I concentrate here on the »positive« case. 41 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 59, p. 74. From a contemporary perspective, it might be more common to speak of a desire’s content. The talk of desiring mere objects, i. e. desiring food, can be paraphrased »by means of an infinitival clause« (see Alvarez: Kinds of Reasons [see note 1], p. 91.) That is, the desire for food can be rendered as the desire to consume comestible goods. According to Alvarez, there is »more uniformity in the nature of what is desired than it […] appears.« Ibid. 42 It shall become clear that not only ideas of desires’ objects can be motivating reasons, but for instance also ideas relating to these objects or the conditions for the satisfaction of the desires. See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 59, p. 74. 43 »Es hat immer eine Begierde ihren Grund in einer oder etlichen andern Begierden […]. Da nun aber diese Reihe nicht ins unendliche fortgehen kan; so müssen wir zuletzt auf erste Begierden kommen, welche nicht durch die Angewöhnung aus andern entsprungen, und welche der Grund aller übrigen sind.« Ibid., § 89, pp. 109f. Furthermore, it seems that a desire that is derivable can become habitual so that the desiring subject is unaware of the generating connection to the other desire or desires and their objects. This happens when, for instance, a subject is paying attention only to a certain aspect of the desire’s object while neglecting all the others. The derived desire takes on »a life of its own«, so to speak. This is why, as Crusius puts it, it is possible that the derived desires do not have much in common with the basic desire from which they originate. See ibid., § 74, p. 94.

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into those humans share with animals and desires that are specific to humans. Crusius also calls the latter »human desires« tout court,44 and the former »animal desires« (»thierische Triebe«).45 Different cognitive abilities are involved in the representation of the respective objects of »human« and »animal« desires. For instance, an »animal desire« such as the desire for food has as its object consumable goods that can be processed by the digestive system.46 The representation of the desire’s object requires a sensation, »Empfindung«, as Crusius calls it.47 The German term covers actual states of sensation and of perception. As Crusius explains, by such a state, we are »immediately forced to represent a thing as present«, without the possibility of inference and also without the possibility of debunking the state as illusory at a later time.48 Animals also represent the objects of their desires by perceiving or sensing them. Their power of perception, however, differs from the human equivalent in that animals have sense perception, but no sensation of their perceptual states. This latter kind of sensation is called »inner sensation« (»innere Empfindung«) by

|| 44 »Die Grundbegierden sind entweder thierische, welche wir mit andern Thieren gemein haben, und welche auf die Endzwecke der thierischen Natur gehen, oder menschliche, welche wir vor den Thieren voraus haben, und welche auf ein Object gehen, das in einer abstracten Idee gedacht werden muß.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 95, pp. 115f. 45 See ibid., § 145, pp. 177f., § 146, pp. 178f., § 148, pp. 180f. Crusius’s distinction squares, more or less exactly, with the scholastic distinction between the »rational appetite« that is, the will, and »sensual appetite«, that is, bodily and sensual desires. See John Haldane: Soul and Body. In: The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Ed. by Robert Pasnau. Cambridge 2011, vol. 1, pp. 293– 304, esp. pp. 293–296. 46 At this point, I pass over the point that the »object« of a desire such as of food is general, but can be activated by the representation of a particular thing, such as this piece of cheesecake. The point seems to be that a particular thing is represented as food or as something comestible, that is, as falling under the general concept of food. This, however, implies the ability to apply the general concept of the desire’s object to particular things. See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 74, p. 93. This seems fairly unproblematic in the case of human agents. The question is how Crusius deals with the case of animal agents. Suffice it to say here that the actualization of the desire for food in animals does not imply the ability to apply general concepts to particular things. Rather, the perception of particulars, in combination with memory and imagination, is sufficient to explain how animal desires are activated. Crusius states: »[…] indem sich alle ihre Wirckungen schon aus der äusserlichen Empfindung, dem Gedächtniß, der Einbildungs-Kraft und gewissen Trieben erklären lassen.« Ibid., § 25, p. 28. 47 »[…] giebt es noch eine Gattung von dem natürlichen Bestreben der Thiere auf gewisse determinirte Weise in ihren Körper zu wircken, welche nicht beständig fortwähret, sondern an gewisse Bedingungen verknüpft ist, und dahero sich nicht eher, auch nicht weiter, äussern kan, als die erforderte Bedingung gegenwärtig ist. […]. Die Bedingung kan entweder eine gewisse Empfindung seyn, bey deren Gegenwart der Trieb rege und wircksam wird, als wie z. E. eine gewisse Empfindung im Magen das Kind veranlasset, die Brust zu suchen«. Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 146, pp. 178f. (italics mine). 48 See ibid., § 29, p. 33.

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Crusius. It is the »power of consciousness«.49 Crusius conception of consciousness is similar to contemporary »higher order« accounts. As Jonas J. Indregard points out, we are dealing here with what is referred to in contemporary debates as »state consciousness«.50 A mental state’s or act’s being conscious implies that the subject is aware of it by means of another, higher-order act taking the former act as its object. This state-awareness is specific to humans. As a consequence, non-human animals lack consciousness in this sense. Note, however, that Crusius ascribes a mind (Geist) to animals and humans alike.51 He notes that his broader conception of a mind runs contrary to other, traditional classifications.52 Crusius general explanation of a »mind« goes as follows: A mind is a substance that is able to represent something and to act according to its representations.53 The mind of humans differs from the mind of non-human animals insofar as the former is rational whereas the latter is not. Being rational implies having the power of reason (»Vernunft«). This in turn implies, among others, having the power of abstraction.54 Note that the power of abstraction in turn presupposes the power of consciousness, that is, of »inner sensation«.55 The objects of basic desires that are specific to humans are represented by »abstract ideas«.56 For instance, the basic desire for one’s own perfection is specific to humans.57 An abstract idea is nothing || 49 See Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 16), § 65, p. 113. 50 See Jonas J. Indregard: Consciousness as Inner Sensation: Crusius and Kant. In: Ergo – An Open Access Journal of Philosophy 5.7 (2018), pp. 173–201, p. 173. 51 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 3, pp. 5f. Strictly speaking, one should say that a human being, considered as a substance, is a mind. For Crusius’s ontological account see his Entwurf. There he states that substances are »complete things insofar as they are conceived as consisting of a subject and properties.« See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 16), § 20, p. 32. See also ibid., § 18, p. 31; § 20, pp. 32f. 52 According to Wolff, for instance, a mind is an entity having (the powers of) intellect and free will. This excludes non-human animals. See Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen, auch allen Dingen überhaupt [Deutsche Metaphysik]. In: Gesammelte Werke, Abt. 1 (German texts). Vol. 2.1. Ed. by Charles A. Corr. 4. Reprint Hildesheim 2009 (Halle 1751), § 895, p. 556. 53 »Es ist sehr viel daran gelegen, daß man das allgemeine Wesen, welches alle Substanzen, welche die Fähigkeit haben, sich etwas vorzustellen, und nach ihren Vorstellungen zu handeln, gemeinschaftlich besitzen, wohl erwege und vor sich betrachte, indem die thierischen Seelen und die eigentlich sogenannten Geister nur besondere Gattungen ausmachen, in denen dieses allgemeine Wesen angetroffen und nur immer anders determiniret befunden wird«. Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 3, pp. 5–6. 54 See Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 16), § 93, p. 165. 55 Ibid., § 93, p. 164; Crusius: Entwurf (see note 16), § 444, p. 864. 56 »Ich verstehe unter den menschlichen Grundbegierden diejenigen, deren Object etwas ist, welches in einer abstracten Idee gedacht werden muß, und welche dahero die menschliche Natur vor den andern Thieren voraus hat, und diesen setze ich die bloß thierischen Triebe entgegen.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 111, p. 133. 57 See ibid., § 111, p. 133. See also Lyssy’s contribution to this volume.

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but a general term or concept, since according to Crusius, it can be predicated of an individual or individuals. For example, one can point at the moon and say ›this is a heavenly body‹.58 ›Heavenly body‹ is a general term or concept. The desire for one’s perfection is specific to humans in that it requires the possession of the general concept of perfection. The ideas of the objects of basic desires are innate.59 As regards moral motivation, there is a specific moral desire that needs to be strengthened by means of the representation of its object in order to move an agent to act morally, that is, to act as she is obligated to. Now it is necessary to discuss the notion of an idea or representation (»Vorstellung«) as the motivating reason and its criteria of both vivacity and distinctness in terms of which Crusius accounts for the motivating force of an idea or representation. Against this backdrop, it is possible to determine the relation between the vivacity of an idea and the strength of the ensuing desire. Crusius holds against Wolff that the motivational strength of a desire is determined, in the first place, by the idea’s vivacity, where this vivacity presupposes a certain degree of distinctness. My provisional assumption is that unlike Wolff, Crusius holds that the distinctness of an idea primarily determines the desire’s exact object or content, rather than its motivational strength. The determination of a desire’s content implies not only the determination of the object, but also of the relation the action is thought to be able to establish between the agent and the desired object.60 The determination of the content is a necessary condition for an idea to be apt to motivate at all. Any idea or representation that does not convey any information as to the possible content of desire cannot arouse a desire, independently of the idea’s vivacity. In other words, it seems that any degree of vivacity presupposes some degree of distinctness of the idea. The question of how these two factors contribute to

|| 58 »In Ansehung ihres Inhaltes zeiget eine Idee (II) entweder ein Individuum, […], oder ein Abstractum an, daher sie selbst entweder eine individuale, oder abstracte Idee ist, welche letztere Art von Ideen, weil sie von den Individuis gesagt werden können, Praedicabilia heissen […]. Es ist auch zu merken, daß wenn man sich ein Individuum vorstellet, man es entweder durch die Empfindungsidee denken; oder es mit einem von abstracten Ideen hergenommenen Namen benennen, und es ietzo dadurch im Verstande bezeichnen kan, z. E. wenn ich auf den Mond weise, und sage, dieser Weltkörper.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 16), § 119, p. 205. 59 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 144, p. 176. This applies to basic desires of humans and of animals alike. It should be asked what follows from this. With respect to human agents, it follows that a basic desire can be operative although the idea of its object is not (yet) conscious in the sense explained. It is characteristic for basic desires that they are always operative. The point is that if they were not always operative, they would need to be activated. This, however, would be contrary to their nature. See ibid., § 92, pp. 111f. I discuss the conditions for the activation of non-basic desires in sect. 3.1. 60 In the context of this paper, when I speak of a desire’s content, I mean the object of the desire plus the relation between the desired object and the desiring agent. This is pretty much Crusius’s conception of the content of a desire.

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the desire as to both its content and strength is crucial with respect to the idea of freedom as the power to control which of one’s desires become action-guiding. By »strengthening« the »right«, that is, moral, desire the agent can exercise control over her desires. This is the key to understanding how moral motivation works according to Crusius – I shall argue.

4 Ideas as Motivating Reasons (»Bewegungsgründe«) and Their Criteria Crusius explains that in general, »everything that activates a desire is called a motivating reason (»Bewegungs-Grund«).«61 He then goes on to specify this general statement by explaining that cognitive acts causally activate desires. The object can be represented in different ways and in different respects. A desire can be activated in either the presence or the absence of any of its objects.62 Furthermore, all kinds of considerations concerning the possibility, probability or certainty of successfully establishing the relation to the desired object in the actual situation can be a motivating reason (»Bewegungs-Grund«).63 In general, any consideration concerning the prospects of successfully establishing the relation to the desired object in the actual situation can arouse a desire.64 In what follows, I shall only discuss the representation of the desired object, for the ease of exposition.65 As indicated above, the motivational strength of such an idea or representation depends on two factors, namely (a) on the representation’s distinctness (»Deutlichkeit«) or clarity66, and (b) on its vivacity (»Lebhaftigkeit«).67

|| 61 »Alles was eine Begierde reitzet, heißt ein Bewegungsgrund.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 58, p. 74. 62 »Die Reitzung einer Begierde geschiehet entweder dadurch, daß das Object derselben im Verstande lebhafter vorgestellet wird; oder daß der Verstand empfindet oder urtheilet, daß iezo das Object gegenwärtig, […] sey.« Ibid., § 59, p. 74. 63 See again the factors Crusius distinguishes in desiring something as an end, namely (i) the desire (ii) the object and (iii) the relation that should be established by the action in question, end of sect. 2. 64 It is also possible that the relation is only a means to a further end, that is, to establishing another relation. Crusius writes: »[…] oder die Vereinigung mit demselben möglich, oder gar wahrscheinlich oder gewiß sey; oder daß es sonst ietzo darnach zu streben nöthig sey, wie sonst die Gelegenheit nicht leicht wiederkommen möchte, oder weil solches gewisse andere Endzwecke erfordern.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 59, p. 74. 65 What I say, however, also applies to the relation and hence, to the entire content of a desire. 66 The English term ›clarity‹ might be more appropriate than the term ›distinctness‹. This becomes clear if one takes a look at Crusius’ Latin writings. There Crusius uses the Latin term ›claritas‹ in connection with the term ›vulgari‹, while at the same time cross-referencing to his German works

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4.1 The Criterion of Distinctness First, to the distinctness (»Deutlichkeit«) of an idea or representation. Crusius specifies the distinctness required by a representation to be able to elicit a desire as »common« (»vulgaris«). An agent’s representation of an object is of common distinctness if the agent is able to distinguish the object from any other by means of the representation of the object.68 It is, however, not required that the agent should be able to analyze the representation of an object further. An agent is able to analyze the representation of an object if he can enumerate its (conceptual) components. Often, this is beyond human cognitive abilities, as in the case of what John Locke calls »secondary qualities« such as of being sweet or sour.69 Other examples include general representations of things such as of dogs or apples. In general, one can have representations of vulgar distinctness pertaining to substances as well as to their qualities or properties. What is crucial is that distinct, yet unanalyzed or unanalyzable representations of things such as substances and

|| where he uses the German term »Deutlichkeit« in the same context. He writes: »[…] non accipienda sunt de vividitate perceptionis et, quae ex illa nexu naturali sequitur, claritate vulgari.« Crusius: De corruptelis intellectus (see note 16), § XLII, p. 50. In this passage, he refers the reader to his German work Geiwßheit (see note 16), § 171, p. 323, where he uses the German expression ›gemeine Deutlichkeit‹ to render the Latin expression ›claritas vulgaris‹. To avoid unnecessary confusion, and to appropriately account for the fact that Crusius still uses the German term ›Deutlichkeit‹ which is best rendered by the English term ›distinctness‹, I will continue to use the English term ›distinctness‹ and the related ›distinct‹ throughout. It should be noted that Crusius’s terminology does not square with Wolff’s or Leibniz’s on this matter: Crusius calls those ideas that are sufficient to identify a thing and hence, distinguish it from other things as being of a ›common distinctness‹ (»gemeine Deutlichkeit«, »claritas vulgaris«). Leibniz, just as Wolff, would call these ideas as being clear (»clara«), not distinct (»deutlich«), since according to Leibniz, clear ideas can be further distinguished into distinct (»deutlich«) and confused (»verworrene«) ideas. Leibniz writes: »Est ergo cognitio vel obscura vel clara, et clara rursus vel confusa vel distincta, et distincta vel inadaequata vel adaequata […].« Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Meditationes de Cognitione, Veritate et Ideis. In: id.: Kleine Schriften zur Metaphysik. Ed. and transl. by Hans Heinz Holz. Frankfurt a. M. 1996, p. 32 (italics mine). For further discussion, see Clemens Schwaiger: Das Problem des Glücks im Denken Christian Wolffs. Eine quellen-, begriffs-, und entwicklungsgeschichtliche Studie zu Schlüsselbegriffen seiner Ethik. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1995, pp. 139–153; Terry Boswell: Quellenkritische Untersuchungen zum Kantischen Logikhandbuch. Frankfurt a. M. 1991, pp. 100–106. 67 These two factors are not independent of each other. That is, if a representation changes as to its degree of dstinctness, then it should also change as to its degree of vivacity. And if a representation changes as to its degree of vivacity, it should also change as to its degree of distinctness. 68 »Est autem claritas vulgaris ea ideae conditio, qua idonea redditur, ut per eam idea pariter atque eius obiectum ab aliis distingui possit, etsi nec momenta distinctionis enumerare possumus, nec in ipsa idea partes essentiales ab accidentalibus distinguamus, sed inter se mixtas et concretas cogitemus, v.g. talem ideam vulgariter claram habemus de pomo, cane etc.« Crusius: De corruptelis intellectus (see note 16), § XLII, p. 50. See Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 16), § 171, pp. 323f. 69 This is one of Crusius’ examples, see ibid., § 171, p. 324.

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their properties are sufficient to reliably activate desires having these things as their objects. Crusius states that in general, we are warranted to rely on our »commonly distinct« representations or ideas of things we can distinguish by means of their perceptible properties alone, without any »conscious abstraction of an idea«. Normally, and for the »common purposes of human life«, it suffices to have »commonly distinct« representations.70 Desiring things and acting on account of them should belong to these purposes. It follows that in general, a representation does not need to be conscious in the sense explained above in order for the related desire, that is, the desire whose object it represents, to be operative.71 It is possible, of course, that sometimes our distinct representations are mistaken and mispresent something as an object of a desire.72 This happens when we falsely apply a general concept to a particular thing that is not in the concept’s extension. Yet, Crusius thinks that in general, the degree of distinctness that can be achieved by perception, and without further conceptual analysis, is in general sufficiently adequate in order to reliably activate desires that are thus directed at one of their particular objects. In this important respect, Crusius’ conception is in marked contrast to Wolff’s. For Wolff, this kind of common distinctness is not sufficient to generally warrant the adequacy of a representation as the object of a desire.73 It is not sufficient to be merely able to distinguish one thing from another without being able to analyze the representation further, due to the all prevailing possibility of error. Conceptual analysis is necessary to minimize the risk of error. For Wolff, one is necessarily inclined to do what one knows to be good and necessarily disinclined to do what one knows to be bad. Knowing what is good, however, implies knowing the consequences of an action for the state of the agent, since this is what makes an action good. An action is good if its consequences make the state of the agent more perfect.74 As indicated in the introduction, for Wolff, the problem of moral action is

|| 70 »Sie [die gemeine Deutlichkeit] ist nur bey denenjenigen Dingen von zulänglicher Sicherheit, welche unmittelbar empfunden werden, oder sich durch Eigenschaften, welche sinnlich sind, d. i. welche ohne wissentliche Abstraction eine Idee von sich veranlassen, genau zu erkennen geben. Daher ist sie zu den gemeinen Verrichtungen im menschlichen Leben zulänglich.« Ibid., § 171, pp. 323f. 71 This applies all the more to basic desires. See note 56. 72 Suffice it to hint here to Bernard Williams famous ›Gin‹-example: if Jones wants to drink Gin and thinks that the liquid in his glass is Gin, although it is, in fact, petrol, then Jones misrepresents the liquid as an object of his desire to drink Gin. See Bernard Williams: Moral Luck. Cambridge 1981, p. 102. 73 Of course, things are a little more complicated, since for Wolff, the distinct and adequate representation (»Vorstellung«) of the consequences of actions are motivating reasons (»BewegungsGründe«). 74 See Wolff: Deutsche Ethik (see note 14), § 2, p. 3; § 2, p. 5. See also Wolff: Deutsche Metaphysik (see note 47), § 496, p. 302.

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basically a problem of cognition or knowledge. Therefore, the challenge amounts to knowing what »really« perfects one’s state.75 According to Wolff, the agent is »free« to choose between options for action; this choice, however, is determined by the principle of the best, since we choose that »which pleases us most.«76 I think this is why Wolff, unlike Crusius, does not distinguish further between the distinctness and the vivacity of a representation. These are the two factors determinant of the representation’s motivational strength. The point seems to be that the content of a representation, that is, its presenting something as good, is sufficient to necessarily incline the will towards it. The motivational strength of a representation ultimately depends on the degree of goodness represented in relation to the degree of goodness represented by the other representations prevailing at the same time. In general, it seems that for Wolff, differences concerning the motivational strength of representations are due to differences in the degree of goodness of what is represented.77 The criterion of distinctness, thus, rather pertains to the content of the representation. For Crusius, a representation complies with the criterion of »common distinctness« if it is possible to identify or recognize the object by means of the representation. In Crusius’ view, »common distinctness« (»claritas vulgaris«) is also sufficient to guide the agent in moral matters.78 It should become clear why.

|| 75 For discussion of Wolff’s ethics, see Clemens Schwaiger: Wolffs Vollkommenheitsbegriff im Kreuzfeuer pietistischer Kritik. In: Perfektionismus und Perfektibilität. Theorien und Praktiken der Vervollkommnung in Pietismus und Aufklärung. Ed. by Konstanze Baron and Christian Soboth. Hamburg 2018, pp. 53–74; Clemens Schwaiger: Vollkommenheit als Moralprinzip bei Wolff, Baumgarten und Kant. In: id.: Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten – ein intellektuelles Porträt. Studien zur Metaphysik und Ethik von Kants Leitautor. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 2011, pp. 155–165; for a thorough critique of Wolff’s ethics, see Heiner Klemme: »Werde vollkommen!« Christian Wolffs Vollkommenheitsethik in sytematischer Perspektive. In: Christian Wolff und die Europäische Aufklärung. Akten des 1. Internationalen Christian-Wolff-Kongresses. Ed. by Jürgen Stolzenberg and Oliver-Pierre Rudolph. Halle (Saale), 4.‒8. April 2004. Part 3. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 2011, pp. 163–180. 76 »Quod quid nobis placet, id est motivum volitionis, & quod magis placet, vel maxime placet, motivum electionis.« Wolff: Philosophia practica universalis (see note 27), II, § 335, p. 308. Wolff follows Leibniz in this respect. See Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Essais de theodicée. Ed. by Jacques Brunschwig. Paris 1969, part III, § 289. 77 From this, it seems to follow that Wolff can explain differences in the motivational strength of a representation primarily in relation to the strength of other representations. But how would he explain such differences with respect to the same (kind of) representation? Isn’t it plausible that the same (kind of) representation, for example, of a piece of cheesecake, can vary as to its motivational strength at different occasions, in and of itself, that is, not in relation to other representations? It is here that the idea of vivacity seems to become relevant. 78 »Weil wir vermöge des Gewissenstriebes […], eine natürliche Empfindung von recht und unrecht haben; so kan auch bey den moralischen Begriffen die gemeine Deutlichkeit zu einem besonderen Grade der Vollkommenheit gelangen, wenn nicht die Wirksamkeit des Gewissens gehindert und

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4.2 The Criterion of Vivacity But first, let us turn to the criterion of an idea’s vivacity. In this context, Crusius appeals to the fact that generally speaking, it does not make sense to distinguish between a »true« and a »false« or »apparent« vivacity, whereas it does make sense to distinguish between a »true« and a »false« or »apparent« distinctness (»Deutlichkeit«). The idea of an object is not of »true distinctness« if it misrepresents the object. If, for instance, a person first misapplies the general concept of the object of a desire (i. e., ›apple‹) to a particular object, but then realizes that the concept does not apply to it at all, (i. e., what looked like a ripe apple turns out to be made of plastic), then she no longer desires the object. There might, of course, be less obvious cases requiring further analysis of the object and of the general concept that is supposed to apply to it. Thereby, a higher degree of distinctness, that is, of »abstract distinctness«, as Crusius calls it, is reached. A person’s representation is of abstract distinctness if the person is able to conceive of the (conceptual) components of the representation separately.79 In this respect, Crusius’ conception of »abstract distinctness« conforms to Wolff’s conception of distinctness (»Deutlichkeit«). A desire can also lose its strength and finally, cease to exist if for instance, by gaining new information, a person realizes that her representation needs to be adjusted as to one of its components, if for instance she realizes that a certain herb does not have the therapeutic effect it was supposed to have.80 In general, a desire can change its strength due to changes in the object’s representation, where the latter requires the level of »abstract distinctness«. Changes of this kind concern the content of a representation. It is adequate to distinguish between a »true« and a »false« distinctness with respect to the content of a representation due to the possibility of misrepresentation. Two things, however, are to be distinguished here, namely (a) the fact that an idea can represent or misrepresent its object and (b) the

|| unterdrücket wird, welches auf iedwedes Menschen eigene Redlichkeit ankommt.« Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 16), § 171, p. 324. 79 »Die Deutlichkeit des Abstractionsweges oder die logikalische Deutlichkeit ist diejenige, da man sich den Weg der Abstraction vorstellet, wie man zu einem Begriffe gelanget, und ihn dadurch von anderen unterscheidet. […] [M]an stellet sich ein Concretum [= a concept] vor, darinnen der gesuchte abstracte Begriff [= one of its conceptual components] anzutreffen ist, und läßt dasjenige, was nicht darzu gehöret, in den Gedanken nach einander hinweg, so lange bis der gesuchte Begriff allein übrig bleibet und uns also in seiner Absonderung von andern Begriffen, zu denen wir auf andere Art gelangen, kenntlich wird.« Ibid., § 172, p. 325. Such an abstract idea, as mentioned earlier, presupposes consciousness. 80 »Denn durch die abstracte Deutlichkeit wird oft die Reizung wiederum aufgehoben, wenn man dadurch gewahr wird, daß dasjenige Gute, welches auf den ersten Anblick in einem Objecte zu seyn schien, in der That nicht darinnen anzutreffen sey, oder daß die Sache die gehörige Güte in Absicht auf die übrigen Endzwecke der Seele nicht habe.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), p. 76. The example is mine, since Crusius does not give any in this context.

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fact that the person having the idea can be mistaken as to whether the idea represents or misrepresents its object. Due to the possibility of error, one should say that a person’s idea of an object is apt to arouse a desire as long as the person does not come to believe – rightly or falsely – that the idea mispresents its object. By contrast, no such distinction applies to the vivacity of an idea, simply because it does not concern the idea’s content. Rather, it concerns the manner or mode of the representation, of how the content of a desire is represented. What I have in mind here can be illustrated by way of analogy. If, for instance, a piano player plays the A4 on the keyboard, she can first play the note very loudly, and then very softly.81 The difference in loudness does not imply any difference as to what is played. More generally, the idea is that the mere difference in the vivacity of a representation does not imply a difference as to the content represented. Crusius conceives of an idea as an activity or operation (»Thätigkeit«) of the mind.82 The same activity or operation, however, can be carried out more or less intensely or strongly, depending on both internal and external factors.83 In general, a representation is apt to arouse a desire only if it is of a certain, minimal degree of vivacity. It is not required, as Crusius stresses, that the representation be of »true distinctness« (»wahre Deutlichkeit«).84 A representation has this minimally required degree if a person is aware of the object represented. Now it is plausible that one can be more or less aware of an object, depending on how much attention one pays to it, and how focused one is. Awareness of something is gradable, and so is a representation’s vivacity. As indicated earlier, the vivacity of a representation also depends on factors external to awareness or consciousness. As || 81 When I say »the same note« here, I mean the same type of note, namely A4. But of course, there are two tokens of the same note, if first, she plays very loudly, and then, plays very softly. 82 See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 16), § 443, p. 858. 83 As to sense perception, Crusius admits that there are external factors responsible for changes: »Endlich stehet auch dem Satze, daß eine iedwede Idee eine Thätigkeit ist, dieses nicht im Wege, daß die Entstehung, der Grad der Lebhaftigkeit, und die Fortdauer derselben an gewisse von aussen kommende Bedingungen, welche Veränderungen in dem Zustande des Subjectes der Geister sind, gebunden seyn können. Dabey sich demnach der Geist leidend verhält, und zu derjenigen Thätigkeit, welche die Idee ausmacht, leidend determiniret wird § 74. Und mehr als so viel darf man auch nicht darunter verstehen, wenn z. E. gesagt wird, daß die äusserlichen Empfindungs-Ideen ein Leiden des Verstandes sind.« Ibid., § 443, pp. 859–860. As to internal factors, Crusius seems to have in mind for instance the dependence of one power on the other. See ibid., § 466, p. 913. See also note 86. 84 »Ich habe aber mit gutem Bedachte von den Vorstellungen, welche den Willen reizen sollen, nur dieses erfordert, daß sie lebhaft seyn sollen, nicht aber eben, daß sie allezeit eine wahre Deutlichkeit besitzen müsten. Unter der Lebhaftigkeit einer Idee aber verstehe ich nur einen erhöheten Grad der Thätigkeit, wodurch sie gedacht wird.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), p. 76. Again, the point is that the person has to take the idea not to mispresent its object in order for the idea to cause a desire. It is only if the person – rightly or wrongly – comes to believe that the idea misrepresents its object that the idea ceases to cause the desire.

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Crusius notes, desires are most commonly awakened by sensory ideas (»sinnliche Begriffe«), because these have the highest degree of vivacity.85 A reason why sensory ideas have the highest degree of vivacity could be that sensory perceptions can impose themselves unavoidably on the perceiving subject because both their generation and their degree of intensity depend on factors beyond the person’s control: it is not in the power of a person not to see her mother if she is standing immediately in front of her, just as it is not in her power not to hear an explosion in her vicinity.86 The core idea of Crusius’ account is that the strength of a desire – we can desire something more or less strongly – is proportionate to the vivacity of the representation. The more vivid the representation of the desired object, the stronger the desire. And the less vivid the representation of the desired object, the weaker the desire.87 Crusius attempts to justify this idea by arguing that since the »will is a power that […] presupposes an idea«, there simply is nothing but the representation that can determine the vivacity of a desire.88 In the end, »vivacity« is nothing but the degree of intensity of a force or power in its actual operation. Crucially, this principle of proportion not only applies to motivation in general, but also to moral motivation in particular. It should become clear that there is a specific moral desire that the agent needs to strengthen against competing desires by using her power of freedom in order to act morally.

|| 85 »Ueberhaupt werden die Menschen durch sinnliche Begriffe am meisten gereitzet, weil diese die größte Lebhaftigkeit haben.« Ibid., § 61, p. 77. 86 Note that representations of things in their absence can be just as vivid as perceptions of them. The point is that the power of memory (»Gedächtnis«) and of imagination (»Einbildungskraft«) derive from perception (»Empfindung«). See Crusius: Gewißheit (see note 16), § 88, pp. 159f.; § 89, pp. 160f. 87 »Die Lebendigkeit der einen Kraft kan an die Lebendigkeit einer andern, als an eine Bedingung verknüpft seyn, so daß, wenn die eine lebendig wird, und iemehr sie es wird, auch eine Thätigkeit und eine desto grössere Thätigkeit der andern entstehet.« He then concludes: »Die Wircksamkeit der Triebe muß notwendig der Lebhaftigkeit proportional seyn, mit welcher die Obiecte und Bewegungs-Gründe derselben im Verstande gedacht werden.« Crusius: Entwurf (see note 16), § 466, p. 914. 88 »Denn da der Wille eine Kraft ist, welche allezeit die Idee schon voraus setzet: So ist nichts anders vorhanden, wornach sich die Lebhaftigkeit der Triebe richten könnte, als gewisse Vorstellungen.« Ibid., § 466, p. 914.

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5 Moral Motivation To understand how Crusius conceives of moral motivation, it is necessary to determine both the moral desire and its object. The moral desire in question belongs to the group of desires Crusius classifies as basic. It is the »desire of conscience« (»Gewissenstrieb«). The explanation of this desire involves some moral key concepts that need to be elucidated. Crusius writes: Conscience is […] a desire to observe certain duties [»Schuldigkeiten«], that is, to recognize such general obligations [»Verbindlichkeiten«] that one has to observe without including into one’s calculations the benefit or damage resulting [from this observation]. On the other hand, however, God wants to punish one’s breaching of these obligations, and even has to punish it if his law is not to be futile.89

In this passage, Crusius uses the term ›obligations‹ (»Verbindlichkeiten«) to further explain the term ›duties‹ (»Schuldigkeiten«). Obligations just seem to be a kind of duty or rather, there seems to be no real difference between them. And a duty seems to be nothing but an action of doing or omitting something, since in the same paragraph Crusius continues that »a duty [Schuldigkeit] has to be […] some doing or omitting [Thun oder Lassen])«.90 Human agents are obligated to perform actions that comply with divine law and to omit actions that do not comply with it.91 Crusius also calls »conscience« (Gewissen) the judgment about one’s actions as to their moral value, according to their compliance with »divine moral law.« In this context, Crusius makes it clear that the judgment that one’s action does not comply with this law generates fear of

|| 89 »Der Gewissenstrieb ist also bloß ein Trieb, gewisse Schuldigkeiten, das ist, solche allgemeine Verbindlichkeiten zu erkennen, die man zu beobachten hat, wenn man auch den daher rührenden Nutzen oder Schaden nicht in Erwegung ziehen will, deren Uebertretung hingegen Gott straffen will, und auch, wenn sein Gesetz nicht vergeblich seyn soll, straffen muß […].« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 133, p. 159 (italics mine). On the issue of conscience, see Sticker’s contribution to this volume. 90 »[…] daß eine Schuldigkeit ein Thun oder Lassen seyn muß […].« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 133, p. 160. 91 At some point, Crusius explicates this law as »a general will of an independent overlord«. This »general will« here does not refer to will as a power; rather, it can be taken in the following sense: God wills that p, where ›p‹ is a general, normative proposition, i. e., in the form of an order or imperative. See ibid., § 165, p. 207. In another place, Crusius renders this normative proposition by wording it as follows: »[…] thue, was der Vollkommenheit Gottes und deinem Verhältnisse gegen ihn, und ferner was der wesentlichen Vollkommenheit der menschlichen Natur gemäß ist, und unterlasse das Gegentheil.« Ibid., § 137, p. 167.

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divine punishment.92 – I come back to this aspect later. Conscience as the judgment about one’s action is both an operation and effect of the actualized moral desire.93 In general, human agents have the tendency to compare the contents of their perceptions and thoughts with the contents of their desires, and to judge whether there is a match between them or not.94 With respect to the moral desire of conscience, this general tendency is cashed out as the judgment about the (non-)compliance of one’s action with the divine moral law.95 According to Crusius, the obligation to comply with this law is grounded in man’s dependence on God’s will. This dependence seems to be ontological in the first place. Crusius writes: Dependence among minds is nothing but such a relation of one [mind] to another where one receives certain goods by the will of the other. That is, if this [scil. other] will were to disappear, those goods would also no longer exist. Therefore, it is evident that we totally depend on God.96

The general idea is that humans have certain goods, such as their power of reason and of will, and in general, their nature and lives, only by the power of God’s will, since it is by His will that He created them. Crucially, not only the initial reception, but also, the maintenance or preservation of these goods depend on God’s will.97 Just as a light bulb is on only as long as it is powered, so a human being is alive with all her – accidental and essential – properties only as long as God wills to ›power‹ her. This is why Crusius uses a counterfactual conditional here. If God were no long-

|| 92 »Daß das Gewissen kein bloß theoretisches Urteil des Verstandes sey, sondern seinen Grund in einem Triebe des Willens haben müsse, kan man auch schon daraus urtheilen, weil es erfreuet und ängstet, […].« Ibid., § 132, p. 157. 93 »[…] iudicium de moralitate factorum dicimus conscientiam, quae itaque nihil aliud est, quam dicti appetitus operatio et effectus.« Christian August Crusius: Dissertatio philosophica de appetitibus insitis voluntatis humanae. Lipsiae 1742, § LI, p. 117 (italics mine). 94 Crusius also calls this tendency a »natural basic law of the human soul«: »Weil es nun eines von den natürlichen Grundgesetzen der menschlichen Seele ist, nach welcher die Wirckungen derselben aus einander folgen, daß wir die Begriffe des Verstandes gegen unsere Begierden halten, um uns bewust zu werden, was in den Objecten derselbigen diesen gemäß oder zuwieder sey, […].« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 132, p. 157. 95 »[…] so entsteht daher eine Neigung über die Moralität, das ist, über die Gerechtigkeit oder Ungerechtigkeit seiner Thaten zu urtheilen, und wofern sie dem Gesetze nicht gemäß sind, deswegen GOttes Zorn und Straffe zu fürchten […].« Ibid., § 132, p. 157. 96 »Unter der Dependenz ist bey Geistern nichts anders zu verstehen, als ein solches Verhältniß des einen gegen den andern, da der eine gewisse Güter von dem Willen des andern hat, dergestalt, daß wenn dieser Wille hinwegfiele, auch die Güter hinwegfallen würden. Daher ist offenbar, daß wir in allen Stücken von Gott dependiren.« Ibid., § 133, p. 1. 97 It is a common in the medieval discussion to distinguish between the initial causation or creation of x by God and the preservation (»conservation«) of x by God. See William Ockham: Quodlibeta Septem. Opera Theologica IX. Ed. by Joseph C. Wey. St. Bonaventure, NY 1980, p. 152.

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er willing to preserve or maintain human beings in their present state, then they would no longer be in that state; at worst, they would cease to exist altogether. It is worth emphasizing that the idea of this dependence can only move human agents, or more generally, and in Crusius’ terms, only rational minds (Geister), since only these minds can be conscious of and acknowledge their dependence on God’s will. More importantly, however, in this world, only rational minds are obligated to act morally because only they have the power of freedom. As stated in the introduction, moral action presupposes freedom, in Crusius’s voluntarist view, in that it presupposes the possibility of voluntary deviation. He conceives of divine creation as a free, intentional action to which the analysis of ends given above also applies.98 God wants free agents to act morally; this is the end for which they were created. Crusius even advances a metaphysical argument for the existence of freedom. The upshot of his argument is that freedom is a necessary ingredient in any actual world, since the divine action of creating the world threatens to be futile without freedom. It is, however, metaphysically impossible that there be any futile divine action. An action is futile if by that action nothing becomes actual or at least possible that would not be actual or possible without it. Now, although it depends on God’s will whether the agent has the power of freedom or not, it does not depend on God’s will how the power is actually used, that is, whether the agent uses it in the way she should use it, namely in accordance with divine moral law, or not. Therefore, it is only when there are agents that act freely and, sometimes, in accordance with divine moral law that the action of creating the world is not futile.99 The idea of this dependence is able to actualize the moral desire to act according to divine law; it is the motivating reason we were looking for. Crusius writes: The binding force of law [Verbindlichkeit des Gesetzes] should be that which moves the one subjected to law to comply with the commands of his overlord. That, however, can be nothing but the idea of his dependence on Him.100

Crusius here states that what should move one to act morally is the idea of one’s dependence on God, since it is this idea of dependence that grounds the binding or normative force of the law. The point is that the binding force of the law is not a mere ontological relation, since non-rational animals also depend on God without thereby being morally obligated at all. Therefore, it seems what is further required

|| 98 See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 16), § 281, pp. 504–508. 99 See Sonja Schierbaum: Freedom of Indifference: Its Metaphysical Credentials According to Crusius. In: Fudan Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences 12.3 (2019), pp. 385–405. 100 »Denn die Verbindlichkeit des Gesetzes soll dasjenige seyn, was den Unterworfenen antreibt, den Befehlen seines Oberherrn zu gehorchen. Dieses aber kan nichts anderes seyn, als die Vorstellung seiner Dependenz von demselben.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 133, p. 1. For the required generality of this dependence see ibid., § 168, p. 211; § 172, p.235.

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for the law to be binding is the epistemological relation to rational subjects who are able to recognize their dependence on God. One could say that the ontological and epistemological conditions are individually necessary and jointly sufficient for the binding force of the law.101 It could be asked whether being moved by the idea of dependence also includes being moved by the idea of dependence as the ground of the binding force of divine law. I think the answer should be ›Yes‹, since then we are justified in saying that according to Crusius, if we act morally, we are motivated to comply with divine law because it is binding, that is, because it is a law, since it is the representation of the ground of its binding force alone that moves us to act. Therefore, we are not moved by any personal interest, if we act morally. The upshot of Crusius’ conception of moral motivation and action is this: We should use our power of freedom to strengthen the moral desire to act in accordance with natural law so as to make it the guide of all of our basic desires. As shown in sect. 4.2, the »strengthening« of a desire implies increasing the degree of vivacity of the idea of the object involved. The idea of dependence as the ground of the binding force of a law is, of course, an abstract idea. That is, strengthening the moral desire requires cognitive efforts to render explicit and intensify the force of the idea of dependence. It is only when we grasp the ground of the binding force of law distinctly and with a high degree of vivacity that we can start to arrange our basic desires in such a way that the moral desire, in connection with its proper object and the relation that is to be established by the corresponding action, is the main drive for our choices. In Crusius’ view, we should subordinate all our ends to the »highest end«, namely that of complying with divine moral law. An end is subordinated to another end if it is conceived as a means to attain another end.102 Crusius also calls the »highest end« virtue. Virtue is explicated as »the compliance of the moral state of a mind with divine law.«103 The state in question is moral insofar as it depends on freedom.104 His point is that happiness is a consequence of virtue. That is, once we act in accordance with divine law, we will also be happy. Although virtue is the means to attain happiness which we also desire, we would not act morally if we acted in accordance with divine law because we wanted to become happy.105 Inter-

|| 101 In this point, I am heavily indebted to discussions with John Walsh. 102 »Wenn man den einen Endzweck zur Richtschnur machet, wiefern man den andern suchen will, so wird der letztere ein subordinirter Endzweck des erstern genennet.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 17, p. 19. 103 »Die Tugend aber ist die Uebereinstimmung des moralischen Zustandes eines Geistes mit dem göttlichen Gesetze.« Ibid., § 161, p. 200. 104 »Moralisch aber nenne ich alles dasjenige, was seine Wirckung vermittelst eines freyen Willens hervorbinget.« Ibid. 105 »Alsdenn wird unsere Glückseligkeit aus der Tugend und in dem Stande der Tugend von sich selbst erfolgen; welche wir dahero auch begehren, suchen, und mit Dancke annehmen können und

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estingly, the desire for happiness is not one of the basic desires, but rather, results from all active desires taken together. The point is that for Crusius, happiness is nothing but the pleasure (»Vergnügen«) resulting from the satisfaction of one’s desires. Thus, that human agents strive for happiness means that they strive for the satisfaction of their desires.106 If our actions are fueled by other basic desires, such as our desire for our own perfection, then of course we consider our own advantage or benefit. Such an action, however, cannot be moral, since it is incompatible with an action’s being moral that the action should be performed in light of considerations concerning its positive and negative consequences for the performing agent. It should be noted, however, that punishment is also mentioned in the first quote given in this section. And in the same paragraph where Crusius calls conscience the judgment about one’s actions according to their compliance with divine law, he also explicates that if one judges that one’s action does not comply with divine law, then this generates a fear of divine punishment, as indicated above.107 How does this fear in case of failure square with the requirement to be motivated by the representation of the ground of the binding force? Does Wolff’s criticism that only unreasonable, childlike people need to be motivated to perform morally good actions by the prospect of reward and to omit bad actions by the threat of punishment hit its target, after all?

6 Wolff’s Criticism Wolff does not think that there are any moral desires that need to be strengthened in order for the agent to act morally. Rather, in his view, if a person needs to be motivated to act as she is obligated to act by some desire, namely the desire to be rewarded and to avoid punishment, then this only proves that this person is not reasonable. It should have become clear that Crusius’ conception of a moral desire is not as crude and irrational as in Wolff’s caricatural description.108 For one thing, the motivating reason (»Bewegungs-Grund«) of the moral desire to act in accordance with divine law is incompatible with any motivating reason implying any consideration concerning the personal advantage or benefit. According to Crusius, one can be moved to act morally by the representation of the ground of law’s binding force.

|| sollen, aber nur nicht zum Zwecke des Gehorsams machen dürfen, weil dieser dadurch sein Wesen verlieren würde […].« Ibid., § 176, p. 219. 106 See ibid., § 106, pp. 126–128; § 107, pp. 128f. 107 See quote in note 95. 108 See Introduction.

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Being moved by that idea implies some considerable cognitive efforts given the abstract nature of the idea of dependence. It is, of course, possible to criticize the voluntarist conception of the ground of normativity, but this is a whole different issue. As indicated earlier, however, Crusius does mention that fear of punishment is generated if one’s judgment about the compliance of one’s action with divine law is negative. Again, how does this fear square with the representation of dependence as the ground of normativity? Is there something to the criticism that Crusius’ account of moral motivation is not based on rational insight? To answer this, it is necessary to take another, closer look at Crusius’ conception of desire (»Begierde«). The core idea is that any desire for something implies the striving for the actualization or attainment of the desired content and negatively implies the avoidance or prevention of failure. This failure to actualize the desired content could even, in some cases, lead to the actualization of a content contrary to the desired content.109 Crusius writes: Now striving to prevent the actualization of something in general, or in relation to us is called an aversion. Accordingly, from any desire arises at the same time an aversion of anything conflicting with it [that is, with the realization or attaining of the desired content].110

In another paragraph, Crusius explains that positively speaking, we call a desire the striving to actualize something or to literally make it »real«, whereas negatively speaking, the desire to prevent something to become actual or real is called an »aversion« (»Verabscheuung«).111 The moral desire to act in accordance with divine law implies the desire to avoid failing to do so, since this would, at worst, result in breaking divine law. The desire to avoid breaking divine law is implied by the moral desire to act in accordance with divine law: these are two sides of one and the same coin, so to speak. As I see it, the fear of punishment, according to Crusius’ view, can be generated by the judgment about one’s – particular – action only because the aspect of punishment in cases of non-compliance is a feature of the general concept of ›divine moral law‹. The negative judgment about the non-compliance of one’s action can generate fear to be punished for non-compliance in this particular case only because the human subject knows that in general, non-compliance of actions with divine law

|| 109 »Eine Begierde könte ferner kein Bestreben nach einer Sache seyn, wenn sie nicht das Gegentheil derselben zu verhindern in Bemühungen wäre.« Crusius: Anweisung (see note 11), § 98, p. 117. 110 »Nun heisset das Bestreben die Wircklichkeit einer Sache überhaupt, oder in einem gewissen Verhältnisse gegen uns zu verhindern eine Verabscheuung […]. Demnach entstehet aus allen Begierden zugleich eine Verabscheuung desjenigen, was ihnen wiederstreitet, inwiefern es ihnen nemlich zuwieder ist.« Ibid., § 98, p. 117. 111 See ibid., § 9, pp. 12f.

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is punished by God. In one of his early, Latin writings, Crusius explicitly states that it is part of the very notion of ›divine moral law‹ that breaking the law is punished by God. There he explicates the notion as follows: […] the divine law, that is, a rule prescribed by God, by which it is defined what God wants to be done by His creatures, out of obedience against Him, and for the sake of their dependence on Him; for in case this is not complied with, they will be punished.112

Since the idea of divine law is innate, according to Crusius, it is thereby implied that any human subject that is conscious of the full-fledged concept of divine moral law is aware of the fact that non-compliance with it is punished by God. The question is how this knowledge of the fact that non-compliance is punished relates to the desire to avoid breaking divine law. I think one desires to avoid failure of complying with divine law for its – especially bad – consequences, namely divine punishment. The point is that although failing to accomplish what one desires is always frustrating, failure in the case of complying with divine law seems particularly bad due to the prospect of divine punishment. As I see it, Crusius could argue that in the case of the desire of conscience, the subject not only desires to act in accordance with moral law, but at the same time, also desires to avoid failing to do so because of the particularly severe consequences of such a failure. One could also say that the agent’s notion of the divine moral law provides her with a – very cogent – motivating reason (»Bewegungs-Grund«) to avoid such failure.113 Note that in the context of the Latin work mentioned above, Crusius even describes the content of the moral desire as the desire »to satisfy the law, so as to avoid punishment by doing so.«114 What matters in the context of Wolff’s criticism is that if one acts morally according to Crusius, then one’s »positive« moral desire to act in accordance with divine law is not actualized by the prospect of reward, but by the idea of dependence; it cannot be denied, however, that if one acts morally, then one’s »negative« moral desire to avoid breaking divine law is motivated by the idea of divine punishment. In other words, if one acts morally, then one wants to act in accordance with law because it is a law, whereas at the same time, one wants to avoid failure to act in accordance with law because such failure necessarily implies divine punishment. The prospect of punishment, however, generates fear, and if this prospect is

|| 112 »[…] legem divinam, id est, eiusmodi a Deo praescriptam regulam, qua definitur, quid Deus a creaturis suis, ex obedientia erga se, et ob earum a se dependentiam, fieri velit, quod nisi praestetur, eas puniturus est.« Crusius: De appetitibus insitis voluntatis humanae (see note 93), § LI, p. 117. 113 For Crusius’s notion of »Bewegungs-Grund«, see sect. 4 above. 114 »Appetitus ipse autem eo tendit, ut legi satisfaciat, quo facto poenae evitantur.« Crusius: De appetitibus insitis voluntatis humanae (see note 93), § LI, p. 117.

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made imminent by the negative judgment about one’s particular action, the fear might even be greater. This fear, however, is distinct from the driving force of the moral desire in the first place.

7 Conclusion My aim in this paper was to determine how Crusius conceives of the relation between the cognitive and conative states involved in and central to moral motivation. We saw that for Crusius, moral motivation and motivation in general work in a strictly analogous way. The basic moral desire, conscience, is activated by the representation of its content, just as any other desire for that matter. The representation of the desire’s content is the motivating reason (»Bewegungs-Grund«). In the case of conscience, it is the representation of one’s dependence on God’s will as the ground of the binding or normative force of divine law together with the recognition of this dependence. In general, any idea of the content of a (kind of) desire can activate the desire if the person having the idea does not believe that the content is misrepresented by the idea. The strength of the desire co-varies with the strength or force of the idea. The more »vivid«, that is, forceful or intense the idea represents its content, the stronger the desire. And similar for the decrease of a desire’s strength. This is why, according to Crusius, it requires some voluntary efforts to literally strengthen desires whose objects are represented by abstract ideas, because the latter are much less intense than sensory ideas. One should use one’s power of freedom to draw one’s attention to the abstract idea of the ground of the moral law in order to strengthen the force of the moral desire which should guide all other basic desires. As to the rationalist criticism of the idea that moral motivation requires moral desire, it became clear that Crusius can successfully avoid Wolff’s general objection that only unreasonable people need to be moved by the prospects of reward and punishment, because they lack rational insight into the quality of things. According to Crusius, one acts morally if one desires to act according to divine law because it is a law. Things, however, turned out to be more complex. The desire to act according to divine law also implies, as its negative counterpart, the desire to avoid failing to act according to divine law because such failure results in the breaking of the law. The breaking of divine law, however, is necessarily punished by God. Thus, one desires at the same time not to break divine law because it will be punished by God, something that everyone naturally fears. Fear, however, is generated by the very prospect of punishment in general, and by the judgment of one’s action in particular and thus, is distinct from the moral desire in the first place. We can conclude that since Crusius holds the view that the possibility of moral action necessarily presupposes the existence of a moral desire, it follows that if one

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is actually moved by the moral desire, then one is »positively« moved by the idea and recognition of dependence as the ground of the law’s binding force, and at the same time, one is »negatively« moved by the prospect of divine punishment in case of failure. This, however, is not sufficient to turn Crusius’ conception of moral motivation into a target of Wolff’s criticism.115

|| 115 Acknowledgements: The work on this paper has been generously funded by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG, German Research Foundation), project number 417359636.

Martin Sticker

Sleeping Conscience – Crusius on Moral Fallibility According to Jerome Schneewind’s monograph on the genesis of the notion of autonomy in the early modern period, Crusius’ moral philosophy constitutes »one of the most original products of the eighteenth century«,1 yet in-depth discussion of many central aspects of his philosophy, and in particular his ethics, is still scarce. Crusius is particularly interested in explaining human moral fallibility and in providing remedies for it. Crusius talks about this fallibility in terms of a »sleeping conscience« (»schlafendes Gewissen«).2 The notion of a sleeping conscience is remarkable for at least two reasons. Firstly, whilst Crusius is not the only thinker of his time who admits that conscience can err or otherwise fail in its function,3 this admission distinguishes him from the most prominent German Enlightenment philosopher: Immanuel Kant. Certain forms of moral failure are difficult to understand and explain within Kant’s framework. Crusius’ conception has the potential to avoid some of the problems this yields for Kant’s ethics. Secondly, currently as well as historically, conscience enjoys great moral significance.4 Agents sometimes appeal to their conscience as a source of ultimate and indisputable moral justification. Crusius, whilst he acknowledges the central importance of conscience, is also aware of the limits of conscience as a source of moral insight. Looking at his writings on conscience can therefore help us to better understand a still significant but also embattled conception of moral cognition.

|| I am grateful to Karin de Boer, Andree Hahmann, Achim Vesper, Giuseppe Motta, Steven Tester, Stefan Klingner, Corey Dyck and James Camien McGuiggan for discussing the material in this paper and for feedback on earlier drafts. 1 Jerome Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy. A History of Modern Moral Philosophy. Cambridge 1998, p. 446. See also Hans-Matthias Wolff: Die Weltanschauung der deutschen Aufklärung in geschichtlicher Entwicklung. Bern 1949, p. 155, who emphasizes the importance of Crusius for the German Enlightenment. 2 I quote Crusius according to Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben, Darinnen nach Erklärung der Natur des menschlichen Willens die natürlichen Pflichten und allgemeinen Klugheitslehren im richtigen Zusammenhange vorgetragen werden. Leipzig 31767, and Christian August Crusius: Kurzer Begriff der Moraltheologie, oder nähere Erklärung der practischen Lehren des Christenthums. Leipzig 1772. Translations are my own. Here Crusius: Anweisung, § 139, see also ibid., § 140. 3 See, for instance, Alexander Baumgarten in Kant: AA XXVII, p. 781. I quote Kant according to Kant’s gesammelte Schriften. Ed. by the Königlich Preußische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Berlin 1900ff. (AA). 4 Conscience of course also enjoys great political significance, for instance, in the form of conscientious objections. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-012

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In the first section, I will provide historical and philosophical context to Crusius’ conception of conscience and contrast his notion of an erring conscience with Immanuel Kant’s prominent conception of conscience. This will demonstrate the historical significance of Crusius’ conception of conscience and show that his conception deserves critical attention. In the second section, I will explain Crusius’ conception of conscience and the different functions conscience has for Crusius: recognizing morality at all, cognizing specific duties, being motivated to do the right thing and critically evaluating oneself. In the third section, I will show how, according to Crusius, conscience can be sleeping or erring. In the fourth section, I will critically discuss whether conscience, according to Crusius, is so fallible that some rational agents cannot be treated as fully responsible for their actions. I will show a route for Crusius to avoid the problem that immoral actions seem conscientious. Finally, I criticize Crusius’ idea that conscience can be stronger or weaker by nature and without any action on the part of an agent. For my investigation, I will focus on Crusius’ Anweisung vernünftig zu leben and his Kurzer Begriff der Moraltheologie. The former is from the early, philosophical, period of Crusius’ thought, the latter from his later, more theological, period.

1 Crusius, Enlightenment and Immanuel Kant Crusius assumes that all human agents have access to moral truth. In his Moraltheologie, he discusses whether even heathens are able to cognize morality. He admits that this is a difficult question, since heathens are without divine revelation. However, he believes that since Creation a »divine word« (»göttliches Wort«)5 is present to humans. Divine word, a form of revelation, is necessary for moral cognition, but this revelation is not restricted to a specific group of believers.6 In the Anweisung, Crusius argues that morality is not just for scholars or experts. It thus cannot be difficult to discover what is morally commanded.7 Conscience has the crucial function of letting every agent cognize what it is morally incumbent upon her to do and to motivate her to do it.8 || 5 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 10, p. 26. 6 Ibid., pp. 26–28. 7 Crusius is a pessimist concerning the abilities of the educated and scholars to prove that we have certain duties (Crusius: Moraltheologie [see note 2], § 37, p. 169). He therefore rather appeals to common human understanding for these proofs (see for instance ibid., § 30, p. 151). 8 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 135; Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy (see note 1), p. 450 points out that this is specifically directed against Wolff’s elitism: »Crusius thus thinks of conscience as providing a method of ethics available to everyone alike, even if it does not show the rationale for the guidance it gives«. See Theo Kobusch: Die Entdeckung der Person. Metaphysik der Freiheit und modernes Menschenbild. Freiburg, Basel, Wien 1993, pp. 92–100 for a brief exposition

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It can thus not be the goal of Crusius’ ethics to introduce agents to morality in the first place. Rather, Crusius’ goal, according to the Anweisung’s first preface, is to refine »the clarity and order, the certainty and completeness, the insight into the reasons and the connection of moral truth«, since these features are »for most [agents] present to a very low degree« (»das bey den meisten sich in gar niedrigem Grade befindet«).9 The assumption that rational agents have access to moral truth prior to all academic instruction and prior to acquiring any specialist knowledge is a classical doctrine of the Enlightenment: All agents, regardless of their social status, are able to cognize what morality requires and to act on this requirement.10 For concrete moral deliberation a rational agent thus does not stand in need of moral authority figures, teachers, scripture etc. On the level which determines the value of a person, i. e. morality, we are thus all equals. In the Enlightenment period, this egalitarian thought was frequently considered a precondition for an agent’s accountability before God. Divine reward or punishment would appear inappropriate or unfair, if it was impossible for agents to cognize what is morally commanded of her.11 The Enlightenment notion of moral equality is most prominently expressed in the philosophy of Immanuel Kant. Kant is optimistic that, due to their rational capacities, agents can at all times find out what morality requires them to do or omit.12 || of Wolff’s Philosophia practica universalis. See also Frederick Beiser: The Fate of Reason. German Philosophy from Kant to Fichte. Cambridge, MA 1987, pp. 197f. for a short overview of the Wolffian movement. 9 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), p. a3. 10 Karl Ameriks: The Fate of Autonomy. Problems in the Appropriation of the Critical Philosophy. Cambridge 2000, p. 228 emphasizes that it was a classical Enlightenment position to assume that »what is expected of, and most significant about, human beings must be in principle equally accessible to all and should not depend on the accident of particular external conditions«. According to Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy (see note 1), p. 4, it is the »deepest and most pervasive difference« between modern and pre-modern conceptions of morality that modern conceptions assume »that people are equally competent as moral agents, unless shown to be otherwise«. 11 Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy (see note 1), pp. 449–452 makes this point specifically with regard to Crusius. 12 See, for instance: »the voice of reason in reference to the will so distinct, so irrepressible, and so audible even to the most common human beings« (»Wäre nicht die Stimme der Vernunft in Beziehung auf den Willen so deutlich, so unüberschreibar, selbst für den gemeinsten Menschen so vernehmlich«) (AA V:35.13–5, see also AA IV, p. 404.2–4, VI, p. 14.10, p. 84.13–14, p. 181.30–32, AA VI, p. 273.16–17, AA VII, p. 200.5–30, AA VIII, p. 402.13–14). Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy (see note 1) p. 522 points out that Kant, alongside Bentham, is the first to adopt such an optimistic view. Kant himself seems to qualify his view when in the Doctrine of Virtue’s casuistical questions he concedes that there can be epistemic difficulties at least when it comes to applying general moral rules to concrete cases. See Martin Sticker: The Moral-Psychology of the Common Agent – A Reply to Ido Geiger. In: British Journal for the History of Philosophy 23.5 (2015), pp. 976– 989 for critical discussion of the idea that, according to Kant, a voice of reason simply informs philosophically untrained agents of their duties without the need of any active rational scrutiny on the part of the agent. See Martin Sticker: Kant’s Criticism of Common Moral Rational Cognition. In:

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Kant even claims that what morality requires is self-evident and that conscience is an infallible capacity of critical moral self-evaluation.13 An advantage of Kant’s position is that it provides a straightforward framework for praising or blaming agents: Agents are always aware of what they must do or omit, and they cannot excuse their behaviour because they lacked the right education or moral instruction, since morality is clear even without special education or instruction.14 This enables rational agents to consider and treat each other as morally competent and to recognize each other as moral equals. An important problem with this position is that it cannot account for the full spectrum of moral failures and their sources. For Kant, agents can lack motivation to carry out what they acknowledge as the morally obligatory option. However, lack of motivation is not the only moral deficiency. There are situations in which agents do not know what they have to do, in which they err about what their duty is, and in which they have overlooked something morally important and thus reached the wrong moral conclusion. Kant tries to capture this by conceding the possibility of self-deception, or »rationalizing« (»vernünfteln«) as he calls it.15 Nonetheless, it remains obscure how rationalizing can ever lead to its intended outcome, namely, that agents can deem themselves justified or at least excused in their moral violations. Kant believes that every agent has a conscience, which is infallible and watches over the use an agent makes of her rational capacities when she reflects about her duty.16 Kant describes conscience as an internal court in which prosecutor, judge, advocate and accused represent different perspectives that an agent can

|| European Journal of Philosophy 25.1 (2017), pp. 85–109 for qualifications of the standard view that common agents do not need any philosophical input for moral cognition in concrete cases. 13 Kant explicitly says that conscience is infallible in AA VI, p. 401.8, AA VIII, p. 268.10–13, AA XXVII, p. 615.32–36. 14 This does not mean that education plays no role for Kant. His optimism is restricted to ›rational‹ agents. Without any education agents would not be able to develop rational capacities in the first place. See Martin Sticker: Educating the Common Agent. Kant on the Varieties of Moral Education. In: Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 97.3 (2017), pp. 358–387, section 3 for further discussion. 15 See AA IV, pp. 404–405; Kant offers numerous examples of this pernicious activity. See AA VI, p. 70 fn., pp. 77.26–78.2, pp. 168.8–170.11, pp. 192.1–202.5, pp. 200.11–34, p. 430.19–26, AA VIII, pp. 265.28–266.5. 16 I argue for this conception of conscience in detail in Martin Sticker: When the Reflective WatchDog Barks – Conscience and Self-Deception in Kant. In: The Journal of Value Inquiry 51.1 (2015), pp. 85–104. It is important to note that for Kant conscience has the very specific function of critically reflecting on an agent’s use of her rational capacities when reflecting about her duty. Unlike for Crusius, conscience for Kant does not motivate to moral action (respect for the moral law does this), and it is not a capacity to cognize what is morally commanded in the first place. Thomas Hill JR.: Human Welfare and Moral Worth. Kantian Perspectives. Oxford 2002, pp. 280f. and Jens Timmermann: Kant on Conscience, ›Indirect‹ Duty, and Moral Error. In: International Philosophical Quarterly 46.3 (2006), pp. 293–308 both stress that Kant has a narrower conception of conscience than we have today.

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take up on herself.17 The advocate cannot be silenced, and the judge cannot be corrupted.18 Self-deception seems to be impossible on this conception. There is always the incorruptible voice of the internal judge, which informs agents that they cannot be certain that what they intend to do or did is right and which condemns the agent in the form of pangs of conscience.19 Crusius is interesting not only from a historical perspective since he is an Enlightenment thinker who is sensitive to a broad spectrum of moral errors. Crusius’ ethics promises a conception which accounts well for human fallibility whilst not sacrificing some of the central insights of the Enlightenment: That rational agents as part of their rationality are endowed with a capacity for moral cognition, and that we are all moral equals.

2 Conscience as a Basic Instinct Conscience is for Crusius a basic instinct of human beings.20 Basic instincts are instincts or drives21 not derived from other instincts and they ground other instincts or passions themselves.22 The first part of Crusius’ Anweisung vernünftig zu leben offers an extended discussion of basic instincts. This part is titled »Thelematologie« and investigates the most general principles of human willing, the basic instincts.23 These instincts are different from animalistic instincts and they are part of human

|| 17 See AA VI, p. 438.11, AA XXVII, P. 197.19–36; This is possibly inspired by Baumgarten’s conception of a forum humanum, forum rationis internum and externum (see his Initia philosophia practicae primae in AA XIX, p. 83.11–35). See also AA XIX, p. 89.13–91.11 for Baumgarten’s discussion of conscience. 18 AA V, p. 98.13–21; AA VI, p. 77.27. 19 AA VI, p. 186.21–33; Kant is well aware that agents can ignore this voice (AA VI. p. 400.31–33, p. 401.10f., p. 438.21–23). This, however, is not an ›epistemic‹ deficiency, since in this case the agent knows that an action is wrong, but she does not act accordingly. Kant also acknowledges that misleading philosophy (»head-perplexing speculations of the school« [»kopfverwirrende Speculationen der Schulen«], AA V, p. 35.16) can confuse and detract agents. But here too a rational agent seems to retain her insight into moral commands, and misleading academic principles function as a retrospective excuse. If this were not so, it would be unclear how agents who came into contact with misleading theory could still be held responsible for their actions. 20 Crusius uses »basic instinct« (»Grundtrieb«) and »basic passion« (»Grundbegierde«) interchangeably. See for instance Crusius: Anweisung (see note 3), §§ 113f., where Crusius speaks of the »passion for perfection« (»Vollkommenheitsbegierde«) as well as the »instinct for perfection« (»Vollkommenheitstrieb«); see also Magdalene Benden: Christian August Crusius. Wille und Verstand als Prinzipien des Handelns. Bonn 1972, p. 76. 21 I will translate the German »Trieb« throughout as »instinct«, even though »drive« is more literal. 22 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), §§ 89f. 23 See ibid., § 91.

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nature.24 Their objects are complex entities that can only be represented by an »abstract idea« (»abstracten Idee«).25 Crusius does not elaborate much on the difference between basic and animalistic instincts here. We can assume that basic instincts, unlike animalistic instincts, require the capacity for abstract thought – they are the instincts of »all rational spirits« (»jedweder vernünftiger Geist«)26 – since their objects, such as truth, freedom, honour, love of humanity (see below), can only be represented by abstract ideas. Thus, without a capacity for abstract thought one would lack basic instincts or at least one’s capacity to act on them would be severely limited as one could not comprehend the object of one’s striving when following one of those instincts.27 There are three basic instincts: firstly, ›self-perfection‹, and derived from this, the instinct for truth and the longing for perfection of the body as well as the instincts for freedom, honour and power.28 Secondly, the instinct for objects in which we ›perceive perfection or believe to perceive perfection‹.29 Derived from this is the instinct for moral love, and love of humanity.30 The former is directed at a single person and the latter at humanity as a whole.31 Thirdly, the instinct for ›conscience‹, which Crusius characterizes as the capacity to cognize a divine moral law, i. e., to believe in a principle of human actions which determines what God wishes to be done or to be omitted from obedience [to Him] and for the sake of our dependence on Him, and that He will otherwise punish.32

This very dense characterization already makes apparent three central features of conscience. Firstly, God is the source or ground of moral laws.33 Conscience is not

|| 24 Ibid., § 90. 25 Ibid., § 111. 26 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 91. 27 Matters are made more complicated, though, by Crusius’ claim that the complex objects of basic instincts can, at least initially, be unconscious and still drive rational agents to action (ibid., § 92). It seems that agents must be able to comprehend the objects of their basic instincts, but they do not always have to consciously pursue these objects when acting on their basic instincts. When pushed to provide a clear distinction between basic and other instincts Crusius might simply say that the former are part of the essence of human beings as devised by God (ibid., § 90). 28 Ibid., § 117, §§ 119f. 29 Ibid., § 122. 30 Ibid., § 125, § 130. 31 According to Crusius, happiness is not the object of a basic instinct, since it only consists of the satisfaction of contingent passions, i. e., passions which do not constitute basic instincts (ibid., § 107, p. 112). 32 Ibid., § 132; »Ein göttliches moralisches Gesetz zu erkennen, das ist, eine solche Regel der menschlichen Thaten zu glauben, darin bestimmt wird, was Gott aus Gehorsam um unserer Dependenz wollen von ihm gethan oder gelassen wissen, ausserdem aber strafen will.«

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itself a moral standard or source of moral commands, but functions as a capacity for ›cognition‹ of moral commands rooted in a source external to conscience. Crusius’ conception of conscience thus sharply contrasts with a specifically modern way of thinking about conscience, according to which conscience is not an epistemic capacity to cognize moral commands grounded in a source other than conscience. Instead, conscience is constituted by deeply held personal opinions, which an agent cannot conceived of acting against. These opinions often lack additional and objective grounding. They rather express an agent’s socialization and personal preferences.34 Secondly, conscience seems to be the capacity to recognize morality at all.35 However, shortly after the cited passage, Crusius claims: »One calls conscience the judgement about the morality of one’s actions« (»Nun nennt man das Urtheil über die Moralität seiner Thaten das Gewissen«).36 Conscience here appears rather as a specific judgement concerning concrete actions, not as an instinct that drives agents to recognize morality as valid in the first place. Both functions are important for Crusius. Conscience is best understood as both: the capacity to recognize duty as valid at all as well as to judge what is morally commanded in particular situations. Thirdly, conscience is a motive: The instinct of conscience is a natural basic instinct, which drives us to observe that which is according to the essence of divine and human perfection. It is from obedience to God’s will that

|| 33 According to the Moraltheologie, conscience is grounded in God as well as in »the essential organisation of human nature« (»der wesentlichen Einrichtung der menschlichen Natur«) (Crusius: Moraltheologie [see note 2], § 34, p. 164). The organisation of human nature seems to be a necessary but not sufficient condition for having a conscience. Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy (see note 1), p. 446 argues convincingly that for Crusius God is the only source of moral laws. Furthermore, he argues that Crusius’ remarks concerning human nature are supposed to show that humans are able to react to divine laws in an appropriate manner. 34 Crusius would presumably call this »moral taste« (»moralische Geschmack«) (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 3], §§ 108–110). 35 See also Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 42, p. 175; in his Moraltheologie, Crusius adds freedom and cognition thereof as necessary conditions for cognizing that we are under a law (ibid., § 29, p. 144). Moral agency thus requires both: Freedom alongside cognition thereof, and conscience. Furthermore, the possibility of evil is grounded in the freedom of our will (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 2], § 257). Benden: Christian August Crusius (see note 22), p. 76, Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy (see note 1), pp. 445–456 and Courtney Fugate: Moral Individuality and Moral Subjectivity in Leibniz, Crusius, and Kant. In: Cultivating Personhood: Kant and Asian Philosophy. Ed. by Stephen Palmquist. Berlin, New York 2009, pp. 273–284, here pp. 280f. all stress that Crusius here is in sharp contrast with the Leibniz-Wolffian tradition, which Crusius suspected of fatalism and determinism. 36 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 132, see also Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 3), § 41, p. 174.

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our conscience drives us to observe perfection; this obedience is given for the sake of our dependence on Him, and from fear of His wrath and punishment.37

Conscience incentivizes us to follow divine commands. According to the Moraltheologie, conscience promotes »the swiftness in exercising of the good« (»die Geschwindigkeit in der Ausübung des Guten«).38 This leaves open that there are other moral motives than conscience, and that conscience only supplements and reinforces those. Furthermore, Crusius says that without a feeling of good and bad, a feeling that results from conscience, »most moral concepts [would be] uncharacteristic, thus not viable« (»die meisten moralischen Begriffe uncharakteristisch, mithin nicht brauchbar«).39 This indicates that even without conscience some moral concepts would be familiar to agents. Conscience seems to be a necessary condition for moral motivation in most cases, and in all cases it can promote the execution of the morally right action.40 In § 132 of the Anweisung, we can find a further property of conscience. Conscience is »an inclination to judge about morality, i. e., about the justice and injustice of one’s deeds, and if they are not according to the law, to fear God’s wrath and punishment«.41 The fourth property of conscience is that it is self-referential. Conscience is not primarily a capacity which enables us to judge other agents but to judge about one’s own actions.42 Presumably this also enables us to judge others’ actions and hypothetical cases, since we can imagine that we would encounter the respective cases, and we can judge how we should act in these cases. Furthermore, Crusius here once more stresses that conscience is concerned with avoiding divine punishment. In fact, pangs of conscience have two functions for Crusius: They make us realize that we violated God’s law, and they make us fear punishment.43 Resisting the instinct of conscience is therefore wrong, morally as well as prudentially.44 || 37 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 137: »Der Gewissenstrieb ist ein natürlicher Grundtrieb, welcher uns antreibt, dasjenige, was der göttlichen und menschlichen Vollkommenheit wesentlich gemäß ist, aus Gehorsam gegen Gottes Willen um unserer Dependenz willen von ihm zu beobachten und widrigenfalls seinen Zorn und Strafe zu fürchten.« 38 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 42, p. 176. 39 Ibid., pp. 176f. 40 See also Benden: Christian August Crusius (see note 21) p. 204, who emphasizes that for Crusius conscience is an instrument of judgement (»Beurteilungsorgan«) as well as an incentive. 41 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 132: »eine Neigung über die Moralität, das ist, über die Gerechtigkeit oder Ungerechtigkeit seiner Thaten zu urtheilen, und wofern sie dem Gesetz nicht gemäß sind, deswegen Gottes Zorn und Strafe zu fürchten«. 42 The same is true for Kant’s conception of conscience: »conscience is practical reason holding the human being’s duty before him for his acquittal or condemnation in every case that comes under a law« (»Denn Gewissen ist die dem Menschen in jedem Fall eines Gesetzes seine Pflicht zum Lossprechen oder Verurtheilen vorhaltende praktische Vernunft«) (AA VI, p. 400.27–28). 43 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 142; Crusius also says that conscience can »delight and frighten« (»erfreuet und ängstet«) (ibid., § 132), as well as that agents »conscious of just and praise-

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Crusius closes the Anweisung’s § 132, in which he introduces conscience, by pointing out that »conscience«, unlike what the Latin »conscientia« indicates, is not synonymous with »consciousness« (»Bewußtseyn«).45 Conscience is not any kind of consciousness, but only of consciousness concerning »religio« or divine laws. In the next paragraph, Crusius continues that the instinct of conscience is only concerned with what we owe and what we are obligated to do,46 i. e., what we would nowadays categorize as moral duties.47 Just as in other passages, such as Anweisung § 137, Crusius again stresses that these are the things the violation of which God would punish. Furthermore, obligations have to be obeyed from obedience to God.48

|| worthy actions« (»gerechter und rühmlicher Handlungen bewußt«) feel »calm and joy« (»Ruhe und Vergnügen«) (Crusius: Moraltheologie [see note 3], § 39, p. 170, § 41, p. 174). 44 See also Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 134. 45 Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy (see note 1), p. 440 points out that, according to Wolff, conscience judges all our actions, not only the ones that are morally relevant. For Wolff, conscience is thus close to self-consciousness as a state of reflective awareness that accompanies all our mental activities and makes them our own. 46 See also Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 133. 47 In his Moraltheologie, Crusius specifies that conscience extents to two kinds of obligations: Those that can be justified a priori (examples for this are that God is to be loved above all else and the Golden Rule) and those that only rest on our feelings and cannot be justified a priori. The latter are obligations grounded in human nature. An example of this is the prohibition of incest (Crusius: Moraltheologie [see note 3], § 42, pp. 175f.). 48 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 133; Crusius explicitly distinguishes obligations from what we have to do to avoid punishment or to obtain reward. In his Anweisung, § 194, Crusius says that fear of punishment can only serve »raw« (»unschlachtigen«) agents as a preliminary moral motive. Ultimately, agents should act from insight into their dependence on God and into His perfection. This demand is also apparent from Crusius’ characterization of the highest natural law, which requires acting from obedience to God (ibid., § 174). This is in tension with passages in which fear of divine punishment seems to play a vital role in motivating agents to conform to her obligations (see ibid., §§ 189–191). Crusius also maintains that duty and prudence are ultimately directed at the same object, namely, happiness (Crusius: Moraltheologie [see note 2], § 36, p. 168). The prevailing opinion in the secondary literature is that Crusius thinks that we are required to act out of obedience to God, not from fear of punishment. Fugate: Moral Individuality and Moral Subjectivity in Leibniz, Crusius, and Kant (see note 35), p. 281, for instance, claims that Crusius’ conception of freedom enables agents to act on the representation of a categorical moral law in the Kantian sense. Benden: Christian August Crusius (see note 21), chap. 7, especially pp. 208–210 argues that the normativity of morality is grounded in God’s status as creator, not in divine punishment (she cites Crusius: Anweisung [see note 2], §§ 162, 165, 173, 194 as evidence). Moral normativity in Crusius can therefore be understood as a categorical imperative and Crusius as an advocate of a »theonomen Sollensethik« (Benden: Christian August Crusius (see note 21), p. 198, see also Hans Reiner: Die philosophische Ethik. Ihre Fragen und Lehren in Geschichte und Gegenwart, Heidelberg 1964, pp. 114–116). Benden, however, overlooks that it is the very point of Kant’s categorical imperative that it is not grounded in God but in a form of self-legislation. Thus, there is still an important difference between Kant’s and Crusius’ respective ethical theories. Josef Schmucker: Die Ursprünge der Ethik Kants in seinen vorkritischen Schriften und Reflektionen. Meisenheim, Glan 1961, p. 81 like-

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Crusius’ conception of conscience as a basic instinct suggests that conscience is a feeling or instinctual drive. However, it should be apparent that Crusius’ conception of basic instincts is not intended to cast humans as driven by instinct in any ordinary sense of the term. Crusius believes that basic instincts distinguish humans from other animals, since they require the capacity for abstract thought and they drive agents to pursue objects such as truth, honour and morality Furthermore, Crusius characterizes conscience also as a capacity of cognition,49 a »judgment« (»Urtheil«),50 and a capacity to judge.51 Conscience in Crusius is an extraordinarily broad phenomenon, which encompasses many elements of moral agency52: The ability to recognize that one is under moral laws, the capacity to judge moral situations and to cognize what is obligatory, a feeling that these obligations must be obeyed, and an inclination to act according to these obligations. Conscience enables all rational agents to cognize morality and to act morally. In what follows, I will focus on conscience as a capacity to cognize and judge and, especially, discuss how conscience can misjudge and err.

3 Sleeping Conscience According to Crusius, the instinct of conscience itself cannot lead to errors, since it incentivizes agents to act in accordance with divine law.53 In addition, conscience, just as the other basic instincts, can never lose its essential functions entirely, but only be »weakened, inhibited« (»geschwächt, gehindert«).54 The instinct of conscience itself might not lead to errors, but an agent’s passions might lead her in the wrong direction, and conscience might not be strong enough to prevent the influ|| wise stresses the proximity between Kant and Crusius. He claims that Crusius in one way or another anticipates almost all the essential thoughts of Kant’s ethics. It should be clear from the previous section of my article that there are substantial differences in the two thinkers’ respective conceptions of conscience. Furthermore, Kant himself understands Crusius as a eudaemonist along the lines of Garve, Wolff and ancient virtue theorists, not as a theorist of autonomy. I cannot discuss here whether Kant’s own reading of Crusius is accurate (see instead Martin Sticker: Kant, Eudaimonism, Act-Consequentialism and the Fact of Reason. In: Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 102.2 [2020], pp. 209–241, section 2 for more). 49 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), §§ 130, 132. 50 Ibid., § 132, see also Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 41, p. 174. 51 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 132. 52 The only additional element on the part of the agent required for moral agency is freedom. It should be noted that Crusius conception of conscience is still more narrow than Wolff’s, because conscience for Crusius only is concerned with moral judgements. It does not extend to all judgements. 53 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 134. 54 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 43, p. 177.

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ence of passions on her deliberation. We will also see below that there can be an erring conscience in the sense that we can err in our moral judgements.55 However, the supposed errors of conscience are errors of the agent and not the fault of conscience. We need to understand how Crusius envisages the function of conscience if we are to understand how these errors can occur. According to Anweisung § 138, conscience drives humans to »compare [their deeds with] natural law« (»natürlichen Gesetz zu vergleichen«). Crusius also refers to the result of this operation as »conscience«. »Conscience« here is used in two different ways. Firstly, as a capacity which enables and drives agents to reflect about morality, and secondly, as the result of this reflection or as a verdict. The distinction between capacity and verdict will be crucial for my subsequent discussion. Crusius characterizes the process of reflection, which conscience drives an agent to undertake, as a syllogism:56 Major Premise: A deed of such a kind is right/wrong. Minor Premise: This deed is of such a kind. Conclusion: Therefore, this deed is right/wrong. That Crusius conceives of moral reflection as a form of syllogism has two implications for us. Firstly, it suggests a way for conscience to err without itself being the source of this error. Conscience drives agents to reflect about morality in the form of a syllogism. Agents can commit mistakes in syllogistic reasoning, in which case the conclusion of this reflection is mistaken. However, the source of this error is not conscience as a capacity, since this capacity drives agents to moral reflection; so the erroneous verdict of conscience reflects a mistake the agent committed in her reasoning. Secondly, the syllogistic model makes room for at least three different kinds of errors in moral reflection. (i) The major premise can be mistaken. This would be a moral-epistemic mistake in a narrow sense, since agents are here mistaken about general moral principles.57 (ii) The minor premise can be mistaken. This would be || 55 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 138. 56 That Crusius spells out the proceedings of conscience as a syllogism makes it unlikely that conscience for Crusius affords feeling based knowledge (»Empfindungswissen«) as Benden: Christian August Crusius (see note 21), p. 234 believes. Kant likewise uses the notion of a syllogism to illustrate the workings of conscience, or rather he thinks that court proceedings, his primary model for illustrating conscience, can be understood as syllogistic (AA VI, p. 438.1–12; AA XXVII, p. 573.16–24). In his conception of conscience, Crusius, unlike Kant, shows awareness that agents can commit mistakes when they reason syllogistically, especially if they are biased because their own happiness is at stake. 57 In his Moraltheologie, Crusius sometimes suggests that conscience only consists of major premises in the form of very general moral rules such as the Golden Rule (Crusius: Moraltheologie [see note 2], § 42, pp. 175f.). This supports my claim that mistakes in the major premise are moral mistakes in its purest form. It is, however, not the case that conscience can be identified with the major

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the case if, for instance, an agent mis-describes and mis-categorizes a concrete action because she ignored a moral property of the situation or because she added properties that the situation lacked. The result of both can be that the action is subsumed under a major premise that might be correct as such, but which is not appropriate to the situation at hand. (iii) The syllogistic reasoning can be invalid.58 In his Moraltheologie Crusius discusses Biblical and historical examples for (i) and (ii). Let us first look at (i). As an example for a wrong major premise he gives spectators at Jesus’ crucifixion who at first »did wantonly mock him« (»muthwillig über ihn gespottet hatten«). Due to numerous miracles occurring at the moment of Jesus’ death (solar eclipse, earthquake, etc.), these »seduced« (»Verführten«) individuals realize their mistakes and repent.59 This seems to be a mistake in the major premise at least for the apostle Paul, as Crusius describes him. His conscience was »altered« (»alteriert«) by his conversion, i. e., his moral conceptions were changed fundamentally.60 In the case of Paul, it seems likely that after his conversion he would not merely describe his actions differently, but his conception of what is right and wrong itself, i. e., his major premise, is changed. A conversion implies that an agent underwent a moral change or that he relinquished old values or beliefs and adopted new ones. The same seems to be the case with those who mocked Jesus, though it is unclear here whether they believed that mocking Jesus was permitted and maybe even obligatory, or whether they rather were unclear about what it exactly was that they were doing. Elsewhere, Crusius cites the early persecutors of Jesus’ disciples as examples of agents who believed they were doing the right thing.61 Another of Crusius’ examples is that some of the early Christians refused to || premise. We will see below that agents can assume false major premises. If conscience could be identified with an agent’s major moral premises, then, in the case of wrong major premises, conscience would be the source of erroneous verdicts. It therefore makes more sense to think of conscience as a capacity that drives agents to moral reflection and that enables this reflection than as the result of this reflection. This raises the question of what the source of major premises is. Are major premises the product of rational cognition, of revelation or of education? Since agents can have wrong major premises, the last option is the most likely. 58 According to Crusius, there is also a doubting conscience, i. e., one that does not issue clear verdicts (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 2], § 138; Crusius: Moraltheologie [see note 2], § 46). The possibility of a doubting conscience reflects the fact that sometimes agents can be uncertain about whether their major and minor premises are correct, and thus they cannot be entirely certain that the conclusion is true (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 3], § 138). For Crusius, however, it is sufficient if an option is more likely to be morally right than wrong to quench doubt (Crusius: Moraltheologie [see note 2], § 46, pp. 183f.). Thus, not every case of uncertainty concerning a major and minor premise leads to a doubting conscience. 59 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 51, pp. 190f. 60 Ibid., p. 191. 61 Of course, up to a point we can analyse every potential mistake in major premises as mistakes in minor premises and vice versa. The case of the persecutors of the early Christians could be a case of agents who believe that religious persecution is permissible or even obligatory (mistake in the major

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consume sacrificial meat.62 Here an agent believes that something is impermissible, when it is in fact permissible. This shows that conscience can err not just on the side of being too permissive, but it can also be overly strict.63 An example of (ii) is King David, an »example and lesson of penance for all subsequent generations« (»Exempel und Lehre der Buße vor allen folgenden Geschlechtern geworden«).64 David seems to be aware that his affair with the married Bathsheba is wrong. Crusius describes David’s attempts to conceal the immorality of his actions from himself by rationalizing them as in Bathsheba’s interest. For instance, he sends her husband, Urija, to his death, supposedly in order to protect Bathsheba against accusations that she is an adulteress; accusations which would result in a death sentence for her. He justifies this to himself with the thought that Urija is a soldier and would soon die in battle anyway. The prophet Nathan presents David’s own actions to the king without mentioning that the offender is David himself and as »they would be viewed by God« (»wie sie für Gott angesehen ward«),65 i. e., such that the morally relevant properties are fully apparent. David is outraged and wants to see the offender severely punished. He has the right major premises concerning adultery, theft, and abuse of office and power. However, he represented his own actions to himself such that they could not be subsumed under these major premises, or, if they could have been, such that he could not recognize them as his transgressions.66 These examples show that Crusius acknowledges errors in the major as well as minor premises. Errors in the major premise are more difficult to correct, since major premises represent the fundamental values of an agent or what she in general believes to be right or wrong. In Crusius’ examples, changes in major premises are the result of miracles and conversions. Errors in minor premises are easier to correct, since these errors are already accompanied by pangs of conscience. David, even before he became fully aware of the wrongness of what he did, suffered »torture of the mind« (»Qual seines Gemüths«),67 since, on an abstract level, he was aware of || premise), or a case of agents who believe that God or gods are to be honoured (major premise) and that exterminating the followers of competing religions is an appropriate and maybe even required way to honour their God or gods (minor premise). 62 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 43 63 Crusius calls an overly strict conscience a »scrupulöses« conscience (ibid., § 46, pp. 184–186). 64 Ibid., § 51, p. 191. 65 Ibid., § 51, p. 193. 66 However, the example is not entirely clear, since Nathan describes an allegory, which is focused on the injustice of theft, not on adultery or abuse of power and office. It could be that David’s most basic and universal major premises are right (»Unjustly taking others’ properties from them is wrong«), but some of his more concrete major premises concerning the rights and duties of kings are wrong. It should go without saying that treating adultery as a property violation is a decisively Old Testament perspective. 67 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 51, p. 193.

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the wrongness of the kind of action he committed. However, before encountering Nathan he did not fully understand how grave his sins were and that they were his sins. As we saw in the examples, errors in the minor premises can be corrected by a neutral and impartial description of the respective action, which emphasizes the morally relevant properties of the action. Crusius does not provide examples for (iii), viz., reaching a conclusion that logically does not follow from an agent’s correct major and minor premises. The reason for this might be that this is a general failure of rationality or reasoning, not a specifically moral error, and so not relevant to a discourse in moral philosophy. It should also be noted that Crusius distinguishes between ex ante and ex post conscience. He thinks that both can result in different verdicts concerning the same action.68 As we saw in our discussion of the examples of (i), verdicts of conscience can seem to permit an action ex ante, but reveal ex post that the action was impermissible. What is the source of the errors I outlined? The efficaciousness of basic instincts can be »hindered by accidental causes« (»durch zufällige Ursachen gehindert warden«).69 Crusius calls a hindered conscience sleeping.70 When conscience sleeps, the instinct of conscience »has no noticeable effect« (»keine merkliche Wirkung«).71 However, conscience can be reawakened. Conscience reawakens if the agent is »driven to serious deliberation about the justice and injustice of his deeds« (»[e]rnstlichen Überlegung der Gerechtigkeit oder Ungerechtigkeit seiner Thaten angetrieben«), and when he realizes that the deeds were unjust and fears punishment.72 Conscience can be sleeping in two ways. On the one hand, the »freedom of [an agent’s] will« (»Freyheit seines Willens«) might not be applied to a situation in the sense that there is a total lack of moral reflexion.73 On the other hand, there can be an erroneous verdict of conscience.74 There are three possible causes for these errors. Firstly, cognitive: »Deficiencies of the understanding and cognition« (»Mängel des Verstandes und der Erkenntnis«),75 or a deficient use of one’s understanding. Elsewhere Crusius holds »obscure and incorrect concepts and inferences and prejudices« (»dunkeln und unrichtigen Begriffe und Schlüsse und die Vorurtheil«)76 re-

|| 68 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 138; see also Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 48, p. 187. 69 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 139. 70 Ibid., § 139, p. 140. 71 Ibid., § 139. 72 Ibid. 73 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 140. 74 See also Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 50, p. 189. 75 Ibid., § 44, p. 179. 76 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 140.

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sponsible for errors in verdicts.77 Secondly, conative: »Influence of the will on the understanding« (»Einfluss, den der Wille auf den Verstand hat«),78 in the sense of inclinations and passions, which cloud our judgement. Thirdly, and this will be very important in the next section, »lulling conscience to sleep is easier when the same is weak by nature against other passions« (»[d]ie Einschläferung des Gewissens wird erleichtert, wenn dasselbe von Natur, gegen andere Begierden gerechnet, schwach ist«).79 Conscience is not of equal strength for everyone. However, whether conscience sleeps or is awake is not just a matter of its natural strength. An agent can be responsible for the sleep of his conscience, if he »constantly confuses his thoughts with numerous things, and occupies himself with matters that reawaken causes that conflict with conscience«.80 In his Moraltheologie, Crusius explains that instruction can fend off the cognitive causes of errors. Crusius recommends, for instance, »proverbs from the scripture« (»Sprüche der Schrift«).81 Against conative causes he suggests six different measures:82 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

6.

An impartial examination of one’s syllogisms. Curbing one’s affects and passions during deliberation. Only deliberating when one’s passions are calm. Resolving with greatest sincerity to accept as valid only what is true, just and good. If others judge morally about matters about which my conscience is silent, then this is grounds for critical self-examination. The same holds if my conscience speaks up about matters others consider morally unobjectionable.83 (Here once more we encounter the worry that conscience can also be overly strict.) One ought to represent to oneself the »truth and importance of the system of morality in the most diligent manner« (»Wahrheit und Wichtigkeit des Systems der Moralität auf das fleissigste vor«).84

Correcting cognitive errors requires an external authority to instruct the author. Crusius’ example (proverbs) reveals that this authority does not have to be another || 77 Crusius discusses these deficiencies of the understanding in detail in Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 259. 78 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 44, p. 179. 79 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 140. 80 Ibid.: »Gedanken beständig in mancherley Dingen zerstreuet, und sich mit solchen Verrichtungen beschäftigt, wodurch die dem Gewissen wiederstreitende Ursachen von neuem erweckt werden«. 81 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 44, p. 179. 82 Ibid., § 44, pp. 179–181. 83 In addition, it is in general a good strategy to seek others’ counsel (Crusius: Moraltheologie [see note 2], § 46, p. 184). 84 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 45, p. 181.

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person. It can be a text such as the Bible. Correcting conative errors, by contrast, seems to be fully in the hands of the agent herself. Crusius’ suggestions constitute a combination of reflection (critical self-examination), measures of self-control and self-motivation. Only the fifth suggestion refers to a social context. The way in which cognitive and conative errors can be corrected suggests that the former are more serious, since external help is needed to overcome them. Crusius offers a rich and instructive discussion of the moral capacities of human beings as well as of the possible deficiencies of these capacities. Agents can err about general moral principles as well as miscategorise their own actions. False reasoning as well as the influence of prejudices, passions and self-interest can lead to these errors. Presumably, cognitive errors are often ultimately rooted in our selfinterest and in the desire to think of our actions as justified to ourselves and others. Crusius’ optimism that conscience is an infallible instinct does not lead him to deny the possibility of moral-epistemic errors. This, however, raises an important question: Does Crusius’ theory, which acknowledges plenty of space for moral error, allow us to consider all other rational agents as morally fully responsible and our equals?85

4 Conscientious Immorality and Fairness Crusius is closer to our current understanding of moral failures than, for instance, Kant, since Kant does not admit the possibility of errors in the cognition of duty – or at least these kinds of errors stand in tension with some of his remarks. In the current section, we turn to a critical discussion of Crusius, and discuss whether Crusius makes too great a concession to our fallibility and its ability to absolve us. To begin, let me mention one worry: Could it be the case that Crusius leaves a loophole for those agents that are severely self-deceived? If agents act on the verdicts of their consciences, they are on the safe side concerning divine punishment. After all, God can hardly demand that agents act against their conscience.86 This, however, would have the absurd implication that an agent with very refined abili|| 85 I should note here that considering someone a fully responsible moral agent does not of course entail that we have to hold an agent fully accountable for everything she does as the result of, for instance, drunkenness, deception, coercion, etc. It only means that we think that all else being equal agents are fully capable, and as capable as we are, to cognize their duties and act accordingly. 86 It is a widely shared view that agents who act on their conscience are morally on the safe side. See, for instance, AA VI, p. 401.11–13: »[I]f someone is aware that he has acted in accordance with his conscience, then as far as guilt and innocence is concerned nothing more can be required of him« (»Wenn aber jemand sich bewußt ist nach Gewissen gehandelt zu haben, so kann von ihm, was Schuld oder Unschuld betrifft, nichts mehr verlangt warden«). The difference between Kant and Crusius is, of course, that Kant believes that it is not possible for conscience to err.

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ties to deceive himself and who resists all attempts to instruct him otherwise might ultimately bring himself to fully believe that his immoral actions are permissible, even obligatory. It seems that if he acts because of these beliefs, we cannot rationally criticize him, since he acted conscientiously. The agent did follow his instinct to critically examine his actions and acted on the verdict of conscience, but what he did was immoral. We can call this »conscientious immorality«. Avoiding the possibility of conscientious immorality is presumably one of the reasons why Kant assumes that conscience is infallible and the process of moral cognition never difficult. He does not want to make it possible that agents can eschew responsibility if they are sufficiently self-deceived. Crusius can reply in two ways to this problem. Firstly, we saw that only in the case of errors in the major premise does an agent fully believe that she is doing the right thing. The case of King David demonstrated that in the case of errors in the minor premise a lingering awareness of the immorality of one’s deeds remains. This awareness is, without external help, not clear enough to make an agent realize the extent of her transgression. Yet, it is clear that not every form of an erring conscience deprives the agent of the possibility to cognize that an action is wrong. This, however, still leaves open that agents might have errors in their major premises and might thus deem themselves fully justified in their moral transgressions. Secondly, remember that according to Crusius, the instinct of conscience cannot itself be mistaken or in error. Errors are always the responsibility of the agent (see my section 3). In Moraltheologie § 45, Crusius discusses how this can be possible. He starts by maintaining that human beings must always follow their conscience, since otherwise they do deliberate wrongly, and God judges according to what conscience represents to an agent as moral. The command to always follow conscience is exactly why conscientious immorality is a problem for a conception that allows for errors in the verdict of conscience. However, Crusius stresses that conscience can be in error or ineffective due to »his [the agent’s] guilt« (»durch seine Schuld«).87 Agents acting immorally are not automatically excused if they act according to their conscience. The moral command to act according to our conscience implies the demand that we take care to preserve our conscience in its original (non-deceived) form. This goes back to the first property of conscience I discussed in section 2. Conscience does not create right and wrong, but is merely a means of cognising right and wrong and of motivating agents. Acting from the verdicts of conscience is therefore not automatically right. Acting according to the divine law is always right, and in the case of an erring conscience verdicts of conscience and divine law come apart. Though Crusius does not state explicitly in Moraltheologie § 45 that not all errors of conscience are the fault of the agent, he implies this when he declares that actions cannot be excused if they result from ignorance »which one could and should || 87 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 45, p. 181.

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have avoided, even less so if one is negligent or if one makes an effort to dodge a better cognition« (»die man vermeiden konnte und sollte, vielweniger durch eine solche, wo man der besseren Erkenntnis mit Fleiß ausweicht, oder nachlässig ist«).88 This implies that acting from an erring conscience can be excused, if we are not responsible for the error. These errors are presumably located in the minor premise, since the minor premise is concerned with properties of specific actions rather than with what an agent considers to be right and wrong. Agents can misinterpret actions or situations, or overlook aspects, without intending to do this, and without deceiving themselves. An agent makes an honest mistake if she has a correct grasp of what is right and wrong (i. e., correct major premises), and if she appraises a situation with all due diligence, but yet arrives at an incorrect moral judgement (conclusion). She would act wrongly yet from conscience, and we would not think the agent deserves punishment or at the very least deem her excused. We should bear in mind that the appraisal of our actions depends, among other things, on contingent properties of the respective situations: What our actions’ foreseeable consequences are, who is affected by them, what juridical laws obtain, etc. Agents can be in error about these properties without this constituting a case of moral-epistemic deficiency arising through one’s own fault. If an agent is responsible for her epistemic deficiencies, as described at the beginning of this section in the case of the agent who consciously undermines his epistemic capacities through self-deception, then he is of course not excused for his conscientious immorality. It might not be possible to hold him responsible for a concrete moral wrongdoing if he really thought that his action was permissible, but we can hold him responsible for having made himself a person who deems this action permissible. This idea is in line with our practice that we do hold accountable and punish agents who commit crimes even though they themselves see their actions as legitimate and even obligatory. We do think that agents can be responsible for their deficient epistemic states, and they cannot escape their duties by rigging their normative beliefs. Crusius’ idea is that agents can be held accountable for conscientious immorality, if they are responsible for the errors in their verdict of conscience. However, this does not solve all problems of Crusius’ conception of conscience. We saw already that »lulling conscience to sleep is easier when the same is weak by nature against other passions« (»[d]ie Einschläferung des Gewissens […] erleichtert, wenn dasselbe von Natur, gegen andere Begierden gerechnet, schwach ist«).89 Crusius indeed emphasizes in numerous passages that conscience can be stronger or weaker by nature:

|| 88 Ibid., § 45, p. 182. 89 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 140.

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The awakening of conscience is made easier if the instinct is strong by nature or easily capable of vivid inclinations, likewise if the mind is not very hardened but if it felt the objection of conscience during its earlier bad deeds.90

Conscience can be weaker or the mind hardened as a result of self-incurred habituation. Conscience can even be so weak in some people that it cannot be awakened at all.91 Independently of habituation, conscience can be weaker or stronger by nature, i. e., not as a result of the agent’s own doings. This presumably holds both for the motivational and epistemic functions of conscience. The latter becomes apparent from the Anweisung’s § 140 in which Crusius discusses the causes of a sleeping conscience. He here explicitly talks about how conscience can err, i. e., about an epistemic deficiency. Crusius emphasizes that whilst divine grace is the main cause for awakening conscience,92 a precondition for awakening a sleeping conscience is that the agent does not resist this awakening with his free will.93 Some agents can be so hardened that even by divine grace their conscience cannot be awakened in time to prevent them committing a crime.94 The same presumably holds for all other ways to awaken conscience. All of them require »that conscience is still sufficiently disposed to be awakened, and that awakening is not resisted too much, especially at the beginning« (»daß das Gewissen noch disponiert genug ist erweckt zu werden, und daß denen Erweckungen nicht zu sehr widerstanden wird, zumal gleich vom Anfang«).95 Crusius lists five main causes for a sleeping conscience: Firstly, »a natural weakness of the instinct of conscience« (»eine natürliche Schwäche des Gewissenstriebes«);96 secondly, ignorance and prejudices; thirdly, »habituation to sin through deeds and through examples and representations by other agents in interaction with them and in their writings« (»Angewöhnung zu Sünde durch einzelne Thaten, und durch die Exempel und Vorstellungen anderer Leute im Umgang mit ihnen, oder in ihren Schriften«);97 fourthly, strong conflicting passions; fifthly, occupation with other matters. The first seems to be outside of an agent’s sphere of responsibi-

|| 90 Ibid., § 141: »Das Aufwachen des Gewissens wird dadurch erleichtert, wenn der Trieb von Natur starck, oder einer lebhaften Neigung leicht fähig ist, ingleichen wenn das Gemüthe noch nicht sehr verhärtet ist, sondern bey seinen vorigen bösen Thaten öfters den Widerspruch des Gewissens empfunden.« 91 Ibid. 92 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 51. 93 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 2), § 141. 94 Ibid., pp. 195f. 95 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 51, p. 195. 96 Ibid., § 50, p. 187. 97 Ibid., § 50, pp. 187f.

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lity since it is a matter of nature, not of habituation or choice.98 The second is a cognitive matter and, as we saw above, agents can be responsible for their cognitive deficiencies if the cognitive deficiencies are a form of ignorance that »could and should have [been] avoided« (»die man vermeiden konnte und sollte«).99 The third is a result of bad habituation and at least partly in the agent’s responsibility.100 The fourth seems to be what we commonly refer to as »weakness of will« (»Willensschwäche«). Crusius claims that the strength of passions can be »congenital or acquired through repeated actions« (»angebohren oder durch öftere Handlungen erworben«).101 Thus, this is something that is partly up to the agent (acquired through actions) and partly it is not (congenital). The fifth seems to be always clearly the responsibility of the agent.102 Crusius summarizes: »most of the related causes, at least partly, also arise from the outside and from human beings […] or can also be ruled and supported by evil spirits« (»daß die meisten der erzehlten Ursachen auch von aussen, wenigstens zum Theil, mit herrühren, und von Menschen […] oder auch von bösen Geistern regiert und unterstützt werden können«).103 Human beings are one of the sources of a sleeping conscience.104 Even without discussing what these »evil spirits« may be, we have the following problem here: Crusius thinks that an agent’s conscience can be stronger or weaker by nature and without the agents’ assistance or fault. It seems certainly accurate that some agents think more about the moral status of their actions than others and that some agents might be more deterred by the thought that an action is immoral than other agents. However, Crusius’ assumption raises two problems: Firstly, it now seems as if conscience itself could after all be responsible for at least some errors. How else should we interpret that some consciences are weaker than others

|| 98 Crusius thinks that an overly strict conscience can also result from bodily sicknesses, i. e., through something that is not up to the agent (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 2], § 46, pp. 184–186). 99 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 45, p. 182. 100 A habit results from frequently acting on a passion. Habits are restrictions of freedom, which result from the free decision to act from a passion (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 2], § 71). 101 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 50, p. 188. 102 See also Crusius’ list of seven causes of the awakening of conscience in Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 51. Some of these causes are up to the agent (especially the second), and some are not: (i) natural factors, (ii) the moral history of an agent, (iii) good examples (see also Crusius: Anweisung [see note 2], § 141), (iv) a sudden impression of an especially great injustice or punishment (see also Crusius: Anweisung [see note 2], § 141), (v) cessation of external impediments, (vi) calming down of passions (see also Crusius: Anweisung [see note 2], § 141), (vii) sickness, danger and near death. 103 Crusius: Moraltheologie (see note 2), § 50, p. 188. 104 Crusius here leaves open whether »human beings« should be understood as individual human agents or rather as a reference to human nature. His optimism about human nature, as something devised by God (Crusius: Anweisung [see note 2], § 90), makes the latter option, that human nature itself is crooked and responsible for a sleeping conscience, unlikely.

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by nature, i. e., without any doing of the agent? If an agent with a naturally weak conscience commits a moral mistake that she would not have committed if her conscience had been stronger and had driven the agent to morally evaluate her actions more thoroughly, then it seems that conscience is partly responsible for the mistake. Secondly, the idea that there are natural differences between consciences is in tension with the notion that morality has to be equally accessible to all – a notion that, as we saw in section 1, is an important element of Crusius’ philosophy. According to this notion, it should at least be the default position that moral cognition is equally obtainable for all, and all difficulties that go beyond the normal level would result from past actions and decisions of the respective agents. It is important that difficulties here pertain to epistemic as well as motivational maters. We saw above that Crusius introduces the natural differences in conscience when he discusses erring conscience. However, we can assume that a conscience that is weak by nature also is less effective in motivating agents, and this entails that an agent does not recognize her moral obligations in the same way, or at least with the same ease, as an agent whose conscience is strong by nature. If there are natural differences in the strength of different consciences and in how prone to errors they are, we may wonder whether we can hold agents with a naturally weak conscience fully (or at all) responsible. On the one hand, it seems unfair to consider and treat such agents as fully responsible for their actions, since it was difficult beyond the ordinary for these agents to discover what they were morally required to do and to act accordingly. On the other hand, it could be unfair to treat an agent with a naturally weak conscience more leniently, since as long as an agent has a conscience at all, she can cognize that her actions are wrong, even though this requires greater effort. This problem is all the more worrisome for Crusius since conscience concerns actions that God punishes. Why would an almighty entity endow some agents with a conscience that is weaker than that of others, and would it be fair for God to judge all agents equally for their deeds? Crusius would presumably think that these theological questions are beyond our cognitive faculties, but this is hardly a satisfactory response. Crusius believes that the strength of one’s conscience is among other things determined by factors out of the agent’s control. However, it would be more in line with the egalitarian elements of his ethics if even supposedly natural differences could be traced back to actions and decisions of the respective agent. I would like to close this paper by briefly indicating a possible way for Crusius to do this. In Moraltheologie § 51, Crusius uses »natural« (»natürlich«) as a term of contrast with divine grace.105 This would suggest that even things that are the way they are by nature can be up to the agent, since »natural« here does not mean: given or made by nature (in contrast to being made by the agent), but: not given or made by God. || 105 Ibid., p. 188.

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Crusius might use »natural« to indicate that something was made by nature or by an agent but not by God; or to indicate that whoever else is responsible for something, it is not God. This would make clear that God does not distribute a gift as essential as conscience or the capacity to be moral unfairly amongst rational agents, and it would leave open that all differences between consciences are natural in the sense that they are rooted in agents’ actions or decisions. I cannot pursue this thought here, but will merely leave it as a suggestion for further research on the important topic of the erring conscience in Crusius.

Gabriel Rivero

Dependence and Obedience Crusius’ Concept of Obligation and its Influence on Kant’s Moral Philosophy Although it is undisputed in secondary literature that Crusius had a decisive influence on the development of Kant’s practical philosophy, the exact nature of his influence and its extent and duration are the subject of controversial discussion. In this sense, interpreters have attributed Crusius’ influence either to the introduction of the distinction between formal and material elements of practical philosophy,1 to the importance of drives (»Triebe«) for action,2 or to the priority of will over understanding.3 It cannot be denied that these questions were crucial to Kant’s practical philosophy, and accordingly it can be assumed that Crusius must have been an important inspiration for Kant. If one considers the specific question of obligation (»Verbindlichkeit«) and not only the field of practical philosophy in general, the influence of Crusius is less obvious. There are basically two divergent interpretations here: One position proceeds from the thesis that Crusius’ influence can be excluded in every respect, since he advocated a theologically-shaped concept of obligation about which Kant was always skeptical.4 According to this approach, Kant’s idea of autonomy serves as decisive evidence that a theologically-shaped concept of obligation cannot in principle be considered valid. Alexander Baumgarten or Christian Wolff should be viewed as the most influential authors for the Kantian term ›obligation‹ because they introduced an autonomous conception of morality based on the concept of perfection. The opposing interpretive approach emphasizes that despite Crusius’

|| Funded by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG, German Research Foundation) – Project number 388570675. I am indebted to Sonja Schierbaum und John Walsh for their suggestions. 1 See Paul Menzer: Der Entwicklungsgang der Kantischen Ethik in den Jahren 1760 bis 1785. In: Kant-Studien 2 (1899), pp. 290–322, here p. 305. A similar piont of view is recently held by Luc Langlois; see Luc Langlois: Der Begriff der Verbindlichkeit bei Baumgarten und sein Einfluss auf Kants Moralphilosophie. In: Aufklärung. Interdisziplinäres Jahrbuch zur Erforschung des 18. Jahrhunderts und seiner Wirkungsgeschichte 30 (2018), pp. 35–50. See also Giorgio Tonelli: Einleitung. In: Christian August Crusius: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Hildesheim 1969, vol. 1, pp. VII–LXV. 2 See Dieter Henrich: Über Kants früheste Ethik. In: Kant-Studien 54 (1963), pp. 404–431. 3 See Josef Schmucker: Die Ursprünge der Ethik Kants in seinen vorkritischen Schriften und Reflexionen. Meisenheim 1961, p. 81. 4 See Clemens Schwaiger: Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten – Ein intellektuelles Porträt. Studien zur Metaphysik und Ethik von Kants Leitautor. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 2011, p. 146. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-013

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moral-theological notion of obligation, its relevance for Kant cannot be denied. According to this interpretation, Crusius is significant because he defines an attribute of the principles of morality on the basis of the idea of God’s absolute authority, which obligates in itself and does not play a determining role for either the idea of happiness or perfection. So if neither perfection nor happiness are the central concepts for the moral judgment of an action, then it suggests that Crusius’ idea of an absolute authority valid in itself, despite the implied theological elements, has similarities with Kant’s idea of the absolute validity of the categorical imperative.5 If we consider these interpretations from a critical perspective, it becomes clear that both of them look at the influence of Crusius one-sidedly and therefore come to wrong results in each case, either by completely negating his influence or by completely affirming it. In what follows I will show that the one-sided negative assessment of Kant’s reception of Crusius results in the failure to appropriately treat important elements of Crusius’ practical philosophy that are undoubtedly significant for Kant’s conception of obligation.6 The one-sidedly positive appraisal – because it postulates that Kant adopts Crusius’ theory almost without any criticism – leads to an oversimplification of the development of Kant’s practical philosophy as well as a levelling of the differences between the two authors.7 In contrast to the aforementioned interpretations, I argue that the relevance of Crusius’ notion of obligation is nuanced and, accordingly, highlight that Kant’s reception of Crusius contains both positive as well as negative aspects. This becomes especially clear in two essential components of Kant’s notion of obligation: moral necessitation and the selflegislating character of the will. The positive reception proposed here is linked to Crusius’ critique of incorporating psychological elements into the determination of obligation, which was characteristic for the practical philosophy of the Wolffians. In this regard, I argue that Kant develops a new concept of moral necessitation (»moralische Nötigung«) on the basis

|| 5 See Christel Fricke: Die Quadratur des Kreises. Kants Moralphilosophie und ihr crusianisches Erbe. In: Aufklärung. Interdisziplinäres Jahrbuch zur Erforschung des 18. Jahrhunderts und seiner Wirkungsgeschichte 30 (2018), pp. 51–72. See also Schmucker: Die Ursprünge der Ethik Kants (see note 3), p. 85. 6 This tendency is most noticeable in Schwaiger’s interpretation, which attempts to relativize Crusius’ influence in favor of Baumgarten’s. In this regard Schwaiger disregards the importance of the concept of dependence for Kant’s practical thought since he merely considers it from the implicit theological aspects. Cf. Clemens Schwaiger: Kategorische und andere Imperative. Zur Entwicklung von Kants praktischer Philosophie bis 1785. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1999, pp. 48f. 7 As Fricke, for example, writes: »Aus der Lehre von der moralischen Gesetzgebung durch Gott übernimmt Kant Lehren, die für seine eigene Theorie von zentraler Bedeutung sind, allen voran die Lehre von der Notwendigkeit und Objektivität der moralischen Verpflichtung, d. h. die Konzeption der moralischen Pflicht als universaler Rechtspflicht und die daraus folgende Unterscheidung zwischen einer genuin moralischen Handlungsmotivation und einer Motivation, die aus der Selbstliebe und dem Glücksstreben erwächst.« Fricke: Die Quadratur des Kreises (see note 5), p. 61.

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of his positive reception of Crusius’ critique of Wolff. The negative, viz. critical reception, refers to Crusius’ application of the concept of dependence. Two points regarding this critique prove to be relevant. On the one hand, Kant still considers this concept to be important with respect to obligation insofar as in 1785 he defines the latter in connection with the dependence of the will which is not absolutely good.8 On the other hand, however, Kant strongly criticizes Crusius’ conception of the relation of the human will with respect to God’s laws such that Kant ultimately reinterprets this concept. In contrast to Crusius this relation does not consist in the dependence on an external lawgiver. Thus, a second important element of Kant’s conception of obligation arises, namely the self-legislating character of the will. In summary, one can say that Kant, due to his positive reception of Crusius, emphasizes the non-psychological determination of the constraining character of the law (critique of psychology). The autonomous character of the will emerges from his negative reception of Crusius insofar as the dependence of the will follows from a self-legislated law (critique of theology). This double-character of Kant’s reception of Crusius manifests how he positions his new concept of obligation in his practical philosophy as an original alternative to Wolffian naturalism as well as to the voluntarism of the Pietistic tradition.9 In this paper I will address this proposed impact of Crusius on Kant’s practical thought on the basis of the Preisschrift of 1762/64, the Träume eines Geistersehers (1766) and the Vorlesung Kaehler from the mid 1770s. This text is structured in two parts. The first part presents the elements of the positive reception, which will be clarified on the basis of Crusius’ voluntarist notion of obligation and his critique of the psychologizing components of the necessitating character of law in Wolff. The second part examines the negative reception, on the basis of which Kant’s reinterpretation of the concept of dependence can be clarified.

|| 8 The fact that the concept of dependence is an essential component of obligation is demonstrated by its definition in GMS, AA IV, p. 439: »The dependence upon the principle of autonomy of a will that is not absolutely good (moral necessitation) is obligation.« On Kant’s concept of obligation in his pre-critical period see Gabriel Rivero: Nötigung und Abhängigkeit. Zur Bestimmung des Begriffs der Verbindlichkeit bei Kant bis 1775. In: Das Verhältnis von Recht und Ethik in Kants praktischer Philosophie. Ed. by Bernd Dörflinger, Dieter Hüning and Günter Kruck. Hildesheim 2017, pp. 45–70. For Kant’s conceptions of obligation and dependence during the critical period see Gabriel Rivero: Von der Abhängigkeit zur Notwendigkeit. Kants Perspektivwechsel in der Auffassung der Verbindlichkeit zwischen 1784 und 1797. In: Aufklärung. Interdisziplinäres Jahrbuch zur Erforschung des 18. Jahrhunderts und seiner Wirkungsgeschichte 30 (2018), pp. 217–236. 9 On Wolff’s concept of obligation, see Dieter Hüning: Gesetz und Verbindlichkeit. Zur Begründung der praktischen Philosophie bei Samuel Pufendorf und Christian Wolff. In: Gedächtnisschrift für Dieter Meurer. Ed. by Eva Graul and Gerhard Wolf. Berlin 2002, pp. 525–544; see also Dieter Hüning: Christian Wolffs Konzeption der Verbindlichkeit. Eine Antizipation der Ethik Kants? In: Aufklärung. Interdisziplinäres Jahrbuch zur Erforschung des 18. Jahrhunderts und seiner Wirkungsgeschichte 30 (2018), pp. 15–34.

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1 The Positive Reception. The Critique of a Psychologically-Based Concept of Obligation 1.1 Crusius’ Critique of the Conflation of Psychological and Normative Components of Obligation One of the essential definitions of the concept of obligation in the Wolffian tradition consists in establishing the correlation between cognition of a (objective) law of nature and the (subjective) motive of an action which arises from that cognition. The idea of an active obligation stems from this correlation between motive and law.10 A few presumptions however underlie this correlation, which lies at the heart of the Thomasiansʼ and Pietistsʼ criticism. First, the normative and rational character of the law of nature is presumed to be valid in itself, by virtue of which the moral value of an action can be objectively determined. This means that at the normative level, the moral value of an action does not derive from commanding or voluntary determinations, which externally ascribe moral character to the action. Instead, this value is based on conformity to the law of nature, that is, to the principle of perfection, whereby good or evil actions in themselves are defined as duties that ought to be done or omitted.11 The second presumption refers to the level of motivation in which mere cognition of the natural law is a sufficient motive for action.12 Thus, the obligating character of an action results from this close connection of normative and motivational levels insofar as the underlying motives for action have a causal power.13 These two fundamental characteristics of Wolff’s moral philosophy – the autonomy of moral law on one hand and intellectualism on the other – would be

|| 10 See Christian Wolff: Grundsätze des Natur- und Völckerrechts. In: id.: Gesammelte Werke. I. Abt, Bd. 19. Ed. by Marcel Thomann. Hildesheim, New York 1980 (Halle 1754), § 35. See also Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten: Initia philosophiae practicae primae. Halle 1760, §§ 10f. and Johann August Eberhard: Sittenlehre der Vernunft. Zum Gebrauch seiner Vorlesung. Verbesserte Auflage. Berlin 1786, §§ 35f. 11 See Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von der Menschen Thun und Laßen, zu Beförderung ihrer Glückseeligkeit [Deutsche Ethik]. In: id.: Gesammelte Werke. I. Abt., Bd. 4. Ed. by Hans Werner Arndt. Hildesheim, New York 1976 (Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 41733), § 5: »[…] so sind sie vor und an sich selbst gut oder böse, und werden nicht erst durch GOTTES Willen dazu gemacht«. See Wolff: Grundsätze des Natur- und Völckerrechts (see note 10), §§ 13f. 12 Wolff: Deutsche Ethik (see note 11), § 6: »Die Erkäntniß des guten ist ein Bewegungs-Grund des Willens.« 13 In this way, the moral principle is: »Thue was dich und deinen oder anderer Zustand vollkommener machet; unterlaß, was ihn unvollkommener machet« (ibid., § 12).

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disapproved by the Pietistic, Thomasian tradition.14 According to Pietistic theology, Wolffʼs conception of the autonomy of the law identifies law and lawgiver, which ultimately leads to the charge that Wolff’s philosophy is atheistic. Intellectualism in turn is construed as leading to the abolition of human freedom since it establishes a mechanical connection between law and motive. This critical interpretation of Wolff’s moral philosophy is most clearly found in the work of Joachim Lange.15 Two basic strategies can be discerned in his critique: one refers to the logical mistakes that seem to be found in Wolff’s arguments. In this respect, Lange objects multiple times that Wolff argues either circularly or simply tautologically. Lange’s other strategy consists in fabricating proximity between the Wolffian system and that of Spinoza so that the common objections against Spinozism would also apply to Wolff. This brief mention of Lange’s criticism of Wolff already indicates what will orient Crusius’ remarks regarding this subject. Like Lange, Crusius argues for the separation of law and lawgiver and takes up the same critical standpoint towards intellectualism, which on his view abolishes human freedom. However, a closer examination proves that Crusius pursues a different strategy than Lange in his critique of Wolff. For Crusius, the recourse to identifying Wolff with Spinoza is not relevant at all; likewise, he does not focus on logical objections.16 The characteristic feature of his critical approach consists much more in the fact that it is conceptualized in terms of a theory of faculties. This becomes clear when Crusius claims that a separate theoretical science, whose object would be exclusively the knowledge of nature and the attributes of the will, should necessarily precede practical philosophy.17 Starting from this claim, we can distinguish several general points of his criticism of Wolffianism. One of the first consists in Crusius introducing a theory of human faculties, which asserts a transcendental separation between cognitive and appetitive faculties. As a second point of criticism, Crusius emphasizes the priority of the will in this division. Based on the idea that the will is not a faculty that may be reduced to understanding, one realizes that mere knowledge of perfection does not allow for the justification of the neces-

|| 14 On the general debate between the Thomasians and Wolff, cf. Hans Werner Arndt: Erste Angriffe der Thomasianer auf Wolff. In: Christian Thomasius 1655–1728. Interpretationen zu Werk und Wirkung. Ed. by Werner Schneiders. Hamburg 1989, pp. 275–286. 15 See Joachim Lange: Philosophische Fragen aus der neuen mechanischen Morale. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1999 (11734). 16 See Sonia Carboncini: Die thomasianisch-pietistische Tradition und ihre Fortsetzung durch Christian August Crusius. In: Schneiders (ed.): Christian Thomasius 1655–1728 (see note 14), pp. 287–304. 17 Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben, darinnen nach Erklärung der Natur des menschlichen Willens die natürlichen Pflichten und allgemeinen Klugheitslehren im richtigen Zusammenhange vorgetragen werden. In: id.: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Hildesheim 1969 (Leipzig 1744), vol. 1, § 1.

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sity of an action. This is the third point of criticism. At this point, the question arises how relevant these points of criticism could be for the conception of obligation. A closer inspection proves that two notable aspects for the determination of obligation follow from these points of criticism. The first aspect refers to ›de-psychologizing‹ the relation between will and law, which was characteristic for the Wolffians. The second aspect entails a new understanding of law, which by its nature should be considered in conjunction with the aforementioned ›de-psychologization‹ of the relation between will and law. In the following, I will elaborate on both of these latter aspects, namely, a) de-psychologization and b) understanding of the law. Ad a) ›De-psychologization‹ and moral necessitation. Crusiusʼ critique of Wolff reveals, first and foremost, that drives become significantly more important for the determination of action because the will, as opposed to the understanding, is conceived as an independent faculty. Of the three drives mentioned by Crusius – the drives of perfection, moral love and conscience – the drive of conscience (»Gewissenstrieb«) is undoubtedly most germane to the question of obligation. Since conscience is defined as a drive, Crusius draws the conclusion that it does not concern theoretical judgments of the understanding, and consequently should also not be mistaken for consciousness in general nor with the epistemic consciousness of perfection or imperfection.18 Hence, Crusius points out that conscience is not related to the Latin term conscientia but to the term religio.19 The question regarding indebtedness (»Schuldigkeit«) with respect to divine law should be explained with neither consequentialist nor naturalist reasons and hence should also not be conceived as a consciousness that yields a determining motive. Accordingly, indebtedness is neither linked to weighing utility or damages, nor is it equivalent to a motive or to be confounded with coercion, fear or hope.20 The reason such indebtedness arises and becomes discernible consists solely in obedience.21 Aside from the theologically implied elements in Crusius’ conceptions of indebtedness and obedience, it follows from the drive of conscience that the will immediately submits itself to a law. This is accordingly predicated on the direct regard for the legal character of the command itself. If the submission of the will ensues merely on the basis of the legal character of the command without considering other conditions, then an obligation arises, which cannot be traced back to any other ground than the absolute authority of the law and the engendered indebtedness towards this law. Crusius calls this »legal obligation« viz. »obligation of virtue«, || 18 »Daß das Gewissen kein bloß theoretisches Urtheil des Verstandes sey, sondern seinen Grund in einem Triebe des Willens haben müsse, kann man auch schon daraus urtheilen, weil es erfreuet und ängstet« (ibid., § 132). 19 See ibid. 20 See ibid., § 133. 21 Ibid.: »Der Gewissentrieb ist also bloß ein Trieb, gewisse Schuldigkeiten, das ist, solche allgemeine Verbindlichkeiten zu erkennen, die man aus Gehorsam zu beobachten hat«.

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which differs from »obligation of prudence« in that the former is not directed towards arbitrary ends grounded in human nature but is based on reasons that refer back to the law.22 If this is so, then a necessitating, imperative character must be attributed to the obligation of virtue, on the basis of which the will is immediately subjected to the law. This is what I originally identified as the ›de-psychologization‹ of the relation between action and law; the particular relevance of which – from a Kantian perspective – lies in the disclosure of an important aspect of obligation: purely moral necessitation grounded in the law. Two important aspects can be taken here in regard to the necessitating character of the law: on the one hand the reason for the observance of the law results from the authority of the law itself23; on the other, it follows from the former that the moral necessity of the law – in the sense of active obligation – is not established by an epistemological, causal connection between the psychologically conditioned notion of good and obligatory action. This ultimately means that psychology may not function as the link between the law and the will.24 Crusius comments extensively on this aspect in the footnote to paragraph 164 of his Anweisung. He first criticizes the fallacious conflation of psychological and normative elements of obligation. He claims that the question of the validity of obligation on the one side and the question of the way in which an action is initiated via effective causes on the other must be separated.25 Crusius calls into question the

|| 22 Ibid., § 162: »Nemlich dasjenige, worauf sich die moralische Nothwendigkeit eines Thuns und Lassens gründet […] wird entweder nur in gewissen schon vorher von uns begehrten Endzwecken gesucht […]; so will ich die Pflicht, welche, und wiefern, sie sich darauf gründet, eine Pflicht der Klugheit § 161 nennen[.] Oder der Grund der moralischen Nothwendigkeit liegt in einem Gesetze und in unserer Schuldigkeit, dasselbige zu erfüllen; so will ich dergleichen Pflicht eine Pflicht der Tugend nennen.« 23 This is the reason why, for example, Fugate emphasizes the proximity between Kant’s and Crusius’ conceptions of moral obligation: »Crusius is brought to this notion of freedom in order […] to make sense of our actual inner experience of moral struggle und choice, and our actual experience of the sort of absolute duty or moral obligation we know the moral law to be invested with. His conception of freedom […] makes it possible to understand the moral law as what Kant calls a categorical imperative, precisely because it invests us with the capacity to act from the thought of the law alone[.]« See Courtney David Fugate: Moral Individuality and Moral Subjectivity in Leibniz, Crusius and Kant. In: Cultivating Personhood: Kant and Asian Philosophy. Ed. by Stephen R. Palmquist. Berlin, Boston 2010, pp. 273–284, here p. 281. 24 At this point, Fugate critically points out that Crusius’ notion of freedom leads to an absolute subjectivism in which the connection between law and will, or freedom and law no longer exist. »There are simply no resources within Crusiusʼ concept of freedom to explain how freedom qua freedom could possibly be motivated to adopt any particular law, let alone the moral law.« Fugate: Moral Individuality (see note 23), pp. 281f. Notably, Fugate does not consider the aspect of obligation, which precisely establishes such a connection through the idea of absolute authority. 25 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 17), § 164: »Man verwirret die Entstehungsart einer Handlung aus ihren wirckenden Ursachen mit der Verbindlichkeit. Z. E. Wenn man sagt, die Natur verbinde uns

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Wolffian claim that nature obligates us by saying that such an expression in principle merely constitutes a theoretical proposition, which, however, can only elucidate what and how we want something, but not why we should want it. Psychology can only give an explanation as to how the causal and empirical connection between law and motive occurs in action, that is, an account for the genesi physica of action, as Crusius calls it. Hence, he claims that no justification of the ought is given,26 and it is therefore necessary to discuss the normative question totally independent of psychology.27 Hence, an alternative to Wolffian practical philosophy emerges, since a nonpsychological notion of the necessitating character of the law leads to the fact that the imperative authority to execute or omit a certain action originates neither in the mere cognition of perfection, nor in the implicit cognition of the consequences of an action. It is thus, to use Lange’s expression, the orientation toward the pure law and not toward the action and its consequences that reveals obligation.28 Ad b) The law. At this point, the conception of law should be more closely examined. At first glance, Crusius’ remarks regarding the law appear to be a long way from being able to provide positive elements for the Kantian conceptions of obligation and law. A few aspects are nevertheless quite relevant.29 The first noteworthy feature of a law is the correlation with the will, which is established in Crusius’ work.30 As opposed to Wolff, who defines law as a rule toward which free actions should be directed,31 Crusius’ considers the idea of the will of a lawgiver to be a determining authority. The second noteworthy feature concerns the universality of the will. This universal will, in turn, postulates – as the third feature – the autonomy of

|| durch die Vorstellung des Guten; denn diese Vorstellung, worinnen wir etwas vor ein Gut halten, treibe uns an, danach zu streben […]. Dieser Satz gehört zur genesi physica der Actionen des Willens.« 26 Ibid., § 164: »Bei der Verbindlichkeit […] will man nicht wissen, wodurch eine Handlung geschiehet, denn die bösen und guten Actionen haben ihre zureichenden wirckenden Ursachen; sondern man verlangt zu wissen, ob und warum etwas geschehen soll, oder darf.« 27 Upon closer examination, an identical distinction and an equally valid critique can be seen in the preface to Kant’s Groundwork in which Kant, like Crusius, reproaches Wolff for having investigated the empirically and psychologically determined will, but not the pure will. Cf. Immanuel Kant: Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten, AA IV, p. 390. In this regard, we could speak of a long-term effect of Crusius on Kant. Cf. Manfred Baum: »Pflicht! Du erhabener, großer Name.« Betrachtungen zu Pflicht und Verbindlichkeit bei Kant. In: Aufklärung. Interdisziplinäres Jahrbuch zur Erforschung des 18. Jahrhunderts und seiner Wirkungsgeschichte 30 (2018), pp. 165–188, here pp. 179f. 28 Lange: Philosophische Fragen (see note 15), p. 23: »Ob nicht ein Gesetz eher seyn müße, als eine Handlung, damit es dieselbe als eine allgemeine Regel und Richtschnur dirigiren könnte?« 29 In section 2 I go into further detail on the aspect criticized by Kant. 30 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 17), § 165. 31 See Wolff: Deutsche Ethik (see note 11), § 16.

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the lawgiver such that this lawgiver can be designated the sovereign.32 A ›dependence‹ emerges from this authority toward this sovereign, whereby the concept of dependence becomes relevant. Although Kant’s conception of obligation is distant from the ideas of the will, obedience and indebtedness explicated above, Crusius’ observations prepare the way for an important advancement apropos the non-psychological notion of moral necessitation, which Kant later defines as the will’s dependence upon the moral law. This already appears in Kant’s pre-critical phase, particularly from 1762–1764, when he understands obligation in connection with the necessity of ends.

1.2 Kant’s Positive Reception Exemplified by the Preisschrift of 1762/1764. Obligation as the Necessity of Ends In general, the Preisschrift – as far as practical philosophy is concerned – holds an ambivalent stance towards Crusius.33 On the one hand, Kant relies on some of Crusius’ arguments to reinforce his critical position against Wolffianism. A clear example of this is Kant’s reference to a necessary distinction between the faculty of cognizing what is true and the faculty of sensing the good.34 On the other hand, it becomes apparent that Kant criticizes Crusius in two regards: first, Kant still does not maintain a theologically-grounded notion of obligation and, second, he limits the double character of obligation, which he adopts from Crusius, to an aspect of virtue that he interprets in the Preisschrift as the necessity of ends – as opposed to the non-obligating necessity of means.35 On closer inspection of this last point, however, it becomes apparent that despite its critical tendency, a positive element emerges, which in principle speaks for a Crusian influence. This is demonstrated by the fact that Kant – insofar as he conceived the notion of obligation as something that is exclusively derived from the necessity of ends – de-psychologizes the concept of obligation and hence implicitly that of necessitation as well.36 In this way, in accordance with Crusius and against || 32 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 17), § 165. 33 See Dieter Henrich: Kant und Hutcheson. In: Kant-Studien 49 (1957), pp. 49–69, here p. 64. Klemme argues against this position by relativizing Crusius’ relevance in the Preisschrift and by attempting to emphasize the proximity to Wolff’s position. See Heiner F. Klemme: Der Grund der Verbindlichkeit. Mendelssohn und Kant über Evidenz in der Moralphilosophie (1763/64). In: KantStudien 109 (2018), pp. 286–308, here pp. 301f. 34 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 17), § 165. 35 Immanuel Kant: Untersuchung über die Deutlichkeit der Grundsätze der natürlichen Theologie und der Moral, AA II. p. 298: »The first kind of necessity does not indicate any obligation at all.« 36 Schwaiger rightly points out, against the common interpretation of the Preisschrift, that Kant’s distinction between the necessity of means and ends is not influenced by Crusius. Cf. Schwaiger: Kategorische und andere Imperative (see note 6), pp. 52–54. However, to claim that Kant’s distinc-

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all tendencies to incorporate psychological elements into the grounding of obligation, Kant emphasizes that the obligating character of practical principles is characterized by one essential feature: the immediacy of their validity. The fact that an action is immediately represented as good indicates that the moral necessity of an action does not depend upon empirical or arbitrary ends. Moreover, this shows that a mediation based on mere reason (which is typical for Wolffianism) between objective natural law and subjective knowledge, whereby the good is discerned, is of no importance. The reason for this is that Kant limits the guiding principle of perfection – even if he considers it to be valid – to a merely formal significance so that no motivating effect can be attributed to the insight into perfection. In this sense, Kant calls into question the correlation between motive and action, which determines active obligation and unites the objective natural law and the subjective motives brought about by reason. In short, according to Kant’s standpoint of 1762/1764, the obligating character of the principles of action cannot exclusively be traced back to the clear cognition acquired through reason, which actively motivates obligating action.37 Instead of cognition as the motive for action, Kant claims that it is rather consciousness of the feeling of pleasure or displeasure that brings about the immediacy of the practical principles and can supplement the formal character of the principle of perfection.38 Kant tries to draw a parallel between practical and theoretical principles; in this way, he makes the claim, just as in the case of theoretical cognition, that the mere definition of terms should not be the methodological starting point. Rather, empirical and certain propositions (»sichere Erfahrungssätze«) can guarantee the validity of principles. The immediacy of the principles of practical philosophy mentioned by Kant also leads to the presumption that »the supreme rule of all obligation« is undemonstrable.39 How the formal and the material relate to one another is not, however, clearly enough explained in the Preisschrift and Kant concludes his considerations with an open question, namely, whether the faculty of cognition or feeling is that which determines the principles of practical cognition. Presuming that Kant would have chosen the first option, it would be certain that he would not make a case for a purely intellectualist notion of obligation since immediacy and indemonstrability are considered to be essential features of practical principles. A conception focused merely on feeling would be equally implausible because this would result in a purely psychological definition of obligation in an empirical sense. The moral feeling postulated by Kant instead provides a direct experience of the good, which comple|| tion is based on Baumgarten’s Initia is misleading. This would deny Kantʼs anti-psychological point of view that he assumedly adopted from Crusius. 37 Kant: Untersuchung, AA II, p. 299: »For it is impossible, by contemplating a thing or a concept of any kind whatever, to recognise or infer what one ought to do«. 38 Ibid. 39 Ibid.

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ments the formal principle of perfection. Only then can a moral necessity of ends be expressed. In this sense, it can be assumed that neither the psychological components of Wolffian intellectualism nor the psychological-empirical components of moral sense theory are decisive for Kant’s understanding of practical philosophy around 1762/64. Instead, he appears at this time to have attempted to develop a theory of material and formal principles which have a certain proximity to Crusius’ remarks regarding the drive of conscience. For in both cases, immediacy is postulated as the instance of recognizing the obligating character of an action and, likewise, in both cases such recognition is not regarded as a merely conceptual recognition brought about by understanding or reason.

2 The Negative Reception. The Critique of a Theologically-Based Conception of Obligation 2.1 Crusius’ Notion of Dependency as Obedience and Indebtedness As already mentioned at the outset, Wolff’s justification of obligation does not trace back to an authority of the will of a lawgiver, but rather to an objective, autonomous natural law. Crusius’ use of the concept of dependence is in this sense a clear indication of how he develops his theory as distinct to Wolffianism and hence closely orients himself towards a voluntarist notion of moral law. It becomes clear that Crusius follows the critique of Wolf by the Thomasians and continues some of their arguments that had already been put forward by Joachim Lange, for example. But in contrast to Lange, Crusius developed – in addition to his critique and own conception of obligation – an extensive theory of the will and drives.40 If we turn to Crusius’ idea mentioned in the previous section, namely to understand conscience as religio instead of conscientia, and consider it in relation to the concept of dependence that he uses to define obligation, then it turns out that a triad of elements – the foundation of which ultimately amounts to a theologicallybased conception of obligation – determines action: first, the divine law, second, obedience, and third, indebtedness. Contrary to Wolffianism, which identifies the law with the law of nature, Crusius rather presumes an equation of law and universal will, by virtue of which the law itself and the act of its generation by its lawgiver can be distinguished.41 From this follows, first, that the demanding character of the law

|| 40 See section 1.1. 41 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 17), § 165: »Ein Gesetz ist ein allgemeiner Wille eines mächtigern, welcher nicht wiederum einen andern mächtigern über sich hat«.

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takes on the character of a command and, second, that this character generates a relationship of indebtedness underlying this command, whereby it ultimately gains unconditional and imperatival validity.42 What has been said suggests that the obligation of the law presupposes a lawgiver, whose basic characteristic is its independence (»Selbständigkeit«). From its independence, it follows both that it can qualify as a (self-)lawgiver at all and also that the laws she enacts are unconditionally valid.43 Moreover, the obligation of the law presupposes that obligation essentially has a ›determining-determined‹ relationship in which one acts as a sovereign (by virtue of its independence) and the other as a subordinate (by virtue of its dependence). This also gives rise to a submission based on a relationship of debt and hence defines an unconditional duty. If we look again at the Kantian definition of obligation from 1785,44 it becomes obvious how Crusius – despite his theological background – supplies the precursors of central concepts of Kant’s practical philosophy insofar as elements such as law/will, submission (»Unterwerfung«) and duty assume a decisive function for him. It is now necessary in the following section to pursue the question as to how Kant reinterprets the concept of dependence in the course of his intellectual development such that the terms just mentioned can acquire a truly Kantian significance.

2.2 The Negative Reception exemplified by Kant’s Reinterpretation of the Concept of Dependence in the Träume eines Geistersehers (1766) and in the Kaehler Lecture (1774/75) 2.2.1 Träume eines Geistersehers An initial phase of the re-interpretation of the concept of dependence is depicted in the Träume eines Geistersehers from 1766. The first subtle modification of the concept of dependence, the impact of which on the terms of law, submission and duty is relevant, refers to its characterization as a »felt« or »sensed« (»empfundene«) dependence.45 That Kant speaks in the context of the Träume of a »felt« dependence is explained by his intention to subject metaphysics in general, and the concept of spirit (»Geist«) in particular, to a critique. In this sense, Kant attempts to show that the concept of spirit – like all other concepts of metaphysics – has no validity if it is not based on experience. In accordance with the Preisschrift of 1762/64, he raises the

|| 42 See ibid., § 133. 43 See ibid., § 165. 44 See note 8. 45 See Immanuel Kant: Träume eines Geistersehers, AA II, p. 334.

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claim that metaphysical concepts should be based on empirical and certain propositions (»sichere Erfahrungssätze«); in contrast to the Preisschrift, Kant however uses a method in Träume that employs skeptical elements and is supposed to reveal the limits of human reason.46 The application of this method produces important results which concern, among others, practical cognition. In this respect, Kant’s reference to the impossibility of using a pure concept implies that sensible and intellectual representations are considered to be dissimilar (»ungleichartig«).47 Since the dissimilarity of these representations leads to the fact that no gradual distinction between them is possible, it is necessary to differentiate between two regularities that can be described as laws of nature and laws of freedom.48 This distinction points to a specific characteristic of Kant’s standpoint in 1766 because – according to his observations – sensible and intellectual representations, viz. laws, are cognizable neither a priori nor a posteriori considered in isolation.49 Kant’s way out of this problematic position now appears to be to speak about the impact of intellectual or pure representations on the sensible world without, however, needing to address the ontological constitution of the intelligible world. Human cognition shows its limits in this sense through the characteristic features of human reason, which indeed postulate an order of things but cannot prove it.50 This is the case with the assumption of the existence of the soul and its participation in a spirit-world.51 Although the soul can be postulated as a pure, indivisible entity that, as such, participates in the spirit-world, it does not follow from this that the human being can have a direct – and to this extent pure, metaphysical – cognition of the soul and its participation in that world. As a sensible dependent being, however, the human being is very capable of visualizing such a participation through a sensa-

|| 46 Accordingly, Kant’s definition of metaphysics in Träume is: »a science of the limits of human reason.« Kant: Träume, AA II, p. 368. See also Moses Mendelssohn’s letter from 1766 (see Kant: Briefe, AA X, p. 70). 47 See Paola Rumore: L’ordine delle idee. La genesi del concetto di rappresentazione in Kant attraverso le sue fonti wolffiane (1747–1787). Firenze 2007, pp. 187–233. 48 »This immaterial world may therefore be regarded as a whole existing in its own right; the parts of that immaterial world stand in a relation of reciprocal connection and community with each other, even without the mediation of corporeal things; it follows that this latter relation is contingent and only belongs to some of the parts.« Kant: Träume, AA II, p. 330. See Ana-Carolina Gutiérrez-Xivillé: Vier Phasen in Kants moralphilosophischen Werdegang. In: Natur und Freiheit. Akten des XII. Internationalen Kant-Kongresses. Ed. by Violeta Weibel, Margit Ruffing and David Wagner. Berlin, Boston 2018, pp. 3177–3185. 49 In this sense, Lothar Kreimendahl speaks of an »empirically founded« metaphysics in Kant around 1766. Cf. Lothar Kreimendahl: Kant. Der Durchbruch von 1769. Köln 1990, pp. 125f. 50 On the distinction between human knowledge and human reason, see Gabriel Rivero: Zur Bedeutung des Begriffs Ontologie bei Kant. Eine entwicklungsgeschichtliche Untersuchung. Berlin, Boston 2014, pp. 86–110. 51 See Kant: Träume, AA II, pp. 329–341.

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tion52 so that – without overstepping the limits of human reason – the human being can be conscious of her participation in two worlds. In the context of this reflection on the spirit-world, Kant develops his conception of a sensed dependence, which he identifies as a relation between one’s own intentions, viz. self-interest, and the common good.53 Kant writes as follows: We recognise that, in our most secret motives, we are dependent upon the rule of the general will. It is the rule which confers upon the world of all thinking beings its moral unity and invests it with a systematic constitution, drawn up in accordance with purely spiritual laws. We sense within ourselves a constraining of our will to harmonise with the general will. To call this sensed constraining moral feeling, is to speak of it merely as a manifestation of that which takes place within us, without establishing its causes.54

This quotation discloses multiple aspects of the reinterpretation of the concept of dependence, which affects the concepts of law, submission and duty. Law. In accord with Crusius, Kant’s explanations represent the universal, viz. the law, as a rule of the will by means of which a unity of thinking natures is established by subjugating the private will. This general rule has a necessitating character that manifests itself as a determining relation of dependence. In contrast to Crusius, however, the cause of the law is not questioned – due to the limit of human reason – so that the specific relevance that Crusius assigns to the authority of the independent lawgiver in order to determine the obligating character of an action does not play a role here at all. This is because according to the Kantian standpoint, the cause of the accord between the universal and the private will, which is created by a law, is not »discernable«. What follows from this is that in contrast to Crusius, the independence of the lawgiver for Kant is not a decisive element in order to be able to guarantee the imperative character of submission. It can be presumed that as a result of the reinterpretation of the concept of dependence, the independence of the law becomes the center of Kant’s consideration. That it is possible to assume such an autonomy of the law is in principle due to the fact that the moral unity, which guarantees the ›sensed‹ participation in the spirit-world, leads to the insight that the laws of morality are considered to be their own class independent from nature, which Kant calls »merely spiritual laws«. If that is the case, one can conclude that Kant succeeds in taking an important step towards the idea of the autonomy of the law insofar as the obligating necessity of the law is not derived from the authority of the lawgiver; instead, mere universality, on the one hand, and the validity of the moral law isolated from the senses, on the other, seem to be the characteristics which give rise to

|| 52 See ibid., p. 324. 53 See ibid., p. 334. 54 Ibid., p. 335.

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moral necessitation with regard to the private will and the resulting conformity with the universal will.55 Submission. If Kant deduces the submission of the private will to the universal will from the mere universality of the law »without establishing its causes«, then submission is, phenomenologically considered, grounded on moral feeling. At the basis of this conception – according to which the unifying effect of the law appears as a phenomenon and manifests itself as a »moral feeling«56 – Kant avoids using voluntarist concepts, e. g. command, even though he continues to make use of the concept of dependence. Duty. Crusius’ concept of conscience as religio instead of conscientia leads – as demonstrated in the previous section – to a conception of duty as indebtedness, i. e. to a relation determined by the idea of obedience and hence to a commitment understood according to the model of perfect legal duty.57 Although Kant’s remarks in Träume do not allow us to pursue this idea further, he in principle provides the preconditions to avoid such a Crusian conception of duty despite his use of dependence. Finally, Kant does not use the terms lawgiver, obedience, nor command, but instead speaks of motives which he furnishes with the attribute ›secret‹.

2.2.2 The Kaehler Lecture As progressive as these conceptions of the concept of dependence may appear in Träume, they still receive a revision shortly thereafter in Kant’s inaugural dissertation of 1770. The reason for this lies in the fact that Kant’s method around 1770 specifies and radicalizes the distinction between pure and sensible ideas already sketched in Träume in such a way that a transcendental distinction is drawn between sensibility and understanding. The radicality of this methodical approach bans the language of a felt dependence in the context of practical philosophy, just as was the case in Träume. Instead Kant makes use of a terminology in keeping with the introduction of a »pure part« of practical philosophy and in which the ideal becomes the leading concept of practical philosophy.58 The notion of practical philosophy as a pure part of the system represented in his Dissertatio is later more precisely determined in the Kaehler Lecture from the

|| 55 In the Bemerkungen zu den Bobachtung über das Gefühl des Schönen und Erhabenen, Kant presents the same view. Cf. AA XX, p. 145. See also Jeffrey Edwards: Autonomy, Moral Worth, and Right. Kant on Obligatory Ends, Respect of Law, and Original Acquisition. Berlin, Boston 2018, pp. 188f. 56 Kant: Träume, AA II, p. 335. 57 See Fricke: Die Quadratur des Kreises (see note 5), p. 59. 58 See Kant: De Mundi sensibilis atque intelligibilis forma et principiis, AA II, pp. 395f., § 9. See also Kant: Briefe, AA X, p. 97.

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mid 1770s. In this lecture, new elements in the determination of dependence appear, the consequences of which are of great importance for the concepts of law, submission and duty. Law. Just as in Träume, the independence of the law from that of the lawgiver is presupposed in the Kaehler Lecture.59 But in contrast to Träume, in which the impact of the law as the appearance of a feeling was central for the determination and establishment of the dependence of the private will, in the Kaehler Lecture – under the influence of the method of the Dissertatio – the insight into the validity of a general rule derived from pure reason ultimately proves to be decisive.60 In this regard, Kant develops a conception of law that is exclusively grounded on the universality of the rule.61 This universal character of the rule is at the same time the reason for its morally imperatival feature. In this sense, Kant can clearly distinguish between pragmatic and categorical imperatives,62 and between the principle of appraising obligation and the principle of its performance.63 Submission. Such a sharp distinction between the principle of appraisal, on the one hand, and the principle of performance on the other, however, makes the question of the submission of the will particularly incisive. Kant states in the lecture, »The submission of our will to the rule of universally valid ends is the inner goodness [Bonitaet] and absolute perfection of free choice«.64 It follows from Kant’s observations that the subjection of the will to a law must be interpreted in such a way that it is based only on an internal determination which only requires the subjective principle of action to be in accordance with universal ends. Thus, Kant presumes contra Crusius that the goodness (»Bonitaet«) of the action and its necessitating character are not a result of the dependence of the will on another,65 rather, it consists in the formal character of conformity with »universal ends«. The will should subject itself to a law that is only valid by virtue of the principle of appraisal of the understanding.66 This means that the exercised necessitation is to be judged as mor-

|| 59 V-Mo/Kaehler (Stark), p. 79: »Vom moralischen Gesetz ist also kein Wesen auch das göttliche nicht ein Urheber, denn sie sind nicht aus der Willkür entsprungen, sondern sind practisch nothwendig«. 60 Ibid., pp. 26f.: »Diejenige principia […], die allgemein, beständig und nothwendig gelten sollen, können nicht aus der Erfahrung, sondern aus reiner Vernunft abgeleitet werden.« See also AnaCarolina Gutiérrez-Xivillé: Kants ethischer Autonomiebegriff. Berlin, Boston 2018, pp. 139–216. 61 V-Mo/Kaehler (Stark), p. 68. 62 Ibid., pp. 53 and 58. 63 Ibid., pp. 55f. 64 Ibid., p. 30. 65 Ibid., pp. 37f.: »Crusius meynt, alle Verbindlichkeit beziehe sich auf die Willkür eines andern. [A]llein ich werde necessitirt durch ein arbitrium internum aber nicht durch ein arbitrium externum; also durch die nothwendige Bedingung der allgemeinen Willkür«. 66 Ibid., p. 68: »Da nun der Verstand das Vermögen der Regel und der Urtheile ist, so besteht die Moralitaet in der Unterordnung der Handlung überhaupt unter dem principio des Verstandes.«

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al because the in principle merely subjective necessity of one’s own end qualifies as a universal end.67 The necessity of an action is to be understood as a necessitatio instead of a necessitas so that the will subjects itself to a rule, i. e. makes itself dependent upon a rule that the will imposed on itself. Duty. Turning towards the concept of duty, it follows from the previous elements (the formal universality of the law, the goodness of the action as agreement of ends and the necessity of action as »making necessary«) that Kant had to arrive at a new conception of duty. Duty can express – contra Wolffianism – neither a mere necessity of the law because duty implies a necessitation (»making necessary«) nor – contra Crusius – the result of a mere indebtedness insofar as the necessity of an action follows from the law itself, from obligation. In this sense, it must be emphasized that the relation implied by the concept of duty cannot be interpreted in the sense of a legal relationship; rather, it concerns a relation that establishes itself by a specific relationship to itself: as self-determination and self-legislation. In other words, the legal model interprets the relation on which duty is based as a commitment to something that allows the obligating power of law to emerge from the relation to a third term, to its choice, command and authority. On the contrary, Kant’s model of duty does not merely address such an obligation to the law; rather, its characteristic feature consists in being a self-obligation, self-determination and a self-legislation. In this sense, the duty does not arise from the relation to a third term. What constitutes duty is agreement with oneself and one’s own humanity, the dignity of one’s own self. As has become clear from what has been said above, Kant’s reinterpretation of the concept of dependence inherited from Crusius reveals a change in the concepts of law/will, submission, and duty, which, from a developmental perspective, represents an important step towards Kant’s own conception of the autonomy of the will. In the case of the positive reception of Crusius’ conception of obligation, Crusius’ conception leads Kant to the non-psychologically understood notion of the moral necessitation of the will. In the negative reception, another noteworthy concept is illuminated from the perspective of its historical development: the autonomy of the will. Such a result can only be achieved if, in contrast to the current interpretations, the influence of Crusius’ conception of obligation on Kant is not merely generalized in one direction or the other, but differentiated in its various aspects. This was precisely the aim of the present essay.

|| 67 Kant calls this process the »necessitation« (»Notwendigmachung«) of the random, subjective principles of action. See ibid., p. 29.

Dominik Recknagel

Pflicht aus Liebe zu Gott Prinzipien und Inhalte des Naturrechts bei Christian August Crusius Der aus dem südlich von Halle gelegenen Leuna stammende Leipziger Professor der Philosophie und Theologie Christian August Crusius, der – glaubt man etwa Max Wundt und Martin Krieger – »ohne Übertreibung als der bedeutendste deutsche Philosoph der fünfziger und sechziger Jahre des 18. Jahrhunderts bezeichnet werden kann«, erntete solchen Ruhm aufgrund »seiner Leistungen als Wegbereiter der Kantschen Vernunftkritik und seiner schulbildenden Wirkung«.1 Zudem wurde Crusius als »der bedeutendste und erfolgreichste Antagonist der Wolffschen Philosophie und damit [als] eine der Hauptfiguren der deutschen Hochaufklärung«2 bezeichnet. Umso verwunderlicher erscheint es, dass sich die Forschung bisher vergleichsweise wenig mit diesem Autoren beschäftigt hat. Dabei wird immer wieder deutlich gemacht, dass seine endgültige philosophische Positionierung bislang noch aussteht, zumal Crusius bisweilen als Wolffianer,3 aber auch – im Gegenteil ‒ als »der wichtigste zeitgenössische Kritiker Wolffs«4 und der bedeutendste Gegner Leibnizens,5 schließlich bevorzugt als Thomasianer und Eklektiker bezeichnet wird. Immerhin ist unbestritten, dass Crusius ein bedeutender Impulsgeber für Immanuel Kant gewesen ist. || 1 Martin Krieger: Die Wolff-Rezeption im Rahmen der Religionsphilosophie von Christian August Crusius. In: Günter Jerouschek, Arno Sames (Hg.): Aufklärung und Erneuerung. Beiträge zur Geschichte der Universität Halle im ersten Jahrhundert ihres Bestehens (1694–1806). Hanau, Halle 1994, S. 150–157, Zitat S. 150. Max Wundt: Kant als Metaphysiker. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der deutschen Philosophie im 18. Jahrhundert. Stuttgart 1924, S. 60‒81. Zu Werk und Biographie von Crusius vgl. Giorgio Tonelli: Einleitung in Leben und Werk des Christian August Crusius. In: Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Hildesheim 1969 (ND der Ausgabe Leipzig 1744), S. VII–LXV; Magdalene Benden: Christian August Crusius. Wille und Verstand als Prinzipien des Handelns. Bonn 1972. Bendens Beitrag geht freilich an keiner Stelle über den Status einer Textparaphrase hinaus. 2 Sonia Carboncini: Die thomasianisch-pietistische Tradition und ihre Fortsetzung durch Christian August Crusius. In: Werner Schneiders (Hg.): Christian Thomasius (1655–1728). Interpretationen zu Werk und Wirkung. Hamburg 1989, S. 287–304, Zitat S. 287. 3 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel: Vorlesungen über die Geschichte der Philosophie. Band III. Leipzig 1982, S. 303. 4 Krieger: Wolff-Rezeption (s. Anm. 1), S. 151. 5 Luca Fonnesu: The Problem of Theodizee. In: Knud Haakonssen (Hg.): The Cambridge History of Eighteenth-Century Philosophy. 2 Bde. Cambridge 2006, Bd. 1, S. 749–778, hier S. 756. Zudem bezeichnet Fonnesu Crusius als »most important thinker in the Thomasian-Pietist tradition« (S. 756). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-014

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Für seine Naturrechtstheorie im Besonderen steht eine Untersuchung noch aus. Max Wundt hält sie im Rahmen seiner Crusiusanalyse einer Betrachtung nicht wert. Neben einigen knappen Bemerkungen in Übersichtsdarstellungen erfährt sie eine kurze Würdigung bei Jerome Schneewind in seiner Geschichte der modernen Moralphilosophie.6 Selten geht allerdings eine Analyse inhaltlich darüber hinaus, Crusius’ Naturrechtsentwurf als voluntaristisch zu bezeichnen. Wie wenig Crusius selbst vom Naturrecht gehalten hat, wird deutlich, wenn man beobachtet, dass er in dem am Ende seines Lebens erschienenen, mit knapp 1700 Seiten reichlich lang geratenen Kurzen Begriff der Moraltheologie noch einmal auf seine Pflichtenlehre eingeht, nunmehr aber die Pflichten gegen andere Menschen wesentlich im Zeichen und unter dem Begriff der Nächstenliebe abhandelt und nur ganz am Rande als Recht der Natur bezeichnet.7

1 Crusius entwickelt seine Lehre des Rechts der Natur in der erstmals 1744 und dann zu seinen Lebzeiten noch in zwei weiteren, vermehrten Auflagen publizierten Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Bereits im Kapitel zur natürlichen Moraltheologie, das in diesem Werk dem Kapitel zum Recht der Natur vorangestellt ist, gibt Crusius die wesentlichen Grundlagen aller Tugend und gesetzlichen Verbindlichkeit des Menschen und damit auch den Ausgangspunkt des Rechts der Natur an: »Denn alle gesetzliche Verbindlichkeit gründet sich auf Gottes Willen, und alle Tugend muß mit ausdrücklicher Absicht auf denselben geleistet werden.«8 In dieser vordergründig voluntaristischen Ausrichtung seiner Gesetzeslehre wird klar, dass der wesentlich geforderte Gehorsam gegen den Willen Gottes, den Crusius als Prinzip »aller wahren Morale« von seinem akademischen Lehrer Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann übernimmt,9 einhergehen muss mit der Erkenntnis desselben, nämlich, dass man

|| 6 Jerome B. Schneewind: The Invention of Autonomy: A History of Modern Moral Philosophy. Cambridge u. a. 1998, S. 445–456. 7 Christian August Crusius: Kurzer Begriff der Moraltheologie oder nähere Erklärung der practischen Lehren des Christenthums. Leipzig 1772/73, S. 1514–1692 (§§ 351–373, Cap. 14). Die Bezeichnung der Pflichten gegen andere Menschen als Recht der Natur findet sich nur in § 4, vgl. S. 7f. 8 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 1), S. 435 (§ 317). 9 Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann: Beweisthümer Dererjenigen Grund-Wahrheiten aller Religion und Moralität, Welche durch die in der Wolfischen Philosophie befindlichen Gegensätze haben geleugnet, und über den Haufen geworfen werden wollen. Frankfurt und Leipzig 1736, S. 95: »[…] durch die Moralität aber müssen wir […] den liebenden Gehorsam gegen Gott zu unserm letztern Zweck machen. Und dieses ist das wesentliche Principium aller wahren Morale.« Vgl. Detlef Döring: Die

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so viel nur möglich, von der Wircklichkeit GOttes und seinen Eigenschaften, ferner von seinem Willen und Absichten, von seinen allgemeinen Wirckungen, nemlich der Schöpfung, Erhaltung und Regierung der Welt, und von seinem Reiche, welches er unter und mit den vernünftigen Geschöpfen aufgerichtet hat, eine gegründete Erkenntniß mit zuverläßiger Ueberzeugung zu erlangen, und dieselbe zu vermehren trachte.10

Und schließlich formuliert Crusius einen allgemeinen Begriff der Tugend, indem er den formalen Endzweck der Tugend, den Gehorsam gegen Gott, mit seinem materialen Inhalt, dem Streben nach Vollkommenheit, die Crusius als Übereinstimmung mit allen seinen Endzwecken definiert,11 verknüpft. Die Tugend sei demnach jene »Fertigkeit, alles was der wesentlichen Vollkommenheit Gottes, unserer selbst, und aller andern Dinge, gemäß ist, aus Gehorsam gegen den göttlichen Willen als unsers Oberherrn, zu beobachten.«12 Zudem folgt aus der Tugend neben der Vervollkommnung – sogar ganz von selbst, wie Crusius bemerkt – unsere Glückseligkeit, die zwar mit Dank angenommen, aber dennoch nicht eigens zum Zweck des Gehorsams gegen Gott gemacht werden darf.13 Um nun die unmittelbare Pflicht gegen Gott, den Gehorsam als formalen Endzweck der Tugend, der später noch durch die materiale Tugend der Liebe zu Gott14 ergänzt wird, erfüllen zu können, ist es unumgänglich, die Materie dieser Pflicht, nämlich die Erkenntnis Gottes selbst und seines Willens hinsichtlich des göttlichen Gesetzes kennen zu lernen. Nach Crusius stehen dem Menschen dafür zwei Erkenntniswege, principia cognoscendi, zur Verfügung, deren erster, der natürliche Gewissenstrieb, den Menschen dazu »antreibet, dasjenige, was der göttlichen und menschlichen Vollkommenheit wesentlich gemäß ist, aus Gehorsam gegen GOttes Willen«15 zu beobachten. Der Gewissenstrieb ist dabei ein Beweis a posteriori für die Gewissheit göttlicher natürlicher Gesetze und zugleich in der Lage, deren Inhalte anzuzeigen. Für Crusius verfügt der Mensch über eine »angebohrne Idee von dem natürlichen Gesetze [...], welche das Muster ist, nach welcher der Gewissenstrieb die menschlichen Thaten eingerichtet wissen will.«16 Bezüglich der Inhalte kann der Gewissenstrieb allerdings irren und ist damit nicht immer zuverlässig, dennoch ist jeder dazu verpflichtet, dem Gewissenstrieb in jedem Fall Folge zu leisten.17 Immerhin lässt sich eine allgemeine Regel identifizieren, die Gott dem Gewissenstrieb

|| Philosophie Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz’ und die Leipziger Aufklärung in der ersten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts. Stuttgart 1999, S. 109–111. 10 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 1), S. 439 (§ 322). 11 Ebd., S. 224 (§ 157). 12 Ebd., S. 250 (§ 175). 13 Ebd., S. 250 (§ 176). 14 Ebd., S. 339 (§ 240). 15 Ebd., S. 191 (§ 137). 16 Ebd., S. 190 (§ 137). 17 Ebd., S. 244 (§ 169); S. 257 (§ 179).

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eingeprägt hat: »[T]hue, was der Vollkommenheit GOttes und deinem Verhältnisse gegen ihn, und ferner was der wesentlichen Vollkommenheit der menschlichen Natur gemäß ist, und unterlasse das Gegentheil.«18 Das andere principium cognoscendi des göttlichen Gesetzes ist, so Crusius, der »Weg der deutlichen Erkenntniß, da man die Pflichten aus der Natur der göttlichen und menschlichen wesentlichen Vollkommenheit durch deutliche und bündige Schlüsse herleitet«.19 Dies sei durch den Nachweis zu erlangen, dass »etwas« mit »dem Begriffe der Vollkommenheit Gottes, oder eines Dinges überhaupt«20 übereinstimme, bzw., dass hierdurch die Absichten Gottes bezüglich der Dinge in der Welt21 erfüllt werden können. Die Erkenntnis der Absichten Gottes scheint dabei für Crusius ein geringes Problem darzustellen: »Die Absichten GOttes aber, welche er bey einer Sache gehabt hat, findet man, wenn man Achtung giebt, worzu sie ihrem Wesen nach geschickt ist, und alles mit einander wohl vergleichet.«22 Anhand der Orientierung am Vollkommenheitsgebot eruiert Crusius zwei Arten von Pflichten, die die natürlichen Gesetze ausmachen sollen: »[M]anchmahl liegt der Grund der Pflichten darinnen, weil dieselben zur menschlichen Sicherheit und Zufriedenheit das einzige Mittel sind; daher die Einrichtung der Welt mit sich bringet, daß sie GOtt beobachtet wissen will«, oder aber »darinnen, daß das Gesetz aus der Natur GOttes, und eines vernünftigen Geschöpfes, und dem Verhältnisse zwischen beyden an und vor sich selbst nothwendig folgt«.23 Für die natürlichen Gesetze bedeutet das im Gegensatz zur allgemeinen voluntaristischen Ausrichtung auf den Gehorsam gegenüber einem vordergründig willkürlichen göttlichen Willen vielmehr eine verlässliche Basis aus notwendigen Gründen, wie sie sich aus den Anforderungen wie Sicherheit und Zufriedenheit und aus der Ausrichtung auf die Vollkommenheit ergibt. Die Natur der Sache, die Natur des Menschen und sogar die Natur Gottes sind die Garanten für einen wesentlich konstanten Inhalt natürlicher Gesetze, dem der Wille Gottes als Verbindlichkeitslieferant notwendig folgt. Aus dem soeben Gezeigten erhellt zugleich der Vermittlungskanal, durch den die göttlichen natürlichen Gesetze zur Erkenntnis des Menschen gelangen. Der allgemeine verbindliche Wille Gottes wird »den Menschen durch die Natur der Geschöpfe selbst und den Gebrauch ihrer Vernunft kund gethan«.24 Er ist dadurch be-

|| 18 Ebd., S. 191 (§ 137). 19 Ebd., S. 259 (§ 181). 20 Ebd., S. 259f. (§ 181). 21 Ebd., S. 260 (§ 181). 22 Ebd. 23 Ebd., S. 260f. (§ 182). Crusius verweist in diesem Zusammenhang auf seinen Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzet werden (Leipzig 1745, S. 508–519 [§§ 282–286]). 24 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 1), S. 243 (§ 168); Hervorhebung D.R.

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stimmt, dem Menschen ein Sollen oder Dürfen, ein gebotenes Tun oder Unterlassen anzuzeigen. Auf der Seite des Menschen wiederum geht es um das Erkennen gewisser Regeln aus der eigenen Natur und dem Gebrauch der eigenen Vernunft, die zugleich die Erkenntnis bringen soll, völlig vom göttlichen Willen abhängig zu sein und aus Gehorsam gegen diesen zu handeln. Insgesamt lassen sich trotz der vordergründig voluntaristischen Ausrichtung auf den Willen Gottes als zentraler Quelle tugendhaften Handelns dennoch entscheidende rationalistische Elemente auffinden, die Crusius’ Grundlegung des Rechts in die Nähe grotianischen und wolffianischen Naturrechtsdenkens rücken lässt. Da ist zum einen die Verankerung des Rechts der Natur im Willen Gottes vermittelt über die so und nicht anders gewollte Natur des Menschen, eine Vorstellung, die sich sowohl auf das grotianische Modell der Naturrechtsentstehung25 als auch auf Wolffs normregulierendes Vollkommenheitskonzept beziehen lässt.26 Deutliches Anzeichen für eine Distanzierung von der Behauptung eines – im voluntaristischen Sinne – willkürlichen Gotteswillens bildet Crusius’ Rede von der Notwendigkeit des göttlichen Willens – er spricht häufiger ausdrücklich vom »nothwendigen« Willen Gottes. Dieser bleibt zwar Ursprung des »moralischen Guten«,27 doch ist dieses nicht willkürlich, denn »dasjenige Wollen GOttes, in welchem die natürlichen höchsten Gesetze ihren Grund haben, [ist] kein freyes sondern ein nothwendiges Wollen«.28 So entlarvt auch der Syllogismus aus der Prämisse des notwendigen Willens Gottes als Grundlage des moralischen Guten und der Schlussfolgerung, dass das moralisch Gute seinen Grund »wie alles andere« auch in einem Willen habe,29 Crusius’ merkwürdiges Beharren auf dem Willen Gottes als Verschleierung zweier wesentlicher rationalistischer Elemente in der Grundlegung des moralisch Guten, wie es die zu erreichende Vollkommenheit und die notwendige Ausrichtung des Willens auf dieselbe nun einmal darstellen müssen. Zudem ist nicht nur der Inhalt göttlichen Willens mit Notwendigkeit bestimmt, auch das Wollen selbst ist nach Crusius »vielmehr in GOtt nothwendig, weil er sonst die wesentliche Vollkommenheit nicht liebte, und mithin unvollkommen, das ist, gar nicht GOtt wäre.«30

|| 25 Hugo Grotius: De iure belli ac pacis libri tres, in quibus ius naturae et gentium item iuris publici praecipua explicantur. Curavit B. J. A. de Kanter-van Hettinga Tromp. Editionis anni 1939, quae Lugduni Batavorum in aedibus E. J. Brill emissa est, exemplar photomechanice iteratum. Annotationes novas addiderunt R. Feenstra et C. E. Persenaire, adiuvante E. Arps-de Wilde. Aalen 1993, S. 10f. (Prol. 12). 26 Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken Von der Menschen Thun und Lassen, Zu Beförderung ihrer Glückseeligkeit, den Liebhabern der Wahrheit mitgetheilet. Halle 1720, S. 3–6 (Cap. 1, §§ 2–4). 27 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 1), S. 248 (§ 173). 28 Ebd., S. 249 (§ 173). Vgl. Schneewind: Invention of Autonomy (s. Anm. 6), S. 454–456. 29 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 1), S. 248 (§ 173). 30 Ebd., S. 438 (§ 320).

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Zum anderen bemüht Crusius die notwendige Ausrichtung des Willens gezielt zur Vorbereitung auf die Erörterung des natürlichen Gesetzes, da er mit dem Ziel der Vollkommenheit die feste Grundlage jenseits des göttlichen Willens gefunden hat und für die er bereitwillig zugibt, dass »etwas auch ohne Absicht auf den Willen GOttes der Vollkommenheit gemäß oder zuwieder sey«.31 Damit entzieht Crusius den Bereich des natürlichen Gesetzes einer möglichen Willkür göttlicher Gesetzgebung und betont die Instanz der Vollkommenheit, an der sich der göttliche Wille notwendig ausrichten muss. Dieser bleibt dennoch notwendige Grundlage der Verpflichtung, insofern er das Bindeglied zwischen der rationalen Bewertung von Handlungen, die der Vollkommenheit zuträglich sind, und der Zuschreibung moralischer Güte dieser Handlungen darstellt. Insoweit haben wir es hier mit einer Grundlegung von Inhalt und Verpflichtung des natürlichen Gesetzes zu tun, die in der Verknüpfung von Gottes Willen, Vollkommenheit, Gesetz der Natur und Glückseligkeit an den Entwurf von Christian Wolff erinnert.32 Ähnlich wie Wolff meint Crusius durch den Zusammenhang von moralisch Gutem, erstrebter Vollkommenheit und dem notwendigen Willen Gottes das höchste natürliche Grundgesetz a priori hergeleitet zu haben, das er folgendermaßen formuliert: Thue aus Gehorsam gegen den Befehl deines Schöpfers, als deinen natürlichen und nothwendigen Oberherrn, alles dasjenige, was der Vollkommenheit Gottes, und ferner was der wesentlichen Vollkommenheit deiner eigenen Natur und aller andern Geschöpfe, endlich auch was den Verhältnissen der Dinge gegen einander, welche er gemacht hat, gemäß ist, und unterlasse das Gegentheil.33

Auch die ausdrückliche Forderung nach der Unterlassung des Gegenteils erinnert an die Formulierung von Wolffs Vollkommenheitsgebot. Der deutliche Unterschied zu Wolffs Grundsatz des Rechts der Natur34 liegt in der Betonung der Motivation des Handelns aus dem Gehorsam gegen Gott und der Orientierung an der Vollkommenheit Gottes, die für Crusius zum Ausgangspunkt der Einsicht in und der Verpflichtung auf das natürliche Gesetz werden. Für Wolff dagegen ist die Beförderung der Vollkommenheit des Menschen als Prinzip ein grundlegenderes, und als solches vorerst getrennt von der Verpflichtung durch Gott als solches zu erfassen. Gleichwohl bestätigt Wolff Gott sowohl als den Urheber des

|| 31 Ebd., S. 249 (§ 173). 32 Vgl. Christian Wolff: Ausführliche Nachricht von seinen eigenen Schriften, die er in deutscher Sprache heraus gegeben (Christian Wolff: Gesammelte Werke, Abt. 1: Deutsche Schriften, Bd. 9). Hg. von Hans Werner Arndt. Hildesheim 1996 (ND der Ausgabe Frankfurt a. M. 1733), S. 392–397 (§ 137). 33 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 1), S. 249 (§ 174). 34 Christian Wolff: Grundsätze des Natur- und Völckerrechts (Christian Wolff: Gesammelte Werke, Abt. 1: Deutsche Schriften, Bd. 19). Hg. von Marcel Thomann. Hildesheim 1980 (ND der Ausgabe Halle 1754), S. 28 (§ 43).

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natürlichen Gesetzes als auch als den Grund der Verbindlichkeit desselben und distanziert sich von denjenigen, »welche [bloß] aus dem Willen Gottes das Recht der Natur herleiten wollen«.35 Mit der Betonung des Gehorsams gegen Gott als Grundlage sämtlicher Pflichten der Tugend, die er als das »Recht der Natur im weiteren Verstande« bezeichnet und zugleich »seinem Wesen nach« mit dem »practische[n] Theil der natürlichen Gottesgelahrtheit«36 identifiziert, nimmt Crusius eine dreifache Unterteilung der Pflichten des Rechts der Natur vor: die Pflichten gegen Gott, gegen sich selbst und gegen andere Menschen. Die Reihung folgt dem Vorschlag von Pufendorf und Thomasius, dagegen hatte Wolff die Pflichten gegenüber Gott an das Ende und die Pflichten gegen sich selbst an den Anfang der Reihe gesetzt. Bemerkenswert ist dabei, dass Crusius die Pflichten gegen andere Menschen als das »Recht der Natur im engern Verstande« auffasst und sein Naturrecht auf dasjenige beschränkt, was in Thomasiusʼ Fundamenta iuris naturae et gentium das erzwingbare und nur die äußeren Handlungen betreffende iustum darstellt. Die Pflichten gegen Gott und die Pflichten gegen sich selbst werden von Crusius aus dem Naturrecht ausgegliedert und der natürlichen Moraltheologie bzw. der Ethik zugeordnet. Der Vollkommenheitsgrundsatz des Rechts der Natur im engeren Verstande konzentriert sich nun folgerichtig auf die Pflichten gegen andere Menschen, sodass für Crusius »das höchste Grundgesetz des natürlichen Rechtes dieses« ist: »Führe dich gegen andere also auf, wie es der Vollkommenheit ihres Wesens und ihrem Verhältnisse gegen GOtt, und wie es der Verknüpfung, welche GOtt unter den Menschen gemacht hat, gemäß ist.«37 Aus dieser spezielleren Formulierung des auf den Mitmenschen bezogenen Vollkommenheitsgebots leitet Crusius nun in bemerkenswerter Weise Grundsätze ab, die dem modernen Menschenrechts- und Verfassungsdenken zumindest nahekommen, und stellt diese an den Beginn seines Naturrechts: »Laß dich den Gehorsam und die Liebe gegen GOtt antreiben, alle Menschen um seinet willen zu lieben, und, weil sie mit dir zu einerley Endzwecken erschaffen sind, ihnen allen einerley natürliche Rechte zuzugestehen, und aus Liebe alles dasjenige beyzutragen, was zu gesellschaftlicher Beförderung der göttlichen Absichten mit allen durch alle, nöthig und nützlich, und den Verknüpfungen der Menschen gemäß ist.«38 Die Anerkennung des Menschen als Zweck an sich selbst, dem deshalb natürliche Rechte verliehen und zuzugestehen sind, weist – ungeachtet des theologischen Hintergrundes – schon deutlich auf die Ethik Kants voraus. Im Gegensatz zur thomasianischen Charakterisierung der Pflichten des natürlichen Gesetzes im engeren Verstande als erzwingbare äußerliche Pflichten (iustum),

|| 35 Ebd. 36 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 1), S. 283 (§ 203). 37 Ebd., S. 506 (§ 371). 38 Ebd.

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im Unterschied zu den nicht erzwingbaren inneren Pflichten (honestum), handelt Crusius äußere und innere, Zwangs- und Gewissenspflichten, zudem notwendige und zufällige Pflichten, Pflichten der Sicherheit und der tätigen Hilfe, schließlich Pflichten gegenüber einzelnen und gegenüber der ganzen menschlichen Gesellschaft sämtlich und summarisch unter dem Begriff der Naturrechtspflichten ab, denen unterschiedliche Grade von Verbindlichkeit zugewiesen werden. Da nun eine klare Separierung von äußeren und inneren Pflichten des Naturrechts unterbleibt und damit auch die Kriterien für die Erzwingbarkeit von Pflichterfüllungen aufgehoben sind, lässt sich auf der Seite der Rechte, die von Crusius ebenfalls in äußere und innere Rechte eingeteilt werden, nur noch ein verwirrendes Nebeneinander von vollkommenen und unvollkommenen, d. h. erzwingbaren und nicht erzwingbaren Rechten und deren Verbindlichkeiten konstatieren. So behauptet er etwa, ein bloß äußerliches Recht sei ohne irgendein innerliches gar kein wahres Recht,39 oder es könne »einem das äusserliche Recht zu etwas fehlen, dazu doch der andere eine innerliche Verbindlichkeit hat.«40 Auch könne Gott »bey gewissen Umständen befehlen, auch das Unrecht zu leiden. Daher wir alsdenn eine innere Verbindlichkeit haben, diesem Befehle zu gehorchen, obgleich der andere gar kein Recht hat, uns das Unrecht anzuthun.«41 Schließlich verweist Crusius wegen der vielen Kombinationsmöglichkeiten von Rechten und Pflichten und der daraus nur unsicher zu schließenden Verbindlichkeiten auf die nötige Beurteilung des Einzelfalls, »denn die Gründe eines iedweden Rechtes und einer ieden Verbindlichkeit müssen iedesmahl besonders untersuchet werden.«42 Darüber hinaus schließt Crusius an die Erörterung der unterschiedlichen Kombinations- und Gewichtungsmöglichkeiten der inneren und äußeren Pflichten und Rechte eine umfangreiche Lehre der Entscheidung streitender bzw. kollidierender Pflichten und Rechte an, in der er zunächst die Ausräumung der Irrtümer über bloß vermeintliche Kollisionsfälle verlangt und später unter anderem eine wenig praktikabel erscheinende graduelle Unterscheidung von Pflichten und Rechten vornimmt, bei denen die größere Pflicht bzw. das größere Recht dem jeweils geringeren vorzuziehen sei. Als Maß für eine solche Gewichtung der Pflichten kommt dabei natürlich nicht der Effekt für die irdische Glückseligkeit in Frage, sondern vielmehr der Grad »des Willens GOttes, mit welchem er dieselben verlanget«.43

|| 39 Ebd., S. 535 (§ 398). 40 Ebd., S. 532 (§ 394). 41 Ebd., S. 531f. (§ 394). 42 Ebd., S. 535 (§ 397). 43 Ebd., S. 551f. (§ 412).

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2 Um nun die Inhalte des Rechts der Natur zu entwickeln, greift Crusius katalogartig die üblichen Wirkungsbereiche desselben auf. Dabei unterscheidet er zunächst allgemeine Pflichten und Rechte gegen andere Menschen von solchen, die »erst durch Contracte oder besondere Stände der Menschen« entstehen. Die allgemeinen Pflichten und Rechte nun, die man vielleicht als Regeln des zwischenmenschlichen Umgangs unter Gleichen bezeichnen könnte, entwickelt Crusius aus dem Grundsatz der Pflicht zur Menschenliebe. Zu den Pflichten gehört die Bereitschaft, anderen gerne zu dienen, die Redlichkeit, die Höflichkeit, der Verbot des Hasses und des Neids, die Feindesliebe, die Bescheidenheit, die Wahrhaftigkeit, die Dankbarkeit und die Pflicht, das Alter zu ehren.44 Insbesondere die Pflicht, »niemanden zu beleidigen«, entspricht dem iustum, das bei Thomasius auf Handlungen zielt, die dem äußeren Frieden abträglich sein könnten.45 Bei Crusius enthält das Verbot, andere in der Ausübung ihrer Rechte zu behindern,46 die bemerkenswerten liberalen Forderungen, niemandem »seine natürliche Freyheit beschneiden« und »unser eigenes Urteil aufdringen« zu dürfen. Auf der Gegenseite entsprechen den genannten Pflichten ebenso viele einforderbare Rechte, weil für Crusius ganz selbstverständlich »dieselben [Pflichten] auch andern Leuten gegen uns ob[liegen], weil wir mit ihnen einerley Wesen und einerley Endzweck haben. [...] Demnach entstehen aus den bisher erklärten Pflichten [...] auch eben so viel allgemeine Befugnisse der Menschen gegen einander«.47 Als besonderes Recht stellt Crusius die Forderung nach der »Wiederersetzung eines zugefügten Schadens« heraus, das unmittelbar aus der Pflicht »niemanden zu beleidigen« folge und auch mit Zwang durchzusetzen sei. Hierbei fügt Crusius einen seiner sehr wenigen Verweise auf andere Autoren an und nennt Hugo Grotius’ De iure belli ac pacis (II, 17)48 als Quelle seiner Haftungs- und Schadensersatzregeln, der er auch kritiklos und umfänglich folgt. Seiner ursprünglichen Einteilung der Inhalte des Rechts der Natur folgend, wendet sich Crusius anschließend den Pflichten zu, die »erst durch Contracte oder besondere Stände der Menschen« entstehen. Hinsichtlich des natürlichen Zustands

|| 44 Ebd., S. 582–605 (§§ 438–457). 45 Christian Thomasius: Fundamenta Juris Naturæ Et Gentium Excensu Communi Deducta, In Quibus Ubique Secernuntur Principia Honesti, Justi Ac Decori, Cum Adjuncta Emendatione Ad Ista Fundamenta, Institutionum Jurisprudentiæ Divinæ, In usum Auditorii Thomasiani. Halle, Leipzig 1705, S. 131 (I,VI,LXII): »Deniqve quoad regulas justi. Non turbabis alios, nec impedies in usu juris sui s[ive] superiores s[ive] inferiores, sive pares; omnes enim sunt aequè homines.« 46 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 1), S. 589 (§ 444). 47 Ebd., S. 606 (§ 458). 48 Grotius: De iure belli ac pacis (s. Anm. 25), S. 427–434 (II, 17).

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des Menschen vor der Einrichtung von Staaten nennt Crusius hierbei ganz allgemein seine Vertragslehre, zudem seine Lehren vom Eigentum, vom Ehestand, vom Verhältnis der Eltern und Kinder und vom Eid. Hinsichtlich des staatlichen Zustandes entwirft Crusius innerhalb seiner Naturrechtslehre schließlich noch die Lehre vom Verhältnis zwischen der Obrigkeit und den Untertanen als Staatslehre und vom Verhältnis freier Völker untereinander als Völkerrechtslehre. Crusius entwickelt, eng an Hugo Grotius angelehnt, die Grundsätze einer allgemeinen Vertragslehre, die von der formalen Einteilung in ein- oder zweiseitige, ausdrückliche oder stillschweigende Verträge ausgeht und auch die Rechtmäßigkeit der Verträge an die Konformität mit dem Recht der Natur bindet. Die Verbindlichkeit zur Einhaltung von Verträgen leitet Crusius dabei, wie Grotius, aus »dem Wesen der menschlichen Natur« ab und bekräftigt die Geltung des Naturrechts auch im staatlichen Zustand. Die Möglichkeit von souveränitätstheoretischen Ausnahmen im Sinne des Grundsatzes princeps legibus solutus bestreitet er, indem er ausdrücklich feststellt, dass auch »nach Auffrichtung weltlicher Reiche die Potentaten davon [sc. von der Verbindlichkeit zur Einhaltung von Verträgen] im geringsten nicht auszunehmen sind«.49 Überraschende Differenzen zu den zumindest im deutschen akademischen Bereich gängigen Vorgaben weist Crusius’ Theorie der Eigentumsbegründung auf. Im Unterschied zu Grotius, Thomasius und auch zu Wolff führt er das Eigentum nicht auf einen Vertrag, auf einen Effekt der Staatsgründung oder auf die ursprüngliche Inbesitznahme zurück, vielmehr sieht Crusius die Entstehung des Eigentums, das er ganz üblich als Recht an einer Sache unter Ausschluss der Übrigen versteht, auf Arbeit gegründet und schließt sich damit ganz offensichtlich einer Auffassung an, die zuvor von John Locke formuliert worden war. Damit kann Crusius als ein ungewöhnlich früher deutscher Vertreter der Arbeitstheorie des Eigentums identifiziert werden, die, folgt man etwa Manfred Brocker, erst »gegen Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts auch in Deutschland bekannt« geworden sei und dort namentlich mit Ludwig Julius Friedrich Höpfner verknüpft wird. Höpfner thematisierte zwar die Arbeitstheorie, entschied sich aber in seiner eigenen Lehre für die Beibehaltung der traditionellen Okkupationstheorie.50 Eine ursprüngliche Begründung des Eigentums durch Vertrag kann nach Crusius gar nicht statthaben, weil »die Contracte, da einer etwas leistet und ihm ein anderer davor etwas giebt, oder da sie gewisse Güter gegen einander umtauschen,

|| 49 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 1), S. 645 (§ 493). 50 Manfred Brocker: Arbeit und Eigentum: der Paradigmenwechsel in der neuzeitlichen Eigentumstheorie. Darmstadt 1992, S. 292–306, Zitat S. 299. Auch Euchner geht von einer äußerst geringen Rezeption von Lockes politischer Philosophie in Deutschland aus. Vgl. Walter Euchner: Einleitung des Herausgebers. In: John Locke: Zwei Abhandlungen über die Regierung. Hg. und eingel. von Walter Euchner. Frankfurt a. M. 1977, S. 9–59, hier S. 10f.

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[...] unmöglich gemacht [würden], weil dieselben das Eigenthum voraussetzen.«51 Zudem würde der Vertrag nur die Vertragsschließenden selbst verbinden, wäre dagegen nicht geeignet, alle anderen Menschen von der Nutzung des Gutes auszuschließen.52 Auch die bloße Inbesitznahme ist für Crusius kein ausreichender Grund, Eigentum zu begründen.53 Vielmehr fließt das Eigentumsrecht aus einer »allgemeinen Pflicht der Menschenliebe« und aus der Geselligkeit, die dazu verbindet, »einem andern dasjenige, was er sich durch seine Arbeit einmahl zu Nutzen gemacht hat, ohne seine Einwilligung nicht hinweg zu nehmen. […] Denn wenn sich hernach ein anderer die Sache ebenmäßig anmassen wollte; so brächte er ihn ja um die Früchte seiner Arbeit, welches der Natur schuldigen Menschenliebe widerstritte.«54 Daher kann sich nach Crusius ein natürliches Eigentumsrecht auch nur auf solche Objekte beziehen, für deren Nutzung die Anwendung von Arbeit nötig war. Ein Eigentum etwa an unbebautem Grund und Boden dagegen sei naturrechtlich gar nicht möglich.55 Erst im staatlichen Zustand habe sich die Eigentumsfähigkeit auch auf diese Objekte ausdehnen lassen, »weil solches die bessere Nutzung derselben und Vermeidung schädlicher Streitigkeiten erforderten.«56 Bemerkenswert ist weiterhin, dass Crusius die Ausweitung der Eigentumsfähigkeit auf die Menschen selbst mit Ausnahme der Kriegsgefangenschaft verbietet, da diese als »absolute Endzwecke Gottes [...] wegen ihres Wesens gleiche natürliche Rechte haben«,57 die sie in der Leibeigenschaft unrechtmäßigerweise verlieren würden. Aus demselben Grund verbietet Crusius den Verkauf der eigenen Kinder und bewegt sich auch damit im Fahrwasser der Lehre Lockes.58 Als erste besondere Art des Vertragsschlusses im natürlichen Zustand behandelt Crusius die Ehe, die er als ganz grundsätzliche naturrechtliche Einrichtung versteht. Diese sei der Erzeugung und Erziehung der Kinder wegen zur Erreichung der Endzwecke des Menschen nötig und entspreche daher dem Willen Gottes. Beide Eltern sind dazu gleichermaßen und zur gegenseitigen Versicherung verbunden, einen Vertrag zu schließen, um sich der gemeinsamen Kinder gewiss zu sein, und anzuzeigen, dass sie sich der Erziehung gemeinsam widmen wollen. Da nun diese Erziehung nicht nur Endzweck eines Einzelnen, sondern vielmehr »ein Zweck vor die gantze menschliche Gesellschaft und einer von den wichtigsten Hauptzwecken

|| 51 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 1), S. 673 (§ 520). 52 Ebd., S. 682 (§ 528). 53 Ebd., S. 681 (§ 528). 54 Ebd., S. 671 (§ 518); vgl. auch S. 681 (§ 528). 55 Ebd., S. 676 (§ 522). 56 Ebd., S. 676 (§ 523). 57 Ebd., S. 677 (§ 524). 58 Ebd., S. 725f. (§ 576). Vgl. Locke: Zwei Abhandlungen (s. Anm. 50), S. 213–215 (II, §§ 22–24) u. S. 238–240 (II, §§ 64f.).

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GOttes ist«,59 folgt die Ehe für Crusius nicht nur der natürlichen Verbindlichkeit des Vertrages, sondern im Besondern der »Liebe gegen GOtt und gegen die menschliche Gesellschaft, insonderheit aber gegen die Kinder«,60 und kann deshalb nicht wie jeder beliebige Vertrag aufgehoben werden. Hier setzt Crusius die Hürden für die Aufhebung des Ehevertrages wegen seiner grundlegenden Bedeutung sehr hoch an und lehnt etwa die Unfruchtbarkeit, das versehentliche Eingehen einer Ehe, den unversöhnlichen Hass auf den Ehegatten oder auch das Vorgeben einer erzwungenen Ehe als Scheidungsgründe ab. Damit überlagert das höchste Ziel des Gehorsams gegen Gott und des Strebens nach Vollkommenheit als höchste Grundsätze des Rechts der Natur zugleich naturrechtliche Regeln der Vertragsfreiheit und Selbstbestimmung, die wiederum auf Crusius’ wenig praktikable Regeln der Pflichten- und Rechtekollision zurück verweisen und einmal namhaft gemachte Grundsätze wieder relativieren. Die Letztinstanz »Göttlicher Wille« und das Ideal der Vollkommenheit lassen dabei immer wieder Interpretationsspielräume übrig, die im Zweifel zugunsten einer vermeintlich gottgewollten Ordnung und gegen die konsequente Erfüllung einmal konstatierter natürlicher Rechte und Pflichten, die doch ebenfalls dem göttlichen Willen entspringen sollen, genutzt wird. Ein solches Bild setzt sich hinsichtlich der Behandlung der gegenseitigen Rechte und Pflichten zwischen Eltern und Kindern fort. Der Pflicht der Eltern, die Kinder zu erziehen, dem auch ein Recht der Züchtigung als »ein unentbehrliches Mittel zur eigenen Wohlfahrt der Kinder«61 folgt, korrespondiert die Pflicht der Kinder, »sich den Züchtigungen der Eltern ohne gewaltsame Wiedersetzung zu unterwerfen«. Dieses naturrechtlich begründete Verhältnis wird aber von Crusius wiederum durch die Bemerkung konterkariert, dass Kinder »in solchen Dingen, welche sie vor sündlich halten, [...] schuldig [sind], den Eltern nicht zu gehorchen, weil sie sonst den Gehorsam gegen GOtt, als dem Hauptzwecke des gantzen menschlichen Lebens, zuwieder handelten.«62 Damit gesteht Crusius auch den Kindern eine gewisse selbstverantwortliche Instanz gegenüber dem naturrechtlichen Gebot des Gehorsams gegen die Eltern zu, die auch in diesem speziellen Bereich die Möglichkeit der Diskrepanz zwischen dem gottgewollten naturrechtskonformen Gehorsam und dem im engeren Sinne direkten Gehorsam gegen Gottes Willen offenbart.

|| 59 Ebd., S. 703 (§ 552). 60 Ebd. 61 Ebd., S. 736 (§ 577). 62 Ebd., S. 742 (§ 584).

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3 Christian August Crusius entwickelt seine Naturrechtslehre anhand des vordergründig voluntaristischen Prinzips des Gehorsams gegen Gottes Willen zu einer mit wesentlichen rationalistischen Elementen versehenen Pflichtenlehre des Menschen. In der Erkenntnis des Willens Gottes, der zur konkreten Anleitung des Handelns unverzichtbar ist, stehen dem Menschen der Gewissenstrieb und die Vernunft zur Verfügung, die in verlässlicher Weise die Gewissheit und die Inhalte göttlicher natürlicher Gesetze anzeigen. Diese orientieren sich notwendig an den Anforderungen der Sicherheit und Zufriedenheit des Menschen und richten sich am Streben nach Vollkommenheit aus. Die Natur des Menschen und die Natur Gottes sind für Crusius die Garanten für einen wesentlich konstanten Inhalt natürlicher Gesetze, dem der Wille Gottes notwendig folgt. Damit rückt Crusius in die Nähe grotianischen und wolffianischen Naturrechtsdenkens, indem er das Naturrecht an die Natur des Menschen und an das Ziel der Vollkommenheit bindet. Deutliche Anzeichen dieser Ausrichtung sind Crusius’ Rede vom »nothwendigen« Willen Gottes als Grundlage des moralisch Guten ebenso wie die Bemerkung, dass etwas der Vollkommenheit gemäß sein könne auch ohne Beachtung des göttlichen Willens. Im Gegensatz zum Recht der Natur im weiteren Sinne, das die Pflichten des Menschen gegen Gott, gegen sich selbst und gegen andere beinhaltet, konzentriert sich das Recht der Natur im engeren Sinne auf die Pflichten gegen andere Menschen, die in Crusius’ Entwurf mindestens drei für die weitere Entwicklung der Naturrechtsdebatte bemerkenswerte Elemente enthalten: Zum Ersten schließt Crusius unmittelbar aus dem Grundsatz des Strebens nach Vollkommenheit aus Gehorsam und Liebe gegen Gott auf die gebotene Anerkennung des Mitmenschen als Zweck an sich selbst und daraus resultierend auf das bedingungslose Zugeständnis natürlicher Rechte, die zum Zweiten auch im staatlichen Zustand gültig bleiben. Zum Dritten schließlich lässt Crusius in der Bearbeitung der Wirkungsbereiche und Inhalte des Rechts der Natur hinsichtlich einer Vertrags- und Eigentumslehre eine Orientierung an der Arbeitstheorie des Eigentums von John Locke erkennen, ein Umstand, der der Forschung zur Locke-Rezeption im Deutschland des 18. Jahrhunderts bisher verborgen geblieben ist.

Jutta Heinz

»Unter allen Wissenschaften eine der unumschräncktesten« Die Klugheitslehre in Crusius’ Anweisung vernünftig zu leben

1 Klugheit und Weisheit – Vorüberlegungen zu ihrem Verhältnis und zur Begriffsgeschichte Was ist Klugheit, und wozu braucht man sie eigentlich? Meistens wollen die Philosophen nicht klug sein, sie wollen weise sein: ›Philo-sophia‹ (φιλοσοφία) ist die Liebe zur Weisheit, und die Weisheit ist schließlich auch etwas, in das man sich leicht verlieben kann. Die Klugheit hingegen ist ihre entfernte und etwas verrufene Verwandte; sie wohnt nicht im akademischen Hain, sondern auf dem Markt, in den Haushalten, oder, am schlimmsten, in der Politik. Dort ist sie nicht für die hohe Allgemeinheit und die hehren Prinzipien zuständig, sondern für die Wirren und Niederungen des Konkreten und Besonderen; und sie macht sich dabei nicht nur das Kleid, sondern auch häufig die Hände schmutzig. Nein, von der Klugheit lässt man besser die Finger, wenn man ein weiser Philosoph sein will. Tatsächlich haben sich aber im langen Lauf der Philosophiegeschichte durchaus einige weise Männer an einer Klugheitslehre versucht. Die Ahnenreihe wird von keinem Geringeren als Aristoteles eröffnet, der (unter anderem) im sechsten Buch seiner Nikomachischen Ethik von der »praktischen Einsicht«, der phronesis (φρόνησις), schreibt, welche gemeinhin mit »Klugheit« übersetzt wird. Für Aristoteles wird Philosophie nur durch Handeln wirklich praktisch: »Das Denken für sich allein bewegt nichts, sondern nur das auf einen Zweck gerichtete und praktische Denken«.1 Die Klugheit ordnet er dem vernunftbegabten Seelenteil zu. Wie ihre engen Verwandten, die Weisheit, die Kunst, die Wissenschaft und der Geist, richtet sie sich auf die Wahrheit:2 Während die Wissenschaft die Wahrheit beweist und die

|| 1 Aristoteles: Die Nikomachische Ethik. Aus dem Griechischen und mit einer Einführung und Erläuterung versehen von Olof Gigon. Zürich, München 1967, S. 233 (1139 a28). 2 Sie gehört damit zu den sog. dianoetischen Tugenden. Weitere Bestimmungen der Klugheit sind: Sie richtet sich auf menschliche Güter; sie ist notwendig unvollkommen; sie erfasst das Besondere und erfordert deshalb Erfahrung; sie ist eben deshalb auch keine Wissenschaft (vgl. S. 234f.; 1139 b15). Vgl. zur Klugheit bei Aristoteles umfassend Pierre Aubenque, der resümiert: »Aristoteles entwirft also das Bild einer Tugend, die, obgleich sie eine Verstandestugend ist, weniger an die Vorzüge der Kontemplation erinnert als an die eines opportunen und wirksamen Wissens; und man wird in diesem bescheidenen menschlichen Ebenbild einer übermenschlichen Weisheit jene prudentia https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-015

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Kunst die Wahrheit schöpferisch hervorbringen kann, bewirkt die Klugheit Wahrheit durch praktisches Handeln. Handeln aber bezieht sich zwingend immer auf Einzelfallentscheidungen in konkreten Situationen; und die dazu nötige Klugheit erfordert vom Handelnden vor allem eines: Erfahrung. Die Klugheit kann es deshalb niemals zur gleichen Vollkommenheit und Sicherheit der Erkenntnis bringen wie die Weisheit. Immerhin jedoch steht sie in einer engen Verbindung zur Tugend, so Aristoteles: »Denn die Tugend macht, daß das Ziel richtig wird, und die Klugheit, daß der Weg dazu richtig wird«.3 Die Klugheit ist also schon hier (und das wird sich bei Crusius nicht wesentlich ändern) das Wissen um die richtigen Mittel, eine Art ethische Handlungs- und Methodenlehre. Ihre philosophische Würde erhält die Klugheit dabei durch die Kopplung an die Tugend: Ohne die moralische Orientierung der gewählten Mittel auf die richtigen Zwecke wird man nicht klug, sondern höchstens gerissen. Aber umgekehrt gilt für Aristoteles ebenso, »daß man nicht in einem wesentlichen Sinne gut sein kann ohne die Klugheit«.4 In der christlichen Tradition des Mittelalters bleibt die Klugheit eine Kardinaltugend, ja sie wird von Thomas von Aquin sogar zur genitrix virtutum, zur Mutter aller Tugenden, erhoben.5 Von dieser hohen Position aus ist ihr in der Frühen Neuzeit beginnender Fall natürlich umso tiefer: Klugheit wird nun zum Inbegriff politisch-staatsklugen Verhaltens, das jenseits von Religion und Moral nur noch der eigenen ›Staatsräson‹ gehorcht und dem jedes Mittel zum Zweck des skrupellosen Machterhalts recht ist. Der Inbegriff eines solchen Konzepts moralindifferenter

|| wiedererkennen, welche die lateinische Tradition an das christliche Abendland weitergegeben hat« (Aubenque: Der Begriff der Klugheit bei Aristoteles. Aus dem Frz. von Nicolai Sinai und Ulrich Johannes Schneider. Hamburg 2007, S. 17); sowie im Sammelband von Wolfgang Kersting (Hg.): Klugheit. Weilerswist 2005 die Beiträge vom Herausgeber selbst: Der einsichtige Staatsmann und der kluge Bürger. Praktische Vernünftigkeit bei Platon und Aristoteles, S. 15–41 sowie von Nicholas White: Praktische Erkenntnis bei Platon, Aristoteles und Wittgenstein, S. 133–153. 3 Aristoteles: Nikomachische Ethik (s. Anm. 1), S. 246 (1143 b30). 4 Ebd., S. 249 (1144 b31). 5 Thomas von Aquin: III Sententarium dist. 33, q. 2, a. 5. Vgl. im Sammelband von Kersting den Beitrag von Christoph Horn: Klugheit bei Thomas von Aquin (Kersting: Klugheit [s. Anm. 2], S. 42– 67). Aubenque resümiert die Entwicklung der Klugheitslehren zwischen Antike und Christentum folgendermaßen: »Tatsächlich ziehen sich durch die moralische Tradition des Abendlandes zwei benachbarte, aber verschiedene Begriffe von Klugheit. Der erste, den das lateinische philosophische Schrifttum bezeugt, geht auf die Stoiker zurück und wird von Cicero in Von den Pflichten als ›die Wissenschaft von dem, was man anzustreben und zu meiden hat‹, [...] definiert. Diese Vorstellung von Klugheit [...] taucht dann als eine der vier Kardinaltugenden wieder auf, die Ambrosius in seiner gleichnamigen Schrift Von den Pflichten dem christlichen Abendlande übermittelt hat. Der aristotelische Begriff von phronesis hingegen [...] muss in einem gänzlich anderen Kontext gesehen werden; bei Aristoteles geht es um eine Erläuterung der dianoethischen Tugenden und innerhalb dieser um eine entschiedene Abgrenzung gegen die Weisheit (sophia, sapientia)« (Aubenque: Der Begriff der Klugheit [s. Anm. 2], S. 187).

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Staatsklugheit ist bis heute der Machiavellismus.6 Weithin wirkungsprägend wurde im 17. Jahrhundert dann das berühmt-berüchtigte Handorakel und Kunst der Weltklugheit (1647), in dem der spanische Jesuit und Moraltheologe Baltasar Gracián in dreihundert Sinnsprüchen in die höfische Geheimlehre des Umgangs mit Menschen – bzw. genauer: ihrer geschickten Manipulation – einweihte: Ein Krieg ist das Leben des Menschen gegen die Bosheit des Menschen. Die Klugheit führt ihn, indem sie sich der Kriegslisten, hinsichtlich ihres Vorhabens, bedient. Nie thut sie das, was sie vorgiebt, sondern zielt nur, um zu täuschen. Mit Geschicklichkeit macht sie Luftstreiche; dann aber führt sie in der Wirklichkeit etwas Unerwartetes aus, stets darauf bedacht ihr Spiel zu verbergen.7

Bei Immanuel Kant schließlich ist die Klugheit am Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts zu einer rein pragmatischen Fertigkeit geworden, die im Wesentlichen dazu dient, die absolute Einzig- und Andersartigkeit des kategorischen Imperativs zu akzentuieren.8 So heißt es beispielsweise in der Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten:

|| 6 Vgl. dazu Gideon Stiening: Das Recht auf Rechtlosigkeit. Arnold Clapmarius’ ›De arcanis rerum publicarum‹ zwischen politischer Philosophie und Klugheitslehre. In: Hanspeter Marti, Karin MartiWeissenbach (Hg.): Nürnbergs Hochschule in Altdorf. Köln, Weimar, Wien 2014, S. 191–211. Als Grundzug der machiavellischen Lehre von der Staatsräson sieht Stiening Profanisierung und Prudentialisierung: »Machiavellis inhaltliche und formale Ausdifferenzierung der Politik als eine den Erfordernissen frühneuzeitlicher Staatenentwicklung angemessene Profanierung und Prudentialisierung bedarf weder theologischer noch anthropologischer, weder natur- noch vernunftrechtlicher Begründungstheorien« (S. 197). 7 Baltasar Gracián: Handorakel und Kunst der Weltklugheit. Dt. von Arthur Schopenhauer. Stuttgart 1967, S. 9. Vgl. auch im Sammelband von Kersting den Beitrag von Andreas Luckner: Diesseits von Moral und Technik. Zur Philosophie der Klugheit (Kersting: Klugheit [s. Anm. 2], S. 237–268). 8 Vgl. zur Klugheit bei Kant das letzte Kapitel bei Aubenque, der die wichtige systematische Funktion der Ausschließung der Klugheit rekonstruiert: »Die aristotelische Klugheit, eine Tugend des Verstandes, verkörperte die Einheit von Theorie und Praxis, die Verwurzelung der Praxis in einem Wissen, das sich über seine Grenzen hinreichend klar war, um die Bedingungen seiner Nützlichkeit für den Menschen im Scharfsinn zu suchen und nicht in der Ausdehnung und der Macht. Die Idee eines klugen Wissens, d. h. eines Wissens, welches den Wissenden tugendhaft und glücklich macht, steht seit Beginn der Neuzeit [...] im Widerspruch zum neuen Ideal wissenschaftlicher Objektivität, die das Subjekt zur bloßen Möglichkeitsbedingung dieser Objektivität degradiert. Kant tut nichts anderes, als mit überlegenem Scharfblick die Konsequenzen dieser ›Revolution‹ zu ziehen« (Aubenque: Der Begriff der Klugheit [s. Anm. 2], S. 206). Ganz ähnlich auch Kersting: »Allen platonischen Anfängen des Klugheitsdiskurses zum Trotz muß Klugheit als eine zutiefst menschliche Form praktischer Vernünftigkeit begriffen werden, als kontingenzbewußte Rationalitätsform, deren Binnenstruktur nur aus dem Praxiszusammenhang, aus dem Lebensvollzug aufgeklärt werden kann. [...] Man kann Kants Moralphilosophie als Versuch lesen, Moralität gegen Kontingenz zu immunisieren« (Kersting: Klugheit [s. Anm. 2], S. 26). Vgl. im selben Sammelband auch den Beitrag von Reinhard Brandt: Klugheit bei Kant (S. 98–132).

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Nun kann man die Geschicklichkeit in der Wahl der Mittel zu seinem eigenen größten Wohlsein Klugheit im engsten Verstande nennen. Also ist der Imperativ, der sich auf die Wahl der Mittel zur eigenen Glückseligkeit bezieht, d. i. die Vorschrift der Klugheit, noch immer hypothetisch; die Handlung wird nicht schlechthin, sondern nur als Mittel zu einer andern Absicht geboten.9

Von hier aus führt der letzte Schritt des ideengeschichtlichen Abstiegs der Privatklugheit direkt in die populäre Lebenshilfe- und Ratgeberliteratur, die sich bis heute großer Beliebtheit erfreut. Die politische oder Weltklugheit hingegen rettet sich aus der Philosophie in die Rechtslehre und die Staatswissenschaft und kehrt in die Sphäre konkreten politischen Handelns spätestens mit Bismarcks ›Realpolitik‹ zurück. Die hier auf ihre Grundlinien verkürzte Begriffs- und Ideengeschichte kann man vielerorts ausführlicher nachlesen.10 Meist ausgespart wird dabei jedoch, wie schon Werner Schneiders in seinem einschlägigen Aufsatz betont hat, die kurze Phase, in der die deutsche Frühaufklärung versucht, sich diesem Abstieg heroisch in den Weg zu werfen und die Klugheit noch einmal zu dem zu machen, was sie bei Aristoteles einmal war: eine zutiefst moralische Angelegenheit nämlich, die gerade nicht die Trennung der Welten von Theorie und Praxis (oder: Moral und Leben; oder: Moral und Politik) dokumentierte, sondern deren grundlegende Einheit.

2 Klugheit und Tugend bei Crusius Ein Vorgänger von Crusius’ Klugheitslehre findet sich bei Christian Thomasius,11 der schon 1707 einen Kurtzen Entwurff der Politischen Klugheit sich selbst und andern in || 9 In: Immanuel Kant: Werke in zehn Bänden. Hg. von Wilhelm Weischedel. Wiesbaden 1956, Bd 6 [Schriften zur Ethik und Religionsphilosophie. Erster Band], S. 45. Dort findet sich auch die systematische Unterscheidung zwischen »Regeln der Geschicklichkeit, oder Ratschlägen der Klugheit, oder Geboten (Gesetze) der Sittlichkeit« (S. 45f.); erstere haben technische Imperative (gerichtet auf Kunst), die Ratschläge der Klugheit haben pragmatische Imperative (die sich auf die Wohlfahrt richten), die dritten moralische Imperative (die zur sittlichen Freiheit gehören und allein absolute Notwendigkeit haben; vgl. S. 46). 10 Vgl. z. B. den Artikel ›Klugheit‹ von Franz Wiedmann und Gerhard Biller im Historischen Wörterbuch der Philosophie (Bd. 4. Basel 1976, Sp. 857–863): Auch hier wird konstatiert, dass die Klugheitslehren nach Kant bis hin zur Gegenwartsphilosophie praktisch ausgestorben sind, da Klugheit auf eine reine Nutzenlehre reduziert wird. 11 Vgl. zur Klugheitslehre bei Thomasius sowie zu ihrer Vor- und Ideengeschichte Werner Schneiders: Thomasius politicus. Einige Bemerkungen über Staatskunst und Privatpolitik in der aufklärerischen Klugheitslehre. In: Norbert Hinske (Hg.): Zentren der Aufklärung I: Halle. Aufklärung und Pietismus. Heidelberg 1989, S. 91–100. Für Schneiders ist Thomasius’ Klugheitslehre insgesamt »eher ein kulturhistorisches Dokument als eine wegweisende Philosophie« (S. 105); es handele sich um »ein Konglomerat aus scharfsinnigen Beobachtungen und willkürlichen Behauptungen, hypo-

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allen Menschlichen Gesellschafften wohl zu rathen, und zu einer gescheidten Conduite zu gelangen; Allen Menschen, die sich klug zu seyn düncken, oder die noch klug werden wollen, zu höchst-nöthiger Bedürffniß und ungemeinem Nutzen veröffentlichte. Thomasius löst das Problem mit dem schlechten Ruf der Klugheit zunächst, indem er kurzerhand die antike Unterscheidung von Klugheit und Weisheit negiert und beide handstreichartig für identisch erklärt – mit einem kleinen, aber entscheidenden Unterschied: Während in der Weisheit nur die Neigung zum Guten präsent ist, streitet sie in der Klugheit mit der menschlichen Neigung zum Bösen; deshalb ist Gott natürlich weise, die Menschen werden erst durch Schaden – nämlich in der konkreten Erfahrung – klug.12 Auf moralphilosophische Feinheiten lässt sich Thomasius im Folgenden aber kaum ein, sondern gibt nach einer Unterscheidung in die »urteilende« und »ratgebende« Klugheit und der disziplinären Zuordnung an die Juristen vor allem Regeln und Beispiele dafür, »sich selbst zu rathen«, »sich im täglichen Umgang wohl auffzuführen«, eine »auserlesene Conversation mit guten Freunden« zu betreiben bzw. sich als »Hauß=Vater« oder »in bürgerlicher Gesellschaft« gut aufzuführen.13 Immerhin kann man hier beobachten, wie höfische Verhaltenslehren jetzt in ausgesuchten Punkten auf den bürgerlichen Umgang übertragen werden; was letztlich auch eine Translation von Herrschaftswissen ist.14 Crusius hingegen geht im Rahmen seiner Anweisung vernünftig zu leben: darinnen nach Erklärung der Natur des menschlichen Willens die natürlichen Pflichten und allgemeinen Klugheitsregeln im richtigen Zusammenhang vorgetragen werden (in erster Auflage knapp 40 Jahre nach Thomasius erschienen) die Sache grundlegender an. Ich werde im Folgenden seine Klugheitslehre nicht nur im bisher skizzierten Kontext von deren historischer Entwicklung verorten, sondern dabei vor allem die Frage im Auge behalten (sozusagen kantisch formuliert): Ist eine Reaktivierung der Klugheitslehre als moralische Wissenschaft und integraler Bestandteil praktischer Philosophie möglich? Oder ist der bei Kant vorgezeichnete Weg in den eher wissen-

|| thetischen Imperativen und praktischer Konsequenzenlogik – auf äußerst subjektiver Basis« (S. 106) – eine Beschreibung, die mehr oder weniger auch für Crusius’ Klugheitslehre zutrifft. Der wichtigste Impuls, der von Thomasius ausging, ist Schneiders zufolge die »systematische Ausarbeitung der Privatklugheit«, die den »Übergang zu einer bürgerlichen Unterscheidung von Staat und Individuum« vorbereite (S. 98). 12 Thomasius: Kurtzer Entwurff der politischen Klugheit […]. Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1720, hier § 1, S. 4. 13 Vgl. in gleicher Reihenfolge: Thomasius: Kurtzer Entwurff der politischen Klugheit […], IV. Cap., V. Cap., VI. Cap., VII. Cap. und VIII. Cap. 14 Vgl. zum ideengeschichtlichen Hintergrund der Klugheitslehre in der Frühaufklärung ausführlicher Frank Grunert: Feindschaft, Freundschaft, Sicherheit. Zur Klugheitslehre von Christoph August Heumann. In: Frieder von Ammon, Cornelia Rémi, Gideon Stiening (Hg.): Literatur und praktische Vernunft. Berlin, Boston 2016, S. 295–316, v. a. Kap. 2. Die dort vorgestellte Klugheitslehre von Christoph August Heumann (Der politische Philosophus, Das ist vernunfftmäßige Anweisung zur Klugheit im gemeinen Leben. Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1714) teilt mit Crusius die Praxisorientierung.

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schaftsfernen Lebenshilfediskurs auf der einen und den politik- und staatsrechtlichen Spezialistendiskurs auf der anderen Seite unvermeidlich?15 Crusius wendet sich gleich in der Vorrede der Anweisung vernünftig zu leben dem zentralen Punkt des Verhältnisses von Moral und Klugheit zu. Er schlägt sich dabei, gegen die Tradition der politischen, moralisch indifferenten Weltklugheit, deutlich auf die aristotelische Seite: »Zu einem vernünftigen Leben gehört nicht nur, daß man klug, sondern hauptsächlich, daß man tugendhaft lebe«.16 Es gehe ihm also, so gibt er explizit im Blick auf mögliche falsche Lesererwartungen zu verstehen, nicht um »blosse Klugheitsregeln, oder gar nur Regeln einer guten Aufführung«; es gehe vielmehr um nichts geringeres als »Moral« und »practische Philosophie«, also philosophische Großthemen. Ebenso wenig erwarteten den Leser aber weltumstürzende neue Erkenntnisse und Sensationen; Crusius winkt ab: »Die moralischen Wahrheiten sind allesammt eben so alt, als die Welt«. Im Vordergrund steht stattdessen ein methodischer Anspruch: Crusius will ein »gantzes Gebäude der philosophischen Moral nebst den wahren und unbeweglichen Gründen derselben« präsentieren, dessen letzter Teil die Klugheitslehre ist. Dazu legt er, und hier klingt es noch ganz wolffianisch, besonderen Wert auf »Deutlichkeit und Ordnung, die Gewißheit und Vollständigkeit, die Einsicht in die Gründe und den Zusammenhang moralischer Wahrheiten«17 als die methodischen Standards philosophischer Darstellung. Direkt im Anschluss daran setzt er sich jedoch deutlich von der mathematischen Methode im engeren Sinne ab. So müsse man bei den sicherlich notwendigen Definitionen als Ausgangsbasis jedes Argumentations- und Begründungsvorgangs darauf achten, dass man wirkliche Dinge definiere, und zwar in Übereinstimmung mit dem Sprachgebrauch – oder man muß erkennen, daß man sonst Wörter und nicht Sachen erkläre, und daß man eine solche Philosophie herausbringe, welche zwar in derjenigen Welt gar gut seyn würde, in welcher die angenommenen Definitionen wahr wären [...] und hingegen die Dinge, die ietzo vorhanden sind, abwesend wären; welche Philosophie aber deswegen in unserer Welt unbrauchbar ist. Denn, lieber, was vor abentheuerliche Moraphilosophien würde man nicht schreiben

|| 15 Der Übergang in die Ratgeberliteratur lässt sich auch daran ablesen, dass zu Beginn des 19. Jahrhunderts viele Klugheitslehren erscheinen, die maximenartig aufgebaut sind oder sich direkt an die Jugend richten, vgl. z. B. Johann Joseph Huber: 365 Sätze aus der Tugend- und Sitten-, Pflichten- und Religions-, dann Gesundheits- und Klugheitslehre, ferners aus der vaterländischen Naturgeschichte [...] der Jugend beyder Geschlechter gewidmet. Grätz 1822 oder die Sitten- und Klugheitslehre in Beispielen für die Jugend. Nürnberg 1820. 16 Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben: darinnen nach Erklärung der Natur des menschlichen Willens die natürlichen Pflichten und allgemeinen Klugheitslehren im richtigen Zusammenhang vorgetragen werden. Leipzig 1767, hier: Vorrede zur ersten Auflage, unpag. 17 Alle Zitate ebd.

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können, wenn man, ohne zum Beweis verbunden zu seyn, z. E. die Freyheit, das Gesetz, die Verbindlichkeit [...] nach Belieben definiren dürfte.18

Der kleine polemische Unterton ist wohl nicht zu überhören, und er wird noch lauter, wenn Crusius darauf hinweist, dass er auf diese Weise gegen eine »gewisse unfruchtbare Allgemeinheit« vorgehen wolle, bei der die schönsten formal wahren und vollständig definierten Begriffe und Sätze leider keinerlei praktischer Anwendung fähig wären: »Man darf dahero, wenn man eine wahre Deutlichkeit liebet, bey denselben nicht stehen bleiben; sondern man muß sie noch weiter determinirt und charakteristisch machen.«19 Dass sich dafür eine Klugheitslehre besonders eignet – bzw. umgekehrt, dass eine Klugheitslehre eine solche Darstellung, die sich auf das Besondere des Einzelfalls in einer gegebenen Situation einlässt und in dieser Situation Mittel und Zwecke abwägt, geradezu erfordert –, liegt auf der Hand. Ebenso auf der Hand liegt die Konsequenz, die Crusius aus seinen Vorüberlegungen zur Methode und zum systematischen Anspruch seiner Moralphilosophie in der der zweiten Auflage beigefügten weiteren Vorrede zieht: »Wer in den Lehren der practischen Philosophie eine völlige Einigkeit der Menschen hoffen wolte, der müßte sich das menschliche Geschlecht ohne die Verderbnisse vorstellen, welche wirklich da sind, und bleiben werden.«20 Wie bei Aristoteles wird also nicht konsensfähige Weisheit präsentiert, sondern wohlbegründete und diskussionswürdige Erfahrung. Crusius’ hier präsentierte Moralphilosophie inklusive Klugheitslehre ist dementsprechend, darauf verweisen die Vorreden ganz ausdrücklich, kein streng in sich geschlossenes, auf Allgemeinheit Anspruch erhebendes, logisch und definitorisch unangreifbares System von Sätzen. Crusius’ Moralphilosophie ist eine Wissenschaft, die zwar vom Allgemeinen ausgeht, aber bis zum Besonderen und »Charakteristischen« fortschreitet. Sie arbeitet mit Begriffen, die aus dem allgemeinen Sprachgebrauch stammen, und Erfahrungen, die der realen Welt entnommen sind; sie kommt aber dabei durchaus zu verallgemeinerten Regeln und Sätzen und arbeitet auch stringent mit den üblichen Mitteln der Kohärenzstiftung wie Querverweisen und Bezügen auf andere Theorieteile. Und sie will in erster Linie fruchtbar sein – was Crusius zufolge »eben das schwerste, aber auch das nützlichste« ist.21 Insgesamt ist sie damit »unter allen Wissenschaften eine der unumschräncktesten«.22

|| 18 Ebd. 19 Ebd. 20 Ebd. 21 Ebd. Die Überlegungen zur Klugheitslehre entsprechen damit ziemlich genau dem allgemeinen methodischen Konzept von Crusius, wie es Tonelli in seiner Vorrede zur Werkausgabe mit folgenden Merkmalen rekonstruiert: Hinneigung zur Wirklichkeit; Begrenzung menschlicher Erkenntnis; metaphysischer Pluralismus und Begriffspluralismus; erkenntnistheoretischer Psychologismus

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3 Was ist Klugheit? Die Anweisung vernünftig zu leben besteht aus fünf Kapiteln, die vom Allgemeinen anfangen und zum Besonderen fortschreiten: Von der Thelematologie (der Lehre vom menschlichen Willen) geht es über die Ethik (die Lehre von der Tugend) über die natürliche Moraltheologie (die Lehre von den Pflichten gegen Gott) und das Naturrecht (die Lehre von den Pflichten gegen andere) hin zum letzten Kapitel, das die hier im Zentrum stehende Klugheitslehre behandelt. Den systematischen Ort der Klugheitslehre expliziert Crusius zu Beginn des Ethik-Kapitels folgendermaßen: Demnach ist klar, daß die Anweisung vernünftig zu leben sowohl eine Lehre von den natürlichen Gesetzen Gottes, als von den Mitteln unserer Vollkommenheit und Glückseligkeit sey, und daß sie jenes zugleich seyn müsse, wenn sie dieses seyn soll. Jedoch wird im folgenden gezeiget werden, daß es auch Regeln von Erlangung unserer eigenen guten Zwecke giebt, welche deswegen noch keine Gesetze sind [...]; welche man aber dem ungeachtet, wenn sie allgemein sind, in der Moral auch zu suchen hat. Ich kan demnach die Anweisung vernünftig zu leben ausführlicher also beschreiben, daß sie eine Wissenschaft sey, welche aus der Vernunft sowohl die göttlichen Gesetze, als die übrigen allgemeinen Regeln zu Erlangung guter Endzwecke zeiget, und hiermit den Weg, zu der menschlichen Vollkommenheit und Glückseligkeit, so gut als möglich, zu gelangen, erkläret.23

Der eigentliche Endzweck des Menschen, sein summum bonum, liegt also in seiner Vollkommenheit entsprechend den göttlichen Gesetzen, die gleichzeitig seine Glückseligkeit bestimmen; Vollkommenheit und Glückseligkeit fallen für Crusius in der wolffianischen Tradition unproblematisch in eins. Daneben gibt es jedoch auch menschliche Endzwecke, die zwar nachrangig sind, aber deshalb nicht aus der Moralphilosophie ausgeschlossen werden können, insofern sie nämlich gut und »allgemein« sind. Aus dem göttlichen Gesetz ergibt sich die »Pflicht der Tugend«, die unbedingt zu beachten ist. Aus der menschlichen Natur und der Notwendigkeit des Handelns hingegen ergibt sich die »Pflicht der Klugheit«, die ebenfalls Verbindlichkeit hat, aber keine moralische Notwendigkeit.24 Die Klugheit definiert Crusius als »eine Fertigkeit eines vernünftigen Geistes, zu seinen Endzwecken tüchtige Mittel sowohl zu erwehlen, als anzuwenden«.25 Sie ist

|| (Giorgio Tonelli: Vorwort. In: Christian August Crusius: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Bd. 1. Hildesheim 1991, vgl. bes. S. XXII–XXXI). 22 Vorrede zur ersten Auflage, unpag. 23 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 16), § 159, S. 227f. 24 Vgl. ebd., § 162, S. 231. 25 Ebd., § 666, S. 837. Zur Klugheit im zeitgenössischen Alltagsverstand vgl. Johann Christoph Adelung: Grammatisch-Kritisches Wörterbuch der Hochdeutschen Mundart. Bd. 2. Leipzig 1796, Sp. 1644–1646: »1) Die Fertigkeit, den Zusammenhang der Dinge einzusehen; in welcher weitern Bedeutung es so wohl in der Deutschen Bibel, als im gemeinen Leben mehrmahls vorkommt. 2) In

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eine reine Mittel-Wissenschaft, sie setzt selbst keine Zwecke, sondern sorgt nur dafür, dass die guten Zwecke auch auf eine möglichst vernünftige und zweckmäßige Art tatsächlich in der Realität erreicht werden können. Klugheit in diesem Sinne ist eine durch regelmäßiges Üben erworbene »Fertigkeit«;26 sie zeichnet den Menschen vor den Tieren aus, die Instinkte haben, aber nicht über Mittel-Zweck-Relationen reflektieren können. Sie kann nicht an andere delegiert werden, sondern muss selbst geübt, ausgebildet und entwickelt werden, da »man doch niemanden an seiner statt kan klug seyn lassen«.27 Gerade dieser Punkt macht deutlich, dass es sich hier um ein zutiefst aufklärerisches Konzept handelt: Klugheit ist nicht vollständig lehrbar, sei es vom Katheder oder von der Kanzel; sie ist nur persönlich, anhand des ständigen Abgleichs von Regeln und eigenen Erfahrungen, erlernbar. Zwar kann es Crusius zufolge »gar viele Klugheitswissenschaften«28 geben – eben für unterschiedlich spezialisierte Zwecke –, aber in ihrer allgemeinsten, in ihrer ethisch relevanten Form erfordert sie zwingend den eigenen Verstand, das eigene Urteilsvermögen.

4 Wie wird man klug? Wie aber wird man klug? Wie lernt man, welche Mittel zu welchen Zwecken passen, welche am effizientesten sind und dabei noch moralisch akzeptabel bleiben? Das behandelt Crusius im zweiten Kapitel der Klugheitslehre unter dem Titel »Grundkräfte der menschlichen Klugheit«. Diese »Grundkräfte« werden als »gewisse Geschicklichkeiten unserer eigenen Person«29 weitgehend wertneutral definiert. Zu ihrer näheren Bestimmung verwendet Crusius dasjenige Muster, das auch die weiteren, sozusagen ›angewandten‹ Kapitel der Klugheitslehre weitgehend prägt, näm-

|| engerer Bedeutung, die Fertigkeit, sich in alle Umstände zu schicken und sie zu seinen Absichten vortheilhaft zu gebrauchen. […] In dem engsten und gewöhnlichsten Verstande setzt die Klugheit rechtmäßige Absichten voraus, um sie von der List, Arglist, und zuweilen auch von der Schlauheit zu unterscheiden«. Die mehrgliedrige Definition erschließt recht treffend die Bedeutungsvielfalt: Klugheit ist eine Fertigkeit; sie ist gerichtet auf den »Zusammenhang der Dinge«, also kein Spezial-, sondern ein Überblickswissen. Im engeren Sinn ist sie eine Geschicklichkeit im politischen Sinn, also moralisch indifferent; im engsten Sinn aber wird sie wieder auf die »rechtmäßigen Absichten«, also die Tugend, zurückbezogen. Adelung führt zusätzlich noch das Stichwort »Klugheitslehre« (Sp. 1646) auf. 26 Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 16), § 671, S. 841. 27 Ebd., § 668, S. 838. 28 Ebd., § 669, S. 839. 29 Ebd., § 676, S. 844.

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lich die reihende und nur noch schwach strukturierte Aufzählung.30 Es ist insofern wenig erfolgversprechend, hier nach systematischen Vorzügen, gedanklicher Originalität oder philosophischem Tiefsinn im Allgemeinen zu suchen. Interessanter wird die Lektüre, wenn man die folgenden Kapitel als eine Art Brainstorming liest, als einen Versuch, aus einer weitgestreuten und immer individuell geprägten empirischen Erfahrung ein paar Grundregeln zu destillieren, denen der Leser dann ebenso individuell zustimmen oder widersprechen kann. So gibt es beispielsweise bei den »Grundkräften der Klugheit« nur noch eine schwache systematische Unterscheidung nach Voraussetzungen im Verstand, im Willen und im Umgang mit anderen. Präsentiert wird unter diesen Kategorien eine Art Baukasten dafür, wie man am besten eine habituelle Klugheit erwirbt, worauf man dabei achten muss, was man dabei vermeiden soll; es geht um kluge Mittel zum Erwerb der Klugheit selbst. Dabei finden sich teilweise modern wirkende Gedanken. So gehören zu den Voraussetzungen im Verstand nicht nur eine möglichst breite Welterfahrung,31 sondern an erster Stelle steht die von der heutigen Philosophie wiederentdeckte »practische Aufmerksamkeit«;32 und an dritter Stelle kommt eine Fähigkeit, die man modern als ›Geistesgegenwart‹ bezeichnen würde, nämlich die »Kraft eines stets fertigen und gegenwärtigen Verstandes«33 (»die Natur thut freylich das beste dabey«, muss Crusius allerdings einschränken).34 Bei den Voraussetzungen im Willen findet sich an erster Stelle die alte Kardinaltugend des Mutes als »Seele aller Actionen«.35 Zur Erläuterung folgt eine Reihe von Anweisungen, die sich leicht modern als Anleitung zum »positiven Denken« um-

|| 30 Vgl. zu diesem Formmuster Andreas Luckner: Diesseits von Moral und Technik (s. Anm. 7): »Und so kann es auch nicht Wunder nehmen, daß wir es bei den individualethischen Philosophien der Lebensklugheit in Neuzeit und Moderne, angefangen bei Montaigne und der von ihm ausgehenden Tradition der sogenannten französischen Maximenliteratur bis hin zu Adolph Freiherr von Knigge, Schopenhauer und Nietzsche durchgängig mit weitgehend unhierarchisierten Maximenmengen zu tun haben. Durch die Pluralisierung der Orientierungstendenzen entsteht ein klugheitsethischer Perspektivismus, der zu solchen Klugheitsethiken führt, die, anders als die klassischantiken und mittelalterlichen, einen stark topischen Charakter haben. Das bedeutet: Die Maximen dürfen eben nicht, wie es oftmals geschehen ist, als Gebrauchsanleitungen für das Leben, sondern eher als Gesichtspunkt der Handlungs- und Situationsbeurteilung« betrachtet werden (S. 252). 31 Hier findet sich auch noch einmal eine Spitze gegen die nur theoretische Erkenntnis: »Denn die Erkenntniß allgemeiner Wahrheiten ist ohne die Erfahrung größtentheils unbrauchbar« (Crusius: Anweisung [s. Anm. 16], § 681, S. 851). 32 Ebd., § 677, S. 845. 33 Ebd., § 682, S. 853. 34 Ebd., S. 854. Crusius stellt hier einen Bezug zur mesotes-Lehre bei Aristoteles her: Auch die Grundkräfte der Klugheit profitieren von einer »rechten Mäßigung des innerlichen Zustandes des Gemüthes« (ebd.). 35 Ebd., § 683, S. 855; das klingt zunächst trivial, ist es aber nicht, wenn man sich an das horazische, von Kant prominent verwendete ›sapere aude!‹ erinnert.

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formulieren lassen würden: Wichtig sind ein »stets fröhliches Gemüthe«36 und ein »guter moralischer Geschmack«,37 der am besten konsensfähig ist: »Es ist ein Glück, wer in seinem Geschmacke mit dem Geschmacke seiner Zeit und der Leute, mit denen er leben muß, übereinstimmet«,38 befindet Crusius an dieser Stelle. In die gleiche Richtung weisen weitere goldene Regeln zum Umgang mit anderen: Man berücksichtige die Neigung der Menschen, in ihren Urteilen mit anderen übereinzustimmen; ihre Neigung, nach ihren physischen Begierden zu urteilen, nicht nach der Vernunft; ihre Neigung, nur das zu glauben, was sie auch sehen können; aber auf jeden Fall das zu glauben, was sie nicht verstehen können.39 Man habe für alle Umstände ein »Mittel der Reserve« (heute auch bekannt als ›Plan B‹);40 und man fördere, wo es möglich ist, mehrere gute Zwecke auf einmal (heute spricht man vom Synergie-Effekt).41 Ein wesentlicher Punkt ist auch die Wichtigkeit von geschicktem Zeitmanagement, vor allem die sinnvolle Nutzung der »kleinen Theile der Zeit, welche zwischen allerhand Geschäften übrig bleiben«.42 Man mag über das Kraut-und-Rübenartige der Zusammenstellung lachen und das ein oder andere als Binsenweisheit abtun; aber vielleicht würde die Klugheit doch eher gebieten, die hier kondensierte Erfahrung zunächst an der eigenen Erfahrung »redlich« (ein Lieblingswort von Crusius43) zu überprüfen. Das gleiche gilt in erhöhtem Maße für das dritte Kapitel, in dem die »Erkenntniß der menschlichen Gemüther« abgehandelt wird, die sowieso immer nur Wahrscheinlichkeit beanspruchen kann. Das Interessanteste hier ist eine sehr umfangreiche Liste verschiedener Verstandestypen: Es gibt den »munteren«, den »activen«, den »gelehrigen«, den »geschickten«, den »fruchtbaren«, den »durchdringenden«, den »geistreichen«, den »ordentlichen«, den »beständigen«, den »universalen«, den »scharfsinnigen«, den »großen«, den »subtilen«, den »glücklichen«, den »praktischen« und zum guten Schluss den »politischen« Verstand.44 Das ist eine durchaus phantasievolle Liste, die zur Feindifferenzierung des globalen philosophischen Großkonzepts ›Verstand‹ nützlich sein könnte. Und um die allgemeine Menschenkenntnis im Blick auf sich selbst oder andere einzuüben, empfiehlt Crusius schließ|| 36 Ebd., § 685, S. 857f. 37 Ebd., § 686, S. 858f. 38 Ebd., S. 859. 39 Vgl. ebd., §§ 699–702, 869–872. 40 Ebd., § 709, S. 877. 41 Ebd., § 712, S. 879. 42 Ebd., § 708, S. 876. 43 So wird in der Vorrede darauf hingewiesen, dass es wichtig sei, Beweise auch weit genug auszuführen, was letztlich in das Belieben der »Redlichkeit des Scribenten« gestellt sei; in § 749 (in der Lehre von der Ehre, ebd., S. 907) wird sie als Beispiel eines absoluten Wertes aufgeführt. 44 Vgl. Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 16), §§ 716ff. Der politische Verstand wird dabei definiert als ein solcher, »welcher Zwecke und Mittel gut zu beurtheilen weiß« (§ 721, S. 888); womit er sozusagen zum kondensierten Inbegriff der Klugheit schlechthin wird.

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lich, wie andere zeitgenössische Autoren, als besonders geeignetes Mittel die Lektüre von Lebensbeschreibungen oder literarischen Charakterbildern.45

5 Regeln der Privat- und der Weltklugheit Für die abschließenden Kapitel nimmt Crusius die schon bei Thomasius und bis Kant hin zu findende, verbreitete Untergliederung der Klugheit in »Privatklugheit« und »Weltklugheit« (d. h. Politik) auf:46 Das vierte Kapitel behandelt Ehre, Liebe und Freundschaft als allgemeine Endzwecke der Privatklugheit; das fünfte und sechste Kapitel skizzieren die »zweckmäßige Einrichtung des gemeinen Wesens« und dessen »zweckmäßige Verwaltung«, also Grundfragen der Politik. Ehre,47 Liebe48 und Freundschaft49 sind dabei eng miteinander verbunden, da sie alle auf eigenen oder fremden Verdiensten und Vollkommenheiten beruhen: In der Ehre erstre-

|| 45 Vgl. ebd., § 726f., S. 891f. ›Charaktere‹ sind ein altes moralphilosophisches Genre, das später in Leipzig Ernst Platner zu neuem Leben erwecken wird (vgl. dazu Jutta Heinz: »Eben so viel feine Beobachtungsgabe, als philosophischen Scharfsinn« – anthropologische Charakteristik in Platners ›Philosophischen Aphorismen‹. In: Gideon Stiening, Guido Naschert [Hg.]: Ernst Platner [1744– 1819]. Konstellationen der Aufklärung zwischen Philosophie, Medizin und Anthropologie. Hamburg 2007, S. 197–220); bereits Christian Fürchtegott Gellert hat seine moralischen Vorlesungen mit solchen Charakterbildern angereichert. 46 Grob kann man zusammenfassen: Die Privatklugheit basiert auf den Zielen des Privatnutzens; sie richtet sich auf Güter in unserer Person (besonders Gesundheit) oder Vollkommenheiten des Verstandes (Vernunftlehren) oder Vollkommenheiten des Willens (Tugend als Hauptzweck, Zufriedenheit, Vergnügen als Nebenzwecke). Das vierte Kapitel behandelt speziell die »relativischen Güter«, die aus den Verhältnissen zwischen uns und anderen Dingen resultieren (Crusius: Anweisung [s. Anm. 16], § 674, S. 843). 47 Vgl. zur Definition ebd., § 747: Ehre zeige sich darin, dass wir jemand »Vorzüge dergestalt zuschreiben, daß man zugleich in dem Bezeigen gegen ihn denselben gemäß zu verfahren geneigt ist« (S. 906). Dabei ist zwischen absoluter und relativischer sowie allgemeiner und besonderer Ehre zu unterscheiden. Die Klugheit gebietet es, nur nach absoluten Ehren (die sich direkt von göttlichen oder menschlichen Endzwecken her begründen lassen, wie z. B. die Redlichkeit) zu streben, da alle besonderen Ehren (z. B. ständische) nur Neid und Feindschaft erwecken (vgl. ebd., § 753, S. 910). 48 Vgl. zur Definition ebd., § 760: »ein Bestreben nach der Vereinigung mit einem vernünftigen Geiste, welches durch die an ihm wahrgenommenen Vollkommenheiten erwecket wird« (S. 915). Während über die liebenswürdigen Vorzüge wenig ausgeführt wird, findet sich eine interessante Liste von Hindernissen für eine vernünftige Liebe: Lieblosigkeit und Verachtung (vgl. ebd., § 763, S. 917); Gewalttätigkeit, Hinterlist, Arglist, Falschheit, Liederlichkeit und Leichtsinnigkeit, Spötterei, Undankbarkeit und Unbescheidenheit (vgl. ebd., § 764f.). 49 Vgl. zur Definition Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 16), § 767: »diejenige Vereinigung der Gemüther [...] welche eine genauere wechselweise Beförderung der Privatabsichten einzelner Personen zum Zwecke hat« (S. 919). Vgl. auch die wichtige Rolle der Freundschaft bei Heumann (Grunert: Feindschaft [s. Anm. 14]).

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ben wir einen »ehrlichen Namen«;50 in der Liebe erstreben wir die Vereinigung mit einem vernünftigen Geist, dessen Vollkommenheiten wir erkannt haben; in der Freundschaft tun wir eigentlich das gleiche, aber etwas abgeschwächt. Das mag angesichts moderner Vorstellungen von romantischer Liebe und altruistischer Freundschaft und der völligen Abschaffung des Ehrbegriffs als eines überholten Relikts ständischer Gesellschaften heillos anachronistisch wirken; ob es das wirklich ist, sollte jeder Leser selbst, und zwar redlich, prüfen. Aber das Kapitel leidet insgesamt darunter, dass die praktische Erfahrung des lebenslangen Junggesellen und eingefleischten Akademikers hier wohl sehr schwach war und die Mittel, wie diese begehrten Endzwecke denn nun zu erreichen sind, deshalb etwas pauschal und realitätsfern bleiben. Demgegenüber werden die im engeren Sinne ›politischen‹ Kapitel wieder konkreter und präsentieren umfangreiche Regel-Listen. Beispielsweise finden sich solche für die innerliche und äußerliche Verfassung eines gesunden Staates in allen möglichen der traditionell nach dem aristotelischen Muster unterschiedenen Regierungsformen.51 Dabei sieht Crusius prinzipiell keinen Unterschied zwischen politischen Gemeinschaften und Individuen52 – und weist deshalb auch explizit darauf hin, dass die »Grundkräfte« bei der Privat- und Staatsklugheit die gleichen sind und dass für »gantze Staaten« ebenso das Naturrecht gelte wie für natürliche Personen.53

|| 50 Ebd., § 748, S. 907. 51 Der wesentliche Gedanke dabei ist, dass eine gesunde Republik die unterschiedlichen Interessen von Herrschenden und Beherrschten gleichermaßen berücksichtigt: »daß es entweder dem Regenten und den Unterthanen zugleich wohl seyn müsse, oder daß keines von beyden eines gegründeten Wohlstandes geniessen könne« (ebd., § 790, S. 934). Damit hält die gesunde Republik die Mitte zwischen den Auffassungen der »Machiavellisten«, die allein den Nutzen für den Herrscher ins Zentrum stellen, und den »Republicanern« auf der anderen Seite (ebd., S. 935). Das führt in der Konsequenz zu dem in der Aufklärung weit verbreiteten Konzept des patriarchalischen Staates, in dem der Herrscher ein guter Hausvater im Staat ist und der Hausvater ein guter Herrscher in der Familie (vgl. z. B. ebd., § 798, wo es um das Problem des Luxus geht): »Denn darzu, daß ein Land von seinem Gelde und Zufluß an Gütern einen guten und dauerhaften Gebrauch mache, ist eine gute Verfassung in denen Familien, und eine kluge Ordnung des Hauswesens unentbehrlich, damit sowohl zu rechter Zeit gesparet, also auch aufgewandt werden. Die Schwelgerey und Verschwendung aber verderbet die Gemüther und die Sitten, daraus alle Laster entspringen, und wovon insonderheit eine schlechte Erziehung der Jugend abhanget, daher es hernach dem gemeinen Wesen an tüchtigen Bürgern fehlet« (ebd., S. 945). 52 Das spiegelt auch die Definition des gemeinen Wesens, vgl. ebd., § 774: »Eine Republick ist eine Gesellschaft, da einer moralischen Person die Besorgung des gemeinen Wesens aufgetragen wird, und welche Gesellschaft nicht wiederum einer andern unterworfen ist« (S. 924). Das gelte für alle verschiedenen Regierungsformen, die den gemeinsamen Zweck hätten, dass »das gemeine Beste sicher besorget werde« (ebd.). Da das Wohl des Staates aber damit auf jeden Fall auf einer oder mehreren moralischen Personen beruht, ist keine Republik vollkommen, sondern sie alle leiden unter verschiedenen »Krankheiten« (ebd., S. 925). 53 Ebd., § 798, S. 943f. Der Gedanke wird aber nicht weiter ausgeführt.

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Die Regeln selbst präsentieren eine bunte Mischung aus eher liberalen und eher reaktionären Maximen: So seien zwar Grundgesetze einerseits absolut notwendig für jede reguläre Staatsform, auch für die Monarchie, da Alleinherrscher schließlich auch ihre Macht missbrauchen könnten;54 aber andererseits sei es beispielsweise ein großer Vorteil der Monarchie, dass die Herrschaftsfolge erblich sei, weil man damit in der Lage sei, den künftigen Herrscher zielgerichtet für sein Amt zu erziehen, wohingegen Wahlen nur zu endlosen und völlig unproduktiven Parteienstreitigkeiten führen würden.55 Oder: Die Religion als Basis nicht nur der menschlichen, sondern auch der staatlichen Glückseligkeit müsse vom Staat mit allen Mitteln geschützt werden, weshalb Atheismus unbedingt zu verfolgen sei;56 andererseits aber dürfen die bürgerlichen Verfassungen nicht unter religiösen Vorwänden eingeschränkt werden, »weil das Herz des Pöbels dadurch leicht aufgebracht werden kann«.57 Daneben gibt es auch eine Reihe von konkreten ökonomischen Leitsätzen, die mehr oder weniger merkantilistisch geprägt sind.58 Insgesamt zeigt sich aber hier deutlich, dass die Ineinssetzung von politischen Gemeinschaften und Personen vom heutigen Standpunkt aus wahrscheinlich unheilbar naiv wirkt; hier fällt Crusius deutlich hinter die schon damals vollzogene Ausdifferenzierung verschiedener politischer Disziplinen (beispielsweise im Staatsrecht oder in der Ökonomie) zurück.

6 Ist eine Reaktivierung der Klugheitslehre als moralische Wissenschaft und integraler Bestandteil praktischer Philosophie möglich? Ich komme damit zurück zu meiner Grundfrage: Ist eine Reaktivierung der Klugheitslehre als moralische Wissenschaft und integraler Bestandteil praktischer Philosophie möglich? Insgesamt steht Crusius offensichtlich in der aristotelischen Tradition der engen Verbindung von Klugheit und Tugend als einem wesentlichen Beispiel für die nicht lösbare Verbindung von theoretischer philosophischer Reflexion und praktischem ethischen Handeln. Diese Einheit wird bei Crusius im Wesentlichen dadurch möglich, dass die Klugheitslehre in einem unbezweifelten und absolut gültigen Rahmen situiert ist, den die Religion setzt: In Gott fallen Vollkommenheit und Glückseligkeit ebenso natürlich in eins wie im moralisch vollendeten und religiös gefestigten, gleichermaßen klug und tugendhaft handelnden Menschen. Die

|| 54 Vgl. Crusius: Anweisung (s. Anm. 16), § 783, S. 929. 55 Ebd., § 785, S. 930. 56 Ebd., § 793, S. 936. 57 Ebd., § 795, S. 939. 58 Vgl. dazu ebd., v. a. die §§ 796f.

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Entlastungsfunktion dieses theologischen Rahmens (die für weite Teile der aufklärerischen Philosophie in Deutschland gültig ist) wird häufig unterschätzt: Sie erst ermöglicht es Crusius, sich auf das Gebiet der Empirie vorzuwagen, sich mit Fragen kluger Lebensgestaltung im Blick auf Sekundärzwecke zu beschäftigen oder solche Fragen in der Philosophie überhaupt zuzulassen, deren Antworten von vornherein keinerlei Anspruch auf sichere Erkenntnis und systematische Durchdringung erheben können. In diesem metaphysisch geschützten Raum entwickeln sich neuartige psychologische und anthropologische Zugänge zur Philosophie umso freier. Philosophisch interessant daran könnte meiner Ansicht nach zweierlei sein. Zum einen geht es Crusius bei seinem Versuch, Klugheitslehre und Moralphilosophie erneut zu verbinden, durchaus auch um übergeordnete methodische Fragen: Wie definiert man Begriffe so, dass sie gleichzeitig hinreichend präzise und heuristisch fruchtbar sind? Welchen Status haben Erfahrungsregeln in begründungstheoretischen Zusammenhängen? Wann ist eine hinreichende Wahrscheinlichkeit zu erreichen, wann nicht? Dies alles lässt sich an der Klugheitslehre besonders gut thematisieren und diskutieren. Zum anderen geht es inhaltlich bei der Klugheitslehre um einen integralen Bestandteil von Aufklärung. Hier wird, wie begrenzt auch immer, sowohl im Bereich der Privatklugheit (höfische Klugheit als Umgangswissen) als auch im Bereich der Weltklugheit (politische Räson im engeren Sinn), Herrschaftswissen auf die bürgerliche Ebene transferiert. Klugheit benötigen sowohl das aufgeklärte Individuum in seinen sozialen Beziehungen und Umgangsformen als auch der aufgeklärte Bürger in seiner zunehmenden politischen Verantwortung und im Blick auf seine zu erreichende Mündigkeit. Klug werden kann er aber nur durch eigene Erfahrung, die allerdings mit der erfahrungsgesättigten, zu Regeln formulierten Erfahrung anderer abgeglichen werden kann. Dass das im konkreten Fall vielleicht nützlicher ist als die Orientierung an Kants kategorischem Imperativ, hat schon ein bekannter Vertreter einer angewandten Klugheits- als Verhaltenslehre im 18. Jahrhundert, Adolph Freiherr von Knigge, polemisch unterstellt: Man hat hie und da behauptet, der Grundsatz: daß man seine moralischen Handlungen nur nach solchen Motiven bestimmen müsse, die in allen Fällen als allgemeine Gesetze gelten könnten, könne wenigstens theoretisch zum Probiersteine jeder Handlung und jedes Bestrebens dienen, wenn er auch nicht immer praktisch auszuüben wäre. Allein das heißt nichts gesagt; denn wenn es solche Motive giebt; so müssen sie immer praktisch angewendet werden können. Allein noch einmal! es giebt dergleichen allgemeine Gesetze nicht und von den Bewegungsgründen eines vernünftigen Wesens, dies oder jenes zu thun oder zu unterlassen, läßt sich die Rücksicht auf den Zweck, das heißt, auf das, was durch dies Thun oder Lassen bewirkt werden soll, mit Einem Worte! was es nütze oder schade, gar nicht trennen.59

|| 59 Adolph Freiherr von Knigge: Ueber Eigennutz und Undank. Ein Gegenstück zu dem Buche: Ueber den Umgang mit Menschen. Frankfurt a. M., Leipzig 1796, S. 28.

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Aber auch heutige Philosophen und Philosophiehistoriker erwägen inzwischen, ob es kein bloßes Gebot der Klugheit, sondern sogar eines der Weisheit sein könnte, das eine nicht auf Kosten des anderen zu betreiben. Werner Schneiders schließt seinen Aufsatz zur frühaufklärerischen Klugheitslehre mit den provozierenden Worten: Nach Kant wollen die Philosophen anscheinend weder klug noch weise sein, sondern nur noch, je länger desto mehr, Wissenschaftler. Vielleicht wird die möglicherweise schon platzgreifende Einsicht, daß sie es doch nie zu anerkannten Wissenschaftlern bringen werden, sie irgendwann auch wieder versuchen lassen, klug und weise zu sein.60

Pierre Aubenque, ein anerkannter Aristoteles-Forscher, befindet in seiner Monographie zur Klugheit bei Aristoteles: Vielleicht hat diese Tugend schließlich doch noch ihre Chance in einer Zeit, die der beiden entgegengesetzten, aber miteinander verschworenen Leitbilder des ›Heroischen‹ und der ›schönen Seele‹ müde ist, und die nach einer neuen Lebenskunst sucht, aus der auch die subtilsten Formen von Maßlosigkeit und Verachtung verbannt wären.61

Und Wolfgang Kersting, der 2005 in einem Sammelband zur ›Klugheit‹ explizit die Rehabilitierung der Klugheitslehren verfolgt, entwirft ein Programm, in das sich auch Crusius’ Klugheitslehre als ein solider Baustein fügen würde:62 Dieses sich zwischen universalistischer Moralität und rationaler Interessenverfolgung aufspannende ethische Zwischenreich [der Klugheit] wird durch die Vernunftkonzepte der Moralphilosophie und der Rational-choice-Theorie nicht erfaßt. Hier waltet eine praktische Vernünftigkeit, die in der modernen praktischen Philosophie sprachlos bleibt. Der ganze Bereich der ethischen Alltäglichkeit, wo das Leben, das wir führen, hauptsächlich stattfindet, ist für die modernen Vernunft- und Handlungsbegriffe weitgehend eine terra incognita. Für seine rationalitätstheoretische Vermessung muß daher auf andere Begriffe zurückgegriffen werden, auf weltfähige Begriffe, die von der neuzeittypischen szientistischen Zuspitzung, von der Dramatik der Dekontextualisierung nicht gezeichnet sind.63

|| 60 Schneiders: Thomasius politicus (s. Anm. 11), S. 109. 61 Aubenque: Der Begriff der Klugheit (s. Anm. 2), S. 11. 62 Vgl. auch Luckner, der in diesem Zusammenhang den Terminus der »provisorischen Moral« einführt: »Eine Zeit wie die unsrige, in der einerseits die Lebenswelt in einem Maße wie nie zuvor von Wissenschaft und Technik durchzogen ist, andererseits aber die Euphorie wissenschaftlicher Fundierung aller Lebenszusammenhänge einer Skepsis gewichen ist, könnte die in der provisorischen Moral vorgeführte ›Gewaltenteilung‹ klugheitsethischer Direktiven eine zeitgemäße, weil pluralismusfreundliche Form ethisch-politischer Handlungsorientierung sehen« (Diesseits von Moral und Technik [s. Anm. 7], S. 267). 63 Kersting: Klugheit. (s. Anm. 2), S. 11.

| 4 Theology

Stefan Klingner

The Systematic Place of Natural Theology in Crusius’ Work The question of the systematic place of natural theology in Christian August Crusius’ philosophical work1 is of particular interest for at least four reasons: −

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Firstly, Crusius assumes an agreement of the truths of theology, founded on the revelations of the Holy Scripture, with the truths of philosophy, founded exclusively on finite reason.2 He thus seems to ascribe to natural theology as a philosophical discipline a mediating position between theology and philosophy. Secondly, Crusius emphasizes that »without the proof that God exists, all philosophy is useless«.3 Insofar as proofs for the existence of God are the central topic of natural theology, both in early-modern metaphysics and in Crusius’ work, the latter appears to assume an elevated position as a science that justifies the validity of philosophical knowledge as a whole. Thirdly, for Crusius, the moral laws and their obligatory nature are founded in God alone.4 Since Crusius takes moral philosophy to be »the noblest part of natural wisdom«,5 natural theology also seems to advance to a philosophical discipline, which is directly relevant to the rational practice of finite subjects. And fourthly, it is a striking feature of Crusius’ presentation of metaphysics that, in contrast to the traditional classifications in the textbooks of Scholastic

|| 1 The textual basis of my discussion is Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Leipzig 1744; Christian August Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß. Leipzig 1747; Christian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten. Leipzig 1766; Christian August Crusius: Kurzer Begriff der Moraltheologie. Erster Theil. Leipzig 1772. The paragraph numbers are also mentioned in addition to page numbers in the quotations and references. Changes to Crusius’ emphases are marked separately. Since the ›Prefaces‹ of the writings used here (apart from the one in the Kurzer Begriff) do not have page numbers, I use Roman numerals for the page numbers in the corresponding quotations and references. – Although Crusius’ shorter writings may better present the originality of his philosophy (see, for example, Max Wundt: Kant als Metaphysiker. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der deutschen Philosophie im 18. Jahrhundert. Stuttgart 1924, p. 61), his textbooks present a complete philosophical system, into which the results of earlier shorter writings have been incorporated, and which as such has had an impact in contemporary academic philosophy. 2 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 1), Preface, pp. XIIIf.; Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), Preface, p. XIII, Preface2, p. VII; § 203, p. 351; Crusius: Kurzer Begriff (see note 1), § 4, pp. 7–14. 3 Crusius: Entwurf, § 208, p. 368 (»ohne den Beweis, daß ein Gott sey, die ganze Philosophie nichts nütze ist«). 4 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 1), § 26, p. 30; § 133, pp. 160f.; § 173, pp. 217f.; § 203, p. 247; § 317, p. 387. 5 Ibid., Preface, p. I. (»der edelste Theil der natürlichen Weisheit«). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-016

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philosophy, it places natural theology immediately after ontology.6 Hence, he also seems to ascribe an elevated position to natural theology within the system of metaphysical knowledge. As such, each of these four points already suggests the considerable relevance of Crusius’ natural theology for properly assessing his philosophy. Taken together, they even suggest that natural theology – at least from the perspective of a theory of justification – can be regarded as the central discipline of his philosophy. The following observations are guided by this assumption. The four points mentioned above also lay out the thematic field that I will consider. In what follows, I will deal with each of them in reverse order: I first provide a brief preparatory outline of Crusius’ concept of natural theology on the basis of his own terms (1). I then address the special place of (theoretical) natural theology in Crusius’ system of metaphysical knowledge (2). Subsequently, I roughly outline Crusius’ concept of the practical part of natural theology as moral philosophy in the strict sense and his justification of the validity of moral rules (3). The clarification of the basic role of natural theology for theoretical as well as practical philosophy allows me to present Crusius’ doctrine of the proof of God’s existence in a problem-oriented way and to precisely define its justificatory theoretical role (4). In a final step, I emphasize the extraordinary systematic position of natural theology in Crusius’ work and address Crusius’ assertion of a congruence of reason and revelation (5).

1 Natural Theology To grasp Crusius’ concept of natural theology properly, it is important both to specify his general concept of theology and to differenciate natural theology itself. This can be done in three successive steps based on the detailed definitions given by Crusius in §§ 2–4 of the first part of his Kurzer Begriff der Moraltheologie: (1) In § 2, Crusius first identifies theology in general by assigning a specific object of knowledge to it. According to Crusius, theology is the science that contains »the thorough knowledge of God and divine things«.7 Crusius spells out the topic of theology as follows: The ›knowledge of divine things‹ consists of the knowledge of

|| 6 Crusius himself repeatedly emphasizes this in his presentation of metaphysics. See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), Preface, pp. VIf., § 204, p. 356; § 348, pp. 670f. 7 Crusius: Kurzer Begriff (see note 1), § 2, p. 4 (»die gründliche Erkenntniß Gottes, und göttlicher Dinge«).

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God’s existence and qualities, knowledge of God’s relation to his creatures, and knowledge of their duties to God.8 (2) In § 3, Crusius spells out this concept of theology by identifying two diverse ways of recognizing the special topic of theology. On the one hand, »reason left to itself«9 is able to cognize God and ›divine things‹. On the other hand, the latter can also be cognized »by a supernatural revelation of God«,10 which for Crusius means from »the canonical books of the Old and New Testaments«.11 The first is accomplished by natural theology and the second by revealed theology. As Crusius points out in the two paragraphs that follow, both sciences differ only with respect to the grounds for the validity of their theological findings. Natural theology obtains its evidence »through conclusions drawn from experience, and from the highest principles of reason and other immediate propositions«,12 whereas in revealed theology »the Holy Scripture replaces what is experience in natural theology«.13 (3) Since natural theology is thus defined as a special philosophical discipline, in § 4 Crusius divides natural theology fundamentally into a theoretical and a practical part. The first belongs to metaphysics, which alone deals with ›necessary truths of reason‹.14 Theoretical natural theology consequently is concerned with those necessary rational truths that are comprehensible on the basis of God and ›divine things‹. These truths concern the existence and nature of God, creation and the final purpose of creation, and divine providence.15 The second, however, aims at practical rules in virtue of being a »complete doctrine of natural duties«.16 This is simply moral philosophy in the narrower sense.17 For Crusius, it follows from this that »not only

|| 8 See ibid., § 2, pp. 4f. 9 Ibid., § 3, p. 6 (»die sich selbst gelassene Vernunft«). 10 Ibid., § 3, p. 5 (»durch eine übernatürliche Offenbarung Gottes«). 11 Ibid., § 3, p. 6 (»den canonischen Büchern der Schrift Altes und Neues Testament«). Crusius himself also emphasizes his assumption here »that today there is no other provable divine revelation« (»daß heutiges Tages keine andere erweisliche göttliche Offenbarung da ist«) than the Christian one. 12 Ibid., § 4, p. 8 (»durch Schlüsse aus Erfahrungen, und aus denen höchsten Grundsätzen der Vernunft und andern unmittelbaren Sätzen«). 13 Ibid., § 5, p. 18 (»die heil[ige] Schrift an die Stelle dessen [tritt], was in der natürlichen Theologie die Erfahrung ist«). 14 See ibid., § 4, p. 7. See also Crusius’ general definition in Entwurf (see note 1), Preface, pp. IIIf. and Entwurf (see note 1), §§ 1–5, pp. 4–9. For Crusius’ concept of metaphysics, see Heinz Heimsoeth: Metaphysik und Kritik bei Chr. A. Crusius. Ein Beitrag zur ontologischen Vorgeschichte der Kritik der reinen Vernunft im 18. Jahrhundert. Berlin 1926, especially pp. 4–15. 15 See Crusius: Kurzer Begriff (see note 1), § 4, p. 7. See also Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 5, pp. 7f., § 204, pp. 355f. 16 Crusius: Kurzer Begriff (see note 1), § 4, p. 7 (»sämmtliche Lehre von den natürlichen Pflichten«). See also Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 5, p. 7. 17 See Crusius: Kurzer Begriff (see note 1), § 4, p. 6. According to Crusius, moral philosophy in a broader sense also includes the ›doctrine of prudence‹, which, however, constitutes a separate part

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the direct duties to God, but also the entirety of ethics and the whole right of nature«18 fall under practical natural theology, which consequently also leads him to explicitly criticize conventional views of natural theology that define natural theology exclusively as a part of metaphysics and thereby provide space for a natural law theory that can be developed independently.19 Crusius’ concept of natural theology can thus be characterized as follows: Natural theology is a special philosophical discipline which, without recourse to supernatural revelation, has as its object knowledge of the existence and properties of God as well as the relationship between God and his creation. To the extent that, according to Crusius’ theory of cognition, any valid cognition is characterized by a necessary reference to sensation, natural theology cannot exclusively contain purely a priori cognitions.20 And insofar as in its theoretical part natural theology addresses the only ›necessary substance‹21 and in its practical part the only reason for ›legal obligation‹,22 Crusius’ general definition of the concept of natural theology confirms the assumption expressed at the beginning, namely, that it occupies an elevated position in his philosophical system.

2 Theoretical Natural Theology If we turn to Crusius’ presentation of theoretical natural theology in his Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, this assumption is again confirmed by the pecu-

|| of moral philosophy in addition to the ›doctrine of natural duties‹. See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 1), Preface, pp. XVI–XVIII; Anweisung (see note 1), § 205, pp. 249f. 18 Crusius: Kurzer Begriff (see note 1), § 4, p. 7 (»nicht nur die unmittelbaren Pflichten gegen Gott, sondern auch die ganze Ethik und das ganze Recht der Natur«). See also Crusius: Anweisung (see note 1), § 204, p. 248. 19 See Crusius: Kurzer Begriff (see note 1), § 4, p. 8. See also the analogous criticism of the concept of ›natural religion‹ in Crusius: Kurzer Begriff (see note 1), § 4, pp. 9–18. See also Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 230, p. 425. 20 Insofar as metaphysics and moral philosophy, according to Crusius, discuss ›necessary truths of reason‹, they can be called a priori sciences. See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1) § 1, p. 4; Crusius: Anweisung (see note 1), § 159, pp. 198f. For both philosophical sciences, however, a fundamental reference to emotion (»Empfindung«) is constitutive: either by ›experience‹ or by ›instinct of conscience‹. Regarding Crusius’ neither purely empirical nor purely rationalistic concept of cognition, see Heimsoeth: Metaphysik und Kritik (see note 14), especially pp. 39f. There are no signs of a distinction between ›purity‹ and ›apriority‹ as in Kant (see Konrad Cramer: Nicht-reine synthetische Urteile a priori. Ein Problem der Transzendentalphilosophie Immanuel Kants. Heidelberg 1985). 21 See Crusius: Kurzer Begriff (see note 1), § 4, p. 7. See also Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 205, p. 357. 22 See Crusius: Kurzer Begriff (see note 1), § 4, p. 7. See also Crusius: Anweisung (see note 1), § 176, pp. 219f.

The Systematic Place of Natural Theology in Crusius’ Work | 355

liar ordering mentioned above, in which Crusius deals with the four disciplines of metaphysics. In contrast to most other contemporary textbooks in metaphysics, Crusius places the special metaphysics of ›natural theology‹ directly after the general metaphysics of ›ontology‹, followed by the two other metaphysical disciplines.23 Its structure and contents, on the other hand, are quite conventional. Before discussing Crusius’ peculiar ordering for the metaphysical disciplines themselves and especially the reasons he gives for this ordering, I would like to provide a rough outline of the structure and contents of Crusius’ theoretical natural theology. At the outset, Crusius defines theoretical natural theology as an investigation into the »existence, properties and effects of the first and general cause [...] from which all things must eventually have their origin«.24 He correspondingly divides his presentation into three parts: (1) The first part introduces the concept of God and the proofs of his existence.25 The term God refers to »a wise and necessary, i. e. eternal substance which is different from the world and which is the effective cause of the world«.26 Proving the existence of this substance not only requires the principle of non-contradiction and the ›principle of sufficient cause‹,27 but also requires two additional principles, which Crusius calls the ›theorem of coincidence‹ and the ›moral proposition‹ »that a reasonable man must act according to the essence of his reason«.28 According to Crusius, »countless proofs of God’s reality«29 follow from these principles. He himself provides cosmological, physioteleological and historical proofs as well as a

|| 23 The sequence of ontology, cosmology, psychology, and natural theology can be found, for example, in Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen, auch allen Dingen überhaupt. Halle 1741, Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten: Metaphysica. Halle 1757, and Johann Georg Heinrich Feder: Logik und Metaphysik. Göttingen 1790. For the origin of this sequence, see Ernst Vollrath: Die Gliederung der Metaphysik in eine Metaphysica generalis und eine Metaphysica specialis. In: Zeitschrift für philosophische Forschung 16 (1962), pp. 258–284. 24 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 204, p. 353 (»Existenz, Eigenschaften und Wirkungen der ersten und allgemeinen Ursache [...], von welcher alle die Dinge zuletzt ihren Ursprung haben müssen«). 25 See ibid., §§ 204–236, pp. 356–444. 26 Ibid., § 205, p. 357 (»eine verständige und nothwendige, d. i. ewige Substanz, welche von der Welt unterschieden, und die wirkende Ursache der Welt ist«). 27 See ibid., § 205, p. 358. The ›principle of sufficient cause‹ (›Satz von der zureichenden Ursache‹) is derivative compared to the three ›highest principles of reason‹. See ibid., § 14f., pp. 24–28, § 31, pp. 49f.; Crusius: Weg (see note 1), § 262, pp. 475f. For Crusius’ differentiation from the principle of sufficient reason, see, for example, Martin Krieger: Geist, Welt und Gott bei Christian August Crusius. Erkenntnistheoretisch-psychologische, kosmologische und religionsphilosophische Perspektiven im Kontrast zum Wolffschen System. Würzburg 1993, pp. 79–81 as well as Gideon Stiening’s contribution in this volume. 28 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 206, pp. 358f. (»daß ein vernünftiger Mensch dem Wesen seiner Vernunft auch gemäß handeln müsse«). 29 Ibid., § 208, pp. 367f. (»unzehlig vielerley Beweise vor die Wirklichkeit Gottes«).

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moral proof and rejects the ontological proof of God’s existence on the basis of a ›logical objection‹.30 (2) The second, and by far the most comprehensive part, presents the essence and qualities of God.31 The essence of God must be determined in accordance with the proof of his existence as »infinite perfection«, thus as such a perfection »beyond which no greater perfection can be thought«.32 Crusius thus retains the ontotheological concept of God as an ens perfectissimum, assuming the validity of cosmo-, physico-, and ethicotheological proofs of his existence.33 He then develops an extensive definition of the individual characteristics of God on the basis of this idea of infinite perfection; he first defines his ›majesty‹, ›simplicity‹, and ›unity‹34 and finally the other classical attributes of God,35 whereby he also gives a detailed proof of the compatibility of the monotheistic determinations resulting from the ontotheological concept of God with the Christian Trinitarian doctrine.36 (3) The third part deals with the »types of efficacy [...] whereby God can or must be active in every world, or what he can or could do with or do in every world«,37 i. e. the causally determined relationship of God to his creation.38 As in the case of determining the nature and qualities of God, Crusius’ basic descriptions of the effects of God are more conventional. Thus, the first effect of God exists in creation, which on the one hand entails the creation of simple substances and their basic powers and, on the other hand, their combination according to a ›certain order‹.39 Crusius summarizes the further effects – the preservation of the simple substances and their basic forces, the preservation of their purposeful order and the governance of the world40 – under the heading ›Providence of God‹.41

|| 30 See ibid., §§ 209–235, pp. 370–439. For condensed presentations of Crusius’ proofs of God’s existence, see Carl Festner: Chr. A. Cruius als Metaphysiker. Halle 1892, pp. 29–33, and Krieger: Geist, Welt und Gott (see note 27), pp. 265–270, pp. 291–293 and pp. 298f. For Crusius’ use of the logical objection, see Dieter Henrich: Der ontologische Gottesbeweis. Sein Problem und seine Geschichte in der Neuzeit. Tübingen 1967, pp. 113–115. 31 See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), §§ 237–323, pp. 445–622. 32 Ibid., § 237, p. 446 (»unendliche[] Vollkommenheit [...], über welche sich keine grössere denken läßt«). 33 See ibid., § 235, p. 438. See also Krieger: Geist, Welt und Gott (see note 27), pp. 312–314. 34 See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), §§ 242–244, pp. 454–461. 35 These are: immeasurability, eternity, necessity, perfect life, omniscience, bliss, holiness, justice, truthfulness, wisdom, goodness, freedom, omnipotence, omnipresence, immutability, and independence. See ibid., §§ 250–321, pp. 473–612. 36 See ibid., §§ 247f., pp. 463–473. 37 Ibid., § 326, p. 622 (»Arten der Wirksamkeit [...], wodurch sich Gott bey und in einer jeden Welt thätig erzeigen könne oder müsse, oder was er bey oder in jeder Welt thue oder thun könne«). 38 See ibid., §§ 327–346, pp. 623–664. 39 See ibid., § 327, p. 623. 40 See ibid., §§ 329f., pp. 625–630, §§ 331, pp. 625–632, §§ 334–337, pp. 634–639.

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Because the overview of the structure and contents of Crusius’ theoretical natural theology provided here may portray his system as rather classical, we still need to consider why he places the presentation of theoretical natural theology before that of cosmology and pneumatology. This question seems especially important with respect to the passages in Crusius’ account of natural theology where he expressly presupposes pneumatological or cosmological doctrines – for example, in his proof of the existence of God from the series of reproducing beings,42 in his justification of the doctrine of the Trinity,43 and especially in the third part dealing with the effects of God.44 Crusius himself justifies his unusual ranking of the metaphysical disciplines in the ›Preface‹ of the Entwurf by the fact that in cosmology and pneumatology »the noblest and most important doctrines can not be demonstrated without reference to the divine properties, but, on condition of their existence, they can be presented with irrevocable certainty«.45 Thus, according to Crusius, theoreti-

|| 41 See ibid., § 338, p. 639. Regarding this part two points can be highlighted as representatives: first, the objective ultimate purpose of the world and divine governance, which consists in the existence of sensible and thus virtue-capable subjects (ibid., § 335, p. 636), second, the proofs of God’s actual activity of miracles (ibid., § 341, pp. 643–645). The latter include the possible coordination of free deeds by God as ground for the a priori version of the proof, while the testimonies for a supernatural revelation are cited for the a posteriori version. 42 See ibid., § 218, p. 387. The reference to pneumatology applies here to the distinction between animals and humans as beings who have a soul (see ibid., § 433, pp. 878–880). 43 See ibid., § 248, p. 467. The finitude of the world, which »will continue to be proven in its place« (»an seinem Orte weiter erwiesen werden wird«), serves there as an argument for the fact that God can have more qualities than can be inferred from the contemplation of the world. 44 See the beginning of the third part of the (theoretical) natural theology, where it says: »So that the materials which concern God are not torn from each other: It will be most convenient to deal with it in this place. A number of the sentences that are necessary for this will be placed even further into the light in cosmology. However, we can also assume that they are already known here because the previous one already gives as much reason for it as is required to convince of their correctness« (»Damit die Materien, welche Gott betreffen, nicht von einander gerissen werden: So wird es am bequemsten seyn, an diesem Orte davon zu handeln. Etliche Sätze, die darzu nöthig sind, werden in der Kosmologie noch ferner ins Licht gesetzet werden. Wir können sie aber auch hier schon vor bekannt annehmen, weil im vorigen schon so viel Grund davon angegeben ist, als zur Ueberzeugung ihrer Richtigkeit erfordert wird«), ibid., § 326, pp. 622f. 45 Ibid., Preface, pp. VIf. (»die edelsten und wichtigsten Lehrsätze nicht anders, als mit Zuziehung der Betrachtung der göttlichen Eigenschaften erweislich sind, hingegen nach Voraussetzung derselben mit unumstößlicher Gewißheit dargethan werden können«). Similarly, in the introductory paragraph of the (theoretical) natural theology, he asserts that »in the most important pieces, one must first of all recognize from nature and the qualities of God what is necessary or accidental in the organization of a world« (»man in den wichtigsten Stücken allererst aus der Natur und denen Eigenschaften Gottes erkennen muß, was in der Einrichtung einer Welt nothwendig oder zufällig sey«), and that »pneumatology in the most important pieces presupposes natural theology« (»die Pneumatologie in den wichtigsten Stücken die natürliche Theologie voraussetzet«). Ibid., § 204, pp. 356. Finally, in the second paragraph of the cosmology, he explains that the realization of the

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cal natural theology is an essential requirement for the other two metaphysical disciplines.46 In order to clarify the role assigned to theoretical natural theology by Crusius, at least three points need to be taken into account: Firstly, theoretical natural theology introduces some basic concepts essential for cosmology and pneumatology and presents them as clearly as possible. For example, the finitude of ›substances‹ and ›fundamental forces‹ in the world, as well as their ›reality‹ and degree of ›perfection‹ can only be satisfactorily represented on the basis of a previous analysis of God’s qualities.47 Hence, theoretical natural theology has a role similar to ontology insofar as it presents the ›simple concepts‹ required by all metaphysical disciplines as clearly as possible – which in turn justifies its position as a first metaphysical discipline.48 Secondly, theoretical natural theology carries the burden of proof for the validity of some ›doctrines‹ that are of central relevance for cosmology and pneumatology. The following are some examples of this: regarding cosmology, Crusius’ fundamental definition of the concept of the world and its initial identification through the concept of finitude;49 and with regard to pneumatology, his fundamental definition of the concept of the soul or spirit as well as his teleological explanation of the truthfulness of the thoughts of a finite cognizing subject.50 The theistic concept of God and its reality developed in theoretical natural theology are assumed for the corresponding ›theorems‹. Thirdly, with its definition of the properties of God, theoretical natural theology also provides a criterion for separating what is necessary from what is coincidental in the doctrine of body and soul.51 Crusius stresses that metaphysical cosmology and pneumatology contain only ›necessary rational truths‹ and can be distinguished from empirical natural science and psychology.52 According to Crusius, the necessary features of the concept of the world and spirit53 are directly determined by the definiteness of the concept of God. For example, it is ›doubtful‹ whether light and

|| ›essential qualities of God‹ is the »source» of the »most important truths« (»Quelle [der] allerwichtigsten Wahrheiten«) of cosmology. Ibid., § 348, pp. 670f. 46 See also the assessments by Wundt: Kant als Metaphysiker (see note 1), p. 81 and Giorgio Tonelli: Einleitung. In: Christian August Crusius: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. 4 vols. Hildesheim 1969–1987, vol. 1, pp. VII–LII, especially p. XXXIII. 47 See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 238, pp. 447f. 48 See ibid., § 7, pp. 10f. 49 See ibid., §§ 349–351, pp. 675–680. 50 See ibid., § 434, pp. 880–883, § 442, pp. 904f. 51 See ibid., § 204, p. 356 52 See ibid., Preface, pp. IIIf. and p. VI, § 5, pp. 8f., § 347, p. 668, § 424, pp. 851f. 53 Determinations whose non-existence is »impossible« (»unmöglich«) or that are »inevitable when positing a world« (»bey Setzung einer Welt unvermeidlich«) are necessary. Ibid., § 1, p. 4.

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color must be present in every world.54 On the other hand, however, it is beyond question that in every world there must be decent subjects capable of practicing virtue with regard to a loving, benevolent creator and his final purpose, which is inferred from his creation. Theoretical natural theology therefore has a propaedeutic, substantiating and critical role for cosmology and pneumatology. It is striking that for this functional ascription, which justifies the special systematic position of theoretical natural theology, its first and second sections are particularly relevant. By proving with the first section the existence of God, in the cosmological and pneumatological context the concept of God can be assumed to be real. And by developing the specific determinateness of the concept of God in the second section, in the cosmological and pneumatological context these determinations can act as premises for the representation of specific determinations of the concepts of world and spirit. This elevated position of the first two sections of theoretical natural theology also coincides with similar remarks by Crusius’ in the ›Preface‹ regarding the method used in his presentation of metaphysics. He writes there that »both ontology and the first chapters of natural theology are written in the analytical method«,55 while »in all the rest of the book, the method that should actually be called synthetic has been used«.56 Accordingly, ontology and the first two sections of natural theology have the task of using conceptual analysis to develop the basic concepts necessary for each science ›clearly‹ and ›completely‹, while the other sections generate further not already presupposed knowledge from these ›analytical‹ cognitions.57 The analytical method, according to Crusius in his logic, is »more fertile when the synthetic is added« – however, the analytical method must precede the synthetic one because otherwise it would »not be applied thoroughly«.58 In a systematic presentation of metaphysical knowledge, natural theology, and ontology therefore already have to be placed ahead of the other parts for methodological reasons.59

|| 54 See ibid., § 348, pp. 669f. 55 Ibid., Preface, p. VIII (»sind sowohl die Ontologie, als auch die beyden ersten Capitel der natürlichen Theologie in der analytischen Methode abgefasset«). 56 Ibid., Preface, p. IX (»In dem ganzen übrigen Buche aber ist [...] die eigentlich also zu nennende Synthetische Methode gebraucht worden«). 57 For Cusius’ discussion of the differences between the analytical and synthetic method, see especially Crusius: Weg (see note 1), § 571, p. 996. For more details, see e. g. Wundt: Kant als Metaphysiker (see note 1), p. 56 and p. 74; Giorgio Tonelli: Analysis and synthesis in XVIIIth century philosophy prior to Kant. In: Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte 20 (1976), pp. 178–213, especially pp. 207–209. 58 Crusius: Weg (see note 1), § 583, p. 1010 (»Das analytische Nachdencken wird fruchtbarer, wenn das synthetische hinzu kommt«; »Das synthetische Nachdencken kan nicht eher, wenigstens nicht gründlich angewandt werden, als bis die Grundgedancken deutlich sind«). 59 See also Heimsoeth: Metaphysik und Kritik (see note 14), p. 28.

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3 Practical Natural Theology If we turn instead to Crusius’ depiction of moral philosophy in his Anweisung vernünftig zu leben, the impression that natural theology occupies an elevated position does not seem to be confirmed at first glance. There is indeed a part that Crusius calls ›Moral Theology‹, but this part is comparatively thin and deals exclusively with the ›immediate duties to God‹.60 Crusius also emphasizes in the Preface that, in light of the intended ranking of the disciplines of moral philosophy, the presentation of moral theology takes place before that of the theory of natural law – »which is arbitrary in that it could have stood after the very same«.61 However, the moral theology Crusius provides there should not be identified with the practical part of natural theology. As already noted, Crusius’ practical natural theology coincides instead with the ›whole doctrine of natural duties‹ and thus also encompasses moral theology as well as ethics and natural law.62 It is not necessary to provide a comprehensive overview of the essential content of Crusius’ ethics, natural law, and moral theology here. Instead, I will just briefly present the contents that are crucial for the proof of Crusius’ theological justification of the validity of moral rules. The structuring of the relevant part of Crusius’ moral philosophy here into ethics, natural law, and moral theology is based on the »three main categories of duties occurring therein«:63 duties to oneself, duties to other people, and (immediate) duties to God.64 Crusius generally defines duties as »a doing or not doing, for which there is moral necessity«,65 whereby his concept of moral necessity implies the pos-

|| 60 See Crusius: Anweisung (see note 1), §§ 317–361, pp. 385–438. On this novelty, see ibid., Preface, pp. XIVf. 61 Ibid., Preface, p. XVII (»welches aber willkührlich ist, indem sie auch nach demselben hätte stehen können«). 62 Accordingly, from his Anweisung vernünftig zu leben only the first part, the ›Thelematologie‹, and the last part, the doctrine of prudence, do not belong to practical natural theology. Crusius: Anweisung (see note 1), Preface, pp. XVI–XXII. For Crusius’ doctrine of prudence, see the contribution by Jutta Heinz, and for Crusius’ doctrine of natural right, see Dominik Recknagel, both in this volume. For Crusius’ doctrine of immortality, which he also develops mainly in the Anweisung, see Stefan Klingner: Pneumatologie oder Ethikotheologie? Crusius und Kant über die Unsterblichkeit der Seele. In: Aufklärung 29 (2017), pp. 89–109, especially pp. 93–101. 63 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 1), § 204, p. 248 (»nach den drey Hauptgattungen der Pflichten, welche darinnen vorkommen«). 64 The first includes, for example, the duties of preserving one’s own life and body, the duties of cultivating one’s own spiritual abilities, and those of leading a virtuous life (see ibid., §§ 230–248, pp. 281–301); the second includes, for example, the duties of servitude, honesty, friendliness, politeness, modesty, kindness, sincerity and gratitude (see ibid., §§ 439–456, pp. 531–552); the third includes, for example, the duties of knowledge, love and gratitude to God, to praising God, to trust in God, to humility toward God, and to a reasonable faith in God (see ibid., §§ 321–356, pp. 390–435). 65 Ibid., § 160, p. 199 (»Thun oder Lassen, darzu eine moralische Nothwendigkeit vorhanden ist«).

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sibility of being able to recognize66 the imperative of ›doing or not doing‹ something, which is qualified as a duty. For Crusius, the reason why ›doing or not doing‹ something is imperative, i. e. a duty, can be recognized either from the purposes that are arbitrarily set by concrete subjects, determining them, or from their regularity. In the first case, he calls them ›duties of prudence‹, and in the second case ›duties of virtue‹67 – and it is only in the second case, which is relevant here, that the obligation associated with the duty is a ›legal‹ and as such »true obligation in the narrow sense«.68 Laws accordingly operate as the reasons for this ›true obligation‹. Crusius defines law as »the general will of a powerful man, who in turn does not have a more powerful man above him«69 – whereby a ›worldly legislator‹ still has a ›more powerful man above him‹, namely God.70 Thus, the first reason for all duties of virtue and all kinds of legal obligations is obviously God, which is why Crusius often simply calls the ›natural‹ laws, which do not originate from the will of worldly legislators, ›divine laws‹. Since, in turn, the imperative of ›doing or not doing‹ something, which is understood as a duty, must be recognizable, and the reason for the duties of virtue and ›true obligation‹ are divine laws, the demonstration of the validity of these laws depends to a significant extent on the proof of their reality. Crusius devotes five paragraphs to this demonstration, in which he presents three proofs.71 The first two infer the reality of divine laws from the existence of an instinct of conscience; the third infers the perfection of God’s creatures from the perfection of God and the presence of free creatures whose actions must be able to correspond to their will.72 Crusius considers the validity of natural laws and thus the ›highest natural constitution‹73 of reasonable action to be sufficiently secured by these proofs. Their || 66 See ibid., § 160, pp. 199f.: »A moral necessity is a relationship of doing or not doing with respect to certain end purposes, from which a reasonable mind can understand that it is to be done or not to be done« (»Eine moralische Nothwendigkeit ist ein solches Verhältniß eines Thuns oder Lassens gegen gewisse Endzwecke, daraus ein vernünftiger Geist verstehen kan, daß es gethan oder gelassen werden soll« [my emphasis]). 67 See ibid., § 162, pp. 201f. 68 Ibid., § 162, p. 201 (»die wahre Verbindlichkeit im engern Verstande«). 69 Ibid., § 165, p. 206 (»allgemeiner Wille eines mächtigern, welcher nicht wiederum einen andern mächtigern über sich hat«). 70 See ibid., § 167, pp. 209f. 71 See ibid., §§ 169–173, pp. 212–217. 72 See ibid., § 169, p. 212, § 170, p. 213, § 171, p. 214. 73 See ibid., § 174, p. 218: »Do, out of obedience to the command of your Creator, as your natural and necessary Supreme Lord, all that which is in perfect alignment with the perfection of God, and also that which is essential to the perfection of your own nature and that of all other creatures and refrain from the opposite.« (»Thue aus Gehorsam gegen den Befehl deines Schöpfers, als deines natürlichen und nothwendigen Oberherrn, alles dasjenige, was der Vollkommenheit Gottes, und ferner was der wesentlichen Vollkommenheit deiner eigenen Natur und aller andern Geschöpfe [...] gemäß ist, und unterlasse das Gegentheil.«)

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presentation also corresponds to his description of the principles or grounds of knowledge (principia cognoscendi) of the divine laws, which can be found only a few paragraphs later. According to this description, the validity of the divine laws and their content can be recognized either from ›natural instinct for conscience‹ or from mere reason.74 Crusius finally gives a hint in the paragraph that precedes his ›proofs‹ of the reality of divine laws for the answer to the question, to what extend these grounds of knowledge are even accessible to the subject dealing with natural duties at all and how this subject can develop a valid ›doctrine of natural duties‹ from this.75 He explains there that the grounds of knowledge all presuppose first the existence of God, and second the dependency of human beings on God. Third, it is important to show that it is God’s will to observe people acting in accordance with their dependency. Only this third point, however, is the subject of the three ›proofs‹ mentioned above, proving God’s willingness to observe obedience in his sensible creatures, referring to the ›natural instinct for conscience‹ or to the ›path of clear knowledge‹ which introduces the perfection of God. According to Crusius, the first two points are, on the other hand, derived »from the natural truth of God«76 – i. e. from theoretical natural theology.77 Thus their elevated position is clearly emphasized not only within the system of metaphysical cognition, but also in relation to moral philosophy qua ›doctrine of natural duties‹. Since the divine laws that establish ›true commitment‹ correspond to God’s will, but the existence of God, his qualities, and his relationship to his creation are represented in theoretical natural theology, the latter has an elevated position with regard to moral philosophy in the narrow sense, insofar as in the event of a failure of the first, the claim to validity of knowledge of the second would also disappear. Not only the validity of cosmological and pneumatological knowledge, but also the claim to the validity of ethics, natural law, and moral theology are thus dependent on a correct justification of the existence, characteristics, and relationship of God to his creation, and thus on a convincing representation of theoretical natural theology.

|| 74 See ibid., § 178, p. 223 and § 181, p. 226. 75 See ibid., § 168, pp. 210–212. 76 Ibid., § 168, p. 211 (»aus der natürlichen Gottesgelahrtheit«). 77 This also corresponds to Crusius’ general view on the relationship between the theoretical and practical parts of natural theology, according to which the theoretical, »as is always the case« (»wie es allemal so ist«), must contain the grounds for the practical (Crusius: Kurzer Begriff [see note 1], § 4, p. 6). See also Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), Preface, p. IV.

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4 Proofs of the Existence of God As has been shown so far, theoretical natural theology has a special place within Crusius’ system of philosophy at least insofar as it has a foundational role for cosmology and pneumatology as well as for moral philosophy in the narrower sense. The first part, which aims to prove the existence of God, is of particular importance for the success of establishing this foundational role. As already mentioned at the beginning, Crusius himself indicates this shortly before his presentation of various proofs of the existence of God when he claims that the benefit of the entire philosophy depends on the valid proof of God’s existence.78 Following my approach in the preceding sections, I will first provide a brief overview in this section of Crusius’ doctrine regarding proofs for the existence of God in order to make it clear to what extent not only the benefit but also the rationale behind philosophical knowledge depends for Crusius on the success of proving the existence of God. In the first part of his presentation of theoretical natural theology, Crusius cites a series of proofs for the existence of God, which, according to his explanation, are merely examples and could thus serve as a basis for others.79 He divides the set of all possible valid proofs of God’s existence into three groups: (1) demonstrative, (2) infinitely probable, and (3) commonly-probable.80 (1) The demonstrative proofs lead to the cognition of the existence of God by using only the principles of non-contradiction, sufficient cause, and chance. They are not ›geometric‹, but – as Crusius calls them in his logic – ›disciplinary demonstrations‹ (›disciplinale Demonstrationen‹).81 Since, in accordance with the causal determination of the underlying concept of God, they do not – as mathematical knowledge – exclusively presuppose the principle of non-contradiction and, at the same time, the conclusion is supposed to follow necessarily from the premises, they can also be described as ›cosmological‹. The five cosmological proofs given by Crusius infer their respective first cause from the existence of ›simple things‹, ›legitimate changes‹, series of movements or the preservation of species of reproducing beings, or the existence of a necessary first cause directly from the randomness of the world and the things present in it.82

|| 78 See ibid., § 208, p. 368. 79 See ibid., § 208, pp. 369f. 80 See ibid., § 208, p. 368. For Crusius’ discussion of the difference between demonstrations and proofs of probability, see Crusius: Weg (see note 1), §§ 521f., pp. 929–933. Crusius himself prefers the term ›proofs by means of probability‹ (›Beweise auf dem Weg der Wahrscheinlichkeit‹) for the third group, see ibid., § 521, p. 931. 81 See ibid., § 521, p. 930. 82 See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 209, p. 372; § 213, p. 377; § 215, pp. 381f.; § 218, pp. 386f.; § 217, pp. 384f.

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(2) The proofs of the second group lead to cognition of the existence of God by inferring God as the cause of the world from the existence of a ›regularity of the world‹.83 The underlying argumentation consists in demonstrating order in the world, identifying this order with purposefulness, and inferring a non-human mind from this expediency. It is in this regard a conventional physico-teleological proof of God. To support the initial assumption of an order or regularity of the world, Crusius refers to the inner functionality of living beings and the external purposefulness of the various things or circumstances of the world.84 The fact that Crusius considers the physico-teleological proof to be not only more or less convincing, but also compelling, is due to the addition of the aforementioned ›moral principle‹ and the theory of probability associated with it.85 This is because the order or regularity ascertainable in the (real) world is not only such as to make the assumption of a different cause more probable than the assumption of its groundlessness, but such that »the quantity of identical circumstances or the similarities themselves and their manifoldness is unthinkably great«.86 The assumption of their groundlessness would only express an »infinite improbability«.87 The physico-teleological argument thus has the advantage that with the theistic explanation it only needs to posit »a single possibility» from which the possibility of »all this purposeful order [...] is understood«.88 (3) Drawing on this principle, Crusius also cites another group of proofs of God’s existence, the conclusions of which are not necessarily compelling in the strict sense, but which are completely sufficient to acknowledge commitment to faith in God.89 The first of the proofs presented by him makes an inference from a presumed beginning of humanity to its createdness and thus to a creator; the second makes an inference from religious faith, which appears to be found among all peoples, and the exclusion of a collective error or ›political cunning‹, to a common ground of this faith in the reality of God; and the third draws an inference from the existence of a conscience, and an undersanding of it as ›innate‹ to human nature, to the ›innate idea‹ of God and thus his existence.90 || 83 See ibid., §§ 221–223, pp. 393–403. 84 See ibid., § 222, pp. 395–400. 85 See ibid., § 207, pp. 300–307. On Crusius’ concept of probability, see Crusius: Weg (see note 1), §§ 360–370, pp. 640–653. For a discussion of proofs from probability in Crusius, see Wundt: Kant als Metaphysiker (see note 1), p. 56 and pp. 74f. 86 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 207, p. 364 (»die Menge der übereinstimmenden Umstände oder die Übereinstimmungen selbst und deren Mannichfaltigkeit unüberdenklich groß ist«). On the concept of ›infinite probability‹, see also Crusius: Weg (see note 1), § 410, pp. 732f. 87 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 221, p. 394 (»unendlich grosse Unwahrscheinlichkeit«). 88 Ibid., § 223, p. 402 (»eine einzige Möglichkeit […], aus welcher sich die Möglichkeit aller dieser zweckmäßigen Ordnung [...] begreiffen läßt«). 89 See especially ibid., § 228, pp. 417f. 90 See ibid., § 229, pp. 418–422; § 230, pp. 422–429; § 232, pp. 430–432.

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In order to assess Crusius’ presentation of the various proofs of God, it should first be noted that he considers them to be of equal value in terms of their persuasiveness. Since Crusius accords the ›moral principle‹ with regard to real knowledge the same validity as the logical fundamental principles, the ›moral certainty‹ of the proofs, which are based on considerations of probability, is in no way inferior to the ›demonstrative certainty‹ of the cosmological proofs.91 However, the physicoteleological argumentation underlying the infinitely probable evidence has a special status. This is because, on the one hand, its conclusion is as compellingly derived from its premises as the demonstratively gained cosmological conclusions are derived from their own premises, as in the case of the assumption contrary to their conclusion, namely that »infinitely many probabilities would have to deceive at once«.92 On this point, this kind of proof is superior to mere common-probable evidence. On the other hand, such proofs have an advantage over the cosmological demonstrations insofar as their persuasiveness does not depend on the validity of each individual step of the proof, so even a few convincing indications of the presence of ›regularity in the world‹ are sufficient to prove the existence of God.93 Such demonstrations are thus also understandable for »the simplest, who do not even understand the difficult metaphysical words«.94 Crusius’ doctrine of the proofs of God’s existence can therefore be characterized as theistic in the strict sense, as not purely a priori and moreover as voluntaristic insofar as in all kinds of proofs the will of God functions as the first real cause of the world and its ›order‹ as well as of the creatures present in it.95 In order to clarify the theoretical justificatory role of this doctrine of the proofs of God’s existence for Crusius’ entire system of philosophy, another look at the first ›Preface‹ to the Entwurf would be helpful. As noted above, Crusius applies the analytical method in the presentation of ontology and the first two sections of his dis-

|| 91 On the various types of certainty, see Crusius: Weg (see note 1), §§ 421–423, pp. 752–755. On the equivalence of demonstrative and moral certainty, see also Wundt: Kant als Metaphysiker (see note 1), p. 56, and Heimsoeth: Metaphysik und Kritik (see note 14), pp. 39f. 92 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 207, p. 364 (»ganz unendlich viele Wahrscheinlichkeiten auf einmal betrügen müssten«). 93 Ibid., § 207, pp. 364–367; § 224, p. 404. Some of the cosmological proofs seem to presuppose the regularity of the world, too. Except in the proof for a first cause of ›simple substances‹ and the proof for contingency (see ibid., § 209, pp. 370–372 and § 217, pp. 384f.), the »proper and regular connection of the objects« (»ordentliche und regelmäßige Verknüpfung der Dinge«, ibid., § 221, p. 393) is an essential premise for proving the existence of God as the rational cause of the world. See also ibid., § 220, p. 393. 94 Ibid., § 224, p. 403. 95 For Crusius’ voluntarism, see Wundt: Kant als Metaphysiker (see note 1), pp. 62–69. Crusius accordingly points out that »the reality of God cannot possibly be recognized otherwise than from his works« (»die Wirklichkeit Gottes ohnmöglich anders, als aus seinen Werken erkennen lasse«). Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1) § 235, p. 436.

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cussion of theoretical natural theology. He presents this information, however, by stressing that in the ontology and in the second section on natural theology, which develops the characteristics of God, »analysis has been applied which adds more distant internal determinants to the basic concepts, whereas in the first chapter on natural theology the analysis which searches for the proofs of the basic concept has been used«.96 The ontology and the second part of the theoretical natural theology therefore present the basic concepts and their a priori determination as completely as possible by means of a thorough conceptual analysis.97 However, the first section of theoretical natural theology first and foremost demonstrates the objective referent of the »yet indefinite concept of an infinite substance«.98 This makes it a necessary prerequisite for the second section of theoretical natural theology. This is because the various more specific signs of the concept of God presuppose that the concept of an infinite or perfect substance is (objectively) more real – otherwise they would have a merely »hypothetical reality«.99 And since the second section in particular, with its precise definitions of the theistic concept of God, has a propaedeutic and critical function for cosmological and pneumatological knowledge, its validity also indirectly depends on the success of the proofs of God’s existence. The same also applies to moral philosophy in the narrower sense because, as was already noted, the conclusion of the proofs of God’s existence also serves as premise for the proof of the ›reality of divine laws‹. However, this does not yet completely explain the justificatory relevance of the proofs of God’s existence. For Crusius, the proof of God’s existence is not only a necessary prerequisite for the validity of the knowledge of special metaphysics and moral philosophy. Rather, it also has theoretical relevance for the supreme discipline of metaphysics: ontology. This relevance can be demonstrated clearly in light of Crusius’ conception of ›simple concepts‹. Simple concepts make up the basic specifications of every complete thing and are therefore crucial for ontological knowledge.100 According to Crusius, they can be found by means of ›merely dissect-

|| 96 Ibid., Preface, p. VIII (»diejenige Analysis angewandt worden [ist], welche zu den Grundbegriffen, die ferneren innerlichen Determinationen hinzusetzet, hingegen in dem ersten Capitel der natürlichen Theologie diejenige Analysis gebraucht worden [ist], welche die Beweise des Grundbegriffes aufsuchet«). 97 For Crusius’ discussion of conceptual analysis and his distinction between ›merely dissecting‹ and ›determinative analysis‹, see especially Crusius: Weg (see note 1), §§ 574f., pp. 999–1002. 98 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), Preface, p. IX (»noch unbestimmten Begriff einer unendlichen Substanz«). See also Crusius’ distinction between ›dissecting‹ and ›proving analysis‹ in Crusius: Weg (see note 1), § 573, pp. 998f. 99 Ibid., § 519, p. 927 (»eine hypothetische Realität«). 100 See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), §§ 7f., pp. 10–15; Crusius: Weg (see note 1), §§ 172f., pp. 325– 328. Crusius mentiones ›subsistence‹, ›situation‹, ›succession‹, ›causality‹, ›difference‹, ›unity‹, ›negation‹, and ›inclusion‹. See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 102, pp. 175f.

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ing analysis‹ – but they are cognized ›through intuition‹.101 According to the determinations given by Crusius in his logic, intuitive cognition is an impression where »one imagines a thing through what it is in itself«.102 It is therefore not like symbolic cognition by means of other concepts qua signs; it is referred directly to its object. This direct reference to the object is secured in the respective cases by the presence of a »completely genuine and clear inner feeling«.103 Crusius justifies the fact that this ›sensation‹, which secures reference to the object of cognition, cannot be deceptive with reference to God – which should not be surprising at this point. As Crusius puts it, for example, in his explanation of the concept of a ›finite spirit‹ in pneumatology: »God must have established the possibility of thinking, separating or connecting ideas, that is, that the characteristics of truth lie therein, in such a way that the mind, whether and how it follows the essence of its understanding, recognizes truth«.104 In Crusius’ work, however, this guarantee of a fundamental objective reference of finite subjects’ cognition,105 which is guaranteed by the existence of God, does not concern only empirical knowledge. For inasmuch as the proof of the object reference of ontologically basic concepts also relies on existing intuitive knowledge, whose relation to the object is dependent on certainty of its object and, in turn, on the assumption that God guarantees this primitive subject-object correlation, the general teachings of ontology must also be regarded as merely ›hypothetically real‹ until the existence of God is proven. Since this proof is the topic of the first section of Crusius’ presentation of theoretical natural theology, it is not only the task of the latter to prove the reality of the basic concepts of religion and morality,106 but also to prove the reality of the ultimate cause of validity and certainty of all possible knowledge.107 To put it succinctly:

|| 101 See, especially Crusius: Weg (see note 1), § 187, p. 353. On the impossibility of defining simple concepts, see Ernst Cassirer: Das Erkenntnisproblem in der Philosophie und Wissenschaft der neueren Zeit. Vol. 2. Berlin 31922, pp. 530–534. 102 Crusius: Weg (see note 1), § 184, p. 348 (»man sich ein Ding durch dasjenige vorstellet, was es an sich selbst ist«). On Crusius’ conception of intuitive cognition, see Heimsoeth: Metaphysik und Kritik (see note 14), p. 18. 103 Crusius: Weg (see note 1), § 185, p. 350 (»völlig aufrichtigen und deutlichen innerlichen Empfindung«). 104 Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 442, p. 904 (»Gott muß die Möglichkeit, Ideen zu denken, zu trennen oder zu verbinden, also eingerichtet haben, daß darinnen die Kennzeichen der Wahrheit liegen, dergestalt daß der Geist, wenn und wiefern er dem Wesen seines Verstandes folget, Wahrheit erkennet«). See also Crusius: Weg (see note 1), § 185, p. 351. 105 On Crusius’ discussion of God’s cognition, see ibid., § 184, p. 349 and Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), § 269, pp. 490–498. 106 See ibid., § 236, p. 443. 107 On Crusius’ view of God as the ultimate ground of consciousness, see Crusius: Weg (see note 1), §§ 431f., pp. 766–769.

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Without a convincing proof of God’s existence, not only the benefit of philosophy, but philosophy itself becomes obsolete.

5 Philosophy und Theology The careful survey of some doctrines of Crusius’ philosophy, which has been undertaken so far, provides a strong justification for the initial claim that there is something particularly interesting about the systematic place of natural theology in Crusius’ work. The fact that the phrase ›systematic place‹ has become more precise at this point offers an opportunity to briefly summarize the different roles of natural theology indicated so far: Firstly, within the system of metaphysics, natural theology fulfils a propaedeutic, substantiating and critical role by providing cosmology and pneumatology with the central concepts that are necessary for the proofs of many of their doctrines and criteria for their demarcation from the corresponding empirical sciences. Secondly, within the whole system of philosophy, natural theology fulfils a justifying role in relation to practical philosophy qua ›doctrine of natural duties‹ by proving the reality of the validity of moral laws. And thirdly, with the doctrine of the proofs of God’s existence, natural theology fulfils an epistemic role in the strict sense, in that according to Crusius the existence of God is not only a necessary condition for the validity of cosmological, pneumatological, or moral philosophical knowledge, but for any form of knowledge – including ontological knowledge. Natural theology is in this regard not only accorded a special place in Crusius’ system of metaphysics; it also has a special place within the entire system of his philosophy. However, this particular systematic place is not just that of a justification of practical philosophy through theoretical philosophy – and thus a primacy of theoretical over practical reason. Rather, Crusius’ determination of God’s existence as a necessary condition for the possibility of valid knowledge indicates a peculiarity that may be astonishing in view of his ›antirationalism‹,108 which is often emphasized in the research. For this is precisely the position that distinguishes above all the rationalist theoretical projects from Descartes to early Kant.109 However, this astonishment – which may seem compelling at first glance – disappears quickly when we understand Crusius’ affinity for theology110 or more precisely for revealed

|| 108 See, for example, Wundt: Kant als Metaphysiker (see note 1); Heimsoeth: Metaphysik und Kritik (see note 14), and Krieger: Geist, Welt und Gott (see note 27). 109 See Reinhard Hiltscher: Der ontologische Gottesbeweis als kryptognoseologischer Traktat. Acht Vorlesungen mit Anhang zu einem systematischen Problem der Philosophie. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 2006. 110 See Crusius: Entwurf (see note 1), Preface, p. XIII, where Crusius himself points to this affinity.

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theology. This ultimately addresses the first point mentioned at the beginning, namely that natural theology seems to have a mediating place between theology and philosophy. Crusius himself never becomes tired of emphasizing the congruence of the truths of so-called Holy Scripture with the truths of philosophical knowledge. But this would be of little help for a final assessment of the systematic place of natural theology in Crusius’ work. Rather, we should instead take a brief look at his claims concerning the concrete subject who struggles with both the recognition of the authority of the so-called Holy Scriptures and the coherence of the proofs of God’s existence. The ›moral theology‹ mentioned previously from the Anweisung vernünftig zu leben is worth consulting in this regard because Crusius characterizes knowledge of the existence, properties, and effects of God not only as »the most noble«111 and as knowledge that »must be valued higher than all others«112 there. He also tries to show how a sceptical subject can arrive at a complete conviction of the rationality and command of religious faith. First of all, the skeptical subject must concede the assumption of possible ›truth and certainty‹ for the sake of prudence – without it, »the objects of all our desires, and thus our entire bliss, [would fall] away«.113 By recognizing this merely pragmatic consideration, the sceptical subject has already taken the step of establishing a rational discourse so it can leave the limitations of its own private subjective standpoint behind. Second, the skeptical subject has to be confronted with the explication of those conditions that are necessary for every kind of valid knowledge and reasonable action so the formerly skeptical subject »will find sufficient proof through the conclusions based on the essence of reason from the effectiveness of God and a natural law and give the same applause«.114 Having been convinced in this way, the skeptical subject is then finally able to recognize the ›legally binding nature‹ of and thus its own commitment to a ›reasonable faith‹ and to become aware of its former »crime against God«.115 Prepared through pragmatic deliberations, the subject, who is skeptical in religious matters, can be convinced of the reality of God by means of cosmological, physico- and ethicoteleological arguments and subsequently convinced of the binding nature of moral rules. In light of such an argument, Crusius need not be regarded as a clumsy defender of supernatu-

|| 111 Crusius: Anweisung (see note 1), § 321, p. 391 (»die alleredelste«). 112 Ibid., § 324, p. 393 (»höher als alle anderen schätzen muß«). 113 Ibid., § 347, p. 423 (»[fielen] auch die Objecte aller unserer Begierden, mithin unsere gantze Glückseligkeit hinweg«). 114 Ibid., § 347, p. 425 (»durch die auf das Wesen der Vernunft gebaute Schlüsse von der Wircklichkeit Gottes und eines natürlichen Gesetzes genugsamen Beweis finden und demselben Beyfall geben«). 115 Ibid., § 346, p. 421 (»Verbrechen wieder Gott«).

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ral revelation established in the so-called Holy Scriptures116 because, according to him, his doctrine of the ›duty of reasonable faith‹ directed at the concrete subject is actually a prerequisite for revealed theology.117 Since it belongs to natural theology as a philosophical discipline, and thus also fulfils the role of a foundation of religious faith, this ultimately confirms the presumption of a mediating role between reason and revelation mentioned above. When we finally consider what can be retained of the systematic place of natural theology in Crusius, we need only consider the doctrine of the proofs of God’s existence and its extraordinary position. For despite all the stringency and complexity that distinguishes Crusius’ natural theology as a whole, his doctrine of the proofs of God’s existence is the weakest link in light of the foundational role Crusius ascribes to it. On the one hand, Crusius rejects a purely a priori proof of God’s existence and instead prefers a probabilistic approach, but on the other hand, the validity of finite knowledge makes it rigorously dependent on the existence of God, so his philosophical theory appears unconvincing. He does indeed offer an impressive array of numerous arguments and justifications which, taken together, correspond to his own methodological assessment that an unmanageable number of references to the reality of a thing (or its ground) already produce a ›moral‹ certainty that is equivalent to ›demonstrative‹ certainty. He also consistently takes into account the Enlightenment’s insight into the limits of finite reason. However, from the starting point of the justificational theory outlined here, it is neither theoretically nor practically possible to develop an even approximately satisfactory concept of finite reason that does justice to its speculative interest.118

|| 116 This objection would be much more applicable to the far less consistent, ›half-hearted‹ natural theology of Feder. See Stefan Klingner: Zum Verhältnis von Vernunft und Offenbarung bei Feder. In: Hans-Peter Nowitzki, Udo Roth, Gideon Stiening (eds.): Johann Georg Heinrich Feder (1740–1821). Empirismus und Popularphilosophie zwischen Wolff und Kant. Berlin, Boston 2018, pp. 235–252. 117 See Anweisung (see note 1), Preface, pp. XIVf., § 334, pp. 404f. 118 I am grateful to Andree Hahmann and Steven Tester for the preparation and improvement of the English translation of this essay.

Hans-Peter Nowitzki

»… man müste denn schon ein so apocalyptisches Auge haben, wie Bengel«1 Christian August Crusius’ ›finstre Philosophie‹

1 Heutzutage gilt Christian August Crusius – ob zu Recht oder zu Unrecht, wird im Folgenden zu klären sein – als einer der herausragenden Vertreter der deutschen Aufklärung.2 Den Zeitgenossen hingegen war er ein prominenter Verfechter der Antiaufklärung, einer der ›Finsterlinge‹, die, wie Wieland schreibt, sich »gegen Aufklärung und Aufklärer […] erheben«.3 Wenn Giorgio Tonelli von der Philosophie Crusius’ als einer »zweifellos reaktionär[en]« spricht, so könnte er dafür auch auf die zeitgenössische Diskussion Ende der 60er, Anfang der 70er Jahre des 18. Jahrhunderts verweisen.4 Denn in ihrem Verlauf wurde – prima vista den Intentionen Crusius’ zuwiderlaufend – dessen mit der biblisch-prophetischen Theologie verschränkte Philosophie, die er in vielen einschlägigen Abhandlungen und in seinem theologischen Hauptwerk, den Hypomnemata ad Theologiam Propheticam in drei Teilen (1764/71/78) präsentierte, wiederholt als ›finster‹ charakterisiert.5 Die Hypomnemata brachten ihm den Vorwurf ein, den Nährboden für eine Art von Prophetie und Wunderheilung bereitet zu haben, die seit Anfang der siebziger Jahre vor allem in Süddeutschland grassierte: »Man weiß«, schreibt der deistisch eingestellte

|| 1 Johann Salomo Semler in [J. S. S. und Balthasar Bekker d. J.]: Anmerkungen über Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken. In: Samlungen von Briefen und Aufsätzen über die Gaßnerischen und Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen. Nebst vielen Anmerkungen herausgegeben von Johann Salomo Semler, verlegt von Carl Hermann Hemmerde. Zweites Stück. Halle im Magdeburgischen 1776, S. 15–67, hier S. 61. 2 Vgl. Sonia Carboncini: Christian August Crusius und die Leibniz-Wolffsche Philosophie. In: Albert Heinekamp (Hg.): Beiträge zur Wirkungs- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. Wiesbaden 1986, S. 110–125, hier S. 125. 3 Christoph Martin Wieland: Gedanken von der Freyheit über Gegenstände des Glaubens zu philosophiren. In: Der Teutsche Merkur 16 (1788), 1, S. 77–93, hier S. 82. 4 Giorgio Tonelli: Vorrede. In: Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben [...]. Hildesheim 1969 (Die philosophischen Hauptwerke 1), S. XLV. 5 Johann Karl Wezel an Gottfried Konrad Böttger (Leipzig, den 29. Juni 1765). Vgl. August von Blumröder: Johann Karl Wezel. Fragmente über sein Leben und seinen Wahnsinn. In: Friedrich Christian August Hasse (Hg.): Zeitgenossen. Ein biographisches Magazin für die Geschichte unserer Zeit. Dritte Reihe. Vierter Band. 28. Stück. Leipzig 1833, S. 141–172, hier S. 145. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-017

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Friedrich Nicolai, »daß dieser Gelehrte alle gegenwärtige physische und moralische Begebenheiten mit bewundernswürdiger Leichtigkeit durch die Mitwürkung des Teufels erklärt, und von allen künftigen Begebenheiten durch Vorbilder und Prophezeihungen die genauesten Nachrichten hat«. Angesichts dessen könne es auch nicht überraschen, fährt Nicolai fort, wenn er den Leipziger Konkurrenten Johann Schröpfer (1739?–1774) in seinen Bedenken eines berühmten Gelehrten über des famosen Schröpfers Geister-Citiren mit Verweis auf Offb 16,13 und 19,20 einen »falschen Propheten« nenne. Crusius, der der Föderal- bzw. Bundestheologie Johannes Coccejus’ (1603–1696) und dem späteren Pietismus Johann Albrecht Bengels (1687–1752)6 nahesteht, ist überzeugt, dass nicht nur die wahre Philosophie aus der christlichen Religion großen Nutzen schöpfen könne, da in der »heiligen Schrift die Wahrheiten der theoretischen natürlichen Theologie und der practischen Philosophie [...] enthalten« sind, sondern möchte zugleich auch den Nachweis erbringen, dass die Theologia Prophetica die durch Offenbarung beglaubigte vera religio Christiana sei und den Menschen am sichersten zur Tugend verhelfe. Dieser teilhaftig zu werden, müsse sich der Leser der Heiligen Schrift ›empfindend‹ versichern. Allererst einer solchen einfühlenden, allzu buchstäbliche Deutungen abweisenden Exegese würden die in der Bibel stufenweise sich offenbarenden göttlichen Wahrheiten zugänglich. Damit stellt er sich programmatisch rationalistischen Zugangsweisen neologischer und philologischer Theologie, aber auch bestimmten pietistischen Auffassungen wie extremer Subjektivität und der Apokatastasis entgegen. Sein typologisch-eschatologisches Bibelverständnis mündet ein in die Apokalyptik als dem Endkampf zwischen Christus und Satan. Die Zeitgenossen nahmen all das als grundsätzliche Abkehr von der philosophischen und theologischen Aufklärung wahr.7 Im Folgenden sollen die geistesgeschichtlichen Grundlagen und die sich an

|| 6 Vgl. Gerhard Maier: Die Johannesoffenbarung und die Kirche. Tübingen 1981, S. 323–332 (Coccejus), S. 402f. und S. 416 (Bengel) sowie Anselm Schubert: Das Ende der Sünde. Anthropologie und Erbsünde zwischen Reformation und Aufklärung. Göttingen 2002, S. 127–135 (Coccejus). 7 Diesen Umstand verkennt Carboncini, wenn sie, um der »philosophische[n] Identität von Crusius« habhaft zu werden‚ ihn als eine »der Hauptfiguren der deutschen Hochaufklärung«, die sich einer Eklektik verschrieben hätte, die vier Momente kennzeichnete: »1. die Befreiung vom praejudicium auctoritatis; 2. das Auswählen; 3. das Selbstdenken; 4. die Widerlegung der sektiererischen Philosophie, d. h. die Gegenüberstellung der eigenen Philosophie zur sektiererischen.« Letzteres habe Crusius besonders am Herz gelegen, »der eine große Abneigung gegen den Fanatismus (zumindest im philosophischen Bereich) empfand und deswegen von den Exzessen der WolffGegner vermutlich nicht begeistert war« (Sonia Carboncini: Die thomasisch-pietistische Tradition und ihre Fortsetzung durch Christian August Crusius. In: Werner Schneiders [Hg.]: Christian Thomasius 1655–1728. Interpretationen zu Werk und Wirkung. Mit einer Bibliographie der neueren Thomasius-Literatur. Hamburg 1989, S. 287–304). Wenn man das Neue der Aufklärungsphilosophie darin sieht, dass sie sich programmatisch abwendet von der philosophia christiana, von den dogmatischen Vorgaben der Theologie und der Heiligen Schrift, um mithilfe der Vernunft den Versuch zu wagen, sich innerweltlich aus dem Stande der geistigen und moralischen ›Verderbtheit‹ selbstbe-

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den apokalyptischen Anschauungen entzündenden Diskussionen in den Blick genommen werden. Hierfür werden die Betrügereien des Leipziger Hochstaplers Baron von Steinbach alias Schröpfer bzw. Schrepfer ebenso zu berücksichtigen sein wie die Wunderkuren und Teufelsaustreibungen des Schweizer Pfarrers, Exorzisten und Wunderheilers Johann Joseph Gaßner (1727–1779) sowie die Stellungnahmen Johann August Ernestis (1707–1781), Johann Salomo Semlers (1725–1791) und Friedrich Nicolais (1733–1811).

2 Im 26. Band der Allgemeinen deutschen Bibliothek Friedrich Nicolais von 1775 erschien eine Sammelrezension des Herausgebers zu »D. Christian August Crusius, Bedenken über die Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen. Mit antiapokalyptischen Augen betrachtet, von D. Balthasar Becker, den jüngern. Berlin, (eigentlich Gotha) 1775. 36 S. in gr. 8.« sowie zu der »Nachricht von den berüchtigten Johann Schröpfer in Sachsen, und seinen Geisterbeschwörungen, 1775. 1 Bogen. 4.«8 Darin unterrichtet Nicolai die Leser von dem aus Nürnberg gebürtigen »Windbeutel« Johann Georg Schröpfer, der im Siebenjährigen Krieg preußischer, anderer Quelle zufolge kaiserlicher Husar gewesen war, sich danach in Leipzig zunächst als Weinschenk betätigte, später die beliebte »Weißledersche Coffeé-Schanck« im Barfußgäßchen betrieb,9 durch deren Kauf er sich hoch verschuldete.10 Schröpfer stiftete die sogenannte »Loge der ächten Maurerey«, einen freimaurerähnlichen Orden, in

|| freiend emporzuarbeiten, dann wird man sich nicht auf Crusius als eines aufklärerischen Gewährsmannes berufen können, war er doch vielmehr ein dezidierter Gegenaufklärer. Vgl. Karl S. Guthke (Hg.): Hans Matthias Wolff. Die Weltanschauung der deutschen Aufklärung in geschichtlicher Entwicklung. Bern, München 21963, S. 155 und 158, und (zum Aufklärungsbegriff) Werner Schneiders: Deus est philosophus absolute summus. Über Christian Wolffs Philosophie und Philosophiebegriff. In: Schneiders (Hg.): Christian Wolff 1679–1754. Interpretationen zu seiner Philosophie und deren Wirkung. Mit einer Bibliographie der Wolff-Literatur. Hamburg 1983, S. 9–30, hier S. 10f. 8 Cm. [Friedrich Nicolai]: Sammelrezension zu: D. Christian August Crusius, Bedenken über die Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen. Mit antiapokalyptischen Augen betrachtet, von D. Balthasar Becker, den jüngern. Berlin, (eigentlich Gotha) 1775. 36 S. in gr. 8. [und] Nachricht von den berüchtigten Johann Schröpfer in Sachsen, und seinen Geisterbeschwörungen, 1775. 1 Bogen. 4. In: Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek 26 (1775), S. 272–277. 9 Die städtische Konzession für »Billard-Spiel« sowie »Thee- und Coffee-Schanck« wurde ihm am 20. März 1769 erteilt (Otto Werner Förster: Tod eines »Geistersehers«. Johann Georg Schrepfer. Eine vertuschte sächsische Staatsaffäre. 1774. Leipzig 2011, S. 11). 10 Zu Johann Georg Schrepfer (1738–1774) vgl. Förster: Tod eines »Geistersehers« (s. Anm. 9) und Joachim Kalka: »Wir haben Mehreres erwartet als geschehen ist«. Die Geschichte vom Geisterbeschwörer und Kaffeewirt Schrepfer. In: Lichtenberg-Jahrbuch 19 (2006), S. 101–124.

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den er zunächst nur Freimaurer aufnahm und ihnen den Grad ›Schotte des Wissens und der Macht‹ verlieh. Schrepfer hatte einen guten Theil der Brüder durch abergläubische Ceremonien, apokalyptische Reden, die er selbst nicht verstand, und durch das Gewicht, das er sich zu geben wußte, ganz in seiner Gewalt. Diesen predigte er vor, daß man seinen Geist ganz von dem Sinnlichen abziehen und sich dadurch den Weg öffnen sollte, mit Gott und der Natur in nähere Bekanntschaft zu kommen, dadurch würde man tiefere Einsichten in die Rathschlüsse und Absichten Gottes erlangen und zur Gemeinschaft mit den Geistern kommen können, dadurch würde man nicht nur die zu den Bedürfnissen des Lebens nothwendigen Mittel ohne Mühe erlangen, sondern auch seinen Körper bis ans Ende des Lebens vor allen Krankheiten verwahren können.11

In einem Nebenraum seines Kaffeehauses veranstaltete er darüber hinaus magische Sitzungen: In sog. pneumatischen Séancen zitierte er Geister, in sog. elementarischen beschwor er Tote.12 Tatkräftig unterstützt wurde er dabei von dem Apotheker Johann Heinrich Linck d. J. (1734–1807), Besitzer der Leipziger Löwenapotheke und || 11 Vgl. die Charakterschilderung Johann George Schrepfers, in: Joh[ann]. Sam[uel]. Bened[ict]. Schlegel: Joh. Sam. Bened. Schlegels, ehemaligen Logen-Meister der Loge zur Linde in Leipzig, Tagebuch seines mit J[ohann]. G[eorg]. Schrepfer gepflogenen Umgangs, nebst Beylagen, vielen Briefen und einer Characterschilderung Schrepfers, zu deutlicher Übersicht seiner Gaukeleyen und natürlichen Magie. Berlin, Leipzig 5806 [anno lucis nach freimaurerischer Zählung, i. e. 1806], S. 192–213, hier S. 194–198. 12 Bei den ›pneumatischen Arbeiten‹ erschienen die zitierten Geister, bei den elementarischen bewirkte er »auf seine Formel« Veränderungen derart, dass teilnehmende Personen in »wunderschönem«, jede in einem anderen wohltuenden Licht standen, dass »ein beschworner Stern am Himmel sogleich ungewöhnliche und dicke Strahlen warf« oder dass sich im Wald »Wetter, grosse Knalle etc.« vernehmen ließen. Die magischen Arbeiten kannten zwei Phasen, eine präparatorische und die eigentliche. Die vorbereitende begann er »mit sehr frommen Scheine«, wie es heißt: Er zog die Schuhe aus, fiel auf die Knie, legte zwei Finger auf das aufgeschlagene Matthäus-Evangelium, »sprach den Fluch über allen Misbrauch des göttlichen Namens aus, mit öfterer Anrufung der heil. Dreyeinigkeit, und des Namens Jesu Christi.« Darauf begründete er seine Handlungen damit, dass den Gläubigen im Namen Jesu Christi »Macht über die Geister gegeben sey«. Dem folgte die Anrufung Gottes, seine Zitationen dergestalt zu unterstützen, indem er nur die guten, nicht aber die bösen, verdammten Geister schicken möge. Nunmehr geriet er in Ekstase: er »eräscherte« sich, wie es heißt, d. h. er bewegte sich heftig, damit signalisierend, dass ein »fremder Geist« Besitz von ihm ergreife. Auch räucherte er und nötigte die nun doch erscheinenden bösen Geister durch Hoch- und Entgegenhalten des Kruzifixes vor ihm niederzufallen. (Christian August Crusius: Bedenken eines berühmten Gelehrten über des famosen Schröpfers Geister-Citiren. s.l. 1775, S. 8f. ›Eräschern‹ [obersächs.], ›eschpern‹ bzw. ›abeschpern‹ [in Leipzig] für ›außer Atem kommen und sich erhitzen‹.) Er ließ einen guten, einen mittleren und einen verdammten weiblichen Geist erscheinen, in schönstem Weiß den einen, den mittleren in mattweiß und den hässlichen in verworfenem braun. Besonderen Eindruck hat eine Zitation in Dresden gemacht, die einem verworfenen Geist galt, der gut hörbar mit »bekannte[r]« Stimme »um Erbarmen flehte, daß man ihn nicht so quälen möchte« (ebd., S. 10). Vgl. Schlegel: Tagebuch (s. Anm. 11), S. 204–206. Zitiert wurden u. a. die enthaupteten Grafen Johann Friedrich von Struensee und Enevold von Brandt, ihre Köpfe unter dem Arm haltend (ebd., S. 202f.).

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eines vom Vater ererbten umfangreichen Naturalien- und Kuriositätenkabinetts.13 Durch die Geisterzitationen wurde Schröpfer zu einer ernsthaften Konkurrenz für die Leipziger freimaurerische Tempelherren-Loge ›Minerva zu den drey Palmen‹. Einige ihrer Freimaurer kehrten der Mutterloge den Rücken, um Schröpfers Loge beizutreten und dessen alchemo-magischen Zeremonien beiwohnen zu können. Die Lage spitzte sich zu, als Schröpfer im Juli und September 177314 in Leipzig Handzettel mit der Nachricht verteilen ließ, die ›Minerva‹-Freimaurer seien unwissend in der ›Königlichen Kunst‹, und ankündigend, künftig Näheres über deren Rituale veröffentlichen zu wollen, was er kurz darauf auch tat: Er beschrieb die Initiationsriten und die Höhe der für die einzelnen ›Grade‹ fällig werdenden Geldbeträge.15 Sein umtriebiges Logenwesen verunsicherte die Leipziger Freimaurer derart, dass sie schließlich in Dresden bei ihrem Großmeister, Superior et Protector Ordinis in Saxonia, Herzog Karl von Kurland, Sohn des vormaligen sächsischen Kurfürsten Friedrich August II., um Hilfe nachsuchten. Dieser ließ Schröpfer kurzerhand am 17. September 1773 im Linckischen Gartenhaus verhaften, beim Verhör dem Vernehmen nach 100 Stockschläge verabreichen, deren ›Erhalt‹ der ›Delinquent‹ anschließend schriftlich zu quittieren hatte: »Ich Endesunterschriebener bekenne hierdurch, und kraft dieses, daß ich die von Sr. K. H. des Hr. P. C[arl]. v[on]. C[urland]. mir decretirten ein Hundert Prügel dato richtig erhalten habe. Leipzig, d. 18ten September 1773. Joh. George Schrepfer.«16 Die ›Quittung‹ – eine Fälschung – erschien im Wandsbecker Bothen, in der Frankfurter Zeitung und anderen Journalen. Die Selbstjustiz erregte Aufsehen und ließ zwei ehemalige Anhänger Schröpfers, den Kaufmann Kuhn und den Großhändler Leyser, den Magnus Superior Ordinis Herzog Ferdinand von Braunschweig anrufen. Dieser lud Schröpfer nach Braunschweig ein

|| 13 Index Musaei Linckiani, oder kurzes systematisches Verzeichniß der vornehmsten Stücke der Linckischen Naturaliensammlung zu Leipzig. 3 Bde. Leipzig 1783–1787. Die Sammlung ist heute Bestandteil des Museums Naturalienkabinett in Waldenburg, zwischen Altenburg und Chemnitz, in der Zwickauer Mulde gelegen. 14 In Leipzig beschäftigten sich die Theologen damals, im Wintersemester 1773/74, mit dogmatischen Themen wie »Alter der Erde, [...] geologischen Entdeckungen, in Vergleichung mit den mosaischen Nachrichten, Erbsünde, Gnade, Pietismus, symbolische Bücher, besonders Diabologie, u. a.« (Leben D. Johann Lorenz Blessig’s des Ober-Consistoriums und Directoriums Augsb. Conf. Mitglieds, Professors der Theologie an dem protestant. Seminar, kirchlichen Inspectors, Predigers an der Neuen Kirche zu Straßburg, beschrieben von Carl Maximilian Fritz, Professor der Theologie am protest. Seminar, kirchlichem Inspector, Director des Gymnasiums, und Prediger an der Neuen Kirche. Erster Theil. Mit dem Porträt des Verstorbenen. Straßburg, gedruckt und zu finden bei Joh. Heinrich Heitz, Schlauchgasse N. 3. Leipzig, bey Johann Friedrich Gleditsch. [1816], S. 38). 15 Vgl. Schlegel: Tagebuch (s. Anm. 11), S. 28f., S. 37–39, S. 93f., S. 116–120. 16 Ebd., S. 43f., S. 123f. Schrepfers Gegendarstellung (Avertissement) vom 29. Oktober 1773 ebd., S. 124–126. Vgl. Der Deutsche, sonst Wandsbecker Bothe (1773), S. 167, 2a, Sp. b. Vgl. Fortsetzung Des Stumm-gewesenen Advocaten auf die 1. Woche des Wintermon. 1773, S. 350f., Montägige Münchner Zeitung. Num. CLXXXI. Den 1. Nov. im Jahre 1773, 4b.

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(Ende Januar, Anfang Februar 1774) und vermittelte: Schröpfer sicherte Vertraulichkeit zu. Im Gegenzug wurde er dafür zusammen mit seinen Anhängern in die Leipziger Freimaurerloge aufgenommen.17 Nach Leipzig zurückgekehrt, nahm er unter großem Zulauf seine Séancen wieder auf. Der Herzog von Kurland, auch seinerseits bestrebt, die Wogen zu glätten, lud Schröpfer nach Dresden ein, wo er im Kurländer Palais vor der sächsischen Adelsgesellschaft Geister zitierte.18 Das ihm entgegengebrachte Vertrauen verstand er weidlich auszumünzen: Er gab vor, auf Schweizer Banken Vermögen deponiert zu haben, die sich gegen Schuldscheine gewinnbringend beleihen ließen. Ein andermal versicherte er, ein natürlicher Sohn des Prinzen von Conti zu sein, der ihm unter dem Namen Stein von Steinbach ein französisches Obristenpatent verschafft und es zusammen mit einem in fünf Kisten in Frankfurt am Main verstauten Millionenschatz deponiert habe; auch in Mainz und andernorts seien Gelder für ihn hinterlegt. In Gold- und Rosenkreuzermanier belieferte er zudem höchste Kreise mit Wunderarzneien, darunter den Staatsminister Friedrich Ludwig von Wurmb und den Kammerherrn und Steuerrat Carl Wilhelm Benno von Heynitz, beide enthusiastische Freimaurer. Der Schröpfer’sche ›Freimaurer‹-Orden empfahl sich als der »ungezweifelte Weg, die Menschliche Natur vollkommener zu machen«. Dafür müsse man »fasten, beten, seine Sünden bereuen und Buße thun«. Nur dadurch, dass man die »Seele von der Sinnlichkeit« mittels Buße und Reue abziehe, käme man in nähere Gemeinschaft mit den Geistern. Er gab vor, in »ganz ausnehmende Geheimnisse« einzuweihen, neben »Gottseligkeit, Geheimnisse[n] und Wunderbare[m]« versprach er auch Reichtümer, stünden ihm doch die Geister zu Diensten, die ihn »zu den geheimen in der Erde verborgenen Schätzen« führten. Vor allem aber den Glauben an die Unsterblichkeit der Leibseele sah das Publikum in den Geisterzitationen sichtbar bestätigt.19 Seine mit freimaurerischem Kultus zelebrierten Séancen waren gepaart mit christlichen »Religionsgebräuche[n]« wie »Lesen der Messe, Gebrauch des h. Abendmals, durch stundenlanges Beten, auf dem Erdboden liegend«. Die Teilnehmer der Geisterzitation wurden darauf ›vorbereitet‹, indem sie drei Tage fasteten, unmittelbar vor der Sitzung einen von Schröpfer verfertigten Punsch und ›italienischen Salat‹ bekamen. Die Séancen selbst fanden im Dunkeln statt, ihre

|| 17 Schrepfer wurde am 15. April 1774 feierlich aufgenommen (Schlegel: Tagebuch [Anm. 11], S. 59). 18 Vgl. René Le Forestier: Die templerische und okkultistische Freimaurerei im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert. Erstes Buch: Die strikte Observanz, Leimen 1987, S. 292–295, sowie Förster: Tod eines »Geistersehers« (s. Anm. 9), S. 52. 19 Anonymus [Friedrich Gotthilf Freitag]: D. Christian August Crusius der Theologie ersten Professors zu Leipzig, Canonicus des Domstifts Zeitz und Meissen etc. Bedenken über die Schrö[p]ferischen Geisterbeschwörungen mit antiapokalyptischen Augen betrachtet von D. Balthasar Bekker, dem jüngern. VARRO. Nemo aegrotus quidquam somniat tam infandum, quo[d] non aliquis dicat philosophus. Berlin. 1775, S. 31, Anm. f.

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Teilnehmer waren handverlesen, deren Standpunkt innerhalb des Raumes auf eine genau bezeichnete Ecke beschränkt: »In diesem Winkel sahen sie denn voller Schauer, was Schröpfer wollte, daß sie sehen sollten, die Geister, die durch die geöffnete Thür hineinhüpften, heulten, vor dem Crucifixe niederfielen, usw.«20 – Das Gespinst aus Lug und Trug wurde indes immer fragiler. Schröpfer lieh sich Geld von den einen, um es den anderen zurückzuzahlen. Am 8. Oktober 1774 schließlich erschoss sich Schröpfer vor Sonnenaufgang in Gegenwart von fünf Gesinnungsgenossen im Leipziger Rosenthal, unter ihnen Hans Rudolf von Bischoffwerder, damals noch Kammerherr des sächsischen Herzogs Karl von Kurland. Manche vermuteten, und wohl zu Recht,21 dass er liquidiert wurde. Die Kunde vom Tode Schröpfers verunsicherte viele, hatte er doch noch kurz vor seinem Tode Anhängern ein Wunder prophezeit. Auch hinterließ er Schriftstücke, worin er drohte, »daß die, die er riefe, ihm würden folgen müssen«, und versicherte, »daß um Weihnachten eine unbekannte Person alle seine Schulden bezahlen würde«.22 Anhänger Schröpfers raunten »mit geheimnißvoller Mine und abgebrochenen Worten [...], man werde schon sehen, was noch erfolgen würde«. In den höheren Kreisen begannen Irritation, Zweifel und Panik aufzukeimen. Manch besorgter und verunsicherter Adeliger wandte sich nun ratsuchend an Gelehrte. Eines dieser Gelehrtengutachten sind Crusius’ Bedenken eines berühmten Gelehrten über des famosen Schröpfers Geister-Citiren (1775), die, vielfach abgeschrieben, bald schon in der Öffentlichkeit kursierten. Den Bedenken23 schenkt Nicolai in seiner Anzeige kaum Beachtung und lässt es bei einigen wenigen einleitenden Bemerkungen bewenden, sei doch hinlänglich bekannt, dass der Autor es liebe, mißliebiges, rätselhaftes, wunderliches und fragwürdiges Physisches und Moralisches bedenkenlos als Werk des Teufels auszugeben und mit einem Vorhersehungsvermögen zu brillieren, das gern auf biblische Prophetien verweist.24 Es sei klar, dass »nach seinem einmahl angenommenen abentheuerlichen System« Schröpfer nur ein »falscher Prophet« (Offb 16,13 und 19,20) sein könne. Vor allem hat Nicolai hier Crusius’ exegetisches Hauptwerk, die Hypomnemata ad Theologiam || 20 Nicolai: Sammelrezension (s. Anm. 8), S. 272f., S. 274f. Doch die wöchentlich veranstalteten Geisterbeschwörungen überzeugten nicht allenthalben: So etwa veranstaltete der Leipziger Physikprofessor Christlieb Benedict Funk (1736–1786) ein Experiment, um die Öffentlichkeit über die »schröpferischen Teufelskünste« aufzuklären, was jedoch gründlich misslang. Vgl. Johann Karl Wezel an Gottfried Konrad Böttger (Leipzig, den 8. März 1776). Abdruck in Franz Schnorr von Carolsfeld: Johann Karl Wezel. In: Archiv für Literaturgeschichte 14 (1886), S. 172–184, hier S. 178–181 (Brief), S. 179 (Zitat). 21 Förster: Tod eines »Geistersehers« (wie Anm. 8), S. 58–60. 22 Nicolai: Sammelrezension (s. Anm. 8), S. 276. Vgl. Brief Schröpfers an den sächsischen Kammerrat Franz Du Bosc (Leipzig, den 8. Oktober 1774). In: Förster: Tod eines »Geistersehers« (s. Anm. 9), S. 72. 23 Datiert Leipzig, 5. Dezember 1774. 24 Nicolai: Sammelrezension (s. Anm. 8), S. 276f.

378 | Hans-Peter Nowitzki

Propheticam, im Blick (1764–1778), die diesem sehr schnell und sicher nicht zu Unrecht den Vorwurf einbrachten, den Nährboden für diese Art prophetischer Umtriebe allererst bereitet zu haben.25 Gleichwohl verdienten die Bedenken, verglichen mit Lavaters Lobpreis der Gaßnerschen Exorzismen,26 sogar noch Anerkennung. Denn schließlich habe Crusius, noch bevor er in Schröpfer einen von den »in der Apokalypse geweissagt[en] [...] falschen Propheten« ausgemacht habe, zumindest eine ›Untersuchung‹ darüber angestellt, was Lavater tunlich unterlassen habe.27

|| 25 Vgl. dazu auch Kurt Sprengel: Versuch einer pragmatischen Geschichte der Arzneikunde. Fünfter Theil. Halle, bei Johann Jacob Gebauer. 1803, S. 630. 26 Der Exorzismus war dem älteren Luthertum durchaus nicht fremd. 27 Ohne Gaßners »tölpische Blendwerke« untersucht zu haben, bloß auf ein Gerücht hin, habe er dessen Wunderkuren »als wichtige Thatsachen« ausgegeben. Der Schweizer Pfarrer, Exorzist und Wunderheiler Johann Joseph Gaßner (1727–1779) wurde vor allem durch seine Wunderkuren in Schwaben und Bayern berühmt-berüchtigt. Er selbst litt lange Zeit unter Haupt-, Magen- und Brustschmerzen, ohne dass ihm ein Arzt zu helfen vermochte. Während dieser Zeit las er ein Buch über exorzistische Heilungen und kurierte sich selbst danach erfolgreich. Nunmehr von der Heilwirkung des Exorzismus aufs sicherste überzeugt, führte er auch an anderen ›erfolgreich‹ Teufelsaustreibungen durch. Daraufhin wurde er 1774 vom Regensburger Bischof zum Hofkaplan und Geistlichen Rat ernannt. Mehrere tausend Kranke strömten ins württembergische Ellwangen, wohin er seine ›Praxis‹ verlegt hatte. Er behauptete, »vom Teufel Umseßene« (Kranke) und »Beseßene« (vom Teufel geplagte, ansonsten aber Gesunde) durch den mehrmaligen Gebrauch des Namen ›Jesus‹ vom Teufel befreien zu können: »Bei allen seinen Operationen richtete Gaßner nicht nur seine Augen starr auf den Kranken, und der Kranke die seinigen auf ihn, sondern er sprach auch in einem rauhen und gebietenden Tone. Mit der einen Hand drückte er die Stirn, mit der andern das Genick des Kranken sehr heftig, berührte auch oft den schmerzhaften Ort, oder schüttelte den ganzen Körper gewaltsam. Ohne solche Berührungen erfolgt keine Wirkung« (Samuel Baur: Johann Joseph Gaßner. In: ders.: Kleines historisch-literarisches Wörterbuch über alle denkwürdige Personen, die vom Anfange der Welt bis zum Schlusse des achtzehnten Jahrhunderts gelebt haben. Zum Handgebrauch in zwei Bänden. Bd. 1. Ulm 1813, S. 547f.). Gaßner propagierte seine Behandlungsmethode in Abhandlungen wie Weise fromm und gesund zu leben, auch ruhig und gottselig zu sterben: oder nützlicher Unterricht wider den Teufel zu streiten, durch Beantwortung der Fragen 1. Kann der Teuffel dem Leibe des Menschen schaden? 2. Welchen am mehresten? 3. Wie ist zu helfen?, die 1774 erschien und im darauffolgenden Jahr noch mindestens elf weitere Male aufgelegt worden ist. Der Exorzismus nahm nach und nach solche Ausmaße an, dass man sich im Herbst 1775 schließlich gezwungen sah, an den Bischof ein kaiserliches Reskript mit der Aufforderung ergehen zu lassen, Gaßner der Diözese zu verweisen. Aber erst Franz Anton Mesmers (1734–1815) Theorie vom tierischen Magnetismus (November 1775) und die darauf beruhenden magnetischen Kuren vermochten Gaßners Ansehen in der Öffentlichkeit nachhaltig zu untergraben: Man glaubte, in Mesmers Kuren eine experimentelle und natürliche Widerlegung der Gaßnerschen Teufelsaustreibungen zu haben, und verbot den Exorzismus nun gänzlich. Eine satirisch gebrochene Schilderung einer solchen Heilung durch den »wunderthätigen Gaßner« findet sich in Wezels Roman Wilhelmine Arend, oder die Gefahren der Empfindsamkeit. Erster Band. Mit Kupfern von Chodowiecky. Zu finden in der Buchhandlung der Gelehrten in Dessau, und bey Schwickert in Leipzig. 1782, S. 361. Zu Gaßner vgl. Hans Graßl: Aufbruch zur Romantik. Bayerns Beitrag zur deutschen Geistesgeschichte 1765–1785. München 1968, S. 8–11, S. 131–165, S. 424–429.

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Nicolai verweist in seiner kritischen Anzeige von Crusius’ Bedenken auf Moses Mendelssohns Anmerkungen über einen schriftlichen Aufsatz, die Wunderthaten des berüchtigten Schröpfers betreffend und verabschiedet damit programmatisch dessen theologische Argumentationsebene.28 Aufschluss über Schröpfer und seine Séancen erwarte Nicolai sich vielmehr von einer naturwissenschaftlichen Prüfung. Deshalb lässt er nun Mendelssohns Analyse in einem unkommentierten kurzen Auszug unmittelbar folgen.29 Mendelssohn, wie Nicolai Parteigänger des Deismus, bringt zwei Erklärungen in Anschlag, eine psychologische für die Wahrnehmungen derjenigen, die an den Séancen teilgenommen haben und das Gesehene und Gehörte für wahr ausgeben, und eine physikalische, d. h. optische und akustische, zur natürlichen Erklärung des von ihnen Gesehenen und Gehörten. Für die psychologische Vorbereitung der Teilnehmer der Séancen führt Mendelssohn die Imitation masonischer Riten an, bei denen es vor allem darum gehe, Erwartungen zu schüren: »Ihre ganze Seele wird gleichsam auf Erwartung gespannet« und dadurch ihre Bereitschaft, sich täuschen zu lassen, geweckt. Neben der Erwartung bemächtige sich ihrer die Furcht, jene Furcht, die mit der »Idee des Erhabenen« vergesellschaftet ist. »Man kan sich kaum enthalten, auf einen fürchterlichen Gegenstand«, schreibt Mendelssohn, »wenigstens einen schüchternen Blick zu werfen, der aber zu flüchtig ist zur Untersuchung. Die entfernteste Ähnlichkeit zeigt uns alsdenn das gefürchtete in seiner ganzen Gestalt. Wir sehen nicht, was da stehet, sondern was wir fürchten.«30 Das Erscheinen der Geister pflegte Schröpfer mit einem Klang anzukündigen, ähnlich dem, wenn man an ein Glas schlägt, »wodurch das ganze Zimmer gleichsam zu Beben schien«, ein Beben, das während der ganzen Geistzitation anzudauern

|| 28 Der satirisch fortgeführten Auseinandersetzung mit der Crusianischen Philosophie und Theologie widmet sich Nicolai in seinem Roman Das Leben und die Meinungen des Herrn Magister Sebaldus Nothanker (3 Bde. in 9 Büchern. Berlin 1773–1776). Der Titelheld, protestantischer Pfarrer und Parteigänger Crusius’, pflegt darin gegen alle Vorbehalte anderer sein sternesches Steckenpferd, die Apokalypse, auf bengel-crusius’sche Weise zu reiten. (Nicolai: Sebaldus 1 [1773], S. 4). Denn die Crusius’sche Philosophie schien ihm »am geschicktesten [...], die Theologie philosophischer, und die Philosophie theologischer zu machen« (ebd., S. 5). Er hatte sich »mit Hülfe der Crusiusschen Philosophie, die feiner als die feinste Nadel zugespitzt, die einfachsten Begriffe zertheilen, und sogar die beiden Seiten einer Monade von einander spalten kan, eines der scharfsinnigsten Gewebe von Prophezeyungen aus der Apokalypse gezogen [...], dem, Crusius unumstößliche Hypomnemata der prophetischen Theologie, Bengels unwidersprechliche Auflösung der apocalyptischen Weissagungen, Don Isaak Abarbanels Majeneh Jeschuah und Michaelis unwiderlegliche Erklärung der siebenzig Wochen, zwar vielleicht an Richtigkeit und Wahrheit, aber gewiß nicht an Neuheit, Scharfsinn und sinnreicher Aufklärung der dunkelsten Bilder zu vergleichen sind« (ebd., S. 8f.). 29 Nicolai: Sammelrezension (s. Anm. 8), S. 277–281. 30 Herrn Moses Mendelssohns Anmerkungen über einen schriftlichen Aufsaz, die Wunder[t]haten des berüchtigten Schröpfers betreffend. In: Samlungen von Briefen und Aufsätzen (s. Anm. 1), S. 70–80, hier S. 73f.

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schien, wie ein Augenzeuge berichtet.31 Mendelssohn führt die Wahrnehmung des Bebens auf die durch die vorbereitenden Rituale überaus gereizte Einbildungskraft zurück, und hält »die ganze Sache für einen künstlichen Betrug«.32 Vermutlich habe sich Schröpfer einer Zauberlaterne, einer sog. laterna magica, bedient.33 Mendelssohn mutmaßte richtig: Die zu den Geisterzitationen verwendete Zauberlaterne ging später in von Bischoffwerders Besitz über und wurde von diesem in Berlin mit Erfolg zur Manipulation Friedrich Wilhelms II. eingesetzt.34

|| 31 Ebd., S. 75. 32 Nicolai: Sammelrezension (s. Anm. 8), S. 279. 33 Vgl. Edme Gilles Guyot: Verfertigung der Zauberlaterne. In: Neue physikalische und mathematische Belustigungen, oder Sammlung von neuen Kunststücken zum Vergnügen, mit dem Magnete, mit den Zahlen, aus der Optik sowohl, als aus der Chymie, nebst den Ursachen derselben, ihren Wirkungen und den dazu erforderlichen Instrumenten. Aus dem Französischen des Herrn Guyot. Dritter Theil, mit Kupfern. Augsburg, bey Eberhard Kletts sel. Wittwe, 1772, S. 178–184, Tab. XX, Fig. 5. Ders.: Vermittelst der Zauberlaterne einen Sturm vorzustellen. In: ebd., S. 184–187, Tab. XXI. Ders.: Die Zauberlaterne auf dem Rauche. In: ebd., S. 187–189, Tab. XXI. Ders.: Ein Gespenst auf einem Gestelle, das mitten auf einem Tische stehet, vorzustellen. In: ebd., S. 189–192. 34 Johannes Schultze: Die Rosenkreuzer und Friedrich Wilhelm II. In: Mitteilungen des Vereins für Geschichte Berlins 46 (1929), S. 41–51, hier S. 42. Vgl. auch ders.: Quellen zur Geschichte der Rosenkreuzer des 18. Jahrhunderts. Die Berichte Hans Rudolf v. Bischoffwerders an seine Ordensvorgesetzten 1779–1781. In: Quellen zur Geschichte der Freimaurerei 3.2 (1929), S. 51–73, wo es allerdings heißt, dass nichts darauf hindeute, dass Bischoffwerder, der selbst dem Geisterglauben anhing (ebd., S. 59–63 No. 5–10, 70 No. 3), die »Gläubigkeit anderer, insbesondere des Prinzen, durch betrügerische Manipulationen ausgenützt hat« (ebd., S. 55). Viele von Schröpfers Parteigängern engagierten sich danach in der Gold- und Rosenkreuzerbewegung in Sachsen. Sie suchten, die Freimaurerei ›katholisch‹ zu unterwandern. Am erfolgreichsten wussten sie sich jedoch in Preußen zu betätigen. Wöllner (seit 1765 Freimaurer, seit 1778 Rosenkreuzer) und Bischoffwerder brachten es dahin, den Thronfolger und späteren König Friedrich Wilhelm II. systematisch durch Vortäuschung göttlicher Zeichen derart religiös und mystisch zu beeinflussen und schließlich zu ›bekehren‹, dass dieser selbst im Jahre 1781 dem Orden der Gold- und Rosenkreuzer beitrat. Vgl. Paul Schwartz: Der erste Kulturkampf in Preußen um Kirche und Schule (1788–1798). Berlin 1925, S. 40–46; ders.: Der Geisterspuk um Friedrich Wilhelm II. In: Mitteilungen des Vereins für Geschichte Berlins 47 (1930), S. 45–60, und Dirk Kemper: Obskurantismus als Mittel der Politik. Johann Christoph von Wöllners Politik der Gegenaufklärung am Vorabend der Französischen Politik. In: Christoph Weiß (Hg.): Von ›Obscuranten‹ und ›Eudämonisten‹. Gegenaufklärerische, konservative und antirevolutionäre Publizisten im späten 18. Jahrhundert. St. Ingbert 1997, S. 193–220, insb. S. 198–202 und S. 208f. Typisch für die Rosenkreuzer ist die Verbindung christlicher Frömmigkeit mit den Lehren der Kabbala, der Magie (Hermetik) und der Alchemie: »Der Orden gab vor, in seinen höchsten Graden die wahre, von Gott geoffenbarte Erkenntnis zu besitzen; er erging sich in mystisch-phantastischen, alchemistischen und spiritistischen Übungen und verfolgte als praktisches Ziel die religiöse und sittliche Erneuerung der Menschheit, die Wiederherstellung der urchristlichen Religion und in Verbindung damit zunächst die Ausrottung von allem, was Aufklärung hieß. Er trat damit in schärfsten Gegensatz zu dem Orden der Illuminaten« (ebd., S. 52).

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3 Die Crusius abgeforderte Stellungnahme zu Schröpfers Umtrieben erschien im Druck, wohl vordatiert auf 1775, zuerst als Bedenken eines berühmten Gelehrten über des famosen Schröpfers Geister-Citiren. Sie zählt, geziert von einer Titel-, einer Kopfund einer Schlussvignette (die letzteren Holzschnitte), 16 Oktavseiten und enthält die gutachterliche Beantwortung der »Frage: Was von den, von dem berufenen Schröpfer verbreiteten Gerüchten zu halten, als ob derselbe habe Geister erscheinen lassen, und dergleichen, und wie die ganze Sache anzusehen sey?«35 Kurz darauf erschien ein 36-seitiger Oktavdruck: D. Christian August Crusius der Theologie ersten Professors zu Leipzig, Canonicus des Domstifts Zeitz und Meissen etc. Bedenken über die Schrö[p]ferischen Geisterbeschwörungen mit antiapokalyptischen Augen betrachtet von D. Balthasar Bekker, dem jüngern. VARRO. Nemo aegrotus quidquam somniat tam infandum, quo[d] non aliquis dicat philosophus.36 Berlin. 1775. Als pseudonymer Herausgeber wurde Friedrich Gotthilf Freitag (1723–1776), Jurist, Bürgermeister von Naumburg und zugleich Vorsteher der dortigen Freimaurerloge gehandelt.37 Das Pseudonym ›Balthasar Bekker, der jüngere‹ schreibt sich von dem Amsterdamer Prediger Balthasar Bekker (1634–1698), den Verfasser des cartesisch beeinflussten, seinerzeit ungeheuer aufsehenerregenden Werks De betoverde Weereld (1691,38 dt. Die bezauberte Welt, 169339) her, mit der dieser energisch jedwedem Teufels- und || 35 Das Gutachten, ohne Brief und ohne Anmerkungen, findet sich, mit geringfügigen Unterschieden, eingerückt in Neue Miscellanien, historischen, politischen, moralischen, auch sonst verschiedenen Innhalts 1.2 (1775), S. 206–232, hier S. 206–218. 36 Varro Men. 122: postremo nemo aegrotus quicquam somniat | tam infandum, quod non aliquis dicat philosophus. Dt. »und schließlich träumt kein Kranker jemals solches Zeug, | unsagbar dumm, daß es nicht lehrt ein – Philosoph«. Freitags Publikation beginnt mit dem Fragment von Varros Menippeischen Satiren und endet mit Versen des Horaz (Hor. ep. 2, 2, S. 208f.): Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula[,] sagas | Nocturnos lemures, portentaque thessala rides. Dt. »Verlachst du Träume, Ahndungen, Gespenster, | Magie, und kurz die Wunderdinge alle, woher Thessaliens böser Ruf gekommen?« Dt. von Christoph Martin Wieland. In: Wielands Werke. 17.1. Bearbeitet von Ernst A. Schmidt und Hans-Peter Nowitzki. Berlin, Boston 2013 (WOA), S. 431. 37 Vgl. Der Reichs-Anzeiger, oder Allgemeines Intelligenz-Blatt zum Behuf der Justiz, der Polizey und der bürgerlichen Gewerbe im Teutschen Reiche, wie auch zur öffentlichen Unterhaltung der Leser über gemeinnützige Gegenstände aller Art 2 (1800), Nr. 281 (Mittwochs, den 3 December 1800), S. 3638. 38 De Betoverde Weereld, Zijnde een Grondig Ondersoek Van ’t gemeen gevoelen aangaande de Geesten, derselver Aart en Vermogen, Bewind en Bedrijf: als ook ’t gene de Menschen door derselver kraght en gemeinschap doen. In twee Boeken ondernomen van Balthasar Bekker S. Th. D. Predikant tot Amsterdam. Tot Leeuwarden, Gedrukt by Hero Nauta, Boekverkoper in de Peperstraat, in de Gekroonde Waarheid. MDCXCI. Met Previlegie voor 15. Jaaren. 39 Die Bezauberte Welt: Oder Eine gründliche Untersuchung Des Allgemeinen Aberglaubens/ Betreffend/ die Art und das Vermögen/ Gewalt und Wirckung Des Satans und der bösen Geister über den Menschen/ Und was diese durch derselben Krafft und Gemeinschafft thun: So aus natürlicher

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Zauberglauben entgegentrat, auch die biblisch beglaubigten Heilungen von Besessenen bestritt, indem er sie auf natürliche Ursachen zurückführte. Die Publikation Freitags wendet sich mit einem zweiseitigen, »An das Publikum« betitelten, »Berlin am 1. März 1775.« datierten Prooemium an den Leser, ihn darüber unterrichtend, dass er die Verfasserschaft der anonymen Bedenken Crusius zugewiesen habe und sich (vorgeblich), damit ironisierend auf Crusius’ Brief anspielend, die Mühe gemacht habe, mehrere der zirkulierenden Abschriften der Bedenken zu kollationieren. Dennoch sei es ihm nicht möglich gewesen, alle Stellen, vornehmlich am Ende, der »chaotische[n] Finsternis und [dem] apokalyptische[n] Dunkel«40 zu entreißen. Daran schließt sich Crusius’ Brief (Leipzig, 5. Dezember 1774) an, die Zuschrift eines ungenannten Grafen vom 26. November 1774 beantwortend. Sein Gutachten, die »magische Theurgie des berüchtigten Schröpfers«41 betreffend, ist dem Brief als Beilage mitgegeben. Darin bittet er den Auftraggeber, bei der handschriftlichen Vervielfältigung seiner Abhandlung »genau zu collationiren«, weil die Kürze und Präzision des Gutachtens keine Fehler dulde. Die Begutachtung der Sache sei »schwer und delicat«. Denn »[s]olche fälschlich als göttliche Macht und Glaubenskraft geprießne [...] Dinge, haben ein Geheimniß satanischer Bosheit hinter sich, [das] [...] nicht geleugnet werden kann«. Der Sache überhaupt nicht gerecht geworden sei Johann August Ernesti mit seinem »kurze[n] und superficielle[n] Programma«, da er darin den Fakt schlichtweg nur bestreite.42 Dem Brief lässt der

|| Vernunfft und Hl. Schrifft in 4 Buchern zu bewehren sich unternommen hat Balthasar Bekker, S. Theol. Doct. und Prediger zu Amsterdam. Nebenst des Authoris generale Vorrede über diese seine 4 Bücher; wie und welcher Gestalt dieselbe zu lesen/ der Zweck seines Vorhabens/ und dann die Ordnung/ so er darinnen gehalten. Aus dem Holländischen nach der letzten vom Authore vermehrten Edition. Gedruckt zu Amsterdam/ bey Daniel von Dahlen/ bey der Börse/ Anno 1693. In die Teutsche Sprache übersetzet. 40 Ebd., A2b. D. Joh. Sal. Semlers neue Untersuchungen über Apocalypsin. Dem verdienten Chorherrn in Zürch Herrn Breitinger zugeeignet. Halle im Magdeburgischen, verlegt von Carl Hermann Hemmerde, 1776, S. 174, setzen dieser ›apokalyptischen Finsternis‹ das »fröliche[] Bewustseyn« der wahren Christen entgegen, die der Offenbarung nicht bedürften. 41 Freitag: Crusius [...] Bedenken über die Schrö[p]ferischen Geisterbeschwörungen (s. Anm. 19), S. 5. 42 Ebd., S. 5f. Ernestis Programm vom 31. Oktober 1774, eine Einladungsschrift zur Feyer des Andenkens an die von Luther verbesserte Religion, handelte von den Pflichten der Lehrer bei einigen der jüngst sich äußernden Arten des Aberglaubens. Es findet sich im ersten Band der Semlerschen Samlungen von Briefen und Aufsätzen über die Gaßnerischen und Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen (1776), S. 273–290. Ernesti nimmt damit ein tagesaktuelles Thema auf (Schröpfer war am 8. Oktober verstorben). Vgl. Rector Academiae Lipsiensis ad memoriam emendatorum per Lutherum sacrorum in Aede Paullina [...] celebrandam invitat, de metu spectrorum per Lutherum sublato. Lipsiae M DCC LXXIV. Dt.: Von den Pflichten der Lehrer bey einigen neuerlich sich aussernden Arten des Aberglaubens. Eine Einladungsschrift des Herrn D. Ernesti, zu der Feyer des Andenkens an die durch Lutherum verbesserte Religion, den 31. October 1774. Aus dem Lateinischen ins Deutsche übersetzt. 1774.

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Herausgeber sodann das Gutachten folgen, das er mit umfänglichen Anmerkungen versieht. Im zweiten Teil der Semlerschen Samlungen von Briefen und Aufsätzen über die Gaßnerischen und Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen (1776) wird ein erneuter Abdruck von Freitags Bedenken geboten, nunmehr mit einer Einführung Semlers (S. 1f.), ohne Freitags Prooemium und ohne dessen Annotationen. Letztere mussten Semlers Anmerkungen weichen. Crusius versichert in seinem Gutachten, Schröpfer nicht persönlich gekannt zu haben. Dessen theurgische Praktiken ließen sich nur sehr schwer begutachten, da die Zeugnisse der Beteiligten zu verschiedenartig ausfielen und auch nicht verschriftlicht seien. Das sei bedauerlich, weil viele in der Beurteilung Schröpfers »die Mittelstrasse nicht zu treffen« verstünden und entweder – wie Ernesti – die Fakten einfach leugneten oder sie falsch interpretierten: Wie denn bekannt ist, daß sich einige viel darauf zu gute thun, gute und böse Engel zu leugnen, dafür aber geheime Naturkräfte, die in leeren Worten bestehen, gerne annehmen, viele aber von den Seelen der Verstorbenen, gar nicht nach der Schrift, sondern auf gut heidnisch, denken, ingleichen einige egyptische, chaldäische, cabalistische u. d. g. Geheimnisse statuiren, wodurch man Macht über die Geister haben könne, und deren Gebrauch auch Christen wohl erlaubt sey, ja, daß sie die Gewalt über die Geister als ein Privilegium der Gläubigen ansehen, von welcher Art Schröpfer selbst gewesen sey.43

Hier die heidnische Interpretation, dort die historische und philologische Bibelkritik eines Semler und Ernesti. Den Mittelweg einschlagend beginnt Crusius, die ihm persönlich von einem »vornehmen und gelehrten Augenzeugen« bekanntgemachten Umstände zu schildern und zu besprechen. Für die Deutung der Befunde verweist er auf seine Gründliche Belehrung vom Aberglauben zur Aufklärung des Unterschiedes zwischen Religion und Aberglauben (1767)44 und die Abhandlung von den Überbleibseln des Heidenthums in den Meynungen vom Tode mit dem III. Anhang. Der wahre Begriff der Zauberey, nach den Lehren der Schrift und des Alterthums, in kurze Sätze gefasset (1765),45 und hält fest:

|| 43 Freitag: Crusius [...] Bedenken über die Schrö[p]ferischen Geisterbeschwörungen (s. Anm. 19), S. 13f. 44 Herrn D. Christian August Crusii, Theol. Prof. Prim. zu Leipzig, Philos. Prof. Extr. des Hochstifts Meissen Prälaten und Domherrn etc. Gründliche Belehrung vom Aberglauben zur Aufklärung des Unterschiedes zwischen Religion und Aberglauben. Aus dem Lateinischen übersetzt von M. Christian Friedrich Pezold. Leipzig, gedruckt bey Johann Friedrich Langenheim, 1767. 45 Herrn D. Christian August Crusius, Professoris Primarii zu Leipzig, Prälaten und Domherrn des Hochstifts Meissen etc. Abhandlung von den Überbleibseln des Heidenthums in den Meynungen vom Tode, aus dem Lateinischen ins Deutsche übersetzt, und mit einigen Anhängen aus andern desselben Schriften, worinn sowohl die Lehre vom Tode und der Auferstehung, als auch die Beschaffenheit des Heidnischen und andern Aberglaubens, erläutert wird, versehen. Leipzig, gedruckt

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(1) Schröpfer habe weder Tote aufgerufen noch seien sie erschienen. Denn das widerspreche der Heiligen Schrift46 ebenso wie der Geisterlehre. Eine naturalistische Erklärung, die sich auf die Augenzeugen berufen könnte, wäre nur dann gangbar, wenn es »keine Geister [gäbe] [...], welche auf das Nervensistem der Menschen wirken, und die nächsten Conditionen der Empfindungen nachahmen, und hierdurch scheinbar sinnliche Empfindungen verursachen können. [...] [D]ieses zu thun, ist den Engeln, als Engeln, und folglich auch dem Satan und seinen Engeln, [jedoch] eine Kleinigkeit.«47 (2) Schröpfer sei einer jener Menschen, die das Gute nicht gewählt, der »erweckenden Gnade lange und freventlich« widerstanden hätten, sodass sich ihrer ein böser Geist bemächtigen konnte, »der durch sie etwas durchzusetzen gedenkt, durch verborgne Regierung der Umstände machet, daß der Effect erfolget«.48 (3) Schröpfers Magie ist nicht Zauberei, sondern ›hochfliegende Theurgie‹. Vom Standpunkt der »critischen chronologisch und historisch richtig erklärten evangelischen Auslegung«49, d. h. nach Bengelscher und Crusianischer Interpretation der Heiligen Schrift, ist er der ›falsche Prophet‹ des ersten Tieres, dessen ›Zahl‹ bzw. Zeit zur Neige geht, während sich zugleich die katholische Kirche, die Babel, anschickt, die Herrschaft anzutreten. Als ›zweites Tier‹ zwingt und verführt der falsche Prophet die Menschen mit falschen Wundern, das erste Tier anzubeten, und verhindert dadurch die Ausbreitung des Reiches Gottes (Offb 13,11–14,12).50 Der göttlichen Öko-

|| bey Johann Christian Langenheim, 1765. Darin: Von den Überbleibseln des Heidenthums in den Meynungen vom Tode, S. 5–101. 46 Die Heilige Schrift ist so gewiss, wie ihre »Göttlichkeit [...] gewiß [ist] und die Beweise davon [sind] unumstößlich und unendlich.« (Crusius. In: Freitag: Crusius [...] Bedenken über die Schrö[p]ferischen Geisterbeschwörungen (s. Anm. 19), S. 32.) 47 Ebd. 48 Ebd., S. 33. 49 Und nicht der »ingeniös[en]« Auslegungsart der historisch-kritischen und philologischen Bibelexegese à la Semler und Ernesti (ebd., S. 34). 50 Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken, über die Schröpferische Theurgie (vgl. Anm. 58), S. 13f. Vgl. auch Christian August Crusius: Einleitung zur Offenbarung Johannis. In: Das Neue Testament nach der Übersetzung Lutheri mit gehörigen Orts bemerkter genauerer Berichtigung der Übersetzung nach dem Grundtext, und eingeschalteten Erklärungen, als ein Auszug der zur Auslegung gehörigen Arbeiten des seligen D. Bengels über das Neue Testament, und mit einer Vorrede Seiner Hochwürden Herrn D. Christian August Crusius, Professor primarius zu Leipzig, des Hochstifts zu Meissen Prälaten und Domherrn etc. Warum jeder Christ die heilige Schrift selber, und fleissig lesen solle, und wie es anzustellen und möglich sey, daß sie alle mit Gewißheit und Nutzen lesen können, herausgegeben von Daniel Christian Gottlieb Michaelis, Pfarrern zu Lichtentanne, Zwickauischer Inspection. Leipzig, bey Ulrich Christian Saalbach, 1769, S. 700–714, hier S. 706f., S. 712f. Zwar sei es schwierig, genau anzugeben, wann die ›Zahl des Thieres‹ sich neigt, die Herrschaft der Babel unbeschränkt ist und die Evangelischen am meisten zu leiden haben werden, so viel ist gewiß: »[D]ie Zahl des Thieres sey nahe bey ihrem Ende, und sie könne wohl noch in diesem Menschenalter ausgehen« (ebd., S. 713).

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nomie zufolge ist dem Satan nach seiner Verweisung aus dem Himmel noch eine Zeit auf Erden belassen, um Gott sehen zu lassen, wer im Glauben an ihn dem Satan widersteht und wer nicht. Diesen Umstand, das ›letzte Geheimniß der Bosheit‹,51 verbürge die Offenbarung Johannis.52 In Schröpfer will Crusius den erwarteten ›falschen Propheten‹, das von Gott zugelassene böse ›Tier aus der Erde‹ erkannt haben: »Und es ward ihm, durch die Zulassung Gottes, so gar Macht gegeben, daß es dem Bilde des Thiers, (es geschehe nun durch Kunst, oder wie es nach der Vorhersagung Pauli 2 Thess. 2, 9. zu erwarten steht, durch Wirkung des Teufels) den Geist (einen lebendigen Odem) gab, als ob es lebte, und daß des Thiers Bild redete [...]; und daß es (das andere Thier) machte, (Gr. es wird machen) daß alle, welche nicht des Thiers Bild anbeteten, ertödtet würden.«53 Gesandt sei der falsche Prophet Schröpfer, um

|| 51 Ebd., S. 701. »Gott hatte [...] theils beschlossen, dem Satan im Himmel seine Verklagung der Christen eine bestimmte Zeit zuzulassen, und zu verhängen, daß er Verfolgungen auf Erden anrichtete, um seinen Götzendienst gegen das Evangelium zu behaupten zu suchen; theils war ihm nach seinem Auswurf aus dem Himmel noch eine bestimmte Zeit auf Erden freyzulassen beschlossen« (ebd.). 52 »Das Wichtigste aber, deshalben wir uns vorzusehen haben, ist das Thier und die geistliche Babel. So bald die Zeit des Thieres aus ist, gehet die ärgste und gefährlichste Macht der Babel an; [...] Ferner, wenn die Zahl des Thieres ganz oder beynahe aus ist, kommt das andere Thier, der sogenannte falsche Prophet, welcher so gar mit falschen Wundern zur Anbetung des ersten Thieres und seines Bildes, und zur Annehmung des so hart verdammenden Maalzeichens die Leute verführet und nöthiget. Daher ist es vor uns eine wichtige Frage, ob die Zahl des Thieres bald zu Ende gehet, oder nicht? Vor die Herrschaft der Hure, wenn sie auf dem Thiere sitzet, und das Thier nach Ablauf seiner Zahl nur dem Namen nach [...] übrig ist, ist keine Zeit bestimmt [...]. Es läßt sich jetzo sehr merklich darzu an, daß das Thier den Namen hergeben, und in der That die Babylon [...] herrschen und schwelgen wird.« Der dritte Engel, der gegen den ›falschen Propheten‹ zeugt (Offb 14, 9– 11), sei bis dato, d. h. 1769, noch nicht aufgetreten, »wenigstens wiefern er eine einzelne Person ist« (Michaelis: Das Neue Testament nach der Übersetzung Lutheri [s. Anm. 50], S. 751). Vgl. Anm. zu Offb 14, 19: »Es [die Weinlese, d. i. das »blutige Gericht[] Gottes [...] über die Gottlosen«] stehet nahe bevor, und ist vielleicht schon angegangen, wenigstens sind schon jetzo Vorspiele davon vorhanden; wie denn offenbar ist, daß das Böse zu einer besondern Höhe gestiegen ist, und fast überall die Oberhand hat« (ebd., S. 753). Angesichts der zu gewärtigenden Gefahren sei die Bedenkenlosigkeit und Unbekümmertheit der Evangelischen »beweinenswürdig« (Crusius: Einleitung zur Offenbarung Johannis [s. Anm. 50], S. 712.) Die beiden ersten Engel in Offb 14 deutete Bengel als Johann Arndt und Philipp Jakob Spener. Als dritten Engel deuteten die Zeitgenossen Johann Albrecht Bengel (Johann Albrecht Bengels sechzig erbauliche Reden über die Offenbarung Johannis oder vielmehr Jesu Christi samt einer Nachlese gleichen Inhalts. Beedes also zusammen geflochten, daß es entweder als ein zweiter Theil der erklärten Offenbarung oder für sich als ein bekräftigtes Zeugniß der Wahrheit anzusehen ist. Nebst einer nützlichen Anweisung, wie man diese Reden das Kirchen-Jahr über, als eine Postille lesen könne. Zweite Auflage. Stutgardt verlegts Johann Christoph Erhard, Buchhändler, 1758, S. 780–782). 53 Offb 13, 15. Zit. nach Michaelis: Das Neue Testament nach der Übersetzung Lutheri (s. Anm. 50), S. 749. Vgl. Crusius: Der wahre Begriff der Zauberey. In: Abhandlung von den Überbleibseln des Heidenthums (s. Anm. 45), S. 129–192, hier S. 185: »Alsdenn folgt die 3te Periode des [...] Antichrists,

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die Menschen zu ›erwecken‹ und zu ›warnen‹.54 Dieses durch die Heilige Schrift prophezeite Faktum zu verkennen oder gar zu leugnen, hieße Gottes Vorsehung missachten und den Profanen und Halbgläubigen entgegenarbeiten. Deutlich ist Crusius’ Ausgangspunkt: Er argumentiert streng biblizistisch und pneumatologisch, aus der Gewissheit heraus, unmittelbar an der Schwelle zum endzeitlichen Geschehen zu stehen, das sich ihm durch an Bengel geschulte chronotypologische Betrachtungen erschließt. Schröpfer war nicht schlechthin ein Betrüger, sondern von einem bösen Geist begleitet, der ›durch ihn gewirkt hat‹.55 Bekker d. J. alias Freitag sieht mit seinen »antiapokalyptischen Augen« hingegen in Schröpfer einen Betrüger und in Crusius’ Geisterlehre bzw. Pneumatik etwas, das biblisch nicht beglaubigt, sondern lediglich ein »künstliches Gewebe und Hirngespinnste der Metaphysik« sei, das »nur mit christlichen Farben angestrichen erscheint«.56

4 Angesichts des unschwer zu durchschauenden Betrugs mutet es heute befremdlich an, welch publizistische Betriebsamkeit die Machenschaften Schröpfers und sein Ende auslösten. Nicht genug damit, dass Crusius’ Bedenken mehrmals kommentiert und aufgelegt worden sind,57 sie fanden darüber hinaus auch in die zweibändigen Samlungen von Briefen und Aufsätzen über die Gaßnerischen und Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen Eingang. Herausgeber der Ende 1775, Anfang 1776 erschienenen Sammlung war kein geringerer als der Hallenser Theologe und Crusius’ Widerpart Johann Salomo Semler,58 das anerkannte Haupt der Dämonenkritiker.59 Dieser || welchen zu unterstützen die größten falschen Wunder geschehn, so daß auch ein Bild gemacht wird, das redet. Offb XIII, 15.« 54 Freitag: Crusius [...] Bedenken über die Schrö[p]ferischen Geisterbeschwörungen (s. Anm. 19), S. 36. 55 Ebd. 56 Ebd., A1a, 12 Anm. 57 Das Pamphlet Eines großen Gottesgelehrten Gedanken über Herrn Gaßners Teufel-Austreibung. 1775 wird Crusius wohl, verführt durch dessen crusianische Tendenz, zu Unrecht zugeschrieben. Es folgt in vielem, bis in die Terminologie und die Phraseologie hinein den Bedenken eines berühmten Gelehrten (s. Anm. 12). Auch die zeitdiagnostischen Erhebungen gleichen sich. Schließlich habe die Leugnung des Satans den Unfehlbarkeitsanspruch der Schrift untergraben und der »Frechheit« Raum gegeben, »an derselben kritisch, philosophisch oder philologisch zu freveln« (ebd., S. 17). Und dennoch hat es einen unernsteren, in vielem deutlich kopierenden, ungleich flüchtigeren, fremdartig anmutenden Duktus. 58 Samlungen von Briefen und Aufsätzen über die Gaßnerischen und Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen, mit eigenen vielen Anmerkungen herausgegeben von Johann Salomo Semler. Erstes Stück. Halle im Magdeburgischen, verlegt von Carl Hermann Hemmerde, 1776. Darin: [Samlungen

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maß der Diskussion einen großen Stellenwert bei und mochte auch Nicolais und Mendelssohns Gelassenheit in der Schröpferschen Angelegenheit nicht recht goutieren. Jedenfalls versah er die Abhandlungen und Pamphlete der Samlung mit beredten Vorreden und begleitete die Beiträge von Ernesti, Crusius, Mendelssohn und Eberhard mit zahlreichen Einleitungen und Anmerkungen. Die Gaßnerschen und Schröpferschen Umtriebe und ihre Bewertungen berührten zentrale zeitgenössische theologisch-metaphysische Fragestellungen. Dazu gehörten u. a. Fragen wie die nach dem Stellenwert der prophetischen Theologie, dem Verhältnis von Altem und Neuem Testament und dem Verhältnis von Leiblichem und Seelischem. Mit Spener, dem Begründer der pietistischen Bibelhermeneutik, warb Crusius in seiner Pneumatologie für die Verschränkung von Seelischem und Leiblichem, wandte sich im pietistischen Bibelverständnis gegen eine bloß philologisch-historisch verfahrende Bibelkritik à la Ernesti und Semler und gesellte dem sensus literalis einen geistlichen, dynamischen oder typologischen60 hinzu. Auch stellte er sich gegen die

|| von der Gaßnerischen Betrügerey]: (1) Semler: Vorrede [28. September 1775] (a2a–b6b). (2) Herrn Lavaters erstes Schreiben vom 26. März 1775 (1–7). (3) Semler: Vorläufige umständlichere Erklärung (8–77). (4) Semler: Antwort auf jenen Brief (78–86). (5) Semler: Zusätze und Erläuterungen (87–119). (6) Semler: Anzeige in den Hallischen gelehrten Zeitungen, 30stes Stück, den 13ten April 1775 (119– 122). (7) Semler: Zusätze zu dieser Anzeige (122–127). (8) Herrn Lavaters zweites Schreiben vom 19ten May 1775 (127–139). (9) Semler: Anmerkungen zu diesem Briefe (139–177). (10) Urtheile wider Gaßnern, aus seiner eignen Kirche (178–268). Samlungen von der Schröpferischen Betrügerey: (1) Semler: Vorrede (271–273). (2) Programma des Hrn. D. Ernesti (273–290). (3) [Semler: Nachschrift (290f.)]. – Dass. Zweites Stück. Halle im Magdeburgischen, verlegt von Carl Hermann Hemmerde, 1776. Darin: [Samlungen von der Schröpferischen Betrügerey]: (1) Semler: Vorrede [27. Dezember 1775] (a2a–c2b). (2) Semler: [Vorrede] (1f.). (3) Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken, über die Schröpferische Theurgie (2–14). (4) [Balthasar Bekker d. J. und Semler] Anmerkungen über Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken (15–67). (5) [Semler: Vorrede] (67–70). (6) Herrn Moses Mendelssohns Anmerkungen über einen schriftlichen Aufsaz, die Wunder[t]haten des berüchtigten Schröpfers betreffend (70–80). (7) Inhalt des lehrreichen Zusatzes, so in den neuen Miscellanien angetroffen wird (81–98). (8) Herrn Professor Eberhards Abhandlung über die so genante Magie (99–203). (9) Auszug des Inhalts von D. Haubers bibliotheca et acta magica (204–281). (1) Fortsetzung von Nachrichten, zu Gaßners Betrügereien (281–328). [Fortsetzung von Nachrichten zu Schröpfers Betrügereien]: (10) Auszug eines Schreibens aus – von Schröpfers Unternemungen (329–364). 59 Annemarie Nooijen: »Unserm grossen Bekker ein Denkmal«? Balthasar Bekkers ›Betoverde Weereld‹ in den deutschen Landen zwischen Orthodoxie und Aufklärung. Münster u. a. 2009, S. 253, S. 299, S. 302. 60 Jedem Typus des Naturreiches korreliert ein Typus des Gnadenreiches (vgl. Die biblischprophetische Theologie, ihre Fortbildung durch Chr. A. Crusius und ihre neueste Entwickelung seit der Christologie Hengstenbergs. Historisch-kritisch dargestellt von Franz Delitzsch. Leipzig, Gebauersche Buchhandlung. 1845, S. 75 und S. 123). Vgl. Maier: Die Johannesoffenbarung (s. Anm. 6), S. 461. »Die Typologie ist [...] eine Auslegungsmethode, kraft deren alttestamentliche Berichte und Geschehnisse als sinnträchtige Vorausdarstellungen von christlichen Erfahrungen und Predigtinhalten aufgefaßt werden« (Peter Stuhlmacher: Vom Verstehen des Neuen Testaments. Eine Hermeneutik. Göttingen 1986, S. 71).

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Abwertung des Alten Testaments und des Judentums und stritt stattdessen für die Inspirationseinheit von Altem und Neuem Testament,61 in denen die göttlichen Wahrheiten sich stufenweise offenbarten, stemmte sich gegen die altprotestantische Verwerfung der Apokalyptik und wies ihr stattdessen einen entschiedenen Wert zu.62 In alledem vertritt Crusius das genaue Gegenteil von Semler. Schröpfers Machenschaften kündigten, so Crusius, die in der Offenbarung prophezeite und von Johann Albrecht Bengel (1687–1752) berechnete Herrschaft des Satans an. All das in Offb 12, 14–20 Prophezeite habe sich seit 1058 tatsächlich ereignet, nicht zuletzt auch die Heimsuchung durch ›falsche Propheten‹ wie Schröpfer. Deshalb könne man gewiss sein, dass um 1830 das Tier aus dem Abgrund heraufkommen und in den Jahren 1831/32 den Thron besteigen werde. Die Tage des Antichristen zwischen 1831 und 1836 würden dann geprägt sein von den Sieben Plagen und der Verwüstung Babylons (i. e. Rom). Das etwa dreieinhalbjährige Wüten des Tieres werde schließlich durch die Erscheinung des Herrn am 18. Juni 1836 beendet. Sodann werde der Satan für tausend Jahre gebunden werden (1836–2836).63 Semler indes unterzieht das Fundament der Argumentation, die Bibel, einer grundlegenden philologisch-historischen Kritik und wendet sich, hierin eins mit Lessing, gegen die christliche Eschatologie. Er versucht, das bloß Historische strikt vom wahrhaft göttlichen, weil allgemein- und allzeitgültigen, auf moralische Besserung zielenden Wort zu scheiden. Vom Alten Testament, meint er, mag es für die Predigten mit einem »gesunde[n] Auszug« sein Bewenden haben, wie er in seiner Abhandlung von freier Untersuchung des Canon; nebst Antwort auf die tübingische Vertheidigung der Apocalypsis schreibt; wegbleiben könne all das, »worin die Erzählungen und die Stellen [...], welche nur für jene Juden gehörten, und den Stempel der Zeit oder der Provinz so deutlich vorzeigen«.64 Da sich in der Apokalypse, diesem »finstern und albernen Buche«, »keine res diuinas« fänden, die dem Menschen Anleitung zur moralischen Besserung dienten, können die darin enthaltenen »altvettelische[n] Fabeln«,65 da sie sich nicht in eine göttliche Lehre transformieren lassen, vom ›nachdenkenden‹ Christen unberücksichtigt bleiben. »Es ist«, so Gerhard Maier, »wirklich kein größerer Gegensatz denkbar als der zwischen Semler

|| 61 Gegen die Heilige Schrift als ein »totum homogeneum« sprechen sich u. a. Semlers neue Untersuchungen über Apocalypsin (s. Anm. 40), S. 143, aus: »Die christliche Religion hat die Lehre Christi und der Apostel zum Grunde und Inhalte«, nicht aber »die elenden Ideen der Juden« (ebd., S. 152, S. 151). Vgl. ebd., S. 159 und S. 162–164 (zur Entbehrlichkeit des Alten Testaments). 62 Delitzsch: Die biblisch-prophetische Theologie (s. Anm. 60), S. 124–129. 63 Vgl. Das Neue Testament nach der Übersetzung Lutheri (s. Anm. 50), S. 758 (s. Anm. zu Offb 17). 64 Johann Salomo Semler: Abhandlung von freier Untersuchung des Canon; nebst Antwort auf die tübingische Vertheidigung der Apocalypsis. Halle, verlegts Carl Hermann Hemmerde 1771, S. 70. 65 Ebd., S. 123f.

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und einem Bengel«, resp. Crusius, »für den es sich um die ‚Offenbarung Jesu Christi‘ in hervorragendstem Maße handelte.«66 Semler unterzog Crusius’ Bedenken67 einer eingehenden Prüfung, und zwar einer so überaus einlässlichen, dass den elfseitigen Bedenken schließlich ganze 52 Seiten Anmerkungen über Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken68 gegenüberstehen. Anfänglich widmen sich seine Annotationen nur punktuell Umständen der schröpferschen Machenschaften. Mehr und mehr jedoch geraten Crusius’ Argumentationsweisen und Formulierungen selbst in den Fokus der Kritik. Semler stößt sich an dessen bloß halbherziger Stellungnahme und an der an Bengel orientierten prophetischen Theologie. Crusius’ Annahme böser und guter Engel69 – auch von »grosse[n] Zauberer[n]«70 weiß Crusius zu berichten – führten doch allererst zu solchen von Schröpfer betriebenen Scharlatanerien: »Wenn wir«, so Semler, »so ängstliche Pnevmatologien und so schlüpfrige Lehrsäze machen, dass ein jeder Betrüger sich schon Rechnung machen kan, seine Zeitgenossen müssen solche Erzählungen[, dass es gute und böse Engel gebe,] für einen Theil wahrer Historie halten: so unterhalten die Lehrer« – gemeint ist hier natürlich Crusius – »selbst eine arge Gefar, daß die Christen noch oft hinter das Licht gefüret werden.«71 Semler hält den dämono|| 66 Maier: Die Johannesoffenbarung (s. Anm. 6), S. 454. Vgl. auch Gottlob Schrenk: Gottesreich und Bund im älteren Protestantismus vornehmlich bei Johannes Coccejus. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Pietismus und der heilsgeschichtlichen Theologie Giessen, Basel 1923 (Beiträge zur Förderung christlicher Theologie, 5), S. 316–318. 67 Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken, über die Schröpferische Theurgie (s. Anm. 58), S. 2–14. 68 Semler und Bekker d. J.: Anmerkungen über Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken (s. Anm. 1), S. 15–67. 69 Das Neue Testament nach der Übersetzung Lutheri (s. Anm. 50), S. VI. Vgl. Crusius: Vorrede von dem Unterschiede zwischen der Auslegung der Texte, und der Aufsuchung der Beweissprüche. In: Philipp David Burks: Specialsuperintendenten und Stadtpfarrers in Markgrüningen, Evangelischer Fingerzeig auf den wahren Verstand und heilsamen Gebrauch der gewöhnlichen Sonn- Fest- und Feyertäglichen Evangelien, zur gründlichen Erbauung aufmerksamer Christen herausgegeben, mit einer Vorrede Sr. Hochwürden, Herrn D. Christian August Crusius, Professoris Primarii zu Leipzig, von dem Unterschiede zwischen der Auslegung der Texte, und der Aufsuchung der Beweissprüche. Erster Band. Leipzig, bey Johann Christoph Gollnern, 1760, S. 3–75, hier S. 58, sowie ders.: Anleitung über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudencken. Erster Theil. Leipzig, bey Johann Friedrich Gleditsch, 1749, S. 32, § 18; S. 45–49 § 25; sowie S. 212, § 107. 70 Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken, über die Schröpferische Theurgie (s. Anm. 58), S. 13. 71 Semler und Bekker d. J.: Anmerkungen über Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken (s. Anm. 1), S. 19f. Schon 1745, in seiner Metaphysik, weist Crusius darauf hin, dass »[v]ieles was uns die heilige Schrift z. E. von den Wirckungen der Engel, von dem Zustande der abgeschiedenen Seelen, von der Auferstehung der Todten, und den verklärten Leibern u. s. f. bekannt machet, [...] von den unverständigen oft nur deswegen angefochten, oder verworfen [werde], weil es damit nicht so, wie mit den Begebenheiten, die wir ietzt vor Augen sehen, zugehen kan, und sie es daher überhaupt vor unmöglich halten; mit einem Worte, weil sie das zufällige Wesen der Welt von dem nothwendigen nicht gehörig absondern.« (Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzet werden. Leipzig, verlegts Johann Friedrich Gleditsch, 1745, S. 650f., § 347.) Die Lehre von »dem nothwendigen Wesen der Geister« als Angehörigen der civitas dei invisibilis

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logischen Annahmen Crusius’ das Erlösungswerk Christi entgegen, wodurch dieser »allen jenen Geistern und Engeln ihre vorige Macht so genommen hat, daß wir gar keine Ursache haben, ferneren Erzählungen der ungeübten Leser der Bibel, oder ihren Erzählungen vom Teufel und Geisterarbeiten, nur ein Jota zu glauben.«72 »[A]lles ehemalige geglaubte physische Teufelsreich ist aufgehoben [...]. Gewalt über Geister – ist eine alberne Einbildung listiger oder fanatischer Menschen.«73 Crusius hingegen vermeidet es in seinem Bedenken, Schröpfers Machenschaften ›betrügerisch‹ zu nennen und sie ihm als solche anzulasten. Stattdessen fasst er Schröpfer als einen Menschen auf, der »das Gute« nicht wählte und Gottes Gnade so lange widerstanden habe, bis er »endlich von Gott verlassen« wurde und von »ein[em] aufmerkende[n] böse[n] Geist« besessen werden konnte, »der durch [ihn] etwas durchzusetzen« trachtete.74 Der böse Geist, der Schröpfer regierte, habe, so mutmaßt Crusius, sich möglicherweise mehr von ihm versprochen. Doch Gott habe dem wohl vorzubauen gewusst und mehr nicht zugelassen. »[D]a wir sonst schon wissen, was für eine Macht des Satans jetzt im Anzuge ist, und es aus der Offenbarung Johannis, wenn man sie nicht ingeniös [wie etwa Semler], sondern nach der critischen chronologisch und historisch richtig erklärten evangelischen Auslegung [Bengels75] behandelt, [...] gewiß ist, daß die Zahl des Thieres, Offenb. 13. auf der Neige, die Herrschaft der Babel nahe ist, Offenb. 17. und alsdenn der letzte Individual Antichrist, mit seinen falschen und Zeichen thuenden Propheten, Offenb. 13. v. 19. zukünftig ist, zu den lügenhaften Wundern durch Hülfe des Satans, wovon Paulus schon 2 Thess. 2, 8. gezeuget hat«, sollte man sich das Phänomen ›Schröpfer‹ »zur Erweckung und Warnung, Offenb. 14, 19.« dienen lassen, »denn es wird bald mehreres kommen«. Damit erklärt Crusius Schröpfer und dessen theurgische Magie zum Werkzeug der Apokalypse. Insofern sei es falsch, »unverständiger weise die Facta«, nämlich die Geistersehereien, zu leugnen.76 Semler setzt dem seine historische Auffassung der

|| handelt Crusius in der ›metaphysischen Pneumatologie‹ als einen Teil der ›metaphysischen Kosmologie‹ ab (Crusius: Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß. Leipzig, verlegts Johann Friedrich Gleditsch, 1747, S. 23f., § 12). 72 Semler und Bekker d. J.: Anmerkungen über Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken (s. Anm. 1), S. 22. 73 Ebd., S. 23f. 74 Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken, über die Schröpferische Theurgie (s. Anm. 58), S. 12. 75 Die Charakterisierung seiner theologischen Ansichten als ›chiliastisch‹ weist Crusius als unzutreffend zurück, da er und Bengel nicht ein-, sondern zweitausend Jahre und auch kein tausendjähriges Reich Christi auf Erden, sondern eine tausendjährige Gefangenschaft des Satans annehmen, das zweite Jahrtausend aber mit Christus im Himmel verbracht werde (Crusius: Hypomnemata ad theologiam propheticam. Pars prima introdvctionem generalem ad theologiam propheticam complexa. Lipsiae ex officina Langenhemiana. a. n. c. MDCCLXIV, 79 seq. Anm. und 155. Vgl. Rez.: Johann Friedrich Hirt: Crusii [...] Hypomnemata ad Theologiam propheticam. Pars secundus [...]. In: Orientalische und Exegetische Bibliothek 2 (1772), S. 363–393, hier S. 390f.). 76 Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken, über die Schröpferische Theurgie (s. Anm. 58), S. 13f. »Blessig erzählt [in seinem Reisejournal], dass Crusius behaupte, der Antichrist werde im Jahr 7778 [recte 1778]

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Bibel entgegen und konstatiert: »So leicht ist es in unsrer Zeit, aus Liebe zum System, zu der angenommenen Auslegung von apocalypsis, eine physicalische äusserliche Macht des Satans zu behaupten, wo Schröpfer eine Macht von Schelmerey bewiesen hat! jetzt war gewis der Teufel unschuldig; Schröpfer betrog seine Zuschauer«.77 Crusius stand in der biblisch als gewiß versicherten Erwartung des Eintritts bestimmter Ereignisse. Seine providentielle Weltsicht wurzelt in einem Millenarismus, der Erwartung eines innerweltlichen, tausendjährigen paradiesischen Zwischenreiches Christi (Parusieverzögerung). Damit verknüpft war eine verinnerlichte Endzeitstimmung, aber auch die ›Hoffnung auf bessere Zeiten‹: Zeit als ›Geschenk Gottes‹, die in Sorge um das Seelenheil für die Entfaltung christlich-karitativer Aktivitäten genutzt werden konnte. Nur müsse auf die in der Offenbarung Johannis prohezeiten ›Zeichen der Zeit‹ geachtet werden, die Gefahren ankündigen, auf die vorbereitet und gewappnet zu sein Aufgabe jedes wahren Christen sei. Aufklärerisch gesonnenen Zeitgenossen war der Denken und Handeln leitende biblizistische Providentialismus von Crusius suspekt. Das Ansinnen, mithilfe der Schröpfer’schen Betrügereien post festum noch windige, philosophisch-theologische Rechtfertigungsstrategien zu entwickeln und die Gaunereien als Komponenten eines vermeintlich apokalyptischen Endkampfes zwischen Christus und Satan darzustellen, nahmen die Zeitgenossen als grundsätzliche Abkehr von Grundfesten der philosophischen und theologischen Aufklärung wahr. Noch einmal, kurz vor seinem Tode, hatte sich Crusius in ihren Augen als ein dezidierter Antiaufklärer bewiesen.

|| erscheinen, und lebe wohl schon irgendwo auf der Erde. ›Was haben doch die Herren Chiliasten für wunderliche Einfälle! Herr Crusius behauptet, er gehöre nicht zu ihnen. Man muß ihm dies auf sein Wort glauben, und ich rede desto lieber alles mögliche Gute von ihm, da er durch seine Sitten ein sehr ehrwürdiger Mann ist, und Eine gute Handlung viele Träumereien vergütet.‹ (RJ)« (Leben D. Johann Lorenz Blessig’s des Ober-Consistoriums und Directoriums Augsb. Conf. Mitglieds, Professors der Theologie an dem protestant. Seminar, kirchlichen Inspectors, Predigers an der Neuen Kirche zu Straßburg, beschrieben von Carl Maximilian Fritz, Professor der Theologie am protest. Seminar, kirchlichem Inspector, Director des Gymnasiums, und Prediger an der Neuen Kirche. Zweiter Theil. Straßburg, gedruckt und zu finden bei Joh. Heinrich Heitz, Schlauchgasse N. 3. 1818, S. 31, Anm. 14 zu 29.) 77 Semler und Bekker d. J.: Anmerkungen über Herrn D. Crusii Bedenken (s. Anm. 1), S. 60.

Paola Rumore

Crusiusʼ Gedanken über Geister, Teufel und Aberglaube 1 Fragestellung Christian August Crusius’ Auseinandersetzung mit der Frage und dem Problem des Aberglaubens stellt ein bemerkenswertes Beispiel jener Inkongruenzen dar, die in mehr oder weniger versteckter Art und Weise das Zeitalter der Aufklärung beschäftigt. Die Aberglaubenskritik wurde nämlich zu Recht zu den sogenannten ›tragenden Ideen‹ der deutschen Aufklärung gezählt.1 Der Leitgedanke des langen 18. Jahrhunderts, ein neues Verständnis vom Menschen und seiner Bestimmung vorzulegen, hatte in der Befreiung der Vernunft sowohl von den ›Ketten‹ des traditionellen Dogmatismus als auch von anderen Formen ihrer Unterjochung – insbesondere durch Aberglaube und Vorurteile – seinen kämpferischen Höhepunkt. Nichtsdestoweniger hat die Aufklärung schon in Bezug auf die Vorurteilsfrage unterschiedliche Meinungen und Positionen entwickelt.2 Die Überzeugung Georg Friedrich Meiers, man sollte nicht alle Vorurteile radikal zurückweisen, sondern wenigstens zumindest in einer praktischen und pragmatischen Hinsicht rehabilitieren, kann als authentischer Ausdruck einer bestimmten Variante des aufgeklärten Geistes gelten.3 Dagegen scheint die Aufklärung gegen den Aberglauben eine höchst kompakte Kampflinie gebildet zu haben: Die Verurteilung war im Falle der superstitio übereinstimmend und radikal. Einer der Gründe dieser einhelligen Positionierung lag darin, dass – während das Vorurteil als ein bloß logischer Irrtum eingestuft wurde, dessen Inhalt aber bisweilen vernunftmäßig sein könne –, der Aberglaube auch inhaltlich immer falsch sei und bleibe, da seine Lehren vernunftwidrige Meinungen religiösen Gehalts enthielten. Nach Crusius’ Erklärung gilt nämlich für den Aberglauben: || 1 Vgl. diesbezüglich den Aufsatz von Norbert Hinske: Die tragenden Grundideen der deutschen Aufklärung. Versuch einer Typologie. In: Raffaele Ciafardone (Hg.): Die Philosophie der deutschen Aufklärung. Stuttgart 1990, S. 407–458. 2 Für eine begriffliche und historische Untersuchung der Frage der Vorurteile im 18. Jahrhundert vgl. Werner Schneiders: Aufklärung und Vorurteilskritik. Studien zur Geschichte der Vorurteilstheorie. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1983. 3 Vgl. Georg Friedrich Meier: Beyträge zu der Lehre von den Vorurtheilen des menschlichen Geschlechts (Halle 1766). Hg. von Heinrich P. Delfosse, Norbert Hinske und Paola Rumore. Pisa 2005; Paola Rumore: Eine fortgeschrittene Stimme in der deutschen Aufklärung. Meiers Erzählungen einer aufklärerischen Weltweisheit. In: Erzählende und erzählte Aufklärung. Hg. von Frauke Berndt und Daniel Fulda. Hamburg 2018, S. 216–223. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-018

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Weit nachdrücklicher als der Lateiner superstitio und der Griechen deisidaimonia ist das deutsche Aberglaube, d. i. eine eitle und irrige Religion oder Religiosität, so wie man das Aberwitz nennet, dem das Wesen dessen, was man unter Witz versteht, fälschlich zugeschrieben wird. Glauben heißt im vorzüglichen Verstande die religiöse Annehmung göttlicher Dinge, die aber nicht mit den Sinnen empfunden werden. Geschieht diese Annehmung aus Irrthum und törichter Einbildung, so kann dieses Laster mit Recht Aberglaube heissen.4

Selbst die meisten und weitverbreiteten Lexika der Aufklärung stimmen darin überein, dass der Aberglaube »in einem Irrthum bestehe, da man natürlichen und menschlichen Dingen etwas göttliches beylegt, welche sie an sich nicht haben, so daß dieser Irrthum einen unvernünfftigen Affect in dem Gemüthe erregt«.5 Das bedeutet, dass der vom Aberglauben begangene Fehler kein bloß formeller, sondern ein durchaus ›substantieller‹, ›inhaltlicher‹ Irrtum ist. Der Abergläubige hat nämlich eine falsche Kenntnis von Gott und von der Natur, d. h. von der natürlichen und übernatürlichen Beschaffenheiten der Dinge zur Voraussetzung. Dabei verwechselt die abergläubische Haltung häufig Natürlichkeit und Übernatürlichkeit der Dinge, entwickelt aus willkürlichen und unzureichenden Gründen und meint, willkürliche Kausalverknüpfungen unter den Phänomenen erkennen zu können. Demzufolge schreibt der Abergläubige den natürlichen Dingen eine göttliche Kraft zu, wenn er beispielsweise die Erscheinung eines Comets vor eine besondere göttliche Anzeige eines künfftigen Schicksals ansieht. [Oder] wenn [er] denen Geister, sonderlich den Teufel, auf eine ganz irrige Art, so grosse Kräffte beylegt, vermöge deren sie alles, was sie nur wolten, ins Werk setzten könten, welcher Irrthum in den Menschen die Lust zur Magie erwecket [oder auch,] wenn [er] denen Gestirnen und deren Einfluß das Glück und Unglück, wie auch Neigungen deren Menschen zuschreibt, welche fälschlich gegründete Meinung nachgehends zu der lächerlichen und ungereimten Astrologie Anlaß gegeben [hat].6

Bei einem Teil der deutschen Aufklärer galten der Glaube an die Wirkungen von Gespenstern und des Teufels, der Zauberei, der Astrologie und jeder Art von Zuschreibung göttlicher Kräfte an die irdische Schöpfung (seien es Gestirne, Steine,

|| 4 Christian August Crusius: Gründliche Belehrung vom Aberglauben zur Aufklärung des Unterschiedes zwischen Religion und Aberglauben. Aus dem Lateinischen übersetzt von Christian Friedrich Petzold. Leipzig 1767, § 3. In der Einleitung seiner Übersetzung erklärt Petzold, dass der von ihm herausgegebene Band vier Dissertationes de superstitione enthält, die zwischen 1754 und 1755 in Leipzig unter Crusius’ Vorsitz verteidigt wurden. Petzold bemerkt aber auch, dass die Schrift als eine Fortsetzung und Vollendung zweier anderen Disputationen von Crusius betrachtet werden kann, die im Jahr 1751 unter dem Titel De dissimilitudine inter religionem et superstitionem erschienen waren. 5 Johann Georg Walch: Philosophisches Lexicon. Leipzig 41775 [11726] [ND Hildesheim 1968], ad voc. »Aberglaube«. 6 Johann Heinrich Zedler (Hg.): Grosses vollständiges Universal-Lexicon aller Wissenschafften und Künste. Halle, Leipzig 1732–1750 [ND Graz 1961–1964], ad voc. »Aberglaube«.

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Pflanzen, Kräuter) als bedenkenswert und wurden insgesamt als gültige Äußerungen des menschlichen Fürwahrhaltens verstanden. Wie erwähnt, stützt sich jede Art von Aberglauben auf einen theoretischen Irrtum bezüglich der Beschaffenheiten der natürlichen und übernatürlichen Dinge und insbesondere auf eine falsche Kenntnis der Kausalverhältnisse zwischen den Phänomenen. Selbst die abergläubische Überzeugung, dass man mittels Formeln und Ritualen den Verlauf von Glück und Unglück des Menschen bestimmen könne, basiert letztendlich auf einer falschen bzw. verworrenen Kenntnis der Gründe (rationes) der weltlichen Dinge. Eine präzise Erklärung solcher Umstände bietet Christian Wolff in seiner 1719 verfassten Deutschen Metaphysik, in der er feststellt, dass »sowohl das Glück, als Unglück nichts anders als die Verknüpfung solcher Ursachen [sind], die wir nicht vorher sehen können«.7 Dieselbe Meinung taucht weitgehend unverändert auch in Meiers späterer Schrift über das Thema auf.8 Wäre der Aberglaube jedoch lediglich ein Fehler der theoretischen Vernunft, der sich auf das Erkenntnisfeld beschränkte, hielte man ihn nicht für ein gravierendes und dringliches, d. h. unmoralisches oder gar sündhaftes Fehlverhalten des Menschen. Die Umdeutung des Aberglaubens vom theoretischen Fehler zum moralischen Laster wird deutlich im Zedlers Universal-Lexicon zusammengefasst, eine der bedeutendsten Enzyklopädien des Aufklärungszeitalters. Hier wird der Aberglaube zum Laster insoweit, als er eine praktische Auswirkung hat: Aus dem Erkenntnisfehler »entsteht ein unvernünfftiger Affect in dem Gemüth«, der »falsche und irrige Einbildungen« verursacht, die zuletzt das Verderben des Willens hervorrufen. Die irrige Zuschreibung göttlicher Kräfte zu irdischen Ereignissen bewirke demzufolge »ungegründete Hoffnung und Furcht« im menschlichen Gemüt, »welche einen unvernünftigen Gottesdienst hervor bringen«.9 Während aber Christian Wolff die Frage des Aberglaubens zumeist auf das Gebiet der theoretischen Fehler beschränkt, findet man bei Christian Thomasius eine erheblich komplexere Diskussion dieser Frage.10 Denn es war insbesondere Thomasius’ Verdienst, die praktischen Aspekte der Aberglaubenstheorie herrausgearbeitet zu haben. Er weist nämlich darauf hin, dass aufgrund eines abergläubischen Erkenntnisfehlers eine Reihe von Affekten hervorgebracht würden, die den Willen verderben und die Menschen zu Handlungen gegenüber Gott (der sogenannte Got-

|| 7 Christian Wolff: Vernünfftige Gedancken von Gott, der Welt und der Seele des Menschen, auch allen Dingen überhaupt, den Liebhabern der Wahrheit mitgetheilet (Deutsche Metaphysik). Halle 1719 [ND Hildesheim 1983], § 1002. 8 Vgl. Georg Friedrich Meier: Gedanken vom Glück und Unglück. Halle 21762 (11753); vgl. dazu Paola Rumore: Virtù e buona sorte: il caso di Meier. In: Momenti di felicità. A cura di Paola Rumore. Bologna 2018, S. 47–64. 9 Zedler (Hg.): Universal-Lexicon (s. Anm. 6), ad voc. »Aberglaube«. 10 Vgl. die detaillierte Untersuchung bei Martin Pott: Aufklärung und Aberglaube. Die deutsche Frühaufklärung im Spiegel ihrer Aberglaubenskritik. Berlin 1992, S. 78–126.

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tesdienst) führen, die wider das Gute gerichtet seien. In der Einleitung zur Sittenlehre aus dem Jahr 1692 gründet Thomasius den Unterschied zwischen innerlichem und äußerlichem Gottesdienst auf die Idee, dass die menschliche Glückseligkeit – d. h. das telos des menschlichen Handelns in der Ethik – mittels einer natürlichen Gottesliebe erreicht werden könne, wodurch man Gott nicht als summum bonum, sondern als Ursprung der Geschöpfe (als Schöpfer) und aller menschlichen Glückseeligkeit erkennen könne und solle.11 Die Gottesliebe sei demzufolge das Gefühl der natürlichen und vernünftigen Verpflichtung der Menschen zu Gott, wodurch die Menschen sich gezwungen fühlen, Gottes Begierde und Willen zu erfüllen. Die Verwirklichung solchen Gefühls der Verpflichtung im konkreten Handeln bilde den innerlichen Gottesdienst, der sich auch als Nächstenliebe ausdrückt.12 Im Gegensatz dazu sei der äußerliche Gottesdienst die Sphäre des sogenannten äußeren Glaubens, d. h. die Sphäre der Rituale und der Zeremonien, die sich, wenn sie nicht von der innerlichen Gottesliebe ›beseelt‹, d. h. motiviert sind, in bloße »Heucheleien«, mithin Täuschungen verwandelten. Die äußeren Rituale – eine Art von Mitteldingen (adiaphora) – bilden nach Thomasius das Feld, auf dem der Aberglaube am häufigsten und wirksamsten auftauche. Der Aberglaube sei nämlich – im Unterschied zum Atheismus – eine Art von Gottesliebe, wenn auch eine unvernünftige. Gleichwohl sei er schlimmer als der bloße Atheismus, weil die Abergläubigen – im Gegensatz zu den Gottlosen – auf den Gebrauch ihrer Vernunft verzichten. Sie wollen sich nicht vom Licht der Vernunft führen lassen und halten etwas für Gott, das kein Gott sein könne. Während der Atheist seine Vernunft behalte, sie aber irrigerweise benutze, handele der unvernünftige Abergläubige wie ein Tier, das keine Vernunft besitze: So ist demnach ein Weltweiser Mann der Gott nach Anleitung der Vernunft, wie er soll, erkennet, alleine ein Mensch, ein Atheiste und ein Abergläubischer sind Bestien, jedoch mit diesem Unterschied: Ein Atheiste ist einem Affen nicht ungleich, weil er einem wahre Philosopho ziemlich nahe kommt und in vielen nachaffet, aber er ist doch kein Mensch, weil er von Gott so wenig weiß als ein Affe. Ein Abergläubischer aber ist wie ein tummer Esel oder wie ein Schwein usw. dessen äusserliches Thun ganz offenbahr von dem menschlichen Thun und Lassen entschieden ist.13

Daraus folgt Thomasius’ Überzeugung, den Aberglauben nicht als Äußerung der immodica ratio (der frechen Vernunft) zu verstehen. Da nach Thomasius der Aberglaube in erster Linie ein moralisches Problem darstellt, sollte er auch vom Gesichtspunkt der Sittenlehre, und nicht von Seiten der Theologie analysiert und be-

|| 11 Vgl. Christian Thomasius: Einleitung zur Sittenlehre. Halle 1692 [ND Hildesheim 1995]. Der Titel des 3. Hauptstücks lautet nämlich: »Von Gott als dem Ursprung aller menschlichen Glückseeligkeit, und was die natürliche Erkänntniß desselben zu der grössten Glückseeligkeit contribuire«; zu den zwei Arten des Gottesdienstes vgl. ebd., § 34f. und S. 135f. 12 Ebd., § 51, S. 140f.; § 69, S. 147f. 13 Ebd., § 72, S. 151.

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wertet werden. Insoweit bildet die Offenbarung für Thomasius kein wirksames Mittel für die Erkenntnis und die Berichtigung des Aberglaubens. Der Aberglaube sei nämlich ein Laster des Gemüts, eine Art falsch ausgerichteter Willen, d. h. eine schlechte Neigung, die von eigentümlichen Leidenschaften bestimmt sei ‒ Leidenschaften, die die Menschen vom eigenen Vernunftgebrauch abhielten. Daher entzieht Thomasius die Behandlung des Aberglaubens der Zuständigkeit der Theologie und führt sie der Affektenlehre und damit dem Feld der praktischen Philosophie zu. Daraus entsteht eine Aberglaubenskritik, die sich auf die Untersuchung der drei Hauptaffekte des menschlichen Gemüts – Wollust, Ehrgeiz, Geldgeiz – stützt. Durch solche passiones dominantes geriete man in einen Zustand illusorischer Gemütsruhe, die ein Zustand ständiger Unzufriedenheit sei, weil der Mensch durch sie gezwungen sei, einem ununterbrochenen Streben nach einem Scheingut zu folgen. Gegen das Laster des Aberglaubens brauche man daher eine Sittenlehre, die als moralische Heilkunst wirken müsse, um die Menschen von den Pervertierungen der unvernünftigen Liebe im Aberglauben zu retten und die vernünftige Liebe gegenüber Gott und den Mitmenschen zu fördern. Nicht von ungefähr versteht Thomasius seine Ausübung der Sittenlehre (1696) – wie es auf dem Frontispitz seines Werkes zu lesen ist – als »Artzeney wider die unvernünfftige Liebe«.

2 Crusius’ Stellungnahme zum Aberglaube im Kontext Crusius’ Überlegungen zur superstitio ordnen wie ein roter Faden seine gesamte theologische und philosophische Tätigkeit. Seine ersten Äußerungen zu dem Thema gehen schon auf die frühen 1740er Jahre zurück und werden insbesondere in der ersten Auflage der Anweisung vernünftig zu leben (1744) entwickelt, in der der Aberglaube in einer für die Zeit üblichen Art zu den besonderen moralischen Verderben gezählt wird. Insbesondere äußerten sich die Wirkungen des Aberglaubens im Verstand, da dieser falsche Glaube in einer »Neigung« bestehe, »geheimnisvolle Kräfte, durch welche die Welt und die menschliche Begebenheiten regieret werden sollen, ohne vernünftige Ursache, und vornehmlich in solche Dingen zu glauben, welche derselben nicht fähig sind«.14 Und schon in den frühen 1750er Jahren beginnt Crusius, sich dem Thema mit verstärktem Interesse zu widmen, indem er die Frage nach der Differenz zwischen der wahren Religion und dem Aberglauben explizit ins Zentrum seiner theologischen Untersuchungen stellt. Zwischen 1751 und 1755 verfasst er eine Reihe von sechs lateinischen Dissertationen über das Verhältnis zwi-

|| 14 Christian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Leipzig 1744 [ND Hildesheim 1969], § 259, S. 314f.

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schen Religion und Aberglauben, die später ins Deutsche übersetzt wurden. Die beiden ersten übersetzte Johann Friedrich Hübschmann, ein Lehrer der Kreuzschule in Dresden, mit dem Titel Die wahre Gestalt der Religion, wiefern sie dem Aberglaube entgegengesetzt ist (1754); die vier übrigen wurden erst 13 Jahre später (1767) von dem evangelischen Theologen Christian Friedrich Petzold übersetzt, und zwar unter dem Titel Gründliche Belehrung von Aberglauben zur Aufklärung des Unterschiedes zwischen Religion und Aberglauben. Die erwähnten Dissertationen stellen Crusius’ letzte Auseinandersetzung mit dem Thema der superstitio dar; schon in der dritten Auflage seiner Anweisung weist nämlich Crusius auf Petzolds Übersetzung hin, um auf eine substanziellere Untersuchung des Aberglaubens zu verweisen.15 Crusius’ Vorhaben in den erwähnten Dissertationen bestand nämlich darin, »eine deutliche Erklärung des Charakters, der Ursachen und Wirkungen des Aberglaubens« anzubieten, »durch deren sorgfältigen Überlegung sich ein jeder in den Stand setzten kann, von allen Arten des Aberglaubens, die er in der Erfahrung und dem Umgange bemerkt, oder in Bücher gefunden zu haben sich erinnert, ein richtiges Urtheil zu fällen«.16 Den Aberglaube definiert Crusius an dieser Stelle als einen theoretischen und zugleich als einen moralischen Irrtum: Er ist »eine verkehrte, unbesonnene Weise und ohne tüchtige Gründe angenommene Art von den verborgenen und unsichtbaren Ursachen zu denken, welche man der Regierung der Welt und der menschlichen Schicksale zuschreibt«, um »deswegen auch solche Dinge zu thun, welche jenen Meynungen gemäß sind, und wodurch man mit jenen Ursachen in Verbindung zu kommen, sie gleichsam zu nöthigen, daß sie uns helfen müssen, oder was man wünscht, von ihnen zu erlangen vermeint«.17 Hinter dem Aberglauben verbirgt sich mithin ein Erkenntnisfehler, der sich jedoch auf religiöse Sachverhalte beziehe, und zwar indem sich der Mensch sowohl die göttliche Vorsehung als auch die von Gott allein abhängige Regierung der Welt in einer verkehrten Weise vorstelle. Demzufolge muss man beispielsweise all diejenigen Irrtümer als abergläubisch beurteilen, die man begeht, wenn man glaubt, man sei vermögend, »durch [...] ungereimte Dinge, die Ursachen des Glücks in Verbindung mit sich zu bringen, und die Ursache des Unglücks von sich zu entfernen«.18 Eine solche Annahme stütze sich auf eine falsche Vorstellung Gottes und führe unmittelbar zur Erdichtung und Einbildung ungereimter Phänomene wie dem Wahrsagen aus den Gestirnen, der Zauberei oder der Beschwörung von Dämonen und verstorbenen Seelen.19

|| 15 Vgl. Cristian August Crusius: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Dritte und vermehrte Auflage. Leipzig 1767, § 680, S. 849, Anm. 16 Crusius: Gründliche Belehrung vom Aberglauben (s. Anm. 4), § 1, S. 2. 17 Ebd., § 3, S. 7–9; Hervorhebung P.R. 18 Ebd., § 4, S. 10. 19 Ebd., § 5, S. 11.

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Mit Thomasius und Budde teilt Crusius eine gleichsam voluntaristische Auffassung des Aberglaubens, die neben dem theoretischen Irrtum – d. i. der falschen Vorstellung Gottes und seiner Eigenschaften – einen bösen Willen bzw. ein verdorbenes Gemüt als Grund der superstitio annimmt. Solche theoretischen Ungereimtheiten – Gott sei nicht der wahre Schöpfer, der gerechte Gesetzgeber, der Vergelter des Guten und der Rächer des Bösen u. v. m. – wurzelten nämlich in einer verfehlt ausgerichteten Gottesliebe und brächten einen falschen Glauben an Gott mit sich.20 Aus der falschen Darstellung Gottes ergibt sich, was Johann Franz Buddeus als perversus cultus Dei bezeichnet hatte, d. h. eine »Kontrastierung wahrer Gottesfurcht aus vernünftiger Liebe mit einer ›knechtischen und kindischen unvernünfftigen Furcht‹ Gottes«.21 Ein solches Verhältnis gegenüber dem Übernatürlichen sei aber keine Form der wahren Religion, sondern vielmehr eine Art Götzendienst als Hauptgattung allen Aberglaubens, d. h. eine bloße Verehrung von Dämonen. Ein Dämon ist nämlich nach Crusius »ein jedes geistiges, von den Menschen und den übrigen Thieren auf der Erde unterschiedenes, und in der Welt wirksames Wesen, [...] von dem die Menschen Gutes zu erwarten, oder Übel zu fürchten haben«.22 Unter heidnischen, d. h. hier vor allem antiken Völkern wurden Dämonen als Mitteldinge zwischen der Gottheit und den Menschen begriffen. Man könne leicht absehen, wie sich die Geschichte entwickelt: Sobald man die Verehrung der Mitteldinge mit der innerlichen Verehrung Gottes verwechsele, verliere man die innere Fertigkeit, Gott zu erkennen, das eigene Gemüt auf ihn zu richten und entsprechend zu handeln; alles in allem verliere man aufgrund solcher Verkehrung des Willen und des Gewissens die wahre Religion und gerate in den Aberglauben. Die falsche Ausrichtung der Gemüter – als Folge der mutwilligen Abweichung von Gott, d. h. des Sündenfalls – sei Ursprung und Nahrung des Aberglaubens, da sowohl in den Geistern, die nur »mittelmäßige Verstandskräfte« besitzen, als auch in den »scharfsinnigen Köpfen« das natürliche und vernünftige Verlangen, nach Gottes Willen zu handeln, durch eine Reihe schädlicher Affekte ersetzt werde. Der vollkommenste Ausdruck einer solchen ebenso unmoralischen wie ketzerischen Ausrichtung des Willens sei das »verkehrte Philosophieren«, das selbstverständlich auch Crusius wie die übergroße Mehrheit der deutschen Philosophen jener Zeit mit der sogenannten »Materialisterey und Fatalisterey« identifiziert. Die Vorstellung, »die Materie sey das Principium, woraus alle Dinge, und zwar ohne Zweck und Wahl, nach einer mechanischen Notwendigkeit, entstanden waren«, bildet nach Crusius den Keim zwar nicht eines jeden, aber dennoch des sicheren

|| 20 Ebd., § 5, S. 12; § 6, S. 14. 21 Pott: Aufklärung und Aberglaube (s. Anm. 10), S. 177. 22 Crusius: Gründliche Belehrung vom Aberglauben (s. Anm. 4), § 15, S. 29.

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Aberglaubens.23 Sobald die Philosophen begonnen hatten, »der Materie [...] Leben und Verstand« zuzuschreiben, wurde der Weg eröffnet, der erst ermöglichte, dass man »den Himmel für lebend hielt, und die Gestirne [...] vor die vollkommensten lebenden Wesen ansah«.24 Daraus ist natürlich leicht zu schließen, dass »die Schicksale der Menschen durch die Gestirne, als Götter, [...] determinirt« seien oder sich gar aus ihnen vorhersehen ließen.25 Die Vorstellung, »der Himmel sey der höchste Gott, die Gestirne seyen mittlere Gottheiten, und der Himmel sey mit Dämonen angefüllt«, öffnet somit Tür und Tor zu einer ›verzauberten‹, d. h. übernatürlichen Erklärung natürlicher Phänomene. Eben daraus sei der Glauben an die Wirkung der guten und bösen Geister (z. B. des Teufels) auf das menschliche Schicksal entstanden.26 Am Rande komme zudem noch hinzu: Indem man eine unwiedertreibliche Determination aller Dinge annahm, so war hiermit die Moralität der menschlichen Handlungen als der erste und nothwendige Grund der Religion in der That aufgehoben.27

Die enge Verbindung von Materialismus, Fatalismus, Aberglaube, Atheismusverdacht sowie dem Umsturz der Moral28 erlaubt es Crusius, seine Kritik an alten Aberglaubensformen auf seine Zeit zu beziehen und damit sowohl zeitgenössische Schwärmer, Freidenker, Materialisten und Religionsspötter, aber auch die wolffianischen Befürwörter des nexus rerum fatalis als Angriffspunkt seiner scharfen Kritik zu intendieren. Das »abergläubische Unternehmen, außerordentliche und widernatürliche Dinge durch Anwendung gewisser Gebräuche und Formeln hervorzubringen, mit welchen verborgene und mächtige Ursachen wirken sollen, von denen, wie man vermeynt, das Glück und Unglück in menschlichen Leben abhanget«, ist nach Crusius eben das, was man Zauberei bzw. Magie nennt.29 Es ist hier nicht erforderlich, erneut zu betonen, welche zentrale Rolle die Debatte über die Zauberei während der Frühaufklärung gespielt hat, insbesondere im Zusammenhang der Auseinandersetzungen zwischen den aufgeklärten Philosophen und der religiösen

|| 23 Ebd., § 18, S. 42; § 19 Anm., S. 43. 24 Ebd., § 19, S. 45. 25 Ebd., § 22, S. 46f. 26 Ebd., § 20, S. 45f. 27 Ebd., § 38, S. 78. 28 Zu diesem Argumentationszusammenhang auch bei Crusius vgl. demnächst Gideon Stiening: »Die Natur macht den Menschen glücklich«. Modelle materialistischer Ethik im 18. Jahrhundert. In: Lothar van Laak, Kristin Eichhorn (Hg.): Kulturen der Moral / Moral Cultures. Hamburg 2021 [i.D.]. 29 Ebd., § 43, S. 86f.

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Orthodoxie, und zwar sowohl lutherischer als auch katholischer Orientierung.30 Im Jahre 1701 hatte Christian Thomasius eine erfolgreiche polemische Schrift zu diesem Thema veröffentlicht, in der er zwar die Zauberei als ein moralisches Laster bezeichnete, dessen Verfolgung er aber von Seiten der bürgerlichen Gerichte mit Nachdruck kritisierte.31 Diese Kritik bedient sich zweier Argumente. Erstens führt Thomasius einen theologischen bzw. metaphysischen Grund an: Wie der holländisch-reformierte Theologe Balthasar Bekker meint er nämlich, dass die Geister überhaupt – d. h. böse und gute Geister bzw. Teufel und Engel – nicht im Stande seien, eine reale Wirkung auf den Körper und den physischen Bereich auszuüben.32 Obwohl er – im Unterschied zu Bekker – seine Pneumatologie nicht auf cartesische Prinzipien stützt, ist er damit einverstanden, den Teufel für ein bloß geistiges Wesen zu halten (»ohne Fleisch und Knochen«), der kein physisches commercium mit dem Menschen herstellen könne, wobei als Bündnisse mit dem Satan damals beispielsweise der Beischlaf mit einem bösen Geiste, die teuflische Hexenmahlzeit und ähnliche Phänomene gelten.33 Bei Thomasius beendet der Teufel seine ›Karriere‹ als allmächtiger Geist der Theologen und wird vielmehr als ein in beschränktem Maße wirksamer böser Geist verstanden, der ausschließlich moralisch auf die Menschen wirke. Dagegen ist der zweite Grund juridischer Natur. Er besteht in dem Versuch einer Säkularisierung der juridischen Normen nach den Prinzipien des modernen Naturrechts: Zauberei und Hexerei stellen in diesem Zusammenhang kein bürgerliches Verbrechen dar und entziehen sich demzufolge der bürgerlichen Autorität der Richter. Diese letzte Überzeugung findet man nahezu unverändert bei Crusius wieder: Dieses Laster [die Zauberei], wenn es auch vor Gott noch so groß ist, vor das Tribunal menschlicher Richter entweder gar nicht zu ziehen ist, oder nicht auf die Art, wie solchen bey den Papisten gewöhnlich ist, und dies deswegen, weil eine verkehrte Art zu denken in Absicht auf die Religion und die Ursachen des Glücks und Unglücks, wiefern einer dem andern nicht schadet, kein bürgerlicher Verbrechen ist.34

|| 30 Für eine allgemeine Darstellung der Debatte vgl. Stuart Clark: Thinking with Demons. The Idea of Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe. Oxford 1997; Lyndal Roper: Witch Craze. Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany. New Haven, London 2004; Witchcraft in Europe. 400–1700: A Documentary History. Hg. von Alan Charles Kors und Edward Peters. Philadelphia 2001. 31 Christian Thomasius: De crimine magiae. Halle 1701. Deutsche Übersetzung unter dem Titel: Kurtze Lehr-Sätze von dem Laster der Zauberey. Halle 1704. 32 Vgl. Annemarie Nooijen: »Unserm grossen Bekker ein Denkmal«? Balthasar Bekkers ›Betoverde Weereld‹ in den deutschen Landen zwischen Orthodoxie und Aufklärung. Münster 2009, S. 217–224 sowie den Beitrag von Hans-Peter Nowitzki in diesem Band. 33 Vgl. Christian Thomasius: Versuch vom Wesen der Geister. Halle 1699 [ND Hildesheim 2004]. 34 Crusius: Gründliche Belehrung vom Aberglauben (s. Anm. 4), § 56, S. 125f.

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Insofern kommt Crusius zwar Thomasius’ Intention und Begründung einer Missbilligung der Hexenverfolgung nahe, jedoch aufgrund deutlich abweichender Voraussetzungen: Während Thomasius seine Meinung letztlich auf die radikale Trennung zwischen innerlichem und äußerlichem Gottesdienst stützt und demzufolge auf die moderne Trennung zwischen der inneren Sphäre des Glaubens und dem äußeren bürgerlichen Leben, vertritt Crusius eine stärker theologische und metaphysische These. Anstatt Thomasius’ Meinung über die bloße moralische Bedeutung solcher Geister wiederzugeben, konzentriert sich Crusius auf ihre Wirksamkeit in der Welt, von der er eine deutliche Bestätigung in den Apostelgeschichten zu finden glaubt.35 Das Zeugnis der »heiligen Scribenten« – d. h. der unmittelbaren Abgesandten Gottes – war für Crusius ein zuverlässigeres Argument als die philosophischen Überlegungen über die notwendige Verknüpfung der natürlichen Phänomenen (den nexus rerum), aufgrund dessen Spinoza die Wunder im allgemeinen in ihrer Möglichkeit ausgeschlossen hatte, während Wolff noch einen letzten Platz für sie reserviert hatte.36 Crusius aber bereiten Wunder wieder überhaupt keine Probleme mehr: »Unter den Menschen« seien durch die »Beyhülfe« solcher mächtiger Geister »ausserordentliche und nicht natürliche Dinge bewerkstelliget worden«.37 Nichtsdestoweniger unterscheidet der Leipziger Theologe eine der christlichen Religion angemessene Zauberei, worunter auch die Wunder zu zählen sind, von ihrer degenerierten Form, dem magischen Aberglaube, und dies in seinen zahlreichen Formen: Wahrsagen (»magia »divinatoria oder fatidica«), Betrügen (magia »praestigiatoria«) oder Schädigen und Verderben (magia »venefica«, d. i. die eigentliche Hexerei).38 Erneut sieht Crusius die Ursache einer solchen irrigen Umkehr des in sich vernunftgemäßen Glaubens zugunsten der mächtigen Geister in den fehlgeleiteten Gemütern der Menschen: »Allein ein Jeder, welcher die Gebote Gottes muthwillig aus den Augen setztet, begeht eben das Laster, dessen die Zauberer schuldig sind, und welches sie vornehmlich fähig macht, Zauberer zu sein«, denn »es ist nicht glaublich, daß die bösen Geister bey menschlichen Zauberkünsten wirkliche Hülfe leisten, ausser bey solchen Menschen, welche ein ganz von der Religion abgekehrtes Herz haben, und auf Dinge, die Gott zuwider sind, ein recht großes und völliges vertrauen setzten, so daß [sie] Werkzeuge einer mannigfaltigen Bosheit bey der Ausführung solcher Dinge abgeben können«.39 Es seien eben aus-

|| 35 Ebd., § 45, S. 101f.; die Apostelgeschichte zeugt nach Crusius von zahlreichen Phänomenen dämonischer Besessenheit; der Apostel Paulus befreit z. B. die besessene, mit Wahrsagerfähigkeiten begabte Magd mit den Worten: »Ich gebiete dir [Geist] in dem Nahmen Jesu Christi, von ihr auszugehen«, Apg 16.16. 36 Für Crusius’ Auffassung der Wunderwerke vgl. Cristian August Crusius: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunftwahrheiten. Leipzig 1745 [ND Hildesheim 1964], §§ 375–377, S. 709–720. 37 Crusius: Gründliche Belehrung vom Aberglauben (s. Anm. 4), § 45, S. 101. 38 Ebd., § 54, S. 121. 39 Ebd., § 53, S. 119f.

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schließlich ›verkehrte Gemüter‹, die demzufolge den mächtigen bösen Geistern Zugang zur menschlichen Welt gewähren, und es sei kein Zufall, dass die Begriffe Zauberer, Betrüger und Heuchler als Synonyme gelten. Wenn bürgerliche Strafen kein mögliches Mittel gegen das Laster des Aberglaubens darstellen, dann müsse man einen anderen Weg für die Befreiung des menschlichen Gemüts finden. Der von Crusius vorgeschlagene Weg ist jener der ›moralischen Umerziehung‹ des Gewissens zum Gefühl der Verbindlichkeit gegen Gott und demzufolge zur wahren Religion. Erste und wesentliche Bedingung dafür ist nach Crusius die göttliche Gnade,40 die jedoch außerhalb der menschlichen Verfügbarkeit steht. Was den Menschen zu verändern bleibe, beträfe das, was Crusius als subjektive Gründe des Aberglaubens bezeichnet und deren Bearbeitung seinen Hauptbeitrag zur Aberglaubenskritik darstellt. Mit seiner psychologisch-anthropologisch orientierten Untersuchung des Aberglaubens liefert Crusius einen bedeutsamen Beitrag zur anthropologischen Diskussion der Hochaufklärung, die ihren Ursprung zwar im Bereich der empirischen Seelenlehre Wolffs hatte, sich jedoch – wie im Falle Meiers, Unzers und anderer Vertreter der ›anthropologischen Aufklärung‹ – relativ bald von Wolffs rationalistischen bzw. intellektualistischen Auffassung der menschlichen Natur verabschiedete.41 Unter den psychologischen Voraussetzungen des Aberglaubens, d. h. seinen »subjectivische[n]« Ursachen, nennt Crusius die drei folgenden: Erstens »falsche Geschichten«, d. h. genauer: die menschliche Neigung oder Bereitschaft, Geschichten für wundersam zu halten, die sich nicht verstehen lassen. Das ist zumeist der Fall bei erdichteten Wundern und sonderbaren Begebenheiten.42 Bei solcherart Geschichten führt die Unwissenheit leicht dazu, natürliche Ereignisse, die Verwunderung hervorrufen und ungewöhnlich sind, als Wunder zu interpretieren, wie etwa Sonnen- und Mondfinsternisse. Zweitens gründet sich der Aberglaube auf »eine verkehrte Art zu philosophieren«, d. h. auf die Gewohnheit, sich bei Untersuchung der Wahrheit nur auf das eigene Urteil zu verlassen. Es handele sich in diesem Fall um das Gleiche, was Wolff den logischen Egoismus nannte und dem Kant den logischen Pluralismus gegenüberstellte, d. h. die Vorstellung, dass Wahrheit und Kenntnisse kaum Sachen seien, die der Philosoph durch seine isolierte Arbeit erreichen könne, sondern die die Mitwirkung vieler Köpfe erfordere.43

|| 40 Ebd., § 39, S. 80. 41 Vgl. hierzu u. a. Hans-Peter Nowitzki: Der wohltemperierte Mensch. Aufklärungsanthropologien im Widerstreit. Berlin, New York 2003. 42 Ebd., § 74, S. 187: Hier »fehlt es entweder [...] an historischer Gewißheit [= falsche Zeugnisse], oder sie beweisen das nicht richtig, was daraus geschlossen wird«. 43 Ebd., § 83, S. 205f. Wenn unsere eigenen privaten Empfindungen und Sätze die einzige Begründung und Bestätigung unserer Meinungen bilden, steht der Weg zum Aberglauben ohne Hindernisse vor uns. Als Beispiel solch falschen Verfahrens nennt Crusius die irrige Auslegung der Heiligen

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Drittens gründet sich der Aberglaube nach Crusius auf dem ›alten Feind‹ jeder Philosophie: den »Vorurtheile[n] der Autorität« – wozu Crusius auch die Erziehung, die Gewohnheiten und die Neigung zur Nachahmung zählt. Aus diesem Vorurteil ergäben sich zwei Grundbeschaffenheiten des menschlichen Gemüts, denen die Philosophie widerstehen müsse: Auf der einen Seite entstehe aus den Vorurteilen die »geistige Trägheit«, die genau wie die Trägheit der Körper wirke: eine Art Unbeweglichkeit, die es schwer und mühsam mache, alte Auffassungen aufzugeben. Auf der anderen Seite bewirken Vorurteile die unwiderstehliche Begierde, vorliegende Exempel nachzuahmen – und vorzüglich die, bei denen die Sinne stark gerührt worden sind.44 Die von Crusius erwähnten Ursachen des Aberglaubens sind allesamt Arten der Leichtgläubigkeit, d. h. unmittelbare Folge der von den verschiedenen Formen der Aufklärung immer wieder und in unterschiedlichen Weisen bekämpften ignavia ratio, eine faule Vernunft, die ihre Resultate ohne große Mühe zu erreichen versuche. Diese Gemütsneigung bestimme den Charakter des Abergläubischen, der des Öfteren unter dem Einfluss der Sinne denke und handele, eine vermessene Haltung aufzeige und nicht bereit sei, seine Meinungen zu revidieren, und zwar selbst dann nicht, wenn die Naturwissenschaften sie deutlich widerlegen können. Nach Crusius bestehe aber zwischen Religion und Wissenschaft (hier als Naturforschung) keine strenge Gegenüberstellung: Eigentlich »gründet sich [die Religion] auf richtige Beweise, welche zwar dieienigen, die nicht im scharfsinnigen Denken geübt sind, nicht im Stande sind distinct vorzutragen, welche doch aber von den Gelehrten sehr wohl und gründlich vertheydigt und auseinander gesetzt werden können, dergestalt, daß die Grundsätzen und die Arten zu schließen, welche dabey vorkommen, nach der Logik die schärfste Probe halten«. Dies gilt auch für philosophische Systeme (und Crusius nennt selbstverständlich das seinige), die »die Schranken der menschlichen Vernunft an die Grenzen der höheren Offenbarung richtig [an]passen, wenn nur nichts ohne Beweis angenommen wird, und es auch im Schließen nicht versehen wird«.45 Nebst der profunden Kenntnis der Heiligen Schrift bildet die wiederholte Überprüfung der philosophischen Systeme nach Crusius ein entscheidendes Beurteilungskriterium der Wahrheiten der Religion und bietet somit einen erfolgsreichen Ausweg aus dem Laster des Aberglaubens.

|| Schrift seitens der ›Papisten‹, die z. B. ihre Interpretationen einiger kontroverser Textpassagen nicht zur Diskussion stellen, und sie stattdessen in Dogmen verwandeln (so die Transubstantiation). 44 Ebd., § 85, S. 209–212. 45 Ebd., § 84, S. 207f.

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3 Die Anlass-Schriften: Geisterbeschwörungen, Teufelsaustreibung und Exorzismen In seinen oben knapp skizzierten systematischen Schriften zum Aberglauben bewegt sich Crusius gewissermaßen noch in den Bahnen der aufgeklärten Aberglaubenskritik. Die Betonung der ›psychologischen‹ und ›anthropologischen‹ Grundlage des abergläubischen Gemüts wurzeln in dem Anspruch, die vernachlässigten Aspekte der menschlichen Natur hervorzuheben, die von der rationalistischen Philosophie bis dato nicht in Betracht gezogen worden waren. Crusius trägt damit in erheblichem Maße dazu bei, die Entwicklung der deutschen Philosophie nach dem Muster der britischen und französischen Aufklärung voranzutreiben. Die Vorstellung, die Vernunft sei weder das einzige noch ein privilegiertes Mittel zur Verbesserung des Menschen – wobei selbst ihre unvernünftige Natur (Affekte, Empfindungen usw.) eine unbestreitbare Rolle spielt – wirkt hier als ein deutliches Signum seiner Modernität. Dennoch kehrt Crusius zu dem Thema Aberglaube in einer Reihe von Schriften, die er im Jahr 1775 verfasst und die er den Teufelsaustreibungen des schweizerischen katholischen Priesters Johann Joseph Gaßner46 sowie dem Wirken des Okkultisten und Geistersehers Johann Georg Schröpfer47 widmet, zurück. Hier scheint Crusius sich von dem üblichen aufgeklärten philosophischen Verfahren zu distanzieren, zugunsten einer obskurantistischen, populären Auffassung solcher übernatürlichen Phänomene, die man nur mit einigen Schwierigkeiten mit den Schlussbemerkungen seiner systematischen Schriften vereinbaren kann. Die Gedanken über Herrn Gaßners Teufel-Austreibung beziehen sich nämlich auf das Wirken Johann Joseph Gaßners, eines der berühmtesten Heilpraktiker und Exorzisten seiner Zeit. Den Anlass für Crusiusʼ Anmerkungen über Gaßner bildet eine berühmte Episode, nämlich der Fall zweier besessener Schwestern, die wegen ihrer starken und gefährlichen Konvulsionen dazu gezwungen wurden, ihre religiöse Gemeinschaft zu verlassen. Gaßner, der das Phänomen nicht als natürliche Krankheit, sondern als eine Wirkung des Teufels verstand, behandelte die Schwestern durch ein spezielles Ritual exorzistischer Natur. Der Fall Schröpfers lag teilweise ähnlich: Dieser Leipziger Wirt war wegen seiner vermeintlichen Fähigkeiten berühmt geworden, mittels einer magischen Laterne

|| 46 [Christian August Crusius:] Eines großen Gottesgelehrten Gedanken über Herrn Gaßners TeufelAustreibung. s.l. 1775. 47 Christian August Crusius: Bedenken eines berühmten Gelehrten über des famosen Schröpfers Geister-Citiren. Berlin 1775; vgl. Deac Rossel: The 19 Century German Origins of the Phantasmagoria Show (ungedruckt: https://www.academia.edu/4609248/The_19_Century_German_Origins_of_the_ Phantasmagoria_Show) (letzter Aufruf 19. Oktober 2020).

406 | Paola Rumore

übernatürliche Phänomene – Gespräche mit Toten, Teufelserscheinungen, Besessenheiten und ähnliche Phänomene – auslösen zu können. In seinen kleinen Schriften beschreibt Crusius die Leistungen, Zeremonien und Rituale der zwei Geisterseher im Detail und kommt dabei zu erstaunlichen Schlussfolgerungen: Im Einklang mit der thomasianischen und pietistischen Tradition ist er zwar bereit, den Teufel als moralisch wirkendes Prinzip zu verstehen, aber er ist zugleich bereit, seine wirkliche Existenz anzunehmen: Der Teufel sei ein gottähnliches Prinzip, das genau wie Gott die Fähigkeit habe, auf die Welt zu wirken. Wir sind [...] mit Leib und Guth als Gäste und Fremdlinge in dieser Welt, dem Teufel unterworfen. Denn weil er ein Gott und Fürst dieser Welt ist, ist unter seiner Macht und Gewalt alles das, davon wir in diesem leiblichen Leben unterhalten werde. Dahero ist nun Zauberey nichts anders, denn ein Gespenst und Trügerei des Teufels, denn der Satan ist so listig und gewaltig, daß er alle menschlichen Sinne betrügen und äffen kann, und ist auch kein Wunder. Geschieht doch natürlicher daß ein Ding durch ein gemahlet Glaß anders ist. Viel leichter kann der Fürst dieser Welt, der Teufel, das zuwege bringen, daß einer sich dünken lässet, er sähe etwas, daß er doch nicht siehet, und daß einer Donner, Pfeifen, Posaunen höret, die er doch nicht höret, darum ist der Satan Master darauf, die Leute zu äffen und alle menschliche Sinne zu betrügen, daß einer darauf schwören dürfte er sähe, hörte und griffe ein Ding, daß doch im Grunde der Wahrheit eitel nichts ist.48

Bei der Behandlung der erwähnten exorzistischen Fälle zeigt Crusius eine deutliche Neigung, die Evidenz solcher übernatürlicher Phänomene ihrer rationalen Erklärung zu entziehen und sie als unwiderlegbare Bestätigung der Realität und der Wirkmächtigkeit von Geistern auszulegen. Als Gegenmittel schlägt er eine Art Kompromiss vor, der darin besteht, bei solchen Phänomenen vorsichtig mit den Gefahren des Aberglauben umzugehen, ohne aber ihre übernatürliche Natur zu übersehen. Der Teufel wirke gewaltig und eindeutig unter den Menschen; die Menschen sollten aufgrund ihres guten und rechtschaffenen – in Sinne von: vernünftigen – Gewissen seiner Versuchung widerstehen.49 Die Reaktionen der aufgeklärten Welt folgen auf den Fuß: Moses Mendelssohn schreibt eine kritische Anmerkung zu Crusius’ Überlegungen zu Schröpfer, in der er die naturwissenschaftliche Erklärung der vermeintlich übernatürlichen Phänomene einklagt. Crusius’ Annahme, dass sowohl gute als auch böse Geister unmittelbar auf unsere Nerven wirken könnten, hält Mendelssohn für eine bloße Ungereimtheit, deren Grund in einem gestörten Gemüt und in seinen unvernünftigen Affekten zu suchen sei: »Die Furcht macht die Täuschung noch leichter, als die Hoffnung […].

|| 48 [Christian August Crusius:] Eines großen Gottesgelehrten Gedanken (s. Anm. 46), S. 21f. 49 Bei dieser Überzeugung sieht sich Crusius in voller Übereinstimmung mit Thomasius, der niemals die Absicht gehabt habe, »zu leugnen, daß es böse Geister gebe, noch [...] ihre Wirkungen in die menschlichen Seelen überhaupt in Zweifel [zu] ziehen« (Gründliche Belehrung vom Aberglauben [s. Anm. 4.], § 44, S. 99).

Crusiusʼ Gedanken über Geister, Teufel und Aberglaube | 407

Wir sehen nicht, was da stehet, sondern wir fürchten«.50 Schröpfer habe vermutlich mithilfe seiner Zauberlaterne Gespenster erscheinen lassen, Rauch gemacht und Schall durch Hohlspiegel reflektieren lassen, was alles nichts als Betrug sei. Selbst Johann Salomo Semler, das »ausgeprägste Sprachrohr der Teufelskritiker«,51 verfasste und veröffentlichte eine Widerlegung von Crusius’ Bedenken. In seinen Samlungen von Briefen und Aufsätzten über Gaßnerischen und Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen (1776) erkennt er bei dem genannten Wirken keine Dämonen am Werke, sondern bloße Phänomene, die »physisch gewöhnlich« verursacht würden und die daher ein rein künstlicher Betrug seien.52 Die strengste Reaktion scheint aber von Friedrich Nicolai zu kommen, dem Herausgeber der Allgemeinen deutschen Bibliothek, der sich folgendermaßen über das »abenteuerliche […] System« Crusius’ äußert: Wer den Herrn D. Crusius einigermaßen kennt, kann gleich voraus sehen, wie das Bedenken beschaffen seyn werde. Man weiß, daß dieser Gelehrte alle gegenwärtige physische und moralische Begebenheiten mit bewundernswürdiger Leichtigkeit durch die Mitwirkung des Teufels erklärt, und von allen künftigen Begebenheiten durch Vorbilder und Prophezeihungen die genausten Nachrichten hat.53

Zumindest hinsichtlich seiner Auffassung von übernatürlichen Mächten und ihrer Wirkung erweist sich Crusius als Vertreter einer Philosophie, die immer noch die alte Unterjochung der unmündigen Vernunft durch die Vorurteile fortzutreiben scheint und die nur in beschränktem Maße dazu bereit ist, die Schwäche des menschlichen Gemüts in einer bloß irdischen Perspektive zu behandeln.

|| 50 Vgl. Moses Mendelssohn: Anmerkungen über einen schriftlichen Aufsatz, die Wunderthaten des berüchtigen Schröpfer betreffend. In: Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek 26.1 (1775), S. 277–281. 51 Nooijen: »Unserm grossen Bekker ein Denkmal«? (s. Anm. 32), S. 302; für eine gesamt Darstellung von Crusius’ Stellungnahme zu Schröpfer siehe S. 300–304. 52 Johann Salomo Semler: Samlungen von Briefen und Aufsätzen über die Gaßnerischen und Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen. 2 Bde. Halle 1776, Bd. 2, S. 362. 53 Friedrich Nicolai: Rezension von Ch. A. Crusius’ Bedenken über die Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen. In: Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek 26.1 (1775), S. 272–277, hier S. 276f.

| 5 Appendix

Biographical Note 10 January 1715

Christian August Crusius was born in Leuna, a small town near Merseburg in Saxony. His father, Johann August Crusius, was a pastor, his mother, Christiana Dorothea Crusius (born Petzold), the daughter of a pastor

8 November 1723

Christian Wolff was expelled from Halle, he immediately accepted a call to Marburg

23 September 1728

Death of Christian Thomasius

1729

Death of the father, who taught the young Crusius at home before he attended the Domschule in Merseburg

1729─1734

Domschule in Merseburg, in that time a prestigious grammar school

6 June 1731

Death of Andreas Rüdiger, former student of Christian Thomasius and the most influential teacher of Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann

from 1734

Move to Leipzig, where Crusius studied theology, philosophy, mathematics and history; his most influential teachers were the philosopher Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann (1703‒1741) as well as the theologians Johann Gottlob Pfeiffer (1667‒1740), Romanus Teller (1703‒1750) and Johann Christian Hebenstreit (1686‒1756); in history he was instructed by Christian Gottlieb Jöcher

21 February 1737

Magister philosophiae, Diss.: De praecipuis cognoscendae veritatis obstaculis commentatio logica, Leipzig

1740

Doctor philosophiae, venia legendi in philosophy; Dissertatio philosophica de corruptelis intellectus a voluntate pendentibus. Resp. Johann Gottfried Alberti, Leipzig; dt.: Philosophische Abhandlung von denen Verderbnissen des menschlichen Verstandes, Leipzig 1768; private lectures on moral theology, dogmatic theology and exegetics, preacher (»Vesperprediger«) at the university church

21 November 1740

Return of Christian Wolff from Marburg to Halle

18 August 1741

Death of Adolph Friedrich Hoffmann

1742

Baccalaureus theologiae

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-019

412 | Biographical Note

22 September 1742

1st pro loco disputatio: Disputatio de appetitibus insitis voluntatis humanae

1 May 1743

2nd pro loco disputatio: Dissertatio philosophica de usu et limitibus principii rationis determinantis vulgo sufficientis, dt. (with comments): Ausführliche Abhandlung von dem rechten Gebrauche und der Einschränkung des sogenannten Satzes vom zureichenden oder besser determinirenden Grunde. Leipzig 1744

1744

Anleitung vernünftig zu leben, Leipzig; position as a »Frühprediger« at the university church

1745

Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzet werden, Leipzig

27 June 1744

Extraordinary chair of philosophy at the University of Leipzig

1747

Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß. Leipzig

1748

Call to Rinteln: professor primarius and superintendent, Crusius rejected the call

1749

Anleitung über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudencken. 2 vols. Leipzig

1750

Offer of a chair of philosophy and of an extraordinary chair of theology at the University of Göttingen, Crusius rejected the call as well as another call to Coburg as the director of the grammar school

18 March/29 April 1751

Licentiatus theologiae, Doctor theologiae; Disputatio de dissimilitudine inter religionem et superstitionem

1 May 1751

Chair in theology at the University of Leipzig, nevertheless Crusius continued his teachings in philosophy

since 1752

Crusius‘ writings were exclusively dedicated to theology

1753

Ephorus of the electoral fellows and canon in Zeitz; appointment as an ordinary chair of theology and as an extraordinary chair at the University of Göttingen, Crusius rejects the call

1754

Death of Christian Wolff

Biographical Note | 413

1755

Canon in Meißen, Decemvir of the University of Leipzig, rector of the University of Leipzig; another call to the University of Göttingen for an appointment as an university chancellor, Crusius rejected the call

1756

Prorector of the University of Leipzig, Senior and preses of the preachers’ collegium

31 January 1757

Professor primarius in theology and senior of the faculty of theology; call as superintendent to Schleswig-Holstein, Crusius rejects the call

1763

Abhandlung von dem wahren Begriffe der christlichen Frömmigkeit. Leipzig

1764‒1778

Hypomnemata ad theologiam propheticam. 3 vols. Leipzig

1764

Custodian and prelate of Meißen Abbey

1765

Another offer of a position as an university chancellor at the University of Göttingen, Crusius rejected the call

1767

Rector of the University of Leipzig

1768

Kurze Vorstellung von dem eigentlichen schriftmäßigen Plan des Reiches Gottes. Leipzig

1772/73

Kurzer Begriff der christlichen Moraltheologie, oder nähere Erklärung der practischen Lehren des Christenthums. 2 vols. Leipzig

7 May 1773

Senior of the University of Leipzig

18 October 1775

Crusius died because of an advanced pulmonary disease, unmarried, spiritually well-prepared

List of Sigla AA

Kantʼs gesammelte Schriften. Hg. von der Preußischen [später: Deutschen] Akademie der Wissenschaften. Berlin 1900ff. (AA Band, Seitenzahl)

CPH

Christian August Crusius: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. 4 Bde. Hg. von Sonia Carboncini und Reinhard Finster. Hildesheim 1964‒1987. (CPH Band, Seitenzahl)

FA

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: Sämtliche Werke, Briefe, Tagebücher und Gespräche. Frankfurter Ausgabe. 40 Bde. Hg. von Hendrik Birus u. a. Frankfurt a. M. 1989‒ 2013. (FA Band, Seitenzahl)

G

Die philosophischen Schriften von Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. 7 Bde. Hg. von Carl Immanuel Gerhardt. Berlin 1875‒1890 [ND Hildesheim 1961]. (G Band, Seitenzahl)

GGW

Christian Garve: Gesammelte Werke. 17 in 19 Bden. Hg. von Kurt Wölfel. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1985–2000. (GGW Band, Seitenzahl)

HT

David Hume: A Treatise of Human Nature. Ed. by David Fate Norton and Mary J. Norton. Oxford University Press 2000.

HW

Johann Gottfried Herder: Werke. 3 Bde. Hg. von Wolfgang Proß. Darmstadt 1984– 2002. (HW Band, Seitenzahl)

JBW

Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi: Briefwechsel – Nachlaß – Dokumente. Hg. von Walter Jaeschke und Birgit Sandkaulen. Stuttgart 1981ff. (JBW Band, Seitenzahl)

JWA

Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi: Werke. Gesamtausgabe. Hg. von Klaus Hammacher und Walter Jaeschke. Hamburg, Stuttgart 1998ff. (JWA Band, Seitenzahl)

LPS

Johann Heinrich Lambert: Philosophische Schriften. 10 Bde. Begonnen von Hans Werner Arndt, fortgeführt von Lothar Kreimendahl. Hildesheim 1965–2008 sowie 2 Suppl.-Bde. Hildesheim 2020 [Johann Heinrich Lamberts Monatsbuch. Neu hg., eingel., komment. und mit Verzeichnissen zu Lamberts Schriften, Briefen und nachgelassenen Manuskripten versehen von Niels W. Bokhove und Armin Emmel]. (LPS, Band, Seitenzahl bzw. LPS Suppl., Band, Seitenzahl).

LW

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing: Werke in 8 Bänden. Hg. von Herbert G. Göpfert u. a. München 1970‒1979 [Darmstadt 1996]. (LW Band, Seitenzahl)

MGS

Moses Mendelssohn: Gesammelte Schriften. Jubiläumsausgabe. Hg. von Alexander Altmann, Michael Brocke, Eva J. Engel und Daniel Krochmalnik. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1972ff. (MGS Band, Seitenzahl)

SSW

Baruch de Spinoza: Sämtliche Werke Lateinisch-deutsch. Hg. von Wolfgang Bartuschat u. a. Hamburg 1982ff. (SSW Band, Seitenzahl)

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-020

416 | List of Sigla

TAW

Christian Thomasius: Ausgewählte Werke. Nachdruck der Originalausgaben. Hg. von Werner Schneiders und Frank Grunert. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1993ff. (TAW Band, Seitenzahl)

WGW

Christian Wolff: Gesammelte Werke. Nachdruck der Originalausgaben. Hg. von Jean Ecole u. a. Hildesheim, Zürich, New York 1965ff. (WGW Abteilung, Band, Seitenzahl)

WOA

Christoph Martin Wieland: Werke. (Oßmannstedter Ausgabe.) Historisch-kritische Ausgabe. Hg. von Klaus Manger und Jan Philipp Reemtsma. Berlin, New York 2008ff. (WOA Band, Seitenzahl)

WP

Werkprofile. Philosophen und Literaten des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts. Hg. von Frank Grunert, Stefan Klingner, Udo Roth und Gideon Stiening. Berlin, New York 2011ff. (WP Band, Seitenzahl)

Bibliography Monographical Works De praecipuis cognoscendae veritatis obstaculis commentatio logica. Leipzig 1737. Repr. in: Hildesheim 1987. De appetitibus insitis voluntatis humanae. Dissertatio philosophica. Leipzig 1742. De usu et limitibus principii rationis determinantis vulgo sufficientis. Diss. theol. Leipzig 1743. Anweisung vernünftig zu leben. Darinnen nach Erklärung der Natur des menschlichen Willens die natürlichen Pflichten und allgemeinen Klugheitslehren im richtigen Zusammenhange vorgetragen werden. Leipzig 1744, 2nd and increased Edition 1751; 3rd and increased Edition Leipzig 1767. Repr. of the 1st Edition Hildesheim 1969. Ausführliche Abhandlung von dem rechten Gebrauche und der Einschränkung des sogenannten Satzes vom Zureichenden oder besser Determinirenden Grunde. Aus dem Lat. übers. und mit Anm. versehen von Christian Friedrich Krause. Leipzig 1744, 2nd Edition 1766. German transl. of: Dissertatio De usu et limitibus principii rationis determinantis. Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzet werden. Leipzig 1745, 2nd and increased Edition Leipzig 1753; 3rd and increased Edition Leipzig 1766. Repr. of the 2nd Edition Darmstadt 1963. Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverläßigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntniß. Leipzig 1747, 2nd and increased Edition Leipzig 1762, 3rd Edition Leipzig 1763. Repr. of the 1st Edition Hildesheim 1965. Anleitung über natürliche Begebenheiten ordentlich und vorsichtig nachzudencken. Leipzig 1749, 2nd and increased Edition Leipzig 1774. Opvscvla Philosophico-Theologica: Accedit Responsio Ad Obiectiones Qvasdam Contra Dissertationem De Limitibvs Principii Rationis Determinantis. Leipzig 1750. Dissertatio de decoro divino. Leipzig 1739 (German transl. by Georg Daniel Petzold. Leipzig 1762). Dissertatio philosophica de corruptelis intellectus a voluntate pendentibus. Leipzig 1740 (German transl. by Gottfried Joachim Wichmann. Leipzig 1768). Dissertatio philosophica de appetitibus insitis voluntatis humanae. Leipzig 1742. Dissertatio philosophica de usu et limitibus principii rationis determinantis, vulgo suficientis. Leipzig 1743 (German transl., comments and attachment by Christian Friedrich Krause. Leipzig 1743; 2nd Edition with additions by Christian August Crusius and Christian Friedrich Petzold. Leipzig 1766). Disquisitio, an cum B. Luthero recte negari possit, idem verum esse in philosophia et theologia. Leipzig 1745 (German transl. by Gotthelf Hartmann Schramm. Leipzig, Zwickau 1771). Repr. Hildesheim 1987. Epistola ad perillustrem et generosissimum dominum dominum Ioannem Ernestum L. B. ab Hardenberg […] De summis rationis principiis […]. Leipzig 1752. Repr. in: Christian August Crusius: Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Vol. 4.1. Hildesheim 1987. Abhandlung von dem, was Gott geziemet, oder anständig ist. Aus dem Lat. übers. und mit einer Vorrede begleitet von Georg Daniel Pezold. Leipzig 1752. German transl. of: De Decoro divino. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-021

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Die wahre Gestalt der Religion, wiefern sie dem Aberglauben entgegen gesetzt ist. Aus dem Lat. übers. von Johann Friedrich Hübschmann. Leipzig 1754. German transl. of: De Dissimilitudine inter religionem et superstitionem. Commentatio De aera Iothamica ad 2. Reg. XV, 30. Leipzig [1756]. Observationum de coelo per adventum Christi commoto. Leipzig 1757. Gedanken von dem Himmel und der Bewegung desselben seit der Ankunft Christi. Aus dem Lat. übers. Leipzig 1757. German transl. of: Observationes de coelo per adventum Christi commoto. Disseritur de vera significatione nominis tetragrammati. Leipzig 1758. Commentatio De Vera Notione Pietatis Christianae. Leipzig 1761/62. Abhandlung von dem wahren Begriffe der christl. Frömmigkeit. Nebst einem Anhange von dem evangelischen Endzwecke der Bergpredigt Christi. Aus dem Lat. übers. von Johann Andreas Jacobi. Leipzig 1763. German transl. of: De vera notione pietatis christianae. Hypomnemata Ad Theologiam Propheticam. 3 vols. Leipzig 1764–1778. Abhandlung von den Ueberbleibseln des Heidenthums in den Meynungen vom Tode. Aus dem Lat. übers. [von Adolf Friedrich von Reinhard]. Leipzig 1765. German transl. of: Commentatio de reliquiis gentilismi in opinionibus de morte. Observationes de usu vocabuli nomos, lex, sigillatim in epistola S. Pauli ad Romanos. Leipzig 1765/66. Ausführliche Abhandlung von dem rechten Gebrauche und der Einschränkung des sogenannten Satzes vom Zureichenden oder besser Determinirenden Grunde. Aus dem Lat. übers. und mit Anmerkungen und einem Anhange begleitet von Christian Friedrich Krause. Zwote Ausgabe mit anderweitigen Anmerkungen des Herrn Verfassers und einer andern hierher gehörigen Schrifft des Übersetzers auch einem Vorberichte vermehrt von Christian Friedrich Pezold. Leipzig 1766. German transl. of: Dissertatio De usu et limitibus principii rationis determinantis. Faßliche Vorstellung von dem ganzen Buche der Offenbarung Jesu Christi, oder der so genannten Offenbarung Johannis, und wie man es mit oder ohne Berechnung der geheimen Zeiten nutzen soll. Ehemals als eine Vorrede ausgefertiget, und jetzo auf vieler Verlagen zum Drucke befördert. Leipzig 1766. Beyträge zur Beförderung der Bekehrung zu Gott und des Glaubens an unsern Herrn, Jesum Christum. Nebst einer Abhandlung von der Ehrerbietung, welche ein Prediger dem göttlichen Worte, und der Gemeine, die ihn höret, schuldig ist. Leipzig 1767. Erläuterung des Briefes Pauli an die Römer, sonderlich in Absicht auf die verschiedentlichen Bedeutungen des Wortes Gesetz. Aus dem Lat. übers. von M. Gottfried Joachim Wichmann. Leipzig 1767. German transl. of: Observationes de usu vocabuli nomos, lex, sigillatim in Epistola S. Pauli ad Romanos Gründliche Belehrung vom Aberglauben zur Aufklärung des Unterschiedes zwischen Religion und Aberglauben. Aus dem Lat. übers. von M. Christian Friedrich Pezold. Leipzig 1767. German transl. of: De Superstitione. Gründliche Belehrung von der Christlichen Kirche. Ehemals in einzelnen academischen Abhandlungen vorgetragen, jetzo zu gemeiner Erbauung hier gesammlet und aus dem Lateinischen übersetzt von Johann Valentin Kornrumpf. Leipzig 1767. Kurze Vorstellung von dem eigentlichen schriftmässigen Plan des Reiches Gottes. Leipzig 1768, 2nd and increased Edition Leipzig 1773. Philosophische Abhandlung von denen Verderbnissen des menschlichen Verstandes, so von dem Willen abhängen. Aus dem Lat. übers. von M. Gottfried Joachim Winkelmann. Leipzig 1768.

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Disquiritur, utrum discipuli Christi imbecilles regnum mundanum expectaverint, an secus erraverint. 2 vols. Leipzig 1769. Crusius, Christian August: Theses Contra Profanitatem. Leipzig 1769. Commentatio de typo serpentis aenei, imposito symbolo poenae super signo ducis populi dei. 2 vols. [Leipzig] 1770. Commentatio de dogmatum Christianorum historia. Cum probatione dogmatum non confundenda. Leipzig 1770. Commentatio super Erroribus de Retinenda lege Mosaica inter Primos Christianos, deque Errorum Istorum vera Indole et Varietate. [Leipzig] 1770. Vier Abhandlungen, betreffend den Glauben der ersten Schriften und des alten Testaments. Aus dem Lat. übers. von M. Gottfried Joachim Wichmann. Leipzig 1771. Kurzer Begriff der Moraltheologie, oder nähere Erklärung der practischen Lehren des Christenthums. 2 vols. Leipzig 1772/73. Untersuchung ob man mit dem sel. Luther sagen könne daß nicht einerley in der Philosophie und Theologie wahr sey. Aus dem Lat. übers. und mit einer Vorrede worinnen die Regel daß die Geheimnisse der Religion über aber nicht wider die Vernunft sind erl. wird, begleitet von Gotthelf Hartmann Schramm. Leipzig, Zwickau 1772. German transl. of: De subsidiis cognoscende veritatis a modestia expectandis. Beytrag zum richtigen Verstande der heiligen Schrift, insonderheit des prophetischen Theils des göttlichen Worts. Erster Theil, welcher die erste Hälfte der allgemeinen Anleitung, als eines Handbuches zur ganzen Bibel, enthält. Aus dem Lat. übers. Leipzig 1772. German transl. of: Hypomnemata ad theologiam propheticam. Kurze Vorstellung von dem eigentlichen schriftmässigen Plan des Reiches Gottes, welche auf besondere Veranlassung entworfen und zum Druck überlassen. Die andere und vermehrte Auflage. Leipzig 1773. Sätze wider die Profanität. Zum Gebrauch in den öffentlichen Lehrstunden verfasset, und so eingerichtet, daß man die Quellen leicht siehet. Aus dem Lat. übers. von Daniel Beyer. Leipzig 1773. Einleitung in die wahre und vollständige Cosmologie. Aus dem Lat. übers. von M. Gotthelf Hartmann Schramm. Leipzig 1774. German transl of: Monita de cosmologia vera et adaequata. Bedenken eines berühmten Gelehrten über des famosen Schröpfers Geister-Citiren. s.l. 1775. Eines großen Gottesgelehrten Gedanken über Herrn Gaßners Teufel-Austreibung. s.l. 1775. Commentarius in Jesaiam prophetam observationes continens selectas et maxime necessarias ad veram vaticiniorum sententiam investigandam et argumentis firmandam. Leipzig 1778.

Dissertations C. A. Crusii Sciagraphia epistolae catholicae S. Jacobi apostoli. s.l., s.a. [Resp.] / Börner, Christian Friedrich [Praeses]: De Decoro Divino Disserit Viris Maxime Reverendis, Amplissimis Christiano Weisio […] Romano Tellero […] Carolo Gottlob Hoffmanno […]. Leipzig 1739. [Praeses] / Alberti, Johann G. [Resp.]: De corruptelis intellectus a voluntate pendentibus. Leipzig 1740. De appetitibus insitis voluntatis humanae. Dissertatio philosophica. Phil. Habil. Leipzig 1742. [Praeses]: De Dissimilitudine inter Religionem et Superstitionem Dissertatio. Leipzig 1751. [Praeses] / Mehner, David [Resp.]: De vi atque efficacia interpretationum Scripturae S. satis piarum sed minus accuratarum. Leipzig 1756.

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Sermons Abhandlung von der Vorbereitung zum Tode: welche in der Universitäts-Kirche zu Leipzig am Fest der Reinigung Mariä 1753 vorgetragen, und auf Verlangen dem Drucke überlassen. Leipzig 1753, 2nd Edition Leipzig 1759. Die Beschämung des Unglaubens durch das göttliche Wort wurde am achtzehenten Sonntage nach Trinitatis 1752. in der Universitäts-Kirche zu Leipzig in einer Predigt vorgestellet. Neue und verbesserte Aufl. Leipzig 1753. Sammlung Geistlicher Abhandlungen, welche zu gemeiner Erbauung auf Verlangen dem Drucke überlassen. Leipzig 1753, 2nd Edition 1765. Abhandlung von der gottgefälligen Erniedrigung sein selbsten, welche am siebzehenten Sonntage nach Trinitatis in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig vorgetragen, und auf Verlangen dem Drucke überlassen. Leipzig 1754. Abhandlung von der heylsamen Erkenntniß und dem rechten Gebrauche des heiligen Abendmahles. Leipzig 1754, 2nd Edition Leipzig 1764. Predigt welche an dem Evangelischen Jubel- und Dankfeste wegen zweyhundert Jahren am 25. Septemb. 1555. im Heil. Römischen Reiche geschlossenen Religionsfriedens am 29. Sept. 1755. in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig gehalten. Leipzig 1755. Erweckungspredigt, welche an dem allgemeinen Buß-, Bet- und Fasttage am 12. Nov. 1756. in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig gehalten. Leipzig 1756. Abhandlung der Frage, worinnen die wahre Größe der Menschen bestehe? Welche in einer Predigt am Feste Michaelis 1757 in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig vorgetragen. Leipzig 1757. Von der Ehrerbietung, welche ein Prediger dem göttlichen Worte, und der Gemeinde, die ihn höret, schuldig ist. In: Johann Adam Löw: Neue Sammlung gründlicher und erbaulicher CantzelAndachten über die Evangelien und Episteln des gantzen Jahres. Auch andere wichtige Stellen der heil. Schrift. Gotha, Leipzig 1758, pp. 3‒115. Abhandlung von der Vorsehung Gottes, wiefern durch dieselbe alles zuvor verordnet ist, was geschehen soll. Welche in einer Predigt am Neujahrstage 1759 in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig vorgetragen. Leipzig 1759. Erläuterung des vernünftigen Gottesdienstes. In zwölf Predigten verfasset, darinnen die Natur, Nothwendigkeit und Billigkeit des Glaubens an das Evangelium […] erkläret und vertheidiget wird. Leipzig 1759, 2nd Edition Leipzig 1768. Zwo evangelische Bußpredigten, welche an öffentlichen Fast-, Buß- und Bet-Tagen den 21. Merz 1760 und den 13. Nov. 1761 über die Texte Hiob 33, 23. 24 Ps. 143, 1. 2. in der UniversitätsKirche zu Leipzig gehalten, und auf Verlangen dem Druck überlassen. Leipzig 1761. Betrachtung über das Wesentliche in der Religion, welche in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig am Sonntage Cantate 1762 in einer Predigt vorgetragen, und auf Verlangen dem Drucke überlassen. Leipzig 1762. Erweckung zu Dank und Gebet am Friedensfeste. Über den verordneten Text Ps. 28, 6–9. am 21. März 1763. in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig in der Frühpredigt vorgetragen. Leipzig 1763. Abhandlung von der heylsamen Erkenntniß und dem rechten Gebrauche des heiligen Abendmahles, welche in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig am grünen Donnerstage 1754 vorgetragen, und auf Verlangen dem Drucke überlassen. Zwote Auflage. Leipzig 1764. Abhandlung von dem Wesentlichen, Zufälligen und Heuchlerischen bey der Bekehrung, welche in einer Bußpredigt über Joel 2, 12. 13. am öffentlichen Buß-, Bet- und Fasttage den 8. November 1765 in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig vorgetragen. Leipzig 1765.

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Abhandlung von der wahren Bedeutung des Nahmens Jehovah, daß sie sich auf ein Werk Gottes, und zwar auf das Reich Gottes, beziehe. Aus dem Lat. übers. von M. Rudolph Julius Walther. Leipzig 1767. Abhandlung von drey Stuffen der Bekehrung zu Gott, über Hiob 22, 21–23, welche am Bußtage den 13. Nov. 1767 in der Universitäts-Kirche vorgetragen. Leipzig 1767. Erläuterung des vernünftigen Gottesdienstes. In zwölf Predigten verfasset, darinnen die Natur, Nothwendigkeit und Billigkeit des Glaubens an das Evangelium [...] erkläret und vertheidiget wird. Zwote Aufl. Leipzig 1768. Warnung für die Christen dieser Zeit, sich durch nichts, was in der Welt vorgehet, im wahren Christenthum irre machen zu lassen. Eine Predigt am andern allgemeinen Bußtage 1775 gehalten, über Jes. 48, 17. 18. s.l. 1776. Zwo letzte Predigten. Ed. by Christian Friedrich Pezold. Leipzig 1776. Heilsame Todesbetrachtungen: Eine Predigt über das Evangelium am 16ten Sonntage nach Trinitatis; Warnung für die Christen dieser Zeit, sich durch nichts, was in der Welt vorgehet, im wahren Christenthum irre machen zu lassen. Eine Predigt am andern allgemeinen Bußtage 1775 gehalten.

Sermons with unknown date Drey wichtige Vorstellungen wider die Gläubigen und die Frechheit der Ungläubigen über das Evangelium am Sonntage Jubilate Joh. 16, 16–23. In einer Predigt in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig vorgetragen. Leipzig s.a. Gnomon oder Zeiger zum richtigsten Verstand der zwei wichtigsten Stücke des Jesaia vom Immanuel und vom Werke Gottes: Jes. 7-12 und 52,13-60. s.l., s.a.

Occasional writings Das unvermuthete Absterben. Gedächtnisgedicht auf Daniel Pezold, Pastor, gest. 30 Aug. 1734. Delitzsch 1734. Den wohledlen und wohlgelahrten Herren […]. Glückwunschgedicht zur Magisterprüfung auf Johann Gottfried Strauss, Theol., und Gottlieb Lebrecht Niedner, Theol., 8. Febr. 1742. Leipzig [1742]. Der Wohlehrwürdige, Großachtbare und Wohlgelahrte Herr, Herr M. Johann Gottlob Bürger, bisheriger Sonnabends-Prediger an der Thomas-Kirche zu Leipzig, und nunmehro beruffener Diaconus in Langensalza, den 15. December 1744. zu Antretung seines Ammtes von Leipzig abgieng, statteten ihren Glückwunsch ab eine unter […] Freunden aufgerichtete Gesellschaft zur Lesung Monathlicher Schriften durch Christian August Crusius. Leipzig 1744. Disquisitio An cum B. Luthero Recte Negari possit idem Verum esse in Philosophia atque Theologia. [Leipzig] 1745. De Christianis sale terrae Matth. V. 13. commentatio, quae praemissa ad audiendam orationem, […] invitat. Universitätsprogramm. Leipzig 1751. Trauerrede, welche bei dem Ehrengedächtnis des weiland Christian Friedrich Börners […] welches am 17. December 1753 in der Universitätskirche zu Leipzig bei volkreicher Versammlung gefeiert wurde. Leipzig 1753. Commentatio de vitandis fallaciis in quaestionibus super articulis fidei fundamentalibus et Christianarum sectarum de illis consensu. Universitätsprogramm. Leipzig 1754, 2nd Edition 1768.

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Commentatio reformationis Evangelicae memorialis qua circulus in pontificiorum doctrina de ecclesia demonstratur. Universitätsprogramm. Leipzig 1754. De ecclesia militante observationes selectae. Universitätsprogramm. Leipzig 1755, 2nd Edition Leipzig 1756. Probatio qvod Verbo Dei instrvi Natvrae Hvmanae sssentiale sit. Leipzig 1755. Vindiciae dicti Paulini I. Cor. 15, 29 de baptismo mortuorum causa a difficultatibus hermeneaticis. Universitätsprogramm. Leipzig 1755. Ad panegyrin academicam solennis quinque S. S. theologiae licentiatorum renuntiationis causa celebrandam invitat. Universitätsprogramm. Leipzig 1756. De ecclesia militante. Observationes selectae. Leipzig 1756. De Reliquiis Gentilismi in Opinionibus de Morte Commentatio. Leipzig 1756. Observationes de longanimitate fidei. Universitätsprogramm. Leipzig 1756. Commentatio de ecclesia repraesentativa in locum eius, quae biblice dicitur, non subroganda, proporita Lipsiae die reformationis evangelicae memoriali d. XXXI. Oct. 1758. [Leipzig] 1758. Commentatio de vera eaque relativa nominis tetragrammati significatione. Universitätsprogramm. 2 vols. Leipzig 1758–1759. Probatio quod scopus homiliae montanae domini nostri Jesu Christi Matth. V. VI. VII. sit Evangelicus neutiquam legalis. Universitätsprogramm. Leipzig 1759. Memoriam viri amplissimi atque celeberrimi Jo. Christophori Gottschedii. [Leipzig 1768]. Zwo Investitur-Reden von der vortheilhaften Führung des Lehramtes in Kirchen und Schulen, um das Gehörige zu beobachten und dabey auch den Stand in Ansehen zu erhalten und von der Klage über das einreissende Verderben und den zuverlässigen Mitteln, demselben entgegen zu arbeiten. Leipzig 1769. Disquisitio de errore discipulorum Christi primorum et imbecillium, utrum regnum mundanum expectaverint, an secus erraverint. Universitätsprogramm. 2 vols. [Leipzig] 1769. Panegyrin Ad Solennem SS. Theologiae Licentiati Et Doctoris Renvntiationem Die VI. Et VII. Ivnii, A. N. C. MDCCLXX. In Avditorio Collegii Maioris Indicit Et Ad Illam Rectorem Academiae Magnificvm Et Omnes Ordinis Theologorvm Favtores Invitat D. Christianvs Avgvstvs Crvsivs S. Theol Prof. Primar. Et Philos. P. E. Ecclesiae Cathedralis Misnens. Canonicvs Et Cvstos, Academiae Decemvir, Alvmnor. Electoral. Ephorvs, H. T. Procancellarivs Et Decanvs. Disseritur de dogmatum Christianorum historia cum probatione dogmatum non confudenda. [Leipzig 1770]. Rector Vniversitatis Literar. Lipsiensis Ad Sacra Pentecostalia D. III. Ivn. A. N. C. MDCCLXX In Aede Academica Pavlina Ab Hora XII. Solenni Oratione Concelebranda Invitat. [Leipzig] 1770. Gnomon Ad Prophetiam De Immanvele, Ies. VII–XII.: Programma Propositvm in Acad. Lips. Festo Nativitatis Christi MDCCLXXII. Leipzig [1772]. Monita De Cosmologia Vera Et Adaeqvata: Pvblice Proposita Die Memoriali Reformationis Ecclesiae A. N. C. MDCCLXXII. Leipzig [1772]. De Vsv Libri Estherae Ad Praxin Vitae Christianae. Programma Propositvm In Acad. Lips. In Memoria Sylversteiniana D. XVI. Apr. MDCCLXXIII. Leipzig [1773]. Problema De Dvbiis In Data Convertendis, Sigillatim In Dispvtando Svper Doctrinis Christianis. Programma Propositvm In Acad. Lips. Festo Pentecost. MDCCLXXIII. Leipzig [1773]. Rector Academiae Lipsiensis Ad Sacra Paschalia D. XI. Apr. CIƆIƆCCLXXIII. In Templo Academico Solenni Oratione Concelebranda Invitat: Gnomon ad prophetiam de successu operis Dei per Christum, primo humiliatum dein exaltatum, Jes. LII. 13‒LX. fin. Leipzig 1773.

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Prefaces Vorrede. In: Fehre, Samuel Benjamin: Versuch einer Abhandlung von der noch bevorstehenden merkwürdigen Bekehrung der Juden, in der Furcht Gottes entworffen und nebst einer Vorrede […] D. Christian August Crusii […]. Schneeberg, Leipzig 1753, 2nd Edition Leipzig 1764 Vorrede. In: Burscher, Johann Friedrich: Versuch einer kurzen Erläuterung des Propheten Jeremiä, nach der eigenen Übereinstimmung der heil. Bücher. Mit einer Vorrede [von] Christian August Crusius. Leipzig 1756. Faßliche Vorstellung von dem ganzen Buche der Offenbarung Jesus Christi. In: Samuel Benjamin Fehren: Anleitung zum rechten Verstand und Gebrauch der Offenbarung Johannis, oder vielmehr Jesu Christi, aus den Schriften bewährter Schriftausleger zusammengezogen, […] und nebst einer Vorrede Sr. Hochwürden Herrn D. Christian August Crusius. Altenburg 1760. Von dem Unterschiede zwischen der Auslegung der Texte, und der Aufsuchung der Beweissprüche. In: Philipp David Burk: Evangelischer Fingerzeig auf den wahren Verstand und heilsamen Gebrauch der gewöhnlichen Sonn-, Fest- und feyertäglichen Evangelien. Zur gründlichen Erbauung aufmerksamer Christen herausgegeben. Leipzig 1760. Über die evangelische Synopsis. In: Mirus, Karl Gottfried: Geschichte unsers Herrn und Heilands Jesu Christi auf Erden, das ist die Vier Evangelisten in einem Text zusammen gezogen. Übers. von Johann Albrecht Bengel. Leipzig 1765. Praefatio De usu et necessitate Epistolae ad Hebraeos. In: Schmidt, Christian Friedrich: Observationes super Epistola ad Hebraeos. Leipzig 1766. Vorrede. In: Michaelis, Daniel Christian Gottlieb: Das Neue Testament. Nach der Übersetzung Lutheri mit gehörigen Orts bemerkter genauerer Berichtigung der Übersetzung nach dem Grundtext, und eingeschalteten Erklärungen, als ein Auszug der zur Auslegung gehörigen Arbeiten des seligen D. Bengels über das neue Testament und mit einer Vorrede Seiner Hochwürden Herrn D. Christian August Crusius. Leipzig 1769. Vorrede. In: George Daniel Pezold: Der Christus Gottes. Nach dem Begriffe der heiligen Schriften. 2 vols. Glogau 1774/75.

Editions Die philosophischen Hauptwerke. Ed. by Giorgio Tonelli. Hildesheim 1964–1987. Vol. 1: Anweisung vernünftig zu leben: darinnen nach Erklärung der Natur des menschlichen Willens die natürlichen Pflichten und allgemeinen Klugheitslehren im richtigen Zusammenhange vorgetragen werden. Hildesheim 1969. Vol. 2: Entwurf der nothwendigen Vernunft-Wahrheiten, wiefern sie den zufälligen entgegen gesetzt werden. Hildesheim 1964. Vol. 3: Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverlässigkeit der menschlichen Erkenntnis. Hildesheim 1965. Vol. 4.1: Kleinere philosophische Schriften. Teil 1: Einleitung; Texte. Hildesheim 1987.

Translations Kantʼs Critique of Pure Reason: Background Source Materials. Ed. by Eric Watkins Cambridge 2009, pp. 132–179.

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Christian August Crusius, from Philosophical Dissertation on the Use and Limits of Determining Reason, commonly called Principle of Sufficient Reason. Translated and edited by Corey W. Dyck. Oxford 2019, 22020, pp. 197–225.

Occasional writings on Christian August Crusius Kupffer, Johann Christian: Als die hoffnungs-volle Jünglinge […]. Glückwunschgedicht zum Studienbeginn von Johann Gottfried Alberti und Christian August Crusius, 10. Mai 1734. Leipzig 1734. Moebius, Christian Gottfried: Als der hochwohledle […] Herr […]. Glückwunschgedicht zur Baccalaurei-Würde auf Christian August Crusius, 6. Aug. 1742. Leipzig [1742]. Schmieder, Fridrich Gottlob: Das heilsame Andenken der Christen an treue und verewigte Lehrer der Wahrheit […]. Gedächtnispredigt auf Christian August Crusius, Prof. der Theologie in Leipzig, † 18. Okt. 1775. Leipzig 1776.

Literature on Christian August Crusius B.: Sendschreiben an einem Freund in Sachsen, worinnen die Frage erörtert wird: ob der Satz von dem Determinirenden Grunde eine Nothwendigkeit einführe, und die Freiheit aufhebe? welche von dem Herrn Prof. Crusius in Leipzig, und dem Herrn Diaconus Böldicke in Spandau ohne Stichhaltenden Beweis behauptet worden ist. Jena, Leipzig 1746. Wüstemann, Johann Elias: Einleitung in das philosophische Lehrgebäude des Herrn D. Crusius zum Gebrauche seiner akademischen Vorlesungen. Wittenberg 1757. Anonymus: Sendschreiben an einem Freund in Leipzig wider das Sendschreiben gegen den Herrn Professor Crusius in Leipzig, und Herrn Diac. Böldicke in Spandau, an einen Freund in Sachsen. Über die Frage: Ob der Satz von determinirenden Grunde eine Nothwendigkeit einführe und die Freiheit aufhebe? Wobey zugleich dieses Sendschreiben von Wort zu Wort beygefüget und mit nöthigen Anmerkungen begleitet ist. Leipzig 1766. Anonymus: Ehrenrettung einiger wichtiger Wahrheiten der heiligen Schrift: gegen die Recension von des Herrn D. C. A. Crusii […] Hypomnematibus ad Theologiam Propheticam. Leipzig 1767. Bekker, Balthasar [i. e. Friedrich Gotthilf Freitag]: D. Christian August Crusius der Theologie ersten Professors zu Leipzig, Canonicus des Domstifts Zeitz und Meissen […] Bedenken über die Schröpferischen Geisterbeschwörungen, mit antiapokalyptischen Augen betrachtet. Berlin 1775. Erdmann, Johann Eduard: Versuch einer wissenschaftlichen Darstellung der Geschichte der neuern Philosophie. Vol. 2.2: Leibnitz und die Entwicklung des Idealismus vor Kant. Riga 1842, pp. 460–480. Delitzsch, Franz: Christian August Crusius als Schriftausleger zunächst nach seinen speculativen Grundanschauungen geschildert. In: Zeitschrift für die Historische Theologie 14.4 (1844), pp. 66–87. Delitzsch, Franz: Die biblisch-prophetische Theologie, ihre Fortbildung durch Chr. A. Crusius und ihre neueste Entwicklung seit der Christologie Hengstenbergs. Leipzig 1845. Marquardt, Anton: Kant und Crusius. Ein Beitrag zum richtigen Verständnis der crusianischen Philosophie. Diss. Kiel 1885. Festner, Carl: Chr. Aug. Crusius als Metaphysiker. Diss. Roedenbeck 1892. Dessoir, Max: Geschichte der neuern deutschen Psychologie. Berlin 1894. pp. 101–108.

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Index Abbt, Thomas 174 Adelung, Johann Christoph 340f. Am-Ende, Johann Joachim Gottlieb 155 Aquin, Thomas von 233, 334 Aristoteles 125, 333f., 336, 339, 342, 348 Arndt, Johann 385 Bacon, Francis 127, 138 Bahrdt, Carl Friedrich 157 Bahrdt, Johann Friedrich 157 Baumeister, Friedrich Christian 239 Baumgarten, Alexander Gottlieb 1, 50, 100, 107, 109, 214, 220, 266, 279, 283, 301f., 304, 310, 355 Baur, Samuel 378 Bekker, Balthasar 371, 376, 381f., 386f., 389f., 391, 401 Bengel, Johann Albrecht 4, 16, 161, 371–391 Bentham, Jeremy 281 Bernoulli, Johann I. 142, 161 Bilfinger, Georg Bernhard 42, 214, 238f. Blessig, Johann Lorenz 375, 390f. Boerhaave, Herman 148, 152, 161 Böhme, Jakob 228 Borowski, Ludwig Ernst 33 Böttger, Gottfried Konrad 371, 377 Bramhall, John 230 Brandt, Enevold von 374 Breitinger, Johann Jakob 382 Buddeus (Budde), Johann Franz 231, 236, 239, 399 Buhle, Johann Gottlieb 120 Burk, Philipp David 389 Chodowiecky, Daniel Nikolaus 378 Cicero, Marcus Tulius 334 Coccejus, Johannes 372, 389 Creiling, Johann Conrad 239 Cusanus, Nicolaus 176 Delitzsch, Franz 4, 387f. Descartes, René 115, 122, 210, 230, 232– 234, 368 Eberhard, Johann August 157, 211, 213f., 223, 304, 387

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110647563-022

Erhard, Johann Christoph 110 Ernesti, Johann August 4, 373, 382–384, 387 Feder, Johann Georg Heinrich 355, 370 Ferdinand, Herzog von Braunschweig 375 Feuerlin, Jacob Wilhelm 239 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb 10, 102 Formey, Jean Henri Samuel 21 Freitag, Friedrich Gotthilf 376, 381–384, 386 Friedrich II., König von Preußen 157 Friedrich August II. 375 Friedrich Wilhelm II., König von Preußen 380 Fritz, Carl Maximilian 375, 391 Garve, Christian 288 Gaßner, Johann Joseph 371, 373, 378, 382f., 386f., 405, 407 Gebauer, Johann Jacob 378, 387 Gellert, Christian Fürchtegott 344 Gent, Heinrich von 251 Gleditsch, Johann Friedrich 375, 389f. Globig, Johann Gottlieb von 155 Gohr, Johann Wilhelm 209, 216 Gollner, Johann Christoph 389 Gottsched, Johann Christoph 209, 214, 238f. Gottsched, Luise Adelgunde Victorie 209 Gracián, Baltasar 335 Grotius, Hugo 174, 323, 327f. Guyot, Edme Gilles 380 Haller, Albrecht 161f., 165, 218 Hardenberg, Johann Ernst Freiherr von 4 Hasse, Christian August 371 Hebenstreit, Johann Christian 411 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 102, 227, 319 Heitz, Johann Heinrich 375, 391 Hemmerde, Carl Hermann 371, 382, 386– 388 Herder, Johann Gottfried 174, 188, 216, 218 Herrmann, Johann Gottfried 155 Heumann, Christoph August 337, 344

432 | Index

Heydenrich, Gottlob Heinrich 155 Heynitz, Carl Wilhelm Benno von 376 Hirsching, Friedrich Carl Gottlob 155 Hirt, Johann Friedrich 390 Hobbes, Thomas 230 Hoffmann, Adolph Friedrich 3, 5f., 8, 23, 57, 91, 122, 127f., 130, 191, 320 Höpfner, Friedrich 320 Hübschmann, Johann Friedrich 398 Humboldt, Alexander von 174 Hume, David 218f., 222, 258 Jacobi, Friedrich Heinrich 156, 225 Jeschuah, Don Isaak Arbanels Majaneh 379 Jöcher, Christian Gottlieb 411 Julius, Ludwig 328 Kant, Immanuel 1f., 4, 6f., 9–13, 15, 21–40, 42–44, 53–57, 85, 89f., 98f., 102–106, 109–112, 121, 133, 156–158, 174, 188– 190, 198, 207, 210, 213, 222, 224–226, 228–230, 239f., 247f., 279–283, 286– 289, 294f., 301–317, 319, 325, 335– 337, 342, 344, 347f., 354, 368, 403 Karl von Sachsen, Herzog von Kurland 375, 377 Klett, Eberhard 380 Knigge, Adolph Freiherr von 342, 347 Krause, Karl Christian Friedrich 3, 168, 213 Lange, Joachim 305, 308, 311 Langenheim, Johann Friedrich 383f. Langhansen, Christoph 239 Lavater, Johann Caspar 378, 387 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm 3, 9, 11–14, 21, 41–64, 67, 70, 80–82, 89, 91, 95, 99, 108f., 120, 126, 148, 177f., 181f., 185, 187, 189f., 198, 210–213, 215, 217, 219, 224, 226f., 229–231, 238, 242f., 264, 266, 319 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim 218, 388 Leyser, Johann Gottfried 155, 375 Lichtenberg, Georg Christoph 226 Linck, Johann Heinrich 374f. Lindner, Johann Gotthelf 9 Locke, John 71, 107, 133, 264, 328f., 331 Luther, Martin 135, 221, 228, 378, 382, 384f., 401

Maimon, Salomon 112f. Maupertuis, Pierre-Louis Moreau de 9, 21f., 160, 163, 168 Meier, Georg Friedrich 209–211, 215, 220, 393, 395, 403 Mendelssohn, Moses 21f., 174, 214, 313, 379f., 387, 406f. Mesmer, Franz Anton 378 Michaelis, Daniel Christian Gottlieb 379, 384f. Montaigne, Michel de 342 Moritz, Karl Philipp 112f. Müller, August Friedrich 23, 122, 125–127, 129, 132 Musschenbroek, Pieter van 148, 163f. Newton, Isaac 36, 38f., 115f., 140, 142, 148, 156, 163 Nicolai, Friedrich 372f., 377, 379f., 387, 407 Nietzsche, Friedrich 342 Petzold, Christian Friedrich 394, 398 Pfeiffer, Johann Gottlob 411 Platner, Ernst 102, 106–110, 112f., 214, 344 Pope, Alexander 9 Proklos 176 Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita 176 Pufendorf, Samuel 174, 303, 325 Reimarus, Herman Samuel 214 Reinhard, Adolph Friedrich 9, 23, 167 Reinhold, Carl Leonhard 102, 113 Reusch, Johann Peter 239 Rüdiger, Andreas 5f., 23f., 43f., 91, 122, 124–127, 129f., 136, 164, 411 Saalbach, Ulrich Christian 384 Scharff, Johannes 135 Schlegel, Johann Samuel Benedikt 374–376 Schmid, Carl Christian Erhard 102, 110–113 Schopenhauer, Arthur 342 Schröpfer, Johann Georg 16, 372–391, 405– 407 Semler, Johann Salomo 371, 373, 382–384, 386–391, 407 Spalding, Johann Joachim 174 Spener, Philipp Jacob 385, 387 Spinoza, Baruch de 61, 181, 210, 223, 226, 305, 402

Index | 433

Strähler, Daniel 239 Struensee, Johann Heinrich Graf von 374 Suárez, Francisco 97, 226, 233 Sulzer, Johann Georg 21f. Teller, Romanus 411 Tetens, Johann Nikolaus 102 Thomasius, Christian 5f., 43, 122–126, 128, 131, 133–136, 139f., 144, 183f., 325, 327f., 336f., 344, 395–397, 399, 401f., 406 Thomasius, Jakob 138f. Thümmig, Ludwig Philipp 238f. Unzer, Johann August 403 Varro, Marcus Terentius 381 Walch, Johann Georg 164, 394 Weymann, Daniel 121 Wezel, Johann Carl 371, 377f. Wieland, Christoph Martin 218, 371 Wolff, Christian 1–3, 5–14, 21–25, 28–30, 32f., 39–97, 99–103, 105f., 108f., 111– 113, 115, 120–124, 127–130, 133, 135, 138, 140, 144, 146, 148, 164, 178, 189f., 193, 197f., 204, 207, 209–248, 253f., 256, 261f., 264–267, 274–278, 280f., 287f., 301–306, 308–311, 317, 319, 323–325, 328, 331, 338, 340, 372f., 395, 400, 402f. Wöllner, Johann Christoph von 380 Wurmb, Friedrich Ludwig von 376 Wüstemann, Justin Elias 155–157 Zedler, Johann Heinrich 212, 395