Power and goodness: Leibniz, Locke and modern philosophy 9781243575920

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THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO

POWER AND GOODNESS: LEIBNIZ, LOCKE AND MODERN PHILOSOPHY VOLUME ONE

A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF THE DIVISION OF THE SOCIAL SCIENCES IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

JOHN U. NEF COMMITTEE ON SOCIAL THOUGHT

BY MENG LI

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS DECEMBER 2008

UMI Number: 3338493

INFORMATION TO USERS

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Copyright© 2008 by Meng Li All rights reserved

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Acknowledgements )

My first debt of gratitude is to Nathan Tarcov. Without his support and encouragement I could never have finished my study in Chicago. His careful reading and insightful comments led to significant improvements in this dissertation. His scholarship, kindness, and dedication to students continue to be models for me. To Robert Pippin and Yitzhak Melamed I am very grateful for their generous participation in my committee. Besides their courses, their suggestions and remarks on the draft made this dissertation better. It is a great privilege to spend more than seven years in the University of Chicago, and especially in the Committee on Social Thought. I am grateful to many teachers: Mark Lilla, Ralph Lerner, Jean-Luc Marion, Jonathan Beere, Helma Dik, Glenn Most among others. This dissertation shows what I learnt from their teachings. Thanks are also due to the several institutions that supported my graduate study in Chicago: The University of Chicago, The Bradley Foundation, The Earhart Foundation, The John M. Olin Center. Many friends help me in these years. To Steve, Joel, Nathan, Theo, Jingjiang, Guohua, Linhu, Liping and Tiangeng, Sida, Guangxin and Guohui, Shiu, Kehua, thanks for the enjoyable moments we shared. My special gratitude goes to Wanqing and Shaochun, without whose help the life in Chicago would be much more difficult and boring.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

VOLUME ONE ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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LIST OF TABLES

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CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION 1 .Power and Goodness in Ancient Philosophy 2.The Hegemony of Absolute Power 3.Leibniz and Modern Philosophy: Against Absolute Power CHAPTER TWO: INNATE IDEAS 1 .The Old and the New Way of Ideas 2 .Leibniz's Diagnosis of Locke 3.Leibniz's Remedy

1 2 33 67 91 95 114 147

VOLUME TWO CHAPTER THREE: LIBERTY AND POWER 1 .Locke's "Uneasiness" and Freedom 2.Freedom and Inclinations 3.From Power to Goodness

190 190 218 239

CHAPTER FOUR: NATURAL LAW 1 .Ethics and Metaphysics 2.The Crisis of Modern Natural Law 3.Locke 4.Leibniz

274 274 280 307 342

CONCLUSION

380

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

386

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LIST OF TABLES Table 1: Leibniz's scheme offerees

267

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CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION The notion of power and its relationship to goodness is a question as old as the tradition of philosophy. Among ancient philosophers, Plato and Aristotle offer the classical treatment of this theme. Their examination of power in its political, psychological, physical, and even metaphysical aspects shows its indispensable role in both our contemplation of the nature of things and our practice of leading a good life. The concept of power (dynamis) is increasingly associated with nature and contrasted with conventional morality since the Sophistic movement. Plato attempts to answer this challenge by establishing the fundamental dependence of power on goodness. This becomes the dominant principle for understanding the relation between power and goodness in ancient philosophy. Aristotle develops Plato's fundamental principle into a metaphysics in which power, though playing a central role in explaining natural changes and human activities, remains dependent on being as actuality. This conception of power and its relation to goodness that we find in Plato's dialogues and Aristotle's metaphysics contrasts remarkably with the modern mainstream understanding of power which is more or less shaped by the biblical tradition and the Christian philosophy. The Scholastics formulate a new understanding of power by combining the biblical concept of divine omnipotence with the Pagan philosophy. In this synthesis, the notorious distinction between

2 potentia absoluta and potentia ordinata in defining divine power decisively changes the relative priority of power and goodness. The doctrine of absolute power is dominant in early modern political thought and metaphysics. In this concept of power free from the dependence on goodness Leibniz detects the fundamental weakness of modern philosophy. He attempts to reform defective modern philosophy with a new doctrine of power, especially a new understanding of the relation between power and goodness. Leibniz's criticism of Locke in the New Essays makes up a central part of this project. A careful examination of Leibniz's "dialogue" with Locke concerning power and goodness will prove to be helpful in bringing to light the dynamic mechanism of modernity.

1. Power and Goodness in Ancient Philosophy In the Pre-Socratic writings, especially in the literary works, the meaning of dynamis and its derivatives ranges from physical or material forces to political power and superiority.2 The most widespread and significant use of the term dynamis before Plato, however, can be found in the Greek medical writings which are usually called the Hippocratic corpus. In these scientific treatises, dynamis is almost the equivalent of physis.3 This usage shows the profound influence of the first natural

1 My discussion of pre-Socratic and Plato's usages of dynamis is greatly benefited by Joseph Souilhe's classic study, Etude sur le terme DYNAMIS dans les Dialogues de Platon (Paris, 1919; New York: Garland Reprint, 1987). 2 Ibid, ch.l. 3 Similar usages can be found in Plato's work, Charmides. 156b, cf. Philebus.29b. Timaeus. 32e. 60a-b, 65e, 82e, 85d among others.

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philosophers.4 Sophists like Gorgias, a disciple of the natural philosopher Empedocles, adopt this usage in their challenge to the conventional morality.5 Power, in their writings, refers to the physical force which is independent of or indifferent to moral goodness. This physical understanding of dynamis, once introduced into philosophy, brings about two related consequences which Plato has to confront in his dialogues. With the concept of dynamis the natural philosophers can establish a connection between the sensible qualities and the internal nature of things. Thus the reference of the term dynamis shifts from external and material property to internal force. But at the same time this physical understanding of dynamis also strengthens its dangerous non-moral, if not immoral, significance which is already implicit in its usages in poetry. Power is a kind of neutral efficacy, without which you cannot defend what is right in morality.6 In the brutal reality of politics, it is argued, this power might or even should be executed without scruple. This position is explicitly expressed by the 4

"In the treatises of the Hippocratic corpus, especially in those which the influence of the cosmological idea of the first natural philosophers is particularly manifest, the term dynamis designates the characteristic property of bodies, their external and sensible side, that which allows us to determine and specify them. Thanks to the dynamis the mysterious physis, the substantial eidos, or primordial element, makes itself known, and makes itself known by its action. This explains why it is possible from this point, especially at a later date, to pass from the known to the unknown, from the appearance to the reality, and how easy it was to establish a perfect equation between physis and dynamis." Ibid, 55-6. It is noteworthy, in the medical treatises, the equation between physis and dynamis is employed to oppose the "hypothetical" method of natural philosopher or sophists. This opposition between the "historical" approach and "philosophical" approach in Greek medicine anticipates the dialogue between Locke and Leibniz almost two thousand years later. Cf. Harold W. Miller, "Dynamis and Physis in On Ancient Medicine," Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association, Vol. 83 (1952), 184-197. 5 Souilhe, op. cit. 57. 6 The best example of this might be the line of Odyssey X, when Odysseus answered to the question why he came back, "My wretched companions brought me to ruin, helped by the pitiless sleep. Then make it right, dear friends; for you have the power" (69, cf.III.205). This "force" or "strength" is natural to the human beings and does not depend on his virtues or morality (cf Iliad, VIII.295, XIII.786). Physical strength or material force is the paradigm of this kind of dynamis.

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Athenians in the notorious Melian dialogue of Thucydides' The Peloponnesian War. When you speak of the favor of the gods, we may as fairly hope for that as yourself; neither in our claim nor our conduct being in any way contrary to what men think about the gods and what they wishes for themselves. Of the gods we believe, and of men we know, that by a necessity of nature (physis anankaid) they will rule wherever they are strong for it (krate). And it is not as if we were the first to make this law, or to act upon it when made: we found it existing before us, and shall leave it to exist forever after us; all we do is to make use of it, knowing that you and everybody else, having the same power as we have, would do the same as we do (V. 105.1-2, emphasis added). The natural necessity of power in virtue of which the weak should be subject to the more powerful (dynatotepos) is claimed by the Athenians elsewhere as the law well established (1.76.2). This notion of the non-moral power is central to the opposition between nature (physis) and convention (nomos) which becomes increasingly sharp with the rise of the sophists. It is against this background Plato undertake his inquiry about power.

1.1 Plato One of most important contributions Plato makes to the Begriffsgeschichte of dynamis is his profound and subtle grasp of the centrality of power in the classic opposition of nature and convention. His formulation of the theme of power determines decisively its later development. One of the distinctive features of Plato's treatment of this theme is its consistent focus on the relation between politics and philosophy involved in this theme, which, later, is often lost in the complicated metaphysical disputations.

5 (1) Gorgias: Power in the Opposition between Nature and Convention Plato's examination of power is, for the most part, an answer to the sophistic attempt to contradict convention with nature,7 as we clearly see in the Gorgias. In this dialogue entitled with the name of one of most famous rhetoric teachers in his time, the power (dynamis) of Gorgias' art, rhetoric, becomes the focus of Socrates' cross-examination from the very beginning (447c). In defending the art of Gorgias, Polus rises up to praise orators for their ability: with their power to persuade, orators can "put to death anyone they wish, like the tyrants, and deprive people of property and expel them from their cities as they may think fit" (466c). Polus believes, orators can do whatever they think to be best with this tyrant-like ability, and this is the great power {to mega dunasthai). B Polus disagrees with Socrates on whether orators have great power or least power {dunasthai smikrotaton, 466d-e), he admits to the latter that this great power is not good. Socrates takes advantage of this split between power and goodness in Polus' position to refute him. The upshot of Socrates' refutation is his insistence on the dependence of power on goodness: "we do not wish to slaughter people or expel them from our cities or deprive them of their property as an act in itself; we do them if they are beneficial or good. Thus we have to know whether what seems best to us is really best (468c). When Polus is forced to admit that it is good for those who do injustice to suffer the penalty rather than to escape it, Callicles becomes angry. He accuses

7

Cf. the classic study of Felix Heinimann, Nomos undPhysis (Basel, 1945), 1 luff.

6 Socrates of "turning things upside down" by intentionally confusing convention (nomos) and nature (physis). Convention, Callicles claims, is laid down by the weaker to frighten those stronger who are able to get more from doing so. But by nature, Callicles insists, it is just for "the better" (ton ameino) to have advantage over the worse, the more powerful (ton dynatoteron) over the weaker (tou adynatorou). We can find numberless examples in animals, individual human beings, or cities and races in which justice is the rule and advantage of the stronger over the weaker by following nature, or the law of nature (kata nomon...ton tes physeos). This is, Callicles reminds Socrates, the truth which will guide people to greater things, while Socrates, with his philosophy, a sort of childish trick, is even "unable" (mete dynamenon) to save himself nor deliver himself from the greatest dangers (482c-486d). Thus in his shameless speech, Callicles, in the name of the law of nature, frees power from the restrains of conventional morality, and considers this immoral power as the truth of nature. It is in examining this "tyrant-like" power and its philosophical foundation that Plato develops his account of power and its relation to goodness. Callicles' challenge, as a touchstone of the human soul, forces Socrates to clarify the nature of goodness and the strength of the superior, which anticipates the discussions in the Republic. In this respect, the Gorgias is nothing but a rehearsal of the grand opposition between power and goodness in the Republic, in which, Callicles' challenge is reclaimed by Thrasymachus in an even more violent way.

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(2) Republic I: Power and Goodness in Justice The theme of power and its relation to goodness is intimately interwoven with Socrates' refutation of Thrasymachus' definition of justice as the advantage of the stronger in Republic I. Since "stronger" (kretton) can mean either more powerful (as the comparative of kratus) or better (as the comparative of agathos), the tension between power and goodness is already hidden in Thrasymachus' definition of justice (338c). Socrates' examination of Thrasymachus' definition, taking advantage of this tension, exposes its mixture of apparently unconventional or even blatant defense of injustice and deeply conventional commitment to human law. When Socrates requires Thrasymachus to clarify what he means by "the stronger," Thrasymachus insists uncompromisingly that the stronger are truly strong, that is, they never make any mistake, whereas anyone who makes a mistake fails in knowledge and "is in that respect no craftsman" (340d-341a). Against Socrates' suggestion that good rulers should, just as good craftsmen, take care of the advantage of those whom they rule rather than their own advantage, Thrasymachus turns to an even more shameless position: the life of the unjust man is stronger than that of the just (347e), since those truly stronger are able to (dynamenon) to get more (344a). Thrasymachus is not really concerned with justice or injustice, but with the o

power or ability which serves the advantage of the stronger (his own goodness). 8

According to Thrasymachus, the just is someone else's good and the advantage of the stronger while the unjust is one's own advantage and profitable, but disadvantageous to the weaker (343c, cf. Adeimantus' recapitulation in 367c). Thus, even understood as advantage, goodness is dependent on the power of injustice in Thrasymachus' unjust unity of power and advantage.

8 But Thrasymachus' unjust unity of power and advantage soon collapses on Socrates' further examination. Socrates' first important move is to clarify the relation between power and art in Thrasymachus' definition of "the stronger." He forces Thrasymachus to admit that each art is different on the basis of its specific dynamis (capacity or function). This dynamis of each art, rather than the power or ability to get more (346a-b), should be the peculiar benefit of each art. Compared with this dynamis of art, Thrasymachus proves to be more concerned with another power, the ability "to subjugate cities and tribes of men to themselves" (348d). The strength of the stronger, Thrasymachus believes, is based on this political power, which makes the unjust more powerful, but the just powerless (349b). It is on account of this power that Thrasymachus maintains injustice is noble and strong (348e), and the unjust man prudent and good (349d). Thrasymachus thus unites power and goodness (understood as advantage) in injustice. The strength and goodness of injustice is centered around the power to subjugate others to themselves. Though quite reluctant, Thrasymachus has to sacrifice the specific power of each art by which we accomplish things for the sake of his "general" political power by which we can get more. Socrates proceeds to demonstrate this "general" power of the stronger at the core of Thrasymachus' arguments is illusory. Injustice is neither good nor powerful. Thrasymachus' dissociation of power and art is the key to Socrates' refutation. Socrates firstly shows that only the ignorant man wants to get the better of both the 9

This anticipates the fundamental principle of the Republic: it is impossible (actynatori) for one man to do afinejob in many arts (374a). Compare with the discussion in the Gorgias at the opening (447c, cf.452e, 455d, 460a).

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man who knows and the man who does not, while the man who is both good and wise will not want it. The unjust man is thus more like the bad and unlearned (349c-350d). When injustice comes into being, Socrates further points out, "be it in a city, a clan, an army, or whatever else, it first of all makes the thing unable (adynatori) to accomplish anything together with itself due to faction and different, and then it makes that thing an enemy both to itself and to everything opposite and to the just" (351e-352a). The power of injustice turns out to be powerlessness. Against Thrasymachus' previous claim that the most perfect injustice (like tyranny) would be most powerful and thus most happy (344a), the perfectly unjust, according to Socrates, are completely unable to do anything (352d). The power we customarily grant to the unjust man in fact results from the half justice he still has. By contrast, the just man is wiser, better, and has more power to accomplish things (352b). Justice proves to be both good and powerful. In his refutation, Socrates implicitly resorts to a fundamental principle that any power, even the political power to get more, has to rely on some power to accomplish things. Without the latter the former would be impossible. The fundamental tension between these two kinds of powers implicit in Socrates' refutation of Thrasymachus is an important thread that runs through the discussion of the Republic.

(3) Republic II-VI: Socrates' Philosophical Grounding of Power Socrates' refutation of Thrasymachus does not convince his audience. One reason

10 might be that the implicit relation between the two kinds of powers has not been fully explored. In Glaucon's and Adeimantus' reformulations of the issue, Socrates is required to demonstrate the goodness and power of justice without resorting to the conventional praise of justice. According to Glaucon, this inquiry into the nature rather than convention of justice is confronted with the challenge that injustice is naturally good, while justice is nothing but a compact among the powerless, who are simply unable to escape suffering injustice and to choose doing injustice (358e-359a). In other words, if the goodness and power of justice depend on its conventional association with various advantages it is not good and powerful on its own, but proves to be a delusional image of some truer power. Adeimantus formulates this point even more clearly: "if we possess it [i.e. the greatest injustice], with a counterfeited seemly exterior, we'll fare as we are minded with gods and human beings both while we are living and when we are dead...,"he asks Socrates, "will a man who has some power - of soul, money, body, or family - be made willing to honor justice and not laugh when he hears it praised" (366c)? It seems that besides those men with weakness, no one else is willingly just, "men blame injustice because they are unable to do it" (366d). This dissociation of justice with its own power from the conventional power which is usually associated with the reputation of justice draws out attention to the psychic conditions of the respective powers of justice and injustice (366e). To prove the goodness of justice, Socrates is asked not to "only show by the argument that justice is stronger than injustice, but show what

11 each in itself does to the man who has it that makes the one bad and the other good" (367b, 367e). This goodness itself of justice should be justified solely on the basis of "what justice itself does with its own power when it is in the soul of a man." The psychology of power will determine the fate of the politics of justice. It takes Plato the remaining nine books of his Republic to show how Socrates answers the challenges of Glaucon and Adeimantus. The theme of power, we will see, always appears at the most crucial moments of Socrates' answer. In Socrates' answer, the distinction of the two powers which is implied in his examination of Thrasymachus becomes explicit. The notion of power on the basis of which Thrasymachus attempts to overturn the conventional morality of justice, though apparently radical, turns out to be a more conventional understanding,10 according to which, power, not unlike money and other resources (423a), is a kind of force which can be used by anyone for his advantage. This bare power is neutral or indifferent to its end. But there is another kind of power, the power of virtue, the power of knowledge, and finally the power of philosophy, at which Socrates has already hinted in his discussion of the specific dynamis of each art. This power is always oriented to an end. The tension and possible ally between these two powers determines both the virtues of individuals and the fate of cities. Socrates' gradual clarification of the second power accompanies his attempt to define justice as a virtue. Virtues are consistently defined as powers (for courage, 10

Adeimantus aptly remarks, "Thrasymachu and possibly someone else say about justice and injustice, vulgarly turning their powers upside down" (367a, emphasis added).

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429b, 430b). The power of justice as a virtue consists in each man's minding his own business and not being a busybody (433d, 443b). The power of justice causes other virtues into being, and once they came into being, preserves their presence in the city (433b). Socrates' search for virtues further requires an adequate account of their psychological conditions, and especially with reference to the relation between power and dispositions. To demonstrate the goodness of justice we have to move from the politics of virtues in which power is still in service of opinions and habits to the psychology of citizens which leads to the truth of goodness. This transition from city to man brings us to a more profound understanding of power. In Socrates' bold articulation, the ideal city has to be founded on the alliance or "coincidence" between political power and philosophy in the same place (473d). But this alliance is rather improbable precisely because philosophy is a power rather different from political power. The difference between the power of philosophy and political power is at bottom the difference between the power of knowledge and that of opinion (477d, 477e, 478a). Knowledge and opinion have different foundations: "opinion is dependent on one thing and knowledge on another, each according to its own power" (477b). This difference leads Socrates to give an explicit account of power for the first time in the Republic: "We will assert that powers are a certain class of beings by means of which we are capable of what we are capable, and also everything else is capable of whatever it is capable" (477c). Sight and hearing are mentioned as two examples of powers. This apparently commonplace definition

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implies an ambiguity of great significance to our inquiry: as "a certain class of beings" power is defined as ability or capacity which makes us able to accomplish something (dynamis from dynaton). But it remains unclear whether this ability is an indifferent or neutral means to whatever end or it is oriented to a specific end or even depends on the end it serves. To clarify this ambiguity, Socrates adds, With a power I look only to this - on what it depends and what it accomplishes; and it is on this basis that I come to call each of the powers a power; and that which depends on the same thing and accomplishes the same thing, I call the same power, and that which depends on something else and accomplishes something else, I call a different power (477d). Power is power not merely on the account of its efficacy, but more importantly, on the account of its foundation ("what it depends") and its efficacy to its end ("what it accomplishes"). On the basis of these factors we are able to distinguish different powers. Thus to distinguish the power of knowledge and that of opinion we should consider them not merely as the same bare power with different degrees of efficacies, but as different powers on different foundations. With this move, Socrates has already overturned a fundamental principle of Thrasymachus' shameless but vulgar advocacy of the power of injustice. Behind the bare power with which Thrasymachus is concerned lies a more fundamental form of power, the power with its own foundation and end. On Socrates' newly formulated principle, knowledge, since it is dependent on being {to on, 478a), turns out to be the most vigorous of all powers (477d). But it is quite difficult to determine the nature of opinion. Neither knowledge nor ignorance, opinion is the "wanderer between, seized by the power between"(479d). It depends

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on the mixture of being and non-being, light and darkness. It becomes clear that, what various virtues establish, promote and preserve in the city are mainly this kind of power, which is seized "by the power between." The composite nature of this power is the source of the sophistic zeal for the bare power. But it remains to explain the relation between being and power in the case of knowledge. In his attempt to distinguish knowledge and opinion, Socrates has already hinted at the point. Those who have knowledge are able to see and delight in the nature of beauty itself (476b) while those who have nothing more than opinions live in a dream (479e). The power of knowledge is directly related to its power to "see" beauty itself or justice itself, while opinion lacks such power. Socrates' account of the power of knowledge leads naturally to his famous teaching about ideas. Socrates' discussion of ideas is the culmination of his account of power in the Republic. In the previous contest with Thrasymachus about whether justice or injustice is good, Socrates does not question explicitly Thrasymachus' identification of goodness and advantage. But Glaucon and Adeimantus' request for Socrates to show the respective effects of justice and injustice on the human soul in order to determine whether justice or injustice on its own is good brings to light their dissatisfaction with the conventional understanding of goodness (506b). This dissatisfaction is a prerequisite of the true knowledge of justice since before knowing what the good is and thus whether justice is good the guardians cannot

15 claim to have the knowledge ofjustice (506a). To clarify the nature of goodness, Socrates suggests that we refer to goodness itself as an idea, and address it as "that which is" (ho estin, 507c). Among ideas the idea of goodness is sovereign: "the idea of the good ... provides the truth to the things known and gives the power to the one who knows" (508e). The power of knowledge and the power of being knowable (the power of truth, 507e, 509b) have the same root, that is, the idea of goodness. It is easy for us to be convinced of the first half of this bold claim since we have well known that knowledge depends on being and thus derives its power from an idea, which is addressed as "that which is." But the second half of Socrates' thesis is, though difficult to understand, even philosophically more significant. Indeed this claim, according to Socrates, is merely a part of the sovereign dignity and power of goodness: "not only being known is present in the things known as a consequence of the good, but also existence (to einai) and being (ousia) are in them besides as a result of it, although the good isn't being but is till beyond being, exceeding it in dignity and power" (509b). Goodness beyond being is the source or foundation of power. Socrates' "demonic excess" in praising the sovereignty of goodness consummates his struggle with the theme of power. The power of art in Republic I and the power of knowledge in Republic V finally find their philosophical foundation in the idea of goodness. Grounded on the idea of goodness, this power of knowledge makes up the basis of virtues, by means of which the city is preserved.

16 Thrasymachus' vulgar attempt to base the advantage of the stronger on their infallible power is answered by a most vigorous power of knowledge in perfect sense.

And the close relation between this power and goodness also makes it

unnecessary to meet the request of Glaucon and Adeimantus in Republic II. However, the power of philosophy is still not political power. Its efficacy in a city, as we have seen in Socrates' discussion of virtues, needs the cooperation of the power of opinions, since virtues are the power to establish and preserve in the city the opinions, most of which "are later produced by habits and exercises" (518d-e). Thus, Socrates does not claim that the best regime they found in speech requires the derivation of political power from the power of philosophy and finally the power of goodness, but at most he merely hopes for the coincidence of these two kinds of power. Though political power cannot accomplish anything without the help of the power of knowledge, or even though it cannot come into being without the power of goodness, it cannot be completely thrown away as Glaucon and Adeimantus require. While philosophy or dialectic has the power "to release and leads what is best in the soul up to the contemplation of what is best in the things that are" (532c, cf.537d, 533a), it has to rely on the ally of political power to preserve a city, even if it is best when it is founded. But the possibility

of this cooperation

and

its true

philosophical

presupposition requires a more careful examination of the relation between power and being which is more or less taken for granted in the Republic. Plato's attempt to

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confront these issues in his dialogue Sophist profoundly influences all later similar attempts to understand the relation between power and being.

(4) Sophist (246a-249c): the Battle between Giants and Gods The subject of the Sophist is to search for a satisfactory definition of the slippery figure, sophist, and distinguish him from the philosopher and the politician. This search depends on the possibility of speaking about non-being, which, in its turn, involves an understanding of being and its image. In the middle of the struggle with being and non-being, the Stranger from Elea gives what we may call the first historical account of philosophy: the battle of Giants and Gods over being (ousia). The Giants, according to the description of the Eleatic Stranger, drag everything down to earth out of the heaven of the invisible, grasping rocks and trees with their hands, and when they take hold of all these things, they insist that only that which resists and is sensible to touch is. In a word, they define being as body. In contrast to these "terrible guys," their opponents, the Gods, defend their position cautiously from somewhere high above. They contend that "the true being" is some incorporeal form which can be thought about. They address the bodies of the Giants as "becoming" (genesis) rather than being. But each position has its own difficulty. Power comes to the rescue in their respective attempts to overcome these difficulties on their own principles. The radical position of the Giants has difficulty in explaining the nature of soul and its

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virtues, which are neither visible nor touchable. The Eleatic Stranger suggests a moderate position to avoid this difficulty: ... a thing really is if it has any power at all, either by nature to do something to something else or to have even the smallest thing done to it by even the most trivial thing, even if it only happens once. I'll take it as a definition that 'those which are' (to onto) are nothing other than power (247d-e). In this moderate position, the Giants can explain away non-corporeal things with the help of the concept of (active and passive) power. Without sacrificing their emphasis on corporeality they now define everything in terms of its power. But their opponents, the so-called "friends of the ideas"(toM5 ton eidon philous), refused to accept this definition of being, since they hold that the powers of doing something (poiein) and having something done (paschein) belong to becoming, not to being. But "the friends of the ideas" have their own trouble. Though they are not willing to accept the being of changeable things, they have to admit that the process of knowing involves change, that is, action (poiema) and experience (pathos), or active power and passive power as the moderate position of the Giants understand. Thus, if they want to retain knowledge, life, soul and intelligence, they have to admit "change" (kinesis) into being. "The friends of the ideas" need to find a way to combine or mix being and idea on the one hand, power and change on the other. We cannot enter into a careful examination of the further attempts of the Eleatic Stranger and his interlocutors to confront this difficulty. But a brief sketch of the battle between the Giants and Gods suffices for our aim. Plato, with his characteristic profundity and subtlety, here puts forward the most pressing

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philosophical challenge to the power of philosophy he establishes in the central books of the Republic (V-VI). The modest position of the Giants, while proposing power as the principle of being, endangers the dependence of power on the idea of goodness, which Socrates claims as the source of being. If "the friends of the ideas" cannot deny change which comprises both corporeal motion and various psychological activities, they have to figure out the complicated relation between power and eidos. The battle of the Giants and the Gods concerning the nature of being, as the Eleatic Stranger has warned us, "always" goes on (246c). The dialogue between Leibniz and Locke, as we will see, repeats this never-ending philosophical battle in some important aspects.

1.2 Aristotle: Power in Nature and the Metaphysics of Actuality As the best student of Plato, Aristotle is quite clear about the philosophical implications of his mentor's examination of power. The conception of dynamis plays a central role in Aristotle's metaphysics. Dynamis is an indispensable way to speak of being {to on. Meta. 1045b32-5b). Aristotle starts with the dynamis in the narrow sense, that is, the power in motion; then he turns to the dynamis in the general sense. By integrating dynamis into his metaphysics of substance, Aristotle grants an unprecedented importance to power by re-interpreting it according to the fundamental principle of his philosophy, and thus sets the tone for all later

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metaphysical thinking concerning power.

(1) Dynamis in Motion As we have seen in Plato's Sophist, a significant difficulty for "the friends of the ideas" is how to explain change without sacrificing their philosophical principle. Aristotle's examination of the so-called dynamis kata kinesin ("the power with regard to motion") might be the most important attempt in this respect. Dynamis, according to Aristotle's "philosophical lexicon" (Metaph.A.\2), can be used in many different ways (1019al5-20a6). But since its use in connection with motion is the dynamis in the strict sense, Aristotle takes this usage as the starting point of his philosophical examination. Aristotle's examination of dynamis kata kinesin is central to his inquiry concerning nature. On Aristotle's principle, "all things existing by nature have in themselves a principle of motion and of standing still" (Phys. 192b 13-4). According to this understanding of nature, "things which have such a principle are said to have a nature" (192b32-3). Thus, as the source or principle of motion or change (Metaph. 1046al0-l 1), dynamis is indispensable to any inquiry about nature. The centrality of dynamis in Aristotle's doctrine of nature comes to foreground with his famous definition of motion. Before defining motion, Aristotle first points out, "some things are in actuality (entelecheia) only, others in potentiality (dynamis) and in actuality" (Phys.200b26-7). Motion is the actuality of what is

21 potential as such (201al0-ll). To explain this mysterious definition, Aristotle gives an example: That this is what motion is, is clear from what follows: when what is buildable, in so far as we call it such, is in actuality, it is being built, and that is building. (201al5-17). Thus, the house is building only when what is potential is in actuality, "neither before nor after": before what is potential is at work (en-ergein), bricks are still the matter of the house, while after what is potential has become the actual - the house exists and it is no longer buildable (201b5-15). Motion can be placed without qualification neither under the potentiality nor the actuality of things (201b29-30). Thus it is difficult to grasp what motion is. The core of Aristotle's solution to this paradox is the actuality of the dynamis, as Aristotle puts it, "it is the buildable that is being built" (201b5-15). It is precisely in the process of motion that the potentiality of bricks is fully manifested.11 But the potentiality that becomes actual in the process of motion is not a neutral or indifferent potentiality. The phrase "as such" in Aristotle's definition of motion attempts to draw out attention to this point: By 'as (such)' I mean the following. Bronze is potentially a statue, yet it is not as bronze that the actuality of bronze is a motion; for to be bronze and to be movable by something are not the same, since if they were the same without qualification or according to formula (logos), the actuality of bronze as bronze would be a motion. So they are not the same... Since, then, to be bronze and to be potentially something else are not the same, just as to be a color and to be visible are not same, clearly it is the actuality of what is potential as potential that is motion (201a29-34). The potentiality as the source of change is not the power which is employed by the 11

L. A. Kosman, "Aristotle's definition of motion," Phronesis 14 (1969), 50, 54.

22

Giants as the mark of the reality of "matter." Dynamis in Aristotle's philosophy is always the potentiality of something as its actuality, which is the goal or end of the motion. What is actualized in motion is not matter per se (bronze as bronze, or bricks as bricks), but the potentiality of being the actual (bronze as the potentiality of statue, or bricks as the potentiality of house), which is the form of what is finally actualized.12 Motion is not the free play of a power without end, but "the actuality of what is potential as potential." Aristotle's definition of motion brings dynamis from the side of the enemies of eidos to the side of its friends. With his definition of motion, Aristotle believes, he has overcome the difficulty of being and non-being which haunts Plato's Sophist (201b20-l). And more relevant to our concern, Aristotle's definition of motion, by relating closely the potentiality and the actuality of things, manages to incorporate the concept of dynamis into his metaphysics of substance and eidos.

(2) Motion and Activity But as the Eleatic Stranger in the Sophist points out, the most serious difficulty that confronts "the friends of ideas" is not locomotion, but changes involved in knowing {Soph. 248e). Several important aspects of this issue are explored by Plato in the Theaetetus. In this dialogue concerning the nature of knowledge, Socrates mentions a popular way of speaking about knowing: knowing is often understood as "the 12

About the respective roles of form and matter (subject) in change, Phys. 1.7; about form as the actuality, Metaph. 1038b6.

23 having (hexis) of knowledge" or "the possession (ktesis) of knowledge." But there is a subtle difference between "having" and "possessing." Just like a man who makes an aviary to hunt birds at his house, he "possesses" them in the sense he has acquired a certain power to hunt for any one he likes at any time, but in another sense, he "has" none of them (197b-d). Then Socrates suggests a theory of knowledge similar to Locke's: Then we must say that when we are children this receptacle is empty, and by the birds we must understand piece of knowledge. When anyone takes possession of a piece of knowledge and shuts it up in the pen, we should say that he has learned or has found out the thing of which this is the knowledge; and knowing, we should say, is this (197e). When one possesses these pieces of knowledge in the "aviary" of his mind, he can choose among them, and "takes it and 'has' it, then lets it go again" (198a). Knowing, in this aviary model, denotes two different states: one is possessing the power without using it (the piece of knowledge in the aviary), another is using or "having" (the piece of knowledge at hand). This theory is certainly not Plato's final word concerning knowledge. But it draws our attention to the two different processes involved in knowing: one is "learning", or the acquisition of the power of knowing; another is "using" this power. To answer the challenge of the Giants, "the friends of ideas" have to explain these two processes and the powers involved. By extending "the power with regard to motion" to the power in the general

sense, Aristotle supplies a systematic account of these two processes on the basis of his conception of potentiality and actuality. There are three senses in which someone is called a knower, according to Aristotle: (1) he can be a knower and can have

24 knowledge (e.g. he is able to learn English); (2) or he already has knowledge (e.g. he knows English); (3) or he is actually exercising his knowledge (e.g, he is speaking English). These three cases make up the three stages of knowing. At the first stage, the man has the power or potentiality of knowing simply because "his kind and his matter are of a certain sort." At the third and final stage, the man is actually knowing, that is, he is exercising his power of knowing. The second stage is most complicated. At this stage, on one hand, the man has learnt knowledge and acquired the power to exercise his knowledge, but on the other hand, he is not actually using his power. He has both potentiality and actuality at the same time. Thus we can find the two kinds of potentialities (1/2) and two kinds of actualities (2/3) in Aristotle's scheme (De Anima. 417a21-b2). On the basis of this complicated scheme of potentiality and actuality, Aristotle distinguishes activity from motion or change. The process from the first potentiality to the second (and the first actuality) is change or becoming, but the event from (2) to (3) Aristotle is reluctant to call motion or alteration (417b8-16), but prefers the term activity (energeia). Thus learning is change or motion whereas contemplation is not change, but activity (417b2-16). The distinctive feature of motion, according to Aristotle, is that, motion as actuality is incomplete (ateles), because its corresponding potentiality is incomplete (Phys. 201b32-3). By contrast, activity or action (praxis) is complete or perfect actuality. Aristotle explains the distinction explicitly as follows:

25 Since of the actions which have a limit, none is an end, but all are relative to the end, e.g. the process of making thin is of this sort... But that in which the end is present is an action. E.g. at the same time we are seeing and have seen, are understanding and have understood, are thinking and have thought: but it is not true that at the same time we are learning and have learnt, or are being cured and have been cured. At the same time we are living well and have lived well, and are happy and have been happy. .. .Of these processes, then, we must call the one set motions, and the other activities. For every motion is incomplete... (Metaph. 1048b 18-29) Thus, the crucial feature which distinguishes activity or action from motion is its "completeness."13 Though both activity and motion are end-oriented, the end of motion is outside it, or more precisely, the ending point of motion, while the end of activity is nothing but activity itself. Activity is complete (teleia) exactly because its end is present in itself. Motion achieves its end only when terminating itself while activity does so by maintaining itself.14 Aristotle gives a more detailed analysis of this point in his discussion of pleasure in the Nicomachean Ethics X. In order to clarify the nature of pleasure, Aristotle suggests we examine the difference between motion and activity "from the beginning" (1174a 14). "Every motion," Aristotle points out, "relates to an end...and it is complete when it finally does what it aims at." But if you divide the whole time of motion into temporal parts, each part of motion will be incomplete, and distinct in form both from the whole and from each other: "It is not possible in any part of the whole time to find a motion complete in terms of its form" (1174a20-30). But activity is different: "seeing seems to be complete over any given part of time: it is 13

".. .motion is the actuality of that which is incomplete, but activity in unqualified sense is distinct since it is the actuality of what is complete," (De Anima, 431a6-7). 14 About the self-terminating of motion, cf. Sarah Broadie, Nature, change, and agency in Aristotle's Physics: a philosophical study (Oxford, 1982), ch.3.

26 not lacking in anything which by becoming at a later time will complete its form; and pleasure too seems to be like this. For it is a kind of whole (holon), and at no time can one find a pleasure whose form will be completed if the pleasure lasts longer" (1174al 4-19). This immediately reminds us of Aristotle's famous definition of happiness: happiness is something complete and self-sufficient, being the end at which all actions aim {Eth.Nic. 1097b20-l, cf.l097a31-b5). The self-sufficiency and completeness of happiness are not two independent criteria. Something is "self-sufficient," according to Aristotle, when it by itself makes one's life worthy of choice and lacks in nothing (1097bl6-7). This conception of "self-sufficiency," especially its emphasis on "lacking nothing," corresponds to Aristotle's notion of completeness. Thus, the self-sufficiency of happiness is just one aspect of its completeness. Self-sufficiency and completeness establish happiness as the final end of human actions. Thus the completeness which distinguishes activity from motion provides the metaphysical ground for the fundamental principle of Aristotle's practical philosophy. Aristotle's distinction between motion and activity secures "the friends of ideas" from the attack of the Giants, since the model of change the Giants rely on cannot be employed to explain the dominant sense of knowing (De Anima, 417a29), that is, contemplation, though it is involved in the process of learning.

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(3) The Metaphysical Priority of Actuality The completeness of activity helps explicate the nature of actuality (Metaph. ©6). Aristotle asserts, motion as actuality is incomplete, because its corresponding potentiality is incomplete {Phys. 201b32-3).15 Aristotle gives a perfect example to illustrate this point: "teachers think that they have achieved their end when they have exhibited their pupils at work" {Metaph. 1050al7-8, cf. Phys. 255a32-b6). When dynamis is complete, change has achieved its end and is capable of activity. Aristotle's immediate addition to his example, "it is likewise with nature," brings to light that the distinction between change or motion and activity implies a hierarchy which is crucial to Aristotle's metaphysical founding of nature: the priority of actuality to potentiality. The metaphysical priority of actuality is the fundamental principle on which the Aristotelian natural order depends (Metaph.\072b\4). It is the key to understand the relation between the metaphysical principle of actuality and the physical world of power (dynamis) in Aristotle's philosophy. As we have seen, Aristotle defines nature as "a principle and a cause of being moved or of being at rest in the thing to which it belongs primarily and in virtue of that thing, but not accidentally." In other words, nature is the principle of motion or rest in the thing itself qua itself (Phys. 192b 13-5, 21-3). This official definition of nature distinguishes nature from the dynamis in its primary sense, which is defined as "a principle of change in 15 cf. J. L. Ackrill, "Aristotle's Distinction between Energeia and Kinesis," in his Essays on Plato and Aristotle, (Oxford, 1997), 159-60.

28 another thing or in the thing itself qua other" (Metaph. 1046al0-ll). But at last Aristotle claims both can be regarded as dynamis: "1 mean by dynamis not only that define kind which is said to be a principle of change in another thing or in the thing itself qua other, but in general every principle of motion or of rest" (1049b5-7). With this move of Aristotle, power accomplishes a complete domination of the realm of nature. But this complete domination of power in nature proves to be an illusion: "to all such dynamis... actuality is prior both in logos and in substance" (1049bl0-ll). The domination of power in nature is dependent on the metaphysical principle of actuality, which is the metaphysical foundation of nature as a whole. Actuality is prior to potentiality, according to Aristotle, "both in logos and in substance". The priority of actuality in logos is quite obvious. As we have mentioned, "that which is in the primary sense potential is potential because it is possible for it to become actual." Bricks have the potentiality of being a house in the sense that they are capable of becoming a house through building. Aristotle draws the conclusion that the logos and the knowledge of the actual must precede the knowledge of the potential (1049bl2-17). But more importantly, actuality is prior to potentiality in substance. Here Aristotle divides his examination into two parts, the first about change, the second about activity. In the case of change, Aristotle gives three reasons for the priority of actuality. His first reason is based on the principle that "the things that are posterior in becoming are prior in form and in substance" (1050a4-5). The metaphysical order

29 of being is exactly the opposite of the temporal or physical order of becoming, and as in the order of knowledge, is superior to the latter (1018b30-l). Aristotle's second reason clearly reveals his metaphysical principle in explaining change: "everything that comes to be moved towards a principle, i.e., an end. For that for the sake of which a thing is, is its principle, and the becoming is for the sake of the end; and the actuality is the end, and it is for the sake of this, that the potentiality is acquired" (1050a7-10). This identification of the end and the principle in the case of "coming into being" (to gignomenon) is just the extension of his analysis of the self-terminating nature of motion. In both cases, potentiality completes itself by being actualized, which is the end of the process. The way of the Giants is finally oriented to the realm of the Gods. Power is not self-sufficient, as the Giants claim, but dependent on something beyond as its principle. This point is especially clear with Aristotle's third reason: "matter exists potentially in view of the fact that it might come into a form, and when it exists actually, then it exists in a form" (1050a 15-6). While bringing the eidos of the Gods down to earth in his analysis of sensible substances, Aristotle does not surrender himself to the position of the Giants. Just the contrary is the case. Form is the end or actuality of matter as potentiality. In the battle of the Giants and the Gods, Aristotle finally takes the side of his mentor: the power of the Giants will be "complete" or "perfected" when it turns into "form." If actuality is prior to potentiality in the case of change whose actuality is incomplete, it is even more so in the case of activity whose actuality is complete.

30 The achievement of change/motion/making is its product, but there is not a product other than the actuality itself in activity. In the latter case, it is obvious that the substance or form is actuality and it is prior to potentiality. But Aristotle adds a not so obvious claim immediately: "and as we have said, one actuality always precedes another in time right back to the actuality of the eternal prime mover" (1050b4-6). Nowhere in Metaph.0 can we find Aristotle's discussion of this claim. Indeed not until the so-called "theological" treatise of the Metaph., the Book A, has Aristotle given a fuller explanation of this claim. Aristotle has already pointed out in Phys. Q, the continuous motion presupposes a motionless mover; and since it is the movable which is moved, the primary motionless mover cannot have any potentiality, but must be eternal actuality (P/2>w.257a33-260bl9). This prime mover, according to Aristotle's formulation in Metaph. A, "moves without being moved, being eternal, substance, and actuality" (1072a25-6). On the basis of his notion of "eternal actuality," Aristotle gives the final, and also the most fundamental reason for the priority of actuality: "for eternal things are prior in substance to perishable things, and no eternal thing exists potentially" (1050b6-8). The metaphysical priority of actuality is directly related to the absolute necessity of eternal actuality (1072M3-4). The absolute priority of eternal actuality has several related aspects, which makes even clearer its role as the fundamental principle of Aristotle's philosophy as a whole. According to Aristotle, eternal actuality is at the same time the object of

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desire and thought (1072a25-30). In the case of thinking (nous), thought is moved by its object. Among the objects of thought, substance is the first of the list, and among substances, that which is simple and exists actually (1072a30-32). Thus, thought in the perfect sense must be the thought of eternal actuality: "thought in itself deals with that which is best in itself, and that which is thought in the fullest sense with that which is best in the fullest sense" (1072M8-20). Indeed, this kind of thought, according to the most controversial chapter of Aristotle's De Anima (III.5), must be the self-thinking of active intellect. And active intellect "is not at one time thinking and at another not thinking" (430a21-2), but always thinking, and thus immortal and eternal (430a23). Since desire is consequent on thought, it is not difficult for Aristotle to demonstrate that eternal actuality is also the prime object of desire. Eternal actuality is thus the source of the good and the noble, and in this sense, the best.16 As we have seen in Aristotle's distinction between motion and activity, eternal actuality is also pleasure (Metaph 1072b 16). According to his definition of happiness as activity in accordance with virtue, eternal actuality, as "activity in accordance with the highest kind," must be indispensable to happiness (Eth. Nic. 1177al2-14). But when we translate this metaphysical principle into an ethical principle, we have a difficulty. If "the activity in accordance with the highest kind" is complete ("since nothing

16

"...the noble and that which is in itself desirable are on this same side of the list; and the first in any class ins always best, or analogous to the best" (Metaph. 1071a35-6); "The prime mover, then, of necessity exists; and in so far as it is necessary, nobly, and in this sense a first principle" (1072bl0-ll);"...without which the good is impossible..."(1072bl4).

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about happiness is incomplete"), it should be given a complete length of life. It must be eternal. This is certainly beyond the reach of human beings. But happiness even for a human being, Aristotle insists, is to lead such a life, that is, to live like a god: But such a life will be higher than the human level: for it is not in so far as he is human that he will live like this, but in so far as there is something divine in him, and to the degree that this is superior to his composite nature, to that degree will its activity too be superior to that in accordance with the rest of virtue. If, then, the intellect is something divine as compared to a human being, so too a life lived in accordance with this will be divine as compared to a human life. One should not follow the advice of those who say 'Human you are, think human thoughts', and 'Mortals you are, think mortal', but instead, so far as is possible, make oneself immortal and do everything with the aim of living in accordance with what is highest thing in us; for even if it is small in bulk, it surpasses everything much more in power and dignity (1177b26-78a2) Aristotle finally arrives at the realm of the Gods, but in his own way. Now we can see how Aristotle, with his metaphysics of actuality, overcomes the difficulty which confronts "the friends of the ideas." Aristotle admits, as the Eleatic Stranger points out, change is involved in knowledge, life, soul and intelligence, but he contends that all these culminate, in the hierarchy of beings, in the same highest form, eternal actuality, which involves no power. No one better understand Plato's gigantomachia than his best student, Aristotle (cf. 1072b22-31). It is often believed that Aristotle's sober style of philosophizing lacks the charm of enthusiasm we can find in the corpus of Plato. Compared to Socrates' praise of the idea of Goodness, however, Aristotle's metaphysics of actuality without potentiality is no less a "demonic excess." Aristotle advances even further than Socrates in his struggle with power. Seeming to remind us of both his agreement and disagreement with the friends of the ideas, Aristotle points out, "If, the, there are

33 such natures or beings (ousiai) as in various speeches are called "ideas," there must be something much more scientific than Science Itself and something more in motion than Motion Itself; for the former will be more of the nature of actualities, while the latter are potentialities for these" (1050b34-51a2). Aristotle finds a realm even beyond the realm of the Gods, since ideas of the latter are still potentiality for his pure actuality. Here we can also detect the crucial difference between Aristotle's metaphysics of actuality and Socrates' praise of goodness: while Socrates is ambiguous whether goodness beyond being involves power, Aristotle is quite explicit that God, the highest being, is without dynamis. It will surprise Aristotle that absolute power will become the most important attribute of God in early modern philosophy.

2. The Hegemony of Absolute Power The concept of power in modern philosophy is profoundly shaped by the doctrine of absolute power. It is this conception of power which, as we will see, becomes the main target in Leibniz's criticism of modern philosophy. The doctrine of absolute power, in particular the distinction between potentia absoluta and potentia ordinata, is of great philosophical significance from the high Middle Ages to early modernity: "[fjrom the temporal perspective of the twelfth to seventeenth centuries, the model of potentia absoluta/ordinata was one of, perhaps the, major competitor to the Platonic 'Great Chain of Being' model for understanding creation and the universe,

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with all the implications that holds for our reading of Western thought."

This

"competition" between "the model of potentia absoluta/ordinata" and "the Platonic 'Great Chain of Being' model" famously narrated by Lovejoy18 is the central theme of the Middle Ages and even early modernity.19 This "competition" should not be understood as the contrast between order and arbitrariness, but rather represents the fundamental conflict between two different understandings of the basis of natural order: the principle of absolute power vs. the principle of sufficient reason. It involves the relation between goodness and power with regard to an omnipotent God. It is not coincidental that these two models converge on the focus of our examination: Leibniz.

But before we turn to examine Leibniz's struggle with this

"competition" in the next section, we have to sketch the development of the model of potentia absoluta/ordinata. This influential doctrine of absolute power is for the most part the result of the tension between the biblical concept of omnipotence and the Greek philosophical tradition. As we have seen, Aristotle's God is an unmovable prime mover which is pure actuality. In contrast, the biblical concept emphasizes a personal God who is

17

William Courtenay, Capacity and Volition: a History of the Distinction ofAbsolute and Ordained Power (Bergamo, 1990), 192. Our account of the doctrine of absolute power in this section is greatly benefited by the study of William Courtenay. 18

Arthur Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being (Harvard, 1964). ch.3. is especially relevant to the

theme of this section. 19 Francis Oakley, "Lovejoy's Unexplored Option," Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 48, no. 2 (1987), 231-245; Amos Funkenstein holds a different opinion, Theology and Scientific Imagination (Princeton, 1986), 123.n.22. 20 The title of Oakley's intellectual history of "absolute power," as well as Lovejoy's narrative of the 'Great Chain of Being', respectively demonstrate the significant role of Leibniz in both models: Francis Oakley, Omnipotence, Covenant & Order: an Excursion in the History of Ideas from Abelard to Leibniz (Cornell University Press, 1984), esp.89-92; Lovejoy, op. cit. passim, esp. 144-82.

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omnipotent. This difference is aptly captured by the modern theologian Karl Barth: But this attribute [i.e. omnipotence] describes very especially the positive character of the divine freedom, that which distinguishes it from the freedom that might be ascribed to a being unmoved and immovable in itself. An 'immutable' being of this kind could only be conceived of as powerless. God, on the other hand, is not powerless but powerful, indeed all-powerful, with power over everything that He actually wills or could will. God is able, able to do everything; everything, that is, which as His possibility is real possibility. God has possibilities - all the possibilities which, as the confirmation and manifestation of His being, are true possibilities... As this omnipotent God, He is also distinct from the unchangeable, whose unchangeableness inevitably means utter powerlessness, complete incapacity, a lack of every possibility, and therefore death.21 Behind this difference lies a more fundamental difference concerning whether God or nature is the fundamental principle of the world.22

2.1 Divine Omnipotence (1) The Biblical Concept of God's Power Power is the essential attribute of gods in Indo-European thought.23 In this respect the Judaic concept of God in the Hebrew Bible (hereafter TNK) is not different from the Greek concept of gods in Homer and other poets. But the significance of power 21

Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics (T.&T. Clark, 1957), II/l, 522-3. We might have a better idea of this contrast when we turn to the Greek side: "this is the point at which my teaching and that of Plato and the other Greeks who have treated correctly of natural principles differs from that of Moses. For him it suffices for God to have willed material to be arranged and straightway it was arranged, because Moses believed everything to be possible to God, even if he should wish to make a horse or beef out of ashes. We, however, do not feel this to be true, saying rather that some things are naturally impossible and that God does not attempt them at all, but chooses from among the possible what is best to be done". Galen, On the Usefulness of the Parts of the Body (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1968), XI.14, 533, cf.III.10, 189; R. Walzer, Galen on Jews and Christians (Oxford, 1949), 18-37. 23 "Although certain individual deities are charged with the supervision of justice, contracts, and so on, in general the Indo-European gods do not have an ethical character. The essential thing about them is their power, which they can exercise at their pleasure"; or, "The virtues for which the deity is praised are of course very varied. But it is a fundamental property of gods that they have power, and it is a recurrent theme in hymns to the highest gods that their power is the greatest." M. L. West, Indo-European Poetry and Myth (Oxford, 2007), 130, 309. 22

36 in Hebraic thinking is different from that in Greek Thinking. Greek gods are still subject to the necessity of fate or nature,24 and thus their powers are by no means unlimited.25 But "the God of the Bible is the God of power" The fate or nature of human beings is determined by the biblical God with his sovereign power. Divine names in Hebrew are usually connected with His power.26 The impressive speech that God addresses to the innocent suffering Job focuses exclusively on His incomparable power.27 The source of this difference is the personhood of the TNK God.

In contrast with the Greek gods in the world dominated by cosmic forces,

the OT God has a personal relationship to the destiny of the Israelite nation, which is determined by the event of the Exodus. The power of God shows itself exactly at this decisive moment. The destiny of the nation is shaped by God's power according

The best example of this point might be the famous passage of the Iliad in which Zeus mourns at the destined loss of his beloved son Sarpedon at the hand of Patroklos (16:431-461). The verse of Simonides quoted in Plato's Protagoras (345d, cf. Laws 741a) captures this point tersely: "even the gods do not fight against necessity." Comp. Descartes' letter to Mersenne, 15 Apr. 1630 (AT 1.145, CSMK III.23): "to say that these truths are independent of God is to talk of him as if he were Jupiter or Saturn and to subject him to the Styx and the Fates." 25 Walter F. Otto takes this tendency to understand gods in terms of nature as characterizes the Greek conception of Gods: "The natural can therefore of itself stand in the glory of the sublime and divine. To be sure, upon the intervention of Greek gods also, extraordinary and thrilling events took place. This does not, however, mean the appearance of a force with limitless power; it does mean that being manifests itself in infinitely various living expressions as the essence of our world. First and highest is not the power that acts, but the being that is manifested in the form of the act. And the holiest feelings of awe comes not from the tremendous and infinitely powerful, but rather from the depths of natural experience." The Homeric Gods: the Spiritual Significance of Greek Religion (Thames and Hudson, 1955), 9. 26 Cyril H. Powell, The Biblical Concept of Power (London: The Epworth Press, 1963), 5, 41. 27 Job 38-41. Job comes to realize the infinite superiority of God's power to human morality in 27.2-3, comp. his previous attempt to link God's power with other attributes, like wisdom and justice in 12.13, or others' similar attempts esp. Eli'hu's 36.5, 37.23. 28 "When we turn from the Greek and Hellenistic world to that of the OT [that is. TNK], we enter a different atmosphere. In place of a neutral idea of God, we have the personal God. In place of the neutral forces of nature we have the power and might of the personal God, which do not operate in terms of immanent law but which rather carry out the will of God according to His direction". Walter Grundmann, "Dynamoi/dynamis", in The Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, ed. by Gerhard Kittel, (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1964), 11.290; Powell, The Biblical Concept of Power, 1. The following discussion mainly follows Grundmann's article.

37 to His own will and purpose. Politics is central to the Hebrew understanding of power just as nature is central to the Greek understanding.29 The Hebrew terms in TNK (YHWH, 'Adonay, Shadday, Tseba'oth etc.) are translated in the Septuagint (hereafter LXX) with the Greek philosophical terms like dynamis, ischus, eksousia or kratos30 This brings the Hebrew thinking of power directly into contact with the Greek philosophical tradition. The distinctive feature of the TNK God on the basis of his personhood is often rendered in LXX as kurios ton dynameon, or kurios pantokrator31

Pantokrator or pantokraton denotes one

God ruling and controlling all other cosmic powers.32 Thus, this term is employed to express God's overcoming of nature: YHWH is represented as a sovereign lord with supreme authority.33 The political significance of the Hebrew concept of divine omnipotence is expressed in the Greek philosophical terms. The New Testament (hereafter NT) shares many basic theses of God's power with the LXX.34 The divine name, kurios ox pantokrator is repeated (Rev 1:8, 4:8. 11:17). And the great power of God is, now, granted to Jesus. In fact, Jesus is even identified as the power of God.35 He is also called kurios (Mt 5:33, Mk 5:19, Lk 1:6, "Our review of the concept of power within the totality of the OT view of God leads us to a unique conclusion. The natural basis is completely overcome." Grundmann, "Dynamail dynamis," 293. 30 Powell, The Biblical Concept of Power, 41-3; Walter Grundmann, "ischus," The Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, 111.397-402; Werner Foerster, "eksousia, " The Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, II.564-5; Wilhelm Michaclis, "kratos, " The Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, III.906. 31 God is called theospases dunameos kai kratous (Jdt.9:14). Michaelis, "pantokrator, " The Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, III.914; Grundmann, "Dynamah'dynamis;" 292. 32 C. H. Dodd, The Bible and the Greeks (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1964), 19. 33 Cf. Grundmann, "Dynamail dynamis" 292; Powell, The Biblical Concept of Power, 42. 34 Powell, The Biblical Concept of Power, 71ff; Grundmann, "Dynamail dynamis," 306. 35 "This man is that power {dynamis) of God which is called great" (Acts. 8:10). Cf. the infancy scene in Lk 1:35, and esp. Lk 22:69, and Mt 26:64. This dimension of power in the Jesus narrative is

38

Acts 7:33).

The general Synoptic usage describes the miracles of Jesus as

dynameis, the acts of power (Mt ll:20ff, Mk 6:2,5; Lk 19:37).37 It also becomes an important theological concept in the Pauline letters.38 But a new conception of power emerges in the NT with the criticism of the Jewish traditional worship of God.39 The power of God through Christ Jesus is contrasted with the powerlessness of the Jewish law (adynaton tou nomou).40 This contrast is echoed by a very interesting passage in Mt (19:26), in which Jesus said to his disciples concerning salvation, "with men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible" (para anthropois touto adynaton estin, para de theoi panta dynatd). God's omnipotence, as in sharp contrast with the powerlessness of human beings, is taken literally: "all things are possible with God." The power (dynamis) of God is beyond any limitation. This claim can be found also in other Synoptic Gospels.41 From this derives a similar claim that "all things are possible to him who believes" (Mk 9:23). It is this understanding of God's omnipotence which becomes the starting point of the doctrine of absolute power.

often interpreted in terms of the Holy Spirit, cf. Petrus J. Grabe, The Power of God in Paul's Letters (J.C.B. Mohr, 2000), 223-7, 245ff. 36 Powell, The Biblical Concept of Power, 72. 37 Grundmann, "Dynamaildynamis," 301. Grabe, The Power of God in Paul's Letters, passim. 39 Grundmann, "Dynamaildynamis" 302-3. 40 "...nomos throughout these verse means the Torah, since the nomos here is unquestionably the (Jewish) law," James Dunn, Romans 1-8, Word Biblical Commentary Series (38A), (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1988), 419. Paradoxically, Paul does admit that law of this kind is still power, though the power of sin ("the power of sin is the law," 1 Cor. 15.56. According to Grabe, this is the only case in the main Pauline letters in which dynamis is not directly related to God. Op.cit.83). But according to Paul's "dialectics of power and weakness," this power of the law is exactly its weakness. 41 "With men it is impossible, but not with God; For all things are possible with God (panta gar dynatapara toi theoi) " (Mk 10:27); "What is impossible with men is possible with God" (Lk 18:27).

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(2) Divine Omnipotence and Natural Order: Augustine, Peter Damian and Thomas The concept of divine omnipotence which signifies God's comprehensive control over the world is widely accepted by the Early Christian Church.42 The first article of the Old Roman Creed reads, "I believe in God the Father Almighty."43 It is almost universally agreed among the Church Fathers that God's power is unlimited. They usually connect this concept with the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, and distance themselves from the Pagan philosophical principle that ex nihilo nihil fit.,44 But when the Greek influence is discernible, the absolutely unlimited nature of God's power is placed in doubt. Various ways to admit the biblical concept of divine omnipotence, especially in the case of miracles, without contradicting the Greek concept of natural order are attempted by the Fathers. In answering the challenge of Faustus, a Manichaean, on the conflict between the Christian narrative of Jesus and the natural order, Augustine concedes that many deeds of Jesus are contrary to nature according to human 42

J. N. D. Kelly, Early Christian Doctrines (New York: Harper & Row, 1960), 83. The Latin text (Rufinus): Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem; the Greek text (Marchellus): Pisteuo eis 0EON (TJATEPA) pantokratora (cf. Denzinger 1, 2, 6, 9, and 54 for the Nicene Creed). 44 Augustine, De sympolo 2.3. quoted in Irven Michael Resnick, Divine Power and Possibility in St. Peter Damian s DE DIVINA OMNIPOTENTIA (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 25-31. 45 The best example might be Origen. He contends in his De principiis (Il.ix.l), "we must maintain that even the power of God is finite, and we must not, under pretext of praising him, lose sight of his limitations. For if the divine power were infinite, of necessity it could not even understand itself, since the infinite is by its nature incomprehensible." Origen, On First Principles, by G. W. Buttterworth (Gloucester, 1973), 129. The Greek philosophical principle Origen resorts to can be found in Aristotle's discussion of apeiron in Phys. r. 5-10 and Metaph. K 10, in which he points out, infinite is not one nature, and cannot exist in actuality. Since Aristotle's god is pure actuality, it cannot be infinite. It is noteworthy that not all Greek Fathers agrees on Origen's notion. Under the influence of Neoplatonism, they believe God as infinite in the sense that He is all-powerful. Cf. Leo Sweeney's important study, Divine Infinity in Greek and Medieval Thought (New York: Peter Lang, 1992). 43

40 custom,46 but he insists, "we Christians commonly believe that he did all these things, not because of our consideration of nature, but only because of our consideration of the power and might of God" (non consideratione jam naturae, sed potestatis tantum et virtutis Dei). The relation between God's power and the order of nature (ordo naturae), Augustine points out, has two aspects. On the one hand, God does nothing contrary to nature, since He is the source of the order of nature, that is, "what He does will be natural to each thing." On the other hand, it is not wrong for us to say, Augustine grants, what God does is contrary to what we know of nature. This "nature" is merely "the usual course of nature known to us." God's actions contrary to this nature are called marvelous and miraculous. But, though miracles are contrary to "the usual course of nature known to us", they are not contrary to "that supreme law of nature" (summam naturae legem), which is remote from the knowledge of those who are wicked and still weak (c. Faust. 26.2-3). According to this solution, the Greek understanding of natural order, though still retained, is degraded to the level of "human custom," while "the supreme law of nature" is nothing but God himself, or His power. Augustine's distinction between the order of nature and "that supreme law of nature" can be also explained more explicitly in terms of powers: The whole course of nature that we are so familiar with has certain natural laws of its own, according to which both the spirit of life which is a creature has drives and urges that are somehow predetermined and which even a bad will 46

"Nor do we deny that human custom calls that contrary to nature nature which mortals know is contrary to their experience of nature" (humano more contra naturam esse, quod est contra naturae usum mortalibus notum, nee nos negamus).

41 cannot by pass, and also the elements of this corporeal world have their distinct force and qualities, which determine what each is or is not capable of, what can or cannot be made from which.... But over and above this natural course and operation of things, the power (potestas) of the creator has in itself the capacity to make from all these things something other than what their seminal formulae, so to say, prescribe - not however anything with which he did not so program them that it could be made from them at least by him (Gn. Litt. IX. 17.32). God's omnipotence, in this natural/supernatural scheme, transcends the natural powers, be they drives and urges of spiritual creatures or the force in the corporeal world, which are, as "seminal formulae," programmed in the nature of things by God at creation. But Augustine's miraculous power over "the natural course and operation of things" is still not what will later be called absolute power. The two powers we find in the work of Augustine are more like the opposition between ordinary power and extraordinary power {potentia ordinaria/extraordinar id) in the late Scholasticism, especially among nominalists. When Faustus contends, "if God is omnipotent, let him bring it about that what has happened has not happened," Augustine denies such possibility since "God is not contrary to the truth" (c. Faust. 26.5). It is exactly at this point, Peter Damian deviates from the Augustinian tradition and proposes a more radical understanding of divine omnipotence. What initiates Peter Damian's treatise on divine omnipotence47 is St. Jerome's assertion that "although God can do all things, he cannot raise up a virgin after her fall." Damian believes, it is "too much a dishonor" to attribute such an inability (inpossibilitas) to He who can do all things (//// qui omnia potest). Those 47

About the background of this brief but very important treatise, cf. Andre Cantin's long introduction to his edition of Damian's text in Pierre Damien: Lettre sur la toute-puissance divine (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1972); Resnick, Divine Power and Possibility in St. Peter Damian's DE DIVINA OMNIPOTENTIA.

42

who defend St. Jerome's assertion indeed hold a position which amounts to claiming, according to Damian, God is unable to do what he does not will. Damian regards this as absurd and ridiculous since even with human beings there are many things they do not do but are still able to do (De div. omnip. II).48 More importantly, against the argument that it is impossible for God to unmake what has been made (VI), Damian points out, for the God of the eternal now, the temporal dimension is irrelevant (XVII). What happens in the present or in the future can be said to have no less necessity than the past events (VII). God's power is rather "always an unmoved, fixed and invariable being able" (immobile simper et perpetuum posse. XVII). God's omnipotence thus remains constant after his creatio ex nihil (XVII). As for whether it is impossible for God to unmake the past, Damian is well aware of its "natural impossibility,"49 but he points out: For nature, certainly, it is true that this preposition holds: one cannot find the same thing that has been and has not been at the same time. These are in effect contradictory to one another, in such way that if one is, the other cannot be.... But let us go further: one can rightly claim this impossibility if he attributes it to the weakness of nature (naturae... inopiam); but it is not suitable to apply it to the divine majesty. He who has given birth to nature removes easily, if He wishes, the necessity of nature. That which commands creatures is in fact subject to the laws of the Creator; and He who creates nature, overturns the natural order at the declaration of His own will; He who has established all creatures under the domination of nature, reserves to His sovereign power (imperio) the docile observation of nature" (XIII). This passage clearly reveals the uniqueness of Peter Damian's position. Damian's

Courtenay, Capacity and Volition, 25-6. ".. .for no one deliberates about the past, either, but rather about what is come, and what is possible, whereas it is not possible for what has happened not to have happened - so Agathon was right, 'for even from god this power is kept, this power alone: to make it true that what is been done has never been" (Aristotle, Eth. Nic. 1139b7-ll). Nowhere is the difference between the Greek way and the biblical way more remarkable.

49

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insistence on God's omnipotence is certainly not something new. But his concept of divine omnipotence advances from Augustine's potestas absoluta to potentia absoluta, from power as actual action or causal efficiency to possibility or potentiality. Under God's omnipotence, it is not merely the order of nature that becomes contingent, even the metaphysical foundation of the natural order, like the principle of non-contradiction, seems to be vulnerable to a similar fate.50 Damian's reasoning is quite simple: if such is contrary to nature, what about creatio ex nihil, is it not contrary to the principle of philosophers? "Nature has," Damian draws his conclusion, "its own nature, that is, God's will: thus just as creatures observe their laws, nature itself, forgetful of its own laws, obeys the divine will with reverence, when it is ordered" (ibid). Therefore, nature is no longer grounded in those metaphysical principles of philosophers, but in God's will. It is this position which is to be found in early modern philosophers that will become the main target of Leibniz's criticism. The implicit tension between the natural order and the tendency to absolutize God's power becomes more explicit in the work of Thomas Aquinas. Concerning God's power, Thomas believes, people might err in two opposite directions. On the one hand, Thomas opposes those who restrict God's power to the actual order of nature. Thomas points out, God does not, as these men argue, act from natural necessity, but from his will. And God's will is free and therefore not

50

Resnick, Divine Power and Possibility in St. Peter Damian s DE DIVINA OMNIPOTENTIA, 98ff.

44

"naturally and from any necessity determined to those things." Even those who restrict God's power to the actual order by claiming that God's power should be the same as the order of the divine wisdom fail to see that the divine wisdom should not be restricted to the present order of things. Therefore, God can do what he does not (ST. la. q.25 a.5).51 But on the other hand, Thomas does not accept the position of Peter Damian. He endorses Jerome's opinion that God cannot make a thing that is corrupt not to have been corrupted. Thomas reiterates the reasoning of Augustine in refuting Faustus, to undo the past would imply a contradiction, but anything that implies contradiction does not fall under the scope of divine power (ST. la. q.25, a.3). God's omnipotence still functions within the scope of "the reason of absolute possibles" (rationipossibilis absoluti, ST. la. q.25 a.4). But one might object that, since God cannot do what He has not foreknown and preordained, and since He neither foreknew nor preordained that He would do anything except what He does, God cannot do except what He does. To this objection Thomas makes the distinction between potentia absoluta ("power considered in itself) and potentia ordinata ("ordained power"). Since God's will cannot be determined from necessity to this or that order of things, as we have seen,

51

Mary Anne Pernoud, "The Theory of the Potentia Dei according to Aquinas, Scotus and Ockham," in Antonianum, Vol.xlvii, no.l (1972), 73-75. 52 A more detailed discussion can be found in Thomas' questiones disputatae de potentia, q.l a.3. ("Are those things possible to God which are impossible to nature?") and SCG 11.25. Esp. in the latter work, Thomas stresses, since no power is operative if the nature of its object is lacking, God cannot do whatever is contrary to the nature of being as being, or of made being as made.

45 the wisdom and justice of God are not restricted to the present order: "nothing prevents there being something in the divine power which He does not will, and which is not included in the order which He has placed in things." Because power is understood as executing, the will as commanding, and the intellect and wisdom as directing, Thomas asserts, "what is attributed to His power considered in itself {secundum se), God is said to be able to do by His potentia absoluta.'''' Thomas repeats, everything which has the nature of being is subject to God's potentia absoluta. But in contrast, if we discuss "what is attributed to the divine power, according as it carries into execution the command of a just will" {secundum quod exequitur imperium voluntatis iustae), Thomas suggests, "God is said to be able to do by His ordained power." On the basis of this distinction, Thomas concludes, "God can do other things by His potentia absoluta than those He has foreknown and preordained he would do. But it could not happen that He should do anything which He had not foreknown, and had not preordained that He would do..." (ST.Ia. q.25 a.5ad.l). Thus, the distinction between potentia absoluta and potentia ordinata is made by Thomas to solve the tension between divine omnipotence and the actual order of nature. God's potentia absoluta, as the mark of divine omnipotence, is His power considered "in itself," that is, infinite possibilities open to God before executing any command of His will; while His ordained power, as the source of the actual order of nature, is His power considered as executing the command of a just will. But this

46

subtle balance achieved by Thomas is overturned by the further development of this distinction.

2.2 The Dialectics of potentia absoluta et ordinata (1) The Standard Definition of the Power Distinction in the Thirteenth Century Thomas is not the first one who employs the pair oipotentia absoluta/ordinata. It is suggested that this distinction can be traced back to the very beginning of scholasticism.53 Already in the controversy over Abelard's teaching that God cannot do anything other than what he does (Deus non potest facere nisi quodfacif), Peter Lombard, in his influential Libri sententiarum (dist.42-4), emphasizes an important Augustinian principle: God can do many things which he does not will. Thus God's power is not, as Abelard implies, identical with His will, but surpasses the latter {potuit, sed noluit).54 This distinction between God's power and His will on the basis of the Augustinian principle is decisive in bringing about the distinction of potentia absoluta and potentia ordinata. After Lombard, in order to formulate more explicitly the distinction between God's power and His actual will, theologians turn to the vocabulary of potentia absoluta/ordinata.56 These theologians understand this distinction as "two ways of 53 Heiko Oberman, "Some Notes on the Theology of Nominalism: With Attention to Its Relation to the Renaissance," Harvard Theological Review, Vol. 53, no. 1 (1960), 56. 54 Courtenay, Capacity and Volition, 53-5. 55 Cf. editor's note to Peter Lombard's Senten. I. Dist. 43. c. I, in Olivier Boulnois ed. La Puissance et son ombre: de Pierre Lombard a Luther (Aubier, 1994), 86. 56 Courtenay, Capacity and Volition, 71-4. The relevant texts can be found in Boulnois' well edited collection, La Puissance et son ombre.

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speaking divine power" rather than "two powers in God": "One way was to discuss power in the abstract, without taking into consideration of God's will and actions as revealed in the present order. The other way considers divine power according to what God has in fact chosen to do. Some things impossible for God in light of the present order, de potentia ordinata, are possible to God if one only considers divine power by itself. To reverse that picture, some things that are theoretically possible to God, de potentia absoluta, are not possible given the orders of nature and grace established by God."57 Alexander of Hales, a thirteenth century theologian (1183-1245) who establishes the canonical status of Lombard's Sententiae in theological education, offers a standard account of this distinction: If we consider the divine power absolutely, and compare it to the divine will, then the power is of greater extension than the will. But if we consider power as ordained {ordinata) - and by this ordination we mean preordination - then power and will are of equal extension. Absolute power, therefore, is distinct from ordained power. We speak of absolute power with regard to things or events which God has not foreordained; whereas we speak of ordained power with regard to things or events which have been foreordained or predisposed.58 Thomas' usage we just quote agrees well with this standard picture of the distinction, which is widely employed to solve the tension between divine omnipotence and natural order.

Courtenay, Capacity and Volition, 74. Courtenay, against Leff, Oakley and other historians of this distinction, emphasizes consistently that this distinction is not about two powers. It is for this reason he suggests we translate potentia absoluta as "power simply" or "power considered in the abstract" rather than "absolute power" (ibid, p. 19). We retain the Latin term before turning to the later nominalists, for whom, as we will soon see, potentia absoluta does mean "absolute power." 58 Alexander of Hales, Summa theologica 1.1.4.1.2. quoted in Stephen Brown, "Abelard and the Medieval Origins of the Distinction between God's Absolute and Ordained Power," in Mark Jordan and Kent Emery ed. Ad Litteram (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992), 206.

48 (2) Potentia Absoluta: From Possibility to Power Though Thomas and other theologians in the thirteenth century know the distinction of potentia absoluta and potentia ordinata, the distinction is not central to their thoughts. Thomas employs the distinction, but his focus is clearly on the realm of potentia ordinata, the rational order of nature. It is only with Duns Scotus and his followers that the distinction between potentia absoluta and potentia ordinata becomes central to scholasticism. And the theoretical potentiality of absolute power becomes increasingly felt. This distinction is thus usually regarded as a main characteristic of the late nominalist philosophy,59 and even "the most potent force" in the metamorphosis of scholastic philosophy.60 This centrality of potentia absoluta occupies in the late Nominalism is accompanied by a transformation of its fundamental meaning. God's potentia absoluta changes from a virtual capacity or even possibility considered abstractly to an extraordinary or super-legal power. Heiko Oberman, a famous historian of the late Nominalism, captures this transformation succinctly: It is right to say that whereas the idea of the potentia absoluta had always been a marginal thought, the interests of the Nominalists seem to focus on it. The irrealis which indicates what could have happened if God had willed otherwise becomes more and more a realis. God's potentia absoluta becomes the power to reverse the natural order of things as in fact is the case with miracles. God is not 59

"Nominalistic philosophy is the reflection and echo of its theology and, in particular, of its concept of God's potentia absoluta" Oberman, "Some Notes on the Theology of Nominalism," 50; cf. his The Harvest of Medieval Theology (Baker, 2000), 36. 60 "In Bradwardine and the Pelagians I attempted to show how far-reaching the impact of this concept of God's potentia absoluta was. Then, as now, it seems to me to have been the most potent force in fourteenth century thought, and the one most responsible for transforming the traditional modes of thinking". Gordon Leff, Gregory of Rimini: Tradition and Innovation in Fourteenth Century Thought (Manchester, 1961), 20; cf. his Bradwardine and the Pelagians (Cambridge, 1957), 130-6.

49 obliged to obey moral or natural laws.

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While before the middle of the thirteenth century, potentia absoluta is seldom employed to denote a type of divine action, it becomes more and more so since then.62 It is this so-called "operationalization" of potentia absoluta which is an important feature of the via modema.63 It underscores the contingency of the natural order as well as the established moral order, and initiates a great philosophical change whose influence is discernible in many important early modern philosophers and scientists including Descartes, Newton, and even Locke. The transformation is achieved under the influence of canonists. The Church lawyers borrow the theological distinction of divine powers to explain the papal power and its relation to the Church in the thirteenth century. In this process it mixes with the traditional political vocabulary of plenitudo potestatis and legibus solutus. But soon the juristic understanding of this distinction is re-introduced into theological discussion by nominalists. In the middle ages, the expression plenitudo potestatis is used to denote the Roman Pontiff's supreme power above "the fundamental law of the Church" (status ecclesiae). The pope, as the vicar of Christ, is not a member of the Church, but stands above and outside it. The totality of power is located solely in the pope, and all other power within the Church, as a share of responsibility, stems from him

61

Oberman, "Some Notes on the Theology of Nominalism", 56-7. Courtenay, Capacity and Volition, 92. 63 Heiko Oberman, "Via Antiqua and Via Modema: Late Medieval Prolegomena to Early Reformation Thought," Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 48, no. 1 (1987), 39.

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50 alone.

It is this concept and especially its further extension from the realm of

"spiritual power" to that of "temporal power" which will be denounced as the chief source of disturbance to civil peace by Marsilius of Padua in his Defensor Pads.65 Since the latter half of the thirteenth century, canonists adopt the theological distinction of potentia absoluta/ordinata to describe the distinctiveness of the papal power.66 These canonists, on the analogy between the papal powers and divine omnipotence, distinguish the absolute power (potentia or potestas absoluta) and the ordinary power {potestas ordinata or ordinaria or regulata) of the pope: though the pope should obey regularly the common law of the church, since he is the vicar of God, he has no limitation to his power but himself. With this analogy, canonists draw a double parallel between God's government of the natural world and the pope's of the Church: both can govern either according to the common course of nature or the common law, or extraordinarily with plenitudo potestatis. While the ordinary power is usually linked with the laws of nature (in the case of God) or the fundamental laws of the Church (in the case of the Pope), the absolute power is the Walter Ullmann, Principles of Government and Politics in the Middle Ages (London: Methuen 1961), 32-56; John A. Watt, The Theory of Papal Monarchy in the Thirteenth Century (New York: Fordham University Press, 1965), 79ff. 65 "Plenitude of power might also be understood, in each of the senses given above [Marsilius lists eight senses in his work], as the power which is limited by no law, so that non-plenary power would be that which is limited by the laws human or divine, under which right reason can also properly be placed." Defensor Pads II.xxiii.3 (Alan Gewirth translation, Toronto, 1980), 315. It is noteworthy that Marsilius uses "with plenitude" and "absolutely" as synonym, Defensor Pads II.xxiii.4). cf. Alan Gewirth, Marsilius of Padua and Medieval Political Philosophy, (Columbia University Press, 1951), 7-8; or Charles Howard Mcllwain, The Growth of Political Thought in the West (Macmillan, 1932), 312. Marsilius' position might be extreme, but it is agreed in the late Middle Ages that, as Wilks points out, this concept is central to the controversy over papal power: "it was clearly understood by the anti-hierocratic writers that there was to be no freedom for the king or emperor until this plenitudo potestatis was either destroyed or effectively limited." Michael Wilks, The Problem of Sovereignty in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1963), 288. 66 Courtenay, Capacity and Volition, 92-5.

51 67

basis of God or even the pope to make miracles.

Here we find two "confusions" or what Courtenay calls "radical distortions" of the original meaning of this power distinction employed by theologicians. First, when potentia absoluta is mixed with plenitudo potestatis, its dominant meaning is no longer logical possibility, but actual power (thus, potentia and potestas are often used interchangeably in the works of canonists and publicists). In the juristic formula, "absoluta" in potentia absoluta is easily associated with the Roman Law maxim "principes legibus solutus est,"6S rather than understood as in a metaphysical manner as "unconditioned" or "by itself. In this way, after a long detour with the Greek thinking of dynamis, the political understanding of divine omnipotence prevalent in TNK reemerges, but this time, armed with an unprecedented "power". Second, when potentia absoluta is understood increasingly as "actual power", it is often connected with God's or even pope's capacity to execute miracles outside the laws of nature. The next question is how theologians react to the canonist interpretation of the distinction, and especially their emphasis on absolute power.

Francis Oakley, "Jacobean Political Theology. The Absolute and Ordinary Powers of the King," Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol.29 , no.3 (1968), 330-3. 68 This maxim itself, derived from a fragment of Ulpian, to be sure, should not be understood in a modern Hobbesian or Austinian way. About its limited original meaning (emperor can dispense with certain edicts with the permission of the Senate), cf. A. Esmein, "La Maxime Princeps legibus solutus est dans l'ancien Droit public francais," in Paul Vinogradoff ed. Essays in Legal History (Oxford, 1913), 201-4; Dieter Wyduckel, Princeps Legibus Solutus (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1979). The subtlety of this maxim in the middle ages {legibus solutus/legibus alliatus and lex regiallex dicta) is examined magisterially by Ernst H. Kantorowicz in The King's Two Bodies (Princeton, 1957), 98-143; also see Brain Tierney, " 'The Prince is not bound by the Law,' Accursius and the Origins of the Modern State," Comparative Studies in Society and History, Vol. 5, no. 4 (1963), 378-400; Kenneth Pennington, The Prince and the Law, 1200-1600: Sovereignty and Rights in the Western Legal Tradition (Berkeley, 1993).

52 (3) The Legalization of God's Absolute Power At first, theologians refuse to accept this juristic approach, since it seems to be an anthropocentric error to associates God with the arbitrary power in human sovereignty.69 But Duns Scotus decisively changes this tendency. His concern with God's freedom and the consequent contingency of the natural order leads him to connect the distinction of potentia absoluta/ordinata with the juridical distinction of de jure and de facto.70 His definition of potentia ordinata/absoluta shows the immediate influence of the juristic approach:71 In every agent acting intelligently and voluntarily that can act in conformity with a right law (legi rectae) but does not have to do so of necessity, one can distinguish between its ordained power and its absolute power. The reason is that either it can act in conformity with some right law, and then it is acting according to its ordained power (for it is ordained insofar as it is a principle for doing something in conformity with a right law), or else it can act beyond or against such a law, and in this case its absolute power exceeds its ordained power. And therefore it is not only in God, but in every free agent that can either act in accord with the dictates of a right law or go beyond or against that law, that one distinguishes between absolute and ordained power; therefore the jurists say that someone can act de facto, that is, according to his absolute power, or de jure, that is, acceding to his ordained legal power.72 The first deviation from the classical usage of this distinction in Scotus' definition seems to be his generalization of this distinction: its application is not confined to God but even extends to "every free agent." But this move might be no more than

Courtenay, Capacity and Volition, 96-100. Allan Wolter, "introduction" to Duns Scotus on the Will and Morality (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 1997), 56. Henri Veldhuis, "Ordained and Absolute Power in Scotus' Ordinatio 1.44," Vivarium, Vol. 38, no.2 (2000), 222-230. 71 "Scotus' distinction between the absolute and ordained powers of God is based upon the juridical conception of the law making power of the ruler, and its application is extended to all rational agents who are capable of acting freely either in conformity with or against a law." Pernoud, "The Theory of the Potentia Dei according to Aquinas, Scotus and Ockham," 84. 72 Ordinatio I. dist.44, Wolter's Translation in Duns Scotus on the Will and Morality, 191. 70

53

tactical. Scotus makes clear that the absolute power of a free agent exceeds its ordained power only when the right law is in the power of that agent. In other words, only the agent who has established the law "can freely order things otherwise than this right law dictates and still can act orderly." Since the laws of nature are only in the power of God, it follows that only God has absolute power at the level of the universe. But this tactical move does bring to light the basic tendency behind Scotus' juristic definition of absolute power: a political or legalistic understanding of the natural order on the basis of the voluntarist approach of natural laws. Since it is God who establishes the natural order, he has absolute power to choose another order as well. According to Scotus, "what is ordained and happens regularly" can mean either a universal order which involves common law or a particular judgment or decision that does not pertain to a universal law. God can, Scotus argues, act otherwise than both a particular order and a universal order. He can act "beyond or against" the natural order with his absolute power.73 The model of ruler and positive law becomes the paradigm for God and the laws of nature. The contingency of the natural order and its laws is radically formulated by Scotus with the aid of his juristic definition of absolute power. Scotus employs this distinction extensively in

73

"God, therefore, insofar as he is able to act in accord with those right laws he set up previously, is said to act according to his ordained power; but insofar as he is able to do many things that are not in accord with, but go beyond, these preestablished laws, God is said to act according to his absolute power. For God can do anything that is not self-contradictory or act in any way that does not include a contradiction (and there are many such ways he could act); and then he is said to be acting according to his absolute power." Ibid, 192.

54

his writings.74 Scotus' influence is widely felt throughout the fourteenth century until the end of the Middle Ages.75 It is still controversial among the scholars of this distinction whether the classical usage, especially the "logical" understanding of potentia absoluta, remains dominant in the later scholasticism, or a juristic approach has emerged and opens the way to modern skepticism.76 To be sure, in all these late scholastics, as Courtenay repeatedly stresses, the influence of the juristic approach of the distinction does not take the place of the classical usage. Many scholastics still hold on to the classical explanation of potentia absoluta as the virtual capacity for any possibility without contradiction. They still emphasize, like their predecessors, that the distinction does not mean there are two powers in God, but only "a way of speaking of God's modes of action." But it is exactly the metaphysical understanding of God as being and its absolute power as logical possibilities which prepares the final overturn of the dependence of power on goodness in the Greek thinking. Nominalists like Scotus, though themselves not skeptics, do undermine the ontological status of the natural order by emphasizing its contingency. In this process, the concept of potentia Courtenay, Capacity and Volition, 100; Gijsbert van den Brink, Almighty God: a Study of the Doctrine of Divine Omnipotence (Kampen: Kok Pharos Publishing House, 1993) 80. 75 Courtenay, ibid, 115ff. The standard explanation of potentia dei absoluta/ordinata adopted by Goclenius in his influential Lexicon is the usage of Scotus, 843. 76 Two most important historians of this distinction in the English academic world respectively hold the opposite positions. Courtenay believes the emphasis on the Nominalist "innovation" is mainly responsible for the negative view of the distinction prevalent in the 1930 to 1960 period, but it does not endure close examination of evidences; while Oakley stresses the legal usage of this distinction among the later Scholastics does not necessarily contradict the classical usage, and believes the former position overlooks the complicated significances of this distinction in intellectual history. Cf. Courtenay, Capacity and Volition, 11-21 and his review of Oakley's Omnipotence, Covenant, & Order, Speculum, Vol.60 , no.4 (1985), 1006-9; Oakley's review of Courtenay's Capacity and Volition, Speculum, Vol.68, no.3 (1993), 739-42.

55 absoluta plays a central part. With the aid of this concept and its distinction from ordained power, nominalists promote a so-called "modal" understanding of the reality on the basis of the metaphysics of possibilities. The juristic approach to the distinction of powers is nothing but "the reification of modal categories".77 Indeed, the metaphysical understanding of potentia absoluta establishes an intellectual context in which the juristic approach will prevail. Therefore, in the late scholastics, the political theology of absolute power combines its force with the metaphysical of possibility in emphasizing the contingency of the laws of nature both in physical sense as well as in the moral and political sense. It is this "crisis" of the natural order which paves the way to modernity. Suarez's usage might be a good example of the relation between the classical, metaphysical definition of potentia absoluta and the juristic approach to the distinction at the dawn of modern philosophy. In defining this distinction, Suarez adopts the classical approach and appeals to Thomas' passage we have quoted (Disp. Metaph. XXX.xvii.32, cf. XXX.xvii.17). But he also admits that of the two ways to understand God's ordinary power {potentia ordinaria) the legal one is "more usual" (ibid). Sometimes Suarez's usage of potentia absoluta comes closer to potentia extraordinaria by associating potentia absoluta with the intervention of miracle (XXXIV.vii.15). The influence of the juristic approach is more discernible in his

77

Funkenstein, Theology and Scientific Imagination, 129.

56

discussion of God's eternal law. God, Suarez argues, has determined to constitute and govern this world according to a certain law. On this account, Suarez adds, "God cannot perform certain acts by the ordinary law (per legem ordinariam), that is, by the law which He has imposed upon himself, or that he cannot perform them according to his ordained power (potentia ordinatd), that is, according to the power reduced to a definite order through this same law, a point which Scotus has noted" (De Legibus, II.ii.4). But God Himself is not bound by this ordinary law: "notwithstanding any law whatsoever made by Himself for the government of Creation, God may disregard that law, making use of His absolute power, as in the distribution of rewards or punishments, and so forth; because he is not bound to the observance of law. For He is Sovereign Lord and not confined with any order (extra ommem ordinem. II.ii.6)." It is noteworthy that Suarez does not mean God will actually "use" his absolute power, but what prevents him from doing it is not any binding force of the law itself, but "the natural rectitude": "it implies not a physical contradiction...but solely a moral one, for God to change His degree" (II.ii.7). God himself remains exempt from laws (semper manet solutus legibus. ll.ii.9). The emphasis on the sovereignty of God by appealing to the Roman law maxim solutus legibus brings to light the influence of the juristic approach, but not in a way that contradicts the classical and more the metaphysical usage of potentia absoluta. The late scholastic formulation of divine powers under the profound influence of the juristic approach promotes the development of the mechanical world picture

57 in early modern thought. The dialogue between Leibniz and Locke should be examined with regard to this hidden theme.

2.3 Absolute Power in Early Modern Philosophy The distinction between the absolute power and the ordinary power remains influential in early modern thought. It is adopted by humanists (Erasmus and Thomas More), theologians (Luther and Calvin), scientists (Gassendi and Boyle), political thinkers (Bodin, Grotius and Hobbes) and philosophers (Descartes).78 A comprehensive account is beyond the limit of our examination. It suffices to examine an important example which Leibniz explicitly discusses as showing the characteristic weakness of modern philosophy: Descartes' conception of God as infinite power. It is well known that Descartes takes omnipotence as an important attribute of God,79 even as equivalent with God's essence.80 The omnipotence of God, according to Descartes, is a widely accepted opinion and belongs to man's

Francis Oakley, "The Absolute and Ordained Power of God and King in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries: Philosophy, Science, Politics, and Law," Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 59, no. 4(1998), 669-690. 79 "By the word 'God' I understand a substance that is infinite, independent, supremely intelligent, supremely powerful (summe potentem), and which created both myself and everything else (if anything else there be) that exists" (Med.HI, AT V1I.45, CSM 11.31); "...the idea that gives me my understanding of a supreme God, eternal, infinite, omniscient, omnipotent (omnipotentem) and the creator of all things that exist apart from him..." (Med.III, AT VII.40, CSM 11.28). Marion points out, compared to summe potens, summe intelligens never receives "any noticeable elaboration" among God's attributes; there is a remarkable "imbalance between two attributes that are ordinarily put on the same level." Jean-Luc Marion, On Descartes' Metaphysical Prism, Chicago, 1999, 235. 80 "the immensity of his power or essence" (immensitatem potentiae, sive essentiae, Fourth Replies, ATVII.237, CSM 11.165).

58 praeconceptio opinio.

The clarification of this opinion is a main task of his

Meditations. In Meditation I, the long-standing opinion of divine omnipotence seems to allow Descartes to introduce a hyperbolic doubt. The supreme goodness of God is suspended (Med I, AT VII.21, CSM 11.14). Then in Meditation IV, the possibility of God's deception is excluded as an indication of "imperfection" (AT VII.53, CSM II. 37). Descartes excludes the possibility of God's deception not on the account of His goodness, but on the account of His supreme power. Descartes makes clear this point in his letter to Voetius: Although in my First Meditation I did speak of a supremely powerful deceiver, the conception there was in no way of the true God, since... it is impossible that the true God should be a deceiver. But if he is asked how he knows this is impossible (non posse), he must answer that he knows it from the fact that it implies a conceptual contradiction (contradictionem in concetpu) — that is, it cannot be conceived (May 1643, AT VIII.B 60, CSMK III 222). According to Burman, when Descartes adds "if it is permissible to say" in arguing there is some supremely powerful and malicious deceiver, he already hints at its "impossibility."82 As we have already seen in Augustine, Thomas and Scotus, God's "non posse" in deceiving does not mean any limitation on God's omnipotence. The relation between omnipotence and "conceptual contradiction" points exactly to the classical definition of potentia absoluta: God can do anything which involves no contradiction. In other words, the hyperbolic doubt and its overcome are "And yet firmly rooted in my mind is the long-standing opinion that there is an omnipotent God (Deum esse qui potest omnia) who made me the kind of creature that I am" (Med. I, AT VI1.21, CSM 11.14, cf. Med III, AT VII.36, CSM 11.25). See Marion, On Descartes' Metaphysical Prism, 216-7. 82 "The restriction is added here because the author is saying something contradictory in using the phrase 'supremely powerful and malicious', since supreme power coexist with malice. This is why he says 'if it is permissible to say s o ' . " (AT V. 150, Cottingham J, ed. Descartes' Conversation with Burman, Oxford, 1976, 9); or about Med. I (AT VII 22, CSM 11.14), "What the author here says is contradictory, since malice is incompatible with supreme power" (AT V.147, CSMK III. 333).

59 accompanied by a clarification of the opinions concerning God's omnipotence. Descartes' emphasis on God's absolute power partly results from his attempt to define God's power in terms of infinity. "Infinite" is the first divine attribute in Descartes' definition of God.83 The nature of God, according to Descartes, is actually infinite, or some infinite perfection.84 From God's infinity Descartes derives God's incomprehensibility.85 But both are nothing but aspects of God's omnipotence. It is precisely God's absolute power which is both infinite (not as the negation of the finite, but as a perfection)86 and incomprehensible (since it is beyond the ordained order of nature).87 The scholastic distinction of powers is employed by Descartes to undermine the traditional "opinion" concerning the natural order and establish his new principle of philosophy.88 The fundamental principle of the new philosophy presupposes a God with absolute power.89 83

Med.111, AT VII.45, CSM 11.31, or Med.Ul, AT VU.40, CSM 11.28. Marion, On Descartes' Metaphysical Prism, 218ff. 84 Med.111, AT. VII. 47, CSM 11.32, cf. Letter to Clerselier, 23 Apr. 1649, AT V.355-6, CSMK 111.377; Principia 1.22, AT VIIIA13, CSM 1.200 85 "the infinite, qua infinite, can in no way be grasped (comprehend!). But," Descartes adds immediately, "it can still be understood" (First Replies, AT VII.112, CSM 11.81). Descartes consistently makes the distinction between "grasping" (as limiting, cf. Principia 1.26, AT VIIIA.14, CSM 1.202) and "understanding": "To grasp (comprendre) something is to embrace it in one's thought; to know something, it is sufficient to touch it with one's thought" (Letter to Mersenne, 27 May 1630, AT 1.152, CSMK 111.25; cf. Letters to Mersenne,15 April 1630, AT 1.145-6, CSM 111.23; Letter to Mesland, 2 May 1644, AT IV 118-9, CSMK III.235, cf. First Replies, AT VII.U3, CSM MM, Fifth Replies, AT VII 367, CSM II. 253). 86 "It is false that the infinite is understood through the negation of a boundary or limit; on the contrary, all limitation implies a negation of the infinite" (Fifth Replies, AT VII 365, CSM II. 252). 87 "the power (potestas) which God has over all men is both absolute and totally free" (Principia 1.38, AT.VIIIA.19, CSM 1.205, cf. 1.41, AT VIIIA.20, CSM.I.206; 111.45, AT VIII.A.100, CSM 1.256). 88 Descartes seldom explicitly employs this distinction. He mentions it only twice: in the Sixth Replies (AT VII.435, CSM 11.293) and his long public letter to Voetius (AT VIII.B. 167). And in these cases he uses the termpotentia extraordinaria/ordinaria (cf. our discussion below). Besides, in the Principia, he contrasts God's preserving motion in the "ordinary concurrence" (concursum ordinarium) with God's creation (AT VIII.A61, CSM 1.240). Cf. Dennis Des Chene, Physiologia: Natural Philosophy in Late Aristotelian and Cartesian Thought (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996), 319ff. 89 Cf. Laurence Devillairs, Descartes et la connaissance de Dieu (Vrin, 2004), 199ff.

60 God's infinite and incomprehensible power, combining with his new philosophical principle, leads to a most radical understanding of absolute power in Descartes. This is revealed in Descartes' discussion with Arnauld about the possibility of a vacuum: Secondly, it [that is, the difficulty in recognizing the impossibility of a vacuum] arises because we have recourse to the divine power: knowing this to be infinite, we attribute to it an effect without noticing that the effect involves a contradictory conception, that is, is conceivable by us. But I do not think that we should ever say of anything that it can not be brought about by God. For since every basis of truth and goodness depends on his omnipotence, I would not dare to say that God cannot make a mountain without a valley, or bring it about that 1 and 2 are not 3. I merely say that he has given me such a mind that I cannot conceive a mountain without a valley, or a sum of 1 and 2 which is not 3; such things involves a contradiction in my conception" (Letter to Arnauld, Jun. 1648, AT V.223-4, CSMK III.358-9). Here we find an implicit tension in Descartes' concept of omnipotence as in scholasticism which leads to the formulation of the distinction of potentia absoluta/ordinata: on the one hand, Descartes warns us from running into the self-contradictory conception because of resorting to divine power; but on the other hand, Descartes insists, he is rather reluctant to impose any limitation on God's power {Mihi autem non videtur de ulla unquam re esse dicendum, ipsam a Deo fieri non posse). Descartes' manner of solving this tension can be clearly seen in his two further claims concerning God's omnipotence: first, "every basis of truth and goodness depends on his omnipotence" (omnis

ratio

veri

et boni

ab

eius

omnipotentia dependeat); second, God can even change the mathematical truth like 1+2=3. Descartes admits that the second claim would lead to contradiction in his mind, but it might still be possible for God. Thus, in Descartes' notorious doctrine of

61 the creation of eternal truths, even the classical "limitation" on the absolute power of God is suspended, since it might be just another indication of the weakness of human nature compared to God's infinite power. This "radical" doctrine of divine omnipotence perplexes the scholars of Descartes. Before we determine whether Descartes' doctrine of the creation of eternal truths deviates from or develops the classical doctrine of absolute power, it is worthwhile to quote at length Descartes' own formulation of this doctrine for the first time in 1630: However, in my treatise on physics I shall discuss a number of metaphysical topics and especially the following. The mathematical truths which you call eternal have been laid down by God and depend on him entirely no less than the rest of his creatures. Indeed to say that these truths are independent of God is to talk of him as if he were Jupiter or Saturn and to subject him to the Styx and the Fates. Please do not hesitate to assert and proclaim everywhere that it is God who has laid down these laws in nature just as a king lays down laws in his kingdom. There is no single one that we cannot grasp if our mind turns to consider it. They are all inborn in our minds just as a king would imprint his laws on the hearts of all his subjects if he had enough power to do so (Letters to Mersenne,15 April 1630, AT 1.145, CSM 111.23). It is noteworthy that this discussion of the creation of eternal truths takes place in Descartes' attempt to clarify the relation between metaphysics and physics. The mathematical truths, as the core of the Cartesian understanding of the natural order, are explicitly determined as dependent on God. The crux of this dependency is the contingency of eternal truths which are the basis of the law in nature: God has laid

down or established these laws in nature just as a king lays down laws in his kingdom. Here Descartes clearly resorts to the logic, if not the exact terminology, of the dialectic of potentia absoluta/ordinata. His juristic analogy of God to a king

62 echoes the same juristic approach to this distinction which influences Scotus and his followers: eternal truths are said to "depend on god alone, who, as the supreme legislator, has ordained them form eternity" (Sixth Replies, AT VII.436, CSM 11.294). Descartes' strategy to redefine the status of the laws of nature for the sake of his new principle of the cogito is not different from the hyperbolic doubt he introduces in the first Meditation. The logic of absolute power plays a significant role in both attempts. Descartes' implicit recourse to the distinction of powers can be further substantiated by his letter to Mesland about "the difficulty of conceiving how God would have been acting freely and indifferently if he had made it false that the three angles of a triangle were equal to two right angles": It is easy to dispel this difficulty by considering that the power of God cannot have any limits, and that our mind is finite and so created as to be able to conceive as possible the things which god has wished to be in fact possible, but not be able to conceive as possible things which God could have made possible, but which has nevertheless wishes to make impossible. The first consideration shows us that God cannot have been determined to make it true that contradictions cannot be true together, and therefore that he could have done the opposite. The second consideration assures us that even if this be true, we should not try to comprehend it, since our nature is incapable of doing so. And even if God has willed that some truths should be necessary, this does not mean that he willed them necessarily; for it one thing to will that they be necessary, and quite other to will this necessarily, or to be necessitated to will it (2 May 1644, AT IV 118-9, CSMK III.235). The difference between power and will ("wishing") is, as we have seen, a major principle in the scholastic formulation of the distinction of powers since Augustine (potuit, non voluif). Metaphysical possibilities which are the basis of the natural laws are in the power of God: "He could have done the opposite" by his absolute power.

63

Descartes denies neither the eternity nor the necessity of eternal truths.90 But with God's infinite power, Descartes emphasizes the contingency of these eternal and necessary truths: God does not will them necessarily nor He is necessitated to will it.91 If all these points are nothing new compared to the scholastic formulation of absolute power, especially the nominalist approach, Descartes' new philosophical principle does change the horizon of the scholastic formulation of absolute power. Eternal truths, as the essences of created things,92 are ideas in our mind. They are innate ideas "inborn in our minds just as a king would imprint his laws on the hearts of all his subjects if he had enough power to do so" (Letters to Mersenne,15 April 1630, AT 1.145, CSM 111.23). On Descartes' new philosophical principle, the focus of the ordained order shifts from the laws of nature to the order of the cogito, especially innate ideas "laid down" by God as the supreme legislator. Thus the classical tension between the order of nature and God's power is reformulated as the tension between my conception or "comprehending" and God's incomprehensible but intelligible power. On the basis of His omnipotence, "God can bring about whatever we clearly In answering Gassendi's challenge about whether there is anything immutable and eternal apart from God, Descartes points out, "just as the poets suppose that the Fates were originally established by Jupiter, but that after they were established he bound himself to abide by them, so I do not think that the essences of things, and the mathematical truths which we can know concerning them, are independent of God. Nevertheless I do think that they are immutable and eternal, since the will and decree of God willed and decreed that they should be so" {Fifth Replies, AT VII380, CSM 11.261). 91 E. M. Curley, "Descartes on the Creation of the Eternal Truths," The Philosophical Review 4 (1984), 569-97. 92 "For it is certain that he is the author of the essence of created things no less than of their existence; and this essence is nothing other than the eternal truths" (Letter to Mersenne, 27 May 1630, AT 1.151-2, CSMK 111.25).

64 perceive to be possible" (Deus potest omnia efficere, quae nos possibilia esse dare percipimus.. .Comments, AT VIIIB.352, CSM 1.299). In other words, our clear and distinct ideas are in God's power since God is capable of creating everything that I am capable of perceiving clearly and distinctly (Med VI, AT VII. 71, CSM 11.50). But this does not means God's power is limited by our finite mind. As we have seen, Descartes would not accept this "absurd" position: "I boldly assert that God can do everything which I perceive to be possible, but I am not so bold as to assert the converse, namely that he cannot do what conflicts with my conception of things - I merely say that it involves a contradiction" ,93 It is this new formulation of God's absolute power which seems to be the most radical aspect of Descartes' doctrine of the creation of eternal truths. This radical claim results immediately from Descartes' attempt to found his philosophy on the cogito: from the perspective of the cogito, the classical principle of non-contradiction might be only "contradiction" in our mind. The dialectic of divine powers reflects itself now in the paradox of human understanding: Again, there is no need to ask how God could have brought it about from eternity that it was not true that twice four make eight, and so on; for I admit this is unintelligible to us (a nobis intelligi non posse). Yet on the other hand I do understand (intelligam), quite correctly, that there cannot be any class of entity that does not depend on God; I also understand that it would have been easy for God to ordain (instituere) certain things such that we men cannot understand (a nobis hominibus non intelligatur) the possibility of their being otherwise than they are. And therefore it would be irrational for us to doubt what we do understand correctly just because there is something which we do not understand and which, so far as we can see, there is no reason why we should understand. 93

Letter to More, 5 Feb. 1649, AT V.272, CSMK. 111.363; cf his letters to Mersenne,15 April 1630, AT 1.146, CSM 111.23; and his letter to Mesland, 2 May 1644, AT IV 118-9, CSMK III.235.

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Hence we should not suppose that eternal truths 'depend on the human intellect or on other existing things'; they depend on God alone, who, as the supreme legislator, has ordained them from eternity (Sixth Replies, AT VII.436, CSM 11.294). Our "conception" cannot impose limitations on God's power since eternal truths do not depend on the human intellect. Therefore, the impossibility in our understanding is not the impossibility for God's power. Our understanding of God's absolute power ("there cannot be any class of entity that does not depend on God") leads us to realize precisely the limit of our understanding: I understand that there is something we cannot understand, but it is still in the power of God. God's omnipotence determines the distinctiveness of Descartes' philosophical starting point of the cogito: it is not an absolute staring point like Spinoza's substance, but something involved in the dialectic of absolute power. It also explains the centrality of innate ideas, especially the innate idea of God, in Descartes' philosophy. Descartes' concept of God's infinite power brings about several important conclusions which are relevant to our examination of Leibniz and Locke. A main indication of God's omnipotence, according to Descartes, is the principle that it is the source of all goodness and truth. Just as 2+1=3 or 2x4=8 is true because God made it so, the actual order of nature is good not because there is any inherent goodness in this order, but exactly because God chose it: I mean that there is not even any priority of order, or nature, or of 'rationally determined reason' as they call it, such that God's idea of the good impelled him to choose one thing rather than another. For example, God did not will the creation of this world in time because he saw that it would be better this way than if he had created it form eternity; nor did he will that the three angles of a triangle should be equal to two right angles because he recognized that it could

not be otherwise, and so on. On the contrary, it is because he willed to create the world in time that it is better this way than if he had created it from eternity; and it is because he willed that the three angles of a triangle should necessarily equal two right angles that this is true and cannot be otherwise; and so on in the other cases {Sixth Replies, AT VII.432, CSM 11.291). Both truth and goodness belong to the ordained order which might have been otherwise by God's infinite power. They are effects of God's ordained power by exercising his will.94 This amounts to claiming that God is completely indifferent with regard to any order or law, including the order of nature "he did in fact create" (Sixth Replies, AT VII.435, CSM 11.294). Indeed, Descartes deems this "supreme indifference" as "the supreme indication" of God's omnipotence (Sixth Replies, AT VII.432, CSM 11.292). For Descartes this complete indifference of God is the evidence of God's perfect freedom, while indifference in human beings is rather the mark of their imperfections or weakness (Med.IV. AT VII.58, CSM 11.40, cf. Sixth objections, AT. VII.416-7, CSM II.280-1). This complete indifference of God's omnipotence leads to another important conclusion concerning the natural order: the exclusion of final causes.95 Since goodness simply depends on God's power, the only causation by which God creates the world is efficient causation. To Mersenne's question "by what kind of causality God established the eternal truths", Descartes' answer is straightforward, "by the "the reason for their goodness depends on the fact that he exercised his will to make them so" (Sixth Replies, AT VII.435, CSM 11.294). 95 "For since I now know that my own nature is very weak and limited, whereas the nature of God is immense, incomprehensible and infinite, I also know without more ado that he is capable of countless things whose causes are beyond my knowledge. And for this reason alone I consider the customary search for final causes to be totally useless in physics..." (MedIV, AT VII.55, CSM 11.39, cf. Fifth Replies, AT VII.374-5, CSM 11.258; Principia 1.28, AT VIII.A 15-6, CSM 1.202-3).

67 same kind of causality as he created all things, that is to say, as their efficient and total cause" (Letter to Mersenne, 27 May 1630, AT 1.151-2, CSMK 1.25). Descartes formulates his position against the Aristotelian-scholastic mainstream understanding of causation with the help of a juristic terminology even more adequately in the Sixth Set of Replies: There is no need to ask what category of causality is applicable to the dependence of this goodness upon God, or to the dependence on him of other truths, both mathematical and metaphysical. For since the various kind of cause were enumerated by thinkers who did not, perhaps, attend to this type of causality, it is hardly surprising that they gave no name to it. But in fact they did give it a name, for it can be called efficient causality, in the sense that a king may be called the efficient cause of a law... (AT VII.436, CSM 11.294). While Thomas claims that "God is the efficient cause, the exemplar, and the final cause of all things" (ST. la q.44 a.4 ad.4), Descartes excludes final causes, transforms divine ideas in exemplar causation into innate ideas, and thus establishes the centrality of efficient causation.96 The dependence of goodness and truth on God's omnipotence, the complete indifference of God's freedom and the centrality of efficient causality, all follow from God's infinite power. It is this concept of God which drives Leibniz to reflect on the weakness of early modern philosophy and supply his remedy in his comments on Locke.

3. Leibniz and Modern Philosophy: Against Absolute Power In a remarkable passage in the NE, Leibniz warns his audience of the "practical 96

Vincent Carraud, Causa sive ratio: la raison de la cause, de Suarez a Leibniz (PUF, 2002), ch.II.

68 effect" of modern philosophy on "the good morality and true religion" which are the basis of the established political order (NE, 462): although the masters of the new philosophy like Spinoza lead "exemplary lives," their "disciples and imitators," under the sway of their "erroneous opinions," free themselves from "the inhibiting fear of an overseeing Providence and of a threatening future," allow themselves to be carried away by "brutish passions," and set fire to the four corners of the earth; even more dangerously, their opinions and passions, either by virtue of the influence on "the minds of men of high station who rule the rest and on whom affairs depend," or through the communication of "fashionable books," "are inclining everything towards the universal revolution with which Europe is threatened, and are completing the destruction of what still remains in the world of generous sentiments of the ancient Greeks and Romans, who placed love of country and of the public good, and the welfare of future generations, before fortune and even before life." This pessimistic prophecy is, to be sure, nothing unprecedented since the emergence of the new science. It is not difficult to find hundreds of similar complaints among the critics of Galileo, Descartes, Hobbes, Spinoza and Locke. But there is something distinctive in Leibniz's warning. First, Leibniz himself is in no way a conservative thinker. His contribution to the development of modern science, especially in the fields of mathematics and physics, is inferior to none of the modern philosophers aforementioned. Besides, Leibniz is so well versed in the doctrines of almost all major modern philosophers that he seldom shares those

69

customary prejudiced judgments against modern philosophy.97 He appreciates the achievement of modern philosophers and does not believe we moderns can simply return to the ancients by discarding the new philosophy.98 Even when he becomes more and more critical of the doctrines of Hobbes, Descartes, and Spinoza in his later writings, Leibniz never spares his praises for these modern philosophers. Thus Leibniz's warning about the total crisis of the established moral and religious order the new philosophy might bring about is not a reaction of the adversary of modernity, but rather a self-criticism of one of its founders. But about forty years before, when Leibniz was still a young scholar, he was much more optimistic about the practical effect of the "reformed" new philosophy: I venture to assert that atheists, Socinians, naturalists, and skeptics can never be opposed successfully unless this philosophy [that is, the reformed philosophy, which argues that "the explanation of all qualities and changes must be found in magnitude, figure, motion, etc."] is established. I believe this philosophy is a gift of God to his old world, to serve as the only plank, as it were, which pious and prudent men may use to escape the shipwreck of atheism which now threaten us.99 Modern philosophy, if it is not reformed according to Leibniz's project, will turn from the "gift of God to his old world" into the source of the universal revolution. Leibniz's lifelong philosophical project is to avoid such disaster by "reforming" modern philosophy. But what is exactly the fundamental weakness which might lead For example, "I am unwilling to agree with you that Descartes only pretended to defend the

existence of God and the immortality of the soul, and I do not see your grounds for inferring this. His arguments are not sophistical but imperfect." Letter to Herman Conring, Mar. 19, 1678, L.190. 98 "That the whole new philosophy is soon to be rejected by a learned posterity, as you say, is very unlikely if the world continues to advance as it has begun, unless you think, perhaps, that men will turn back again from the full fruits of discovery to their little acorns, and from things to words. This we need not fear unless a new barbarism should break out which would bring darkness into human affairs." Ibid. L. 189. 99 Letter to Jacob Thomasius, 20/30 Apr, 1669, L.102.

70 modern philosophy to the disintegration of the established order? In this section, after briefly touching on the relation between Leibniz and modern philosophy, we will focus on Leibniz's diagnosis of modern philosophy, especially in the context of the power genealogy we have sketched in the previous sections of this chapter.

3.1 Leibniz and the Moderns At the age of 68, Leibniz recalls the development of his early thought: Besides always taking care to direct my study toward edification, I have tried to uncover and unite the truth buried and scattered under the opinions of all the different philosophical sects, and I believe I have added something of my own which takes a few steps forward. The circumstances under which my studies proceeded from my earliest youth have given me some facility in this. I discovered Aristotle as a lad, and even the Scholasticism did not repel me; even now I do not regret this. But then Plato too, and Plotinus, gave me some satisfaction, not to mention other ancient thinkers whom I consulted later. After having finished the trivial schools, I fell upon the moderns, and I recall walking in a grove on the outskirts of Leipzig called the Rosental, at the age of fifteen, and deliberating whether to preserve substantial form or not. Mechanism finally prevailed and led me to apply myself to mathematics.100 Whether this dramatic account is true in historical details does not concern us here.101 It is obvious from this passage that Leibniz became interested in the new philosophy, especially the mechanical philosophy ("mechanism"), quite early (just after having finished the trivial schools). Leibniz's answer is: "Their beautiful ways of explaining nature mechanically charmed me, and with good reason I despised the method of those who use only forms or faculties of which nothing is understood" (NS 2). It is the mathematical-mechanical explanation of nature in the new 100

Letter to Nicolas Remond, 10 Jan 1714, L.654-5. Cf. Christia Mercer's discussion in Leibniz's Metaphysics: its Origins and Development (Cambridge, 2001), 24-27, 39-40. 101

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philosophy that "charmed" young Leibniz, who was then not satisfied with the scholastic explanation in terms of "forms" or "faculties". The corpuscular hypothesis of the mechanical philosophy seemed to young Leibniz more convincing than the scholastic doctrine of "faculties" or "forms" in explaining the natural world.'02 While Leibniz committed himself to modern mechanical philosophy, he did not understand modern philosophy as something completely "new." But on the contrary, Leibniz often mentions it as a revival of the ancient wisdom. The corpuscular philosophy of Hobbes, Gassendi or Descartes is not merely the revival of the ancient atomism, but even a better interpretation of Aristotle's natural philosophy.103 Unlike other modern philosophers such as Descartes, Hobbes, or Gassendi, Leibniz believes, Aristotle is not guilty of those defects usually ascribed to him by early modern philosophers: "after so many efforts have been made by the most

learned

scholars

in

interpreting

Aristotle

and

overcoming

the

misunderstandings of uncultured people, nothing is better known in our own century than that Aristotle is free and innocent of all this ineptness with which the Scholastics are so often polluted."104 Leibniz's so-called "conversion" to the moderns is, therefore, far from a revolt against the ancients. What disappointed

102 « B u t n j s [i - e - j Gassendi's] thoughts satisfy me less now than they did when I first began to drop

scholastic views in my own schoolboy days. Since the atomic theory satisfies the perceptual imagination, I gave myself to it, and it seemed to me that the void of Democritus or Epicurus, together with their incorruptible atoms, would remove all difficulties...So the philosophy of Gassendi could be used to introduce young students to the knowledge of nature." Letter to Remond, July, 1714, L.657. 103 Letter to Jacob Thomasius, Apr. 20/30, 1669, L.95. 104 "Preface to an edition of Nizolius" (1670), L.127. Leibniz's another account of his Rosental decision as one "between Aristotle and Democritus" is thus misleading in this respect. Cf. GUI.205.

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Leibniz in natural explanations is less Aristotle's own doctrine than the interpretations of his Scholastic followers, which he called "a barbarous philosophy".105 "[Tjhose who draw from the springs of Aristotle and the ancients rather than from the cisterns of the Scholastics", according to Leibniz, would give us "sound and useful learning."106 Modern philosophers should and in fact they do, Leibniz believes, draw their insights from the ancients.107 But even the "barbarous philosophy", Leibniz does not deem as a universal kingdom of darkness. He spares no good words in praising the great scholastics from Thomas through Ockham to Suarez.108 It seems to Leibniz that only contemporary scholastics are philosophical barbarians.109 Scholars have long since emphasized the reconciliatory nature of Leibniz's philosophy."0 But Leibniz's reconciliatory project, or what he calls "the reformed 105

"Preface to an edition of Nizolius," L.125. "Preface to an edition of Nizolius," L.124. 107 "neither Galileo, Descartes, nor Gassendi was ignorant of Aristotle's doctrines. Gassendi had certainly read the ancients more carefully than did many Aristotelians. It seems to me that no one is more ignorant of Aristotle's teachings than the so-called Aristotelians." Letter to Herman Conring, Mar. 19, 1678, L. 188. 108 Thomas: "I find that we should retain the philosophy of Aristotle, St.Thomas" (Letter to Francois de la Chaise, May 1680, L.273); Ockham, "a man of the greatest genius and learning for his age" ("Preface to an edition of Nizolius", L.128); Suarez, "But to be fair to the deeper Scholastics, such as Suarez..., it should be acknowledged that their works sometimes contain substantial discussions..." (NE 431. Leibniz's criticism of Suarez in his early work focuses on his concept of causality, cf, "Preface to an edition of Nizolius," L.126 and "Dissertation on the Art of Combination," L.75). Leibniz's highest praise is reserved to "the nominalist sect", "the most profound of all the Scholastics, and the most consistent with the spirit of our modern philosophy." "Preface to an edition of Nizolius," L.127-8. For his mature position, cf. DM.11. 109 "I do not hesitate to say that the older Scholastics arc far superior to certain of our contemporaries in acumen, soundness, prudence, and even in their more cautious avoidance of useless questions. For some of our contemporaries, who can hardly add anything worthy printing to the ancients, do only one thing; they accumulate references, invent countless questions, divide one argument into many, change methods, and contrive new terms against and again. This is how they produce so many and such bulky books." "Preface to an edition of Nizolius," L.127. 110 Catherine Wilson detects a tendency to reconcile Aristotle and the moderns during this early period of Leibniz's thought, cf. Leibniz's Metaphysics: a Historical and Comparative Study (Princeton, 1989), 46-51; Mercer, Leibniz's Metaphysics: its Origins and Development, passim; Stuart 106

73 philosophy,"111 is not a mixture or even synthesis which simply combines the preferred elements of the ancients and the moderns. When he committed himself to the mathematical-mechanical explanation of nature, Leibniz was certainly not unfamiliar with those complaints against the new philosophy, especially its implicit dangers to the established religious and moral order. Leibniz is well aware of the source of the crisis of the established order. He admits that his own century is "fruitful alike of science and of impiety," and impiety results directly from science. While the ancients often refer to God or "some kind of incorporeal forms" to explain the nature of things, the mathematical-mechanical explanations of nature have no need of the divine or the incorporeal: "truly capable men for the first time began to try to save or to explain natural phenomena, or those which appear in bodies, without assuming God or taking him into their reasoning." This success in explaining "natural phenomena" without resorting to God or incorporeal forms gives the mechanical philosophers confidence to turn their explanations into the principles of the first philosophy. It is this move that Leibniz deems as premature or illegitimate: Then, after their attempt had met with some little success, though before they arrived at foundations and principles, they proclaimed, as if rejoicing prematurely at their security, that they could find neither God nor the immortality of the soul by natural reason, but that in these matters faith must rest either on civil laws or on historical records. This was the judgment of the most acute Mr. Hobbes, whose great discoveries should earn for him our silence on Brown, "Leibniz: Modern, Scholastic, or Renaissance Philosopher?" in Tom Sorell ed. The Rise of Modern Philosophy: the Tension between the New and Traditional Philosophies from Machiavelli to Leibniz (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993), 213-230. 1 '' Letter to Jacob Thomasius, 20/30 Apr, 1699, L.94-5.

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this matter if his authority had not explicitly affected this view for the worse. Unfortunately there are others who have gone even further and who now doubt the authority of the sacred scriptures and the truth of history and the historical record, thus bringing an unconcealed atheism into the world.112 Leibniz made this diagnosis of modern philosophy when he was 23 and still fascinated with the corpuscular explanations of nature. But the fundamental position of this

statement

he holds throughout

his life.

Leibniz

admits that

mathematical-mechanical explanations do have "some little success". But their success is confined to "natural phenomena or those which appear in bodies". They have not "arrived at foundations and principles" (fundamenta et principia). The distinction

between phenomena-appearances

and invisible but

intelligible

foundations-principles will be Leibniz's dominant formula to explicate the relation between the modern philosophy and its ancient sources. The mistake of the moderns consists in their confusion between the explanations of phenomena and the principles of their explanations.113 It is this superficial understanding of "science," rather than the new science itself, that brings about impiety. The most urgent task for modern philosophy, therefore, according to Leibniz, is to establish solid "foundations and principles" for the mechanical explanations of natural phenomena. Leibniz even quotes the formula of Francis Bacon to support his diagnosis of modern philosophy, "casually sampled philosophy leads away from God but that

1 2

'

"The Confession of Nature against Atheists," L. 109-110. This diagnosis might help us understand Leibniz' apparently awkward flattery in his letter to Hobbes, "certain men are therefore wrong in ascribing license and impiety to your hypotheses." Leibniz is quite serious in affirming that the abuses of Hobbes' well established theorems, which lead to "license and impiety," come from the ignorance of "the right principles of application" (July, 1670, L.105-6). As Leibniz later realizes, Hobbes himself is the paradigmatic example of this mistake. 113

75 drunk more deeply, it leads back to him".114 To overcome the dangers of the new philosophy, it is neither probable nor desirable to throw it away, but to drink more deeply into it. For Leibniz, to search for "foundations and principles" of the mechanical explanations, modern philosophers have to go beyond physics and mathematics, and step into the realm of metaphysics. This is exactly his own experience: "when I looked for the ultimate reason for mechanism, and even for the laws of motion, I was greatly surprised to see that they could not be found in mathematics but that 1 should have to return to metaphysics."115 It is simply a philosophical mistake to take (mechanical) physics as the first philosophy as Hobbes does. When the modern philosophers turn from mechanics to metaphysics for "foundations and principles," they cannot confine themselves to matter and motion, but have to give a satisfactory account of the traditional metaphysical themes like God, soul and beings.116 Whether modern philosophers can succeed in transforming the mechanical philosophy into the gift of God to this world depends to a great extent on whether they can find such a satisfactory account.

114 "The Confession of Nature against Atheists," L.109; "On True Method in Philosophy and Theology," W.62. 115 Letter to Nicholas Remond, Jan 10 1714, L.655. 1 6 ' "We must also push metaphysics further than has been done so far, in order to have true notions of God and the soul, of person, substance, and accidents. And unless we have true a profounder insight into physics, we cannot meet the objections raised against the history of creation, the deluge, and the resurrection of the body. In short, the true morality must be demonstrated, in order to learn what is justice, justification, freedom, pleasure, happiness, and the beatific vision." Letter to John Frederick, Fall 1679, L.260.

76

3.2 Where Does the New Philosophy Go Wrong? But Leibniz's project of reconciliation proves much more difficult than he originally supposed. When Leibniz became more familiar with the new philosophy, and especially that of Descartes, he came to realize the mechanical physics is repugnant to his project of reconciliation or reformation. Leibniz initiated a more systematic reflection on its presuppositions. The nature of the mathematicized matter (extension) which is the core of the new mechanical world-view,117 becomes the focus of Leibniz's reflection: ... after trying to explore the principles of mechanics itself in order to account the laws of nature which we learn from experience, I perceived that the sole consideration of extended mass was not enough but that it was necessary, in addition, to use the concept offorce, which is fully intelligible, although it falls within the sphere of metaphysics (NS 2) The insufficiency of the mechanical concept of matter is a repeated theme of Leibniz's writings in the 1670's which culminated in the first systematic formulation of his philosophy, Discourse on Metaphysics (1686). 118 The completely mathematically understood corporeal substance (as extended mass) in the mechanical philosophy, for Leibniz, is not a being with its own unity or nature, but rather "a being through aggregation" {Ens per aggregationem), which is not entitled to be called "substance."119 To the question what we should then "add to extension in order to complete the concept of body," Leibniz's answer is "action" - body is not

117

E. J. Dijksterhuis, The Mechanization of the World Picture (Oxford, 1961). ' Wilson, Leibnizs Metaphysics, 65ff; Mercer, Leibniz s Metaphysics, ch. 10. 119 "Notationes Generales," Gr. I. 322-3. 1 8

77 "extended mass," but "extended activity" {agens externum).120 In this way Leibniz breaks with the central tenet of the mechanical philosophy, that is, the nature of body consists only in size, figure or motion. But since matter itself is purely passive, the source of action, force, has to be sought somewhere else. Here Leibniz returns to the concept of substantial form which, according to his own account, he had given up when he converted to the new philosophy (DM 12). This restoration of substantial forms is usually regarded as a sign of the birth of Leibniz's mature philosophy.121 Leibniz's own account records his considerations in rehabilitating this controversial scholastic concept: At first, after freeing myself from bondage to Aristotle, 1 accepted the void and the atoms, for its these that best satisfy the imagination. But in turning back to them after much thought, I perceived that it is impossible to find the principle of a true unity in matter alone or in what is merely passive, since everything in it is but a collection or aggregation of parts to infinity. Now a multitude can derive its reality only from the true unities... To find these real unties, therefore, I was forced to have recourse to a formal atom, since a material being cannot be at the same time material and perfectly indivisible, or endowed with true unity. It was thus necessary to restore, and as it were, to rehabilitate the substantial forms which are in such disrepute today, but in a way which makes them intelligible and separates their proper use from their previous abuse (NS 3). Though this account summarizes the metaphysical considerations which led Leibniz back to the concept of substantial forms, it does not fully capture the theological and moral reasons behind Leibniz's metaphysical decision. What is the advantage of substantial forms in Leibniz's project to reconcile the n e w philosophy with piety and 1

".. .action has to be added to the notion of extension.. .Therefore, body is extended activity, and a substance may be said to be extended if we hold that every substance is active and every active thing is called a substance. Now we can show from the inner truths of metaphysics that what is not active is nothing, for there is no such thing as a mere potentiality to act without any initial action". "On True Method in Philosophy and Theology," W.64. 121 Letter to John Frederick, fall 1679, L.261. cf. Andre Robinet, Architectonique disjonctive, automates systemiques et idealite transcendantale dans I'ceuvre de GW Leibniz (Vrin, 1986), 245-51.

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morality? Leibniz's examination of a proposition in Descartes' Principia might supply us a clue. In the Principles of Philosophy, after listing the principal mechanical assumptions by virtue of which he explains the nature of the physical world,122 Descartes points out, behind these assumptions is his supposition that "all the particles of matter were initially equal in respect both of their size and their motion," and no inequality was allowed in his model. But he immediately adds, his method does not depend on this supposition: In fact it makes very little difference what initial suppositions are made, since all subsequent change must occur in accordance with the laws of nature. And there is scarcely any supposition that does not allow the same effects...to be deduced in accordance with the same laws of nature. For by the operation of these laws matter must successively assume all the forms of which it is capable {material formas omnes quorum est capax, successive assumat); and, if we consider these forms in order, we will eventually be able to arrive at the form which characterizes the universe in its present state. Hence in this connection we need not fear that any error can arise form a false supposition (111.47, AT VTIIA.103, CSM 1.257-8). It is Descartes' apparently insignificant addition, "matter must successively assume all the form of which it is capable," that attracts the most violent and consistent attack from Leibniz: I do not believe that a more dangerous proposition than this could be formulated. For if matter takes on, successively, all possible forms, it follows that nothing can be imagined so absurd, so bizarre, so contrary to what we call justice, that it would not have happened and will not some day happen. These are precisely the opinions which Spinoza has expounded more clearly, namely, These assumptions are: "all the bodies in the universe are composed of one and the same matter, which is divisible into indefinitely many parts, and is in fact divided into a large number of parts which move in different directions and have a sort of circular motion; moreover, the same quantity of motion is always preserved in the universe" (111.46, AT. VIIIA.100, CSM 1.256). Descartes believes, these "very simple and easily known principles" are sufficient to explain "all the effects observed in our universe."

79 that justice, beauty, and order are things merely relative to us but that the perfection of God consists in that magnitude of his activity by virtue of which nothing is possible or conceivable which he does not actually produce. These are also the opinions of Mr. Hobbes, who asserts that everything that is possible is either past or present or future, and there will be no place for trust in providence if God produces everything and makes no choice among possible beings. Mr. Descartes was careful not to speak so plainly, but he could not keep from revealing his opinions incidentally, with such adroitness that he will be understood only by those who examine such matters carefully. In my opinion, this is the 'first falsehood' (proton pseudos) and the basis of atheistic philosophy, though it always seems to say the most beautiful things about God. The true philosophy, on the contrary, must give us an entirely different concept of God's perfection, one that will be of use in both physics and ethics.123 This long quotation brings to light the hidden reason of Leibniz's worries about the mechanical principles of the new philosophy. A world dominated by the mechanical concept of matter/mass/body is perfectly homogenous (Principia 111.47, AT 103, CSM 1.257). In this simplest order, matter can take on whatever form happens upon it. The perfect equality of matter in the mechanical world picture amounts to the complete indifference of the mathematical matter to any form. Nothing but the historical account of those forms the formless matter happens to assume successively can allow us the knowledge to "the form which characterizes the universe in its present state." This world picture, for Leibniz, is dangerous, since it can serve as the "the basis of atheistic philosophy." Though new philosophers seldom argue explicitly against the existence of God, but their concept of God is severely defective. It is against this dangerous concept of God that Leibniz advocates "an entirely different concept of God's perfection." The crucial defect of Descartes' mechanical principle that matter can assume Letter to Christian Philipp, Jan. 1680, L.273.

80 all the forms of which it is capable, according to Leibniz's criticism, is a somehow paradoxical world-picture: a world of absolute necessity established by arbitrary power. Spinoza, Hobbes and Descartes are all in some way infected with this dangerous doctrine. On the one hand, this world picture in fact eliminates possibilities. In Spinoza, only those which actually produced by God is possible or conceivable. There is no place for contingency in the system of Spinoza. In Hobbes, "everything that is possible is either past or present or future." But it seems difficult to accuse Descartes of this defect since he holds a quite different, if not opposite, position. As we have already examined in the previous section, according to his notorious doctrine of the creation of eternal truths, even necessary or eternal truths depend on the decrees of God. But if we carefully compare Descartes' doctrine and Leibniz's distinction between necessary truths and contingent truths, we will find, Leibniz has sufficient reason to connect Descartes' mechanical principle with the doctrine of absolute necessity of Spinoza and Hobbes.124 All three modern philosophers, for Leibniz, fail to understand the nature and significance of possibilities.125 While Spinoza and

On commenting on IP 16 in Spinoza's Ethics ("From the necessity of the divine nature there must follow infinitely many things in infinitely many ways"), Leibniz contends, "This view is quite false, and makes the same mistake that Descartes insinuated, that matter successively accepts all shapes. Spinoza begins where Descartes leaves off: in naturalism. Also, he wrongly holds that the world is an effect of the divine nature, even though he almost adds that it was not made by chance. There is a midpoint between what is necessary and what is by chance, namely, that which his free. The world is a voluntary effect of God, but a voluntary effect due to inclining or prevailing reasons. And even if we image the world to be perpetual, it would still not be necessary" (Comments on Spinoza's Philosophy." 1707, AG 277). As we will soon see in the next chapter, the midpoint between the essential and the accidental will also be Leibniz's definition of nature. 125 Leibniz tells us, it is by "considering those possible things which neither are nor will be nor have been" that he was pulled back from the precipice of absolute necessity. "On Freedom," L.263.

81 Hobbes simply deny them, Descartes does not admit possibilities before the decree (or creation) of God.126 A satisfactory account of God and the natural order requires a philosophical concept of possibilities,127 since "necessity blind and absolute would subvert piety and morality."128 If as a metaphysician, Leibniz gradually realized the weakness in the concept of comprehensive absolute necessity, as a theologian, he is hostile to the concept of arbitrary power of God from the very beginning.129 If the formless matter is completely indifferent to any form, Leibniz points out, "it follows that nothing can be imagined so absurd, so bizarre, so contrary to what we call justice, that it would not have happened and will not some day happen." This is immediately related to the relativistic understanding of goodness in Spinoza (and Hobbes).130 As we have seen, God's power is deemed as the source of goodness according to Descartes' doctrine of God's infinite power. The main reason that leads the new philosophers to such a conclusion is the exclusion of final causes from the mechanical world picture. Thus there is no inherent reason in this world which inclines God to create this "If everything that exists were necessary, then it would follow that only things which existed at some time would be possible (as Hobbes and Spinoza hold) and that matter would receive all possible forms (as Descartes held). And so, one could not image a novel that did not actually take place at some time and in some place, which is absurd. And so, we should say, rather, that from an infinite number of possible series, God chose one for reasons that go beyond the comprehension of his creatures." "The Source of Contingent Truths" (1682-89?), AG. 100. 127 Letter to Magnus Wedderkopf, May 1671, L. 146. 128

129

TH. appendix II.3.

Cf. Letter to Thomas Hobbes, July 13/22, 1670, L.104-5; Letter to Magnus Wedderkopf, L.146-7. "Good and bad are only said in respect to something," and more specifically, "God is called supremely good, because he acts to the advantage of all." Spinoza seems to take this proposition as a metaphysical conclusion of Descartes' philosophy. Cogitata Metaphysica, II.6. Cf. Spinoza's famous definition of good in the Ethics (IVD1): "By good I shall understand what we certainly know to be useful to us" (cf. "Preface" of IV). Hobbes holds a similar position: "Good and evil are names that signify our appetites and aversions, which in different tempers, customs, and doctrines of men are different" {Leviathan I.xv.40). 130

82 world rather than other possible worlds (indeed there are no other possible worlds for some of them). God has no reason beyond his creation itself, God creates this world with indifference. These two defects Leibniz finds in the mechanical principles of natural explanations bring about the same result: if the natural order is just what is actually created or produced by God, and the source of this divine causation is his infinite power beyond our comprehension, the beauty, goodness and even order itself of the natural world are endangered by this arbitrary (or purely political) understanding of its laws. At the core of Leibniz's diagnosis of the new philosophy is the profound influence of the concept of absolute power which implicitly undermines the foundation of the natural order. Leibniz's philosophical enterprise is mainly a struggle with this absolute power free from goodness.

3.3 Power and Goodness: Leibniz's Project Early in his philosophical career, Leibniz has already realized the danger with the immense increase of human power: It is obvious that the happiness of mankind consists in two things - to have the power, as far as is permitted, to do what it wills and to know what, from the nature of things, ought to be willed. Of these mankind has almost achieved the former; as to the latter, it has failed in that it is particularly impotent with respect to itself. For the power of man has certainly increased immensely in the present age... But though we have already become "conquerors of the world" by possessing

13

' "Elements of Natural Law," L. 131.

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immense power, Leibniz warns us, "there assuredly remains an enemy within us": without a true science of "the pleasant, or the useful, or the just," we have not truly known what ought to be willed with this immense power.132 A main obstacle to this science is the modern fascination with absolute power, which can be found in the work of the main modern philosophers: A celebrated English philosopher named Hobbes, who has a reputation for his paradoxes, has tried to maintain almost the same thing as Thrasymachus. Ho holds that God has the right to do anything because he is all-powerful. This fails to distinguish between right and fact. For what can be is one thing; what ought to be is another.133 Descartes' God, or perfect being, is not a God like the one we image or hope for, that is, a God just and wise, doing everything approaching the God of Spinoza, namely, the principle of things and a certain supreme power or primitive nature that puts everything into motion and does everything that can be done.134

.. .the perfection a thing has is greater, to the extent that there is more agreement in greater variety, whether we observe it or not. Therefore, this is what order and regularity come to. Spinoza did not understand these things when he eliminated perfection from things as a chimera of our mind; but it belongs to the divine I K

mind no less but more... This doctrine of divine omnipotence which refuses to admit any inherent goodness in the works of God, and attribute the rules of goodness and beauty to God's absolute but arbitrary power, for Leibniz, is to define God as a tyrant (DM 2). This is why Leibniz compares modern philosophers like Hobbes to Thrasymachus in Plato's Republic, since the latter, as we have seen, makes a similar attempt to define justice

Ibid, L. 132. "Reflections on the Common Concept of Justice," L.562. Letter to Molanus, 1679, AG 242. Letter to Wolff, 18 May 1715, AG.233.

84 136

in terms of power without goodness.

Thus, the central issue is whether power or

goodness is prior. Leibniz's struggle with the new philosophers who advocate the conception of absolute power is a replay of the dialogue between Socrates and Thrasymachus on the stage of modern philosophy. Leibniz formulates the question in a way similar to Plato in the Euthyphro (cf. 9e-10e): It is generally agreed that whatever God wills is good and just. But there remains the question whether it is good and just because God wills it or whether God wills it because it is good and just; in other words, whether justice and goodness are arbitrary or whether they belong to the necessary and eternal truths about the nature of things, as do numbers and proportions.137 Against this absolutely powerful God advocated by modern Thrasymachuses Leibniz insists that God is "an absolutely perfect being." God should be understood not as a tyrant who governs the world simply with his irresistible power, but as a just and good monarch who rules with wisdom and charity.'38 This concept of God, and the corresponding concept of the natural order, is the starting point of Leibniz's own philosophical system (DM 1). The natural world is good not because God made it, still less because God is all-powerful, but because "the rules of goodness, justice, and perfection" are not merely the effects of the will of God, but belong to eternal truths which naturally precede the act of will itself (DM 2). "Reflections on the Common Concept of Justice," L.562. When Leibniz was a young student under the influence of Hobbes, he himself once praised Thrasymachus for opening the gate of a science of justice: "Thrasymachus well says, in Plato's Republic, Book I, that justice is what is useful to the more powerful. For in a proper and simple sense, God is more powerful than others. In an absolute sense one man is not more powerful than another, since it is possible for a strong man to be killed by a weak one. Besides, usefulness to God is not a matter of profit but of honor. Therefore the glory of God is obviously the measure of all law. Anyone who consults the theologians, moralists, and writers on cases of conscience will find that most of them base their arguments on this. Once this principle is established as certain, therefore, the doctrine of justice can be worked out scientifically. Until now this has not been done." "Dissertation on the Art of Combinations" (1666), L.76. 137 "Reflections on the Common Concept of Justice," L.561; cf. R.45-6. 138 "On the Radical Origination of Things," L.489.

85 Nowhere does the difference between Leibniz's position and that of those modern followers of Thrasymachus become more discernible than their different interpretations of the famous passage of the Genesis 1.31 ("God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good"). According to Leibniz, this passage clearly reveals the inherent goodness in the works of God. The anthropological conception is employed to make us understand this metaphysical goodness or perfection: The Sacred Scriptures also give us an entirely different idea of this sovereign substance, speaking, as they so often and so clearly do, of the goodness of God and presenting him as a person who justifies himself against complaints. In the story of the creation of the world, the Scripture says that God considered all that he had done, and found it good; that is, he was content with his work, and had reason to be so. This is a human way of speaking which seems to be used explicitly to point out that the goodness of the acts and products of God do not depend on his will but on their nature. Otherwise he would only have to see what he willed and did to determine if it is good, and to justify himself to himself as a wise sovereign.139 But Descartes certainly has a different understanding of this passage. He deems it as an excellent evidence of God's absolute power: If anyone attends to the immeasurable greatness of God he will find it manifestly clear that there can be nothing whatsoever which does not depend on him. This applies not just to everything that subsists, but to all order, every law, and every reason for anything's being true or good. If this were not so, then, as noted a little earlier, God would not have been completely indifferent with respect to the creation of what he did in fact create. In some reason for something's being good had existed prior to his preordination, this would have determined God to prefer those things which it was best to do. But on the contrary, just because he resolved to prefer those things which are now to be done, for this every reason, in the words of Genesis, 'they are very good'; in other words, the reason for their goodness depends on the fact that he exercised his will to make them so (Sixth Replies, AT VII. 435-6, CSM II.293-4).

"Reflections on the Common Concept of Justice," L.561-2; cf. DM 2.

86 Though with different philosophical considerations, Hobbes shares more or less Descartes' interpretation of the Genesis passage in his disputation with the Bishop of Derry, John Bramhall: There hath been in the Schools derived from Aristotle's metaphysics, an old proverb rather than an axiom: ens, bonum, et verum convertuntur. From hence the Bishop hath taken this notion of a metaphysical goodness, and his doctrine that whatsoever hath a being is good; and by this interpreteth the words of Gen.i.31: God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. But the reason of those words is, that good is relative to those that are pleased with it, and not of absolute signification to all men. God therefore saith, that all that had made was very good, because he was pleased with the creatures of his own making. But if all things were absolutely good, we should be all pleased with their being, which we are not, when the actions that depend on their being are hurtful to us... And as for natural goodness and evilness, that also is but the goodness and evilness, that also is but the goodness and evilness of actions;... It is the law from whence proceeds the difference between the moral and the natural goodness...All the real good, which we call honest and morally virtuous, is that which is not repugnant to the law, civil or natural; for the law is all the right reason we have, and ...is the infallible rule of moral goodness.140 It is quite clear from these quotations that the difference between Hobbes and Descartes on the one side and Leibniz and Bramhall on the other is relative priority of God's power and what Hobbes called "natural goodness," that is, the goodness of the natural order in itself. Leibniz, echoing Bramhall, takes this Thrasymachean definition of God to be a very dangerous opinion which might subvert piety and morality: I find that the Bishop of Derry is at least justified in saying....that the opinion of his opponents [that is, Hobbes] is contrary to piety....This opinion, which despoils God of all goodness and of all true justice, which represents him as a tyrant, wielding an absolute power, independent of all right and of all equity, and creating millions of creature to be eternally unhappy, and this without any other aim than that of displaying his power, this opinion, I say, is capable of rendering men very evil. It is therefore the doctrine either of blind power or of arbitrary Questions concerning Liberty, Necessity, and Chance, EW. V. 192-4

power, which destroys piety.141

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In brief, Leibniz is convinced that to overcome the doctrine of absolute power is an urgent task for modern philosophy. This mistaken doctrine is the source of the practical dangers the new philosophy poses to religion and morality. Those decisive weaknesses Leibniz detects in the new philosophy are nothing but the manifestations of this fatal defect of modern philosophy. Thus, the defense of goodness instead of absolute power as characteristic of God is crucial to anyone who wants to reform modern philosophy to prevent it from undermining the established order. Already in one of his earliest attempts to formulate his system, Leibniz explicitly declares, his primary philosophical task is to fight "against those who claim that there is no goodness in the works of God; or that the rules of goodness and beauty are arbitrary" (DM, 2).142

3.4 Leibniz, Locke and Modern Philosophy But in what sense can Leibniz's struggle with the doctrine of absolute power in modern philosophy help us understand Leibniz's critique of Locke in his Nouveawc Essaisl We will see, two central themes to which Leibniz devotes much space in his dialogue with Locke's Essay, innate ideas and freedom, are more or less connected with the fundamental defects of the new philosophy under the sway of absolute 141

TH. appendix 11.12. For Leibniz, "in order to satisfy the hopes of humankind, we must prove that the God who governs all is wise and just, and that he will allow nothing to be without reward and without punishment; these are the great foundations of morality. But the doctrine of a God who does not act for the good, and of a soul which is immortal without any memory, serves only to deceive simple people and to undo spiritual people" ("Letter to Molanus," AG. 243). 142

88 power. In his examination of Locke's doctrine, in his diagnosis of its weakness, and especially in his suggestions for their remedy, Leibniz not only exposes various philosophical errors linked with the doctrine of absolute power, but more importantly, develops his own alternative. These two central themes will be respectively the focuses of the second and the third chapter. Locke's attack on innate ideas and Leibniz's defense are usually taken as the paradigmatic engagement between empiricism and rationalism. But it is often overlooked that their contest presupposes their shared commitment to the modern way of ideas, which, though often associated with the ancient doctrine of eidos of Plato and Aristotle, is fundamentally different from the latter. But as we have seen, the ancient doctrine of eidos advanced by Plato and Aristotle is a central part of the dependence of power on goodness they establish. The rise of the modern way of ideas undermines the metaphysical foundation of this dependence. This is clearly discernible in Locke's anti-innatism. Against this danger, Leibniz attempts to reform the modern way of ideas by reviving the insights of Plato and Aristotle. By examining Locke's doctrine of bare faculties Leibniz gradually exposes Locke's problematic concept of power and its influence on his understanding of the natural order. Freedom is another central theme which attracts the attention of both Locke and Leibniz. In revising the early Hobbesian version of freedom, Locke attempts to formulate a new concept of indifferent freedom on the principle of his paradoxical

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hedonism of labor. Though Leibniz shows his appreciation of Locke's new conception of freedom, he still implicitly reforms it by developing a more adequate account of freedom on the basis of his doctrine of force. Thus, Leibniz's diagnosis and remedy of Locke's philosophy is a part of his life-long struggle with the modern fascination of absolute power. Locke's philosophy, in Leibniz's project to reform modern philosophy, has its specific significance. Once in commenting on Locke's work, Leibniz points out: "Mr. Locke had subtlety and skill and a kind of superficial metaphysics for which he was able to secure acclaim, but he was ignorant of the mathematical method."143 Leibniz's expression, "superficial metaphysics," we suggest, should be taken more "literally." Locke's apparently epistemological treatise, on Leibniz's diagnosis, turns out to be a intentional "superficial metaphysics" or "anti-metaphysics." This anti-metaphysical attempt of Locke, as we will see, can be taken as both a development of and a variation on the concept of absolute power. Leibniz's dialogue with Locke will brings to light the complexity of modern philosophy. Recently it is argued that there are more than one Enlightenment in early modernity: the radical Enlightenment of Spinoza is contrasted with the moderate Enlightenment of Locke or Leibniz.144 Though this point of view calls our attention to the inherent tension of modernity, on the basis of our examination of Leibniz's 143

Letter to Nicolas Remond, 1714-15, L.656. Jonathan Israel, Enlightenment Contested: Philosophy, Modernity, and the Emancipation of Man 1670-1752 (Oxford, 2006), esp. see the author's reply to criticism concerning the role of Locke in the "making of modernity," 51 ff; Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity (Oxford, 2001). 144

90 philosophical project of reforming modern philosophy, especially his critique of Locke's philosophy, it is still an oversimplified picture of modernity since it overlooks the internal dynamism underlying the development of modern philosophy. Modern philosophy as well as modernity as a whole, is not merely the result of the continuous emancipation which frees the moderns from the prejudices of the established order in religion and morality, but also an emancipation of the prejudices of modernity itself. More and more, it is by overcoming the weakness of modern philosophy itself that modern philosophy acquires the momentum of further development. The ancient and even the Scholastic legacies are not merely obstacles or bondage of traditions, but on more than one occasion, the moving force of modern thought. In this sense, the making of modernity is no less "renaissance" and "reformation" than "enlightenment." Leibniz's struggle with the modern philosophy of absolute power, therefore, should be read as a central chapter of the dialectical development of modern philosophy.

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CHAPTER TWO: INNATE IDEAS Leibniz's famous critique of Locke concerning innate ideas in his New Essay is often read as a paradigmatic confrontation between so-called "British Empiricism" and "Continental Rationalism." While Locke carries the torch of the empiricist school led by Aristotle, Leibniz inherits the intellectualist heritage of Plato and his followers. This picture is well established in the historiography of modern philosophy since Kant's "history of pure reason."1 Though this standard picture seems to be anticipated somehow by Leibniz himself,2 the truth is much more complicated when we compare Leibniz's critique with other contemporary responses to Locke's Essay. After the initial welcome to the publication of Locke's Essay, receptions soon turn doubtful and even obviously hostile.3 In 1690s, the Essay becomes the target of a swarm of critical treatises.4 For John Norris,5 James Lowde,6 John Sergeant,

' Kant, The Critique of Pure Reason, A852/B880-A855/B883, cf. A466/B494 ff. Kant does admit that both Aristotle and Locke (and especially the latter) are not perfectly "empirical," cf. A854/B882. 2 ".. .our systems are very different. His [i.e. Locke's] is closer to Aristotle and mine to Plato, although each of us parts company at many points from the teachings of both of these ancient writers" (NE 47). But Leibniz also claims that Locke's thought will help "overwhelm...the Peripatetics" (70). 3 "My book crept into the world about six or seven years ago, without any opposition, and has since passed amongst some for useful, and the least favourable, for innocent. But as it seems to me, it is agreed by some men that it should no longer do so. Something, I know not what, is at last spyed out in it, that it is like to be troublesome, and therefore it must be an ill book, and be treated accordingly" (Locke to William Molyneux, 22 Feb. 1697, L.2202). 4 Cf. Roger Woolhouse, Locke: a Biography (Cambridge, 2007), ch. 8-9; John Yolton's analysis of Locke's critics in John Locke and the Way of Ideas (Oxford, 1968). 5 Cursory Reflections upon a book called An Essay concerning Human Understanding (1690) among others. 6 Discourses concerning the Nature of Man (1694). 7 Solid Philosophy asserted against the Fancies of the Ideists (1697).

92 Thomas Burnet,8 William Sherlock,9 Henry Lee,10 and the most persistent one, Edward Stillingfleet, the Bishop of Worcester," Locke's work is a threat to religion and morality. The dangerous doctrines contained in the Essay, according to these critics, mainly come from Locke's "new way of ideas." Locke is accused of following, if not plagiarizing, Descartes and his school,12 and promoting skepticism by introducing the new term "idea." Locke, condemned as "an ideist" by John Sergeant, employs "a new way of ideas" (Stillingfleet), which is "altogether groundless, and merely superficial," because "the way of ideas" addicts Locke to studying similitudes and resemblances which are mere "fancies" produced by imagination instead of "things themselves".13 Both Sergeant and Stillingfleet contrast their own ways which focus on the knowledge of reality and the things 8

Remarks upon an Essay concerning Human Understanding (1697), Second Remarks (1697) and ThirdRemakrs (1699). All these pamphlets were published anonymously. 9 A Discourse concerning the Happiness of Good Men (1704). But certainly his charge against Locke of atheism has become well known and reached Locke in 1697, cf. Locke to William Molyneux, 22 Feb. 1697, L.2202. 10 Anti-Scepticism (1702). '' A Discourse in Vindication of the Trinity (1697); The Bishop of Worcester s Answer to Mr, Locke s Letter (\697); The Bishop of Worcester's Answer to Mr. Locke's Second Letter (1698). 12 The relation between the Essay and Cartesians seem to be more discernible to Locke's early critics than to us. James Tyrrell mentioned an early response to Locke's Essay: a critic "who pretends to be a great judge of books" accuse Locke of taking ideas from Descartes and other French authors (to Locke, 18 March 1690, L1266). Stillingfleet repeatedly traces Locke's errors to Descartes, "you are not the first person who hath run himself into insuperable difficulties as to matters of faith, by this way of ideas. For Descartes himself did so in a remarkable manner", in his Answer to Mr. Locke s Second Letter (Thoemmes 2000 reprint of 1697-8 edition the Philosophy of Edward Stillingfleet, Vol. V), 66; cf. his Answer to Mr. Locke's Letter, (the Philosophy of Edward Stillingfleet, Vol. V), 80-1. Though deleting the name of Descartes in the later editions of the Essay, Locke never avoids admitting the influence of Descartes on his thought, see his reply to Still ingfleet's charge in the Letter to Edward Stillingfleet, Works, 111, 48-9. Cf. Roger Woolhouse, "Lady Masham's account of Locke," Locke Studies 3 (2003), 173; Woolhouse, Locke, 35. About Descartes' intellectual influence on Locke, see G. A. Rogers, Locke's Enlightenment: Aspects of the Origin, Nature and Impact of His Philosophy (Olms, 1998), ch.2. James Gibson, Locke's Theory of Knowledge and its Historical Relations (Cambridge, 1968),ch.IX. 13 Solid Philosophy, Preface, sec.2, 7, 18, 22 (Garland reprint ed. 1984), and "Preliminary First" about Locke's usage of the word "idea." Cf. John Yolton, "Locke's Unpublished Marginal Replies to John Sergeant," Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol.12 , no.4 (1951), 518-59.

93 themselves with Locke's way of ideas, which substitutes "the solid nature of the thing" with "empty" and "superficial" ideas.14 Locke's skeptical position toward the central conceptions of the Aristotelian-Scholastic metaphysics such as substance and essence is deemed as a necessary result of this "new way of ideas." It is not difficult to find misunderstandings or exaggerations in these criticisms. But it is worth noting that the fundamental defect of Locke's philosophy, to these contemporaries of Locke, is less its empiricism than its "new way of ideas."15 It is this "new way of ideas," Locke's critics believe, which, metaphysically, replaces the order of things with the order of the mind, and morally and religiously, places the articles of faith advocated by the Christian Church in doubt.16 In this respect Leibniz's critique of Locke seems rather distinctive. Leibniz is not merely familiar with this new way of ideas advanced by Descartes and his followers, but indeed, he adopts its central tenets. Although he shares many worries of Locke's other critics, he suggests "the condemned way of ideas" might be rescued by his new system which combines the insights of the ancients and the moderns. The uniqueness of Leibniz's critique is well revealed in the prelude of the New Essay. Leibniz opens his NE with a genealogy of his own position and Locke's. The

14

Sergeant, Solid Philosophy, Preliminary Third; Stillingfleet, Answer to Mr. Locke s Letter, 33, 100. Locke himself, nevertheless, is reluctant to admit his employment of ideas is totally new, but claims it is "but a new history of an old thing. For I think it will not be doubted, that men always performed the actions of thinking, reasoning, believing, and knowing..." Locke, Reply to Stillingfleet's Letter, 134-5. 16 Stillingfleet, Answer to Mr. Locke's Second Letter, 29ff. esp. 55: "I do not go about to accuse you of denying these doctrines; 1 hope you do not. But I impute all this hesistancy and doubting only to your notions of ideas." 15

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spokesman of Locke, Philalethes ("the friend of truth"), confesses himself as a follower of Gassendi, and is now "put in a much stronger position" by Locke's Essay. To further confirm this link, Philalethes claims that Locke "is pretty much in agreement with M. Gassendi's system, which is fundamentally that of Democritus: he supports vacuum and atoms, he believes that matter could think, that there are no innate ideas, that our mind is a tabula rasa, and that we do not think all the time; and he seems inclined to agree with most of M.Gassendi's objections against M.Descartes." Philalethes believes that, since Locke enriches and strengthens "this system" with "hundreds of fine thoughts," their position "will now overwhelm their opponents, the Peripatetics and the Cartesians" (NE 70). In Leibniz's genealogy, Locke's Essay is a continuation of the controversy between Descartes and one of his most formidable critics, Gassendi. Correspondingly, the spokesman of Leibniz himself, Theophilus ("the lover of God"), is mentioned by his interlocutor as originally a follower of Descartes and Malebranche (NE 70). Theophilus, however, immediately corrects Philalethes. He informs his friend that after some intensive study about the relation between morality and speculative philosophy, he starts on "some quite new trains of thought," and that he is no longer "a Cartesian," and moves even further than ever from Gassendi. Leibniz regards his "new system" as a radical development of Descartes as well as a more complete break with Gassendi. This new system does not simply throw away Descartes and modern philosophy, but "appears to unite

95 Plato with Democritus, Aristotle with Descartes, the Scholastics with the moderns, theology and morality with reason" (NE 71). Therefore, the two spokesmen in Leibniz's New Essay, both having Descartes in their mind, attempt to employ their new thoughts to correct the mistakes made by the founder of modern philosophy. Most English critics tend to criticize Locke's new way of ideas from the traditional metaphysical position ("the way of reason," "the way of notion," or "the knowledge of things themselves"). Leibniz's dialogue with Locke, by contrast, takes place on the new philosophical stage set by Descartes. Thus before turning to the engagement between Leibniz and Locke, we have to sketch the difference between the old and the new way of ideas, especially with reference to innatism. Then in the second section, we will proceed to examine Locke's philosophical motives behind his refutation of innate ideas in the light of Leibniz's diagnosis of Locke. It will reveal Locke's attempt to undermine the metaphysical basis of the centrality of goodness with an autonomous epistemology centered around the notion of bare faculty. The final section of this chapter will be devoted to Leibniz's metaphysical remedy of Locke's "new way of ideas."

1. The Old and the New Way of Ideas 1.1 The Old Way of Ideas (1) Plato The doctrine of innate ideas, which Descartes advocates, Locke refutes and Leibniz

96 defends, is usually traced back to Plato, since both the earliest "systematic" formulation of innate knowledge and the introduction of "ideas" as the principle of knowledge can be found in his dialogues (Meno and Phaedo for the former, while the Republic, Parmenides and Timaeus for the latter).17 The story of a slave boy, who, though having never learnt geometry, when interrogated in the right manner, can give the right answers to questions on his own, is a favorite topic for both the proponents and opponents of the doctrine of innate ideas.18 This genealogy of innatism, however, overlooks the crucial differences between the ancient doctrines of "ideas" and the "new way of ideas." Plato would never endorse the modern doctrine of innate ideas, since it conflicts with the fundamental principles of his philosophy. Plato's eidos19 is not a representational or intentional image of the external reality in our mind, but on the contrary, it is much more real (to ontos on) than the visible and perceptible reality which imitates it more or less. Inspired by Socrates' search for definitions (Aristotle, Metaphysics, 987b3, 1078b 18), Plato introduces eidos as the true being (ousid) which reveals the nature 17

See Harmut Brands, Untersuchungen zur Lehre von den angeborenen Ideen (Meisenheim am Glan: Hain, 1977), 13-20. 18 Descartes to GVoetius, AT VIII/B, 166-7, cf. Nicholas Jolley, The Light of the Soul: Theories of Ideas in Leibniz, Malebranche, and Descartes (Oxford: Clarendon, 1990), 50; NE 77. 19 I will use "eidos" instead of "idea" or "form" in my discussion of Plato (and Aristotle) to avoid the thorny problem of translation, which is rather relevant to what is at issue in this chapter. Since the turn of the last century, scholars tend to more and more employ "form" rather than "idea" to translate "eidos" or "idea" in Plato's dialogues just because "idea" has too much Lockean flair: "I have purposely avoided the word 'idea'. It inevitably suggest to us that the 'forms' (eide, ideai) are concepts (noemata), whether our own or God's, and this makes a right interpretation of the doctrine impossible" (John Burnet, Greek Philosophy from Thales to Plato, London, 1914, 154n.l); or "commentators have often translated them [eidos and idea] as 'Idea' or 'Form.' The latter is preferable. 'Idea' has the advantage of closer relation to the Greek; but Locke, who first introduced the word into English philosophy, also gave it a subjective and psychological connotation it has never since lost." R. E. Allen, Plato s 'Euthyphro'and the Earlier Theory of Forms (New York: Humanities Press, 1970), 29.

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of things (the answer to the What-is-it question, e.g. Euthyphro, 6d,lla). In Plato's hierarchical cosmos of participation and imitation, to understand eidos as our thought (noema) would lead to absurd conclusions (Parmenides, 132c). Plato's Phaedo, in which Socrates tries to connect the conception of eidos and that of recollection, is often quoted as an original formulation of the doctrine of innate ideas. It is precisely in this dialogue, however, that the fundamental difference between Plato's theory of eidos and the new way of ideas comes into the foreground. In explaining his already well-known doctrine of learning as recollection to his interlocutors, Socrates points out, while perceiving, we realize that all that we perceive wants to be like some other reality of beings, like the Equal itself, the Good itself, or the Beautiful itself, but falls short of it since it is inferior. Because we must have known this kind of being before any sense perception, we would have to have taken this knowledge before our birth. Only recollection occasioned by perception will allow us to recover this forgotten knowledge; that is what "learning" really means (72e-77a). It is clear to both Socrates and his interlocutors that eidos, as the superior reality of being all those trivial (phaulotera) sensible things strive to imitate, does not belong to our thought. Although the knowledge of such being seems to be "innate" to us in Socrates' argument for the immortality of the soul, Socrates in no case identifies this knowledge with eidos itself. Throughout the passage, Socrates emphasizes that eidos is being in the perfect sense, whereas the sensible things are deficient, and thus eager to be like it. Anything beautiful besides the Beautiful itself

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is made beautiful just by "the presence (parousia) of, or the sharing in, or however you may describe its relationship to the Beautiful itself (lOOd). In other words, if we employ a modern expression anachronistically, we would say, it is the sensible things in our perception that "re-present" (make present) the eidetic reality, not the contrary. In the modern way of ideas, by contrast, idea as a representational image in the mind, although not nothing, can never have more formal reality than that which it represents.

(2) Aristotle Notwithstanding his harsh criticism of Plato's doctrine of eidos {Physics, 193b35-4a7, Metaphysics, 987a29-988al7, 990a34-b8, 1076al0-32, 1086a21-bl3), Aristotle does not completely abandon this conception, but transforms the "poetical metaphors" of his mentor into the constituent and explanatory principle of the sensible things. Eidos in Aristotle is no longer the noble reality well above the flow of appearances, but, along with matter, comprises the sensible substances around us. Following his master, Aristotle insists that the nature of the sensible things consists more in their "e/de" than in the material causes {Metaphysics, 1014bl6-15a5). In this way, eidos becomes crucial to Aristotle's metaphysics of substance {ueidos or substance," Metaphysics, 1014al0, cf.l035a7-9). On the basis of this metaphysics, Aristotle explains our sense perceptions in terms of eidos: sense perception is the transmission of the eidos from the sensible thing through the sense organs to the

99 human soul. In this process, the sense receives eidos without matter, like a piece of wax receiving the mark of a ring without iron or gold (De Anima, 424a 18, cf.434a30). Although understanding and perceiving are not the same, our intellect, according to Aristotle, similar to perception, should be receptive of eidos as well (429al6). By virtue of this transmission and reception of eidos, the human mind, while thinking actually, is the thing it thinks (431bl7-8; cf. 430a20). This identification between mind and the thing thought, as Aristotle and his scholastic followers tend to point out, cannot be material, but formal: "a stone is not in the soul, butitseK/asis"(431b29). At first sight the formal identification between the thinking mind and the things thought makes Aristotle's doctrine of sense perception and intellectual understanding a predecessor of the intentional or representational theory of ideas. But upon further study of Aristotle's philosophy, we may discover that they are based on different principles. The first feature which distinguishes Aristotle's doctrine from the modern way of ideas is its emphasis on the role of natural similitude in the cognitive process. Aristotle stresses there exists a sort of similarity between the natural things and our knowledge of them (417al8-20). The language of acting/being acted on (poieinlpascheiri) and actuality/potentiality (energeia/dynamis) Aristotle employs to analyze both sense perception and intellectual understanding is interwoven with the theme of natural similarities (418a3-5). And the formal identification of mind and

100 things is nothing but Aristotle's theoretic explanation of natural similarities. The reception of form without matter is not an intentional abstraction, but as Avicenna later comments: making the perceiver similar to the form of the thing perceived.20 As we will see, a main feature of modern explanation of sense perception is its explicit denial of such natural similarities. The famous distinction between the primary and secondary qualities in the modern philosophers from Galileo to Locke echoes

this

skepticism

against

our

"naive"

natural

attitude.

Sergeant's

misunderstanding of Locke's "ideas" as "similitude" or "resemblance" also has its root in this well-established Aristotelian notion which remains alive in the seventeenth century. The different attitudes to natural similitude in the ancient and modern philosophers extend to their different understandings of the relation between body and soul. Since Descartes, modern philosophers never free themselves from the notorious body-soul dualism. Body belongs to the mechanic world of extension, whereas soul or mind maintains its "spiritual" status by cutting off any direct bond with body. Though Descartes takes pains to establish the union of body and mind as my whole self, the sensations of it belong to "confused modes of thinking".21 Ordinary experience rather than philosophical mediation would be the better way to

20

Avicenna Latinus, liber de Anima, 3.7, 254.97-100. cf. Richard Sorabji, "From Aristotle to Bretano: the Development of the Concept of Intentionality," in H.Blumenthal and H.Robinson ed. Aristotle and the Later Tradition (Oxford, 1991), 236. 21 M*ZF/.ATVII.81,CSM 11.56. Descartes' letter to Mesland, 9 Feb. 1645,ATIV. 166-7, CSMK 111.243; Letter to Regius, Jan. 1642, AT III.492-3, CSMK III.206.

101 arrive at them.22 For Aristotle, the "cognitive" operations of the human soul, by contrast, are not isolated from the natural process, but makes up its noblest part.23 Aristotle's definition of soul makes clear the basic principle of his "psychology": soul is the being as the eidos of a natural body having life potentially (De Anima, 412a20). Aristotelian psychological activities are always "functions or formulae in the matter" (logoi enhyloi). Only on the basis of the natural union between body and soul can we understand precisely Aristotle's description of the thinking soul as the place of "eidos" (429b27). Eidos in our soul or mind is not a representational image, but the unity and actuality of body, which actualizes the potentialities of the latter on the occasion of sense perceptions: "Thus the soul is just like a hand, for as the hand is a tool of tools, so intellect is the eidos of eidon and sense the eidos of sensible things" (432al-3). This leads us to another fundamental difference between the ancient and the modern understanding of ideas. In Aristotle, eidos transmitted in sense perception, unlike confused images in Descartes, or simple ideas in Locke, which are confined to informing us of the existence of eternal things, but allow us no access to their true essence, is something by which we perceive sensible things "according to their

22

"But it is the ordinary course of life and conversation, and abstention from meditation and from the study of the things which exercise the imagination, that teaches us how to conceive the union of the soul and the body." Descartes calls this "the relaxation of the senses and the repose of the mind." Letter to Elizabeth, 28 June 1643. AT. 1II.692-3, CSMK 227, cf. Letter to Elizabeth, 6 Oct. 1645, AT IV.307, CSMK.268-9.1 was benefitted by Professor Marion's discussion of this issue in his courses on Descartes ("Descartes: My Body/Other Bodies, 2005). 23 The fact that Aristotle writes De Anima as a treatise in natural inquiry in general, and a part of his biological work in particular, is a direct proof of this point, cf.De Anima 403a28.

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reason" (kata ton logon, 424a24), and thus arrive at their essences (to ti en einai). Aristotle's psychology is subservient to his metaphysics of substance and essence, which is the ground of what Locke's critics call "the order of things themselves." Aristotle's explanation of sense perceptions, modified by the Arabic and Scholastic philosophers, becomes the dominant doctrine in the West until the seventeenth century. This Aristotelian-Scholastic

doctrine of (sensible and

intelligible) species24 becomes the major target of Descartes and Locke. In Plato's dialogue, eidos is said to be "never being anywhere in something else...but always being one itself in eidos by itself with itself (Symposium, 21 la-b), whereas for Aristotle, with the exception of his theology (Metaphysics L), eidos is always in something else, and especially in the cognitive process, present in some way in the human mind. The post-Aristotelian philosophers and theologians attempt to accomplish the improbable combination of these two understandings of eidos. The neo-Platonization of Aristotle, or Aristolization of Platonism, determines the fate of the doctrine of ideas.

(3) Augustine Though Albinus (a middle-Platonist), Philo and Plotinus, among others, have already interpreted Platonic eidos as divine thoughts, it is a brief article of Augustine which is most influential in this direction in the history of metaphysics. This

24

Aristotelian eidos is usually translated as species in the West.

103 approach as a synthesis of Platonic and Peripatetic elements, is decisive in the genealogy of ideas.25 In one piece of his Eighty-three Diverse Questions (De Diversis Quaestionibus 83, 46), Augustine discusses the doctrine of ideas. According to Augustine, "ideas are certain original and principal forms of things, that is, fixed and unchangeable, which are not themselves formed and, being thus eternal and existing always in the same state, are contained in the divine intelligence"; correspondingly, "everything which does come into being and pass away is said to be formed in accord with these ideas." In this way, Augustine connects the Platonic ideas, which are "fixed and unchangeable," with the reasons by which all things are created, and claims that "these reasons must be thought to exist nowhere but in the very mind of the Creator." Augustine's understanding of "idea" in this article becomes the standard usage in the Scholastic philosophy: "Idea" is both a principle of knowledge and an exemplar for the making of something.26 Malebranche quotes and comments on this important article of Augustine.27 His commentary might provide a fitting summary of the old way of ideas. According to Malebranche, Augustine's article asserts the following theses: (1) The question of ideas is of highest consequence, especially to religion; (2) Ideas are eternal and immutable; (3) Ideas are the exemplas or archetypes of creatures.. .ideas and reason are 25

H.A.Wolfson, "Extradeical and Intradeical Interpretations of Platonic Ideas," in Religious Philosophy (New York: Atheneum, 1965), 27-68. 26 Thomas Aquinas: ST la. q.15. art.1-3. 27 Malebranche, "Preface" to Entreties sur la metaphysique, sur la religion, et sur la mort, in Oeuvres, II (Paris: Gallimard), 654-6.

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synonymous in Augustine; (4) Ideas are in God. Because it is impious to suppose that in creating the world, God looked outside himself to a model on which he formed it. To be sure, Malebranche, as a follower of Descartes, deviates from Augustine in many aspects, but in insisting that ideas are in God rather than in our mind, he remains loyal to the Augustinian way of ideas, rather than the new way advocated by Descartes, to which now we have to turn in order to understand the stage on which Leibniz's dialogue with Locke takes place.

1.2 Descartes: the New Way of Ideas and Innatism "Idea" in the ancient world, as we have seen, is the way by which the nature of things becomes visible and intelligible. Our knowledge is formed on the basis of the natural kinship between "idea" and the human soul, be this relation understood as the Platonic recollection or the Aristotelian reception and transmission. Thus by virtue of "idea", the human soul or mind is closely linked to the nature of things, and our knowledge of the world is well grounded in the natural order. The concept of ideas is indispensable for establishing the metaphysical basis of the centrality of goodness in the ancient world by emphasizing the primacy of the natural. This role of ideas is already undermined in the Hellenistic age. But the decisive challenge takes place with the rise of the biblical religious tradition. When the world is understood as the work created by God, "idea" is identified with the divine mind, as the paradigm or plan of the Creation. Correspondingly the human

105 soul, as the image or likeness of God, becomes independent in this world. Operations of the human mind are understood without the direct relation with the natural world. The gap between the natural order and the mental becomes increasingly wide. Mind has to act on its own and thus "create" its own world, even without the help of the external world. The widespread usage of the representational vocabulary,28 the distinction between form and intention,29 the criticism against the doctrine of intelligible species,30 the emergence of the conception of objective •j i

being,

all these attempts are related to the elaboration and revision of the

traditional understanding of idea-form-species, and pave the way for the modern understanding of ideas. The mechanical philosophy gives the final blow to the traditional understanding of "ideas". In the mathematical world-picture of the new mechanical philosophy, the physical is reduced to the radically homogeneous matter ("extension"). It is rather improbable to think about the mental from this starting point. The natural union of body and soul (or mind), which characterizes the Aristotelian-Thomist definition of human nature,32is widely questioned and decisively refuted by the mechanical 28

Oliver Bourlnois, Etre et representation (Paris: PUF, 1999), ch.I-II. Avicenna Latinus, liber de Anima, 1.5.86, 93-106. cf. Sorabji, "From Aristotle to Bretano: the Development of the Concept of Intentional ity." 30 Leen Spruit, Species intelligibilis: from Perception to Knowledge (Leiden: Brill, 1994-5), ch.III-V; Bourlnois, op.cit. ch.ll. 31 T. J. Cronin, Objective Being in Descartes and in Suarez (Roma: Gregorian University Press, 1966); Norman Wells, "Objective reality of ideas in Arnauld, Descartes, and Suarez," in The Great Arnauld and Some of His Philosophical Correspondents, ed. Elmar Kremer (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994), 138-83. 32 Etienne Gilson, Etudes sur le role de la pensee medievale dans la formation du system cartesien, (Paris: Vrin, 1967), 9-17. 29

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philosophy. It is no longer regarded as a valid ground for understanding the relation between the natural order and our knowledge of it. Descartes turns to base his philosophy on a completely new principle, a "certain and

unshakeable"

Archimedean point, the cogito, which is established by virtue of a hyperbolic doubt of "what nature taught us." But after establishing this new principle Descartes is confronted with a formidable task to restore the world from the mental. The theory of innate ideas in the new way of ideas is employed to accomplish this task. Descartes is well aware of his innovation in applying the term "idea" to the human mind: But I am taking the word 'idea' to refer to whatever is immediately perceived by the mind... I used the word 'idea' because it was the standard philosophical term used to refer to the forms of perception belonging to the divine mind, even though we recognize that God does not possess any corporeal imagination (AT VII.181, CSMII.127). Even in his early work, in which he still employs the term "idea" in the sense of corporeal images, Descartes already points out that there is no Aristotelian resemblance or similarity between ideas and the external objects of which we have the ideas (Regulae 12, AT X 416-7, CSM I. 43). In this way, Descartes attempts to cut the link between physical movement and psychic activity which the Peripatetic tradition regards as the key to understanding our soul, and consciously distances himself from the ancient world of ideas {Optics, AT VI.85, CSM 1.153-4; AT VI.112-4. CSM 1.165-6). In the Meditations (1641), Descartes strictly distinguishes pure intellection from

107 sense perception and correspondingly emphasizes the distinction between ideas and corporeal images. Descartes refrains himself from using the term 'idea' until establishing his philosophical principle of the cogito. But when he moves from this principle to the world outside the mental, the concept of ideas begins to play a crucial role. The significance of "ideas" in the Meditations cannot be emphasized too much. Idea expresses the essence of the thinking substance, and at the same time represents those things without to the thinking substance. This double function of idea is the source of its notorious ambiguity Descartes admits in the preface of the Mediations (AT VII. 8, CSM II. 7). But without such ambiguity idea cannot bridge the gap between the Cartesian cogito and the world left outside, and could not thus ground the natural on the mental.

(1) Idea as the Representation of Things Descartes firstly introduces the term 'idea" as the representation of things: "Some of my thoughts are as it were the images of things, and it is in these cases that the term 'idea' is strictly appropriate" (AT VII. 37, CSM II. 25). In his replies to Caterus, Descartes further clarifies this definition of idea: "an idea is the thing which is thought of in so far as it has objective being in the intellect."33 But Descartes repeatedly warns us that an "image" {imago) with which idea is defined should not 33

res cogitata, quatenus objective est in intellectu ...AT VII. 102, CSM 11.74; cf. AT VII. 66ff, CSM II.46ff; AT VII. 28ff., CSM II.l9ff; comp. AT VII.92, CSM 11.66.

108 be confused with corporeal image in imagination (phantasia): "I mean an idea which resides in the mind itself, not an image depicted in the corporeal imagination" (AT VII. 165, CSM 11.116, cf. AT VII. 139, CSM 11.99). To refer ideas "as if some images" (AT VII.42, CSM 11.29) is just a convenient way to define the immediate objects which represent things before the human mind. This aspect of an idea is what Descartes calls "the objective reality of an idea." "The objective reality of an idea," however, is not merely a non-corporeal picture of a thing ("image"), but "the entity of the thing represented by an idea" (AT VII. 161, CSM 11.113). Thus various ideas more or less capture "essences" of things by representing them.34 With such an idea, the mind can arrive at substantial understanding of the thing in question (AT VII. 31, CSM 11.20). Descartes' usage, at first sight, seems to repeat the link between nature or essence and idea in Aristotle's metaphysics. However, the essences which Cartesian ideas capture must be understood as "objectively" {objective) in the new representational framework. In other words, the nature or essence of things has to be considered from the principle of the human mind. The essential feature of ideas is thus integrated into this representational understanding of ideas.

(2) Idea as the Operation of Mind Idea, in Descartes, is not merely the representation of things ("taken objectively"), but also "an operation of the intellect" ("taken materially," AT VII.8, CSM II.7).

34

Cf. Etienne Gilson, Index Scolastico-Cartesien (Paris: Alcan, 1913), 96

109 Taken materially, ideas are almost synonymous with thoughts (ideas sive cogitationes, AT VII. 35, 36, CSM II. 24, 25; cf. AT VI.559). But while "all the operations of the will, the intellect, the imagination and the senses are thoughts," idea refers only to "the form of any given thought." Here lies another fundamental difference between corporeal images and ideas: ideas "give form to the mind itself (AT VII. 160, CSM 11.113). Only by virtue of this "form" can we recognize the mind as a thinking substance (AT VII. 223, CSM II. 157). Therefore, the force of imaging which produces corporeal representations is "not a necessary constituent of myself, that is, of the essence of my mind" (admei ipsius, hoc est ad mentis meae essentiam non requiri; AT VII.73, CSM II, 51); but ideas produced by the force of understanding is related to "the essence of my mind" (mentis meae essentiam), which is "me myself (mei ipsius). Closely related to the mental, ideas are indispensable to "what I am." Ideas as thoughts constitute the essence of my mind, thus the essence of "I myself. Still more importantly, as we will soon see, ideas are also the key to Descartes' attempt to overcome the solipsism of cogito.35

(3) Ideas and Substances The central role that the concept of ideas plays in Descartes' metaphysics comes to

"If the objective reality of any of my ideas turns out to be so great that I am sure the same reality does not reside in me, either formally or eminently, and hence that I myself cannot be its cause, it will necessarily follow that I am not alone in the world (non me solum esse in mundo), but that some other thing which is the cause of this idea also exists" (AT VII. 42, CSM 11.29).

110 light in his replies to Arnauld's objections.36 When Arnauld questions the validity of Descartes' procedure in claiming the cogito as the essence of ego, Descartes points out, "we do not have immediate knowledge of substance,...We know them only by perceiving certain forms or attributes which must inhere in something if they are to exist; and we call the thing in which they inhere a 'substance'" (AT VII. 222, CSM II. 156, emphasis added; cf. AT VII. 176, CSM 11.124). For Descartes, we cannot perceive substance immediately, but we have immediate awareness or perception which allow us the access to "certain forms or attributes" of the substance. This immediate awareness or perception is what Descartes calls thought or idea (AT VII. 160, CSM 11.113). The significance of ideas in the Cartesian metaphysics of substance becomes even clearer in his definition of substance as "every thing in which whatever we perceive immediately resides, as in a subject, or to every thing by means of which whatever we perceive exists" (AT VII 161, CSM 114). But "what we perceive immediately" is precisely Descartes' official definition of ideas (AT VII. 181, CSM 11.127). Therefore, the Cartesian metaphysics, if expressed in a Spinozist way, would begin with the cogitatio (thought) and idea rather than being or substance as in Aristotle. The conception of substance has to be introduced after that of idea, or more precisely, on the basis of the latter, because the cogitatio or idea is immediate to us, while substance can be known only through the mediation of ideas. The (formal and eminent) existence of a substance is said to be grasped

36

Cronin, Objective Being in Descartes and in Suarez, 14-16.

Ill

through the "objective being in one of our ideas" which represents the essential attributes of the substance. But there is a crucial difference in the transition from the essential nature of ideas to the existence of substance: in the case of mind, especially my mind, ideas, as the form or attribute (of mind) residing immediately in mind, can establish mind as substance immediately;37 but in the case of body, we cannot immediately confirm the existence of "the thing in which we perceive" through the mediation of ideas which supply us its "forms or attributes." Outside ego where sum/existo is understood immediately through cogito, there is a fundamental gap between substance and the immediacy of ideas. It is just at this moment the doctrine of innate ideas is introduced in the Meditations and is employed to demonstrate the existence of God.

(4) Innate Ideas and Human Nature Descartes classifies ideas into three classes: "Among my ideas, some appear to be innate, some to be adventitious, and others to have been invented by me" (AT VII. 37-8, CSM 11.26). Innate ideas are the most controversial part of this scheme. Critics raise the questions whether we can attribute innate ideas of God or mathematical truths to infants, or whether infants or even most adults are always conscious of those innate ideas which Descartes claims they possess.

37

"The substance in which thought immediately resides is called mind" (AT VII 161, CSM II 114, emphasis added), cf. Jean-Luc Marion, On Descartes' Metaphysical Prism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), 157-62.

112 Against these objections, Descartes insists that innate ideas should not be understood as ideas born with infants (Letter to Arnauld, 4 June, 1648, AT V. 192, CSMK III.354), nor should we consider ideas as always present(AT VII. 189, CSM II.132); and especially we should not confuse "innateness" with "immediacy," which is the defining feature of ideas. But Descartes' replies lead to another danger: innate ideas, in Descartes' clarifications, come close to "tendencies," "powers" or "faculties." In his remarks on Regius' criticism of "innate ideas", Descartes speaks almost like a Locke: "When he says that the mind has no need of ideas, or notions, or axioms which are innate, while admitting that the mind has the power of thinking (presumably natural or innate), he is plainly saying the same thing as I, though verbally denying it. I have never written or taken the view that the mind requires innate ideas which are something distinct from its own faculty thinking." The doctrine of innate ideas does not claim that infants actually possess ideas of God or self at birth, "but simply that they are born with a certain 'faculty' or tendency" (AT VIIIB 357-8, CSM 1.303-4). This position agrees with Descartes' claim that "the force of understanding" is the necessary constituent of "me myself (AT VII. 73, CSM 11.51). Thus, behind the controversy concerning innate ideas lies a crucial question: when we define human nature (the essence of "me myself in the new philosophy) in terms of (innate) ideas, do we mean essences, or some sort of power or force? The doctrine of innate ideas in modern philosophy since Descartes is involved with the

113 fundamental question of human nature. The internal tension between "innateness" and "ideas" in Descartes' doctrine of innate ideas, as we will see in the rest of the chapter, is the leitmotiv of the dialogue between Locke and Leibniz. Descartes, however, is not Locke: "I did, however, observe that there were certain thoughts within me which neither came to me from external objects nor were determined by my will, but which came solely form the power of thinking within me; so I applied the term 'innate' to the ideas or notions which are the forms of these thoughts in order to distinguish them from others, which I called 'adventitious' or 'made up'" (AT VIIIB 357-8, CSM 1.303). Innate ideas are more than innate powers or natural faculties, since neither "adventitious ideas" nor "invented" ideas can arise without our natural faculty. What distinguishes "innate ideas" from "adventitious ideas" and "invented ideas" is the fact that they are "the form of these thoughts" which arises "solely from the power of thinking within me." In other words, the form of my thoughts depends only on my own power, and thus is connected more closely with my nature, even than those ideas invented by us. This exposes the real motive behind Descartes' doctrine of innate ideas, which is well captured by Gassendi: "My understanding of what a thing is, what truth is, and what thought is, seems to derive simply from my own nature" (AT VII.38, CSM 11.26; AT VII.280, CSM 11.195). The centrality of innate ideas in Descartes' philosophy is closely related to its attempt to incorporate the metaphysical tradition into its new framework. His conception of innate ideas expresses the nature of the human mind

114 by giving forms to its thoughts on the one hand, and at the same time, reaches a substantial understanding of those things outside the mind by representing their "entities." Innate ideas connect the nature of things to the nature of the mind, which is the true ground of Descartes' philosophical understanding of human nature. This understanding begins with a new starting, the cogito, which reverses the Aristotelian-scholastic metaphysics, but still retains the metaphysics of substance.

2. Leibniz's Diagnosis of Locke The crux of Leibniz's diagnosis of Locke's anti-innatism is obvious. According to Leibniz, Locke "has not adequately distinguished the origin of necessary truths, whose source is in the understanding, from that of truths of fact, which are drawn from sense-experience and even from confused perceptions within us" (NE 75). By applying those evidences from sense perceptions to necessary truths, Locke's "empiricist" strategy in refuting innatism is mistaken about the order of nature, since only pure ideas, or intellectual ideas, are concerned with "necessary truth or truths of reason," whereas images of sense are merely involved in "truths of fact" (NE 77). Whether pure ideas are innate can never be judged on the basis of truths of fact and their images of sense. Behind their opposite views concerning innate ideas hides a more fundamental antithesis between Locke's way of ideas and Leibniz's metaphysics. Leibniz's conciliatory rhetoric in the New Essays, however, often conceals, or at least obscures,

115 his true position. Leibniz indeed puts forward two kind of innatism in his dialogue with Locke: one is radical, on the basis of his "new system," another is moderate, in accord with "the common framework." According to the radical innatism, "all the thoughts and actions of our soul come from it own depths and could not be given to it by the senses." But this radical innatism, Leibniz admits, does not conform to "the accepted ways of speaking." In order to make his dialogue with Locke possible, Leibniz has to step back and take the position of the moderate innatism: "there are ideas and principles which do not reach us through the senses, and which we find in ourselves without having formed them, though the senses bring them to our awareness" (NE 74). Although he assures us that he will rely on the moderate version while criticizing Locke's position, Leibniz does not keep his promise consistently, but often shifts from the so-called "accepted ways of speaking" to his own system. Since Leibniz seldom gives an adequate formulation of his own position in NE, these cursory remarks sound not quite intelligible to those who are not familiar with his system. But why does he choose such an "esoteric" way in his dialogue with Locke? To answer this question we have to examine the philosophical relation between two kinds of "innatism." Only in this way will Leibniz's subtle attempt to reconstruct a metaphysical foundation for modernity come to light. Leibniz's diagnosis of Locke's anti-innatism begins with his "new way of ideas." As we have pointed out, Descartes' doctrine of ideas in general, his doctrine

116 of innate ideas in particular, is crucial to his attempt to reformulate the metaphysics of substance and essence from his new philosophical starting point, the cogito. Adopting Descartes' new way of ideas, however, Locke frees himself more radically from the metaphysical tradition by refuting innatism. The true target in Locke's refutation, to be sure, is not Descartes' innatism, but mainly various innate principles advocated by his contemporaries, especially those views prevalent in religious and moral philosophy of his age.38 Compared to other critics of Locke such as John Norris and Edward Stillingfleet, Leibniz's strategy is quite different. He starts with "the common framework" he claims he shares with Locke, that is, the new way of ideas the modern philosophers adopt after Descartes; and then by gradually revealing its inconsistencies, difficulties and contradictions, he intends to bring Locke closer to his "new system," which will rescue the metaphysics of substance without sacrificing the modern way of ideas. The first step of Leibniz's attempt is to point out the defects of Locke's formulation of this new way of ideas. Leibniz takes great pains to search for the reasons which drive Locke to deny innate ideas. The fundamental defect in Locke's way of ideas, according to Leibniz's diagnosis, is his association or even identification of "ideas" with "actual perceptions." This "misunderstanding" of the nature of ideas leads Locke further to reduce the nature of the human soul to "bare faculties" or "bare powers." 38

Cf. Yolton, Locke and the way of ideas, ch.I.

117 But what is the relation between Leibniz's two diagnoses, Locke's attempt to redefine the human soul as "powers" by virtue of his doctrine of faculties on the one hand, and his emphasis on "truths of fact" in his anti-innatism on the other? After a careful examination of Locke's new account of qualities and substances, Leibniz draws our attention to Locke's parallel attempt to redefine the traditional metaphysical conceptions, such as essence and substance, in terms of power. Locke's new way of ideas turns out to be a sort of anti-metaphysics, which intends to replace the metaphysics of substances with a natural history of the human mind. This new understanding of nature, Locke wishes, will lay a better foundation for modern politics and morality. But to Leibniz, it amounts to the reversal of the metaphysical relation between power and goodness.

2.1 What is an Idea? At the beginning of the Essay, Locke, anticipating readers' possible reactions to his new term, offers an apparently straightforward definition of "idea": ...for the frequent use of the word 'idea' which he will find in the following treatise. It being that term, which , I think serves best to stand for whatsoever is the object of the understanding when a man thinks, I have used it to express whatever is meant by Phantasm, Notion, Species, or whatever it is, which the mind can be employ'd about in thinking; and 1 could not avoid frequently using it" (I.i.8). This, as Locke's official definition of "idea",39 involves almost all difficulties

Locke often quotes it in responding to his critics, cf. his first reply to John Norris's Reflections, printed in Richard Acworth, "Locke's First Reply to John Norris," The Locke Newsletter 2 (1971), 9; "A Letter to the Right Rev. Edward Lord Bishop of Worcester," Works, III, 72.

118 Locke's use of ideas imposes on his readers. We should examine it more carefully in the light of Leibniz's criticism. According to Locke's definition, idea is "the object of the understanding when a man thinks," or more precisely, "the immediate object of perception, thought, or understanding" (II.viii.8). External things cannot be "immediate object" to our mind, since "the mind, in all its thoughts and reasonings, hath no other immediate object but its own ideas" (IV.i.l). The expression "whatever it is, which the mind can be employ'd about in thinking" in the official definition further substantiates this "objective" reading of Locke's understanding of idea. Leibniz does not express any dissatisfaction with this definition of idea, perhaps not because he completely agrees with Locke on his understanding of the term 'idea', but because this usage seems to be widely accepted among the contemporary philosophers who employ this term,40 even Leibniz himself admits that idea is "something which is in our mind".41 But Leibniz comes to realize that Locke's apparently neutral definition points to a direction which he cannot accept. For Locke, the expression "ideas in the mind" or "ideas in the understanding" is

Descartes: "an idea is the thing which is thought of in so far as it has objective being in the intellects AT VII. 102, CSM 11.74, cf. AT VII.92, CSM 11.66); A. Arnauld and Pierre Nicole: "Wherever we speak of ideas, then, we are not referring to images painted in the fantasy, but to anything in the mind when we can truthfully say that we are conceiving something, however we conceive it." Logic or the Art of Thinking (Cambridge, 1996), 26. The best example of the prevalence of this definition can be found in an anonymous treatise on ideas published in 1705, in which, the author define "idea" as "the representation of something in the mind." "This definition," the author claims, "I think all sides are agreed in thus far, but whether this representation be only a modification of the mind, or be a distinct being, or substance united to the mind, is a question." A Philosophick Essay concerning ideas according to Dr. Sherlock's Principle (reprinted, AMS, 1996), 6. 41 "What is an Idea?" L. 207.

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just another way to say ideas are "to be understood," "to be perceived" (I.ii.5) or "to be conscious o f (I.ii.5). Therefore, "having ideas" and perception is "the same thing" (II.i.9). "Idea," according to Locke, has to be understood as "actual perception."

It is at this moment that Leibniz raises his objections: Locke confuses

"ideas" and "the actual perception of ideas" (NE 111). This confusion, according to Leibniz's diagnosis, is a crucial "prejudice" which prevents Locke from accepting innate truths (NE 76-7). Leibniz asserts, by taking ideas as men's actual thoughts, Locke here deviates from "the accepted ways of speaking" (NE 300). This might not be a fair charge. In his controversy with Malebranche, Arnauld has already made a similar claim.43 Both Locke and Leibniz are familiar with this famous controversy.44 Therefore, when Leibniz accuses Locke of departing from the standard usage of the term "ideas," his is more concerned with Locke's hidden intention than with his concrete usage. Locke's intention in associating ideas with actual perceptions is to stress the immediacy of ideas in the thought: ideas must be present to our thinking. This emphasis on the immediacy of ideas has been considered as a significant feature of early modern philosophy since Descartes, and especially related to the rise of

I.iv.20, II.x.2, Il.xxxii.l. Cf. John Yolton, Perceptual Acquaintance from Descartes to Reid, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984), 88-90. 43 A. Arnauld, On True and False Ideas, tr. And intro. By Stephen Gaukroger (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1990), 72. 44 For Locke, see his criticism of Malebranche in "An Examination of P.Malebranche's Opinion of Seeing All Things in God" (Works, VIII. 211-55); For Leibniz, Leibniz to Remond, Nov. 4, 1715, G. III.659. Cf. Jolley's helpful discussion in The Light of the Soul, esp. 135.

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modern subjectivity.45 But Leibniz insists, it is not a legitimate usage. Against this dominant position in modern philosophy, Leibniz protests: "we know an infinity of things which we are not aware of all the time" (NE 77). There is always something in our knowledge which is required for our thinking, but beyond our actual perception. Any presence of ideas must presuppose more ideas which are not present and actual, but potential in the mind. All those parts which make up science "cannot be simultaneously present to the mind" (NE 359). Locke does not deny this point, since he admits that there are ideas in memory. But he insists even these ideas have a history which can be traced back to "actual perceptions": "Whatever idea is in the mind, is, either an actual perception, or else, having been an actual perception, is so in the mind that, by the memory, it can be made an actual perception again"(I.iv.20). Memory is our archive preserving the history of our actual perceptions, which can be activated on our will. Thus Locke admits that our mind possesses habitual knowledge besides actual knowledge. In the case of habitual knowledge, either the mind "actually perceives" the relation between ideas, or although the relation "at present" is "not actually in view," the mind knows it from what it does before (IV.i.8-9). But could Locke's historical account of habitual knowledge explain away Leibniz's objections? When Leibniz asserts, "there could be something in the soul which one did not perceive there," or "soul can contain things without one's being 45

Richard Rorty, Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (Princeton, 1979), 46ff.

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aware of them" (NE 78), he surely means something more than the remains of actual perceptions. "Since an item of acquired knowledge can be hidden there by the memory, as you admit that it can", Leibniz challenges Locke, "why could not nature also hide there an item of unacquired knowledge?"(NE 78) The answer to this question is the dividing line between Locke and Leibniz concerning innate ideas. Leibniz admits, just as Descartes before him, "the actual knowledge...is not innate. What is innate is what might be called the potential knowledge...as the veins of the marble outline a shape which is in the marble before they are uncovered by the sculptor"(86). Leibniz's following questions are even more revealing: "Must a self-knowing substance have, straight away, actual knowledge of everything which belongs to its nature? Cannot - and should not—a substance like our soul have various properties and states which could not all be thought about straight away of all at once?" (78) For Locke, there is no shape before the action of the sculptor on the marble; all shapes are acquired from the production of actors, divine or human. But for Leibniz, everything, including the human mind, has a nature, which, like "the veins of the marble", is prior to the action of any architect or "creator." The opposition between Leibniz's potential knowledge and Locke's actual knowledge is more than the question whether the source of our knowledge is within or without, but involves their different understandings of human nature. Before we go to examine Leibniz's doctrine of "potential" nature, we have to probe more deeply into the intention of

122 Locke's advocacy of actual perceptions in his way of ideas.

2.2 The Birth of Autonomous Epistemology In Locke's Essay just as in Descartes' Meditations, an idea is "something" in the mind. In his official definition of "idea," Locke declares that he employs the term "to express whatever is meant by Phantasm, Notion, Species." "Phantasm" (or image), "notion" and "Species" are the terms employed by different ancient and modern schools of philosophy to explain the operations of the human mind. What is common to these terms (as well as others Locke uses to explain his usage of "ideas," like "conception" or "immediate objects") is their "presence" in the mind. Locke himself tends to understand "representation" narrowly, that is, as a synonym of "resemblance,"46 and is thus reluctant to define "idea" as a "representation," because, according to Locke's doctrine of qualities, we would be mistaken if we image that all of our ideas are resemblances to the external things (II.viii.25). But this tendency to free ideas from natural resemblances, as we have seen in the case of Descartes, is precisely a typical feature of the modern representational thinking: "ideas" are something representing (that is, making present) the external things to our mind without resembling them. In this direction, Locke goes even further than Descartes. This is especially clear when we turn to Locke's examination of Descartes' proof of God's existence.

46

John Locke, "A Letter to the Right Rev. Edward Lord Bishop of Worcester," Works, III, 76.

123 In Descartes' system, the proof of the existence of God is a crucial step in his attempt to reformulate the order of the world on his new philosophical principle. The key to this proof is an uneasy combination of his new way of ideas and the metaphysical hierarchy of reality and causal relations (AT VII.40, CSM 11.28): "there remained only the possibility that the idea had been put into me by a nature truly more perfect than I was and even possessing in itself all the perfections of which I could have any idea, that is.. .by God" {Discourse on the Method, AT VI. 34, CSM 1.128). In his notes on Descartes' proof, Locke criticizes Descartes' "combination" as an illegitimate usage of "ideas": .. .ideas in the mind we discern the agreement or disagreement of ideas that have a like ideal existence in our minds, but that reaches no further, proves no real existence, for truth we so know is only of our ideas, and is applicable to things only as they are supposed to exist answering such ideas. But any idea, simple or complex, barely by being in our minds, is no evidence of the real existence of anything out of our minds, answering that idea.47 By freeing "idea" from the metaphysics of substance (and the corresponding causal hierarchy of reality), Locke's conception of "idea" is even more independent of the order of things than Descartes'. Locke's anti-innatism thus further strengthens the "representational" nature of "ideas." For Locke, Cartesian innatism is still bounded by the metaphysics of substances. No wonder that Locke's contemporary critics discern a threat to the order of things themselves in Locke's so-called "empiricism," since his new way of ideas places an unprecedented stress on the centrality of representational ideas. 47

"Descartes's Proof of A God, from the Idea of Necessary Existence, Examined" (1696), in Peter King, The Life and Letters ofJohn Locke (Garland Publishing 1984 reprint of 1884 edition), 316.

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Locke's "representationalism" is discernible also in his inclination to associate "idea" with "image." We have already seen his declaration to use "idea" to express what is meant by phantasm, a term widely employed by imagists like Hobbes and Gassendi. Although the term 'image' does not appear very often in the Essay, when it appears, at least once, Locke employs it as a synonym of "idea" ("images, or Ideas" II.i.15). Leibniz does not miss this "confusion" of Locke (NE 137, 261-3). The confusion of "pure idea" with "images of sense," according to Leibniz's diagnosis, is another principal obstacle which prevents Locke from accepting innate ideas (77). What Locke considers as the basis of our knowledge, simple ideas, are "clear images" but "confused ideas" (262). Here for Leibniz just as for Descartes, Locke fails to distinguish pure intellect from imagination. In this way Locke's inquiry about human understanding would never succeed in arriving at "understanding," but stop at imagination. The example of Leibniz is even the same one which Descartes uses in the Meditation IV: "I have this idea of a chiliagon, even though I cannot have the image of one" (NE 261; comp. Descartes, AT 72ff, CSM II. 5 Off.). Locke, the zealous reader of Descartes, starts his way of ideas precisely from the ending point of Descartes' meditations, that is, the union or combination of mind and body, the faith in the senses prevalent in the experiences of everyday life, and the vivid and lively images thus produced, but he passes over "the real distinction," that is, the essential distinction Descartes establishes between mind and body before considering their union. This fundamental failure in confusing ideas with

125 perceptions, Leibniz believes, finally leads Locke to deny innate ideas. But for Locke, this is not a careless failure, but a careful move that is immediately relevant to his anti-innatism. In the opening of his Essay, Locke makes clear his "purpose" in this work is "to enquire into the original, certainty, and extent of human knowledge; together with the grounds and degrees of belief, opinion, and assent; I shall not at present meddle with the physical consideration of the mind; or trouble my self to examine, wherein its essence consists..." (I.i.2, emphasis added). Locke's notorious reluctance to discuss the ontological status of ideas results from the same consideration:48 the nature or essence of mind cannot and should not be the "purpose" of our inquiry concerning human understanding. This refusal to consider the nature of mind and thinking leads Locke to one of the most controversial suggestions in the Essay: We have the idea of matter and thinking, but possibly shall never be able to know, whether any mere material being thinks, or no; it being impossible for us, by the contemplation of our own ideas, without revelation, to discover, whether omnipotency has not given to some systems of matter fitly disposed, a power to perceive and think, or else joined and fixed to matter so disposed, a thinking immaterial substance: It being, in respect of our notions, not must more remote from our comprehension to conceive, that GOD can, if he pleases, superadd to matter a faculty of thinking, than that he should superadd to it another substance, with a faculty of thinking; since we know not wherein thinking consists, not to what sort of substances the Almighty has been pleased to give that power, which cannot be in any created being, but merely by the good pleasure and bounty of the creator (IV.iii.6). While Leibniz, a devoted metaphysician, deems this a very important question and

Cf. his first reply to JohnNorris, p. 10; his examination of Malebranche, 215, 217;

126 rushes to share his solution with Locke (NE 378ff), he, just like other critics of Locke, fails to realize that the message in this passage is more negative than positive. Locke does not so wholeheartedly hold the doctrine of thinking matter as deny the "metaphysical speculation" which leads us to distinguish, as Cartesians, the thinking substance and matter, "since we know not wherein thinking consists, not to what sort of substances the Almighty has been pleased to give that power." The assimilation of an idea to its actual perception plays a similar role in Locke's attempt to clear away the metaphysics of the thinking substance and its essence. In the Essay, immediately after claiming that "having ideas" and "perception" is the same thing, Locke turns to attack Descartes' doctrine of soul(II.i.9). Locke finds a weakness of Descartes' metaphysics of the cogito: if the soul is defined as res cogitans, it should be something always thinking, according to Locke's usage, that means, the soul, as something always "actually" thinking, should be aware of itself always; this is obviously contrary to our everyday life experience. Therefore, Locke concludes, ideas should not be regarded as the essence of the soul, but "one of its operations" (II.i.10). Without supposing ideas as the essence of the soul, "it is not necessary to suppose that it [i.e., the soul] should be always thinking, always in action" (II.i.10). The nature, cause or manner of thinking, just like the case of extension of body, is in the darkness (Il.xxiii. 29). Thus, the expression "whatever it is" in the official definition of "idea" is chosen intentionally by Locke to convey his indifference or even repugnance to the real "nature" of

127 ideas. At this point Locke's double "confusions" in Leibniz's diagnosis (the confusion of ideas and images, and the confusion of ideas and actual perception) converge. If there are no innate ideas, we have no reason to believe, as Descartes does, the mind has its own proper nature or essence, ideas as the actual perceptions of sensible images, cannot arise from within our mind, but "manifestly derive their original from that union" (Il.i. 17). In brief, Locke's double confusions turn out to be tactical moves in achieving his strategic aim: to free his inquiry concerning human understanding, an "epistemology", from the metaphysics of substances which is recently re-established on the modern basis of "my mind." This is the intention of Locke's refutation of innate ideas. A new way of ideas without its metaphysical presumptions leads to an autonomous "epistemology", that is, an "epistemology" which focuses on the "powers," "operations" and "passions" of mind without caring about its nature or essence, an epistemology independent of the traditional dominance of metaphysics.

2.3 Mind as Bare Faculties But someone might raise objection: does not Locke talk about the nature of our mind or soul? Yes, especially in his educational work, but seldom in the Essay. Even in his work on education, the nature of the human mind is no longer its essence, but the

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powers of the mind and its exercises.49 Here we arrive at Leibniz's most important diagnosis of Locke's psychology: Locke, Leibniz believes, reduces the human soul to the bare "powers" or" faculties" (NE 140). The role that the doctrine of faculty plays in Locke's inquiry concerning human understanding merits more attention than it has got by far among Locke scholars. Locke's doctrine of human understanding is a doctrine of faculties. He expressly declares his purpose in the Essay is "to consider the discerning faculties of men, as they are employed about the objects, which they have to do with" (I.i.2, emphasis added). His refutation of innate ideas deprives the human mind of its essence, and thus restores mind to its natural state of faculties, which is, according to Locke's famous metaphor after Aristotle, like a piece of white paper (Il.i.2). Human nature, as distinct from the nature of brutes and vegetables (or even that of idiots and madmen), has to be determined by a detailed comparison of their various faculties, rather than by the metaphysical speculations of "real essences" beyond our faculties (Il.xi. 11-13, comp. Locke's "definitions" of man and animal in III.vi.33). The traditional definition of man as rational animal pretends to reveal the real essence of man, but according to Locke's analysis, it is nothing but the impositions of the human mind (III.vi.26, III.x.20), thus a perfect example of the abuse of words rather 49

This is especially clear in the Section 4 of "the Conduct of the Understanding", which begins with "[w]e are born with faculties and powers capable almost of anything, such at least as would carry us farther than can easily be imagined; but it is only the exercise of those powers which gives us ability and skill in anything, and leads us toward perfection". In this section, in which Locke suggests, "that it is attributed wholly to nature which was much more the effect of use and practice", nature is identified with "natural faculties" (in contrast to "acquired habits"), or more clearly, our "faculties and powers" (TE. 173-5).

129 than a good definition (III.x.17), and should be replaced by Locke's new definition in terms of faculties (Ill.iii.10).50 But what is a faculty? Given Locke's sympathy to the mechanical philosophy and his mockery of the Scholastic doctrine of faculties, it is not easy to see why Locke would base his inquiry concerning human understanding on this scholastic term. Leibniz repeatedly complains that, by resorting to "faculties" to explain ideas and human understanding, Locke in fact returns to the scholastic "chimera," the notorious "occult qualities" which has been the target of the mechanical philosophy since Descartes and Gasssendi (NE 61, 110, 196, 379, 382), and asks for "clearer explanation of what this faculty consists in and how it is exercised" (140). In the scholastic tradition, faculty is nothing but power (potentia or potestas) ready to operation.51 Among the scholastics, as Leibniz points out, whether essence and power should be distinguished from one another for every intellectual substance has been long since controversial (NE 174). Thomists think they are different, while those following Scotus do not posit any distinction between them in reality. But whatever the opposite positions concerning their distinction are, most scholastics

To be sure, the faculty psychology can be found in most early modern philosophers including Descartes and Leibniz. But no one like Locke relies so much on it in explaining phenomena ranging from knowledge to liberty, and more importantly, no one else develops a radical and autonomous faculty psychology like Locke's, that is, a theory of faculty free from the metaphysics of substance

and essence. 51 Thomas Aquinas:/actt/ta? autem nominal facilitatem potestatis, quae quidem est per habitum (ST. Ia.q.93 art.2 obj.2). Aboutfacultas as potentia, cf. Gilson, Index Scolastico-Cartesien, 112. But according to Goclenius, faculty refers only to the active power, whereas potentia can be passive as well as active. This is contrary to the usage of Locke, who tends to stress the passive aspect of our discerning faculty (Il.viii.l, II.ix.15). Locke's usage leads Leibniz to mention this distinction to him (NE 169, cf.110 against "inactive faculties" as the scholastic fictions). We will return to this theme later. Goclenius, Lexicon, 565-6.

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understand faculties with reference to the substantial form of an intellectual nature.52 Faculties or powers, in the case of our intellect, must be understood in the framework of the metaphysics of substance. Leibniz is well aware of the dependence of power on the metaphysics of substance while pointing out to Locke: "Faculties or qualities do not act; rather, substances act through faculties" (NE 174). Locke's general strategy in employing the term "faculties" in his Essay is to avoid all those scholastic disputes concerning their nature and their relations to essences and substantial forms. According to Locke, the reason that the (scholastic) doctrine of faculties gives rise to so much confusion in men's thought is that the schoolmen suppose faculties "stand for some real being in the soul" (II.xxi.6, cf. II.xxi.20). But we don't really know what kind of "subject" subsists under these faculties. Thinking is not the essence of the mind, but its operation (ILL 10). Locke's position that faculties are not agents but relations (II.xxi.18) does not intend to give us a definite answer to the crucial question whether they are different from the essence of the human mind, but on the contrary, attempts to separate the question of faculties and their operations from that of essence and substance. Precisely to the extent of the faculties of our mind, our knowledge of our own mind can never reach beyond its powers to arrive at its essence. Locke's psychology of faculties is his substitute for Descartes' metaphysics of res cogitans. Locke's suspension of the essential knowledge of the human mind earns another 52

The summary of the relevant positions, cf Suarez, Disp.Metaph. XVIII.iii.21.

131 support when he defines the human mind in the terms of faculties without its traditional dependence on essence and substance. This doctrine of "bare faculties" allows Locke to employ the new way of ideas without the Cartesian metaphysics of res cogitans. But in order to secure a doctrine of human understanding free from the "prejudices" of metaphysics, Locke need one more move: he has to prove our inability to go beyond the knowledge of powers in the case of material things. In Locke's account of our knowledge of material things, we will see most clearly his attempt to undermine the traditional metaphysics of substance with his doctrine of idea and powers.

2.4 From Substances to Powers: Locke's Anti-metaphysics One consequence of Descartes' philosophical revolution is an equivocal conception of substance. If substance is defined in a traditional way as "a thing which exists in such a way as to depend on no other thing for its existence," only God is worthy of this term. We cannot "univocally" apply this term to the created things as well. The latter are "substances" only in the qualified sense, that is, they "need only the ordinary concurrence of God in order to exist" (Principia, 1.51, AT VIII.A, 24; CSM I. 210). However, there is another way to understand the term "substance": Substance. This term applies to every thing in which whatever we perceive immediately resides, as in a subject, or to every thing by means of which whatever we perceive exists. By 'whatever we perceive' is meant any property, quality, or attribute of which we have a real idea.... For we know by the natural light that a real attribute cannot belong to nothing {Second Set of Replies, AT VII.161, CSM 11.114).

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This way of defining substance, that is, through its principal attribute of which we have clear and distinct idea, according to Descartes, would apply univocally to mind and to body, although it will be more difficult in determining the principal attribute of the infinite God (Principia 1.52-4, AT VIII.A, 25-6; CSM 1.210-1).53 By resorting to the scholastic doctrine that "there must be at least as much in the efficient and total cause as in the effect of that cause" (Meditations III, AT 40, CSM 11.28; cf. Second Set of Replies, AT 161, CSM 11.114), Descartes believes he can bridge the gap between the traditional definition of substance as an independent being and his new definition of substance in the way of ideas: the idea of the principal attribute, as the objective reality present in our mind, must correspondingly exist formally or even eminently in an object, thus the attribute refers us back to the hidden substance. Descartes' attempt to combine the traditional metaphysics of substance and his new way of ideas proves to be an unstable synthesis. Spinoza, a metaphysician who could not tolerate the equivocal uses of substance deprives everything other than God of the privileged term substance, and consequently turns mind and body into attributes of the sole substance. But for Locke, the equivocation of the term exposes the fundamental weakness of the metaphysics of substance in the light of the new way of ideas (II.xiii.18). The best alternative would be to search for a way to explain the human intellect without reliance on our knowledge of substance. 53

For Leibniz's criticism of defining substance in terms of one principal attribute, cf. his letter to De Voider, Apr. 1702, L.526.

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(1) Substance as a Complex Idea Locke's first step to undermine the metaphysics of substance is to categorize substance as complex idea. There are two kinds of ideas in Locke: simple or complex. Power belongs to simple ideas, but substance is a complex idea. In other words, it is a collection of many simple ideas. While simple ideas refer the human mind back to the "real existence of things operating on it" since the mind has no power to make them "but only receives such as are presented to it" (III.v.2), complex ideas, like substance, are the products of the human mind. This classification allows Locke to expose the weakness inherent in the traditional notion of substance. The traditional notion of substance, according to Locke's analysis, is "only a supposition of he knows not what support of such qualities, which are capable of producing simple ideas in us; which qualities are commonly called accidents" (II.xxiii.2). The Latin etymology of substantia reveals the secret of "substance": "substance," as substratum, "in plain English," means "standing under, or upholding" or "under-propping" (Il.xxiii.l, II.xiii.20). This brings to light the source of the "obscure and relative idea of substance": substance is nothing but some common subject which is the support (that is, substratum) of sensible qualities. The true reason we need to suppose a subject "under-propping" these qualities is our ignorance of how these qualities subsist alone (II.xxiii.4). The Indian story of the world supported by an elephant, and which, while someone asks for its basis, is said

134 to be supported in turn by a great tortoise, is the favorite example for Locke to illustrate this point (II.xiii.19, II.xxiii.2). Only because of our "inadvertency" do we take our ideas of substances as simple ideas. On closer examination, they are in fact complex ideas, "the complication, or collection of those several simple ideas of sensible qualities...that have been observed or supposed constantly to exist together" (II.xxxi.4, 6). In his new way of ideas, Locke turns upside down the classical metaphysical order of substances and accidents.54 Now it is no longer accidents that depend "ontologically" on substance, by which we can arrive at the essential knowledge of the things, but substance that depends "epistemologically" on accidents, of which we have simple ideas, for its intelligibility, if there is any left for it. Therefore, while the sensible qualities are "commonly" called "accidents" in the traditional metaphysics, now in the new way of ideas, substance is more likely to be called "accidental" since our complex ideas of substances usually do not include all the natural elements which constitute substances, but only ground on the superficial or partial knowledge of those simple ideas, and thus like most of general terms, are more a result of human imposition than a precise representation of the natural order. In this way, our complex ideas of substances might be merely an "accidental" connections of ideas (II.xxxiii.9). Given this reversal, no wonder that Locke doubts whether the doctrine of substance and accident is of any use in deciding the 54

Aristotle: "While 'being' is used in many senses, obviously that whish is primarily is 'what', which indicates the substance of the thing" (Metaph. 1028al3-32)..

135 questions in philosophy (II.xiii.20, cf. Leibniz's reply in NE 150).

(2) Real Essence and Nominal Essence Locke's next step to undermine the metaphysics of substance is to introduce the distinction between the real and nominal essence to explain why our knowledge of substance is partial and superficial. According to Locke, the real essence, or essentia in its original signification, is "the real internal...unknown constitution of things," thus it is "of nature's making," whereas the nominal essence is abstract idea, which is in the mind with the general or universal name attached to it (III.iii.15, 19, cf.III.vi.2). This distinction is crucial to Locke's doctrine of substance, since for Locke, although the nominal and the real essence are always the same in the species of simple ideas and modes, they are "always quite different" in the case of complex ideas like substances (Ill.iii. 18). According to Locke, general terms are "abstract and partial ideas" (Ill.iii.9), which do not belong to "the real existence of things; but are the inventions and creatures of the understanding, made by it for its own use, and concern only signs" (Ill.iii. 11). Although Locke does admit that "nature in the production of things, make several of them alike," the general terms are attached to "abstract general ideas" which is "the workmanship of the understanding" on the occasion of "the similitude it observes amongst them" (Ill.iii. 13). It is not the natural similitude, but the operation of abstraction in our mind that produces the general terms like substance

136 and (the nominal) essence. Thus for Locke, our determination of substance is "not according to precise, distinct, real essences in them," but on the basis of the nominal essence (III.vi.6-8), which is "the workmanship of men" (III.vi.37). Locke does not deny the existence of the real essence, the true internal constitution, in substance, he even believes that we do not make our complex ideas of substance arbitrarily, but intend or suppose to copy nature (III.vi.28, 30). However, given the limitation of our capacity, Locke insists, such internal nature of things is unknown to us (III.vi.9). We can never go beyond the nominal essence, and determine substance "exactly conformable to those in nature" (III.vi.30), but have to rest content with some partial knowledge of substance through the incomplete collection of the sensible ideas of those superficial qualities (III.vi.47). Our knowledge of substances is destined to be imperfect (III.vi.30, 32). For a complex idea like substance, a perfect knowledge requires either a complete enumeration of simple ideas involved or a precise representation of its internal constitution. Unfortunately, we are capable of neither. Thus it is not surprising that our ideas of substance are confused (II.xii.6), inadequate and the major source of our mistakes.55 If our knowledge can never proceed from the

55

For Locke, our ideas of substances are all inadequate, since they are only partial or incomplete representations of those archetype to which they are referred (Il.xxxi.l): "For there desiring to copy things, as they really do exist; and to represent to our selves that constitution, on which all their properties depend, we perceive our ideas attain not that perfection we intend: we find they still want something..." (Il.xxxi.3). What is missing in our ideas of substance, according to Locke, is "supposed real essences" (or internal constitution) which men are ignorant (II.xxxi.6, cf. II.xxxii.24). "our complex ideas of substances, besides all these simple ideas they are made up of, have always the confused idea of something to which they belong, and in which they subsist" (II.xxiii.3)

137 nominal essence to the real internal constitution of things, the traditional metaphysics of substance would be of no use in explaining the operation of human understanding and its relation to the external world. We have to find another way, which would be more useful in the framework of the new way of ideas.

(3) From Qualities to Powers As we have seen, Leibniz detects a close connection between ideas and faculties or powers in Locke's refutation of innate ideas. This connection makes up a very important part of Locke's enterprise. The centrality of power in Locke's "ontology" seems to be a counterpart to the centrality of ideas in his "epistemology": "Whatsoever the mind perceives in it self, or is the immediate object of perception, thought, or understanding, that I call idea; and the power to produce any Idea in our mind, I call quality of the subject wherein what power is" (II.viii.8, emphasis added). Through his famous doctrine of qualities Locke replaces the Aristotelian-Scholastic doctrine of the (sensible and intellectual) species with a causal theory of idea production, in which power plays a leading role. Although we do not know the precise mechanism by which powers produce ideas in our mind, Locke assures us, it is sufficiently certain that power can be seen as the source of ideas. The doctrine of qualities is of vital importance for Locke's philosophy, since all of our ideas have their source in simple ideas, which are the actual perceptions of qualities. Qualities in bodies, according to Locke's influential distinction, are of two

138 kinds:56 the first group, like solidity, extension, figure, mobility and number, Locke calls original or primary qualities of body; the second group, like colors, sounds, tastes, Locke calls secondary qualities (II.viii.9-10,23). Apparently, the criteria of Locke's distinction is whether qualities can be precisely represented by our ideas of them: "the ideas ofprimary qualities of bodies, are resemblances of them, and their patterns do really exist in the bodies themselves; but the ideas, produced in us by these secondary qualities, have no resemblance of them at all (II.viii.15). However, Locke seems to have a quite different intention in formulating this distinction from the very beginning: "it will be convenient to distinguish them...that so we may not think (as perhaps usually is done) that they are exactly the images and resemblances of something inherent in the subject; most of those of sensation being in the mind no more the likeness of something existing without us, than the names, that stand for them, are the likeness of our ideas"(II.viii.7). Accordingly, we are safe to say that Locke does not draw this distinction in order to distinguish some privileged qualities which represent to us the nature of things, but on the contrary, to find a way to avoid such prejudices well established in our mind by the metaphysical tradition. In fact, the notion that our idea is resemblance to the nature of things is a mistake that Locke is never tired of pointing out in his criticism of the metaphysical tradition. By virtue of his classification of qualities, Locke wishes to alert us to the real source of our

56

More precisely, there are three kinds, the third are commonly called "powers," such as the sun has the power to melt wax. But since Locke usually mention the third group along with secondary qualities, we can consider them together in order to avoid terminological confusion.

139 ideas. Secondary qualities, according to Locke's analysis, are nothing but powers. We are often misled to believe they are "real qualities" which can be employed to define substance, but "in truth [they] are nothing in the object themselves, but powers to produce various sensations in us by their primary qualities" (II.viii.10). Our ideas of secondary qualities are not natural resemblances, since they are not even "in the object themselves," but effects of bare powers, which are "placed in the modification of their primary qualities" (II.viii.25). Locke, furthermore, emphasizes that, although our ideas of secondary qualities depend entirely upon the primary qualities of the insensible parts of bodies, we are ignorant about those primary qualities (IV.iii.ll), and we are even not able to discover "connection between any secondary quality, and those primary qualities that it depends on" (IV.iii.12). Our ignorance about the causal mechanism between primary qualities and our ideas of secondary qualities notwithstanding, it is sufficient for Locke's aim to show the dependence of the latter on the former. The real priority of primary qualities in Locke's classification consists in the fact that the resemblances between our ideas and these qualities makes clear the process of impulse by which the insensible particles in bodies operate on our minds. However, the resemblances in the case of primary qualities do not inform us of the internal constitution of those minute particles (IV.iii.14). Although Locke is always considered as an empiricist who is profoundly influenced by the modern corpuscularian philosophy of nature advanced

140 by Gassendi and Boyle, his adherence to the new way of ideas does not allow him to give a full assent to this "materialistic" explanation of "bodies" to which he is quite sympathetic (IV.iii.16). Even a materialistic version of substance is still a sort of metaphysical speculation. It goes beyond the extent of our ideas, and thus no longer knowledge, but probability. Therefore, the reduction of secondary qualities to primary qualities does not draw us closer to the essential knowledge of substances. We know nothing about the real constitution of those minute and insensible parts of bodies which produce our ideas of secondary qualities, nor have we any idea about the possible connection between those primary qualities of bodies, still less the relation between primary and secondary qualities. All those elements for a perfect knowledge of a complex idea like substance are still beyond us. The only thing we do know through primary qualities is that there exist certain forces or powers in the material things, which can produce corresponding ideas as effects in our mind. In this way, Locke's famous distinction of qualities becomes a metamorphosis of powers since all these qualities can be regarded as powers: "all our simple ideas are...nothing but the effects of certain powers in things, fitted and ordained by GOD, to produce such sensations in us, they cannot but be correspondent, and adequate to those powers" (II.xxxi.2, emphasis added). Now we might have a more adequate understanding of the comprehensive link Locke established between ideas and powers in his definition of quality (II.viii.8). This is Locke's final step to undermine the metaphysics of

141 substance: "most of the simple ideas that make up our complex ideas of substances, when truly considered, are only powers, however we are apt to take them for positive qualities" (II.xxiii.37, cf. Ill.ix. 13, II.xxiii.7). The idea of powers is "one of those that make a principal ingredient in our complex ideas of substances" (II.xxi.3). Those qualities which "serve principally to distinguish substances one from another" are nothing but powers (ill.xxiii.8). Locke does not think that powers can take the place of (the real) essence by giving us a scientific account of nature (II.xxxi.13). But since we are not allowed the access to the knowledge of the real essence, the metaphysics of substance on the basis of this knowledge would be of no use for us, and what is left for a philosopher in the new way of ideas is to search for the real sources of ideas, power. Locke can employ his doctrine of power as the ground of the new way of ideas.

2.5 What is the Ground of Nature: History or Metaphysics? Leibniz detects a significant consequence of Locke's attempt to undermine the metaphysics of substance, that is, a new way to attain the knowledge of nature. According to Aristotle, "the natural way" to search for the knowledge of the principles in the science of nature is "from what is more known and clear to us to what is clearer and more known by nature" (Phys. 184al6-18, Eth. Nic. 1095b2-4, De Anima 413a 11-2), since "the things that are at first plain and clear to us are rather mingled, the elements and principles of which later becomes known to those who

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distinguish them" (Phys. 184a21-3). However, the students of nature does not know eidos and "whatness" (to ti estin) of things perfectly (194b9-15), and the ground of those principles of physics, "the first principles and causes," or what Aristotle calls "the highest goodness in the whole of nature" (Metaph. 982a25-bl0), belongs to the inquiry of the first philosophy, which is named "metaphysics" by the editors of Aristotle. The inquiry about nature is grounded on the metaphysics of substance and essence in the Peripatetic tradition. This is the metaphysical basis of the dependence of power on goodness and being. Locke, by developing an autonomous epistemology, denies the distinction between "what is known to us" and "what is known by nature" and the correlative hierarchy of physics and metaphysics. Leibniz points out this distinction in the NE: ...those with whom you ally yourself take 'innate truths' to be merely whatever one would naturally accept, as though by instinct, even if one knows it only in a confused way... But the light of nature, as it is called, involves distinct knowledge; and quite often a 'consideration of the nature of things' is nothing but the knowledge of the nature of our mind and of these innate ideas, and there is no need to look for them outside oneself (NE 84). Locke's strategy to refute innate ideas by focusing on actual perceptions of superficial qualities, Leibniz adds, amount to abolishing this classic distinction, which would be indispensable to any metaphysical understanding of "the order of nature." .. .we start with the coarsest and most composite ideas. But that does not alter the fact that in the order of nature the simplest comes first, and that the reasons for particular truths rest wholly on the more general ones of which they are mere instance (NE 83). Locke's simple ideas, for Leibniz, are not "simple" in the order of nature, but

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"simple only in appearance" (NE 120). They are regarded as "simple" "only because of our ignorance" (NE 170). Thus they are not "the elements and principles" any natural philosopher should search for by analysis, but mingled or confused appearances in which the ordinary people used to entrap themselves. Locke's denial of the classic distinction in the Aristotelian philosophy is, however, not a lapse. It is consistent with his view that the essential knowledge of nature is beyond our capacity, and thus the metaphysics of substance is neither possible nor useful for us. Locke does not merely undermine the metaphysics of substance, he also explicitly denies the possibility that we can acquire the true science of nature (IV.xii.10). What is left for us, after clearing away metaphysics, is our proper science: morality (IV.xii.ll). Locke's epistemology, a study of human understanding, is attempted for the sake of our moral and civil life (Epistle to the Reader).57 This reversal of the relation between natural philosophy and ethics in Locke requires a new method of inquiring into nature. In Locke's inquiry about understanding, Descartes' new way of ideas is combined with the natural history advocated by Francis Bacon and Robert Boyle. In his Advancement of Learning, Bacon proposes that natural history should be the basis of physics and metaphysics, both of which are branches of "natural science or theory."58 Although "the soul or spirit" is still a part of natural philosophy in this 57

Cf. our further discussion in the fourth chapter. "For knowledges are as pyramides, whereof history is the basis: so of natural philosophy the basis is natural history; the stage next the basis is physic; the stage next the vertical point is metaphysic", Advancement of Learning, Book II. (Oxford: Clarendon, 2000), 85. 58

144 work, Bacon does list "the intellectual faculties," along with senses and passions of soul, as the themes of the natural historical inquiries in his "catalogue of particular histories," which is published as an appendix to his Novum Organum.59 The Baconian "historical" method is carried out in Boyle's corpuscularian philosophy. According to Boyle, the theory concerning the nature of qualities must be built upon the "(experimental) history of quartiles"; thus the "origin" of qualities should not be studied metaphysically or logically (that is, in the manner of the Aristotelians or scholastics), but physically, that is, historically;60 the metaphysical terms, like substance or substantial forms, offer no help to our knowledge of nature. This subversion of metaphysics by natural history is more systematically formulated by Locke. In his unpublished reply to John Norris, Locke is rather impatient with Norris's requirement to clarify the nature of ideas. He repeats the claims he has made in the opening of the Essay: "the plain historical method" he proposes to himself does not intend to "meddle with the physical consideration of the mind," nor takes trouble to examine "wherein its essence consists" (I.i.2).6' One loyal disciple of Locke, Laurence Sterne, understands Locke so well that he asserts that the Essay is "a history," "a history-book... of what passes in man's own mind" {Tristram Shandy, Il.ii). This understanding of the Essay would be of course granted by Locke himself, since he is modestly proud to declare that he has given "a 59

Cf. Paul B. Wood, "The Science of Man," in N. Jardine, J. Secord and E. Spary ed. Cultures of Natural History (Cambridge, 1996), 197-210, esp. 197-8 on Bacon and 202-4 on Locke. 60 The Origin of Forms and Qualities according to Corpuscular Philosophy, Proemial Discourse, in M. Stewart ed. Selected Philosophical Papers of Robert Boyle (Hackett, 1991), 14, 22, 57ff. 61 "Locke's First Reply to John Norris," 9-10.

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short.. .true History of the first beginnings of Human Knowledge" (Il.xi. 15). This "plain historical method" helps us understand Locke's tactics to refute innate ideas in the first book of the Essay. Narratives of diverse customs in remote tribes, developmental psychological observations of children, detailed reports on variegated human behaviors, all these make up what Locke means by "the history of mankind" (I.iii.2, I.iii.10, cf.I.iii.17, I.iv.8, I.iv.9). Locke is clear that the history of customs is not the last word concerning "things themselves." But he does believe this historical account of customs draws the attention of the readers to the limitations of human understanding (I.i.2), and thus prepares them for the true "natural history." Locke's epistemology becomes more intelligible in the light of his natural history of human mind. As Leibniz acutely observes, Locke's emphasis of actual perceptions of ideas contributes to a natural history of the human understanding which refuses to examine the ontological status of ideas and the essence of the mind. A natural history of human understanding is sufficient for the civil and moral aim. The natural history of power, according to Locke, is sufficient for "all the right and justice of reward and punishment" (Il.xxvii. 18). This is even clearer in Locke's discussion about the formation of ideas, especially how those complex ideas which we widely employ in our philosophical and civic discourses are "historically" constituted of simple ideas from sensations and reflections (III.xi.24). Since the essential knowledge of human nature has been proven unavailable (by Locke's history of customs), this true natural history of the human mind is the last resort of

146 our understanding of human nature ("the nature or history of mankind," II.xxviii.13). The confusions in Leibniz detects in Locke's denial of innate ideas prove to be closely interwoven in Locke's method: the confusion of actual perceptions and ideas and the confusion of facts and eternal truths are two inseparable faces of Locke's natural history of the human mind.62 Therefore, Locke does not, as some scholars argue,63 intend to provide a scientific account of human understanding in his Essay just as Newton has done with the physical world. Though Locke is sympathetic to the corpuscular physics, Locke does not think we can finally have "a perfect science of natural bodies, (not to mention spiritual beings)" (IV.iii.29). The scientific knowledge of human thinking is beyond our reach. It seems that Locke has already anticipated the criticism of a metaphysician like Leibniz: "and yet those ignorant men, who pretend not any insight into the real essences, nor trouble themselves about substantial forms, but are content with knowing things one from another, by their sensible qualities, are often better acquainted with their differences; can more nicely distinguish them from their uses; and better know what they may expect from each, than those leaned quick-sighted men, how look so deep into them, and talk so confidently of something more hidden and essential" (III.vi.24). Now we turn to see Leibniz's answer to this. 62

" i f notion' signifies an idea which involves actual thinking, then it is a proposition of fact, belonging to the natural history of mankind" (NE 430). 63 E.g. Peter Walmsley, Lockes Essay and the Rhetoric of Science (Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press, 2003).

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3. Leibniz's Remedy As we have seen, in early modern philosophy there emerges a new way of ideas, in contrast to the classical doctrines of ideas we can find in Plato, Aristotle, and Augustine. Descartes makes use of this new way of ideas in elaborating his doctrine of innate ideas which bridges the gap between his principle of the cogito and the extramental reality; Locke, on the contrary, takes advantages of inconsistencies in the Cartesian system, undermines the metaphysics of substance and essence by refuting innatism, and in its place formulates a doctrine of power parallel to his understanding of ideas as actual perceptions. The opposite attitudes to innate ideas of Descartes and Locke, as well as the famous controversy between Malebranche and Arnauld concerning the nature of ideas, exposes fundamental ambiguities inherent in the new way of ideas. As "something" representing the extramental reality to the mind, the concept of idea sways between its representative role and essential role. How could ideas, while representing something non-mental, remain essential to the thinking thing, mind? This question haunts most modern philosophers influenced by the new way of ideas. Various definitions of ideas contemporary scholars find in the work of Descartes bring to light the difficulties with which Descartes struggles.64 Locke, radicalizing Arnauld in this respect, identifies ideas with the activities of mind, that is, actual perceptions, and thus 64

Robert McRae, "'Idea' as a Philosophical Term in the Seventeen Century," Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol.26, no.2 (1965), 175-90; Roger Ariew and Marjorie Grene, "Ideas, in and before Descartes," Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 56, no.l (1995), 87-106; cf. John Yolton, Perception and Reality: a History from Descartes to Kant (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996), ch.2.

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avoids the question of the ontological status of ideas. The intenton of Locke's strategy, as Leibniz acutely points out, is to replace the metaphysics of substance with a natural history of bare powers. To fight against this tendency to undermine metaphysics, Leibniz has to find a way to solve the implicit conflict between the modern emphasis on representation and the metaphysical concern of essence. His doctrine of dispositional ideas and expression, we will see, supply a neat solution to this difficulty. Leibniz's defense of innate ideas, therefore, turns out to be an attempt, with the help of his "new system," to synthesize the old and the new ways of ideas (NE 71) into the metaphysics of mind.

3.1 Innate ideas and the Nature of Soul In a brief piece composed in 1678, Leibniz begins with a plain definition of idea: "by the term idea we understand something which is in our mind.,i65 This definition, though denied by the ancients like Plato, is almost universally accepted among modern philosophers since Descartes.66 Leibniz's agreement with the modern way of ideas can be also detected in his emphasis on the immediacy and presence of ideas to the human mind. In fact Leibniz considers this feature of idea as a support of its innateness.67 But how to understand this immediacy and presence, which is characteristic of 65

"What is an Idea?" L.207. A Philosophick Essay concerning ideas according to Dr. Sherlock s Principle, 6. 67 "And since these objects [that is, being, unity, substance, and other objects of our intellectual ideas] are immediately related to our understanding and always present to it... is it any wonder that we say that these ideas, along with what depend on them, are innate in us?" (NE 51-2, emphasis added). 66

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the new way of ideas, for Leibniz, is a question worth examining. Ideas in the mind "can be taken in two senses: namely for the quality or form of thoughts, as velocity and direction are the quality and form of movement; or for the immediate or nearest object of perception."68 Leibniz accepts the second sense of idea but denies the first. Unlike Arnauld and Locke, Leibniz does not identify the immediacy and presence of ideas with the actual perceptions of mind. On the contrary, the distinction between ideas and actual perceptions is crucial for Leibniz to prevent the modern way of ideas from undermining the metaphysics of mind. The negative side of this story we have seen in Leibniz's diagnosis of Locke's confusion of ideas and actual perceptions. Now we can turn to Leibniz's positive effort to bring the new way of ideas back to metaphysics. For Leibniz, the moderns are correct to claim that ideas are in our mind, but not everything in our mind is an idea. Our thoughts, perceptions, and affections are not ideas, because they are acts of mind, and according to Leibniz, "an idea consists, not in some act, but in the faculty of thinking^

An idea cannot be identifies with the

action of thought, otherwise, "it would come into and go out of existence with the actual thoughts which correspond to it, but since it is the object of thought, it can exist before and after the thoughts" (NE 109, cf.86, 140). But why should ideas, as immediate objects of thought in our mind, exist "before and after the thoughts," not as Locke argues, "come into and go out of 68 59

"What is an Idea?" (1678), L.207. A fuller discussion can be found in DM 26. "What is an Idea?" (1678), L.207.

150 existence with the actual thoughts"? A note Leibniz wrote on the occasion of the controversy between Malebranche and Foucher concerning the nature of idea might supply us some clue: The author [i.e., Foucher] is right in saying that thought is not the essence of the soul, for a thought is an act, and since one thought succeeds another, that which remains during this change must necessarily rather be the essence of the soul, since it remains always the same. The essence of substances consists in the primitive force of action, or in the law of the sequence of changes, as the nature of the series consists in the numbers.70 Thus for Leibniz, the fundamental defect in understanding idea as thought or actual perception is the inability of this approach to explicate "the essence of the soul." Idea is more than "something in our mind." It is the essential aspect of the soul, a substance. Thus it does not "come into and go out of existence with the actual thoughts," but "remains during this change." As the essence of our soul, "ideas" must be innate, since the essence of a substance cannot be imported from without, but must stay within. The essential understanding of innate ideas is crucial for Leibniz to defend innatism against Locke's criticism: "Those who support innate truths must indeed maintain and be convinced that those ideas are also innate ... I regard them [i.e. those ideas like being, possible and same] as essential to our minds" (NE 101-2, emphasis added). An idea is something in our mind, but while considered as innate,71 it means something essential to our mind, or to employ Leibniz's revealing 70

"Notes on the Reply of Foucher to the Criticism of his Criticism of the recherche de la verite," L.155. 71 The ambiguity of the Latin word "innate" or "innateness" can be found already in Cicero's usage of innatus. It can mean "inborn" or "implanted" in the human mind (insilus in animis inesse), but also

151 expression, something "deep" in our soul. The innateness of ideas, for Leibniz, has nothing to do with the question whether actual perceptions or thoughts are innate to us (certainly they are not, Leibniz admits), but it is concerned with the nature and essence of the human mind. The simple definition of idea Leibniz formulated in 1676 seems to carry more significance than it appears at first sight: idea is something truly "in" the mind, that is, it is "already," or more precisely, "always" in the mind. It never perishes with actual perceptions. Innate ideas bring us to "the depth of our souls" (NE 76). The essence of the human mind, furthermore, through those ideas innate to it, is connected to the essential order of the world, that is, necessary truths. Leibniz's innatism insists that mind obtains "necessary truths from within itself and innate ideas are necessary truths engraved in the soul (NE 77). Thus, although taking a characteristically modern position to define idea as "something in the mind" and echoing its emphasis on the immediacy and presence of idea, Leibniz does not think this definition necessarily conflicts with the ancient understanding of ideas, especially its emphasis on the essential aspect of ideas. For Leibniz, idea can and should be "an immediate object of thought" and "some permanent form" at the same time (DM 26). This reveals Leibniz's intention to synthesize the modern and the ancient ways of ideas.

"as nature" (quasi naturalis). While Locke focuses on the "insitus" meaning of innateness in his opposition to innatism, Leibniz, like Descartes before him, emphasizes the "naturalis" meaning in his defense. Cf. Brands, Untersuchungen zur Lehre von den angeborenen Ideen, 27-9

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3.2 Dispositional Ideas If according to Leibniz, ideas are innate not as actual perceptions, but as the essence or nature of our soul, they must be "contained within us in a potential way" (NE 77): "[t]his is how ideas and truths are innate in us - as inclinations, dispositions, tendencies, or natural potentialities, and not as actions" (NE 52). This potential version of innate ideas immediately raises questions: what is the difference between Leibniz' potential knowledge and Locke's faculties? Having anticipated this potential version of innatism, Locke protests, ...if the capacity of knowing be the natural impression contended for, all the truths a man ever comes to know, will, by this account, be, every one of them, innate; and this great point will amount to no more, but only to a very improper way of speaking; which whilst it pretends to assert the contrary, says nothing different from those, who deny innate principles. For no body, I think, ever denied, that the mind was capable of knowing several truths. The capacity, they say, is innate, the knowledge acquired. But then to what end such contest for certain innate maxims (I.ii.5, cf. I.ii.22). For Locke, what the potential version of innatism advocates is nothing but "innate capacity," which differs from his "faculties" merely in the "way of speaking," and is thus of little use. Leibniz meets Locke's challenge with a quite different picture of human understanding: "Whereas in fact it is known that for a faculty to be brought to bear upon an object there must often be not merely the faculty and the object, but also some disposition in the faculty or in the object, or in both" (NE 79). Knowing, for Leibniz, involves not merely the relevant faculty and the object, but requires "some disposition in the faculty or in the object, or in both." Leibniz's innatism is an attempt to understand the "disposition" that exists in the faculty and its (possible)

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relation with the disposition in object. Leibniz's claim deserves scrutiny, since it develops systematically the insights of Descartes in his reply to Regius72 into a new metaphysics on the basis of the dispositional understanding of idea. To begin with, Leibniz's doctrine of dispositional ideas involves a different theory of knowledge. For Leibniz, Locke's bare faculty or power is not sufficient for our knowing, there must be in addition "some disposition" in the faculties. "Disposition" is employed by Leibniz to revive a lost insight in the cognitive theory. According to Thomas's classical account of knowledge, intelligible species, as "by which we intellect" (quo intelligitur), are distinguished from the objects of our intellectual knowledge (quod intelligitur). Our knowledge of external objects which are present to us by sensation requires the mediating of the formal principle of intellectual species. But in the notorious controversy over intelligible species after the death of Thomas, most late Scholastics, especially those influenced by Ockham, oppose this Thomist distinction between the formal principle and the content of knowledge, since, they believe, there is no need to posit a mediating role like species besides act; the immediate cognitive act alone is sufficient for our knowing.73 As we have seen, this overwhelming dominance of the cognitive act in accounting for the process of knowing plays a vital role in Locke's critique of innatism: according to this minimalist picture of human understanding, faculty and the external object is 72

"these ideas, along with that faculty, are innate in us, i.e. they always exist within us potentially, for to exist in some faculty is not to exist actually, but merely potentially" (AT VIIIB 361, CSM 1.305). 73 Spruit, Species intelligibilis; Robert Pasnau, Theories of Cognition in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1997), esp. Part II.

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united in the cognitive act, which alone determines our ideas. In this way, the psychophysiology of knowledge on the basis of the metaphysics of essence in the Aristotelian-Scholastic tradition is reduced to an autonomous "epistemology". But Leibniz does not think Ockham's razor of the cognitive act can take away all potential knowledge from the soul. "Must a self-knowing substance have, straight away, actual knowledge of everything which belongs to its nature"(NE 78)? Leibniz suggests the contrary might be the case, "a substance like our soul" can "have various properties and affections which cannot all be thought about straight away or all at once" (ibid, translations slightly modified). But what differences does "disposition" make for our account of human understanding? Is it merely a revival of Thomas' intelligible species or Augustine's divine illumination in the Cartesian vocabulary of ideas? In answering these questions, we have to find how Leibniz's theory of dispositional ideas, as one of his most original contributions to modern philosophy, attempts to turn the new way of ideas into a new metaphysics of souls by linking individual souls to necessary truths. The first gain Leibniz wins by his conception of dispositional ideas is the metaphysical relation between idea and essence. The connection between idea and essence, as we have seen, is characteristic of the old way of ideas. When Descartes transfers this term from the divine mind to the human mind, he more or less retains this original connection. Malebranche's controversial doctrine that ideas are not in our mind, but in God, shows the influence of this connection as well. Following

155 Descartes and Malebranche, Leibniz opposes Locke's tendency to identify ideas with actual perceptions, which leads Locke to focus on the existential rather than essential features of things. According to Leibniz, ideas should be understood more in terms of essence and possibility (NE 301), or "archetypes in the possibility of things" (NE 268). In a piece outlining his view concerning "knowledge, truth and ideas," Leibniz explicitly equates idea with "the possibility of a thing."74 The possibility of things is nothing but its essence.75 What is characteristic of Leibniz's dispositional idea is its (potential) representation of the nature or essence of a thing: As a matter of fact, our soul always does have within it the disposition to represent to iself any nature or form whatever, when an occasion arise for thinking it. I believe that this disposition of our soul, insofar as it expresses some nature, form, or essence, is properly the idea of the thing, which is in us whether we think of it or not (DM.26). In Leibniz's terminology, the term "idea" belongs to metaphysics rather than physics or semiotics. It is in reference to this metaphysical understanding of ideas, Leibniz, like Malebranche, sometimes speaks of God, or more precisely, the divine mind, as the region of ideas.76 However, clearly having Malebranche in his mind, Leibniz argues, "it must be understood that even if we saw all things in God, it would still be necessary to have our own ideas also, not in the sense of some kind of little copies, but as affections or modifications of our mind corresponding to the very object we 74 75 76

"Meditations on Knowledge, Truth, and Ideas" (1684), L.293. Letter to Magnus Wedderkopf (1671), L. 146. NE 158; "On the Radical Origination of Things," L.488; cf.M.43.

156 77

perceive in God."

Unlike Malebranche, Leibniz insists, we think "through our

ideas and not through those of God (DM 29). Since it is characteristic of the modern way to understand ideas as "affections or modifications of our mind," Leibniz's doctrine of dispositional ideas develops a new metaphysics compatible with the new way of ideas. By incorporating possibilities/essences traditionally attributed to the divine mind into ideas innate to the human mind, Leibniz's doctrine of dispositional ideas formulates a new understanding of the role of human beings in the natural order. This implication of Leibniz's new metaphysics emerges with the proper way of ideas innate in human minds Leibniz repeatedly stresses. According to Leibniz, although it is necessary for ideas to be in our mind as well in God, their ways of being are different. God alone is pure act (NE 114), thus ideas in God are always actual. But since human minds are not divine, ideas in them are not all actually thought at once.78 In other words, the potential way of ideas as dispositions in the human mind is the fundamental determination of human nature and its relation to the essential order of nature which is embodied in "ideas." Leibniz's emphasis on this fundamental distinction between the divine and the human mind brings to light another metaphysical advantage of his doctrine of dispositional ideas. Contrary to God's unity, potential ideas distinguish human minds from each other. Human souls are never homogeneous or uniform as Locke's theory 77

"Meditations on Knowledge, Truth, and Ideas," L.294.

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of tabula rasa suggests. One of the major defects of Locke's philosophical "fiction", according to Leibniz's diagnosis, consists in its neglect of individuality: "Things which are uniform, containing no variety, are always mere abstractions... Human souls differ not only from other souls but also from one another" (NE 110). The conception of the uniform individuals, as a corresponding picture of human beings to the omnipotent God, is prevalent in early modern philosophy. To remedy this philosophical "fiction" is a major task of Leibniz's doctrine of dispositional ideas: our soul cannot be considered as a thin surface on a writing tablet, but a piece of marble with hidden veins. Leibniz's revival of the Aristotelian image of Hercules in the marble against Locke's tabula rasa exposes their philosophical difference in this respect. In articulating his famous distinction between potentiality (dynamis) and actuality (energeia), the first example Aristotle refers to for "potentiality in the general sense" is "a (stature of) Hermes in the block of wood" (Metaph. 1048a32-3). Employing the similar image, Leibniz compares the human soul to "a veined block of marble as opposed to an entirely homogeneous block of marble or to a blank tablet" (NE 52). According to Leibniz, the Lockean soul is, like a piece of marble without any inherent vein, "neutral" or indifferent to any shape which will be arbitrarily imposed on it (NE 80), since Locke seems to claim that "there is nothing potential in us" (NE 52); by contrast, in Leibniz's new system, every human soul has its proper shape "which its veins already indicate or are disposed too indicate if the sculptor avails

158 himselfofthem"(NE80). Therefore, for Leibniz, "some disposition in the faculty" not only secures the essential link between ideas and necessary truths, but more importantly, establishes this link on the basis of the individual human souh'The human mind has a special affinity with necessary truths" (NE 80). "Truths," in Leibniz's image, are the "shape" potential to a piece of marble. Our labor and industry in knowing on which Locke puts so much emphasis in the Essay and his writings on education, is not an arbitrary production of statues out of material without any determination, but should serve to "expose the views and to polish them into clarity, removing everything that prevents their being seen" (NE 52). In other words, to know is to "expose" the truth inherent in our soul, or more precisely, to know is to become the truth. Therefore, in the framework of dispositional ideas, truths mean either logical possibilities or "tendencies" (or "aptitudes") in substances.79 In either case, truths are not equated with thought, still less the internal coherence or external correspondence of the representational thought. Thus, the cognitive act, in Leibniz's new system, is the actualization of our natural affinity with necessary truths which exist as dispositional ideas in the depth of our soul. The natural history of any human individual is not a random sum of contingent facts which are collected into a personal identity, but a natural actualization of the "programmed" dispositions in his nature. This fundamental 79

".. .if truth are not thoughts but tendencies and aptitudes, natural or acquired, there is no obstacle to there being within us truths which have never and will never be thought about by us" (NE 87).

159 difference between Leibniz and Locke concerning human nature can be even more clearly seen in their different understandings of "individuation." According to Leibniz's diagnosis, Locke's tendency to reject potentialities results from his focus on the natural history of "existence." In defining the idea of identity, Locke focuses on the difference of time and place: "For we never finding, nor conceiving it possible, that two things of the same kind should exist in the same place at the same time, we rightly conclude, that whatever exists any where at any time, excludes all of the same kind, and is there self alone" (E. II. xxvii.l, emphasis added). The "principle of individuation," in Locke's work, is nothing but "existence itself, which determines a being of any sort to a particular time and place incommunicable to two beings of the same sort" (II.xxvii.3). In contrast with Locke's reliance on existential "identity," Leibniz insists on essential "identity": "In addition to the difference of time or place there must always be an internal principle of distinction although there can be many things of the same kind, it is still the case that none of them are ever exactly alike" (NE 230). For Leibniz, time and space, are merely "external" denominations, which "do not constitute the core of identity and diversity." If we distinguish things only by virtue of time and place, without reference to their substantial differentiations, they would be "perfectly similar and equal," that is, "indistinguishable in themselves." In this case, "there would be no principle of individuation." Leibniz believes, this is a fundamental defect he can find in both the corpuscular hypothesis of the mechanical natural philosophy to which

160 Locke is sympathetic, and the doctrine of bare powers which is articulated in the Essay. To remedy this defect, we have to appeal to what Leibniz calls "intrinsic denominations" to define the "internal principle of distinction." The so-called "principle of the identity of indiscernibles," that is, "no two individual things could be perfectly alike, and that they must always differ more than numerically" (NE 57, cf. M.9), is deemed by Leibniz as a central tenet of his metaphysics. It immediately follows from the fundamental principle of Leibniz's philosophy, the principle of sufficient reason (NE 231). There must be "reason" for the difference between any two individuals, and this reason must lie "within themselves."80 This stress on the "essential" or "internal" individuality against "numeral" or "external" individuality bears directly on two prevalent mechanical doctrines in modern philosophy: the influential (mathematical) definition of matter as extension by Cartesians and the corpuscular philosophy championed by Robert Boyle. For Leibniz, both doctrines fail for the same reason: they consider only the external denominations and overlook the essential though maybe insensible differences among individuals: Cartesian "extension," Democritean "atoms" or Boyle's "minute particles" are all "incomplete cogitations of philosophers who have not thoroughly investigated the natures of things."81 The reason why Leibniz calls these mechanistic conceptions "incomplete" or even "fictional," as he does in his criticism of the Lockean doctrine of "bare powers" 80 81

"First Truths," L.268. Letter to De Voider, June 20, 1703, L.529.

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(NE 110), is their failure to supply a substantial understanding of individuals. A "complete" conception will afford us a sufficient explanation of any individual which distinguishes itself from others (DM 8). Only a metaphysical conception of substance, in contrast to the mechanical physics which confuses appearance and essence, can thoroughly investigate "the natures of things." But in order to remedy "the incomplete cogitations of philosophers," Leibniz's complete account of "the nature of things" has to be much more comprehensive than the distinction of intrinsic and extrinsic denominations leads us to expect. According to a more radical claim of Leibniz, "there are no purely extrinsic denominations which have no basis at all in the denominated thing itself."82 All those existential or external individuality can and should be understood in terms of "the nature of things." Alexander's conquest of Darius is not merely an "external" fact to Alexander, but contained in the complete or perfect concept of him (DM 8). If Alexander had not defeated Darius, there would have been "real change" in the conception of Alexander, in other words, Alexander would no longer be that Alexander the Great. "The complete or perfect concept of an individual substance," on Leibniz's principle, "involves all its predicates, past, present and future."83 A perfect conception of individual substance would "enclose contingent truths or truth of fact, and individual circumstances of time, place, etc"84 This bold claim of

82 83 84

"First Truths," L.268. Ibid. Letter to Arnauld, July 14, 1686, L.332.

162 Leibniz amounts to including the Lockean natural history of any individual into its perfect conception, and thus grounding external denominations completely in intrinsic denominations. In brief, with his doctrine of dispositional ideas, Leibniz attempts to remedy the two related defects in Locke's philosophy with one blow. Against Locke's confusion of necessary truths and truths of fact, as well as his consequent tendency to undermine the metaphysics of essences, Leibniz's conception of dispositional ideas establishes the essential order as dispositional ideas innate to every individual soul; and against Locke's homogenizing of human souls through "bare faculties," Leibniz's innate ideas serve as their intrinsic denominations, which distinguish perfectly the nature of one individual from that of another. Leibniz thus offers a neat solution to the problem of necessary truth and individuality at the same time. But there remains one significant difficulty which confronts Leibniz's synthesis. If dispositional ideas are understood as necessary truths innate to individual souls, in what sense can we still consider them as the representations of the world? Given Leibniz's agreement with the moderns to understand "idea" as "something in the mind," he cannot free himself from the representative nature of ideas. Leibniz's emphasis on individuality and his theory of perfect conception make this issue even more complicated. It seems difficult for Leibniz to reconcile his doctrine of dispositional ideas, which serve as the basis of our individualities, and that of necessary truths, which are universally valid for everyone. Leibniz never gives a

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systematic answer to these questions in his criticism of Locke, because the real remedy for the new way of ideas has to be found in his metaphysics, to which his New Essays is no more than an introduction.

3.3 The Metaphysics of M o n a d s For Leibniz, the two major faults of Locke's new way of ideas, the confusion of pure ideas with corporeal images on the one hand, and the confusion of necessary truths and truths of facts on the other, are not simply mistaken moves in epistemology, but result from a more fundamental metaphysical weakness of Locke's philosophy. Therefore, Leibniz's remedy does not rest content with a more adequate theory of knowledge, but steps into the realm of metaphysics, to offer a satisfactory answer to the question concerning the relation between the representative and the essential roles of ideas which haunts early modern philosophy since Descartes. In examining our cognition, Leibniz does not merely mention dispositional ideas, he also speaks of "some disposition" in the object (NE 79), and insists "the nature of things and the nature of the mind work together" in the cognitive act (NE 84). Leibniz not merely intends to defend the substantial individuality of human nature, but more ambitiously, intends to save the nature of things endangered by the mathematical reduction of the mechanical physics.

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(1) Phenomena and Essence Leibniz's metaphysical remedy starts with an unexpected point: Locke's discussion of thinking matter. Locke's discussion of the puzzle "whether any mere material being thinks or no" (E. IV.iii), as we have seen, is a crucial move to undermine the metaphysics of substance and essence. But Leibniz finds in Locke's controversial remarks an excellent opportunity to bring metaphysics back into the play. He zealously asserts this question to be "incomparable more important" than the question concerning the extent of human knowledge, though the latter is in fact the true concern of Locke. While Locke warns, "it becomes the modesty of philosophy, not to pronounce magisterially, where we want that evidence that can produce knowledge," and "content our selves with faith and probability," Leibniz proudly claims he "can make some progress with the problem, without 'offending against modesty' or 'pronouncing magisterially'" (E.IV.iii.6, NE 378). But here we do not just have another example of misunderstanding between great philosophers. Leibniz might be a little bit eager to share his new metaphysics with his interlocutor, but he is not completely mistaken in judging Locke's skeptical position metaphysically. Hidden in Locke's discussion is a doctrine with which Leibniz persistently fights: the absolute power of God which can change the order of nature at His will: We have the ideas of matter and thinking, but possibly shall never be able to know, whether any mere material being thinks or no; it being impossible for us, by the contemplation of our own ideas, without revelation, to discover, whether omnipotency has not given to some systems of matter fitly disposed, a power to

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perceive and think, or else joined and fixed to matter so disposed, a thinking immaterial substance: it being, it respect of our notions, not much more remote from our comprehension to conceive, that God can, if he pleases, superadd to matter a faculty of thinking, than that he should superadd to it another substance, with a faculty of thinking... (IV.iii.6) According to Locke, there is no "nature" in matter which God cannot change with his "omnipotency"; God can superadd any faculty or power to matter to his pleasure. Leibniz detects the fundamental fault of the metaphysic of absolute power in this passage: there is no inherent nature in creatures, instead the order of nature is determined by God's arbitrary will. To remedy this fatal sickness, a new metaphysics of substance is required. But why cannot we just return to the Aristotelian-Scholastic tradition of metaphysics instead of searching for a new metaphysics? For Leibniz, the weakness of Locke's reliance on the conception of divine omnipotency is not merely its implicit project of underlining metaphysics of natural order, but perhaps unexpectedly, its similarity to the scholastics: "[t]o speak of sheerly 'giving' or 'granting' powers is to return to the bare faculties of the Scholastics, and to entertain a picture of little subsistent beings which can fly in and out like pigeons with a dovecote" (NE 379). Leibniz, not unlike Descartes and Boyle, finds the scholastic doctrine of "species," a remote descendant of the ancient way of eidos, no longer convincing in explaining natural phenomena. But the prevalent mechanistic alternative has its own difficulties. The conception of matter is one of the main differences between "new

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philosophy" and the Aristotelian tradition. According to Aristotle, substance is primarily understood as form (eidos); matter cannot be substance since matter in itself, so-called materia prima, is "neither something nor any quantity nor anything which can be determined as being" (Metaph. 1029a20-l); matter can only be thought with its proper form; matter in itself, being stripped off sensible qualities, powers and quantities (length, width and depth), by definition, is not even knowable (1029all-19, 1036al0). But Descartes and other mechanical philosophers arrive at a completely opposite conclusion with the same process of "stripping off': removing sensible qualities from matter, "the matter itself remains intact," it follows that "the nature of body consists....simply in extension" (Principia, 11.4, AT VIIIA 42, CSM I.224).85 The nature of matter, however, according to Descartes, can be perceived only when we are free from sensory perceptions by "carefully attending to the ideas implanted in it [that is, "the intellect alone"] by nature" (Principia II.3, AT VIIIA 41-2, CSM 1.224). What is crucial to our knowledge of the nature of matter is no longer the eidos accompanying matter, but innate ideas connatural to cogito. But Descartes' mathematicized conception of matter has a difficulty of which Aristotle has made use to deny the substantial primacy of matter: matter cannot not be substance by itself, since, without form, it is not separable and even not a "this"(fo tode, 1029a28). The unity or identity can only be ascribed to matter through its "form." As Locke contests, if matter is defined as "extension", how could 85

About the disputes concerning the essence of matter, cf. Dennis Des Chene, Physiologia, ch.4.

167 it be distinguished from the continuity of space? Partly to overcome this difficulty, Locke adds a more "empirical" element, "solidity," to the definition of body, to make it "existing separately" (E. II.xiii.11-15, cf. Il.iv). But Locke's solution, for Leibniz, does not meet the challenge of Aristotle. The "phenomenon of resistance" which is supposed to occur in matter can be explained from different reasons: "the impenetrability of bodies, inertia, impetus, and bonding." Therefore, the corresponding perceptible solidity is not a simple idea as Locke believes, and thus it is not legitimate to assume "an inherent essential solidity" (NE 123-4). Indeed, Locke himself does not believe his definition of body would offer a metaphysical answer to the Aristotelian question since for Locke, the question "how the solid parts of body are united, or cohere together to make extension," just like the one "what the substance is of that solid thing," is beyond the reach of human knowledge (E. II.xxiii.23). Thus, though Locke considers solidity as a clear and distinct idea, and even the most constant idea from sensation, he refuses to determine the essence of solidity;86 nor he believes would solidity, like extension in Descartes' system, allow us the access to the essence of substance (II.xxiii.2). Locke's definition of body as extension plus solidity does not lead him to admit, as Leibniz supposes, "an inherent essential solidity" (emphasis added), since this definition means merely that "solidity" makes up a part of our complex idea of the sensible substance(IH.vi.4-5), which is denoted as body (III.vi.33).

86

"If any one asks me, what this solidity is, I send him to his senses to inform him" (E. II.vi.6).

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Already impatient with Locke's skepticism, Leibniz suddenly finds virtue in Locke's skeptical undermining of matter as substance, and praises his argument "as perfectly sound, and as being not only deep and worthy of its author": The author makes here another important point about matter when he says that it should not be regarded as "one thing," or (in my way of putting it) as a true and perfect "monad" or "unity," because it is only a mass containing an infinite number of beings. At this point our excellent author was only one step away from my system (NE 440) Leibniz is well aware that the distance between Locke's criticism of the Cartesian concept of matter and his own system is more than "one step," since Locke's criticism paves way for a natural history of powers rather than a new metaphysical system like Leibniz's. Leibniz, however, finds in Locke's criticism an excellent opportunity to introduce his doctrine of monads which will provide a new foundation for the mechanistic explanation of matter. Since the early period of his philosophical career, Leibniz has already expressly endorsed the mechanical explanations of natural phenomena advanced by "new philosophers": "in explaining corporeal phenomena, we must not unnecessarily resort to God or to any other incorporeal thing, form, or quality ... but that so far as can be done, everything should be derived from the nature of body and its primary qualities - magnitude, figure, and motion." But at the same time, Leibniz insists, "the origin of these very primary qualities themselves cannot be found in the essence of body...body is not self-sufficient and cannot subsist without an incorporeal

169 principle."87 The mechanical philosophy can explain corporeal phenomena without the help of incorporeal or supernatural agents, but the principle itself of this mechanistic explanation has to be derived from something incorporeal. Locke's discussion of thinking matter attracts Leibniz's attention because it exposes the composite nature of matter and thus the insufficiency of the mechanical explanation. But Locke's proposal of "superadding," for Leibniz, resorts to divine power in an unwarranted way. We do not need to throw off the mechanical natural philosophy because it is not self-sufficient, but we have to found it on a solid basis of metaphysics.88 Therefore, Leibniz's engagement with Locke's discussion of thinking matter involves a much more general issue, the crisis in the conception of nature brought about by the mechanical natural philosophy.89 The key to Leibniz's attempt to transform the mechanical philosophy is his doctrine of "phenomena well-founded" (phenomena bene fundata).90 According to this doctrine, "matter, taken for the mass in itself, is only a pure phenomenon or a well-founded appearance."91 Consequently, "[extension, motion, and bodies 87

"The Confession of Nature against Atheists" (1669), L.109-12. DM 2; cf. "The Confession of Nature against Atheists," L.109-10. 89 Descartes: "Note, in the first place, that 'by nature' here I do not mean some goddess or any other sort of imaginary power. Rather I am using this word to signify matter itself, in so far as I am considering it taken together with all the qualities I have attributed to it, and under the condition that God continues to preserve it in the same way that he created it" (he Monde 7, AT XI.37, CSM 1.92). Robert Boyle: "nature, in general, is the result of the universal matter or corporeal substance of the universe, considered as it is contrived into the present structure and constitution of the world." A Free Inquiry into the Vulgarly Received Notion of Nature (Cambridge, 1996), 36; cf. Leibniz, "On Nature Itself,' L.508. 90 The doctrine of "phenomena well-founded" is not fully formulated in NE, but hinted at here and there (NE 145). A more adequate account of Leibniz's "well-founded phenomenalism" can be found in R.M. Adams, Leibniz: Determinist, Theist, Idealist (Oxford, 1994), ch.9, though I disagree with Adams on his account of Leibniz's theory of ideas. 91 Letter to Arnauld, Oct. 9th 1687, L.343, translation revised; "matter is only a well-ordered and 88

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themselves, insofar as they consist in extension and motion alone, are not substance but true phenomena, like rainbows and parhelia."92 The mechanical world, or what Leibniz calls "the universal system of the phenomena," is not "absolutely real," but the construction of our mind, or to express it more precisely in the Scholastic term, a "rational being" (ente rationis).93 If phenomena are only our mental construction, Leibniz claims, they exist only by convention, not by nature.94 They are thus dependent on us (DM 14). Sometimes he even claims, phenomena are nothing but "transitory modifications of our souls."95 Phenomena are linked to our confused perceptions of contingent facts, which involve only extrinsic denominations. The nature of a thing has to be searched for in the cause of phenomena: The nature of a thing is the cause, in the thing itself, of its appearances. Hence the nature of a thing differs from its phenomena as a distinct appearance differs from a confused one, and as the appearance of parts differs from the appearance of their positions or their relations to the outside; or as the plan of a city, looked down upon from the top of a great tower placed upright in its midst differs from the almost infinite horizontal perspectives with which it delights the eyes of travelers who approach it from one direction or another. This analogy has always seemed excellently fitted for understanding the distinction between nature and accidents.96 This passage is of great help for understanding the significance of Leibniz's well-founded phenomenalism for his theory of ideas. Extrinsic denominations ("the

exact phenomenon," Letter to Pierre Danicourt, 1716, S.54. "First Truths," L.270; cf. NE 210. esp. NE 374-5. 93 "Specimen Dynamicum," L.445, "Conversation of Philarete and Ariste," L.623; 94 Letter to De Voider, June 20, 1703, L.531. 95 "Conversation of Philarete and Ariste," L.626. 96 "An Example of Demonstration about the Nature of Corporeal Things, drawn from Phenomena," L.142. 92

171 appearance of their positions or their relations to the outside") our confused perceptions offer to us are different from "the nature of a thing" as the city "looked down upon from the top of a great tower" is different from that "from the almost infinite horizontal perspectives." The metaphor of city seen from different perspective is Leibniz's favorite analogy for his system.97 When the city "looked down upon from the top of a great tower," the essence itself is present to our eyes; the city in the perspective of travelers is just appearances which are made up of sensible qualities. "The nature of a thing" can be detected only in the essence itself, which is not immediately available to our sense perceptions. Though we should distinguish confused perceptions and consequent extrinsic denominations from adequate ideas and intrinsic denominations as clearly as possible, however, we have to admit that there is a connection between the former and the latter: seen from whatever perspective, the city is the same city. Real phenomena are "well-founded" since what Leibniz calls "corporeal substances" are aggregates of true substances, that is, monads, which alone allow us the access to "the nature of a thing." The metaphysics of monads provides a solid foundation for mechanism and thus save "nature" from the crisis new philosophy has brought about. Leibniz insists that conception of "nature" should not be annihilated.98 Even God's power has to operate through the nature of things: "As for 'the good pleasure of our Maker', it 97 98

Mercer, Leibniz's Metaphysics, 303-4. "On Nature Itself," in L.498-508.

172 should be said that he conducts himself in accordance with the nature of things, in such a way that he produces and conserves in them only what is suitable to them and can be explained through their natures... if...God gave things accidental powers which were not rooted in their natures and were therefore out of reach of reason in general; that would be a back door through which to re-admit 'over-occult qualities' which no mind can understand, along with explicable 'faculties' (those little goblins), 'and whatever the idle School dreamed of" (NE 381-2). R-founding the mechanical natural philosophy on metaphysics is an important step for Leibniz's lifelong struggle with the doctrine of absolute power. In the age of mechanism, "nature itself is no longer secured in "natural phenomena"; it is either annihilated in continuous miraculous intrusion of divine power or degenerate into certain superficial or random collection of natural historical data. Leibniz attempts to salvage nature from this crisis by offering a new metaphysical basis for the natural. Only against the background of this attempt can we understand his doctrine of dispositional ideas.

(2) Monads Though Leibniz repeatedly mentions his doctrine of monad in the New Essays (102, 145, 223, 231, 443 among others), and promises it "will throw a good deal of light" on the concept of matter (NE 222) and "demonstratively" settle the question of identity, he refrains from articulating his monadology in detail. But this doctrine is

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presupposed in his many important criticisms of Locke and crucial to his discussion of human nature. With the help of his Monadology and other texts, we can better understand Leibniz's diagnosis of Locke and his alternative solution to the relevant questions. Monads, according to Leibniz's definition, are simple substances (PNG 2, Ml, NE 55) which constitute those things we meet in everyday life. As we have seen, a block of marble, for Leibniz, is not "a single substance,"99 but a composite, "an assembly of many." The tangibility of a block of marble (which reminds us of Locke's solidity), "does not prove its substantial reality," since, as Locke admits, it can be divided into infinitely minute parts. "Where there are only beings by aggregation," Leibniz insists, "there aren't any real beings." A truly simple substance, what Leibniz calls "complete being," possesses a true unity, and cannot be divided.100 Extended or solid bodies are made up of these monads, what Leibniz calls "the true atoms of nature," "the elements of things" (M3). Without constituent monads, body would have no being.101 But these "true atoms of nature," unlike the Democritean atoms revived by the corpuscularian philosophy of Gassendi and Boyle, have no extension nor figure nor divisibility. Monads are immaterial since "a material being," Leibniz believes, "cannot be at the same time material and perfectly indivisible, or endowed with true

99

"Simple means without parts" (M 1). Letter to Arnauld, Apr.30,1687, AG. 85- 89. 101 "Elements of Natural Science," L.278. 100

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unity" (NS 3). With such a daring move, Leibniz indeed turns every simple substance into a sort of living being, a soul (M.19). Therefore, in the NE, when Leibniz defends the concept of "substantial form" against Locke's criticism, he suggests, substantial form, "a genuine unity," should not be taken as a privilege restricted to man alone. In order to make clear his point, Leibniz adds immediately: "There is reason to think that there is an infinity of souls, or rather, more generally, of primary entelechies, possessing something analogous to perception and appetite, and that all of them are and forever remain substantial forms of bodies" (NE 317). This doctrine seems so counterintuitive at first sight that most of Leibniz's correspondents deny it immediately on hearing it. But faced with the mathematical reduction of nature by the mechanical philosophy, modern philosophers are left with narrow options: if they are not willing to follow Descartes to adopt an awkward mind-body dualism and widen the gap between the mechanical world and the spiritual world of human beings, either they hold this or that monism on the basis of mechanism which would disregard the spiritual feature of the human soul and finally threaten the established tenets of religion and morality (the doctrines of Hobbes and Spinoza are usually interpreted this way), or they have to contrive a new metaphysics which can unify the mechanical and the mental. Leibniz's monadology proves philosophically significant against this intellectual background. Leibniz admits the validity of the mechanical physics on the phenomenal level; but at the same time, Leibniz claims it is precisely the principle of the mechanical philosophy

175 that requires the metaphysics of simple substance as its foundation.102 Although the substantial forms, or monads, or souls do not alter our mechanical explanation of the corporeal phenomena (DM 12), the natural world in the mechanical world-picture becomes phenomena bene fundata and the split world is reunified with the help of this new metaphysics, in which, the substantial or the metaphysical is considered as a more profound or a more complete level than the mechanical or the mathematical level of phenomena. Now we come to understand why Leibniz considers Locke's discussion of thinking matter as an opportunity to introduce his monadology, since the question of the relation between thinking and matter is of primary importance for any new metaphysical system after Descartes. The solution to this question is also crucial to the problematic of innate ideas. It is precisely on the basis of his new metaphysics of substances that Leibniz redefines the concept of perception and force and answers back Locke's refutation of innatism. If, according to Leibniz, monads have no extension or shapes, they cannot be distinguished by external denominations, but by "internal qualities and actions." Internal qualities signify perception, and internal actions are appetitions (PNG 2). We will discuss the question of appetitions in the next chapter. Now let us focus on the question of perception since it is crucial for modern philosophers to formulate

102

"When I looked for the ultimate reason for mechanisms, and even for the laws of motion, I was greatly surprised to see that they could not be found in mathematics but that I should have to return to metaphysics." Letter to Remond, March 14, 1714, L.657.

176 their theories of idea. Many a philosophers after Descartes, especially Arnauld and Locke, tend to understand "having ideas" as "perception," that is, conscious perception.103 This is a major defect Leibniz diagnoses in Locke's refutation of innate ideas. For Leibniz, perception must be distinguished from consciousness: "The transitory state which enfolds and represents a multiplicity in a unity, or in the simple substance, is exactly what one calls perception. One must distinguish this from apperception and from consciousness..." (Ml4, cf. NE. 134). This distinction makes up the cornerstone of Leibniz's unique theory of ideas. The Cartesian tradition defines mind as res cogitans in terms of "consciousness" (or what Leibniz calls "apperception"), and thus leaves a huge gap between the privileged human soul and other animals. Only human beings are allowed the consciousness of the cogito, and animals are nothing more than machines, however complicated they might be. This solitary image of human beings in the natural world is an inevitable result of Descartes' attempt to break with Aristotle's psychophysical understanding of soul. With the help of the distinction between perception and consciousness, Leibniz, in contrast, grants unconscious perception to all living beings while reserving the reflective consciousness to human beings (PNG 4). For those simple substances, which Leibniz calls "the mere bare monads" (M.24), perceptions will happen without their own awareness or consent.

103

Yolton, Perceptual Acquaintance, ch.I, III-V.

177 Cartesians are mistaken, according to Leibniz, not only in denying perceptions to animals or other animate beings, but even more importantly, in overlooking minute perceptions of human beings. Hence, Locke's attack on Descartes' substantial definition of soul by arguing that "the mind does not think all the time" is pointless, since, though soul does not think all the time, it, as a substance, does not lack activity, because it never stops perceiving: "at every moment there is in us an infinity of perceptions, unaccompanied by awareness or reflection; that is of alterations in the soul itself, of which we are unaware because these impressions are either too minute and too numerous, or else too unvarying, so that they are not sufficiently distinctively on their own" (NE 53). The doctrine of minute perceptions allows Leibniz to hold a substantial definition of soul without resorting to the Cartesian cogito. Leibniz's emphasis on insensible perceptions leads to an important conclusion: "we do not form our ideas because we will to do so, they form themselves within us, they form themselves through us (par nous), not in consequence of our will, but in accordance with our nature and that of things" (Th. 403). The mistake of the Cartesians does not consist in the close connection between soul and ideas, but in their confusion of reflective apperception (consciousness) and representative perception, thus failure to find the real source of this connection. It is not reflective cogito but insensible perception which is the key to this connection. This point, as Leibniz alerts us, relates closely to the question of "our nature and that of things."

178 Any defense of innate ideas, as we have pointed out, has to confront the tension between their substantial connection to soul and their representative connection to the external world. One of significant metaphysical achievement of Leibniz's doctrine of perception on the basis of monadology is a solution to this difficulty with the conception of expression. According to Leibniz's definition, perception of a monad is "enfolding and representing a multiplicity in a unity" (M.14), or more briefly, "the expression of many things in one" (multorum in uno expressio).m

On the account of this

"expression," a monad is compared to "a living mirror, or a mirror endowed with an internal action" since "it represents the universe according to its point of view and is regulated as completely as is the universe itself (PNG 3). According to Leibniz's distinctive conception of perception, the representation or expression of every monad's perception is complete, because monad represents "the entire universe,"105 and thus perception is not merely the expression of multiplicity in unity, but more precisely, the expression of the whole world in a small world apart (DM 36). It is natural for anyone who hears about this doctrine for the first time to be perplexed by Leibniz's usage of expression. In his letter to Arnauld, Leibniz explains his usage of the term as follows: One thing expresses another, in my usage, when there is a constant and regular relation between what can be said about one and about the other. It is in this way that a projection in perspective expresses a geometric figure. Expression is 104 105

Letter to Des Bosses, Jul.ll, 1706, G.1I.311. Letter to Arnauld, July 14, 1686, L.337.

179 common to all the forms and is a genus of which natural perception, animal feeling, and intellectual knowledge are species.106 Thus "expression" is a sort of structural correspondence ("a constant and regular relation") between the expression and the expressed. This correspondence requires neither natural resemblance which is the basis of the Aristotelian perception,107 nor "actual perception" which is indispensable to Locke's natural history of ideas. But what is the way of expression? How could a monad express the entire universe? When Arnauld raises similar questions, Leibniz gives a brief account: ...because of the continuity and divisibility of all matter, the slightest movement exerts its effect upon near-by bodies, and so from body to body to infinity, but in diminishing proportion. So our body must be affected in some way by the changes of all the rest. Now to all the motions of our body there correspond certain perceptions or thoughts of our soul, more or less confused; thus the soul will have some thought of all the motions of the universe, and in my opinion every other soul or substance will have some perception or expression of it.108 This account of the universal expression of the soul comprises two steps. The first step is no more than a radicalization of the mechanical model: since matter is divisible, bodies in the world will affect each other including the closest one to my soul, that is, my body. In this sense, Leibniz claims that "this body expresses the whole universe" (M.63).109 But the mechanical interaction which involves my body 106

Letter to Arnauld, Oct. 9, 1687, L.339. Cf."What is an Idea," L.207. "I call whatever represents some other object of thought a character. But that is said to represent which corresponds in such a way that from it something else can be thought, even if they are not similar." Quoted in Donald Rutherford, "Philosophy and Language in Leibniz," in Nicholas Jolley, ed. The Cambridge Companion to Leibniz (Cambridge, 1995), 234. Expression based on similarity is only one kind of natural expression, another major type of expression is arbitrary expression. "What is an Idea," L.208. cf. Mark Kulstad, "Leibniz's Conception of Expression," Studia Leibnitiana, IX (1977),67. 108 Letter to Arnauld, Oct. 9, 1687, L.339. 109 But it is worth pointing out, in Newtonian physics as in Locke's philosophy, this universal interaction among bodies is not merely overlooked, but in fact the isolation of individuals constitutes the fundamental principle of their philosophies. Gideon Freudenthal aptly remarks, the fundamental presupposition of Newton's system is "the material world is composed of equal particles, whose essential properties are attributable to every single particle even as the only particle in empty space." 107

180 does not guarantee the universal perception of my soul. Leibniz's next step is not so obvious. To the affections of my body, according to Leibniz's account, there correspond the perceptions of our soul, which thus expresses the entire universe. Leibniz denies the possibility of mutual influences of body and soul, but insists that soul needs body to have a particular point of view to regard the world, and from this perspective to express the world. It is precisely because our perceptions correspond to various affections of body that they are more or less confused. Leibniz's favorite image for this process is the roaring noise of the sea which we hear on the shore. If we hear the great noise, we must also hear those little noises which make up the whole, and have perceptions of these noises, although by themselves they may be rather faint, and will be heard "only when combined confusedly with all the others"(NE 54). But if a monad receives nothing from without, how could it express the world in itself? Leibniz's answer will throw some light on his dispositional version of innatism: .. .these perceptions internal to the soul itself come to it through its own original constitution, that is to say, through its representative nature, which is capable of expressing entities outside of itself in agreement with its organs -this nature having been given it from its creation and constituting its individual character. It is this that makes each substance represent the entire universe accurately in its own way and according to a definite point of view. And the perceptions or expressions of external things reach the soul at the proper time by virtue of its own laws, as in a world apart, and as if there existed nothing but God and itself... (NS 14). Atom and Individual in the Age of Newton: on the Genesis of the Mechanistic World View (Boston: D.Reidel, 1986), 27.

181 Perception does not represent or express "the entire universe" by receiving something from this universe, but "through its own original constitution." The expression of the entire universe is the "nature" of every monad, which is innate to it. In the case of human beings, Leibniz's monadology amounts to claiming human nature involves everything in the world, but without dependending on it. This somehow paradoxically position brings us back to Leibniz's discussions of complete concept and intrinsic denominations. Now on the basis of Leibniz's doctrine of expression, we are more prepared to understand Leibniz's disputes with Locke in this respect. As we have seen, Leibniz criticizes Locke for grounding identity in extrinsic denominations, and insists by contrast that all extrinsic denominations can be deduced from intrinsic denominations. The complete or perfect conception of an individual substance involves everything that will ever happen to it, its past, present and future. This metaphysical assimilation of Locke's natural history leads to a very bold claim. Given the interconnectedness of what happen in the world Leibniz repeatedly emphasizes, the complete conception of an individual substance will have to involve everything in this world. This surprising claim is precisely what Leibniz explicitly advocates: "it is the nature of one individual substance to have such a complete concept, from which one can deduce all those one can attribute to it, and even the entire universe because of the connection of things."110 It thus follows 110

"Remarques sur la lettre de M. Arnauld," G.II.41.

182 from Leibniz's thesis of universal expression that the nature of any substance would involve the whole world of which it is a part. Or with a more theological vocabulary, Leibniz asserts, when God first decided to create Adam or Alexander, he did not create him in isolation, but made "a certain more general and more comprehensive decision...with regard to the whole order of the universe."111 In the nature of any substance created by God, His general plan of that world, that is, "laws of the general order of that possible universe," is involved.112 This doctrine brings about serious difficulties. If the complete conception of an individual substance contains the general plan of the whole world as well as anything which can ever happen to it, not only is the distinction between necessary truths and truths of fact endangered, but more relevant to our study, the privileged connection between innate ideas and human nature which is crucial to Leibniz's dispositional innatism is overshadowed by every kind of contingent truth crowded in the perfect conception of an substance: what is potential in a block of marble, seems not merely a statue of Hercules, but a relief of all his heroic accomplishments, or even a panorama of his world. Leibniz admits, the doctrine of complete conception grants "a priori proofs or reason" to truths of fact. Given his principle of sufficient reason, this should not surprise us (M.36). But Leibniz insists, "these truths, however certain, are nevertheless contingent." Although we can call them "necessary," they are not 1

'' Letter to von Hessen-Rheninfels, 12 Apr. 1686, WF.99. Letter to Arnauld, 13 May, 1686, WF. 107-8.

112

183 "absolutely necessary," but only "necessary ex hypothesF (DM 13), or "morally necessary" (TH 124, 174). This distinction, as we will soon see in the following chapters, is crucial for Leibniz's moral and political philosophy. But even if we can let Leibniz pass with regard to this difficulty for the time being, a greater difficulty emerges. Leibniz's thesis of complete conception and universal expression amounts to incorporating everything into our nature. This is a very important move for Leibniz to overcome the crisis of nature (and human nature) in modern philosophy. But if both necessary truths and contingent truths (morally necessary truths) can be found innate in the complete conception of a substance, what are their different relations to human nature? It is the knowledge of necessary and eternal truths, Leibniz points out, which distinguishes us from beasts (M.29, DM 34). In the case of necessary truths, substances best express God and the entire universe. The superiority of necessary and eternal truths over other expressions like sense perceptions consists in their independence: although both perceptions and innate ideas arise within without receiving anything from outside, perception expresses the whole world in a confused manner since it is made up of a really infinite variety of minute perceptions which correspond to the infinite changes of bodies in the world (DM 33); innate ideas, in contrast, allow human beings the access to necessary truths without any connections with bodies or even other substances in this world. It is on account of this crucial distinction, Leibniz asserts, "though every substance expresses the whole universe,

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yet the other substances express the world rather than God, while the spirits express God rather than the world" (DM 36). Endowed with the active power to understand necessary truths, rational animals are fittingly called "spirits," and "approach divinity as closely as is possible for simple creatures" (DM 36). Thus it becomes clear that the relations between individual substances and the order of the world in Leibniz's picture are multiple. On the basis of the metaphysics of monads, Leibniz sketches a sophisticated picture of human nature. Human nature is a complicated conception with different degree of distinctness. Its lower part, shared by human beings and what Leibniz calls "the mere bare monads" sets the basis of its inherent connection with the world, while its highest point, the distinct and adequate knowledge, is the privilege enjoyed by human beings alone among God's creatures. The individuality of any human soul is determined by its position in this hierarchical structure of human nature. This might help us make sense of a somehow mysterious claim of Leibniz: the natural can be regarded as the middle ground between the essential and the accidental. The natural is not limited to the necessary essence, it also involves "that which nevertheless is inherently appropriate to it if there is nothing which prevents it" (NE 433). But what would be the unifying basis of one's nature? To this question, Leibniz gives a straightway answer: We can therefore define our essence or idea as that which includes everything which we express. And since our substance expresses our union with God himself, it has no limits and nothing is beyond it. But whatever is limited in us could be called our nature or our power, and in this sense, whatever surpasses

185 the natures of all created substances is supernatural (DM 16, emphasis added). Finally, we are led back to the theme of power to define human nature.

(3) Force as Nature As we have seen, in Leibniz's diagnosis of Locke's anti-innatism, Locke's attempt to reduce human nature to bare powers is a fatal defect of his philosophy. In order to remedy this defect, Leibniz tries to formulate a new theory of power on the fundamental principles of his metaphysics. Leibniz's doctrine of power is an indispensable part of his attempt to resist the doctrine of absolute power which he regards as the most dangerous error of modern philosophy. Force or power has become a central concern of Leibniz's philosophy since he detects the weakness of the mechanical philosophy. One of the main defects of the new physics is its tendency to reduce corporeal substances to purely passive matter. This defect turns fatal when Leibniz discovers that Descartes makes a consequential mistake in formulating his law of motion on the basis of his geometric concept of corporeal substance (corporeal substance as res externa): when two bodies collide, it is not the same amount of motion ("mv") that is conserved, but "mv 2 ," or what Leibniz would call "the same quantity of force." The famous rule of the mechanical physics that God always conserves the same quantity of motion in the world is simply a mistake. Instead, what God always conserves is the same quantity of force. The first metaphysical conclusion Leibniz draws from his discovery is that "motion

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is not something absolute and real in itself."113 Then he comes to realize that this discovery indicates that the foundation of the Cartesian mechanics might have serious flaws: "there is something besides extension in corporeal things; indeed, that there is something prior to extension, namely, a natural force." Thus, we need a science of force to explain corporeal phenomena.114 Leibniz believes this science of force is indispensable to our understanding of nature, since it demonstrates that the mathematical reduction of nature prevalent in modern natural philosophy cannot stand on its own.115 Given Leibniz's insistent criticism of Locke's doctrine of bare powers, it is natural for us to raise the question, what is the difference between Leibniz's force and Locke's faculties/power? In one of the most important passages in NE, Leibniz clarifies his terminology of "power" as follows: If "power" (puissance) corresponds to the Latin potentia, it is contrasted with "act", and the transition from power into act is "change." That is what Aristotle means by the word "movement", when he says that movement is the act - or perhaps the actualizing - of that which has the power to be. Power in general, then, can be described as the possibility of change. But since change - or the actualization of that possibility - is action in one subject and passion in another, there will be two powers, one active and one passive. The active power can be called "faculty", and perhaps the passive one might be called "capacity" or "receptivity." It is true that active power is sometimes understood in a fuller sense, in which it comprises not just a mere faculty but also an endeavour, and that is how I take it in my theorizing about dynamics. One could reserve the word "force" for that. Force would divide into "entelechy" and "effort"; for 113

"A Brief Demonstration of A Notable Error of Descartes and Others concerning a Natural Law" (1686), L.296-302. About this important physical achievement of Leibniz and its significance in his metaphysics, cf. George Gale, "The Concept of 'Force' and its Role in the Genesis of Leibniz's Dynamical Viewpoint," Journal of the History of Philosophy, Vol.26 (1988), 45-67. We will further discuss this issue with regard to conatus in the next chapter. 1,4 "Specimen Dynamicum" (1695), L.435. 115 "Critical Thoughts on the General Part of Principles of Descartes," L.409.

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although Aristotle takes "entelechy" so generally that it comprises all action and all effort, it seems to me more suitable to apply it to primary acting force, and "effort" to derivative ones (NE 169). This long quotation sketches a clear map of Leibniz's attempt to synthesize the ancient and the modern insights to arrive at a more adequate formulation of force. Firstly, Leibniz extends the physical conception of force to the metaphysical. For Leibniz, any natural change of a monad must proceed from its internal principle, which Leibniz defines as its "active force" (M.ll). This Aristotelian principle of natural change contradicts the key tenet of modern mechanics, which tends to explain the natural change on the external principle rather than the internal principle. But Leibniz, not unlike most of his contemporaries, admits that matter is passive. Therefore, if the internal principles are indispensable to any explanation of corporeal phenomena, they have to be searched for in something other than the corporeal. Here we have to advance from the physics of corporeal phenomena to the metaphysics of the incorporeal, which is the foundation of the former (DM 18). Active force is thus the link between Leibniz's physics and metaphysics. But if matter is passive, active force, Leibniz's metaphysical addition to physics, would not be found in matter, but in something soul-like. The vital principles Leibniz adds to the dead nature of the modern mechanical world"6 bring us back to Leibniz's monadology, the core of his metaphysics.117 It is precisely because 1,6

The contrast between living force (vis viva) of his system and dead force (potentia mortuus) of mechanics already appears in Leibniz's 1686 piece ("A Brief Demonstration of A Notable Error of Descartes and Others concerning a Natural Law," L.299) and is fully developed in "Specimen Dynamicum" (L.439ff). 117 "Considerations on Vital Principles and Plastic Natures, by the Author of the System of

188

monads are endowed with force, active and passive, that they are not mathematical points, but have their own qualities, that is, their own nature.118 Here the distinction between primary and derivative forces Leibniz makes in the quoted NE passage is very important. When his correspondent, de Voider suggests, "by forces, I have always meant something nonsubstantial but inhering in substance," Leibniz immediately corrects this Lockean confusion: it is right in the case of mutable forces, or derivative forces.119 But any derivative force must be a modification of "some primary active principle," that is, a primary active force, or essential force.'20 This distinction separates Leibniz's forces ("primary active force") decisively from Locke's bare powers. While Locke make use of his doctrine of bare powers to avoid a substantial or essential definition of nature, Leibniz's concept offeree offers significant help to his metaphysical accounts of nature. For Leibniz, only primary powers make up substances, and Locke's "faculties" are nothing but "derivative powers," that is, "merely 'ways of beings'" which "must be derived from substances" (NE 379). Without the active nature within substances, Leibniz points out, Locke and his modern allies have to finally resort, here and there, to "the good pleasure of our Maker." In this way, accident powers which are given by God, the omnipotent, rather than the natures or essences of substances, are taken as the source

Pre-established Harmony" (1705), L.587. 118 Letter to de Voider, Jun. 20, 1703, L.530. 119 Letter to de Voider, Jun. 30, 1704, L.537. 120 "unless there were some primary active principle in us, there could be no derivative forces and actions in us, since everything accidental or changeable must be a modification of something essential or perpetual and can contain nothing more positive than which it modifies..." ibid.

189 of actions. The doctrine of bare faculties, after giving up the nature of things, finds its refuge in the God with absolute power (NE 381-2). Thus, Leibniz's metaphysical definition of force is his fortress to defend "nature". But there remains another significant difference between Leibniz's force and Locke's bare powers. According to Leibniz's dynamics, the difference between his "natural force" and bare force (mathematical force in Cartesian physics) is that his force is accompanied by an endeavor or effort (conatus seu nisus).m Therefore, our understanding of Leibniz's doctrine of force and his attempt to overcome the crisis of nature in modern philosophy cannot be adequate without a careful examination of Leibniz's doctrine of conatus. This will be the theme of the next chapter.

121

"Specimen Dynamicum," L.435; "True powers (puissances) are never simple possibilities; there is always endeavour (tendence), and action" (NE 112).

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO

POWER AND GOODNESS: LEIBNIZ, LOCKE AND MODERN PHILOSOPHY VOLUME TWO

A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF THE DIVISION OF THE SOCIAL SCIENCES IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

JOHN U. NEF COMMITTEE ON SOCIAL THOUGHT

BY MENG LI

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS DECEMBER 2008

190

CHAPTER THREE: LIBERTY AND POWER

1. Locke's "Uneasiness" and Freedom The chapter on power of the Essay was radically revised by Locke in the second edition, since the more Hobbesian version in the first edition' had dissatisfied his friends. A major dissatisfaction with the first edition of this chapter among Locke's friends is its limited discussion on "man's liberty and necessity."2 Attempting to relieve his friends of their worries, Locke agreed to rewrite this chapter. In this process, as Locke told his friend, he 'got into a new view of things."3 This new view of things" turns out to be a new form of hedonism. By applying his new way of ideas more systematically to the question of freedom, Locke wipes away the trace of the Hobbesian influences, and supplies a subtler solution to the issue of freedom. Locke is quite proud of his discovery, believing this topic, which "perplexed morality and divinity" (E. Epistle) for a long time, has been tackled by him satisfactorily. Leibniz apparently endorses that Locke's discussion of power is a philosophical achievement. The chapter on power is called "the subtlest and most important in the whole work" by the spokesman of Locke in NE (164). And the spokesman of Leibniz agrees immediately, "this treatment of inquietude" is an 1

About the similarities between Locke's first edition of this chapter and Hobbes' position, cf. Stephen Darwall, The British Moralists and the Internal 'Ought' 1640-1740 (Cambridge, 1995), 152-6. 2 In his letter to Locke, Molyneux said, "This thread seems so wonderfully fine spun in your book, that at last the great question of liberty and necessity seems to vanish" (L.1579). About other friends' complaints, cf. Woolhouse, Locke, 320-1. 3 Letter to Molyneux, quoted in Woolhouse, Locke, 327. For Locke's own account of this process, see E.II.xxi.72.

191 important matter in which the author makes especially evident the depth and penetration of his mind" (NE 164). Locke's treatment of freedom in this chapter proves to be significant in the later discussion among British philosophers on the relation between freedom and necessity.4 Thus, Leibniz's examination of Locke's doctrine is of both philosophical and historical interest.

1.1 Locke's Transformation of Hedonism The core of Locke's "new view of things" is his revised formulation of hedonism which centers around a new conception, "uneasiness." This conception allows Locke to free himself from the influence of Hobbes, and articulate his own idea of freedom. For Leibniz, this conception is also of importance since it gives him an opportunity to transform Locke's hedonism into the metaphysics of perfection. Our first task in this section is to sketch the way in which Locke introduces this new conception. Locke committed himself to hedonism much earlier than the Essay. In one entry to his journal dated 1676, he already identified the good with the pleasant.5 This fundamental principle of hedonism (E.II.xx.2) is the starting point of Locke's discussion of power and liberty in the Essay, and thus the cornerstone of his moral philosophy and political philosophy.6 What distinguishes his hedonism in the Essay

4

James Harris, Of Liberty and Necessity: the Free Will Debate in ltfh century British philosophy (Oxford: Clarendon, 2005), esp. ch.l. 5 "Pleasure, Pain, the Passions" (1676), PE 237-45. cf. "Morality" (1677-8), PE.267-8. 6 "Moral actions are only those that depend upon the choice of an understanding and free agent. And an understanding free agent naturally follows that which causes pleasure to it and flies [from] that which causes pains; i.e. naturally seeks happiness and shuns misery." "Of Ethic in General," PE.300.

192 is Locke's attempt to formulate the hedonistic principle in his new way of ideas. In Locke's new way of ideas, pleasure, as well as pain, belongs to simple ideas. Happiness and pleasure, or pain and misery, are just the same thing with different degrees (II.vii.2). The hedonism in the new way of ideas leads Locke to some conclusions quite different from the classical hedonism. Firstly, since pleasure and pain are ideas, they are more concerned with what appear to us, rather than the nature of things.7 For something to determine our will, it has to be present to us. This, if not annuls, at least overshadows the important distinction between the natural and the empty or vain (kenos) pleasures which prevails in the work of the classical hedonists like Epicurus.8 For the classical hedonists, the necessary among the natural pleasures are the basis of the life according to nature free from fear and anxiety in opposition to the life according to convention or superstition.9 But since, for Locke, all pleasures are simple ideas or actual perceptions, they are all true or "natural" in the same sense. This stress on the apparent and the actual is the presupposition of many key tenets of Locke's hedonism. To understand pleasure or pain, Locke invites us to consider "how things come to be represented to our desires, under deceitful 7

"For happiness and misery consists only in pleasure and pain, either of mind or body, or both... .nothing can be good or bad to anyone but as it tends to their happiness or mi sery, as it serves to produce in them pleasure or pain. For good and bad, being relative terms, do not denote anything in the nature of the thing, but only the relation it bears to another, in its aptness and tendency to produce in it pleasure or pain." "Of Ethic in general," PE.300-1. 8 Epicurus, Ep. Men. (D.L., X.) 127; RS 29 (D.L. X. 149) (Most of fragments of Epicurus quoted here can be found in A.A.Long & D.N.Sedley ed. The Hellenistic Philosophers, 2 Volumes, Cambridge, 1987); Lucretius, De Rerum Natura, II. 963-8. Cf. A.A. Long, Hellenistic Philosophy (Duckworth, 1986), 64. 9 Epicurus, Ep. Men. (D.L., X.) 127; SV5\.

193 appearances" (II.xxi.61). What really determine our desires are not "things themselves," but "things represented," the appearances of things. This amounts to claiming that we can be happy without knowing the nature of things.10 The next step of Locke's representative transformation of hedonism is the annihilation of the classical distinction between the pleasures of the body and the pleasures of the mind. The classical hedonists usually divide pleasure and pain into the bodily and the mental, and insist that for a happy life we do not need "anything else by which the good of the soul and of the body will be fulfilled." The so-called "good of the soul and of the body" is nothing but health of body and tranquility (ataraxia) of mind. This distinction, along with the distinction between the natural and the empty pleasure serves as the basis of prudence, the cardinal virtue of the classical hedonists11 But this tendency to emphasize the natural condition of body and soul as pleasure12 is overthrown by Locke's new hedonism. At first sight, Locke does not completely deny this distinction: "By pleasure and pain, I must be understood to mean of body or mind, as they are commonly distinguished." But he adds immediately, "though in truth, they be only different constitution of the mind, sometimes occasioned by disorder in the body, sometimes by thoughts of the mind" (II.xx.2, comp.II.xx.15). Strictly speaking, "pleasures are all of the mind, none of the body." To call them respectively "pleasure of the senses"

10

"Understanding," PE.260-5 Epicurus, Ep. Men. (D.L., X.) 129, 127, 131-2; D.L.136. 12 Epicurus repeatedly stresses that pleasure is a good born with us and natural to us (sumphutori), Ep. Men. (D.L., X.) 129, 132 among others. 11

194 ("pleasure of the body" or "material pleasures") and "pleasure of the soul" (or "immaterial pleasures") is merely a convenient way to distinguish those pleasures occasioned by the motions of the body and those in the contemplation of the mind.13 One reason Locke gives for the prevalence of the mental is that "pleasure or pain coming form the body is quite lost and perishes as soon as the mind ceases to be affected by them or to take notice of them," while by contrast, pleasures of the mind are more lasting. Another reason is that, even in those so-called "material pleasures," "contemplation makes up the greatest part." The insight of Socrates in Plato's Philebus, that the life of pleasure without knowledge and intelligence, like the life of a mollusk, can not make one happy,

4

is employed by Locke to reformulate

hedonism in his new way of ideas. By granting a priority to mental pleasures, Locke seems to elevate mental delights somehow over "sensual pleasures" in his moral philosophy. But given his "mentalization" of all pleasures, the priority of the mental over the sensual is more "epistemological" than "moral" in Locke. The true reason for Locke's claim that all pleasures are mental is his new way of ideas. Only when noticed or perceived by our mind can pleasures really be counted as pleasures.15 A brief comparison between Locke's position and Aristotle's relevant discussion might be of help for understanding Locke's transformation of hedonism. Apparently Aristotle's discussion of desire is similar to Locke's at an important point: like Locke, Aristotle also emphasizes the role of "imagination" or "appearance" 13 14 15

"EthicaA" (1692), PE. 318. E.II.xxi.41. Plato, Philebus, 21a-d, 32b.ff. passim. "Pleasure, Pain, the Passions," PE.240.

195 (phantasid) in the process of desire-moving. For Aristotle, the movement involving desire cannot proceed without phantasia {De Anima, 433b28-9). But for Aristotle, the local movement of animals involving desire, like other natural movements, is oriented to some end (432b 15). What moves animals in this case shows the same feature that we find in the case of perception and understanding: it is one in eidos and many in number (433bl0-13). Eidos appears both in the external "object" of desire (orekton) and in the internal capacity of desiring (orektikon).16 It is this classical "eidos" (or its "formal unity") rather than Locke's idea as actual perception which determines our movement of this sort. The indispensable role of phantasia in this process, according to Aristotle, consists in its elevation of the animals possessing senses over above the level of immediate pleasure or pain, because phantasia helps animals to have "advanced perception" of objects which might i -t

benefit or harm them. But in accordance with his conception of ideas as actual perceptions, Locke tends to emphasize the role of the "present" pleasures in the dynamic mechanism of our desire. This stress on "appearance" and "presence" of pleasures leads to a significant conclusion concerning the relative weight of the present and the future good in Locke's hedonism. For Locke, the present good never deceives us, since what appears to our mind is precisely the real good (II.xxi.58). It immediately justifies itself by presenting the simple idea of pleasure to our actual perception. The 16

Cf. Henry Richardson, "Desire and the Good in De Anima," in Martha Nussbaum and A. O. Rorty ed. Essays on Aristotle s De Anima (Oxford: Clarendon, 1992), 381-399. 17 Aristotle, De Sensu, 436bl8ff. Richardson, "Desire and the Good in De Anima," 385-6.

196 "mentalization" of pleasures is accompanied by the emphasis on the "presence" and "immediacy" of the good. By comparison, the future good hardly has such force since it is seldom present. When human beings weigh the future good against the present good, "the future loses its just proportion, and what is present, obtains the preference as the greater....the absent are not only lessened, but reduced to perfect nothing" (II.xxi.63). Locke attributes this wrong judgment, which confuses the apparent and the real in the case of the future good, to "the weak and narrow constitution of our minds" (II.xxi.64). But "the weak and narrow constitution of our minds" is nothing abnormal in Locke's new way of ideas. It results naturally from Locke's identification of ideas with actual perceptions. In order for the future good to move us, our desire has to "look beyond our present enjoyments, and carry the mind out to absent good, according to the necessity which we think there is of it, to the making or increase of our happiness" (II.xxi.59). The lack of immediacy and presence of the future good makes it powerless compared to the present good (II.xxi.60). The future good is literally absent, and thus seldom moves human beings. This conclusion is fatal to any religious order, since the joy of heaven or afterlife would be totally ineffectual, compared to any present satisfaction, be it food, drink or sex (II.xxi.58, 60). We will soon see how Locke confronts this conclusion of his new hedonism. On the basis of his new hedonism, Locke attacks the effort to search for the highest good by the classical philosophers:

197 ...the philosophers of old did in vain enquire, whether summum bonum consisted in riches, or bodily delights, or virtue, or contemplation: and they might have as reasonably disputed, whether the best relish were to be found in apples, plumbs, or nuts; and have divided themselves into sects upon it. For as pleasant tastes depend not on the things themselves, but their agreeableness to this or that particular palate, wherein there is great variety: so the greatest happiness consists, in the having those things, which produce the greatest pleasure; and in the absence of those, which cause any disturbance, any pain (II.xxi.55) Since pleasures as simple ideas are actual perceptions to individual minds, they must mean different things to different men (II.xxi.55). Even for the same man, in different time, at different place, happiness or pleasures would mean very different things. Locke's new hedonism denies the fundamental principle of the classical practical philosophy.

1.2 Uneasiness: Hedonism of Labor In the first edition of the Essay, Locke has transformed the central arguments of the classical hedonism by formulating hedonism in his new way of ideas. But Locke's transformation also brings about difficulties and suspects. One of the major sources of dissatisfaction with Locke's hedonism in the first edition of Essay among his friends is its inadequate discussion of liberty. The truly original theory of desire Locke adds to his second edition of Essay, that of "uneasiness," is both an answer to this dissatisfaction and a culmination of his hedonism in the new way of ideas. This

hedonism of uneasiness is, paradoxically, centered on pain rather than pleasure. No other passage reveals the centrality of pain in Locke's hedonism more clearly than the summary that Locke concludes his chapter on power:

198 That which is the train of our voluntary actions determines the will to any change of operation, is some present uneasiness, which is, or at least is always accompanied with that of desire. Desire is always moved by evil, to fly it: because a total freedom from pain always makes a necessary part of our happiness; but every good, nay every greater good, does not constantly move desire, because it may not make, or may not be taken to make any necessary part of our happiness (II.xxi.71). Locke's revised hedonism in this passage involves several related claims. Locke's first claim is that pain plays a more important role in determining our will and thereby our actions: what "always" moves our desire is not "goodness" or "pleasure," but "some present uneasiness," that is, the effort to "fly," or "remove" evil. Pain moves our desire more constantly ("always") and immediately ("present uneasiness"). Though shifting his emphasis from pleasure to pain in formulating hedonism, Locke does not give up his insistence on the priority of "presence" and "immediacy." Uneasiness is taken as the true determinant of our desire precisely because of its immediacy: "Good and evil, present and absent, it is true, work upon the mind: but that which immediately determines the will, from time to time, to every voluntary action, is the uneasiness of desire" (II.xxi.33, emphasis added). Locke's emphasis on actual perception can be further substantiated by his answers to the question why it is uneasiness alone operates on the will. The crux of his answers is the presence of "uneasiness." Locke's first reason is the limited capacity of our mind: "we being capable but of one determination of the will to one action at once, the present uneasiness, that we are under, does naturally determine the will" (II.xxi.36). "The weak and narrow constitution of our minds" places our will under the despotism of "the present uneasiness" without regard to any absent good. A

199 drunkard who cannot resist his "habitual thirst after his cups," even though he knows well "the loss of health and plenty, and perhaps of the joys of another life," when "the uneasiness to miss his accustomed delight returns," is a telling example of the strength of "the present uneasiness" (Il.xxi.35). Locke's second reason is even more revealing: the absent good cannot counter-balance the present uneasiness just by its being made present through contemplation. The idea of the absent good in our mind, for Locke, "is there only like other ideas, the object of bare unactive speculation." According to Locke's terminology, it is even doubtful whether "the object of bare unactive speculation" can be really counted as an "idea." It is thus not at all surprising that it "operates not on the will, nor sets us on work" (II.xxi.37). The centrality of uneasiness in Locke's hedonism is in perfect accordance with Locke's emphasis on actual perception in his new way of ideas. The immediate domination of uneasiness in our mind leads Locke to another important claim of his revised hedonism. A major reason Locke gives us for the priority of pain in his hedonism is that "a total freedom from pain always makes a necessary part of our happiness." A necessary condition for our happiness is not merely the removal of some pains, but "a total freedom from pain." Our feeling of happiness cannot tolerate even an iota of pain. Happiness must be pure without any mixture of pains. As long as our minds feel "uneasy," "we cannot apprehend our selves happy, or in the way to it" (II.xxi.36). Our narrow and weak minds thus require a total freedom of pain as the first step toward happiness (II.xxi.36, 64). This

200 amounts to insisting, until the complete removal of pain never will we be happy in this world. This radical claim brings about an unexpectedly gloomy picture of human destiny. Compared to pain, Locke believes, "good," even "greater good," does not have the power to the same degree in determining our will. The weakness of "good" consists especially in its inconstant influence. While pain "always" moves our desire, good "does not constantly move desire." The weakness and inconstancy of good in moving our desire is attributed by Locke to its failure to "make" or "be taken to make" a necessary part of our happiness. These claims make up a crucial departure from the classical hedonism which still prevails in the first edition of the Essay.li Locke is well aware of his originality here: "it seems so established and settled a maxim by the general consent of all mankind, that good, the greater good, determines the will, that I do not at all wonder, that when I first published my thoughts on this subject, I took it for granted... But yet upon a stricter enquiry, I am forced to conclude, that good, the greater good, though apprehended and acknowledged to be so, does not determine the will, until our desire, raised proportionably to it, makes us uneasy in the want of it" (II.xxi.35). As a skeptic of "the general consent of all mankind," Locke's tone in this sentence shows how far 18

"And that upon second thoughts I am apt to imagine is not, as is generally supposed, the greater good in view: but some (and for the most part the most pressing uneasiness a man is at present under" (II.xxi.31). Comp. in the first edition, Locke asserts, "Good then, the greater good is that alone which determines the will" (First edition, II .xxi.29, cf. First edition, II.xxi.30, 33). The only hint at the change of Locke's position is his definition of "good" in the first edition, "what has an aptness to produce pleasure in us, is that we labour for, and is that we call God" (italic added. The phrase in italic is omitted in the second edition, cf. II.xxi.42).

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he believes he has freed himself from the established notion. Locke develops his solution to the question of liberty from these claims (II.xxi.71). Thus, before we turn to his conception of liberty, we have to further examine Locke's emphasis on pain or uneasiness. To understand pleasure as a release from pains is a classical position well known to both hedonists and anti-hedonists.19 But for the classical hedonists, the removal of pain is oriented to the pleasure of tranquility {ataraxia). This orientation is well revealed in Epicurus' famous distinction between static pleasure and kinetic pleasure. Epicurus distinguishes the "kinetic" pleasure which is the process of removing pain from the static pleasure which is the complete satisfaction of desire without any pain.20 Kinetic pleasures like eating or drinking or sex always aim at a complete freedom from pain. This complete removal or absence of pain, for Epicurus, means to "neither feel pain with regard to body nor be disturbed with regard to soul." Static pleasure, as the end of our life, is to free us from the affections of fear, pain, and anxiety concerning either body or soul. In brief, it is a self-sufficient state beyond dependency on the external.21 It is in this sense the classical hedonists formulate pleasure in terms of privation, aponia (without labour)

19

Plato, Philebus, 51a. In fact, according to Plato, this makes up a crucial refutation of the fundamental principle of hedonism, Cf, H.-G, Gadamer, Plato's Dialectical Ethics: Phenomenological Interpretations relating to the Philebus (Yale, 1991), 151 ff. 20 Epicurus, Ep. Men. (D.L.J136. Cf. John Rist, Epicurus (Cambridge, 1972), 100-111; Long, Hellenistic Philosophy, 64-66. cf. Plato, Republic, 583b-586c. 21 Epicurus, "never, either in waking or in dream, will you be disturbed, but will live as a god among men." Ep. Men. (D.L.)\35, comp.S.V.77: "For troubles and anxieties and angers and partiality do not accord with bliss, but always imply weakness and fear and dependence upon one's neighbors." Cf. Peter Preuss, Epicurean ethics: Katastematic Hedonism (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 1994), 163.

202 22

or ataraxia (tranquility, without disturbance).

The end of our blessed life is the

pleasure in the rest, which Aristotle reserves for gods.23 When we turn to Locke's hedonism of pain,24 the gap between Locke and the classical hedonism becomes evident. For Locke, the total removal of pain is the necessary part of our happiness not because it is oriented to the pleasure in rest, but, on the contrary, because it results from the centrality of uneasiness in determining our desire. At the core of Locke's hedonism is not static pleasure but kinetic "pleasure," that is, "uneasiness" which moves us to action, to work. The centrality of uneasiness has already been anticipated in Locke's definition of desire. Against the classical emphasis on the relation between our desire and good,25 Locke expressly defines desire in terms of pain, "the uneasiness a man finds in himself upon the absence of any thing." Locke does not believe the absence of good is sufficient for desire, more crucial is the pain felt for the absence: "For whatever good is proposed, if its absence a man be easy and content without it, there is no desire of it, nor endeavor after it" (II.xx.6). An earlier formulation of Locke is even more straightforward: "desire seems to me to be a pain the mind is in till some good, whether jucundum or utile, which it judges possible and seasonable, be obtained."26 There are two kinds of desire: one is the desire of ease from pain,

22

D.L.Ep. Men. 131, 127-8; R.S.10,11, D.L.142. Aristotle, Eth. Nic. 1154b27; Epicurus, D.L. Ep. Men. 127, 136. 24 Nathan Tarcov calls it "algedonism", Locke's Education for Liberty (Chicago, 1984), 134, cf. 154. 25 For Aristotle, every desire (orexis) is for the sake of something, and the object of desire is either the good or the apparent good (De Anima, 433al 5, 28-9, cf. Eth. Nic. 1113al 5ff.). 26 "Pleasure, Pain, the Passions," PE.242. 23

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which includes "pain of the body of what sort soever, and disquiet of the mind;" another is more positive, the desire of absent good. In both cases, when we desire, we are in pain (II.xxi.31). In defining desire in terms of uneasiness, Locke seems to make a remark in passing: "The chief if not only spur to human industry and action is uneasiness" (II.xx.6). But in this brief sentence Locke shows his true face, a hedonist who is more concerned with "human industry and action" than with leisure or tranquility. When Locke attempts to show "both from experience and the reason of the thing" why uneasiness determines our will, he immediately turns to the same consideration: When a man is perfectly content with the state he is in, which is when he is perfectly without any uneasiness, what industry, what action, what will is there left, but to continue in it? Of this every man's observation will satisfy him. And thus we see our all-wise maker, suitable to our constitution and frame, and knowing what it is that determines the will, has put into man the uneasiness of hunger and thirst, and other natural desires, that return at their seasons, to move and determine their wills, for the preservation of themselves, and the continuation of their species. For I think we may conclude, that, if the bare contemplation of these good ends, to which we are carried by these several uneasinesses, had been sufficient to determine the will, and set us on work, we should have had none of these natural pains, and perhaps in this world, little or no pain at all (II.xxi.34). Satisfaction or enjoyment, while terminating pains, cancels industry and endeavor. Dissatisfaction is the source of our actions: uneasinesses "set us on work." Ease for Locke, unlike "leisure" for Aristotle or "tranquility" for Epicurus,27 is not the ideal of human life, but its fatal sickness, "laziness." Locke's worry about laziness is clearly discernible in his educational work 27

Aristotle, Polit. 1334a5, 1337b33-5, #/!eU370a8-16; Epicurus, Ep Men. (D.L.)\36. Both consider aponia (freedom from labor) as characteristic of happiness.

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which often casts lights on his psychology. For Locke, laziness or idleness ("a sauntering temper") is "one of the worst qualities that can appear in a child" (TE 208), since such an "unpromising disposition" lacks the great spring of action, desire. "Where there is no desire," Locke adds, "there will be no industry." Parents or tutors should always be concerned to "stir up vigor and activity" in a child of this kind (TE 123-7).28 Locke believes, "the great work of a governor" is to cultivate good habits of industry in his pupil: The studies which he sets him upon are but as it were the exercises of his faculties and employment of his time to keep him from sauntering and idleness, to teach him application, and accustom him to take pains ,and to give him some little taste of what his own industry must perfect (TE 94, emphasis added). An ideal pupil educated according to Locke's advice, we can expect, will have good habits suitable for a member in a Lockean political society. Locke's vigilance against laziness, as Leibniz is well aware (NE 74), is also a major reason for Locke to deny innate ideas (E. I.iii.24,26, iv. 15, 22, 24). For Locke, this "short and easy way," by relieving men of the work to exercise their rational faculties to examine the ideas in question, often subjects them to violent sectarian enthusiasm (IV.xx.6, cf. IV.xiv.3, IV.xix.8). The freedom of mind Locke tries his best to advance can be secured only with labor and industry (IV.iii.6). Laziness is one of the most dangerous enemies of Locke's free society. It enslaves human beings with the sweet promise of ease and enjoyment. This concern with the habit of industry in Locke's work on education and knowledge echoes his emphasis on labor in his political theory. 28

The warnings against laziness and idleness run through TE. Cf. TE 21, 75, 130, 206-9.

205 According to Locke's famous argument in his Treatises, labor is the basis of private property. When man joins his labor to something of nature which is shared in common, he adds something that is his own, and thereby makes it his private property. Thus, labor, by putting "the difference of value on every thing," establishes the distinction between common and private right, and leads human beings out of the state of nature (TG II.27-9, TG 11.29, cf. 11.37). This fundamental role of labor in Locke's political theory is well known, but it is seldom examined along with Locke's hedonism of uneasiness. As we have seen in the second chapter, Locke understands man's identity no longer in the traditional approach to human nature (which is often formulated with the help of the metaphysics of substance and essence), but in terms of personal identity. Personal identity is constituted through constant consciousness or perception of one's natural history. What determines man's nature is not his essence, to which, Locke believes, we have no access, but the natural history of his actions and the corresponding consciousness. Labor and industry, as the spur of our actions, are thereby the starting point for any attempt to understand human nature. In this sense, Locke's hedonism of labor is the hidden basis of the Lockean individuality, and thus decisively influences Locke's political philosophy.

1.3 Freedom of Suspension On the basis of the hedonism of uneasiness, Locke attempts to solve the difficult

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problem of liberty. The core of Locke's solution is quite simple. Against the Christian tradition of understanding liberty in terms of free will, Locke insists, liberty is nothing but power, "the power of doing, or forbearing to do" (II.xxi.10). Human freedom depends on the extent of one's power: "as far as this power reaches, of acting, or not acting, by the determination of his own thought preferring either, so far is a man free" (II.xxi.21).

(1) Locke's First Formulation Locke's doctrine of liberty has to be understood with reference to the controversy concerning free will in early modern philosophy and Theology. Thomas' unstable synthesis of Augustine's doctrine of will and Aristotle's discussions about the local movement of animals and practical deliberation in ethics is attacked from both sides at the time of Locke. On the one hand, Molina, Suarez, and Protestant theologians criticize the intellectualist tendency in Thomas's doctrine of rational appetite; but on the other hand, "new philosophers" advance various controversial "determinisms," among which the most notorious are the theories of Hobbes and Spinoza. This increasing opposition between so-called "determinists" and "libertarians" after the breakdown of Thomas's synthesis is clearly revealed in the Hobbes-Bramhall debate concerning freedom and necessity. John Bramhall, the Bishop of Derry, believes in "a liberty from necessity.. .that is, a universal immunity from all inevitability and determination to one": if the agent is determined extrinsically before he acts, he

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would not be free.29 Hobbes simply denies that there is such thing as free will. He instead understands freedom purely in terms of the motion of bodies. In Hobbes's mechanical world, everything happens from antecedent causes. Liberty is nothing but "the absence of external impediments."30 Hobbes admits that a man is free when he has power to do what he will, but he denies that a man is free to will.31 Liberty is opposed to external impediments, but not to internal necessity, which, in the case of human actions, determines choices and thus will.32 Locke's formulation of freedom in the first edition of the Chapter "Of Power" contains many clear parallels to Hobbes' position: .. .so far as a man has a power to think, or not to think; to move, or not to move, according to the preference or direction of his own mind, so far is a man free (II.xxi.8) .. .the idea of liberty, is the idea of a power in any agent to do or forbear any particular action, according to the determination or thought of the mind, whereby either of them is preferred to the other; where either of them is not in the power of the agent to be produced by him according to his volition, there he is not at liberty, that agent is under necessity (II.xxi.8, cfll.xxi.24)

liberty, which is but a power, belongs only to agents, and cannot be attribute or modification of the will, which is also but a power (II.xxi.14.cf II.xxi.10, cf. II.xxi.6) It is not difficult to find several crucial similarities between Locke's formulation and Hobbes's position.33 One of the fundamental principles which Locke shares with Hobbes and Bramhall on Liberty and Necessity, ed. Vere Chappell (Cambridge, 1999), 1, 44-45. Leviathan, xiv.2. A more revealing passage in De Cive reads: "Liberty...is simply the absence of obstacles to motion; as water contained in a vessel is not free, because the vessel is an obstacle to its flowing away, and it is freed by breaking the vessel" (iv.9). 3 ' Hobbes and Bramhall on Liberty and Necessity, 72. 32 Anti-White, 33.2. 33 Hobbes: "a free agent is he that can do if he will and forbear if he will"; "he is free to do a thing, 30

208 Hobbes is their denial of free will. Both believe, will, as a faculty of mind, is determined like other powers.34 With regard to the human mind, Locke agrees with Hobbes, will "follows the dictates of the understanding' (II.xxi.6).35 Therefore, like Hobbes, Locke does not accept the Augustinian principle of free will, and takes his pains to refute this influential notion (II.xxi.27 Cf. II.xxi.14, 21-4). He shows little sympathy to the so-called the will of indifference, and claims, not unlike Hobbes, "[a] perfect indifferency in the will, or power of preferring, not determinable by the good or evil, that is thought to attend its choice, would be so far from being an advantage and excellency of any intellectual nature" (1st edition, II.xxi.30, comp. 2nd edition, xxi. 48). But it is often overlooked that, even in the first edition of the Chapter "Of Power," Locke's formulation of freedom implies a subtle difference from Hobbes's position of hard determinism. Central to Hobbes's definition of liberty is his attempt to regard free action as natural movement. It is an abuse of language to apply "free" or "liberty" to anything but bodies.36 Thus, for Hobbes, it is by no means absurd to claim water is free when it has power to break the container.37 But for Locke, the similar attempt to define liberty in terms of power is formulated in his new way of

that may do it if he have the will to do it, and may forbear if he have the will to forbear. And yet if there be a necessity that he shall have the will to do it, the action is necessarily follow; and if there be a necessity that he shall have the will to forbear, the forbearing also will be necessary." Hobbes and Bramhall on Liberty and Necessity, 39, 16 (cf. Leviathan, xxi. 2). See Gideon Yaffe, Liberty Worth the Name: Locke on Free Agency (Princeton, 2000), 13ff. 34 Hobbes, Hobbes and Bramhall on Liberty and Necessity, 32-3. Locke, II.xxi.5, 15-6 among others. 35 Hobbes, ibid, 34. 36 Leviathan, xxi.2. 37 DeCive iv.9.

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ideas. Hobbes's liberty depends simply on physical power overcoming impediments in motions. Locke's idea of liberty is much more sophisticated. Compared to Hobbes's purely mechanical definition of liberty and power, Locke's formulations refer usually to something else than bodies, such as "the preference or direction of his own mind" and "the determination or thought of the mind," and thus relate liberty more to thought or mind than to bodies (II.xxi.12). For Locke, a stone, a tennis-ball, or even a man's heart, be it in motion or in rest, whether with or without external impediment, cannot be taken as a free agent (II.xxi.9-11). This key difference from Hobbes's position has its deep root in Locke's concept of power. The ideas of liberty and necessity, Locke points out, arise from "the consideration of the extent of this power of the mind over the actions" (1st edition, II.xxi.7). Power is not a brutal fact, but an idea of the ability which we can associate with perceivable change (Il.xxi.l). While discussing the ways by which we acquire simple ideas of power Locke focuses on active power since active power is "the more proper signification of the word power" (II.xxi.4). When we turn to Locke's discussion of our ideas of active power, his difference from Hobbes becomes clear. Though both sensation and reflection provide us simple ideas of active power, Locke points out, the first way can only give us "a very imperfect obscure idea of active power," because in observing motion or interaction of bodies, we cannot find "any idea of the beginning of motion" - bodies themselves have no power to begin any action, they merely transfer, but do not produce motion; in this sense, their motion is

210 just "continuation of the passion." Motion of bodies cannot afford us a paradigm of power, not to mention liberty. Our clear and distinct idea of active power can be acquired only from the reflection on the operation of our mind (II.xxi.4). A perfect example would be the action of mind on body: "If freedom can with any propriety of speech be applied to power, it may be attributed to the power, that is in a man, to produce, or forbear producing motion in parts of his body, by choice or preference; which is that which denominates him free, and is freedom itself (II.xxi.16, cf.ll.xxi.21). This is, to be sure, not an Augustinian position, but neither is it a Hobbesian one. Starting with his concern with active power, Locke arrives at a conclusion in subtle tension with his theory of ideas in his first formulation of freedom. As we have seen, in the case of active power, Locke asserts that freedom consists in the power of our mind to direct body according to the preference of one's thought. But then Locke adds some remarks which sound more like Leibniz's: A waking man being under the necessity of having some ideas constantly in his mind, is not at liberty to think, or not to think; no more than he is at liberty, whether his body shall touch any other, or no; but whether he will remove his contemplation from one idea to another, is many times in his choice, and then he is in respect of his ideas, as much at liberty, as he is in respect of bodies he rests on: he can at pleasure remove himself from one to another. But yet some ideas to the mind, like some motions to the body, are such, as in certain circumstances it cannot avoid, nor obtain their absence by the utmost effort it use (II.xxi.12). The upshot of Locke's remarks is rather clear. According to Locke's theory of ideas, ideas are actual perceptions that appear immediately to us. But to equate ideas with actual perceptions or conscious perceptions does not mean we have "domination"

211 over these ideas. Locke's example in this section explains well this point: "A man on the rack, is not at liberty to lay by the idea of pain". Thus in commenting on this passage, Leibniz simply points out, "we are passive in this respect" (NE 177). Locke's liberty, understood in terms of active power, consists precisely in man's power to free himself more or less from the immediacy of ideas: "a man in respect of willing, [or] the act of volition, [when] any action in his power is once proposed to thoughts, as presently to be done, cannot be yree"(II.xxi.23). An immediate response without any intervention of our understanding ("once proposed to thoughts, as presently to be done") is not a mark of our liberty, but on the contrary, of the lack of freedom. Immediate or ready responses, which tie us closely to actual perceptions, for a strange hedonist of labor like Locke, expose the real weakness of human nature. In order to give an adequate diagnosis of this weakness, Locke adds the conception "uneasiness" to the second edition of "Of Power," and attempts a new formulation of liberty on its basis. But the seed of Locke's second formulation of liberty has already been anticipated in his concern with active power in the first edition.

(2) Freedom of Suspension In the last section, we have seen, Locke's criticism of the prevalent doctrine of free will, unlike Hobbes's criticism in physical terms, is formulated in his new way of ideas. Furthermore, Locke's emphasis on the active power of mind in determining body leads him to depart even more radically from Hobbes's mechanical position.

212 Locke's concern with our ability to postpone the immediate response to actual perceptions becomes more notable when he transforms classical hedonism with his new conception "uneasiness." Locke's conception of "uneasiness," in fact, captures mainly those phenomena which used to be understood as weakness of the will in the tradition of free will. What appear as self-split or fragmentation of will in Augustine's confessions, Locke describes as the endless battle between will and desire, especially the most pressing aspect of desire, uneasiness (II.xxi.30). The uneasiness of desire, according to Locke, is "the great motive that works on the mind to put it upon action" (II.xxi.29). It immediately and constantly moves our will (II.xxi.29, 33, 34). The classical guide of will, good, even present good, would never move our will until it "has raised desires in our minds, and thereby made us uneasy in its want" (II.xxi.46). This rejection of the classical principle of goodness in determining will in Locke's second formulation of his hedonism38 increases the gap, if not the conflict, between will and ideas. In his first formulation, while refuting free will, Locke insists that will follow "the dictates of the understanding" (II.xxi.6). In Locke's new formulation, on the one hand, one might possess "a clear view of good," but on the other hand he is still haunted by present uneasiness: "how much soever men are in earnest, and constant in pursuit of happiness; yet they may have a clear view of good, great and 38

In the first edition, faced with the question "what it is determines the will, what it is pleases best", Locke answers "every one knows it is happiness, or that which makes any part of happiness, or contributes to it; and that is it we call good'; but in the second edition, "To the question , what is it determines the will? The true and proper answer is, the mind," and more precisely, uneasiness in the mind (II.xxi.29).

213 confessed good, without being concerned for it, or moved by it, if they think they can make up their happiness without it" (II.xxi.44). The impasse of these men cannot be explained simply in terms of ignorance, but rather as a conflict between the two kinds of ideas: the idea of absent goodness and the immediate perception or feeling of uneasiness. Given the general tendency of Locke's theory of ideas, no wonder that the immediate uneasiness would often triumph. But this gap between knowledge and will also provides the room for Locke's new conception of freedom. Central to Locke's new formulation of freedom is the struggle with the present domination of uneasiness, and thereby with the tyranny of ideas' immediacy. In his letter to Molyneux, Locke summarizes his position as follows: But though this general desire of happiness operates constantly and invariably in us, yet the satisfaction of any particular desire can be suspended from determining the will to any subservient action, till we have maturely examined whether the particular apparent good we then desire make a part of our real happiness, or be consistent or inconsistent with it. The result of our judgment, upon examination, is what ultimately determines the man, who could not be free, if his will were determined by any thing but his own desire, guided by his own judgment... (L.1655). The keyword to Locke's new formulation of liberty is "suspension." A man whose will is always immediately determined by his desire, especially the present uneasiness, "could not be free." The liberty of the mind consists in "a power to suspend the execution and satisfaction of any of its desires" (II.xxi.47). This power of suspension detaches the mind from the endless flow of "a great many uneasinesses," keeps it from being determined immediately by any particular desire, and thereby allows us a precious breath to "maturely" examine "whether the

214 particular apparent good we then desire make a part of our real happiness, or be consistent or inconsistent with it." A mature judgment requires us to resist the "blind precipitancy" of the present uneasiness (II.xxi.67). Haste is the source of our wrong judgments, and thereby of our slavery. In the modern world of immediate perceptions, we need a sort of classical "detachment," though without the support of the knowledge of the nature of things, to be free. This is the power of suspension, the true warrant of our freedom. Because of "the weak and narrow constitution of our minds," we are vulnerable to the immediacy of ideas. Therefore, the key to freedom is a self-mastery: "suspension, deliberation, and scrutiny of each successive desire" (II.xxi.52). To cultivate the virtue of self-mastery, the power of suspension is needed especially for overcoming "any extreme disturbance" or "impetuous uneasiness," since we tend to be overwhelmed by violent passions in such a case. One has to "govern his passions" in order to be free (II.xxi.53). Given human conditions ("our feeble passionate nature," II.xxi.67), suspension is indispensable to our pursuit of happiness. It amounts almost to a moral obligation.39 It should be a major aim of education (TE 45).40 ".. .we are by the necessity of preferring and pursuing true happiness as our greatest good, obliged to suspend the satisfaction of our desire in particular cases" (II.xxi.51, emphasis added, cf. Il.xxi.52). 40 Locke's position concerning the education toward liberty is indeed very complicated. On the one hand, he tries to cultivate a modest or even self-denying virtue with regard to desires in children as we have seen in the quotation, but on the other hand, he knows very well that by allowing children to do what they want properly governors or parents promote children's love of liberty (cf. TE. 74-6). When the education in self-mastery diminishes rather than improves this liberty, it will become "useless tyranny." Cf. TE 106-7, which are revised by Locke in the third edition on the occasion of Molyneux's "misunderstanding" of an earlier version, cf. L.1655 (the variations of the editions can be

215 The power of suspension is the power of "standing still" in the whirlpool of uneasiness, which allows us the opportunity to consult the guide of our understanding (II.xxi.50): "But the forbearance of a too hasty compliance with our desires, the moderation and restraint of our passions, so that our understanding may be free to examine, and reason unbiased give its judgment, being that, whereon a right direction of our conduct to true happiness depends; it is in this we should employ our chief care and endeavors" (II.xxi.53). Therefore, suspension is the necessary condition for "good" ideas (a mature and well-examined judgment) to prevail over "bad" ideas (the immediate perception or feeling inherent in the present uneasiness) in determining our will. The former makes one the master of oneself, while the latter makes one the slave to others (II.xxi.48). In Locke's second formulation of liberty, will is still not "free," quite the contrary, our liberty consists in a better determination of our will by goodness in spite of the appearance of delusive desires (II.xxi.48). While still denying the indifference of free will, Locke's emphasis of suspension and mature examination in his new formulation of liberty does attempt to introduce a sort of "indifference" into our mind. This "indifference" in some sense makes up the crucial link between liberty and understanding in Locke's enterprise, and reveals the subtle relation between Locke's new way of ideas and his political philosophy. The theme of "indifference" is most adequately discussed by Locke in a found in John W. and Jean S. Yolton's critical edition for the Clarendon Edition of the Works ofJohn Locke, Oxford, 1989).

216 posthumously published piece, "Of the Conduct of the Understanding," which he original composed in 1697 as "the largest chapter" of his Essay.4} In Locke's refutation of innate ideas, the most dangerous and obstinate enemy of our liberty is prejudices accompanied by enthusiasm. The only remedy to "this great hindrance of knowledge" which haunts most human beings is the freedom of understanding, which consists in "suspension" and "examination" in Locke's new formulation of liberty. This liberty of suspension prevents us from hasty consent to opinions imposed by custom ("Conduct," 11, 33-4). Central to this liberty of suspension is "a perfect indifference for all opinions": "he must not be in love with any opinion, or wish it to be true, until he knows it to be so" ("Conduct," 11, 34). "[C]onceit, fancy, extravagancy, anything rather than understanding" often impose various prejudices on us. Hence, Locke believes, "[t]o be indifferent which of two opinions is true, is the right temper of the mind that preserves it from being imposed on, and disposes it to examine with that indifferency, until it has done its best to find the truth, and this is the only direct and safe way to it". It is precisely this "perfect indifference" that gives human mind "the freedom of the understanding which is necessary to a rational creature, and without which it is not truly an understanding" ("Conduct," 12). Though liberty is a key concept in Locke's political philosophy, it is still disputed among Locke scholars whether this concept has its root in Locke's inquiry

41

Woolhouse, Locke, 386,458.

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concerning human understanding. Our discussion about Locke's formulation of the liberty of suspension and examination brings to light one crucial aspect of the relation between liberty and understanding in Locke's thought. As we have seen in the last chapter, Locke's inquiry concerning human understanding is conducted in his new way of ideas. According to Leibniz's diagnosis, Locke's new way of ideas is centered around actual perceptions. But the domination of the immediacy and presence of actual perceptions has a potential danger: it might, not unlike innate ideas in Locke's criticism, leave the human mind in the state of lazy passivity. Locke's discussion of uneasiness exposes this danger. His hedonism of labor for the most part is a remedy to as well as a diagnosis of the dangerous tyranny of immediate ideas in determining our will. But a more important move in Locke's attempt to overcome this danger in his new way of ideas is his emphasis on the liberty of suspension. Therefore it is not merely a routine repetition of a classical claim when Locke declares, the liberty of suspension is "the great privilege of finite intellectual beings" (II.xxi.52). Against the domination of present uneasiness, this liberty allows the human mind to exercise understanding impartially despite the imposition of various sectarian prejudices. Thereby the liberty of suspension increases our power of understanding in face of immediate ideas. The close relation between liberty and understanding is formed in their cooperative struggle with the tyranny of immediacy in modern philosophy: "Without liberty the understanding would be to no purpose: and without understanding, liberty (if it could be) would

218 signify nothing" (II.xxi.67). Precisely because we are surrounded by immediate ideas, the liberty of suspension and mature examination is of crucial importance even to our understanding. Liberty, taking the place of the metaphysical knowledge of substance and essence, becomes indispensable to our view of the world. This is an unintended consequence of Locke's new way of ideas.

2. Freedom and Inclinations Compared to his criticism of Locke's anti-innatism, Leibniz's attitude toward Locke's discussion of freedom seems to be more positive: Leibniz highly approves Locke's opposition to the Hobbesian application of the term freedom to inanimate things (NE 175); he praises Locke for his claim that our senses do not afford us a clear and distinct idea of active power, though he still tries to bend Locke's view to his (NE 171-2); above all, Leibniz appreciates Locke's refutation of indifferent will and stress on the determination of will by understanding (NE 197-8). But in all these cases, on closer examination, they often arrive at the same conclusion from the different if not opposite principles. The topics Locke touches on in this "most important" chapter are also of great importance to Leibniz himself: power, freedom, and goodness. Leibniz's implicit corrections of Locke's doctrine, often hinted at in his comments in this chapter, will prepares us for his final transformation of power in his own system.

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2.1 Liberty of Indifference Even a cursory reading suffices for us to find out that nowhere else in the NE does Leibniz agree more with Locke than in his opposition to the prevalent doctrine of free will. Leibniz spares no words in praising Locke for his insistent resistance to the notion of an indifferent will. The most significant weakness Leibniz and Locke find in the prevalent doctrine of free will is the notion of indifference. That there exists no such thing as two completely equal options for a "free" will to choose is a basic tenet of Leibniz's philosophy since the early period of his long career. In a small piece on free will dated 1678 or 1680, Leibniz already explicitly affirms: "there is no freedom of indifference, as it is called in the Schools."42 "If complete indifference is required for freedom," Leibniz observes, "then there is scarcely ever a free act, since I think that the case in which everything on both sides is equal scarcely ever comes up."43 Therefore, when Locke claims that "[a] perfect indifferency in the mind...would be so far from being an advantage and excellency of any intellectual nature" (E. II.xxi.48), Leibniz gives his approval without qualifications (NE 198). And it should not surprise us that Leibniz echoes Locke in stressing that the indifference of free will is "an utterly imaginary and futile freedom of equilibrium, which would not be of use to them [people] even if it were possible that they should have it" (NE 180). But behind this unqualified approval lies an implicit difference, if not in their 42 43

"On Free Will," S.93. "On Freedom and Possibility" (1680-82?), AG.22-3.

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conclusions, at least in their assumptions, between Leibniz and Locke. For Locke, "to place liberty in an indifferency, antecedent to the thought and judgment of the understanding" is "to place liberty in a state of darkness" (E.II.xxi.71). But according to Locke's way of ideas, many actions of human beings are in fact placed in the state of darkness, without the light of ideas. Thus, for Locke, indifference is present in human actions (cf. II.xxi.69), but, Locke insists, it is not a mark of freedom of human beings; and even when we have such "freedom," it is rather a disadvantage than an advantage most of the time (II.xxi.48, 71). By contrast, Leibniz's position is much more radical: "Strictly speaking, one is never indifferent with regard to two alternatives, of whatever kind, for instance whether to turn right or left, or to put the right foot forward ...or the left" (NE 197). A vivid image from Pierre Bayle perfectly illustrates Leibniz's position: "the will of man is like a balance which is at rest when the weights of its two pans are equal, and which always inclines either to one side or the other according to which of the pans is the more heavily laden" (TH. 324). But how could what Locke calls "those indifferent and visibly trifling actions" (II.xxi.44), like lifting up one's hand to his head, be determined for human beings? Leibniz's answer reveals the fundamental principles of his philosophy: ...the case also of Buridan's ass between two meadows, impelled equally towards both of them, is a fiction that cannot occur in the universe, in the order of nature... For the universe cannot be halved by a plane drawn through the middle of the ass, which is cut vertically through its length, so that all is equal and alike on both sides, in the manner wherein an ellipse, and every plane figure of the number of those I term 'ambidexter', can be thus halved, by any straight

221 line passing through its centre. Neither the parts of the universe nor the viscera of the animal are alike nor are they evenly placed on both sides of this vertical plane. There will therefore always be many things in the ass and outside the ass, although they be not apparent to us, which will determine him to go on one side rather the other. And although man is free, and the ass is not, nevertheless for the same reason it must be true that in man likewise the case of a perfect equipoise between two courses is impossible (TH. 49). It is quite clear from this quotation that Leibniz and Locke deny indifference on different principles. For Locke, one might claim there is indifference in the case of lifting up one's hand on the basis of two considerations. Firstly, this act is simply trivial ("those indifferent and visibly trifling actions"). This triviality is not physical, but moral. The act of lifting up one's hand is morally indifferent, and thereby unrelated to the personality of the agent, and finally has nothing to do with his nature, which, even defined in terms of his natural history, does not include all acts he has actually experienced.44 But the moral indifference of this act, which is the basis of its triviality, can only be justified on the assumption that this act is unrelated to any other act which might be related to the personality of the agent. The act of lifting up one's hand, only while considered in isolation, is indifferent. The source of indifference is the isolation of event or individual in Locke's theory. Secondly, Locke insists, indifference in this case is more related to our operative powers than to our will. This power, even after the determination of the will, remains "equally able to operate, or to forbear operating after, as before the decree of the will." It is this state that Locke is willing to call "indifferency" (II.xxi.71).

44

Cf. Locke's classification of moral relation into good, bad and indifferent (II.xxviii.15). The theme of indifference is central to Locke's discussion of toleration.

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Leibniz's position concerning both considerations is clear from the above-mentioned quotation. As we have seen in the last chapter, a basic assumption of Leibniz's philosophy is universal expression. The choice of Buridan's ass is never made simply between two meadows, but between the two worlds, or the two orders of nature, in which its respective choice is determined. The weights on the two pans of the balance are never equal, because not merely two meadows, but also "the viscera of the animal," and even "the parts of the universe" should be put on the pans. Leibniz concludes, "[t]here will.. .always be many things in the ass and outside the ass, although they be not apparent to us, which will determine him to go on one side rather the other." Any act in the history of an individual substance is an indispensable part of its complete conception. There is no isolate act. In an even apparently "trivial" choice the whole world is involved. Nothing is trivial, thereby nothing is indifferent, in Leibniz's well-ordered cosmos. This is why Leibniz claims that there are "no perceptions which are matters of complete indifference to us" (NE 162). But we need a further clarification. An important reason for Descartes to admit indifference of our will is the tension between unlimited will and our limited understanding {Med. IV, AT VII. 56, CSM 11.39-40). Since "the scope of the will is wider than that of the intellect," Descartes points out, we are necessarily placed in such state of indifference which, as a result of "a defect in knowledge," "easily turns aside from what is true and good" (Ibid, AT VII. 58, CSM II.40-1). Descartes agrees

223 that indifference is not freedom, at least not true or perfect freedom, but he believes, as human beings, we cannot be free from this indifference, simply because our unlimited will necessarily exceeds our finite knowledge. Thus for Descartes just as for Locke, if we could have all clear and distinct ideas we need in regulating our will, "we should never have to deliberate about the right judgment or choice," and thereby we would be perfectly free, and without the state of indifference. In his answer to this difficulty, Leibniz makes use of his theory of minute perceptions. For Leibniz, our will is not merely determined by conscious thoughts, but also inclined by innumerable minute perceptions: "we do not always follow the latest judgment of practical understanding when we resolve to will; but we always follow, in our willing, the result of all the inclinations that come from the direction both of reasons and passions, and this often happens without an express judgment of the understanding" (TH.51). Will is determined not merely by conscious thoughts, but more often by inclinations "without an express judgment of the understanding." The realm outside the immediate domination of conscious thoughts is not the anarchy of indifference, but the rule of imperceptible perceptions. We often overlook these "confused and imperceptible thoughts" since they, by nature, don't clearly present in our perception (NE 178). Minute perceptions fill up the gap between unlimited will and limited knowledge. Leibniz's definition of "appetite" {appetitiori) as monad's tendency from one perception to another (PNG 2, cf.M.15) establishes a seamless relation between our tendency in action and perception, which allows him

224 to avoid the difficulty confronting Descartes and Locke. It is on the basis of his theory of minute perceptions that Leibniz affirms that the choice of human beings "is always determined by their perception" (NE 182). We are determined by inquietude "without taking cognizance of it." This unconscious determination deludes us into thinking that we are indifferent while in fact "we are never completely in equilibrium and can never be evenly balanced between two options" (NE 188,cf. 192). But if indifference is not an exact description of human condition, why do human beings want the "whim" of indifference? Those who advocate free will, Leibniz points out, more or less wish to find man's power or mastery over their actions in indifference.45 This is precisely the move Locke adopts in revising the Chapter "Of Power" as a response to Molyneux's complaint of its lack of the room of freedom. Locke's opposition to indifferent will is relatively more comprehensive and intensive in the first edition of the Chapter "Of Power." But in the later editions, Locke's revision, especially his new formulation of liberty in terms of suspension, does add some sort of indifference into his work. Leibniz's commentary shows his sensitivity to this change. It is not accidental that Leibniz's harshest criticism of indifference appears in his remarks on Locke's discussion of the liberty of suspension. Leibniz takes pains to pull back Locke from his dangerous closeness to 45

"They say that after everything is known and taken account of, it is still in their power to will not only what pleases them most but also the exact opposite, just to show their freedom" (NE 182, emphasis added).

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the liberty of indifference. Leibniz suggests the preparation of the mind in advance would be a better remedy to free our will from the domination of present uneasiness (NE 196). Discipline, contrary desires or inclinations, or even diversion, are what Leibniz recommends to anyone struggling with strong passion. The crux of Leibniz's strategy is not to place the mind in suspension, a state of indifference, but to turn by all means the mind in other directions. Since not by the liberty of suspension, but by these methods, Leibniz believes, "we become master of ourselves" (NE 196). One important touchstone of Leibniz's radical opposition to indifference is his conception of divine will. In Leibniz's system, his opposition to divine indifference is the basis of his opposition to human indifference. In criticizing Bayle, Leibniz insists, "even though God be supremely free, it does not follow that he maintains an indifference of equipoise." To attribute indifference to God, for Leibniz, is an offense to God's wisdom: "as if he could act without reason" (TH.199). Leibniz's true counter-move against divine indifference is his notorious doctrine of the best possible world: God does not choose this world with indifference, but for the sake of goodness. There is no room for human indifference in this world, which God chooses as the best of infinite possible worlds, since every human act is a part of the general plan of this best world. But one might reasonably object, if everything in this world is not indifferent because it is already determined in some way, where does liberty lie? Leibniz has

226 listed three elements of freedom: intelligence is "the soul of freedom," while the other two elements, spontaneity and contingency, are "its body and foundation." It seems that Leibniz loses the body and foundation of freedom in his pursuit of its soul. Leibniz's answer to this objection is his theory of contingency and necessity which he employs to correct Locke's ambiguous notion of necessity.

2.3 Necessity and Contingency In his comment on Locke's criticism of the Hobbesian definition of liberty, Leibniz already notices Locke's tendency to contrast necessity with liberty, and warns Locke: "The term 'necessary' should be handled just as circumspectly as 'free'" (NE 176). According to Locke, the ideas of liberty and necessity are based on "the consideration of the extent of th[e] power of the mind over the actions of the man" (E. II.xxi.7). When man has power to do or not to do an act "according to the determination or thought of the mind," he is free; "[w]herever thought is wholly wanting, or the power to act or forbear according to the direction of thought, there necessity takes place" (II.xxi.13, cf. II.xxi.8). It is against this psychological or "epistemological" distinction that Leibniz points out, "strictly speaking necessity should be contrasted not with volition but with contingency" (NE 178). The phrase "strictly speaking" means the distinction Leibniz proposes here is metaphysical rather than physical or epistemological. Early in his philosophical career, Leibniz admitted, he had been "very close to

227 the opinions of those who hold everything to be absolutely necessary," but he "was pulled back from this precipice by considering those possible things which neither are nor will be nor have been."46 This account exposes Leibniz's sophistical position with regard to necessity and liberty. Leibniz seems to hold two contradictory commitments to necessity and contingency at the same time. Compared to Locke's position, Leibniz believes determinations are much more comprehensive than Locke suggests: "If by 'necessity' we understood a man's being inevitably determined, as could be foreseen by a perfect Mind provided with a complete knowledge of everything going on outside and inside that man, then, since thoughts are as determined as the movements which they represent, it is certain that every free act would be necessary" (NE 178). Leibniz's radical exclusion of indifference is tantamount to claiming that every act, even man's voluntary action, is determined. It is for the sake of this unconditional commitment to determination or "necessity" that Leibniz is often regarded as a determinist.47 It is not difficult to find textual evidence such as follows to support this reading: "All is therefore certain and determined beforehand in man, as everywhere else, and the human soul is a kind of spiritual automaton...." But Leibniz immediately combines this universal determination with his notion of "contingency" in the second half of this sentence: 46

"On freedom," L.263. Adams, Leibniz: Determinist, Theist, Idealist, Part I. The most radical position is formulated by Couturat, who, on the basis of his belief that Leibniz's metaphysics rests entirely on his logic, suggests the crux of Leibniz's system can be summarized in one sentence: that every truth is analytic (cf. Louis Coutura: "On Leibniz's Metaphysics," in H.G. Frankfurt, ed. Leibniz: A Collection of Critical Essays, Notre Dame, 1972, 19-45); Bertrand Russell accepts Couturat's radical position in the preface to the second edition of his famous Critical Exposition of the Philosophy of Leibniz (London, 1937). 47

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"although contingent actions in general and free action in particular are not on that account necessary with an absolute necessity" (TH 52). This introduction of contingency is Leibniz's crucial move to change our understanding of determination. In his discussion of Locke's usage of the expression "necessary agents," Leibniz draws our attention to the distinction between "the necessary" and "the determined" (Ne 178). While everything is determined according to his principle of sufficient reason, not everything is absolutely necessary. For Leibniz, most cases Locke regards as "necessary" are, "strictly speaking," merely contingent. Leibniz allows them to be called "necessary" according to common usage, but he adds, they are only "physically" or "morally" necessary (NE 178-9). The key to Leibniz's discussion of necessity and contingency is thus his important conception, "physical" or "moral" necessity. Physical necessity is contrasted with metaphysical necessity, 48 which is defined by the principle of contradiction: "necessary truth is that whereof the contrary is impossible or implies contradiction" (TH.37, NE 499). As we have seen in the last chapter, Leibniz insists, these necessary truths are all innate ideas, and cannot be proved through the senses (NE 79, 158). Necessary truths are valid not merely for physical world and human beings, even God can not act in violation of it, since they belong to the essential order of the world. Unlike metaphysical necessity, physical or moral necessity is, though 48

Leibniz also calls it "absolute necessity" (in contrast to "hypothetical necessity"), "logical necessity" or "mathematical necessity." Leibniz's best account of this distinction can be found in TH.367.

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determined or certain, "strictly speaking," contingent, of which the opposite is possible (TH.282). Physical or moral necessity is Leibniz's characterization of the existential order. Anything other than God owes its existence not to essence, but to "the principle of what is best, which is a sufficient reason for the existence of things."49 In essence, these things are merely possible. It is precisely these "possible things" which, according to Leibniz's own recollection, pull him back from the precipice of Spinozism.50 Thus physical necessity is certain (or determined) and contingent at the same time (TH.7). These contingent truths, or truths of fact, on which Locke bases his criticism of innate ideas, do have reasons for themselves. But to negate these reasons does not imply any logical impossibility or contradiction. Therefore, the reasons for these truths of fact are not absolutely necessary, but only hypothetically necessary. This "improbable" combination of determination and contingency in the existential order is the Ariadne's thread which guides Leibniz out of the labyrinth of liberty. Leibniz believes that his theory of physical necessity secures contingency and liberty from the "brute and blind necessity" which Spinoza and other modern philosophers have taught (TH. 168, 173). If contingent truths have no logical necessity, what is the ground of their hypothetical necessity? Leibniz's answer is God's will to choose the best world among all possible worlds. Metaphysically, the existing world is no more than "the

49

Leibniz's fifth paper in his controversy with Clarke, L.697. "On Freedom," L.263. Leibniz's belief in contingency contrasts sharply with Spinoza's insistence that "[i]n nature there is nothing contingent" {Ethics, IP29). For Leibniz's critical remarks on Spinoza's position, cf. L.203-4. 50

230 whole assemblages of contingent things" (TH.7), whereas physically, it does possess an order of nature. This order of nature should not, however, be understood as an arbitrary choice of God with his absolute power (TH.176ff), but on the basis of "moral necessity."51 God chooses this world rather than others "according to the principle of Wisdom and Goodness" (TH. 174). The reason of the existent world has to be found in final causes. Therefore, Leibniz's attempt to secure both reason and liberty leads him to a unique understanding of the order of nature (TH. Preliminary Dissertations, 2). This brings us back to Leibniz's doctrine of "well-founded phenomena". As we have seen in the last chapter, the order of nature can be understood in two ways: on the phenomenal level, it is dominated by efficient causes, while on the metaphysical level, it is ruled by final causes. A section in Monadology perfectly summarizes Leibniz's position: "Souls act according to the laws of final causes through their appetitions, ends, and means. Bodies act according to the laws of efficient causes or the laws of motion. And the two kingdoms, that of efficient and that of final causes, are in harmony with each other" (M.79). But these two kingdoms are not merely "in harmony with each other," one kingdom (the kingdom of efficient causes) is in fact derived from another (the kingdom of final causes) through God's free choice: "There is even a moral and voluntary element in what is physical, through its relation to God, since the laws of motion are necessitated only by what is best" (NE 51

"God is bound by a moral necessity, to make things in such a manner that there can be nothing better"(TH. 201); "the reason of the best and the moral necessity... led God to make this choice" (TH. 160).

231 179, 495). At bottom, Leibniz's natural philosophy is derived from his moral philosophy through his theology. Leibniz's "contingent" understanding of the order of nature will decisively influence his natural law teaching. It makes a theological foundation of natural law indispensable.

2.4 Inclining without Necessitating Leibniz's conception of moral necessity is central to his doctrine of liberty, according to which, the connection or determination between understanding and will is not absolutely necessary, but morally necessary. But what is exactly the way of "determination" in the case of moral necessity? "[T]he understanding determines will in a manner," Leibniz repeatedly emphasizes, "which, although it is certain and infallible, inclines without necessity" (NE 175). This manner of determination, inclining without necessitating, is the core of Leibniz's doctrine of liberty: on the one hand, this way of determination is no less ruled by reason, since inclining is "certain and infallible"; but on the other hand, it is contingent, since it does not subject will to absolute necessity (TH. 288). It is this manner of inclining which allows Leibniz to make a distinction between determination and necessity. Inclining without necessitating, according to Leibniz, can be found in all those cases in which his principle of sufficient reason rules. In these cases, certainty depends upon "the supposed decree of a free substance in contingent matters, a decree, however, which is never entirely arbitrary

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and free from foundation, but for which some reason can always be given. This reason, however, merely inclines and does not truly necessitate.. ."52 "Inclining" connects practical judgments made by our understanding and the choices made by our will. It especially applies to the relation between goodness and our will: "a predominance of goods of which one is aware inclines without necessitating" (NE 199). This manner of determining will corresponds to Leibniz's definition of will as "the inclination to do something in proportion to the good it contains" (TH.22). Leibniz believes "[a] mere will without any motive is a fiction."53 As "inclination," will is mastered by reason. But in contrast to both Hobbes's mechanical necessity and Locke's liberty of suspension, reason's mastery over will is accomplished "in an indirect manner" (TH.327). Inclining without necessitating secures rationality and liberty at the same time for our will: "the will is always more inclined towards the course it adopts, but that it is never bound by the necessity to adopt it. That it will adopt this course is certain, but it is not necessary" (TH.43). The manner in which our understanding determines our will, inclining without necessitating, rather than any form of indifference, according to Leibniz, is the true assurance of our liberty. Leibniz claims this position is shared by most ancient thinkers from Plato and Aristotle to Augustine (TH.45). But one serious difficulty Leibniz's doctrine of inclining without necessitating brings to his readers is its central claim "that what inclines the will towards good 52 53

"On the General Characteristic" (1679), L.226, cf. TH.44. "Controversy between Leibniz and Clarke," "Fourth Letter," L.687.

233 infallibly, or certainly, does not prevent it from being free" (TH. 287). How could the will be free if it never fails to adopt the course to which it is supposed to be more inclined? This difficulty leads some famous interpreters of Leibniz, like Russell and Lovejoy, to suspect that Leibniz just lacks "the candor and courage to express the certain, and almost obvious, outcome of his reasonings." Afraid of being regarded as a Spinozist, Leibniz invents "the verbal distinction, absolutely meaningless" between "infallibly inclining" and "necessitating" in his popular writings to escape any possible persecution.54 Curley has decisively refuted the myth of Leibniz's secret philosophy,55 but it remains to explain the puzzle of "infallibly inclining without necessitating." Leibniz's solution consists in minute perceptions. According to Leibniz, our will is determined not merely by reasons, but also by passions, especially those imperceptible perceptions. These minute perceptions contribute no less to the inclinations which determine our will: All our undeliberated actions results from a conjunction of minute perceptions; and even our customs and passion, which have so much influence when we do deliberate, comes from the same source; for these tendencies come into being gradually, and so without the minute perceptions we would not have acquired these noticeable dispositions...! notice that among those who speak of liberty there are some who, ignoring these insensible impression which can suffice to tilt the balance, fancy that moral actions can be subject to sheer indifference like Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being, 173-4. Russell summarizes his view succinctly: "he [Leibniz] had a good philosophy which.. .he kept to himself, and a bad philosophy which he published with a view to fame and money." But it is difficult to believe that Russell is serious, when confronted with contrary evidences from Leibniz's later writings, he claims: "I think it probable that as he grew older he forgot the good philosophy which he had kept to himself, and remembered only the vulgarized version by which he won the admiration of Princes and (even more) of Princesses." A Critical Exposition of the Philosophy of Leibniz, x. 55 E. M. Curley, "The Root of Contingency," in Leibniz: A Collection of Critical Essays, 69-97.

234 that of Buridan's ass half-way between two pastures...I admit, though, that these impression tilt the balance without necessitating (NE 115-6). This passage indicates the main elements of Leibniz's solution to the puzzle of inclining without necessitating. Firstly, as we have seen, minute perceptions play the leading role in denying indifference: it is minute perceptions which "tilt the balance." Here we further find out that the manner by which minute perceptions determine our will is "inclining." In the case of minute perceptions, though we feel "within us something, which inclines us to our choice," we cannot give a full account of our dispositions.56 Leibniz admits that there is no clear knowledge in the case of minute perceptions, but he insists this inclining without "clear knowledge" is the source of its contingent determination. Just like insensible corpuscles in mechanics or quantities in infinitesimal calculus (i.e., differential calculus), minute perceptions make up "noticeable dispositions" by combining their effects. This is exactly how Leibniz characterizes the process by which will is determined contrary to Locke's doctrine of uneasiness: "Various perceptions and inclinations combine to produce a complete volition: it is the result of the conflict amongst them." A main manner of combining these perceptions Leibniz mentions is that the case in which imperceptible perceptions "add up to a disquiet which impels us without our seeing why" (NE 192). There are many places in which Leibniz articulates a hierarchy of determination which ranges from the highest God through angels, the blessed or 56

"Observations on the Book concerning 'the Origin of Evil' Published Recently in London", TH. 432.

235 sinners to beasts. In this hierarchy, only God is perfectly determined and perfectly free, whereas in the determination of other creatures, even angels and the blessed, we can find confused and obscure perceptions (TH.310). The extent of perfection in determination depends on knowledge and power the agent in question possesses: "One should rather maintain that the wise mind tends towards all good, as good, in proportion to his knowledge and his power, but that he only produces the best that can be achieved" (TH.282). God's perfect freedom, according to Leibniz's discussion, consists in the two aspects: His adequate knowledge of everything involved in any choice, and His consistent inclination toward the best (TH. pp.386-7). But here Leibniz adds a significantly new element to his analysis: the infinite analysis of moral determination. According to Leibniz, there is a crucial difference between absolute necessity and contingency or moral necessity: "The analysis of necessities, which is that of essences, proceeds from the posterior by nature to the prior by nature, and it is in this sense that numbers are analyzed into unities. But in contingents or existents, this analysis from the posterior by nature to the prior by nature proceeds to infinity without ever being reduced to primitive elements."57 Only God can have a distinct knowledge of the infinite analysis of moral necessity, while human beings can never have sufficient time to accomplish this task. Here lies a fundamental distinction between God's perfect freedom and human liberty: the former is perfect

57

Letter to Nicolas Remond, August 5, 1715, L.664.

236 determination on the basis of distinct knowledge, whereas the latter can never free itself from inclinations with infinitesimal passions. God is like a mathematician who has a perfect mastery of Leibniz's differential calculus, which human beings would never achieve, given his finite nature. The infinite analysis of moral necessity supplies a metaphysical reason for our inclining without necessitating. In the case of finite human beings, Leibniz finds, the infinitesimal calculus of moral necessities involves a different mechanism of inclining, which can explain why, in the case of confused perceptions, inclining is not necessitating. Leibniz suggests that we consider the difference between the relation of the understanding to the true and that of the will to the good: the former is a relation of necessitating since "one must know that a clear and distinct perception of a truth contains within it actually the affirmation of this truth;" but the latter is different: But whatever perception one may have of the good, the effort to act in accordance with the judgment, which in my opinion forms the essence of the will, is different. Thus since there is need of time to raise this effort to this climax, it may be suspended, and even changed, by a new perception or inclination which passes athwart it, which diverts the mind from it, and which even causes it sometimes to make a contrary judgment. Hence it comes that our soul has so many means of resisting the truth which it knows, and that the passage from mind to heart is so long. Especially is this so when the understanding to a great extent proceeds only by faint thoughts, which have only slight power to affect, as I have explained elsewhere. Thus the connexion between judgment and will is not so necessary as one might think (TH. 311). The key to Leibniz's solution is time. Minute perceptions are functional through combination, but "there is need of time to raise this effort to this climax." Unlike the customary link between clear knowledge and will or even the case of present uneasiness in Locke, human beings cannot distinguish separate minute perceptions.

237 Individually they are imperceptible. They can incline our will only through combinative effect. But this process of combination takes time. In the process of combining, the human mind might experience various relations among successive perceptions: "suspension," "change," "resistance," "conflict"(TH.324-6). And in the calculations involved in this process, we might produce errors because "necessary figures are not put down but unnecessary ones are, or that something is skipped in the combination, or that the method is not duly observed."58 All these happen before the final actualization of the determination of our will. In the case of minute perceptions the connection between the will and judgment is no longer "immediate". The principle of immediacy established by the new way of ideas in the philosophy of Descartes and Locke is further undermined by Leibniz's insistence that in the determination of our will our mind does not merely follow the last judgment of practical understanding, but has to consider all those relevant inclinations.59 The distinction between the antecedent will and the consequent will which Leibniz employs in the Theodicy is not merely logical, but more importantly, temporal (Th.325, 22). It is this temporal dimension that is the true reason for Leibniz's doctrine of inclining without necessitating. Leibniz's stress on the temporal dimension in the process of inclining without necessitating calls for a comparison with Locke's theory of the liberty of suspension, since, at first sight, Leibniz's theory looks quite similar to Locke's notion: "our will 58 59

"Critical Thoughts on the General Part of the Principles of Descartes,' L.388. TH.51; cf. Leibniz's fifth paper in his controversy with Clarke, L.698.

238 does not always exactly follow the practical understanding, because it may have or find reasons to suspend its resolution till a further examination."60 Suspension is also a major relation Leibniz finds among various perceptions (TH 311). But on careful examination, a decisive difference between Leibniz's "suspension" and Locke's emerges. Though Leibniz, like Locke, also undermines the immediate connection between judgment and will, he does not admit this state of suspension is a vacuum of "perception" or "inclination." The temporal gap between the latest judgment and the final choice is crowded with imperceptible perceptions, which "incline either to one side or the other" in determining our will (TH 324). Our will is not suspended by an indifferent state, but by many, or perhaps infinite, perceptions which check each other. In both cases Leibniz insists there is no indifference involved. Leibniz's suspension, unlike Locke's liberty of indifference, is a constituent of his complicated differential calculus of minute perceptions (TH. 327). The different positions of Leibniz and Locke concerning the role of our liberty in determining will lead them to formulate different therapies to the human weakness. For Leibniz, the hope that Locke places in the liberty of indifference is mistaken since it is based on a philosophical fiction of the vacuum of perceptions. A prudent therapy for human defects is thus not a Stoic indifference over hedonistic torrents, but various strategies which "seek out enlightened and rational pleasures to bring against the confused but potent pleasures of the senses" (NE 187). Since we

60

Leibniz's fifth paper in his controversy with Clarke, L.696

239 will never be allowed a liberty of indifference, the better way to fight against the immediate uneasiness is a methodic preparation, that is, a rational government of our complicated differential calculus of minute perceptions (TH407). But Leibniz does admit we possess and even need a sort of power over our will (TH 287, 327), since our freedom consists no merely in our knowledge, but also in our power.61 A free man should will "vigorously" (NE 180). Sometimes Leibniz even claims that power is more significant for our happiness than knowledge (NE 207). Is this Leibniz's concession to the modern fascination with power? To answer this question we have to examine systematically Leibniz's doctrine of conatus and his attempt to tame absolute power with goodness.

3. From Power to Goodness 3.1 Pleasure and Perfection As we have seen, Locke's hedonism of labor emphasizes the centrality of pain, or more precisely, "uneasiness," in moving our desire. Leibniz does not contradict Locke's hedonistic principle directly in NE. When Locke articulates a characteristic hedonistic principle that "[t]hings...are good or evil, only in reference to pleasure or pain," Leibniz seemingly nods in approval: "That is my opinion too," and adds, "I believe that fundamentally something good must either be pleasing in itself or conductive to something else which can give us a pleasant feeling" (NE 162). Even

61

"On Free Will," SH. 92

240 Leibniz's definitions of happiness and pleasures seem to echo Locke's hedonistic principle (NE 194). But this apparent agreement does not exclude fundamental differences between the two philosophers concerning the philosophical significance of this "principle." At least two assumptions of Locke's hedonism conflict with the fundamental principles of Leibniz's philosophy. The first assumption of Locke's hedonism Leibniz would not endorse concerns the metaphysical status of our ideas of pleasure and pain. Since our ideas of pleasure or pain are, according to Locke, simple ideas (E. II.vii.1-6), they, "like other simple ideas cannot be described, nor their names defined; the way of knowing them is, as of the simple 'ideas of the sense, only by experience". Ideas of pleasure and pain are so fundamental and immediate, that they cannot be given a real definition other than some mark or sign which helps us "reflect on what we feel in our selves" (II.xx.l). Locke's hedonism is, therefore, the philosophical starting point in accord with his new way of ideas which cannot be further explained other than as it is experienced (II.vii.6). This primacy of Locke's hedonism is adumbrated by Locke's emphasis on the universality of pleasure and pain in our perceptions: most relations between our ideas and objects are accompanied by pleasure or pain, or usually, by both at the same time (II.vii.3-4, xx.l). By contrast, Leibniz is reluctant to accept the primacy Locke attributes to our idea of pleasure. In the NE, his position concerning whether pleasure or pain can be regarded as "ideas" is ambiguous: sometimes he seems to agree with Locke that

241 pleasure belongs among ideas since he lists it as one of those ideas innate to us since they are immediate and always present (NE 51), but he also points out that "the perceptions of pleasure and pain" are different from the thoughts of existence, power and unity which comes from reflection (NE 129). Given Leibniz's definition of pleasure as "feeling" (sensus or sentiment), the second assertion agrees more with the general position of Leibniz's doctrine of ideas: pleasure as perception62 should be distinguished from pure idea. But pleasure (rather than "pleasure and pain" in Locke), Leibniz admits, even considered as "perception," has some hidden connection with ideas. While trying to clarify the nature of pleasure and pain, Leibniz also refuses to admit the universality of pleasure and pain. In Leibniz's system, as we have well known, imperceptible minute perceptions are much more comprehensive than conscious perceptions. Pleasure and pain, Leibniz notes, are not minute perceptions (NE 194). They are made up of minute perceptions, but more "apparent": "pleasure and pain appear to consist in notable helps and hindrances" (NE 162). In a word, pleasure and pain are not as significant in Leibniz's system as in Locke's enterprise. We will understand this point more adequately when we turn to the second assumption of Locke's hedonism. The second point which divides Leibniz and Locke concerns the relative priority of goodness and pleasure in their philosophies. Since our idea of pleasure is

62

De Affectibus (1679), Gr. II. 513; OP.491.

242 a simple idea but that of goodness is not, pleasure is more fundamental in Locke's new ways of ideas, and thus plays a more significant role in his moral philosophy. As a hedonist, Locke characteristically defines goodness in terms of pleasure and claims that defining them the other way around is no more than a tactical move which helps draw our attention to the mechanism of how the idea of pleasure is produced in our mind (E.II.xx.l). Locke's attempt to transform the traditional hedonism with his new way of ideas, especially his emphasis on the role of present uneasiness in determining our desire, strengthens the relative dependence of goodness on pleasure. While Leibniz apparently approves Locke's hedonistic principle, and even makes a similar move in defining goodness in terms of pleasure, goodness is much more important in his philosophy. This difference calls for a careful examination of the relative priority of goodness and pleasure in Leibniz's system of definitions. Leibniz defines goodness as "what contributes to pleasure" in many texts. But pleasure, we should not forget, is defined, in its turn, as a feeling or perception of perfection. If Leibniz's definitions are not entrapped in a vicious circle, perfection by which pleasure is defined should be different from goodness, which is defined in terms of pleasure. On a careful examination, the various significances of "goodness" involved in the two definitions emerge. Leibniz's definition of goodness in terms of pleasure is usually found in his ethical or political writings. According to Leibniz, 63

De Affectibus, Gr.513, cf. Gr. 11, 519, 532; Catena Denitionum, Gr. 541; Elementa Juris Naturalis, Gr.603.

243 while theoretical philosophy, as a science, is concerned with the nature of things, practical philosophy is concerned with with good or evil, or more precisely, with the use of things which might help us obtain good and avoid evil.64 In this commonplace division of the sciences, goodness, the focus of practical philosophy, means certainly what Leibniz calls moral goodness in the Theodicy. But Leibniz is no less interested in another kind of goodness, metaphysical goodness, which is the focus of Leibniz's "perfection" (TH.209, cf. TH.l 18). This metaphysical goodness brings us back to Leibniz's official definition of pleasure: "feeling (or sense) of perfection."65 What is exactly "perfection" in this definition? Leibniz's answer is "I call any elevation of being a perfection."66 Thus when young Christian Wolff asks Leibniz to clarify his definition of perfection, Leibniz responses: "The perfection... is the degree of positive reality, or what comes to the same thing, the degree of affirmative intelligibility, so that something more perfect is something in which more things worthy of observation are found."67 And he further approves Wolff's suggestion that "there are more things worthy of observation in a healthy body than in a sick one" since the former offers "many remarkable observations" about "the ordinary course of nature."68 It is clear from these passages that "perfection" is rather a metaphysical than moral conception. 64

"Division de la Philosophic" OP.524-5, 527. "un sentiment de perfection," NE 194; "Reflections on the Doctrine of a Single Universal Spirit," L.569, cf "On Wisdom," L.425; Gr.I. 11; OP.491. 66 "On Wisdom," L.426. 67 Letter to Wolff, Winter 1714-5, AQ.230. 68 Letter to Wolff, Apr. 1715, AG.231. cf. "On Wisdom," L.426. 69 Leibniz once criticizes those mechanists for believing in only "mathematical principles without 65

244 70

This conception, which Leibniz often equates with essence,

is closely related to

the intelligibility of reality. Leibniz's conception of pleasure is thus closely related to his metaphysics. This metaphysical conception of perfection allows Leibniz to differentiate various degrees of pleasure according to the extent of "essence" or reality they involve. Thus, the difference between "enlightened and rational pleasures" and "confused but potent pleasures of the senses" (NE 187) is not merely moral, but also "metaphysical." Enlightened and rational pleasures, "which occur in the knowledge and production of order and harmony", Leibniz reminds us "are the most valuable" (NE 194).71 But the uniqueness of Leibniz's official definition of pleasure is that not merely enlightened pleasures, but pleasures in general, including those sensual pleasures, are also feelings of perfection. Even a sensual pleasure has a trace of "perfection," though its feeling of the essential order of reality is confused. But how could perfection, the essential order of beings, bring about the feeling we usually calls pleasure? Leibniz informs Wolff: "You also see from this how the sense of harmony, that is, the observation of agreements might bring forth pleasure, since it delights perception, makes it easier, and extricates it from confusion... Agreement is sought in variety, and the more easily it is observed there, having any deed either metaphysical principles, which they treat as illusory, or for principles of the good, which they reduce to human morals; as ifperfect and the good were only a particular result of our thinking and not to be found in universal nature." "Tentamen Anagogicum: an Analogical Essay in the Investigation of Causes" (1696), emphasis added, L.477. 70 "perfection is degree or quantity of reality or essence," Letter to Arnold Eckhard, Summer, 1677, L.177; "Perfection, or essence," "On Freedom and Possibility," AG20. cf. M.41-2; TH. Preface. 71 Cf. "On Wisdom," L.426.

245 the more it pleases; and in this consist the sense of perfection."72 Perfection pleases our perception, because it makes perception "easier" through the sense of harmony; this harmony is variety in order, or as Leibniz adds, "the state of agreement or identity in variety." 73 This reminds us of Leibniz's discussion of expression: perfection brings about pleasure with a more distinct (rather than confused) expression of the multiplicity in unity. "To be delighted," for Leibniz, is "to sense harmony," that is, to perceive "diversity compensated by identity" (CP. 28/9). The metaphysical order of beings, through universal expression, arouses a corresponding sense of harmony within us.74 The feeling of perfection causes pleasure in us by accomplishing the universal expression of multiplicity in one's individuality. Strictly speaking, Leibniz's pleasure is the perception of how the harmonious order of ideas outside is expressed or represented to our mind, even without our adequate knowledge of it.75 Now we have sufficient reason to conclude that, despite Leibniz's apparent agreement with Locke on the definition of (moral) goodness in terms of pleasure, their intentions are rather opposite: by this definition, Locke lays down the hedonistic principle of his moral philosophy, whereas Leibniz underwrites moral philosophy with his metaphysics. Pleasure, which serves as the basis of moral

72

Letter to Wolff, Apr. 1715, AG.233. About Leibniz's understanding of perfection and harmony, cf. Donald Rutherford's discussion in Leibniz and the Rational Order of Nature (Cambridge, 1995), ch.2. Grua, Jurisprudence Universelle et Theodicee seclong Leibniz, ch.3-5. 73 Harmonia est unitas in varietate (Gr. I. 12); Letter to Wolff, Apr. 1715, AG.233-4. 74 "On Wisdom", L.425. 75 Ibid, L.425.

246 goodness, in Leibniz's system, is a "metaphysical" feeling, that is, the feeling of perfection or harmony of beings. The hedonistic psychology, according to Leibniz, has to be grounded on the metaphysics of perfection. Therefore, Leibniz's definition of pleasure as a feeling or perception of perfection is not less metaphysical (theoretical) than ethical (practical). It is precisely in this sense Leibniz once claims that "pleasure is also a metaphysical perfection."76 Metaphysical perfection or greatness is the ground of moral perfection or goodness.77 The centrality of pleasure in Leibniz's moral philosophy is based on its close relation to his metaphysics. The metaphysics of perfection, rather than hedonism, is the true starting point of Leibniz's practical philosophy. This metaphysical understanding of pleasure becomes more significant when we turn to Leibniz's endeavor to refute the notorious doctrine of absolute power which claims that God creates this world "at his pleasure," that is, arbitrarily. According to Leibniz's definition of pleasure, this world is pleasing to God not arbitrarily, but on account of its harmony or order. God's "pleasure" in creation comes from the harmony of the world as a whole: "Only the whole is pleasing, only the whole is harmonious, only the configuration, as it were, of the whole is a harmony." Those who doubt God's reason in creation because of existential evils overlook the "perfection" of the entire world (CP. 62/3). The metaphysical understanding of pleasure can be employed by Leibniz to 76 77

Letter to Arnold Eckhard,1677, L.177. "On the Radical Origination of Things" (1697), L.489.

247 oppose the adherents of absolute power precisely because it involves Leibniz's own understanding of power in its definition. A main reason why perfection brings about pleasure to us, according to Leibniz, is its relation to power: "perfection shows in great freedom and power of action, since all being consists in a kind of power; and the greater the power, the higher and freer the being." The power and freedom one possesses is proportional to its ability to incorporate "variety" into one's unity.78 The ability of expression (representation and perception) which is central to Leibniz's theory of ideas is also the key to his moral theory through his definition of pleasure in terms of perfection. But one might raise the question, if every substance involves universal expression, what makes the difference in their ability of "expressing" or "representing?" Leibniz's answer is the ability to have distinct representation of the world: the less confused, the more distinct, the more perfection one feels, and thus the more power and freedom one has. One who is closer to pure ideas is also greater and freer (G..VII.73). This degree of perfection and power provides a new definition of individuality. As Leibniz's spokesman declares at the beginning of NE: "everything can be said to be the same at all times and places except in degrees of perfection" (NE 71, emphasis added). Every creature, Leibniz maintains, has a different degree of perfection, that is, a different mixture of perfection and imperfection (M.42, PNG 9). Individuality is nothing but a link in the great chain of beings. This point is

78

"On Wisdom", L.426.

248 formulated most explicitly in Leibniz's Monadology: "A created being is said to act externally insofar as it has perfection, and to be acted on (or suffer, patir) by another insofar as it is imperfect. Thus action is attributed to the monad insofar as it has distinct perceptions and passion insofar as it has confused ones" (M.49, cf. TH.66). One's nature is defined according to its place in this ladder of perfection, which is determined by the distinct expression of the world it can accomplish (DM 15). This makes up a sharp contrast with Locke's natural historical approach to personal identity, in which time and space, rather than any essential determinations, are more significant to individual human nature. This connection between perfection and the power of action in Leibniz's definition of pleasure leads him to assert further that pleasure is indeed a feeling of action, just as pain is that of passion (Gr II. 603). Paradoxically, pleasure is our perception or passion of our (power of) action (DM 15). This tendency to understand pleasure as a feeling of action in substance shows that in Leibniz's work, perfection is not merely a static condition, but also a striving inclination for more power. In the ladder of perfection, every substance strives for more perfection (G. vii. 73). It is this striving which shows freedom and power, and at the same time brings about pleasure. This dynamic aspect of perfection might explain why Leibniz also defines pleasure as "a feeling of increasing perfection."79 As Leibniz explicitly points out, "It seems that pleasure is the greater perfection, because it is the consciousness of power, 79

Voluptas est sensus crescentisperfectionis (Gr.603); cf. "Dialogue between Polidore and Theophile,"L.218.

249 while pain is the consciousness of powerlessness."80 But between pleasure as a feeling of perfection and pleasure as a consciousness of power there exists an implicit tension. This becomes evident in Leibniz's discussion of the relation between the pleasure of one substance and the excellence of others. The close relation between pleasure and universal expression leads Leibniz scholars to believe that he has accomplished an anti-Hobbesian conclusion in moral philosophy: our pleasures are not mutually exclusive, but on the contrary, the perfection of others seems even necessary for us. Leibniz even incorporates the excellence of others into one of his definitions of pleasure: "Pleasure is the feeling of a perfection or an excellence, whether in our selves or in something else" (emphasis added). To the question how the excellence of others pleases us, Leibniz's answer is consonant with his emphasis on harmony, "the perfection of other beings also is agreeable... For the image of such perfection in others, impressed upon us, causes some of this perfection to be implanted and aroused within ourselves."81 Perfections of others, like the harmony of the entire world, cause pleasure by transferring a feeling of order into us. But before we credit Leibniz for accomplishing a wonderful reconciliation between egoism with altruism,82 we should not forget Leibniz also admits that "[t]he action of one finite substance upon another consists in nothing but the increase of degree of its

80

Letter to Arnold Eckhard, L. 177. "On Wisdom," L.425. 82 See our further discussion of this issue with regard to Leibniz's natural law teaching in the fourth chapter. 81

250 expression together with the diminution of the expression of the other" (DM 15). Hence, the reasons that "the perfections of others sometimes displease us" are not confined to "the circumstance which makes it inopportune for us,"83 but have their root in Leibniz's metaphysics. A "powerful" and free substance can accomplish the most distinct universal expression in its individuality, and even can feel pleasure in the excellence of others since it has force or power to increase its perfection in this process of mutual actions with other substances, but a powerless and thus less free substance would become even less perfect in this association with others. Leibniz's attempt to connect love to justice involves the same logic (NE 163).

3.2 Uneasiness or inquietude? As we have pointed out, to identify goodness with pleasure is just the first step of Locke's hedonism; a more significant move in both his transforming classical hedonism with his new way of ideas and his solution to the difficult issue of liberty is the introduction of the conception of "uneasiness." After formulating his own principle in moral philosophy, Leibniz turns to Locke's conception of "uneasiness" in order to transform Locke's hedonism. Leibniz's examination of Locke's uneasiness begins with the French translation of "uneasiness." Immediately after admitting that Locke's treatment of uneasiness "is an important matter in which the author makes especially evident the

83

"On Wisdom," L.425

251 depth and penetration of his mind," Leibniz praises the French translator Pierre Coste for choosing "inquietude" to translate Locke's "uneasiness": "after thorough reflection I am now almost inclined to think that the word inquietude, even if it does not express very well what the author has in mind, nevertheless fits pretty well the nature of the thing itself, and that uneasiness - if that indicated a displeasure, an irritation, a discomfort, in short an actual suffering - would not fit it" (NE 164). Even when Locke shows "the depth and penetration of his mind," Leibniz decides to depart from him from the very beginning: "uneasiness" does not fit "the nature of the thing itself," because Locke mistakes it for "actual suffering": inquietude is neither actual nor suffering. The first mistake Locke makes in formulating his theory of desire with the conception of uneasiness, according to Leibniz, is the confusion of disposition and actual perception: "a desire in itself involves only a disposition to suffering, a preparation for it, rather than suffering itself (NE 164). "Disposition," Leibniz admits, is also a perception, but it differs from Locke's present uneasiness in its "imperceptibility": inquietudes "are too minute for us to be aware of them." Leibniz maintains, though we are not aware of them in themselves, these minute perceptions "suffice to act as spurs and to stimulate the will" (NE 189). These "imperceptible little urges," "like so many little springs" continually drive us to action (NE 166). Leibniz's doctrine of desire or appetition is thus associated closely with his theory of minute perceptions (G VI.550, NST.105). Without the doctrine of minute perceptions

252

Locke cannot give a satisfactory account of our desire. The difference between Leibniz and Locke does not consist merely in the degree of perception involved in desire. In the world Leibniz's inquietudes, "imperceptible little urges," unlike in that of Locke's uneasinesses, every agent is moved by continual appetitions which leave no room for any indifferent suspension. Liberty is thus no longer the struggle between endless present uneasinesses and the desperate effort to transcend them to acquire a brief breath of suspension, but a prudent mastery of various inclinations in "the conflict between different endeavours" (NE 186). But we can never fully control our desires, since we, as finite beings, can never be adequately aware of them, and most of them remain confused or even insensible to us. Whether Leibniz's psychology of desire shows more confidence in the power and freedom of human beings than Locke's, depends on the taste of readers. But as a direct result of Leibniz's formulation of desire, the importance of "will" in determining our action is much undermined in this seamless connection between perceptions and appetitions. Leibniz somehow reduces desire to perception, since the former is nothing other than the tendency of the latter. Leibniz's compensation for this is his emphasis on dynamic elements in "the nature of the thing itself." The subordinate status of will and desire in Leibniz's practical philosophy is a main feature which distances Leibniz from most of his contemporaries. Locke's confusion of minute perceptions and notable perceptions, for Leibniz,

253 leads to the second mistake of his theory of desire: Locke misunderstands uneasiness as displeasure (NE 183). One of Leibniz's reasons for preferring inquietude to Locke's uneasiness is that inquietude is not associated usually with pain as uneasiness is. Leibniz insists, as the spurs of desire, inquietude is at most "semi-suffering," or "rudiments or elements of suffering." When we are inclined by these minute sufferings, we are not, as Locke suggests, aware of any true pain. The advantage of the constitution of our instinct by these "imperceptible little urges" is that we can "enjoy the advantage of evil without enduring its inconveniences" (NE 165). Locke's understanding of uneasiness as displeasure, according to Leibniz, sketches a miserable picture of human life (NE 165). His emphasis on labor, as we have seen, even strengthens this wretchedness of human destiny. Leibniz, by contrast, defines happiness as "a state of permanent joy."84 Part of this "permanent joy" is "our continual victory over these semi-sufferings," which "provides us with many semi-pleasures." True pleasure is understood by Leibniz as "the continuation and accumulation" of these semi-pleasures (NE 165). Thus, our "permanent joy" does not exclude labor and suffering in overcoming various obstacles, but, since we are not aware of them, we do not feel notable suffering or discomfort (NE 188). On the basis of his theory of minute impulses, Leibniz reformulates Socrates' suggestion of the affinity of pleasure with suffering in Plato's Phaedo: this affinity is

84

"On Wisdom," in L.425.

254 indeed of notable pleasure and imperceptible semi-sufferings. This affinity helps Leibniz explain the nature of human happiness: ...nature's accumulation of continual little triumphs, in which it puts itself more and more at ease - drawing closer to the good and enjoying the image of it, or reducing the feeling of suffering - is itself a considerable pleasure, often better than the actual enjoyment of the good. Far from such inquietude's being inconsistent with happiness, I find that it is essential to the happiness of created beings; their happiness never consists in complete attainment, which would make them insensate and stupefied, but in continual and uninterrupted progress towards greater good (NE 189). Thus, Leibniz's happiness is not a stupefied laziness Locke is worried about, but a "continual and uninterrupted progress," which "is inevitably accompanied by desire or at least by constant inquietude" (NE 189). This is in accord with Leibniz's definition of pleasure as the feeling of an increasing perfection. Leibniz's dialectic of notable pleasure and imperceptible suffering thus provides a satisfactory solution to the inevitable tension between happiness and labor which haunts Locke's work.

3.3 Leibniz on conatus In Leibniz's definition of pleasure and his reformulation of Locke's uneasiness we can find the traces of a key element in Leibniz's refutation of the doctrine of absolute power, that is, Leibniz's own understanding of power, his doctrine of conatus. As we have seen, in his discussion of Locke's theory of power, Leibniz Though in NE Leibniz seldom employs the Latin expression, he uses "tendence" as the equivalent of conatus (he explicitly claims this identification in NE 172). English translators of NE have good reasons to choose "endeavor" to translate tendence/'conatus since it has already been employed by Hobbes as the standard English translation of conatus (Edwin Curley employs "striving" to translate Spinoza's conatus, as the translators of Descartes' works do). To avoid the terminological confusions I employ conatuslendeavor consistently in this section even in discussing Descartes and Spinoza, though I do not change the translations of their texts.

255 emphasizes, force or active power should comprise not merely faculty, but also endeavor.86 This echoes Leibniz's emphasis on the dynamic quality of dispositional ideas in his theory of ideas. Since Leibniz's criticisms of Locke focus on Locke's doctrine of bare faculties, the addition of endeavor to the definition of power is the crucial difference which separates Leibniz from Locke. In Leibniz's account of our desire and his corresponding transformation of Locke's hedonism of uneasiness endeavor also plays an indispensable role (NE. 167, cf. NE 165). The centrality of the concept conatus in Leibniz's work can be also seen in his formulation of liberty, especially in his notoriously paradoxical doctrine of inclining without necessitating. Thus we can say Leibniz's conception of conatus is a thread which runs through his metaphysics, physics and human psychology, and thus unifies his theory of dispositional ideas and his account of liberty and desire.

(1) Conatus in Early Modern Philosophy: Hobbes and Spinoza Though, in pre-modern philosophy, the Stoics have already employed the term "conatus" to explain the principle of self-preservation,87 it is Hobbes and Spinoza who make conatus a key conception in modern philosophy. In articulating his definition of voluntary motion or animal motion (in contrast to vital motion) in the Leviathan, Hobbes points out: And because going, speaking, and the like voluntary motions depend always 86

"True powers are never simple possibilities; there is always endeavor, and action"(NE 112, cf. NE 169, 172,216,226). 87 H.A.Wolfson, The Philosophy of Spinoza (Harvard, 1962), Vol.11. 195-208.

256 upon a precedent thought of whither, which way, and what, it is evident that the imagination is the first internal beginning of all voluntary motion. And though unstudied men do not conceive any motion at all to be there, where the thing moved is invisible, or the space it is moved in is (for the shortness of it) insensible, yet hat doth not hinder, but that such motions are...These small beginnings of motion within the body of man, before they appear in walking, speaking, striking, and other visible actions, are commonly called endeavor (conatus) (I.vi.l). Hobbes' definition of endeavor emphasizes two points: endeavor is of motions in bodies;88 the motion is so small that it is either of "invisible" things or in "insensible" space. These two key elements of Hobbes' definition of endeavor reveal his intention to employ this term to overcome the difficulties in his mechanical explanation of motions. Hobbes is confronted with what Leibniz will formulate as the labyrinth of continuum: how can motion move over the indefinitely divisible space (Leviathan, I.vi.l)? Endeavor, the small beginnings of motion, is Hobbes' solution. Thus endeavor is soon no longer confined to voluntary motions, but employed by Hobbes to explain all motions: I define endeavor to be motion made in less space and time than can be given; that is less than be determined or assigned by exposition or number; that is, motion made through the length of a point, and in an instant or point of time (De Corpore, III.xv.2). In fact, in this definitive work of Hobbes on natural philosophy, conatus is a basic conception by which Hobbes defines other key conceptions in his "rational mechanics" like impetus, resistance, to press or pressure (De Corpore, III.xv.2, xxii.l). But to employ a term which is traditionally reserved for animal motions "...endeavor is also motion" (conatus etaim motus est, De Corpore, IV.xxv.2). As the Latin translation of Greek term horme, conatus (for self-preservation) in the Stoics, as

to

257 mechanical motions certainly brings about some vital istic or even "anthropocentric" element into physics. Descartes has already anticipated this objection in his similar move by employing conatus to explain the centrifugal force: When I say that the globules of the second element strive (conari) to move away from the centers around which they revolve, it should not be thought that I am implying that they have some thought (cogitationem) from which this striving (conatus) proceeds. I mean merely that they are positioned and pushed into motion in such a way that they will in fact travel in that direction, unless they are prevented by some other cause (Principia 111.56, AT VIIIA. 108, CSM 1.259). For Descartes, as for Hobbes, conatus has to be free from its traditional psychological connotations (conatus does not proceed from cogitationem) so that it can be put into use in mechanics. But while Descartes divides the mechanical world of extension from the spiritual world of the cogitatio, Hobbes unifies these two worlds with the same conatus. The imperceptibility of conatus Hobbes stresses certainly helps him find motions, however small they are, in "walking, speaking, striking, and other visible actions." This unifying role of conatus can be well seen in Hobbes' account of sense: "The cause of sense in the external body, or object, which presseth the organ proper to each sense...continued inwards to the brain and heart, causeth there a resistance, or counter-pressure, or endeavor of the heart to deliver itself; which endeavor, because ourward, seemeth to some matter without" (Leviathan, I.i.4). As we have seen, both the pressure from the external body and the counter-pressure of our heart are defined in terms of endeavor (cf. De Corpore, III.xv.2, xxii.l). Thus to the outward appearance of sensation (and the mechanical

Wolfson points out, is confined to animal beings. Wolfson, op.cit. 199.

258

interaction between the external body and my body) corresponds an internal motion which is dominated by conatus as well. This interaction between two endeavors produces an idea or phantasm, which is sense (De Corpore, lV.xxv.1-2). Thus the psychological term conatus, after mechanization, is brought back by Hobbes to describe the internal motions of human actions, especially appetite and aversion. Appetite and aversion, as desires, are no more than two kinds of endeavors - one moves toward that which causes it, another moves from that which causes it (Leviathan I.vi.2).90 Hobbes emphasizes the initiating role of endeavor in this definition of desire.91 It is with the help of this psychology of conatus that Hobbes formulates his doctrine of natural laws.92 From this brief sketch of Hobbes' theory of conatus we can conclude that in Hobbes' philosophy conatus is central to his attempt to apply the mechanical explanation of nature to human (psychological and moral) activities. But paradoxically, by employing a term which is widely used in human psychology (also its Greek equivalents, like horme and orexis), Hobbes also implicitly (perhaps reluctantly) brings the element of internal force into the mechanical world which is, according to his philosophical principles, dominated by external causation. 90

As we

Cf. De Homine xi.1 (desire as endeavor inwards in contrast to sense as endeavor outwards). Human Nature, vii.2; Anti-white 37.4. 92 Especially the so-called "the (first) fundamental law of nature": "it is a precept, or general rule, of reason that every man ought to endeavor peace, as far as he has hope of obtaining it, and when he cannot obtain it, that he may seek and use all helps and advantages of war" {Leviathan I.xiv.4-5). 93 When Hobbes claims the action as sense consists in "the endeavor of an organ to push outward", he seems to imply there is an inherent force in body (De Homine xi.l). This is especially true in his discussion of internal motions. But as a whole, not only Hobbes' understanding of conatus , but his rational mechanics, is based on the primacy of motion. The concept of force plays at most a periphery role in this enterprise. Alan Gabbey even suggests that "force in general have evaporated completely

259

will soon see Leibniz systematically develops these insights of Hobbes concerning conatus. While Hobbes' physiological account of conatus agrees perfectly with his belief that natural philosophy should be the first philosophy (De Corpore, l.i.l), Spinoza incorporates Hobbes' conception of conatus and Descartes' principle of persistence into his metaphysical edifice, in which conatus is a guiding thread, if not in letter, at least in spirit. Spinoza introduces the concept conatus formally only at the beginning of the third part of his Ethics, the transition from the metaphysical and physical parts to the ethical parts: Each thing, in so far as it can, strives to persevere in its being (Unaquceque res quantum in se est, in suo esse perseverare conatur, IIIP6) Immediately after this proposition, it seems that Spinoza wants to overcome our surprise at this new conception. He indicates the connection between conatus and his philosophical principle: The striving by which each thing strives to preserve in its being is nothing but the actual essence of the thing (Conatus quo unaquceque res in suo esse perseverare conatur, nihil estprceter ipsius rei actualem essentiam, IIIP7). In early modern philosophy, it is widely admitted by mechanical philosophers that a body will persist in its state unless it is changed by external causes.94 Descartes considers this proposition as "the first law of nature" which derives from his principle that God "always preserves the same quantity of motion in the universe" from his system." "Force and Inertia in seventeenth century dynamics," Studies in History and Philosophy of Science Vol.2 (1971), 7. 94 Dennis Des Chene, Physiologia, 272ff.

260 {Principia 11.36, AT VIIIA 61, CSM.I. 240).95 Without resorting to God's continuous creation, Hobbes formulates the same principle (De Corpore, II.viii.19). In his early writings on Descartes, Spinoza summarizes this principle as "the conatus of movement" {conatus ad motum, Principia philosophiae Cartesianae III.def.3; or conatus se movendi, Cogitata Metaphysica 1.6), though in Descartes, "the same state" preserved includes not merely motion, but also rest, even figure and size.96 In the famous "physical digression" of the Ethics, Spinoza formulates this principle as follows: "a body in motion moves until it is determined by another body to rest; and that a body at rest also remains at rest until it is determined to motion by another" (IIL3Cor). With this formulation, as well as other claims in this short physical treatise within the Ethics, Spinoza attempts to provide a unified account of corporeal phenomena, that is, on the one hand, his principle of persistence will cover both simple bodies and complicated bodies (individuals);97 on the other hand, especially with the help of his concept of conatus, he wishes to overcome the implicit conflict between the mathematical essence of the extended substance and its dynamic tendency in Descartes' physics.98 95

Cf. Principia 11.37, AT VIIIA 62, CSM.I. 240. Daniel Garber discusses the subtle difference between Spinoza and Descartes regarding what he calls "the principles of persistence" and conatus in his "Descartes and Spinoza on Persistence and Conatus," in Studia Spinozana Vol. 10, No.2, (1994) 43-67, cf. Martial Gueroult, Spinoza II. (Aubier, 1974), 152. 96 Des Chene, Physiologia, 273. 97 Comp. Spinoza, Principia philosophiae Cartesianae IIP14. As we have seen in Spinoza's definition of Conatus in the Ethics (III6), he retains Descartes' expression quantum in se est but cancels Descartes' restriction oiquatenus est simplex et indivisa {Principia 11.37, AT VIIIA 62, CSM.I. 241). This is a crucial step for Spinoza to generalize or metaphysicalize Descartes' notion of conatus. Cf. "Garber, "Descartes and Spinoza on Persistence and Conatus." 98 It is well known among Descartes scholars that there is a tension between geometrical matter (extension) and dynamic element (force or conatus) in Descartes' physics: how could a force which continues moving be found in geometrical bodies? Although we should not rush with Jammer to

261 Spinoza makes another crucial move in generalizing the mechanical principle of self-preservation into a metaphysical principle when he defines the nature or form of individual (body) in terms of "the same ratio of motion and rest" (Ethics, IIL4-6). The preservation of motion or rest now becomes the preservation of nature, which is exactly the metaphysical significance of conatus. Spinoza's "thing" or "individual" no merely preserves the same state (semper in eodem statu perseveret) of its motion or rest, but endeavors to preserve in its being (in suo esse perseverare). This metaphysical conatus is clearly discernible in Spinoza's explanation of his identification of conatus and actual essence of the thing: From the given essence of each thing some things necessarily follow (by IP36), and thing are able [to produce] nothing but what follows necessarily from their determinate nature (by IP29). So the power of each thing, or the striving by which it (either alone or with others) does anything, or strive to do anything - i.e. (by P6), the power, or striving, by which it strives to persevere in its being, is nothing the given, or actual essence of the thing itself, q.e.d (IIIP7Dem). The mysterious expression "actual essence" (essentia actualis) reminds us of Spinoza's discussion of God's active essence (essentia actuosa): "God's power is nothing except God's active essence" (Dei potentiam nihil esse, praeterquam Dei actuosam Essentiam. IIP3Sch). If God's active essence is nothing but its absolute power as Natura naturans, the actual essence of created beings would be only the conclude that Descartes rejects the existence of force altogether, it is still difficult to find a place for force in Descartes' metaphysics of substances, essences and attributes, cf. Garber, Descartes' Metaphysical Physics (Chicago, 1992), 293-9; esp. see Martin Gueroult, "The Metaphysics and Physics of Force in Descartes", in Descartes: Philosophy, Mathematics and Physics, ed.Stephen Gaukroger (Sussex: Harvester Press, 1980), 196-29; Gabbey, "Force and Inertia in seventeenth century dynamics," passim, esp. 7-10; Max Jammer, Concepts of Force (Harvard, 1957), 103-8. Leibniz's analysis of Descartes' position, especially with reference to the relation between force and extension, cf. his letter to De Voider, 1699, L.516-7. About Spinoza's attempt to overcome this tension in his physical theory, cf. David Lachterman, "The Physics of Spinoza's Ethics,' in Spinoza: New Perspectives, ed. R. W. Shahna and J.I.Biro, (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1978), 80-3, 87-90.

262 finite expression of this power." The power of acting by which finite beings produce any effect is acquired by expressing God's power, and is thus called its given essence (essentia data). This is exactly the message of IP36 Spinoza mentions in the demonstration of IIIP7. In other words, omnipotence in Descartes' doctrine of divine continuous creation is diffused into the power of action, or actual essence of every created being through Spinoza's metaphysical dialectics of Natura naturans and Natura naturata.m Spinoza's conatus, without sacrificing the ontological privilege of God as the sole substance, extends God's power into every corner of the world. By virtue of its conatus, each thing acts in the way of God, in so far as it can (quantum in se est). Spinoza's theory of conatus also implies a new definition of human nature. Human nature is nothing but this power of action (IIIP9Sch, IVD8). By our nature we strive to increase this power (IVP38). This important development of the concept conatus is even more remarkable when Spinoza points out, conatus "involves no finite time, but an indefinite time" (IIIP8). If power is the nature of human beings, it has no limitation in time: it strives for infinite existence. This might be considered as a human expression of God's absolute power. While Descartes never frees himself from the conflict between his geometrical matter and force in his mechanics, and is thus haunted by the tension between divine omnipotence and the causal efficiency of finite beings, Spinoza gives a uniform 99

Harold Joachim, A Study of the Ethics of Spinoza (Oxford, 1901), 65-6. Lachterman aptly remarks, Spinoza "replaces...the Cartesian deus ex mach'ma with dues intra machine? "The Physics of Spinoza's Ethics,' 82. 100

263 account which connects God's active essence with the actual essences of finite beings through conatus. This metaphysical transformation of conatus and the principle

of

self-preservation

radically

clears

away

the

anthropocentric

"imaginations," the trace of which we can still detect in Hobbes' discussion of conatus/endeavor. By virtue of the concept conatus, Spinoza accomplishes a universal theory of absolute power which Descartes and Hobbes never achieve. It is this metaphysical understanding of conatus with which Leibniz struggles for his whole life.

(2) Leibniz's conatus: From "Dead Force" to "Living Force" Leibniz absorbs much from Hobbes' insight concerning conatus in his early writings on physics. In his letter to Hobbes, he has already admitted Hobbes' contribution to "the abstract principles of motion," especially his principle of persistence and his conception of conatus. During this period Leibniz certainly understands conatus mainly in Hobbes' way: "conatus is the beginning of motion."101 Hobbes' influence is also clearly discernible in Leibniz's article about the fundamental principles of abstract motion dated 1671.102 In this article, not only does Leibniz repeat the principle of the preservation of motion and rest, but his definition of conatus is also Hobbesian: "conatus is to motion as a point to space, or as one to infinity, for it's the

101

Letter to Hobbes, Jul. 1670, L. 105-8. Also see the relevant publication during this period: Hypothesis Physica Nova (1670/1?), A. VI.ii.219-257; Summa Hypotheseos Physicae Novae (1671), in A. VI.ii.326-84. 102

264 beginning and end of motion."103 But in this article, Leibniz has already shown his distinctive philosophical tendency: his emphasis on the co-existence of "many contrary conatuses in the same body at the same time" in explaining the phenomena of collision,104 his attempt to understand body as a special kind of mind in terms of conatus}05 and finally, his principle of sufficient reason. However, as he later admits, "if the body is understood in mathematical terms only -magnitude, figure, position, and their change - and conatus is admitted only at the moment of impact itself, no use being made of metaphysical notions such as active power in form, or of passive power and resistance to motion in matter," "the geometric composition of conatuses" suffices. Leibniz's discovery of Descartes' error in formulating his fundamental principle of mechanics signifies a crucial step for his own theory of conatus}01 If God does not, as Descartes supposes, preserve the same amount of motion, but the same amount of force, we need explicitly a conception of force besides that of motion and extension, since force can not be reduced to the quantity of motion (DM 17-8). The relative priority of motion and force in the mechanics of Descartes (as well as Hobbes) should be reversed: the mechanical world is not a dead world 1 3

° "The Theory of abstract Motion," L. 139-42. Ibid, L. 140. 105 "For every body is a momentary mind, or one lacking recollection, because it does not retain its own conatus", ibid, L.141; "Thought consist in conatus, as body consists in motion. Every body can be understood as a momentaneous mind, or mind without recollection," Letter to Arnauld, 1671, L.149. Daniel Garber characterizes Leibniz's physical theory during this period as "the mentalization of body," cf. "Motion and Metaphysics in the Young Leibniz," in Leibniz: Critical and Interpretive Essays, ed. Michael Hooker (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982), 168ff. 106 "Specimen Dynamicum," L.440, cf. his letter to De Voider, 1699, L.516-7. 107 Cf. section 3.3 (3) in the second chapter. 104

265 dominated by geometrical extension, but a vital world permeated with living force. The Hobbesian conatus is still "dead force" {vis mortua, or potentia mortua), thus defective.108 On the basis of this important discovery Leibniz gradually develops his dynamics. In his mature work on dynamics, "Specimen Dynamicum," conatus again plays the leading role in overcoming the Cartesian physics which is fettered by the geometrical conception of extension, but this time it means "living force": We have suggested elsewhere that there is something besides extension in corporeal things; indeed, that there is something prior to extension, namely, a natural force everywhere implanted by the Author of nature - a force which does not consists merely in a simple faculty such as that with which the Scholastics seems to have contented themselves but which is provided besides with a conatus or effort which has its full effect unless impeded by a contrary conatus... Indeed, it must constitute the inmost nature of the body, since it is the character of substance to act, and extension means only the continuation or diffusion of an already presupposed acting and resisting substance. So far is extension itself from comprising substance. This new understanding of conatus helps Leibniz formulate his new conception of substance.110 The core of this new conception is active power or force, which differs from the bare power {potential nuda) or faculty Leibniz finds in the scholastics as well as in Locke's Essay: Active force differs from the bare power familiar to the Schools, for the active power or faculty of the scholastics is nothing but a close possibility of acting, which needs an external excitation or a stimulus, as it were, to be transferred into action. Active force, in contrast, contains a certain act or entelechy and is "A Brief Demonstration of a Notable Error of Descartes and others Concerning a Natural Law," L.299. 109 "Specimen Dynamicum," L.435. 110 "the concept of force or powers, which the Germans call Kraft and the French la force, and for whose explanation 1 have set up a distinct science of dynamics, brings the strongest light to bear upon our understanding of the true concept of substance." "On the Correction of Metaphysics and the Concept of Substance" (1694), L.433; cf. Letter to De Voider, 1699, L.516.

266 thus midway between the faculty of acting and the act itself and involves a conatus1'' Accordingly, in Leibniz's dynamics, motion is no longer the foundation of conatus, but on the contrary, motion is dependent on force or conatus. Motion itself, Leibniz insists, is not a real thing.112 But force "is something absolutely real even in created substance."113 This change of the relative priority of motion and force is the starting point for Leibniz's famous phenomenalism. By adding the metaphysical laws of force to the mechanical laws of extension, Leibniz believes, he could more adequately explain corporeal phenomena.114 But why does Leibniz's new dynamics, unlike Boyle's mechanics or even Locke's "epistemology," require a foundation in metaphysics? And in what manner do the new dynamics connect physics with metaphysics? To answer these questions, we have to return to Leibniz's clarification of the concept of force or power we have found in his long comment on Locke's usage of power (NE 169): after dividing force into active and passive as usual, Leibniz further makes distinction between primitive and derivative force. The classical mechanical explanation of corporeal phenomena, according to Leibniz's classification, is organized around derivative forces.115 But derivative force is exercised "through a limitation of primitive force." The scheme Leibniz offers is a complicated classification of force, in which both Aristotelian categories and mechanical principles can be found: 1

'' "Specimen Dynamicum," L.436. Ibid, L.436; DM 12. 113 "Specimen Dynamicum," L.445. 114 Ibid, L.440-1. 115 Ibid, L.437. 112

267

Monadic world (metaphysics)

Mechanical world (physics)

Forces

Primitive

Derivative

Active

Primitive active force

vis viva

(power/faculty)

(form/entelechy/soul)

Passive (capacity/receptivity)

Resistance or repugnance to motion (materia prima)

(materia secunda: matter with form)

Table 1: Leibniz's scheme of forces116 From this table we can have a perfect picture of how Leibniz reconciles the ancients and the moderns. In the right column, the mechanical world picture is still retained as the interplay of derivative forces. But Leibniz redefines the agencies of this mechanical world: on the active side, vis viva or force rather than the quantity of motion in Descartes and Newton is the focus; on the passive side, matter is no longer purely geometric extension, but determined by form. Both moves show the influence of Aristotle's metaphysics. But more importantly, Leibniz insists, the mechanical forces are derivative. To adequately explain their principle we have to advance from the mechanical world of physics (the right column) to the monadic world of metaphysics (the left column). The source of those forces on the basis of which we explain corporeal phenomena mechanically is "nothing but the first entelechy, corresponds to the soul or 116

Ibid, L.436-7; Letter to De Voider, 1699, L.516-7; NE 169-70. Cf. Gerd Buchdahl's still useful discussion in Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Science (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1969), 415-25.

268 substantial form."117 Leibniz does not intend to resort to primitive force in concrete physical explanations, since "it relates only to general causes which cannot suffice to explain phenomena.""8 But by adding metaphysical force to physical or mechanical force, in contrast to Descartes' attempt to base mechanics on God's absolute power (Principia 11.36, AT VIIIA 61, CSM 1.240), Leibniz defends the inherent nature of substances: "if.. .the law set up by God does in fact leave some vestige of him expressed in things, if things have been so formed by the command that they are made capable of fulfilling the will of him who command them, then it must be granted that there is a certain efficacy residing in things, a form ox force such as we usually designate by the name of nature, from which the series of phenomena follows according to the prescription of the first command."119 Force is the core of the nature of things. But unlike corporeal phenomena, the inherent force or nature of things cannot be grasped by the imaginative faculty, but by understanding.120 Dynamics, Leibniz's science of force, is thus the last resort to defend nature in the mechanical world. Leibniz's dynamics is also of use in solving his other lifelong concern: the relation between body and mind. The split of body and mind since the rise of mechanics is always considered by Leibniz as a serious weakness of modern 117

Here Leibniz distinguishes himself from Newton, Locke and the Cartesians in refusing to define corporeal substances solely in terms of derivative forces. Cf. his letter to De Voider, 1699, L.530. 118 "Specimen Dynamicum," L.436. He criticizes Henry More and other Cambridge Platonists for "neglecting efficient and material causes" in explaining phenomena. Letter to Nicolas Remond, Jan 10, 1714, L.655. 119 "On Nature itself," L.501, emphasis added. 120 Ibid, L.501; cf. "Tentamen Anagogicum: an Analogical Essay in the Investigation of Causes," L.477.

269 philosophy. Even in his mechanical writings profoundly influenced by Descartes and Hobbes, Leibniz has already attempted to reunite body and mind through the conception of conatus. But Leibniz has not found a satisfactory solution to this difficult issue until he lays down the fundamental principles of his dynamics.121 A major reason for the increasing division between the material world and the spiritual world in early modern philosophy is the emphasis of "the inertness and deadness of things" by the new philosophy.122 Leibniz finds an internal inconsistency in the mechanical principle of inertia: if "there is a natural inertia opposed to motion in matter.. .there is in the body itself, and indeed, in every substance, a natural constancy opposed to change"; therefore, we have to find another source for body's preservation of impetus or tendency once motion begins, since, according to the mechanical principle of persistence, once a body moves, it will continue moving barring the intervention of external causes. Leibniz believes, the conception of inertia does not, as many mechanists suppose, support a dead and inert view of things, but rather points to the existence of a "primary entelechy or first recipient of activity" in corporeal substance. This substantial principle Leibniz calls soul or substantial form.123 The distinction between "living force" and "dead force" in Leibniz's dynamics is an important step to overcome the dead nature of mechanics. 121 The question of force "is the gateway through which to pass to the true metaphysics, since the mind is surely gradually freed from the false notions of matter, motion, and corporeal substance which are held popularly and by the Cartesians, when it comes to understand that the rules of force and action cannot be derived from these notions and that we must either take refuge in a dues ex machina or hold that there is something higher in bodies themselves." Letter to De Voider, 1699, L.523. 122 "On Nature itself," L.501. 123 Ibid. L.503-4.

270 This effort is explicitly stated in his correspondence with Italian mathematician John Bernoulli: You are also entirely right in thinking that all the bodies in the world arise from an interaction of internal forces, and I have no doubt that these forces are coeval with matter itself, for I believe that matter cannot subsist in itself without forces. I think, nevertheless, that primary or living entelechies are different from dead forces, which themselves probably always arise form living forces, as is apparent when a centrifugal tendency, which must be considered a dead force, arises from the living force causing rotation. Life, or the first entelechy, is something more than any simple dead tendency for I believe it includes also perception and appetite, both corresponding to the present state of the organs in an animal.124 The "life," or (substantial) form, or primitive force behind Leibniz's living force corresponds to the soul. The knowledge of this soul is indispensable if we want to have a perfect grasp of "the nature of body."125 Leibniz even assures one of his correspondents, if Descartes had known his dynamics, "he would not have held that the soul can change the direction of the body more easily than its force, and he would have gone straightway to the system of pre-established harmony, which is a necessary conclusion from the conservation of both force and direction."126 The union of soul and body, Leibniz emphasizes, consist in the internal force which constitutes the nature of things.127 But since the primitive force from which vires vivae are derived is "soul" or at least soul-like, the dynamic union Leibniz achieves with his new understanding of force is just the opposite of what Hobbes has intended with his conception of conatus: "the mentalization of matter or bodies," which

Letter to John Bernoulli, Nov. 18 1698, L.512. "Specimen Dynamicum," L.436. Letter to Nicolas Remond, L.655. "On Nature itself," L.503.

271

culminates in his monadology. In Leibniz's new concept of substance, conatus is still a definitive element, since, for Leibniz, every substance "must act or have a tendency."128 But perhaps the most significant move in Leibniz's attempt to overcome the weakness of the classical mechanics with his dynamics is his attempt to bring final causes back in our understanding of nature. The prevalent tendency in early modern philosophy is to gradually exclude final causality or teleology from the physical account of nature. This tendency contributes much to the loss of substantiality Leibniz has detected in Locke's Essay. Through his research on optics, Leibniz is convinced that final causes might be useful even in physics.129 Leibniz attempts to connect the mechanical world of bodies with the monadic world of souls by combining the kingdom of efficient and material causes with the kingdom of final causes (M.79): It must be maintained in general that all existent facts can be explained in two ways - through a kingdom of power or efficient causes and through a kingdom of wisdom or final causes; that God regulates bodies as machines in an architectural manner according to laws of magnitude or of mathematics but does so for the befit of souls and that he rules over souls, on the other hand, which are capable of wisdom, as over citizens and members of the same society with himself, in the manner of a prince or indeed of a father, ruling to his own glory according to the laws of goodness or of morality. Thus these two kingdoms everywhere permeate each other, yet their laws are never confused and never disturbed, so that the maximum in the kingdom of power, and the best in the kingdom of wisdom, take place together.130 In Leibniz's kingdom of wisdom, the dominant principle is final causes, that is, the 128

Letter to De Voider, Jun.20 1703, L.528. "On Nature Itself L.500; "Specimen Dynamicum," L.442. Cf. Buchdahl, Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Science, 425-34. 130 "Specimen Dynamicum," L.442, cf. PNG 11. 129

272 laws of appetitions, which also determine the transition from one perception to another in a monad (PNG 3). As we have seen in our discussion of Leibniz's famous doctrine of inclining without necessitating, conatus or tendency is of significance to monad since it determines its nature by influencing its manner of expression or perception. This introduction of final causes into mind's appetitions and thus its perception seems to bring us back to the original Stoic application of conatus in so-called "animal motions." But this time, since behind those apparently inanimate bodies Leibniz find animate monads, the kingdom of final causes is not a small realm within immense but inanimate world, but coeval with the phenomenal world of mechanics. Though Leibniz clams, the kingdom of final causes and the kingdom of efficient causes "everywhere permeate each," and harmonize with each other, they are by no means on equal level. Since derivative forces are nothing but "modifications and echoes of primitive forces," the kingdom of efficient causes turns out to be a shadow or at most a dependent state of the kingdom of final causes. Leibniz's formulations of this kingdom of final causes involve the complicated relation between metaphysics and ethics in his philosophical system. Some aspects of it we have touched on in our discussion concerning moral and natural necessity. Here we are confined to one point: the dependency of the kingdom of efficient causes on that of final causes brings about the change in the relative priority of natural philosophy and political/moral philosophy. In the picture Leibniz sketches in

273 his dynamics, the nature of things is finally based on primitive forces which are determined according to the law of final causes, which, according to Leibniz's famous metaphor, are nothing but the laws of the republic of which God is the wisest and powerful monarch. Thus, Leibniz's heroic effort to defend nature in the phenomenal world of mechanics finally places its hope on the foundation of the natural world on political or moral philosophy. In this sense, Leibniz's natural law, especially its noblest part, universal jurisprudence, is a central part of his metaphysics. Leibniz's frequent recourses to legal terminology is not merely some idiosyncratic habit, but based on the fundamental principle of his philosophy. This will become more evident in the next chapter.

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CHAPTER FOUR: NATURAL LAW 1. Ethics and Metaphysics According to the famous account of Locke's friend James Tyrrell, the Essay concerning Human Understanding emerges from a discussion "about the principles of morality and revealed religion."1 Locke's inquiry about the abilities or powers of human understanding, though apparently "very remote" from this topic, teems with discussions concerning moral and religious questions of note in his age. The popularity of Locke's Essay is partially attributed to its implicit or explicit engagement with "morality and revealed religion."2 But more significant to modern moral philosophy or even to modern philosophy as such is the conclusion Locke draws from his examination of the powers of the human mind: "since our faculties are not fitted to penetrate into the internal fabrick and real essences of bodies", the nature of things is beyond the reach of human reason; thus our proper business is not metaphysical speculations, but "those which concern our conduct" (E. I.i.6). Locke's "first inquiry" concerning "our own strength," or "the powers of our own mind," does not intend to lead us to the "sun-shine" over the "the vast ocean of being" (I.i.7), but bring us back to the

1 Tyrrell's note in the margin of his copy of Locke's Essay (quoted in Woolhouse, Locke, 98). Woolhouse suggests at that time "Locke was still concerned with some of the questions he had discussed earlier in his 'Essays on the Law of Nature." Tyrrell's account is corroborated by Locke's recollection in "the Epistle to the Reader" of the Essay. 2 Yolton, Locke and the Way of Ideas, 21.

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"candle-light" which "shines bright enough for all our purposes" (I.i.5). The candle-light of human understanding set up by God in the human mind is reserved for "moral sciences" (IV.iii.20): "morality is the proper science, and business of mankind in generaF (IV.xii. 11). Leibniz's response is rather strange. He seems to be heedless of Locke's concern with morality. At the opening of his fictional dialogue with Locke, Leibniz's spokesman, Theophilus introduces himself as a contrast with Locke's spokesman, Philaethes: "[y]ou had more to do with the speculative philosophers, while I was more inclined towards moral questions" (NE 71). As a careful but critical commentator on Locke's Essay, Leibniz is well aware of Locke's downgrading of metaphysical speculations and elevation of moral science. But Locke's revaluation of metaphysics and ethics is accompanied by an attempt to dissociate ethics from 3

The French translator of the Essay Coste suggests Prov. 20:27 as the biblical source of Locke's image of "candle-light" ("The spirit of man is the candle [or lamp] of the Lord, searching all the innermost parts of the belly." E.IV.iii.20 substantiates Coste' conjecture). This biblical image certainly adds some Christian tone to Locke' philosophizing, and opposes it to the classical image in Pagan philosophy, the idea of goodness as sun in Plato's Republic. But somehow paradoxically, Locke employs candle as the image of our reason clearly in opposition to the supposed revelation, which is compared to sun-shine from heaven by Locke in his important discussion of "enthusiasm" (IV.xix.8, cf. The Reasonablenss ofChristianty, XIV, 253). Perhaps more interesting for our study is the contemporary source of Locke's metaphor. Though this biblical quotation is widely employed by the Cambridge Platonists, it is much more probable that Locke borrows it from Bacon's Advancement of Learning. Bacon's exhortation to the advancement of "the pure knowledge of nature and universality" (against "the proud knowledge of good and evil"), however, turns into an advocacy of moral sciences at Locke's hand: "And although he [i.e. God] doth insinuate that the supreme or summary law of nature, which he calleth 'the work which God worketh from the beginning to the end,' is not possible to be found out by man; yet that doth not derogate from the capacity of the mind, but may be referred to the impediments, as of shortness of life, ill conjunction of labours, ill tradition of knowledge over from hand to hand, and many other inconveniences whereunto the condition of man is subject. For that nothing parcel of the world is denied to man's inquiry and invention he doth another place rule over, when he saith, "The spirit of man is the lamp of the Lord, wherewith he searcheth the inwardness of all secrets. (Book I. i.3)" The standard understanding of "the candle of the Lord" (as well as its significance in the doctrine of natural law) can be found in Nathaniel Culverwell, An Elegant and Learned Discourse of the Light of Nature (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1971); cf. "Preface" by the editors, Robert A. Greene and Hugh MacCallum, xxi-xxii.

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metaphysics. It is this dissociation which leads Leibniz to characterize Locke's position in such a strange way. Leibniz's interest in "moral questions" requires a search for the solid principles which serve as the foundation of ethics (NE 71). Leibniz is clear that Locke orients his Essay precisely to the opposite end. Locke's spokesman claims against Leibniz's emphasis on the metaphysics of substance: But when I spoke of things 'which are of the most import to us,' what I had in mind was morality. I grant that your metaphysics provides wonderful foundations for that; but morality can be firmly enough grounded without digging so deeply. Although, as I remembering your remarking, the foundations of morality may not extend so far if they do not have a natural theology like yours as their base, still, merely by considering the goods of this life we can establish inferences which are important for the ordering of human societies (NE 383-4). Locke's position is, according to Leibniz, doubly defective: metaphysics without ethical significance would become "speculative," just as ethics without metaphysical foundation would be superficial, if not mistaken. Leibniz insists, without the metaphysics of substance, the concept of God and soul, which Locke admits as the foundation of moral science (E.IV.xii.l 1), cannot be adequately formulated (NE 432). This will prove decisive in their respective doctrines of natural law. Leibniz's untiring criticism of Locke's dissociation of ethics from metaphysics draws our attention to Locke's famous claim that moral science is demonstrative. As human beings, we should not "peremptorily, or intemperately require demonstration, and demand certainty, where probability only is to be had", but the "candle-light" in our mind will be "sufficient to govern our concernments" (E. Li.5). Locke's claim comprises a positive as well as a negative part: morality is

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the proper science of men since men "are both concerned, and fitted to search out their summum bonum" (IV.xii.11); but we should not require demonstration beyond the reach of human reason, that is, the hidden nature of things.4 Thus, Locke's concern with morality is always accompanied by his opposition to the metaphysics of substance: moral rules are capable of demonstration, but they are not based on innate principles (I.iii.l); "morality is capable of demonstration, as well as mathematics," since "[t]he names of substances, if they be used in them, as they should, can no more disturb moral, than they do mathematical discourses" (lll.xi.16). In claiming moral science is demonstrative, Locke repeatedly compares it to mathematics.5 In moral discourse as well in mathematical discourse, names have "no external beings for archetypes which they are referred to, and must correspond with" (IIII.xi.17), but refer to the combinations of simple ideas made arbitrarily (or freely) by human mind (III.xi.15, IV.iv.5). Moral rules are capable of demonstration precisely because they have no archetypes in nature (E.IV.iv.5, cf. IV.v.l 1). Without the foundation in the metaphysics of substance or the realities of things, morality is not, as Leibniz suggests, deprived of all its foundation. Morality, if it is to determine the actions of human beings, must be "established upon its true 4

A comparison with Aristotle's position naturally comes to our mind. Near the opening of his Ethics, Aristotle warns his audience from pursuing the same precision in different inquiries. In political inquiry "we must be content... to show what is true about them [that is, noble and just things as well as good things] roughly and in outline." It would be absurd for an educated man to demand demonstrations (apodeikseis) from a rhetorician just as to accept persuasive arguments from a mathematician (Eth. Nic. 1094bl2-28), since it is a lack of education not to know of what things one should seek a demonstration and of what he should not (Metaph.l006al-&). Pufendorf also attacks Aristotle on this point, De Jure Naturae et Gentium, I.ii.l. 5 Leibniz insists, by contrast, "moral science is innate in just the same way that arithmetic is, for it too depends upon demonstration provided by the inner light" (NE 92, cf. NE 88ff, 50).

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foundations" (II.xxi.70). In the manuscript which was originally intended to be the last chapter of the Essay, Locke points out: To establish morality, therefore, upon its proper basis, and such foundations as may carry an obligation with them, we must first prove a law, which always supposes a lawmaker: one that has a superiority and right to ordain, and also a power to reward and punish according to the tenor of the law established by him. This sovereign lawmaker who has set rules and bounds to the actions of men is God... 6 The true foundations of morality, therefore, come from the obligatory force of God as a lawmaker (cf.I.iii.12). The core of Locke's "moral philosophy" is the notion of law. Moral rules are defined mainly in terms of law (II.xxviii.6). But law as the source of morality is rational. Moral rules, or moral laws, derived from the laws of nature, are knowable by the light of nature (I.iii.13). The relation between these two pillars of Locke's edifice of moral philosophy, the legal and the rational, requires a careful examination. Only on the basis of such an examination can we adequately understand Leibniz's criticism of Locke. Locke's insistence on the demonstrability of morality invites a comparison with the similar claims of his predecessors, Hobbes and Pufendorf.7 Locke's position concerning the demonstrability of moral science is similar to Hobbes and Pufendorf in their denial of the naturalism of the natural law tradition. From the same consideration, Locke compares ethics to geometry, and emphasizes its artificiality in contrast to the hidden nature of natural things which serves as the 6

"Of Ethic in General," PE, 304. Hobbes, De Nomine, X.4-5, De Corpore 1.2, XXV. 1, comp. De Cive XVIII.4, De Cive XVII.28; Pufendorf s criticism of Hobbes, De Jure Naturae et Gentium, I.ii.4 (esp. see Jean Barbeyrac's n.5), I.iv.6,1.vii.13, VIII.i.5; Pufendorf's own position, De Jure Naturae et Gentium, I.ii.2-6 7

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rational basis of natural law teaching from Thomas to Grotius. This denial of the natural basis of moral science also leads these modern natural lawyers to a legalist understanding of morality and politics. But compared to Hobbes and Pufendorf, Locke's examination concerning human understanding, and the corresponding refutation of the metaphysics of substance, is more systematic. The starting point of his discussion of moral science is, as we have seen in the second chapter, an autonomous "epistemology." The conception of natural law, as well known, plays a crucial role in the formation of modern political thought. It is also widely agreed that Locke's political philosophy is based on his doctrine of natural law.8 The relation between Locke's argument for the demonstrability of moral science and his concern with natural law, however, remains unsettled among the Locke scholars. But the key themes in Locke's Essay, according to Leibniz's diagnosis, a new way of idea by which Locke refutes innatism, and a subtle theory of liberty, are related to the fundamental premises of modern natural law teaching. Thus, Leibniz's diagnosis and remedy of Locke's "epistemology" are also a critique of the basis of modern natural law. It is against the modern tendency to denaturalize or legalize natural law that Leibniz formulates his own rational or natural jurisprudence which culminates in a universal jurisprudence. An examination 8

Locke's Two Treatises, it is argued, "is not a piece of political prudence, advice on what to do, the status of which depends upon matter of fact, but a statement of the limits of political right, the status of which depends upon the knowledge of the law of nature." Dunn, The Political Thought ofJohn Locke (Cambridge, 1969), 50.

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of Leibniz's natural law teaching will bring to the conclusion our discussion of his metaphysical transformation of modern philosophy.

2. The Crisis of Modern Natural Law The concept of natural law arises from the tension between nature and law, the philosophical root of which is the relation between power and goodness as we have examined in the first chapter.9 A central difficulty with which the modern school of natural law is confronted is how to reconcile the natural and the legal aspects of natural law. This difficulty involves two related questions. Firstly, in what sense is natural law "natural", in other words, in what sense is natural law based on our knowledge of nature, and especially how can we know the content of natural law? Secondly, what is the source of the obligatory force of natural law? Since the late middle Ages, the natural lawyers increasingly emphasize the legal aspect of the natural law and distinguish it from morality more explicitly.10 The transformation of natural law teaching from Thomas to Suarez exposes this tendency very clearly. This tendency strengthens the tension between the natural and the legal aspects of natural law, and makes it very difficult to give satisfactory answers to these two central questions at the same time. The attempts of modern political philosophers to solve this difficulty will finally lead to the disappearance of natural law from the scene of 9

Plato, Gorgias 483e. Suarez takes this passage as the origin of the notion of the natural law (De LegibusA.i.2). The awkward expression Plato employs (kata nomonge ton tes physeos) clearly shows its strangeness. Cf. Robert Grant, Miracle and Natural Law in Graeco-Roman and Early Christian Thought (Amsterdam: North Holland Pub. Co., 1952), 20. 10 Otto Gierke, Natural Law and the Theory of Society: 1500-1800 (Boston: Beacon, 1957), 99-100.

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political philosophy.

2.1 Thomas Thomas' doctrine of natural laws is a central part of his theory of practical reason and human actions (ST. la Ilae, q.90-97).11 Thomas' theory of practical reason and human actions is centered around the notion of goodness:12 Now it is clear that whatever actions proceed from a power (potentia), are caused by that power in accordance with the nature of its object (rationem sui objecti). But the object of the will is the end and the good (finis et bonum). Therefore all human actions must be for an end (ST. la Ilae, q.l.art.l). Goodness, as the end of man's desire (ST. la Ilae, ql.art.6), is "the principle of human acts, in so far as they are human" (ST. la Ilae, q.l, art.3). Power, therefore, depends on goodness.13 This dominant tendency of Thomas' theory of human action permeates his discussion of law. Law, according to Thomas, is a "certain rule and measure of acts, whereby man is induced to act or is restrained from acting" (ST. la Ilae, q.90, art.l).14 "Properly speaking", Thomas argues, "a law regards first and foremost the order to the common good" (ST la Ilae, q.90, art.3). It is noteworthy that Thomas asserts the binding force (obligation) of law comes from law's nature as "rule and measure" (ST. la Ilae, q.90, art.4).15 This "rule and measure", according to '' Cf. John Finnis, Aquinas (Oxford, 1998); Clifford Kossel, "Natural Law and Human Law," in Stephen Pope ed. The Ethics of Aquinas (Washington: Georgetown University Press, 2002), 169-70. 12 Ralph Mclnerny, Aquinas on Human Action (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 1992), 103-32. 13 "Now this is good in general, to which the will tends naturally, as does any power (potentia) to its object" (ST. la Ilae, q.10, art.l). 14 . Thomas' official definition of law is: "a dictate of reason for the common good, made by him who has care of the community and promulgated" (ST. la Ilae, q.90, art.4). 15 Promulgation, Thomas admits, is necessary for a law to obtain its binding force (ST. la Ilae, q.90,

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Thomas, is reason, which, as "the first principle of human acts", directs human acts to the end (ST. la IIae.q.l.art.l.ad.3; q.90, art.l). It is only in this sense that the will of the sovereign has the force of law (vigorem legis), while without the rule of reason, Thomas insists, the sovereign's will "would savor of lawlessness rather than law" (ST. la Ilae, q.90, art.l.ad.3). Natural law plays a principal role in Thomas' account of law: "the precepts of the natural law are to the practical reason, what the first principles of demonstrations are to the speculative reason". This primacy of natural law for practical reason is premised on the centrality of goodness in human actions: "Now as being is the first thing that falls under the apprehension simply, so good is the first thing that falls under the apprehension of the practical reason, which his directed to action: since every agent acts for an end under the aspect of good" (rationem boni). Thus, according to Thomas, the first principle in practical reason ("good is that which all things seek after.") is the basis of the first precept of natural law ("good is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided."), and both are founded on the notion of good, ratio boni (ST. la Ilae, q.94, art.2). All other precepts of natural law follow from this first precept, and thus orient themselves to good. art.4). The coercive power to inflict penalties is not included in Thomas' definition of law, though it is necessary for the framer of the law (ST la Ilae, q.90, art.3 ad.3; q.92 art.2.ad.3). In his commentary on Aristotle's discussion of law in Eth. Nic. (1180a21-23: "law...is a logos from prudence and intelligence that has coercive power"), however, Thomas believes both logos (sermo) and coercive power (coactiva potentia) are indispensable for the law promulgated by the ruler or prince (In Eth. X. L. 14.no. 17). But since "the natural law is promulgated by the very fact that God instilled into man's mind so as to be known by him naturally" (ST. la Ilae, q.90, art.4 ad.l), there seems to be no need of external coercive power for its "execution." This is a crucial difference which separates Thomas from the modern school of natural law.

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When we turn to the manner in which goodness determines human actions, or more specifically, the manner in which the first precept of the natural law operates in human actions, we come to the most interesting part of Thomas' account of natural law, especially if we consider it with reference to Leibniz's overcoming of the modern natural law with his universal jurisprudence: the relation between the order of natural inclinations and the order of the precepts of the natural law. On the basis of his understanding of human nature, Thomas distinguishes three levels of natural inclinations in human beings, living, sensitive, and rational, to which correspond the relevant natural laws. First of all, there is in man "an inclination to good in accordance with nature" which he shares with all substances: "inasmuch s every substance seeks the preservation of its own being, according to its nature: whatever is a means of preserving human life, and of warding off its obstacles, belong to the natural law" (ibid). Thus, to the nature of human beings as beings or substances corresponds the natural law of self-preservation. Secondly, as animals, human beings have other inclinations which are said to belong to the natural law. Thomas mentions "sexual intercourse, education of offspring and so forth" (ibid). This inclination and the relevant natural law pertain to man more specially than the previous precept. Finally, according to Thomas, "there is in man an inclination to good, according to the nature of his reason, which nature is proper to him: thus man has a

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natural inclination to know the truth about God, and to live in society." Corresponding to this highest natural inclination in human beings, there is the natural law "to shun ignorance, to avoid offending those among whom one has to live..." (ibid). In brief, "the order of the precepts of the natural law is in accordance with the order of natural inclinations" (Secundum igitur ordinem inclinationum naturalium, est ordo praeceptorum legis naturae. Ibid). All these precepts of natural law which correspond to our natural inclinations to good flow from the first precept of the natural law (ST. la Ilae, q.94, art.2, ad.l). On the basis of this dispositional theory of natural law we can more adequately understand the two meanings of "law as rule and measure" Thomas mentions in his definition of law: the first meaning pertains to reason - reason is "that which measures and rules" (memurante et regulante); the second meaning pertains to inclination (regulato et mensurato) - "law is in all those things that are inclined to something by reason of some law," in this sense, "any inclination arising from a law, may be called a law" (ST. la Ilae, q.90 art.l ad.l).16 Thus with his theory of human nature, Thomas establishes a close relation between the two indispensable aspects of any account of natural law: the cognitive grasp of the content of the natural laws and the appetitive tendency to seek after the good.17 16 Thomas even once defines natural law in the latter way: Ipsae naturales incilnationes rerum in propriosfines, quas dicimus esse naturales legae. (NomAQA). 17 In a sermon quoted by Oscar Brown, Thomas explicitly associates the natural law with the appetitive law: Et inde accidit quod licet homovelit bonum secundum rationem, tamen ex concupiscentia ad contrarium inclinator. ... et inde est quodfrequenter lex concupiscentiae legem naturae, et ordinem rationis corrumpit. Brown draws attention to "the cognitive immediacy of the natural inclinations." Natural Rectitude and Divine Law in Aquinas (Toronto: PIMS, 1981), 32ff, the

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According to Thomas, God instilled the natural law in man's mind so that he can know it naturally (ST. la Ilae, q.90 art.4 ad.l).'8 But how can the natural law as the principle of all human actions be "naturally" known and at the same time actually guide our actions? To answer these questions we have to turn to Thomas' discussion of synderesis, conscience and habit.19 The immediate grasp of natural law by human reason is accomplished with synderesis, a term Thomas adopts from St. Jerome:20 ..just as there is a natural habit of the human soul through which it knows principles of the speculative sciences, which we call understanding of principles (intellectual principiorum), so, too, there is in the soul a natural habit of first principles of action, which are the universal principles of the natural law (universalia principia iuris naturalis). This habit pertains to synderesis. This habit exists in no other power than reason... (De Veritate, q. 16, art. 1.). Thus, synderesis is a habitual knowledge "in man naturally" (homini naturaliter inesse), that is, an innate knowledge. Thomas compares this innate knowledge of the natural law as "a kind of seed plot containing in germ all the knowledge which follows" (ibid). This natural or innate habit (habitus...innatus. ibid, ad.ll, esp. ad. 14) contains "certain things which pertain to the eternal norms of conduct" (rationes aeternas. ibid, ad.9), which always inclines us to good (ibid, ad.7). quotation is at 33n.l0. This is even more discernible in his definition of natural law in the early writings: "natural law is the concept naturally impressed on him, by which he is directly to suitable actions in his proper activities" {In 4 Sent, dist.33, q.l .art.l). 19 As Crowe points out, these concepts are often associated with natural law in Scholasticism. Michael Bertram Crowe, The Changing Profile of the Natural Law (Hague: Nijhoff, 1977), 123. cf. Timothy Potts, Conscience in Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge, 1980). 20 The classical study of synderesis is still Otto Lottin's monumental work, Psychologie et morale auxXIIe etXIIIe siecles (Louvain, 1948), Vol.11, Part I, 101-349; cf. Mark McGovern, "Synderesis: A Key to Understanding Natural Law in Aquinas," in Curtis Hancock and Anthony Simon ed. Freedom, Virtue, and the Common Good (Notre Dame, 1995), 104-24; Crowe, The Changing Profile of the Natural Law, 123-140 (both articles are much indebted to the study of Lottin).

286 Though the principle of natural law is naturally known and innate to human reason, the principle itself cannot directly guide human actions, what is required is "the application of knowledge to something", conscience (De Veritate, q.15, art.1; ST. la Ilae, q.79, art. 13). In its applications, "the whole force of conscience" (tota vis conscientiae), Thomas insists, depends on the judgment of synderesis, "just as the whole truth of speculative reason depends on first principles" (ibid, ad.l). Thomas' concepts of synderesis and conscience explicate the relation between the cognitive aspect of the natural law and its guiding force in human actions. It is indeed through the natural or innate habit that the centrality of goodness in Thomas' theory of practical reason and human actions is secured in the natural law, which, according to Thomas, is nothing but the participation of human beings in eternal laws (ST. la Ilae, q.94, art.4, ad.l).

2.2 Suarez The centrality of goodness in Thomas' theory of natural law is replaced by a legalistic approach in the influential treatise De Legibus ac deo legislatore (1612) by the great Spanish scholastic, Francisco Suarez. Suarez's significant revision of Thomas's doctrine is accomplished through his clarification of the meanings of the term 'law' (lex). Suarez criticizes Thomas' definition of law in terms of "rule and measure" as "too broad and general" (nisi lata

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et generalis. De Legibus I.i.l).21 Suarez takes pains to give a stricter definition of law. Firstly, Suarez limits law to men or rational creatures who are capable of obedience to divine power (I.i.2). To apply law to the cosmic process is metaphoric (I.i.2). It is not law in the strict sense even in the case of lower creatures since it does not create true obligation toward them (Il.iv.l). Secondly, Suarez distinguishes moral matters from artificial matters, and insists, "the name 'law' is properly applied, in an absolute sense (propria et absoluta), to that which pertains to moral conduct." Only in the case of moral rectitude, we are entitled to say some acts conform to law (I.i.5). The most revealing limitation Suarez imposes on Thomas' definition is the strict distinction between law and counsel. Suarez knows too well, "counsel is," according to Thomas' definition of law, "also a species of rule and measure of virtuous action inclining one towards that which is better, and restraining one from that which is less good" (I.i.l).22 But against the authority of Thomas, Suarez contests, "if one is speaking.. .of law in the strict sense of the term (proprie loquendo de lege), only that is law which imposes an obligation of some sort" (I.i.7); thus counsel cannot be taken as law, since "counsel does not induce to action effectually, that is to say, by imposing a moral necessity of action" (I.i.8, I.xii.4). 21

Suarez refutes Thomas' definition more explicitly in his discussion of natural law, "the objective goodness of the moral actions of human beings" is not sufficient for rational nature to be law, since it is "measure" (mensura), which is a term of wider application than "law" (II.v.6, cf. II.v.8). 22 According to Thomas, counsel is a constituent part of the functioning of the natural law (ST la Ilae. q.91 art. 4, ad.2.). Thomas, in any event, admits, the proper act of law is to command, not to give counsel (ST. la Ilae. q.92 art. 2, ad.2.). The key difference between Suarez and Thomas consists in the fact that, for Thomas, counsel is indispensable since it allows human reason to the natural goodness which depends on God's eternal law, whereas for Suarez, this goodness plays no role in his theory of law.

288 Suarez excludes counsel from law on the account of its lack of the obligatory force. The concern of the binding force or the obligatory character of law is clearly the main drive behind Suarez's revision of Thomas' "too broad and general understanding" of law with his new definition: "law is a common, just and stable precept, which has been sufficiently promulgated" (I.xii.5).23 In brief, Suarez's attempt to arrive at a strict definition of law (propria et absoluta), is to emphasize the imperative or obligatory aspect of law.24 He thus shifts the focus of the natural law teaching from the dictate of practical reason on the basis of the natural order (being-goodness) to the prescription on the basis of the hierarchy of power.

This brings his position closer to the voluntarist approach

which is usually associated with the Franciscan theologians. But as a Jesuit scholastic, Suarez in no way wants to takes the Franciscan side to oppose the Dominican Master. His aim, in general, is to supplement Thomas' theory with the insights of Scotism. This synthesis, or reconciliation, is to be decisive in the development of modern natural law. With his characteristic style of the scholastic disputations, Suarez summarizes the two main positions concerning the nature of law. According to the intellectualist

23

About the metaphysical consideration behind Suarez's revision of Thomas' definition of law, cf. Jean-Francois Courtine, Nature et empire de la hi: etudes suareziennes (Paris: Vrin, 1999), 92-3. 24 ".. .law in the proper sense of the term is the ordination of an inferior by a superior, through the direct command of the latter." Any other definition, according to Suarez, is a metaphoric extension, which must be used carefully (II.ii.9). 25 Pierre-Francois Moreau aptly remarks, "for Suarez, law is no longer the principle which rules the order of things, but defined in terms of "obligation," "Loi naturelle et ordre des choses chez Suarez,' Archives de Phihsophie Vol.42 (1979), 232.

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position championed by Thomas and his Dominican followers, law is an act of the intellect; whereas according to the voluntarist position advocated by Scotus, Occam and other Franciscan theologians since Bonaventure, law is an act of the lawmaker's will. Between these two extremes, Suarez attempts to find his via media: "law is composed and compacted of the acts of both faculties." According to this composed notion of law: .. .for law there are two requisites: impulse and direction, or (so to speak), goodness and truth; that is to say, right judgment concerning the thing that should be done and an efficacious will impelling to the performance of those things; and therefore, law may consists of both an act of the will and an act of the intellect (I.v.20). Law "in its complete and adequate sense" {adequate et complete) thus involves both acts. These two acts, respectively, concern different aspects of law: ...if one has in mind the moving force in law, so that law is said to be the power in the prince which moves and makes action obligatory, then, in that sense, it is an act of the will. If, on the other hand, we are referring to and considering that force in law which directs us toward what is good and necessary, then law pertains to the intellect (I.v.21). To Thomas' theory of law, Suarez's double determination of law adds the obligatory or binding force of law which has been the focus of Roman Lawyers, canonists and Franciscan theologians. The binding force of law, according to this juristic tradition, comes only from the will of a superior, since "binding by means of law is a moral effect," and only the will of a superior has this moral efficacy (I.iv.9,1.v.16-17). But Suarez's emphasis on the obligatory aspect of law, as he explicitly admits, Suarez's deviation from Thomas' position is clear at the beginning of his discussion of whether the natural law is natural right reason itself. While claiming to follow Thomas' way, Suarez breaks the close relation Thomas establishes between the order of natural inclinations and the precepts of natural law (ST. la Ilae q.94 art.2) and turns to emphasize the indispensable role of obligation in natural law (esp. cf. his refutation of Vazquez's position, II.v.2ff).

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involves obvious difficulty in the case of natural law (I.iv.9, I.v.22): "there is no proper and perceptive law without an act of willing on the part of someone who issues the command (iusprecipientis)... but the natural law does not depend on the will of anyone who issues the command, therefore, it is not properly speaking a law" (Il.vi.l). The strict definition of law Suarez adopts drives him into an awkward situation in the case of natural law: either he has to side with Occam to redefine natural law as divine precepts issued by God, but since God could abolish and change such precepts as he wills, this amounts to reducing natural law to positive law (II.vi.4);27 or he is forced to admit, like Gabriel Biel or Gregory of Rimini before him, natural law is not a prescriptive law, but only indicates 'what by its own nature is intrinsically good and required or intrinsically bad" (II.vi.3). But Suarez insists he can still find a middle way which Thomas and most theologians have adopted. Suarez's position comprises three related assertions. According to Suarez' first assertion, "the natural law is not only indicative of bad and good, but also contains its own proper prohibition of what is bad and prescription of what is good" (II.vi.5). This assertion is the best example of Suarez' middle way of combining the legacy of Thomas and the juristic approach. The indication of good and evil, which Thomas emphasizes in his definition of law, is 27

As Suarez points out, the presupposition of this position is: "actions are not good or bad expect because they are prescribed or prohibited by God." In other words, "it is not the case that God himself wills to prescribe or forbid such-and-such an act for a creature because the act is good or bad; rather, the act is just or unjust because God wills that it be just or that it not be just" (II.vi.4).

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not sufficient, since it is merely a cognition or proposal, but not itself the act of a superior. For natural law to have the character of a law in the strict sense, the judgment involved not only indicates what is good or bad, but it must indicate what is good or bad as "a command that can induce an obligation" (fl.vi.6). To satisfy the double requisites of law, Suarez points out, "natural law, as it exists in man, not only indicates its object in itself but also indicates that object as being prohibited or prescribed by some superior". In this way, the natural law, in so far as it exists in man, has the force of a divine command (vim divini mandati. II.vi.7). Despite the authoritative texts of Paul, Ambrose, Augustine and Thomas Suarez collects to support his innovation, the theological presupposition of this new understanding of natural law is a rather controversial claim: all those things that natural law dictates as good or bad are commanded by God through "a special precept and act of will by which he wills to bind and obligate us by the force of his authority to obey those dictates" (II.vi.8). Thus, whoever violates natural law turns away from the will of God, and the obligation of natural law is a true obligation (II.vi.10). Suarez's attempt to search for the binding force of natural law is accomplished by introducing special will as a guarantee of the obligatory nature of natural law (which makes the obligation of the natural law so-called "the true obligation"), and indeed turns natural law into a sort of divine positive law. But Suarez does not go so far as endorse Occam's extreme position which argues that goods or evils are simply dependent on God's command or prescription.

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His second assertion aims at avoiding such a danger brought about by emphasizing the preceptive and obligatory aspect of natural law. According to Suarez's second assertion: "the divine will, in the form of prohibition or precept, is not the whole reason (tota ratio) for the goodness or badness that is found in obeying or transgressing the natural law; but the natural law presupposes in the acts themselves a certain necessary righteousness or turpitude, and attaches to these a special obligation of divine law". With this assertion, Suarez reaffirms the basic position of Thomas in his more juristic approach to natural law. God's precept or the divine will is not the total reason, even not the primary reason {prima ratio) of the goodness or badness of the moral acts in question (Il.vi.l 1). Goodness or badness of human acts depends primarily on their nature or essence. But even in this Thomist assertion, Suarez does not forget mentioning the juristic aspect of natural law: though the primary reason of goodness or badness consists in the nature or essence of things, natural law as law does attach to "a certain necessary righteousness or turpitude" "a special obligation of divine law." Thus, Suarez in fact finds two kinds of goodness in every human act: one about its nature or essence or reason, another about its legal status (Il.vi.l7). It is precisely this uneasy double determination of natural law that dominates Suarez' formulation of its subject-matter: "the subject-matter of natural law consists in the good which is essentially righteous, or necessary to righteousness, and the evil which is opposed to that good. In the one, as something to be prescribed, in the other, as something to be

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forbidden" (Il.vii.l). The first and the second assertions naturally lead to the third assertion, the conclusion of Suarez' theory of natural law: "the natural law is a true and proper divine law whose lawgiver is God" (II.vi.13). It is clear that the crux of Suarez's middle way regarding natural law is a subtle and complicated attempt to combine the "indicative" and "perceptive" aspects of law, which are respectively emphasized by the intellectualists and voluntarists. It shows us a heroic effort to save Thomas' legacy in the face of the increasing domination of the voluntarist understanding of law.28 But Suarez' attempt to incorporate the juristic element into Thomas' framework also introduces a significant tension between his new concern with the binding force of law and the centrality of goodness and nature in Thomas' original formulation. The doctrine of law, and especially that of natural law, as we have pointed out, is an integral part of Thomas' theory of practical reason and human actions. Suarez does not explicitly revolt against Thomas in this respect, but he shifts the focus in his account of natural Several Spanish scholars of Suarez have pointed out, Suarez's position moves from the early anti-voluntarist view to the final nuanced synthesis in the 1612 edition of De Legibus. Cf. Crowe, The Changing Profile of the Natural Law, 220. The voluntarist tendency in defining law is certainly related to a new understanding of the natural order brought about by the dialectics of power we have examined in the first chapter. Francis Oakley briefly summarizes the tendency: "the growing inclination in the fourteenth century among those of nominalists commitment, taking the omnipotence of God as their fundamental principle, to accord to the divine will the primacy in God's workings ad extra, that is to say, not in himself but in relation to his creatures. With that went a concomitant understanding of the order of created world (both the natural order governing the behavior of nonrational beings and,... the moral order governing human behavior) no longer as a participation in a divine reason that is in some measure transparent to the human intellect, but rather as the deliverance of a free and inscrutable divine will. And this divine will is bound by no eternal standard and is utterly resistant to the curious probing of any merely human intellect." Natural Law, Laws of Nature, Natural Rights (New York: Continuum, 2005), 52-3, for the relation between this tendency and the distinction of divine powers, cf. 55ff.

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law by insisting on a strict and proper definition of law. As a result, the complex discussion of synderesis, conscience, and other elements of practical reason in Thomas' account of natural law is reduced to a minimum in Suarez' examination.29 What takes their place is a meticulous analysis of the causes and effects involved in the obligatory aspect of natural law. Correspondent to this legalization of natural law, Thomas' concern with the role of various natural inclinations in natural law is replaced by Suarez' stress on "rational gradation" (II.viii.4). This reliance on rational reflection rather than natural inclinations also leads Suarez to blur the crucial difference between specific rules and first principles of human acts in Thomas' doctrine of natural law, and even to place more weight on the former in determining our actions (ll.vii.7). Both the implicit tension between the indicative aspect and the preceptive aspect in Suarez's legalization of natural law and his appeal to a more strictly rational method to solve this difficulty decisively influence the modern school of natural law.

2.3 The Modern School of Natural Law Before examining the doctrines of Locke and Leibniz concerning natural law, we will discuss briefly two leading figures in the modern school of natural law, Grotius and Pufendorf. We choose them not merely on account of their profound influences 29

Westerman, The Disintegration of Natural law Theory: Aquinas to Finnis (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 97-100.

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on the development of modern natural law, but also because of the relevance of their doctrines to the thoughts of Locke and Leibniz. Both take Grotius and Pufendorf as the starting points, positively or negatively, of their own formulations of natural law.

Therefore, they will help us understand the crisis of modern natural law and

the different attempts of Locke and Leibniz to overcome this crisis.

(1) Grotius Hugo Grotius is often hailed as the founder of the modern school of natural law.31 Jean Barbeyrac, the leading eighteen-century translator and scholar of modern natural law, credits Grotius as "the first who broke the ice" of scholasticism by composing "a system of natural law."32 It has long since been believed that Grotius' originality as the founder of the modern natural law consists in his "secularization" of the Christian natural law and the dissociation of politics from theology and metaphysics.33 Those who argue for the secularity of Grotius' theory of natural law often quote his famous claim in the Locke believes their works belong among the best textbooks for the youth concerning moral and political affairs (TE 186, cf. "Some Thoughts Concerning Reading and Study for a Gentleman," PE 352). For Locke's intellectual relation with Grotius and Pufendorf, cf. Michael Zuckert, Natural Rights and the New Republicanism (Princeton, 1994), ch.7. Leibniz contrasts the weakness of Pufendorf with "the discernment and erudition of the incomparable Grotius" in his "Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," R.65; cf. the classical study of H.-P. Schneider, Justitia Universalis, (Frankfurt: Klostermann, 1967), esp. 78-81. 31 D'Entreves, Natural Law (New York : Hutchinson's University Library, 1951), 71. 32 A Historical and Critical Account of the Science of Morality (as the "Prefactory Discourse" of the English translation of Pufendorf's De iure naturae et gentium), xxix. 33 "It was a definite epoch in the history of thought when Grotius proceeded to elaborate a purely secular philosophy of law which embraced the whole of the life of the state, external as well as internal." Otto Gierke, Natural Law and the Theory of Society, 36. See Michel Villey, La formation de lapenseejuridique moderne (Paris Montchretien, 1975), 61 Iff; J. Leger, The 'Etiamsi Daremus'of Hugo Grotius (Roma, 1962); J.B.Schneewind, The Invention of Autonomy (Cambridge, 1998), 66ff.

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Prolegomena to the De lure Belli et Pads: What we have just said [concerning natural law] would still hold even if we should grant (etiamsi daremus), what without the greatest wickedness cannot be granted, that there is no God, or that he is not concerned with human affairs.34 Recent studies, however, challenge this simplistic reading. The ancient and scholastic precedents of Grotius' formulation (etiamsi daremus non esse Deum) have been detected.35 According to this reading, Grotius, far from freeing natural law from theology, reasserts an intellectualist or Thomist, position concerning the relation between natural law and God. But if we carefully compare Grotius' definition of law (ius) and natural law (ius naturale) with those of Thomas and Suarez, the picture is much more complicated. Although, in his etiamsi daremus formulation, Grotius does emphasize the rational basis of natural law, he immediately adds, "even in the law of nature (naturale ius) itself, whether it be that which consists in the maintenance of society, or that which in a looser sense is so called, though it flows from the internal principles of man, may notwithstanding be justly ascribed to God, because it was his pleasure that these principles should be in us."36 To be sure, even in this apparent concession, Grotius is still concerned with God as the author of nature, not as its legislator. Grotius, unlike Suarez, does not think that the obligatory force of natural law comes from God's will. But on the contrary, he insists on the difference between 34

De lure Belli et Pacts, prol.xi. Villey, op.cit. 612-5; Anton-Hermann Chroust, "Hugo Grotius and the Scholastic Natural Law Tradition", The New Scholasticism Vol. 17, No.2 (1943), 101 -133; cf. Leger, The 'Etiamsi Daremus' of Hugo Grotius, 45ff. 36 De lure Belli et Pads, prol.xii. 35

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natural law and divine voluntary law. This is most clearly seen in his official definition of ius naturale: Natural law (ius naturale) is the dictate of right reason, showing the moral deformity or moral necessity there is in any act, according to its agreement or disagreement to nature itself, individual or social and consequently, that such an act is either forbid or commanded by God, the author of nature.37 Though Grotius mentions the preceptive role of God (aut vetari out praecipi) in his definition, the obligation (debiti aut illiciti) of natural law does not derive from God's will, but from its inherent "moral deformity or moral necessity" according to "its suitableness or unsuitableness to a reasonable nature" (eius convenientia aut disconvenientia cum ipsa natura rationali). The core of natural law is its "moral necessity," which is even unchangeable with regard to God's power: ...natural law (ius naturale) is so unalterable, that God himself cannot change it. For though the power (potentia) of God be immense, yet we may say, that there some things to which this power does not extend, because they cannot be expressed by propositions that contain any sense, but manifestly imply a contradiction.38 Natural law, according to Grotius, is different from "divine voluntary law" on the basis of this moral necessity, since the latter "does not command or forbid such things as are in themselves, or in their own nature, obligatory and unlawful, but by forbidding, it renders the one lawful, and by commanding, the other obligatory."39 But it would be rash to credit a radically intellectualist position to Grotius, even if we decide to overlook the voluntarist element in his earlier work.40 Though 37

Ibid, I.I.x.l. Ibid, I.I.x.5. 39 Ibiid, I.I.x.2. 40 In his De lure Praedae (1604-1605), Grotius emphasizes God's power in his first rule of law (ius): "What God has shown to be His Will, that is law." He even endorse the claim that "a given thing is 38

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never missing the opportunities to support his doctrine with the notions from Thomas and other Thomists, Grotius deviates from his Christian predecessors at a decisive point: the upshot of his theory is not a natural law (lex) as "rule or measure" of practical reason according to the natural order, but a right (ius) as personal quality or faculty. In his clarification of the meanings of ius, Grotius lists three definitions: according to the first one, ius in the negative sense is "nothing but what is just or what is not unjust";41 according to the third, it denotes "law (lex), when taken in its largest extent, as being a rule of moral actions, obliging us to that which is right."42 These two meanings of ius can be easily found in the classical sources, especially in the Aristotelian-Thomist tradition (lex as regula et mensura). But in-between these two so-called "objective" understanding of ius, Grotius inserts a "subjective" or individual definition of ius, which occupied the central role in his analysis of property and the right of war: Ius is a moral quality annexed to the Person, enabling him to have, or do, something justly (qualitas moralis personae, competens ad aliquid iuste habendum vel agendum)... This moral quality when perfect, is called by us a faculty (facultas) when imperfect, an aptitude.43 Faculty, as "the right which a man has to his own (sui)" is "right properly and strictly taken" (ius proprie et stride dictum).44 Ius dominant in Grotius' system45 is just because God wills it, rather than that God wills the thing because it is just"(II.i) , which is exactly the opposite to the "moral necessity" he advocates in his De Juri Belli et Pacts (1624-5). 41 De lure Belli et Pads, 1.1 .iii. 1. 42 Ibid, I.l.ix.l. 43 IbidJ.l.iv. This classification of ius has already been employed by Suarez, De Legibus, I.ii. 44 De lure Belli et Pads, I A.v. 45 Peter Haggenmacher, "Droits subjectifs et systeme juridique chez Grotius," in Luc Foisneau ed.

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no longer the rule or measure of goodness and being, but "power" over oneself (potestas in se, libertas), others (potestas in alios), and things (potestas in res, dominium). This understanding of ius in terms of power, as the contemporaries of Grotius had already noticed, is not classical but a "barbarism" invented by the medieval canonists and civil lawyers.47 The core of this subjective version of right is a faculty or quality of an individual subject, which is deemed as his power or liberty, and often associated with his will rather than intellect.48 Though we can find traces of this subjective right in Roman legal notions of domininia, imperia or potestates, it is in the notorious Franciscan poverty controversies that Ockham systematically formulates the doctrine of ius as potestas, which culminates at the absolute power of

Suarez takes this as the proper sense of ius (De Legibus,\.\\.5) and bases his discussion concerning political power (potestas politico) on this understanding of ius.50 But he is well aware of the difference between this subjective understanding of ius and Thomas' position, which he customarily takes as the starting point of his

Politique, droit et theologie chez Bodin, Groitus et Hobbes (Paris: Kime, 1997), 73-4. De lure Belli et Pacis, 1.1 .v. 47 Michel Villey, "Les origins de la notion de droit subjectif," in Leqons d'histoire de la philosophic du droit (Paris: Dalloz, 1962), 224. About the origin of the notion of "subjective right," besides the classical article of Villey, cf. Tierney's erudite study, The Idea of Natural Rights, for Grotius, see ch.xiii. 48 About the meaning of subjective right, see Villey, La formation de la pensee juridique moderne, 227ff. 49 Villey, La formation de la pensee juridique moderne, 240ff. 50 Tierney, The Idea of Natural Rights, ch.xii; Villey, Laformation de la pensee juridique moderne, 368ff.

46

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treatise on law. According to Thomas, ius is the object of justice (obiectum iustitiae). This objective ius, Thomas admits, is not law, but [J]ust as there pre-exists in the mind of the craftsman a reason {ratio) of the things to be made externally by his craft, which rational being is called the rule of his craft, so too there pre-exists in the mind a reason of the particular just work which the reason {ratio) determines, and which is a kind of rule of prudence. If this rule be expressed in writing, it is called a law (fee)...and so law is not the same as right, but a reason of right {ratio iuris) (ST. Ha Ilae, q.57 art.l ad.2). If we take Thomas' analogy seriously, his claim is nothing but that lex is the reason, rational being, or more precisely, "idea" of ius. In other words, Thomas' notion of objective right is based on his understanding of law as "rule and measure" which is the idea of right.51 Natural right is, accordingly, the (just) work {opus) of human beings guided by law to a good act according to the very nature of human beings (ST.IIa IIae.q.57 art.2, q.58 art 1). Suarez attempts to reduce the conflict between Thomas and Ockham concerning ius. Thomas' definition, according to Suarez, does not exhaust the meanings of ius: ius sometimes signifies lex, sometimes dominion {dominium) or quasi-dominion over a thing. This ambiguity of ius leads Suarez to make a distinction between ius naturalis praeceptivum and ius naturalis dominativum. The discussions of Thomas concerning ius, according to Suarez, apply to the former, but Suarez adopts a position closer to that of Ockham in the cases of the 51 In its transition from eidos in Greek philosophy to idea in Latin thought, the paradigm in the mind of the maker or artificer is an important moment, cf. Panofsky, Idea, ch.l. About the genealogy of the notion "idea", and especially its relation with "objective being" {ens rationis), see our discussion in the second chapter, and cf. Suarez, Disp. Metaph. LI V. Villey suggests, Suarez abandons Thomas' definition of ius because it is incompatible with his ontology. Villey, La formation de lapensee juridique moderne, 380.

latter, in which natural right is spoken in a permissive, negative or concessive sense.52 Though Suarez admits the first kind of ius (ius as lex) is its primary and most proper sense, liberty and property, the most significant themes in modern times, belong to the second category.53 No wonder that Grotius almost exclusively focuses on this new conception of ius, and deems it as "right properly and strictly taken," given his concern with liberty and property.54 Combining the notion of subjective right with the Protestant emphasis on individuals, Grotius frees himself more radically from the Thomist tradition of natural law.55 The law of nature is discussed with reference to the rights of individuals rather than intrinsic goodness or justness of moral acts. Only against this background, a de-naturalization rather than so-called secularization or humanization of the classical natural law, can we understand Grotius' "impious hypothesis" and his corresponding attempt to found natural right on man's natural sociability.56 The focus of natural right is "a prudent management in the gratuitous distribution of things that properly belong to each person or society." "Right properly and strictly called," according to Grotius' social version of natural rights, "consists in leaving others in quiet 52

De Legibus, II.xiv.16, 6. Ibid, II.xiv.6, 14, 16. 54 De lure Praedae, ch.II. 55 Kund Haakonssen, "Hugo Grotius and the History of Political Thought," Political Theory, 13 (1985), 240. About Grotius' (juridical) individualism, cf.Villey, "Les origins de la notion de droit subjectif' and Tuck, Natural Rights Theories, ch.3. 56 "This sociability...or this care of maintaining society in a manner conformable to the light of human understanding is the foundation of right, properly called" (De lure Belli et Pads, Prol.viii). What Grotius lists as the examples of "right properly called" are mainly concerned with (private) property. 53

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possession of what is already their own, or in doing for them in strictness they may demand."57 Grotius quotes the Stoic notion of oikeiosis as the precedent of his appetitus societatis.5* The notion of oikeiosis is central to the ethical doctrine of the Stoics. But in the most authoritative texts about the Stoic notion of oikeiosis, this term signifies, above all, an impulse of self-preservation.59 This impulse begins with the self-perception of one's own natural constitution (like parts of its body) and extends to one's kindred and property. In terms of this natural affection, the Stoics explain our tendency to inhabit cities as well as friendship and parents' love for their children.60 The "noble desire of society" of human beings is based on one's natural impulse to perceive and preserve himself.61 Literally, this impulse towards one's own is a sort of self-owning, "appropriating", "owning" or "coming to belong to."62 Thus, Grotius' "noble desire of society" {sociatatis appetitu excellente) or "care of maintaining society" {societatis custodia), is fundamentally different from Aristotle's classical claim that man is by nature a political animal (Polit. 1252b9-1253a39).

De lure Belli et Pads, Prol.x. De lure Belli et Pads, Prol.vi. 59 D. L. 7.85. 60 Hierocles 9.3-10, 11.14-18; Cicero, Fin. 3.62-8. Comp. De lure Belli et Pads, Prol.vii. 61 Hierocles, in Stobaeus 4.671-2. 62 A. A. Long, "Hierocles on oikeiosis and self-perception," in Stoic Studies (Cambridge, 1996), 253. In the collection of the Stoic texts of oikeiosis, Long and D. N. Sedley observes, "This [term] connotes ownership, what belongs to something, but in Stoic usage that notion is also conceived as an affective disposition relative to the thing which is owned or belongs." In this collection, the editors employ "appropriation" as the standard translation of oikeiosis. The Hellenistic Philosophers, Vol. I. 351. 58

303 Aristotle's polis, as the end of man's community life, makes the best life of human being possible, whereas Grotius' societas, more like Aristotle's household (oikia) with its consistent concern with property, denotes the minimal common life of human beings.63 With his radically subjective notion of right, Grotius sets down the foundation of the modern natural law.

(2) Pufendorf Samuel Pufendorf, the first university professor of natural law, seems to Locke a better guide in political affairs than Hooker and Grotius, but, to Leibniz, a dangerous guide for the young.64 Pufendorf's attempt to transform natural law into a science in the modern sense deepens its inherent tension we have seen in Suarez and Grotius. Thus he is the best bridge from the historical examination of natural law to the implicit dialogue of Locke and Leibniz Pufendorf starts his comprehensive treatise on natural law with the distinction between physical entities (natural things) and moral entities {entia moralis): the former are substances with their particular properties, which, as their natures, arise 63

Haakonssen, "Hugo Grotius and the History of Political Thought," 242. Aristotle is well aware of the difference between these two kinds of social life. While admitting the affinity of strangers, Aristotle reminds us of its difference from the true community of citizens: "Even when travelling abroad one can observe that a natural affinity (oikeion) and friendship exist between man and man universally" (Eth.Nic. 1155b21, Jean Barbeyrac, in his commentary on Grotius' employment of oikeiosis, insists that the Stoic notion copies this claim of Aristotle); "Friendships between comrades only include a few people...those who have many friends, and greet everyone as familiars (oikeios), are thought to be friends to nobody, except in the way that fellow citizens are friends" (Ibid.ll71al4-17, cf.H26bllff on obsequity). 54 Locke, TE 186; Leibniz, "Opinion on the Principle of Pufendorf," R.65.

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from "the disposition and aptitude of the substances; while the latter, "certain modes superadded to natural things and motions by intelligent beings, chiefly for directing and tempering man's free and voluntary actions, and for giving human life a certain order and decency."65 Since moral entities are "superadded" to natural things, they do not arise from "the intrinsic substantial principles of things," but from "imposition."66 Therefore, Grotius as well as Aristotle is mistaken to draw morality from the nature of things, since the former, independent of the latter, arises from the agreement or disagreement with a law, which is the command of a superior; without law, the natural facts are absolutely indifferent things.67 On the basis of this distinction, Pufendorf mounts an attack on the notion of goodness which has so far played a central role in the classical natural law teaching.68 Against the metaphysical understanding of goodness ("goodness in absolute sense") as being which is the basis of the notion of natural goodness, Pufendorf insists that goodness denotes an action's agreement with law, and thus follows after law. He criticizes the Grotian definition of law as supposing some internal moral qualities given before law.69 Thus, on Pufendorf's principle, it is not correct to take as the object of natural law "those acts which themselves include a moral necessity or turpitude, and which

65 66 67 68 69

De Jure Naturae et Gentium, I.i.1-3. Ibid, I.i.4. Ibid, I.ii.6. Schneewind, The Invention of Autonomy, 123-5. De Jure Naturae et Gentium, I.vii.7,1.vii.3,1.vi.4.

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are therefore in their own nature either obligatory or illicit."70 Natural law, like any law whatsoever, should also be a decree with the obligation of a superior.71 Thus, it must derive from the prescription of the Almighty God. Those who insist on the priority of the natural necessity or internal moral necessity of the natural law to divine law hold "a very narrow and unworthy notion of the divine power". In his attempt to further clarify the difference between natural law and divine positive law, Pufendorf implicitly resorts to the classical dialectic of potentia ordinata and potentia absoluta: "supposing human nature and human affairs to be fixed and constant, the law of nature, though it owed its original institution to the free pleasure of God, remains firm and immoveable, unlike to those divine positive laws which depend in such a manner on the divine will, as not to seem so necessarily requisite to the good and safe condition of mankind in general."72 The basis of natural law, the human being as a rational and social animal, does not possess any "absolute necessity," but is a result of God's imposition of his law. Consequently, even though we are allowed to claim that natural law is the dictates of reason, Pufendorf reminds us, to give these dictates "the force of the laws" (vim legum), "it must be supposed that God exists, and that his Providence governs the whole world, and especially mankind". Therefore, Pufendorf's concern with the obligatory aspect of natural law 70

Ibid, II.iii.3. Ibid, I.vi.4. 72 Ibid, I.vi.5, cf. I.vi.4. Pufendorf's conception of potentia absoluta seems to be more in accord with its classical version. Schneewind, The Invention of Autonomy, 122. 73 De Jure Naturae et Gentium, II.iii.19. 71

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presupposes a theological premise: "it must be supposed that God has laid an obligation on man to obey this law [i.e., the law of nature], as a means not arising from human invention, or changeable at human pleasure, but expressly ordained by God himself for the accomplishment of his design." Grotius' etiamsi hypothesis is refuted by Pufendorf as "impious and absurd."74 For the obligation of the natural law to be binding over human beings, they have to know God's existence, His Providence and his will.75 Given Pufenforf's statement about the limitation of human understanding,76 this does not seem an easy task for human beings. Even with diligent contemplation, only some few can reach such knowledge, and the gap between knowability and universal knowledge is still wide enough to endanger the obligatory force of natural law. Pufendorf's solution is not quite satisfactory here. It almost amounts to reducing to natural law to divine positive laws or even human positive laws with divine inspiration.77 This central difficulty in Pufendorf's thought exposes the implicit crisis of modern natural law. Modern natural lawyers are, compared to their predecessors, especially concerned with the obligatory force of natural law. At the same time, the rational and natural basis of natural law, especially the teleological order of nature, with its metaphysical foundation, is gradually undermined by the new conception of God and nature under the influence of the notion of absolute power. The subtle 74 75 76 77

Ibid, II.iii.20. Ibid, II.iii.20. Ibid. I.iii.2. Ibid. H.iii.20.

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balance achieved in Suarez' synthesis of intellectualist and voluntarist traditions of natural law becomes increasingly unstable. Modern natural lawyers are confronted with an awkward choice: either they completely throw away the rational legacy of natural law, or they have to restore the rational order of nature. The former, as we have seen, turns out to be the abrogation of natural law; while the latter, though adopted by some modern followers of Thomism, clashes with the fundamental tenets of modern philosophy. This crisis of modern natural law remains a challenge for modern political and moral philosophy until Rousseau and Kant attempt new solutions. We will soon see how Locke and Leibniz try to overcome this crisis in their own ways, especially with reference to the central themes of their philosophical systems, idea and liberty, that we have discussed in the previous chapters.

3. Locke Locke's natural law teaching has long been the focus of various controversies over his political and moral philosophy. Scholars are divided about whether Locke, given his frequent references to "the judicious Hooker," remains loyal to the Christian tradition of natural law represented by St. Thomas, or is rather a cautious disciple of Hobbes' modern theory of natural rights who implicitly excludes natural law from his political theory; whether Locke, if we can still detect the continuity between his no

doctrine and the classical tradition of natural law, a rationalist or a voluntarist; 78

"Locke's own natural-law thinking ... could be most accurately understood as a pretty faithful

or

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more generally, whether Locke's political philosophy mainly expounded in the Treatises is a political application or extension of the "epistemology" formulated in his Essay, or "Locke the philosopher" and "Locke the political theorist" should be read separately.79 Given the complexity of Locke's political philosophy, it would be too ambitious to answer all these questions within our brief section on Locke. But a careful examination of Locke's discussions of natural law will prepare us better for Leibniz' criticism of modern natural law. As we have seen, the crisis of modern natural law does not come out of a complete break with the classical natural law at one blow, but gradually emerges from an increasing tension between the material ("intellectual") and formal ("obligatory") aspects implicit in the notion of natural law80 under the pressures of canon laws, the late scholasticism (voluntarism), the modern secular state and most fundamentally, a collapse of the classical natural order. The rise of subjective right is for the most part a response to this crisis in moral and political thought. By

continuation of the late-medieval voluntarist tradition," Oakley, "Locke, Natural Law and God Again," 628. In this article, Oakley reviews the intellectualist reading of Locke's natural law reading, also see the article by him and Elliot Urdang, "Locke, Natural Law and God," Natural Law Forum, Vol.11 (1966),92-109. Both articles, though bringing to light the complex relation between Locke and the medieval traditions of natural law, underestimate the decisive "obstacles" new philosophy has imposed on Locke's "continuation" of the traditions. 79 "Locke is, perhaps, the least consistent of all the great philosophers...It invites us to look upon Two Treatises as something very different from an extension into the political field of the general philosophy of the Essay..." Peter Laslett, "Introduction" to Locke's Two Treatises of Government (Cambridge, 1960), 82-3. But see Aarsleff, "There may be minor inconsistencies in Locke's thoughtand in which philosopher are they not to be found?—but the overall tenor of this dominant principles and ideas is not inconsistent." "Some Observations on Recent Locke Scholarship," 263. 80 Locke's implicit recourse to this distinction in defining law in his early writings, see "Second Tract on Government" (PE 62). According to Locke's usage, the material aspect refers to the content of law while the formal or perceptive aspect, its binding force. Locke's adoption of Robert Sanderson's distinction between effective obligation and terminative obligation echoes this scheme, cf. Q.VIII.f.86.

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advancing a concept of ius as faculty or power, natural rights theorists attempt to free them from the traditional dependence on a rational "rule and measure" of good life derived from the first principles of the natural order. As a result, the legalization of natural law leads to a minimal version of natural law, or more precisely, a law in the strict and proper sense but with the minimal determination of "nature". The balance of "nature" and "law" in the conception of natural law, at the hands of its modern advocates, tends more and more towards the legal side, to the extent to annihilate the notion itself. This crisis of modern natural law justifies the worry of Leibniz about the domination of power over goodness in modern philosophy. Through our examination of Locke's natural law teaching, we will find most of the difficulties in interpreting his doctrine arise from this crisis of the modern natural law. And when we connect Locke's natural law teaching with his "epistemology", we come to realize that his difficulties in articulating his theory of natural law result more or less from his general philosophical project, which we have, with the help of Leibniz's insights, diagnosed in the previous chapters.

3.1 Locke's Dilemma The discovery of Locke's early manuscript on the law of nature (1663-4) in the Lovelace collection, "the most important of Locke's unpublished philosophical manuscripts,"81 does not pacify but intensifies the controversy about Locke's 81

W. von Leyden, "introduction" to his edition of Locke's Essays on the Law of Nature (Oxford,

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doctrine of natural law since it, as one of its editors observes, "abound[s] with manifest and massive contradictions."82 The most significant inconsistency in Locke's early writings on natural law is believed to be his uncertain position shifting between the two main traditions of natural law, voluntarism and intellectualism.83 But as we have already seen, among the late scholastics and early moderns, the natural law scholars since Suarez, have already attempted to synthesize the two traditions. With the rise of the notion of absolute power, this tendency becomes increasingly dominant,84 and makes up the main driving force of the legalization of the modern natural law. In this aspect, Locke surely follows the examples of Suarez and Pufendorf. The voluntarism of obligation and intellectualism of materia or content are combined in Locke's examination of natural law.85 This ambiguity of Locke's natural law teaching comes to foreground with his definition of natural law: This law of nature {lex naturae)...can be described as being the decree of the divine will, knowable by the light of nature, indicating what is and what is not consonant with a rational nature, and by the very fact commanding or prohibiting (Q.I, f. 11-2).86 1954), 4. Robert Horwitz, "John Locke's Questions Concerning the Law of Nature: a Commentary," Interpretation Vol. 19, no.3 (1992), 252. Strauss and Horwitz point out most important inconsistencies in their examinations of the text: Strauss, "Locke's Doctrine of Natural Law"; Robert Horwitz, "Introduction," to Q. and "John Locke's Questions Concerning the Law of Nature: a Commentary." 83 W. von Leyden, "introduction," 51. 84 Cf. Oakley and Urdang, "Locke, Natural Law and God." 85 Colman clearly realizes this point when he points out, "it is true that Locke is not a volutnarist with respect of the content of the moral law. His voluntarism is strictly a theory of moral obligations"; "there are elements of both voluntarism and intellectualism in Locke's theory." John Locke's Moral Philosophy (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1983), 32, 39. 86 Locke's manuscript as a whole is organized around this ambiguity: after the first question about the existence of natural law, Locke examines in turn the "materia" that is, the cognoscibility, of natural law (Q.II-VII), and the obligation of natural law (Q.VIII-XI). About the structure of Locke's manuscript, I follow Zuckert's division in his Natural Rights and the New Republicanism, 188, cf. 358.n.7. 82

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The voluntarist element of Locke's natural law teaching is evident from the very beginning of his manuscript, which starts with a statement of God's omnipresence in the world: both in its ordinary course and in its extraordinary "miracles." The existence of God is indispensable to any natural law, since God as the author of natural law is the answer to two main premises of "any law whatsoever": first, a legislator, a superior power; second, the will of that superior power (Q.V. f.52ff).87 Natural law, as "the decree of the divine will," derives its binding force from "the lordship and command (Mo dominio et imperio) which any superior has over us and our actions" (Q.VIII. f.83-4). In fact, on the biding force of natural law hang the obligations of all other laws (Q.VIII.f.89). Already in his early tracts on government Locke has claimed "all...laws, in respect of their obligation, plainly divine," on the account that all other laws than the divine laws properly called, bind men not by virtue of their own innate force, but by virtue of some divine precept on which they are grounded.88 Locke reiterates this claim in his defense of the obligatory force of natural law (Q.VIII.f.87). This makes the law of nature the foundation of "all government among men, command, rank and society" (Q.VIII.f.90). It is this emphasis on the obligatory or formal aspect of natural law which

In Q.I Locke lists three conditions necessary to any law: the declaration of a superior will, the prescription of conduct and the binding force (Q.I.f.12). Even if we take the second as the indication of the rationality of law (but see our following discussions), the other two conditions depend on God's power. This emphasis on God's centrality in the obligation of natural law is repeated by Locke throughout his discussion of natural law. 88 "Second Tract on Government" (1662, PE 66); also see "First Tract on Government" (1660): "...nobody hath a natural original power and disposure of this liberty of man but only God himself, from whose authority all laws do fundamentally derive their obligation..." (PE10).

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distances Locke from the purely intellectualist understanding of natural law. In his clarification of the conception of natural law, Locke lists three meanings of natural law: "moral goodness or virtue," "right reason," and "law" (Q.I. f.10-11). Locke explicitly refutes the second meaning as less accurate (minus recte), since reason merely "discovers and investigates a law which is ordained by a higher power," rather than "lay[s] down and decree[s]" it. Reason is not the maker of natural law, but its interpreter (Q.I. f. 12). Therefore, "law" alone is the privileged way to define natural law. This, as we have seen in our discussion of Suarez in the last section, is characteristic of the voluntarist tradition which is concerned with the obligatory aspect of natural law. But Locke does not exclude completely the intellectualist element from his natural law teaching. Locke's definition of natural law, while insisting on the divine will as its source (of obligation), refers also to the role of reason: the law of nature should be "knowable by the light of nature, indicating what is and what is not consonant with a rational nature, and by the very fact commanding or prohibiting." This rational requirement of natural law is not external to Locke's emphasis on the obligatory or formal side of natural law, but is its inherent requirement. According to Locke, the law of nature meets all the requirements necessary for "the obligation of any law," not merely because "God, as the author of this law, willed it to be the rule of our conduct and life," but also because "he published it sufficiently (sufficienter promulgavif) that anyone could know it, if he were willing to apply diligence and

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industry, and turn his mind to its cognition" (Q.VIII.f.88). The obligation of law is nothing but the declaration of the will of a superior power (the power of a legislator). In the case of natural law, the declaration of God's will determines the principle of our obligation, Locke argues, "because we are only bound to what a legislator has in some manner made known and published {aliquo modo notumfecerit et promulgavif) as his will" (Q.VIII.f.87). The cognoscibility is a necessary premise of natural law, since sufficient promulgation (and the consequent sufficient knowledge, Q.I.f.12) is crucial to its obligation. It is on the basis of this close connection between the cognoscibility and the obligation of natural law that Locke claims that natural law commands or prohibits exactly by the very fact (eoque ipso) of its cognoscibility. Within Locke's scheme of laws, the law of nature differs from divine positive law "only in the manner of their promulgation and the clarity of their precepts": the former becomes known by the light of nature, while the latter by revelation.89 In brief, promulgation is the key to Locke's synthesis of the voluntarism of obligation and the intellectualism of content of natural law. It is by virtue of sufficient promulgation that the content or materia, of natural law, the Thomist rule and pattern of our moral life,90 can be formalized or legalized. But Locke's conversion to the new philosophy makes this point the weakest chain of his teaching on natural law. 89

"Second Tract on Government," PE 63. Q. explicitly excludes "supernatural and divine revelation" from its examination, Il.f.22. 90 Cf. "Second Tract on Government," PE 63, comp. "convenientia" in Locke's definition in Q. I, f.11-2 (Comp. Grotius' definition in De lure Belli et Pads, I.l.i.10).

314 Locke's manuscript on natural law might be the earliest evidence of his interest in new philosophy, especially the new way of ideas. He employs the term "idea", mentions the name of Descartes, and even resorts to the criterion of immediacy in his refutation of innatism (Q.IV.f.38). All these moves, as we have seen in the second chapter, are characteristic of Locke's new way of ideas. Locke's new way of ideas, even at this nascent stage, already casts shadows on the rational basis of natural law which makes the unstable synthesis of Suarez possible. In examining the meanings of natural law, Locke detects a significant confusion among his predecessors: when they define natural law in terms of reason or right reason, they do not clearly distinguish "practical principles" and "that faculty of the intellect" (Q.I. f.ll, cf.Q.II.f.23, Q.V.f.49-50). As a result, when they argue natural law is consonant with a rational nature, they tend to equate the rational nature of human beings with the rational principles of our moral life. This leads to the error of innatism. If this distinction undermines the rational basis of the classical natural law, Locke's emphasis on reason as the discursive faculty proves even more fatal. As we have seen, the intellectual intuition of the first practical principles, synderesis, plays a central role in Thomas' natural law teaching. But for Locke, reason, "the great faculty of argumentation" {magna ilia argumentandi facultas), is "the discursive faculty of the soul" (Q.V.f.50). This means, reason cannot reach the principles, be they speculative or practical, by themselves, but needs the cooperation of sense. In Locke's words, reason does not lay down a foundation, but has to

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depend on another source, that is, the senses (Q.II.f.23): "the foundations, on which all of this knowledge, which reason raises on high and lifts up to heaven, rests are the objects of the senses". The true foundation of natural law turns out to "the entire and primary matter for discourse" the senses furnish (Q.V. f.50). Those who take tradition or inscription as the source of natural law make a terrible mistake about the rational basis of natural law. If the rational basis of natural law is not the practical principles inscribed in our hearts, but "the objects of the senses" which wait for the further exercises of the discursive faculty, however great, the gap between the cognoscibility and the sufficient knowledge of natural law might be dangerously wide. The cooperation of sense and reason leaves much room for the interferences of opinions or customs. To be sure, Locke's definition of natural law requires merely cognoscibility: the law of nature should be "knowable by the light of nature," which means, on Locke's further clarification, "reason can arrive at a knowledge of the law of nature through sense experience" (Q.V). But there is a significant difference between faculty and its right use. Though everyone has the intellectual faculties, "it does not follow from this that all men necessarily make right use of these faculties" (Q.II.f.34). Various practical or speculative causes prevent the majority of mankind from arriving at such knowledge (Q.I1. f.35). Those who reach "the hidden and unperceived laws of nature" (abditas et latentes naturae leges) are rather very rare. Indeed, when we ask for the knowledge of natural law, Locke insists, we should "consult not the majority of

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mankind, but the sounder and more perceptive part" (Q.I. f.16-17). But now Locke is driven into a dilemma by his new philosophy. If only very few among human beings who, by applying their diligence and industry to "the hidden and unperceived laws of nature," can reach its knowledge, is this a sufficient basis for the obligation of natural law? As we have just seen, according to Locke, the obligation of natural law depends on the sufficient promulgation of the divine will, which, in its turn, requires that the law of nature should be sufficiently known {sufficienter...innotescit, Q.I.fl2; not merely knowable, cognoscibilis, Q.I.f.ll). If "most mortals have no knowledge" of natural law (Q.II.f.33), how could "all men everywhere are bound by this law"(Q.IX.f.99-100)?9' Against the distinction between faculty and (actual) practical principles, Locke's apparently smooth inference from the harmony between natural law and rational nature to its universal obligation turns out to be deceptive (Q.IX.f.99). But if Locke admits a universal knowledge of natural law, he would have to give up some fundamental tenets of his new philosophy. Locke's hesitancy concerning universal consensus of natural law might be an indication of this dilemma.92 The only feasible option left for Locke seems to be a "positive" substitution to natural law: 91

A passage in Locke's Treatises might make our point clear: "no body can be under a law, which is not promulgated to him; and this law being promulgated or made known by reason only, he that is not come to the use of his reason, cannot be said to be under this law" (TG.II.57). cf. Zuckert, Natural Rights and the New Republicanism, 195. 92 The similar difficulty can be found in Hobbes, who is forced to admit, "properly speaking, the natural laws are not laws, in so far as they proceed from nature" (De Give. III.33). cf. Pufendorf's discussion of this point in De Jure Naturae et Gentium, I.vi.4.

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Most men are but little concerned about their duty, for they are guided not so much by reason as by either the example of others or the practices of their country and the local customs, or finally, by the authority of those they judge to be good and prudent. They seek no other rule of life or conduct, but are content with that second-hand rule which the conduct of others, their opinions and advice, readily suggest to the thoughtless, without any deep meditation or study (Q.II.f.35). While insisting that all men are bound by natural law, Locke admits, actually most of them are guided by a "second-hand rule" {mutuatitia) rather than by the primary law of nature. Locke's examination of the cognoscibility of natural law in the second part of his manuscript is for the most part a natural history of those second-hand rules which actually determine the moral life of "the majority of mankind." The dilemma between the cognoscibility and the universal obligation of natural law is mainly a result of Locke's new way of ideas. It exposes the implicit crisis of modern natural law which arises from the tension between the indicative and the prescriptive aspects of natural law in the synthesis of Suarez. Locke's mature work, especially his Essay and Treatises, while developing respectively the themes in the second and third parts of his early manuscript on natural law, conceal rather than solve this fundamental dilemma of his natural law teaching. This is the true reason why Locke fails to articulate a coherent doctrine of natural law even in his mature work.

3.2 Locke's Struggle with the Philosophical Basis of Natural Law The Lovelace manuscript on natural law reveals Locke's strong interest in the

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knowledge of natural law. Unlike Grotius and Hooker, Locke is not satisfied with the traditional account of the rational basis of natural law; nor like Hobbes and Pufendorf does Locke believe this problem merits a careful philosophical examination besides the obligation of natural law. It is evident from his persistent interest in the cognoscibility of natural law that Locke is acutely aware of the crisis implicit in Suarez' synthesis of intellectual ism and voluntarism concerning natural law. Locke's Essay can be read as an attempt, even not completely successful, to overcome this crisis of the modern natural law.

(1) Anti-innatism From our examination of Locke's early manuscript on natural law, it is clear that Locke's notorious refutation of innatism is far from a purely epistemological move, but concerns the religious and moral issues of significance to his contemporaries. Among the religious and moral writers in England prior to the publication of the Essay, the language of innateness is widely employed in "dealing with morality, conscience, the existence of God, or natural law."93 Innatism is especially associated with the classical themes of the Thomist natural law tradition, like conscience and synderesis.94 Thus, Innatism is a cornerstone of the traditional account of natural law, which remains an important part of the established order of religion and 93

Yolton, Locke and the Way of Ideas, 28-48 at 31. What Locke calls "speculative" innatism, Yolton points out, is much less prevalent among his contemporaries. 94 Cf. Merio Scattola, "Before and After natural law," in Early Modern Natural Law Theories, ed. T.J. Hochstrasser and P. Schroder (Kluwer, 2003), 3-4.

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morality.95 Locke's anti-innatism is thus closely related to his attempt to redefine the rational basis of modern natural law.96 Locke's former pupil, the Third Earl of Shaftesbury knows his mentor very well when he asserts: It was Mr. LOCKE that struck at all fundamentals, threw all order and virtue out of the world, and made the very ideas of these (which are the same as those of God) unnatural, and without foundation in our minds. Innate is a word he poorly plays upon: the right word, though less used, is connatural. For what has birth or progress of the Foetus out of the womb to do in this case? The question is not about the time the ideas entered, or the moment that one body came out of the other. But whether the constitution of man be such, that being adult and grown up, as such or such a time, sooner or later (no matter when), the idea and sense of order, administration, and a GOD, will not infallibly, inevitably, necessarily spring up in him.97 Shaftesbury's reading of Locke's anti-innatism is in no way exceptional. Thomas Burnet, a correspondent of Leibniz, accuses Locke of undermining "the ground of morality and religion" by denying "natural conscience," which, according to Burnet, supports the "natural distinction betwixt good and evil, right and wrong, turpe et honestum, virtue and vice."98 A brief clarification of Locke's discussion of conscience might help us understand this point. In the Lovelace manuscript on natural law, Locke mentions conscience in his arguments for the existence of natural law: conscience can prove the existence of natural law since it recognizes the command or obligation of natural law (Q.I. f.17). Locke reiterates his point in examining the obligation of natural law: the binding Yolton, Locke and the Way of Ideas, 31-33; Colman, John Locke's Moral Philosophy, ch.3. Locke is not alone in this respect, see Pufendorf s similar move in De Jure Naturae et Gentium, II.iii.13. 97 "A Letter to Michael Ainsworth" (1709), reprinted in The Reception of Locke's Politics, ed. Mark Goldie (London: Pickering & Chatto, 1999), Vol.11, 129-30. 98 Third Remarks upon An Essay Concerning Humane Understanding (reprinted New York: Garland Publishing Inc., 1984), 4. Cf. Colman's analysis in John Locke's Moral Philosophy, 64-69.

96

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force of natural law operates through conscience. Locke even asserts: However, not all obligation seems to consist in, and ultimately to be limited by, that power (potentia) which can coerce offenders and punish the wicked, but rather to consist in the authority (potestas) and dominion which someone has over another, either by natural right and the right of creation... Indeed, all obligation binds conscience and lays a bond on the mind itself, so that not fear of punishment, but a rational judgment of what is right (recti ratio), puts us under an obligation, and conscience passes judgment on morals, and, if we are guilty of a crime, declares that we deserve punishment (Q.VIII. f.85-6). Though Locke does not explicitly confess his reason for distinguishing between potentia and potestas in his statement, the former seems to be associated with the divine power of rewards and punishment as the sanction of divine law, while the latter seems to be a kind of natural right (ius naturae or dominium), which God possesses with his creation. Locke, in the Lovelace manuscript, in fact mentions two kinds of obligations as the basis of divine law, one is the rewards and punishment imposed by the divine power, another the obligatory force through conscience on the basis of God's natural right or property right over human beings as his creatures. He takes the latter rather than the former as the proper obligation of natural law, in which conscience plays a central role by judging what is right and by guiding our conduct. While admitting the role of conscience in recognizing the obligation of natural law, Locke show a hesitancy concerning its function by opposing those who prove God's existence with the testimony of conscience and those who equate conscience with natural law or even innate law (Q.V.f.57). This hesitancy is just another example of Locke's difficulty in balancing the rational and the legal (obligatory)

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aspects of natural law. He denies the traditional account of conscience while attempting to retain its role in securing the obligation of natural law. The same logic dominates Locke's brief discussion of conscience in the Essay. In Locke's refutation of innate practical principles, a certain unnamed opponent raises an objection by appealing to conscience: "Perhaps conscience will be urged as checking us for such breaches, and so the internal obligation and establishment of the rule be preserved" (E.I.iii.7). To answer this imaginary objection, Locke does not deny the function of conscience in imposing the obligation of moral rules. What he denies, just as he has done in the Lovelace manuscript, is the claim that conscience is a proof of innate ideas. Conscience, according to Locke, "is nothing else, but our own opinion, or judgment of the moral rectitude or pravity of our own actions"; it could be set to work by any knowledge acquired from senses, education or customs (I.iii.8). The innate version of conscience could not account for the failure of conscience in securing obligation in numberless examples of human misdeeds (I.iii.9). Thomas Burnet, however, detects the intention of Locke's reservations toward the classical account of conscience: "you think there is none truly natural in this acceptation."99 Locke's admittance of conscience is accompanied by an attempt to make it the product of education and custom. But Burnet asserts, against Locke, there is in the human mind "a natural sagacity to distinguish moral good and evil, or 99

Third Remarks upon An Essay Concerning Humane Understanding, 5.

322 a different perception and sense of them, with a different affection of the mind arising from it, and this so immediate as to prevent and anticipate all external laws, and all ratiocination."100 But if by "natural" Burnet means "immediate" to our mind, that is exactly the target of Locke in the Essay. Against Burnet's "natural conscience" (or later, Shaftesbury's "moral sense"), Locke protests: "Men have a natural tendency to what delights, and from what pains them. This universal observation has established past doubt. That the soul has such a tendency to what is morally good, and from what is evil has not fallen under my observation, and therefore I cannot grant it for as being."101 The natural harmony between the moving force (our natural tendency to goodness) and the binding force of our moral acts is replaced with a struggle between our natural tendency (hedonistic desire) and an effort to resist it (labor). When Locke claims he does not deny "natural tendencies imprinted on the minds of man", we have to be careful about his true position. Locke's "natural tendencies," or "inclinations of the appetite to good" (I.iii.3), are no longer the natural tendencies to goodness we have met in Thomas' formulation of natural law, not merely because their understandings of "goodness" are different, but also because Locke never admits that in human beings such tendencies would consummate in or at least accompany practical reason, which is characteristic of Thomas' natural law teaching. 100

Ibid, 7-8. Locke's marginal notes on Burnet's Third Remarks, reported by Noah Porter, 38. As we have pointed out in the third chapter, Locke does admit a kind of "innate practical principles," "a desire of happiness, and an aversion to misery" (I.iii.3). 101

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Here we touch on the moral and political significances of the tension between the two dominant themes of Locke's Essay, Locke's new way of idea and his conception of liberty. While the former is primarily concerned with immediacy and presence, the latter attempts to overcome the moral danger of immediacy with rational suspension. This tension further strengthens the uneasy relation between the rational and the obligatory aspects of natural law we have found in his Lovelace manuscript. From this perspective, Locke's anti-innatism in the Essay, by referring to the historical and anthropological evidences, exposes the true source of the "natural immediacy" of these supposed innate principles: "the superstition of a nurse, or the authority of an old woman; may, by length of time, and consent of neighbours, grow up to the dignity ofprinciples in religion and morality"; it is these opinions, through education and customs, becomes the basis and Foundations of "their religion or manners," and thus acquire "the reputation of unquestionable, self-evident, and innate truths" (I.iii.22). The traditional support of natural law, therefore, on Locke's examination, turns out to be opinion or reputation. As is well known, Locke divides law into three sorts in the Essay: the divine law, the civil law, and the law of opinion or reputation (or the philosophical law). Opinion or reputation is still a law, the law which determines whether our moral actions are virtues or vices, but not the law of nature, which, according to Locke's classification, belongs to the divine law. Locke's

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discussion of "the law of opinion or reputation" echoes his natural historical analysis of the supposed "innate practical principles": they are built on the secret and tacit consent of a society according to the fashions of that place (II.xxviii.7-10). But what distinguishes "the law of opinion or reputation" from the civil law of a society, if both are conventional rather than natural or divine? Locke's answer leads us to the implicit intention of his opposition to so-called "innate morality": For though men uniting into politick societies, have resigned up to the publick the disposing of all their force, so that they cannot employ it against any fellow-citizen, any farther than the law of country directs; yet they retain still the power of thinking well or ill; approving or disapproving of the actions of those whom they live amongst, and converse with; and by this approbation and dislike they establish amongst themselves, what they will call virtue and vice (II.xxviii.10). The law of opinion or reputation is then nothing but a private exercise of the thinking power human beings reserve for themselves even after entering into the political society. Locke also calls it "private censure" (II.xxviii.13). Perhaps more precisely, it is a private censure (in contrast to civil laws established by the sovereign) made into public esteem. This common measure of virtue and vice is the chief force which moves human beings to act, even in spite of the divine or civil laws: I think, I may say, that he, who imagines commendation and disgrace, not to be strong motives on men, to accommodate themselves to the opinions and rules of those, with whom they converse, seems little skilled in the nature, or history of mankind, the greatest part whereof he shall find to govern themselves chiefly, if not solely, by this law of fashion; and so they do that, which keeps them in reputation with their company, little regard the laws of God, or the magistrate (I.xxviii.12). The great force of opinion or reputation on human acts, according to Locke, derives partly from its complicated relation with the divine law, and especially with the

325 natural law. Since for the most part this law corresponds to natural law (I.xxviii.ll). Thus it is by no means strange that people are often confused about them. In fact, this is the crucial defect of the traditional account of natural law by the "heathen philosophers": they confuse the law of opinion or reputation with the natural basis of our moral acts.1

This confusion is a main source of innatism concerning practical

principles. Now we come to understand Locke's complaint in his fight against innate practical principles: "custom, a greater power than nature" (I.iii.25). Innatism makes human beings more vulnerable to the force of the opinions of their neighbours (I.iv.22), since they no longer examine the opinions in question but consider them self-evident or at least well-examined (IV.xvi.3-4). This will prove to be a danger or obstacle to Locke's political philosophy on the basis of voluntary consent of free citizens. A liberal politics requires the governing and regulation of our assent to the opinions, that is, the rational exercise of our freedom. Thus Locke's anti-innatism is far from refuting natural law (I.iii.13), but an attempt to redefine its rational basis, which, Locke believes, has been clouded by customs and convenience.

(2) Reason Compared to the Lovelace manuscript on natural law, the Essay makes significant advances concerning reason. In the Lovelace manuscript, Locke has already argued, 102

Comp. Il.xxviii.11-12 with I.iii.5, where Locke lists three possible ways of grounding our moral acts, which respectively correspond to the three kinds of laws in Il.xxviii.7.

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reason should be understood as the discursive faculty of human mind, rather than the actual principles of morality. This deviates decisively from the traditional understanding of natural law as right reason or the dictate of reason. Locke systematically develops this point in the Essay, and further bases the demonstrability of moral science on this conception of reason in the new way of ideas. Moral relations, which determine our moral actions, according to Locke's new way of ideas, belong to mixed modes, which, unlike simple modes made up of simple ideas of the same mind, are complex ideas consisting of many distinct simple ideas (Il.xxii.l, 4, II.xxviii.4). Locke's claim that moral science is demonstrable, on the basis of this conception, involves two key steps of his attempt to redefine the rational basis of natural law. First, according to Locke's claim, moral knowledge is rational knowledge, rather than intuitive knowledge. While in the case of intuitive knowledge, the mind can immediately perceive and compare ideas, the rational knowledge of demonstration has to rely on "the intervention of one or more other ideas" to perceive or compare the certain agreement or disagreement of ideas (IV.xvii.14-17, comp.IV.xvii.2-3). This is a main reason which drives Locke to oppose the innate way to understand moral rules: "there cannot any one moral rule be proposed, whereof a man may not justly demand a reason...the truth of all these moral rules, plainly depends upon some other antecedent to them, and from which they must be deduced, which could not be, if either they were innate, or so much as self-evident"

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(I.iii.4). Moral knowledge is not ready at hand, but requires "the tedious and not always successful labour of strict reasoning" (IV.xix.5). Locke's emphasis on the rationality of moral rules in general, and natural law in particular, excludes immediacy and presence from the operation of moral knowledge. Second, as we have seen, in Locke just as in Hobbes and Pufendorf, moral science is demonstrable because the combinations of ideas which constitute moral relations are put together by the human mind. We can acquire moral knowledge of morality precisely because morality has no archetype in nature. The connections or combinations of simple ideas in moral relations are "not of nature's, but man's making" (III.xi.15-17, IV.iv.4-5). These two points crucially undermine the traditional way to ground natural law in the natural order on the one hand, and in the natural harmony between the natural order and our natural rational faculty. Behind Locke's epistemological re-definition of moral relations is a legalist approach dominant in modern natural law teaching. Morality is a "mixed mode" since it belongs to relation. The nature of relation is comparison, which always involves more than one idea (II.xxv.5). Morality is placed into this category because, according to Locke, "morally good and evil then, is only the conformity or disagreement of our voluntary actions to some law, whereby good or evil is drawn on us from the will and power of the law-maker" (II.xxviii.5). The presupposition of Locke's rational account of morality is a legal

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understanding of moral rules ("moral rules, or laws," II.xxviii.6), to which Locke commits himself since his early tracts on civil government.103 The focus of this legal understanding of moral rules is obligation. The ideas of law, law-maker, and obligation are indispensable for any "comparison" of moral rules (I.iii.12). All these ideas refer us to a central notion, the idea of God, on which hangs Locke's rational conception of morality (I.iv.8). Thus, when Locke lists three kinds of laws, he grants the primacy to the divine law: it is "the only true touchstone of moral rectitude" (Il.xxviii.8). Already in the Lovelace manuscript, the proof of God's existence, though not very successful, occupies the central place in Locke's argument for the rational basis of natural law (Q.V. f.52-61). Locke restates this position in the Essay: The idea of a supreme being, infinite in power, goodness, and wisdom, whose workmanship we are, and on whom we depend; and the idea of our selves, as understanding, rational beings, being such as are clear in us, would, I suppose, if duly considered, and pursued, afford such foundations of our duty and rules of action, as might place morality amongst the sciences capable of demonstration.. .(IV.iii. 18) Thus, the idea of God and the idea of our selves104 are two fundamental premises for the demonstrability of the Lockean moral science. But can Locke's new way of ideas afford us a satisfactory account of it? ".. .moral actions imply a law as a standard of good and evil, against which we ought to measure and test our life and actions..." "Second Tract," PE 62; "That were there no law there would be no moral good or evil, but man would be left to a most entire libety in all his actions." "First Tract on Government," PE. 10. 104 Since we have already examined Locke's idea of soul in the second chapter, we will not discuss "the idea of ourselves" here. But it is worth pointing out, given Locke's skeptical attitude towards the metaphysical status of human soul (esp. see our discussion of "thinking matter"), an important support of the obligation of natural law, the immortality of soul, is fatally endangered (but see IV.iii.6). This is one of the main targets of Thomas Burnet's criticism of Locke. Cf. Second Remarks upon an Essay concerning Huamne Understanding (reprinted New York: Garland, 1984), 13ff, 20.

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(3) the Idea of God Because "the will and law of a God" is "the true ground of morality" (I.iii.6) in Locke's philosophical project, we naturally expect Locke to give us a sufficient account of our idea of God. This hope seems to be easily satisfied, since Locke repeatedly claims that such an idea, as agreeable to human reason, should be its "most natural discovery," and "naturally deducible from every part of our knowledge" (I.iv.9, 17). This readiness of our idea of God is indeed deemed as a proof of the existence of natural law (I.iii.6). Locke's anti-innatism excludes the common way to prove God's existence (I.iv.8ff). But Locke promises he will show how men frame an idea of a deity in their minds by the available means (I.iv.13). Our hope to find an easy answer from Locke is first frustrated by Locke's claim that our idea of God is complex. But Locke attempts to fulfill his promise by showing how we make a complex idea by collecting and combining those simple ideas we receive from reflection: .. .having from we experiment in our selves, got the ideas of existence and duration; of the knowledge and power; of pleasure and happiness; and of several other qualities and powers, which it is better to have, than to be without, when we would frame an idea the most suitable we can to the supreme being, we enlarge every one of these with our idea of infinity; and putting them together, make our complex idea of God (II.xxiii.33). In brief, our complex idea of God is framed by enlarging those "good words" (qualities or powers which it is better for the supreme being to have than not) with our idea of infinity. The epistemological basis of this idea is mind's power of enlarging its ideas received from sensation and reflection till perfection

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(II.xxiii.33-4). Thus central to our complex idea of God is the idea of infinity. It is by adding this idea to those ideas received from our sensation and reflection that we form those divine attributes which make up the complex idea of God. Locke assures us that the idea of God is clear since those ideas which make up the idea of God "are all distinct ideas" (II.xxiii.35). But Locke's discussion of the idea of infinity casts shadows on his confidence. Locke devotes a whole chapter to examining our idea of infinity. At the very beginning of his examination, Locke points out the difficulty to apply this conception to God, who "is incomprehensibly infinite" (Il.xvii.l). The source of this difficulty might be Locke's new way of ideas. As simple mode, infinity is the modification of simple ideas. Locke derives this idea from our power "of repeating without end our own ideas." But this power of repeating applies only to those ideas which "are considered as having parts, and are capable of increase by the addition of any equal or less parts," as in the case of extension, duration or number. In the case of those ideas without any relation to quantity, it would leave no room for the operation of addition or progression, which is characteristic of Locke's notion of infinity (II.xvii.6-7). To make our issue more complicated, Locke further admits, even in the case of space and duration, the true idea of infinity is "very obscure and confused," since "[whatsoever positive ideas we have in our minds of any space, duration, or number, let them be never so great, they are still finite" (II.xvii.8, 12). When we apply this idea, Locke confesses, we indeed "make some very large idea,

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as, perhaps, of millions of ages, or miles, which possibly we double and multiply several times." Beyond this, we are not allowed any distinct notion. Locke thus concludes, "what lies beyond our positive idea towards infinity," (which, as we have seen, is nothing but an idea of the finite), "lies in obscurity." The negative idea of infinity is too large for the finite and narrow capacity of the human mind (II.xvii.15). In brief, according to Locke's examination of infinity, when applying the idea of infinity to God, we either employ the term "figuratively" (in the case of His power, wisdom and goodness, Il.xvii.l), or obscurely or confusedly (in the case of his duration and ubiquity). The former, an abuse of language (III.x.34), the latter, a blunder of knowledge, if not an absurdity (II.xxix.9, 15-16). In either case, our idea of infinity is destined to involve something other than rational. Therefore, if, on examining the idea of God, we take the idea of infinity into consideration, it seems rather difficult to arrive at a rational account of God. Given our narrow capacity to grasp the "negative" idea of infinity, the gap between our simple ideas of duration, knowledge, power, and happiness on the one hand and our complex idea of God on the other is too huge to be crossed over by the human mind. It seems desperate to ground "our duty and rules of action" on the idea of "a supreme being, infinite in power, goodness, and wisdom" (IV.iii.18). But what about God's existence? Locke claims it is "the most obvious truth that reason discovers," and its evidence is "equal to mathematical certainty" (IV.x.l). The outline of Locke's proof is quite simple. Locke starts with our certain

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knowledge of our own existence (IV.ix, IV.x.2). On the principle that "nothing can no more produce any real being," Locke asserts, from our existence, it follows that "from eternity there has been something." "This eternal source... of all being", according to Locke, "must be also the most powerful." And since a human being finds perception and knowledge in his own mind, this eternal thing, Locke infers, must be also a knowing being. This "eternal, most powerful, and most knowing being" is nothing but God. Then, Locke assures us, it will be easy to deduce all other attributes of God from what we have settled (IV.x.3-6). This deceptively simple proof has a fatal difficulty. As Leibniz points out, Locke does not give a valid inference from our existence to an eternal being. Even if we accept the famous principle of pagan philosophy that a being cannot be produced by nothing (without consideration of any possible conflict with the Christian doctrine of God's creatio ex nihilo),105 someone might oppose, "I was produced by other things, and these by yet others"; some others, even admitting eternal beings, might not take it as the sole source of all the others (NE 435-6). The substance of Leibniz's criticism is still the idea of infinity. There is a huge gap between our intuitive knowledge of our existence and a rational inference of an eternal being. Since Locke insists "our weak apprehensions" cannot reach any clear comprehension of eternity (Il.xvii. 16-7, II.xiv.27), but "are apt to blunder, and involve our selves in manifest absurdities" (H.xxix. 15), it seems not easy for Locke 105

Cf. William Molyneux' letter to Locke, Arp.18 1693, L.1622.

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to fill in this gap as Leibniz wishes. Therefore, we find both Locke's account of our idea of God and his proof of God's existence in the Essay involve difficulties which seem insurmountable by his new way of ideas. But if we turn to Locke's other writings, we will find he is well aware of such difficulties. In his educational writing, Locke suggests instilling in the minds of children only those ideas of God useful morality "without being too curious in their notions about a Being which all must acknowledge incomprehensible" (TE 136). In his religious writings, he explicitly admits, "it is too hard a task for unassisted reason, to establish morality in all its parts upon its true foundations; with a clear and convincing light."106 But if not only those revealed truths concerning God, even the fundamental precepts of natural religion are liable to obscurities and difficulties, and especially the idea of God is subject to "the frailties and inconveniencies of human nature" (III.ix.23), the ground of morality and religion seems to be shaky. The Essay contains Locke's systematic attempt to reformulate the rational basis of natural law. Locke develops his criticism of tradition and inscription in the Lovelace manuscript into a comprehensive critique of innatism. Against the innate morality which serves as the support of the law of opinion or reputation, Locke advocates a moral science on the basis of rational demonstration, which encourages free citizens to make unprejudiced judgments on their own. This free exercise of 6

The Reasonableness of Christianity, XIV. 265.

334 rational faculties requires the members in the Lockean society to fight against the immediate domination of pleasure with labor and diligence. This freedom of mind, as a new rational basis of natural law, is indispensable for Locke's advocacy of a free and tolerant politics. The rational basis of morality is also the premise of a free political society. However, in his Essay, Locke does not free himself from the crisis of modern natural law which already lurks in his Lovelace manuscript on natural law. Behind his new way of ideas hides the legalist understanding of morality, which requires the idea of God as the true ground of his demonstrable moral science. But after a long chapter undermining our metaphysical notion of substance, it is not easy for Locke to convince his readers that our complex idea of God, unlike that of substance, would be easily available to our mind. In fact, Locke admits that most men "very little consider the law-maker" (I.iii.6); the knowledge of God requires thought and attention (IV.x. 1), thus, "not every studious or thinking man, much less every one that is born" can have a clear and distinct idea of God (I.iii.12); only very few wise men might arrive at a clear notion of the deity, while most others, "making the far greater number", lacking in ability and leisure, have to take up their notions, "by chance, from common tradition and vulgar conceptions" (I.iv. 15). Natural law seems to be destined to relapse into civil religion or the law of opinion. But why does Locke insist on the natural law besides the divine and human positive laws? To answer this question we have to turn to Locke's political treatises.

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3.3 Locke's "Solution" It is obvious even to a casual reader that the conception of natural law plays a decisive role in Locke's treatises on civil government. In the opening of the second Treatise, Locke summarizes his first Treatise as a refutation of Filmer's attempt to found civil government on Adam's absolute power from the perspective of natural right or law of nature. The task left for the second Treatise, then, is to search for "another rise of government, another original of political power, and another way of designing and knowing the persons that have it" (TG. II. 1). Locke begins anew his study of political power with an examination of the state of nature "within the bounds of the law of nature" (TG.II.4). The state of nature is, according to Locke, "a state of perfect freedom," as well as "a state...of equality" (TG.II. 4). But Locke immediately adds, the natural freedom and equality of human beings in the state of nature is "within the bounds of the law of nature": The State of Nature has a Law of Nature to govern it, which obliges every one: and Reason, which is that Law, teaches all mankind, who will but consult it, that being all equal and independent, no one ought to harm another in his life, health, liberty, or possessions (TG.II.6). Since we are privileged to know the author of the Treatises not only left the Lovelace manuscript on natural law, but composed the Essay concerning Human Understanding, we are tempted to read this key passage with reference to Locke's formulation of the rational basis of natural law in these writings. In Locke's new way of ideas, it is not precise to define natural law in terms of reason, since reason is

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the discursive faculty of mind rather than the actual precepts of natural law. Locke's frequent identification of reason (or the law of reason) and natural law in his Treatises (1.101, 11.30, 56-8, 98) apparently blurs this significant distinction in his natural law teaching. But if we read Locke's discussion of the state of nature in the light of his new formulation of the rational basis of natural law, Locke's fundamental principle of natural freedom and equality takes on a new meaning. A central claim in Locke's discussion is that the state of nature is governed by the law of nature (the state of perfect freedom is "within the bounds of the law of nature"). The law of nature as the law of reason, it is usually explained, imposes a limitation on the human exercise of their perfect freedom and equality in the state of nature. In this picture, the state of nature and the law of nature make up two opposite poles: one is liberty, another is obligation or duty. But this understanding clashes with the fundamental tenet of Locke's doctrine of liberty. As we have seen in the last chapter, Locke does not take liberty as the immediate domination of hedonistic principle, but rather its contrary, a struggle with the immediacy of pleasure by virtue of suspension and rational judgment. At the core of Locke's theory of liberty lies the concept of reason. This rational freedom is the stake in the struggle between two powers in Locke's Essay: the war between the immediate principles of action lodged in men's appetites which threaten to overturn all morality, and the moral laws, which "are set as a curb and restraint to these

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exorbitant desires." It is clear that the latter is natural law (E. I.iii.13). But it might be misleading to take the former as the state of liberty, since Locke insists, the state of nature, as the state of liberty, is not a state of license (TGII.6). Furthermore, even in Locke's account of the state of nature, the conflict between the state of nature and the law of nature should not be taken for granted. In the passage we quoted, the teaching of reason in the state of nature begins exactly with natural freedom and equality. The first precept of natural law in the state of nature is self-preservation, which involves the preservation of liberty, next to life. Other precepts, like private property, parents' care of children, and children's care and honor of parents, do not directly conflict with freedom. Perhaps only the preservation of mankind and the restriction on private acquisition and mutual harm might be explained as limitations on the "perfect freedom." Hence, the law of nature and the natural freedom and equality in the state of nature do not necessarily contrast with each other. Locke's new formulation of the rational basis of natural law in the Essay can thus contribute to explicating their relation in the Treatises. The upshot of Locke's new formulation is the methodic and industrious exercise of our discursive faculty. The faculty is native, but the true force of reason lies in its unprejudiced exercise, which is the result of a long-term education and training. It is precisely this notion of reason which adds a new element into Locke's account of the state of nature. Locke makes this clear by reiterating his notion of reason in the theological-political context of the Treatises:

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The Law that was to govern Adam, was the same that was to govern all his posterity, the Law of Reason. But his off-spring having another way of entrance into the world, different from him, by a natural birth, that produced them ignorant and without the use of Reason, they were not presently under that Law: for no body can be under a law, which is not promulgated to him, and this law being promulgated or made known by Reason only, he that is not come to the Use of his Reason, cannot be said to be under this Law, and Adam's children being not presently as soon as born, under this law of reason were not presently free. For Law, in its true notion, is not so much the limitation as the direction of a free and intelligent Agent to his proper Interest, and prescribes no farther than is for the general Good of those under that Law....So that, however it may be mistaken, the end of Law is not to abolish or restrain, but to preserve and enlarge Freedom: For in all the states of created beings capable of Laws, where there is no law, there is no freedom (TG.II.57). In this highly important passage, Locke articulates the inherent difficulty of modern natural law and then attempts to afford his own solution. As we have pointed out, in Locke's Lovelace manuscript as well as in the works of his predecessors such as Pufendorf, it is difficult for modern natural lawyers to maintain the balance between the rational and the obligatory achieved in the synthesis of Suarez. This difficulty becomes fatal when the gap between the universal knowledge of natural law, which is indispensable for its obligatory force, and the limited capacity of the human mind, becomes too great to be transcended after modern philosophers more or less give up the traditional account of natural order. Locke draws our attention to this crisis of modern natural law by admitting that the law of nature does not bind everyone at his natural birth. The binding force of natural law depends on its promulgation. But without the inscription of innate ideas, the law of nature can accomplish promulgation only through the exercise of our rational faculty. Those who have not come to the age of the use of reason, thus,

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are exempt from the obligation of natural law: he is not "under this law." Natural law is not universally obligatory. Natural freedom or natural right cannot mend the situation, since Locke makes an even more radical claim in this passage: those who are not under the law of reason are not presently free. Freedom is constituted on the basis of reason. The law of reason should not be understood, according to Locke, as the limitation on natural freedom, but as its guide, protector and enlarger. Natural freedom, thus, just like reason, must be the result of education and training. The close relation between freedom and reason, as a result of Locke's new way of ideas, is the implicit premise of Locke's discussion of the state of nature. After the Fall of Adam, the state of nature is no longer a native or inborn state, but a state of reason, or more precisely, a state of maturity. Only in such a state, armed with understanding to direct his will, a man is capable of sufficient knowledge of natural law, and keeps his actions within its bounds (TG.II.58-9). Family and education are the indispensable chapters of Locke's natural law teaching. Thus, Locke's "strange" identification of the law of nature with reason does not depart from his new formulation of the rational basis of natural law, but on the contrary, develops it into a solution to the difficulty in modern natural law. But Locke's solution does not dispel all difficulties. Locke's persistent opposition to innate ideas deprives natural inclinations of any role which they play in Thomas' natural law teaching. The battle between rational freedom and immediate

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desire strengthens Locke's distrust of our natural desires. This can be clearly seen in Locke's criticism of those who take self-preservation as the primary law of nature in the Lovelace manuscript. Locke accuses them of confusing the obligation of natural law with natural instinct, duty with interest (Q.VII.f.74-5, Q.VIII.f.82, cf. Q.V.f.61), natural law with natural right (Q.I.f.ll). But in the second Treatise, Locke seems to make the same mistake himself: he explicitly claims everyone is "bound to preserve himself (TG II.6); he sometimes calls it "the fundamental law of nature" (11.16), sometimes right (II.8, II.11). With the help of his conception of rational freedom, however, Locke transforms the Hobbesian version of self-preservation. The preservation of "the rest of mankind" is no less a law of nature than self-preservation (TG II.6, 8, 16, 25, 135). The self-preservation of society, that is, of all members of a society, is both the origin (11.123) and the end of civil government (11.124, 149,159, 171). This extension of self-preservation to cover all members of a society, and even further to mankind (11.71, 128, 182-3), turns a natural instinct into a dictate of reason. But what about the possible conflict between self-preservation and the preservation of others? Locke's answer is still "reason". Though each one has the executive power of the law of nature in the state of nature, Locke insists, this power is not a "absolute or arbitrary power, to use a criminal when he has got him in his hands, according to the passionate heats, or boundless extravagancy of his own will, but only to retribute to him, so far as calm reason and conscience dictates..." (II.8,

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emphasis added). This is the rational support which secures Locke's state of nature as a state of peace from the Hobbesian state of war (11.19). Only one who attempts to enslave others to his absolute power places himself into the state of war (11.17). But in such case, Locke protests, the criminal who attempts such absolute power is "not under the ties of the common law of reason". One can kill such men like a wolf or a lion (11.16). Thus, only a rational exercise of our natural right of self-preservation and the corresponding executive power qualifies such a natural instinct as a precept of natural law. Otherwise it would become arbitrary power or naked force which is characteristic of the state of war rather than the state of nature. The key to Locke's discussion of the state of nature is an attempt to transform the power-based concept of natural right dominant in the modern natural law thinking into a rational concept of freedom. But Locke's rationalization of our natural instinct of self-preservation does not exclude the centrality of this natural desire in political society. Locke has to admit the fundamental limitations of his rational transformation of the Hobbesian natural right: the natural desire of self-preservation is universal and powerful, while reason, "the voice of God" in human beings, is limited and sometimes weak, and "could not but teach" them to pursue the natural inclination of self-preservation (1.86). While Locke assures his readers that "the use of the same faculties" among human beings in the state of nature should be equal (II.4), he does not forget his philosophical claim that only very few are capable of rational knowledge of natural

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law: "though the law of nature be plain and intelligible to all rational creatures; yet men being biased by their interest, as well as ignorant for want of study of it, are not apt to allow of it as a law binding to them in the application of it to their particular cases" (11.124). The efficacy of the rationalization of natural right is limited with regard to its binding force. Locke has to resort to the rational and free preservation of one's property as a compromise between the universal power of natural right and the limited obligation of natural law. At bottom, Locke's attempt cannot bridge the gap between cognoscibility and sufficient knowledge of natural law. Locke's rational conception of freedom in the Treatises is still confronted with difficulties concerning obligation which haunts the modern natural lawyers who are fascinated with the legal aspect of natural law. Locke's rational transformation of natural right, as an attempt to solve this difficulty, sways between a more hedonistic and also more Hobbesian principle of natural desire and a more ascetic principle of rational freedom. The modern moral philosophers after Locke will have to choose between these two alternatives, either to incorporate the dictate of reason into natural instincts as in the school of "moral sense," or more radically, to separate reason from natural instincts as in Rousseau's general will or Kant's self legislation. But there is no longer any room left for natural law in either option.

4. Leibniz There never happens a real dialogue between Leibniz and Locke concerning natural

343 law. Leibniz does not compose a systematic critique of Locke's political writings as he does with the Essay. Since his patron, Georg Ludwig, later George I of England, was involved with the succession of the English throne, Leibniz showed strong interests in English political literature.107 Through his correspondents, Leibniz was well informed about British thought and politics.108 He knew Locke is the author of the influential Treatises which are intended to oppose Filmer.109 Many remarks of Leibniz concerning Locke's political thought in his correspondences are not purely contemplative, but often prompted by his concern with the reality of contemporary European politics. They are by no means intended as a comprehensive examination of Locke's political principles. But if we read these remarks along with Leibniz's criticism of other leading figures of modern political thoughts, like Pufendorf and Hobbes, on the one hand, and his discussion of Locke's moral philosophy in the Nouveaux Essais on the other, we are able to sketch the outline of Leibniz's diagnosis of modern natural law with reference to Locke's philosophy. Starting with Leibniz's critique of modern natural law, we will proceed to examine Leibniz's own attempt to establish the science of natural law, which culminates at a universal jurisprudence comprising divine justice as well as human justice.

Cf. the interesting study of Nicholas Jolley, "Leibniz on Hobbes, Locke's Two Treatises, and Sherlock's Case of Allegiance," The Historical Journal, Vol.18 (1975); the slightly revised version is collected in R. S. Woolhouse, ed. Leibniz: Critical Assessments, (New York : Routledge, 1994), Vol. IV, 361-377. 108 Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, ch.II. 109 Letter to Burnett, Jan 20, 1699, G. Ill, p.251, comp. Burnett's letter to Leibniz, Oct.15, 1698, G.III.243.

344 4.1 Leibniz's Critique of Modern Natural Law The best starting point to examine Leibniz's diagnosis of modern natural law might be his critique of Pufendorf's doctrine. From early on, Leibniz is interested in Pufendorf's work. He reads most of his important books, and makes excerpts of them.110 Leibniz arrives at his own thought concerning natural law, it is remarked, mainly through the critique of Pufendorf.111 Leibniz believes the principles of Pufendorf "suffer from no small weakness," which means, despite Pufendorf's erudition, the foundation of his system is defective: "the author seems to have correctly identified neither the end, the object, nor the efficient cause of natural law."1'2 As his judgment of Pufendorf (Virparum Jurisconsultus, minime Philosophus)113 shows, Leibniz's critique of Pufendorf's doctrine of natural law focuses on its philosophical foundation. Leibniz's first dissatisfaction with Pufendorf's natural law doctrine is concerned with "the end of natural law." Pufendorf confines the science of natural law to "this life alone," since the immortality of the soul is proved with full evidence only by revelation and thus belongs to moral theology.1 M But as Locke admits in his early study of natural law, the immortality of the soul and God are the most 110

Gr. II. 593-5. '' Schneider, Justitia Universalis, 81, esp. n.262. Leibniz's estimation of Pufendorf is not always so harsh as in the "Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," esp. see Gr. 1.375-6: Magna fuit apudme existimatio Pufendorfiani nominis... 112 "Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," R.65, 66. 1.3 Letter to Heinrich Ernst Kestener, Aug.21, 1709, quoted in Schneider, Justitia Universalis, 79. Leibniz has a similar evaluation of Grotius in his letter to Burnett (1705?), G.III.304. 1.4 "Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," R.66-7. Samuel Pufendorf, The Whole Duty of Man, according to the Law of Nature, English tr. of De Officio (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 2003), 19-20. 1

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fundamental principles of natural law doctrine (Q.VII.f.76). Pufendorf, Leibniz observes, accepts "rightly" the latter but gives up the former. Without this principle, however, the rewards and punishment of a future life are also excluded from the science of natural law. This, Leibniz points out, endangers the existence of natural law since "in present life many crimes remain without punishment and without recompense." But more significantly, Pufendorfs limitation of the end of natural law amounts to excluding the innate desire for immortality in almost all people from the science of natural law. It is this "intense pleasure in virtue," be it inborn or educated, that can elevate us from "an inferior degree of natural law" to a "more sublime and perfect" one, a theory of natural law according to Christian doctrine.115 The difference between Leibniz's critique and the tenets of the modern natural law is well revealed in Barbeyrac's response on behalf of Pufendorf: 116 "Anonymous [i.e., Leibniz] evidently confuses duty and the effects or the motivations that observing obligation produce; that is, he confuses the immanent force of duty and the impact that it has on men's spirit, given the make-up of the majority." For Barbeyrac, duty or obligation ("Why is one obliged to do or not to do certain things?") and motive ("What is the motive best able to drive men to practice 1 17

what they recognize as their duty") "are clearly two different questions." 115

This

"Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," R.67, cf. his letter to Bierling, quoted in R.234. Pufendorfs translator and commentator, as well as Locke's friend, Jean Barbeyrac, attaches an apology of Pufendorf's thought against Leibniz's anonymous criticism to the fourth edition of his French translation of Pufendorfs De Officio (1718), which is more or less a counter-critique of Leibniz's critique of Pufendorf: The Judgment of an Anonymous Writer, tr. and rep. as an appendix to Pufendorf, The Whole Duty of Man, according to the Law of Nature. 117 Barbeyrac, The Judgment of an Anonymous Writer, 277, 278. 116

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attempt to free the legal obligation of natural law from the natural inclinations of human beings and the consequent distinction between obligation and motivation, as we have seen, are a main tendency of modern natural law since Suarez's revision of the Thomistic tradition. Leibniz's "confusion" in his critique of Pufendorf's position clearly reveals his distance from the mainstream of modern natural law. This point becomes even clearer when we turn to his discussion of the object of natural law. The immediate consequence of Pufendorf's limitation on the end of natural law is, according to Leibniz's criticism, the limitation on the object of natural law. Pufendorf maintains, "the law of nature is for the most part exercised in forming the outward actions of men," while the internal motions of the human mind are left for "moral divinity."118 Pufendorf's understanding of the object of natural law is, Leibniz believes, contrary to not only Christian philosophers, but also the ancient pagans. Leibniz protests, given Pufendorf's emphasis of oaths, how oaths could play their role in natural law "if this law does not concern itself with what is internal."119 Barbeyrac contests, Leibniz is no less mistaken on this point, since Pufendorf does not completely exclude internal actions from natural law.120 Barbeyrac refers us to Pufendorf's discussion of intention in his masterpiece, De Jure Naturae et Gentium. In estimating the "goodness" of a moral action, Pufendorf insists, we have to take into account the intention of actions: it is not only requisite that the external 118

Pufendorf, The Whole Duty of Man, according to the Law of Nature, 20-21. "Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," R.68-69. 120 "...the law of nature isfor the most part exercised in forming the outward actions of men," and internal actions "are principally the concern of moral theology" (Italics added by Barbeyrac). Barbeyrac, The Judgment of An Anonymous Writer, 280. 1,9

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effect of this action conforms to law, but also that "the only thing which prevailed on the mind of the agent, and put him on such a proceeding, was a desire of paying ready obedience to the legislator." But Pufendorf immediately adds, the secret of our soul is reserved for "the divine searcher of hearts," who "cannot but discover the least wavering in our resolutions, and the smallest obliquity in our designs"; in human account, he admits, "so exact a diligence is not required," since the earthly lawgivers "are unable to dive into the recesses of men's mind, nor can at all understand the intention of any agent, but by conjectures, and by signs obvious to their senses, which are by no means infallible guides in discovering our inward sentiments and purposes." Though intention is requisite for a strictly formal recognition of the goodness of any moral action, it is simply beyond the reach of human capacity. Finally, Pufendorf arrives at a conclusion not unlike Locke's: "Therefore they value good actions only as they appear to sense, or so far as the reach and condition of human sagacity, and the use of civil life do admit or require; and are not very solicitous how full or sincere the intention of the agent was, provided his exterior work deserve their approbation."121 But what about oaths? Pufendorf admits that intention is indispensable for the force and obligation of an oath. But he immediately qualifies his position by pointing out that, whatever the secret intention of an oath is, it has to be tried by one's words. The party to whom you swore, Pufendorf observes, would take "mutual 121

De Jure Naturae et Gentium, I.viii.2-3. cf. I.viii.l, 3-4.

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signs" by which you made the oath, rather than your "inward purpose", as the "meaning and design" of your oath, and assert with the help of "all outward tokens, that you were in earnest, and not in jest." What really matters in the obligation of an oath, according to Pufendorf, is the semiotics of words, rather than the psychology of intention.122 In brief, Leibniz might not be literally precise in his criticism of Pufendorf's exclusion of the internal from the object of natural law, but he does master the spirit of Pufendorf's doctrine. Leibniz's third criticism of Pufendorf's natural law doctrine most clearly reveals his crucial difference from the mainstream of modern natural law.123 The target of this criticism is the central tenet of modern natural law: the voluntarist understanding of the obligation of natural law. Leibniz accuses Pufendorf of committing a mistake similar to Hobbes,' not to find the efficient cause of natural law "in the nature of things and in the precepts of right reason which conform to it, which emanate from the divine understanding, but (what will appear to be strange and contradictory) in the command of a superior." According to this principle, duty depends on the prescription of the law concerning obligation, which in its turn derives from the will of the superior power. This, as we have seen, is the

122

De Jure Naturae et Gentium, IV.ii.5. It is noteworthy that Pufendorf does not include our implicit obligation to God when we make an oath like Grotius, who insists any oath involves a double obligation, one to human, another to divine, does. Comp. De lure Belli et Pads, Il.xiii. 14, and De Jure Naturae et Gentium, IV.ii.8 (where Pufendorf examines Grotius' doctrine), 15 and Jean Barbeyrac's commentaries on both works. 123 "Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," R.70-72.

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fundamental principle not only of Pufendorf, but also of the modern natural law as a whole. But this legalist definition of duty and obligation of natural law, Leibniz points out, implies a paradox: since there will be no duty when there is no superior to enforce the observation of a law, there will be no duty in the state of nature, in which there are no superiors.124 It is precisely in the condition in which natural law should plays its proper role that natural law loses its obligatory force.125 This paradox, as the result of the legalization or positivization of natural law, as we have seen, is characteristic of the crisis of modern natural law.126 To this weakness modern natural law scholars attempt several remedies: some consider God as the superior of all, who will finally secure the binding force of natural law even in the state of nature; other resort to so-called "natural obligation" like "care for one's own preservation and well-being." With regard to the second remedy of Grotius and Hobbes, Leibniz confines himself to reiterating his first criticism of Pufendorf, "a natural law based on this source alone would be very imperfect."127 124

Ibid,R.70. When examining the reason why human beings advance from the state of nature to political society, Locke points out, "there are many things wanting" in the sate of nature; one of them is the binding force of law: "There wants an established, settled, known law, received and allowed by common consent to be the standard of right and wrong, and the common measure to decide all controversies between them. For though the Law of Nature be plain and intelligible to all rational creatures; yet men being biased by their interests, as well as ignorant for want of study of it, are not apt to allow it as a Law binding to them in the application of it to their particular cases." (TG II. 124). 126 "the primary error in this book [i.e., De Cive] by Mr. Hobbes, was that he took instituted laws as natural laws (statum legalem pro naturali), that is to say that the corrupt state served him as a gauge and rule, whereas it is the state most befitting human nature which Aristotle has in view" (TH.220). 127 Leibniz opposes the attempt to base natural law on the secular principle of socialitas as well, cf. 125

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Leibniz devotes himself to the first remedy which is adopted by the greatest modern natural lawyers including Hobbes, Pufendorf and Locke. The theological position of this remedy is the main target of Leibniz's critique: it "must have a very weak idea of the goodness and of the justice of God."128 But what is exactly the "weakness" Leibniz detects in this remedy? Leibniz admits it is not wrong to emphasize the power of God as the legislator of the world in defining justice. But the happy coincidence between power and justice in God129 should not mislead us to the conclusion of Hobbes and Pufendorf. A conception of justice merely on the basis of the absolute power of God, as we have seen in the first chapter, is to destroy his justice by making him a tyrant. The legalist definition of morality and obligation dominant in modern natural law promotes a "tyrannical" conception of God. But Leibniz reminds Pufendorf and his followers, God is praised because he is just, and thus there must be "a certain justice...in God, even though no one is superior to him." The fact that justice belongs to the divine attributes, Leibniz believes, is a powerful refutation of the voluntarist understanding of natural law: "Justice, indeed, would not be an essential attribute of God, if he himself established justice and law by his free will." The conclusion Leibniz draws is opposite to that of Hobbes and Pufendorf: "power is not the formal reason which makes it just." Gr. 11.669. 128 " j ^ g Common Concept of Justice," R.46. 129 "It is true that in the entire universe or in the government of the world it happens, happily, that he who is the most powerful is just at the same time, and does nothing which one has a right to complain of..." (Ibid, R.48). 130 "The Common Concept of Justice," R.48.

351 We, therefore, should not derive the duty or obligation of natural law from the command of God, but from "certain rules of equality and of proportion no less founded in the immutable nature of things, and in the divine ideas, than are the principle of arithmetic and of geometry." The rational basis of natural law does not consist in the language or signs conventionally established as Hobbes, Pufendorf and Locke argue, but in eternal truths of "the immutable nature of things": "Neither the norm of conduct itself, nor the essence of divinity itself, depends on his free decision, but rather on eternal truths, objects of the divine intellect, which constitute, so to speak, the essence of divinity itself."131 But the moderns, driven by their fascination with absolute power, even attempt to subvert this basis of natural law, eternal truths. Descartes' "unheard of paradox" of the creation of eternal truths is mentioned by Leibniz as the revealing example of the crisis of modern natural law.132 Only with a conception of justice on the basis of the metaphysics of "the immutable nature of things," Leibniz draws his conclusion in his criticism of Pufendorf, can we overcome the "very weak idea of the goodness and of the justice of God" in modern natural law. Central to Leibniz's metaphysical critique of modern natural law is the idea of goodness, which connects the natural order of beings with the internal inclinations to perfection.133 This is also the starting point of Leibniz's criticism of modern natural law which is centered around the conception of power.

131 132 133

Cf. "De religione magnorum virorum" Gr. 1.42-3. "Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," R.71, cf. DM.2. "The Common Concept of Justice," R.52-54; "Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," R.72.

352 Though Leibniz's does not compose New Treatises on Civil Government, we have sufficient reason to believe that Leibniz's criticisms of Pufendorf apply to Locke as well. In fact, the three main defects Leibniz detects in Pufendorf's natural law doctrine are closely associated with those philosophical weaknesses Leibniz finds in Locke's system. Locke's skeptical attitude toward the immateriality of soul and his natural historical approach to personal identity (as a necessary result of his anti-innatism), Leibniz is clearly aware, implicitly undermine the metaphysical basis of the immortality of the soul, which, according to Leibniz, "is infinitely more useful to religion and morality" (NE 58-9, 67-8, 72, 190ff, 236ff). Like Pufendorf, Locke also more or less places the internal beyond the reach of human knowledge.1 4 These principles of Locke's philosophy, according to Leibniz, might lead to dangerous consequences in morality and religion (NE 209, esp. cf. NE 432 and 462). The most direct criticism of the political consequences of Locke's philosophy can be found in Leibniz's opposition to Locke's legalist definition of morality. Locke's definition of good or evil according to its relation to law (E.II.xxviii.4-5), for Leibniz, is defective, since "according to that account a single action could be morally good and morally bad at the same time under different legislators" (NE 250). This amounts to denying natural law. Then Leibniz confesses his own principle against Locke's position: 134

Like Pufendorf, Locke does not trust in the attempt to take intention into account while examining moral actions (E.I.iii.3, 7).

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I for one would prefer to measure moral worth and virtue by the unchanging rule of reason which God has undertaken to uphold. We can then be certain that through his instrumentality every moral good becomes a natural good, or, as the ancient authors used to put it, whatever is good is useful. But to express our author's notion of it, we would have to say that moral good or evil is an instituted good or evil - something imposed on us, which he who has the reins of power in his hand tries through rewards and punishments to make us or avoid. It is a strange coincidence that whatever is instituted by God's general commands also conforms to nature, i.e. to reason (NE 250). This passage brings to light Leibniz's decisive difference from the prevalent position of modern natural law even more clearly than his piece on Pufendorf. While both Leibniz and his modern rivals turn natural law into a theological-political issue,135 Leibniz bases moral goodness on the nature of things, which, as (divine) ideas in the divine intellects, are independent of the free decisions of the highest legislator; by contrast, Locke, like Pufendorf, understands it as an imposition of a superior power. Even admitting Locke's legalist definition ("there is hardly any rule which would be unavoidably binding if there were not a God who leaves no crime unpunished, no good action unrewarded") Leibniz points out, the legalist definition of duty cannot plays its role in natural law without the innate idea of God and after-life. But since Locke denies these innate ideas, his legalist definition of morality is not only groundless, but also futile (NE 96, NE 432). Leibniz's intention becomes clear when we turn to his criticism of Locke's understanding of virtue on the basis of opinions (NE 250). Leibniz accuses Locke of confusing again the law of nature with its application: "people do understand virtue 135

Leibniz, not unlike Locke, understand natural law as a kind of divine law (comp. NE 250 with E.II.xxviii.8 and "Second Tract" PE.65)

354 - like truth - as something conforming to nature, but that they often go wrong in the application..." (NE 251, cf. NE 98). As we have seen, Locke lists three possible explanations of the basis of moral rules: the Christian, which emphasizes "the view of happiness and misery in another life," the Hobbesian, the power of the Leviathan, and the pagan which focuses on virtue as the highest perfection of human nature (E.I.iii.5). Locke's own position is confronted with a paradox in his attempt to formulate a rational natural law with a theological basis: on the one hand, Locke's legalist approach to morality makes the idea of God indispensable, but on the other hand, his new way of ideas severely undermines the traditional notion of God. Thus Locke's solution sways between the Christian and the Hobbesian. By contrast, though Leibniz's criticism of Locke's definition of virtue is pagan, the Christian element in his insistence on a noble science of natural law is rather evident. Leibniz attempts to achieve his project of reconciliation to "unite Plato with Democritus, Aristotle with Descartes, the Scholastics with the moderns, theology and morality with reason" (NE 71) in his universal jurisprudence, which emphasizes the role of God both as the architect of the universe and as the legislator or king of the world.136

4.2 Leibniz's Rational Jurisprudence It is Leibniz's consistent position that jurisprudence, especially the science of natural law, "is entirely grounded in reasons" (NE 427). One of his early projects in this 136

Pierre Burgelin, "Dieu comme architecte et Dieu comme manarque," in Leibniz 1646-1716: Aspects de L 'Homme et De L 'Oeuvre (Paris: Aubier-Montaigne, 1968), 217-26

355 respect is a rational reformation of Roman law with the help of new science. Leibniz mentions this project of "rational jurisprudence" in his letter to Thomas Hobbes, one most influential representative of modern natural law. Since a large part of Roman juristic discourse can be "arrived at almost entirely by demonstration from the law of nature alone," Leibniz believes, he can succeed in deducing the universal laws of Roman law from the least possible elements, just as Hobbes himself achieves in his work.137 This project, though not fully accomplished, remains Leibniz's position in his mature work: without natural law, jurisprudence would not be "rational," but would be reduced to the compilations of the arbitrary decisions of civil authorities (NE 425). Leibniz's strong interest in formulating a rational jurisprudence is accompanied by his concern with the issue of method. In his dissertation on "the art of combination," he writes with confidence, "[p]erfect demonstrations are possible in all disciplines," not merely in theoretical disciplines, but in practical disciplines like jurisprudence as well. For Leibniz, jurisprudence is similar to geometry in many aspects. In this early piece, Leibniz's reason for the demonstrability of practical science is, however, not remote from that of Pufendorf and Locke: "it yet happens in the practical disciplines that the order of nature and that of knowledge coincides, because here the nature of the thing itself originates in our thought and production. For the end in view both moves us to produce the means and leads us to know them, 137

Letter to Hobbes, July 1670, L.106.

356 which is not true in the matters which we can merely know but cannot also produce."138 His discussion of the theological presupposition of the demonstrability of moral science in the dissertation shows the traces of Hobbes' influence, though he remains a disciple of Aristotle and the Scholastics in other aspects, especially concerning immaterial substances.139 In his project of rational jurisprudence, Leibniz attempts to derive the rational basis of his system from a broadened conception of natural law.140 In his early writing on the method of teaching jurisprudence, Leibniz emphasizes the principle of teaching jurisprudence should be derived from the reason of natural law (ratio ex Jure Naturae)} ' In order to establish a science of natural law, Leibniz attempts to integrate various elements of natural law into three grades: law in strict sense (ius striatum), which is nothing but the law of war and peace; equity (aequitas), the reason or proportion which consists in the harmony of the two or more parties; and piety ipietas). He employs Ulpian's three maxims to characterize these three grades of natural law respectively: "not harming others" (neminem laedere); "to render to Dissertation on the Art of Combinations (excerpts), L.74, 82, 74-5. The introductory section on the demonstration of the existence of God begins with the definition of God as "an incorporeal substance of infinite force" (virtus). Leibniz even praises Thrasymachus' understanding of justice with a characteristic modern twist: "Thrasymachus well says, in Plato's Republic, Book I. that justice is what is useful to the more powerful. For in a proper and simple sense, God is more powerful than others. In an absolute sense one man is not more powerful than another, since it is possible for a strong man to be killed by a weak one. Besides usefulness to God is not a mater of profit but of honor. Therefore, the glory of God is obviously the measure of all law. Anyone who consults the theologians, moralists and writers on cases of conscience will find that most of them base their arguments on this. Once this principle is established as certain, therefore, the doctrine of justice can be worked out scientifically." Ibid, L.76. Leibniz also endorses Hobbes's way of defining law in terms of the will of a superior as a principle of law (ius), Nova Methodus Discendae Docendaeque Jurisprudentiae, A. VI-I, 344. 140 Schneider, Justitia universalis, 344. 141 Nova Methodus Discendae Docendaeque Jurisprudentiae, A. VI-I, 341. 139

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every one his due" (suum cuique tribuere), and "to live honorably" (honeste vivere).]42 What interests us in this immature synthesis of Roman law and various often contradictory principles of the ancients and the moderns is the significant role Leibniz attributes to natural law in his project of rational jurisprudence. He is certainly well aware of the centrality of natural law in modern moral and political thought through his study of Grotius and Hobbes. But he has not yet acquired his own voice. Leibniz's Elementa Juris Naturalis around 1670 marks an important step toward Leibniz's own rational jurisprudence. In this work, he gives a systematic argument for the demonstrability of rational jurisprudence, which will remain valid in his criticism of Locke in the NE: The doctrine of right (ius) belongs to those sciences which depend on definitions and not on experience and on demonstrations of reason and not of sense; they are problem of law, so to speak, not of fact. For since justice consists in a kind of congruity and proportionality, we can understand that something is just even if there is no one who practices it or upon whom it is practiced. Just so the relations of numbers are true even if there were no one to count and nothing to be counted, and we can predict that a house will be beautiful, a machine efficient, or a commonwealth happy, if it comes into being, even if it should never do so. We need not wonder, therefore, that the principles of these sciences possess eternal truth. ...They are not derived from sense but from a clear and distinct image (imaginatio), which Plato called an idea, and which, when expressed in words, is the same as a definition.143 Here the demonstrability of moral science depends no longer, as in Hobbes, Pufendorf and Locke, on the conventional order imposed by a superior power, but l4Z

Ibid, 342-345. "Elements of Natural Law," L.133, cf. Gr. 11.637, in which Leibniz insists, when it is inquired whether eternal natural law is possible (an sint), the issue is about essence rather than existence; thus natural law is from nature not from opinions; consequently the true science of law. 143

358 on the Platonic order of ideas,144 though since Leibniz, then under the influence of Hobbes, is skeptical of "innate concepts," it is not clear how ius as an ideal order can oblige human beings through fear.145 In defining justice, Leibniz still hesitates between the classical way (as virtue146 or habitus141) and the modern way (as will148 or conatus'49), between private interest and others' good.150 But it is exactly this struggle which finally leads Leibniz to his famous definition of justice, the charity of the sage (justitia est caritas sapientis). To accomplish his project of reconciling these "elements" of natural law, Leibniz, first of all, has to bridge the gap between Hobbes' principle of prudence and Grotius' principle of natural sociability.151 The key to Leibniz's solution is "the nature of

This accords with a rather interesting claim of Leibniz: "teaching the science of natural law is nothing but teaching the laws of the best regime" {leges optimae reipublicae), while teaching the science of civil law is joining the laws received with the laws of the best regime." "De summa juris regular In George Mollat ed. Rechtsphilosophisches aus Leibnizens ungedruckten Schriften (Leipzig, 1885), 88. Cf. Strauss, Natural Right and History, 191. 145 "Elements of Natural Law," L.136. 146 "Elements of Natural Law," L. 133-4, cf. Gr. II. 566 ("Notes on Aristotle"), 598, 604, but see Leibniz's criticism of Aristotle's understanding of virtue as the mean between two affections, "Elements of Natural Law," L.135. 147 Elementa Juris Naturalis, A.VI-1,455, 480. But Leibniz's understanding of habit is already "contaminated" with Hobbes' mechanical approach, esp. see "A New Method for Learning and Teaching Jurisprudence", L.85. 148 Elementa Juris Naturalis, A.VI-I, 455, 462ff ("Elements of Natural Law," L.134ff). In the second passage Leibniz struggles with the relation between will and right reason in defining justice. The same uneasiness with a purely voluntarist definition of justice can be found in a small piece composed in 1677-1678. In its opening, Leibniz defines justice as "a constant and perpetual will to render everyone his own due" (constans et perpetua voluntas sum cuique tribuendi), but then he introduces the characteristically Thomist or intellectualist terms like "convenire", "summa optimum", "bonum generate" into the discussion, and proceeds to establish the relation between highest good and divine will. "De Jure et Justitia", Gr. 11.618. This anticipates Leibniz's later solution which understands will in terms of inclination toward perfection. 149 Elementa Juris Naturalis, A.VI-I, 454. 150 "From the beginning...both our own good and that of others are involved in the question of right." "Elements of Natural Law," L.133, cf.136-7. In "De justitiae principiis," Leibniz lists three principles of justice, the first is individual interest (utilitas propria), the second, the feeling of humanity and honor (sensus humanitatis et honesti). Mollat, Mitteilungen aus Leibnizens ungedruckten Schriften, 88. 151 A.VI-I,431. Leibniz frequently refers Hobbes in his notes on Grotius in Elementa Juris Naturalis,

359 love." Both individual interest and public good can be redefined in terms of "love" (self-love or the love of others). To the difficult question how the good of others can be our own good not as means but as end (or how we can include the good of others in our self-love), Leibniz suggests, the answer consists in the principle that "it is also an end, something sought for its own sake, when it is pleasant": "we can therefore readily understand how we not only achieve the good of others without our own but can even seek it in itself; namely insofar as the good of others is pleasant to us."152 We love others since we take their good "as i f it were our own good (altera quasi nostrum) rather than "for" our own good (altera propter nostrum), which is calculating rather than loving. Thus, in the case of love, though we are still concerned with our own good, it is not confined to the utilitarian calculation. Love extends the principle of propria utlitas without destroying the basis of society. With the help of this conception of love based on his nascent metaphysics of expression, Leibniz succeeds in enfolding the good of others in our own good or utilitas •

153

propria. It is on the basis of this concept of love that Leibniz gradually develops his notion of charity. Charity is a kind of non-mercenary love, a love beyond the calculation of self-interest, or in a word, universal benevolence (benevolentia

A.VI-I,431-2. 152 "Elements of Natural Law," L.136. Leibniz attempts several solutions in various versions of Elementa Juris Naturalis reprinted in the Academy edition (cf. VI-I, 434-5, 454, 465 among others). Cf. Grua, Jurisprudence universelle et theodicee, 202.

360 universalis)^54 Leibniz repeats this definition in his subtle correction of Locke's hedonist definition of love.155 There he further distinguishes two kinds of love: one is "concupiscence which is merely the desire or the feeling we bear towards what gives pleasure to us, without our caring whether it receives any pleasure," another the love of "benevolence, which is the feeling we have for something by whose pleasure or happiness we are pleased or made happy." The former is nothing but the Hobbesian amour-propre which Locke more or less adopts, especially in his first edition of the Essays; while the latter focuses on the interdependence between our own pleasure and the pleasure of others.156 But it is noteworthy that Leibniz, though understanding charity as a non-mercenary love, does not endorse a pure love or a completely "disinterested" love. The pleasures of others can become our concern only through their reflections in the mirror of our own mind. The good of others cannot become the object of love without the intermediation of our own good. Preface to Codex Juris Gentium diplomaticus (1693), L.421-2. cf. Grua: Jurisprudence universelle et theodicee, 198-210. 155 "That definition of love [that is, Locke's definition of love as "something [that] which can produce pleasure," E.ll.xx.4] is almost the same as the one I gave, when expounding the principles of justice in the Preface to my Codex juris gentium, where I said that to love is to be disposed to take pleasure in the perfection, well-being or happiness of the object of one's love" (NE 163, emphasis added). Cf. Leibniz's letter to Princess Sophie: "Aimer est trouver du plaisir dans les perfections our avantages et surtout dans le bonheur d'autruy" (G. VII.546). 156 "...the pleasure of others...as something which produces or rather constitutes our own pleasure" (NE 163). Leibniz deems this interdependence as an important feature of our natural condition. In commenting on the works of the Earl of Shaftesbury (1712), Leibniz approves Shaftesbury's emphasis on our social affections, and points out, "our natural affections do indeed make up our

contentment: and the more natural one is, the more he is led to find his pleasure in the good of others. This is the basis of universal benevolence, of charity, of justice" L.632, or R.198 (GIII.428). In Leibniz's caritas, "the happiness of those whose happiness pleases us is obviously built into our own" (L.411-2). 157 "...if it did not reflect back on us somehow we could not care about it, since it is impossible (whatever they say) to disengage from a concern for one's own good. That is the way to understand 'disinterested' or non-mercenary love, if we are properly to grasp its nobility and yet not succumb to fantasies about it" (NE 163). By "fantasies" Leibniz alludes to the position of the mystic Fenelon,

361 Basically, Leibniz understands individual interest in terms of the first precept of Ulpian's maxims (neminem laedere), the good of others a development of the third precept {honeste vivere)}5

But in his attempt to reconcile these two precepts,

Leibniz employs a metaphysical explanation of honor: "honor is nothing but pleasure of mind."159 Leibniz further associates this conception with his notion of mind as the mirror expressing the world, and especially expressing the minds of other rational beings, which we have discussed in the second chapter. This metaphysical conception of honor establishes the good of others as our pleasure, and allows Leibniz to assert that "love is of the nature of justice."160 This metaphysical refounding of jurisprudence is the upshot of Leibniz's attempt to reconcile the ancients and the moderns. Though Leibniz has attempted various ways to define justice, he insists, justice in terms of love or charity is "the true and perfect definition." But love alone is never sufficient for justice. Even in defining justice in terms of love, Leibniz does

who advocates a conception of pure love close to self-effacement in his famous disputes with Bossuet. Leibniz's attitude is clear: "I understood the following objection to have been made against this - that it is more perfect so to submit to God that you are moved by his will alone and not by your own delight. But we must recognize that this conflicts with the nature of things, for the impulse to action arises from a striving toward perfection, the sense of which is pleasure, and there is no action or will on any other basis...nor can anyone renounce (except merely verbally) being impelled by his own good, without renouncing his own nature. And so it is to be feared that the negation of self which certain false mystics teach, and the suspension of action and thought by which they assume that we find supreme union with God, may end at length in a doctrine of the morality of the soul such as is

taught by the Averroists and other old philosophers as well, to whom it seemed that minds do not persist after man's death, except in that ocean of divinity from which the drops had once come force" (L.424-5). From the perspective of Leibniz's metaphysical psychology, Fenelon is no less mistaken than Hobbes about the source of our action. For the debate between Fenelon and Bosseut, cf. Riley, Leibniz's Universal Jurisprudence, 145-152. 158 "Dejustitiae principiis" 88. 159 "Elements of Natural Law," L.136. 160 Ibid, 137.

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not overlook the importance of prudence: justice is the habit of loving others, "as long as this can be done prudently." We need prudence in loving others no less than in considering our own good.161 Love still requires prudence or wisdom since justice is "a well-ordered charity" {caritas recte ordinata)}62 Around 1677, Leibniz finally arrives at his standard definition of justice, the charity of the wise.163 This definition, as the primary principle of his natural jurisprudence,164 Leibniz believes, decisively refutes Carneades' attack on natural justice that, either "there is no justice at all, or if there is any, it is extreme folly."165 If Carneades knew this definition, he would have learnt that the love of the wise could not be folly,166 since in Leibniz's conception ofjustice charity and the rule of reason are joined together.167 With the addition of wisdom, Leibniz also clarifies the universal character of love. Though justice as charity is a universal benevolence, Leibniz insists, it is not universally equal, but is regulated according to the hierarchy of natural order: "when one is inclined to justice, one tries to procure good for everybody, so far as one can, reasonably, but in proportion to the needs and merits of each." By defining justice in terms of love, that is, will, Leibniz retains a key element 161

Ibid. cf.A.Vl-1,453. Gr. 11.604. 163 Gr. II.608, cf. Grua, Jurisprudence universelle et theodicee, 210. This definition has no verbal antecedent in the entire history of western moral philosophy. R. Mulvaney, "The Early Development of Leibniz's Concept of Justice," Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol.29, no.l (1968), 53. 164 Letter to Duke John Frederick of Hannover, May 1677, A.I-II 23. 165 Grotius, De lure Belli et Pacts, prol. 5. Leibniz's discussion in his notes on Grotius, A.VI-I.431-2. About the significance of Carneades' challenge in the formation of modern natural law, cf. Richard Tuck, "Grotius, Carneades and Hobbes," Grotiana, N.S.4 (1983), 43-62. 166 "DeJustitia," 35. 167 G.VI. p.495; "justice is nothing else than the charity of the wise, that is to say goodness toward others which is conformed to wisdom." "The Common Concept of Justice," R.54. 168 "Felicity," R.83. 162

363 of the voluntarist approach to law, while by adding wisdom to love, he claims his agreement with the intellectualist tradition. But the guiding principle of this synthesis is more intellectualist than voluntarist: love in justice "follows the dictates of wisdom".169 Leibniz's concern with wisdom is opposite to the overwhelming emphasis on obligation and the command of a superior dominant in modern natural law.

This is clear in the following passage on the formal reason ofjustice:

It is a question, then, of determining the formal reason of justice and the measure by which we should measure actions to know whether they are just or not... Justice is nothing else than that which conforms to wisdom and goodness joined together: the end of goodness is the greatest good, but to recognize it wisdom is needed, which is nothing else than knowledge of good. Goodness is simply the inclination to do good to everyone, and to arrest evil, at least when it is not necessary for a greater good or to arrest a greater evil. Thus wisdom is in the understanding and goodness in the will. And justice, as a consequence, is in both. Power is a different matter, but if it is used it makes right become fact, and makes what ought to be also really exist, in so far as the nature of things permits. And this is what God does in the world.171 It is clear from this passage that the conception of goodness plays a central role in Leibniz's rational jurisprudence. Both love (or charity) and wisdom are oriented to goodness, while power is subordinate to goodness as its means. But Leibniz's definition of justice also exposes the difficulties in his doctrine of natural law. The first difficulty is obvious: justice, as the charity of the wise, is certainly not available to everyone. The metaphysical conceptions of honor and universal benevolence which help bridge the gap between self-love and the love of 169

The Preface of Codex Iuris Gentium Diplomaticus, L.421; or "wisdom should guide charity", Ibid, L.422. 170 Against Locke's legalist approach of justice, Leibniz protests, "the law is a prescription imparted to us by wisdom, i.e., by the science of happiness", NE.351. 171 "The Common Concept of Justice", R.50.

364 others seem beyond the reach of the common people. Leibniz is well aware of this difficulty in formulating his definition of justice: "not all men are equally moved by the imagination [that is, the metaphysical notion of honor], especially those who have not grown used to the weighing of virtue or the cherishing of goods of the mind, whether through a liberal education or the habit of living as free men, or the disciple of life or of sect."172 He suggests those who are not wise should imitate the wise, and sometimes the wise have to resort to force to compel others to justice.173 In this respect, Leibniz sides with the ancients against the natural equality in modern natural law.174 But what moves the unwise to imitate the wise in those things which they cannot comprehend remains a disturbing question. Another difficulty is about the obligatory force of justice: how could love oblige us? Leibniz's answer to these two difficulties brings us back to his innatism. While defending innatism against Locke's criticism, Leibniz points out two innate Leibniz's preface of Codex luris Gentium Diplomaticus, L.423. Gr. 11.608, 611. 174 Leibniz explicitly states his position in his criticism of the doctrine of the state of nature in Hobbes and Locke: "I have still not had the leisure to read the entire book entitled Two Treatises of Government, against the principles of Mr. Filmer. I did notice, however, a great justice and solidity in the reasoning. There are, nevertheless, some passages, perhaps, which demand a more ample discussion, as among others what is said of the State of Nature, and of the equality of rights of men. This equality would be certain, if all men had the same advantage, but this not being so at all, it seems that Aristotle is more correct here than Mr. Hobbes. If several men found themselves in a single ship on the open sea, it would not be in the least conformable either to reason or nature, that those who understand nothing of sea-going claim to be pilots; such that, following natural reason, government belongs to the wisest. But the imperfection of human nature causes people not to want to listen to reason, which has forced the most wise to use force and cunning to establish some tolerable order, in which providence itself takes a hand." Letter to Thomas Burnett, R.192. The upshot of Leibniz's opposition to the doctrine of the state of the nature in Hobbes and Locke is how to understand human nature: "For according to Aristotle, that is termed natural which conforms most closely to the perfection of the nature of the thing; but Mr. Hobbes applies the term natural state (I'estat naturel) to that which has least art, perhaps not taking into account that human nature in its perfection carries art with it. But the question of name, that is to say, of what may be called natural, would not be of great importance were it not that Aristotle and Hobbes fastened upon it the notion of natural right {droit naturel), each one following his own significance" (TH.220) 173

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ways in which natural law functions, the natural light of reason (wisdom) and the natural feeling of instincts: ...moral science is innate in just the same way that arithmetic is, for it too depends upon demonstrations provided by the inner light. Since demonstrations do not spring into view straight away, it is no great wonder if men are not always aware straight away of everything they have within them, and are not very quick to read the character of natural law which, according to St.Paul, God has engraved in their minds. However, since morality is more important than arithmetic, God has given to man instincts which lead, straight away and without reasoning, to part of what reason commands (NE 92). While the wise can arrive at the clear and distinct idea of natural law in the natural light of reason, others might imitate them from the push of the "instincts of conscience" (NE 93). The metaphysical basis of these instincts is the natural inclination or endeavor of every being toward perfection which, as we have seen in the preceding discussions, is the central theme of Leibniz's understanding of natural order (NE 351). The natural inclinations become moral instincts in the case of natural law since the moral actions of human beings are an important part of God's plan of the whole universe. Thus, Leibniz's rational jurisprudence of natural law inevitably leads to a universal jurisprudence which intends to account for the metaphysical basis of natural law.

4.3 Leibniz's Universal Jurisprudence Since his early writings Leibniz understands natural law as a theological-political issue. In examining the theological basis of natural law in his dissertation, Leibniz claims that theology is "a kind of special jurisprudence" (quasi Jurisprudentia

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quaedam specialis), since "theology is a sort of public law which applies in the Kingdom of God among men."175 In other words, theology is "some kind of sacred jurisprudence" (jurisprudentia quadam sacra) or "divine jurisprudence" (divina quaedam jurisprudentia) of the universe, which is the greatest city under the monarchy of God, the most perfect king.176 Leibniz once identifies natural law as the law of the best republic, but he also insists that natural law belongs to the Platonic order of ideas, rather than the order of reality or existence, which at least partly depends on the cooperation of power. If there is ever a real "best republic," that must be God's monarchy,177 the common society between God and men. Universal jurisprudence,178 the highest grade of natural law, is intended to explicate the law of this best republic.179 As we have seen, Leibniz distinguishes three grades of natural law (ius naturae). The first grade, law or right in the strict sense is Leibniz's version of the legalist approach of modern natural law, which is initiated by Suarez's attempt to establish the strict sense of natural law, and widely adopted by Hobbes, Locke and Dissertation on the Art of Combination, L.82. cf. Nova Methodus, A.VI-I.294-5 (Breviter tola fere Theologia magnam partem ex Jurisprudentia pendei). 176 Gr. 1.377, cf.G.1.241. 177 Gr. 1.377. 178 This term in the 16th and 17th century signifies the common law of different countries, meaning either the law of nature or the law of nations, depending on the positions of users. It is exactly in this sense that Pufendorf entitles his book (Elementorum

jurisprudentiae

universalis

libri duo, 1660): the

common law of the whole people (cf. Gr., 1.241). But ius universum has a broader meaning: it can denote all law private or public, Roman or canon, even the customs which function among the Christians (it is in this sense Bodin entitles his work Juris universi distributio, 1578; the same usage can be found in the works of Felde and Althusius, which Leibniz has read, cf. Gr. 11.595, 705). Besidesj'ustitia universalis in Bacon means a complete virtue like in Aristotle (Exemplum tractatus dejustitita universali, sive fontibus juri). see Grua, Jurisprudence universelle et theodicee, ch.iv. In some sense, Leibniz combines these usages but with a theological twist. 179 Gr. 1.241, cf. "Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," R.69.

367 Pufendorf. Leibniz's rational or natural jurisprudence attempts to overcome the weakness of modern natural law by elevating natural law from the first grade to the second grade of equity or charity: "strict right avoids misery whereas the higher right tends toward happiness." Leibniz fulfills law with love. But even this higher grade of natural law is imperfect, since it still "falls within this mortality." Besides, the basis of this higher grade of natural law, a metaphysical perspective of the natural order, as we have seen, is not available to everyone, so this overcoming of modern natural law lacks the universality any natural law teaching requires. The highest grade of natural law, piety, comes to Leibniz's rescue: In order really to establish by a universal demonstration that everything honorable is beneficial (utile) and that everything base is harmful, we must assume the immortality of the soul and the ruler of the universe, God. Thus it is that we may think of all men as living in the most perfect city, under a monarch who can neither be deceived in his wisdom nor eluded in his power (potentia), but who is also so lovable that it is happiness to serve such a lord... His power and providence bring it to pass that every right (ius) passes over into fact, that no one is injured except by himself, and that no right deed is without its reward, no sin without its punishment... thus nothing is neglected in the commonwealth of the universe. It is on this ground that justice is called universal, and includes all other virtues, for duties that do not otherwise seem to concern others, as for example, not to abuse our own bodies or property, though they lie beyond human laws, are yet prohibited by the law of nature (naturali jure), that is, by the eternal laws of the divine monarchy, since we owe ourselves and our all to God. For if it is of interest to the commonwealth that no one should make bad use of his property, how much more to the interest of the universe! And so it is from this that the highest precept of the law receives its force, which commands us to live honorably (that is, piously).180 Only with the principles of the immortality of the soul and the existence of God, according to Leibniz, can the reconciliation between self-love and the love of others

Leibniz's preface of Codex Juris Gentium Diplomaticus, L.423.

368 (honorable as beneficial) be perfectly accomplished. Though most modern natural law scholars admit these two principles, they take pains to avoid them in discussing natural law, in order to ground politics and morality in principles free from sectarian disputes (what Locke calls "prejudices" or "enthusiasm"). But this apparently secular attempt, Leibniz protests, sacrifices the noblest element of natural law, and fails to find out the true source of justice: "In the science of law, rather, it is best to derive human justice, as from a spring, from the divine, to make it complete."181 Thus with the three grades of natural law Leibniz sets up a ladder which ascends from the mainstream of modern natural law, through the reconciliation of its main principles by virtue of love, finally to the noblest natural law, which intends to overcome radically the imperfection of modern natural law.182 The most significant advantage of Leibniz's universal jurisprudence, the supreme natural law, is the perfect coincidence of goodness and power consummated in this best commonwealth of the universe (TH.116). The crisis of modern natural law, Leibniz believes, is most evident in its fascination with power and the corresponding downgrading of goodness. These modern followers of Thrasymachus make God a tyrant by granting him "an unrestricted right, an arbitrary and despotic power" (TH.178). "God can be conceived as legislator", Leibniz argues, "but not as a despotic legislator."183 This tyrannical conception of God in fact turns 181

"Opinion on the Principles of Pufendorf," R.69, cf. R.72 about the collaboration between universal jurisprudence and "wise theology." 182 Cf. Gaston Grua, La Justice humaine selon Leibniz (PUF, 1956), 77-87. 183 Letter to Bierling, July 27, 1712, in G.VII.p.510.

369 natural law into positive law (TH.176). The source of this crisis lies in the fundamental weakness of modern metaphysics. Modern philosophers ("the latest innovators" like Descartes or Spinoza) maintain that "there are no rules of goodness and perfection in the nature of things or in the ideas which God has of them" and claim "the works of God are good only for the formal reason that God has made them." This voluntarist understanding of natural order, as well as the legalist understanding of morality, for Leibniz, is self-undermining in theology, and thus dangerous in politics and morality. The primary task of Leibniz's universal jurisprudence is, therefore, to clarify the theological basis of natural law. In order to accomplish this task, Leibniz compose his Theodicy, which turns the marrow of his metaphysics, especially his insights concerning ideas and necessity (or freedom), into the noblest science of natural law. The Christian metaphysicians are always confronted with the tension between the natural order and its theological foundation. Against the dominant modern tendency to undermine the natural order with divine absolute power (or what Leibniz calls "the absolute decree, which doctrine seems to exempt the will of God from any kind of reason," TH.182), Leibniz insists, God's decree does not change the natures of things, which, as we have seen in the second chapter, consist in "the ideas of the possible." God does choose among the ideas of the possible in creating this world, but, Leibniz insists, he cannot change those "possible worlds" themselves

370

- he cannot "render necessary that which was contingent in itself, or impossible that which was possible" (TH.231). This is the starting point of Leibniz's opposition to the voluntarism which prevails in modern metaphysics as well as in modern natural law. For Leibniz, the source of God's decree must be sought in his reason, that is, divine ideas, rather than in "an arbitrary dispensation of God's will" (TH.183). From this rationalist principle, Leibniz comes to a conclusion which reminds us the "impious hypothesis" of Grotius: One is therefore justified in saying that the precepts of natural law assume the honor and justice of which is commanded, and that it would be man's duty to practice what they contain even though God should have been so indulgent as to ordain nothing in that respect. Pray observe that in going back with our visionary thoughts to that ideal moment when God has yet decreed nothing, we find in the ideas of God the principles of morals under terms that imply an obligation. We understand these maxims as certain, and derived from the eternal and immutable order... Now since by the very nature of things, before the divine laws, the truths of morality impose upon man certain duties, Thomas Aquinas and Grotius were justified in saying that if there were no God we should nevertheless be obliged to conform to natural law (TH.183). It is noteworthy that Leibniz, in this passage, not merely insists that the precepts of natural law are founded on "the very nature of things" or "the ideas of God", but more importantly to the concern of modern natural lawyers, he argues "the truths of morality.. .impose upon man certain duties." While most modern natural lawyers can accept the first half of Leibniz's claim, they explicitly decline the second half. Thus at stake in Leibniz's opposition to modern natural law is how natural law acquires its obligatory force before or even without the divine laws.

371 Like other principles in his natural law teaching, Leibniz's account of obligation advances from a characteristically modern definition to a metaphysical understanding in the Leibniz style. In an early piece, Leibniz defines obligation in a Hobbesian way: "obligation is the necessity imposed by the fear of just punishment".184 Thus, the source of the obligation of natural law is not conscience or innate concepts, but the fear of God.185 This notion of obligation is clearly based on what Leibniz calls the principle of the first grade of natural law, that is, individual interest. But it is not easy for Leibniz to reconcile this Hobbesian notion of obligation in terms of fear with his nascent definition of justice in terms of love. The obligation of doing that "which is equitable" cannot arise from the fear of punishment. Leibniz has to find a way to "interiorize" obligation.186 In composing drafts for Elementa Juris Naturalis, Leibniz has attempted to associate the legal terms of obligation with the logical ones. According to this scheme, which is more or less an original development of the commonplace understanding of ius as moral quality or moral power,187 Leibniz establishes the following parallels between jurisprudence and logic (various obligatory states imply 184 "De Obligatione Credendi," Gr. 1.181 (A VI, 4C, 2151), cf. "De Obligatione, Capita Jurisprudentiae" (1678?), Gr. 11.743. 185 "They will find that this internal torturer is fear; fear, I say, of punishment by a judge who can be neither deceived nor escaped and whose opinion impressed on even the most simple by the aspect of this universe, not even the most profligate can put aside, however much they may wish." "Elements of Natural Law," L. 136. 186 Grua, La Justice humaine selon Leibniz, 94. 187 Leibniz himself mentions Grotius. Grua traces it back to Suarez, cf. Jurisprudence universelle et theodicee, 224-5. Grotius, De Jure Belli et Pads, I.i.4-5; Suarez, De Legibus, I.ii.5,1.xiv. 1; Pufendorf, Elementa jurisprudentiae universalis, I. def. 7-8. cf. Yves Charles Zarka, "Le droit naturel selon Leibniz," in Martine de Gaudemar ed. La notion de nature chez Leibniz, Studia Leibnitians Sonderheft, 24 (1995), 185-186.

372

different powers [posse]): iustum (licitum) I possibile; injustum (illicitum)/ impossibile; aequum (debitum) I necessarium; indifferens I contingens.m

Here the

definition of obligation as necessity takes on a new meaning. It is this "modal" understanding which becomes the standard definition of obligation in Leibniz's mature work (the moral necessity imposed on the good man). This definition of obligation shows two main features of Leibniz's natural law doctrine: the centrality of goodness (this obligation leads man to be the best) and the priority of reason to will. Thus there are so far at least two kinds of obligations in Leibniz's natural law teaching, one is internal, for the good and wise; another is external, in the legalist sense of the fear of punishment.189 The question is their relation, that is, whether the internal "obligation" can produce the external effect. The correspondence between Leibniz and H. Kester in 1710 gives us important clues to understanding Leibniz's position. When Kestner inquires of Leibniz whether virtue or propriety {decorum) can produce external obligation, he explicitly resorts to the modern emphasis on the difference between law and virtue. Leibniz points out to Kestner his difference from this legalist approach: "what I am truly concerned with is not the external obligation which varies according to positive laws, nor propriety which often consists in

188

Elementajuris naturalis, A. VI-I.480-1, cf 465-6. "I claims God in his natural kingdoms obliges human beings with two modes to shape their will, one indeed internally, the remaining are obliged by God externally..." (Gr. 11.675). 189

373 opinion or customs, but whether we are obliged by natural law to cultivate virtue." Leibniz insists that the obligation of law, taken universally, should include that by which we are obliged by God through nature.190 The mistake of most modern natural lawyers consists in their confusion of the internal (or natural) obligation of natural law with the external obligation of positive laws. They search in vain for the external obligation in the case of natural law, but fail to pay attention to the true source of its obligatory force. Here whether the human knowledge of natural law is universally available, which is decisive to the modern natural law school, does not change the state of its obligation, since Leibniz believes the former the issue of fact, the latter that of law.191 If so, the internal obligation Leibniz is concerned with seems not confined to the wise. Even if the wisest legislator fails to translate the divine precepts perfectly into the civil laws with the threat of punishment, the obligation of these precepts will not cease. But in which way does God oblige us to do what is equitable "through nature?" Leibniz's attempt to define justice in terms of conatus192 draws our attention to the relation between Leibniz's natural law teaching and his metaphysical reconstruction of conatus. As we have shown in the third chapter, Leibniz argues that every being in the world has an endeavor for its own perfection. This is the source of the dynamic mechanism of the universe. The conatus for happiness in the 190

Gr. 11.690. Ibid, 691. 192 Justitia est constans conatus adfelicitatem communem salva sua. Elementa Juris Natural is, A.VI-I,454. 191

374 rational creatures is exactly what Leibniz calls "natural instincts" besides innate moral knowledge in his opposition to Locke's anti-innatism (NE 92). This conception of obligation on the basis of conatus leads us from the realm of rational jurisprudence into that of universal jurisprudence, in which God's plan of the universe plays a central role: the obligation of natural law requires a natural religion which joins us with God in a universal society.193 Universal jurisprudence will finally secure the obligation of natural law universally. The centrality of divine justice in this noblest natural law is obvious. As we have seen in the first chapter, the fundamental difficulty or challenge to any doctrine of political society is the inherent tension between power and goodness. This difficulty is shown in a most dramatic way in Socrates' bold claim of the philosopher-king who happens to combine his wisdom with a superior power in the best republic. Leibniz is well aware of this difficulty for any natural law teaching which intends to give an adequate account of the relation between goodness and power. The obligation to goodness in the universal society cannot free itself from this tension. Any natural inclination towards good is still limited by its power (TH.282). The "imperfection" of those "secular" doctrines of natural law consists precisely in their failure to accomplish this improbable combination of goodness and power. The divine accomplishment of this combination194 in Leibniz's universal jurisprudence attempts to save natural law by merging it with theology. 193 194

Gr. 11.690. "The Common Concept of Justice," R.48, 50.

375

Here we come to realize the crucial difference between Leibniz's claim that the precepts of natural law are obligatory even if there were no God (TH.183) and Grotius' "impious hypothesis."195 Though both hold the rationalist position in contrast to the voluntarist position of Hobbes and Pufendorf, Grotius wishes to make use of the minimum standard of socialitas to turn the law of nature into the basis of the law of nations beyond religious disputes, whereas Leibniz attempts to establish a firm basis for natural law to avoid the dangerous political and moral consequences of modern philosophy (cf. NE 461-2). Leibniz's rational jurisprudence has a foundation different from Grotius'. In the Theodicy passage we quoted, Leibniz insists the precepts of natural law are derived from the eternal and immutable order, which is finally rooted in "the ideas of God." The source of the obligatory force of natural law is also the divine ideas (TH. 183). Thus, when Leibniz criticizes Grotius' "secular" natural law as "an inferior degree of natural law," he does not contradict himself, but makes clear his fundamental difference from the modern natural law school. In brief, only a universal jurisprudence can secure the true foundation of the obligation of natural law. Leibniz's emphasis on the role of reason (divine wisdom) in God's plan for the universe also supplies a well-founded critique of the legalist approach of modern natural law. In this respect, his principle of sufficient reason is not merely a central tenet in his metaphysics, but also an important premise in his 195

Leibniz mentions his opposition to Grotius' position in his letter to Kestner, Gr. 11.691.

376

political theology (TH.49, 43). But this merging of natural law into theodicy in Leibniz's universal jurisprudence might raise an objection. In the natural law teaching of Hobbes and Locke, with the substitution of the final causality by the efficient causality in accord with the rise of the new science, the natural law which can be transgressed (that is, in the sense of the moral law) often changes into the laws of nature which cannot be transgressed (in the sense of the physical laws) when natural law is associated with the order of nature or providence.196 This tendency of demoralizing natural law is echoed or even strengthened by the increasingly widespread employment of "the law of nature" in the physical sciences. This tendency, along with other aspects of modern natural law, finally leads to the annulment of natural law in the moral sphere. Leibniz's universal jurisprudence seems to be confronted with the same difficulty. Leibniz's discussion of moral and natural necessity in his Theodicy is of significance for us in answering this objection. A main defect Leibniz detects in the legalist understanding of natural law based on the conception of divine absolute power is its reliance on the notion of indifference: "Those who believe that God established good and evil by an arbitrary decree are adopting that strange idea of mere indifference, and other absurdities still stranger. They deprive God of the designation good" (TH 176). But the source of this defect is, according to Leibniz, the awkward situation of modern metaphysicians in formulating natural law with 196

Strauss, "Locke's Doctrine of Natural Law," 204; Natural Right and History, 178-81.

377

reference to necessity. On the one extreme, Hobbes and Spinoza teach "an absolute necessity of all things" or "blind necessity," which in fact makes the moral law in the natural order meaningless (TH. 172-3); but on the other extreme, modern philosophers, "under the pretext of freeing the divine nature from the yoke of necessity," allow an indifference of equipoise to God, who thus establishes the rule of good with his "purely arbitrary decree, without any reason" (TH. 175-6). As in the case of Hobbes (and also to some extent in the case of Locke), modern natural lawyers often sway from one extreme to another. Leibniz employs his distinction between absolute necessity (or metaphysical necessity) and hypothetical necessity (including natural or moral necessity) to remedy this defect of modern natural law (TH.282). Against Hobbes and Spinoza, Leibniz insists, not all things are absolutely necessary, both natural and moral orders belong to hypothetical necessity; against unnamed supporters of indifference, Leibniz points out there is sufficient reason for God's choice of this natural order, which is the basis of natural law. In brief, modern philosophers fail to "take into account that just as metaphysical necessity is preposterous in relation to God's action ad extra, so moral necessity is worthy of him. It is a happy necessity which obliges wisdom to do good, whereas indifference with regard to good and evil would indicate a lack of goodness or of wisdom" (TH.175). Thus, by founding the natural order and the corresponding moral order (especially natural law) on God's choice according to its moral necessity, Leibniz is

378 capable of retaining the obligatory character of law without turning it into a result of "an absolutely absolute decree" (TH.283). Here the metaphysical significance of Leibniz's definition of obligation as moral necessity comes to light. According to Leibniz, the obligation of the noblest grade of natural law is "a happy necessity which obliges wisdom to do good." Even God is bound by this necessity. The foundation of the obligation of natural law, according to Leibniz's theodicy, is a conception of divine justice which emphasizes God's goodness and wisdom rather than His irresistible power. In Leibniz's universal jurisprudence, moral necessity and natural necessity thus not only belong to the same category, but are closely related through God's choice with reference to perfection.197 In this sense, Leibniz's notorious doctrine of the best of all possible worlds is far from a vulgar version of his thought, still less "a bad philosophy which he published with a view to fame and money" as Russell claims, but an original version of natural law, which is exactly the proof of "his philosophic depth and acumen."198 In fact it is natural disorders or moral evils that are more perceived in everyday life experience.199 The modern distrust in Leibniz's "...this world is not only the most perfect naturally or if you prefer, metaphysically...but also that it is the most perfect morally, because moral perfection is truly natural in minds themselves. Hence the world not only is the most wonderful mechanism but is also, insofar as it consists of minds, the best commonwealth, through which there is conferred on minds as much felicity or joy as possible; it is in this that their natural perfection consists". "On the Radical Origination of Things," L.489. 198 Russell, A Critical Examination of the Philosophy of Leibniz, x, 2. It is often overlooked, Leibniz's position is far from orthodox, not to mention "vulgarized." Leibniz published the Theodicy anonymously. His prudence proved well-founded, since it was soon suspected of subversion. Cf. John Hostler, Leibniz's Moral Philosophy (Harper & Row, 1975), 73ff; Wilson, Leibniz's Metaphysics, 270-2. 199 "You may object, however, that we experience the very opposite of this in the world, for the very worst things happen to the best; innocent beings, not only beasts but men, are struck down and killed,

379

project of universal jurisprudence reveals rather those modern metaphysical premises Leibniz struggles to oppose: the hostility to the teleological natural order, behind which we can detect the conflict between the principle of sufficient reason and the logic of absolute power. While trying to establish the laws of nature for natural phenomena, new philosophers isolate the moral domain from the "neutral" realm of nature, and ground it in the command, and finally power, of a superior. Leibniz's theodicy might be the last heroic attempt to articulate a truly "natural" law, in the confrontation with the denaturalization of modern moral and political philosophy. Though Leibniz's universal jurisprudence does not save modern natural law from its decline, it might still be of significant help for us in understanding the strength and weakness of modern politics and its metaphysical basis.

even tortured. In fact, especially if we consider the government of mankind, the world seems rather a kind of confused chaos than something ordained by a supreme wisdom." "On the Radical Origination of Things," L.489. cf. Catherine Wilson, "Leibnizian Optimism," Journal of Philosophy, Vol.80 (1983), 765-83.

380

CONCLUSION The most popular portrait of Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz is certainly the notorious mentor of Voltaire's Candide, Dr. Pangloss, who, on the basis of his "metaphysico-theologo-cosmo-idiotology," demonstrates admirably that individual misfortune result in the general good in this best of all possible worlds, though he himself does not believe it in the least.1 Voltaire's sarcastic portrait is so influential that it not merely brings to the end the "Leibnizianism vogue" in Europe in the first half of the eighteenth century, but damages the reputation of Leibniz himself once and for all.2 Whatever truths we might find in this portrait, however, Voltaire is mistaken at least at one point: Leibniz's "metaphysico-theologo-cosmo-idiotology" is far from a naive defense of the status quo. Though one of greatest founders of modernity, Leibniz is also its most profound and persistent critic. An optimistic reading of Leibniz's philosophy fails to capture his sophisticated attitude to modernity. In his dialogue with another important modern thinker, John Locke, which he composed at the beginning of the eighteenth century, Leibniz mentions a danger of the universal revolution with which "the good morality and true religion" of Europe is threatened. The source of this revolution, according to Leibniz, is the innovations of modern philosophy. Modern philosophy, with the confidence it recently acquired 1

Voltaire, Candide or, Optimism (New York: Modern Library, 2005), ch.l, 4, 30. W. H. Barber, Leibniz in France: from Arnauld to Voltaire (Oxford, 1995); Ira Wade, Voltaire and Candide (Princeton, 1959), 23-61.

2

381 in explaining physical phenomena by the means of the mechanical principles, attempts to ground morality, politics and religion in these new principles. This project of modern philosophy, Leibniz predicts, will undermine or even overturn the philosophical foundation of the European public order. But Leibniz is no more a nostalgic conservative than an optimistic Romantic. He does not believe a return to the scholastic metaphysics or revealed religion would resist the so-called "new philosophy." In order to remedy the defects of modern philosophy, a new metaphysics which reconciles the innovations of the moderns and the wisdom of the ancients, Leibniz insists, has to be formulated. Leibniz's philosophy of reconciliation is not an idiosyncratic eclecticism, but a carefully constructed synthesis based on his diagnosis of modern philosophy: the fundamental weakness of modern philosophy is its fascination with power. Leibniz thus regards his struggle with modern philosophers as a continuation of the battle between Socrates and Thrasymachus over the relative primacy of power and goodness in defining justice which Plato magisterially depicts in the Republic. While his ancient predecessors are confronted with the sophistic challenge with a concept of bare power indifferent to moral customs, Leibniz's opponents are even more formidable. Inspired by the biblical idea of divine omnipotence, the scholastics develop the doctrine of absolute power, which shifts from purely logical possibilities to actual power at the hands of canonists and nominalists. This concept of absolute power is the leitmotif Leibniz detects in the work of modern philosophers from

382 Descartes and Spinoza to Hobbes and Pufendorf. These modern followers of Thrasymachus articulate modern metaphysics, physics or politics explicitly or implictly in terms of bare power. Leibniz's Nouveaux essais is his most systematic diagnosis of the symptoms of this modern fascination with power. The two central doctrines advanced by Locke in his Essay concerning Human Understanding, Leibniz points out, show the implicit influence of the modern concept of power: anti-innatism and the freedom of suspension. Leibniz's examination of Locke's anti-innatism brings to light his complicated relation to modern philosophy. Different from those who oppose Locke's "new way of ideas," Leibniz is sympathetic to the modern approach to ideas initiated by Descartes. He shares with the followers of Descartes the central presuppositions of the representational understanding of ideas. But the new way of ideas, at the hands of Locke, leads to an autonomous "epistemology," which, on Leibniz's careful reading, turns out to be anti-metaphysics. This anti-metaphysical epistemology decisively undermines the foundation which the ancients (Plato and Aristotle) establish for the dependence of power on goodness (be it moral goodness as virtue or metaphysical goodness as being). It is against this implicit intention of Locke's anti-innatism that Leibniz repeatedly emphasizes that Locke's doctrine of ideas is based on a concept of bare power. This unique diagnosis of Locke's apparently commonplace doctrine of faculties reveals Leibniz's metaphysical vigilance against

383 the modern fascination with a power free from any moral or metaphysical determination. Leibniz's effort to overcome this concept of bare power hidden in Locke's epistemology without giving up the basic tenets of the modern way of ideas leads him to advance his innatism: a dispositional doctrine of innate ideas which re-introduces the insights of Plato and Aristotle that help him re-establish the metaphysical primacy of goodness over power. By reviving the ancient way of ideas Leibniz is allowed to formulate the true basis of his innatism, the metaphysics of monads. An unexpected result of Leibniz's monadology is his original theory of individuality. In opposition to Locke's natural historical approach of human nature, Leibniz insists on the intrinsic determination of human individuality which serves as the basis of his understanding of human nature. Once again we find the difference between Leibniz and Voltaire's Dr. Pangloss: individuals are not insignificant in the best of all possible worlds, but on the contrary, their individualities are the expressions of the world as a whole. This conception of individuality will profoundly influence the modern understanding of human nature since the rise of Romanticism. Compared to the sharp contrast between Leibniz and Locke concerning innate ideas, they have more in common concerning human liberty. Leibniz praises Locke for his opposition to the freedom of indifference. But for Leibniz, Locke's attempt to remove the influences of Hobbes by formulating the hedonism of labor is not radical

384

enough. He finds that Locke's emphasis on the power to suspend one's judgment and resist the immediate dominance of ideas as the key element of human liberty is still under the sway of indifferent power. Central to Leibniz's solution to the labyrinth of liberty is his doctrine of inclining without necessitating. The inclinations of the human soul, rather than Locke's indifferent power of suspension, are deemed as the true assurance of our liberty by Leibniz. In articulating the psychological mechanism of inclining without necessitating, Leibniz reiterates the primacy of metaphysical goodness by defining pleasure in terms of perfection. Leibniz's metaphysical transformation of conatus is his next step to correct Locke's tendency to indifferent power in his hedonism of uneasiness, but it is also a crucial step for Leibniz to resist the general tendency of modern philosophy to replace the metaphysics of being/goodness with the physics or metaphysics of power. The practical implications of Leibniz's criticism of Locke come to light when we turn to Leibniz's discussion of natural law. The concern with power decisively influences modern political philosophy. The modern natural law school tends to emphasize the obligatory aspect of natural law at the cost of its natural aspect. This destroys the balance between the natural and the legal Thomas accomplishes in his classical formulation of natural law. But since, as most modern natural lawyers admit, the obligatory force of natural law consists in its promulgation, this positivization of natural law leads to the annihilation of natural law itself by denying

385 the natural basis of the universal knowledge of natural law. This crisis of modern natural law is clearly discernible in Locke's political philosophy. Leibniz's systematic criticism of modern natural law accords with his general critique of modern philosophy. He does not completely forsake the legacy of the modern natural law school. In his project of rational jurisprudence, Leibniz incorporates the insights of the moderns into his three grades of natural law, which culminate in his universal jurisprudence, in which Leibniz accomplishes the perfect coincidence of goodness and power in the best commonwealth of the universe which Plato's Socrates has reserved for his best city in speech. This picture of the best of all possible worlds is not a defense of modern society like that of Dr. Pangloss, but a profound critique of its fascination of absolute power embodied in modern philosophy. Since 1960's it has already been widely admitted that there is more than one face of modernity. The secret of modernity consists partly in its endless self-critique and self-renewal. Leibniz's philosophy might be the earliest, if not the best, example of this dynamic mechanism of modernity. Modernity reinvigorates itself by drawing its force from its apparent opponent, the ancients. Correspondingly, "tradition" comes back to life with the help of the blood of modern life. Leibniz's project of reconciling the ancients and the moderns, in this sense, not merely anticipates the fate of modernity in the West, but also teaches valuable lessons to those who are concerned with its future in the East.

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