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Omri Boehm
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[I]f the ideality of space and time is not adopted, nothing remains
but Spinozism.
Kant, Critique of Practical Reason
Prefaceix
Acknowledgmentsxxxiii
Introduction1
1. The One Possible Basis, the Ideal of Pure Reason
and Kant’s Regulative Spinozism 15
2. The First Antinomy and Spinoza 68
3. The Third Antinomy and Spinoza 108
4. The Causa Sui and the Ontological Argument, or
the Principle of Sufficient Reason and the Is-Ought
Distinction150
5. R adical Enlightenment, The Pantheismusstreit, and a
Change of Tone in the Critique of Pure Reason190
Bibliography237
Index247
PR EFACE
I.
1.
The term “nihilism” is most often associated with Nietzsche, but
it dates back to the last days of the Enlightenment. It was coined
by Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi, who had argued that philosophy
in general—and Enlightenment rationalism in particular—
necessarily culminates in the ethical position prescribed by
Spinoza’s Ethics.1 That this is indeed a necessary outcome of En-
lightenment rationalism is one thesis that the present study will
call into question; that nihilism was its outcome is a fact that
today can hardly be doubted. Spinoza’s seventeenth-century
position is not altogether different from our Nietzschean own:
two hundred years before Nietzsche, it was Spinoza who argued
that it is deluded to think that we ever “desire anything because
we judge it to be good”; in fact, he wrote, “we judge something
to be good” because we “desire it” (E IIIp9s). It should not be
surprising that Nietzsche found in the Jew from Amsterdam a
Pr efac e
2.
What precisely in Enlightenment rationalism entails Spinozist
nihilism? Determinism or necessitarianism—that is, a denial of
freedom—immediately comes to mind, but this may be too quick.
First, because it is not obvious that determinism or necessitarian-
ism excludes freedom (think of Leibnizian or of Spinozist com-
patibilism); and second, because it is not immediately clear that or
in what way freedom is a necessary condition of value (one could
think, perhaps, of a perfectly determined teleological order). En-
lightenment rationalism entails nihilism to the extent that it deems
appropriate only blind, mechanical conceptions of nature. If what
exists is the result of what precedes it, and what precedes it has no
relation to some separate (“transcendent”) non-accidental good,
x
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3.
A good example of the problem at hand is the meaninglessness of
the term “natural right.” When making value judgments we often
adduce nature as a measure: women and men are said to have, by
nature, rights to their bodies; human beings are said to have the
right, by nature, to freedom of speech; by nature, it is said, we are
all equal. Consider the following assertion:
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The majority among the learned who still adhere to the prin-
ciples of the Declaration of Independence interpret these prin-
ciples not as expressions of natural right but as an ideal, if not
as an ideology or myth. Present-day American social science,
as far as it is not Roman Catholic social science, is dedicated
to the proposition that all men are endowed by the evolution-
ary process by a mysterious fate with many kinds of urges and
aspirations, but certainly with no natural right.11
4.
The problem more generally is the value/fact distinction. Under a
teleological conception of nature, it could be meaningful, perhaps,
to speak of moral or normative facts. Under a mechanical concep-
tion, talk of values as matters of fact must be doomed from the
start. Wittgenstein presents a clear articulation of this in 6.4–6.5
in the Tractatus. In 6.41, he famously writes:
The sense of the world must lie outside the world. In the world
everything is as it is, and everything happens as it does happen:
in it no value exists—and if it did exist, it would have no value.
If there is any value that does have value, it must lie outside the
whole sphere of what happens and is the case. For all that hap-
pens and is the case is accidental.
xiv
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xv
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5.
The problem of justifying morality is sometimes discussed in the lit-
erature as the problem of “what could be said” to a moral skeptic.
Bernard Williams describes the problem like this: “when an amor-
alist calls ethical considerations into doubt, and suggests that there
is no reason to follow the requirements of morality, what can we say
to him?”15 According to Williams, the problem is in fact that of jus-
tifying rationality itself: when properly understood, the question is
not so much whether there is a rational justification of morality that
could be presented to the moral skeptic; it is rather what we could
tell the moral skeptic, even assuming that there is such a justification.
Why should he listen?16 Suppose, Williams says, that there is an ar-
gument that can count as a justification (or even a proof) of morality:
Does it follow that an amoralist ought to be convinced by it? Can one
show that the amoralist is “being imprudent” in some fundamental
way, or that he is “contradicting himself or going against the rules of
logic?” And if so, “why should he worry about that?” asks Williams.17
Robert Nozick gives a similar articulation of the problem:
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xvii
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Quotation marks are used not only with true and noble but also
with good. Their function is to relieve moralist speakers from the
(by now almost internalized) inconsistency involved in using nor-
mative vocabulary.
6.
If nihilism in its postmodern form has roots in Spinozist rational-
ism, Kant’s critical position can be read as a conscious attempt to
answer that challenge. His answer operates in two main stages,
which can be understood in light of the assertion, “I found it neces-
sary to deny knowledge, in order to make room for faith” (Bxxx).20
This is one of the most famous sentences in Kant’s Werke; what
exactly does it mean? First, why is it necessary to deny knowledge?
The sentence implies that Kant does not consider the metaphysi-
cal position of moderate Enlightenment thinkers—specifically,
of the Leibnizo-Wolffian school, which strove to preserve the
compatibilism of rationalism and value—a satisfactory alter-
native to the radical and Spinozist position. 21 I will argue that
Kant’s critique of reason—which to a large part consists in a cri-
tique of the Principle of Sufficient Reason—is carried out as an
attack on a Spinozist, necessitarian position. If successful, Kant
would show that a mechanistic conception of nature cannot be
regarded as a thorough description of everything real: everything
xviii
Pr efac e
one vast tomb engulfs them one and all (honest or not, that
makes no difference here) and hurls them, who managed to
xix
Pr efac e
believe they were the final purpose of creation, back into the
abyss of the purposeless chaos of matter from which they were
taken.22
xx
Pr efac e
accept teleology on the basis of some kind of faith. One way or an-
other, faith, as Kant himself recognized, is a necessary condition of
Kantian and rational ethics.
7.
But in this light, the task of Kantian ethical thought is not so much
to articulate versions of the Categorical Imperative that are, on
their own, of little value. Kant will emerge as an infinitely more
significant ethical thinker if he can help us overcome the mean-
inglessness of the Categorical Imperative—if he can convince us
that it is because we are rational and not despite our rationality that
we can have faith in a type of framework required for morality.24
Readers of Kant are likely to recognize in this line of reason-
ing the traces of the Critique of Practical Reason’s Postulatenlehre.
It is true that this doctrine is relevant here, but as it stands it is
hardly satisfactory and does not represent Kant’s mature account
of faith.25 Kant’s elaborate conception of faith is provided in the
Critique of Judgment, where he defends a kind of experience that
could support belief in what had been, in the second Critique,
only postulated (more below). It is also in the Critique of Judgment
that Kant considers the consequences of acting on the basis of the
moral law without recognizing the necessity of faith. In a passage,
part of which was quoted earlier, he invites us to consider
xxi
Pr efac e
wants only to bring about the good to which that sacred law di-
rects all his forces. Yet his effort [encounters] limits: For while
he can expect that nature would now and then cooperate con-
tingently with the purpose of his that he feels so obligated and
impelled to achieve, he can never expect nature to harmonize
with it in a way governed by laws and permanent rules (such
as his inner maxims are and must be). Deceit, violence and
envy will always be rife around him, even though he himself
is honest, peaceful, and benevolent. Moreover, as concerns the
other righteous people he meets: no matter how worthy of hap-
piness they may be, nature, which pays no attention to that,
will still subject them to all the evils of deprivation, disease,
and untimely death, just like all the other animals on the earth.
And they will stay subjected to these evils always, until one
vast tomb engulfs them one and all (honest or not, that makes
no difference here) and hurls them, who managed to believe
they were the final purpose of creation, back into the abyss of
the purposeless chaos of matter from which they were taken.
And so this well-meaning person would indeed have to give up
as impossible the purpose that the moral laws obliged him to
have before his eyes, and that in compliance with them he did
have before his eyes. 26
xxii
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xxiii
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xxiv
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8.
This part of Kant’s response to the problem of the Enlightenment
and modernity often remains overlooked. 34 Strauss, for example,
whose History and Natural Right is an attempt to understand
nihilism’s origins (Strauss describes the problem as the “crisis
of modernity” and equates it with the emptiness of the term
“natural right”), deals neither with Spinoza nor with Kant—
certainly not with Kant’s critique of Spinoza. “The fundamental
dilemma in whose grip we are,” Strauss writes in the introduc-
tion, “is caused by the victory of [mechanical] natural science.
An adequate solution to the problem of natural right cannot be
found before this basic problem has been resolved.”35 He moves
on to discuss the problem as it emerges in the thought of Hobbes,
Locke, Machiavelli, and Burke, concluding with a discussion of
Rousseau’s (for Strauss ultimately unsuccessful) attempt to re-
solve it. The fact that there is no serious confrontation with Spi-
noza is most likely due to Strauss’s (by now outdated) assumption
that his impact on the Enlightenment was insignificant compared
to the philosophers just mentioned. But the fact that Strauss con-
cludes the book with a chapter on Rousseau’s rethinking of the
term “nature” is harder to make sense of. For whereas Strauss had
correctly realized that the “crisis of modernity” emerges from the
impact of a mechanical worldview on ethical thought, he fails to
see that Kant—arguably an important player in the development
xxv
Pr efac e
xxvi
Pr efac e
The reason behind this partial reading is not far to seek. Hork-
heimer and Adorno’s Marxist perspective is one in which Kant’s
discussion of faith is bound to be treated as it was treated by Hein-
rich Heine. (As is well-known, Heine suggested that Kant intro-
duced faith and God in his thinking only because he had pity on
his servant, old Lampe, who “had to have a God.”) And, of course,
one need not be a Marxist interpreter of Kant in order to overlook
or severely downplay this element of Kant’s thought: it is fair to say
that most secular Kantian ethicists have de facto accepted Heine’s
approach. However, if Heine was right, the differences between
Kantian ethics and Nietzschean ethics of will to power become in-
significant. If Heine was right, then Kant, just like Spinoza, relativ-
izes the good to the merely desired. To understand Kant’s position
as a genuine alternative to such ethics—and to be able to consider
this Kantian alternative as a genuine possibility for us—we must
be willing to take seriously the project of denying knowledge in
making room for faith. Historically speaking, this means that we
must come to terms with Kant’s answer to Spinoza and Spinozism.
NOTES
1. It is sometimes overlooked that Jacobi first used the term only in 1799,
referring to Fichte’s position (see Jacobi’s “Brief an Fichte,” in Appelation
an das Publikum. Dokumente zum Atheismusstreit [Leipzig: Reclam, 1987],
pp. 153–167). There is little room for doubt, however, that Jacobi’s conclu-
sion that philosophy as such is Spinozist (and hence pantheist, fatalist, and
atheist) is the origin of his use of the term “nihilism.”
2. See F. Nietzsche’s postcard to Overbeck (July 1881) in The Portable Ni-
etzsche, trans. W. Kaufmann (New York: Penguin Books, 1976), p. 92.
The similarities between Nietzsche’s position and Spinoza’s are discussed
by G. Deleuze in his Spinoza: Philosophie pratique (Paris: Les Éditions
de Minuit, 2003). See also R. Sigad, Truth as Tragedy (Jerusalem: Bialik
Institute, 1990), pp. 13–124. More recently, M. Della Rocca discusses
xxvii
Pr efac e
xxviii
Pr efac e
14. In Rawls, this is clear from his attempt to give legitimacy arguments from
such notions as “primary social goods” (which are nothing but conditions
of human well-being, i.e., reducible to basic human interests); and more
significantly, from his understanding of rationality as a type of prudential
decision making, understood by the lights of decision theory (which itself
assumes, one way or another, self-interestedness). For a discussion of Raw-
ls’s position on this, see O. Höffe, Categorical Principles of Law (University
Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press), p.215–232.
15. B. Williams, Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press), p. 22.
16. Ibid., p. 23.
17. Ibid.
18. R. Nozick, Philosophical Explanations (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univer-
sity Press, 1981), p. 408.
19. Susan Neiman, Moral Clarity (New York: Harcourt, 2008), p. 18. What
Neiman here calls “the left” should be a group close enough to what I have
been referring to as “secular liberals.”
2 0. Note that Kant never makes this (or a similar) assertion in the opening lines
of the 1781 A-edition. A bold assertion that saving faith and freedom is one
of the Critique’s main goals is first made in the B-edition. I discuss this point
at length in Chapter 5.
21. For the distinction between radical and moderate Enlightenment, see Is-
rael’s Radical Enlightenment.
22. KU AA 5:452.
23. In the most obvious way, this is clear from Kant’s talk of persons being ends
in themselves (e.g., GMS 4:428f.) and, as such, as the final purpose of cre-
ation (KU 5: 435–443). C. Korsgaard, who stresses the centrality of the
“formula of humanity,” certainly notices the indispensable role teleology
assumes here (see, for example, her Creating the Kingdom of Ends [Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996], pp. 110–132.). Our rational
action, she argues—given that we are the final purpose of creation—has
“value conferring status.” However, I am not sure that Korsgaard gives due
recognition—let alone is willing to defend—the metaphysical picture that
is accordingly necessary to take a Kantian position seriously. Precisely be-
cause that picture is metaphysical but cannot be accepted on theoretical
grounds, treating humanity as value conferring requires belief in teleol-
ogy and faith in what makes such teleology possible. Korsgaard is aware of
this, for in another essay, comparing Aristotle and Kant, she points out that
whereas for the former teleology was a part of science, for the latter it is a
matter of “religious faith” (Creating the Kingdom of Ends, p. 245). But when
discussing Kant’s humanity formula, the fact that faith is a necessary condi-
tion of making sense of that formula goes unmentioned. In fact, Korsgaard’s
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xxx
Pr efac e
I know, Strauss is the first to have written extensively about the Streit (in
a book-length introduction that he wrote to Mendelssohn’s Schriften, of
which he was the editor). Strauss also wrote his dissertation on Jacobi, and
his first book was Spinoza’s Critique of Religion.
37. M. Horkheimer and T. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment (London: Verso,
1979).
38. Ibid., pp. 80–119. This interpretation has become commonplace. Jacques
Lacan and Slavoi Zizek followed up with articles on the topic, and David
Martin wrote a book about it (Sublime Failures: The Ethics of Kant and de
Sade [Detroit: Wayne University Press, 2003].)
39. Horkheimer and Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, p. 87.
4 0. Recall, for example, the mathematical construction of Sade’s 120 Days of
Sodom. A helpful analysis of Horkheimer and Adorno’s comparison be-
tween de Sade and Kant is given by Carlo Accetti, “Kant et Sade,” Raisons
Politiques 33:1 (2009), pp. 149–169.
41. For an account of the similarities and the differences, see T. Kuhnle:
“Une anthropologie de l’ultime consommateur: Quelques réflexions sur
le spinozisme du Marquis de Sade,” in French Studies in Southern Africa 37
(2007), pp. 88–107.
xxxi
ACK NOW LEDGM EN TS
My work has benefited from the help of many good friends. Jörg
Fingerhut and Alex Kirshner read drafts of chapters; Dan Avi
Landau provided invaluable advice (he was right about every-
thing); Anat Schechtman, John Bengsohn, and Gilad Tanay il-
luminated, each in her or his own way, numerous perspectives of
which I was unaware when first conceiving the project; and Rocco
Rubini constantly inspired me to read in different ways. Ulrika
Carlsson influenced my thinking both personally and philosophi-
cally, among other things by her refusal to recognize a difference
between the two. My parents, Eti and Amnon Boehm, provided
constant ear and support along the way. I was especially fortunate
to have met Inbal Hever just upon completing the manuscript, and
to have spent the last stages of revision in her company.
Several experts have read drafts of chapters and offered help-
ful comments and much criticism, including Karl Ameriks,
Abraham Anderson, Andrew Chignell, Gideon Freudenthal, Hans-
Friedrich Fulda, Sebastian Gardner, Axel Hutter, James Kreines,
Peter McLaughlin, Susan Neiman, Alan Nelson, Ian Proops, Eric
A c k no w l e d g m e nts
xxxiv
Introduction
I.
1
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
2
I nt r o d u c tion
3
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
There are reasons to think that Kant was not completely frank with
Hamann. And, if one insists on taking Kant’s reported words at
face value, one must also grant that Kant was for some reason “very
pleased” with Jacobi’s presentation. Hermeneutically, it seems ir-
responsible to conclude much from Hamann’s report: if anything
at all can be learned from his letter, it is that Kant—contrary to
common opinion—had a sense of humor.
As for the observation that Kant never mentions Spinoza in the
first Critique, it should be noted that at least on one occasion the
Critique unmistakably discusses Spinoza’s philosophy—his geo-
metrical method—but does not mention his name still. Over ten
Akademie pages, Kant criticizes the use of “definitions,” “axioms,”
and “demonstrations,” arguing that, “in philosophy, the math-
ematician can by his method build only so many houses of cards”
(A727–38/B755–66).12 Kant explains that while in mathematics,
definitions, axioms, and demonstrations are appropriate, in phi-
losophy they are not; whereas in mathematics one can successfully
begin with definitions, in philosophy definitions “[ought] to come
at the end rather than at the beginning” (A730/B758; my emphasis).
That this is directed at Spinoza’s Ethics is clear.13 Other philoso-
phers apply mathematical methods, of course, but none uses defi-
nitions, axioms, and demonstrations as Spinoza does. To be on the
safe side, Kant repeats the very same argument in his Lectures on
Metaphysics, this time explicitly mentioning Spinoza:
Spinoza believed that God and the world were one sub-
stance. . . . This error followed from a faulty definition of sub-
stance. As a mathematician, he was accustomed to finding
arbitrary definitions and deriving propositions from them.
Now this procedure works quite well in mathematics, but if we
try to apply these methods in philosophy we will be led to an
4
I nt r o d u c tion
There is then at least one moment in the Critique where Kant does
engage with Spinoza—one moment where it makes little sense to con-
clude that Kant doesn’t aim at Spinoza from the fact that he doesn’t
mention the name. Are there other such moments in the Critique?
II.
5
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
III.
6
I nt r o d u c tion
7
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
that one can have reasons to accept Spinoza’s reliance on the infi-
nite only on the basis of an experience of one’s own freedom (in
this light, it turns out that Kant’s third Critique account of the sub-
lime is crucial to interpreting and defending the Antinomies). Ar-
guably Spinoza cannot rely on an experience of freedom to ground
the notion of complete infinity because his monistic-necessitarian
position excludes freedom. This line of defense, however, will not
be completed before the discussion of the causa sui in Chapter 4.
In Chapter 3, I interpret the third Antinomy, arguing that its
Antithesis, too, which denies freedom by an argument from the
Principle of Sufficient Reason, is best understood as a Spinozist
rather than a Leibnizian position. Concluding this chapter, I con-
tinue to defend Kant’s Antinomy from the Spinozist reliance on a
totum analyticum—in the case of the third Antinomy, the concep-
tion of the world as an infinite and complete explanatory whole.
I consider the Spinozist answer to the defense of the Antinomy
suggested in Chapter 2 (demanding that an experience of freedom
ground the notion of complete infinity). The Spinozist answer
consists in Spinoza’s doctrine of adequate ideas. According to Spi-
noza, one is free insofar as one conceives an adequate idea. If this is
granted, Spinoza’s reliance on the notion of substance may escape
the Kantian challenge presented above. I will argue, however,
that this account of adequate ideas relies beforehand—and hence
circularly—on the notion of the complete infinite.
I do not offer separate chapters dealing with the second and
the fourth Antinomies. As for the latter, I treat the relevance of
Spinozism to its subject matter within Chapter 3. As it turns
out, the echoes of Spinozism in this Antinomy may be the loud-
est throughout the Dialectic—and very illuminating to the
other Antinomies as well. As for the second Antinomy, while its
subject matter could be extremely relevant insofar as Spinozism
8
I nt r o d u c tion
9
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
10
I nt r o d u c tion
NOTES
11
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
12
I nt r o d u c tion
13
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
22. A good example of this is the belief that Spinoza’s proof of God’s existence—
a proof which is indispensable for the viability of rationalist and Spinozist
positions—is immune to Kant’s refutation of the traditional ontological
argument.
23. Recent literature is beginning to recognize this. See Zammito, “The Most
Hidden Conditions of Men of the First Rank: The Pantheist Current in
Eighteenth-Century Germany ‘Uncovered’ by the Spinoza Controversy,”
Eighteenth-Century Thought 1 (2003), pp. 335ff.; and more significantly,
Jonathan Israel, Democratic Enlightenment (New York: Oxford University
Press, 2011) p. 688.
2 4. On this, see my “Enlightenment, Prophecy, and Genius: Kant’s Critique of
Judgment versus Spinoza’s Tractatus Theologico-Politicus,” Graduate Faculty
Philosophy Journal 34:1 (2013), pp. 149–178.
25. F. Heman, “Kant und Spinoza,” Kant-Studien 5 (1901), pp. 273–339 (my
translation).
14
C ha pt e r 1
15
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
16
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
17
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
18
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
I.
1.
Kant opens the Beweisgrund by criticizing the traditional ontologi-
cal argument. His argument is well-known to modern readers from
the first Critique: existence is not a (real) predicate. A subject’s es-
sence is “completely determined,” Kant argued in the Critique,
regardless of its existential status: “The actual contains no more
than the merely possible, a hundred actual thalers do not contain
the least [coin] more than a hundred possible thalers,” despite the
fact that the actual ones “have more effect on my financial condi-
tion than the mere concept of them (that is, their possibility) does”
(A599/B627). The point is that if existence were a real predicate,
the concept of the possible hundred dollars and the concept of the
actual hundred dollars would not be identical: this is absurd, Kant
claims, because it contradicts the assumption that the merely pos-
sible can become actual.
Kant had rejected the view that existence is a first-order predi-
cate by a similar argument as early as the New Elucidation.13 In
the Beweisgrund, he uses Julius Caesar as an example: “Combine
in him all his conceivable predicates, not excluding even those of
time and place”; “you will quickly see that with all of these deter-
minations he can exist or not exist” (BDG AA 2:72f.). Because ex-
istence is not a “real,” first-order predicate (Bestimmung), it does
not participate in any essence—not even in God’s. God’s essence
may enclose all predicates but still lack existence. It follows that
there is no contradiction in the thought that God does not exist;
that the ontological argument fails. This enables Kant to claim that
the alternative “basis of demonstration” he elaborates is “the only
possible one.”14
19
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
2.
Given the conclusion that existence is not a predicate, Kant intro-
duces new definitions, to be used in the alternative demonstration.
He defines existence (Dasein) as “the absolute position of the thing.”
A being absolutely posited is one that cannot be conceived as a predi-
cate or property of another. The meaning of that term is “totally
simple,” Kant says, and cannot be explicated further; it is “identical
with the notion of being in general.”15 To that absolute notion he con-
trasts the “relative positioning of a thing.” A thing thus posited cannot
be regarded as properly existing. It is thought merely as a property of
a thing, a predicate of a subject. Kant explains that relative position-
ing is identical with “the copulative concept in a judgment” (BDG
AA 2:75). For example, in the proposition “a rose is red,” the predi-
cate “red” is only relatively posited (this is not Kant’s example). It is
ascribed to the rose, as a predicate, by “is”—the copula of the propo-
sition. However, because existence (or absolute positioning) is not
a predicate, the copula expresses no existential claim; the property
“red” is assigned no existential status by that judgment.16
II.
1.
The outline of the alternative and “only possible” demonstration
strategy can be described in the following seven steps:
20
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
2.
The first proposition is the claim that a thing’s “internal possibility”
requires not only “formal possibility” but also “material possibil-
ity.” “Internal possibility” is identical with a thing’s essence; “formal
possibility” stands for the logical relation between the predicates
that participate in that essence; and “material possibility” is that
set of participating predicates, regardless of their formal relation to
one another. Kant considers these predicates to be the “content of
thought,” the “real element” of a judgment (BDG AA 2:77).
The separation of material from formal possibility relies on the
following claim:
21
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
22
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
3.
Thus presented, the material element of possibility may be re-
garded as relative or context-dependent. In the example of a right
triangle, the concepts “triangle” and “having an angle of 90 de-
grees” function as elements of material possibility, but each must
be internally possible as well. This requires, in turn, not only that
these notions be formally consistent, but also that the material ele-
ments of their essences be provided: “side,” “angle,” “three,” “exten-
sion,” and so on. Kant argues that the notion of possibility requires
that the material element, at bottom, refer to ontologically stable
23
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
24
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
4.
Kant’s next step is from D3 to the claim that, necessarily, some-
thing exists. This can be established if it is the case that, neces-
sarily, something is possible. Kant defends that proposition by
arguing that the state of affairs in which nothing is possible is itself
25
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
26
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
5.
The next step is crucial. From D5, Kant needs to show that there
is a being that exists necessarily. That is, he needs to exclude the
possibility that possibility is grounded in beings that exist contin-
gently. Now, from D4 it follows that if a single being grounds all
possibilities, that being exists necessarily. For the nonexistence
of that being would abolish all possibility, which contradicts the
claim that, necessarily, something is possible. (To be sure, I mean
“single” in the following strong sense: [1] all possibilities are
grounded in one being; [2] it is not the case that two [or more] en-
tities ground all possibilities; see more below.) And indeed, Kant
assumes in the Beweisgrund—an assumption he repeats through-
out his career—that only a single being can ground all possibili-
ties. “That whose annulment or negation eradicates all possibility,”
he writes, “is absolutely necessary” (BDG AA 2:81f.). “The neces-
sary being contains [enthält] the ultimate ground of the possibility
of all other beings.” Let this be D6:
27
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
28
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
29
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
6.
It follows from D5 and D6 that there is a being that exists neces-
sarily. But in what sense is it the ground of all possibility? How
does Kant understand the grounding relation? The Beweisgrund is
somewhat unclear about this. Kant said that all possibility must
be ultimately grounded by something existing, and he pointed out
that such possibilities may be grounded either in “determinations
[Bestimmungen]” of the existing thing, or in its “consequences
[Folgen].” By “determinations” he clearly means properties of the
existing being: possibilities grounded in determinations are thus
possibilities that are grounded because they inhere in the exist-
ing being; it is in this sense that the nonexistence of the said being
would abolish them. But how does Kant understand the grounding
relation between possibilities grounded in consequences (finite,
complex beings) and the (necessarily existing) being that grounds
30
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
31
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
7.
Kant presents a separate argument to the effect that there can
be only a single being that grounds all possibility. The argument
proceeds as follows: (1) “Because the necessary being contains
[enthält] the ultimate ground of the possibility of all other beings,
every other being is possible only insofar as it is given through it
as a ground” [D6]; therefore, (2) possibilities of all other beings
“depend on it”; however, (3) a being whose possibility depends
on another “does not contain the ultimate ground of all possibil-
ity” (for at least one possibility, namely its own, is contained in
another being); therefore, (4) “the necessary being is unitary,”
which is to say, a “ground of all possibility” there can be only one.
(BDG AA 2:83f.).
32
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
8.
For convenience, here is an overview of the argument:
33
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
34
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
“Is a body in itself possible?” Because you must not call upon
experience here you will enumerate for me the data of its pos-
sibility; namely extension, impenetrability, force, and who
knows what else, and add that there is no internal conflict
therein. I grant all of this . . . and yet you must give me some jus-
tification of your right immediately to assume the concept of
extension as a datum: for assuming that it denotes nothing, the
possibility of the body for which it is a datum is an illusion. It
would also be quite wrong to appeal to experience for the sake
of this datum, for the question is just whether there is an inter-
nal possibility of a fiery body even if absolutely nothing exists.
Granted that henceforth you cannot analyze the concept of ex-
tension into simpler data in order to show that there is no con-
flict in it, since you must necessarily finally come to something
whose possibility cannot be analyzed, then the question here is
whether space and extension are only empty words or whether
they denote something. (BDG AA 2:78)
35
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
Given that Kant arrives at the conclusion that the most fundamen-
tal properties, like extension, are a divine determination (attri-
bute), the Spinozist threat is clear. Every contemporary of Kant’s
would have to wonder how, or whether, Kant intends to evade the
conclusion that extension just is a divine attribute. 35 Later in his
career Kant says something by way of answering that question. In
Lectures on Metaphysics he comments, “if I take space to be a thing
in itself, then Spinozism is inevitable; that is, the parts of the world
are parts of the deity. Space is the deity.”36 And then again, “Those
who take space as a thing in itself or as a property of things, are
forced to be Spinozists, i.e., they take the world as the embodiment
[Inbegrieff] of determinations from one necessary substance. . . .
Space as something necessary would have been also an attribute
[Eigenschaft] of God, and all things [would have] existed in space,
thus in God.”37 To be sure, in the second Critique Kant argues
that a Leibnizian-idealist conception of space (and time) cannot
avoid Spinozism, either. It is inconsistent, Kant writes, to maintain
that space and time are essential determinations of created enti-
ties, but to deny that God—who created these entities—has these
determinations.
I do not see how those who insist on regarding time and space
as determinations belonging to the existence of things in them-
selves would avoid fatalism of actions; or if (like the otherwise
acute Mendelssohn) they flatly allow both of them [time and
space] to be conditions necessarily belonging only to the exis-
tence of finite and derived beings but not to that of the infinite
original being—I do not see how they would justify themselves
in making such a distinction, whence they get a warrant to do
so, or even how they would avoid the contradiction they en-
counter when they regard existence in time as a determination
36
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
37
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
This One . . . contains the material for production of all other pos-
sible things, as the supply of marble does for an infinite multitude
38
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
39
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
Kant’s recognition in the passages above that finite things are con-
ceived as mere (“nothing but”) limitations of the “All” is telling.
A prevailing objection to Spinozism—which was well-known in
Kant’s time and put forward by both Wolff and Mendelssohn—
unfairly ridiculed Spinoza’s conception of substance as an uncon-
ditioned totality that is produced as a sum, an aggregate of separate
finite parts. They mistakenly argued, to use Wolff’s language, that
Spinoza thinks of modes as Theile in dem Ganzem—parts in the
whole.47 Of course, Spinoza doesn’t make this mistake: he holds
that substance is ontologically prior to its “parts,” which are noth-
ing but mere limitations (substance is ontologically simple). Thus,
by insisting that the ideal’s parts are contained within it as mere
limitations, Kant closes off the possible Wolffian objection, re-
maining thereby faithful to a genuine Spinozist conception. He re-
peats the same point later, as he emphasizes that the “All” contains
all possibilities “as their ground, not as their sum” (A579/B607).
Allison comments on this passage that Kant’s “prime concern
was to avoid the Spinozistic implications of the identification of
40
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
God with the sum total of reality.”48 Ward similarly argues that
Kant’s claim that the ideal is the ground but not the sum of all pos-
sibilities reflects an attempt to dissociate himself from Spinoza.49
Franks similarly comments: “It is true that Kant talks at first of
the omnitudo realitatis as if it were identical with the ens realissi-
mum, which might suggest a Spinozist construal. But Kant explic-
itly revises his formulation, indicating that the omnitudo realitatis
is grounded in God, so that God is not to be identified with the
sum-total of all reality.”50 As evidence that Kant revises his for-
mulation, Franks brings the same passage discussed by A llison
and Ward: “the supreme reality must condition the possibility of
all things as their ground, not of their sum” (A579/B607). 51 Re-
ferring to the same lines in the first Critique, Lord clarifies that
Kant’s insistence that God isn’t the “sum-total” of reality denies
“any immanent relation between God and the world, wherein the
world can be said to be ‘in’ God.”52 While all four correctly ap-
preciate Spinoza’s relevance here, they seem to me to misinterpret
Kant’s “All” and (in this context perhaps not less significantly)
Spinoza’s. Far from dissociating himself from Spinozism (or “re-
vising his formulation” to avoid Spinozism), Kant remains faith-
ful to a genuine Spinozist conception. Certainly, had he written
that the “All” is the sum-total of reality he wouldn’t have been a
Spinozist. 53 Significantly, when Kant classifies the kinds of Pan-
theism in the Lectures on Metaphysics, he marks Spinozism pre-
cisely as that kind in which God is the ground rather than the
“aggregate” of all things:
Pantheism still has Spinozism as a special kind . . . I can say, ev-
erything is God, and this is the system of Spinozism, or I can say
the “All” is God, like Xenophanes said, and this is Pantheism.
Pantheism is either one of inherence, and this is Spinozism, or
41
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
9.
Kant argues in the Beweisgrund that the necessary being whose ex-
istence he has demonstrated has understanding and will. The ar-
gument relies on the claim that God, as the being that possesses all
possibilities, also has “the highest reality.” The “maximum possi-
ble” realities are inherent in it, Kant writes, and “both understand-
ing and will” are realities. Therefore, God has these properties
(BDG AA 2:87).
At first glance, this line of argument seems to contradict the
Spinozist interpretation I have given. 55 A Spinozistic necessary
being (substance) does not seem to be the kind of entity to which
the attributes of understanding and will can be conveniently as-
cribed. Yet Kant’s argument actually supports the Spinozist in-
terpretation of the Beweisgrund. For Kant is quick to raise doubts
regarding the way in which the necessary being is said to have
understanding and will: It must “remain undecided,” he writes,
whether “understanding and will” are in fact “determinations” of
the necessary being or are ascribed to it merely as “consequences
42
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
III.
1.
I have argued that Kant’s demonstration is committed to Spi-
nozism. Was Kant aware of this? Charity makes it difficult to hold
that he wasn’t. And much textual evidence supports the impression
that indeed he was: passages in which Kant claims that Spinozism
is the “true consequence of dogmatic metaphysics”; passages in
which he says that “if transcendental idealism is not adopted, only
Spinozism remains”; and passages in which Kant identifies the
Ideal’s ens realissimum with Spinoza’s substance.
However, the relevance of these passages to Kant’s pre-critical
writings needs to be examined, for they were written much later
in Kant’s career. Kant doesn’t explicitly endorse Spinozism in the
Beweisgrund; and he doesn’t write that Spinozism is inevitable in
43
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
44
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
45
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
I V.
1.
Of course, it is Kant’s 1781 commitments that are of chief philo-
sophical interest. Is the critical Kant committed to Spinozism?
What is the nature of this commitment? The first Critique, it
is well-known, excludes demonstrative knowledge of God’s
46
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
47
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
The concept of what thus possesses all reality is just the con-
cept of a thing in itself as completely determined; and since in
all possible [pairs of] contradictory predicates one predicate,
namely, that which belongs to being absolutely, is to be found
in its determination, the concept of an ens realissimum is the
concept of an individual being. It is therefore a transcendental
ideal which serves as the basis for the complete determination
that necessarily belongs to all that exists. This ideal is the su-
preme and complete material condition of the possibility of
48
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
2.
Two questions come to mind. First, if Kant still accepts the prin-
ciples demonstrating God’s existence, on what grounds does he
reject their conclusion? Why does the first Critique recognize the
“ultimate ground of possibility” as a regulative notion, not a con-
stitutive principle? Second, assuming that Kant’s demonstration
is legitimately transformed into a regulative ideal, how significant
is the difference between Kant’s pre-critical Spinozism and his
critical regulative Spinozism? Is Kant’s defense of freedom, faith,
and morality affected by this commitment to Spinozism? I do not
think it is, but I will have occasion to address this question else-
where. Let us consider the first question.
Kant’s rejection of the demonstrative knowledge achieved in
the Beweisgrund could rely on his new, critical perspective: the crit-
ical Kant no longer thinks that what human beings can or cannot
conceive generates existential claims. The analysis of the “possi-
bility of possibility,” on which he relies in the pre-critical demon-
stration, may determine only what finite discursive thinkers must
assume as existing, not what actually exists. As W. Röd points out,
the critical Kant views the modal notions of “possibility,” “actual-
ity,” and “necessity” as subjective categories. They describe the re-
lation of objects to the faculties of the mind and do not correspond
to independently existing relations. Therefore, such principles as
D4 (“necessarily, something is possible”) must undergo a subjec-
tive interpretation, rendering the ideal a regulative principle, not
an existing entity.61
49
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
3.
Kant’s doctrine of illusion consists of his analysis of two rational
principles—principles that, he argues, cause the illusions and
misunderstandings that entrap metaphysical thought. Recent
50
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
P1: Find for the conditioned knowledge given through the un-
derstanding the unconditioned whereby its unity is brought to
completion (A308/B364).
51
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
52
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
53
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
54
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
55
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
its own illusions. And, despite the fact that detecting these illusions
doesn’t make them disappear—for they are natural and necessary
(see A297f./B354f.)—it does prevent the erroneous metaphysical
judgments that they cause. Indeed, the first Critique’s Dialectic
is supposed to have just this curative function: by “exposing the
illusion . . . [it] takes precautions that we be not deceived by it”
(A298/B355).
In the Antinomies, Kant tries to show that P2 is not only un-
justified but also false, by showing that it forces reason into proven
contradictions. That part of his argument is less relevant here; for
present purposes, Kant’s insistence that P2’s (or the PSR’s) status
is problematic is sufficient: given that that principle has grounded
the pre-critical demonstration all along (in D3–D6), the demon-
stration loses its force if the principle cannot be known to be valid.
Let us spell out the ways in which the pre-critical demonstration
assumes P2 (i.e., the PSR).
Consider first D3 (“possibility is grounded in something ex-
isting”; i.e., if something is possible, something exists). Assume
that something is possible (say, the concept “man”). That possibil-
ity is conditioned; it depends on further conditions—namely, the
material conditions of that possibility, or predicates that partici-
pate in that concept’s definition (say, “rational,” “animal”). These
predicates, in turn, depend on other predicates—further material
conditions of their possibility (say, “animal” depends on “body,”
which in turn depends on “extension”). So far along the argument,
we are at D2 (“essences depend on the material conditions of their
possibility”) and operate on P1: we persistently search for the con-
ditions of conditioned possibilities. However, once we move from
D2 to D3—from assuming that each conditioned possibility has
its conditions to assuming that its ultimate condition (hence an
unconditioned condition) exists—we’re guilty exactly of the slip
56
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
57
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
58
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
NOTES
1. F. H. Jacobi, Über die Lehre des Spinoza in Briefen an den Herrn Moses
Mendelssohn, in Schriften zum Spinozastreit, vol. 1 of Friedrich Heinrich
Jacobi: Werke, ed. K. Hammacher (Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 1998),
pp. 121f.—my translation; H. Pistorius, “Erläuterungen über des Herrn
Professor Kant Kritik der Reinen Vernunft von J. Schultze,” Allgemeine
Deutsche Bibliothek 60:1 (1786)—my translation.
2. See Briefe AA 10:430.
3. BDG AA 02. Unless noted otherwise, English citations of the BDG are to
G. Treash’s translation, Immanuel Kant, The One Possible Basis for a Dem-
onstration of the Existence of God, trans. G. Treash (Lincoln: University of
Nebraska Press, 1979).
4. For present purposes we may describe the PSR as the claim that “there are
no brute facts”: if a given fact cannot be explained, its existence is denied.
Very little has been written on Kant’s stance to the PSR (at least one impor-
tant exception is B. Longuenesse’s “Kant’s Deconstruction of the Principle
of Sufficient Reason,” Harvard Review of Philosophy 4 [2001], pp. 67–87).
This neglect is unfortunate, because Kant’s critique of reason is intimately
connected to his criticism of the Principle of Sufficient Reason. I offer a
comprehensive account of Kant’s relation to the PSR in Chapter 4. For a
thorough interpretation of that essay drawing on the PSR, see A. Chignell’s
“Kant, Modality, and the Most Real Being,” Archiv für Geschichte der Phi-
losophie 2: (2009), pp. 157–192.
5. The “possibility argument” provided in proposition 7 of the New Elucida-
tion, which, in my view, consists in assumptions similar to the Beweisgrund’s,
has similarly suggested Spinozism. Cf. Tillmann Pinder’s inaugural dis-
sertation, Kants Gedanke vom Grund aller Möglichkeit: Untersuchungen zur
Vorgeschichte der “transzendentalen Theologie” (Berlin, 1969), pp. 123–125.
I thank an anonymous reviewer for pointing out Pinder’s important discus-
sion, which has gone virtually unnoticed in current literature on Kant’s pos-
sibility argument. By contrast to Pinder, however, and in agreement with
current literature, I focus on Kant’s Beweisgrund rather than the New Elu-
cidation in my analysis. The differences between the arguments seem to me
unclear, not the least because the New Elucidation dedicates the argument
no more than one page.
59
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
60
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
61
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
25. Leibniz argues that all truths, including relational ones, must be grounded
by an existing being (at least by God thinking these truths); and that ground-
ing all of these requires a single being. By that argument, Leibniz excludes a
“Platonic” account of grounding of truths, in which grounds can be scattered
in different ideas (see Leibniz, “Vorausedition zur Reihe VI,” Philosophische
Schriften—in der Ausgabe der Wissenschaften der DDR, Bearbeitet von der
Leibniz-Forschingsstelle der Universität Münster. Fascicles 1–9, 1982–1990).
See also Adams’s discussion in “God, Possibility and Kant,” pp. 434f., as
well as his Leibniz Determinist, Theist, Idealist (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1994), pp. 177–191. For a recent discussion, Samuel Newlands, “Leib-
niz on the Ground of Possibility,” The Philosophical Review (forthcoming).
2 6. Adams, “God, Possibility and Kant,” p. 433.
27. Ibid.
2 8. As noted above, Fisher and Watkins ascribe D6 to Kant in “Kant on the Ma-
terial Ground of Possibility.” See also A. Wood, Kant’s Rational Theology
(Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1978), p. 67; Logan, “Whatever Hap-
pened to Kant’s Ontological Argument,” p. 353; N. Stang, “Kant’s Possibil-
ity Proof,” History of Philosophy Quarterly 27 (2010), pp. 275–299. As far as
I can see, the only exception here is Chignell, who seems to be relying here
on Adams (“Kant, Real Possibility, and the Threat of Spinozism”).
29. Adams, “God, Possibility and Kant,” p. 433.
30. FM AA 20:302.
31. The structural identity between the “ground of all possibility” described
in the Ideal of Pure Reason and the ground of all possibility described in
the Beweisgrund is undisputed (see, for example, Walsh’s Kant’s Criticism
of Metaphysics, pp. 214–219). Of course, in the Ideal the status of the said
entity is modified; it is taken to be a regulative ideal, not an existing entity.
Here, however, we are not concerned with the Ideal’s existential status but
with its conceptual structure, which is the same in both texts.
32. Adams, “God, Possibility and Kant,” p. 434.
33. Cf. “Because all possibility is contained in the necessary being . . .”; “a being
whose possibility depends on another does not contain the ground of all
possibility.”
3 4. AA KpV 5:102. Note that Kant makes a mistake, ascribing to Spinoza the
view that space and time are divine attributes (determinations). In fact,
Spinoza regards thought, not time, as a divine attribute alongside exten-
sion (space). Whereas for present purposes it matters only that Kant uses
the term “determinations” (Bestimmungen) for Spinozistic attributes, his
mistake is telling, for it indicates that Kant thinks of Spinoza’s system in the
light of his own, in which time—not thought—is the second fundamental
notion, alongside space (extension). Kant, in other words, seems to think
that his own system takes what had been, for transcendental realism, divine
62
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
63
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
64
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
65
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
55. This is certainly what Pinder has in mind when suggesting that Kant goes
out of his way to deny Spinozism in the essay.
56. It is worthy of notice that assuming that Kant learned from Jacobi of the
necessity of Spinozism is assuming that he learned from Jacobi what was
probably the most important lesson of his life. Kant’s great philosophi-
cal achievement was a refutation of transcendental realism but—on that
view—before Jacobi, Kant didn’t understand what transcendental realism
was. As we will see in the following chapters, whether Kant was fully aware
of his Spinozist tendencies in 1763 or not, he certainly did not learn of the
necessity of Spinozism from Jacobi, in 1785. He is fully aware of it when
constructing the Antinomies of Pure Reason, in 1781.
57. BDG AA 2:151—emphasis added.
58. KpV AA 5:103.
59. This puzzlement is repeatedly expressed in the literature. Wood presents an
exception to this. He finds Kant’s demonstration weak to begin with and,
accordingly, doesn’t think it surprising that Kant doesn’t confront it in the
first Critique. This relies on Wood’s claim that Kant irresponsibly moves
from the proposition that “necessarily, something exists” to “there is a being
that exists necessarily.” However, I suggested above a defense of that move,
consisting of a defense of D6. We will see below that whereas D6 is defen-
sible, it is indeed the premise that Kant came to criticize and, accordingly,
what caused him to reject the proof.
6 0. See, for example, Fisher and Watkins, “Kant on the Material Ground of Pos-
sibility,” pp. 369–397.
61. Röd, “Existenz als Absolute Position,” pp. 67–81.
62. Fisher and Watkins, “Kant on the Material Ground of Possibility,” pp.
388–395.
63. Kant’s reliance on the first Critique’s doctrine of illusion also clarifies his
claim, in his lectures on religion, that “[the demonstration] can in no way be
refuted, because it has its basis in the nature of human reason. For my reason
makes it absolutely necessary for me to accept a being which is the ground of
everything possible, because otherwise I would be unable to conceive what
in general the possibility of something consists in” (28:1034). The first Cri-
tique’s doctrine of illusion, considered below, shows how a demonstration
that cannot be refuted—a demonstration that is “absolutely necessary” due
to the “nature of human reason”—is, nevertheless, rejected.
6 4. Following M. Grier’s analysis in Kant’s Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001).
65. The generality of this term becomes clear when considering the way in
which Kant reformulates it in the concrete discussions of the Dialectic. In
the first Antinomy, for example, he fills under “conditioned” spatiotemporal
things (A426/B454) and in the third Antinomy the place of “conditioned” is
taken by events (A444/B472), etc.
66
T h e O n e P ossi b l e B a sis
6 6. FM AA 20:328
67. Cf. V-Lo/Wiener AA 24:921. I thank Ian Proops for calling this passage to
my attention. (Note that the term “ground” carries in German a stronger
explanatory connotation than it does in English; thus in German one refers
to the Principle of Sufficient Reason as the “Principle of Sufficient Ground
[der Satz vom zureichenden Grund]” or as the “Principle of Ground [der Satz
vom Grund].”)
68. This, too, is suggested mostly by the way Kant concretely formulates that
term in the Dialectic. For example, in the first Antinomy he speaks of spa-
tiotemporal things as given and as existing interchangeably (A426/B454),
and of the world existing as infinite or finite (A427/B455); in the third An-
tinomy he speaks of events and of causes of events as existing (A444/B472),
and then of there being freedom or not.
69. I thank James Kreines, who inspired my interest in the connection between
the Supreme Principle of Reason and the PSR when discussing it in his lec-
tures at Yale University (2008).
70. For example, Grier, as pointed out above, dedicates a book-length discus-
sion to the Supreme Principle of Pure Reason without considering the
fact that that principle is the PSR. Henry Allison, too, whose discussion
is indebted to Grier’s, doesn’t equate the Supreme Principle with the PSR
(cf. his Transcendental Idealism: Interpretation and Defense [New Haven:
Yale University Press, 2004] pp. 307–332). Conversely, Longuenesse’s ac-
count of Kant’s deconstruction of the PSR (in “Kant’s Deconstruction of
the Principle of Sufficient Reason”) doesn’t give much attention to Kant’s
attack on the Supreme Principle of Pure Reason in the first Critique’s Dia-
lectic. Ian Proops provides a recent discussion of the Supreme Principle of
Pure Reason (naming in “D,” not P2), without regarding it the PSR (“Kant’s
First Paralogism” Philosophical Review 119:4 (2010) pp. 449–495). Proops
does at some point considers the possibility that that Principle (D) is the
PSR, but by referencing the present paper (p. 454 n. 15).
71. “. . . wenn das Bedingte gegeben ist, uns eben dadurch ein Regressus in der
Reihe aller Bedingungen zu demselben aufgegeben [ist]” (A497f./B526; em-
phasis Kant’s).
72. Grier, Transcendental Idealism: Interpretation and Defense p. 53f.
73. Again, see Grier’s discussion of the inevitability and the necessity of tran-
scendental illusion in Kant’s Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion, pp. 101–130.
74. FM AA 20:30.
67
C ha pt e r 2
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
I.
1.
Several attempts have been made in the literature to identify the
Antinomies’ historical sources. S. Al Azm’s The Origins of Kant’s Ar-
guments in the Antinomies, which traces the antinomial debate back
to the Leibniz-Clarke controversy, remains highly influential.6 On
that reading, whereas the Thesis corresponds to Clarke’s Newto-
nian position—assuming space and time as “empty containers”—
the Antithesis corresponds to Leibniz’s position, which denies
empty containers with an argument from the PSR.7 Other attempts
to trace the Antinomies’ historical origins sometimes associate the
Platonic-theistic Leibniz-tradition not with the Antithesis, but with
the Thesis.8 Indeed, similarly to the Thesis, Leibniz grants a theory
of creation (as well as freedom, which is relevant in the case of the
third Antinomy)—the very position that the Antithesis denies.
Such discrepancy in the secondary literature is puzzling. Given
the Antinomies’ unequivocal cosmological statements, one could
expect to meet a consensus. How can contradictory metaphysical
positions (“there is a beginning of the world”; “there is none”) be
ascribed to Leibniz?9 Confusion is increased by the fact that both
lines of interpretation seem, at first glance, persuasive. In view of
Leibniz’s PSR-based critique of Newtonian empty containers, Al
Azm’s identification of the Antithesis as Leibnizian seems conclu-
sive. Yet just as conclusive is the observation that Leibniz does not
deny, but affirms, the creation of the world. Moreover, he rejects
the world’s infinity—which is affirmed by the Antithesis—and
reserves infinity exclusively for God.10 We will see that this con-
fusion is due to the questionable supposition that the Antithesis
reconstructs a Leibnizian position. Despite the fact that the An-
tithesis’s PSR-argument is reminiscent of Leibnizian principles,
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
2.
The first Antinomy debates the world’s beginning in space and
time. The Thesis states that the world has a beginning in time and
space: “The world has a beginning in time, and is also limited as
regards space” (A427/B455). Its proof can be outlined as follows:11
The third and fourth steps establish the core of the argument.
Step three states that if the world has no beginning, then an infinite
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
3.
The Antithesis states that the world has no beginning and is infi-
nite: “The world has no beginning, and no limits in space; it is in-
finite as regards both time and space” (A427/B455). Its proof can
be outlined as follows:
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
Leibniz does not speak of the creation of the world in this pas-
sage, but he draws on the PSR in rejecting the possibility of empty
containers. Precisely the same logic is applied in the Antithesis’s
fourth, crucial step.
Note, however, that the Antithesis is committed to two propo-
sitions, not only one. It denies a beginning of the world in (empty)
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
time and space, and it states that the world is infinite. The two
propositions are not equivalent. A rejection of the world’s begin-
ning does not necessarily entail its infinity. Descartes, for example,
distinguished between the indefinite and the infinite, ascribing
the first to the world and reserving the second exclusively for God.
Crucially, Leibniz preserves the same infinite/indefinite distinc-
tion. Despite rejecting Newtonian empty containers, he does
not affirm, but denies, the world’s positive infinity. According to
Leibniz, the existence of infinite wholes contradicts the whole-
part axiom, which states that a whole must be larger than its part.
If it existed, an infinite whole would admit to having an infinite
part that is just as large as the whole itself (both being infinite). “It
would be a mistake,” writes Leibniz in the New Essays, “to try to
suppose an absolute space which is an infinite whole made up of
parts. There is no such thing: it is a notion which implies a contra-
diction.” And he continues: “the true infinite, strictly speaking, is
only in the absolute [God], which precedes all composition.”14
This line of reasoning brings Leibniz to maintain the Carte-
sian infinite/indefinite distinction also regarding the “size” of the
world:
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
4.
This invites a closer consideration of the metaphysical positions
articulated in the Antinomies, especially by the Antithesis. Kant
provides important information when setting up the Antinomies.
He writes:
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
the other members are subordinated, and which does not itself
stand under any other condition. (A417/B445)16
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
5.
Spinoza’s conception of God, as an unconditioned entity expressed
by the totality of its infinite “parts,” was well-known to German
academics throughout the eighteenth century. This conception
was often presented and contrasted with the “true,” transcen-
dent conception of the deity, which was pictured along Leibniz-
ian lines. That contrast is clearly portrayed by Wolff’s “refutation
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
6.
A moment before we return to this challenge, it is worthwhile to
return to the Antinomy itself. The Thesis argues that the world is
not infinite and, therefore, that it has beginnings in time and space.
Al Azm’s interpretation of that position as Newton’s argumenta-
tion against a Leibnizian position needs to be rejected for two
reasons. First, the view that the world is not infinite and has a be-
ginning is common to most dogmatic rational thinkers, including
Descartes, Newton, and Leibniz. Newton and Leibniz may dis-
agree regarding the characterization of the world’s beginnings, and
they certainly disagree regarding the possibility of empty contain-
ers. But they ultimately agree that the world has beginnings and
that it is not infinite. There is only one relevant rationalist thinker
who has a good reason to insist, as does the Antithesis, that the
world is positively infinite. Second, Newton’s actual line of argu-
mentation against the world’s infinity appeals to the definition of
matter in Newtonian physics and, as such, has nothing to do with
the argument invoked by the Thesis. As we have seen, the Thesis’s
argument relies on the claim that an “infinite successive synthesis”
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
cannot be completed (see above). This reflects (in fact, relies on)
Wolff and Mendelssohn’s Beylean reading of Spinoza’s uncondi-
tioned as an indefinite whole, which is composed as a collection
of parts; and more important, it invokes the same reasoning in re-
futing that conception: an infinite entity cannot be composed by
combining (zusammensetzen) an infinite number of finite entities.
In other words, the Thesis does not only criticize a Spinozist in-
finitistic position, as understood by Wolff and Mendelssohn: it also
invokes a characteristically Wolffian argument against Spinoza.
We will see below that a sophisticated Spinozist may be able
to answer this argument rather effectively, for it relies on an inac-
curate reading of Spinoza’s position. Spinoza conceives the world
(substance) as infinite but does not think it is composed of an
infinite number of parts: substance for Spinoza is ontologically
simple. The first Thesis, therefore, like Wolff and Mendelssohn, re-
quires further argumentation in order to hold ground.
The Antithesis states that the world has no beginnings (by the
rejection of empty containers) and, therefore, that it is infinite. We
have seen above that only Spinozistic substance monism, collaps-
ing the distinction between God and the world, generates such
an infinitistic conception. Moreover, that position corresponds
to the first conception of the unconditioned, presented by Kant
when setting up the Antinomies, which corresponds, in turn, to
Spinozistic substance monism.
To be sure, there is no need to deny the clear Leibnizian echo
in the Antithesis’s argument, which invokes the PSR against the
world’s beginnings (empty containers). This Leibnizian strand
cannot and need not be disputed. But it creates a discrepancy, a
confusion, whose solution is the key to understanding the An-
tithesis. Unlike the Antithesis, Leibniz does not infer from this
argument the world’s eternity and infinity. Instead, he relativizes
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
7.
On a first look, Kant offers only a glimpse of an argument, and
only later in his career. Toward the second Critique’s conclu-
sion, he addresses the Leibnizian-Wolffian denial of the world’s
infinity and eternity—in fact, he refers to the Leibnizian denial
of Spinozism—and rejects it as inadequate. Whoever relativizes
space and time by viewing them as properties of things (monads),
Kant argues, cannot genuinely avoid affirming the world’s infinity
and eternity:
I do not see how those who insist on regarding time and space
as determinations belonging to the existence of things in
themselves [e.g., Leibniz, Wolff, Mendelssohn—O.B] would
avoid fatalism of actions; or if (like the otherwise acute Men-
delssohn) they flatly allow both of them [time and space] to be
conditions necessarily belonging only to the existence of finite
and derived beings but not to that of the infinite original being—
I do not see how they would justify themselves in making such
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
8.
Note that Kant writes that the Antithesis position is that of “pure
empiricism”:
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
II.
1.
The Thesis’s argument against the world’s infinity relies on the
claim that completing an “infinite successive synthesis” is impos-
sible. The most common objection against that argument is that
of a psychologistic fallacy. Kant, it is argued, draws on a finite
human epistemological perspective in deriving an illegitimate
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
2.
Allison points out that the Thesis’s argument leaves two alterna-
tives open, not just one: (1) allow the world’s infinity by denying
its existence as a given, complete whole; or (2) grant that it is finite
and has beginnings. 33 The first alternative cannot be ruled out, but
it does not effectively criticize Kant’s Antinomy. On the contrary,
it grants the conclusion that Kant is trying to establish by the An-
tinomies—namely, that conceiving the world as a completed given
entity is a cosmological misconception, indeed, an illusion. Thus,
if one clings to the assumption that the world is a given whole,
one is committed to the second alternative, which is equivalent to
granting the Thesis’s proof (i.e., that the world is finite).
Yet a third alternative, which Allison does not consider, is Spi-
noza’s. Since this alternative specifically is the “true conclusion of
dogmatic metaphysics,”34 it deserves careful consideration. The
challenge is the following: according to Spinoza, worldly objects
are nothing but divine modes. They “exist in” and are “conceived
through” substance (E Id4) and cannot be regarded as separate
subsisting entities. Hence, the unconditioned whole is given prior
to its parts, whose separate existence is denied. (That is, substance
is ontologically simple [E Ip12].) Spinoza’s cosmological infinity is
thus a totum analyticum, not a totum syntheticum. Spinoza is very
clear about this. He writes, as if in reply to the Antinomy:
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
3.
Kant observes a similar challenge and attempts to respond to it. In
the Observation on the Thesis he writes:
The core of the argument is found in the first lines of the pas-
sage. A complete totality, if preexisting as such, hardly accounts
for the fact that it is not experienced as a totality but as a manifold
of discrete parts. An analogy to Kant’s notion of space can perhaps
help see the force of the argument. Kant views space as an infinite
totum analyticum, whose parts do not exist as separate entities: the
Aesthetic of the first Critique argues that spatial parts (regions) are
mere limitations of a singular, infinite space (A24–5/B39–40).
Crucially, however, the first Antinomy does not concern space
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
(or time), but the world. In contrast to space, the world in space
is not given as a totum analyticum—in fact, it is not at all given as
a world. Rather, it is assumed as the object unifying an immense
number (problematically, an infinity) of separate entities. Hence,
conceiving the world as a complete object requires apprehending
in thought a manifold of pre-given objects—uniting them under
reciprocal participation in a single entity. Therefore, an appeal to
a totum analyticum seems unjustified: the notion of the world is
composed as a totum syntheticum; therefore, the world is either in-
complete or finite; and, therefore, if we take the world in the tradi-
tional cosmological sense (to be complete), it must be finite.
4.
A Spinozist would object to this. The fact that the world is experi-
enced as discrete is beside the point. The appropriate order of meta-
physical reasoning is directed by the intellect, not by the senses.
(In fact, the senses reverse the appropriate order.) According to
the intellect, the unconditioned whole is metaphysically prior to
its conditioned “parts.” Therefore, it must also be methodologi-
cally and epistemologically prior; therefore, a consistent notion of
an infinite totum analyticum remains justified and, therefore, the
world may be infinite and complete.
The crucial point is that Spinoza does not generate the notion
of an unconditioned-infinite entity by looking at finite worldly
objects and, subsequently, deducing the cosmological uncondi-
tioned idea. Rather, he relies on the claim that an innate, adequate
cosmological idea of the unconditioned is available to him, prior
to sensual experience of finite worldly objects. Spinoza’s prede-
cessor, Descartes, offers a clear articulation of such a perspec-
tive when he claims in the third Meditation that the concept of an
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
5.
At this point, we seem to face an impasse between two philo-
sophical perspectives. The first, shared by Spinoza and Des-
cartes, admits a notion of the genuinely (i.e., complete or actual)
infinite, which is epistemologically and ontologically prior to
finite entities. When appropriated by Spinoza, it generates a
powerful cosmological position in which nature is conceived
as an infinite and complete totum analyticum. That position is
immune to Kant’s Antinomy, which relies on the claim that an
infinite totum syntheticum is impossible. 39 The other perspec-
tive is that assumed by Kant, in which an innate notion of an
infinite whole is denied. Kant would insist that an adequate
notion must conform to the conditions of experience, space, and
time, to which an infinite unconditioned notion cannot possi-
bly comply—hence, that the cosmological idea is not given as
a totum analyticum, but is generated by apprehending a multi-
plicity of worldly objects. The cosmological notion is therefore
a totum syntheticum, which cannot be infinite and complete. The
point is that Kant has to have at his disposal an argument against
Spinoza’s initial perspective. Otherwise, a consistent Spinozist
would remain unaffected by the first Antinomy’s Thesis (and,
thereby, resolve the Antinomy).
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
6.
Kantians will have to insist here that Spinozists cannot too easily
help themselves to the notion of an infinite totum analyticum. The
Spinozist conception requires that substance (the World) be con-
ceived as an absolutely unlimited infinite whole—a determin-
able (measurable) maximum necessarily greater than any other.
Whereas Kant grants that that conception is commonsensical—
that is, natural to reason—he deems it incoherent. Given any
measurable totality (or magnitude), it is possible for a greater
magnitude to exist (cf. A527/B555). This position is supported
by standard set theory. Measurable totalities accounted for by set
theory are all sets and, given any set, a greater set exists. Therefore,
every set—infinite ones included—is only relatively large; no set
can be conceived as the genuinely unlimited, which is the way Spi-
noza claims to conceive of substance.40 The truly unlimited—the
Absolute Infinite41—can perhaps be thought of as the class of all
sets rather than as the set of all sets. But then, such Absolute cannot
be regarded as an actually measured totality, like Spinoza’s “One.”42
It is important to point out that Kant himself does not alto-
gether reject actual infinity.43 In fact, he grants something of its
metaphysical significance, and in a way that eventually brings him
close to Spinoza. However, we will see that Kant’s reasons for ac-
cepting this notion are ones that the Spinozist will have to reject.
Consider first the following passage from the Dissertation:
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
III.
1.
Kant’s discussion of the sublime begins by introducing the notion
of mathematical infinity, which consists in the potential to add, for
any given magnitude, an additional unit—thus enlarging it without
hindrance ad infinitum (ungehindert ins Unendliche).45 This mathe-
matical notion, Kant explains, does not sustain the notion of actual
infinity: first, because the mathematical notion consists merely in
negating the finite (the possibility of enlarging any given series);
and second, because the mathematical procedure is abstract, con-
sisting in the successive addition of units regardless of their size
(for all that matters, the units added could be mathematical points).
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
The mind listens to the voice of reason within itself, which de-
mands totality for all given magnitudes, even those that we can
never apprehend in their entirety . . . and it exempts from this
demand not even the infinite (space and time). Rather, reason
makes us unavoidably think of the infinite (in common rea-
son’s judgment) as given in its entirety (in its totality).46
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
invoked in the first Thesis [see especially step four of the Thesis’s
argument].) Therefore, the need for an aesthetic measure of the
largest possible unit “must lead” from the “concept of complete
nature” to the concept of a “supersensible substrate”—some sub-
strate that is large beyond any standard of sense and underlies the
complete phenomenal reality. The latter just is the notion of the
infinite whole—the “voice of reason” inducing us to think infinity
in its totality.
Still, why does Kant grant that that infinite unconditioned
notion is meaningful? In order to justify accepting this notion, it
has to be, for Kant, illustrated or exemplified in experience. Yet,
clearly, there isn’t possible experience, in the traditional Kantian
sense (nor for that matter, on other accounts of experience), that
illustrates that notion. Kant thinks that the experience of the sub-
lime, which is an experience of spontaneity and freedom, is what
justifies that notion: through this experience, we are presented
with and become conscious of a measure that is absolutely large;
in relation to this measure everything in nature is small.
Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing ad-
miration and respect [Ehrfurcht], the more often and more
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
2.
There are some significant similarities between Kant’s conception
of the infinite and Spinoza’s. Like Spinoza, Kant views the infinite
“supersensible” as an all-encompassing cosmological substrate:
“[an] idea of a noumenon [that] cannot be intuited but can yet be
regarded as the substrate underlying what is mere appearance,
namely, our intuition of the world.” Moreover: “[a] supersensible
substrate (which underlies both nature and our ability to think).”
This all-encompassing notion is not foreign to Kant’s thought.
Most important, it echoes Kant’s understanding of the (regulative)
notion of the ideal of pure reason, considered at length in Chapter 1:
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
all predicates under itself; it also contains them within itself; and
the complete determination of any and every thing rests on
this All of Reality [dieses All der Realität] (A577–B605). 52
Yet Kant’s reasoning is far from being truly Spinozist. The all-
encompassing “substrate of nature” cannot be known; it is nou-
menal. There cannot be philosophical determinative knowledge
of that substrate as a substance; the notion of complete infinity
depends on practical, not theoretical considerations. Thus, despite
not giving up completely on the notion of complete infinity, Kant
insists that, when it comes to cognition, “the structure of human
cognition makes it impossible to do otherwise than to proceed from
the parts [to the whole].”53 The important point is that, even if the
notion of complete infinity is not, according to Kant, completely
dispensable, it arises through the experience of the sublime and
through practical principles; it cannot be the ground of metaphys-
ics—in a way that would be required for solving the Antinomies.
Kant himself suggests at some point the following brisk argu-
ment against Spinoza’s substance monism:
And elsewhere:
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
NOTES
1. Refl. AA 18:436.
2. KpV AA 5:102.
3. ML2 AA 28:567.
4. V-MP-K3E/Arnoldt AA 29:132.
5. A similar challenge has been raised by P. Franks, but to the third Antin-
omy (see P. Franks and S. Gardner, “From Kant to Post-Kantian Idealism,”
A ristotelian Society Supplementary 76 [2002], pp. 229–246). Franks does
not suggest, however, that Kant had Spinoza’s position in mind; and he does
not undertake an attempt to defend Kant’s position with Spinoza’s. I inter-
act with Franks regarding the third Antinomy in Chapter 3.
6. S. Al Azm, The Origins of Kant’s Arguments in the Antinomies (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1972). Interpreters in the English-speaking tradi-
tion sometimes overlook that Al Azm is not the first to draw on the Leibniz-
Clarke connection. E. Cassirer and G. Martin did so earlier, among others.
(For a thorough discussion, see L. Kreimendahl, Kant—Der Durchbruch
von 1769 [Köln: Dinter, 1990], pp. 156–185.) Nevertheless, Al Azm’s inter-
pretation is the most comprehensive in this respect. H. Heimsoeth provides
a much more general account of the historical influences on Kant’s Antino-
mies, drawing extensively on ancient and Medieval sources as well. (For the
first Antinomy, see especially H. Heimsoeth, “Zeitliche Weltunendlichkeit
und das Problem des Anfangs,” Kantstudien ergämzungshefte 82 [1961],
pp. 269–292.)
7. Al Azm, The Origins of Kant’s Arguments in the Antinomies, pp. 1–42.
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
105
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
31. B. Russell, Our Knowledge of the External World (London: Routledge, 1914),
pp. 160f.
32. For a full discussion, see H. Allison, Kant’s Transcendental Idealism (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 2004) pp. 369f.
33. Allison, Kant’s Transcendental Idealism (New Haven: Yale University Press,
2004), pp. 369f.
3 4. Refl. AA 18:436.
35. B. Spinoza, “Letter 12,” in The Correspondence of Spinoza, trans. and ed.
A. Wolf (London: Allen & Unwin 1966), p. 103. In the same letter, Spinoza
explicitly explains the difference between the absolutely infinite, which
“cannot be conceived” in any other way, and the merely “indefinite.”
36. As I have said, P. Franks raises a similar problem regarding the third Antin-
omy. (See Franks, “From Kant to Post-Kantian Idealism.”) See also Chap-
ter 3 of the present work.
37. R. Descartes, “Third Meditation,” in The Philosophical Writings of Des-
cartes I/II [CSM] (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p. 31—
emphasis added.
38. It is here that Kant’s criticism of the geometrical method becomes relevant.
Kant criticizes the use of definitions as illegitimate in philosophy because
definitions can be given only in the end of the philosophical process and
not—as in Spinoza—in the beginning. Elsewhere, Kant ascribes to Spinoza
precisely the fault that “as a mathematician, he started with an arbitrary
definition of substance.”
39. The fact that Spinoza’s actual position is immune to Kant’s argument
could be seen as a challenge to the identification of the antithesis as Spi-
noza’s position. However, it is important to notice here the difference be-
tween Spinoza’s own position and various versions of Spinozist positions.
Spinoza’s actual Spinozism can challenge the argument of the Antinomy,
but this depends on his special version of Spinozism, which is unique ex-
actly by the fact that it is conceived as a totum analyticum. Importantly,
this was not the way in which Spinoza was read in Kant’s day. Philosophers
such as Wolff and Mendlessohn (cf. p. 93), for example, pledged to refute
Spinoza’s own Spinozism exactly by the argument from the impossibility
of an infinite successive synthesis. To the extent that Kant, unlike his con-
temporaries, recognized that this is not Spinoza’s own Spinozism (and at
least later in his career, he would recognize this [cf. V-MP-K2/Heinze AA
28:713]) he would have had to realize that the Antinomies don’t provide a
conclusive attack on the metaphysical tradition. To the best of my knowl-
edge, he did not recognize this himself. In any event, as I argue in the fol-
lowing, Kant’s attack on Spinozism cannot rely on the Antinomies alone;
it depends on the success of Kant’s refutation of the ontological argument
as well.
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T h e Fi r st Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
107
C ha pt e r 3
108
T h e T h i r d Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
I.
1.
The third Antinomy deals with the problem of causality and free-
dom. The Thesis maintains that there are two types of causality—
that of “nature,” whereby worldly events follow necessarily from
antecedent states; and that of “freedom,” whereby events occur
through a power “of generating a state spontaneously.” The An-
tithesis argues, in opposition to this, that there is only one type of
causality, and that this is causality “in accordance with the laws
of nature” (A444/B472). On the Antithesis’s view, every worldly
event necessarily follows from the cosmos’s preceding state. The
idea of freedom is therefore an illusion, an “empty thought entity”
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
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T h e T h i r d Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
2.
The Thesis states that causality in accordance with the laws of
nature is not the only causality from which “appearances of the
world” can be sufficiently explained. To explain the world’s ap-
pearances, “it is necessary to assume that there is also another cau-
sality, that of freedom” (A445/B473).
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
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T h e T h i r d Antino m y a n d S pinoz a
At first glance, the argument only licenses the negative claim that
“causality of nature” is not the only kind of causality. No positive
argument is provided for the affirmation (in proposition 8) of a
causality of freedom. However, as is often noted in the literature,
Kant considers natural causality and causality of freedom (spon-
taneity) to be contradictories (cf. A533/B561). If freedom just is
liberty from natural causality, then, on the assumption that the
Thesis’s argument goes through, the conclusion is warranted.
The core of the argument is the move from the fifth proposition
to the seventh by the mediation of the sixth—the claim that “the
law of nature consists just in this, that nothing happens without a
cause sufficiently [hinreichend] determined a priori.” As has been
noted by several interpreters, “determined a priori” does not carry
the ordinary Kantian sense (of independence of experience), but
rather the traditional sense of “in advance of ” or “prior to.” 7 On
that reading, the Thesis’s argument is the following:
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first, that there is only natural causality; and second, that every event
admits of an ultimate explanation. Bennett argues that the latter
position cannot be the Thesis’s target because it renders the Antith-
esis’s proponent “such an obvious straw man that Kant cannot have
taken it seriously or supposed that the Thesis-arguer would do so.”9
Bennett’s position, at first glance, is puzzling. It seems clear that
the Thesis argues against a position committed to (a)–(c), and it is
everything but clear why that position is that of an obvious straw
man. In fact, thus understood, the Antithesis articulates nothing
but a thoroughgoing commitment to the PSR. In this light, the
metaphysical dispute that constitutes the third Antinomy is no
longer understood as a dispute over freedom and causality in gen-
eral, but rather as a dispute over freedom and the PSR. This inter-
pretation is endorsed by Allison (among others), who is similarly
puzzled by Bennett’s position. The Antithesis’s fully universalized
version of the PSR is not that of a straw man, says Allison, but is the
Leibnizian version. “Leibniz,” Allison adds, “is one of Bennett’s fa-
vorite philosophers.”10
Contra Bennett, then, it seems reasonable to read the Thesis as
debating the PSR. The argument assumes, for the sake of a reductio,
(a) that there is only naturalistic causality and (b) the PSR: every
event has an ultimate explanation. This position is then challenged
by showing that (a) and (b) pull in opposite directions: the PSR’s
demand for explanatory completeness is inconsistent with the
claim that all causality is naturalistic. For if the latter were the case,
the explanatory (causal) regress would have continued ad infini-
tum and, therefore, there would be no explanatory completeness.
Note that in understanding the Antithesis as Leibnizian, Al-
lison is following Al Azm. Yet Leibniz does not argue from the
PSR against freedom. On the contrary, he holds that freedom and
the PSR are compatible and complementary. For Leibniz, despite
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3.
If anything, Leibniz’s understanding of freedom and the PSR
bears interesting similarities to the argument presented in the
Thesis (especially to proposition 5). Certainly it is not related to
the argument of the Antithesis. The crucial point is Leibniz’s ar-
gumentative strategy: despite arguing that every event is deter-
mined, he doesn’t argue from the PSR against freedom. On the
contrary, invoking the PSR in combination with the doctrine of
infinite analysis, Leibniz argues for freedom. This is also the strat-
egy of the Thesis.
An objection often raised against Leibniz’s doctrine of infinite
analysis is worth repeating here. That doctrine, it is argued, ren-
ders freedom an illusory human fancy: if everything is determined
by a series of causes, the fact that that series regresses ad infinitum
is immaterial. It is due to the limitations of our finite intellects that
we cannot complete an infinite series of analysis. God, whose in-
tellect is infinite, can complete an infinite analysis—there is no
place for assuming genuine contingency and no need for a causal-
ity of freedom.13 As A. Lovejoy puts it, despite the fact that we are
“unable to apprehend the necessity,” we can still “be sure that the
necessity is there, and is recognized by the mind of God.”14
The Leibnizian reply to this objection needs to be understood
in terms of the infinite/indefinite distinction. Leibniz denies
cosmological-metaphysical infinity; he maintains that every cos-
mological series of causes can be only indefinite (i.e., proceed ad
infinitum). God cannot completely analyze an indefinite series
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4.
The Antithesis states that “there is no freedom. Everything in the
world takes place solely in accordance with laws of nature” (A445/
B473).
Antithesis: Prove: There is no freedom, all events happen ac-
cording to the laws of nature.
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acting cause” is identical to the claim that there are no brute facts:
the abrupt emergence of an event, a sudden beginning that is not
connected to the previous state of the “not yet acting cause,” is just
such a brute fact. On the reading proposed here, the fifth propo-
sition universalizes the PSR, which is announced in the fourth
proposition, to causality of “absolute beginning.” Such a begin-
ning cannot occur because it violates the PSR by the emergence
of a state that bears no causal (explanatory) connection “with the
preceding state of the cause”—ex nihilo nihil fit. (Put simply, the
Antithesis’s denial of freedom does not depend on the claim that
freedom violates the “unity of experience.” It depends rather on
freedom violating the PSR.20)
5.
Once more we see that the Antithesis cannot be understood as a
Leibnizian argument. It is Spinoza who, in contrast to Leibniz, ex-
cludes freedom by an argument from the PSR. Now it is clear that
Kant recognizes the relevance of Spinoza’s view to the Antithesis’s
fatalistic position. In the Critique of Practical Reason he writes that
the Leibnizians pretend to preserve room for freedom by taking
space and time as properties of finite beings but not of God. Their
position, however, collapses into fatalism:
I do not see how those who insist on regarding time and space
as determinations belonging to the existence of things in them-
selves would avoid fatalism of actions; or if (like the otherwise
acute Mendelssohn) they flatly allow both of them [time and
space] to be conditions necessarily belonging only to the exis-
tence of finite and derived beings but not to that of the infinite
original being—I do not see how they would justify themselves
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6.
Returning to the second Critique passage, the crucial question
is what argument brings Kant to conclude that those who regard
space and time as properties of things-in-themselves are commit-
ted to regarding them as properties of God. His assertion draws
on the proposition that it is arbitrary to regard space and time as
“necessary properties belonging to the existence of finite beings”
but not to the existence of the “infinite original being itself ”; as
well as that it is less consistent to maintain that finite beings “in
themselves existing in time” are “effects of a supreme cause and yet
not belonging to him and his action.” Much of an argument this is
not, and it is therefore important to notice that Kant is in fact only
alluding to an argument he had defended in the first Critique—
namely, in the fourth Antinomy (debating the non/existence of a
necessary being29). In the Observation on the Thesis, Kant writes
that after invoking the cosmological argument in establishing
the existence of a necessary being—as the fourth Antinomy’s
Thesis does—one must reflect on the relation between that being
and the world; decide, as Kant writes, “whether that being is the
world itself or a thing distinct from it” (A456/B484; my empha-
sis). These words are intriguing insofar as Spinozism is concerned;
but Kant’s formulation may seem at first somewhat inaccurate or
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existed. Kant argues for this in the Thesis of the third Antinomy
[A445/B473].) This generates a regressing causal-explanatory
series, which is “supposed to carry us by continuous advance to
the supreme [unconditioned] condition” (A452f./B480f.). And
because it is the explanatory power of causal (temporal) depen-
dence relations that establishes the existence of a necessary being,
we must appeal to the same explanatory relation obtaining be-
tween the unconditioned and the conditioned series itself—that
is, the world. Therefore, the relation between the unconditioned
and the world is causal-temporal. This means, for Kant, that the
unconditioned condition exists in time prior to the existence of
the (first) conditioned being. Therefore, the unconditioned being
exists in time. If time is viewed as a property of things, time is a
property of the unconditioned. The unconditioned being must be,
as Kant says, immanent to the temporal series—either as a part
of the regressing series (as in [2]), or as that series itself taken as a
whole (as in [3]).
This argument rules out the first view of the unconditioned
(i.e., [1]): the unconditioned is not distinct from the world; it is
temporal. This already excludes the Wolffian-Leibnizian posi-
tion. 30 In other words, it establishes Kant’s claim in the second
Critique that it is illegitimate to view space and time as essential
properties of things but not of the unconditioned being that cre-
ated them. Now, note that we are still left with two alternatives.
God can be conceived as a part of the cosmological series (i.e., [2])
or as the “world itself ” (i.e., [3]). At first glance, the former perhaps
seems less damaging or less “Spinozist” than the latter. However,
(2) cannot sustain the theistic practical aspirations of those who,
like the Leibnizians, cling to (1). For if the unconditioned exists
in time (on that view, it does) then it always so existed; but then,
so did the cosmological series following from it—which therefore
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II.
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1.
The third Antinomy draws, similarly to the first, on the infinite/
indefinite distinction. It relies on the assumption that a series
regressing ad infinitum—that is, an indefinite, not an infinite
regress—cannot be completed. The first Thesis relies on this as-
sumption in claiming that the “infinity of a series consists in the
fact that it can never be completed through successive synthesis”
(A426/B454). The third Thesis relies on this assumption in claim-
ing that in order for a regressing series to be complete, causality of
freedom (i.e., a first beginning) must be postulated (A444/B472).
As we have seen in Chapter 2, this type of argument, which trades
on the incompleteness of indefinite regresses, was a commonplace
challenge to Spinoza and his fatalism in Kant’s day. Mendelssohn,
for example, summarizes Wolff’s (alleged) refutation of Spinozism
in the following way: “[Wolff] proved that Spinoza believed that it
is possible to produce, by combining together an infinite stock of
finite qualities, an infinite [thing]; and then he proved the falsity of
this belief so clearly, that I am quite convinced that Spinoza him-
self would have applauded him.”34 These words apply more read-
ily to the first Antinomy’s Thesis, but a similar idea is also found
in the Thesis of the third. Moreover, we have seen that Leibniz’s
doctrine of infinite analysis (conceptualized not without an eye
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2.
Franks has brought up a similar challenge to the Antinomy, devel-
oped from Jacobi’s account of Spinoza as it was presented during
the Pantheismusstreit.36 Franks observes that Jacobi deduces from
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III.
1.
I began to develop a Kantian answer to that challenge at the
conclusion of the previous chapter. Let us briefly reiterate that
beginning-of-an-answer in order to continue it here. The notion
of complete infinity, on which Spinoza crucially relies40—though
without ever trying to justify it—is highly problematic. Why
should we grant that notion as consistent and coherent? Why
should we grant that, besides our ability to add an additional unit to
any determinate magnitude—an ability that generates the notion
of the indefinite but not of the infinite—there is also a notion of
an a ll-encompassing, absolute entity? Concluding the previous
chapter, I argued that if such a notion can be granted (a possibility
that Kant does not rule out), it must be verified through an experi-
ence of freedom. (In Kant this would be the sublime, in Descartes,
the Cogito.41) Without such a primary experience of freedom, the
notion of an infinite unconditioned whole remains an unverified,
unwarranted concept—an “empty thought entity.”
This challenge to Spinoza strikes a nerve, especially when
considering the Spinozist assault on the third Antinomy. Here,
more than anywhere else, Spinoza’s position seems problematic.
He does not himself try to ground his use of complete infinity,
but such grounds are required. Grounding that notion through
a sublime-like experience of freedom (as Kant grounds it) would
have been useful for him in this context—but it is unavailable
from his perspective. For precisely from his metaphysical totum
analyticum follows the denial of freedom (as independence from
nature), and this renders the experience of freedom illusory. Spi-
noza thus seems to undercut his own position: by denying free-
dom, his reliance on complete infinity undermines the grounds
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2.
The Spinozist line of argument would have to be that Spinozism
denies neither freedom nor its experience; that Spinoza only
denies freedom in the Kantian sense of independence of natural-
istic (mechanical, efficient) causality. According to Spinoza’s own
definition, one is free insofar as one acts from within one’s nature,
unaffected by external causes. Moreover, human agents are so
acting (freely) precisely when conceiving the notion of an infinite
unconditioned entity. This point is significant. Spinoza, in fact,
agrees with Kant and Descartes that the infinite-unconditioned
notion can be genuinely thought only by a free thinker; he seems
to agree, in this sense, that one has reason to accept his infinite and
complete cosmological conception only if this conception enables
the thinker, acting from within nature, to verify it by acquiring
freedom. Spinoza claims, further, that his system enables this: by
philosophizing appropriately one can become, in virtue of having
adequate ideas, free—acting (thinking) solely from within one’s
nature. If this is so, by doing Spinozist philosophy we can gain free-
dom and come to justify the basic Spinozist notion—an infinite
unconditioned whole.
This suggestion is extremely tempting. It gives philosophers—
these passionate lovers of knowledge—a hope of consummating
their love. But is the hope warranted, or is this a false temptation?
Can Spinoza provide an account of freedom and adequate ideas
that will justify the notion of complete infinity? Let us consider
Spinoza’s theory of adequacy and freedom in more detail.
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3.
“That being is called free,” Spinoza writes, “which exists from the
necessity of its nature alone, and is determined to act by itself
alone” (E Id7). Because only God exists solely from the necessity
of his own nature, it follows from that definition that only God is
genuinely free. However, it seems reasonable to grant that man,
too, is free, if man is “determined to act by himself alone.” Let
us say that insofar as man can be determined to act solely by his
own nature, man partakes in, or has a “taste” of (experience of),
freedom. Moreover, let us grant that such partaking in freedom,
if possible, is what is required to justify accepting the notion of an
infinite unconditioned whole.
On the assumption that man is a rational being, man acts from
his own nature when man thinks, that is, when he has ideas in the
mind. According to Spinoza, having an idea of x in the mind con-
sists of having ideas of the series of x’s causes (E Ia4).43 However,
some ideas are said to be fully contained in the mind, whereas
others are only partially contained. If an idea is only partially con-
tained (that is, if the series of the ideas of its causes is not com-
pletely enclosed in the mind), then that idea is inadequate. We may
say that idea x is inadequate in mind y (itself an idea in God’s mind)
iff one idea or more of the causes of x is not a part of y. (In other
words, idea x is inadequately conceived in mind y iff God’s idea of
x is not given solely in virtue of having idea y.) Whenever this is the
case, y is compelled into thinking by external forces (ideas) that
act upon it and is not genuinely free.
The opposite holds in the case of adequate ideas. An idea x
is adequately conceived in mind y (itself an idea in God’s mind)
iff x is a proper part of y. Put another way: idea x is adequate in
mind y iff God’s idea x is given in virtue of having y. When this
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4.
Finite modes are created individual entities (people, stones,
tables). Spinoza maintains that such entities are caused by God’s
infinite and eternal essence by an infinite series of causes:
The idea of a singular thing which actually exists has God for a
cause not insofar as he is infinite, but insofar as he is considered
to be affected by another idea of a singular thing which actually
exists; and of this [idea] God is also the cause, insofar as he is
affected by another third [idea], and so on, to infinity. (E IIp9)
In this light, Spinoza’s claim that the human mind can acquire ad-
equate ideas of finite entities is doubtful. First, if human mind y
is a finite idea in the infinite mind of God, and x is an idea of an
individual thing, it is impossible for y, which is finite, completely
to contain the infinite series of the ideas of x’s causes. In other
words, whereas God’s infinite mind has an adequate idea of x, that
idea cannot be adequate solely in virtue of God having y.44 Hence,
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5.
Let us see if Spinoza is more successful at generating adequate ideas
of common notions—such notions, or ideas, that are “common to
all, and which are equally in the part and in the whole” (E IIp38).
An example of such a notion is the property of movability: it is
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6.
We now turn to see if one can plausibly acquire an adequate idea
of the unconditionally existing infinite substance. This is, for the
Spinozist, a crucial task. In possession of such an adequate idea
there would be a good reason to grant the notion of complete infin-
ity and, with it, Spinoza’s resolution of the Antinomies. Without
that notion, however—and given that God is the efficient cause
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NOTES
1. Franks has raised a similar challenge to the third Antinomy in P. Franks and
S. Gardner, “From Kant to Post-Kantian Idealism II,” Aristotelian Society
Supplementary 76:1 (2002), pp. 229–246. I discuss Franks’s account below.
2. Kemp Smith writes, “Kant’s proof of freedom in the thesis of the third
Antinomy is merely a corollary from his proof of the existence of a cosmo-
logical or theological unconditioned” (N. Kemp Smith, A Commentary To
Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason [New York: Humanities Press, 1962], p. 497).
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37. Jacobi, Über die Lehre des Spinoza, p. 95. See Franks’s “From Kant to Post-
Kantian Idealism II,” p. 239f.
38. Ibid.
39. Ibid, pp. 241–244.
4 0. In a way, complete infinity is Spinoza’s most fundamental assumption;
without it, all his other assumptions, explicit and implicit, fail.
41. For a discussion of the Cogito’s reliance of an experience of freedom, see my
“Freedom and the Foundations of Cartesian Epistemology” (unpublished
manuscript).
42. Of course, there may be different ways for Spinozists, other than reliance
of the experience of freedom, for grounding their notion of the absolute.
Here I focus on one such possible strategy. The choice isn’t arbitrary, how-
ever. Given the linkage in Spinoza’s thought between freedom, power, and
knowledge in Spinoza’s thought, grounding the notion of the absolute
through freedom (in Spinoza, the difference between freedom and the ex-
perience thereof would collapse) would be one natural way to go.
43. For discussion of Spinoza’s theory of adequate ideas, see M. Wilson, “Spi-
noza’s Theory of Knowledge,” in D. Garrett, ed., The Cambridge Companion
to Spinoza (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 111–116;
M. Della Rocca, Representation and the Mind Body Problem in Spinoza (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1996), pp. 55–57.
4 4. Della Rocca raises this problem in Representation and the Mind Body Problem
in Spinoza, p. 183n. 29. See also “The Power of an Idea: Spinoza’s Critique of
Pure Will,” Nous 37:2 (2003), p. 205. See also E. Marshall, “Adequacy and
Innateness in Spinoza,” Oxford Studies in Early Modern Philosophy 2008 (4)
pp. 51–88.
45. That strategy is developed by Marshall as a reply to Della Rocca’s “problem
of adequate ideas” (see his “Adequacy and Innateness”).
4 6. Ibid.
47. For a detailed discussion, see D. Garrett, “Spinoza’s Ontological Argu-
ment,” The Philosophical Review 88:2 (1979), pp. 198–223; M. Lin, “Spi-
noza’s Ontological Arguments,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research
75:2 (2007), pp. 269–297. Spinoza offers several arguments for God’s exis-
tence. Here I refer only to the truly Spinozist one, which relies on the PSR
and not on the assumption that existence is a predicate.
4 8. Garrett and Lin claim that Spinoza’s argument is not liable to Kant’s refuta-
tion in the first Critique, which is based on the claim that existence is not
a predicate. For Spinoza’s argument is based on the PSR—not on the as-
sumption that existence is an attribute. Garrett, however, suggests that that
argument too must fail, if only for the reason that God’s existence cannot be
proven. (In other words, Garrett seems to think that the conclusion “God
exists” licenses a reductio.) This seems to me mistaken, for God’s existence is
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probably not a greater absurdity than his nonexistence (nor is knowing that
God exists a greater absurdity, in my opinion, than being in principle inca-
pable of knowing God’s existence.) In any event, we will see in Chapter 4
that Spinoza’s reliance of the PSR in fact assumes the traditional ontological
argument, i.e., the assumption that existence is a predicate. If this is so, even
if Spinoza’s PSR-argument for God’s existence does not directly rely on ex-
istence being a predicate, it fails together with the traditional ontological
argument.
49. Spinoza, “Letter 12” in The Correspondence of Spinoza, ed. and trans. A. Wolf
(London: Frank Cass, 1966), p. 102.
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I.
1.
We get a handle on the notion of a self-caused entity, a rationalist
may argue, as soon as we come to affirm the following two proposi-
tions. (1) Existence is coextensive with and follows from conceiv-
ability: a thing’s conceivability does not depend on representing
the causes of its existence, for conceivability is prior to both “cau-
sality” and existence. A thing exists if and only if it is conceivable.
(We will consider an argument for that proposition presently.)
(2) Concepts are conceived through themselves: we do not con-
ceive a concept in virtue of something over and above that con-
cept; we conceive it simply in virtue of having that concept. Take
the concept “bachelor” for example: it is inappropriate to ask, one
might think, “in virtue of what are bachelors conceived as unmar-
ried men,” because answering that question is a matter of merely
explicating the concept “bachelor.” The question merely discloses
the ignorance of the person asking about the concept’s definition:
a bachelor is unmarried and is a man in virtue of the fact that a
bachelor is what it is. 3
If granted, (1) and (2) present a model with which we under-
stand the notion of a self-caused entity—we get a handle on the
kind of thing that the cause of itself is. For conceivability implies
existence, and concepts, which we undeniably have (e.g., “bach-
elor”), are conceived through themselves.
2.
This rationalist stance is unsatisfactory on several counts. Before
we approach (1), let us briefly consider (2). The claim that con-
cepts are conceived through nothing but themselves is somewhat
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inaccurate. Most concepts, in fact all but one, are not conceived
through themselves but through other concepts. Consider “bach-
elor” once more: it is conceived through a long, possibly infinite,
list of concepts—starting with “man,” “married,” and the operator
“un.” Neither of these is identical to “bachelor,” but each is indi-
vidually required for conceiving that concept. Moreover, each of
these concepts requires in turn its own set of concepts, in virtue
of which it is conceived: “man” requires “animal” and “rational”
(let’s say); “animal” requires “body” (among others); “body,” “ex-
tension,” up to causa sui, defined as that thing that is conceived
through itself. The latter is the only concept that is conceived—or
so the rationalist needs to argue—through itself.4 Therefore, the
rationalist claim that concepts are conceived through themselves,
insofar as it is invoked in defense of the conceivability of the causa
sui, is begging the question. One cannot defend the conceivability
of the causa sui by claiming that concepts are conceived through
themselves and rely on the concept of the causa sui as the one ex-
ample of a concept that’s conceived through itself. That this con-
cept is conceivable is, of course, just what needs to be shown.
To avoid begging the question, the rationalist may attempt to
rely generally on the notion of conceivability, instead of relying on
the example of causa sui (or any example at all). He may claim that
we should believe (2), that is, that concepts are conceived through
themselves, because we accept the initially plausible view that con-
ceptual truths are true (and known as such) in virtue of nothing
over and above the concepts involved. Thus, “triangles have three
sides” is true and known to be true in virtue of concepts alone,
without the aid of anything that is not conceptual. On this view,
even if we will eventually discover (and according to the rational-
ist, we will) that, strictly speaking, there is only one truth and
that that truth is conceptual—namely, the causa sui exists—the
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stance is not the reason for knowing that the causa sui exists, but
the reason for its existence. Hence, if there are no, metaphysically
speaking, truths made true by concepts, the causa sui is to be re-
jected. Or, to be more accurate, what the rationalist requires is the
collapse of epistemological and metaphysical here—rendering
the reason of knowing and reason of existence identical. There
seems to be only one way of doing this, which is assuming that
existence is a first order predicate. Perhaps this assumption can
be somehow motivated; but it isn’t initially plausible. (Ironically,
the reason for rejecting the rationalist’s stance here is the PSR.
For this principle states that if anything at all is true, then there
is something in virtue of which that truth obtains. The only way
to build this “there is” clause into a concept is to contradict what
may well be the broadest consensus in current philosophical cir-
cles—treat existence as a first order predicate. We will consider a
rationalist argument for the claim that existence is such a predi-
cate below.)
3.
Let us move on to consider (1), the claim that conceivability im-
plies existence. A rationalist argument for this is the following. 5
Assume the PSR:6 (a) It follows that a thing, x, is conceivable if and
only if its existence involves no brute facts. Thus if x’s existence
involves brute facts, it is inconceivable. [This is just the meaning
of the PSR]. (b) It follows that if x is conceivable, x exists. To see
that this is the case assume, for the sake of a reductio, (c) that x is
conceivable and that the existence of non-x is conceivable, too. (d)
State of affairs (c) implies that the existence of both x and non-x
involves no brute facts [by (a)]. If this state of affairs were possible,
x’s conceivability would not entail its existence (it would entail its
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4.
That argument, too, is unsatisfactory, especially if invoked to sup-
port the conceivability of the self-conceived being. Let us embrace
the rationalist claim that everything needs to be ultimately ex-
plained, as well as the claim that existence is explained by reducing
it to conceivability. What does it mean, we must then ask, to con-
ceive or understand something? A rationalist is committed to ex-
plaining how x’s conceivability is itself accounted for. Now here is
one attractive answer that a rationalist cannot give: We conceive a
thing, or understand it, by representing the causes of its existence.
Rationalists must reject this answer since they aspire to account
for both “existence” and “causality” in terms of “conceivability.” It
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5.
I pointed out above that the “bachelor” example is somewhat in-
accurate. The question in virtue of what bachelors are conceived
as unmarried men is, in fact, appropriate; the answer is that bach-
elors are conceived through more basic concepts such as “mar-
riage” and “man.” The only concept that is not conceived through
other concepts and can be conceived through itself (if it can) is
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causa sui. Thus, Della Rocca’s only valid case in point is the ques-
tion “in virtue of what is ‘causa sui’ conceived as existing?” and,
to that question, he can answer (if he can) by denying the valid-
ity of the question: causa sui, he will say, “is conceived to exist
because it is what it is.” Only in the latter case may the PSR’s “in-
virtue-of-what” question be a bad question, reducible to a genuine
misunderstanding.
But, in this light, it turns out that rationalism ultimately as-
sumes the validity of the traditional ontological argument. The
question in virtue of what substance is conceived to exist can be
dismissed as a mere misunderstanding of the concept only if ex-
istence is a predicate, participating in substance’s essence. What
needs to be underlined is that at stake is not merely a rational-
ist argument concerning the theological question of God’s ex-
istence. At stake is the viability of the rationalist position itself:
Without the ontological argument, the edifice of conceivability
and of the PSR falls apart. If Substance’s existence is not con-
ceived through itself—if its existence is not conceptually self-
explanatory—nothing has been sufficiently accounted for by the
rationalist. Everything remains a brute fact.
The PSR’s dependence on the ontological argument can be
shown in the following way. It is straightforward, but isn’t noticed
often enough. Assume that the PSR is true:
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(a4) That reason can’t be found in another being [if it were, the
necessary being wouldn’t enable—on pains of indefinite
regress—the ultimate explanation for which it was pos-
ited in (a2)].
(a5) Therefore, the reason for the existence of the necessary
being posited in (a2) is that necessary being itself [by
(a3) and (a4)]. If the PSR is true, there exists an entity
containing the ground of its own existence—a causa sui.
But what does it mean to say that the reason for the existence of a
being is that being itself? This amounts just to saying: that being
exists because of its nature, or its essence or its concept. For the
answer to the question, “Why does this being exist?” would be:
“Because it is what it is.” In other words, the answer just is the on-
tological argument: the reason for the existence of that being is
that this being exists by definition, or essence. The PSR, then, what
Kant calls the Supreme Principle of Pure Reason (P2), is false
unless existence is a first order predicate.
6.
Given this situation, the natural Kantian response is to insist on
the well-known claim that existence isn’t a predicate or a property
of a thing—adduce Kant’s refutation of the ontological argument.
Kant’s views on existence and predication are pronounced most
clearly in the first Critique’s Dialectic and in the pre-critical Beweis-
grund. In the first Critique Kant writes:
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thing is. Otherwise, it would not be exactly the same thing that
exists, but something more than we had thought in the con-
cept; and we could not, therefore, say that the exact object of
my concept exists. (A600/B628)
Kant’s argument in the latter passage is the following.11 (1) God has
concepts of merely possible things (the “highest being” has “mil-
lions” of complete concepts of things that don’t exist; reference to
the highest being here is a mere rhetorical device). (2) Although
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Lastly:
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7.
Kant’s refutation, however, doesn’t successfully debunk the ratio-
nalist’s position—not without further argument. One implication
of the rationalist insistence that conceivability is coextensive with
existence is its necessitarian conclusion (if x is conceivable, non-x
is inconceivable). This conclusion indicates that there is some-
thing fundamentally lacking in Kant’s claim that existence isn’t a
predicate. Della Rocca writes:
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8.
In this light, the dispute between Kant’s critical- and Spinoza’s
metaphysical rationalism can only to be settled—if it can be set-
tled at all—by debating the legitimacy of each side’s initial posi-
tion. Needed is an independent reason to preferring the one rather
than the other. It may be useful to articulate each of the positions.
Significantly, both begin by admitting a rationalist commitment
to the PSR: both agree that reason demands that we strive to
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explain everything (in Kant, this is P1, the Aufgabe to “find for the
conditioned knowledge . . . the unconditioned whereby its unity
is brought to completion” [A308/B364]); as well as assume that
everything can be explained (in Kant, this is P2, the Supreme
Principle of Pure Reason, “if the conditioned is given, the whole
series of conditions . . . —a series which is therefore itself uncon-
ditioned—is likewise given” [A307/b364]). They part company,
however, when it comes to the status of the latter rational assump-
tion (P2). Kant maintains that P1 must remain essentially unsatis-
fied because the assumption that everything can be explained (P2)
cannot be known to be true. He thinks that the rational assump-
tion that (we know that) everything can be ultimately explained
depends on transcendental illusion: a slip we can hardly avoid,
from accepting the task of explanation to assuming that the task
can be fulfilled. Since the latter depends on the existence of an un-
conditioned (self-explanatory) being, it depends on accepting the
ontological argument. Since the latter fails, so does the transition
from P1 to P2. The latter claim, however, depends on the assump-
tion that there is a modal distinction between existence and pos-
sibility: only on the assumption that necessitarianism is false can
Kant successfully reject the ontological argument and, thereby,
the rationalist “geometrical house of cards.” The metaphysical ra-
tionalist, however, takes just the opposite stance. Assuming that
nothing is possible that doesn’t exist, he recovers the ontological
argument. The edifice of conceivability and of the PSR is thereby
sustained. Moreover, as we have seen in the previous chapters, this
position enables him in turn to outflank the other anti-rationalist
arguments Kant advances to expose (what he detects as) transcen-
dental illusion: defending a metaphysical-cosmological totum an-
alyticum, he disarms the Antinomies; deriving thereby Substance
Monism, the Paralogisms are irrelevant as a matter of course (the
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II.
1.
The most natural, spontaneous moments in which we apply the
PSR occur when we raise simple “why-questions.” We encounter
concrete worldly states of affairs and instinctively demand an ex-
planation: “Why did this thing happen?”; “Why did this happen
as it did?”; or even “Why didn’t this happen?” One can fill into
these formulas the most basic content there is: “Why is the table
here?”; “Why is the table here rather than there?”; “Why is there
something rather than nothing?” Most would agree that we raise
these questions instinctively, and that once we start raising them,
it is difficult to stop. “Why is this table here?” “Because the waiter
put it here.” “Why then did he put it here?” “Because his boss told
him to do so.” “But why did she tell him to do so?” This regress is
motivated by a familiar instinct: we ask why something happened
because we instinctively assume it happened for some reason, and
the moment we learn about the reason we assume that that reason,
too, is conditioned on another. And so, we ask again.
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Behind this instinctive demand for reasons are two basic in-
tuitions, which can be viewed as necessary conditions of why-
questions being raised. (1) Everything that happens happens for
a reason. And (2) everything that happens could have happened
otherwise (it is contingent).
Della Rocca elegantly accounts for the first intuition, but only
at the expense of the second. This is not a welcome sacrifice. The
relation between (1) and (2) is such that (1) depends on (2): the
assumption that what happens is contingent is essential for the
application (and, we shall see, the justification) of the PSR. That
is, our rational insistence that what happens happens for a reason
(i.e., 1) is fueled by the assumption that things could have been
otherwise (i.e., 2). It is because we think that things could have
occurred otherwise that we think that there has to be a reason why
they occurred. Effectively, we never ask why something happened
but what made it happen despite the fact that it didn’t have to.
Take two examples. “Why is this table here?” This is a good
question, but only because we think that the table could have been
elsewhere, or that it could have failed to exist. Had we seen that the
table was here necessarily we wouldn’t have asked why—we would
have had no reason to question its location. This assumption be-
comes clearer with the following question. “Why is there some-
thing rather than nothing?” Had we thought that something’s
existence is necessary, we would never raise that question. But we
do naturally wonder why anything at all exists, and we do so be-
cause we assume that something’s existence is contingent.
At the heart of the cosmological argument, so intimately con-
nected to the PSR, lies a strong belief in contingency—an anti-
necessitarian conviction. The argument begins with the claim that
the “world of becoming” exists contingently and, hence, requires a
reason to come into existence. Moving up from that contingency
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moreover, he would say: (2) from God’s perspective all truths are
conceptual and are intuited as such. However, (1) is equivalent to
granting that we ask “why” because a state of affairs seems to us
contingent; and there will be a reason to believe (2) only if there
is an argument justifying the existence of such a divine perspec-
tive in the first place. We have seen above that the PSR cannot in-
dependently provide that justification because believing that that
perspective exists—believing the ontological argument—is nec-
essary for believing that the PSR is true. This is admittedly a very
fragile line of defense. I’ll return to supplement it with a further
argument in a moment.
III.
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1.
Consider a state of affairs in which two equal weights are hanging
at the ends of a balance. We make the judgment that the balance
will not move; it will not tend in either direction. Why? What is
the basis of that judgment? Leibniz, quoted by Della Rocca, gives
the following explanation:
Della Rocca points out that “Leibniz (or Archimedes) here rejects
a certain possibility—viz. that the balance is not at rest—because
this possibility would be inexplicable.”32 Such a procedure Della
Rocca defines as an “explicability argument”—one in which a
certain possibility is rejected because its existence cannot be ex-
plained. He clarifies that, in explicability arguments, “a certain
state of affairs is said not to obtain simply because the existence of
that state of affairs would be inexplicable, a so-called brute fact.”33
Della Rocca does not try to justify his reliance on explicabil-
ity arguments. And, at least at first glance, this seems unprob-
lematic. Indeed, anybody who is even minimally rational would
be reluctant to deny such arguments, which are as intuitive and
necessary as a theoretical argument can be (just consider the
Leibniz-A rchimedes case above). Della Rocca claims that invoking
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(1) and (2) correspond exactly to P1 and P2, respectively. The Kan-
tian objection to Della Rocca’s justification of the PSR is therefore
none other than the Kantian standard objection to the slip from P1
to P2. Della Rocca’s argument puts pressure on accepting (1): he
shows that the most obvious theoretical explanations commit us
to demanding (“insist”) that everything be fully explicable. How-
ever, in the above-quoted passage he slips into the conclusion that
in virtue of accepting (P1) we accept the fully blown PSR; that
is, (P2). This move was not argued for and is suspicious; Kant has
claimed that it occurs because of a “necessary and natural illusion
of reason,” tempting us to slip from subjective claims about our
rational commitments to objective claims about the way the world
is. The point is this: Della Rocca seems to suggest that in virtue of
accepting that we are committed to “insist that there be an explana-
tion for the existence of each existing thing,” we are committed to
accepting “the PSR itself,”—that is, that there is an explanation for
everything. But what justifies that claim? Especially because P2 is
only true if the unconditioned exists, this claim has not been justi-
fied. And the attempt to justify the existence of the unconditioned
by P2 would obviously fall on a circle.
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(1) Claim that some but not all explicability arguments are le-
gitimate (particularly, that explicability arguments about
existence are not legitimate).
(2) Claim that no explicability arguments are legitimate.
(3) Claim that all explicability arguments are legitimate.
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2.
There may be more positive Kantian reasons for applying the PSR.
Why does Kant think we apply this principle in the first place and
are committed to doing so? Why, according to Kant, are we com-
mitted to explaining the world?
One answer, which Kant himself, as far as I can see, never quite
articulated, is that we believe that things could have been differ-
ent because we demand that they ought to have been different.
We ask why something happened despite the fact that it ought not
to have happened. Our insistence that necessitarianism is false is
thus grounded in a moral conviction, which is also a positive cause
for demanding an explanation of the world—using the PSR. In the
most authentic manifestations of the PSR, we do not ask “why” but
we cry in moral outrage—outrage against an earthquake taking
thousands of innocent lives, the premature death of a loved one,
or the course of history, teaching us about the political evils gener-
ated by human society. 36 We ask why the world is as it is because
we demand justice from God or nature; we strive to theoretically
understand the world with a commitment to changing it, bringing
it to justice. 37
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NOTES
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
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world were one substance . . . This error followed from a faulty definition of
substance. As a mathematician, he was accustomed to finding arbitrary def-
initions and deriving propositions from them. Now this procedure works
quite well in mathematics, but if we try to apply these methods in philoso-
phy we will be led to an error. For in philosophy we must first seek out the
characteristics themselves and acquaint ourselves with them before we can
construct definitions. But Spinoza did not do this” (AA 28:1041).
2 2. Della Rocca, “A Rationalist Manifesto,” p. 90.
23. Russell, “The Philosophy of Logical Atomism,” in ed. R. C Marsh, Logic and
Knowledge (London: George Allen& Unwin, 1956), p. 241.
2 4. Ayer, Language, Truth, and Logic (New York: Dover Publications, 1952),
p. 43.
25. For present purposes I’m assuming a quasi-pragmatic conception of ques-
tion begging. D. Sanford formulates this so: “Question begging is not a
purely formal matter. An argument formulated for Smith’s benefit, whether
by Smith himself or by another, begs the question either if Smith believes
one of the premises only because he already believes the conclusion or if
Smith would believe one of the premises only if he already believed the con-
clusion” (D. Sanford, “Begging the Question,” Analysis 32:6 [1972], p. 198.)
F. Jackson holds a similar conception, which he understands as “egocentric
reasoning” (in which the premises selected are consistent with the beliefs of
the arguer and not the target audience) (see chap. 6 of his Conditionals [New
York: Blackwell, 1987]).
2 6. Some refuse to take that step. Relying on Leibniz’s conception of per se
possibilities, Martin Lin advances an argument for the claim that the PSR
does not necessitate necessitarianism (see his “Rationalism and Necessi-
tarianism,” [unpublished manuscript]). Lin argues that Spinoza’s reasons
for rejecting Leibniz’s defense of contingency from per se possibilities is
not motivated by the PSR. Here I cannot discuss Lin’s position in detail but
will assume for the sake of argument that the PSR does necessitate neces-
sitarianism. However, it is important to keep in mind that if the PSR does
not entail necessitarianism, this would have further consequences for ratio-
nalism. As I argued, rationalism depends on the success of the ontological
argument, and the latter is rejected if necessitarianism is rejected.
27. One could suggest that a rationalist like Spinoza maintains, in fact, an im-
portant distinction between the necessity of “substance exists” and that of
“the table is here”—the former but not the latter is completely conceived
through itself. E IIax1, for example, states, “the essence of man does not in-
volve necessary existence,” which could suggest that the existence of partic-
ular modes is not necessary. This doesn’t seem an acceptable answer. Even
if the source of the necessity of a finite mode’s existence is not the (finite)
mode’s essence, the degree of its necessity is no lesser than anything else’s.
Spinoza’s E Ip33s1 makes it clear that despite the distinction between these
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C ha pt e r 5
Radical Enlightenment,
The Pantheismusstreit,
and a Change of Tone
in the Critique of Pure Reason
Kant claims in the B-Preface of the Critique of Pure Reason that the
book’s second edition does not differ significantly from its first. “In
the propositions themselves,” he writes, “I found nothing to alter.”
Changes were made only in the “mode of exposition,” intending to
prevent misunderstandings regarding some of the arguments. In a
footnote Kant adds that the only change “strictly so called” is the
insertion of the Refutation of Idealism (Bxxxvii). This is indeed
the only part that was neither revised nor rewritten but added
anew to the body of the text. Still, it does not seem that the Refuta-
tion, either, reflects a major change made in the Critique.
Yet one modification inserted in the second edition goes un-
mentioned in the Preface. This is the rewriting of the Preface itself,
which, arguably, constitutes the most significant change made in
the book. Of course, the Preface does not alter the content of any
of the Critique’s philosophical arguments. But by announcing at
the outset a new philosophical problem, it redefines the meaning,
or the function, of the critical philosophy.
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I.
1.
On March 25, 1783, Elise Reimarus, mutual friend of Jacobi, Men-
delssohn, and Lessing, wrote to Jacobi from Berlin, informing him
of Mendelssohn’s intention to write a book on Lessing’s character.
The latter had died two years earlier and was not only a close friend
of Mendelssohn’s but an ideal of the Enlightenment—a modern,
tolerant Aufklärer. Jacobi did not answer Reimarus’s report for sev-
eral months. But his delayed reply, dated July 21, 1783, would fire
the first shot of the Pantheismusstreit. In his letter, Jacobi confiden-
tially inquired whether Mendelssohn was aware of his deceased
friend’s “later religious convictions.” For Lessing—reports Jacobi
to Reimarus—was a Spinozist.10
According to Jacobi, Lessing had confessed his Spinozism
in a private conversation, held in Wolffenbüttel in 1780, a few
months before his death. Upon Mendelssohn’s distrust of Jacobi’s
report—Reimarus had communicated Jacobi’s inquiry to him, as
Jacobi certainly expected—Jacobi decided to put his conversation
with Lessing in writing and publish it in a book. This is Jacobi’s
Über die Lehre des Spinoza, which saw light in 1785. Mendelssohn’s
Morgenstunden was published a few months thereafter.
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
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2.
Was Lessing a Spinozist? This was the initial question of the Pan-
theismusstreit, but one irrelevant for Kant. In fact, Mendelssohn
and Jacobi also eventually moved on from it. Lessing was cer-
tainly not an enemy of Spinoza. This is evident from his personal
conversation with Jacobi, as well as from his published writings.
Together with Spinoza and the Spinozists, Lessing believed in
liberalism, biblical criticism, and natural religion. This is indeed a
political taste, in the spirit of Spinoza’s Tractatus, not an atheistic-
pantheistic metaphysical position in the spirit of the Ethics. But, of
course, metaphysics and political philosophy are intimately con-
nected, not the least in Spinoza, and all the more so in such matters
as biblical criticism and natural religion.12
A more important question raised by the Streit concerns
Lessing’s philosophical taste, not as a personal figure but as a
symbol—an ideal of the Enlightenment. His Geist personified the
qualities of tolerance, broadmindedness, and liberalism. In sharp
contrast to Lessing, the Jew from Amsterdam was associated with
abomination and danger. He was conceived as a symbol of athe-
ism, dubbed by many as the Euclides atheisticus or the principus
atheorum. By bringing Lessing’s and Spinoza’s names together,
Jacobi was seeking a reductio ad absurdum of the Enlightenment:
If this is where rationality leads, the argument goes, one should
reconsider rationality.
3.
The most significant challenge raised by the Streit concerns nei-
ther Lessing’s philosophical taste nor the reductio of the Enlight-
enment by his character. There is a philosophical question at
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4.
As I have said, authors writing on the Pantheismusstreit often
assume that the debate ignited by Jacobi eventually led to Spinoza’s
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lesser readers than Kant would gain from the book a good grasp
of Spinoza’s position. This entry certainly attracted much atten-
tion to Spinoza and ensured that many would think about Spinoza
on their own. It is difficult to see how once such a high-exposure
entry is published Spinoza’s relevance was supposed to wane.
Searching in Zedler’s Grosses Universal Lexicon reinforces the
same impression. Zedler dedicates separate entries to “Spinoza”
and “Spinozisterey”: the first is accorded a five-page discussion,
the latter a three-page discussion. The entry “Descartes,” by com-
parison, is discussed in one page. Plato, Aristotle, Thomas, Augus-
tine, Luther, Locke, and Hume are similarly accorded one-page
discussions. To be sure, Zedler, like Bayle, presents Spinoza in a
denouncing and critical tone. But his extensive discussion, too,
provides abundant information about Spinoza’s thought. Given
that Zedler dedicates to Spinoza five times more attention than
to many of the most prominent thinkers in the history of philos-
ophy, the assumption that Spinoza was forgotten or neglected is
untenable.
Diderot and d’Alembert’s Encyclopédie provides another note-
worthy example here. Like Bayle and Zedler before them, the En-
cyclopédiests denounce Spinoza in a harsh tone. But like Bayle and
Zedler, they also dedicate to Spinoza significantly greater atten-
tion than to almost every other prominent thinker in the history of
philosophy. (Spinoza receives in the Encyclopédie about five times
more space than Descartes, Locke, Hume, Plato, or Hobbes.) The
entry gives an overview not only of Spinoza’s life, character, politi-
cal philosophy, and metaphysics, but also a systematic discussion
of the Ethics’ definitions, axioms, and foremost propositions. To-
gether with laconic denunciations of Spinoza’s view (examples will
follow), the Encyclopédie provides in-depth discussions of Spinoza’s
accounts of the finite and the infinite, substance-mode relation,
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1759 [in letters dating that year he recommends some of its entries
to his friends].)
The general impression received from the Dictionnaire, the En-
cyclopédie, and the Lexicon is not that Spinoza was not ignored but
that he could not be. The space he received in the canonical vehicles
of the Enlightenment ensured that philosophers and intellectuals
would be aware of and worried about Spinoza’s metaphysics; they
ensured that some, perhaps many, would gain firsthand knowl-
edge with Spinoza’s writing; and they ensured that sometimes,
despite the fact that very few would actually name themselves Spi-
nozists, Spinoza’s position was actually embraced. It is worthy of
mention that the Encyclopédie—which was edited by Diderot, who
had been imprisoned for publishing a Spinozist essay as Lettre sur
les aveugles—contradicts itself in this regard.24 At one point in the
Spinoza entry, it is claimed that “very few people are suspected of
adhering to [Spinoza’s] doctrine,” but shortly thereafter such lines
as the following are repeated: “what is surprising is that Spinoza,
who had so little respect for proof and reason, would have so many
partisans and supporters of his system.”
J. Israel seems to have a point when he comments, “philoso-
phers are . . . saddled with what are really hopelessly outdated his-
torical accounts of the Enlightenment and ones which look ever
more incomplete, unbalanced, and inaccurate, the more research
into the subject proceeds.”25 As he shows, Spinoza’s influence on
the Enlightenment has to be understood as constituting a radical,
clandestine strand of the European movement, acting behind the
scenes of the moderate, official movement.26 Whereas the moder-
ate Enlightenment was (more or less) consistent with conserva-
tive political and religious ideals—its thinkers defending theistic
metaphysics and conformist political rules—the radical Enlight-
enment was characterized by Spinozist metaphysics, Spinozist
208
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
209
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
210
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
II.
1.
Jacobi sent his book to Hamann, who was supposed to hand it
over to Kant. His intention, it would seem, was to force Kant to
respond publicly, unwittingly participating in the promotion of
the book. This is the only explanation for Jacobi’s move: his book
contains two unnecessary provocations of Kant, presenting him
as a Spinozist.
The first of these occurs in Jacobi’s explanation of Spinoza’s
conception of the infinite as a whole that is prior to its parts. “[The
parts] exist only in him [the whole] and after him,” writes Jacobi.
“[O]nly in and after him can they be conceived.” In a footnote, he
brings a quotation from the first Critique that, he says, can “serve
to clarify” Spinoza. 30 This quotation is from §2 of the Aesthetic,
Kant’s famous claim that only one infinite space is conceivable—
one space whose parts are merely limitations of the whole:
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KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
Jacobi does not explicitly say so, but his words suggest that Kant’s
space and time, the forms of intuition, correspond to Spinoza’s at-
tributes: space corresponds to the attribute of extension; time, the
medium of inner sense, to the attribute of thought.
The second mention of Kant in association with Spinoza, again
a clarifying remark, brings together the heart of Kant’s philoso-
phy with the heart of Spinoza’s. Jacobi clarifies Spinoza’s notion
of substance as an “absolute thought,” an “immediate absolute
consciousness of general existence.” In order to explain this, he
invokes Kant’s transcendental unity of apperception31 Kant had
argued that the unity of experience is possible only by the unity of
consciousness, actively apprehending a manifold passively given
in the forms of intuition. Thus the numerical unity of conscious-
ness, in Kant, is an a priori condition of all thought:
212
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
213
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
III.
1.
By 1786, all sides of the debate had made much effort to draw
Kant into battle. Jacobi had Hamann deliver to Kant the Spinoza-
Büchlein, containing, as we just saw, a threat to the transcendental
214
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
215
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
which the Streit is pregnant; and both expose the danger awaiting
Kant himself should he not reject the charges raised against him.
The Resultate appeared at first anonymously, identifying the
author as a Freiwilligen, a “volunteer.” A few months after the essay’s
publication, the author was identified as the young Thomas Wizen-
mann. 39 His main point was that there was, in fact, no significant
difference between Mendelssohn’s and Jacobi’s positions. For by
subjecting speculative reason to common sense, the former, like
the latter, subjects rationality to an irrational faculty—allowing
belief even where belief is contradicted by reason.40 Wizenmann
concludes his essay with an argument for positive religion—an
argument, perhaps oddly, with a clear Kantian ring. Religious
conviction, Wizenmann writes, requires an existential premise,
namely belief in the existence of God. Reason, however, is incapa-
ble of proving existence—not even in the special case of the “most
perfect being.” What kind of experience, then, could rationally
substantiate God’s existence? Surely not an empirical experience
of the sort mediated by space and time; God cannot be objectified
and apprehended by the senses. No room is left for rational reli-
gion: if any religion is possible, one must accept it on the grounds
of revelation. “Man of Germany!” writes Wizenmann,
216
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
2.
Then came Biester’s third letter from Berlin (June 11, 1786). Zam-
mito refers to that letter as a “masterpiece of a small scale.”42 Indeed,
Biester made Kant see, perhaps for the first time, the necessity of
explicitly taking a stand. Biester opens his letter by pointing out
that the “unfortunate Streit” between Mendelssohn and Jacobi in-
volves “two issues.” First, the “Factum” of the debate: the questions
whether “Lessing was really an atheist” and whether Mendelssohn
would be able to concede this if it was in fact the case. These ques-
tions, however, are beside the point, writes Biester, a Nebending.
“Let us suppose that it is fully proven that Lessing was an atheist
and that Mendelssohn was somewhat of a weak person—is there
anything more to it?”43 “The second point is more important,”
Biester continues, “and concerns the reason why the philosophical
Schwärmerei is at the moment heating up.” This is the tendency,
growing in intellectual circles in Berlin, to dismiss “rational cog-
nition of God” and accept instead “positive religion” as the only
alternative to Spinoza. Jacobi is promoting, writes Biester,
217
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
religion as the only necessary and at the same time the only
available way out for any rational man; atheism and Schwär-
merei: it is a miraculously strange occurrence that both confu-
sions of the human understanding should be so unified in these
dizzy-heads of our time.44
218
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
219
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
I ask you to do. . . . [T]he danger impending from Jacobi and the
author of the Resultate is much more urgent.”47
3.
Kant first responded by sending Biester “Was Heißt, sich im
Denken orientieren.” The essay was published in October 1786
in the Berlinische Monatsschrift. A few months thereafter, Kant re-
ceived from Biester a letter of gratitude: “hearty thanks, dear man,
for your excellent essay on the J—and M-ian Streitigkeit !”48
The essay makes clear that Kant’s stance to the Streit is
complex—he approaches the debate as an outsider. On the one
hand, Kant agrees with Jacobi: metaphysics culminates in Spi-
noza’s position; strictly speaking, there is no rationalist answer to
atheism and fatalism, at least not by traditional terms. Kant en-
dorses, moreover, Wizenmann’s claim that Mendelssohn’s subjec-
tion of reason to common sense arrives at a position very similar to
Jacobi’s. Such an unfortunate position, Kant writes, is unavoidable
when one begins to doubt that
220
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
to answer Jacobi’s claim that the first Critique was written fully in
Spinoza’s spirit. “It is hard to comprehend,” Kant writes,
how the scholars just mentioned could find support for Spi-
nozism in the Critique of Pure Reason. The Critique com-
pletely clips dogmatism’s wings in respect to the cognition of
supersensible objects, and Spinozism is so dogmatic in this
respect that it even competes with the mathematicians in re-
spect to the strictness of its proofs. Spinozism leads directly to
Schwärmerei. . . . Against this there is not a single means more
certain to eliminate Schwärmerei in its roots [Wurzel], than that
determination of the bounds of pure faculty of understanding.49
221
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
Friends of the human race and what is holiest to it! Accept what
appears to you most worthy of belief after careful and sincere
examination, whether of facts or rational grounds; only do not
dispute that prerogative of reason which makes it the highest
good on earth, the prerogative of being the final touchstone of
truth. Failing here, you will become unworthy of this freedom,
and you will surely forfeit it too; and besides that you will bring
the same misfortune down on the heads of other, innocent par-
ties who would otherwise have been well disposed and would
have used their freedom lawfully and hence in a way which is
conducive to what is best to the world. 51
4.
Karl Reinhold’s Briefe über die Kantische Philosophie is mostly
known for popularizing Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. This was
achieved by pointing out, for the first time explicitly, that the Cri-
tique constitutes an answer to Spinoza’s challenge as formulated in
the “disputes [Streitigkeiten] between Jacobi and Mendelssohn.”52
Reinhold’s book was published in 1790. The first four letters, how-
ever, had been published in 1786–1787. In a letter to Reinhold
Kant confirms that he has read the letters and found them “com-
pletely in agreement” with his own thinking.53
The pivotal concept in Reinhold’s Briefe is the “need” of the
time, which, he claims, is embodied in the debate between Jacobi
222
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
223
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
224
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
Now there is no doubt that the first Critique provides a serious argu-
ment to the extent that theoretical proofs of the existence of God (and
metaphysical knowledge in general) must be given up. It thereby ful-
fills a necessary condition for developing rational faith drawing on
practical reasoning. The Critique, however, does not provide much of
an argument in defense of rational practical faith—that task, despite
Reinhold’s positive words, still awaits Kant. Nor will Kant provide a
satisfactory defense of such faith in the Critique of Practical Reason.
A more interesting defense is first provided in the Critique of Judg-
ment, but to this issue I will have to return in a different context.
225
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
I V.
1.
The preface to the second edition of the first Critique can be di-
vided, somewhat roughly, into two parts. The first (Bvii–xxiv)
reiterates the aim and function of the Critique that had been an-
nounced by the A-Preface: by subjecting the flights of reason to
the criterion of experience, the book is designed to turn philoso-
phy into a rational science, matching the model of the mathemati-
cal Naturwissenschaften. In the B-edition this goal is dubbed a
“Copernican Revolution”—a term never mentioned in 1781. The
introduction of a new term, however, does not add much to the
understanding of the critical philosophy; this revolution was, in
fact, already announced in the A-Preface.
The second part of the B-Preface (B xxiv–xliv) adds a new di-
mension. It defines the function of the first Critique discussed thus
far as the “negative” function of the book; and it relativizes this
negative function to a higher, “positive” one:
The A-Preface did not mention this function of the Critique, not
because the book did not fulfill that function but because there
was no point in mentioning it as a (or the) goal of the book. In fact,
there was no room to mention this goal: claiming that metaphysics
has to be destroyed in order to defend practical reasoning would
have amounted to expressing publicly a feeling that, before Jacobi,
226
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
227
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
2.
At this stage of the Preface, Kant turns to address the “most rigid”
of dogmatic philosophers. He contends that theoretical proofs of
God’s existence, freedom, and immortality never exercised the
“slightest influence” on the moral-religious convictions of the
public; and therefore that the Critique subverts only the dog-
matic demonstrations of the “schools”—not the practical faith of
the public. “The change affects only the arrogant pretensions of
the Schools, which would fain be counted the sole authors and
possessors of such truths . . . reserving the key to themselves”
(Bxxxiii).
Arguably, this highly polemical claim addresses Mendelssohn’s
accusation that by destroying metaphysics the Critique subverts
the rational basis of religion and morality. In his private corre-
spondence, Kant had referred to Mendelssohn’s Morgenstunden as
a “perfect work of dogmatism.”62 His answer in the B-Preface to
the “most rigid of dogmatists” seems clear, then: The Critique sub-
verts only the phony, dogmatic convictions of the schools, not the
genuine conviction of the general public.
3.
The Preface next addresses the philosophical “schools,” urging
them to stop their metaphysical “controversies” (Streitigkeiten).
These controversies, Kant warns, would sooner or later cause a
public “scandal”:
228
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
229
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
4.
In passing, Kant also makes a more general philosophical claim:
Only criticism, he says, can establish the “labors of reason.” Any
other philosophy, that is, falls short of answering the radical chal-
lenge. Later in the Preface, this argument is repeated. “Only the
critical philosophy,” Kant writes, can “eliminate” the threat posed
by speculative reason at its root:
230
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
5.
“I had to deny knowledge, in order to make room for faith.” Kant
never wrote this sentence in the A-edition. It conveys a multi-
layered answer to Spinoza’s thinking, as now comes to the fore
through the Pantheismusstreit. First, it is an answer to Jacobi: Ra-
tional philosophy does not lead to atheism; a salto mortale is not
231
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
NOTES
232
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
233
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
234
RAD I CAL E N L I GH T E N ME N T
235
KA N T ’ S CR I T I Q U E O F S P I N O Z A
changes and additions” made in the first Critique were intended to answer
charges of “psychological subjectivism,” one can hear in the new Preface
also “echoes of the Jacobi-Mendelssohn dispute” (G. di Giovanni, “The
First Twenty Years of Critique: The Spinoza Connection,” in The Cambridge
Companion to Kant, ed. P. Guyer [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1992], p. 426).
62. Kant, Briefe, p. 174.
63. KpV AA 5:102.
6 4. Refl. AA 18:436.
65. Ibid.
236
BIBLIOGRA PHY
Note
All quotations from Kant’s works are from the Akademie Ausgabe. The first Cri-
tique is cited by the standard A/B edition pagination, and other works by standard
siglum AA vol:page. Gesammelte Schriften Hrsg.: Bd. 1–22 Preussische Akademie
der Wissenschaften, Bd. 23 Deutsche Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, ab
Bd. 24 Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen. Berlin 1900ff.
Unless otherwise noted, English translations from the Critique are taken
from N. Kemp-Smith’s translation, Critique of Pure Reason (New York: Pal-
grave Macmillan, 2003). English translations of other works by Kant are cited
in the text.
All quotations from Spinoza’s works are from Spinoza Opera. ed. C. Gebhardt,
4 Vols Heidelberg: Carl Winter, 1925. The Ethics is abbreviated as E. References
proceed with Roman numerals for part, letter for definition/axiom/proposition,
Arabic numeral for number. E Ip10s refers to the Ethics, Part 1, Proposition 10,
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English translations of the Ethics are from trans. E. Curley The Collected
Works of Spinoza, Vol. 1 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985). English
translations of the TTP are from ed. J. Israel, trans. M. Silverthorne and J. Israel,
Spinoza: Theological-Political Treatise (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2007). English translations from Spinoza’s correspondence are brought from
ed. and trans. Wolf, A., The Correspondence of Spinoza (London: Allen & Unwin
1966).
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245
IN DE X
247
I N DE X
248
I N DE X
Garber, Daniel, 11n.1, 13n.19, 104n.9 Infinite, 18, 35, 36, 38, 45, 60n.7,
Geometric Method. see Spinoza 65n.47, 78
God, xii, xxi, xxiii, xxvii, 4, 11, 27–58, absolute, 75, 92–4, 102, 116, 141
61n.16, 63n.35, 64n.43–6, 65n.53, actual/complete infinity, 7–8, 69, 72,
70, 73–9, 81, 90, 92, 101–2, 104n.10, 74–5, 77, 79–80, 90–1, 93–103,
110–1, 115–29, 131, 181–4, 186n.21, 108–9, 116, 131–7, 139–42,
197–8 148n.40, 150–1, 207, 211–2
adequate idea of, 140 and sublime, 99–100, 107n.49, 107n.40
as deceiver, 55 indefinite, 74–6, 81–5, 104n.10,
as ground, 38–43, 62n.25, 63n.42, 139 104n.15, 106n.35, 111,
as regulative ideal, 48–50, 62n.31, 116–8, 130–1, 133, 137, 145n.15,
210 147n.35, 160–1
as spatiotemporal, 5, 35–7, 46, 54, infinity, 3, 7, 71, 77, 90, 92, 107n.40,
62n.34, 63n.39, 64n.45, 68, 83–5, 110, 117, 122, 130, 136–7, 139,
121–6, 128–9, 147n.32 141, 151
cosmological proof of, 31, 47, 110, mathematical infinity, 94–8
125–8, 169, 174–5 space and time as, 67n.68, 82–3, 90, 93,
existence of, 7, 9, 14n.22, 16–19, 28, 97, 110, 121, 125, 129, 211
31, 36–7, 46–50, 63n.42, 135–8, successive synthesis, 71, 80, 87–8, 90,
144, 148n.47–8, 152, 156, 160–8, 106n.39, 130
181, 202–3, 210, 216–17, 220, Is-ought Distinction, xxxiv, 9–10, 153,
223–5, 228 183–4
Job and, 183–4 Israel, Jonathan, xxiii–xxiv, xxixn.21, 12n.8,
ontological argument, xix, xxxiv, 9, 207–9, 234n.27
14n.22, 16, 19, 47, 68–9, 106n.39,
140–4, 148–9n.48, 151–3, 156, Jacobi, Friedrich Heinrich
160–77, 182, 185, 187n.26 and Kant, 2–6, 10, 15–8, 44, 60n.10,
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 195, 204, 60n.12, 66n.56, 132, 202–5,
209 211–14, 192–232
Grier, Michelle, 66n.64, 67n.70, 67n.73, and Lessing, 194–201, 204–5, 209, 213
104n.8, 146n.30 and Mendelssohn, 132, 192–4, 200,
202–4, 210, 214–7, 222–3,
Habermas, Jürgen, xv 229–30, 234n.20, 236n.61
Hamann, Johann Georg, 2–4, 12n.5, 211, on Spinoza/Spinozism, ix, xvii, xxv,
214 xxviin.1, xxxin.36, 2–4, 15–8, 44,
Hegel, Georg W. F., 62–3n.34 60n.12, 131–2, 192–232
Heimsoeth, Heinz, 103n.6, 105n.17, Spinoza-Büchlein, 214, 218
146n.27, 146n.30, 147n.31 Job, 184
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