philosophy at the extremes, but in literature

featuring thoughts^TM from Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi

intro

as I’ve been re-reading some of my old favorite classics—particularly from Dostoevsky and C.S. Lewis—I haven’t been able to help noticing some really interesting parallels between ideas posed in these novels and Jacobi’s arguments concerning metaphysical systematizing. it’s also possible that after having studied philosophy with James Kreines, I’ve spent enough time with Jacobi that I see this stuff everywhere. anyway, it’s pretty cool and I think there are some interesting parallels. I’ve mentioned them in previous essays but want to synthesize a bit more.

the metaphysical stuff

[ the content of this section is going to borrow quite liberally from Kreines’ classes/writings ]

Jacobi was a “polemicist, socialite, and literary figure” who I came to know via studying Concerning the Doctrine of Spinoza in Letters to Moses Mendelssohn. in these letters, Jacobi lays out an argument concerning metaphysical systematizing that becomes quite important in the German Idealist movement. later on, Hegel will aim to demonstrate a metaphysics tied together by an absolute.

back to Jacobi. in this polemic, Jacobi has in mind a target for his criticism: predictably, Herr Moses Mendelssohn (yes, he is related to our composer boi Felix Mendelssohn—Felix is is grandson). in metaphysical theorizing, there is something of a tension between demonstration and common sense. that is to say, I might have “intuitive” knowledge of something, X, that I then take to be a fact, but that intuitive knowledge is in no way a demonstration of X. mere intuition fails to provide a reason for me to think X. the demand for reasons, for demonstration, is formalized in something called the Principle of Sufficient Reason (PSR): for everything that exists or obtains, there must be a reason. I’ll use “demonstration” and “PSR” somewhat interchangeably through the rest of this essay.

on face, there might seem to be room for both demonstration and intuition in metaphysics. if we want to understand physical systems, demonstration helps us establish patterns or laws and understand why things happened. but sometimes demonstration might lead us to conclusions at odds with common sense. in particular, what both Mendelssohn and Jacobi have in mind is Spinoza’s proof of a “God” that eliminates contingency and free will. Mendelssohn would like to use the PSR to establish the existence of a transcendent God, but taking it further to eliminate contingency doesn’t jive with his intuition that he has free will.

to Jacobi, Mendelssohn wants to have his cake and eat it too. Spinoza’s proof is troubling to philosophers at the time because, to them, it appears to be the best and most consistent application of demonstrative philosophy—that is, philosophy that attempts to establish a conclusion via demonstration (proceeding from premises, making logical inferences, and establishing a conclusion). but this demonstrative philosophy leads to… no free will! so what do we do about it?

there are three paths to respond here, and they relate to how we employ demonstrative philosophy:

1. consistently apply demonstrative philosophy, resulting in Spinoza’s conclusion, i.e., no free will.

2. apply demonstrative philosophy, but stop somewhere. for Mendelssohn, terminate at the conclusion there is a transcendent God, and proceed no further.

3. reject the enterprise of demonstrative philosophy altogether. Jacobi describes this as a “salto mortale”—a mortal somersault that rejects Spinoza’s conclusion that there is no free will.

which of these is the “best” path? to Jacobi, it is obviously not (2), the choice Mendelssohn espouses. in a sense, this is “going halfway” at something. we are choosing to apply the PSR up to a point, but stopping there. however, if we think about the PSR on its own terms—for everything that exists or obtains, there must be a reason—it seems inconsistent to simply stop when the mood strikes us.

if we are going to go with demonstrative philosophy, (1) is superior to (2). we can reason through this with a few steps I’ll borrow from Kreines:

1. all demonstrative philosophy makes use of principles governing explanatory dependence relations.

2. if that philosophy uses these principles in the first place, consistency demands an unrestricted application of those principles. that is, to apply the PSR everywhere, without restriction (contra Mendelssohn).

3. demonstrative philosophy should apply an unrestricted PSR everywhere.

but Jacobi is not happy with (1), the consistent application of a PSR, either. Jacobi takes seriously that he has immediate access to the knowledge of his own free will. this does seem somewhat sensible—after all, if we didn’t even believe we had free will, how could we act in the world?

so, in an application of modus tollens (p → q. if not q then not p), Jacobi rejects demonstrative philosophy. that is:

• demonstrative philosophy → consistent application of PSR → no free will

• but free will.

• → no PSR → refuse demonstrative philosophy

this belief, or faith in free will powers a “leap” out of Spinozism and out of demonstrative philosophy:

The whole thing comes down to this: from fatalism I immediately conclude against fatalism and everything connected with it

extreme philosophy in Lewis and Dostoevsky

we’ve now covered Jacobi’s mortal leap out of Spinozism to an anti-demonstrative philosophy. I’m actually not so concerned with Jacobi’s personal view here, but with the tension and disagreement between “purely” demonstrative and anti-demonstrative philosophies. I think there are a number of interesting cases in literature where this tension shows up—I’ve already described some of these in more detail, so I’ll just highlight the related bits here.

Till We Have Faces - C.S. Lewis

Till We Have Faces occupies itself with a “charge against the gods” from Orual, the sister of Psyche in this retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche told from Orual’s perspective. after Psyche is chosen as a sacrifice to the goddess Ungit, she disappears from Orual’s life for a while, only for Orual to find her and question her sanity. Psyche is convinced that she has been wed by a god and that she lives in a splendid palace—one that Orual cannot see (though she is granted a brief vision of its splendor after doubting Psyche). Orual, who asks Psyche to discover the identity of her lover against his wishes, is punished along with Psyche. but how could Orual have known that Psyche was telling the truth? the gods gave her no indication that Psyche’s words were true.

I think the way Lewis wants us to read this is something like: Orual is asking for proof of Psyche’s claims. without some demonstration that Psyche is indeed telling the truth, one that Orual can reason through and comprehend, Orual sees no reason to believe Psyche. but she is given none, so what is the alternative? to not believe Psyche is one, but there is yet another choice. to have faith, to put her belief in Psyche’s words and the indirect voice of the gods. this contrasts with a demand for demonstration and reason. when it comes to religion and faith, the demand for demonstration is a barrier to belief. Elder Zosima will make a similar point in The Brothers Karamazov.

Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoevsky

the central demonstration/belief tension I find in Crime and Punishment is that of Raskolnikov’s theory of crime. told to us initially in the almost jesting prose of Porfiry Petrovich, the theory reasons that there are particular human beings, something like Nietzsche’s Ubermensch, who are capable of speaking “a new word” and, by virtue of their greatness, should not be subject to the same rules and restrictions as the rest of us.

in a way believing himself to be one of these great men, Raskolnikov reasons through his murder of a pawnbroker. indeed, it seems that her existence brings no benefit to the world. Raskolnikov reasons that she manages to make the lives of everyone around her miserable. if anything, her death would be a net benefit to the world. Raskolnikov’s demonstration provides ample reason for him to think he should carry out his murder.

but following the murder, Raskolnikov is unable to escape the psychological torment that accompanies his crime. I think the suggestion here is that despite the fact that an avenue of demonstration might lead Raskolnikov to the belief that a particular murder is acceptable or even right, there is something like immediate knowledge that the taking of any human life is wrong. any religious text will say something to this effect. for instance, the Qur’an says something like: if you kill one person, it is as though you have killed all of humanity. in addition to the religious point, I think there is something very fundamental to the human psyche that gives us the immediate feeling that it is wrong to take the life of another (idk about serial killers and all but I won’t go into that). a demonstration like Raskolnikov’s might lead us to the (counter-intuitive) conclusion that taking a particular life is justified. but, following Jacobi, we might assert that any human life is valuable, that it is simply wrong to murder, and make our own leap out of the demonstration.

The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoevsky

The Brothers Karamazov contains a number of interesting avenues for exploring the tension between demonstration and faith. I’ll briefly comment on two of them. the first concerns Alyosha’s mentor at his monastery, an Elder Zosima. early in the novel, someone asks the Elder if he can prove the existence of miracles. Zosima responds with a statement to the effect of: I can’t prove it to you, but you can be convinced. that is to say, the only way to believe in miracles is to simply believe, to have faith that they occur. no avenue of demonstration can convince us. there’s not much to say here, besides that I think this is reflective of many ways of approaching religion. it simply requires faith.

the more interesting case, I think, concerns the second brother Ivan. in his story The Grand Inquisitor, Ivan makes something of his own charge against god (I’ll recall this as best I can, but probably messing up details here and there). when Jesus returns to the world during the Spanish Inquisition, he performs a few miracles but then is arrested by Inquisition leaders and sentenced to be burned to death the next day.

in his extended monologue, the Grand Inquisitor founds his denouncement of Jesus on the three temptations of Satan. Jesus rejected Satan’s temptations in favor of freedom, but the Inquisitor thinks that Jesus misjudged humanity’s ability to handle the freedom he gave to them. this very freedom, to the Inquisitor, is a burden on humanity. given the freedom to act, not every human is capable enough, strong enough to resist temptation in the way Jesus did. to the Inquisitor, Jesus has set his enterprise up for failure. while a few are strong enough to endure the burden of freedom and resist temptation, most of humanity is not. therefore, most of humanity is condemned. the Inquisitor thinks Jesus should have turned stones into bread, he should have performed a miracle in order to feed his fellow men before asking virtue of them.

Ivan’s story, while not an argument itself, feels somewhat like a demonstration against organized religion. from premises regarding human nature, Ivan almost reasons that Jesus has asked of humanity an impossible task, and that humanity, unable to bear their burden of freedom, will raise banners and arms against the Church.

Alyosha, on the other hand, is a man of faith. in contrast to Ivan, Alyosha’s faith in a loving God is unshakeable. this faith underlies his love of mankind and ability to do good, showcased in his interactions with his brothers and with the young boys Ilyusha and Kolya Krasotkin.

perhaps Dostoevsky meant to make a point here. throughout the brothers, Ivan is consumed by “an idea,” whose rationality leads him to an existential atheism. Ivan seems to suffer from a sickness of the mind and, interestingly, is visited by the Devil late in the novel. Alyosha, on the other hand, feels almost like a light in the lives of those around him. indeed, it seems every character in the novel is subjected to some sort of suffering. but Alyosha appears happiest of all.

there’s a lot more here—for instance, Ivan’s logical belief in god (since he cannot prove otherwise) and rejection of his world, founded upon the fact that god allows suffering. Zosima, on the other hand, identifies the redemptive nature of suffering. but I’ll leave off here for now.