Feuerbach begins with a summary of previous movements in the history of modern philosophy, presenting its developments in terms of nationalities. Thus, he places the beginning of modern philosophy in Italy, where, he thinks, the natural temperament of the people could not be satisfied by dryness of scholasticism, but notes that the philosophy could not develop there, but had to move to more northerly countries. From Italy philosophy at first moved to England, and Feuerbach suggests that the mercantile nature of English nation restricted philosophy to crude empiricism, while more metaphysical philosophy appeared only with thinkers engaged with ancient philosophical systems (Feuerbach is probably thinking of the so-called Cambridge Platonists).
The more metaphysical needs of philosophy were satisfied in France, because French people, Feuerbach thinks, are more acquainted with the loftier side of life than English and thus more capable of thinking instead of just perceiving. Where French – or more specifically, Cartesians – failed was to find empirical content matching their metaphysical idea. Therefore French philosophy eventually reverted to English materialism. From France philosophy then moved to Netherlands, but not really to Dutch people, since Netherlands merely served as a place where a person living between different cultures could thrive. Feuerbach is, of course, speaking of Spinoza, who disclaimed his Jewish heritage, but still never converted to Christianity. Spinoza, Feuerbach thinks, created proper philosophy, but his system was too lifeless to gain any followers.
The final destination of modern philosophy thus far was German, Feuerbach suggests. Indeed, he insists that philosophy became even a national characteric of Germans, although it first looked like a foreign import. Indeed, Feuerbach notes that German reformers had eventually accepted philosophy, but only grudgingly, as a formal tool for bolstering the freedom of religion and removing it from the shackles of foreign Catholicism. Unlike in France or England, in Germany philosophy was then intricately combined with religion, which became apparent in mystical thinkers like Jacob Böhme.
The first German thinker with a properly philosophical outlook was, according to Feuerbach, Leibniz. The central notion of his philosophy, Feuerbach says, was substance. This makes Leibniz resemble Spinoza, but Feuerbach notes that Leibniz defined the concept in a radically different manner as active force or self-activity. This means that unlike Spinoza, Leibniz could accept the existence of many different substances, as long as they actively differentiated themselves from one another. Feuerbach thus sees Spinoza’s unity replaced by Leibnizian distinction and suggests the comparison that while Spinoza looked through a telescope and saw nothing but colourless heaven, Leibniz looked through a microscope to discover life within life.
Feuerbach’s remark about Leibniz discovering life is connected to earlier philosophical discussions. Descartes had distinguished mind and body sharply and insisted that bodies are mindless machines. Many thinkers had responded that matter has something more in it that makes it more alive, but none of them could replace mechanism with anything definite. This was true until Leibniz came along. Leibniz noticed, Feuerbach suggests, that mere geometry could not explain all in nature, but something more was required. This something more was identified by Leibniz as force. Force meant for him nothing material, but simple and indivisible and therefore soul-like principle. This soul-like principle Leibniz had also called monads. For Leibniz, only forces or monads existed and they were also souls, without which no multiplicity nor individuation could have existed.
For Leibniz, Feuerbach continues, all things were then ultimately souls, but a soul was not necessarily conscious, but just spontaneous. By this spontaneity Leibniz had meant that nothing, beyond God, could affect the monads. For Leibniz, change then required differentiation of monads through internal qualities, which were activities determined by monads themselves. In other words, Feuerbach reads Leibniz, they were representations or perceptions: all the multiplicity of the universe was present for monads only through representations of this multiplicity in unity. Furthermore, such a representation was not passive, but an active drive causing continual movement in the monad.
Feuerbach notes that Leibnizian monads differed through their representations, which had an infinity of grades. The major classification of these grades were the two divisions of representation, firstly, into distinct and confused, and secondly, into clear and obscure. Obscure representation or concept Leibniz had explained to be not enough for recognising something, while clear concept was. Clear representations Leibniz had then divided into confused and distinct representations, confused being such where the signs used for recognising something were not themselves recognisable: an example would be representations of colours, since we can distinguish e.g. blue from red, but we cannot define what distinguishes them. Now, Leibniz had added that confused representations were generated by a multiplicity of too insignificant representations that we are not conscious of – for instance, a representation of green had been generated by an unconscious representation of blue being added to an unconscious representation of yellow. Thus, Feuerbach explains, the difference between the grades of representations was not very sharp for Leibniz, because even our distinct representations consisted of many small confused representations.
These confused representations, Feuerbach explains, were for Leibniz a sign of the infinite content within monads. For Leibniz, monads were like complete independent worlds. As worlds, monads mirrored the whole infinite system of monads from their own viewpoint. This viewpoint was always in some measure confused, because of the infinity of the content. This essential confusion then formed the materiality of monads, which also glued the monads together into a universe. Feuerbach notes that this thought radically separates Leibniz from more sentimental spiritualists who thought that matter only hindered the connection of souls.
For Leibniz, Feurbach suggests, what a monad represented as matter were the other monads taken as others, that is, the limits of the first monad itself. More precisely, matter was a confused representation, since only confusion limited monads. Feuerbach also emphasises that representation was for Leibniz no sign of irreality, but of life and thus calling matter a representation was not meant to suggest matter did not exist, but only that it was also spiritual in nature. Feuerbach also notes that Leibniz argued for his understanding of matter by noting that even our sensual representations of matter, such as pressure and resistance, had no other distinguishing marks beyond inclarity and restriction of our freedom. Soul and matter then required nothing more to connect them, because matter just meant the limitedness inherent in the finite souls and thus their necessary counterpart.
The idea of matter as the inherent restrictedness of substances or monads was only the first concept of matter Leibniz had, Feuerbach explains. In addition, when Leibniz was speaking of matter as an object of representation, he meant an aggregate of countless monads. Thus, when people were speaking of extension, Leibniz had thought they actually meant just diffusion of certain quality over such a group of monads, like when whiteness was said to be extended over a whole glass of milk. Extension, for Leibniz, was then a property belonging to a complex thing, while space meant just a relation between things.
The idea of matter as the inherent restrictedness of substances or monads was only the first concept of matter Leibniz had, Feuerbach explains. In addition, when Leibniz was speaking of matter as an object of representation, he meant an aggregate of countless monads. Thus, when people were speaking of extension, Leibniz had thought they actually meant just diffusion of certain quality over such a group of monads, like when whiteness was said to be extended over a whole glass of milk. Extension, for Leibniz, was then a property belonging to a complex thing, while space meant just a relation between things.
In addition to all these passive properties, Leibniz admitted that matter had an active force, which explained, for instance, why material things resisted when someone tried to move them. This active force, he explained, was either primitive force – the soul of the thing – or derivative force arising from limitation of this primitive force in contact with other things: qualities of a body, for example, were in Leibniz’s opinion just such modifications or limitations of the primitive force. Ultimately, this primitive force was, of course, the internal activity or representation, while derivative forces were kinds of movement or external activity. Movement was then, for Leibniz, nothing truly real, but moving force was, and against Descartes Leibniz insisted that not the quantity of the motion, but the quantity of this force remained constant in the force.
Although not a fiction or illusion, Feuerbach writes, the ordinary material world just described was for Leibniz not the ultimate reality, but merely a phenomenon founded on the ultimate reality or the monads. What was particularly real in the material world was its regularity and laws. Indeed, Leibniz saw monads as intrinsically connected to one another and thus thought every monad naturally had their own corresponding matter or body. Like all material things in Leibnizian philosophy, this body consisted of other monads and the central monad was their soul. Again, Leibniz emphasised that although these bodies were phenomena, they were no deceptions, because they were well grounded and cohered with one another.
Although not a fiction or illusion, Feuerbach writes, the ordinary material world just described was for Leibniz not the ultimate reality, but merely a phenomenon founded on the ultimate reality or the monads. What was particularly real in the material world was its regularity and laws. Indeed, Leibniz saw monads as intrinsically connected to one another and thus thought every monad naturally had their own corresponding matter or body. Like all material things in Leibnizian philosophy, this body consisted of other monads and the central monad was their soul. Again, Leibniz emphasised that although these bodies were phenomena, they were no deceptions, because they were well grounded and cohered with one another.
For Leibnizian monads, bodies were like their organs, that is, monads represented the world from the perspective of their bodies, so that the world was mirrored in all of its parts. Feuerbach notes that Leibniz distinguished monads from Epicurean atoms, because atoms had only a single drive, but monads had an infinity of representations, since they mirrored an infinite universe. Because all monads had their own bodies, organic bodies would consist of further organic bodies, and the whole universe formed a continuous hierarchy of all levels of organisation and consciousness.
Feuerbach notes that because in Leibnizian philosophy every monad was a microcosm, monads had no need to affect one another. In other words, because a monad reflected all the other monads and especially its body and their respective changes, it could change its state instantly, say, from joy to sadness. Feuerbach therefore suggests that Leibniz’s monads were not actors, but only observers, and the only reason why anyone would say that one monad caused something in another was that they found in the first reasons for something happening in the second.
Feuerbach notes that because in Leibnizian philosophy every monad was a microcosm, monads had no need to affect one another. In other words, because a monad reflected all the other monads and especially its body and their respective changes, it could change its state instantly, say, from joy to sadness. Feuerbach therefore suggests that Leibniz’s monads were not actors, but only observers, and the only reason why anyone would say that one monad caused something in another was that they found in the first reasons for something happening in the second.
Just like two monads, a monad (soul) and a group of monads (body) could not affect one another, but just changed their states in harmony. Leibniz explained that this correspondence was caused by a pre-established harmony. Although Leibniz was particularly fond of this idea, Feuerbach considers it misleading, because it suggests that harmony would be based on nothing else but an unreasoning and arbitrary act of will by a being external to monads. Such an act, Feuerbach insists, would ground the harmony of monads to a mere miracle, although its true reason in Leibnizian system should be the nature of the monad as representing everything and especially its body. In effect, Feuerbach claims, the notion of pre-established harmony was a return to occasionalism that emphasised the difference of soul and body and made their correspondence a miracle. The main fault Feuerbach sees in the notion of pre-established harmony is that it contradicts the supposed independence of monads.
Feuerbach also points out a similar problem concerning the originator of monads. On the one hand, Leibniz appeared to have said that the individual monads were emanations from God as the original monad, which should thus be nothing but the truth behind the individual monads. On the other hand, Leibniz also seemed to speak of God as something distinct from concrete monads and thus completely unlike them or a mere abstraction. Leibniz’s most famous work, Theodicy, tried to sort the notion of God, but in the eyes of Feuerbach, it managed merely to confuse things more. In that book, Leibniz tried to give a philosophically respectable account of God, but at once applied also theological notions, like God’s wisdom and goodness.
For theology, Feuerbach explains, God is a being just like us, but just way more powerful: God of a theologian lives outside us and thus in some place and is therefore finite. For the theologian, God is infinite only in being free and separate from the world and in having purely arbitrary capacity to choose what is good and righteous. For philosophy, Feuerbach insists, world is a necessary product of God, while for theology, the world is a contingent creation of God. Feuerbach explains this distinction further by saying that theology takes the practical standpoint of will and philosophy the theoretical standpoint of reason. Practical standpoint belongs to a living, contingent individual, while the theoretical standpoint is something that an individual requires great effort to reach. In theory, Feuerbach continues, we regard an object objectively or for the sake of the object itself, while in practice, we regard it subjectively or for our own sake.
Feuerbach also points out a similar problem concerning the originator of monads. On the one hand, Leibniz appeared to have said that the individual monads were emanations from God as the original monad, which should thus be nothing but the truth behind the individual monads. On the other hand, Leibniz also seemed to speak of God as something distinct from concrete monads and thus completely unlike them or a mere abstraction. Leibniz’s most famous work, Theodicy, tried to sort the notion of God, but in the eyes of Feuerbach, it managed merely to confuse things more. In that book, Leibniz tried to give a philosophically respectable account of God, but at once applied also theological notions, like God’s wisdom and goodness.
For theology, Feuerbach explains, God is a being just like us, but just way more powerful: God of a theologian lives outside us and thus in some place and is therefore finite. For the theologian, God is infinite only in being free and separate from the world and in having purely arbitrary capacity to choose what is good and righteous. For philosophy, Feuerbach insists, world is a necessary product of God, while for theology, the world is a contingent creation of God. Feuerbach explains this distinction further by saying that theology takes the practical standpoint of will and philosophy the theoretical standpoint of reason. Practical standpoint belongs to a living, contingent individual, while the theoretical standpoint is something that an individual requires great effort to reach. In theory, Feuerbach continues, we regard an object objectively or for the sake of the object itself, while in practice, we regard it subjectively or for our own sake.
As belonging to the theoretical standpoint, philosophy tries to learn the essence of all things and to perceive the infinite as infinite, while religion, belonging to the practical standpoint, perceives infinite from the standpoint of finite – in other words, it perceives God in its relation to humanity. Theology then makes the norm of religion into the norm of knowledge and turns God into a personal being. A true mediation of philosophy and theology, Feuerbach thinks, would recognise their differing viewpoints by showing that theology regards God practically as goodness, but trying to combine these two conflicting standpoints would lead to mere ridiculous monstrosities.
Feuerbach sees Leibnizian theodicy as an example of such a monstrosity. Leibniz started from theological properties of God, like righteousness, and restricted them through reason. Thus he created as an amalgamation of the concept of necessary (what the essence of the world is for reason) and the concept of contingent (what the existence of the world is for religion) the concept of moral necessity, and then announced that the world, as created by God, was morally, but not metaphysically necessary. A further monstrosity, Feuerbach notes, lies in the fact that Leibnizian God appeared to be just a name for the intrinsic ordering of monads, realising their inner possibilities of connection, but also an external power apart from monads.
Moving to the topic of self-conscious souls or monads, Feuerbach states that Leibniz started from the Cartesian viewpoint, believing in innate principles, such as the principle of contradiction and the principle of sufficient reason, and therefore opposed Lockean empiricism. Feuerbach notes that Locke had been correct, if innate principles were regarded in a literal sense, as principles readymade in the human mind, but Leibniz was correct in the sense that they should be regarded as necessary potentials of self-consciousness. In the Lockean sense, Feuerbach continues, nothing is innate to our mind, except a hunger to fill our mind, yet, even this hunger already presupposes that the mind can be filled with something and has thus some innate capacities. Empiricism does not recognise this truth and thinks it can derive all knowledge from sensations. Yet, Feuerbach retorts, the possibility of sensation is already one capacity of consciousness and thus a form of thinking, although not yet self-conscious thinking. Furthermore, he continues, although humans do sense, they also have a theoretical capacity to use senses as means for thinking.
Feuerbach sees Leibnizian theodicy as an example of such a monstrosity. Leibniz started from theological properties of God, like righteousness, and restricted them through reason. Thus he created as an amalgamation of the concept of necessary (what the essence of the world is for reason) and the concept of contingent (what the existence of the world is for religion) the concept of moral necessity, and then announced that the world, as created by God, was morally, but not metaphysically necessary. A further monstrosity, Feuerbach notes, lies in the fact that Leibnizian God appeared to be just a name for the intrinsic ordering of monads, realising their inner possibilities of connection, but also an external power apart from monads.
Moving to the topic of self-conscious souls or monads, Feuerbach states that Leibniz started from the Cartesian viewpoint, believing in innate principles, such as the principle of contradiction and the principle of sufficient reason, and therefore opposed Lockean empiricism. Feuerbach notes that Locke had been correct, if innate principles were regarded in a literal sense, as principles readymade in the human mind, but Leibniz was correct in the sense that they should be regarded as necessary potentials of self-consciousness. In the Lockean sense, Feuerbach continues, nothing is innate to our mind, except a hunger to fill our mind, yet, even this hunger already presupposes that the mind can be filled with something and has thus some innate capacities. Empiricism does not recognise this truth and thinks it can derive all knowledge from sensations. Yet, Feuerbach retorts, the possibility of sensation is already one capacity of consciousness and thus a form of thinking, although not yet self-conscious thinking. Furthermore, he continues, although humans do sense, they also have a theoretical capacity to use senses as means for thinking.
Feuerbach does congratulate empiricism for emphasising the role of ordinary consciousness and for freeing the human spirit from chains of superstition. Still, he emphasises, empiricism has forgotten its limits and made conditioned or empirical consciousness into unconditioned, while even Leibniz and after him Kant and Fichte had understood that self-thinking is essential to spirit.
In the concluding chapter of the book, Feuerbach characterises Leibnizian philosophy as idealism. Its basic idea was that soul was not a particular kind of substance, in addition to material substance, but that all existence was activity and thus soul-like, while matter was just something caused by limitation and differentiation of monads. Feuerbach immediately adds that there are many other kinds of idealism. Indeed, he believes that humankind has been idealistic from its very steps and that even materialism is really idealism: although materialism denies the existence of soul or spirit, the matter it speaks of is not an object of senses, but of thinking, and spirit can really think only of itself.
The historically first standpoint of idealism that Feuerbach mentions is poetic or anthropological idealism of the renaissance philosophers, where humans did not separate themselves from nature and saw life everywhere. The second standpoint after that Feuerbach calls the standpoint of reflection, where humans separated themselves from natural things, which they regarded as the other of spirit or as mere dead matter. The problem in this essentially Cartesian standpoint was the required mediation of the spirit and the matter.
The solution for this dualistic problem would be, Feuerbach says, finding differences and gradations in the spirit itself and taking this principle of self-distinction or representation as a link between the spirit and the world – this was essentially what Leibniz did, when he regarded monads as mirrors representing the universe. Feuerbach admits that materialists might take Leibnizian idealism as mere subjective idealism, which would try to look at nature through human lenses. Feuerbach answers the materialists by saying that other living beings beyond humans also have their own forms of representation and that even the seemingly inorganic nature truly might be an aggregate of organisms, although imperceptible ones, since we can observe small animals through a microscope.
Going further to deficiencies in the Leibnizian system, Feuerbach notes that it was still tainted by the dualism of his time. This dualism appeared firstly in the conflict between religion and philosophy. At the beginning of the modern time, Feuerbach says, philosophers restricted religion to their personal lives: true in philosopher’s life, he insists, is what has importance to others or their public writing, and thus the personal faith of thinkers like Descartes and Bacon is of no importance. Ultimately this estranged marriage of reason and faith could not last, but led to either antireligious attitude of freethinkers or to scepticism toward reason, combined with a devotion to faith, as exemplified e.g. by Pierre Bayle.
The solution for this dualistic problem would be, Feuerbach says, finding differences and gradations in the spirit itself and taking this principle of self-distinction or representation as a link between the spirit and the world – this was essentially what Leibniz did, when he regarded monads as mirrors representing the universe. Feuerbach admits that materialists might take Leibnizian idealism as mere subjective idealism, which would try to look at nature through human lenses. Feuerbach answers the materialists by saying that other living beings beyond humans also have their own forms of representation and that even the seemingly inorganic nature truly might be an aggregate of organisms, although imperceptible ones, since we can observe small animals through a microscope.
Going further to deficiencies in the Leibnizian system, Feuerbach notes that it was still tainted by the dualism of his time. This dualism appeared firstly in the conflict between religion and philosophy. At the beginning of the modern time, Feuerbach says, philosophers restricted religion to their personal lives: true in philosopher’s life, he insists, is what has importance to others or their public writing, and thus the personal faith of thinkers like Descartes and Bacon is of no importance. Ultimately this estranged marriage of reason and faith could not last, but led to either antireligious attitude of freethinkers or to scepticism toward reason, combined with a devotion to faith, as exemplified e.g. by Pierre Bayle.
Leibniz had to live during this time of strife and was therefore forced to divide his loyalty between reason and faith. A good example of the influence of theology, Feuerbach notes, is Leibniz’s idea of God as an all-powerful entity who can choose anything, not restricted even by reason or morality. Such an idea of God as a demonic, arbitrarily free decision maker was, on Feuerbach’s opinion, already vanquished by Spinoza, who purged divinity from all anthropomorphism, although in a very grey and lifeless manner. Leibniz, on the other hand, could do it only partially and thus remained like Tycho Brahe between two systems
Feuerbach continues that Leibniz lived also in a time of dualism of spirit and matter, which inevitably led to mechanistic understanding of nature. Indeed, Leibniz himself was a mechanistic thinker and said that even the soul was another kind of mechanism. Furthermore, he related soul as a simple substance to body as a complex substance in a mechanistic manner: he regarded them as two distinct and separate entities so that the material world works with its own laws, without any sign of soulfulness. Leibniz did explain, Feuerbach admits, that the material world was just a phenomenon or appearance of monads, but like mechanistic atoms, monads were completely separate and in no intrinsic manner connected to one another. Although Feuerbach considers it good that Leibniz did this separation in order to emphasise that soul is always active and never controllable by external forces, Feuerbach thinks it was a failing on Leibniz’s part that he did not see that spirit could be described elastic in the sense that it retains its independence when and even because it interacts with others.
Feuerbach continues that Leibniz lived also in a time of dualism of spirit and matter, which inevitably led to mechanistic understanding of nature. Indeed, Leibniz himself was a mechanistic thinker and said that even the soul was another kind of mechanism. Furthermore, he related soul as a simple substance to body as a complex substance in a mechanistic manner: he regarded them as two distinct and separate entities so that the material world works with its own laws, without any sign of soulfulness. Leibniz did explain, Feuerbach admits, that the material world was just a phenomenon or appearance of monads, but like mechanistic atoms, monads were completely separate and in no intrinsic manner connected to one another. Although Feuerbach considers it good that Leibniz did this separation in order to emphasise that soul is always active and never controllable by external forces, Feuerbach thinks it was a failing on Leibniz’s part that he did not see that spirit could be described elastic in the sense that it retains its independence when and even because it interacts with others.
Continuing with this criticism from another angle, Feuerbach notes that the universe does not just individualise and distinguish, like monads were individualised in the Leibnizian systems, but also connects things. Indeed, he immediately adds, paradoxically, the more individualised objects are, the more similar and indistinct they seem: all water drops look the same. Thus, he finally concludes, it was necessary to move away from Leibnizian polytheism to transcendental idealism, where individual quirks of monads or souls were subjugated to more general ideals of morality.
