The last time we met Göschel, he was busy defending Hegelian philosophy against the reinterpretation of a single philosopher, but now we see him arguing for Hegel against all his contemporaries in the work Hegel und seine Zeit, mit Rücksicht auf Goethe. The look toward Goethe mentioned in the title refers to Göschel’s belief that Goethe and Hegel were essentially on the same side in this battle, Indeed, at various points of the work, Göschel quotes Goethe’s poems, to indicate correspondences with Hegelian and Goethean ideas. Even more, Göschel begins with a description of Goethe’s take on Leibnizian monadology – we are a collection of monads, soul being a central monad, ruling over a body made out of other monads, and after our death, the monads disperse, only to come together during resurrection, only with more heightened awareness – just to make the fancy remark that the two recently deceased philosophers must now be conversing in a heaven of monads, waiting for their return to the world of living.
The main text of the work is dedicated to describing the relations between Hegelian philosophy – or as Göschel prefers to call it most of the time, speculative philosophy – and the contemporary culture of the times. He begins with what he calls Umsicht – literally, a look from outside. In other words, he is interested in what the contemporaries who are not Hegelians think of Hegelian philosophy.
Göschel begins from the end of Hegel’s philosophical system or religion (one could point out that Hegel continues with philosophy after religion, but Göschel may be betraying his interests here somewhat). He notes that Hegelianism sits squarely in the middle between two major factions in the philosophy of religion: rationalism, which emphasises the role of reason in deciding what to believe, and supernaturalism, which endorses divine revelation as the foundation of religious certainty. Just like rationalism, Göschel says, Hegelian philosophy thinks that reason should be used as the “form” or method for studying religion by the subject, while the content or object of this method Hegel takes to agree in its essentials with Lutheranism, just like supernaturalists state.
Göschel thinks the position he describes as Hegelian is reasonable, if we just assume that the two sides – the investigating subject or individual human reason and the investigated object or divine revelation – are in a sense identical or connected to one another, even when they are seen as different. More particularly, Göschel adds, we should, firstly, assume that both these opposites have their worth, secondly, admit that this coexistence involves some contradiction or tension between the two poles, and finally, solve this tension by noting that opposites share something in common – human reason agrees with divine revelation, since the latter is also caused by reason, just that of divinity. Göschel at once points out that this mediating stance doesn’t still satisfy the extremes, which question the justifiability of the other extreme, but not of themselves: for rationalists, Hegelian philosophy of religion appears irrational in accepting orthodox dogmas, while for supernaturalists, it seems blasphemous in subjugating Bible to standards of human reason.
Göshcel considers similarly contemporary evaluations of other parts of Hegelian system (more particularly, he goes through it in reverse, continuing from philosophy of religion to philosophy of state, then to philosophy of religion, philosophy of nature, particularly medicine, and mathematics, ending finally with what philologists, historians and other philosophers have to say about Hegelianism), but his main point is clear from the first example. Hegelian philosophy often takes a mediating position between two extreme positions, of which one usually corresponds to subjective, human reason ready for revolution, while the other extreme then corresponds to objective, divine reason upholding traditions. Hegelianism solves the seeming contradiction of these two positions by noting their interconnectedness and essential unity, leading it to endorse moderation between radicalism and conservatism, which just makes the extreme positions reject this middle stance.
From different standpoints, Göschel concludes, Hegel’s system could be taken as too eclectic – in combining all systems – or too exclusive – as taking itself as the final truth; too poetic and mystic – as upholding contradictions as truth – or as too pedantic and scholastic – as using hierarchic classifications; as too realistic – as dealing only with the world around us – or as too idealistic – as seeing material world as a mere appearance of reason; as too pantheistic – as seeing God everywhere – or as too atheistic – as seeing God nowhere.
After this look from outside, Göschel moves to Einsicht or a look inside the Hegelian system. As we noted in the previous post about him, Göschel knows his Hegelian liturgy. He also shares some basic faults common to many so-called Hegelians. Thus, after quite correctly insisting that Hegel wants to develop the basic structures of his philosophy from a standpoint where we abstract from everything given – indeed, he wants to begin from nothing definite at all – but then when the truly interesting question how this development occurs at crucial points of the system is presented, Göschel merely answers with the general consideration that it happens “by immanent negation”, which in Hegelese really says nothing more than “by finding out how the matter at hand shows how to arrive at the next step”.
Göschel even makes the comparison – even if not outright identification – of the supposed steps of Hegelian method with the trivison of thesis, antithesis and synthesis at the beginning of the first version of Fichtean Wissenschaftslehre. In this often criticised comparison that loses the distinctness of Hegelian philosophy, Göschel also errs in not noting that this Fichtean trivision is rather different in holding the thesis (positing of an existing I) as higher than the two others, because in its pure form it describes what an absolute or divine I would be like, while the antithesis (positing I against not-I) describes the standpoint of human I and the resulting synthesis (I and not-I being divisible and thus able to share the consciousness of I) just tries to explain how the human standpoint could be possible from the standpoint of divine consciousness.
Moving back to his take on Hegelianism, Göschel makes the very common error of immediately assuming that the supposed three steps in Hegel’s method (abstraction of pure starting point, “negation” or development of new structures out of the first and “second negation” or consideration of this string of structures as forming a unified system) agree literally with the various trivisions of Hegel’s system. This assumption makes then possible to just ignore the question how the individual transitions in Hegel’s system work, although Göschel does at one place admit that the trivisions might sometimes appear arbitrary (no wonder, as Hegel himself reworked them from time to time and suggested they were more to help the reader than anything else).
We need not thus go in any detail to Göschel’s reconstruction of Hegelian logic, which is really just a summary of its table of contents. We can therefore skip at once to his peculiar understanding of its end, where Göschel outright assumes that the absolute idea concluding the book simply is God, not in any metaphorical sense, but as the same personality as described by orthodox Lutheranism. The development of pure thinking in Hegelian philosophy should then end with faith in the certainty of a personal God, who unites e.g. subject and object or infinite and finite by showing that the former has the power to “overreach” into the latter – in other words, to be the controlling and even creating principle in their organic fusion.
Göschel then continues to summarise the Hegelian philosophy of the concrete, or as Göschel emphasises, created nature and created spirit (we could say, humanity), which we for the just mentioned reason can also skip and jump into his take on absolute spirit. The final point of Göschel’s interpretation is that nature and humanity are not independent, but exist merely in relation to absolute spirit, which is then again God, but as related to their creations. The structures of logic were supposedly just developments of divine thought, which then in the concrete world appear as distinct and seemingly independent entities. World is thus, in a sense, fuller than logic, but it also mirrors the latter’s structure, showing analogies between different levels of the natural and the human world.
Another major point in the latter part of Hegel’s philosophy, according to Göschel, is that it shows the divine to be present in the here and now of the world we are living: just like theology said, God is omnipresent. Furthermore, Göschel adds, it also shows that these individual heres and nows form a larger continuity, where individuals unite into an organic whole.
Finally, Göschel presents as mediating between the Umsicht and the Einsicht the Aussicht – literally, a look toward the outside. In other words, he wants to deal with various problems that hinder the contemporary reader from understanding Hegelian philosophy, as he understands it. The central obstacle, he thinks, is our natural thinking, which as natural is still moored in some immediate presuppositions, which the absolute thinking has learned to put aside. Göschel admits this change of standpoint is difficult, since it involves us resisting the stubborn independence of concrete individuals in order that we can recognise that the light of reason is able to penetrate the essence of all things.
A particularly interesting shape of this stubborn attitude is found in the objection that what is actual seems not always reasonable, especially when this actual is evil and sinful. Göschel can quite correctly point out that this objection involves just a misunderstanding of Hegelian terminology. Actual does not mean for Hegel just anything that exists, but only the lawlike structures upholding what exists. Evil and sin, on the other hand, are mere existences, which may or may not appear – they are contingent. Then again, Göschel adds with conviction, such non-actual or contingent existences are then bound to be destroyed by the divine necessity and thus evil and sin are fated to find their retribution.
Quite characteristic is also Göschel’s answer to the question whether the absolute idea and the absolute spirit are just symbolic names for what is human. Göschel affirms this, but with a twist: it is not just any individual human Hegel is talking about, but the universal humanity embodied in Christ. Thus, he continues, while Father of the Christian Trinity is the exemplary infinite, Christ is the exemplary finite, in whose image the individual humans are then created. With this move Göschel reveals his cards: the Hegelian system is just a cover for quite a literal understanding of Christianity.
tiistai 16. tammikuuta 2024
keskiviikko 3. tammikuuta 2024
Ludwig Feuerbach: Pierre Bayle. Article on history of philosophy and humanity (1839)
While Leibniz was a natural continuation of Feuerbach’s work on the history of philosophy, Pierre Bayle seems an odd choice. Indeed, Feuerbach himself finally concludes his Pierre Bayle. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Philosophie und Menschheit by noting that Bayle never really brought anything positive to philosophy, and indeed, failed to understand the worth of thinkers like Spinoza, confusing in his criticism of latter the level of sense individuals with the level of one substance behind these individuals.
Yet, what was of worth in Bayle’s writings, Feuerbach says, is the contradiction of faith and reason – a question which appears to haunt Feuerbach himself more and more in his writings. Feuerbach begins again from the consideration of Christianity, which he sees as characterised by dualism. True, Feuerbach admits, the pre-Christian culture did also speak of oppositions, but only of natural oppositions, while Christianity added to these certain metaphysical dualisms, like that of God and world, of heaven and earth, of spirit and flesh and of faith and reason, all of which were externally expressed in the battle between the Church and the state.
Characteristic dualism in Catholicism, Feuerbach notes, was the opposition between sensuous flesh and supersensous spirit, where the latter was placed above the former. Thus, the highest virtue for the Catholic Church was not natural love, but unnatural chastity, and although the Church seemingly allowed marriage, the practice of the saints showed the true preference. Catholic artists, like Dante and Petrarca, appeared to value natural love as the highest shape in which heavenly can appear on earth, but, Feuerbach says, these artists were for Church mere adopted children in comparison to real children or saints. Even a Christian artist must do beautiful works that appeal also to non-Christians, because a true work of art belongs to no specific religion, but unites the whole humanity, and therefore religion is just an external covering to an artist. Thus, beautiful Catholic works of art are contrary to the very idea of Catholicism, and seeing sensual Madonnas pictured in cloisters just shows that monks were never truly able to leave their earthly lusts behind.
Just as the Catholic Church related to art, similarly it related to science, Feuerbach insists. True, Catholic monks did develop science, but this was opposed to the original spirit of Catholicism, which appreciated only devotional books. Scientific spirit contradicts Catholicism, Feuerbach thinks, and therefore it will either turn against Catholicism or be suppressed as mere means for spreading faith.
Protestantism rebelled against the practical contradiction of flesh and spirit, Feuerbach continues, but retained the theoretical opposition between faith and reason. Feuerbach thinks that the battle of the reformers against celibacy was not just based on the Bible, but the true reason justifying this turn was human understanding. Thus, Feuerbach finds it even more puzzling why Protestantism then turned against reason. A Catholic saint can at least cut away tempting organs – Feuerbach is probably referring to the famous rumour of Origen castrating himself – but a Protestant cannot cut away their reason.
It is this opposition of reason and faith that Feuerbach thinks is the most interesting aspect of Bayle. Feuerbach thinks it particularly poignant that Bayle was no professional theologian, since that showed him to start his criticism from a standpoint of freedom. Theology, Feuerbach states, thinks it has a monopoly over other sciences. The interest of theology is not to study anything scientifically, but to interpret and comment on the truth of faith. Doubts, on the other hand, are a sin for it and science is a mere means for the goal of faith. In other words, Feuerbach concludes, the spirit of theology is not the spirit of science, since science is universal for both Christians and non-Christians, while theology limits itself to the former.
When theology reigned, Feuerbach continues, other sciences were considered only as means for theology and subservient to it. Nature was studied for the sake of finding signs of God in nature and was thus regarded in a mechanical fashion as a mere external means for a goal. Thus, humans were forcefully turned toward heaven by theologians arguing teleologically from various phenomena of nature, and only Giordano Bruno and Spinoza understood that nature has its own reason. Theology, Feuerbach thinks, opposes science, because the main principle of theology is miracle and arbitrary will, which is opposed to reason as the principle of science. Thus, philosophy regards moral principles as laws of reason, while theology sees them as commands of God. More generally, theology derives everything from the will of God, while philosophy tries to explain it.
Feuerbach regards Bayle as an antitheologian and thus a person of reason. For instance, Bayle saw comets as natural phenomena and not as divine signs and argued for this by noting that by using comets as signs God would have just increased superstition, which Bayle regarded as worse than atheism. Indeed, Bayle went even so far as to note that atheists often lived better lives than Christians.
Bayle’s criticism, Feuerbach says, concerned religion as differing from morality and philosophy, in other words, positive religion like Catholicism that had solidified into a church and was limited by certain articles of faith. In such a positive religion the believer does not need to do anything else, but what its dogmas say to be sanctified (the official sacraments). Although Protestantism was a sort of liberation from Catholicism, it also became a positive religion. Thus, even Protestantism makes God into an object of devotion that demands service, while duties toward humans become subservient to this and filled only because so God is also served. Protestantism, Feuerbach concludes, binds itself to a specific time and place – church Sundays, when the priest is preaching – and religion becomes a mere custom one has to regularly follow.
Feuerbach thus agrees with Bayle that it is not the positive religion that has combined barbarians into society, but that humans have done it themselves, because of their conscience. Christians do not do good because they are Christians, but because they are humans. On the other hand, a bad person remains a bad person, even if Christianity would frighten him not to do bad things. Furthermore, paradoxically the belief in the dogma of the original evil in human nature just shows that the believer of this dogma does not believe themselves to be good.
Feuerbach notes that Bayle endorsed the independency of ethics from religion and criticised the habit of explaining away the immoralities of Biblical figures. Feuerbach regards Bayle’s endeavour to separate ethics from religion as noble. According to Feuerbach, it is foolish to try to ground ethics on the notion of God. True, one could try to base ethics on the idea of God as the epitome of goodness, but actually, it is not the goodness as the goodness of God that is here important, but merely goodness as such. Furthermore, Feuerbach continues, although the goodness of God might be in line with ethics, the notion of divine omnipotence contradicts the idea of goodness, since it is just a notion of a magical demon capable of anything. Indeed, he adds, even the devil seems capable of miracles, which then are just an unethical and immoral concept.
Scholastic theology could not do proper ethics, Feuerbach explains, since it founded everything on the will of God. Truly independent ethics didn’t appear, Feuerbach thinks, before the Kantian categorical imperative, which gave ethics a sacred and independent position. Feuerbach praises Fichte for raising ethics even further to an ideal that an empirical human being could never fully achieve, but still has to strive to for its own sake, while in comparison, a theologian does good only for the sake of God and paradise. If one does not do good for its own sake, one is merely seeking for one’s own interest and making good serve as a means for one’s pious goal, Feuerbach insists and adds that only ethics is the true religion and true love of God is the love of humanity.
According to Feuerbach, separation of ethics from theology shows most strikingly that spirit has broken away from theology. He thinks that Bayle expounded this contradiction especially in discussion with rationalists theologians, who thought that dogmas could not contradict reason. Against them, Bayle argued that especially original sin was an unreasonable dogma: the Biblical story of the fall of humankind makes God into a literal instigator of sin. Leibniz had argued against Bayle that God had other ends beyond human virtue (perhaps the preservation of certain plants, as the Bible story suggests), but Feuerbach thinks this justification is not available to the theological standpoint, which sees God working only for humanity. Leibniz and rational theologians objected also that divine goodness and justice meant no ordinary human goodness and justice, but Bayle could answer that they must still be recognisable as goodness and justice. Indeed, Bayle was only holding on to a philosophical ideal of good and just God, while the theologian’s God was very passionate and deceived humans into sin, although this God also wanted to retain the appearance of not doing so.
Bayle found dogmas of religion problematic, Feuerbach continues, not because they contradicted lower passions, but because they contradicted natural reason. While for an orthodox theologian reason was just a concubine, for Bayle it was a life companion. Feuerbach sees Bayle’s relation to faith as exhibiting a more general sign of his time: faith was not anymore natural, but felt as contradictory to reason or as a mere object, first of reflection, then of doubt and criticism and finally of denial.
Feuerbach notes that Descartes had particularly shared a similar idea of faith: both Descartes and Bayle knew objectively the contradiction of positive faith with reason, while their own faith was subjectively contradicting their reason. Descartes did not doubt his own faith, but just with this lack of doubt he showed that it contradicted the universal reason. Philosophy cannot exist, when assertions have to be just assumed as true, which Feuerbach thinks is true of Church dogmas. Thus, if Descartes had been a good Catholic, he would have just accepted dogmas and not thought of anything. Yet, as an instigator of modern philosophy he could not accept any determined fundament or limitation for thinking, but had to follow its own necessity.
Descartes, Feuerbach thinks, had based his philosophy on self-certainty, which is something completely antidogmatic. Positive effects of any philosophy, Feuerbach says, are not visible to the senses and do not limit to mere formal consequences, but to change of spirit. Cartesian philosophy especially taught us to think, Feuerbach insists, and to distinguish material from spiritual and to reduce study of nature to mechanism.
A particular point where Feuerbach sees Descartes contradicting the dogmas of Catholicism was his idea of body as characterised by extension. Feuerbach thinks that this notion of extension cannot be reconciled with the idea of transsubstantiation, where the same extension of bread supposedly changes its very substance into the flesh of Christ. By ignoring such dogmas, Feurbach notes, Cartesian thinking showed its lack of interest in matters of faith. Faith was thus not anymore based on self-consciousness, but was only an external addition or historical faith. Historical matters can be believed only historically, that is without any further justification, since while present facts we are forced to believe, historical facts of past lack this feeling of necessity and are something we must always doubt. Similarly, Feuerbach suggests, true faith in dogmatic facts could occur only when these facts were felt as a living part of human self-consciousness, while from Descartes onward such living faith was more and more just a thing of the past.
Feuerbach admits that there was still something making faith very much a living force at the time of Descartes, namely, the community of believers or the Church representing faith in the actual world. Because of the Church, faith was a universal opinion, while reason was in comparison a mere subjective opinion. Feuerbarch notes that Bayle also was a part of such a community, although in his case it was not Catholic, but Reformed church. Still, Feuerbach insists, Bayle’s faith was an act of self-denial: Bayle rejected reason in favour of historically grounded faith, or after placing doubts on dogmas he still leaped to faith.
Feuerbach sees Bayle as an intellectual ascetic, abstaining from the use of reason, but at the same time contradicting himself. For Feuerbach, Bayle was a sophist in defending faith. Feuerbach considers earthly satisfaction to be truly more divine than mere blind faith, which is just human invention. Indeed, Feuerbach says, even the believers understand this, because they think God is the most blessed and happiest of all beings, who does not require any faith at all, but knows everything with full clarity.
Although Feuerbach thus is ultimately let down by Bayle’s choice of faith over reason, he congratulates Bayle for his otherwise impartial polemics against all positive forms of religion. He is especially fond of Bayle’s criticism against all religious authority and particularly the Catholic reliance on the power of tradition. Bayle was correct, Feuerbach says, in rejecting the idea that the Church could force the conscience of individual people into believing something. Instead, Bayle demanded unlimited tolerance of all creeds, which Feuerbarch wholeheartedly agrees with: truth is tolerant, because it is always sure of itself.
Yet, what was of worth in Bayle’s writings, Feuerbach says, is the contradiction of faith and reason – a question which appears to haunt Feuerbach himself more and more in his writings. Feuerbach begins again from the consideration of Christianity, which he sees as characterised by dualism. True, Feuerbach admits, the pre-Christian culture did also speak of oppositions, but only of natural oppositions, while Christianity added to these certain metaphysical dualisms, like that of God and world, of heaven and earth, of spirit and flesh and of faith and reason, all of which were externally expressed in the battle between the Church and the state.
Characteristic dualism in Catholicism, Feuerbach notes, was the opposition between sensuous flesh and supersensous spirit, where the latter was placed above the former. Thus, the highest virtue for the Catholic Church was not natural love, but unnatural chastity, and although the Church seemingly allowed marriage, the practice of the saints showed the true preference. Catholic artists, like Dante and Petrarca, appeared to value natural love as the highest shape in which heavenly can appear on earth, but, Feuerbach says, these artists were for Church mere adopted children in comparison to real children or saints. Even a Christian artist must do beautiful works that appeal also to non-Christians, because a true work of art belongs to no specific religion, but unites the whole humanity, and therefore religion is just an external covering to an artist. Thus, beautiful Catholic works of art are contrary to the very idea of Catholicism, and seeing sensual Madonnas pictured in cloisters just shows that monks were never truly able to leave their earthly lusts behind.
Just as the Catholic Church related to art, similarly it related to science, Feuerbach insists. True, Catholic monks did develop science, but this was opposed to the original spirit of Catholicism, which appreciated only devotional books. Scientific spirit contradicts Catholicism, Feuerbach thinks, and therefore it will either turn against Catholicism or be suppressed as mere means for spreading faith.
Protestantism rebelled against the practical contradiction of flesh and spirit, Feuerbach continues, but retained the theoretical opposition between faith and reason. Feuerbach thinks that the battle of the reformers against celibacy was not just based on the Bible, but the true reason justifying this turn was human understanding. Thus, Feuerbach finds it even more puzzling why Protestantism then turned against reason. A Catholic saint can at least cut away tempting organs – Feuerbach is probably referring to the famous rumour of Origen castrating himself – but a Protestant cannot cut away their reason.
It is this opposition of reason and faith that Feuerbach thinks is the most interesting aspect of Bayle. Feuerbach thinks it particularly poignant that Bayle was no professional theologian, since that showed him to start his criticism from a standpoint of freedom. Theology, Feuerbach states, thinks it has a monopoly over other sciences. The interest of theology is not to study anything scientifically, but to interpret and comment on the truth of faith. Doubts, on the other hand, are a sin for it and science is a mere means for the goal of faith. In other words, Feuerbach concludes, the spirit of theology is not the spirit of science, since science is universal for both Christians and non-Christians, while theology limits itself to the former.
When theology reigned, Feuerbach continues, other sciences were considered only as means for theology and subservient to it. Nature was studied for the sake of finding signs of God in nature and was thus regarded in a mechanical fashion as a mere external means for a goal. Thus, humans were forcefully turned toward heaven by theologians arguing teleologically from various phenomena of nature, and only Giordano Bruno and Spinoza understood that nature has its own reason. Theology, Feuerbach thinks, opposes science, because the main principle of theology is miracle and arbitrary will, which is opposed to reason as the principle of science. Thus, philosophy regards moral principles as laws of reason, while theology sees them as commands of God. More generally, theology derives everything from the will of God, while philosophy tries to explain it.
Feuerbach regards Bayle as an antitheologian and thus a person of reason. For instance, Bayle saw comets as natural phenomena and not as divine signs and argued for this by noting that by using comets as signs God would have just increased superstition, which Bayle regarded as worse than atheism. Indeed, Bayle went even so far as to note that atheists often lived better lives than Christians.
Bayle’s criticism, Feuerbach says, concerned religion as differing from morality and philosophy, in other words, positive religion like Catholicism that had solidified into a church and was limited by certain articles of faith. In such a positive religion the believer does not need to do anything else, but what its dogmas say to be sanctified (the official sacraments). Although Protestantism was a sort of liberation from Catholicism, it also became a positive religion. Thus, even Protestantism makes God into an object of devotion that demands service, while duties toward humans become subservient to this and filled only because so God is also served. Protestantism, Feuerbach concludes, binds itself to a specific time and place – church Sundays, when the priest is preaching – and religion becomes a mere custom one has to regularly follow.
Feuerbach thus agrees with Bayle that it is not the positive religion that has combined barbarians into society, but that humans have done it themselves, because of their conscience. Christians do not do good because they are Christians, but because they are humans. On the other hand, a bad person remains a bad person, even if Christianity would frighten him not to do bad things. Furthermore, paradoxically the belief in the dogma of the original evil in human nature just shows that the believer of this dogma does not believe themselves to be good.
Feuerbach notes that Bayle endorsed the independency of ethics from religion and criticised the habit of explaining away the immoralities of Biblical figures. Feuerbach regards Bayle’s endeavour to separate ethics from religion as noble. According to Feuerbach, it is foolish to try to ground ethics on the notion of God. True, one could try to base ethics on the idea of God as the epitome of goodness, but actually, it is not the goodness as the goodness of God that is here important, but merely goodness as such. Furthermore, Feuerbach continues, although the goodness of God might be in line with ethics, the notion of divine omnipotence contradicts the idea of goodness, since it is just a notion of a magical demon capable of anything. Indeed, he adds, even the devil seems capable of miracles, which then are just an unethical and immoral concept.
Scholastic theology could not do proper ethics, Feuerbach explains, since it founded everything on the will of God. Truly independent ethics didn’t appear, Feuerbach thinks, before the Kantian categorical imperative, which gave ethics a sacred and independent position. Feuerbach praises Fichte for raising ethics even further to an ideal that an empirical human being could never fully achieve, but still has to strive to for its own sake, while in comparison, a theologian does good only for the sake of God and paradise. If one does not do good for its own sake, one is merely seeking for one’s own interest and making good serve as a means for one’s pious goal, Feuerbach insists and adds that only ethics is the true religion and true love of God is the love of humanity.
According to Feuerbach, separation of ethics from theology shows most strikingly that spirit has broken away from theology. He thinks that Bayle expounded this contradiction especially in discussion with rationalists theologians, who thought that dogmas could not contradict reason. Against them, Bayle argued that especially original sin was an unreasonable dogma: the Biblical story of the fall of humankind makes God into a literal instigator of sin. Leibniz had argued against Bayle that God had other ends beyond human virtue (perhaps the preservation of certain plants, as the Bible story suggests), but Feuerbach thinks this justification is not available to the theological standpoint, which sees God working only for humanity. Leibniz and rational theologians objected also that divine goodness and justice meant no ordinary human goodness and justice, but Bayle could answer that they must still be recognisable as goodness and justice. Indeed, Bayle was only holding on to a philosophical ideal of good and just God, while the theologian’s God was very passionate and deceived humans into sin, although this God also wanted to retain the appearance of not doing so.
Bayle found dogmas of religion problematic, Feuerbach continues, not because they contradicted lower passions, but because they contradicted natural reason. While for an orthodox theologian reason was just a concubine, for Bayle it was a life companion. Feuerbach sees Bayle’s relation to faith as exhibiting a more general sign of his time: faith was not anymore natural, but felt as contradictory to reason or as a mere object, first of reflection, then of doubt and criticism and finally of denial.
Feuerbach notes that Descartes had particularly shared a similar idea of faith: both Descartes and Bayle knew objectively the contradiction of positive faith with reason, while their own faith was subjectively contradicting their reason. Descartes did not doubt his own faith, but just with this lack of doubt he showed that it contradicted the universal reason. Philosophy cannot exist, when assertions have to be just assumed as true, which Feuerbach thinks is true of Church dogmas. Thus, if Descartes had been a good Catholic, he would have just accepted dogmas and not thought of anything. Yet, as an instigator of modern philosophy he could not accept any determined fundament or limitation for thinking, but had to follow its own necessity.
Descartes, Feuerbach thinks, had based his philosophy on self-certainty, which is something completely antidogmatic. Positive effects of any philosophy, Feuerbach says, are not visible to the senses and do not limit to mere formal consequences, but to change of spirit. Cartesian philosophy especially taught us to think, Feuerbach insists, and to distinguish material from spiritual and to reduce study of nature to mechanism.
A particular point where Feuerbach sees Descartes contradicting the dogmas of Catholicism was his idea of body as characterised by extension. Feuerbach thinks that this notion of extension cannot be reconciled with the idea of transsubstantiation, where the same extension of bread supposedly changes its very substance into the flesh of Christ. By ignoring such dogmas, Feurbach notes, Cartesian thinking showed its lack of interest in matters of faith. Faith was thus not anymore based on self-consciousness, but was only an external addition or historical faith. Historical matters can be believed only historically, that is without any further justification, since while present facts we are forced to believe, historical facts of past lack this feeling of necessity and are something we must always doubt. Similarly, Feuerbach suggests, true faith in dogmatic facts could occur only when these facts were felt as a living part of human self-consciousness, while from Descartes onward such living faith was more and more just a thing of the past.
Feuerbach admits that there was still something making faith very much a living force at the time of Descartes, namely, the community of believers or the Church representing faith in the actual world. Because of the Church, faith was a universal opinion, while reason was in comparison a mere subjective opinion. Feuerbarch notes that Bayle also was a part of such a community, although in his case it was not Catholic, but Reformed church. Still, Feuerbach insists, Bayle’s faith was an act of self-denial: Bayle rejected reason in favour of historically grounded faith, or after placing doubts on dogmas he still leaped to faith.
Feuerbach sees Bayle as an intellectual ascetic, abstaining from the use of reason, but at the same time contradicting himself. For Feuerbach, Bayle was a sophist in defending faith. Feuerbach considers earthly satisfaction to be truly more divine than mere blind faith, which is just human invention. Indeed, Feuerbach says, even the believers understand this, because they think God is the most blessed and happiest of all beings, who does not require any faith at all, but knows everything with full clarity.
Although Feuerbach thus is ultimately let down by Bayle’s choice of faith over reason, he congratulates Bayle for his otherwise impartial polemics against all positive forms of religion. He is especially fond of Bayle’s criticism against all religious authority and particularly the Catholic reliance on the power of tradition. Bayle was correct, Feuerbach says, in rejecting the idea that the Church could force the conscience of individual people into believing something. Instead, Bayle demanded unlimited tolerance of all creeds, which Feuerbarch wholeheartedly agrees with: truth is tolerant, because it is always sure of itself.
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