Auguste Comte: Course of positive philosophy 2 – Sound, light and electricity

With little to no explanation, Comte places acoustics as the next physical discipline after thermology. Indeed, one might even doubt if acoustics deserves a place on the list, because it seems more of an applied science, which Comte has usually excluded from his account of abstract physics. Yet, what he conceives as the topic of acoustics is not so much sound, but all vibrations. This topic has been studied positively, Comte thinks, at least as long as weight, although it is far less known. It seems that it is only the highly intricate mathematical analysis of heat by Fourier that has given reason for Comte to put thermology before acoustics.

Comte sees the importance of acoustics in that sonorous vibrations have revealed – and might be the only method to reveal – the internal molecular structure on inorganic bodies. Thus, he insists, it is through these vibrations that we know the inorganic bodies can acquire dispositions, just like living things. Acoustics is also important for physiology, Comte thinks, for the study of hearing and vocalisation, excluding what happens in nerves and brains. Yet, he emphasises, the study of these phenomena should not be left to physicists, who do not understand the peculiarities of physiology.

According to Comte acoustics is, after barology, physical science using mathematics most. It investigates, he explains, minute molecular oscillations near a state of equilibrium, where perturbation of the order is immediately followed by a return to the original state. Now, since these oscillations can be transmitted through an elastic medium, like waves on water, acoustics become an application of mechanics. Still, Comte notes, acoustics is far more difficult to study than barology, since it requires much more complicated mathematical tools: for instance, we can calculate only movement of vibrations in one dimension, but not in three dimensions. Even so, he assures the reader mathematical theory gives at least guidance for finding approximations and allows use of analogies in calculations.

Comte divides acoustics into three different topics, although he mentions also fourth, the timbre of each peculiar body, but then quickly discards it, because it is more a part of concrete physics. The first topic of acoustic proper, according to Comte, is the propagation of the sound. He notes that the velocity of the sound in air is known, but propagation in other substances or such intricate questions like the behaviour of echo have not been studied conclusively.

The second topic of acoustics would be the intensity of the sound. Yet, Comte thinks, we have not advanced much beyond what we know by common observation, the only fact he considers scientific being the effect of the density of the atmosphere on the intensity. The main reason for this poor state, according to him, is that we have not yet been able to measure this intensity.

The most satisfying part of acoustics, for Comte, are the laws regulating the musical tones. Yet, even here he sees insufficiency, since only the one-dimensional case has been studied, while the behaviour of a full three-dimensional instrument has not yet been investigated.

In an even worse condition Comte sees optics, which he regards as being plagued by the two hypotheses about the nature of light, whether it is supposed to be a material emission or a vibration. Comte thinks that both hypotheses try to reduce optics to a different science: emission theory to barology and vibration theory to acoustics. He is not enthusiastic about such an attempt to unify sciences: even physiology proves that vision is quite different from hearing and feeling weight and pressure. Since both hypotheses work as well, Comte suggests rejecting both of them and concentrating in a description of the laws governing optical phenomena.

Just like acoustics does not explain the physiological phenomena of hearing, Comte insists that optics does not explain vision. Furthemore, he thinks, optics – and indeed, no science – can explain the natural colours that different objects have: any explanation would be metaphysical and always more complicated to understand than what is to be explained. Somewhat ironically, Comte thinks it would be equally ridiculous to attempt to explain why different substances have different specific gravities of substances (periodic table had not yet been discovered).

Comte’s division of optics is quite traditional. First part should study direct light, and just like with acoustics, Comte mentions that we still have no tool for measuring the intensity of light. The second part is catoptrics that deals with reflection, while the third part, dioptrics, studies refraction, and the topic of the fourth part is diffraction. Beyond these general topics, Comte also mentions double refraction and polarisation as important particular issues.

The final physical discipline, in Comte’s opinion, is electrology. It is the most complex and thus had to be developed last, he explains, and due to this late blooming it is the least developed as science: although it has many curious facts, it still lacks laws to make the facts into a scientific system. Comte sees a clear sign of its unscientific nature in the abundance of hypotheses about various fluids that should explain electric phenomena. He thinks they are not as detrimental as in optics, since no true scientist takes them seriously and uses them as mere mnemonic devices. Still, Comte warns, they have had bad influence especially on physiology, where they have inspired such ridiculous notions as animal magnetism.

Since all bodies are not at all times electrical, the first topic investigated in electrology, Comte says, should be the investigation of methods to introduce bodies into an electric state. He also includes in this part the recognition and measurement of an electric state in a body. The second part of electrology, for Comte, is electrostatics, by which he means what he describes a state of an electric equilibrium: this part includes e.g. study of distribution of electrical state in a single body or in a set of contiguous bodies. The third part is then, naturally, electrodynamics, which studies movements generated by an electrical state, for instance, repulsions and attractions of two electrified bodies. Fourth part, finally, studies magnetism and its connection to electricity.

Auguste Comte: Course of positive philosophy 2 – Weight and heat

Comte begins his study of the concrete parts of physics from what he calls barology, that is, the study of terrestrial phenomena involving weight. He regards it as the most complete part of physics, because it is based on nothing more than observations and sound use of mathematics. Yet, he adds, barology has still been in a state of dispersed fragments, with Comte’s own account as the first attempt to unite them into a single doctrine.

Comte divides barology into two parts: static and dynamic barology. Static barology investigates the effects of weight with bodies in a state of equilibrium. In the case of solid bodies, Comte notes, this investigation began already with the discovery of the Archimedian principle.

In the case of liquids, static barology, Comte thinks, did not begin until modern times. He divides this part of barology into two studies. First of them concerns the case of a small portion of liquid within a vessel: here Comte emphasises especially Stevin’s investigation of the pressure of liquid on the vessel. The second study concerns great amounts of liquid, like oceans, where we have to take into account that the direction of gravity varies significantly from one place to another. This study, Comte thinks, is intrinsically linked with the more astronomical questions of the shape of the Earth and of the theory of tides.

Static barology of gases, Comte continues, has the added difficulty of determining the weight of the gas in case. This was first made possible, he explains, by the invention of a method for creating vacuum, which allowed measuring the difference in the weight of a container with gas and without any gas at all. This discovery made it possible to apply methods of static barology of liquids to gases.

Comte notes that an important addition to static barology would be a study of capillary phenomena, especially as they are important to explaining organic processes. Unfortunately, he laments, this part of barology is still hindered by the metaphysical notion of attraction,

Dynamic barology, Comte states, should then investigate the involvement of weight in the movement of bodies. This investigation began, in his opinion, with Galileo’s study of freely falling bodies and curves of projectiles. Comte thinks that this part of barology is still far from perfect, since the laws governing air resistance are still not determined. Even more insufficient dynamic barology becomes, when we move from solid bodies to liquids and gases.

Heat, Comte suggests, is after gravity the most universal phenomena in physics. He backs up this claim with the statement that heat affects organic and inorganic nature as much as gravity, being the foremost agent acting against the effects of gravity. While gravity affects geometry and mechanics of bodies, Comte continues, heat affects the constitution of molecules and especially living organisms. Indeed, he continues, heat is the primary method by which humans affect nature. Thus, after barology, Comte concludes, thermology is the next part of physics.

Although the investigation of heat began around the time of Galileo with the invention of the thermometer, Comte notes, it was always many steps behind barology. The greatest difference between the two disciplines, according to him, was that while barology already investigated laws of weight, thermology still concentrated on metaphysical questions like the nature of fire. Comte still sees vestiges of metaphysics especially in the so-called caloric theory of heat, which assumes the existence of a fluid causing thermal phenomena.

Comte divides his account of thermology to physical and mathematical thermology, the former of which provides the basis for the latter. He then divides physical thermology into two parts, first of which studies interaction of bodies influencing their temperature, that is, warmer body warming the cooler and the cooler body cooling the warmer. He notes that there are two different cases of this interaction, in the first of which bodies radiate their heat and thus affect one another at distance, while in the other the bodies are in contact with one another.

The other part of physical thermology, Comte says, studies reversible changes in the physical constitution of the body through heat – thus, all chemical changes and inconvertible changes, like a body losing its elasticity due to heat, are excluded from this investigation. Such changes include changes in the volume of the body and changes between solid, liquid, and gaseous states of a substance. Comte also suggests the study of evaporation and hygrometry as an appendix to this part of thermology.

Comte singles out the mathematical study of thermology, because he thinks that it holds a unique position among the physical disciplines: barology and acoustics merely apply mechanics, while optics and electrology are still mired in the metaphysics of luminous and electric fluids. Comte refers especially to Fourier’s account of heat flux, the mathematical part of which he had already applauded in the first volume. Comte notes that Fourier’s work concerns only the first part of the physical thermology, that of transmission of heat, while the account of other physical changes involving heat still await their scientifically mathematical treatment. Comte also suggests the study of the global changes of temperatures as a more practical application of Fourier’s theory.

Auguste Comte: Course of positive philosophy 2 – Physics

Moving on from astronomy or the study of the large objects of our Solar System, Comte arrives at the study of objects on the surface of one of these large objects, namely, Earth. Within this study, he notes, it is easy to distinguish between the study of inorganic and organic objects, but it is difficult to note what distinguishes the two major parts of the former, namely, physics and chemistry.

Comte notes, firstly, that physics studies properties general to all matter, while chemistry studies only interactions of particular substances. Thus, weight, temperature, electricity and even acoustic and optic properties concern all bodies, and while magnetism seems to be an exception, Comte points out that it has been shown to be a mere type of electrical phenomena.

A further point of distinction Comte states is that physics studies masses, while chemistry studies molecules. He admits that this distinction is not completely general, since weight is also a property of molecules, and indeed, most physical phenomena are a result of molecular interactions, with the possible exception of acoustics and electricity. A more apt distinction, Comte suggests, is that in chemistry at least one of the interacting substances must be in a state of extreme division and fluidity, while such a division would hinder physical processes.

The final characteristic differentiating physics from chemistry, according to Comte, is that while in the former the arrangement of molecules may change, the nature of molecules themselves does not, although this happens all the time in chemistry. He admits this distinction is not rigid, since physical changes can sometimes result in chemical changes, where the molecules themselves change their nature. Still, Comte insists, even if all chemical phenomena would eventually be reduced to physical processes, the structural difference between the two disciplines would remain.

Having thus defined physics, Comte notes that it must follow astronomy in the hierarchy of sciences, since it is much more complex than the latter: while astronomy studied its objects only through vision and investigated only their form and motion, in physics we use all our senses. The complexity means, he adds, that physics is less perfect as a science, but admits more routes of investigation.

Indeed, while in astronomy we could only observe celestial objects and their movements, Comte notes, physics uses beside observationa also experimentation and is in fact a prime example of latter, since in physical studies we have the most possibility to put bodies in different circumstances. He thinks that physics outdoes even chemistry in this, since the latter allows only artificial experiments, while in physics we can also do experiments with bodies in their natural conditions.

Physics is not just less general than astronomy, but also presupposes the results of the latter, Comte thinks. Thus, in order to do physical investigations, we need to take into account various properties of the Earth itself – its shape, size and weight, for example – all of which are determined by astronomy.

Through astronomy, physics is connected to mathematics, Comte points out, but it also itself uses mathematics in its investigations: not as much as astronomy, but more than any other science. Sometimes physical investigations involve pure mathematical analysis, like in the study of heat, while in other cases they involve geometry and mechanics, like in the study of reflection and refraction. Comte suggests that physics gives an empirical foundation to pure mathematical speculations, while mathematics gives a rational structure to physics, which would otherwise be just a random collection of facts.

As has already been suggested by Comte, physics is a general study of Earthly matter and thus precedes sciences like chemistry and study of life. Indeed, he insists, these investigations presuppose the study of matter in general, and for instance, even living beings must follow the laws of physics.

Comte admits that astronomy as the study of the world and the study of life and human beings have been philosophically more inspiring than the intervening sciences. Still, he thinks that physics has its own interest as the current battlefield between properly scientific and metaphysical and theological theories. Thus, while astronomy is better at giving predictions and thus showing that we need not make supernatural assumptions, physics, according to Comte, is better at showing the human power to manipulate phenomena and thus alleviate any theological fears of e.g. lightning.

An important aspect of this role of physics as a battlefield is, Comte says, the use of hypotheses in it. Generally, he explains, scientific laws must be discovered either inductively from phenomena or deductively from more general laws. Yet, due to complexity of the phenomena investigated, we often cannot do induction or deduction straightaway, but we must assume some hypothesis as a preliminary explanation. Still, Comte insists, we should do so only if in setting up such a hypothesis we also suppose that we can at some point properly prove it through induction or deduction.

Now, Comte notes, current physics has often leaped over these restrictions of hypotheses and made conjectures about e.g. special fluids or matters explaining heat, light or electricity. Such fluids do not really explain anything, Comte says, and they even lack the properties inherent in all real matter, like weight. Yet, such unfounded conjectures are normal for a science that is on the verge of transitioning away from metaphysics to proper science: he points out the example of Cartesian vortices as an example familiar from astronomy.

Before moving on to the concrete parts of physics, Comte suggests an ordering of these parts, although he at once admits that it is still somewhat arbitrary and only the best in the current state of scientific development. The premier part of physics, he insists, should be the most general and the closest to astronomy: this is the characteristic of barology or the study of weight, since weight is the most general property of all matter and connected with the universal gravity of astronomy. Similarly, Comte notes, the last part of physics should be the least general and the most connected with chemistry, in other words, electrology or the study of electricity and magnetism, which are intrinsically linked with chemical processes and occur only in very special circumstances. Between these two extremes he places thermology, acoustics and optics. Of these, Comte suggests, thermology or the study of heat is the most general, while acoustics are more general than optics.

Auguste Comte: Course of positive philosophy 2 – Celestial mechanics

From celestial geometry Comte moves to celestial mechanics, which he, naturally, interprets as the application of mechanics – part of mathematics in his classification – to celestial objects. It is important for Comte that there is no essential difference between earthly and celestial mechanics: there is only the arbitrary fact that we can directly observe the trajectories of earthly objects – e.g. thrown projectiles – but the trajectories of celestial objects we must at first determine through geometrical means. Thus, after Kepler had found the laws of planetary movement, the next step was to merely use mechanics to explain them.

Of course, the application presupposed that mechanics had to be developed into a ripe enough state, which is the reason why Kepler himself couldn’t do it, but had to rely on metaphysical notions like attraction, Comte explains. The notion of attraction, he insists, suggests that there is some agent actively pulling things toward the Sun. The Newtonian word gravity, on the other hand, should describe an intrinsic property of all matter in the Solar System, whether in the Sun or anywhere else – even the earthly objects, like the projectiles, have their own gravity.

Comte thinks that Newtonian notion of gravity is essentially based on the observed phenomena, and he goes into great lengths showing how Newton derived this idea from e.g. Kepler’s laws of motions. Importantly, Comte restricts the use of this notion to what he calls the world – our own Solar System – since we do not, and he thinks, probably will not have enough evidence to determine whether the Newtonian theory applies generally in the wider universe.

Having established Newtonian theory of gravitation, Comte notes that the rest of celestial mechanics is just application of this theory to various celestial phenomena. He divides this application into two disciplines, celestial statistics and celestial mechanics. Celestial mechanics regards some celestial object as not moving and tries to determine, for instance, the mass or shape of it. Comte considers an important part of celestial statistics the explanation of tides, which he also thinks as providing a transition from astronomy to earthly physics.

Celestial mechanics, Comte continues, considers the planets as moving and is especially involved in explaining perturbations in the trajectories or rotations of planets, satellites and moons (he notes also that in principle we could also apply celestial mechanics to the Sun, since it moves slightly around the mass centre of the Solar System, but since we do not know the exact position of this centre, this would be an impossible task). Comte divides the perturbations into two classes: sudden changes that involve collisions or explosions and continuous effects of the gravitation of other objects.

An important conclusion Comte makes is that the gravitational effect of other stars and solar systems to our Solar System are so insignificant and always nullified by the effect of other solar systems that this “world” of ours is effectively independent of other potential solar systems. This effectively makes any what he calls sidereal astronomy an impossible discipline, except as regards observations of movements of binary stars or even clusters of several stars. Thus, Comte says, although usually the disciplines with more general subject matter determine the disciplines with more particular disciplines, in case of astronomy this rule breaks down, since we observe no effect the universe as a whole has on our own Solar System.

As a part of rejecting the sidereal astronomy, Comte denies the possibility of ever explaining where the stars have come from. On the contrary, he thinks that we can make reasonable, even if not completely proven conjectures about the generation of planets, satellites and comets within our own Solar System. Comte effectively assumes the Laplacian cosmogony, where the mass of our Sun originally extended to our whole Solar System, and in cooling down, broke down into masses that eventually developed into the system as it now exists, planets moving around the Sun and the satellites around their planets. Comte assumes that eventually the inobservably small, but necessarily existent resistance of the medium in which the planets float must slow the movement of the planets, which will mean their reabsorbment into the Sun. Thus, he concludes, the cosmogony again proves the independence of the Solar System, which has probably been varying between phases of a unified Sun and a diversified system innumerably many times before and will continue to do so no one knows how long.

Auguste Comte: Course of positive philosophy 2 – Celestial geometry

Although one would have assumed that celestial geometry concerns only such properties as the distance, figure and size of celestial objects, Comte defines these as only one class of phenomena in stellar geometry, namely, static phenomena. He spends considerable time explaining how astronomers can determine these static phenomena, that is, measure our distance from various stellar objects, recognise the figure of these objects, investigate their size and even note the density of their atmosphere. Comte also describes the history of attempts to determine the shape of the Earth, noting that even if there has always been room for making details more precise, this does not mean that the advance of science has been just replacing one error with another.

Comte is clearly more interested in the dynamic phenomena involving movement of celestial objects. He recounts in great detail the history of the discovery of Earth’s movement, both around its axis and around the Sun. What Comte finds philosophically interesting in this discovery is that it has forced us to abandon the theological idea of humans as the centre of the whole universe and also the teleological idea of planets moving for some purpose. This does not mean that astronomy has made the world meaningless, he soothes the reader, since through it we have found the lofty idea of humans as intelligences discovering the laws of the universe even from an insignificant vantage point.

A second important consequence of these discoveries is, Comte says, that we must distinguish the notions of world and universe. By world he means our region of universe, consisting of Earth and its nearby celestial objects – effectively, the Solar System. While people of earlier times could have thought that there is nothing beyond this world, modern astronomy must assume that the universe continues beyond our world, even if we cannot say anything certain about what happens beyond the confines of our world.

It is just to be expected that Comte still has much to say about the three laws of Kepler. He is especially keen to point out that Kepler had to overcome former mythological ideas, involving the notion of a circle as the perfect and thus the only suitable orbit for the supposedly divine stars. The great effect of these laws, Comte suggests, is that they allow us to make predictions about the orbits of planets, satellites and comets. Yet, he adds, even these laws are mere approximations of celestial mechanics – the topic of my next post.

Auguste Comte: Course of positive philosophy 2 (1835)

The second volume of Comte’s Cours de philosophie positive starts with the topic of astronomy. The position of this science is not arbitrary, since he thinks it to be the highest of all natural sciences. True, it is preceded by mathematics, because astronomy depends on geometry and mechanics, but these are more like methodology in comparison, while astronomy is the first science dealing with concrete objects.

Comte sees the importance of astronomy in its being the most perfect science. True, he admits, astronomy has its practical uses, for instance, in determining longitudes, but its premier importance lies in its purity from all theological and metaphysical considerations. Indeed, Comte suggests, astronomy frees us from all teleological considerations, since it shows that Earth is just one among planets and not the centre of the universe, with humans as the end of everything,

As a science, Comte says, it is not just a collection of facts about positions of stars, but its task is to determine laws, through which to predict these positions. Indeed, he adds, astronomy has been the only science that has reduced all the phenomena it describes into one law: gravity. It is thus, in a sense, the least complex of all concrete sciences.

The simplicity of astronomy, Comte suggests, is seen also in the fact that it has the least amount of methods it can use. We cannot do any astronomical experiments nor can we really compare our observations to analogical cases in other circumstances (no space travel yet in Comte’s time). The only methods available are then direct observation of celestial phenomena and mathematical calculations. Indeed, Comte adds, astronomy even uses proportionally more calculations than observations, being the most mathematical of concrete sciences.

Comte insists that astronomy is independent of all other concrete sciences. He does admit that an astronomer must know something about physics and even chemistry for the sake of perfecting their instruments and for making necessary corrections for such matters like refraction of the light of celestial objects. Yet, Comte insists, astronomy is independent in the sense that we have and even cannot have any idea of the chemical or mineralogical constitution of the stars and planets or even of their temperature (all of this, of course, has been proven wrong, since we nowadays do speak about these matters).

On the other hand, Comte suggests, facts of all the other concrete sciences depend on facts of astronomy. Even sociology depends on astronomy, he insists, because even a slight variation on the orbit of Earth would change our societies enormously (considering that Comte insists that all concrete sciences should have some empirical basis, he does jump to this conclusion rather quickly).

Since all physical and chemical considerations are removed from astronomy, we are left with merely geometrical and mechanical properties of celestial bodies. Thus, Comte quite naturally divides astronomy into celestial geometry, studying forms and sizes of celestial objects, and celestial mechanics, studying their motions and forces.

In addition to these two disciplines, Comte suggests that we can also divide astronomy into solar astronomy, studying only our solar system, and sidereal astronomy, studying all celestial objects. He also adds that we should restrict our attention to solar astronomy, since other solar systems do not really affect us.

Théodore Simon Jouffroy: Course of natural right – Theoretical views

After reviewing a number of alternative theories about goodness, Jouffroy is finally ready to share his own ideas about it and thus to give a firm foundation to the (unpublished )future course of natural law. He starts in a Kantian fashion, distinguishing the immutable form of moral judgements – the good in itself – from the particular matter or variable circumstances, to which this form is applied. This difference, Jouffroy explains, makes it possible that natural law is immutable, but still is a science where we can make progress: we can always find new circumstances, where we have to decide what is good in them.

Now, an important feature of good in the case of particular individuals is that the good in this question should be the end or purpose of these individuals, Jouffroy insists. He immediately adds that this is no tautology, since it gives us a method for determining in each particular case what is good. Different beings have different natures or they are organised differently, thus, Jouffroy concludes, they must have different ends, indicated by their natures.

Jouffroy argues that since all things have an end – as clear and evident truth as causality, he thinks – their sum must also have an end, which is determined by the ends of the individual beings. In other words, the universe has an order that is moving toward a unified end. This final end is the good in itself we have been looking for, Jouffroy insists. As free and intelligent beings, he adds, we can understand that the universe has such an end and we have the capacity to contribute to this end by fulfilling our own portion in this whole: thus, we are obligated to do so.

Jouffroy asks still further what makes this end of the universe good. He answers that really nothing outside it, because as a total good, beyond it there can be nothing more good. Thus, Jouffroy argues, this goodness must be absolute and based on something necessary, that is, God, who is the source of the goodness of the universe: in other words, God does not make goodness good, but goodness is as immutable as God’s own nature, and God merely makes the universe conform to this goodness. This relation to God, Jouffroy things, makes goodness sacred and connects natural law with religion.

Jouffroy admits that not all humans can understand this final ingredient of sacredness in the notion of good. Indeed, our very view of the final end of the universe is limited by our standpoint: we can know there must be such an end, but we cannot say in detail what this end is like. Yet, Jouffroy insists, we can at least know something about the end of things we know best, that is, human beings. He will not go through this end in detail – this would be the topic of the whole natural law – but merely gives a very summarised overview of it.

An important aspect of Jouffroy’s idea of the human end is that humans have been provided with means by which to strive for their end, even if they lacked the full understanding of morality. Thus, our natural instincts and self-interest are not necessarily in contradiction with our final end and even contribute toward it most of the time. We want to, for instance, know things and associate with other human beings, because knowledge and communities are parts of human destiny.

Jouffroy notes that we can clearly never fully realise our natural tendencies in this life, because, for example, absolute knowledge and harmonious society of all humans are something we haven’t been able to reach. He concludes that the end of humans must be found in another life, which in a very Kantian manner requires that we must live after our seeming deaths. The end of this life, Jouffroy thinks, is to develop our personality by providing obstacles that make us virtuous and worthy of happiness.

All free and intelligent beings or persons strive toward their end, hence, Jouffroy insists, we must respect them and let them fulfill their own destinies. Yet, he adds, there are beings that are not free nor intelligent, in other words, that are mere things. Such mere things cannot have obligations, because they lack the tools for fulfilling them. Even these things must have ends, Jouffroy thinks, but their end is fulfilled by God, who uses them as mere instruments. In Jouffroy’s opinion, we humans can also use them as instruments, without a fear of violating them, and if our end requires altering or even destroying them, we are allowed to do so (a pretext for killing animals).

Théodore Simon Jouffroy: Course of natural right – Defining good

We are getting closer to a point where Jouffroy should start describing his own theory about the nature of good. Thus, he explains, he will be quick in describing various attempts of giving a rationalist definition of what good is, since the proper measuring stone for these various theories is Jouffroy’s own notion of good.

Jouffroy begins with a British Enlightenment thinker, William Wollaston, who defined good as truth: we should act in accordance with truth, and for instance, breaking a contract is acting like it was never made. Jouffroy notes quickly that Wollaston’s definition is quite shallow: when we use arsenic to poison someone, we could be said to respect the truth that arsenic is poisonous, and while trying to use snow to warm oneself might be absurd, it certainly isn’t immoral.

Jouffroy is as quick with Samuel Clarke and Baron Montesquieu, who both defined good actions to be in conformity with the nature of things. With the exact same examples as with Wollaston, Jouffroy shows the absurdity of this definition: it is immoral, but in agreement with the nature of arsenic to use it for poisoning, and while it contradicts the nature of snow to use it for warming oneself, it certainly isn’t immoral to attempt doing it.

Jouffroy is more positive with the ideas of Nicholas Malebranche, who defined good in terms of the order of entities emanating from God: these emanations have different degrees of perfection, depending on how close to God they are, and loving things according to their perfection should make us closer to God and thus more perfect, earning more of the love of God for ourselves. Jouffroy thinks that Malebranche is close to truth, but his idea of perfection is too vague, making it too difficult to deduce exact duties from it. In effect, Jouffroy states, Malebranche was too much of a metaphysician and forgot humans when concentrating with God.

As for Christian Wolff, Jouffroy thinks his fault is the exact opposite from Malebranche, that is, Wolff wasn’t metaphysical enough. Like Malebranche, Wolff defined good through the notion of perfection, but Jouffroy finds it more lacking, since Wolff never explains why good is to be identified with perfection. Furthermore, Jouffroy continues, Wolff never gave a sufficient explanation what perfections meant in case of individual humans.

From Wolff, Jouffroy moves to his opponent, Christian Crusius. Against all Leibnizians, Crusius had emphasised God’s absolutely free will and defined good as what God wills. Jouffroy thinks that Crusius is not following the correct order, since not even divine will can make anything good. Otherwise, he insists, we could not have a clear criterion for recognising what is good.

Jouffroy is very quick with Richard Cumberland and Samuel Puffendorf. Both made the same mistake that they concentrated only on what is good in social relations of humans, ignoring the question of what is good for a human being in isolation from all other humans or what is good for a human in relation to God or to other non-human things. Jouffroy also disregards all systems that merely say that good is to e.g. follow the law of nature, since he considers such statements to be mere tautologies.

Jouffroy’s purpose for the whole book has been to discuss modern systems of ethics, ignoring all ethical theories of ancient philosophers. Yet, he makes an exception with Stoicism, for the simple reason that he considers Stoics to have been near to the truth about the matter.

The philosopher in the context of rationalist systems of ethics Jouffroy spends most time with is Immanuel Kant – he even goes through Kant’s ethics twice, just in somewhat different words, because he thinks it is important for his readers or listeners to have a clear understanding of Kan’t novel method. Jouffroy finds much to like with Kant, especially his criterion for deciding what to do and what not to do: true obligations must be such that every free and intelligent being in any circumstances could act accordingly. Despite this positive feedback, Jouffroy thinks Kant forgot the most important question of the whole of ethics, namely, what is good or what is the ultimate goal of human beings, leaving thus his own ethics incomplete.

Théodore Simon Jouffroy: Course of natural right – Indefinable good

Jouffroy thinks he has by now proven that good is not identifiable with happiness nor with any object of natural instinct. The only solution left, he states, is that good is an a priori concept reason, which is immediately connected with the notion of obligation: what is good ought to be searched for. The next question is to decide within this rationalist notion of good whether the concept of good is indefinable or whether it can be analysed further.

Jouffroy begins to investigate the first of these options. Just like with previous systems, he chooses a prominent example, who this time is Richard Price, a philosopher who reacted against the sentimentalist system of Francis Hutcheson. Jouffroy does admit that Price had predecessors (Ralph Cudworth) and successors (Thomas Reid and Dugald Stewart), but thinks that Price set the same idea up in more distinct terms.

Jouffroy notes that like all rationalists, Price rejected the notion that the concept of good could be derived by empirical means and thus concluded that it must be based on intuitive reason. Yet, Jouffroy thinks, Price makes a crucial error in not distinguishing two different notions of good: what is good in itself or absolutely, independent of human beings, and conformity of a voluntary action of a free intelligent being to this absolute good, which could be called virtue or moral good. Indeed, Price states that good is a quality belonging primarily only to actions, although, Jouffroy objects, actions wouldn’t be good without the absolute good.

The confusion makes Price accept an account of how we come to know good that is quite opposite to the way in which Jouffroy imagines the process works. According to Jouffroy, we must at first have at least an implicit concept of absolute good, which we then use to evaluate the goodness of actions. Price, on the other hand, thinks that we have an intuitive grasp of the goodness of actions, and we at most abstract a general notion of good from these individual intuitions of good actions. With Jouffroy’s account, he insists, we must at first be able to define what is good in itself, in order to recognise the goodness in actions, again in opposition to what Price thinks about good.

Jouffroy understands why Price adopted his theory in his historical context. The important element in this context, Jouffroy thinks, was Locke’s rejection of all ideas that were not derived from senses or reflective observation of oneself. When philosophers like Hutcheson tried to explain good in this Lockean framework, they assumed the existence of a new, moral sense, which perceived good and evil as simple qualities of action. When Price rejected the Lockean framework and took reason as another source of ideas, he still inherited the notion of good and evil as simple qualities of actions.

Jouffroy suggests that there are further reasons why Pricean theory seems natural. The things discovered by philosophy, he explains, are later just assumed as axioms by the so-called common sense. Thus, moral truths discovered in the past become later immediately assumed as self-evident. In other words, Jouffroy says, it becomes natural to assume, like Price, that we immediately recognise actions as good or evil. This illusion is strengthened by the fact that educators tend just to teach that some actions are good, but not why they are – often they themselves do not know these reasons.

Furthermore, Jouffroy continues, God has provided us with natural instincts striving for goodness, in order to strengthen our reason. Thus, when we begin to reason about ethical matters, we already have strong emotions about them, and since our idea of good is still obscure, we think we have immediate perceptions about the goodness of actions. In addition, Jouffroy explains, these natural instincts make all people share similar opinions about certain common actions. These common actions have been used as examples by most moral philosophers, and because of the shared opinions about them, their moral quality is imagined to be immediately perceived. Generalisation makes philosophers then extend this idea to the whole of ethics.

If goodness is an immediately perceived simple quality, like Price thinks, reasoning has nothing to do with recognising what is good and how good it is. This means, Jouffroy explains, that there can be no discussion or demonstration concerning goodness: we can only say that we immediately perceive an action to be good or evil. Indeed, it seems impossible even to have any difference of opinions about goodness. Thus, Jouffroy concludes, there can be no experts on the question of goodness, and indeed, no science of natural law. Price cannot even explain, Jouffroy thinks, why we educate children about ethics or why we are more lenient toward criminals whom we consider to not have capacities for moral reasoning.

Jouffroy finds similar problems with Price’s notion that nothing is good independently of actions. Price’s commitment means, Jouffroy says, that good actions are done only because they are good, and the results of these actions are at most only derived goods. Thus, if our health is not a result of an action, it is not good, while a seemingly bad thing, like sickness, is good, if it just is a result of a good action. Indeed, Jouffroy notes, because the same thing can be a result of many actions, we cannot say whether it is good, before we know what action has generated it. In summary, we would not be interested in ends, like knowledge as such, but only of effects. Jouffroy finds all of this ridiculous: surely we must know at first e.g. that the results of just actions tend to be good, before we can conclude that justice is a good thing for actions to show.

When faced with facts not lining up with one’s system, Jouffroy notes, philosophers tend to introduce contradictions. Price makes no exception, he thinks. Thus, in order to account for ethical discussions, Price suggests that these concern circumstances of actions. Circumstances, including motives and ends, become then intrinsic elements of actions, and in separation from such circumstances, actions do not have any ethical character. Hence, Jouffroy concludes, Price has to admit, in the end, that to know an action to be good we have to know independently that its end is good and that we can then define what it means to be a good action.

The closer to truth we get, Jouffroy concludes, the harder it is to find the errors in the systems we investigate. Still, we have managed to make another step forward, he thinks: we now know that good is definable, although we as yet do not know how to define it.

Théodore Simon Jouffroy: Course of natural right – System of sentimentalism

Last time, we saw Jouffroy tackle what he calls an egoist systems of ethics. He notes that at first philosophers had not been interested in the foundation of ethics, but when the question suggested itself, egoism was a natural start, because self-love is so apparent of a motive. When the consequences of egoism were recognised, especially the denial of disinterested motives, egoism was rejected and replaced with two other systems: rationalism, based on the idea that reason intellectually perceives what is good and evil by reason, and sentimentalism, which grounds ethics in sensibility and instinctive impulses.

Jouffroy proceeds first to discuss sentimentalism, and he at once recognises Adam Smith’s idea of basing ethics to sentiment of sympathy as a prime example. Jouffroy suggests investigating Smith’s theory through three questions: what is the ultimate goal of human actions in this life, what is the motive impelling them to act and what is the criteria or rule for determining what actions are good. As an example, he notes that the egoist system regarded pleasure as the ultimate goal of life, desire for happiness as our only motive and the tendency of acts to promote our welfare as the criterion of goodness.

Jouffroy begins his investigation with the third question about the criteria for good and evil actions. He notes that Smith bases the ethical qualities of actions to the qualities of affections producing them and reduces ethical qualities of affections to four basic qualities: affection can be proper or improper, in regard to its cause, and can have merit or demerit, in regard to its effects. Jouffroy reads Smith as stating that the judgement on both propriety and merit of affections is ultimately based on a thought experiment whether an impartial observer feels sympathy for the person having the affection.

Jouffroy finds several problems in Smith’s suggestion. Firstly, Jouffroy asks, what is the impartiality Smith mentions? Smith talks about sympathy as an emotion or instinct, Jouffroy notes, but emotions or instincts cannot really be impartial, since impartial judgment requires more of a stifling of emotions. Furthermore, he continues, sympathy seems a very fluctuating criterion, since different people in different conditions feel very different sympathies. Finally, Jouffroy notes even Smith admitting that sometimes people do good, even if others do not regard their actions good and even feel antipathy toward them.

The ultimate problem with Smith’s theory, Jouffroy thinks, is that sympathy has no authority over other criteria of action, since it is just one instinct among others. Smith tries to make definitions that give sympathy this authority by connecting it to the notion of goodness, Jouffroy admits, but all these definitions just beg the question: for instance, he identifies feeling of sympathy with a judgement approving something as good, yet, the latter is something intellectual and not an emotion.

Moving on to the question of motive, Jouffroys note that Smith defines through his classification of ethical qualities four primary virtues. Thus, Smith says that propriety corresponds to the virtues of self-command – restraining the manifestation of our affections in their proper limits – and benevolence – elevation of sympathetic affections to the level of others, while merit corresponds to justice – repressing of affections that could harm others –  and charity – development of affections that benefit others. He then notes, Jouffroy says, that all of these virtues are based on an instinctive desire to feel sympathy for others and seem sympathetic to others. Jouffroy quickly notes that sympathy is not our only motive: other instinctive emotions, self-interest and motives of reason motivate us also. In fact, Jouffroy states, of all these, only the motives of reason can really obligate us.

Finally, Jouffroy notes that for Smith the final goal of humanity is the production of perfect harmony of sentiments between humans. Jouffroy notes that Smith’s only argument for this position is that such a harmony would be beautiful and very useful to everyone. Jouffroy quickly points out that neither beauty nor utility is identical with goodness.

Jouffrey points out that other examples of the sentimentalist or instinctive system have suggested the existence of a peculiar moral sense that has the particular ability to pick out what is good and evil. Jouffroy admits that this improves Smith’s system in that such a moral sense wouldn’t be as fluctuating as sympathy. Yet, he at once adds, such a system also falls to the problem of how to prove the superiority of such a moral sense in relation to other instincts.

Jouffroy thinks that the sentimentalist system is ultimately better than the egoist system, since it at least acknowledges the existence of disinterested motives. Yet, he states, it fails in trying to regard disinterested motives as instinctual. True, Jouffroy admits, instinctual desire is not consciously interested, but it still has a personal, albeit unconscious motive. In comparison, a truly moral action would involve conscious rejection of selfish motives and a choice of a disinterested motive.

Jouffroy points out that the followers of the sentimentalist system think that only instinct can show what is good and evil, since reason can merely analyse what this decision of the instinct means. Yet, he insists, reason does go beyond this immediate notion of what seems good to us and conceives of an absolute goal of everything. Such an absolute goal is beyond instinct, because it is universal. Thus, Jouffroy says, reason must know by itself that humans have an end, that this end is good and that natural desires reveal our end, before it can move on to evaluating the data from instincts. In other words, we must know absolutely that whatever our nature is, we should strive for our goals, but the determining of our nature and thus our goal is to be decided with the help of our instincts.

All the errors of the sentimentalist system, Jouffroy suggests, are ultimately based on its empiricist outlook: if all ideas are generated by experience, we are left only with an internal observation of our desires and an external observation of their objects. True idea of good, Jouffroy insists, can be justified only through a priori conceptions of intuitive reason. Rejection of this justification leads in a consistent manner to egoism, while in trying to avoid egoism, sentimentalism stumbles on a basic contradiction that disinterested motives exist, but cannot be justified empirically.

Jouffroy finds it easy to understand why people have been attracted by sentimentalism. As he has already indicated earlier, natural instincts do often agree with self-love and even virtue. When a person is interested in the origin of the notions of our morality, they often just pick out the most obvious component of our volitions, that is, natural instincts. This choice is made even more natural, Jouffroy suggests, by the fact that the intuitive reason does not provide moral notions through any reasoning, but spontaneously, like through an intuitive invention, and this immediacy is easily confused with the immediacy of instincts.

Théodore Simon Jouffroy: System of egoism

Systems Jouffroy has studied so far have denied the existence of obligations, because of considerations external to natural right. The rest of the systems he will investigate are more explicitly ethical systems, so that they either reject the existence of proper moral obligations because of ethical considerations or they misunderstand the nature of these obligations. Beginning from the first of the options, Jouffroy notes that such systems must reject proper moral motives and concentrate on one of the two other motives possible for humans: self-interest or primitive instinctual tendencies, that is, passions.

Jouffroy begins from the system emphasising self-interest as the only motive of human actions, calling it the system of egoism. As an example of this system, he first considers Hobbesian philosophy. Earlier Jouffrey considered Hobbes as an example of the system of necessity, because Hobbes denied the possibility of free will. Now Jouffrey concentrates on another aspect of Hobbesian philosophy, namely, the endorsement of well-being or happiness as the only possible motive of human action.

Jouffroy’s main argument against Hobbes is that in endorsing self-interested well-being he has ignored the other two motives of human action, that is, passions and moral obligations. Passions, Jouffroy explains, are not necessarily self-interested, since e.g. we might desire to know the most frivolous things, even if this is not in any way in our interest. Furthermore, he adds, we also acknowledge moral obligations that might be even against our own self-interest and even be detrimental to our very existence.

Jouffroy notes that even as a description of self-interest, Hobbesian philosophy is one-sided. True self-interest strives for our personal good, which might depend on ignoring some types of pleasures, although Hobbes does not recognise this. Furthermore, Jouffroy adds, some forms of pleasure are intrinsically connected with the good of others, such as those deriving from the passion of sympathy.

Jouffroy thinks he has crushed the very principles on which Hobbesian ethics and politics are based on. Still, he wants to go further and show how the more extensive Hobbesian system contradicts itself. Thus, Jouffroy points out that the Hobbesian idea of the state of nature, with every person waging war against others, is inconsistent, because no person would regard it as being in their self-interest to live in such a state. Furthermore, he adds, when Hobbes speaks of everyone having right to everything in this contradictory state of nature, this is a further inconsistency, since no one has a duty to honour such a right, and indeed, anyone can violate such a right.

As unacceptable as the Hobbesian idea of the state of nature, as unconvincing Joffrey finds the description of how people should move to a state of political community in the Hobbesian philosophy. Hobbes cannot explain, Jouffrey emphasises, why people would be obligated to start obeying a government, if they find this disagrees with their self-interest. Thus, the Hobbesian civil contract is something people could break at any moment, if they so wanted. The only glue left to hold the people together as one community is then force, Jouffrey concludes, which means that this is no true community.

Jouffroy lists other thinkers resembling Hobbes in their endorsement of self-interest, such as Larochefoucault and Helvetius. Yet, the only philosopher Jouffroys considers in more detail is Bentham, more so because of his fame than because of his originality. Jouffroy does admit that Benthamian calculus for deciding good legislation is an important invention, but notes that this invention concerns only legal affairs, not ethics.

Indeed, Jouffroy insists that Bentham is more of a jurist than a moralist. In ethics, Bentham does nothing else but state self-interest as the only possible motive of human action, but provides no argument for this statement. Jouffroy admits that all sciences must begin with some unproven axioms, but adds at once that Benthamian principle is not such an axiom, since it would require justification through experience.

Bentham does try to refute all the opposed systems, admitting different principles than his own. Jouffroy considers these refutations very insufficient. Firstly, Bentham recognises only two alternative theories of motives for human action. One of these Bentham calls an ascetical system, thinking that pain is to be always preferred over others. Jouffroy notes that this is a misunderstanding of what he has called mystical system, where pain and pleasure are seen as indifferent states, being both equally unsatisfying.

The only other system Bentham recognises is the so-called system of sympathy and antipathy. Jouffroy notes wryly that under this title Bentham categorises a very diverse number of systems. As for Benthamian strategy for refuting such systems, Jouffroy notes firstly that his own system recognises a motive very different from self-interest, namely, principle of order, since it motivates us to do what is good in itself, not just for us. In comparison, the Benthamian principle of self-interest regards only what is good for an individual and leads merely to anarchy of every person interested merely in their own benefit or then to a despotism of one person having the power to subdue the interests of others.

Jouffroy admits that Bentham tries to move from personal to general interest. Yet, Jouffroy adds, this move is based on nothing more than confusion of these two forms of interest. Indeed, if only personal pleasure and pain guide us, pain and pleasure of others are usually indifferent to us. Even if we suppose that we feel pleasure or sympathy for the well-being of others, we could still calculate that robbing them might still add to our overall private happiness.

Jouffroy states that Hobbes and Bentham exemplify only one form of egoism, because self-interest is a complex phenomenon with many aspects that egoists could emphasise. Thus, some people confuse self-interest with pleasure, being driven by what feels good, even against their own interests. Another confusion leads people to consider means for good results, such as money and fame, as the only motive of their own actions. Finally, some rational egoists might understand self-interest as doing what conforms with our own nature, which with weak minds, Jouffroy suggests, might lead even to excessive prudence.

Jouffroy suggests that some egoists might also emphasise pleasures received from more social and benevolent passions over more selfish desires. Although these egoists resemble true proponents of morality, he points out, they have very different motives for their seemingly good actions: thus, we have people spending money on others, because it makes them feel good, or acting virtuously, because it will have its rewards in the afterlife – or even just because they find unselfish action aesthetically pleasing. Compared to such egoists, Hobbes and Bentham are more honest, Jouffroy thinks, revealing what egoism is really about.

Jouffroy still mentions egoist systems that try to justify actions for general interest on the basis that these actions advance their own interests. Just like with Bentham, Jouffroy is not convinced of such an argument, because it still leaves the possibility that a person acts against general self-interest, if it is against their own interest. In fact, Jouffroy underlines, an egoist system can never be truly moral, even if some egoist systems may resemble proper morality, since egoism cannot prove the existence of any obligations. Indeed, an egoist cannot even argue why we should act for our own interest, but must assume that we instinctually do so.

Théodore Simon Jouffroy: Skepticism

Jouffroy considers skepticism a more prominent opponent of morality than all the systems he has considered thus far. One reason for this judgement is rather suspect: the Western mind is not as prone to mysticism and pantheism, Jouffroy thinks. The other reason is somewhat more credible: there is really only one way to be a pantheist, but there is an infinity of manners to be skeptic.

But how does skepticism then threaten morality? Simply put, Jouffroy suggests that since skepticism denies that we can know anything, it must also deny that we know how to separate right from wrong. If we cannot do that, he concludes, we cannot really have obligations.

As Jouffroy pointed out, skeptical arguments are plentiful, so he concentrates his attention only to the most prominent ones. He begins by noting that these arguments can target three things: the subject of knowledge or the intellect, the object of knowledge or the reality and the knowledge itself or our representations of the reality. Of these, Jouffroy thinks, the objections against the subject are the most dangerous – and some of them even unanswerable.

Jouffroy first presents an account of how we know things. He suggests that we have two sources of knowledge. First of these is the observation that acquires information on the portion of reality we are connected with, either externally, through senses, or internally, through consciousness. The second source is the reason that leads us to the universal principles, like causality and substance. These two sources, Jouffroy explains, are interconnected: the observation must at first produce its own elementary notions (such as perception of something existent), before the reason is awakened to discover its own notions (e.g. noting that what is perceived must have a cause), yet, the principles of reason must always be implicit in our observation (all perceptions whatsoever have a cause).

In addition to observation and reason, Jouffroy adds, our knowledge is based on two other faculties. First of these is reasoning, which derives further truths from results of observation and reason, either through induction or through deduction. The second faculty is memory that preserves all the notions acquired through observation and reasoning and thus makes the reasoning itself possible. Note that Jouffroy does not say that reason would require memory: because reason should always produce the same results, as long as something else is first given, memorising its results would be superfluous.

Jouffroy begins with the greatest objection against our faculties: we can not really prove their veracity, because such a proof would be based on the very faculties and would therefore be circular. He admits that this objection is truly unanswerable, but is still not very concerned about it, since it would work, no matter what our cognitive faculties would be. Even a divine intellect has no other proof for its veracity than unjustified reliance on itself. Thus, Jouffroy concludes, we can do no better than to have faith that our faculties are in principle reliable, and even skeptics actually do this in real life.

Once this major obstacle has been removed, no attack against our cognitive faculties is insurmountable. True, Jouffroy admits, our senses sometimes make faulty observations, and our memory and reasoning do fail us. Yet, he at once adds, all these problems do not cancel the fact that these faculties can work properly. Indeed, many philosophers and especially logicians have published works that aim to improve our use of these faculties and e.g. make reliable deductions and inductions.

One might note that Jouffroy does not list the reason among the faculties that can be at fault. Indeed, he suggests that due to its results being necessary and shared by all humans, reason can never make errors. True, Jouffroy admits, some philosophers have attacked various principles of reason (like Hume did with causality), but these attacks have been just academic and all humans really admit e.g. the validity of the notion of causality. At most some philosophers have had disagreements about the classification of rational principles, but this is just an academic struggle, Jouffroy thinks.

The only remaining weapon against our faculties that the skeptics has, Jouffroy says, is to say that passions and bodily changes can affect and thus disturb these faculties. He readily admits this, but again just points out that these are just known causes for making our faculties unreliable and that we have means to recognise and remove the effects of these abnormal conditions.

The skeptical attack on the objects of knowledge relies on the fact that the things we observe are ephemeral and variable and thus offer no reliable and lasting knowledge. Jouffroy answers this objection by pointing out that we are actually not interested in knowing these transient phenomena, but want to and can reach something permanent, namely, laws governing such phenomena. The question how we can find such hidden laws on basis of mere temporary appearances reduces again to the question of the reliability of our faculties, which Jouffroy thinks he has answered sufficiently.

Jouffroy considers two different objections against knowledge in general. First of them points out that our knowledge is ultimately incomplete, revealing only a small portion of reality. Jouffroy accepts this objection, but thinks it doesn’t really affect our capacity to know: even incomplete knowledge can be reliable, as long as we do not make any unwarranted leaps of induction from what we do know to what we do not yet know.

The second objection concerns the variety of opinions different cultures and even different people within the same culture have. Jouffroy notes that such a variety does not itself tell that any opinion could not be the truth or that the truth would be in principle unknowable. Furthermore, he points out that despite these diverse opinions, there are still many things humans agree upon. In addition, Jouffroy suggests that especially the diversity of opinions in different ages indicates just that human knowledge is constantly improving and becoming more and more reliable.

In addition to this rather academic skepticism, which can never really be endorsed by anyone else, but a scholar, Jouffroy recognises a skepticism of the masses that means nothing more than lack of faith due to ignorance of truth. Indeed, he names his own age one of those times, when such skepticism rules the world. Jouffroy suggests that introduction of this type of skepticism happens regularly: all religion has its faults, and when scholars find them and tell about them to a wider audience, faith in the old religion is gone, without any replacement.

Jouffroy thinks that this development began with the Reformation and that its first phase culminated with the Enlightenment, where Christianity was faced with scorching criticism. Jouffroy himself is not convinced with what was meant to replace the traditional faith – materialism and democracy – and suggests that there has already occurred a counterattack against these novelties. His own time, Jouffroy thinks, is then in an even more disarrayed state, where there is as yet no clear and shared criteria for good and bad.

The lack of consensus on morality has led, Jouffroy thinks, to a cult of individuality and anarchy, bolstered with a disdain toward everything ancient and contempt of reflection and historical study. In his opinion, people at large are weak of character and are enthused about novelties, like constant social and political revolutions, which fail to engage with the true problem of the era: the lack of faith. True solution, Jouffroy insists, would be religious, and political reformations can only succeed religious changes, just like it required the introduction of Christianity to cure the political corruption of the Roman state.

Jouffroy’s advice to his readers is that they should try to take a long view and raise themselves above the concerns of the present day: historical processes have their own cycles, and it took centuries to get from Socrates to the rise of the Christianity. Furthermore, he suggests that the readers should take the stance of the ancient Stoics, who searched for the criteria of morality and taught them to the populace at large. As a part of this enlightenment of the masses, Jouffroy thinks, an important task is to speak against unnecessary political revolutions that cannot really achieve anything before the constitution of a new faith.

Théodore Simon Jouffroy: Systems of necessity, mysticism and pantheism

Jouffroy has indicated that there are three philosophical stances that contradict natural right as he envisions it: firstly, denying the possibility of obligations for reasons independent of moral phenomena, secondly, denying the existence of obligations, because no such things can be found within moral phenomena, and thirdly, accepting the existence of obligations, but misunderstanding their nature. Starting with the first stance, Jouffroy finds four types of philosophical systems exemplifying it: systems of necessity, mysticism, pantheism and skepticism. I shall look in this post three of them and leave skepticism for the next post.

Joyffroy means by a system of necessity any philosophy that explicitly denies the existence of human freedom: if humans aren’t free, they cannot have any obligations. He does not attempt to give a full listing of all philosophical systems of this kind, but only mentions four prominent examples. First of these examples is Hobbesian philosophy, where the true notion of liberty is replaced, Jouffroy thinks, with a fictitious definition of liberty as the power of doing what we will. He dismisses this idea quickly, noting that this definition could make all unrestrained beings free – even rivers and wind – and that true liberty lies in our capacity to make spontaneous resolutions.

Jouffroy is equally quick with his second example or the Humean philosophy. Jouffroy reads Hume as insisting on the illusory nature of causality and thus indirectly also denying human freedom, which hinges on the possibility of humans being causes. Jouffroy’s short answer to Hume is that we do have a notion of cause and that we even can apply it in experience, because we feel ourselves as the cause of our actions.

Jouffroy takes more seriously the third example of such philosophical systems, which says that human volition is constrained by motives, so that the strongest motive inevitably determines human will. He quickly mentions Thomas Reid’s objection that there might be motiveless actions, but is not very convinced about it. Instead, Jouffroy concentrates his critique on the point that motives do not seem like constraints: even if I have a good motive for not throwing myself out of the window, I still could do it. He is especially doubtful about the notion of the strongest motive. Jouffroy reminds the reader about the three kinds of things motivating our actions – passions, motives arising from self-interest and obligations. He suggests that while we can compare the strength of two motives of the same type, we cannot quantitatively compare e.g. the strength of passions and obligations.

Jouffroy brings forward two arguments for the idea of motives determining the will. First, he notes that we often try to guess what a person will do, when we know their motives. Jouffroy admits this, but adds that such predictions are never meant to be fully certain. Secondly, he points out that we often do speak of governing human beings, as if they were just mechanical things. Jouffroy’s answer is that this a case of an analogy and that rewards and punishments used for governing people can at most influence, but never determine their behaviour.

The final example of a system of necessity Jouffroy gives is the idea of divine foreknowledge: because God knows what will happen, for instance, what we will do tomorrow, we cannot really do anything freely. Jouffroy admits that he would be more willing to reject the notion of divine foreknowledge, since the idea of free will seems more certain. Yet, he is doubtful whether the two ideas really contradict one another. Jouffroy emphasises that we should not judge divine foreknowledge by human standards and suggests that it is more like us observing past events: we know what a person has done yesterday and still what they did was freely chosen by them.

Jouffroy moves from the systems of necessity to mysticism. He describes it as an answer to the correct observations that we humans cannot achieve our absolute end in this life and that we can achieve even imperfect good only through great efforts. Mysticism explains these facts, Jouffroy notes, by introducing a Manichean figure of evil, who has ruined the current world, or by interpreting our current life as a punishment for earlier sins (he even thinks that the Christian story of fall merges these two idea by combining the notion of devil with the notion of original sin). The conclusion mysticism draws from the lousy state of the human condition is that there is no reason for us to do anything at all, except wait for a better world.

Jouffroy describes in more detail the consequences of mysticism. Mystics often distance themselves from the world that constantly nullifies all human efforts. Furthermore, he adds, they also abhor the human body, because it makes the human being suspect to the influence of the material world. Mystics also avoid all physical actions with a meaningful goal, Jouffroy notes, although they sometimes do something futile, in order to show how all actions are in vain. In addition, they avoid all human connections, preferring solitude over the affairs of any community, and even reject all scientific efforts. The only form of action they cannot deny of themselves, Jouffroy states, is the passive contemplation of things. Indeed, they even endorse contemplation as the only possible form of fulfilling human desires, holding ecstatic states in high regard.

The necessary consequence of the mystical idea that all actions are futile, Jouffroy thinks, is that there are no moral differences between any of them. A clear result of this stance is the denial of obligations, since no action is inherently better than any other. Jouffroy notes that some mystical schools have thus decided to just engage with mere pleasure seeking, since it is inherently no better than asceticism.

Jouffroy’s argument against mysticism is that the desire to instantly jump to the absolute end of human beings is a childish desire. Indeed, he insists, if we would be instantly happy, when we are born, we would be mere things and not moral persons, with notions of merit and demerit. Thus, Jouffroy concludes, the imperfection of our current world must be explained by a need for a moral proving ground, where we can grow to become good people.

Moving on to pantheism, Jouffroy begins by studying Spinoza’s philosophy, because Joyffroy thinks Spinoza to have been the most consistent pantheist in the history of philosophy. Still, despite this consistency, Jouffroy notes in Spinoza a fundamental contradiction: Spinoza states that human souls follow the laws of necessity and are nothing but combinations of ideas, yet, he appears to hold that human souls can freely affect the ideas they consist of.

Pantheism in general, Jouffroy thinks, leads to a denial of human freedom, because it assumes that only God exists and is free, relegating human beings into mere phenomena that cannot really produce, but only transmit actions. It is thus quite understandable, he says, that pantheism often leads to passivity. Jouffroy tries to explain the lure of pantheism by noting that it is based on the tendency of our reason to regard everything from the standpoint of absolute universality that forgets the existence of individual objects. He suggests as a cure the other method of knowledge, namely, perceptions of real things before us, since they confirm very vividly that there is more to the world than mere abstract universality of being.

Théodore Simon Jouffroy: Course of natural right (1834)

Théodore Simon Jouffroy’s Cours de droit naturel is only an introduction to a planned larger work covering all of natural right. As becomes clear from the first words, the book is based on a series of lectures, which was a part of a larger course of lectures concerning the end of individual humans, human communities and the whole of humankind. This larger lecture course had begun with the question what is the end of humans in the current life. Answering this question had required the investigation of the nature of human beings and of the conditions of present life that worked as obstacles for the attainment of the absolute end of human beings. This had led Jouffroy to the second question: what is the end of human beings before and after this life. His answer had been, firstly, that there was no time before the current life, but secondly, that this life was inexplicable without assuming future life, where human beings could fulfil their absolute end.

The question Jouffroy sets for himself at the beginning of this work is that when the end of human beings is known, what are the rules of proper human conduct. He defines natural right as the study of this question, including also the study of historical customs and laws paralleling the absolutely true rules of proper human conduct.

In one sense, Jouffroy says, there is really only one rule and duty, that is, to fulfil the absolute end of human beings, but, he adds, this duty can be divided according to relations human beings have to other things. The first of these divisions is personal morality that studies the rules of the conduct of humans toward themselves. Indeed, Jouffroy thinks it is the most important part of natural right, since everything else depends on it.

The second part, according to Jouffroy, involves the relation of human beings to things, to which he includes all animate and inanimate creatures, except human beings. He suggests assuming a Robinsonian condition, where a human being is living without any connection to other human beings. The question of this part is whether this human being has the right to use other things and in what limits and whether these limits are different for animate and inanimate things.

The most multifarious part in Jouffroy’s plan is the one concerning relations between human beings, which he notes is often taken solely as natural right. The complexity of this part is shown in that this part has subdivisions of its own. First of these subdivisions, Jouffroy says, concern the state where humans had not joined in civil societies. He notes that even in such a state there were human communities, namely, families. Thus, Jouffroy concludes, state of nature involves two subdivisions, firstly, right of humanity, concerning relations between any individual human beings in a state of nature, and right of family, concerning relations between family members.

The introduction of civil societies modifies the relations studied in the right of humanity and the right of family, Jouffroy says, thus, these modified relations must be investigated by a third subdivision or private right. Furthermore, new kinds of relations are introduced, in other words, those of human beings toward the civil society and its rule, studied by the fourth subdivision or public right. Jouffroy calls private and public right together social right. He also emphasises that the study of social right need not mean the study of laws and customs of a particular civil society, but can be derived from the general nature of all civil societies. The final subdivision or the right of nations involves the study of relations between civil societies.

The highest pinnacle of the natural right, in Jouffroy’s opinion, is to study the relation between human beings and God. This study is, he says, a part of natural religion, but not all of it, since natural religion also includes questions about the nature of God and of the final fate of human beings.

As already implied, Jouffroy never really gets to fill this division with content. Instead, the whole work concentrates on a necessary preliminary question whether there are any duties or obligations at all. Some philosophers, he says, have suggested that duty or obligation is simply an impossibility. Others have insisted that although obligation might be possible, they have never discovered any. Finally, some accept the notion of obligation, but understand it in a false manner.

Before refuting these various systems, Jouffroy suggests studying the nature of human beings. All entities, he says, are organised in different manners and therefore have different ends, fulfilling of which is in their nature to. This means, Jouffroy thinks, that nature must have given them tools for actualising these ends. First of these tools are drives directing all entities to their ends. Thus, Jouffroy concludes, even humans must share some common primitive tendencies or passions, which work as the force moving us from our birth onwards. The second tool is then constituted by the various faculties that are at first moved by the passions.

A human being is born with passions and faculties, Jouffroy states, but a third component of human being is developed, when the faculties meet obstacles. Such obstacles, he thinks, spur human beings to concentrate their forces, for instance, when understanding tries to clear obscurities. This concentration is the first sign of volition, but it is fatiguing, which leads to a constant variation of natural and voluntary states.

Jouffroy notes that human passions aim for real goods, that is, to various ways of fulfilling the human end. As sensitive beings, humans experience gaining these real goods as pleasure. Such a sensible good, Jouffroy emphasises, is not real good, but only a consequence of and a sign for such. Still, he notes, pleasure and the opposed feeling of pain lead us to a secondary set of passions that are explicitly related to some objects that can cause pleasure and pain, which lead to notions of useful and injurious.

The primitive state of human beings, Jouffroy says, is controlled by passions. The passions often conflict with one another, and what happens to be strongest at the moment directs the human. The volition is then active, but not yet properly free. It is made free, Jouffroy suggests, when the fourth aspect of human beings or reason is introduced. He defines reason as the faculty of comprehension, which differs from the faculty of knowledge, since even animals know, but do not comprehend anything.

What reason does, Jouffroy thinks, is that it replaces impulses of passions with motives. Through reason humans understand that all the passions and faculties seek a common end, which the reason designates as good. It differentiates the notion of good from what serves good – useful – and what we sensibly experience as a sign of good – pleasure. It also designates happiness as the confluence of good, useful, and pleasurable.

Reason understands, Jouffroy thinks, that self-control is a necessary condition for attaining greatest possible satisfaction of the nature of an individual, because mere passions cannot regulate themselves and often lead us to great evils. Thus, the volition that was formerly ruled by passions becomes free and finds self-interest as the principle of action. Jouffroy explains that free volition or will does not mean removal of passion, and indeed, self-interest has a passion of its own. Still, instinctive passions remain active, and reason and will find themselves often in conflict with them, which leads to oscillation between following impulses and self-interest. Yet, Jouffroy notes, self-interest is not opposed to the fulfilment of even the primitive passions, but instead means a reasonable fulfilment of passions.

Jouffroy calls this new phase in human development a selfish state. Children in a primitive state, he explains, are not yet selfish, since they still do not have reason for seeking their own interest. Furthermore, Jouffroy adds, the selfish state does not yet have obligations, because we cannot be said to be obligated to seek for our own interest. Indeed, he adds, obligations are found only at the final or moral state, which requires a move from selfish to universal and absolute ideas. Reason is not satisfied with individual good, Jouffroy thinks, but rises to the notion of the absolute good of a universal order covering all individual goods. Thus, a human being understands that the good of others is as sacred as our own. The idea of order, Jouffroy explains, is then the source of all duties, obligations and rules of morality.

The moral state brings with itself a new notion of goodness or moral good, by which Joffroy means compliance of will with an obligation. Moral good, he thinks, is dependent on real good – the absolute end of everything – and it also produces its own sensible good or pleasure. Then again, Jouffroy admits, all human beings will never feel this moral pleasure, since they never advance to the moral state, and indeed, some might even be left in the primitive state of passions.

The moral state, Jouffroy suggests, involves a conflict of obligations or duties with self-interest. Yet, he adds at once, moral obligations do not completely refute primitive passions or self-interest. Some of our passions, Jouffrey thinks, involve sympathy for others, thus, even our self-interest must involve interest for others. Still, although moral duties can guide us to the same actions as self-love and passion, he emphasises, only morality can obligate and command these actions and thus leads to the ideas of esteem and blame or merits and demerits. In any case, morality does not contradict our own good, but fulfils it by connecting it to the highest good.

Jouffroy notes that order is still not the highest notion reason can attain, because it can step further to the concept of God as the creator of universal order. This concept, he suggests, gives the idea of order a religious aspect, although this idea has moral meaning independently of religion. Jouffroy also points out that long before human beings have reason, they feel sympathy for beauty. He suggests that beauty can be analysed to be the material symbol and confused expression of order. Similarly, Jouffroy thinks, the absolute truth is the same order conceived by God. Truth, beauty and good are then for Jouffrey order understood from different viewpoints.

Gustave Fechner: Booklet on life after death (1836)

Fechner’s Das Büchlein vom Leben nach dem Tode is again a book with a more serious tone, and indeed, it bears some similarities with Fechner’s account of living planets as a higher form of existence. While that book contained rather wild speculations, here Fechner admits that what he is discussing - life after death, or as Fechner calls it, the third period of human life after the first in womb and the second between birth and death - is a matter of belief, not of proof. What Fechner is attempting in the booklet is to explain how life after death could be possible.

Fechner begins by noting that in a quite mundane manner we can said to live beyond death in other human beings. A person influences other persons, and this influence, whether it be beneficial or harmful, lives on. Indeed, Fechner notes, with so-called great people this influence can be seen to last considerably long. Even with ordinary people, their influence lasts quite long, if we think that the people they influenced influence again further people.

This radius of influence of a person, Fechner suggests, is what ancient cultures thought of when they talked about spirits both beneficent and maleficent affecting us - it is the spirit of our ancestors affecting us. If some set of radii of influence gets hold of the whole culture of a particular time, it is often called a spirit of the time.

Fechner compares these radii of influence with waves of sound and light, which go through same spaces and still retain their individuality. In terms of more modern physics we might say that Fechner suggests that after the death of a material body certain energy remains. This energy, Fechner seems to say, still retains the individual consciousness, although they all share the same body, namely, the whole Earth, which, as we know from Fechner’s previous work, is a living organism, moving ever closer to a source of its perfection or Sun.

In effect, all these strands of soul energy form in Fechner’s book an intertwined network - what could be called a world soul. In a rather pantheistic fashion, Fechner suggests that there are a lot of these networks, combining to a kind of supernetwork, which or the source of which he calls by the traditional name God. Adding to this vision the idea that life in this world is just preparation and symbol for this life as part of this tree of spiritual energy, Fechner appears to bring new life to the idea that we all live in God.

Gustave Fechner: Comparative anatomy of angels (1825)

Remembering Fechner’s rather jesting tone in some of his works, one might think that his Vergleichende Anatomie der Engel would be of similar sort: after all, what 19th century philosopher would seriously speak about angels? And yet, Fechner does appear to be earnest with his ideas. Of course, Fechner uses a rather peculiar notion of angel. In effect, he supposes that humanity is not the highest form of life, but is followed in the hierarchy of life by a higher type of life form, which Fechner calls by the traditional name angel.

What then are these angels like? Fechner starts by noting that their shape must be closer to perfection than of ordinary life forms, that is, sphere, which is mathematically most even shape. In addition to this Platonic sounding justification, Fechner also tries a more biological argument - human skull is rounder than animal skull, just like humans are more perfect than animals. Indeed, he notes, the noblest part of all humans are the eyes, which are considered to be the mirror of the soul. Eyes, on the other hand, are almost round. Angels then, Fechner continues, are just eyes - they are round balls of nerve, sensitive to light.

As a further proof of the shape of angels, Fechner suggests as a principle that the lowest and the highest stages in the hierarchy of life are in many ways similar - the higher forms of life are more organised than the lower ones, but the more the progress of life forms continues in the hierarchy, the more integrated into the whole the new developments become, thus moving again toward greater simplicity. Hence, Fechner notes, the simplest, single-celled organisms are also round, and while the first higher rungs of the hierarchy of life add more organs to this basic shape, in the end all these new organs unite again into a shape of a ball.

In an extremely imaginative fashion, Fechner also suggests that different rungs in the hierarchy of existence correspond to different senses, which they use as their primary mode of communication. Mere lumps of matter interact only with properties we feel when touching objects, but chemical objects already interact in similar manner as food does, when tasted. Plants release odours and animals and humans have their voices and languages. For the angels is then left the sense of sight, and Fechner in fact suggests that they communicate by colours. They are in their natural form transparent - again, just like one-celled organisms - but they can assume any colour, if they want to say something.

In a further incredulous leap of thought Fechner suggests that these round, coloured balls are simply planets. He does say that not all planets have attained this status and some of them are just icy lumps of matter. Indeed, Fechner insists, the closer a planet is to the Sun, the higher is its state of awareness. Fechner even imagines that between Mercury and the Sun there are a number of planets, which we just do not see, because of the brightness of the Sun. Furthermore, he notes, these huge creatures must have senses we mere humans do not. In other words, these living planets must have an ability to be aware of the comings and goings in the whole universe through the effects of gravitation.

It is hard to take this all seriously and Fechner’s leaps of logic hardly form a coherent argument. One could perhaps accept the idea that the biosphere of Earth at least forms something analogous to an organism, yet, an analogy goes only so far, and it would need quite a bit more to prove that Earth is a large eye. Even so, Fechner’s book is interesting as a symbol of a simpler age in which everything seemed alive and Sun especially was not just a very hot furnace burning everything close to it, but could itself sustain life.

Gustave Fechner: Proof that the Moon consists of iodine (1821)

We have met Gustave Fechner before and we were not quite sure how seriously to take what he was saying. Similarly jesting appears to be his work Beweis, dass der Mond aus Iodine bestehe that actually appeared a year earlier than the panegyry to current medicine we have studied before. This time, it is not the whole of medicine that is the apparent topic of the writing, but the newly found habit of using iodine as a curative substance for almost any ailment. Fechner notes jestingly that even the most opposite medicinal schools use it, but just for opposite reasons: iodine has a tendency to lessen the fat of the people who eat it, thus, allopathics (those insisting that drugs should have opposite effects to the illnesses they are used for) can use iodine to cure obese people, while homeopathics (those insisting that drugs should have same effect to illnesses they are used for) can use it to cure the loss of body weight in tuberculosis.

If iodine is so useful a medicine, Fechner continues the joke, certainly it must be produced in great quantities, at least for the use of allopathic doctors (homeopathics require only very little of any medicine they use, he adds). Fechner makes the passing remark that if iodine is known to cure women who cannot menstruate, such women could be used to mine it, since they have an intrinsic ability to know where to find it. Then he notes that iodine was actually discovered by Bernard Courtois, when applying sulfuric acid to ashes of seaweed, which then let out a reddish cloud of iodine. This procedure did not produce that much of iodine, so certain practitioners of medicine had just assumed that anything with a similar reddish tinge might contain some iodine.

Fechner suggests going even further with this sort of deduction, and indeed, with a twinkle in his eye insists that the less a science is based on anything real, the more divine it certainly must be. With a clear reference to the Schellingian school of philosophy, he notes that any incompetent person can build a system empirically from what nature provides them, but only a genius can, as it were, construct the pyramid upside down, beginning from a single proposition and then working against the nature to show what the world must be really like in light of this proposition. Furthermore, Fechner emphasises, this axiomatic proposition need not even be proven, since it should be the basis of everything else.

Applying the hilarious suggestion how to construct systems to the question of iodine, Fechner begins with the known fact that iodine cures goitre and leaps to the conclusion that anything that cures goitre must contain iodine (surprisingly good conclusion of a joke, since goitre is effectively caused by a lack of iodine). Then he points out that often the same substances are used to cure both scrofula and goitre and deduces from this that iodine must also cure scrofula, and indeed, any substance used as a cure for scrofula must contain some iodine. Since the medicine of Fechner’s time applied many substances to either goitre or scrofula, they could be all lumped together as containing iodine – even the knives used for cutting the bumps caused by either goitre or scrofula.

Fechner isn’t satisfied with this, but wants to find an even bigger source of iodine and he discovers it in Moon, which, so the old wives tell us, can also cure goitre. Indeed, he adds, in this it resembles the seaweed, from which iodine was originally extracted, since the Moon is floating, as it were, in the ocean of universe. The old tales tell that the curative powers of the Moon are especially evident when it is waning, obviously because it is then spreading its iodine rays to Earth. 

Taking another stab at the Schellingian school, Fechner notes that the moon light cannot be proper light, which by the axiom of the philosophy of nature should also contain its opposite. According to Schellingians, this opposite is warmth, and with equally convincing analogies as Fechner, Schellingians had identified such things as egoism, lies, acidness, ganglias and plants as modifications of warmth, while virtue, truth, base, brains and animals corresponded then with light. Like these philosophers couldn't be virtuous without being somewhat vicious, Fechner jests, the proper light must also be warm, while the moon light must be something else, that is, iodine.

Fechner began by noting that people had tried to identify substances containing iodine through their reddish tinge. But isn't moon light yellow? Fechner borrows another phrase from Schellingians and suggests that the yellow colour is just another potency of the reddish iodine. Indeed, as a final quip, he notes that our skin can be coloured yellow with iodine and that the reddish tinge of the evening sky must be the effect of the iodine from the Moon.

John Austin: The Province of Jurisprudence Determined – Sovereignty

Austin’s final lecture should finally proceed to the analysis of positive law. As we have seen, he describes positive law as a commandment by a superior. If the lawgiver itself has a superior in a community, their power of giving laws is derived from this superior actor. Ultimately, all positive law is then dependent on some actor who has no superior in an independent society, that is, a sovereign. Thus, Austin says, he has to characterise the concepts of sovereign and of independent society.

Austin defines a sovereign of a community as such a person or a group of persons that 1) most of that society habitually obeys them and 2) this person or group does not habitually obey any individual or group in that society, although they might occasionally submit to a command of someone. The other members of the society are then said to be subjects of the sovereign.

Austin calls a community consisting of a sovereign and all the people subject to the sovereign an independent political society, although he admits that actually only the sovereign is independent, while all the subjects are dependent. Austin notes that this definition does not mean that the society in question could not be subjected to other societies in a transitory manner. Thus, when the allied forces occupied France, the French nation was still an independent society, since the government of France obeyed the occupiers only in a transitory manner.

Austin emphasises that an independent political society can have only one sovereign. Thus, he argues, a society in a civil war, where one side obeys one government and the other side another is not an independent, political society, although the two sides of the conflict might be.

Austin compares an independent political society, first, with a dependent political society. Such a society is political, because it answers to a common superior, such as a viceroy, but this society is not dependent, because this superior has a further superior and the whole society is then subordinate to another society.

Secondly, Austin compares an independent political society with an independent natural society. In such a society the members interact with one another, but are not part of any political society. Closely related to such a natural society is the society of sovereigns, since although as sovereigns they are part of political societies, in relation to each other they do not form a political society. Thus, Austin concludes, international politics are not regulated by a positive law.

Austin admits that this classification of societies is not perfect. In other words, there are societies that are not independent political societies, subordinate political societies, independent natural societies or societies of sovereigns. Examples of such societies include families within political societies, since they are not themselves political societies, but do not exist in a state of nature.

Austin admits that his definition of an independent political society is not completely precise. It says that the bulk of that society must habitually obey the sovereign, but this leaves still undetermined, what proportion must obey or how often and how long they must do so. Thus, although there are clear cases of independent political societies and clear cases of societies that are not independent or political, there are also some cases which cannot be easily categorised into either categories, such as a society recovering from a civil war or a colony fighting for its independence.

Austin notes also that his definition of an independent society contains an implicit assumption that the society in question is big enough. What the exact size for this “big enough” is cannot be exactly determined, but we can still say that a family living in a state of nature is no political society, although all the family members would obey one person as their superior.

Austin goes on to classify various forms of sovereigns. He has already stated that the sovereign is either a single person or a group of persons. He mentions also the possibility that the whole of the society would govern itself, but discards it as improbable, since society always has people who are unable to govern. Thus, Austin concludes, the government of an independent political society is either a monarchy, with a single individual as a sovereign, or aristocracy, with a group of persons as a sovereign.

Furthermore, Austin continues, aristocracies in this general sense can be divided into oligarchies, with a very small group as a sovereign, aristocracies in the proper sense, with a somewhat larger group as a sovereign, and popular governments or democracies, with a relatively largest group as a sovereign. Yet, he admits, no precise numbers can be assigned to these kinds of aristocracies.

Austin notes that in aristocracies the sovereign may consist of a single homogenous group of individuals or of several groups, some of which might be larger and others smaller. The latter kind has an indefinite number of subdivisions, he remarks, but the only one he considers worthy of consideration is the so-called limited monarchy, where one part of sovereign is an individual person, often titled monarch, although this is not the case of proper monarchy according to Austin’s definition.

Whatever the form of the sovereignty, Austin says, the sovereign can exercise their power through delegates or subordinates representing them. This is often even a necessity, when the size of the society grows so large that the sovereign itself could not govern everything by themselves. An interesting species of such representatives is formed by societies where sovereignty is at least partially with a large part of the populace that elects representatives to rule for them, like in the British system, where the commons vote their representatives to the parliament.

Austin considers the supposed division of sovereign power to legislative and administrative or executive powers. According to his definition of positive law, this division seems meaningless, since many of the powers deemed often executive and also the special judicial power are simply legislative. Thus, Austin concludes, the only definite division of sovereign powers that can be made is that of supreme and subordinate powers.

Austin reflects on the notion of so-called half-sovereign or imperfectly sovereign societies, the prime example of which were supposedly the states in the Holy Roman Empire, which in some sense governed themselves, but had also some political duties toward the Empire. Austin thinks that no such notion is actually required. In some cases such states are simply just nominally independent, in others truly independent (like Prussia). There is a third possibility, Austin admits, where a state, like Bavaria in its relation to the Empire, is partially independent of another state and still has to obey it in some cases, but then the true sovereign is not the government of the first state alone, but this government together with the government of the second state. Furthermore, in a case like Hannover and Great Britain sharing a monarch, the British state was not, according to Austin, imperfectly sovereign over Hannover, but the sovereign of Hannover was part of the sovereign of Great Britain.

Austin points out that in some cases independent political states have united into a composite state, or as he prefers to call it, a supreme federal government: a good example would be the United States. Such a composite state, Austin thinks, forms a single independent political society, but its sovereignty does not lie just in the central government, but is shared by it and the governments of the constituent states. Then again, he insists, this is very different from a system of confederated states, such as the so-called German Confederation following the Holy Roman Empire, where the states remain independent, but they have formed a permanent alliance.

Austin argues that the power of sovereign cannot be legally restricted in its own society, because they are the source of all legal restrictions. Of course, their power can be restricted by divine law or by positive morality, in other words, their actions might be considered unethical or against the common opinion. Furthermore, if a sovereign is a group of persons, the power of a part of this group can be also legally restricted, so that e.g. the king of Britain could be legally punished. Furthermore, he also admits that the sovereign might be legally restricted in another independent political society: for instance, if the British government has assets in a Swiss bank, it must obey Swiss jurisdiction with its interaction with the bank.

In Austin’s opinion, since the sovereign power can never be legally restricted within its own political society, political liberty can mean only the liberty from legal obligation granted by the sovereign. He is also critical of thinkers who extol political liberty as the supreme end of a political society. Instead, he insists, the true end of a political society is the common good, which might in some cases require limiting the political liberty of someone. Indeed, Austin points out, all political liberty requires setting legal limits someone else, for instance, my liberty to travel freely in a country must be guaranteed by the duty of others not to harm me in my travels.

Just like sovereign power has no legal restrictions in its own society, the sovereign also has no legal rights in its own society, Austin thinks. According to him, legal right is something conferred by the sovereign government to an actor in its society, so that respective duties are conferred to other actors. Clearly, he argues, the sovereign cannot hand such rights to themselves, since it already has the legal power to do anything. Of course, the sovereign may still have divine or moral rights. Furthermore, the sovereign can have legal rights in other independent political societies, if such rights are given to it by the legislation of the other society.

The purpose of an independent political society is the common good of its citizens, thus, Austin argues, the cause for its continued existence is that the subjects consider it more useful for the society to obey their sovereign than, for instance, resist its commands. The origin of a political society, on the other hand, could have been of various sorts, Austin conjectures, but one element of its generation has to have been that the majority of its subjects have thought its existence to be generally useful. Yet, he is adamantly against the idea of a so-called social contract, which is not just clearly a fiction for historical reasons, but also suggests the erroneous idea that the political society would be based on a consent of people in the natural state, when no such consent would form a legal contract in a state with no political society, and indeed, would not obligate the sovereign in any manner.