Fourth Trip to Berlin. Atrocious Conditions and Help. Study of Kant’s Writings. A Depiction of My Own Works
WHEN I REACHED BERLIN, I learned that Mendelssohn had died and saw that my former friends wanted nothing more to do with me.1 I was completely at a loss. At this moment of crisis, a gentleman named Bendavid2 sought me out. He said that having heard of my deplorable circumstances, he had gathered donations amounting to the small sum of thirty thalers, which he promptly gave me. In addition, he introduced me to a certain Mr. Jojard, an enlightened and noble-minded man who actively took up my cause and kindly arranged for me to receive support from Mr. J. Another man, Professor . . . , tried to ruin [253] my relationship with this worthy man by denouncing me as an atheist. Still, I eventually received enough money to rent an attic apartment from an old woman.
It was at this time that I decided to study Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, which I had often heard about but never seen.3 The technique I used to study the work was quite unusual. After reading it through once, I had a mere obscure idea of each section. I then tried to sharpen my understanding through my own reflections in order to work my way to the author’s meaning. This is actually what one calls thinking oneself into a system of thought. Because I had also employed the same method in mastering Spinoza’s, Leibniz’s, and Hume’s systems, it was only natural to look to create a kind of coalition system. I eventually came up with one, and I gradually put it into writing in the form of observations and commentary on The Critique of Pure Reason, which was how it had developed in my mind. [254] The end result was my Transcendental Philosophy. In it, the above-mentioned systems are developed in such a way that the points of connection among them are easy to see.4 Thus, the book will be difficult for anyone who, out of intellectual rigidity, has contented himself with knowing only one of these systems and has neglected the others. My Transcendental Philosophy takes up the problem that Kant’s Critique tries to solve—namely, quid juris?—but in a much broader sense than in Kant’s works.5 My theory thus leaves room for Humean skepticism in all its force. On the other hand, a complete solution to the problem would necessarily lead to Spinozist or Leibnizean dogmatism.
When I had finished my manuscript, I showed it to Herr . . .6 He said that he was one of Kant’s best students and had faithfully attended Kant’s lectures, as one could see from his own writings. But he still didn’t feel capable of judging the Critique [255] or any work related to it. He therefore suggested that I send my manuscript to Kant himself and let him judge it. He promised to write a cover letter I could send with my text.7
And so I wrote to Kant and sent him my manuscript, along with Herr . . .’s letter. I had to wait a long time for an answer.8 Finally, it came; in Kant’s letter to Herr . . . , there was the following passage:
What were you thinking, my friend, in sending me a thick bundle of the most subtle investigations, not simply to read through but also to think through? I am sixty-six years old and still saddled with the task of completing various long projects (the last part of the Critique, that of judgment, which should be published soon, and I am also working out my system of the metaphysics of nature [256] and of ethics in accordance with requirements of the Critique). On top of that, I receive many letters demanding specific explanations of certain points, something that leaves me constantly out of breath. And my health is not the best. I had half-decided to send the manuscript back at once, citing all the reasons just mentioned as excuses. All it took, however, was a glance at it to recognize its excellence. I saw not only that none of my critics have understood me and the main question I try to address as well as the author, but also that very few people possess the intelligence required for such profound investigations to the degree that Herr Maimon does. And this moved me to . . .9
Another passage contains the lines:
Maimon’s work contains so many acute points that the published version would [257] make a most favorable impression.
In the part he addressed to me Kant wrote:
I have done as much as I could to respond to your honorable request, and if, in the end, I was unable to assess your entire treatise, you will find the reasons why in my letter to Herr H. Certainly it has nothing to do with disapproval. For I harbor none toward any serious effort in rational and well-meaning investigations, and none at all toward those such as yours, which betrays no small gift for the most penetrating philosophical thought.10
It is easy to imagine how important, and how encouraging, such winning praise from this great expert was. Especially crucial was Kant’s avowal that I had understood him well, for this prevented a group of proud Kantians—who believed that they had sole possession of his critical philosophy—from [258] subjecting my book to the treatment they gave all other responses to Kant, even ones that tried to develop critical philosophy further, rather than to refute it. Without providing any evidence, these Kantians would simply claim: This author hasn’t understood Kant. According to the author of the Critique, I would have had some justification in using this argument against the people who liked to wield it against others.—11
I was staying at the time in Potsdam, at the tannery owned by Herr I. . . . But as soon as Kant’s letters arrived, I went to Berlin to try to get my Transcendental Philosophy published. As someone born a Pole, I dedicated the book to the king of Poland and brought a copy of it to the Polish ambassador. But it was never sent. When I asked why (something I did repeatedly) I was given various excuses. Sapienti sat!12
A copy of the book was sent, as was customary, to the editors of the Allgemeine Literatur Zeitung. Quite a while passed and the newspaper still [259] hadn’t reviewed the book. I therefore wrote to the editors myself. They replied that: “I surely knew how few people were able to understand and judge such a book properly. Three of the most speculative thinkers had declined to review my book, having been unable to follow me into the depths of my investigations. The journal had invited a review from a fourth philosopher, from whom they were hoping to receive a positive response. At the moment, however, they were still waiting.”
It was at this time that I began to contribute to the Journal für Aufklärung. My first article was about truth, and I wrote it as a letter to my noble friend L13 . . . in Berlin. What inspired this exercise was a letter he sent me when I was in Potsdam. Striking a jocular tone, he had written: “Philosophy has lost its value. I should therefore make good use of my opportunity to learn tanning.” I replied [260] that philosophy isn’t currency subject to the vagaries of exchange rates. And I developed this proposition in my article.
I began by criticizing Wolff’s explanation of logical truth, which is that logical truth consists of agreement between our judgment and the object. How can this be so, when logic abstracts from all particular objects? Logical truth therefore is not agreement between our cognition and a (particular) object, but rather agreement between our cognition and an object as such, or agreement with itself that doesn’t involve a contradiction. For nothing that is not in agreement with itself (formally) can be conceived of as existing in an object (materially). Truth must mean the purely logical (the forms of identity and of contradiction); objectivity, in contrast, must mean reality (a relation to a real object). This led to a comparison between real and ideal currency and real and formal cognition, as well as to a comparison between the former and intuitive and symbolic cognition. In the end, [261] I showed that the true and the (absolute) good have the Law of Identity as their common principle.
In another article published in this journal,14 I demonstrated that rhetorical tropes do not consist of transferring the word for one thing onto an analogous thing (which is how people customarily think of them). For such a word, which signifies what the things have in common, isn’t actually being transferred at all. Rather, true tropes have to do with transferring words from one part of a relationship onto its correlate. Because with logic we can explain a priori any kind of relation in which different objects can be conceived of, all kinds of tropes can be determined a priori and integrated into a system.
Writing in the same journal, Rector Tieftrunk raised an objection that gave me the chance to expand on my reasoning in a second article.15 There I explained [262] that Wolff’s definition of truth—agreement of our judgment with the object—can be nothing but agreement with the particular object of our judgment, as is made clear by the examples given in the corollary. I also showed that this definition of logical truth is wrong, because it explicates not logical truth, but rather metaphysical truth.
I showed as well the difference between the forms of identity and contradiction and the other forms of thought: The former refer to an object as such, the latter to a specific one. The former are valid everywhere (they are the conditio sine qua non for an object as such, as well as for every particular object). That this is the case with the latter is doubtful. (The Kantian explanation of how the necessity of objective judgments derives from the possibility of a synthesis is insufficient, in view of judgments that refer to particular objects.) [263] Furthermore, just as logical truth consists of formal thought, metaphysical truth consists of real thought.
In another article, titled “Bacon and Kant,” I compared the efforts of these two reformers of philosophy.16 They agreed that logic can offer merely formal, not real cognition. Both, therefore, saw as an abuse of thought commonly committed by metaphysicians the attempt to realize the purely formal through itself, and this without their taking into account the nature of the real (materially) and the conditions of its subsumption under the formal. Bacon and Kant differed only in the paths they took to try to put an end to this abuse. Bacon chose the path of induction and presented a method for making induction more and more complete. Kant, in contrast, focused on the analysis of the cognitive faculty. Bacon’s approach emphasizes the actuality of objects, while [264] Kant’s is more concerned with the purity of forms of cognition and their proper use. In the end, Bacon’s method was more fruitful, even though there was less proof for it. Kant’s method was less fruitful, yet it was more rigorous and the evidence for it more compelling.
I also contributed an article about the world soul, in which I addressed the claim that there is a single world soul common to all creatures.17 I tried to show that this assertion is not merely equally as good as its contrary, but that it is in fact more compelling. I compared the debate about the unity or plurality of souls with the debate about creation according to the systems of evolution and epigenesis. Drawing on the evidence and arguments I presented, I declared the latter system to be true. I demonstrated, moreover, its agreement with the concept of a world soul. Finally, I showed that the proposition of a [265] world soul is—at least as an idea—much more elegant than Leibniz’s harmony and his theory of obscure representations. I also invoked other reasons in support of my claim.
My final article for this journal had to do with the structure of my Transcendental Philosophy.18 I explained that I regard Kantian philosophy as being irrefutable by dogmatic critics, though vulnerable to the attacks from Humean skepticism. I thus developed the skeptical system in all its rigor and broad applicability, and I presented it as pushback against not only dogmatic philosophers, but also the so-called critical ones.
A group of young Jews from all over Germany had gathered during Mendelssohn’s lifetime and formed an association called The Society of Students of the Hebrew Language. They saw—and rightly so—the lamentable moral and political [266] condition of the Jewish nation as having its roots in the following factors: its religious prejudices, the dearth of rational interpretations of the Holy Scripture, and arbitrary rabbinic interpretations of the Holy Scripture arrived at through inadequate competence in Hebrew. The young men had organized intending to remedy these shortcomings. They wanted to learn Hebrew from the sources themselves and, in turn, introduce a more rational mode of exegesis. Furthermore, they resolved to put out a Hebrew monthly journal under the title: האמאסף The Collector.19 It would contain interpretations of difficult passages from the Holy Scripture, as well as Hebrew poems, essays, and translations from useful writings.
Theirs was certainly a laudable intention. But I saw at once that they would never accomplish it with the means they had. I knew rabbinic principles and the rabbinic way of thinking too well to believe that such a periodical could bring about change. Notwithstanding some superficial changes, the Jewish nation has always been [267] an aristocracy disguised as a theocracy.20 For centuries, the scholars, who make up the nobility of the nation, have used their status as the legislative body to win so much respect from the common people that they can do whatever they want with the people. This esteem is the natural tribute that the weak owe the strong. For the nation is divided into drastically unequal classes: namely, the common people and the scholars. Because of the nation’s grim political situation, which various events brought about, the former class is deeply ignorant not only in matters of art and science, but also in the laws of their own religion, the very thing that their eternal wellbeing depends on. And so they have to leave to the ranks of the learned, whom they support at their own expense, the interpretation of Holy Scripture, the codification of the religious laws that can be derived from it, and the rules for their application in specific cases. The scholars use their own brilliance, wit, and insight [268] to compensate for their linguistic deficiencies and lack of rational exegesis. One must read the Talmud with the Tosphoth commentary21 (supplements to the first commentary by Rabbi Salomon Isaak)22 in order to have a sense of the high level they have achieved in applying these talents.
The scholars don’t judge products of the intellect according to the degree to which they are practical or useful. What matters for them, rather, is the degree of talent it took to produce these ideas. They will barely respect someone who understands Hebrew, knows the Holy Scripture well, and has memorized the entire Jewish corpus juris (which is truly no small feat). The highest compliment they would pay such a person is: Chamor nosse sepharim—an ass loaded down with books.23 On the other hand, someone whose brilliance has enabled him to derive a new law from known ones, make fine distinctions, and uncover hidden contradictions will be practically deified. And in truth, when it comes to issues that have no external aim, this is well founded. [269]
It should be easy to imagine how little resonance an institution like the one in question—devoted as it was to refining sensibilities, building up linguistic competence, and other such trivialities—would find among such people. It is these people, not the few, scattered enlightened ones, who have guided the ship hitherto buffeted by the seven seas. For the rabbinic scholars, enlightened are simply idiots, never mind how much refinement or knowledge they might have. Why? They haven’t studied the Talmud, at least not to the degree and manner the scholars demand. The scholars respected Mendelssohn to some degree only because he was a good Talmudist.
I was therefore neither for nor against this monthly. I even contributed several articles to it, only one of which I will mention here: a Kantian interpretation of an obscure passage in Maimonides’ Commentary on the Mishna.24 It was translated into German and appeared in the Berlinische Monatsschrift as well.25 [270]
A while later, this society, which now called itself the Society of Friends of the Noble and Good, asked me to write a Hebrew commentary to Maimonides’ famous work the More Newochim. I took up the assignment with pleasure, and it was soon completed. At present, only the first part of the commentary has been published.26 Its preface can be seen as a short history of philosophy.27
I had been a follower of one philosophical system after another: Peripatetic, Spinozist, Leibnizian, Kantian, and, finally, Skeptic. I always subscribed to the system that I regarded at the time as the only true one. Finally, I came to realize that there is something true about each of these different systems, and also that they are all equally useful, just in different respects. The diversity among the systems stems from the diversity of their foundational ideas: ideas about the objects of nature, their attributes, and their modifications. Unlike the concepts of mathematics, [271] these cannot all be defined and constructed the same way by everyone a priori. And because this is so, I decided to compile a philosophical dictionary. It would, I hoped, be of use both to myself and to others. In it, all philosophical concepts are defined neutrally, not from the perspective of a devotee of any particular system, but, instead, either in terms common to all the different systems, or with multiple explanations given from within the various systems.28
For example, the concept of right is explained in the broader sense, common to all systems of morality, as regularity in free voluntary action. This is done without asking whether this regularity serves an end or not, or, if it does have a clear end, what type of end it has. In its narrower sense, right is, in the Epicurean system, the kind of regularity that aims at happiness. In the Stoic system, it is that which has as its end the perfection of free will. In Wolff’s system, it aims at perfection in general. In the Kantian system, it is the regularity that has practical reason [272] as its goal. The dictionary also explained the reasons (pro and contra) by which each system tries to specify the true and the useful.
In this work, I take the side of skeptical philosophy. I arrived at such a position by rejecting, on the one hand, dogmatic philosophy, which makes a leap (without knowing: how?) from discursive thinking to real cognition ; and on the other side, critical philosophy, which focuses too much on the formal and thus loses sight of the reality of cognition. In my view, these philosophies correct each other. Skepticism claims that our knowledge is partly pure and partly real. Unfortunately, however, the pure isn’t real, and the real isn’t pure. The pure (i.e., the formal) is the idea that one gets closer and closer to by using the Real (through induction) but that one never arrives at.
Only the first part of this work, too, has been published. [273]
I also published an assortment of articles in the popular Deutsche Monatsschrift, on topics including deception, prognostication, and theodicy. In the first of these,29 I showed that illusion, like deception, is opposed to truth, and because the senses can’t teach us truth, they also can’t delude us or deceive us. I showed as well that illusion and deception are essentially different, demonstrating in doing so what the difference consists of. I described a kind of illusion that I call philosophical illusion in order to distinguish it from the more common aesthetic sort. Although still subjective, philosophical illusion nevertheless has a kind of universal applicability. I developed this idea both here and in my philosophical dictionary, in the entry on fiction.
In the article about prognostication,30 I took as my starting point that the existence of an ability to foretell the future is, at the very least, problematic, and I tried to [274] explain it simply by extending the law of association (that is, without taking on a new principle). In addition, I explained phenomena that seem to prove the existence of this using the familiar law of association.
An article by Kant in the Berliner Monatsschrift31 provided the occasion for the third article, which is about theodicy.32 There Kant demonstrates the insufficiency of all theodicies, but treats the questions that lead to this conclusion as being well founded. I argue that theodicy is dispensable, but my reasoning proceeds, by contrast, from the idea that the questions that prompt discussion of it are not well founded.
I also contributed an array of articles to the Magazine of Empirical Psychology, in addition to editing it with Moritz.33
So much for the situations I encountered in my life and the events that seem to me to be worth relating. I haven’t yet reached the harbor of tranquility, but rather quo nos fata trahunt retrahuntque sequamur.34 [275]
Now I would like to compensate those readers who were bored by my earnest account of the More Newochim; to them I dedicate my conclusion, the following little allegorical story. [276]
1 Mendelssohn died on January 4, 1786.
2 Lazarus Bendavid (1762–1832), a Jewish mathematician and Kantian philosopher. He was one of the early followers of Kant. He also argued for the radical reform of Jewish society in his 1793 pamphlet, Etwas zur Characteristik der Juden. For Maimon’s two letters to Bendavid from the last year of his life (1800), see Melamed, “Two Letters by Salomon Maimon on Fichte’s Philosophy, Kant’s Anthropology and Mathematics.” International Yearbook of German Idealism 8, 2011, 379–87.
3 Maimon studied the first edition (1781), as we can learn from his comments on the Critique of Pure Reason in his Essay on Transcendental Philosophy (1790).
4 The only common ground shared by the systems of Spinoza, Leibniz, and Hume would seem to be the high bar required for genuine rationality. While Spinoza and Leibniz affirm a strict commitment to the Principle of Sufficient Reason, Hume’s skepticism can be seen as the adoption of the principle accompanied by the claim that our cognitions fail to satisfy the requirements of the Principle of Sufficient Reason. See Peter Thielke, “Apostate Rationalism and Maimon’s Hume” Journal of the History of Philosophy 46 (2008): 591–618.
5 At the outset of “The Deduction of the Pure Concepts of Understanding,” Kant notes that “teachers of jurisprudence” distinguish between a question of fact (quid facti) and a question of law (quid juris). Kant employs this distinction to ask the question, “by what law or right do I know X?” See Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, A84–85/B116–17.
6 This is Marcus Herz (1747–1803), to whom Maimon earlier referred as “H.” See Herz’s letter to Kant, dated April 7, 1789 (Ak. 11:14–15).
7 In the April 7, 1789 letter accompanying Maimon’s manuscript (and Maimon’s own letter to Kant), Marcus Herz writes: “Herr Salomon Maimon, formerly one of the crudest of Polish Jews, has managed to educate himself in the last few years to an extraordinary degree. By means of his genius, shrewdness, and diligence he has achieved a command of virtually all the higher disciplines and especially, just lately, a command of your philosophy or at least of your manner of philosophizing. Indeed, he has achieved this to such an extent that I can confidently assert him to be one of the very, very few people on earth who comprehend you so completely. He lives here in pitiful circumstances, supported by some friends, devoted entirely to philosophy. He is also my friend and I love and treasure him uncom-monly. It was my urging that caused him to send these essays, which he means to publish, for you to review beforehand. I took it upon myself to ask you to look over his writings and convey your opinion of them and, if you find them worthy of publication, to let the world know of this in a brief statement. I know full well the audacity of this request; but, praise God, I also know the man of whom I make it.” (Ak. 11:15). Kant, Correspondence, 292.
8 Herz’s letter was sent on April 7, 1789. Kant response is dated May 26, 1789, barely six weeks later. Evidently, for Maimon, this period must have felt long.
9 Kant to Herz, May 26, 1789 (Ak. 11:48–74).
10 In the Akademie edition, Kant’s letter to Maimon is dated May 24, 1789, two days before his letter to Herz (AK. 11:48).
11 In his May 26, 1789 letter to Herz, Kant had stressed that the content of his letter should be be kept confidential. Maimon may be attempting to justify the publication of Kant’s letter here.
12 “A word is enough for the wise.” Since by 1790 Poland was on the verge of losing its sovereignity, and Prussia was one of its three chief enemies, it would seem that the Polish ambassador can be forgiven for not responding to Maimon’s dedication of the Essay on Transcendental Philosophy to the Polish monarch.
13 Maimon, “Über Wahrheit: Ein Brief des Hrn. S. Maimon, an seinen edlen Freund L in Berlin,” Berlinisches Journal für Aufklärung 5/1 (1789), 67–84 | Maimon, GW 1:599–616.
14 Maimon, “Was sind Tropen?” Berlinisches Journal für Aufklärung, Bd. V/2 (1789), 162–79.
15 Maimon, “Über Wahrheit. Schreiben des Herrn Maimon an Herrn Tieftrunk” Berlinisches Journal für Aufklärung, Bd. 7/1 (1790), 22–51
16 Maimon, “Baco und Kant. Schreiben des H. S. Maimon an den Herausgeber dieses Journals,” Berlinisches Journal für Aufklärung, Bd. 7/2 (1790), 99–122.
17 Maimon, “Über die Weltseele (Entelechia universi)” Berlinisches Journal für Aufklärung, Bd. 8/1 (1790), 47–92. Cf. Maimon’s description of his position on individual immortality in contrast to that of Mendelssohn, “As I saw it (following Maimonides), the immortality of the soul lies in the unification of the active intellect, to the extent that it is active in practice, with the world spirit,” above, bk. 2, ch. 12, p. 202.
18 Maimon, “Antwort des Hrn. Maimon auf voriges Schreiben,” Berlinisches Journal für Aufklärung, Bd. 9/1 (1790), 52–80. The essay is reprinted as a supplement to Florian Ehrensperger’s recent (2004) edition of the Versuch über die Transzendentalphilosophie.
19 The association and journal were the flagship institutions of the Haskala. For an overview, see Shmuel Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment, especially ch. 8.
20 Cf. Spinoza, Theological Political Treatise, ch. 17.
21 The Tosafoth (literally: additions) is a compilation of highly sophisticated dialectical expositions of the Babylonian Talmud from the twelvth and thirteenth centuries. Together with Rashi, they constitute the two canonical commmentries on the Babylonian Talmud, and since the early modern period, these two commentaries have been printed at the margins of the Talmudic text on virtually all editions of the Banylonian Talmud.
22 That is Rashi, the canonical rabbinic commentator on both the Talmud and the Bible. See above, p. 26, n 2.
23 The phrase apparently first appears in Jewish literature in Bahya Ibn Pakuda’s Judeo-Arabic philosophical classic Duties of the Heart (1080), though its origin is in a passage in Quran 62.5, where it is used to describe Jews who are burdened with a Torah they do not follow. However, by the time Maimon encountered the phrase it was regarded by Talmudists as indigenous to rabbinic culture. Maimon is evidently unaware of the fact that it had also entered European literature through Montaigne in his essay “On the Education of Children.”
24 Shelomo ben Yehoshua [Solomon Maimon], “Beur philosophi al divrei ha-Rambam be-ferush ha-Mishnayot shelo, Avot 3:17 [Explication of Maimonides’ Commentary on the Mishna, Avot 3:17]” ha-Measef [The Collector], February 1789, 131–36.
25 Maimon, “Probe rabbinischer Philosophie,” Berlinische Monatsschrift, Bd. XIV (1789), 171–79
26 More nebuchim, sive Liber doctor perplexorum. novis commentaris uno R. Mosis Narbonnensis, ex antiquissimis manuscriptis deprompto; altero anonymi cujusdam, sub nomine Gibeath Hamore adauctus; nunc in lucem editus cura et impensis Isaaci Eucheli. Berlin 1791.
27 Maimon’s commentary on the second and third part of the Guide never appeared in print, on which see the discussion of Gideon Freudenthal, “Shelomo Maimon: Parshanut ke-shitat Hitpalsafut,” [Solomon Maimon: Commentary as a Way of Philosophizing] Da’at (2004), pp. 125–60. Instead, Isaac Satanow, the director of the Haskala’s Freischule Press printed his own commentary to the second and third parts alongside Maimon’s commentary to the first part in Sefer Moreh Nevuchim (Berlin, 1795). This combined edition became the standard Haskala edition of Maimonides Guide.
28 Maimon, Philosophisches Wörterbuch, oder Beleuchtung der wichtigsten Gegenstände der Philosophie, in alphabetischer Ordnung. (Berlin: Johann Friedrich Unger, 1791).
29 Maimon, “Über Täuschung,” Deutsche Monatsschrift (1791), 1:274–87.
30 Maimon, “Über das Vorhersehungsvermögen,” Deutsche Monatsschrift (1791), 2:45–67.
31 Kant, “Über das Mißlingen aller philosophischen Versuche in der Theodicee” Berlinische Monatsschrift, September 1791, 194–225.
32 Maimon, “Über die Theodicee,” Deutsche Monatsschrift (1791), 3:190–212.
33 Gnoti Sauton, oder, Magazin zur Erfahrungsseelenkunde appeared between 1783 and 1793 and was one of the very first psychology (and parapsychology) journals. Maimon coedited the journal together with K. Ph. Moritz in its last years. See also p. 122 and pp. xv–xvi above.
34 “Where fate takes us, we must follow.” Virgil, Aeneid, bk. 5, 709.