Leibniz's New Essays Concerning the Human Understanding · John Dewey
MATERIAL PHENOMENA AND THEIR REALITY.
Still more definitely he says: "Many confound the immensity or extent of things with the space by means of which this extent is defined. Space is not the extension of body, any more than duration is its time. Things keep their extension, not always their space. Everything has its own extent and duration; but it does not have a time of its own, nor keep for its own a space." Or, as he expresses the latter idea elsewhere, space is like number, in the sense that it is indifferent to spatial things, just as number is indifferent to _res numerata_. Just as the number five is not a quality or possession of any object, or group of objects, but expresses an order or relation among them, so a given space is not the property of a thing, but expresses the order of its parts to one another. But extension, on the other hand, is a property of the given objects. While extension, therefore, must always belong to some actual thing, space, as a relation, is as applicable to possible things as to actual existences; so that Leibniz sometimes says that time and space "express possibilities." They are that which makes it possible for a definite and coherent order of experiences to exist.
They determine existence in some of its relations, and as such are logically prior to any given forms of existence; while extent and duration are always qualities of some given form of existence, and hence logically derivative. Since time and space "characterize possibilities" as well as actualities, it follows as a matter of course "that they are of the nature of eternal truths, which relate equally to the possible and to the existing." Being an eternal truth, space must have its place in that which is simply the active unity of all eternal truths,--the mind of God. "Its truth and reality are based upon God. It is an order whose source is God." Since God is _purus actus_, he is the immediate, the efficient source only of that which partakes in some degree of his own nature, or is rational; and here is another clear point of distinction between space and extension, between time and duration.
But we must ask more in detail regarding their nature. Admitting that they are relations, ideal and prior to particular experiences, the question must be asked, What sort of relations are they; how are they connected with the purely spiritual on one hand, and with the phenomenal on the other? Leibniz's most extended answers to these questions are given in his controversy with Clarke. The latter took much the same position regarding the nature of space (though not, indeed, concerning the origin of its idea) as Locke, and the arguments which Leibniz uses against him he might also have used, for the most part, against Locke. Locke and Clarke both conceived of space and time as wholly without intrinsic relation to objects and events. It is especially against this position that Leibniz argues, holding that space and time are simply orders or relations of objects and events, that space exists only where objects are existing, and that it is the order of their co-existence, or of their possible co-existence; while time exists only as events are occurring, and is the relation of their succession. Clarke, on the other hand, speaks of the universe of objects as bounded by and moving about in an empty space, and says that time existed before God created the finite world, so that the world came into a time already there to receive its on-goings, just as it fell into a space already there to receive its co-existences.
To get at the ideas of Leibniz, therefore, we cannot do better than follow the course of this discussion. He begins by saying that both space and time are purely relative, one being the order of co-existences, the other of successions. Space characterizes in terms of possibility an order of things existing at the same time, so far as they exist in mutual relations (_ensemble_), without regard to their special modes of existence. As to the alternate doctrine that space is a substance, or something absolute, it contradicts the principle of sufficient reason. Were space something absolutely uniform, without things placed in it, there would be no difference between one part and another, and it would be a matter of utter indifference to God why he gave bodies certain positions in space rather than others; similarly it would be a matter of indifference why he created the world when he did, if time were something independent of events. In other words, the supposed absoluteness of space and time would render the action of God wholly without reason, capricious, and at haphazard. Similarly, it contradicts the principle of "indiscernibles," by which Leibniz means the principle of specification, or distinction. According to him, to suppose two things exactly alike, is simply to imagine the same thing twice.
Absolute uniformity, wholly undifferentiated, is a fiction impossible to realize in thought. "Space considered without objects has nothing in it to determine it; it is accordingly nothing actual. The parts of space must be determined and distinguished by the objects which are in them." Finally, were space and time absolutely real things in themselves, they would be independent of God, and even limitations upon him. "They would be more substantial than substances. God would not be able to change or destroy them. They would be immutable and eternal in every part. Thus there would be an infinity of eternal things (these parts) independent of God." They would limit God because he would be obliged to exist _in_ them. Only by existing through this independent time would he be eternal; only by extending through this independent space would he be omnipresent. Space and time thus become gods themselves.
When Clarke declares that by the absoluteness of space and time he does not mean that they are themselves substances, but only properties, attributes of substance, Leibniz advances the same arguments in different form. If space were the property of the things that are in space, it would belong now to one substance, now to another, and when empty of all material substance, even to an immaterial substance, perhaps to God. "Truly a strange attribute which is handed about from one thing to another. Substances thus leave their accidents as if they were old clothes, and other substances put them on." Since these finite spaces are in infinite space, and the latter is an attribute of God, it must be that an attribute of God is composed of parts, some of them empty, some full, some round, some square. So, too, whatever is in time would help make one of the attributes of God. "Truly a strange God," says Leibniz, "this Deity of parts" (_ce Dieu à parties_). Clarke's reply to this was that space and time are attributes of God and of God alone, not of things in space and time,--that, indeed, strictly speaking, there are no parts in space or in time; they are absolutely one. This was virtually to give up the whole matter.
It was to deny the existence of finite spaces and times, and to resolve them into an indefinite attribute of God. Such a view, as Leibniz points out, not only is contrary to experience, but affords no aid in determining the actual concrete forms and situations of bodies, and durations and successions of events. The absolute space and time, having no parts, are wholly out of relations to these concrete existences. The latter require, therefore, a space and a time that are relations or orders. Clarke's hypothesis is, as Leibniz says, wholly without use or function, and requires a theory like that of Leibniz to account for the actually determinate forms of experience. In his last reply Clarke shifts his ground again, and says that space and time are _effects_ of God's existence; "they are the necessary results of his existence." "His existence is the cause of space and time." The death of Leibniz prevented any further reply. It is not hard to imagine, however, that in a general way his reply would have been to ask how space and time are at once attributes essential and necessary to God, as constituting his immensity and eternity, and effects dependent upon his existence. To take this latter position, indeed, seems to abandon the position that they are absolute, and to admit that, like the rest of God's creation, they are relative and finite.
So much for Leibniz's polemic. Its meaning is that space and time have significance only with reference to things and events, that they are the intellectual, the ideal side of these objects and occurrences, being the relations which give them order and unity. A space which is not the space of objects, which is not space in and through objects, is an inanity; it is not spirit, it is not matter; it is not a relation of either. It is nothingness magnified to infinity, and then erected into existence. And all for nothing; for it does not enable us to account for a single concrete fact of experience. For this we must have recourse to relations and orders of existence. Space is therefore to be defined as the order which makes it possible for objects to have situation; time as that which makes it possible for events to have dating,--not as if they were actually prior to them, and although nothings in themselves, yet capable of giving concrete determination to things, but as _actually_ the relations themselves, and as _ideally_ necessary for the coherent experience of co-existent objects and of connected events. As Leibniz puts it epigrammatically: "Space is the order of possible constants; time the order of inconstant possibilities." We have finished the exposition of the views of Leibniz about matter and material facts. One question, however, remains to be discussed,--a question which Leibniz's contemporary critics would not allow him to pass over in silence, even had he been so disposed. What is the reality of matter, of motion, of space, and of time? Since they are, as Leibniz says, only phenomena, not absolute realities, what distinguishes them from dreams, from illusions? What distinguishes sensible phenomena from capricious fantasies, and gives them reality?
Leibniz begins his answer by pointing out that the mere fact that bodies are phenomena does not make them unreal. To say that anything is phenomenal is to say that it is sensible; but "the senses make no declaration regarding metaphysical matters" such as truth and reality. The senses, in a word, only inform us that the experiences are there for the senses, that they are sensible. What is the ultimate nature of the sensible or the phenomenal, what is their reality, is a question wholly outside the province of sense. The questions of ultimate nature, of reality, are questions of metaphysics, and hence are to be decided by the reason, not by the senses. And Leibniz goes on to say that the truthfulness of the senses, since it concerns only the sensible, consists in the reciprocal agreement of sensible facts, and in that we are not deceived in reasoning from one to another. An isolated sense-experience could not be said to be either true or false, real or illusory. It would be true that it was experienced, and that is all that could be said about it. But since our experiences are not thus separated, but have a certain order, there arises what we may call sensible reality and illusion.
When the order between two facts remains the same "in different times and places and in the experience of different men," we call these facts real. If, however, our experience cannot be repeated by ourselves or by other men when the same conditions (that is, connections) are present, it is unreal, or false. It is thus "the _relation_ of phenomena which guarantees truth of fact regarding sensible objects." Constancy, regularity, justify us in ascribing reality; chaotic change and lack of orderly connection are a sign of unreality. Even our dreams have a reality; for they have their connections and place in experience. If we understood their connections we should even be able to explain their apparent lack of connection with the rest of experience. Leibniz thinks that both the Academicians and Sceptics and their opponents erred in attempting to find greater reality in sensible things than that of regular phenomena. Since our observations and judgments upon sensible phenomena are of such a nature that we can predict future phenomena and prepare for them, we have all the reality in them that can be had or asked for.
Even if it be granted possible (as it must be on this basis) that, metaphysically speaking, sense-experience is only a connected dream, it yet has a sufficient reality; for we are not deceived in the measures taken with reference to phenomena, provided that we act on the ground of their observed harmonies and relations. Thus while we are obliged to admit that our senses inform us that there are hard, passive, extended, indivisible things, not perfectly continuous and not intellectual in their nature, and we know on metaphysical grounds that this information is not correct, we cannot say that our senses deceive us, for sense makes no statements regarding such matters. It is our reason that errs if it takes the information that the senses give as if it were a declaration of reason itself. Sensible things have all the reality necessary for this range of experience,--_practical_,--such regularity of co-existence and sequence as allows us to act without being led astray.
But if we regard sense-phenomena not merely in their connection with one another, but in their dependence upon the absolute realities, we have still better justification for their comparative reality. These phenomena are consequences of necessary and eternal truths. One endowed with a perfect knowledge of such truths would be able to deduce, _a priori_, the phenomena from them. The reality of sensible phenomena thus consists not merely in their connection with one another, but in the fact that they are connected as the laws of the intelligible world require. They follow not only rules of co-existence and sequence; but these rules may be brought under general laws of motion, which in turn may be deduced from geometrical principles. These latter, however, are _a priori_; they are truths which are grounded in the very intelligence of God. The sensible has its basis in the ideal. To state the same fact in another way, all sensible phenomena occur in time and space; or rather, time and space are the orders, the relations, of phenomena occurring and existing. But, as we have just seen, time and space are ideal. A relation, as Leibniz points out, being neither attribute nor accident, cannot be _in_ the things which it relates, as their possession.
In his own words, it cannot be conceived as if it had one leg in one object, the other leg in the other. A relation is not a material bond, running through or cementing objects; it is ideal, existing in the mind. And while it is true that space and time are the relations of objects and events, it is also true that if all objects and events were annihilated, space and time would continue to have their ideal existence in the intelligence of God as the eternal conditions of phenomena. They thus form the links between absolute reality and the reality of sensible existence. The principle of sufficient reason forms another link. It may be recalled that in discussing Leibniz's theory of volition we found that the will of God in relation to the sensible world is always determined by the choice of the better; that in this consists the controlling reason and regulative principle of all that occurs and exists. Thus for every fact in the sensible world there is connection with "metaphysical," or absolute, reality, not only through the medium of the intellectual relations of time and space, but through the dynamic intermediary of the divine will acting in accordance with the divine reason. Sensible facts have, then, a reality, but a dependent one. There would be no _contradiction_ involved if they were not what they actually are.
We may sum up the matter by saying that the reality of sensible phenomena consists in the constancy of the mutual order in which they exist, and in the dependence of this order upon the divine Intelligence and Will. In this respect, at least, Leibniz resembles the young Irish idealist, Berkeley, who only seven years after Leibniz wrote the "New Essays" composed his "Principles of Human Knowledge," urging that the immediate reality of sense-phenomena consists in their "steadiness, order, and coherence," "in a constant uniform working," and that this "gives us a foresight which enables us to regulate our actions for the benefit of life." It was Berkeley also who wrote that their ultimate reality consists in their being ideas of a Divine Spirit. This was six years before the death of Leibniz. Yet it does not appear that Berkeley knew of Leibniz, and the only allusion to Berkeley which I have found in the writings of Leibniz shows that Leibniz knew only of that caricature of his views which has always been current,--that Berkeley was one who denied the existence of any external world. What he writes is as follows: "As for him in Ireland who questions the reality of 'bodies,' he seems neither to offer what is rational, nor sufficiently to explain his own ideas. I suspect that he is one of those men who are desirous of making themselves known through paradoxes."
Ideas discussed in this chapter
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.