Kant and the Science of Logic: A Historical and Philosophical Reconstruction [1 ed.] 9780190907143, 9780190907150, 9780190907167, 9780190907136

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Kant and the Science of Logic

Kant and the Science of Logic A HISTORICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL RECONSTRUCTION Huaping Lu-​Adler

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1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2018 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Lu-Adler, Huaping, author. Title: Kant and the science of logic : a historical and philosophical reconstruction / Huaping Lu-Adler. Description: New York : Oxford University Press, 2018. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2018008361 (print) | LCCN 2018023171 (ebook) | ISBN 9780190907143 (online content) | ISBN 9780190907150 (updf) | ISBN 9780190907167 (epub) | ISBN 9780190907136 (cloth : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Kant, Immanuel, 1724–1804. | Logic. | Logic—History. Classification: LCC B2799.L8 (ebook) | LCC B2799.L8 L78 2018 (print) | DDC 160.92—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018008361 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America

In memory of my father, Laisheng Lu, for his affection, buoyancy, and limitless belief in me and to my mother, Shimei Qu, who is a model of resilience.

CONTENTS Preface, or Note to the Reader  xi Acknowledgments  xv Note on Sources and Abbreviations  xvii

General Introduction  1 1. Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic: Methodological Reflections  9 1. Introducing a History-​of-​Problems Approach  9 1.1. Exegetical Challenges Posed by Kant’s Logic Corpus  9 1.2. A Perspectival Approach  13 2. Eclecticism, System, and a Kantian Approach to History of Philosophy  17 2.1. Kant’s Critical Eclecticism  17 2.2. History of Philosophy and the Idea of a “True Philosopher”  24 3. Constructing a Kantian History of Logic: Some Pointers  27

2. The Nature and Place of Logic: A History of Controversies  31 1. Introduction  31 2. Logic per Aristotle, the Old Stoa, and Epicurus  33 2.1. Early Stoics and Epicureans on the Nature, Place, and Purpose of Logic  33 2.2. Aristotle on Logic  39 3. Aristotelian Logic in the Latin West  43 3.1. An Accidental Dominance of Logic  43 3.2. The Theory of Knowledge in Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics and Its Implications  45 3.3. The Nature and Place of Logic  48 3.4. Between Logic and Metaphysics: The Case of Terminist Logic  54 3.5. Humanist Approaches to Logic  60 4. A Tentative Conclusion  65

3. The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff  69 1. Introduction  69 2. Bacon: Logic and Science  71 2.1. Kant on Bacon  71 2.2. Bacon’s Great Instauration and the Call for a New Logic  73 2.3. Logic and the Destiny of Human Intellect  75

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3. Locke: Logic and the Nature of Human Intellect  77 3.1. Assessing Locke’s Relation to Logic  77 3.2. Logic and the Free Pursuit of Truth: A Preliminary Analysis  78 3.3. Locke on Syllogistic (Formal) Logic in the Essay  81 4. Leibniz: Syllogism and Logica Artificialis  84 5. Wolff: Logic as a Demonstrative Science  89 5.1. Kant on the Wolffian Logic  89 5.2. Wolff on Making Logic “Scientific”  90 6. Conclusion  97

4. Kant on the Way to His Own Philosophy of Logic  99 1. Introduction  99 2. Logic according to Knutzen and Baumgarten  101 3. Meier and Kant on Logic: A Comparison  104 3.1. Between Meier and Kant: Room for Disagreements  104 3.2. Kant versus Meier on the Nature and Place of Logic  107 3.3. Kant versus Meier on Natural and Artificial Logics  109 3.4. Kant versus Meier on the Utility of Logic: Is It an Organon?  114 3.5. The Place of the Doctrine of Method in Kant’s Logic  117 4.  The Emergence of “Transcendental Logic” and Its Implications for Kant’s Theory of Logic  121 4.1. Preliminaries: Between Logic and Ontology  121 4.2. From Metaphysics to “Transcendental Philosophy”  123 4.3. Ontology and Transcendental Logic: An Evolving Narrative  132 5. Conclusion  138

5. Logic and the Demands of Kantian “Science”  141 1. Introduction  141 2. Logic as a Subjective and Objective Theory of the Understanding: Reframing Some Questions  143 3. Logic as a Formal Science  149 3.1. Three Aspects of Logical Formality  149 3.2. Formality of Logic, as It Relates to Particular Sciences  152 3.3. Formality of Logic, as It Compares with Transcendental Logic  154 4. Critique and Logic  161 4.1. Why Pure General Logic Needs a Critique  161 4.2. In Search of a Critique for Pure General Logic  169 5. On the Completeness of (Aristotle’s) Logic  176 5.1. Completeness and the Scientific Status of Logic  176 5.2. Making the Aristotelian Logic Scientific and Proving Its Completeness  182 5.3. A Conjectural Coda: Logic as a Self-​Cognition of Reason  188 6. Conclusion  196

Contents

Conclusion  199 Notes  203 Bibliography  225 Index  241

ix

PREFACE, OR NOTE TO THE READER The title of this book is Kant and the Science of Logic:  A Historical and Philosophical Reconstruction, not Kant’s Logic. This choice indicates two features of my agenda for the book. First, its primary object of investigation is not Kant’s logical system as a whole, but what he has to say about logic, especially insofar as it is a science. Second, as a historical as well as philosophical investigation of Kant’s take on age-​old issues concerning the nature of logic, the book is as much about important pre-​Kantian theories of logic as it is about Kant’s own. To justify this design, let me give a brief autobiographical account of how, after years of studying Kant’s logic, I ended up writing this book. I began studying Kant’s logic in graduate school, as part of my interest in debates about analyticity and logical truths in meta-​metaphysics. Kantian analyticity was commonly mentioned in those debates. Instead of relying on secondhand accounts, I  decided to delve into the relevant primary texts, including Kant’s logic lectures. For guidance, I sought out Kant scholars within reach—​Henry Allison (at the time still offering courses at the University of California, Davis), Lanier Anderson and Michael Friedman at Stanford, and Daniel Warren at the University of California, Berkeley. From them, I learned that Kant’s theory of logic must be investigated in the larger context of his evolving work on metaphysics. A  desire to understand the exact relation between logic and metaphysics would shape my subsequent and still ongoing study of Kant’s logic. I eventually settled on writing a dissertation titled “Kant’s Conception of Logical Extension and Its Implications” (2012). While doing research for my dissertation, I noticed that the subject of logic had not received sufficient attention. There were a few books in German (Stuhlmann-​Laeisz 1976; Reich 1986; Conrad 1994; Wolff 1995), two published monographs (besides a few papers) in English that somewhat touched on Kant’s logic (Tonelli 1994; Swing 1969), and three dissertations (Shamoon 1979; MacFarlane 2000; Tolley 2007). As I studied that body of literature, I saw three problems. First, there was no clear account of a proper methodology for using the various parts of Kant’s logic corpus. This was the case in spite of the recognition that no subset of the relevant texts—​the purported transcripts of Kant’s logic lectures, his handwritten notes, the so-​called Jäsche Logic, and remarks about logic scattered in Kant’s own publications—​could by itself deliver a definitive, complete picture of his theory of logic. xi

xii

Preface, or Note to the Reader

Second, there was no principled examination of how we should view Kant’s relation to the history of logic, even though understanding this relation is (at least in my view) pivotal to appreciating Kant’s own theory of logic. What does Kant’s appeal to the Aristotelian logic come down to? (This issue is compounded by the fact that the Aristotelian logic has an extremely complicated history of its own.) If Kant was indebted to the logics of Christian Wolff and his followers, especially G.  F. Meier, what real significance does Meier’s logic have for him besides the fact that he used it to frame his logic lectures? To what extent did Kant adhere to the Wolffian way of doing logic, and at what juncture might he have departed from it? Most importantly, how should we go about addressing such questions? Presumably, it would not be productive to compare Kant’s logic corpus with the relevant historical texts piecemeal. What would be a fruitful alternative, then? Third, the connection between Kant’s theory of logic proper and his transcendental philosophy (including transcendental logic) needed a closer scrutiny. He often gives the impression that he arrived at a settled account of logic before integrating it into his Critical philosophy and that he conceived “transcendental logic” in reference to an already fixed notion of (pure) general logic. Most scholars seemed to read Kant this way too. I suspected, however, that Kant developed a theory of transcendental logic before he had to revise his concept of general logic in light of the former. This order of development should not be surprising, either. After all, the quest for a scientific metaphysics, which directly led to the introduction of transcendental logic, defined much of Kant’s writings, while his logic notes and lectures were mostly byproducts of his teaching activities. The challenge, then, was to figure out how Kant’s conceptions of logic proper and of transcendental logic might have interacted with each other. This book is a focused attempt to treat all three issues. The topic of logic as a “science” serves to bring unity to the treatment. It offers a perspective from which to use Kant’s logic corpus in a methodic way (­chapter 1). It helps to show that his relation to important developments in the history of logic was that of continuity as well as philosophically meaningful departures (­chapters 2–​3). It reveals depth and complexity in his completeness claim about the Aristotelian logic, a claim that was obviously important to him but has been largely neglected by today’s scholars (­chapter 5). By considering the demands of a proper science in Kant’s sense, we also have a way (a) to clarify how a distinctively Kantian notion of logic differs from the then-​dominant Wolffian one, (b) to show that the contrast between transcendental logic and logic proper in the Critique of Pure Reason is much more nuanced than it appears, and (c) to show how Kant’s prolonged quest for a scientific metaphysics might have helped to usher in a unique notion of formal logic along the way (­chapters 4–​5). All in all, Kant’s theory of logic is not simply a prefixed part of his system that serves other parts. Its relation to the rest of his philosophy is a dynamical

Preface, or Note to the Reader

and mutually influential one. In this book, I  highlight a direction of impact that has received little scholarly attention so far:  in all likelihood, it was the various findings in other areas that gave Kant the materials for developing a new theory of logic. This theory, as it will turn out, contains original answers to long-​disputed questions about the dual status of logic as a science and an organon and about its relations to other sciences, particularly metaphysics, ethics, and natural philosophy. It therefore holds a noteworthy place in the history of philosophy of logic. Kant himself never made any concerted effort to articulate his mature theory of logic in one piece, however. Meticulous work is needed to reconstruct it on his behalf in a well-​informed way, both historically and philosophically. For that reason, much of this book consists in an analysis of pre-​Kantian debates about the nature and place of logic. Let me end by stressing that this book is meant to be complementary to the existing literature on Kant’s theory of logic, including my own dissertation and various publications. The last few years of research has taught me one humbling but extremely important lesson: it takes collective and collaborative efforts by many scholars to get a complete grasp of Kant’s logic and philosophy of logic. No single volume can offer a definitive or exhaustive treatment of this subject. It would be disingenuous of me to pretend otherwise. Nonetheless, I hope that my book represents a milestone in the study of Kant’s theory of logic, one that invites and paves the way for many more to come.

xiii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I set my mind on a book about Kant’s philosophy of logic shortly after I defended my dissertation in June 2012. I thank my advisers, Henry Allison, Michael Friedman, John Malcolm, G.  J. Mattey, and Daniel Warren, for helping me to think through difficult subjects, for pushing me to be maximally rigorous, and for encouraging me to continue the work. I thank all of my colleagues at the Georgetown Philosophy Department for having fostered an exceptionally collegial and nurturing environment, in which I have always felt valued and supported. I am especially grateful to Tom Beauchamp, Bill Blattner, Wayne Davis, Rebecca Kukla, and Terry Pinkard for taking an active interest in my research early on. I officially began writing the first draft of this book in July 2015, when I  took part in the NEH Summer Institute directed by Bob Pasnau at University of Colorado–​Boulder. The subject was “Between Medieval and Modern: Philosophy from 1300 to 1700.” What I learned at the Institute, especially during the time when we debated about how best to do history of philosophy, shaped my methodology in this book. I thank Bob and all the other participants in the program for an immensely edifying and stimulating month. The major financial support behind my work on this book came from Georgetown University’s generous Summer Academic Grant (Summer 2015) and Junior Faculty Research Fellowship (Fall 2015). I wrote much of the manuscript in fall 2015 through summer 2016 as a Visiting Scholar at Stanford University. I am indebted to Lanier Anderson for sponsoring my visit, to Alan Code for helpful discussions of my still fledgling ideas, and to all the other Kantians there for conversations that kept me abreast of new developments in Kant scholarship as a whole. I thank the two anonymous referees for their close reading of and incisive comments on the original manuscript. Any shortcomings found in the current version would be solely mine. I thank my editor, Lucy Randall, for the patience, understanding, and wisdom with which she guided me through the entire process. My deepest gratitude goes to my mother-​in-​law Nancy and my husband Greg. With a profound love for me and boundless belief in my ability, they have cheered me on all these years and filled my heart with light.

xv

NOTE ON SOURCES AND ABBREVIATIONS Immanuel Kant References to Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason take the standard A/​B form, corresponding to its first (1781) and second (1787) editions. References to his other works are to the volume and pagination of either (1)  Immanuel Kant: Gesammelte Schriften (AA, 29 volumes), Berlin: de Gruyter, 1902–​, or (2) Logik Vorlesung: Unveröffentlichte Nachschriften (LV, 2 volumes), edited by Tillmann Pinder, Hamburg: Meiner, 1998. Abbreviations of specific works cited are listed below. For translations, I use The Cambridge Edition of the Works of Immanuel Kant with occasional modifications. Specific translations used are listed below. Other translations are my own. A/​B   Anth  

BDG  

Br   DfS  

Kritik der reinen Vernunft (AA 3–​4). Critique of Pure Reason. Translated and edited by Paul Guyer and Allen Wood. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Anthropologie in pragmatischer Hinsicht (AA 7). “Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View.” Translated by Robert Louden. In Anthropology, History and Education, edited by Günter Zöller and Robert Louden, 231–​ 429. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Der einzig mögliche Beweisgrund zu einer Demonstration des Daseins Gottes (AA 2). “The Only Possible Argument in Support of a Demonstration of the Existence of God.” In Theoretical Philosophy 1755–​1770, translated and edited by David Walford in collaboration with Ralf Meerbote, 107–​ 201. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1992. Kants Briefwechsel (AA 10–​12). Correspondence. Translated and edited by Arnulf Zweig. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Die falsche Spitzfindigkeit der vier syllogistischen Figuren erwiesen (AA 2). “The False Subtlety of the Four Syllogistic Figures.” In Theoretical Philosophy 1755–​1770, 85–​105. xvii

xviii

Note on Sources and Abbreviations

EA

Entwurf und Ankündigung eines Collegii der physischen Geographie (AA 2). FM Welches sind die wirklichen Fortschritte, die die Metaphysik seit Leibnitzens und Wolf’s Zeiten in Deutschland gemacht hat? (AA 20).   “What Real Progress Has Metaphysics Made in Germany Since the Time of Leibniz and Wolff ?” Translated by Peter Heath. In Theoretical Philosophy after 1781, edited by Henry Allison and Peter Heath, 349–​412. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. FM/​Lose Lose Blätter zu den Fortschritten der Metaphysik (AA 20). Blätter  “Jottings for the Progress of Metaphysics.” Translated by Peter Heath. In Theoretical Philosophy after 1781, 413–​24. GMS Grundlugung zur Metaphysik der Sitten (AA 4).   “Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals.” In Practical Philosophy, translated and edited by Mary Gregor, 37–​ 108. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. KpV Kritik der praktischen Vernunft (AA 5).   “Critique of Practical Reason.” In Practical Philosophy, 133–​271. KU Kritik der Urteilskraft (AA 5).   Critique of the Power of Judgment. Edited by Paul Guyer, translated by Paul Guyer and Eric Matthews. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2000. Log Logik (AA 9).   “The Jäsche Logic.” In Lectures on Logic, translated and edited by Michael Young, 527–​640. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1992. MAN Metaphysische Anfangsgründe der Naturwissenschaft (AA 4).   “Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science.” Translated by Michael Friedman. In Theoretical Philosophy after 1781, 181–​270. MoPh Metaphysicae cum geometria iunctae usus in philosophia naturali, cuius specimen I. Continet monadologiam physicam (AA 1).   “The Employment in Natural Philosophy of Metaphysics Combined with Geometry, of which Sample I Contains the Physical Monadology.” In Theoretical Philosophy 1755–​1770, 47–​66. MS Die Metaphysik der Sitten (AA 6).   “The Metaphysics of Morals.” In Practical Philosophy, 353–​603. MSI De Mundi sensibilis atque intelligibilis forma et Principiis (AA 2).   “On the Form and Principles of the Sensible and the Intelligible World” (Inaugural Dissertation). In Theoretical Philosophy 1755–​1770, 373–​426.

Note on Sources and Abbreviations

NEV  

PG  

Prol  

R  

TU   TW   UD  

ÜE  

V-​Anth/​ Fried 

Nachricht von der Einrichtung seiner Vorlesungen in dem Winterhalbenjahre von 1765–​1766 (AA 2). “M. Immanuel Kant’s Announcement of the Programme of His Lectures for the Winter Semester 1765–​1766.” In Kant’s Theoretical Philosophy 1755–​1770, 287–​300. Physische Geographie (AA 9). “Physical Geography.” Translated by Olaf Reinhardt. In Natural Science, edited by Eric Watkins, 434–​679. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenschaft wird aufterten können (AA 4). “Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics that Will Be Able to Come Forward as Science.” Translated by Gary Hatfield. In Theoretical Philosophy after 1781, 49–​169. Reflexionen (AA 15–​19). Notes and Fragments. Edited by Paul Guyer, translated by Curtis Bowman, Paul Guyer, and Frederick Rauscher. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Träume eines Geistersehers, erläutert durch die Träume der Metaphysik (AA 2). “Dreams of a Spirit-​seer Elucidated by Dreams of Metaphysics.” In Theoretical Philosophy 1755–​1770, 301–​59. Neue Anmerkungen zur Erläuterung der Theorie der Winde (AA 1). “New Notes to Explain the Theory of the Winds.” Translated by Olaf Reinhardt. In Natural Science, 374–​85. Untersuchung über die Deutlichkeit der Grundsätze der natürlichen Theologie und der Moral (AA 2). “Inquiry Concerning the Distinctness of the Principles of Natural Theology and Morality.” In Theoretical Philosophy 1755–​1770, 243–​86. Über eine Entdeckung, nach der alle neue Kritik der reinen Vernunft durch eine ältere entbehrlich gemacht warden soll (AA 8). “On a Discovery Whereby Any New Critique of Pure Reason Is to Be Made Superfluous by an Older One.” Translated by Henry Allison. In Theoretical Philosophy after 1781, 283–​336. Vorlesungen Wintersemester 1775/​1776 Friedländer (AA 25). “Anthropology Friedländer.” Translated by G.  Felicitas Munzel. In Lectures on Anthropology, edited by Allen Wood and Robert Louden, 37–​255. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

xix

xx

Note on Sources and Abbreviations

V-​Anth/Mensch​

Vorlesungen Wintersemester 1781/​1782 Menschenkunde (AA 25).   “Menschenkunde.” Translated by Robert Louden. In Lectures on Anthropology, 281–​333. V-​ Anth/Mron Vorlesungen Wintersemester 1784/​ 1785 Mrongovius Mron (AA 25).   “Anthropology Mrongovius.” Translated by Robert Clewis. In Lectures on Anthropology, 335–​509. VBO Versuch einiger Betrachtungen über den Optimismus (AA 2).   “An Attempt at Some Reflections on Optimism.” In Theoretical Philosophy 1755–​1770, 67–​76. V-​Lo/​Bauch Logik Bauch (LV 1). V-​Lo/​Blomberg Logik Blomberg (AA 24).   “The Blomberg Logic.” In Lectures on Logic, 1–​246. V-​Lo/​Busolt Logik Busolt (AA 24). V-​Lo/​Dohna Logik Dohna-​Wundlacken (AA 24).   “The Dohna-​Wundlacken Logic.” In Lectures on Logic, 425–​516. V-​Lo/​Hechsel Logik Hechsel (LV 2).   “The Hechsel Logic.” In Lectures on Logic, 379–​423. V-​Lo/​Philippi Logik Philippi (AA 24). V-​Lo/​Pölitz Logik Pölitz (AA 24). V-​Lo/​Warschauer Warschauer Logik (LV 2). V-​Lo/​Wiener Wiener Logik (AA 24).   “The Vienna Logic.” In Lectures on Logic, 249–​377. V-​Met/​Dohna Metaphysik Dohna (AA 28).   “Metaphysik Dohna.” In Lectures on Metaphysics, translated and edited by Karl Ameriks and Steve Naragon, 355–​ 91. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1997. V-​Met/​Mron Metaphysik Mrongovius (AA 29).   “Metaphysik Mrongovius.” In Lectures on Metaphysics, 107–​286. V-​Met-​L1/​Heinze Metaphysik L1 (Heinze) (AA 28).   “Metaphysik L1.” In Lectures on Metaphysics, 17–​106. V-​Met-​L2/​Pölitz Metaphysik L2 (Pölitz, original) (AA 28).   “Metaphysik L2.” In Lectures on Metaphysics, 297–​354. V-​Met/​Schön Metaphysik von Schön, Ontologie (AA 28) V-​Met/​Vigil Metaphysik Vigilantius (K3) (AA 29).   “Metaphysik Vigilantius (K3).” In Lectures on Metaphysics, 415–​506. VMS Vorarbeit zur Metaphysik der Sitten (AA 23).

Note on Sources and Abbreviations

VvRM  

Von den verschiedenen Racen der Menschen (AA 2). “Of the Different Races of Human Beings.” Translated by Holly Wilson and Günter Zöller. In Anthropology, History and Education, 82–​97.

Others ST. THOMAS AQUINAS

The Latin texts used are from Complete Works of St. Thomas Aquinas, compiled by Fr. Joseph Kenny, O.P. (1936–​2013), http://​dhspriory.org/​thomas/. Also consulted is the Corpus Thomisticum, S. Thomae de Aquino opera omnia, collected and edited by Enrique Alarcón, http://​www.corpusthomisticum.org/​ iopera.html. Excepting the commentary on Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics, I use my own translations to ensure terminological continuity with the rest of my book, but only after having consulted the ones included in Kenny’s collection. The abbreviations used are as follows. EPoA   ET SE SM

Expositio libri Posteriorum Analyticorum. Commentary on Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics. Translated by Richard Berquist. Notre Dame: Dumb Ox Books, 2008. Expositio super librum Boethii De trinitate (Commentary on Boethius’s De Trinitate). Sententia libri Ethicorum (Commentary on Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics). Sententia super Metaphysicam (Commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics).

ARISTOTLE

EE

Met

NiE

PoA

The Eudemian Ethics. In The Athenian Constitution; The Eudemian Ethics; On Virtues and Vices. Translated by H.  Rackham. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1952. References are to book and section, followed by the Bekker number. Metaphysics. 2 volumes. Translated by Hugh Tredennick. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1933–​ 35. References are to book, section, and paragraph number marked in the English translation. The Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by H.  Rackham. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1934. References are to book, section, and paragraph number marked in the English translation. Posterior Analytics. Translated by Hugh Tredennick. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1960. References are to book and section, followed by the Bekker number.

xxi

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Note on Sources and Abbreviations

Rhet

Top

The “Art” of Rhetoric. Translated by John Henry Freese. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1926. References are to book, section, and paragraph number marked in the English translation. Topics: Books I and VIII. Translated by Robin Smith. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. References are to book and section, followed by the Bekker number.

FRANCIS BACON

Cat

DGI

Inst NO

PH PhU

Catalogus historiarum particularium (“Catalogue of Particular Histories”). In The Instauratio magna Part II: Novum Organum and Associated Texts (The Oxford Francis Bacon, XI), edited with facing-​ page translations by Graham Rees with Maria Wakely, 474–​ 85. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Descriptio globi intellectualis (“Description of the Intellectual Globe”). In Philosophical Studies c.1611–​c.1619 (The Oxford Francis Bacon VI), edited by Graham Rees, translated by Graham Rees and Michael Edwards, 95–​169. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996. Preliminaries and Plan of Instauratio magna. In Instauratio, 2–​47. References are to the folio numbers. Novum Organum, sive indicia vera de interpretatione naturae (Novum Organum, or True Directions concerning the Interpretation of Nature). In Instauratio, 50–​447. With the body of the text, references are to book and section numbers. With the rest of the text, references are to the folio numbers. Parasceve ad historiam naturalem et experimentalem (“A Preparative to a Natural and Experimental History”). In Instauratio, 448–​73. Phænomena Universi, sive Historia Naturalis ad Condendam Philosophiam (“Phenomena of the Universe or Natural History for the Building up of Philosophy”). In Philosophical Studies, 1–​61.

A. G. BAUMGARTEN

AL M A

Acroasis logica in Christianum L.B. de Wolff. Halle: Hemmerde, 1761. Metaphysica. 4th edition. Halle: Hemmerde. 1757. Metaphysics. Translated by Courtney Fugate and John Hymers. London: Bloomsbury, 2013. Aesthetica. 2 volumes. Frankfurt am Main (Oder). 1750–​58. Reprint, Hidesheim: Olms, 1970.

Note on Sources and Abbreviations

DIOGENES LAËRTIUS

Lives

Lives of Eminent Philosophers. 2 volumes. Translated by Robert Hicks. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1925.

JOHN OF SALISBURY

Mlog

The Metalogicon of John of Salisbury. Translated by Daniel McGarry. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1955.

G. W. LEIBNIZ

NE  

CVI  

Nouveaux essais sur l’entendement humain. Paris: Flammarion, 1921. Originally published in 1765. New Essays on Human Understanding. Edited by Peter Remnant and Jonathan Bennett. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1996. References are to the book, chapter, and section, followed by pagination in the English edition. “Meditationes de cognitione, veritate, et ideis.” Acta Eruditorum (November, 1684), Leipzig, 537–​42. “Meditations on Knowledge, Truth, and Ideas.” In Philosophical Papers and Letters, translated and edited by Leroy E. Loemker, 2nd edition, Netherlands: Kluwer, 1989, 291–​95. Reference is to the pagination of Acta Eruditorum.

JOHN LOCKE

C

EHU

Of the Conduct of the Understanding by John Locke. Edited by Paul Schuurman. PhD diss., University of Keele, 2000. References are to the paragraph numbers. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Edited by Peter Nidditch. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975. References are to the book, chapter, and section, followed by pagination in Nidditch’s edition.

G. F. MEIER

AV VL

Auszug aus der Vernunftlehre. Halle: Gebauer, 1752. Vernunftlehre. Halle: Gebauer, 1752.

xxiii

xxiv

Note on Sources and Abbreviations

LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA (SENECA THE YOUNGER).

ep  

Epistulae morales ad Lucilium. Epistles. 3 volumes. Translated by Richard Gummere. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University Press, 1917–​ 25. References are to the epistle numbers.

SEXTUS EMPIRICUS

AgL

Against the Logicians. Translated and edited by Richard Bett. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. References are to the book and section numbers.

WILLIAM OF OCKHAM

Oph

Opera philosophica. 7 volumes. St. Bonaventure, NY: The Franciscan Institute, 1974–​88. References are to the volume and pagination.

CHRISTIAN WOLFF

Disc  

GL

 

Eth LL

Discursus praeliminaris de philosophia in genere. In Latin Logic, 1–​104. Preliminary Discourse on Philosophy in General, translated by Richard Blackwell. Indianapolis: Bobbs-​Merrill, 1963. References are to the section numbers of the Discursus praeliminaris. Vernünftige Gedanken von den Kräften des menschlichen Verstandes und ihrem richtigen Gebrauch in der Erkenntnis der Wahrheit (German Logic). 9th edition. Halle:  Renger, 1738. References are to chapter and section numbers. Logic, or Rational Thoughts on the Powers of the Human Understanding; with their Use and Application in the Knowledge and Search of Truth. London:  Printed for Hawes, Clarke, and Collins, 1770. (This text also includes the following short pieces by Wolff:  “Preface to the First Edition” [1712], “Advertisement to the Second Edition” [1719], “Advertisement to the Third Edition” [1722], “Advertisement to the Fourth and Fifth Editions” [1727], and “The Author’s Short View of the Following Logical Treatise.” I refer to these collectively as “Wolff 1770.”) Philosophia moralis sive Ethica, methodo scientifica pertractata. Halle: Renger, 1753. Philosophia rationalis sive logica, methodo scientifica pertractata et ad usum scientiarum atque vitae aptata (Latin Logic). 3rd edition. Frankfurt am Main: Renger, 1740. References are to the chapter and section numbers.

Kant and the Science of Logic

General Introduction

Philosophy underwent significant developments during the period from Francis Bacon to Kant. (I refer to this period as “early modern.” My reason for starting with Bacon will become clear in ­chapter 3.) Logic, as part of philosophy, is no exception in this regard. Canonical historians of logic, however, tend to see this period as an overall dull and unproductive one in the history of logic. I. M. Bocheński asserts: The history of western logic can be divided into five periods:  1. the ancient period (to the 6th century A.D.); 2. the high Middle Age (7th to 11th centuries); 3. the Scholastic period (11th to 15th centuries); 4. the older period of modern “classical” logic (16th to 19th centuries); 5. mathematical logic (from the middle of the 19th century). Two of those are not creative periods—​the high Middle Age and the time of “classical” logic, so that they can be left almost unnoticed in a history of problems. (1970: 11) To Bocheński, the “classical” logic during the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries is “[p]‌oor in content, devoid of all deep problems, permeated with a whole lot of non-​logical philosophical ideas, psychologist in the worst sense” (1970: 258). With the singular exception of G. W. Leibniz, Bocheński adds, modern philosophers such as Spinoza, the British empiricists, Wolff, Kant, Hegel etc. could have no interest for the historian of formal logic. When compared with the logicians of the 4th century B.C., the 13th and 20th centuries A.D.  they were simply ignorant of what pertains to logic and for the most part only knew what they found in the Port Royal Logic. (1970: 258) If there is anything laudable in Kant’s view on logic, Bocheński claims, it is that he had “the insight to state that the logic of his time—​he knew no other—​ was no better than that of Aristotle, and went on to draw the conclusion that logic had made no progress since him” (1970: 6). Even this supposed insight has its flip side per Bocheński’s diagnosis: the modern history of logic was in

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a sorry state until around 1930, partly because most post-​Kantian historians uncritically accepted Kant’s completeness claim about the Aristotelian logic and partly because they inherited his skewed sense of what counts as logic. Those historians, Bocheński stresses, “were not formal logicians and by ‘logic’ they mostly understood methodology, epistemology and ontology” (1951: 5). Thus, they have given the title “logician” to the wrong historical figures. Robert Adamson, for instance, “could devote 16 pages to such a ‘logician’ as Kant—​ but only five to the whole period from the death of Aristotle to Bacon, i.e. to Theophrastus, the Stoic-​Megaric School and the Scholastics.” Bocheński finds this practice unacceptable, since “from the point of view we assume here, Kant is not a logician at all, while the leading Megaricians and Stoics are among the greatest thinkers in Logic” (1951: 5).1 Similarly, William Kneale and Martha Kneale lament that from the mid-​ fifteenth century through the mid-​nineteenth century there were “scores of textbooks but very few works that contain anything at once new and good” (1962: 298). Looking at the apparently novel developments in what the early modern philosophers themselves took to be logic, the Kneales find them largely uninteresting (except for Leibniz’s work on logical calculus).2 For instance, if Bacon sought to lay down new rules for scientific discovery in opposition to the ones offered by the Aristotelian logic, “he did not suggest any development of logic in that sense of the word which interests us,” and so we need not bother about those rules (Kneale and Kneale 1962: 309–​10). As for Kant, although at times he exhibited greater interest in formal logic than other eighteenth-​century thinkers did, his interest turned out to be “superficial.” Moreover, his claim about the completeness of logic since Aristotle suggests he was “unaware of the value of any contributions made to logic after the time of Aristotle” (Kneale and Kneale 1962: 354–​55). A more sympathetic historian may respond along the following lines. Bocheński and the Kneales are right to some extent in claiming that formal logic, as we now understand it, received little attention from early modern philosophers. It is blatantly anachronistic, however, to conclude that their writings on logic are therefore generally devoid of content or philosophical depth and filled with nonlogical stuff. Such a conclusion begs the question of what counts as “logic” in the first place, a question that should not be dismissed just because we have supposedly reached some consensus on the answer. A representative of the sympathetic approach is William Risse’s Die Logik der Neuzeit, volume 2, 1640–​1780. This volume is premised on the understanding that “logic” was construed much more broadly in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries than it is now. It covers not only familiar figures in a history of formal logic such as Leibniz, but also philosophers (e.g., René Descartes) who are rarely associated by modern historians with logic. Risse’s main reason for this inclusive approach is that logic meant more than formal logic during the two centuries under consideration and was so intertwined with

General Introduction

other branches of philosophy that it would be nearly impossible—​and less than fruitful—​to examine it in isolation (Risse 1970: 5–​6). Over the past few decades, an impressive body of scholarly work has been done to further explicate the many facets of the broader notion of logic that Risse attributed to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.3 I suspect, however, that readers today are hardly moved by such efforts. James Franklin speaks to this suspicion when he dismisses the “voluminous works of ‘logic’ ” produced in the eighteenth century as “full of what would now be called cognitive psychology, epistemology, semiotics, philosophy of logic, and introspection”—​“full indeed of everything except logic, in the modern sense of formal logic” (2006:  838). The assumption about the overall insignificance of early modern works on logic is evident from the fact that The Cambridge History of Eighteenth-​Century Philosophy, in which Franklin’s article appears, has no separate category on logic. The topics that Risse included in the early modern conception of logic are mostly treated under “The Science of Human Nature.” Franklin’s article, “Artifice and the Natural World:  Mathematics, Logic, Technology,” belongs in the section “Natural Philosophy” and sets aside a scant four pages to logic (after twenty pages on mathematics). This arrangement is not surprising, given Franklin’s impression that eighteenth-​ century writings on the so-​called logic contain little that commands respect nowadays (2006: 838). The same view is implicit in Simon Blackburn’s newest edition of The Oxford Dictionary of Philosophy (2016: 278–​79). The entry on logic defines it as the “general science of inference,” the aim of which is “to make explicit the rules by which inferences may be drawn, rather than to study the actual reasoning processes that people use, which may or may not conform to those rules.” The history of logic is then divided into two traditions. One is “Aristotelian logic or traditional logic” (syllogism), which is said to have “dominated the subject until the 19th century.” The other is “modern logic” or “mathematical logic,” with George Boole and Gottlob Frege as its founding figures. No alternative logics or notions of logic are mentioned. On the other hand, if we look at entries on canonical figures of early modern philosophy, logic is rarely mentioned as part of their philosophical concerns. Take John Locke, for instance. While some commentators have interpreted him as an exceedingly important champion of a new logic in place of the Aristotelian one, variously called “logic of ideas” (Yolton 1955; Schuurman 2004) and “facultative logic” (Buickerood 1985), Blackburn’s entry on Locke identifies his “great distinction” as a “close attention to the actual phenomena of mental life.” Combine this statement with Blackburn’s entry on logic, and you get the impression that Locke’s most notable philosophical work must have nothing whatsoever to do with logic. One gets the same impression from surveying the sixty-​plus entries related to logic in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. In short, few philosophers today suspect there to be any noteworthy relation between Locke—​or any other

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early modern philosopher who is not Leibniz or working on logical calculus as Leibniz did—​and logic.4 This attitude is not simply due to a lack of historical information. Nor would it be helpful to blame it on the modern bias about what counts as logic. Rather, it points to a serious methodological challenge that confronts interpreters like Risse. George Parkinson, when reviewing Risse’s volume mentioned above, puts it this way: even if we grant that early modern conceptions of logic are exceedingly broad and “permeated with questions of epistemology, metaphysics and psychology,” there still seems to be “a case for operating with a more stringent, and modern, conception of what is to count as logic,” which helps to “simplify the issues to be dealt with—​issues which are, in any case, complex enough” (Parkinson 1971: 300). In other words, what will be lost if we sort apart issues of epistemology, psychology, etc. in the seventeenth-​and eighteenth-​century philosophy and handle them separately (without thereby denying that at bottom they may be intimately connected)? By distinguishing logic in the strict modern sense from other disciplines, one may add, we can better appreciate the various areas of philosophical developments in that period for what they are. Otherwise, what do we gain by insisting on grouping together multiple nonlogical subjects (by today’s standard) and subsuming them under “logic”? While agreeing that we should be open-​minded about the history of logic leading up to Kant, I do not wish to pit the two approaches just mentioned against each other. To find a middle ground, it may be helpful to distinguish “logic” and “philosophy/​theory of logic.”5 Regardless of what exactly falls in each category or whether Locke and others should be read as having developed an entirely new kind of logic vis-​à-​vis the traditional Aristotelian logic, we can grant at least the following. While a logician today may find most early modern writings on logic uninteresting, the story should be different for a philosopher who is concerned with such issues as the following. In what (if any) sense is logic normative? How does logic relate to reality? Are laws of logic objective and real much as, say, laws of physics are? If logic is a “science,” does it have a special domain of objects about which it can make true claims, and, if so, what are suitable truth-​makers of those claims? If confronted with competing but equally coherent logical systems, by what criteria should we compare or judge them? How would logic qua science relate to other sciences or disciplines? And the list goes on. These questions transcend divisions of philosophical periods or traditions. In fact, as we shall see in c­ hapters 2 and 3, most of them were raised by the founding figures in the early history of logic and would continue to be debated in many centuries to come. Even the advances in formal logic that Bocheński singled out for praise cannot be fully appreciated in abstraction from their philosophical relevance. The chief instigators of those advances did not work on logic for its own sake, but only in view of something more fundamental—​a

General Introduction

metaphysical outlook, the quest for philosophia, the pursuit of truth, and so on and so forth. In this book, I  seek to bring this point home in a way that will eventually shed fresh light on Kant’s theory of logic and, most importantly, on his account of logic as a “science” in the strict sense of the term—​that is, as an exhaustive and a priori proven system of the merely formal rules of thought. Getting to the bottom of this account is my ultimate and most important goal. It can be responsibly fulfilled, however, only on the premise of an informed understanding of the relevant historical and philosophical perspectives. Here is my plan. In ­chapter 1, I explain that, due to the peculiar exegetical challenges posed by Kant’s logic corpus, we had better take a “history of philosophical problems” approach if we are to reconstruct a theory of logic on his behalf that is maximally coherent, philosophically interesting, and historically original (as per his most sympathetic readers). I then consider Kant’s conception of history against the background of the controversy between eclecticism and systematic philosophy that shaped the German philosophical discourse during the first half of the eighteenth century. I thereby look for an angle to make educated decisions about how to select materials from each of the periods I am about to consider and build a historical narrative that can best inform our understanding of Kant’s theory of logic. In ­chapter 2, I sketch a history of logic from Aristotle, along with Epicurus and the early Stoics, to the late sixteenth century. (For convenience, I now use “history of logic” as shorthand for “history of philosophy of logic.”) My analysis revolves around the (supposedly) scientific status of logic on the one hand and its value or utility on the other. Following clues found in Kant’s works, I explain how these issues might have emerged and evolved over time. In the end, they boil down to a set of four questions.

(1) Is logic a science (scientia), instrument (organon), standard of assessment (canon), or mixture of these? (2) If logic is a (theoretical) science, what is the subject matter that separates it from other sciences, particularly metaphysics? (3) If logic is a necessary instrument to all philosophical inquiries, how is it entitled to this position? What is the end (finis) of logic? (4) If logic is both a science and an instrument, how are these two roles related?

While tracking down a range of notable historical positions on these questions, I pay special attention to newly developed conceptual apparatus—​e.g. logica naturalis versus logica artificialis, logica utens versus logica docens, and scientia realis versus scientia rationalis, distinctions that would eventually come to fruition in Christian Wolff’s account of the nature and foundation of logic, arguably the most formative source, as well as a major target, of Kant’s.

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In ­chapter 3, I consider how some early modern philosophers approached the questions just raised. I  look at four representatives featured in Kant’s remarks about the history of logic:  Bacon, Locke, Leibniz, and Wolff. They shared an interest in determining the legitimacy of a given logic scientifically. Bacon initiated a “natural history” method by which to overhaul all philosophical sciences, including logic. Following the same method, Locke measured the legitimacy of a putative logic against facts about the natural workings of human intellect and challenged the view that the Aristotelian syllogistic is necessary to the proper use of our reason. Leibniz responded to this Lockean challenge by making syllogism part of the “universal logic” and by grounding a logical theory (artificial logic) on a divinely sourced natural logic. Drawing on Leibniz’s ideas as well as certain medieval traditions, Wolff developed an elaborate account of natural and artificial logics as what represent, though in different manners, the same rules that regulate our mental operations and thereby sought to restore the centrality of syllogism in all philosophical sciences. In ­chapter 4, I consider how Kant, in the decade between the mid-​1760s and the mid-​1770s, navigated between existing accounts of logic until he finally found his own voice. I highlight two breakthroughs that would contribute most to his Critical theory of logic. One concerns his division of logic into two fundamentally different, albeit mutually complementary, branches:  logic for the learned understanding and logic for the common human understanding (to make it healthy), precursors to what he would later call “pure logic” and “applied logic” respectively. This distinction not only marks a clear departure from the Leibnizian-​Wolffian take on the relation between artificial and natural logics, but also pays homage to the humanist and Lockean practices of emphasizing certain ethical dimensions of logic. The second breakthrough is the emergence of a notion of transcendental logic from Kant’s efforts to secure the status of a proper science for metaphysics—​especially its first part, ontology, a reformed version of which he would identify first as “transcendental logic” and then as “transcendental philosophy.” To provide more context for evaluating these breakthroughs, I begin the chapter by considering the logics of three thinkers who greatly influenced Kant’s intellectual developments—​ Martin Knutzen, A. G. Baumgarten, and G. F. Meier. Their treatments of logic followed the original Wolffian framework to some extent, but also diverged from the latter in meaningful ways. I focus on the aspects thereof that can help to accentuate the originalities of Kant’s theory of logic by comparison. In ­chapter 5, I study Kant’s account of logic in the Critique of Pure Reason. On this account, only pure general logic is a properly scientific logic (“logic proper”). On Kant’s notion of strict “science,” this logic must at least (a) have a unique subject matter and (b) be somehow derivable from certain principles a priori. Kant establishes (a) through the thesis that logic proper treats nothing but the merely formal rules of thinking. Commentators disagree over how to interpret this formality thesis, though, and their disagreements have consequences

General Introduction

for issues like Kantian analyticity. As part of my settlement, I tease apart three aspects of the thesis to capture the specific ways in which Kant distinguishes logic proper from particular (as opposed to general) logic, from applied (but still general) logic, and from transcendental logic, respectively. This last distinction calls for a close scrutiny, as it represents Kant’s Critical view of the relation between logic and metaphysics. On the surface, Kant suggests that he has obtained a fully formed conception of logic proper before moving on to transcendental logic and characterizing the latter in terms of its contrast with the former. As my analysis in ­chapter  4 will have shown, however, he developed the notion of transcendental logic on grounds that had less to do with logic itself than with the question of whether metaphysics (or ontology) is possible as a science. His account of pure general logic in the Critique—​with a newly articulated aspect of formality that consists in its abstraction from all relation (Beziehung) to the object of cognition or, equivalently, from all content of cognition—​was partly a byproduct of that development. As for (b), Kant undoubtedly rejects the Wolffian view that logic, qua demonstratively certain science, gets its foundational principles from psychology as well as ontology (as first philosophy in the traditional sense, namely a science of being qua being). It is far from clear, however, whether he can offer a positive account of how logic is possible as a pure science a priori. I tackle this question on the occasion of examining Kant’s claims that logic proper is complete, that it can serve only as a canon but not an organon, and that using it otherwise amounts to a dialectical illusion. Drawing on his stated views of what makes a science complete, I argue that he needs nothing short of a critique to secure the status of a strict science for pure general logic, much as he needs a critique to establish transcendental logic as an a priori proven science. My search for a worthwhile Kantian proof of the former as a complete science will lead me to suspect, though, that Kant could not and would not profess to know definitively that his (Aristotelian) logic is the correct and exhaustive theory of human understanding regarding the formal rules of its operations. On the whole, this book is a history of the philosophy of logic told from a Kantian perspective. Needless to say, I discuss the pre-​Kantian approaches mainly to uncover the historical developments in light of which we can make a more informed appraisal of Kant’s philosophy of logic than otherwise. Still, those developments are worth studying in their own right. With this proviso, I invite the reader to explore them with me as they unfold. In this way, when it is finally time to zero in on Kant’s theory of logic, we can pass clear-​eyed judgments about its place in history, its unique philosophical elements, and its limitations.

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Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic METHODOLOGICAL REFLECTIONS

1. Introducing a History-​of-​Problems Approach 1.1. EXEGETICAL CHALLENGES POSED BY KANT’S LOGIC CORPUS

Kant’s logic corpus comprises four sets of materials:  Logic, compiled by G.  B. Jäsche (commonly referred to as “Jäsche Logic”); Kant’s handwritten notes on logic (Reflexionen); transcripts of his logic lectures (Vorlesungen); works he himself prepared for publication that contain remarks about logic, the most frequently cited one being the Critique of Pure Reason. As it will become clear, none of these four sets of materials can alone represent Kant’s views on logic in a way that is at once reliable, precise, complete, and conclusive. Nor is it obvious how exactly they relate to one another. Let me begin with the Reflexionen, which Kant wrote on the margins and interleaved pages of his copy of G. F. Meier’s Auszug aus der Vernunftlehre, a text that he used for most if not all of his logic lectures. These notes are largely fragmentary. With most of them, there is no foolproof way to verify when Kant wrote a given note or whether it represents merely a passing thought or a committed position on his part.1 The available transcripts of Kant’s logic lectures are likewise affected by various philological problems.2 In many cases, we cannot be certain who produced the original transcripts or whether what was transcribed was strictly from Kant’s lectures or even from parts of his philosophical corpus.3 Moreover, Kant apparently had to deliver lectures within certain constraints. Although he had some leeway in how rigidly to follow the then-​standard curriculum, by his admission in his course on logic he was “not permitted to arrange everything in accordance with [his] own understanding” of specific topics (viz. syllogism) but was “often obliged to defer to the prevailing taste” (DfS, 2: 57). Thus, even if the extant transcripts of Kant’s logic lectures were largely faithful recordings of the actual lectures, we still cannot infer that they represent his conclusive views

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on logic. Kant himself warns against counting even on notes that came directly from students who attended his lectures. In a letter to Marcus Herz on October 22, 1778, he gave the following explanation as to why he found it difficult to satisfy the latter’s request for students’ notes of his lectures. Those of my students who are most capable of grasping everything are just the ones who bother least to take explicit and verbatim notes; rather, they write down only the main points, which they can think over afterward. Those who are most thorough in note-​taking are seldom capable of distinguishing the important from the unimportant. They pile a mass of misunderstood stuff under that which they may possibly have grasped correctly.  .  .  . since I  make improvements or extensions of my lectures from year to year, especially in the systematic and, if I may say, architectonic form and ordering of what belongs within the scope of a science, my students cannot very easily help themselves by copying from each other. (Br, 10: 242–​43) Not one to give up easily, Herz insisted that even incomplete notes from different students could be of value. “Diversity,” he argued, “will compensate for incompleteness, since each set of notes will have noticed something different” (Br, 10: 244–​45).4 I shall return to this insight shortly. What about the Logic, published in 1800 under the title “Immanuel Kant’s Logic: A Manual for Lectures”? Jäsche, who compiled the manual, says in the editorial preface: [1]‌ Kant commissioned me to prepare his Logic for publication, [2] as he expounded it to his listeners in public lectures, and to transmit it to the public in the form of a compendious manual. [3] For this purpose I received from him his own manuscript, which he had used in his lectures, with the expression of special, honorable confidence in me . . . [4] that I would not distort or falsify his thoughts, but rather would present them with the required clarity and distinctness and at the same time in the appropriate order. (Log, 9: 3, my enumeration) This passage contains several clues about whether or to what extent the Logic is authentic, i.e., represents Kant’s considered positions. Jäsche’s claim [1]‌is partly supported by the fact that, in a letter on May 29, 1801, Kant disputed the “insinuation”—​by the bookseller Gottfried Vollmer—​that the Logic was issued without his authorization (Br, 12: 372). Note, however, that Kant was thereby making no more than a legal point as to who could have “the lawful publication” of his works (Br, 12: 372).5 He gave no indication of being personally involved in preparing the Logic or scrutinizing any part of the finished product. His vouch for the legality of Jäsche’s edition says nothing about its quality. As for [2]‌and [3], they refer to the materials on which the Logic was based, namely Kant’s logic lectures and Reflexionen or the “manuscript” that he

Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic

supposedly used as the “guiding thread” for his lectures (Log, 9:  3–​4).6 It is doubtful that Jäsche compiled the Logic solely from these materials. As Terry Boswell puts it, it is likely that Jäsche, faced with the challenge of making a cohesive whole from multiple sources, including the fragmentary Reflexionen, took the liberty at least to add words and passages of his own to introduce, summarize, and create transitions between his sources, in order to produce a presentable text.7 Such editorial emendations and maneuvers are inevitable when one tries to put together a manual from scattered materials. Jäsche is explicit about his role in “the exposition, the clothing and the execution, the presentation and the ordering of [Kant’s] thoughts” (Log, 9: 3). What is problematic, however, is his failure to specify which parts of the manual were from the Reflexionen and transcribed lectures, respectively, or what other sources he might have used to facilitate his editorial efforts and supplement those materials. For these reasons, the Logic should not be used as though it accurately represented Kant’s final views on logic. That said, this text remains to be an indispensable albeit alone insufficient source for understanding Kant’s theory of logic. For, as Boswell puts it, “at least in this case we know who prepared the text, know that he was a professional philosopher and know that Kant himself thought enough of his competence to assign him the task of editing his logic” (Boswell 1988: 201). This point resonates with Jäsche’s own suggestion in clause [4]‌that he knew and understood Kant’s philosophy well enough to sift through and select the relevant materials and weave them into a Kantian manual of logic. If we grant that Jäsche is at least philosophically qualified to compile such a manual, we should still bear in mind that the resulting work represents his rendering of Kant’s theory of logic and therefore pay close attention to the perspective from which it is done. In this respect, it is worth noting that what Jäsche takes to be “the appropriate order” for arranging the chosen materials differs from the one shared by many transcripts of Kant’s logic lectures. The lectures follow the basic structure of Meier’s Auszug, which has four principal parts. Part I is on learned cognition (Von der gelehrten Erkenntnis), which treats both learned cognition in general regarding its quantity, truth, certainty, clarity, etc. and three distinct kinds of learned cognition, namely concepts, judgments, and inferences of reason (Vernunftschlüssen). Part II is on the method of learned cognition (Von der Lehrart der gelehrten Erkenntnis). Part III is on learned discourse (Von dem gelehrten Vortrage), which discusses uses of words, writing, and rhetoric. Part IV is on the character of a learned person (Von dem Charakter eines Gelehrten). Some transcripts of Kant’s logic lectures closely follow this four-​part structure. Others contain two principal parts (after an introduction on logic in general and a brief account of the history of logic), namely Doctrine of Elements and Doctrine of Method, with all the basic materials from Parts I, III, and IV of Meier’s Auszug now covered under Doctrine of Elements. The table of contents of the Logik Dohna-​ Wundlacken, for example, shows that discussions of concepts, judgments,

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and inferences take up only one-​third of Doctrine of Elements, the other two-​thirds being about the quantity and quality of cognition, persuasion, prejudices, etc. By contrast, although Jäsche’s Logic likewise has Doctrine of Elements and Doctrine of Method as its two principal parts, the former includes just the sections on concepts, judgments, and inferences. Topics like quality of cognition and prejudices are all shoveled into the Introduction. Jäsche’s chief reason for this arrangement is that it would best reflect Kant’s conception of logic to take up “nothing more . . . in the proper treatment of logic, and in particular in its Doctrine of Elements, than the theory of the three essential principal functions of thought: concepts, judgments, and inferences” (Log, 9: 4). This explanation represents just one interpretation of Kant’s published remarks about the nature of logic. Kant, as I shall explain later, distinguishes pure logic and applied logic as two branches of “general logic.” He stresses that only the former is properly science, which studies the rules of thought in abstracto with respect to mere form. Meanwhile, he includes topics like prejudices in applied logic, which treats rules of thought in concreto under the empirical-​psychological conditions of the thinking subject. On Jäsche’s reading, Kant has thereby implied that only topics of pure logic should be taken up in logic proper. Assuming concepts, judgments, and inferences are the only three types of thought from the perspective of pure logic and that only their form should be considered in such a logic, Jäsche restricts Doctrine of Elements to discussions of the formal features of concepts, judgments, and inferences. As for applied logic, by handling its sundry topics briefly in the Introduction, Jäsche signals that it does not deserve a prominent place in the Logic, as it does in most transcripts of Kant’s logic lectures, even though this text is advertised as the manual for the lectures. For comparison, consider two logic texts by Johann Kiesewetter (1766–​ 1819), who studied under Kant. Both texts were intended as manuals for logic lectures. One is the Grundriß einer reinen allgemeinen Logik nach Kantischen Grundsätzen (1791), which is entirely devoted to pure logic. The other is Logik zum Gebrauch für Schulen (1797), which comprises two equal parts, one on pure logic (Abhandlung der reinen allgemeinen Logik) and the other on applied logic (Abhandlung der angewandten allgemeinen Logik). Both texts purport to be based on Kant’s conceptions of logic—​the first on his notion of logic as a strict science (pure and a priori), and the second on his division of general logic into pure and applied parts. Notably, in a letter to Kant in July 1791, Kiesewetter recounts that Kant was somewhat directly involved in the work on the first book, to the point of dictating materials for its Einleitung. All in all, this book is said to be several years in the making, have Kant as one of its close witnesses, and owe much of its content to him (Br, 11: 267–​68). We will not be able to evaluate the designs of Kiesewetter’s texts vis-​à-​vis that of the Logic until we have clarified Kant’s conception of logic on independent grounds. Still, the mere

Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic

contrast gives us one more reason not to rely uncritically or too heavily on Jäsche’s work as the basis for figuring out Kant’s views on logic. At the very least, we will be wise to heed to Boswell’s cautionary note about the Logic that “even if the text were fully authentic and accurate, it would still present only a limited view both of Kant’s logic lecture and of the reflections” (Boswell 1998: 201). Of course, insofar as Kant’s logic lectures and reflections are in turn affected by the philological problems mentioned earlier, we cannot assume that everything included therein necessarily belongs to the complete picture of Kant’s logic either. To make such an assumption is to beg Jäsche’s question about what should be included in logic proper by the Kantian standard. Nevertheless, Boswell’s verdict about the incompleteness of the Logic poses this challenge: to construct a reasonably comprehensive, faithful, and coherent picture of Kant’s theory of logic from available materials, how should we decide which of those materials are pertinent or how they are connected? To answer this question, it will be instructive to examine how Jäsche might have arrived at his decision about what to include in the Logic, even though the decision itself is debatable. 1.2. A PERSPECTIVAL APPROACH

Jäsche’s editorial preface indicates two key parts of his procedure. One is to identify an appropriate Kantian standpoint from which to sift through the relevant texts in a principled fashion. The other is to situate Kant’s theory of logic in an appropriate historical context, which presents us with philosophical issues that confront the theory and that may serve to highlight its major components. To begin with, Jäsche envisions how Kant as “the great reformer of philosophy and, as concerns the economy and external form of logic, of this part of theoretical philosophy in particular, would have worked on logic according to his architectonic plan, whose essential outlines are sketched in the Critique of Pure Reason.” Being preoccupied with the more pressing task of “a scientific grounding of the whole system of philosophy proper,” Kant has reportedly left the task of compiling logic “to others, who, with insight and with unbiased judgment, could use his architectonic ideas for a truly purposeful and well-​ ordered arrangement and treatment of this science.” Mentioning recent logic texts that are “fruit of those Kantian ideas on logic,” Jäsche claims that logic has become “more purified, partly from all its foreign components, partly from so many useless subtleties and merely dialectical tricks,” and “more systematic and yet at the same time, with all scientific strictness of method, simpler.” This progress, Jäsche suggests, is recognizable to anyone with “correct and clear concepts of the proper character and the legitimate limits of logic” (Log, 9: 5–​ 6). Presumably, he is thereby referring to Kant’s claim that logic is “a science that exhaustively presents and strictly proves nothing but the formal rules of

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all thinking” (Bviii–​ix). Jäsche obviously puts great weight on the notion of “science,” which in the strict Kantian sense must be a systematic whole based on a priori principles (MAN, 4: 467–​68). This emphasis on logic qua strict science is also reflected in how Jäsche contrasts Kant’s theory of logic with what one can find in “older manuals” on logic. About the latter, Jäsche says: there is scarcely a one of them in which the limits of the various spheres that belong to universal logic in its broader extension—​the merely propaedeutic, the dogmatic and technical, the pure and the empirical—​do not run into and through each other, so that the one cannot be determinately distinguished from the other. (Log, 9: 5–​6) These remarks echo Kant’s criticism in the Critique of some of the preceding developments in logic. He says:  the various attempts of “some moderns” to expand logic—​by adding “psychological chapters about our different cognitive powers,” “metaphysical chapters about the origin of cognition or the different kinds of certainty,” or “anthropological chapters about our prejudices”—​have only shown “ignorance of the peculiar nature of this science” and threatened its scientific status, since it is “a deformation of the sciences when their boundaries are allowed to run over into one another” (Bviii). By Jäsche’s analysis, this insistence on the independence and purity of logic proper in relation to other sciences can be traced to the Wolffian idea of universal logic. It would take Kant to “execute” that idea (Log, 9: 6), however, a fact that must be reflected in a logic manual compiled on his behalf. Compiling such a manual in 1800, Jäsche also registered a challenge to the Kantian conception of logic by Johann Fichte and his followers, a challenge that concerns the ground of logic qua science. Jäsche explicitly refers to Fichte’s Wissenschaftslehre (doctrine of science) and its subsequent development by Friedrich Schelling in the 1790s. In that connection, Kant is said to hold that logic is “a separate science, existing for itself and grounded in itself, and hence that from its origin and first development with Aristotle . . . it could not really gain anything in scientific grounding.” Thus, Jäsche claims, “Kant did not think either about grounding the logical principles of identity and contradiction on a higher principle, or about deducing the logical forms of judgment” (Log, 9: 7). As to whether Kant was right not to be concerned about such issues, it “is of course a different question, which leads to the highly significant question of whether there is in general an absolutely first principle of all cognition and science, whether such a thing is possible and can be found” (Log, 9: 8). The Fichtean answer, as Jäsche presents it, is that logic would have to be “subordinated, like every other science, to the doctrine of science and its principles” (Log, 9: 8). Without saying whether this view is correct, Jäsche argues that logic can at any rate be treated independently of considerations about its ground.

Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic

In the inner part of its sphere, as concerns the essential, logic remains in every case unaltered; and the transcendental question as to whether logical propositions are still capable of and require a derivation from a higher, absolute principle has as little influence on logic and on the validity and evidence of its laws as the transcendental problem, How are synthetic judgments a priori possible in mathematics? does on pure mathematics in regard to its scientific content. Like the mathematician as mathematician, the logician as logician, within the sphere of his science, can also continue confidently and certainly to explain and to prove, without permitting himself to worry about the transcendental question, which lies outside his sphere, as to how pure mathematics or pure logic is possible as a science. (Log, 9: 8) In these terms, Jäsche suggests that the Logic is composed primarily from the standpoint of a mere logician, without any concern about the transcendental question about its grounding. It is clear, then, that Jäsche’s decision about what to include in the Logic and especially in its principal parts hinges on a particular reading of what counts as “logic” in the Kantian sense and of whether one can produce a proper logic manual without inquiring about its ground. One may dispute Jäsche’s reading, however, and doubt that his treatment of materials in the Logic precisely captures Kant’s own view. Adickes, who edited several volumes of Kant’s Handschriftlicher Nachlaß, including the one on logic, remarks that Jäsche treated his materials so “violently and highhandedly” that the resulting text was a “shoddy effort [Machwerk]” that should not be considered an authentic work of Kant’s (Adickes 1913: 48n.2). In Adickes’s view, we deserve direct access to Kant’s handwritten notes and reflections on logic in their original shape, no matter how disorderly and fragmentary they might be. I share this view, without wishing to exclude the Logic from Kant’s logic corpus altogether. We may not agree with Jäsche’s interpretation of Kant’s conception of logic or his decision about what to include in a Kantian manual of logic. Still, we would be hard-​pressed to find independent and conclusive grounds in Kant’s Nachlaß—​or in the transcripts of his lectures or even in his personally prepared publications, which are limited in their own ways—​for judging whether or to what extent the materials included in the Logic represent Kant’s views. We need not infer that it is, to quote Boswell, “unavoidable” to follow a “circular approach” whereby we “take recourse to other materials such as the Jäsche logic itself and the extant students’ transcriptions” to decipher the Reflexionen and yet must verify the authenticity of the former materials “on the basis of Kant’s handwritten notes” (Boswell 1988:  201). A  noncircular approach remains open, provided our goal is not to settle issues of textual authenticity or accuracy of specific parts of Kant’s logic corpus, a task that

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I suspect is somewhat hopeless, but to reconstruct Kant’s theory of logic in a philosophically interesting way. In this regard, Jäsche’s method for deciding what materials to include and highlight in a Kantian manual is still worth emulating. It involves two steps that are pivotal to a fruitful reconstruction of Kant’s theory of logic from limited texts. One is to sort out the relevant historical developments in (philosophy of) logic, against the backdrop of which Kant might have eventually worked out his own theory. The other is to sift through remarks about logic (and related topics) in his personally prepared publications. The historical perspective is indispensable if we are to treat Kant as a problem-​driven thinker who would not take anything for granted. In fact, without a clear sense of the relevant philosophical issues facing him, it would be hard to identify the real import of his published accounts of logic. For, as we shall see, the scattered remarks about logic in Kant’s publications are fundamentally limited by specific philosophical concerns and contexts. Thus, they do not automatically add up to a precise, definitive, or complete picture of his theory of logic. We still require a pertinent angle to analyze them and determine how they may fit in Kant’s overall conception of logic. We need, among other things, a historical narrative of what philosophical problems he might have inherited. If Jäsche was right to portray Kant as “the great reformer” of logic in his time, the nature and extent to which a Kantian conception of logic is reformative can become clear only in reference to such a narrative. All things considered, the following is then a commendable procedure for using Kant’s logic corpus to reconstruct his theory of logic. We begin by grouping the Reflexionen together with Jäsche’s Logic and available transcripts of Kant’s logic lectures, without privileging one category over another. At this stage, we can bracket worries about the reliability of Adickes’s dating of the Reflexionen, the authenticity of Jäsche’s Logic, and the accuracy of the lecture transcripts. Absent obvious reasons (e.g. direct contradictions) not to use parts of these materials, it is fine to give them the benefit of the doubt. Meanwhile, we need to identify a perspective for sifting through the aggregated materials. To avoid vicious circularity, the requisite perspective must have independently reliable sources, including Kant’s own publications and past theories of logic that likely formed the relevant background of his account. A well-​defined perspective should incorporate two basic elements: (1) a set of philosophical problems concerning logic that were probably salient and significant to Kant as well as his early modern predecessors, and (2) some gen­ eral constraints as to how he would address such problems given his published views on related issues. While describing such a perspective, we may still cite Kant’s Reflexionen on logic, transcripts of his logic lectures, and the Logic, if they help to flesh out points already indicated in his own publications or suggest a view that can be reasonably expected of him. Having explained the

Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic

perspective, we can then use it to select further materials from Kant’s logic corpus to construct a picture of where he stands with respect to the identified philosophical problems. This procedure poses a new challenge, though. How shall we decide which historical developments in (philosophy of) logic count unless we have already got a somewhat clear sense of Kant’s relation to them? After all, history is not a mere aggregate of facts. When we give an account of certain historical developments, we do so with some idea of the direction in which they are leading. At least this seems to be how Kant views history of philosophy. In what follows, I take a close look at this view, in order not only to address the challenge just mentioned but also to clarify Kant’s attitude toward the history of philosophy. This clarification may help to dissipate the suspicion that, when it comes to logic, Kant’s relation to the Aristotelian tradition must be dogmatic and devoid of philosophical import. We shall see that the opposite is true.

2. Eclecticism, System, and a Kantian Approach to History of Philosophy 2.1. KANT’S CRITICAL ECLECTICISM

There is no ready version of a history of problems in reference to which Kant’s conception of logic might stand out as original. Such a history needs to be reconstructed. How shall we make educated decisions about which historical facts to consider, then? To answer this question, it will be instructive to begin by examining Kant’s approach to history of philosophy and, as its backdrop, reviewing the struggle between eclecticism and systematic philosophy that dominated much of the German philosophical discourse during the first half of the eighteenth century. In that connection, it will prove critical to think over whether Kant is an eclectic of sorts, a question that bears directly on how best to interpret his relation with the history of logic. Eclecticism was a highly important topic in the eighteenth-​ century Germany. The term “eclectic” came to assume multiple meanings, so that one can be an eclectic in one sense but not in another. One sense is reflected in Denis Diderot’s (1713–​84) definition in the Encyclopédie: An eclectic is a philosopher who, trampling underfoot prejudice, tradition, antiquity, universal consent, authority, in short everything that subjugates the mind of the mass, dares to think for himself, returns to the clearest general principles, examines them and debates them, admitting nothing without the testimony of experience or reason. (Diderot 1975: 36) Here we have a standard eighteenth-​century concept of eclecticism, which reflects the spirit of Enlightenment with its emphasis on intellectual maturity and autonomy. Kant, as was typical of his time, was no doubt an eclectic

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in this sense and self-​consciously so. As Manfred Kuehn puts it, Kant, “like many of his contemporaries, dared to think for himself ” with the aim to be a selbstdenker “in the service of science and humanity, not members of some sect” (Kuehn 2001: 179). It is less clear whether Kant also endorsed the so-​called “philosophical eclecticism” or eclecticism as a method of philosophizing. An eclectic in this case sees history of philosophy as essential to true philosophizing. Christian Thomasius (1655–​1728) was arguably the most prominent advocate of eclecticism in this methodological sense. In his view, history and philosophy are certainly distinct:  while history presents the opinions of others in descriptive terms, philosophy reasons about opinions, both one’s own and others’. In the meantime, however, historical knowledge plays an indispensable role in one’s pursuit of wisdom, for two chief reasons. First, no single individual can claim to obtain the whole of wisdom. One’s own opinions inevitably have imperfections and inadequacies, which may be compensated by the opinions of others. Second, to the extent that a historical survey of various opinions on a subject matter lays bare both what is true or good and what is false or bad, it serves to alert us to errors, evils, and false wisdom, so that we can hope to avoid repeating them. In sum, eclectic philosophy is extremely necessary because of the infinite variety of the things that there are to know; it is very useful for seeking the truth, and at the same time it is equitable and just, since it is not led by biased love but allows equal merit to all, and with moderation it warns individuals of errors that are contrary to the truth, and with modesty puts up with the admonitions of others, as it is not displeased with ancient things, nor does it despise things that are new. (Thomasius 1688: 43; translated in Bottin and Longo 2011: 321) Eclectic philosophizing is deemed superior to dogmatic sectarianism. After a critical survey of various sects in the history of philosophy, Thomasius says: And so, you might ask: would it not be better to have one single and unchangeable philosophy, rather than a disgusting and changeable philosophy, made of pieces badly patched together, always altering over the course of time? The fault in this lies in the weakness of our intellect and in the difficulty of the subject, not in the philosophical method. There is no philosophy in existence, unique and always faithful to itself, that deserves the name of true philosophy, and so we have to be content with another [eclectic philosophy]. (Thomasius 1688:  45–​46; translated in Bottin and Longo 2011: 318) Clearly, Thomasius prefers an imperfect aggregate of changing opinions over a self-​contained sect of permanent dogmas, as the former at least has the promise

Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic

of progressing toward true philosophy, a promise that is closed off to sectarianism from the start.8 Following Thomasius, other leading champions of the eclectic method took care to distinguish true from spurious eclecticism. Johann Brucker (1696–​ 1770), for one, highlights this distinction in his Historia critica philosophiae (1742–​44), which represents the zenith of the eighteenth-​century German eclecticism and which appears to be a major source of Kant’s historical knowledge. Brucker explains how “Modern Eclectic Philosophy” differs from the ancient Eclectic School of Alexandria. While the latter is “an irregular, cumbrous, and useless edifice” founded on “an abundance of heterogeneous materials collected from every other sect,” a modern eclectic “renounc[es] every prejudice in favour of celebrated names or antient sects, makes reason his sole guide, and diligently investigates the nature and properties of the objects which come under his observation, that he may from these deduce clear principles, and arrive at certain knowledge” (Brucker 1791 [2]‌: 59; 510).9 The contrast, as the founder of later French eclecticism Victor Cousin (1792–​1867) puts it, is one between “blind syncretism” and “enlightened eclecticism.” Whereas the former manifests itself in abortive attempts to bring different systems together “by force,” Cousin explains, a true eclectic approaches all schools of thought with “equity” and “benevolence” and borrows what is true while discarding what is false in each, using nothing other than reason and experience as the basis for judging about such matters (Cousin 1870: 33).10 Thomasian eclecticism is often contrasted with the systematic method represented by Christian Wolff (1679–​1754). Johann Erdmann, for instance, describes modern eclectics like Thomasius as “opponents” of the Wolffian systematic philosophy (Erdmann 1897: 247–​50). Brigitte Sassen informs us that Wolff was overtly contemptuous of Thomasian eclecticism as “arbitrary” and that, as he was “equally dissatisfied with the scholastic school metaphysics which, he thought, lacked rigour, he produced a systematic philosophical system in reply” (Sassen 2015, §2). Indeed, Wolff is now best known for his systematic exposition of Leibniz’s philosophy. Wolff, however, drew his philosophical inspirations and ideas from a much wider range of sources than Leibniz’s works (to be discussed in ­chapter 3). To Erdmann and Sassen this fact suggests that, although there is a line to be drawn between being a systematic philosopher and an eclectic (in the methodological sense), this divide is not absolute in Wolff’s case. So, Sassen adds: Wolff was not an original philosopher, but a modernizer and systematiser. Rather than reject scholastic school philosophy outright, . . . he modernized and systematised it (and philosophy as a whole). Systematizing philosophy meant integrating different ideas from the philosophical tradition.  .  .  . But while eclectic in this sense, unlike Thomasius’s thought, Wolff’s was

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anything but arbitrary. Rather, he combined those ingredients into a comprehensive system on the model of mathematics. (Sassen 2015, §2.2) Erdmann likewise finds it hard to make a definitive verdict about whether Wolff is an eclectic. It is difficult, he points out, “to strike a mean between the statement that [Wolff] is an eclectic  .  .  .  and the assertion that he stands in [a substantively creative or original] relation to Leibniz.” The former view “would do him an injustice since his philosophy is really all cast in one mould,” while the latter “flatters him too highly, for his merit is limited rather to what is merely matter of form” (Erdmann 1897: 219).11 These depictions of Wolff’s relation with eclecticism suggest that, despite the lofty promise of true philosophical eclecticism envisioned by Thomasius, it cannot seem to shake off perceptions of it being “arbitrary” and “unsystematic.” Meanwhile, the Wolffian systematic philosophy also has its alleged flip side: it is perceived to be unoriginal in content, as whatever improvements it may have made over its historical sources are only a “matter of form.” These negative impressions of both methods became rather pronounced during the second half of the eighteenth century, at least as Abraham Kästner (1719–​ 1800) saw the situation. In a letter to Kant in 1790, Kästner observes: after the decline of Wolfian philosophy there was a movement in the opposite direction, toward a kind of philosophy that aims to be totally unsystematic. The bad Wolfians advocated “system,” by which they meant the memorizing of definitions and proofs they did not really understand and could not really test. Their detractors preferred “eclectic” philosophizing:  using unexplained words, unattached to any definable concepts, throwing together opinions without asking whether they cohere with one another, declaiming instead of proving. (Br, 11: 213) If this report indicates how the “systematic” and “eclectic” methods of philosophizing came to be practiced by their respective followers, one has cause to wonder whether this development was not just a historical accident but rather a destined consequence of certain inherent problems of the methods themselves. The problem with philosophical eclecticism seems obvious. As long as the eclectic declines to begin with determinate ideas or principles by which to judge, in a consistent manner, what belongs to true philosophy, she risks always swinging indecisively from one aggregate of opinions to another, without making any real progress toward true philosophy. It is tempting to overcome this problem by introducing a “new eclecticism,” attributed to Moses Mendelssohn (1729–​86) and Christian Garve (1742–​98), among others, which combined “elements of Thomasian and Wolffian teachings, with the latter providing most of the foundation and formal structure” (Schneiders 2006: 41). One may even see Wolff as the one who virtually ushered in this brand of eclecticism. As

Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic

Reinhard Brandt puts it, in a way “Wolff’s systematic philosophy dissolves the eclectic method by adopting it” and supplementing it with the principles by which to select ideas from multiple sources so that they make up a coherent system (Brandt 2006: 148–​49). In Wolff’s own view, having or not having such principles is what separates a system builder (systematis conditor) from a mere compiler (compilator). The distinction is not whether one draws materials from others, but how one does it. A system builder selects and connects truths discovered by others in accordance with her rational concept of an “end,” since a “system” is a collection of “truths that are connected with one another and by their first principles” (LL, §889). Suppose Wolff has thereby indicated how to address the problem of arbitrariness through a hybrid of eclectic and systematic methods: the principles of a system must be determined before one selects truths discovered by others and weaves them into a system. As enticing as this approach may seem, it can hardly assuage a pure Thomasian eclectic. To her, as long as those antecedently chosen principles are themselves assumed without critical examination, what the hybrid method offers is, in the final analysis, no better than dogmatic sectarianism. Against this backdrop, how would Kant position himself vis-​à-​vis philosophical (methodological) eclecticism? On one reading, he would surely reject it. Hermann Cohen goes so far as to treat eclecticism and Kantian idealism as “two opposites in all philosophy and science”:  while the former can only give us a “mixture of styles,” the latter aims at “strict and pure unity” (Cohen 1914: 595). Lewis White Beck may also have the notion of unity in mind while arguing that Kant could not have adopted the eclectic method. Had Kant’s strategy been that of divide et impera, he would have been an eclectic philosopher drawing a bit from here and a bit from there. His philosophy would itself have been a coalition system of the kind he explicitly condemned, and he would have been as forgotten now as other eclectics and compromisers. (Beck 1967: 227) Beck is referring to Kant’s description of “coalition system” as “syncretistic” and as a contrived aggregate of contradictory principles that “commends itself better to a public that is satisfied with knowing something of everything and nothing as a whole, so that it can turn its hand to anything” (KpV, 5: 24). It does not follow, however, that Kant rejects Thomasian eclecticism, which is specifically different from syncretism. Moreover, as we have seen, it is conceivable (at least from the perspective of a Wolffian) to combine eclecticism with the method of system building to ensure coherence. Could Kant be an eclectic in this sense? To answer this question, let us consult Kant’s own notion of system. A  system, he says, is “the unity of the manifold cognitions under one idea,” the requisite idea being “the rational concept of the form of a whole,” through which its boundaries and the relations of its parts are “determined a priori.”

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A  system in this sense is an organic whole—​“like an animal body”—​that is “articulated (articulatio) and not heaped together (coacervatio).” Its unity is “architectonic unity” insofar as it “arises only in consequence of an idea (where reason provides the ends a priori and does not await them empirically).” This kind of unity is directly opposed to “technical unity,” which arises “empirically, in accordance with aims occurring contingently.” The architectonic unity, Kant adds, is what a proper “science” demands (A832–​34/​B860–​62). According to Brandt, this conception of system differs from the Wolffian one mentioned above, precisely due to the eclectic element in the latter conception (Brandt 2006:  153). Kant might draw the line somewhere else, however, roughly as follows. The Wolffian system likewise gets its unity from a rational concept of its end, a concept that supplies the principles in accordance with which the relations among the parts—​a multitude of truths—​are determined in advance. The procedure for generating this kind of system is necessarily dogmatic in a special sense of the term, i.e., from principles (principia). Wolff’s philosophy epitomizes this procedure. What is problematic from the Kantian standpoint is that Wolff built a system on principles without first establishing their legitimacy through a proper critique, for which reason he committed dogmatism. (I shall say more about the relevant sense of “critique” in ­chapter 5.) This distinction between “dogmatic procedure” and “dogmatism” is essential to Kant’s nuanced appraisal of the Wolffian systematic method. On the one hand, its dogmatic procedure must be strictly observed if we are to have a proper “science” at all, “for science must always be dogmatic, i.e., it must prove its conclusions strictly a priori from secure principles.” On the other hand, it is necessary to reject the dogmatic use of such a procedure, namely “the dogmatic procedure of pure reason, without an antecedent critique of its own capacity” (Bxxxv). In these terms, Kant portrays Wolff as “the greatest among all dogmatic philosophers, who gave us the first example  .  .  .  of the way in which the secure course of a science is to be taken, through the regular ascertainment of the principles [among other measures].” To reject Wolff’s teaching of the dogmatic procedure is then “to discard the constraints of science altogether, and to turn work into play, certainty into opinion and philosophy into philodoxy.” Meanwhile, it is important to note that the dogmatic procedure is a necessary but not sufficient condition of a “well-​grounded science,” which also presupposes a critique of the grounding principles. Failing to provide such a critique, Wolff came short of achieving the goal of building truly grounded sciences: he “had the skills for moving a science . . . into this condition, if only it had occurred to him to prepare the field for it by a critique” (Bxxxvi–​xxxvii, modified translation). By this analysis, Kant and Wolff agree that the eclectic method cannot give us proper systematic unity. To whatever extent it is correct to say that Kant “rejects the eclectic procedure for the discovery of truths and turns to the idea of the whole, which is reflected in the order and completeness of the

Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic

system” (Brandt 2006: 153), the same can be said of Wolff. The Wolffian dogmatic procedure, as Kant construes it, is directly opposed to the eclectic one in the following sense: the former alone is conducive to the architectonic unity of a system, whereas the latter can at best beget technical unity. Thus, whatever eclectic element there may be in Wolff’s philosophy, it cannot be the kind that affects its systematic unity. The rational concept of the whole is logically prior to the eclectic gathering of truths and determines their interconnection in a system. That being said, philosophical eclecticism still has a lot to recommend it, much of which has to do with intrinsic limitations of the dogmatic method. The dogmatic procedure requires, but does not by itself provide, the rational idea that supposedly contains the end or principles of a system in reference to which the relations among its parts can be determined a priori. In other words, if one is to construct a system following the Wolffian method, one must first find out, by some other procedure, the principles on which the system depends for its strict unity. What would this procedure be? I submit that it is an eclectic procedure with distinctively Kantian characteristics. This procedure involves a critical study of the history of ideas. In particular, it calls for a constructive analysis of how past philosophers might have sought to build and support their systems, so that one can learn from their insights, challenges, and failings, among other things. This intellectual exercise is an indispensable part of one’s philosophizing activities, as it cultivates “healthy understanding,” a reflective capacity for discerning things that cannot be discovered by a dogmatic procedure. By this discerning faculty alone can one happen upon the idea that gives a philosophical system its architectonic unity.12 One arrives at it not by imitating past masters, nor through rational inferences, but thanks to some sort of genius. To that extent, as Kant puts it, in philosophical (as opposed to mathematical) sciences “the spirit of gen­ ius is necessary” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 19). It is thus fitting for him to describe his own experience of important philosophical discoveries in terms like “great light” (R5037 [1776–​ 78], 18:  69) and sudden awakening from a dogmatic slumber (Prol, 4: 260). The suddenness of such discoveries is compatible with, even presupposes, years of arduous scrutiny of the relevant work by other philosophers. Kant’s great light of 1769, for instance, was largely thanks to his reflections on what others had done in the field of metaphysics. (I shall return to this point in ­chapter 4.) Such reflections could, however, serve only to occasion the sudden insight in him by, say, offering him opportunities to experiment with various possible ways to build a truly scientific metaphysics. Kant suggested this much in a letter to Johann Herder on May 7, 1768: since I  am committed to nothing and with total indifference to my own and others’ opinions, often turn my whole system [Gebäude] upside down

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and observe it from a variety of perspectives in order finally perhaps to discover [treffen] one which I can hope to point me in the direction of the truth, I have . . . exchanged many of my views for other insights. My principal aim is to know the actual nature and limits of human capacities and inclinations. (Br, 10: 74) Obviously, Kant’s self-​reported experiments with sundry perspectives were not arbitrary, but guided by a “principal aim.” The point of considering others’ opinions as well as his own was not simply to gather content for a system, but to see which viewpoint might lead to a true system. Kant might see himself as a true eclectic in the following sense, then: before being convinced that he has hit upon the principles from which to build a true system, he needs to go through a disciplined and rigorous search for them. A  fruitful system building needs an antecedent eclectic phase when, with an experimental and critical spirit, one interrogates both one’s own and others’ opinions and hopes thereby to be struck, as it were, by the light of truth. I call this approach Kant’s “critical eclecticism.” It would be beside the point, then, to ask whether there is a “clean break between the eclectic early Kant and the ingenious late Kant” or, for that matter, at what point of his philosophical career he “left the eclecticism of the 1740s behind and emerged as a distinct thinker in his own right” (Schönfeld 2000: 126, 247n.2). Considering that eclecticism occupied such a central place in Kant’s intellectual milieu that it could not simply be cast aside, it is more fruitful to clarify in what meaningful ways he might or might not be an eclectic. In brief, philosophical eclecticism, as a method in opposition to the Wolffian systematic or dogmatic method, was never an option for Kant. Critical eclecticism, by contrast, was an integral part of his philosophical endeavors and a process that he must undertake to happen on major breakthroughs. At bottom, this critical eclecticism connects with Kant’s view of what it means to become a genuinely independent thinker: such independence can be achieved only in a community of autonomous truth-​seekers, through honest exchange of ideas and perspectives. On this point, we may turn to Kant’s idea of a true philosopher, which is closely tied with his view on history of philosophy. My understanding of this view will guide me in reconstructing the history of logic leading up to Kant. 2.2. HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY AND THE IDEA OF A “TRUE PHILOSOPHER”

In Kant’s view, a history of philosophy is such that “nothing can be told therein of what has happened, without knowing beforehand what should have happened, and also what can happen.” It is a history “not of the opinions which have chanced to arise here or there, but of reason developing itself from

Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic

concepts.” To construct a history of philosophy is then to bring it “into a system of reason, which requires the derivation [ableitung] of the happenings from a principle” (FM, 20: 342–​43). Consequently, a narrative of what has happened in the history of philosophy is inevitably tied with a conception of what ought to have happened and where it is supposed to be heading. In Kant’s case, such a conception is shaped by his account of human reason. He holds, in particular, that it is up to human reason to adjudicate its internal conflicts and do so rightfully through a critique. One can regard the critique of pure reason as the true court of justice for all controversies of pure reason; for the critique is not involved in these disputes . . . but is rather set the task of determining and judging what is lawful in reason in general in accordance with the principles of its primary institution. Without this, reason is as it were in the state of nature, and it cannot make its assertions and claims valid or secure them except through war. The critique, on the contrary, which derives all decisions from the ground-​ rules of its own constitution, whose authority no one can doubt, grants us the peace of a state of law, in which we should not conduct our controversy except by due process. . . . And the endless controversies of a merely dogmatic reason finally make it necessary to seek peace in some sort of critique of this reason itself, and in a legislation grounded upon it. (A751–​52/​ B779–​80) The reference to “a merely dogmatic reason” resonates with Kant’s reflections on the philosophical methods practiced by past thinkers. Such reflections dotted his notes and lectures (including those on logic) as well as his publications. For instance, All the efforts of our philosophy are 1. dogmatic 2. critical. Among critical philosophers Locke deserves priority. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 37) Wolff was a virtuoso of reason, he used it and did not examine its sources at all. Dogmatic, not critical. (R4866 [1776–​78], 18: 14; see V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 272; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 922–​23; V-​Met/​Mron, 29: 779) Skeptical method is a true investigating of truth by means of postponement, in that one does not accept or reject anything at once, but instead first lets there be dispute about it.  .  .  . e.g., a Hume.  .  .  . The skeptical method is directly opposed to the dogmatic. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 210–​11) Kant portrays the three methods just mentioned—​dogmatic, skeptical, and critical ones—​as three stages that human reason must undertake to grow, as

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it were, from childhood to adulthood. The first, representing childhood, is dogmatic. The second is skeptical, when one “subject[s]‌the facta of reason to examination and when necessary to blame, the censorship of reason” (A761/​ B789). This stage is merely a resting-​place for human reason, which can reflect upon its dogmatic peregrination and make a survey of the region in which it finds itself in order to be able to choose its path in the future with greater certainty, but it is not a dwelling-​place for permanent residence. (A761/​B789) To arrive at its permanent dwelling place, reason must enter the third stage and apply the critical method. Here reason finally exhibits “the mature and adult power of judgment, which has at its basis firm maxims of proven universality” (A761/​B789). On this account, reason “needs” the conflict among the various sides of its dogmatic use and may even wish it to have taken place sooner and “with unlimited public permission,” so that a “mature critique” could have occurred earlier (A747/​B775). In this regard, Kant calls for honesty “in the utterances of the speculative ways of thinking,” with thinkers “forthrightly confessing their thoughts openly and unreservedly” (A748/​B776). For it can only be advantageous to the progress of human reason if we express thoughts and doubts “for public judgments,” insofar as human reason “recognizes no other judge than universal human reason itself, in which everyone has a voice” (A752/​B780). To illustrate, The contradictions and conflict of systems are the only thing that have in modern times prevented human reason from falling into complete disuse in matters of metaphysics. . . . For this reason we can thank a Crusius as well as a Wolff for the fact that through the new paths that they trod they at least prevented understanding from allowing its rights to become superannuated in stupid idleness and still preserved the seed for a more secure knowledge. (R4936 [1776–​78], 18: 33–​34) In short, the conflicts in question serve to “shock reason, by means of the resistance of an enemy, into raising some doubts about its pretensions and giving a hearing to the critique.” Reason may thereby be awakened “from its sweet dogmatic dreams in order to undertake a more careful examination of its condition” (A757/​B785). This account of how reason progresses toward maturity goes hand in hand with Kant’s notion of a “true philosopher.” Such a philosopher differs from a merely supposed one, in that the former strives to think freely and judge independently, whereas the latter merely imitates others. Nothing is more harmful in philosophy than to imitate. Nothing is more unfortunate and ruinous for the understanding, e.g., than to pick up a

Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic

Wolffius, or a Crusius, or others, . . . and to prize them as stars of the first magnitude, but to value oneself at nothing[;]‌instead, one must learn to think for oneself, to judge for oneself. . . . Philosophy cannot in the least be learned from books, but only through one’s own reflection and one’s own meditation. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 188–​89)13 If one is acquainted with the “philosophical history of what all philosophers ever have said,” what makes one a true philosopher is not any such historical cognition but the ability to philosophize, that is, to examine and form one’s own judgments about what earlier philosophers have said (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 704). Even when faced with seemingly absurd opinions, the philosopher has the duty “to aid humanity universally and to think generously:  these opinions, seemingly so bizarre and absurd, are perhaps not as badly thought, not as absurd, as it may seem” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24:  86). It is with this open mind, plus an appreciation of the ultimate end of philosophy, that the philosopher realizes the need “to draw up an exhaustive dossier” of all the past “vain elaborations of speculative reason” and “store it in the archives of human reason, so as to prevent future errors of a similar kind” (A703–​4/​B731–​32). This view of how a true philosopher relates to the history of philosophy gives depth to what I have called Kant’s critical eclecticism. Now it seems clear that the Kantian eclectic procedure is not just a useful way to find out principles for a true philosophical system. Rather, it is what a philosopher must follow in order to construct a history of philosophical views that brings to light the problems, challenges, failings, and conflicts of reason and thereby points to resolutions and, wherever possible, peace. Bearing this point in mind, let us return to logic.

3. Constructing a Kantian History of Logic: Some Pointers Kant begins the preface to the 1787 Critique (B Preface) with a brief account of the history and nature of logic. He claims: logic since Aristotle “seems to all appearance to be finished and complete” and all the admissible improvements made so far on logic, such as “the abolition of a few dispensable subtleties,” concern more the “elegance” of logic than its “security” qua science. As for the endeavors of “some moderns” to expand logic by adding “psychological,” “metaphysical,” or “anthropological” chapters, they are futile attempts and have only betrayed “ignorance of the peculiar nature of this science” as that which “exhaustively presents and strictly proves nothing but the formal rules of all thinking” (Bviii–​ix). Such is Kant’s frequently cited but all too often poorly understood completeness claim about Aristotelian logic. I shall return to it in ­chapter 5. For now, I wish only to highlight three things.

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First, Kant finds “dispensable subtleties” in the Aristotelian logic. Elsewhere he often criticizes Aristotle’s logic for being “too scholastic, full of subtleties, and fundamentally ha[ving] not been of much value to the human understanding” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 796; see V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 613; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 509). In general, when Kant refers to what is “scholastic” with this negative connotation, he has a particular tradition in mind. He portrays it in broad strokes: in the 12th century the scholastics arose in Paris. Actually all their distinctions concerned only theology, hence also the many useless rules and barbaric expressions. In the end people made do with digging the ancient authors out of the scholastic chaos and the corruption of language that from it. (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24:  700–​701, modified translation) The charge that the rules, distinctions, and technical terms invented by the scholastics were “useless” was a cliché in Kant’s era. Regardless of whether it is fair, the important point to note for our purpose is that it presupposes an end in reference to which things like logical rules can be meaningfully judged as useful or useless. It is here that Kant locates the fundamental failing of scholastic philosophy: it is oriented toward the wrong end, namely mere cultivation of “craft [Geschicklichkeit]” as opposed to wisdom, and is therefore not so much true philosophy as “artistry of reason [Vernunft-​ Künsteleyen]” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 798). As for scholastic logic in particular, it allegedly consists “merely of subtleties” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 37), a result of following Aristotle “in a slavish way” and reducing philosophizing to writing commentaries on Aristotle’s logic (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 804; see Log, 9: 31; V-​ Met-​L2/​Pölitz, 28: 539). Second, Kant reports that some of his modern predecessors have attempted to expand logic by adding psychological, metaphysical, or anthropological chapters. These chapters are, as he specifies them, about “our different cognitive powers (about imagination, wit),” about “the origin of cognition or the different kinds of certainty in accordance with the diversity of objects (about idealism, skepticism, etc.),” and about “our prejudice (about their causes and remedies)” (Bviii). We will have to wait until c­ hapters 3 and 4 to make an educated guess about whose theories Kant may have in mind here. What we can surmise for now is that there was no settled view on the exact scope of logic in relation to other sciences such as metaphysics. Finally, Kant characterizes logic as a “science” with its own subject matter, namely the formal rules of thinking in general. In so doing, he is taking a stand on an ancient controversy over whether logic is a science or a mere instrument (organon) and, if the former, what its subject matter must be. (I shall discuss the origin of this controversy in c­ hapter 2 and Kant’s evolving responses to it in ­chapters 4 and 5.)

Kant and a Philosophical History of Logic

To put these points in perspective, we may briefly consider the part of the Critique where Kant introduces “transcendental logic” by drawing three divisions of logic. General versus particular logics. That is, logic is either “of the general or of the particular use of the understanding.” General logic contains the rules of thinking “without regard to the difference of the objects to which it may be directed,” whereas particular logic contains rules for “correctly thinking about a certain kind of objects.” The latter is “the organon of this or that science” (A52/​B76). Pure versus applied logics. Kant presents these as two parts of general logic and distinguishes them primarily in terms of how each relates to psychology. Pure logic concerns the rules of thinking in abstracto, without regard to any empirical conditions of the thinking subject that fall under psychology. To the contrary, applied logic presents the rules of thinking in concreto, under the contingent conditions of the subject that psychology teaches us. Pure logic is a “canon,” a proper “science,” and an a priori “proven doctrine” of the necessary rules for the use of the understanding in general, whereas applied logic is “merely a cathartic of the common understanding,” as it investigates causes of error, among other things (A53–​54/​B77–​79). General versus transcendental logics. The former “abstracts  .  .  .  from all content of cognition, i.e., from any relation of it to the object, and considers only . . . the form of thinking in general.” The latter, by contrast, is precisely concerned with a specific manner in which certain cognitions relate to objects, namely a priori relation (A55–​57/​B79–​82). I shall say more about these distinctions in later chapters. At this point, I am only using them to introduce the core notions of Kant’s philosophy of logic. First, Kant uses the concepts “science” (in the strict sense, as what builds solely on a priori principles) and “doctrine” to mark pure logic from applied logic. Second, the contrast between “canon” and “organon” captures a fundamental difference between (pure) general logic and particular logic. The former can serve only as a canon for “logical assessment,” by presenting the rules for us to “examine and evaluate  .  .  .  the form of all cognition” regardless of its content. In contrast, to use logic as an “organon” is to treat it as a tool for producing and extending our “knowledge” (Kenntnis), which pertains to the particular content of our cognition (A60–​61/​B84–​86). Third, applied logic qua “cathartic” is neither a canon nor an organon (A53/​B77–​78). It is specifically meant for the “common understanding.” Finally, in reference to the “old and famous question with which the logicians were to be driven into a corner”—​namely “what is truth?”—​Kant divides (pure) general logic into “analytic” and “dialectic,” in terms of a distinction between formal and material conditions of truth. The “analytic” is

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the part of general logic that “analyzes the entire formal business of the understanding and reason into its elements” and thereby lays down the “negative touchstone of truth.” The “dialectic” is the part that Kant, in a deliberate departure from its standard use by past logicians, turns into a “critique of dialectical illusion.” The illusion consists partly in treating (pure general) logic, which can legitimately serve only as a canon, as an “organon for the actual production of at least the semblance of objective assertions” (A60–​62/​B84–​86). In the Critique, Kant uses these notions and distinctions mainly to explicate “the idea of a transcendental logic” (A50/​B74). If that is the case (the actual relation between general and transcendental logics, as we shall see in ­chapters 4 and 5, is more complicated than it seems), it does not follow that Kant’s theory of logic is meant only or primarily to serve his transcendental philosophy. Rather, it can be independently motivated by the need to address certain philosophical problems involving logic, and his transcendental standpoint may allow him to tackle those problems in a unique manner. Not being a historian who carefully builds interpretative claims on textual evidence, Kant is nevertheless mindful of the fact that he has inherited certain problems from past philosophical traditions and discourses. Besides the historical references implicit in his adaptation of concepts like “canon” and “organon,” he also comments on such topics as how “in the schools” logic qua organon was often (incorrectly) treated at the start of this or that science (A52/​B76), why previous logicians got nowhere with the question about truth (A58/​B82), and how some used logic “for the embellishment of every empty pretension” (A61/​B86). Overall, when Kant explains what logic is or is not by employing the notions and distinctions listed above, he does so with a view to counteracting so far mistaken approaches to logic. To grasp fully Kant’s conception of logic and appreciate its originality, then, it will be instructive first to reconstruct the history of problems that formed its backdrop, which he could take for granted but is barely visible to us. Although it is not immediately clear where we should start in narrating such a history, Kant’s previously cited remarks about logic have given us enough hints to make an educated guess about the key philosophical issues to be sorted out. First, what is the nature of logic—​a science, canon, or organon? Second, how is logic related to other sciences? Third, what is the purpose or end of logic? These are some of the key issues that Kant had to confront if he were to put forward a considered philosophical account of logic (recall the demands of a “true philosopher”). In the next two chapters, I shall trace out how they arose in antiquity and evolved over subsequent centuries, in order to foreground the main philosophical notions and theories gradually introduced to address them. This historical overview will prepare us for an informed analysis, in c­ hapters 4 and 5, of how Kant would answer them, why his answer should be the way it is, and in what sense it might be original.

2

The Nature and Place of Logic A HISTORY OF CONTROVERSIES

1. Introduction In this chapter, I sketch a history of logic from Aristotle (along with Epicurus and the early Stoics or Old Stoa) to Peter Ramus (1515–​72) and Jacopo Zabarella (1533–​89). Broadly speaking, I proceed along two axes. One concerns how logic relates to philosophy as a whole—​especially, whether it constitutes a distinct branch of philosophical scientia and, if so, how it relates to other putative parts of philosophy (especially metaphysics). The other pertains to the value of logic for, say, the cultivation of virtue (however this may be understood). My goal is limited. I seek to give a basic narrative of how certain philosophical problems regarding logic might have emerged and evolved over time, without pretending to offer a comprehensive or definitive account of how they were treated during the relevant period. Although at times I settle on one scholarly verdict about what a philosopher actually said about logic, I do so with the caveat that some alternative reading is still open. For reasons mentioned in ­chapter 1, any reconstruction of a history of philosophy is bound to be perspectival and selective. My primary aim here is to foreground and explicate a range of concepts, distinctions, principles, and doctrines that were used to address a set of philosophical problems about logic—​so as to pave the way for my later discussions of early modern theories of logic, including Kant’s. To this end, I  shall focus on three topics. One is the relation of logic to ethics or to philosophy in the sense of wisdom. This topic is most salient in the Old Stoa’s remarks about the value of logic (section 2.1), in Seneca’s case against “games of logic” (2.1), and in Peter Ramus’s argument that the art of logic must imitate “natural logic” and be free of useless technicalities (3.5). In analyzing these developments, I  seek to highlight a challenge that would confront every early modern philosopher, Kant included, who held that logic 31

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prescribes the universal rules for how we ought to regulate certain intellectual activities: on what grounds can one legitimize this normative claim? The second topic concerns the status of logic qua science. For the Aristotelians mentioned in this chapter, most of whom viewed logic as a science (doctrine, art) as well as an organon, it would prove arduous to specify the subject matter of logic, its scope (what subjects to be included therein), its boundaries in contrast to other sciences (particularly metaphysics), and what kind of science it is supposed to be. We will get a basic sense of the difficulties while trying to figure out where to place logic in Aristotle’s division of sciences (2.2). Aristotle’s medieval commentators, especially those influenced by his conception of scientia as demonstrative knowledge from first principles (3.2), would be even more mindful about the quandary of working out a coherent Aristotelian account of the nature and place of logic. Many would respond to the challenge by introducing new concepts—​second intentions, theoretical as opposed to applied logic (logica docens versus logica utens), and artificial as opposed to natural/​common logic (logica artificialis versus logica naturalis/​ usualis), to name a few (3.3). Tracing out these developments will prepare us for an informed analysis of some of the most influential early modern accounts of logic, especially Leibniz’s and Wolff’s. In the process, we shall also see how much a philosopher’s attempt to clarify the nature of logic can be intertwined with and profoundly affected by his other doctrinal and methodological commitments. The third topic involves the terminist logic, or logic of terms (3.4). In this case, we will encounter another way to consider the relation between logic and metaphysics: many semantic topics treated in the terminist logic can have direct consequences for core issues of metaphysics (e.g. the ontological status of universals). More generally, the rise of terminist logic and the divisions within that tradition present us with a new set of questions about the object of a logical investigation. In an extremely broad sense, many philosophers (Kant included) would agree that “terms” constitute the basic elements of what logic studies. A  term, however, can be verbal (sound), written (word), or mental (idea, concept). Which (combination) of these is the proper subject of a logic of terms? If, as Peter Abelard would argue, the terms that logic investigates must at least be the significant ones (sermones), what kind of items must they signify—​things or ideas/​concepts—​in order to qualify as the subject of a logical investigation (as opposed to a metaphysical one, for instance)? Although I will not have room to go as deep into such questions as I wish to, I believe that the terminist logicians’ treatments thereof form a good part of the historical backdrop against which to appreciate Kant’s complex views about whether logic treats words or concepts (or both) and, if it at least treats concepts, how a logical treatment thereof relates to a metaphysical one and why it matters to clarify this relation. I shall briefly explain these points at the end of section 3.4.

The Nature and Place of Logic

2. Logic per Aristotle, the Old Stoa, and Epicurus Six of Aristotle’s works are commonly referred to as his logic, called Organon. These are Categories, On Interpretation, Prior Analytics, Posterior Analytics, Topics, and On Sophistical Refutations.1 Aristotle himself never designated any of his writings as logic, let  alone referring to them as an “organon.” Andronicus of Rhodes, probably active during the first half of the first century BC, is often deemed responsible for the basic cataloguing of Aristotle’s writings with which we are now familiar. Although nothing can be said with absolute certainty about Andronicus, he supposedly held that the study of philosophy presupposes logical skills and therefore Aristotle’s logic must be considered first. Thus, if Andronicus indeed classified parts of the corpus Aristotelicum as organon (instrument, tool), this editorial decision reflected his own understanding of the nature and place of logic, which his contemporaries and followers might find debatable.2 Very few would deny that logic is an instrument of philosophy. The question is whether it is merely such or whether it is also a distinct part of philosophy.3 One cannot answer this question without first addressing the more fundamental ones: What counts as a proper “part” of philosophy? On what basis should philosophy be divided (if it can be divided at all)? There was never consensus on these issues. Multiple alternatives would have been proposed and argued by the end of the Hellenistic period. I  shall examine three of them, attributed to the Old Stoa, Epicurus, and Aristotle, respectively. I begin with the first two. For in the Stoic and Epicurean works—​but not in Aristotle’s—​we can find a division of philosophy that explicitly includes logic (or some equivalent thereof) as a branch of philosophy and raises tractable questions about the relation between logic and philosophy as a whole. I  shall then use these questions as guiding threads to figure out Aristotle’s position. 2.1. EARLY STOICS AND EPICUREANS ON THE NATURE, PLACE, AND PURPOSE OF LOGIC

There are two well-​known Hellenistic divisions of philosophy involving logic. Both are tripartite divisions, as are recorded in Diogenes Laërtius’s Lives of Eminent Philosophers. One is the Stoic division into logic (to logikon), physics, and ethics. The other is traced to Epicurus (342/​1–​270 BC), who divides philosophy into canonic (to kanonikon), physics, and ethics. I shall examine these divisions in turn, before considering Kant’s separate remarks about the Stoic and Epicurean treatments of logic. According to Diogenes, Zeno of Citium (334/​3–​264 BC) introduced the Stoic division, which could also be found in the works of other early Stoics.

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Philosophic doctrine, say the Stoics, falls into three parts:  one physical, another ethical, and the third logical. Zeno of Citium was the first to make this division in his Exposition of Doctrine, and Chrysippus too did so in the first book of his Exposition of Doctrine and the first book of his Physics; and so too Apollodorus and Syllus in the first part of their Introductions to Stoic Doctrine, as also Eudromus in his Elementary Treatise on Ethics, Diogenes the Babylonian, and Posidonius. (Lives, VII.39)4 The early Stoics disagreed among themselves over how the three branches are related. Various metaphors were invoked to characterize the relation. Philosophy, they say, is like an animal, Logic corresponding to the bones and sinews, Ethics to the fleshy parts, Physics to the soul. Another simile they use is that of an egg: the shell is Logic, next comes the white, Ethics, and the yolk in the centre is Physics. Or, again, they liken Philosophy to a fertile field:  Logic being the encircling fence, Ethics the crop, Physics the soil or the trees. Or, again, to a city strongly walled and governed by reason. (Lives, VII.40; see Sextus Empiricus, AgL, I.17–​19) All these similes, as some commentators have pointed out, indicate some kind of “unity” within philosophy and so “should not be interpreted as implying that logic, according to the Stoics, is merely an auxiliary instrument as in the Aristotelian tradition” (Hicks 1910:  55; Ierodiakonou 2014:  439). Still, there are noteworthy differences among the similes. They suggest two distinct ways of spelling out how logic relates to physics and ethics. By the first two similes, logic is an integral and substantive part of an organic whole, a part that determines the overall structure of the whole and must work with other parts in order to maintain the existence and integrity of the whole. The last two similes suggest a different function of logic: it prepares and oversees the domain within which specific productive activities (i.e. ethics and physics) may take place, without producing anything itself. These two models are partly reflected in different orders in which some Stoics prefer to teach the three subjects. Diogenes distinguishes at least four approaches. The first is a holistic one, according to which all parts of philosophy are inseparable from one another and so must be taught together. The second prescribes the order of logic, physics, and ethics. The third begins with ethics, the fourth with physics.5 Then there is the question of what to include under logic. Diogenes reports: Some divide the logical part of the system into the two sciences of rhetoric and dialectic; while some would add that which deals with definitions and another part concerning canons or criteria: some, however, dispense with the part about definitions. (Lives, VII.41) Despite this disagreement, the early Stoics in general held dialectic in high regard, as “the science  .  .  .  of correctly discussing subjects by question and

The Nature and Place of Logic

answer” or “the science of statements true, false, and neither true nor false” (Lives, VII.42). Dialectic, they said, is indispensable and is itself a virtue, embracing other particular virtues under it.  .  .  . Without the study of dialectic, they say, the wise man cannot guard himself in argument so as never to fall; for it enables him to distinguish between truth and falsehood, and to discriminate what is merely plausible and what is ambiguously expressed, and without it he cannot methodically put questions and give answers. (Lives, VII.46–​47) In short, dialectic is so deeply connected with wisdom that “the wise man is the true dialectician” (Lives, VII.83).6 The basic rationale behind this connection is as follows. For all things, they say, are discerned by means of logical study, including whatever falls within the province of Physics, and again whatever belongs to that of Ethics. For else, say they, as regards statement and reasoning Physics and Ethics could not tell how to express themselves, or again concerning the proper use of terms, how the laws have defined various actions. Moreover, of the two kinds of common-​sense inquiry included under Virtue one considers the nature of each particular thing, the other asks what it is called. Thus much for their logic. (Lives, VII.83) This argument about the supreme importance of logic suggests that logic is not something to be done for its own sake, even though it has a subject matter (viz. “the proper use of terms”) that is distinct from those of physics and ethics. The alternative is not to treat logic as a mere instrument to other sciences either. Rather, it comes down to a cultivation of reason that is oriented toward wisdom, at which state one will have become optimally discerning and masterful in judging both theoretical and practical matters (i.e. physics and ethics). That is, a wise person will be able to approach all such matters with a reason that is strictly disciplined and methodic, “acute [and] nimblewitted,” and free “from precipitancy.” Such are qualities of a truly “skilled dialectician” (Lives, VII.46–​48).7 In the Epicurean tripartite division of philosophy, “canonic” is the branch alongside physics and ethics. According to Diogenes, some Stoics included canonic as one of the multiple subdivisions of logic, namely as “the part which deals with canons or criteria they admit as a means for the discovery of truth, since in the course of it they explain the different kinds of perceptions that we have” (Lives, VII.42). While the Stoics held dialectic in highest regard, the Epicureans rejected it as “superfluous” (Lives, X.31). If logic in a very broad sense occupies the entry place in philosophy according to many of the Stoics, for the Epicureans canonic alone has the claim to such a position.

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Canonic forms the introduction to the system and is contained in a single work entitled The Canon. The physical part includes the entire theory of Nature. . . . The ethical part deals with the facts of choice and aversion. . . . The usual arrangement, however, is to conjoin canonic with physics, and the former they call the science which deals with the standard [criterion] and the first principle [archē], or the elementary part of philosophy, while physics proper, they say, deals with becoming and perishing and with nature; ethics, on the other hand, deals with things to be sought and avoided, with human life and with the end-​in-​chief. (Lives, X.30) Can the Epicurean canonic be called “logic”? If dialectic constitutes the part of Stoic logic that is recognizably formal,8 have the Epicureans rejected logic by rejecting dialectic? Not necessarily. After all, “logic” was still a fluid notion at this point, and even the Stoics who introduced it as a distinct branch of philosophy had no consensus about its scope. So, as Sextus Empiricus puts it, one can interpret Epicurus’s rejection of dialectic in two ways—​either as a rejection of logic altogether or as an excuse “not . . . from logic in general, but only from that of the Stoics, so that in effect he left philosophy intact with three parts” (AgL, I.14–​15). Sextus Empiricus prefers the latter interpretation, seeing that “the Epicureans begin with logical matters; for they look first at questions to do with rules, and do their survey on things that are plain and unclear and matters related to these” (AgL, I.22). As for the place of canonic logic, Diogenes reports that the Epicureans were particularly concerned with its relation to physics. In their view, “the physicists should be content to employ the ordinary terms for things” (Lives, X.31) and need no separate doctrine of the proper use of terms, which formed a central part of the early Stoic logic. Meanwhile, physical inquiries must be guided by rules of canonic.9 Kant, as I mentioned in ­chapter 1, occasionally refers to logic as “canon” for the assessment of all our cognitions. Now, this notion is traced precisely to Epicurus. [The word] logic comes from λόγος (sermo) and has the meaning of reason.10 Epicurus called it a canon[,]‌a science of the cautious and correct use of the understanding. . . . [Aristotle’s logic] is a dialectic and an organon for the art of disputation. (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 796; see V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 509; V-​Met/​Schön, 28: 467) This story of the origin of “logic” has three notable features. First, the notion of logic qua science is not attributed to Aristotle, but associated with the Epicurean notion of canon. Second, the Aristotelian logic is reduced to an instrument for “the art of disputation,” which has mostly negative connotations in Kant’s time. Finally, there is no reference to Stoic logic. In section 2.2 we shall see how the Aristotelian logic came to be entangled with mere disputation. Now let us briefly consider the first and third points.

The Nature and Place of Logic

When Kant mentions Epicurus, “Epicurean philosophy” (R6317 [1790–​ 91], 18: 626), or “Epicureanism” (R3909 [1766–​68? (before 1764–​66?) (1769?)], 17: 339), he often has in mind the Epicurean (as opposed to Stoic) views on ethical and metaphysical matters (VMS, 23: 402; R6601 [1769–​70? (1764–​68?)], 19: 104). As for the Logik des Epicurs, he once mentions it as one of the ancient logics alongside the logic of Pythagoreans (mysticism) and that of Platonists (intellectualism about all concepts), all of which are “not so much dogmatic disciplines as individual general tenets [Lehrsätze].” The Epicurean logic in particular is said to be merely negative, the final point of which is “to preserve human reason against errors and confusion” (V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24:  336). Additionally, in Jäsche’s Logic we can find a passage that singles out the Epicurean canonic. [Logic] is only a universal art of reason (canonica Epicuri) for making cognitions in general conform to the form of the understanding in general, and hence is only to this extent to be called an organon, which serves of course not for the expansion but only for the assessment and rectification of our cognition. (Log, 9: 13) This passage occurs amid an account of logic proper as “a science that deals with all thought in general, without regard to objects as the matter of thought.” As such, logic is the “foundation for all the other sciences” and “the propaedeutic to all use of the understanding.” It “cannot be an organon of the sciences,” but is rather “a canon of the understanding and of reason” or “a science of the necessary laws of thought, without which no use of the understanding or of reason takes place at all” (Log, 9: 13). These fragments contain two observations about the Epicurean logic that bear on Kant’s own conception of logic. First, the claim that Epicurus’s logic is more a collection of tenets than “dogmatic discipline” pertains to Kant’s view that logic, as proper science, must be a systematic theory built on principles.11 Second, Jäsche’s passage appeals to a distinction between two senses in which logic may be treated as organon. The canonica Epicuri is mentioned as a model for the sense in which logic can be legitimately used as organon, namely as means for assessing and rectifying the use of our intellectual faculties. By contrast, it is illegitimate to use logic as organon for the material expansion of our cognition. (I shall explicate this contrast in ­chapters 4 and 5.) As for the Stoic logic, some interesting historical and philosophical points start to surface when we ask why Kant does not include it as an established tradition. Typical of his time, Kant seemed unaware of Stoic logicians’ distinctive contributions to formal logic, although he was evidently acquainted with other aspects of the Stoic philosophy. According to Jäsche, Kant counted Epictetus (AD 55–​135), Antonius the Philosopher (probably Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, AD 121–​80), and Seneca the Younger (c. 4 BC–​AD 65) among “the

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most famous” Stoics (Log, 9: 31). These figures were preoccupied with ethical issues and gave no positive attention to logic, at least not the formal part (dialectic) most admired by today’s historians. Through their writings—​primarily those by Seneca, who wrote in Latin—​only Stoic ethics would be transmitted as a coherent system to the Latin West.12 Understandably, then, even while referring to the early Stoics—​e.g. to Zeno of Citium as the founding Stoic and to Cleanthes (c. 330–​230 BC) and Chrysippus (c. 280–​207 BC) as the most famous Greek Stoics—​Kant focuses on their moral philosophy and notion of the highest good.13 As for their logic, the Greek Stoics are said to have “exerted much effort and occupied themselves much with these conjurer’s tricks, with making sophisms, through which they embarrassed the logici” (V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 478). A main source of this impression might be Seneca.14 If so, Kant would not be the first to repeat it. Later in this chapter we shall see that John of Salisbury, writing Metalogicon in the twelfth century, directly quotes Seneca to counter excessive logical subtleties and sophistical disputations that are not oriented toward wisdom. Then again in ­chapter 3 (sections 3.2–​3.3), we shall find visible traces of Seneca in Locke’s critique of the logic of the schools. Neither John of Salisbury nor Locke, as we shall see, banishes the study of logic altogether. Their point is rather that logic should not be studied for its own sake, but only with a proper end in view. The same point also captures Seneca’s criticism of a certain logical study in his famous Epistles, or moral letters to Lucilius. Seneca’s criticism is not directed at logic itself, but meant to make a “case against the hair-​splitters [litem cum dialecticis], those over-​subtle fellows who make argumentation supreme instead of subordinate” (ep 45; see ep 48). As Jonathan Barnes aptly puts it, Seneca is not so much an enemy of logic as a moral philosopher who despises quibbling or logic chopping (Barnes 1997b: 19). Seneca argues within the Stoic framework. Philosophy, he says, has three divisions, namely “moral, natural, and rational [logic],” the last of which “works out the essential meanings of words, their combinations, and the proofs which keep falsehood from creeping in and displacing truth” (ep 89). About dialectic, a branch of logic, Seneca states: Dialectic is divided into two parts: words and their meanings, that is, into things which are said, and the words in which they are said. Then comes a subdivision of each—​and it is of vast extent. . . . if I should take a fancy to give the subdivisions, my letter would become a debater’s handbook! I am not trying to discourage you, excellent Lucilius, from reading on this subject, provided only that you promptly relate to conduct all that you have read. (ep 89, my italicization) Seneca’s attitude toward logic is twofold, then. He recognizes that logic teaches us certain skills for telling apart truth and falsehood—​so as not to be deceived, for instance, by fallacies that have the appearance of truth. Meanwhile, he

The Nature and Place of Logic

warns against engaging in logic chopping while losing sight of the most important part of our life, namely moral conduct.15 This complex attitude toward logic reflects Seneca’s belief about the reciprocal relation between philosophy and virtue. In the same epistle on divisions of philosophy, he says: “philosophy [pursuit of wisdom] cannot exist without virtue, nor virtue without philosophy.” And he ends the epistle by advising Lucilius to “[s]‌tudy, not in order to add anything to your knowledge, but to make your knowledge better” (ep 89). As for the “games of logic,” they are not only useless when it comes to effecting moral improvement or strengthening one’s moral character, but also “positively harmful” in that “a noble spirit when involved in such subtleties is impaired and weakened” (ep 48). Seneca laments that many great minds, including those from his own school, have “lost much time in quibbling about words and in sophistical argumentation; all that sort of thing exercises the wit to no purpose” (ep 45). Seneca cautions that logic is limited and should not be pursued to any greater extent than it deserves. I do not deny that one must cast a glance at dialectic; but it ought to be a mere glance, a sort of greeting from the threshold, merely that one may not be deceived, or judge these pursuits to contain any hidden matters of great worth. (ep 49) As for what the proper function of logic or dialectic is exactly, Seneca does not elaborate. He may have taken it as already well defined—​according to the Old Stoa, for instance—​and is concerned only to curb its excessive, unwarranted, or misguided uses and to “reinstate” the promise of true philosophy as a path to the greatest good (ep 48), to which logic (along with other branches of philosophy) must be subordinate. In sum, at least this much about Seneca’s position is clear: without faulting a dialectician per se, he disproves of the “subtle dialectician” (ep 48). As Aristotle helpfully puts it, a “dialectician” strictly so called is neither a “sophist” nor a “philosopher.” What makes a dialectician is the power or faculty of distinguishing real and apparent arguments, whereas “what makes the sophist is not the faculty but the moral purpose,” namely a deliberate use of fallacious arguments to trick others (Rhet, I.ii.1). Dialectic is in itself neutral with respect to moral purposes, in a way that philosophy (in the original sense of philosophia) is not. A dialectician qua dialectician treats as an “exercise” what a philosopher seeks to “understand” and, in this way, differs from the latter in her “outlook on life” (Met, IV.ii.20). 2.2. ARISTOTLE ON LOGIC

Kant at times depicts Aristotle as “the father of logic” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 796; V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 613; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 509). This perception of Aristotle’s place in the history of logic was common in the Latin West. John of Salisbury tells the

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following story of Aristotle as “the principal founder” of logic. At first, there were two branches of philosophy, namely ethics and physics. Many absurdities in these areas were concluded, however, due to the “lack of scientific skill in argumentative reasoning.” Therefore, it became “imperative to devise and make public a science which would distinguish words and meanings, and dissipate foggy fallacies.” Accordingly, logic originated as “a science to discriminate between what is true and what is false, and to show which reasoning really adheres to the path of valid argumentative proof, and which [merely] has the [external] appearance of truth.” Although Plato deserved the credit for completing philosophy by adding logic, he “did not organize logic into a scientific art.” Rather, it was Aristotle who “perceived and explained the rules of the art [of logic]” (Mlog, II.2). In presenting this narrative, John mentions Boethius and Porphyry, who would exert tremendous influence on how Aristotle’s logic came to be received and interpreted in the Latin West. But let us first see what Aristotle himself had to say about logic. I shall give special attention to two notions mentioned in John’s story, namely “science” and “art,” which would become central to medieval debates about the nature of logic. Aristotle, as I said earlier, did not designate any of his writings as “logic.” Nor did he make any concerted effort to give a systematic account of the nature, subject matter, or scope of logic. I  can only collect remarks scattered in his philosophical corpus that indicate his positions on those topics. My collection will be inevitably incomplete and dependent on an interpretative angle that is far from conclusive. But my goal is clear: I aim to sketch a picture of Aristotle’s theory of logic that can serve as a reference frame for my subsequent discussions. The first question to consider is whether Aristotle treats logic as a distinct part of philosophy or merely as an instrument thereof. The closest he gets to the now familiar tripartite division is when he distinguishes three classes of protaseis and problemata in the Topics. Some premisses are ethical, some are scientific, and some are logical. Premisses such as these, then are ethical:  obey one’s parents rather than the laws, if they disagree. Logical premisses are such as whether or not the same knowledge has contraries as its object; scientific premisses are such as whether or not the universe is eternal. And similarly also with problems. (Top, I.xiv, 105b20–​26) This classification of protaseis and problemata is not the same as the Stoic tripartite division. Nor does it show that Aristotle subscribes to the latter division. Let us see if we can find clues elsewhere that may reveal his commitments about the nature of logic and its relation to philosophy as a whole. A natural place to start is Aristotle’s division of sciences into the theoretical (speculative), practical, and productive ones. The scope of a science is

The Nature and Place of Logic

determined, in the case of particular sciences, by the class of things with respect to which it investigates certain principles and causes or, in the case of metaphysics (a universal science), by its search for the first principles and highest causes of all things qua being (Met, IV.i.1–​2; VI.i.1–​12; XI.iii.1–​9; XI.vii.1–​10). Logic does not seem to have a place in this scheme, since it does not study things either as belonging to a particular class or as being in general. Meanwhile, Aristotle suggests that logic has a certain priority, at least in practice, over sciences like natural philosophy. Natural philosophy is a kind of Wisdom, but not the primary kind. As for the attempts of some of those who discuss how the truth should be received, they are due to lack of training in logic; for they should understand these things before they approach their task, and not investigate while they are still learning. Clearly then it is the function of the philosopher, i.e. the student of the whole of reality in its essential nature, to investigate also the principles of syllogistic reasoning. (Met, IV.iii.4–​6) This priority claim about logic does not entail that logic is just an instrument to other inquiries. After all, the early Stoic account of logic suggested the possibility of treating logic as prior to physics, for example, without thereby making it a mere tool for the latter. Even if logic has priority due to its instrumental value, it still does not mean that it is essentially a mere organon and not an independent branch of philosophy. As far as Aristotle is concerned, there seems to be conceptual space for treating logic as an essentially theoretical science that “may quite possibly be useful to us accidentally for many of our necessary requirements” (EE, I.v., 1216b15–​17, my italicization). If logic is a science, it must have a subject matter to differentiate it from other sciences. What would this subject matter be from Aristotle’s perspective? To answer this question, consider how he characterizes rhetoric and dialectic. [N]‌either of them is a science that deals with the nature of any definite subject, but they are merely faculties of furnishing arguments. (Rhet, I.ii.7, my italicization) [B]‌oth have to do with matters that are in a manner within the cognizance of all men and not confined to any special science. Hence all men in a manner have a share of both; for all, up to a certain point, endeavor to criticize or uphold an argument, to defend themselves or to accuse. Now, the majority of people do this either at random or with a familiarity arising from habit. But since both these ways are possible, it is clear that matters can be reduced to a system, for it is possible to examine the reason why some attain their end by familiarity and others by chance; and such an examination all would at once admit to be the function of an art. (Rhet, I.i.1–​2, my italicization)

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These passages contain a couple of related clues for figuring out the nature of dialectic, which is at the core of if not strictly identical to logic. First, dialectic is not “a science that deals with the nature of any definite subject.” This is not to say that dialectic is not a science at all. Only that it must deal with matters that are “not confined to any special science.” This point, coupled with Aristotle’s distinction between particular and universal sciences mentioned earlier, leaves open the possibility that dialectic is a universal science. Of course, it cannot be universal in the sense of studying all beings qua being, which belongs to metaphysics. Rather, it is universal because it is not confined to “any one definite class of subjects” but is of general application (Rhet, I.i.14). Call dialectic a “general science,” then, to mark its distinction from metaphysics the universal science. Second, dialectic may count as a general science also in view of the fact that it treats matters falling “within the cognizance of all men.” What makes it scientific is that it gives a systematic account of why, for instance, a given argument is valid. Here, Aristotle signals a distinction to be accentuated and further developed by his medieval commentators. On one version, the distinction is between logica naturalis and logica artificialis. When Aristotle claims “all men in a manner have a share of [dialectic],” he is referring to a kind of logica naturalis, which ordinary people use without any reflective awareness of its precepts. What separates one who produces logically cogent arguments merely “by chance” and one who does so “by familiarity” is that the latter understands the relevant logical rules and, thanks to such understanding, is able to make good arguments as a matter of “art” (technē). Art, Aristotle says, is “a rational quality, concerned with making [i.e. bringing something into existence], that reasons truly” (NiE, VI.iv.6). This quality is acquired “through experience,” but also goes beyond mere experience. Experience is knowledge of particulars. Art is knowledge of universals. The latter is obtained “when from many notions of experience a single universal judgment is formed with regard to like objects.” Experience may suffice for practical purposes, insofar as “actions and the effects produced are all concerned with the particular.” By contrast, “knowledge and proficiency belong to art rather than to experience.” Those with art are “wiser than men of mere experience” on account of knowing the cause, the wherefore. To illustrate, the master-​craftsperson (architektōn) is wiser than the mere artisan (cheirotechnēs) in that the former makes things with knowledge of their causes, whereas the latter does so without. Also, because the ability to teach is a general sign of knowing and because only one who possesses technē “can teach,” it is technē that counts toward “scientific knowledge [epistēmē]” (Met, I.i.4–​7, 10–​12).16 Accordingly, we can characterize the Aristotelian dialectic in terms of reasoned capacity to make good arguments, a capacity grounded in one’s scientific knowledge of what determines the logical quality of any given argument. A true dialectician is like the master-​craftsperson, who is so entitled not because

The Nature and Place of Logic

of the ability to make but in virtue of “possess[ing] a theory and know[ing] the causes” (Met, I.i.12). For the dialectician, such knowledge consists of universal judgments about reasonings and arguments in general, regardless their specific subjects. Presumably, this knowledge involves not only a theoretical grasp of general rules of argument in abstraction but also the ability to apply them to particulars. Just as a physician learns theory to cure individuals even though the theory itself is about universals (Met, I.i.8–​9), so does a dialectician investigate general rules of argument for the sake of arguing well with respect to particular subjects. Such particular applications require the ability to spot suitable premises, supplied by other sciences. “Dialectic,” Aristotle says, “does not draw conclusions from any random premises—​for even madmen have some fancies—​but it takes its material from subjects which demand reasoned discussion” (Rhet, I.ii.11). In sum, although Aristotle does not explicitly include logic or dialectic in his division of sciences into the theoretical, practical, and productive ones, he seems to have reasons to treat it as a science that distinguishes itself from all other sciences on account of its general applicability. It investigates gen­ eral rules for how to reason well on any given subject, articulates them, and arranges them systematically. As such, it is presupposed by all other sciences without being confined to any particular one of them. It is not to be studied for its own sake, but must serve for subject-​specific inquiries that aim at, say, truth. In this way, its value lies in enabling an inquirer to find truths in a methodic and reasoned manner rather than by chance. On this reading, Aristotle subscribes to the view that logic is not a mere instrument to other sciences, but a unique science that subsequently serves as an organon. Many of Aristotle’s commentators, as we shall see, will endorse this reading. To establish it firmly, though, one will have to delve deeper into some of the questions raised earlier. In particular, what is the exact relation between logic and metaphysics? What is the subject matter that logic must have in order to count as a distinct science? Is logic, qua science, theoretical or practical? What is the scope of logic?17 Finally, to be a science in the strict Aristotelian sense (more on this in section 3.2), the content of logic must be demonstrated from certain principles (principia) that are primary and a priori. Can the Aristotelian logic satisfy this condition? Aristotle’s medieval interpreters would debate over these questions and provide a whole range of answers. Understanding the language and implications of such debates will prove necessary for an informed appraisal of early modern theories of logic.

3. Aristotelian Logic in the Latin West 3.1. AN ACCIDENTAL DOMINANCE OF LOGIC

Here is a short story of how Aristotle’s logic fared in the Latin West.

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Boethius (c. 480–​525), one of the most influential transitional figures between ancient philosophy and Latin medieval philosophy, set in motion the early developments of Aristotelian logic in the Latin West. Boethius had the ambition to translate and comment on all of Aristotle’s (and Plato’s) philosophical works, but was unable to go far in this plan (he was executed circa 525). Reflecting the then-​common view that the study of logic must come first in philosophical inquiries, Boethius’s project began with Aristotle’s Organon. He translated all six works contained therein, although his translation of the Posterior Analytics would be lost. He also translated Porphyry’s Isagoge, a gen­ eral introduction to logic that had become part of the standard logic curriculum.18 In addition, he produced several commentaries—​one on the Categories, two on the On Interpretation, and two on the Isagoge.19 His translations of these three texts, together with his commentary on the Categories, second commentary on the On Interpretation, and second commentary on the Isagoge would constitute the core of logica vetus (“old logic”) in the Latin West and dominate its logic curriculum until around 1100.20 Then his translations of the Prior Analytics, Topics, and On Sophistical Refutations were recovered and, along with the translation of the Posterior Analytics by James of Venice during the second quarter of the twelfth century, became logica nova (“new logic”).21 In the next century or so, the Latin Middle Ages would witness the emergence of new branches of logic concerning properties of terms (e.g. signification and supposition), fallacies, insolubles, consequences, and so on and so forth. These topics characterize logica modernorum (“modern logic”), which is contrasted with but not meant to replace logica antiquorum (combination of logica vetus and logica nova). There are a few twists to this story. First, although all six works of Aristotle’s Organon had been introduced to the Latin West by the mid-​twelfth century, not all of them received the same level of scholarly attention right away. The Posterior Analytics in particular would not get its first commentary until in the 1220s, namely the Commentarius in Posteriorum analyticorum libros by Robert Grosseteste (c. 1168–​1253).22 This commentary together with several more that appeared in the same century would make Aristotle’s theory of scientific knowledge a central part of philosophical discourse. This development will turn out to be exceedingly consequential for thinking about the scientific status of logic. Second, by the early thirteenth century Boethius’s translations and commentaries no longer dominated the understanding of Aristotle’s philosophy in the Latin West, and the subject of philosophical commentaries had gone far beyond Aristotle’s logic. Now scholars had at their disposal a vast and diverse inventory of new and unfamiliar philosophical texts, including most of Aristotle’s nonlogical works, some works of Plato, expositions of Aristotelian philosophy by Greek commentators other than Porphyry, and philosophical commentaries and works by important Arabic thinkers such as

The Nature and Place of Logic

Avicenna (980–​1037) and Averroës (1126–​98).23 The most visible sign of the influence of these sources was the evolving style of Aristotelian scholarship in the thirteenth century. According to Daniel Callus, the scholarship went through (1)  the “Avicennian” stage, characterized by treatise-​style commentaries that combine paraphrases of the original text with a commentator’s own philosophical views, (2)  the “Averroistic” stage, characterized by expositio per modum commenti that involves elaborate division and analysis of the target text, and (3) the eventual dominance of expositio per modum quaestionis, which revolves around problems raised by the text (Callus 1944). More importantly for our purpose, Avicenna’s and Averroës’s philosophies would play a profound role in shaping how Latin philosophers from the thirteenth century on would view logic.24 Later we shall look at their accounts of its subject matter and relation to metaphysics. The final twist worth mentioning is the rise of universities as we know them today, the most important ones being the Universities of Paris, Oxford, and Cambridge.25 Some features of these universities are directly relevant to our consideration of logic. A university has four faculties (divisions). Students must go through the arts faculty, where philosophical training first takes place, before pursuing the “higher” faculties of theology, law, and medicine. The typical arts curriculum comprises the trivium (grammar, rhetoric, logic/​dialectic), quadrivium (arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, music), and the “three philosophies” (natural philosophy, moral philosophy, first philosophy or metaphysics). Besides attending and memorizing lectures on set texts, more advanced students must participate in, or at least attend, official weekly disputations.26 The best-​known philosophical works in the thirteenth-​and fourteenth-​century Latin West were produced in this university setting and reflected its teaching practice. Especially, the pedagogical priority of logic explains why most opera philosophica begin with commentaries on logic, many of which manifested an interest in disputation and were structured around questiones disputatae on a certain subject. Too much emphasis on professional disputation, however, would soon draw harsh criticisms from humanistically minded thinkers—​more or less echoing Seneca’s disapproval of logic chopping—​and cause damage to the reputation of the scholastic philosophy in general.27 3.2. THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE IN ARISTOTLE’S POSTERIOR ANALYTICS AND ITS IMPLICATIONS

The notion of syllogism occupies a central place in Aristotle’s theory of knowl­ edge in the Posterior Analytics. We have strict knowledge of something “when we believe that we know (i) that the cause from which the fact results is the cause of that fact, and (ii) that the fact cannot be otherwise” (PoA, I.2, 71b9–​12). We acquire such knowledge through demonstration (apodeixis), namely “syllogism which produces scientific knowledge, in other words one which enables us to

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know by the mere fact that we grasp it” (PoA, I.2, 71b17–​19). The premises of demonstration must be “true, primary, immediate, better known than, prior to, and causative of the conclusion” (PoA, I.2, 71b20–​22). Aristotle distinguishes knowledge of a fact (knowing that) and knowledge of its reason (knowing why). To illustrate the basic distinction, consider planets. They have properties of not twinkling and being near. One can demonstrate the planets’ being near from their not twinkling, a demonstration of fact. The planets do not twinkle. What does not twinkle is near. Therefore, the planets are near. Alternatively, one can demonstrate the planets’ not twinkling from their being near, a demonstration of reason. The planets are near. What is near does not twinkle. Therefore, the planets do not twinkle. (PoA, I.13, 78a22–​78b11) Only this kind of demonstration is a properly scientific one and delivers scientific knowledge in the strict sense. Now the question is whether it is possible for us to obtain such knowledge, which hinges on whether we can know first principles. On this subject, Aristotle contrasts his position with two false alternatives. According to one (the skeptical view), there can be no scientific knowledge, because the first principles from which everything must ultimately be demonstrated are either nonexistent or unknowable. According to the other (the unlimited optimist view), everything can be demonstrated, and so there is indeed knowledge. Roughly, the skeptic’s argument goes as follows (PoA, I.3, 72b8–​19).

(1) For anything P, if it is knowable, it must be demonstrable. (2) To demonstrate P, one must know the prior item, Q, from which to demonstrate P. The same must be said of Q, and so on and so forth. (3) This regress must either (a) proceed ad infinitum or (b) end with first principles. (4) If (a), then there are no first principles from which anything can be demonstrated or known. (5) If (b), then first principles exist but cannot be known (because by definition they are indemonstrable) and consequently, again, nothing can be demonstrated or known. Therefore, nothing can be known.

The unlimited optimist concurs with premises (1) and (2), but rejects the first horn of the skeptic’s dilemma by allowing that “the demonstration may be circular or reciprocal” (PoA, I.3, 72b18–​19). Aristotle denies the possibility

The Nature and Place of Logic

of circular or reciprocal demonstration, and agrees with the skeptic about the impossibility of traversing an infinite series (PoA I.3, 72b12–​13; 72b25–​73a20). But he rejects that everything must be known through demonstration from demonstratively known principles and claims that we must have a different kind of knowledge of first principles, which are necessarily indemonstrable precisely because they are to serve as the starting points of all demonstrations (PoA, I.3, 72b19–​25). This is only an assertion that we must know first principles nondemonstratively. Aristotle does not explain how we come to know them until the end of the Posterior Analytics. Here he inquiries about the “faculty” by which we may obtain knowledge of first principles and identifies it as nous. The basic points of Aristotle’s argument are as follows. Without any innate or preexisting knowledge of first principles, we nevertheless have an innate faculty, namely sense-​perception, starting with which we can learn the principles by “induction.” In certain cases perception leads to memory, memory to experience, and experience to understanding. At the final step, we apprehend first principles by nous, a capacity that is the primary source of all scientific knowl­ edge (PoA, II.19, 99b26–​100b15). Despite its obscurity (especially the part on grasping first principles by nous), this account of scientific knowledge has immensely significant implications. It sets the standard of strict science in reference to which any claim of the scientific status of a discipline must be scrutinized and the hierarchical ordering among sciences determined.28 Thomas Aquinas (1225–​ 74) represents this approach, offering a rather literal exposition of the strict Aristotelian notion of scientific knowledge in his commentary on the Posterior Analytics.29 His best-​known contribution in this regard is an attempt to establish rational theology as a science (scientia divina). The stakes for logic are also high, however, as the scientific status of any purported science is now to be measured against the strict criteria of scientia. On Aquinas’s account, logic is a scientia rationalis. He states in the foreword to his commentary on the Posterior Analytics: an art is nothing other than a certain ordering of reason by which human acts achieve a suitable end through determinate ends. Now reason is able to direct . . . also its own acts. . . . we need an art to direct the acts of reason, so that in these acts also we may proceed in an orderly way, easily, and without error. This art is logic, the science of reason [rationalis scientia].30 Logic concerns reason not only in the sense that it is according to reason . . . but also in the sense that it is about the acts of reason [actum rationis] itself as its proper matter. (EPoA, Prooemium) To Aquinas, logic meets the minimal requirement of being a science by having its own subject matter, namely actus rationis. Accordingly, he connects Aristotle’s

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six logical treatises with three acts of reason. The first act, represented by the Categories, is “the understanding of indivisible or simple things, the act by which we conceive what a thing is.” The second consists in “the composition or division of things that are understood, the act in which truth or falsity is found.” On Interpretation pertains to this act. The remaining four treatises concern the third act, “by which we proceed from one thing to another, so as to arrive at a knowledge of the unknown from the known” (EPoA, Prooemium). This specification of the subject of logic raises more questions than it answers. In particular, to the extent that logic as a scientia must be demonstrable from some first principles and that metaphysics is first philosophy, what can we say about the relation between the two? If Aristotle’s original division of sciences into the theoretical, practical, and productive ones is exhaustive, logic must have a place therein. But where exactly would it belong in that division? Meanwhile, is logic still somehow an instrument and, if so, what is the relation between logic qua science and logic qua instrument? Finally, how should we understand the nature of the “acts of reason” that supposedly constitute the “proper matter” of logic? Do we have to worry about their ontological status, or else how do they relate to things in the world? 3.3. THE NATURE AND PLACE OF LOGIC

Aquinas’s account of logic as scientia rationalis is a rather controversial one. In what follows, I shall spell out the account and a few representative responses to it. It will be instructive to begin with some of the Arabic sources that directly influenced Aquinas’s approach. Two such sources are particularly important. One is the Enumeration of the Sciences by al-​Fārābī (c. 870–​950), rendered as De scientiis by its translators.31 The other is Avicenna’s Book of the Healing.32 Fārābī divides sciences into five main parts: grammar, logic, the mathematical sciences, physics (natural philosophy) and metaphysics, and civil science and its parts.33 He treats logic as an instrumental science with various functions in relation to knowledge, which culminates in the investigation of demonstrative science or the method of philosophy. Logic for Fārābī has a broader scope than Boethius treated. It includes five elements: demonstrativa, tentativa, sophistica, rhetorica, and poetica. Accordingly, Fārābī includes in the Aristotelian Organon not only the standard six texts but also Aristotle’s Rhetoric and Poetics. In a way, logic is analogous to grammar. If conventional grammatical rules are tied with this and that natural language, logic is a kind of universal grammar, the rules of which one must follow in order to reason correctly in any language whatsoever. It “relates to the intellect and the intelligibles [intentions, concepts]” as “grammar [does] to language and expressions,” and so “to every rule for expressions which the science of grammar provides us, there is a corresponding [rule] for intelligibles which the science of logic provides us” (adapted from Black 2012).34

The Nature and Place of Logic

As for Avicenna’s The Healing (or The Cure), the medical metaphor suggests that it is meant for curing the mind of its ignorance and errors. Unsurprisingly, then, it is a voluminous and comprehensive philosophical summa. It has four divisions: logic, natural philosophy or physics, mathematics, and metaphysics. Logic encompasses nine parts: Eisagoge (Porphyry’s Isagoge or “Introduction” to Aristotle’s Categories); Categories; De Interpretatione; Syllogism (Prior Analytics); Demonstration (Posterior Analytics); Dialectic (Topica); Sophistics; Rhetoric; Poetics.35 Interestingly, Avicenna’s most influential remark about logic is found in the metaphysics division (Avicenna 2005, henceforth “Metaphysics”), where its subject matter is said to be second intentions or intelligibles (intentiones intellectae secundo).36 More specifically, logic is about “secondary intelligible ideas,” ideas that “depend on the primary intelligible ideas with respect to the manner by which one arrives through them from what is known to what is unknown—​not [however] with respect to their being intelligible[s]‌, having [that] intellectual existence that either is not at all attached to matter or attached to noncorporeal matter” (Metaphysics, I.ii.4).37 By thus giving logic its own determinate subject matter, Avicenna has made a clear case for logic to count as a distinct and proper part, not a mere instrument, of philosophy. In other words, logic is an independent branch of science that can at the same time stand in an instrumental relation to other sciences. One would be committing the fallacy of false dilemma, then, to ask whether logic is a part or—​in the exclusive sense of “or”—​an instrument of philosophy. It can be both.38 What kind of science is a science of second intentions, though? Avicenna takes there to be no other sciences than metaphysics, natural science, mathematical science, and logic (Metaphysics, I.ii.1–​4; I.i.1). He divides “philosophical sciences” into the theoretical and the practical. Logic is not mentioned among the theoretical sciences, nor does it seem to be a practical science by his definition (Metaphysics, I.ii.2–​3). Meanwhile, he states that “the subject matter of every science is something whose existence is admitted in that science, the only thing investigated being its states” and that “the subject of logic viewed in itself . . . is outside sensible things” (Metaphysics, I.i.11; I.ii.9). These remarks do not add up to a clear answer to the question just raised. It is little wonder, then, that later philosophers who followed Avicenna in identifying second intentions as the subject matter of logic qua science would diverge over whether this science is theoretical or practical and whether it is “real” (in the sense of, say, investigating subsisting things). Another problem implicated in Avicenna’s treatment of logic concerns its relation to metaphysics. Amos Bertolacci, based on a detailed analysis of doctrinal overlaps between the Logic and Metaphysics portions of The Healing, explains how Avicenna can see logic as both dependent on and independent of metaphysics, with an evident tendency to “ontologize” logic (Bertolacci 2011a). Whether Avicenna therefore takes logic to have robust metaphysical

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commitments does not concern us here. It suffices to acknowledge just the possibility of attributing this view to him on textual grounds. In that case, it should be added, Avicenna would still maintain that logic, in virtue of having a sui generis subject matter, is a distinct science vis-​à-​vis metaphysics. By contrast, Averroës on one reading identifies logic with metaphysics by assigning them the same subject matter (i.e. absolute being).39 Again, what matters here is not whether Averroës is really committed to this view, but the fact that he can be so interpreted. At the very least, we can now register two questions concerning the relation between logic and metaphysics. One is whether logic is a science distinct from metaphysics. To give an affirmative answer, one must show that it has a subject matter not shared by the latter. That is, as Avicenna puts it, “for each science there is a subject matter proper to it” (Metaphysics, I.i.10). The other question is whether, provided logic is a distinct science in the sense mentioned, it carries any metaphysical implications. With this question, we will have to consider how words, thoughts, and things relate to one another. This topic, as we shall see in section 3.4, would drive some of the most important developments in logica modernorum. For the moment let us return to Aquinas, who subscribes to the Avicennian thesis that logic treats second intentions.40 The question is whether logic, so construed, fits in the supposed Aristotelian system of sciences. Aquinas has an intricate answer to this question. I shall limit myself to what I take to be its most basic ingredients. While commenting on Aristotle’s account of metaphysics qua science, Aquinas explains that a science must be either theoretical or practical. Theoretical sciences seek knowledge for its own sake, whereas practical ones do so for work (opus), viz. for actions (as in scientia activa) or for products (as in scientia factiva). Theoretical sciences include natural philosophy, mathematics, and metaphysics (first philosophy, divine science).41 A  theoretical science is either a special one limited to a determinate class of things, e.g. natural philosophy, or a universal one, which is metaphysics (SM, XI, lecs.6–​7; VI, lecs.1–​2). This division does not seem to accommodate logic, however.42 Aquinas recognizes this problem and worries that a division of sciences would be “inadequate” if unable to accommodate logic as rationalis philosophia (ET, q.5, art.1). Aquinas indicates several ways to address this worry. The first invokes Avicenna’s view that the theoretical-​practical division can be interpreted from more than one perspective. When the division is based on the end of philosophy, rational philosophy is theoretical in that it is directed at truth, the contemplative (as opposed to active) aspect of happiness, happiness being the highest end of all philosophy (ET, q.5, art.1). Logic may be deemed theoretical in this sense, as it aims at truth. The second response is that the theoretical-​practical division, with the theoretical further divided into universal and special sciences, has already created

The Nature and Place of Logic

space for logic. Logic may be classified as a universal science alongside metaphysics: “logic and metaphysics . . . are universal sciences [scientia communis] and are in a sense about the same subject” albeit different aspects thereof (ET, q.6, art.1; see SM, IV, lect.4, n.574; EPoA, I, lect.20, cap.11). The third response is to give a division of sciences that differs from the theoretical-​ practical dichotomy, allowing logic to have its own category. Aquinas spells out this alternative in his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, where he distinguishes four kinds of sciences by the “orders” of rational consideration: natural philosophy (broadly construed, including mathematics and metaphysics as well as physics), rational philosophy (logic), moral philosophy, and mechanical arts. They respectively deal with (a) things that reason considers but does not make, (b) what reason makes in its own act of consideration, (c) voluntary actions, and (d) the order that reason, while considering, makes in external things arranged through human reason (SE, I.i.1, par.2). The fourth option, which Aquinas attributes to Boethius, is to say that logic is not so much a science as an instrument of sciences. While speculative sciences seek knowledge for its own sake, logic concerns things that we do not seek to know for their own sake but as help (adminiculum) to the sciences. Accordingly, if logic can be brought under speculative philosophy at all, it is not to be included as a proper part thereof, but only as what provides the instruments needed in all speculative sciences, namely syllogisms, definitions, and so forth (ET, q.5, art.1). Aquinas’s own position somewhat combines these options: logic is, in one sense, a theoretical science but, in another sense, more an instrument of sciences than a science proper. This position is couched in a distinction between logica docens and logica utens, i.e. between logic as a teachable doctrine or theory and logic in use. In these terms, some parts of logic (viz. dialectics) can be at once theoretical and practical. The part of logic that is strictly concerned with docens but not utens is demonstrative logic (SM, IV, lect.4, nn.576–​577). Thus, logic is in one sense a speculative science (qua docens) while in another an instrument (qua utens) to all sciences including, for that matter, to logic qua docens (In De Trin., q.6, art.1; see EPoA, I, lect.20, cap.11).43 One among many prominent supporters of this conception of logic is Walter Burley (1274/​75–​1344/​45), who likewise takes logic to be both a science and an instrument. In the former respect, Burley considers a challenge raised by Aquinas’s suggestion that logic and metaphysics have the same extension: if logic appears to lack its own distinct principles or terms that it can define for itself, how can it still count as science? Burley’s answer is that logic and metaphysics in a way consider and define the same object, res verum, but do so under different schemes. While metaphysics treats res verum only as what it is (inquantum quid est), logic treats it under some second intention (sub aliqua intentione secunda). Thus, the subject of logic is “being of second intention or rational being [ens rationis],” whereas that of metaphysics is “being as such

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[res per se].”44 Burley thereby echoes Aquinas’s distinction between ens naturae and ens rationis, with the latter constituting the “proper subject” of logic qua docens.45 As regards the instrumental value or utilitas of logic for particular sciences, Burley describes it as the ability to discern, scientifically or technically (artificialiter), the true from the false in them. This points to a distinction that is reminiscent of but not identical to Aquinas’s between logica utens and logica docens. It is the distinction between logica usualis and logica artificialis, which are but two ways of having logic. One may possess logic either merely usualiter, if one can for instance make cogent inferences without knowing the nature of syllogism, or artificialiter, if one reasons well based on such knowledge. One has logica usualis before obtaining logica artificialis. One must possess the latter, however, in order to have true knowledge, as the latter requires demonstration with absolute certainty. Otherwise, one can never be sure as to whether an argument is demonstrative and conclusive or merely sophistical.46 In this way, Burley is more specific (than Aquinas) about what grade of logica utens is required by other sciences if they are to be demonstratively certain: it must be logica artificialis. Burley’s arch-​opponent, William of Ockham (c. 1287–​1347), views the nature of logic differently. Ockham agrees that the subject matter of logic consists in second intentions and that logic is both a science and an “instrument” without which nothing can be known perfectly (OPh 1: 3, 5–​6). By his analysis, however, logic qua science is practical rather than theoretical (OPh 2: 7).47 As such, it is not a “real science [scientia realis].” Ockham mentions but rejects the following argument for why logic is not a real science:  a real science is about things outside the mind; logic is about mental contents; therefore, it is not a real science. His own argument begins with a different sense of “real science” as what is “not about things [rebus], but about mental contents standing for things [intentionibus supponentibus pro rebus]; for the terms of scientifically known propositions stand for things.” In these terms, logic differs from real sciences in being about “mental contents that stand for mental contents [intentionibus supponentibus pro intentionibus].” To deny it the status of “real science,” then, is not to deny that it is a science but only to say that as a science it is “not about mental contents that stand for real things” (OPh 4: 11–​12; see OPh 2: 3–​7). From the fifteenth century on, logic would be generally seen as a kind of science as well as a necessary instrument to all theoretical and practical inquiries. Treating logic as an essentially theoretical discipline was apparently more common than seeing it as a practical one. We can get a sense of this situation by looking at the division of philosophy in the Margarita philosophica by Gregor Reisch (c. 1467–​1525), a compendium of philosophy widely distributed and used as a definitive sixteenth-​century university text.48 Philosophy is first divided into the theoretical/​speculative and the practical. The practical bifurcates

The Nature and Place of Logic

into the active and the productive, and the theoretical into philosophica realis and philosophica rationalis. Real philosophy comprises metaphysics, mathematics, and natural philosophy. Rational philosophy includes grammar, rhetoric, and logic (Reisch 2002: 18). Heikki Mikkeli claims that this classification represents Aristotle’s own view that “logical disciplines did not possess the status of true sciences, being of an instrumental nature” (Mikkeli 2001: 103). This cannot be right. Given how Reisch’s scholastic predecessors used “real” and “rational” to describe the nature of a science, the contrast serves only to single out logic, etc. as a special kind of science. Moreover, by characterizing logic as a “rational science,” that is, the “science of sciences [scientia scientiarum]” and the “art of arts [ars artium],” Reisch himself signals that, like many thinkers in the past, he views logic as a science in its own right as well as an instrument to all sciences (Reisch 2002: 115).49 The last account of logic worth mentioning before we end this section is by Jacopo Zabarella (1533–​89), who according to Riccardo Pozzo “provides us with the missing link between Aristotle and Kant” (Pozzo 2004: 176, 181–​ 86). Although it is unclear how much weight to place on Zabarella’s being the missing link between Aristotle and Kant, there are reasons to speculate that he, as an esteemed Aristotelian whose impact was evidently felt by some of Kant’s most important German predecessors (e.g. A. G. Baumgarten), helped to crystalize the major philosophical issues about logic that had been debated over the preceding centuries.50 In De natura logicae, Zabarella argues that logic is not a science or part of philosophy but only an instrument of philosophy. He makes his case by directly engaging the philosophical controversies over logic since the thirteenth century. The following are his basic propositions, for each of which I shall only indicate the relevant book and chapters of De natura logicae without getting into details.

(1) Logic is not scientia, let alone scientia rationalis (I.iii–​vi).51 (2) Logic is not art (ars) (I.viii). (3) Logic is not a “faculty [facultas]” (I.ix). (4) Logic is only an “instrumental discipline [disciplina instrumentalis]” (I.x–​xi; I.xx). (5) Logic differs from grammar, another purely instrumental discipline, in being strictly concerned with clarifying and ordering concepts (conceptus) as opposed to the sounds (voces) whereby they are expressed (I.x–​xi). (6) Logic generates secondary concepts (secundae notiones), such as “genus,” “proposition,” and “syllogism.” These are concepts of concepts (conceptus conceptuum). They arise from reflections on primary concepts or conceptus rerum and are to that extent humanly “imposed names [nominibus imposita]” (I.iii; I.x).

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(7) Logic has as its subject all things (res omnes, res ipsae), which also constitute the subject of theoretical sciences. Theoretical sciences take res omnes as subjectum demonstrationis, whereas logic admits it as subjectum operationis. Secondary concepts, effected in the consideration of primary concepts, are not the subject of logic but its aim or finis (I.xix). (8) Logic can be logica naturalis or logica artificialis. Although it is possible to philosophize with the former alone (as the ancients did before Aristotle), logica artificialis makes philosophizing more methodic and proficient (I.xii). (9) Logic is divided into universal logic and particular logic. The former covers Categories, De Interpretatione, and Prior Analytics. Particular logic includes Posterior Analytics, Topics, and Sophistical Refutations on the one hand, and Rhetoric and Poetics on the other (II.i–​xxi).52

The reader may have noticed that Zabarella has chosen conceptum and notion, not intentio as the previous philosophers did, as well as vox in (5) to characterize what logic is about. This choice may very well be deliberate, as it signals a response to another debated issue that we have yet to examine: is logic about words, thoughts, or things? To this question we now turn. 3.4. BETWEEN LOGIC AND METAPHYSICS:  THE CASE OF TERMINIST LOGIC

I have mentioned the Metalogicon by John of Salisbury. It was composed in 1159, at a transitioning point of medieval logic, after the entire logica antiquorum had been introduced though not yet fully understood and before logica modernorum went into full sail. John defends logic by clarifying its nature, scope, and aim. He invokes a variety of sources for that purpose. He also mentions recent developments in logic and thereby gives us a sense of how logic was conceived in the early twelfth century. Following the Stoics, John divides philosophy into logic (the “rational”), physics, and ethics. He holds the dual-​aspect notion that logic is both an independent branch of philosophy and an indispensable instrument to philosophical inquiries in general. Among the various branches of philosophy, logic has two prerogatives: it has both the honor of coming first and the distinction of serving as an efficacious instrument throughout the whole body [of philosophy]. Natural and moral philosophers can construct their principles only by the forms of proof supplied by logicians. (Mlog, II.5) One would be handicapped in philosophical pursuits, John argues, without the rational system provided by logic (Mlog, II.5). Logic is a necessary instrument to the sciences:

The Nature and Place of Logic

while each study is fortified by its own principles, logic is their common servant, and supplies them all with its “methods” or principles of expeditious reasoning. Hence logic is most valuable, not merely to provide exercise [for our faculties], but also as a tool in argumentative reasoning and the various branches of learning that pertain to philosophy. (Mlog, II.13) Logic (logica) is construed broadly here, to include grammar, rhetoric, and dialectic (Mlog, I.10).53 Logic in this sense treats “verbal expression and [argumentative] reasoning,” whereas logic in the restricted sense (dialectic) concerns only the latter. That is, logic either teaches ways of reasoning (ratiocinandi uias) or establishes rules of speech in general (sermonum regulam). John traces this twofold meaning of “logic” to the etymological fact that the Greek logos means both ratio and sermo (Mlog, I.10; I.13). John’s reference to “sermo” is significant. It is contrasted not only with “ratio” but also with “vox” (articulated sound). John alludes to the latter contrast while discussing the scope of logic and criticizing the “pernicious manner [in which] logic is sometimes taught,” namely how advanced topics like the nature of universals are included in introductory courses on logic. John mentions at least four competing views on universals. The first view, attributed to Roscelin of Compiègne (c. 1050–​1123), is that universals are mere sounds (voces). On the second view, ascribed to Peter Abelard (1079–​1142), universals are significant terms or meaningful words (sermones). On the third view, attributed to Boethius among others, a universal is a notion (notio) and the latter is but an act of understanding (intellectus).54 Finally, there is a cluster of opinions according to which universals are “things” in some robust sense—​e.g. Platonic Ideas, Forms, or collections of individuals (Mlog, II.17).55 While John has pedagogical reasons to have the subject of universals removed from introductory logic, this petition would hardly move the likes of Roscelin and Abelard, whose interest in logic is tied to their overall philosophical outlook. For them, logic enjoys priority not only because it establishes the necessary methods and precepts for philosophical inquiries in general, but also because it treats many semantic topics that will have consequences for key issues of metaphysics. John claims that Roscelin’s vocalist notion of universals “has already almost completely passed into oblivion” (Mlog, II.17). Although this claim is unduly rushed, it partly reflects how Roscelin’s contemporaries received his logic of universals.56 Anselm of Canterbury (1033–​1109), for instance, has Roscelin in mind while deploring “those dialecticians of our day (or rather, heretics of dialectic) who think that universal substances are only vocal sounds [flatus vocis]” (Anselm 2000).57 Even Abelard, Roscelin’s former student and soon to be condemned as a heretic himself, denounces Roscelin as a “pseudo-​dialectician” and “pseudo-​Christian” and dismisses his logic as “insane.”58 These charges aside, however, Abelard shares Roscelin’s basic metaphysical outlook, and his own logico-​semantic approach to the problem of universals owes a great deal to,

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albeit ultimately departs from, Roscelin’s. On his considered view, universality belongs neither to things (rebus) nor to sounds (vocibus). Rather, only significant terms (sermones) can be singular or universal. One relevant difference between sounds and terms is that voces are creations of nature, whereas sermones are customary human invention (Abelard 1933: 522–​24).59 Notably, Abelard’s antirealist argument goes hand in hand with an exegetical puzzle: given that the ancient authors (Aristotle, Porphyry, and Boethius) called both things and words “universals” in their logic texts, how should the relevant passages be interpreted? Do they teach about things, or just about words? (Abelard 1919:  9–​10).60 Abelard is confronted with two alternatives. One is the in voce exegesis represented by Roscelin, according to which Aristotle and others taught logic in voce as opposed to in re. The other is the in re exegesis represented by his other teacher, William of Champeaux (c. 1070–​1122): if the ancient logical teachings were directly concerned about words, they were concerned about properties of words insofar as they refer to things and so are ultimately determined by things.61 While rejecting William’s realism, Abelard also recognizes the shortcomings of the in voce exegesis and acknowledges that at least some parts of the ancient logical texts can be read as about things or about both words and things. Abelard’s subtler position, as John Marenbon presents it, is that logical terms “have the properties they do thanks to the things which they signify” and that an in voce reading “is possible and useful, but it makes sense only when supported by an in re interpretation.” This is by no means a concession to the realist when it comes to universals. To the contrary, Abelard still insists that passages in Aristotle’s, Porphyry’s, or Boethius’s texts that treat genera and species, for instance, need not be read as commitments to the existence of universals. A logical account of genera and species does not teach us the nature of things, but is just part of an analysis of the language by which we discourse about things, namely particulars (Marenbon 1997: 112, 114–​16). This claim about the relation between language and things leads to further questions. For instance, how do mere sounds (voces) become significant words (sermones) and come to mean what they mean? If the world of things contains nothing but particulars, what explains the phenomenon that when we use universal, common, or abstract words, we are not thinking of particulars but what they have in common? More generally, how can a language be linked to the world of things so that we can use it to speak truly about the latter? Such questions are at the center of logica modernorum, typically referred to as “terminist logic.” The chief innovations of terminism revolve around the notion of suppositio and the logic of syncategorematic terms (syncategoremata, such as “all,” “and,” “if,” and “not,” in contrast with categoremata like “man,” “pale,” and “run”).62 Abelard’s logic of terms was part of the early history of the theory of supposition.63 Details of how this theory evolved after him do not concern us here.64 What is worth pointing out is that, much as Abelard developed his logic of

The Nature and Place of Logic

terms with a keen understanding of how a logical apparatus might be refined and explored to tackle thorny metaphysical issues, so would the doctrine of supposition remain a centerpiece in the thirteenth-​and fourteenth-​century controversy between realists and nominalists.65 All the major contributors to the logica modernorum belonged in one camp or the other. They disagreed not only over the status of universals but also over the exegesis of ancient texts, especially Aristotle’s Categories.66 Two of the most prominent figures on the realist side were Peter of Spain and Burley.67 On the nominalist side there were Ockham, whose Summa logicae supposedly represented the zenith of terminism,68 and John Buridan (sometime before 1300 to between 1358 and 1361), whose masterpiece Summulae de dialectica began as a critical commentary on Peter’s enormously influential Summulae logicales.69 The opposition between the realist and nominalist approaches soon became institutionalized and evolved into the Wegestreit, which characterized the intellectual atmosphere in the German-​speaking parts of Europe during the period of 1400 through 1550. This struggle between the two philosophical schools was related to, though not strictly identified with, the opposition between two methods of doing philosophy and studying the corpus Aristotelicum, namely between via antiqua and via moderna, attributed respectively to Aquinas and Buridan among others.70 There is no simple way to sum up the history, content, or impact of these oppositions. Nonetheless, we can at least say that logic was directly implicated in the struggles. For instance, there appeared to be arguments over the choice between a realist text like the Summule by Peter of Spain and a nominalist one like the Summule by Buridan. This situation was in a way inevitable, now that we have seen how much logic could be tied up with metaphysical issues, which could in turn have serious theological implications. As Maarten Hoenen puts it, both the nominalist and realist parties in the Wegestreit defended their respective positions with a theological perspective in mind, each claiming to be on the side of orthodoxy.71 This is reminiscent of Anselm’s reference to heretical logicians of his time and Abelard’s charging Roscelin with being a pseudo-​dialectician and therefore a pseudo-​Christian. Although we cannot know for sure whether or to what extent the Wegestreit might have affected Kant’s exposure to logic, he would no doubt find it necessary to clarify what, if anything, logic can say about words, thoughts, and things, respectively, and about their relations to one another. To begin with, he thinks that logic, as far as its proper subject matter is concerned, is about thoughts but not words. Logic therefore differs from grammar. Grammar deals with language, the basic matter of which consists in words, whereas logic treats thought, which is composed of concepts (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 693; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  791–​92; Log, 9:  12–​13). Rules of language are contingent and “empirically universal, only insofar as it is always so in experience,” whereas rules of thought are “universal according to reason” and so must be cognized a priori. To that extent, “logic is a science and grammar is not” (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 694;

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see V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 24–​25; V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 609). Hence, as I shall elaborate in ­chapter  4, if in his logic lectures Kant devotes far less to issues of discourse (Vortrag) than a then-​typical logic text would do, this arrangement must be a deliberate one. Even though Kant does occasionally mention topics such as what makes certain words termini inanes or empty terms (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 781), he also makes it clear that in logic “one holds to sense [Sinn], not to words” (V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 441; see Log, 9: 116) and that observations about semantic features of language strictly belong “not to logic but to grammar” (Log, 9: 109). To delve a little further into this view and see whether there may be potentially significant twists to it (I believe there are), it is once again appropriate to take up a relevant historical perspective. In this regard, it may be illuminating to begin with Locke’s comments about logic in the Essay. Locke, as we shall see in chapter 3, operates with a tripartite division of sciences into natural philosophy, practical philosophy, and semiotics or the doctrine of signs. Signs include both words and ideas, but it is because words are “the most usual” kind of signs that Locke deems it “aptly enough” to call semiotics “logic” (EHU, IV.xxi.4, 720). I take this remark to signal an implicit reference to the scholastic terminist logic. Now, as I explained above, the latter logic raised two interesting issues. One is about how words, thoughts, and things relate to one another. The other pertains to the consequences that a logic of signs (significant terms) can have for certain metaphysical questions (e.g. whether there are universals), for which reason terminism was inevitably tied with the realism-​nominalism controversy. The discussion of words and ideas in Book III of Locke’s Essay clearly bears on both issues. Regarding the first, he says:  “words, in their primary or immediate signification, stand for nothing, but the ideas in the mind of him that uses them,” and these ideas are in turn “collected from things, which they are supposed to represent” (EHU, III.ii.2, 405). According to E. J. Ashworth, these remarks are best understood in light of the scholastic theory of signification.72 As for the second issue, Locke evidently has it in mind while analyzing the genesis and semantics of “general terms”—​viz. sortals such as horse, gold, water, animal, and herb—​to get to the bottom of “all the great business of genera and species, and their essences,” which supposedly dominated “the learning and disputes of the schools.” Central to the analysis is a distinction between nominal and real essences. In that connection, Locke rejects the scholastic “fruitless inquiries after substantial forms” as “wholly unintelligible,” but still grants the two notions of essence, if properly construed, meaningful roles in our sorting activities and scientific investigations (EHU, III.iii.1–​20; III.vi.1–​51).73 Where does Kant’s logic of concepts stand in relation to Locke’s logic of signs and its scholastic variants? Kant’s insistence that logic is strictly about concepts (thoughts), not words (language), contains only a partial answer to this question and a deceptively simple one for that. His position regarding how concepts relate to words on the one hand and to objects on the other is

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considerably complicated by the fact that he has no unambiguous view about the very nature of a concept (Begriff, conceptus).74 My hunch is that Kant does not operate with a single notion of “concept”—​nor does he need to—​in every context. Particularly, to make sense of his intricate relation with Locke’s logic of signs, it may be helpful to tease apart two notions of concept. One of them refers to the Lockean notion of idea. It is, by Locke’s definition, “whatever the mind perceives in it self, or is the immediate object of perception, thought, or understanding” (EHU, II.viii.8, 134). Adapting Kant’s own terminology (see below), we may call this a metaphysical notion of concept (conceptM). By contrast, there is a logical notion of concept (conceptL), which considers only “the logical form of a concept” or “the logical function for making a concept out of whatever sort of data there are” (A239/​B298). The relevant logical character is the generality of a concept or its applicability to a multitude of objects.75 This distinction allows Kant to make seemingly incompatible claims about concepts without contradicting himself. On the one hand, while commenting on Locke’s discussion of the origin of concepts (conceptsM) in the Essay, Kant is emphatic that this topic “really does not belong to logic, but rather to metaphysics” (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 701; see Log, 9: 21). On the other hand, a primary task of Kant’s logic of concepts is to explicate the various logical (formal) actus of the understanding—​comparison, reflection, and abstraction—​that account for the origin of a concept as repraesentatio communis (conceptL).76 A distinction between concept and idea is crucial here: “Logic deals only with concept as concept [Begrif als Begrif], and does not concern itself with the ideas [Ideen] etc.” (V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 565). That is, logic is concerned with concepts as conceptsL but not conceptsM. “The doctrine of ideas [conceptsM] is very important,” Kant grants, “but actually belongs in metaphysics” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 907). This doctrine, as he puts it while characterizing the Locke-​Leibniz controversy over the origin of concepts, is fundamentally concerned with facts (facti) about “how we arrive at cognition, whether from experience or through pure reason” (V-​ Met/​Mron, 29: 781–​82). The Kantian logic of concepts, by contrast, “expects that representations will be given to it from elsewhere, wherever this may be,” and asks only how the given representations may be “transform[ed] . . . into concepts” through the formal actus of the understanding just mentioned (A76/​ B102). Given this distinction between conceptL and conceptM, the Kantian picture of the words-​concepts-​objects triad is bound to be complex. Here is a rough sketch of just one part of that picture. Kant’s emphasis that formal logic treats only conceptsL is compatible with his interest in the relation between words and conceptsM. This relation is at least a topic of Kant’s applied logic, which is concerned with aesthetic perfection among other normative features of human understanding. In that connection, it may be helpful to consider the communicative aspect of Locke’s account of how words signify (significare) one’s thoughts made of ideas—​that is, by a “voluntary imposition,” whereby

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words are “arbitrarily” chosen as “external sensible signs” through which one’s “invisible ideas . . . might be made known to others” (EHU, III.ii.1–​2, 405).77 Meanwhile, like Locke, Kant is attentive to the instrumental role that general terms play in our empirical investigations. The same word may be associated with different concepts (conceptsM) in different minds. With the sortal “gold,” for instance, “one person might think, besides its weight, color, and ductility, its property of not rusting, while another might know nothing about this” (A728/​ B756). The conceived properties together represent the “logical essence” (as opposed to “real essence”) of the kind of thing that one refers to as gold. It is a “subjective basic concept” that “holds only for me, however, and not for others” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 116). This kind of concept is the basis of one’s nominal definition, which one gives “arbitrarily . . . to a certain name” so long as it suffices to sort out the relevant objects for further study (Log, 9: 143). This study may in turn lead one to revisit the properties she initially associated with the objects and to “take away some and add some,” so that her concept of the same objects has no fixed boundaries (A728/​B756).78 There are other important issues to consider about Kant’s logic of concepts as well. For instance, how does a Kantian logic of conceptsL relate to what has been said about conceptsM (if the two sides are related at all)? Especially, insofar as Kant’s account of the logical origin of conceptsL qua general representations determines their formal relations to one another, viz. in a series of subordination that can have the highest genus but no lowest species (these are the logical principles of genera and species, respectively),79 a reader familiar with the discussion of the regulative use of reason in the Critique may query along the following lines. In the latter context, Kant argues that the logical principles of genera etc.—​as equivalents of “familiar scholastic rule[s]‌” like the principle of parsimony—​would have no application to nature and hence no real significance without the corresponding transcendental presuppositions that, for instance, sameness of kind indeed obtains in the manifold of possible experience (A651–​ 68/​B679–​96). What does this view tell us about the relation between Kant’s theories of conceptsL and of conceptsM? Besides what I have said about historical views on the relation between logic and metaphysics in this chapter, I will provide a bit more relevant materials for addressing this question in c­ hapters 4 and 5, when I analyze Kant’s views on how logic proper relates to ontology and transcendental logic. I will have no room to go any deeper into Kant’s logic of concepts in this book, however. 3.5. HUMANIST APPROACHES TO LOGIC

John of Salisbury invokes the classical notion of “liberal arts” to defend logica. The “arts” are so called because they “delimit [artant] by rules and precepts,” or concern “virtue, in Greek known as ares, which strengthens minds to apprehend the ways of wisdom,” or pertain to “reason, called arso by the Greeks,

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which the arts nourish and cause to grow.” They are “liberal” arts when their objective is “to effect man’s liberation, so that . . . he may devote himself to wisdom” (Mlog, I.12). In these terms, John argues for the need to develop skills of communication. We as humans are fallible and limited in our quest after truth. When reasoning alone about a subject matter, we may not be able to consider it from all possible angles. Even if we reason carefully and skillfully, we may still err (Mlog, IV.41). The most effective and probably the only humanly possible remedy is to have our opinions tested through a public exchange with fellow inquirers of truth. In the mart of the various branches of knowledge, free mutual exchange of words between one discipline and another ought to prevail. . . . Liberty reigns in the market place of philosophers, where words may be borrowed without restriction or charge. (Mlog, II.20) How well we can utilize this market of intellectual exchange depends on many factors. We must be able to express ourselves and to process other people’s speech well—​hence the indispensability of grammar (part of logica), without which “the gateway to other philosophical pursuits is blocked” (Mlog, II, Prologue). But we must also reason well in our own mind in the first place, as “the real force of speech derives from the thoughts or judgments it expresses, without which it would be dead and powerless” (Mlog, II.12)—​hence the need for dialectic. Meanwhile, it is critical that all participants in the public platform are seekers of wisdom and so share the goal of finding truth as opposed to, say, merely winning an argument out of vanity. This orientation toward wisdom sets the “proper limits” on disputation. Invoking the authority of Aristotle and citing Seneca’s Epistles among other classics, John accuses his contemporary “over-​loquacious logicians” of wasting time in useless disputations and pursuing subtlety for its own sake (Mlog, II.8). He emphasizes that dialectic has “life and vigor” only if it firmly latches onto other branches of knowledge, as opposed to being self-​engrossed (Mlog, II.9; see II.12; IV.28). This twelfth-​century defense of logic is a humanist one, as it places the value of logic in its ability to assist us in coping with our human limitations and pursuing wisdom.80 In section 3.4, I mentioned that on John’s account logic is a part of philosophy as well as an instrument to all philosophical inquiries. Now we can tell how fundamental the instrumentality of logic is from his perspective. If logic is a distinct branch of philosophy, it is not to be done for its own sake. Of course, when the logicians seek to identify, articulate, and clarify rules and methods of reasoning, they need not do so in direct reference to nonlogical considerations. Nonetheless, the humanist concern about utility limits how technical and complex a logical system can get, for “excessive subtlety devours utility” (Mlog, II.8).

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John’s defense of logic, as an attempt to reinstate the true purpose that Aristotle originally intended for it, is fundamentally conservative. By contrast, what we now know as the postmedieval humanist logic has a more complicated relation with Aristotle. Peter Ramus (1515–​72), the most (in)famous protagonist of this humanist movement, positioned himself as an anti-​Aristotelian reformer of logic. He won his reputation as “the archenemy of Aristotle” (Gilbert 1960: 129) through his supposed MA thesis titled “Everything That Aristotle Has Said Is False,”81 along with two early works criticizing the Aristotelian logic, Dialecticae Institutiones and Aristotelicae Animadversiones. Unsurprisingly, Kant singles out Ramus as the rebel against the dominance of Aristotle’s logic in schools. [Aristotle’s] logic flourished for many centuries in all schools, until Petrus Ramus first wrote a logic in 2 parts, treating 1. de inventione, 2. de iudicio. Through his refutations of Aristotle he became the object of deadly hatred. (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 796; see V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 337; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 509) Kant is likely referring to Ramus’s Dialecticae libri duo (Ramus 1574), a logic textbook first published in French as Dialectique (Ramus 1964) and then in Latin. It was widely used in European and especially German universities.82 Ramus’s main contribution was not, contrary to what Kant’s remark seems to suggest, introducing the division between inventio and iudicium but revising, simplifying, and popularizing the humanist program developed by its more innovative pioneers Lorenzo Valla (c. 1406–​57) and Rudolph Agricola (1443/​4–​85).83 Another humanist should be mentioned before we turn to Ramus, namely Juan Luis Vives (1493–​1540), whose “Against the Pseudo-​logicians” epitomizes the humanist criticism of the medieval terminist logic or scholastic logic. Vives’s main target is Peter of Spain’s Summule logicales, which came to dominate the university curriculum.84 By Vives’s assessment, the scholastic logic has corrupted language, morals, and common sense because of its preoccupation with sophistical disputations and convoluted technicalities. [C]‌ertain individuals are espousing a hideous form of barbarism and monstrous parodies of the university curriculum, which they prefer to call “sophisms.” . . . When men of genuine talent decide to dedicate themselves to this pursuit, their useful mental abilities go to ruin, and like fertile fields that are left uncultivated, they produce a useless accumulation of weeds, indulge in vain imaginings, and fabricate absurdities for themselves, and a new kind of language which they alone understand. (Vives 1973: 77)

The Nature and Place of Logic

Vives is speaking from his own experience of education at the University of Paris, where studies of such things as the logic of syncategoremata has made him “trivial and foolish in very serious matters,” an effect so “detrimental” that he wishes to have “this insidious science publically denounced as a sort of plague and corruption of sound minds” (Vives 1973: 78). He is not merely venting his personal frustrations, though. As the title of his critique suggests, his final aim is to tell apart pseudo-​and true logicians. His arguments are rooted in a particular understanding of the source and nature of logic and the proper role of a logician. In brief, logic originates in common usage, and so the logician’s role is not to create or prescribe new rules but to teach and transmit the rules already observed in common and familiar speech. [I]‌n logic it is usage that ultimately determines whether a certain statement in the indicative mood is true or false. . . . [B]efore logic was ever discovered, these matters which the logician teaches were already in existence, and he merely transmits the rules, because the consensus of speakers . . . so approves. (Vives 1973: 81) Interestingly, Vives invokes Aristotle as the model of a true logician and portrays the Organon as the teaching of but “a few brief precepts.” Aristotle does not embroil and detain his pupil in frigid and foolish suppositions, extensions, restrictions, and other petty terms. This great gen­ius, the inventor of all those forms and syllogisms, and indeed of all logic itself, did not consider such things necessary for a training in logic. He considered them to be extrinsic to the nature of the art of logic in that they contradicted man’s common sense and habits of speech. (Vives 1973: 93) Even when one is occupied with the true kind of logic like Aristotle’s, Vives adds, one “ought not to linger over it” since logic is “an art which is learned not for its own sake, but in order to serve as a basis for the other arts, and be their handmaid” (Vives 1973: 97). This conception of the strictly instrumental role of logic, together with the view on the ground of legitimacy of a logical theory, will find an even stronger voice in Ramus’s writings. In his attempt to reform logic, Ramus seeks first to draw “true limits and bounds” between rhetoric and dialectic, reducing the concern of rhetoric to mere elegance in “style and delivery” (Ramus 1992: 25, 78). He equates dialectic with the whole of logic, defining it as ars bene disserendi among other things (Ramus 1574:  13).85 The Ramist dialectic has exactly two major divisions, inventio and iudicium or dispositio (Ramus 1992: 78, 82). Invention (the finding of arguments) precedes judgment (the arrangement or dispositio of arguments), with method as well as the syllogistic falling under the latter. Method—​not for acquiring new knowledge, but as the way to order and systematize knowledge for teaching and learning—​now enjoys the place of the crown jewels.86

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The popularity of Ramus’s Dialecticae libri duo largely owes to his drastic simplification of logic, as part of his ambitious and comprehensive educational reform program. The reform pivots on three laws of Ramus’s so-​called “single method,” namely the laws of truth, justice, and wisdom, all of which are derived from his reading of Aristotle’s texts. By the first law, only necessarily true precepts can be included in an art or science. By the second, an art/​science must include no more and no less than what belongs in it in view of its end. (Ramus uses this law to exclude the Sophistical Refutations from logic, for the reason that the topic of sophistry does not belong in logic as an art of truth.) By the third, we must order the contents of an art/​science in a way that begins with what is the most conspicuous, best known, or most general and then descends gradually to the least known or most specific (Ramus 1581:  94–​96; Ramus 1973).87 Along with these methodological principles, Ramus’s conception of the origin, nature, and end of logic determines his views about what constitutes the proper content of logic and how it should be taught. To him, logical teachings must be grounded in observations of the best examples of the common use of reason. A doctrinal logic or logic as art (ars dialectica) is legitimate or universal only insofar as it corresponds to the natural logic (naturalis dialectica), which comes down to certain actual operations of our mind. In other words, the art of logic must imitate natural logic. Nature enjoys priority for a reason: we are naturally endowed with the power of disserendi, the ultimate source of which is God (Ramus 1543: 6). Reason (ratio), together with speech (oratio), is one of the two universal gifts bestowed upon all humans by nature, and dialectic is a theory of reason (rationis doctrina) that seeks to “draw on the general strengths of human reason in the consideration and the arrangement of the subject matter” (Ramus 1986:  86; 1992:  16). In this way, the content of the ars or doctrina of logic is thoroughly determined by the natural logic.88 This view is the ultimate guiding principle of Ramus’s endeavor to simplify and reconstruct logic to ensure its practicality. It demands the elimination of useless technicalities such as predicables (e.g. “genus” and “species”) and totally ignores terminism (understandably so given Vives’s attack on the latter).89 The result is a logic manual suited to prepare the young minds in the universities for pursuing other disciplines. Historians of formal logic might find this treatment of logic “devoid of any valuable and effective insights” (Ong 1958b: 186). From a broader philosophical perspective, however, Ramus’s challenges to the traditional logic are not so easily discounted. Although his call for reform is largely inspired by concerns that would hardly move great logicians like Abelard, his claims about the relation between logic as ars or doctrina and natural logic put pressure on any philosopher who holds that a given logic prescribes the universal rules for how we ought to regulate our intellectual activities. The challenge is whether one has good grounds to legitimize the claim that specific logical rules are strictly

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normative for human reason in general. As we shall see in ­chapter 3, the awareness of this challenge will become even more acute among Kant’s seventeenth-​ and eighteenth-​century predecessors, who will together elevate the debates over the nature and place of logic to another level.

4. A Tentative Conclusion In ­chapter  1, I  argued that Kant’s theory of logic is best seen as an attempt to address certain philosophical problems and a response to various ways in which other philosophers have dealt with them. The question is: what are those problems? In addressing this question, one may be tempted to look no further than the work by Kant’s immediate predecessors and skip the part of the history surveyed in this chapter. It would be like groping in the dark, however, to try to interpret early modern views on logic without understanding the historical developments through which the relevant philosophical notions and issues came to take shape. Especially, it would be hard to see why some of the most important early modern thinkers (e.g. Bacon) should feel the dire need for a complete overhaul of logic, to grasp the real message of certain challenges (particularly Locke’s) to the Aristotelian-​scholastic logic, to determine what it takes to establish a strictly scientific and authentic logic (as Kant’s Leibnizian-​ Wolffian predecessors would try to do), or even to decide which writings pertain to “logic.” Of course, as I  explained in ­chapter  1, to Kant a history is not a mere sequence of events but a narrative constructed from materials that have been sorted out in accordance with an idea of where things ought to be heading. With this proviso in mind, I ended c­ hapter 1 with a brief analysis of Kant’s remarks about logic in the Critique, so as to extract some general pointers for a selective but informative overview of the history of logic before him. The present chapter revolves around a set of questions regarding the nature of logic.

(1) Is logic a science (scientia), instrument (organon), standard of assessment (canon), or mixture of these? (2) If logic is a (theoretical) science, what is the subject matter that separates it from other sciences, particularly metaphysics? (3) If logic is a necessary instrument to all philosophical inquiries, how is it entitled to this position? What is the end (finis) of logic? (4) If logic is both a science and an instrument, how are these two roles related?

I began this chapter by tracing these questions to their ancient origins. Later approaches largely remained within the conceptual framework derived from the ancient sources. Over time, however, new concepts and distinctions or new definitions of the existing ones were also introduced. Chief among these are

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logica naturalis versus logica artificialis (or ars dialectica), logica utens versus logica docens, scientia realis versus scientia rationalis, and secondary versus primary intentions or concepts. It should be abundantly clear now that logic never enjoyed a definitive, secure, or lasting position in philosophy. Its ancient founders already disagreed among themselves over what to include in it or how to view its role with respect to philosophical inquiries in general. John of Salisbury’s Metalogicon gave witness to how logic would now and then come under attack and how a serious attempt at defending it must begin by clarifying its nature, place, and purpose. Even philosophers who did not appear to be fending off threats to the security of logic had to clarify and affirm their conceptions of logic by answering some of the questions listed above. With the Aristotelian logic in particular, although it prevailed in the Latin West for ages, we have not seen a general consensus among its students over its exact content, scope, or relation to metaphysics. If anything, only a set of philosophical problems—​formulated in terms familiar to all parties involved, such as scientia and ars—​have served to unify those who thought and wrote about logic over time. The same problems, as we shall see in later chapters, will be front and center in early modern accounts of logic, including Kant’s. Before turning to the accounts by Kant’s more recent predecessors, let us recall some of his basic claims about logic mentioned at the end of ­chapter 1. Given the historical knowledge we now have, we can begin to appreciate the significance as well as the controversial nature of those claims. I present them here with a view to laying the ground for later chapters. First, logic is a “science” with a unique subject of investigation (i.e. formal rules of thinking in general), and it serves as a “canon” for the logical assessment of all thoughts but not a universal “organon.” Such is Kant’s basic answer to the questions listed above. To support and flesh out this answer, he will need to address the following questions, phrased in terms of Aquinas’s interpretation of the strict notion of scientia (a notion shared by Kant as well as many of his immediate predecessors). Is it possible to obtain knowledge or certain cognition (certa cognitio) about the subject of logic through demonstration (per demonstrationem) from primary principles that are true and immediately known (ex propositionibus veris, primis et immediatis)?90 In particular, what would the primary principles be, from which an entire logical system may be demonstrated? How would we know and affirm them? These questions, when combined with related commitments of Kant’s Critical philosophy, will pose the toughest challenge to his theory of logic qua science, especially if he is to sustain his claim about the completeness of the Aristotelian logic. I shall discuss this challenge in ­chapter 5. Second, only pure logic is a proper science. Unlike applied logic, pure logic is a proven “doctrine” from a priori principles regardless of how we in fact use our faculty of thought. This distinction between pure and applied logics is

The Nature and Place of Logic

reminiscent of the medieval one between logica docens and logica utens. Later we shall see that Kant sometimes also refers to the distinction between logica naturalis and logica artificialis, which both Leibniz and Wolff will explore to authenticate what they take to be the true logic. Despite the apparent terminological continuity, however, Kant will repudiate the strategy of establishing scientific (artificial) logic on natural logic. His account of pure versus applied logics, as I shall argue in ­chapters 4 and 5, marks a radical departure from all past accounts of logic regarding its foundation. Third, applied logic is a branch of logic with its own domain of inquiry and its own value. Its target is common understanding. One of its chief concerns is the source of error, which in Kant’s view is avoidable. A primary task of applied logic, then, is to set down rules and precepts for avoiding errors by, for instance, checking and overcoming prejudices. Hence, Kant deems applied logic the “cathartic of common understanding.” The principles underlying his treatment of this subject resemble the basic humanistic ones that Seneca, John of Salisbury, and Ramus invoked to push against an overly subtle dialectic. Among Kant’s early-​modern predecessors, Locke will assume a similar humanistic standpoint to challenge the authority of the Aristotelian formal logic in regulating the conduct of human understanding in general. A significant amount of the Lockean insights in this regard will be absorbed—​if only indirectly through Knutzen’s logic, which has an unmistakable Lockean dimension—​into Kant’s “applied logic.” I shall flesh out these points in ­chapters 3 and 4. Finally, Kant introduces a new kind of logic into the picture, namely transcendental logic, and contrasts it with pure general logic (logic proper) in terms of whether the relation (Beziehung) of cognitions to objects is taken into account. This distinction, along with the one between general logic and particular logic, suggests a unique Kantian approach to the age-​old question about the relation between logic and metaphysics. In this regard, it will be especially telling to observe that, at one point in his prolonged search for the proper method of metaphysics, Kant claims that ontology, traditionally treated as the first part of metaphysics, is “nothing other than a transcendental logic (subjective)” (R4152 [1769–​70], 17: 436). Although the exact meaning of this claim is difficult to pin down, one thing will become evident in ­chapter 4 and then again in c­ hapter 5: as far as Kant is concerned, to sort out the relation between logic and metaphysics it is necessary to rethink the foundation of metaphysics qua science, as it is to rethink that of logic, and one’s thoughts about these two subjects can have profound impact on each other. In an important way, as I shall argue, a quintessentially Kantian conception of logic proper would take shape as a byproduct of Kant’s prolonged quest to secure a scientific metaphysics. In particular, while it was during extended reflections on the foundation of metaphysics that Kant first introduced “transcendental logic,” this introduction would in turn prompt him to revisit and update his notion of logic proper—​so as to mark its clear boundaries vis-​à-​vis transcendental logic, a task entailed by question (2) above.

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The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

1. Introduction In ­chapter 2, we tracked down two general strands of thought about the nature and place of logic, which had different focuses without thereby excluding each other. One strand emphasized the value of logic and, primarily from humanistic considerations, looked at whether or how logic contributes to the cultivation of reason for the sake of wisdom (philosophia). The other revolved around the question of whether logic counts as a distinct branch of philosophical scientia (besides being an organon of sorts) and, provided it does, how it relates to other parts of philosophy.1 In this chapter, we examine how these strands of thought figure in conceptions of logic by some of Kant’s modern predecessors. Generally, these thinkers were not driven by the need to make sense of Aristotle or any other ancient authors. Inquiring about the scientific status of logic and its relation to other sciences is no longer limited to figuring out whether logic satisfies the strict Aristotelian-​scholastic criterion of science or how it fits in the Aristotelian division of sciences. It is not that those Aristotelian-​scholastic considerations are not relevant any more. It is just that, with the emergence of a new approach to natural sciences, one must rethink both the purported role of logic as an organon and what conditions it must satisfy in order to count as a true “science.” Meanwhile, the question about the authority of the Aristotelian logic now seems even more pressing than it was to a humanist like Ramus—​partly due to the presence of competing claims about what a correct logic should be like in terms of its content, and partly because the spirit of Enlightenment demands that a logic theory be recommended not in view of, say, its historical dominance but solely on account of its appeal to universal human reason. The seventeenth-​and eighteenth-​century philosophers before Kant have a great deal to say about logic as a science or organon (or both) and how it

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relates to the new conception of natural philosophy and to the concerns of Enlightenment, respectively. Their views on these topics together form the immediate backdrop for the development of Kant’s theory of logic. They are so varied and so intricately tied with many other philosophical and nonphilosophical issues, though, that it is impossible to touch all the bases within the limited space of a single chapter. Moreover, for reasons I explained in ­chapter  1, my interest is not to identify which of those views may have exerted greatest influence on the development of Kant’s, but to sort out the philosophical problems about logic that will concern him, along with some of the available conceptual means by which he may address them. At the very least, to sustain his conception of logic as a science, Kant must find a basis to determine the subject matter and proper content of logic, identify its grounding principles, and sort out its relation to other sciences. As I shall explain in ­chapter 4, these issues were far from resolved when Kant started paying close attention to them around the mid-​1760s, and it would take him a decade or so, until around the mid-​1770s, to articulate a more or less settled position of his own. Before then, his remarks about logic did not so much add up to a cohesive theory of logic as signify an ongoing effort to figure out its nature, scope, foundation, and utility. In this regard, Kant’s modern predecessors presented him with ample alternatives, many of which he would try out and scrutinize critically before figuring out his own position. Explicit references to those theories are few and scattered in Kant’s logic corpus, but enough to indicate what major issues of logic may be facing him and what answers are already on the table. In this chapter, I focus on four figures mentioned in his remarks about logic and history of logic: Bacon, Locke, Leibniz, and Wolff, who share the interest in determining the legitimacy of a putative logic scientifically.2 In a nutshell, Bacon initiates a new method—​a kind of natural-​historical method—​by which to overhaul all philosophical sciences including logic, a project known as instauratio magna (section 2). Following the same method, Locke measures the legitimacy of a putative logic against facts about the natural workings of human intellect, from which perspective he challenges the prevalent conception of the Aristotelian syllogistic as necessary to the proper use of human reason in general (section 3). Leibniz responds to this Lockean challenge by making syllogism part of the “universal logic” and by somehow grounding a logical theory (artificial logic) on a divinely sourced natural logic (section 4). Wolff develops a more elaborate account of natural and artificial logics as what represent, either in a confused or in a distinct manner, the same rules that regulate our mental operations and thereby seeks to restore the centrality of syllogism in all philosophical sciences (section 5). Kant, as we shall see in ­chapters  4 and 5, would eventually frame his Critical account of logic—​of pure general logic, to be precise, as opposed to “applied logic,” “particular logic,” and “transcendental logic,” respectively—​in

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

contrast to both Baconian-​Lockean and Leibnizian-​Wolffian alternatives. He would still appreciate and take seriously the kind of normative concerns about logic that Locke pressed, however. Such concerns, together with the Baconian-​ Lockean “natural history” method of legitimizing certain normative claims of logic, would deeply inform Kant’s account of “applied logic.” It would take Kant a prolonged and meandering journey to arrive at his final position on logic, though. All in all, before the mid-​1770s he showed no firm or lasting commitment to any of the theories of logic mentioned above, but could regard each of them with an equally inquisitive and critical frame of mind. (Recall the critical eclecticism I attributed to Kant in c­ hapter 1. It is particularly salient here.) Accordingly, in what follows, I shall give each theory a fair hearing and foreground the aspects that will jointly provide us with a useful perspective to understand and evaluate the Kantian alternative. Wherever applicable, I shall use as my guiding thread Kant’s remarks about each philosopher under discussion. I shall do so in view of paving the way for c­ hapter 4, where I examine his comments on logic in a few texts from before the mid-​1770s to see how his theory of logic might have started to take shape vis-​à-​vis the preceding ones.

2. Bacon: Logic and Science 2.1. KANT ON BACON

Kant signals his appreciation of the spirit of the Baconian philosophical reform when he uses an excerpt from the end of Bacon’s Instauratio Magna as the epigraph to the second-​edition Critique (Bii). The excerpt conveys two points about the Baconian instauration. First, it is proposed not as an opinion but as “work [opus]” to be done, with a view to laying “the foundation of human utility and empowerment.” Second, it takes into account the limitations of “mere mortals” and prescribes “a lawful end and termination of endless errors” (Inst, A6v, modified translation). We can find traces of both points in Kant’s philosophical corpus, especially in places where he talks about the end of logic and the ground of its laws (as far as their lawfulness is concerned). For instance, in the Logik Blomberg Kant suggests how the Baconian experimental method may serve for the discovery of a correct logic. Contributing to this are . . . experiences of the effects of human reason[.]‌ Bacon of Verulam . . . first showed the world that all philosophy consists of phantoms of the brain if it does not rest on experience.3 It would be just as necessary to write an experimental logic as physics, in which one should investigate how man can err through prejudices, and overhastiness, and in other ways too, so that rules can be prescribed for him as to how he ought to guard against that.

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One should make observations, furthermore, as to how we can judge most correctly, and also prescribe [vorschreiben] rules on this in logic. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 28) Kant often compares logic to natural philosophy (physics) in view of the fact that both concern laws that regulate certain kinds of activities. For instance, just as a body moves in accordance with physical laws and would not deviate from the direction determined thereby unless interfered by external forces, so does our intellect necessarily operate by logical laws and would not depart from them—​that is, err—​without alien obstacles (i.e., certain influences of sensibility).4 Of course, there is an important difference between the two cases, namely that we as epistemic agents can consciously relate to logical laws in a way that bodies cannot to physical laws. Still, there is enough similarity between logic and physics to suggest that a general method—​viz. the Baconian experimental method—​may be employed for their correct derivation. As Kant interprets it, the Baconian method is first articulated in relation to the study of nature and, thanks to its success in this department, is then adopted for improving philosophy as a whole. In this sense, Bacon has contributed to the overall improvement of philosophy although he is better known for having revolutionized our approach to natural philosophy. This improvement [in philosophy] is not to be attributed to any circumstance more than to the studium of nature. . . . The Lord Chancellor Baco de Verulam contributed to this in his organon for the sciences, in that he called attention to the method in physics, namely, to observations and experiments. (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  804; see Log, 9:  32; V-​Met-​L2/​Pölitz, 28: 539) To discover something (that lies hidden either in ourselves or elsewhere) in many cases often requires a special talent of knowing how to search well: a natural gift for judging in advance (iudicii praevii) where the truth may indeed be found; for tracking things and using the slightest grounds of relationship to discover or invent that which is sought. The logic of the schools teaches us nothing about this. But Bacon of Verulam gave a brilliant example of the method in his Organon of how the hidden constitution of natural things could be uncovered through experiments. (Anth, 7: 223) Logic and natural philosophy thus stand in a reciprocal relation. Logic, as an organon, is to assist the human intellect in its study of nature. Meanwhile, to be a true philosophical science, it must be rooted in natural philosophy. To appreciate this relation and its implications, let us turn to Bacon’s own writings.

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

2.2. BACON’S GREAT INSTAURATION AND THE CALL FOR A NEW LOGIC

Bacon’s critical engagement with the Aristotelian logic—​“dialectic” (dialectica) or “common logic” (logica vulgaris)—​is premised on the view that bare intellect, like bare hands, would not be able to accomplish much. Neither bare hand nor unaided intellect counts for much; for the business is done with instruments and aids, which are not less necessary to the intellect than to the hand. And just as instruments of the hand stimulate or guide its motion, so the instruments of the mind [instrumenta Mentis] prompt or look out for the intellect. (NO, I.2) It is no surprise, then, that Bacon’s Novum Organum begins with “the refutation of Native Human Reason left to itself ” (NO, I.115). His basic rationale is that the “subtlety of nature” far exceeds that of intellect, so that “the intellect without direction and help is an unequal thing and simply not up to the job of mastering the obscurity of things” (NO, I.10, 21). Logic is billed to supply the right instruments for the intellect to uncover the secrets of nature, a promise that the common logic has allegedly failed to deliver. As Bacon puts it in the preface to the Instauratio Magna, those who have assigned the highest functions to dialectic, believing that it furnished the most trustworthy aid to the sciences, have seen all too truly and well that the human intellect left to itself rightly deserves to be treated with suspicion. . . . the dialectic in current use . . . still falls far short of the subtlety of nature and . . . has done more to establish and shore up errors than open the way to truth. (Inst, A4r) Bacon plans to devise a logic that does supply “the true helps of the intellect” (Inst, B3r). It is a scientia (Inst, B3v) and an ars of interpreting nature (NO, C5r), which differs from the common logic “in its end, order of demonstration, and the inquiry’s starting points” (Inst, B3r). As Bacon sees it, the common logic revolves around “depraved demonstrations” (NO, I.69) and therefore inevitably “lets nature slip through its fingers” (Inst, B3v). This fate is rooted in two features of syllogistic demonstrations. First, they are composed of words, which are signs of notions. Therefore, “if the very notions of the mind . . . are ineptly and recklessly abstracted from things, and vague, insufficiently delimited and circumscribed, and indeed rotten in many ways, everything collapses” (Inst, B3v; see NO, I.14). To the extent that the common logic is founded on unsound vulgar notions such as substance, quality, and being, it “serves to entrench and firm up errors . . . rather than to investigate the truth” (NO, I.12, 15).5 Second, “syllogism does not apply to the principles of the sciences” and so “commands assent but fails to get hold of things” (NO, I.13). In fact, a whole

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science constructed through syllogistic demonstrations is corrupted when they begin with poorly abstracted principles and axioms. The capriciousness and extravagance with which axioms are established is no less than that by which notions are abstracted; and that is true of the very principles derived from ordinary induction; and even more so of axioms and inferior propositions derived by syllogism. (NO, I.17) Bacon thus traces the unfruitfulness of the common logic to its reliance on a wrong kind of induction. Though it rightly begins with sense and particulars, this induction rushes up to principles of the highest generality in a haphazard way. The resulting principles are then taken as the indubitable starting points of syllogistic demonstrations, through which further axioms and propositions are inferred. This way is necessarily unproductive: “In no way can it come about that axioms established by argumentation can contribute to the discovery of new works, for the subtlety of nature far surpasses the subtleties of argumentation.” In other words, the resulting axioms “do not lead to new particulars” and so cannot “render the sciences active” as a properly regulated, systematically conducted induction would do (NO, I.19, 22, 24–​25; see Inst, B4r–​4v).6 By Bacon’s analysis, the deeper problem with the common induction is its dependence on vulgar or “unguided” as opposed to “literate” experience (NO, I.100–​103). It builds on a wrong sort of natural history, which gathers fleeting appearances or “things natural” as opposed to the underlying causal mechanisms or “things mechanical” (PhU, O7r; see DGI, D7r–​D7v). It has thereby strayed from “the noblest end of natural history,” namely “to be the basic stuff and raw material of the true and legitimate induction and to draw enough from the sense to furnish the intellect”—​and so to prepare “the solid and lasting basis of a true and active philosophy” (DGI, D6v; see PhU, O7v–​ O8r). A  proper natural history, by contrast, is “alone  .  .  .  needful for laying the foundations of a true and active philosophy.” It is essentially “the book of God’s works,” in which like a “faithful scribe” one “takes down and copies out the very laws of nature and nothing else” (PH, a3r, c2v, c3r; see DGI, D7r; Inst, B6v). In that connection, Bacon aims at not only revolutionizing natural philosophy but also “perfecting the other sciences—​logic, ethics, and politics” (NO, I.127). Accordingly, he proposes a two-​step reversal of the predominant treatment of the relation between natural philosophy and other sciences: first to purify natural philosophy and make it a genuine science, and then to place it at the root of all other philosophical sciences. To begin, Bacon urges that natural philosophy be liberated from the distortions and corruptions by existing philosophical systems, e.g., “in Aristotle’s school by logic” (NO, I.96). Aristotle allegedly “made his natural philosophy a mere slave to his logic, and so rendered it virtually useless and disputatious” when, for example, “he fashioned the world from categories;

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

attributed to the human soul . . . a kind of terms of second intention [vocibus secundae intentionis];  .  .  .  and forced on the nature of things countless other ideas as the whim took him (NO, I.54, 63, modified translation). Whether it is fair to mount these charges against Aristotle does not concern us here. Bacon’s general point is clear regardless: natural philosophy must be grounded solely on a proper natural history. Once natural philosophy re-​establishes itself pure and unmixed, Bacon continues, it must be “extended to the particular sciences and these in their turn reduced to natural philosophy.” By “particular sciences,” he means not only astronomy, optics, and the like, but also “(which may surprise you) moral and political philosophy, and the science of logic.” He blames the lack of growth in these sciences on their being cut off from the nourishing roots of natural philosophy, which “could have given them new strength and growth at source and from a true knowledge of motions, rays, . . . of bodies, affections, and intellectual apprehensions” (NO, I.80, my italicization). Natural philosophy in this context is taken broadly to include not only a theory of body but also a theory of man qua natural existence. Bacon’s catalogue of natural histories lists topics like “affections, like anger, love, shame, etc.” and “intellectual faculties: thinking, imagination, discourse, memory, etc.” (Cat, no.77–​ 78, modified translation; see NO, I.127). A comprehensive natural philosophy will interpret all such phenomena and articulate the underlying laws, thereby supplying the knowledge needed for the overhaul of particular sciences, including logic. 2.3. LOGIC AND THE DESTINY OF HUMAN INTELLECT

In the concluding section of the Novum Organum, Bacon says the following about his logic or art of interpreting nature: though I judge that I have given the most useful and true guidance, I nevertheless ascribe no  .  .  .  absolute necessity to it (as if nothing could be achieved without it). For my view is that if men had a history of nature and experience readily available, and gave themselves to it wholeheartedly, and could abide by two things—​first, set aside received opinions and notions; second, keep their minds well clear for a while of the highest generalisations and those nearest to them—​they would be able to fall in with my mode of Interpreting by their proper and genuine mental force, without other art. For Interpretation is the true and natural work of a mind freed from the fetters that restrain it. (NO, I.130) Bacon’s point here is not just that the art of interpretation he has prescribed is not absolutely necessary, but that a mind in its free state has enough powers of its own to interpret nature properly without needing any art whatsoever. To the mind in such a state, the instructions of the Baconian logic will become

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descriptive, not prescriptive. Does this contradict Bacon’s earlier claim that human intellect should not be left without assistance or direction? The key to avoiding this contradition lies in Bacon’s doctrine of idols. There is a great gulf between the native human reason that he sets out to refute and the mind that operates on the strength of its proper powers. By his analysis, the human mind has been beset by various innate as well as extrinsic impediments. They boil down to four classes of idols: idols of the tribe (rooted in human nature in general), of the cave (viz. personal prejudices), of the market (characterized by shoddy and disputatious uses of words), and of the theater (as stage of false theories). These idols have prevented “the light of nature” from shinning through and blocked a true commerce between the intellect and things. Hence all of them “must be foresworn and renounced with unwavering and solemn resolve, and the intellect must be thoroughly freed and purged of them” (NO, I.42; I.68). The three refutations that form the negative phase of the Novum Organum, namely the refutations of “demonstrations,” of “theories” or received philosophies, and of native human reason (NO, I.115), constitute “the doctrine of purging the intellect to fit it for the truth” (Inst, B6r). The intellect so freed from its former trappings, Bacon suggests, will find it only natural to approach and interpret nature in the manner described by his new logic. In this sense, his logic merely sets down in writing the “true and natural” workings of the mind. It is just that, given how deeply entrenched the idols of human mind have been, we are still far from reaching the promised state. In the meantime, Bacon urges his reader to “try out for himself a little the way which I am describing and laying down, get used to the subtlety of things which is stamped in experience, and finally in due and good time correct his corrupt and deeply rooted habits of mind [mentis habitus]” (NO, Preface, D3v–​4r). Bacon sees such a practice as part of the process through which “the human race . . . regain its God-​given authority over nature” (NO, I.129). He proclaims: at last (like a tried and trusted guardian) I can, when men have come of age with an emancipated intellect, hand over their fortunes to them; . . . by his fall man lost both his state of innocence and his command over created things. However, both of these losses can to some extent be repaired even in this life, the former by religion and faith, the latter by arts and sciences. (NO, II.52, modified translation) The language of fall is not just metaphorical. An assumed parallel between man’s two falls and two redemptions underlies Bacon’s Instauratio magna. The chief intention of this project, after all, is to reinstate the true commerce between mind and things, from which mankind have fallen—​by worshiping false idols instead of the authentic work of God, nature—​and to which they have the duty of returning with resolute, conscious, and collective effort. Immediately after analyzing the various idols of human mind and calling for a firm

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

renunciation of them, Bacon says: “entrance into the Kingdom of Man, which is founded on the sciences, differs little from that into the Kingdom of Heaven, into which none enters except in the likeness of a little child” (NO, I.68). The childlike quality to be restored is that of innocence, freedom (from corruptions and prejudices), and the ability to experience nature as it is. If Bacon sees his new organon as a way of leading mankind back to this state, once the destination is reached there will be no difference between what it prescribes and the new habit of human intellect. This aspect of the Baconian conception of logic is evidently familiar to Kant. The basic points of Bacon’s doctrine of idols is, as we shall see in ­chapter 4, somewhat echoed in Kant’s account of error as deviation from the natural course that one would necessarily follow if it were not for prejudices or other undue interferences from one’s sensibility, an account that occupies a central place in Kant’s “applied logic.” In particular, just as Bacon built the precepts of his new logic on a natural history of the human mind, so will Kant derive prescriptions of applied logic—​e.g., one ought not to hold something as true without sufficient grounds of certainty about its truth—​from descriptions of how we in fact use the relevant faculties.

3. Locke: Logic and the Nature of Human Intellect 3.1. ASSESSING LOCKE’S RELATION TO LOGIC

Kant characterizes Locke’s contributions to philosophy in general and to logic in particular from various angles. Here are a few notable examples: Locke “induced a lot in logic” (V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 613). He “gave direction to speculative reason” by purging it of scholasticism (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 804). He treated philosophy “psychologically” by seeking “to analyze the human understanding and to show which powers of the soul and which of its operations belonged to this or that cognition,” an approach that inspired many in Germany “to study the nature of the soul better and more thoroughly” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 804; Log, 9: 32). He “deserves priority” in using a “critical” method of philosophizing, which “consists in investigating the procedure of reason itself, in analyzing the whole human faculty of cognition” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24:  37; Log, 9:  32; see V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24:  338). Locke’s variety of the critical method will turn out to be mere physiology, for which reason he bears the title “physiologist” of reason or of the understanding (Aix; V-​Met/​Vigil, 29: 958; R4866 [1776–​78], 18: 14; R4893 [1776–​78], 18: 21; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 301). Nevertheless, his “book de intellectu humano” contains “the ground of all true logica” (V-​Lo/​ Blomberg, 24: 37). These descriptions suggest a mixed assessment of the Lockean approach to logic. On the one hand, Kant credits Locke with the insight to ground logic in an analysis of the human intellect. On the other hand, he rejects Locke’s

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physiological version of the critical method, which centers on the de facto workings of human intellect under empirical conditions. Understanding both points will, as I shall explain in ­chapter 5, prove key to understanding Kant’s own theory of logic. Before I examine the relevant texts, a brief comment is in order regarding Locke’s role in the history of logic. Over the last few decades, a significant amount of literature has been dedicated to explaining Locke’s crucial role in the development of a new logic in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries—​ be it “logic of ideas” or “facultative logic,” of which Locke’s logic is supposedly one of the finest specimens.7 As James Buickerood explains it, in Locke’s works we encounter a unique kind of logic that carries out the “theoretical task of identifying, discriminating and analyzing the cognitive faculties and their operations.” Buickerood mentions the “distinction between the study of the cognitive faculties and the discipline of logic itself,” but decides to make little of it in his interpretation of Locke’s theory of logic and its influence on the eighteenth-​century developments, considering that “many eighteenth​century philosophers themselves tended to ignore any distinction possible between these inquiries.” Accordingly, when attributing a “facultative logic” to Locke, Buickerood means an undifferentiated mixture of logic and the study of its foundation (Buickerood 1985: 162–​63). We shall see, however, that Locke himself is attentive to something akin to Buickerood’s distinction. We shall also see that Leibniz will engage Locke’s criticism of the traditional (syllogistic) logic precisely at the foundational level, in a way that will resurface the scholastic distinction between logica naturalis and logica artificialis and thereby lay the foundations for Wolff’s account of logic qua science. In what follows, I  shall tease out the basic elements of Locke’s theory of logic in order both to prepare for my subsequent discussion of Leibniz and to bring to the fore aspects of the theory that, as we shall see in ­chapter 5, will become prominent in Kant’s reflections on the subject matter and foundational principles of logic. 3.2. LOGIC AND THE FREE PURSUIT OF TRUTH: A PRELIMINARY ANALYSIS

In the final section of An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Locke gives a tripartite division of sciences: natural philosophy, practical philosophy, and semiotics or doctrine of signs (ideas and words). He adds that, insofar as words are “the most usual” kind of signs, semiotics is “aptly enough termed also logikē, logick” (EHU, IV.xxi.4, 720). Curiously, although a considerable part of the Essay is about words and ideas, Locke does not claim to have thereby worked out a new logic. Rather, having stressed the importance of studying signs “as the great instruments of knowledge,” he says:

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

perhaps, if they [i.e., ideas and words] were distinctly weighed, and duly considered, they would afford us another sort of logick and critic, than what we have been hitherto acquainted with. (EHU, IV.xxi.4, 721) Locke gives no precise description of the anticipated logic. He seems intent on leaving this subject open. Earlier in the Essay, citing Richard Hooker’s claim that discovering “the right helps of true art and learning” would make enormous “difference in maturity of judgment between men therewith inured, and that which now men are,”8 Locke remarks: I do not pretend to have found, or discovered here any of those right helps of art, this great man of deep thought mentions. . . . It is sufficient for me, if . . . I shall have given occasion to others, to cast about for new discoveries, and to seek in their own thoughts, for those right helps of art, which will scarce be found, I  fear, by those who servilely confine themselves to the rules and dictates of others. (EHU, IV.xvii.7, 680) Locke refrains from prescribing the “right helps of art” not simply out of modesty, but from a deeper conviction that there is no such thing as the right instrument for the use of human reason in general. He leaves it to each individual to discover what help may suit her condition. Following Hooker, Locke connects such a discovery with the ability to judge maturely, for oneself and independently of the dictates of others. This connection becomes more prominent in Of the Conduct of the Understanding, which Locke intended as the final part of the fourth-​edition Essay but never managed to complete. The Conduct starts with the proposition that the understanding is “[t]‌he last resort a man has recourse to in the conduct of himself ” and so it is “of the highest concernment that great care should be taken of the understanding to conduct it right in the search of knowledg and in the judgments it makes” (C, ¶1).9 Locke then turns to “[t]he logick now in use,” which has been regarded as “the only art taught in the schools for the direction of the minde in the study of the arts and sciences,” but which in his view is “not sufficient to guide the understanding” (C, ¶2). To preempt any suspicion of an “affection for noveltie” (C, ¶2), Locke then cites from Bacon’s preface to the Instauratio Magna, where the remedy for misuses of the human intellect offered by the common logic is said to have “reachd not the evil but became a part of it”—​hence the need for “a better and perfecter use and imployment of the minde and understanding” (C, ¶3). According to Thomas Fowler, this appeal to Bacon suggests that the Conduct is designed “to supplement and enlarge the logic of the schools” (Fowler 1901: xxiii–​xxiv). Maybe. What does it mean to “supplement” the old logic, though? One way to do so is to fill the gaps left by the old logic, so that the new and old logics can be two complementary systems serving in different domains of human life. Locke, however, shows no intent in the Conduct to

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supplement the old logic in this way. His goal is rather to prepare individuals to pass independent judgments about the old logic and do so maturely. Locke would approach this matter by applying the Baconian natural-​history method, as we can gather from his remarks about logic in the controversy with Edward Stillingfleet, which he endured while writing the Conduct. Locke characterizes one of Stillingfleet’s charges as that of “novelty,” viz. of advancing “new way of reasoning; new hypothesis about reason; new sort of certainty: new terms; new way of ideas; new method of certainty” (Locke 1824:  137). In response, Locke explains what is new in the Essay and what is not. Regarding his “way by ideas” in particular, which Stillingfleet has contrasted with the Aristotelian “way by reason,” Locke says: “if it be new, it is but a new history of an old thing.” What is “old” is that humans have “always performed the actions of thinking, reasoning, believing, and knowing, just after the same manner that they do now” (Locke 1824: 134–​35). It is just that “nobody . . . had, in their writings, particularly set down wherein the act of knowing precisely consisted.” Locke’s “new” contribution is only “to describe to others more particularly than had been done before, what it is their minds do, when they perform that action which they call knowing.” The truth of his account, Locke adds, can be measured only by “the experience of mankind,” that is, by what introspective individuals “find and feel in themselves, when their minds perform the act of knowing” (Locke 1824: 143–​44). The problem, though, is that our minds can be so full of unexamined biases that we may not yet be ready to judge maturely about what is proposed to us. From Locke’s own experience, the fact that people can find faults with every bit of his Essay simply “for its antiquity or novelty” is but one manifestation of such biases (Locke 1824: 138). The Conduct is centrally concerned with such a problem. Locke devotes its better part to cataloguing, diagnosing, and prescribing remedies for various kinds of biases that can hinder our ability to obtain knowledge. There is a notable ethical dimension to this project. As Fowler summarizes it, Locke’s analysis revolves around “the moral causes of fallacious reasoning: prejudice, haste, mental indolence, over-​regard for authority, love of antiquity or novelty, self-​sufficiency, despondency, and the various other conditions of mind which are quite as effective in barring the way to truth” (Fowler 1901: xxiii). The purpose of the analysis is to facilitate the “freedom of the understanding,” which is essential to our rationality and which consists in “the examination of our principles and not receiveing any for such nor building on them till we are fully convinced as rational creatures of their solidity truth and certainty” (C, ¶36). Along these lines, Locke separates a “man of reason” from a “logical chicanner,” who may employ the same logic but with radically different frames of the mind. An enlightened individual sees the Aristotelian logic, for instance, as what it is—​a tool with severe limitations—​and “exercise the freedom of his reason and understanding in such a latitude” that “his mind will be

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

strengthened, his capacity inlarged his facultys improved . . . to the full extent of its capacity” (C, ¶99). Logical chicanners, by contrast, are so obsessed with “disputes on logical questions that they take those airy useless notions for real and substantial knowledg” (C, ¶84). Notably, this criticism is directed at the misuse of logic, not at logic per se. The same is true of Locke’s attitude toward the syllogistic. As he puts it elsewhere, I grant the method of syllogism is right as far as it reaches; its proper business is to show the force and coherence of any argumentation, and to that it would have served very well, and one might certainly have depended on the conclusions as necessarily following from the premises in a rightly ordered syllogism, if the applauded art of disputing had not been taken for knowledge, . . . and so the end lost for which they were invented. (Locke 1830: 223, my italicization) The italicized phrases capture Locke’s final point about the syllogistic logic: it should be returned and confined to its intended place. It is by the schoolmen’s abuse, he tells us, that “the rules left us by the ancients for the conducting our thoughts in the search, or at least the examination of truth have been defeated” (Locke 1830: 222). By this preliminary textual analysis, Locke is less intent on offering a new logic to replace the old one than he is on addressing the deeper philosophical problems posed by the developments of logic so far. To recap, he is of the view that it is up to each individual to judge whether a purported logic offers her any help in the pursuit of knowledge. Such judgments are inevitably fallible, but it is most important that one determines oneself to them through free exercises of one’s rational capacity.10 Locke’s self-​appointed role is to clear the ground for this self-​determination. Bearing this point in mind, let us turn to his account of syllogism in the Essay. 3.3. LOCKE ON SYLLOGISTIC (FORMAL) LOGIC IN THE ESSAY

Locke’s most extensive treatment of syllogism appears in the chapter of the Essay titled “Of Reason.” His target is the view that “syllogism, as is generally thought, be the proper instrument of it [reason], and the usefullest way of exercising this faculty” (EHU, IV.xvii.4, 670). On a now typical reading, he thereby rejects the Aristotelian syllogistic, a rejection that many have found weak. For instance, Jonathan Barnes takes it to show that Locke “had little understanding of logic” (Barnes 2001: 132) and Fowler finds its attack on formal logic obviously ineffectual (Fowler 1901: 109). Locke’s criticism of syllogism in the Essay raises much harder philosophical challenges than the typical reading has suggested. It is primarily concerned with the alleged authority of formal logic, syllogism being at its core. What Locke seeks to repudiate is the view that syllogism is “the only proper

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instrument of reason and means of knowledge” and therefore a universal and necessary condition of what makes one “rational” (EHU, IV.xvii.4, 671, my italicization). His objection is not that syllogism can provide no useful instrument of reason at all, but that it is not entitled to being treated as a universal standard for the correct use of reason. To begin with, Locke uses a language of agency to describe the intellectual capacities of reason as a distinctively human faculty. The mental acts of perceiving and judging, for instance, are not mere “effects of chance and hazard” but involve “choice” and “direction” (EHU, IV.xvii.2, 669). The question is:  which, if any, rules have the authority to dictate such voluntary acts? Presumably, they must satisfy two basic constraints. First, they cannot work in a mechanistic way. Second, they cannot be imposed through external authority, convention, or anything of the sort. Rather, a rational thinker must recognize purported rules of reasoning as authoritative norms on her own terms and regulate her reasoning activities accordingly. Now we ask: can syllogism be legitimately prescribed as the necessary instrument for the proper use of reason in general, and, to whatever extent it may indeed facilitate our reasoning activities, how shall we as rational beings relate to them? Locke’s response to these questions exemplifies his acclaimed “historical, plain” method (EHU, I.i.2, 44). The response builds on three observations plus the assumption that syllogism is an artificial device invented by Aristotle. First, the ability to apply syllogistic logic is acquired through study in the schools. Second, many people reason well without being acquainted with this device. Third, among those who have been taught logic and can make syllogisms, most regard various syllogistic forms as valid “by an implicit faith in their teachers” without understanding the principles that establish their validity (EHU, IV.xvii.4, 670–​71). From these observations Locke constructs a reductio ad absurdum against his target:



(1) Suppose: syllogism is the necessary condition of rationality. (2) It implies that “before Aristotle there was not one man that did or could know any thing by reason; and that since the invention of syllogisms, there is not one of ten thousand that doth.” (3) This implication is absurd, for “God has not been so sparing to men to make them barely two-​legged creatures, and left it to Aristotle to make them rational, i.e. those few of them that he could get so to examine the grounds of syllogisms.” Therefore, the supposition is false. (EHU, IV.xvii.4, 671)

The sentence quoted in premise (3) conveys two notable points. First, syllogism may indeed assist one’s reasoning in certain cases. However, in such cases what makes one rational is not the mere use of syllogism, but one’s doing so from a clear understanding of why or “upon what grounds” certain forms of

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

syllogistic inferences are cogent. Second, if this reasoned application of syllogism is sufficient for rationality, it is not necessary. For God has given us “a native faculty to perceive the coherence or incoherence of its ideas, and can range them right, without any such perplexing repetitions” (EHU, IV.xvii.4, 670–​71). It is Locke’s intention in the Essay, as he emphasized in response to Stillingfleet, to describe our endowed intellectual capacities and thereby tell a “new history” of what has always been true of them. In this way, Locke believes that a proper natural history of human understanding is the sole basis for evaluating any alleged helps to it, much as Bacon thought that a proper natural history must be the ground of true philosophy.11 Accordingly, Locke describes what the mind does while making a correct inference before he explains how syllogism may (or may not) fit into the picture. On his account, drawing a “right” inference boils down to “finding out the intermediate ideas, and taking a view of the connexion of them, placed in a due order.” For example, one infers from “men shall be punished in another world” to “men can determine themselves” by finding out all the intermediate ideas and arranging them as follows: “men shall be punished,—​god the punisher,—​just punishment,—​the punished guilty—​could have done otherwise—​ freedom—​self-​determination.” By these ideas “thus visibly linked together in train, i.e. each intermediate idea agreeing on each side with those two it is immediately placed between, the ideas of men and self-​determination appear to be connected.” One is genuinely convinced of the “reasonableness” of the inference when, and only when, one clearly perceives this train of ideas in one’s own mind (EHU, IV.xvii.4, 671–​73). Locke grants that such an inference “may be reduced to forms of syllogism,” but contends that the certainty one attains of its cogency does not depend on any such reduction, but on “the visible agreement of ideas.” After all, it is not “syllogism that discovered those ideas, or shewed the connexion of them, for they must be found out, and the connection everywhere perceived, before they can rationally be made use of in syllogism.” In short, the “natural order” in which the given ideas are perceived as connected must precede and “direct” one’s arrangement of them in a syllogistic order. The syllogistic formation adds nothing to the inference in terms of its perceived “force.” When an inference is presented syllogistically, neither those skilled with syllogisms nor those who are not appreciate its cogency any better. The former “see the connection of each intermediate idea with those it stands between . . . as well before as after the syllogism is made.” The latter, being ignorant of syllogisms, “cannot know whether they are made in right and conclusive modes and figures or no, and so are not at all helped by the forms they are put into” (EHU, xvii.4, 671–​74). Locke’s conclusion is that individuals must judge for themselves whether they need the assistance of syllogism in order to reason properly.

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[I]‌f men skill’d in, and used to syllogisms, find them assisting to their reason in the discovery of truth, I think they ought to make use of them. All that I aim at is, that they should not ascribe more to those forms than belongs to them; and think that men have no use, or not so full a use of their reasoning faculty without them. (EHU, IV.xvii.4, 678) To illustrate, Locke compares the perceptive faculty of the mind to eyes. Just as some eyes require spectacles to see clearly, a mind may have got so accustomed to syllogisms that their use has “so dimmed its sight, that it cannot without them see consequences or inconsequences in argumentation.” It does not follow, however, that no one can perceive clearly without such devices. To claim otherwise is to esteem “art . . . a little too much to depress and discredit nature.” Indeed, reason “by its own penetration where it is strong, and exercised, usually sees, quicker and clearer without syllogism.” Ultimately, each individual “knows what best fits his own sight” (EHU, IV.xvii.4, 672, 678). This push against prescribing syllogism for the general use of reason applies to any purported formal-​logical tools. Locke’s reader is urged to see any putative formal-​logical system as what it is, namely an artificial tool that one may sincerely find useful in some circumstances but is not universally binding on that account. Some may disagree with the notion of formal logic as just an artificial tool. It takes more philosophical ingenuity than logical cleverness, though, to challenge Locke on this point. Here is where Leibniz enters the scene.

4. Leibniz: Syllogism and Logica Artificialis Kant portrays Leibniz as someone who, along with Locke, “induced a lot in logic” (V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24:  613). The writings we now deem representative of Leibniz’s logic were not published until the twentieth century. Unsurprisingly, by Kant’s assessment, Leibniz had “written no logic,” although he “did much to illuminate concepts (he wrote in defense of his countrymen against the Englishman Locke)” and “expressed ideas which subsequently moved Wolff to his systematic logic” (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 701, modified translation). One obvious source of such ideas is “Meditations on Knowledge, Truth, and Ideas” (1684), in which Leibniz introduces the taxonomy of ideas as obscure or clear and confused or distinct, etc. and characterizes a “sound demonstration” as one that accords with “the form prescribed in logic” so that, while it “need not always follow the form of syllogisms arranged in the Scholastic manner,” it concludes “by virtue of its form [concludat vi formæ].” A diligent observation of rules of this sort, which Leibniz associates with “the rules of common logic [regulæ communis Logica],” is what protects one “against deceptive ideas” (CVI, 541). Later we shall see Wolff voicing similar thoughts.12 For a fuller account

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

of the Leibnizian notion of logic, however, we shall turn to the New Essays. Although this work was not published until 1765, decades after the first edition of Wolff’s German Logic (1712), it will be illuminating to examine the remarks about logic contained therein, especially the ones pertaining to Leibniz’s defense of syllogistic (formal) logic against Locke’s challenge. This defense will, among other things, echo the scholastic discussions of logica naturalis versus logica artificialis, a distinction that will become pivotal to Wolff’s account of logic qua science.13 Leibniz begins his defense of syllogism by separating two conceptions thereof. One may see syllogism as “the scholastic manner of arguing,” which Leibniz agrees is “not much employed in the world” and, if taken seriously, can only cause “prolixity and confusion.” Strictly speaking, however, syllogism belongs among “the universal forms of logic,” through which the validity of particular kinds of formal arguments is to be demonstrated. Mastery of syllogism in this sense, Leibniz argues, is indeed vital to consistently good reasoning. After all, the mind cannot always easily see whether one thing follows from another. Especially in assessing other people’s arguments, one may be “over-​ impressed . . . by enthymemes which wrongly assume that the propositions they suppress are evident, and even by faulty inferences,” so that one can be unsure about their validity “until a demonstration is given” according to formal-​logical rules. Hence, it is “necessary . . . [to] have a strict logic, though of a different type from the scholastic one.” Syllogism is an integral part of this strict logic. In this sense, “the invention of the syllogistic form is one of the finest, and indeed one of the most important, to have been made by the human mind” (NE, IV.xvii.4, 478–​82). Although syllogism, as a formal device, was invented by Aristotle, Leibniz thinks “laws of logic . . . are nothing but the laws of good sense, set into order in writing” (NE, IV.xvii.4, 480). That is, syllogism represents the objective laws of human reason that have always been at play, although Aristotle was the first to articulate them in a schematized and systematic way. This claim is compatible with Locke’s observation that “the common run of men know nothing about logic as an art [logique artificielle] and that they nevertheless reason as well as—​and sometimes better than—​people who are practiced in logic,” for even those commoners’ good reasoning depends on an implicit use of the relevant logical rules (NE, IV.xvii.4, 482). It is just that we often use fundamental principles of thought “without having them explicitly in mind” (NE, I.i.4, 76). For general principles enter into our thoughts, serving as their inner core and as their mortar. Even if we give no thought to them, they are necessary for thought, as muscles and tendons are for walking. The mind relies on these principles constantly; but it does not find it so easy to sort them out and to command a distinct view of each of them separately. . . . And it is in

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that way that many things are possessed without the possessor’s knowing it. (NE, I.i.20, 84) In a way, both Locke and Leibniz seek a theory of mind that can explain our ability to reason well. By Leibniz’s analysis, this ability is unintelligible on the Lockean model. To use his favorite metaphor of marble and statue, “if the soul were like such a blank tablet then truths would be in us as the shape of Hercules is in a piece of marble when the marble is entirely neutral as to whether it assumes this shape or some other.” Instead, Leibniz argues, our mind must be like veined marble: if there were veins in the block which marked out the shape of Hercules rather than other shapes, then that block would be more determined to that shape and Hercules would be innate in it, in a way, even though labor would be required to expose the veins and to polish them into clarity. (NE, Preface, 52) If Locke’s account has granted us native capacities for making cogent inferences, from Leibniz’s perspective these capacities are “pure powers,” which are “mere fictions, unknown to nature and obtainable only by abstraction” (NE, II.i.2, 110). The Leibnizian mind, by contrast, is “not a bare faculty, consisting in a mere possibility of understanding” certain truths, but “a disposition, an aptitude, a preformation, which determines our soul and brings it about that they are derivable from it” (NE, I.i.11, 80). Syllogism, in the strict sense defined earlier, partly constitutes this native preformation. Locke would retort, however, that this claim about the richly textured innate constitution of our mind is just a metaphysical speculation that has no basis in the natural history of human understanding. The Locke-​Leibniz controversy over syllogism, once it gets down to this fundamental disagreement over the nature of human mind, cannot be easily settled. At any rate, Leibniz’s defense of syllogism in the New Essays has a relatively modest goal, namely to suggest a plausible alternative to its pedantic treatment in the schools. Accordingly, the exchange between Philalethes (Locke) and Theophilus (Leibniz) concludes with Philalethes saying: I am beginning to form an entirely different idea of logic from my former one. I took it to be a game for the schoolboys, but I now see that, in your conception of it, it involves a sort of universal mathematics. (NE, IV.xvii.8, 486–​87) Locke is not thereby made to concede that logic is “universal mathematics,” but only to be confronted anew with a notion of logic that begs to differ from the one prevalent in the schools. Some of his arguments in the Essay, directed at the latter, may have no bearing on the former. Whether this is really the case, the New Essays does not tell us.

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

One concept from this imaginary exchange about logic is worth singling out here, namely, the concept of artificial logic (logique artificielle) as nothing other than an orderly representation of the laws of good sense. This resonates with the accounts of logic as art (ars) surveyed in ­chapter  2. As I  explained there, Aristotle already indicated this view while saying that we all have a share of logic (dialectic) in some manner:  some possess logic without any reflective awareness of its precepts and so can reason well only by chance, whereas others do so as a matter of “art.” The contrast was further explicated, for example, through Aquinas’s distinction between logica utens and logica docens and Burley’s between logica usualis and logica artificialis. Burley in particular stressed that having logica artificialis is key to the acquisition of strict knowl­ edge, which requires demonstrative certainty. Among later philosophers, Zabarella similarly argued that, although it is possible to philosophize with logica naturalis alone (as in the pre-​Aristotelian era), logica artificialis is needed to render philosophizing more methodic and proficient. Ramus, on the other hand, emphasized the priority of natural logic in determining the content of artificial logic: the art of logic must imitate natural logic, the ultimate source of which is God. All those elements are more or less woven into Leibniz’s notion of artificial logic. His claim that the laws of logic are none other than an orderly written version of the laws of good sense suggests that, in his view, artificial logic is the same in content as natural logic though it differs from the latter in the mode of representation. “The only difference,” he says, “is that [the logical laws] being put in writing and made easier to take in all at once enables one to see them more clearly with a view to developing and applying them” (NE, IV.xvii.4, 480). The modal difference in question can be explicated in terms of Leibniz’s account of clear and obscure, distinct and confused ideas. An idea is clear if it is “distinguishing,” that is, if it enables one to recognize an object as different from other objects. A clear idea is distinct when it is also “distinguished,” in that the marks by which one recognizes the object are analytically distinguished from one another. Obscurity contrasts with clarity, whereas confusedness is opposed to distinctness. A clear idea can be either confused or distinct. For instance, one may represent a heap of stone clearly but confusedly, without a distinct grasp of the number of the stones or any related properties. By contrast, a mathematician’s ideas of geometrical figures are paradigmatic examples of clear and distinct ideas: she has such ideas in virtue of having “precise knowl­ edge” of the nature of a given figure that enables her to construct it and demonstrate all sorts of truths about it. Leibniz stresses how a mathematician’s knowledge of the figure essentially differs from the “empiric’s kind of knowl­ edge.” The mathematician with a distinct idea of, say, a nonagon may not have any clear image of such a figure or be able to tell it apart from a decagon on sight. In this respect, an experienced engineer may do a much better job than

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a great geometrician in telling apart different polygons just by looking and without counting. Still, the engineer’s clear image of a figure is but a confused idea, which “does not serve to reveal the nature and properties of the figure.” A distinct idea is needed for the latter purpose (NE, II.xxix.2–​16, 254–​63). In these terms, we can recast Leibniz’s comparison of a logician’s ability to draw valid inferences with a commoner’s. The commoner may reason as well as and sometimes even better than the logician, though without knowing logic as an art. What the former has, however, is only an empiric’s intuitive ability to make valid inferences acquired through practices but without a distinct grasp of the formal properties that make their inferences good. This lack of the distinct knowledge of logical laws comes with a degree of instability. Leibniz says: it is only too true that in the most important deliberations . . . men often let themselves be over-​impressed by the weight of authority, by the glow of eloquence, by inapt examples, by enthymemes which wrongly assume that the propositions they suppress are evident, and even by faulty inferences. It is therefore only too necessary that they should have a strict logic. (NE, IV.xvii.4, 482) In a strict logic, inferences are stripped of all sorts of ornamentations and “reduced to the bare bones of ‘logical form[s]‌’ ” (NE, IV.xvii.4, 480). The underlying logical laws remain constant before and after this formalization. Without grasping those strictly formal properties of arguments, however, one can only have confused and sometimes obscure representations of the laws. Such is the case with the “natural good sense”:  “without help from the art [of logic], it will sometimes be in a little difficulty about the validity of the inferences” (NE, IV.xvii.4, 481).14 Wolff, as we shall see, will more explicitly use the doctrine of clear versus obscure and confused versus distinct representations to account for the relation between artificial logic and natural logic and to vindicate the need for the former. Another Leibnizian theme that will be pivotal in Wolff’s system concerns the relation between logic and mathematics. We have seen that Leibniz regards formal logic as a kind of “universal mathematics.” Logic and mathematics are alike not just because both can be formalized, or because both admit a distinction between the rules as are implicitly but only obscurely or confusedly employed by the natural good sense and the same rules as are known distinctly and technically (artificially). The connection runs deeper. On the one hand, assuming mathematics (especially Euclidean geometry) offers the paradigm of a demonstrative science, Leibniz suggests that logic can become a strict science just like geometry. On the other hand, geometry itself is in a sense the manifestation par excellence of the universal logic that he seeks to establish. Indeed, logic admits of demonstration as much as geometry does, and geometer’s logic—​that is, the methods of argument which Euclid explained

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

and established through his treatment of proportions—​can be regarded as an extension or particular application of general logic [logique générale]. (NE, IV.ii.13, 370) Although there are successful practices of demonstration outside mathematics, it is in mathematics, Leibniz claims, that “the Greeks reasoned with the greatest possible accuracy, and that they have bequeathed to mankind models of the art of demonstration” (NE, IV.ii.13, 371). Connect these remarks with Leibniz’s account of artificial logic, and you can detect an ambitious two-​step plan concerning logic. The first is to establish a properly scientific (artificial) logic, which distinctly represents the methods of demonstration that have been perfectly exemplified in Euclidean geometry. This representation would have to abstract from the specific subject matter of geometry, so as to ensure the generality of the resulting logic. The second step is to extend the same methods to other sciences such as metaphysics, ethics, and natural sciences (NE, IV.ii.13, 371). With this extension, Leibniz could claim that logic is “the art of using the understanding not only to judge proposed truth but also to discover hidden truth”—​in whichever domain such truths may be hidden, as long as they are discoverable by the human intellect (Leibniz 1989b: 463). For a systematic development of this plan, we turn to Wolff.

5. Wolff: Logic as a Demonstrative Science 5.1. KANT ON THE WOLFFIAN LOGIC

I mentioned in c­ hapter  1 that Kant embraces the systematic or “dogmatic” model of science exemplified by Wolff’s philosophy, but rejects the latter’s “dogmatism.” This dual assessment is also reflected in how Kant views the Wolffian approach to logic. He regards Wolff’s logic as the finest specimen of what logic must be like as a systematic science. The logic of Wolffius is the best to be found. It was subsequently condensed by Baumgarten, and he was again extended by Meier. After them, Reusch and Knutzen wrote logics. (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 796; see V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 509; V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 337–​38; V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 613; Log, 9: 21) Kant’s continuous use of Meier’s texts for his logic lectures indicates that he appreciates the Wolffian logic to a degree. Meanwhile, he finds this logic extremely limited, a limitation that the Wolffians themselves have allegedly failed to recognize. In Wolffian logics it is always only the analytic mode of distinctness that is considered. . . . Analytic production does not nourish cognition, it only analyzes cognition that is given to me, so that I learn to distinguish better what was already contained beforehand in the cognition. It does not grow

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as to content, then; instead, I only cognize it with more consciousness. (V-​ Lo/​Wiener, 24: 843) In Kant’s scheme, the “analytic mode of distinctness” contrasts with the synthetic mode: “we either make a distinct concept, and this happens per synthesin, or we make distinct a concept that was previously confused, and this happens per analysin” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 130; see V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 844–​45). Judgments that merely make given concepts distinct (e.g., the judgment that every body is extended) are “logically empty,” since “they do not yield a distinct concept, and do not fulfill the understanding’s ends” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 937). In short, this analytic production of distinctness “does not nourish cognition.” If it is “the business of logic to make clear concepts distinct,” however, this inability to extend cognition is not in itself a defect. What Kant takes to be deeply problematic about Wolffian logics is not the fact that they consider only the analytic mode of distinctness, but the Wolffians’ failure to investigate “in what way” logic is capable of producing distinctness and to recognize that with the analytic way “alone logic can occupy itself,” whereas only the synthetic way can satisfy the understanding’s aim to extend its cognition (Log, 9: 63–​64, my italicization). The full significance of, as well as Kant’s rationale for, this charge will become clear only in the next two chapters, when we consider his criticism of certain dialectical illusions about logic (viz. about its role in our cognitive endeavors). For now, let us look at what Wolff has to say about logic in his own writings. For the purpose of this chapter, we shall pay special attention to his view on the scientific status of logic and its relation to other parts of philosophy, as well as his attempt to reinstate the centrality of syllogism in obtaining knowledge. 5.2. WOLFF ON MAKING LOGIC “SCIENTIFIC”

Two works represent Wolff’s theory of logic. They are commonly known as his German Logic and Latin Logic. The German version is Vernünftige Gedanken von den Kräften des menschlichen Verstandes und ihrem richtigen Gebrauch in der Erkenntnis der Wahrheit. The Latin one is Philosophia rationalis sive logica, methodo scientifica pertractata et ad usum scientiarum atque vitae aptata. Together, these titles indicate two characteristic features of the Wolffian logic. First, it is a rational philosophy or philosophy of reason, which concerns “the powers of human understanding” and their “correct use in the knowledge of truth.” Second, it is tasked to present a “scientific method” that is applicable both in the sciences and in life. The notion of logic as a rational philosophy reminds us of the controversy over the nature and subject matter of logic discussed in ­chapter 2. Wolff’s position on this issue resembles Aquinas’s—​unsurprisingly so, given his claimed indebtedness to Aquinas’s philosophy.15

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

On Aquinas’s account, as I presented it in ­chapter 2, logic is a rationalis philosophia, a scientia rationalis. As ars, it is the art of arts in that it directs the acts of reason in general. Such actus rationis, which are ens rationalis (as opposed to ens naturae), constitute the proper subject matter of logic. The acts are of three kinds:  the act of simple comprehension, by which we conceive what a thing is; the act of connecting or separating the things so conceived, whereby we find truth or falsity; the act of proceeding from one thing to another, by which we obtain knowledge of the unknown from the known. These correspond to concepts, judgments/​ propositions, and inferences. Similarly, Wolff sees the doctrinal or theoretical part of logic as what sets down the rules that direct the three most fundamental intellectual operations or acts of the soul, namely the acts of representing an object (simple apprehension), judging of it, and reasoning about it. These correspond to notions (ideas), judgments (propositions), and syllogisms.16 They make up the doctrinal logic. Like Aquinas, Wolff also explicates the nature of logic by locating it in a division of philosophy in general. He outlines one such division in the “Preliminary Discourse on Philosophy in General,” first part of the Latin Logic. The division begins with three branches: natural theology, “the science of those things which are known to be possible through God”; psychology, “the science of those things which are possible through human souls”;17 physics, “the science of those things which are possible through bodies” (Disc, ##55–​59). Wolff then introduces two sciences pertaining to the soul’s “two faculties, the cognitive and the appetitive,” which have truth and goodness as their respective ends but can deviate from these ends and result in error and evil. Logic and practical philosophy treat these subjects respectively: logic is “the science of directing the cognitive faculty in the knowing of truth [and the prevention of error]”; practical philosophy is “the science of directing the appetitive faculty in choosing good and avoiding evil” (Disc, ##60–​62). Among other parts of philosophy, there is ontology as “first philosophy,” which is “the science of being in general, or insofar as it is being.” It explains general principles and notions—​essence, existence, necessity, time, perfection, etc.—​that are common to all things and used in all sciences. To that extent, “without ontology, philosophy cannot be developed according to the demonstrative method” (Disc, #73).18 This remark about ontology as first philosophy reflects Wolff’s commitment to the conception of scientia as something that must be obtained through demonstration from true, primary, and immediately known principles. Philosophy is a science (#29). Therefore, the things which it treats should be inferred by legitimate sequence from certain and immutable principles (#30). Hence, those parts of philosophy which provide principles for the other parts should come first; and those parts which borrow principles should come later. . . . In this way, the things which are treated in philosophy are properly understood and demonstrated. (Disc, #87)

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This account of what it takes for a branch of philosophy to be “science” is consequential for the place of logic. On this issue, Wolff’s position again resembles Aquinas’s. According to the latter, as we saw in c­ hapter 2, logic as a universal instrument comes first in the order of learning, but it is posterior to the sciences that supply the principles from which it must be demonstrated as a theoretical science. In the same vein, Wolff says: Logic treats the rules which direct the cognitive faculty to the knowledge of truth (#61). Now we should study philosophy in such a way as to acquire complete certitude (#33). Hence, he who studies philosophy should know how to proceed in the knowledge of truth. Consequently, he should be acquainted with logic. Hence, logic must be given the very first place. (Disc, #88; see #111) Now that which pertains to the general knowledge of being is derived from ontology (#73). Hence it is clear that, in order to demonstrate the rules of logic, principles must be taken from ontology. Furthermore,  .  .  .  we must learn from psychology what the cognitive faculty is and what its operations are (#58). Hence it is also clear that, in order to demonstrate the rules of logic, principles must be taken from psychology.  .  .  . Therefore, ontology and psychology should precede logic if everything in logic is to be rigorously demonstrated and if its rules are to be genuinely known. (Disc, ##89–​90, my italicization; see Disc, ##117, 135, 139, 144, 154, 156; LL, Prolegomena, §2) In short, while “the process of learning requires that logic precede all the other parts of philosophy, including ontology and psychology,” “[d]‌emonstrative method requires that logic be treated after ontology and psychology” (Disc, #91).19 As for the three intellectual operations mentioned earlier, Wolff points out that they together constitute “the ground-​work of the old Aristotelian logic, as handled by the school-​men,” but also notes that “many of the moderns have rejected [such operations] in their logical treatises” (Wolff 1770:  lxvi). Wolff claims allegiance to the scholastic camp. To establish the Aristotelian-​ scholastic logic as “well-​grounded,” he traces it to the natural use of our understanding. For the business of logic is to shew, how we may use the understanding in the knowledge and search of truth: it explains distinctly, whatever passes in the soul, whenever we come to the knowledge of a thing:  and therefore, not different from the natural logic. It gives no other rules, than those which nature herself prescribes, only explains them more distinctly. (Wolff 1770: lxvi–​lxvii) Wolff understands “clear” versus “obscure” and “distinct” versus “confused” representations (notions or ideas) along the Leibnizian lines (GL, I.ix–​xiii).

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

We have a clear and distinct notion when “we can . . . repeat to another the characters or marks, by which we distinguish a thing; or at least can represent them to ourselves, in particular, one after another.” For instance, to have a distinct notion of a clock is to be able to explain the mechanisms by which it shows or announces time (GL, I.xiii). In these terms, Wolff takes it that logic qua ars has the same content as natural logic does, although it differs from the latter in modes of representation: the former is just a distinct representation of the rules that govern the three operations of the understanding, of which we are otherwise only confusedly aware. Some may find it “unnecessary” to have any artificial logic at all, “deeming the natural sufficient for all the purposes of the understanding” (GL, XVI.ii). Wolff disagrees: Man, ’tis true, has a natural aptitude or disposition to produce the operations of the understanding, and rules are prescribed to it, by which it regulates itself, without understanding them; just as bodies move by certain rules or laws, and a man, in walking, and in other motions, observes a set of rules, which he does not understand. The rules prescribed by God to the understanding, and the natural aptitude to act accordingly, constitute the natural logic. . . . it follows not in the least, that we must prefer the natural to the artificial Logic; as this last explains, in a distinct manner, the Rules of the Natural, and besides, enables us to raise our natural Aptitude to a Habit. (GL, XVI.iii) Obviously, the distinction between “natural aptitude” and “habit” is key to Wolff’s defense of artificial logic. While the aptitude is a natural endowment and may govern the operations of our mind or body without us being aware of it, a habit is consciously cultivated and acquired through practice (GL, XVI.i).20 Reliance on natural aptitudes alone without a distinct knowledge of the relevant governing rules, Wolff argues, makes us more susceptible to errors. For when a man has not a distinct knowledge of the rules by which the understanding is directed, he may err in the use of his natural powers. . . . The eye also has its rules, which it follows in the act of vision; and yet from these very rules the deception of sight arises. Now whoever has a distinct knowledge of these optical rules, can easily discover the deception, and guard against any illusion: just so the understanding. (GL, XVI.iv) A cultivated habit in the use of our naturally endowed powers, by contrast, comes with a distinct appreciation of the rules of their correct use. In principle, learning the artificial logic is essential to developing the habit of practicing the rules for the proper use of our understanding. There is a further question, however, as to “whether the artificial logic we were taught was good for any thing, as at this day a great deal is published, which on no account deserves the name” (GL, XVI.iv).

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This question suggests the need to distinguish “genuine” from “spurious” logics, a distinction Wolff finds necessary “in our day . . . in which, according to the pretended freedom of philosophizing, such rules for thinking are very often prescribed, according to which, it is not possible for a man to think at all” (GL, XVI.vi). Provided the artificial logic represents distinctly no more and no less than the rules of natural logic prescribed by God, the question comes down to this:  how can we know which rules are the genuine ones of natural logic? Wolff’s answer is that we can discover the genuine logic only by reflecting on our common experience: the powers of the human understanding can no otherwise be known, than from the experience which we have in exerting them. . . . And thus there is no other possible means to arrive at this knowledge, than by learning to form just conceptions of solidly demonstrated truths, and then examining, how they might have been found. (Wolff 1770: liv–​lv) The assumption here is that genuine logical rules underlie successfully demonstrated truths as what explain the success. Wolff claims to have learned both from his own experience and from works of past philosophers (including Locke among others) that the mathematical sciences, with their success in discovering demonstrative truths, best exemplify “the genuine use of the powers of the understanding” (Wolff 1770: lvi–​lvii). For this reason, Wolff divides logic into the theoretical (logica theoretica) and the practical (logica practica). The first is “that which contains the rules of logic”—​rules that govern the three operations of the understanding—​and explains the use of words or terms “so far, as in the operations of the understanding, they stand for, or replace the notions” (Wolff 1770: lxvi, lxviii).21 The second is “that which comprises the manifold uses of these rules,” meant to confirm the truth of theoretical logic by showing its “utility . . . in the investigation of truth” and “in the passing a judgment on truths, on books, in conviction, in refutation, and in disputation” (Wolff 1770: lxvi). To be methodic, Wolff recommends three trials by which he can ascertain that he has “not, from a prejudice of precipitation, taken up or entertained a groundless confidence” in his logic and everyone can see for themselves “whether the logics recommended by others, will stand the trial or not.” Part of the test is to affirm that logic must be studied “with the view of making happier progress in the knowledge of truth, and of more easily avoiding error.” Confident that he can in this way establish the “coincidence” of the artificial with the natural, Wolff takes himself to have thereby refuted those who have denied the utility of an artificial logic (Wolff 1770: lxxxi–​lxxxv). Two of Wolff’s recommended trials are particularly worth noting here. Both pertain to mathematics. In the first place, he says:

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

I have analysed mathematical demonstrations, and found, I never had any instance, the ground or reason of which I could not assign from my logic. And hereby I discovered, that my logical rules are, that which a regular and compleat demonstration is in mathematics, particularly in geometry: and thus I have been convinced, that they are a just sample of the mathematical method. (Wolff 1770: lxxxii) To counter doubts about the universality of the method just mentioned, Wolff adds: As to a second test or trial, I have considered, in what manner we regularly proceed to common or vulgar knowledge, and pass on from one thought or notion to another: and I have with pleasure observed, that the natural way of thinking is the very same with that, which I distinctly describe in my logic. (Wolff 1770: lxxxii)22 To Wolff, this test confirms that his artificial logic is no more than a “distinct explanation” of natural logic and that even in mathematical demonstrations “we still proceed in the natural manner of thinking,” wherefore “the mathematical method is applicable to other subjects” (Wolff 1770: lxxxii–​lxxxiii). The mathematical method in question is modeled on Euclidean geometry, which proves its propositions in the order of definitions, axioms and postulates, theorems and problems, and corollaries and scholia.23 Wolff sees philosophical and mathematical methods as identical. The rules of philosophical method are the same as the rules of mathematical method. For according to philosophical method one must use only terms which have been accurately defined (#116). And only that which has been sufficiently demonstrated can be admitted as true (##117, 118). Both the subject and the predicate of every proposition must be accurately determined (##121, 130). And everything should be ordered so that those come first through which later things are understood and established (##123, 124, 133). Now [these are the same rules by which mathematics is developed, as has been shown in the Elementa matheseos universae]. (Disc, #139) It is not, Wolff clarifies, that philosophy borrows its method from mathematics. Rather, philosophical and mathematical methods are identical in having a “common source,” namely the notion of certitude, the rules for obtaining which are prescribed by logic. [E]‌ven if mathematics did not exist, . . . there still would be no other philosophical method than the one which we have established. . . . both philosophy and mathematics derive their methods from true logic. Hence, philosophy recognizes its proper method insofar as this is the only method

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which enables it to arrive at certain knowledge, which is useful both for progress in the sciences and for handling the problems of life. (Disc, #139) For Wolff, the supposed “true logic” is none other than his own. It is not surprising, then, that part of Wolff’s defense of syllogisms is to show how all mathematical demonstrations are reducible to them. For a demonstration is a proof with absolute certainty, which can only come from valid formal syllogisms built on “evident principles” such as “definitions, clear experiences, and identical propositions, or propositions duly drawn from these” (GL, IV.xxi). Accordingly, the syllogistic along with the doctrine of notions occupies the central place in the Wolffian logic—​“for solid knowledge depends principally on distinct notions, and orderly-​deduced demonstrations” (Wolff 1770: lix). By thus identifying philosophical and mathematical methods and tracing both to the logic of certitude, Wolff establishes the universality of the syllogistic logic as he renders it, by which “we investigate whatever is discoverable by human understanding, and demonstrate to others whatever they want to be convinced of, in order to a manifestation of its truth” (GL, IV.xx, my italicization). In the German Logic, Wolff’s argument for this universality claim boils down to four propositions. [1]‌That geometrical demonstrations, when duly examined, are resolvable into formal syllogisms. [2] That nothing is discoverable in mathematics, but by means of such syllogisms. [3] That in the other disciplines we can never come to genuine demonstrations, but by the same syllogistic method. [4] That by it we obviate every error, of never so subtle a nature. (GL, IV.xxii, my enumeration) Wolff uses examples from particular disciplines to illustrate these points. For instance, to support propositions [1]‌and [2], he explains how the geometrical theorem “the sum of the three angles of every triangle equals that of two right angles” is to be demonstrated through a series of syllogisms and how the algebraic calculus is entirely “performed by pure, formal syllogisms” (GL, IV.xxiii; IV.xxiv). With respect to proposition [3], he explains that, although the physical theorem “air has elastic force” can be proven in the form of a mathematical demonstration from the definition of elastic force, a couple of axioms, etc., all the materials required for constructing the demonstration—​except for the immediately certain ones—​must themselves be proven through various syllogisms (GL, IV.xxv). In sum, Wolff subscribes to four basic theses about logic. First, logica artificialis is but a distinct representation of logica naturalis and is identical to the latter in content. Second, logic qua scientia draws its fundamental principles from ontology and psychology. Third, logic has a practical part that shows how the rules of theoretical logic can be used to obtain knowledge in all other sciences. Finally, both philosophical and mathematical methods are

The Making of a Scientific Logic from Bacon to Wolff

rooted in the syllogism-​centric logic of certitude. Kant, as we shall see in next two chapters, will eventually reject every one of these theses. That said, the Wolffian logic—​both as it is presented through Wolff’s own writings and as it is popularized, in various modified forms, by many of his followers (to be discussed in ­chapter 4)—​is arguably the single most important reference frame for the development of Kant’s own.

6. Conclusion In this chapter, I have examined how Bacon, Locke, Leibniz, and Wolff thought about logic with respect to the two general issues that I identified in ­chapter 2, i.e. its status as a science and its value or utility. While diverging at many fundamental points, these thinkers were confronted with a common challenge, namely the need to separate—​on a proper philosophical basis, so as not to beg the question against the opposing view—​true from spurious kinds of logic and correct from incorrect uses of a supposed true logic. Three questions are most salient in this regard. (1) What are the grounding principles of logic (to be a proven scientia), and whence does it draw such principles? (2) Assuming logic is not engaged in direct, domain-​specific inquiries of the world, is it nevertheless uniquely positioned to provide tools and guidance for such inquiries? (3) How is logic related to the overall project or aim of philosophy, namely the perfection to which human reason is supposedly destined (in both theoretical and practical realms)? Regarding (1), we encountered two representative positions. On the one hand, to Bacon a true logic must be rooted in a proper natural history or natural philosophy (broadly construed). Locke followed this naturalist approach when he rejected the supposed universality of a syllogistic logic—​or any system of formal logic—​by invoking empirical observations of how people commonly go about using their intellectual faculties. On the other hand, Leibniz and Wolff traced the content of a genuine artificial logic to natural logic, insofar as the latter comprises rules prescribed to the intellect by God. It is presumably on account of this divine guarantee that Wolff is confident to draw the principles of logic, qua science, from ontology and psychology. (I shall revisit this position and Kant’s responses to it in next two chapters.) On question (2), Locke held that logic—​in its traditional sense as formal logic—​could offer no material assistance to our inquiries about the world. To say the least, he saw no basis for prescribing any logical tool as universally applicable. Bacon, by contrast, was motivated to look for a new logic that would indeed prove instrumental to scientific inquiries in general—​hence his proposal of a new organon. Leibniz and Wolff shared this quest for a universal logic that could guide the search for truth in all sciences.

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With question (3), Bacon, Leibniz, and Wolff again agreed to give logic a dominant role in assisting human reason to pursue the perfection for which it is destined, although they might disagree over the exact nature and manner of this assistance. Locke’s view on the value of logic was less straightforward. With respect to formal logic, he found it unnecessary, to say the least, for the proper exercise of our intellectual faculties. Meanwhile, if we treat his Conduct as a work of logic in some sense of the term, as some of its readers have done (e.g., Winkler 2013), we may attribute to him the view that logic, which revolves around an empirically grounded theory of error with respect to its subjective causes and appropriate remedies, does play an indispensable role in assisting us to fulfill whatever is within the reach of our naturally endowed faculty of reason. Kant’s final answer to each of the three questions would incorporate but also significantly go beyond all the alternatives examined so far. As I pointed out at the beginning of this chapter, though, it would take him a considerable amount of time to arrive at such an answer. In this regard, it will be particularly instructive to look at Kant’s remarks about logic in his early Reflexionen and two transcripts of his early logic lectures, Logik Blomberg and Logik Philippi. From a combination of these materials, to which I shall turn next, we can get a sense of how Kant, evidently acquainted with a variety of approaches to logic, might have struggled to find his own voice on the subject and thereby worked out, little by little, some of the key components of the mature account of logic that he would eventually pronounce in the Critique.

4

Kant on the Way to His Own Philosophy of Logic

1. Introduction So far, we have sampled various approaches to two age-​old subjects about logic. One subject involves broadly ethical concerns, which underlay Bacon’s and Locke’s as well as the earlier humanists’ view that the worth of a purported logic hinges on its ability to assist us in coping with our human limitations and pursuing our destined goals. The other subject pertains to the status of logic as a science or an organon (or both). To most of the philosophers considered in the last two chapters, logic is a science as well as an organon. On that assumption, many sought to identify a true logic and derive its claims from certain foundational principles. Most notably among Kant’s modern predecessors, Bacon and Locke took a “natural history” approach in this regard, Leibniz revived the scholastic distinction between natural and artificial logics, and Wolff argued that logic as a demonstrated science must draw its principles from ontology and psychology.1 In this chapter we shall see how Kant, especially in the decade from the mid-​ 1760s to the mid-​ 1770s, would navigate between various existing accounts of logic until he finally found his own voice. His findings would absorb sundry insights from his predecessors, but also depart from them at important junctures. Two key breakthroughs would inspire some of Kant’s major advances in the process. One has to do with his account of human understanding, especially with respect to the distinction between learned understanding and common understanding. The other is the emergence of a notion of transcendental logic from Kant’s quest to secure the status of a proper science for metaphysics—​especially for the first part thereof, ontology, which he would eventually identify with “transcendental philosophy” in many writings and lectures on metaphysics. Briefly speaking, Kant assigns two distinct kinds of logic to learned versus common human understanding—​logicL for the learned understanding and logicH for the common understanding (to make it healthy). This distinction, a

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precursor to the one between “pure logic” and “applied logic” in the Critique, opens up the conceptual space for a hybrid view about the relation between logic and psychology. On the one hand, logicL (pure logic) alone is “science” in the strict Kantian sense—​stricter, as it will turn out, than the original Wolffian sense—​and must be established independently of psychology. On the other hand, logicH (applied logic) still draws on what psychology teaches about the contingent subjective conditions under which we may use and misuse our faculties. The same distinction also allows Kant to hold nuanced views about the utility of logic. LogicL, as a pure science, provides the “canon” (in the Epicurean sense specified in c­ hapter  2) with respect to the use of the understanding in general, but no “organon” in the material-​productive sense as a tool for discovering new truths. In that connection, Kant rejects the Wolffian logica practica—​recall that Wolff used the practical part of logic to test and verify the rules set down in the theoretical part, by applying them to various domains of inquiry—​while retaining the practical relevance of logic in its applied part (logicH). Accordingly, if it was common for past philosophers to think that logic can both (a) be a proper science and (b) serve as an instrument to all other sciences, this conciliatory position now seems precarious. As far as Kant is concerned, logicL or pure logic alone qualifies as (a), but the same logic cannot play the role of (b). For, as he later puts it and as I shall explain in ­chapter 5, what makes pure logic possible as a proper science is that it treats “only the formal conditions of agreement with the understanding, which are entirely indifferent with regard to the objects.” As such, it “teaches us nothing at all about the content of cognition” and so cannot serve as “a tool (organon) for an expansion and extension of its information [Kenntnisse]” (A61/​B86). I shall develop these points in two sections. I begin, in section 2, by briefly considering Knutzen’s and Baumgarten’s accounts of logic, to highlight the elements thereof that differ from Wolff’s and will be somehow folded into Kant’s account. In section 3, I study Kant’s remarks about logic in the Logik Blomberg and Logik Philippi and compare them with the relevant ones in Meier’s logic texts, which Kant used for those lectures. The two philosophers will turn out to hold rather different views about the nature and place of logic (section 3.2), the relation between natural and artificial logics (3.3), and whether logic can serve as an organon (3.4). The doctrine of method in Kant’s logic further exemplifies his departure from Meier’s approach—​as well as from the Cartesian tradition that commentators have often invoked to shed light on Kant’s doctrine—​and showcases the complexities of his views about the utility of logic (3.5). Then, in section 4, I  turn to the second breakthrough mentioned above, namely the emergence of “transcendental logic” from Kant’s work on metaphysics—​not, it is worth stressing, from any work dedicated to logic. His first recorded introduction of this notion, as it will become clear, is meant to specify the nature of “ontology.” I  interpret this initial characterization

Kant on the Way to His Own Philosophy of Logic

of ontology as transcendental logic against the backdrop of Kant’s early struggles to establish metaphysics as a proper science. I then outline the major ramifications—​to be explicated in c­ hapter 5—​that the developments in Kant’s theory of metaphysics are to have on his philosophy of logic.

2. Logic according to Knutzen and Baumgarten Wolff’s theory of logic had a tremendous impact on later developments in logic. It will be instructive to sample a few texts by philosophers who may be called “Wolffsschüler” to some degree. In a passage I  quoted in c­ hapter  3 (section 5.1), Kant mentioned four of them: Reusch, Knutzen, Baumgarten, and Meier. I  shall ignore Reusch since his general theory of logic offers no noteworthy addition to what we found in Wolff, and postpone the discussion of Meier’s logic until next section. I  now briefly consider Knutzen’s and Baumgarten’s accounts of logic, drawing attention to the novel elements thereof that will be directly relevant to my subsequent explications of Kant’s theory of logic. Knutzen’s Elementa philosophiae rationalis seu logicae (1747) deserves our attention for various reasons. Its basis is his logic lectures at Königsberg, many of which Kant attended as a student. Naturally, it is written as a manual for lectures. Its presentation has an ostensible mathematical character: all major claims are presented in terms of definitions, axioms, theorems, and so on and so forth. Knutzen thereby signals that he is operating with the Wolffian notion of logic qua demonstrative science.2 The text is composed in Latin, but equivalent German expressions are provided for all the key Latin terms and doctrines. For example, Vernunftlehre (natürlich or künstlich) is the German equivalent of logica (naturalis or artificialis)—​a correlation of terms that can be traced to Wolff’s texts (Knutzen 1747: 39).3 Following the traditional distinction of theoretical and practical philosophy, Knutzen treats logic as one of the three branches of theoretical philosophy, the other two being metaphysics and physics.4 He then divides logic into two parts: general or universal logic (logica generalis/​universalis, allgemeine Vernunftlehre) presents the norms regulating our cognitive operations in general, while special logic (logica specialis, besondere Vernunftlehre) explicates the ways in which we may deviate from those norms and thereby commit errors and, on that basis, prescribes remedies for avoiding errors and cognizing truth in practice (Knutzen 1747: 45–​46, 313–​15).5 Accordingly, Knutzen’s Elementa contains two principal parts, logica universalis and logica specialis. The former has a lot in common with Wolff’s theoretical logic. It includes three sections besides two separate introductions to philosophy and logic. Section I  is on faculties of cognition, arranged by the same tripartite division that one finds in Wolff’s logic:  ideas and terms, judgments and propositions, reasoning and syllogisms. Section II presents a

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theory of truth, which is the objective of logic. Section III explains how to direct the intellect in the cognition of truth, viz. in forming ideas, judging, and reasoning. Knutzen’s special logic fundamentally differs from Wolff’s practical logic, however, not only in content but also in its relation to the previous part. Its first half is a detailed treatment of error regarding its symptoms, causes, and remedies, a topic that received only scant attention in Wolff’s logic (GL, VII. xvi–​ xviii). Knutzen explains how error relates to prejudice (praeiudicium, Vorurtheil) and gives a detailed account of the latter.6 It echoes Bacon’s doctrine of idols and Locke’s theory of prejudice in the Conduct.7 It anticipates Kant’s as well as Meier’s practice of tracing error to prejudices.8 More importantly, Knutzen’s logica universalis and logica specialis heralds Kant’s distinction between pure and applied logics, a distinction that, as we shall see, marks a critical break from Wolff’s theory of logic.9 As for Baumgarten’s logic, its title, Acroasis logica in Christianum L. B. de Wolff (1761), aptly reflects its nature as a public lecture on Wolff’s German Logic (marked as “W” in the text).10 It is basically an abridged version of the latter. Most sections come with specific references to relevant parts of Wolff’s German Logic. Nevertheless, Baumgarten’s exposition does depart from Wolff’s text here and there. Most notably, Baumgarten places logica in the division of philosophy differently than Wolff did, contrasting it with aesthetica in a way that presages Kant’s distinction between logic as a “science of the rules of understanding in general” and aesthetic as a “science of the rules of sensibility in general” (A52/​B76). On Wolff’s division in the German Logic, philosophy (Welt-​Weißheit), as the science (Wissenschaft) of all possible things regarding the manner and reason of their possibility, comprises three major branches: logic, physics, and metaphysics. Logic comes first in that, before conducting specific inquiries, we must learn about the powers of human understanding and their rightful use in the pursuit of truth (GL, Preliminary Discourse, ¶¶X–​XIV). By contrast, Baumgarten’s division proceeds through bifurcation and does not arrive at logic until after having constructed the tree depicted in Figure 1. The faculties of human soul are then divided into the cognitive and the appetitive. The cognitive faculties include lower and higher ones, which correspond to aesthetica and logica respectively (AL, Prolegomena, §7).11 More specifically, Baumgarten introduces aesthetica as a new science to complement the long-​established science of logica.12 Elsewhere, he defines aesthetic in analogy to logic proper: The science of sensible cognition and presentation is AESTHETICS (the logic of the lower cognitive faculty, the philosophy of graces and muses, lower gnoseology, the art of thinking beautifully, the art of the analogue of reason). (M, §533, modified translation; see A, §1)13

Kant on the Way to His Own Philosophy of Logic

Philosophy

Ontology

About particular kinds of beings

Natural theology (necessary being)

About contingent beings

Cosmology (general)

About particular kinds

Physics (bodies)

About spirits

Pneumalogy (general)

About human soul

Psychology (general)

About specific faculties FIGURE 1 

Baumgarten’s division of philosophy

In this context, logic broadly construed (as a science of cognition in general) is the genus under which stands, on the one hand, aesthetics (as a science of sensible cognition) and, on the other, logic proper (as a science of intellectual cognition). Structurally, Baumgarten’s explication of aesthetica is modeled on that of logica. For instance, just as there are logica naturalis and logica artificialis, so is there a distinction between aesthetica naturalis and aesthetica artificialis. In both cases, the artificial variety alone is strictly scientific, even though it presupposes what is natural. Also, just as logic has theoretical and practical parts, so does aesthetics have aesthetica theoretica (docens) and aesthetica practica (utens) as its two principal divisions (A, §§2–​3; §13).14 As for logic, Baumgarten’s definition manifests a degree of sensitivity to other conceptions thereof (besides what we saw in Wolff’s work). Logic (dialectica, ars rationis, analytica, sensus veri et falsi, scientia scientiarum, medicina mentis, organon, pharus intellectus) is an artificial philosophy of the perfection of intellectual cognition. (AL, Prolegomena, §9)

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Although Baumgarten does not explain what such notions as dialectica say about logic or how they relate to one another, the list itself is suggestive. It tells us how, from his perspective, logic has been treated in other texts. In chapter 2, we saw that notions like dialectica, organon, and scientia scientiarum figured prominently in ancient and medieval controversies about the nature and place of logic. Other notions in Baumgarten’s list can be found in titles of logic texts by his German predecessors and contemporaries: Tobias Eckhard’s Ars rationis seu elementa logicae (1714), Andreas Rüdiger’s De sensus veri et falsi (1722), E. W. von Tschirnhaus’s Medicina mentis (1695), and Samuel Grosser’s Pharus intellectus (1703). By treating (artificial) logic as the science for perfecting intellectual cognition, Baumgarten leaves ample room to accommodate what the various titles suggest about the nature and utility of logic. In particular, as it pertains to cognition of truth, logic must treat at least two topics. One concerns what is true and what is false (de sensus veri et falsi). In this regard, logic serves as “the beacon of the intellect” (pharus intellectus) by providing standards for guiding the intellect in its pursuit of truth. The other topic is the possibility of error, which consists in the intellect deviating from the path of truth that it is meant to follow. Baumgarten’s definition of logic assumes that the intellect can be so perfected that it may no longer err. Based on a diagnosis of error and analysis of its causes, logic can prescribe the remedy for avoiding error—​hence the title “medicine of the mind” (medicina mentis). Baumgarten does not elaborate on this point, though.15 The issue of error does not occupy a prominent place in the Acroasis logica as it did in Knutzen’s logic and will do in Kant’s.16

3. Meier and Kant on Logic: A Comparison 3.1. BETWEEN MEIER AND KANT: ROOM FOR DISAGREEMENTS

Kant used Meier’s Vernunftlehre (1752) and its abridgement Auszug aus der Vernunftlehre (1752) as the basis for his lectures on logic, lectures that started as early as the winter semester of 1755/​56. Though typically seen as a representative of the Wolffian conception of logic, the Vernunftlehre is not a mere exposition of Wolff’s ideas but rather incorporates a whole range of traditions, including the Lockean one.17 And Kant’s reasons for favoring Meier’s texts have a lot to do with aspects not salient in Wolff’s own work on logic. To appreciate this point, let us look at three texts that contain statements or at least indications of those reasons. The first text is a short piece on the theory of wind published in 1756, at the end of which Kant informs the reader that he will lecture on the Lehrbegriff der Weltweisheit, or logic, through an exposition of Meier’s Vernunftlehre. Kant ends by suggesting that the worth of a textbook lies in its utility (TW, 1: 503).

Kant on the Way to His Own Philosophy of Logic

The second text is Kant’s announcement of the program of his lectures for the winter semester 1765–​66, where he explains in some length why he prefers Meier’s text, this time the Auszug.18 He distinguishes two kinds of logic. One is a critique and regulation of healthy understanding (Kritik und Vorschrift des gesunden Verstandes). The other is a critique and regulation of proper scholarship (Kritik und Vorschrift des eigentlichen Gelehrsamkeit). Of the former, Kant says: In one direction, it borders on crude concepts and ignorance [Unwissenheit], and, in the other, it borders on science and learning. It is with this type of logic that all philosophy, at the start of academic instruction, ought to be prefaced. It is, so to speak, a quarantine . . . which must be observed by the apprentice who wishes to migrate from the land of prejudice and error, and enter the realm of a more enlightened reason and the sciences. (NEV, 2: 310) Kant decides to lecture only on this type of logic and do so from Meier’s Auszug. Kant favors this text largely because it takes seriously not only the cultivation of learned reason, which serves the speculative interest of contemplation, but also “the molding of the common but active and healthy understanding,” which facilitates the practical life of “action and society” (NEV, 2: 311, modified translation). The third text is a letter from G.  W.  von Purgstall (1773–​1812) to W.  J. Kalmann (1758–​1842) in April 1795, which includes a description of Kant the lecturer. (Purgstall attended Kant’s lectures on logic and physical geography.) Purgstall could see beyond Kant’s style of delivery, which apparently left much to be desired, and focus on the excellent content of his lectures. Two observations are worth mentioning here. First, the lectures are so connected to Kant’s Critical writings that they help to elucidate many difficult points in the latter. For instance, when Kant discusses cognition in the logic lectures, he uses the opportunity to talk about what appear to be the main concepts of the beautiful from the third Critique, concepts that do not belong to logic proper (Malter 1990: 419). Second, Kant uses the textbook, presumably Meier’s Auszug, in a way that is faithful to its structure but liberal in the exposition of its content. He always brings the book along. It looks so old and soiled, I believe that he has brought it daily to class with him for forty years. All the blank leaves are covered with writing in a small hand, and besides, many of the printed pages have leaves pasted on them, and lines are frequently crossed out, so that, as you might imagine, scarcely anything of Meyer’s Logic is left. Not one of his auditors brings the book, and they merely write down what he says. But he does not seem to notice this, and faithfully follows his author from chapter to chapter, and corrects everything, or rather

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rewords everything, but so innocently that it is clear he makes little of his discoveries. (Malter 1990: 420, translated in Naragon 2017)19 These three texts together suggest that Kant sees something in Meier’s logic that is of great utility but has not received nearly as much attention in Wolff’s logic, namely how to regulate the common human understanding to make it “healthy.”20 This part of Meier’s logic roughly corresponds to special logic in Knutzen’s sense, both of which are likely inspired by Locke’s Conduct. In this regard, as Pozzo puts it, Meier serves as a “mediator between Locke and Kant” by making Lockean considerations of human understanding, as it operates under empirical situations, “salient for the philosophy of Kant” (Pozzo 2005:  187).21 Similar considerations will be at the core of Kant’s “applied logic.”22 Meanwhile, if Purgstall’s depiction of Kant’s use of Meier’s text is accurate, we can expect Kant to follow the basic structure of the Auszug but frequently depart from its content, departures that somewhat reflect his personal takes on certain topics. In this way, Meier’s text provides the basic framework in which Kant may think through relevant philosophical problems and experiment with various approaches, until he finally settles on a position of his own. Bearing this general note in mind, let us consider a few specific departures on Kant’s part. We may use the Logik Blomberg as a primary text for comparison, which is based on Kant’s lectures from the early 1770s and follows the structure of Meier’s Auszug more closely than later transcripts.23 The Auszug contains four principal parts besides a general introduction: Einleitung in die Vernunftlehre (§§1–​8). I. Von der gelehrten Erkenntnis (§§10–​413). 1. Von der gelehrten Erkenntnis überhaupt (§§10–​40). 2. Von der Weitläufigkeit der gelehrten Erkenntnis (§§41–​65). 3. Von der Größe der gelehrten Erkenntnis (§§66–​91). 4. Von der Wahrheit der gelehrten Erkenntnis (§§92–​114). 5. Von der Klarheit der gelehrten Erkenntnis (§§115–​54). 6. Von der Gewißheit der gelehrten Erkenntnis (§§155–​215). 7. Von der praktischen gelehrten Erkenntnis (§§216–​48). 8. Von gelehrten Begriffen (§§249–​91). 9. Von gelehrten Urtheilen (§§292–​352). 10. Von gelehrten Vernunftschlüssen (§§353–​413). II. Von der Lehrart der gelehrten Erkenntnis (§§414–​38). III. Von dem gelehrten Vortrage (§§439–​26). 1. Von dem Gebrauche der Worte (§§439–​63) 2. Von der gelehrten Schreibeart (§§464–​78). 3. Von einer gelehrten Rede (§§479–​517). 4. Von gelehrten Schriften (§§518–​26). IV. Von dem Charakter eines Gelehrten (§§527–​63)

Kant on the Way to His Own Philosophy of Logic

The detailed table of contents of the Logik Blomberg (24: 11–​15) corresponds exactly to that of the Auszug, except that Kant’s own introduction to logic (24: 16–​26) is stuck before Meier’s as a separate part. Upon close inspection, however, we can find original and critical points in Kant’s expositions here and there, which together point to a notion of logic that significantly differs from Meier’s. Another transcript, the Logik Philippi, is also based on Kant’s lectures in the early 1770s. Like the Blomberg transcript, this one follows the Auszug closely in its structure. As I  compare Kant’s and Meier’s views on various subjects in what follows, I shall mention corroborative references in the Philippi transcript wherever appropriate. In addition, I  shall consult some of Kant’s reflexionen on logic from the period between when he started lecturing on logic and around the mid-​1770s. These notes, as fragmentary as they are, can jointly give us a vivid sense of Kant’s early attempts to figure out his own positions regarding various issues about logic. His account of logic in the Blomberg and Philippi transcripts is more or less a product of such reflections. 3.2. KANT VERSUS MEIER ON THE NATURE AND PLACE OF LOGIC

Let us start with Meier’s general introduction (“Einleitung”) in the Auszug and Kant’s exposition thereof, focusing on the parts where they discuss the scope of logic, the ground of its rules, and its relation to philosophy in general. Meier begins by defining logic (Vernunftlehre, Vernunftkunst, logica, philosophia instrumentalis, philosophia rationalis) as “a science that treats the rules of learned cognition and learned discourse [Regeln . . . des gelehrten Vortrages]” (AV, §1; see VL, §§5, 11).24 Kant repeats this definition verbatim, but immediately adds his own “shorter definition”:  logic is “a science that teaches us the use of the understanding in learned cognition” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 27). As innocent as this move may seem, Kant’s omission of Vortrag (discourse) is telling. The topic of learned discourse is evidently significant to Meier, as it takes up much space in the Auszug (part III, §§439–​526).25 Kant, however, handles them hurriedly and summarily, skipping many sections and showing no interest in expanding on any point (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24:  294–​98).26 More specifically, Meier’s theory of discourse treats learned use of words (Gebrauch der Worte), orthography (Schreibeart), public speech (Rede, or oratio in Latin), and writings (Schriften), the first of which is mainly about properties of terms (e.g., when and how a term signifies). This suggests that Meier is operating with a very broad notion of logic, a rather familiar one for that matter, given what we saw in chapter 2. Kant, by contrast, appears to be leaning toward a more restricted notion. Although as a lecturer he dutifully mentions Meier’s account of discourse, his own position seems to be that Vortrag does not belong in logic proper. (I shall briefly return to this topic in section 4 while considering Kant’s doctrine of method.)

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Having defined logic as a kind of “science,” Meier identifies the source of its correctness, that is, the grounds or principles from which its rules must be drawn. In order that the doctrine of reason [aka. logic] absolutely contain no arbitrary, contrived [gekünstelten], or unnatural laws, its rules must be derived 1) from experiences of the effects of human reason, 2) from the nature of human reason, 3) from the universal basic truths [allgemeinen Grundwahrheiten] upon which all human cognition rests. (AV, §2) In explicating this passage, Kant first stresses the normative character of logic, which motivates the quest for the rightfulness of logic itself. A correct logic is like a straight line, so that one must not deviate from it either to the right or to the left. It would be desirable that logic be brought to such correctness and perfection. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 28) As for the three sources in Meier’s list, it is not immediately clear how they are related. Are they three distinct sources giving rise to different rules of logic, or should they be combined into one unified source, from which a single set of logical rules can be derived? Kant’s following exposition does not provide a straightforward answer to this question.





Contributing to this [correctness and perfection of logic] are, namely, 1. experiences of the effects of human reason[.]‌Bacon of Verulam . . . first showed the world that all philosophy consists of phantoms of the brain if it does not rest on experience. . . . 2. We have to look at the nature of the human understanding, so that one can set up [errichten] rules appropriate to it. It would be foolish to set up logic for rational beings in general, or even for angels, and to think, in doing so, that it could be useful to us too. . . . 3. Our rules have to be governed by those universal basic truths of human cognition that are dealt with by ontologia. These basic truths are the principia of all sciences, consequently of logic too. (V-​ Lo/​ Blomberg, 24: 28)

I talked about proposition 1 in chapter 3 (section 2.1). The rules derived from experience presumably tell us how to guard against prejudices and other sorts of error-​inducing tendencies, in order to judge correctly as opposed to erroneously. Proposition 2 suggests that such rules have an imperatival force—​i.e., they are about how we ought to use our understanding—​only for human beings like us, as the kind of rational beings who have the natural tendency to err but also the ability to overcome this tendency. As for proposition 3, it reminds us of Wolff’s view that logic, as a demonstrative science, depends on ontology as a chief source of its grounding principles. We are not in the position to attribute a

Kant on the Way to His Own Philosophy of Logic

version of this view to Kant in the early 1770s, though. To say the least, we have no independent ground to treat proposition 3 as evidence that Kant, as some have interpreted him, “began as an almost orthodox Wolffian, founding logic on psychology and ontology” (Capozzi and Roncaglia 2009: 142, citing proposition 3 as evidence). For one thing, as it will become clear when we examine Kant’s own introduction in the Blomberg transcript, he knowingly distances himself from the Wolffian view regarding the ground of scientific (doctrinal) logic. For another, as I shall explain later, by the early 1770s Kant was already operating with a notion of ontology that differs from a standard Wolffian one and is instead equated with a kind of “transcendental logic” or “transcendental philosophy.” The next thing worth mentioning is how Kant interprets Meier’s description of the relation between logic and philosophy. Meier defines “philosophy” (Weltweisheit, philosophia) as “a science of the universal qualities of things, insofar as they are cognized without belief [ohne Glauben erkant warden]” (AV, §5)—​that is, as Kant puts it, without relying on testimonies of others (V-​Lo/​ Blomberg, 24:  30–​31). For Meier, logic is a part of philosophy because it is where perfections and imperfections of the universal qualities of things are “completely demonstrated, without deriving their truth from testimonies” (AV, §5; see VL, §10). Kant gives a different reason for including logic in the division of philosophy: If we want to subdivide philosophia, we have to presuppose that the activities of our soul consist of cognition, feeling, and desire. The science which deals with the use of the understanding is.............................. logica, which discusses the universal objects of the understanding is.............................................................................................metaphysica, which deals with corporeal objects is.............................................. physica, which deals with feeling is.......................................................... aesthetica, and the science which has to do with our actions and desires is called........................................................................................... morals, or.............................................................................. philosophica practica. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 31) In short, logic has a place in this division because it treats one of the many subject matters that fall in the purview of philosophy, particularly the ones concerning the activities of our soul. 3.3. KANT VERSUS MEIER ON NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL LOGICS

Meier has a typical Wolffian account of the relation between natural logic and artificial logic. On this account, the two logics are identical in content

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though different in their modes of representation, to the extent that a purported artificial logic is genuine or legitimate only insofar as it distinctly represents none other than the rules of natural logic. For this reason, logic qua science is to be established partly on principles (principia) from psychology. Kant’s dissent from this position is evident in his own “Introduction to the doctrine of reason according to the thoughts of Professor Kant” (“Introduction” for short). Kant’s punchline is that natural logic (nature) and artificial logic (art) are “distinctae, . . . but not oppositae” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 21). Their relation is two-​fold. On the one hand, they differ in content and have separate grounds or principia (empirical versus non-​empirical). In that connection, Kant’s concern is to establish artificial logic as a strict “science” or proven doctrine. On the other hand, he retains an interest in cultivating common understanding to make it “healthy.” In this regard, he follows the Lockean thread in Meier’s logic and foregrounds the need to reveal, understand, and overcome prejudices that may hamper the proper exercise of our capacity to judge. The following passages express Kant’s view that natural logic and artificial logic are essentially different kinds of logic with different grounds. All cognition takes place according to rules: These are either merely natural or artificial. Natural rules concern the common and healthy understanding and healthy reason. The artificial rules [künstliche Regeln] are the rules of learnedness. (V-​ Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 17) Some have believed that healthy reason differs from the sciences merely in degree. But this gives no distinct boundary where one stops and the other begins. Healthy reason and learnedness are distinct not merely in degree but also in species[;]‌there are 2 particular sources [besondere Quellen] of each kind. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 17–​18) There is a logica of the common understanding and of healthy reason and a logica of learnedness. . . . The logica of healthy reason will have one’s own experience as its principium and thus be empirical; it will not contain the rules for how we ought to think but rather will indicate the rules according to which we commonly think. There are 2 sorts of rules[:]‌A.) the rules according to which one proceeds[;] these are laws of appearance, and subjective[.] These subjective laws are the laws of reason, according to which it commonly proceeds in judging and thinking. B.) Objective laws, according to which the understanding ought to proceed. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24:  18; see V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 311–​14)

Kant on the Way to His Own Philosophy of Logic

In these terms, Kant distinguishes his account of the relation between a logic of the common and healthy intellect (logicH) and that of learnedness (logicL) from what he takes to be the standard one. On the latter view, the two logics differ only in degree, as distinct versus indistinct representations of the same content. To Kant, they differ in kind and in content, representing the subjective (contingent) and objective (necessary) rules of cognition respectively, rules that must be derived from separate sources or principia.27 In his Introduction, Kant identifies experience as the principium of logicH. As for that of logicL, he does not identify it explicitly but does offer a few suggestive claims about what kind of principle it must be. Logic shows the rules for the use of the understanding and reason, which can themselves be cognized a priori and without experience, since they do not depend on it. The understanding here has insight into its own rules and makes thereof a discipline, an instruction [Unterweisung], which can be known a priori, however, and therefore it is called a doctrine. (V-​Lo/​ Blomberg, 24: 24; see V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 314) Logic is called a science because its rules can be proved by themselves, apart from all use[,]‌a priori. On this account neither grammar nor aesthetics is a science. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 25; see R1601 [1773–​75], 16: 31; R1602 [1773–​75], 16: 31–​32) That science which examines the subjective laws of the rules of our uses of understanding and reason is called psychologia. Logic does not really contain the rules in accordance with which man actually thinks but the rules for how man ought to think. For man often uses his understanding and thinks otherwise than he ought to think and use his understanding. Logic thus contains the objective laws of the understanding and of reason. Thus the portrayal of a good republic is often so opposite to an actually existing republic that it contains precisely the opposite of the latter. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 25–​26; see V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 313, 315; R1579 [1760–​ 64? 1764–​68? 1769–​70? 1773–​75?], 16: 17) In these passages, by “logic” Kant presumably means logicL.28 Logic in this sense is both a “science of reason, because this is its object,” and a scientia rationalis, in that it expounds rules of the use of reason in abstracto (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 24–​25).29 This exposition must set aside considerations of how we commonly use our intellectual faculties, a subject of psychology. Kant has thereby rejected the Wolffian view that the rules presented in the doctrinal logic must, if we are to have scientific knowledge thereof, be demonstrated partly from the findings of psychology (from those of empirical psychology, to be more specific).30 LogicL is a “pure” doctrine with no empirical principia (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 26).

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In this way, Kant’s logicL falls under a stricter concept of “science” than what we have encountered in the Wolffian texts. The strict notion seems to signify the kind of “proper science” later explicated in the Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science. The mark of science in general is systematicity, while science properly or strictly so called must also have apodictic certainty. Any whole of cognition that is systematic can, for this reason, already be called science, and, if the connection of cognition in this system is an interconnection of grounds and consequences, even rational science. If, however, the grounds [Gründe] or principles [Principien] themselves are still in the end merely empirical . . . and the laws from which the given facts are explained through reason are mere laws of experience, then they carry with them no consciousness of their necessity (they are not apodictically certain), and thus the whole of cognition does not deserve the name of a science in the strict sense. (MAN, 4: 468) Accordingly, Kant distinguishes “pure” and “applied” parts of a rational doctrine of nature, arguing that it is a proper science only in virtue of the pure part. A rational doctrine of nature thus deserves the name of a natural science, only in case the fundamental natural laws therein are cognized a priori, and are not mere laws of experience. One calls a cognition of nature of the first kind pure, but that of the second kind is called applied rational cognition. . . . natural science must derive the legitimacy of this title only from its pure part. (MAN, 4: 468–​69) To the extent that whether a purported science is strictly scientific hinges on the nature of its grounding principle, Kant deems it necessary “to separate heterogeneous principles from one another, for the advantage of the sciences, and to place each in a special system so that it constitutes a science of its own kind, in order to guard against the uncertainty arising from mixing things together” (MAN, 4: 472–​73). Notably, Kant distinguishes pure and applied logics in the Critique in similar terms. In chapter  2, I  mentioned that these logics have separate subject matters: one considers the use of the understanding in abstracto, and the other presents the rules of its use in concreto. Now, to be more precise, Kant presents them as two parts of general logic with entirely different principles. As pure logic it [general logic] has no empirical principles [Principien], thus it draws nothing from psychology (as one has occasionally been persuaded), . . . It is a proven doctrine, and everything in it must be completely a priori. (A54/​B78) Pure logic is “completely” a priori in that it “has to do with strictly a priori principles” and borrows nothing whatsoever from experience. Applied logic, by contrast, is “directed to the rules of the use of the understanding under

Kant on the Way to His Own Philosophy of Logic

the subjective empirical conditions that psychology teaches us” and therefore “has empirical principles” (A53/​B77). It follows that pure logic “alone is properly science,” which must be “entirely separated from that which constitutes applied .  .. logic” (A53–​54/​B78). This distinction between pure and applied logics roughly correlates with the one between logicL (pure doctrine, provable a priori) and logicH (with experience as its principium) in the Blomberg transcript. In the Critique, Kant defines applied logic “in opposition to the common signification of this word, according to which it ought to contain certain exercises to which pure logic gives the rule” (A54/​B78). He thereby signals a conscious departure from the original Wolffian division of logica theoretica and logica practica, insisting that the newly rendered pure and applied parts of general logic be treated as entirely independent of each other. (Recall that, as I explained in chapter 3, on Wolff’s account practical logic serves to confirm the truth of theoretical logic, by showing how the rules set down in the latter can be used to obtain knowl­edge in other sciences.) Although Kant in the Blomberg transcript has not adapted the notion “applied logic,” he has effected basically the same division between the pure and empirical parts of logic as he will do in the Critique.31 Such a division serves not only to ensure the proper scientific status of pure logic (logicL) but also to protect the autonomy of applied logic (logicH). Kant does not press this point in the Critique, where he is more concerned about whether “the treatment of the cognitions belonging to the concern of reason travels the secure course of a science” (Bvii). The situation is quite different in the context of his logic lectures, however, the primary aim of which is to cultivate healthy understanding. While cautioning against praising healthy understanding “to the detriment of the honor of the sciences,” Kant also recognizes that in a sense having healthy understanding is more fundamental than learnedness or science. It is of course no criticism if one says that someone lacks science, but if someone does not have a healthy understanding he is a natural minor, a child. At the least, then, we demand of everyone healthy understanding. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 21)32 Healthy understanding must be cultivated also because, as “the faculty of judging correctly in concreto,” it complements learned understanding, which judges only in abstracto (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 22).33 Accordingly, we obtain a healthy understanding differently than we do a learned one. Learnedness is artificially “affected” through doctrinal instruction, viz. by being taught “precepts [Vorschriften] for the artificial understanding,” precepts that are universal and so must be “derived from reason” rather than experience (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 16, 21). By contrast, “to cultivate [excoliren] healthy reason one need not give any universal rules or precepts” but only follow “the guiding thread of experience.”34 As the term excoliren suggests, the

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cultivation of healthy reason is a process of developing, from within one’s self, certain naturally endowed capacities and refining them through continued practice. At bottom, then, it is something “only nature can give” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 18–​19, 23).35 Kant has a further reason to insist that healthy understanding be developed in addition to the pursuit of sciences. He connects it with the ability truly to “think for oneself ” and “judge for oneself,” as opposed to merely imitating others (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 16). Its cultivation requires that one recognize and overcome various prejudices to which one is susceptible as a common human being. Understandably, then, Kant assigns the theory of prejudice a central place in applied logic (logicH), the objective of which, as I quoted him earlier, is to assist us “to migrate from the land of prejudice and error, and enter the realm of a more enlightened reason and the sciences.” In a way, then, by treating logicL and logicH as two fundamentally different parts of logic Kant has paid equal homage to the two tracks that I have followed in my reconstruction of the history of logic in previous chapters. They represent distinct, but not essentially opposed, concerns regarding logic. On the one hand, there is the need to establish logic as a strict scientia. If Aquinas and Wolff played important roles in setting the basic conceptual parameters for addressing this need in the past, Kant has just pushed the relevant notion of science up a notch by requiring that it be established on a priori principles. Evidently, Kant approaches logicL (pure logic) along these lines. Whether his own theory of logic can live up to this more stringent criterion of science is a further question to which, as we shall see in ­chapter 5, there is no easy, clear, or definitive answer. On the other hand, given the normative role that logic is supposed to play in regulating the acts of our mind as it busies itself with all sorts of matters, there is the need to vindicate its alleged authority over the common human understanding or at least to clarify the extent of this authority. We saw, in c­ hapters 2 and 3, how the Stoics, the humanists, and Locke among others gave special attention to this issue and, earlier in this chapter, how the Lockean influence was visible at least in Knutzen’s “special logic.” Kant’s effort not only to reserve a place for logicH (applied logic) but also to sharpen its boundaries vis-​à-​vis logicL indicates a serious recognition of that tradition. 3.4. KANT VERSUS MEIER ON THE UTILITY OF LOGIC: IS IT AN ORGANON?

Meier takes the utility (Nutzen) of logic to be threefold. He writes: 1) It promotes the learning and propagation of all sciences and of the entire erudition. . . . 2) It improves the understanding and reason, and shows how one must use these cognitive powers in order to cognize truth in a proper way. 3) It furthers the entire virtue, in that it improves the free will,

Kant on the Way to His Own Philosophy of Logic

provides the cognition on which virtue rests, and has an indispensable influence in the improvement of conscience. (AV, §8)36 Kant’s comments on this account of the utility of logic presuppose a distinction between logicH and logicL. Describing the first utility as that of furthering “the learning of the sciences generally,” Kant qualifies that this pertains only to logicL, or “logic in the objective sense.” The second utility involves both logicH and logicL, as is illustrated by the problem of error: he does not err easily “who has in view the rules by which he ought to form his understanding and who applies them properly” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24:  38–​39). As for the third utility, Kant’s explanation follows the Stoic tradition of connecting logic to ethics. Besides having a direct effect on virtue by facilitating us in judging what is truly good in doubtful cases, Kant says, logic also “furthers virtue indirecte,” by abstracting a man from sensible charms when he has acquired a taste for it, and even by giving him a kind of decency. If man is to occupy himself with speculation he must be calm, decent, and satisfied with things outside himself, and with the help of logic this can become customary with him. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 39)37 The appeal to the speculative nature of logic here suggests that Kant has in mind logicL, which promotes learnedness or the ability to judge in abstracto.38 In his Introduction, Kant talks about the utility of logic amid clarifying the nature of logic (especially in its strict sense, logicL). He says: Now if logic is a mere theory of the conditions under which a cognition is perfect according to laws of the understanding and of reason, then it is not a means of execution; it would be a theory but not an organon. There is a logic that is called a scientia propaedeutica, an introductory science. And thus it will serve us as a means of critique or as an organon[;]‌but it is not an organon, it only sharpens the understanding in judging about cognitions[.] Logic contains the rules of the use of our understanding and of our reason, then. Thus everything else stands under it. It opens the way to all other sciences. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 26, modified translation) If we replace “theory” with “speculative science,” we can read Kant as answering the old question of whether logic is a science or an organon. His basic position is that, although logic is a propaedeutic to other sciences, it is not on that account an organon. The question of utility now confronting Kant is also more complex than its ancient and medieval varieties, though. Given the distinctions between pure and applied logics and between common/​healthy and learned understanding, he needs to explain the utility of each branch of logic in relation to the two kinds of understanding respectively.

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To get a sense of Kant’s general take on the utility of logic at this point, it will be helpful to consult the Logik Philippi and Kant’s logic Reflexionen from the period between 1760–​64 and 1773–​75. I shall focus on two concepts, “critique” and “organon,” and see how Kant tries out different ways of characterizing the utility of logic in these terms. In the materials under investigation, by “critique” Kant occasionally means something that is negative and intended for “preventing mistakes.” By contrast, an organon is “positive: producing cognitions.” Of the two parts of logic, the empirical part (logicH) is the critique or “cathartic” of common reason, and the statement “logic serves as organon” presumably refers to logicL. That is, logic “has two parts: the logic of healthy reason, which is actually a critique of application in concreto, and the logic of learning: organon” (R1579, 16: 18–​19, 21, 23; see R1589 [1769–​70? (1771–​72?) (1760–​64? 1764–​68?) 1773–​75??], 16: 27). More often, however, Kant suggests that logicL can serve only as a propaedeutica philosophiae and a critique of all sciences in general (R1579, 16: 20–​21), where “critique” is connected with the Epicurean notion of “canon” (standard of assessment or adjudication). Logic serves for critique. . . . It is a critique, the rules of which are a priori demonstrable. Logic is therefore a theory and a means of adjudication. (R1585 [1769–​ 70? (1771–​72?) (1760–​64? 1764–​68?) 1773–​75??], 16: 25–​26) Logic contains either merely the critique of reason or the canon, or the organon. Logic is never an organon. (R1601 [1773–​75], 16: 31) Pure general logic serves only for the critique, and thus not for the production, of the understanding and of rational cognition in general, and is no organon of science, but rather of the critique thereof. (R1602 [1773–​75], 16: 32) [Logic] is a canon but not an organon, namely an a priori demonstrable rule for the judging (adjudication) but not the construction of our cognition. (R1603 [1773–​75], 16: 33) Logic may indeed serve as an organon, Kant adds, but only insofar as it concerns the form as opposed to the content of cognition. It is an organon not of doctrine (it produces nothing) but of critique. . . . it is only an organon concerning the form of the understanding’s cognition, not its content. (R1603, 16: 33) With this qualified sense of organon as the critical tool to ensure the formal correctness of cognition, Kant can take a hybrid position on the utility of logic. Such a position is evident in the Philippi transcript. In a nutshell, with respect to the common and healthy reason, logic “serves as a cathartic, a means to purge [reinigen] the understanding of errors and prejudices.” When directed at

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learned reason, logic provides an “aid [Hilfsmittel]” to or “organon” of sciences in that by it we “criticize the products of human understanding in the sciences” regarding their mere form (V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 314, 317; see R1600 [1769? 1770? 1772–​73? 1773–​75?], 16:  31; R1573 [1760–​64? 1764–​68? (1769?) 1773–​75??], 16: 13). Allowing logic to be organon in this formal sense is compatible with denying that it is organon in the material sense. Ultimately, Kant’s evolving reflections on the utility of logic, besides those on the nature of logic, are part of his attempt to figure out whether there is a logica practica, as some of the Wolffians maintained. This issue is quite visible in Kant’s Reflexionen. By around the mid-​1770s, his conclusion seems to be that it all depends on what one means by “practical logic.” If we refer it to logicH, then logic does have a practical part as well as a theoretical one. In that connection, Kant says: Theoretical logic is merely the canon of adjudication and asserts the conditions under which the use of the understanding would be perfect. Practical logic should provide rules for the means by which to attain to these conditions; they are subjective and empirical. (R1604 [1773–​75], 16: 33–​34) Meanwhile, Kant rejects practical logic in the material-​ productive sense, holding that logic proper is necessarily theoretical and can serve only for the adjudication of cognition in general regarding its mere form (R1614 [1773–​75? 1775–​77?], 16:  37). In this sense, “general logic has no practical part (except for the critique of common reason)” (R1612 [1773–​75? 1775–​77?], 16: 36; see R1613 [1773–​75? 1775–​77?], 16: 36). 3.5. THE PLACE OF THE DOCTRINE OF METHOD IN KANT’S LOGIC

The “doctrine of method” in Kant’s logic overlaps with part III (on “learned discourse [Vortrag]”) and part IV (on “the character of a learned person”) of Meier’s Auszug. In section 3.2 above, I noted that Kant omitted Vortrag while reiterating Meier’s definition of logic and that the omission indicated how differently the two thinkers viewed the scope of logic proper. It is not, to be clear, that Kant holds the subject of Vortrag in low regard or wishes to exclude it from his logic altogether. Rather, he seeks to find a truly suitable place for it in logic broadly construed. This task, as it will turn out, pertains directly to Kant’s complex take on “practical logic” reviewed above. Jäsche claims that, by Kant’s architectonic plan, pure general logic includes two principal parts, the universal doctrine of elements (concepts, judgments, and inferences) and the universal doctrine of method (Log, 9: 4–​ 5). The Critique likewise has two principal parts: the transcendental doctrine of elements (transcendental aesthetic and transcendental logic) and the transcendental doctrine of method. In that connection, interested scholars have

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found it natural to consult the Port-​Royal Logic (Logic or the Art of Thinking by Antoine Arnauld and Pierre Nicole [1996], with the first edition in 1662 and the final one in 1683), which contains exactly four principal parts:  on ideas, on judgments, on reasoning, and on method. This is sometimes extoled as “the most influential logic text from Aristotle to the end of the nineteenth century” (Buroker 2017; see Michael 1997; Wahl 2008:  667) and occasionally cited as a source for illuminating parts of Kant’s logic (Longuenesse 1998:  74, 383n; Mosser 2008:  75). Kant, however, makes no mention of it while discussing history of logic. He does mention Descartes, who by some accounts is “the true philosophical father of the Port-​Royal Logic” (Buroker 2014; see Capozzi and Roncaglia 2009:  99). Kant deems Descartes’s work on method “similar” to Bacon’s theory of organon (V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24:  613), though, implying that it has no more substantive insights to offer on this topic than the latter did. The way Descartes presents his theory of method does somewhat warrant its placement within the Baconian tradition. He targets the scholastic view that formal logic, with syllogism at its core, prescribes rules for the direction of human reason. By his analysis, the scholastic-​logical rules do nothing to enhance our rational operations. Reason needs no instruction, he argues, for the kind of operations that those rules were designed to regulate, viz. “the deduction or pure inference of one thing from another.” It performs such operations by natural light. If anything, the imposition of unnecessary rules can “dim” this light and even cause “positive hindrance” to the normal function of reason (Descartes 1985: 12, 14, 16). Meanwhile, Descartes insists that some rules be set down to direct our cognitive activities. It is “far better,” he argues, “never to contemplate investigating the truth about any matter than to do so without a method,” method being “reliable rules . . . such that if one follows them exactly, one will never  .  .  .  fruitlessly expend one’s mental efforts” (Descartes 1985:  16). It is just that the “logic of the Schools” has failed to provide this kind of method. In its place, Descartes submits a new logic that “teaches us to direct our reason with a view to discovering the truths of which we are ignorant” and that comprises four “principal rules,” the first being “never to accept anything as truth if I did not have evident knowledge of its truth” (Descartes 1985: 120, 186).39 Now, Kant occasionally also pits his doctrine of method against the logic of the schools. By introducing the transcendental doctrine of method in the Critique, for instance, he expects to “accomplish, in a transcendental respect, that which, under the name of a practical logic, with respect to the use of the understanding in general, the schools sought but accomplished only badly” (A708/​B736). When we examine Kant’s reason for replacing what he takes to be the traditional “practical logic” with his own doctrine of method, however, we shall also see that he may reject the Cartesian logic of method by the same token. He says:

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there is no practical part in logic . . . logic is divided into the logical doctrine of elements and the logical doctrine of method. The doctrine of elements is the dialectica or the analytic of reason (or theoretical logic). For it is propaedeutic. The doctrine of method is the logic of the form of a system of cognitions. . . . It considers not just the form of the understanding, but rather the form of systems. (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 794–​95; see V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 487–​88; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 700; Log, 9: 17–​18) [The doctrine of method] is also called the practical part. There really is no practical logic, however. For it is not an organon, only a canon. This appendix [on method] serves for the critique of cognition. The doctrine of method contains the precepts for the possibility of a system of cognition of the understanding and of reason. It is, then, the doctrine of methodus. {Methodus—​the way a cognition can attain scientific form.} —​We can think of it in two ways, as methodus logica {not merely the way of teaching but the way of thinking} . . . [or as] methodus aesthetica. (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 779; see V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 682) These passages suggest that Kant’s thinking about method is tied with his view that logic, to be a propaedeutic to all sciences, cannot serve as a universal organon in the material-​productive sense of the term. (I shall say more about this view and its significance in ­chapter  5.) In that connection, if there is a “universal [logical] doctrine of method” at all, it cannot be means of discovery. Rather, it must “deal with the form of a science in general, or with the ways of acting so as to connect the manifold of cognition in a science” (Log, 9: 139–​40). This does not rule out the possibility of “a special doctrine of method for one science or another,” of course, which may indeed be called an organon but which “can only appear at the end of a science,” as it presupposes acquaintance with the object of the science (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  795; see V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 488; A52/​B76–​77). Clearly, then, Kant’s logic of method differs from Descartes’s in a crucial respect: while Descartes (like Bacon) sought for a method to direct human mind in the discovery of new truths, Kant restricts the primary function of method—​insofar as it pertains to rational cognition in general—​to that of ordering a given manifold of cognitions in a system, whereby a certain unity is brought into the manifold. In other words, the Kantian method is only means for “furthering the logical perfection of cognition,” the “most essential” manifestation of which is its “distinctness, thoroughness, and systematic ordering into the whole of a science” (Log, 9: 139–​40; see V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 480). These features concern the mere form of our cognitions. This contrast between Kant’s logical notion of method and Descartes’s represents just one of many aspects in which the former can be fruitfully explicated from a historical perspective. In fact, Kant gives many indications as to how his view differs from known alternatives. For example, when he clarifies

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in the second text quoted above that methodus logica is “not merely the way of teaching [Art zu lehren] but the way of thinking [Art zu denken],” he is likely alluding to the old controversy over the relation between method as a way of teaching (modus/​via/​ordo docendi) and as a way of discovery (modus/​via/​ordo inveniendi). We have seen him denying the possibility of a universal method in the latter sense. Now he also objects to treating method as mere means of teaching or of communication in general. Method, as Kant construes it, differs from “manner” (modus) and “exposition” (Vortrag, a term from Meier’s logic that I translated as “discourse”). Method is the unity of a whole of cognition according to principles. . . . Insofar as the unity of cognition rests on empirical rules, it is called manner[,]‌in Latin modus. But the unity of the manifold insofar as it rests on principles of reason is called method. (V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 488–​89; see Log, 9: 139) One needs method for thought, style for exposition. . . . Some have thought well as to method but did not have the talent of exposition, which belongs more to aesthetic perfection. . . . Exposition[,]‌ratio dicendi, is the art of expressing something. (V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 489–​90) By method is to be understood, namely, the way to cognize completely a certain object, to whose cognition the method is to be applied. It has to be derived from the nature of the science itself and, as an order of thought that is determined thereby and is necessary, it cannot be altered. Exposition means only the manner of communicating one’s thoughts in order to make a doctrine understandable. (Log, 9: 19–​20; see V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 682) Precisely because method pertains merely to the logical features of scientia, such as the systematic ordering of its content in accordance with principles of reason, Kant also rejects the classical distinction between natural and artificial methods, in much the same way as we saw him repudiating the one between logica naturalis and logica artificialis and treating the latter alone as logic proper (i.e. as a scientific logic). It is a “tautology,” he argues, that “every method is artificial [künstlich], namely, an artificial way of combining cognitions” to bring about a science of them (V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 494; see V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 599).40 These remarks may, I  hasten to add, remind a knowing reader of certain historical approaches to method, such as Ramus’s insistence on the priority of natural method and Zabarella’s distinction between ordo (means of organizing existing knowledge for pedagogical purpose) and methodus (rules and procedures for obtaining new knowledge).41 As for the Port-​Royal Logic, it has a more inclusive conception of method as “the art of arranging a series of thoughts properly, either for discovering the truth when we do not know it, or for proving to others what we already know.” These are the method of discovery by resolution (analysis) and the method of instruction by composition (synthesis), respectively (Arnauld and Nicole 1996: 233). Whether or how

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Kant’s theory of method, including the transcendental as well as the logical variety, may be illuminated against the backdrop of these among other historical accounts is a subject worthy of close investigations, which are beyond the scope of this book.42

4. The Emergence of “Transcendental Logic” and Its Implications for Kant’s Theory of Logic 4.1. PRELIMINARIES: BETWEEN LOGIC AND ONTOLOGY

We have yet to investigate Kant’s take on one more historically debated subject about logic, namely its relation to metaphysics and particularly to ontology, which Wolff identified as the first part of metaphysics.43 For most of the philosophers who sought to establish logic as a proper scientia in the past, the task was to find out whether or how the subject matter of logic differs from that of metaphysics and—​provided metaphysics is first philosophy and as such is the source of the foundational principia of all other sciences—​whether or how logic depends on metaphysics. As far as Kant is concerned, logic and metaphysics are distinct sciences with essentially different subject matters. Here is one among many ways in which he captures the distinction: logic concerns “the objective rules of the correct use of reason in general [Vernunft überhaupt],” whereas metaphysics investigates “the objective rules of the correct use of pure reason [reiner Vernunft]” (R1579, 16: 18; see R1599 [1769–​70? (1771–​72?) (1760–​64? 1764–​68?) 1773–​75??], 16:  30). Kant also claims that while logic, as a science in which reason has merely to do with itself, has succeeded in “travel[ing] the secure course of a science” (Bvii), metaphysics still has ways to go before it becomes a true science (Bxiv–​xv). He never tells us directly, however, on what principia logic must be secured as a proper science, although he is deeply invested in identifying the right foundation for a scientific metaphysics. For the Wolffians, the grounding principles of a scientific logic come from ontology as well as psychology. With an unwavering emphasis on the purity (and hence apriority) of logic proper, Kant has ruled out psychology—​on his narrow definition thereof, quoted in section 3.3 above, as a science of the rules according to which we in fact, as opposed to how we ought to, use our understanding and reason, rules that are therefore merely subjective and contingent— ​as a source of its principles.44 What about ontology? If, as I  mentioned in section 3.2, Kant once reportedly flirted with the idea that ontology contains certain basic universal truths underlying all other sciences, including logic, it does not entail that he shared the Wolffian view that a scientific logic draws its first principles partly from ontology. For, as we shall see, the very concept of ontology (and of metaphysics in general) would undergo profound transformations in Kant’s hands from the 1760s onward. Mirella Capozzi and Gino Roncaglia, assuming that Kant started with a Wolffian position on the

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relation between logic and ontology, claim that his “mature conception” is straightforwardly anti-​Wolffian in this respect but that, to the dismay of his readers, he also “simply suppresses” the “formerly accepted foundation of logic on ontology” (Capozzi and Roncaglia 2009:  142–​43). A  different, far-​ from-​simple picture will emerge, however, when we study how Kant’s notions of “logic,” “metaphysics,” “ontology,” and “transcendental logic” (to which “ontology” is sometimes equated) evolved together and became ever more intricately related with one another. Tracing out and sketching such a picture is my task in the remainder of this chapter. In the process, we can get a sense of how Kant’s final account of logic proper qua pure science—​to be fleshed out in chapter 5—​would crystalize largely as a result of important advances made through his quest for a secure science of metaphysics. Let me start by drawing attention to some of Kant’s early remarks about “transcendental logic.” Based on Adickes’s dating of the Nachlass, Kant started explicitly invoking this notion around 1769–​70. Here are two occurrences before 1772–​73 (paragraph numbers are inserted for future references). ¶1: [O]‌ntology is nothing other than a transcendental logic (subjective). (R4152 [1769–​70], 17: 436) ¶2: Every pure cognition a priori, in which thus no sensation is given, is transcendental. 1. The transcendental aesthetic. 2. The transcendental logic. 3. The transcendental critique. 4. The transcendental architectonic. (R4643 [1772–​73], 17: 622) Although the pairing of transcendental aesthetic and transcendental logic in ¶2 seems familiar, the notion of “transcendental” here is notably different from the one in the Critique. By the latter, not every a priori cognition must be called transcendental, but only that by means of which we cognize that and how certain representations (intuition or concepts) are applied entirely a priori, or are possible. . . . Hence . . . only the cognition that these representations are not of empirical origin at all and the possibility that they can nevertheless be related a priori to objects of experience can be called transcendental. (A56/​B80–​81) The concepts “a priori” and “transcendental” have different scopes on this account, whereas they seem co-​extensional in ¶2. Nonetheless, as we shall see, by 1772–​73 the more restricted sense of “transcendental” was also available to Kant though not yet articulated in the same terms as it would be in the Critique. As for ¶1, although it is reminiscent of Kant’s famous claim in the Critique that “the proud name of an ontology . . . must give way to the modest one of a mere analytic of the pure understanding [i.e., transcendental analytic, the first

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part of transcendental logic]” (A247/​B303), what is likely meant by “transcendental logic” here will turn out to be significantly different from his Critical conception thereof. That said, the very attempt to identify ontology with transcendental logic deserves close attention, as it signals a crucial departure from the traditional approach to ontology (and to metaphysics in general), a departure that will in turn have profound ramifications for Kant’s Critical theory of logic proper (pure general logic). I develop this hypothesis in what follows. I  first look at how Kant’s quest for the true method and foundation of metaphysics starting around the second quarter of the 1760s led him to treating transcendental philosophy as what is presupposed by metaphysics. In the process, I  accentuate a few developments in his position on the nature, subject matter, and possibility of metaphysics in general and of ontology in particular (section 4.2). Against this backdrop, I then return to ¶1 to tease out what it meant for Kant to identify ontology with transcendental logic, compare the latter notion with the Critical one, and explain what further steps he would have to take to reach the latter (4.3). My intention, to be clear, is neither to settle the contested issue about the sources of Kant’s conception of what is “transcendental” nor to give an exact narrative of how it evolved over time.45 Taking my cue from Kant’s own report that the Critique (1781) was the result of an extended period of philosophical reflections starting around 1769 (see below), I  will occasionally use relevant texts from the 1780s—​not to attribute the precise views conveyed therein to the younger Kant, but to indicate what positions he might be working toward during the earlier period. 4.2. FROM METAPHYSICS TO “TRANSCENDENTAL PHILOSOPHY”

For a basic frame of reference, let me begin with a brief note about Baumgarten’s Metaphysica (first published in 1739), which Kant used as the text for most of his metaphysics lectures from the mid-​1750s onward.46 In this text, Baumgarten defines metaphysics as “the science of the first principles in human knowledge” (M, §1). It contains four principal parts: ontology, cosmology, psychology, and natural theology. Ontology, also called “universal metaphysics” and “first philosophy,” is “the science of the more general predicates of a being” (§4). These predicates are divided into universal ones like “possible,” “true,” and “perfect” (§§7–​100), disjunctive pairs such as “necessary” and “contingent,” “singular” and “universal,” and “substance” and “accident” (§§101–​264), and external or relative ones including various kinds of “cause” (§§265–​350). When Kant first announced that he would use Baumgarten’s text in 1756, he praised it as the “most useful and foundational” of its kind, but also acknowledged the difficulties caused by its obscurity, so that one would have to

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descend into its depths to “search for pearls” (TW, 1:  503). Nearly a decade later, Kant still favored the same text “chiefly for the richness of its contents and the precision of its method,” although he had pedagogical reasons for not following its order of presentation. He would begin with empirical psychology and postpone ontology—​“the science, namely, which is concerned with the more general properties of all things”—​until later in the course (NEV, 2: 308–​ 9). More tellingly, Kant’s personal copy of the fourth (1757) edition of the Metaphysica, one that he used most, is filled with handwritten elucidations and reflections.47 These personal notes indicate that Kant was actively seeking to figure out his own stance on issues of metaphysics. He would do so partly by experimenting with new philosophical terms (or adaptations of current ones), new questions, new perspectives, etc. Since, for reasons I mentioned in c­ hapter 1, such notes alone do not suffice as the basis for determining Kant’s position on a given topic, let us first consider his remarks about metaphysics in some of his publications and correspondences from some time in the 1760s through the end of 1773. In the 1765 announcement about his upcoming courses, Kant begins the section on metaphysics with this statement: I have sought to show in a short and hastily composed work that this science [metaphysics] has, in spite of the great efforts of scholars, remained imperfect and uncertain because the method peculiar to it has been misunderstood. Its method is not synthetic, as is that of mathematics, but analytic. (NEV, 2: 308) Kant is likely referring to his prize essay of 1764, “Inquiry Concerning the Distinctness of the Principles of Natural Theology and Morality” (Inquiry), which contains a detailed account of the method of metaphysics in comparison with that of mathematics (see below). He also suggests, however, that his effort to reform metaphysics and reconstruct it in accordance with a proper method began even before 1764. For some considerable time now I  have worked in accordance with this scheme [of the characteristics of metaphysics in contrast to mathematics]. Every step which I  have taken along this path has revealed to me both the source of the errors which have been committed, and the criterion of judgment by reference to which alone those errors can be avoided, if they can be avoided at all. For this reason, I hope that I shall be able in the near future to present a complete account of what may serve as the foundation of my lectures [on metaphysics]. (NEV, 2: 308) Similarly, in a letter to J. H. Lambert (1728–​77) on December 31, 1765, Kant reports a prolonged quest for “the proper method of metaphysics and thereby also the proper method for philosophy as a whole.” He informs Lambert that, due to the lack of “examples to show in concreto what the proper procedure

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should be,” he must defer an intended book on the method of metaphysics, which the bookseller J.  J. Kanter has prematurely advertised under the title Eigentliche Methode der Metaphysic (Br, 10: 55–​56).48 Kant’s correspondences with Lambert on the method of metaphysics would continue until 1770. He trusts Lambert with the judgment as to whether he succeeded in “ground[ing] this science on indubitable, wholly incontestable rules” (Br, 10:  98). He mentions his newly published Inaugural Dissertation (“On the Form and Principles of the Sensible and the Intelligible World”). With this work, he is confident to have finally arrived at a definitive stance on the method of metaphysics, by which all kinds of metaphysical issues can be addressed with certainty (Br, 10: 97–​98). The position Kant has in mind will turn out to be far from settled. It nevertheless contains the basic ingredients that he can use to introduce the concept “transcendental logic,” though still a crude one at first, to mark the reformative character of his newly developed approach to metaphysics. Reading his correspondences with Lambert between 1765 and 1770 can help us to track down those ingredients as they gradually emerged. Lambert’s first letter to Kant (November 3, 1765)  mentions “The Only Possible Argument in Support of a Demonstration of the Existence of God” (1763, completed in 1762). In this work, Kant portrays the current state of metaphysics as “a dark and shoreless ocean, marked by no beacons,” and attributes its “unnecessary difficulties” and “mishaps” largely to the misguided “imitation of the mathematician.” In his view, the procedure of metaphysics should be directly opposed to that of mathematics (BDG, 2: 66, 71). Kant explicates this position in the Inquiry, as a response to the question posed by the Royal Academy of Sciences in Berlin about “whether the metaphysical truths in general . . . admit of distinct proofs to the same degree as geometrical truths.”49 Metaphysics is here defined as “the philosophy of the fundamental principles [ersten Gründe] of our cognition” (UD, 2:  283). The imitation of mathematical method is detrimental to this science, Kant argues, given how different it is from mathematics. Especially, while in mathematics one begins with the definition of one’s object (e.g. triangle, circle), in metaphysics one “ought not to start with definitions, unless . . . one is merely seeking a nominal definition,” but should rather “begin by carefully searching out what is immediately certain in one’s object, even before one has its definition” (UD, 2: 285; see 2: 276–​83). This “true method of metaphysics” is compared to the Newtonian method of natural science (UD, 2:  286). Its establishment is expected to have the effect that “the endless instability of opinions and scholarly sects will be replaced by an immutable rule [Vorschrift] which will govern didactic method [Lehrart] and unite reflective minds in a single effort,” much as “in natural science, Newton’s method transformed the chaos of physical hypotheses into a secure procedure based on experience and geometry” (UD, 2: 275).

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Kant’s skepticism about the old way of doing metaphysics takes an intriguing turn in “Dreams of a Spirit-​Seer Elucidated by Dreams of Metaphysics” (1766, Dreams).50 In order not to be distracted by its ironic style, it will be helpful to bear in mind Kant’s clarification in a letter to Mendelssohn (April 8, 1766) in response to the latter’s bafflement about whether the Dreams was meant to mock metaphysics as such. In the letter, Kant separates metaphysics as it ought to be from the current practice thereof. He is unapologetically censorious of the latter: I cannot conceal my repugnance, and even a certain hatred, toward the inflated arrogance of whole volumes full of what are passed off nowadays as insights; for I am fully convinced that the path that has been selected is completely wrong, [and] that the methods now in vogue must infinitely increase the amount of folly and error in the world. (Br, 10: 70) At the same time, Kant has no doubt about the importance of metaphysics “objectively considered,” on which depends “the true and lasting welfare of the human race.” In fact, his contempt for the metaphysics in vogue is rooted in a notion of metaphysics regarding its true nature and “proper place among the disciplines of human knowledge” and of the need “to create a new epoch in this science, to begin completely afresh, to draw up the plans for this heretofore haphazardly constructed discipline.” To this end, Kant contends, it is best to pull the “dogmatic dress” off the metaphysics in vogue and “treat its pretended insights skeptically.” But this is only a negative step in preparation for a positive one. About the latter, Kant claims to have “reached some important insights . . . that will establish the proper procedure for metaphysics” (Br, 10: 70–​71, my italicizations). The negative aspect of Kant’s design dominates the Dreams. He begins by exposing “a tangled metaphysical knot” concerning spirits, which exemplifies the ills of current metaphysics. The “compendium of everything concerning spirits which is recited by schoolboys, related by the common people and demonstrated by philosophers,” Kant observes, seems to “constitute no small part of our knowledge.” It is not even clear what is meant by “spirit,” however, so that “the methodic gossip of the universities is frequently nothing but an agreement to exploit the instability of the meaning of words with a view to evading questions which are difficult to answer”—​questions as to whether, for instance, spirits exist and, if they do, what they are and how they relate to bodies (TU, 2: 319–​28). As for why he chooses to make his case by engaging the fairy tales of a spirit-​seer (namely Emanuel Swedenborg, 1688–​1772), Kant points to a perceived parallel between those fairy tales and the Cockaigne (Schlaraffenland) of metaphysics: if the former have arisen merely from the “fanatical intuition” or delusion of the senses, the latter comes down to delusions of speculative reason. In either case, the boundaries between folly and understanding are so fuzzy that “one can

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scarcely proceed for long in the one region without occasionally making a little sally into the other” (TU, 2: 356, 360–​61). This analysis clears the space for Kant to submit a positive thesis about metaphysics (as it ought to look like) toward the end of the Dreams, where he reveals the “more important” intent of the book and signals an unmistakable shift in his conception of metaphysics. If in the Inquiry he was still operating with a notion of metaphysics similar to Baumgarten’s, now Kant distinguishes two “interests [Vortheile]” of metaphysics. One is to “solve the problems thrown up by the enquiring mind, when it uses reason to spy after the more hidden properties of things.” Kant notes that the pursuit of metaphysics in this regard has “all too often” been conducted in vain and with disappointing outcome, like a fleeting dream. The second interest, by contrast, is more suitable to the nature of human understanding. It is to investigate, among other things, “whether the task has been determined by reference to what one can know.” In this respect, metaphysics is “a science of the boundaries [Grenzen] of human reason” (TU, 2:  367–​68, modified translation). As for what the bounds of human reason might be, Kant takes himself at least to have “eliminated the illusion and the vain knowledge which inflates the understanding and fills up the narrow space which could otherwise be occupied by the teachings of wisdom and of useful instruction” (TU, 2: 368). His plan has been to let metaphysics “run its course” (presumably with respect to its first interest), until it finally “arrives at the determination of the boundaries imposed upon it by the nature of human reason.” Having recognized the boundaries of this science, we may then tackle questions concerning the spirit-​nature, freedom and predetermination, etc. in the manner of true “philosophy, which judges about its own procedure [Verfahren] and which knows not the objects by themselves [Gegenstände allein] but their relation to the human understanding” (TU, 2: 369, modified translation). This overview of Kant’s remarks about metaphysics in the Dreams in a way captures Lambert’s description of their shared outlook in a letter on February 3, 1766: whenever a science needs methodical reconstruction and purification, it is metaphysics. The universal . . . leads us to suppose ourselves omniscient, and thus we venture beyond the possible limits [Schranken] of human cognition. I think this shows that . . . we had better work piecemeal, demanding to know at every step only what is capable of being known. I think it has been an unrecognized but perennial error in philosophy to force the facts and, instead of leaving anything unexplained, to load up with conjectures [Hypothesen], thus actually delaying the discovery of the truth. (Br, 10: 62–​ 63, modified translation) Without explicitly affirming the need for a separate science to investigate the bounds of human cognition, Lambert grants Kant’s as “undeniably the only

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method that one can use with security and progress” in metaphysics (Br, 10: 63). He adds a distinction between the form and matter of our knowledge, however, which he thinks is key to a truly productive method of metaphysics but is absent from Kant’s account. In this regard, Lambert suggests, while the part of metaphysics that treats form remains uncontested, it has done little to account for the foundation of the matter of our knowledge, with respect to which there have only been disputes and conjectures. Wolff, for one, “assumed nominal definitions and, without noticing it, shoved aside or concealed all difficulties in them” (Br, 10: 64). Without dwelling on these remarks from Lambert, I shall only point out that Kant was evidently impressed thereby, so much so that it would take him a long while to work out a suitable reply (in September 1770), upon the opportunity of having a copy of his recently completed Inaugural Dissertation sent to Lambert. The delay, Kant reports, was due to “the striking importance” he learned from Lambert’s above-​mentioned letter, which made him realize that he still lacked “a definite idea of the proper method” for a science of metaphysics (Br, 10: 96–​97). Now with the Inaugural Dissertation, Kant takes himself to have at last worked out such a method, “a position from which all sorts of metaphysical questions can be examined according to wholly certain and easy criteria, and the extent to which these questions can or cannot be resolved will be decidable with certainty” (Br, 10: 97). Kant recommends sections 2, 3, and 5 of the Inaugural Dissertation as what best represents his current view. He summarizes their core propositions as follows: [1]‌in metaphysics  .  .  .  it is merely concepts and principles [Grundsätze] of pure reason that are at issue. [2] A quite special, though purely negative science, general phenomenology . . . seems to me to be presupposed by metaphysics. In it the principles of sensibility, their validity and limitations [Schranken], would be determined, so that these principles could not be confusedly applied to objects of pure reason [Gegenstände der reinen Vernunft], as has heretofore almost always happened.  .  .  . [3] extremely mistaken conclusions emerge if we apply the basic concepts of sensibility [space and time] to something that is not at all an object of sense, that is, something thought through a universal or a pure concept of reason as a thing or substance in general, and so on. [4] It seems to me . . . that such a propaedeutic discipline, which would preserve metaphysics per se [die eigentliche metaphysic] from any admixture of the sensible, could be made usefully explicit and evident without great strain. (Br, 10:  98, modified translation)51 Propositions [1]‌and [4] suggest a notion of metaphysics that we have not encountered so far. As Kant puts it in section 2 of the dissertation, metaphysics is “the philosophy which contains the first principles of the use of the pure

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understanding.” What he is offering, though, is not a specimen of metaphysics but that of its “propaedeutic science,” which explicates the distinction between sensitive and intellectual cognition (MSI, 2: 395). Propositions [2] and [3] belong in this science. Kant’s notion of metaphysics as a science of the use of the understanding in pure cognition presupposes the following distinction. Through its logical use, “the concepts, no matter whence they are given [undecunque dati], are merely subordinated to each other, the lower, namely, to the higher (common characteristic marks), and compared with one another in accordance with the principle of contradiction.” This use of the understanding is “common to all the sciences” since, howsoever a cognition is given, from the logical perspective it always stands in some relations of subordination to other cognitions, relations as are represented by judgments and inferences. By contrast, the real use of the understanding is strictly concerned with concepts that are “given by the very nature of the understanding [dantur per ipsam naturam intellectus],” that is, abstracted “from laws inherent in the mind (by attending to its actions on the occasion of experience).” Kant’s list of these concepts overlaps with the list of general predicates in Baumgarten’s ontology, e.g. possibility, substance, cause, and so on and so forth. They are “pure,” never to be derived from sensory representations or to enter the latter as parts (MSI, 2: 393–​95).52 Kant identifies two chief ends regarding the intellect. The first is “elenctic,” to separate what is sensitively conceived from noumena. This is only a negative end of fending off errors, without advancing science. The second end is “dogmatic,” to conceive—​through pure intellect alone in accordance with its general principles, as are articulated in ontology for instance—​the “noumenal perfection” in reference to which all other realities are to be measured (MSI, 2: 395–​96). This account of two ends somewhat echoes Kant’s distinction between the two interests of metaphysics in the Dreams. One consists in determining the boundaries of human reason, the other in using reason to inquire about the general properties of things. However, now in the dissertation the first task is no longer assigned to metaphysics, but to the propaedeutic science that treats its method. About the requisite method, Kant’s basic claims are now as follows. Insofar as the intellect is prone to the metaphysical fallacy of subreption or “the confusion of what belongs to the understanding with what is sensitive,” method must precede science when it comes to metaphysics. If science comes from the correct “exposition of the laws of pure reason,” method presents the “criterion of truth” that separates such laws from the supposititious ones. What is presently known as method, Kant points out, is only the kind that “logic prescribes to all sciences in general.” Meanwhile, there is a total ignorance regarding the method “uniquely adapted to the special character of metaphysics.” This ignorance explains why hitherto metaphysical

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inquiries have been like rolling Sisyphean stones (MSI, 2: 411–​12, modified translation). After sketching the part of the true method of metaphysics that concerns the distinction between the sensitive and the intellectual, Kant expresses the hope that this method, if treated with precision, may serve as the propaedeutic science for “penetrat[ing] the very recesses of metaphysics” (MSI, 2: 419).53 On the surface, Kant’s account of the relation between metaphysics and its propaedeutic in the Inaugural Dissertation resembles his characterization in the Critique of the relation between metaphysics and “critique” as two parts of the philosophy of pure reason: while metaphysics is “the system of pure reason (science), the whole . . . philosophical cognition from pure reason in systematic interconnection,” critique is “propaedeutic (preparation), which investigates the faculty of reason in regard to all pure a priori cognition” (A841/​B869). In 1770 Kant did not seem to have this exact notion of critique, though, insofar as it is meant to account for the possibility of pure cognitions. In his famous 1772 letter to Herz, Kant notes that in the Inaugural Dissertation he “still lacked something essential,” which “in fact constitutes the key to the whole secret of metaphysics, hitherto still hidden from itself ” but which he “failed to consider.” The missing element is an account of the possibility of the theoretical part of metaphysics, which must address the following question: on what ground can our representations have relation to the object (Beziehung auf den Gegenstand), especially if the representations in question are pure concepts of the understanding, which are neither caused by the object nor capable of bringing the object into being (Br, 10: 130)? Kant confesses to have no such concern in the dissertation. In my dissertation I  was content to explain the nature of intellectual representations in a merely negative way, namely, to state that they were not modifications of the soul brought about by the object. However, I silently passed over the further question of how a representation that refers to an object without being in any way affected by it can be possible. (Br, 10: 130–​31) Kant now recognizes that one cannot determine the nature or boundaries of metaphysics without establishing the possibility of intellectual cognitions by identifying their exact sources. His more recent quest in the latter respect has reportedly led him to “reduce transcendental philosophy (that is to say, all the concepts belonging to completely pure reason) to a certain number of categories” and, contrary to Aristotle’s haphazard treatment of these categories, order them by “a few fundamental laws of the understanding.” He claims to have achieved his “essential purpose” in the process, feeling ready to produce “a critique of pure reason” through which the sources, method, and boundaries of metaphysics can finally be ascertained (Br, 10: 132). Relatedly, in a letter to

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Herz near the end of 1773 Kant speaks of working on “transcendental philosophy, which is actually a critique of pure reason,” before he “can turn to metaphysics” (Br, 10: 145).54 It would in fact take Kant several more years, until the 1781 edition of the Critique, to present the anticipated “transcendental philosophy.” By his own account, he would have to “let years pass by” before arriving at a completely satisfactory “finished insight” in this area, which involves constructing a never-​ before-​attempted “metaphysics of metaphysics” (Br, 10: 269). For our purpose, there is no need to investigate what transpired between Kant’s announcement of the work on transcendental philosophy in 1772–​73 and its completion in 1781. To prepare for my ensuing discussion of the genesis and development of Kant’s notion of transcendental logic, it suffices to conclude with his own retrospect of his reflections on metaphysics from 1760s through 1772–​73. The retrospect, which doubles as his justification for repeatedly delaying a projected collaboration with Lambert on the “reform of metaphysics,” mentions three turning points (Br, 10: 277–​78).55 By the mid-​1760s, Kant was keenly aware that metaphysics “lacked a reliable touchstone with which to distinguish truth from illusion” and “had some ideas for a possible reform of this science.” By 1770, with the publication of the Inaugural Dissertation, Kant “was already able clearly to distinguish sensibility in our cognition from the intellectual, by means of precise limiting conditions.” He shared his finding with Lambert and hoped to make the remainder of his theory “ready before long.” In 1772, though, Kant realized that “the problem of the source of the intellectual elements in our cognition created new and unforeseen difficulties.” These difficulties necessitated a prolonged delay in his expected collaboration with Lambert, who died in 1777. In this way, as Kant puts it in another letter to Mendelssohn (August 16, 1783), the Critique as a work on the foundation of metaphysics is “the product of nearly twelve years of reflection” (Br, 10: 345). The long process that eventually led to its composition began in earnest around 1769, then, the year that gave Kant the “great light” to “discover in what an illusion of the understanding was hiding” (R5037 [1776–​78], 18: 69). The light in question, as it is typically understood, involves at least the distinction between sensibility and understanding.56 This distinction, coupled with the notion of purely intellectual concepts, is the first step toward forming a preliminary conception of the subject matter of transcendental logic. My next task is to explain this conception of transcendental logic as it figures in ¶1 (1769–​70) and ¶2 (1772–​73) and to compare it with the Critical one. This will also give us an opportunity to learn more about Kant’s conception of “logic” in general.

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4.3. ONTOLOGY AND TRANSCENDENTAL LOGIC: AN EVOLVING NARRATIVE

To recall, in ¶1 Kant equates ontology with “transcendental logic (subjective),” without explaining in what sense ontology is a kind of “logic” or why this logic is “transcendental” and “subjective.” In ¶2 he mentions “transcendental aesthetic” and “transcendental logic” after specifying the “transcendental” as “pure cognition a priori, in which thus no sensation is given.” Meanwhile, Kant has presented us with two notions of “transcendental philosophy.” While in the 1772 letter to Herz it signifies a system of “all the concepts belonging to completely pure reason,” in the 1773 letter to Herz it amounts to “a critique of pure reason” that determines, among other things, the source of those concepts. The latter resonates with Kant’s definition of “transcendental” at A56/​B80–​81, which I quoted earlier. Accordingly, we may distinguish two senses in which a cognition may be “transcendental.” (Both differ from the transcendental use of pure concepts, to be discussed later.) In one sense, a cognition is transcendental (transcendental1) just in case it is pure and a priori. In the other, a cognition (or science, theory) is transcendental (transcendental2) only if it explains how it is possible for pure representations (intuitions or concepts) to be related a priori to the objects of experience. Clearly, to envision a theory that is transcendental2 Kant needs to have recognized the questions about pure concepts that he first raised in the 1772 letter to Herz. By “transcendental” logic in ¶1 (1769–​70), then, he can only mean transcendental1. It remains to be seen why Kant equates ontology with a kind of logic, why it is ontology that enters this equation, and how he may revise his view about the relation between ontology and transcendental logic given the distinction between transcendental1 and transcendental2. We can gather some clues about Kant’s likely answers to these questions from his later remarks about ontology and transcendental philosophy. To begin with, consider his comments on the established tradition of “transcendental philosophy.” In the 1787 edition of the Critique, shortly after introducing categories as the concepts by which pure understanding can “think an object” for a given manifold of intuition (B106), Kant devotes a section to discussing “yet another chapter in the transcendental philosophy of the ancients [of the scholastics to be more precise]” that deals with transcendentals, which purportedly constitute a special class of pure concepts over and above categories. They include one (unum), true (verum), and good (bonum), the most common notions for explicating being (ens). “These supposedly transcendental predicates of things,” Kant argues, are at bottom “nothing other than logical requisites and criteria of all cognition of things in general.” Thus, they should not be taken “as material, as belonging to the possibility of things itself,” but only “in a merely formal sense, as belonging to the logical requirement [Forderung] for every cognition.” A  major error of the old transcendental philosophy is

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that “these criteria of thinking were carelessly made into properties of things in themselves” (B113–​14). As for ontology, much of what Kant says about it in and after 1781 suggests that his goal is not to jettison it but to render it scientific. When he claims that “the proud name of an ontology  .  .  .  must give way to the modest one of a mere analytic of the pure understanding,” by “ontology” he means that “which presumes to offer synthetic a priori cognitions of things in general [Dingen überhaupt] in a systematic doctrine” (A247/​B303). Ontology so construed is impossible, Kant suggests, in that “the pure concepts of the understanding can never be of transcendental, but always only of empirical use, and that the principles of pure understanding can [never] be related to . . . things in general [auf Dinge überhaupt . . . bezogen werden] (without taking regard of the way in which we might intuit them)” (A246/​B303). To elaborate, Thinking is the action of relating given intuitions to an object. If the manner of this intuition is not given in any way, then the object is merely transcendental. . . . Now through a pure category, in which abstraction is made from any condition of sensible intuition as the only one that is possible for us, no object is determined, rather only the thought of an object in general is expressed. . . . From this it also follows that the pure category does not suffice for any synthetic a priori principle. (A247/​B304, my italicization) In these terms, ontology is impossible as a system of synthetic a priori cognitions of objects überhaupt—​i.e. in abstraction from the conditions of sensibility under which objects are to be given to us—​by means of pure categories alone. This use of pure categories “without formal conditions of sensibility” amounts to a transcendental use thereof (namely, as the most general predicates that apply to all beings as such), which Kant claims to be “impossible in itself ” (A248/​B305).57 As Kant makes it even more explicit elsewhere, his intention is never to cast aside ontology altogether, but only to clarify what it should be. In “What Real Progress Has Metaphysics Made in Germany Since the Time of Leibniz and Wolff ?” (1793), for instance, having defined metaphysics as “the science of progressing by reason from cognition of the sensible to that of the super-​ sensible,” Kant characterizes ontology as the part of metaphysics that consists in a system of concepts and principles of the understanding “but only so far as they pertain to objects that can be given to the senses.” So construed, ontology is a “propaedeutic” to metaphysics proper—​insofar as the latter has the supersensible as its final aim—​and is “called transcendental philosophy, because it contains the conditions and first elements of all our cognition a priori” (FM, 20: 260, modified translation).58 Ontology as transcendental philosophy necessarily involves a critique of pure reason. An “ontology without a critique,” which is therefore an “ontology that was not a transcendental philosophy,” cannot be truly scientific in

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that “without critique I do not know whether the concepts of pure reason and pure understanding are all there or whether some are still missing—​because I  have no principles” (V-​Met/​Mron, 29:  785; see A13–​14/​B27–​28). In other words, without critique there is no way to ascertain the completeness of a system of pure concepts and, without being a decidedly complete system, a theory of pure concepts cannot be a proper science.59 To that extent, ontology qua transcendental philosophy presupposes a critique of pure reason as its “propaedeutic.” The critique is “that philosophy which employs itself with the possibility of the a priori cognitions in our reason.” Transcendental philosophy, “also called ontology,” is “the system of those cognitions themselves, . . . which contain the elements of pure reason” and is “the product of the critique of pure reason” (V-​Met/​Vigil, 29:  949). Transcendental philosophy (ontology) and the critique are therefore intimately connected while still distinct. As Kant states in the introduction to the Critique, the critique as “the complete idea of transcendental philosophy” contains everything that constitutes the latter, although it is “not yet this science itself ” (A13–​14/​B27–​ 28; see R5130 [1776–​78? 1778–​1780s?], 18: 100). Notably, Kant likens both transcendental philosophy and the critique to general logic. Transcendental philosophy is “like logic,” he writes, in that it “does not deal with objects but with the possibility . . . of all cognition of pure reason” and so can be called “the logic of pure cognition of reason.” Otherwise put, “what logic is with regard to all cognition, transcendental philosophy is with regard to pure cognition a priori” (R5644 [1783–​84], 18:  285–​86, modified translation). As for a critique of pure reason, it is “a higher logic” that prescribes rules for cognition of objects a priori, while “logic itself ” presents the rules of thought in general (V-​Met/​Vigil, 29:  949; see Br 10:  340). These remarks suggest that a theory may be called “logic” partly because it sets down the rules that somehow determine the possibility of cognition or thought. There are two orders at which a theory may treat such possibility, however. At the first order, it specifies certain conditions of the cognition. At the second order, it reflects on the very elements that constitute such conditions and determines their ability to serve this role by establishing, among other things, their sources and the boundaries of their valid use. This analysis of Kant’s later account of ontology, transcendental philosophy, and critique of pure reason helps to put in perspective his treatment of ontology as a kind of logic in ¶1. This treatment, first and foremost, signals a departure from the traditional conception of ontology. The latter is reflected in Wolff ’s definition of ontology as “the science of being in general, or insofar as it is being” (Disc, #73).60 For Kant, by contrast, ontology is not so much about objects (beings) themselves as about certain conditions for cognizing them. This is how he views the subject matter of metaphysics in general.

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Metaphysics is not a philosophy about objects, for these can only be given by means of the senses, but rather about the subject, namely, the laws of its reason. . . . Cognitions are of two kinds: either those that pertain to objects that are given, or those that refer to the concepts of the form [die Begriffe der Form] in which reason considers every object. The latter are merely subjective. (R3716 [before 1764–​66? 1764–​68?], 17: 259) The concepts by which reason considers objects constitute a special kind of conditions of cognition. They are subjective partly because they concern the subject of cognition as opposed to objects themselves. Thus if I say that a principle is subjective, i.e., it contains the conditiones under which alone we can judge by means of our reason in accordance with laws of experience, this does not mean that our reason must assume this law in the objects; for it does not apply to them at all. (R3954 [1769], 17: 363; see R3938 [1769], 17: 355; R3975 [1769], 17: 372; R3977 [1769], 17: 373; R3988 [1769], 17: 377–​78) Accordingly, metaphysics is subjective as “a science of the laws of pure human reason” (R3952 [1769], 17: 362–​63). It is like logic because “in both reason is the object” (R3939 [1769], 17: 356). There is another sense, however, in which the conditions of cognition presented in metaphysics are subjective, while the ones presented in logic are objective. The conditiones without which [objects] cannot (even when they are given) be cognized (understood) are objective. Those, without which they cannot be comprehended [eingesehen werden] (cognized through reason), are merely subjective. (R4292 [1770–​71? 1773–​75? 1776–​78?] 17: 498, modified translation) Logic presents the first set of conditions. Insofar as logic “leaves undetermined the particular nature of human reason,” those conditions are “valid for any reason [gilt vor jeder Vernunft]” and therefore objective. The second set of conditions involve “the universal concepts that flow from the nature of human reason and their particular laws” and are to that extent subjective (R3946 [1769? 1772???], 17:  360, modified translation).61 This contrast suggests one way to separate the subject matters of logic and metaphysics. Logic is “a science . . . of human cognition in general” and treats the subordination of concepts to one another regardless of their origin. By contrast, metaphysics is “a science of the fundamental concepts and principles of human reason,” as “the elements out of which all rational [as opposed to empirical or sensible] cognition is composed” (R3946, 17: 359–​60, my italicization; see R3949 [1769], 17: 361).62 Kant’s characterization of ontology as a transcendental and subjective logic in ¶1 starts to make sense against this backdrop. Ontology is a kind of “logic” insofar

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as it deals with conditions of cognition. It is “transcendental” (transcendental1) because it treats only pure cognitions or cognitions of pure reason. It is therefore also “subjective” (whereas logic proper is objective), in that the conditions of cognition it uncovers—​viz. pure concepts, such as those included among the most general predicates in Baumgarten’s ontology—​pertain specifically to the nature of human reason (as opposed to reason in general). In other words, while both logic and ontology (or metaphysics in general) are “sciences of pure reason” in the sense of being inquiries “through pure reason,” they have separate subject matters: one presents “the rules of universal cognition in general,” whereas the other investigates “the particular rules of pure reason” (R4163 [1769–​70], 17: 440). This contrast seems to be a precursor to Kant’s distinction between general logic and transcendental logic in the Critique: one “considers only the logical form in the relation of cognitions to one another, i.e., the form of thinking in general,” whereas the other presents “the laws of the understanding and reason . . . solely insofar as they are related to objects a priori” and thereby reveals the conditions for “think[ing] objects completely a priori” (A55–​57/​B79–​82). The transcendental logic of the Critique is transcendental also in the sense of transcendental2, however, which necessarily includes a critique of pure reason. In this respect, transcendental logic must “determine the origin, the domain, and the objective validity” of those elements of pure understanding by means of which we think objects a priori (A57/​B81). This task falls upon transcendental analytic, the part of transcendental logic that “expounds the elements of the pure cognition of the understanding and the principles without which no object can be thought at all” (A62/​B87). This analytic, as “the analysis of the entirety of our a priori cognition into the elements of the pure cognition of the understanding,” is at bottom an “analysis of the faculty of understanding” that aims at establishing “the possibility of a priori concepts by seeking them only in the understanding as their birthplace.” This analysis is to ensure that all the elementary concepts of pure understanding are articulated in a complete system, which is possible only by being determined through an “idea” of the faculty of understanding. Whatever this idea comes down to, “the completeness and articulation of [the] system can at the same time yield a touchstone of the correctness and genuineness of all the pieces of cognition fitting into it” (A64–​66/​B89–​90; see A67/​B92). This aspect of transcendental (transcendental2) logic points to a parallel with logic proper that we have yet to examine. Simply put, like logic proper, transcendental logic can serve only as a canon or standard for assessment but not as an organon or instrument for the actual production of material cognitions. Each of these logics is a logic of truth in its own way, supplying merely formal (i.e. necessary but not sufficient) principles of truth, truth being the agreement of cognition with its object. The general-​logical principles ensure the self-​agreement of our cognitions, while the transcendental-​logical ones constitute the necessary conditions under which our cognitions are to have any

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content (Inhalt) or relation (Beziehung) to objects at all. In either case, going beyond the scope of legitimate uses of such principles would lead to a kind of dialectical illusion. Kant fully spells out this parallel between general and transcendental logics only in the Critique (A57–​64/​B83–​88, to be examined in ­chapter 5). He also touches its basic tenets in various handwritten notes, though. In R1602 (1773–​75), for instance, he suggests that transcendental logic, like logic proper (“formal logic”), needs a “canon” to ward off dialectical uses of its principles (16:  32). In R4675 (1775), he qualifies the proposition “transcendental logic deals with cognitions of the understanding with respect to content” with the caveat that it is “indeterminate regarding the way in which objects are given” (17: 651, modified translation). This qualification underwrites Kant’s view that transcendental logic supplies necessary “criteria of truth”—​insofar as our cognitions are to have any objective content at all—​but “no organon” (R2162 [1776–​78? 1790–​1804?], 16: 256). Meanwhile, precisely because transcendental logic investigates pure cognitions in abstraction from the sensible conditions under which objects can be given to us, Kant recognizes how “natural” it is for dialectical illusion to occur in this case (R1602, 16: 32). He reiterates this point in the Critique, albeit in different terms: because it is very enticing and seductive to make use of these pure cognitions of the understanding and principles by themselves, . . . the understanding falls into the danger of making a material use of the merely formal principles of pure understanding . . . [The pure understanding] is misused if one lets it count as the organon of a general and unrestricted use, and dares to synthetically judge, assert, and decide about objects in general with the pure understanding alone. The use of the pure understanding would in this case therefore be dialectical. (A63/​B87–​88) Arguing that transcendental logic must therefore include a part called “transcendental dialectic,” Kant speaks in a way that resonates with his earlier criticisms of dogmatic metaphysics. [Transcendental dialectic is not] an art of dogmatically arousing such illusion [i.e. that we can judge synthetically about objects with pure intellect alone] (an unfortunately highly prevalent art among the manifold works of metaphysical jugglery), but rather a critique of the understanding and reason in regard to their hyperphysical use, in order to uncover the false illusion of their groundless pretensions. (A63–​64/​B88) Thus, transcendental dialectic in a way satisfies the second interest of metaphysics mentioned in the Dreams, namely to consider not objects themselves but their relation to the human intellect and find out the boundaries set by the nature of the latter, so that we may confront illusions and forestall vain pursuits of knowledge beyond our reach.

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The notion of transcendental2 logic, which incorporates a critique of pure intellect that reveals the nature and root cause of its dialectical use, also represents a dimension of Kant’s reformative relation to the traditional ontology that goes beyond his earlier identification of ontology with transcendental1 logic. As he suggests in the “Real Progress,” his primary contribution in the field of ontology lies not so much in resolving cognition “into the concepts that lie a priori in the understanding”—​Aristotle gets most of the credit here—​ as in clarifying “the rules for the right use” of those concepts (FM, 20: 260). Such rules can be revealed only through a critique of pure reason, without which there can be no true (scientific) ontology. Therefore, if ontology may still be regarded as transcendental logic (transcendental analytic to be precise), it can only be an ontology that builds on the critique—​to ensure that the pure concepts presented therein constitute a systematic unity in accordance with a principle or idea, to demarcate the precise boundaries of their valid use, and to expose the root of their misuse. Ontology in this sense, Kant would add, is one that neither Aristotle nor Baumgarten—​nor even Lambert—​was in the position to offer.63

5. Conclusion This chapter contains a narrative of Kant’s progression toward his own views on a few historically debated issues about logic—​especially concerning its utility and its relation to ontology and psychology respectively. I teased out the most notable points in connection with two key breakthroughs. One is Kant’s account of logicH (applied logic) and logicL (pure logic) as two fundamentally different parts of logic. The other is the emergence and evolvement of “transcendental logic” through his inquiries about the possibility of metaphysics in general and ontology in particular as a secure science. With respect to the distinction between logicL and logicH, only the former can be a science in the strict Kantian sense. As such, it cannot draw anything from psychology. Nor can it serve as an organon in Wolff’s (or Bacon’s) material-​productive sense. Meanwhile, by making logicH an independent part of logic, disengaging it from Wolff’s “practical logic,” and modeling it instead on Knutzen’s “special logic,” which was in turn inspired by Bacon’s doctrine of idols and Locke’s theory of prejudices, Kant has continued the Stoic and humanist practices of attending to the common human understanding and to the role of logic in facilitating our pursuit of philosophia as wisdom. This two-​part conception of logic will carry over to Kant’s later writings and remarks about logic. I will refer back to it periodically in ­chapter 5. With respect to the second breakthrough, I  explained how Kant might have initially conceived “transcendental logic” but subsequently upgraded the conception with his ever more sophisticated queries about the possibility of

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a scientific metaphysics and that of a scientific ontology. Two takeaways are worth highlighting here. First, Kant ushered in a notion of transcendental logic on grounds that had less to do—​at least not in any direct way—​with deep philosophical concerns about logic than with the status of metaphysics or ontology as a proper science. In this regard, all he needed to assume about logic was something like Baumgarten’s generic account of logica and aesthetica as two complementary sciences: logica is a science of the higher cognitive faculty (intellect), while aesthetica is that of the lower one (sensibility). Second, from Kant’s Critical standpoint, a pure science presupposes a critique of the relevant faculty—​both to establish the possibility of the science as a correct and complete system and to set its boundaries and determine what it can or cannot achieve. These points have two implications for Kant’s theory of logic proper (pure general logic). First, having arrived at transcendental (transcendental2) logic as a science of the elements of pure understanding, he will have to specify the subject matter of pure general logic accordingly, to differentiate it from the former. Second, to sustain the claim that pure general logic is a proven science from completely a priori principles, it is not enough for Kant to insist that this logic draw nothing from psychology. He will have to take a step further and offer a positive account of the possibility of such a science and determine its boundaries, presumably from a critique of sorts—​much as he did in order to secure the status of an a priori proven science for metaphysics/​ontology. I shall delve into these subjects in the next chapter.

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1. Introduction In the last three chapters, we acquainted ourselves with various approaches to the question of whether logic is a science, a mere organon, or both and, if it is a science, what kind it is. Kant’s basic position is as follows: logic is a distinct theoretical science, which serves as a canon but not an organon. (Unless otherwise noted, from now on I use “organon” in the material-​productive sense specified in ­chapter 4 and I mean pure general logic by “logic proper” and, sometimes, simply “logic.”) To support this position, he needs

a. to show that logic has a subject matter proper to it, b. to clarify how it compares with other sciences, especially metaphysics, c. to explain why it cannot serve as an organon, and d. to identify the principles on which it must be secured as a proven science.

In ­chapter 4, by analyzing Kant’s notes, lectures, and publications from roughly between the mid-​1760s and the mid-​1770s, we got a basic sense of how his own views on those issues might have taken shape vis-​à-​vis the relevant alternatives. Before we consider how Kant’s official account of logic in the Critique may have incorporated and crystalized some of the key findings from those earlier efforts, let us take stock. To begin, recall the two breakthroughs that I  singled out as particularly consequential for the development of Kant’s philosophy of logic. One concerned the distinction between learned and common/​healthy understanding, with respect to which Kant designated logicL (pure logic) and logicH (applied logic) as two fundamentally different, mutually independent, and equally important parts of logic in general. With this two-​part conception of logic, Kant had room to do two things. First, he could say (against the Wolffians) that logicL draws nothing from psychology and that, as logica artificialis, it is essentially distinct from logica naturalis and not at all grounded in the latter,

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while acknowledging (with the humanists and Lockeans) that logicH must still be informed by empirical studies of how we in fact use our faculty of the understanding. Second, Kant could insist that logic (logicL)—​insofar as it is possible as a science of the rules by which we ought to use the understanding in all sciences in general—​cannot be an organon in the material-​productive sense, although even logicL as an essentially theoretical science can, as Kant later puts it, have practical implications by “help[ing] to promote the end of wisdom” (MS, 6: 445).1 It remains to be seen, however, whether Kant has a positive account of how logic is possible as a pure science that can be proven a priori, now that he has excluded as its grounds of warranty both psychology—​understood as a theory of the contingent, merely subjective rules by which we in fact use our understanding—​and the Wolffian (as well as Baconian) method of testing its precepts through successful applications (as an organon) in particular sciences. I have suggested that, while Kant prior to the Critique showed no concerted effort to tackle this issue in any direct way, his struggles to secure metaphysics as a strict science and the progresses made thereby could have significant ramifications for his theory of logic as scientia strictly so called and of its relation with metaphysics in general and with ontology in particular. In particular, and this has to do with the second breakthrough highlighted in ­chapter 4, having turned ontology into transcendental philosophy to signal that its possibility as a pure science a priori depends on a critique of pure reason, Kant may have to provide a similar critique for logic—​for pure general logic to be precise—​so as to substantiate his assertion that this logic is an a priori proven science and a complete one for that. (Recall his claim about logic being complete since Aristotle.) At any rate, given that much of his agenda in the Critique hangs on that assertion, Kant owes its readers a justification for it without, needless to say, simply invoking the authority of Aristotle as the alleged father of logic. (I shall elaborate on what is at stake in section 5.) While Kant never explicitly offered the requisite justification, it behooves his interpreters to figure out whether a worthwhile version thereof may at least be constructed on his behalf. Even if, with a meticulous and well-​informed effort, we still end up with no totally convincing Kantian account of the possibility of logic as a pure, a priori proven science, we can nonetheless make progress by locating the likely whereabouts of the vulnerability of Kant’s philosophy of logic. It is with this proviso in mind that I scrutinize Kant’s Critical account of logic in this chapter, in reference to what he implies about logic as well as what he explicitly says of it in the Critique. Even the latter, as we shall see, is not as straightforward as it appears to be. Here is my plan. In section 2, I consider Kant’s characterizations of the understanding and of what makes a science “subjective” or “objective.” I thereby bring together a few conceptual innovations that Kant made—​as noted in ­chapter  4—​while struggling to clarify the relation between logic and metaphysics, so as to prepare for my subsequent analysis of his account of logic as a

Logic and the Demands of Kantian “Science”

science of the formal rules of discursive thinking. I give this analysis in section 3, which again brings to bear my hypothesis that Kant’s Critical account of logic qua proper science—​especially as it differs from transcendental logic—​is partly a byproduct of his reflections on the possibility of securing the status of science for metaphysics in general and for ontology in particular. In section 4, I consider whether Kant has a good explanation of why logic proper cannot serve as an organon. In the Critique, he appears to address this issue while discussing the division of general logic into analytic and dialectic. He rejects “dialectic” in what he takes to be its traditional sense, which amounts to a “logic of illusion,” and redefines it as a “critique of dialectical illusion,” which he includes as part of general logic. Unfortunately, his objection to dialectic as a logic of illusion is compounded by the fact that he directs it at two very different historical practices, only one of which has directly to do with the misuse of logic as organon that worries him most and deserves a forceful and straightforward philosophical response from him. Although Kant has in fact neglected to provide the needed response in the Critique, we may find materials to reconstruct, however tentatively, a meaningful one on his behalf. I  shall outline one such reconstruction by taking my cue from Salomon Maimon’s suggestion that Kant’s logic needs a “critique” of sorts, in reference to which alone can he adjudicate what constitutes the legitimate use thereof and decidedly rule out its use as a material-​productive organon. In section 5, I focus on what Kant may say about the principles on which to secure logic proper as a pure science a priori. I  do so by building on the preceding sections. I will have shown, in particular, that only a critique of pure reason can ensure the completeness and correctness of transcendental logic (or of ontology in Kant’s Critical sense), in which all the basic elements of pure understanding are rightly presented and ordered in a closed system. Mutatis mutandis, Kant may require something like a critique of the understanding in general to secure the status of general logic as a science that “exhaustively presents and strictly proves” the formal elements and rules of thinking in gen­eral (Bix). Having given a preliminary analysis of the requisite critique in section 4, I shall press it further in section 5 while examining Kant’s completeness claim about logic.

2. Logic as a Subjective and Objective Theory of the Understanding: Reframing Some Questions When Kant refers to logic proper as pure general logic in the Critique (A52–​55/​ B76–​79), he seems to take for granted that he has got a clear account of its unique subject matter. He indicates four steps to pin it down. First, as a branch of logic in the generic sense of the term, which is contrasted with aesthetic along Baumgarten’s lines, it concerns the use of the understanding as opposed to that of

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sensibility. Second, being a general as opposed to particular logic, it studies the rules for the use of the understanding in general, without regard to the difference of objects. Third, being a pure as opposed to applied logic, it studies the use of the understanding regardless of the subjective conditions that psychology teaches us. Fourth, unlike transcendental logic, it considers the merely formal relations among our cognitions in abstraction from their relation to the objects. The devil, as the cliché goes, is in the details. How should we specify “the understanding” being studied in logic proper, since Kant does not have a single account of this faculty that applies across contexts? If logic excludes, as Kant puts it in the second preface (B Preface), “psychological chapters about our different cognitive powers (about imagination, wit)” among other things (Bviii), which operation(s) of the understanding does it include to be exact? Kant asserts that it is “thinking” considered in a merely “formal” way, in abstraction from all objects thereof and from all distinctions between them (Bix). This specification only raises more questions, though. What does the notion of thinking come down to in this context? What are the basic building blocks of thoughts formally construed? Concepts, presumably. Even “concept” is an ambiguous and multifaceted notion for Kant, however (I touched on some of the ambiguities in ­chapter 2). What, then, is the sense of concept that pertains specifically to logic proper? If we use concepts to think about objects, should we nevertheless disregard this intentional feature when treating concepts in logic proper—​in light of Kant’s claim that it abstracts from all objects—​or should we merely disregard the individuating qualities of objects, as a way of abstracting from all differences between them? To compound this question even further, Kant does not even seem to have a uniform definition of “object” throughout his remarks about logic in the Critique. It can take a whole other monograph, I suspect, to address all these issues thoroughly. Before I delve into some of them in the remainder of this chapter, let me zoom out once more and take inventory of what we have got so far. In ­chapter  2, while discussing some historical takes on the relation between logic and metaphysics, I drew attention to two influential but somewhat opposed views. One was Averroës’s, according to which (at least on one reading) logic and metaphysics have the same subject matter, namely absolute being. The other was the Avicennian view that, insofar as every science must have a subject matter proper to it, logic qua science must have a subject matter not shared by metaphysics. Specifically, logic is a science of second intentions, which represent certain logical properties of first intentions, such as being a predicate, a syllogism, a genus. They, as I quoted Avicenna in c­ hapter 2, have an “intellectual existence that either is not at all attached to matter or attached to noncorporeal matter” and depend on first intentions, by which alone can we represent objects out there, in that “one arrives through [the latter] from what is known to what is unknown.” As for the ontological status of the references of second intentions, I pointed out that it was a matter of dispute among philosophers—​viz. Aquinas

Logic and the Demands of Kantian “Science”

and Ockham—​who followed Avicenna in identifying second intentions as the subject matter of logic. On the Thomist account, logic is a scientia rationalis, the object of which is ens rationis (being of reason), whereas metaphysics is a scientia realis, which concerns res per se (being as such). Ockham likewise denied the status of scientia realis to logic, only for a different reason:  what makes a science real is not that it is about real things but that it is about mental contents insofar as they stand for real things; logic, by contrast, is about mental contents that stand for mental contents. Among Kant’s more recent predecessors, Wolff subscribed to a version of the Thomist contrast between logic and metaphysics. Metaphysics is “the science of being [scientia entis], of the world in general and of spirits” (Disc, #79), the ontological part of which investigates “being in general [scientia entis in genere], or insofar as it is being” (#73). By contrast, logic is a science of reason or of the human understanding with respect to the correct use of its faculties for cognizing truth—​as is suggested by the titles of Wolff’s German Logic (. . . von den Kräften des menschlichen Verstandes . . . in der Erkenntnis der Wahrheit) and Latin Logic (Philosophia rationalis . . . ad usum scientiarum . . .). Baumgarten had a notably different version to offer. On his account, metaphysics is “the science of the first principles in human knowledge” and ontology, as universal metaphysics and first philosophy properly so called, is “the science of the more general predicates of a being” (M, §§1 and 4, my italicizations). Logic (as logica artificialis), on the other hand, is a science that concerns “the perfection of intellectual [as opposed to sensible] cognition,” which includes a theoretical part that treats concepts, judgments, and reasoning, followed by a practical part that includes topics like verification, invention, and disputation (AL, §§9, 14). Baumgarten does not seem concerned about clarifying the relation between logic and metaphysics/​ontology, though. Unsurprisingly, many of the passages mentioned in c­ hapter 4 where Kant compared logic and metaphysics were from his handwritten notes in a copy of Baumgarten’s Metaphysica. We saw that he made those comparisons mostly in terms of what is “objective” and what is “subjective.” A summary of three distinct characterizations of the objective-​subjective contrast will prove instrumental when we return to the questions raised above regarding Kant’s Critical notion of logic proper. The obvious sense of objectivity to begin with is when a science deals with objects. This definition echoes the Thomist and Wolffian accounts of what makes metaphysics/​ontology a science of being as such, except that Kant specifies the relevant sense of objects as what “can only be given by means of the senses” (R3716, 17: 259). By contrast, a science is subjective if it treats reason with respect to, say, certain laws and conditions of its cognition. In this sense, neither metaphysics nor logic is objective (objective1) according to Kant. Rather, both are subjective (subjective1) because “in both reason is the object” (R3939, 17: 356).2

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The second sense of objectivity has to do with the ought-​is distinction, which we saw Kant invoking mostly to separate logic proper from psychology. Objective rules determine how we ought to use a faculty (i.e. its correct use), whereas the subjective (subjective2) ones are those in accordance with which we commonly use the faculty. On this account both logic and metaphysics are objective (objective2), studying “the objective rules of the correct use” of reason in general and of pure reason, respectively (R1579, 16: 18; R1599, 16: 30). In the third sense, what is subjective and what is objective differ as to whether they are specifically concerned with the nature of human reason. Herein Kant locates the key distinction between logic and metaphysics. On the one hand, logic is objective (objective3) in that it “leaves undetermined the particular nature of human reason” and so its laws are “valid for any reason.” Logic is therefore “a science . . . of human cognition in general.” On the other hand, metaphysics is subjective (subjective3) because it is narrowly concerned with the fundamental concepts and principles of human cognition insofar as they “flow from the nature of human reason” (R3946, 17: 359–​60). This contrast between logic and metaphysics is reflected in one of the three qualifying clauses that Kant adds to his definition of logic qua science in the B Preface:  it presents the formal rules of all thinking regardless of “whether this thinking be empirical or a priori” (Bix).3 Metaphysics is the science that investigates the rules for thinking a priori or pure thinking. Before I can elaborate on this point, let me make a few preliminary observations about the (human) understanding or reason that both logic and metaphysics would study, a shared feature that makes them equally subjective1. The understanding, in its most familiar Kantian sense, is the faculty of cognition that is distinct from albeit complementary with sensibility. As such, it is a faculty of thinking of objects by means of concepts, which is the same as judging: “the cognition of every, at least human, understanding is a cognition through concepts” and is in that sense merely discursive (A68–​69/​B93–​94). Forms of understanding “other . . . than the discursive form of thinking, or that of cognition through concepts” are, if logically possible, not really conceivable or comprehensible to us (A230/​B282). Therefore, even though Kant occasionally characterizes logic proper as a science that is valid for any reason whatsoever, in the end it is still about the human, discursive form of thinking: it “concerns itself merely with the form of thinking (of discursive cognition) in general”—​only that, as a “merely formal logic,” it abstracts from whether the cognition is “pure or empirical” (A131/​B170). The latter concern is rather characteristic of metaphysics or, to be more precise, of ontology qua transcendental philosophy, the “proper business” of which consists in an “analysis of the faculty of understanding,” whereby we establish the possibility of pure concepts by tracing them to their origins “in the human understanding” (A65–​66/​B90–​ 91; I shall revisit these remarks in section 4.2).

Logic and the Demands of Kantian “Science”

Related to this account of the understanding as a faculty of discursive thinking is Kant’s general notion of the understanding as “the faculty of cognition of rules (and thus cognition through concepts) in general.” The latter represents the entire “higher cognitive faculty” with three divisions:  understanding (in the narrower sense just considered), the power of judgment, and reason (Anth, 7: 196–​97). In the Critique, Kant first says the following about logic in connection to this general notion. General logic [die allgemeine Logik] is constructed on a plan that corresponds quite precisely with the division of the higher faculties of cognition. These are: understanding, the power of judgment, and reason. In its analytic that doctrine accordingly deals with concepts, judgments, and inferences, corresponding exactly to the functions and the order of those powers of mind, which are comprehended under the broad designation of understanding in general. (A130–​31/​B169) Kant then proceeds to exclude general logic as a source of rules for the power of judgment, however, leaving it to transcendental logic to provide the rules instead. The power of judgment, he explains, is “the faculty of subsuming under rules, i.e., of determining whether something stands under a given rule.” So construed, it involves “a special talent that cannot be taught but only practiced” and is therefore “specific to so-​called mother-​wit.” It also presupposes a certain acquaintance with the content of cognition in concreto. Now, since gen­ eral logic “abstracts from all content of cognition,” it can provide “no precepts at all for the power of judgment,” but only analyze “the mere form of cognition into concepts, judgments, and inferences” and thereby bring about the “formal rules for all use of the understanding.” The situation is different with transcendental philosophy, which has this “peculiar thing” about it: in giving rules through the pure concepts of the understanding, it “can at the same time indicate a priori the case to which the rules ought to be applied.” After all, the objective validity—​Gültigkeit, literally meaning “applicability” to objects—​of those concepts is established a priori in the first place (A132–​35/​B171–​75). As for reason, Kant distinguishes the logical and real uses thereof (we already came across this distinction in c­ hapter  4). Just “[a]‌s in the case of the understanding,” reason in its “merely formal” or logical use “abstracts from all content of cognition.” This use comes down to the ability to draw mediate inferences, which is treated in logic proper. There also seems to be a real or pure use of reason, as it “itself contains the origin of certain concepts and principles, which it derives neither from the senses nor from the understanding.” Reason is thereby divided into “a logical and a transcendental faculty.” Further explicating this division, Kant sees an “analogy” to the case of the understanding, but also a fundamental difference between the products of pure understanding and of pure reason. On the one hand, just as the logical function of the understanding in judgments provided clues for deriving the pure concepts

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of the understanding or categories (as Kant tried to show with the so-​called “metaphysical deduction”), so can we “expect both that the logical concept [of reason] will put in our hands the key to the transcendental one and that the table of functions of the former will give us the family tree of the concepts of reason” (A299/​B355–​56). On the other hand, reason has an essentially different relation to the objects of experience than the understanding does. If the understanding may be a faculty of unity of appearances by means of rules, then reason is the faculty of the unity of the rules of understanding under principles. Thus it never applies directly to experience or to any object, but instead applies to the understanding, in order to give unity a priori through concepts to the understanding’s manifold cognitions, which may be called “the unity of reason.” (B359) In short, the unity of reason is “not the unity of a possible experience, but  .  .  .  the unity of understanding” (A307/​B363). Kant’s ensuing analyses of the principles of pure reason constitute a Critical transformation of what Wolff included under special metaphysics (as opposed to general metaphysics or ontology), namely psychology, cosmology, and theology, which Kant grants belong in metaphysics proper insofar as the final aim thereof is the supersensible.4 Now we can reframe some of the questions raised earlier about Kant’s Critical account of logic. Two of them are particularly worth singling out. First, if logic (as well as metaphysics) is subjective1 as opposed to objective1, what can this tell us about Kant’s varying characterizations of how the logical treatment of thinking abstracts from its objects—​as from all differences thereof, or from all objects, or from any relation to them, with this last abstraction apparently equated to an abstraction from the content of cognition? Kant, as I mentioned, seems to have a special conception of objects in this context, namely objects givable through senses. These are objects of cognition in the strict Kantian sense, as what can arise only from the unification of sensibility and the understanding (A51/​B75–​76). The question, then, is whether logic can nevertheless treat thoughts as intentional—​that is, as object-​directed—​with respect to some unrestricted conception of object? How we answer this question can have significant interpretative consequences, as we shall see in section 3, especially when it comes to understanding Kant’s contrast of logic proper and transcendental logic in the Critique and making sense of analytic truths (insofar as truth consists in the agreement of a thought with its object). In this regard, it will prove instructive to bear in mind that Kant sees logic as objective3 and metaphysics as subjective3, a distinction that corresponds to his contrast between the logical/​formal and real/​pure uses of the understanding and of reason. The second question to be investigated concerns the foundation on which a given logic may be proven as a true science of human understanding/​reason.5

Logic and the Demands of Kantian “Science”

Here it becomes important to consider Kant’s view that both logic and metaphysics are objective2, i.e. they present rules for the correct or necessary uses of the understanding and of reason and do so a priori, independently of contingent facts about how we actually use them. Kant will, as we shall see, diagnose and provide remedies for the erroneous uses of these faculties in the dialectical parts of general logic and transcendental logic, respectively. If we scrutinize Kant’s claim that logic proper is an a priori demonstrated science both in reference to the historical debates about what vindicates a purported logic and in light of his own strict notion of science, we will find it only natural to press him for a systematic derivation, a priori, of all the formal rules of thinking that his scientific logic “exhaustively presents and strictly proves” (Bix). I shall take up this topic in sections 4 and 5.

3. Logic as a Formal Science 3.1. THREE ASPECTS OF LOGICAL FORMALITY

Here is Kant’s entire definition of logic in the B Preface: “logic is the science that exhaustively presents and strictly proves nothing but the formal rules of all thinking (whether it be a priori or empirical, whatever origin or object it may have, and whatever contingent or natural obstacles it may encounter in our minds)” (Bviii–​ix). The three clauses in the parentheses capture three aspects of logical formality. Clarifying them will not only give us an opportunity to see how some of Kant’s previously noted findings about logic are carried over and consolidated in the Critique, but also prove consequential for answering the first of the two questions I just raised. For ease of reference, I formulate the three aspects of logical formality as follows. [FormalR] Logic is formal in that it treats thought in respect of its mere form, regardless of how it may relate to its object (empirically or a priori). [FormalO] Logic is formal in that it treats thought in respect of its mere form, regardless of what may distinguish its object from that of other thoughts. [FormalS] Logic is formal in that it treats thought in respect of its mere form, regardless of the empirical-​psychological conditions under which a thinking subject may undertake it. The meaning of FormalS is straightforward. It represents Kant’s objection to building logic on psychological principles. I  explained this objection in ­chapter 4 and shall revisit it in section 5 below. For now, my task is to tease out the features of Kant’s theory of logic that are encapsulated by FormalO and FormalR. (My reasons for their formulations will also become clear in the process.)

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To begin with, it is not obvious how to interpret Kant’s characterization of logic as what presents the rules of thinking in general “whatever . . . object it may have.” As I mentioned before, he describes this objectual abstraction sometimes as from all differences among the objects of thought but sometimes as from all objects of thought. According to H. J. Paton (1936) and Clinton Tolley (2007), these descriptions are mutually incompatible and represent two distinct conceptions of logical formality. This apparent inconsistency has been a source of scholarly contention. As Tolley sees it, the first description underwrites an “object-​neutral” interpretation of Kant’s notion of logical formality, while the second points to a “non-​intentional” one. Tolley mentions Paton as a chief representative of the former reading, and rejects it in favor of the latter on both textual and doctrinal grounds (2007: 130–​36). We shall see, however, that neither of these grounds holds the sway against the object-​neutral reading. Before I detail the arguments from both sides of this controversy, a brief remark is in order about why it matters whether we can preserve the integrity of the object-​neutral reading. There are two related reasons. One concerns the interpretation of Kantian analytic judgments, especially when it comes to specifying what they are about—​concepts or objects?—​and deciding whether we can meaningfully assign truth-​values to them, assuming that the truth of all judgments consists in a certain agreement with objects. (Paton and Tolley have argued for opposite sides on this subject largely because of their aforementioned disagreement about logical formality.) The other has to do with Kant’s diagnosis of the illusion of using logic, which can really serve only as the canon for the merely formal assessment of our cognitions, as an organon in the material-​productive sense. By his analysis, the illusion comes down to reason overstepping the boundaries of the legitimate use of logic unintentionally, likely due to the fact that there is something seductive about logic itself. In particular, thanks to its ability to judge something a priori through conceptual analysis, i.e. analytically, reason is liable to make the surreptitious move, without itself noticing it, of passing off the merely formal judgments as material (synthetic) claims. I have argued in detail elsewhere that the object-​neutral reading of logical formality makes better sense of Kant’s analysis than the nonintentional reading would.6 I shall return to this point in section 4, after I have explicated FormalR and when I examine Kant’s claims about the part of pure general logic called “dialectic.” Now, with respect to Kant’s characterization of logical formality in terms of objectual abstraction, Paton argues as follows. Formal logic on Kant’s account is concerned with the necessary laws of thought that “hold whatever be the nature of the objects thought about.” As such, it still “recognizes that thought has an object.” However, it applies to “all objects in general,” abstracting “entirely from the character of the objects, and from all differences between them”—​so that it can be “truly general.” Unfortunately, Paton laments, this correct view is “not too clearly expressed” by Kant himself (Paton 1936:  187, 191). Kant

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sometimes gives the (false) impression that he takes logic to “[treat] thought as if thought had no object.” Paton’s strategy to deal with this anomaly is to dismiss it as just one of many instances of Kant’s imprecise manner of speaking. When “speaking carefully” about logic, Paton contends, Kant’s view is that “it ignores differences in objects.” This view is “true” in that “though Formal Logic always assumes that there are objects of thought, it is under no obligation to explain what such objects are. It merely supposes that objects are given” (Paton 1936: 191n.1).7 For textual evidence in support of this argument, Paton only mentions two places in the Logic (1936: 187n.2, 191n.1). Although he does not quote the specific passages, we can easily locate them: If we . . . merely reflect on the use just of the understanding, we discover those of its rules which . . . contain merely the conditions for the use of the understanding in general, without distinction among its objects. (Log, 9: 12, original emphasis) Logic is . . . a science a priori of the necessary laws of thought, not in regard to particular objects, however, but to all objects in general;—​hence a science of the correct use of the understanding and of reason in general. (Log, 9: 16, my italicization) Given that, as I explained in ­chapter 1, Jäsche’s Logic alone is inadequate as the basis for sorting out Kant’s considered position on any given topic, Tolley understandably finds the cited evidence for Paton’s reading rather weak (Tolley 2007: 133). In contrast, Tolley provides a wide range of texts to back up the nonintentional reading. Besides the claim in the B Preface that logic abstracts “from all objects of cognition” (Bix), he mentions the following (Tolley 2007: 135). Logic deals with thinking without object [Denken ohne obiect]. (R5665 [1780s], 18: 323) [L]‌ ogical principles (which abstract completely from everything concerning the possibility of the object), merely concern itself with the formal conditions of judgment. (ÜE, 8: 193) [The Principle of Contradiction, as a logical principle] is valid for thought in general, without regard to any object. (ÜE, 8: 195) There are also ample materials outside the Logic, however, to support Paton’s object-​neutral interpretation. Here are two samples: Understanding is the faculty of rules. A universal theory of understanding [logic] therefore puts forward only the necessary rules of thinking without distinguishing the objects, i.e. the matter, that are thought, hence only the form of thinking in general. (R1620 [1780s], 16: 40, my italicization; see

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R1628 [1780s], 16: 44; R1603 [1773–​75], 16: 33; V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 609; V-​ Lo/​Wiener, 24: 790, 792) All rational cognition is either material . . . or formal and deals only with the form of understanding and of reason itself and with the universal rules of thinking in general without distinction of objects. The formal philosophy is called logic. (GMS, 4: 387, my italicization) Such evidence, given the variety of its sources, has a degree of strength that can match what was invoked to support Tolley’s nonintentional reading. Since Kant describes logic as abstracting from differences among objects of thinking as often as he characterizes it as abstracting from all objects, one would be hard pressed to pit these descriptions against each other. I  submit that we can in fact reconcile them through proper contextualization, without thereby committing Kant to Tolley’s nonintentional reading. Simply put, I take the two descriptions to pick out two distinct aspects of logical formality, namely FormalO and FormalR, which in turn represent different features that make logic unique vis-​à-​vis other sciences. On the one hand, the first description represents Kant’s view of logic as the propaedeutic to all other sciences. In this regard, he treats logic as a science that investigates the necessary rules of thinking in general. Necessity entails universality, which requires that those rules be considered in abstraction from all differences among objects of thinking, “objects” being whatever thinking may be directed at in particular sciences. I understand FormalO in this object-​ neutral language. On the other hand, Kant’s claim that logic abstracts from all objects occasionally suggests FormalR. It is not, as Tolley maintained, that logic treats thinking as though it is nonintentional or has no object. It is rather that logic abstracts from all relation (Beziehung) of cognition to objects, in the sense of disregarding the conditions under which it is possible for us to cognize objects of experience. This abstraction will be what differentiates general logic from transcendental logic as well as, as I explained before, from ontology in Kant’s reformed sense. I shall expand on these two points in sections 3.2 and 3.3 separately. 3.2. FORMALITY OF LOGIC, AS IT RELATES TO PARTICULAR SCIENCES

Kant often defines “logic” in terms of the nature of the rules of thought that it investigates. It is, for instance, a “science of universal rules of the use of understanding in general” (R1620, 16: 41), “a science that contains merely the formal rules of thinking” (R1624 [1780s], 16: 42), “a science (a priori) of the pure laws of understanding and reason in general” (R1603, 16: 33), and “a science a priori of the necessary laws of thought, not in regard to particular objects, however, but to all objects in general” (Log, 9:  16). Clarifying how the characteristics

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mentioned—​necessity, formality, universality, apriority, purity—​are related to one another will shed light on the connection between treating logical rules as “formal” and saying that they concern “all objects in general.” We may begin with the opening part of the Logic, “Concept of Logic,” where the defining characteristics of logic are gradually fleshed out and brought together. The first thing to note is that “like all our powers, the understanding in particular is bound in its actions to rules” (Log, 9: 11). The rules of thinking are then distinguished into necessary and contingent ones. All rules according to which the understanding operates are either necessary or contingent. The former are those without which no use of the understanding would be possible at all, the latter those without which a certain determinate use of the understanding would not occur. (Log, 9: 12) The contingent rules are so called partly because they “depend upon a determinate object of cognition, . . . for example, a use of the understanding in mathematics, in metaphysics, morals, etc.” (Log, 9: 12). As such, they are contrasted with rules for the general use of the understanding, which abstract from the specific nature of the objects with respect to which particular uses of the understanding take place. Logic is the science that presents these universal rules, on account of which alone can it serve “as foundation for all other sciences and as the propaedeutic to all use of the understanding” (Log, 9: 13). This way of introducing the science of logic is common in Kant’s logic corpus. For instance: Thinking is the occupation of the understanding. But as the objects are different, there must also be different rules of thinking. . . . Each science has its particular rules. There must, however, be one that comes prior to all sciences and contains the rules of thinking in general. This [science] must abstract from all differences of objects. . . . Logic. It is the propaedeutic of all sciences. (R1628, 16: 43–​44; see R1629 [1780s], 16: 49; V-​Lo/​ Wiener, 24: 791) There must also be something that . . . contains the rules of thinking in general. This must abstract from all differences of objects. . . . Therefore such a science would bring (merely) the form of thinking under rules. . . . These rules are necessary (without which nothing can be thought at all, hence abstracting from the difference of objects) and essential to thinking in general. Logic. (R1628, 16: 44; see V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 502) These passages suggest that logic is formal because its rules must be necessary (in that no thought would be possible without them) and universal (as rules for the use of the understanding in all sciences). In short, “the universal and necessary rules of thought in general can concern merely its form” (Log, 9: 12). Logic is therefore a “science of the necessary laws of the understanding and of reason in general, or what is one and the same, of the mere form of thought

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as such” (Log, 9: 13). This conception of logic requires only that thought be treated without distinction of its objects (FormalO), not that it be treated as nonintentional. From the necessity and universality of logical rules also follows their apriority. The rules are a priori both in that they are presupposed by all particular sciences as their foundation—​and hence are not derived from any of the sciences—​and in that they are not derived from experience. [Logic] may not borrow any principles either from any science or from any experience; it must contain nothing but laws a priori, which are necessary and have to do with the understanding in general. (Log, 9: 13–​14; see V-​ Lo/​Dohna, 24: 693; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 792; R1603 [1773–​75], 16: 33; R1607 [1773–​75], 16: 34) For its rules to be necessary and universal, logic must abstract “from all things accidental, all things particular” (V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24:  609). Kant mentions two accidental elements in this regard, which pertain to the subject and object of thinking respectively. In that connection, the apriority of logic may also be ensured in two ways—​by abstracting from empirical facts about the subjective conditions under which thinking takes place and by disregarding all particularities of the objects at which thinking may be directed. In the latter case, we put aside all cognition that we have to borrow from objects . . . [and thereby] discover those of its rules which are necessary without qualification, for every purpose and without regard to any particular objects of thought, because without them we would not think at all. Thus we can have insight into these rules a priori, i.e., independently of all experience, because they contain merely the conditions for the use of the understanding in general, without distinction among its objects. (Log, 9: 12) So construed, the apriority of logic entails only that thought be treated in abstraction from particularities of its objects, not that it be treated as though without objects. In sum, to say that logic presents the formal rules of all thinking “whatever . . . object it may have” (Bix) is to say that, whatever objects thinking may be directed at, logic must abstract from the differentiating features that make them suitable as objects of particular sciences like physics and mathematics. Such is FormalO:  logic is formal in that it treats thinking regardless of what particular objects it may be about. 3.3. FORMALITY OF LOGIC, AS IT COMPARES WITH TRANSCENDENTAL LOGIC

To understand FormalR, we turn to the part of the Critique titled “The Idea of a Transcendental Logic” and especially its first two sections, “On Logic in

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General” and “On Transcendental Logic” (A50–​57/​B74–​82). Kant begins with a broad notion of logic—​“logic in general,” not to be confused with “gen­eral logic”—​in terms of a contrast between two faculties of cognition, sensibility and understanding. Although these faculties must work together to produce cognition, Kant cautions against mixing up their roles and suggests that we “separate them carefully from each other and distinguish them.” As the function of each faculty is governed by certain rules, two sciences are distinguished accordingly: aesthetic is “the science of the rules of sensibility in gen­ eral,” while logic is “the science of the rules of thinking in general” (A51–​52/​ B76). Figure 2 depicts how logic is then divided (A52–​54/​B76–​78). While explaining this division, Kant is evidently mindful of other approaches to logic. For instance, he talks about how particular logic or “logic of the particular use of the understanding” should be treated as opposed to how it has been “in the schools.” He points out that his notion of applied logic is opposed to “the common signification of this word,” presumably alluding to logica practica in the Wolffian sense, which we saw him rejecting in ­chapter 4. He identifies pure logic, which alone is “properly sciences,” as the strict logic of the “logicians” but adds, contrary to what “one has occasionally been persuaded,” that such a logic must draw nothing from psychology—​again in direct opposition to what the Wolffians believed. This logic, Kant adds, must concern none other than “the absolutely necessary rules of thinking . . . without regard to the difference of the objects to which it may be directed” and is therefore unlike particular logic, which presents “the rules for correctly thinking about a certain kind of objects” and requires that one “already know the objects rather well” (A52–​54/​76–​78). In short, the logicians’ logic, properly understood, has two key features:  it is “general” and “pure.” These correspond to two aspects of logical formality mentioned in the B Preface, FormalO and FormalS.

Logic in general

General logic

Particular logic

Pure logic

Applied logic FIGURE 2 

Kant’s division of logic

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Kant then introduces transcendental logic in a separate section. He starts by claiming that general logic “abstracts, as we have shown, from all content [Inhalt] of cognition, . . . and considers only . . . the form of thinking in general” (A55/​B79). The wording gives the impression that Kant is referring to what has supposedly been established about general logic in the previous section. In that section, he has indeed said of the logicians’ logic that it, as a general logic, “abstracts [1]‌from all content [Inhalt] of the cognition of the understanding and [2] from the difference of its objects, and has to do with nothing but the mere form of thinking” (A54/​B78, modified translation). The abstraction expressed in clause [2] represents FormalO and concerns the condition that a logic must satisfy to serve as the propaedeutic to all particular sciences in general. Clause [1] signifies a different kind of abstraction. It echoes Kant’s claim, made two paragraphs earlier, that pure general logic treats only what is formal in the use of the understanding “be the content [Inhalt] what it may (empirical or transcendental)” (A53/​B77). He has yet to explain, though, what it means to call the content of cognition “transcendental,” why pure general logic must abstract from the distinction between empirical and transcendental varieties of content, and how this abstraction compares with the one expressed in clause [2]. To appreciate the force of these questions, note that Kant does not need the contrast between empirical and transcendental content to distinguish pure gen­ eral logic either from particular logic or from applied logic. Although the contrast occurs amid his account of the distinction between the pure and applied branches of general logic, it plays no role in the account. The distinction in question is drawn only in terms of whether the use of understanding is studied independently of or in reference to the empirical-​psychological conditions of the thinking subject, such as “attention, its hindrance and consequences, the cause of error, the condition of doubt, of reservation, of conviction, etc.” (A54/​B79). The fact that the content of cognition may be either empirical or transcendental is irrelevant to such a distinction. Meanwhile, when Kant distinguishes general logic from particular logic with respect to the objects at which thinking may be directed, the relevant notion of “object” is so construed that each particular science may be said to have its own domain of objects. What makes general logic “general” is just that it treats the use of the understanding in abstraction from differences among the various domains of objects to which it may be directed. There is no reference to, nor any need to invoke, a further contrast between empirical and transcendental content of cognition to support this account of general logic. One might think that the abstraction in clause [1]‌above is basically the same as the one in [2] and that Kant’s distinction between general and transcendental logics, which is cast in terms of the first abstraction, is but an instance of the distinction between general and particular logics. Consider the following contrast between universal logic and transcendental logic in the Logic.

Logic and the Demands of Kantian “Science”

Now as propaedeutic to all use of the understanding in general, universal logic is distinct . . . from transcendental logic, in which the object itself is represented as an object of the mere understanding [Gegenstand des bloßen Verstandes]; universal logic, on the contrary, deals with all objects in gen­ eral [alle Gegenstände überhaupt]. (Log, 9: 15) According to John MacFarlane, these remarks suggest that transcendental logic is a kind of particular logic, so that its restriction to objects in a particular sense is a matter of “domain restriction, like the restriction of geometry to spatial objects” (2000: 82; 2002: 48n.35).8 As Tolley has convincingly argued, however, this “domain-​sensitive” reading cannot be Kant’s view here, where general logic and transcendental logic are differentiated not as having distinct domains of objects but as pertaining to different aspects of cognition (2012). To be clear, I  am not claiming that there is a single domain of objects shared by both logics. In a way, whether they share any such domain is not a relevant question here. To borrow the terms that I introduced in section 2, neither general logic nor transcendental logic is objective1 at all. Rather, both are merely subjective1. Each investigates the understanding—​as a faculty of cognizing discursively, by means of concepts—​in order to reveal a distinct set of necessary conditions of cognition. On the one hand, general logic specifies the conditions of cognition qua thinking as such, in abstraction from whether it is contentful in the sense of having reference (Beziehung) to the objects of possible experience. On the other hand, transcendental logic studies the conditions of cognition precisely insofar as it is to be a contentful thought in the designated sense. Kant presents this distinction between general and transcendental logics in the section “On Transcendental Logic.” To say that general logic abstracts “from all content of cognition” is to say that it abstracts “from any relation [Beziehung] of it to the object” (A55/​B79). This abstraction is premised on “a distinction between pure and empirical thinking of objects,” which parallels the one between pure and empirical intuitions that Kant has drawn in the Transcendental Aesthetic. Both intuition and concepts can be either empirical or pure. Empirical, if sensation (which presupposes the actual presence of the object) is contained therein; but pure if no sensation is mixed into the representation. . . . Thus pure intuition contains merely the form under which something is intuited, and pure concept only the form of thinking of an object in general [die Form des Denkens eines Gegenstandes überhaupt]. Only pure intuitions or concepts alone are possible a priori, empirical ones only a posteriori. (A50–​51/​B74–​75) General and transcendental logics differ in whether the distinction between empirical and pure thinking of objects is taken into account. General logic

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abstracts from this distinction and “considers representations, whether they are originally given a priori in ourselves or only empirically, merely in respect of the laws according to which the understanding brings them into relation to one another when it thinks” (A56/​B80). By contrast, just as there is a transcendental aesthetic that is “a science of all principle of a priori sensibility,” there must also be a transcendental logic as the science of all principles of “the pure thinking of an object” (A21/​B35–​36; A55/​B80). This logic does “not abstract from all content of cognition.” Rather, it explicitly takes such content into account and “exclude[s]‌all those cognitions that were of empirical content” (A55/​B80). Transcendental logic is “transcendental” partly due to this exclusion, whereby it limits itself to representations that are of nonempirical origin and seeks to determine, among other things, “the possibility that they can nevertheless be related a priori to objects of experience” (A56/​B81). In that connection, Kant prescribes a procedure for delineating the subject matter of transcendental logic similar to that which he prescribed in the case of transcendental aesthetic. The procedure is a two-​step abstraction. With transcendental aesthetic, the first step, which gives us aesthetic as the science of the rules of sensibility in general, is to “isolate sensibility by separating off everything that the understanding thinks through its concepts, so that nothing but empirical intuition remains.” The second step, which takes us to transcendental aesthetic, is to detach from empirical intuition “everything that belongs to sensation, so that nothing remains except pure intuition and the mere form of appearances, which is the only thing that sensibility can make available a priori” (A22/​B36). Likewise, it takes two steps to pinpoint the subject matter of transcendental logic. First, we “isolate the understanding” by separating off everything in our cognition that belongs to sensibility. Second, from everything that the understanding thinks by means of concepts, we exclude whatever can originate only empirically, so that “merely the part of our thought that has its origin solely in the understanding” remains (A62/​B87). The resulting science is “logic” in that it investigates “the laws of the understanding and reason,” but “transcendental” because it treats those laws “solely insofar as they are related to objects a priori” (A57/​B81–​82).9 Curiously, this introduction of transcendental logic does not presuppose the concept of pure general logic that Kant explicated in the previous section, where he contrasted the latter with particular logic on the one hand and with applied logic on the other. The section “On Transcendental Logic” opens with a statement about the nature of general logic and ends with a contrast between general and transcendental logics (A57/​ B81–​ 82), for sure. Nevertheless, in order to “provisionally formulate the idea of [transcendental logic as] a science of pure understanding and of the pure cognition of reason” (A57/​B81), all Kant needs and all he in fact relies on are the following propositions. First, logic in the generic sense (contrasted with aesthetic) is the science of the rules

Logic and the Demands of Kantian “Science”

of understanding (as opposed to sensibility). Second, human understanding is the faculty of thinking by means of concepts and in accordance with rules. Third, there is a distinction between pure and empirical thinking of objects, much as there is one between pure and empirical intuitions. The second and third propositions give rise to the “expectation” of there being thinking by means of concepts that are not of empirical origin and yet “may be related to objects a priori.” It is from this expectation (along with the first proposition), Kant suggests, that we obtain the preliminary idea of a transcendental logic (A57/​B81). This analysis suggests that Kant’s notion of transcendental logic is not so much a result of dividing the genus “logic in general” into various species as it is a product of his search for a science that investigates a sui generis subject matter, the conception of which he has formed on grounds that may have very little to do with the theory of logic salient in most of his logic corpus. As I suggested in c­ hapter 4, it was through reflecting on the possibility of a scientific metaphysics that Kant first introduced “transcendental logic” (to denote a radically new conception of ontology), before developing it into the one found in the Critique. A most notable takeaway from this analysis is its implication for the task of establishing pure general logic as a proper science. For that purpose, as I  mentioned at the start of this chapter, Kant must show that this logic has a unique subject matter vis-​à-​vis all other sciences. With transcendental logic in the mix, it is no longer enough to identify the subject matter of pure gen­ eral logic as the formal rules of thinking in general and explicate its formality merely in terms of FormalO and FormalS. These two aspects of formality do not mark the key difference between pure general logic and transcendental logic. Both logics are a priori, in that they do not draw their principles from empirical psychology or from domain-​specific sciences. Each prescribes a set of necessary rules that no possible cognition can violate—​either insofar as it is possible as a thought at all or insofar as it is possible as a thought with reference (Beziehung) to objects of possible experience. They are also formal (as opposed to material) in another shared sense:  both are concerned only with certain necessary but not sufficient conditions of cognition. (More on this feature in section 4.) Now, having introduced transcendental logic as a science that treats pure concepts insofar as they are to have relation to objects a priori, i.e. to have content, Kant needs to explain how the subject matter of pure general logic is unique in comparison. FormalR encapsulates the requisite explanation. It corresponds to Kant’s claim in the B Preface that logic is a science of the formal rules of all thinking “whether this thinking be empirical or a priori” and “whatever origin . . . it may have” (Bix). These phrases help to clarify what it means for pure general logic to treat thinking in general as opposed to pure thinking: it “has nothing to do with this origin of cognition” (i.e. whether it originates “a priori in ourselves or

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only empirically”), but “deals only with the form of the understanding, which can be given to the representations wherever they may have originated” (A56/​ B80).10 Its subject matter is thus further specified: it treats cognitions only in respect of their form, regardless of how they may be related to the objects or, for that matter, whether they have any such relation at all (FormalR). Pure general logic is thereby differentiated from transcendental logic in particular, which is tasked to present certain a priori conditions under which our representations can be related to objects. I argued in section 3.2 that the logical formality signified by FormalO does not entail that logic treats thinking as though it were nonintentional. Now it is clear that FormalR, which captures Kant’s claim that general logic abstracts from all “content” of cognition, does not have this entailment either. It suggests only that (pure general) logic is not at all concerned with how thinking may be related to objects or whether the representations that it deals with have empirical or a priori origins. This construal of FormalR also helps to deflate a “clear and substantial ‘doctrinal’ reason” that Tolley cites in favor of the nonintentional reading (2007:  135). It is the famous passage at B105 (the “same understanding” passage): the same understanding  .  .  .  indeed by means of the very same actions [Handlungen] through which it brings the logical form of a judgment into concepts . . . also brings a transcendental content into its representations [Vorstellungen] . . . on account of which they [sie] are called pure concepts of the understanding that pertain to objects a priori. This can never be achieved by general logic. (B105)11 On Tolley’s reading, the representations into which “transcendental content” is brought are pure concepts of the understanding. Since it is “beyond the purview of general logic” to identify the process by which the concepts of the understanding can be related to objects (i.e. have content) at all, Tolley argues, it means that this logic lacks proper resources to consider thoughts as object-​ related or intentional. To that extent, the “same understanding” passage counts against the object-​neutral interpretation of logical formality (Tolley 2007: 137). I disagree. It is certainly correct to say that general logic is incapable of establishing any representations treated therein as related to objects. It does not follow, however, that it must therefore treat such representations as nonintentional. If transcendental logic alone can tell us “the generic conditions for the intentionality of thinking, as it contains the principles for ‘pure thought about objects in general’ ” (Tolley 2007:  38), it is only because general logic does not investigate the conditions under which our thoughts can be referred to objects. This still leaves room for general logic to assume the intentionality of our thoughts without asking how it is possible.

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To further highlight the contrast between general and transcendental logics in terms of FormalR, it is also worth noting that Tolley’s argument hinges on a problematic parsing of the “same understanding” passage, according to which it is about bringing content into pure concepts. We get a rather different picture if we look at the larger context in which the passage occurs in the section “On the Pure Concepts of the Understanding or Categories.” Here Kant seeks to identify the concepts that are “the third thing necessary for cognition of an object that comes before us” (A79/​B104). These concepts will turn out to be “all original concepts of synthesis that the understanding contains in itself a priori” by which alone can it “understand something in the manifold of intuition, i.e., think an object for it” (A80/​B106). If “transcendental content [Inhalt]” consists in the relation (Beziehung) to an object of “intuition in general [überhaupt]” (A79/​B105),12 the representations into which such content is brought in turn consist in a manifold of intuition (as opposed to concepts). Through this manifold something is “given” to us, but no object is “thought” for it yet. Such a thought can arise only through the “actions” of the understanding whereby “synthetic unity” is brought into the given manifold. It is these actions that Kant now calls “the pure concepts of the understanding that pertain to objects a priori” (B105).13 It is left to transcendental logic to identify these pure concepts and determine, among other things, their origin and relation to sensible intuition. Indeed, the idea of transcendental logic initially arises from the expectation of “concepts that may be related to objects a priori, . . . merely as acts [Handlungen] of pure thinking” (A57/​B80). If here we encounter something to be accomplished by transcendental but not general logic, it is because the latter is not in the business of showing that the understanding, by means of a priori synthesis in accordance with its pure concepts (categories), can refer a given manifold of intuition to an object in general.14 This limitation does not prevent general logic from assuming that the representations it deals with, including all sorts of concepts, are object-​related regardless of whether or how this purported relation is in fact possible.

4. Critique and Logic 4.1. WHY PURE GENERAL LOGIC NEEDS A CRITIQUE

Salomon Maimon (1753–​1800), whose philosophical acumen Kant deemed extraordinary, was the first to point out that, by the Kantian standard, logic qua science needs a critique as much as all other sciences do.15 Maimon communicated this thought to Kant in a letter on December 2, 1793. Since you convinced me, worthy man, that all our cognitions must be preceded by a critique of the faculty of cognition, I could not help but be vexed by the following observation: since the appearance of this critique,

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there have been several attempts to bring particular sciences into accord with its requirements, yet no one has made such an attempt with logic. I am convinced that logic, as a science, cannot evade the critique. General logic is of course to be distinguished from transcendental logic, but must be revised in light of the latter.  . . .  As I see it, logic is capable of not only rectification but also enhancement and systematic ordering. Logic is rectified in the following way: instead of abstracting logical forms from their use (as early logicians, including Aristotle himself, have supposedly done), whereby something foreign is still attached to them, one seeks to determine those forms and make them complete by reflecting on the faculty of cognition. (Br, 11:  470–​71, modified translation with added italicizations; see Maimon 2001: 184–​88)16 The same letter alluded to two monographs in which Maimon had fleshed out these ideas, Die Kathegorien des Aristoteles (1794a) and Versuch einer neuen Logik oder Theorie des Denkens (1794b). Kant neither responded to Maimon’s letter nor commented on the ideas outlined in the letter and explicated in the two books just mentioned, the first of which came with the letter. Nonetheless, we can at least expect Kant to acknowledge the need to account for the possibility of logic as a science by his own strict standard, which requires some sort of critique.17 The question is what the requisite critique should be. Having no explicit answer from Kant himself, we can still find materials to build a considered one on his behalf. To this end, we may turn to his treatment of “dialectic” as it pertains to pure general logic. On this topic, the obvious place to start is the part of the Critique titled “On the Division of General Logic into Analytic and Dialectic.”18 After reaffirming that general logic concerns only the form of cognition in abstraction from its content, Kant calls its first part “analytic,” which “analyzes the entire formal business of the understanding and reason into its elements, and presents these as principles of all logical assessment [Beurteilung] of our cognition.” As such, general logic can serve only as “a canon for judging [Beurteilung].” There is “something so seductive in the possession of such an apparent art [scheinbaren Kunst] for giving all of our cognitions the form of understanding,” however, that general logic “has been used as if it were an organon for the actual production of at least the semblance [Blendwerk] of objective assertions, and thus in fact it has thereby been misused.” Kant calls the misused logic “dialectic” and claims that it is only a “logic of illusion [Logik des Scheins].” Then, seeing that a dialectic so construed does not befit “the dignity of philosophy,” he appropriates the notion to signify something entirely different, namely a “critique of dialectical illusion” (A60–​62/​B84–​86).

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Similarly, in his notes and lectures, Kant often stresses that logic can serve only as canon but not organon and criticizes dialectic in that connection. Consider the following passages. ¶3:  Logic as canon (analytic) or organon (dialectic); the latter cannot be treated generally because it is a doctrine of the understanding not according to its form but rather its content. . . . 1. Analytic: of the elements of reason. 2. Dialectic:  of the production [Erzeugung] of cognitions in accordance with the rules of reason (of its use). The former is precept [Vorschrift]; the latter, application [Ausübung]; the first:  the criterium of truth; the latter, the attempt [Versuch].  .  .  . Dialectic . . . is the practice of leading us astray. (R1579 [1760–​64? 1764–​68? 1769–​70? 1773–​75??], 16: 20, 23; see R2131 [1772–​75? 1771–​72?], 16: 247; R1601–​2 [1773–​75], 16: 31–​32) ¶4: [Universal logic is] not of particular and determinate, but of general use. Precisely because it is not determined with respect to any object it is therefore a principium only of adjudication, not of the construction of cognition, a canon and not an organon. . . . The canon of reason in general is analytic; the organon of the use of the understanding in general would be dialectic (where without distinction of content one produces merely the form of understanding and reason . . .). The organon of the sciences can only be found in accordance with acquaintance with their nature, object, and sources of cognition. (R1612 [1773–​75? 1775–​77?], 16: 36; see R1627 [1790–​1804], 16: 43) ¶5: Logic . . . is an actual doctrine, which can be proved. . . . Now if logic is a mere theory of the conditions under which a cognition is perfect according to laws of the understanding and of reason, then it is not a means of execution; . . . it is not an organon, it only sharpens the understanding in judging concerning cognitions. (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 26)19 In ­chapter 4, I analyzed some of Kant’s remarks about the nature and utility of logic and attributed to him a nuanced position on whether logic can serve as an organon. Simply put, logic cannot serve as an organon in the material-​ productive sense of being a tool for generating objective cognitions. ¶¶3–​5 represent this position. When we scrutinize Kant’s account in the Critique alongside these and many other related passages, however, we will notice that he targets two different kinds of “dialectic,” which in turn pertain to separate notions of “critique.” One of these notions will signal what kind of critique may be presupposed by logic qua science. In ¶¶3–​5 and the Critique Kant gives a similar explanation of why logic can serve as a canon but not organon. It is due to its nature as a doctrine or proven theory, so that it can treat only the laws of reason and the understanding in

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general with respect to the mere form of cognition, without distinction or determination of objects (¶¶4–​5). A  doctrinal logic in this sense is analytic. It presents the formal elements of the understanding, which make up the necessary conditions of truth concerning its form and, as such, provide the precepts for the formal assessment of all our cognitions (¶3; A60/​B84). This logic does not suffice as an organon, which would require acquaintance with the objects of particular sciences (¶4). That is, one cannot “judge about objects [or] assert anything about them merely with logic without having drawn on antecedently well-​founded information about them from outside of logic” (A60/​B85). In these terms, we can spell out one sense of “dialectic” that Kant rejects: it is “general logic, as a putative organon” (A61/​B85) or an “attempt” to produce objective cognitions solely by means of logic (¶3). To complicate the matter, though, Kant also refers to a second kind of dialectic in the same context. It is the familiar notion of dialectic as an “art among the ancients,” namely “a sophistical art for giving to its ignorance . . . the air of truth” (A61/​B85–​86). The historical reference is to the sophistical art of disputation or of debating about any subject pro et contra (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 695; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 793; Log, 9: 16–​17). We saw in ­chapters 2 and 3 that logic as dialectic in this sense came under attack long before Kant entered the fray. His criticism thereof is, for that matter, no more than cliché. He complains, for instance, that Aristotle’s logic “fundamentally has not been of much value to the human understanding” because it is “a dialectic and an organon for the art of disputation” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 796). When Kant calls dialectic in the ancient sense a “logic of illusion” (A61/​ B86), he is referring to the “logical illusion [logische Schein]” or “illusion of fallacious inferences [Schein der Trugschlüsse]” and traces it to a “failure of attentiveness to the logical rules” (A296/​B353). It is an “artificial illusion” that arises from a mere imitation of certain formal rules of logic (A298/​B354). It is often exploited by sophists to deceive—​with “intentional tricks” to pass off fallacies as truths—​those who are either unaware of or inattentive to the relevant rules of logic (A61/​B86; see V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 832). Take, for instance, a fallacious inference where the middle term assumes different meanings in the two premises. Such an inference is in fact “wrong as to form, although it has for itself the illusion of a correct inference” (Log, 9: 134–​35). A dialectical illusion in this sense has two notable features. First, it has nothing to do with the misuse of logic that concerns the Critical Kant most, namely its use as an organon for generating material or objective cognitions. Second, there is a straightforward internal strategy for dissolving the illusion. One just needs to get a firm theoretical grasp of logic and pay attention to its rules, so that one has the technical wherewithal to see through logical fallacies. In this way, “[theoretical logic] improves the understanding and reason.” For “he who has in view the rules by which he ought to form his understanding,

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and who applies them properly, also does not fall into error as easily as he who knows nothing of these rules” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 39). Accordingly, Jäsche’s Kant says in the Logic: instead of dialectic as a sophistical “art of illusion,” which does not befit the dignity of philosophy, “a critique of this illusion must be introduced into logic.” The dialectic as critique serves to reveal that, in some cases, what appears to be formally correct is in fact opposed to the formal criteria of truth expounded in the analytic. That is, it presents “the marks and rules in accordance with which we could recognize that something does not agree with the formal criteria of truth, although it seems to agree with them.” A dialectic in this sense serves as a “cathartic of the understanding,” guarding it against logical illusions (Log, 9: 17). Kant seems to have an entirely different target in sight, however, while criticizing dialectic in the first sense mentioned above. The target appears to be the Wolffian notion of practical logic, a version of which is found in Meier’s Vernunftlehre. Although, as I  explained in ­chapter  4, Kant is willing to preserve practical logic in some sense of the term (e.g. his “applied logic” or logicH for regulating the common human understanding to make it healthy), he rejects it as what takes the results of theoretical logic and passes them off as directives for generating knowledge about objects in particular sciences. This practice, by Kant’s analysis, amounts to taking what can serve only for the formal assessment of our cognitions in general and using it as an organon for producing cognitions of material truths. The result can only be an illusion of truth. General practical logic is the logic . . . of illusion: dialectic. (R1579, 16: 22; see R1604, 16: 33–​34) The application of logic can only be to objects. Universal logic proceeds, however, without distinction among objects. Consequently the canon must be theoretical. . . . For there is no practical part in logic, as our author [Meier] opines. Otherwise dialectic would be a pure illusion. (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 794) Universal logic, which as a mere canon abstracts from all objects, cannot have a practical part. This would be a contradictio in adjecto, because a practical logic presupposes acquaintance with a certain kind of object, to which it is applied. (Log, 9: 17–​18) In this context, dialectic is not just the sophistical art of disputation, which is merely artificial as a technical tool used in the schools for debating over any given topic. (The Wolffians would detest this form of dialectic no less than Kant does.) The dialectic associated with the Wolffian practical logic, by contrast, has something natural about it: it comes down to a certain self-​delusion of reason about what it can achieve with logic.

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Logic does not suffice for an organon, it does not have objects. When, notwithstanding, a logic is misused as an organon, it is called dialectic. . . . Reason can deceive itself unintentionally [unvorsätzlich] when it oversteps [übertritt] the laws of logic. (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 695) One explanation of how reason can misuse logic by crossing the boundaries of its legitimate use unintentionally is, as Kant puts it in the Critique, that there is something so “seductive” in the universality of logic—​viz. in its ability to “giv[e]‌all of our cognitions the form of understanding”—​that it has been mistaken as an organon for producing objective assertions (A60/​B85). This explanation echoes Kant’s diagnosis of the surreptitious move that reason makes in using conceptual analysis, which can afford only formal (analytic) truths, to make material (synthetic) claims. Now since this [analysis of concepts] does yield a real a priori cognition, which makes secure and useful progress, reason, without itself noticing it, under these pretenses surreptitiously makes assertions of quite another sort, in which it adds something entirely alien to given concepts and indeed does so a priori, without one knowing how it was able to do this and without such a question even being allowed to come to mind. (A5–​6/​ B9–​10) Note that reason tends to make the surreptitious move in question “without itself noticing it,” that is, unintentionally. Hence, to forestall the move, reason must first examine the nature and possibility of analytic and synthetic cognitions respectively (A6/​B10). Likewise, to prevent any inadvertent misuse of logical rules, reason presumably must begin by reflecting on the nature and possibility of logic qua science and, on that basis, specify what counts as a legitimate use of its rules. Once it is clarified that logic, as a strictly scientific cognition of the necessary rules of thinking in general, treats merely the form of thought, one can see that it is just a “propaedeutic . . . to the sciences” and that “when it comes to information [Kenntnissen], . . . its acquisition must be sought in the sciences properly and objectively so called” (Bix). Only this appreciation of and attention to the boundaries of logic can prevent its misuse as a tool for extending material cognitions. The misuse in question is not logical illusion, but illusion about logic. While the former, by Kant’s definition, concerns inferences that are in fact fallacious even as to form, the latter is an “illusion that we can cognize truth through the canon for passing judgment on the understanding, since [cognition] is correct as to form” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 793). This description fits well with Kant’s stated reason for saying that “general logic, considered as an organon, is always a logic of illusion, i.e., is dialectical”: since it teaches us nothing at all about the content of cognition, but only the formal conditions of agreement with the understanding, which are

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entirely indifferent with regard to the objects, the effrontery [Zumutung] of using it as a tool (organon) for an expansion and extension of its information [Kenntnisse] . . . comes down to nothing but idle chatter. (A61–​62/​B86) To address the illusion in question, what is required is not an improved theoretical grasp of logic regarding its specific rules, but a correct philosophical understanding of what role logic itself can or cannot play in our cognition. This points to a “critique of dialectical illusion” that significantly differs from the one rendered in Jäsche’s text. Presumably, as far as Kant is concerned, when an illusion is “something that belongs to the nature of the understanding” (R5058 [1776–​78], 18: 75), it needs a critique which not only reveals “that something is a delusion, a deception of the understanding,” but also provides “insight into how such a deception would be possible” (R3706 [1760–​64? (1753–​59?) 1773–​77???], 17: 242, my italicization). The reference to possibility here suggests a transcendental character of the needed critique. In the section “On the Division of Transcendental Logic into the Transcendental Analytic and Dialectic,” Kant calls for a critique to address the “dialectical illusion” that consists in “making a material use of the merely formal principles” of pure understanding (expounded in the transcendental analytic) and judging about objects that are not given to us empirically. The requisite critique is “a critique of the understanding and reason in regard to their hyperphysical use, in order to uncover the false illusion [Schein] of their groundless pretensions and to reduce their claims [Ansprüche] to invention and amplification, putatively to be attained through transcendental principles, to the mere assessment [Beurteilung] and evaluation of the pure understanding” (A63–​64/​B87–​88). Now, given the striking correlation between the general-​ logical and transcendental-​logical versions of the analytic-​dialectic division, we can expect Kant to offer a parallel critique to address the dialectical illusion that consists in a material use of the merely formal rules of understanding in general. For lack of a better name, I shall tentatively refer to such a critique as the “transcendental critique of understanding in general” and, when the context makes it obvious, simply “transcendental critique.” (Why I use the qualifier “transcendental” will become clear in section 4.2, when I examine Kant’s caveated appreciation of Locke’s critical method.) To be specific, in the case of general logic, it is not enough simply to reveal that a certain use of its rules is a mere illusion of reason. One also needs a critique that can provide insight into the cause of the illusion and indicate a way to avoid being deceived thereby. This would involve a study of the understanding as a faculty of thinking in general, which we need in order to determine the source and nature of logical rules and the boundaries of their proper use. Otherwise, we would have no basis to judge with certainty which use of logical rules is legitimate and correct and which is unwarranted and illusory. The critique of understanding in general must therefore underwrite the division

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of general logic into analytic and dialectic, just as the critique of pure understanding underwrites the division of transcendental logic into transcendental analytic and transcendental dialectic. The former critique must, to say the least, supply the principles (principia) for a correct derivation and systematic ordering of the basic elements and rules of thinking in general. Only then can we have a theoretical logic or “analytic” that, as Kant sees it, is a proven or demonstrated doctrine. The same critique also serves as the only basis for separating legitimate and unwarranted uses of the doctrinal logic. For only with an antecedent critique can one be justified in asserting that it is illusory to use formal logic as an organon in the material-​productive sense. These demands are self-​induced on Kant’s part, whether he attends to them or not. Consider his criticism in the B Preface of the attempts by “some moderns” to expand logic. There he cautions that it is “a deformation of the sciences when their boundaries [Grenzen] are allowed to run over into one another” (Bviii). In general, he is of the view that “the boundaries of every science must be precisely observed,” for “mixing them together only results in illusions” (R5036 [1776–​78], 18: 69). If there is an illusion, as is supposedly manifested in the Wolffian conception of practical logic, that logic can serve as an organon for the production of objective cognitions, the illusion is rooted in a failure to demarcate the proper boundaries of logic. This failure is in turn due to a certain “ignorance [Unkunde] of the peculiar nature of this science” (Bviii), namely its nature as is captured by the formality thesis that I discussed earlier. Kant bears the burden, however, to establish this thesis as the right one about the nature of logic. (Otherwise he would be begging the question against the moderns he has criticized.) By his own standard, nothing short of a transcendental critique suffices for that purpose. Also, as we learned in c­ hapter  1, in Kant’s view reason needs a critical method—​after having passed the dogmatic and then the skeptical phases—​to arrive at a place where it can address debated issues with certainty. In that spirit, he takes a critique of pure reason to be required by a fair adjudication of competing claims about pure cognitions (viz. those found in various metaphysical systems). Only if this [critique] is one’s ground does one have a secure touchstone for appraising the philosophical content of old and new works in this specialty; otherwise the unqualified historian and judge assesses the groundless assertions of others through his own, which are equally groundless. (B27; see A751–​52/​B779–​80) There is no reason to excuse logic from this methodological demand. After all, as we learned in c­ hapters 2 and 3, there are competing claims about, for example, what belongs in logic, what role it plays in human cognition, and how it relates to such other sciences as metaphysics. We have also seen that Kant

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is generally censorious of what he has singled out as representative views on those topics and pushes for a theory of logic that he takes pains to mark from all the current ones in nontrivial ways. His vouch for what he takes to be the right theory would be no better than a dogmatic assertion of one of many competing claims about logic, however, without some sort of critique to justify it. Otherwise, with what right is Kant to declare that his pure general logic has precisely the content a scientific logic should have and exhibits the unity required of a proper science, which requirement no logical theory—​not even Wolff’s, as it will turn out—​has managed to meet? If transcendental analytic, as a system of the elements of pure understanding, needs a critique that outlines for it “the entire plan architectonically, i.e., from principles, with a full guarantee for the completeness and certainty of all the components that comprise this edifice” (A13/​B27), the same, mutatis mutandis, can be said about the analytic of pure general logic. I shall explicate these points in section 5. For now, let us spend a moment reflecting on Kant’s conceptions of “critique” and see if we can find one that seems to match, even if only imperfectly, with his account of pure general logic. 4.2. IN SEARCH OF A CRITIQUE FOR PURE GENERAL LOGIC

Let me premise this section with the caveat that there is no single definition to unify Kant’s uses of the concept “critique” in various contexts.20 My exposition thereof is not meant to be exhaustive. For starters, recall the distinction between “illusion about logic” and “logical illusion.” These illusions call for different kinds of critique. Roughly speaking, a critique of logical illusion is to identify and catalogue logical fallacies in arguments that turn out to be invalid despite the appearance otherwise, and thereby give us the technical wherewithal to avoid those fallacies. By contrast, a critique of the illusion about logic is ultimately concerned with determining the boundaries of logic and its legitimate place in our cognitive endeavors, so that we have the philosophical understanding not to use it as a material-​productive organon. From the Kantian perspective, this task presupposes an analysis of our cognitive faculty that explains the possibility of logic as a proper science (much as the critique of pure reason is to reveal the possibility of metaphysics). For only then can Kant restrict the use of logic to that of a mere canon without begging questions against the alternative views. Earlier, I  called the critique needed to conquer the illusion about logic a “transcendental critique.” Now, to appreciate the significance of the qualifier “transcendental,” let the following be a very rough, generic sense of “critique”: it is a study of our cognitive faculty that reveals the source of a kind of cognition, with implications for wherein lie the limits or boundaries of that kind of cognition. This notion encompasses two varieties of critique that I shall examine next. One is the physiological critique that Kant traces to Locke. The other is a

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nonphysiological critique that Kant develops primarily to explain the possibility of pure concepts of the understanding, but with implications for how to determine the possibility of a properly scientific logic, namely, of a pure, systematic, and completely a priori knowledge of all necessary rules of thinking in general. To elaborate, Kant separates two questions about pure concepts. One is a “question of fact” (quaestio facti): how have we come to possess them? The other is a “question of right” (quaestio juris): by what right can we avail ourselves of them? Kant assigns these questions to physiology (part of psychology) and critique, respectively. He places both Locke’s and Leibniz’s theories of intellectual concepts in the former category. The former question has been the business of two philosophers, of Locke and Leibniz, the former wrote a book on human understanding and the latter published a book with this title in French. Locke adheres to Aristotle and maintains that concepts arose from experience through acts of reflection. Leibniz adheres to Plato . . . and says that the concepts of the understanding are prior to acquaintance with any sensible objects. (V-​Met/​Mron, 29: 764) [Examining reason physiologically] was actually an explanation and investigation of the origin of concepts. Locke and Leibniz had not thought of a critique of concepts of reason; they investigated merely how we arrive at the concepts. . . . Leibniz did not ask how reason comes to a concept independently of all experience—​upon what is the faculty grounded for cognizing something a priori at all? How far does it reach? . . . An investigation of practices (facti), how we arrive at cognition, whether from experience or through pure reason. (V-​Met/​Mron, 29: 781–​82) Despite their differences over whence we obtain the intellectual concepts, in an important sense Leibniz’s theory fares no better than Locke’s by Kant’s assessment: both have neglected to explain “how it comes about that concepts of the understanding, which we have without the senses, have validity with respect to the objects of the senses” (V-​Met/​Mron, 29: 763). In reference to this issue of objective validity, Kant insists that critique be “distinguished sharply from physiology” (V-​Met/​Mron, 29: 764).21 In these terms, he rejects the claim by Johann Eberhard (1739–​1809), a self-​appointed champion of the Leibnizian-​ Wolffian philosophy, that “the Leibnizian philosophy contains just as much of a critique of reason as the Kantian.” If the Leibnizian philosophy purportedly “grounds its dogmatism [i.e. its apodictic demonstrations of metaphysics] on a precise analysis of the cognitive faculties,” this analysis is not a critique of pure reason in Kant’s strict sense (ÜE, 8: 226). It is not that Leibniz’s analysis of cognitive faculties, or a similar one that is prominent in Wolff and Baumgarten, has no value. It is just that, because it focuses on the de facto makeup of our mind and is in that sense a mere physiology of human intellect, it cannot answer the question about the objective validity of pure concepts.

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Kant’s alternative is the so-​called “original acquisition” theory of pure concepts. He articulates this theory while clarifying his position vis-​ à-​ vis Leibniz’s. The Critique admits absolutely no implanted or inborn representations. One and all, whether they belong to intuition or to concepts of the understanding, it considers them as acquired. But there is also an original acquisition . . . and thus of that which previously did not yet exist at all, and so did not belong to anything prior to this act. . . . our cognitive faculty  .  .  .  brings them [i.e. pure cognitions] about, a priori, out of itself. There must indeed be a ground for it in the subject, however, which makes it possible that these representations can arise in this and no other manner, and be related to objects which are not yet given, and this ground at least is innate. (ÜE, 8: 221–​22) The basic point of this passage is straightforward:  pure cognitions, as representations, must be acquired, even though the ground of their acquisition may be considered innate. In the Critique, Kant frames a similar point in biological terms. [In the analytic of concepts we will] pursue the pure concepts into their first germs [Keime] and predispositions [Anlagen] in the human understanding, where they lie ready [vorbereitet liegen], until on the occasion of experience they are finally developed and exhibited in their clarity by the very same understanding. (A66/​B91, modified translation) In Kant’s theory of biology, “germs” are the “grounds of a determinate unfolding which are lying in the nature of an organic body  .  .  .  if this unfolding concerns particular parts,” and the same grounds are called “natural predispositions” if the unfolding “concerns only the size or the relation of the parts to one another” (VvRM, 2:  434). These germs and predispositions are posited as the preformed ground that antecedently determines the development of an organic being in certain environments (VvRM, 2: 435–​36; BM 8: 96–​99, 101–​3). In that connection, Kant’s claim at A66/​B91 seems to be that certain germs and predispositions in the human understanding constitute the innate ground or preformation that determines the development and manifestation of pure concepts. Only then can our cognitive faculty bring these concepts out of itself as “self-​thought a priori first principles of our cognition,” which “contain the grounds of the possibility of all experience in general from the side of the understanding” (B167). We need not delve into the intricacies of Kant’s “original acquisition” account or how exactly it compares with a nativist account as sophisticated as Leibniz’s (see Lu-​Adler 2018b). What is worth mentioning for our purpose is that Kant decidedly finds it objectionable to reduce pure concepts to “subjective predispositions for thinking, implanted in us along with our existence by

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our author” (B167). This subjective reduction would violate two constraints of a satisfactory account of pure concepts. The first is a methodological constraint: the sought account must be genuinely explanatory by, say, being firmly based on a rational inquiry that, as Kant puts it in the 1772 letter to Herz, admits no “wild notions” or “pious and speculative brainstorm” (Br, 10:  131). The second constraint concerns the nature of pure concepts: the account must retain their strict necessity, suffice to establish their objective validity, and thereby determine the precise boundaries of their rightful use. Given these constraints, the hypothesis of implanted predispositions would be “very unphilosophical” (i.e. unexplanatory), by virtually turning the search for the origin of pure concepts into a matter of divine “revelations” as opposed to genuine investigation (V-​Met-​L1/​Heinze, 28: 233; see V-​Met/​Mron, 29: 760–​63; V-​Met/​Vigil, 29: 949–​52). (Kant’s reason for making this charge will become clear shortly, in contrast with a Leibnizian account of the source of logical laws.) Also, if pure concepts (e.g. cause) were reduced to mere subjective predispositions, they would lack the kind of necessity that supposedly defines them—​not only because they would become a matter of how our mind happens to be constituted, but also because there would be no way to be certain about the relevant subjective constitution (B168). Thus, if some sort of innate ground must be posited as the antecedent condition for the original acquisition of pure concepts, this cannot be a speculation about the actual makeup of our mind, which would belong in the kind of special metaphysics (psychology) that Wolff championed. The basic lessons from this analysis of pure concepts carry over to the case of logic. Here, it is crucial to recall and keep in mind that the rules of thought presented in logic are supposed to be necessary, without which no discursive thinking would be possible, and universal, as they apply to all thinking without exception. The question is what the source of a system of rules must be for them to have these characteristics. To answer this question, a good way to begin is to revisit Kant’s argument, discussed in section 3.3 of ­chapter  4, that only logica artificialis, not logica naturalis (if there is such a thing), deserves the proper title of logic. Every man observes the rules before he can reduce them to formulas. . . . The complex of all these rules is called logica naturalis. The science that expounds these rules systematically [is called logica] artificialis. . . . This division is bad because logic is held to be the complex of rules of the understanding that we employ without being conscious. Since we do not know these rules, however, there cannot be a science. Consequently this is a contradiction. . . . For us, then, only logica artificialis is ever called logic. (V-​ Lo/​Wiener, 24: 791; see R1579, 16: 18) A scientific cognition, on Kant’s account, is “the complex of a cognition as a system” and therefore “rests on an idea of the whole” (Log, 9:  72; see V-​ Lo/​Dohna, 24:  697–​98, 704; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  891). To say that only logica

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artificialis deserves to be called “science” is to say that the rules of thought included therein “can and must be cognized a priori [from an idea or principle], independently of the natural use of the understanding and of reason in concreto” (Log, 9: 17).22 In other words, as I pointed out in section 2, this logic must be objective2 in much the same way as Kant requires a scientific metaphysics or ontology to be. Its rules must be cognized a priori if they are to be strictly universal and necessary, constituting “the sole [formal] condition of our thought” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  791), without which “no use of the understanding [i.e. thinking by means of concepts] would be possible at all” (Log, 9:  12; see V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24:  694; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  790; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 273). The necessity of putative logical rules cannot be established on empirical grounds. For this reason, Leibniz has held that the fountain of necessary principles can only be the mind as opposed to the senses. For “the senses are inadequate to show their necessity”: “however often one experienced instances of a universal truth, one could never know inductively that it would always hold unless one knew through reason that it was necessary.” Therefore, the mind alone is the “source” of such truths, including logical principles, with “a disposition . . . to draw them from its own depth.” To think otherwise is to fail to “think through the implications of the distinction between necessary or eternal truths and truths of experience” (NE, I.i.5, 80; see NE, Preface, 49–​51). Now, Kant certainly agrees that no necessary principles can be derived from senses. Still, he may find Leibniz’s account of the mind as the (immediate) source of logical principles inadequate for two reasons. First, it cannot deliver a science of logic in Kant’s strict sense of the term. Recall his characterization of the distinction between logica naturalis and logica artificialis. From Leibniz’s perspective, if logical rules are constitutive of the inherent structure of the human mind and determine all possible uses of the human intellect, they are the kind of rules that we may follow without being conscious of them. There are principles of knowledge which enter into our reasonings as constantly as practical ones enter into our volitions; for instance, everyone makes use of the rules of inference through a natural logic, without being aware of them. (NE, I.ii.3, 91) To Leibniz, as I analyzed his position in c­ hapter 3, artificial logic has the same content as natural logic. What is a scientific cognition of logical principles in the Leibnizian sense is then at bottom a matter of uncovering the natural and constant laws of the human mind and representing them distinctly (NE, IV.xvii.4, 480). To cognize true laws of logic distinctly is to discover them “within us by a dint of attention” (NE, Preface, 50)—​though not without the help of divine illumination, since “we see everything through [God],” who is “the sun and the light of souls” (Leibniz 1989a: 321). In Kant’s view, by contrast, we can have no knowledge and hence no science of the purported natural laws of the mind.

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The second reason why Kant may find Leibniz’s account inadequate concerns the status of logical rules as what determine how we must use our intellect, absolutely speaking. What justifies this claim of absolute necessity? It will not do to say that our mind is just so constituted that it, when functioning properly, operates exactly in accordance with those rules (regardless of whether we are aware of them). In this respect, Leibniz’s theory (or Wolff’s for that matter) fares no better than Locke’s. In Kant’s terms, Locke approaches logic through an empirical-​psychological analysis of human understanding, which can teach us only how it operates under the contingent conditions of the empirically situated thinking subject (R4866, 18: 14; R4893, 18: 21). Any rule of thinking derived on that basis at best has “assumed and comparative universality” (in that “as far as we have yet perceived, there is no exception” to the rule), which is insufficient to make it a necessary condition for all possible uses of the understanding. For experience shows only that “something is constituted thus and so, but not that it could not be otherwise,” or that there has been no exception to this or that rule, but not that “no exception at all is allowed to be possible” (B3–​4). Leibniz saves logic from this empirical-​psychological contingency only to make it contingent on what Jonathan Bennett calls a “divine psychology” (Bennett 1982: 33). In Leibniz’s own words, the “ultimate foundation” of all eternal truths, including all putative logical principles, must be “that Supreme and Universal Mind who cannot fail to exist and whose understanding is indeed the domain of eternal truths.” Insofar as the said truths “contain the determining reason and regulating principle of existent things—​the laws of the universe” and must be “prior to the existence of contingent beings,” including our minds, they must originally reside with God, the only necessary existence. Logical principles are the laws of the universe that regulate the operations of human mind. As such, they must exist prototypically in the divine intellect, as the “pattern” after which they are “engraved in our souls” (NE, IV.xi.14, 447). To that extent, God is the ultimate ground of the purported universality and necessity of logical rules. Hence, if logical rules are necessary for all possible uses of human understanding, even their necessity is contingent. Similarly, as I explained in ­chapter 3, Wolff named God as the one who “prescribed” the rules by which human intellect, knowingly or unknowingly, is directed in its operations. In this way, God—​in virtue of his Understanding, after which the human intellect is fashioned—​is the first ground of those rules as universal and necessary laws of thought. Against this backdrop, how is Kant to establish the source of logical rules in a manner that accounts for their strict necessity? His strategy here may resemble how he has handled the case of pure concepts. The key lies in a move from physiology to true critique. To illustrate, it will be helpful to use Locke’s approach to logic as a starting point.

Logic and the Demands of Kantian “Science”

In ­chapter 3, I quoted Kant as asserting that Locke’s Essay is “the ground of all true logica” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 37). Underlying this claim is the recognition that Locke, in seeking “to analyze the human understanding,” supposedly “set in motion . . . the method of critical philosophizing, which consists in investigating the procedure of reason itself, in analyzing the whole human faculty of cognition and examining how far its limits may go” (Log, 9:  32; see V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 37; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 804; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 301). The Lockean analysis of human understanding counts as a critique in the generic sense that I  sketched at the beginning of this section. It is an analysis aimed at tracing out the origin or source of human cognition, in a way that has consequences for determining its limits: by making experience the sole origin of human cognition, the Lockean analysis has also set experience as its limits. Not every analysis of human understanding counts as a critique in a stricter sense, however, which must answer the question, “what can one cognize by means of mere reason without any experience?” among other questions (R4455 [1772], 17: 558). Again, by Kant’s standard, Locke’s version of the critical method amounts to physiology insofar as it centers on the de facto workings of human understanding under empirical conditions. In contrast, the strict Kantian variety involves a pure analysis of human understanding as the faculty of thinking, in abstraction from all empirical conditions under which this faculty may be exercised (R4851 [1776–​78], 18: 8–​9; R4866 [1776–​78], 18: 14; R4893 [1776–​78], 18: 21).23 Locke supposedly “sought to analyze the human understanding and to show which powers of the soul and which of its operations belonged to this or that cognition,” but did so in a “very dogmatic” way due to its thoroughly empiricist character (Log, 9: 32). While valuing Locke’s attempt to build philosophy on an analysis of human understanding, Kant will steer this broadly construed critical approach in a different direction. If others—​particularly the Wolffians—​followed Locke and “began to study the nature of the soul better and more thoroughly” (Log, 9: 32; see V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 804),24 Kant will focus not so much on the human soul as on the faculty of human understanding considered in abstracto. This distinction matters when it comes to pinpointing the source of logical cognition. From Kant’s standpoint, tracing out the source in question is not a matter of figuring out the actual constitution of the human soul, a constitution that would, for Locke as well as Leibniz, ultimately depend on God. It rather comes down to something like a transcendental derivation of logical rules as the a priori conditions for the possibility of all thinking, a derivation resembling that of pure concepts as the a priori intellectual conditions for all possible experience.25 To get a basic sense of what a transcendental derivation of logical rules may look like, why Kant needs it to sustain his theory of logic, and why it matters to call it “transcendental,” we now turn to what is probably Kant’s best

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known but also least appreciated and often misunderstood claim about logic, the claim that the Aristotelian logic is complete.

5. On the Completeness of (Aristotle’s) Logic 5.1. COMPLETENESS AND THE SCIENTIFIC STATUS OF LOGIC

In the B Preface, Kant claims that, since the time of Aristotle, logic seems to be “finished and complete” (Bviii).26 This claim (“completeness claim” for short) has been greeted with general disapproval since its publication, so much so that today’s commentators tend to ignore it altogether. We shall see, however, that most complaints about the claim cannot withstand scrutiny and that it is, philosophically speaking, more interesting and important than its treatment suggests. Criticisms of the completeness claim come in two basic varieties. One line of criticism concerns whether Kant, given his Critical-​ philosophical commitments, has the wherewithal to prove the Aristotelian logic as complete. J. F. Fries (1773–​1843), for one, argues that Kant is in no position to produce such a proof due to his insistence that logic absolutely be independent of psychology and anthropology (Fries 1837: 5). Echoing this assessment, Capozzi and Roncaglia speculate that “a proof of the completeness of logic would have been easy if Kant had preserved the foundation of logic on empirical psychology and ontology, both ultimately guaranteed by God” (Capozzi and Roncaglia 2009: 144). Norman Kemp Smith leads the other line of criticism, which I  suspect is most responsible for the evident neglect if not overt rejection of the completeness claim among English-​speaking interpreters. He renders the claim as follows:  since Aristotle and “to the present day this logic has not been able to advance a single step, and is thus to all appearance a closed and completed body of doctrine” (Kemp Smith 1929:  17, my italicization). By inserting the phrase “body of doctrine,” which is not part of the German original (. . . allem Ansehen nach geschlossen und vollendet zu sein scheint),27 Kemp Smith suggests that with the completeness claim Kant has expressed the “view of the logic of Aristotle as complete and perfect” in content, thereby giving himself the warrant for “rel[ying] upon its prestige and upon the assumed finality of its results” and for doing so “without question in all further inquiries.” This makes it frustrating and “strangely perverse,” Kemp Smith then complains, that in many parts of the Critique Kant “recasts, extends, or alters, to suit his own purposes, the actual teaching of the traditional logic” (Kemp Smith 1918: 21, 184–​85). This frustration is in a way self-​inflicted on Kemp Smith’s part: his own misreading of the completeness claim is partly to blame. In truth, Kant is never straightforwardly committed to whatever happens to constitute the content of

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Aristotle’s logic.28 His assessment of it is rather nuanced and measured, as we can gather from the following remarks. History of logic. Aristotle: merely objective laws, form of reason. (R1629, 16: 48) Aristotle erred by including in logic a division of general concepts by means of which one can think objects; this belongs to metaphysics. Logic has to do with concepts whatever they might be, and deals only with their relation. (R4450 [1772–​76], 17: 556) Aristotle can be regarded as the father of logic. But his logic is too scholastic. . . . Still, the principal ideas from it have been preserved, and this is because logic is not occupied with any object and hence it can be quickly exhausted. (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 796) From Aristotle’s time on, logic has not gained much in content, by the way, nor can it by its nature do so. But it can surely gain in regard to exactness, determinateness, and distinctness. . . . Aristotle had not omitted any moment of the understanding; we are only more exact, methodical, and orderly in this. (Log, 9: 20) We have no one who has exceeded Aristotle or enlarged his logic (which is in itself fundamentally impossible) just as no mathematician has exceeded Euclid. (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 700) In so many words, Kant separates the content of the Aristotelian logic from its form or manner of presentation. With respect to the content, he then distinguishes what it should include and what it, as is standardly presented, in fact includes. Given these distinctions, Kant can tease apart what is worth preserving in the Aristotelian logic and what is not. For instance, although it erroneously contains “a division of general concepts by means of which one can think objects” (this complaint is premised on the view that Categories is part of Aristotle’s Organon), its “principal” part is still sound, which comprises the formal rules of reason and the understanding. It is in the latter respect that logic since Aristotle cannot gain much in content. Meanwhile, regarding its form, Aristotle’s logic still needs improvement: the presentation of its proper content should be more “exact,” “determinate,” and “distinct.” This call for the formal improvement of Aristotle’s logic, which should not be confused with a merely stylistic adjustment thereof, comes from Kant’s interest in establishing logic as “science.” The same interest also underlies his evaluations of the more recent work on logic by his modern predecessors. In ­chapter 3, we saw him saying that Wolff’s logic was “the best to be found.” Now it should be made clear that Kant praises the Wolffian logic not so much for its particular content as for its formal features, viz. for being “demonstrative,” “distinct,” and “orderly” (R1629, 16:  48; R1641 [1760–​64? 1764–​68? 1769? 1770? 1773–​75?], 16:  62; V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24:  337–​38). In the B Preface, Kant

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attributes similar characteristics to Wolff’s method for how “the secure course of a science is to be taken” (Bxxxvi). Unsurprisingly, then, Kant submits the completeness claim while reflecting on “[w]‌hether the treatment of the cognitions that belong to the business of reason travels the secure path of a science.” Logic, he claims, has traveled such a course in that, since Aristotle, it “has not had to retrace any step [keinen Schritt rückwärts hat tun dürfen]” and “has also been unable to take any step forward [keinen Schritt vorwärts hat tun können]”—​and therefore appears to be complete (Bvii–​viii).29 The use of modal language suggests Kant’s claim is not just that logic has not taken any step backward or forward since Aristotle, but that it has “not had to” or has been “unable to” do so. What has to or can happen to logic concerns its nature. This focus on the nature of logic is also manifest in how Kant rejects the attempts of “some moderns” to expand logic by interpolating psychological, metaphysical, or anthropological chapters. He takes such attempts to reflect the failure to recognize logic as “a science that exhaustively presents and strictly proves nothing but the formal rules of all thinking.” Thus, if logic has taken the secure path of a science to the extent of allowing no possible expansion, this is thanks to its “restriction [Eingeschränktheit]” to the mere form of the understanding (Bviii–​ix). By the completeness claim, then, Kant is not so much expressing a commitment to the finality of Aristotle’s logic with respect to its actual doctrines as taking a philosophical stand on the nature of logic as such and affirming its status as a science of the formal rules of all thinking. In this way, as Kurt Mosser puts it, the claim “tells us much more about Kant’s conception of logic . . . than it does about what he thinks of Aristotle” (Mosser 2007: 131). If Kemp Smith has found occasional aberrations in the Critique from Aristotle’s logic, there is nothing out of character about them insofar as they are determined by Kant’s conception of what belongs in logic proper, which may not be identical to what is typically included in the Aristotelian logic. By logic proper in this context Kant clearly means pure general logic. For, as he states later in the Critique, this logic “alone is properly science, although brief and dry, as the scholastically correct [schulgerecht] presentation of a doctrine of the elements of the understanding requires” (A54/​B78). Again, having “scholastically correct presentation” is part of what puts a system of doctrines on the secure path of a strict science (Bxxxvi).30 This takes us back to the Wolffian approach mentioned earlier, which Kant will adapt—​with a Critical twist, as one would expect—​into the method of systematic demonstration that is essential to the scientific status of logic. In an important sense, Kant’s notion of strict science goes beyond the Wolffian one. To recap what I  mentioned in c­ hapter  4, a proper science on Kant’s account must (a)  be systematic, as “a whole of cognition ordered according to principles,” (b) treat its object “wholly according to a priori principles,” and (c) be apodictically certain (MAN, 4: 467–​68). Not even Wolff’s logic

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has met all three conditions: it has failed (b) by drawing principles (principia) from psychology as well as ontology (in the traditional sense of the term). Fries was right, then, in observing that Kant cannot invoke psychology to prove logic as complete due to his view of what it takes for logic to count as a strict science. What rules out psychology as well as ontology as the basis for establishing the completeness of logic, however, has also to do with the demand of what counts as a proper proof of its completeness. Capozzi and Roncaglia were wrong to suggest that Kant could have supported the completeness claim had he founded logic on empirical psychology and ontology, thanks to a certain divine guarantee. Given what we learned in section 4.2 about Kant’s take on the source of pure concepts and, especially, his argument against tracing them to a certain endowed subjective constitution of the mind, he would find it unphilosophical to invoke divine guarantee to support any theoretical claim about logic. To him, such a move could only turn the claim into a pious speculation. Kant’s only remaining alternative is to say: nothing short of a critique is needed to prove the completeness of a scientific logic. This requirement follows from what he has said about a system of the elements of pure cognition. In his view, to repeat what I mentioned in section 4.1, “a full guarantee for the completeness and certainty of all the components that comprise this edifice” can only come from a critique, whereby the architectonic unity of the system may be determined a priori through an “idea” that supplies the principle from which all its components are to be correctly articulated (A13/​B27; A64–​66/​B89–​90). On this point, it is illuminating to read Kant’s comments on the ancient tripartite division of philosophy, which we encountered in ­chapter 2. He confirms that a “principle” is needed to ensure the completeness of a system. Ancient Greek philosophy was divided into three sciences: physics, ethics, and logic. This division is perfectly suitable to the nature of the subject and there is no need to improve upon it except, perhaps, to add its principle [Princip], partly so as to insure its completeness and partly so as to be able to determine correctly the necessary subdivisions. (GMS, 4: 387) The “principle” needed to guarantee the completeness of the tripartite division is, Kant continues, an analysis of “rational cognition” regarding its subject matter. All rational cognition is either material . . . or formal. . . . Formal philosophy is called logic, whereas material philosophy, which has to do with determinate objects and the laws to which they are subject, is in turn divided into two. For these laws are either laws of nature or laws of freedom. The science of the first is called physics, that of the other is ethics. (GMS, 4: 387) Kant further distinguishes these three branches of philosophy in terms of whether they have empirical parts. While moral as well as natural philosophy

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has its empirical part, logic “can have no empirical part, that is, no part in which the universal and necessary laws of thinking would rest on grounds [Gründen] taken from experience; for in that case it would not be logic, that is, a canon for the understanding or for reason, which holds for all thinking and which must be demonstrated” (GMS, 4: 387). These comments about whether a philosophical science has empirical parts give Kant an opportunity to introduce another division of philosophy (its relation to the tripartite division above is unclear). This division begins with the question of whether something is “based on grounds of experience” and yields two categories: empirical versus pure philosophy. The latter “sets forth [vorträgt] its teachings simply from a priori principles [Principien].” This pure philosophy is either logic, when concerned merely with the form of thinking in general, or metaphysics, if “limited to determinate objects of the understanding” (GMS, 4: 388). Notably, Kant characterizes both logic and metaphysics as pure philosophy founded on a priori principles. (For this reason, as I explained in section 2, they are both objective2, even though logic is also objective3 in a sense that metaphysics is not—​precisely because it is “limited” in the way just described.) Also, a couple of pages later, Kant distinguishes general logic and “transcendental philosophy” in the same terms as he has separated the former from transcendental logic: general logic, which sets forth the actions and rules of thinking in gen­ eral, differs from transcendental philosophy, which sets forth the special actions and rules of pure thinking, that is, of thinking by which objects are cognized completely a priori. (GMS, 4: 390) Again, to reiterate what I said before, if transcendental philosophy as a science of the elements of pure thinking requires a critique of pure understanding to ensure its completeness, a critique of the understanding as a faculty of thinking in general seems needed to ensure the completeness of general logic as a science of the formal elements of all thinking.31 There is an even more important connection between the completeness of the system of the elements of pure thinking and that of the elements of thinking in general. This goes back to the position Kant first articulated in the Inaugural Dissertation, according to which pure concepts must be drawn from the inherent laws of the mind or, equivalently, from the very nature of the understanding as regards its capacity for pure thinking (MSI, 2: 395). In the Critique, a similar position is implicit in Kant’s description of “metaphysical deduction” as that which establishes the a priori origin of categories “through their complete coincidence with the universal logical functions of thinking” (B159). Although he never refers this description to any part of the Critique, it is generally viewed as corresponding to the first chapter of the Analytic of Concepts, “On the Clue to the Discovery of All Pure Concepts of the Understanding.” Here Kant again stresses that the derivation of pure concepts must “exhaust

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the entire field of pure understanding” and that, to this end, the derivation must proceed “in accordance with a principle” by which a complete system of the concepts can be “determined a priori, which would otherwise depend on whim or chance” (A67/​B92). More specifically, a complete derivation of categories is “possible only by means of an idea of the whole of the a priori cognition of the understanding” (A64/​B89). This idea has partly to do with Kant’s notion of the understanding as a faculty of concepts that alone can make intuitions “understandable” by “bring[ing] them under concepts” (A51/​B75). Since concepts are always “predicates of possible judgments,” the understanding can be “represented as a faculty for judging” (A69/​B94). This brings us to the first part of the metaphysical deduction, which revolves around the Table of Judgments that supposedly presents all the basic functions of judging or thinking in general (A70/​B95). This table then gives rise to the Table of Categories (A80/​B106) through a crucial mediating principle, namely that the same understanding, “by means of the very same actions through which it brings the logical form of a judgment into concepts by means of the same analytical unity, also brings a transcendental content into its representations by means of the synthetic unity of the manifold in intuition in general.” In the latter case, the actions are “called pure concepts of the understanding that pertain to objects a priori” (A79/​B105; see my discussion of the passage in section 3.3). As for the Table of Judgments itself, Kant claims to have before him “already finished though not yet wholly free of defects, the work of the logicians,” through which he is “put in the position to present a complete table of pure functions of the understanding [i.e. of judging].” Pure concepts (categories) arise when we take these functions of judging, which are in themselves “undetermined with respect to every object [in Ansehung alles Objects unbestimmt],” and relate them “to objects in general [auf Objecte überhaupt]” (Prol, 4: 323–​24). By “the work of the logicians” Kant presumably means whatever has retained the part of the Aristotelian logic that in his view belongs in logic proper. This, obviously, should contain all the pure functions of judging listed in Kant’s Table of Judgments, although the logicians themselves might not recognize them as such. Now the old question reasserts itself: what, if anything, has put Kant “in the position” to extract a list of all the logical functions of judging from the work of previous logicians? Clearly, to avoid the charge, à la Kemp Smith, of having simply taken the finality of the traditional logic for granted and willfully appropriated its teachings to suit his agenda in the Critique, Kant needs to reconstruct the Aristotelian logic on an independent ground before he could help himself with those functions of judging in a complete derivation of categories. The stakes are extremely high, then. To say the least, the credibility of the latter derivation, which is clearly pivotal to the Transcendental Analytic, hangs on whether Kant could sustain the completeness claim with philosophical rigor.

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5.2. MAKING THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC SCIENTIFIC AND PROVING ITS COMPLETENESS

It is now quite clear that Kant takes Aristotle’s logic to be complete in having not omitted whatever ought to be included in logic proper and that therefore the completeness claim essentially concerns the nature of logic. The nature of logic, however, at best explains why a system of logic, whatever it may be, can be complete in this sense. It does not show that Aristotle’s logic is indeed so complete. Especially, it is far from proving that the specific logical forms of thinking (or judging) named by Aristotle—​the ones listed in Kant’s Table of Judgments—​are what ought to be included in logic proper. To invalidate any attempt at expanding logic beyond the Aristotelian system and do so without begging the question, Kant needs to do more than just delineate the general boundaries of logic. He must find a way to prove that exactly such and such logical forms must be included therein. To figure out what the requisite proof may look like from Kant’s standpoint, consider his view on what makes us certain about the completeness of a system of pure concepts of the understanding. He says of the Table of Categories: This division is systematically generated from a common principle [aus einem gemeinschaftlichen Princip  .  .  .  erzeugt], namely the faculty for judging (which is the same as the faculty for thinking), and has not arisen rhapsodically from a haphazard search for pure concepts, of the completeness of which one could never be certain [gewiß]. (A80–​81/​B106–​7) By contrast, Aristotle “had no principle [Principium]” in his search for categories, but “rounded them up as he stumbled on them” (A81/​B107). The point of this contrast is straightforward: one arrives at categories either by systematically generating them from a principle—​for Kant, it consists in an analysis of the faculty of pure thinking—​or by searching for them, as Aristotle allegedly did, without any such principle; one can be certain about having completely presented them in the former but not the latter case. Mutatis mutandis, Kant might make the same point about Aristotle’s presentation of the formal rules of thinking. If Aristotle got the credit for having named all those rules, Kant never saw him as having derived them from a principle a priori. If Aristotle’s logic contains things that do not belong in logic proper, Kant would trace this problem to a failure to build logic from an antecedently conceived idea of such a science that can alone ensure its architectonic unity (5.1). In other words, logic as inherited from Aristotle still lacks the form and foundation of a proper science—​and so one cannot yet be certain about its completeness. What may serve as the principium or ground on which a scientific logic rests? Two groups of texts may shed some light on this question: those in which

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Kant directly states what the ground of true logic is, and those in which he discusses the nature of logic and thereby explains why its ground must be so construed. I have already analyzed or at least mentioned some of these texts, but will also add new materials to the mix. Recall Kant’s claim that Locke presented us with “the ground of all true logica.” This claim, as I explained in section 4.2, marks Kant’s recognition that logic must be preceded by and grounded in an analysis of human understanding. But he also rejected the Lockean analysis as a merely physiological study of the understanding with respect to the contingent conditions of its actual operations. This kind of study, though essential to applied logic or logic for the common understanding, has no bearing on the founding of pure logic. To establish the latter as a strictly scientific logic, it is necessary to “abstract from all empirical conditions under which our understanding is exercised, . . . because these merely concern the understanding under certain circumstances of its application.” The construction of this science “has strictly to do with a priori principles” and hence “draws nothing from psychology” (A53–​55/​B77–​78). Apart from the demand of a strict science, Kant has another reason to think that true logic must have an a priori ground. This takes us back to the connection among universality, necessity, and apriority of logical rules that I explicated in section 3.2. In brief, the universality of logical rules entails their necessity: as a “universal theory of understanding,” logic “puts forward only the necessary rules of thinking . . . hence the rules without which nothing could be thought at all” (R1620, 16: 40). The necessity of the rules in turn requires that they be “derived a priori” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 792). In general, Kant is of the view that “strict universality” is characteristic of a rule to which no exception would be possible at all and which must therefore be derived independently of experience. The a priori derivation of the rule in turn “points to a special source of cognition [Erkenntnisquell] for it, namely a faculty [Vermögen] of a priori cognition” (B3–​4). In these terms, if logical rules need “a ground from which they are derived” as the necessary conditions of thinking in general, the derivation must establish them as “universal according to reason,” reason being the faculty for cognizing them a priori (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 694). A further feature of logic holds the clue about the ground from which its rules are to be cognized a priori:  logic is a “self-​cognition of the understanding and of reason,” in that the understanding (presumably in some broad sense thereof), which cognizes logical rules, is also the very object of logic (Log, 9: 14).32 That is, since logic deals only with the necessary rules of thinking, it must proceed from an analysis of the understanding as the faculty of thinking—​“logica will thus have no other grounds or sources than the nature of human understanding” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 25). The a priori cognition of logical rules may proceed in roughly two stages, then. It starts with a reflection on the understanding as a faculty of thinking in

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general. On that basis, a set of rules are derived as what determine the possibility of thinking with respect to its mere form. Before I give a tentative sketch of this procedure, two distinctions are in order. The first is a distinction between two kinds of “principle” pertaining to logic. On the one hand, in the context of clarifying the utility of pure gen­ eral logic as a mere canon, Kant takes it to present “principles of all logical assessment of our cognition” (A60/​B84), namely principles for evaluating a given cognition with respect to its formal correctness. Among these evaluative principles is the law of contradiction, which is the most general albeit merely negative principle of all our cognition in that whatever violates the law is false (A150–​51/​B189–​90). On the other hand, when inquiring about the principle of a scientific logic, Kant is seeking to uncover the ground or source of a strictly scientific cognition of the rules of thinking in general. This foundational inquiry should not be confused with a project of reducing all logical rules, in an axiomatic-​deductive manner, to a supposedly self-​evident principle like the law of contradiction.33 The second distinction is between two kinds of pure logical rules. There are generative rules, which specify the logical functions of the understanding whereby any thought—​ a concept, a judgment, or an inference—​ may be generated as to form. Then come veridical rules, which include the law of contradiction among others and which constitute the formal conditions of the truth of a given thought.34 When Kant takes Aristotle’s logic to be complete in having not omitted any “moment” or “form” or “function” of thinking, he is presumably referring just to the generative rules. These rules will be my focus. The question is how to go, as Kant has indicated, from a conception of the nature of human understanding to an articulated system of the rules in question. Insofar as what pure logic needs is a special critique (as I explained in section 4), we may begin with Kant’s description of critique as a nonphysiological study of the subject. Such a study, he writes, draws distinctions between sensibility and understanding on the one hand and between pure and empirical faculties of cognition on the other (R4851, 18:  8–​9). I  mentioned in section 3.3 that, while the conjunction of these two distinctions is central to Kant’s notion of transcendental logic, the second distinction is irrelevant to general logic, which treats cognition in general regardless of whether it is pure or empirical. There is an important caveat, though. It is only when we consider the subject matter of general logic, by which it differs from transcendental logic, that we disregard the distinction between pure and empirical cognition. This distinction does matter when it comes to inquiring about the nature and ground of logic as a strict science. Logic proper is no less a pure science than transcendental logic is one. In these terms, the critique underlying logic proper presumably involves an a priori investigation of the faculty of the understanding,

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which Kant characterizes as a faculty of spontaneity or capacity to think in a way that can transform given representations—​regardless of how they may be given—​into a thought of something, a thought that is essentially conceptual (A51/​B75). We can trace out an a priori analysis of the understanding as the faculty of thinking in the “Prolegomena” to most transcripts of Kant’s logic lectures, as well as in the “Introduction” of the Logic. Briefly, it revolves around the following theses (besides the notion of the understanding as a faculty of spontaneity).

(1) Thinking is an act [Handlung] of the understanding. As such, it must be governed by rules. Everything in nature . . . takes place according to rules. . . . The exercise of our powers [Kräfte] also takes place according to certain rules. . . . Like all our powers, the understanding in particular is bound in its acts [Handlungen] to rules, which we can investigate. (Log, 9: 11; see V-​Lo/​ Philippi, 24:  311; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24:  502; V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24:  608; V-​Lo/​ Dohna, 24: 693; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 790; V-​Lo/​Bauch, LV 1: 3–​6; V-​Lo/​ Hechsel, LV 2: 271–​72; V-​Lo/​Warschauer, LV 2: 505)



(2) Thinking has both matter and form. The matter (object) of thinking varies from one specific science to another.35 One thing is constant, however, namely the “use of the understanding in accordance with rules of which one is conscious” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 23). Logical rules, as what pertain to the mere form of thinking, are presupposed by all sciences. In all thought there is matter and form. Matter concerns the object and form the mode of treatment. . . . Our understanding has various objects of cognition and of science, such as history, mathematics—​but universal logic abstracts from all this content, from all variety of cognition, and considers in everything only the form of concepts, judgments, and inferences. In short, it is one of the sciences that prepare us for others. (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 791; see V-​Lo/​ Dohna, 24: 693; V-​Lo/​Warschauer, LV 2: 506; V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 609; Log, 9: 12–​13; also R1603, 16: 33; R1620, 16: 40; R1628, 16: 43–​44; A52/​B67)



(3) There are rules for how we think and there are rules for how we ought to think. The latter rules are those without which no thought would be possible. We can divide the laws of our understanding in the following way[:]‌ 1. Rules for how we think.

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2. Rules for how we ought to think. .  .  .  Logic teaches us this last, namely, how to use the objective rules of our understanding. . . . the universal rules are the sole condition of our thought [as to form]. (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  791–​92; see V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 502; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 694; Log, 9: 14; R1579, 16: 18, 20–​21; R1599 [1769–​70? (1771–​72?) (1760–​64? 1764–​68?) 1773–​75??], 16:  30; R3939 [1769], 17: 356)

(4) Three kinds of cognition, as to form, originate through the act of thinking (as the spontaneous act of bringing forth representations). Logically, all origins [Anfänge] in thought are divided thus: 1. The cognition is a simple cognition, a concept.36 2. The cognitions are combined in a judgment. 3. That judgments are combined and that inferences arise therefrom. (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  904; see V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24:  565; V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 653; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 389)37

These propositions together suggest that logical rules first include the ones that determine the acts of the understanding whereby concepts, judgments, and inferences are to be generated. To specify these rules, one begins with an analysis of the nature or “form” of concept, judgment and inference, respectively.38 This procedure is manifested most clearly in Part I  of the Logic, “Universal Doctrine of Elements,” which as Jäsche describes it treats none other than “the three essential principal functions of thought:  concepts, judgements, and inferences” (Log, 9: 4). We can track down the same procedure in many transcripts of Kant’s lectures as well. For a rough illustration of this procedure, take concepts first. Every concept has the form of a “universal representation, or a representation of what is common to several objects” (Log, 9: 91; see V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 567–​68; V-​Lo/​ Wiener, 24: 904, 908; V-​Lo/​Bauch, LV 1: 151–​52; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 390, 395; V-​Lo/​Warschauer, LV 2: 609). As such, a concept is “always made [gemacht]” (Log, 9: 93). Accordingly, there are rules that determine how the representations “given to [the understanding] from elsewhere, whatever this may be,” may be “transform[ed]  .  .  .  into concepts” (A76/​B102; see Log, 9:  93; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24:  566; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  907). These rules specify the “logical actus of the understanding”—​viz. comparison, reflection, and abstraction—​that constitute “the essential and universal conditions for generation of every concept whatsoever” (Log, 9: 94; see V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 907–​10; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 393–​95; V-​Lo/​Warschauer, LV 2: 609–​10). Next, an analysis of the nature of judgment serves as the basis to derive the formal rules for generating all possible judgments. A  judgment relates a multitude of cognitions in the unity of one representation. Different

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forms of judgment are just different ways in which such a unified relation may be effected (Log, 9: 101; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 577; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 928–​29; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2:  422; V-​Lo/​Warschauer, LV 2:  623). Relating multiple cognitions in one is an act of the understanding. On Kant’s account, formally this act has twelve moments under four titles—​quantity (singular, universal, particular), quality (affirmative, negative, infinite), relation (categorical, hypothetical, disjunctive), and modality (problematic, assertoric, apodictic).39 These are precisely the twelve moments of “the function of thinking” listed in Kant’s Table of Judgments. It is not surprising, then, that he occasionally introduces the logical forms of judgment simply as the various “acts of the understanding [Verstandeshandlungen] that appear in a judgment” (V-​Lo/​ Wiener, 24:  929; see V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24:  577; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2:  423; V-​Lo/​ Warschauer, LV 2: 623–​24). Finally, the derivation of the rules for generating (syllogistic) inferences likewise proceeds from a general analysis of inference (Log, 9: 114–​30; V-​Lo/​ Pölitz, 24: 583–​93; V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 670–​78; V-​Lo/​Bauch, LV 1: 181–​203; V-​Lo/​ Hechsel, LV 2: 439–​73; V-​Lo/​Warschauer, LV 2: 632–​47).40 By this sketch of Kant’s procedure, I mean only to show what kind of proof he may give for the claim that Aristotle’s logic is complete, without dwelling on how each one of those rules is supposed to be derived exactly. In short, if Kant has the aforementioned rules in mind while claiming that the Aristotelian logic has exhausted all the formal rules of thinking, he may take the claim as justified just in case those rules can be systematically derived from a common principle, which comes down to an analysis of the relevant capacity, be it that of forming a concept, a judgment, or an inference (insofar as the form of each is concerned). Philosophically speaking, I submit, what is important here is not whether the proof is convincing in its details, but what it has revealed about Kant’s theory of logic, especially when we compare it with the relevant historical developments. If Kant has no definitive proof for the completeness claim (more on this below), one thing is clear:  we would be missing his point to read the claim simply as a mark of uncritical adherence to the Aristotelian tradition. Given that the need for Kant to prove the claim is rooted in his notion of a strictly scientific logic, the proof amounts to reconstructing Aristotle’s logic—​the part thereof that contains all the formal rules of thinking—​from a principle a priori and thereby transforming it into a true science. (This reading is similar to how Kant, as I  pointed out in ­chapter  4, came to understand his relation to the Aristotelian ontology as a system of categories.) It is this reformed Aristotelian logic that Kant feels assured to use in the Critique. The assurance is not from Aristotle’s authority as the father of logic or from any time-​tested prevalence of the Aristotelian tradition. (Moreover, as we saw in c­ hapters  1 and 2, the Aristotelian logic rarely enjoyed uncontested authority even when it prevailed

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in the schools.) It is rather founded on Kant’s own philosophical convictions about what it takes for logic to be a proper science. 5.3. A CONJECTURAL CODA: LOGIC AS A SELF-​COGNITION OF REASON

The above account of the completeness of logic—​or, to be more specific, the part of the Aristotelian logic that purportedly belongs in logic proper—​may leave the reader unsatisfied. If one wants to know why we are supposed to have exactly such and such logical forms or functions of judgment, it is not clear to what (if any) extent the account I sketched on Kant’s behalf answers this question. Indeed, we shall see that in some sense even Kant would not think that he (or anyone) could answer it. Much will depend on how one frames the question. To appreciate this point, let us return to the idea mentioned in section 5.2 that logic is a kind of self-​cognition of reason. In this regard, it will again be helpful to consider the case of metaphysics, which Kant occasionally presents as a paradigm of reason’s self-​cognition. In ­chapter 4, I drew attention to Kant’s views on two “interests” of metaphysics. One is to treat the problems thrown up by the inquiring mind in its pursuit of truths about the world. The other is to understand the rules and boundaries of its own capacity. The engagement with the first task leads reason to controversies that it cannot resolve just by dogmatically pitting one side against the other, and this impasse eventually compels reason to reflect on what kinds of problems it can or cannot solve. Thus, there is a dynamic progression from the first task to the second, marking the maturing of reason. Kant recapitulates this progression in the first preface to the Critique (A Preface). He begins by pointing out that, with respect to metaphysical cognitions, human reason is “burdened with questions which it cannot dismiss, since they are given to it as problems by the nature of reason itself, but which it also cannot answer, since they transcend every capacity of human reason” (Avii). Venturing into what lies beyond the reach of its speculative (theoretical) capacity, reason enters the battleground of “endless controversies” (Aviii). At first, it handles such controversies through “despotic” ruling “under the administration of the dogmatists.” Then, after ill-​fated efforts to overturn such despotism (as, for example, through the Lockean empiricism), there is a period of “indifferentism” (Aix–​x). Finally, with its “ripened power of judgment,” reason is obliged to “take on anew the most difficult of all its tasks, namely, that of self-​knowledge [Selbsterkenntnis], and to institute a court of justice, by which reason may secure its rightful claims while dismissing all its groundless pretensions, . . . and this court is none other than the critique of pure reason itself ” (Axi–​xii).

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This reflexive critique of reason, Kant adds, is “a critique of the faculty of reason in general, in respect of all the cognitions after which reason might strive independently of all experience.” For metaphysics, this critique is the only way to determine its possibility or impossibility and its sources, extent, and boundaries—​all “from principles.” Following this path, Kant aims, among other things, at “discovering the point where reason has misunderstood itself.” For “the duty of philosophy was to abolish the semblance [Blendwerk] arising from misinterpretation, even if many prized and beloved delusions have to be destroyed in the process” (Axii–​xiii). Envisioning a reader’s “indignation” at his apparently immodest claims, Kant explains that in an important sense his claims are far more modest than what dogmatic metaphysicians have made about all sorts of things that lie beyond the reach of our rational cognition. In working out a critique of pure reason, he says, I have to do merely with reason itself and its pure thinking; to gain exhaustive acquaintance with them I need not seek far beyond myself, because it is in myself that I  encounter them, and common logic [gemeine Logik] already also gives me an example of how the simple acts [einfachen Handlungen] of reason may be fully and systematically enumerated; only here the question is raised how much I may hope to settle with these simple acts if all the material and assistance of experience are taken away from me. (Axiv) The simple Handlungen of reason in question, as I pointed out in section 3.3 while referring to Kant’s famous “same understanding” passage, become pure concepts of the understanding when they pertain to the objects of sensible intuition. Kant takes the deduction of these concepts to be the most important investigation “for getting to the bottom of that faculty we call the understanding, and at the same time for the determination of the rules and boundaries of its use” (Axvi). This investigation, he adds, has two sides. One side refers to the objects of the pure understanding, and is supposed to demonstrate and make comprehensible the objective validity of its concepts a priori.  .  .  .  The other side deals with the pure understanding itself, concerning its possibility and the powers of cognition on which it itself rests. (Axvi) Kant calls the first investigation an “objective deduction” of pure concepts of the understanding. It asks what and how much the understanding can cognize a priori, free of all experience. The second investigation is a “subjective deduction,” which concerns the possibility of “the faculty of thinking itself.” As far as the Critique is concerned, Kant proclaims, his primary concern is the objective deduction. As for the subjective one, he treats it “like a hypothesis

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(although . . . this is not in fact how matters stand)” on the assumption that its certainty is not required for a successful objective deduction (Axvii).41 If we want to know how it is that pure understanding cognizes through precisely such and such concepts, all the primary ones of which are purportedly exhausted by Kant’s Table of Categories, this question is presumably left to the subjective deduction. If that is the case, however, it is far from clear whether Kant in fact has an answer or even whether he believes it possible to give an informative one. On the one hand, the idea that metaphysics, as a system of pure concepts, is part of the self-​cognition of reason entails that such concepts can be made completely transparent to reason. [Metaphysics] is nothing but the inventory of all we possess through pure reason, ordered systematically. Nothing here can escape us, because what reason brings forth entirely out of itself cannot be hidden, but is brought to light by reason itself as soon as reason’s common principle has been discovered. (Axx) It is for this reason, Kant asserts, that metaphysics enjoys “unconditioned completeness” in terms of its content (Axx). So, by the end of the Critique he feels assured that “transcendental critique . . . has revealed to me the entire stock of our pure reason” (A753/​B781). On the other hand, Kant rules out the possibility of finding a precise ground for this completeness claim about pure concepts or, for that matter, about either the logical functions of judgment or forms of intuition. But for the peculiarity of our understanding, that it is able to bring about the unity of apperception a priori only by means of the categories and only through precisely this kind and number of them, a further ground may be offered just as little as one can be offered for why we have precisely these and no other functions for judgment or for why space and time are the sole forms of our possible intuition. (B145–​46) Kant makes a similar point in a letter to Herz on May 26, 1789. The letter responds to Maimon’s suggestion that Kant has in effect failed to make intelligible three things: first, the agreement between our intuitions and a priori concepts as two heterogeneous manners of representation; second, my prescribing laws to nature or objects “by means of my category (whose possibility in itself is only problematic)”; third, “the necessity of these functions of the understanding whose existence is again merely a fact, since that necessity has to be presupposed if we are to subject things, however conceived, to those functions” (Br, 11: 50).42 Part of Kant’s response is to repeat what he has said in the Critique: it must be the case that the a priori concepts etc. are necessary insofar as we are to experience objects (Br, 11: 51). Meanwhile, he thinks “we are absolutely unable to explain further

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how . . . such functions of the understanding as those out of which logic develops are possible,” adding that it is at any rate “entirely unnecessary” to offer such an explanation as far as his project in the Critique is concerned (Br, 11: 51–​52). If there is a seeming tension between Kant’s claim about metaphysics as an exhaustible self-​cognition of reason in the A  Preface and his later claim about our inability to comprehend why we have such and such logical functions of judgment or pure concepts of the understanding, the two claims are not incompatible. To the contrary, in a sense they are profoundly connected. By the latter claim Kant has virtually limited the extent to which we can meaningfully inquire about the conditions of cognition as they pertain to our cognitive faculties. His position in this regard is best reflected in his comments about the ways in which the notion of pre-​established harmony may or may not be relevant. In a well-​known lengthy footnote about the deduction of categories in the Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science (1786), Kant distinguishes the project of showing that the categories are none other than a priori conditions of all possible experience from the task of explaining how they make experience possible. He argues that, to establish the objective validity of these concepts, it suffices to fulfill the first task. As for “the problem how experience is now possible by means of these categories, and only through these categories alone,” he claims that the 1781 Critique already contains the basis for explaining (Erklärungsgrund) it and that he only needs to make the explanation clearer—​ so that one would not find it necessary to “tak[e]‌refuge in a pre-​established harmony to explain the strange agreement of appearances with the laws of the understanding.” The agreement is strange in that appearances and the laws or concepts of the understanding are from “entirely different sources [Quellen].” Kant finds it objectionable to account for the possibility of this agreement by appealing to pre-​established harmony, an appeal that “would be much worse than the evil it is supposed to cure, and, on the contrary, actually cannot help.” Meanwhile, he is confident that the problem of explaining the possibility of the said agreement can be solved with “just as much ease” (MAN, 4: 474–​76n, modified translation). Kant no longer shows such confidence while talking about similar issues after 1786, though. In the previously cited 1789 letter to Herz, Kant remarks that by pre-​established harmony Leibniz must have meant the harmony between the faculties of sensibility and understanding for the sake of empirical cognition. He then adds: If we wanted to make judgments about their origin—​an investigation that of course lies wholly beyond the limits of human reason—​we could name no further ground than the divine author [weiter keinen Grund, als den Gottlichen Urheber]. (Br, 11: 52, modified translation)

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Later, in his famous controversy with Eberhard, Kant again clarifies that, by naming pre-​established harmony as the “ground” of the agreement between sensibility and understanding, Leibniz must have meant the following: we would have to conceive thereby a certain purposiveness in the arrangement of the supreme cause, of ourselves as well as of all things outside us; and this indeed as something already lodged in creation (predetermined), albeit a predetermination . . . only of the mental powers in us, sensibility and understanding, each in its own way for the other, just as the Critique teaches that for the a priori cognition of things they must stand in a reciprocal relationship to one another in the mind. . . . In this way, then, the Critique of Pure Reason might well be the true apology for Leibniz. (ÜE, 8: 250, modified translation) Combine the two passages just quoted, and you can get a rough sense of a two-​pronged Kantian take on the challenges posed by Maimon. On the one hand, Kant now subscribes to the following inscrutability thesis:  we cannot provide any ground for “why we have precisely such a mode of sensibility and an understanding of such a nature” or “why, as otherwise fully heterogeneous sources of cognition, they always conform so well to the possibility of empirical cognition in general” (ÜE, 8: 249–​50). On the other hand, we cannot help but desire to comprehend such a ground. That is, as Kant puts it in the Critique of the Power of Judgment (1790), the agreement between our faculties of sensibility and understanding impels reason “as it were, to suspect something lying beyond those sensible representations, in which, although unknown to us, the ultimate ground of that accord could be found” (KU, 5: 365). This supposed ground is “comprehensible only through an intelligent world-​cause” (ÜE, 8: 250). By naming the ground in this way, however, we have not gained any real insight into it. It is also “not necessary,” Kant adds, “for us to know this [ground] if it is merely a matter of the formal purposiveness of our a priori representations” (KU, 5: 365).43 The inscrutability thesis just mentioned has a radical implication for Kant’s conception of metaphysics and logic as self-​cognitions of reason. Simply put, because we can have no insight into whatever ultimate ground might have determined our cognitive faculties, no presumption about such a ground can serve as the starting point of reason’s self-​cognition. What is needed here is a kind of Copernican revolution. If in our relation to objects “we can cognize of things a priori only what we ourselves have put into them” (Bxviii), the same may be said of reason’s self-​cognition a priori. This cognition is not a matter of knowing what the intelligent world-​cause might have effected in the natural constitution of our faculties. For, even if we grant there to be such a predetermined natural constitution, this purported subjective constitution would be inscrutable to us and ergo it would be pointless to inquire about it.

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Rather, if human intellect must legislate for nature so as to cognize its order and regularity a priori, it must have also legislated the laws that regulate its own cognitive acts. For otherwise we cannot claim to have any a priori knowledge of such laws. To put it differently, even if one suspects there to be a higher-​order legislator of such laws, this suspicion has no bearing on a strictly rational cognition of them. This conception of self-​cognition seems to go even farther in logic (as a complete scientific cognition of the logical functions of thinking in general and the rules that govern them) than in metaphysics (in its first part thereof to be more precise, namely “ontology” in Kant’s sense as a complete scientific cognition of the elements of pure thinking, including pure concepts).44 If pure concepts are “self-​thought” principles of the understanding, in cognizing them reason still has to presuppose certain “first germs and predispositions in the human understanding” into which they are traced, namely to derive them from certain inherent laws of human understanding (see section 4.2). That is, if those concepts arise through “as it were a system of the epigenesis of pure reason” (B167), even this epigenesis presupposes some kind of preformation (germs and predispositions) that limits what can emerge from the epigenetic process. Now, the inherent laws of human understanding that constitute this preformation presumably include the logical rules of thinking presented in logic proper. If, for reasons noted above, these rules must likewise be self-​thought principles, reason cannot trace them to a more basic level of germs or predispositions. In other words, if they have also arisen through a certain epigenesis of reason, this epigenesis must be of a radical kind that presupposes no preformation. Reason must be completely spontaneous in this case, then, bringing forth the representations of logical rules of thinking in a way that, to borrow John Zammito’s terminology, manifests “the radicality of emergence” (Zammito 2007: 54).45 This radical originality in reason’s self-​cognition of logical rules somewhat reaffirms Kant’s view, as I  presented it in section 4.3, about the boundaries of their rightful use. It clarifies that “in logic . . . the understanding has to do with nothing further than itself and its own form” (Bix). Consequently, logic should not be used as an organon in the material-​productive sense. If reason may nevertheless be tempted otherwise and thereby give rise to a kind of dialectical illusion, only a transcendental reflection on the source of logical rules can prevent it from being deceived by any such illusion. From Kant’s standpoint, this reflection cannot be a speculation about their de facto origin in something beyond reason’s comprehension. It must rather be a rational inquiry about the possibility of cognizing them a priori. This inquiry comes down to a self-​ directed critique on the part of reason, through which it issues certain rules as the necessary conditions of all possible thinking as to mere form. Logical rules are in this way self-​legislated on the part of reason.

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Reason can have “no dictatorial authority” in its legislation, however (A738/​B766). To the contrary, Reason must subject itself to critique in all its undertakings, and cannot restrict the freedom of critique through any prohibition without damaging itself and drawing upon itself a disadvantageous suspicion. Now there is nothing so important because of its utility, nothing so holy, that it may be exempted from this searching review and inspection. . . . The very existence of reason depends upon this freedom [of critique]. (A738/​B766) Again, only reason can be a qualified judge here. This means that reason qua legislator must, to avoid falling back on despotism, “appear before the critical eye of a higher and judicial reason . . . with a complete renunciation of all pretensions to dogmatic authority” (A739/​B767, my italicization). Reason as the judge must in turn summon a jury formed by “its fellow citizens” (A739/​B767) and base its verdict solely on a “free and public examination” of the issues under investigation (Axi, note; see A751–​52/​B779–​80). In this court of public scrutiny, reason exercises its “polemic use,” which consists in “the defense of its propositions against dogmatic denials of them” (A739/​B767). Only in this way can one pronounce, among other things, that such and such are the rules for all our intellectual activities without begging the kind of questions that Maimon raised.46 Before I  venture to submit a likely Kantian response to Maimon’s challenge, it will also be helpful to note Kant’s distinction between two concepts of philosophy/​philosopher. Philosophy in the scholastic sense is a mere system of rational cognitions. It involves two things, “a sufficient supply of cognitions of reason” and “a systematic connection of these cognitions, or a combination of them in the idea of a whole.” Philosophy in the cosmopolitan sense, by contrast, is “the science of the relation of all cognition and of all use of reason to the ultimate end of human reason” and hence “a science of the highest maxims for the use of our reason.” It must determine three things, namely “the sources of human knowledge, the extent of the possible and profitable use of all knowledge, and finally the limits of reason,” this last one being “the most necessary but also the hardest” (Log, 9: 23–​25; see A838–​39/​B866–​67; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 799–​800; V-​Met-​L2/​Pölitz, 28: 532–​33). Accordingly, Kant distinguishes the philosopher properly so called (in the cosmopolitan sense) from the mathematician, the naturalist, and the logician alike. These latter are “only artists of reason,” whereas the philosopher is “the legislator of human reason” (A839/​B867). They differ in two fundamental respects. First, while the artist of reason or “philodox” is solely concerned with equipping reason with skills and tools “for any end one might wish,” the philosopher always keeps in view the essential and final ends of human reason (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 798; see Log, 9: 24; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 704). Second, the artist of reason aims at speculative knowledge without taking interest in properly grounding the rules for the speculative use of our reason, whereas

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the philosopher’s most important task is precisely “the grounding [Gründung] of the supreme maxims of the speculative as well as practical use of reason.” The philosopher is therefore “an expert in the laws of human reason, and the foremost laws are those that restrict the pretensions of reason to the end of humanity” (R4970 [1776–​78], 18:  44). Logicians without the backing of this expertise risk becoming sophists or dialecticians, “pettifogging lawyers” of the laws of reason “who provide themselves with a certain illusion of wisdom, and with this seek to accomplish certain ends by force” (V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 800). This distinction between a logician and a true philosopher brings to mind Jäsche’s conception of the logician as logician, who cannot care less about the transcendental question about the possibility of pure logic as a science (see section 1.2 of ­chapter 1). The philosopher, however, must directly tackle this kind of question. In a way, she bears the duty to abolish illusions that arise from misunderstandings. In the case of logic, the only way to forestall its misuse is to tackle the philosophical questions regarding its possibility as a science and its source as a pure rational cognition, and thereby to demarcate the boundaries of its legitimate use. When Kant talks about the peculiar nature and limited utility of (pure general) logic in the Critique, he is doing so from the standpoint of the philosopher, not the logician. Even if he momentarily wears the logician’s hat while presenting the Table of Judgments, as soon as he starts treating this table as a complete representation of all the basic Handlungen of the understanding in general, he resumes the position of a philosopher and must be ready to defend his claims about the table in response to challenges of the sort posed by Maimon. That said, Kant would not see himself as the philosopher who is supposed to be the legal expert of human reason. The concept of such a philosopher is never instantiated by an actual individual, Kant says, “although the idea of his legislation is found in every human reason,” in reference to which idea alone can we hope to “determine more precisely” what is prescribed by philosophy in the cosmopolitan sense (A839/​B867). Now we may return to Kant’s completeness claim about the Aristotelian logic and give it another hearing, one that starts by treating it as a philosophical claim in the Kantian sense of the term. Augustus De Morgan once wrote that “innovations [in formal logic] have been listened to in a spirit which seems to admit that Kant’s dictum about the perfection of the Aristotelian logic may possibly be false” (De Morgan 1860: 247). This repudiation of the completeness claim suggests a struggle among logicians, with different articulated systems of logical forms, that Kant might decline to join. The rise of modern logic nevertheless gives us an occasion to query about which, if any, system of logical laws can rightfully claim to have exhausted all the necessary laws of thought. Many modern thinkers tend to approach this question in a way that is specifically directed at logical psychologism, which either reduces all logical laws to psychological laws of thinking or bases the former on the latter while maintaining their distinction. Gottlob Frege, for instance, holds that logical

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laws, as the “laws of thought” that “prescribe universally how one should think if one is to think at all,” are absolutely and eternally binding and so cannot be reduced to or grounded on psychological laws of thought, which can only be “authoritative with qualifications” (because they vary with time, place, and thinking individuals). Logical laws are absolutely necessary because they are laws of truth, when truth is understood as placeless, timeless, and independent of whether what is true is held as such or is entertained by any thinking subject at all. As for “why and with what right we recognize a logical law as true,” we can answer this question only within logic—​by reducing said law to a more basic logical law or treating it as an irreducible axiom (Frege 1893: 202–​4; see Frege 1897: 228; Frege 1918: 325–​26). On the Fregean account, as Gilbert Harman renders (and then challenges) it, logic is a self-​affirming science of truth that also plays a “special role” in reasoning (1984: 110). Harman’s skepticism about there being any special relation between logic (in the Fregean sense) and reasoning has set in motion an ongoing debate over logical normativity.47 The title of one of his articles expresses the punchline from one side of this debate: “A Logic Is Not a Theory of Reasoning and a Theory of Reasoning Is Not a Logic” (2002). Although the language in which this post-​Fregean debate has been carried out is not the same as Kant’s, what is worth debating is a similar question: on what (if any) basis can one assert with certainty that a specific system of logic—​be it Aristotelian, Fregean, or some other system—​has precisely captured all the absolutely necessary laws of thought? As far as I  can tell, Kant does not have a definitive answer to this kind of question. Nor, for the indirect reasons I have given in this section, would he profess to be in the position to offer one. What does seem clear from the Kantian perspective, though, is that the question is a philosophical one that cannot, contra Frege, be answered within logic. No one side can declare itself a winner without a proper hearing in front of the jury of unbiased philosophers. To say the least, one is not permitted to file a dogmatic dismissal of Kant’s completeness claim by declaring, for instance, that the Aristotelian logic is but a relic of the past.48

6. Conclusion In this chapter, I  traced Kant’s answer to some of the historically debated questions about the nature and place of logic to four propositions:  (1) logic qua science is formal; (2) general logic has a subject matter that distinguishes it from transcendental logic among other sciences; (3) logic can serve only as a canon but never an organon; (4) the Aristotelian logic is complete in its content. These propositions are closely related. With respect to (1) and (2), I teased apart three aspects of logical formality mentioned in the Critique, which

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represent the ways in which (pure general) logic is unique in comparison with other putative sciences. FormalS separates it from the applied logic that draws on psychology. By FormalO, it differs from sciences that treat various domains of objects separately. And FormalR captures the sense in which pure general logic specifically differs from transcendental logic. Then, in light of Kant’s argument for proposition (3) and especially for the claim that pure general logic cannot serve as organon in the material-​productive sense, I submitted that he needed nothing short of a transcendental critique to reveal the illusory nature of treating this logic otherwise. Against this backdrop, I finally turned to (4). My goal was not to defend the completeness claim. Rather, while having reasons to think that a full defense may not be forthcoming, I stressed the need to give it a fair hearing and a respectful philosophical treatment that it deserves but has rarely received from post-​Fregean readers. Tapping into Kant’s suggestion that logic and metaphysics are parts of the self-​cognition of reason, along with his distinction between philosopher as the legislator of reason and logician as a mere artist of reason, I indicated that he himself might claim only a limited extent to which he could back up the completeness claim from the philosopher’s standpoint. Among other things, he would not be able to prove with absolute certainty that the specific content he attributed to logic proper—​viz. those logical forms of judgment included in his Table of Judgments—​precisely capture the necessary rules of thought as to mere form. That said, the completeness claim should not be dismissed dogmatically either. This cautionary note is worth stressing, lest one be tempted to issue any such dismissal by pitting modern logic against the Aristotelian system, which would amount to missing the philosophical point of the claim altogether. People familiar with the existing literature on Kant’s logic—​especially those who would really like to see him offering definitive accounts of how the Table of Judgments is indeed complete and how the Table of Categories may be specifically generated from it49—​might be disappointed or at least underwhelmed by this conclusion. This reaction is expected and even appreciated. I have to suspect that those accounts, as much as it would be nice to have them, are not forthcoming. There is something liberating about this result, though. Just as Kant thought that beyond a certain point it would be futile to press an inquiry any further (see section 5.3), so it may finally be time to recognize that, when we treat logic as a science of certain fundamental laws of human understanding, we can only go so far in asking whether a purported logical system—​ be it Aristotelian or otherwise—​has rightly or exhaustively captured those laws.

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This book tells a history of philosophy of logic that revolves around the following questions. Is logic a distinct branch of philosophy? Is it a science, an organon, or both? If it is a science, is it a theoretical or a practical one? If it is a theoretical science, does it meet the standards of a strict scientia? If it is a practical science, what is the defining utility that makes it so? These questions boil down to two most fundamental ones. First, insofar as logic is a theoretical science, what is the subject matter that makes it distinct vis-​à-​vis other sciences and on what principles must it be grounded if it is to be correct and demonstratively certain, as a strict notion of scientia demands? Second, insofar as logic is useful, how (if at all) is it related to ethical concerns on the one hand and to the study of nature on the other? I have two basic reasons for considering historical approaches to these questions from Aristotle to Kant. One is that, while philosophically interesting, they tend to be overlooked in canonical histories of logic. The other comes from the exegetical challenges posed by Kant’s logic corpus. The corpus, as I explained in c­ hapter 1, comprises Kant’s unpublished Reflexionen on logic, available transcripts of his logic lectures, scattered remarks about logic in his own publications, and the Logic edited by Jäsche. These materials do not obviously add up to a coherent, complete picture of Kant’s view of logic. To use them fruitfully, an interpreter needs a pertinent, well-​informed, and clearly articulated perspective. The search for such a perspective prompted me to examine historical discussions of the questions raised above (with the caveat that those discussions are also interesting in their own right). To this end, I  deem it important to have a general picture of those discussions coupled with a few case studies. Only then can we accurately decode the language with which Kant addresses similar questions and see how his views may be informed by and continuous with the relevant traditions but also differ from them in significant ways. It was out of this conviction that I  delved into the following among other topics in ­chapter  2:  the division of philosophy and the place of logic according to Aristotle, Epicurus, and the

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early Stoics; the foundation and subject matter of logic as a scientia rationalis according to leading medieval thinkers; and the ethical dimension of logical studies according to humanists from Seneca to Ramus. In ­chapter  3, I  examined how four of Kant’s modern predecessors—​ Bacon, Locke, Leibniz, and Wolff—​treated similar topics. I drew attention to two different ways of securing the scientific status for logic and establishing the legitimacy of its use as an organon, namely, Bacon’s “natural history” method and Wolff’s attempt to ground logic (qua logica artificialis) on psychology and ontology. I  then explained how Locke’s criticism of the scholastic approach to logic reflected both the humanist concerns about the practical aspect of logic and the Baconian principle that a proper natural history of human understanding is the sole basis for evaluating the claim of any purported logic to assist this faculty. Against this backdrop, I turned to Kant’s pre-​Critique reflections on logic in ­chapter 4. I noted two breakthroughs in particular. One involved Kant’s division of logic in general into a logic for the learned understanding (logicL) and one for the common understanding to make it healthy (logicH). By treating these two as fundamentally distinct and mutually independent parts of logic, Kant rebuked the standard Wolffian view that natural and artificial logics are identical in content though different in modes of representation and, at the same time, retained the humanist and Lockean sensitivity to broadly ethical implications of logic for the common human understanding. As for the second breakthrough, it happened through Kant’s efforts to establish metaphysics as a proper science during the period roughly between the mid-​1760s and the mid-​1770s. These efforts led him to introduce “transcendental logic,” initially to capture a new conception of ontology, according to which it is no longer a science of being qua being (as Wolff thought) but a science of the understanding (hence a kind of logic). In ­chapter  5, I  looked at how these earlier breakthroughs were brought to bear on Kant’s official account of logic proper (pure general logic) in the Critique. Besides tracing his distinction between “pure logic” and “applied logic” (as two branches of general logic) to the aforementioned pair of logicL and logicH, I drew out certain implications that his discovery of “transcendental logic,” together with his views on what it takes for metaphysics to be possible as a pure science a priori, seemed to have for his theory of logic qua science. I did so by analyzing his following claims about logic in the Critique: (a) unlike transcendental logic, logic proper considers the form of cognition in general in abstraction from its relation (Beziehung) to the object; (b) because of this abstraction, logic proper can serve only as a canon for the formal assessment of given cognitions, not an organon for the material extension thereof; (c) logic, as a science that exhaustively presents and strictly proves nothing but the formal rules of all thinking, has been complete since the time of Aristotle. I submitted that Kant would need some sort of critique to establish the possibility of logic

Conclusion

as a pure, complete, and a priori proven science and to restrict, without begging questions, its legitimate use to that of a mere canon. I also came to recognize, however, that Kant might not be in the position to offer a definitive proof for the correctness or completeness of his (Aristotelian) system of formal logic. All in all, there are two basic takeaways from this study. One is that there is still much more to explore about Kant’s logic and, I would presume, more than one angle from which to look afresh at his theory of logic as a whole. I singled out two topics in c­ hapters 2 and 4 that I believe are certainly worth pursuing, namely his theory of concept and doctrine of method, both of which are treated in his logic corpus but can at the same time go far beyond it. I hope to have also provided ample materials in other parts of the book that may inspire others to take the study of Kant’s theory of logic further and deeper, a study that can truly benefit from collective efforts. The other takeaway is that the historical narrative offered here has given us an opportunity to reassess Kant’s place in the history of logic. At the very least, we can now see whether or how it may be reformative, as Jäsche suggests in his editorial preface to the Logic, in any philosophically meaningful sense. To Jäsche, the reform “concerns the economy and external form of logic [as] . . . part of theoretical philosophy” (Log, 9: 5), by which he is presumably referring to Kant’s pure logic. A closer look suggests, however, that the reform cuts deeper and involves more than just pure logic. In brief, by demarcating and explicating the relations among various divisions that bear the title “logic”—​ viz. particular logic, applied logic, and transcendental logic, as well as pure general logic—​Kant has charted out the space within which to rethink the relation of logic to other branches of philosophy. His work in this regard is shaped both by his broader philosophical project—​especially his quest for the proper method of metaphysics, as shown in c­ hapter 4—​and by his sensitivity to past controversies over the nature, place, and utility of logic. It is impossible to explore fully every aspect of Kant’s theory of logic in a single book. I  have chosen to focus on contextualizing and analyzing his account of pure general logic as a strict science. This no doubt captures what many now see as Kant’s major contribution to the history of logic, namely that of restricting logic proper to a science that treats none other than the form of thought. As De Morgan puts it, The meaning of the word logic has undergone much variation in different hands. It has been what the writer pleases, from the whole of the inquiry into truth and falsehood down to the investigation of the Aristotelian syllogism. This diversity of signification is probably near its end. There is a growing disposition to admit Kant’s definition, which describes it as the science of the necessary laws of thought: it is said to treat of the form of thought independently of its matter. Though neither Aristotle nor his followers confine themselves within this definition, nor even so much as

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distinctly conceive it, all will acknowledge that the definition singles out the most important distinctive feature of their system. (De Morgan 1860: 248) But it is also important to recognize that Aristotle and his followers—​whatever it may mean to be a “follower” of Aristotle’s logic—​did not represent the only standpoint when it comes to figuring out characteristic features of logic. This recognition moved me to include voices from the Stoics and Epicurus, from humanists like Ramus, and from some early modern critics of the Aristotelian syllogistic (or, rather, of its questionable dominance in the realm of knowledge), as well as a range of attempts by scholars from Aquinas to Wolff to defend or expand on what they saw as the Aristotelian conception of logic. Taking these historical perspectives into account, we can appreciate that, by promoting a strict notion of logic qua formal science, Kant was not just “singl[ing] out the most important distinctive feature of [the Aristotelian-​logical] system.” Rather, he virtually effected a profound overhaul of the relation between logic proper, in whichever formal-​logical system it may be exemplified, and other sciences—​ especially metaphysics (ontology) and psychology. This relation, as I mentioned in the general introduction, is one of many issues concerning logic that should be of perennial interest to philosophers.

NOTES General Introduction 1. The Megaric school is partly known for its influence on Zeno of Citium, founder of the Stoic school. See Mueller 1978 on the Megarians’ influence on the Stoic logic. When we look at the latter in c­ hapter 1, we shall see that it contains much more than formal logic, including what according to Bocheński should not be called “logic” at all. 2. I discuss Kant’s relation to the history of logical calculus in Lu-​Adler 2018a. There I also point out that Leibniz was far from the only or, for that matter, the then-​best-​known one working on logical calculus in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, since the bulk of his writings in this area were not published until the beginning of the 1900s. 3.  To sample a few, see Yolton 1955; Ashworth 1974; Buickerood 1985; Gaukroger 1989; Schuurman 2004; Sgarbi 2013. 4.  Groarke 2017 mentions Locke in passing as representing, along with Aristotle among others, a tradition of fallacy theory that is now part of informal logic. 5.  For modern characterizations of this distinction, see Haack 1978:  1–​2; Gensler 2006: xlii–​xliv. I use “philosophy of logic” and “theory of logic” interchangeably.

Chapter 1 1. Erich Adickes designed the dating system for Kant’s Akademie-​Ausgabe based on such accidental features as the color of ink that Kant used (AA 14: xxxvi–​xliii). By contrast, Benno Erdmann (1882) used a content-​centric method to date Kant’s Reflexionen. The results of both methods are controversial. For discussion, see Conrad 1994: 46–​51, 65–​73. 2. Boswell 1988: 196–​200; Young 1992: xxiii–​xxvi; Conrad 1994: 52–​61. For an overview of known records and accounts of Kant’s logic lectures, see Stark 1987. 3. It is likely that many transcripts of Kant’s logic lectures include materials from other authors. See Boswell 1988: 198; Conrad 1994: 57–​58. 4. Kant did grant Herz this wish, as he suggests in a letter to Herz in February 1779 (Br, 10: 248). 5.  It is important to note that the letter mainly contains Kant’s public rejection of the unauthorized edition of his Physical Geography published by Gottfried Vollmer. The right of publication was assigned to Friedrich Rink instead. On this incident and its consequences, see Rink’s “Editor’s Foreword” to his edition of Physical Geography (PG, 9: 153–​55) and Adickes 1911: 11–​14. Remarkably, Rink also mentioned the Logic and reported an overall negative reaction to Jäsche’s high-​handed editorial practice, as “the public preferred the writings of our teacher retained in their entire peculiarity” (PG, 9: 154). 6.  On Jäsche’s relation to Kant’s lectures and the transcripts thereof, see Stark 1987: 126–​29. 7. Boswell 1988: 199; see Conrad 1994: 63–​64.

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Notes 8.  For further discussions of Thomasius’s eclectic method, see Albrecht 1994:  398–​ 416; Kelley 2002: 153–​60; Bottin and Longo 2011: 301–​23. 9. Volume 5 of Brucker’s Historia is entirely dedicated to a comprehensive treatment of the history of eclectic philosophy. For comparison, see Hatzimichali 2011, a monograph on ancient eclecticism. On various aspects of German eclecticism and its impact on philosophical practice in eighteenth-​century Germany, see Holzhey 1983; Gierl 1999; Bottin and Longo 2011; Garrett 2014. On the evolvement from the ancient to modern eclecticism, see Kelley 2002: 31–​168. 10. Brucker also distinguishes “syncretistic” and “eclectic” philosophy, a distinction that is likely the basis of Cousin’s. For a helpful analysis of how Brucker employs these notions, connects them to the concept of a “system of philosophy,” and then employs all three notions in his account of the history of philosophy, see Catana 2008: 11–​34. 11. On Wolff’s complex relation with eclectic philosophy, see Albrecht 1994: 526–​38. 12.  The discerning faculty in question is presumably the power of judgment, which Kant sometimes includes under a broad notion of “understanding.” In ­chapter 4 we shall see that, in the context of his logic lectures, Kant often refers to this kind of understanding as the common and healthy understanding, which he contrasts with learned understanding and characterizes as “natural wit.” 13. See Log, 9: 24–​26; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 797–​800; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 698, 704; V-​Met-​L2/​ Pölitz, 28: 531, 534; Anth, 7: 280n.j; A837–​39/​B865–​67. In these texts, Kant further clarifies the connection between his idea of a true philosopher and his conception of history of philosophy by explicating related notions such as learning to philosophize (as opposed to learning philosophy) and “philosopher” as a mere idea of reason (not a concept that picks out any actual person).

Chapter 2 1.  This is the standard but not the only view about what to include in Aristotle’s Organon. A  longer list includes Aristotle’s Poetics and Rhetoric in addition (Ashworth 2008: 636–​38; Sorabji 2004: 32). 2. See Gottschalk 1990: 59, 64–​66; Barnes 1997a: 24–​44; Sorabji 2004: 32–​36. 3.  See Hülser 1987 (1):  22–​39, where we can find texts suggesting that this is basically how the question was framed and debated through the end of late antiquity, when Aristotle’s logic writings (excepting the Posterior Analytics) were translated and introduced to the Latin West by Boethius. Even Boethius, as John Marenbon puts it, “followed that school of ancient opinion which held that logic was not just a tool for philosophy, but a part of it” (Marenbon 1988: 29). 4. Sextus Empiricus traces this division to Plato, “since he engaged in discussion on many matters in physics, many in ethics, and not a few in logic,” although “the most explicit adherents of this division are Xenocrates, the Peripatetics, and the Stoics” (AgL, I.16). 5. Lives, VII.40–​41. According to Sextus Empiricus, all Stoics (plus Epicurus) adhered to the logic-​ethics-​physics order, while other philosophers who subscribed to the same tripartite division might have ordered the three parts differently (AgL, I.20–​23). At any rate, logic must come first because “if in every part of philosophy what is to be sought is the truth, one must above all have starting-​points and processes for discerning this that are

Notes reliable,” and logic is precisely what “contains reflection about criteria and demonstrations” (AgL, I.24). 6. Diogenes occasionally describes dialecticians unflatteringly as “those who are occupied with verbal jugglery” (Lives, Prologue, §17). These cannot be the kind of “true dialecticians” valued by the early Stoics. In the neutral sense of the term, a “dialectician” is one who studies dialectic, which Diogenes treats as equivalent to logic, or the part of philosophy that investigates “the processes of reasoning” used in other branches (Lives, Prologue, §18). 7. On the connection between dialectic (logic) and Stoic wisdom (sagehood), see Long 1978; Brouwer 2014: 7–​50. 8. Although today’s scholarly interest in Stoic logic focuses on its distinctive contribution to formal logic, the early Stoics themselves included more in logic than a formal theory. Glance at Diogenes’s survey of the topics under their logic, and you will notice key terms like “division of presentations” (Lives, VII.51), “excellencies of speech” (VII.59), and “object of thought” (VII.61), as well as “symbolical argument” (VII.77) and “syllogistic” (VII.78). For an extensive collection of fragments of Stoic logic, see Hülser 1987–​88. 9.  Epicurus explains the relation between canonic and physics in his Letter to Herodotus. Diogenes quotes the content of the letter in Lives, X.35–​83, following a summary of the core Epicurean canons (X.31–​34). 10. To be clear, it is not sermo (speech) but lexis that refers to reason. This distinction will become especially important to medieval commentators on Aristotle’s logic, as it directly bears on questions about the subject matter and scope of logic. 11. By “dogmatic” Kant can mean different things in different contexts. In c­ hapter 1, we saw him rejecting the dogmatic (as opposed to critical) way of philosophizing, which asserts something without examining the grounds of its legitimacy. In a different sense, he contrasts what is “dogmatic” with what is “historical” and what is “mathematical” (V-​Lo/​ Blomberg, 24:  99; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24:  723–​24; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  830–​31; R5645 [1785–​88? (1760–​84?)], 18: 290–​91). A dogmatic procedure is required by strict “science,” which “must necessarily be dogmatic, carried out systematically,  .  .  .  hence with scholarly correctness [schulgerecht]” (Bxxxvi, modified translation). It is presumably in this sense that the Epicurean logic lacks the form of “dogmatic discipline.” 12. See Barnes 1997a. On elements of Stoicism in medieval thought and early modern philosophy, respectively, see Verbeke 1983; Citti 2015. On the history of the study of Stoic logic, see Ierodiakonou 1999. 13. V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 30; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 699; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 803; R6601 [1769–​ 70? (1764–​68?)], 19: 104; R6607 [1769? 1770? 1772–​73?], 19: 106–​7; R6611 [1769–​70? 1764–​ 68??], 19: 109; R6794 [1773–​75? 1772?], 19: 163; R6837–​38 [1776–​78], 19: 176. 14. Kant’s library has Seneca’s Opera Philosophica (Halle, 1762). See Warda 1922: 55. 15. For further discussions, see Barnes 1997b: 12–​23; Cooper 2004: 314–​20. 16. For an illuminating survey of various accounts of the complex relation between epistēmē and technē by other ancient philosophers and schools, including the Stoics, see Parry 2014. 17.  In the Metaphysics, Aristotle mentions “the science which inquires into demonstration and scientific knowledge [epistēmē]” (Met, XI.i.8). Although he does not say which science it is, it can be reasonably referred to his two analytics, the Prior Analytics (on

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Notes demonstration) and the Posterior Analytics (on epistēmē). If so, the question is whether the scope of logic also goes beyond the two analytics. 18. See Porphyry 2003 (translation of the Isagoge). On Porphyry’s influence as an interpreter of Aristotle’s logic, see Ebbesen 1990. On the overall philosophical context in which Boethius worked on Aristotle’s logic, see Ebbesen 1982; Marenbon 1988: 23–​35. 19. On Boethius as a translator of and commentator on Aristotle’s logic, see Solmsen 1944; Ebbesen 2009. For analyses of the logic texts that Boethius introduced to the Latin West and their impact, see Martin 2009; Casey 2012; Barnes 2012. 20. On the logical tradition before 1100, see Marenbon 2008a. On logic at the turn of the twelfth century, see Marenbon 2008b. 21. On James’s translation of the Posterior Analytics, see Dod 1970. On whether James also wrote a commentary to accompany his translation of the Posterior Analytics, see Bloch 2008 versus Ebbesen 1977. 22. On Grosseteste’s philosophical contributions and influence, both as a commentator of Aristotle’s philosophy and as an original thinker, see Lewis 2013; McEvoy 2000: 73–​95. On Grosseteste’s commentary (Grosseteste 1981), see Bloch 2009. On the reception of the Posterior Analytics and the extent of its likely impact on conceptions of science in the twelfth century (prior to Grosseteste’s commentary), see Bloch 2012: 63–​81. 23. See Dod 1982; Lohr 1982: 81–​84; Marenbon 1987: 50–​65. 24.  On the translation of Arabic works on logic into Latin, see Burnett 2004. On the assimilation of Aristotelian and Arabic logic in the Latin Middle Ages, see Lagerlund 2008. The influence of Avicenna and Averroës (or Averroism) is not limited to the Middle Ages, though, but will reach Renaissance and then modern philosophers (Bertolacci 2013; Akasoy and Giglioni 2013; Hasse 2014). 25. On the rise of universities, see Marrone 2014; Rashdall 2010. 26. See Weisheipl 1966; Leff 1968; Rashdall 2010: 433–​61. 27. For these observations, see Weisheipl 1971; Lawn 1993; Novikoff 2013. 28. According to Marenbon, these two aspects capture what later medieval scholars would generally take away from the Posterior Analytics. On the one hand, they “took from it certain very definite notions about organization of scientific knowledge.” On the other hand, “it provided a set of criteria for deciding whether a particular area of discussion constituted a science,” so that when the theologians debated about the scope and methods of theology their arguments generally “took place within the context of Aristotle’s theory of science” (Marenbon 1987:  47–​49). One textual basis for thinking that the Posterior Analytics contains guidelines for ordering sciences is Aristotle’s description of how certain sciences relate to one another in terms of the distinction between knowing facts and knowing their reasons. For instance, “it is for the collectors of data to know the fact, and for the mathematicians to establish the reason” (PoA I.13, 79a2–​7). Typically, a science that specializes in knowing a kind of facts is “subordinate” to the one that explains the causes of those facts—​“as is the relation of optical problems to plane and of mechanical problems to solid geometry and of harmonical problems to arithmetic and of the study of phenomena to astronomy” (PoA I.13, 78b36–​39). 29. For a brief but informative discussion of Aquinas’s interpretation in comparison with Grosseteste’s and those by other thirteenth-​and fourteenth-​century commentators, see Longeway 2009.

Notes 30.  By ars in this context, Aquinas presumably means the reasoned capacity that Aristotle, on my reading in section 2.2, attributed to a dialectician who has the ability (technē) to reason well in virtue of possessing scientific knowledge (epistēmē) about good reasoning. Later writers, as we shall see, would characterize logic as ars and as scientia (or doctrina) as though these were equivalent descriptions. 31.  One of the translators was Dominicus Gundissalinus. The influence of the Farabian division of sciences would be materialized largely through Gundissalinus’s own De divisione philosophiae. Following Fārābī, Gundissalinus divides logic into eight parts, including rhetorica and poetica along with the other six subjects included in the old Boethian list (Gundissalinus 1906: 71). 32. On Latin translations of Avicenna’s works, see Bertolacci 2011b. 33. See Netton 1992: 39. 34. For a contextualized explanation of the meaning and significance of Fārābī’s comparison between logic and grammar, see Gutas 2014: 303–​309. Gutas’s explanation suggests that behind Fārābī’s discussion of how logic relates to grammar is a philosophical problem greatly debated among the tenth-​century grammarians and logicians, namely whether logic is an independent science with a unique subject matter. Avicenna’s theory of logic would emerge from this intellectual context. 35. See Gutas 2014: 105. 36. Avicenna uses different Arabic terms for “second intention” and “second intelligible” but treats them interchangeably. See Menn 2011: 70n.26. 37. On the source and meaning(s) of Avicenna’s theory of second intention and its influence, see Gyekye 1971; Sabra 1980; Conti 1999. 38.  Part one of Avicenna’s Remarks and Admonitions (Avicenna 1984)  opens with this statement:  “Logic is intended to give the human being a canonical tool which, if attended to, preserves him from error in his thought.” Section 2 of his Deliverance: Logic (Avicenna 2011)  is about “the benefits of logic,” and section 1 of his Treatise on Logic (Avicenna 1971) discusses “the purpose and use of logic.” For a contextualized discussion of Avicenna’s references to logic as an “instrumental science,” see Gutas 2014: 303–​22. 39. See Di Giovanni 2011. 40.  This Avicennian thesis is incorporated in Gundissalinus’s explanation of how logic can be a part as well as an instrument of philosophy (Gundissalinus 1906: 70). Given Gundissalinus’s role in propagating the Arabic conceptions of various philosophical disciplines, it is only natural that the Avicennian thesis came to be widely adopted in the Latin West (see Storck 2015). As for Aquinas, the Avicenna Latinus was a chief source of influence on his account of metaphysics and its relation to other sciences (see Wippel 1990; 1996: 37–​53). 41.  On Aquinas’s identification of metaphysics with rational theology or scientia divina, see Wippel 1993. 42. See Schmidt 1966: 16–​24. 43. Duns Scotus has a similar take on whether logic is scientia or just modus sciendi, under which question he mentions Aquinas’s view in the commentary on Metaphysics IV, lect.4. In brief, logic is both scientia (as logica docens) and modus sciendi (as logica utens). In the former respect, logic is a scientia rationalis (as opposed to scientia realis) that concerns second intentions (Duns Scotus 1891, q.I-​II). 44. Burley 2000, 1.01–​27 and 2.22–​35. See Burley 1337, Prologus 1rb–​1va.

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Notes 45. SM, IV, lect.4, n.574. For a detailed treatment of Aquinas’s notion of ens rationis as the subject matter of logic and related notions like “intention,” see Schmidt 1966: 75–​174. 46. Burley 1337, Prologus 1va–​1vb. 47.  Ockham presents his argument in reference to Avicenna’s distinction between scientia practica and scientia speculativa. 48. See Cunningham and Kusukawa 2010: xxviii–​xxx. 49. It was common in the medieval Latin West to call logic both ars artium and scientia scientiarum, especially in the context of discussing liberal arts, logic being one of them. See Hoenen 1999. 50. See Tonelli 1956; Schmitt 1975; Backus 1989. 51. Zabarella directs his polemic against Duns Scotus’s account of logica docens as a theoretical science. 52.  For explications, see Edwards 1960:  122–​59; Mikkeli 1992:  45–​79; Vasoli 2011. Edwards precedes his analysis of De Natura Logicae by reviewing its intellectual backdrop. He credits Antonio Bernardi (1503–​65) with having provided the starting points and impetus for a systematic re-​examination of the foundational issues of logic in the sixteenth-​century Italy. Bernardi’s following theses, as Edwards presents them, are worth mentioning:  (1) logic and dialectic are separate disciplines, (2)  Aristotle’s Categories is a work of metaphysics, (3) second intentions, commonly seen as the subject of logic, are conjured up by commentators, (4) logic and metaphysics treat the same subject, res ipsae, albeit in different ways, and (5) logic is an “art” concerned with modus cognoscendi. Subsequent works on logic in the sixteenth-​century Italy were, by Edwards’s analysis, various responses to this theory of logic, with which Zabarella must be acquainted (Edwards 1960: 90–​122). 53.  On the distinction and (complementary) relation between the three branches of logic, see Mlog, II.12. On the nature of dialectic, see Mlog, II.4, where John also distinguishes a dialectician properly so called from both the “demonstrater” and the “sophist,” in a fashion that resonates with our earlier analysis of Aristotle’s notion of “dialectician.” 54. There is no scholarly consensus on Boethius’s exact position regarding universals. See King 2011. 55.  For a summary of the various positions on universals mentioned in the Metalogicon, followed by a critical explanation of the three representative ones (“realism,” “nominalism,” and “conceptualism”), see King 1982 (1): 247–​72. 56. For more nuanced overviews of the debate over universals before around 1150, see Thompson 1995 and, with a special attention to Roscelin’s role, Kluge 1976 and Mews 1992. 57.  This criticism appears amid a refutation of Roscelin’s view on the Trinity, suggesting the seriousness of Anselm’s charge of heresy. For discussions of the Anselm-​ Roscelin controversy over the Trinity, see Sweeney 2012: 245–​327. To be clear, it is not that Anselm tries to sever the link between logic and theology. To the contrary, for him there is a reciprocal relation between the two without either one being subordinate to the other. On this point and Anselm’s views on the connections among words, thoughts, and things, see Sweeney 2012: 74–​174. 58.  For different accounts of Abelard’s criticism and of how Roscelin might be defended accordingly, see Kluge 1976: 406–​12; Mews 1992: 6–​10. 59.  See Tweedale 1976:  133–​ 211; De Rijk 1980; Marenbon 1997:  174–​ 201. On Abelard’s “nonrealist” solution to the problem of universals, see King 1982 (1): 273–​515.

Notes 60.  Abelard was working with logica vetus, including Aristotle’s Categories and On Interpretation, Porphyry’s Isagoge, and four commentaries by Boethius (Abelard 1970: 146; see Kretzmann 1982; Marenbon 1997:  36–​53). On the sources and formulations of the problem of universals in Aristotle, Porphyry, and Boethius, see Tweedale 1976: 53–​88; King 1982 (1): 2–​65. 61. See Marenbon 1997: 101–​16. 62.  De Rijk 1962–​67 is the most important source on early medieval terminism (roughly between 1130 and 1220). For overviews with different emphases, see Ashworth 2014; De Rijk 2013; De Libera 1982. 63. See De Rijk 1967: 186–​206. 64. For an overview of the developments, see Dutilh Novaes 2011. 65. On Abelard’s general philosophical influence, see Iwakuma 2004; Luscombe 2008. On the so-​called “school of nominales” associated with him and how its version of nominalism compares with later ones represented by Ockham among others, see Normore 1992; Iwakuma 1992; Martin 1992. 66. For case studies of how terminism figures in the nominalist versus realist readings of the Categories, see Pini 2002; Klima 1999. 67. On Peter’s moderate “realism” and how it is partially reflected in his account of simple supposition, see Spruyt 2011. On Burley’s view that logical analyses can help to uncover the basic constituents of reality (e.g. individuals and universals) and their connection, see Rode 2005; Dutilh Novaes 2013: 73–​84. 68. On the relation between Ockham’s logic and metaphysics, see Klima 1999; Maurer 1999:  13–​102. On the nominalist-​realist controversy between Ockham and Burley, see Conti 2013. 69. On Buridan’s Summulae as an original and influential attempt to redeem the traditional Aristotelian logic by marrying it with the terminist logica modernorum, see Zupko 2014. For a comparative analysis of Buridan’s Summulae (Buridan 2001)  and Peter’s Summulae (Peter of Spain 1972)  as representatives of nominalist and realist logics respectively, see Klima 2011. On how Buridan’s nominalist logic relates to Ockham’s, see Klima 2008. 70. On the semantic shift of the term modernus from denoting contemporaries in a doctrine-​neutral way to carrying clear doctrinal connotations, see Hoenen 2003: 14–​15. 71. Hoenen 2003: 30–​31. A case in point concerns the application of the doctrine of supposition to the exegesis of the Bible as well as Aristotle’s works (Hoenen 2003: 23–​24; see Braakhuis 1989). 72.  Ashworth 1981. For a range of approaches to Locke’s doctrine of signs and its implications, see Kretzmann 1968; Losonsky 1994; Ott 2004:  7–​33; Dawson 2007; Pritchard 2013. 73.  For discussions, see Laporte 1996; Stuart 1999; Jolley 1999:  143–​ 68; Ott 2004: 53–​77. 74. For a historically informed overview of the ambiguities in Kant’s notion of concept and its relation to idea, see Caygill 1995: 118–​21. Interpreters disagree over whether Kantian concepts are, say, mental items (representations), dispositions (abilities), or rules (Wolff 1963: 121–​31, 323–​24; Aquila 1974). 75. See Log, 9: 91; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 567–​68; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 904, 908; V-​Lo/​Bauch, LV 1: 151–​52; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 390, 395; V-​Lo/​Warschauer, LV 2: 609.

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Notes 76. See Log, 9: 91–​95; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 904–​905, 907–​10; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 565–​68; V-​ Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 393–​95; V-​Lo/​Warschauer, LV 2: 609–​10. 77.  On this aspect of Locke’s notion of signification and its scholastic root, see Ashworth 1984. 78. More on logical versus real essences, see V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 839–​40; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 728; Log, 9: 61. On nominal versus real definitions, see V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 268, 270–​72; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 919–​20; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 758. 79. See Log, 9: 96–​8; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 568–​70; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 910–​12; V-​Lo/​Bauch, LV 1: 153–​54; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 398–​99; V-​Lo/​Warschauer, LV 2: 611–​13. 80. On John as a humanist, see Liebeschütz 1950. 81. The Latin term corresponding to “false” is commentitia, which literally means “fictitious” or “fabricated” although it is typically translated as “false” (Duhamel 1949: 163). Ramus bases his accusation on empirical evidence. He claims, for instance, that Aristotle’s ascription of syllogisms to dialecticians and enthymemes to orators is only a dreamed-​up fiction without any “evidence observed from true and natural use” of the dialectical and rhetorical arts. In the same context, Ramus speaks of “scholastic and fictitious opinion [commentitiam opinionem]” (Ramus 1992: 79). Ultimately, as I shall elaborate later, what makes a logic “fictitious” in Ramus’s view is its failure to imitate nature or how we in fact use our faculty of reason. 82.  For an overview of the influence of Ramism, see Ong 1958b:  295–​318. On its impact in Germany, see Hotson 2007. More than half of the 260-​plus recorded editions and adaptations of Ramus’s works on dialectic and rhetoric appeared in Germany (Ong 1958a). 83. On Valla, see Nauta 2007; Mack 1993: 22–​116. On Agricola, see Mack 1993: 117–​ 302; Ong 1958b: 92–​130. For historical overviews of the humanist logic, see Jardine 1988; Ashworth 1974: 8–​17. 84. See Ong 1958b: 53–​91. 85. See Ong 1958b: 178–​80. 86. For discussions, see Mack 2011; Ong 1958b; Howell 1956: 146–​72; Duhamel 1949. 87. On the three laws of the Ramist method and their alleged Aristotelian sources, see Howell 1956: 149–​53; Ong 1958b: 258–​62. 88. On Ramus’s use of such terms as ars and doctrina, see Ong 1958b: 160–​63. 89. See Ong 1958b: 185–​86; Skalnik 2002: 43–​52; Hotson 2007: 38–​51. 90. EPoA, I, lect.4, cap.2; see Aristotle, PoA, I.2, 71b8–​72a8.

Chapter 3 1. Underlying these two approaches is a distinction between two conceptions of philosophy. In Kant’s terms, we can treat philosophy either in the scholastic sense (in sensu scholastico) or in the cosmopolitan sense (in sensu cosmopolitico). It is a system of rational cognitions in the first sense, but a doctrine of wisdom in the second, which connects our cognitions with the essential ends of human reason (A838–​39/​B866–​67; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 798–​800; Log, 9: 23–​24; V-​Met-​L2/​Pölitz, 28: 532–​33; R4970 [1776–​78], 18: 44). 2. Again, this selection is inevitably limited and leaves out many otherwise important players and topics. Most notably, in this chapter I will not talk about the Cartesian logic represented by the so-​called Port-​Royal Logic, although I will mention it while discussing

Notes Kant’s doctrine of method in c­ hapter 4. Nor will I include J. H. Lambert here, who was indeed instrumental to the developments of Kant’s metaphysics and featured in Kant’s remarks about logic here and there (albeit mostly in negative light), but whose role in the history of logic is best understood in terms of his controversial work on logical calculus (see Lu-​Adler 2017a). 3.  One of the sources Kant cites to support this remark about Bacon is “Formey’s Hist. of Philosophy, p. 293 ff.” (see Formey 1763: 253–​56). Formey’s history of philosophy is in turn based on that of Brucker, arguably the most prolific eighteenth-​century German historian, whose Historia Critica Philosophiae was widely distributed, read, and imitated. On Brucker, see Longo 2011 (especially 556–​57, which mentions Kant’s and Formey’s indebtedness to Brucker’s work). 4.  A294/​B350–​51; V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24:  102; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24:  824–​25; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24:  720; R2142 (1773–​78? [1770–​71?]), 16:  250–​51; R2244 (1760–​64? 1764–​68? 1769?), 16: 283–​84. 5. Bacon finds the “speculative subtleties . . . of the schoolmen” especially objectionable, as they are “wasted on words or at any rate vulgar notions . . . and not on things or on nature, subtleties starved of utility” (NO, I.121). 6. On Bacon’s notions of work (opus) and active science (scientia activa, operativa), see Pérez-​Ramos 1988: 135–​66. 7. See Yolton 1955; Buickerood 1985; Schuurman 2004; Schouls 1992: 22–​25; Dawson 2007: 21–​22. For an analysis of the relevant primary and secondary literature, see Sgarbi 2016: 19–​77. 8. Locke was referring to Hooker’s Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, the first four books of which were published in 1594 and which influenced Locke’s political and ethical views, especially concerning “right” (jus) and “law” (lex). It is worth mentioning that, on Hooker’s account, “the right helps of true art and learning” were supposed to “make our natural faculty of reason both the better and the sooner able to judge rightly between truth and error, good and evil,” but were not yet known in “this age of the world, carrying the name of a learned age” (Hooker 1888: 74–​75). 9. In citing Locke, I de-​capitalize words whenever it is natural to do so but retain all the original spellings. 10. I follow Antonia LoLordo in holding that the capacity to determine oneself to act through reason, or “rational self-​determination,” constitutes “the core of full-​fledged free agency” for Locke (LoLordo 2012:  53, defended in 53–​62). On scholarly disagreements about how to interpret Locke’s notion of free agency, see Rickless 2016. For related explications of Locke’s treatment of logical normativity, which (in my view) is rooted in a broader notion of rational agency and forms a crucial part of the background for understanding Kant’s treatment of the same topic, see Lu-​Adler 2017b and 2018a. 11. Locke defines “natural philosophy” in an “enlarged sense of the word” as knowl­ edge of things that include “not only matter, and body, but spirits also, which have their proper natures, constitutions, and operations as well as bodies” (EHU, IV.xii.2). For discussion, see Walmsley 2003: 32–​58. On the Baconian aspects of Locke’s natural history of the mind, see Wood 1996. 12. In the preface to the first (1712) edition of his German Logic, Wolff reports: “the ingenious thoughts of Leibnitz, on the knowledge of truth, and on notions or ideas . . . afforded me a great and unexpected degree of light” (Wolff 1770: lviii).

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Notes 13.  Although Wolff corresponded with Leibniz extensively during the period of 1704–​16 (see Gerhardt 1971) and has been typically portrayed as a systematic explicator of the latter’s philosophical ideas (as the oft-​used notion “Leibnizian-​Wolffian philosophy” suggests), he always insisted on the independence of his philosophy from Leibniz’s. By his account, in their correspondences Leibniz never communicated to him any philosophical views beyond the ones already published (Eth, Preface, viii). For a nuanced analysis of the personal and philosophical relations between Leibniz and Wolff, see Corr 1975. 14.  More on natural logic and, similarly, natural arithmetic, see NE, I.i.5, 77–​78; I.ii.3, 91. 15. See Beck 1969: 257. Wolff was a student of the scholastic philosophy and theology early on and especially of the work by Aquinas and Francisco Suárez (1548–​1617). 16. On each intellectual operation as an “act of the soul,” see GL, I.i. Wolff holds what Beck calls the “one-​faculty doctrine”:  the soul is an active substance with precisely one force, namely the power of representation or vis repraesentativa, which in turn manifests itself in senses, understanding, reason, will, etc. (Beck 1969: 268–​69). By “intellect,” I mean both the understanding and reason. In the context of Wolff’s logic, the characteristic function of the understanding is to generate distinct notions by analyzing clear notions and to form judgments accordingly, whereas that of reason is to produce syllogisms or inferences of reason (Vernunftschlüsse). 17.  Wolff later qualifies that psychology so defined is “rational psychology,” which differs from “empirical psychology” in the following way. While empirical psychology, which “pertains to experimental philosophy,” is “the science of experientially establishing the principles from which the reason is given for those things which occur in the human soul,” in rational psychology “we derive a priori from a unique concept of the human soul all the things which are observed a posteriori to pertain to the soul and all the things which are deduced from these observations” (Disc, ##111–​12, my italicization). For Wolff’s account of the interdependence between the two sciences, see his prolegomena to empirical psychology and rational psychology, respectively, translated in Richards 1980 (230–​39). For an illuminating explication thereof, see Dyck 2014: 19–​42. 18.  Ontology, Wolff adds later, is part of metaphysics. Metaphysics additionally includes general cosmology (“the science of the world in general”) and pneumatics, the latter encompassing both psychology and natural theology (Disc, ##78–​79). 19. Ultimately it is empirical psychology that, along with ontology, provides principles for logic. Throughout logic, Wolff points out, “principles are borrowed from empirical psychology.” As for rational psychology, it likewise “seek[s]‌its principles of demonstration from ontology, cosmology, and empirical psychology” (Richards 1980: 233–​34). 20. Wolff gives an expanded account of the relation between logica naturalis and logica artificialis in LL, Prolegomena, §§5–​28. The distinction between aptitude (as an unreflective innate disposition) and habit (habitus) still occupies a central place in this account. But Wolff now inserts another distinction we encountered in c­ hapter 2, namely between logica docens and logica utens, and applies it both to logica naturalis and to logica artificialis. For an overview of conceptions of habit within the Aristotelian tradition (including Wolff’s, Baumgarten’s, and Meier’s among others), with the intention to show that “Kant’s transcendental logic is based on a natural acquired logic, which is a kind of Aristotelian habit that the mind attains, like a second nature, in occasion of experience,” see Sgarbi 2016: 36–​51.

Notes 21.  The theoretical part of the German Logic comprises four chapters. They are about notions, terms, judgments, and syllogisms, respectively. The Latin Logic treats these subjects in three sections, with terms discussed in the section on notions. 22. Wolff contrasts common or vulgar knowledge with philosophical knowledge: to have a common knowledge of x it suffices that one knows its mere possibility based on experience, but to have a philosophical knowledge one must also be able to explain why and how x is possible. This contrast accords with Wolff’s notion of philosophy as “the science of all possible things, together with the manner and reason of their possibility” (GL, Preliminary Discourse, i; v–​vi). 23. For discussion, see Dunlop 2013.

Chapter 4 1. It is worth pointing out that Wolff’s psychologistic approach is not the same as the Baconian-​Lockean “natural history” approach. To Wolff, as I  pointed out in ­chapter  3, ultimately it is empirical psychology that, together with ontology, provides principles to a scientific logic. Now, while he likens empirical psychology to experimental physics, he emphasizes that these two branches of experimental philosophy are “not parts of history.” Empirical psychology, in particular, “does not merely review what is observed in the soul.” Rather, it formulates notions, establishes principles, and explains things in a way that is “proper to philosophical knowledge” and, precisely for this reason, “cannot be classified merely as history” (Disc, #111). 2. Though a follower of the Wolffian dogmatic method, Knutzen is not a straightforward Wolffian when it comes to specific philosophical doctrines. Rather, in significant ways he leans toward the British empiricism represented by Locke. On this point, see Erdmann 1876:  98–​114; Kuehn 2001:  79–​80. On how Knutzen’s logic compares with Wolff’s, see Erdmann 1876: 107–​13. 3. Wolff has three German terms for logic—​Logik, Vernunftkunst, and Vernunftlehre—​ and calls logic either natürlich or künstlich. Knutzen’s account of the relation between natural and artificial logics resembles Wolff’s (Knutzen 1747: 39–​44). 4. Knutzen’s metaphysics encompasses ontology, general cosmology, psychology, and natural theology. Meanwhile, like Wolff, Knutzen thinks the “use” (utilitas, Nutzen) of logic is to serve as organon scientiarum, the instrument of all sciences (Knutzen 1747: 34, 46). 5.  According to Tolley (2012:  427n.24), Knutzen’s distinction is one of many precursors—​Leibniz’s distinction between general logic and its particular application (as in geometry) is another—​of Kant’s distinction between general logic and particular logic in the Critique (A52/​B76). While this claim may be true about Leibniz’s distinction, it is incorrect about Knutzen’s. Leibniz’s distinction concerns domains of inquiry, but Knutzen’s is about the conditions under which the thinking subjects (humans) may deviate from the rules of truth. 6. Knutzen distinguishes three categories of prejudices, which pertain to our (a) cognitive faculties (viz. senses, imagination, memory, and reasoning), (b) appetitive faculties (e.g. various temperaments and affections), and (c)  external social or personal circumstances (antiquity, authority, education, and so on and so forth), respectively. They call for different remedies (Knutzen 1747: 322–​82).

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Notes 7. Knutzen occasionally refers to Bacon’s doctrine of idols while explaining prejudice (Knutzen 1747: 347–​48). On Bacon’s doctrine as a source of inspiration for the critique of prejudice by seventeenth-​and eighteenth-​century German thinkers, including Knutzen, see Schneiders 1983: 49–​56. Locke’s theory of prejudice is another likely source of influence for Knutzen. He drew the plan to translate Locke’s Conduct (as Anleitung des menschlichen Verstandes), although he did not live long to materialize this plan, which was instead carried out by Georg Kypke (1724–​79), an early friend and colleague of Kant’s. See Kypke 1755, preface; Stark 1999: 116–​21; Kuehn 2001: 110–​11. 8. Meier’s account of prejudice overlaps with Knutzen’s in content, though not so much in terminology (AV, §§168–​70; VL, §§200–​202). Kant mostly uses Meier’s terminology, but also expands on Meier’s account (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 161–​94; V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 424–​34; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 547–​54; V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 641–​45; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 737–​42; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 863–​79). For a comprehensive study of theories of prejudice from Thomasius to Kant, see Schneiders 1983: 84–​323 (especially 178–​80 on Knutzen’s version, 208–​31 on Meier’s, and 278–​310 on Kant’s). 9.  Erdmann speculates that Knutzen’s logic laid the initial foundation of Kant’s lectures on logic (Erdmann 1876: 146n.43). For varying accounts of Knutzen’s overall philosophical influence on Kant, see Borowski 1804:  28–​29, 163–​64; Reicke 1860:  7, 31, 34; Erdmann 1876: 130–​48; Kuehn 2001: 76–​86, 88–​89, 93–​94. 10. There is a later version of Acroasis logica (Töllner 1765), regarding which Kant says: “Toellner’s manual is quite good for a logic text. In my humble opinion, it is necessary to present logic in its purity, as I said in the Critique, that is, as consisting merely of the totality of the formal rules of thinking, leaving aside all materials that belong to metaphysics (concerning the origin of concepts as far as their content is concerned) or to psychology” (Br, 10: 494). 11.  In his Metaphysica, Baumgarten treats these faculties under the heading “empirical psychology”: §§519–​650 on the cognitive faculty, and §§651–​732 on the appetitive one. The lower cognitive faculty is defined as “the faculty of knowing something obscurely and confusedly, or indistinctly” (M, §520), while the higher one (mind, intellect) is that of “knowing something distinctly” (M, §624). Psychology supposedly contains the principia prima of logica and aesthetica (M, §502). 12. Baumgarten was the first to introduce aesthetica as an independent philosophical science. For critical expositions of Baumgarten’s role in the history of philosophical aesthetics, see Solms 1990: 15–​77; Witte 2000: 13–​57; Hammermeister 2002: 3–​13. 13.  Baumgarten defines “reason” (ratio) as “an intellect that perceives a nexus of things perspicaciously [perspicientem],” that is, distinctly. The faculties for confused representations constitute the analogue of reason “insofar as they are similar to reason in representing the nexus of things” (M, §640). 14.  For expositions of the Aesthetica that shed light on Baumgarten’s analogous treatment of aesthetics and logic in a way that also somewhat illuminates its relation to Kant’s Critical philosophy, see Schweizer 1973: 13–​101; Gregor 1983; Solms 1990: 79–​113; Nuzzo 2006. 15. Baumgarten touches on the topic of error in a chapter titled “De scientia, fide, opinione, errore seu dialectica et sophistica.” He treats it summarily in three sections (§§382–​84), referring to §16 of Wolff’s German Logic (GL, VII.xvi).

Notes 16.  Baumgarten follows Wolff in dividing (artificial) logic into the theoretical (theoretica or docens) and the practical (practica or utens) (AL, §14). Töllner’s edition of the Acroasis logica turns the distinction into one between logica generalis and logica specialis, with the latter treating topics like cognition through senses, through reason, and through testimony. With respect to content, however, Töllner’s version of the distinction is fundamentally the same as the original Wolffian theoretica-​practica division and the relevant notion of logica specialis is rather different from Knutzen’s. 17.  On a variety of likely historical sources for Meier’s Vernunftlehre, see Pozzo 2000: 89–​106. 18.  Kant suggests that he started lecturing “from Meier’s short introduction to logic”—​presumably the Auszug—​as early as 1757 (EA, 2: 10). 19. On Kant as a lecturer, see Stark 1995. 20.  Although Wolff did talk about the cultivation of logical habit, he was primarily concerned with the habit of demonstrative logic. Above all, he was interested in developing scientia or Wissenschaft as an intellectual skill or habit (Fertigkeit, habitus) of demonstrating one’s assertions, by lawfully inferring them from irrefutable or certain and immutable principles (GL, §2; LL, Prolegomena, §2; Disc, #30). 21. Locke’s philosophy had a profound influence on the eighteenth-​century German thinking about human cognitive capacities, against the backdrop of which Meier absorbed many Lockean elements into his theory of cognition. See Schenk 1994: 104–​12. 22. This does not mean that Meier’s work is the source of Kant’s notion of “applied logic,” which is significantly closer to Knutzen’s notion of special logic than anything else examined so far. 23. For a brief account of the source of the text, see Young 1992: xxiv–​xxv. 24. For a brief but informative explanation of this definition, see Pozzo 2000: 179–​82. 25. To get some perspective on why Meier gives such a prominent place to the subject of Vortrag and what it can tell us about his take on the historical issue of the relation between logic and the art of discourse (ars sermocinalis), see Pozzo 2000: 89–​92, 142–​48, 169–​72. For an analytic overview of Meier’s logic of discourse, see Pozzo 2000: 281–​98. 26. This observation also applies to the Philippi transcript (V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 484–​93). 27. Kant once entertained the Wolffian alternative. In R1562 (1754–​55), for instance, he relates scientific logic to natural logic in recognizably Wolffian terms. He says: the rules by which reason operates are “cognized either distinctly or confusedly.” The confused cognition is “natural logic.” One has a “science of logic,” by contrast, when one sees the same rules of reason distinctly and can “thoroughly prove [gründlich beweisen]” them (16: 3–​4). Thus, scientific logic differs from natural logic only in the modes of representation, that is, only in degree. 28. Kant sometimes defines logic as “a philosophy about the universal laws [allgemeine Gesetze] of correct use of the understanding and of reason,” where the laws are meant to be the objective ones that govern how we ought to use those intellectual faculties (V-​Lo/​ Philippi, 24: 315). Such is logic strictly so called. In R1579, however, Kant defines logic as “a philosophy of the universal laws (rules) of the correct use of our understanding and reason (in healthy or learned understanding).” This concept of logic is a broad one, contrasted with “logic properly called [logica proprie dicta]” or “doctrine [doctrina],” which is the “science of the rules in the learned use of reason” (16: 19–​20, my italicization).

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Notes 29.  Logic is therefore a philosophia rationalis with respect to both “object” and “form”:  it philosophizes “about reason” and does so “through reason” (V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 315; see R1594 [1769–​70? (1770–​72?) (1760–​64? 1764–​68?) 1773–​75??], 16: 28). 30. As I noted in ­chapter 3, Wolff held that logic (as a demonstrative science) draws principles from empirical psychology (besides ontology) and that rational psychology likewise borrows its principles of demonstration partly from empirical psychology. 31. In the Blomberg transcript, Kant seems to treat “applied” logic in the traditional Wolffian sense, which therefore does not constitute a separate part of logic. While logic “contains the rules of the good use of the understanding and of reason in general,” it is “in all other sciences . . . applied [angebracht]” (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 24). This usage is implicit in Meier’s distinction between theoretical logic (die lehrende Vernunftlehre, logica theoretica, docens) and practical logic (die ausübende Vernunftlehre, logica practica, utens) in terms of whether the rules of learned cognition and discourse are applied (angewendet) to particular kinds of learned cognition or discourse (AV, §7; VL, §13). Kant repeats this distinction (on Meier’s behalf) without comments in the Blomberg transcript (24: 38). In the Philippi transcript, however, we find a different contrast: while theoretical logic presents the conditions under which cognition is logically perfect by rational principles, practical logic “indicates the means by which we can meet the conditions of logical perfection by empirical principles” (V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 318; see R1604 [1773–​75], 16: 33–​34). The former relates to the latter as theoretical morality does to practical morality: the theoretical part exhibits the criteria of logical/​moral perfections, and the practical part indicates the means for obtaining such perfections (V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 318). This comparison anticipates Kant’s claim in the Critique that pure logic stands to applied logic as “pure morality” does to the “doctrine of virtue” (A54–​55/​B79). 32. The common understanding is common “not . . . because it is found in common people, but because it is required everywhere and by all” (V-​Anth/​Fried, 25: 538; see KU, 5: 173). 33. Here Kant seems to equate the common and healthy understanding with the power of judgment, an equation that he will make more explicit elsewhere (e.g. V-​Anth/​Fried, 25: 538–​39; KU, 5: 169). On the significance of this equation, see Rodríguez 2012. 34. Precepts are “acquired” rules, prescribed as what must precede the relevant cognitive activities (R1579, 16: 17). 35.  In the Philippi transcript, Kant characterizes the common and healthy understanding as “natural wit [natürliche Witz]” (V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 314). Baumgarten refers to natural logic (in the Wolffian sense) as “Mutter-​Witz” (AL, §§10–​11). Meier does the same in the Vernunftlehre (§591) and the Auszug (§533). We can find references to Mutterwitz in V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 299; V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 494. 36. Meier explicates these aspects of utility in VL, §§16–​19. He values the ethical aspect most and, in that connection, treats logic as a practical science (VL, §§19–​22). 37.  Elsewhere Kant mentions Hume as the source of this view (V-​Anth/​Mensch, 25: 1172; V-​Anth/​Mron, 25: 1391). 38. See V-​Anth/​Fried, 25: 538; V-​Met-​L1/​Heinze, 28: 243–​44. 39. More on the Cartesian logic of method, see Schouls 1980. 40. Kant distinguishes a method that is artificial (künstlich) in this sense from one that is “affected” (gekünstelt), which characterizes pedantry (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24:  292; V-​Lo/​ Hechsel, LV 2: 494; V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 482; V-​Lo/​Pölitz, 24: 599; Log, 9: 46–​47).

Notes 41.  The title of Ramus 1973 (“That There Is but One Method of Establishing a Science”) captures the defining character of what is known as his single-​method theory. On the source and nature of this theory, its contrast with Zabarella’s double-​method theory, and related historical controversies, see Gilbert 1960:  119–​231; Edwards 1983. On Aristotle’s theory of method and its influential scholastic renderings, see Burnett and Mendelson 1997; Edwards 1983. 42. For a recent attempt at such a project, see Sgarbi 2016: 165–​216. 43. The notion “ontology” was introduced at the beginning of the seventeenth century to mean philosophia prima properly so called. In Wolff’s system, ontology represents the first part of metaphysics or general metaphysics, which is contrasted with and presupposed by special metaphysics (cosmology, psychology, and theology). For details, see Lu-​Adler 2018c. 44. All in all, Kant’s relation to psychology—​in the forms of “empirical psychology,” “rational psychology,” and “transcendental psychology”—​is extremely complicated. On his empirical psychology, see Frierson 2014. On his evolving views on rational psychology (against the Wolffian backdrop), see Dyck 2014. On transcendental psychology, see Kitcher 1993. One thing seems clear and safe to assume for the remainder of this book: when Kant denies psychology as a source of principles for logic proper (pure general logic), his operative notion thereof is the narrow one I just described. This makes sense, provided the target of the denial is the Wolffian view that, as I explained in ­chapter 3, empirical psychology (along with ontology) serves as the ultimate source from which logic (as a demonstrated science) draws its principles. As for whether Kant’s own account of the grounds of logic as a pure science will turn out to draw on psychology in some other sense, I leave it for interested readers to investigate. 45. On these topics, see Hinske 1970; Angelelli 1972; Serck-​Hanssen 2003; Honnefelder 2003; Sgarbi 2011. 46. Kant made various announcements of his plan to use Baumgarten’s text for his metaphysics lecture. See TW, 1: 503; VBO, 2: 35; NEV, 2: 308–​10. 47. These handwritten notes are published in AA 15: 3–​54 (Erläuterungen on empirical psychology), AA 17: 3–​226 (Erläuterungen on Baumgarten’s entire Metaphysica), AA 17: 227–​745 (Reflexionen on metaphysics, phases α¹–​τ [1753–​76] in Adickes’s dating system), and AA 18: 3–​725 (Reflexionen on metaphysics, phases υ-​ω [1771–​1804]). 48. Lambert mentions this title in his inquiring letter to Kant on November 13, 1765 (Br, 10: 51). 49. For the complete formulation of the Academy question and other facts about the contest, see the translators’ introduction to Kant’s Theoretical Philosophical 1755–​1770, lxii–​lxiv. 50. For a rich analysis of the Dreams, see Laywine 1993: 72–​100. For a critical overview of current literature on this text, see McQuillan 2015. McQuillan stresses the importance of reading it in the context of Kant’s quest for the proper method of metaphysics in the 1760s. On this point, also see Allison 2015a: 33–​42. 51. I have rendered die eigentliche metaphysic as “metaphysics per se” in this context to differentiate it from the narrower notion of metaphysics proper that Kant would adopt in his later writings. The latter notion pertains to Kant’s division of the whole system of metaphysics into two parts: the first part is ontology qua transcendental philosophy, namely as a science of the basic concepts and principles of pure understanding, whereas the second part aims at extending reason’s reach in the supersensible realm and is called “metaphysics

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Notes proper” because the extension in question captures the essential occupation of this science (Bxviii–​xxi, 23–​24; FM, 20: 260–​61). 52. Kant makes similar remarks about pure concepts of the understanding in R3930 (1769), where he defines metaphysics as “the philosophy of the concepts of the intellectus puri” (17: 352). 53.  For contextualized analyses of Kant’s Inaugural Dissertation, see Laywine 1993: 101–​23; Allison 2015a: 43–​84. 54. Kant identifies transcendental philosophy with critique of pure reason at R4455 (1772), where he treats the latter merely as the “studium of the subject” that serves to prevent “mistaking the subjective for the objective” (17: 557–​58). By contrast, when he first mentions “transcendental philosophy” in a publication (“Physical Monadology,” 1756), he seems to treat it as equivalent to metaphysics (MoPh, 1: 475). 55. The report is part of Kant’s letter to Johann III Bernoulli on November 16, 1781, in response to Bernoulli’s request for copies of Kant’s replies to Lambert’s letters. 56. For recent discussions of the interpretative controversies about the great light of 1769, see Allison 2015a: 46–​49; Linhares 2015. 57. For an illuminating explication of what is “transcendental” in this context, which directly contrasts with what I dubbed as “transcendental2,” see Allison 2015b. In Allison’s terms, while “transcendental” in the former sense “reflects its traditional ontological use as referring to what pertains to things or objects in general,” the latter represents Kant’s “distinctive ‘critical’ concern with the determination of the conditions and limits of cognition” (Allison 2015b: 20). 58.  Kant also identifies ontology with transcendental philosophy here and there in his metaphysics lectures from the 1780s and 1790s (e.g. V-​Met/​Mron, 29: 784–​86; V-​Met-​ L2/​Pölitz, 28:  541; V-​Met/​Dohna, 28:  679; V-​Met/​Vigil, 29:  949, 960). I  explain the development of this identification and its philosophical as well as historical significance in Lu-​Adler 2018c. 59. Kant therefore criticizes Baumgarten’s ontology for being a mere “hodgepodge” that “gathered up knowledge which is not a system, but instead rhapsodic,” due to the lack of a “critique” (V-​Met/​Mron, 29: 785). Similarly, Aristotle’s list of categories fails to meet the completeness requirement by searching for categories randomly and experientially as opposed to deriving them from a single principle a priori (A80–​81/​B106–​7). 60.  Baumgarten defines ontology as “the science of the more general predicates of a being” (M, §4). When Kant talks about this definition in his metaphysics lectures, he analyzes it in such a way that ontology, as a purported science about “objects in general,” will end up dealing with “nothing but those concepts through which the understanding thinks, thus of the nature of the understanding and of reason, insofar as it cognizes something a priori.” It therefore can be none other than a “transcendental philosophy, which does not say something a priori of objects, but rather investigates the faculty of the understanding or of reason for cognizing something a priori” (V-​Met/​Mron, 29: 784). 61. It will prove exceedingly important to keep track of the various senses in which Kant teases apart what is “subjective” and what is “objective” in different contexts. I shall return to this topic in c­ hapter 5. 62. In terms of this contrast between logic and metaphysics, Kant sometimes char­ acterizes metaphysics as a “critique” of human reason, which is “subjective and problematic,” and logic as a general “doctrine” of human reason, which is “entirely objective and

Notes dogmatic” (R3970 [1769], 17:  370). To get a sense of how Kant’s conception of “metaphysics” vis-​à-​vis “critique” might have evolved from 1769 through 1772, see R3964 (1769), 17:  368; R4148 (1770–​71? 1773–​75?), 17:  434; R4455 (1772), 17:  557–​58; R4457 (1772), 17: 558; R4466 (1772), 17: 562. Kant, as we shall see in ­chapter 5, would soon separate two studies of human reason: true critique versus physiology. 63.  Kant calls Baumgarten a “Cyclops among metaphysicians, who was missing one eye, namely critique” and who therefore could only be a “good analyst, but not an architectonical philosopher” (R5081 [1776–​ 78], 18:  81). Likewise, “Lambert analyzed reason, but critique was still lacking” (R4866 [1776–​78], 18: 14).

Chapter 5 1. One such implication is that a firm grasp of logicL can help us avoid what Kant calls “logical illusion,” which I shall discuss later in this chapter. 2. In a way, Kant might say, metaphysics in his sense treats second intentions much as logic does. However, each is concerned with a distinct set of second intentions and treats primary intentions accordingly. Take the concepts “body” and “divisible” for instance. While logic considers how they may be related as the logical subject and logical predicate in a categorical judgment, in ontology (qua Kantian transcendental philosophy) we bring them under the categories of substance and accident and thereby determine their real relation (B128–​29). 3. The other two qualifying clauses will, as we shall see in section 3, capture the ways in which logic proper is subjective1 (i.e., it studies thinking “whatever . . . object it may have”) and objective2 (it studies thinking “whatever contingent or natural obstacles it may meet with in our mind”). 4. More on this point in Lu-​Adler 2018c. 5.  When I  refer to the history of logic, I  use  “understanding” and “reason” interchangeably unless otherwise noted. 6. See Lu-​Adler 2013, where I connect my arguments with the more basic issue of how to interpret Kant’s notion of logical extension, i.e., what a concept contains under itself (objects or other concepts?) insofar as it is treated from a merely formal-​logical perspective. Opinions on opposite sides of this issue can, as I have explained in Lu-​Adler 2012, again be traced to different readings of Kant’s descriptions of logical formality in terms of objectual abstraction. 7. Paton claims that the opposite view represents a common misinterpretation according to which Kantian formal logic is only about analytic judgments and treats thinking as totally object-​less. Paton rejects both claims (1936: 84, 213–​15, 187–​92, 191n.1). 8.  For a critical review of varieties of the domain-​sensitive interpretation of transcendental logic, see Tolley 2012: 419–​25. As for MacFarlane, in the end he recognizes that the textual evidence for interpreting transcendental logic as a particular logic is “not conclusive” and decides to classify it as a third species, alongside general logic and particular logic, under the genus “logic” in its broadest sense. Still, he relies on the contrast between universal logic and transcendental logic just cited—​in conjunction with the ensuing definition of logic as a science of the necessary laws of thought regarding “all objects in general” (Log, 9: 16)—​to show how Kant defines “logic” in a way that limits it to pure general logic and thereby excludes transcendental logic (MacFarlane 2000: 83–​84).

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Notes 9. In ­chapter 4 (section 4.3), I teased apart two senses in which a science may be “transcendental”: it is transcendental1 just in case it is pure and a priori, but transcendental2 only if it establishes the possibility for pure representations (intuitions or concepts) to be related a priori to objects. I explained how Kant’s conception of “transcendental logic” evolved from the first sense—​when he first used it circa 1770 to signify a new conception of “ontology”—​to the second, which is now crystalized in the Critique. 10.  Kant speaks of “thinking” and “cognition” interchangeably in such contexts, where not much seems to hang on the distinction between thought and cognition (in the restricted sense that I mentioned in section 2). I follow him in this practice. 11. The term sie is semantically ambiguous, as it may refer either to Handlungen or to Vorstellungen. Tolley and many other interpreters take it to be Vorstellungen. Kemp Smith’s translation renders sie simply as “these representations” (1929:  113). Paton, though mindful of the choice between Handlungen and Vorstellungen, dismisses the first alternative as “impossible” without explaining why (Paton 1936: 287, 289–​90; see Pippin 1982: 94–​96). As we shall see, however, Handlungen is indeed the more plausible option. In case one finds it strange to call a pure concept “action,” note that it is not unusual for Kant to do so. For instance, he refers to categories as “the general actions of reason” (R4276 [1770–​71], 17:  492) and as “formal actions of the understanding in judging” (MAN, 4: 475). 12. Here überhaupt suggests that, as Allison puts it, “the transcendental or objectifying function of the understanding is independent of the particular nature of the manifold of intuition; all that is required is that it be sensible” (Allison 2015a:  177n.27). In Kant’s own words, pure concepts of the understanding “extend to objects of intuition in general, whether the latter be similar to our own or not, as long as it is sensible and not intellectual” (B148). It is presumably for this reason that the content that the understanding brings into the manifold of intuition in general by means of its pure concepts is only “transcendental.” That is, if “[t]‌hinking is the action of relating given intuitions to an object [Handlung . . . auf einen Gegenstand zu beziehen]” through pure concepts of the understanding, “in which abstraction is made from any condition of sensible intuition as the only one that is possible for us, no object is determined, rather only the thought of an object in general is expressed in accordance with different modi.” In that connection, the object to which given intuitions are related is “merely transcendental” (A247/​B304). 13.  It helps to bear in mind here that the “same understanding” passage is part of Kant’s preparation for the Transcendental Deduction. In this context, to think an object for a given manifold of (intuitive) representations requires a certain synthesis on the part of the understanding that “alone constitutes the relation [Beziehung] of representations to an object” (B137). The requisite synthesis must be effected “in accordance with concepts, i.e., in accordance with rules that . . . determine an object for [the given manifold of] intuition” (A108). The Transcendental Deduction is to show that such concepts are precisely the pure concepts of the understanding mentioned in the “same understanding” passage. 14. For Kant’s later discussions of this objectifying function of the understanding, see A104–​5; B137. 15.  Herz, in a letter to Kant on April 7, 1789, recommended Maimon as someone with such a command of Kant’s philosophy or the Kantian manner of philosophizing that he was no doubt “one of the very, very few people on earth” who understood Kant completely (Br, 11: 15). Kant concurred: “not only had none of my critics understood me and

Notes the main questions as well as Herr Maimon does but also very few men possess so much acumen for such deep investigations as he” (Br, 11: 49). For an overview of Maimon’s philosophy, with a brief discussion of his criticisms of Kant, see Thielke and Melamed 2015. On Maimon’s significance as a reader and critic of Kant’s philosophy, see Beiser 1987: 285–​ 323. On Maimon’s theory of logic, see Schechter 2003. 16.  Karl Reinhold (1757–​ 1823), an early advocate of Kant’s Critical philosophy, has argued that one can never be certain as to whether a formal logic is complete without deducing it as a system from more fundamental Grundsätze—​hence the need for Elementarphilosophie, a science that treats the faculty of representation as such and thereby establishes the requisite principles (Reinhold 1791:  118–​21, 137–​38). Maimon is critical of Reinhold’s approach (Maimon 2001: 176–​84; see Beiser 1987: 317–​20, on the relevant Maimon-​Reinhold controversy). 17.  Kant raises a specific question about the possibility of logic in his unpublished jottings (Lose Blätter) for the “Real Progress”: “How is general logic [allgemeine Logik] possible, and what does it contain?” This question is followed by two more: “How is transcendental logic possible” and “What is the logic of immanent and the transcendent judgments [Logik der immanenten und der transcendenten Urtheile] which yield no knowledge,—​and of the whole of logic”? (FM/​Lose Blätter, 20: 339) 18. Scholars disagree over the historical source of Kant’s usage of the notions “analytic” and “dialectic.” For a recent overview of the disagreements, see Sgarbi 2016: 150–​63. I  am not concerned with identifying a suitable historical precedent for Kant’s analytic-​ dialectic division. 19.  We can find the claim that logic is a canon but not organon in many other transcripts of Kant’s logic lectures. See, for instance, V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24:  317–​18; V-​Lo/​ Pölitz, 24: 55–​57; V-​Lo/​Busolt, 24: 612–​13; V-​Lo/​Bauch, LV 1: 15–​17, 20–​22, 27–​28; V-​Lo/​ Hechsel, LV 2: 278–​79, 281–​83. 20. To appreciate this point, see McQuillan 2016, a book-​length attempt to clarify the very idea of a critique of pure reason and, in the process, to see how Kant’s notion of a critique compares with the various alternatives in use at the time. 21.  For a helpful and directly relevant discussion of Kant’s complex relations with physiology, see Mensch 2013: 122–​24. 22. Science presupposes a reflective consciousness of the “main principle, from which everything else is derived [and which] lies at the basis” (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24:  704; see Log, 9: 139; V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 227–​28). 23. At R4851, Kant begins with the broad notion of a critical method, which concerns “either how we attain principles and concepts, or: what they contain and how they are possible.” The clause “physiology: Locke” is added later, which corresponds to the first variety (18: 9; see V-​Lo/​Philippi, 24: 338). 24. For a relevant discussion, see Fischer 1975. 25. Kant uses “transcendental” to modify a whole range of concepts. Besides familiar notions like “transcendental deduction,” “transcendental idealism,” and “transcendental philosophy,” he also talks about transcendental cognition (A11–​12), transcendental use of the pure concepts (A246/​B303), transcendental object (A288–​89/​B344–​45), transcendental constitution of the cognitive subject (A97–​98), transcendental proofs (A782–​94/​B810–​22), and so on and so forth. It is hard to see whether these uses converge in a single account of what is “transcendental.” If anything, of all the claims Kant makes in this regard, the most

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Notes relevant to my use of the concept in the present context is his contrast of transcendental and empirical deductions at A85/​B117. 26. I first developed some of the points made in this section in Lu-​Adler 2016. 27. Here is Paul Guyer and Allen Wood’s more literal translation in the Cambridge edition: since Aristotle and “until now it [logic] has been unable to take a single step forward, and therefore seems to all appearance to be finished and complete.” 28. Kant does not seem to distinguish “Aristotelian logic” from “Aristotle’s logic.” Nor does Kemp Smith. I treat the two as interchangeable in the present context. 29. Translations of the passages from the B Preface in this chapter are mine, but only after consulting both Kemp Smith’s and Guyer and Wood’s translations. 30. Kant contrasts “scholastic” with “popular” presentation (R6358 [1796–​98], 18: 683; Log, 9: 19, 47, 148; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 779; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 795–​96). On his account, every strict science must be expounded with scholastic correctness (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 696). 31. Although the Critical Kant identifies his “ontology” with “transcendental philosophy,” the latter notion better reflects the Critical dimension of his system of the elements of pure understanding and serves to highlight his ontology as one with a critique, without which he would be unable to ascertain its completeness. On this point, see Lu-​Adler 2018c. 32. See V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 24–​25; V-​Philippi, 24: 315; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 695; V-​Lo/​ Wiener, 24: 792; V-​Lo/​Bauch, LV 1: 10, 13–​14; V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 278, 280. 33. Such a reductive project would be more interesting to a logician than to Kant the philosopher. At any rate, no matter whether one succeeds in identifying a set of axiomatic principles to which the rest of a logical system may be reduced, one will still face the foundational issue, which is not to be settled simply by finding a further principle from which to prove the truth of the axioms. For the question is about the source of the purported axiomatic principles (or, rather, our representations thereof). To answer it one might say, for instance, that these principles are innate, which we access by intellectual intuition, or that they are acquired through abstraction from experience. Kant would reject both, as I argued in section 4.2. 34. The notion of truth here applies to inferences as well as judgments. Kant sometimes regards a valid or invalid inference as true or false in forma (V-​Lo/​Hechsel, LV 2: 455). In his view, it is worth adding, the formal truth of a syllogism is not determined by the law of contradiction (V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 773; see DfS, 2: 49). 35. For example, metaphysics “discusses the universal objects of the understanding,” physics “deals with corporeal objects,” and mathematics treats quantities (V-​Lo/​Blomberg, 24: 31, 229; V-​Lo/​Wiener, 24: 797; V-​Lo/​Dohna, 24: 717). 36.  Concepts are “simple” in that they are the most basic units of cognition to be treated in logic. It does not follow that they must be assumed as given. To the contrary, as we shall see, even concepts are made—​in respect of their form—​through the logical acts of the understanding. 37. Thesis (4) does not appear in the introductory sections of the lectures, but only in later parts on concepts. It can nevertheless be included in Kant’s prolegomena on thinking in general for two reasons. First, it further specifies his notion of the understanding as the faculty of spontaneity, by telling us what sorts of cognition it can bring forth itself. Second, this thesis complements thesis (2), where logic is said to investigate the forms of concept, judgment, and inference, respectively.

Notes 38. “Form” has two meanings in Kant’s logic corpus. It often means the manner in which a multitude of representations can be combined with one another. In this sense, for instance, Kant distinguishes various forms of judgment. Occasionally, however, he also uses the same term to mean the nature or essence of a representation. In this sense, one can talk about the form of all concepts (namely, universality or the capacity to represent many things) or that of all judgements (namely, unity of multiple representations in one consciousness). 39. I explicate this point in Lu-​Adler 2015. 40.  In “The False Subtlety of the Four Syllogistic Figures,” Kant argues that the second through fourth figures of categorical syllogism are superfluous, being somehow reducible to the first figure. Accordingly, what he takes to be the supreme principles of all affirmative and negative (categorical) syllogisms apply directly to the first figure (DfS, 2: 49). Such principles concern only the validity (or truth, broadly speaking) of syllogisms, however. Kant would agree that logic—​to ensure an exhaustive treatment of each one of the three subjects of its Doctrine of Elements (concept, judgment, inference)—​must present all possible ways of, say, combining categorical judgments to construct categorical syllogisms before analyzing their relations to one another and stipulating the most basic principles of their validity. Provided in categorical syllogisms singular judgments can be treated as universal and infinite judgments as affirmative (A71–​72/​B96–​97), 256 possible forms of categorical syllogism can in theory be constructed out of categorical judgments. A complete derivation of the rules for generating inferences—​regardless of whether they are valid—​must include all such forms. 41. See Allison 2015a: 197–​204, especially 201, where the task of the subjective deduction is identified as “investigating the ‘transcendental constitution of the subjective sources’ [A96–​97].” 42.  This is Kant’s summary of Maimon’s concerns. For comparison, see Maimon’s letter to Kant on April 7, 1789 (Br, 11: 15–​17). 43.  In the same text, Kant has explained that “intellectual purposiveness”—​ purposiveness “cognized through reason”—​can be “conceived, as far as its possibility is concerned, as merely formal (not real), i.e., as purposiveness that is not grounded in a purpose” (KU, 5: 363–​64). For a helpful though brief discussion of this point, see Fugate 2014: 171–​74. 44. On the significance of Kant’s transformative treatment of ontology as the first part of metaphysics, see Lu-​Adler 2018c. 45. I develop this thesis in greater length in Lu-​Adler 2018b. 46. On some of the relevant aspects of Kantian reason, see O’Neill 1992; Rescher 2000; Stoddard 1988. For a general discussion of Kant’s account of reason, see Williams 2017. 47. Harman’s initial arguments are in Harman 1984 and 1986. For critical reviews of the ongoing debates over logical normativity inspired by Harman’s work, see Allo 2016; Steinberger 2017. 48. See Lu-​Adler 2017b, where I discuss the relevant points about logical normativity in greater details. 49.  While I  cannot get into details here, I  should mention two controversies that have defined existing literature on this subject. One concerns the possibility of deriving the entire Table of Judgments from a single principle. Klaus Reich (1986) affirmed this possibility and identified the “objective unity of apperception” as the requisite principle,

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Notes a reading that inspired a range of critical responses (Krüger 1968; Brandt 1991; Wolff 1995). The other concerns the relation between the Table of Judgments and the Table of Categories. Giorgio Tonelli (1966), observing that the two tables matured around the same time, hypothesized that the first table, in its final shape, was modeled on the second. This interpretation met with sharp objections in Krüger 1968. I have discussed this issue elsewhere, on the occasion of examining Kant’s account of the logical form of a singular judgment and whether it correlates with the category of unity or that of totality (Lu-​Adler 2012, ­chapter 3; Lu-​Adler 2014).

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INDEX Abelard, Peter 32, 55–​57, 209 n60 Adickes, Erich 15, 203 n1 to Chapter 1 aesthetic(s), see logic: and aesthetic/​aesthetics (aesthetica) Allison, Henry 218 n57, 220 n12 analytic as opposed to dialectic 29–​30, 162–​64,  167–​69 transcendental 122–​23, 136, 138, 167–​69 analyticity 89–​90, 148, 150, 166, 219 n7 Andronicus of Rhodes 33 Anselm of Canterbury 55, 208 n57 Aquinas, St. Thomas 47–​48, 50–​51, 57, 90–​92, 207 n30, 207 n40, 212 n15 Aristotelian logic 1–​3, 27–​28, 43–​45, 66, 92, 222 n28 criticisms of 28, 36, 62–​63, 73–​75, 164, 177, 210 n81 (see also syllogism, theory of) Kant’s completeness claim about 1–​2, 176–​96 (see also logic: and critique; logic: as science) Aristotle in history of logic 39–​40, 201–​2 (see also Aristotelian logic) on logic/​dialectic 40–​43, 87 logic works of 33, 44, 47–​48, 54, 204 n1, 205–​6  n17 on scientific knowledge 45–​47, 205–​6 n17, 206 n28 (see also syllogism, theory of) Ashworth, E. J. 58 Averroës 45, 50, 144, 206 n24 Avicenna 45, 48–​50, 144–​45, 206 n24, 207 n34 Bacon, Francis 2, 71–​77, 79–​80, 97–​98, 102, 118, 211 n5, 214 n7 Barnes, Jonathan 38, 81 Baumgarten, A. G. 53, 101–​4, 123, 145, 214–​15 nn11–​16, 216 n35, 218 nn59–​60, 219 n63 Beck, Lewis White 21, 212 n16 Bernardi, Antonio 208 n52 Bertolacci, Amos 49 Blackburn, Simon 3 Bocheński, I. M. 1–​2 Boethius 40, 44, 51, 55–​56, 204 n3 Boswell, Terry 11, 13, 15

Brandt, Reinhard 21–​23 Brucker, Johann 19, 204 n10, 211 n3 Buickerood, James 78 Buridan, John 57 Burley, Walter 51–​52, 57, 87 Callus, Daniel 45 Capozzi, Mirella 109, 121–​22, 176, 179 Cohen, Hermann 21 concept distinctness of 87–​90, 92–​93 in general 58–​60, 144, 186, 222 n36 (see also term) pure/​intellectual 170–​72, 189–​93, 220 nn11–​13 secondary (second intention) 49–​52, 75, 144–​45, 207 n43, 219 n2 Cousin, Victor 19 critique 25, 130–​31, 133–​34, 136, 138, 167–​70, 188–​89. See also illusion; method: critical; transcendental philosophy deduction/​derivation of categories 180–​81, 189–​93 (see also concept: pure/​intellectual) of logical forms/​rules 14–​15, 154, 182–​87, 221 n16, 223–​24 n49 (see also logic: ground (principium) of) De Morgan, Augustus 195, 201–​2 Descartes, Réne 2, 118–​19 dialectic as critique of dialectical illusion 30, 143, 162–​68 (see also illusion) and disputation 36, 45, 61, 164–​65 (see also logic: and ethics) historical accounts of 34–​36, 38–​39, 41–​43, 51, 55, 61, 63–​64, 73, 208 n52 as logic of illusion 143, 162, 164–​65 transcendental 137–​38 (see also analytic: transcendental) dialectician, see logician Diogenes Laërtius 33–​36, 205 n6 discourse (Vortrag) 58, 107, 117, 120. See also method: Kant’s doctrine of Duns Scotus, John 207 n43

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Index Eberhard, Johann 170 eclecticism Kant’s relation to 17–​18, 21–​24 as a philosophical method 18–​19, 23 Wolff’s relation to 19–​21 (see also method: Wolffian) Edwards, William 208 n52 Epicurus 33, 35–​37, 204–​5 n5, 205 n9 epigenesis 193 Erdmann, Benno 203 n1 to Chapter 1, 214 n9 Erdmann, Johann 19–​20 Fārābī 48, 207 n31, 207 n34 Fichte, Johann 14 Formey, Johann 211 n3 Fowler, Thomas 79–​81 Franklin, James 3 freedom 60–​61, 75–​77, 80–​81, 211 n10. See also prejudice Frege, Gottlob 3, 195–​96 Fries, J. F. 176, 179 genius 23. See also power of judgment Grosseteste, Robert 44 Gundissalinus, Dominicus 207 n31, 207 n40 Harman, Gilbert 196 Herz, Marcus 10, 130–​31, 220 n15 Hoenen, Maarten 57 Hooker, Richard 79, 211 n8 human intellect/​reason/​understanding aptitude of 86, 93, 212 n20 in Bacon’s account of logic 73–​77 (see also method: Baconian/​ natural-​historical) common/​healthy vs. learned 105, 110–​17, 204 n12, 216 nn32–​33, 216 n35 (see also logic: applied vs. pure; logic: artificial vs. natural) habit of 76–​77, 93, 212 n20, 215 n20 in Locke’s account of logic 79–​84 (see also physiology) logical vs. real use of 129, 147–​48 pure 129–​30, 136, 157–​58, 180–​81, 188–​93 (see also critique) illusion 137, 150, 164–​69, 193, 219 n1 inference 52, 83, 88, 91, 147, 164, 184–​87, 222 n34. See also syllogism, theory of Jäsche, G. B. 9–​16, 117, 201 John of Salisbury 39–​40, 54–​55, 60–​62 judgment 63, 91, 150, 184–​87. See also power of judgment; Table of Judgments

Kästner, Abraham 20 Kemp Smith, Norman 176, 178, 181 Kiesewetter, Johann 12 Kneales, Martha and William 2 Knutzen, Martin 101–​2, 106, 213–​14 nn2–​7, 214 n9 Lambert, J. H. 124–​25, 127–​28, 131, 210–​11 n2, 219 n63 Leibniz, G. W. 1–​2, 84–​89, 170–​74, 191–​92, 203 n2 to General Introduction, 211–​12 nn12–​13, 213 n5. See also Wolff, Christian Locke, John on concepts/​signs 58–​60,  169–​70 in history of logic 3–​4, 77–​78, 106, 203 n4 to General Introduction, 215 n21 on logic and its ground 78–​84, 86, 174–​75 (see also method: Baconian/​natural-​ historical; method: critical; physiology) logic vs. aesthetic/​aesthetics (aesthetica) 102–​3, 139, 143–​44, 155, 158–​59 (see also Baumgarten, A. G.; transcendental aesthetic) applied vs. pure 12, 29, 66–​67, 102, 112–​14, 155–​56, 183, 216 n31 Aristotelian (see Aristotelian logic) as art (ars, technē) 42, 60–​61, 64, 66, 73, 87–​89, 103–​4, 207 n30, 208 n49, 208 n52 artificial vs. natural 42, 52, 54, 64, 84–​89, 92–​96, 103–​4, 109–​14, 172–​73, 212 n20, 213 n3, 215 n27 as canon (criterion/​standard of assessment) 29–​30, 35–​37, 116–​17, 136–​37, 150,  162–​66 as complete (see Aristotelian logic: Kant’s completeness claim about) and critique 116–​17, 161–​88 (see also critique; logic: ground (principium) of) definition of 63, 91, 103–​4, 107, 135, 145–​ 46, 149, 152–​54, 215 n28, 219 n8 division and scope of 3, 11–​12, 29–​30, 34–​ 36, 38, 48–​49, 54–​55, 62–​63, 94, 101–​4, 107, 155, 205–​6 n17, 207 n31, 215 n16 (see also analytic; dialectic; philosophy: division of; rhetoric) Epicurean 35–​37, 205 n11 and ethics 33–​35, 38–​39, 60–​61, 80–​81, 114–​15, 216 n36 formal 1–​3, 36, 59, 81, 84–​85, 88, 118, 149–​61, 164–​68, 178–​80, 202, 219 n7 (see also logic: proper; syllogism, theory of)

Index general/​universal vs. particular/​special 29, 88–​89, 101–​2, 152–​57, 213 n5 and God 64, 76–​77, 82–​83, 93–​94, 173–​75 and grammar 48, 53, 55, 57–​58, 61, 207 n34 ground (principium) of 14–​15, 64, 108–​13, 121–​22, 172–​76 (see also logic: artificial vs. natural; logic: and psychology; logic: as self-​cognition; method: Baconian/​natural-​historical) humanist view of 60–​65, 67, 138 and metaphysics/​ontology 41–​42, 48–​57, 121–​23, 132–​37, 144–​46, 148–​49, 180, 218–​19 n62, 219 n2 (see also metaphysics; ontology) normativity of 64–​65, 71–​72, 75–​77, 81–​84, 108, 114, 195–​96 (see also logic:  as canon; logic: and ethics; logic:  ground (principium) of) objectivity and subjectivity of 110–​11, 135–​36, 145–​46, 148–​49, 218–​19  n62 as organon (instrument) 33, 37, 40–​43, 51–​55, 63, 72–​75, 114–​17, 162–​68, 204 n3, 213 n4 vs. philosophy/​theory of logic 3–​5 (see also logician, vs. philosopher) and physics/​natural philosophy 34–​36, 71–​ 75 (see also philosophy: division of) practical vs. theoretical 40–​41, 49–​52, 94, 101–​3, 113, 117, 164–​65, 216 n31 proper 14, 37, 117, 135–​37, 143–​44, 152–​60, 178, 201–​2, 215 n28 and psychology 91–​92, 110–​13, 141–​42, 149, 174, 176, 212 n19, 213 n1, 214 nn10–​11, 217 n44 (see also physiology) pure general (see logic: proper) as rational philosophy (philosophia/​scientia rationalis) 47–​48, 50–​53, 90–​91, 107, 111, 207 n43, 216 n29 not as real philosophy (philosophia/​scientia realis) 52–​53, 145, 207 n43 scholastic treatment of 28, 58, 62–​63, 85, 92, 118 (see also Aristotelian logic) as science (scientia) 13–​15, 33–​37, 40–​43, 47–​53, 73–​75, 88–​96, 101–​4, 107–​14, 121–​22, 152–​55, 159, 161–​62, 172–​73, 176–​79 (see also science:  Kant’s notion of) as self-​cognition of reason 183–​84, 188–​96 Stoic 2, 33–​39, 205 n8 subject matter of 35, 41–​42, 47–​54, 57–​59, 91, 109, 121, 135–​36, 143–​45, 159–​60 (see also concept: secondary) terminist 32, 54–​58, 62–​64 (see also term) transcendental (see transcendental logic)

logic corpus, Kant’s Blomberg Logic 71–​72, 106–​11, 113–​15, 216 n31 Critique of Pure Reason 9, 13, 29–​30, 112–​13, 117, 131, 142, 149, 154–​61, 176, 180–​81,  188–​92 Jäsche Logic 9–​16, 37, 185–​87, 203 n5 to Chapter 1 Philippi Logic 107, 110–​11, 116–​17, 215 n26, 216 n31, 216 n35 Reflexionen 9–​11, 15–​16, 116–​17, 203 n1 to Chapter 1 logica antiquorum 44, 54 logica modernorum 44, 54, 56–​57 logica nova 44 logica vetus 44, 209 n60 logical psychologism 1, 195–​96. See also logic: and psychology logician logic of 42–​43, 88, 155–​56 (see also logic: artificial vs. natural) vs. philosopher 4, 39, 194–​95, 222 n33 pseudo vs. true 35, 39, 55, 57, 62–​63, 205 n6 (see also logic: and ethics) LoLordo, Antonia 211 n10 MacFarlane, John 157, 219 n8 Maimon, Solomon 161–​62, 190, 192, 195, 220–​21 nn15–​16 Marenbon, John 56, 204 n3, 206 n28 mathematician 15, 87–​88, 194–​95, 206 n28 mathematics 48–​51, 53, 86–​89, 94–​96, 222 n35 (see also method: mathematical) Meier, G. F. 89, 102, 104–​9, 114–​15, 214 n8, 215 n21 Auszug aus der Vernunflehre 9, 11, 104–​9, 114–​15, 117, 215 n18 See also logic: applied vs. pure; logic: practical vs. theoretical metaphysics Kant on the possibility of 123–​31, 188–​89 (see also critique; ontology; transcendental philosophy) nature and subject matter of 50–​52, 121, 123–​30, 133, 135–​36, 144–​46, 148–​49, 180, 217–​18 n51, 219 n2, 222 n35 (see also philosophy: division of) as self-​cognition of reason 188–​93 method Baconian/​natural-​historical 71–​75, 80, 82, 211 n11, 213 n1 Cartesian  118–​19 critical 25–​26, 77–​78, 168, 175, 221 n23 demonstrative/​dogmatic/​systematic (see method: Wolffian)

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Index method (cont.) Kant’s doctrine of 11–​12, 117–​21, 216 n40 mathematical 88–​89, 94–​96, 124–​25, 205 n11 of metaphysics 124–​31 (see also transcendental philosophy) Ramist 63–​64, 217 n41 skeptical  25–​26 Wolffian 19–​24, 90–​92, 95–​96, 178, 205 n11 See also critique; eclecticism Mikkeli, Heikki 53 Mosser, Kurt 178 natural wit (mother wit) 147, 204 n12, 216 n35 nominalism vs. realism (problem of universals)  55–​57 ontology 91–​92, 103, 108–​9, 121–​23, 129, 132–​36, 145–​46, 179, 212 nn18–​19, 217 n43, 217–​18 n51, 218 nn58–​60, 222 n31 Parkinson, George 4 Paton, H. J. 150–​51, 219 n7, 220 n11 Peter of Spain 57, 62 philosophy definition of 109, 194, 210 n1, 213 n22 division of 33–​36, 38, 40–​41, 48–​54, 78, 91, 101–​3, 109, 179–​80, 204–​5  nn4–​5 transcendental (see transcendental philosophy) as wisdom 18, 28, 31, 39, 69, 138, 210 n1 (see also logic: and ethics) physiology 77–​78, 169–​70, 174–​75, 183 Plato 40, 204 n4 Porphyry 40, 49, 56 Port-​Royal Logic 1, 118, 120 power of judgment 147, 204 n12, 216 n33 Pozzo, Riccardo 53, 106 prejudice 12, 76–​77, 80, 102, 114, 213–​14 nn6–​8 psychology, see logic: and psychology; logical psychologism Purgstall, G. W. von 105–​6 Ramus, Peter 62–​65, 87, 120, 210 n81, 217 n41 Reich, Klaus 223–​24 n49 Reinhold, Karl 221 n16 Reisch, Gregor 52–​53 rhetoric (rhetorica) 41, 45, 48–​49, 53, 63, 207 n31 Rink, Friedrich 203 n5 to Chapter 1 Risse, William 3–​4 Roncaglia, Gina 109, 121–​22, 176, 179 Roscelin of Compiègne 55–​56

Sassen, Brigitte 19–​20 science Aristotelian notion of (see Aristotle:  on scientific knowledge) Kant’s notion of 22, 112, 178–​79, 205 n11, 221 n22 Seneca 37–​39, 61, 205 n14 Sextus Empiricus 36, 204–​5 nn4–​5 Stoics 33–​38, 204–​5 nn4–​6, 205 n8. See also logic: and ethics Suárez, Francisco 212 n15 syllogism, theory of 3, 45–​46, 73–​74, 81–​86, 96, 187, 201–​2, 210 n81, 212 n16, 222 n34, 223 n40 Table of Judgments 181, 187, 195, 197, 223–​24  n49 term (sermo) 32, 55–​56, 58, 205 n10. See also discourse Thomasius, Christian 18–​20 Tolley, Clinton 150–​52, 157, 160–​61, 213 n5, 220 n11 Töllner, Johann 214 n10, 215 n16 Tonelli, Giorgio 223–​24 n49 transcendental aesthetic 122, 132, 157–​58 transcendental logic 6–​7, 29–​30, 121–​23, 125, 132, 135–​39, 154–​61, 219 n8. See also analytic: transcendental; ontology transcendental philosophy 130–​34, 146–​47, 180, 217–​18 n51, 218 n54, 218 n60, 222 n31. See also ontology Vives, Juan Luis 62–​63 Wegestreit 57 William of Champeaux 56 William of Ockham 52, 57, 145 Wolff, Christian on logic 89–​97, 145, 212–​13 nn20–​21, 215 n20 (see also logic: practical vs. theoretical) on metaphysics/​ontology 91–​92, 121, 134, 145, 148, 212 nn18–​19 on philosophical method (see method: Wolffian) on psychology 91–​92, 212 nn16–​19, 213 n1 (see also logic: and psychology) relation to Leibniz 84–​85, 211–​12 nn12–​13 See also Baumgarten, A. G.; Knutzen, Martin; Meier, G. F. Zabarella, Jacopo 53–​54, 87, 120, 208 nn51–​52 Zeno of Citium 33–​34, 38