Catherine Wilson

This study of the metaphysics of G. W. Leibniz gives a clear picture of his philosophical development within the general scheme of seventeenth-century natural philosophy. Catherine Wilson examines the shifts in Leibniz's thinking as he confronted the major philosophical problems of his era. Beginning with his interest in artificial languages and calculi for proof and discovery, the author proceeds to an examination of Leibniz’s early theories of matter and motion, to the phenomenalistic turn in his theory of substance and his subsequent de-emphasis of logical determinism, and finally to his doctrines of harmony and optimization. Specific attention is given to Leibniz’s understanding of Descartes and his successors, Malebranche and Spinoza, and the English philosophers Newton, Cudworth, and Locke. Wilson analyzes Leibniz’s complex response to the new mechanical philosophy, his discontent with the foundations on which it rested, and his return to the past to locate the resources for reconstructing it. She argues that the continuum-problem is the key to an understanding not only of Leibniz’s monadology but also of his views on the substantiality of the self and the impossibility of external causal influence. A final chapter considers the problem of Leibniz-reception in the post-Kantian era, and the difficulty of coming to terms with a metaphysics that is not only philosophically "critical" but, at the same time, “compensatory.” Originally published in 2050. The Princeton Legacy Library uses the latest print-on-demand technology to again make available previously out-of-print books from the distinguished backlist of Princeton University Press. These editions preserve the original texts of these important books while presenting them in durable paperback and hardcover editions. The goal of the Princeton Legacy Library is to vastly increase access to the rich scholarly heritage found in the thousands of books published by Princeton University Press since its founding in 1905.

It is an honor to have been given the opportunity by the editor to reply to J.A. Cover’s review of Leibniz’s Metaphysics, and to have a chance to revisit, five years after the book’s publication, the still-active battleground of intrinsic and extrinsic properties, the extensionality and intensionality of perception, and the reality of aggregates and to say more, a little informally perhaps, about about some methodological questions in Leibniz scholarship. Cover’s review when it appeared gave me a great deal of pleasure because he addressed sharply and directly exactly the central issues, in a way which was not in the least distanziert, and defended several alternative critical positions concisely and eloquently.

In the seventeenth century the microscope opened up a new world of observation, and, according to Catherine Wilson, profoundly revised the thinking of scientists and philosophers alike. The interior of nature, once closed off to both sympathetic intuition and direct perception, was now accessible with the help of optical instruments. The microscope led to a conception of science as an objective, procedure-driven mode of inquiry and renewed interest in atomism and mechanism. Focusing on the earliest forays into microscopical research, from 1620 to 1720, this book provides us with both a compelling technological history and a lively assessment of the new knowledge that helped launch philosophy into the modern era. Wilson argues that the discovery of the microworld--and the apparent role of living animalcula in generation, contagion, and disease--presented metaphysicians with the task of reconciling the ubiquity of life with human-centered theological systems. It was also a source of problems for philosophers concerned with essences, qualities, and the limits of human knowledge, whose positions are echoed in current debates about realism and instrument-mediated knowledge. Covering the contributions of pioneering microscopists (Leeuwenhoek, Swammerdam, Malpighi, Grew, and Hooke) and the work of philosophers interested in the microworld (Bacon, Descartes, Leibniz, Malebranche, Locke, and Berkeley), she challenges historians who view the abstract sciences as the sole catalyst of the Scientific Revolution as she stresses the importance of observational and experimental science to the modern intellect.

In this fascinating but sometimes baffling book, the reader engages with a series of conditionals like the following: “If [the psychiatrist] Clérimbault manifests a delirium, it is because he discovers the tiny hallucinatory perceptions of ether addicts in the folds of clothing”. “If Leibniz’s principles [of identity and sufficient reason] appear to us as cries, it is because each one signals the presence of a class of beings that are themselves crying and draw attention to themselves by these cries...”. Deleuze’s study is concerned with Leibniz and with leibnizianism; with the Baroque considered as a historical period and with the baroque considered as a persistent impulse in architecture, decoration, and in human thinking and system construction. Baroque and baroque are explorations, in his view, of curvilinearity, and Deleuze explores Leibniz’s use of mathematical analogies from topology, projective geometry and the calculus. But his attention in the book is mainly fixed on two Leibnizian images. The first image is that of the two-storied house, typically represented in baroque painting by an angelic realm in the upper half of the picture hovering above the human realm. In Leibniz’s writings, this translates into the world of matter and the world of intelligent, self-conscious spirits on the upper level. The second image is that of the fold, which appears in the pleats and draperies of Baroque costume, sculpture, and interior decoration, and which reappears in Leibniz’s mind-as-folded curtain, in his enveloped organisms, preformed under folds, and in the continuum, from whose recesses ever more numbers or particles can be pulled out. In clothing, waves, the brain, pleats of all sorts, surface disappears into interior. Deconstruction! But is it philosophy? Yes! Though Deleuze pulls his comparison-objects out of every corner of contemporary French culture, they are never arbitrary, and the book is focused clearly on its subject.

Struck by the absence of love affairs, adventures, travels, and political engagement in Immanuel Kant's life, a noted commentator describes him as unformed, to a degree surpassing all other philosophers, by challenging life events. Declaring that Kant 'can be understood only through his work in which he immerses himself with unwavering discipline,' the writer evokes the image of a body of writing demanding to be understood through text-internal analytical methods alone. The theme of the enclosed Kantian text is virtually irresistible. It dominates in teaching practice and in a large percentage of the expository literature, where Kant's ideas are paraphrased in more, or even less transparent prose. It is attributable to the fact that Kant is a difficult author, a fact that, despite his scorn for popular philosophy, he knew and to some extent regretted. The commentator too is apt to immerse him or herself in Kant's writings with unwavering discipline, leaving little time and energy for a study of Kant's surrounding context. Like Wordsworth's Isaac Newton, whose innate powers enable him to teach the truth to himself, Kant is seen as a walled-off genius whose innovations nevertheless reached to the whole world. But Kant's famous domesticity and addiction to routine did not preclude contact with an external world. His mind was formed--as was Newton's, as is that of any one of us-- by his encounters with books and essays, by his exchanges with correspondents and dinner guests, from whom he learned and by whom he was provoked and challenged. The name index of the Academy Edition of Kant's works and the range of authors in the catalogue of Kant's library books published by Arthur Warda in 1922 leave no doubt as to the breadth of his personal and literary acquaintances.

Picturing Knowledge is a collection of papers on scientific illustration written by historians and philosophers of science. While the philosophers of science tend to focus on the question whether illustrations are more than helpful aids to symbolic proofs and linguistic explications, the historians are interested in the presuppositions attaching to particular modes of representation—the decision what to depict and how to depict it. David Knight discusses the conventions determined what were appropriate and relevant illustrations for textbooks of chemistry. He calls attention to their increasing depersonalization, as pictures of the alchemical laboratory with its furnace and flasks, and then of elegantly clad, unmussed aristocrats gave way to pictures of molecules. Robert J. O’Hara shows how metaphysical assumptions about the organization of nature, in particular the assumption that there existed a system of visible analogies and correspondences across groups of plants and animals, persisted from Linnaeus’s time even into post-Darwinian biology. Stephanie Moser argues that artists’ depictions of australopithecine hominids in semi-popular illustrated magazines of the 1940s and 1950s first reflected, but then entrenched, a view of their mode of life featuring nuclear families, wooden clubs, and homey caves, subsequently rejected as improbable. Other historians investigate the history and problems of scientific representation itself. Bert Hall provides a brief survey of botanical, anatomical, and mechanical illustration, and considers the competing demands of elegance and informativeness. Martin Kemp considers the very different requirements of anatomical and astronomical depictions. Anatomical illustration lends itself to what he calls a “rhetoric of reality” aimed at convincing the viewer that the illustration is what he would see inside an actual human body, while astronomical illustration is unconcerned with the appearances of the heavens, and is a translation of measurements into a scheme representing what cannot literally be seen.