Fred Ablondi

Francis Hutcheson's theory of perception, as put forth in his Synopsis of Metaphysics, bears a striking similarity to that of John Locke. In particular, Hutcheson and Locke both have at the centre of their theories the notion of ideas as representational entities acting as the direct objects of all of our perceptions. On first consideration, one might find this similarity wholly unremarkable, given the popularity of Locke's Essay. But the Essay was published in 1689 and the Synopsis in 1742, and during these years Berkeley had published a substantive attack on Locke's representative realism and the sceptical conclusions he saw it implying. Further, Hume had argued in 1739 that in accepting a Lockean account of perception, we (at least when thinking as philosophers in our studies) are left without any sure knowledge of external objects, even their existence. Despite this, Hutcheson apparently feels no obligation to address either Berkeley's idealism or Hume's scepticism in the Synopsis. The question addressed in this article is, Why did he not see any force to such arguments, and thus why did he feel no onus to attempt to offer an explicit refutation of Berkeley and Hume?

John Yolton describes this collection of nine essays as "a kind of a sequel" to his 1984 book Perceptual Acquaintance from Descartes to Reid. Four of the chapters have previously appeared in print, and most can stand on their own, presuming little or no familiarity with previous chapters. Indeed, the title is somewhat misleading, for the material is not presented in chronological fashion, and there is little attention given to Leibniz and none to Spinoza--not what one would expect to find in a history from Descartes to Kant.

Among the French Cartesians of the second half of the seventeenth century, Géraud de Cordemoy stands out as the most radical. He was one of the first to argue that Cartesian metaphysics imply occasionalism, and he was alone in arguing that those same metaphysical commitments lead to atomism. This paper addresses the second of these positions. Following a discussion of what is taken to be the strongest version of his argument for atomism, consideration will turn to an objection against Cordemoy, one that was raised in his own day by Gottfried Leibniz and more recently by Steven Nadler. The paper concludes with a response offered on Cordemoy's behalf.

John Millar's The Origin of the Distinction of Ranks is best known for its first chapter in which Adam Smith's favorite student traces the social status of women as it changed at various historical stages. Millar's concern is strictly with description and explanation. In the less discussed final chapter he examines the authority of a master over his servants. His treatment of slavery differs from the account of the rank of women in several notable ways, most significantly, perhaps, by including normative judgments on the immorality of slavery. This article begins with Millar's examination of the master-servant/slave relation, and then turns to his arguments against slavery. These arguments go substantially beyond those of his mentor Smith, and there are several particular points regarding slavery on which they disagreed. The paper concludes with a discussion of these contrasts.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:L'autorité d'un canon philosophique. Le cas Descartes by Delphine Antoine-MahutFred AblondiDelphine Antoine-Mahut. L'autorité d'un canon philosophique. Le cas Descartes. Paris: Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, 2021. Pp. 356. Paperback, €13.00.Henri Gouhier once asked, "Après le mort de Descartes, qu'est-ce que le cartésianisme?" to which he replied, "C'est la philosophie de Descartes vue par ses disciples" (La vocation de Malebranche [Paris: J. Vrin, 1926], 80). In L'autorité d'un canon philosophique, Delphine Antoine-Mahut asks a similar question about who controls in just what a philosophical '-ism' consists, and she offers a nuanced and thoughtful answer. While "l'auctorialité du nom en question" is one part, she adds that we must also consider "l'auctorialité de celui ou de celle qui raconte cette histoire, dans un contexte et avec des enjeux très différent de ceux de l'individu d'origine auquel cette histoire est attachée" (10–11). The end result is that "un canon philosophique n'a rien de philosophiquement pur" (12). With this larger question in mind, she documents, as something of a case study, the genesis and development of the "impure" canon cartésien.The battle for authority over the content of canonical Cartesianism starts with the story of Descartes and his one-time devoted pupil and later disavowed outcast, Henricus Regius. Their relationship began in 1638, when Regius, a professor of theoretical medicine and botany at the University of Utrecht, wrote a letter of appreciation to Descartes. Over the next few years, Descartes offered both corrections to Regius's written work and advice on how best to handle the controversies that arose as a result of those writings. In 1645, however, Regius published his Fundamenta physices, in which he claimed that reason alone is not sufficient to prove either the existence of God or the real distinction between the human mind and body. In fact, he went on to speculate that the human mind is merely a mode of the body. [End Page 322] He also denied that we possess innate ideas, and the existence in us of a pure intellect. At the bottom of Regius's break with Descartes was his belief that Cartesian metaphysics is not needed to ground Cartesian physics. For Regius, consistency with empirical findings and simplicity are all that is required.At this point, as Antoine-Mahut puts it, "le sillon est creusé" (41). Descartes responded angrily, both in private letters and in his preface to the 1647 French edition of his Principles of Philosophy. He accused Regius of plagiarizing from his unpublished work and of confusing his views. Following the appearance of a broadsheet summarizing Regius's disagreements with Descartes (written by Regius's student, Peter Wassenaer), Descartes wrote Notae in programma quoddam, in which he reiterated his arguments for both God's existence and the real distinction. Regius and Wassenaer replied with their Brevis explicatio mentis humanae (1648). All of this is laid out clearly and in detail by Antoine-Mahut in part 1 of her book.Part 2 picks up with Descartes's literary executor Claude Clerselier and his campaign to disassociate Regius from what he believed to be "true" Cartesianism. In the preface to the publication of the first volume of Descartes's letters (1657), Clerselier revived the charge of plagiarism against Regius, who responded by publishing a second edition of the Brevis explicatio. This included a preface that attacked Clerselier for publishing Regius's private correspondence without his permission—in fact, because Regius had not made Descartes's letters to him available, Clerselier had had to reconstruct them from Descartes's notes— and claimed it was Descartes who plagiarized Regius. In Antoine-Mahut's narrative of these events, this "disassociation" was followed by a "combining" (her terms) of Cartesian thought with empiricist natural philosophy in the work of Louis de la Forge, for whom "le cartésianisme se spécifie comme une psychologie empiriste dans laquelle l'activité de l'âme joue un rôle essentiel" (175). There was then a subsequent "incorporating" (again borrowing Antoine-Mahut's terminology) by Nicolas Malebranche, who, she says, "occupe une place...

This volume consists of papers originally presented at the international conference "Occasionalism: History and Problems," held in Venice in 2015; it contains twelve chapters, nine of which are in English, three in French. In their introduction, the editors describe occasionalism as a theory that was viewed by Medieval Christian philosophers as a "dangerous and treacherous" threat, only later to be "proudly asserted" in the post-Descartes era. This raises the question of to what degree this transition should be seen as a result of interpretations of the commitments of Cartesian metaphysics, particularly with regard to questions concerning mind-body interaction. Many scholars have pointed out that to view...

Bernard Lamy is frequently included among the Cartesian Empiricists of the second half of the seventeenth century. He has also been described as an Augustinian who dabbled in Cartesianism. While acknowledging that there are both empiricist and Augustinian elements in his thought, I argue that it ought not be forgotten that there are central components of his philosophy that are both anti-empiricist and in opposition to Augustine. My aim in this paper, though, is not critical; I hope to show that Lamy provides us with one more example of the diversity present among the various thinkers labelled as ‘Cartesian’.

Nicolas Malebranche is often thought of as an ardent disciple of Cartesianism. Yet he parts ways with Descartes on a number of important points, one of the most important of which concerns the question of whether mind is able to affect body. It is clear from his letters to Elisabeth that Descartes believed that minds have it within their power to move bodies; Malebranche, on the other hand, denies this, not because mind and body are separate substances--the most frequent criticism of Descartes' dualism--but because he considered the human mind to be too weak to act as such a cause. From this view of the mind as relatively impotent follow Malebranche's anti-Cartesian views that bodies are, in a way, better known than minds, and that our sensations, as well as the mind itself, are known only confusedly. Given what Malebranche says about the limited ability of the human mind, the main focus of this dissertation concerns what we are and are not able to know about ourselves as mental substances. ;In the first chapter, I examine several interpretations of the Cartesian theory of will, as well as Descartes' definition of thought. In the second chapter, I briefly discuss Malebranche's occasionalism before turning to his theory of the will, which is contrasted with the Cartesian account presented in the first chapter. The third chapter focuses on ideas in Malebranche, and again, I stress the contrast with the Cartesian philosophy of ideas. The final chapter begins with an account of knowledge by sentiment interieur in Malebranche; I then argue that, despite initial appearances, it is not sentiment interieur, but his theory of will, taken together with his epistemology and ontology of ideas, which in Malebranche's psychology allow for the presence of unconscious mental processes in the human mind.

There is a long-standing view that Malebranche and his fellow occasionalists accepted occasionalism to solve the problem of interaction between immaterial souls and extended bodies. Recently, however, scholars have shown this story to be a myth. Malebranche, Geulincx, La Forge, and Cordemoy adopted occasionalism for a variety of reasons, but none did so because of a need to provide a solution to a perceived mind-body problem. Yet there is one Cartesian for whom the “traditional” reading is largely on the mark. François Lamy argues in the second volume of his De la Connoissance de Soi-Meme much as the standard story has it. In this article I discuss and analyze Lamy’s argument, showing how he deals with some of the many concerns that made occasionalism attractive, and how he brings out some of the thorny questions that an occasionalist must face.

Nicolas Malebranche was the first Cartesian philosopher to challenge Descartes’ claim that we are capable of possessing a clear and distinct understanding of the soul's nature. Other Cartesians, including Clauberg, La Forge, and Cordemoy, accepted without question the conclusion of the Second Meditation that the nature of the soul is better known than is the nature of body. After presenting an overview of Malebranche's argument, this note turns to the Cartesian philosopher Pierre-Sylvain Régis. Régis, like the Cartesians before Malebranche, sides with Descartes in this debate over the question of whether we can have knowledge of our soul's nature, but unlike his predecessors, he provides an original argument defending his position. This argument is, I argue, a direct response to the argument Malebranche had used in his case against Descartes.

While there has been a resurgence in Malebranche scholarship in the anglophone world over the last twenty years, most of it has focused on Malebranche’s theory of ideas, and little attention has been paid to his philosophy of mind. Schmaltz’s book thus comes as a welcome addition to the Malebranche literature; that he has given us such a well-researched and carefully argued study is even more welcome. The focus of this work is Malebranche’s split with Descartes on the question of our knowledge of the nature of the mind; the book concentrates specifically on Malebranche’s rejection of the claim that we know the nature of the mind better than we know the nature of body. Schmaltz maintains that Malebranche’s arguments for his position are, for the most part, successful against the Cartesians who opposed him, though he claims—and this is perhaps the central claim of the book—that “Malebranche took his negative thesis concerning our knowledge of the soul to involve not so much a rejection of Cartesianism as an internal correction of it”. While acknowledging that Augustine was “the primary inspiration for [Malebranche’s] view of the ideas that are the objects of perception”, Schmaltz’s interpretation of Malebranche’s theory of the soul “presents it as fundamentally Cartesian”. According to Schmaltz, not only is Malebranche closer to Descartes in this regard than is generally thought, he is closer to him than are many other Cartesians. Part 1 of the book examines Malebranche’s position that while we have certain knowledge of the soul’s existence, we have only confused knowledge of its nature. Part 2 focuses on Arnauld’s objection that if in fact we had no clear idea of the soul, we could not, despite Malebranche’s claims to the contrary, know anything of its immortality, spirituality, or freedom.

Descartes’s First Meditation employs a series of arguments designed to generate the worry that the senses might not provide sufficient evidence to justify one’staking as certain one’s beliefs about the way the world is. As the meditator considers what principle describes the conditions under which it is possible to attain certain knowledge, one after another doubt-generating device is ushered in, until at last he finds himself like someone caught in a whirlpool, able neither to stand firm nor to swim out. In this paper, I examine one of those devices, namely, what is often referred to as the Madness Argument. In particular, I want to discuss its relation to the Dream Argument and its function in the Meditations as a whole. My position stands in contrast to the interpretations of Anthony Kenny, Margaret Wilson, Michael Williams, and, more recently, Janet Broughton and Catherine Wilson.