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BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
LATELY PUBLISHED BY TEUBNEE & CO.
TRACTATUS THEOLOGICO-POLITICUS, a Theological and Political Treatise, showing under a series of heads that Freedom of Dis- cussion may not only be granted with safety to Religion and the peace of the State, but cannot be denied without danger to both the public peace and true piety. By Benedict de Spinoza. 8vo. liondon, 1862, pp. 359. An emended edition, 8vo. London, 1808, pp. vi. and 359.
On the SPECIAL FUNCTION OF THE SUDORIPAROUS AND LYMPHATIC SYSTEMS, their vital import, and their bearing on Health and Disease. By Robert AVilliB, M.D., Member of the Boyal College of Physicians, &c. 8vo. London, 1807, pp. viii. and 72.
NATHAN THE WISE ; a Dramatic Poem, by G. E. Lcssing. From the Oerman (in verge) ; with an Introduction on Losing and the Nathan, its antecedents, character, and influence, by R. Willis, M.D.
' Would you see Religion portrayed as apprehended by Spinoza, you have only to turn to the Nathan of liCssing.' — Dr Kuno Fischer : History of Modem Philosophy.
' In the Nathan we have an Ideal of Religious Liberty, far surpassing any that has ever existed in the world.' — Dr Carl Schwartz : History of Modem Theology, and Lessing as Theologian.
' Creations like the Nathan, coming to us as from a better world, wherein opposites are for ever reconciled, and the differences that still so aimlessly divide mankind are set at rest, are not given to us for purposeless enjoyment or mere icsthetic contemplation. Much rather are they ours as pledges that the battle of life, fairly and fearlessly waged, is ever eventually crowned by victory; that humanity, however slowly, and with whatever occasional backslidings, still advances from darkness into light, from bondage into freedom ; and further, that he only counts for one among the combatants who in some wider or uarrower sphere shows himself forward to hasten the coming of tliis glorious day, the advent of this kingdom of God upon earth.' Dr D. F. Strauss : Lessing's Nathan the Wise.
/gri:?
BENEDICT DE SPINOZA;
BIS
LIFE, CORRESPONDENCE, AND ETHICS.
BT
E'^ILLIS, M.D.
'H 'AXi^dem ^Xa;0fpw(r« i\im. — ^Joh» viii. 82.
LONDON:
TBtJBNEB & CO., 60, PATEBNOSTEB BOW.
1870.
Un H^Mt raMrmi.1
Soleo et in aliena castra transirc, non tonquam transfuga icd tanquam ezplorator. — Seneca,
Sometimes I ramble through my neighbour's fields, To note his skill, mark what his labour yields.
JOHS CIIIU>9 AND SOX, PRIKTERS.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
OlSKRA^t. hnrBODDCTios.— Purpose of the Work. Aoalysis ol the iSygtem
Tnaa
Source* of Spin-
vii. — xliv.
TBB LIFE OF BEXEDICT OE gPISOZA.
Intrcidiiclion , . . . , . . . . . , , 1
The I'eii insular Jews, and the Exodus to the NetberlandB . . 6 Dwtinguished men among the Jews of Amsterdam : Menaawh Ben-
Urael, Orotiio de Castro, Uriel d'Aco«ts . . . . . . 14
Birth and v<lucation of Spinoza. Influence of the writings of Hai-
monides and Aben-Ezra .. .. .. ..19
He is remarked for iudependcnco of thought, and becomes an object
of suspicion. He is oxcomniunicatod . . . . , . 29
Tlie form of Kxcommunieation used . . . . . . . . 34
He sepnruter himself from the Jeninh communion . . . . 30
He liiidj employment as teacher with Dr Krancis Van den Ende . 38
He has leamixt a handicraft, and leaves Van den Endc's establishment 41 Bis life is attempted .. .. .. .. ..41
The heads of the Synagogue endeavour to win him back by offers of
a (lension . . . . . . . . , . . . 42
Tlie headx of the Synagogue move'for his banishment from Amsterdam 43
Be quits .\mstcrdam , . . , . , . , 44
In retreat, and laying the foundations of his future works . . 46 He keeps up liis intercourse with his friends of Amsterdam, and be-
come< attached to Mile \^an den Knde . . . . , . 47
He Usavoi Uhyneburg for Vixirhurt;, and finally settles at the Hague 51
Hie abr<l«:mious and economicHl habits . . . , . . . . 54
His manners, conversation, disinterestedness, and amusemeots . . 65
His religious constitution . . . . . , . . . . GO.
His fKililiciU Olid ecclesiastical views . . . , . . . , 63 A visit to the beud-i|UHrters of tlio French invaders causes him to be
suspected of unpatriotic tendencies . . . . . . . . 60
He is invited to till the Chair of Philosophy at Heidelberg . . 70 His ptTstinal appearsnoe .. .. .. .. ,.71
Uis la«t illness and death . . . . 72
BPIN'UZA'B ntlEXDS AND COBBESFONDEMTS.
rnuifis Von den Ende . . . . . , . , . , 78
H«'iir) Oldenburg — I'll ilosopby. Religion .. .. ,.70
Himon de Vrie» , , . . . . . . . . . . 106
I»ui« Sfnver. Spinoza's physician, editor of the Opera Fosthumo.
' '■ pbyiiician witli the clergy .. >. .. 1*'8
Jari of (.i|ier« rosthuma , . ■ • ..111
fVt< I III uroens and Spectres; origin of the sense of the
luan . . . . . . . . . • 115
W. ' i.u i'iv; irubcrg. On religious subjects • • I2S
b
VI
ooNTBirre.
PASB
J. BreMCT, M.D 128
Isaac Orobio and Lambert van Veldhuygen ; criticism of the Tiactatus
Theologico-politicua . . . . . . . . . ■ 128
LeibniU. On Light. The Telescope . . . . . . . . 181
Fabritius and the Chair of Philosophy of Heidelberg . . . . 140
Letters LV. — LX. The world has not arisen by chance, but from God 140
G. H. Schaller, M.D.— Of Free-wUl and Necessity . . . . 142
W. E. von Tschimhaus . . . . . . . . . . 147
THE SEVrVEBS OF BPtXOZIBM AKD ITS F0BT8.
Fr. E. Jacobi and Lessing : their conversation on Spinoza and
Spinozism . . . , . , , . . . . . 149
J. G. von Herder . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
J. W. von Goethe; Friedrich Schiller .. .. .. ..168
Fr. Er. Schleicrmacher . . . . . . . . . . 172
Emanuel Swedenborg . . . . . . . . • . 183
Lleut-Col. Stoupe . . . . . . . . . . . . 192
THE CRITICS, FOLLOWEBS, AND TBAK6LAT0B8 OF SPINOZA.
John Locke . . . . . . . . 197
J. A. Froude . . . . . . . . . . 198
H. O. Lewes . . . . . . . . . . . . 200
F. Denison Maurice . . . . . . . . 201
a T. Coleridge . . . . . . . . . . . . 203
Dr Kuno Fischer . . . . . . . . . . 205
Dr J. Van Vloten 206
Berthold Auerback . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
IL Emile Saisset . . . . . . . . . . 208
A. Van der Linde . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
COBBESrONDENCE.
Letters L— XXV. with H. Oldenburg . . . . . . 216
„ XXVL and XXVIIL with S. de Vries . . . . . . 274
„ XXrX. with Louis Meyer . . . . . . . . 281
„ XXX. with Peter Balling . . . . . . 288
„ XXXL— XXXVIII. with W. van Bleyenbei^ . . . . 291
„ XXXIX.— XLL [Qy witii Chr. Huygens.] . . . . 319
„ XLIL and XLIL (a.) wltii J. Bresser, M.D. . . . . 828
„ XLIV.— XLVIL witii Jarig Jellis .. .. ..832
„ XLVm.,XLVm.(A.),andXLIX.wiUiOrobioandVeldhuy8en 337
„ L. On the Oneness of God . . . . . . 860
„ LL and Ln. with Leibnitz . . . . . . . . 862
„ LIIL and LIV. with J. L. Fabritius . . . . . . 865
„ LV.— LX. . . . . . . . . . . 368
„ LXI.— LXXII.withG.H. SohallerandW. B.vonTschimhaua 882
„ T.YYTTT and LXXTV. wiUi Albert Burgh . . 402
THE ETHICS.
PartL Of God .. ..416
„ n. Of the Nature and Origin of the Mind or Soul . . . . 463
„ U.L Of the Nature and Origin of the Affections or Emotions . . 499
„ IV. Of the Strength of the Affections, or Human Slavery . . 660
„ V. Of the Power of the CnderstaDding, or Humaa Freedom . . 620
GENERAL INTRODUCTIOX
BY WAY OF PREFACE.
naiBCT OF THE WORK. SOURCES OF SPIN0ZI8M. 8PIN0Z1SM
ITSELF ASD FARTICULARLY OF THE IDEA OF GOD.
Tub object of this volume is to afford the English reader opportunity of forming an estimate, on somewhat extended indn, of the distinguished individual whose name stands at the head of its title-page. Spinoza may, indeed, bo stiid to \w H name among us and nothing more. It is much if he be re- membered as a man of Jewish descent who had an e\-il theo- logical reputation while he lived. Save the two or three summary notices referred to in my pages, we have nothing in Buglish calculnte<l to convey a true idea of the life and writings of the man who nevertheless continues, two centuries after his death, to influence the philosophy and religious thought of Europe more powerfully than an}' individual wlio has lived since the days of Luther. ' Father of the speciJa- tion of our age,' says Dr Strauss,* ' Spinoza is also Father of our biblical criticism ;' and philosophy and religion — assum- ing the Bible as the exponent of religion — are the poles around which revolves the intellectual and emotional world of man.
In the following pages I have, therefore, given the Life of Spinoza, deriving my chief information from the common source of everj- biography of the philosopher yet publislied : *L« Vie do Benoit de Spinoza,' by Colerus; adding to and eking
f<Nit the scanty tale with such further particulars as have
I been famished by othcrs.t and the writings of Spinoza him-
I self wipply.
It IB admitted on all hands that the moral character of a
[ maQ iit nowhere seen to greater or less advantage than in the
• fitrauiis, Glaubenslchre, B. I. S. 193.
f Boullainvjiliem. Lucas, Bayle, and Van Vloten.
1) 2
y\n
OEKERAL IXTRODl'CTIo.N .
Id f era he may have written in the confidence of private irieud.Hhip. and on matters of everyday interest or of none save to the writer or the party addressed. The letters of dis- tingtushtnl individuals aj-qnire additional significance when they touch on subjw-ts witli which the name of the writer is intimately connccte<l. Now the Corres|)ondcnce of Spinoza is of the highe.Hf importance in lx>th of tlaewe directions, — firwt oa giving us an insight into the intimate and individual nature of the MAX as hewa» known among hisfriends, and then a>< helping us to appreciate and understand the author as he presented himself before the world in his works. 1 have consequently niade a point of gi'V'ing all the letters of Spinoza and his friends that serve to bring him and them in their living jire- sences before us ; and I trust my readers will agree with mo in the estimate to be fomuvl of the kindly, considerate, pious, and gifted nature of the philosopher from this srmrco alone.
In addition to the letters of his correspondents I have further given some inlbnnation of the men who wrote them, and whom Spinoza calleti friends — naicitiir a nor/w is an old but pertinent adage — and these men, had they had no claim of their own to consideration, though in some instances they have the vcrj* hifjhest, would still have l>cen objectj* of interest, to us in their intimacy or relationship with oxir philosopher.
I have then gone on to speak of the R<?viver8 of the memory and philosophy of Spinoza, which had lain forgott«n for nearly a century ; and tniced the influence his \*Titings have exerted on the philosophic and religious thotight of some of the great minds of Germany especially and of our own country down to the present time. Jly survey in this direc- tion is necessarily imperfect ; for a volume instead of a few pages would scarcely suffice to do it justice ; and then I am far from bt«jks and authorities — a physician, too, with scant leisure, and know myself, besides, to be without the reading and philosophic lore that might qualify me to undertake the task in ita completeness.
But the grand object I have had in view in this volume has been to give the English reader a version in his mother tongue of the ' Ethics * of Spinoza ; ' Man's revelation to man of the dealings of God with the world,' as the book, made the subject of their most int iinate si udies, has long been hehl by our German brothers and by some few among ourselves.
No work of human genius ever emerged whole and entire from the couceptive mind of man like Aphrodite from the sea or
r.EiNERAT. INTROnCCTION.
IX
Dallas from tlic brain of Jove. It ba« always been u growth, and Wn ti-availecl for before it saw the ligbt, not only by its im- mcdinto autlior but by a long line of predecessors. The EtUics of Spinoza is no exception to this rule. That the \iVtIoeop\icr himself advanced as he continued to speculate, tViere can be no qucj«tion ; and the sources whence he may \iave derived his inspirations have of late been eagerly in- quired into. There is no difBculty in detecting the germs <«f tbe Ethics in the first publication Spinoza gave to the world as his own — the CogUafa Mdapfii/sica, appended to his ex\x«ition of the Principles of the Cartesian Philosophy (1603), iu the letters of earliest date which we possess (1661-2-3-5) ; and btill more distinctly, because more fidlv developed, in the lately discovered ' Treatise on God, and on Man and his Well- bc-ing,' a Dutch translation of the epitome of his views which Spinoza circulated, in Latin undoubtedly, among his most intimate friends and admirers.*
Spinoza's meeting with the works of Descartes has -very nly been spoken of as the commencement of his pro- I losophical life. But he must have been already well veraed in Jewish and mediaeval philosophy before ho had seen a page of Descartes, and he certainly owes far less to the French writer for the distinguishing features of his system tban to the study of Averrhoes, Aben Ezra, and the writers of liis own people, He has also been held to have been largely indebtcfl to the writings of the Cabbalists for hiB views ; and there can be little doubt of his having been influenced to some extent by these, though he only speaks of their authors to scout their mystical trifling. As to the notion lately put forth that he had the Rabbi Creskas Al- nakhar for his particular master.t the statement seems to bare been ventured on iho strength of his ha\Tng once quoted liabbi Creskaa to differ from him.
There is one writer, however, who is not mentioned by Spinoza, to whom he was unquestionably lai-gely and im- mediately indebted. This is Giordano Bruno, of Nola,J
• Korte Verhandeling van God, den Mensch, en deszelfs Welstand, first mbSibed complete by Or Van Vlotcn in Ih'b Suppleracntum ad B. de Spinoza OptlB, 12iDo, Amet. I8<)2, with a Latin translation. Subsequently by Dr C, WntiMTwhmldt (the Dutch Text), with an admirable preface. 8to. Amst. 1B».
f Don Chaadi Creskas' religios-philosopbische Lehre, &c., dargestellt von U. JoeL 8to. BcmIbu, lBr.6.
J Th» neveml works of Bnino are of cxtreine rarity ; but they hove been eoOcottd anil pul>li«bcd iu two neat volumes liy Dr Ad. Wagucr: Opere di QionSaao Bruno Nolano, rocooltc dn Ad. Wagner Dottore. 8ro. Leipzig, 1830.
niWKRAi. ncTRom'cno.f.
1^ man of genius and learning, theologian, motapby^ician, natural philosopher, and jxMjt in one ; deeply versed in elassieal and mythological lore, familiar with all the science of his age, interpreter of the ^'iew8 of Copemitus to his countrj-men and so the herald of Galileo, but an opiwncnt of the Ariatotelian philosophy, hostile to the Church, and doomed to a fiery death by the cowled bigota whom he despised, because of his avowed belief that this earth w but one among a multitude of worlds, the work of God's power and the ceaseless objects of his care.*
To Jacobi,t who had so great a part in rescuing Spi- noza from the neglect in which he had long lain, is due the credit of having first shown certain points of resemblance between the views of Spinoza and those of Bruno. Jacobi quotes but one of Bruno's works, however ; and there are others extant of still higher significance than that ho cites. These have all been carefully studied since he wrote ; by none so ably or so fully as by Dr Chr. Sigwart, and Dr R. Avcn- arias.*
On turning to Bruno we are indeed amazed to find so much which seems to constitute the very essence of Spinozism, that in the present day we should hold the man who borrowed so freely as our philosopher has certainly done from his pre- decessor to be guilty of unmitigated plagiarism did he fail to acknowledge his obligation. In Spinoza's day, however, it was not customarj' to quote authorities or to refer to prede- cessors ; and our philosopher's general acknowledgment of his indebtedness to the many able writers who had preceded him may suffice to acquit him of any idea of arrogating to himself the thoughts and conclusions of others.
The idea of God as the sole and only Being or Sub- stance,— the verj' heart of Spinozism, is most distijictly emm- ciated by Bruno. It is, however, piuch older than either Bruno or Spinoza ; lying as it does at the root of the Oriental, Jewish, and medifcval philosophies, with which Bruno, follower of Marsilio Ficino, Pico de Mirandola, Abelard, and the Schoolmen, had been indoctrinated, and our Spinoza, student of the Talmud and the Jewish and
• Berti, Vita di Giordano Bruno, p.'2»2, et scq. Rl. 8vo. Torino, 186g.
+ Ueber die Lehre des Spinoza. 8vo. Breslau, 1780.
\ Spinoza's neiientdecktcr Tructat von Oott, dera Mcnsclien, tmd de»en Gliickseligkuit. Von Dr Chr. Sigwart. 8vo. Oothu, ISCti. Ins Deutiche iibersetzt. 8vo. Tiibingen, 1870.
Ueber die beiden craten Phascn des Spinozigtisclien Pantbcismus, und das Verhaltniss der zwcitcn zur dritteu Phase. Von Richard Avensrius, Dr Ph. 8vo. Leipzig, 18C8.
^
OBKERAL INTRODUCTION.
Arabian writers of the Middle Ages, was made acquainted by his Rabbinical teachers of Amsterdam.
Bruno is full of the Unity of Being. Everything is One, says lie, and this unity is the end and aim of all philoso- phy.* God is the Infinite All ; the prime and universal oubstance, of himself excludes all delimitation, and is not to be sought beyond the universe and the infinity of things, but within thia and theso.t No clearer enunciation of the Immanence of God in nature can be made than this. Else- where he proceeds : ^Tiy think of any two-fold substance, one corporeal, another spiritual, when in sum these have but one essence and one root ; for corporeal substance, which manifests or present* to us that which it involves, must be held a thing di\ine, parent of natural things : if you think aright you will find a divine essence in all things. J To Bruno, consequently, the ideal and the real, thought and extension, have the same significance as to Spinoza. To both alike the world of ideas is no greater and no other than the world of things. Power, too, is consentient with act: whatever is was possible, and all that iras pomble is. Row should we imagine that God had ever been passive or indif- ferent, and not done that which he had the power to do — esicmlo in Itii il pmncre rt il fare, tutto uno — power and per- formance being one in him '( (j
Spinoza, nevertheless, went bej-ond Bruno in his concep- tion of the Intimate Oneness of all things, of the Infinite and the Finite. Bruno could sever the transcendental from the formal or real ; Spinoza, in the Ethics, at least, never sees them save as inseparable. Bruno sometimes even speaks of the supernatural, a word unknown to Spinoza. ' The highest contemplation which transcends nature,' says Bruno, ' is impossible and nuU to him who is without belief; for we attain to this by supernatural not by natural b'ght ; and such light they have not who hold all things to be corporeal and who do not seek Deity beyond the infinite world and the infinity of things, but within this and these.' ||
• Opcre da Wagiicr, Vol. I. p. 275.
t lb. II. p. 25. L'8, 30, and I. p. 130, 237, 275.
I lb. I. p. 264. § lb. II. p. 25.
II Want of 8paoo forbids mo to puraae this subject further. Tlie reader U therefore referred to the treatiaea of Sigwnrt and Avenarius, the title* of which ore given above, and to Dr Schoarsehmidt'e edition of the Kortc VerhnndellnR, for further infonnatioii, if ho would mther not turn to I'r Wojgnor'9 Operu ill Uruno, whicli will lie found no less interesting than important, and elripl of their pleonasms without the obscurity that has bccu connected with them.
XU
OBNBKAL INTRODUCTION.
To understand Spinoza, and even to find an apology for the repulsive form in which he has chosen to set forth his philoMophy, wc must apjireciate to the full the influence which the mutheniuticol idea hud uprm his mind.* Mathematical science was the peculiar study of the age in which Spinoza lived, and truth, Spinoza thoufjlit, would even have lain hid from mankind for over, had they not had the mathematica a.s a guide in its research — God himself was oven spoken of as the great Gconietrician. In the hands of Kepler, Galileo, Newton, and Leibnitz, the higher anulysia had ^Tung, as it were, and was still wringing from nature many of her most remote and, as it seemed, must inaccessible secrets ; and that which had been achieved by it-s means in the world of matter TTM believed to be within iTach of its powers not only in the world of tnind, but of the sphere presumed to transcend both mind and matter.
The mathematician and metaphysician seem, it is true, to ordinary minds to have tho subjects of their intellection ia most dissimilar spheres ; but our philosopher makes light of any such distinction, and proceeds to treat of mind and morals, intelligence and emotion, God and tho nature of things, prcci.sely as if they were ' iigurcs, areas, and solids.'
To the mathematician nothing is or can come to pass that may not be iuvestigiited ; and all that is and that hap- pens is as neceasary as the conclusion which follows from a theorem demonstrated. Taking in hand the weapons sup- plied by the mutliematical armoury, the metaphysician there- fore postulates the power to know, and the knowaltleness of things ; ho recognizes no existence that may not be demon- Btruted, and no conclusion that is not necessary. In the same way, further, as mathematical truths bear no relation to time, do not flow out of one another, but arc all consentient and co-existent, tho sequence in which they present themselves to us is equivalent to eternal co-existence as well as necessity. When, for in.stance, from the nature of tho triangle or the circle we deduce one proj^rty after another, we do not con- ceive the truths elicited to follow eaeh other in time, or to depend on one another ; all were simultaneously comprised in the nature of the figures inve8tigat.cd ; all the conclusions attained in succession were pre-existent, and are necessary and eternal.
• This point is very My treolod by Dr K. Fi.«;licr, whom I follow here, in his Cie«chichhi der ncuern I'hiloaopliie, B. I. 2te Abth. S. 215, et seij. 2te Aua. ItMio.
GENERAL i>rrRom'cnoir.
It is not wonderful that a system of mind and morals, and of the relations between the human and di\-inc, treated on sucli a basis, should have a rigid and repellent look, and should so tKjnstautly have alarmed the timid and emotional among raan- kind. The form in which Spinoza presents his philosophy is, in truth, as Dr Kuno Fischer haa aptly said, the Gorgon'* head from which men turned averse. Yet it was ImixTsonat^d Wisdom, with the cold grey eyes, that bore the head upon her breast ; and maJi could not look on her even lovingly without beholding the snaky hair as well, finding not death ulone, but healing also — death to ignorance, life in knowledge won ; for so it is assuredly with hiiu who reverently questions nature, who lifts with pious hands the veil of truth and looks her boldly in the face : in Ood's ordinances, which are absolute truth, there is neither death nor discomfiture, but freedom and life. And even so do I regard Spinoz- iem. The truth that is in it is salutary and et«rnul, for it is of God; the error is of a kind that cannot harm; and the stoicism and rigidity are more in appearance than in reality :
Eity and commiseration are foolishness and objectionable, but e who feels not pity and commiseration is not human (El hies, Schol. to Prop. L. Pt IV., and Schol. to Prop. XXVII. Pt. III.).
As each new proposition in the mathematics follows one that has gone before, this another that has preceded, and this yet another and another, until the chain of sequences leads back to a fundamental proposition or axiom, so, if the order and mutual relations of the universe of things and of mind be conceived mathematically, or as a system of sequences, the aggregate of these must lead back to a First Cause, no effect of any antcccflency, but Primordial EfTicicncy, Unconditioned Cause of itself and of all things else. As the sum of mathe- matical truth is comprised in the axiom, so is the sum of Being comprised in its Prime ; and the universe then follows in the same way as mathematical truth follows from axiom. The fundamental axiom or postulate in Spinozisra, therefore, is a Self-F'xisting First Cause, in whicli is comprised, on fwhich depends, from which follows the universe of things ; and using the words dei>ends and follows here, sequence in the same sense as mathemuticul dependence and sequence is implied : the universe is not to be conceived os arising, or be- ginning to be ; it is, and from eternity it was ; and is conse- quently understood by Spinoza as both necessarj- and eternal. The views of Spinoza, entirely rational, lead him to pre-
xiv
KSAL INTEODUCriON.
Bume that tho iTitcUeolual powers of inaTi, properly applied, are adequate to solve the problem which philosophy pro- poses, viz. the clear and certain knowledge of natural things and of their mutual relations and connections. Spinoza's views have, therefore, nothing in common with tho scA-'pticism which denies the possibility of all philosophy, or the mysticism that would explain nature by supernatural revelations and incomprehensible fancies. They recojjnize the perfect accord- ance between the knowable and the real, acknowledge no gap between idea or mental conception and its object. In such comprehensive cognition is involved the existence and order of things conceived as Cause ; and it is the manifestation of power in the exi8f«ucc and order of the universe, referred to a First Cause, which brings the system of Spinoza under the characteristic designation of Puutlwism. When we have not only conceived no chasm between God and the world, but, on the contrary, have assumed a connection that is appreciable, the pantheistic idea is u necessary sequence ; so that panthe- ism, rightly understood, is nothing more than the assertion of the Divine omniiwtenco, or the opposite of the jwpular Dualism — God on tho one hand, the world on the other ; as it is also the reverse of the Atheism which denies a tirst cause, and refers power and action alike to tho brute matter of the universe. Pantheism and rationalism, therefore, stand side by aide and correlated. Solving the problem of rational knowledge in his particular way, as Spinoza essays to do, his system by its nature is necessarily pantheistic.
Pantheism, however, is by no means the distinguishing feature of SpinozLsm, as commonly supposed. By Spinoza God is indeed assumed as at once the eternal orderer and the eternal order of the universe ; but wherein tho order consists is an open question : it may be natural or moral, material or spiritual, assume the eternity of nature, or recognize creation in time. And when we know that Spinoza conceived Sub- stanch OS the solo essence and entity, and Bnd him using the words substance and God as synonymous terms — Substantia sive Deus, we want nothing more to bring his doctrine under the title of pantheism in the most comprehensive sense of the word, — doctrine, however, as old as the speculative thought of man, of all tho ancient and influential philosophers of civilized Greece, and the poet philosophers of Rome, of the Hebrew prophets, as Spinoza himself believes, of Jesus of Nazareth, as interpreted by the Neoplatoiiic author of the Fourth Gospel, of the great apostle and second founder of Christianity, St Paul,
GEKERAT. INTROmCTlON.
xr
and forced upon, as it is consciously or unconsciously adopted by. almost every free and gilded mind. Vide Note at end of Oenci'al Introduction.
' Substance or God,' Essential Being, says Spinoza, 'is that which is in itself and i.s concoivwl by itself; or is that the con- cept of which requires the concept of nothing else from which it is formed.' The Idea of God is therefore assimiwl as an intuitive conception of the mind of man ; it is the object, ideate, jr reality of a power pos-sessed by him. God, consequently. How is God to be more nearly known by upi>rchonsive tanY bj' wliiit properties may he be recognized ? God, »yi8 our phil< isiopher, is the Absolutely lutinite Being, or Substance wn.Hlituteil by an iutiiiity of attributes, eacli of ■ which expresses an eternal and infinite essence.
Absolute Infinity is the Absolute .iVll. Outside of infinity there is nothing; wnlhin it nothing but itself: the One and the All theretbre. Were there more substances than one iey mu«t differ in some way from one another ; one would e what the other is not, not be what the other is ; e4ich would bt? limited, its character of infinity annulled, and the unconditioned infinite cease to be what it is — which is absurd. There is no plurality of substances, therefore, but one sub- •tunce only, — or, as Spinoza has it himself: 'Save God no other substance can either be or be conceived to be.' But the »no substance, he says, comprises or is constituted by im in.- Pfinitv of Ati uiuv I Es. What are the«e ?
Lnfity per te is mere matter of unconditioned conscious- ness to us — Substimce, God in; but we Itnow not what God or Substance is. AVe attain to some knowledge of the kind I by the power we jj<is.sess of comprehending one or more of the ftifiuitf iitlribufvs comprinetl in and £'xprei»sive of the nature of itial being. \i\ attribute, therefore, has been held to be Dperty which the understanding apprehends in the Es- DHce of Substance, or as a principle in its nature, and so iTwent in the percipient mind rather than in Substance itself. Jod, nevertheless, as tliinking entity, must himself have of all tliat pertains to his essence. Of the infinity of Attributes which pertain to Substance re parlicuhirly apprelu-nd two only — Thought and Extension. Jod w conceived as Thinking Substance when he is appro- Jcnded by the mind under the attribute of Thought ; and as ^Extcnde*! Substance when he is conceived under the attribute of Exloiision. But thinking substance and extended sub- 100 are not two substances distinct from one another, but
C2
xn
OKNKBAL nmtODUCTIOX.
the One substance apprehended by the mind of man now under this attribute, now under that ; and Spinoza held that the huxnuu understanding was competent to cognize God under none other of his attributes save these two ; and be- cause of this : that the percipient mind or the idea of the body existing in act has notliing in itself but thought and ex- tension (vide Letter LXVI.).
The One and the All, beyond which nothing is or can be — God, must comprehend the universe of things in himself. But God is the Infinite, the world is the Finite, and finity consorts not with infinity ; for limitation implies negation, and refers to nonentity, not to being. Finite things, therefore, are no existences i»cr se ; they are realities only in so far as they are the varied expressions or forms of the changeless Substance. In metaphyftical language they are entitled Modes or AFKEfTioNs of Substance. And Miide or Affeition is then defined to be that which is in something else by which it is conceived (Ethics, Pt I. Def. 5). The immediate ante- cedent to Mode is Attribute, ond attribute is the concept which the mind forms of substance, i. o. of God ; so that mode 18 in God, and is only conceived through God (Ethics, Pt I. Prop. XXIV.). All that is, therefore, is in God ; and nothing is and nothing can be conceived to bo ■without God (Ethics, Pt I. Props. XV., XVIII., and XXIII.), so that modes are to substance very much what its waves are to the ocean,* — ap- pearances on the face of reality, not things apart from but merged in it ; expressions in certain definite ways of the attri- butes of God in his oneness and infinity.
Infinite, changeless, and eternal, God is cause of himself and of all things else. Nothing, therefore, exists independ- ently or in ■virtue of power inherent in itself ; nil is dependent on and determined by God. God is consequently to bo con- ceived as at once necessary and Immanent or abiding, not as extrinsic or Transient cause ; for he is not only the efficient but the essential cause of the existence of things. God, how- ever, as cause of himself and of all things is further to be accounted Free cause of all. That is Free, says Spinoza, which exists by the sole necessity of its nature, luid by itself alone is moved to action, as that is Constrained which is de- termined by another to be as it is and to act as it does. Now as God is cause of the existence and action of the
• Erdmann, Wissenscli. Daretell. der Ocsch. dcr neuern Philosophic, B. L 2te Abth. S. 64. 8vo. Leipz. 1836; and GrumlrLss der Gcsch. d. Philoa. B. II. S. 51. gr. Svo. 1866.
OKNEKAL INTRODnCTION.
XVll
universe of things, and as it is in this divine efficiency that the power of God resides, no distinction can bo made between the Essence and the power, the Being and the Act of God. Thiugs lieiiig, could not therefore but be ; and being as ihey are they could hii\e been no other llian they are ; for God acts freely mid necessarily at once ; his freedom being equi- valent to eternal power, his necessity to eternal existence : primordial self-cause and so free cause of all, and all necessary because all is as it is. The freedom which Spinoza connects with the nature of God is therefore that of Cause, not of Will. God with him is mum libera, not libera toluntas — free cause, not free will ; for in his system the ideas commonly connected with freedom and will in reference to God as powers arbi- trarily to do this or that, to leave this or that undone, have no place. God exist* necessarily, yet freely ; for he exists by the sole necessity of his nature ; and acting as ho has ucXed., could not in virtue of his i>crfoction have acted other- wise. ' You see therefore,' says he, ' that I place free<lom here, not in free resolve, but in free necessity' (Letters XXIII. «ind LXII.). ' I hold,' he continues elsewhere, 'that from the inliuite power or infinite nature of God all has necessarily followed, or by the same necessity follows its from eternity it has followed and from eternity it will follow that the three angles of n triaugle are equal to two right angles.'
From the foregoing conceptions of infinite sub.stancc follows of nuithcDiutical neceivsity the conception of infinite efficiency, as from the idea of extension follows that of infinite space — of linutle.ss being or existence, therefore ; for as space infinite can have no boundarj" within which it is, outside of which it is not, it is even as impossible to conceive limits to infinite existence : — to conceive aught out of or beyond God, and so to deti-rniine or limit him, were virtually to deny him; for all detonnination is negation.
The absolutely intinito being, then, is also and necessarily indeterminate, unconditioned, without form, parts, or propor- tions. * If the nature of God consist not in this or in that kitidui being, but in all being, then must the predicates re- ferred to such u nature also express absolute, infinite, and necessary being' (Letter XL!.). But without determination of any kind, without a single condition whereby one being is distinguished from another, there can be no self-determina- tion, no self-consciousness as distinct from endless existence. Such ideas as individuality and personality, therefore, are incompatible with the idea of infinitely existing being :
XUIl
BR.II. INTRODtJtTIO.N.
Infinite, Unconflitioned, God is nccossarily Iiuporsonol.
' To the speculation of the present day,' savs the highest living authority on such abstruse subjects, Goa is as little a person beside or over other persons us he is mere universal substance, in the Divine essence of which to conceive im- planted personality (Insichsctzen dcr Perstinlichkeit) were an incongruity. God is the eternal movement of the universal ceaselessly becoming subject, first attaining objectivity and true rcitlity in the subjective, and so comprehending the subject in his abstract individuality (Fiirsichsein) : Infinite and eternal or abstract personality gives issue from him- self to hia other self, — Nature, in order that he may return eternally as self-conscious idea or spirit to himself. The personality of God, therefore, must not be conceived as an uidividuality. Instead of personifying the absolute, we must learn to conceive the absolute as personified in the infinity of things.*
The denial of personality to God is of course much older than Spinoza, and forms no jwculiar feature of his doctrine. Passing by the views of older writers t we find Descartes, when he follows the Church to which he profe.sses adhesion, K])eaking of Qotl as apart and distinct from the world; but wlien ho presents himself as philosopher ho uses such lan- guage as this : ' I'ar la nat\ire con8id<5r^e en g^n^ral, je n'entends raaintenant autre chose que Dieu m^me, ou bien I'ordre et la disposition quo Dieu a etabli duns les choses cr^es.' — Sixicme Metlitation.
Descartes was, therefore, pantheist at heart, and has very generally, and by way of reproach, been held to have been the writer who inoculated our philosopher with his panthe- istic ideas. Leibnitz also professed to believe in God as an ex- tra- or supra-mundane inteUigence, though there are passages in his works that readily bear a different iiitei'pretation. Spi- noza fijiuUy, following Giordano Bruno and using his very language, conceives God as the Immanent cause and essence of all things, extrinsically manifcstcfl in nature, and only ac- quiring self-consciousne.s.-*, will, and understanding — or what we conceive as personalitj' — in the universe of things at large and in the mind or soul of man in particular. As first efficient immanent and ever present cause God is therefore designated by him uaturn iiaturam; as manifested in what we call creation he is spoken of as natura tuttiirata. In
* .Strauss, CbriBtliche Glaulxmslehre, R I. B. 502.
t Many of wliom are quoUid liy Dr Strauss in his Glsobonslelire, L, 502.
GEXERAI. INTRODrCnOJf.
XIX
BO far, therefore, as cause is distinct from effect, God, acconl- iiig to Spinozo, is not the materiiil universe, but its cause — he denies eniphuticall)-, indeed, that he believes God and the material universe to be one and the some (Letter XXI.). Spi- noza's ^^ew as interfireted by the present writer appears to aeconl verj- closely with and may have outicipated the result of that which Dr Strauss delivers as the result of motlern speculation on the nature of God. The God of philosophy, therefore, is not the God in whom imspecidativo man beUeves, — a Prince and Kuler, seated ou a throne with angels and archangels around him to do his bidding, but Cause and Effect in one, Efficiencj- primordial and persistent, manifest in the sum of things and in the apprehensive mind of man.
With personality inconceivable and so denied, all that can only be connected with personalitv is logicallj' detached from the philosophical idea of Go<l. ' To the nature of God,' says ►Spinoza, 'K'longs neither understanding nor will' ( Ethics, I't I. Prop. XVII. Schol.). But when we have Thought as one of the two attributes of God wliercl)}' he is immediately known to us, when we conceive that thought without consciousness is n nonentitj-, and tind repeated references to the ' infinite inttiUigence of God,' to the ' love wherewith God loves him- self,' if is only such understanding and wUl and sense as pertain to the nature of man tliat are denied to DeitA'. Terms of comparison as between the understanding and will of God and the understanding and will of man, are in fact wholly wanting. I'he qualities and powers so designated have really nothing in common but the titles; they are as little alike as the constellation Sirius or the Dog star in the heavens is like the barking animal wo call dog upon earth (Ethics, Pt I. Prop. XVII. Schol.).
And let the distinction of our philosopher be noted here which leads in another sense to the denial of understanding and will to God as the infinite substance. Predicates, de- terminations, conditions, according to him, consort not with the oesential nature of God — the Self-existing, Uncondi- tioned and Absolute; they only belong to the nature of tilings — the effects or actualities of God. Will and under- standing are modes of God's attribute of thought, and God himself or substance is logically anterior both to attribute and mode: attribute being that ihj-ough which we attain to some conception of God, mode an affection which we conceive in attribute. If God conceived as efficient nature be dis- tinguished trom God conceived as affected or passive nature.
GENERAL INTRODl'CTION.
will mv\ understanding as things dotorminnto must pertain to tlie latter, cannot 1h? eouneetod with the former. ' Arc will and understanding within the realm of determinate things,' says our iwriwtly consequent rt^isoner, * it is clear that they act ajj detennined and uecoissary, not as free cflueies. And as God cannot be brought within the sphere of the conditioned or conslrnined, it is obvious that his acts are not acts of volition ; for will as mode and so detonninate can be free Cfluse of nothing' (Ethics, Pt I. Pron. XXXIL).
With will and understanding thus logically abrog«»t<?d, action on the ])art of the Supreme towards definite ends, and particularly with what is («lli>d T7ie Good in ^new is as matter of course denied. God does not act in view of ends or aims ; neither, in ewjwxMid does he act in respect of T/tc Good — nub rationr bout, as so constantly maintained. If we recognize the applicability of the mathematical method and admit the premis-ses on which the reasonings that lead to the foregoing conclusions are based, we cannot refuse to go along with our philosoj)her ; and ii' we conceive, as we are intuitively and even logically forced to conceive, God as the absolutely in- finite and perfect being, every perfect attribute with its in- herent moiles is necessarily involved in the divine nature. God consequently had never to think and to conclude, to ponder and contrive, in any human sense ; self existent, free cause of all, absolute omniscience and omnipot<>nc<? were his, and his act — the universe — followed not of fore- but of cog^iate thought and will : things a» they are, eiiih detennine<I to be OS it is, must therefore be regarde<l as the effect of the under- standing, will, and act of God in one ; or, as Goethe has it, using the word nature in the sense of God :
In Nature see nor «heU nor kernel, But the All in All and the Ku-rnnl.
God over all, in all, free vet necessary cause of all, things are necessarily determined in their essence as in their existence to be as they are : apt for the parts they have to play in their several spheres, weapon wl for the ends they have to accom- plish, and determined in their powers of action. They have no power of self-determination ; for each depends on an antece- dent cause, this on another, this on yet another, and so on to infinity, until we i-each the First cause, cause of itself and cause of all = God. There is therefore nothing in the nature of things that is contingent — all is necessary and eternal : being as it is, nothing could have been other than it is ; and efficient cause and final cause — power, purpose, and act — are one.
OENKRAI. INTRODUCTION.
This absolute necessity and fitness of things is tie conse- quonce, and to us the assurance, of the perfection of God. Kcsult of consuraujato perfection, the constitution and order of the world arc neces^urilv perfect, and perfectly necessary. To conceive that those might have been other than they are, were equivalent to conceiving God possessed of another nature than that wherewith, in \new of his perfection, we are forced to believe him endowed. But were it even conceded that God acted as Will not as Cause, it would nevertheless foUow from his All-perfection that things could have been no other than they are, and connected and correlated no otherwise than as they ai-o. AU acknowledge that it is by the decree of God that each several thing is what it is ; and further, that all the decrees of God are from eternity. But as in eternity there is neither a when, a before, nor an after, it follows from the perfection of God alone that he never did aught and never could have decreed aught otherwise than an he has done and has decreed. 'ITie divine decree as it has ever been what it is, so will it ever be what it is — changeless and eternal. A different decree would imply a different nature in its author, i. e. a God other than the God we know in the world. The order and nature of things ordained of God, therefore, was and is even as neces.sary.and unchanging as himself : in a word, the will, the decree, and the act of God are consentaneous and eternal, — all isa* it could beet be ; ends to be accomplished and accom- plished ends (the copulates or means to ends implied) areco€x- t and consentaneous.
The view that subjects all to indifferent, arbitrary, or capricious will, however, to a will that might have been other than it is manifested to be — Spinoza declares to bo less wide of the truth, than the opinion of tliose who think that God does oil tnttler the idea of (he Good, the good of man being (■sj)eciaUy implied. These persons, says he, seem to put 8<:)mo- thing iK^yond God, which does not deixnd on him, to which he looks as a pattern, at which he aims as a mark. But this is neither more nor less than to subject God to a kind of fate, whereby thenecessily of things is not explained, but the freedom of Go<l is abrogated. How shall such conceptions be entertained of God, first, sole, free cause of all things Y 'Let as not waste words in refuting such absurdities,' says our rarely indignant philosopher.
If Gixi act not as will but as cmise, then is the world no work of divine volition ; and if he act not for ends, it is no stage for the dispby of divine purposes. It is, in brief, the
L4«lQ
XXil
r.KNRRAl. INTRfinltaiON.
effect of the dinno ageiify, notlunp more ; and the order o! naltirc is ihcii to be conceivixl m indissohibly lx»u»id in the cbiiin of cjiusat ion. Nature — the Universe— is the power of God in outward aet ; and the power of God being the very essence of God, we arrive at the equation : God and Nature — God, CauMo, priiuuriliul and unconditioned ; Nature, Effect, con- ditioned inanili'rttion of his power; differing therefore in ao far as Cause differs from Effect, but consonant inasmuch as Cause and Effect are inseparably correlated and conjoined in God. ' I think I show,' says our author, ' with sufficient clearness that iJl follows from the infinite nature of God by the same necessity as from the nature of the triangle it fol- lows that the sum of its angles is equal to two riglit angles.'
Over all, in all, all in all, there is, there ciuj be nothing outside of or beyond God. Were it otherwise he would not Ije what he is — the Infinite and Eternal. He would bo no more than the Hebrew Elohira, or Jehovidi, with the world beside or beneath him. The dualism of God and the world of the riebrew writers, therefore, disappears before the unisonous conception of Spinoza. Elohim may indeed have come, as he did come at length, to be regarded not merely as the greatest among tlie gixis, but as the one God by the elite of the barbarous Semific tribe whom the course of events in the world has conspired to give to Europe as its masters in historical religion. But liie Jehovah of the later Jew, one though he was, had still the world beside or beneath him. He ruled, moreover, like a sovereign prince at his good will and pleasiu'e, having his partialities and preferences, taking from one, giving to another, having mercy on whom he would have mercy, and so on — no infinite being, in awonl, but con<litione<l and finite ; not the true God, therefore, but an idol in human form, possessed of powers surpassing those of man, indeed, but obnoxious also to most of the pas- sions and weidcnosses of humunity — ^jealousy, anger, &c.
IS Spinoza sees it impossible, with his Semitic forefntliers, to conceive God as a personality outside the universe and One, neither can he conceive him as more than one, indivi- dualized and still further subjected to the bonds of finality, in consonance with tlie Arj-itn idea which has so largely and un- happily interfiised Christianity. God to him is the absolutely infinite being who neither dwells alone nor in company witn others his peers or subordinates in heaven, but fills the universe with his presence. He is no being, therefore, with whom mankind can reason, to whom they can address petitions
OBNER.VI. INTSOOUCTION.
his decrees ; and as he never intervened himnclf to hinder one of these of its cfi'ecf, so did he never suffer intervention to such an end by another. Miracles which by the vulgar and uninformed are uccepte<l a« the best testimonies to the presence and power of God, are, on the contrary, to the educated the most certain assurance of the worthlessness of the record to the truth of which they are adduced us evidence. ' Miracles conceived as events contravening the establi.shed order of nature are so far from proving the existence of God that they would actually lead us to call it in questioik; • • • whether conceived as above or contrary to nature a miracle is a sheer absurdity,' * — a conclusion in j)erfect harmony with the un- changing nature of God as alone conceivable m a consistent philciscijihy.
The irreconcileableness of Spinoza's conception of Deity with the dogmatic teaching of the Roman Catholic, Lutheran, Calvinistic, and other Christian Churche.s need not be in- siisted on. But that Spinoza himself and his pious friends the tolerant Mennonites did not think it incongruous with the views of the founder of Christianity, in other words, with the religion of Christ in contradistinction to the vanous systems of religion calk'd Christian extant in the world, there can be no question. f Spinoza oftener than once refers to Jesus of Nazareth as an embodiment in time of the etenial wisdom of God, i. e. as a man so largely gifted with all the higher powers of mind, that when he spake it was as if the Supreme himself were setting forth his eternal deci-ees of love and obedience in articulate .sounds immediately to the cars of men. 'I have made up my mind,' .said I'mfessor Welcker, allter completing his great work on Mythology or the origin of human faith in things divine, and but shortly before his death, ' that the essence of pure religion is em- bodied in Christianity; and the k.s.sknce of Christian it\' is
MORAL HAKMON'V WITH GoU THUOIGH LOVE Ol" HIM ANP OF
HUMANITY.' The mythical and legendary tales and beliefs, accretions of nn ignorant age about a grout and truly di\ine man, will aU fuU away from his teaching and be lc^^t in the lapse of time. But the example he set in his life, the truths he enunciated in the two great commandnients of God, the mercy he required and the freedom he proilaimed, will live for ever. Such is the conclusion to which all the teaching of
• Tr. Th. Pol. Chap. vi.
t Vide Pref. to B. do S. Opera posthuma by Jellu and Meyer. 1777.
4to. Amet.
OENERAL INTRODUCTION;
XXV
Spinoza tends ; such was the faith in which he lived and died.
Passing from the consideration of Subst«nce or Deity, and of attribute and mode, in the abstract, Siiinozu in his Second PARr proceetLs to investigate ho many of the iafiuities that follow from the eternal and infinite nature of God as refer to the mind of man. By body he imderstjinds a mode which expresses the essence of Deity considered under the aspect of extension — by essence that without which a thing can ncitlior be nor be conceivefl to be. By ii/fa, again, is to be understood a conception formed by the mind as a thinking entity ; and by individual things, things finite and having a determinate existence.
Thought and extension being attributes of God, God has necessarily an idea Ixjth of his own essence, and of all that follows of necessity from his essence, and tliis in virtue of his attribute of thought alone, and because ho is a thinking entity, not becau.se he is the object of his thought ; and the modes of each attribute? have God for their cause in so far only as they are modes of the attribute under which he is considered. It is in virtue of this law that the order and connection of ideaa is the same a.s the order and connection of things ; that God's power of thought is equivalent to his power of action ; and, further, that the ideas of individual tilings must be comprehended in the infinite idea of God. The idea of an individual thing existing in act has, there- fore, God for its cause ; not, however, as he is infinite, but as he is considered to be affected by the idea of another thing existing in act, of which God is also the cause, this second by a third, and so on to infinity.
Substantive being, therefore, belongs not to the essential nature of individual things.
Finite thinking and extended being, in the midst of the infinite, and without substantive being, man is constituted by certain modifications of the attributes of God which express the Dirine nature in certain determinate ways, and which without God could neither bo nor be conceived to be. Now the Prime which constitutes the realjtj' of the human mind is the idea of a certain something existing in act. But idea is prior to mode, mode inheres in attribute, and attribute per- tains to substance — i. e. to Gixl. The mind of man, therefore, is part of the infinite mind of God ; so that when we say tho mind perceives this or that, we say, in fact, that in the mind of Gofl, in so far as it constitutes the essence of the mind of man, there is present this or that idea. Merged in the divine
XXVI
GEXF.R.%1. IXTRODCCTIOS
essence, man is here seen deprived by Spinoza of his rightful individuulity to which he was first restored by Leibnitz and Lessing, Rousseau and Fichte. Spinoza's p>rvcholopv, ncver- thelow, though uudevelope<l, leads to far higher notions than that of our greatest English philosophers — Locke, Berkeley, and tlic sensationalists generally.
Everj' idea has its ideate or object — ^the order and con- nection of ideas Ix-ing the same as the order and connection of things — and whatever occurs in the object which is the ideate of the mind, must be pei-ceived by the mind. Now, the object of the mind being the body or a certain mode of extension existing in act, everjthing that takes jjlace in the body beyond mere organic act, such as digestion, cir- culation, nutrition, &c., is cognizable by the mind. Were this not MO, ideas of the aifections of the body would not be in God in so far as he conwtitutea the essence of our mind, but as he constitutes the e-s-nence of something else — i. e. ideas of our bodily afi'ections would not be in our minds ; but OS we have such ideas, therefore is the actually existing bwiy the object of the idea of the mind. From this it clearly follows that man consists of mind and bofly, and that the body exists as object of our mental consciousness.
In this way we not only come to know that raind and body are inseparably luiited, but learn what is to be under- stood when the union of mind and body is spoken of. To have clear and adequate knowledge of this kind, however, it is neco.s.>4ary to have a thorough knowleflge of the body ; for beyond question the more pei'fect the body, and the wider its sphere ot perception, the greater is its power of action, and the more competent is its associate mind to perceive, to understand, and to act. From this, and because one body, or, to be m(ire pKirticular, one brain — ' the soul's frail dwelling-place,' is more perfect than another, we understand how one mind excels another. The bodj' capable of more, and more varied perceptions, the mind has its ideas augmented in the ratio of the various ways in which the body is aii'ected. The moi-o perfect the organs of the external senses and tlio parts of the eneephalon or bruin-mass on which the mental faculties severally depend for their manifestation, the more perfect and powerful arc the faculties of the mind.
The mind is only conscious of the existence of the body through ideas of the atfections by which the body is influ- enced ; and the mind, as idea of the bodj', being in God in so fiir as his attribute of extension is considered, and ideas of
xxvm
OENKKAl. INTROnUCTlOJt.
these two, there is a third kind of knowledge, of the highest oi*der, which ho ffpotiks of as intiiitire, or as ' issuing (roin adequate ideas of the attributes of God to adequate knowledge of the 08«euces of things.' ' In so far as our niind percoivc8 things truly, it is part of the infinite intelligence of Go<l ; and it is as much matter of necessity that all dear and distinct ideas of the mind should be true, as that the idea of God in our mind is a truth.'
As regards Reasi^)N, it belongs to it« nature to contem- plate things as necessary, not ua contingent. It is by the Imagixation that things are considered as contingent, and this because they are associated in the mind with notions of the past or the future. It even belongs to the nature of Reason to contemplate things imder a certain iipecie>i of eternity ; for things regarded as necessary are regarded as ever present and as true, i. e. a-s thej' are in themselves; and such necessity of things is the very ncces.sity of the eternal nature of God. Every idea, consequently, of every actually existing b<xlv or thing in- volves theeternal and infinite essenceof God, and tlie knowledge of this essence involved in such idea is adequate and ti-ue.
As regards the Will : — absolute or free will does not pertain to the human mind. For being determined to will this or that by a cause wliich is it.self detenninod by an ante- cedent cause, this by a third, and so on to infinity, the mind of itself has no power of willing or of not willing : »is a certain determinate mode of Infinite Thought, it is determined to will this or that by a cause without or within itself; and if determined by any cause, it is not free.
Neither is there any absolute faculty in the mind of un- derstandiiKj, desiring, loring, &c. These terms eitlior refer to fictitious powers or they are metaphysical or universal titles related to the imagination. Each power of the mind, if it be intellectual, understands or perceives; if it be emotional, it desires, love*, hates, &c. In the mind there are no volitions affirmations or negations other tlian those which the ideas or eon.icious perceptions of \h.v mind as such involve. Volition and iudividuiu faculty of mind are therefore insepar- ably conjoined in one.
Having treated of the nature of the mind or soul in so far asthought, idea, perception, and volition enter into its consti- tution, Spinoza proceeds in the Third Part of Lis Ethius to speak of its nature as manifested in the Affections or Emotions uud of the various characters possessed by these.
GENERAL INTEOniTTION.
XMX
Adequate causes he defines to bo such as-can be clearly an<l distinctly opprebendod by their effects ; inadrqitaU; causes, such as c4innot be apprehended by their effects ulone.
We act, he suys, when soiuetfiing takes place within us of which we are ourselves the adequate cause ; we suffer, on the contrary, when anything takes place within or without us of which we are only partially the cause.
By Affiction or Emotion is iinpb'ed a state of the l)ody whereby its power of acting is increased or diminished, aided or controlled. If the adequate cause of an affection be in our- wlves, an f/r/('oH Ls to be understood; otherwise & paasion in the sense of suffering is implied ; so that as we luive adequate ideas our mind acts, as we have inadequate ideas it miffrrs; the tdegree of action being iu relation with the extent of the le(|uate ideas, the measure of suffering iu the ratio of the inadequate ideas.
The bo<ly has no power of determining the mind to think, nor has the mind any power of determining the body to ac- tion— i. e. to motion or rest. For the mind as a mode of God's attribute of thought has God for its cause as thinking, lliot as extended, entity ; and the body as a mode of exten.sion bas Olid OS extended, not as thinking, entity for its cause. But that wliicli detennine^ the mind to think is a mode of thought, not of exteJision ; the mind therefore has no power to move the bo<ly to action. It is through the attribute of extension, not through that of thought, that the body is move<l. Mind and body, however, are virtually one and the same thing, anceivetl now under the attribute of thought, now under it of extension ; bo that the order of the actions and kious of the l)ody is of like nature with that of the actions passions of the mind. Is the prc-fxtuhlinht'tl harmoiiij, of which Leibnitz and his school have made so much, anything more than is expressed in the above sent<?nce ?
Most men, nevertheless, are persuaded that it is the mind
^which moves the body to action ; but in ignorance of what
ic body can effect by the laws of its proper nature, they who
llnaintain that this or that act of the body is produced by tlio
Tmind, which is then presume<l to have a kind of supremacy
over the body, know not what they say. If they hold that
the body would bo whoUy inert were not the mind efficient,
we may ask, in turn, whether if the body wore inert the mind
rould not l)e incomjx-tont for thought, ])crception, &.C.Y The
nind csertainly is not alike apt for thought, d:c., at all tunes;
ond without integrity in the instruments of its manifestations
a
XXX
GKNERAI. INTRODVCTJOX.
it would be unapt at uny time ; even as the more perfect these instruments are, tLe more jK-rfect are the acts of the mind. Mind nnd IxKly ure in truth correlalives, and, referral to man, are consentaneous as co-exist<»nf,a perfect mind never liaving boon seen save associated with a perfect lx>dy or so much of the body perfect a.« is neces-sarily connected with the mani- festations of the mind. Perfect htxly — perfect bruin being more particularly implied, on the other hand, is necessarily accompanied by the piionomena of mind — perception, emo- tion, 8elf-consciousne«8, &c., &c. Many organic acts, how- ever, proceed without our knowledge or consciousness : the heart cirouhites the blood, the stomach digests the fcK>d, &c.
When wo say that thought and the other phenomena of mind are connccte<l with or even dependent on organization, we but state an irrefragable truth. Locke, great in intel- lect, pious in sentiment, >'irtuous in life, did not think it derogatory to the power or perfection of God to believe that he hod seen fit to institute organization as a condition necessary to the manifestation of thought ; and the latest and highest of our living authorities on life and organization regards ' thought as bearing the same relation to the brain of man that electricity does to the batter}' of the torpedo. Both arc forms o{ /orrr and effects of tlie action of their several organs.' •
When we regard things in themselves we discover nothing that can bring them to an end ; for the definition of a thing is involved in its essence, which is imperishable, and destruc- tion must therefore iraplj' the agency of an external cfluse. Every individual thing consequently strives of itself to pre- serve or to continue in ita state of being ; and as a mode ex- pressive in a certain definite way of an attribute of God, were there no external agency opiwsing it and tending to bring it to an end, it would continue in ita state for an indefinite length of time.
The effort made by individual things to continue in their state when referred to the mind is spoken of as Will; when referred to the mind and body in common, it is called Appe- tite or Desirk, whii'h is, therefore, nothing less than the very essence of the nature of thuigs in general, of the human being in particular ; it is the principle whence every en-
♦ Owen, AiiuL of Vuriolirnlii, Vol. Hi. 8vo. Lontlon, 18(!!l. The conclusion here attained, however, is not universally mlmitted. Some arc still of opinion that psychical power is in<le|>endcnl of orgiinir.stion. Vide in particular l/otzo'g Mioroco.'tmos, p. 170.
OENKRAL INTRODUCTION.
XXXI
deavour that subserves our preservation flows. We conse- quently do not desire or strive after anything because wo think it good ; we think it good because we are moved to strive aft<?r and desire it.
The present existence of the mind implying that of the body, whatever increases or diminishes the power of the body to act, also aids or restricts the power of the mind to think. Jty this we understand how the mind may suffer mutations, now in the sense of greater now in that of less perfection, and so satisfactorily interpret the aflcctions characterized as jny and torroic, or pleasure and pain ; joy being to be apprehended MS an action in which the mind passes to a higher state of per- fection, sorrow, on the contrary, as a passion in which it passcfl to a lower degree of perfection. This view of our philosopher might possibly be expressed in brief did we say that every faculty of the mind and body being active, when gratified in its action, is a source of joy or pleasure, when un- entitled or contravened it is a source of sorrow or pain.
The mind is naturally disposed to cherish such thoughts and to imagine such things as augment its powers of action, and indisposed to entertain such thoughts and imaginings as lesson or rcstrnin these powers ; and thus do we apprehend how /iktiiffn and di*lil;iiigs arise. To like is to love, and comes of the afl'ection of joy associated with the idea of an external cause ; to dislike, again, or to hate, proceeds from the passion of sorrow associated with the idea of an external cause.
Everj-thjng may by accident or circumstance be the cause «f jov, (wirrow, or desire from the mere fact of its beai-ing relation to something wliich we love, hate, or desire. Ilence nrifte the feelings of mjmpathy, autipnihi/, and others com- pounded of the.se two, when the mind is said to fluctuate betM'een contending emotions.
Joy and sorrow are not connected with events or things pn«<mt only, but may be as.sociated with such as have passetl or are yet to come. In this fiisf there is an obvious element of uncertainty iutroduct>d, whence arixe the emotions lA' Hope and Frar, unn various others comixiuuded of these, associated with affections and imaginations of various kuids, such as tho grief felt for the loss of that we love, the joy experienced when disaster liefalls that wo hate, and so on.
The whole of this section of mental philosophy is treated lit such length and so clearly by Spinoza that unalysis is not wanted to make it easily understood. I would only remark by ihcway that the word pa-ssion is not used by Spinoza in ita
a 2
XXXll
GENERAL IVTRODl CTION.
common acceptation of excess in the action of one or other of the emotional fuculties of the mind, but in its et}Tnological sense of suffering or imperfection due to the influence of confused or inadequate ideas. Anger or rage, for instance, is not owing to exaggerated action of the combjitive and destructive elements in our nature, hut to a state of suffering induced in the mind by confused and inadequate ideas con- necte<l with the object of our anger or rage.
The above view of the nature of Passion leads our author imme<liately to the next part of his Philosophy, in which ho treats of the Strength or rredominance of the I^assions, which he regards as the Source of human Slavery.
The Fourth part is prefaced by some considerations on Perfection and Imperfection ; that being regarded us perfect which agrees with the most general idea we fonn of a tiling, that im{)crfect which falls short of or does not acconl with this. Perfection and imperfection, consequently, are modes of thought merely, not jinything in objects themselves — pre-
I'udices rather than matters of fact or products of true know- edge. And it is even the same with the things we style good and had, goodness and badness being nothing in things considcrctl in themselves but notions or modes of thought originated in the mind from contrasts made between different objects, and conclusions dra\^Ti as to the degrees in wliieh they accord with or differ from the ideas we entertain of them. That, however, which is truly useful to us may fairly be styled good, and that which is opposed to this be spoken of OS bad.
That by which we are moved to do anything is considered as appetite or dnire ; and the capacity we have of doing aught that may be apprehended by the laws of our nature is fiiiiir or poirrr ; but no power can be conceived in the nature of things so great, that another stronger than it may not be imagined. The power of man to continue in ex- istence, for example, is limited and infinitely surpassed by the power of things or wmses cxternul to himself. As a part of nature he is, therefore, obnoxious to changes that cannot be understood from his proper nature, but that are due to causes other than any of which he is himself the source. For the power of nature is the power of God himself, not as he is in- finite only, but as he is manifested in the nature of indi\*idual things — in the present instance, in the essence of man. Were not man obnoxious to changes other than those that may be apprehended from his nature alone, it would follow that.
I
XXMV
(•E>F.KA1. l.NTRODfimOJf.
nothing more beneficial lo others : they who live \-irtuou8ly or by the rule of reason, in Ix'nefiting themselves in the hiphe«t degree, also benoKt the rest of the world to the utter- most.
And here it is thut the jxiwer of the understanding comes into play; for to act virtuously is to iict from knowledge of tliat which is best, or from adequate idea.'^, in other words, from appreciation of that wliich cimstitutes our pi-ojier humanity.
The highest mental good that man can have is tlje know- It^lgeof God, — the Being absolutvly infinite and jwrfect, witli- out whom nothing is, ncjtliing cjm be conccivc<l to be. That which is best and most useful to us must therefore be know- ledge of this kind ; and since it is only as the mind knows that it acts, and only as it acts virtuously tliat it can be said to act absolutely, the absolute \'irt.ue of the mind meets us as imder- standing. But the sum of all that the mind can know, is God ; therefore to know and acknowledge God is the highest faculty or N-irtue of the mind.
As things that differ entirely in their nature from tho nature of man can neither add to nor take from his power of acting, and that which has nothing in common with his nature can neither lie good nor bad to him, whilst that on the contnirv which has scjmething in common with his nature can not only not be evil but must nei!e,s.sarily be good ; so passicm, as implying imjuiteucj' or negation, can not only not aid but must necessarily restrain action. Now as men, in so far as they are subject to jmssion. cannot be said to accord with nature ; and as their passions are various Iwlh in kind and di'gree, therefore are they changeable, inconstant, and ofteuliuies opposed and hostile to one another. It is only, in- deed, and in so far as they live by the rule of reason and are obedient to the higher sentiments of their nature, that men accord and dwell together in peace and amity. So dwelling, by the pre-established hurmnny of nature or providence of God things are so corrclalx-d that that which each individutd desires for himself and enjoys as truly good, may also bo desired and enjoywl by all. For mainlv, if not wholly as in- volving all, does this consi.st in love of God, in ceaseless efforts to attain to a higher knowledge of the Supreme as he is mani- fested in the material universe and the mind of man, and in yielding willing obedience to his eternal laws.
These grand and comprehensive views lead our philo- sopher to the consideration of man's relations with tlio things and circumstances surrounded by which he lives ; all that is
d
GBNERAt. INTBODUCnOJf.
XXXV
desired and till thut ia done in so far as man has the Idea of God and ocknowlcnlges God supromc over nil, being referred to Rkligion ; all that is desired and done well, in so fnr as our fellow-men are concerned, and as wc ourselvcB arc disj^sed to lead lives in confonnitv with reason, being referred to PlEiT [Pkiai, JIoHMtas), whence the Family, SotiETY, and the PoLUiEii State. Spinoza therefore interprets Religion law as a Citltua, than as Jlorality. Everj-thing consequently that conduces to aniily and good-undei-Rtanding among men is as connuendal)le nnd advantageous, as that is objectionable and injuriouii which leads to diifereuce, hatred, and hostility. Such emotionH an Joy, eheerfulne.sfi, mirth, are therefore good; whilst hntrc<l, anger, revenge, and the like, are bad. ' Cheer- fulness and meriment are the sunshine of existence, and nothing but sour and sorry superstition denounces and calls them evil.' 'No Divinity, none but an envious demon, could take delight in my misery- Nor do tearM luid groans and wiiJerstitious terrors — all Kigns alike of impotency of mind, over lead to virtuous life ; the more, on the contrary, our mindn are joyfully possessed, to the higher p»erfection do we rif*. the more truly do we participate in the divine nature.'
The emotions of Hopeawd /rrfz-arenot good in themselves; ^hope Iteing always nssociatefl with doubt, which is a son-ow, ■■na fe.'ir being u veiy positive fonn of evU. [Yet hope in the midht of the norrow that comes of Iaeen»te<l afl'ection and nnrneritcfl misfortune is a good, as it keeps the mind elate; and the fear tliiit is akin to caution may prove of real serm-e. And then are there truly any emotions that are either good or bad in themselves ? Is it not rather the use of our powers under given circumstances thut deserves the titles good and iMMli* — wc may do well to be angry, to feel contempt, &c.]
Pit;/ Hiid cotiimisvratwu ure closely allie<l to sorrow and pain, 80 that the acth to which they lead are not always tnily good. * He who lives by the ndoof reason and knows that all things ccMue to pus.s bv the necessity of the divine nature in virtue of otfrnal changeleiis laws, finds nothing in his path that tnily deserves hatred, contempt, or pity ; he strives to do well and pawcfi on his wav ; whilst he who is readily moved by the sorrows and nn'sfortunes of others often does acts at the mo- ment of wliich he sees reason to repent him aftenN-ards. I here Kpcak. however, of the man who is IcmI by abstract reason ; for he who should bo movefl neither by reason nor pity to be KTvict-nble to others would rightly be called inhuman.' [Our philuAopher's stuiciBm therefore is but skin deep ; though it is
XXXV)
nENKRAl. IXTROUICTION.
indciMl u gruve question whetLiT incliscriniiimtti churit y — 8tatu- lorv and ])rivato— is not a groat and growinj^ evil, productive rutlier of prnflifracy and improvidoiK-e than of goml.]
iSpino/n's assertion of nelf-preservntion as the first of Ituinun virluos unless rc.-<trii-ted, is ineonsistent with niueh of his philosophy- As regards the mere animal nature it may be acceptofl ; but it grates against the higher nature and the moral sense of man. In their self-sacrifaee for the cause of right and truth a> they apprehended it, noble-minded men have made the world their debtors for ever, and in their fiery ilcafhs ' have kindlefl flames that can never be put out.'
Pitrliidilij for north iind contentment consort with reason and are go<xI ; ilm-outent, srlf-ahasement , pnde, rain-glonj, are generally evil ; and penitence a.s akin to grief is to be ac- counted evil : ' he who repents is twice miserable ; for he has suffered himself first to l»e misknl by base desire, and tlion to be overcome by sorrow for his deed. Nevertheless as men rarely live by the rules of reason, humility and repentance maj' bring more of good than e\'il in their train.'
Priilc, Hniiijhtiiwm, ixlf-elation, and their oppositcs ah- jectncHS, despondency, &c., are indications of ignorance and poverty of spirit, and as they are unreasonable so are they evil.
AniliitioH and the lore 0/ (jhry, ranitij and the desire of distinction, tliough working mischief in the world, yet may they also do good. Sources of care and anxiety and so evils to the individual, they still spur men on 'To scorn delights and live lalx)riou.s days ' to the advantage of the world at largo.
Most or all of the acts which follow from emotion or jmssion, may also proceed from the dictates of reason, and thus be absolutely good. Were men free in fact as they believe theni.selves to be, they would have no conception of gootl and evil. He who lived by the ride of reason would have ade- quate;' ideu-s only, and a.s he could form no idea of evil, neither could he have any of \\» opposite — good : he would be abso- lutely free. It is only when ho departs from reason, and act« from inadequate ideas, tliat he learns to distinguish be- tween Go<jd and Evil ; (hat he falls from a state of iuuocency into one of sin, yields like the brutes to his lusts and passions, has his eyes opened and bises his freerlom. Such is the in- terpretation our ])hilo8(jpher puts on the talc of the First man, as conceived by the writer of (he second histoi-y of Creation contained in the Book of Genesis. The state of fieedom is recovered, however, when man, led by the Spirit of Christ, in other woi-ds, by the Iilea of God, desires that the
A
OEXKKAL INTKODI'CTIOX.
XXXV 11
jfood he covets for himself should be enjoyed by others also, when lie vanquishes hatred by love, knows that all things come to pass by the necessity and perlection of the divine nature, and that everything impious, unjust, and base — in a word, Kvil, arises from perturbed, confused, and truncated conceptions of the things and laws of the universe.
This conclusion brings us directly to the Fifth Part, of the Ethics, which treats of the power of the Understanding, or Human Freedom.
It is in the same way as the thoughts or ideas of things are ordered and concatenated in the mind that the affections of the body or the images of things are ordered and connected in the body. Affections cense to be passions so soon as clear and distinct ideas of their nature have been formed in the mind, an<l are ever the more under control as they are better iippreliendod. Every man, consequently, has the power, if not absolutely, yet in a very considerable degree, of preserv- ing himself from falling under the dominion of his passions.
When we contemplate things as necessary, the power of the mind over the affections is increased. The grief felt for the loss of some good, for example, is mitigated if we see that it could by no possibility have been retained ; and torn by our affections in excess, we are brought to think of and cull into play such powers as we have of ordering and controlling tliem in consonance with reason and understanding. Thus, when we think of all the benefits that accrue from friendship and the social state, consider the peace of mind that springs from a good and reasonable life, and know that men act by the necessity of their nature, we shall not be disposed to rcjjay hate with hate, or injustice with injustice, but much rather to overcome hatred by love, injury by magnanimity, &c.
In such a projK'rly human line of action we are greatly strengthened when we reflect that all the affections of the body, or the images of things, are ultimately referable to the Idea of God, immuucut in all ; for we know and are assured that all that is, is in God, and that without God nothing can either be or Ih? conceived to be, inasmuch as there is but one Substance conceivable by and through itself, and that modes or affections are impossible without the existence of substance, i- e. without the being of God. He who clearly and distinctly knows himself and his affections, therefore, and who lives up to the standard prescribed by reason, in loving himself loves God likewise, fills his mind brimful of this love, and mounts
xxxviii
riKNKK.\I. IXTROOrcnON.
ever hipher in the scale of being; for man living iiniler tho influence of such love, which has nothing in its nature of selfishness, of envy, or of jealousy, woul'l hove all men linked with the Supreme in the same loving bonds as himself, assured tliat in so loving and so willing he fuliilled his destiny and taated tho highest joy that can bo known.
As there is no effect without a cause, and no manifestation of mind without concomitant cnrjwreal existence, wc can imagine nothing, remember nothing, save whilst the body en- dures. But as God is the cause not only of the existence bat of tho essence of the body, and God himself being by his essence eternal, so must the essential element in the nature of man be conceived through him under a certain aspect or form of eternity, and in this way be believed to escape the disso- lution that awaits the botly. The idea that expresses the essence of tho body under tho aspect of eternity, indeed, being a mode of thought pertaining to the essence of the mind, is necessarily eternal. And although we have no remembrance of any existence anterior to the present existctice of our body, still we have as an element in our nature on intuitive sense or feeling that our thinking part is eternal. And as those things that ore intellectually conceived are no less distinctly appre- hended than those that are remembered, wc conclude that our thinking part is immortal.
Things are in truth conceived by us iw realities in two different ways : Ist, in so far as they stand relat<?d to certain times and places ; and, 2nd, in so far as they are compriswl in God and follow by the necessity of the divine nature. Xow, things conceived as realities or truths in this Ktcund way arc conceived under an a.'^pect of Ktcmity, and ideas of them involve the infinite and eternal essence of God. In so far as our mind apprehends itself and it« body under the asjxsct of eternity, therefore, in so far has it necessarily cognition of God, — knows that it is in God, and that through God it is conceived by and known to itself. The mind is tlieii possessed of that third kind of knowledge which has been spoken of as intuitive, i. e. knowledge which proceeds from adequate and therefore true ideas, — knowledge depending on the mind, itself eternal as portion of the Eternal Essence, its fonnal or real cause.
All that is understood in this way is as a ])erennial spring of joy to man ; for from this mainly arises that intel- lectual love of God which engendei-s perfect acquiescence of
fiKNERAL INTROnUCTIOX.
XXXIX
mind, or love associated with the Idea of the Supreme. Were it matter of doubt, however, — did we not know that our wjul was eternal, piety, i-eligion, and eveiything referrc<l to mag- nanimity, penerositj', and our dinting^uiMhing humanity, re- quires U8 to cherish the belief that it is so in reality.*
Alwsolutely infinite and perfect God, by the free-necessity of his nature, it is to be presumed, loves himself with an intinito and perfect intellectiial love. But the intclle<'tual love of God conceived by the mind of man is akin to the lovo with which GikI loves him.self, not indeed as he is Infinite, hut aa ho is expressed in the finite mind of man. The love of the soul for God, consequently, is part of the love where- with 0<.xl loves himself ; and as a corollary U) this it follows that G(k1, loving hini-'self, loves man abio, and that man's intclkt-tual love of GckI and GckI's love of man are temis significant of one and the same thing.
From this we understand that in our love of God and Go<rs love of us we have our soul's health, our blessedness, our freedom, or, as the sacred Scriptures of^en have it, our Gloiy. Now, there is nothing in nattire that is compjetent to coerce or destroy such love. Un the contrary, the more the bwly is apt for action in every way, the more able, the more excellent is its assoeiate mind ; the wider is tlic circle of knowledge em- braced, the more adequately and truly are the things without US underjftood, and the less likely are we to fall under the un- due influence of the merely animal appetites of our natuje — the bad passions, as they are entitled when in excess. In such a state and condition of mind and body alone it is that
* Bowevcr chnracferietic of our humanity and eonsolator)' to individunia Ibi* wnae of iiniiKirtnlity, it has ncvcrtliolens done niiftchicf in the world ; for It hM leii mniikitid ipnoranlly. irreverently, and ungratefully to repudiate the boon of |irej*iit lieinp tliej liavo from liod. and to bct up claims to joys and plea«anl tliini;t< of their ovai imagining in a life to eomc. Hence the munkcrieii, DUtinerits, hnir-shirtin)^. seour>.'in(fs, fat-tingK, the reiiuncialion of the tir»t dulitu iif mnnhocKl and wonmnliiXid, &c., — nil alike violations of (jod'a eirnial law* ; iUMnnntv doings, pellishly pursued in the view of w ringing from (icid (oinething he may have in store indeed, but has not given, to the neglect of that which he has seen fit in his goodness to bestow. The senge ha.= lieen fiirili'T irfMiclicinl by having led t)ie inotlern world to institute Cliurches wii ii* aF7iunimouut moral powers in the State, and thep to throw
Un 'i( >uulh almost exclusively into the hands of Ihefilogians, who
h»ve uttlorally tlioufiht it their es|)ecial duty to instil l)elief8 held by thera oatralial to calvation in the world to eoniei, to the sore neglect of the moral ■nd int*llect»i»l training llmt can alone tit men to play their parts manfully hero, and by their good Uvea to ocliievu enlvation for them-selvee hereafter.
OK.NKKAl. IVIltUDlCTlON.
perfect freedom is enjoyed ; for then it is that beatitude is not the reward of \nrtue, but virtue itself.
It is in the light and sunshine of these somewhat mystical but ennobling propositions of this Fifth Part of the Kthics of Uenedict Spinoza that all the great minds of Germany for nearly a century now have basked and gathered moral and intellectual strength. It wa.s from the study of these that Lessing, late in life, was enabled tii declare that at length and ioT the first time he felt himself a man; it was in their Sabbath stillness that Goethe, when the storms of pa-ssion had been laid, gained strength to make those renun- ciations that became the final wisdom of his life, and in his noblo verse to say :
Entschlafen Rind nun wildc Trielnj
Mit ihruin iinRCKtiimen Thun, Es rcget sich die Mcnsckenlicbc,
Die LielM Oottes regt siob nun.*
It was in these divine sentences that Herder found hifl chief delight, and inspiration for his philosophical views of human act in history ; and that Schleiemiacher, when the imaginations and false conceptions of childish years had van- ished from his sight, discovered the fresh and invigorating soui-ces of piety hand in band with reason and knowledge which made him The Theologian of his age ; and it was oiuy because he lost heart in the face of his age, less forward than himself in science, philosophy, and pious conception, that tlie world is still waiting for it« Apostle of true religious progress, the reconciler of its beliefs with its knowledge. Wrapt in this Di^^ne love, overshadowed by the sense of present Deity, the dross and baser elements of man's nature fall from him, and he stands forth an immortal spirit in the presence of God. It is as the propounder of such great and ennobling views that I venture to speak of Spinoza, not only as the first philosopher, but as the true religious herald of the modern world.
To accompany a great religious mind like that of Spinoza cannot be without advantage ; and it may be a useful oc- casional exercise to soar with him in imagination to the giddy
• ' Now wild desires are laid asleep, And stormy pnssionB jtill'd, Now witli the love of tiod and man The soul brimful is lill'd.'
GENERAL INTRODUCTION.
Xll
li
heights of perfection to which he aspires. Yet would I not bo understood as identifj-iiig myself with Spinozism, nor as proposing it as a complete and perfectly satisfactorj' solu- tion of the problem of existence. Guide as it has proved to so many great minds, it is yet inadequate to meet all the requirements of modern philosophy. A system deduced mathematically from The Absolute, however clearly ap- prehensible by thought, is found wanting when confronted with experience ; for it affords no scope for contingency ; since nothing can be legitimately inferred which is not contained in the premisses ; and conclusions from these are sometimes forced on us which a knowledge of the actual world pronounces paradoxical and untenable. The All wliich Spinoza conceived that he liad deduced with such unerring certainty from the Infinite Nature of God, does not meet scien- tific requirement in every particular ; and morally speaking we have no assigned grounds for the existence of the modes or varieties of actual being, or even for the existence of the world at all— Spin ozism, often mistakenly charged with Atheism, has been much more truly characterized as Acosm- ism, or a system which ignores the world ; in which sense it has the Idealism of Berkeley as its projwr offspring.
ITie equivalence of existence and concept UHSiumod at the cutset, again, leads to many anomalies. Substance and causal interconnection, for instance, are made dependent on concepts and ideas ; whereas it is now univei-satly admitted that the trutJi of ideas must be tested by that of things, and that ac- quaintance with effects must precede knowledge of cjiuscs — ui a wonl, that there can be no fruitful « priori philosophy dispensing with the te^ichings of experience, and no true philosophy bavo that which is founded on observation of the nature of man and of things in harmony with the indindual c-onsciousness, — the object which modem phihwophy has pro- posed to itself as the aim and end of its mission, and which it hiw followed out with more or less, though not yet with entire, success.
But there is another point of view from which Spinozism mu!>t be considered. The .system is either a moral philosophy, or it is nothing. How far docs it satisfv or fall short of jHelding satisfac-tion in this direction ? In the growth of theological scepticism, the result of better knowledge in mixicrn times, the only possible stay of European thought was to bo found in moral philosophy ; and it was inevitable
Xll
OENKRAI. INTRODrcnOW.
that there should be n continuiil endeavour to attain to greiiter aceurney i>nd eerlaintj' in this department in proportion na doubt advanciHl from lioiiitation to contradiction and positive denial. Now, all philosophy must have what Kant terms a melaphi/siitr/ie Grutt(//cijuii(/,u metflphj'sical foundation, in other words, 11 theory of necessary existence and universal order ; and Spinoza's theorv of universal existence in Oo<l may be held n,s having; supplietl such u foundation for the progressive and lieuUhy developnient of mo<lcm thought — by progress- ive and he^ilthy the moral as distinguished from the fixed and eHeto theologienl sj)eculation being implied. But the fonn in which this imiversnlity apijears in 8pinozism is acarcely that of a properly moral order, as generally under- Rtood, and such as may come within the scojic ofhimian etlbrt and aspiration. God is not before us in (he light of Good, but beside and within us as Cause ; so that the attitude of the human subject can only be that of resignation and sub- mission. And this was the footing indeed on which Spinoza himself placed his doclrine. Go<l to him is the Infinite, Unconditioned, Free cause and Nece.tsary cause of all that is in ONK, without the predicates attaching to humanity, but im- manent and efficient in the universe and its parts, — in the orbs that fill the infinities of space, in the mind of man, in the aptitudes and powers of all living and lifeless things.
It has been argued, I know, that such a theory is insuf- ficient in a moral point of view, which seems to require be- lief in the Supremacy of a Holy Will, as the basis of human obligation. And to some minds such a view is even felt as a necessity. It must bo conceded, nevertheless, that Spinoza, although in another way, viz., by associating God's Will, Purpose, and Act in one, does really supply a basis of the kind required. Admitting the human mind to a place within the sphere of the Divine Thought, and recognizing a plurality of faculties, each with its own volition in its constitution, as he does, ho points out the condition on which alone freedom of action is possible to man, and in the iutcr-agency of these, under the leadership of the understanding, the only course of internal discipline whereby it may be practically attained. Spinoza's system, in short, is not so much a system complete in itself, as the dawn of the new philosophic wra, in the light of which the phantoms of past superstitions could be confidently repudiated, nature and man be thoroughly and freely studied, and an endless vista of progress thereby brought into view.
TOE PA»JTHEIf5TIC IDEA HN THE SCItllTUnES, OLD AND NEW, AND OF ANCIENT AND MODEltN TIMES.
Wbkn we i;i*t Iwyonrl the purely k>gcndBry portioDB of Scripture, comprised in the ncoonuts of (!<«I'b earliest (icalinKS witJi the world und man, — Creation, PamdiR', tlie tree of tlic Knowledge of (Sood and Evil, the SeqK-nt, the I'ntri- mrchs, llie Covcuants, &e., and reach the coiniwrutively modem epoclui of the F«alnii<t» and I'rophetii, we find many iitteranee^ that are only coaeonant with the l'no(bci;llc idea. Take the following : ' If I aeccud into heaven, thou art Uierc . if I inuko my IkxI in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the mominK. and dwell in the uttermost part« of the ecu ; even there shall tby hand lead me,' I'sal. cxxxix. 8 — 10. 'Am I a Ood at hand, wiith the Lont, and not a (iod afar oflT ? Can any hide liim in secret places that I shall not i«c him 1 Hiith the Lord. Do not I fill heaven and earth ? saitb the Lord,' Jcr. xxiii. ja. 21. ' The Ilcbrcw race,' says Mr Matthew Arnold, ' apprehended Crnd — llie universal order by which all things fulfil the law of ttieir being — cliielly as the moral order in human nature ; ' and he sees that ' I'aul preached Oo<l in the worlil and the workings of tlie world, the eternal and Uivluo (lower from which all life and energy proceed ; * * * the element in us, around us, and lieyond ilic sphere of what is oriijinatctl, measured, and controlled by our will and understanding." Sec his St I'aul, in Conihill Magazine for Nov. IHdU, p. ^,'Mi. St i'aul's teaching as apprehended by Mr Arnold i* therefore not dilTcrent from Virgil's :
' Mens ngitat molem, magnoque sc corpore misoct, kc. Est Deus in nobis, ogitante ealescimus illo,' ice.
' ECnow ye doV laj-s the great Apostle of the Oentiles himself, 'that ye •TV the Icroptc of OtKl, and that the Spirit of Ood dwclleth in you ? ' 1 Oor. iii. Ill : and the historian of his doings furtlier report liim aa using tJi' ' ' vords approvingly :■ For in tiod we live and move and have
111 rii. ''ft. In the wTitings a«erit>ed to the 'Disciple whom
JcB<u.< luvfo, iiiMMi, wc liavo such cxprtwsions aa these: ' Hereby know we thot «e dwell in hiui and hi- in us, because he Irnth given us of his Spirit,' 1 John ir. 13; and. ' He that dwelloth in love dwelleth in (Jod, and God in him,' 1 John iv. in.
Ur SlraiiM nuot«M many sentences from tlie Fathers and orthodox writeni to the EamD clfcct : anions others : ' All in heaven, in earth All, in no |>lac« contained, but All in hiiuself and everywhere.' — Augustiui Epist. 187, ad Uwtl.
'Ood ii iu all things— aa agent be ia proscut in all ho doce.' — Thos. Ai|aitiaa, I. d. I.
xliv GENERAL INTRODUCTION.
' How is tbo Divine Essence in all things 7 Kot as a body, nor yet as a Spirit ; but in a Divine and entirely incomprehensiiile manner. — Quenstedt, L p. 288.
' If tlie Essence of God be so great as said (i. e. Infinite), ttien cannot we anderstand liow and wliere any created essence can exist For created is not Divine essence; and if not so. tlien is it tliis essence itself, and all things are God and Divine Essence.'— Episcop. Inst. Theol. IV. 2, 13. Conf. Strauss, Christliche Glaubenslehre, L p. 663.
Our own poets are full of the same idea. In Wordsworth it appears oftener than once, and will be found particularly referred to on p. 210
In his Essay on Man Pope has these lines :
' All are but parts of one stupendous whole, WTiose body nature is, and Sod the soul. That, changed through all.^nd yet in all the same, Great in the earth as in the ethereal frame, Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze. Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees. Lives through all life, extends through all extent. Spreads undivided, operates unspent. Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part. As full, as perfect in a hair as heart ; To him no high, no low, no great, no small. He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.'
In our own day Mr Tennyson, in his short Ode entitled ' The Higher Pantheism,' sings thus :
' The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills, the plains. Are not these, 0 Soul, the vision of Him who reigns 1
• • • •
Is not the vision He, tho' He be not what he seems ?
Is He not all but thou that hast power to feel " I am I ? " '
The first of living naturalists, speaking of ' Natural Selection,' characterizes it as ' the Divine, immanent in all things.' He speaks of it a^ain as ' an Active power or Deity ; ' and by ' Nature,' he says, ' I mean the aggregate action and product of many natural laws ; and by Laws the sequence of events as ascertained by us.' — Darwin, Origin of Species, 4 th Ed. p. 92.
To conciudc : ' Pantheistic Immanency properly considered,' says one of the most learned and philosophic writers of our time, 'effaces unworthy notions, and places the reward of virtue in virtue itself. The idea satisfying the scientific or intellectual, answers to the moral craving, on condition that faith regards the universe as a system of wisely beneficent though inflexible order — a special providence, better providing for the individual through the perfect arrangements of the general, than by responding to the short-sighted appeals of selfish devotion.' — R. W, Mackay. The Tiibingen School, p. 70, 8vo. London, 1863.
CORRIGENDA.
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BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
INTRODUCTION.
TiiE life of Benedict de Spinoza has always been regarded by his admirers as a subject of peculiar interest, not only beautifid in itself, but calculated, when truly presented, to exert a favourable influence on mankind. Type as he was of the perfectly independent man, intellectually, morally, i religiously — Spinoza, when more intimately known, still} meets us in every relation of life as an impersonation of the grand ideal which he himself had conceived, and this was no less than a being, tho highest, the holiest, that can be en- shrined in the likeness of humanity.
The reverence felt for Spinoza among those who have made his life and works their study, is therefore entirely founded on the sense with which they are impressed of the truthfulness, integrity, courageousness, and consistency of the man ; of his modest, patient, self-sufficing nature ; of his gentle, conciliatory, and candid disposition ; his inborn re- ligiousness, unmixed with mysticism ; his freedom from pre- judice of every kind ; his great intellectual powers, end the vast importance to the world of the works he left behind him.
1
2 BENEDICT DE SFINOZA.
The dislike, or to moke use of the stronger and more ap- propriate word, the aversion, it was so long the fashion to express for the name of Spinoza never rested on any better grounds than ignorance of the character of the man, misap- prehension of his views, and misinterpretation of his eflTorts to grasp the Infinite and Absolute, and to impart to others his own conception of things that, perchance, transcend the powers of man to comprehend. Spinoza, nevertheless, and in spite of the world's long reluctance so to acknowledge him, is unquestionably one among the very greatest of those master-minds to whom is mainly due the intellectual, moral, and religious freedom now enjoyed on some few favoured spots of earth ; and for the full possession of which all of truly civilized humanity is still seen eagerly struggling against the ignorance, selfishness, timidity, and superstition that withhold it. Spinoza is, in very truth, the great Heligiovs PiiopiiET of the modern world. Jerome and IIuss, Bruno, Savonarola, Servetus, Vanini, and the rest — honoured for ever be their names and deathless memories ! — who paid for their better beliefs in their fiery deaths, Wicliff, Luther, Melancthon, Calvin, and others who haply escaped so dire a fate, were but reformers of the Old, no inauguraters of the New. All in freeing the world from fetters of the antique fashion, they had others of a different make at hand, which, eagerly donned at first, and worn without murmurings for awhile, have at length become galling and heavy impedi- ments to higher and more helpful conclusions in matters the most interesting and important to mankind.
Spinoza, on the other hand, lineally descended from that wonderful people who, in their triumphs and their misfortunes alike, have exerted so vast an influence on the history of the world, — in the example they set to all time when they burst the bonds of their Egyptian task-masters and betook them- selves to the vrildemess for freedom, in their sacred writings
nENEDICT DE SPIXOZ.i.
of unnpproachcd sublimity, in the crowning event in the religious historj' of the ancient world which occurred among th.m towards theend of their existence as a nation, — sprung, we say, from this people, Spinoza meets us as an embodi- ment of the spirit that animated his far-removed ancestors, which made him, though by it unrecognized, the intelloc- tu:il and religious leader of his age, and leads us now to acknowledge him as herald of the religious progress achieved since his day. Bom and bred within the narrowest pale of Jewish prescription, he yet by the native force of his under- standing and the firmness of his moral character, freed himself , from the shackles that held fast the rest of his kindred and ople. By his intimate knowledge of the Hebrew language and literature, his familiarity with the Jewish Scriptures in particular, and his bold but always respectful criticism of their contents, although encountered by opposition in its most blighting form, Spinoza gave a new and lasting impulse to that spirit of inquiry which had already found a tongue in the Reformation, but which, for lack of another original mind to give it a fresh impulse in a new direction, had for a century and more been silent save in varied janglings on the ame unvaried theme.
Loft with an antique volume in human speech, the work of human hands, as sole record of the dealings of Ood with his creatures, the religious world of the Reformation had only tchanged an infallible living head and exponent of its creed for an infallible, tongueloss, lifeless book. But Spinoza came, ra«? student of the sacred writings of his people, with mind un- biassed, and the hardihood to see and own to himself that these must needs be of merely human and not of Divine origin ; his eyes unsealed by the vain attempts he discovered in the writ- ings of the highest authorities to reconcile discrepancies and supply defects, — seizing moreover on the enigmatical expres- sions in the works of other commentators which oven hinted
4 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
at errors and inconsistencies — reading the ITcbrcw Scriptures, in a word, as he read Livy or Suetonius, lie discarded the idea of these writings as possessed of any absolutely Divine autlioritj% and sent man back — Jew, Papist, and Protestant alike, from traditions and parchment records to the inner light of the soul, for such knowledge as the Finite might attain of the Infinite, of divine, eternal, changeless law, and of the free necessity that pertains to the nature of God as manifested to us in Creation. To the mind of man, in harmony with the world around, he referred as the sole but all-sufficing testimony to the existence of God, to the revelation he makes of Himself, and of the relation in which ho stands — not in which at some particular by-gone time he stood — towards his creature man and the universe at large. Spinoza is in fact the founder of our modem school of biblical criticism and exegesis. More than this, and of yet higher import, though but the necessary consequence of such antecedents, ho is also the true original of those more rational \'iew8 now entertained by better minds of the real import of the teach- ing of Jesus of Nazareth, and of the sense in which he is to bo apprehended as an incarnation of Deity and the way of CTerlasting life to man. Finally, by the vigour of his understanding, the wide scope of his intellectual vision, and the precision of his logic, Spinoza may be regarded as the source whence all the systems of philosophy that have sprung up since his day have had their rise. * Quidquid sani de his rebus ad hunc usque diem fuerit dictimi ex Spinozre fontibus eman&sse videantur,' says one of the editors of his works.* Another great — ^and because so great so much decried — writer, speaks of Spinoza as father of the speculative philo- sophy of our age, and father also of our biblical criticism ; f and
* Gfrorer : B. de Spinoza Opera om. Philosoph. in Prajf. p. viii. 8vo. Stuttgard, 1830.
t Strauss : ' Vater der Speculation unserer Zett ; er ist auch Vatcr der biblischen Eritik.' Christliohe Qlaubensleliie, B. 1, S. 193.
BKIfBDICr DE 8PINOZA.
9
the accomplished author of the History of llodcm Philosophy, himself the exhaustive critic of Spiuozism, says of its author, ' Spinoza's philosophical greatness once acknowledged, the nobility of his nature as a man came next to be seen as a bright exemplar for imitation, and the curse which in the name of religion had weighed on him so long was forthwith not only removed but turned into a blessing.'*
Spinoza, however, did by no means exhaust the work he began. All in the nature of man and the outcome of his pjwers, cannot, as ho believed, be comprehended under the guise of ' figures, lines and solids.' The mathematical method is not of universal applicability, and does not truly touch the world of affection and emotion ; still less does it embrace the faith we have in things unseen, the consciousness of which is no less subjectively real than is the intellectual persuasion we own of the bond between a cause and its efl'ect. It is when we see our philosopher supplemented by a Leasing, a Herder, a Schleiermacher. and a Strauss, on the one hand, by a Leibnitz, a Fichtc, and a Ilcgel on the other, that we become fully aware of the influence ho has had on the evolution both of the religious and philosophic idea among mankind.
And though it is much the fashion in the England of the present day to decry such studies as mental philosophy and loetaphysics, these subjects are nevertheless found possessed of such iuherent attractions as to engage many of the highest order of intellects among us who are not occupied with inquiries after simple physical truths, or devoted to the pur- suit of mere material interests. The most highly cultivated and tlio best informed are still seen reverently looking up to the niches in the library or the fane wherein the busts of the Bucons and Descartes, the Spinozas and Leibnitzes, the Lockcs and Humes, and their successors stand enshrined.
• Fiaebar : Gwclitotite der neueni rbilosopbio. Ut«r Bd. 2(e Abtb. a 06.
6 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
Philosophy, indeed, in relation as it is with the peculiarly human element in our nature, can but raise and ennoble tho man who devotes himself to its conquest. Philosophy, divin- ing the unseen through the seen, is to the intellectual what faith is to the emotional nature of man. Like the skyey influences, barren in themselves, yet apt to quicken the germs that would else lie dormant in the ground and never burst into bloom and ripen into fruit, Philosophy fits the mind to arrange the scattered elements of human knowledge, and to give the symmetrical proportions of scientific doctrine to that which had hitherto lain without cohesion and correlative significance. Philosophy can never be neglected by cultivated man with his aspirations after knowledge of the causes and essences of things, of the world of thought and feeling whereof he is himself the centre. Surely then the Life of one who as Philosopher was second to none the world has ever seen, and the "Work in which he still survives and influences mankind, ought to be found in our English tongue, and in a form accessible to all.
THE PENINSULAR JEWS, AND THE EXODUS TO THE NETHER- LANDS. MEN OF NOTE AMONG THE EXILES.
For several centuries during the middle ages Spain had been found a second land of promise to the expatriated Jews of Palestine. In almost every considerable city of the Peninsula they dwelt in large numbers and in such affluence — ^fruit of security — that besides their everyday industries they found leisure, as they had disposition, to devote themselves to letters, philosophy, and natural science, addicting them- selves particularly, it would appear, to the humanizing study and beneficent art of medicine^ so that for ages they supplied almost the whole of Europe and the East with physicians. Among the noble Moors, aliens but intruders, not exiles like themselves, possessed of so much that was fairest in the
THB PBMIN8VLAR JEWS.
FeniDsula, and cultivating letters and the arta of peace with such success, the Jews always seem to have met with friends and protectors. Jews and Moors were in fact of kin not far removed ; sprung of the same Semitic stock, they had much more in common than either of them possessed with the Aryan race that mainly peopled Spain. It was as natural therefore that the two alien races should find it easy to live in peace together, as that all the signs of their superiority and prosperity should prove eyesores to the older and more numerous but less cultivated possessors of the soil. Intruders of other blood, and difiering in reb'gion, the Moorish inhabitants of the south of Spain could never have been regarded with otlier than hostile feelings by the Celtic or Latin populations of the north and west, and it is not surprising therefore that we find the extermination or expulsion of the Moor assumed as the grand object of their lives by many successive occupants of one or other of the divided thrones of Spain. Kvery eifort to tbu Olid, however, had still proved unavailing, until the crowns of .Vragon and Castile became united in the persons of Ferdinand and Isabella. It was then that the spirit of patriotism and fanaticism combined, fanned into an all- pervnding flame by the ultra-catholicism and heroic bearing of the Queen, led to the final crusade against the intruders, and the long-continued strife was brought to a close. Bonbdil el Zogoibie sucxiumbed ; and he and all that remained of his kindred and people had to seek a now homo in other lands.
But he may be said to have been even amply avenged in his defeat ; for it was now that the Spanish nation and their rulers contracted that chronic distemper of religious intoler- ance that proved rife with such disastrous consequences to themselves, and so much suffering to the rest of Europe and the Indies. "With the expulsion of the Moors, the most in- dustrious, peaceful, and ingenious of her population may bo aaid to have disappeared from the realm of Spain ; with the
8 BENEUICT DB SFINOZA.
establishment of tho Inquisition fell the long night of reprcs- sion and ignorance that precluded the possibility of progress at home ; and with the sanguinary proceedings of Philip the Second and his officers in the Netherlands, came the revolt of that country and its final emancipation from the Spanish yoke.
But all this was not enough to satisfy the cruel spirit of bigotry and intolerance. There were yet other aliens in blood and religion dwelling on the sacred soil of Spain, and the work of purging this from all but true believers seemed still imperfectly accomplished so long as they remained. An edict accordingly went forth in the course of the ensuing reign commanding the gathering into the Catholic fold by any and every means of the scattered children of Israel. The sword was not the weapon required against the peaceful Jews, they were not a nation like the Moors and Nether- landers, and in their case neither extermination nor whole- sale expulsion appears to have been contemplated. They were assailed by argument and persuasion in vaiious shapes and disguises, but conform they must to tho established religious system of the country if they would continue to live in peace ; nay, they must not only conform, but express assent to, and inward conviction of, the truth of the Christian doctrine as it was propounded to them by their masters, if they would retain possession of their homes. Herein lay the hardship of the terms, the utter impossibility of compliance, made all the more difficult, too, by the nature of the con- ditions annexed ; for, conforming, and avowing belief, the Jews were not only guaranteed the peaceable possession of their homes, and protection in their callings, but informed that every avenue to rank and worldly distinction lay as freely open to them as to their fellow-citizens, the Spanish children of the soil.
The conditions were tempting: the reward for their accept- ance was incalculably great, and the penalty for their rejection
THE PESINSTLAR JEWS.
fraught with overj' kind of misery present and prospective. Conformity as an outward act was possible, indeed, but inward acknowledgment was out of the question. How could the Spanish Jew of cultivated mind and scholarl}- acquirements, the philosopher, the naturalist, the physician, descend from the grand conception of Deity he had inherited from the later prophets and poets of his countiy, as the One, the Infinite?, the Ineffable, whose very name might not bo uttered by the mouth of man, of whom no likeness or image might be made, whose dwelling was the heaven of heavens, and whose foot- stool was the earth — how could even the meanest Jew bow down to such portraitures of incarnate Deity as he had pre- ited to him in the extenuated form of a human being Btretched dying or dead upon a cross, crowned with thorns, pierced with wounds, and streaming with gore ? How could the educated Jew, whose God was from everlasting to ever- lasting, prostrate himself before such an idol, or address liis prayers to such another as he lieard designated ' Mother of God,' and saw sj-mbolized in the image of a woman tricked out with tawdry or more costly finery ? The thing was then, it is now, and ever must remain, impossible. But home ad country and comfortable existence, and all that binds the heart of man to old familiar things, were at stake : lip-service might outwardly be rendered, whilst in the home sanctuary the lamp of their own far purer faith, as they might well be- lieve it, should still be kept alive, if not more brightly burning. The Jews had outlive<l many changes; better days might dawn ; the present generation gathered to its rest, their children or their children's children might again bo permitted the free and open exercise of the religion they had inherited from Moses and the prophets of Israel. And shall not the Jehovism of the cultivated Jew, the worship of one God rhose spirit he believes to interfuse and originate all human !tought and action, and to actuate all animal, vegetable,
10 BENEDICT OB SPINOZA.
mineral, and elemental existence, be conceded of purer and nobler nature thau the crude miscalled Christianitj of vulgar Spain ?
Outward conformity to Catholicism, tben, became somewhat common among the Jews of the Peninsula ; and a certain small minority, in whom the religious sentiments were weak, and who succeeded in shaking off the beliefs of their fathers, were gradually absorbed into and lost amidst the general mass of the people. But the Hebrew communities at large, and all who had piety as a guiding principle in their souls, continued Becretly to cling to the ancient faith, and in private even to celebrate its more essential rites.
Lip-service and outward profession, however, when the heart is otherwise engaged, never yet deceived suspicious eyes, and with the sharp looks of the order of St Dominic steadily fixed upon them, the mere professors of Christianity were not likely long to escape detection. Many of the Jewish converts, con- sequently, and as matter of course, fell under suspicion, and were torn from their homes and immured in the dungeons of the Inquisition. Nor was arbitrary and unlimited sequestra- tion all that had to be endured ; the rack and the stake were further brought into play against those among them who on very slender testimony could be shown to have relapsed from the faith imposed, as well as against seccdera from the domi- nant Church to the blasphemous doctrines, as they were called, of the heretic Luther.
The system of persecution once inaugurated, soon reached its climax, and it was while Philip III. occupied the throne that the Jews of Spain began in multitudes to leave their native homes, and to scatter themselves again over Europe and the East. Strange to say, many found shelter in Rome itself and the Papal States. Their presence there was even foimd advantageous in a money point of view; for their com- munities paying the cess imposed on them and conforming to
THE PENn»SULAR JEWS.
11
the exceptional, bigoted, and generally cruel ordinances im> poeed in their behalf, were suffered to live in peace and to worship God in the way they pleased. But it was to the united Netherlands that the main stream of the emigration turned, and among the numbers that took the northern way were the parents of Benedict de Spinoza.
The Spinozas or d'Espinozas of Spain, fugitive Jews of the present, must however in earlier times have been among the more open con formers to the Christian system; for we have information of more than one of the name who filled public offices in the gift of the state ; and these, as well as the prefix De to the name, could only have been won by compliance with the behests of authority.
The Netherlands having themselves suffered so much and so lately from the^bigotry of Spain, were at first and naturally Bospicious of the strangers, arriving in crowds upon their shores. Coming straight from Spain and Portugal, too, countries catholic beyond ordinary Catholicism, the immigrant Jews were actually suspected to be possible catholics in disguise, spies at the least, if not destined to show themselves anon in the more formidable guise of armed enemies. But the fugitives were accompanied by their wives and children ; their demeanour was peaceable ; they sliowed nothing of a proselytizing spirit, and their religious assemblies having been visited, and none of the pomp and ceremonial of the old enemy being apparent, the worship consisting as it seemed in nothing more than prayers addressed to the Most High God and reverential reading of the Scriptures, freedom to hold communion with tlie Creator in so unobjectionable a manner was forthwith OODccdcd, and the exiles bidden welcome to their new abodes.
The settlement of the Jews iu Holland indeed soon proved a Boorco of new prosperity to the States. Their communities throrc in the cities ; industries of various kinds sprang up and took root among them, synagogues were built and schools
12 BENEDICrr DE SPINOZA.
established ; the printing press was set to work, and the Por- tuguese Jews, as they were called, of Amsterdam in especial, by-and-by attained a not undistinguished place in the republic of letters. They were eager traders, too, and took an active part in the colonial enterprises by which the Dutch sought to extend their influence over other lands. Having need of almost everything from abroad, the Dutch were traders of necessity ; and the industry and ingenuity of the people, the indispensable preludes to the supply even of their most necessary wants — to say nothing of the elegancies and luxuries of life — out of the relatively worthless raw materials pro- duced among themselves, the hemp and flax of their fields, the milk, wool, and skins of their flocks and herds, wrought the articles that brought them in return corn and wine and oil, the spices and other products of the tropics, gold and silver, pearls and precious stones, — wealth unknown, beyond the bounds of Spain, in any otlier country of Europe at tho time.
In all these grand and civilizing mercantile enterprises the Jews bore an active and distinguished part. The Spanish or Portuguese Jews of the Low Countries, indeed, long main- tained a character of superiority which seemed to sever them from their co-religionists of other European lands. They ever bore themselves proudly, haughtily ; and vaunting themselves on their descent from the regal stem of Judah, they rarely contracted matrimonial alliances with their brethren of the German and Polish stocks. In their Low- country trading, too, they conducted things on a larger and more liberal scale than was customarj' among their people in other lands. Besides commerce, moreover, they continued to cultivate medicine as their especial professional calling, and always showed themselves more than commonly attentive to the arts and elegancies of life. They were distinguished from other Hebrew communities by this, too, that they
14 BE}I£DICT DE SPINOZ.^.
which about the end of the ISth and beginning of tho 16th century began to be so generally felt over central and northern Europe. The religious wars with the Moors, how- ever, and the legacy of bigotry and intolerance these had left behind them, appear for a season to have absorbed almost the whole mind and energy of the nation ; and when, at length, a spark from the steel of the Reformation did reach them from the Netherlands, and seemed disposed to kindle into an ani- mating flame, it was immediately and remorselessly trodden out by the despotic rulers of the country, who, having suc- ceeded in putting an end to Cortes and municipal councils, could stifle, without let or hinderance, all expression of opin- ion on matters pertaining to religion.
DISTINGUISHED MEN AMONG THB JEWS OF AMSTERDAM.
It was only, then, with liberty won by flight to the Low Countries that the Jews of Spain once more showed the world that they were possessed of souls above the level of petty traders in rags, pinchbeck, and imitation gems. The Rabbi Menasseh Ben-Israel (bom 1604, died 1659) would indeed have been a person of mark in any country, and in his day was a notable member of the Jewish commimity of Amster- dam. Educated as a physician and practising his profession, he was besides a gifted preacher, and filled the pulpit of the synagogue for twelve years with ever-increasing reputation. On terms of intimacy with most of the men of note in his day — with Hugo Grotius, Vossius, Caspar Barlajus,* and others, he was one of the associates of Grotius in his scheme for bringing about a reconciliation among the various Christian professions, and it would appear that he even thought it not im- possible to comprehend the Jews in this new covenant of love
* It is in an ode addressed to Menasseh Ben-Israel, that Barlasus is found expressing himself in such fine and comprehensive terms as these : Si snpimus diversa, Deo vivamus amici. Differing in Creed, live we as friends in Ood.
THE JEWS OP AMSTEHDAM.
•
and universal brotherhood. To have conceived such an idea, dream though wo must regard it even in the present day, impresses us with a sense of the noble and generous nature that belonged to the man, and in sucli a co-adjutor na Menasseh Ben- Israel he was certainly associated with a spirit akin to his own.*
Menasseh Ben-Israel was indeed an admirable specimen of Hebrew humanity, and so true a lover of progress, that ho kept a printing press at work in hia house throwing off books for the enlightenment of his countrjonen. In such esteem did this great and good man live among his fellow- citizens that ho was chosen by them as delegate to Crom- well, to make arrangements for the toleration and return of the Jews to England, from which they had been ruthlessly expelled in the reign of Edward the First, four centuries be- fore, t The negotiations, however, failed through the bigotry of the Puritan clerg}'. Cromwell himself, with his great heart, would have been well content to welcome back the exiles, but was checked in his generous wishes by his council ; and the further discussion of the question having been post- ]Mnod, and the indisposition and death of the Protector following soon after, the Jews had to wait according to their wont for better days, and the prevalence of more tolerant idoaa. And these, under the all-humanizing influences of civilization and enlightenment have at length not only dawned, but have even well nigh attained their noon. It may be said, indeed, that it now remains with tlie Jews
* OrotiiM inbeat knoK-n nniong ue by his book, ' De Veritate ndigionit Cbruti/iDiT,' which bu often been rcfiriutvil. The work from his liand, however, tliat would especially intereat an inquirer in the direction abuTe aUudw] to, ie tJint cnlitled, • Via ml P.iceni Eoolcsiasticam," mn. 8vo, 1C42 — an tDt«rwling pnxliictiiin, and in advance of someeiiice written in tlie Fame view, km with a much lest liberal aim — the Ironiooiu, Apologiiu, ftc, of the |iraM«it day.
t Conf. Auerbach, Lcl«en Spinoza's, S. 21. Tlie ' Alhcntt>um ' of April 10th, 1809. I have lM.-r(ir>< me a reprint of tlie text of tlio Addrcsce* of Bcn-l»mel to the Piotcctor from the press of Melbourne, New South Wales, sm. -Jto, 1868.
16 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
themselves, by the abandonment of absurd rites, and the vain pretensions that every day in the history of the world's pro- gress shows to be not only more remote but to be even impossible of attainment, to find themselves members of tho great family of civilized mon, with God for the common object of adoration and acknowledged impartial parent of all that live. '
Another mon of mark, a native of Spain, of Jewish origin, settled at Amsterdam, was Isaac Orobio dc Castro, lie, too, was a physician and doctor in philosophy. The child of parents who hod made profession of Christianity, he was baptized by tho name of Balthasar, and having subsequently been knighted, he added the title of Don to his name, and, by- ond-by, but stiU as a very young man, was advanced to the chair of philosophy in the university of Salamanca. In this public capacity, however, with the necessity of proclaiming himself every day from the house-tops, as it were, ho found his position so irksome that he resigned his professorship and established himself as a physician at Seville ; but not, as it seemed, before he had aroused suspicions of the sincerity of his Christian professions; for accused of a relapse to Judaism at Seville, he fell into the hands of tho Inquisition, and was cast into one of their loathsome dungeons, whence he only emerged more dead than alive after an imprisonment of three years' duration. Liberated by some means at last, ho escaped to Toulouse, where he became professor of medicine ; but finally, attracted doubtless by the freedom and privileges his countrymen enjoyed in Holland, he made his way to Amsterdam. Here, with liberty regained, and once more among countrj'men and kinsfolk, Isaac Orobio openly resumed his profession of Judaism ; and whilst devoting himself truly to his calling of physician, he still found leisure to show him- self the zealous defender of religion, both against the narrower, and, as he conceived them, over free-interpretations of the
THE JE<V8 OK AMSTERPAM.
17
subject beginning to appear in his day both among Jews and Christians. Orobio was personally acquainted with Spinoza, and among the number of his correspondents.*
Auerb.ich signalizes yet another individual actively en- gaged in the theological controversies of the time, notable in a certain way in the Jewish commimity of Amsterdam, and therefore influential within his sphere. This was Gabriel or Uriel d'Acosta, a native of Lisbon, grandee of the coimtry and officer in the service of the state. Such distinction and public position could of course only be held by one who made open pro- fession of Catholicism ; but it was no more than profession, for d'Acosta having quitted Lisbon with his mother and brothers at the age of twenty- five, came to Amsterdam, where he forth- with cast off the slough of his assumed Christianity and be- came reconciled to the religion of his fathers. The man, however, was of an unsettled, violent, and sceptical disposition, and soon got into difBculties with the Rabbins and the syna- gogue, which led on two different occasions to his excom- munication ; nor was the ban in either instance removed until he had humiliated himself to the dust and made the most contrite expressions of repentance for errors past. D'Acosta nevertheless was a man of some learning, and possessed of a subtle and inquiring turn of mind, which doubtless proved the cause of all his troubles. Ho published a work on the • Traditions of the Pharisees contrasted with the written Law,* -a very delicate subject according to Jewish notions, — which 'gave great offence to a large and influential party of his co- religioniata. By-and-by he appeared with another, impugn- ing the common Jewish belief in the immortality of the soul, which was no loss angrily received by the party ho had al- ready offended, and not more favourably by that he might have hoped to conciliate. Uriel d'Acosta, in short, became involved in controversy on all hands ; and liaving had the
• Vide leMer. xlU. 2
18
BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
folly in a fit of passion to discharge a pistol, happily without eflect, at one who had always shown himself his most active opponent and enemy, he put an end to his life with his own hand in 1647.
These notices suffice to give us an idea of the state of feeling prevalent among the members of the special religious community into whose midst Benedict de Spinoza was born, and by which as he grew to man's estate he was necessarily influenced ; for every man is that which ho is in the end, in virtue of the constitution, bodily and mentally, he receives from his parents, and the circumstances amidst which ho lives.
When we observe the writings of the Jews, this stereo- tj'ped race of men, if there be any such in the world, deeply tinged with the questioning and controversial spirit that followed the Reformation, we shall be prepared to find the whole literature of the Low Countries partaking of the same character. It may be said indeed thut no one during this epoch in the history of European progress was alto- gether indiflTerent to the subject of religion, however the word might be interpreted ; and if the hostility of the Tiara was inevitably aroused by heresy and innovation, the fear and enmity of Crowns and Sceptres were no less certainly excited by the aspirations after civ4l liberty that never fail to accom- pany assertion of the right to private opinion in matters of religion. Freedom of religious belief and profession, indeed, an imperious want in every sincere and thoughtful mind, is necessarily accompanied where not preceded by aspirations after civil liberty. Hence the inevitable alliance between hierarchies and despotisms on the one hand, and the enmity necessarily felt by cultivated free men against theocracies and absolute monarchies on the other.*
• The Archives of Simnneas have lately yielded to the perseverance of Mr Bergcurulb, a tale of one of Uio mont porteulouii and turriblu of the maoy
20 BENEDICT UE SPINUZA.
dwelling-house ; but whence the income was derived wo are not informed, most probably it was from trade, as among the Jews generally. The only one of Spinoza's biographers (Lucas) who mentions the older Spinoza, speaks of him as ' a man of excellent understanding,' and of this he gave evidence enough in the care he took to secure to his son the best education the Jewish schools of Amsterdam afforded.
clivity to free thought in matters of religion, and even to hare shown a dis- position to tolerate the heretical and blasphemous doctrines, as they wens held, of Luther, She had been beyond the bounds of Catholic Spain, and in Burgundy and Flanders bad seen pious and orderly persons profeiising the principles of the Beformation, so that she may well have surmised and given utterance to her thoughts that there were other things in the world besides Papal supremacies and sovereign rights to rule over benighted and submis- sive populations. Joanna must, in fact, have been in advance of her sur- roundings, and even of her age, as respects toleration of religious disiii- dence ; and may be said to have paid in the way in which alone she could he made to pay the penalty of her superiority : she was treated as insane of mind, had the diicipUne, as the scourge is euphemistically entitled in Roman Catholicism, and was racked by the cu^rtia— suspension by the wrista with weights attached to the feet till the joints of the arms and legs are dis- located< For long years she was farther kept immured in chambers into which the light of day never penetrated, cut off from intercourse with the outer world in every shape save that of the so-called nobleman and Duke who acted as her jailer, of the bigoted priest, who visited to worry her, or the still more repulsive form of less excusable intolerance in the shape of Cardinal and Archbishop, for by such was she visited, and to such must the true stato of the unhappy woman have been perfectly well known. And all this iniquity perpetrated by ti father and mother, king and queen, in their own right, Mrith the knowledge and consent of a ion, the most powerful prince of his age, and without a word of remonstrance in so far, as appears, of the Cardinal Arch- bishop, who by-and-by became Pope under the title of Adrian the sixth. A fatlier and mother entitled The Catjiolic par ercellenee, a son, the inheritor of the religious zeal that won for his mother her distinguishing title, and a Hierarch, infallible head of the Christian world as represented by Koman Catbuliciam, aClon and accessories in this terrible drama —
Tanta Keligio potuit suadcrc malorum I
How much longer will it be before mankind consent to see that the religious are not the only nor even the chief elements in the emotional nature of man which serve to keep him in the path of right and duty ? Tlie religious sentiments are in themselves as blind as the love of offspring or the desire of distinction, and need association with the faculties proper to man, and the guidance of the understanding, before their activity can conduce to good. Religion itself has only become moral and humane as men have advanced in civilization and refinement Vide Mr Bergenroth's volume, in the series published under the auspices of the Master of the Bolls, and a paper by M. K. Hillebrand entitled, Une Enigmo d'Uistoire, in the Bevue dcs Deux Mondes, No. for June Ist, 1869.
EDUCATIOX.
21
The instruction in these Jewish seminaries at the period of Spinoza's birth, beyond the most necessary rudiments, appears to have been entirely religious in its character. Apparently exhaustive in this particular, several branches then held most indispensable to a liberal education in Chris- tian communities, were entirely overlooked. The classical languages of Greece and Rome had no place in the Jewish curricidum, and though arithmetic was taught, geometry and the mathematics generally were neglected- The omission of the learned languages — of that of Rome especially — was a much more serious matter in those days when the learned of different lands had but one, or used but one means of com- munication, than it could prove at the present time, when one or more of the principal languages of Europe are almost as regularly taught in every good school as the mother tongue, and are consequently available among men of letters generally. But when we know that there were physicians and naturalists in numbers among the Jews, we know also that the Latin in particular could not have been interdicted to them, as was the Greek at one time by the Christian hierarchy to the faithful ; and Barueh de Spinoza, aa a youth of superior parts, found means by-and-by to supply himself first with Latin and then with Greek. In learning the Latin, he is said to have had first a German teacher, under whom he mastered the rudiments of the tongue, and subsequently Dr Francis Van den Ende, whose school he attended for farther instruction. Having made such progress in the language as to read Descartes, whose philosophical writings were then much in ^•ogue, and greatly struck, it is said, with the rule he found there so emphatically enunciated, that ' Nothing is ever to be accepted aa true that has not been proved to be so on good and sufiicient grounds,* he may be said already to have found the chart and compass that were to serve him as guides through the rest of hLs life.
22 BENEDICT DB SPIKOZA.
In the Jewish schools of Amsterdam, however, the Hebrew Scriptures and the Talmud, with the commentaries of Raschi and Maimonides, and the writings of others among the orthodox theologians of Jewry, were the only books put into the hands of the pupils. But those on the upper form, as we should call it, are said to have had ' the use of a well- furnished library ' — the most important privilege perhaps that can be accorded to the dawning intelligence of a boy — in addition. Our Spinoza doubtless availed himself to the full of the opportunities for self-culture which this afforded him.
The whole education of the Jew, then, was religious, and when we think of the narrow Levitical code which regulated Jewish every-day as well as Sabbath-day life, — the outgoings and the incomings, the acts, and, by use and wont, the very thoughts in every the most trifling particular of the grown roan, we may imagine how closely the child was kept within the circle prescribed for him. How could originality show itself, how make head against such a system of training P Genius alone of the highest order could have divined a world beyond the prison within which self-satisfied dog- matism would have confined the heart and understanding. But such genius the youthful Spinoza possessed, and this, with the Latin language, and access to the ' well-furnished library,' was doubtless the means of setting him free.
The superintendent and occasional teacher in the upper division of the school was the Rabbi, Saul Levi Morteira, a man of talent, an eloquent preacher and esteemed writer among his people. But Morteira still belonged to that class of theologians who only acknowledge the lead of reason so long as it runs level with accredited views and serves to aid conclusions in accordance with these : his mind was narrow and intolerant on all matters that touched on Jewish ortho- doxy. Coming into somewhat intimate contact with the more advanced pupils, Morteira did not fail to remark the promise
BSCCATION.
23
of young Spinoza, and ia said to have taken more than the usual pains in aiding and directing his studies ; so that even in liis 15th yoar Baruch d'Espinoza was already remarkable for his proficiency in Biblical and Talmudic lore. Morteira doubt- less flattered himself with the hope of seeing his pupil one day assume a distinguished place among the teachers of Israel ; and such a place he did indeed achieve, although the distinction was of a kind far other than that intended, and of scope much wider than the world of Jewry. Doubta suggested, and either shirked or unsatisfactorily answered, scarcely fail to excite suspicion and to find solution of some sort in inquir- ing minds ; and it is even more than probable that the Moro Novachim (or Guide of the Perplexed) of Maimonides, one of the books put into the hands of advanced pupils in Jewish aehools, aided, it may have been, by the preaching of the Rab- bins in the sjTiagogue, proved the immediate means which led Spinoza aa a boy to independent thought and self-interpret- ation of the sacred text. Preachers indifferently or ill in- formed, as they unhappily are in so many cases, seem to take a kind of perverse delight in obtruding difficulties on their audience, and are little aware of the distress they occasion among the more advanced of these, by the illogical, superficial, foolish, or dishonest way in which they meet them.*
The More Novachim, though in no wise so designed, ia nevertheleaa particularly calculated to engender doubt and arouse reflection in susceptible minds. Were it not conceived, in KO far as the letter goes, in the most strictly orthodox sense, it might be held a daring commentary u^ion the books of the [Law, on exposure, with some of the resources of modern iticism at command, of the many obscure and contradictory and expressions to be discovered in the Old Testa- ment when read by otlier eyes than those of unquestioning
Vide the Emy, Truth rrr»i« Edification, in Mr Greg'a 'Judifrnent* I and Literwy,' 8vo. London, 1869.
24 - BENEDICT DE SPIN'OZA.
faith. The work, in fact, embodies what would now be called a half-rationalistic interpretation of the volume which is pre- sumed to record the dealings of the Deity with mankind. Allowance made for difference of epoch, (for Maimonidcs lived and wrote in the latter half of the 12th and beginning of the 13th century !) this remarkable book has the very stamp of those writings of the present day in which wc see orthodoxy vainly struggling with the impossible; the light of natural understanding striving hard to put itself out under the extinguisher of blind belief; the truths of modern science wilfuUy ignored, and the eternal, harmonious, and unchanging laws of God set aside, because they clash with oriental ex- pression and imagery, or more plainly contradict accounts of uncommon or imagined incidents recorded in the hieratic writings of a rude people who flourished some three or more thousand years ago.
As a mere youth, then, and by reason of his verj' talents and proficiency, wc see that Spinoza must have been forced on the consideration of difficulties which, passed over unheeded by ordinary intellects, never fail to arrest understandings of a higher order. Common natures may be, and mostly are, satisfied with the intellectual fare that is set before them ; but those of better stamp always incline to cater for themselves, and scarcely fail to find food for their cravings more satisfying than the husks that are too frequently supplied by preceptors. The comments and explanations and modes of reconciling differences advanced by the Eagle of Cordova, as Maimonides was styled, could have been little satisfactory to the Eaglet of Amsterdam ; and Spinoza, in the course of his independent reading, having made acquaintance with the writings of Aben- Ezra, a more modem commentator on holy writ, and more- over a mm of a much more imfettered spirit than Maimonides, was introduced to diversity of view, and opposition to the conclusions come to by those who had been given to him
EDUCATION.
25
crophaticully as his guides. Now did the student make the discovery that good and learned men were not all of one mind, as he had been taught to believe, in their estimate either of the purpose, the purity, or the historical reliability of the Hebrew Scriptures. Maimonides made him familiar with the diiR- culties there abounding, but gave him no aid, or such aid only as he mistrusted or refused, in overcoming them. Aben-Ezra, on the contrary, ho found ready in many cases with a helping band.
"NVhen therefore in his riper years he takes up the pen in his Tractatus Theologico-politicus as an independent writer, his mind teeming with Scriptural and Rabbinical lore, and comes to ground already trodden by predecessors, Spinoza discusser the proper method, as he himself conceives it, of interpreting the text, inquires into the authorship, authen- ticity, and authority of the Pentateuch, and is found fre- quently referring to both Maimonides and Aben-Ezra. But it is always to disagree with the former ; to take what we should call the rational and more obvious, instead of the arbitrary but more orthodox, \-iew of the matter at issue ; to dispute the premises assumed or the conclusions come to by the great Rabbi.
Aben-Ezra is met in a very different way ; in hira Spinoza seems to encounter a kindred spirit, sharp-sighted as himself in respect of imperfections, but less daring in giving utter- ance to his discoveries ; for Aben-Ezra only ventures his state- ments in truncated and enigmatical phrase, which Spinoza does not hesitate to render into connected and intelligible terras. If ^laimonides therefore had, as we presume to believe he had, a great share in the mental development of Spinoza on the neg- ative side, Aben-Ezra as certainly had a no less decided influ- ence on the still more important positive side. Maimonides in bis attempts to explain and clear away difficulties seemed often bat to make them more conspicuous; Aben-Ezra, again, though
20
BENEDICT OB 8PIMOZA.
shrouding his sense in enigmutical language, only put« on a transparent veil which hides no featuro ol' the truth that lies beneath. Biblical criticism might therefore with groat show of right be said to have had its birth from Maimonidcs and Aben-Ezra ; but it lay with them in swaddling-bands, or for three centuries after them continued in a trance, from which it was first recalled to life by Spinoza, touched himself by tho Ti%'ifj'ing influence of the Reformation. Now only docs the sub- ject meet us with the scope and proportions, and in the ques- tionable shape that entitles us to speak of him as its author and original to the modern world.
In the present aspect of the religious question there is no subject so important us biblical criticism and exegesis. It does in truth underlie the whole of Theosophy and Theology, taking these words in their largest acceptation ; for as tho civilized world of Europe has by the course of history and tho sequence of events been brought to take its religious stand- point on the Hebrew Scriptures and the Hellenist ic interpret- ation of one leading idea prominent therein, it is obvious that a perfectly truthful interpretation of their history, composi- tion, import, and absolute worth, morally and intellectually, is as indispensable to accuracy of conclusion in regard to tho relations hitherto presumed to have been entertained between God and man, and to further progress in the Religious Idea, OS it is that tho eye be clear in order that it prove receptive of the light of day.*
• An entirely Irutliful and nuthorilative interpretation of the Hi'brew Scripture* is on iniperntive want of tlic nge in which wc live, and has now become the first condition reijuired to enable the world to escape from the alough of eujierKtition on the one hand and of irreligiousness on the other, In which it is helplessly xunk or u sinking more and more deeply every day, defipile the well-meant eflbrls of the pious laity and lealoua ministry of all denominations. We have set auihoritatite lieside trvthfiil in the sentenoe shore ; for wc are possessed of even more than one perfectly truthful and exhaustive hut of no authoritative interpretation of the Hebrew ^rlpturea and Greek Testament; ncitlier can the world at large have any such until the hierarchies of the several Christian churches aprce to associate thera- solvea with Spinoia, Scmler, Lcssing, De 'W'etto, Ewald, Strauss, Baur,
SOCCATION.
It has been held by some superficially acquainted with the character of Spinoza's mind and overlooking what he says himself in his works, that he was greatly influenced in his educational development by the study of the mystical writings known under the name of the Cabbala ; but better acquainted with the philosopher we find no trace of the mysticism that lies at the very core of these lucubrations, and when we turn to the contemptuoiis and disparaging terms in which he speaks of the visionary and incompre- hensible matter that makes up the cabbalistic system, wo feel
Kuehaen, Keim, Renan, and Coleoso — critics and scliolars all, men of noblo lives, cicor heads, and piuus eoul», who from tlie fuhie«s of their hcartit and
bdepthg of their understandings have Fpnken to their fellow-men in tenu«
rvrhich all might understand, but which ignorance, superstition, and folso direction prevent them from apprehending in their inappreciable worth and iinportiince. Authority would indeed seem ind ispeninable to the mass of mankind ; but no holy re-union of cultivated men for such n purpose is pos- aiblc unless it be based on arknowledgment of the common fatherhood of God, anil recognize the revelation he makes of his being and attributes for all time in no mere spoken words or written records, but in the mind of man, Uie order of tho universe, and the great laws that by his flat rule it neces- aarily, changelduly, and everlastingly. To the biblical scholar the ignorance *pl>an.-nt in the writings of iMtjiuIar orthodox commentators of the Scriptures
[In our own eountr}- is simply disgraceful, as the glozing and dishonesty often exhibited are opfjalling : as if tho truth ever needed to he bolstered by a lie, or the false escaped detection by cunning efforts to make it seem what it is not. No Irenicon, outcome of tho narrow mind and sui>erBtitiou8 soul, is a|Mible in these days of proclaiming the absolutk reuoioN under whose ■hrltcr children of Uie universal parent — Jew, Christian, Mussulman, and
lHuddhinl alike, purged of their ignorance, orrogance, and superstition, but
fcnIigliU-ned by science and truly civilized, may meet and give each other the right hand of fellow!>hip.
ITje names of the accomplished individuals given above have undoubt-
kcdiy done much to eraancipnlc the European mind from bigotry and error; But to what a relatively limited circle are their writings known ! by whom
' Jiut Mimewhat kindred spirits ore they understood? — spirits strengthenecl anil Eolace<l by their works, not initiated into the sanctuory of truth by their Dcons. The outer and fur wider circle, the uneducated religious public, hag ot yet l)een rwicheil save to have their fears aroused, and would even seem I be well nigh inaccessible; for contentment with their own blind aspira- liotw and narrow convhuiorif, and the ungcnial assumiice in which they live,
r«l,,.i ,11 ,ii,o ditler frcmi tliem in their views of (loil's religious and moral ' of tho world are Atheists, Infidels, and villains doomed to ever- ( : ^ , 1 1 lion, entrench them within rampart« weak enough in themselves, liod wot ! but in the confident hearta lietiiod tbem made well nigh im- pregnable.
28 REMEDICT DE SPINOZA.
assured that if Spinoza did ever seek to gather fruit from that vierd stem, he found nothing within his reach but husks and empty shells, to be cast away as soon as gathered. lie only refers to the Mystics indeed with contempt. ' Whether they speak through foolisliness,' he says, 'from anile devotion or self-conceit and for evil ends, I know not ; but I find no taste of mystery in all they advance, nothing but childish fancies. Uaving moreover lately made the per- sonal acquaintance of certain cabbalistic triflers, and even read some of their productions, J. can only say farther, that I am at a loss for words to express my amazement at their ravings.' * This does not look like giving in to the mystics ; and when we refer to bis writings, we see that all that has been taken for mysticism in them has proceeded from the mis- conceptions of minds incapable of grasping the recondite but perfectly logical and necessary intellectual conclusions to which he had attained. Spinoza, in fact, was not com- pounded of the clay that is fashioned into the shape they please by others. It was by independent thought and eager inquiry, by drinking of none but the head waters of the stream, that ho slowly, painfully arrived at the results he afterwards embodied in his writings : even in his philosophy he cannot well be said to have had a master ; for Descartes, who has been given to him in this capacity, was no more than an index of the way he was to take, but which he was labori- ously to hew out and level for himself.
Still far from the 'Mezzo cammin della nostra vita,' Spinoza had, nevertheless, arrived at the watershed between childhood and manhood ; he had attained to consciousness of his own inherent powers, and become sensible of the difference between the views he took himself of the religious question especially, and those his teachers would have instilled into his mind. The strife within the breast of the clever and in- • Tract. Theol. Polit, ch. ix. p. 195, Eng. Version.
.SVSPEtTEn OF FREE-THINJUNO.
29
gcnuous youth was doubtless long, and far more painful than pleasant in ita issue; for it is ever distressing to the young to have to break with old and take up with new and untried associations ; to find the staff put into the hand as a strong and trusty prop, no better than a brittle reed. They only, who themselves have passed through the ordeal Spinoza was now required to stand, can appreciate to the full how painful the feelings that attend on the awaking to the new life that then presents itself and calls for recognition. These Spinoza must have felt most keenly ; for in one of the rare instances in which he refers to himself in his writings, he says, ' I aver that though I long sought for something of the sort (viz. consonance between reason and the text of the ITebrew Scriptures) I could never find it. And although nurtured in the current ^news of the sacred Scriptures, and my mind filled with their teachings, I was nevertheless com- pelled at length to break with my early beliefs.'* Arrived at such a point, the enlire foundation of the Jewish system was seen to be of sand, and the dogmatic structure reared on it incapable of longer supplying peace to the religious aspir- ottons of his soul. This he must seek elsewhere ; the strait- meshed net of rite and belief within which he had been bred was broken through, and he was already lost to his people.
HE 18 REMARKED FOR IXDEPENDEXCE OF THOUGHT, BECOMES AN OBJECT OF SCSPICION TO THE HEADS OF THE SYNA- GOGUE, AXD 18 EXCOMMUNICATED.
In the state of mind depicted in the words quoted above, it is not surprising that Spinoza became known among hia fullows as one who had thoughts of his own on many delicate matters, nor that he with his scholarly reputation should have been consulted by some of them as better informed than * Op. cit, cltop. ix. p. 194, Eug. Version.
30 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
themselves. Common report, indeed, must bave made him an object of suspicion at an early period to the watchers of Israel ; so that he had to become cautious and reticent in his intercourse with his teachers, the Rabbins, and the elders of the congregation. But as he now abandoned his regular attendance at the synagogue, and could only be induced by persuasion to show himself there occasionally, he was doubt- less regarded by his kindred and their more intimate friends as a perverse youth, having wayward and wicked fancies, fearing neither God nor man, and therefore devoted to per- dition.
The independent, undutiful, and impious behaviour of the young man, as it was called of course, proved, we may readily imagine, a source of much grief and vexation to Spinoza's father. The Jewish synagogue in those days, like the Christian church of the present, was a passport to a certain social position, and whilst affording scope for superior talent, it secured bread at least, and a respectable standing even to the mediocrity that entered on its ministrations. Spinoza's father was anxious that his son, with the scholarly aptitudes he evinced in such rare perfection, should turn these into the accustomed channel, and devote himself to theology and the synagogue. But dogmatic theology is precisely the thing that repels the moral constitution wc observe in Spinoza, when associated with intellectual power. lie had already escaped from the circle within which the instruction that is not education so commonly retains the vulgar mind. The Old Testament, and the writings of the expositors of its text as the goal of all study, were already left behind. He had found means to initiate himself into a knowledge of the mathematics, and to acquire the rudiments of the noble Latin tongue, as at a later period he did also of the still nobler Greek ; and once able to read Virgil and Tacitus, Cicero and Seneca, Homer and Thucydides, in the original tongues, he
SUSPECTED OF HNOBTHODOX IDEAS.
31
got far beyond, and bo made his escape trom, his old masters the Jewish Rabbis.
Spinoza's meditations and studies thus leading off from the beaten track, the conclusions to which he had come even as a youth must have been either hinted at or more openly ex- pressed ; for he appears, as before said, to have been consulted by others, inquirers beyond the common, and his assistance sought in the way of guide out of the labyrinth of theological difficulty in which reflective youth so commonly finds itself entangled. Among the number of these, two young men of his own age and people are particularly spoken of as having pressed him on some of the most delicate topics of their faith. They in the first instance were probably led to do so in perfect sincerity and for their enlightenment ; but Spinoza, it appears, was not disposed to unbosom himself freely to them, and for all answer to their inquiries referred them as good Jews to Moses and the Prophets for the information they de- sired. This, however, was not what they expectod : they wished fartlier to know what he himself thought of the nature of God P was God corporeal or incorporeal ; were there, in truth, any incorporeal existences ? Were there such beings as angels ? Was the soul of man really immortal p and so on.
Spinoza's motto ' Caule ' proclaims him to have been of a cautious disposition, and several incidents in his after- inter- course with the world, to which wc sliall have occasion to allude, proclaim him not to have ' worn his heart upon his sleeve for daws to peck at.' He seems even to have felt some- thing of that instinctive repugnance towards these young men which honour and true nobility of nature scarcely faU to ex- perience when brought into contact with aught that is capable of baseness and treachery. He had misgivings at all events of the moral hardihood of the youths in question, as was shown by the way in which he evaded answering their inquiries as
32 BKNEUICr OE SPINOZA.
from himself, though he met them freely with texts of Scrip- ture^ of which he had an ample store at command. With so much, therefore, they had to bo satisfied meanwhile ; but they proposed farther discussion at another time, opportunity for which, however, Spinoza always contrived to avoid or postpone. This conduct on his part first gave offence, and then engen- dered hatred in the minds of his would-be friends, who now, unable to insinuate themselves into his confidence, resolved on revenge for his mistrust.
These young men accordingly first spread rumours to the disadvantage of Spinoza, and then denounced him to the heads of the Jewish synagogue, as one in whom public opinion had been entirely mistaken, and who, instead of proving a prop and pillar of the Tabernacle, as had been imagined, was much more likely to pull it down and lay it — if such a thing might be — ^in ruins ; for they declared that he nourished nothing but contempt for the law of Moses, and believed in everything but that which was most imperative on a Jew. Calumny of any kind is but too apt to be taken for true on the very slenderest testimony by the world at large, and accusations of heresy and infidelity appear to be mostly accepted as well-founded on the simple ground that they are made. Such appears to have been the case with Spinoza. Cited before the Elders of the Synagogue, he found himself already judged before ho had been heard. It was in vain that he simply denied the truth of the statements made against him. Sharply repri- manded, he was ordered to make instant submission, and to acknowledge his wickedness. But as he still stood unabashed, declaring emphatically that he had never given utterance to such words as were imputed to him, the ciders, instead of paus- ing to make inquirj' and sift the evidence, seem to have given way at once to anger, and threatened the contumacious youth with excommunication if he did not yield forthwith to the behests of those who knew so much more and so much better
UB IS EXCOMMUMCATED.
33
tlian Limscir. Such procedure accompanied by sucli a threat ■ waa insufferable to the truthful nature of Spinoza. He could but retire from the presence of his prejudiced judges and seek such solace as his own better thoughts and convictions left him free to entertain. lie could make no submission.
After the interval in such cases allowed to the party in- criminated, the heads of the Synagogue had no course open to them but advance on that upon which they had entered. The formula of excommunication according to Jewish ritual was, consequently, pronounced against him, and Baruch d'Spinoza was drivon under anathema from the congregation of tlio faithful in Israel.
Tliere appears to have been great indisposition on the part of the Jews in those days, or soon after, to divulge the for- mula of escoinmuuication used on such occasions. Colerua •elicited the sons of the old Rabbi Chacham Abuah, who pro- nounced the anathema against Spinoza, in vain for a copy ; they always excused themselves, declaring that they could find nothing of the sort among the papers of their late father, ' though I could easily see,' adds Colerus, ' that they were not minded to communicate or part with it to me.' Dr Van Yloten was more fortunate in his application to the present f «ecretary to the Portuguese Jewish church of Amsterdam, I I.v. Ilaphael Jesschiirun Cardozo. Tliis liberal-minded gen- tleman,— virum plurimum venerandum, says Dr Van Vloten, — living in an age of greater enlightenment, made no difficulty in furnishing the Doctor with a copy of the instru- ment, taken in all likeliliood from the very one that was used against the recusant. It is in the Spanish langimge, and headed :
'Ilerem que sc publicon da Theba em G""' Ab contra Ba- ruch do Espinoza' — Anathema pronounced from the place of Prayer on the Gth of the month Ab [July, 105(5] against Bu- fuch d'Euijinoza.
34 BENEDICT DE SPIXOZA.
Van Yloten has given the original of this interesting docu- ment entire, as well as a Latin translation, which we now turn into English for the satisfaction of our readers.
'The heads of the Ecclesiastical Council hereby make known, that already well assured of the evil opinions and do- ings of Baruch de Espinoza, they have endeavoured in sundry ways and by various promises to turn him from his e\'il courses. But as they have been unable to bring him to any better way of thinking ; on the contrarj', as they are every day better certified of the horrible heresies entertained and avowed by him, and of the insolence with which these heresies are promulgated and spread abroad, and many persons worthy of credit having borne witness to these in the presence of the said Espinoza, ho has been held fully convicted of the same. Review having therefore been made of the whole matter be- fore the chiefs of the Ecclesiastical Council, it has been re- solved, the Counsellors assenting thereunto, to anathematize the said Espinoza and to cut him off from the people of Israel, and from the present hour to place him in Anathema with the following malediction :
' With the judgment of the angels, and the sentence of the saints, we anathematize, execrate, curse, and cast out Baruch de Spinoza, the whole of the sacred community assenting, in presence of the sacred books with the six hundred and thirteen precepts written therein, pronouncing against him the Anathema wherewith Joshua anathematized Jericho, the malediction wherewith Elisha cursed the children, and all the maledictions written in the book of the law. Let him bo accursed by day, and accursed by night ; let him be accursed in his lying down, and accursed in his rising up, accursed in going out, and accursed in coming in. May the Lord never more pardon or acknowledge him ; may the wrath and dis- pleasure of the Lord bum henceforth against this man, load him with all the curses written in the book of the law, and
36 BFA'UDICr I)E SriNOU.
the papers from the orjjhaii asylum of Amsterdam, put at his disposal ; hodic saltcm non amplius extat — it is now no longer in existence, says he (Suppl. p. 203). This in all likelihood is literally true ; but there is as little question that virtually we have his answer enshrined for ever, and in a more extended form, in the Theologico-political Treatise.
The excommunication was published on the 6tli of July, 1G56, when Spinoza consequently was 24 years of age. Its immediate effect must have been to expel him from the shelter of his father's house. No orthodox Jew could continue beneath the same roof with one — were ho even his own son — under the ban of excommunication. Spinoza must therefore quit his home, if he had not perchance already left it, as is most likely, and find countenance and shelter among others than his own people, who had now cast him out from amongst them for ever.
Spinoza, it is to be presumed, must have been fully pre- pared for the bolt that had been launched against him ; and bore it with the fortitude and equanimity that belonged to his character. But sensitive natures, though entrenched in truth as in a citadel, do not fail to feel ; and with all his out- ward stoicism we may imagine but can never know the suf- ferings endured by the inward man. Excommunication in the free city of Amsterdam, and of a Jew in the midst of a Christian community, was, however, a very different affair from what it had been in the olden time and among the people of Palestine. When informed of his excommunication — for he was not present to hear it read — he is said to have replied : ' Well and good ; but this will force me to nothing I should not have been ready to do without it.'
Henceforth, then, Spinoza separated himself entirely from the Jewish communion ; but he never attached himself to any other. Beyond the circle of individual minds, the Church of which he was a member had in his day no existence upon
HIS REABINO UNDER EX.00MMUXICATIOS.
37
cartb, as it is still without a standing and a name. Its principles, indeed, were extant in the sacred Scriptures as he read and understood them, visihle there in the prescriptions of love to God and love of our neighbour so frequently re- peated, conspicuous in the life and teaching of the Christ witli whom, as ho believed, God coramunSd in the woy of mind with mind, and who was thus the guide at onco and tho way of life to man ; but there was no community then, as there is none in aggregate numbers now, who comprehended God and his relations with tho universe at large and with man in particular, as did Spinoza. He had therefore to worship alono in the sanctuary of his own puro soul, in tho oratory of his lucid understanding. Referring in one of his letters to the subject of his studies, which were in truth his devotions, he says : ' Though I were compelled to admit that the fruit I gather by my natural underetanding was often- times unreal, yet would not this make me unhappy ; because in the gathering I have my joy, and so pass my daj's, not in sighing and sorrow, but in contentment and peace, and thereby mount a step higher in existence. I acknowledge, meanwhile — and this, indeed, assures to me the highest satisfaction of spirit — that all happens by the power of the most perfect, and in conformity with his eternal and unchangeable decrees.' In the same fine epistle, he proceeds : ' As for myself, T give offence to no one, or I strive to give none ; to do otherwise were in opposition to my proper nature, and would remove me from the love and knowledge of God.' •
And here let ua give particular attention to the remark- oble words of the penidtimntc sentence in the parograjjh just q«Ott><l. Spinoza, to the best of our knowledge and belief, is the tiri«t among the iuoiItus who insists on the universality, tho neitMtaity. and the unehangeable nature of the laws ordained/ by Otxl for the povemment of the universe and ita parts.
* Ep. XXXIT.
38 nENEnift de spinoza.
Beginning in Spinoza's day to be generally recognized in the physical world, under the lead of the astronomer, and next of the chemist, their existence in the domain of morals seems to have been altogether unsuspected ; God was presumed to do and undo at his will and pleasure, and almost at the will and pleasure of those who called themselves his worshipfiers. But Spinoza proclaimed the moral laws to be as fixed and unalterable as the physical law that makes all the radii of a circle equal to one another. With him there was no escape from these commands, and no remission of the penalty attached to their infraction. Obedience to their, behests secures ex- istence and well-being, violation of their decrees entails the punishment implied in misery, misfortune, and death. ' In consonance with great, eternal, changeless laws, we all must tread the circle of our being,' says the greatest poet of his age and country, who was also the student and interpreter of our philosopher,*
HE FINIW EMPLOYMENT AS TEACHER WITH DR FRANCIS VAN DEN ENDE ; BUT HAS I.EARNED A HANDirRAPT, AND LEAVES AMSTERDAM FOR THE COUNTRY AFTER HIS LIFE HAS BEEN ATTEMPTED.
Spinoza's acquirements in the classical languages stood him in good stead in the conjuncture of his affairs that had now arrived, for he seems at once to have found an engagement in the educational establishment of Dr Francis van den Ende, which at this time enjoyed a great reputation, the sons of many of the wealthiest and most dis- tinguished persons of Amsterdam being among the number of his pupils.
Van den Ende had had the education of a physician, and
* Nach cwigen, elieron, grosscD Uesctzen MiUsea wir alio UnsercB Dnaeyns Krciac vollenden.
Goetho in his Ode entitled The Divine, which will be found translated on a later page.
rN* VAN DEN ENDE 8 SCHOOL.
appears to have been a man of Buperior attainments in every wny, of a bold character, and extremely liberal in all his views. He may possibly have lived without the pale of any of the narrow-minded orthodoxies of his day, and so have be- come obnoxious to the charge made against him by Colerus, of not only ontertainiug atheistical views himself, but of teaching these to his scholars. lie was a man of irreproach- able life, nevertheless, and on terms of intimac}' with the most advanced and influential politicians of his country — the De Witts and others — a connection which, joined to the evil reputation in which he stood with the bigots, had 6rst tho most disastrous influence on his fortune, and finally cost him his life. For the school getting into evil odour, had finally to be given up, and the master, quitting Amsterdam and falling back on his profession of physician, established himself in Pal-is, where he lived for several years by his practice, hardly enough, we may presume, like other exiles, but im- niolosted in his opinions, amid the crowd of the great city.
Van den Endc, exile though he was, must nevertheless have achieved for himself a certain sociid position, and ac- quired a reputation for talents among the learned of his new home; for he had become intimate with the celebrated Jansenist Arnauld, and was visited by Leibnitz, during his Bojourn in Paris ; and this would not have come to pass had the doctor not been a jierson of consideration. Leibnitz says of him that ' ho was held excellent in dialectics, and he told mc, when I paid him a visit,' he continues, ' that he would engage always to keep an audience attentive to what he had to Bay. The Jesuits began to show themselves jealous of his reput- ation (influenced doubtless by his intimacy with Arnauld, the Jansenist leader) ; but he lost himself soon afterwards, having g<>t mixed up in the conspiracy of the Chevalier de Rohan.'*
Vide Lcibnilz, Thpoilic^c, § 376. Vnn den Bndo was In all probability lit out in liis I'arisiaD retreat by cmisiarios from the i^tatue-gcncral ot
40 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
With a man of tolerant views like Van den Endo, the reputation Spinoza had acquired for free thought, and with the ban of excommunication on his head in addition, could have proved no obstacle to intercourse. The young man's moral character was unimpcachcd, and his scholarly attain- ments were suflScient. Van den Endc — if we may be allowed to eke out what we know historically of the man by the aid of imagination — must even be presumed to have foimd a friend as well as assistant in his new associate ; and he, ripo in scholarship himself, with the training of the physician, well versed in physical science, and of a generous and daring temperament, doubtless exerted a further fostering influence on the mental development of Spinoza, to the detriment, it may perchance have been, of his own social position ; for if it hap- pened that he was at this time suspected of heterodox leanings, association with an excommunicated Jew who had made no profession of Christianity, could hardly have been advantage- ous to his school.
With Dr Van den Endc, however, Spinoza did not con- tinue long. He was already possessed of a handicraft that made him independent of the drudgery of an usher's place in a school as a means of earning his bread ; and we have it
nollaiid, and induced l)y them to put himself in communication with the Clievftlier do Kolian, M. La Tniaumont, Madame do Villiers, and othcre, heads of a secret conspiracy aj^ainst the tyranny of Louis XIV., which wag to have proclaimed itself and shown front in Kormandy, and one or more of the neigiiliouring; provinces. Louis shortly Iiefore this time had burst in aggressive war upon the Low Countries, and was lying with his armies in posscs.sion both of towns and territory within their Iwundarios. The States-general, on overtures made to them by the French con- spirators, doubtl6s.s, with a view to disconcert iMiiis at home, and secure breathing time for themselves, taken at unawares and torn by internal dis- tractions as they were, lent their countenance to the purpo.<vHl revolt, and promi-ted the assistance of a fleet on the coasts, and a contingent of troops for land service. But the plot having been discoveretl, though the Duioh fleet showed itielf duly on the coast, according to agreement., there wsis no rising: La Truaumont was shot in the attempt to arrest him, Itohan was arrested and lost his head by the axe, whilst Madame Villiers, the luckless Van den Ende, and several subordiuates, were publicly hanged at Paris.
UI8 llANDlCRArr. UIS LIFE IS ATTEMPTED.
41
under his own hand at a later period that ho never felt hts vocation to be that of an instructor of youth. In Jewish schools it was not held enough that the pupils should bo filled with book lore, and turned out as merely learned youths ; the}' must either be prepared for professional life, or, when not destined for business or trade, initiated itito a handicran; in addition, by which they might live as actively useful mem- bers of the community, independently of their learning. Wo lust presume that Spinoza, one of a family not overburdened with wealth, long before he had reached the age of twenty- four was either maintaining himself, or doing something to- wards 80 necessary an end. lie had, in fact, and long ero this, acquired the art and mystery of grinding and polishing lenses for optical purposes — spectacles, reading-glasses, mi- croscopes, and telescopes — and soon acquired such proficiency in liis business that his manufactures were inquired after, and found adequate in the money returns they brought for the supply of all his modest wants.
Certain incidents, moreover, which occurred shortly after the excommunication, may have led Spinoza to feel that his life was not altogether safe in his native city, could it have been even more agreeable than we must surmise ho found it, when coming into daily contact, as he must have done, with his lato co-religionistfl, whoso scowls ho had to brook, and whose avoid- ance of approach within four cubits' length of him he could not fail to observe. A hot-blooded and probably crazy fanatic waylaid him one night on his way towarrls home (from the tlieatrc, says Bayle, from the Portuguese synagogue, snya Colcrua on the authority of Van den Spyck, which yet it could not have been, for at this time he was excommunicated) and nttempted his life. Spinoza happily perceived the gesture of the villain as ho raised his arm to st riko, 1 urned himself sharply round, and received the tbrust of the dagger though the collar of his coat instead of in iho throat, at which it was aimed, and
42 BESEincr de spinoza.
80 escaped wilh a trifling wound on the back of hia neck. He Jong preserved and showed the coat in illustration of the terrible spirit tbat can actuate superstition and fanaticism.*
THE HEADS OF TllE SYXAGOGIE .VTTEMIT TO WIN HIM BACK TO THE JEWISH KOI.I).
Nor could the chiefs of the synagogue themselves j'ct forget or overlook the lamb that had strayed from their fold. They still showed themselves eager to recover the son of Israel, once looked on as of so much promise, and made over- tures for reconciliation backed by the promise of a pension : would he but acknowledge himself in error and submit to the mildest censures of his ancient Church, the ban of excom- munication should be removed, and 1000 florins per annum guaranteed to him for the rest of his life. But they who made such proposals to Benedict Spinoza had formed no true estimate of his character. Difiicilius a vero abduci possit quam sol a cursu sue, — it had been easier to turn the sun from his course than Spinoza from truth, — says one of his editors ;t he could acknowledge no error where he knew of no crime, and money was the last thing on earth that could influence the independent spirit of the philosopher. He had his beautiful art, at once mechanical and scientific, to fall back on ; like Paul, the apostle and tent-maker, his own handiwork sufficed for the supply of his daily wants ; in the sweat of his face he could honourably earn his bread, — ^as
• The render may not object to he reminded that the patriotic Monk Taul 8arj)i of Venice, wlio so ably assisted tlie Dogo and ISenate of his native state against the encroacliments of the Pope and the Romisli hierarcliy, was attacked in precisely the same way as Spinoza. He, however, had a much narrower escape than our philosopher ; for Snrpi was assailed by a practise*! bond, a well-known bravo and slabber, hired at Itomo by hoods of the Church to do tlie deed of blood for a money price. Sarpi barely escaped with his life, and only after a long and dangerous illness in consequence of the wound he received. The assassin, perfectly well known, was never even put on his trial, much less punished for his crime, but lived protected and doubt- less pensioned by his employers.
t Gfroercr, in Pnef. ad Op. Philos. p. ix.
TirE JKWS MOVE HIS BANTSHMENT.
43
he did indeed honourably earn his bread to the end of his days, — beholden to no man for his essential support ; but in his industry making the world his debtor, inasmuch as that he gttvo was of more worth than the gold with which it was repaid.
THE HEADS OF THK SYNAGOGUE MOVE FOR HIS BANISHMENT FROM HIS NATIVE CITT.
Censure and excommunication having failed to move him, flattery with offers of a bribe been found of no more avail, and the assassin's knife glancing harmless from his body, the heads of the Jewish synagogue seem not yet to have been satisfied. Hate, of the sort they had conceived against Spinoza, indeed, is novxr 8atisfie<l. He was still at large, and among them as of yore. The dew and the rain still fell npon his head, the quickening sun shone brightly on his path, ho was still seemingly as much an object of his heavenly Father's care as he had been before the interdict, even as when ho lay an infant on his mother's lap, or moved, a thoughtless child, among others of his age at plaj'. This was g;alling enough, and felt as a reproach. Could the heads of the Jewish synagogue of Amsterdam have had their way, Spinoza would assuredly have been laid safe enough in a dungeon below the level of the sea, if worse fate, perchance, had not befallen him. But in the republican city of Amsterdam every religious denomin- ation was not mcrelj' tolerated — all were at liberty openly to worship God in the way they pleased, provided always there ■was nothing in the rites that outraged proprictj'. Spinoza therefore could not be coerced.
But the Jewish community wore not content to suffer even the peaceful and unobtrusive residence among them of one who had fallen under their supreme displeasure, and are said to have petitioned the civic authorities for his expulsion from the city. The case was now, however ; no crime or mis-
44 BENEDICT DE SPINOZ.\.
demeanour was laid to the young man's charge, and thcro was no precedent for the banishment of any one from the free city of Amsterdam for having become obnoxious to tho heads of the Jewish synagogue. To escape the dilemma ap- parently of disobliging an influential element in the city, or of perpetrating a harsh and arbitrary act, the magistrates re- ferred the case to the Synod of tho reformed church, for their advice and opinion. The decision here might have been foretold ; for when was any religious denomination found in favour of toleration, save when itself oppressed P The Synod recommended that the obnoxious individual should be ordered to withdraw from the city, for a time at least. Whether the authorities acted on this advice or no, we are not informed ; it is to be hoped that they did not ; but certain it is, whether they did or not, that Spinoza had left Amsterdam by the end of 1656, — a few months only after the excommunication, therefore, — and taken up his residence with a friend, a member of tho Christian sect known as Mennonitcs, in a house on the road from Amsterdam to Auwcrkerke.
Among other interesting documents to which Dr Van Vloten obtained access in the orphan asylum of the Mennonites of Amsterdam, he found a manuscript Life of Spinoza, em- bracing various particulars not mentioned by Colerus or any other of the biographers ; it is from this wo learn that one of the motives Spinoza had for leaving his native city, was the attempt upon his life,* and that when, in 1660, he re- moved to Rhynsburg from his first retreat, it was still in company with the same friend in whose house ho now came to reside. It is yet to be seen at the west end of the village of Rhynsburg, in the lane that runs beside the brook be- tween the carriage-way and tho footpath leading to Katw yk on the Rhine, and is distinguished by a verse of the poet • VaD Vloten, Supplcm. p. 293.
SPINOZA IN RETIREMENT.
45
Kamphuysen, cut in stone, lot into the front or gable-end of the house, to the following effect :
• Ach, wttrcn allc mcnscben wijs En wililou (liirby wcl, De Aard waar hoar ccn Farndiji, Nu IB zc roeest een Re].'
' Were all men only good and wise, And willed but to do well, Tliig earth were then n Pnmduc, As now 'tis most a Uell.'
The name of the true and tolerant friend here referred to — the sectarian Christian who could yet bear with the excom- municated Jew — has not come down to us, but the memory of the philosopher's residence on the spot is not yet forgotten among the country folks, the lane iu which the house stands being still known under the name of Spinoza-lane.*
SPINOZA IN RETREAT, AND LAYING THE FOUNDATIONS OF HIS FUTl'RE WORKS.
We now lose sight of Spinoza for several years, viz. from 1656 to 1660, at the last of which dates we find him residing at Rhynshurg, where he was visited in the course of the fol- lowing year by Henry Oldenburg. Wherever passed, and there is reason to believe that he was at intervals, though never for any great length of time, domiciled in Amsterdam nong his old friends, these years comprised an important '^riod in the life of Spinoza; for it was during this that all the works with which his name and fame are associated must cither have dawned upon him, or taken more or less perfect shape and proportion in his mind. The implements by which ho earned his daily bread were easily carried about from place to place, and occupied little room when set up and brought into play ; and wo shall certainly not err when wo say that with the hands at work in fashioning and polishing
* Spiooea Innntije— Van Vlotcn, Supplein. p. 294.
46 BENEDICT DE SFINOZA.
his lenses, the brain was not only not unoccupied, but was ever busy weaving abstractions and revolving problems in the world of thought, the proper sphere of our philosopher. No occupation indeed could have been more happUy chosen than the one he followed for leaving the mind at liberty whilst the body was engaged. We who love and reverence Spinoza have our joy in drawing a mental picture of the sage — poet, maker in one of the highest and noblest senses of the word — seated at his work, his hands plying their light and easy labour, his mind absorbed in meditation, ' the forms of things unseen,' embodied visions of the abstract and infinite, rising in peaceful succession before him, and finding fit reflection to the world without from the stainless mirror of his soul ; for the finite world, if it be all the understanding comprehends and knows, is not yet all that the soul within us divines, there is an infinite without and beyond it. If you ask me, says our philosopher, whether I have as clear an idea of God as I have of a triangle ? I answer, yes. But do I form as dis- tinct an image of Qod as I do of a triangle P I answer, no.
It is indeed mostly in the few first years after his escape from pupilage that the man begins to know himself, and pro- claims to the world more openly or more inferentially what he is or is to be. The germs of great discoveries and of noble works have very commonly presented themselves to the mental vision of the mere youth, and that this was the case with Spinoza there can be no question. In the letter of the earliest date that we have from his hand wc already see the " Ethics," the work of his life, alluded to, in the very shape too in which it has reached us ; and in the accident of his having been engaged to give lessons in philosophy to a young gen- tleman, but to whom, as still youthful and of unstable char- acter, ho was indisposed to impart his own particular views, we find occasion given him for the elaboration of the first work ho presented to the world : the Principia Philosophiao
Sn^DIES ASV FBIEMM.
47
Renati des Cartes more goomotrico dcmonstrata ; accesserunt Cogitata Metaphyaica, per Benedictum de Spinoza. 12"'°. Amst. 1663. Here it was too that in the change of name from Bnruch to its Latin equivalent Benedict he took the opportunity of proclaiming his entire separation from Judaism.
HE STILL KEEPS UP HIS INTEROOURSE WITH HIS FKIENDS IN AM- STERDAM, AKD BECOMES ATTACHED TO MLLB VAN DEN ENDE.
In his retreat between Amsterdam and Auwerkerke, work- ing hard at his handicraft and his own more special philosophi- cal studies, Spinoza did not neglect his friends in the neigh- bouring city. He still visited Van den Ende at intervals, and formed friendships with Dr Louis Mayer, a physician, Henry Oldenburg, a merchant, Drs Bresser and Schaller, physicians, Simon de Vries, a young gentleman of fortune, Walter von Tschiruhaus, a young German nobleman, and several others of hia own age and tastes, members of a society for the dis- cussion of philosophical qucstioniS and the study of the natural sciences.
By mental constitution, or as we might say, speaking physiologically, by cerebral conformation, Spinoza was a bom metaphysician and dialectician, but he had also a de- cided natural talent for the mathematics ; he was an excellent geometrician, and well versed in algebra, the value of which as an instrument of onalysis he commends in his treatise ' De Arcu in Ca-lo,* long presumed to have been burned by tlie author shortly before his death, but lately rescued from oblivion by Dr Von Vloten. He was further entirely at home in Op- tics. General physics he had certainly studied, and must have given his mind at one lime to chemistry also, as is shown by his criticism of Mr Boyle's book on Nitre, &c. "We do not obaerve that he over shows any particular taste for the study of natural history as we now understand the term. Natui-ul
48
BKNEDICT DE SPIKOZA.
historj', indeed, in Spinoza's day was still to be created ; Lin- naeus and Jussieu, Baffon and Cuvier, Cavendish, Black and Lavoisier, Werner, Uutton and William Smith, had not yet brought their revelations of nature in her outer and inner aspects and true relations to mankind. But he had looked with delight on the ' beauteous bow that spans the sky,' ' sign to the theologian,' as he has it, ' of a solemn compact between God and man ; to the naturalist, an effect of the refraction and reflection of the sun's rays by innumerable drops of rain in conformity witb the laws attached by God to things crcat«d.'* Ho had studied 'the subtle pencils of light, beautiful creations of God,' — 'subtiles iati luminis peni- cilli Dei insignes creatura?,' us Dr Van Vloten elegantly de- signates tbem, and must have often stood wrapt in con- templation of the midnight sky, inlaid with glorious stars, suns in the infinite of space, and watched
* Tboee other wauderiug fires that move In mystic dance,"
finding new assurance in all he saw of the Being, Will, and Act in One, of the Self-suflScing Cause of material things, and of the great, eternal, and harmonious forces we cull Laws, whereof God is at once the institutor and ever-present and sustjiining power.f
On his first acquaintance with Tan den Ende, and when assistant in the school- room, Spinoza, we are informed, was not
• Vide Prrpf. od Iridia compntntioncm in Van Vlotcn's Supplement, p. 258.
f Dnvid Hume, lionoured and Iwloved by his frli-ndi", culled allieist and in- ndcl liy tlio vul)^tr, had many tmita inlellectuiilly and ninrally in common with Sphioza. As he wnlkc<l lionie nnc jjlorious nii?ht in company with Adiira 8miUi, pressing hia friend's arm closer to his lireost, and (ioiutiii|j to the stars, te exclaimed, Oh, Adam, man, tell me, who maile all that I Despite of the PositivistB, we for our poor part do opine that an undcvout astronomer, and we add anatomist, if not positively mad, as said, has yet something defective in his cerebral organization, ' Are you a Theist, Itr Abcmelhy ? ' said a dis- tinguished Eoologist to the no less distinguished surgeon. ' No anatomist, Doctor, can b« an Atheist,' was the reply ; and to this into corde do we assent: laws are not of themselves ; neither are effecta witliout causes, — the most admirable effects without the must admirable causes.
MHriLi
MLLE VAN DEN ENUE.
49
there alone. The doctor had a daughter, a girl of 12 or 13 years of age, but already so far advanced in classical lore that she could lend a certain amount of aid among the younger pupils. She is even said to have been left in charge of the school during the occasional absences of the master ; and this may doubtless have been the case at a later period, though it could hardly have been so, as stated by Colerus, at this time. Spinoza and Jufvrow Van den Endc, thrown much together in the class-room, became intimates of course ; and attachment to the child ripened as lime ran on, ItiIo so much of a warmer feeling on the young man's part for the budding maiden, that he seems to have cherished hopes of one day finding himself in a position to ask her to share his fortunes and become his wife. But ' the course of true love never did run smooth ; ' Spinoza in after years was not the only suitor ; he had a rival in a certain Dietrich Kerkering, a few years older than himself and a much wealthier man. He, perceiving the attentions of Spinoza, redoubled his own, and backing these with hand* Bomc presents — a pearl necklace, with appendages of price, is particularly mentioned by Colerus us having had much to do with the final decision of tho maiden, — he carried the day Against our scholar, was accepted as favoured suitor, and in idue course mode the lady his wife. ' It is more than poetical liyjMthesis,' observes Ilerr Auerbach, in connection with tliis incident, ' to presume that this attachment to Van den Ende's daughter stirred Spinoza in tho innermost depths of his nature. He, a Jew by descent, powerfully ottractcd in youtliful love tu a Christian maiden, must needs have been forced painfully to remark the wall of separation which divereity of race, and still more of religious faith, had raised between them. Ilud he never thought of the subject of rc-ligion before, ho must have begun to reflect and to make inquiry now ; pressed between tlie tendcrest of all life's pirationa on tho ono hand, and diversity of views in matters
50 BEXEDICT DE sriXOZ.\.
of fuith on the otlicr, ho must now meet face to face tho question that could not fail to urisc in his mind, and clear himself a way through the doubts and diffitulties that beset him.' •
Spinoza, however, as we have seen, had not now to meet the momentous question here referred to for the first time. It hod long engaged his thoughts; and with what amount of mental suffering and social privation he had ncvertlicless bravely clung to the solution of the mystery to which he had arrived, we may partly conjecture, but can never wholly know. And then, as it turns out, tho opposition between bom Jew and Christian maiden would not have proved the only obstacle to his union with Mile Van den Ende, had his suit even thriven in a far greater degree than we have any reason to believe it ever did. The Jufvrow must have been ' tant soit peu bigoto ' in her special Christianity. For before consent- ing to her union with Eerkcring, she made it a point that ho should renounce the Protestantism in which lie had been bom and bred, for the Popery which was the fashion of her own religious garb. But Spinoza never could have won the maiden on such terms as these. The student of Maimonidcs and Aben-Ezra, and fur more the man of his own independent thoughts, the future author of the 'Tractatus' and tho ' Ethics,' who had broken with his family, his kindred, and co- religionists, could never have made professions that belied the deliberate conclusions of his heart and imdcrstanding.
Sinnoza's wooing, then, was at an end ; Kerkcring had apostatized, and carried off the prize ; and though tho rejected suitor may have made light of his disappointment, and even spoken of his attachment us one more of the head than of tho heart, yet natures like Spinoza's never fail to feel deeply tho smart of unrequited affection. lie is reported to have said to one of his friends, that ' he had made up his mind to ask illle * Auerbach — Lcbcn Spinoza's, S. xxxiv.
ri//
MLLE VAN DEN ENDE.
Van den Ende in marriage, not carried away by her charms as one either of the most beautiful or faultlessly formed of women, but admiring her, loving her, because she was rarely gifted with understanding, possessed of much good sense, and moreover of a pleasant and lively disposition.' He could even play with the subject of love-favour later in life, as we see in the Scholium to Proposition X. Part V. of the Ethics, where he says : ' The lover who is ill received by his mistress thinks of nothing but woman's fickleness, inconstancy, and other accredited defects ; but all such fancies vanish tho moment he is again taken into favour.'
We may however be allowed to regret that Spinoza en- countered obstacles, either now or at another time, to the accomplishment of that part of man's destiny which consists in the assumption of those duties that fall on the husband and head of a house. ' It is not good for man to live as a recluse ; and though the definition of the human being as " a social animal " has often been laughed at, men do, nevertheless, more readily obtulii tho aid they so often require, and better show front to the dangers that threaten them, when banded together than when living solitarily.' Eth. Pr. xxxv., Schol, S])inuzu, transcending most men in intellectual power and moral sentiment, was not wanting besides in any of the less elevated feelings that go to the constitution of proper humanity.
HE LEAVES RHYNSBURG FOR VOOHIU'RO, AND SETTI.I'il FINALLY AT THE lL\OVE.
Spinoza appears to have quitted RhjTisburg in 16C4 for Voorburg, within about a league of tho Hague. Here ho resided for n year or two, still pursuing his studies and meditations, but greatly interrupted latterly by the visits of his friends ■nd the calls of the curious travelling through Holland ; for he had now become a celebrity, and all the world desired to •ee and to have a word with the expounder of the Cartesian
52 BENEDICT DE SPIXOZA.
philosophy, then a subject of particular interest with all classes of the educated European public. Sjunoza, moreover, already numbered some of the most accomplished and influential men of his native country among his friends ; and his correspond- ence, both foreign and domestic, had become so extensive as to occupy a considerable share of his time. His letters, indeed, happily preserved to us in certain numbers — would that they had been more ! are most interesting, not only from the im- portance of the subjects they handle, and the explanations of his views they supply, but from the insight they give us into the amiable, kindly nature and sound common sense of the man. Nothing can exceed the pains he takes in reply- ing to the queries and difficulties propounded to him, even when it is obvious that he and his correspondents live as it were in different spheres ; nothing can be conceived more candid than the way in which he unbosoms himself on the most delicate subjects, though he knows that what ho shall say will not raise him in the favourable opinion of the party he addresses, and cannot even be communicated without detriment to him- self.* The ladies, too, are said to have been fond of engaging the gentle bachelor in a philosophical discusaion ; and in the days and country of the accomplished Anna Maria von Schurmann there were doubtless many women of talent and acquirement whose converse could not have been otherwise than agreeable to the philosopher. All this however could only be indulged in, as he himself regrets, to the serious in- terruption of his more important studies.
It is a great mistake, then, to sup{X)se that Sjnnoza was nothing more than a solitary dreamer, living to himself and taking no interest in the world around him, or in tlie events that transpired in his native country. In his retired and thoughtful life Spinoza was still no hermit, no shunncr of his fellow-men. On the contrary, he was, as we have just seen, * See letter II. to Oldenburg, towards tlie bcgiuDlng.
nZ SETTLES AT THE HAGITE.
occcssible to all from without, and thoroughly sociable m the home circle that surrounded him ; he had made a special study of politics besides, had clear and definite views on the subject, and was a republican on principle. Slave to none of the lower passions that agitate humanity, he was yet keenly alive to all the worth and beauty of existence, grateful for the boon of being he had from God, the giver of all things, and ever dis- posed to taste its sweets in harmony with his nature and within the bounds prescribed by the golden rule of ' not too much.'
When he first settled at the Hague, Spinoza boarded with the widow Van Vclden in a house on the Veerkaay, occupying the rooms in wliich Dr Colerus, his biographer, afterwards lodged. ' The chamber in which I study,' says Colerus, ' at the back of the house on the second floor, is the one in which he dwelt, and made at once his bed-room, his work-shop, and his study.' Here he often remained secluded for two or three days together without seeing any one, absorbed in his occu- pations, and causing his meals to ho brought to him. Finding, however, that the cost of living and boarding with Madam Van Velden was rather more than ho could conveniently afford, ho changed his quarters, and took a lodging with Henry Van den Spj'ck, a painter, in a house that overlooked the I'avilion Canal ; and here it was that he passed the rest of his daj-B, he himself supplying all he required in the way of sustenance.
It is perhaps even more than probable that to the accident of Colerus's occupation of the very rooms in which Spinoza bad lived, we owe all we now possess that is most interesting and reliable in the biography of the iihilosopher. Here, may Coleru.s have said, dwelt the redoubtable opponent of the theo- Jiigies and accreditetl religious notions of the world at large ; here did the book take shape that has stirred our Christen- dom to the core! Had the Tractatus Theologico-politicus act already fallen in his way, it was assuredly purchased now
64 BENEDICT DE SFINOZ.\.
and perused ; a sermon was preached and published against certain views therein contained ; • inquiries were instituted into the life and conversation of its author ; the acquaintance of Van den Spyck, the painter, and his wife was made, and the skeleton biography of the Lutheran pastor, with little reference to anything beyond what was known to himself, took form and substance, the kind folks with whom Spinoza had lived for some twelve years or more, and in whose house ho died, being his biographer's chief informants.
HIS AnSlTSMIOl'SNESS AND ECONOMICAI, lIAniTS.
Tlie bodily wants of Spinoza were even too easily supplied ' It approaches the incredible,' says Colerus, ' with how little in the shape of meat and drink he appears to have been satisfied ; and it was from no necessity that he was constrained to liro so poorly ; but ho was by nature abstemious.* From certain memoranda found after his death, he seems to have lived for a whole day on a basin of milk porridge with a little butter, costing about three half-pence, and a draught of beer, at the price of half as much, in addition. On another day he par- took of nothing but gruel flavoured with raisins and butter, costing fourpcnce. His consumption of wine never exceeded two pints a month. Once a quarter he regularly settled his accounts and paid outstanding debt«, carefully balancing his expenditure against liis income, so as ' to make both ends meet, like the snake that forms a circle with its tail in its mouth,' as he playfully said ; and having no care to leave more behind him than should sufRce to bury him decently.
* La vorilo de la Rcrarrection de .Ii'su8 Clirist, defcndu contre Spinoza et Bt's soctafeurs; ovco la Vic dc ce famcux |i1iil(Moplio, 8vo. I^a Hayc, ITOfi. ' Ici a Iji Hayt',' say« he, ' ou \e Soignetir a son Tnl)cmaclc et fait sa demcure comnic au tema d'Abraham dana la plainc de Mainre, il s'est clevo en nos jours un second Golintli, a syavoir, Benoit do Spinoza, Icquel a bicn oso do combattro I'lsracl ChreCien siir cot article de sa foi,' p. 13. The worthy pas- tor cannot resist the opportunity Sjiinoza's name alTords him of playing on the word : ' Nullus Spinozo fructus deccrpitur agro : ' and again : ' Inter Spinas sercre frustraneum est,' p. 47.
HW M.\XNEB8 AJrO CONVBRSWTIOir.
Cureless about money all through his life, Spinoza was yet libcnil according to his scanty means ; noy, he must even have hud tliewlierowilhal to show Inmsc-lf in the prominent light of a lender ; for having heard that one to whom he had lent 200 florins had become a bankrupt, liis only observation was : * Well, I must economize, and so make up the loss ; at this cost I preserve m}- equanimity.'
HIS MANXEKS, tXJNVKRSATlOX, DISINTERESTEDNESS, \ND RELIGIOUSNESS.
tSpinoza was unquestionably one of Nature's gentlemen. Henry Oldenburg, a man of rank and family, envoy from tho circle of Lower Saxony to tho Court of the Protector, secretary to the Royal Society, and moving in the highest social and scientific circles of London, alludes in one of his letters not only to the attainments but to the distinguished manners and amiable disposition — rerum eolidarum scientia conjuncta cum liuraanitatc et morum clcgantia quibus omnibus Natuni et Li- dustria araplissime te locupleldrunt — of his correspondent, which secure to him the love and esteem of all riglit-minded men. Accessible and courteous to strangers, Spinoza always showed himself communicative and lively in tlie small circlo of his home — ' his humour pleasant,' as Madame Van den Spyck informed Colcrus, ' his raillery so temi)ered and sweet, that Uio most refined and sensitive natures were alike de- lighted with his company and conversation. He was never Been cither sorely depressed or greatly elated. Was any ono afflicted or indisposed in the house, he never failed to visit and ilo all in his |)ower to console tho sufferer, encouraging him bravely to bcor tho ills of life as di»i)ensations of the providence of God. lie recommended the youthful to go regularly to their place of worship, punctually to fulfil uU their religious duties, and, occasion presenting, admonished them of tho . iioanty of dutiful and obedient behaviour to their parents. Oa
66 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
tlio return of the members of the family from divine service, ho would inquire the text from which the sermon had been preached, and always expressed a hope that the discourse had provetl etlifying.' ' ITo had a great regard for my predecessor, Dr Corder,' says Colerus, ' and never failed to speak of him as a learned and naturally good man, of exemplarj' life and conversation.' Up himself went occasionally to hear Dr Cor- der preach, and used cspcciiiUy to commend the learned way in which the Doctor explained the Holy Scriptures, and the Bonsiblo applications he made of their teaching to the practical duties of life. • Never miss the preaching of so excellent a pastor,' said he to his host and the other members of tho family.
Spinoza, philosopher and gentleman, was of course per- fectly tolerant of the opinions of others ; he had none of that arrogance which leads narrow-minded and ignorant men and women to think that all the world are in error save them- selves. Neither had ho any of that immoral spirit of pro- sclytism which is ever on the watch to make converts to its own particular views, and feels no compunctious visitings whilst breaking in on the sanctity of home confidences the nearest, the dearest, the holiest that lodge in the heart of man. Ma- dame Van den Spyck, aware that her lodger had a great reput- ation for learning, took occasion one day to consult him ujwu the form of religion she professed, inquiring anxiously whether he thought it sufficient to secure her eternal happiness. 'Your religion,' he made answer, ' is a good religion ; you have no occasion to seek after another ; neither need you doubt of your eternal welfare so as, along with your pious observances, you continue to lead a life of peace in charity with all.'
He was never exacting or troublesome to the people of the house, passing almost the whole day in his room, engaged in his handiwork, his meditations, or his writing. When wearied with these, however, he would join Van den Spyck and his
niS OCCUPATlOJfS,
ftttnil}- in the evening; smoke a pipe of tobacco with the master, and chat on ordinary and indifferent topics with tho rest.
Lodging with Van den Spyck, a painter, Spinoza acquired the art of drawing, and kept an Album in which were many sketches, and the portraits of several of his friends, as well as of himself, from his hand. One is mentioned in particular in which he had represented himself as Masaniello, the revolution- ary Neapolitan fisherman, with the nct'over his Bhoulder, &c., tho likeness, according to Van den Spj'ck, having been strik- ing. This book of the philosopher's sketches has of course been anxiously sought for, but always, unhappily, in vain.
IIo was fond of using the microscope, and drawing conclusions from what he saw in accordance with his views. Another of his amusements recorded by his biographer, which, as it is usuall}' interpreted, seems out of harmony with his nature, was tho pleasure he is said to have taken in watching the battles of spiders. ' These,' sa3's Colerus, ' afforded him so much entertainment, that he would even laugh heartily ot the spectacle.' The prisoner and the recluse have in various instances, and for fault of better company, cherished the mouse and the spider that shared their solitude. But we do not read of their ever encouraging their com- panions to strife, and very certainly none of our house spiders are combative, like the dog and domestic cock. What our gentle Spinoza looked on with so much interest was in truth tho loves, not the trnrs, of the spiders, a business very curious to behold, and certainly not unlike a combat, the approaches of the mole being made with every appearance of wile and as if bent on mischief. But he is not so : he is only intent on matrimony ; and woe betide him if he venture on his mistress at other than a pliant moment, or linger in dalliance for an instant after the brief espousals ! his life is the inevitable for- feit of imprudence or delay. The writer has oflencr than
58 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
once in a summer morning wasted half-an-hour in watching, as Spinoza did, those spiderly proceedings so commonly re- garded as battles. That our philosopher once caught and threw a hapless fly into the net of its enemy wo can believe ; for if spiders aro to live it is necessary that flies should be- come their prey ; precisely as it seems necessary in the great waters that the small fishes should bo eaten by the largo,* and that man should make beef and mutton of the ox and sheep he pastures in his fields.f
Moderation and independence were the jewels Spinoza especially prized in life. We have seen him spurn the bribe to apostasy from the truth that was in him at the very bcgin- ing of his career, and the same indifiierence to pelf dis- tinguished him to the end of his days. Ilis friends many times profiered him their purses, but he seems invariably to have declined availing himself of their liberality. Mr Simon de Yries, a young man of ample means, fond of philosophical studies and greatly attached to Spinoza, desired upon one occasion, in presence of Van den Spyck, to present him ynth a
• VUo Tr. Th. Pol. p. 270. Eng. Vers.
t Too much has been made of thia reported pastime of Spinoza, with a view- generally to put him in an unfavourable light and show him wanting in hu- manity. I iiave however explained the meaning of the presumed ' battle between two spidera,' which is amusing certainly, but not cruel ; and Spinoza could never have laughed at the struggles of the fly to free itself from its enemy the spider, as it is said he did, for the fly never does struggle to free itself from its enemy. On falling into the net indotxl it tries to get loose, but the owner of the net, whose meal depends on despatch, is down on the luckless insect, closes with it, twirls it rapidly round between its legs, and envelopes it in a silken shroud in an instant, and there is no more struggling than I)r Living- stone tells us he made when be lay on tlie ground with the lion over him. Narratives get embroidered as they are repeated. Spinoza may once upon o time have laughed over the proceedings of the male and female spider, and he may once have thrown a fly into a spider's web ; and so, as there is not mucii to tell of the habits and amusements of the philosopher, once becomes many times, and a casual incident is turned into a habit. Just as one of the foolish biographers with ba<l taste, by way of heightening his picture, and against the philosopher's own wonls, makes him negligent of his dress and person — the vile body not being worthy of fine garments. But Spinoza did not think the body vile — he looked on it as the necessary condition to the display of mind, one of the noblest works of God, and so deserving of every care, He always dressed soberly and neatly, like the burgher of his age.
BIS MODERATION.
69
purse of 2000 florins to sjicnd upon comforts and fuiicios ; but he civilly declined the offer, declaring that he had need of nothing more than he possessed, and that the owncrsliip of bo much money would assuredly divert him from his business and his studies. ' Nature,' said he, ' is satisfied with little, and if she be so, even so am I.' Subsequently, the same De Vrics, stricken with a mortal malady in the flower of his age — pulmonary consumption — and conscious that his end was at hand, wishc<l to constitute Spinoza heir to his fortune ; but the philosopher, in pointedly declining the generous proposal for himself, took occasion to remind De Vries that he had a brother in Scheidam who was his natural and rightful heir. De Vries accordingly, so honourably advised, left his wealth to his brother, with the proviso that Benedict de Spinoza should be paid an annuity of 500 florins as long as he lived. But (his, too, was more than the philosopher would accept : he desired that the amount should be reduced to 300 florins, as ' sufficient to meet all his wants.' And tliis sum he continued duly to re- ceive to the end of his life. All honour to the memory of tbo noble Simon de Vries ! nor can it be out of place to add that the Scheidam brother showed himself both a time and a grateful man ; for ho not only acquitted himself honourably of his obligation to Spinoza during his life, but on hearing of his death, sent imtuediatcly to the Hague to provide for funeral ex})cnscs and the liquidation of all outstanding debts and Iiabilitic!3 — honour and grateful remembrance to his memory also!
Indifferent to pelf, incapable of standing between another and bis rights, Spinoza still was not the man to turn his cheek to the insolent smitcr, or tamely to put up with injustice to himself. On the death of his father (who, we may surmise from hints of business distractions contained in Spinoza's letters of tlie date when it occurred, appears to have fallen into difficulties towards the end of his days), his two sisters
60 BENEDICT DE RFINOZA.
1
disputed his right to share with them in the succession, prompted to do so in all probability b}' the importance they attached to the ban of excommunication under which he lay, and which, like other charitable formula) of the sort, would have taken from him the right to breathe the common air, but which ho himself continued to endure with the most provoking indifference. To open and bigoted injustice Spinoza could not submit. lie first simply asserted his claim to share in the inheritance of his father ; but as the women held out and would not yield, he went on to establish his title by legal process. This done, his title vindicated, he immediately withdrew all claim to participate to the extent of his right, and only selected a single article of household furniture — a bed with its hangings, — which, Colerus na'ively informs us, ' was to be sure a very good one,* for his portion. Everything else he left to his sisters.
Besides the income from his handicraft and the annuity from Simon de Vrios's heir, Spinoza was in the further re- ceipt of 100 florins per annum from the Grand Pensionary Jan de Witt — a trifling sum which he could well accept without loss of self-respect, from the chief magistrate of his country. But he declined the offer made him through Colonel Stoupe of a further pension from the French king, which was to have followed on the dedication of a book to the monarch. After the lamentable death of De Witt, as the heirs of the great man showed some hesitation to continue the pajTnent, Sjiinoza forthwith returned to them the instrument under which the pension had been granted, and abandoned all claim to its con- tinuance. It is proper to add, however, that payment was resumed and continued during the rest of the philosopher's life.
ms RELIGIOUS CONSTITUTION.
The prominent feature of all in Spinoza's moral constitu- tion was religiousness. His whole nature was religious. Re-
His RELIGIOTTSNESS.
61
ligion in the sense of the relations of man to God, afiforded the chief food of his meditations ; and the idea of God, tho sense of present Deity, seems scarcely at any time to have been absent from liia mind. Wholly religious, he was never- theless anything but submissive to much that was taught in tho name of religion ; he could not consent to hide, to slur over or explain away, unreason, incongruity, and contradic- tion ; ho could not accept as truths the aibitrary explanations und fanciful interjiretutions of critics and commentators of writings put into his hands as the record of God's dealings with his creature man, and of the rites and observances lie required in return for the boon of conscious being ho hud given. Ilenco all the troubles of our philosopher ; but henco also tho halo that surrounds his name, and gives to his short appearance upon earth a deathless significance to the sons of men. Incapable themselves of distinguishing between re- ligion in the abstract and particular phases of the religious nature of man exhibited in Elohisra, Molochism, and Jehov- ism, the Tlieistic morality of Jesus, and the Chrisfology of Paul and his successors, theologians foolishly concluded that Spinoza in boldly criticizing the Hebrew Scriptures, and re- ferring man back to his own nature and the universe around him OS the grand and incorruptible revelation which God had made of himself in time, had discarded religion altogether from his soul and understanding.
But it was far otherwise. Spinoza, Jew by birth and training, was even and in truth much more of a Christian, when wc interpret the name by tho simple teaching of Jesus of Jfazareth, than any or all of his detractors. Tho \-iew8 he took and propounded two hundred years ago of the teaching of the I)ivino JIan sixteen hundred j'cars before he lived himself, arc not different from those that have since been vindicated by such men as Lessing, Herder, Paulus, Channing, Theodore Pttrkcr and others in successive generations — views that
62
BENEDICT DE SFINOZA.
already command assent from almost all the pious, mtclli- geut, and really educated minds of Europe, and that must spread and penetrate the general undorstondiiig in order that Christianity may bo brought back to its true significanco and continue the religion of the civilized world. ' It is very necessary,' said Lessing, ' to distinguish between the reli- gion of Christ and the Christian religion ; ' a view in which he has been followed by many distinguished writers of the last and especially of the present ago.*
The candid reader who has never heard the name of Spinoza coupled ^vith other terms than those of atheist and blasphemer, will doubtless be surprised to find such words as these in the writings of the calumniated man : ' God, I opine, revealed himscli' immediately by the mind of Christ to the Apostles, as he had formerly mediately made himself known to Moses by articulate sounds. The voice of Christ, therefore, even as the voice which Moses is said to have hcaid, may bo called the voice of God. And in this sense also may we say that the wisdom of God, in other words, the wisdom which is more than human, put on humanity in Christ, and that Christ consequently is the way of life to man. If therefore Moses, as is believed, spoke face to face with God, as man speaks face to face with man, by means of corporeal organs, Christ, it must be maintained, communed with God immediately in the way of mind with mind.' ' Christ,' he goes on to say in another place, ' is not a prophet in the same precise sense as are the other prophets. They only attained to a knowledge of divine things by intennodiate means and the aid of imagination, whilst Christ knew them without utterances and without imagery. Christ may be said to be tlie wisdom of God en- shrined in humanity.'!
* Vide, among olhera, Chips from a Oemuui Workshop, by Professor Max Muller.
t Tr. Thool. PoL, Eng. Vera., p. tt7.
HIS KELIOIOCfWrESS.
63
In speaking thus of tlio divine Jesus it must not bo under- stood that Spinoza really means more than would be intended by a pious modem interpreter of God's intercourse with man who declared himself in similar terms ; for in another part of the same work he says : ' As to what certain churches assort in regard to the nature of Christ I frankly confess that I do not understand them : ' and in a letter to Oldenburg, where ho touches on the same subject,* he says farther : ' As to what ia said of Ood taking on himself our human nature, I had as soon speak of the triangle taking on itself the nature of the square.' It is in the same fine cpisfle that he lays open his whole thought to his inquisitive correspondent, and observes : 'It is by no means necessarj* to salvation to know Christ accord- ing to the flesh ; for of the eternal son of God, that is, of tho eternal wisdom of God manifested in all things, in the mind of man especially, and most especially of all in Jesus Christ, I hold that very different views are to be entertained.' Spinoza's general philosophical views leave him quite free to speak of Jesus of Nazareth as a more especial manifestation of Deity ; as the one among tho sons of men, and therefore among the sons of God, possessed of the highest powers, morally and intellectually, that can be conceived in the shni>o of humanity.
HIS POLITICAL AND ECXJLESUSTICA L ^^EWS.
8pinoza, we have said, was not always absorbed in ab- stract study, or forced, by the necessity of providing for his physical wants, to sit so constantly at his lens-polishing as to leave him no leisure for thoughts of other things, lie took a lively interest in the political concerns of his country, was upon intimate terms with the Grand Pensionary Jan do Witt, with Van den Hoof, or De In Cour, as his name was
• Letter xxi.
(S4 BEKEDICT DE SPINUZA.
given in Dutch or French,* and with several other of the liberal statesmen of the period. He is even said to have been occasionally taken into the counsels of Do Witt on the best courses for upholding the liberties and advancing the status of their common country. There are in the Theologico- politicus many allusions to events that had occurred in the United Netherlands within no great space of time. John Olden- Barnevcldt is certainly particularly referred to in the 20th chapter, where the writer speaks so manfully and so feelingly of the disgrace that befalls a state when worth and talent are crushed, and a life of true nobility is ended on the scaffold, under the sanction of bad laws and arbitrary stretches of authority. ' What,' says Spinoza, ' can be more disastrous to a state than that men should be accounted enemies and condemned to death not because of any crime they have com- mitted, but merely because they are of liberal mind ? What, I say, more disgraceful to humanity than that the scaffold, which should be the terror of evil-doers only, should become a stage for the display of exalted virtue and resignation? lie who knows himself guiltless of all crime has no felon fear of death ; he condescends not to ask for grace or pardon ; for his soul is not oppressed by remorse for evil deeds, and instead of shame he feels it honour and glory to lay down his life for the good cause he has at heart ! ' t
• Van den Hoof was author of many works ; of one in particular that made a great noise in its day, entitled, Lucii Antlstii Constantis De Jura Kcclvsiasticoruni, pulilished in IGC'i, which has often been ascribed to Spinoza. Van den Uoof and Spinoza were, however, of the same political persuasion, republicans, opposed to the Orange ^faction, denounced and decried from all the Calvinistic and Popish pulpits in the Netlierlands, and with such effect as to lead at length to the murder of the De Witts by tlie mob.
f Tliere is even more in this passage than to the mere eye immediiitcly appears. No petition for pardon or a commutation of sentence had been presented to the Stadtholder either by Oldcn-Bameveldt himself or his family. Subsequently, his two sons took up arms to revenge the death of their father. One of them fell in the field ; tlic other was taken prisoner, and, as rebel to the state, was adjudged to die. On this, the mother threw herself at the feet of Maurice and interceded for the life of her son. ' IIow is this, madam,' suid Uaurice, * that you are so instant with me for the life of your son, and nuvvr
LOW-COUSTRT POLITICS.
Accusations of being implicated in plots to betray the country were indeed but too common in the Netherlands long uftor their emancipation from the Spanisli yoke. The people divided into two great political parties, ^•iolcutly opposed to each other — Republicans on the one hand, Partisans of the house of Orange on the other, — to political differences super- adding the element of religious hate, the Republicans being mostly Armiuian.", liberal and progressive, the Orangists generally Roman Catholics, monarchical and conservative. liVithout the religious element, used by ambitious men upon occasion as a means to gain their ends, Maurice of Orange could not have compassed the death of Olden-Barneveldt, a fact that will enable the reader to understand Spinoza's invective against shameful acta perpetrated under the sanction of law cloaked by religion.
In Spinoza's day Jan de Witt, his friend and patron, stood towards the house of Orange nearly in the position which Oldon-Barnevoldt had occupied about half a century before. Dti Witt, too, was at the head of the Republican party ; and it was only by his strenuous opposition that the Prince of Orange failed in his purpose of having himself elected Stadt- holder for life, the grand object of his ambition. AVhen Louis XIV. foil without warning or provocation on the Nether- lands in 1672 with a great host, the country was so much distracted by political animosity and religious strife, as to bo almost without means of defence ; and to make matters still worse, each of the opposed parties accused the other of tam- pering with the hatod French. De Witt, in particular, as leader of the Republicans, fulling under the suspicion of the Orange part}' on this account, the prison into which ho liad been thrown was attacked by an infuriated mob, and he
inovoti to wve your liusliaD<l f ' • • Ala< I' answerod the mother, widowed ly bim whom she n<)<lr«iSic<J, ' my boy in guilty, nnd 1 con sue for mercy ; my batlnnd wu innocent, taH I had uo eucb ground of apjical to your Uigbneu' demttqr.'
6
66 BENEDICT DB SFINOZA.
and his brother, being dragged into the street, were literally torn in pieces by the rabid multitude.
HE VISITS THE FRENCH HEAD-QDARTERS AND IS SUSPECTED OF UNPATRIOTIC TENDENCIES.
We have seen Spinoza an object of curiosity with his countrymen and friendly visitors to the Netherlands ; we should scarcely have surmised, however, that he could have been seen in the same light by his country's enemies ; but such was in fact the case. Among the troops in the service of France there was a regiment of Swiss, commanded by Licut.-Golonel Stoupe, a man of some mark both socially and intellectually, for he was one who^
' Did not build all his faith upon The holy text of pike and gun, Decide all oontroveray by Infallible artillery, And prore his doctrine orthodox liy apoatolio blows and knocks.'
Stoupe, on the contrary, was a man of education, interested in literary and philosophical matters, and to whom Spinoza's name and writings must have been familiarly known. He appears to have made the Prince de Cond^, Generalissimo of tho French army, acquainted with Spinoza's fume as a philosopher; and anxious, in all probability, himself to know and converse with the man, he induced the Prince to scud Spinoza an invitation to head-quarters, then established at Utrecht. Spinoza accepted the compliment, and after a while proceeded to Utrecht under cover of a French poss, lie did not, however, see the Prince de Cond^, who had been unexpectedly summoned to Paris by the king, but he was courteously received by the general of the French army de facto, the Marechal de Luxembourg, with whom, as well as with Colonel Stoupe, he had many conversations. There being no prospect of Condi's speedy return to the army,
VISITS FRENCH HEAO-QUABTERS.
07
Spinoza, after staying a week or ten days at Utrecht, took his way back to his home at the Hague. But he was encountered by no friendly welcome on his return, and at one time was like to have paid dearly for the curiosity of the Switzer and his friends ; for the populace of the Hague, aware of the visit he had paid, and understanding nothing of scien- tific and literary curiosity, could only imagine intercourse with tlie enemy as treason to the state. They therefore spoke of getting rid of another traitor and spy, as they had already got rid of the DeWitts; and must have made some threatening demonstrations against the philosopher, for his host, Van den Spyck, became greatly alarmed, and was even anxious that, his lodger should quit the house, lest it should be attacked and plundered by the mob, and his own life perchance made - the forfeit. Spinoza assured the timiil man as best ho could, and bade him fcnr nothing ; ' for,' said he, ' I can easily clear myself of all suspicion of treason. There are persons enow at the Hague who know the motive of my journey, and who will right me with my townsmen. But be this as it may, should the people show the slightest disposition to mo- lest you, should they even assemble and make a noise before your bouse, I will go down to them, though it should be to meet the fate of the De Wilts.' Spinoza's name, however, never having been connected with politics, the ill-ffeliug in the minds of the Haguers soon subsided, he himself lived on un- molested, and Van den Spyck suffered no molestation on account of his inmate.
Spinoza, we have said, was a republican on principle ; the republican form of government approaching, in his opinion, moat closely to that which nature intended should obtain in civilized communities. His views, however, were speculative and Utopian only, not practical. He did not road aright the great religious and democratic movement that took place in tho neighbouring country of England under his own eyes, against
0 •
C8 BEKEDICr DE SPINOZA.
the tyranny of the despot in the First Charles, and the ty- ranny of the priest in Laud and his associates,* preachers of the divine right of kings to govern wrong, and assertors of priestly authority derived from Christ to outrage the con- sciences of mankind.
The community, Spinoza held, should suffice in every case for its own protection ; and he therefore advocates the arming of the people for their security and defence : every citizen in a free state, he maintains, should bo trained to arms ; he is emphatic in pointing out the danger to liberty at home from standing armies,t and, by implication, the threat to the free- dom and prosperity of neighbouring states in their existence. And the far-seeing man was in the right, for the curse of Europe at the present hour is in the millions of armed men in the prime of life who live on the industry of the occuijied, and have nothing to do but practise the art of killing w^ith the best eflfect. Aggressive warfare, in other words, murder with intent to steal, is of course never so much as contemplated by our philosopher.
Spinoza is incessant in his assertion of the supremacy of the civil power in every contingency. Intrusted with the supreme authority by the community at large, the ciril power, he maintains, has the unquestionable right to command in matters of religion also. J A religious system, ho maintains, can only acquire legal existence by the decree of the ruling power in the state, and must necessarily bo settled in con- formity with and in subordination to the other institutions of the commonwealth. ' Whoever,' says he, ' denies to the state the right to arrange its religious system divides the common- wealth against itself, and this can on no account bo suffered.' In advocating a religioiis system by ordinance of the state, however, Spinoza is careful to declare that he docs so in no
• Vide Trac. Tlieol. Pol. p. S2+, Eng. Vers, t Tr, Th. Pol., p. 298. J lb., ch. xix. p. 327.
ASSERTS THE SUPREMACY OF THE CITIL POWERS.
69
Buch sense as a hierarchy would understand the subject, viz., the Bupromocy of some particular confession whose tenols should be coinpulsorily subscribed to by all and sundry, under threat of pains and penalties for non-compliance. ' Of piety/ he says, ' in itself, of the frame of mind that disposes to devo- tion, and of the means whereby the spirit is inwardly dis- posed to love and reverence God, I do not speak ; for herein is every mail his own authority ; and his right in this direc- tion is of such a nature that it cannot be given up or trans- ferred to another.' This pointed assertion of the supremacy of the civil over the ecclesiastical power in every case without exception, independently of proper theological grounds, has probably had not a liltle to do with the persistent ill-will hitherto entertained mth rare but signal exceptions by the clergy of everj' denomination of Cliristians against Spinoza. It is the condition against which Anglicanism, as it is called, is loudest in its denunciations ; but as it is precisely the con- dition the maintenance of which is seen to be most indispens- able to the religious peace and freedom of the country, it is as resolutely insisted on by the community at large as it is persistently railed against by a certain short-sighted section of the Church of England clergy. In entii-e consistency with the reatt)f his views Spinoza might very well have maintained tliat the duty of the state was to leave religion to itself, and only to secure to. every one freedom to worship God in his own way, provided always that moral propriety was not outraged, and the peace of the community not interfered ■with in the act. It ia indeed very possible to interpret the whole argument of the philosopher on this topic as leading to such a conclusion. Religion is an eternal element in the nature of man, and no more needs nor brooks state support or interference than any ibe most intimate of the relations of social life.
\/r.
7U BKNEDICr DB SPINOZA.
HE RKCEIVES A CALL TO THE CHAIU OF rHIIXWOPIlY IX THE UNIVERSITY OF HKIDELHERG.
As years rolled by, Spinoza's fame continued to extend. He was now a man of mark in the republic of letters, tho ' Principia Philosophitc Cart«sianao ' was a kind of text-book in the schools, and if every one of liberal education did not openly express approval of the Tractatus Thcologico-politicus, many did so, and all read it.
It was early in 1673 that Spinoza received an invitation through the learned J. L. Fubritius from the Prince-palatine, Charles Louis, a man of liberal mind and higher accomplish- ments than are always possessed by princes, to fill the chair of Philosophy in the Tlniversity of Heidelberg, then vacant.
Fabritius addresses Spinoza as p/iilosophus acutissimus ac celeherrimtts ; informs him that he is desired by his most ex- cellent master the prince to ask| him if he were disposed to take on himself the duties of professor of philosophy ; that if he were so inclined ho should enjoy the same annual honora- rium as the other professors in ordinary-, and have entire freedom in philosophizing, which the prince believes would not be abused to the disturbance of the established religion of the coimtrj'. Fabritius very handsomely seconds the invita- tions of the prince, adding that unless things turned out much otherwise than he anticipated, Spinoza would assuredly find himself in a position at Heidelberg becoming a philosopher.
In his answer to Fabritius, and it was not despatched in a hurry but only after mature deliberation, Spinoza shows himself obviously flattered by the compliment paid him, and even roquest* a little longer time for consideration before sending a final answer ; but the general tenor of his letter shows that he has already made up his mind not to accept the proposal, and the request for delay is but to soften the seeming ungraciousness of declining the ofibr of a prince.
HIS PEHSONAL ATPEARAKCE.
lie feels and acknowledges that his vocation is not that of a professor and instructor of youth ; and then, tlie freedom of philosophical discussion was not unconditional : the professor of philosophy was expected to use his opportunities for speculation on delicate subjects within certain limits only, which, aa susceptible of diversity of interpretation, Spinoza foresaw must inevitably lead to discussion and difference ; and anything like discord, both for his own sake and the sake of others, he was determined to avoid. Spinoza therefore courteously declined the chair, ' not knowing,' as he says in his answer to Fabritius, ' within what precise limits the liberty of philosophizing would have to be restricted.'
HIS PKRSONAI, APPEARANCE.
In Colerus's day there wore man)' persons still living at the Hague who had been well acquainted with Spinoza. They spoke of him as a man of middling height and slenderly built, llis features were regular, his forehead broad and high, Ills eyes dark, large, and lustrous, his eyebrows black and bushy, his hair of the same hue, long and curling, and bis complexion swarthy, — the whole physiognomy unmistakc- nbly proclaiming descent from the Jews of the southern Pen- insula. ITie prevailing expression of the face, judging from the engraved portraits given by Dr Paulus in his edition of the philosopher's writings, and Fr. 11. Jacobi, in his book, Ueber die Lehro des Spinoza, is that of thought overcast with me- lancholy. This is particularly the case in Dr Paulus's portrait, which is much tlie finer of the two : and though somewhat de- fective in the drawing of the left eye, yet giving, wo imagine, a true likeness of the man as he appeared in life. To this portrait we should not hesitate to append the verse which Dr Van Vloten found attached to one pasted into a copy of the philosopher's Tractatus de Deo et Ilomine, to the following effect:
72 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
' Here art prcKonts us with Spinoza'« fnco. Wherein <lee]> lines of sober thought we trace ; Yet is the mental likeness better shown To tliose who read and make his works their own.' *
In this sweet and placid countenance bigotry has nevertheless not failed to find signs of reprobation and enmity to every- thing held sacred by man ; to which Ilcgel replies : ' lie- probation if you will, but reprobation only of the weakness and wickedness of mankind.' There certainly was nothing else of reprobation in Spinoza's nature^ and even that was largely tempered with pity.
He dressed like a simple citizen, soberly and plainly, and we have his own words (against the statement of one of the more foolish of those who have commented on his life) to as- sure us that ho was oven careful of his personal appearance. ' It is not a disorderly and slovenly carriage,' he says, ' that makes us sages ; much rather is aifected indifference to per- sonal appearance an evidence of a poor spirit in which true wisdom could find no fit dwelling-place, and science only meet with disorder and disarray.'
mS LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH.
Always of delicate constitution and feeble health — and how with liis habits could ho be otherwise ? — Spinoza appears to have suffered at one time from repeated attacks of the pre- vailing distemper of his country — intermittent fever, that insidious underminer of the general health. In one of his letters to Dr Brcsser he speaks of having lately suffered from the disease, and says that he will ' be looking for a little of that same conserve of roses,' the qualities of which, as a remedy in such circumstances, the doctor would seem to have been
• Ad. B. (le Spinoza Opera Supplemcnta, ad finem :
Hier scliaduwt oiis de Konst in i>rcnt Spinoza's wezen, Kn beeldt '» man diep gepcins in 't zedig trony af ; Terwijl dc vrucht zijiis gcest, en 't gecn 't vcmuuft hem gaf, Best wordt gekcnd %'an hun die zijno schriftcn lezen.
LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH.
'73
lauding. But pectoral infirmity, a form of disease a^ fre- quent in the Netherlands as ague itself, was the besetting enemy of Spinoza. During the last years of his life he would even appear to have been positively affected with a chronic form of pulmonary consumption, which brought him" to hia end at last. From the beginning of 1674 he seems to have led the life of a confirmed invalid. Itr was then that ho first complained to one of his correspondents of not feeling well ; Btill he went on with the work of various kinds he had in hand, very much as he had hitherto done. He must also have left the Hague for Amsterdam for some short time in the course of 1G75, when he had his Ethics ready for press, and meant to have published this the grand labour of his life, had he not been prevented by the false reports set afloat as to the nature of the work, and the selfish fears of the clorgj'. With the coming in of 1G77, he did not appear to those about him more seriously indisposed than usual, and no one thought hia end so near as it proved to be, in fact. On Soturday, the 20th of Fcbruar}', he joined Van den Spyck in the evening, smoked his pipe of tobacco as usual, and had a long conversa- tion on the sermon, from hearing which the painter and his wife had just returned. Spinoza must have felt more than usually indisposed, however, for he had written on the same day to his friend, Dr Louis Meyer, of j\jnsterdam, requesting ii visit from him on the morrow. On the morning of Sunday the 21st, he was still able to leave his room, and chatted for a while with Mynheer and Madame Van den Spyck, as they were preparing for church, intending to partake of the Lord's Sup- per, liarly in the day Dr Meyer arrived, ordered, among other things, a mess of chicken-broth for his patient; and finding him, we may presume, much worse than either he himself or the people of the house imagined, remained in attendance on him tlirough the day. The sick man, nevertheless, took .some of his chicken-broth at noon, and even ate a little of
BEXEDICT DE SPIXOZA.
the moat. The Vnn den Spycka went to aft<>rnoon service, leaving Dr Meyer in charge of the house and the invalid ; but they never aavr their friend in life again : he had been seized with a sudden difiRculty of breathing soon after they went out, and passed peacefully away about three o'clock in the afternoon of Sunday, the 2l8t of February, 1G77, aged forty-four years and three months.
The fiineral took place on the 25th, the remains of the philosopher being attended to his last resting-place in the new church on the Spuy by a numerous train, among whom were to be seen many of the most respectable inhabitants of the Hague.
Dr Meyer, who, as a friend of Spinoza, has of course no place in the good opinion of Colerus, and no good word from him, returned to Amsterdam by the night boat, which Colerus insinuates he was all the more disposed to do speedily, as ho had appropriated a ducat and some silver, as well as n silver- bladed knife which he found on the table of his deceased friend. This piece of poor spite on the part of the Lutheran parson is to be regretted. Physicians do not rob their patients after their death, thougli they have sometimes been charged with picking their pockets during their lives; Meyer was a man of character and eminence in his profession, and would not have been the trusted friend of Benedict de Spinoza hud he been capable of conceiving a mean, to say nothing of perpetrating u dishonest, action.
Colerus, however, has been more just to the memory of Spinoza than to the honourable character of Dr Meyer, by giving the lie on the testimony of the Van den Spycks to the false reports that were raised by the malevolent touching the manner of the philosopher's death ; such as that he kept a preparation of opium by him to be taken when he felt his death approaching, and so ending the strife more sjieedily ; nay, that he had actually taken maudragora, and so passed
■
LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH.
75
into eternity during the sleep and unconsciousness it produced j that he had been heard to exclaim : O God, have mercy on me, a miserable sinner ! and given directions that no minister of religion should be permitted to approach him on his death- bed, and more besides of the same sort.
' I inquired carefully into the truth of these reports,' says Colerus, ' and upon several occasions asked his host and hostess, who are still living, what thoy knew of them ; but they both re- plied that they were certain all such reports were simple false- hoods. There was no one with him in his room when he died but the physician from Amsterdam already mentioned. No one in the house had ever heard the words put into his mouth ; ha had never spoken to his host or hostess about refusing any one access to him who sought it ; he had never been heard lamenting his state and invoking the name of God ; on the contrary, in all his sicknesses and particularly since hia health and strength seemed to have given way entirely, he had shown nothing but a truly stoical indifference to suffer- ing.' Colerus seems to have inspected the druggist or apothecary's account for medicines supplied to him either on his own requisition or according to the prescriptions of the Amsterdam physician, and there found mention made of tincture of saflron, balsamic tincture, &c., but not a word of any opiate, mandragora, or other poisonous thing.
Van den Spyck appears to have heard from John Rieu- wert.z, printer and bookseller of Amsterdam, immediately after the death of Spinoza. Rieuwertz mentions Mr De Vriea of Scheidam by name, and authorizes Van den Spyck to dis- charge all the funeral expenses and outstanding debts, promis- ing pavment, moreover, of whatever might be owing to Vun den Spyck himself at the time of his late lodger's demise. Tlie amount of these several items, transmitted through Rieuwertz to Mr Do Vries, was immediately returned to the bookseller, and by him handod over to the painter.
76
BBNBDICT DK SPINOZA.
Spinoza left little of this world's goods behind him. lie had hod nothing from his parents, he said, and whoever might be his heir was to look for little from him. His sister, Rebecca de Spinoza, however, did present herself as his near- est of kin, and laid claim to whatsoever he might have died possessed of. But as she refused her security for payment of the funeral expenses and outstanding liabilities— and this must have been before Van den Spyck had had any communi- cation from Ilieuwertz and Do Vries — Van den Spyck seems to have been forced to take measures to protect himself legally against her interference and rapocit}'. After looking nar- rowly into the state of affairs, and seeing that, after much trouble, there would probably be little or nothing over when all demands were paid, Rebecca de Spinoza finally declined to administer to the estate of her brother, whose household furniture, personal apparel, a few books, and a number of lenses were then brought to the hammer and sold by public auction ; the whole proceeds of the sale amounting to lour hundred florins, or about £40 sterling.
Spinoza had doubtless for some time past been conscious that his end was approaching. The only matter upon which he appears to have felt any anxiety was the safety of the papers he should leave behind him. These were all contained in a writing-desk, which he had requested Van den Spyck immediately on his death to transmit to Jan Rieuwertz of Amsterdam. Van den Spyck was true man enough to obey the injunctions of the deceased philosopher to the letter; for the very day after bis death the desk was on its way by water-express to the custody of the worthy bookseller, and safe from the clutches of Rebecca do Spinoza, whose mode of dealing with the ' Ethics,' the priceless treasure locked within it, we may readily imagine. Rebecca did not fail, when she heard of the dosiiatch of a box to Amsterdam the morn-
LAST ILLNESS AKD DEATH. 77
ing after the death of her brother, to make particular in- quiries after its contents, fancying, doubtless, that it con- tained treasures of the sort she prized; but being certified that it really enclosed nothing but written papers, letters from friends, &c., she seems, happily, to have troubled herself no more about it.
SPINOZA'S FRIENDS AND CORRESPONDENTS.
EPITOME AND CKITICISM OF THE LETTERS.
DR FRANCI8 VAN DEN EKDE.
Of Spinoza's first friend in his time of need, Dr Van den Ende, and the tragical conclusion of his life, we have already had occasion to speaL* Did any letters pass between him and our philosopher, as in all probability there did, they have not come down to us. But the shelter which the good phy- sician gave to the excommunicated man entitles him to an honourable mention of his name in this place.
From the hints we have through Leibnitz, we may pre- sume that Van den Ende in his new home, besides practising as physician, had resumed his old occupation of educator, for which he was acknowledged to have shown such aptitude in his native country. It could, indeed, only have been as an educator that he attracted the attention and aroused the jealousy of the Jesuits, who have always arrogated education OS their own pecidiar province, and have certainly pursued it, not without success, in impeding the real progress of the world. Theologians are, in truth, by training and habits of thought, the least fitted of all the lettered classes to have the duties of education intrusted to them. Their ideas of educa- tion seldom go beyond indoctrination ; with them the pupil is not to doubt and to question, but to believe and take on trust what is told him by his master. It should not be forgot- ten that the education of France before the Revolution was wholly in the hands of the clergy, and that under them king and court, nobility and gentry, had attained to such a • Vide p. 38, et seq.
VAN DEN ErOE.
79
height of iramorDlity, frivolily, wickedness, and unreason, whilst tlie mass of the people were sunk in such a slough of ignorance, po%'erty, and superstition, that nothing short of the desolating tempest which swept over the country could have sufficed to give it a chance for restoration to health.
Van den Ende, the physician, had been trained in an- other school ; one in which nothing is taken for granted, no- thing received without inquiry, on the dictate of a master ; hence his success as an educotor. Eitter experience, how- ever, had doubtless taught him caution in his new position, so that in connection with the more reticent instructor of Paris, we hear nothing of the atheism that had been wickedly charged, to his discomfiture, against the liberal and outspoken teacher of Amsterdam.*
UEKRT ULOENUCRC. — THE HON. ROBERT BOTLE. — SPINOZA 3 CHRISTOLOGT.
Oldenburg is the earliest and most interesting of all tlie correspondents of Spinoza, whose letters have reached us. It is through him especially that we seem to penetrate the very inmost thoughts of the philosopher ; and though we should certainly have inferred nothing about him but what was favourable either from his writings, from the way in which
• Tbe world has, in fact, long outgrown the nccesaity for the priest in uaj gu'iK or (liitiru>^ »« tiie educator of ttie community ; there are plenty of libenlly educated men among us conrcrB.tnt with nntural and Bocial science, Unliaropered by the dogmas of tnulitional prescription, and biltcr fitted in every way for the duties of the educator than the clerk. It would probahly be well did the people of England now cease to think it indispensable to have a gvntlcTnan with the title of ItcTCrend attached to his namens the instructor of their cliiMren, and that our magistratea began to see it possible to hare more efficient guides and regenerators of tbe erring humanity Uiat peoples our prieon<> ami rtforraatorios, and the poverty and misfortune that crowd our uiiioDS and great charitable institutions for tbe young, than the clergy who hare ao long had a monopoly of these all-important duties. The eflbrts of tbtse good, zealonn, unquestionably pioos and most respectable men to edu- cate the youthful and amend the erring, to impart the kind of knowledge and moral principle that might suffice as the rule of life, have hitherto been re- markable for nulblug but their tignal want of auocess.
80
BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
he is always addressed by his correspondents, from those ho called friends, or the overtures that were publicly made to him, without Henry Oldenburg wo should still have had no directly expressed and competent testimony to the talents, acquirements, moral character, and loveable nature of the man.
Originally engaged as a merchant at Bremen, Oldenburg camo to England as envoy to the government of the Protector from the circle of Lower Saxony. Of liberal education and acquirement, and interested in natural philosophy, he soon made many friends in London, and joined the small knot of gentlemen, the majority of them being physicians, who, according to the original programme, 'met once a week at each other's lodgings to discourse and consider of Philosophical Inquiries, Physic, Anatomy, Astronomy, Navigation, Statics, Magnetics, Chemics, and Natural Experiments ; of such sub- jects as the Circulation of the Blood, the Valves of the Veins, the Lymphatic Vessels, the Copernican Hypothesis, the nature of Comets and new Stars, the Satellites of Jupiter, the Oval of Saturn, the Spots in the Sun, &c. ; the Improvement of Telescopes, the Weight of the Air, the possibility or impossi- bility of Vacuities and Nature's horror thereof, the Descent of heavy bodies, and divers other things of the like nature.' What a world of undiscovered truth lay before these men, and how much are we in the present ago belioldcn to them for the way in which they followed up each lead as it pre- sented itself, and gatlicrod and garnered up the materials thai , falling by-and-by into their several places and rationally co- ordinated, have so essentially served as the foundations of our modern science !
Oldenburg must soon have been seen by his associates of the philosophers' club as a man of parts and apt intelligence, affable, industrious, and of insatiable curiosity — the verj' man, in a word, for the secretary's place in such an infant associa- tion as subsequently grew into ' The Royal Society of London
UENKY OLDENBUEO.
81
for the cultivation of natural knowledge.' To this most ex- cellent institution, to which the world of science owes so much, Henry Oldenburg was accordingly appointed Secretary after its incorporation by Charles the Second ; and he was really a conspicuous and most useful member, the very life and soul of the association, during the earlier years of its existence ; not only catering for the entertainment of the Fellows at their meetings, but editing and superintending the publication of tht'ir lucubrations under the title of Philosophical Transactions. Oldenburg liud, in fact, u conversational knowledge of almost every branch of Physics ; and, if not more deeply informed in mental, moral, and religious philosophy, ho was yet apparently as much interested in this as in natural, mathematical, and mechanical science.* lie was one of the most indefatigable of correspondents, keeping up through the medium of tlie Latin tongue, which he wrote fluently and well, an intercourse with almost every man of BcienliKc or literary note in Europe. Whether he were French, Dutch, German, or Italian, Oldenburg had him in his list of correspondents, and sedulous as he was himself in communicating aU that was going on among the experimental philosophers of lilngland, so was ho urgent and incessant in Becking for information in return from them — * the particulars of any now fact in cliemistry, of any experiraeut in mechanics that might be mentioned or shown at the weekly meetings of the society, an account of any new book that had lately ap- peared,' &c. &c.t
• nis letters to Xewtnn, Wnllis, ITii.vecnR, nnd others, of wliicli many bandre<ls »rv i>rMen'ed in the Itoyul .Society ami Uritisli MiiBcuin (and ninong which we bnve Beurchc-d in vain for any unpublislieii that had liccn addressed to Siiinoza, or by SpinoxR in him), show him to have been a really profound inalheinatician. The only letters of Spinoza to Oldenburg preserved In th« Archive* of the Uoyal .'v>eiety, are the two Nos. vi. and viii. as originally puMl^hi'd |py Meyer and .lellia in the Opera Posthuran, rontnining critical re- marka on one of )fr HoUu'a workii, which arc of no interest in Uie present day. What beoaroo of <JUienbiir(c« liapcrit after hia death /
f Tbera U m excellent portrait of Oldenburg in the Boonu of the Itoyal
r,
82 BENEDICT 1)E SPIXOZA.
Though it has been stated that Oldenburg was acquainted with Spinoza in Yan den Ende's Amsterdam days, we should rather imagine, from the style in which he addresses the philosopher in his first letter of August, IGCl, and the proffers of friendship he then makes, that he, like other curious and educated persons, had souglit out Spinoza in his retreat at llhynsburg, five years after his departure from Anisterdaen, and then and there made his acquaintance for the first time. Oldenburg, like all Spinoza's other correspondents, approaches him as one in advance of himself, from whom he was to receive information and guidance, not as one to whom he might pre- sume to offer either. * At Rhynsburg,' says Oldenburg in Ins first letter, ' we spoke of God, of Thought and Space Infinite, of their Attributes and the agreements and differences of these, of the union between the Soid and the Body, and of the prin- ciples of the Cartesian Philosophy.' In this sentence we have the themes that supplied matter for all the subsequent corre- spondence ; and, in connection with Oldenburg's questionings and insatiable curiosity not only to learn but to see what the philosopher is about, we become spectators, as it were, of the production and publication of his two first works, and farther learn why the ' Ethics ' was not given to the world in his life- time.
The first of Spinoza's works, the 'Principia Philosophitc Cartcsianoi more gcometrico demonstrata,' was what may be called a mere occasional production, put together in the first instance for the use of a pupil to whom, because of his }'outh, inexperience, and unsteady disposition, the philosopher was indisposed to communicate his own views. The MS. having been seen by some of his friends and admirers of Amsterdam — Dr Louis Meyer, Dr I. Bresser, Dr Schaller, Simon de Vries, Walter Von Tschimhaus, and others, all then young men, who
Society. It is thnt or a full-faced, intelligent, and Rcntlcmanly man ; willi a certain air of soK-r dignity about him that impresses the beholder favourulily.
MENRT OLDENBURG.
83
had formed themselves into a Bociety for the discussion of philosophical and literary subjects — Spinoza, during one of his visits to his native city, appears to have been seized upon by thcui, and requested to cxt«nd and publish the work. This he very amiably consented to do, provided one or other of his young friends would, under his own eye, polish the style a little, write a preface such as ho should approve, and see the work through the press. Dr Meyer gladly undertook the office of literary accoucheur and preface-writer, and the Prin- cipia PhilosophiiC Cartesian;c, with an appendix of original metaphysical thought, was produced.
Tills little work is interesting in more respects than one. ieaides being an admirable summary of the philosophical principles of Descartes, it is the first instance — would that it had been (he last ! in which tlie geometrical method is ap- plied to the study of intellectual and moral phenomena, the first in which intellectual and emotional powers, products of the mind of man, are treated as if they were ' lines, areas, sur- faces, and solids.' The change of the name of Baruch into its equivalent Benedict, wliich here occurs, and by which Spinoza meant merely to proclaim his final and entire separation from Judaism, was probably that which led the outside world to believe that he had also embraced Christianity."
The publication of the Princijjia brought Spinoza much ftune, and a great accession of friends. The work appears to have uttractefl an extraordinary degree of notice at the time, and made him so extensively known, both at home and abroad, that after his return from Amstoi-dam to his hitherto quiet home at Rhynsburg, he complains to Oldenburg of being scarcely left his own master for a day, by reason of the number of friends wlio honour him with their visits.
From Spinoza's letters to Oldenburg, and Oldenburg's
• Thr Principin Cnrtcainna proper, it U lo be noted, np|n»r witlmnt Spinom's nunt* on llic tillf-p»ge; it is only in front of the L'ogituta Mclnjiliy- •ica, Uii own work, lli«t we bare his name In rull,
6 •
84 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
urgent and repeated expostulations with him for his delay in giving a second and more important work to the public — a work which sliould be no epitome of another man's thoughts, but the mature production of his own mind, the views and conclusions of which ho should ocknowlodge as his own — we see that the Philosopher must have had others of liis works preparing or ready for publication long before they saw the light. Witness to the eager and angry strife that was waged around him, to the animosity and mutual hate en- gendered between men of merely opposite views though taking their stand upon the same common ground of belief, we may imagine that Spinoza, from his habits, would shrink from the fresh storm of theological hate which must inevitably burst upon him when, from the new position assumed, he should have, besides his old enemies and co-religionists the Jews, the whole orthodoxy of Christendom arrayed against him. The student and peaceful man would ever gladly shun such turmoil and con- tention, such interruption to pleasant and congenial pursuits. But this cannot be ; the penalty for original and independent thought has ever to be paid ; the leader has his post in the van, and his harness, when he wears any, like that of the meanest footman, has joints that may be pierced. But Spinoza, after all, may either not have recked much of clerical dislike, or may not have anticipated the effect the Tractatus would have on the theological world ; for in an extract from one of his letters to Oldenburg communicated to Mr Boyle, he is found inform- ing his correspondent that he ' is now engaged in the compos- ition of his work on the Scriptures, and is moved to the un- dertaking, 1st, in order that he may combat the prejudices of theologians, these being prime obstacles to the extension of philosophical studies; 2nd, that he may disabuse the public mind of its idea that he entertains atheistical opinions ; and, 3rd, that he may assert the common right to free inquiry and publication.
HENKT OLDENDURG.
85
It is then that Oldenburg urges him to show himself openly. ' VThy do you hesitate, what do you fear P ' asks he ; 'go forward, most excellent sir ; throw aside your dread of gi^'ing offence to the pigmies of our day ; the battle with ignorance has lasted long enough ; let true science now advance on her own course, and penetrate more deeply than she has yet done into the innermost sanctuary of nature. Your inquiries may surely be freely published in Holland — so free in the permis- sion of philo802)hical speculation, and as I do not imagine that they cah contain any matter of offence to the learned, if you have but them as friends — and I promise you most con- fidently that j'ou will have them so — wherefore fear the dis- like of the ignorant mobility ? ' In a subsequent letter he pro- ceeds: 'I entreat you, by our friendly compact, by all the rights of truth to be proclaimed and spread abroad, that you hesitate no longer to communicate your writings to the world.'
Spinoza replies, that having now made himself known to a wider circle than his more intimate and immediate friends, there may perchance be found persons of influence in the country desirous of seeing what else he had written and was ready to acknowledge as his own, and who would be power- ful enough to secure him against danger or annoyance did he come forth with these. ' With such countenance,' he pro- ceeds, ' I shall, I doubt not, publish before long ; but if I cannot have the backing I desire, I will rather keep silence than make myself enemies by obtruding my views upon the world against the wishes of ray fellow-countrymen. I beg you, therefore, my esteemed friend, to hold yourself in pa- tience a little longer, and you shall shortly either have my Treatise in print, or an epitome of the same, according to your wishes.'
Among the men of influence in the country to whom Spinoza hero alludes so guardedly, there can be little question but that Jan de Witt, Grand Pensionary of Ilolland, with
86 BEXEDICT DK SPIXOZ.*.
whom he had now become acquainted, was included. That the Tractatus was not published until the countenance and approval of the authorities of the Netherlands had been se- cured, is implied by what is said both in the preface and at the end of the work ; * and if the letters, from 57 to 60, bo from one of those persons iu authority, as wo much suspect that they arc, both from the style in which Spinoza is addressed and that in which he replies, wo must think the more highly of the liberality of the individual who was a believer in ghosts and hobgoblins, in the spirit of his age, and at the same time tho friend and protcctor«f Benedict Spinoza. Contact with tho truly great will raise even the credulous and uninformed to something of a higher and more worthy level.
Still delttjang to publish — and war intervening to in- tcrupt communicotion between England and Holland — it was not till the middle of 1675 that Oldenburg received a copy of the Tractatus ; for, in his letter of Juno that year, he speaks of having, with grateful thanks, already acknowledged its receipt, but expresses doubts of his letter having reached its destination.t
From this epistle we see that Oldenburg must have been alarmed by a first hasty perusal of the Treatise. "With time for further study, however, he acknowledges to having been precipitate in his judgment ; for he now says, ' It struck me at first, and so long as I meted with the measure supplied by theologians and the current confessional formularies, that you had been over-free in your strictures ; but since I have reviewed the subject, I see that far from attacking true re- ligion, you strive to vindicate and spread abroad that which ft the real purpose of the Christian faith. Believing, as I.
* Superest tantum expresse moncre mc nihil in eo scripgigge quod non libcntiggime examini, et judicio Summarum Potcstatum Patria; meoi sub- jiciam. Tr. Th. Pol. in Pncf. ct ad fin. Eng. Trang., p. 30 and 363.
t Vide the note appended to the letter in quegtion.
now do, that such is your intention, I earnestly entreat of you to keep your old and candid friend — wlio breathes tho most ardent vows for the success of so excellent an enterprise — informed b}' frequent letters of all you are now doing, or nre still intending to do in (his direction. Meantime I shall do my best to prepare tlie minds of good and wise men for the reception of the ' truths you will by-and-by set in a clearer light, and endeavour gradually to remove such prejudices as may be entertained against your views and conclusions. • • • Farewell, most excellent sir, and continue 1o cherish thoughts of me, who am the zealous admirer both of your doctrines and your virtues.'
This letter of Oldenburg we cannot help regarding as extremely interesting. Escaping for an instant from the ecclesiastical fetters that usually held him bound, and that soon got ri vetted on him again, ho now catches a glimpse of the real man with whom he is holding communion, and of the sole end and object he had iu uU his writings, in all his sufferings : tho enunciation of better and more rea- sonable conceptions of God's dealings with his creatures, as essential means to the attainment of nobler ideas of life and its duties, and tho progressive elevation of mankind in the scale of being.
The Ilonourablc Robert Boyle, with whom Oldenburg was on terras of the most friendly intimacy, and to whom all Spi- noza's letters appear to have been regularly communicated, shows himself, it is curious to observe, even from the first, indisposed to hold direct communication with Spinoza ; he sends him his greetings repeatedly through Oldenburg ; ho also forwards him his works as they appear, but he never writ4M. This is greatly to bo regretted, for the correspond- ence of Robert Boyle and Benedict Spinoza would have been a legacy indeed to posterity.
88
BENEDICT DE Sl'INOZA.
Boyle had of course boon informed by Oldenburg of Spinoza's attitude towards his old co-rcligionists the Jews, and the circumstances under which he had leil their com* inunion. Doubtless, too, he had been made acquainted with that first conversation which Oldenburg had hod with the philosopher at llhynsburg, in the course of which such deli- cate topics w^oro touched ; and from this, aa well as all the subsequent correspondence, he must have seen that Spinoza was no common man, and that his views of God, the world, and religion, were not those either of Jewish or Christian communities in general. Scion himself of a noble family, indoctrinated in the formularies of the Church to which with his parents he belonged, he must, as matter of course, have felt alarmed at the views of Spinoza as they were imparted to him. Sincerely pious by nature even as was Spinoza, Boyle's religion was nevertheless that of emotion and prescription mainly, not the outcome ofhis own free and unfettered thoughts, like that of our philosopher. Educated through the medium of the classical literature of Greece and Rome, and with the habits of mind induced by the training English gentlemen receive both in the homo circle and their universities, which are not favourable to originality and independence of thought, Boyle may be excused for having felt fearful of getting upon too intimate a footing with so bold a thinker, so self-suiScing a character, as all his antecedents proclaimed Spinoza to be. Turncoats and deserters of their colours are very distasteful personages in English political life, and renegades from their religion, on whatever good grounds, arc scarcely more favourably regarde<l, save by the proselytizer into whose pitfall the victim has fallen ; otherwise the language of the poet is mostly adopted when he says :
* Ralph, thou hut done n fenrful deed la falling away from thy father's creed."
Boyle may possibly have been even less disposed to hold in-
JIENRT OLDEXBrnC.
89
tercourse with the scceder from Judaism than he wouhl have been ^ritll the uncmancipated Jew, his brow phylacterj'- bound and the border of his garment enlarged to the utter- most.
Naturalist as ho was, however, accustomed to search for truth within his own pro%'ince for its own sake, and to follow up each new lead as it appeared without regard to authority or ulterior consequences, Boyle could by no means have escaped the moral influence of Spinoza brought so incess- antly to bear upon him by the curious and communicative Oldenburg.
Among the additional letters published by Dr Van VIoten in his Supplement, there is one to Spinoza from Dr Schallcr, that is extremely interesting from this point of view. Schnller has lately paid a visit to England, where he learned, through a mutual friend of his own and the philosopher, that Boyle and Oldenburg had formed some strange ideas of the character of Spinoza, and of the purpose and true meaning of his writ- ings, particularly of his Theologico- political Treatise. Of these false estimates and mistaken conceptions Dr Schaller's informant, a German nobleman. Von Tschimhaus by name, and upon terms of intimacy with both Boyle and Oldenburg, had exerted himself so successfully to disabuse them, that they came at length to speak ' in the highest terms of the philoso- pher, and greatly to commend his Work.' Minds even of a very high order require assistance to escape from grooves of habitual thought ; and it is even more than probable that by the indirect as well as more direct influence of Spinoza, Boyle was brought to look at the religious question from a point of view other than that from which he had hitherto been accustomed to regard it.
Initiated into the as yet untrodden fields of biblical criticism and exegesis by our philosopher's letters to Oldenburg and the Tractatufl ; fmdiiig little aptitude in himself to discuss,
90 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
with a view cither to abet or refute the statements therein set forth, and obtaining no help from those to whom he proposed his difficulties, it may not be going too far to surmise tliat Mr Boyle conceived that, by appealing to a wider circle than the one filled by his own immediate friends, and furnishing means to secure the freest discussion of the subject, the truths of Christianity as dogmatically established in the Church of England would be made to appear more and more clearly. We venture to add in behalf of abstract truth, loadstar of the naturalist, and as only due to the noble nature of the man himself, that ho may also have had misgivings about tho worth and validity of some things at least that were presented to him in the name of religion, and been anxious that the world should bo enlightened upon them.
Of tho true piety of Robert Boyle and his adhesion to tho Christianity of his age there can bo no question. But as naturalist he was at the same time an inquirer, a doubter, a sceptic in tho best and most legitimate sense of the word. Pious as he was, we have it under his own hand that ' ho was yet not so constituted but that tho shades of doubt did some- times cross his mind.' His writings show us further that ho made various attempts to reconcile scientific methods and established natural truths with tho received religious opinions and formulated beliefs of his day.* What if Benedict Spinoza,
• Ovcrtnkdn, in tlic course of hia travels throuRh Dauphiny, whilst yet s very younj? man, by a trvmeiidous thundersfonn, Koyle seems to have been excessively alnrmed ; ami, in face of a possible suildcn death from a flash of liKhtninp, was let! to take a survey of his past life, and then and there to de<licat6 himself to virtue and the service of relifcion. Under the influence of tho moral and religious sentiments of his nature, excited by fear, he appears at this time to have cx|)crionce(l that jwculiar emotional movement which cer- tain (liristian communities connect with a special interiKwition of the Deity and entitle Conren'um, subjective emotion being here, as usual, transferred from within to without.
IIa<l thp Natvralift been as firmly established at tliis time in tho mind of Itobcrt Boyle as subscciuonlly, he would not have been affected in the same way by the thunder and lightning, though the course of his life would not have been otlier than it was. But the idea of miraeulout inter.
HENRY OLDENBliKO.
91
the rejected of Judaism, the denounced and vilified of Christen- dom for a century and more after his death, should have been mainly influential with Robert Boyle in the foundation of those Lectures that are still annually delivered in London in vindication of the doctrines of Christianity ? the lecturer him- self for tho time being standing forth as champion of the faith, bound to answer all cavillers, and to be aidant in every cnteq)rise the object of which is the spread of religious knowledge*
Be this as it may, we feel free, without inference of any sort, to maintain that Spinoza in the far wider circle of Eu- ropean culture has not only proved the great mover in that spirit of inquiry into primary religious truth whereby the world is on its way to arrive at definite conclusions on tho question of its relations to Deity, but has furnished us with the means of meeting the difficulties wo encounter. His brave example, too, might give us courage to decide that the simple teaching of the great Prophet of Nazareth, as interpreted by our philosopher himself and by the Lessings, Pauluses, Chan-
potition Imd not yet given way even among men of science to tlinf of fixtii latr ; tliumler unci lightning were Mill porticiilnr manifestations of divine [ifiwtT, and admonitions to Uie wicked, not mere evidence of disturbance in the halancc of the clectrlcitlea through changes in tho relative tcmperntures of different strata of the atmosphere or in those of the earth and tho atmosphere at large. Vide the Life of Boyle, by Dr Birch, appended to the e<1ition of his Works in f. vols *to, Lond., and Buckle's HisL of Civilization, vol. i. p. .130. • By the terms of Mr Boyle's Will the5e Lectures were to be deliveretl in one of the London churches by a clerg)-mnn of the EKiablishuieiit, on the first Miindat/ of .Jan., Feb., March, April, Sept., Oct., Nov., and Dee. By an arrangement with the Bishop of London, tJiey are, however, now delivered in the Chajwl Koyal, Wliitehall, in the course of the afternoon service of the eight SuHifitt/t imuicdiately after Easter, llie Mondays may probably have been given up tbmugh want of auditors. Nevertheless we venture to think that in tlic new arrangement tlie testator's intentions are not fulfilled. With the reno- TBtoi interest taken in the religious question in the present day, a com|ietcnt lecturrr, duly announced and kccfiing in view tho olgect at which Mr Boyle njo«l ohvioufly aimed, would scarcely show himself without hearers ; they might not Ite many indeed, but they would Insignificant. And then to deliver the usual Sunday afternoon sermon, and call it a Boyle Lecture, looks omin- ously like taking tho fee without performing tho duty. We venture to commend this matter to the consideration of tho present trustees under the WiU of the Hon. Ilobert Boyle.
92 BENEDICT DE SPIXOZA.
nings, and Theodore Parkers, his legitimate successors, miglit now be made advantageously to supersede biblical legend and mythical tale ; Pauline, Pctrino, and Johannine gloss ; patristic and papal prescriptions of the Middle Ages ; and the dogmatic formulsc of Luther, Calvin, and other more modem reformers. The teaching itself is plain enough, and will bear no two in- terpretations : ' Master,' said the lawj-cr, ' what shall I do to in- herit eternal life ? Jesus said unto him, AVhat is written in the law ? how readest thou ? And he answering said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind ; and thy neighbour as thyself. And he said unto him, Thou bast answered right : this do, and thou shult live.' *
The teaching here is certainly plain enough, and very unlike much that is held imperative at the present day. But it is far easier to do lip-service and say the ' Quicunque ^nilt ' than to accomplish the precepts enjoined. The men, how- ever, who are content to abide by these without saying the 'Quicunque vult,* and consequently to differ in their re- ligious views from the ignorant many and the ill-informed and narrow-minded among theologians, are no longer suc- cessfully, though they be still persistently, held up to the world as atheists, infidels, and reprobates. They are begin- ning to be seen for what they are in truth, not onlyas among the most enlightened and reasonable, but as among the most truly pious and virtuous of mankind. Better, might it be said, that the mystery of God and of existence remained unsolved or were accepted as insoluble, than that the solution foisted on the world from a benighted antiquity, and outraging both the intellectual and moral sense of man, shoidd continue to be received. When Jewish converts were first made to their beliefs by the followers of Jesus of Nazareth, it was from
• Luke I. 26—28.
HBNRT OLDENBURG.
ritual olwervancc to holiness of life, from circumcision to un- circumcision, as was said, from the idea of a leader and de- liverer from oppression in persoJi and substance to a spiritual deliverer from sin and misery through faith in and true fol- lowng of a noble exemplar. There were no gospels in those days, and neither Apoatles' nor Niceno nor Atbanasian Creeds, lingering remnants of the older polytheism mingled with the metaphysical conceptions of a later age.*
Between the date of the last of the letters above rt>ferred to and the next that follows, there now occurs the long inter- Tal of ten years, during which the correspondence between Oldenburg and Spinoza was interrupted, from what cause wo do not know, unless if was the war, to which we observe allusion made as impending and likely to involve the whole of Europe, in the last letter of the year 1665. The com- munication, however, is suddenly and unexpectedly renewed in the July of 1675 by a letter from Oldenburg in reply to one he had shortly before received from Spinoza. By this we can see that others must have passed between them which unfortunately have not come down to us.
The subjects of the renewed correspondence are the same aa before ; but there is at first a singular change in the tone of the busy secretary to the Royal Society. Spinoza had by this time published his Theologico-Political Treati.se, and ap- pears to have informed his correspondent that he had his ' quiiique-partite work ' — meaning the Kthics, undoubtcdl}' — ready for the press ; and further, to have proposed sending a
* We bsve heard a clmrocterixtic anecdote of a Inte genial and liberal arclilii.ihop wliich is ^ipiifirant enuu^ib to nivrit repclitiou. On a cortiiiii olrriQ'man making ilifliculties about iiiiderUikiuB the duty in the rendinn. de»k on one of the days on which the .^thann^ian Creed is ordered to l>o read, and a»kin^ whether tlie dignitary held it imperative that the rubric should Iw adhered (o in thi6 jiarliculur, he is said to have replied, ' Well, well — ^wi- eHHijue ttilt I '
B4
BF5EDICT DB SPIXOZA.
few copies of the work to Oldenburg for distribution among his friends. But the chill that now comes over the formerly ardent Secretory is very remarkable ; from bold and en- couraging, he is at once cold and unsympathizing ; from eager to smooth the way for the reception of new truths, he is well content to leave the world alone in its old conclusions. He has still so imperfect an appreciation of the moral and re- ligious nature of the great man with whom ho corresponds, that he actually ctitrcata him ' to let nothing appear in the forthcoming work that might bo construed into disrogurJ of the religious virtues.' For the rest, he docs not decline to take a few copies of the book that is ready ; but he requests the philosopher to address thom to some Dutch merchant resident in London, who, on application made, would deliver them to him. * It is not necessarj', moreover,' he adds, ' to speak of books of the sort being sent to me.'
This, of course, is very poor-spirited and greatly to be regretted ; but Henry Oldenburg has his old Lutheran pre- judices ingrained in his nature, and could never sustain liim- sclf long at the height of the independent philosophical speculations of the man he loved and admired, yet never thorouglily understootl. Oldenburg does not even imagine the grounds of Spinoza's judgments. lie constantly assumes as absolute truth that which the clear and unfettered intellect of Spinoza apprehends as mere report by unknown persons of events which they could only have heard had happened in times gone by, and which they believed to be tnie. It is not every one who can shake himself free from the super- stitions of his day : all are not free, even of those who mock their chains ; and Oldenburg can only oppose the theological dogmas he has imbibed as a child, to the revelations fresh from the mind of the seer. The science of philosophical criticism, indeed, had but just been called into existence by Spinoza himself, and was as yet universally unknown in
HK>TIY OLDENBITRG.
91
the domain of morals and religion. The scientific mind, it is true, had been awakened bj' Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo, Newton, and others, but had scarcely as yet advanced beyond the sphere of doubt ; it had not achieved such knowledge of the eternal, changeless laws of nature as entitled it absolutely to deny the possibility of any interruption of their sway. But Spinoza had said tliat faith in tlie Divine or natural law re- quired belief in no historical narrative, in no historian ; * an axiom that liCssing was subsequently to give the world of trutli- eeekers for its own sake as their Shibboleth in the memornblo words: ' Zufiillige Geachichtswahrhciten kounon der Bcweis von nothwcndigen Vornunftswahrheiten nie werdcn — Contin- gent historical truth can never be the equivalent of rational, necessary truth.' t Accomplished scholar, virtuoso in pliysical science, Oldenburg still lucked something of that which would have enabled him fully to appreciate Spinoza. He is altern- ately attracted and repelled by the spirit he has evoked. IIo would at one time use such words as these when urging the philosopher to immediate publication : ' Why hesitate, my friend? What do you fear? Advance, assail, carry this position of so much moment, and you will see the whole pha- lanx of philosophers rally to your side,' — and tell him at another that there was no need to let the world know ho received such things as his writings ! But let us not speak unkindly of Henry Oldenburg. He was not altogether of the si all' that makes a man able
* To be the same in Iii:i own act and valour Ag ill dMirc;'
but the faulty strand in the rope of his life was not properly his own ; it was insinuated by tlic training he had received. And then, in truth, a century and more had to ellipse be-
• Conf. Tr. TbeoU Pol., Eng. Veraion, p. 94.
t Lr**ini», Dewcig lies Geistes iitiJ dcr Kraft ; repeated in anoUicr elinpe ill the Nnllmii. Vide Lets^ng's Natltan tlie Wise, by the writer, p. 100. U'uio. Ixjod. ISGH. Triibiicr & Co.
96 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
foro men dared to avow acquaintance with Benedict Spinoza or his works.
The correspondence happily restored, soon acquires some- thing of the old cordiality on the part of Oldenburg, and pre- sently becomes even more interesting than before. The receipt of a copy of the Tractatus Theologico-Politicus brings him at once on theological ground ; he has been alarmed by a first hasty perusal, but is reassured by a second ; yet he hopes that nothing in the meditated forthcoming work will be found to contravene, as if something in that he has in hand did contravene, the religious virtues. This gives our philo- sopher the opportunity first of thanking his correspondent for his friendly admonition, and then of asking categorically what the matters arc which in his opinion prejudice or might pre- judice religious virtue ; for he, for his part, believes that all that is accordant with reason is at the same time conducive to Tirtue. Oldenburg informs him that many think he con- founds God with nature ; that he detracts from the authority and value of miracles, ' solo assurances of divine revelation,' and that he does not speak clearly of Jesus Christ as the re- deemer of the world, and of his Incarnation and Propitiatory Sacrifice.
Spinoza replies that he does indeed entertain ideas of God different from the neoteric Christians, but accordant with the older views of the Hebrew prophets and of the apostle Paul, who says expressly tliat all things are in God, — living, moving, and having their being in him ; that he — Spinoza — regards God as the immanent not the extraneous cause of all, and that they who think he means to say in the Tractatus that God and nature — nature being understood as a certain material mass or more corporeal matter — are one and the same, are totally n)istaken.
' As to miracles,' he says, ' I have spoken of them at sufR- cient length in the 6th chapter of the Tractatus, where I have
IfENRT OLDENBURO,
97
sliowa that to me the assurance of a divine revelation is com- prised in the excellence of the doctrine ; the chief distinction between religion and superstition being this : that whilst tho former has wisdom for its foundation, the latter rests on i*nor- ance alone : and I believe that the reason why Christians are not distinguished from other religious persuasions by their faith, charity, and other fruits of the Holy Spirit, is because they mostly appeal to miracles, i. e. to ignorance, source of all evil, and so turn their faith, true though it be, into super- stition.
' To give you ray mind clciirly and unreservedly on your third topic, I say that to salvation it is by no means necessary to know Christ according to the flesh ; and that a very dif- ferent conception is to be formed of that eternal Son of God, that is. of the ctcmul wisdom of God which manifests itself in all things, in tho human mind especially, and most especially of all in Christ Jesus. Without this conception no one can attain to tlie state of beatitude; inasmuch as it alone informs us of what is true or false, good or evil. As to what certain Churclics add when they declare that God assumed our hu- man nature, I say advisedly that I do not know what they mean ; and, to own tho truth, they seem to mo to speak as absurdly as would he who should tell mc of tho circle assum- ing the nature of the square.'
Oldenburg is not satisfied ; he clings to tho literal and orlho<lox interpretation of the New Testament Scriptures, and to the dogmatit; formuico elicited from these and imposed by hienirchics as articles of Iwlief upon the worhl. He further charges Spinoza with subjecting actions and all things else to fatal necessity, whereby the nerve of law, religion, and virtue is divided, and merit and demerit, reward and punishment, are made (o appear as incongruities and inconsistencies.
Spinoza replies, ' I now sec what it was you desired I should not divulge. But bo assured that T do by no means
98 BENEDICT DK SPINOZA.
subject God to fate or destiny of any kind ; for I hold that it is from the nature of God that all things follow of inevit- able necessity, even as all eouccivo that it follows from his nature that God necessarily knows himself. No one denies this, yet docs no one therefore conceive that God is con- strained by fate to know himself; on the contrary, all admit that God knows himself freely yet necessarily.
' And then this inevitable necessity of things abrogates neither divine nor human law. For moral truths in them- selves, whether they have or have not the form of human law or of commandments from God, arc nevertheless divine and salutary ; and whether we receive the good w^hich follows of virtue and the divine love from God as a law-giver and judge, or as a sequence from the necessity of his divine nature, it w^ill neither be more nor less desirable ; even as the evil that comes of wicked deeds and depraved appetites is not the less to bo feared because it flows of necessity from these.
' Moreover, men are inexcusable before God for no other reason than because they are in the pow^er of God as clay in the hands of the potter, who of the same lump makes one vessel to honour, another to dishonour.' * Spinoza in this docs but advance a view analogous to the Culvinistic doctrine of predestination. The man who sins docs so, he thinks, by tlic necessity of his nature, precisely as on the Calvinistic theory some are born children of the devil and foredoomed to eternal perdition. 'The man,' says Spinoza, 'who cannot control his passions is undoubtedly excusable on the score of his infirmity of nature, but he is not the less on this account hindered of the beatific vision of God, and of necessity is lost everlastingly.' By an extension of the same idea, the incor- rigible criminal among men, though he may be pitied, is not the less to be guarded against, and every measure sanctioned by humanity taken to protect society against his misdeeds. • Ilom. ix. 21.
Miraclos und ignorance Spinoza puts on tlie sumo footing, inasmuch as they who, by miracles, seek to prove the existence of God and inculcate religion, attempt to demonstrate one obscure thing by unoihcr still more obscure, and so introduce a new style of argument, reducing matters not, as they say, to ibe impossible, but to ignorance or the luiknown.
lie observes that Christ after his crucifixion is not said to have shown himself to Pilate, to the Council, or to any unbe- liever, but to the faithful only ; that God has neitlier right hand nor left ; neither does he dwell hero rather than there,' but is in essence ubiquitous, and dot^a not manifest himself in any imaginary extra-mundano sphere. The apparitions of Christ, therefore, which arc spokoTi of in the Gospels, were not different from the one in which Abraham believed that God appeared to liim, when he saw cert^iin men at his door, and invit-ed them in to purtake of his meal. The apostles, however, as Oldenburg urges, believed that 'Christ rose from the dead and verily ascended into heaven ; ' that they did so Spinoza docs not dispute. For Abraham believed that God had sat at tabic with Jlinj, und the Israelites generally believed that God had de- ■eendetl on Mount Sinaisurrounded by fire and spoken with them immediately, to say nothing of many other similar apparitions, of which narratives adapted to vulgar c«i)acily are extant.
He concludes, therefore, that the resurrection of Christ from the dead was truly spiritual and revealed to the faithful alone, according to their capacity, viz. that Christ, endowed with eternity of being in virtue of the peculiar holiness of his life, the excellence of that ho tauglit, and the example ho set to man, may be said to have risen from the dead and to live for ever. It is in this sense that ho understands the text, ' Suffer the dead to burj' their dead ;' Christ virtually calling hU disciples from death to life in so far as they followed the pattern he set in his life and in his death.*
* Gnud u ia our phiIoaoi>Uer'B intcrprelaUon of lUli obscura text, we
100 BENEDICT OE SPINOZA.
The texts his corrcsiwndent refers to inthc Gospel accord- ing to St Johu, and in the Ei)istlc to the Hebrews, which seem opposed to what he says, ore so, he considers, only be- cause oriental forms of speech are measured by European stand- ards ; although John wrote his Gospel in Greek, he Hebraizes nevertheless ; and if the body of Christ is spoken of as the Temple of God, it was, as already said, because God mani- fested himself therein most es2)ecially; and it is this truth which the author of the fourth Gosi)cl, to bo more emphatic, expresses in the phrase, ' The "Woi-d was made flesh.' Wo venture to add that the writer of the Gosix;! according to St John, imbued ydxh Hellenistic ideas, may also have meant the phrase more literally.
Oldenburg in reply now exclaims: <v itparTfiv — well done, rem tetigisti acu ! But he is not yet assured, reiter- ates the same question in different shapes, and adds various others not before propouudcnl. But enough has been given to show the very core of Spinoza's Christolog}'. The letters themselves may therefore now be referred to. The conclud- ing paragrapli of the philosopher's last letter as given by tho editors of the Opera I'osthuma is, however, so pertinent, that at the risk of iteration it is here subjoined.
' The passion, death, and burial of Clirist I receive, as you do, literally, but his resurrection I understand allegorically. I admit, indeed, that it is narrated by the Evangelists with Buch circumstances as make it impossible to deny that they themselves believed that Christ rose from tho dead and ascended into heaven, there to sit at the right hand of God ; and, further, tliat Christ might even have been seen by
bave sometimes thou);1>t it miglit mean no more than this : that it were orten well tu let the past be the past ; or, ns the poet has it iu his fine I'sulmof Lire :
' Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant I Let the dead J'ltft Iniry itt dead ! Act, — act in the living I'resent, Heart within, and (JoU u'c-rbeaU !' — Losgfellow.
HENRY OLDENBURG.
101
others than tlie faithful, had they heon present in the places where he appeared to his disciples, — a matter, however, in which they might have been mistaken, the doctrine of tho Gospel remaining unossailed. St Paul, to whom Christ sub- sequently appeared in a vision, glories in this, that he had known Christ not according to the flesh, but according to tho Spirit.' •
Without Oldenburg's persistent, almost indelicate, curi- osity wo may say that we should not have known nearly so much of Benedict Spinoza as we do. Wo might, indeed, have surmised what he must needs have thought on these interest- ing topics, but we should not have had a statement of his views under his own hand. Oldenburg may therefore be said to have been present and aided at the birth not only of that great society for tho cultivation of Natitral as opposed to Siipvrnalnral knowledge, which began tho sap against tho gloomy fortress which Superstition had made her stronghold, ignorance to wit of tho nature and qualities of things, and of tlio changeless and harmonious laws that rule the universe ; but, further, to have forced in some sort the modest philoso- pher— true herald of its religious progress to the modern world — to present himself more distinctly before it than his unobtrusive nature would otherwise have permitted him to do. Familiar with many of the great laws of nature, inti- mately convinced of tho necessity and changclessncss of these aa ordinances of the One infinite, eternal, changeless God, Spinoza, tho Semite in heart as by descent, like all of tho stock whence he sprang, could not conceive God as especially incarnate in an individual man. To him indeed all men, aa nil things else, wore motlcs or manifestations of the Divino Essence, whereof one might have a larger measure than another, but of wliich nothing having reality was utterly devoid. ^^^liUt ho had no difficulty in admitting that Jesus • Cont 2 Cor. v. IC.
102 ItENKDKT DE SPINOZA.
of Nazareth had a larger infusion of Pcity than tlie avcrago of nion, it was therefore as impossible for him to conceive that Jesus was God as it was for him to conceive that the tri- angle should assume or present itself with the properties of the square. Though ulwuys spoken of as an oilshoot of Judaism (and in its fundamental Messianic idea it is wholly Jewish), Christianity, as presented in the synoptical Gospels, and as it meets us in the modified form it assumed at an early period of its history, and in which it spread over Europe and still continues to cxi.st, has really more in it of the Pantheon than of the Temple, more of Athens and Alexandria than of Jeru.salcm in its constitution. The writers or compilers of the Synoptical Gdsik'Is must almost as necessarily, as it seems, have been Greeks, as it appears impossible they could have been Jews. The whole spirit of the Xcw Testament is as certainly Aryan, i. e. Greek, as it is not Semitic, i. e. Jewish.* The cosmopolitan
* The liirKO infusion of (iroek, i. c. Arynn, iJi-a, and (save the lending notion of a royal deliverer of the Jewish jKsople from their oppredsors) the pcncral alisence of Senutic, i. e. .Icwish, Kpiril and principle in tlie Synoptical (iosi>els hax, of course, licen ohscrveil, and haa fiiniiKhcd ample occasion to the hnrinunisti! and e.\e(;etislM for the excrciiM! of ingenuity in accounting for it. The miraculous conception and oltscuro birth, beneficent career and violent death, full in as natiiriilly with the ideas of minds familiar with Zcug and Here, Dionysos, lleraeles, Adonis, and the rest— ty|)C8 all or newer forma of the Devns, Afrni, (■.■<clias, Vnritri, and other divinities adored by the far-off ancestors of the (ireeks from the banks of the Oxus and Indus, — as they are incompatible with the ideas of the Kloha, Moloch, or later Jehovah present in the min<l of the Jew. The very clement of humanity and rclinement so conspicuous in the New Testament would ap|H?ar to hv entirely deriveil from Hellenic sources. Slavery imleed existed anion); the Orccks, but it was truly tlic mildest of domestic institutions; among them there was no jwlygnmy, no recognized concnbinaKC no torture, no human sacriliocs. Women were objects of the highest reverence and respect ; what may l>o called |)rofeasional prostitution was unknown ; adulter)' was held in horror, ami the marriage bond was a 8ncre<l compact for life.'
How dilTerent all this from that wliicli ol>tainc<l among the Jews! There the slave was the m.Tster's ' money,' and might Iks beaten to death without many (juestions being asketi. There human sacrifice, i>ractiscd from very early times, was continued even to a late jwriod of their history. Tliero women were without consideration, toys, or mere objects of lust to the stronger Bex. Tliere polygamy — degradation of the woman, and concubinage — corrup- tion of the man, were the rule. Tlierc the marriage tie was treated so lightly
< Vido JuVLUtus Uundi by the Uight llonourublo W. E. Gladstone, pp. 393 and M9.
HKNRY OT.DENBURG.
103
Semite, Spinoza, far from the land of his forefathers, severed even in his native country from his kindred and their reh'gious beliefs, though with heart overflowing with love and reverence
llint on any or no gjounii of dislike or distaste Ihe wife received n IctUjr of divorce from her biulinnd and van ilrivoD from liis door. Tlie prie*to«Hs« of Arleniii' niid llestia, ugniii, were virgins vowed U> chastity, nitli the tireek. Hie prie«l«iKL'fi of Awhem (whose eiubleniBtio column (u^aXXbc) wasplnntol in front of llie altar of .Tcbovnh), the Ka<le8chBB, were i'roptilute« by profes- sion and in virtue of their oflice, and Uie cells in which Uivy lodged were at- tucbed to the Temple, Ac. &c.
The singularity, the anomaly of so much being exclusively Greek in the SytiO]ilicul iJospels, has not, of course, passed unnoticed by observing and classically educated men. Jesiis himself and his immediate followers were Jews, and from their social position cannot be supposed to hnvo K|M)kcn any laiipinge but that of their native country — Hebrew, or n dialect of the same. To meet the difficulty hero, a learned Ne»|K)IilAn thcolo^riuu hn« endeavoured to show that the language Jesus nse<I habi- tually was (I'rrrli} To account for the concordances and diserepancie* iiulable in the Synoptical Gospels, again, an original gos|iel in the Urhri-ir tongue ha« liecn i>0!>tiilnlcd.* From this gospel of the Niizarenes or Hebrew gosjiel, the writers who, tliirty years or more after the date of Iho incident! recorded, as.iiime<l the names of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, are pre- sunioil to have derivwl the chief poiuts of their information, each intercalat- ing liucli additional fnotK as reached hira iu the way of tradition or from Bourct's unknown to tlit' reat, and omilthig thu mention of hucIi incidints ns liad cwa|>il bin knii«loil(;o. Hut, as a learned and able writer has oIkmtvc*!, ' When Christian bidf^ruphy got among Urcek minds, tlic talc took up Greek elements as naturally as, on ground more exclusively Jewish, it filled out the lale of (he deeds and sufferings of ,Icsu8 from stores of incident found in the Uld 'I'estameuL,'
Ilic admirable talent with which Dr Straosg has exposed the mythical vein that pervades the New Testament, and shown it derived from the myths and legends of tlie Olil, is known to ever)' r<aider interested iu religious history. liul lliat the Hebrew K-riplurcs are not the only source of the matter in the Gospels of which so much by the concurring testimony of all competent autiinrily is not historical, is made every day more and more apimrent. It will be imiwrative on future writers to transcend the Greeks, and to make rtudjr of the treasures contained in the Sanskrit litemture as the original tourccs whence almost everything in Greek mylli<ilogj' has lieen derived, and a« |M>Mibly destined to shed much new light on the composition of our Chris- liaii U<iB|>el8. We are forcibly reminded of this (nissible truth liy an interest- ing pajier from the pen of ou able orientalist, M. Emilc Doumouf, which lately appeared in the pages of an influential contemporary periodical, in
' IHndsti: Pc Chri*ito Rrtew* l>-*quf-ntc. 8vo. Nt*apoU ?; rrprintcTtt in I^iitclon a few yv^nt likrlc. Tlio wnier reftr* \jn thu fMta«tblf< tiiUm-ucK or the Grvok ciloni^^ planted by
It 1..^ ... w.-^;- ...,(,. I r .1.. I rr f,.r» to the #Nc<rj< wlnrli
■iHtf in Knyland and rt~
! ' ' '»•■- "'-1 n]f>*l
! -.hr.!- ■l well
■tl.-, li. -... .,.,. '..,,.. .-I,! , I. ,.„... .;..;..;.. .~.::i.
■ W. W'dklos Uojril : t'linaluuily in tlie Uwtuoui, p. !lu, svci, l^ud. Ivii.
104 BENEDICT DB SPINOZA.
for Josus of Nazareth, could not fall in with any of the ac- croditi-d interpretations of the significance of the great moral teacher's appearance on the stage of existence and in the history of the world. Neither could he by his mental constitution receive as adequate, rational, and intuitive truth, tales embodied in narratives, discrepant in themselves, composed long after the events they recorded had occurred, utterly discordant in so
which he sugKcab that Annn Iwliefs and ixx-tical images fullowing the cocrso of Indian migration tliroiigli IVrxia liy tlic caHtvni sliorvs of tlic Mediterranean may hare found expru&sion at lengtli in the language of Ureck settlcn in the north of Palestine.
' Lc Feu,' says M. Bournouf, ' avait Ote allume ]iar Ic frottcment de deux morceaux de bois choiiti:) expW'i), ct hahillemvnt taillis, I'un en foasette, I'autro en pointc. L'lioniinc ijiii leg avait |>re|>arc Ic premier, fut un grand artiste, qui transmit eon invention i scs guccesseurs, ct qui fut nppellf, ainsi qu'eux, par excellence, le Charpeiitirr, — Tirathtri. Quand on vintireflechir que ro|>eration nccomplio par lui une prpmicrc foiit, avait engcndre le feu, it en fut jufitemcnt nomnic Ic I'itc. Dientot la llieorie, s'emparant dcs faits, degot^'a le principc igne qui vit dans le vegt'tal, et coiistatat qu'il a son ori- gino dans le soleil. Le feu do I'autel fut des lora con^u corame ayant deux |>vres, — I'un celeste ou divin, I'autro humain. Qnan<l la Thoorie Aryenne du feu fut dcvenu la thvoric du Christ, c'est il dire de I'oiiit (ankti, Sansk., unctus, lAtin), ct qu' apres avoir longtems subsistven Asie, die se transmit il'Gurope par I'oricnt de la mcditerranec, I'antique charpentier prit chcz les Semites le nom do Jousouf ou Joseph et se retrouva dans Ic pdro nourricier du fils de Marie.' Emile Bournouf, Science dcs Itcligions, Itcv. des Deux Mondes, Juillet !•", I86y.
Fire and light worship was undoubtedly one of the most widely diffused of the modes in which a Divine exiMtcncowas recognized by man when he hod attained to the status of a reflective licing ; and the most sacred of the per- sonified powers of nature to the primitive Arjon race of mankind was Agni (Ignis, Ij>t) Fire, symbol of IX-ity, not yet extinct in the world, as witness the ever-burning lamp in Itoman Catholic churelies, anil the blazing candles set in broad daylight upon their altars, the Bcal-tircs whose eml>crs may be said still to smoulder on the hills of .Scotland, and the Feu de St .lean, still to be seen in certain parts of France on the eve of St John, when the sun attains his highest northern meridian altitude.
Another of tlie most sacred and widely worshipped of the powers of nature in the earlier ages of the world emerged from savagery, was the Reproductive Principle, so extensively symbolized in the Phnllus and Joni-Lingam. Neither has all recognition and adoration of this mysterious |>owcr died out from among mankind : it still prevails as the popular religion among millions in central and north-western India, and even lingers among ourselves in the mystic ring of the marringc ceremony when treated as a religious rite.
Rut I must not pursue this subject any farther. Enough has been said to arouse reflection in minds capable of thought, and to excite research — if this were wante<l — in those with the taste that leads to and the leisure that permits the cultivation of oriental literature.
SIMON DE \TIIES,
105
many particulars with all he had imbibed as a Jew in earlier yoarn, and at variance with so many of the couclusions at which ho had arrived through hia owu independent studies. liCt us understand all tliis, and we shall have found a kej' to the Life of Spinoza and his writings, see as inevitable all that befell him, and heartily join S T. Coleridge in saying that ' never was great man so hardly and inequitably treated by posterity as he.'
SIMON UE VRIES. SPINO/A WHITES THE PRtXCIPIA
puiixjsorniJE cauiesian^.
We have already hod oonasion to mention the name of Simon do Vrios,* a young man of generous nature and su- perior talents, devoted to Spinoza personally and an ardent student of his philosophy. Spinoza, on his jjart, appears to have been no less sincerely and confidingly attached to his young friend, from whom he has nothing in secret, but every- thing at command. The original editors of the Ojiera Post- huma give but one of the letters of De \''ries to Spinoza, and a couple of Spinoza's in reply, and these even truncated in pnrt«, but all of them much inferior in interest to those that have lately been brought to light, or that have been com- pleted and published bj' Dr Van Vloten in his ' Supplcmen- tum.' These appear, nevertheless, to have been passed over by Jleycr and Jollis among other papers as of minor importance, being marked as 'van goendcr waarde,' of inferior value. De Vries' letter to Spinoza, however, and Spinoza's immedialo reply, bring us face to face with these two men who lived so long ago, and make us more intimate with the good and lovable characters of both. De Vries has long desired to find himself again beside his friend ; but various occupations and the bitter wintry weather have stood in his way. ' I often regret,' ho proceeds, ' that wo live so far apart ; how • Vide the LiTe, p. 59.
106 BENEDICT DE SPI\OZ\.
happy must that inmate of yours feel himself, living as he does under the same roof with you, and finding occasion at meals and leisure hours of discoursing with you of high and holy things.' IIo then goes on to speak of the constitution of their debating society at Amsterdam, in which the Prin- cipia PhilosophioD Cartesianaj would seem to have afforded constant subjects for discussion. — In case of difficulties or obscurities encountered, the philosopher is to bo referred to, and his guidance sought, for means to defend the truth against oil superstition. 'Hacked by yon,' he says with youthful confidence, ' we feel as if we could withstand the arguments of the whole world.' In this letter of De Vries of February, 1663, wo also find another assurance that the 'Ethics' had already taken shape and substance ; for he gives the philoso- pher thanks for his writings communicated to him by P. Balling, which he says ' have indeed afforded me much pleasure, particularly the Scholium to Proposition xix.' * "We thus sec that even the more youthful correspondents of our philo- sopher were men of tlioughtful minds, and occupied with nothing trivial or unprofitable. But how could it be other- wise with such a guide as Benedict Spinoza superadded to natural nptitudo and inclination P See how De Vries con- eludes his letter to his friend : ' I have entered the ana- tomical class and got lialf through the course ; chemistry I shall certainly begin anon, and so, with you as my adviser, go through the entire medical curriculum.' Dr Van Vloten, referring to Edmund Scherer, is emphatic in his recommend- ation of theological studies as means of enlarging the mind : ' De Godgelecrdhoid, door den wij den omvang der studicn waartoc zij aanleiding geeft, tot de vruchtbaarste uitkomstcn leiden kan.' ' Theology, in the wide circle of studies to which
• To the following effect : ' From tlie demonslriition it njJiHjars that Uio exiBtcncc of God, even as his essence, is an eternal trutli.'
fllMON HE VKTES.
it serves as introduclion, way be productive of the most, fruit- ful results ' — surely ; but we see tluit the kan winch we render y »«"y is itolicized by Vun Vloten : we should like to know how many Descartes had como out of the Jesuit school of La Fleche, how many Spinozas out of the rabbinical seminary of Amsterdam, how many Van "Vlolcns out of the theological colleges of our day. For our own part we think Spinoza's direction of his young friend to the study of the structure and functions of the animal body and of the qualities and con- stitution of things by far the more likely course to lead to satisfactory results.
Spinoza's reply to Do Vries is very interesting. lie, too, regrets his separation from his friend and their mutual friends ; but is glad to know that his writings are of any uso to them. 'Thus, you sec,' ho says, ' that though absent yet do I hold communion with you all. Nor need you envy my inmate; for there is no one who is really more distasteful to TOO, none with whom I am more on my guurtl ; so that I would have you and our other more intimate freinds advised nut to communicate my views to him until he shall have attained to somewhat riper years. He is still too much of a youth, with- out fixed principles, and eager for novelty rather than truth. 'Hicse youthful defects, however, I hope will be amended with the lapse of a few years. In so far as I may judge from his porta, indeed, I believe that this will very surely como to pass. The disposiu'ou of the youth meantime ad- monishes me to love him.'
Thero can be little question that the young gentleman here referred to, and whose character is so clearly appreciated, was no other ihun that Albert Burgh for whose use the Prin- cipia Curtesiuna was composed, and who, as if to prove tlio occuracy of our philosopher's diagnosis, subsequently suffered himself to be seduced from the Protestant Christianity of his
108 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
parents in wliich he hail been educated to the discipllno of tlie Church of Rome.* Had Spinoza familiarized liurgli with his own great conceptions, might not his intercourse with the young man perchance have had different results ?
The rest of this letter, as well as the one which follows it, though highly important as illustrating our philosopher's metapliysical views, gives us no further insight into the cha- racters or relations of either of the correspondents, and need not therefore bo referred to more fully in this place.
LOUIS MEVEK, SPIXOZA's PHYSICIAN, EDIITm OF THE OPERA
POSTIU-MA. EVIL REPUTE OF THE PHYSICIAN WITH THE
CLEUOY.
Dr Louis Meyer we note as among the earliest of Spinoza's friends, and ho certainly remained one of tho truest, as ho was the very last, for wc have seen that he closed the eyes of the philosopher in death. Meyer wrote tho preface to Spi- noza's first production, the Principia Philosophise Cartesianas, and along with his friend Jarig Jcllis that also to the Opera Posthuma. More than this, he was almost certainly the au- thor of the Latin versions of the letters as we have them, a very considerable proportion of these having been originally written in the language of the country. He is generally be- lieved, and wo imagine correctly believed, to have been tho author of the book entitled, Philosophia Sacrsc Scriptuno Intcrpres, 12 mo. Amst. 1666,t often httributed to Spinoza; and Dr Van Vloten speaks of him further as influential in the language and literature of the Netherlands, referring at the
* Vido lA?ttep I.Txiv. It is publidicd separately with an introductory notice under the title — A Ixitter expostulatory to a convert from Protestant Chridtiaiiity to Soman Catholicism. I'imo. Triibner. 1869.
t I possess a copy of tliis work appended to an 8vo edition of the Tr. Thcol. Pol. of 1671. The title is as follows : Tractatus Thcologico-PoliticuR, ciii adjunctus est Philosophia S. Scriptuno Intcrpres. Ab authors long© cmcndatior. 12mo. A. d. 1671.
LOUIS METER.
109
Bomc time lo a Word-treasury and Dramatic Poems from his pen.*
Dr Meyer, aa one of the editors of the Opera Posthuma, has seen fit to suppress all but one of the many letters which we may feel assured must have passed between him and Spi- noza. The one he lius published is the long and abstruse epistle numbered xxix., on the Infinite, and will be found partiuularly referred to by a German gentleman. Von Tttchimhaus by name, of whom wo shall have occasion to speak by-and-by.
Dr Meyer's suppression of his correspondence is to bo regretted us the result of mistaken delicacy ; but still more have we to regret that he did not think of leaving behind him some particulars of the life of Spinoza and of tlie inter- course bo had enjoyed with him. No one could have undertaken such a task so advantageously as he, no one have performed it so well. Colerus, as we have hinted, might only have entered on it from finding himself in possession of the very rooms in which Spinoza hud lived when he first reached the Hague, and published the life as a sort of corollary to tho sermon he had preached agoinst the theological views of the philosopher, and as affording an opportunity for rebutting tho assertion of Colonel Stoupe, in his book on the Religion of tho Dutch, that no one among the Reformed clergj' of the Nether- lands had been found with courage or accomplishment enough to come forward as defender of bio faith against the statements of the Tractatus Theologico-Politicus.f
• Bovcn dien op lipt pel)ied dcr Ncderlnndsclic tonl en Icttcren wcrksanni. lien hcrinnere isich lijii WoorJcnscliat en ToonecUlichlcn. — Baruch d'E*pi- noxa, r.ijn Ijini'n, Sic, p. 4M.
f CViuf. *hm iniutid on a fmhuciiucnt page underllie head of Lieut.- Colonel Stoupe. In an F,ii)(li»h version of L'olerua' Life of Spinoxa (linio, Lond. 170C) in my posscgslon. I find that of the '.>'2 pages of wliicli it consists, 10 are given to »n account of the Kcvcral forms of excommunication in use among the Jr*r» ; I(t lo a tninnblifiti of (lie form of excommunication called .Scliamma- tha from .Selden, wliicli, a« it wa« not tlie one pronounced, \s out of place; ami la to a suuimary of tlic various r^ntationi, aa the)' are etyled, of llie
110 BENEDICT DB SPINOZA.
Meyer to his acquirements as physician added those of poet, philosopher, moralist, metaphysician, bnd theologian. AVo do not see that he, like so many others of Spinoza's friends, was attached to the Mennonitc or any other Christian sect. More of a philosophic religionist and less of a pietist, ho was perhaps better suited than a member of any of these communities to be the confidential friend of Spinoza, while as author of the volume entitled rbiloso2)hia Sucnc Scriptunc Interpres, he Had a further bond of attaclimcnt to tho writer of the ' Tractatus ' in the dislike of the clergy : tlioy feared philosopiiy as interpreter of lioly writ. Colerus only refei-s (o Meyer by his initials — L. M., not giving his name at lengtli, and we can easily sec that the philusopliical physician was in no favour with the Lutheran pastor. With Chaucer he might indeed have admitted that
' As doctouro in pliysiko Id all the world ne was thur non liini like — He waa a veray i>arlite practisour ; '
but he could not hare said as the old poet says of his doctor, that ' Ilia Btadio was but litcl of the Bible ; '
for Meyer had only studied it too closely, and doubtless in too suspicious company for the theologian. Hence the dislike of the Lutheran pastor.
But tho di.slike of men of the clerical order for those of the medical profession is of much older date than the days of Colerus, though it is rather remarkable to observe the father of our English poetry possessed by tlie idea that ' Doctoures in physike ' were not religious men as measured by the com- mon standard. Tlie adage ' Inter trcs Medicos duo Athci,' was probably originated in the Church of Rome (and has not yet by any means been universally repudiated by Churches
Tractatus that had appeared ; so that we have a remainder of no more than 60 small pajres dedicated to the proper life of the philosopher. Tlic ostensible purport of the book, therefore, is to some considerable extent counterbalanced by what would seum to have been the writer's more immediate aim.
IJOVIB METER.
Ill
Styled reformed) when Science began to raise her bead, and to show how impossible it must henceforth be to inaiutuiu all the statements of Scripture and the dogmas of mediujvul thcologj' in their literal sense. The proper interpretation of the phrase, however, is this, that among three physicians two will almost certainly bo found to have opinions of their own on rcIigioiLs matters, different indeed from those of their calutuuiutors, but not always less accordant with reason and the essence of holy writ than theirs.
Tlie liberally educated physician is necessarily and under all circumstances found ia the van of every progressive movemuiit, in the forlorn hope, among the ' cnfuns perdus,' as the French have it, when an assault is to be made upon old error ami superstition, and so is he the butt of all in possession of the strong places whence these arc defended. As a distingui.shcd writer, Dr Marx of Goltingen, speaking of the physician, says : ' Son of ^Esculapius, he is also a descendant of Pha?bus Apollo, and so is it in his blood that he seeks and docs battle for the light ; a disposition, however, that ia seldom ascribed to him as a virtue, and is not unfrequeutly even laid txj his charge as a crime.' •
ileyer, then, we must presume to have been atlnclied to no sectional denomination of worsliippcrs, but to have been one who would have replied, with Frederick Schiller, when questioned on his religious belief :
' Wclche I(«litpon ich bckenne ? Kcine von alien Dir du inir ncnnitt. did wanitn keinc / Am Kuligion.'
' Vou ask me whnt neli);iun I profeiw? Well — none of all you've named. Wlint, none of all ! And wherefore f Even from Ki^ligioiujness.'
JARIO JELLia, CO-EOITOR OK OPERA POSTHUMA.
J. J., as we have the initials of his name in the Opera Posthumn, was another of the earliest friends of Spinoza, and, ♦ Mittbeilungcn ubcr Aer/te. 8vo. Gottingcn, 18C7. S. 72.
112 BENEDICT DB SPIKOZA.
along with Louis Meyer, editor of these works ; JcUis, as it is suid, having written the prcfuce in Dutch which Meyer turned into Latin. And this statement, judging from tho character of the preface, is probably correct ; for Jellis was himself an extremely pious man, and seems to have thought ho would be doing a sacred service to the memory of his de- ceased friend, by showing his views accordant in the main with the teachings of tho New Testament ; and this, however oppose<l to the dogmas of the scholastic theology and its heterogeneous oflPspring, they unquestionably arc. Jellis knew what the life of the philosopher had been, and through tho eyes of his own love and reverence saw nothing but the holy nature of his friend in his writings.
Jellis in early life was engaged in trade— had been one of the guild of peppercrs and spicers, dealers in colonial 2>roduce, then pouring from the cast and west into Holland, — grocers, as they afterwards camo to be called by us, — ^Kruideniers- winkelers, as they styled themselves in Flemish. Ho had, however, been enabled to retire early from business, severing himself from commerce and its anxieties, bidding adieu to money-making, and retiring into privacy, to occupy himself with theological and philosophical contemplation.* Jellis, as well as Peter Balling and Jan Hieuwcrtz tho bookseller, others among the truest and most trusted of Spinoza's friends, was a member of the peaceful and tolerant sect called Men- nonites — Teleo-baptists, and may have been the friend with whom Spinoza came to live in the cottage on the road- side to Auwerkerkc after leaving Amsterdam.t He was a man of excellent parts, and, though we find our philo- sopher employing the vernacular in his correspondence with him, a competent Latin scholar, and well versed in physi- cal as in metaphysical science, — a man of liberal education and acquirements, therefore, and every way worthy to have * Van VlotcD : Baruch d'Ecjiiooza, &c., p. 89. f ^'><1<> P- ^*-
I
been the friend of IJcnodict Spinoza. Besides writing the preface to the Opera Posthurna, Jellis executed and published in the course of the year in which the original appeared, a translation of the same into the Dutch language; and soon after his own death, which happened from consumption in 1683, there appeared, under the friendly care of Jan Rieu- wertx, a small pious work from his pen entitled, ' Belijdcnis des Algemeeneu en Kristelijken Gcloofs — AGuide to General and Christian Faith,' which he had put into the hands of a friend shortly before he died as a sort of literary lost will and t4.'stament.*
Jellis seems not to liavc been quite so\ind on the subject of the transmutation of metals — one of the insanities of tho age in which he lived, — for he writes to Spinoza inquiringly •bout the matter, though it could only have been in the way of curiosity and not with a view to profit ; for we have seen that he had already given up the unquestionable art of trans- ting cloves and nutmegs, cinnamon and pepper, sugar and :ea,t by simple industry and intelligence, into the precious metals. lie is, however, speedily set right by Spinoza, and after the first letter we hear no more from him on the subject. The other matters handled in the correspondence are the more congenial ones of Ideas, the existence of God, &c. But dioptrics is another of the subjects touched on, and certain Lydrostatical experiments are described, which show tho two philosophers occupied with the world of matter as well as
• VttJi V^lott'ti : Bonich d'Espinoza, &c, p. 8'.l.
t It waa »iiiic few yvan before this, if we remember rightly, that tea had been intrcxliiccd into Eiiroj)e from China by Oio Dutch Eiwt India Company. But the articJe accumulated aa a drug in their warehouses, — no one knew il« worth, or wired lo buy it as a curiosity, until tlie cunuiug trndcri! employed l>r Vodtekoe to writu a treatise on its virtue*. These were extolled to the ftkiet, am! with Uie effect of speedily emptyina the nmgOKinci. Dr Bontekoe's tnatise. irbieh I rcmerobcr to have partly |H-ru»»1 very many yean ago, was mtillcd, I tliink, Tractoat van hct voortrvfTulijIi Jvruid Tliee. The Doctor, it l» pleasant to think, wa» liumlrtomely rcivunled by the truders, who made money thrnixelveii, and inlroduoed the publio tu the article that bni now be- ooinv a oeccewu'7 of lilo,
H
BENEDICT DE SFIKOZA.
cQgagod ia tho transcendental region of mind and abstract being.
It ia to Jellia also that Spinoza writes, desiring him to in- terfere and do all be can to prevent the publication of a Dutch translation of the Tractatus Theologico-politicus, which had been spoken of, lest, being thus made accessible to the il- literate, the fears of the State authorities should lead them to order the suppression not only of the translation but of the original work as well. By this we learn that the Tractatus was never interdicted by the authorities of the Low Countries, as is often erroneously stated.
He next proceeds to criticize a book with the title Ilomo Politicus, then making some noise in the world, which one of his friends had sent him for perusal. lie found it, ho says, one of the most pernicious books that can bo conceived, worldly wealth and distinction being, according to the writer, the Bummum bonum of human existence ; and when we are informed that, as means of attaining these, all inward sense of religion may be discarded so that outward conformity be but observed ; that faith is to bo kept with others only in so far as by doing so our own interests arc served ; that it may be found needful to lie upon occasion, and to swear falsely, &c., we can fancy the disgust which the inculcation of such prin- ciples aroused in the pure mind of our philosopher. ' I was minded,' he says, ' when I had read the book, myself to indite a treatise indirectly against its author, in which I should have treated of the true happiness of man, — shown forth tho unquiet and miserable lives of those who covet weolth and distinction as the ends of existence, — and on the most obvious grounds of reason, backed by numerous instances from his- tory, exposed the insatiable nature of tho lust for money and distinction, and the dangers to the state inseparable from its over-eager indulgences.' Content with so little, Spinoza would have had the world as moderate in its desires as he was
PETER BALLINO.
115
himself; but after all, and in the pre-ordained harmony and universal fitness of things in this God- governed world, we are greatly the better for the trader and money-maker, who in enriching himself necessarily enriches and renders power- ful for good the land in which ho lives ; — and again, if love of distinction may lead to evil, the emotion out of which it springs also ministers to good : combined with benevolence and veneration it is a prime ingredient in good-breeding, makes intercourse between man and man easy and agreeable, and is indeed a necessary element in civilization.
PETER BALLING. ON OMENS AND SPECTRAL APPEARANCES ;
SPIRIT, SPIRITUALITY ; SOURCE OF THE lOEA OF GOU.
Of Peter Balling wo know little or nothing. Enough for us that he was on terms of intimacy with Benedict Spinoza, and in his affliction for the loss of his child gave the sage an opportunity of sending him tbe charming letter full of kind- ness and wisdom that has happily come down to us. Balling writes in Dutch, and Spinoza replies in the same language ; 80 that he may not have been a man of learning, and could therefore scarcely bo expected, any more than the learned, to be above the superstitious beliefs of his day. He thinks he has had an omen or warning of the approaching death of his cliild, and writes to Spinoza on the subject. But Spinoza refers him to the state of his mind, and doubtless also of big fevered body^-distempercd through watching and anxiety, — as adequate to have engendered within himself the sobs and groans he imagined he heard from without. ' Fever and other bodily derangements,' says the philosopher, ' are causes of de- lirium, and they whose blood is distempered think or dream of strife, disaster, and death. The imagination indeed is governed by the state both of the body and the mind. We have almost no perception of which imagination does not fashion an imngc or counterfeit ; and this being so, T main-
8 •
lie UZSl-li'.Ct DZ SriNuZA.
tjin thjt the sl:* •■t '■■p.;ra:: :;* of t!;;- ixajiuation which pro- cv. 1 fr..:;! < .q.-n-l iju*-;* c^r* i.cv..r bo rcjanlo-J as omens or I'fojr.'j-'.i.s if IV-. :.!•. t . i- .n:c, i:.A*rcu-.h as tl.oir caust-s in- Tul vi- 1. 1 1 .:;•.;:. Si:.. y -.-r z\^'.\iT^.- t'.i:: j." • The mini may. how- t-vt-r, iiriaziiic- tLiii;r5 as viviily a:.J nxiJly as if they were actually prisii.?, a:iJ it is in ti.is way that we may have pre- i*ontiment.<. ahhoUjfli tjWuri' aiil i .iifascil. of events abjut to hapsKH.'
How is it that man has c-ome universally to conceive what is call.tl .SriKii or Spikiti ai.ity as in or U-youl the world he iuliabits 'f spirit is detineJ as immaterial, essential, incor- purcal, and eonsv.'queiitly inaiiprv.vijble by sense — invisible and iuaurlible as intangible. Yet men in all the bygone ages of the » !..rld have believed in the existence of spirits, thought they had seen apparitions, and heard su}x.>rnatural sounds. y<) two men, however, so far as we reeo'.Wt, are ever said to have seen the same ap{)aritiun. or to have hi-ard the same faupcmal voice at the same moment, und no one has yet grasped the form he saw. The vision, therefore, comes from within, not from without ; it belongs to and is part of the individual seer ; the product of his own inner life, and pre- cisely of the same character as the strange or familiar forms and faces that visit and are seen of us amid the darkness in our dream.s. In the same way, the other senses of relation acting of themselves in virtue of inherent power, bring forth impressions that have no proper ivality : the nerves or nervous centres appnipriatcd to hearing, being spontaneously active, wo have sensations of noise or of more articulate sounds, shaped even into words and sentences witli definite meanings ; or it is w-raphic music to wliich we listen all entranced. The nerves of taste again spontaneously active, we sit at wonderful ban- quets, eat of delicious meats, &c.
But v.c conceive spirituality in a still wider sense. There is something mysterious or spiritual in the iuflucucc exerted
SPIRIT. THE SPIRrrUAL.
117
by the mind of one man over that of another, something of the some kind owned in the awe and respect experienced in the presence of one iiitrinBically great and good, or possessed of what is called a powerful will, though he perhaps is neither truly great nor truly good. There is something spiritual in that by which we know through each other's looks whether wo are pleased or angrj', whether what is said is truly meant, is spoken in irony, or is falsely uttered. The orator, the preacher, sways by an unseen or spiritual power the assembly he ad- dresses; nor have the words be utters always the greatest share in the mastery he exerts. Those set do^vn with per- fect truthfulness are often found cold and lifeless on perusal, though from the lips of the living speaker they had moved every mind to sympathy and made every heart to throb with emotion.
We have therefore no assurance of the existence of any spirit or any spiritual thing in the vulgar sense in the world around us, other than that which is the product of the ac- tivity of our own inherent natural powers. The special forms wherein the spontaneous agency of the mental facul- ties enshrine themselves, such as voices, visions, apparitions, angels, demons, &c,, are consequently objectively unreal, though subjectively they are real enough ; that is, they are realities (o the individual conscious of them, but only to him ; to others they are non-existent. But for the exi- gencies of his drama, Shakespeare would not have had Mac- beth and Banquo spectators together and at one* of the ap- parition of the Weird Sisters — embodiments of one of the superstitions of the age ; neither woiJd he have had MarccUua and Bernardo, Horatio and Ilaralet, together in presence of the Spectre of the Royal Dane. When he can, and with the intuitive knowledge that was his nature, ho shows hinusclf aware of the true, or what wo should now call the subjective, grounds of apparitions. It is when he ia alone that Macbeth
113 BrNrpuT PE sriNuzi.
•oc* and ai»L»>Jr:>plji/os tlio air-ilrawn Ja-riTPr : ami as his fancy givs on on-jtint;, luaki's hiui Hivk *i:» blade and dudgeon with gv^ut5 of blixJ whioh was not so before,* and even bids it * marshal him the way he was to pj.' The Ghost of the murdered Itanquo is s<.vn by none but the guilty King in midst of the erowdoil assembly at the 'Solemn Supper/ His fathei's Spirit is soon only, hoard only, by Hamlet in his mother's ehanilvr, ' eouie to whet the almost blunted purpose of his invsolute son. and bid hint step between his mother and her lighting soul.* To the o*er\vrought brain of Brutus alono in his tent at midnight, reviewing the past of his life, in antiei}vition of the doubtful issues of the coming day, dwelling on the terrible deed that had brought him to stake his fortunes and his life on the morrow *s battle, and stung by nvolKvtions of the last wor\ls of the falling tyrant and his fri'^nd — et tu Itrute ! the apparition of the ' bald Ca?sar ' peers forth from the gloom upon his fevered brain, and he ex- claims :
* How ill thi« la|Mr buriH! — Ha ! who comes here?
(hr iii't tho wcaknvM of mioo eyvs
Itiat «ha|w« thu nioni>trous npitarition 1
It oomcu u|»ii me I Art thou onythinK f
— .S>tuc ti«xl, some AdkcI, or some Devil
Tliat mak'nt my blood run cold, my hair to start ?
t>|ie«k to me — what art thou 1 '
Thna, too, has tho religious enthusiast in all times had visions of the things he revolved in his mind presented to his outward eyes. Paul of Tarsus, for example, eager defender hitherto of the faith in which he lived, aider and abettor in tho murder of Stephen, guard over the clothes of those en- gaged in tho cruel business, himself perchance even casting a stone, and still ready to aid in the good cause of Pharisaic Orthodoxy, is on his way to Damascus, armed with the powers of tho Inquisitor to hunt out and to crush the growing suixjr- etition. But with leisure for reflection on tho road, with no moro congenial company perhaps than his own thoughts.
SPIRIT. THB SPraiTDAI,.
the belter element in the soul of tlie intellectual and e<lucated mnn — pupil of Gamaliel and not untincturcd by tlio human- izing influences of Greek letters — wakes up within him. lie begins to reason and reflect, to question and to doubt. The last dying look of his latest ^nctim recurs to his mind in connection with the wonderfiJ tales he has hoard of the life, death, and resurrection from the dead of the Chief and Teacher of the new persuasion. Ilis heart is softened ; hesi- tation takes the place of resolute purpose ; pity, of the zeal that would slay ; and then and on a sudden the spectral image of the Crucified One himself takes objective form to his eyes, his thoughts shape themselves into the words, Saul, Saul, why pcrsecutest thou me ? and he falls self-van- quished to the ground as if shattered by a thunderbolt.
Thus does man, in tune with his mental state, for good or for evil, ' body forth the forms of things unseen, and give to airy shapes a local habitation and a name.'
Is it not from a subjecfivo, intuitive revelation of this kind, that the Idea of God arises and has even a necessary place in our minds P We have a sense of something beyond ourselves ; what, wo cannot define, but a something beyond ' this ignorant present,' wljich the uncivilized and the vulgar personify and anthropomorphize, but which the philosopher conceives and reasons out as the Self-existent, Eternal, and Infinite Cause of All. The Idea of God consequently is no effect of teaching or revelation from without, as commonly said ; but is the product of a sense we possess immediately from ihe Author of our being. Revelation indeed could only be another evidence of the existence in the mind of man of an inherent primary power whereby he rises to the conception of n Ilcvcaler, of a God in whom he lives and moves and has his being. God needed not, therefore, to reveal himself in the vulgar acceptation of the term ; for God needs not ever to supplement his work, ci)ch thing in the sphere of being it
120 BF.NEDKT DE 9PIX0ZA.
occupies suflicinj* by his fiat for its state ; and capable of apprelicnding the Idea of God — as it is im[x>ssiblc to doubt that he is, — man is also necessarily furnished with the faculty to form ii. Wero ho not so furnished he would bo without the power to apprehend the Idea were it propounded to him. But even in the lowest aspects of humanity we seo that an Existence beyond himself has ever been conceived by man. This he endeavours to bring nearer to himself by giving it a form and ascribing to it qualities. Endowing it with power transcending his own, he then seeks to render it propitious by rites and ceremonies of various significance : offerings of things useful to himself — fruits of tho earth, products of his industry ; the young of his flocks and herds reared by his care ; and, mounting in his blind devotion and to secure still greater blessings to himself, tho offspring of his body — tho son or daughter newly bom to him, and much beloved! Escaped from this terrible stage of barbarism, in which the Ilcbrew people appear to have lived for so many centuries, when all that opened the womb was Chercm and irredeemably dedicate to Jehovah,* man next sought to make himself
• The redemption clauKx in the Hebrew Scriptures hove been held to be in- terpolations of a later date ; and thestor)- of Abraham and Isaac.of which so much has been ma<le, as an episode introduced at a relatively modem epoch in tlio history of the Jewish people to show that Jehovah was verily more merciful than he hB<l been conceived by their remote forefathers. The rite of circum- cision had the same significance : a part was sacrificctl instead of the trhole, to the reproductive power of Nature, a still earlier object of worship with the Jews than Jahveh or Eloah, as of so many other barbarous tribes, under ita symbol tho Yoni-lingam.' It is no less than wonderful to observe with what persistence in foregone conclusions the Sacrc<l Books of the Jews are still perused in the present day. In spite of the obvious incongruity of the optiitire clauses after thc/«>«i7irf injunctions, — such texts as these from the writings of the later Trophets : ' I polluted them in their own gifts in that they caused to pass through the fire all that ojwneth the womb, that I might make them desolate,' &c., Ezek. xx. 25, 2C ; ' Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul X ' Micab vi. 7 ; 'Tliey built the high places of Tophet, to bum Uieir sons and their daughters in tho fire,' Jerem. vii. 31 ; and the terrible tale of Jephtltah's
■ Couf. Glulluiij.'Dio Uciischen Opfcr dcr altcn Ucbriier. 8vo. NQrub. 1812.
SPIRIT. THE SPnUTFAT..
acceptable to God by building gorgeous Temples to his scrr- iee, by singing psalms and hymns in his praise, by mak- ing sweet music, and diffusing the perfume of fraukinccnso for his gratification, and with all this abasing himself in the dust, calling himself a nu'seruble sinner, and entreating God, as if He wore an impersonation of vengeance, for com- passion. Emerging at length from childishness and super- stition, man begins to know and acknowledge God as Supremo Cause of All, to whom nothing is duo and to whom nothing can be rendered but oBEinENCE. Conscious denizen himself of this globe, he studies to discover the great eternal, changeless laws ordained by God for the government of the universe and its parts in one harmonious whole ; believes that in striving to know and in implicitly obejnng these, the primal or- dinances of Almighty power, ho docs what in him lies to ren- der himself acceptable to his Maker, and so accomplishes the end of liis existence — lives in such bodily and mental health as (he nature of his organization and surrounding circumstances allow, and closing his eyes when the term of his years has run, gratefully returns his being to God from whom it came,
ttsples ehfld, in the comparatively modrm Age of the Judge*, — n distingiiiHliott Koglieh critic of the Hebrew Seriplnroi had overlooked the fact that liunmii nacriliccs atill formed a fKirt of the JewUh riliinl in time* not long Iwfore the Chriallnn ivra, until a friend directed his nttention to the subject, and lent him (ihillunij's book to clear his vision. '^ able a writer as Harriet Mnr- tinenn, in a volume of I iterarj* essays and criticisms but just published (Mid- »umnicr, IWi',1), sficaking of Opie's picture of Jejihthah's daughter, in which Uic liigh-priesl i« represented Htandiiig l^eaide the beauliful victim duly aroie<l with B formiilable knife as instrument of the immolation, obscn'es : ' iVs if human sacrilicea were ever performed by the Jews ! ' Slisg Mnrtineau may lie well assured that Oiey were; up to a comparatively recent period in their bial/iry, loo ; and if she will but follow the train of thought which mention of the «ubject suggest*, i>he will not fail to discover the iullueuce it has hud in II later di.«pcnsution than the Jewish.
In tlie Ivoman Catholic JIass wc have indeed ample evidence of the liold which ihe idea of sacrifice still has on tlie mind of man. llierc the minister- ing priett in the linen robe of a Jewish sacrificator syml)olixe8 the sacrifice of ■ eon to a father in tlie shape of a wafer ami a little wine ; and professiu|{ to turn these by his incantations into the body and blood of an incarnate Ood, be l*ke« them into hia mouth and swallows them 1
122 BENEDICT DB SPINOZA.
^-ith such hopes of further conscious life as the whisperings of another of his intuitive faculties lead him to entertain.*
WILLIAM VAN ni.EYENBEKG. — SPINOZA THINKS HE HAS MET WITH A KINDRED SPIRIT, A IX)VER OF TRUTH FOR ITS OWN SAKE, BUT FINDS THAT HE IS MISTAKEN.
William van Bleyenbcrg introduces himself to Spinoza ; and what we know of him wo have from himself. lie was a merchant of Dort, in comfortable circumstances, and spending his leisure time in metaphysical studies, for which he ex* presses much fondness. lie was evidently a man of superior talents, though not of much learning. He writes in the ver- nacular, not Latin, the only language of the learned in those days, and is answered by Spinoza in his mother-tongue. ' lie is one,' he says, ' who, longing for pure and simple truth, strives with all hia might to gain a firm footing on the
* ilr Baring Gould sums up the modern pbilosopbical conception of Deity in tliese terms : Tliere in an Infinite God, impersonal and yet personal, immanent in Nature, and yet not of or by Nature, omnipotent omniscient, influencing the material world — t)ic world in bim, be in tlie world.
God can be seen in hia creatures, for he communicates himself to man tbrouKb Mature. He is in the works of creation by his essence, which is that by which they have their being. He is in them by his power, as cause of their notions. Tims it is God who enlightens through the medium of the sun, and worms through the lire, and nourishes through bread. God is present in every force in Nature — in heat, electricity, attraction, gravita- tion. Not tliat heat, electricity, ice, are God, but that they are effects of God's action on the bodies he has given us and the things around us. Thus all creatures arc >Sacrament«, or outward and visible signs of the invisible being of God veiled under them. 'Whatdo I see in Nature? ' wrote Fenelon, ' God — God everywhere, God alone."
Instead of attempting to define God, however (all determination in Spinoz- ism implying negation), we perhaps comport ourselves more reverently when we speak of The Supreme in the abstract, as the Ineffable aad Incomprehensible Being, and in acknowledging ourselves and the world in a way inscrutable to us as the work of bis power, declaring it the business of our lives to study and to obey his decrees. * lleason,* says Hobbes, ' dictates one name alone which doth signify the Nature of God, that is the ExisTEKT, or we say simply that He is, and one in relation to us, namely God, under which is contained both King and Lord and Father.'
' The Origin and Development of Religious Belief, Pt. L 8vo. Lend. 1809, p. 291.
WILLIAM VAN BLKTENnKRO.
123
grounds of science, and would make this the stepping-stone neither to distinction nor to wealth, but by its means attain to that peace of mind whidi truili alone can give.' This was certainly approaching our philosopher on his most access- ible side, and he in his reply to his unknown friend (Amice lote !) shows himself pleased with the idea of entering on a correspondence with one who speaks of himself as a lover of truth for its own sake. ' I esteem nothing more highly,' he says, ' than to have friendly relations with lovers of truth. The love of truth for its own sake is indeed the sweetest and highest of all things not under our own control, for nothing but love of trvith has power to knit in bonds of harmony di- versity of view and disposition.*' lie then proceeds at great length and with much minuteness to answer all his corre- spondent's queries, and to give him an insight into his own large and liberal interpretation of the Scriptures, explaining to him how it comes that the prophets have often made God to speak after the manner of a man, describing Him as a King and Lawgiver, setting down as laws certain means which aro nothing but causes, and declaring salvation and perdition, which aro but effects flowing from these means, as rewards and punishments. ' Such language,' he adds, ' is adapted to the many ; and need not, therefore, be objected to by philo- sophers and those who are above the law or aro a law to tliem- selves ; who, in other words, follow virtue for its own sake, and not because it is prescribed, but from love and persuasion of its intrinsic excellence.'
Bleyenberg, good and amiable as he must have been, in his answer to the pliilosopher's beautiful epistle shows him- self staggered at first by the flood of light that has been poured upon him : ho was disposed on a first hasty perusal of the letter to reply at once and take exception to many things, but the oflencr he reads it over the less does he seem to find for objection. lie proceeds, however, to communicate the
124 BENEDICT DE SPIN0Z.1.
rules he proscribes to himself in philosophizing, and so, but all unconsciously as it seems, belies CTcrrthing he has said of his disposition to pursue truth for its own sake and irre- spective of consequences. The first rule he prescribes to himself is, To have clear and definite intellectual conceptions ; tho second, To keep the revealed word or will of God in view. With the first he advances as a lover of truth ; with the two, as a Christian philosopher ; ' and if,' he proceeds, ' I find my natural imderstanding cither opposed to the Scriptures or little in accordance with them, such is their authority with me that I rather abandon tho ideas I have formed — clearly and distinctly as I imagined — than presume to set them up in opposition to the truths I find prescribed to me in Tho Book.' In consonance with his first rule, therefore, he ad- mits that ho finds many things in his correspondent's letter which he must concede ; ' but my second rule,' he adds, ' com- pels me to difier from you entirely.'
Spinoza's eyes arc forthwith opened to the mental state of tho man who has been addressing him, and whom he in turn had addressed, believing him, on his word, to bo a lover of truth for its own sake, bound by the fetters of no prescription, and swayed in his reasonings by no foregone conclusions. The philosopher's reply is masterly, kindly, conciliatory, can- did. ' On reading your first letter,' he says, ' I thought that our opinions nearly coincided, but now I see that this is far from being tho case ; and that we are not only not of one mind in regard to consequences flowing from first principles, but that wo even differ in regard to these principles themselves. I scarcely believe, therefore, that any amount of writing will enable us to come to an understanding; for I see that you will accept no conclusion, were it even the most irrefragable by the laws of demonstration, which you yourself or tho theo- logians of your acquaintance find does not accord with your interpretation of tho text of Scripture.' Did ho take tho
WILLIAM VAN BLEYENBERO.
125
Bame view as hirf correspondent, however, did he think tliut Ood spoke to us more clearly in the Scriptures than ho docs through the natural understanding with which he has endowed us, then would he too bring his mind, as his correspondent does, to tho level of the views he ascribes to Holy Writ ; but, avowing candidly and without reserve, that though he had spent many years in tho study of the Scrip- tures, he does not understand thom ; and, as it has never happened to him when he had once attained to a firm and dcHnitc conclusion, to fall into such a state of mind as led him to doubt of ils truth, so docs he comfort himself and rest satisfied with what his understanding shows him. It is in this letter that tho fine passage occurs in which tho pliiloso- phcr says, * And though I were at times to find the fruit I gather by my natural understanding to be unreal, j'et would not this make me dissatisfied ; for in the gathering I enjoy, and pass my days not in sighing and sorrow but in peace, sereulty, and joy, and so mount a step higher in my sense of being.' '
He then goes on to show his correspondent how little ho understands him, and somewhat sharply to clear himself from misinterpretation ; avowing his belief that as intelligent beings we are bound to submit ourselves, mind and body, to God, which may be done without a shade of superstition, and without a denial of the usefulness of prayer, ' for my under- standing is too limited to take in all the means that God may have provided whereby men are brought to tho love of him — in
* Lejuing, who after ac>|imintance miidc widi the writiiign of Spinosa dcclu-es thnt he 'now begins to feel himsolf a roan,' hud prul)ulily tliis post- age in hiB eye when he hiiii»clf penned the line one c]iiot<Ml in the Introduc- tiun to my version of his Nuthon, where he gays : ' By tlie pursuit, not by the I>ostes«ioii, of truth is man euiiohle<l and liia powers enlarged. Were the Alinij-lity Kiilher to appear with ull Truth in his right hand, and in his left the power of attaining truth with the lialulily to err attached, an<l sny, Son, take Ihy choice, I should reply : Father, Truth Absolute is for Thee alone ; the power to setirch and the gift to apprehend bestowed by Thee suffice fur man. I choow the left."
126 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
other words, whereby they may achieve their proper salva- tion.' The reader is particularly referred to this letter for insight into the innermost recesses of oar phQosophcr's pious mind and lucid understanding.
Bleyenberg, in reply, complains of having been some- what sharply handled by Spinoza. Ilis letter is able and in very good taste, but in great purt a repetition of what ho has already said. He is hampered by his foregone conclusions, and cannot reach the heights of pure reason and independent speculation on which the man he addresses sits secure. For the remainder of the interesting correspondence with Bleycn- berg, illustrative, as it is, both of the views and character of our philosopher, the reader is referred to the letters them- selves.
The letters numbered xxxix., xl., and xli, may have been addressed to Chr. Huygens, though of this we have no cer- tainty. They are important, to whomsoever they were written, in the development they give to the argimients for the unity of God, and though abstruse, are deserving of careful perusal. Huygens was one likely to have been consulted by Spinoza on the subject of the moulds used in grinding and polishing lenses, and further, as versed in the science of Optics, on the best form of a lens, subjects which we find spoken of particularly at the end of the forty-first epistle.
J. BRESSER, M.I). ON THE OONDrCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING
AND HETUOD OF ARRIVING AT TRUTH.
Dr Brcsser was one of the early friends and admirers of Spinoza. This is testified by the lines which appear on the reverse of the title of the Principia Gartesiana, signed with his initials. He was also an original member of the debating society of Amsterdam. In letter No. xlii. he has written to
J. BRESSER, M.D.
127
Spinoza inquiring if thero were extant, or might be devised, a method whereby we might advance easily and securely in a knowledge of the highest and most excellent things ; or if the mind, like the body, was obnojciuus to contingency, and our understanding nded by accident rather than by fixed and definite laws. We see, therefore, that Spinoza's more intimate friends do not write to him about trifles. Spinoza replies, as we might have foreseen that ho would, by saying that there must necessarily bo a method of conducting the understanding truly, of correlating such clear and definite conceptions as spring up within our minds, and that the understanding is not subject, like the body, to chance or contingency, lie then proceeds to show that such a method is to be attained through adequate knowledge of pure Reason, its nature and its laws, to arrive at which it is enough to arrange a short history or summary of the mind or perceptions in the manner taugh t by Bacon.
But a letter more important than that which has just en- gaged us was rescued from oblivion by Dr Van Vloten, hero numbered xlii. a, giving us, as it does, another opportunity of knowing that Spinoza was no selfish recluse occupied with himself alone, but interested in all that interested his friends ]d the world at large. He urges Dresser immediately to
about the important work of which he had spoken, and so to dedicate the better part of his life to the cultivation of his heart and imdorstunding. lie refers to his own health, which had suffered of late ; but says he is now better ; and sends MS. of the Ethics as far as the 80th proposition, for the perusal of his correspondent and his friend De Vries ; — should either of them like to tnmslate what ho sends, they are welcome to do 80. lie further alludes to the state of public affairs, then greatly disturbed, and breathes a wish that all, by the provi- dence of Ood, may be directed for the best.
128
BBIf EDICT DB SPINOZA.
ISAAC OROniO, M.D. — LAMBERT VAN VEI.THinrSEN, M.I>., CRITI- CIZES T»E TR-ltTAlXS THEOLOQICO-POLITICUS, AND 8PIN0ZA REPLIES.
We have liad occasion to speak of Dr Orobio already. He who could voluntarily assume the trammels of Judaism, subuiilliiig himself in years of maturity to all its essential rites, and abjuring the baptismal name of Balthasar he had received in Spain, for that of Ishak, in Holland, could not have been of (he stuff fitted heartily to eympalbize with the man who had renounced the Baruch he received with circumcision for the Benedict he assumed when ho freed himself from his Jewish chains. Isaac Orobio, however, was doubtless u sincerely pious man, but also a narrow-minded member of tlio persuasion of his forefathers, which ho had now adopted, and ho may in his secret soul even have abetted those who had excommunicated our philosopher.
Theoccasionofthe one letter of Spinoza to Orobio which wo have, arose out of a communication to him by his corrcsjwndent of a lengthy critical analysis by Dr Lambert van Veldhuis of the Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, written with a foregone conclusion, in an entirely hostile spirit, and oftentimes with manifest misapprehension of the meaning of the author. He thinks that Spinoza, to escape the reproach of superstition, must have cast aside all religion ; fancies him at best a Deist., but immediately after and very illogically charges him with atheism — Deist and Atheist at once ; makes it a grand re- proach against him for maintaining that everything happens in ^-irtue of the eternal and changeless decrees of God, so that God cannot be supposed to be moved by prayer to alter any one of these ; for speaking of miracles as interpretations by ignorant men of natural phenomena ; and for holding that the power of God is most conspicuously manifested in the uni- formity of natural law, any interruption of which he thinks
ISAAC OBOBIO, M.D.
129
would bring God into contradiction with himself, which ia an absurdity, and so on, winding up by denouncing him ' eis teaching, by glozing arguments and counl«rfeit shows of reason, mere atheism.'
Spinoza's reply is all that might have been expected from him ; it is able and complete. He does not pretend to divine what his critic understands by religion, but asks, ' If he can bo said to cast off religion, who rests all ho has to say on the sub- ject on the ground that God is to be acknowledged as the Su- preme Good, that God is with entire singleness of soul to bo loved as such, and that tlie love of God is our highest bliss, our best privilege, our most perfect freedom. Farther, that every one is to love his neighbour as himself, and to be obedient to the laws and the autlioritiea of the land in which he lives ? '
In conclusion, he says that ho had only brought himself to reply to the particular adverse criticism now sent him — raany of the same sort being extant — because he had pledged his word to do so.
Orobio subsequently took up the pen himself against a certain J. Bredenburg, who, it seems, entering on the study of Spinoza, full of the vulgar notions and mistaken concep- tions of the character of his works, with the view of confuting him, was himself confuted ; and very honestly, but with ex- pressions of much regret, confessed that he found the man he had been taught to look on as an atheist and dangerous per- son, on a nearer acquainfanco to be both pious and moral, and his system so skilfully put together as to be impregna- ble. The book he wrote against Spinoza is entitled : Ener- Tatio Tract. Theol. Polit. una cum Demonstratione Naturam non esse Deum. 4to. Rotlerd. 1G75. We are not able to say whether this was the work, or another publLshed subsequently by Bredenburg, which Dr Isaac Orobio attacked in a small but able treatise, entitled, Ccrtamcn I'liilosophicura propugiiutaj
130
BENEDICT DB sriNOZAT
vcritatls divinaB ac naturalis adversus J. B. principia. Aust. 1684.'
There is a letter misplaced, as it seems, by the editors of the Opera Posthuma, and followed ia this by all their sue- oeason, addressed by Spinoza to Dr L. v. Veldhuia, which has been brought into juxtaposition with the other two to wliich it bears rt'feronc*. It is interesting as affording further endouce of the candour of Spinoza's disposition and of his fearlessness of criticism. lie desires permission from his critical adversarj' to publish his letter, and begs him to com- municate what further observations he might bo pleased to make on the Theologico-politicoil treatise. We had thouglit at first of withholding Veldhuis' letter as an unfair and mis- taken effusion ; but seeing that Spinoza would himself have produced it had he found the opportunity, we have felt it our duty to give it in its proper place, viz. in connection with Spinoza's letter to Orobio.
LETTER L. SPINOZA TO
THE ONENESS OF GOO.
I
We do not know to whom this letter is addressed ; it may have been the correspondent to whom Nos. xxxijc. — xli. are referrc<i, and with whoso veiled form we have ventured to con- nect the name of Christian Iluygens ; though our faith in the propriety of so doing is greatly shaken by the character of the letter that now follows. The letter numbered 1. in the Opera Posthuma itself is interesting metaphysically, and serves as a comment on one of the propositions in the Cogi- tata Metaphysica, in which the Oneness of the Deity is men- tioned, and which seems to have arrested the attention of the philosopher's correspondent, as it, or the corresponding part
• The trentise of Orobio is said by Dr Paulus to bo extremely rare ; when tnct with at lUl it is, as I myself poscess it, appeodod to the ■ licfuliitiua dea Erreure de Spiuoita par M. de Fenelon, le P. Lami, ct M. le ConUc dc Kotil- lain villierg aveo la Vie de Spinoza dcrite par M. Jean Colonu.' ISmo. Bruxellct, 1731.
COTTFRIED WILUELM LEIBNITZ,
of the later work, tho Ethics, did subsequently arrest the thoughts of Lcssing.
Tho book of the Utrecht professor, to which Spinoza refers at the end of the letter, is that of Regnier van Mansveld, en- titled, Adversus Anonymum Thcologico-politicum, Liber sin- gula ris. 4to. Amst. 1074. Our philosopher speaks very slightingly of its significance, although it made much stir at the time. He seems to have seen the book exposed and open in the window of a bookseller's shop, and from the page or two he could have read there to have concluded that it was not worthy of any further or more cai-oful perusal, — ' Relinqucbam ergo librum cjusque auctorcm, — I therefore left tlie book and its writer alone, mentally revolving with myself that the ig- norant are everywhere the most presumptuous and the most ready with the pen. * • • * it strike me, must be showing his wares as hawkers do theirs — bringing out the most worth- less first. Tlic devil, they say, is very cunning, but these folks seem to me far to surpass the devil in their craft. Farewell ! '
GOTTFRIED WILHEI.M I.EIHNITZ. — OPTICAL SCIENCE. — NATURE OF
LIGHT. IMPROVEMENT OF TTIE TELFJCOPE. INTERCOURSE
WITH SPINOZA.
Leibnitz, as all the lettered world is well aware, was one of the most remarkable among the many distinguished men of the age in which he lived — the age of Robert Boyle, of ^^^soac Newton, and Christian ITuygens. Leibnitz, in his day, ^■Vaa as much extolled as Spinoza was decried, and made for himself as great a reputation for orthodoxy by writing in a popular and ecclesiastical sense, as our philosopher, by sever- ing himself from vulgar notions and opposing the priesthood in their pretensions to civil power and their interpretations of the relations between God and man, got an evil name for infidelity — or rather, as the measure with which theological
I
132 BENEUICl' I>E XriXUZA.
hatred mctcs is never of iiisigiiificunt diineiisions — fur atheism. The editors of the Opcru Posthuma have published no more than one of the letters, with the reply to it, tliut passed between Leibnitz and Spinoza ; whether they had more at their disposal or not we do nut know, but that others were interchanged between the parties we may be assured from those wliieh passed between Dr Schaller and Spinoza, first published by Dr Van Moten in liis Supplementum.
Letter li. is addressed by I^ibnitz to Spinoza as an opti- cal philosopher and fashioner of telescopic lenses, though in the superscription of the letter he ia styled, 'distinguished physician and profound philusopher.' With the discovery of the microscope first, and next of the telescope, lenses both of smaller and larger dimensions, of purer material, more perfect form and exquisite finish, cumo into very general demand, and their fashioning was exactly the art in which a mathematician and man of science with u delicate hand was sure to excel. Ifo wonder, therefore, that glasses of Spinoza's make soon came to be inquired after, and that his fame as a skilful manufacturer reached the cars of Gottfried Leibnitz. ' Among your otlier titles to consideration,' writes the lordly man to Spinoza, 'the fame of which 1ms spread abroad, I learn that you are especially skilled in the science of optics. This induces me to send you a copy of an essay of mine on the subject, assured that I can submit it to no more competent judge.' He then enters upon an account of a kind of lens which he thought would have 'the proi)crty of reuniting equally all the roys proceeding from points witliout as well as within the optic axis, and so permitting the apertures of telescopes to be as large as we pleased, without detiiuient to their defining power.'
In Spinoza's reply we see him not only on a par theoretic- ally with one of the greatest mathematicians and ablest men of the age, but practically on a higher step of the ladder
COTTFRTED WIUrHLM T.ETBNTTZ.
133
of optical science than his correspondent. Leibnitz imagined that by » particular fashion of tlio object-glass of a telescope inequality of refraction and dispersion might be so far got the better of that the aperture of the instrument, instead of being restricted to a comparatively small space in the centre of the field, might be extended to the entire disc, and the light and power of the instrument thus immensely increased. But Spinoza, master of the subject practically aa well as theoretically, immediately asks whether the lenses of his cor- respondent, which he calls pnndochmic* get rid of what opti- cians style the iMchanical xpacc, — the space within which the rays reunite after refraction ; and whether the space in ques- tion remains of the same size, however large the aperture of the glass ? 'If they did, then would your lenses be vastly superior to those of any other fashion ; but if they did not, I cannot see why you should prefer them to glasses of the common figure.' Newton's grand discovery of the compound nature of light had not y<-"t been divulged to the world ; neither Leibnitz nor Spinoza knew that ' light was not a similar but a heteroge- neous thing, consisting of difform rays which had essentially difierent refractions, and that colours are produced from such and such rays, whereof some are in their own nature disposed to produce rod, others green, others blue,' &c.t The prism wofl a toy until in Newton it met with the inspired interpreter of its powers, and man through him became posseesed of a new revelation, and a further means of fathoming God's eternal laws. In the hands of modern philosophers the prism has ex- tended our knowledge to the material composition of the sun, ond fixed stars, and even of those galaxies which in their in- conceivable remoteness appear as mere patches of luminous dust strewn over poiuta of infinite space. More than this, and
• I>nubtle« from rav unci loxi'f^a, to bend or incline univenmlly. t Xcwton in I'liilun. TrnnsocU No. 60, 1672; and Weld's History of tho Royal Society, rol. L, p. 237.
134
BENEDICT DE SPrXOZi.
intcrostlDg especially to us in connection with the views of Spinoza, it has brought us other evidence of the Oneness and Inuivisibilitv of the Universe — the Scbstaxck of the philo* aopher— and of the all-jiervading presence of the Inoomprk- TtENsiDLE Existence, which intuition and reason aliko bid us coni-oivc as its Cause.*
The problem which we see Leibnitz attempting to solro, but which was in fact unsolvablo by the means he imagined — the simple Ions of any configuration— had indeed been already ascertained to be so by Newton, and abandoned by him in oonsequenoe. But it was not insuperable in reality ; for the genius of another great English optical philosopher, Dollond, forcing as it were to his purpose the natural law which made the diiEculty, showed that with a lens composed of two kinds of glass |X)3Sos8ing different refractive powers the unlike re* frangibilities of the several rays could be corrected, Uie ' mechanical space,' as well as coloured rings, got rid of, and object-glasses constructed of any dimensions for which materials in the shape of perfectly homogeneous glass could be obtained. This fine idea was the parent of all the im- provements that were immediately made in that most admir- able of all optical instruments — the refi-octing telescope, which may indeed bo said to have owed its second birth to the genius of our couutrj'man.
And it is neither uninteresting nor unimportant here to
• I alliulc to the brilliant discovcriea of KircliolT iinrl Buuecn, and their intor|irctation of the dark lines that appear in the spectrum. Newton seem* to hare overlooked these, or if he bow them, did not appretiend their nignifi- canoc and importance.
llie prism with which Newton made or perfected hie great discovery wai of forei)^ (Dutch) manufacture, and was for some time d«(aine<l at the Custinn House Ihrou^'h difficulties cii>erienecd in deterraininif the amount of duty to which this novel article was rightly liahle. The officers saw a triungulor piece of glass intrinsically worth a few jwuce ; the philosopher, however, de- clared that ' tlie value was so great he eould not possibly say what it was worth ; it was, in fact, of inestimable value." The officers, we may presume, twik him at his word, and exacted a good round sum us duty for that which put into tlie scales and valued by the ounce would have been found almost worthless. Vide Weld's History of Iloyal Society, vol. i., p. 237.
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OOTTTRIED WILHELM LBIBNITZ.
observe that the difficulties which Newton, in common with others, encountered in obtaining power and definition with an avaikiblc telescope as then constructed, led the way to every- thing that has since been achieved with the Reflecting tele- scope. For, bafBed by the unlike refrangibilities of the con- stituent rays of light, Newton turned to Reflfciion as a means of obtaining telescopic vision ; and by his Godlike intelligenco conceived, as with his own compliant hands he fashioned and perfected the instrument, which, increased in size, has since enabled the elder Ilerschell to ' gauge the heavens ' and show us our sun's place amid the fixed stars, and Rosse to scan the infinite of space and bring us news of spheres and systems in their immensity and remoteness which are almost as incomprehensible as the Godhead itself.*
But to return to our more immediate subject.
By the conclusion of Spinoza's letter to Leibnitz we see him proposing to send his correspondent a copy of the Trac- tatua Theologico-politicus ; this doubtlesa led to a reply from the great man and the forwarding of his book by our philo- sopher. And this may possibly be the whole of the corre- spondence to which we find Spinoza referring in his answer to Schaller.
Dr Schaller, one of Spinoza's familiar friends, has been in correspondence with Von Tschirnhaus, an old member of the Debating Society of Amsterdam and well known to Spinoza. Von Tschirnhaus either is or has been in Paris, where he meets M. Iluygens, with whom he is on a footing of friend- ship. He has spoken of Spinoza with Iluygens, who in his turn has mentioned the philosopher in high terms, saying
• Newton's Bret reflector i» still to be seen in the roouui of the iioyal Poolcty. Tlie ingtrument, of some 10 or 12 incheii focus, and two incbea ■(icTture, is idvntical with tlie great achievement of ImtA Rosse, CO feet focal dixlanoe, and speculum six feel in diameter! The tube of Newton's precious litUe inslrumetit is of pasteboard, and moves on a ball and socket joint ; the ball of wood, the socket of brass, fashioned, doubtless, by himself or with the help of the Cambridge carpenter and watchmaker.
136 BENEDICT DE SPINOU.
that he had lately procured a copy of the Tractatus Theo- logic-o-pollticus, ' which was much commended in these parts, and greatly inquired after.'
Von Tschimhaus further informs his friend Schaller that he had" met with a gentleman in Paris of wonderful talents and erudition, ' well versed in the various sciences, and quite free from vulgar prejudices,' of the name of Leibnitz. With this accomplished person he had contracted a friendship ; and finding him ' so fur advanced in physics and metaphysics, in the study of God and the mind of man,' he thinks it might be desirable to communicate the writings of Spinoza to him, the consent of the philosopher having been first obtained; for without this Yon T. says he will not stir in the matter. ' Leibnitz too,' he goes on to inform Schaller, ' prizes the Trac- tatus highly,' and Schaller proceeds, addressing Spinoza : 'if you remember, he formerly wrote a letter to you on the subject ; I therefore request of you, my dear sir, unless some special reason stands in the way of your doing so, that you will be pleased, in the excess of your goodness, to authorize me to give the permission Von Tschimhaus desires.'
Spinoza's letter, happily rescued by Fr. MuUer and Dr van Vloten (our letter Ixvi. a), is extremely interesting, but, un- less the philosopher had come to something like an unfavour- able estimate of the character of Jjcibnitz, scarcely to be understood. He replies to Schaller, ' I believe I know through letters the Leibnitz of whom Von Tschimhaus writes. But why he who was counsellor at Frankfort has gone to Paris I do not know. In so far as I could judge by his letters, he seemed to me a man of liberal mind and extremely well versed in science of every kind. But that at this early day I should intrust him with my writings does not seem to me prudent. I would first know what he is doing in France, and have the opinion of Von Tschimhaus after ho has known him somewhat longer and become better acquainted with his moral character.'
OOTTFRIKn WILHELM LEIBXITZ.
Spinoza, as a republican and patriot, may liavc fancied that the Gcrmnn counsfUor was in France for notliing goo<i in 80 far as Holland was concerned, and that ho himself was there- fore bound to caution in communicating with hira. It is rather strange, however, that in a letter written in 1675, Spinoza should speak somewhat hesitatingly of knowing Leibnitz by way of letters only, and make no allusion to the personal in- ■ tercourse he had had with him in 1672, for the two men had already met face to face ; Leibnitz having gone out of his way on his return homo in the beginning of that year for the express purpose, apparently, of paying Spinoza a visit at the Hague.
In a letter to the Abb^ GoUoys, Leibnitz says openly, that returning from his journey through France and Kng- land by wa)' of Holland, ho saw and spoke with Spinoza frequently and for a very lung time — ' Jc lui ai parl^ plusieura fois et fort longteraps. H a une mctaphyeiquc pleino de para- doxes.' Spinoza, however, was held to compromise the re- putation for orthodoxy — a matter dear to Leibnitz — of every one who had any intercoiu-se with him: 'utne multa cum illo "Judaco" imo atheo communicisse videatur satis sibi ca- vendum judicavit vir illustris' — the illustrious mans eems to have thought he could not bo too cautious in speaking of any communication he had had with this ' Jew,' yea, this atheist by reputation, says Dr Paulus.*
In his popular work, the Theodicee, we consequently find Leibnitz assuming a very light tone, and throwing Spinoza, tu the object of his visit to Holland, entirely into the shade : ' Je via il. de la Cour aussi bien que Spinoza A mon retour de France par TAngletorre et par la Hollande, et j'appris d'eux quclques bona anecdotes sur lea afl'aires de ce tems-ld.' It is very certain, however, that the conversation was not all anecdotic or political, and that M. de la Cour (Van den Hoof) • Ad vitam Spiouzo: Collect, in Op. qujc supers. Om. B. de 8. T. ii. p., 671.
138
BENEDICT DB 8riN'07Jl.
JO ma
it most
perchance was by no means the individual signiBcant to the traveller.
But Leibnitz, great u we know him to have been in intcl- Icct, was not bj his moral constitution and habits of life likely to appreciate Spiuoza. The Alexander von Humboldt of his age in general knowledge and scientific acquirement, he was yet morally something of a poltroon ; made so, doubt- less, by his vanity, — for Leibnitz was an extremely vain man, eager for distinction and li\'ing for the smiles of the titled and the great. His portrait presents him to us as a very imposing personage in an immense jjeriwig a la Louis XIV., and with an air of supreme self-contentment in the expression of the face. lie was of a contentious and jealous nature, too, disputing with Newton his discovery of fluxions ; and, while ignoring our philosopher, or only speaking of him disparag- ingly, deriving from him the germs of his own philosophy ; for the Leibnitzian Monad is but the transcendental onk in its infinitesimal minuteness, as the 8pinozistic Subitancc is the transcendental onk in its measureless immensity. And what is the Prc-eitablutlmi Ilannony of Leibnitz but the universal fitness of things, outcome at once of the omniscience, the will, and tlie act of God, with all the laws complete that necessarily pertain to being ? Uow could harmony be wanting in any part of the universe of Qod ? If man was to consist of soul and body, how could they have been constituted by their author otherwise than in harmony ? If the world was to be peopled by animated beings destined to subsist by assimQoted food and inbreathed air, how could they have been fashioned otherwise than with digestive sacs and lungs, or other respir- atory apparatus, whilst the earth and the waters supplied the needful nutriment, and the atmosphere the needful air ? And all this, and infinitely more if extant, was therefore pre-con- ceived, willed, and enacted at once by the Supreme Intelligence. Miud and body are not truly, as Leibnitz held, two iudepend-
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OOTTFRIKP WTLHELM LEIBNITZ.
139
ent, yet corresponding instruments, but otw instrura ent fitted to accomplish the purpose intended ; not ' two unconnected clocks,' as Mr Lewes* puts the subject, 'one of which strikes the hour whilst the other points to it,' but one clock that strikes and points to the hour at once. Is Leibnitz' pre- established harmony between soul and body anything more than Spinoza's Idea Mentis and Idea Corporis in another guise?
Leibnitz, however, was the opposite of Spinoza in almost everything both morally and socially; he was a courtier and at- tendant on the great ; not like our philosopher, a contemner of wealth and worldly distinction. Taking the measure of Spi- noza by himself, he had so indifferent an appreciation of his character as to think it possible he could have burned all his incomplete works lest, being publishcil after his death, they might detract from the glory he coveted as a writer ! Neither did Leibnitz, like Spinoza, always pursue truth for its own sake and without caro for consequences. With him religion was rather an engine of state-craft for holding men in bondage, than a means of setting them free; — nearlng them to God, and out of their own souls helping them to live virtuously, usefully, happily in this life, and so making them more worthy of the bliss that is whispered to the pious and the good as awaiting them in a life to come. On these great and grave subjects Leibnitz was not entirely to be de- pended on. Truth was to be presented to the outside woild telle qu'il la faiit — in such shape as was required — not naked and without the trick of omament.t
• Biogniphicftl History of Philosophy, vol. iii., p. 230. 12mo. I/)ndon, IMC.
t Thiw, in the preface to the Theodicy ipenking of himself and his mo- tive* fcT wrilin(t, he soys, ' qu'il a eu dee cntrotlcns la dessua (la religion) Bveo quel<|iie8 pcrsoiinc* de lettres ct do fr>«r. et tvrtout arm line Priiicrtte ile» plut griiiiilrt tt del pUu ncrpmplirii, • • • et (ju'il avail delil'crt' quulquefois dc publicr soa penri-cs, dout Ic but priocipnl devoil ctre la eoniiaiiwanoe de Dieu, telU qu'il la faut pour exciter la pieU: et pour nourrir la vertu.'
BEXEDICT DE SPIXOZA.
J. LOUIS FABRITUS, ANB THE OFKER OF THE CllAlll OF FUILOSOPHY IN THE UXn-KKSITY OF HEIDKLBERO.
The letter of Fabritius is merely official, and thcreforo interesting less in connection with himself than with his Hberul master, the Prince Palatine, Charles Louis, who was not afraid to offer to one with the indifferent theological repu- tation of Spinoza, a chair in his University of Heidelberg. We have already adverted to this proposal, and spoken of our philosopher's courteous declension of the office.
LETTERS LV. — LX. SPINOZA TO AN ANONTMOl'8 CORRESPONDENT. THE WORLD HAS NOT ARISEN BY CHANCK, BUT FROM OOD.
The letters, with the replies, from Iv. to Ix., are from and
Starting wi
th
to one and the same unnamed correspondent the unlikely subject of hobgoblins and apparitions, our phi- losopher's share in the short scries nevertheless gives us an opportunity of looking anew into the verj' depths of his ca- pacious mind,' and of more clearly apprehending some of his views. The reader's attention is therefore particularly di- rected to these letters. On the subject of omens and spectres we need not again touch, having entered fully on it already in connection with the letter to Peter Bulling (p. 115), though we would remark, in passing, on the playful humour which our philosopher can, on fitting occasion, display.
It is, however, when he comes to propound and to answer the question : Has the world arisen by chance ? that he fulls into his proper province. 'As certain as it is that chance and necessity are two opposites, even so certain is it that he who holds the world to have been formed by the Divine Na- ture, denies that it is the efiect of chance ; as he, again, who holds that God might have left the creation of the world uneffected, declares, though in other terms, that it came, or was produced, by accident, inasmuch as it must then have
AX ANONYMOUS CORRESPONDENT.
141
proceeded from a will that might not have existed. But us such an opinion and such a conclusion are alike absurd, it is now unanimously allowed that the will of God is eternal, and never was indifl'erent j therefore must it also bo admitted — note this well — that the world is a necessary effect of the Divine Nature.'
Ilore, too, it is (letter Ix.) that our philosopher discusses the subject of freedom and necessity. ' To me,' ho says, ' it seems unreasonable to speak of free and tieccHsary as opposites ; for no one can don}' that God knows himself and all things else freely yet nccesHorily. Tlicre is therefore a great distinclion to bo made between compulsion or construiat and philoso- pliicul necessity. That man wills to live, to love, &c., is not compulsory, though when he does so will it, is of necessity ; and much more does God will to be, to know, and to act freely and necessarily at once.' We, in a word, con no more will this or that, than we can will to be six feet high : wotdd we seem higher than God has made us, we must have heels to our shoes ; if we would have black or brown hair as we grow old we must have recourse to artifice.
Here it is, further, that we find an explanation of the sense — so constantly misrepresented — in which Spinoza denies will, intellect, hearing, sight, &c., to God. They are such attributes only as pertain to passive nature, of which man and all things else are manifestations, that are denied by Spi- noza. Men do commonly conceive no higher perfections as eminently extant in the Divine nature than they themselves possess ; but ' I believe,' says Spinoza, ' that were a triangle gifted with powers of thought and speech, it would in liko manner maintain that God was eminently triangular, as would a circle similarly endowed declare that he was eminently circular. And so of each individual thing: each would ascribe its own qualities or attributes to God, constitute God in its own image [as man has done], and hold everything else
li\l
BENEDICT D& SPINOZA.
less iavoured or misshapen than iUelf.' God, in a word, ia God, no being possessed of human qualities even the most cxult^xl, but transoonding ull knowledge except that II b Is.
It is in this letter, No. be., to the same correspondent, that the passage occurs (also constantly misquoted or misun- derstood) in which Spinoza says : ' To your question whether I have as clear un Idea of God as I have of a triangle, I answer — yes ; but if you ask me whether I have or can form to myself OS distinct an inutge of God as I do of a triangle, I answer — no. For we do not imagine, but hi/ our undcrstawliiiij apprr- /tend God* And here I would not be suppo-sed to suy that I know God wholly. Some of his attributes, however, aro known to me, though neither all nor yet the greater number ; but surely ignorance even of the greater number docs not hinder me from apprehending several.'
O. H. SCUALLER, M.D. OF FREE-^^^I.^ AND NECESSITY.
LOCKE, I.KSSINO, LEIBNITZ.
The letters numbered Ixi. and Ixii., Ixv. and Ixvi., have hitherto been commonly assigned to Louis Meyer ; but ac- cess to the documents put at his disposal has enabled D( Van Vloteu to connect them more truly with Dr Schaller.
Spinoza's reply to the first letter of this series is import- ant, as containing a further development of his views on the much-disputed subject of free-will and necessity, on which his correspondent had asked for light. Spinoza replies : 'I call a thing free which exists and acts by the sole necessity of its nature ; and that I call constrained which is determined in its existence and actions in certain definite ways by some- thing else. God, for example, existing necessarily yet exists freely, because God exists by the sole necessity of his nature.
• M. Ainnnde Sainteg, for in.<ilAiice, in refprence to tliia panage, »aya : ' 11 declare nutant connaitre la nnturo de Dieu qu'il connaiiuiait la nature du tri- angle,'— which Spinoza does not say. Hist, de la Vie et dos CEuvres de Spinoza, p. 1U3.
O. H. SCRALLCR, M.D.
So also docs God understand himself and oil things freely, because it follows from the necessity of his nature alone that he understands all things. You perceive, therel'ore, thut I place freedom not in free resolve, but in free necessity.' De- scending to created things, which are all determined to ex- ist and to act in certain definite ways, let us suppose a stone to have a certain amount of motion communicated to it by an impulse from without ; it will necessarily advance through the motion imparted, the impulse of the external cause having ceased, llero the continuance of the stone in motion is obvi- ously compelled, inasmuch as it is defined from the impulse of the external cause. But what is now said of the stone is to be understood of every individual thing, notwithstanding its being conceived as compound and possessed of numerous aptitudes, because every individual object is determined to existence and action in a certain definite way.
' Suppose the stone, further, as it proceeds in its motion ot think and to know that it is striving, in so far as it can, to con- tinue in motion ; inasmuch as it is only conscious of its endea- vour and by no means of its passiveness, it will believe itself perfectly free, and conclude that it perseveres in its motion from no other cause than that it wills to do so. And this is that freedom precisely of which all boast themselves possessed, but which consists in this alone, that men are conscious of their desires, but are ignorant of the causes by which these are deter- mined. It is in this way that the infant believes it freely desires the breast ; the angry boy that he seeks revenge ; the timid that he takes to flight. Even so does the tipsy man be- lieve that of free-will he speaks of things on which when sober he wishes he had held his tongue,' «Scc.
Spinoza's doctrine here would therefore seem to amount to this : that there is no action without a motive, even as there is no eflfect without a cause. Man is in fact the freest of all beings, because he is possessed of the greatest number
144
BEXKDICT DS SPINOZA.
of inherent faculties, each of which may be the motive of an act, the cause of which is necessary. But there is no fatality in our actions, — we can do or abstain ; doing we act from one motive, abstaining we act from another. Conduct, in- deed, we say is fate ; but the conduct, whatever it be, is mo- tived, not fateful. Ijcssing, deeply imbued with Spinozistic ideas, has the following words in one of his minor works : Ich danko dir, Gott, dosa ich muss, muss das Beste — I thunk thee, God, that I must, must the best. In the ' Nathan,' ubo, he has the same idea in another shape —
.Vrtf*. What — must ? — a DenrUh must ? What must he then ? Al llafi. That that's retiuinMl of htm, and be Buds gucxl. That uiusl the Dervish * —
and in the remarkable cotiversation with Jacobi, reported on a later page, the same matter is adverted to in yet another shape.
Among ourselves, Locke long ago settled the question of freedom and necessity in respect of the will. ' Freedom,' ho says, ' belongs as little to the will as swiftness to sleep or squareness to virtue. Freedom to do is one power, will to do is another : will, a power of the mind exerting dominion over some part of a man, by employing it in, or withholding it from, any particular action ; freedom, again, a power which a man has to do, or to forbear doing, any particular action. To ask, therefore, whether the will has freedom is to ask whether one i)ower has another power, one ability another ability P A question too absurd to need an answer ; for who sees not that powers belong only to agents, and are attributes of substances, and not of powers themselves? The will, in truth, signifies nothing but a power or ability to prefer or choose ; and when considered under the name of a faculty or
* 'Nathan the Wise,' from the German; with an Introduction on I>e8»ing, and the .\ntecedents and Influence of hisXalbao; by the writer. Post 8vo. Triibncr and Co., London, 18C8.
GOTTFRIED WILHELM LEIBNITZ,
14S
a bare ability to do something, the absurdity of speaking of it as free or not free, will easily discover itself.' *
But there is, in fact, no one particular primitive faculty that r wills in the human mind ; will is a general term, and belongs
or is expressive of the octivity of each of the primitive facidties of our nature — the benevolent faculty being active causes us to will to do good and charitable offices ; the rever- ential faculty being active to will to feel respectfully or re- verently ; the musical faculty active to will to sing or hear music, &c.; and the willing hero is necessary: but whether we yield to the impulse of the benevolent, reverential, or musical faculty and indulge them in their various mllingg, is not so ; here we are free, and can yield or abstain as we list.
So ill respect of Deity : Spinoza held the will, the intel- ligence, the foreknowledge, and the act of God to be commen- Burables, to be Oiw ; and all, consequently, done of God, to bo done of free necessity — i. e. to be the necessary outcome of tho absolute freedom and intelligence of the Godhead. I^eibnitz, writing for princesses and other great personages, comment- ing on a passage of J. Bredenburg's book, in which the writer undertakes to prove that there is no other cause for the exist- ence of all things than a Nature which exists necessarily, and which acts by immutable, inevitable, irrevocable necessity; and that ho may have a fling at the unpopular Spinoza, mokes him answerable for the terms of Bredenburg's proposition and conclusion, and proceeds: ' Did this demonstration go to prove that the Nature which produces all was Primary and acted without Choice or Understanding, I should hold it Spinoziatic and dangerous. But did the writer, perchance, mean to say that the Divine Nature is determined in that it produces by Choice and regard to The Best, he needed not to have made himself unhappy about this presumed immutable, inevitable, and irrevocable necessity. Such necessity is, then, moral — it
Ejsay on the Human UudcrstAniling, Book II. cli. 21, §7—31.
10
BE!(EDICT DB SPINOZA.
IB a happy necessity; aud fur from destroying n-ligion, it shows the Divine Perfection in its highest lustre.' • But what is man, oven the greatest in iuteUoct, that be should presume to attach conditions to Ood's acta, and say that ho must do thus aud not otherwise, make choice of this or that aa best, and the like ?
Spinoza emphatically denies that ho makes God and Nature one.f To him they are inseparable indeed; but when he uses the word Nature in the sense of Deity, it ia always understood as Naturo naturnns, or eIRcient Nature — Cause ; the Universe as Natura natiirata, or passive nature — Effect ; a sufficiently wide and important distinction, and adequate reply to Leibnitz's innuendo. CJioicc, Best, and all other conceivable qualities appreciable by our human under- standing, are involved in Spinoza's Free-Necessity of God : things being as they are could have been no other than they are, for they are of God the Perfect being, and are there- fore the BEST, the most select, in our human sense, that could have been.^ As regards man, again, there can be no question about the capacity he has of considering, weigh- ing, judging before he acts, whether what he feels disposed to do i.s allowable or not, right or wrong, praiseworthy or blameable, &c., and therefore to be done or left undone. Ilere the understanding, reason, or intellect, the ground of moral responsibility, comes into play, and makes the individual endowed therewith answerable to God and his fellow-men. When a man voluntarily and spontaneously does what the moral law requires, then is there that Synthesis, or Union of Liberty and Necessity, which is the characteristic of God, and by attoining to which man partakes of the Divine
• Thico<iicce. Pt Hi. § 37.'?, 374. f Letter xii., to Oldenburg.
X Conf. M. W. Drobisch : Die roorali«cbe Stati^lik unil die menachliche Willengfpcibcit. 8to. Leipeic, 18G7.
W. E. VON TSCHIRNHAUS.
147
nature ; the problom of human existence to be ultimately Bolvcd hy all ! •
LETTERS LXIII., LXIV., LXVII. LXXII.
These are from and to a young German nobleman, W. E. von Tschirnhaus by name, who, coming into Holland for instruction in the military art, appears to have found the study of Philosophy nud general Physics more to his taste. lie must have made the acquaintance of Spinoza and his youthful friends of the Debating Society, of which he was a member, and kept up his intimacy with several of these, as well as with the philosopher, for many years. Kis rank as well as his philosophic tastes gave him access at a later period to all the distinguished men of science of the time. Ife was in- timate with Leibnitz, who laments his death, with Christian Huygens, H. Oldenburg, the Honourable Robert Boyle, and others.
These letters are sufficiently interesting as evidences of the difficulties encountered by acute and able minds in following Spinoza in some of his more recondite speculations, and may therefore be referred to by the student of the Ethics for aid in surmounting obstacles; sometimes, too, we apprehend for assurance that such aid as might have been expected is not forthcoming.
Besides the old letters which are given without the name of von Tschirnhaus by the editors of the Opera Postliuma, Dr Van \noten has been at the pains to publish in his Supple- ment several that passed between him and Christian Huy- ens. These we do not see as of any significance in connection with our philosopher himself; but they are so far interesting as that they give an insight into the vainglorious character of the writer, which led him first to assume as his own, certain
* W. Benecke, quoled by H. C. Robinson in bis Oiary, vol. iii. p. iil.
10 ♦
I !•< ui:M.i>in Di; si-inozv.
view* of liis Iriiiul Hiiyi," :i<. in an «i!'c;«-iMn:il p.api>r publishoil in tile .Ii.iirn ilil- - SiM\.i:i», f.ir \vliii'!i ln" wm-; Niii.Ci'lly hautllcd bv Hiivj^ons ; iui-l in t!;i' \v..rk pM lui'> -.1 i»!i:K'r flio title ' Mccli- fin;» M'.'nti<, sixo Ar* invt niriuli iinriiila poneralia, Amst. HixT,' nuulf liim so far forijit liini^ilf as to appropriate the idoas of his «ilil master in pliilns-iphy, liis generous and eonfidini; fiientl, without even onee making mention of his name. IK-M-artes, ArnaaM, anl Mah-branchc are cited, but Spinoza never. Wiii>ever turns to Spinozii's Tractatua do Kint-ndatione Int«'lloetu-i, Imwever. will readily recognize in • Khrenfriod Walter vnn T^ehinihauis, Seigneur do Kiss- lingswalde et Slol/enherg.' as he is particular in signing him- self, tlio di-ieiple of Spino/a, and in tlie language ho uses the ajipropriator at times of tlie very words of his master, — even where the expressions vary the sense remains the same. ' What he would arrogate as his own, indewl,' says Dr Van A'loten, ' I am at a h)vs to eonecive ; would, however, that he ha<l shown a nioie grateful mijid to the consummate j)hilosop]u>r, liis own benevolent teaeher, and not dared to put him among the " namele-s others" who, he says, agree with him in his opini<Mis.' •
Nor is this iven all. IJeferring to the mathematical method of demonstration in another plaee, he has the ef- frontery to allude to Spinoza as ' tj-i'dtim'. — a fn'iiu'lioih/ who had reduci'd the first and stvonil parts of the Cartesian philosophy to this form ; and to .say that there had not been wanting oiw who had even attenipti'd to set forth all his ethieal thoughts under an order of the kind. Spinoza with belter opportunity would surely ha\e P(>en through the character of von T.sehirnhaus as ho did through that of Albert Hurgh, and been less communieative —
' >'on ragioniam di lor, ma guarda e pas.*a.'
• Van Vlolon, SupiiK'm. p. .-s.-,], ot soq., whom 1 foll(..w hero, not Imving Iwcn able to get n siglit of tbo Mciliciiia .Miulis.
149
THE EEVIVERS OF SPIXOZISM AND ITS POETS.
FR. H. JACOBl, G. E. LESSIXG, J. G. VOX HERDER, AND J. W. VON GOETHE.
Jacobi and Lossing may bo spoken of as tho resuscitators of Spinoza.
Lcssing was upon the most intimate terms with the Jewish moralist Moses ]^Icndclsohn, and loved and respected him greatly. The two friends must apparently on some occasion have had a conversation, in the course of which the name of Spinoza came up in connection with the subject of the One- ness of God, of which Mendelsohn, as a Jew, was necessarily the proper defender. Lcssing, on his part, in consonance with that element in his nature which always led him to ask what could be said on both sides of every question, following Spinoza, would seem to have said that ' God could not without a certain show of impropriety be spoken of as one or single ; a thing being to be so treated of in respect of its existence only, not of its essence ; for things are never conceived under the category of number until they have been reduced to com- mon heads or genera.'*
Tliis view could not have been agreeable to Mendelsohn, and led him, of course, to surmise that his friend was tinctured with Spinozism, to wliich, though himself extremely ignorant
* Viile Spiiio7,a"ij Ix:ltor Xo. 1., and I^ssing's Education of tho Human Ilace, § 73. Did not Ix'ssing mistake Spinoza's meaning when ho proceeds to evolve the Trinity out of wiint tho philosopher lias said? God is Grod, accordin): to Spinoza, in Enffnce neither One nor many; and we speak with no more propriety of one Uod, than wo should of one universe.
150
BENEDICT DE !>P:XOZ.l.
of its tenets, he was nevertljelcas greatly opposed. Fr. II- Jacobi, labouring at this time under a fit of Spinozistic alarm, eccms to have been applied to through a female friend of his own as well as of Mendelsohn and Lcssing, — who could hardly have been another than Elize Reimarus, daughter of the re- nowned author of the ' Wolfenbiittel Fragments,' — as a fit and proper jierson to make particular inquiry into the matter. Jacobi accordingly wrote to Lcssing, proposing to pay him a visit. Ix^ssing replies immediately that he will be delighted to see him under his roof, and hopes ho will remain with him for some days. ' We shall be at no loss for conversation,' he proceeds, ' but it might be as well did you give me a hint of the subjects on which it is likely to turn.' Lcssing must therefore have known (having probably had an intimation on tho matter from his friend Elizc) that Jacobi's proposed visit had something of a definite object over and above tho friendly interview. And that this was tho case very soon appeared. ' On tho 5th of July, 1784, in the afternoon,' writes Jacobi, ' I held Leasing in my arms for the first time in my life.'
Next morning Lcssing camo into Jacobi's room, as he was busy with some letters he had to despatch. ' I gave him,' Bays Jacobi, ' u few loose leaves out of my portfolio for occu- pation, till I had done. Having looked over those, on re- turning them, he asked if I had nothing more that he might read ? Surely, said I, — I was on the point of scaling, — here is a Poem for you ; you have yourself given so much offence to certain folks, that you may for once in your turn agree to feel offended.' Lcssing having read the Ode, as he returned it, said, ' I have taken no offence ; I know all that already, and at first hand.'
Jacobi. ' You have seen the Ode before P ' Lemur;. ' I had not read it till now ; but I like it.' The Poem was Goethe's Ode, entitled Promktheis,* in * It is one of Goctbe'i earlier produclioos, and the Spiuocistio sense which
r.ESSING AND JACOBI. 151
MS. apparently ; so that we see Jacobi leading the way at once to the subject of his visit, and Lessing already aware of it, helping him forward. The conversation proceeds.
both Jacob! and Lessing appear to have attached to it is not to me so veiy obTioos. It strikes me as nothing more than the angry defiance of the 111- used Fire-finder thrown in the face of his persistent tormentor. Ijessing may have spoken as he did of the Ode in order to lead Jacobi straight to the subject which he knew was uppermost in his mind. As the Ode is ia rhythmic Qerman only, it is translatable into English, which is hardly the case with the m^ority of Qoethe's minor poems and lyrics.
PROMETHEUS.
Beshroud thy heaven, great Jove,
With murky clouds at will,
And, like the child who tops the thistle,
Shake thou the oak and mountain ;
But leave me my earth,
Firm fiz'd in its seat, and my hut
Thou hast not helped me to build ;
My hearth, too, thou'lt leave me,
Whose glow thou still begrudgest me.
Naught poorer 'neath the sun Know I than you, ye Immortals I Your greatness meanly fed With smoke of sacrifice And incense of prayer ; And these, too, were surely denied. Were not children and beggars Befool'd by their hopes and their fears.
Whilst yet a thoughtless child,
Knowing nothing of why or of wherefore,
Sunward I tum'd my dazzled gaze,
As if over me there were an ear
To hear my complaint,
A heart like mine own
To feel for the sorely oppressed.
But who e'er aided me against
The Titan's insolence ?
Who saved me from chains and from death ?
Didst not thou, holy, glowing heart.
Achieve thine own deliverance ?
Yet youthful, confiding, deceived,
Gav'st thanks to the sleepers above.
I honour thee ? For what ?
Hast thou yet soothed the woes
Of the oppressed ?
Hast ever dried the tears
Of the afflicted ?
Or hath not Time, the Omnipotent,
152 BKMEDKT 1)E SPINOZA.
Jacohi. ' I, too, find it good of its kind, else had I not given it you to road.'
Lessing. ' I mean the thing differently. The point of view
of the ix)et is my own. The orthodox ideas concerning God
are no longer mine — I have no pleasure in them now : 'Ei»
' Kat vav ! — One and All. I know nothing but this. It is to
this that the poem points ; and I must allow it pleases me much.'
Jaeobi. ' Tlien are you greatly at one with Spinoza P '
Lfming, ' Did I rank myself with any one, it were with none but him.'
Jaeobi. ' Spinoza is well enough ; yet is it but a sorry sort of healing that we find in his name.'
Lemng. ' Well, be it so ! And yet, know you of anything better ? '
Tlio conversation is interrupted at this point, but is resumed on the following morning. ' Having retired to my room after breakfast to dross for the day, Lessing entered. I was then \jnder the hairdresser, and Lessing, without speak- ing, sat himself down by a table at the other end of tho chamber. As soon as we were alone, and I had taken my place at the opposite side of the table on which Lessing was leaning, ho began : " I have come to speak with you further on my 'Ef km itav. You were alarmed yesterday ?" '
Fasliitnrd mo, man as I am, And 19 not Kato, the Ktvrnal, Thy mnHtcr nnil mine ?
Didxt think, perchance, that I, Hating my lite, would Hee Into the desert. For all my flowery dreams Had not aye ripened to fruit ?
Hero do I sit and fashion me men
In mine own image,
Apt lil«e myself
To BulTvr and weep,
To love and enjoy.
Caring no more for you
Than I,
LESSING AND
l.J3
Jacobi. 'You took me by surprise"; I was confused, — not alarmed ; for truly I had no idea that I should find a Spinozibt and Pantheist in you, and still more that you should sjieak so unreservedly as you did. One great object of my visit here was to find help £rom j'ou against Spinoza.'
Les-iing. ' You know Spinoza, then ? '
Jacobi. ' I believe I know him as but few have taken the pains to know him.'
Lessiitg. ' Then is there no help for you ? Rather be his friend entirely. There is no philosopliy but the philosophy of Spinoza.'
Jacobi. 'This may be true. For the Determinist, if ho would bo coaiequont, must be the Fatalist as well ; and all that then follows is clear to view.'
Lcmng. ' I see — we understand each other. I am there- fore all the more anxious to hear from you what you regard as the SPIRIT of Spinozism — I mean that which was in Spiuoza himself.'
Jacobi. ' It was no other, I ajiprehend, than the old a nihilo nihil Jit, which Spinoza brought prominently forward in conformity with deduced ideas, as the speculative Cub- balists and others before him had done.'
Jacobi then goes on to give his own version of Spinoza's doctrines, from the Cabbalistic point of view, as it would seem, till he is interrupted by Lessing saying, 'Well, wo shall not quarrel about our creed.'
Jacobi. ' That shall we not in any case. But my credo is not in Spinoza.'
Leasing. ' I s}iould hope it waa lo be found *in no book.'
Jacobi. ' Not that only : 1 believe in an intelligent, per- sonal cause of the world.'
Lfssiiig. 'Oh, so much the better! Now I shall hear of something quite new.'
154
BEXEPICr DE SPIXOU.
Jacolti. ' Do not flatter yourself too much on this score, ffft out of the difficulty by a Sallo mortals ; and you are not likely to find pleasure in any hools-ovor-head affuir.'
Lemng. ' Say not so — if I am only not required to imitate you. But you manage, of course, to come down again upon your feet. So if it bo no secret — I entreat you, impart to me!'
Jacobi. ' You shall have it on the nail : the whole matter lies in this, that from fatalism I conclude immediately against fatalism, aa against everything connected with it. If there be efficient causes only and no final causes, then has the thinking power on part to play in nature, 8a%'e as looker- on ; its only business were to attend on the mechanism of the acting causes. The conversation we now hold were but a desire or faculty of our bodies ; and the whole import of our talk, reduced to its elements, nothing but extension, motion, and grades of celerity, with ideas of these, and ideas of these ideaa superadded. I know not how to controvert the man who entertains such opinions ; but he who cannot go along with him is at the antipodes of Spinozism. The emotions and passions do not act in so far as they are feelings and thoughts, or rather, in so far as they carry feelings and thoughts along with them ; we only believe that we act from love, hate, pitj', magnanimity, or from rational motives.'
Lcssing. ' I perceive : You would like to have your will free. I, for my part, desire no free-will. Generally, all you have said does not alarm mo in the least. It is one of tho prejudices of mankind that they regard thought as the first and most excellent of their faculties, and are disposed to de- rive everj'thing from it. But all — ideas inclusive — depends on higher principles. Space, motion, thought, are obviously based in a higher force, a force that is by no means exhausted when these are named. It must be infinitely more excellent than this or that, or any effect, and so may have a kind of
■
LESBIKO AND JAOOBI.
enjoyment attached to it, which not only far surpasses our comprehension, but which lies without the sphere of com- prehension entirely. That we can form no conception of it does not annul its possibility.'
Jacobi. ' You go farther than Spinoza. lie held under- standing to be supreme.'
Lemmj. ' For man ! But he was very fur from holding our miserable way of acting for ends as the most excellent method, and throwing thought into the bargain.'
Jacobi. ' Understanding, with Spinoza, is the better part in all finite natures, because it is the part whereby each finite nature transcends its finitenoss. It might be said that he in some sort ascribes two souls to each existing thing, one having reference to the present particular thing, the other to the universe of things. To this second soul he also ascribes immortality. But all he conceives as pertaining to the One Infinite Substance, has in itself and apart from individual-j/ things no proper and special exifitence. Had it for its one- ness— pardon the expression ! — any proper, peculiar, indi- vidual existence apart, had it personality and life, then were intelligence its better part also.'
Lessing. 'Very good I But how do you conceive your personal, extra-mundano Deity ? Is it after the fashion of Leibnitz P I rather fear that he, too, was a Spinozist at heart.'
Jacobi. ' Do you speak in earnest ? '
LcHsing. ' Do you in earnest doubt it ? Leibnitz's con- ception of truth was of the sort that would not bear being confined within too narrow bounds. Many of his statements flowed from this mode of thought ; and it is often extremely difiicult even with every possible attention to discover his real opinion. It is for this reason that I think so much of him — I mean from his grand manner of thuiking, and not because of this or that opinion he may seem to entertain, or may even entertain in fact.'
156 BEXEDICl' DE SPINOZA.
Jacohi. ' You are right. Leibnitz was ready " to strike fire from every pebble." But it was some particular Spi- noziatic view which you said Leibnitz was disjMsed at heart to entertain.'
Lesaing. 'Do you remember a passage in his writings where ho says of God that Ho is in a 8tat« of ceaseless expan- sion and contraction P This must have meant creation and the commencement of the world.'
Jacobi. ' I remember his Fulgurations]; but the passage you refer to is unknown to me. '
Lessing. ' I shall look it out, and you will then tell mo what a man like Leibnitz thought, could or must have thought, when he set it down.' •
Jacobi. ' Let me see the passage, by all means. But I roust tell you beforehand that I bring to mind so many other passages in his writings of a different character that I cannot conceive it possible Leibnitz should have believed in an In- tramundane or Immanent, and not in a Supramundane, cause of the world.'
Lemng. ' Here I must give way to you. You will have the preponderance of testimony too ; and I own that I may ■ perhaps have said too much. Still the passage I have quoted, and many more besides, present themselves to me as extraor- dinary. But not to forget ! On what ideas do you ground your opposition to Spinoza ? Do you think that Leibnitz's Frincipia make an end of him P
Jacobi. ' How could I, with my firm persuasion that the consistent determinist is not different from the fatalist. Do t/oii find that Leibnitz's Principia make an end of him ? The Monads with their bonds leave thought and extension, and especially reality, as incomprehensible to me as ever — they help me neither on this side nor on that. For the rest, I know * It 18 contained in Leibnitz's letter to Bourguet, Op. ii. P. i. p. 331.
LESSINO AKD JAOOBI.
157
of no philosopliical Bystcm that agrees so essentiuUy with Spiuomm as that of Leibnitis's; and it is difficult to say v?hich of the authors of these has himself as well as us most constantly at advantage. Has not Mendelsohn shown that the Pre-established Harmony is extant in Spinoza P And I undertake to set before you the whole of Leibnitz's psychology from the same source. Both entertain the same views of fi-eedom ; and if Spinoza illustrates our feeling of freedom by the stone in motion, Leibnitz's does the same by the magnet, which has a fiiucy for turning to the north and does so in- dependently of any other cause, unconscious as it is of the magnetic force which determines its motions.'
Jocobi goes on at considerable length to show many other lioints of resemblance between the views of Spinoza and Leibnitz, till lie is interrupted by
LcKsiiig. ' I shall leave you no peace till you give this parallelism to the public ! The folks still go on speaking of Spinoza as of a dead dog.'
Jacobi. ' They would continue to spcuk of him in the same way whether I give it or not. To understand Spinoza requires too long and too laborious an effort of mind ; and no one has understood Spinoza to whom a single line of the Ethics re- mains obscure ; no one understands him who docs not himself understand how this great man could have had such a firm persuasion of his philosophy as he so often and so emphatically declares that he had. At the very end of his days he wrote : Non pnrsumo me optimam invenisse philosophiam, sed Teram me intelligei-e scio — I presume not to say that I have discovered the best philosophy, but I know that I understand the philosophy tliat is true. Such repose of spirit, such heaven in the understanding, ns this clear, pure head had achieved for iteell", lias been enjoyed by few.'
Lcsstng. ' And you are no Spinozist ? *
[58
BENEDICT OE SPINOZA.
Jacobi. ' No, on ray honour ! '
Lessing. ' On my honour, then, you must turn your back on all philosophy. '
Jacobi. ' Why so ? '
Leasing. ' Because you are a thorough sceptic'
Jacohi. ' On the contmry, I withdraw from a philosophy that makes thorough scepticism imperative.'
Lcmng. ' And go — whither ? '
Jacobi. ' Towards tho light of which Spinoza says that it lightens itself and the darkness too. I love Spinoza ; fur he, more than any other philosopher, has led nie to the assured conviction that there are certain matters that cannot bo un- ravelled and explained, in presence of which we are not to shut our eyes, indeed, but which we must lake even as we find them. I have no more intimate persuasion of anything than I have of final causes ; no more lively conviction than that I do what I think, that I think what I do. AVith this, it ia true, I am forced to presume a source of thought and of action which I can in nowise explain.'
Lvssing. ' You express yourself almost as heartily as does the dictum of the Diet of Augsburg ; for my part, however, I continue true Lutheran, and j'et maintain "the more bestial than human error and blasphemy, that there is no free- will," a conclusion with which the clear, pure head of your Spinoza had also to content itself.'
Jacobi. ' Ay, but Spinoza had to make not a few contor- tions in order to hide his fatalism in its bearing on human conduct. In the 4th and 5th parts of the Ethics I might almost say he condescends to sophistry in this view. And this was what I maintained, when I said, that the very greatest minds, when the}' will perforce explain and make everything tally with everything else, must needs come to absurd con- clusions.'
Leasing. ' And he who seeks not to explain ? '
Jacohi. ' He who seeks not to explain the incomprehensible, but only to know the bounduries where it begins, and a{;know- ledges the existence of these, secures, I believe, the largest field for the discovery of genuine human truth.'
Lemng. ' Words, dear Jacobi, mere words ! The boundaries you would set cannot be ascertained ; and you, per contra, open up the freest field to dreaming, blindness, and un- rciison.'
Jiicobi. '1 believe, however, that the boundaries I speak of may bo known. I would myself set none, but only find out those that are already fixed, and not disturb them. And as to dreaming, blindness, and unreason — '
Lcfxing. ' Oh, they arc everywhere at home where indistinct ideas rule.'
Jacohi. ' Still more where fa/sc ideas rule. The blindest and least rational belief, if it be not also the most foolish con- ceivable, has there its place of honour. For he who has once become enamoured of certain explanations, takes each conclu- sion blindly that follows as sequence from one he cannot in- terpret with his best endeavours. • • • And then, when we insist on dwelling on that only which can be explained and co-ordinated in the realm of things, there arises a certain phantom light in the soul that dazzles more than it enlightens. We then sacrifice what Spinoza profoundly and cxaltedly at once designates knowledge of the first or highest kind ; we shut the eyes of the soul, wherewith it sees God and itself, that we may the more undisturbedly look with the eyes of the body only.'
Lemng. ' Good — very good ! I too can put all that to use. But I cannot make out of it the thing you do. Your SaUo tiioiia/e in particular, however, delights me ; and I con- ceive how a man of mind may get from one position to another in such heels-over-head fashion. Take me with you, pray, w hen you next perform the feat,*
BEiniDICT DB SPINOZA.
Jarobi. 'Would you but step with mo on the spring- board that sends me forward, the tiling were done.'
Leaxing. ' Ay, but a leap besides were wanted, and this I can no longer trust my old legs and heavy head with taking deftly.'
Wo have thought it well to afford the English reader an opportunity of perusing this celebrated conversation all but verbally, as it is reported to have passed between the speakers. For to it was greatly due the study of Spinoza that soon presented itself as a necessity to every German mind of any capacity, and with consequences that are still far from having reached the goal. It is obvious that Leasing, after showing hia own hand for a moment, leads Jacobi on to show the cards ho holds, rather tlian displays those he commands himself. Jacobi, though acute and well informed, was a email man in comparison with Lossing ; one of the vain men of the world too; not self-sufficing like him he had the honour to call friend. But we are really much beholden to him for his gossiping book, ' On the Doctrine of Spinoza, in letters to Mr Moses Mendelsohn ; '* for it set tlie worthy moralist to defend Lessing against what ho held to bo Jacobi's mistaken apprehension of his friend's philosophic ■xiews, and so lighted the torch that continues to burn with undiminished brightness to the present hour.
Of Lesaing's adhesion to Spinoza there can bo no doubt.
• Ucl>cr die Lclire dea Spinoza, in Briefcn an den Hcrrn Mo«c« Mendel- sohn. Neue verniebrle Aiiflnge. 8vo. Bivainu, I7S11. It Un earefully-prinleil, neat volume, ornnnivnted with a portrait of SpinoES as frunti»piecc : witli roc«la1lion jmrtrnitf' of Memleleolin and lyesiing on the title-page, and a por- trait of tlie writer at the end. He is a thin-faced, eharp-featun'd, gof>d- looking man, with ample development of the cerebral regions which, acoonl- ing to phrenologist*, are connected with ideality and bclievingncsa. The parts appropriotcd liy tlie same physiologists to relk-ction nr« not remark- able aa tlicy appear in Spinoza, Mendelsohn, and Leasing. The ex[>ressiim is pleasing, and Jacobi was n good and amiable man. The knowle<Igc he had of Spinoza proved his stay through life, and enabled him to resist the in- clination be hod to yield himself Ixiund to the Uomanticifls, and like iso many uf them to fall into the slough of Boman CatboUoiaiu.
LESSING AND JACOBI
The last work of his life, the Nathan, is so thoroughly imbued with the teachings of the great thinker, that Dr Kuno Fischer has felt himself authorized to sny that ' whoever would see religion set forth in the spirit of Spinoza lias only to look into Nathan the Wise."
Though wo have seen Jacobi ropudiuting Spinozisra as his own philosophical system, ho had, nevertheless, tho high- est respect for tho character and memory of Spinoza himself. In one of his works he ajMistrophizes him in such terms as these : 'Bo thou blessed of me, thou great, yea, thou holy Bene- dictus ! Lose thyself as thou mayst in thy speculations on the nature of the Being of beings and in the maze of words, His truth was ever in thy soul, and love of Him was still thy life.' ' Spinoza,' he says again, ' honoured a I'rondenco, were this to him no more than the order of nature which flows of necessity from its eternal laws ; he also referred all to (iod, the One, the sole Existence, and placed tho highest good that man can enjoy in the knowledge, and, above all, in the love of tho Infinite Supreme.'
Jacobi could not by hia mental constitution be a purely intellectual religionist, like Spinoza and Leasing. He was a sentimentalist, pious through the heart, not by the head ; through emotion, and even in defiance of understanding. ' I quit Spinoza,' he says in a letter to Hcnisterhuis, ' to throw myaelf into the arms of tho sublime genius who has said : Tliat a single o-spiration of the soul after the future, the bel- ter, the perfect, is demonstration more than geometric of tho Divinity.' He needed not, however, to have turned from Spinoza to Hemsterhuis for satisfaction in the direction of faith. Spinoza's highest joy was to feel himself in rapt contemplation of the infinite perfections of God, of whose necessary existence he had already satisfied himself through
his understanding.
Ocacliicbte Jct neuern Hiiloaoiihie. It
a I. S. 250.
BKIIBDICr DE SPINOZA.
But Jacob! miut hare been a Btill weaker man than vc have 80on him thus far. In a letter of his to Reinbold found among Schlciermacher'a papers, ho laments the insuf- ficiency of philosophy to still his doubts, and says : ' Yet I know no better remedy than to go on philosophizing, or else to turn Roman Catholic ; I would gladly exchange my feeble philosophic Christianity for positive historical Christianity, but cannot understand why I am never able to do so.' Tbo difficulty is not far to seek. Jacobi had an acute and highly cultivated understanding ; but philosophy and Clirislianity both historical and dogmatic are incoropatiblcs, and such was the constitution of Jacobi's mind that he could not take Los- sing's sensible advice, and put his trust in God alone. IIo was infected with the Romanticism of his day, and would have had the Virgin Mary and the saints to help him, had bis better sense only suffered him to degrade himself.
J, O. VON HF.KUF.K.
About the same time that Jucobi and Lessing were en- gaged in the study of Spinoza, the works of the great thinker were occupying the thoughts of another distinguished indi- vidual, J. O. von Herder, who, by-and-by, to the no small amuzemcut of many of his loss liberal and well-informed brethren, showed himself the intt^lligent apologist and exponent of Spinoza. Herder's book entitled, Einige Ge- sprilche iiber Spinoza's Sj-stem, came out in 1787 ; appeared in a second edition in 1800 ; and was edited with additions, after the death of the author, by J. G. Muller, under the title of Seele und Gott. 8vo. Tubingen, 1808.
There can bo no doubt about the great influence which this work immediately exerted over the German mind. With the living presence and advocacy of a man of mark like Herder, backed by a reputation second only to that which Lessing, lately dead, had enjoj^ed ; and through the publication
J. G. VON HERDER.
163
of an excellent edition of the works of Spinoza by Dr Paulus, another of the learned and notable men of his day, our philoso- pher was at leugtli set ufKin a height whence he co\Jd be seen and known of all, and in a guise to attract, not as of old to repel.
Herder was Court preacher to the liberal and enlightened Charles Augustus, Grand Duko of Saxe- Weimar, and more than this, the intimate friend of Wieland, Goethe, and Schiller, and, indeed, of every one in Germany distinguished for talent and acquirement, as by his ' Contributions towards a Philoso- phy of History ' he was known to the whole European republic of letters.
In the course of his survey of Spinozisra, Herder insists on the necessity of studjnng iho physical sciences as prime means of escape from false ideas of God and from superstition. As physical science has progressed men have been more and more set free from the notion of blind, capricious, arbitrary power dominant in nature, and have come to recognize the law of wise necessity. ' No sensible well-informed man,' says he, ' now contemplates the end of the world as near at hand ; the forces of nature are eternul as the Godhead in which they inhere. The very disturbances in the planetary motions recog- nized by astronomers, are seen to be complementary and tcmjiorary only. All is, was, and ever will be in conformity with beneficent, beautiful, necessary law, twin-sister of Eternal power, mother of all order, security, and happiness.'
The essence of God as conceived by Spinoza, Herder sees in acfiialiti/, including all perfection in the most perfect way — infinite or absolute thought or intelligence, the most ex- cellent of things, — and self-consciousness conjoined with omni- potence, omnipresence, omniscience. And ' it is only,' says he, ' in contrast witli these infinities that Spinoza denies to l)eity understanding and such conceptive and moral facilities as are possessed by man.' How indeed should Spinoza have supposed
l(»i liKNKDIfl- I)K SVIXOZA.
mankind (obo possessed of aught (hat God was wilhouf, or im- agined that God, who is all in all, could have given that which he himself had not ? Spinoza is found continually referring to the Infix m; intelligence of God, in contradistinction to the finite intelligence of man ; and it was intelligence of the latter Bort alone which he refused to ascribe to God. The thought of God primordial, absolute, singular in its kind, 'has no more affinity with the thought of man than the most brilliant star in the northern sky, called ' Sirius or the dog-star, with the barking unimal we call a dog on earth.' Such pure, true, and adequate conceptions as have place in the mind of man, Spi- noza, indeed, holds to ho formal manifestations of the Divine Intelligence ; for this it is that is shadowed forth in pure and lofty thought, in rapt contemplation of the being and attri- butes of the Supreme, and in the moral life of man.
All pcrficl ion being perfect in Gwl, Spinoza necessarily conceives no before nor after in his nature ; He was, is, and
KVER WILL HK HIE ALI, IX ONE, THE I AM WHO AM, OS Said in
the Hebrew Scriptures ; and it is in consonance with this con- ception of the Infinite Perfection of Deity that Spinoza shows himself uncompromisinglj'liostile to the assumption of design or final purpose in the acts of Go<l. Dcginning ond End, Design and Purpose, have no meaning for Spinoza in con- nection with the Idea of God. These are mere fancies, ca- prices, false assumptions of the finite mind of man when as- sociated with the idea of the infinite God. "What God does is done of no forethought, by no choice, for no end; the perfect act flows from the nature of the All-perfect agent, and being what it is, could have been no other than it is, — outcome neither of motived nor unraotived will, of blind nor fur-seeing caprice, but of the luminous, eflicicnt, free-necessity involved in the Divine nature, wherein thought, will, act, and end are eternally and indissolubly associate in One. God neither worked seven days, nor seven years, nor seven times seven
J. O. vow HBRUER.
luillious of years at the world ; but He NN'as, and willi Him wua the All of things, pregnant by his fiat with the forces^ that now meet our receptive minds in the beauty, order, harmony, and seeming discord of the universe. The realm of tlie pomble is not the realm of the God of Spinoza ; lor the thing that is not, is the thing that cannot be. To quote the words of the great teacher liimself : ' Since in 'I'lio Eternal there is neither a past, a present, nor a future, but eternal wisdom and infinite power in one, God never pondered, phmned, and chose ; all such fancies as plan, preftTence, partiality ore incommensurate with the perfect, the change- less nature of God. Till God was— and when was God not? — what is was not, and witliout Hitn what is never could Lave been. And did God change aught that is, then would he himself change in will and understanding and be other than he is, which is absurd. Aught over and above what is, and to the Supreme was possible and accomplished, is a dream ; even as beyond space infinite there is no space, and beyond time unending no time, '
Herder was not fettered by the idea of Personality in connection with the Idea of God. He speaks of the derivation of the word person from the Greek irpunoivoi; a mask or dis- guise, suitable to the character assumed by the stage-player in the olden time. 15ut what, ho aska, has this conception of person in common vnth the Philosophic Idea of God l" God is God without purts or proportions, and is therefore no person. When wo name the name of God we must forget all the Baconian Idols of time and space and matter.
Herder had a much higher conception of Spinozism than ^acobi, and oven, we apprehend, than Leasing. He scouts Ibo
ciation of Atheism with the system and its author. In Jacobi's mind God was a person enthroned somewhere — not even God himself could have hmted or imuginod where — out- aide the universe. In great Spinoza's mind, and as Herder
IGC
BBKRDICT DR SI'INOZA.
believed, God is, and is cause of ull that is, Very Being, not outside but immanent within the Universe, manifestation of himself.
Herder concludes thus : ' The One Eternal Idea embodied in the word Substance or God, is the foundation of Spinozism. Aflribiitvs cannot be without inherent reality ; exprt-xision is not without something which it expresses ; modes of thought ore not conceivable without an existent efficient cause or power of thought and of things conceived. The pure conception of the One Indivisible i'owcr which in, through, and out of itself, intimately conceives, knows, and effectuates all that is or can be, is not an ompty nothing or a name, but Ykrt Being, and this is God.'
In his emphatic denial of forethought, calculated purpose, and final causes, wc aro not therefore to presume that Spinoza closed his eyes to the consonance between moans and ends in creation. To him mean and end were one ond the same. Each thing ho held to be possessed of the aptitudes ond instru- ments needful for persistence in its state ; these being mostly, though by no means always, in harmony with surrounding things, and, in some instances, even opposed to all existence other than tlioir own ; aa witness the poison of the upas and poppy, the fang of the cobra, the coil of the python, the battery of the torpedo, the teeth and claws, the beak and talons, of the carnivorous beast and bii-d. All things are not verily created, as said by the poet, ' for man's delightful use.' More than 1000 persons perish annually in India alone from snake-bite ; and a single tiger desolates a Hindoo village, and compels removal to other quarters. Each extant thing exists for itself in the first instance, and is only made use of, generally to its detriment or destruction, by some otlier thing for its advantage. The earth and waters yield herb and fruit, each in its own behoof and irrespective of other kinds ; animals, higher or lower in the scale, subsist on these, and
J. a. TOW HBRD«F
167
yot others still higher or lower live on the creatures so Bub^istiug. There is an endless chiiin of being, each link distinct and yet connected with the rest, each self-sufficing in its sphere, yet subservient to another's purpose ; all subject to the universal law of growth and decay, of life and death ; in- dividuals short-lived as the summer's leaves, types persistent as eternity, products alike of the Almighty mind in its unity of purpose and accomplished act.
' As finite beings wo dwell in space and time. By tho standard which these supply wo measure all things, and therefore ascend with difficulty from the creations of imagin- ation to conceptions that exclude appeal to such a scale. The infinite, all-efficient Being of Spinoza is as little the ma- terial world, as tho absolute of reason and the infinite of im- agination are one and the same thing. No part of the world can bo part of the Deity ; for God, in the Spinozistic idea we form of him, is indivisible. And now we see that our philo- sopher is as unfairly charged with Pantheism as with Atheism. " All things," says he, " are modifications or expressions of one Divino power, manifestations of tho eternal agency of God immanent in tho world, not parts divided or divisible of perfectly indivisible being." ' This view of the philosophic Herder does verily seem to be nearer tho truth than that which regards Spinozism as Pantheism. Spinozism is in fact the most purely abstract Jlonotheism that can be conceived. It is Pantheism only in so fur as God is ^Ul in all. The Uav and the 0€os may be assimilated, indeed ; but individual things and phenomena are no more than manifestations or shows of the Supreme unity. 'What do I see in nature?' asks the pious Archbishop of Cambray: 'God — God everywhere; God alone.' Herder's motto to his book gives us a key to his views :
E»t Dcua in nubis, ngiUnte calescimug Ulo. — VlBGIL.
It might be made subject of regret that ITerder did not or
1(38 BENEDlCr I)K SPINOZA.
could not vindicate for himself the place which Schleiermacher by-and-by attained in the religious world of Qemaany. Not more accomplished or many-sided than Schleiermacher, his judgment was sounder, and his moral nature probably of a higher order. But he was too reasonable a man, too much of a philosopher, and much too little of a mystic, to carry the many along with him. Occupying a pulpit presumed to be orthodox, but happily attached to a liberal and tolerant Court, ITerder in his preaching must have kept clear of the dogmatic elements of the Cliristian faith according to the Confession of Augsburg, even as we see the well-informed among the clergy of the Church of England hold off in their discourses from tliose set forth in the Thirty-Xinc Articles. His own views, wc are informed, were wholly Unitarian,* but he never offended the professing Lutherans who composed his congre- gation, bj' parading or insisting on the opinions he himself entertained as those only that could lead to holiness of life. In Goil's kingdom he believed there were places for the good and the pious according to ever}' pattern and persuasion.
J. W. vox OOEIHE. FKIKDRICII SCHILLER.
Goctlic has been characterized by the learned Dr Kuno Fischer as the jjoet of Sjiinozism. We have seen the use Jacobi made of his youthful ode, Prometheus, and how Lcssing, aware of his drift, humoured him in his purpose. Dr Fischer, in his historj' of modern philosophy, makes repeated quota- tions to sliow how much the greatest poet of his country was imbued with Spinozistic ideas — among others the distich :
Natur Imt wedcr Korn noch Schalo ; Sie ist dns All niit eincin Male —
Nor husk nor core in nature see : llic All and All at once i« she.
But we do not want testimony at second-hand to assure * Vide Uiary of H. C. Robinson, vol. iii. p. 48.
J. W. VOy GOETHE.
169
ufl of the Influence exerted by Spinoza on Goethe's habits of thought. In the course of a journey he made in company iritli Lavater and Basedow, he falls in witli Fritz Jacobi, he calls him familiarly, on the banks of the Rhine. Ja- cob!, brimfull of the Spinozism he feared, seems to have led the talk with Goethe as he did with Leasing to ihe subject that was uppermost in his mind — Spinoza. ' Hap- pily,' says Goethe, ' I had already taken some pains with myself in this direction, and at an early period of my life had oven formed certain definite ideas on the character and habits of thought of this extraordinary man — imperfect ideas they may have been, but sufficient to influence me essentially in my views even then, and destined subsequently to exert the most powerful influence on the whole of my intellectual life. I hod, in fact, long looked in the world around mo for some help in forming a true conception of this mysterious being of mine ; but all in vain, until at length I fell upon the Ethics of Spinoza. What I may have got out of tho book by read- ing it, what I may myself have put into it iu tho course of my reading, I cannot tell : enough that I here found rest and satisfaction for my feelings, and saw a great free prospect over the world of sense and of morals unrolled before me. That which perhaps struck me most at first was the perfect unself- ishness of the man, which showed itself on every page of his writings. The remarkable proposition, especially, in whicli he says, lie who loves God, must not require that God love him iu return, — with all the propositions that lead up to it, and the corollaries that follow, — took complete possession of ray reflecting nature.' •
Schiller, whether as man or poet, shows himself to us much less distinctly in his works than Goethe; he shows
* 1 have ventured to give n vcnion of tbo Promctheiu which in ita daring and irreverent tone, reminds uBOf some of tlic more joutJiful ouliwurings of our owti .Shtflley. Here I odd n translnlion of anollicr ode — Die Gullliclie, Iho Divine, wrilt«.>n lomc ten years after Uio IVometbeus, and in n tone much more
170 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
himself, indeed, almost as little as the author of the Ethics, and though he never speaks of having read that remarkable book, there can be little question of his having done so, and still less of the influence Spinoza exerted not only on his
coiwonnnt with what I apprehcDd as Spinoxistic and becoming tlian the earlier composition.
THE DIVINE.
Ix!t man still I>c noble. Helpful and goo<l 1 For this alone distinguiiihes him From all things else that live.
Hail, thou unknown, Exalted Beini;, Whom we divine I Let every thought of thee Teach us this faith.
For Nature's self
Is all uns>-ni|)atliizing :
Tlie sun still shines
On goo<l and bad alike ;
The moon and stars
She<l their soft light
On the worst as on the best.
Stonn, wind, and torrent, Lightning and hail, Itush on their course. And rend and ravage All that bars tlieir way.
And Fate, too, gropes Blindly among tbc many ; Kow takes the clustering lucks Of guiltless youth, Aud now the bald And guilty head of age.
In harmony with great Eternal, cliangclcss laws W'c all must round The circle of oar being.
But man alone
Can compass the impossible;
For man distinguishes,
Selects, and judges,
And to the llceting hour
Gives perpetuity.
FRIEDRICH SCnrLLER.
m
r writings but on his poetry also. It is impossible, in particular, to peruse his philoaophical letters without dis- covering a disciple of the great thinker. IIow, indeed, could a man with the innate religiousness of Friedrich Schiller escape the influence of the great religious conceptions of Benedict Spinoza i* If Goethe, Welt-kind— worldling — as ho designates himself,* could bo moved to admiration by the entire unselfishness of the philosopher, how much more must Schiller, the tender and the true, with no spark of worldliness in his soul, have been so moved ? ' All the perfections of the universe,' says Schiller, 'are united in God. God, Nature — Infinities complementary and equivalent. The sum of har- monious action existing combined in the Divine substance, is
He nlonc cinrcs Hcivttnl tbe good, Punish the bad ; lie heals nnd Bavet, And usefully conHtrains Tlie orring nud pcn'oree.
And wc f^ivc honour, too, To the iroiuortAls, As thoujjh they were men, Enncting in great WhBt the best among U3 Blrive in little to do.
Let Uic true man, then, — Helpful ond good, Un\vejirie<l in working out The useful and right, — Be pattcni to u« Of the unknown God Whose being we divine.
• Und wie die Wallfahrt welter ging Mit Sturm un<l Keuerschritten, IVophcten rcchlsi, Trophctcn liuka. Das Welt-Kind in dcr Mitten.
Aus Meinem Leben, Bucli xiv. Tlic prophets are Lavatcr and Basedow. Lavater, minister at Geneva, lm4i just before tlieir setting out l)een expounding the mysteries of the Book of llevelalion to a country parson ; and Basedow, professor of moral [ihilosophy at Jena, bad been doing hie best to convince a recalcitrant dancing-muster that baptism was an auticpiated ceremony, totally uuadapted to the exigcncica of tbe preacut ngc.
174
BENEDKT TIE SPINOZA.
religions, and the party opposed to all advance. Of the side to which .Sfhleiermacher himself inclined there can be no doubt, lie thought there was no more pitiable spectacle on earth than that of a human being existing iu vain, ' and ho who does not advance, but is petrified and forced to remain what ho is, verily exists in vain not only for himself but for others.' No raan ever more earnestly insisted on the imjiort- ance of virtuous doubt and eager inquiry than he ; these ho held to be the true stimulants of the mind, the fertilizers that brought the fallow into productive bearing. With Spinoza and Lessing, he maintained that the pursuit of truth was preg- nant with influences greater and ofton more iniiwrtant than tho mere truths attained. Ilence bis advocacy of progress in everything, not in science only, but in morals and i-oligion olso. ' The coming generation,' said he, ' must consist of a set of miserable creatures, indeed, if all is not much better known to them than it is even to the best among us now.'
It is in this noble and outspoken advocacy of advance that we obtain the favourable view of the character of Schleiennaclier, and learn to appreciate the sound Protestant heart that boat in the breast of the sometimes mystical and even hesitating theologian. Science, Protestantism, and pro- gress, ho saw clearly to bo inseparables, and no more to be divorced without a night of repression and darkness falling on the world. Each has, indeed, its root in freedom of re- search, its goal in freedom to make known the truths attained, and ita title to uphold these as ordinances of God, and ade- quate only to advantage mankind. Hence the folly and short-sightedness of those of the Reformed Church who say : thus far, but no fartlier ; and who denounce and defame who- soever knows more and is more honest and outspoken than themselves. The very cosmopolitan nature of Schloiennacher may perchance have had not a little to do with the varj'ing and not always favourable estimates that have been made of
FRIEDKICH ERNEST SCULEIERMACUER.
175
his character for candour and truthfulness. He was em- phatically what his countrymen call a many-aided man. Fluent with the pen in the solitude of the study, eloquent in the pulpit, with words at will, and holding all eyes and ears intent in the social circle by his conversational powers, he was scarcely less at his ease and in his place among the philoso- phers, philologists, and men of general science of the Academy ; he was verily one of those rarely gifted individuals on whose birth all the gods attend :
Whose eyoB by Phccbus. Upa by Uerme* ope'd, Aud 00 wbuse brow Jove toU lib seal of power,*
Son of a regimental chajjlain, Schleiermacher appeors to have felt a «///, as it is entitled, to the ministry even as a boy ; and his father having very intimate relations with the Moravians or Herrnhuters, young Schleiermacher was sent for his education first to one and then to another of their seminaries or colleges, liut his rare intellectual endowment soon led him to feel that the education he received both ut Nicsky and Barby was of too narrow a kind to satisfy his aspirations. Aa a mere youth he informs his father that he thinks ' the pupils are too narrowly restricted in their read- ing. In the lectures delivered to us,' he proceeds, 'suf- ficient mention is not made of the objections, arguments, and discussions raised in the present day in regard to exegesis and dogmatics. Except what we see in scientific periodicals wo learn noihing of these subjects ; and the fact that they are not alluded to awakens a suspicion in our minds that the ob- jections and innovations must approve themselves to the under- standing and be difficult to refute. I do not myself, however, Khare in this opinion.'
This waa written in the spring of one year ; but by the
• Wclchcn rim-liiii! die Aiifen, llcrincsdic F-ippen peloaef, I'nd das tsic(;el der Mauhl, Zvu.s nuf die 8U;nie gedriiekt.
Schiller : l>u UIQok.
176 BENEDICT DB SPINOZA.
beginning of the next the autumn had come and gone and ripened the fruit of the tree of knowledge, which his teachers, the Hcrrnhutcrs, had sought so carefully to keep out of his way, and against which he had been so emphatically warned by his father.* lie had found means to gather, and had freely partaken of the forbidden fruit, and, lo, ' his eyes were oixined, and he knew that he was naked.' But he had little will so to remain : God had given him the power to clothe himself, and he set manfully about the task of doing so. In the January of 1787, after a long and sore struggle with himself, rending his own heart with the grief wherewith he knew he should rend that of his poor father, he wrote : ' Alas, dearest father ! pray to God to give me the faith you believe necessary to peace in this world and to salvation in the next, for to me it is now lost ! I cannot believe that he who culled himself the son of man was the true eternal God, and that his death was a vicarious atonement, because he never expressly said so himself, or that it was necessary, because God, who e\-idently did not create men for perfection, but for the pursuit of it, cannot punish them eternally for not attain- ing it.' t From this it is easy to see that Lcssing's works had fallen in the way of the young man, that he was in ad- vance of his Moravian teachers, and must therefore quit their school.
The effect of the information on the father now communi- cated by his son had not been over-estimated. In the first moment of his grief he writes : ' 0 my son, my son ! into what a state of delusion has the wickedness of your heart plunged you ! How deeply do you humble me ! What sighs do you call forth from my soul ! 0 my son, whom I press with tears to ray sorrowful heart, with heart-rending grief I
* ' Keep out of the way of this tree of knowledge, and of that dangerous love of profundity which would lure you towards it.' The Life of Sohleier- macber, from the German by Fredcrika Uowan, vol. i. p. 16.
t lb. p. 40.
FRIEDIUCH ERNEST SC^flLEt BRMACIfER.
IT
discard ihee ; for discard thee I must, as thou no longer wor- shippest the God of thy father, no longer kucelest at the same altar with him I '
But this was only the first burst of the kindly man's vexation ; in the same or the very next letter he is again the ' loving though the deeply compassionate father to the erring son,' os he still iiwists on calling him : for with the pious by prescription, it is always the icickedncsa of the heart, not tlie tliciiiily within hint that leads man on to question and to seek for more and clearer light. Nevertheless, and in spite of what he says, we can see that in his secret suul the old army chaplain sjnnimthizes with his youthful and adventurous son. For he has himself passed through the ordeal the youtli was now required to undergo ; he, too, has known all the pains and penalties which attend on that awakening of the mind to thoughts and conclusions other than those instilled at the mother's knee and imbibed from infant catechisms. ' As a cliild, he s^joke as a child, understood as a child, thought as a child: but when ho became a man he put away childish things.' • ' For twelve years,' he informs his sun, ' I preached, thougli a real unbeliever. I was at that time firmly con- vinced that Jesus bad accommodated his discourses to the notions and even to the prejudices of the Jews; an opinion which led me to believe that I ought to be equally modest in reference to the established popular belief. Never, there- fore, did I feel at liberty to dispute the articles concerning the Divinity and atonement of Christ. Although I was not myself convinced of their truth I used to apply them in fur- therance of morality and of love to God and man. Should you not come to a decision iii favour of the propriety of this proceeding I wish you woidd at least never publicly attack the doctrines in question.'
The compromising advice hero given appears unfortun-
♦ I Cor. xiii. II. 12
178 IJENEDICT PE SVINOZA.
ately to have found a comfortable resting-place in the con- Bcicncc of young Schleiermacher, as it does so commonly in consciences fettered by subscription and fear of the world. It may indeed have aided not a little in exercising tko unhappy influence which hindered Schleiermacher, great as he was, from achieving the four- fold greatness that lay within his reach ; for he had power enough and comprehensiveness of mind enough to have shown himself fuU-fronted to the world, and not with the half-face he so habitually presented. Un- happily for himself and for us he lacked what the Scottish poet calls
* The etalk of carle hemp in man ; ' *
the independent spirit that would have enabled him to be
' The «ame in his own act and valour As in desire.'
It was only because of his less perfect moral constitution that he was to some extent compelled
' To live o coword in his own esteem, Twitting I dare not wait upon I woiM.'^
He might, verily and indeed, have done all he says it was his vocation to do — ' Presented to the general consciousness that which lies hidden in the consciousness of each imlindual cul- tivated mind.' This he did not jjrcsent entire, in its simplicity and consonance with the nature of man and of the world at large. lie did not even, in such plain terms as Herder had done before him, present the substantial essence of Christianity as consisting in its hunuinify, as comprising nothing foreign to the nature of man, nothing really supernatural, nothing transcending the power of reason to apprehend, nothing that should hinder it in its essential princijjles from perfect assimil- ation with the spirit and the science of the age.^
* Bums. t Macbeth.
% Baur, Kircheogefichichte des lOten Jahrhundcrts, S. 45.
FRIEDRICH ERNEST SCUI.EIERMACHER.
179
Instead of this, his enemies and the clearer-sighted among his followers and contemporaries have challenged him with wearing u mask or a cloak, witli plnyiug the part of a trimmer, and with having been wanting in the triitlifulness and can- dour that are the crown of true greatness. ' He made con- cessions tosupernaturalism in his Christology on the one hand, and to rationalism in his discussion of miracles on the other, that brought him no thanks from cither party; for the ortho- dox saw the Spinozistic orator under the garb of the dogmatic teacher, and the rationalist took the crumbs of his super- naturalism as evidences of tirac-8er\'ing or even of intentional deception.' • ' It is pure racudaeity,' says one of his opponents from the ranks of the orthodox,! ' when Schleiermachcr heads the chapters of his " Glaubensleliro " with the utterances of our Confessions of faith, as if the discussions that follow con- tained the same doctrine instead of one totally different. It would have been more truthful had he used as headings pro- positions from the Ethica of Spinoza.' Ileferring toSchleier- macher's Lectures on the Life of Jesus, which were only published after his death, so consummate a critic and amiable a man as Doctor Strauss informs us thut the conservative party, which increasingly prevailed among his disciples, hesitated to give them to the world, finding them especially weak ogainst the mythical view of the gospel histories, and so truly the clay feet of the brazen imago of his whole theo- logy, that it seemed even desirable to suppress tliem. On the life of Jesus he was un oniclo such as the ambiguity of his whole character, in tliis respect a true Loxias, well fitted him tobo.J
In spite of these unfavourable criticisms and the defects in hia character that give them ixiint, Schleiermachcr has
• (•ctrinuit, Geacfaichte dcs lltten Jalirhuudcrta, quoted by tbo Rev. V. J. Smitli in Theol. Jtsview fnr .Inly 180!).
t Kv»ng, Kirchen/.citiing, No. !I3. i|UOtcd by Mr Smith, ubi lupra. j Lolwa Jcsu rur'« Ocutache Volk licarbcitul, S. 23.
1! •
IsO m.NKKKT l»F. sriNOZ.%.
h.Tn c1iani('t<>i-isoil us u tlicologfian of the importance and mag- iiitiidi' of ti Kofiirinor, the fouiulcr of a ncir period in the lii.itorv l»"»th of Thrology ntnl the Church, conservative and clf»trii<-tiv)> lit <)ii<M>, whoso vucutioii it was to reconcile religion with the fnt'st inquiry (in<l most advanced culture.** The rare intollfctiial cnilowmont uf the man made it impossible for him to kcop (in tho bfatcn thwlDgicul track of his nge, indeed, but th<' (.'inolionul and almost fomiuine nature of which he was ulsii piwioxscd disubh-d him from taking the attitude of the uvowcil n-furmiT, and uiH>nly proclaiming to their full extent the ronclusion.s at which he had arrived. Such an attitude run ncitiitT be ussnnicd with>iut a show of hostility to the world iif liir<r<<, nor without eminent risk of isolation to the individual who appears in it ; and from open hostility, and still nioro from cold isolation, Schleiermachcr by hia iiatiiri- shraidv instinctivoly. Studont of Spinoza, but with a lower moral oi-<;ani/ation than his muster, though one of his true followers in the sphere of undorstunding, and clearly ap- prehending the prineiple of the Iniraanence of Qod in Xature and all the oonse(pienc(>s that flow from ita assumption, he was neither so consistent nor so truthful as at all times to acknowledije and proelaini them.
lie ajipciirs, nevertheless, to have emancipated himself at nil early period of his life from the cramping influences of the ideas vid^jarly eoniKH'tinl with the Tfcbrew Scriptures — the dead-weight that has commonly made advance in true religious knowledgt) HO diflieidt. Kvon as a youth he ventured to think that (iod never eiirsod the work of his power, imposed commandments on his creatures whicli he hud not given them faculties to obey, or suffered defeat in his beneficent purposes by the devices of a rival.
• Sclnviirlz, iu Vorrudc zu Sclilciuriiiaelier's lietlen, quote<l by Kniitli, ulii 8U|>ra.
FKIEURICU ERNEST SCULEIEKMAOIIBR.
181
Freeing himself from the fetters of the old tlieology which has itfi root ia the Hebrew Scriptures, as ho advanced in years and in knowledge, and viewing the New Testament record through the eyes of common sense, his science and general learning enabled him to detach its supernatural and unhis- torical narratives from the pure religious teaching and simple morality of ' the man Jesus, the Prophet of Nazareth of Galilee;'* and further and more important than this, of dis- tinguishing between the religion of the teacher himself and the religious conceptions of post-apostolic, mediaeval, and more modern iuterpreters, embodied in the various symbols and confessions of fuith, that have been handed down to us.
Schleiermacher, in fact, mode no attempt to recall the religious faith of the past. He would ' have nothing to do with pristine beliefs,' and 'cares little for those who amid cries and lamentations attempt to rebuild the ruined walls of their Jewish Zion, or prop it up with buttresses of Gothic con- struction.' Least of all would he continue to hold with dog- mas and systems of any description ; declaring roundly thnt ' the age is in it« rights when it protests against such things being set forth as the essence of religion.' The completeness or perfection even of doctrinal beliefs he thinks may imply everything' rather than the perfection of religion in itself. lie seems as if he could hardly speak of the subject from this point of view without distemper, and laments that the noble in the nature of man is oftentimes by the influence of such formulne degraded and robbed of its native liberty, the mind then getting fettere<l by scholastic and metaphysical conclu- sions, products of barbarous and unenlightened times. ' For what,' asks he, ' are all those doctrinal scafToldings but works of the constructive underst^anding, wherein each part is only upheld by the counter-thrust of onother opposed to it ? Why * MatUiew xx.L 11, aod Kcw Tc«tiunent puatm.
IM HKNEDirr DE Sl'lXOZA.
look no farther than the scaffolding ? "Why not turn the eye inwanl.i iin-l find out that of whose existent reality such con- structions are but the outward evidence? ' *
Religion, according to S^'hleiermacher, belongs neither to the domain of science nor of morals, is essentially neither knowledge nor conduct, but emotion only, specific in its nature, and inherent in the immediate consciousness of each individual man. llcnce comes the vast variety of religious conception and of religious system observed in the world ; — variety not only thus to bo accounted for, but apprehended as a necessity' of human nature. Ilcnce, also, tho irrefragable plea for universal toleration, and the sin against God's or- dinance committed in every act of [Xirsccution for opinion.
This view of Schleiermachcr was an immense advance on all previously entertained ideas of the nature and true worth of tho religioiis idea, and has not yet been generally appreciated in all its significance. When we recognize it, however, wo readily understand how religious emotion may be associated with crime and immorality, as well as with the highest moral ex- cellence ; how a Jacques Clement and a Balthasar Gerard may confess themselves to the priest, and take the sacrament of tho botly and blood of the Saviour by way of strengthening them in their puqiose to connnit tho crimes that have made their memories infamous ; how punctilious attention to Bible read- ing and devout ol)scrvance among criminals of a less terrible stamp, do not necessarily imply hypocrisy and cunning, as so commonly assumed, when thi'sc unhappily-constituted beings are found again engaged in their objectionable courses. The piety — the religion — displayed, is a perfectly truthful manifestation of the emotional element in tho nature of man, which seeks and finds satisfaction in acts implying inter- course with Deitj', but neither seeks nor finds satisfaction in acts of honesty and virtuous life in the world.
• IJimr, Op. cit., S. ill.
FRIEDRtCII EHNEST SCHLBIERMACHEK.
1S3
Distinguishing between religious emotion and raorul con- duct, Schleicrmacher understood religion in a more than usually comprehensive sense ; every healthy emotion, even, be- ing looked upon by him not as natural merely but as pious also ; that if he widened the domain and spiritualized the essence of religion, in the same measure did ho generalize and make it shadowy. ' The conscious contact or communion of the in- dividual with the universal ' is, above all things, religion in his eyes. The religious emotion is ' nimble and transparent as the air that breathes the dew on the leaf and flower, modest and gentle as the virgin's kiss, holy and fruitful as the bridal embrace. It is the meeting of the particular with the general, and has no relation either to time or place ; for it is nothing tangible ; it is the immediate sacred nuptials of the universal with reason incarnate in man : ' and more of the like, where we encounter the mystical element that had i considerable a part in the constitution of Schleiermachcr's "nature, and that, doubtless, also added to his influence with that large section of the community over whom m3'8ticism exerts its magic sway.
His first work, the ' Discourses on Religion,' were ad- dressed ' to its contemners among the cultivated.' And when ho wrote, the etlucated community did in truth appear to have lost all sense of religion, to have no longer believed that religion was anything more than outward show, and in nowise a necessity of existence. But twenty years later so great a change had taken place in the same class of society, that in the preface to his third edition of the 'Discourses' ho says, that had he now to write, instead of addressing him self to careless or indifferent souls, he would have to speak to credulous and superstitious believers, to pietists and slaves of the letter. As these discourses, however, were almost the only religious reading in which the general public indulged in all that time, there can bo no question of their influence in
Ift4 BENEDICT DE SPIXOZA.
having wrought the change. The state of feeling in the Prussian capital and in the universities of Germany when they were first published, appears to have been much akin to that which is so frequent a subject of lamentation with the clergy among ourselves at the present time. The antique interest and faith in the Old had been superseded by the ever- advancing science and civilization of the age ; and the eflTorts of the immediate retainers of established churches to keep the fire of faith from dying out, by mercilessly piling dogmatic fuel upon it, instead of alimenting went far to smother it entirely. And this, too, is very much what we observe in our England of to-day. Indifference in matters religious b cer- tainly not commendable; but writings that served only to supplant apathy by a puling and idiot piety, or left the minds of men in such a state as to make it possible for them to find rest in ihc superstitious beliefs and observances of the Church of Rome on the one hand, in denial of the most irrefragable truths of modern science on the other, could not have been of the thorough and wholesome sort required to nourish the spirit of TRUE REMOiox in the soul.*
Had Schleiermacher only given utterance to all that was in him, ho would have been that in fact which he is credited by his friends and followers with having been, but was not :
• Fr. SchleRcl, who for many years was the liosom-fricnd of Schleier- macher, turned Itoman Catholic.
' Do you count me nmonf; the orthodox who have lost the old biblical conception of the imiversc ? ' inquired Pastor Knak, a preacher in one of the Berlin churches, of Pastor Lisco. another preacher, who had been up- holding the truth of the C'opemican system. ' Yes,' replied Lisco, ' for you will hardly maintain, with the ISible, that the earth stands still and the sun Roes round it' ' But I do : I acknowlcdfre no other conception of the world than that of the Bible," was the response of the now famous Pastor Knak.' '
This is precisely what Cardinal Cullen and his ultramontane followers in Ireland maintain, when they assert their indefensible right to teach the chil- dren that the sun is a ficrj'ball about three feet in diameter, and at a certain not very great distance from the earth, round which it turns regularly once in 24 hours mean time !
' Quoted by Mr Smith in his article iu the Theological Review for July, 1889, p. 291.
EMASUEL 8WBDENB0RO.
tho Apostlo of the Religion which the educated world of the 19th century is anxiously exi)ecting ; the Religion tliat shall (low from the limitless ocean of truth, with trust in God as its first postulate, and obedience to his eternal laws OS its last.
E31AKUEL SWEDENBORO.
We have spoken thus far of tjie philosophers and theo- logians who were students of Spinoza, who played their parts among men of culture like themselves, and influenced tho world of letters and of science. But there is a world above, below, or beyond this, the proper sphere of which is the super- sensuous and the mystical, which cannot be overlooked, and which found its exponent in connection with Spinoza in the learned and remarkable individual whose name stands at tho head of this section of our work.
Swcdcuborg waa a man of gentle birth, of liberal educa- tion, and considerable scientific atlainmcnls. llis writings on mineralogy and mining, natural philosophy, and tho mathematics were all much esteemed in their day, and the re- putation they gained him was such that he had the title of Baron conferred on him by his king, Charles XII. of Sweden. At a later period of his life, however, when between 50 and 60 years of age, he began to have visions from the upper world. A spirit in human form appeared to him first whilst engaged in eating his midday meal, with tlie injunction 'not to eat so much ; ' and visitijig him again in the darkness of the night, said to him, ' I am God the Lord, Creator, and Redeemer. I have chosen thee to show mankind the inner sonsie of holy writ, and will rehearse to thee what tliou shalt write.' 'Tho Lord,' he continues, 'was clothed in purple, and tho vision lasted a full quarter of an hour. The eyes of my inward man opened forthwith, and I aequirt-d the power of looking int« heaven and tho world of spirits, and into hcU, where I
186 BENEDICT DE SPIXOZA.
saw many persons I had known, some of them long dead, others but a short while departed.'
Swcdonborg, with that clement in the nature of man which is proclaimed in ideal and superscnsuous conceptions, powerful within him, had for some years before this been feeding his mind with cabalistic and apocalyptic reading, and came at length, like visionaries in general, to transform subjective impression into objective manifestation. Instead of the concrete and mathematical sciences, his writings hence- forward treat of nothing but the New Jerusalem, the spiritual world, and the last judgment, apocalyptic revelation, the intercourse between soul and body, the true Christian re- ligion, &c. That he himself was firmly convinced of tho objective reality of his visions there can be no question ; tho singular in the matter is that in the middle of the 18th cen- tury he should have been taken at his word and received among men professing the Christian faith as the propounder of an immediate revelation from God, and institutor of an entirely new church upon earth ; for he professed not, like other religious reformers, such as Wesley, to found a church within the existing church, but to bring in a new epoch, a new economy, a third Testament to complete, or rather to Bujierscde, the tiro already possessed. For his followers, whilst they weed and winnow tho Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, accepting some parts, rejecting others, receive the whole of Swcdenborg's writings as sacred and inspired ; designating them the Doctrine of tho Word and Spiritual Mother; whilst the canonical Scriptures are entitled tho Word and Spiritual Father.
Eccentric as Swedcnborg's conceptions may appear, they are still pervaded by a certain method ; the flights of his phantasy still lie within the limits of that which has a dis- tinct rational interest for mankind ; nay, the grounds of his contemplations may be shown to comprise all the elements of
EMAjrtrEL SWEDEN noito.
187
a philosophical sjstom; so that the psychological enigma in the end comes to bo this, how such opposites and contradic- tions as we observe should meet and assimilute in one and the same individual.*
The distinguished writer and critic referred to in the above sentence does not appear to have divined the source of the method and scicii/ific clement which he, nevertheless, detected in the writings of Swodenborg. It was discovered by a man much less known than Ferdinand Christian Baur, following a profession, too, as remote as possible from criticism nnd scholarly acquirement, a major-general in the array of the United States of America, Ilitchcock by name,t and in a quarter where we should hardly have expected to find it, viz., the rigid, unideal, and dogmatic writings of Spinoza.
General Ilitchcock appears to have been a student and ad- mirer of Spinoza, and visited England, we have been in- formed, many years ago with a translation of the ' Ethics ' in MS., intending to give it to the world, but failed to find a publisher disposed to aid him in the work. Besides familiar- ity with the writings of Spinoza, Genenil Hitchcock must also have been well read in those of Swedenborg, which are popular in America, the Church of the New Jerusalem having manj' adherents in that country. In his pamphlet he says that his object is not to assail or defend either Spinoza or Swedenborg, but to point out some extraordinary resemblances between them ; and he remarks by the way on the extraordinary fact, that though resting on the very same ground, 'Spinoza was accounted the arch-enemy of all religion, whilst Swedenborg, on the contrary, is held forth by a considerable Ixidy of fol- lowers, as a man inspired by Qod, and sent into the world for
• Bnur, Kirclii'npe*c)iiclite dcr nciicni Zeit, S. CA'i.
f 'Jlie ilorlriiic» tif Spiiioiift nixl Swcilenlior^ iilcotificd, in lo fur M tlicy clniin n Mioiilific ground, in four leltorrt by •••••, United Stutcs nmiy. 8vo. lloston, 1'. S. 18^(i. Tlie pnmplilet is Ihcrt-furc piitilikbcd uuonyniousJy, bat Ueoeral Ilitchcock was well known to be the writor.
188 BENEUICI' I>K SPINOZA.
the express purpose of toacliing the true Christian religion. Reflecting men,' he concludes, ' may see in the following ex- tracts matter worthy of their serious attention ; and to this class of readers they are respectfully commended.'
OF GOD ACCORDIXG TO SPINOZA.
' By Qod I understand a Baing absolutely Infinite ; i. e. Substance consisting of Infinite attributes, each of which ex- presses Infinite and Eternal Essence.' Ethics, Pt i. Def. 6.
' By Substance I understand that which is in itself and is conceived by itself, the conception of which requires not the conception of another thing from which it must be formed.* lb., Def. 3.
' Existence pertains to the nature of Substance ' (lb.. Prop. 7) ; and ' There is and can be conceived no Substance save God.' lb.. Prop. 14.
' AVhatever is is in God ; nothing is or can be conceived to be out of Qod' (lb., Prop. 15) ; and 'The existence and the Essence of God are one and the same.' lb.. Prop. 20.
' By Self-cause I understand that, the Essence of which involves existence.' lb., Def. 1.
OF con AaORDl-NO TO SWEDENBORG.
' All things were created out of Substance, which is sub- stance in it.sclf ; for this is the real Esse (Being) from which all things that be exist ; hence the existence of things is from no other source.' Angelic Wisdom : of Divine Love, par. 283.
' There is an only Substance, which is also the first, from which all things are.' Angelic Wisdom : of Divine Pro\'i- dencc, § 6.
' Esse (Essence, Being) and Eristcre (Existence) constitute the self-subsisting and sole-subsisting Being.* lb., § 40 — 43.
' There is an only Essence from which is all essence, an only Being from which is all being. ^Vhat can exist without
SPINOZA AND SWEDENBORG. 189
Being ? And what Being is tliere from which is all being, unless it be Being in itself? But what is Being in itself is also the only Being — Divine Being, Jehovah, the all of uU things which are and exist,' lb., § 157.
OF MOUeS ACCORDING TO SPINOZA.
' By a mode,' says Spinoza, ' I uiideratand the affection of a Substance, or that which is iu another thing by means of which it is conceived.' Ethics, Pt i. Def. 5.
' Particular things are nothing more than modes or affec- tions of the attributes of God, expressed in certain and deter- minate manners.' lb., Pt i. Cor. to Prop. 25.
' The Essence of things does not involve existence' (lb., Pt i. Prop. 24) ; so that ' There must bo a cause for the exist- ence of each existing thing.' lb., Prop. 8, Schol. J, 2.
Man and all things else in nature have therefore no necessary existence in themselves, but are modes — things exist- ing in another thing, affections of the attributes of God and only existing in God.
OF MOOES ACCORDING TO SWEDENBORG.
Things much compounded take their origin from things less compounded ; the less compounded from things slill less Bo; the least compounded of all finally from things simple. But whence or wliat is this simple ? It is the Infinite self-existent cause of itself and operator of effects out of itself. All finite things, therefore, are modes, and so ac- knowledge a cause prior to the modification whereby they arc modified, in virtue of which they are severally what they are and nothing else; having such a figure and no other, occupying such a space and no other, &c. All things out of the Infinite, in a word, have their modifications ; but in tho Infinite there is no such thing as mode, the Infinite being
190 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
the original cause of uU modifications. Principia, VoL I. p. 47, ct scq.
OF KNOWLEDGE.
Accoi-ding to Spinozu, in the briefest possible terms, wo have knowletlge in three ways : Ist, from the senses j 2nd, from reasoning'; 3rd, from intuition. Ethics, Pt ii. Prop. 40, Schol.
According to Swedenborg, there are three degrees of Love and Wisdom ; the lowest reaching us through the senses; the second being attained to by the sciences ; the third and highest reached by the internal perception of truths, both moral and intellectual (i. e. intuition). True Christian Religion, p. 37.
Speaking of the Divine Law and declaring that there is no- thing more excellent than ' reason and soundness of mind,' than 'the contemplation and love of God,' Spinoza says that this truth is unintelligible to the carnal man, because in these he finds nothing to touch, to taste, or which in any way afi"ect8 the bodily senses whence he has his chief delight. Tract. Thcol. Pol., chap. ix.
'If a man,' says Swedenborg, 'does not elevate his mind above the things of space and time he can never perceive anything Spiritual and Divine. But he who knows how to elevate his mind above the ideas and the thoughts that par- take of space and lime, passes from darkness to light, and becomes wise in Spiritual and Divine things. Angelic Wisdom, § 69.
' The intellectual love of God,' says Spinoza, ' is the love wherewith God loves himself ; not as he is Infinite, but in so far as he can be explained by the essence of the human mind regarded under the form of eternity. In other words, the intellectual love of the mind of man for God is part of the infinite love with which God loves himself. In so far as God loves himself therefore, he loves mankind ; and consequently
SPINOZA AND SWEDENBORG.
101
the love of God for man, aiid the intellectual love of the miud of man for God, are one and the same thing.' Ethics, Pt v. Prop. 3G.
' The third essential of the love of God,' says Swedenborg, 'God gives to those who receive his love in themselves; for God, as he is Love, is also blessedness, and makes angels happy from liimself, and also man after death by conjunction with fliciu. It" man becomes rational-spiritual and at the same time moral-spiritual, he is conjoined with God, and by conjunction has salvation and eternal life.' True Christian Religion, pp. 38, 2G'2.
We might proceed quoting General Ilitchcock's pam- phlet to the end, and exhibit innumerable other and perhaps even more striking resemblances between the writings of the mystic Swedenborg and the rational and naturalistic Spinoza. Swedcuborg's works, indeed, in so far as they make any pre- tension to a philosophical foundation, seem, from tlie hasty survey obtained of them through the American officer, to bo Spinozism wrapt in a cloud of mysticism, and with the as- sumption of such an intimate knowledge of the nature and doings of God and angels and spirits, the constitution of heaven and boll, and matters metaphysical, us it never entered into the clear, pure bruin of Spiaoza to entertain. Enough has been given to show how the thoughts of one who was long regarded as the enemy of God and man may bo appropriated and 80 used by another without change in their essentials, as to gain him the reputation of a prophet and inspired inter- preter of the Divine will, and give liim power to present himself as founder of the Church of the New Jerusalem, which has its disciples, neither few nor without zeal, in Sweden, Germany, Poland, Holland, Great Britain, and the United States.
Although not among the number of his correspondents
192 BENEDICT I)£ SPINOZA.
whose letters have reached us, there is still au individual, a coutemix>rary of Spiuoza, who directed particular attention to the man, and who therefore deserves a passing notice from us. This is Lieutenant-Colonel Stoupo.
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL STOVPE.
We hare had occasion to refer to the incident in the life of our philosopher which brought him into contact with this personage, and thereby into suspicion among his countrymen of entertaining unpatriotic sentimcuts. Stoupe was a Swiss by birth, native of one of the Protestant cantons, and so, Pro- testant by religious profession. At an earlier period of his life, during the Protectorate of Cromwell, he had lived in England, and officiated as minister to the Walloon church iu London. He must therefore have had a theological education. At the time of his meeting with our philoso- pher, however, he had not only changed his residence but his calling ; for ho was now stationed at Utrecht as colonel of a regiment of Swiss, in (ho service of the French king, Louis XIV., then at war with the United States of the Netherlands. Promoted subsequenlly to the rank of brigadier, Stoupe finally lost bis life at the battle of Stceukirke.
Whilst lying with his regiment inactive at Utrecht, the fame of Spinoza, then living at the Hague, could scarcely have failed to reach his ears ; and we cannot doubt that the quondam theologian, having read the Tractatus Thoologico- politicus, and feeling himself now free from the fetters of the ministry, became desirous of making the personal ac- quaintance of the writer of the book. From Colerus we learn that ' he wrote several letters to Spinoza, from whom he re- ceived several answers;' but as none of these have reached us we have no opportunity of contrasting the man as he
LIEUTENANT-COLONBI. STOUPE.
193
was in fact, with the man as he set himself before the world.*
The Swiss cantons, having in the majority of instances espoused Calvinistio Christianity as their religious system, would appear to have refused the French king the customary privilege of raising men among them for the prosecution of his war against the Dutch. The clergy in particular were loud in denouncing the wickedness that would be perpetrated were Protestant Switzerland to furnish a Catholic king with the means of waging an intolerant war against a people pro- fessing the same religion as itself. One of the Swiss clergy, a professor of divinity at Berne, took it on him to write and remonstrate with Colonel Stoupo individually, letting him know that he — the writer — ' could not sufKcicntly express his Btonishment (liat any officer making profession of the Re- lormed religion, whether he were Swiss or French or of any other country, should consent to show himself in arms against our dear brethren in Christ, the Dutch, and aid in destroying that sanitified republic which had always been the refuge of the reformed religion.'
Stoupe, smarting apparently under the just reproaches of the Rerne professor, like persons generally who find them- selves in the wrong, seeks to justify himself by vilifynng those he is injuring and replying with the ci fii quoque to his accuser. lie first maintains that the revolt of the Netherlands from tho yoke of Spain and the secession of the jjeopla gen- Brally from Roman Catholicism were no consequences of tho '•uiTorings they endured under Philip the Second, and the
* Tbis he did in n booU entitled : Ln Iteligion dcs IIollandniK, 12mn, Cologrnu, 1 Ci'^ ; (ratii^lnlrd into KiiKlitli, uiidtTtlicMinie title : Tlie lii-ligion of Uie Dutch, small •Ito, Ldndon, U>0. It is rnllicr a clever production ; aa •even; upon tlie Swiss fur llieir ruligioiis intolerance in former times, and llieir present scniplea a(>out selling tlirir sons to acne tlic Xngcii king of Krunce, an it \i defnuiatorjr of tho Dutch. I UM the English trouglation, not bating nxn. tlic origiual.
IB
BKWEDICr DE SPINOZA
194
bettor roli;»io"8 convictions to which thoy had attained, but cfTi'cts entirely of ambitious designs on the part of the leadinfj nobility of the land, and of the craft of William of Orange, in parliuulur, to accomplish certain selfish ends of his own.
Far from being of the same religious persuasion as the Swiss, he dec!larc8 that the people of Holland 'never were and are not of it at all.' Instead of tolerating Cah-inistio Christianity alone, like the Swiss, the Dutch tolerate indiffer- ently all the forms of Christianity extant on the fac« of tlio earth — Roman Catholics, Calviniats, Lutherans, Arminians, Gomarists, Socinians, Quakers, Anabaptists or Mennonitos, Lilxsrtines, Independents, Seekers, &c. Nay. they not only Bufl'or Christians of every sort to live in peace among them, but even clnrish the Jews, and can farther boast of a sprink- ling of Turks and Persians in their towns. How can a jjooplo among whom such a sfat« of things prevails, ' be of the samo religion ns another people, who burned ^lichael Sorvotus and Scipio Gcntilis olive, for denying the trinity, and who, not forty years ago, put Nicholas Anthony, a minister at Divonno in the Duiliwick of Gcx, to death in the same cruel way. upon discovery made that he was secretly a Jew ? Not only are the Dutch not Calvinistic Cliristiuns, but they are, pro- perly speaking, not Christians at all.'
Stoupo then proceeds to give the correspondent he ad- dresses an account of the tenets of each of the leading sects of Christians resident in the Netherlands. ' But he should not,* he says, ' think he had completed his task did he omit saying a few words on an illustrioiis and leamod man, resident here, who, he is assured, has many followers. This person is by birth a Jew, his name Spinoza, one who has not abjured the religion of the Jews, nor embraced that of the Christians; so that he continues a most wicked Jew [though he has abjured the Jewish religion!] and has not the least tincture of Cliristi- anity. Some years ago he put forth a book entitled Tractatua
LIEUTENANT-OOIX)XEL STOTTPE.
19.3
Thpologico-roliticus, wherein his principal design is to intro- duce Atheism, Libertinism, and the free toleration of all religions, which he thinks were aU invented for the ad- vantages the public receive from them, to the end that every one may live honestly, obey the magistrates, and addict liim-
■ to virtue, not for the hope of any reward after death, but For the intrinsic excellence of virtue in itself, and the ad- vantages that accrue in this life to those who follow it.'
'This Spinoza,' he proceeds, 'is now living in thiscoxmtry. In his residence at the Hague ho is visited by the Virtuosi and such as pretend to more than ordinarj' curiosity — nay even by some young ladies of qualit}', who pride themselves on being more ingenious than seems needful in the sex. His book mentioned, has been condemned by a public edict of the Statcs-Generiil and a prohibition put upon the sale of it ; and yet is it publicly sold. Amongst all the divines, of whom there arc a great many in this countrj', there has not stood up any one that has presumed to write against the opinions which this author advances. And I am the more surprised thereat for this reason, that the author making a discovery of liis great knowledge of the Hebrew tongue as also of all the ceremonies of the Jewish religion, of all the customs of the Jews, and of the heathen philosophy, the divines of the Reformation cannot but say that the book docs well deserve that they should take the pains to refute it. For if they still continue silent, men cannot forbear affirming that either they are defective in point of charity in suffering so per- nicious a book to be scattered up and down without any answer thereto, or that they approve the sentimenta of the author, or that they have not the courage and abilities lo oppose them.'
From the large admixture of unwarranted assertion and error in the above extracts, and the way in which we observe
10 of the views of Spinoza referred to, we see that Stonpo
19C BEXEUirr pe spixoza.
is not so well informed as he might hare been, and surmise that to a man of the world, more especially to one who had laid aside the Geneva bands for the sash and sword, some of the opinions of the 'Renegade Jew,' as he designates Spinoza, were not really reganled so unfavourably as he pretends.
VTc do not, however, attach much weight to the opinion entertained of our philosopher by Brigadier Stoupe. Ho is but one of the crowd looking up at the intellectual man of his age, standing alone, and so immeasurably raised abovo them that they could truh* catch none of the mental or moral features that made him notable. To us Stoupo is mainly or perhaps only interesting, from ha\'ing through his book incited Colerus to enter the field as the biographer of Spinoza. Colerus could not allow the statement to pass un- noticed, that none of all the host of the Reformed Clergymeu in the Netherlands had ventured to answer the Tractatus Tlieologico-Politicus. Far from allowing this to be the case lie dedicates ten pages of his short biography, as we have seen, to a list of the replies already publishc<l. He does not tell us, however, that Spinoza himself never saw any one of these to be of such cogency as to merit a rejoinder, and that none of them all do in fact rebut one of the etalemcnts made, or answer on grounds of reason and counter-proof any of the writer's conclu.sions.
THE CRITICS, FOLLOWEKS, AND TRANSLATORS OF SPINOZA,
rRIENDLT, HOerriLB, AND lUrARTIAl..
The name of tliese is Legion, and we have no intention to rcTiew the scries. The earliest apologetic criticism — under the cloak of an adversary however, — is that of Count Boullain- villiors,* who discards the geometrical method from his survey, and so contrives to give an uninterrupted and suffici- ently lucid account of Spinozism. The extracts from the work of Father Lami and the letter of the Archbishop of Cambray, which the Editor of BouUainvilliers has appended to the Count's pretended Refutation, seem designed to show, in the case of the simple Priest, the ineffective nature of the battery brought to boar upon the bulwarks in which Spinoza sits entrenched, and in that of the Archbishop, to hint at the identity of view which tho excommunicated Jew and the illustrious Christian Hierarch enteilained of the nature of Deity.
LOCKE.
The only writer of note among ourselves who lived in tho last century, and who must have been well acquainted with the works of Spinoza, though he carefully avoids nil mention of his name, was Locke. The account ho gives in his preface to tho ' Essay on the himian understanding ' of the way in which his work took its rise, is the first paragraph of Spinoza's
• KcfiiUition (!(!» Errcurs do Pcnoit do Sjiinoza par M. de Fcni-lon, Ic V!>n Lnmi et M. ie Cointc do Uoullainvillicra, avcc la vie de Spioozn par J. Colcrua. I2aiu. Briu., 17;)1-
198 hem;dict I)K spixoza.
'Do Einoiuliitiono InlcUoctus/ done into English; and the rcsc'inblaneo bctwifn ilic ideas cxprcsssed in his ' Epistle to the Reader,' where he say«, ' lie who sets his own thoughts to work to find and follow tnith, will find everj- moment of his pursuit rewanl his pains with some delight, and vnH have reason to think his time not ill spent, even when he eannot boast of any great acquiitition,' will not fail to strike tho reader as bearing a strong resemblance to the fine passage in (Spinoza's Twenty-first Letter to which we have already re- ferred iKiiticukrly. Loeke's suppression of Spinoza's namo, however, did not secure him against challenge from opponents of working on a Spinozistic basis and advocating atheism,* whilst the psychological views advocated by the liberally educated physician and physiologist laid him open to bigoted charges of materialism and denial of the most essential doc- trines of the Christian Religion.f
J. A. FI«)C1»K.
One of the fairest and still one of the best accounts of tho philosophy of Spinoza extant among us we owe to Mr Froudo. J
' It is not often that any man in this world lives a life so well worth writing as Spinoza lived,' says Mr Froudo, and tliis * not for striking incidents or large events connected with it, but because ho was one of the very best men wliora these modem times have seen.' * • * ' One lesson there does seem to be in the life of such a man — a lesson he taught equally
• W. Carrol. A difwcrtation upon Mr liOoke's Essay conccining llie human understanding, wherein that nutlior'i! endeavours to establish Spinoza's atheistical liyiwthcsis, &c., arc confutc<l. 8vo. London, 17()C.
t Ity the Ilishop of Worcester, esiiccially; to whoso attacks Ijookj'a answers nflford models of controversial writing.
t Vide Westminster Kevicw for July, ISH^, and ' Short Studies on Great Subjects,' by J. A. Froude. 2 vols 8vo. London, 1817, vol. ii. p. 1, in which the contribution to the Review is rei)rinted. Tliig, however, if wo be rightly informed, is not tho first of the pa|>tirs on Spinoza for which we arc indebted to tho distinguished historian. Hiero is another, which appeared in a monthly magazine so long ago as 184?.
3. A. PROTTDB.
l»y example and in word: — that wherever there fa genuine and thorough love for Good and Goodness, no 8j)ecuLitive superstructure of opinion can be so extravagant as to forfeit those graces which arc promised, not to clearness of intellect, but to purity of heart.' • • • < We may deny his con- clusions ; we may consider his system of thought preposteroiLS, and even pernicious, but we cannot refuse him the respect which is the right of all sbcerc and honourable men.' Such is the worthy spirit in which one gifted and liberal mind conceives that of another, his forerunner in the widk of histor- ical criticism and fearlessness in the avowal of his conclusions. 'Spinoza's influence over European thought,' continues Mr Froude, ' is too great to be denied or set aside ; and if his doctrines be false in part, or false altogether, we cannot do their work more surely than by calumny and misrepresent- ation;— a most obvious truism, which in a ccnturj' or two hence will jwrhaps begin to produce some efliecl on the popu- lar judgment.'
It is but a few years since this wos penned, — not yet the sixth part of a single centur)' ; but all who take on interest in the higher literature devoted to philosophy and theologj', know what a change has taken place in the estimate formed of the life of Spinoza and of the character and signiticancc of hi« writings. Happily the calumny and misrepresentation of whicli SpinoEO, as a man, was so long the subject has now in a great measure passed away, and all fear of the influence of his writings for evil, vanishing like a dream of the night, has given place to an assured conviction of their wXmg as guides to truth and aids to good alone.
Witljout cnli&ting imdcr his banner, ilr Froude is there- fore as obviously an admirer of the philosopher in the beauty and sanctity of his Ufe as we can see him well ploasotl to ac- company the thinker amid the subtleties of his intellectual speculations. To Mr Froude we owe that fine passage frc-
200 BE\ EDICT D£ SPINOZA.
qucntly quotitl by Gennau writers, iu wliich, druwing a parallel between Leibnitz und Spinoza, und addressing M. dc Carcil who has been depreciating Spinoza,* lie says: 'If M. dc Careil desires to know why the iufluenco of Spinoza, whose genius he considers so insigniiicunt, has been so deep and enduring, while Leibnitz has only secured for himself a more admiration for his talents, it is because Spinoza was not afraid to be consistent even at the price of the world's repro- bation, and refuse<l to purchase tho applause of his own ago at tho sacriiicc of the singleness of his heart.'
n. a. i.EWKs.
Mr Lewes is another able writer who, although opposed to all philosophy save that which is * Positive,* has nevertheless by his occasional papers and more studied writings aided essentially iu keeping alive in England an interest in Spinoza. He, too, has a fine sense of the beauty and completeness of the Life of our Philosopher. ' There is an heroic firmness trace- able in everj' act of his life,' says Mr Lewes, ' worthy our meditation, a perpetual sense of man's independence worthy our imitation. Dependent on his own manual labour for his daily bread, limite<l in his wants, and declining all pecuniary assistance so liberally ofiered by his friends, he was always ut case, cheerful, an<l occupied. He refuses, too, to accept the beliefs of another ; he will believe for himself ; ho sees mys- teries around him, — awful, inexplicable, but ho will accept of no man's explanation. God has given him a soul, und with that he will solve the problem, or remain without a solution.' * * • « lie was a calm, brave man ; he coiJd con- front di.sease and death, as he had confronted poverty and persecution. Ilraveiy of the highest kind distinguished him through life, and was not likely to fail him on quitting it ;
• Befutation ini'tlito do Spinoza par Leibnitz, prcccUe d'une llOmoire par M. Fuuchcr do Careil. 8vo. I'ariii, ItJO-i.
F. DEXISON MAUttlCE.
201
yet beneath that calm, cold stoicism there was a childlike gaiety springing from u wann and sjanputhizing heart.' — We ore pleased to linger with acute and accomplished rainds in their expressions of love and respect, where we ourselves feel love and reverence.
Mr Lewes expresses a firm conWction that no believer in metaphysics as a possible science can escape the all-embracing dialectics of Spinoza ; and as Lcssing said long ago, ' There is no philosophy but the philosophy of Spinoza,' so does Mr Lewes in our own day declare that ' to him who accepts the verdict of the mind as not merely the rclatke truth, but the perfect, the absolute truth, he sees nothing, humanly speaking, but Spinozism as a refuge.' •
To this conclusion we assent ; for Lf philosophy had its birth for modem times from Descartes, as it had; and exerted itfi highest influence over European thought through Spinoza, aa it has unquestionably done ; it may be said to have culmin- ated in Hegel, who though seeming to stand ao far apart from Spinoza, is nevertheless a true soul of the Jewish Philosopher. To us Hegelianisra, stripped of all that is extravagant and obscure, embraces little or nothing that is not discoverable in plain and easily apprehended terms in the Ethic of Spinoza.
V. DENISON MAURICE.
The theologians ex profosso have still shown themselves the most persistent as well as consistont enemies of Spinoza. Arrogating to themselves an indefeasible title to conceive Gal in their own way, and to inteqiret Ilis providential government of the world, they have denied the right of all outhide their circle to do the same, and have not yet left off denouncing as atheism, and what they call infidelity, all that
• Vide BiograpMcnl Ilistory of Pliilosoiihy, the nrticlo Spinoza in tlio ' K-nny Cyclojui'diB,' nnd tlio excellent article ou Uie F'hilosoiihtT ouJ his IiUilutophj- in the 77th No. of tlic * Wotsttuinstcr Review.'
20:J
nEK EDICT DE SriXOZA.
fnuisionJfl the nurrow Iiorizon of tlio dogmatic vision. Wc ore luippy, however, to refer to one able and influential theolo- gian, bold enough not ouly to show hiaacquaintjiuccwiththo T^Titings of Spinoxa, but to avow liis sympathy with the man and his ^-iews. ' The founcLition of Spinoza's nund,' says the Hev. F. Denison Maurice, 'was laid in the confession of Ood, which he made the foundation of (dl his philosophy. "Being" was that in which he believed and rested: God was ** Being" in the fullest and most transcendent sense.' Quoting tbe philosopher from his Cogitata Metaphysica to the follow- ing oflect : ' How the Essence, the Intellect, and the Will of God are distinguished I set down as among the things which we wait to know. And here I do not forgot the word Per- Honality, which theologians use to explain this difficulty ; but though I am not ignorant of the word, I am ignorant of its moaning, nor can I form a conception of what it is, although I firmlj' believe that in the blessed vision of God, wln'ch is promised to the faithful, God will reveal lliis to his own;' Mr Maurice tidds : ' Tliis honest confession and this earnest hope are among the most touching passages that wo re- member to have raid in any author. They should always be remembered by those who arc passing judgment on Spinoza.' •
The only faidt we have to find with Mr Maurice's chap- ter on Spinoza is the ajKjlogetic tone ho thinks it incumbent on him here to assume. From the discussion of the philoso- pbical views of the pious Malebranche, Priest and Oratorian, however, he con find 'no fitter preparation to enable the reader to think with wisdom, and with the charity that is in- separable from (ke divine wisdom, of Spinoza. To heap epi- thets on him is the easiest of all tasks ; they lie ready to hand in most of the answers that have been wTitten to him. But his evil and his good must bo learnt from himself; and here, • Modern PbUosophy, pp. 377, USI, 38S. 6vo. LonJon, 1802.
S. T. COLEBIDGE.
208
05 in ull cascB else, some knowledge of the life of the man ia esscnf ial to a knowledge of the meaning of the writer.' *
Mr Maurice's introduction has, therefore, n deprecatory tone about it which we do not think was at all required in connection with the name of Spinoza. Much rather is his a name never to be mentioned but with honour; charity is altogether out of place aa ho is concerned, though it is largely required us regards his traducers and persecutors. Did Mr Maui-ic«, indeed, detect evil in speiJung the truth, then do Spinoza's WTitings ask for a great measure of charity; but if, 08 we firmly believe ho does, he sees good only in so doing, then do they demand a still larger measure of uppliiuse. If u knowledge of the life of the man, moreover, be needful to u proper appreciation of the writer, where in the short: lil'c of the holy Spinoza shall we find a. blot or a flaw? where in his writings discover a sentence that is unworthy the purest and noblest among the sons of men ?
S. T. COLERIDGE.
S. T. Coleridge in his capacity of lay-ecclesiastic ond having no feor of Spinoza, requires a brief notice at our bonds. H. C. Robinson in his entertaining Diary f has the following passoge highly characterist ic of tlie man : ' Coleridge walked with me to A. Robinson's for my Spinoza, which I lent him. WTiile standing in the room he kissed Spinoza's face in the title-page, and said : " This book is a gospel to mo. Spinoza's philosophy, nevertheless, is false, ha« been demonstrated to be false, but oulj- by that philosophy which demonstrates the falsehood of ull other philosophies. Did his philosophy com-
aeuce with an It ia instead of an i am, Spinoza would be tdto-
ether true." '
From Coleridge's marginal notes in Mr Robinson's copy of Spinoza, now to be seen on the shelves of the Library of • Modern I'hUosoiihy, p. 877, etscq. f Vol. I., p. SOT.
204
HKXKOKT D£ SPINOZA.
Manchester New College, London, it appears that he heartily embraced iSpinoz.a's fundamental principle of the Divine Im- manence in all things, as distinguished from the usutd au- thropomorphic conceptions of God. Coleridge, however, thought that ' Spinoza began at the wrong end when he com- menced with God as object. Had he, though still dogmatizing objectively, begun with the natiira naturaun in its simpleKt terms he must have proceeded per intelligentiam to the sub- jective, and ha^^ng reached the other pole, idailisra, or the I, ho would have rcprogresscd to the equatorial point or the identity of subject and object, and would thus have finally arrived not only at the clear idea of God as absolute being, the ground of all existcnts (for so far ho did reach, and to charge him with atheism is a gross calumny), but likewise at tJic faith in a living God who hath the ground of his own ex- istence in himself. That this would have been the result had ho lived a few years longer I think his Epistle Ixxii. author- izes us to believe ; and of so pure a soul, so righteoua a spirit as Spinoza, I dare not doubt that this poleiifial fact is received by the Eternal as actuaL'
There is something that is right and beautiful in this, but something that is not easily to lie understood, and some- thing also that is certainly mistaken, so that from the whole we might feel authorized to say that Coleridge did not under- stand Spinoza. The 'proceeding per intelligentiam to the subjective ; ' ' reaching the other pole,' and ' reprogressing to the equatorial point or the identity of subject and object,' are phrases to which Coleridge may have attached a meaning, but with which we can connect none. Substjmtia sive Deus — that which has the ground of its existence in its essence, in itself, is the natura naturans = the Efficient Immanent cause of aU, in Spinozism. The natura naturata, again, the Uni- verse of things, is the objective manifestation of Deity ; and man, gifted with intclligcuco and volition, as he is pai-t of
UK KUNO risaiER.
205
nature at large, object and subject at once, is that wherein the existence of God and of all things acquire conscious form or reality. This was probably what Coleridge aimed at but failed Mly to express.
Coleridge thought the old rantheism of Spinoza prefer- able to modem Deism, which he held to be but ' the hypocrisy of Materialism.'
' His doctrines assume an orthodox air, but to mo thoy are unintelligible,' says the sensiblo H. C. Robinson.*
DK KVNO FISCHER.
By far the best, the fairest and most exhaustive review of Spiriozisin of recent times, is that which Dr Kuno Fischer ives in his history of modern philosophy.t Without rank- ing himself under the flag of Spinoza, this distinguished writer and very able man has yet obviously the very highest admiration for the talent displayed in the Ethics, and entire respect /or the brave, self-reliant character, and con- sistent life of its author ; so that he who has read and under- Btoud Dr Fischer's survey of the Ethics may be said to be master of Spinozism ; as he who follows him in his appreci- afi<m of the moral and intellectual nature of the writer of that marvellous book, has made acquaintance with one of the purest and most gifted of mankind.
PR J. VAX VrX)TEN.
Another highly appreciative and able review nf the life and philuijophy of Spinoza is that lately published by Dr Van Vloten, entitled : Baruoh Spinoza, his Life and Writings, in
• Op. Cit vol. ii. p. 208. Et in Arcadia Ego — I, too, linvo tal^cu tea at tfi)fli^te, and lintcnrd to the ' Did itian Eloquent ! ' The iiuprcamion wa* pre- I'iji Iv lliiit «Iiich H. C. l!ol>iii»on n<>(f» : After a version of Bcvcnil liount unci nn iiiiiiili'iT.ipled llorxl of nii-llillunus word.i, 'it woa iininful to nie to find niy- miK unrililc to recall niiy pnrt of what had Hiiiiiich duliglileil inc.' — II). p. 5!ll7.
t (iUsrIticlitcdcT iieuvm l'hiloM>phie. Istcr Hand. Slcrl'hcii. 3lc.\ulln|n. Ileidolb., IM'>.
9RVO
BENEDICT DE SPIXOZA.
oonnoction with his own and tho present age.* This nble writer and advanced thinker is no half-hearted apologist of our philosopher. To a thorough understanding of his works he ad<l8 such respect for tho talents, and admiration of the character of Spinozii, as makes him not only the faithful exponent of the great thinker's philosophical views, but the graphic painter of his relations to tho age in which he lived, to that which followed, and still more to that which is passing.
To Dr Van Vloten we are farther indebted for the publi- cation of a Supplement to tho works of Spinoza, containing a Treatise, before unedited, on God and Man, and another on the Rainbow (believed to have boon burned by the author shortly before his death), several unpublished letters, and additions to the Life of tho Philosophcr.t Dr Van Vloten has added a miniature portrait to his work, which, as having been painted by Van der Spijck, Spinoza's host, he believed when he published his supplement to be that of Spinoza. It is 80 unlike all tho other portraits, however, that this con- clusion onco clmllongod has been abandoned. The Portrait which accompanies tho present publication photographed from tho one given by Dr Paulus in his edition of Spinoza, and now in the possession of Dr Van Vloten as he himself informs us, is as pleasant to look on as it is undoubtedly genuine.
Tho Treatise ' De Deo et Homine ' would have been interest- ing had we not had tho Ethics as the author's latest and most complete elaboration of the thoughts of his life. Almost the only chapter we find in this treatise that has nothing corre- sponding to it in the Ethics is that headed : De Diabolis. As
* Bnruoh Spinoxn, lijn Leveo en Schriflen in Verband met lynen en onzon Tijd. p. 9vo. .\ra8t., 18(!2.
t Ad Ilcncdicti de Spinona Opera quaj Buiwreunt omnia supplementura. Coutineiis Traclatum lmcii3r|uc iiicditum de Duo et Ilumine, Tnictatulum do Iridc, Epi8U)lns nunuullas iaeJiUiseL od eau, Vitamqiio I'liilusopUi collectanea, rjuio. Auutolodami, 1SG2,
OF THK nKVlI..
207
a Nonentilij, a thing tliat could not be, Spinozn, probably, did not think it worth while to discuss the devil in his completed work. But ns the principle of e^n'l in n personal form has still on irapnrtant place in the thoughts of mankind, and Sutan is still as foolishly us irreverently and persistently preached from our pulpits as the successful rival of God, we add the short chapter in this place.
OF IHK UEVIL.
' If the Devil be an Entity contrary in all respects to God — having nothing of God in his nature, then can he have nothing in common with God.
' Is he assumed to be a thinking Entity, as some will have it, who never wills and never does any good, and who sets himself in opixisition to God on all occasions, ho would as- suredly be a very wretched being, and could prayers do any- thing for him, his amendment were much to be implored.
' But let us ask whether so miserable an object could exist even for an instant ; and the question put, wo see at once that it could not ; for from the jjerfection of a thing proceeds its power of continuance : the more of the Essential and Divine a thing possesses, the more enduring it is. But how could the Devil, having no trace of perfection in him, exist at all? Add to this, that the stability or duration of a thinking thing dei^nds entirely on its love of, and union with, God, and that the opposite of this state in every particular being presumed in the Devil, it is obviously impossible that there can be any such being.
'And then there is indeed no necessity to presume the existence of a Devil ; for the causes of hate, env}', anger and nil such passions, are readily enough to be discovered; and there is no occasion for resort to dctiou (o uccouut for the evils they engender.'
208 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
nKKTIIOLU AUERIIACIT.
This well-known popular writer is nlso author of a oora- pleto translation of Spinoza's works into the German language, extremely faithful, and perfectly trustworthy ; • so literal, in- deed, that any obscurity in the original is not found cleared up in the translation. Ilcrr Auerbach has prefaced his work by an excellent Life of Spinoza, from which the present writer has derived several useful hints in filling in his canvas. Novelist by profession, Hcrr Auerbach has even ventured to make the unobtrusive and uneventful life of the philosopher the subject of a talcf Dr K. Fischer, however, overs that he finds cvcrj'thing there except Spinoza ; and certainly the way in which the heroine, AIUo van den Ende, who is calletl Olympia, is made to treat the hero, had it occurred in fact, would have gone far to console him for having boon outbidden by Dietrich Kerkering who, adding apostasy to his presents, carried off the lady as his prize.
M. EMII.E SAISSET.
Our neighbours, the French, have been for some years in possession of a neut and available translation into their tongue of the works of Spinoza from the pen of the writer whoso name stands above.
Unless he had been engaged by a publisher for the work, however, we are at a loss to conceive the motive that could have induced M. Saissct to undertake the task of translator and editor of Spinoza ; for he is not only heart and soul op- posed to his philosophy, which lie could not have understood, but has the meanest conception of the character of its author, which, in its purity, simplicity, and goodness, ho appears to
• Ti. V. Spinoza's fiimmlliflio Werke, mis dcm Ijitcinisclicn. niit dem TiClicn Spinoza's. 5 vols. 12nio. Stuttsmrdt, 1841. 2te Aufl. ib. 18<!<!.
t Spinoza, Ein I.)ciiker-I.cbcn. 1vol. IL'nio. StuUgardt, 1804. 4U!Aufl. ib. 18C0.
M. EMILE SAISSET.
209
have been unfilled to appreciate. Spinoza's understanding (esprit) lie admits was vigorous, but his soul (Ame), he says, was puny ; he speaks of him as a man without a countrj' or a home — an exile (cxil^ de sa Patrie), dwelling in an ob- scure corner of Holland (deraeurant dans co coin obscur do la IToUande), and expelled from the Synagogue (chass^ de la Synagogue) ; only anxious to ba left at peace in the enjoy- ment of hia own thoughts ; unwilling to publish his lithics lest his quiet should be compromised (no voulant pas publier de craintc do Iroubler son repos), and having a much greater dread or dislike than any love of mankind.
liut we know from his life that Spinoza was at least as brave and self-reliant as he was unquestionably gifted with the highest intelligence ; that ho was not an exile and without a country, but a native and a citizen of the United States of the Netherlands, in whoso public aCFairs he always took a particular interest ; that ho did not hide himself in any obscure comer of the land, but lived openly at The Hague, one of the brightest and best known of the cities of Holland, where he was accessible to all who honoured him with their visits; that ho had voluntarily and of himself withdrawn from the congregation of the Jews, and that their excommuni- cation was a piece of poor spite cast after him, which would have been eagerly recalled at a moment's notice on the slightest sign of yielding on his part ; that nearly ten j-ears before his death, and without fear of compromising his quiet, he had published the Tractatus Tlieologico Politicus, of which, though anonymous, he was as well known to bo the author as he was ready so to acknowledge himself; and to conclude, that if the Ethics did not see the light in his lifetime, it was through no indisposition on his part, but wholly owing to the oppo-sitiou of the Cartesians and the clergy, and the calumnious and false reports they spread abroad concerning the character of the work.
U
21'.' lL^Ll^:.^ m sr:.v ri.
M. Salsse: :* rv-r *; :-li:.ivJ bj Li* prvjaiiccs that he akZ-Ti-.' qu.:* '.-irr-;-. :Iy :t.-^ -r-.tl-.r wivs the matter tells in £iiiT:.urv: oar plil .-*.:•':.-. r. i::i r. : uzi'.z.< him. Referring to Vvatiirt's irti.li. C ■/-« Ft .- :•. i:: tbe I>Ictionuaire Phi- IcAifphiquv, fir ejus::'!^. M. Siia!»:t pr^c-c-iiis : • AVhen Spinoza lays about Lim. it w^r with M .■>£* aad tbe pruphets, Voltaire applau'is ; but wbea the study of the Scriptures is quitted for that of Mature, and Spinoza pe-f-*<* to see in the universe trac« of lHviae cjntrivin^o ani intelligent will, Voltaire cries out aguinst him. and apc>«trjphizicg him in his curt and familiar style, exclaims : Tu te trompes, Baruch ! '
Now, in no passapi? of his works can Spinoza be shown as at war with Moses and the pri:>pbi.-ts : and though he criticizes acme of the writings that pass under the name of the great Ile- brew leadvr and lawgivor, it is evvr with rvverence and respect, never with a hostile tttling. Neither in A'oltaire's article is there one word about Moses av.d the pn^iphets, or of any hostility to them on the part of Spinoza. The article Games Fiiiaki o( Voltaire begins abruptly thus :
* Virgile dit —
Men* avritat moU'm. niajni-wi'.io w corjorc misoi'l,* L'Esjirit reiril le nvmilo— i1 ?'.v mi'.<!. il I" Buiine.
Virgile a bien dit, et Benoit Spinoza, qui n'a pas la clarte do Virgile et qui ne le vaut pas. > >t /on c i!i' nconnaUre line iii- tefliijeiicc qui jiremd-: a tout. S'il me I'avait niee je lui uurait
• Viiyil is nobly ptirnphrasotl by WonUwortb. rfforring to the Spirit of Kature in bis Ode on Tintcm AbK-y. wliere be sj-eaks of —
' A prfsenco that disturbs us wiih a j ly
Of ekvateil tliouiilits, a sense sublime
Of soiuctliiiig interfused
Wbose dwelling is tlie liirlit of seltina suiis
And the l-ound ixjean. and the llvinj; air.
And the bbie sky. and tills the mind of man —
A niutiun and n sjiirit tliat iin|ii'!s
All thinking tbiniis. all objeets of all thought.
And rolls through all thii'gs.'
M. EMILE 8AISSET.
211
dit : Benoit, tu es fou ! ' Voltaire therefore refers to Spinoza in terms the very opposite of those ascribed to him by M. Saisset. So ill qualified, indeed, sccras M. Suisset to appre- ciate the mental constitution of Spinoza, that he thinks there must be a typographical error in the fine passage where the philosopher, speaking of the joy ho has in his thoughts and in the contcrapliition of the Divine perfection, says, that though tlic fruit he galliers may oft be nought, or even error, yet does he hold himself favoured ; for in companionship with such thoughts he passes his days in no sighing and sorrowing, but clieerfully, joyfully, and in peace, and so mounts a step in existence. Instead of /uroiired or fori iinate (fortunatum) M. Suisset reads infortiinnttiin, and translates the word in ag- gravated terms into ' entiirtmrnf niaJhciircux ! '
More than this, M. Saisset, determined opponent of Spi- noza on every point of his philosopliy, falls himself, like so many others, unconsciously and when he has not the object of his dislike before him, into Spinozism and Pantheism, his bete noire. ' Dicu est la condition immediate,' says he, 'de toule existence reello, de toute peus^e distinete. Quiconque pensc, pense Dieu ; quiconque affirme, affirme Dieu.' • Not hesitating to charge Spinoza with presumption in attempt- ing to interpret God and his attributes, he sees not that ho himself falls into the same sin. M. Saisset, in fact, knows more about God's doings than ever Spinoza pretended to do : ' Dieu a done fait le monde, il I'a fuit de rieu ; en d'autres tcrmes, il I'a fait sans le tircr de soi-mfime — voili la Creation.' f
So much we have thought it needful to say of M. Saisset,
• tEuvrea de S|)innza, i!iid e<l., T. i. p. 44.
f lb. p. 71). I'oiif. fiirtliiT an iiitercstiii); paper liy M. Snifset: Rur laPiiilo- roptiie de« Juir<. Mainicmido ct Spiuoca, iu Hcniic dc8 deux Monde«, iindo pcriode, T. xxivii. p. 'iW. Pari!!, 18t;2. It was with much re^rt-t Hint I discovered, oo UimiDK to one of tlie Nus. of the Revue de« deux Mondm for 1SC4, that M. Sttiaaet had died in the prime of his age and powers, \a Uie counw of that yeor. What it; written above iu llie way of criticiim WM pemied long ago and during M. Saisset's lifetime.
14 •
2V2 UKSKDUT DE SPINOZA.
whose translation and views of our philosopluT, we observe, are ofti-n quoted as if they were to be implicitly relied on for their correctness, instead of being what they are, occasionally mistaken, and always conceived with an arrii're pensi'e of hostility.
M. Siiisset, in a word, would have the world 'fed with tho pure marrow of St Augustine (nourri de la mobile pure de St Augnstin), guarded by the discipline of the Church and led by faith on all sides paramount.' But Spinoza was brought up on the equally orthodox fare of tho Jewish school of Am- sterdam, and had tho rigid Rabbi Saul Levi Morteira for master, yet he deserted the Synagogue and wrote the Tracta- tus Tlioologico-roliticus ; precisely as Rene Descartes, whom !&I. Saissct so much admires, emancipated himself from tho indoctrination of tho Jesuits of La Flcche and wrote the 'Meditations.' M. S:ns.set, as philosopher himself, should have been more tolerant towards Spinoza. If it be not in every man's power to free himself from the superstitions of his childhood, neither is it in every man's jwwcr to continue con- tentedly in these. The great Descartes coald, and 3'et could not. The picture M. Saissct draws of Spinoza is in fact much more true as a portrait of the French than of tho Flemish philoso- pher. Descartes, for instance, was an exile from his country — voluntarily, indeed, but it was to tho end that he might live in peace. Instead of freely coniniuuicating his thoughts to his younger friends and leaving tlicm at liberty to make use of his ideas, like Spinoza, he charged one of his disciples, Henri Le Roy, with compromising him by publicly defending one of the theses he had received from his master. When ho heard of Galileo's impeachment and imprisonment he forth- with stopped the publication of his own book ' on the World.* He eared nothing for politics or public liberty, and he could have had little or no feeling for religion in itself — for tho re- ligion of the soul and of tlie individual mind : ' Jc suis de la He-
M. F.MILE 8AIRSET.
213
llgion do mon Roi ou do ma nourrice,' said he — and his ' Roi' was that pattern of piety and sovereignty combined, Louis the Fourteenth ; and his wet-nurso, we must presume, was not much of a theologian. To curry favour with the priesthood he dedicated liis ' Metlitntions ' to the doctors of the Sorbonno, and all he uttered was to be received as in purposed conform- ity with the doctrines and discipline of the Catholic faith. To conclude, he died having submitted himself to all the rites of the Roman Catholic Church, confession — think of R^n^ Descartes confessing himself to a shaveling priest I — extreme unction, and the rest.
JI. Suisset even quarrels with Spinoza's motto ' Cuute '•— ' With caution ' — caution so near akin to prudence ; and in spite of the adage. Nullum Numen abest si sit Prudentia. Could he possibly have approved Descartes' device, Qui bene latuit, bene visit ; to bo freely yet truly translated. He who lives cunningly, lives well? Dr Kuno Fischer, himself the soul of freedom and of toleration, criticizes Malcbranche, from whom he differs, in another spirit. 'We reckon not with the man,' says he, ' who by his natural temperament makes himself a priest, and through his life continues a priest of the Oratory.' Descartes, whom M. Saisset opposes to Spinoza at all iK)ints, is nevertheless in fact much more closely allied to him than to St Augustine. What could M. Saisset have made of these passages of the Meditations : ' Par lu Nature, considcr^o en g^n^ral, je n'entends maintenant autre chose quo Dieu nieme, ou bien I'ordre ot la disposition que Dieu a dtabli dans lea choses crdt'es ; et par ma nature en jmrticulier, je n'entends autre chose que la complexion ou 1 'assemblage de toutcs los chosos quo Dieu m'a donni^,' And again : ' La Nature lu'enseigne aussi par ecs sentimcnta de doulcur, de faim, de soif, »S.c., quo jo ne suis pas seulement loge dans mon corps ainsi qu'un pilote en son navire, mais outre eela quo jo lai auis conjoint tros etroitemsnt et tellcment coufondu
214 BEXEDICT DE SPINViZA.
et meM que jc coinposo commc an scul touX arcc lui/ The dualistic proposition, God i/c/ Nature, was evidently not far remote from that which speaks of God or Nature ; and the Cartesian dualism. Soul and Body, not far from the Spinoz- istic : Primum quod actualc mentis humanx E^se eonstituit nihil aliud est quam idea rei alicujus sin^laris actu existentis (i. c. corpus humanum). £th., Pt II. Pr. xi.
ASTOX VAX DER I-IXPE.
We conclude this section of our work by a brief notice of Dr Van der Linde's mono<n^ph, which may be spoken of as a contribution to Anti-Spinozistic literature ; not becau^ of any peculiar novelty or talent displayed in the essay, but simply because it is the latest in the class to which it belongs that has fallen in our way ; though we may also be influenced in referring to it by the verj* complete list of Spinozistic and Anti-Spinozistic works and occasional jwpers which it contains.
I)r Van der Lindc has a verj* \mwt appreciation both of Spinoza's moral character and intellec-tual powers — which, to bo sure, is something now. ' You could s<Kmcr turn the sun from his course than Spinoza from truth,' says one of his e<litf)rs (Gfrocror). ' He is verily one of the clearest heads that has ever existwl,' says the learned historian of Modem Philosophy ("K. Fischer) ; and we have seen the high terms in which the amiable and (iccomplishod Jacobi spt>aks of our philo- sopher, though he dislikc><l his system. But I)r Van der Lindc sees in Spinoza one of the most perversely illogical and inconse- quent among men ; shifty withal, and liaving recoui-se to artifice to cKCiipc the difficulties in liis system which he was well enough aware of but had not the candour to acknowledge. I)r Van der Lindc appears to have been infected by M. Saisset with his dislike to Spinoza. We can fancy that he translates the French writer occasionally, and he certainly follows him in the motives he assigns for Spinoza's not having published the
.VXTOX VAN DEE LIXDE. 215
Ethics in his Hfetinic. Dr Van der Lindc even ventures to saj' that Spinoza ' had not the full courage of the philosopher to stand by his convictions. Neither did ho truly strive to spread abroad among men the conclusions to which he had comewith such mathematical certainty: "What can it matter," argued he, " to truth whether it be made known to-day or to-morrow." ' But enough I though there is still so much evidence of ability and scholarly acquirement in his Essay that we can but regret to find an aspirant to the honour of the degree of Doctor in Philosophy, so demeaning himself against what must needs be his better knowledge and his nobler nature as to calumniate a great and pure-minded man, whom he pretends to criticize and interpret in one sentence, and in the next, with a show of misplaced piety, to exclaim, Inquietum est cor nostrum donee requiescat in te ! *
• Spino;!n. Seine I^hre un<l deren Kachwirkungen in Holland. Eine liistoriMh-philofiophiKchc Monofrraphie von Antonius van dcr Lindo. Inaug. niivert. zur Erlangung dcr philosopliischcn Doctorwiirde. Gr. 8vo. GOttiDgen, 18(i2.
CORRESPONDENCE.
LETTER I.
IIKSRY OLDEXBf RO TO B. 1)E SPIXOZA.
Honoured Sir, Esteemed Friend !
You will judge with what regret I left you on my late visit to you in your retreat at Rhjiisburg,* when you see that I am scarcely arrived in England ore I seek, in so far as this may be done by writing, to feel myself in com- munion with you again. Your scientific attainments, added to the sweetness of disposition and refinement of manners t wherewith nature and self-culturo have so amply endowed you, have charms that secure you the love and esteem of all educated and right-mindwl men. Let us, therefore, most excellent Sir, give each otlier the right hand of confiding friendship, and sedulously cultivate the same by doing all in our power mutually to aid and oblige each other. All I can give from my slender stores pray consider as your own, and suifer me, I beg in turn, as tliis may be done without loss to you, to share the intellectual treasures in which you abound.
At Rhynsburg we had a conversation on God, on Infinite Space and Thought, on the agreements and differences of these attributes, on the manner of union between the human body and soul, and on the principles of the Cartesian and Baconian philosopliies. But as we only touched hurriedly
• A Tillage near Lcydcn, where Spinoza lived between ICfil and 166-1. f ' Iterum solidarum Bciontia conjuneta cum kumanilate el morum clegantia.'
H. OI.nENBntO TO B, DE SPISOZA.
217
and in the most summary manner on subjects oF sucli vast interest, and as my mind has been much occupied by what was then said, I now venture, on the strength of our inchoate friendship, to ask of you kindly to communicate with me more at large on the matters broached, to give me your viewa of them generally, and in especial to enlighten me on these two points : Ist, Wherein you make the distinction between Thought and Extension to consist; and '2nd, What deficiencies you find in the philosophies of Descartes and Bacon ; how you would propose to amend these, or what you would sub- stitute as something better in their stead. The more freely and fully you write to me on these matters the more will you bind me to you, the more pledge rac to services of the like sort to you — if, indeed, I have it in my power t-o render any.
The account of certain physiological experiments by an ?>ngli8h nobleman of distinguished parts and learning,* has gone to press here, and will shortly make its appearance. ITie subjects discussed include Fluidity, Solidity, the con- stitution and elastic properties of the Air, &c., illustrated by some forty-three experiments. When the work comes out I shall take care to send you a copy by the hands of some one proceeding across seas to the continent.
Meantime, farewell ! and think of your fncnd who with all affectionate esteem is yours,
HkKRV OLDEJiBUKC. London, August 2G, ICCl.
LETTER IT.
n. HE sriNozv to n. oi.uenbuiuj.
ITonoureil Sir,
You might yourself divine how highly your friend- ship roust bo prized by me did your modesty permit you to • The Honouniblc Robert Doyle.
518
BKXEDICT nE SPJJfOZA.
consider the many aocomplishmonta you possess. When T think of these, I, for roy part, am not a little proud to call you friend, especially when I reflect that all things — all spi- ritual things eapeciaily — should bo in common among friends. But I feel that I am privileged to do so more through your kindness and good-will than any deserts of mine own. In the excess of your modesty you so abase yourself, and in the plenitude of your good opinion so exalt me, that I do not hesitate to accept the intimacy you bo frankly proffer. By desiring a return in the same kind from me you do me much honour, and I do not hesitate to say that I shall do every- thing in my power to cultivate our friendly relations. In so far OS my mental aptitudes are concerned — if, indeed, I pos- sess any — I say they are all most heartily at your disposal, did I even know that this could not bo without great detri- ment to myself. But that I may not seem on any such grounds to deny what you ask on the score of friendship, I shall endeavour to give you my views on the subjects we dis- cussed, although I do not think that what I shall say, with- out your special indulgence, will prove a means of binding me at all more closely to you.
In the first place, then, I sliall speak briefly of (lod, whom I di'lino as: A Being constituted of an infinity of attributes, cacli of which is inGnilo or most perfect in its kind. And hero I observe that by an attribute I understand that which is conceived by and in itself, so that the conception of it does not involve the conception of any other thing. For example, Space is conceived by and in itself; but not so Motion, for mo- tion is conceived in something else, it« conception involving the idea of space or extension. Now that the above is the true definition of God appears from t'lis : that by God we under- stand a Being the most perfect and absolutely infinite ; and tliat such a Being exists is readily to be demonstrated from the de- finition ; but as this is not the proper place, I pass by the
B. »E SPINOZA TO U, OI-DESBURO.
219
demonstration. WTiat I have here to do in order to satisfy my honoured correspondent is as follows : Ist, to show That in the nature of things there cannot exist two Substances which do not differ entirely in their essences ; 2nd, That Sub- stance cannot bo produced, but that existence is its essence ; 3rd, That Substance must be infinite or consummately jwrfect in its kind, niese heads demonstrated, my distin- guished correspondent will readily apprehend ray drift, pro- vided he but keep my definition of God in view at the same time ; so that it does not seem necessary to proceed further in this direction at present. SliU, as I desire to give you a clear and connected though brief demonstration of the subject, I can think of nothing better than to send for your considera- tion and opinion the enclosed slip,* whereon you will find my ■views set forth in geometrical forni.
You wish me, in the second place, to inform you what deficiences I find in the Philosophies of Bacon and Descartes ; and here, too, I comply with your wishes, although it is not my wont to dwell upon or to expose the defects of others. The first and foremost seems to me to be this, that they stray so far from a true knowledge of the First Cause and Origin of things the second, that they do not understand the real nature of the human mind ; the third, (hat they do not apprehend the tnie cause of error. Now, he only who is without all mental culture and discipline can fail to perceive how indispensably necessary it is to have an exact knowledge of these things. But that the philosophers in question have erred in their concep- tions of the First Cause and of the human mind is readily to bo seen from the truth of three of the Propositions now submitted to you, so that I shall here confine myself to an exposure of the third objection I have stated. — Of Bacon, indeed, I have little to say, he having delivered himself confusedly enough, in the way of narrative only, and proved next to nothing. * Appended to this Letter.
220
BENKDICT 1)B 8PIX0ZA.
For ho first supposes that the human understanding, besides i(8 liability to deception through the senses, is also deccivi-d by ita proper nature, and feigns everything to itstlf from tlio analogy of its own constitution, and not from tho analogy of the world at large, so that it resembles the face of an un- even mirror, which mingles its own nature with the rays that proceed from the objects it reflects, &c. Secondly, Uo conceives that tho human understanding by reason of its proper nature is determined to abstractions, and imagines us persistent that which is transient only, &c. Thirdly, He thinks that the human understanding is slippery or unstable, and cannot rest or acquiesce in anything. These and tho other reasons Bacon gives for his conclusions, are readily re- ducible to the one error of Descartes in assuming the human will as free, and of wider scope than tho understanding; or as Bttcon himself has it in a confused way (Nov. Organ., lib. i. Aph. 49), ' because perception is not a pure light, but re- ceives an admixture from tho will.' And hero it is to bo noted that Bacon often xises tho word understanding in tho same sense as mind (capiat intellcctuni pro mentc), and there- in diifers from Descartes.
Passing other p<:)inl8 by as of less moment, T proceed to show that the cause of error assigned is mistaken ; and, in- deed, I think that the philosophers named, would themselves have soon it to bo so, had they but attended to this, that the Will differs from this or that Volition, even as the quality of whiteness differs from this or that white object, or as humanity differs from this or that human being ; so that it is just as im- possible to conceive Will as tho cause of this or that Volition, as it is to regard humanity as the cause of Peter or of Paul. As Will, therefore, is but a thing of reason (Ensrationis), and can by no means bo assigned as cause of this or that volition, and particular volitions, inasmuch as they exist, require particular causes, they cannot be said to bo free, but are such necessarily
B. DE SriNOZA TO II. OI.DEJfnrRG.
221
as they are determined to be by their causes; and us, on Descartes* sbowing, errors tbemsclvca are particular volitions, it follows as matter of necessity that errors, in otlier words particular volitions, are not free, but are determined by ex- ternal causes and in nowise by the Will ; and this is the point I promised to demonstrate. [Rhynsburg, IGOl.]
[The slip sent to Oldenburg seems to meet us exactly in the Appendix to the ' Korfe Verhandeling van God, de Mensch en deszelfs Welstand.' As first draft of the part of the Ethics which treats of God, and Introduction to the Epi- tome of his views which Spinoza circulated among his particu- lar friends, it is added here for the satisfaction of the reader.]
Axioms.
1. Suhsiance (zel/xtdiidiy/ivid, the Self-exi.stenl) by Ha nature
is prior to its moditicalions.
2. Tilings which ditl'er are distinguished from one another, either really or accidentally (moduUy).
3. Things which are distinguishc^l really, either have difTcr-
ent attributes, such an thought and extension ; or are ascribed to difiereut attributes, such as undcrsttmding and motion, of which the first belongs to thought, the second to extension.
4. Things which have different attributes, as those also which
pertain to different attributes, have nothing in them the one of the other.
5. That which has nothing in it of another thing, cannot be
the cause of the essence of that other thing.
6. That which is cause of itself cannot possibly have deter-
mined or limited itself.
7. That whereby things are preserved is by its nature prior
to such things.
222 BENEDICT DE SPINUZA.
PropoHifiotis.
I. No 8clf-cxistent thing (Substance) really existing can have the same attribute ascribed to it that is ascribed to another Self-existent thing (Substance) ; in other words, there cannot in Nature be two substances or self- existent things of one and the same nature.
Demomtralion. For did two substances exist, they must differ, and so, by Axiom 2, be distinguished either really or uccidentaUy (modally) : not modally, however ; for then were mode prior in nature to Substance, in contradiction to Axiom 1 : really, therefore, in conformity with Axiom 4 ; consequently, that cannot be said of one which is said of the other. Q. e. d.
II. One Substance cannot be the Cause of the essence of another Substance.
Demonst. Such a cause can have nothing in it of such an effect (Prop. I.), seeing that the difference between them is real ; consequently, one cannot produce the other.
III. All Substance or Attribute is by its nature infinite, and consummately perfect in its kind.
Bvmomt. No Substance is caused by another (Prop. II.) ; and consequently if it exist, it is either of the same attri- bute as God, or it has a cause for its existence beyond God. If the former, then is it necessarily infinite and consummately perfect in its kind, as are all the attri- butes of God ; if the latter, still is it necessarily such as it is; inasmuch as it cannot have determined itself (i\jciom 6).
IV. Existence belongs so essentially to the nature of Sub- stance, that it is impossible to conceive the idea of the existence of any substance to be present in an infinite miderstanding which docs not really exist in nature.
Demonst. The true essence of the object of an idea is some- thing really different from the idea, either existing in
H. OLUENBVRG TO B. DE SPIKOZA.
itself (Axiom 3), or being included in something else which really exists and is distinct from it, not fomiaUy or rciilly but mo<lally only. Such are all entities or thbigs which we perceive are neither comprised in extension, nor in motion or rest, und which, when they exist, are distinguislied not really, but only mmlally, from extension. But contradiction would be implied were Substantive entity to be conceived of as comprised in, and not as really distinct from, another thing, by Prop. I. ; neither is Substance produced by or from an object which comprehends it, by Prop. II. ; finally, Substance being infinite and most perfect in its nature, by Prop. III., Ergo, because its essence is included in no other thing. Substance is a thing existing of itself.
Corollary.
Nature ia known from itself and through no other thing. It consists of an infinity of attributes, each of which is in- finite in itself, and most perfect in its kind, and has essential existence pertaining to it; so that beyond it there is and there can be neither essence nor existence; and tluis does it accord most exactly with tlie essence of the alone supreme and blessed God.
LETTER III.
HENRY OLDENBUnO TO B. DB SPINOZA.
nononred Sir, Dear Friend,
I have received and with great pleasure perused your learned letter. Your geometrical method of demonstra- tion has my entire approval ; but I must (it tlie same time lament my own dulness which prevents me from so clearly apprehending that which you put with eo much neatness and
BENBDICT DE SPWOZA.
precision, rcrmit me, therefore, T pray, U) lay before j'ou the evidence of my incapacity by iisking the following ques- tions, answers to which I particularly request of you. First: Do you clearly understand from the definition alone whicli you give of God that such u Being exists ? For my own part, when I see that definitions contain nothing but conceptions of our minds, and that our minds may conceive many things that have no existence in fact, and are extremely prolific in multiplying conceptions of things once formed, I do not seo how, from the conception I have of God, I ciin infer that God exists. I can, indeed, by a mental combination of all the perfec- tions I apprehend in men, animals, plants, minerals, &c., form an idea of a single particular substance which shall possess all these attributes united in itself; my mind can even conceive all these attributes infinitely increased and exalted, and so imagine a most perfect and admirable being ; but all this does not seem to me to warrant the conclusion that such a being actually exists.
The second question Is as follows : Are you quite certain that body may not be limited by thought, and thought by body, inasmuch as it is not yet determined what thought is, whether a corporeal motion, or a spiritunl act totally distinct from body ?
The third question I propose is this : Do you hold the Axioms you have imparted to me as principles not needing demonstration, — as intuitions requiring no proof? The first axiom is perhaps of this nature ; but I do not sec that the remaining three can bo put on the same footing. The second, for instance, assumes that in the nature of things nothing but substances and accidents exist, whilst many philosophers maintain that space and time fall under neither of these heads. Your third axiom again, viz., that 'Things which have different attributes have nothing in common,' so far from being obvious to me, seems rather to be oj)po8ed by
II. Ol.DENBVRG TO B. DE SPINOZA.
225
everything we know iu the world ; for all things known to us whilst they difiFer in some particulars, do still agree in others. The fourth axiom, further, to the effect that : ' Things which have diiTercnt attributes cannot be the cause of one another,' is not so dear to my clouded mind as not to require some further light to be thrown upon it. God, indeed, has nothing formally in common with the things of creation, though he is held by almost every one to be their cause.
Since, therefore, these axioms appear not to me to be beyond the reach of question, you will readily understand that I do not find the propositions founded on them to be more assured. The more I consider them, indeed, the more deeply do I seem to fall into doubt in their regard. Looking closely at the fimt, for instance, I say that two men arc two substances of the same attribute, inasmuch as each possesses reason ; whence I conclude that two substances of tbo same attribute may and do co-exist. With regard to the second, seeing that nothing can be cause of itself, I hold that it scarcely falls within the sphere of our faculties to understand how it should be true that substance cannot be produced, not even by some other substance. For this proposition declares that all substances are causes of themselves, and each and all independent of ono another, turns them in short into so many Gods, and in this way denies the first cause of all things. Now, I candidly confess that I do not understand this, and trust you will do me the favour to give me j'our views on these lofty subjects at greater length and with more ample illustration, informing mo particularly as to the origin and production of substances, and the relative inter-dependence and subordination of things in general. I entreat you by our friendship to speak with me freely and confidingly on this occasion ; and be fully assured that all you honour me with in the way of communi- cation shall be held most sacrod by me ; it shall never be laid
22U BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
to my charge that aught you imparted to me in confidcuco had turned to j'our disadvantage by being divulged.
In our philosophical society here wo arc busily engaged in experimenting and observing, and purpose a history of the mechanical sciences ; being minded that the forms and qualities of things can best be interpreted upon mechanical principles, that all natural operations and their various com- plications can be satisfactorily explained by motion, figure, and structure, and that there is no occasion to have recourse to any iaexplicuble forms or recondite qualities which arc but the refuge of ignorance.
The book I spoke of in my last I shall forward to you as Boou as the envoy from the Netherlands sends a messenger with despatches to the Uague, or as soon as another friend with w^hom I can trust it, travels your way. Excuse ray prolixity, and all the liberties I take ; and let me entreat in especial that what I lay before you without circumlocution or courtly phrase be received kindly, and in the way of friend- ship. Meantime believe me to be truly and most sincerely yours,
n. Oldenburg. London, Sept. 27, IfiGl.
LETTER IV.
B. I)E SPIXOZ.'l TO 11. OI.DENHUKO.
Dear Sir,
On the eve of setting out for iVmsterdam, there to spend a week or two, 1 receive your welcome letter, with your objections to the three propositions I sent you. Pressed for time I shall reply to these only, leaving out of question your other observations for the present.
As regards the first, then, I agree with you in saying that the existence of the thing defined follows in nowise from its
1). DE SFINOKA TU U. OLDEN UUKO.
227
definition ; but that this follows only (as I show in the Scholium to the three propositions) from the definition or idea of some one or other of its attributes; that is to say, of something which is conceived in and through itaelf. This distinction you will find pointedly made in my definition of Ood; and the grounds of the distinction, unless I dcceivo myself, I have given clearly enough in the Scholium just re- ferred to — clearly enough, at least, to a philosopher. For I have presumed that the difference between a fancy or fiction and a clear conception is understood, and the validity of the axiom admitted that every definition proper, or clear and distinct conception, is true. After this remark I do not see what further answer need be made to your first query. I there- fore proceed to reply to the second.
In this you seem to concede, that as thought belongs not to the nature of space or extension, so thought is not limited by extension ; for your doubt only refers to this particular instance. But be good enough to observe that were one to say, space is not limited by space but by thought, ho would say that space as space, is not infinite absolutely, but infinite only as respects space ; that is, he would not concede to me space as infinite absolutely, but as infinite in it« kind only. But you may reply. Thought is, perhaps, a corporeal act. .Suppose fur the moment that it is so, — thougli I do not believe that it is, — still, you will not deny that space as space, is not thought ; and so much suffices for the illustra- tion of my definition and the demonstration of my third pro- position.
You proceed, thirdly, in your objections to say : that axioms are not to be reckoned among the number of common Dotions. I am not disposed to dispute this point. But then you doubt of their truth ; yea, you seem as if you would show their oppositcs as the more likely to be true. But bo good enough to note the definitions I have given of Substance and
228 BENEDICT DE SPINUZA.
Accident, whence all that bears on the matter follows ; for, understanding by Substance, as I do, that which is conceived in and by itself, in other words, that the conception of wliich involves the conception of no other thing ; and by mode, modification, or accident, that which is in something else and is conceived by that wherein it is, it clearly appears, first, tliat substance is prior in nature to its accidents — for these with- out it can neither exist nor be conceived to exist; and secondly, that besides substances and accidents, there is nothing of reality beyond or outside of the understanding : all that is, is either conceived in itself or in something else, and the con- ception so formed either includes the conception of another thing or it docs not. Thirdly I say, that tilings having dif- ferent attributes have nothing in common with one another ; for by attribute I understand That the conception of which does not involve the conception of another thing. Fourthly and to conclude, I say, that things which have nothing in common cannot severally be the cause of one anotlicr ; for, were it otherwise, as between effect and cause there is nothing in common, all that a thing might have in the way of property it would have from nothing ! But should you here interpose and say that God has nothing formally in common with created things, &c., I reply that I have maintained the direct contrary in my definition ; for I say, God is a IJeing consti- tuted of infinite attributes, each of which is infinite, or con- summately perfect in its kind.
With regard to your objection to my first proposition, I beg you, my dear friend, to consider that men are not created but engendered, and that their bodies, although otherwise constituted, already existed before their generation. But this conclusion is obvious; and T assent to the inference, that were a single particle of matter to be annihilated, all space would at the same moment vanish.
I cannot see how my second propositi(.)n makes many
H. OLDESHURG TO B. DE SPINOZA. 229
go(Ls ; I acknowledge one only, constituted of an infinity of attributes, &c.
LETTER V.
HENRY Or-DEXBURG TO B. DE SPINOZA.
Esteemed Friend,
"With this you will receive the book I promised, and I beg you to give me your opinion of its contents, particularly of what is said of nitre, and of fluidity and solidity. I return you my best thanks for your learned second letter which I received but yesterday. I must, however, regret that your journey to Amsterdam prevented you from replying at large to the whole of my doubts. The points you have not referred to, I trust you will yet favour me by considering at your convenience. This second letter has, indeed, brought me much light, yet not so much as to have dissipated all my darkness; which, however, I believe will happily vanish when you have instructed me clearly and distinctly on the true prime or original of things. For so long as I do not clearly sec from what cause and how things have bcgim to be, and by what bond they are connected with the first cause — if such there be — all that 1 read or hear, meets me but as loose and disjointed discourse. I beg of you, therefore, most learned sir, to be as a torch to me on these matters, and to have the fullest assurance of the good faith and thankfulness of yours, most devotedly,
Henry Oldenburg.
London, October 23, IGCl.
230
LETTER VI.
H. I)E SPINOZA TO IIEXRY OI.DEXKIlUi.
Honottrcil Sir,
I have duly received, und, so far as my leisuiv has allowed, pcnxsed the work of the leiirned and ingenious >Ir Boyle. Accept my best thanks for this present. I sec that I did not mistake when I presumed on your first promise of the work, that subjects only of the highest importance could engage your attention. You desire me to communicate to you my poor opinion of the book ? In so far as my very moderate ability permits I do so willingly, remarking par- ticularly upon certain points, which seem to me either obscure or not sufficiently proven. By reason of my own avocatiims, I am prevented from discussing the whole of the volume.
[Here follow Spinoza's observations on what is said of nitre, and the states of fluidity and solidity by Mr Boyle. But as in the present advanced state of chemical science, these would only bo perused as matters of curiosity, it were loss of time and labour to reproduce them here.]
LETTER VIT.
IIESIiy OI.DENIIUKG TO 11. 1)E Sl'lNOZA.
It is now some weeks, dear Sir, since I received your esteemed letter with your observations on Mr Boyle's book. The writer as well as myself return you our best thanks for your comments. Mr Boyle woidd himself have signified his obligations had not a press of business, public ns well n.s private, still come in the way. — He hopes, however, by-and- by, to communicate with you, and begs you, meantime, not to misconstrue his siloucc.
H. oi.nExnrnn to b. ns sn>TTrozA.
231
Our plillosophicul college of which I spoke when I saw you, by the Grace of the King has now hocorae The Royal Society, having its diploma and special privilcge-s, and hopes of adequate funds for the accomplishmeut of the objects of its institiztion.
I would recommend you, my dear Sir, no longer to with- hold your writings, whether philosophical or theological, the fruits of your ingenuity, from the world of letters, but to publish openly in spite of the opposition of the puny theolo- gians. Your Republic is free enough, — most free in the per- mission of philosophical speculation. Your own discretion would of coureo coun.sel you to present* your ^^cw8 and opin- ions in the most guarded language ; for everything else trust to fortune. Go forward, then, moat excellent Sir, and cast aside fear of giving offence to the pigmies of our day ; the battle with ignorance and frivolity has lasted long enough ; let true Science now proceed on her own cour.se, and pene- trate more deeply than she has yet done into the innermost souctuarj' of nature. Your inquiries, I should imagine, may b© freely published in Holland ; nor can I conceive that they should contain any matter of offence to the learned ; and if you have them as friends and favourers (as T promise you most assuredly that you will), why fear the di.slike of the ignorant mobility ? I cannot conclude, my honotircd friend, without entreating you to take what I have said into your most seri- ous consideration ; for my o\m part, I can never consent to know that the results of your ardent studies should remain buriwl in eternal silence. You will, indeed, oblige mc greatly by informing mo, at your earliest convenience, of your decision on this matter.
In thtvsc jiarts there is much going on which you miglit perliaps think worthy of your notice. Our Society will now pursue its objects with greater zeal than ever, and should peace happUy TOutinuo uninterrupted, will perchance do not
232 BENEDICT PE SPIXOZA.
a little to illustrate the republic of letters. Farewell, dear Sir, and believe mc with all devotion and friendship.
Yours,
IIexky Oldexbvko.
London [oarly in 1002],
LETTER VIII.
HENRY OLDENBURG TO U. 1)E SPINOZA.
Efcelknt Sir, Dear Fiieml !
[In the beginning of this letter Oldenburg regrets the pressure of business that has so long prevented his writing, but now hopes that for a while, at least, his engagements may not stand in the way of his regular correspondence. Ho forwards an abstract of Mr Boyle's remarks on Spinoza's observations on the treatise on Nitre, &c., and then proceeds] : And now I come to the matters that more immediately interest us two ; and, in the very iirst place, permit mc to inquire whether you have yet brought that important work of yours to an end of which you spoke, wherein you treat of the origin of things and their dependence on a First Cause, and on the Improvement of the Human Understanding. I believe, my honoured friend, that you could assuredly do nothing that would be more agreeable to the truly learned and philosophic than to send this treatise to the press. This, methinks, to a man of your genius and temper were much more worthy of consideration than anything that might flatter the views of our age and the theologians, who have not so much respect for truth as for their ease. I entreat you, therefore, by our friendly compact, by all the rights of truth to be proclaimed and spread abroad, that you hesitate no longer to communi- cate your writings to the world. Should, however, and against my hopes and expectations, obstacles greater than any
B. DE SPINOZA TO H. OLDENUURO,
I can divine stand in the way of your publishing, I earnestly beg of you to have the great kindness to communicate to mo an epitome of your work, and for so signal a favour bo assured beforehand of my utmost gratitude.
Certain other essays from the pen of the learned Boylo will shortly make their appearance. Those I shall not fail to transmit to 3'ou by way of return, and shall add to them papers that will inform you of the entire constitution of our Royal Society, whereof, with some twenty others, I am of the council and also one of the secretaries. With all the faith that honest heart can feel, and entire readiness to servo to the extent of my poor ability, believe me to be, dear Sir, yours moat truly,
Henry OLDENBruc.
LoodoD, April 3, 1G63.
LETTER IX.
B. DE SPINOZA 1-0 HENRY OLDENBURG.
Honoured Sir,
At last I am in receipt of your long-looked-for letter; and now, too, I am fortunate in having the leisure that allows me to reply to it at once. Before doing so, how- over, I must in few words inform you of the hindrances that have 80 long stood in the way of my writing to you. Having packed up my baggage in the month of April, I proceeded to Amsterdam. Some of my friends there requested of me a py of a certain small treatise containing u summary of tho Second part of the philosophical principles of Descartes de- monstrated in geometrical form, and of the chief points handled in his metaphysics. This epitome I had already com- posed for tho use of a young man to whom I was not disposed to communicate my own philosophical views too particularly.
234 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
My friends next requested me to give them the first part of the principles in the same form, with as little delay as ]K>ssiblc. To gratify them, I set myself forthwith to the task, and had accomplished it within a fortnight. Now, however, nothing would satisfy my friends but that I must publish what I had written ; and this also I consented to do upon condition that one of them with me bolide him should polish the stj'lo a little, and add a short preface by way of hint to the reader that cverj'thing in the book was not to be assumed as an ex- pression of my owni ideas, inasmuch as I often take totallj' different views from Descartes, and that this should be pointed out in one or two examples. One of my friends undertook to do cverj'thing I required and to play the part of Editor to ;ny little work ; yet was all this the cause of a longer stay in Amsterdam than I had intcnde<l. Since I returned to this place, where I am now settled, I have scarcely been my own master by reason of the friends who honour me with their visits. But at^ length, my dear friend, I have so much leisure at command as enables mo to tell you all this, and give you my reasons for publishing the treatise in question.
Coming before the public in the way I now do, certain persons holding responsible offices in this country may, perhaps, desire to sec what else I have written and acknow- letlgo as my own, and who in this case would secure me, in the event of any furllier publication, against annoyance or danger. Willi such countenance, I shall, I doubt not, publish something before long: if I cannot liavo the support I desire I shall rather keep silent ; for I woidd not obtrude my views upon the world against the wishes of my fellow-countrjTnen, and 80 make myself obnoxious to them. I beg you, therefore, my esteemed friend, to have patience with me a little longer, for you shall shortly cither have my treatise in print, or an epitome of the same in the way you desire. Meantime, if you would like to have a copy or two of the work that is now
B. DE SrnfOZA TO H. rtLnEXBniG.
235
at. press,* I shall attend to your wishes as soon as 1 nm myself in possession of it, and an opportunity of forwarding it to you occurs.
Reverting to your letter, I must, as is fitting, rolurn you and worthy Mr Boylo my best thanks for your kind wishce and good offices in ray regard. Despite your many and im- portant avocations, you would not overlook your friend ; nny, your kindness is such, that you promise mo that nothing in future shall stand long in the way of our regular corre- spondence. To the loam»d Mr Boylo I am also indebted for his answers to my notes, although (hey were only by the way, and even on topics apart from the subject* handled. I readily acknowledge that my observations are not of such weight that the learned author of the Treatise on Nitre, &c., should ex- pend on them the time he can employ so much more worthily.
[The sequel of this letter is on the constitution of Uitro, the nature of its spirit, &c., which could not interest the general reader, and would be passed over by the chemist. The conclusion of the letter as characteristic of the writer, and helping to a proper appreciation of his moral nature, fol- lows.]
But I must not detain j'ou longer — I fear, indeed, that I have already been too prolix, though I know I have striven to be brief. Have I, in spite of this, been tiresome to you, pray forgive me, and in especial take the ofif-hand talk of your friend in good part. For myself I should have felt that I had been guilty of levitj' or indifference had I not shown
• Tills refers uniloubtedly to the Principia Plulosopliia' CartosinniP. Tlio other work he has rcmly nml would ttcknowle<l(?e ns lii» own uiusil have Ivccii Uie 'I'motatiu do Deo et Homiiio ejiisijue fulicitat4S which, bowuvvr, wax not only never publUhod by hiiuscIT, hut was not even included in his <^ro rosthutnn, do copy of it having been found amoni^ his papers. It haa sincts been reprinted oftencr than once, first liy Van Vloten. both in Dutch and I<«tin ; and ijuile recently by Dr C. Selioarschmidt in Dutch, uuiler the title, Uenedioti dc Spinoza, ' Korle vcrhnndcling van (Jod, de Mensch en deAzelfs wclttand,' Tmct.ituli de|>unllti do Deo et Uoiuiue ejusijuc felicitate, versio Belgica. 8vo. AiDsterdam, I8C!).
23G BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
myself earnest in my observ'ations ; and it had been mere flattery to have praised that which I did not truly approve. But as, in my way of thinking, there is nothing more un- worthy than flatter}' among friends, I resolved to express my opinions quite openly, in the persuasion that nothing can bo more pleasant among persons of sense than such a course. Should it, nevertheless, appear to you better and more advis- able to bum what I havo written than to show it to Mr Boyle, I leave you at fidl liberty to do as you list^ — proceed as you please, only bo assured of my.hearty attachment to you and to Mr Boyle. I lament that through my want of means I can only give expression to this feeling in words.
B. UK SriNozA. RhynsbuTg, July ^ 1663.
LETTER IX. (a.)
D. DE SPINOZA TO LOUIS MEYER.
[This letter, which refers to the preface to the Principia Philosophia) Cartesianro, first published by M. Victor Cousin, deserves a place hero. AVe give it as we find it in M. Saissct's version of Spinoza's works.]
My Excellent Friend,
I return you the preface by our friend Do Vrics. I havo added a few, very few notes, as you will sec ou the margin ; but I have several others to send which will better roach you by letter. You inform the reader (page 4) of the oc- casion of my writing the first part of the work ; I should like you to add, cither hero or in some other place, that it was finished in the course of a fortnight, so that no one should look for tho very highest degree of clearness and completeness in the work which might fairly bo expected. I would also have you
B. DB SPINOZA TO If. OLBEXBTJRC.
2a7
explain to the reader that I demonstrate several things In a manner different from Descartes, not assuredly in the view of correcting hira, but only to enable me to keep true to the order I had traced, and not to increase the number of axioms. It is for the same reason, too, that I have felt bound to demon- Btrate various things which Descartes merely mentions, but does not demonstrate, and, further, to add others which ho has passed over altogether.
To conclude, my dear friend, I entreat of you most par- ticularly to suppress all you have said against the personage in question, and to leave no trace of its ever having been written. Among many reasons which induce me to make this request, I shall name but one, and it is this : I would have all the world persuaded that our publication is intended for the general good, and that you are only induced to print this little work by your love of truth and your desire to spread it abroad; that you have therefore been careful to make the thing generally acceptable, and de.sire to lead men gently and kindly to a love of true philosophy, so that all may conduce in the end to the common good. And this everj' one will bo disposed to believe when ho sees that no indindual is attacked in the work, and that there is nothing in it that can cause pain to any one whatsoever. Should our gentleman or any other like him venture to show his malevolence in the future, it will be time enough for you then to expose his life and conversation, and the publii- will applaud.* I beg you, therefore, to hold yourself in patience till then ; refuse mo not this, I pray, and believe mo to bo
Yours very heartily and sincerely,
B. DE Spisoza.
Voorl>uiTg, Aog. 3. Ii;G.3.
• The pcrsonnBo refurreU lo in lliia IcKor was prolmbly Vocf, who hiul alUcUed Diaicartca with uojuatifmblc beat oud malignily.
2a8
LETTER X.
IIEXRY OLDENBIRG TO B. DE SPINOZA.
Honoured Sir, Host Enicemcd Friend,
I am greatly pleased by the renewal of our corrc- Bpondcnce, aud hasten to infonn you that yours of the ^th July gave me much pleasure, for two reasons : inasmuch as it assured mo of your being well in health, and of your con- tinued friendly feelings towards myself. To crown all, you infonn me of your having sent the first and second parts of Descartes' Principia demonstrated geometrically to the press, and most handsomely offer to present me with a couple of copies. These I accept with the greatest pleasure, and beg you to forward me the books when ready through the hands of Mr Peter Scrrarius of Amsterdam. I have advised him to expect the packet, and to transmit it to me by the hands of some friend proceeding to England.
Suffer me, nevertheless, to say that I regret you should still suppress the works you would acknowledge as your o^ti, and this the more, because you live in a republic that is so free, where you may entertain what opinions you please, and give the most open expression to your thoughts. I would have your throw off fetters of every sort ; and this all llio more boldly us by withholding your name you may keejj entirely out of danger.
Our noble Boyle lately left us, verj' much out of health. When he returns to town I shall not fail to communicate to him so much of your letter as refers to his treatise, and in- form you of his observations on your ideas. I think I ob- served his Chymista Scopticum in your hands — a work that was published in Latin some time ago, and has had an exten- sive circulation abroad. lie more recently published another short treatise, containing a defence of the Elasticity of the Air,
11. OLnENUURO TO B, I)E SPINOZA.
239
uguinst the strictures of a certain Francis Linus, who, without knowledge, and in defiance of reason, would Lave controverted the phenomena detailed by Mr Boyle in his new physico- mcchanicul experiments. This little treatise I send you un- der thin cover, and beg your acceptance of it. • • •
I cannot conclude without once and again xirging you to give to the world the results of your o^vn meditations. I shall not desist, indeed, in exhorting you to do so until you yield to ray prayer. In the mean time, did you consent to impart to me a few chapters of your work, oh, how I should love you, and how I shoidd feel myself beholden to you ! farewell, and love me who am, as ever, yours most affection-
n. Oldenburg.
Loniloo, July 31, IUC3.
LETTER XL
[A lengthy communication through Oldenburg from Mr Boyle to Spinoza on the subject of Nitre, Spirit of Nitre, u Vacuum, &c. — The conclusion of the letter is as follows] :
You see, therefore, my dearest friend, that our philoso- phers are not wanting in their duty in this new reabn of experi- mental science; nor am I less persuaded that you in your prtjvince will do all that is expected of you, whatever opposi- tion you encounter from the vulgar, whether among philoso- phers or theologians. I have already said so much on thiB head in former letters, that I now refrain from adding more, lest I should bo troublesome to you. This last request only I venture to make : that as soon as your commentary on Descartes is published, or aught else that is the fruit of your own ingenuity sees the light, you will, without delay, send it to me by the hands of Mr Serrarius. You will by doing so
240 BENEDICT DE SriNOZA.
bind mo over the more closely to you, and Icam with cvcrj' opiwrtunity that offers how much and how truly I am yours,
II. Oluexburo. London, Aug. 1, 1CC3.
LETTER XII.
HEXRV OLDEXBUllG TO B. UE SPINOZA.
Mij Dear Friend,
I was much delighted to loam by a letter lately re- ceived from Mr Serrarius, that you were alive and well, and not forgetful of your Oldenburg. But I inveighed against fate, if I may use the word, at the same time, for having deprived mo for 80 many months of the pleasant intercourse I was wont to enjoy with you. The turmoil of public business and home calamities are alone to blame for the interruption ; for my friendly feelings and regard for you are as great as over, and will ever so remain. Mr Boyle and I frequently speak of you and of your erudition, and the profound meditations in wliicli you are engaged. We should, however, be delighted to sec one of your own bantlings safely bom, and in the embrace of the learned ; and wo do not cease to indulge the hope that you will yet answer our expectations in this particular. Mr Boyle does not wish to have his work on Nitre, &c., reprinted in IloUand, inasmuch a? it is already extant here in the Latin tongue, and you are only without copies because of difficulties in the way of sending them ; pray interpose if you hear of any of your typographers proposing a rcpublicalion. Mr Boyle has just sent forth another admirable treatise on Colour, Cold, the Thermometer, &c., in which there are many new things of great interest ; but this unhappy war * stands in
* Tbe war hero alluded to ia thatwa{;cd so iagloriously for England with Holland, between the ycara 1CG4 and I6U7.
B. DE SPINOZA TO H. OLDENBURG.
241
the way of the transniLgsion of books ; — would that your booksellers could discover some channel by which I could send you these works of Mr Boyle, as well as another remarkable treatise embracing some sixty microscopical observations with commentaries, very bold yot perfectly philosophical and in conformity with mechanical principles. — I would gladly Icani under your owni bund what you yourself have lately done, or are still engaged upon.
I am yours most truly,
Henkv Oldenburg. Tx>ndon, Apr. 23, ICCi.
LETTER XIII.
B. DK SPINOZA TO H. OLDENBURG.
My dear Friend !
A few days ago I received your letter of the 28th of April, and have been greatly pleased again to have the assurance under your own hand that you arc well and that your friendly regard for me continues unabated. I, on my my side, have not failed, as often as opportunity prcBcntcd, to make inquiry after you and your welfare through Mr Scrrarius and Christian Iluygens, who informs me that he also is ac- quaiiited with you. From him I have the further intelli- gence that the learned Mr Boyle still lives, and had lately published an admirable work on colour in the English lan- guage, which he would kindly lend me did I but understand English. I am glad to know through you, however, that this work, besides the one on cold and the thermometer, of which I had not heard, has been published in Latin. Mr Huygens also possesses the book of microscopical observations of which you speak — in English, however, I believe. He has
told me of the wonderful things brought to light by the powers
10
242 BENEDICT UE SPINOZA.
of the microscoi)e, and informed mc further of what had been accomplished by the telescope in Italy, with which they have been enabled to obscr\-c eclipses of the satellites of Jupiter, and a certain shadow, cast by the ring, apparently, upon tho body of Saturn. And this leads mo to observe that I much wonder at the hastiness of Descartes, who says that the reason why the satellites of Saturn do not move (for he thought the ans(v were satellites, perchance, because ho never saw them detached from tho body of the planet) may be owing to Sa- turn's not turning on his axis ; for such a conclusion not only does not agree with his principles in general, but from these principles it had been easy to have assigned a reason for the appearance of the «;««•, had he not laboured under a certain prejudice.*
Yours as ever,
B. i)K Spinoz.v.
LETTER XIII. (A.)
n. OLDENBf RO TO B. I)E SPIXOZA.
Ercellent Sir, Cherixhed Friend,
From your last of tho 4th of St'ptembor, it would seem that you do not entirely agree with us. But you have vanquished not me only, but our noble Boyle as well, who desires to send you his best thanks for all your pains and expressions of esteem ; with occasion given he will respond towards you by everj' good office in his power. On my part you may be quite sure of the disposition to do tho same.
* At one period in the relntivo positions of the enrtli iind Siiturn tlie ring of the latter planet apiKsans like two handlcjt attachctl to his bmly. Tlie |iro- jicr satellites of Saturn were discovered in H)'>'>, by C. Huygens, and In 1(171, 1G72, and 1«84, by D. Cassiui, bv W. Uerschcll in 178y, iiud by Lnssel and Bond, in 1848.
H. OLDENBUKO TO H. UE SPINOZA.
243
Tlie Mundus Subtcrraneus of Ath. Kircber bas not yet been scon in our English world, tlie plague putting a stop to almost every kind of intercourse; and then we have tbis ter- rible war upon our bands, which in its horrors scenis some- times to rival that of Ilium, and only does not eflFaco all traces of humanity from among us. Meantime and amid such calamities, although our philosophical society holds no public meetings, yet docs one or another of our fellows keep us in mind of what he is doing, — one engaging in hydrostatical experiments, another in anatomical inquiries, others in mechanics, &c., but all privately and in par- ticular.
Mr Boyle, for his part, has been investigating the grounds of the forms and qualities of things as these have been appre- Iiended in the schools and by individual writers, and intends shortly to send to press a treatise on the subject which I doubt not will be interesting. I see that you yourself do not of late so much philosoi)hizo as theologize, if I may be allowed to coin such a word, turning your thoughts to such matters ss pro- pliocy, miracles, &c. This, however, you probably do in a philosophical spirit ; in whatever spirit it be I nevertheless feel that the work in which you arc engaged will bo worthy of you, as it is anxiously looked for by me. Those troubled times do, indeed, throw great difficulties in the way of all kinds of intercourse ; but I still hope that you will not fail to inform me in an early letter of the scope and purpose of this new work of yours.
Here we are in daily expectation of news of a second sea- fight, unless, perchance, your fleet have returned to port. The \nrtue of which you speak as matter of discussion among you, is that of wild beasts rather than of human beings. Were men but guided by their reason they would not tear each other to pieces as they now do everywhere. But what do I say ? evil has still abounded in the world ; yet neither is it
244 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
to be regarded as necessarily pcr^xitual, nor incapable of be- ing replaced by what is good.
Whilst I write I have a letter from that distinguished astronomer of Dantzic, J. Ilcvelius, who, among other things, informs me that his Cometogruphia is at press and nearly complete * * * WTiat, I pruy, is said with you about the Huygenian pendulum clocks, which are reported to keep such admirable time that it is thought they may serve as means for finding the longitude at sea ? What, also, about the Dioptrics of the same philosopher, and his treatise on Motion, both of which we have long looked for here. I am persuaded he is not idle ; I would only learu what he is doing. Farewell, and continue to love yours most devotedly.
[London, Sept, 1CC.>.]
A M. M. Bencdictus Spinoza, (in de Itaggijnc Straat ten Huyse ran Mr Daniel [Daniel Tydemann] do ISchilder in Adani en Eva), a La Ilaye.
II. o.
LETTER XIII. (B.)
B. DE SriNOZA TO H. OLDENBUKO.
[Oldenburg writing to the ITonoiirable Mr Boyle on (ho 10th Oct, 16C5, informs him that he had lately heard 'from a certain odd philosopher whom you know, it being Signior Spinoza.' He expresses a very great respect for you and ' presents you his most humble service.' Oldenburg then proceeds to give an extract from the letter he had received, to the following effect :] ' I am glad to learn that your phi- losophers go on their way mindful of themselves and their own republic. I shall hope to hear of what they have lately done, when the men of war, sated with bloodshed, seek re- pose and recruitment from their toils. Were that celebratetl mocker of men's follies alive at this present time he would
B. DK SFINOZA TO H. OLDENBURO,
245
surely do no loss than die of laughter. I must say, however, that all this pother moves mo neither to laughter nor to lamentation, but rather to reflection and closer study of human nature. For I hold it not good to laugh at nature in any of its aspects, and still less to weep over it, when I think that men, like all things else, uro but parts thereof, and that I know not how each particular part stands related to and connected with tlie whole. From such defective knowlo<lgo I find that I perceive some natures partially only, not other- wise than maimed, truncated, and in no kind of harmony with our philosophical views. These, consequently, present themselves to me as vain, disorderly, and absurd merely. Yet I say not nay to whosoever wills to have himself slain for what he thinks his good, pro^-ided he but suflFer me to live for what 1 hold to be true.
I am now engaged in the comjwsition of my treatise on the Scriptures, moved to undertake the work, Ist, By the prt>judicc» of theologians, which I feel satisfied are the grand obstacles to the general study of philosophy. These prejudices I therefore expase, and do what I can to lessen their influence on the miuds of people accessible to reason. 2nd, By ray desire to disabuse the world of the false estimate formed of me when I am charged with atheism. 3rd, By the wish I have to assert our title to free philosophical dis- cussion, and to say openly what we think. This I main- tain in every possible way, for here it is too much interfered with by the authority and ubusivcness of flatterers of the %'ulgar.
[The above ejctract, tran.slated from the original as publish- ed in the Life of Boyle, by Thomas Birch, appended to Boyle's Works in G vols. 4to, is interesting as giving the date when Spinoza was busy with his Tractatus, and explains the al- lusion Oldenburg mokes in the letter that follows to the treatise on the Scriptures. Boyle's Works by Birch being
246 UEKEDICT DK SPINOZA.
bulky and not within reach of ull the admirers of Spinoza, I add the fragment in tlie original below.*]
LETTER XIV.
HKNKY OI.DENHUIIG TO il. UB SriNOZ.\.
Honoured Sir, Dear Friiiid,
Like the true man and philosopher you are, you have a natural love for the good, and you need not doubt that they love you in return, as is your due. Mr Boyle and I send you our cordial greetings, and exhort you to go on diligently with your philosophical studies. We both particidarly request you, should you in your abstruse inquiries into the nature of things come upon any elucidation of the ways and modes in which the several parts of nature are connected with each other and harmonize as a whole, that you would kindly communicate with us on the subject.
The reasons you assign for writing the treatise on the
* Qaudeo philoeophos vestratcs viverc, sui sunxjuc rcipublic-p memores. Quid nupcr fecerint expectabo qiiando bcllatores sanguine fuorint saturi, ct ad vires nonnlhll instaiirandog <iuieverint. Si celcbrib ille irriAor hoc tptate viveret riau sane pcrioret. Me tamcn ti;o turbtc ncc ad risum ncc utiam ad lachrj'mandum, 8cd potius ad pliilosoplinndum, et nnturam Iiumanara melius observandam incitant. Nam noc naturam irridcre mihi fas cxi.^tinio, multo minus deploraro, dum oogito homines, ut relliiua, partem tantum esse natunn, mcquo ignoraro quomotlo una<iu.x<iue pars naturoB cum guo toto convcnint, ct quomodo cum reliquis colixreat ; ct ex sola hujus dcfcctus cof^iitione repcrio quod quHsdam natunc quje ita ox parte et non nisi mutilate percipio, et qiuo cum nostra mente pliilosophica minimc conveniunt, milii antcliac vana, iuordi- nata, absurda videbantur : jam vcro unumquemque ex suo ingenio vivere sino, ct qui volunt profccto suo bono moriantur, dummodo milii pro vero vivere liceat.
Compono jam Tractatum de meo circa Scripturam sensu. Ad i<l vcro faciendum me movent Imo, Prajudicia Theolofforum ; scio enim ea maxima impediro quo minus homines animum ad philosophiam applicnrc possint ; ea igitur patcfacerc at<iuo amoliri a mentil>us prudcntiorum satago. 2do, Opinio quam vulgna de nie habet, qui me Atheismi insimulare non censat j earn quoque averruncare, quoad fieri potest, cogor. 3tio, Libertas pliiloso- phandi, dicendique qu:e sentinius, quam assercre omnibus modis cupio, quieque hie ob nimiam ooncionatorum autkoritatem ct (letulantiam utcunque supprimitur.
H. OUDKNliUKO TO B. DE SFINOZA.
247
Scriptures you mention I wholly approve, and do most earnestly wish I could have an opportunity of perusing your commentaries. Mr Serrarius will, perhaps, be sentliiig us a packet before long, and with this you might, did you think fit, forward, for our perusal, something of what you have written, assured that in so doing you will find us equally ready to gratify you in anj'thing that engages us.
I have done little more than turn over the leaves of Kircher's • Mundus Subterraneua, and though his reasonings and his theories give me no evidence of pet^uliar powers, I Btill think the experiments doscribetl and the observations made prochiim the industry of the writer and his gcKxl will to contribute to the progress of philosophical knowledge. You see, therefore, tliat I give him credit for something more than simple piety ; and you will readily distinguish bet^veen my commendation and that of those who sprinkle him with that same holy water of theirs.
When you speak of the work of Iluygens on Mol ion you hint that you find all the laws of motion laid down by Des- cartes to be erroneous. I have not youi* little book on the Cartesian philosophy at hand, and do not recollect whether you point out this blemish or pass it by, content to follow in the I'ootsteps of the philosopher. I wish Jxeartily that you would favour us with tho sight of a child of your own genius, and commit it for nui'turo and education to the world of philosophy. I remember you somewhere maintain that much which is said by Descartes to exceed tho powers of the human mind to comprehend, besides many other more lofty and more subtle things than he ever imagined, are neverthe- less completely within tho reach and scope of our human capacity. Why, my friend, do you hesitate ? What do you foar i* Moke the trial — set to work, finish your book of high
■ AUianuiui Eircher, Jeaniit, ProfeBSor of PhiIo8opliy, Matlicmatici, uinl Kactera iMiguoges at Borne Born 1602, died 1680.
248
BBKCniCr OB SFIXOZA.
philosophy, and you will eee that the whole brotherhood of true philodophers will welcome you and give you their «p- provaL I venture to pledge my t'uith on this ; which I should not do had I any uiiNgivings or fears of being deceived. But I have none. I do not imagine for a moment that you eall the Being and Providence of God in question ; and flie-se pillars Ictl imtouched, Religion rcsta on u sure foundation, and philosophical discussion of every complexion can then be defended or excused. Delay no longer tlien, and so eeoape further importunity on the subject.
I hope noon to be in possession of the decisions [of astro- nomers] concerning the now comoto, about which a lively controversy has lately arisen between Jlevelius, a Dane, and Auzoux, a Frenchman. These I shall not fail to communicate to you. This much I may say at present, that the opinion of the astronomers generally with whom I am acquainted is, that the comet was not one, but two conjoined. No one, so far a.s I know, has attempted to explain the phenomenon witnessed, by means of the Carte«iuu hy|)othesis.
I beg of you, should you hear anj-thing moro of the studies and doings of Mr Ilin'gens in connection with the pendulum, or of his travels in France, that you would kindly communicate to lue all you may learn at j'our earliest con- venience. I would idso gladly know what is said with you about the conclusion of peace ; what meaning is attached to the advance of that Swedish anny into Germany ; and what is said of the position assumed by the Bishop of Munster.* My own impression is that next summer wo shall see the whole of Europe involved in war ; everything points to trouble and change. We, for our parts, will continue to serve the Supreme with pure hearts, and strive to further true, positive, and useinl philosophy. Several members of our Society have gone with the King to Oxford, where they * In BllioDco with England, and now at war with the Dutch.
B. DE SPINOZA TO H. OLDEKBVRO.
249
hold frequent meetings and take counsel together for the advancement of natural science. Among other things, they have lately begun to investigate the nature of Sound, and are trying to come to definite conclusions in regard to the particular weights required to bring a vibrating cord from one to another higher note which shall bo in harmony with the first. On another occasion I shall probably have more to say on this subject. Meantime farewell, and think often of
Yours very sincerely,
Henry Oldenburg. London, OcL 12, 1665.
LETTER XV.
B. DE SPINOZA TO HENRY GUJENBURO.
Honoured Sir,
I return j'ou and Mr Boyle my best thanks for the encouragement you give me in my philosophical pursuit*. I shall, I assure you, go on according to the measure of my poor abilities, and do not doubt of your countenance and friendly support in what I do.
To that part of your letter where you ask me what I think of the question as to how we ascertain that the several part^ of nature are connected, and each harmonizes with the whole ? I presume to inquire of you, in l\im, on what grounds we conclude or feel assured that the several parts of nature do hannonize as a whole and agree with one another ? For in my last letter* I had said that I did not know how this comes to pass. To have such knowledge it were necessary to have a clear imdcrstanding of nature as a whole, and of each of ha
• Unfortunately lost lo us as a whole. But tlie fraKnent preierved by Birch, given in Letter xiii. (B.), undoubtedly belonged to it.
BKKBniCT DK SVISfOA.
individuul purts; and I shall proceed to specify the reaaona which induce inc to say so. As a preb'minury, however, I would beg of you to obeen'e that I ascribe to Nature neither order nor disorder, beauty nor deformity ; for things, I hold, ore orderly or disorderly, bcautifid or ugly, in relation to our imagination only, not in themselves.
By connection or colligation of parts, then, I understand nothing more than this : that the nature or laws of one part so accommodate themselves to the nature or laws of another, that they contravene or oppose each other as little as may be. As regards ^Vhole and Part, I consider things in such wise, that parts of any whole, in so far as their several natures are mutually accommodative, in so far and to the extent possible do they harmonize; but in so fur us they differ, in so far also do thej' severally excite ideas in our mind different from each other, whereby each part comes to be considered in itself as a whole, and not as a part. For example : when the motions of the particles of the Ijnnph, chyle, &e., as regards their size, shape, &c., are so accommodated that they completely harmonize with one another, and together compose a single fluid, in so far are the lymph, chyle, &o., considered as parts of the blood ; but when we conceive the lymphatic particles in rc-;pect of figure, motion, &c., as differing from the chylous particles, then and to this extent do wo consider them as con- stituting a whole in themselves, and not as a part of any- thing else.
Ijet us suppose for a moment that there lived an animal- cule in the blood, endowed with such visual powers that it could distinguish the several elementary parts of the blood, lymph, &c. ; that it was gifted, further, with the capacity to observe how each particle impinging on another either recoiled or imparted a portion of its motion to that, &c. ; then would this animalcule live in the blood, as we live in this part of the universe, and view each several particle of the fluid as a
■
B. DK SPINOZA TO H. OLDENBURG.
251
whole, not ua a part. It could not know how the several elements of the blood at large are influenced by the general nature of the blood, and how, as required by this, they are severally made to comport themselves in such wise us to harmo- nize with one another. For if we imagine that beyond the blood itself there were no causes which im'ght impart new motions to it; further, that there was no space beyond the blood, nor any other bodies that coidd impart their motions to its particles, it ifl certain the blood would remain permanently fixed in ita state, and that its particles woidd suifer no changes other than those that can be conceived from the motion appropriate to the fluid of which they are constituents. In this case the blood woidd be considered as a whole, and not as made up of different parts. But as there are very many other causes which influence in determinate ways the laws affecting the nature of the blood, and these in their turn are influenced by the blood itself, it comes to pass that other motions and other variations arise in the blood, which follow not only by rea- son of the motion of its purl idea reciprocally, but by reason of the several influences of the motion of the blood and ex- ternal causes. It is thus that the blood is considered as a part or made up of parts, and not as a whole. So much of AVholc ajid Part.
Now, as all natural bodies must be conceived of in the aunc manner as we have just considered the blood, — for all bodies are surrounded by others, and are thus influenced in their state of being and action in certain determinate ways, like relations in respect of motion and rest being pre»er^'c•d among them all, or in the universe at large, it follows that each individual body, seeing that it exists modified in a cer- tain definite way, must be viewed as part of the universe at large, agree with the whole of which it is a part, and bo in connection with all the other parts of which it is one.* But
* What 18 this but the Lotbdil^mD pre-ccUbltshod harmony ? — Ed.
BEXEDICr DE SPINOZA.
as it belongs to the nature of the universe, unlike that apper- taining to the blood, not to be limited or determined by any- thing, but to bo absolutely infinite, so, and by the nature of this infinite |)ower, are it* parl-s influenced in endless ways, and forced to undergo infinite variations. As regards SrBsiANCB, however, I conceive each of its parts as having a more inti- mate union with the whole. For, as I have already said in my first letter from Rhj-nsburg, wherein I endeavoured to demonstrate that it was in the nature of Substance to be in- finite, it follows (hat everj' individual part is of the nature of corporeal substance, and that without this it can neither be, nor be conceived to be.
You see, therefore, in what manner and on what grounds I say that the human body is a part of nature. And as re- gards the himuiu soul or mind, I view that also as a part of nature, inasmuch as I hold that in nature there is inherent an infinite power of thought, which, as infinite, comprises th4 whole of nature subjectively • in itself, and the thoughts of which proceed in harmony with its natiire — ideally, to wit.t
Further, I attribute this same power to the human mind, not as percipient of infinite nature, but of nature finite, and as defined by (he human body; and on this ground it is (hat I say the human mind is a certain part of the Infinite In- telligence. But fully to explain and demonstrate these mat^ tors and others connected with them would here lead me into too great lengths ; nor, indeed, do I imnginc that you now e.xpoct so much of me. I am even doubt fid whether I have rightly understood you, and whether I may not be replying to queries you have never mode — I pray you to inform mo whether this be so or not.
You write, further, as if I intimated that almost all
* Spinoza bu ohjertivrljf here, but tubjcctively, in the modem sense, is meant. — Te.
t ' Ct^jus oogitationes procedunt eodem modo ao natura qua, nimirum Idearum.'
B. DE SPINOZA TO H. OLDENBURG.
253
Descartes' laws of motion were mistaken. If I recollect rightly, I said it was Huygens who was of this opinion ; I only referred to his sixlh law as erroneous, a law concerning which I said I thought Fluygens himself was mistaken. It was on this occasion that I requested you to communicate to mo the experiment you had made in your Royal Society in connec- tion with this subject. But as you do not allude to it, I pre- smne you have thought it would not be proper to do so.
Huygens has been for some time past, as indeed he still is, fully occupied in grinding and polishing Dioptric lenses. In furtherance of this object he has contrive<l an apparatus where- with the bowls • can certainly be fashioned in a verj- satis- factory manner ; but I do not see what great advantage he thinks he will derive from his machine, nor, indeed, am I very curious about the matter ; for experience has taught me that in spherical bowls the polishing of lenses is better ac- complished by the free motions of the hand than by any kind of mechanical apparatus. I can say nothing either of the pendulum experiments or of the journey to France.
LETTER XVI.
HENRY OLDENBURG TO B. DE SPINOZA.
Honoured Sir, Much Esteemed Frietid,
Your philosophical disquisition on the harmony and connection of the several parts of nature with each other, and with nature as a whole, has given me much pleasure, although I do not clearly see how we are to deny order and BjTnmetry to nature, as you seem to do, particularly when you admit that its several constituent bodies are surrounded or limited by others, and are determined reciprocally to be,
* Patinns — the diihes, bowli, or moulds in whioh leancs of kll kinds ore ground and polUbed.— -Tr.
254, BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
and to act iu certain fixed and determinate ways, relations in respect of motion and rest in all being meanwhile maintained. This of itself appears to me to comprise the formal reason of all order. But here, perhaps, I do not apprehend you better than I did in regard to what you wrote concerning Descartes and the laws of motion. I beg of you to instruct me where- in you believe that both Descartes and Huj'gens err as re- spects the laws of motion. You will in this do me a great favour, and I, for my part, will do all in my power to deserve your kindness.
I was not present when Mr Huygens made his experiments hero in confirmation of his hypothesis. I hear, however, that, among other things, he suspended a ball of a pound weight as a pendulum, which in its swing struck another ball similarly suspended but only half a pound in weight, at an angle of 40 degrees, and showed that the effect produced agreed exactly with the result he had ventured to predict on the strength of an algebraical formula. • * • Favour mc, I pray, by attending to the request I make above ; and be kind enough, also, to keep me informed of Iluygens' successes in grinding and polishing telescopic lenses. I hope our Royal Society will soon return to London, and recommence their weekly meetings, for the plague, God be praised, is now greatly abated.
[Ilorc follows an accoimt of a singular disease among cattle, in which the windpipe is stated to have been found full of grass ; and a note on the observation of a physician of Oxford, who having bled a young woman in the foot some hours after a hearty breakfast foimd the serum of the blood milky. Adverting next to social and political subject*, Oldenburg alludes to a current rumour of the return of the Jews to the home of their fathers, after an absence of more than 2000 years.]
H. OLDENBURG TO B. HE SPIXOZA.
255
Fow, Bays he, in tiiese porta believe it, und many desire it. Should you hear anything of the matter, be stire you com- municate it to your friend. I should like much to know how news of so much importance affect the Jews of Amsterdam. Were such a thing to come to pass change in everything else in tie world would seem within the reach of possibility.
Explain to mc, if you can, what the Swedes and Branden- burghers are about, and believe me, &c.,
Henry Oldenhukg. LoDdoo, Doc B, 1665.
LETTER XVII.
HENRY OLDENBVRG TO B. DE SPINOZA.
I take the opportunity of Dr Hourgeois' return to Holland to inform you that some weeks ago I sent you my best thanks for the treatise you had forwarded to me ; but I have my doubts whether my letter ever reached you. I therein gave you my opinion of the treatise, which, now that I have had time for further study and reflection, I acknow- ledge to have been precipitate. It struck me at first, and so long as I meted with the measure supplied by the common nm of theologians and the current confessional formulae, that you had been over-lree in your strictures on Religion. But since I have reviewed the whole matter I find much to assure mc that you had no intention whatever to attack true Religion or damage sound philosuphy. On the contrary, I see that you strive zealously to spread abroad and vindicate that which is the genuine purpose of the Christian faith as well as the excellence and sublimity of fruitful philosophy. Believing, as I now do, that .such is your purpose, I bog of you eaniestly to keep your old and candid friend, who breathes his most ardent vows for the success of so excellent an enterprise,
256
BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
informed by frequent letters of all you oro now doing or in- tending to do in thin direction. I promise you sacredly that if you enjoin silence on me I shall impart to no one u single word of ull you say to me on these subjects. I shall only do my best to prepare the minds of good and wise men for the reception of the truths you will by-and-by set in a clearer light, and endeavour gradually to remove such prejudices as may be entertained against your views and meditations. Unless I greatly err, you seem to mo dearly to apprehend the nature and powers of the human soul and its union with the body. On thi.s subject I particularly entreat you to give me your further views. Farewell, most excellent Sir, and continue to favour me, who am the zealous admirer both of your doctrines and your virtues,
Henry Oi.denburo.
London, Dee. 8, lfi6S.*
LETTER XVIII.
HENRY OLDKNBURG TO B. DE SPINOZA.
Our literarj' intercourse thus happily reestablished, most excellent Sir, I am unwilling to seem backward in the friendly duty of a speedy reply. As I learn by your answer
* The above is the date attached to this letter by the editonof Spinoiia'a postbumdiis work-H. But Bnidcr in hin excellent edition, following De Miirr, thinktf tlmt llie date of June, 1G75, would be more correct. The difficulty ha« arisen from Oldenburg's comments on thcTmctBtus Theologico-l'olilicu* in llifiC, when tlie book was not published till 1C70. Oldenburg in his letter sends his thanks ' pro tractatu tuo mihi trnnxraisso, licet nunquam tradito : ' and if this be interpreted in the sense of it* never having been delivered, there is no making anytliing of the commentarj' on the work tliat follows. Nor woiUd it help did we read nondum for nunquam— not yet delivered. Da Murr'a correction of the date seems warranteii, and ought probably to bo received. Spinoza may nevertheless have yielded to the presdug and re- peated entreaties of his correspondent, and sent him an ejiitome of some of the more important chapters of the Traetatns, which we know by an earlier letter he had promised ; in which case the reference to the union between the soul and the body would connect the letter with the 1C65 period.
U. I)K SPINOZA TO II. OLDENBURG.
257
to me of the 5th of July, thut you uow intend to publish that Quinquc partite treatise of yoiirs, allow me, I entreat you, re- lying on the regard you bear ine, to beg of you to let nothing appear therein that might in any way be construed into dis- regard of the religious virtues ; and this I ask all the more particulurl}', because of the present degenerate and wicked age, which would seize on nothing more eagerly than doc- trines of a kind that might seem to countenance or abet the prevailing vicious laxities of the times.
For the rest I do not decline to take a few copies of the work in question ; but request you to address them to some Dutch merchant resident in London, who on my application to hun would deliver them to me. It is not neccssai-j', more- over, to speak of books of this kind being sent to me. So as they but reach mo safely I doubt not but I shall find occasion to place them hero and there among my friends in London, and in due course to receive the price for j'ou. Farewell, and, leisure permitting, write again to j'our attache*!,
HeNEY OLnENMURO. Loudon, July 22ad, 167S.
The date of the above letter shows a gap of some ten yean in the cor- n>Kr>«ndi.>nci> Iwlween Oldenburg and Spinorji, and the reader will not fail to observB the dilference lielween the lone of this li>tt<?r and those wTllten be- tween lOUl and Ititir,. It in unlikely that the correspondence was dropped ao suddenly as here appears. We «ee, indeed, that Oldenlmrf; niuBt have written to Spinoisa wime short time at least before the date of the above , chilly epiittle, for he has an answer from Spiuoza of the Cth of July. This letter, however, niUKi have been lost or destroyed, and it is more than pro- bable that several others luct with the same fate.
LETTER XLX.
B. OE SPINOZ.\. TO H. OI.DENBUKO.
Etcdknt Sir,
At the moment of receiving your letter of the 22nd
of July I was setting out for Amsterdam with a view to
17
2o8 BENEDKT DE SriNUZA.
putting to press the work ubout which I wrote to you. A\Tiilst there, however, luuking my urrungements, a rumour got spread ubout that a book of mine ujMn Go<l was soon to appear, in which I endeavoured to prove that there was no God. This rejwrt, I regret to add, was by many received as true. Certain theologians (who proliably were themselves the authors of the rumour) took occasion ujwn this to lodge a complaint against me with the prince and the magistracy ; and the silly Cartesians, in order to free themselves from ever}' suspicion of favouring my views, set ubout abusing my writings and conclusions, and bringing mo into evil odour, a course, indeed, which they still continue to follow. Having received a hint of this state of things from some trustworthy friends, who assured me, further, .that the theologians were everj-^rhere lying in wait for me, I detenuined to put off my contemplated publication imtil such time as I should see what turn affairs might take, and as matters seem every day to go from bad to worse, I am not yet resolved as to what I shall do.
Meantime I would not longer delay my reply to your letter. And let mo in the fii'st place tliank you for your friendly hints, though I should like to have such farther light from you as would enable mo to know what the doc- trines are to which you allude, and which in your opinion seem to compromise the religious virtues. For myself I own that what seems to mo to harmonize with reason seems to me also most conducive to virtue. I should, therefore, be obliged to you, if this will not give you too nmch trouble, to point out to me the passages in the Tractatus Theologico-jwliticus which you say have aroused the scruples of the learned ; for I am anxious to supplement the treatise by a few explanatory notes, with a view, if this be possible, to remove any preju- dices that may have been conceived against it. Farewell, &c. End of July or bcgiuning of August, 1C75.
259
LETTER XX.
II. OLDENBURG TO B. DK 8FIK0ZA.
I learn by your last that the publication of the work you have ready is deferred.
I cannot but approve the purpose you announce by notes and comments to illustrate and soften down those things in the Tractatus Theologico-politicus, which have shocked so many readers. The chief of these, I think, may be referred to what you say ambiguously concerning God and Nature, which many are of opinion you confound. Moreover, to many you seem to annul the authority and significance of miracles, by which alone the majority of Christians believe that the truth of divine revelation can be established. Farther, it is said that you do not express yourself openly concerning Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, and only mediator between God and man ; and that you say nothing of his incarnation and propitiatory death. Your views clearly ex- pressed on these three heads are particularly desired. If, in your communication you satisfy sincere and reasonable Chris- tians, I believe your position with the public at large will be assured. So much I have been anxious to impart to you who am yours, very truly,
H. Oldenburg.
London, Nov. \'>, 1075.
P. S. liCt mc know, I pray, thot those few lines reach voii saft'lv.
LETTER XXI.
B. DE SPIXOZA TO H. OLDENBURG.
Excellent Sir,
Your very short cpistlo of the 15th of November 17 »
iifjO lltNKDK I 1»1, sriX(l/A.
reached iiie on Saturday last. There you only refer to what you think may nhock the reader in the Ti-uetutus Thcologico- politiuus, and I had exi)ccted tliut you would also have in- formed luc what the opinions arc which seem to compromiso the practice of the religious virtues, of which you formerly epoke.
To give you my mind concerning the three heads you mention particularly, however, I say, as regards the first, that I take a totally different view of God and Nature from that which the later Christians usually entertain ; for I hold that God is the immanent, not the extraneous, cause of all things. I say, All is in God ; all lives and moves in God.'*' And this I maintain, with the Apostle Paul, and perhaps with every one of the philosophers of antiquity, although in a way other than theirs. I might even venture to say that my view is the same as that entertained by the Hebrews of old, if so much may be inferred from certain traditions, greatly altered and falsified though they be. It is, however, a complete mistake on the part of those who say that my purpose in the Tractatus Theologico-politicus is to show that ffiod and Nature, under which last term tliey understand a ^certain mass of corporeal matter, are one and the same. I had no such intention.
"With regard to miracles, on the contrary, I am most in- timately persuaded tliat the truth of divine revelation can only be assured bj' the wisdom of the doctrines, and in no- wise by miracles, in other words, by ignorance. This, I think, 1 have shown at ample length in the sixth chapter of the Tractatus, where I treal of miracles. To what is there set forth I will only add that I make this grand distinction be- tween Religion and Superstition, that the one has wisdom, the other ignorance for its foundation ; and this suffices me
• 'Ev Tif Oiw {u/4ii' icni rii'dj/itOa roi i<r/if.v, Ornt. Pouli ad Athcnicuscs. Acts xvii. 'ii ; 1 Cor. iii. Itf ; xii. C : Kpb. i. 'i'i.
B. DK SPIXOZA TO II. OI.nEXBTTlO.
2(il
OS ground for my assertion that Christians are not verily distinguished from other men by their faith, their charity, and other fruits of the Holy Spirit, but b\' certain special be- liefs or opinions only, inasmuch as with the mass of mankind of all nations they build on miracles, i. e. on ignorance, (he source of everything that is bad in the world, the leaven that turns faith, though true in itself, into superstition. I much doubt, however, wliether kings will ever consent to yield a remedj' for this evil.
Lastly, and to give you my opinion without reserve on the third head, I say : that it is by no means necessary to know Christ according to the flesh ; for, of that eternal Son of Qod, in other words, of the eternal wisdom of God which manifests itself in all things, in the mind of man especially, and above all in Jesus Christ, we are to hold a totally difl'ercnt opinion. "Without this [spiritual] view I hold that no man can attain to the state of true beatitude, inasmuch as this alone informs us as (o what is true and false, good and evil, &c. And because, as 1 have said, this Divine wisdom was most especially manifested in Jesus Christ, so was it preached by his disciples in so far as it was imparted to them by him. and in so far might they vaunt themselves on showing forth this spirit of Christ more clearly than other men. As to what certain Churches add to this, viz., that God assumed our human nature, I have said expressly that I do not under- stand what they mean ; yea, to say truth, they seem to mo to speak as irrationally as ihey would do did they say that the circle had assumed the nature of the square.
So much, r presume, will suffice to show you what I think of tlio three heads you proposed for my consideration ; but you ^nll know latter than I whether what I have now said is likely to receive the assent of your Christian friends. Fare- wcU.
Noveinbor, Ifl"."!.
202 LETTER XXII.
JI. OLDENBl'RG TO li. I>E SPIN'OZA.
As you scorn to reproach me for the brevity of my last, I shall make up for it by prolixity in my present letter. You had expected from me, I see, a specification of the N-iews contained in your work which seem to war with the practice of the religious virtues. I proceed, therefore, to inform you that your readers arc particularly distressed by finding that you advocate Necessity in all things and in all our actions. Were this admitted, they say, the nerve of all law, of all virtue, and all religion would be severed, and reward and punishment made alike nugatory' and indefensible. AVhat- ever is brought about or forced on us by necessity, it is said, is by the same necessity excusable, and no one, consequently, in the sight of God is inexcusable. If we act by fate, and all things proceed under the heavy hand of definite and in- evitable necessity, they say farther, they do not see how there can be any guiltiness or any deserved punishment. What wedge can be found to rend this stubborn clump P If you can supply a means of escape from the great difBiculty I ardently desire to know it.
With reference to your views on the three heads upon which I sought for information I have farther to ask : First, in what sense you hold miracle and superstition to bo terms synonymous and of like import, as you appear to do in your last ; seeing that the raising of Ijazarus and the resurrection of Christ from the dead surpass all the powers of nature as we understand the expression, and could only have been ef- fected by and through the omnipotence of God. That surely docs not argue culpable ignorance which as matter of course exceeds our finite intelligence, limited as it is within such narrow bounds. Do you not rather think that it is consonant with the nature of the created spirit of man and his science.
H. OLDENBURG TO B. DE SPtJTOZA.
(o acknowledge in the uncreated spirit of the Supreme being such a power as by our poor humanity can neither bo con- ceived nor understood ? We are men, and nothing human can we regard as indifferent to us. Wlicreforc, as you avow you cannot understand how God should put ou humanity, I may be permitted to ask how you interpret that passage in the Gospel and that in the Epistle to the Plebrews, the first of which declares that ' the word became flesh,' • the second, that ' the Son of God had assumed the nature not of the angels but of the seed of Abraham ' ? t The whole tenor of tlie Gospel [according to John] seems to mc to imply that the onlj'-bogotten Son of God, the K6yoi who both is God and was with God, showed himself with our human nature, and in this capacity gave himself in bis passion, death, and burial as an iuTiKvTpov — a cleansing or propitiatory sacri- fice,* for us sinners. I would gladly bo informed by you what interpretation you put on these and other similar pass- ages, the truth of tlie gospel and the Christian religion — both of which I think you respect — being still maintained entire.
I had intended to write even more at large, but am inter- rupted by friends to whom I dare not seem inattentive. What I have already said, however, may suflSce, and perhaps oven prove tedious to you amid your philosophising. Faro- well, therefore, and believe me as ever the admirer of your learning and wisdom,
H. Oldenuuro.
LoodoD, Deo. 16, 1675.
• Vide (lospol ocoordinK to SI Jolin, i. 1, ctsc<|, t EpiiiUe to Uabrews, ii. 16, et eet\. X 1 Tim. ii. C ; lUtt. xx. 28.
2G4
LETTER XXIII.
B. 1>E SPINOZA TO HESRY OI.DESHL'KG.
Jlonotired Sir,
I sec at lon^h what it was you wished me not to divulge. But as this lies at the very foundation of all I proposed to make known in the work I intended to publish,* I shall here explain to you in brief how and on what grounds I maintain the fateful neecssity of all things', and of all that hap2)cns.
Now, in the first place, I do by no means think that God is subject to Fate, Destiny, or Necessity, but hold that all which happens comes to pass by inevitable necessity from tho nature of God ; even as it is gcncrtdly admitted that from the nature of God it follows that God know^s himself. No one, I imagine, will deny that such know^ledge follows of necessity from the divine nature ; yet no one can so under- stand the proposition as to a.ssume that God is subjected to Fate or Necessity, but on the contrary, that God freely though at the same time necessarily knows himself.
Farther, the inevitable necessity of things for which I contend abrogates neither divine nor human Law or Right. For moral doctrines, whether we assume that they receive or do not receive the form of Law or the stump of Right from God, arc still divine and wholesome ; and whether we have the good that accompanies virtue and divine love from God as a legislator and judge, or from the necessity of the divine nature, it is not therefore either the more or the less desirable ; as, on the other hand, the evil that follows wicked deeds and base passions, because flowing necessarily from these, is not the less to be deprecated. Lastly, whatever we do, whether wc are actuated by necessity or contingency, we still do influenced either by our hopes or our fears. * The Ethicf.— E».
B. nr snxnzA to ii. oldexburg.
2G.J
•^
*'».
Moreover, men are inexcusable in the sight of God on no other ground than because they are in his power even as clay in the hands of the potter, who of the same mass makes one vessel to honour and another to dishonour.* If you will but consider with care the little I have now said, I doubt not but you will be able readily to reply to all the objections that are commonly made to the view taken, as I have myself found to be the case in repeated instances.
Miracle and Ignorance I have assumed as equivalent terms, because they who seek to defend the existence of God and religion by miracles attempt to make good one difScult or obscure thing by another stiU more obscure, and so intro- duce us to a new kind of argument, appealing not to the im- possible as they say, but to ignorance. But I need not pursue this topic further, as I think I have sufficiently ex- plained my views on the subject of miracles in the Tractatus Theologico-polilicus. I shall only ask you to observe, in ad- dition to what is there set forth, that Christ did not apjiear personall)' either to the Council, or to Pilate, or to any in- credulous or indifferent person, but to believers only ; that God has neither right hand nor left, is in no one place more than another, but is of infinite and universal essence ; that matter is everywhere matter, that God does not reveal himself in any imaginary sphere evoked by fancy beyond this world ; and, as the human body is bounded and maintained in its allotted form by the atmosphere, you will readily conceive that the apparition of Christ after his crucifixion is of the same kind precisely as that in which Abraham thought that God appeared to him when he saw certain men at his door whom he invited in to partake of his meal.
But here, perhaps, you will say : all the apostles believed implicitly that Christ rose from the dead, and verily and indeed ascended into heaven. I do not deny this. Abraham * Vide raul's Epist. to Rom. ix. 21.
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RENEDICT DE SPIXOZA.
believed that God had sat at tabic with him ; and the Isrucl- ite« in general believed that God had come down from heaven on mount Sinai enveloped in fire, and spoken with thcin inJ- mediately in words ; whilst tlicse and various others of the same kind were visions or revelations adapted to the capacities and opinions of the men to whom God deigned to mako known his will. I, therefore, conclude that the resurrection of Christ from the dead was one of a purely spiritual natui-e, and revealed to believers according to their capacities only ; that is to say, Christ endowed with eternity, rose from the dead — and here I understand the word dead in the sense in which Christ uses it, when he says, Let the dead bury their dead * — even as he in his life and death hud given an ex- ample of singular holiness to mankind, and, in so far as they followed the example ho set them, awakened his disciples from death to eternal life. It were easy, methinks, to eJtpluin the whole doctrine of the Evangelists on this hj-pothesis. I think, indeed, that the 15th chapter of the First Epistle of Paul to (lie Corinthians, and the whole argument of the apostle in other places can only be understood when seen from this point of view ; for to mo the interpretation according to the common hypothesis appears weak and readily controvertible. I say nothing here of the fact that the Christians interpreted that spiritually which the Jews interpreted carnally.
With you, I acknowledge human infirmity. But allow mo on the other hand to ask, whether or no we poor mortals have 80 much knowledge of the world as enables us to say precisely how far the power of nature extends and to speak positively of aught that transcends this power P Now, as no one could venture without presimiption to give an answer here, so may we be permitted, without being held guilty of arrogance, to eay that it is legitimate to explain miracles, in so fur as this may be done, by natural causes ; and as regards those that can • Vide Matt vtii. 22 ; Luke ii. 60.
II. (II.UENBURG TO «. IJE SPINOZA.
2G7
neither bo so explained nor shown to be absurd, that it were better to suspend our judgment concerning them, and to as- sume, as I have said, the excellence of the doctrine as the sole ground of our religious conclusions.
To conclude: you believe that the passages you quote from the Gospel of John and the Epistle to the Hebrews aro opposed to what I say. But I answer that this is becauso you measure phrases in Eastern languoges by European modes of speech ; and though John wrote his Gospel in Greek, he Hebraizes nevertheless. What, for instance, do you make of those passages of Scripture in which it is said tbat God manifested himself in a cloud, and that he dwelt in a tabernacle or temple P Do you believe that God put on the nature of a cloud, or of a temple, or a tabernacle ? Now, the utmost that Christ said of himself was, that he is the temple of God,* and this, as I have explained, because God mani- fested himself especially in hiin. It is to make this truth more impressive that John says, ' The Word became flesh.* But enough on these matters.
[TUe Hague, Dec, 1G75. or Jau., I(i7«.]
LETTER XXrV.
HENRY OLOENBURO TO B. DE SPINOZA.
Eu irparrii'i' !— Well done !
You have hit the mark and rightly seen my reasons for desiring the suppression of those views of the fatalistic necessity of all things. I feared that such teaching might interfere with virtuous conduct, and that the hope of rewards and fears of punishment might lose their influence in the world. Nor do I find in your lu.st letter sufficient to meet the difficulty and tranquillize the minds of men. For if, in all our * John ii. lU ; Matt xxvi. GO; Murk xiv. 58.
268
BHNF.niCT DE SPIXOZA.
doingis, morul as well as natural, we human beings are in iho hand of God as clay in that of the potter, with what show of justice can any of us have it laid to his charge that he acted in this way or in that, seeing that it was impossible for him to have acted otherwise than he did ? ^fight we not all retort on God and say : Thy inflexible destiny and resiHtless power compel us so to do, and make it impossible we should do otherwise ; wherefore, then, and with what show of justice dost thou subject us to dreadful punishments which we could in nowise avoid, seeing that thou orderest and rulost nil things by thy arbitrary wQl and pleasure, thy law of supremo nocoasity ? If you say that men are inexcusable before God for no other reason than that they are wholly in his power, I turn the argument against you and maintain, with greater show of reason as it seems, that men are exctisablc precisely because they are in the power of God. For it were com- petent to every one to say : It is thy irresistible power, O God ! and therefore am I excusable for having done no other- wise than I have done.
Farther, when you asstune miracle and ignorance as sjTionymous terms, it seems to me that you prescribe the same limits to the power of God and the capacity, were it even of the most intelligent of men, to know ; as if God could do nothing, could call into existence nothing of which man by the application of his best powers could not understand the cause.
Reverting to the history of the passion, ditith, burial, and resurrection of Christ, I find all depicted in such true and lively colours, that I venture to put it to your conscience and inquire, whether, if you be but persuaded of the truth of the narrative, you think it is to be understood allegorically or literally ? The circumstances which the Evangelists have detailed with so much precision seem to me to leave us no choice, but to take the recital in its most literal sense. 'J'his
11. DE SPIXOZA TO II. ULDENBURG. 26^
much would I say on tlieee heads, which I ask of you carefully to weigh and answer in a spirit of the most con- fiding friendship. Mr Boyle greets you cordially again. On another occasion I shall inform you of what we are about in our Royal Society. Meantime farewell, and keep mo in your loving remembrance !
Hexky Oldekburg. London, Jan. lltli, 1C7G.
LETTER XXV.
n. DE SPIXOZA TO HEMIY OLDENBURG.
Honourable Sir,
When I said in my last letter that we are inexcus- able because we are in the hands of God like clay in the hands of the potter, I wished this to be taken in the sense that no one has a title to reproach God vfit\i. having given him a weak body or an im|)otent mind. For as it would be absiird if the circle complained that God had not given it the pro- jwrties of the sphere, or the child labouring under stone that God had not endowed him with a healthy frame ; even so would it be absurd did a man of feeble soid complain that God hud denied him strength of understanding, and truo knowledge and love of God Himself, and moreover bestowed upon him so impotent a nature that he coidd neither control nor got the better of his animal appetites. For the nature of each particular thing agrees with nothing else but that which necessarily follows from its given cause. But that it belongs not to the nature of every man to be of powerful mind, and that it depends even as little on us to have a healthy body as to possess a powerful mijid, will be denied by no one save by him who would at once deny both reason and experience. You say, however, that if men sin of natural necessity, so are
270 BENEDICT DB SFIKOZA.
they also of natural necessity to be excused ; but then you do not explain what you would conclude from this : whether that God could not be rightly angrj' with them, or that even as they are, they ore worthy of being blessed, i. e. worthy of the knowledge and love of God. If you mean the former, I agree with you entirely ; for I do not think that God is ever angry, but that all things come to pass in conformity with his decrees. I do not admit, however, that all men must therefore be blessed ; for men may be excusable and nevertheless fuQ of true felicity, and even suffer misery and affliction in many ways. A horse, for instance, is excusable for being a horse and not a man, but in spite of this he must continue in his state. He who is bitten by a mad dog and becomes rabid is certainly excusable, but his fellow men have asserted a right to suffocate him ;• and he who cannot sub- due his passions nor hold them in check even with the terrors of the law before him, although he may be held ex- cusable on the ground of his infirmity of nature, cannot enjoy true peace of mind or have any knowledge or love of God, but necessarily perishes.
I do not think it needful in this place to do more than direct your attention to this : that when in the Scriptures God is spoken of as being angry with siniicra, and their judge ; as making inquiry into the affairs of men, or interfering and deciding in these, such language can only be used in a human sense, and in conformity with \'ulgar opinion. It is not the purpose of the Scriptures to teach philosophy or to make men learned, but to make them obedient.
I do not see, therefore, why, because I speak of Miracles and Ignorance as words of like import, I should be held to
* It was held right and lawful so to do in Spinoza's day. Barbarity of the kind is now out of date. Tlic physician's province is most clearly appre- hended at present to do everything to preserve life, in no contingency to do aught to cut it short.
H. OLDENBl'KG TO U. DE SPINOZA.
271
circumscribe tLe power of God, aud man's power to know, within the same bounds.
For the rest, I take the pussion, death, and burial of Christ lit^rall)', as you do ; his resurrection, however, I regard as allogoriwil. I admit, indeed, that by the Evangelist* the re- surrection is detailed with such circumstances that it is im- possible to deny that they themselves believed in the resur- rection from the dead of the body of Christ, and in his assumption into heaven that he might sit at the right hand of God. I admit, also, that what was witnessed by the faith- ful might have been seen by an indifferent person, had one been present in the places where Christ appeared to the dis- ciples. But I say — and this I do without detriment to the doctrine of the gospel — that herein the witnesses may have been deceived, just as other prophets have been deceived, instances of which I have given in a fonucr letter. Paul, indeed, to whom Christ subsequently appeared, glories in this — that he had known Christ not according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit.
Farewell, and believe that I am yours with all afiPection- ate esteem,
B. De Spinoza.
[Fell. Till, 1076.]
LETTER XXV. (a.)
HENRY OLDENBrRO TO B. I)K SPINOZA.
In reply to Spinoxn'* No. XXV. of Fub. lr.7C, from Van Vlolen»'» .Sii|iplcniciitum, p. 301i.
Dear Sir,
In jour la.st of the 7th of Feb. there arc several
things on which I feel called to auimudvert. Thus you say :
Men have no ground for complaint, because God has vouch-
UKNEDICI' I>E SriKOZA.
safod them no true kuowlcnlgo of biinsolf, uud hus denied them strength enough to reeiBt sin. inasmuch as nothing belongs to the nature of a thing save that which follows necessarily from its cause. Now, I say, as Qod the creator of man hus made him in his own imago, which seems to imply wisdom and goodness and power in the conception, it must on every account folkiw that it is more in the power of man to have a sound mind than a healthy body, swing that the physical soundness of the body depends on mechanical principles; sanity of mind, on the contrary, on resolution (irpoalptais) and counsel. You will, perhaps, reply, that men may be ex- cusable, and yot are tried and afflicted in many woys. This at first sight sooins hard ; and the cose you cite in illustration, viz., that one rabid from the bite of a mud dog may well be excused, but may yet rightfully be put to death, does not seem to me to meet the case. The destruction of the mad dog even, would savour of cruelty, were it not required in order that other dogs and animals and men might bo saved from being bitten. But if Gwl give man a sound mind, such as he can bastow, there is then no contagion of Wee to be feared. And it would certainly appear very ruthless were God to inflict eternal, or even extreme temporal tortures on men by reason of sins tliey commit, and which they could in nowise avoid. The tenor of all Si-ripture, however, seems to suppose or to imply that men may abstain from sin ; they abound in ad- monitions and promises, — in promises of reward and denun- ciations of punishment, all of which seems to militate against any necessity of sinning, and to presume the possibility of escaping the penalties threatened. If this be denied, then were the human mind to be held subject to the like mechani- cal laws as the human body.
Further, when you assume belief in miracles and ignor- ance to be equivalent terms, you would, on such grounds, have man the creature, endowed with the infinite power and pro\-i-
H. OLDENBURG TO B. PB SPINOZA. 273
dent wisdom of the Creator, propositions which I am most intimately persuaded are altogether inadmissible.
Lastly, when you affinn that the passion, death, and burial of Christ are to be taken literaUj-, but his resurrection from the dead allegorically, you do not appear to me to sup- port your conclusion by any argument. The account of the resurrection is given in the Gospels in the same literal terms 08 the other accompanying incidents. And this article of the Kesurrection underlies the whole of the Christian Religion, and is the voucher for its foundation in truth. This article shaken or demolished, the whole mission and heavenly doc- trine of Jesus Christ suffer collapse. It cannot but be known to you how Christ, risen from the dead, laboured in various ways to convince his disciples of the truth of his resurrection properly so called. To propose to turn the whole of this por- tion of the Scripture narrative into allegorj- were equivalent to disputing the entire truth of the go.spel history.
These few points I have thought well to interpose in vin- dication of my freedom to philosophise, and I heartily entreat you to ponder them well.
In my next, God granting me life and health, I shall have something to tell you in connection with the doings of our Boyal Society. ■ Meantime, &c.
London, Feb. 11, IftTA:
The answer which Spinoza doubtle.'s fiontto this last letter of Oldenburg's has not been preservcfl. As Oldenbiirfr's epistle, however, \» but a rei)etition of what he had already advanced, Spinoza's reply could have l)een little more than a reiteration of the views he had already set forth. The loss of the re- ply is therefore the less to be regretted.
IM
274
LETTER XXVI.
SIMON DE VRIES TO H. HE SPINOZA (WITII ADDITIONS FROM VAN VIJHKn's SII'I'I.EMEKT).
Ml/ dear Friend,
I have long desired once more to find myself besido you, but leisure and this bitter wintry weather have not favoured me. I often regret that so great a distance divides us — that we live so fur apart. Happy, most happy must that inmate of yours (casuarius) be, living as he does under the same roof with you, and with opportunities whilst dining, supping, and walking with you, of discoursing on high and holy things. Far from each other as we are in body, you are nevertheless often present with me in spirit, especially when I take your writings in hand and study their contents. As everything in these, however, is not so clearly uuderstood by all the members of our society as could be wished (and this is the reason why we have made a fresh start with our meet- ings), I sit down to write to you, to show you that I am not forgetful of you [as well as to explain our difficulties].
Our society, you must know, is so constituted that one of the members, each taking the duty in turn, reads aloud one of your propositions, explains it in his own way, and then demonstrates it in harmony with the series of which it makes one. Should it happen that one proposition cannot be shown to harmonize with another, we note the difficulty and write to you, so that the matter may, if possible, bo cleared up and we may, under your guidance, be enabled to defend the truth against the superstitious among our pious Christians. Backed by you we feel as if we could withstand the arguments of the whole world.
On a first reading we did not find the whole of your de- finitions alike clear and easy of interpretation. Wo did not even all agree in opinion as to the nature of definition.
S. J. DK VRIES TO B. DE SKNOZA.
275
[The writer then goes on to enumerate certain difficulties he had encountered in the definitions with which Spinoza prefaces his Principia Cartesiana. He had sought assistance from Borollus, Clavius, and others, but found little help from them, and so appeals to the master himself. In particular, he does not understand the third Definition of tho Principia, and is puzzled by the Scholium to Prop. 10, Pt i. of the Ethics ; which wo learn must have been already reduced to shape ut this early date (1663), and was doubtless imparted in MS. by the author to De Vries, one among tho earliest and most ardent admirers of Spinoza, and whom the philoso- pher in turn appears to have greatly loved. As all tho poinla in De Vries' letter are taken up in succession in Spinoza's re- ply, it would be mere repetition were De Vrios' letter given in cxtenso. The conclusion of the letter, however, is interest- ing, and as supplied by Van Vloten is here given.]
Let mo return you my best thanks for your writings cora- municatod to me by P. Balling. They have, indeed, given mo much pleasure, particularly the Scholium to Prop. 19. • If I can be of any use to you here in anything within my power, I am at your command ; you have but to let me know. I have entered the anatomical class and have got half through the course ; I sliall certainlj' begin chemistry anon, and so with you as my ad\"iser shall go through tho whole medical curriculum. I conclude, and shall look for a reply. Mean- time adieu, and believe me to be your most attached,
S. J. D'ViuKS. Amsterdam, Feb., KieS. To Benedletug SpiDOza, Rhjrnsburg.
• From the dmnonstretion it (ippi-ars tliat the existence of OoU even u hb eaaeooe i« an otcruul truth. Eth., IM i. Prop. 19.— Ed.
16 •
276 LETTER XXVII.
n. DE SPINOZA TO S. J. HE VRIES.
[The first pantgniph of this letter is from Van VIoten's supplement.]
Dear Friend,
I lately received your welcome letter, for which, and for all your expressions of regard for me, I feel very grateful. Your long absence, I as-xure you, has been as much matt«r of regret with me a.s witli yourself. Meantime, I am glad to know that my lucubrations have been of any ilso to you and our friends. Tlius you see, though absent, do I hold converse with you all. Nor nee<l you envy my inmato, for there is no one with whom I have less sympathy than he, none with whom I am more on my guard. I would, therefore, have you and all our more intimate friends ad- vised not to communicate ray views to him until ho shall have attained to somewhat rijier years. ITo is still too much of a boj- ; without fixwl principles, and eager for novelty rather than truth. These youthful defects, however, I hope will be amended with tlic lapse of u few years. In so far as I may judge from his parts, indeed, I believe that this will very surely come to pass. Tlie ai)lnoss of the youth leads me to take an interest in him.*
• The young man here rcfi'ircd to is certainly All>ert Burgli, to whom Spinoza'B ndmirnhlo letter niimlienxl Ixxiii. is ml<lrc?«!<l. The subsequent conduct of the young man in suflfering liimself to he pcrvcrtetl from the simple faith of his parents, shows us how accurately Spinoza had appreciated his ch.i- racter. Spinoza's reference to his own particular views in this |>lace and lug caution to Do Vries not to communicnte these too freely, wouhl have led us to surmise that his friend.s of tlie debating society had more in their hands from the philosopher than his Prineipia C'arlesiana. And there can now bo no question that it is to the original draft or epitome of the Ethics, lately rescued from oblivion by the learned bookseller of Amsterdam, Frederick Muller, and edited with a I.atin translation by I)r Van Vloten in liis supple- ment to the works of ISencdict de Sjiinoza, 12mo, Ani.<t., 1802, that he alludes. There had already been hints of the cxis^tence of such an early work by Spinoza given in various quarters, and even short summaries of it« con- tents (particularly by Dr Ed. Bocbmer in his B. de Spinoza Tr. de Deo et
B. DE SPINOZA TO S. J. DK VRIES.
277
Ab to the questions discussed in your debuting society, — wliic'b, by the wuy, seems to me to be very wisely constituted — and now submitted by you to me, I can see how it has come to ptiss thut you have encountered difficulties in answering them yourselves. It is because you have not distinguished between definitions of different kinds, viz., a definition which serves for the explanation of a thing, the essence of which nlone is inquiretl after and is matter of doubt ; and a definition which is proposed for examination only. Now the former, inasmuch as it has a determinate object, ought to be true, whilst the latter needs not to bo so. Thus : Does any one require of me a descrip- tion of Solomon's Temple, I am bound to give him a true ac- count of the structure, unless I mean to talk idly. But do I mentally plan a temple of any kind which I wish to build, and from the extent of which I conclude that I should require such an area, so much stone, so many loads of timber and other material, would any one in bis senses say that I had come to a wrong conclusion, because perchance I had made use of a false definition ? Or would any one then requii-e me to prove my definition ? To do so were to tell mo I had not thought of that which had occupied my thoughts, or to ask of me proof of my having conceived that which had been in mind — and this were trifling, indeed ! — Definition, there- fore, either explains a thing as lying outside of the under- standing, in which case it ought to be true and not different from axiom or proposition, — unless indeed the essences or
Iloniine r.iiicamcnta. Ualti; 1852, 4to), but <o Fr. Muller and J. van VIoten i« due tlic honour of having firet given it to tlie world entire. Whellicr it were communicated by Spiuoiu tu his wore intimate friends in I^tin or in Dutch ia doubtful. Tliis mucli is corliiin, that the ouly teat (iind two copies have ftlrcady been discovered ) uf Ibc TrondM now extant is in Dutch. It i» entitled : Korte Vurlinndeliiijr viin (Jod, de Meuscli en deszelfs Welstand ; translate*! by Dr van VIoten ; Tmctotua brcvis de Deo et Homiue qusque Valetudine. An eli'{;:ant and carefully collnled edition of the treatise iu Dutch has just ap- peared under the able editorship of Dr Caroliis Scbaarschmiilt (Anist. apud Fr. ilullcr, 1H6U, 8vo). Besidcg Uie Dutch text, there is an e:icelleiit prcfiico, and a di(i^ni«itioD on the source* of Spinoca's I'hilosophy— De 8pinox.X' I'lii- locopbuD Footibus, by the editor.
278 BENEDICT DB SPINOZA.
a£Pcctions of things bo the matters considered, when definition has a wider scope, extending as it then does to eternal verities — or it cxphiins a thing as conceived or as it may be conceived of by us, in whicli case, again, it differs from axiom and proposition in this, that it requires to be conceived absolutely, and not as an axiom having reference to some simple truth. It is a bad definition, consequently, which is not clearly conceivable. By way of illustration I take the example adduced to you by Borelli : Did any one sijcak of two straight lines inclosing a space under the name of figure lines, and so designated as straight, lines that are usually called curved, then were the defi- nition admissiiblo, for then were such an indefinite figure as this () to be understood, and neither square nor circle nor any other definite figure. But did he use the word line in its ordinary acceptation, then were the thing unintelligible and the defini- tion meaningless. Now, all this is plainly confounded by Borelli, whose opinion you seem disposed to adopt. I propose another example, that, indeed, which you adduce at the end of your letter. If I say that every substance has one attribute only, this is a simple proposition and requires demonstration. But if I say that by substance I understand that which comprises one attribute only, the definition will be good, provided other entities comprising several attributes arc signified by another name than substance. But when you go on to say I have not demonstrated that substance or entity has or may have numerous attributes, it is because you have not properly con- sidered my demonstrations. For I have supplied two, the first of which is in these terms : ' Tlicre is nothing more obvious than that every Entitj' is conceived by us imder some attri- bute, and that the more of reality or being an Entity possesses the greater is the number of attributes ascribable to it. Hence the absolutely infinite Entity or Being [which I designate Substance] is to be defined as constituted by an in-
B. TIK SPINOZA TO R. J. DE VHIVS.
finit.y of attributes, each of which expresses an etomol and infinite essence existing noceRSorily.*
The second, and, as I tliink, the more important demon- stration is this : ' The greater the number of attributes I con- nect with any entity or being, the more of real existence am I compelled to conceive it endowed withal;' in other words, the more am I forced to regard it from the point of view of truth or reality ; which would plainly be otherwise did I imagine a monster — a chimtcra, or anything of the sort.
Farther, when you tell me that you do not conceive thought othcrwiso than through ideas; because in the ab- sence of ideas all thought ceases, I believe that this happens becouso you, a thinking entity, set aside or quit jourself of your thoughts and conceptions ; and it is not wonderful therefore, that having cast away all thought, nothing remains for you to think about. But the essential of the matter — and I think I have shown it clearly enough, — is this: that understanding, although infinite, belongs to the natura natu- rata, not to the natura niiturans, — to nature influenced, not to nature influencing. But I do not see what this has to do with the comprehension of my third definition, neither do I see what difficulty it throws in the way of understanding that. For the definition us I gave it to you, unless my memory plays me false, ran thus : ' By substance I understand that which is in itself and is conceived by itself, i. e, the concep- tion of which involves the conception of no other thing ; ' by attribute I understand the same thing, save that attribute, in respect of our understanding, is regarded as attaching a cer- tain specific nature to substance.f This definition, I say, shows with sufficient clearness what I understand both by substance and attribute. You would have me, however, though this seems unnecessary, explain to you how one
• Vide EUiicB, n i. Prop. 0, 10, 1 1, nnd Schol. t Vide Ethire, Pt i. UeS. 3. 4.
260
BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
and the same Uiing can properljr bo designated by two nainos. Now, that I may not seem niggardly, I shall give you not one but two instances. First, I soy, that by Israel I under- stand the third patriarch, and by Jacob I mean the sumo in- dividual, the latter namo having been given him because at his birth ho grasped the heel of his brother. Second, by plane I understand that kind of surface which reflects all the rays of light without change ; and by icliilc I understand the same thing, save that the term white is rcferrod to the indi- vidual who looks on a plane surface, &c.
LETTER XXVUI.
B. DE SPINOZA TO SIMON UE VKIES.
Drar Friend,
You ask me if experience be necessary to know that the definition of an attribute is true ? I answer that experience is never required save as regards matters that cannot bo concluded on from the definitions of things ; such, for example, as the existence of modes ; for the existence of a mode cannot bo inferred from the definition of anything. But we do not require experience to satisfy us of the reality of those things whose existence is not distinguished from their essence, things whose existence, therefore, is inferred from their definition. Experience, indeed, could never teach us this, for experience teaches nothing of the essences of things ; the utmost it can do is to dispose the mind to think of certain determinate essences of things. Wherefore, seeing that the existence of attributes is not different from their essence, we cannot attain to a knowledge of their existence by any experience.
As to your farther question : Whether things, or the afifections of things, are eternal verities ? I answer : By oil
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means. Do you uow ask : Wherefore, then, I do not call them eternal truths ? I reply : In order to distinguish them, us indeed .is always done, from those affections that illustrate nothing, or no property of a thing ; such, for example, as that Nothing comes of Nothing. This, and similar propositions, I say, enmiciatc absolute, etemul truths ; and in saying so nothing more is meant than that theyihave no existence outside of the mind or understuudiu";.
LETTER XXIX.
15. DE SPINOZA TO LOUIS MEYEK, M. ET PH. I).
Dearest Fi'iend,
I have two letters from you — one of the 11th of January, the other of the 2Gth of March [1663]. Both were alike welcome to me, especially when I learned that you were well, and oitcn thought of me. I return you my best thanks for all your friendly sentiments and the high consideration in which you hold me, and I beg you to bo assured that I am Qo less affectionately disposed towards you, as I shall seek occasion at all fitting times to show you. I proceed at once in this course to do my best to aruswer the questions j-ou pro- pose to me in your lett-ers. You would have me give you the results of my meditations 'on the Infinite, and this I set about with fJl my heart.
The question of the Infinite has been held to be of all others the most difficult; so difficult, indeed, as even to be insoluble. This, however, has arisen from no distinction ha\Tng been made between that which is infinite of its own nature and in virtue of its definition, and that which has no limits, not in 'virtue of its essence, but by reason of its cause ; farther, because no distinction has been made between that which is said to be infinite because it is endless, and that
2R2
»E\EUICT UE BPIKOZA..
whose part«, although conceived greater or nnallcr in amount, cannot be dctormincd by any opocific number; still fur- ther, becouBo no distinction in made between that which wo understand merely but do not imagine, and that which wo imagine as well ua understand. Had theoe particulars been taken into consideration, I say, philosophers would not hare felt themselves overwhelmed by the load of difficulties they now encounter. They would then have clearly understood what the Infinite is that cannot be divided or can have no parts ; and what the Infinite that can so consist, that can bo so di^-ided. They would, moreover, have understood what Infinite is that wliich c^n without implication 1)o greater than another, and what the Infinite that cannot be so con- ceived ; all of which will dearly appear from what follows.
Before going farther, however, I shall in as few words as possible explain what I imderstand by the tenns Substance, Mode, Eternity, and Time. As regards Substance, then, I would observe Ist, that to be or to exist belongs to its nature ; that is to say Being or Existence follows from its essence and definition alone ; a truth which, if I rightly remember, I formerly demonstrated to you n'rd voce, without the aid of any other proposition. 2ndly, The second point, which in- deed follows from the first, is this : substance is not manifold or multiple, but exists singly and is ever of one and the same nature. 3rd, All substance can only be understood as in- finite.
Tlie affections of Substance I entitle Mofles ; the defini- tion of which, as it is not that of Substance itself, does not in- volve existence; wherefore although modes exist, they may yet be conceive<l as non-existent; whence it follows, farther, that when the essence only of modes is considered, and not the order of nature at large, we cannot conclude either that they already exist, that they will or will not exist in the future, or that they existed in the past. From this it clearly
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appears that we conceive the eadstence of Substance in a totally different manner from that of Mode ; and it is from this that the distinction between eternity and time or dui'a- tion arises, for whilst we express the existence of Modes in connection with the idea of time, we connect the cjcistencc of Substance with that of Eternity, i. e. the endless cnjojnncnt of being or existence.
From what has now been said, it follows that we can at will determine the existence and duration of modes, when, as usually happens, we have regard to their essential natiu'e onlj', and not to the order of nature at large, because to this extent we do not compromise the conception we have of them, — can conceive them us greater or smaller, and as divisible into parts ; Eternity and Substance, on the contrarj% a.s they can only be conceived of as Infinite, can suffer nothing of this kind without the conception we form of them being at the same moment destroyed. Wherefore they talk idly, I will not say insanely, who speak of extended Substance as consist- ing of parts, or as made up of bodies truly distinct from one another. This were as if by adding or accumulating a multi- tude of circles, it were thought possible to compose a square, a triangle, or some other figure totally different from a circle. The whole farrago of arguments whereby philosophers com- monly pretend to show that extended Substance is finite or bounded, therefore, amounts to nothing; for all proceed on the assumption that coi-poreal substance is constituted of parts. In precisely the same way would they who hold that a line is made up of points find many arguments to show that it is not di\nsible to infinity.* Did you now ask me how it comoB that we are naturally so much disposed to think of ex- tended Substance as di'visiblo, I answer. Because we conceive quantity in two ways, abstractly, to wit, and suix-rficially ; — superficially in so for as we imagine quantity through the • Ethiog, Pt i. Pr. 18, Bchol.
284
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Beuscs ; abstractly when the conception is in the understand- ing only. Now, if wo consider quantity as it is in the 6cnsc« and the imagination — and this indeed very rcadOy and most commonly happens — wc then find it divisible, made up of part« and multiple ; but when we consider it abstract^idly, as it 18 in the intellect and a thing /w se, which it is extremely difficult to do, then do wo perceive it to be, as already said, Infinite, Indivisible and One.
Farther, it is because we can at will set limits to dura- tion and quantity, viz. : when wo conceive the first abstracted from Substance, the second distinct from mode flowing from things eternal, that [ideas of] /»'m<' and w^MMrr arise — of time to aid imagination in limiting duration, of mousuro to aid imagination in determining qiumtity.
Still farther, it is because wo separate the affections of Substance from Substance it«elf, and reduce these to classes, in order that we may more etisily imagine them, that [the idea of] number arises — number by which we determine or limit the affections of Substance.
From this it is dear that measure, time, and number, are nothing but modc-s of thinking, or rather of imagining. Where- fore it is not wonderful that all who with such notions, — ill- defined besides, — have sought to comprehend the course and procedure of nature, have got so thoroughly entangled in diffi- cidties of their own making, that they have been at length unable to extricate themselves otherwise than b}•^^olatingall reason and admitting absurdities of ever\' sort. For, as there is much that can in no wise be apprehended by the imagina- tion but by the understanding only, such as Substance, eter- nity, and the Kke, if any one attempts to explain things of this kind by notions that belong to the domain of imagina- tion, he proceeds as though he had set himself the task of imagining foolishness. Neither can the modes of Substance be understood if they be confounded with the entities of rea-
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son, or the auxiliaries of imagination. For, if we do so, wo sever them from Substance and mode, by or through which they How from Eternity, without which, however, they can- not bo rightly known.
That you may have the clearer view of this, take the fol- lowing example: shoidd any one conceive duration abstract- edly, and begin, confounding it with time, to divide it into part.s, he coidd never know in what way uu hour passed by. For, in order that an hour shoidd elapse, or that the conception of the lapse of an hour should take place in the mind, it would bo necessary first that half of the interN'al shouhl pa.ss, then half of the remaining half, half of this again, and again, and again to eternity, so that no end of the hour could ever be attained to. It is for this reason that many who aro not usexi to distinguish the entities of reason from real things have gone so far as to maintain that duration is made up of distinct moments, and so, striving to escape Scylla, have fallen into Charybdis; for, to compose duration out of momenta were the same as pretending to constitute a given number by a series of noughts.
Since it sufficiently appears fromi what has now been said that neither number, measure, nor time can bo infinite, see- ing that they are nothing more than aids to the imagination — for otherwi.se number would not be number, nor measure measure, nor time time — it is obvious why many who con- found these three [images] with things themselves, because ignorant of the true nature of things, do in fact deny the In- finite. But the mathematician sees how wretchedly such persons reason ; for he is never stayed by arguments of such a complexion in the matters he clearly and distinctly appre- hends. For, besides finding many things that are inexplica- ble by any number (imd this sufficiently shows the inadequacy of number to determine everything), he discovers others that exceed all assignable numbers. Yet does he not conclude that
28G BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
such things exceed all numbers through the multitude of their parts, butfrom this : that by the nature of the thing it cannot without manifest absurdity be numbered. AU the inequalities, for instance, of the space interposed between A B and C D, and all the varieties of movement which matter in motion within the included space might undergo, can never be made the subject of numerical computation. And this happens not from the magnitude of the included space; for however
small this part is assumed to be, the inequalities of the small part will still exceed all power of enumeration. Neither is this conclusion come to as in other cases, because we have not the maximum and the minimum of the part, — for in our dia- gram we have both — the maximimi to wit in A B, the mini- mum in C D. It is because the nature of the space comprised between two non-concentric circles is such that it admits of no- thing of the kind. He who would attempt to express all the inequalities of such a space by numbers must begin by mak- ing the circle something else than it is.
To return to our proposition : any one who should seek to determine all the motions of matter that have ever occurred by reducing them and their durations to fixed numbers and definite times, would do no less than essay to deprive cor- poreal substance, which we cannot conceive otherwise than as existing, of its afiections, and so efface its proper nature. I
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should find no difficulty ia demonstrating so much, besides various other pointa touched on in this letter, did I not doom it superfluous to do so.
From what is said you will see that there are some things which by their nature are infinite and can by no means bo conceived as finite ; that there are others which, in respect of the cause on which they depend and when viewed abstract- edly, can bo divided into parts and regarded as finite ; lastly, that there are some which may be called infinite — or rather, if you wiU — indefinite, which may be conceived as greater or smaller, and which nevertheless are unassimilablo with any number — as is manifest enough from the example adduced as well as from many others.
I think I have now laid before you the main causes of the error and confusion that have arisen in connection with the question of the infinite, and have so explained matters that, unless I deceive myself, there remains no point not touched on which may not be cleared up by what has been said. I need not, therefore, detain you longer here.
This much, however, I would add by the way, that in my opinion some of the modem peripatetics have understood amiss the old Aristotelian demonstration of the existence of God. Tliifl, as I find it given by a certain Jew, llabbi Ghashdi by name, runs as follows : ' Assume a progress or sequence of causes to infinity, all things that bo must then be caused ; but nothing that is caused can exist in virtue of its proper nature ; therefore is there nothing existing to the essence of which belongs necessarj' existence. But this is absurd, there- fore is the assumption absurd also.' — The pith of the argu- ment as thus put does not lie in the impossibility of an in- finity in act, or of a sequence of causes in infinitum, but in this only that things are assumed which do not by their pro- per nature exist necessarily, which are not determined to ex- istence by a Being whose nature it is necessarily to exist.
'JSS HENEDICr DB SPINOZA.
I should now go on to your second letter, but am pressed for time ; I could, indeed, reply to all it contains more con- veniently could you favour me with an interview. Let me beg of you, therefore, to come to me at your first convenience — the season for mo\'ing about now approaches. So no more at present but farewell ! and be mindful of me, who am yours, &c.
B. d'Espinoza.
Bbyniburg, April 2nd, 1663.
Note. A copy of this letter must have been given to Von Tschimhaus, who refers to it in his letter of May, 167G, No. Ixix., almost as if it had been addressed to him. — Ed.
LETTER XXX.
B. DE SPINOZA TO PETRR BAT.LING.
My Dear Friend,
Your last letter, if I recollect rightly, of the 26th of last month came duly to hand, and filled my mind with grief and anxiety, although the admirable calm and strength of soul you display went far to console me. I see that you know how to meet the contrarieties of fate, or rather the world's interpretation of imtoward events, with the best weapons. My solicitude for you, however, rather increases than gets less of late, and I entreat you by our friendship again to let me hear very fully about yourself, unless, indeed, writing at this time bo found distressing to you.
As to the omen of which you speak, when you thought you heard your child sobbing and groaning whilst he was still in good health, in the same way as ho did when seriously indisjjosed and shortly before he died, I am of opinion that the soiuids you heard were no actual sobs or groans, but were
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the mere product of your imagination ; for you tell me that when you roused yourself to listen, you no longer heard thera 80 plainlj' as you had done before, and as you did again when you were dropping off to sleep. This of itself proves that the Bobs and groans j'ou heard were entirely of the imagfination. And I can confirm this view by that which happened to myself last winter in Rhynsburg : On awaking one morning out of a distressing dream, just as day was breaking, the images I had had present to me in my dream floated before my eyes as distinctly as if they had been actual objects. One form in pai'ticular, that of a leprous negro, whom I had never seen in my life, presented itself to me with singular distinctness, but faded and in a great measure disappeared when, to turn my thoughts to something else, I fixed my eyes on a botik ; as soon, however, as I allowed my eyes to wander from tho page the vision of tlic blackamoor presented itself with the same vividness as before. By-and-by it began to fade, and anon it disappeared entirely. Now, I sjiy, that what hap- pened to me internally as an apparition or visible form, occurred to you through your sense of hearing ; but, as the circumstances in the two cases were difierent, that which befell jou was called an omen or warning, whilst my vision roccivetl no such designation.
From what I have now said I think it plainly appears that the creations of the fancy or imagination are the effects of our bodily or mental states. And this much at present, and to avoid prolixity, I say on the ground of experience only ; by experience, indeed, we know that fever and other bodily derangements are causes of delirium, and that they whose blood is distempered think or dream of strife and disaster and death. Tho imagination, moreover, is entirely governed by the state of the mind [as this is by tho state of tho body], and every day experience assures us that it waits upon sensuous imprcHsioiis, and arranges and links its creations
13
290 BKXEUlCr DE SPINOZA.
•flrith each other, precisely as the understanding does its rea- sonings and conclusions. "We, in fact, perceive almost nothing of which imagination does not fashion an image or counterfeit ; and this being so, I maintain that the acts or operations of imagination which proceed from corporeal causes can never be regarded as omens or prognostics of things or events to come, inasmuch as their causes involve no future thing or contingency. Those acts of the imagination, however, or the images which have their cause in particular mental states, may be omens or prognostics of future events ; because the mind may have a presentiment, although it be obscure and confused, of things about to happen. The mind, indeed, can imagine things as \'ividly and fixedly as if they were actually present. A father, for example, and to refer to your own ca.se, feels such love and affection for his son, that he and the beloved object seem as one and the same. And as there must necessarily arise in the mind of the father an idea in harmony with the affection lie bears his child, and becaiLoe of the intimate part he has in him, so must the mind of the father necessarily partake of the ideal being of the son, and of his affections, and all that follows from these. And now, as the mind of the father participates ideally in that which belongs to the nature of the son, so can he, as said, imagine something of this nature so vividly, that he seems to have the object he ideally conceives, actually before him, provided the following conditions be ftdfilled, viz. : (a) that the event which befalls the son in the course of his life bo important ; (b) that it be such as can be readily imagined ; (c) that the time when the event happened be not distant j (d) lastly, that the body be in good and sound condition, not as regards Jiealth only, but, fmther, as respects freedom from care, anxieties of business, and other things that disturb the senses from without. The matter may be further aided by the thoughts nmning much u2)on things that usually excite
W. VAN BLEYBNBBRO 1X> H. DE SPINOZA. 291
similar ideas. For example, if whilst engaged in speaking with any one we hear groans, it mostly happens that when we think of the same person again the groans we heard with our ears when conversing with him on the former occasion recur to the memory.
Such, my dear friend, are my views of the subject on which you consult me ; conveyed in brief terms, I own, but I think supplying you with matt«r which will induce you, on tho first favonrpble opportunity, to write to me again.
Meantime I am, &c.,
B. d'Espinoza. Vorburg, July 80, J 664.
LKTTER XXXI.
W. VAN RLEYENBEKO TO H. DK SPINOZA.
Sir and unhnotcn Friend,
I have already, and oftoner than once, carefully read through your lately published work and its Appendix.* To another rather than yourself should I speak of the con- summate ability of which I find evidence there, and of the pleasure I have derived from the pcru>iul. Tho oftoner and the more attentively I read the work, indeed, the more am I delightod, and ever still do I find something in its pages I liad not observed before. But I must not in expressing too much admiration of the author show myself in the light of his flatterer. I know that the Gods only sell to man at tho price of great labour. But not to detain you longer with ex- pressions of my admiration, I crave permission to inform you who your unknown correspondent is who lakes the liberty of writing to you. He is one who, impelled by the longing for
• The Prindpia Philowphl* CartosisDn and appended Cogilata Mola- pliynictt, ICC3, are liere rorvrred lo.
la'
292 BENEDICT DE SI'INOZA.
pure and simple truth, strives with all his miglit, and to the extent i)cnnittc<l in this short and fleeting life, to gain a firm footing on the grounds of science, who proposes no object but the attainment of truth, and would make science the stepping- stone neither to distinction nor wealth, but by its means attain to that peace of mind which truth alone can give. Now, of all my studios, none gives mo such delight as meta- physics, and if I am superficially rather than profoundly acquainted with the subject, this does not hinder me from giving my leisure to its cultivation. No one, to my mind, has 80 happilj' or successfully devoted himself to metaphysical science as yourself, and my great desire now is that you should be more intiniatelj' acquainted with me, and kindly consent to assist me in the doubts and difficulties I encounter on my way.
To return to your treatise, much as I find to my taste therein, I must admit that I also meet with matters difficult of digestion ; and in doubt whether it were becoming in me, or will prove agreeable to you, if I lay some of those before you, I send this letter as a preliminary, and ask : whether I may take it on me to do so ; and, leisure permitting on your part and nothing pressing more for consideration in the course of those long winter evenings, whether I may venture to hoi)Q that you will favour me with some further develop- ment of your views and opinions ? • * •
That my letter may not seem em2)ty in every other respect, I take occasion to mention a single subject on which I would very gladly be better informed. Here and there, both in the Principia and the Gogitala, you maintain, either as your own opinion or the opinion of Descartes whoso philo- sophy you are teaching, that to create and to preserve are one and the same tiling, and that God not only created substances, but their motions also ; that is, God not only gave substances their state of being by his creative power, but preserves them
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continuously by the same in their motions and strivings also. God, for example, not only acta on the soul by his immediate will and i>ower in suchwise that it exists and preserves its state of being, but is also the immediate cause that the actions and motions of the soul are such as thoy are. In the same way OS the ceaseless influence of God is cause of the con- tinued existence of things, so are the strivings or motions of things due to the same cause working in them, inasmuch as there is no cause of motion out of or beyond God. It follows, therefore, that God is not only the cause of the substance of the soul, but, further, of every one of its motions, emotions, or aspirations, designated by the name of Will, — a proposition, indeed, which you advance in various places. By this pro- position, however, it would seem necessarily to follow that neither in the motions of the soul, nor in the will as inherent in the soid, can there be aught either of good or evil ; or otherwise, that God himself is the immediate agent in both the good and evil that exists ; for tiat which we entitle e\'il proceeds from the soul, and consequently under the imme<liato influence and with the concurrence of Gotl. Thus, the soid of Adam disposes him to eat of the forbidden fruit; from what precedes, however, it must not only follow that the soul of Adam wills this through the influence of God, but also that the influence of God wiUs the soul of Adam to be in the 8t«t« in which it is. The act of Adam, therefore, inasmuch aa God not only moved his will, but moved it in a certain determinate way, is either not evil in itself, or God is himself the immediate cause of what we C4ill evil.
Neither Descartes nor you appears to me to untie this dif- ficult knot in saying that evil is nothing positive, is a non- entity wherein there is no concurrence of God. But whence came the will or desire of Adam to eat ? Whence the will of the devils to their pride and presumption? For as the will. as you truly observe, is nothing difl'erent from the soul, but
«r ■
•TGod
th>Br|iiiiiii «r MM «r alfar of it» — nrifi. itfll » tk«
to tike BodoB, wiwieyer h mij 1 1 aee tbrt tfce oo-opendai of God of ■ iUag bjr his will IB tloi or tkrt diractiaa : »*■■ » faPaura that God co- apetBtw in tbeeril diifwitioo in ao fiv •■ it i»enl, eren ■• hcdoM ia tbegoodiaaBfiwMitwgood — iaotlMr words. God himwifintwihUiiiiiiiFiiji fiw iif fhi flmri wid thr nril th«t Iwiniwi intbeworid. * * * Faithgr.iiodiiliiiiMiwtiniconteke plaeoin oar wiD wUdi wwa not kaowa to God fimcftenutj; Ibrdid wwioMgiiie Aat God kaew not wliat hi* crMtoreo wovld do oa aaj- aad mvmj t— *™'. w« Aesld eoneeivo an faiprrfertioo ta tke Smwim. Bat faow could God know what was to lia|]|Kn otherwise than bjr his pmpoae and re- ■oItb? The poipomaaad reaolTeaof God. oonseqnentlj, are the oanaes of oar determinations ; and so aad on jet other groondsit fellows either that the cril will in not radlj hud, or that God is the ifnmmAi»t» oaoae and agent of the erfl. Nof can the dtrtinctioo made by theologians botweea the act and the erfl insepanhie from the act, be held aa being here in place ; fur Ood had resolTed the act as wdl as the manner of the act and iu oonsequenoe : God had not only determined that Adam should eat, bat, farther, that he, in defiance of the special commandment given him, must necessarily eat From all of which it follows yet again either that the act of Adam's eating was not e\Tl, or that God himiiclf caused him to sin.
ThJH, hunoured sir, ia what, for the present, I say I cannot comprehend in your treatise. I lind it difficult to adopt either extreme conclusiun, and venture to anticipate a satis- fiictorj' w)lution of my dilemma from your kuowlcdge and critical ucunu-n. In my next I hope I shall bo able to assure you how much I am indebted to you for vour guidance. Meantime be nsKurc<l that mj' sole motive in writing to you IB love of truth. I am a free man, bound to no profcesion.
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but live by honest merchandise, and spend the leisure I can call my own upon such studies as these. If you do mo the favour to reply to me, as I most anxiously desire you should, please to address me as below, and believe me to bo yours, most sincerely.
Wm. van Blevenbero. Dordrecht, Deo. 12, 166*.
LETTER XXXII.
B. DK SPINOZA TO W. VAN BLEYEMBEllC.
My iink/ioirn Friend !
Your letter of the 12th Dec., enclosed In anofher of the 24th of the same month, reached me on the 26lh at Schie- dam. I am thereby informed of your eager love of truth, and that truth is the end and aim of all your studies. In the per- suasion that this is so, I, whose mind is also directed to nothing else, gladly assure you that I shall not only comply with your present request, but to the extent of my ability reply to any Bstions you may propose at other times, adding whatever may strike me as likely to further our friendship ajid good understanding. Of all that lies not immefliately within our own power, indeed, I value nothing more liighly than to have friendly relations with lovers of truth, there being nothing in the world, not in our power, on which wo can repose with more c-alm assurance than the friendship of such men ; for it is even as impossilile to renounce the love they feel for one another, this having its foundation In the reverence they reciprocally entertain for truth, as it Is Impossible to abandon a truth once apprehended. The love of truth for its own soke, indeixl, is the highest and sweetest of all things not under our control; for nothing but love of truth has power to knit diversity of view and disposition in bonds of harmony. — I
BENEDICT I»E flTOfOZA.
nay nothing of the groat and munifold advantages that accrue from the aarae delightful spirit, tliat I may not delay you longer with reflections which have of course occurred to your- self; I only say so much as I do, indeed, to show you how agreeable it will be to me to find occasion in times to come to give you pleasure.
Seizing the present opportunity, then, I proceed to discuss the problem you propose, which may bo stated in these words : It seems clearly to follow as well from God's providence, which is not distinct from his will, as from God's concur- rence and continuous creation of things, that there is either no evil and no sin, or that God is the cause of the evil and the sin that exist. But you do not explain what j'ou understand by evil ; and so far as appears from the instance you adduce of the definite will of Adam, you apjxjar to regard the will itself as evil, — the will of man conceived as deter- mined in sucIj and such a way or as contravening the will of God. It is on this ground you say (as I should also wore tho thing actually as you put it_) that it is absurd to assert either that God himself does the thing opposed to his will, or that on act, though opposed to his will, can be good. For my own part, I cannot admit that sin and evil are aught positive, still less that aught can be or can happen in opjwsition to the will of God. On the contrary, I not only say that sin is nothing positive, but that we cannot otherwise than improporlj', and speaking humanly only, say that we offend or sin against God.
As regards the first point — the nonentity of sin — ^we know that whatever is considered in itself without respect to any- thing else includes an amount of perfection as great as the essence of the thing itself; fur the essence of a thing is no- thing more than the perfection that belongs to it. I take, for example's sake, tho purpose or will of Adam to eat of the for- bidden fruit. This pui'posc, this will, considered in itself.
B. DE SPINOZA TO W. VAX BT.ETKNBERG .
involves as much of perfection as it has of reality ; and viewed in this light, we see that we conceive imperfection in things only when wo contrast them with other things having more perfection or reality than thej'. In the resolve of Adam consequently, when we consider it in itself, when we do not contrast it with something more perfect — and it were easy to contrast it with an infinity of natural objects, such as trees, rocks, &c., each in its o^vn respect more perfect^ — we fail to discover any imperfection. That this conclusion is commonly assented to appears from the fact, that what is regarded with indifference or more positive dislike in mankind is often contemplated with pleasure or admiration when seen among the lower animals, such, for instance, as the contests of bees, the jealousy of doves, &c. — acts condemned in man are ap- proved and held as evidence of exceUenco or perfection when witnessed in animals. Such being the case, sins, inasmuch 08 they indicate imperfections only, consist in nothing ex- pressive of reality; and of this nature were the detennination of Adam to eat of the fruit and his act of eating.
Neither, moreover, ought we to say that the will of Adam militated against the law of God, and that it was evil because it was displeasing to God. For, besides that it would imply great imperfection in God could anything be done contrary to his will ; if he desired anything he had not the power to effect, or if his nature were such and so determined that like creatures he felt sjnnpathy with this, antipathy to that — all this, I say, were wholly at variance with the divine will ; for, inasmuch as the divine will is not different from the divine intelligence, it is alike impossible that anything can come to pass against the will as against the intelligonco of God. In other words, that which should happen against the will of God would be of a nature opposed to his imderstanding also ; and this were tantamount to sjxjaking of a square circle.
Since the will or resolution of Adam, then, considered in
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itself, was neither evil, nor, properly speaking, against the will of God, it follows that God may have been its cause, yea, and on the grounds you mention, must have been its cause ; not, however, as it was Evil, for the evil that was in it was nothing other than a state of privation into which Adam must i'all by reason of his act, and it is certain that privation is nothing positive, and that it is entitled e^^l in reference to our hunian understanding only, not to the understanding of God. Now, this comes of our habit of including all the individ- uals of a genus — all, for example, having the outward linea- ments of hiunanily — under one and the same definition, and therefrom concluding that all alike are susceptible of the high- est perfection deducible from the definition. When, however, wo find one whose actions are in contradiction with this per- fection, we infer that he is void of the perfection in ques- tion, and that he depart* from his proper nature, which wo should not do had we not referred him to our definition and deemed him endowed with a certixin nalure. But as Go«l neither knows things abstractedly nor fashions definitions, and as things have no more reality than that wherewith the divine intelligence and power has endowed them, it follows definitively that we can only speak of the privation in ques- tion with reference to, or as it bears upon, our intelligence, and in nowise as concerns the intelligence of God.
In this way, I apprehend, the question is satisfactorily met and answered. But still further to smooth the waj' and bo rid of every scruple, I hold it necessary to reply to the two following questions, viz. : First, why do the Scriptures say that God punishes the wicked in oi-der to load them to re- pentance, and also why did God forbid Adam to cat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, though he had determined that Adam should not obey the order ? Secondly, why does it appear to follow from my writings that the Wicked by their pride, avarice, &c., honour God as much as the Good by their love.
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integrity, charity, &c., seeing that hoth alike accomplish the will of God P
In reply to the first, I say, that tie Scriptures, as more especially adapted to the comprehension ol' the many, and destined to be profitable to them, always speak in a popular or merely human manner. For the people are imable to ap- prehend sublime things. And this is the rea-son, I feel per- suaded, why aU that God revealed to the prophets as necessary to solvation is set down by them in the shape of law. This is why they have invented whole scones and parables which reveal God, the author and arbiter of salvation and perdition, as a king and lawgiver, have designatwl and set down as lawB certain means which are nothing but causes, and declared salvation and perdition, which are but eflects flowing neces- sarily from these means, as rewards and punishments. Mak- ing use of tropes and figures rather than adhering to simple statements of truth, they have often made God speak after the manner of a man ; descriWl him as merciful or angry, as now desiring somethmg in the future, as now possessed by jealousy and saspicion, and even as deceived by the devil ! Philosophers, therefore, and aU who are above the law, or are a law to themselvas, i. e. who foUow virtue not because it is prescribed as law, but from love and because of ita own excellence, ought not to find offence in such lan- guage.
The commandment given to Adam, therefore, consisted in this only; that the eating of the fruit of the forbidden tree would cause death, in the same way as it is revealed to us by our natural imderstanding that poison is deadly. If you now ask to what end this was reveided ? I answer, that Adam by knowledge should be made more perfect. To ask of God, however, why he did not give Adam a more perfect will, were as absurd as to inquire why a circle had not been en- dowed with the properties of a sphere, as plainly appears
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from what is said obovo, and as I have demonstrated in the Scholium to the 15th Proposition of the Principia.
Widi regard to the second difficulty, I admit as true that the wicked do in their waj' express the will of God ; but tliey are in nowise, because of this, to be compared with the good. For the more perfection anything has, tlie greater the portion it has also in the Divinity, and by so much the more does it express the perfection of the Qodhead. As the good, then, hare immeasurably more perfection than the bad, their virtue cannot be compared with the power of the bad, because the bad are without the divine love which flows from the knowledge of God, through which alone do we after our hu- man fashion call ourselves servants of the Most High. Yea, because the wicked know not God, they are nothing but as a tool in the hand of the workman, which serves unconsciously, and in serving is wasted and worn out. The good, on the contrary, serve with consciousness, and in serving are made ever more perfect.
Voorburg, Jan., 1C04.
LETTER XXXIII.
W. VAN BLGVENBERG TO B. DB SPINOZA.
Dear Sir, dear Friend !
On a first hnsty perusal of your letter I was much disposed not only to reply to it at once but to take excep- tion to many of the things it contains. But the oftener I read it over, the less I seem to find for objection. Before asking your aid in solving some of the difRcultios I never- theless encounter, I should like you to know that I have two general rules, in accordance with which I proceed in my phi- lo.sophical inquiries. The first is to have clear and definite intellectual conceptions ; the second, to keep the revealed
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word or will of God in view. With the first I advance as a lover of truth, with the two as a Christian philosopher ; and if it happens that after long deliherution I find my na- tural understanding either opposed to the Scriptures or little in accordance with them, such is their authority with me that I rather abandon the ideas I had formed, than pre- sume to set them up in opposition to the truths I find prescribed to me in the Book. And how should this be other- wise P for I desire firmly to believe that the Scriptures are the word of God ; that is, that they cnrae from the great and most perfect God, endowed us lie is with an infinitely greater number of perfections than I can comprcheud, and I imagine that wero I more perfect than I am, I might perchance be able to co-ordinate the sounder conceptions I should then form with everything taught in the sacred volume. You say yourself (Princip. Philos. Cartes., Pt. i. Prop. 15) that our conceptions, be they ever so clear, still involve imper- fection ; and so, and for this reason, am I rather disposed, were it even against reason, to lean on Scripture, on the ground that it has come to me from the Most High (and this I assume for the present), and therefore ought to receive my assent and belief. Taking my first rule of philosophizing for my guide, then, I admit that there are many things in your letter which I must concede, though I add that some of your subtle reasonings arouse my suspicious ; but my second ride compels me to differ from you entirely.
In connection with the question of good and evil you say tliat 3'ou abide by your opinion, viz., that nothing happens or can happen against the will of God. And as the difiiculty in regard to the evil that happens required an explanation, you supply it by denying that ' Sin is anything positive,' and odd, 'It cannot without impropriety be said that wo sin against God.' In the Principia you have further ; ' There is no absolute evil, as plainly appears of itself; for everything
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that exists, considered in itself and irrespectively of every- thing else, includes a perfection commensurate with its nnturo ; and from this it follows obviously that sin, as mere evidence of imperfection, can consist in nothing expressive of entity or existence.' But if sin, error, evil, however de- signated, be or consist in notliing but the absence of perfec- tion, then does it seem inevitably to follow that a perfect thing— and everj'thing is as perfect as its nature — cannot in- clude any imperfection, in other words, that evil cannot arise in any existing thing ; for the perfect can in nowise bo rob- bed of its perfection, and if nothing happens against the will of God, and only so much happens as belongs to the essential nature of things, how and in what way can evil, which you say is the absence of good, be conceived ? I am persuadetl, honoured sir, that you must hero admit one of two things, either that there is positive evil, or that good may suffer deprivation of its good or better condition. But to me it seems a contradiction in terms to say that there is no evil, and yet that a good or a better estate may be lost. And suppose you still maintained that evil is nothing positive, and that evil can only be called evil in respect of our intelligence but not in respect of the intelligence of God, and that, in so far as wo are concerned, there is deprivation, whilst, as re- gards God, there is negation only. I would gladly know how the admitted evil as respects God can be merely negative. To me, I own, it seems imjwssible that evil or the deprivation of goodness can be mere negation in respect of the Supreme. [The remainder of this letter, as it can be read through Spinoza's reply, which takes up each point in its order, is here omitted — all its arguments are met and discussed in the answer. — Ed.]
Dordrecht, Jan. 16tii, 1664.
LETTER XXXIV.
M. UE SPINOZA TO W. VAN BLETENRERO.
Sir and Friettd!
Wlien I read your first letter I believed that our opinions ncurlj' agreed ; but from your second I see tliat this is far from being the case ; and that wo not only arc not of one mind in regard to the consequences flowing from first principles, but that we difler in regard to these principles themselves. I scarcely believe, therefore, that any amount of letter-writing will enable us to come to an understand- ing ; for I see that you will accept no conclusion, were it even the most irrefragable by the laws of demonstration, which you yourself or the theologians of your acquaintance find not to accord with your interpretation of the text of Scripture. If, however, you assume that God speaku to us more clearly and potentially through the Scriptures than through tlie natural understanding with which he has also endowed us, and which his divine wisdom preserves to us assured and uncorrupted, then I say you have g^od grounds for bringing your imderstanding to the level of the views you attribute to holy writ, for I myself in such a case could do no otherwise. But as regards myself I candidly and without reserve avow that, although I spent many years in their study, I do not understand the sacred Scriptures ; and as it has never happened to me, when I had attained to a firm and definite conclusion, to fall into such a train of thought as led me to doubt of ita truth, so do I comfort myself and rest satisfied with what ray understanding shows me. I feel no anxiety lest I should have deceived myself in the matter, and never imagine that the sacred writings — though I may not have questioned them in regard to the par- ticular matter in hand — can contravene my conclusion ; for truth is never in opposition to truth, as I have shown iu my
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Appendix (I cannot refer to the chapter, for I have not the book here in the country with rae). And though 1 were at times to find the fruit unreal which I gather by my natural understanding, yet would not this make mc olherwiso than con- tent, because in the gathering I enjoy, and pass my days not in sighing and sorrow, but in peace, serenity, and joy, and so mount a step higlier in existence. I acknowledge, meanwhile, — and this, indeed, affords mo the greatest satisfaction and peace of mind — that all which comos to pass does so by the power of the most perfect of beings and in conformity with his immutable decrees.
But to return to your letter. I have to thank you sincerely for having shown me your system of philosophical inquiry ; I can, however, by no means thank you when in your remarks on my reply I find you fastening such and such views and opinions upon me. What ground, I pray, has my letter afforded you for ascribing to rae such sentiments as those : that men are like the beasts of the field ; tliat like the lower animals men die and perish for ever ; that our deeds are dis- pleasing to God, &c. ? I have, on the contrary, emphatically declared that the good reverence God, and by tliis revei-ence are made more perfect, because more fit to love God truly. Is this reducing man to the level of the beasts ? Is this say- ing that men perish like the beasts of the field, and that their Morks are displeasing to God ? Had you road my letter more carefully j'ou would have seen that our diversity of view lies in this: Whether God as God, i. e. absolutely and with- out having human attributes ascribed to him, communicates to the good the perfection that belongs to them, as I maintain ho does ; or, stands towards them as a ruler — which is your opinion, and serves for your ground when you challenge mo with saying that the wicked, because they act according to God's decrees, serve God in their way, even as the good serve him in theirs. Such a conclusion, however, can in no way bo
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wrested from my words ; for I never speak of God as a Judge or Ruler; aud Iberefore estimate works according to their character and quality, not according to the power of the agent ; and hold that recompense follows deed as necessarily aa from the nature of a triangle it follows that the sura of its angles is equal to two right angles. Every one will see this at once who observes that our greatest happiness consists in the love of God, and that this love flows of necessity from the knowledge of God, which is consequently so strongly, so earnestly pressed upon us. The principle, however, may be most effectively demonstrated generally, if attention bo only g^ven to the nature of a Divine decree, as I have explained it in my Appendix to the Principia. But I own that they who confound the nature of the Deity with the nature of man are little fitted to comprehend or to arrive at right conclusions on such subjects.
I was mucli disposed to bring this letter to a conclusion tere, and not to trouble you further with a discussion of mat- ters which, to judge from the excessively pious passage towards the end of your letter, might serve for entertainment, but could lead to no useful conclusion. But not to overlook your request entirely, I shall go on to explain the words Negation and Deprivation, and briefly touch on what seems most requisite to elucidate the import of my fonner letter.
First, then, I say that by depritafion I understand not the act of depriving or taking away, but simiile absence or deficiency only, which in itself is nothing, but is an object of the understanding or a mode of the thinking principle within us of which we become aware when we compare things with one another. We speak for example of the blind being de- prived of sight, because we reatlily imagine them possessed of vision ; or the idea of deprivation arises from our contrasting the blind with other persons who see, or because wo compare
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their present state with h former state when they may have had the use of their eyes. ^Vhen we consider the blind in this way, ctjut muting their nature with the nature of other men or with their slate in former tiniOH, we say that sight belongs to their nature as men, and consequently that being without it they are without, or have been deprived of, the power of vision. ^^'^lcn we consider a decree of God, however, and its nature, we can with as little propriety speak of a blind man as of a stone being deprived of sight, for sight at the moment belongs as little to the man as it docs to the stone — nothing more appertains to the blind man or is his than that which the divine intelligence has given him. And it is for this reason that Qod is no more the cause of the absence of sight in tlie blind man, than of the absence of sight in a stone; wliich therefore amounts to a pure negation.
In the same way, when we regard the nature of a man carried away by the lust of sensual pleasure, and contrast his appetites with those the good experience, or with the desires the same man may have had at a former period, we say of him that he is deprived of the better aspirations or desires of humanity; for we then judge that virtuous aspiration pro- perly belongs to his nature. But this we could not do did we view the matter as having respect only to tho nature of a divine decree, and the divine intelligence; for in this par- ticular, better aspiration belongs as little to the nature of the sensual man at the moment, as it does to the nature of a devil or a stone. On this ground the want of better aspiration is no deprivation, but is negation. Deprivation therefore is nothing more than the abstraction of some faculty or quality from a thing which we conceive properly belongs to its natiu-e. With this explanation we find no difficulty in un- derstanding why the desire of Adum for earthly things should be evil in respect of our understanding, but not in respect of the intelligence of God. For although God was aware of
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Adam's post as well us present state, he did not therefore un- derslund him a« deprived of his former condition, i. c. God did not understand that the past belonged to Adam's nature ; for then had God understood something contrary to his vril], L o. to his intelligence.
If you rightly apprehend what I have now said, and fur- ther bear in mind that I do not admit the freedom which Descartes ascribes to the mind, as L. M. has declared in my name in his preface to the Principia, you will not find the slightest contradiction in what I say here. But I now see that I should have done better had I answered in my first letter with Descartes, ' That we cannot know how our free- dom, and what depends on it, agrees or can be reconciled with the freedom and providence of God ; ' so that from God's creation we can discover no contradiction in our free- dom, for we cannot conceive how God created the world, and (which indeed is the same thing) how he preserves it. But I imagined you had read the preface ; and I felt that I should sin against the friendship to which I so cordially responded did I not answer you according to my most intimate per- suasions. But this is beside the matter. As I see, however, that you have not thus far rightly understood Descartes, I beg your attention to the two following points :
First, that neither Descartes nor I have ever said that it belonged to our nature to restrain our wQl within the limits of our understanding ; but only that God had given us a de- finite understanding, and an indefinite will, in such wise, however, that we do not know to whut end he may have created us. Further, that the will, thus indeterminate, makes us not only more perfect, but is also, as I shall immediately show you, extremely necessary to us. Second, that our free- dom neither resides in contingency nor indifference, but in the mode of affirming or denying ; so that wo are the more free the less indifierently we affirm or deny anj-lhing.
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For instance ; If the nature of Oo«i is known to us, then from our proper nature affirmation of tho being of God follows Bs mnHcr of nccpssitA", even as it follows from the nature of tho triangle that its three angles are equal to two right angles ; and yet we are never so free as when we affirm a thing in this manner. But aa necessity hero is nothing but \hc decree of God, we may from it understand in a certain way under what conditions wo do a thing freely and arc its cause, notwithstanding the fact that we do tho thing n( coi-jarily and by the decree of God. This, I say, wo can in somo measure understand when we affirm a thing which " we clearly and distinctly perceive or apprehend ; but when wo assert anything which we do not clearly and dis- tinctly apprehend, that is, when we suffer our will to transcend the limits of our understanding, we cannot then apprehend that ncco^ify and those decrees of God, but our own liberty, which is always included in our will, in respect of which our actions are alone entitled good or eviL And if wo then seek to reconcile our freedom with the dwree and ceaseless creative power of God, we confound that which we clearly and distinctly understand with that which we do not so un- derstand, and thus engage in a vain attempt. It is enough for ua therefore to know that we are free, that we can be so the decree of God not opposing, and that we ourselves are tho cause of evil, inasmuch as no act save as respects our freedom alone can bo called evil. So much as regards Descartes, and to show you that his words, considered in the way I have done, involve no contradiction.
And now I come to that which more immediately con- cerns myself; and I shall first show the advantages that accrue from ray opinion, which mainly consists in this : that as ijitelligcnt beings we can submit ourst>lves, mind and body, Mnthout a show of superstition to God, and without denying that prayer" may be extremely useful to us; for my under-
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standing is too limited to take in all tlic means that God has provided whereby men may be brought to the love of him, in other wonls, to salvation. My opinions therefore are as re- mote as possible from everything pernicious ; on the con- trary, they indicate most clearly the only means by which they who are not possessed by prejudice and childish super- stition may attain to the highest degree of blessedness.
What you say about my making man so entirely de- pendent on God as to reduce him to the level of the elcmentp, plants and ininenils, shows dcarl}' that you have most per- versely misunderstood me, and that you confound things of the understanding with things of the imagination. Had, you truly understood the meaning of the words, Depond- onco on God, you would not assuredly have thought that things, in this their dependence, are either dead, or material merely, and imperfect. ^VTio has ever dared to speak so un- worthily of the most Perfect of Beings! You woiUd, on tho contrary, have seen that it is really and trulj- as things dt]K-n(l on God that they are perfect ; so that wo best comprehend this dependence, this necessary course of all in conformity with the eternal decrees of God, by gi\'ing our minds to the contemplation of tho most comprehensible and perfect of created things, to tho highest conceptionM of the understanding, and not to tho consideration of stocks and stones.
I cannot refrain from expressing my especial surprise that you should ask, 'If God punish not the sins of men, what should hinder me from committing all sorts of iniquities? ' Here you speak of God as a judge, who inilicts punishment, and not of that which the sin or crime committed carries with it of itself. But the distinction here is the entire ques- tion at is.sue between us. Certainly, ho who abstains from wickedness through fear of pimishmcnt only — and I will not think of you in this wise — acts not from any feeling of love or sense of duty, and is anything but truly virtuous. For my
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o\*Ti part I repudiate such morality ; I live, or strive to live, free of offence ; to do other'W'ise were ropupnant to my nature and would make me feel estranged fixim the knowledge and love of God.
Further, had you but given a little attention to the nature of man, and to the nature of the decrees of God, as I have cxplamed those in my Appendix to the Principia, you would havo seen and clearly understood how deductive reasoning was to be proceeded with before conclusions were come to, and would never have stiid so recklessly that my opinions assimil- ated us to stocks and stones, and never coimected my name with the many absunlitiea you have yourself imagined.
With regard to the two positions of mine, which, before proceeding to yo»ir second rule, you say you do not understand, I reply that Descartes suffices for coming to a conclusion as respects the first ; for if you question your own nature you will find that you can verily suspend your judgment. But should you say that you do not feel in yourself such command of your reason at one particular moment as might assure you of power over it at all times ; thia would be as if Descartes were made to say that we cannot at this present moment know we shall continue to be reasonable beings, or retain our thinking nature so long as wo remain in health — which surely involves a contradiction.
With respect to the second of my positions, T say with Descartes that did our will not transcend tlic limits of our very restricted understanding, wc .should be miserable indeed, for then should we be powerless to eat even a crust of bread, to take ft step in advance, or to stand still — for all around us is imcertain and full of danger.
And now I come to your second rule, and declare that I believe I ascribe as high a value and authority as you do, or even a higher value and autlion'ty than 3'ou do, to the truths which you believe you find, and which you fancy I do not
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find, in the Scriptures. And this I say, because I know tbnt I linvc taken much greater jiains tlian moat men in their study, and have been especially scrupulous not to ascribe to them any puerile or absurd opinions ; an error which he only can escape who is either guided by the spirit of true philosophy, or is favoured with a divine revelation. The interpretations of Scripture by the common run of theo- logians, thercforc, move or interest me little; particularly when they are of the sort that interpret the text by the letter, and outwai-d sense. I have never yet met with any theologian, however, save among the Sociuitms, so obtuse as not to see tliat in tie Scriptures God is frequently spoken of in an entirely human manner, and that their meaning is often expressed in parables. With regard to the contradiction which, in my opinion at least, you vainly strive to show in what I advance, I must presume that you understand by a parable [or allegory] something entirely different from that which is commonly understood by the t«rm ; for who ever heanl it said that ho who expressed himself allogorically, spoke falsely or without a meaning ? AVTien Micuh, for instance, informed king Achab that he haxi seen God seated on his throne with the host of heaven ranged to the right hand and the left, and heard God ask who had so deccivetl the king; this assuredly was an allegory by which the projihct took occasion to unpart what he had to make known in the name of God to the king. His purpose here was plainly enough not to teach any abstruse theological dogma ; and in speaking figur- atively he can in no wise be held to have lost sight of his meaning. So also the other prophets made known the word of God to the people in the way they did, as seeming to them the bo.st way ; but not as that whereby God desired to lead the people to a knowledge of the primary scope and purpose of Scrip- ture, which, according to the saying of Christ himself, consists in this : that we are to love God above all things, and our neigh-
BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
boar as ourselves. Abstruse speculation I believe to have nothing to do with ScriptTire. As regards myself, I say that I have not leiimed, and have never been able to loam, any- thing of the eternal attributes of God from the Scriptures.
With regard to your fifth argument, viz. : that the pro- phcta imparted God's word in the way they have done, be- cause one truth cannot be opposed to another, I have nothing to say but that I demonstrate — as every one who understands what demonstration means will conclude — that the Scriptures, even as they are, are the true revealed word of God. Of thi.s I could, indeed, only have mathematical proof through divine revelation ; and I have therefore said : I believe, but do not mathematically know, that all that was revealed b}' God to the prophets, [is truth] ; and this I do because I firmly believe, but do not mathematically know, that the prophets were tho most trusted interpreters and faithful messengers of God ; so that I find no contradiction in anything I have said, whilst not a few are involved if contrary views be taken.
The rest of your letter, as having no bearing on the ques- tion immediately before u.s, I pass by without comment; but only add that I am, &c. Voorburg. Feb., 1666.
LETTER XXXV.
W. VAN BI.EYKNBEKO TO B. DB SPINOZA.
[Bleyenberg complains of liaving been rather sharply handled by Spinoza in his last, which was less friendly in its tone than he had expected. Bleyenbcrg's letter is in very good taste, but in great part a rcix-tition of what he had already written with intermingled comments on various pass- ages of Spinoza's last epistle. There is a good deal, besides, of a suppositious, and as concerns himself a personal, nature.
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He is fettered by foregone conclusions, and cannot, although evidently a man of superior talents, attain to the heights of pure reason on which Spinoza sita secure.]
LETTER XXXVI.
B. DE SPINOZA TO W. VAN BLEYENBERO.
Sir and Friend !
In the course of this week I have received two let- ters from you, which were delivered to me at Schcidam. In your first you complain, as I see, of my having said, ' that you acknowledged no demonstration, &e.,' as if I hod been referring to my conclusions as unsatisfactory to you; this, however, was by no means my intention, for when I wrote in this way I had your own words in my eye where you say, ' and if it happens that. after long deliberation I find my na- tural understanding either opposed lo the Scriptures or little in accordance with them, such is their authority with mo that I rather abandon the ideas I had formed, than presume to set them up in opposition to the truths I find prescribed to me,' I have consequently but repeated your owti words to show the great diversity in our views, and so give you no real ground of ofience.
As towards the end of your second letter you express a wish and a hope that you may continue steadfast in your faith, and say that all we comprehend by ounialural understanding is indifferent to j'ou, I thought with myself, and still con- tinue in the mind, that my views and opmions could be of no use to you, and that, therefore, I should do better no further to forsake my studies — too long interrupted already — for a discussion that can yield no fruits. And this conclusion is not opposed to what I said in my first letter ; for there I treated you as a pure philosopher who (as indeed many call-
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ing thonuelvos Christ iaus also declare) had no touchstono for truth but naturul understanding, and not thcolopj-. ITorcin, however, you have informed rae of my mistake, and thus Khown me that tho foiuidation on which I thought to have built our frioiidMhip was not laid as I hod imagined.
What you say. further, iu your second letter as well as in this la.nt, that wo should not, a* so commonly hapi>ens in eon- troversy, overpass tho bounds of civility, I pass by as if it had not been said. I only odvort to the subject, indeed, tliat I may find occasion to declare that I have given you no cause of offence, and still lcs« to supjwse that I cannot bear con- ti-adiction. 1 now proceed to your objections.
First and foremost, I pointedly maintain that God is truly and absolutely the Cause of all that is — of all essential being whatsoever. If, therefore, you can show thot evil, error, sin, crime, &c., are anything that expresses essenc-o, I will forthwith admit tliat Ood is the cause of evil, error, sin, &c. I think I have sufficiently shown that whatever assumes tho form of evil, sin, &c., consists in nothing expressive of essence, and that God, therefore, cannot bo said to be its cause. The crime committed by Nero in the murder of his mother, for instance, in so far as it involved anything posi- tive, lay not in the outward act ; this was but the accom- plishnieut of a purpose; Orestes had a like intention to slay his mother, and yet is he not held guilty in the same sense as Nero. Wherein therefore consisted tho guilt of Nero? In no other than that in his foiil deed ho showed himself cruel, ungratcfiil, and disobedient. But it is certain that none of these terms expresses any essential thing, and therefore God was not their cause, although they were the cause of tho purpose and act of Nero.
I would here observe, by the way, that when we speak philosopliically with one another, it were well if we made no use of theological phraseology ; for as God by theologians is
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olways spoken of, and this not unadvisedly, as if he were a more perfect man, it is therefore competent to them to say that God desires this or that, that he is angry with the wicked, delights in the good, &c. In philosophy, however, we see clearly that such attributes as make a man perfect can with no more propriety be aecribed to God, than can those qualities that render the elephant or the ass i>erfect. in its kind be ascribed to man. Such language has no sig- nificance here, neither can it be used without causing utter confusion in our conceptions. Speaking philosophically wo cannot say that God requires aught of any man, or that any- thing is either displeasing or pleasing to him ; for all such affections imply merely human states that have no siguiii- cance when the nature of God is considered.
I would here have it notified, however, that although the works of the good (or those who have a clear conception of God, in conformity with which all their deeds and all their thoughts also are determined), and the doings of the wicked (or those who have no such idea of God, but ideas of earthly things only whereby alone their acts and thoughts are de- termined), and, indeed, all things that be, flow of necessity from the eternal laws and decrees of God, and ceaselessly depend on God, yet do these all differ not only in degree, but in essence, from each other. For, although a mouse and an angel, and joy and sorrow, alike depend on God, the animal is not of the nature of the angel, nor is joy of the species of sorrow.
With these remarks I think I have answered your ob- jections, supposing always that I have rightly apprehended them ; for I am sometimes in doubt whether the conclusions you draw from them do not differ from the proposition itself you wished to demonstrate. But this will the more clearly appear if I reply to your questions on these grounds : Ist, Whether to commit murder be as agreeable to God as to give
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alms? 2nd, Whcthor to steal, as regards God, is us good as to do justly ? 3rd, Suppose a mind so singularly constitutod as not only to feel no repugnance to liborlinuge and crime, but to delight in evil courses of every kind, are there any elements of virtue in such a mind which might induce its owner to cease from evil, and begin to do well P
To the first question I answer, — sjjeaking philosophicjilly remember, — tiiat I do not know what you mean by the phrase, agreeable to God. If you ask me whether God bates one or delights in another ? whether one has offendc<l God, another done that which was pleasing to him ? in either case I answer, No. And if your question be, Wliethcr I think that they who commit murder and they who give alms are alike good and perfect P again I say. No.
To your second query, Whether good as respects God implies that the just can do any service, the thief any dis- service to God ? I reply that neither the honest man nor the thief can do aught to cause pleasure or displeasure to God. If the question, however, be. Whether the deeds of these, in 80 far as they include anything real and are caused by God, are alike perfect P I answer, If wo regard the deeds only, it may be that both are equally perfect. Do you now ask, Whether the thief and the just man are alike perfect and alike blessed ? I say, no. For by Just I mean a man who desires that every one should securely hold what is his own, a desire or disposition which I demonstrate in my Ethics — a work not yet published — to have its necessary origin in the good and pious from the clear knowledge they have of themselves and of God. Now, inasmuch as a thief or dishonest person has no desire of this kind, he is destitute of this necessary cognition of God and himself, which is the first condition to the beatitude of mankind. If, finally, you ask what should move you to aspire to or to do that which I characterize as virtuous rather than
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anj'thing else ? I say, I cannot know which of the infinite motives God has at his disposal ho may employ to determine you to such a course. It may bo that God impresses you with a clear conception of himself, inclines you to renounce the world through love of him, and to love the rest of man- kind OS yourself ; and it is plain that such a constitution of mind wars with everything that is called evil, and cannot, therefore, bo expected to be met with in a single subject. But this is not the place for the discussion of the ground of Ethics at large, any more than for giving an explana- tion of everything I have advanced in my wTitings ; I re- strict myself to giving answers to your questions, and defending myself from the conclusions you would put upon me.
With reference to your third query, therefore, I answer : j{liat it appears to me to involve a contradiction ; it is as if le one had asked, whether it accorded more with the na- ture of a certain person that lie hanged himself, or whether reasons could bo given why he should not hang himself? Admitting the possibility of such a nature, I then declare id this whether conceding or not conceding free will to man) that he who should see he would be more commodiously placed nailed to a cross than reclining at his table, would act most foolishly did he not have himself suspended forthwith ; even as ho who clearly saw that by perpetrating wickednesses he could attain to a higher state of perfection, and lead a better life, than by walking in the ways of virtue, wero foolish did he not take to the evil courses; for wickedness in respect of such a perverted sample of humanity would bo virtue.
The question you append to your letter, as you do not press for a repl}', I pass by unnoticed, for in an hour I could concoct a hundred of the same sort and yet never arrive at a
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conclusion in regard to any one of them.* At present I only- say that I am, &c.
[Voorburg, March 13th, 1605.]
LETTER XXXVII.
W. VAN BLEYENBERO TO 0. DE SPINOZA.
[Bleyenberg has paid Spinoza a \'isit and had a long conversation with him. In despair of being able to remem- ber all that was said, he has gone immediately to a conveni- ent place and sot down as much as remained with him ; he laments, however, that it does not amount to a fourth of what ho would 80 gladly have carried away. In spite of Spinoza's wish, so plainly expressed in his last letter, and the time ho must have given Bleyenberg at their interview, his corre- spondent goes on pressing liim heavily with questions 1 , 2, 3, 4, and 5, referring cither to points discussed at the interview or opening now ground, that would have required whole pages of explanation- Besides this, he makes a pitiless request to be furnushed with ' the principal Definitions, Postulates, and Axioms whereon the Ethics is founded.' ' You may, perhaps,' he proceeds, ' excuse yourself, alarmed by the amount of trouble implied ; but I entreat you for this once to comply with my request ; for unless you do so I shall never be able rightly to seize your meaning.']
Dordrecht, March 27 Ih, I(iOr>.
LETTER XXX Vm.
B. DK SPINOZA TO W. VAN BLEYENBEUG.
[Spinoza courteoxisly declines retunung to the subjects of
* The question is this : \Vhethcr by our sagncity we could oeonpe 8uch things OS will otherwise happen to us 7 — Eli.
n. DE SPINOZA TO * * *
319
discussion that have already engaged them, and cannot enter on the vast field of the Ethical philosophy to gratify the curiosity of his correspondent. Beforc finding leisure to reply to his letter of the 27lh of March, he has received another complaining of delay on his part iu repljaug to the letter of the date given. The phUosnpher will, however, be happy, should the opportunity occur, to converse again with ilynheer van Bluj'cuberg on the subjects that interest him 80 much. Meantime he hopes his correspondent will not press him further, but continue to think of him as a friend 38e<l to the extent of his power to do him service.] [Voorbiirif, June 3rd, lOG").]
LETTER XXXIX.
D. DE SPINOZA lO • • • [qY CHR. HUYOEN8.]
A new argument for Dm Oai'negg of Qod. Honoured Sir,
I had not forgotten your request to have a demon- stration of the Unity of God on the ground of his nature involving necessary existence, but of lute have had no oppor- timity, business keeping mo otherwise engaged. Now, how- ever, I have leisure and set out with the following postulates :
Ist, The true definition of a particular thing includes nothing but the simple nature of the thing defined. Wlience it follows :
2nd, That no definition proper includes or expresses multiplicity or any particular number of individuals, such definition including or expressing nothing but the nature as it is in itself of the individual thing defined. The definition of a triangle, for instance, comprises nothing but the nature of the triangle, simply and by itself, not of a multiplicity or of any jwirticular number of triangles. The definition of
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mind as a thinking entity, and that of Ood as a perfect being, include nothing but the nature of the mind and the nature of God, not any number of minds or of Gods.
3rd, That for every existing thing there must necessarily be a positive cause whereby it exists.
4th, That this cause must reside either in the nature and definition of a thing itself (because existence belongs to or is necessarily included in the natiire of a thingj, or must exist without or beyond the thing defined.
From these premisses it follows that if there exist in nature a certain number of individuals, there must also exist a cause or a number of causes whereby precisely this and no greater or smaller number of individuals exist. If, for instance, there exist 20 men in the world (and to avoid all confusion, let us suppose them the first 20 men that ever existed in the world), it is not enough for us to investigate the causes of human nature in general in order to -find a reason for the existence of these 20 men ; it is imperative on us further to assign a reason wliy neither more nor fewer than 20 men exist. For by the third premiss alwvo, the reason and cause for Ihe existence of each individual man has to be given. Now, this reason by the first and second of our premisses cannot be in- cluded in the nature of man himself, for the true definition of a man does not include the number of 20. By the fourth premiss, consequently, we see that there must be a reason be- yond themselves for the existence of the 20 men, and there- fore of each individual man among them.
From the above we conclude absolutely that all manifold existence is necessarily owing to causes external to itself, and not to any power inherent in its own nature. But as we say hvpothetically that necessary existence belongs to the nature of God, a true definition of God must needs include necessary existence in its terms ; and so from a true definition of God must the necessary existence of God be inferred. For the
B. DE SPINOZA TO * * * 321
true definition of God, however, as appears by the second and third premisses, the necessary existence of a multiplicity of Gods cannot be concluded ; Avhence definitively we infer the existence of One God : q. e. d.
Such, honoured Sir, appears to me at the moment the best mode of repljdng to your proposition. I have already, indeed, and in another place, given a diflFerent demonstration of the same thing, by applying the distinction I make between essence and existence ; but I have thought that I should best meet your request to me by what precedes, and so I send you this new demonstration, and hope it will prove satis- factory to you. Waiting your opinion, I meantime re- main, &c.
Voorburg, Jan. 7th, 1C66.
LETTER XL.
I». 1)E SPINOZA TO * * * [qY CUR. lU'YriENS.] F'urther arguincnU for the Unity of God.
Honoured Sir,
By your last letter of the 30th of March you have satisfactorily explained certain matters which appeared to me obscure in that of the 10th of February. Properly informed of your meaning, I now state the question as I conceive you put it : Is there one and only one Entity existing of its own sufficiency and power? That there is I not only affirm, but undertake to demonstrate on the ground that the nature of this entity involves necessary existence ; although the same conclusion is most readily arrived at from the intelligence and other attributes of God, as I have shown in the earlier propositions of the first part of the Principia Cartesiana. But in approaching the subject here, I shall, by way of preliminary,
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322 BEXEDKT DE SPINOZA.
Bpcuk of the properties which Being that comprises neccs- sarj' existence must possess.
1. It must be eternal. For wore any determinate dur- ation ascribed to it, it would, beyond the tenn assigned to it, have to be conceived as non-existent, therefore as not in- volving necessarj' existence, which wore in contradiction with its definition.
2. It must be simple — ^not comjwscd of parts ; for component jMirts must in nature and imderstunding be anterior in time to (he compound they form ; but this is impossible in respect of that which by its nature is eternal.
3. It cannot be finite or limited ; but can only be con- ceived as infinite. For were its nature determinate, and also conceivable as determinate, then must it by ita nature be conceivable as non-existent beyond certain limits, which were in contradiction with its definition.
4. It must be indivisible. For were it divisible it might be divided into parts, either of like or of unlike nature. In the latter case it might be destroyed and so cease to exist, which were opposed to the definition; in the former, each part would include u necessary existence in itself, and so one might exist without another; each consequently might be conceived individually, and so apprehended as finite in its nature, which were also in contradiction to the definition. From all of which it is obvious that when we ascribe imper- fection of the kind in question to Entity we forthwith full into contradiction. For be the imperfection we attach to such a nature what it may, whether it is conceived as consist- ing in some defect, in some delimitation, in some change suflered from without through deficiency of inherent power to resist it, wo are still forced on the conclusion that the nature which by the predicate involves necessary existence does not exist, or does not necessarily exist. Wherefore I conclude —
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G. That all which involves necessary existence can have uo imperfection in it«}lf, but must express simple perfection.
6. Since then it can only proceed from its jierfecfion that IX being exists of its own sufficiency and power, it follows that if we suppose a being which does not express every per- fection to exist by its proper nature, we must needs suppose that the being which includes uU perfection in itself exists also. For if aught endowed with inferior power exists of its own sufficient force, by how much more must we suppose an entity possessed of greater power to exist of itself.
And now to come to the point : I affirm that tlio Being whereunto existence belongs by its natiu-e, — the Being which alone includes every perfection in itself, and which I entitle God, can only be One. For if an Entity be assumed to whose nature existence belongs, this entity must not only be with- out all imperfection, but must include all perfection within itself (by No. 5) ; and so must the nature of this entity be- long to God (who by No. 6 we have also shown to exist) ; because God includes all perfection, excludes nil imperfection. Nor can such an entity exist out of or lieyond God ; for- did it so exist, one and the same nature, involving necessary being, would have a two- fold existence, and this by the pre- ceding demonstration is abhurd. CWscqucntly, nothing is that is out of God ; but God ulone is that which involves necessary existence : q. e. d.
This, excellent Sir, is what I think of at the moment, as demoni*tn\ting the Oneness of God. I trust I may at least prove to you that I am, &c.
Voorliurg, April 10, 166(5.
21 *
sn
LETTER XLL
a. BB maoKA to * * * [qt cm. acTcion.]
Fvffa« eooMdeBUMH oa Ik* Cai^ of Oed.
EntilfntSir,
I luTe been prerented br nnoos bindnaices ^m •ooner Rpljing to roar letter of the I9tli of Maj. Aa I see tliat TOQ soqiend rnar jodgmrat concerning the chief pert of the dcmoaBtTitiaa laUij sent too (hecMiae of the obsrarity yon find in it, I pmanieV I BhjJl here endearoar to explain mpelf more clearlr.
I began by ennnwrating the four properties which a self- eziatent Being miut poaaeoa; and theae fimr and others of the same Idnd I brought togethw and compriaed in one, in my fifth prouiss. I had then before mo all that waa neoes- aary for my inference on the ground asatnned. In my sdxth premlKs I approachwl the doraoDstration of the existfiu-e of God on the hj-pothc:?is assumed, and thcaice, finally, and without presuming an^-thing more than the aeniie usually attached to the words employed, I arrived at the conclusion required.
Such in brief was my theme, such the end I proposed. I shall now proceed to explain each head of my demonstration seriatim, beginning with the promised specialties of the self- existing being.
As rogard-s the first, you tell me you find no difficultj', nor indeed is either the first or the second anything more than an axiom. For, by simple I understand that only which is not eomj)ound, whether this be as regards parts diHHiniilur or identicul in their nature. The demonstration, therefore, is quite generoL
Tlie meaning of my third preliminary position, to the
DK SPINOZA TO * • •
S2S
effect, That if the entity considered be Thought, it is a3 thought ; if it be Space, it is as space that it is indetermiuate, and in either case can only be conceived as indeterminate — this premiss, T say, I see you have perfectly apprehended, although you remark that you do not perceive how the con- clusion follows. It is simply because there were contra- diction in conceiving anything under the form of a negation in whose definition existence is affirmed. And inasmuch as determination or limitation is nothing positive, but only implies privation of existence of the same nature, it follows that that in whose definition existence is affirmed cannot be conceived as determined or limited. If, for example, the term Space implies or comprises necessary existence, we can as little conceive space non-existent as space non- extended ; and if this be conceded, it then becomes impos- sible to conceive space as determined or finite ; for, imagined as limited, it must be bounded by its proper nature, namely, space ; and the space by which it was bounded would have to be conceived under a negation of existence, which, by the hypothesis, is a manifest contradiction.
In the fourth premiss I desired to show nothing more than that a Bclf-oxisfont entity can neither be divided into parts of like nor of unlike nature, and this, whether the parts of dis- similar nature involve necessarj* existence or not. For, in the latter case, I said that the entity might be annihilated, — annihilation of a thing being equivalent to resolution into parts, and of parts no one part expresses the nature of the whole. Di\ision, in the first sense, would be in contradiction to the three properties already declared.
In my fifth premiss I have only supposed perfection to consist in Existence absolute (-r<j) Esse), and imperfection in the absence of such existence (-toO Esse). I say absence; for although extension per se, for example, negatives thought,
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this of it«elf implies no imperfection in extension, as it would were it limited ; in the same way as if it were without dur- ation, place, &c.
My sixth premiss you concede absolutely ; and yet you say your difficulty here continues unreraoved. ^V^)y, you ask, cannot there be several self-existent entities of different na- tures, seeing tliat thought and extension ure different and yet subsist of their own sufficiency ? Here I can discover no dif- ficidty save that you apprehend the question in a totally dif- ferent way from rac. I think I see the sense in which you understaitd it ; but not to waste words, I shall only enter on the sense in which I myself conceive it. I say then : If we assume something which in its kind is infinite and perfect, and exists of its own sufJiciency, such existence will then have to be conceded to the absolutely perfect and infinite entity which I call God. If, for example, we shoidd declare tliat extension and thought (each of which in its kind — that is, in a certain kind of being, must bo perfect) exist of their self-sufficiency, then must the existence of God, who is abso- lute perfection, who is, in other words, a Being absolutely in- determinate or infinite, be also conceded.
And tliis were fit place for me to remark on the meaning I attach to the word Imperfect, By imperfect, then, I under- stand that something is wanting to a thing which neverthe- less properly belongs to its nature. Space, for example, can only bo spoken of as imperfect in respect of duration, situa- tion, quantity, — i. e. did it not continue, did it not keep its place, &c., but never because it does not think ; inasmuch as nothing of thought is implied in its nature, this consisting in extension alone, consisting, that is to say, in a certain kind of being, in respect of which only it is dotenuinate or indeter- minate, imperfect or perfect. Now, inasmuch as the nature of God does not consist in any certain kind of being, but in Being absolutely indeterminate, so docs His being require all that
B. DE SPINOZA, TO
327
perfectly expresses Existence. "Were it otherwiac, the nature of God would be finite and defective. Such being the case, it follows that there can be but one Being, God to wit, who exists of His own proper power, or is self-existent. For if, by way of illustration, we assume that space involves existence, it were necessar}' to show that it is eternal and indeterminate, and expresses no imperfection, nothing but absolute perfection. In this case extension will belong to God, or there will be something which, in a certain manner, expresses the nature of God ; inasmuch as God is an entity which, in no particular respect only but absolutely and es- sentially is infinite and all-powerful.
What has now for your satisfaction been said of space may also be affirmed of any other attribute. I therefore conclude, as in my last letter, that nothing exists out of or beyond God, but that God ulouo exists of his self-sufficiency. What I have now laid before you will, I tru-st, suffice to show my meaning in my former letter, and so enable you better to form an opinion of its conclusions.
As I am about to have some new platters for poli.shing lenses made, I would ghidly have yoiu- opinion on the subject. I do not myself see what advantage we gain by grinding lenses in the convex-concave fashion. If my calculaliona are correct, I should say that the plano-convex was the better form. For if we assume the ratio of the refractive power to be aa three to two, &c. • • • But as you have doubtless already thought over this question, and made your calculations with entire accuracy, I request your opinion and advice in the matter.
Voorburg, May, 16C6.
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LETTER XLII.
B. DE SPINOZA TO J. B. [jOHN IIRESSKR, M.D.] On the best method of proceeding to the iavedigatioo of tbiog*. Learned Sir, dear Friend f
The moment I find leisure to collect my thought*, for I liavo of late been much distractctl by business and anxieties, I discharge my dutj' and reply to your letter. But first of nil let me return you my hearty thnnka for the love you bear me, the good oflicca you have already so often done me, and the expressions of friendly interest you reiterate in yoxir letter,
I pass on to the question you propose in the following terms : Is there or may there be devised a method whereby wo may advance easily and assuredly in a knowledge of the highest and most excellent things; or arc our minds, like our bodies, liable to contingencies, and our thoughts governed by accident rather than by certain and definite rules ?
I think I shall best reply to you if I show tliat there must necessarily be a method whereby we may conduct our imderstanding and concatenate our clear and definite concep- tions ; and that the understanding is not, like the body, ex- posed to contingency. That this is so seems obvious from the fact alone, that a single clear and definite conception, or several clear and definite conceptions associated, may be ab- solutely the cause of another clear and definite conception. All the clear and definite conceptions we form, indeed, can only arise from other clear and definite conceptions spring- ing within us and acknowledging no cause beyond our- selves. Hence it follows that the clear and definite conceptions we form depend entirely on our proper nature and the fixed and changeless laws that belong to or inhere in it; in other words, on our own absolute power, not on accident, i. e.
B. r»K SPIN'OZA TO J. B.
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on any cxt-ernal cause or causes which, although acting in virtue of fixed and determinate laws, are yet unknown to ua and foreign to our nature and faculties. As regards perceplious of a different kind, I admit that they depend in a great mea- sure on accident.
From what I have now said it clearly appears what the true method must be, and wherein it chiefly consists, viz., in a knowledge of pure intellect alone, its nature and its laws. And that tliis may be acquired it is essential above all things to distinguish between understanding and imagination, and between true ideas and such as are false, feigned, or doubtful, and especially to discard all that depend on memory merely. To do this it is not necessary, in so far at least as the method in question is concerned, to know the nature of mind through its first cause ; it is enough to arrange a short history or summary of the mind or its perceptions in the manner taught by Bacon.
In these few words I think I have explained (he true method and chief means of attaining to intellectual certainty, and at the same time shown the spirit in which the subject is to be approached. I must warn you, however, that it will re- quire your most serious meditation, and great perseverance and resolution on your part, to enable you to make any way in such inquiries. It will further be requisite that you pre- scribe to yourself a certain mode of life, and fix on some definite end to be attained. But of this enough for the present, &c.
Voorburg, June 10th, 16C1.
330
LETTER XLII. (a.)
It. D8 SriMOZA TO t. HRESSF.R, M.O. Prom Van Vlotcn's Supplementam, p. 303. Dear Friend.
I scarcely know whether you may have truly and entirely forgotten me or not, tiiougb many things concur to make me surmise that you have. First, when I would have bidden you good-bye before leaving [i\jnst«rdaro] and ex- pected to fall in with you at your own house, the inWtation thither having come from yourself, I found you had \cH home for the Hague. I next proceed to Voorburg, nothing doubt- ing but that there we should encounter in transitn ; but, no — dis aliter visum — it pleased the gods to send you straight home, and without shaking hands with your friend. Finally, I wait patiently in this plac« for three weeks ; yet not once in all that time has a single line reached me from you! Would you, thcroforo, end my suspicions of your constanc}', it may be readily done by a letter, wherein you may also point out the channel through which we may best carry on that epistolary correspondence of which there was once a talk in your house. Meantime, I take occasion to ask of you par- ticularly— indeed, I do now pray and beseech you by our friendship, to enter on the important work you spoke of, with your best endeavours, and to dedicate the better part, of your life to the cultivation of your heart and understanding— now, 1 say, whilst there is yet time, before j'ou have to mourn over opportunity neglected, and your own short life past and gone.
As regards our intercourse by letter, I would here say a few words with a view to induce you to write to nio with the most entire freedom ; for, do you know that I have some- times suspected, nay, I have even felt assured, that you mistrusted your abilities more than enough, and were ap-
B. DE SPINOZA TO J. BRESSEK, M.D.
331
prehensivo lest you might ask or propose that which it boi>ame not a man of parts and learning to do. To praise you to your face, and to say how highly I esteem your talents, were not seemly in me ; but, lest you might fear that I should show your letters to any one who might turn to your disadvantage phrases written in the contidence of friendship, I pledge you m}' word that I shall keep all you write to me most religiously to myself, and without your consent and approval impart no syllable of all you may say to another. Under this guarantee I think you may engage freely in writ- ing, unless, indeed, you question my truth, which I shoidd he loth to believe you did. In your first letter, therefore, I shall expect to hear what you have to say to these ray over- turoB ; and, further, I shall look for a little of that same con- serve of roses* you promised me, although I am now much better than I was. I was let blood after my urrivul here ; still the fever did not leave me (I had felt lighter and better, indeed, before the blood-letting, — the good effect of change of air, I apprehend) ; I had yet to suffer two or three attacks of my tertian ague ; but with care and good living I have at length succeeded in putting the enemy to flight — whither it has gone I know not ; I shall only take especial care that it do not find me again.
As to the third part of my philosophy, I shall shortly send a portion of it either to you, if you say you would like to translate it, or to friend De Vries ; and although I had made up my mind that I should let none of it from under my hand until completed, nevertheless, and becanso the work has run out to a greater length than I had contemplated, I am indis- posed to keep vou waiting longer, and I, therefore, now send you the MS. to about the 80th Proposition.
I hear much of EngUsh ufiairs, but nothing definite. • A popular remedy id fonnor days, cspooially for peclorol atTcctions. —
332 BEN'EDICT DB SPINOZA.
The people do not cease from their sii<<pieion8 of evil inten- tions of every sort, and cannot imagine the reason why the fleet does not put to sea. Affairs undoubtedly do still seem very unsettled. I only fear our chiefs arc over-anxious for accurate information and too cautious perhaps ; but time \n]l show what course they mean to pursue, and what attempt — may the gods direct everything for the best ! I would gladly know what is thought and what is known for certain with you ; but, above all, I would have you believe that I am ever yours, &c.
May or June, 1666.
LETTER XLIII.
B. DE SPINOZA TO J. V. M.
[This letter is in reply to an arithmetical question on the doctrine of chances, and has no connection with the Ethics.]
LETTER XLIV.
B. DE SPINOZA TO J. J. [qY JARIG JEIXIS.]
[On the Dioptrics of Descartes; without interest to the student of the philosophy of Spinoza or the character of its author.]
LETTER XLV.
B. DE SPINOZA TO 3. J. [qY JARIG JELLIS] ON GOLD-MAKING.
Dear Friend !
I have spoken with Vossius on that basincss of Helvetius ; he laughed heartily over it, and wondered that
B. DB SPINOZA TO J. J.
should luention such absurdities.* Making light of what Tie said, however, I weat on to the goldsmith Brechtclt, who had tested the gold, and he spoke in very different terms from VossiuB, affirming that between the melting and separating, the gold had gained in weight, and that it gained by so much the more as the weight of silver thrown into the crucible to effect the separation was greater, so that he firmly believed the particular gold in question which transmuted his silver into gold had something peculiar in its nature. After this I proceeded to Helvctius, who showed me both gold, and tho interior of his crucible covered with gold, and informed mo that he had not thrown more of that metal than might bo represented by the fourth part of a borley-com or a mustard- seed into the melted lead. * * * So much have I been able ^ to learn of this matter.
Bp The writer you speak of, who you say plumes himself on [ having demonstrated that the arguments for the existence of God which Descartes adduces in his 3rd and 4th ^leditation.^ are false, assuredly fights with his own shadow, and will hurt himself more than others. I confess, nevertheless, that Des- cartes' axiom is in a certain sense obscure, as I have already said, and might have been more clearly and truly stated in tho following manner : ' That the power of thought to think is not greater than the power of nature to exist and to act.' This is a clear and true axiom, whence and from the idea of which the existence of God follows most clearly and effectively. As to tho argument of the recent writer you mention, it is obvious that he has not understood the subject. It is true enough, indeed, that we may go on to infinity if a question is to be solved on such a footing as he proposes, otherwise it is mere foolishness. If, for example, it be asked, By what
• .1. F. Helvotiiis — not tbe French writer— bad published « liook under t)ic tJtleur nt»/M«aur«iM, containing disc]ui8iliua8 on Ibu philosopher's btone, on gold-making, and tbe like.
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BENEDICT DK SPI.NOKA.
cause 18 such and such a body moved in such and such a \raj ? we may answer, the motion is determined by another body, this by another, and so on to infinity, proceeding from cause to cause : this, I say, were a legitimate answer, because the question concerns the motion only, and by referring from one body in succession to another we assign a sufficient and eternol cause for the motion in each. But if I see a book filled with tlie most sublime meditations, and carefully written, in the hands of one of the people, and ask him whence he had the book ? and he answers me, saying, that he had written it out from another book of another person, who also could writ© neatly, he from another, and so on, I should not feel that I had received a satisfactory answer ; for I had not inquired concerning the mere fashion and sequence of the letters, but concerning the thoughts which their co-ordination conveyed. To refer back to infinity in such a case were no reply to my question. Tlio application of this view to ideas is readily to be understood from what I have said in my principles of the Cartesian Philosophj', Pt i., Axiom 0.*
[Hereafter follow some further remarks on the subject of optics. As a manufacturer of lenses Spinoza was well aware of the impossibility of the whole of the luminous rays being made to converge to an absolute focal point after refraction by a simple lens of any form. The reason of this he ascribed to the different distances whence rays of light proceeded from the luminous object, to fall upon the convex surface as well of the lens as of the eye ; and is decided in maintaining the spherical form of the lens as very superior to either the parabolic or elliptical forms that had been proposed. The compound nature of light and the different refrangibility of its several rays, in which consists the main difficulty of obtaining ac-
I
• To tliis effect : The objective reality of our ideas requires a cause ia which this same reality rcsiilcs uot only olij«ctivoly hut formally or imnian- enlly.— Ed.
B. DE SPINOZA TO J. J. 335
curate definition of objects by the telescope, were facts not known to Spinoza.] — ^Ed.
LETTER XLVI.
B. DB SPINOZA TO j[aRIG] J[ELLI8].
[This letter, written from the Hague, Sept. 6th, 1669, con- tains an account of some experiments in hydrostatics, which in themselves are of no interest in the present day, interesting though they' be in showing us Spinoza, not always immersed in metaphysical meditation, but occupied with physical science as well. Natural history and physiology had as yet made so little progress, that grave philosophers seom not to have questioned the possibility of geese being produced from barnacles.]
LETTER XL VII.
B. DE SPINOZA TO j[aRIg] j[eLMS].
Dear Friend,
During a visit which Prof. N. N. [Neostadius or Neustadt] paid me lately, he told me among other things that he had heard my Thcologico-political treatise had been translated into Dutch, and was about be sent to press for publication. I beg of you to use every means in your power to prevent this. It is not only my own wish that the thing shotdd not be done, but that of many of my friends, who would not willingly see my work interdicted, as it inevitably would bo were it to appear in a Dutch translation. I doubt not but you will use your best endeavours here for my sake as well as that of the cause.
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BENEDICT DB SPIKOZA.
One of my friends sent me some short time back a treatise entitled, Ilomo Politicus, of which I hud already heard much. I ran it through, and found it one of the most pernicious books that can possibly bo conceived. Worldly distinction and wealth are the summum bonum of the writer ; the whole of his views are squared to the attainment of these; the surest means to success in their pursuit arc enlarged on, and consist according to him in inwardly discarding all sense of religion, but outwardly conforming to what we think will best serve our ends; wo are further to keep faith with others so fur only as our own interests will tliereby be served. lie would have us, moreover, flutter men to the top of their bent ; promise largoly, but by no means hold it needful to keep the promises made ; lie upon occasion ; swear falsely, &c., &c. ^Vhen I had road the book, I thought with myself that I should indite a treatise indirectly ngainst its author, in which I should treat of the true happiness of man, show forth the un- quiet and miserable lives of those who think of nothing but wealth and distinction, and, on the most obvious grounds of reason backed by numerous instances from history, exhibit the insatiable nature of tho lust for wealth and distinction, and the danger to States inseparable from the over-eager pursuit of these.
IIow much better and nobler the meditations of Thales of Aliletus than the conclusions of this poor writer ! All, says Thales, is in common among friends ; tho wise are the friends of the Gods, and all tilings are of the Gods ; therefore to the wise are all things. Thus iu a word did this wisest of men make himself one of the richest also, nobly despising wealth rather than sordidly pursuing it. lie shows, however, in various ways, that the wise are without wealth, not through necessity, but by choice ; for once, when certain friends re- proached him with his poverty, he replied : would you have me show you I could compass that which you pursue so eagerly,
VBI,DHXnrSEN TO OROBIO.
337
but wkicli I think it not worth ray while to win ? They assent- ing, ho sent out and hired all the oil presses in the country, his skill us un aatronoiucr enabling him to foresee that the ensuing olive harvest, which had failed for several years before, would in the current j-ear be abundant. Engaging the presses at moderate rates, he in a single season made an immense fortune, which he distributed with as great liberality as he had shown skill in its acquisition.* The Hague, Fob. 17. 1G7I.
LETTER XLVni.
LAMBERT VAN VELDHUYSEN TO ISAAC OROBIO, M.n. Criticixing tlie Tmot Thool. Pollt in a hoslilc s(>irit.
Utrecht, Jan. 2tlh, 1C71. Learned Sir,
Ha\nng at length a little leisure at command, I
moke use of it to satisfy your desire that I should give you
my opinion of the book entitled Discursus Theologico-politi-
cu.**. This I shall now proceed to do in so far as time and
ray power permit, not discussing each individual head of the
work, however, but confining myself to a summary exposition
of the views and sentiments of the author on the subject of
religion.
It has escaped mo as to what people the writer belongs,
and what manner of life ho leads ; but it is of no moment to bo
thus inibrmed. That he is not without talent, and has neither
treated superficially nor contemplated with indiifcrenco the
religious controversies that are now agitating Christendom,
appears sufficiently from the argument of his book. The writer
seems to think that he will be in fitter case to examine tbe
\'iew8 and opinions which cause mankind to split into factions
* Vide Diogenes Locrt I. 1, 6, and Cicero de Divinationc, I. 49. 22
338
BENEniCT DK SPINOZA.
and parties, if he himself ia free from uU prejudice. Hence he has laboured more than enough to divest himself of super- stition of every sort, whereby it lias come to pass that in striving to show himseli' wholly free, he has swerved too mucli in the opposite extreme. To escape the charge of superstition he seems to me to have discarded religion altogether. lie certainly docs not rise above the religious views of the dcist.s, of whom there are overyw here o suffici- ent number, especially in France, and against whom Mer- senne wrote a treatise which I remember formerly to have read. But I scarcely think that any of the deists have niised their voices with ho fell u purpose, or have so powerfully and skilfully advocutwl tlieir most pernicious cause, as the writer of the di.s8crtation in question. Besides, unless I am mis- taken, this writer has no notion of confining himself within the limits of the deists, but would permit mankind entirely to neglect the subordinate parta^of religious worship.
He acknowledges Ood, then, and professes his belief in him as outhor and fashioner of the universe. But he plainly maintains that the form, species, and order of the world are necessary throughout, as is the nature even of God himself, and the eternal truths, which, as he will have it, have been established independently of the will of God. Therefore does he pointedly declare that all things happen by uncontroll- able necessity, by inevitable fatality ; and maintains that when things are rightly seen there is no room for precept* or comraiiudmcnta, the ignorance of mankind as he thinks having introduced these words — the inexperience of the vulgar leading thorn to forms of speech which ascribe affections to the Deity. God, therefore, he says, accommodates himself equally to the capacity of mankind when he makes known eternal truths and conduct that mujst necessarily he observed, in the shape of commandments. He teaches, moreover, that those things which are imposed as laws, and are thought to bo subject to
VKLDinjY8KN TO OROBIO.
339
the will of man, are us much matters of necessity as is the nature of the triangle ; and consequently, that those things which are commanded in laws and are held to be abstracted from the wiU of man, como to pass and are as necessarj' as is the nature of the triangle. .^Vll that is comprised in com- mandments, therefore, depends no more on the will of man, and avails him as little for good or evil by their observance or neglect, as the will and the absolute and eternal decrees of God can be changed by prayers. Precepts and commandments, consequently, are put on the same footing ; and agree in this, that the inexperience and ignorance of man have moved God to make thom known, to the end tliat they might be of some service to those who coidd form no better notions of God, and who required such wretched aids to arouse in them respect for virtue and hatred of vice. We therefore find that the author makes no mention in his book of the use of prayer ; neither does he speak of life or death, neither of any sort of reward or punishment, whereby according to common consent men are influenced in their lives and conduct. And all this ho does consistently with his principles. For what room «m there be for any final judgment and award, or what hope of reward or fear of punishment, where all things are ascribed to destiny and inevitable necessity, where all is held to proceed from God, or rather where, as ho maintains, the universe is God ? For I much fear that our author is not far from the opinions of those who maintain that all things necessarily proceed from the nature of God, and that the universe is God — his views, at least, do not greatly difier from theirs who so conclude. He, however, places the highest enjoyment of man in the practice of virtue, which is, he says, it« own great and best reward. He would, therefore, have man rightly informed of the nature of things, and dedicate himself to virtue, not because of any precept or law of
God, not from any hope of reward or fear of punishment, but
22 •
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BENEDICT DB SPINOZA.
led to do 80 solely by the beauty of virtue, the peace of mind and the exceeding joy which are felt in it« practice.
He tbcrcfore maintains that God has only in a certain way exhorted man to virtue through the prophets and revela- tion, by promises of reward and threats of punishment, the two conditions that are always attached to laws, becauso tho minds of common men are so constituted, and so ill informed, that they can only be driven to virtuous courses by arguments derived from tho nature of laws, by fear of penalties or hopes of reward ; whilst they who understand things truly find no force in tiny considerations of the kind.
Neither does he think that the prophets and teachers of sacrcfl things, and, by implication, God himself — inasmuch as He made use of their mouths for the instruction of man- kind— ever recur to arguments, false in themselves, if their nature bo but properly understood. His reasoning, however, would lead to a different conclusion ; for openly and every- where, as occasion serves, does he declare that the sacred Scriptures were not written for the purpose of inculcating truth, and t^saching the nature of tho things of which they speak, and which, in their application, serve as incitements to virtue. He, indeed, denies that the prophets were alto- gether well informed or quite free from vulgar errors in the reasons they adduce and the arguments they employ as moans of inciting mankind to virtuous lives, although tho nature of the moral virtues and vices was assuredly perfectly well-known to them.
The author, therefore, teaches that the prophets, when instructing those in their duties to whom they were sent, did not always escape errors of judgment; but that their sanctity and piety of purpose, nevertheless, were not diminished there- by, not even when they made use of false and unfounded arguments and assertions accommodated to the preconceived opinions of those they addressed, and by such means inclined
TEUJnTTYSEW TO OROBIO.
their hearers to virtues which were never made subject of controversy among men. The object of tlie prophets* mission to man, he says, was the promotion of virtuous conduct, not the inculcation of doctrinal truth; and he is therefore of opinion that the mistakes and ignorance of the prophets so long as they moved men to virtue were not really noxious ; for he thinks that it is of little moment by what arguments virtuous or moral conduct is furthered. Piety, ho opines, is not influenced by the truth of other things mentally per- Lceived, when the sanctity of morals is not comprised in such perceptions ; and he thinks that the knowledge of all truth, and even of all mystery, is more or less useful and necessary only as it conduces more or less to piety.
I believe that the writer here refers to that axiom of theolo- gians which distinguishc-S between the dogmatic teaching of a prophet and the simple narrative of a thing ; a distinction which, unless I am deceived, is acknowledged by all theo- logians, who hold that sound doctrine is still compatible with u large amount of error. He, therefore, thinks that all must assent to his ■\'iews who deny that reason and philo- sophy are the true interpreters of Scripture. For, when all are agreed that in Scripture many things are predicated of Ood which do not accord with the divine nature, but are accommodated to the capacities of men, in order that they maj' be influenced by what is said and the love of virtue aroused in their minds, it may be maintained, he thinks, that the sacred teacher de.sire<l by those false arguments to bring men to the observance of virtue, or that the reader of the sacred Scriptures might have the liberty allowed him of judging from the principles of his own understanding of the sense and scope of the doctrine set forth. But this view the writer totally condemns and repudiates, as well us that of those who, with the paradoxic^d theologian, t«ach that reason is to be the interpreter of Scripture ; for he is of opinion that Scripture is
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BBWEDICT DR SPINOZA.
to be understood according to it« literal sense : — men are not to be allowed tlie liberty of interpreting of their own free will, and according to the rules of right reason, what is to be understood by the words of the prophets, in order that conclusions may be formed in regard to their reasons and the knowledge they had acquired of things in general ; neither are men to bo permitted to say when it is that the prophets speak literally and when figuratively. But it will be more in place to speak particidarly of these matters by-and-by.
Returning to points from which I have somewhat strayed, the author, sticking to his principle of the fatal necessity of all things, denies that any miracle opposed to the laws of nature ever occurred ; for he maintains, as we have said above, that the nature of things and their kind and arrangement are not loss matters of necessity, than are the nature of God and the eternal truths he has ordained; he, therefore, teoohea that it is as impossible anything should dejmrt from the laws of nature as that in a triangle the sum of the three angles should not be equal to two i-ectangles. God, he sjiys, cannot make a less weight raise a greater, or a body moving with a force or a rate as of two, overtake a body moving with a force or a rate as of four. He, therefore, declares that miracles must be incidents in conformity with or subject to the common laws of nature, which, as he teaches, are un- changeable, even as the nature of things is unchangeable, inasmuch as the nature of all law is involved in nature itself; neither docs he recognize any other power of God beyond the ordinary power which is exerted in harmony with the laws of oatore ; he even thinks that no other power of God can be imagined, because it would compromise the nature of things, and set nature at war with itself.
A miracle, consequently, according to our author, is an in- cident or event happening unexpectedly and of whose cause the vulgar are ignorant. In the same woy the vulgar ascribe
VEtDHirralW TO OROBfO.
to prayers duly ofiered, and the particular intcrfeTence of God, their escape from auy threatened danger or the attainment of any wishetl-for good, whilst in the writer's view God has already decreed from eternity that that should happen which the vulgar suppose has come to pass through Ilis special influence and intervention, prayers not being tho cause of the decree, but the decree the cause of the prayers.
The whole of tliis on destiny and the inevitable necessity of things, both as regards the nature of things and the events which happen daily, he places in the nature of God ; or, to speak more plainly, in the nature of the will and intelligence of God, which, different in name, indeed, do in fact meet and form one in God. He therefore maintains that God as neces- sarilj' wills the universe to be as it is and all that happens within it, as ho necessarily knows the universe to be such as it is. But if Go<i necessarily knows the universe and its laws, he concludes that God could no more have made another universe than ho could now subvert the nature of things, and cause twice three to be seven. Wherefore we cannot conceive anything in the universe, or the laws by which the begin- nings and ends of things are controlled, to be different from what they are ; or did we imagine aught different from that which is it would be subversive of itself. lie therefore teaches that the nature of the iJivine Intelligence, of the whole imi verse and of the laws whereby it is governed, is such, is so arranged and ordered, that God by his will and understanding could no more conceive things other than they are than he could will to make it come to pass that things shotdd be other than they are. Hence ho concludes, that inasmuch as God could not now act in a way subversive of his primary acts (that God could not now do nets subversive of themselves), 80 God can neither imagine nor know natural things otherwise than as they are ; the conception and understanding of the nature of things other tlion as they ore, being as impossible
344
BENEDICT DB SPHfOZA.
08 U the production of things other than they are, ina«- much an all those natures if conceivcfl to l>e different from, would then necessarily bo in opposition to, those that exist; for the nature of things comprised in the universe being (in the author's opinion) necesaary, they cannot have this neces- sity of themselves, but derive it from the nature of God, from whom they necessarily emanate. For he will not have it, with Descartes, whose other doctrines he nevertheless ap- pears disposed to adopt, that the natures of all things, inas- much as they differ from the nature and essence of God, so must ideas of them have been freely present in the divine mind.
With such views the author prepares the way for what he delivers in the latter parts of his book, in which all that has been taught in preceding chapters is found to culminate. He would have the mind of the magistracy, and, indeed, of men in general, imbued with this axiom : that to the ruling power belongs the right to determine the form of religious worship which is to be publicly followed in the state. Still it would bo lawful, as he thinks, for the authorities to suffer the citizens to think of religion as they feci disposed, and to speak of it as by their mental and moral constitution they in- cline to do, and even to grant them perfect liberty of public worship.
As to what concerns the moral virtues, as there is no difference of opinion here, and so long as piety is not attack- ed, and other studies and usages do not touch morals, ho concludes that it cannot be displeasing to God that men should espouse as pious or sacred whatever they choose. Hero, however, the author must be understood to be speaking of matters as sacred which do not constitute moral virtue, which do not sliock propriety, and which are neither opposed nor foreign to it. Ho refers to matters that men may espouse with profit to themselves and others, and as helps to a truly virtuous life ; to matters by observance of which
VBLDnmrsEN to orohio.
345
they may hopo to render tliemselvea acceptable to God; for God can never be oflFendod by acts that are indifferent in themselves and have no bearing either on virtue or on vice, though men may refer them to pious purposes, and use them as guides and safeguards to virtuous conduct.
The writer, however, in order, as it seems, to lead man- kind to adopt these paradoxical views, maintains first that the whole of the religious worship instituted by God and de- livered to the Jews, was solely arranged with a view to their leading a prosperous life within the confines of their own state ; further, that the Jews were not more agreeable to God, not more cherished of him, than other nations, a fact which ho says God everywhere proclaims by his prophets to the Jewish people when he reproves them for the sins and back- elidings they were guilty of in the practice of the vcrj' worship which waa instituted and ordered by God for their advantage, and which consisted entirely in observance of the moral vir- tues, in other words, in love of God and neighbourly charity.
Further, inasmuch as God has imbued the minds of men of every nation with moral principles, and sowni as it were the seeds of virtue in their souls, so that they can judge of themselves, and without positive instructions, between good and evil, so does he conclude that God has not left other nations uninformed of those things whereby true happiness may be obtained, but, on the contrarj', has imparted these to all men alike for their advantage. He declares, indeed, that in all things which serve for the attainment of true hap- piness other nations are on the same footing as the Jews, and ho bhows that the Gentile nations did not luck for true prophets, a fact of which he furnishes several instances. He even insinuates that God governed other nations by means of good angels, whom, in conformity with the language of the Old Testament, he calls Gods ; consequently, tliat the sacred rites of other nations were not displeasing to God, so long om
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IIENBDrCT DB SPINOU.
they were not 80 corrupted by superstition as to divert men from true piety, and did not lead them to perpetrate deeds incongruous with niorulity under the name of religion. God furbadc the Jews for jwculiar reasons, — for reasons appropriate to them alone, — to worship the Gods of other peoples, though these Gods were worshipped in virtue of the institution and procuration of God with the same propriety by these nations, as the angels, held to be the guardians of the Hebrew republic, were esteemed by the Jews in their way as among the number of the Gods, and treated by them with divine honours.
But when we find the author admitting that no kind of outward worship can in itself be grateful to God, he of course thinks it of little moment with what ceremonies or rites such worship is conducte<l, p^o^^ded only it be of such a nature, be so accordant with the conception formed of Ood, as to arouse reverential feelings in the minda of men, and incite them to the study and practice of moral virtue.
Finally, inasmuch ns he holds that the substance of all religion is comprised in virtuous conduct, and that any knowledge of mysteries is superfluous and not calculated to favour a wtuous life, and that evcrvthing which tends to incite and lead men to virtue is better in it.self and of more moment to the world, ho concludes that all precepts concern- ing God and his worship, — all matters pertaining to religion in general, which are believed to be true by those who entertain them, and tend ta make goodness and probity flourish and abound, are to be respectfully considered, or ut all events in no case to bo summarily rejected. To confirm these yiews he cites the prophets themselves as autJiors and evi- donees of the opinions he inculcates, for they declare that God takes no account of the ideas men entertain of religion, but that that worship and those sentiments which proceed from respect for virtue and reverence for the Deity are the things
rKT.DHTJTBBN TO OROBIO.
347
that are agreeable to God. This notion he pushes so fur as to eay that arguments even which are not well-founded, but which accord with the sentiments of the people addressed, provided only that they act as spurs to virtuous conduct, are to be accounted good arguments. He therefore declares that God permitted a certain range or freedom of argument and illuslration f^ the prophets, whereby they were enabled to accommodate themselves to the times in which they livetl and the persons to whom they addressed their exhortations, and that these were good and allowable amid the circumstances in which they were used.
From this the writer thinks has arisen the fact that dif- ferent teachers have made use of different and often mutually opposed arguments ; Paul, for example, declaring that men are not justified by works, James insisting, on the contrary, that they are ; the Apostle James, in the opinion of our author, thinking that Christians might be led astray by the doctrine of justification by faith, and therefore laying the greater stress on hi.s own doctrine of justification by faith and works combined. James doubtless perceived that it was not good for the Christians of his day to have this doctrine of justification by faith alone propounded to them ; men being apt to be led thereby listlessly to rely on the mercy of God and pay no regard to good works. But Paul's discourse was to the Jews, who erroneously placed justification in observance of the law as it was especially delivered to them by Moses, by which they thought that they were raLsed above other nations, and the way of salvation prepared for them alone, and so rejected the means of salvation by faith, whereby they were put on a level with other peoples, and left naked and bare of any peculiar pri>'ilege. Since, therefore, both propositions, this of Paul, that of James, delivered in different times, to different com- munities, and under different circumstances, nevertheless agreed in their purpose of leading men to piety and virtue,
MENSDICT OR SPTSOZA.
the author thinks that prudential motives olono led the Apostles to pursue now this course of instruction, now that.
And this is one reason, among many others, why tho writer thinks that it is as far from truth to pretend to explain the text of Holy Writ by means of reason, and to constitute this the interpreter of its language, or to interpret one sacred writer by another, — since thoy are of equal authority, and the language they employ is to be explained by the forms of speech and the pccidiarities of address made xise of by each of them severally ; we are never, he says, when engaged in in- vestigating tho true sense of the Scriptures, to attend to the nature of the matter, but always to the literal meaning of the words only.
When Christ, therefore, and the other teachers divinely sent, declared after his example and commands that men only attained to beatitude by the study of the virtues, and that everything else was of no moment, the author woidd thence infer that the ruling power in a state should only be careful that justice and probity flourish in the coninion wealth, and should deem it no part of their duty to consider and to de- clare what form of worship and what variety of doctrine is most in accordance with truth : they are only to take heed that nought in this kind bo adopted by the professors which may prove a bar to ^'irtue.
The magistracy of a state, consequently, may properly, and without ofience to the Deity, tolerate various religions within their jurisdiction. To persuade us of this, however, he insists that the excellence of the moral virtues, in so far aa they are useful in associations of men, and are displayed in outward act, lies in this, that they are not practised on the ground of private judgment and inclination, but on the authority and command of the supreme power in the state : outward acts of virtue, he says, change in their nature by cir- cumstances, and the duty of men to do doeds of tho sort., is to
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VELDHVTYSEN TO OROBIO.
349
be estimated by the advantage or disadvantage which accrues from them ; so that certain acta ^'irfuous in themselves done out of season may lack the true nature of wtuos, and may even be placed in the opposite scale of the vices. The author thinks, however, tliat there is another mode of appreciating the virtues ; for inasmuch as they have their seat and being in the mind, they do in reality always preserve their proper nature, and are never dependent on variety of circumstance. ITie writer would not permit cruelty and vindictiveness ; he would have nothing but love of our neighbours, and love of truth under any circumstances. But there may be times when it may be right or proper, not, indeed, to ignore and cast oflF respect for virtue and good resolutions, but cither to abstain from such of these as are shown in outward act, and sometimes even to proceed in such a way as apparently to contravene them ; and this because, as he says, it is no duty of a virtuous man to expose truth to the light, and to inform his fellow-citizens of this truth by word of mouth, and by wril ing, if he thinks that disadvantage rather than advantage will accrue to them from its promidgation. And although all men should bo iuclude<l in one common bond of love, and this feeling is never to be discarded, still it frequently hap- pens that certain persons may be severely treated by us with- out oui" being chargeable with cruelty, when it is obvious that great damage would accrue from the clemency we might be disposed to practise towards them. So, also, he opines that all things, even all truths, whether they refer to religion or to civil life, are not opportunely proposed at all times. He, therefore, who taiches that pearls are not to be cost before swine ; and is also of opinion that it is no duty of good men to enb'ghten the people on certain heads of religion which, paraded and scattered about among the ^Tdgar, might prove a cau.se of disturbance to the commonwealth or the cburch, whereby more harm than good would ensue to orderly and pious citizens.
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But when, besides these and other things belonging to civil society, such as the power to moke and the authority to enforce lows, which cannot be disjoined, and the several wills of the individuals associated into the body politic cannot bo suffered to prevail but must be given up to the supreme head of the state, the author argues that this authority has the right to determine what things and what dogmas are to be publicly taught within the commonwealth, and that it is the duty of citizens or subjects — in so far, at least, as out- ward manifestation goes — to abstain from teaching and mak- ing profit of topics on which the laws of the mugistrufy have oitlercd silence to be kept ; for God has no more per- mitted private judgment on such mutters to be entertained than ho has allowed acts to be done against the will and commands of the ruler or the sentence of the judge, wliere- by the law would lose its force, and the end and object of all authority be frustrated. For the author thinks that, by con- formity and outward profe^ion of religion, men may be kept quiet, and that the regulation of external acts of divine wor- ship may be properly intrusted to the judgment of the magistracy ; in the same way as the right of estimating in- juries done to the state and the power of enforcing reparation arc accorded to the authorities. For inasmuch as a private person is not held bound to acc^ramodate his own judgment on an injury done to the state to the judgment of the magis- tracy, but may privily entertain his own opinion, although, if the matter camo to such a pass, he would be boimd to give his assistance in carr}'ing out the decision of the magistracy, so the author thinks that private persons may be allowed to judge for themselves of the truth or falsehood as well as of the necessity of any religious dogma. Neither is it possible, OS he thinks, to compel private persons by any state law to think of religion in the same precise way, although it depends on the decision of the ruling power to soy what dogmas are
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to be publicly propomided ; the right or duty of private per- sons is ouly privily to make known their views of religion when they differ from those of the magistracy ; but thoy are to take no steps without their sanction whereby (he rules of religious worship laid down by them might be compromised.
And as it may very well happen that the magistracy, differing on many points of religinn from the people, may desire certain things to be taught publicly which the people do not approve, but which the magistracy think concern the divine honour, the author sees that to make open profession of Kuch doginiis in his republic might bring much dclrimcnt to the ctinmion weal, by reason oi' diversity oi' opinion be- tween peoples and their rulers ; therefore to his former does the author add this second reason by way of tranquillizing the minds of both rulers and subjeet-s, and of keeping religious liberty intact, viz.: that the magistracy are not to fear the anger of Qod, although they permit objectionable sacred rites to be performed in his model republic, pro't'ided always that they are not at variance with (he morul virtues. The mean- ing of this opinion, I apprehend, will not have escaped you, seeing that I have exposed it at sufficient length in what has gone before. The author, in fact, maintains that God does not concern himself about men's religious opinions, neither does he care how they are mentally disposed, or what religious rites they practise, all such matters in the writer's opinion having no connection and nothing in common with virtue or vice, inasmuch as the duty of every one is so to comport him- self that he may foUow those maxims and adopt that form of worship by which he conceives he will be best maintained in a course of virtuous action.
Thus, most accomplished Sir, you have a compendious survey of the doctrines comprised in the Tractatus Theologioo- politicus, which in my opinion goes the length of destroying all worship, all religion, of openly propounding atheism, or
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at all events of presenting God in such a way that mankind can never bo touched by roverenco for his Divinity, God him- self in the system of our author being subject to destiny, no place being left for his superintendence and di^'ine providence, and all idea of reward or punishment taken away.
This much, at all events, is clearly to be seen from the work, that the whole authority of the sacred Scriptures is called in question by its statements and reasonings — and that their Cause is only alluded to by the writer ; so that it follows from his positions that the Alcoran is also to be accounted or held equivalent to the word of God. Nor has the writer a single argument to show that Mahomet was not a true prophet ; for the Turks also hold in respect those moral virtues which arc prescribed by their prophet and about which there is no dis- pute among mankind at large. According to the author, God is still nigh to the peoples whom he has not thought fit to lead into the pale of reason and obedience by such special revela- tions as he has delivered to Jews and Christians.
I believe, then, that I do not swerve much from the truth, nor do the author any injustice, when I denounce him as teaching mere atheism by colourable and crafty arguments.
LETTER XLIX.
B. DE SFINOZA TO ISAAC OROBIO, M.D. la reply to Dr VeldhuyseD'a oriticigm of the Traolatus TUoologico-polilicus.
Learned Sir,
You are doubtless surprised that I have made you wait so long for an acknowledgment of your letter, but, in truth, it is with difficulty I have brought myself to notice iho libellous epistle you enclosed, and, indeed, 1 only write now to make good my promise to answer it. That I may do as little \nolenco as possible to my proper sentiments, I shall be
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brief, contenting myself witli showing Low your con'espondent fulsifios both my views and my intentions, — ^whether of set purpose und from mnlevolencc, or through ignorance, I can- not 80 readily tell. But to the matter.
Your correspondent first says, ' That it is of little moment to know to what people I belong, or what manner of life I lead.' Had he been duly iiifonned on both of these heads he would not so easily have per.suaded himself that I inculcate atheism. Atheists, for the most part, are wordL'ngs, and seek eagerly after wealth and distinction ; but these, all who know me ur(> aware, I have ever held in the very slenderest e»(im- uf ion. He is then pleased to say that ' I must be a man of no mediocre ability,' for the purpose, apparently, of giving point to his next assertion, that * I have at best skilfidly, craftily, and with the worst intentions, advocated the radically bad and pernicious cause of the Deists.' This of itself were enough lo show that the writer has not understood my argu- ments; for who could iwssibly be of so crafty and hypo- critical a temper as to array a host of the most cogent and convincing reasons in favour of a conclusion which he himself believed to be false ? Of whom would your correspondent believe that truth and sincerity guided the pen, if he thought that falsehood in disguise could be enforced with the same straightforwardness of purpose as truth itself? But, indeed, I ought not to express surprise here, for even thus was Doscartea traduced by Voet ; even thus are the best men in the world wont to be met by their opponents.
The writer next proceeds to say, ' It seems as though, to escape suspicion of superstition, I had thought it requisite to divest myself of all religion.' I do not pretend to divine what he understands by religion and what by superstition ; but I ask. Does he cast ofiF rcL'gion who rests all he has to say on the subject, on the ground that God is to be acknow- ledged as the Supreme Good ; that He is with entire single-
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noss of Boul to be lovod as such ; and that in luving Ood consista our highest bliss, our best privilege, our most perfect freedom ? Further, thut the reward of virtue is virtue, and the penalty of incapacity and baseness is ignonince and abjectnesa of spirit ? Still further, that every one is bound to love his neighbour as himself, and to obey the laws of the land in which, and the authority under which, he lives ? Now, all this I have not only insisted on as impressively as I could in words, but I have fiirther adduced the most cogent reasons that presented themselves to me in support of my conclusions.
But I think I can see whence the hostility of my critic arises. This person finds nothing in virtuous life and right reason in themselves which satisfy or delight him ; it seems as though he would nifhcr live under the empire of his passions, yield to his appetites and lusts, were it not that this one consideration withlicld him — the fear of punishment. He must keep himself from doing ainLss as a slave ; he cannot observe the divine commundments of his own free-will, but crouches before them with a jwrploxed and unsatisfied soul ; he strikes a bargain with the Almighty, and for good conduct looks for much more ample reward, and of a much more sensible kind, than he expects to find in the divine love, — aye, recompense ever the greater as inwardly he feels more averse to good, as he, reluctantly and iierf'orcc, compels him- self to effect the good he does. This is the ground of his belief that all who are not restrained by fear of the kind ho feels himself, must live without a curb upon their lusts, and cast out religion from their souls. But I quit this ungrateful topic, and proceed to the inferences of my censor, and to this one in especial, that ' I with glozing and crafty argumcnta inculcate Atheism.'
The grounds of this conclusion appear to be that ho thinks I take from God all freedom, that I subject the Supreme to
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fate. This is utterly fulse : I do nothing of the sort ; on the contrary, I maintain that everything follows by inevitable necessity from the very nature of God. It is luiiversally admitted that God by his nature knows himself, and that this knowledge follows necessarily from the Di\'ine nature ; but I presume no one thinks that God is therefore controlled by fate. On the contrary, all reasonable men believe that God knows himself freely and necessarily at once ; that freedom and necessity, in fact, are terms sjnionjTnous when the nature of Deity is in question : God, as author of all, is himself fate, freedom, and necessity. In this I can see nothing which everj' one may not understand, nothing which any one can find fault with ; but if my critic nevertheless believes that what I say is said with an evil intention, what, I would ask, must he think of his Descartes, who maintains that nothing happens through our agency which God has not already pre- ordained ; yea, that in every moment of our lives wo are as it were created anew by God, but that we do not the leas act freely according to the power that is given us ? a state of things which, as Descartes himself admits, is altogether in- comprehensible.
The necessity of things which I contend for abrogates neither divine nor human laws ; the moral precepts, whether they have or have not the shape of commandments from God, are still divine and salutary ; and the good that flows from virtue and godly love, whether it be derived from God as a ruler and lawgiver, or proceed from the constitution, that is, the necessity, of the Divine nature, is not on this accoimt the less desirable. On the other hand, the evils tbat arise from wickedness are not the leas to be dreaded and deplored because they neces- sarily follow the actions done ; and, finally, whether we act with freedom or from necessity we are still accompanied in all we do by hope or fear. My censor, therefore, says falsely that I put the question of monils and religion on such a foot-
23 •
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ing that neither command nor proscription are any longer lo bo recognized, or, as he has it, ' That there con be no cxpc<:t- ation of reward, no fear of punishment, if everything bo held Rubjeot to fate, or follow of necessity from the nature of God.'
Here I will not pause to ask whether it be one and the same, or a very different thing, to maintain thtit all happens neccssiirily from the nature of God, and to hold that the universe is God? but I beg you to observe how the critic odiously and unjustifiably adds that ' I am minded men should lead virtuous lives, not because of the precepts and commands of God, or moved by the hope of reward or fear of punishment, but,' &c. In the whole of my Tractate I aver that you will find no word to this effect. On the contrary, I declare expressly (vide chap, iv.) that the sum of the Divine law, the law that is written on our hearts and minds by the hand of God (vide chap ii.), oonaists in this especially, — that we love God as our supreme good, not through fear of punish- ment, for love knows nothing of fear and cannot flow from fear, not even from love of aught else that we might wish to enjoy, but wholly and solely from devotion to the Supreme ; for were this not the rule, we should then love God less than the thing desired. T have further shown in the same place that this is the very law which God revealed to the prophets ; and if I now maintain that this law receives its character of commandment from God, or if I comprehend it in the way I comprehend the other decrees of God as involving an eternal truth, an eternal necessity in itself, it still remains an or- dinance of God, and is doctrine wholesome to mankind. Even BO, whether I love God of my own free will or by the neces- sity of the Divine decree, I shall still love God and bo blessed. I might therefore with reason maintain that this person be- longs to that class of men of whom I speak at the end of my preface, and say, that I would much rather they left my book
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unread, than by perverse intorprctationB of its views, whilst deriving no benefit from ita perusal themselves, prove hin- drances in the way of others who miglit profit by its contents.
Although I believe that I have already said enough in the way of explanat ion of my views, and in answer to my censor, I still think it worth while to make a few further observations. I say, then, that he is mistaken when ho imagines that I had ia my eye that axiom of theological writers, which draws a distinction between the dogmatic doctrine and the simple narrative discourse of a prophet. If he really understands what I say in my 15th chapter, when quoting the Rabbi Judah Alpakhar, how could he believe that I agreed with the Rabbi, when I was all the while engaged in pointing out the erroneousness of his conclusions ? If my critic intended any other axiom than the one I refer to, then I avow that I am not myself acquainted with it, and could not therefore in any way have Ifad it in my eye.
Further, I cannot see how my censor should say I believed that ' all would agree with me in my views who deny that reason and philosophy are the proper interpreters of Scrip- tare,' seeing that I have pointedly rejected the conclusions as well of those who scout reason, as of Maimonides [who would reconcile iScripture with reason by arbitrarily tortur- ing its text into the shape he desires].
It were long to recite everything advanced by my critic in which I can see that he does not come to his task of censor with an entirely assured spirit ; I therefore proceed at once to the passage where he says, that ' I have no grounds for my opinion that Mahomet was not a true prophet.' This singular conclusion of his he as strangely seeks to make good from the general statement and opinions I propound, in spite of the feet that from all I say of Mahomet I plainly sliow that I regard him as an impostor, inasmuch as he denies throughout the Koran that liberty which the universal re-
.•J/j«
T»R!»FTWCr DE SPniOlA.
ligion, the religion which is rovcalod by natural as well as by prophetic light, allows — the right to worship God in spirit and in truth, a right which I have maiutainod must under all circumstances be conceded to mankind. And had I hap- pened not to have done so, I should ask whether I were really bound to show that every one who has spoken oracu- larly was a false prophet ? The prophets of the Old Testa- ment wore held on their parts, to prove that they were true prophets. If afk-or all I am met by the reply that Mahomet taught divine precepts and gave sure signs of his mission, then would my critic himself have no grounds for refusing to Mahomet the clmracter of a true prophet.
As regards the Turks and other peoples not included in the pale of Christianity, I am free to confess that I believe if they worship God in love and truth and do justly by their neighbour they have within them that which is equivalent to the Spirit of Christ, and that their salvation is ass&red, what- ever notions they in their ignorance may entertain of Ma- homet and his revelations.
You see, therefore, ray dear friend, that my critic fails greatly of the truth ; but I do not the less perceive that ho does me far less injustice than he does himself, when ho ven- tures to assert that ' by colourable and crafty arguments I in- culcate Atheism.'
In conclusion, I venture to hope that in what precedes yon vdU not find anything said too severely, and that is not well deser^-ed by my censor. Should you however meet with anything of the sort, I beg yon to strike it out, or to soften and amend it as may seem best to you. It is not my wish to vex or irritate him, whoever he may bo; neither is it my purpose, in my desire to stand well with you, to make myself a single enemy abroad ; indeed, as such adverse criticisms are common enough, I should scarcely have brought myself to reply to this particular one, as I say at the beginning of
B. T)E SPINOZA TO I.AMBEBT VAJT A'ELDHDrSEX,
359
my letter, had I not pledged you my word that I should do 80. Farewell ! I commit this letter to your prudence, and beg you to believe that I am yours, &c.,
B. DE Spinoza.
LETTEK XLIX. (a.)
[LXXV. in Original Op- P<»t B- de S.] B. UE SPINOZA TO L.AMBERT VAN VELDHUYSEN, M.D.
Eecellent Sir,
I am surprised that our friend Neostadius (Xeu- Btodt) should have said I had thoughts of replying to the various publications that have lately appeared against ray Tlieologico- political Treatise, and among othcrs.of refuting the strictures contained in your manuscript. It has never come into my head to answer any one of my public opponents, so unwor- thy have they all appeared to me of notice ; andlhavono recol- lection of having said more to Neostadius than that I thought of illu.strating some of the obscurer passages of the Tractatua by notes, and of appending to these notes your letter and my reply to it — if I might have your consent to do so. I re- quested Neostadius, indeed, to ask your consent to this, adding, that if perchance you were indi.sposed to grant me the favour I desired, because in my reply there are certain expressions that .savoured of harshness, you were to feel yourself at perfect liberty either to expunge or to alter them. Meantime I cannot suppose that our friend will be offended by my informing you of the matter as it is in fact ; for if I do not obtain the permission I crave, I can at least show that I shall not publish your letter without your consent. And although I believe your letter might be made public without detriment to you (your name might even be withheld), be assured that I shall not move in the matter without your
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permission. But, to give you iny whole mind, you would do mc a still greater favour did you cornmuiiicate to me those fresh arguments with which you believe you can confute ray Tractatus, — or you might add them to your manuscript. I even beg of you very earnestly to do this ; for there is no ono whose arguments I am more di8pose<l carefully to consider than your own, aware as I am of the singular candour of your disposition, and satisfied thot you are led in all you say or do by the love of truth alone. Again, and yet again, I entreat you to make light of the labour I would thus impose on you, and bog of you to believe that I am yours with the greatest respect,
B. UK Sfinoza.
[The H»gue, 1074 or 1C7J.]
LETTER L.
n. DE SPINOZA TO • • • •
The difference between the political news of Hobbea ond myself, about which you ask, lies in this: that I advo- cate natural right as the paramount principle, and maintain that the ruler has no more authority over subjects than may bo measured by the liberties belonging to the natural state which subjects cede to hira for their mutual advantage and security.*
"When I say, as I do in my mctaphysicjil reflections, that God cannot be spoken of otherwise than improperly us one or ainylc, I mean that un entity can only be called one or single in respect of its existence, not of its essence ; for wo do not conceive things under the categor}' of number until they have been reduced to common genera or kinds. lie, for instance,
• Hobbc*, on the contmry, givca unlimiiwi power to the ruler. Vide Tmct. Theol. I'oliL, chniiler XVI. p. 270, where the author's views are devoloi)e(l at length.— Ed.
n. DK SPINOZA TO
who holds in his hand a penny and a shilling will not think of the number two unless he regards them merely as pieces of money, when he may say that he has two coins in his hand, for the penny is a coin as well as the shilling. A thing is, therefore, only called one or single after some other thing that agrees with it has been conceived. But as the existence of God is also his essence, and we can form no universal idea of the essence of God, it is certain that he who conceives Gotl as one or single has either no true idea of God, or speaks of him improperly.*
With regard to what I say of figure as negation, not as anything positive, it is obvious that matter indefinitely con- sidered can have no shape, but that shape can only occur in Connection with finite and deterraiuate bodies. For he who says that he sees a figure, raean.s nothing more than that ho conceives a definite thing, and the manner in which it is limited or determined. The determination, therefore, does not belong to the thing as its existence, but rather as to its non-existence. Now, as figure is nothing but determination, and determination is negation, figure, as said, can only be negation.
I noticed the book which the Utrecht Professor wrote against me (though it was only published after his deathj in
• In the Coptntn MetaphyBim, Pt i. cnji. 7, § 2, we have thi«: ' Ouity ii opposed to niiiltiplicity, and ia nuMiing more than n mode of thnnght. • • • Ood, in BO far na wc detach him from otlicr lieings, may l>c s-iid to he one, Imt I we cannot conceive that lliere are other l)cini;« of tjio Nime nature as Ood, I' we say lliat he is singular and alone. Did we, liowcvcr, examine the matter wore closely it might perh.ips be «liown that Otxi cannot, without impro(iriety, 1)6 iipoken of as one or single ; hut thin is really of little or of no moment to thobo who are anxious almut thinpt, not naineii.' I.&>iiini; aeems to have been impresBcd with the uubtie conception here involved ; and the curioun reader will tind rvward for his pains by lurnin^; to § 73 of the a<hiiir.ible li^ngllsh translation of the Entivhiing dea Menschengcschleota — The Education of the Human Race, publlshe<l by .Smith and KIder, l2mo, IS.'iti. The meaning of Spiunza is simply tliis : that oiif referred to number implies the existence of tirp, or more than one; (iod is God, as the universe is the universe ; and wo ought no more to speak of one God than of one universe. May not I.«ssing liave inislaken Spinoza's meaning when he proceeded to evolve The Trinitj/ out of wluit is said 1 — Ed.
be:»kdict de spinoza.
the window of a bookseller's shop lately. From the littlo I then read of it, I do not think it worthy of a more attentive perusal, much less of a serious reply. Mentally smiling, I thought with myself that the most ignorant are ever\'whoro the most presumptuous and the most eager to appear in print. It strikes me that • • • • must bo sho\ring his wares as the hawkers do theirs — bringing out the most worthless first. The De^Tl, they say, is extremely crafty, but these folks, methinks, far surpass the Devil in cunning. Farewell. The Hagne, June 2, 1G74.
LETTER LI.
OOTTFRlEn LEIBNITZ TO B. DE SPINOZA.
Frankfort, Oct &th. IfiTl.
Honoured Sir,
Among your other titles fo consideration the fame of which has spread ahnmd, I learn that you are especially skilled in the science of optics. This induces me to send you a copy of an essay of mine on the subject, a-ssured that I can submit it to no more competent judge than yourself. My pamphlet is entitled Notitin Opiiae promottr, and has been sent to press that I might the more conveniently communi- cate with my friends and the curious in such matters. I also hear that the excellent Mr Diemerbroeck, with whom I pre- sume you are acquainted, excels in this branch of science ; and you would signally oblige mo could you obtain for mo his judgment and favourable opinion of my tract, to which I beg to refer you for my views.
I presume you must have seen the Proclromo of Fr. Lana, Jesuit, written in Italian, in which he advances much that is interesting in Dioptrics, as well as the work of J. Oltius, the Swiss, a young man, very learned in the same subject, entitled
OOTTFniED LEIBNITZ TO B. DB SPINOZA.
Cogitationes physico-mocliauicas de Visiono, in which, among other things, he speaks of hii\M"ng invented a very simple machine for grinding and polishing lenses of every description, and fiirther avers that he has discovered a means of collecting all the rays proceeding from every point of an object [after refraction] into so many precisely corresponding points, the object being at a certain distance only and of a given figure. My proposal comes to this : Not that the rays proceeding from every point of an object should be precisely reunited (for this, whatever the distance or figure of the object, is im- possible in the present state of oiir knowledge), but to have tho rays of the points without aa well as of those within the optic axis equally reunited. If this can be done wc should then be able to have the apertures of our telescopes as large as wo pleased without detriment to clear definition. But I leave the matter to your very competent judgment. Farewell, honoured Sir, and favour your sincere admirer,
GoTTFRiKD Leibnitz, J. U. D., Councillor to his Iliglmess the Paliitiue, Mayenco.
P. S. [Added from Van Vloton's Supplement.] Should you honour me with a reply the most noble Councillor Diemerbroeck will, I hope, be found ready to take charge of it for me. I suppose you must have seen my new Hypothesis Physicu ; but if you have not, I shall send it to you.
LETTER Ln.
B. DE SPINOZA TO THK LEARNED AND MOST NOBLE GOTTKRIED LEIBNITZ, JURIS VTKIUSQUE DOCTOR ET CONCILLARIUS MO-
GUNTINU8.
Moat learned and noble Sir,
I have perased the Essay you were good enough to send me, aud return you my best thanks for making me ac-
KKJfBDlCT BE SnXOZA-
qunintod with it. I only regret that I do not entirely iindor- Btand your views, although I believe you express yourself clearly enough. But I am at a loss to know whether you believe there is any reason why we cannot have the aperture of a telescope of any size we wish other than this, viz. : that the rays issuing from one point do not [after refraction] accurately reunite in another point, but only converge with- in a certain tpace, which we are wont to call the mechanical spot or space, and which is larger or smaller as the aperture of the glass is large or small.
I would gladly know if the lenses you speak of under the title of randoc/imic' obviate this defect in such a way, that the mechanical spot within which the rays from the same point of an object collect after refraction remains precisely of the same size whether the aperture of the telescope be large or small ? Did your lenses accomplish this they would be vastly superior to those of any other figure with which I am acquainted; for with them we should be able to inorcuse the apertures of our t<.>lescopc8 at pleasure without detriment to their defining power. Did they possess no such property, however, I do not see why you should speak so much more highly of them than of lenses of the usual configuration. Lenses that are segments of spheres have evcrj-whore the same axis, and every point of the surface of an object viewed through thorn may be regarded as seated within the axis of vision ; fijr although every pouit of the surface of an object is not really cqui-distant, still the difl'ercnce in their several distances is not appreciable when the object is somewhat re- mote, and all the rays proceeding from it may be considered as virtually purullel when they enter the lens. I believe your lenses might prove serviceable when we would include many objects in the field — in those cases, in short, in which we com- monly employ unusually large convex glasses with spherioil * From ray, all, &nd lo\ii6t>, to liend.
B. DB SPINOZA TO aOTTFRIED LEIBNITZ, 365
surfaces. But I suspend my judgment upon all these points until I have further information of your views from yourself, with which I particularly request you to favour me.
I have not seen either the Prodromus of Fr. Lana or the observations of Oltius ; and, what I regret much more, I have still been unable to get a sight of your Hypothesis Physka, which is not to be purchased at the Hague. Tour profiTered present will therefore be extremely acceptable to me, and if I, in return, can bo of any se^^dce to you, pray command me. I trust you will not find it troublesome to yourself to reply to me in the direction indicated.
Yours, most noble Sir, very sincerely,
B. DE Sfinoza. The Hague, Nor. 9, 1671.
P. S. Mr Diemerbroeck does not live here ; and I am therefore obliged to send this in the ordinary way, by post. I do not doubt but you are acquainted with some one else here whom I too might know, who would take charge of our letters, and pass them safely between us. If you do not pos- sess the Tractatus Theologico-politicus, I will, if you make no objections, send you a copy.
LETTER LIII.
J. L. FABRITIUS TO B. DE SPINOZA.
Heidelberg, Feb. 16tb, 1673. Distinguished Sir,
I am commanded by my gracious master, the Prince Palatine,* in whose esteem you stand very high, though you are as yet unknown to me, to write to you, and ask if you might feel disposed to accept the chair of Professor of Philo-
• Charles Louig, Elect. Palatin. 1632—1680.
nENEDIUT DE SFIN'OZA.
Bophy in ordinary in the University here ? The salary would bo the Bome oa that of the other professors in ordinary.
Nowhere, dear Sir, could you find a prince more favour- ably disjwscd than our Elector to men of distinguished abilities, among the number of whom he reckons you. You would enjoy the most perfect freedom in philosoplnV.ing, which his Highness feels assured you would not abuse by calling in question the established religion of the state. For my own part, I cannot do othei^ise than second the wishes of our excellent prince. I therefore request you to reply to mo at the earliest possible moment, either addressing your letter directly to me here, or sending it through one of the electoral residents at the Hague, Herr Grotius, or Herr Gilles van der Hek, or in any other way that seems best to you. I only add that, should you make up youi mind to come among us, you may feel assured that you will lead a pleasant life be- coming a philosopher, unless all we hope and anticipate falls out much otherwise than we believe. Farewell, honoun-d Sir!
From yours very obediently,
J. LuDovicus FABRrrirs, Prof. Acad. Ueidelb. et Elect. Palatin. Consiliar.
LETTER LIV.
B. DB SPINOZA TO J. LOVIS FABRITirS.
The Hague, March 30, 1678. Honoured Sir,
Had it over been my wish to imdertake the duties
of a Professor in any Faculty, my desires would have been
amply gratiKed in accepting the position which his Serene
Highness the Prince Palatine does me the honour to offer me
through you. The proposal, too, is much enhanced in value
B. DE 8FINUZA TO J. LOUIS FABRITIUS.
3l57
in my eyes by the freedom of philosopliizing attached to it, to say nothing of the pleasure I should feel in living imder the sway of a Prince so universally adniircd for his parts and occomplislunente. But as I have never thought of assuming the duties of a public teacher, I cannot now, although I have long pondered over the matter, make up my mind to avail myself of the distinguished opporfunit}' held out to me. I think, in the first place, that I should be losing sight of my own further philosophical culture, were I to devote myself henceforth to the instruction of youth ; and in the second, I do not know within what precise limits that same liberty of philosophizing would have to be restrained, so that I should not seem to interfere with the estabb'shed religion of the principalitj' ; for schism does not arise so much from the zealous study of religion in itself, as from diversity in the af- fections of mankind, or from that spirit of contradiction which leads men to differ from and to condemn everything, how- ever well and wisely said. I have already had much ex- perience of misconstruction in my hitherto secluded and solitary way of life ; how much more, then, should I not have to fear were I advanced to an office of the dignity proposed ? You see, therefore, honoured Sir, that I do not look for any higher worldly position than that which I now enjoy ; and that for love of the quiet which I think I can otherwise secure, I must abstain from entering on the career of a public teacher. I therefore bog of you very earnestly to obtain for me irom his Serene Highness the favour of some further tiine for de- liberation ; and, meantime, to do what you can to keep me in his good opinion, whereby you will confer an additional obligation on.
Most honoured Sir,
Your very obedient servant,
B. DE Spinoza.
LETTER LV.
TO B. DK SPINOZA.
[This letter, from a correspondent unnamed, consists of nothing but inquiries concerning ghosts and hobgoblins; Spinozu's answer which follows makes a version of the original unnecessary.]
LETTER LVI.
n. DE SriNOZA TO • • •
JTonoiircd Sir,
Your letter which come to hand yesterday gave me much pleasure, both by reason of the news it brought me of yourself, and tlie assurance it conveyed that you had not quito forgotten me. Some might perchance have thought it an ill omen that ghosts and hobgoblins form the chief topic of your letter ; but for my part, I find something more tlierein, and see that not only truth, but trifles and imaginations, may be turned to account.
As to your question, whether spectres are phantasms and imaginations, lot us, I pray you, reserve it for the moment, OS I see that to you it would seem almost as extraordinary simply to question or absolutely to deny the reality of such things, as it would to him who is already convinced of their existence by the numerous ghost stories that are told both by ancient and modern writers. The great esteem and honour in which I have always held and still hold you do not permit mo to contradict, but much less will they allow me to flatter you. What, therefore, I would propose were this, that you choose for discussion one or another from among the many ghost stories you have read, which seems to you to aflbrd the least room for doubt, or goes furthest to prove the existence of spectres.
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To Bay truth, I have never myself perused any author worthy of credit, who, to my mind, clearly demonstrated the reality of spectres ; so that to the present moment I am utterly ignor- ant of what they are, and so far have met with no one who could inform me. This much, however, seems certain, that we ought to know precisely what the thing is of which we have a clear intimation through experience ; for, without such knowledge we shall scarcely gather from any narrative that spectres are actual existences. We should at best con- clude for the existence of a certain something, but what this might be would be known to none. Did philosophers incline to call by the name of spectres things of which we arc ignor- ant, I should not then deny them ; for there are numberless things unknown to me.
licfore proceeding to explain myself more fully on this subject, then, I beg of you, honoured Sir, to tell me what you yourself think these spirits and spectres are? Aro they childish, foolish, or madj' All I have over heard of them seems to mo applicable to ignorance rather than to science, and, putting the best possible face on the matter, to par- take more of puerility or folly than anything else. Ere I conclude I would submit to you that in the tales we have of hobgoblins and spectres, we more certainly discover than from almost any other quarter that disposition or desire which the majority of mankind experience to narrate events not as they are in fact, but as they would have them to be. ITie principal reason of this I believe to consist in the fact, that these tales have never any other witness than their relators — inventors also for the nonce, and having no fear of contradic- tion in regard to the circumstances adduced to substantiate the truth of what is said ; the lino taken in this view being such as seems best calculated either to j ust ify the terror they have of dreams and omens, to proclaim their courage, or to confirm the faith and opinions they entertain. Besides these T could ad-
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ducc other reasons which move me to doubt if not of the narra- livea, yet of the circumstances connected «nth them, which for the most pjirt confirm mo in the conclusion I should draw from the narratives themselves. Here I end, until I shall have heard from you what the particular histories are which have broufjht such conviction to your mind that to yo»i it socmB ulwurd to make the realitj' of spectres matter of doubt, &c.
LETTER LVn.
TO 11. DE SPINOZA.
[This letter is from the same corrospondent on the same subject. lie thinks that spirits must exist in order to oom- pleto the symmetry and perfection of the universe, and that the Cieutor may have made them to bear a greater resem- blance to himself than material bodies ; because, as there are bodies without souls, so may there bo souls without bodies ; because in the upper air there is no place for opaque bodies, and the measureless space between us and the stars cannot be empty, but must be peopled by spiritual beings of such subtle and rare substance as to bo invisible. As to the histories which have convinccfl him of the existence of spirits they may be found in Plutarch (Illust. Viror. Itist.), in Suetonius (VitiB Caosarum), in Jo. Wier (De Procstigiis, &c., and in Op. Om. Amst. 1660), in Lud. Luvater (De Speclris et Ijemuribiis) and in Cardanus (Do Subtilitato, &c.). Melanc- thon, further, a sage personage [ho might have added Luther, a bold man, who threw his ink bottle at the head of the devil upon a certain occasion], believed in the existence of spirits. ' A certain Consul,' he goes on to say, ' a wise and learned man, who is still alive, told me that he had often hoard work going busily forward duiing the night in his mother's brew- house, precisely as when brewing was going on in the day-
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I time. Something of the same kind/ he adds, ' has also oc- I currcd to myself, and can never be forgotten by me, so that on the grounds of personal experience as well as report I am con- vinced of the existence of Spectres.'
As to what is said about evil spirits, which plague and torment miseniblo man in this life and in the liie to come, and of magic, he says, ' I believe such tales to be fables,' &c. &c.]
LETTER LVin.
B. DE SPISOZA TO
Honoured Sir,
Ilcn88urc<l by what you say in your last letter, that friends may have opposite opinions upon indifferent subjects without detriment to their friendship, I shall now give you frankly my opinion of the grounds and narratives from which you conclude that there exist spirits of different kinds, but perhaps none of the feminine gender. One principal reason for my not replying to you sooner was that I had not all the books you quote at bund for reference. I had Pliny and Suetonius, however, and having these I now think I may dispense with the others ; for I am persuaded they would aU be found speaking in the same senseless style, and showing the same love of the uncommon that is wont to arrest the attention and excite Ihe admiration of tbo \*ulgar. I own that I have been even less astonished by the character of the stories I find related, than by the position of those who narrate them ; I am indeed confoiinded to discover men of parts and ingenuity misusing their powers in attempts to persuade mankind of the truth of such absurdities.
Let us leave the writers, however, and 'proceed to discuss
the things themselves ; and the subject of my first argument
21 •
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BENEDICT DU SPINOZA.
of
will be, the relevancy of your conclusions; m^ " 'iaym***^!! the out«et that I, who deny the existence of spe^ -tiw «nd ^\^t Bpirits, eufBcicntly understand the authors who have w -ritton on the subject, and that you, who admit the existence of hob- goblins, do not estimate the \\'riter8 you refer to at more than their projicr worth.
Your firm belief in the existence of male and no less pointed denial of that of female spirits seems to me more like a fancy or imagination than anything else ; or may it be a consequence of the popular "bcliof which still pictures God as of the mule, not of the female sex?* I am surprised that you, who have seen spirits naked, should not have paid more particular attention to the part« which distinguish the sexes, — perhaps it was terror that prevented you from ob- serving accurately ; or was it that there was nothing to distinguish male from female ? You will perhaps reproach me here with turning the question into ridicule rather than meeting it with a serious reply ; were you to do so, however, I should only the more clearly perceive that you hold to your faith so firmly that no one, in j'our opinion at least, could shake it, unless perchance he maintained the perverse and absurd opinion that the world arose by chance. And these words lead me, before entering on the subject more immedi- ately before us, to give you in brief my views of the origin of things.
Has the world arisen by chance P As certain as it is that chance and necessity are two opposites, even so certain is it that he who maintains the world to have been formed by tho Divine Nature denies that it is the effect of chance ; whilst
* In the ancient Indian myttioluf^ Brahm was nt once Potential Bnil PassiTC — luale ttnd female in hinieclf. Vide t'rcu/.cr and (iui(riiiBut, Itc- ligions d'Antiiiuile. The only luodcni wrifer of parU and learning who has «]>okcn of the Deity aRninleand feuinle is Theodore I'lirker. Ho frequently in his later writings refers to OoU a& ' The Father and Motiier of mankind.' — Kd.
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image or like^ holds that God might have left the crealiou confess thi\d uneffected declares, although in other words, be held 'world was producc<l by accident; for it were then creatqfect of a will that might not have been. Hut as such an opinion and such a conclusion are alike and in every respect absurd, it is now we may say universally admitted that the will of God is from eternity and has never been in- different or inefficient. On this account, for this reason must wo of necessity acknowledge — observe this well — that the world is a necessary effect of the Divine Nature, And whether this be spoken of under the title of will, intelligence, or be attempted to be expressed by any other word, it still comes to this that one and the same thing is called by dif- ferent names.
If it be now asked whether the Divine will differs or does not differ from the will of man, the answer must be : that the former has nothing in common with the latter but the word will. Besides this, it is mostly admitted that the will, in- telligence, nature, and essence of God are one and the same thing; to which I add, not to confound the Divine with himian nature, that I do not ascribe to God the mere human attributes of will, understanding, attention, hearing, and the like. Repeating my position : that the world is a necessary effect of the Divine Nature, and no product of chance, will I hope satisfy you that they who maintain the world to be the effect of chance and I are opposed in our views at every point. t Firmly established on this basis as a preliminary, I now go on to examine the grounds on which you infer the exist- ence of ghosta and apparitions of every description. In general and at once I say that j'ou seem to me to proceed on conjectures rather than on solid groimds, and I persuade myself with difficulty that you can accept conjoctxire as de- monstration. But, conjecture or reason, let us see if we may venture to accept either as well-founded.
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BESKHier OE SPHCOX,!.'
Your (iret argument is that apirita must exist in order thut the beauty and BjTiimptry of the universe may be com- pleted. Ueauty, honoured Sir, is not so much a quality in the object regarded as it is an effect in him who regards. Were our sight longer or shorter, or our temperament other than it is, the things that now appear beautiful to us might present themselves as hideous, and those that now seem ugly look beautiful. The fairest hand seen under the mi- croscope is a coarse and frightful object. Many things which look beautiful at a distance arc hideous seen close at hand, and vice versA; so that things considered in themselves or in reference to God are neither beautiful nor ill-favoured. He therefore who should maintain that God made the world so and in such wise that it might be beautiful, must necessarily conclude in one of two ways, either that God created the world with reference to the appetites and eye of man, or the appetites and eye of man with reference to the world. Now, whether we assume the former or the latter of these conclusions, I do not see wherefore on either assumption it should follow that God hod created spectres and spirits also. Perfection and imperfection are words that do not differ much in meaning from beauty and deformity. But not to bo too prolix, I would only ask, which of the two contributes most to the embelllBliment and perfection of the world ; the existence of spirits [whom you presume to be beautiful], or the variety of monstrous shapes, such as Centaurs. Hydras, Harpie.s, Satyrs, Grifhns, Arguses, and the like, that have been imagined ? The world would certainly have been prettily furnished had God contrived and ornamented it with such creatures of the fancy us may be feigned or fashioned in our dreams, but of the nature and purpose of which it is impos- sible to form a conception.
Your second reason for belioi.-ing in the existence of spirits is, that God has made them more truly in his own
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image or likeness than anj' other created thing. But I must confess that I do not understand how or why spirits should be held to have a higher stamp of God upon ihem than other created tilings. This much, however, I do understand : that between the finite and the infinite there is no kind of pro- portion whatever ; so that the distinction between the highest and most perfect creature and God, is no other than that be- tween God and the lowest and vilest of things. IJut this is really beside the question. Had I only as clear a conception of a spectre as I have of a triangle or a circle, I should not hesi- tate to acknowledge that it was created by God ; but inas- much as the ideas I form of spectres agree completely with those I form of hydras, harpies, griffins, and the like, I can- not regard them save as dreams, which diiier as much from God as being differs from non-existence.
Your third reason: 'that inasmuch as there are bodies without souls, so there must be souls without bodies,' seems to me equally absurd. Tell me, I pray you, whether it is not also likely that there are hearing, sight, memory, &c., with- out bodies, inusmucli as there are bodies which do not see, hear, remember, &c. ; or may there be a sphere without com- prising a circle, because circles exist without spheres ?
Your fourth and last reason is the same as the first, to my answer to which I therefore refer you. I shall only observe here that the aboie and lieioic which you conceive in infinite space, is unknown to me, unless indeed you assume the earth to be centre of the universe ; for were the sun or Saturn tlio centre, that which you speak of as above and below would then be referred to one or other of tliese and not to the earth. I conclude, therefore, setting other considerations aside, that the reasons assigned, and any number more of the like sort that might be adduced, woidd convince no one of the existence of spectres or hobgoblins, unless indeed he were of the number of those who, shutting the ears of their understanding, suficr
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thcniselvcs to be carried away by superstition, and arc so much opposed to right reason that to discredit philosophy they prefer putting faith in old women's tales.
As to the narratives Jo which you refer, I hare already said in ray first letter that I by no means denied them, but only the inferences from them. I do not indeed hold them 80 absolutely truthful as not to question many of the circum- stances added to them in the way of ornament as it seems, rather than as moans of supporting the truth of the narratives or strengthening the conclusions drawn from them. I had hoped that you would have given one or another from the multitude of stories extant, that should cither have left less doubt on the mind, or supplied irrefragable testimony to the reality of spirits and apparitions. That the Consul you men- tion should infer the existence of spirits from hearing such noises during the night in his mother's brew-house as are usually heard in the day-time only, appears to mo simply laughable. But I cannot undertake to criticize the piles that have been written on such follies. To be brief, I refer to Julius Coosar alone, who, as Suetonius testifies, ridiculed such things and yet was fortunate (Vide Sueton. cap. 59). Evea so ought every one who properly considers the passions and imaginations of mankind, to laugh such stuff to scorn, in spite of all that Lavater, Wier, and the rest, who have gone dreaming on the subject, may say to the contrary.
LETTER LIX.
TO B. DE SPINOZA.
[The same correspondent writes in reply to Spinoza's last. There are no female spirit*, he thinks, because he does not think spirits engender. Free and necessary he thinks are op- posed; not so fortuitous and necessary. He denies that the
TO B. nE SPINOZA,
377
will of God has never been indifferent, or is always and necessarily efficient, and so on, in dissent from what our philosopher has said. He excases himself from atterapling a demonstration of the existence of spirits or of souls without bodies — here, he opines, we must be content with conjecture and probability. Beauty, ho says, consists in consonance or harmony of parts, and a thing is beuutiful its it is perfect, perfect as it is beautiful. Centaurs, harpies, and hydras are out of place here, the question being of the eternal and tem- poral, infinite and finite, substance and accident, corporeal and spiritual. Spirits, he says, resemble God, because God is a Spirit ; to give as clear an idea of a spirit as of a triangle is impossible.] ' Tell me, I entreat you,' he proceeds, ' whether you have as clear an idea of God — an idea as distinct to your understanding — as the idea you have of a triangle P ' All the philosophers of ancient times believed in the existence of spirit*, and 'among the modems no one denies it.' • • • ' CoDsar, Cicero, and Cato did not laugh at spectres, but de- rided omens and predictions ; and yet, had Julius paid more respect to Spurina's warning on the day he fell, his enemies would have found no opportunity to pierce his body with so many wounds.'
LETTER LX.
n. DE SPINOZA. TO • • •
IIoHOured Sir,
I hasten to reply to your last letter which reachc<l me yesterday. The news of your indisposition would have caused me more uneasiness than it did had I not at the same time heard of your improvement ; I hope that now you are completely recovered.
How difficult it is for two men who start from different
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principles in matters dcpcudiug on muny other things to agree und think alike, wuuld appear very plainly from this correspondence of ours, did no other reoiton show that such must needs be the cose. Tell mc, I pray you, if you have ever either personally known, or in the course of your read- ing met with any account of a philosopher who maintained that the world hud arisen by accident in the sense m which you understand the words, viz. : that God in fashioning the world had a predetermined aim in view and yet failed to ac- complLsh it Y I cannot myself conceive how it could ever have come into the mind of man to imagine such a thing. And I must add that I experience verj- much of the same difficulty when I see you would have mc believe that the for- tuitous and the nocessaiy are not opposed to one another. So «K)n ns I apprehend that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, I deny that chance has hud any- thing to do with this truth ; even so, when I see that heat is a necessary effect of combustion, du T put accident out of the question. To me it seems equally unreasonable to speak ol' necessary and free as oppositcs ; for no one can deny that God knows himself and everything else/rw/y, yet all by common consent admit thut God knows himself iicrrsinri/i/ also. You, therefore, seem to mo to recognize no distinction between compulsion or force and [philosophical] necessitj'. Thut man wills to live, to love, &c., is not compulsorj-, but is neces- sary— and much more is it that God wiUs to bo, to know and to act. If, in addition to whut has now been said, you wiU further reflect that Indifference is nothing but ignorance or doubt, and that Will is a constant definite power, and a necessary property of intelligence, you will see that my words express and in every jwrtiuular agree witli truth. Did wo affirm that God could will not to will a thing, and was competent not to midorstand it, we .nlioidd ascribe different kinds of liberty to God — one necessary, another indifferent ;
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and should then conceive the will of God as distinct from his essence and understanding, and so fall from one absurdity int-o another and another.
The attention I requested of yoii in my last does not seem to have appeared necessary to you ; and this is the reason why, not having fixed your thoughts on the main question, you have passed by unnoticed that which is in fact most essential to the whole matter.
When you observe that if I deny to God vital activity, hearing, seeing, attention, &c., and refuse to concede these 08 eminently extant in God, you do not then understand God OS I conceive him, and this leads me to surmise that you do not believe there are any higher perfections than those implied in the attributes you mention. I do not wonder at this ; for I believe that were a triangle gifted with powers of thought and speech it would in like raamior maintain that God is eminently triangular, as woidd a circle that the Divine nature was eminently circular. On tlie same ground would each indi- vidual thing ascribe its own qualities or attributes to God, con- stitute itself in the imago of God, and hold everything else less favoured or misshapen.
The limits of a letter and want of time do not allow mo to enter at length on my views of the Divme Nature, or fully to discuss the questions j'ou put to mo — to say nothing of tho fact that to start difficulties is to give no good reasons. That we do much in the world on conjecture is very true, but that we have our meditations from conjecture is false. In common life we follow verisimilitudes, Ijut in our speculations we pro- ceed under the constraint of truth. A man might die of himger and thirst, did he resolve neither to eat nor drink until he had obtained complete demonstration that meat and drink would do him good. But this is not so with thouglit and reflection. On the contrary, wo have to be on our guard against admitting anything as true which is only likely or
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probable ; for when we have accepted one falsehood, an in- finite nombcr of others may follow in its train. We are not to conclude, however, because human and di^•ine science are greatly open to diversity of view and to controversy, that all the subjects comprised in them are uncertain. Some men are so possessed by the spirit of contradiction, that they even scout geometrical demonstrations. Sextus Empiricus and other sceptics wliom you quote declare it false that a whole is greater than a part, and treat all the other accredited axioms in the same way.
But granting that from defect of demonstration we have to content ourselves with probabilities, I say that the reason- ing should in every case have such verisimilitude that, although we might feel authorized to question, yet we ought not to feel justified in denying its cogency ; for whatever can be defini- tively contradicted or denied is nearer akin to the false than the true. If, for example, I say that Peter is alive because I saw him alive and well yesterday, this is likely to be true, and no one will contradict me ; but if another saya that he saw Peter in a fainting fit yesterday, and that he died in consequence of the seizure, this will have the effect of making my stilt cment appear luitrue and laj-ing me open to contradic- tion. Having alrcmly shown your conjectures about spirits and hobgoblins to be false, to have nothing of likelihootl about them, I find nothing worthy of comment in your reply to what I have said.
To your question whether I have as clear an idea of God OS I have of a triangle, I answer affirmatively — Yes ; but if you ask whether I can form an image or picture of God as clear as tlint I funn of a (rianpic, I answer No. Forwe cannot picture God to ourselves, but we can verily understand him.* I have here to observe, however, that I do not say I entirely know God, but that I apprehend some of his attributes, — some I * 'Oeumenim dod imsginari, sed quidem Inlelligore pouumus.'
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381
say, not^aU, nor even the greater number of these ; and it is certain that ignorance even of the greater number does not prevent mo from having a knowledge of some. AVhen I first studied Euclid's dements, I soon imderstood that the threo angles of any triauglo were equal to two right angles, and I clearly apprehended this property of the triangle, although ignorant of many other propositions.
As regards ghosts and hobgoblins, I have never yet heard of any intelligible property belonging to them, but much that .was fanciful and that no one could undei-stand. When you say that spectres or uppnritions in this lower region (I follow your expressions, although I am ignorant that the matter of this lower sphere is less excellent than that of any superior region) are composed of most rare, subtle, and attenuated sub- stance, you seem to me onlj' to be Bpeaking of gossamer, vapours, or the air. To tell me they are invisible gives me no more in- formation than if you spoke of what they are not, not of what they are — unless perchance j'ou mean that they make them- selves visible or invisible at their pleasure, and that imagin- ation here, as in all other impossible instances, meets with difBculties.
I do not attach great value to the authority of Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates in such matters. I should, however, have been astonished had you quoted Epicurus, Democritus, Lucretius, or any of the atomista. It is not to be wondered at that they who contended for occult qualities, intentional species, substantive forms, and a thousand other vanitie.s, be- lieved in spectres and apparitions, demons and hobgoblins, nnd gave credence to old women's tales, that they might weaken the authority of Democritus, of whose good name and fame they were so envious that they burned all the writings he had divulged with so much reputation. If you are deter- mined to pin your faith on them, what reason have you for refusing assent to the miracles of the holy virgin and all
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the sainte, narrated so circumstantially by many celebrated philosophcrB, theologians, and historians, and of which a hundred may bo quotetl for every one related by the older writers '< But, most excellent Sir, I have proceeded to greater lengths than I had intended ; and trouble you no further with views and conclusions which I know you will not assent to, because I see you adopt principles totally different from those I make my guides.
LETTER LXI.
• • • [O. H. SCUALLBr] to B. DE SPINOZA.
[In this letter the writer expresses his belief that much of the difToronco apparent between philosophers is verbal — is about terms more than things. The principal sub- ject on which ho asks for information is that of free-will. He is evidoutly a careful student of Descartes.]
[Tbc Uoguo, Oct, 1C74.]
LETTER LXII.
n. DE SriNOZA TO [O. H. SCHALLER, M.D.] la reply to the above, oa Froedom knd Neaeasity. Experienced Sir !
Our friend J. R.* forwarded to me the letter j'ou were good enough to write me, together with the criticism of your friend t on the views of Descartes and myself concern- ing free-will, both of which, I assure you, were very agree- able to me. And although my health at present is indiffer- ent, and I am much taken up with other affairs, still your
* Johu RieawerU, bookacller of Amstenlam, to whom Spinoza's papers were sent immediately after his death, and who published the Opera Post- huma. — Ed,
t W. von Tachimhaus. — Ed.
n. DE SPIXOZA TO 0. H. SCHAM.KK.
383
courtesy and friondliness to me, as woU as your love of truth, which I value above uU things, induce mo to accede to your wishes, and reply to the extent of my ability. I do not ex- actly know, however, what your friend can expect from me previous to appealing to experience and giving bis best at- tention to the subject. His proposition concerning the differ- ence between two persons, one of whom affirms what the other denies, is true if he understands that they, whilst using the same words, are yet thinking of different things; several in- stances of the sort I lately sent to our friend J. R., and I have written to him begging him to communicat« them to you.
I go on to the definition of freedom which your friend Bays is mine ; but I know not whence he had it. I say that a thing is frre which exists and acts by the sole necessity of its nature ; and I call that con8lraine<l which is determined to exist and to act in a certain definite way by something ex- ternal to itself. Thus : God, though existing necessarily, exists freely, because he exists by the necessity of his nature alone. So, also, God understands himself and all things freely, because it follows from the necessity of his nature alone that he understands himself and all things else. You see, there- fore, that I place freedom not in any free decree of the will, but in free necessity.
But descending to things of creation, all of which are de- termined to exist and act in a certain and definite manner, lot us take such a simple thing as a stone by way of illustra- tion. Impelled by an external cause, it receives a certain quantity of motion, whereby, the impulse of the external cause ceasing, it is necessarily moved. This assumption and continuance of motion on the part of the stone is, therefore, compelled, not necessary, because it must bo defined from or referred to the impulse of the external moving cause. Now, what is here said of the stone is to be understood of every in-
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BEKKDICr I>K SPINOZA.
dividual thing, although it be conceived as compound and pos- aesaed of varioua aptitudes, because every individual object is determined to existence and action in a certain definite and determinate way.
Now conceive, further, that the stone as it proceeds in its motion thinks and knows that it is striving so fur as in it lies to continue in motion ; inasmuch as it is only conscious of its endeavour and in nowise indifferent, it will believe itself to be most free and to persevere in its motion from no other cause than that it wills to do so. And this is precisely that human freedom of which all boast themselves possessed, but which consists in this alone : that men are conscious of their desires and ignorant of the causes by which these are de- termined. Thus the infant believes that it freely seeks the mother's breast ; the angry boy that ho is free to seek revenge > the timid that he freely takes to flight ; the tipsy miin that he said things of free motive, which afterwards when sober ho wishes ho had not uttered ; bo too the foolish man, the gossip, and others of the same sort believe that they act by the free decision of their minds, and not by any blind im- pulse. And inasmuch as this prejudice is innate in all men, it is not so readily escaped from as is imagined. For though experience siilHciently and more than sufliciently touches that men are able to do nothing less than to moderate their ap- petites, and that often, when torn by conflicting emotions, they see the better yet follow the worse, they still believe themselves to bo free ; this comes to pass simply because tbey desire certain things slightly, tlie appetite for which they con easily control by calling to mind some other thing familiarly present to the memory.
In what precedes, I have, unless I deceive myself, satis- factorily explained my views of free and forced necessity, and of that freedom of which man feigns himself possessed ; from which the objections raised by your friend may readily
B. DE. SPINOZA TO O. H. SCHALI.EK.
385
be answered. As to what he says with Descartes, ' that he is free who is constrained bj^ no outward cause,' I reply. If by constraint he means action against will, I admit that in cer- tain things we are under no kind of compulsion, and in this respect are free. But if by constraint he xmderstands action, though not against wiU yet of necessity (as I have explained it ab(jvo), I deny that wo are free in anything.
Your friend, however, affirms on the contrary that we can use our roason with perfect freedom, i. c. absolutely and without respect to anything else; and hereon he takes his stand with sufficient — I will not say with too much — confi- dence. *AVho,' ho asks, 'without a contnidiction of his proper consciousness can deny that ho is free to think hia thoughts, to writ« what ho pleases, or to leave writing alone P ' But I should much like to know what the consciousness is of which he speaks, — whether it is other than that which I have explained by tho example of the stone. I, for my part, and that I may not contradict my consciousness, that is, that I may not contradict reason and experience and yield to ignorance and prejudice, donj' that I possess any obsoluto power of thinking, and that at pleasure I can vnH or not will to do this or that — to write for example. I ap- peal to his own consciousness, as he must doubtless have experienced, that in his sleep he has no power to think that he wills to writoor not to write, and that when dreaming he wills to write, he has the power not to dream that ho wills to write. I believe, also, he must have learned by experience that the mind is not at uU tirae.'i equally apt iVir thoughts of the same object ; but, as tho body is now and then more or less apt to have an image of this or that object excited in it, 80 the mind is more or less apt at different times for the con- templation of this or another object.
When he go«.« on to say, further, that the causes which induce him to apply his mind to writing uIno lead him to
26
386
BEXEDtCT DB SmfOZA.
write, though they do not compel him to write ; this signifios no more, as you will see if you weigh the matter irajMir- tially, than that his mind wum at this time in such a state tliat causes which, hud he been under the influence of some violent mental emotion, would have hod no power to move him to write, now sufficed to make him do so ; in other words, causes which at another time would not have induced or constrained him, now sufficed to induce or constrain him to write, not against his will, however, bat necessarily to experience tho desire to write.
When he proceeds to say, yet further, that ' were we moved or constrained by external causes, no one could pos- sibly acquire virtuous habits ; ' I answer that I know not who may have told him we cannot form virtuous resolutions, can- not act of sure and steadfast mind by simple necessity, but only under the decrees of free-will.
And when he winds up by sajHng that ' if this be so, then is ever)' kind of wickedness excusable,' I ask. What follows from this ? For bad men arc neither more nor less to be feared, more nor less dangerous, when they are bad through necessity, than they are through free-will. But on this topic be good enough to refer him to parngniph.s 1 and "2, Part II., Chap. 8, of ray Appendix to the Cartesian Principles.*
• § 1. 'The will of Oodwhcrewitli lie wills to love liimsclffoUowB necoi- sarily from tlic infinite iiitallignioe wherewith he umlcnitanda him«clf. But how or in what wny the eascnco, llic underetnnding, and the love of Cii>d for himself are dislinguishn), paaso* our ooinprchenaiun, ftud are Hiuong the things we de- sire to know. And when I say this I am not unmindful of the word— prr- tniuilit-ij to wit — which theologians call in so oonstantly to explain the matter. But though I do not ignore the wonl yet am I ignorant of its meaning here ; neither can I form any clear and definite conception of what it implies, al- though I firmly liclicve tliat in that most blessed vigion of Deity which Ood promisestto the faithful, ho will reveal thi« to his own.'
§ 2. Will and I'owcr on Ihiiigh extraneous are not distinguisheil from the Intelle«l of Ood. ' For (icxl ha^i not only decreed things to exist, but also that tliey exist with such and such natures ; that is, that tlieir essence and exiat- enoe should dc;)end on the will and power of Goil. From this we clearly and distinctly i>erceivo that the Intellect of Ood, and his will and jiuwer whereby he created all things, and undersuinils and preserve* or loves them,
B. UE SPINOZA TO W
■ In conclusion I would ask your friend who makes these
I objections against me, how he conceives human virtue, which,
as he thinks, arises from the free decree of the mind, can
consist with the preordinations of God ? Does ho own with
Descartes that he knows not how to reconcile them, then I
I say he woidd fix me on the horns of the dilemma on which he himself is fast. If you wiU but examine ray ideas with due attention I think you will find them in consonance with all we know.
LETTER LXin.
• * • TO B. DE SPINOZA FKOM W. E. VON TSCH1RNHAU8.
[From a correspondent until very lately unnamed, but now known to be W. E. von Tschirnhuus, urging Si^inoza to publish his works, and asking various questions — on motion, on the difference between a true and an adequate idea, &c., Jan., 1675.]
LETTER LXIV.
B. DK SPIXOZA TO WALTER B. VON TSCHIRNHAUS.
Noble Sir !
Between a true and an adoquato idea I acknowledge no difference, save that the word ' true ' refers to the agree- ment of the idea with its ideate [or object], the word ' ade- quate ' to the nature of the idea itself; so that there is really no difference between a true and an adequate idea beyond ex- trinsic relationship. But that I may know from what idea of a thing among many all the properties of an object may be deduced, I have to take care that the definition or idea of the
nr« in nowise (IJHtinKuiatioii rrom one anotliar, bill arc di^tias^isboJ only in re«pcct ofuur thouylita or uudcrslancliii^.'
25 •
38H BENKDICr DE SPINOZA.
thing expresses its cflicicut cause. For examiile, on proceed- ing to investigate tlio properties of the circle, I inquire whether, on the assumption that it consists of an infinite number of rectangles, I can thence deduce all its properties, and 80 assure myself that this assumi)tion or idea involves the eflBcicnt cause of the circle ? and finding that it does not, I ask again : whether a circle is not a figure described by a line one of the points of which is fixed and the other moveable ? And now seeing that this dofiuition expresses tlie efficient caase, I know that I can thence deduce all the properties of a circle, &c. So, also, when I define God to bo a being con- summately perfect, as this definition does not cxi)ress an efiicient cause (for by an efficient cause I understand a cause intrinsic as well as extrinsic), I cannot thence infer all the pro- perties of God ; but when I define God as a Being absolutely infinite, that is, as substance constituted of an infinity of attributes each of which expresses an eternal and infinite essence [then do I form to myself an adequate idea of God]. Vide Ethics., Pt i., Def. G.
I shall take another opportunity to say something of motion and method, &c. • * *
LETTER EXV.
G. H. SC'HALI.EU, M.I)., TO H. I)E SI'INOZA. (Troposing four questions on the attributi's of Oo<l for goUition.) Most Excellent Sir,
I sliould bhish for my long silence, whence you might supjwsc mo forgetful and ungrateful for all your favours and kindnesses to me, did I not know that your generous and forgiving nature (generosa tua humanitas) rather leads you to excuse than to find fault with your friends. But I knew that to interrupt you in your serious me<litations without sufficient cause was really to prejudice the interests
C. It. sritAI.LEU TO B. DE SI'INOZA.
3R9
of your friends. For this reason have I been silent, content to be assured through other channels that you were well. Tlie cnust! of my present ^v^iting is to let you know that our friend Ilcrr von Tscliiruhnus is now in England, and that on three several occasions in letters to me he has de- sired me to salute you most respectfully, and to requej^t of you a solution of the following difficulties, viz. : First, whether by ostensible and direct deinonstrution — not by reduction to the impossible— it can bo shown that we may have a knowledge of more of the attributes of God than thought and exten- sion? • • •
2nd, Since the understanding of God in its essence aa well as its existence differs from our understanding it can have nothing in common with ours, and therefore (by Eth. Pt i. Prop. 3*) cannot bo the cause of our understanding.
3rd, You say, ' Nothing in nature is clearer than that each particular entity must be conceived under some attribute (and this I perfectly understand), and that tie more of reality or actual being it possesses the greater the number of attributes it reckons.' (Eth. Pt i. Schol. to Prop. 10.) From this it would seem to follow that there are beings which have three, four, or a greater number of attributes, although wo might gather from your demonstrations that each .several Entity owned or was constituted of two attributes only, viz.: a certain deter- minate attribute of God and the idea of this attribute.
4th, I would gladly be referred to instances of things immediately prwluced by God, and of others mediately pro- duced by a certain infinite modification. Thought and ex- tension appear to me to be instances of the former; conscious- ness of thought, and motion in space, to furnish examples of the latter.
These are the topics on which Von Tschimhaus desires
* * Things that hnve noUiiog in oommon cannot be the obum of one snolbcr.'
390
BKA'KUICT Vr. SnUiOKA.
explanations firom your worship, should leisure permit you to favour his request. I may here inform jou that the Uonourublc Mr lioylc and Mr Oldenburg had formed a strange conception of your person and character (Persona), which Von Tschimhaus not only corrected and sot to rights, but added grounds on which they have both been again led to think not only most worthily and favourably of you, but also of your Traetatus Thoologico-Politicu«. I have ventured to communicate so much for your guidance, assured, as I hope you are, that I nm always ready to serve you —
I am, most excellent Sir (nobilissimus vir),
Your obedient Servant,
O. II. SaiALLER.* Amstetdmni, July 25, 1(>75.
P. S. Mynheer a Gent and J. Rieuwcrts desire to be re- membered to you.
LETTER LXYI.
II. nU SPINOZA TO G. H. 8CHALLER, M.D. licply to the forc^ing. Ejecelkiit Sir,
I rejoice that you have at length found an oppor- timity to send me a letter — always most welcome to me. Let me bog of j'ou to write often to me.
I go at once to the difficulties you mention ; and as regards the first, I say that the human mind can only have cognizance of that whifh involves an idea of the body existing in act, or of that which can bo deduco<l from tliis idea. For the power of each indi\'idual thing is defined from its essence alone
• Thta letter till Dr van VIot«m wrote had alway* been given to Dr Meyer. Dr Schttllcr is the writer, Von Tschirnhnun the questioner tliroii|;h him. The be^inninK of tlic letter and the concluding pamgrajih arc from Van Vlottn's Bupplcment.
B. DE SnXOZA TO O. 11. SCHALLER.
391
(Ethics, Pt iii. Pr. 7); now the essence of the mind consists in this nlono, that it is the idea of the body existing in act (Eth., Pt ii. Pr. 13) ; hence the mind's power of conception extends to that alone which this idea of the Ixxly involves, or to so much as can be deduced from this idea. But the idea of the body involves and expresses no other attribute belong- ing to God save thought and extension ; for its ideate or object — the lx)dy, has God for its cause (Eth., Pt ii. Pr. 6), in so far as God is considered under his attribute of extension and no other ; and this idea of the body, therefore, involves cognition of God in so far only a.s he is considered under his attribute of extension. This idea, moreover, as it is a modi- fication of thought, has God also for its cause, in so far as ho is a tiinking being (by the same Proposition), and is not con- sidered under any attribute but thought ; and so the idea of this idea involves the cognition of God in so far as he is con- sidered under the attribute of thought and of no other. It follows, therefore, that the human mind, or the idea of the hu- man body, includes and expresses no attribute of God other than the two particularly named. From these two attributes, indeed, or their affections, no other attribute of God can be inferred or expressed (by Pr. 10, Pt i.). I therefore conclude that the human mind can have cognizance of no attribute of God but thought and extension — the proposition from which I started.
As to what you add when you ask, whether as many worlds must not be presumed as there are attributes ? I refer you to the Scholium to Proposition 7 of Part ii. of the Ethics, for an answer. That proposition may however, and even more readily, be demonstrated by the reductio ad absurdum, a form of demonstration which I am wont to adopt rather than any other when the proposition is of a negative kind, because it is more congruous with the nature of such nega- tive propositions. But as you aak for that which is jxntilice
392 PEXEDICT DE SI'IXOZA.
ouly, I jjuss on to another of your queries wliicli is to this effect : ' \Micthor u thing can be pro<luced by another thing different in esHcnec as well as existence, seeing that things which differ from one another have nothing in common ? ' But inasmuch as individual things, save and except such as are produced by their like, differ from their causes both in essence and existence, I can sec no room here for doubt.
The sense in which I understand that God is the efficient cause of all things, both as to essence and existence, I think I have sufficiently explained in the Scholium and Corollary to Proposition 25 of the first part of the Ethics.
The axiom involved in the Scholium to Proposition 10, Part i., OS I suy at the end of the Scholium, is arrived at from the idea we have of a Being absolutely infinite, and not be- cause there are or may bo entities possessed of three, four, or a greater number of attributes.
To conclude, the examples you desire are, as regards the first kind, to be found in the absolutely infinite Intelligence as respects thought ; in motion and rest as respects exten- sion. As regards the second : I instance the a.spect of the universe at large, w^hich, though varying in infinite ways, still continues ever the same. On this see the Scholium to Lemma 7, preceding Proposition 14, Part ii. of the Ethics.
In w^hat I have now said, most excellent Sir, I think I have an8were<l the difficulties proposed by yourself and our friend. Should you still feel doubts of anytliing, however, I hope you will not hesitate to say so, and give me an oppor- tunity— if I may — of removing them. Meantime, fare- well, &c.
Tho Uagao, July, 1C75.
393
LETTER LXVI. (a.)
G. H. SCIIALLER TO B. HE SPINOZA. From Van Vlotcn's Supplement.
Mont Leanied ami Ercellent Sir, liexpectefi Patron,
I hope ray last was duly delivered to you, and that you contitiuD in good health. I hiul heard nothing fro:ii von Tschimhuus for nhout three months, and had begiiu to fear that ho might liavo had some mishap in his jouniey from England to France, But now I have letters from hicn, and think I ought — as indeed he desires me to do — to inform your worship, with his respects, that he had reached Paris in safety ; that tlicro he met with M. Huygens, with whom, as I have admonished you, he had had a misunderstanding, but that this hud been accommodated, and ho was now on tlie best of terms with him. He had spoken of your worship with M. Huygens, who, in his turn, spoko in high terms of you, say- ing that he had lately procured n copy of the Tractatua Thoologico-Politicus, which was highly commendetl by many in those parts, and much inquired after. He was further anxious to know whether there were any other works by the same hand extant. Yon Tschirnhaus informed him that he knew of nothing more than the Two Parts of the Cartesian Principles, * • •
To the objections I lately forwarded to you, von Tschirnhaus says that he has now, and with further reflection, discovered the more intimate meaning of the passages that had puzzled him, &c. • • • Von Tschirnhaus informs me, further, that ho had met with a gentleman in Paris of singulur erudition, very well versed in the variotis sciences, and quite free from vulgar theological prejudices, Leibnitz by name, with wliom lie liad contracted a close intimacy, and with whom he continued to cultivate his intellectual powers. With moral philosophy he reports Leibnitz to be thoroughly conversant : all morality.
394
BENEDICT HE SPIKOZA.
without allowing anything to the emotions, he bases ex- clusively on reason. In physics and motapljysics, in his studies of God and the mind of man, von Tschimhaus con- tinues, ho finds his new friend verj' far advanced ; and ho concludes by saying that he thinks this accomplished person highly worthy to have the writings of your worship com- municated to him — your leave to do so having first been ob- tained ; for he thinks that much advantage would accrue to their author from this, as he would show more at length, were you pleased to accede to his wishes. Do you not consent, however, he would have you assured that, in conformity with the understanding entered into, he will not even allude to your views. Leibnitz, he says, prizes your Tractatus Theo- logico-Politicus very highly, and, if you remember, he formerly wrote a letter to you on the subject.* I therefore request of you, dear Sir, unless some special reason stands in the way of your granting my request, that you will be pleased in the excess of your goodiiess to authorize me to give von T. the permission craved, &c.
Dr Bresser, just returned from Olives, has sent a large quantity of the ale of his native country hither; and I hinted to him that he should send half a barrel to your worship. This, with the most friendly readiness, he at once engaged to do.
Begging you to overlook the rudeness of my style and poor penmanship, but to give me an opportunity of serving you in any way. to show how much I am your most obedient servant, I am, &o.
G. IT. SCHALLER. Amsterdam, Nov, 14, 1676.
• This letter of Lcilmitz, had it only come down to us, would have l>een n curiosity, in contrast with what he has indited elsewhere in couoection with Spinoza, and when he waa writing for the ladies. — Eo,
395
LETTER LXVI. (b.)
B. DE SPINOZA TO O. H. 8CHALLKR, M.D.
Learned Sir, esteemed Friend .'
It was extremely gratifying to me to learn by your letter which I received to-day, that you were well and that Ton Tschirnhaus had accomplished his journey to Franco in safety. In the conversation he had with M. nuygona about me, he appears, in my opinion, to have comported himself with great prudence, and I am very glad to know that ho found occasion to bring his own business to the conclusion he desired.
As to the contradiction he thinks he discovers between Axiom 4, Pt i., and Proposition 5, Pt ii., I, for my part, cannot see anj'. In the Proposition I affirm that the essence of every idea has God for its cause, God being considered as a thinking entity ; and in the Axiom I say that knowledge (cognitio) of an eflfect or an idea, depends on our knowledge or idea of the cause. But, to say the truth, I do not quit* follow the meaning of your letter in this matter, and I rather think that either in your letter or in the copy of my MS. sent you, there ia some mistake through a slip of the pen. You say, for instance, that I affirm in Proposition 5, that the ideate is the efficient cause of the idea, the fact being that this is the very thing I expressly deny. The con- fusion has, doubtless, arisen from incorrect transcription, so that it were useless to proceed further in the discussion of the matter at this time. I shall wait patiently till you have ex- plained yourself more clearly and I know that you have a correct copy of my papers.
I believe I know, by letters, the Leibnitz of whom von Tschirnhaus writes, but why he who was councillor at Frank- fort has gone to France I know not. In so far as I could judge by his letters, he appeared to me a man of liberal mind,
396 BENEDICT DE SPINOZA.
and extremely well versed in science of every kind. But that I at this early day should intrust him with my writings does not seem to mc prudent. I would first know what he is doing in France, and have the opinion of von Tschirnhaus after he has known him somewhat longer and become better acquainted with his moral character.
For the rest, pray salute our friend von Tschirnhaus from me, and say that if I can be of use to him in any way he has only to command me ; he will find me disposed to do every- thing he wishes. I am glad to hear of the safe return of our esteemed friend Bresscr; and for the promised ale I send him, through you, my best thanks.
I have not yet tried your and your relation's process, neither do I believe that I shall ever bring my mind to try it ; for the more I think of the matter the more thoroughly persuaded I am that you did not make any gold, but only separated the small quantity of the metal that was combined with the antimony. But of this and other matters want of time prevents me from speaking at greater length at present. Meanwhile, if I can assist you in any way, you will always find me, yours, dear Sir, with all friendly de- votion,
B. D'espinosa.
[The Hague, Nov. 18th, 1G75.]
LETTER LXVII.
W. E. VON TSCHIRNHAi;.S IX) B. DE SPINOZA.
DUHngmshed Sir !
I have now to ask of you a demonstration of your proposition to the efTect: that the mind can apprehend no attributes in God save those of thought and extension. It seems to me obvious that an opposite inference might be
W. E. VOS TSCHIRXIIAOS TO B. DB SPINOZA. 397
drawn from the Scliolium to Proposition 7, Part ii., of tho Ethics ; but this, perhaps, is only because I have not properly understood the meaning of this Scholium. I have therefore determined to lay before you, dear Sir, the grounds of my inference, and beg you with your wonted kindness to come to my assistance wherever you see that I have not properly un- derstood you.
Although I gather plainly enough from the seventh Pro- position and its Scholium that the world is certainly one, it seems to me no less clear from the terms, that it is mani- fested in an infinite number of ways, and hence that particidar things arc also expressed in numberless modes. Whence it seems to follow that the modification which constitutes my mind, and the modification which constitutes my body, though it be one and the same modification, is still expressed in an in- finite number of ways, one mode by thought, another by exten- sion, a third by an attribute of God unknown to me, and so on to fcfinity, inasmuch as an infinity of attributes belong to God, and the order and connection of the modifications appear to be the same in all. Hence now arises the question : Why should the mind (which represents a certain modification, this same modification being expressed not only in extension but in an infinity of other modes) perceive the body (a modi- fication expressed by extension) by the attribute of extension only and by no other ? But time does not allow me to enter further into this subject ; and all my doubts may perhaps dis- appear with further reflection.
Irf>ndon, Aug., lO'ri.
398
LETTER LXVIII.
B. DE SPINOZA TO W. E. VOS TSCHIRNHAUS. (A firagmont in reply to the preceding.)
NobU Sir,
• * * In answer to your objection I say, that although each individual thing is expressed in an infinity of modes in the infinite mind of God, still that the infinite ideas whereby it is expressed cannot constitute one and the same mind of a particular thing, but infinities, inasmuch as these infin- ite ideas have no reciprocal connection, a point I have shown in the Scholium to Proposition 7, Part ii., of the Ethics, and in Proposition 10, Part i., of the same. If you but give a little attention to these you will find all your diificultics vanish.
The Uague, Aug., 1676.
LETTER LXIX.
[w. B. VON ■ISCHIRXHATJS] TO B. DE SFINOZA. (A fragment) Dear Sir,
* • • I must say, in the first place, that I find great difiiculty in conceiving how the existence of bodies having form and motion can be demonstrated a priori; since in extension, the matter being considered absolutely, nothing of the kind occurs. In the second, I beg to be informed by you how I am to understand those words which you will re- member in your letter on The Infinite,* ' Yet do they not con- clude that such things exceed all number by reason of the multi- tude of their parts.' Mathematicians, when speaking of these infinities, appear to me always to demonstrate that the multi-
* Vide I<etter xxix.
B. DB SPINOZA TO W. E. VON TSCUIRNHAU8. 399
tude of parte is such as to exceed all assignable number ; aud in the example of the two circles you cite in the some place, you do not seem to me to accomplish the demonstration you propose. You only show that no conclusion is arrived at in consequence of the excessive number of the parts of the inter- posed space, and because we have not its maximum and mini- mum ; but you do not demonstrate, as you proposed to do, that the conclusion is not come to because of the multitude of parts..
May 2, 1676.
LETTER LXX.
B. DB SPINOZA TO W. E. VON TSCUIRNHAUS.
Noble Sir,
The reason why, in my letter on the Infinite, I say that the conception of an infinity of parts is not come to from their multitude, is obvious from this : that were it derived from their multitude we should not bo able to conceive any greater multitude of parts, but that the multitude of the parts as given, must be the greatest possible, which is absurd. For in the entire sjiace between two circles having different centres, we conceive a two- fold greater multitude of jMirts than in half of the same space ; yet may the number of parts in the hali" as well as in the whole be greater than any possible assign- able number.
From space, again, as conceived by Descartes, ^tz., a quiescent mass, it is not merely difficult to demonstrate the existence of bodies, as you say, but altogether imfwssible. For quiescent matter, as it is in itself, will continue in its state of quiescence, — will be aroused to no kind of motion, onleas excited by a more powerful external cause ; and it was for this reason that formerly I did not hesitate to declare the
400
BENEDICT DR SPINOZA.
Cartesian principles of natural things to be useless, not to say absurd.
Ila^ue, May, 1G76.
LETTER LXXI.
W. E. T8CHIRNHAUS TO B. DE SFINUZA.
Learned Sir,
Will you kindly gratify mo by showing how, from the idea of extension in conformity with your views, a multi- plicity of things may be demonstrated (i jiriori f You will recollect, doubtless, that Descartes says he can deduce this from extension in no other way than by supposing it the effect of motion excited bj' God in space. He therefore seems to me not to have deduced the existence of bodies from matter at rest, unless we are to exclude the notion of God as a monng cause. You have yourself shown that multiplicity of being does not follow necessarily It priori from the essence of God. AVhat Descartes would have demonstrated he himself believed to surpass man's powera of comprehension. I ask a solution of the dilEculty from you, aware as I am that you have your own views on the subject, — unless perchance you have some weighty reason ibr keeping your opinion secret. Had there been nothing of this kind standing in the way, indeed, I can- not doubt but that you would already have said something on the subject. Only be assured that \*'hether you impart or do not impart your \'iews to me, my affection for you will remaiu uiialtere<l.
My reasons for the particular inquiry I now make are these : because in the mathematics I have always observed that from a thmg considered in itself, i. e. from the definition of a particular thing, we are competent to deduce one pro- perty only ; and if we desire to arrive at several properties, it is necessary to refer the thing defined to something else ;
B. DE SPINOZA TO W. E. VON TSCHIRNHAUS.
401
and then it is that from the conjunction of definitions new properties arc evolved. Tlius : do I consider the peri- phery of a circle only, I shall be able to conclude nothing more than that it is everywhere alike or uniform ; a property by which indeed it differs essentially from the properties of all
Mother curves, but one from which I can deduce no others. If I refer to something else however — to radii, for instance, drawn from the centre to the circumference of a circle, or to two or
leeveral intersecting lines within its area, I am competent thenoe to deduce many other properties. Now this would seem opposed in some sort to the Kith Proposition of the Ethics, and generally to the first book of your Treatise, in which it is assumed as known that from the definition of on individual thing a variety of propertiea may be deduced. But, this appears to me imfKJssible if we do not refer the thing definefl to some other thing ; so that I cannot see in what way from any attribute considered in itself — from infinite ex- tension, for example, [tbe idea of] variety among bodies can arise. Should you also think that this cannot take place from one attribute considered singly, but may do so from all taken together, I would gladly be informed by you on the matter, and learn how it were to be understood. Farewell. Pari*, 1G76.
LETTER LXXri.
B. DE SPINOZA TO W. E. VON TSCHIRNHAUS.
(In amwer to the last.)
Noble Sir,
You ask whether variety or multiplicity in things
can be deduced a priori from the idea of extension alone P I
think I have already shown witli sufficient clearness that this
2«
m
40*>
BENEDICT DE SPINMZA.
is impossible ; consequently that tho matter was budly defined by Descartes from extension, and that it must necessarily be explained by an attribute that expressed an etemul and infinite essence. Cut I shall, perhaps, if life bo spared me, speak wath you on this matter more fully at another time ; for so far I have had no opportunity of bringing anything that bears upon the subject into order.
But when you add that we are only competent to deduce a single property from the definition of a thing considered in itself, I say that this may perhaps be so in connection with the most simple things or with the entities of reason (to which I add figures), but not with real things. For, from my defin- ition alone of God as a Being to whose essence belongs existence, I can conclude as to many of his properties, such as that he exists necessarily, that he is one, immutable, infinite, &c., &c. To this instance I could add many others, but for the present quit the subject.
I beg you to inquire whether the pamphlet of Huet against the Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, about which I wrote before, has yet been published ; and if it has, be good enough to send me a copy. Further, to let me know if you have heard anything of recent discoveries in the subject of refraction. Farewell, noble Sir, and continue to hold mo in your best regard.
The Hague, July, 167(5.
LETTER LXXIII.
Al.KEKT Bl'IUill [lllTRCK BELOICE] TO U. UK SPINOZA.
[Albert Burgh was a young gentleman who appears to have lived for a time under the same roof with Spinoza, to have had instructions from him, for whose use he first ar- ranged the Cartesian Principles, and with whose family he was well acquainted. Having finished his home-education,
ALBERT BURGH TO B. DE SPINOZA.
403
and about to set forth on a tour to the south of Europe, Burgh engaged to give Spinoza an account of anything he met with that particularly iuterest<>d him in the course of his travels. His very first letter opens with the startling intel- ligence of his ' reception, through the infinite mercy of God, into the bosom of the Catholic Church.' The poor lad had scarcely crossed the mountains, as it seems, before he was pounced on by some one among the proselytizing spirits of the Romish Church ever on the watch for the ignorant, the aenaitive, and the timid, to whom precedent and prescription sufRco for principles, and dogmatic teaching for absolute truth, and by liim induced to forswear the simple faith of his forefathers for the ornate ritualism and incomprehensible mysteries of Rome. With the characteristic zeal of the ' Con- vertitc,' Burgh proceeds to show his newly-acquired familiar- ity with the more prominent dogmas of the Romish Church, and does not fail to heap plentiful abuse upon all philosophy. He assures his old friend and teacher that it depends on him- self to have God Almighty! rescue his soul from everlasting damnation ; and is pleased to inform him, if he delays to listen to the good advice now tendered, that ' the anger of the Lord would be let loose to burn fiercely against him, and that he would be left the lamentable victim of the divine justice' — very modest and considerate advice from a pupil to his txoaster, from a youth to a man of mature years, of wide- spread name and fame, of spotless life, as Burgh well knew, and better versed in biblical and general theological lore than au)' scholar of his age! Spinoza's reply to Burgh's effusion, in which we may well suspect that he was aided by his Jesuit perverters, follows, and has been well characterized by Herr B. Aucrbach as ' Ein evriger blanker Wafl'e gegen religiose Schwiirmerei,' — a drawn sword ever at hand against religious fanaticism.]
ao •
404
LETTER IJLXIV.
BENEDICT DE 8riNO£A IX) ALUERT BCRGU.
My Dear Yoiiiiij Friend,
I now Icarn, under your own hand, what I should never have believed on the report of another — namely, that you have not only become, as you say, a member of the Church of Rome, but that you are also one of its zealous de- fenders. I see, too, that you have learnt betimes to rail against and everlastingly to damn those who think otlierwiso than you do yourself. I had purposed, at first, to make you no reply, in the persuasion that you do not so much lack understanding as that you will be without the leisure and opportunity to think of returning to your senses and your friends, to say nothing of other reasons which )-ou yourself formerly adduced when wo spoke of Steno, in whose foot- steps you have now seen fit to tread; but several of your relations, who, as well as myself, had expected much from your excellent parts, entreated me so earnestly to fulfil the duties of a friend, and rather to think of what you lately were than of what you have since become, that I have resolved to write these few lines, which I earnestly request you will read with your best attention.
I will not here, as the opponents of the Church of Home are wont to do with those from whom they difier, bring up the shortcomings and the crimes of Popes and priests, with the purpose of disgusting j'ou, and turning you from them ; for instances of the kind are often adduced fron evil and un- worthy motives, and when paraded, serve much rather to irritate than to persuade, ilore than this, I will allow that in the Church of Rome there have been a greater number of men of learning and irreproachable life than in any other Christian community ; for, as this communion is by far the most numerous, so do we find a greater number of every
B. DE SPINOZA TO AI.BKRT BUROU.
405
stamp among Ha members. But ibis, I think you, on your part, will not venture to deny (if you have not, with your reason, lost }'our recollection also), that there arc in every Church or Communion many good, honourable, and most worthy men, who worship God in sincerity and in truth, for vou and I have known many such among Lutherans, Calvin- ists, Mennonites, &c. : and not to speak of others more par- ticularly, you know that your ancestors, in the days of the Duke of Alva. suSered soul-tortures of every kind with un- flinching constancy, for the sake of their religion and their liberties. You must, therefore, admit that sanctity of life and virtuous conduct are not peculiar to the Church of Rome, but are common to all Churches whatsoever ; and, to 8{)eak with the Apnstle John, ' because by these we know that we are in God, and God is in us,' it follows that all which distinguishes the Church of Rome from others is really non- eesential, superfluous throughout, and therefore connected with it by no tie but superstition. For Love and Righteous- ness, B8 I have said with Jolin, are the sole, as they are the certain signs of the true Catholic faith, the very fruits of the Holy Spirit ; where they are there indeed is Christ also, and where they are not there too is Christ wanting: for the .Spirit of Christ is that alone which leads us to righteousness and brotherly love. Hud you but weighed these truths in your mind, you would not have foundered in your course as j'ou have done, and you would surely have spared your parents the bitter sorrow in which they now lament j'our fall. But I return to j'Our letter, in which you are pleased to com- miserate my condition, in that ' I have sufiPered myself to be deceived by the Prince of the Powers of Darkness.' •
• Uurgh, in hix letter, hiwl suit! : ' The more I formerly odiiiircd yon for the powi'j- and pcnotration of your Kpirit, tlio more do I now pily and p"ieve over yoii ; for you, endowed with tlie most wonderful aptitude of mind, gifted tiy GihI witli n loul pot^'SM.'d of all the noblest qualities of tnan, you, full of love, fan, of pafdion for truth, permit yourself to he deceived uid led astray by the lost and presiunptuooa Prince of the Evil Spirita.'
m
BRXKDICr DB SPIXOZii
• Bat be of good cheer; and do you yours^, I pray you, return to your senses. AATiilst vou were vet of sound mind you addressed your prayers, if I err not, to the Infinite God, by whose inherent power all things were made, all things are oeMelessIy sustained. But what do you now ? Ton dream of another Divinity — a hostile spiritual power or prince, who, against the will aud purpose of the Ahnighty, deceives and betrays the moss of mankind (for the good are few), who are then delivered over to endless torments at the hands of their seducer and teacher of iniquity ; you believe, forsooth, that the Di\nue Justice permits the Devil to deceive mankind, and that man, deceived aud betrayed by the Devil, suffers punish- ment for evermore !
But even this unreason were to be borne did you but con- tinue to adore the Eternal and Infinite God, and addressed not yourself to that imaginary Deity, whom Chastillon, in the town of Thionville, gave with impunity as provender to his horse. And you, wretched boy, you presume to lament for me ! to style my Philosophy, which j'ou do not under- stand, a chimera I You, a youth, forsaken of sense and spirit ! — who can thus have blinded you? who led you to believe that you can take God the Ineffable, the Infinite, into your mouth and entrails ?
You, ncvorthclese, do sometimes condescend to reason, &» when you ask me ' how I know that my philoaopliy is the best of all that was ever t^iught in the world, that is taught now, or that ever will be taught in time to come ?' With much bet- ter title might I put a parallel question to you ; for I, for my part, have never presumed to say that I had found the best philosophy. I have but said that I profess the philosophy I believe to bo true. And if you inquire how I know that it is so, I answer, even aa you know, that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles ; and no one in his senses, and who does not dream that there bo lying spirits who put into
B. DB SPINOZA TO ALBERT UURGH.
407
our mind false ideas that resemble true ideas, will deny that this suffices, for the True is the index of itself aud of the False.
But of you who presume that you have discovered the best religion, or rather some of the best among men pro- fessing a certain form of religion, to whom you have plightod your easy faith — of you T ask, in my turn, IIow do j-ou know that this is the best of all the religions hitherto taught, taught now, or that ever will be taught in time to come ? Have you put all the religions that exist in the world to the proof — the old as well as the new — those that are believed in by the millions of India and of China ? And if you have duly proved them all in their vast diversity, how, in fine, do you know that you have chosen the best P You can, indeed, ^how no sufficient grounds for your preference. But j-ou may »y that you comfort yourself in your assurance of salvation, rely on the inward testimony of the Holy Spirit, and believe that the rest of mankind, who do not think as you do, are misled and botriiyod by the Prince of the Powers of Dark- ness. ^Vliat, then, shull all who are witliout the pale of the Chureh of Rome reply to this ? Even tliat they have as much right as you to speak of their religion ns the best. All that you say about uniformity and agreement among the myriads who belong to the Roman Catholic Church, of the uninter- rupted succession of her bishops, &c., is oven the old song of the Pharisees, who, with the same confidence as the Roman- ists, parodo their myriads of witnesses, and cling with the same pertinacitj' to matters which they only know by tradi- tion, as if they were self-evident and came by intuition. The Pharisees, indeed, go much further back than j'our new friends : they trace their descent in uninterrupted succession from Adam, and boast with like presumption that their Church, despite the hate of Pagan and of Christian alike, has been handed down unchanged to the present day ; they,
408
BKITEBICT DE SPIXOZA.
too, find their chief supjMrt in antiquity, and unanimously declare that they have their traditions direct from God him- self, that they, indeed, arc the sole and only possessors of the written and unwritten word of God. And it is unquestion- able that, though all the schisms may be said to have pro- ceeded from them, they themselves have maintained their doc- trine and discipline unchanged through thousands of years without other bond or constraint than that supplied by super- stition. The miracles of which they boast it would weary a thousand of the glibbest tongues to relate ; but what they especially pride themselves upon is the multitude of their martyrs — a multitude already far greater than can be shown by any other people ; and of whom, the number that suffer with a constancy of soul unparalleled, increases every day. And this, indeed, is undeniable. I was myself acqiiainted with a certain Juda, surnamed The Faithful, who, in the midst of the flamea fto which he had been cruelly condemned), when believed to be already dead, begun to sing the words of the Tliirty-first Psalm, ' Into thy hands, O God, I commit my soul,' and in the midst of the singing, died.
Tlio discipline of the Church of Rome, with which you express yourself so much delighted, I acknowledge as jKilitic, and for too many lucrative. I am also ready to atlniit that for the deception of the people, and for crushing the spirit of inquiry in the mind of man, nothing better can be imagine*!, unless i)erch:mce it be the discipline of the llahommedan Church, wliich certainly surpasses that of Rome in these respects; for since the day the Mahommedan superstition appeared in the world it has not been disturbed bj' any si'hi.sni.*
If you cast up the reckoning correctly, tlierefore, you will find that there i.s but one of tlic points you insist on that turns
* This, in one svnae, will, perhaps, lie divputed, the MnhomineilaQS being divided into wlmt may be called two seel* — Sufites and Schiites— followers of Omnr and of Ali. As regards funJnuicnIals and Confession of Koith, bow- ever, the Mohomniedau Church is without schJBm. — Tb.
B. DE SPIXOZA TO ALBERT BURCn.
409
out to the osjiecial advantage even of the Christian faith in genera], and it is this : that unlettered and simple men were the mciins of eonvertuig so much of the world to Christianity. This ground, however, must be held as jwssessed by all in common who acknowledge the name of Christ ; it is not the peculiar appanage of the Churuh of Rome.
And even admitting iiU die grounds you adduce as favour- able to the Romish Church alone, do you imagine that then, and on such a basis, you have mathematic^iUy demonstrated the authority of this association ? As you do nothing of the sort, however, and as nothing of the sort can be done, how can you require of me to believe that my arguments and con- clusions are suggested by the Prince of the e^•il spirit*, whilst yours are imparted by God ? And this, too, when by your letter it plainly appears that it is not so much from love of God as fear of Ucll — this single ground of all superstition — that you have become a member of the Church of Rome ? Are you indeed so very humble, so very submissive, that you djire not trust yourself, but must rely on others, who are, in their turn, rejected by so many as authorities ? Do you reproach me with pride and presumption, or do you lay it to pride ajid presumption in me that I make use of my reason, resting in this true word of God which is in the mind and can never be falsified or corrupted ? Cast this deadlj' superstition from your soul, mj' &icnd, acknowledge the reuwju which God has given you for your guidan<'e, and go on improving and progressing in all good gilts if juu would not sink to the level of the l>east.s of the field. Cease to speak of senseless ab.surditics as unapproachable mysteries, and mix not up depi-eciatiiigly things that are unknown, or are not yet inquirctl into, with things agjiinst reason and absunl in themselves, such as the hateful dogmas of the Church of Rome, which you now esteem the more worthy of admiration the more they exceed comprehension and contradict reason.
410
REXEOICT DE 8PIK0Z.i.
As to what else you say coneeming the fundamentals of my Theologico- Political Treatise, and in especial of my posi- tion, that ' the Scriptures are only to be interpreted by them- selves,' against which you so pertly and presumptuously in- veigh as alike false and indefensible, I reply : that the ground I a«8umo is not token theoretically, but is shown, is proved irrefnigtibly, to be true. I even feel persuaded that, if you will condescend to consider somewhat carefully what is said in my seventh and at the end of my fifteenth chapter, where the whole subject of the right mode of interpreting Scripture is discussed, and where the arguments of those who take differ- ent views are answered — I feel persuaded, I say, that you may yet come round to my way of thinking on the matter. If you will^ in addition, make yourself in some small measure acquainted with Church Historj', — a subject, by the way. of which I perceive you are at present profoundly ignorant, — you will then, I think, begin to see in what false lights ecclesi- astical writers are wont to exhibit cert^tin things, and come to know by what accidents and artifices the Bishops of Rome first attained their power, and still continue, sixteen cenlui-ies after the birth of Christ, to assert supremacy over the world of ChrLstendom. Do but so much, and I shall not despair of your yet recovering your senses, a consummation which I assure you I very heartily desire. Farewell !
POSTSCRIPT BY THE TRANSLATOR.
Whilst in Roman Catholic countries the Papacy as an institution which had served its ends in the world has been gradually dying out, and at the present moment is seen, in the immediate seat of its power, supported against the will of an entire nation by foreign bayonets, it is not without
DE SPINOZA TO ALBERT BfROH.
411
amazement that we witness the ceaseless, and not always un- successful, efforts made by the Church of Rome to regain lost ground in lands that had espoused the Reformation and hoped to bo rid of Popery and Jesuitry for ever. In England, especially, ever since the abrogation of the unjust laws which imposed civil disabilities on Roman Catholics because of their religion, the Romish hierarchy and priesthood appear to have been impressed with the idea that a measure demanded by justice couched of its blindness, and imperatively required by the less bigoted or more tolerant spirit of the age, was a concession to what they are pleased to regard as the superior claims of their Church ! Nor have they been backward in acting on this presumption, but have been unwearied in their efforts to seduce the women and youth of this country from the faith of their immediate forefathers, wherein the natural intelligence and moral freedom of the individual arc not merged in the corporate sovereignty of an outward and visible Church, but are left in his own keeping as a significant and re- sponsible being by the fiat of God.
What should induce a Christian outside the Romish com- munion to abandon his freedom for the soul-repressing slavery which seeks to merge the inalienable right of private judg- ment in a thing called the true Church? It cannot bo a motive derived from the present world, because material prosperity or outward success is no exclusive pri>Tlege of Roman Catholics. It must therefore be one drawn from the future, from the fear of punishment hereafter, which design- ing ecclesiastics hold over the heads of the weak and timid. But the love of God to His children of all denominations should be a bulwark of confidence to all. The sincere soul is safe for ever, though it should a.sscnt to none of the dogmas of men, set up as idols to be worshipped, and so often re- pugnant to the reason, or natural revelation, by which the Father of lights communicates to mankind that portion of
412
BCXEDICT DB SriJCOtA,
trutb which he has put within reach of the faculties where- with He has endowed them.
'You area Catholic?' said Pope Pius the Ninth — the Infallible per se, as he is about to be proclaimed, to Frederika Bremer in that remarkable interview she had with him in the course of her Italian travels.*
' Not a Roman Catholic,' replied the lady.
' Then you must become one,' rejoined the Pope.
Frederika Bretiier. ' Will your Holiness permit me to ask a qucBtion ?'
T/u- Pope. • Yea ; ask it.'
F. B. ' 1 love with my whole heart our Lord and Master Jesus Christ. I believe in his Divinity, in his redeeming efficacy ; I will obey and serve him alone. Will your Holi- ness not acknowledge me for a Christian ? '
ITtt Pope. ' For a Christian I — most certainly — But — *
F. B. ' And as a member of the Church of Christ ? '
The Pope. 'Ye — s, in a certain sense; but then people must acknowledge as true everything which tliis Church says and enjoins. You ought not, in the mean time, to beliece (hat the Pope genda to Hell all who do not believe in the tn/allihilitij of the Catholic Church I No ! 1 believe that ma.vv pehsons or
OTHER CREEIIS MAY BE SAVEO BV UVIXG ACCORniNO TO THE TRVTH WHICH THEY ACKNOWXEDGE 1 bclifVe 80, mOSt CCr-
lainli/,'
F. B. ' It delights me infinitely to hear this from your Holiness, because other Catholics say: "You arc not a Christ- ian ; you cannot bo saved if you do not believe as we and our Church do." '
The Pope. ' In this llwi/ are irrotig. But you soe, my daughter,' &c.
• Vide Two Yeora in Switzerland and Italy by Fruderika Bremer, vol. ii. I>, 145. Loudon, 1861.
B. DE SPINOZA TO AI^BERT BURGH. 413
The unqualified admiasion of the Infallible head of the Church suffices ; no amount of after reservation can take a jot from its force, and no Protestant has henceforth the shadow of a plea for deserting his Protestantism lest it might prove insufficient to secure his soul's safety.
THE ETHICS.
I. OF OOD.
II. OP THE NATURE AND PRINCIPLE OR SOURCE OP THE MIND.
III. OF THE SOURCE AND NATURE OF THE AFFECTIONS.
IV. OF HUMAN SLAVERY, OR THE POWER OF THE PASSIONS OR INORDINATE AFFECTIONS.
V. OF HUMAN FREEDOM, OR THE POWER OF THE INTELLECT.
y
THE ETHICS.
PART I.-OF GOD.
DEFINITIONS.
1. By ITS OWN Cause I understand that the essence of which involves existence; or that which by its nature can only be conceived as existing.
2. The thing is said to be finite in its kind which may be limited by another thing of the same nature. A body, for example, is suid to bo finite, because we can always conceive another larger than it. In the same way is thought limited by another thought. But a body is not limited by a thought, nor a thought by a body.
3. By Substance I imderstand that which is self-com- prised and is conceived by and through itself alone ; that is to say, Substance is that the conception of which requires the conception of no other thing whence it has to be derived.
4. By Attribute I mean that which the understanding apprehends in Substance as constituting its essence.
5. By Mode I understand an affection of Substance, or that which is in something else, by which also it is appre- hended.
0. By Goi) I understand the Absolutely Infinite Being ; in other words : God is Substance constituted by an infinity of attributes, each of which expresses an et«mal and infinite essence.
Erplanation. God, I say, is absolutely infinite, not infinite in his kind ; for that which is infinite in its kind only might
416 B. DE Spinoza's
be donic-d infinity of attributes ; but to the essence of thai which is absolutely infinite belongs whatsoever expressci essence and involves no negation.
7. The thing is said to bo frkk which exist^s by the sole i necessity of its nature, and is determined to action by itself ulonc. That, on the contrary, is necesxan/ or rather con- 1 strained which is determined to exist and to act in a certain determinate manner by something else.
8. By Eternity I understand Kxistenco itself — very Ex- istence, conceived as following necessarily from the sole definition of an eternal thing.
Explanation. For existence of this kind is conceived as an eternal truth, — as the essence of a thing ; and cannot conse- quently be explained by duration or time, although duration may be conceived of as without beginning and without end.
AXIOMS.
1. All that is, is cither in itself or in something other than itself.
2. That which cannot be conceived by another thing must bo conceived by itself.
3. From a given determinate cause an cfiect necessarily follows ; and contrariwise, without a given determinate cause i it is impossible that an eficct can follow.
4. Knowledge of an effect depends on knowledge of a cause and involves the same.
5. Things that have nothing in common cannot severally ' bo understood by one another, or the conception of one does not involve the conception of the other.
6. A true idea must agree with its ideate or object.
7. Whatever can be thought of as non-existing does not in its essence involve existence.
ETHICS : PART I. OF GOD.
417
PROPOSITIONS.
PROP. I. Substunce is prior in nature to its affections. Demondralion. This is comprised iu Definitions 3 and 5.
PROP. II. Two substances having different attributes,
have nothing in conunon with one another.
Bcmomt. ITiis, too, appears from Definition 3 ; for each must be comprised in itself and be conceived by itself; or, the conception of the one does not involve the conception of the other.
PROP. III. Things that have nothing in common cannot be
caiLse one of another.
Demount. If they have nothing in common, neither can thoy (by Ax. 5) bo severally understood from one another, ana so (by Ax. 4) cannot be cause one of another ; q. e. d.
PROP. lY. Two or more different things? arc distin- guished from each oilier cither by diversity of the attri- butes of substances, or liy diversity in the affections of these attributes.
Demonst. All that is, is either in itself or in something , else (Ijv Ax. 1) ; that is to say, there is nothing out of or be- yond the understanding except substances and their affections (by Dot's. 3 & it). There is consequently nothing out of the undei-standing by which individual things can be distinguished from each other except substances, or — and this comes to the same thing — tlieir attributes and affections (by Def. 4) : q. e. d.
PROP. V. In the nature of things there cannot be two or
more substances of the same nature or attribute.
Demonst. Did several distinct substances exist, they would bo distinguished from each other either by diversity of attri- butes or bj' diversity of affections, [raudes,] (as appears by the proijosition immediately preceding) ; if by diversity of attri- butes only, it were then concedwl that there is but one Sub- etance of the same attribute ; if by diversity of affections, iuas-
416
BEN'F.UICr DB SF1NUZA S
much 08 substance is prior in nature to it« affections (by Prt>p. I.), its affections set aside and considorod in itself, i.e. truly considered (by Defs. 3 & 6), it could not be con- ceived us distinct f'rnin anytliing else ; no that, as stati-d in the precofling proixtsition, there ciuinot be several substances b>it one 8ubt<tanee only : q. e. d.
PROP. VI. One substance cannot be pnxiuccd by another substance.
Dcmonst. In the preceding proposition we have seen that there cannot in the nutiu-e of things be two Substances of the same attribute, or that have anything in common (Ijy Prop. II.) ; and so (by Prop. III.) one cannot be the cause of, or be produced by, another : q. e. d.
Coro/fitri/. Jlcnco it follows that Substance cannot be pro- duced by anything else. For in the niituro of things there is nothing but substances and their affections, as appeai-s by Axiom 1, and Definitions '<i & 5. But as Substance cannot be produced by Substance, as just demonstrated, therefore and obsolutely. Substance cannot be produced by anything else : q. e. d.
Ofhcncise. This is still more readily shown by the rcduc- tio ud absurdum ; I'or if Substance could be produced by something else, the knowledge of Substance wuidd have to depend on u knowledge of its caase (by Ax. 4.); in which case it would nut be substance (by Def. 3).
To exist belongs to the nature of substance. Substance, we have seen by the corollary to
PROP. VII.
Deniomt. iSubstance, we tiave seen _ _, ._
the preceding proposition, cannot bo produced by anything else; it must, therefore, be the cause of itself, i. e. its csscace necessarily involves existence (by Def. 1), in other words, to exist belongs to it« nature : q. e. d.
PROP. VIII. All substance is necessarily infinite.
Demons t. Substance of one attribute exists not save as one (by Prop, V.) ; and to exist belongs to its nature (Prop. VI.). It will therefore be in its nature to exist finitely or infinitely. Not finitely however, for then would it have to be conceived as limited by another substance of the same nature (by Def. 2), which would also have to exist necessarily (by Prop. VII.); in which case there would be two substances of the same at- tribute, which is absui-d (by Prop. V.). Substance, therefore, exists infinitely : q. e. d.
;
ETHICS : PART I. OF GOD.
419
Scholium 1, As finity is in truth partial negation, and infinity ubsoluto affirmation of existence of every kind, it fol- lows from Proposition VII. alone that all substance must bo infinite.
ScMiidii 2. I do not doubt but that they who judge of things confusedly, and are not acc\istomed to apprehend tilings by their first causes, will find some difficulty in under- standing the demonstration of our Seventh Proposition. The difficulty here arises from the distinction between modifications of substances and substances themselves being overlooked, and from ignorance of the way in which things are produced ; whence it comes that such a beginning as natural things are seen to have is connected with substances. They, indeed, who are ignorant of the true causes of things confound all, and without the slightest mental misgivings imagine plants and animals as well as man to be endowed with speech, human beings to spring from stones as well us from parents, and one form to bv transmuted without difficulty into another. So also do they who confound the Divine with human nature readily ascribe hutnan aflfections and passions to God, especially when they are uninformed as to how affections are produced in the mind of man. Were the nature of Substance, however, but properly considered, our seventh Proposition would be questioned bj* none; on the contrary', it would become an axiom to every one, and be reckoned among the number of common notions or self-evident truths. For by Substance would be understood that which is in itself and is conceived ■fcy itself, or that the conception of which requires not the |k>nception of any other thing ; and by affections, modes or moditications, again, that which is in something else, and of which the conception is formed from the conception of the thing in which it is ; whereby it comes that we can have true conceptions of non-existent modifications, inasmuch as, al- though non-existent in act out of tho understanding, still their essence is so involved in something else, that they can bo conceived by or through it. But the verity of substances in themselves is beyond the understanding only because they are conceived through themselves. Did any one say, therefore, that he had a clear and distinct, in other words, a true, idea of substance, and nevertheless doubted whether such substance existed, this were the same, in sooth, as if he said that he had a true idea and yet doubted whether it was not a false idea (as must be obvious to every one who duly con- siders the matter). In the same way, did ho maintain sub-
»7 •
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stanco to bo created, this would be equivalent to declaring that a false idea might be true — than which nothing moro absurd cun be iningined.
It must noceasarily be admitted, therefore, that the exist- ence as well as the essence of substance Ls an eternal truth. So that thus, and in another way, we may conclude that there exists no moro than one substance of the same nature, a point which I think it worth the pains to develop still more fully here.
That I may do this in duo order, however, it is to be observed :
Ist, Tliat the true definition of a particular thing neither involves nor expresses aught beyond the nature of the thing defined. From this it followB,
2nd, Tluit no definition implies or expresf^cs any particular number of individuals, inasmuch as it expresses nothing but the nature of the individual defined. The definition of a triangle, for example, expresses nothing more than the simple nature of the triangle, and not any particular number of triangles.
3rd, It is to be noted that there is necessarily some par- ticular cause why each individual existing thing exists.
4th, and last, It is to be observed that the cause by reason of which each individuiU thing exist.s, must either be involved in the nature and definition of the existing thing itself — viz. when it belongs to its nature to exist, or must be out of or beyond it.
These positions taken it follows that if in nature any cer- tain numbt'r of individuids exist, there must be a cause where- fore this precise number of indi\'iduids — neither fewer nor moro — should exist. If, for example, in the nature of things 20 men exist — and these for the sake of greater cleamesa ]
1 suppose to exist together, and that no others existed before them — it will not be enough that we show a cause in human nature at large, why 20 men should exist; it will be further imperative on us to bhow a cause why no greater and no smaller a number than 20 men exist, inasmuch as by premiss No. 3 there must necessarily be a cause why each in- vidual ojnong them exists. Now this cause by premisses Nos.
2 and 3 cannot be comprised in human nature itself, inasmuch OS the true definition of the nature of man does not include the number 20 ; so that, by No. 4, the cause whv these 20 men exist, and consequently why each one among them exists.
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must necessarily be beyond tliemselves both collectively and individually.
We are therefore to conclude absolutely that everything which by its nature may exist in numbers, must necessarily have a cause for its existence cxtemul to itself. And as it has been already shown that it pertains to the nature of sub- stance to exist, so must its detinitiou include necessary ex- istence. From the definition of substance alone, therefore, is its existence proclaimed ; but it, does not Ibllow from its definition that several substances exist (as has been shown in Nos. 2 and .'J). From the definition itself consequently does it follow necessarily that there exists one substance only of the same nature — a« proposed.
PROP. IX. The more of reality or being possessed by each individual thing, the greater the number of at- tributes that pertnin to it.
Demount. This proposition is clearly proven by the terma of our 4th Definition, where we show that attribute is that which the understanding apprehends as the essence of Sub- stance.
PROP. X. Each particidar attribute of the one substance must be conceived by and through itself.
Demonat. Attribute is that which the mind perceives as constituting the essence of substance (Def. 4) and so must be conceived by means of itself (Def. 3) : q. e. d.
Scholium. From the above it apjjears that though two attributes may be conceived as really distinct, i. e. conceived severally, the one without the aid of other, — we cannot how- ever conclude from this that these constitute two entities or two dilferent substances. For it is of the nature of substance that each of its attributes should be conceivable by itself, in- asmuch OS all the attributes it has were always present in it, and no one of them was ever produced by another, but each individually expresses the reality or being of substfuice. It is therefore far from absurd to ascribe several attributes to one suljstunce. Nothing in nature, Lndecd, is clearer than that each several entity must be conceive<l imder one attribute or another, and that the more of reality or being it has, the greater must be the number of attributes expressive of neces-
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sity or eternity as of infinity which it poesesscs ; and as a further consequence, thiit the Absolutelv Infinite Entity or Keing is necetisarilv to bo defined as the iBeiiig consii^ting of an infinity of nttrihules. each of which expresses a certain eternal and intiuite Ks9t<tic«« ('>-ide I)ef. 6). Does any one now ask : by what sijjn diversity of substances may be dis- tin^tishod ? I request him to read the following propositions, which go to demonstrate that in the nature of things there exists but one substance and that this is absolutely infinite, •o that a sign of the kind muiit be required in vain.
PROP. XI. God, or Stibstance comprising an infinity of attributen, each of which expresses an eternal and in- finite essence, exists necessarily.
Demotut. If you deny this, conceive, if it be possible in the face of our 7th axiom, that God does not exist. In such ca.Ho the es.Hetx-e of God woiJd not involve existence, %hich is absurd, aa shown in Prop. VII. God therefore necessarily exists : q. c. d.
Olhrririsr. A cause or reason must be assignable for the existence u.s well as the non-cxislonccof each individual thing. Thus if n triangle exists, there must be a cause for ita exist- once ; and did it not exist, there must also be a cause for its non-existence, — a cause which prevents it from existing or which annuls its existence. Now this cause must cither be comprised in the nature of the thing or lie Iteyond it. The reason why there is no such thing as a square circle is obvious from the nature of the circle, and because the idc« involves a contradiction. But the reason on the contrary why Substance exists, follows from its proper nature, inas- much as this involves existence. Soe Prop. VII. Kut the reason why n circle or a triangle exists or not, does not follow from the nature of either, but from the order of matcridl nature in general, from which it must follow either that the triangle exists necessarily or that it was im- possible it should ever exist. This is obvious of itself.
It follows from this, that that exists necossorily for the non-existence of which no cause or reason can be a.ssigned. If, therefore, no reason nor cause can be assigned that would stand in the wa)' of the existence of God, or that impHcatos or annuls his existence, it is on every ground to be concluded that God necessarily exists. Were, however, any such reason or cause to be given, it must reside either in the
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nhttirc of God liimcelf or cxtranonusly to GckI; in otlicr Wdrde, in another substunco of another niiturc. But substance of another nature could liave nothing in common witli God (by Prop. II.), and so coidd neither atfirra nor paiiisuy his exist- ence. Since, therefore, there can bo no cause nor reason contravening the Divine existence extraneou.«« to itself, did it not exist the cause or reason for this could only be within itself or in its own nature, which, as invohing a manifest con- tradiction, it were absurd to affirm in connection with the absolutely infinite and consummately perfect Being. There- fore, as neither in God nor out of God can cause or reason which negatives his existence be given, we conclvidc that God necessarily exists : q. e. d.
Yet otherwise :
Dciiioiisf. 3. The possibility of non-existence is impotence, as existence, on the contrary, implies power. If, therefore, that which exists necessarily comprised finite beings only, finitjp beings were then more powerful than the absolutely infinite being ; but this is obviously absurd. Consequently either nothing whatsoever exists, or the ab.solutely infinite being exists necessarily. But we either exist in and of ourselves, or wo exist in something else which necessarily exists. Sec Axiom I. and Proposition VII. An abso- lutely infinite being therefore, i. e. God, exists necessarily : q. 0. d.
Scholium. In this last demonstmtion I desired to show the existence of Gi:td a jiog/eriori, simply because the demonstration in this way is more easily apprehended, and not because the existence of God does not follow a priori from the very same grounds. For as the possibility of existence is a power, it ioUows that the more of reality ^e nature of anything jios- sesscs, the greater the power it ha.s of itself to exist ; now as the absolutely infinite being, or God, ha.san absolutely infinite power of existence in himself, he, in virtue of this, exists nece-ssarily. Some, perchance, may not clearly sec the force of this dem<jnstrution, because they are accusttimcd to con- sider those things only that result from external causes ; and because they sec that among such as grow quickly, in other words, OS seem to exist easily, they also see speedy deca}% whilst, on the contrary, among those that are formed with greater dif- ficulty, in other words, that do not exist so readilv, they observe greater powers of endurancCi they conducle that various qualities pertain to these.
Now to free these persons from such prejudices, I need not,
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I think, here sliow for what rt'iison the adage, quirk groirth, quick (iecai/, is true, nor yet discuss the question, whether in respect of nature at kirjjfe , all things arc not alike caM'i or the contrary ; it will suffice for the present to observe that I do not now six-ak of things produced by external causes, but of Substance only, which can be producetl by no external cause (vide Prop. VI. J. For whatever of perfection or reality things that arise from external causes possess, whether the things consist of many parts or of few, the perfwtion is wholly in virtue of the external cause; so that their existence depends on the perfection of the external cause alone, and not on any quality inherent in the things themselves. Perfection therefore never gtiin«iys but always affirms existence, as im- perfection, on the contrary, negatives existence ; so that wo cannot bo more certain of the existence of anj'thing than of that of the absolutely infinite and perfect lM?ing, i. e. God; for inasiniK-h as the esticnco of God excludes all imperfection and includes all perfection absolutely, we seem in this consider- ation alone to have every cause for doubt in his existence removed, and entire aaaurance of his Being brought home to ixs, — a conclusion which I believe will be obvious to every one with even a very moderate amount of attention.
PROP. XII. No attribute of substance can be properly
conceived whence it could follow that substance might
be divisible.
Dentomt. The parts into which substance — assuming it divisible for the moment — could be dividetl, would either retain the nature of substance or they would not. Did they retain the nature of substance, then by Proposition VIII. every individual port would bo infinite, its own self-sufficing cause (by Prop. VI.), and constituted bj'^ a dift'oront attribute (by Prop. V.) ; so that out of one substance several sub- stances would bo constituted. But this is impossible; for we have seen that one substance con neither produce, nor be pro- duced by, another (by Prop. VI.). Add to this that the parts would then have nothing in common with the whole which they composed, and tliat a whole without parts would both exist and bo conceivable as existing, a proposition of the absurdity of which no one will doubt. Were it said again, that the parts retained nothing of the nature of the original substance ; in this case, if the whole of substance were to bo divided into equal parts, it would lose its proper nature and
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ceflso to ejcist, which is absurd ; for by Proposition VII. wo have seen that existence pertains to the nature of substance : q. e. d.
PROP. XIII. The absolutely infinite substance is indi- visible.
Demonst. If it were divisible, the parts into which it was divided would cither retain or lose the nature of the abso- lutely infinite substance. In the first case, several sub- stances of the same nature would then exist, which is absurd ; for in the nature of things there cannot be two or more sub- stances of the same nature, or possessed of tho same attributes (Prop. V,). In the second, the absolutely infinite sub- stance might cease to exist, wliich is also absurd ; for we havo seen that (Jod, tho absolutely infinite, exists necessarily (Prop. XI.) : q. c. d.
Corollari/. From this it follows as a corollary that no substance, and consequently no corporeal substance, so far aa it is substance, is divisible.
S<'/wfiiim. That substance is indivisible is perhaps more easily to be understood from this alone : that substance, by its nature, cannot be conceived save as infinite ; and that by a part of substance nothing could bo understood but finite substance, which involves a manifest contradiction ; for we have learned tiiat all substance is necessarily infinite (Prop. VIII.).
PROP. XIV. Besides God no substance can exist or bo con- ceived to exist.
Dcmon-'iL Since God is tho absolutely infinite being to whom no attribute which is or which expresses the essence of substance can bo denied (Def. 6). and as this exists necessarily (by Prop. I.), did any substance other than God exist, it would have to be interpreted by some attribute of God, and thus would two substances of tho same attri- bute co-exist, which is absurd (by Prop. V.). No subsfjince otlier than God, therefore, can cither exist or be conceived to exist. For if conceived at all it must necessarily be conceived as existing, and this, by the first part of the demonstration, is absurd. Wherefore, beyond or beside God no substance can either exist or be conceived as existing; : q. e. d.
Coi'uUan/. From this demonstration it clearly results, Ist, that God is Sole or Sinulk ; for one absolutely infinite entity
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existing (Dcf. 6), there can, in the nature of things, be but one absolute!}' infinite substance, — as sliown in our Scholium to l'rop<i9ition X.
Corollari/ 2. It follows, in the second place, that the ex- tended thing, and the thinking thing — thought and ex- tension— are either attributes of God, or arc modes or affec- tions of the attributes of God; for by Axiom 1, we know that all things which be either exist in themselves or iu some- thing else.
PROP. XV. Whatever is, is in God ; and nothing can bo, neither can anything bo conceived to be, without God.
Demomt. Except God no substance either is, or can be con- ceived to be (Prop. XIV.) ; that is, there is no subbtance but God which is of itself, or may be conceived by itself (Def. y). Modes or affwtions of substance, however, inhering in something else, by which they are also conceived (Def 5), ran neither exist nor be conceived U> exist without substance. Wherefore, modes inhere exclusively in the Divine nature, and can be conceived through it alone. But as nothing exist-s save substances and modes (by Ax. 1.), therefore can there he nothing without God, neither can anything be conceived to bo without God : q. o. d.
Scholium. Some persons I am aware feign to themselves an image of God consisting like man of a body and mind, and susceptible of passions. But how far these persons fail of the true knowledge of God, appears sufficiently from the de- monstrations already given. Those [childish fancies] I jmjss by ; for all who have ever thought of the Divine nature in any projjer way, deny that Go<l is corporeal, — a truth which is exLcllently 8ho^^^l in this, that by body we understand a cer- tain niensurc or quantity, having length, breadth, and thick- ness, and bounded by a definite outlme. But nothing con be more absui-d than a conception of the kind associated with God, the absolutely infinito being. From other reasons adduced by these persons in their endeavours to demonstrate the same thing, thej' clearly show that they sever corjwreal or extended substance entirely from the Divine nature, and maintain that it was create*! by God. By what Divine power created, how- ever, they are wholly ignorant, which clearly shows that they themselves know not what they say. But I, in my own opinion at least, think I have satisfactorily demonstrated that no sub- stance can be produced or createtl by another. Sec the Corollary to Prop. VII. and the Scholium to Prop. VIII. By
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Proposition XIV., moreover, we have shown that save God no substance either is or can he coneeived to be ; and honco we have crmchided that extendetl substance is one among tho infinite atlributes of God.
For fuller explanation I shall hero enter on a refutation of the arguments of opponents, all of which may be comprised under the heads that follow. Ist. It is said that corporeal substance, as subst^mce, consists of or is made up of parts, and therefore is it denied that these can be infinite and so pertain to God. And this they explain by a nunilter of instances, one or two of which I shall discuss. If bodily substance bo infinite, say they, it may be conceived as divisible into parts, let us say two parts. Each part will now either be finite or infinite. If finite, then would the infinite have to bo con- ceived as constituted of two finite part«, which is absurd ; if infinite, then were there an infinite twice as great as another infinite, and this also is absurd, liforeover, were infinite quantity to be measured by parts equal to feet, it would con- sist of an infinity of such parts, precisely as it would were it to be measured by parts equal to inches, and consequently one infinite number would bo twelve times greater than another infinite number. Finally : If from a point of any infinite area two diverging lines, A B and A C, be drawn and produced indefinitely,
it is obvious that the distance between B and C will go on increasing continually, and from determinate become inde- terminable. Since such absurdities follow, as opponents say, from quantity being supposed infinite, they conclude that corporeal substance must be finite, and consequently cannot pertain to the essence of God.
Tho second argument is also derived from the supreme perfection of God; for God being a supremely perfect being, thev say, can sufier in nowise ; but corporeal substance, as it is diAisibfe, is open to suficring, and cannot therefore pertain to the essence of God. Such I find are the arguments by which writers endeavour to show that corporeal substance is unwor- thy of the Divine nature, and cannot therefore belong to it. But every one with a little attention will sec that I have
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alrcarly replied to the reasonings they advance ; for these are nil alike based on the assumption that corporeal substance is compo8e<l of parts, and this I have shown to be absurd ; for in our twelfth proposition we have seen that no attribute can really bo conceived in substance compatible with the idea of divisibility. Every one, again, who properly weighs the matter will perceive that all the absurdities — if, indeed, all are absurd, which I am not disposed to dispute — from which the conclusion as to the finitcness of extended substance is sought to bo derived, arc by no means consetjucnces of the presumption that quantity is infinite, but that infinite quantity is mensurable and constituted of finite parts. These absurd assumptions, and the false inferences that follow from them, do, in fact, lead to no other conclusion than that we have drawn, for they show definitively that infinite magnitudes are not mensurable, and do nut consist of parts (vide I'rop. XII.). The arrow therefore they point at us, they really direct against themselves. And did they still persist, despite the mesh of absurdities in which they are involved, in maintain- ing that extended substance must bo finite, they, in sooth, proceed no otherwise than would he who out of some fancy should conclude that the circle possessed the properties of tho square, and that all the linos drawn from the centre to tho circumference of a circle are not equal to one another. For extended substance, which cannot be conceived of save aa infinite, save as one, save aa indivisible (by Props. V., VII., and XII.), they, that they may reach their conclusion, havo to imagine as finite, as constituted of finite parts, and as mul- tiple and divisible ; in the same way as those who feign a line to be composed of points seek a variety of arguments to show tliat a line, nevertneless, cannot be divided to infinity. And it is indeed no less absurd to maintain that corporeal substance is made up of parts or bodies, as that a body is composed of superficies, superficies of lines, and lines finally of points. And this, methinks, all mu.st admit, who know right reason to be infallible ; those, above all, who deny a vacuum in nature. For if corporeal substance could be so divided that its parts became really distinct, why might not one part be annihilated, tlie remaining parts continuing con- nect<-d as before ? and why should all bo so fitted and con- joined that there cannot be a vacuum ? But of things that are really and truly distinct, one can exist and continue in its slate without another. Since in nature, then, there is no vacuum (of which more elsewhere), oil ita parts concurring
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in 8uch wise that there shall be none, it follows further that these cannot be really distinguished — in other words, that cor- poreal substance as substance cannot be divided. Sliould it be asked wliy we are by nature so mucli disposed to hold quantity di\48iblc ; I reply, because quantity is conceived by us in two ways — abstractly and superficially, i. e. as it is im- agined, or as it is apprehended by the understanding. If we think of quantity as it i.sjiresented to us by the iinaginution, as is constantly and most easily done, it is found to be divisible and made up of parts; but if we consider it as it is in the under- standing and as it is substance, which it is extremely difficult to do, then is it discovered, as already demonstrated, to be in- finite, one, and indivisible. This is obvious enough to those who know how to distinguish between imagination and un- derstanding ; it is made stiU more so if the fact that niituro is everywhere the same be kept in view, that parts are nowhere to be distinguished in its constitution, save and except as we conceive matter to be affected in various ways, whereby its parts come to bo distinguished in re'fpect of mode [modalilcr), but not in respect of reality (rea/iter). Water, for ex- ample, as water we conceive divisible, and its particles dis- tinct from each other; but not so as it is corporeal or ex- tended substance, for in this respect it is indivisible, neither are its particles distinct from one another. "Water, moreover, as water, is produced and corruptible, but as substance it is neither produced nor corruptible.
And now I think I have replied to the second argument, inasmuch as it, too, is bused on the assumption that matter as substance is divisible and made up of parts. And though this were not the case, I know not wherefore matter should bo held unworthy of the Divine nature, seeing that extrancously to God there can be no substance by which the Divine nature can be afiected (vide Prop. XIV.). All things, I say, are in God, and all that happens cornea to pass in virtue of the laws of the infinite God of nature alone, following from the ne- cessity of his essence, as I have but just demonstrated. With no semblance of reason, therefore, may it be shown that God can bo affected, influenced, or made to suffer by anything ; or that extended substance i.s unworthy of the Divine nature — were it even supposed to be divisible, provided only it were admitted to be eternal and infinite. But of these matters enough for the present.
PROP. XVI. From the necessity of the Divine nature
infinities in infinite modes mast follow; i. e. all that can come under the Divine intelligence follows of ne- cessity.
Dtmionsf. The truth of this proposition must be apparent to all, if this only be kept in view : Thut from the detiuilion of each indi\iduul thing the understanding infers a number of properties — which, indeed, necessarily follow from the na- ture or essence of the thing defined, and that these are by so much the more numerous as the amount of reality expressed in the definition is greater, or as the essence of the thing de- fined involves a largor share of reality. Now, as the Divine nature is possessed of absolutely infinite attributes fby Dof. 0), each one of which also expresses an essence infinite in its kind, therefore, and by the necessity of the same, infinities in infinite modes must necessarily follow ; in other words, everything (hat fulls under the Divine intelligence follows as matter of course and necessity : q. e. d.
Coi'o/f. 1. Hence it follows, Ist, that God is the efficient Cause of all that fulls under the infinite intelligence.
CoroU. 2. 2ndly, that God is tliis Cause ;>tT ne — of him- self, not per accidcm — contingently.
Coroll. 3. And 3rdly, that God is the first Cai'se ab-
SOLUTEI.Y.
PROP. XVII. God acts by the sole laws of his own na- ture, and by constraint of nothing.
Drinomt. We have but just shown in our last proposition, that by tlio sole necessity of the Divine nature, or — and this is tlie same thing — by the laws alone of the same nature, in- finites follow absolutely ; and in tlie lOlh proposition we have demonstrated that all things are in God and nothing can be conceived to be without God. Wherefore, there can be no- tliiug extraneous to God whereby he can be determined or constrained to act. God consequently acts by the sole laws of his Divine nature, and is moved to action by nothing be- yond himself: q. e. d.
Coroll. 1 . It follows from this, Ist, that no cause moving God to action exists cither extrinsically or intrinsically beyond the perfection of his own nature.
Coroll. 2. And 2udly, that God alone is a FBKE CxttsB ; for God by the sole necessity of bis own nature exists (by Prop. XI. and the Ist Coroll. to Prop. XIV.); by the sole ne- cessity of his own nature acts (by the preceding Prop.) ; and
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80 (by Def. 7) is alone and of himself free cause of all : n. e. d. Sdwlliim. Some think that God is Free Cause of All, be- cause thoy conceive God could have had it so that the things ■which we have said come to pass in consequence of his nature, that is, which arc in his power, should not have happened, or should not have been produced or brought about by him. But this were in effect to say tliat God mi{jht have had it so that from the nature of the triangle it should not follow that the sum of its angles was equal 1o two right angles, or tliat from a given cause no effect should follow, which is absurd. For by-and-by, and independently of the proposition now under discussion, I show that neither understanding nor will [in the human sense] pertain to God. I know full well that many are of opinion they can demonstrate that consummale intelligence ond free will belong to the Divine nature ; for they say to themselves they can conceive nothing more per- fect that may be ascribed to God than that which is of high- est perfection in ourselves. Jkloreovcr. although they con- ceive God as consummntfly intelligent in act, yet do they not believe that he could have called into being everything ho actually understood ; ibr they think they would in this way be compromising the power of God. Had God created everything that was in bis mind, they saj', he could have hud nothing more to create ; and this, they think, were opposed to his omnipotence. Tliey have, therefore, preferred to imagine God as indifferent to all, and only to have created that which by a certain arbitrary will he determined to create. But I think I have shown with suflRcient clearness in my 16th Proposition that infinities in infinite modes follow from the supren)e power or infinite nature of God ; in other ■words, that all that is has necessarily flowed, or by the same necessity flo^ws, as from the nature of the triangle it follows, and from eternity has followed, that its three angles are equal to two right angles. Wherefore, the omnipotence of God in act was from eternity, and to eternity will remain potentially the same. In this way, I opine, is the omnipotence of God asserted much more completely and satisfactorily than in any other. The opponents of this view, indeed, if I may Bpcak plainly, oppcar to deny the omnipotence of God ; for they are compelled to allow that God had knowledge of an infinity of creatable things, which nevertheless he did never create : had he created everything present in his understund- ijig, he would huve exhausted his omnipotence and been left empty and ao imperfect. Still to maintain God perfect, they
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would be reduced to the necessity of assuming at the same time that he had not been competent to effect all within the range of his {Kjwer — a conclusion than which, I confess, I can imagine nothing more repugnant to the idea of the omnipotence of God.
Jlorcover, — and that I may say something of the Under- standing and Will which are commonly ascribed to God, — I observe that, if we sav understanding and will belong to the eternal nature of Go^, we must conceive these as differing toto eaelo from our human understanding and will, — as agreeing with them in nothing hut the name ; in a word, that the Divine understanding and will have no more in common with human understanding and will than the Dog, a sign in tlie heavens, has with the barking animal we call a Dog on earth; u position which I thus demonstrate :
Did imderstanding pertain to tlie Divine nature, it could not, like our understanding, bo posterior to — as most ore pleased to suppose — or cognate in nature with the things understood, inasmuch as God is prior in causjdity to nil things (by Coroll. 1, to Prop. XVI.) ; on the contrary, the truth and formal essence of things are such as they are because they existed subjectively such as they are in the understanding of God. T^Tiereforo the imderstanding of God, conceived ns constitutbg his ossence, is vorilv fho cause of all things, — of their essence us well as of their existence; u view that sc-ems to have been espoused by those also who maintain that the understanding, will, and power of God arc one and the same. If, then, the understanding of God bo the sole cause of things — of their essence (as shown) as well as of their existence — it must necessarily differ from these in respect lx)1 h of essence and existence ; for that which is causeil differs from its cause in that precisely which it has from its cause. For example : one man is cause of the existence of another man, but not of his essence (for this is an eternal truth) ; and the two may consequently agree completely in respect of essence, but in respect of existence tliey must difier. On this ground, did the exist- ence of one cease, that of the other need not therefore come to an end ; but coidd the essence of one be destroved, the essence of the other would also perish. Wherefore the thing that is cause of botli the essence and existence of an effect, must differ from such effect in respect of essence as well as of existence. Now, the understanding of God is cause both of the essence and existence of our understanding ; wherefore the Intelligence of God, conceived as constituting a Divine essence,
ethics: part i. — of con.
433
differs from our intelligeiice in respect both of oascnce and \ existence, and can agree with it in nothing save the name. The same train of reasoning applies to Will, as every one must at once perceive.
PROP. XVlll. God is the immanent or indwelling, not the
transient or outside cause of all things.
Dcmomt. All things that ho are in God, and must be con- ceived through God, as shown in Proijoi^ition XV., and thus is God the cause of the things that arc in him (Coroll. 1 to Prop. XVI.). This in the first place. Again : extraneous to God there can be no substance (Prop. XIV.) ; i. e. out of God there can be nothing existing of itself (by Dcf. 3). This in the second. God, therefore, is the immanent, not the transient or extrinsic, cause of aU things : q. e. d.
PROP. XIX. God, or all the attributes of God, are Eternal.
Demonst. For God is substance, which exists necessarily (Def. C and Prop. XI.) : he is that to whose nature pertains existence CProp. VII.), or — and this is the same tiling — from whose tlcfinition it follows that he necessarily exists, and so is eternal (Def. 8). Again, — by attributes of God we are to understand that which expresses the essence of the Divine substance (by Def. 4); in other words, that which pertains to substance and which I say must itself involve the attributes. Now, eternity jtertains to the nature of substance, as already shown in Proposition VII. ; each attribute must therefore involve eternity and every one of its attributes bo eternal : q. e. d.
Sc/io/iiiiii. Tlic truth of this proposition also appears very clearly from the manner in which I liavc already demon- strated the existence of God (vide Prop. XI.), and shown his existence as well as his essence to be eternal truths. In the Principia Philosophia} Cartcsiana;, Prop. XIX., 1 have also demonstrated the eternity of God by another chain of reason- ing.'
PROP. XX. The existence and essence of God ore one and
the same.
• ' Ood is t!ie eupremely perfect 1>eine. w1i<?iii?e it follows Ihnl lie necessarily eiinta. Were limited oxistviice a«crilied lo (ioil, the limits of such cxisleuee must l>e known to him because ha is 8U|in-mc-ly intelliKcnt. (<od, or the su- preme intelligence, wouM llierefore uiuUritiind himself cw non-exif.lcnt l>e- yonrl the limits supposed, which, however, in nlisurd. The cxitlenceof God, ttierefore, is not limited, but iulluite or eternal.'
S8
434
OBHKDUn' UK Sl'INU2.i S
Drmomt. Qod and all Iiis attributes are eternal, or cacli of the nltributes of God expresses cxisfcnc-c (by the preceding I'ropositioii and Dof. 8). The samo attribute of God, there- fore, that is exprcasive of eternal essence is expressive at th same time of eternal existence; in other words: that which constitutes the essence of G(k1 constitutes at the same time his existence ; so that the essence and existence of God am one and the samo : q. e. d.
Coioll. 1. Hence it follows, Ist, that the existence as well as the essence of God is nn eternal truth.
Coroll. 2. And, 2ndly, that God, or all the attributes ol God, are immutable. For wci*o God to change in respect of existence, he would also change in respect of essence ; that i^ to say, truths would be ttirned to fulsenoods, which is absurd. Vide preceding Proposition.
PROP. XXI. All that follows from the obsolute nature o^ any attribute of God must have existed from eternity and been infinite, or is, by the same attribute, eternal and infinite.
Dfrnoimt. If this be denied, conceive if it be possible any- thing to follow in any attiibute of Qod from its own absolute nature which shall be finite and have u merely determinate existence, the idea of God in thought, for example. Now, thought assumed as on attribute of God is by its proper nature infinite (Prop. XL). But thought comprchcndinjf the idea of God, is now presumed to be finite. By Defiiiitioa 2, however, thought cannot be conceived as finite unless determined by thought itself; not by thought, however, aa constituting llie idea of God (for so it has been presumed to be finite) ; by thought, therefore, as it does not constitute the idea of (5od, which must yet and necessarily exist (by Prop. XL). Thus is there thought not constituting the idea of God, ond from the nature of which, in so far as it is abso- lute thought, the idea of God does not necessarily follow (for it is conceived as constituting, and as not constituting, the idea of God), which is in opposition to the hypothesis, Wherefore, if the idea of God in thought, or aught in any attribute of God — for it is indiflcrent which is assumed, the demonstration being universal — follows from the necessity of the absolute nature of this attribute, it must necessarily be infinite. This in the first place.
Further, that which thus follows from the necessity o£
ethics: part i. — of oon.
435
the nature of any attribute cannot have a deterrainate duration. For, denying this, lot some particular be sup- posed in an attribute of God which follows from the necessity of this attribute — the idea of God in thought, for instance, — and let this particular be presumed not to have existed at some former time, or to be dcstinetl not to exist in the future. As thought, however, is assumed to be an attribute of God, it must exist both necessarily and immutably (by Prop. XI. and Coroll. 2 to Prop. XX.), so that thought witliout the idea of God, would have to exist beyond the limits of the duration of the idea of God, — for it is assumed not to have existed at some previous time, and that it may not exist at some future time. But this is contrary to the hvpothesis, for from thought given, it is assumed that the idea of God follows necessarily.
The idea of God in thought consequently, and anything else thut follows of necessity from the absolute nature of any attribute of God, can have no determinate duration, but by tlie same attribute is eternal. This in the second place.
N.H. All that is now said of the attribute of thought is to bo affirmed of everj'thing else which follows necessarily from the absolute nature of God in any of his attributes.
PROP. XXII. Whatever follows from an attribute of God,
in so far as it is affected by a mode which exists both
necessarily and in6nitely in virtue of the same, must
also follow or exist both necessarily and infinitely.
Demoiisf. The demonstration here proceeds in the same way as that of the preceding proposition.
PROP. XXIII. Every mode which exists necessarily as
well as infinitely must follow of necessity either from
the absolute nature of some attribute of God, or from
some attribute affected by a mode which exists both
necessarily and infinitely,
Deuionsf. For mode is in something else by which it has t^ be conceived (by Def. 5) ; that is, mwle is in God alone and can be conceived through God alone (by Prop. W.). If tliercfore mode be conceived to exist necessarily and to bo iutinife, this in either case must nocess-nrily be concluded or perceived through some attribute of God in so far as the
28'
4.3G
BENEDICT DP. SPINOZA 8
Bamc is conceived to express infinity and necessity of exist- tence or eternity (for these hy Pcf. S are of like import), in otlitT woHs, as it is considered absolutely (by Def. 6 and Prop. XIX.). A luofle, therefore, which exists necessarily as well ns infinitolv, must follow from the ab.snliite nature of some attribute of God, and this either immediati'ly (on which Boe Prop. XXI.) or miHliatcly through some modification which follows from ita absolute nature, i. e. (by the preceding Proposition) which exists both necessarily oiid infinitely : q. e. d.
PROP. XXIV. Tlie essence of things produced by God does not involve existence.
DeuiouU. This is obvious from Def. 1 ; for that whoso nature considered in it.solf involves exi>itence is ita own cause, and exists by the sole necessity of its nature.
Coioll. It follows from this that God is not only the cause, why things begin to exist, but is the cause also why they con- tinue in existence ; or, making use of the scholastic t-enn, Owl is Causa Esaendi — cause of the being and existence of thiitga. For whether things exist or do not exist, when we fix our attention on their essence, and ascertain that this involves neither existence nor continuance, — that their essence con- sequently cannot be the cause either of their being or of their persistence in being, we conclude that God alone to whose nature existence belongs, is the absolute cause of all existence and of all continuance in existence (see CoroU. 1 to Prop. XIV.).
PROP. XXV. God is not only the cfilicient cause of the ex- istence of things but of their essence also.
Dcmoiisf. Do you deny this, then ia Gwl not the cause of the essence of things; and the esscnc-os of things were con- ceivable without God (.see Ax. 4). But this is absurd, as we have shown in Proposition XV. Consequently God is cause of the essence of things as well as of tneir existence : q. e. d.
Scholium. This Proposition follows even more clearly per- haps from Proposition XVI., where we have seen that the essence as well as the existence of things must bo necessarily inferred from the Divine nature; and that I may say the word, I here maintain that in the same sense in which God is said to be the cause of himself, is he also to be declared the
KTHICS: PART I. — OF GOD.
437
cause of all things, as will be made to appear more clearly by the following corollary.
Caroll. Individual things are nothing more than aflFections of the attributes of God, or modes by which the attributes of God are expressed in certain determinate manncrti. For the demonstration of this see Proposition XV. and Defini- tion 5.
PROP. XXVI. The thing that is determined to effect any- thing is necessarily so determined by God ; and that which is not determined by Gotl cannot determine itself to act. Demonst, That whereby things ore said to bo determined to action is necessarily something positive (as is ob>4ous of itself) ; and so God by the necessity of his nature is tho efficient cause both of the essence and os-isteiice of the action (Props. XXV. and XVI). Thistirst. From what prc- ce<le8, that which is proposed in the second place follows most obviously. For if a thing which is not determinetl by God to act could determine itself, the first part of this demon- stration would be false; but this is absurd, as we have shown.
PROP. XXVII. The thing that is determined by God to
do or effect anything cannot render itself indeterminate.
Vemonst. This is manifest from Axiom 3, which is to this effect : from a given cause a definite effect necessarily follows ; and contrariwise, where there is no cause no effect can possibly ensue.
PROP. XXVIII. The individual thing that is Bnite and has
a determinate existence, cannot be determined to exist or
to act unless it be itself determined to exist and to act
by another cause which Ls also finite and possessed of a
determinate existence ; and this cause, again, can neither
exist nor be determined to act save by another cause
which is also finito and has a determinate existence ; this
yet again by another, and so on to infinity.
Demomt. ^\Tiatever is determined to existence and action is so determined by God (Prop. XXVI. and Coroll. to Prop. XXIV.). But that which is finite and has a determinate
438
nor S8 SPIKOSA'S
t'xis(ciu-c, cannot be producc<l bv tlie absolute nature of ( attribute of God ; for whatever follows from the absolute nature of an attribute of God is infinite and eternal (by Prop. XXI.); It muRt therefore follow from God or one of his attribute* considered aa affi'cte<l in some particular way ; for there il nothinp in being save Subst-iinoe and Modes (Ax. 1, and Defj^u 3 and o), and modes are nothing but ii(iwlionn of the attri- butes of God (by Coroll. to Prt»n. XXV.). But neither could it follow from God or any attribute of Gwl in so far as thia is affected by a modificution that is otcniid and infinite (by Prop. XXII.). The finite individual thing must therefore fol- low or he detennined to existonro and action by God, or one of his attributes in so far a-s it is nHwt-ed by a mode that is finite and has a determinate existence. Thia in the first place.
Further, thi« cause or this motle, again — for the reasona adduced in the first, part of this demonstration — must be determined by another, whidi in like manner is finite and endowed with determinate existence, this last by yet another, and 80 on, for similar rejisons, to infinity : q. e. d.
Sfi/ioliiim. Since some things must have been produced im- me<lintely by Go<l — those to wit which follow nccessarilv from his absolute nature, and from thc-so primaries tliose meiiutely which yet can neither bo nor be conceived to be without God, if Ibllows, 1st, that Gixl is the absolute proximate cuuso of the things immediately produced by him, — but not in their kinds, M is often said ; for an cflVx-t of God without its cause cjui neither be nor be conceived to be (by Prop. XV. and Coroll. to Prop. XXIV.). It follows, 2nt{ly, that God cannot be spoken of otherwise than improperly as the remotei cause of individual thin^ifs; unless perchance on the ground tliat wo are thereby ciiabkxl to distinguish such things from thoso that are immwliately produced by, or rather that follow im- mediately from, the absolute nature of God. For by remote cause we understand such a cause as is in no way conjoined with its efl'ecl. But all things that be are in G<xl, and so depend on God that without him they can neither be nor can be conceived to be.
PROP. XXIX. In the nature of things there is no con- tingency; all things are determined by the necessity of the Divine nature to exist and to act in a certain definite manner.
miTCS : PART I.
r:oD.
Brmomt. Whatever is is m Gwl (Prop. XV.). But God cannot he spoken of as anything continp^cnt ; for he exists necessarily, not contingoully (by I'rop. XI.). The modes of the Divine nature, for the same reason, I'ollow neces.snrily, not contingently (Prop. XVI.), and this whether they he con- sidered as determined to action by the Divine nature ahsolutely (by Prop. XXI.), or by some certain mode of the Divine nature (by Prop. XXVII.) ; for God is not only the cause of these modes as they exist simply (by Coroll. to Prop. XXIV.), but further as they are considered to be determined in their actions (by Prop. XXVI.). Because, if not determined by God, it is impwRsiblc, and not contingent merely, that they shotdd determine themselves; and, on the contrary, if determined by God, it is impossible and not contingent that they should make themselves indeterminate. Wherefore wo conclude that all things arc detenninod by the necessity of the Divine nature not only to exist, but also to exist and to act in a certain definite manner, and (hat there is no such thing as contingency in nature : q. e. d.
Scfio/iiim. Before proceeding further, I desire to explain, or rather to inform the reader, what is to be understood by the expressions naUirn nafurani and mtlura naturafa — nature acting and iinfitrc acted on. From nil that jjreccdos I think it will appear that by the expression natiira tiatiirans is to be un- derstood that which is in itself and is conceived by itself, or such attributes of Substance as express an eternal and intinitc essence, in other words God (Coroll. 1 to Prop. XIV., and Coroll. 2 to Prop. XVII.) — God, regarded as free cause of all that is. By nalura natiirntn, again, I understand all that follows from the necessity of the nature of God. or from each of the several attributes of God ; in other words, all the modes of the attributes of God, these being considered as things or qualities that are in Go<l, and which without God could neither be nor be conceived as being : q. e. d.
PROP. XXX. Understanding (intclleclus), whether as
finite or infinite in act, must comprehend the attributes
and affections of God aud nothing else,
Domomt. A true idea must agree with its ideate or ob- ject (by Ax. G) ; that is to say : That which is contained subjectively • in the imderstanding, must necessarily exist
• Sjtinoza's word hero \t olycctivcly ; l>ut at the prescnl day siibjectivc ii tlio word univereally used in connection with the acts of tlie understanding. — Tb
4(0
BENUPUT PE SPINOZA S
[objoctivcly] in nature. Hut in nuturo there ia only one Bubstiinco, God (by Coroll. 1 to Prop. XIV.), and no aftl'ctions other than those which oro in God (Prop. XV.), and whicli willunit God can neither exist nor be con- ceive<l wi existing. 'J'lierefore must muU-rstandiiiff, whether as tinit* or infinite in net. comprehend the attributes ond affections of Gud and nolhiufj bcsi<le8 : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXI. Intellect or understanding in act, whether it bo iinito or iniinite, as ulao will, desire, love, &c., must be referred to the nattira natiirata, not to the natiira naturam,
Dvmomt. For, bv intellect or understanding we do not niean absolute thought, but only a certain mode of thought, which diifers from its other loorlcs, such os desire, love, &e., and so must be conceived by or througli absolute thought (by Def. 5), that is, by or through some attribute of God which expresses the eternal and infinite essence of tliought, without which htnnan thouglit can neither b<' nor bo conceived to bo (by Prop. XV. and Def. G). Understanding, therefore, as also the other modes of thought, must bo rcferre<i to na- ture passive (nut. naturata), not to nature active (nat. naturans) : q. e. d.
Seholium. The reason why I here speak of understanding in act, is not because I acknowledge that there is any potential understanding, but because I de^ro to avoid all ambiguity, and am not disirosed to siwuk of anything save that which we most dearly comprehend, or of intellection itself, than which there is nothing more certainly perceived by U8. For we can understand nothing that does not con- duce to a more perfect knowledge of intellection.
PROP. XXXII. Will cannot be called a free cause, but a
necessary cause only.
Dvmohit. Will, like understanding, is but a certain mode of thought. A particular volition, therefore, con only arise or be determined to action by some catise other than itself, this again by another, this by yet anotlier, and so on to intinity (Prop. XXVIII.). But if an Infinite Will be supposed, it must needs be determined to exist and to act by God ; not however as God is the absolutely infinite substance, but as he is possessed of an attribute that expresses the infinite
KTmCS: TART I. OF GOt).
and oternul essence of thought (by Prop. XXIII.). In what- ever way conceived, therefore, Will, wliether as finite or infi- nite, requires a cause whereby it is determined in respect both of existence nnd action. Will consequently (by Def. 7) cannot be called u free cause, but must bo spoken of us u cause necessary or by constraint : q. e. d.
Coroll. 1. Hence it follows, first, that God does not act from freedom of will.
Coroll. 2. And, secondly, that will and understanding stand in the same relationship to the nature of God as motion and rest, and indeed and absolutely as all natural things whatso- ever which are determined by God to exist and to act in certain definite ways (by Prop. XXIX.). For will, like everything else, requires a cause whereby it is determined to be and to act in a certain definite manner. And although from a given will or understanding infinites followed, this could with no more propriety be said to happen because God acted of free will, than that those things which follow from motion and rest (and from these also follow an infinity of things) can be said to come to pass by the freedom of motion and rest. Will, consequently, does not pertain to the nature of God anymore than to other natural things, but stands in the same relation to that as do motion, rest, and everything else which we have shown necessarily to follow from and to dejwnd on the Divine nature, whereby they aro constrained to e.x^ist and to act in certain determinate ways.
PROP. XXXm. Things could have been produced by
God in no other way or order than as they have been
produced.
Dcnwmf. All things have followed necessarily from the nature of God (Prop. XVI.) ; and bj- the necessity of his nature are all things determined to exist and to act in cer- tain determinate ways (by Prop. XXIX.). If, therefore, things could have been of another nature thon they are, or been determined to act in some other way than they are, wherebj' the order of nature would not have been what it is, God himself would then have been different in nature from what he is. In such case, by Proposition XI., another divine nature, or other divine natures must have existed, and so there might then have been two or more gods, which is ab- surd (Coroll. to Prop. XIV.). Wherefore we conclude that things could have been produced in no other way, &c. : q. e. d.
442
SICT DE SriXOZA S
Sc/ioliiim ]. That I may prpsonl these conclusions with noon-day flint inctnexs, and snow that there is abwolutely notliing in thinfi;s Ik-cuusc of which thoy fliould bo rcgarde<l OS continpont. I shall explain in a few wo^d^ what we are to understand by cotitintjrnt. Before doinp so, however, I shall NIK-iilc of (he meaning I attach to the words ueccMcuy and
A thing is said to Ik? necessary in respect either of its ««encc or of its C4iuse. For the existence of u thing follows ncoewuirily either from its essence and definition, or from a given efficient cause. A thing, again, is said to bo im- possible on such grounds* a-s these, viz, ; either because its essence or definition involves a contradiction, or because no external cause adequate to the production of such a tiling can be assigned.
P'urther, a thing is said to be contingent for no reason save in respect of some defe<'t in our knowle<lge or under- standing. For the thing in whose essence we do not know that contradiction is involvctl, or in the essence of which we know precisely that no contradiction is involved, and yet of the existence of which we can affirm nothing certainly (be- cause the order of causes lies hidden from us), this thing can never present itself to us either as necessarj' or imi>os-sible ; and then we speak of it aa contingent or possible.
Stholittin 2. From what precedes it toUows clearly thot things were produced by God possessed of the highest per- fection, inasnmcli as they followed nece.s.sarily from tljc mast perfiH-t of natures, that, namely, of Gotl. Nor dcK.!s the neces- sity hero imi)l}' aught of imperfection in God ; for his very perfection forces us to speak o-s wo do. Were the contrary the case, indeed, it would clearly ensue (as I have but just shown) that Go<l was not the most perfect of Beings ; inns- much as had things been pnKluced otherwise than they are, another nature must then have been ascribe<l to God, dif- ferent from that which the contompliition of the most perfect of Beings compels us to ascribe to him. Now I do not doubt but many will regard this ^-iew as absurd, and will not even give their mind to weigh and consider it, for no other reason than that they have been userl to attribute to God a kind of freedom tot^illy different from tliat absolute freedom with which wo conceive him to be endowed (vide Def. 6). Yet, neither do I doubt that did they but meditate on the 8ubjtH!t and carefully consider our series of dera(jnsfj'ations, they would come at length to regard the fi-eedom they are wont to ascribe to God
BTHIfS : PART 1. OF OOD.
not only as nugatory, but would oven scout it as a grand obstacle to the progress of science. Nor is there any reason wliy I shoidtl here repeat wliat I have already said in the Scholium to Proposition XVII. Still, for the sake of ob- jectors, I shall pr(X!eed to show, that were it even conceded that Will beiongixl to the essence of God, it would, nevertheless, follow from his perfection that things could have been created in no other way and in no other order than as they exist in fact. This, indeed, will be most easily shown if we first con- sider that which objectors themselves concede, namely, that it depends on the will and decree of God alone that every individual thing i.s what it is; for otherwise, God would not be the cnuse of all things; further, that all the decrees of God were from eternity approved by their author ; for otber- ^vise imperfection and inconstancy would have to be presumed in God. But as there is neither a wficii, a be/ore, nor an after in eternity, it follows, as from the sole perfection of God, that God never decreed and never could have decreed any- thing else than that which is ; in other words, God was not anterior to his decrees, and could not be without them.
But here it may perhaps bo sjiid, that although it were a.ssumed that God had created a different order of things, or from eternity had decree<l another nature and a ditierent order of the same, this would iniply no imperfection in God. If this is assumed by myopponents,however, I say they thereliy admit that G(xl might change his decrees. J'or if God could have decreed another nature and another order of nature than those he has established, i. o., could have willed and oi-daincd nature othenvise than as it is, he would necessarily have had another understanding and another will than those he has ever possessed. And if it be permitted to ascribe t« God another understanding and another will without coincident change in his essence and perfection, what reason were there why he should not alter his decrees in respect of created things, and yet remain perfect as ever ? For his under- standing and wiU in respect of created things and their order, continue the same in respect of his essence and per- fection, in whatever "way conceived. Further, all the philo- sophers wth whose ideas I am acquainte<l acknowledge that the mind of God is not in power but in act. And as his understanding and his will are not distinct from his essence — as all agree — it follows, that had God possessed a diflcrent understanding in act and a different will, he would also necessarily have possessed a different essence. Hence, and
BENEDIC
on overy gniund (as at first concluded), liad things been creafod by God other than they are, then liad the uuder- Btundiug and the will, or the very essence, of God been other than it is — which is absurd.
Since therefore things could have been pro<luce<l by God no otherwise and in no other order than as they are (and that this is certain follows from tlie consuinniatt- perfection of God), no good reason can be assigned wherefore wc should believe that God willed that all things which are or were iu his mind should not be creatod with the same perfections oa those wherewith he conceived them. And if it be said here that in created things there is neither iK-rfection nor imper- fection, but that the qualities which inhere in thcni and by which they are styled perft«t or imperfect, good or bad, depend entirely on the will of God, and thus, God so willing, that that which is now perfection might have been the veriest im- perfection, and the contrary, what were this but openly to affirm that God, who necessarily understands that wiiich he wills, might by his will understand the things he has made otherwise than as he has willed to do P — a conclu.sion, as I have just shown, the most absurd. I therefore turn the argument of these reasoners against themselves in this way : All things depend on the power of G(xl. That a thins should be other than it is, it were essential that the will of God should bo other than it is ; but the will of God can bo no other than it is, the perfection of God making such a contingency im- possible ; nothing, consequently, could be or could have boon other than it is.
I own, nevertheless, that they whose opinion I am contro- verting, who subject all to a certain indifferent will of God, and dccLire everything to depend on his arbitrary pleasure, stray less from the truth than do those who maintain that God has acted in every case with reference to that alone which is ijood. For tlieso persons seem to put something outside of God which does not depend on him, to which in his acta he refers as to a p:i<<erii, or at which ho aims as a particular mark or with a particular puqaosc. Now, this is indeed to Bubicct God to Fate, than which nothing in connection wdth the supreme perfection can be imagined more ab- surd ; for we have shown Go<l fo be the first, sole, free cause as well of the essence of all things aj5 of their cjcistence. It were waste of time, howc^ er, further to rebut the absui-dilies that have been propoimded on this subject.
ETHlfS : PART I. OF GOD.
445
PROP. XXXIV. Tho power of God is his very essence.
DemonM. For it follows from the sole necessity of his essence that God is the cause of himself (by Prop. XI.), and of all things (by Prop. XVI. and its Corollary). AVherefore the power of God, whereby ho himself is, and all things are and act, is his very essence : q. c. d.
PROP. XXXV. "Whatever we conceive to be in the power
of God is so necessarily.
Dcmomf. "Whatever is in the power of God must by tho preceding proposition be comprised in his essence, and follow necessarily therefrom ; consequently must bo neces- sary: q. e. d.
PROP. XXXVT. Nothing exists from the nature of which
some effect does not follow.
Demonst. Whatever exists expresses the nature or essence of God in a certain and detomiinate manner (by CoroU. to Prop. XXV.), that is: whatever exi.sts expresses the power of God who is the cause of all Ihing.-i, in a certain determinate manner (by Prop. XXXIA"".) ; thus and therefore, as shown by ProjKJsition XVI., nothing exists from which some effect does not follow : q. e. d.
APPENDIX.
In these propositions I have sought to explain the nature of God and his properties, such as: that hf. necessakii.y exi.sts; that HE IS THE Sole, the One; that uy the roi.e neces.sity
OF 1U8 nature he IS AND ACTS ; that HE IS THE FuEE CaUSE
OF ai,l THINGS, ond how he is so; that all things are no God, and so depend on him that without him they could neither be, nor could be conceived to be : lastly, that all things \vehe niEDETERMiNKD BY Goi), not, indecnl, through freedom of will [in the vulgar sense] or as it seemed merely good to him (ex absolute beneplacito), but by the absolute nature or infinite power of God.
Whenever occasion has offered, I have, moreover, striven to remove such prejudices as might opjwse the reception of my demonstrations ; but as many such prejudices still remain which stand greatly in the way of mankind and prevent them
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from adopting the views of the concatenation of things now enunciatwl, I di>em it worth the jwins to bring thi«o prr- judicc-s before the bnr of reason and to examine them ciirefully. And inasmuch as the whole of the prejudices ■which I mean to discuss hero depend on this single one : that all natural things act as such to a certain end, and that God himself directs all things with a certain definite aim in view, — for it is tmiversiilly said that God made all things for the sake of niau, and man that he might worship Him, — this is the subject with which I shall commence my examination, in- quiring in the first place how it happens that most men uc(]uie8<.'e in this notion, and why all are by nature so much disposed to admit it« truth. In the second place, 1 shall show that this prejudice is utterly groundless. Finally, I shall explain how fnjni it have arisen the ideas generally entertained of good and e\-il, merit and demerit, sin, praise, and blame, orilcr and confusion, beaut}' and deformity, and other abstrac- tions of the same description.
Tliis is not the proper pLnce to show how such notions have arisen from the constitution of the human mind. It will suffice if I a.ssume as a basis for my explanations that in which nil are agreed, namely, that men arc born ignorant of tlie causes of things, and ttat all have a disjiosition to seek after that wliieh is useful to themschfs- — a matter of which they are jH^rl'eclly coii.scious.
From what precedes it follows, 1st, that men believe they are free, inasmuch as they are consciou.sof their volitions and appetites, and ignorant of the causes by which they ore dispositl to desire and to will, not thinking of these even in their dreams. It follows, 2ndly, that men imagine all things to act to an end, namely, to something uscfid which they desire. Hence it comes that they only seek to know the tinid causes of things done, and when they have heard of these they are satis- fied, because as it seems they have no motive for further doubt or inquiry. If, however, they obtain no informal ion of these irom others, nothing remains fur them but to turn to themselves, and reflect on the ends whereby imder similar circumstances they have been wont to be determined; and thus they ne- cessarily judge of the views of others by their own. More- over, as they discover various mejins both in themselves and bt-yond themselves which conduce in no small degree to their comfort and convenience, — as, for example, eyes for vision, teeth for chewing, herbs and animals for food, the sea for the production of fishes, the sun to give light, &c., it comea to puss
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thai they regard all natural things as incnns intendetl to be use- Ail to them ; and as they know that these moans are discovered but not prepared by themselves, they think they have reason for belie\"iiig tliat there is some one else who has prepared them for their ilso. For after having regarded things as means, they could never believe that these created themselves, l)ut miLst conclude that there is some one or some others, director or directors of nature, endowed with himian freedom, who have carerl fur all and made all things for their use. Never having heard of the endowments of the presumed director or directors, they must judge of these by their own. and liave hence concluded that God or the gwls directed all for the use of man, in order t<i attach htm to themselves and be held by him in Ihe highest honour.
Ill this way has it come to pass that every one following the bent of his own disposition has conceived a different manner of honouring Gofl, with the purpose always of pro- pitiating and rendering God more favourable to himself than to others, of inducing him to make all nature conduce to the gratification of his blind cupidity and insatiable desires. In tliis way, too, has such prejudice turned into superstition and struck its roots deeply into the minds of men. Here still further do we discover the reason why all in all times have been so eager to know and explain the Jitml causes of things.
Whilst striving to show that nature does nothing in vain • — that is, nothing which is not for the use of man — men have, however, done nothing but proclaim tliat nature and the gods were as foolish as themselves. Look, I entreat, at the upshot ! Among the many conveniences of nature not a few inconveniences arc encountered, such as tempests, earth- quakes, diseases, &c. ; and these are presumed to be due to the anger of the gods, because of the short-comings of man- kind— of sins committed through neglect of their worship, &c. ; ond although every-d:iy experience and multiplied instances declare that good and evil bcfuU tlie pious and the impious alike, this has never yet availed to divest vulgar man of invetcr- at-e prejudice. For he will rather relegate contradictory facts to the limbo of things unknown and of uses unapprehended than consent to pull dow^l the scaflblding of his superstition and begin to consider the world anew. Whei-eforo men have conceived that the judgments of the gods far exceeded human comprehension ; a conclusion which were cause sufficient in itself' wherefore eternal truths should be hidden from man-
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kind for ever, were it not that the muthematica, which take no note of ends, but are solely occupied with the essences and properties of fipures, happily presented tlioin with an- other standurd fur the apprehension of truth. IJcsides the mathematics indeed, other causes might be assigned where- by men would bo admonished of their vulgar prejudices, and 80 guided to a true knowledge of things; but of these it is needless to speak in this place.
I have thus, as I conceive, sufficiently exphiined the first head on which 1 promised to animadvert. And it will not take me long [ha\-inp thus cleared the way] to show that nature has no special predetermined ends, and tliat final causes ore nothing more than human fictions. I believe, in- deed, that this ought sufficiently to appear from what has already been said, as well in our consideration of the grounds and causes whence such prejudices arise, as in our 16th Pro- fHisition and in the Corollary to Proposition XXXII., to say nothing of the general scope of the whole of this First Part of my Philosophy, the burden of which has been to show that everything in nature proceeds by a certain eternal necessity, and in conformifv with consummate perfection. To tiiese,- howcver, I add, that the vulgar doctrine of finality or final cfltisca contravenes nature entirely. For it assumes as offcot that which is truly cause, and as cause that which is verily ef- fect ; furllier, it makes that which is prior in nature ulterior ; and finally, tlmt which ia supreme and oil-perfect it renders subordinate and most imperfect. For (pas.sing by the two first assumptions bearing on cause and effect as obvious of them- selvcsj, by I'ropositions XXI., XXII., and XXIII, it is sliown that thiit effect is most perfect which proceeds immediately from GckI, and that less perfect which requires several inter- mediate causes for its jiroduction. But if the things which are produced by God immediately were produced in order that God might attain his end, then wore the last cause, for which oil prccetling causes wore instituted, the most excellent of all. Such a conclusion however divests God of his perfection. For if God acts for an cud or purpose, ho necessarily desires sometliing which lie is without. And althougli theologians and metaphysicians distinguish between the_/7/i('s iiuliijfntite and X.\\o finis usuiiiilalinnU — tlie end desider- ate and the end assimilate, they still confess that God always acted iu respect of himself and not in respect of things to be creati-d ; because, before creation, nothing wherefore ho might act can be conceived but God himself; and so arc they neccs-
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sarily forced to admit that God wanted or was without those things for which he willed to prepare means, and must have desired them — a conclusion which is obvious enough.
13ut we uro not to overlook the fact, that they who nd- ■vocate this doctiine, and who have desired to find scope for the display of their ingenuity in assigning causes, have hud recourse to a new style of argument to lielp them in their conclusions, namely, by reductions not to the impossible or absurd, but to ignorance or the unkno^vn ; a procedure which shows very plainly that there was no other course open to them. If, for instance, a stone or tile fell i'rom a house-top on the head of any one and killed him, they demonstrated in their way that the stone or tile fell to the end that the man might be killed. For if not for this end, and by the special will of God, how sh(juld so many concurring circumstances (and very many circumstances do often concur in such a case) have led to the event 'i You will reply, perhaps, that the event happened because of the rough wind, the lotjse tile, and the prejsence of the man on the spot. Hut they will then urge : wherefore blew the wind so rudely "i Why was the man at the particular instant on the very spot on wliich the tile must fall f If you now answer, that the wind blew because of the neighbouring tempent, whose approach was indicated by tlie heaving of the sea on the prece<ling day, though the weather was then fine, and because the man had been invifwl and waa on his way to the house of a friend, they will still go on to ask — for in such a case there ia no end of asking — why the tempest arose at a distance on the day before, and why the man was invited at that particular time, — the cause of a new cause inquired for in endless sequence, until shelter is sought in wliat in such a case is called the Will of God, the anylum of ignorance. So also when they regard the structure of the human body they are amazed; and because they are ignorant of the cause of bo much art, they conclude that it has been contrived and put together bj'no mtrhanical, but by some divine or suiiematui-iU art, in such wise that each part in serving its o\vn ])urpose is not injurious to another. And thus it comes that he who inquires into the true causes of miracles and prodigies, and who admires the harmony of natural things as a person of knowledge and understanding and not as a simpleton, is everywhere proclaimed an infidel and impious person, and is so regarded by those whom the vulgar bow before as the interpreters of nature and the Divine decrees. For tJiese men know that with ignor-
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ftnce removed wonder ceaaes, and the only means they have of enforcinjj their dicta iind pivserviiig their nuthority comes to an end. Hut I quit this head, and proceed to the discussion of my thinl topic.
3. 'V>'T)en men had persuaded themselves that evenrthing in nature was made for them, they of course came to this pleoaant conclusion from noting those thinjjs f-spocially which, in so far as they were concerned, they found most usefid.most excellent, and by which they were most agreeably affected. And these are the grounds whereon they base the notions whereby they explain natural things, calling them Good, Bad, Orderly, Confused, Hot, Ck)ld, Beautiful, Deformed, &c. On these grounds, too, have men concluded that they themselves were I ree; and, further, have spoken of Praise and Blame, and of Merit and Demerit or Sin. Of these last epithets I shall ppeak by-and-by when I come to discuss the constitution of human nature ; of the former, however, I shall say a few- words in this place, explaining briefly what is to be understood by the several terms.
All that conduces to the health and well-being of man and that has the reverence of God for its object, is called Go<»d, as everything that is opposed to these is denominated B.\d. And it is because they do not understand the nature of things and define nothing, but 01J3' imagine matters and take imagina- tion for understanding, that men believe in a prevailing Or- der of things, ignorant though they be of the nature of these. And things being so disposed that when represented to us by our senses they are readily imagined, and therefore easily remembered, we say that they are well arranged ; but if otherwise disposed, then we say that they are ill arranged or confused. .(Vnd since those things are agreeable to us be- yond others that are readily imagined, therefore do we prefer order to confusion, as if order in nature were anything except what relutes to our imagination. It is said, further, that God 'created all things in order,' and the imagination of man is then unconsciously ascribed to God, — unless, indeed, it were maintained that God, provident of human imagination, had disposed all things in such a manner that they might be the more easily imagined by man ; nor would they who took this view find any great obstacle in the fact that many things exist which fur surpass our imagination, and many which, by reason of its weakness, confound it. But of this enough.
The other notions — beauty and defonnit}-, hot and cold, &c., are nothing more than modes of the imagination —
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modes whereby the faculty of imagining is affected in diverse ways, but which are esteemed by the vulgar among the principal attributes of things, because, as already said, the vulgar believe that all things were made for man, and solely as they themselves are affecttni do they call each thing good or bad, wholesome or pernicious, sound or corrupt, &c. Thus, if the impressions made on the nerves by objects through the senses, the eye, for example, arc agreeable or cause satisfaction, these objects are said to be beautiful ; but if the impressions are of an opposite and disagreeable character, the objects are then said to be deformed or ugly. In the same way are impressions received through the nerves of the nose and tongue spoken of as odorous or fartid, sapid or insipid, sweet or bitter. Impres- sions made on the nerves of touch in like manner arc hard- ness and softness, roughness or smoothness, &c. ; and those on the cars are sound or noise, harmony or discord ; and so much delighted are men themselves with harmony that they have even thought the concord of sweet soimds agreeable to the gods. Nor have philosophers Ixjcn wanting who have persuaded themselves that the celestial motions made har- mony. .iVll of which shows sufficiently that every man judges of things by the state or disposition of his brain, or rather that each individual takes the affections of his imagin- ation for real entities. Wherefore it is not wonderful — and this wo remark on by the way — that so many controversies have arisen in the world, with general scepticism as the result. For though men agree in their bodily constitution in many things, they still differ in many more, and therefore does thot which seems good to one appear bad to another, that which is grateful to one disagreeable to another, that which is orderly to one disorderly to another, with many other instances, which I pass by, both because this is not the place in which to speak of them particularly, and because they must be familiar to all. Every one knows the adage — tot liomiiii'H, qtiot Hcntcnliw — so many men, so many minds, so many palates, so many tastes, — admissions wliich show suf- ficiently that men judge in all cases by the disposition of their brain, and imagine things rather than understand them. Did men truly understand things, as the mathematics bear witness, the several considerations now set forth, though they might not please, would not fail to convince.
We thus discover all the explanations which the vulgar are wont lo give of nature to be mere modes of imagining, — to be definitions of nothing, but evidences of the activity
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and constitution of the imagination merely ; and as these modes are designated by particular names, as if they were entities existing beyond the iniuginatiun, I entitle them entities of the imagination, not of the reason, and so find no difficulty in meeting all the arguments derived from such notions that are brought against the views I take. Many indeed are wont to argue in this way : If all things have followed from the necessity of the most perfect nature of God, whence have the many imperfections encountered in nature arisen — the corruption that causes fetor, the deformity that excites disgust, the confusion, the sin, the crime we see in the world ? But, as I have said, it is easy to confute arguments raised on such grounds ; for the perfection of things is to bo estimated from their own nature and power alone ; nor is a thing either more or less perfect because it flatters or offends the sense or convenience of man, because it a«- similates with or is repugnant to human nature. And to those who ask why God boa not made all men so tlwt they should walk by the rule of reason, I make no other answer tlian this : that it was not because God was without material for the creation of all things from the highest to the lowest grade of perfection ; or, to speak more properly, because too laws of his nature were not so ample as to suffice for the production of all absolutely that can be conceived by an infinite intelligence, as I have shown in my 16th Proposition. These are the prejudices iipon which I proposed to descant in this place ; and if there be others of the same sort on which I have not touched, they will readily be apprehended and set aside by every one for himself with the aid of a little re- flection.
PART II,
OF THH
NATURE AND ORIGIN OF THE MIND OR SOUL*
I NOW proceed to explain the ^hings that must necessarily follow from the Essence of God, the Eternal and Infinite Being. I do not say erf ryt king, — for we have seen by our Proposition XVI. Part I., that from this Being an infinity of things in infinite modes must follow, — but those things only that may serve us as guides to a knowkdge of the human mind, and of that wherein true happiness consists.
DEFINITIONS.
1. By Body I understand a mode which in a certain definite way expresses the essence of God, so for considered as God is an extended entity. (See Prop. XXV. Pt I. CoroU.)
2. To the Essence of a particular thing appertains that which, being granted, the thing itself necessarily exists, and which, abstracted, the thing necessarily ceases to be. In other words, the essence of a thing is that Tvithout which it cannot be conceived to be ; and, vice rersd, that which without the thing neither is nor can bo conceived as being.
3. By Idea I imderstand a concept of the mind, which the mind forms because it is a thinking thing.
* Spmo!!B'8 word is mem, mind, the thinking oonicioua element in Uio nature of mnn. The word by the Genuau translators is rendered indifferently by 6Vijrf or Si-fUf, Sjilrit or &'«/, and by the P'rench by Amp, Soul. 1 uso the words mind and soul aynonymoualy. When in the references to pro- positions there is no mention made of the preceding First Part of the Ethics, the Part in hand is always to be undetgtood. — Tb.
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BeXZDlCT DB SPISRNU'S
EritlanatioH. I aay a oonocpt or coHception rnthor tlian a />crvoption, the word perception ■««»«"»"p to imply that the miiid in paanTely affected by an object, whilst conce]ition appeon to expreas an action of the mind.
4. By an Aoeou ate Idea I audorstand an idea which, oon- «id«rod in itself without rvlalion to on <>)>joi;t, possossoa all the properties and intrinsic charactera of a true idea.
Explan. I say intrinsic that I may exclude that which is extrinsic, viz., the agreement of the idea with its ideate or object.
5. DcKATto.v is indefinitely con tinned existence.
Krplan. I say indefinitely continued, because it can in no- wise be determined by the proper nature of an existing thing, ncilher can if be dotcnninod by the efficient cuu^ which nccesisarily establishes but does not abrogate the existence of a thing.
6. By REAJ.iTYond Pbrfection I understand one and the same thing.
7. By I.vniviDUAL Toings I undexBtond things that are finite and have a determinate existence. But if several in- dividuals BO concur in one act that altogether they ore the cause of a single effect, so far do I consider these in the agg7Y>gate as constituting one particular thing.
AXIOMS.
1. The Essence of man does not involve necessary exist- ence ; i. e., it might as well happen in the order of nnturo that this or that man existed as (hat he did not exist.
2. Man thinks.
3. Modes of thought, sucli as love, desire, hate, &c., — or by whatever other name the affections of the mind are desig- nated, do not arise in the same indindual, unless ideas of the things loved, desired, &c., arise. But on idea may arise with- out the presence of any other mode of thought.
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4. We feel or are conscious that a particular individual body may bo affectod in many ways.
5. We perceive and are conscious of no other individual things than bodies and modes of thought.
(For Postulates see after Proposition XIIT.)
PROPOSITIONS.
PROP. I. TuouoHT ia an attribute of God, or God is a thinking Entity.
Demonst. Individual thought*, or this and that thought, are modes which express the nature of 0ml in a certain and determinate manner (CoroU. to Prop. XXV. Pt I.). To God, therefore, belongs an attribute the concept of which in- volves all particular thought-s — the concept whereby these are all conceived (Dof. 5, Pt I.). Thought, consequently, is one of the infinite attributes of God which expresses his in- finite and eternal essence (Def. G, Pt I.), or God is a thinking being: q. e. d.
Scholium. The truth of the above proposition also appears in this — that wo can conceive an infinite thinking being. For the more a thinking entity can think, the more of reality or perfection do we conceive it to embrat^e. The eoitity, thcrelbre, capable of thinking in infinite ways is necessarily infinite in virtue of its thought. When thus taking account of thought only we conceive an infinite being, thought is necessarily one of the infinite attributes of God, as we have said. (Vide Defs. 4 and 6, Pt I.)
PROP. II. Extension is an attribute of God, or God is an
extended Being.
Demonst. The demonstration proceeds in the same way as in the preceding proj)osition.
PROP. III. The idc^i of his own essence, as of all things
that necessarily follow from it, necessarily exists in God.
D^inomt. For God thinks an infinity of things in an in- finity of ways (by Uef. 1 of this 2nd Part), or, what comes to the same thing, God can form an idea of his own essence and of all that necessarily follows from this, — a truth which is embraced in Prop. ^VI. Pt I. But all that is in the power of
BEJfEDtCT DB SPHtOZA «
God, ia necessary (by Prop, XXXV. Pt I.) ; therefore such iin idea necessarily exists, and can exist nowhere save in God (Prop. Xy. Pt"l.}: q. e. d.
Scholium. By power of God the viilg.-ir understand free- will of God and hi.-* right over all thinj^s, which arc therefore comtnoiily considered as contingent. For they say that God has the power of dcilroying all things, and reducing them to nothing. Moreover, they very commonly compare the power of God with the power of an earthly potentate. But we have shown the futiiitv of Huch a notion in Corollaries 1 and 2 to Prop. XXXU. I't I. ; and in Prop. XVI. Pt I. we have 8ho\ra that God acts by the .same necessity as that whereby he understands himself; that is to say, as from the necessity of the Divine nature it follows that God understands him.self (a point on which all are agreed), of the same neccssitj' it follows that God enacts an infinity of things in an infinity of ways. Finally, it has been shown in Prop. XXXIV. Pt I. that the power of God is nothing other than his es.sence in act ; so that it is even as impossible for iis to conceive God not acting as it is to conceive him not existing.
Were I disposed to pursue this subject further, I coidd show that this power which the vidgar connect with God, is not only human in its kind (which proves that God is always thought of as a man, and us pos.se8»e<l of mere human, faculties), but even involves imperfection and imiMteuce. But I am unwilluig again to discuss this subject, and so refer my reader to Part I., requesting him again and again to peruse and ponder what I have said from I'rop. XVI. onwards to the end. For no one can rightly appreciate what I wish to inculcate who does not most carefully guard himself against confounding the power of God with tlio powers and privileges of a himiau jjotentat* or ruler.
PROP. rV. The Idea of God whence infinities follow in
infinite modes can only be single.
Dcmomt. Infinite intelligence comprises nothing save the attributes of God and his affections (Prop. XXX. Pt I.). But God is one (Coroll. to Prop. XIV. Pt I.), therefore can the idea of God, from which foUow infinities in infinite modes, be one or single only : q. c. d.
PROP. V. The formal being or reality of ideas (Esse formale idearum) acknowledges God as cause in so far only as he
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u considered under hia attribute of thought, and not as ho is regarded under any other of his attributes. In other words, ideas, whether of the attributes of God or of jwir- ticular things, do not acknowkylge the ideates or things perceived as their efficient cause, but God himself con- sidered as a thinking being.
Demomi. This is plain from the third Proposition above ; for there we have concluded that God forms an idea of his esst^nce and of all that necessarily ensues from this alone, viz., because he is a thinking being, and not because he is tho object of his idea. Wherefore the formal or real being of ideas has Gml considered as a thinking entity, for caase. But the proposition may be demonstrated in a different way : Tho formal being of ideas is a mode of thought (as is obvious of itself}, i. e., is a mode which in a certain definite way expresses the nature of God in so for as he is a thinking being (by Coroll. to Prop. XXV. Pt I.); but this involves the concept of none of his other attributes (by Prop. X. Pt I.}, and cou.sequently is the effect of no attribute save thought alone (by Ax. 4, Pt I.). Ideas fomiall)' existing, therefore, have Gofl in his aspect of a tliinkiug entity only for their cause : q. e. d.
PROP. VI. The modes of any attribute have God for their cause in so far only as he is considered under the aspect of the particular attribute to which these modes pertain, and not aa he ia considered under any other attribute.
Demonst. For each attribute is conceivc<l by and through itself alone (by Prop. X. Pt I.). Wherefore the modes of each particular attribute involve the conception of tho at- tribute to which they pertain, but of none other ; and so, by Axiom 4, Part I., thev have God for their cause, but only in so far as he is considered ujider the special attribute of which they are the modes : q. e. d.
Coroll. Hence it follows that the formal being of things which are not modes of thought, does not follow from tho Dirine nature because it had prescience of things ; but that tho things conceived — res idcatw — follow and are deduced in tho same way and by the same necessity from their attributes as wo have shown ideas to follow from the attribute of thought.
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PROP. VII. The order and oonnccUou of ideas is Uie~8iune as the order and connection of things.
Demonst. This appoars plainly from Axiom 4, Pt I. For the idoo of crerything tliat is caused depends on a know- ledge of the cuJisc of which it is the effect.
Coroll. Hence it follows that God's power of thought is enual to his virtual power of action. That is to say, all that follows formallv from the infinite nature of God, follows objoctivelv in Clod in the same order and with the same con- nections from the idea of God.
Sclwliitm. Before proceeding further it were well in this place briefly to recall to memory what has been already said, viz., that all that can be perceived by the in6nitc intelligence as constituting the essence of .Substance belongs or is referable to the one substance only ; consequently that thinking substance and extended substance are one and the same substance, conceived now under this attribute, now under that. So also the attribute of extension, and the idea of this attribute, are one and the same thing, expressed in two ways ; a truth which seems to have been perceived obscurely as through a haze by the Hebrews, who declare that God, the understanding of God, and the things understood of God, are identical. For example : a circle existing in nature, and the idea of an existing circle, whicli is also in God, are one and the same thing expressed by different attributes ; and bo, whether we conceive nature under the attribute of extension, or under the attribute of thought, or under any other attri- bute whatever, still do wo find one and the same order or one and the same connection of causes — the same things severally in sequence of each other. Nor have I said that God is cause of the idea of the circle, for example, in so far only as he is considered as thinking being, and cause of the circle itself, in so far only as he is extended being, for any other reason than because the formal being of the idea of the circle can only be perceived by another mode of thought as its proximate cause, this agam by another, this by another still, and BO on to infinity.
So long, therefore, as things are considered as modes of thought, we are bound to explain the entire order of nature or the connection of causes by the attribute of thought alone ; and again, when they are considered as modes of extension, the order of nature at large is to be explained by the attribute
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of extension only. The same procedure I understand as ap- plicable in the discussion of other attributes.
We conclude, therefore, that of thin}?8 as they ore in themselves, God, as constituted by an infinity of attributes, is the true and only caujie. I cannot at present nor in this place explain those matters more clearly.
PROP. VIII. Ideas of individual things or of modes non- existent must be comprehended in the infinite idea of God, in the same way as the virtual essences of things or of modes are comprised in the attributes of God.
Drmonst. This proposition follows from the Scholium of the preceding proposition.
Coroll. Ilence it follows that so long as individual things have no existence save in so far as they are comprised in the attributes of God, their objective essences or ideas do not exist save in so fur as the infinite idea of God exists ; and where individual things are said to exist not merely in so far as they are comprised in the attributes of God, but in so far also as they are said to endure, the ideas of these things, whereby they are said to endure, also involve existence.
Scholium. If an example be desired for the better ex- planation of this subject, I can, indeed, give none which adequately explains it, inasmuch as it stands by itself alone. I shall try, however, to the best of my ability to give an illus- tration of' it. The nature of the circle, for instance, is such that all the rectangles formed by straight lines fulling per- pendicularly and intersecting each other within its area are equal to one another. In the circle, consequently, there may be contained an infinity of rectangles severally equal to one another. None of these, however, could be said to exist save m so far as the circle existed ; neither can the idea of any of them be said to exist save in so far as the idea of the circle exista. Now let two of these rectangles, D and E, from among the infinite number possible, be conceived to
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BBS EDICT DR SPIXOZA «
exist. Then, indeed, do tho ideas of these exist not only in M fur as they are comprised in the idea of the circle, but they exist also in so far as they involve in themseh'e^ the existence of their rectangles, whereby it comes to pass that they are dis- tingttished from other ideas of other possible rectangles.
PROP. IX. The idea of an individual thing existing in
act, has Ood for its cause, not a» he is infinite, but as be
is considered as affected by another idea of an individual
thing existing in act, of which Go<l is also the cause in
so far as he in affected by a third idea existing in act,
and so on to infinity.
Dtmonst. The idea of an individual thing extant in act,
is a particular mode of thought, distinct from other modes
(by CoroU. and Schol. to Prop. VIII. of this Part), and so,
by Prop. VI., has God for its cause, but only in so fur a.s he
is consulerifl under his attribute of thought or as a tiiinking
Entity; not, however, as the ubsolufo thinking Entity (by Prop.
XXV^III. Pt I.), but as ho is ntfoctcd by another mode of
thought, this in its turn by another, and so on to infinity.
But the order and enchainment of ideas is tho same us the
order and enchainment of caases (by Prop. VII. above).
Therefore is the cause of every particulnr idea always another
idea, or God as ufiocted bv this other idea, which in its turn
has God for its cause, and so on to infinity. "Wherefore, the
idea of an indindual tiling, &c. : q. e. d.
Coroll. God has knowledge of all that happens in the individuiil object of an idea, in so far only as he is possessed of tho idea of the object.
Demonsl. "NVliatever occurs in the object of any idea, an idea of tho same is present in God (bj' Prop. III. of this part), not as he is infinite, but as he is afl'ccted by the idea of another individual thing (by the preceding proposition). Tho order and connection of ideas, however, is the same as the order and connection of things (by Prop. VII. above). There will therefore be present with God a knowledge of what transpires in any individual object, in so far only as ho has an idea of tho same : q. e. d.
PROP. X. Substantive being {esse Subst<tntia>) does not belong to the essence of man, or Substance does not con- stitute the Formal or Actual in the nature of man.
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Demoiiat. For substantive being involves necessary ex- istence (Prop. VII. Pt I.}. Did substantive being belong to the essence of man, tbcroforo, Substance given, man were also necessarily given (by Def. 2, above), and con.sequently man would exist necessarily ; which is absurd (Ax. I. above). Therefore, &c. : q. o. d.
Scholium 1. The demonstration of this proposition is also includwl in that of Prop. V. Pt I., where it is proved that there exist not two substances of the same nature. But, as many men can co-exist, therefore is that which constitutes the essential (forma) in man, not substantive being. The pre- sent proposition is made further manifest when the other pro- perties of subst-ance are taken into account, — such as that it 18 by its nature infinite, immutable, indivisible, &c., as must be obvious to every one.
Coroll. Hence it follows that the essential nature of ;nan is constituted by certain modifications of the attributes of God ; for substantive being does not pertain to man (by the pre- ceding Proposition). It must, therefore, be something which is in God, which without God neither is, nor can be con- ceived to be (by Coroll. to Prop. XXV. Pt I.), and so is an affection or mo<le which expresses the nature of God in a certain and determinate munner.
Scholium 2. All must indeetl allow that nothing can be, neither can anything be conceived to bo, without God. For all admit God as the sole cause of all things, — of the essences as well as of the existences of things ; that is to say, God is not only the cause of things as regards their becoming (fieri) as is said, but as regards their aciualiti/ or being (esse). Nevertheless it is mostly said that that belongs to the essence of a thing without which the thing can neither be nor can bo conceived to be; whereby it comes to pass that the nature of God must either belong to the essence of created things, or it must be held that creatcnl things can both be and be con- ceived to be without God ; or, — and this is much more certain, — that they who reason in this way arc inconsistent with themselves. These persons, as I apprehend, obserN"e no projKT order in their reasonings, but make considerations of the Divine nature, to which they ought to have given 'prec^edcnco us prior both in conception and in miture, the last element in their argument, and regard things which are styled objects of sense as anterior to everj'thing else. In this way it has come to pass that contemplating natural things, they have thought of nothing less than of the Divine nature ; and when
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MKBOICr DB SPINOZA'a
in the end thoy gave their minds to the contemplation of this, thoy could think of nothing othor than of the conceits nnd figments on which their guperstructure of natural things was reared. But a knowledge of uuturul things does not aid us in u knowledge of the Divine nature, nnd so it is no wonder thot they who build on it should be found contradicting themselves continually. Hut I pass on ; for my pur|)o.se here is only to give a reoson why I have not said that that belongs to the essence of a thing without which it can neither be nor be conceived to be (on the ground, namely, that without God individual things can neither be nor can Wi conceived to be), and yet have said that God iHjrtains not to their essence, but that this nw-es-sarily constitutes the essence of some other thing, which being given, the thing is given, and which bf;ing denie<l, the thing is not ; or it is that witlumt which tlic .thing, and, ricr remu, that without the thing which can neither be nor be conceived to be (Couf. Def. 2).
PROP. XI. The Prime which constitutes the Actual or Real being of the human mind is nothing other than the Idea of a particidar thing existing in act.
Dcmoiixl. Tlic essence of man is constituted by certmn modes of the attributes of God (Coroll. to prcecd. Prop.), viz., by ini>les of tliought (by ^Va. 2), the ideas of all of which are prior in nature, and being given (by Ax. 13) the other tn<Kles the ideas of which are prior in nature must also be present, in the same individual (bvAx. 4). Thus, therefore, is Ideathe/^v'/ne which constitutes 'fhe Actual of the human mind. But not the Idea of a non-existing thing, for then the idea itself could iKJt bo said to exist (by ("oroll. to Prop. VIII.) ; nor yet the idea of an infinite thing, for an inlinite thing nmst necessarily nnd etcnially exist (by Props. XXI. and XXIII., Pt I.). But Bssmnptions of these kinds are absurd (by Ax. 1). Therefore is the idea of a particular thing existing in act the prime which constitutes the actual of the human mind : q. e. d.
Curoll. Hence it follows that the human mind is part of the infinite intolligenco of God ; so that when we say that the human mind perceives this or that, we say nothing other than tliat God — not as he is the Infinite, but as he is manifested by the mind of man, or as he constitutes the essence of tho human mind — has this or that idea. And saying this we not ouly say tliat God has un idea of this or that in so far as he constitutes the essence of the human mind, but in so fur as
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along with the human mind he has also an idea of another thing, in which case wc say (hat thehimion mind perceives a thing partially or inadcquutely.
Scholium. And here, I doubt not, but some of my readers will pause and imagine various reasons making further pro- gress in this dii'ection di6Bcult. It is on this account that 1 now interpose, and request them to proceed with me deliber- ately step by step, and to suspend their judgment until they have perused what I have still to say on this subject.
PROP. XII. All that takes place in the object of the idea which constitutes the mind of man must be perceived by the mind, or an idea of that object is necessarily present in the mind ; that is, if the object of the idea bo body, nothuig can take place in the body which is not perceived by the mind.
Demons/. All that take^ place in the object of an idea is necessarily known to God (Coroll. to Prop. IX.) considered in 80 far as he is affcctod by the idea of this object ; in other terms (liy Prop. XI.), in so far as he constitutes the mind of a particular thing. ^\Tiatever happens, consequently, in the object of the idea which constitutes tho human mind will be necessarily cognized by God, in so far as he constitutes the nature of the human mind ; i. e., by Coroll. to Prop. XL, tl»e consciousness of this thing will be necessarily in, and perceived by, the mind : q. e. d.
Scho/ium. The above proposition is demonstrated, and is perhaps even more readily to be understood, by the Scholium to Proposition VII. of this 2nd Part.
I'lJOP. XIII. The object of the idea which constitutes the
human mind is tho body, or a certain mode of extension
existing in act and nothing else.
Demomt. Wore not the body the object of the mind of niuii, ideas of the affections of the body could not be in God (by CorolL to Prop. IX.), in so far as he constilutcsour mind or soul, but in so iar only as he constituted the mind or soul of some other thing ; that is to say, ideas of the affections of the bcxly could not be present in our minds at all (by Coroll. to Prop. XI.). But we know that we have ideas of our bodily affections (by Ax. 4) ; wherefore, the object of the
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BBNBDICT DB SPINOZA S
idea which constitutos the mind of man is the body exiBiing in act (Conf. I'rop. XI.).
Apiiin : Hud there been any other object of the mind be- side-s the body, inasmuch a* nothing existo from which there follows not some ctl'wt (by Prop. XXXVI. Pt I.), there most neceniMirilv have been some idea of such an effect present in our mind (bvPn)p. XI. above). But there is no idea of any effect of thv kiiwl prejscnt with us, and therefore, by Axiom 5 alwve, no such idt'a exist.s. The objf.-ct of our mind, consequently, ia our Ixxly iictually existing and nothing eW : q. e. d,
Coroll. Hence it follows that man coni-ists of mind and l)ody, and that the himian body exists a« we feel and are con- scious of it.
Scholium. From the above wo not only understand that the mind is united to the body, but also what is to be under- stood by the union of mind and \xjdy. No one, however, can imderMand this distinctly or adequately unless he first udo- qualely understand the njiture of the human hotly. For what we have sp<ikon of thus far is suffiiienily general, and does not belong to man any more than to other creatorea, which are all, although in different degrees, animated. For the idea of everything of which Go<l is cause, nwessarily ex- ists in (jixl in the same way as the idea of the human body; so that all we have said of the idea of the human Ixxly niuj>t be held as ncrcessjirily to l>e said of the idea of every other thing. Still it cannot be denied that ideas differ precisely as their objects do, and that one is more excellent than another and has more of reality lielonging to it, precisely us the ob- ject of one is more excellent than the object of another and lias more of inherent reality than others. To determine, eon- Kcqiiently, wherein the liuman mind excels other minds, and whereby it is distinguished from tliese, it is neccssarj' that we know its object, that is, that we know the nature of the hu- man liody. This, however, I can neither explain in this place, nor is it necessary that I should do so in respect of tliat whicli I wish to demonstrate at present. So raucu do I say generally, however: the more apt any body is than others at once to do and to suffer many tilings, by so much the moro apt is its associated mind simultaneously to peiveive a variety of things ; and, the more entirely tlie actions of a particular body depend on itself alone, and the less other bodies concur with it m acting, the more apt is the mind conjoined with that body to understand things distinctly. And it is by this that wo appreciate the excellenco of one mind over anotlier, and fjir-
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463
ther apprehend the reason why we have no other than con- tused notions of our Iwjdy ns well as of many other things, which in what follows I sliuU deduce from this contingency. For this reason it appears to me worth while to explain tho matter more tiiUy, in which view I hold it needfid to premise a few words concerning the nature of bodies.
AXIOMS .\ND LEMMAS.
Axiom 1. All bodies are either in motion or at rest.
Axiom 2, Every body in motion moves now more slowly, now more rapidly.
Lemma 1. Bodies are distinguished from one another by reason of their ^tate of motion or rest and of the slowness or rapidity of their motions, not in resjject of Substance.
Demount. Tlie first part of this Lemma I presume to be self-evident. And that IxKlies are not distinguished by rea- son or in respect of substance appears by Props. V. and VIII. of Part I., and yet more clearly from what is said in the Scholium to Prop. XV. Part I.
Lemma 2. All bodies agree in some tilings.
Demonst. All bodies agree in these particulars, y\r.. : that they involve the conception of one and the same attribute (by Def. 1) ; further, Ihnt they move now more slowly, now more rapidly ; and lastly, that they may now move, now re- main absolutely at rest.
Lemma 3. A body in motion or at rest must be determined to motion or rest by another body, which in its turn was do- termincd to motion or rest by another, this again by another, and BO on to infinity.
Demomt. Bodies are individual things distinguished from one another by their states of motion and rest (Def. 1 and Lem. 1) ; each therefore (by Prop. XXVIII. Part. I.) must necessarily be determined to motion or rest by some other particular thing, viz., another body which is itself either in motion or at rest (Prop. VI. and Ax. I). But this other body could neither move nor rest unless determined to do so by another, and this again by another and another to infinity.
Corollary. Hence it follows that a body in motion, con- tinues to move so long as it is not detcnnintnl to cease from iis motion and come to rest by another body; and the quies- cent body also continues at rest until it is put in motion by
30
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BRXEDiCr DB SPIXOZa's
anotJipr. This is ob^-ious of itaelf. For when I suppose ' '' :it rt>«t, and give no heed to the tnotion.n of otbe
I Mcjt »iijinon>of A than tliat it is nf rcsl. But
it happen;* bv-and-by that A sliould move, this certainly c»>iil(l not pixK-wxl fnjin it« state of rest ; for of this nothing could come but eoutinuoux rest. If, on the contrary, we suppose A in motion, in referring to it wo could iiffinn nothing suvc that it niovcil. But if it (»ub»j'<piently Imppeucd that A curaeto] rest, this a.-wurodly could not come to imuis in virtue of thoj motion it ptMiWHsed ; for of motion nothing could come but continuous motion. The rest, therefore, C4ime of something which wus not in A, namclv, of an cxtcmul cause, wherebv it was brought to rest.
Ajiom 1. All the modes in which one body is affi^fcfl by another, follow from the niiture of the ufTected imd afl'ccting body ut once; so that one and the mime Itody is diversely mov«l by diversity in the nature of the moving bodies, and, vice TcrsA, different bodies ore moved in diverse ways by oni» and the same body.
Axiom 2. When a body in motion impinges on another body at rest which it cannot move, it euffers reflection in continuing its motion, and the angle of the line of reflection is the same as that of the line of incidence referred to tho plane of the surface impinged upon.
Z^7
This much in respect of the simplest bodies, tho8o» to wit, that are distinguished from one another by motion and rc*t, and by rapidity or slowness of motion alone. Let us now proceed to composite bodies.
Drfiuit. When several bodies of the same size or of differ- ent magnitudes are so situated that they severally overlie one another, or when they move with like or unlike degrees of velocity in such wise that they severally commuuicuto their motions in some certain measure to one another, we sny thut these bodies arc united so us together to constitute one body! or individual which is distinguished from other bodies by this union.
Axiom 3. As the parts or particles of an individual or comijosite body press one on another bj' surfaces of greater or less extent, so are tlioy forced with more ease or greater dif- ficulty to change their places, whereby the individual assumes
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467
a different shape with more or loss facility. It is on this pround that bodies whose parts are severally in contact with large surfaces are said to be hard, whilst those whose parts arc in contact with small surfaces arc soft, and those finally whose parts are severally moveable on each other are fluul.
Lemma 4. If from a body, or individunl composed of several bodies, some of these are detached, and other bodies of the same sort are added or take their places at the same moment, the individual body retains its nature and its figure without change.
Dcmonsf. For bodies are not distinguished in respect of substance (by Lem. 1). But that which constitutes the form or essential nature of an individual thing consists in the union of parts or bodies (by the preceding Definition), and this is retained, hypothclically, although there be continual change of constituent parts or bodies. An individual thing, there- fore, will retain its original nature both in respect of substance and of mode.
Lemma 5. If the parts composing an individual become larger or smaller, in such relative proportion however as that all preserve the same ratio in respect of motion and rest as before, the individual will likewise retain its nature with- out any change of form.
Demoitst. This is similar to that of the preceding Lemma.
Lemma 6. If the bodies composing a certain individual thing are compelled to change the motions they had in one direction to some other, but still so that they can continue their motions, and inter-communicate these in the same manner as before, the individual will in like manner retain its nature, without any change of form.
Demonst. This is obvious of itself. For the individual is supposed to retain everything which, in its definition, wo have said constituted its form.
Lemma 7. The individual thus composed further retains its nature, whether it bo moved as a whole or rests as a whole, and whether it be moved hither or thither, provided only each several part retains its motion and oommimicates this as before to the other parts.
Demonst. This will be foimd in the Definition which pre- cedes Lemma 4.
Scholium. From what precedes we see how a composite 80 •
■■■Mil
be «fcttod in aany Stterent way^
ite pnoor ntiture.
indiridttal body i
■UthewhikL
Tbas br wa haw ounuawJ an indiridoal oompoonded
of bodiw datiagmibBd from ooe maather br nothing bat Botaoa or rest, or by greater or leaa Telocity of movement that is to aay, an indiridoal coaipaaed of the very sitnplei bodiea. Bat had we coacetred aDOthor, coaapoaed of nuntoroii indiridnala of diflereat natorea, then ahoold are hsLve fo thai it waa capable of besag afcifrd in Tarimn other way?^ ita~ ibdng, aemthdeaa, preRfTed toitonebanged. Fur in- I each of its sereru parts is composed of many bodies. theae sererally and without any change of their nature may more now more slowly, now more rapidly, and oooseqaentljj ououBuuicate their slower or more rapid motioos to the Did we again oooceiTe a thiid kind or indiridoal oompoo of this serand order of bodies^ we aboold in like manner |>er- oeare that it might be a&cted in anny different ways wrilh- out any change oocarring in the fbmi of the individual ; and did we thus proceed on and on to infinity, we should readily conceive that the whole of nature was verily but One Indi- vidual, the several parts of which, in other words, all bodies whatsoever, varied m infinite ways without change in the in- dividual at large. And this, were it my purpose to treat body profeoeedlv, I should feel bound to e:cplain and dcmon^ strate more at large. But 1 have already said that I have another object in view, and I only sav so much as I lui>'e done, because I could from thence readily deduce the oonclu- sion I meant to attain.
POSTTLATKS.
1. The human body is composed of numerous indin'duiil
farts or thingx (of diverse nature), each of which is it.sclf ighly composite.
2. Of the individual parts or things of which the human body w composed .some are /Im'tl, gome soft, and some hard.
«3. The individual things composing the human body~ and consequently the human body itself, are afi'ected by ex« ternal bodies in vcrj- many ways.
4. The human body requires for its preservation many other bodies, by which it is as it were incessantly regener- ated.
6. When the fluid part of the himian body is determined by an external body frequently to impinge upcm another soft
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469
part, it alters the plane of the part so impingwl upon, and im- presses on it some trace as it were of the impoUing external bo<ly.
6. The human body can move external bodies in many ways, and in many ways dispose or influence them.
PROP. XrV. The human mind is capable of percei\'ing
many things ; and is by so much the more capable as its
body may be disposed in different ways.
Dcmomt. For the human Ijody is affected in many ways by external bodies (by Postidates :j and ti). and is also disposed to influence extenial b<:)dies in various ways. But all that transpires in the human body must be perceived by the human mind (by Prop. XII.). Therefore is the human mind apt to perceive many things, and is by so much the more apt a« its body, &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. XV. The idea which constitutes the actual or formal
being {ca»e formak) of the human mind is not simple
but composed of numerous ideas.
Dcmomt. Tlie idea which constitutes the formal beinpf of the human mind is (he idea of the body (by Prop. XIII.), which is composed of miiiiy compoimd individuals (Postal. 1). But the idea of each individual component of the body necessarily exists in God (by Coroll. to Prop. VIII.). There- fore (by Prop. VII.) is the idea of the body of man com- posed of many ideas of these dift'erent component parts : q. e. d.
PROP. XVI. The idea of everj' mode whereby the human body Ls affected by external bodies, must involve the nature of the human body and the nature of the ex- ternal affecting body at one and the same time.
Demonst. For all the modes whereby any body is affected follow from the nature of the affected body and that of the affecting body at once (by Ax. 1 after the Coroll. to Lemma 3). Wherefore the idea of the modes necessarily involves the nature of both bodies (by Ax. 4, Pt I.) ; and so the idea of every mode whereby the human body is affetttcd through an external body, involves tlie nature botli of the human body and of the external body : q. e. d.
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asnMOT OS vurnsa's
Conn. 1. Heooe it folloirs, first, that the human mind ■long with the natorc of its own body apprchooda the nature ttmmay other bodicx.
CbntU. 2. Secondly, it follows, that tho ideas wc hare of external bodioa rather proclaim the con«titution of our own body than the nature of external bodies, a conclusion which I hare exphuned by numerous examples in the Appendix to Parti.
PROP. XVII. If the human body be affected by a mode which involves the nature of an external body, the human mind apprehends tliis cxtcmiJ body as actually existing, or regards it as present in fact imtil the body ia poBseased by an affection which excludes the existcfnoo or presence of the same external body.
Demonnt. This is obviouB; for no long as the body of man is thus affected so long will the mind (by Prop. XII.) dwell on the affection of tlic body ; thut is, it will have an idea of the mode which exists in act, and involves tho nature of tho external bodv, — in other words, an idea which docs not exclude but oflserts tte existeuco or presouce of the nature of the oi- tomal body. Thus will the mind (by tho CoroU. to preceding Proposition) contemplate an external body as achi.iUy existing, or as present to it, until possessed by an affection w-hich ex- cludes this : q. e. d.
CoroU. The mind has the jxiwer of contemplating as ex- isting or as present the external bodies by which the body has once been affected, though they do not then exist and ore not actualh' present.
Doniofist. So long as external bodies detormine the fluid parts of the human body to impinge rcpcatodly on sortor
Sarts, they effect a change in the planes ot these (bj' PostuL ) ; whereby it happens (see Ax. 2 after the Coroll. to Lem. 3) that they become deflected in other ways than before, and that they are again and similarly deflected from the new planes when in their spontaneous motions they impinge against these, precisely as though they hud been ini|>elle<l by external agencies against them ; and consequently that they affect the human frame by these reflected motions in the samo manner as they did by their original motions. By such means will the mind be brought to think anew (by Prop.
I contemplate tho external body
:•).
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471
as actually prosent (by Prop. XVII.) ; and tliit* it will do as ofWn iis liic fluid parts of tho human body by their spontaneous motion.s impinge on the same planes. Wherefore, although tho external bodies by which the human body was once affected no longer exist, the mind contemplates them ua things prosent, us often as certain bodily processes aro re- pctitcxl : q. e. d.
Sc/io/iutii. We thu.s perceive how it may happen (hat things non-existent arc frequently regardtnl as things actually present. And it may chance that the same effect shall follow irora other causes. Ijut it suffices that T should here have shown one rause whereby I explain the matter, as though I had demonstrated it by a true cause ; nor do I believe that I thus stray far from the truth, seeing that among all the Postu- lates I assume, sc^ircely one can be point«<l out that is not in conformity with experience, or that may bo called in question after it has been shown that the human body, a« wo ourselves are conscious of it, exists (vide Coroll. to Prop. XIII.). Be- sides this we clearly perceive (from the preewliug Corollary and tho second Corollary to Prop. XVI.) what difference there is betwixt the idea, say of Peter, which constitutes the essence of the mind of Peter himself, and the idea of Peter which is present to another man, say Paul. For the one is directly expressive of the essence of the body of Peter himself, and only implies existence so long as Peter is actually present ; the other again rather indicates the conilition of the Iwdy of Paul than the nature of Peter ; and so will the mind of Paul, so long as this same state of his body continues, regard Peter as present to it, although he is not so in fact. Moreover, and that we may continue to make use of conmion language, we shall call the affections of the human b(jdy, the ideas of which pre- sent external objects to us a-s realities, by the title of ImagcH of f/iiiif/K, although they do not really reflect the tigures of things ; an<l when the mind considers bodies in this way we shall say that it imaijiiifn them. And here, that I may enter on the consideration of error — of that wherein error con.sists, I desire it to be ob.sorved that the imaginations of the mind considered in themselves involve no error, or that tho mind errs not because of that which is imagined, but in so far only as it is held Xo be without the idea which excludes the exist- ence of the things it imagines to be present to it. For if tho mind, whilst things non-existent are imagined aa present, were at the same time couscioas that these things did not really exist, this would have to bo ascribed to a higher power
473
BENF.nicr OR rpinozaN
rather than to any cloitcicncy tu it« niiture, especially it the fuculty of imripiniiig dc'i>endt<fl on its pnj|K;T naturo alone — that i* lo Hiiy (by l>cf. 7, Pi I.), if the miiid'H faculty of im- agining were froe.
PIIOP. XV' I II. If the human body hoa boon onco affi«c!tetl by two or more bodica simultaneously, thon will the mind, if it uftornrnrdu imagines aught in rcspoct of one of tliesc Iwdiea, immtvliatoly romombcr the other or the others also.
Dcmomf. The mind (by the preceding eorolLiry) imagines a body as present because the human Ixxly is influenced and afri.«to(l by the Inw-cs of an external body, in the same way as it would be were any of its parts touched or impinged upon by iin external body. But (by our hypothesis) the human body was then so disposcxl that the mind imagined two or more bodies simulljineously ; Ihercfore will it now imagine two bodies at once; and, further, imagining either of these sovcrnlly, it will forthwith also remember the other: q. e. d.
Srholiiim. From this we readily understand what tnemorif is. It is nothing more than a certain concatenation of ideas involving the nature of things external to the body which takes place in the mind according to the order und concatena- tion of (be affections of the body. I saj', in thojiriit jjlace, that memory is a mere concatenation of ideas involving the nature of things external to the body, but not of ideas which explain the nature of these things. For there are indec<l (bv Prop. XVI.) idc:i8 of nfl'ections of the human body which involve the nature both of this and of external bodies.
Secomlli/. I say this concatenation takes place according to the order and concatenation of the aflections of the hviman bodj', in order that I may distinguish them from the cou- cntenalion of ideas which takes place according to the order of the undei-staiidiiig, whereby the mind perceives things by their first causes, and is the same in all men. Hence, further, we clearly understand why tlie mind from the thought of one thing often immediateiy fulls into the thought of another which has no reaerablance to the first ; for example, from the thought of the word pomum a Roman im- mediately thinks of a certain fruit — an apple, which has no reseuiblunee to the articulate sound, nor anything in com- mon with it, save that the body of the man was often affected at once by the two things — the word and the apple, he having
ETHICS : PART II. OF THB SOtTt.
473
often heard the word pomum when seeing the fruit it signified. It is in this way that thoughts of one thing lead to thoughts of another, according as custom or habit orders the imagin- ation of the thing in the body. A soldier, for instance, when he sees the foot-prints of a horse in the sand, from thoughts of the horse immediately faUs into thoughts of the rider of the horse, thence into thoughts of war, &c., &c. ; whilst a peasant, from such foot-prints, forthwith falls into thoughts of fields, ploughs, &c., — that is, each in his own way, and as ho is wont to connect the images of things, passes from ono tliought into another of this or that complexion.
PROP. XIX. The human mind does not know the human
body in itself; neither does it know that the body
exists except through the ideas of the affections by
which the body is influenced.
Deniotint. For the human mind is the very idea or con- sciousness of the human body (by Prop. XIII.), which is verily in God (by Prop. IX.), in so far as be is considered as affected by another idea of an individual thing (by Postulate 4) ; or because the human body requires many bodies, whereby it is, as it were, continually regenerated ; and as tlie order and connection of ideas is the Siime as the order and connection of causes (by Prop. VII.), so will this idea be in God in so far as he is considered to be affected by the ideas of numerous individual things. God, therefore, has the idea of the human body, or God cognizes the human body, in so far as he is affected by numerous otiier ideas, and not as he consti- tutes the nature of the human mind; — in other words (by Coroll. to Prop. XL), the human mind does not cognize the human bodv. Put the ideas of the affections of the body are in God in so far as he constitutes the nature of the human mind, or" the human mind perceives these same affections (by Prop. XII.), and consequently the body itself as existing in act (by Props. XVI. and XVII.). The human mind, therefore, only perceives the body itself in so far as it perceives the ideas of the affections that influence the body : q. e. d.
PROP. XX. There is also present in God an idea or con- sciousness of the human mind, and this follows in the same waj', and is referred to God in the same manner, as the idea or consciousness of the human body.
Drmomtl. TimaAi k an attrilmto of God (^ ^>^ ^-Y and w (bf Ptool Iu.) Ood will nuni—rilj bare an inM m well of hiaadr a* of all his aiSBCtMos, aM eooaeqaently a U»a atad of naa aln. Bat it doea aoC (SoUow that this id<^ or mnw ioiMiwaa of the homaa mind exitta in Ood aa hv ia infinite, bat onlj as 1m ii afteted bj another idea of a per^ tiedar thing (jtj PtvfiL DL). The otder and eonneetion oi ideaa is the aaae. bovrrer. as the order and oonnection oi eawea (bjr IVop. ^TI.) : aod it follows, tberefoie, that thta idea or eognitaon of the mind is proacnt in, and rdemd to, God in the same wajr as the idea or eognition of the body q. e d.
PROP. XXI. This idea of th<^ minrl ii nniutl iritb the mind in the nme way as the mind itself is united with the body.,
Dnmomt. Wc hare shown that mind is unit«d with body in the bet that the body is the object of the mind (Propec XII. and XIII.) ; the idea of the mind must, therefore, and in lika aanner, bo onited with its obj<<ct ; that is, the idea of the mind moat be oonnecled with the mind in the same way as the mind is connected with the body : q. e. d.
Scio/iwH. Th'is proposition is, perhaps, to be cmnprr- hended more clearly from what is said in the Scholium to Prop. VTT., where we have sbowni that the idea of the body and the body itself, i. o., the mind and the body, are one nnd the same indindoal thing, conceived now under the attribute of thoneht, now under that of extension (by Prop. XIII.) ^\Tieretore the idea of mind, and mind itself, are one and the same thing, conceived under one and the same attribute, viz., that of thought. The idea of mind, I say.and mind itself, follnw nnd are present in God by the like necessity from the same power of thinking. For the idea of mind, indeed, i. e., the idea of an idea, is nothing other than the form or reality of the idea, in bo far considered as it is a mode of thought without relation to its object. For eo soon as any one knows anything, he himself knows that he knows it, and at same time knows that he knows what he knows, and on to infinity. But of this more hereafter.
PROP. XXII. The mind not only perceives the aflcctions of the body, but the ideas of these affections also. Dimomt. The idea of tl»e ideas of the affections follow in God in the some way, and are referred
ethics: part it. — of tiie soot,.
475
way, as the ideas themselves of the affections ; the demonstra- tion being the same as in Prop. XX. But the ideas of the affections of the body are in the mind (by Prop. XII.) ; that is, they are in God, seeing that God is tlie essence of the human mind (by Coroll. to Prop. XL). Therefore the ideas of these ideas will be in God in ho far as he has the con- sciousness or idea of the human mind ; that ia to say (by Prop. XXL), these ideas are present in the mind itself, which con- sequently apprehends not only the affections of the body, but the ideas of these affections also : q. e. d.
PROP. XXIII. The mind has no consciousness of itself,
save in so far as it perceives ideas of the affections of
the body.
Dcmonsf. The idea or consciousness of the mind follows and ia referred to God in the same way as is the idea or con- sciousness of the body (by Prop. XX.). Put inasmuch as the mind docs not know the body (by Prop. XIX.), or inasmuch as consciousness of the body is not referred to God in so far as he constitutes the nature of the human mind (by Coroll. to Prop. XL), therefore neither is consciousness of the mind referred to God in so far as he constitutes the essence of the mind, and so and in so far the human mind does not know or ia not conscious of itself (by Coroll. to the same Prop. XL). The ideas, again, of the affections by which the body is in- fluenced involve the nature of the body itself (by Prop. XVI.), that is to say, they agree with the nature of the mind (by Prop. XIII. ). W^herefore the consciousness of these ideas necessarily involves the consciousness of the mind. But we have seen in the preceding proposition that the consciousness of these ideas is in the mind itself. Consequently, the mind is not conscious of itself save in so fur as it perceives ideas of affections of the body : q. e. d.
PROP. XXIV. Tlie human mind involves no adequate
knowledge of the parts composing the huinon body.
Dvmonst. The constituent parts of the body do not per- lin to the es.scnce of the bwly itself, save in so far as they KveruUy intercommunicate their motions in a certain detinito manner (see the Definition following the Corollary to Lennna 3), and not in so far as they can be viewed us in- dividuals having no relation to the hotly. For tlie constituent parts of the body are highly composite individuals (by Post.
476
BE.V£DICT DE SPIXOZA 8
1), the parU of which may be oompleUsIy detached from the body, ita nature and form being still nrtaiucd (by Ix-m. 4), and their motions communicxitM in other way* to other lx>dit« (kv Ax. 2 following hexa. 3j. Thus (liy"Prup. III.) the idi>a or coutic-ioasnoiis of each part will be in Qod, and thi/s indeed (by Prop. IX.), in bo fur us he is considered to be in- fluenced by another idea of an indi>'idual thing, which thing on its nurf is prior in the order of nature (by Prop. VII.). Now, tlie same is to be said of ewch particular part entering into the constitution of the body of the same indi^^dnal. And therefore is the consciousness of each particular part composing the human body in God, in so far as he is uffwtcd by the ideas of a immber of thingo and not merely and in so far as he has un idea u( tltc huniim body ; in other terms, aa demonstrated in Prop. XIII., God is possessed of an idet which constitutes the nature of the human mind. The mind, consequently (by Coroll. to Prop. XI.), does not involve an adequate conception of the parts composing the body : q. e. d.
PROP. XXV. The idea of each affection of the human body
does not involve adequate knowledge of an external
body.
Dcmonsl. Wo have shown in Prop. XVI. that the idea of an aflbction of the Jiunian l>ody involves the nature of an extorual body in so far us this determines the human body in some ccrtiiin manner. And inasmuch as an extoniid body is an individual thing whicli is not referred Xo the human body, the idea or knowledge of it is in God (by Prop. IX. j in so far as God is considered to be affected by the idea of another tbing which (by Prop. VII.) is prior in nature to the external body. (-'on8c<[uent]y, the nde<|uufe knowledge of the external body is not in God, in so far conbidered as ho has lui i<lea of un affoc- tiou of the human body; or the idea of an affection of the human body does not involve adequate knowledge of the ex- t«mal body : q. e. d.
PROP. XXVI. The human mind perceives no external body as existing in fact, save through ideas of affections of its body.
Dcniomt. If the human body be affected in no way by an external body, neither is it aflectcd by an idea of fiself (by Prop. VII.) ; in other words, and by Prop. XIII., there ia
ethics: part ii. — of the sodl.
477
no idea in the mind of the existence of an external body, neither can the mind be in any way affected by, or per- cipient of, the existence of such body. But in so far as the human bodj' is in any way affected by an external body, so and in so far (by Prop. XVI. and Coroll.) does it perceive the external boidy : q. e. d.
Coro/I. In so far as the human mind imagines an external body, so far has it no adequate conception of that body.
Demorist. When the human mind contemplates external boflies through idoa,s of the affect ionj* of its body, we say thut it imagines these bodies (vide Schol. to Prop. XVII.) ; lor can the mind in any other way imagine external bodies
actually existing (by the preceding proposition). Con- juently (by Prop. XXV. above), in so far as the mind imagiiu's external bodies, it has no adequate knowledge of them: q. c. d.
PROP. XXVII. The idea of any condition or affection of
the human body does not involve the adequate cognition
of the human body itself.
Dcmoruf. Every idea of every affection of the human bo<ly involves the nature of the human body, in so far as the human body itself ia regarded as affected in a particular manner (vide Prop. XV^I.). But so fur us the human body is an infb'viduul thing that may be affected in many different ways, its idea does not include an adequate conception of the human body itself (see the Demonst. of Prop. XXV.).
PROP. XXVIII. Ideas of the aifections of the human body, in so far as they are referred to the mind only, are not clear and distinct, but confiisod.
Dcnionst. For ideas of the affections of the human body involve the nature as well of external bodies aa of the human body itself (by Prop. XVI.), and this not only of the body at large but of its several parts also. For affections of the body are modes (by Post id. •}), by which the part.s of the body and consequently the wliole of the body are affected. But (by Props. XXIV. and XXV.) adequate conceptions of external bodies, as well as of the component parts of the human body, arc in God not in so far as he is considered as affected by the human mind, but in so far as he is considered as affected by other ideas. Tlie ideas of these affections, therefore, in so far
V9 VnHMk B
forth as rcferrcfl to the human mind alone, are consoquenfl without prcmisoos, tliut is — a« «flf-cvidont — ^they are fiiiMHl ideas : q. e. d.
Sc/ioliutii. The idea which oonstitutca the nature of the huniiiii mind, when considortHl in it^wlf alone, is demonstrated in tlic same way not to Iw clcjir and distinct ; as are also the idea of the human Jiiind and the idc«s of the ideas of the atfeetions of the human body, in so far as they arc referred to the mind alone, — us must be readily pcrcoivod by every ona
I'ROP. XXrX. The idea of the idea of each of the affec- tions of thc_ human body does not involve tlie adequate cogtiition of the human mind.
DfmniiJtf. For the idea of an affection of the body (by I'ron. XXVII.) does not involve an adequate conception of the Dodv itself, or does not adequately express ita nature ; i. c, Oj^ by l*rop. XJII. exprowwl, it docs not wlcquatch' agje* with the naturt< of the mind. Therefore (by Ax. G, Part I.) the idiij of this idea doea not adequately express the nature of the human mind, or does not involve its adequate conception : q. e. d.
Coroll. Hence it follows, that the mind so often as it per- ceives a thing out of the common course of natwe haa no atlequate conception either of itself or of its body, or of ex- ternal iKxiies but a confusie<l and defi-ctive conception only. For the mind is not conscious of itwlf, siivc as it jM?rceivc<« or has ideas of its bodily states or affections (by Prop. XXIII.). llul the bodv does not perceive or is not conscious of itself (bj' Prop. XlX.) save through the idejis themselves of \\t aflections, whereby alone also it perceives external Ixxiies (by Prop. XXVI.). Thus, therefore, in so far as it is possessed of those the mind has no adequate conception either of itself (Prop. XXIX.) or of its body (Prop, XXVII.), or of external bodies (Prop. XXV.), but confused and defective conceptions oidy (Prop. XXVIII. and Schol.) : q. e. d.
Scholiuiii, I say expressly that the mind has not an adiMpiatc but only a confused conception either of itself, of ita body, or of external bodies, when tilings are perceived out of the common order of nature; that is, so often as, externally to itself and by the occidental concurrence of things, the mind is detemnncd to contemplate this or that tUinjj, and not so often as internally and by reason of i\a contemplating a variety of things simulUmeously it is determined to take
ethics: part ii.^-of thb soul.
479
cognizance of their ftg;rooments, difforencos, and oppositions. For so often as (lie mind is internally disposed in this, in that, or in such another manner, then is a thing conceived clearly and distinctly, as I shall proceed to show.
PROP. XXX. Of the duration of our body wo can have
nothing but a very inadequate conception.
Deinomt. The duration of our body does not depend on its essence (by Ax. 1) ; neither doc« it depend on the absolute nature of God (by Prop. XXI. of Part 1.) ; but is deter- mined in its being and action by causes such aa themselves are detennined in being and action by other causes, these by
?ct others, and so on to infinity (vide Prop. XXVIII. of Part .). The duration of our bmly therefore depends on the com- mon order and constitution of the things of nature. But tho adi'quato conception of the way and manner in which things are constituted exists in God, in so far as he has ideas of all of tJiese, and not as ho has an idea of the human body alone (by CoroU. to Prop. TX.). Wherefore the knowledge of tho duration of our body is extremely inadequate in God, in so i'av as he is held to constitute the nature of the human mind only ; i. e. (by the Corollary to our XI. th Proposition), this conception is extremely inadequate in our mind : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXI. We can only have very inadequate con- ceptions of the duration of individual things external to ourselves.
Demonst. For each individual thing, like the human frame, must be determined to exist and act in a certain de- terminate manner by some other individual thing, this by an- other, this by vet another, and so on to infinity (vide Prop. XXVIII. Pi i..). I5ut as we have in tho preceding proposi- tion demonstrated from this common property of individual things that we have only a very inadequate conception of tho duration of our body, the same must bo inferred in respect of the duration of individual things at large ; viz., that we have and C4in have nothing save an extremely inadequate concep- tion of their duration : q. e. d.
CoroU. Hence it follows, that all particular things are contingent and corruptible ; for of their duration we can have none but an inadequate conception ; and this is what we are to understand by the contingency and possible corruptibility of tilings (vide Scholium 1 to Prop. XXXIII. of Pt I.).
480
BBN EDICT DB SPIHOOA'S
ibeoH
For (by Prop. XXIX. Pt L), nre thia, there is nothing con tin gent.
PROP. XXXII. All tdou, in so &r «s they aro referred U
Qtti, aro true,
Dcmoiui. For all ideas that are in Qod accord entirel: with their ideates or objects (by Coroll. to Prop. VII.), ure tliorcfore true (by Ax. 6, Pt I.) : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXni. There is nothing positive in ideas
of which they can be suid to be false.
Dcmomt. If you deny thi«, conceive, if possible, a positivi mode of thought which constitutes a form of error or falsity Such a mode of thought could not be in Qod (by the p ceding Prop.) ; but beyond or out of God it can neither bo. nor can be conceived to be (by Prop. XV. Pt I.). Thcro- fore there ciin bo nothing positive in ideas because of which they may be suid to be fult>e : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXI V. Every idea which in ua is absolute, 01
adequate and perfect, is true.
Dniioiixt. "When wc say thut we have or are conscioii of an mlequat-e and perfect ide.i, wo only say (by Coroll. K Pro]). XI.) thai in God, in so fur us he constitutes the essence of our n)ind, there is extant an adequate and perfect idea consequently (by Prop. XXXII.), we saj' nothing more thai that such an idea is true : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXV. Falsehood conaists in the absence of tbi cognition which inadequate or imperfect and confuse* ideas involve.
Dcmomt. There is nothing positive in ideas whiih consti» ttites tlic form or reality of falsehood (by Prop. XXXIII.). Bu falsehood cannot consist in any absolute privation (for minds, not bodies, aro said to err and to be deceived) ; nor yet ifl iinv absolute ignorance; for to err and to be ignorant art dinereiit things. Falsehood, therefore, consists in the lack o] tlic cognition, which the inadequate cognition of things, 01 inadequate and confused ideas, involves: q. e. d.
Scholiiiin. In the Scholium to Prop. XVII. I have ei« plained the reasons why I say that error consists in th< privation of cognition. But for the better elucidation
ethics: part ii. — of the soul.
481
this point, I shall here adduce as an example the fact that men deceive themselves wlien they suppose they are free. But men believe themselves to be free entirely from this: tliat thou";h conscious of their acta they are ignorant of the causes by wnich their acts are def<?rmin!:;d. The idea of fr«.>edoui, therefore, comes of men not knowing the cause of tlieir acts. For wlien they say that liumun iiotij depend on wii.i,, tlicy use language with the meaning' of which they connect no idea. What will is and how it moves the badyare altagcthor unknown to us ; and they who tell us that the will is the sent and liubilali(m of the soul {anitiiw), either move our laughter or excite our contempt. Tliua, when we look at the sun we imagine that it is only some two or three liundrcd paces dis^ tant from us, an error whicli does not consist in this imagina- tion only, but in tliis, that whilst we imagine such a thing wo are ignorant of the true distance of the sun and of tho cause of our imagination. For afterwards, and when we know that the sun is more than a thoustmd diameters of the earth distant from us, we, nevertheless, continue to imagine it to be not very remote ; for wo do not imagine the sun to be so near us because we are ignorant of its true distance, but because the affection of our body involves tho essence of the sun in so far only as our body is affected by the sumo.
PROP. XXXVI. Inadequate and confused ideas follow by
tho samo necessity as adequate, i. o. clear and distinct
ideas.
Drmonst. All ideas are in God (by Prop. XV, Pt I.), and in so far as referred to God are true (by Prop. XXXII.) and adequate (by Coroll. to Prop. VII.). Ideas, therefore, are not inadequate or confused save as they are roforrod to tho indiriflual mind of a p.irticulur person (soc Props. XXIV. and XXVIII.). Consequently all ideas, adequate and inadequiito alike, follow by the some necessity (see Coroll. to Prop. Vl.) : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXVII. That which is common to all things (vide Lemma 2 above), and which is equally in a part as in a whole, does not constitute the essence of any in- dividual thing.
Uemoiisl. If this be denied, conceive, if it be possible, that this common quality constitutes the essence of some particular
31
482
Mnmmcr dr sri!cogL\*s
thing, miy lUe oMenow of I). Thix ihiiif; then without D noithor hho nor be concciwil to be (by Dff. "J above), this is ojjjwsed to the Ljpitheaiti. ThLrefure it tx'luiij|^ : to tljo osM'iice of li, neither does it constitute the ossem any otber particular thing : q. v. d.
PROP. XXXVIII. Thot wliich is common to .Ul thii and which is equiilly in u {wrt a« in a whole, can oi conceived as adequate.
Demonsf. Let A be something which is common to bodies, and wliich ih tJike in u part am in the wlmle of c body; I say then that A cannot bo concei>"t^ iitherwi!«t< tl) adequately. For the idwi of A will nwesMarily be adt^<quat' God (by C'oroU. to Prop. VII.), both as he has an idea the huiniiii bodv, and as he hu* idea* of it* Btfeetions, wh (by Props. XV'L, XXV,, and XXVII.) jwrtiidly invo the nature of the hiiiniiii 1k> ly an well as of external bodj That is to8ay (by Projw. Xll. and XIII.), the idea A ni«essarily be a<k<juate in God in so far as he con.stitutes htiman mind, or as he ha.s ideas which are in the hum mind. The mind therefore (by (-oroll. to Prop. XI.) neo sari! y jiereei ve.s A adequately ; and this it doeH in .so far us it p ccives itself, its own body or any exlenial body. Nor can bo conceived in any other manner : q. e. d.
Carol/. Hence it foUowa Uiat there arc some ideas notions common to all men. For by Lemma 2 all bod agrcMJ in some things, and the.se by the preceding pmjMJsiti must bo perceived adequately, or eleany and distinctly, every one.
PROP. XXXIX. The idea of that which is common to
human body and to certain external bodies by wh
it is wont to be affected, as well as th(^ idea of that whi
is common and proper to the parts aa to the whole
those bodies, will 1)c adequate in the mind.
Bemonsl. Let A be thnt which is common anil proper the human liodyand to certain extenial botlies, which is pres< aUko in the human body and in these external bodies, i which, finally, is present aUke in a part as in tlie whole of e external body. Then will there be in God an adequate i< of A (by Coroll. to Prop. VII.), both in so far as he ha.s idea of the human body and ideas of the given external bodi
ethics: paut n. — of the socl.
;iS3
Let us now ussume the Imman body to be nflFect^d by un cxteruul body through that which it hu.s in common with this, namely A. The idea of the utfcction producwl will involve tho proiKUty of A (by Prop. XVI.) ; and thus (by the Corollary to Prop. VII.) will I he idea of this afl'ection, in so far as it involves thv prnpcrty of A, be adequate in God in so far us he is iifl'wted by the idea of tlie human body ; in other words, and by I'rop. XIII. above, in .so far as Go<l con- stitutes the nature of the human mind. IJy the Coroll. to Prop. XI., consequently, is this idea also adetjuatc in the human mind : q. e. d.
Coroll. Hence it follows that tlie mind is the more apt to perceive many things adequately, us its body has more things in common with other bodies.
PROP. XL. The ideas which follow in the mind from ade- quate ideas arc also adequate.
DcmoHsl. This is ob^^ous. For when we say that in the human mind un idea follows from ideas which are adequate in it, we say no more (by Coroll. to Prop. XI.) than that an idea is present in the Divine intelligence, whereof God is tho cause, not as he is infinite, nor as he is affected by the ideas of several individual things, but solely in so fur as he con- stitutes the essence of the human mind.
Scholium 1. In what precedes 1 have explained the causes of the notions or conceptions that are entitled common, and that are the fundamentals of our reasonings. Rut other causes of certain axioms or notions are assigned, which it seems desirable to explain bv this our method ; inasmuch aa it will then appear what notions are more useful than others, and what are of scarcely any utility at all ; what notions are common, and which of them are clear and distinct to those only who labour under no prejudices; finally, what notions are ill-founded. Besides this, it will further appear whence those notions that are called secondary, or of the second order, and consequently the axioms founded on them, have taken their rise, and yet more of tho same sort upon which I have occusionall}' meditated. But as I have detenuined to discuss these in a separate treatise, and lest I should excite distaste in my reader's mind by too great prolixity, I have resolved to pass the whole subject by for the present. Still, and that I may not seem to omit anything that was most necessary to be known, I shall briefly add the causes whence such tran-
31 •
tiwir ongia. Tboe t« boHiibody. mU datinflt
kav*
tlKD. hmwm ■■e Kanled, it (
hava Hinhwiil wkH
m lh> Hnhifaiii to Pwy. XYII.) If
be noavhat iTaaadrf, tbo inagt* be^n to be <
if tlw linuta be i^reatlr sarpoMd, tber bwnw otterij i
bmd Mad bkp^d taMtbar. Tbst tbk' ahoaU be so sppeair-
froB tba CoraO. to Fn^. XYII^ aad finito Prop. XVIIl.
wbanm it it dadarad that tba boaaaa onad can onl/ iaafir
with dJarinrfimw aad at «Qoe a* ana j bodiei as tben eaa I
faaagai ■anbaaeoadj farmed ia tbe bodj. Bot vboa
iatagcs ia lb* bodj are tboroogU j cnafosedr the mlo4
■IsD imsgtaa all bodias oonfuadlj ud tritboot
aad will eoaarsbtod tbca oader a situHe attribute as
wtn, vix^ aadar tba attribute Of Sntt^, Tbia^. Ac
Tbe aaaM tbiag aiay be iaferred froai tbis: tbat ii do aot always presaot tbaawlTas to as with like foroe, wall as from otber cawsMeiatioos, irhich it seems acedlees \ t^mk of in Uua phoe. With tbe object bdbre as it will anongfa if we tain oae oaly into ooosideratioD ; and, indeed,] erorytbing we kaow points to the oonoluaioo that sach import ideas coofnsed to the last degree. It is, Auther, tba same oaoses that tbe aotioas called wiiceraal^ such aMn, kene, dog, fte., bare arisea. That is to say, so auaj images — say of mmw, to take a single instance — are aimultaneoaaly in the body, that thoy exceed the power imagining, if not wholly,* yet to such an extent that the slighter diflcrcnoea of each man — f ' ' as well i
exact numbers, &c. — cannot be iina . ■ , and I
only in which all, in so far as they iilli-ct tlie body, agree distinctly imagined. It is by each individual man, indeed, i the body is chiefly affected ; but the affection is expressed by the comprolionsive term men, a word by which, through our inability to imagine any definite number of singulars, we predicate and comprehenU an infinity of particulars.
It is to be observed, however, tliat these notions are not formed by all in tlie same way, but vary in ever}' one in the ratio in which the body has been frequently affectwl, and in which the mind is apt to imagine or recollect. For example: they who have usually contemplated man with admiration, because of his stature, carriage, mind, &c., by the
ETincs: PART ir. — of the soui,.
word man understand a creature with an erect body, &c. ; and they who huve used themselves to regard man under one or other of his particuhir faculties or accidents conceive other common images of him, and characterize him as u laughing animal, a two-footed, a featherless, a rational animal, &c. In the same way, and in accordance with bodily disposition, it comes that every one forms universal images of things. We are not to wonder, therefore, that so many controversies should have arisen among philosophers, wlio have mostly chosen to explain natural things by their images alone.
Scholium 2. From all that precedes it apjjears clearly that wo perceive many things and form universal notions, 1st, from siiigulnrn altered to us by our senses and represented coul'usedly and without order to the understanding (vide CorolL to Prop. XXIX.). Such perceptions I am therefore L'wccustomed to characterize us cognition from ragiie ex- fperieiice. 2nd, from nigiis ; for example, because from cer- tain words which we hear or read we remember things and form certain idc4i« of these like to those by which we imagine the things themselves (vide Schol. to Prop. XVIII.). Both of these modes of contemplating things I shall for the future designate as cogniti(m of the first kind — as opinion or imagination. 3rd and lastly, inasmuch as we have com- mon notions and adequate iileus of the properties of things (pde CoroU. to Props. XXXVIII. and XXXIX. and Prop. XL.), I shall speak of these under the titles of reason, and cognition of the second kind.
Besides these two kinds of cognition, there is a third, as I shall presently show, which I shall entitle intuitire, and .which proceeds from the adequate idea of the real essence of 'some of the attributes of God to the adequate cognition of the essence of things. The whole of the above considera- tions I shall Ulustrat-e by a single example : given three numbers, to find a fourth which shall be to the third as the first is to the second. The merchant proceeds to multiply the second number by the third ond to divide the product by the first ; and this be does either because he has not forgotten what he had learne<l from his teacher without any demon- stration, or because the ratio discovered has frequently been found to hold good in the most simple reckonings, or m vir- tue of the demonstration comprisofl in the 19th Proposition of the 7th Book of Euclid, viz., from the common property of proportionals. Dealing with the simpleftt numbers, however, no process of the kind followed is required; for with the
f8C
HKKKniCT nE 8FI?fOJ!A»»
nuineniLs 1, 2, 3 givfii; who does not see at a glance that flio fourth profwrtional muft be Gi* and tbis. indetvl, much raoro clearly. boc4itisc from the ratio which the first bears to the Rccond we conclude immcdiutely a» to the fourth.
PHOP. XLI. Cognition of the (irst kind is the solo cause
of untruth, as that of the second and third kinds is
uece*.sarily true.
Detitongt. In the preceding Scholium wo have eoid that all those ideas that are Lnade(|uate or confused iK'long to the firnt kind of ct)]tniition ; con.sequrnlly (by Prop. XXXV,) cognitions of thi.s kind are the sole cause or source of false- hood. We huvi- furlher said, that to tlie swoud and third kinds of cognition belong those ideas that are adequate, and such therefore, as shown by Proposition XXXIV., are necessarily true : q. e. d.
PROP. XLII. Cognition or knowledge of the second and
third kinds, and not of the Brst kind, teaches us to cbV
tinguish the true from the false.
Detiioiuil. Tliis Propo.sition curries its dcinonstrulion on tLo face of it. For he who knows how to distinguish between the true and the false nmst have an adequate idea of that which is true and of that which is false, i. e. (by Schol. 2 to Prop. XL.), ho must j>erceive the true and the false by means of the second and third kinds of cognition.
PROI'. XLIII. rie who has a true idea is aware at the
same time that ho has a tnio idea, and cannot doubt of
the truth of the thing.
Dcmomf. The true idea in us is that which is in God, in so far as God is expressed by the soul of man, and it is adc^ quale (by Coroll. to Prop. X'l.). Let us assume then that in God, in so far forth as he is expressed by the nature of the human mind, there is the adequate idea A. The idea of this idea nmst also necessarily bo in God, as it is rcferretl to Go<l in the same way as the idea A (by Prop. XX., the denionstin,- tion of which is universal). Hut the idea A is sujiposed to be referrctl to GikI in so far as God is expressed by the nature of the hmuan mind ; therefore is the idea of the idea A also and in the same way referred to God ; that is to say (by the
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same Corollary to Prop. XI.), this adequate idea of the idea A will bo present in the mind tliat possesses the adequate idea A ; so (hut he wlio has an adequate idea or (by Prop. XXXIV.) truly knows a thing, must at the same time have an adequate idea or tnie conception of his conception ; in other words (as i.s self-evident), he must bo certain of the conception he has : q. e. d.
Sc/iof. In the Scholium to Prop. XXI. of this Part, I have explained what an idea of an idea is. But the preceding pro- position niuist appear sufficiently evident of itself; inasnmch as no one who has a true idea is otherwise than assured that a true idea involves the highest certainty. For to have a tnie idea signifies nothing less than to know a thing intimately, per- fectly ; nor, indeed, can any one doubt of this unless he thinks that an idea is something mute, like a picture on a slab, and not a mode of thought, not conception itself. And I ask, who can know that he understands a thing unless ho first understands the thing ? Tliat i*, who can know that he is certain of anv thing unless he is first certain of the thing ? What true idea, iurther, can be conceived more certain as a sign of truth than that which s perceived clearly and adequately? Verily, as the Light reveals itself and the darkness also, so is truth the standard both of the true and the false.
In what precedes I think I have also replied to such queries as these, namely : if a true idea is distinguished from a false idea in so far only as it is said to agree with its object, a true idea cannot therefore have more of retJity or perfection than a false idea, seeing tluit the one is dis- tinguished from the other by a mere extrinsic denomina- tion ; consequently, neither can tlie mim who has true conceptions bo distinguished from the man who has false conceptions. How comes it tLen that men have false ideas ? and Iurther : how can we know for certain that we have ideas which coiTCspond with their ideates or objects? To these questions, I say, I tliink I have already replied. For as to what concerns the diti'erenco between a true and a false idea, it appears, from Proposition XXXV., that truth is to fnlschocKl as entity is to non-entity. And from Proposition XIX. to XXXV. I have clearly shown wlierein the causes of error or falsehood consist ; from all of which it appears sulficiently how he who has true ideas is distinguished from him who has false ideas. With reference to the last point, as to how a man can know that he has oji idea which agrees
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with iis ideate or object, I have over and above shown, that it coit8i(it« in the fiirapfo fuct that ho has surh an idea as agrees with its objtx't ; in titlier worrls, that fnith is its own stand- ard. To all which he it added, tlviit our mind, in sn far as it perceives thingx truly, in part of the inhiiit*.' understanding of Ofjd (by Corollary to Prop. XI.). and so is it as necessary that the clear and distinct ideas of the mind should be true 08 that the ideas of God are true.
PROP. XLIV. It is in the nature of reason, to contemplate thing^s not iu» contingent but as net?es8Jiry.
Deuiomt. It belongs to the nature of reason to perceive things truly fbv Prop. XLI.), i. e., as they are in themselves (by Ax. 0, Pt I.) ; in other words, to conclude that things are not contingent but necessary (by Prop. XXIX. Pt. I.): q. e. d.
CoroU. 1. Hence it follows, that it depends entirely on imagination when we contemplate things as contingent whether this be in respect of the past or of the future.
Scholium. I shall explain briefly liow this comes to pa.-is. We have seen above (vide Prop. XVlI. with its Coroll.) that the mind always imagines things even when non-exist- ent as present to it, unk«8 causes intervene which exclude the possibility of their immediate existence. AVe next saw (Prop. XVIII.) that if the human b<jdy were once simul- taneously affected by two external lx)dies, when the mind subsequently imagined one of the-se it immediately recalled the other also ; that is, it contemplutctl both us things present, unless causes occurred which predudwl the possibility of their present existence. Further, no one doubts but that we con- ceive or imagine tin»e from tliis : that botlios are imagined to move some faster some slower and others with equal celerity. Let us therefore suppose a youth who in the morning of yester- day saw Peter for the first time, at noon Paul, and in the evening Simeon, and this moniing Peter again. From Prop. XVIIl., it is obvious that \vith the morning light he will also see the same sun pursuing the stune course in the heavens as on the preceding day, and with the morning hour he wiU at the same time bo apt to imagine Peter, at noon Paid, and in the evening Simeon ; that is, he will imagine the ex- istence of Paul imd Simeon with reference to a time to come, and, on the other hand, seeing Simeon in the evening he will refer the existence of Peter and Paul to a by-gone time, associating the two simultaneously with a time that is past; and
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this the more assuredly tlie oftener Peter, Paul, and Simeon are seen in the same order. If it occasionally happens that instead of Simeon he sees James in the evening, then will he next morning and next evening imagine now Simeon now James, but not the two as present at once and together ; for we have supposed one or other only, not both at once, to have been seen in (he evening. The imagination of our youth will therefore fluctuate, and with fixture evening hours ho wQl imagine now Simeon now James, but not either of them with certainty : each heuceforward will be contemplated contin- gently. Now, there is the same fluctuation of the imaginntion whether things or persons be the subjects of contemplation in respect of the past, the present, and the future ; consequently things imagined with reference to time past, present, or future will be regarded as contingent.
Coroll. 2. It is in (he nature of reason to perceive things under a certain form or species of eternity.
Dcmotist. Rea-son by ita nature leads us to contemplate things as necessary, not as contingent, as wo have just seen. Now reason apprehends this necessity of things as true (by Prop. XLL), that is, as they are venly in themselves (by Ax. 6, Pt 1.1. But this uecesaitv of things is the very neces.sity of the eternal nature of God '(by Prop. XVI. Pt I.). There- fore it pertains to the nature of reason to contemplate tilings under a certjiin aspect of eternity. To this let us add, that the fundamentals of reason are notions which explain what is common to all things (by Props. XXXVII. and XXXVIII.), and do not render an account of the essence of any individual thing (by Prop. XXXVII.) ; notions which must therefore be conceived without any relation to time and under a certain spocies of etemitj' : q. e. d.
PROP. XLV. Everj' idea of everj' actually existing body
or individual thing necessarily involves the eternal and
infinite essence of God.
Difiiomt. The idea of an actually existing thing necessarily involves both the essence and the existence of the thing (liy Coroll. to Prop. VIII.). But individual things cannot bo conceived without God (by Prop. XV. Pt I.) ; and as they have God for their cause (by Prop. VI. of this Part), in so far as he is considered under an attribute whereof things them- selves are modes, the ideas of these must necessarily involve the conception of that attribute (by Ax, 4, Pt I.) ; that is
BBXEDICT D8 SPINOZA's
(by Def. 6, Pt I.), UIcoh of really existing things involve Uie ftcnial Jind infinito ossonco of God : q. c. tL
tirholium. By cxiHtoiico I do not hero underst^md duration, or exi-stonce iih-stractly conccivoil nnd us a certain species of quantity. I sjK-iik of tlic very niiluro of existence which ap- pertains to individual things; of cxi.stenco because of which infinities followin infinite modes from the eternal nature of God (vide Prop. XVI. Pt I.). I spook, I say, of the very existence of indivi<liiul tilings in s" fur u.s tliey ure in God. For ullhough eiu'h individuid tiling is detenuined by homo other thing to exist in n certain nmnnor, ^1ill the force wlicreby each pcr.'-ists in its existence follows from tlieeteniul necessitvrif tbe nature of God. On this point vide Coroll. to Prop. XXlV. Pt L
I'ROP. XL\^. The cognition of the eternal and infinite
essence of God, which every idea involves, is adequate
and perfect.
Demoml. The demonstration of the preceding prrjposition is general ; and whether a thing be considered as a part or as tt whole, its idea, whether as a part or as a whole, involves the eternal and infinite essence of God (vide preceding Prop.). "\Yhcrefore that which givcj? a conocplion of tho oteruid and infinite essence of God i-s common to parts a.s to wholes, and so is adequate and perfect (by Prop. XXXVIII.): q. e. d.
PROP. XLVII. The human mind has an adequate cog- nition of tho eternal and infinito essence of God.
De»ioiisf. Tho human mind has ideas by which it per- ceives itself, its bodv, nnd external bodies actually existing (by Props. XXII. and XXI II., XIX., XVI. and XVII.); and consequently (Props. XLV. and XLVI.) possesses an adequate cognition of tho eternal and infinite essence of Grod : q. e. d.
Schoh'um. llcncc wo see that the infinite essence and the eternity of God are known to all. Rut as all things are in God and through God are appreliendod, it follows that from this cognition we derive most of all that is known to us arlequately, and so it forms the third kind of cognition whereof we have spoken in Scholium 2 to Pioposition XL., and of the excellence and usefulness of which we shall find occasion to speak at largo in our Fit\h Part. The reason, however, why men gcnerully have not so clear a knowledge of God
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OS of common notions, proceeds from this, that they cannot imagine God in the same way as they do bodies, and because they associate the Jiame of God with the images of things they are accustomed to see — a liabit which it is scarcely possible to avoid, surrounded as men ceaselessly are by external bodies. Numerous errors, indeed, consist entirely in this, that names are not appropriately applied to things. Did any one say that lines drawn from the centre of a circle to its circuraferoiice arc not L equal to one another, he certainly would understand by a circle 'something different from the figure so designated by mathe- maticians. So when men make mistakes in their arithmetical calculations, they have numbers of one denomination in their head, others of a diflerent denomination on their paper. Wherefore, if we regard their minds, they do not properly err ; they are seen to err, however, because they think the}- have in their minds the numerals they have on their paper. AN'ero this not so we should not believe that they erred ; as I did not be- lieve that a certain person erred whom I lately heard exclaim- ing that his poultry-yard had flown iuto his neighbour's fowls, for I thought I perfectly understood what he meant to say. It is Indeed because men have not exactly expressed their meaning, or because they have inter7)reted the meanings of others amiss, that so many controversies have arisen. For in contradicting one aimtlier, they either think the same thing or something else, so that the errors and absurdities they find in their opponents haAo frequently no foundation in reality.
PROP. XLVIII. In the mind there is no such thing as absolute or free will, but the mind is determined to will this or that by a cause which is determined by another cause, this by yet another, and so on to infinity.
Demomt, The mind is a certain and determinate modo of thought (by Prop. XL), and so (by Coroll. 2 to Prop. XVII., Pt I.) cannot itself be the free cause of its actions — cannot liave any absolute faculty of willing or not willing, but must be determined to will tiiis or that by a cause whicli is itself detcnnined by another, this again by yet another, and so on to infinity : q. e. d.
Sriioliiim. In the same way it may be shown that in the mind there is no absolute faculty of undei-standing, of de- siring, of loving, &.C. Whence it follows that these and other similar faculties are either entirely fictitious or ore nothing
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BENEDICT DE SPINOZA's
more than melnpliysical entities or nniversnls which we are wont to form from particulars; so that understanding and will are related to this or that idea, to tliis or that volition,
Sjreeisely as stoniness is related to this or that stone, or as lunianity is related to Peter or I'aul. But we have already explained the reason why men imagine that they are free, in the Appendix to Part I.
Before proceeding further, however, I have to observe in this place, that by win. I understand the power not the desire of affirming and denying; the power, 1 say, by ^hich the mind affirms or denies what is true or false, and not the desire by which the mind craves or is turned away from this thing or that. But since we have demonstrated that these faculties only express universal notions, which are not distinct from the particulars whence they are formed, we have now to inquire whether volitions arc themselves any- thing more than ideas of things. We have to inquire, I say, whether there bo in the mind any affirmatiim or nega- tion except that which an idea as idea involves. Vide on this point the next Proposition, as also Definition 3 of this Part, lest thought should fall into mere images ; for by ideas I do not understand images such as arc formed at the bottom of the eye, or, if you please, in the middle of the brain, but conceptions of thought.
PROP. XLIX. In the mind there is no volition, i. e.,
neither affirmation nor negation, other than that which
idea, as idea, involves.
Deniomf. In the mind there is no absolute faculty of willing and not wilting (by last Prop.), but only particular volitions, namely, affirmations of this or that, negations of this or that. Let us conceive some particular volition, i. e., some mode of thought, such, for example, as that where the mind affirms that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles. This affirmation plainly involves the idea of the triangle, that is, without the idea of the triangle it can- not be conceived. For it is the stime thing if I say that A involves the conception of B, as if I said that A cannot bo conceived without B ; neither, further, can such an affirmation be made without the idea of the triangle (by Ax. 3.). The affirmation as to the angles of the triangle can therefore neither be, nor be conceived to be, without the idea of the triangle. Moreover, this idea of the triangle must involve the aifirma-
:
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tion of the sum of its angles being equal to two riwht angles. Whereforej mutatis mutandis, the idea of the triangle can neither be, nor be conceived to be, without the affirmation in question ; and so the affirmation belongs to and, indeed, is nothing other than the assertion of the essence of the triangle (by Dcf. 2). What has now been said of this special volition, — which we assumed, as wo might have assumed any other — is to be said of every volition whatsoever, viz., that it is no- thing but an idea : q. c. d.
CoroU. Will and understanding are one and the samo thing.
Demonnt. Will and understanding arc nothing but par- ticular volitions and ideas themselves (by Prop. XLVIII. and Schol.). But a ptuticulur volition and idea are identical ; consequently will and understanding are one and the same : q. e. d.
Scholium. By what immediately precedes wc have exposed and set aside that which is a common cause of error ; and have further shown that falsehood consists entirely in the deficiency involved in imperfect and confused ideas. A false idea as such, and in so far as it is false, docs not involve cer- tainty; so that wlien we say a man acquiesces in a false- hood, has no doubts about a falsehood, this is not because ho is certain of the falsehood, but only because ho does not doubt or question, or because he acquiesces in, the falsehood, there being no cause that should lead his imagination to hesitate or feel otherwise than assured. On this point, see the Scholium to Prop. XLIII. above. However closely a man may therefore be supposed to cling to untruths, we never say that ho is certain of these ; for by eertaiuty we understand something positive, and not mere uncertainty or freedom from doubt (vide Prop. XLIII. and ita SchoL), for the want of certainty implies falsity.
For the more complete explanation of the preceding pro- position, however, there still remain certain raattc>r8 to bo noticed. WTien I have spoken of these I shall reply to the objections that may be made to my views. Finally, and that I may remove every scruple to their acceptance, I shall think it opportune to point out certain useful applications of my doctrine — certain applications, I say ; for all that I now set forth will be better understood by what will be found at length in ray Fifth Part [where 1 treat of the moral free- dom of man].
I begin, then, by admonishing my readers that they ac-
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curately distinguish between an idea or conception of tlie mind and tla> iinngca of thin;^s which they imagine. Further, thut tliey distiiif^juish be-twecti ideas and the words whereby things ure sifrnitiod. For lliese thrc«e — images, words, and ideas — :ire often either entirely confounded, or nrc not dis- criminated with sufficient cure and accuracy ; and it is mainly bocuuso of this that the doctrine of the will, which is so necessary to l>e understooil, both as regards speculation and the usu>;es of life, remains, in many crises, totally unk)iown. They who think that ideas consist in images j)roduce<l in ua bv tno concurrence of bodies, persuade themselves that those ideas of things of which we can form no similar images are not ideas, but only ticlions which wo form to ourselves by the free play of tlio will ; these persons, therefore, regard ideas as mute pictures upon a slab, and with their minds preoccupied by this prejudice, thej- do not see that an idea us idea involves either affirmation or negation. Further, they who confound a word with an idea, or with the affirma- tion itself which an idea involves, presume that they can exercise will against that which they perceive, when in words they merely affirm or deny that which they jjerceivc, lie, however, readily escapes such prejudices who has regard to the nature of thought, which in no wise involves the conception of extension, and so apprehends clearly that an idea as a mode of thought consist* neither in an image of anything nor in any word used to designate it. For the essential of words un<l images is constituted by cor|K>reid motions only, which in no way involve the concejitions of thought.
So much concerning our first head [the distinction to be made between ideas and images].
I pass on to the cousidenition of objections to my d(jc- trine. The first of these is based on the presumption that will is of wider scope than understanding, and is therefore different fi-om it. Hut the reason why will is presume<l to bo of anipler range than understvinding consists in this, that men feel by e.vperience that they require no greater a faculty of assenting to or denying an infinity of things that are not subjects of perception than that they already po.sse8s; but that they newl a greater faculty of understanding. Tiu> will here is con.sequently distinguished from tlie underst^ind- iug in this, that it is regarded as infinite, whUst the under- standing is looked on as finite only.
It may be objccte<l to us, in the second place, that ex- perience appears to teach nothing more clearly than thot we
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can suspend our judgment and not assent to everything wo perceive, — a conclusion which is further contiruiod by the I'uct that no one is said to be deceived in so far as he perceives aiij-thing, but only as he assent-s thereto or diasents therefrom. For example, he who imagines a horse with wings docs not therefore conce<le that there is such a thing as a winged horse; i. e., he is not deceived, if ho do not at the same time concede that there exists a horse with wings. Experience, theroforo, seems to teach nothing more clearly than that will or the faculty of assenting is free, and distinct from the faculty of understanding.
It may be objected, in the third place, that one affirmation does not appear to contain more of reality than another ; i. e., we do not seem to require any greater power to affirm as true that which is true in fact, than to affirm as true that which is false. We do, however, perceive that more of rc.dily or per- fection is connected with the one idea than with tne other, for oven as some objects are more excellent than others, so and in the same measure arc the ideas of these more excellent than the ideas of the others ; whereby the diiference between will and understanding appears still further to be proclaimed.
Fourthly, it may be objected, that if a man act not from freetlom of will, what will happen if he be in a state of sils- penso or equilibrium like the ass of Buridanus Y Will he perish of hunger and thirst ? If I conce<le this, I seem then to con- ceive an uss indeed, or the statue of a man, not a human being; but if I deny it, tlien will the man determine his actions, and consequently possess the faculty of moving hither or thither and of doing what he desires.
Besides these there may perchance be various other ob- jections urged ; but as I do not feel bound to notice all that every one may dream of by way of objection, I reply to those onlv which I have specified above, and this as briefly as jxis- siblc. To the Jirst, then, I say that I admit that will is of wider scope than understanding, if by understanding clear and distinct ideas only be implied ; but I deny that will has a wider scope or an ampler range than perception or Iho faculty of conceiving. Nor, indeed, do I sec why the faculty of will is to be characterized us infinite rather than the faculty of feeling or perception; for as we can affinn infini- ties— one after another, however, for we cannot affirm in- finities simultaneously — by the same faculty of willing, so can we perceive an infinity of bodies — one, namely, after an- other— by the same faculty of perceiving. But if it bo said
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BBSBDICr DE SPIXOZa's
thttt there are infinities which wo cannot psrceive, I reply thttt we can then apprehend these by no power of thou^t, and COI180 ] ucntly can assent to them by no faculty of wilL But it muy bo said : if Oofl would hiive it that wc should abo per- ceive these, then would he have to give us a more jwwer- ful faculty of perception, indeed, but not u ereater faculty of williufj^ than ho has already endowed us withul. Now this were the same as saving, that if God desired that we should understand an infinity of other boinpi's, he would necessarily have had to give us a higher intolligence, but not a more universal idea of being than he has bcHtowefl. in order to enable us to apprehend these infinit-e existences. For wo have shown that will is an universal entity or idea, whereby we espluin all individual volitions, i. e., everything that is common to the whrtlc of those. If, therefore, those common volitions, those universal ideas, are assumed as a faculty, it is not wonderful that it should be conceived as extending beyond the limits of understanding to infinity. For UTiiver.sality may be equally affirmed of one as of several or of an infinite number of in- dividuals.
;• ■ To the second objection I reply, by denying that we have any free ix)wer of suspending our judgment. For when wo say of any one that ho sugpcnds his judgment, wc say no more than that he perceives he does not adequately appre- hend the matter to bo judged. Suspension of judgment therefore is perception, not free will. And that we may have a clear understanding of this, let us conceive a boy imagining to himself a horse, and taking note of nothing else. As this imagination involves the existence of the horse (by CoroU. to I'rop. XVII.), and the boy has no perception which annuls its existence, the horse will necessarily be con- templated as present, and, although not certain of its exist- ence, yet will he not call it in question. The same thing do we every day experience in our dreams ; nor do I beCevo that there is any one who thinks that whilst ho sleep? he has free power to suspend his judgment concerning the things about which he dreams, and of bringing it to piiss that he shall not dream of the things about which he dreams ; nevertheless it does liappen that in our dreams we sometimes saspend our judgment, namely, when wo dream that we are dreaming. Further, I concede that in so far as perception is concerned no one is reidlv deceivetl ; in saying which I moan that imaginations of the mind considered in themselves involve nothing erroneous (vide SchoL to Prop. XVII.) ; but I deny
ethics: part ii. — of the sour,.
497
that a mail in so far as ho perceives affirms notliing. For what were it to perceive a winged horse, but to afiirm the exist- ence of a horse with wings i* Did the mind thorefnre under- stand notliing but a winged horse, it would crmtemplafo the creature us present, woulil have no cause to call its existence in qiicslion, and no cause to dissent irom its existence, if it were not that to the iniiigination of the winged horse is joined on idea which annuls the existence of such a creature, or which perceives that the idea entertained of a winged horse is inadequate', in which case the existence of any such horse is necessarily either questioned or denied.
Now in what precedes I think I have also replie*! to the third objection, namely, that the will is an universal some- thing which is predicated of all ideas, and that it only signi- Kes that which is common to all ideas, viz., aflinnation, the adequate essence of which in so far as it is abstractly conceived, must exist in every idea, and for this reason only lie the same in all ideas, but not in so far as it is held to const i 1 utc the essence of ideas at large; for in this respect single aHirinations are a.s different from ciich otlier as ideas themselves. For c.xainjde, the atfinnation which involves the idea of the circle difi'ers aa much froiti the affinniition which involves the idea of the triangle as the idea of the circle differs iVom the idea of the triangle. Further, I absolutely deny that we nxjuiro the same power of thought to affinn as true that which is true a.s to afKnn that as true which is false. These two aflinna- tions, if we regard the mind, are indeed to each other severally as entity is to non-entity ; for there is nothing jKieitive in ideas which constitutes the form of falsity. Vide Prop. XXXV. and Schol, and Schol. to Prop. XLVII. Where- fore it is to be particidarly noted in this place, that we are readily deceived when we confound universals with singulars, and the entities of reason and abstractions with realities.
Finally, as to what concerns the foiirlh objection, I say I am re^uly to concede that a human being in such a state of equilibrium, percipient, to wit, of nothing but hunger and thirst, and of such meat and such drink at the same distance from hun on either hand, would perish of hunger and thirst. If I am asked whether such a human being were not rather to bo regarded as an ass than a man, 1 answer that I cannot tell ; even as I cannot tell how he is to be estimated who hangs himself, and how children, idiots, mad men, &c., are to be estimated.
I have now only further to show how salutary the recog-
.^2
498
HKXEOirr 1)K SPtNOZA S ETHICJl.
nition of thm doctrine must prove in iho iiifnirs of life. Thi bocomcH obvrioufl enough wlien wo hihj that it toju-lu-.'* u* tha wo uct by tho behost« of Go<l alono, and aru participators i his Divino nature j wherefore tho inoro excellent, the mui pfrfiH't tho lu'tn wc do, tho more und more do we know Go< IJchiilcH conforrinp; entire iipa<'(> »i' mind, onr ilortrine c<ini*<i qucntly has this furthcrnu\a:i' ■: it tt>aches u* whort'i
oiir true liapi)inc'H8 or bcatitu i^ts, viz., in the know
ledge of G(.m1 nlonc, whereby wc ore led to do those thins only tliat pcrauwlo to piety und love. ^Vhence we cliTarT understand how much they are niistiiken in their estimate « virtue who for virtue and y'ood works expect to bo richly ro warded and espwially rc{farde<l by God as for some prea service done, as if virtue and tho service of Got! wore not Q themselves no iJavery, but supreme' felicity und rao!<t perfe< freedom. 2nd, We ore taught by our diKtrine how wo ar to comport ourselves in respect of the things of fortune and o things not witliin our owii power, — that i» to say, of thing that do not f<illi)w from our nature: wo are to bear the smile of pi-onperouH and tho frowns of udverce fortune with Uk equanimity, seeingtliat both befall by the eternal decrees of Oo< and with the same necessity us it follows from tho essence c tho triangle that the sura of its onglos is equal to two rigb angles, ^rd. Our doctrine furthers and favours the amenitic of social life. Inasmuch as it teaches us to hate no one, t despise Jio one, to ridicule no one, to bo angry with no one, t envy no one; and teachoM, boMdes, that evciT one is to be con tent with his own, and lielpful to his neighbour, and tliis no of womanly pity, partiality, or superstition, but under th
fiidancc of reason and us times and circumstances rcfiuiro, a show in my Third Part. 4th, Finally, the doctrine is xiti of sh'ght importance in connoctinn with the commonweal inasmuch as it teaches in what way citizens are to b governed and let!, viz., not servilely, as slaves, but as fra men, thinking and doing that which is best. <
Tliushuvo I accomplished what I hadtosayinthisSidioliual and here, too, I bring to im end this tho St>cond Part of mj Pliilosophy, in which I tliiuk I have explained the nature C the human mind und'itcs properties at sufficient length am us cletirly as the difficult nature of tho subject {wnuitted ; trust I have also enunciated principles whence much that i most excellent, useful, and ncKnlful to be known may be in ferred, as will yet I'urtber be set forth ui what is to fidlow.
PART III.*
OF THE
SOURCE AND NATURE OF THE AFFECTIONS OR
EMOTlONS,t
INTKOUUCTION.
Most of the writers on tlie affections of mun and the con- duct of life appear to treat not of natural things which follow tho usual laws of nature, but of things beyond nature ; they seem, indeed, to conceive ni:in tin an iniperium in impcrio. For they believe that man I'athcr disturbs than confurms to the order of nature, and, further, that he possesses absolute power over his actions, being influenced and detenuined in all he does by himself alone. And then they refer tho cause of human shortcomings and inconsistencies to no common natural power, but to some — I know not what — vice or defect in human nature, which tbey forthwith proceed to lament, to deride, to decry, and even more generally to loathe and to execrate ; so that he who discourses upon the infirmities of the human soul with more fluency and fervour than common is looked upon as a kind of divine or inspired person. There has been no lack of most estimable men, however (to whose works and ingenuity we are bound to confess our great ob- ligations), who have written much that is most excellent on
• When there is do mention of Parte I. or II., the Port that is being pro- ceeded Willi is to tie iinder»tuod. — Tb.
t In thi« Part the words Affection nnd Emotion ore used synonj-mously, u are also the terras Soul and Mind. Spinoza's words are mostly Affect'w, and almost invariably Mens. — Th.
32 •
500
BENEDICT DE SPISOZA S
the proper couduct of life, and have given counsels to man- kind that arc fraught with witidom ; but no one to the best of my kno\vlL<dgc' has yet determined the natiu"c and jwwers of the afiectionn, nor discussed the influence which the mind may have in controlling their manifestations. I am aware, indeed, that the celebrated Descartes, in spite of his belief that the mind possessed the absolute control of its actions, en- deavoured to explain the human afl'ections by their first causes, and, further, strove to show how the mind might obtain com- plete mastery over its emotions. In my opinion, however, Dca- carles exhibits nothing but his own singidar ingenuity and acumen, as I shall show in the proper place. Here I woidd restrict myself to speak of those who have shown themselves disposed to disparage and deride the affections and actions of men rather than to understand them. To such persons it will doubtless appear strange that I should set about treating the \'icej» and follies of mankind in a geometrical way, and seek to demonstrate on definite principles things which they cry out against as repugnant to reason, as viiin, absurd, and even horrible. Yet such is my purpose, for nothing happens in nature that can be ascribed to any vice in its constitution, nature being ever the same, overjnvhere one, and its inherent power and power in act identical ; that is to say, the laws and ordinances of nature, in accordance with which all things come to pass, and from one form change into another, are always and every^vhere the same, and so one and the same also must be the mode of understanding and interpreting the natui'c of things at large, viz., by the universal laws and ordinances of nature. Such affections, therefore, as hatred, anger, envy, &c., considered in themselves, follow by the same necessity and power of nature as other particulars; and thou tlicy acknowledge certain causes by which the}' are com- prehended, and have certain properties which ore equally worthy of consideration as the properties of anything else,
ETHICS : TAHT III. OF THE AFFECTIONS.
501
the mere contcmplution of wkich delights us. I shnll there- fore proceed in my investigation of the nature and powers of the affections and of the power of the mind in controlling them, in the same way as I have done in the two preteding parts, in which I have treate<l of God and of the mind. I shaU, in a word, discuss human actions, appetites, and emotions pre- cisely as if the question were of lines, plane^i, and solids.
DEFINITIONS.
1 . I call that an Adequate Cause the effect of which can through it be clearlyand distinctly perceived. An iNAnEqrATE or partial cause, again, I call that the effect of which cannot be understood through it alone.
2. I say that we A(t when anjihing takes place within or without us of which we are tlie adequate cause ; that is (by the preceding Definition), when by our nature something follows within us or without us which from that alone can bo clearly and distinctly understood. I say, on the contrary, that we suKKEU (are passive or are acted on) when anything takes place within us or anything follows from our nature of which we ourselves are only partly tho cause.
3. By Afff.(Tions or Emotions I understand states or con- ditions of tho body, whereby its power to act is increased or diminished, aided or controlled, and at the same time tho ideas of these affections.
Rfjj/anation. If we, therefore, can be the adequate cause of any of these affections, then by affection I understand an action ; otherwise a pamon.
POSTULATES.
1. The human body may be affected in many ways by wliich its power of acting is increased or diminished, and nlj«o in other ways which neither add to nor take from its power of action.
BKKBOICT PK WIKOKV*
(This Postulate or Axiom rests on Post. 1 and Lem. 5, 6, 7, which see after Prop. XIII. of Pt II.)
2. The human body may undergo mnny changes, and nevertheless retain impressions or vestiges of objects (concern- ing which vide Post. 5, Pt II.), and consequently images of the same (vide Schol, to Prop. XVII. Pt II.).
PROPOSITIONS.
PROP. I. The mind in certain cases acts, but in others is passive or suffers : in so far as it has adequatci i ideas in so far docs the mind necessarily net ; and in so* far as its ideas are inadequate in so far does it necessarily suffer.
Demomt. In every human mind some ideas are adequate, but some, olso, are truncate and confused (by Schol. to Prop. XL. Pt II.). Hut ideas that are adequate in the mind of ony one are adequate in God, inasmuch iis ho constitutes the essence of mind (by Coroll. to Prop. XI. Pt II.) ; and, again, ideas inadequate in the mind of man arc also inadequate in God (by the some Coroll. ).not os he is the essence of a particular mind alone, but as he also includes in himself the minds of other things. Further, from even' given idea some effect must necessarily follow (by Prop. XXXVI. Pt I.) of which effect God is the adequate cause (vide Def. 1 of this Part), not as he is infinite, but considere<i as affected by the idea given (vide Prop. IX Pt II,). But the same mind is the adequate cause of the effect whereof God, in so fur as he is nil'ected by tlie idea that is adequate in the nn"nd of any one, is the cause (by Coroll. to Prop. XI. Pt II.). Wherefore our mind (by Def. 2 above), inasmuch as it lias adequate ideas, acts of necessity in certain ways. So far in the tirst place.
Again, whatever follows of nocossity from an idea that is adequate in God, not ns he involves in himself tJie mind of any single man onl)', but as he has in himself the minds of other things iilong with the mind of this same man, then is the mind of the particular man not an adequate but a partiul cau.so (by the same Corollury to Prop. XI. I't II.). Con- sequently (by Def. 2) the mind in so far as it has inadequate ideas necessarily suffers in some way. This in the second place. Therefore the mind in certain cases acts, &c. : q. e. d.
in. — r
503
Cot'oUrinj. Hence it follows that the greater tlic uunibcr of inadoqualo ideas the mind possojjucs the more is it exposed to various passions ; and, on the contrary, tlie greater the inimber of adequat« ideas possessed tho greater is its power of action.
PROP. II, The body can neither determine the mind to thought, nor tho mind determine the body to motion or rest, nor to anything else — if there be anything else.
Deniomt. Ai\. tho modes of thought have God for their cause, in so far as he is considered to be a thinking being, and not in so far as he is explained or interijrcfed by any other attribute (by Prop. VI. Pt II.). That, therefore, which determines the mind to think is a mode of thought, and not of extension, in other words, it is not body (by Def. 1, Pt. II.). This in the first place. Again, the motion and rest of the body must be detennint'd by or arise from some other body, wnich was itself determined to motion or rest by another bod)', and absolutely whatever ari'cs in tho body must ariftc from God, in so far considcrtHl as ho is ail'eetod by some mode of extension and not as ufl'ected by any mode of thought (by Prop. YI. Pt II., as before); that is, motion and roat camiot anse from mind, which is a mode of thought (by Prop. XI. Pt II.). This in the second phicc. Wherefore tho body can neither determine, &c. : q. c. d.
ticholiutii. What has ju*t been .stiid may jXM'hajjs bo better understood from M'hat will l)o foinid stated under Prop. VII. of Pt II., viz., that mind and bodj- arc one and tho same thing, conceived now under the attribute of thought, now under that of extension. Whence it comes that tho order or connection of things is one and (ho same, whether nature bo conceived under this or imder that atlributo; consequently that the order of the actions and j)assIons of the body are con- Bentaneous in nature with the order of the acts and passions of the mind. This truth is alio proclaimed and made mani- fest in our demonstration of Prop. XII. Pt II. ..y.though no reasonable doubt can remain, then, that all is as now stutetl, I still scarcely believe that the world vrill be inducwl to accept my doctrine witliout reservation, unless I ah.o dennm.'-truto the matter expcriinentully ; so finnly are men persuaded that on the mere hint of the mind the Wly i- made now to move, now to rest, and to do many things ba.-;ides, and all in virtue of volitions of the mind and its modtw of thinking. No one, however, has as yet deformined what the body can do; that
504
BKXKDIC'l m: SIMNUZA l»
is, no one hiw yet showii by cxjx;riincnt wlmt tbe Ijody «Jn ttccompliwli from the Bfdelawsol' uaturo, in (<o far um corport-al tbin^ only are considered, and wbnt it can not acconiplihli unless it bo disposed ljy tbe mind. For no one bus yet iiuis- terwl the strui'ture of tbe body so tboroughly tbat he could explain all its fuiiclions — and bore I wiy nothing of tbe many tbinps that are observed in tbe lower aninial.x wbiub far ex- ceed buninn H!ij»!U'ity, and of those things that somnambulists do in their sleep which waking men would not <lnre to attempt; and this sliowr* nufhiiently tbat tbe body in virtue of the laws of its nature uloue can do many things which its mind may admire.
Moreover, no one knows in what way and by what means tbe mind moves tbe Ixjdv, what amount of motion it can give to the IxkIv. nor with wliat rapidity it can cause the IkkIv to move. A\ nence it follows that when people speak of thia or tliat act of tbe bfKl}' as originated or prfniuced by the mind, which is bj' them presumed to overrule tlie b<»dy, tliey do not know what they .say, and only confess in high-sounding teniis that they, wnthout any kind of nusginng, do verily know nothing of the tnie cause of the bcKlily actions. But they may say, whether they know or do not know by wliut meat;8 tbe mind moves tbe body, that tliey arc assured l>y experi- ence tbat unless the uiind were cai>ablo of thiidcing tbe botly wonld be inert and without action ; that they feel it lit« iu the power of tbe mind alone to speak or to bo silent, and to do or abstain from doing many other thiTigs which they be- lieve must dejx'ud on resolutions of tbe mind. But, us regards the first point, I ask these persons whether exjieri- euce does not abio teach that if the body be inconijJGtent the mind is not at the .same time ])owerlcss for thought P For when the l)ody lies sunk in sleep, tbe mind slumbers at the same time, and has no jwwer of thought, as it ba.s when the l)0<ly is awake. Further, I imagine tbat every tnie must liave felt in binisilf that tbe mind is not at all times Kjually fit for llioiigbt on the same subject; but that as the body is more apt ti) have images of this or that subject aroused in it, so is the mind now more now less apt for the contemplation of this or of that subject. But it may still be said, that when the Ixjdy only is considered, it is impossible I'rom the laws of nature to jiresume that the causes of t-iivh things as buildings, pictures, &e., wbidi human art alone produces, can be referred to it; and tbat llie human liody, uidc-^s moved and deter- mined by the mini, caauot bj eompjloul to baild a temple.
ETHira: PART 111,
THE AKKECTIONS.
But I have already shown Ihut these objectors know nothing of what the ImkIv can rlo of it;<elf, nor of what can bo inferred from the mere cousideralion of its nature, and that they themselves must have had exjiericnee of thinfifs done in con- formity with natural laws, wliiuli tliey would never have be- lieved could be done save under the direction of the mind, such as the feats perl'ornied by soninambidists which arc sub- jects of wonder to the sleep- wjilkers themselves when awake. I add tliat, from the structure of the human body itself, which in artifice so far surpasses everything' I'asliionrd by the art of man, and leavinjj; out of the question all I have but just insistwl on, — from the structure of the human body, I say, and from its nature, under whatever attribute considered, an endless number of capabilities present themselves to us.
As regards the second head, all will allow that human affairs would indeed proceed much more happily were it in the power of men indiJferenlly to speak or to keep silence. Hut experience more than sutticiently >hows that men have nothing less under their control than the tongue,* and that they can do everything rather than curb and control iheir appetites. Whence it has come to pass that many believe we only act freely in those C4i.se8 where we desire things slightly; beeausp the ap])etite for the thiiig.s coveted is then reudiW controlled bj- the recollection itf some other thing that is brought to mind ; whilst wo by no means act freely in those cases in which things are eagerly desired, and which the memory of another thing is incompetent to curb or control. But indeed unless these parties have experience of the fact that we do many things of which we afterwards repent, and that we often, wlien we are distracted by contending emotions, see the better course and yet pursue the worse, nothing should hinder them from believing that we always and under all circumstances act freely. Thus would the infant believe that it desires the breast of free-will, the spiteful boy that he seeks revenge, the timid that he takes to flight, &c., all of free-wiU. The tipsy man, moreover, should then believe that bj' the free purpose of his mind he utters things which when sober he wishes he had kept to himself, &c. Even thus do the foolish and the garrulous, children, and others of the siinic stamp, be- lieve that they speak in iVeetloni of soul, when nevertheless they cannot restrain the impulse they feel to sjx-ak, ascxjieri- ence not less than reason sufficiently teaches. But all this is in
Viilc James iii, 8.
506
!DICT DE SriXCKEA S
consequence of men bolievinc themselves free, Ixx-atise, uTiil.s coDiscioufl (if flieir iicd'tms, they arc ipiorant of the causes whereby tliey are moved to aetiou ; and, further, because ro- BolutiouH of the mind are nolhin}^ more than appetitoa which are various in confonnity with various dispfwitions of tho body. For every one orocrs or would order all in harmony with his o\vn mental Ntatc; and they, morctjver, who are torn by contending emotituis know not truly what they dcjiire, an they who are a]jathotic feel it matter of indifference wlicther they yield this way or that, so that they arc easily led, whether it be to the riffht liand or to tho left.
All that ha8 now been said shows clearly enough that tho resolves of the mind, as well as the appetites and dclermin- alions of the iKxly, nro alike and concen(ane<jus in nature, or rather tliat they uro one and the same thing, which, re- garded under the attribute of thought and explained by this, wo entitle a resolution, and which, reganled under the attributo of extension, and interpreted by tlie laws of motion and rcet, wtJ entitle a r/rterininnfio/i ; but these tnithn will apjiear yet more clearly frt)m wh.<it is to follow. 'Ilicrc is still one point, how- ever, to which I would call particular attention in this plac«, viz., that we can jxTfomi no act from a resolution of tho mind uiiluas wc curry it in our mcmorj' ; — wo cannot, for in- Btancc, speak a single word if we do not remember it, Fttr- ther, it he^ not within tho frtn? power of the mind to remem- ber or to forget anything. "Wherefore, we only believe that we have the power by tho solo decrtHi' of tlie mind to sjxak or to keep silence concerning a thing remembered. Hut when in sleep we dream that we s])eak, we believe wo speak by tho free decision of the mind; yet we either do not speak at all, or if we do, it is by an automatic or sixmtanefius motion of the body. Do we dream, further, that we conceal certain things from tlie world, this is in virtue of the same resolutioji of the mind, wlicreby when awake we keep silence on things that we know. Do we dream, in fuie, that by a resolve of the mind we do something which awake we shoidd not dare to do, I should then be glad to know whether in the mind there co-exist two kinds of resolves, one fantastical, another free ? And if we do not incline to proceed so far on the path of unieason as to say that there are, then we must needs ac- knowledge that the decree of the mind which is believed to be free is not distinguishable from imagination or memory, and ia nothing, in fact, but the affinnation which an idea, in 80 far as it is an idea, necessarily involves. (Sec on this point
ethics: part ni.
THF. AFFECTIONS.
Prop. XLIX. of Part II.) Such tlorroes of the mind con- sequently arise of the same neceBsity iu the mind as the ideas of thiufjjs actually existing arise there. They, therefore, who helieve that they speak or are silent or do anytliinjLJt whatso- ever hy the free resolves of their mind, dreuni with their eyes open.
PROP. III. The actions of the mind arise from adequate ideas only ; the passions, again, depend on inadequate ideas alone.
Dcmonst. That which constitutes the prime or essence of the mind is nothing but the idea of the body existing in act (by Props. XI. and XIII. Pt II.), this idea "itself (by Prop. XV. Pt II.) is composed of many others, some of which (by Coroll. to Projx XXXVIII. Pt ll.) are adequate, some how- ever inadequate (Coroll. to Prop. XXIX. Pt II.). Whatever follows from the nature of the mind, therefore, of which the mind is proximate cause, and by wliich it must be imderstood, follows necessarily either from an adequate or an inadequate idea. But in so far as the mind has inadequate ideas, in so far does it necessarily sufier. Consequently the mind's ac- tions follow from adequate ideas only, and the mind only sufl'ei-s in so far as it has inadequate ideas : q. e. d.
Scholium. We see, therefore, tliut passions are not to be referre<l to the mind save as it has something belonging to it which involves negation, or iu so far as it is considered as a part of nature wliicli cannot be clearly and distinctly perceived by itself and without (he coucurreuce of .something else. On this ground, for this reitson, I could .show that passions bear relation to particular things in the same way as to the mind, and are to be apprehended in no other manner. But my intention is to treat of the human mind only.
PROP. IV. Nothing can be destroyed save by an external
cause.
Dcmonst. This propo.sJtIon is self-evident. For the defini- tion of overj' individual thing is afhnnalion not negation of the essence of the thing defined — the dotiuilion alleges and does not negative tlie essence of the thing. When we consider a thing in itself, therefore, and without respect to external causes, wo discover nothing in it whereby it can be destroyed: q. e. cL
608 ^^BKSMHC^n^PWWA^
PROP. V. Things in so far as they are of contrary or op
posed natures, i. e., tLing)« in 80 fur as one is conipeteni
to destroy the other, cannot be in the same object,
Deinonst. For if they could associate or be present togethel in the Siune object, there would then be present in the sam object aonu'thing which would cause its destj-uction, wliich ii ubsurd. Things, therefore, &c. : q. c. d
PROP. VI. Each indi\'idual thing strives in so far as it u
able to continue in its state of being.
Demount. For individual things arc modas by which attri- bute's of God are expressed in certain and detemiiuate ways (by Coroll. to Prop. XXV. Pt I.) ; in other words, they are entities which express the pjwer of God — the power whereby God is and acts in certain determinate wiiys (by Prop. XXXIV. Pt I.). Neither has a thing aught" within it by which it can bo destroyed or its existence abrogated (by Prop. IV.) ; on the contrary, it is oppose*! to all that impli catcs its existence (by the preccfling Proposition). Therefore, in HO far as it can and as depends on itself every individual thing strives, &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. VII. The eflTort which each individual thing mokefl
to continue in it« state of being is nothing but the very
essence of the thing itself.
Demomt. From the essence of a thing as assigned certain consequences necessarily ensue (by Prop. XXXVI. Pt I.), nor can things eflect aught that does not necessarily follow from their determinate nature (by Prop. XXIX. Pt. I.). There fore the jxiwer of each thing, or the effort whereby it does anything cither alone or associated with others, or whereby it endeavours to act in any way, in other words (by Prop, VI. above), the power it has or the efl'ort it makes to perse- vere in its state of being is nothing but the assigned or actual essence of the thing itself: q. e. d.
PROP. VIII. The eflPort whereby each several thing seoka to continue in being involves no finite time, but in- definite time.
Demomt. Did it involve limited time — time which should determine the continuance of the thing, then by the sole
ethics: part hi.— of thf. afff.cttons.
^Sl
W«w
4^M^
power whereby a thing exists it would follow that the thing ufter the expiratiou of this limited time would not exist, but must cease to be. But this (by Prop. IX. above) is absurd. Therefore the eifort whereby a thing exists involves no definite time, but, on the contrury (by Prop. IV. above), with no external cause of destruction intervening, the same power by which it already exists will cause it to exist for ever. The effort of a thing to continue in being, therefore, involves indefinite time : q. e. d.
PROP. IX. The mind, both as it haa clear and distinct ideas, and as it has confused ideas, endeavours to con- tinue in ita state of being for an indefinite time, and is conscious of this its striving so to continue.
Demonsf. The essence of the mind is constituted of ade- quate and inadequate ideas (as we have shown in our third Proposition above) ; and so, both as it possesses these and those (by Prop. VII. above), it endeavoui-s to persevere in its 8tat« of being, and for an indefinite time, as shown in Prop. VIII. above. But inasmuch as the mind is necessarily con- scious of itself by means of its ideas of the corporeal affectiona (by Prop. XXIII. Pt II.), therefore is it also conscious of its enort to continue in being: q. e. d.
Scfio/i(im. This effort when referred to the mind alone is entitled AVu.i. ; but when referred to mind and body together it is called Appetite, which is thus notliing lesa tlian the very essence of man, from the nature of which nil that serves for his preservation necessarilj' follows, and under the influence of which he is impelled to act out his life. Further, betwixt appetite and desire there is no difference, save that de.siro is commonly referred to man as he is conscious of his appetites. Desire is consequently detiuuble as iippetile with consriomness. From all that precedes, it appears that we do not strive, will, crave, or desire, because wo judge a thing to be good ; but, on the contrary, we judge a thing to be good because we desire it, strive after it, will to possess it, &c.
PROP. X. An idea that excludes the existence of the body
cannot have place in the mind, but is in contradiction
to it.
Dettioiist. There can be nothing in our body that tends to destroy it (by Prop. V. above) ; and so neither can there be
510
BENEDICT OB SPINOJw'fl
any idea of such a thing in God, in so far as he hns an idea of our body (by CoroU. U< Prop. IX. Pt II.) ; that is, the idea of such a lliiiig cuniiot l)o prout-nt in the mind (vide Pror XI. and XIII. Pt II.) ; but. on tho contrary, and iniismiio us the prime or very essonco of the human mind is the id« of the Iwdy actually existing, the first and grand effort of the mind (by Prop. VII. ulwve) is affirmation of the exist- ence of the body. Tlicrefore an idea which denied the existence of our body would be in opposition to the con- stitution of our mind : q. e. d.
PROP. XI. Whatever increiMcs or diminiishes, aids or re- strains, iho power of our body to act, in the same measure does the idea of the same thing increase or diminish, aid or restrains the power of our mind to think.
Drmomt. This proposition is evident from Prop. VII. and also from Prop. XIV. of Pt II.
Scholium. M'o sec, therefore, that tlie mind may suHer groat ehungcs and jmiss now to st^ites of greater, now to states of less perfcclion — states or passions M'hich the affections of joy and sorrow explain to us. 15y joy in what follows, I understand a passion in which the soul jwwscs to higlier per- fection ; by Korroir a passion which indioute-s a passage to a lower stjite of perfection. Further, I designate the affection of joy when referred to mind and body at once, p/cumov or hilaritij ; and tlie affection of sorrow, referred in the same way, I cull pain, yrief, or tnchimholy. It is to be observed, however, that j)lcu8ure and puin are then refun-ed to man, when Olio part of his frame is affected more than another; hilarity utid melancholy, again, when all its parts are alike affected. In the BchoHuiii to Prop IX. I have explained what {h'xirf is ; and here I take occasion to state that I acknowledge no more than these three grand or primary affections or tinutions — viz., joy, sorrow, and desire; for I shall show by-and-by that all" the others arise from these. Before proceeding further, however, it seems j)roper to ex- plain Propo.-iitioii X, more fully, in order that we may better understand how and in what way one idea is opposed to an- other.
In the Scholium to Proposition XVII. of Pt II. we have shown that tlie idea which constitutes tho essence of the mind
ethics: part hi. — of mp. akfkctions. 511
involves the existence of tlio body so long as the body itself exists. Further, from what is sai<l in the Corollary to Prop. VIII. of Pt II., and in the Scholium appended, it follows that the present existence of our mind depends on this alone, viz., that the mind involves the actual existence of body. Finally, we have shown that the power of the mind whereby things are imagined and remembered also depends on this, that the men- tal power involves the actual existence of the body (vide Props. XVII. and XVIII. Pt II.). From whence it follows that the present actual existence of the mind and its faculty of imagining, being suspended or annulled, the mind at the same moment ceases to affirm the present actual existence of the body. Now the reason why the mind ceases to affirm this existence of the body cannot be in the mind itself (by Prop. IV. above), neither can it consist in the cessation of the being of the body ; for by Proposition VI. of our second Part we have seen tliat tlie reason why the mind affirms the existence of the body is not because of the body's beginning to exist (wherefore, on the same ground, neither docs it cease to affirm the existence of the body because the body ceases to be). By Proposition VIII. Pt II., it is shown to arise from another idea which I'xcludes or sets aside the present ex- istence of our body, and consequently of our mind also, — an idea contrary therefore to the idea which constitutes the essence of our mind.
PROP. XII. The mind strives to the extent of its power to
imagine such things as aid or augment the power of the
body to act.
Dcmonif. So long as the human body is affected by a mode that involves the nature of some external body, so long will the human body contemplate the same external body as present (by Prop. XVII, Pt II.) ; and consequently (by Prop. VII. Pt II.) so long as the mind contemplates — that is, imagines (by CoroU. to the same l^ropositioii), any ex- terniil body as present, so long is the human body affected by the mode which involves the nature of the external body in question. And thus, so long as the mind imagines things that increase or assist the capacity of the body to act, so long is the body affected by modes that increase or assist its ca- pacity to act (vide Post. 1. above) ; and consequently (by Prop, XI. above) so long is the power of the mind to think increased or assisted. Wherefore (by Prop. VI. or IX.
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UKN EDICT DE SPINOZA 8
above) the mind strives to the extent of it« power to imagine those thingH, &c. : q. c. d.
PROP. XIII. When the mind imagines such things as ItAsscn or repress the active powers of the body, it strives to the extent of its capacity tti rciuember Ibings that ex- clude the existence of these. Drmonnt. So loup^ as the mind imnfjines things of such u kind, so lonp i.n the jxjwer of lx»th mind and lx>dy dimin- ished or restminivi (as demonstrated in the preceding pro- position), yet will the mind continue to imagine such things, so long as it does not imagine something else which excludes their existence, something which the mind, consequently (by Prop. VI. above), to the extent of its power, endeavours to imagine or remember : n. e. d.
Coroil. Hence it follows that tlic mind is indisposctl tcj imagine such things aa diminish or restrain it« ovra and the botly's power of action.
i'^cko/iiim. From the above we can undcrstflnd what con- stitutes liive and luite. Love, viz., is nothing more than joy associated with the idea of an exteruid cau.-'e ; and hatred is sorrow accompanied by the idea of an extcnial cause. Wo
Eerceive also that he who loves neces-sarily endeavours to ave present and to hold fust the thing he loves ; and con- trariwise, he who hates does his Iwst to set aside and annul the thing lie ilislikes. But of these things more and at greater length in what follows.
PROP. XIV. The mind having once been 8imultanc>ously
afl'ected bj' two emotions, when sub.sequcntly affected
by either of them it is also affected by the other.
Dnnonnl. The body having been once affected by two bodies at tlie same time, when the mind subsequently imagines either of these, immetliately is the other also reinein bored (by Prop. XVllI. Pt II.). liut the imaginations of the mind rather indicate the affections of our body than the nature of external bo<lie8 (by Coroll. 2 to Prop. XVI. Pt 11.). Whereibre. if the body, and by eonscquence the mind, be once atf(x;ted by two emotions, when it i.s subsequently af- fected by either, forthwith is it also affected by the other : q. 0. d.
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PROP. XV. Any thing whutsoever may uccidcntallj' bo the cause of joy, of sorrow, or of desire.
Di'tnontt. Suppose the mind to be uft'ected by two emo- tions at once, — one which neither increases nor diminishes its power of action, another which either increases or diminishes tliis power fby Post. 1. above). From the immediately pre- Cixling proposition it then appears tliat the mind when ut some other time it is aflected by the former emotion as true cause — the former which, hyi)i>(lu'licully, of it.M.-lf neither increases nor diminishes the mind's power of thinking, — the mind is forthwith affected by the latter, which either in- creases or diminishes iis power of thinking ; that is to say, the mind is then affected either by joy or by .soitow. It is tlius that emotions not of themselves but by accident become the cause of joy or of sorrow. In the same way it can be readily shown that every emotion may by accident be thr> cause of desire also : q. e. d.
CoroU. It is only because we have contemplated a thing with feelings of pleasure or of paiu, of which the thing it^self is not the efficient cause, that we are led to like or to dislike, to love or to hate it.
Dfinonil. For it comes to pass from this alone, that ihe mind when it subsequently imagines such a thing, is aflocled by the emotion of pleasure or of pain (by Prop. XIV^ above); that is to say (by Schol. to Prop. XI, above), the power oft the mind and body is increased or diminished ; and con- sequently (by Prop. XII. above) the mind seeks to imagiiio the thing (by CoroU. tu Prop. XIII. above), or strives to tuni from it; in other words (by Sclml. to Prop. XIII. above), tlie mind likes the thing, or, otherwise, has it in dislike : q. e. d.
Scholvini. Hence we understand how it may happen that ■wo have likings and dislikings, loves and hatreds, without any cause kTiown to us, but only by sympiithy and ntifijiallnj, as is said. To the same category are those objects also to l)e re- ferred which affect us with joy or sorrow from this alone : that they bear some resemblance to objects which are wont to affect us with one or other of these emotions, as I shall show in the following propositions. I know, indeed, that the writers who first introduced the names sympathy and anti- pathy intended to signify thereby certain occult qualities of things ; but I believe notwithstanding that we are at liberty to understand known and manifest qualities by the terms.
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|IE.\ EDICT PR SPINOZA S
PROP. XVI. We lovo or hate certain tilings solely because we imagine that they bear a rencmblance to an object which him bw» wont to excite Cot'lings of pleasure or puiu, of love or hate, in our mind, although that wherein the things resemble this object is not the efficient i^ause of the emotions experienced. Ihmonxt. We have (by hy])othe-sis) cnntcinphitwl with an emotion of joy or of sorrow that which resembluM an object in theobjoct it.seff, and (by Prop. XI V. above) seen thnt as the mind is affected by the imoge engendered, so is it also imiucdiat«ly affected by this or that emotion. Consequently the (hlug per- ceived as having a certain similit ude will prove by accident the cause of joy or sorrow (by Prop. XV. above). And thus (by the preceding Corollary ) we come to like or dislike that Avhicb resembles an obje<'t, although the resemblance is not the efficient cause of the emotion experienced : q. e. d.
PROP. XVII. If a thing which used to excite in us an emotion of sorrow be imagined to rcBemble something else which wtw wont \o move us equally to joy, it may be held alike in love and iu hate.
Demomt. For the thing here ia itself hj'pothetically the cause of pain or sorrow, and in so far as we imagine ourselves affwted tlirnugli it by sucli an emotion (see .Schol. to Prop. XIII.) wo have it in hate; further however, and in so far as we imagine we have something like it which ase<l to affect us with as great joy, we then love it with n joy that is eqiuiUy great (by the preceding Proposition). Thus it is that wo may sometimes love and hate the sjime thing at once: q. e. d.
Scholium. Such a condition of mind, the effect of two contrary emotions, is characterized as rarillafiaii, and bears the same relation to emotional feeling that doubt does to im- agiiiation (vide Schol. to Prop. XLIV. Pt II.) ; nor do vacillation and doubt diticr from one another sivve in respect of more and less. It is to be observed, however, that in the preceding proposition I have deduced these fluctuations of mind from sources which in themselves are causes of one, and by accident causes of another, emotion. And this I have done liocause the conchisions could be more easily arrived at from what had gouc before, and not bcrcuuse I denv tliaf vacillation of mind arises for the most part from an object which is the
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F THK AFFECTIONS.
515
efficient cause of the emotions bolb of pleasure and pain. For the human l)otly (by Postulate 1, Pt II.) i.s composed of iiumerouM individual parts of divers nature, and so is suscept- ible of being affected in many and various ways by one and the sajne body (by Ax. 1 after Lem. 3, following Prop. XIII. Pt II.). (In the other hand, again, ina.smiich as one and the Riune thing may be aH'ected in various ways, so may one and the same part of the body be aii'ccted in many different ways. From these considerations we can readily conceive how one and the same object may bo the cause of numerous and con- flicting emotinn.s.
PROP. XVIII. Man experiences the same emotion of joy or sorrow from the image of a jiast or future, as of a present thing.
Demonsl. So long as a, man is affected by the image of any thing, he contemplates that thing as present although it has no existence in fact (by Prop. XVII. Pt II. and its CoroU.); nor does he imagine it with reference either to the pa.st or the future, save ana in so far oul}' as its image is con- nected with the past or the future (vide Schol. to Prop. XLIV. Pt II.). Wherefore the image of a thing considered in itself alone is the same whether it be referred to time past, to the future, or to the present ; that is (by Coroll. '2 to Prop. XVI. Pt II.), the condition of the body, or the emotion ex- perienced, is identical whether the image be of a thing pa.st, present, or future. The emotion of joy or sorrow, therefore, is the same whether the image be that of a past, present, or future thing : q. e. d.
ScholiHin 1. I here designate a thing as pxst or futui-e in eo far as we were, or will lie, aflccted by the same, in so far u-s we have regardetl or will regtml it, in so far as it has pleo-sed or pained us, or as it will give us pleasure or pain, &c. For imaguiing a thing thus, we so far affirm its existence; i. e., the body is affected by no emotion whicli excludes the existence of the thing ; and so (by Prop. XVII. Pt II.) is affected by its image in the same way as if the tiling itself were present. Nevertheless, as it frequently hajipcns that they who have great experience hesitate so long as they con- template a thing in reference to the future or the past, and mostly doubt of the issues of things (vide Schol. to Prop. XLlS'. Pt II.), it comes to pa.s.s that emotions which arise from such images of things are not fixed and constant, but
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ItENEDKT UB SMNOZA 8
we for the most part disturbed by images of other until tho event is known for certain.
S</iQ/itim 2. FroTn wluit hnn now been said we understand what i.H iu(;unt by hope, fear.dcspuir, remorse, and the gnawings of conscience. Ifojje is* nothing more than an inconstant joy arising from the image of an event or thing p«-«t, or of on event or tiling t^i cnmc, of the i.wur ijf which we are in doubt ; /rar, on the contrary, is an inconstant sorrow, induced by the imagination of a doubtful event or thing. But if doubt M discarded in connection with lhe.se emotions, nope is tunie<l into aecurity, and fear into dmjiair, that is to say, into kind.s of joy and grief which arise from the images of the thing we fear or hope. Delight {gaudium), again, is joy arising from the image of a thing past, of the i.ssue of which wc had been in doubt. Tlie sting of conscience, or rmioric, in tine, ia sorrow in opjiositian to joy or gbdness.
PROP. XIX. He who iraaginoa the thing he lovos to be de- stroyed is grieved, as on the contrary ho rejoices if he knows it to be safe.
Demomt. The mind strives to the extent of its pow^or to imagine s>u'h things as aid or add to the power of the lx)dv to act (by Prop. XII. a1x>ve), i. c. (by Schol. to Prop. Xlfl.), to imagine such things as it loves. Now imagination is aided by all that tends to contirm things in their state of being, and on the contrary ia repressed by all that compromises the existence of things (by Prop. XVll. Pt II.). Consequently the images of things that imply the existence of a beloved thing aid the effort of the mind whereby it strives to imagine this thing, i. e., they affect the mind with joy (by Schol. to Prop. XI.) ; and on the contrary, those images that exclude the existence of the thing beloved constrain the efforts of tiie mind, i. e., they affect the mind with sadness. He, therefore, who imagines the thing he loves to be lost or destroyed is made sorrowful, &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. XX. He who imagines that the thing he hates is
destroyed, rejoices.
Di'inontif. The mind (by Prop. XIII.) strives to imagine things which exclude the existence of the tilings that lessen or restrain the pnwcr of the IkxIj' to act ; in other words (by Schol. to the same Prop.), the mind strives to imagine those things that annul the existence of the things it dis-
ethics: part hi. — of the affeitions. 517
Iflces. Thus does the imago of the thing which the mind dislikes aid endeavour in the mind, or aftect it joylully (by Schol. to Prop. XI.). He, therefore, who imagines that the thing he hat«8 is destroyed, rejoices : q. e. d.
PROP. "XXI. He who imagines the tiling he loves to be
affected with joy or sadness is himseli" affected with joy
or sadness ; and either emotion vnll be greater or less in
him who love*, us the affection is greater or less in the
thing that is loved.
Demottsf. The images of things (as demonstrated in Prop. XIX. above) whien afhrm the existence of a thing be- loved a-ssist the miud in the endeavour it makes to imagine the beloved thing it.sclf. But joy afBrms the existence of the thing joyed in, and this by so much the more us the emotion of joy is greater, for joy is transition to a state of higher per- fection (by Schol. to Prop. XL). Therefore the image of joy in the thing loved furthers effort in the miud of him who loves. So much in the first place. Again, in so far as any thing is affected with sorrow, in so far is that thing invaLd- atcd, and this by so much the more ns the emotion of sorrow is greater (by Schol. to Prop. XI.) ; so that ho who imagines the thing he loves to be affected with sorrow (by Prop. XIX.) is himself sorrowfully atiected also, and this by so much the more as the affection in the thing beloved is greater : q. e. d.
PROP. XXII. If we imagine any one to feel love or a liking for the thing we love, we ourselves are affected with love for that person ; if, on the contrary, we imagine him to dislike the thing we love, we are moved to dislike him.
Demonsl. He who moves the thing we love to joy or sorrow also moves us to joy or sorrow, if we imagine the thing we love to be affectm by the joy or sorrow so causc<l (by the preceding proposition). The joy or sorrow experi- enced by us here, however, is presumea to occur along with a concomitant idea of an external cause; so that if wo imagine any one to regard the thing we love under the influence of love or hatred, we feel ourselves affected with love or hate towards him (by Schol. to Prop. XIII.) : q. e. d.
Scholium. Proposition 5CXI. explains to us what we are
to iindcTstAnd by commi$fralion. It mav be defined, sorrow nri'-inj; fnim iiijurv Ix-fnllitig; luintlier. nut by whnt K]>ociali title Wf art' f<> (b'si^nuti" tlu" jov tlint nriws from g<Hwl bffall- injf another, I ennnot tell. \V'o shall lull the love felt for one who doi« K»«<i lo another giptxlirill or iii)proljHl ion {^faror), and, on the eontrarj', the hntre<l experji'nee<l ngainst whof*oevor df)et« atiother an injury we nhiill entitle indignation. FinuUy it is t<^i be observed, thiit we not only Jiity or eoni- inis«Tiite the fbiiij^ wi- have loVfvl (n« shown in Prop. XXI.), but that also ftjr which wr had prfviimsjy liad no affection, provided only wx fancy that it rem-mbii's ourselves (as I (tholl show iminodiately) ; and, further, that we feel kindly disposed towartls him who does g»iod to one like our«elves, and, on the eontrarj', indignantly towards him who does injury to one ■who resembles us.
PROP. XXIII. He who imagines that the thing he hates is affected by sorrow, will rejoice ; if, on the contrary, he imagines that it is joj-fully affected, he will grieve; aud each of these affections will 1k> grwiter or less as its op- posite is gi-eater or less in that which is hold in hate.
Dcmomt. In so far as the hnto<l object i.s unplcuisontly or Borrowfidly affecte<l so far is it iTicapaoitatctl or injured, and tliis by so much the more as the unpleasantness or sor- row experienced is greater (by Schol. to Prop. XL). lie, theref<ire (by Prop. XX. above), who imagines the thing he hates to be unpleasantly atfecte«l, rejoices; and this the more as the thing hated is more grievously affected. This in the first place. Again, joy affirms the existence of the joyful thing (by the same Schol. to Prop. XI.), and ever the more, the more the joy abounds. If any one imagines the thing ho hates to be jfiyfully affecttid, this imagination will disturb or constrain him in his endeavours, i. c., will cause him who bates to be still more sorrowfully affected (by Schol. t« Prop. XL) : q. e. d. ";
iScAo/. Such joy or satisfaction, however, can scarcely be solid and without conflict of soul. For, as I shall inimetliately show (vide Prop. XXVII. below), in so far its we imagine a thing having affinity with ourselves to be sorrowfully affecttMi 80 far must we Uto be grieved ; and contrariwise, so far a* wo imagine a thing so circumstancc-d to be joyfully affected. But here I have the feeling of hatred only under consideration.
ethics: part m. — vr the ArrernoNS.
PROP. XXIV. If we imagine any one causing joy or pleasure to a thing wLich we dislike, we shall then con- ceive dislike of him. If, on the coutrarj', we imagine him causing displeasure to the same thing, we shall bo moved to love him.
Dcmonst. Tliis proposition \» demonstrated in the same way as Prop. XXII. ahtivo, which therefore see.
Schol. These and similar dislikes or hatreds are referred to envy, which consequently is nothing but hatred considered as disposing or influencing men in such wise that they rejoice in the ill and lament the good that befalls others.
PROP. XXV. We strive to affirm everything of ourselves
and of a loved object which we imagine will move us or
the loved object to gladness ; and, on the contrary, to
negative everything we imagine will move us or the
thing we love to sorrow.
Di'tiwmt. Whatever we imagine us likely to aflect the thing we love with joy or sorrow, afl'ects us with joy or sor- row (by Prop. XXI. above). But the mind strives as far w>. it may to unagine all that can affect us with joy (by Prop. XII. above), or to contemplate such things as present exist- ences (by Prop. XVII. and Coroll. Pt II.) ; and, on the con- trary, to negative the existence of whatever affects us with sorrow (by Prop. XIII. above). Therefore do we strive to afGiTO everj'thing of ourselves and of cherished objects which we imagine will move us or them to gladness, and, on the contrarj', &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. XXVI. We seek to affirm of the thing we dislike all that we imagine will affect it unpleasantly, and, on the contrary, to negative all we fancy might affect it pleasantly.
Demonst. This proposition follows from Prop. XXIII., as XXIV. follows from XXI.
Sclio/. From the above we see how readily it comes to pass that men fijel more favourably towards themselves and the things they love than is just, and, on the contrarj', less favourably than is due towards the things they dislike. The imagination here, when it refers to the individual himself, is
BFUBTOCT nr. aPINftZ* «
ctiUwl pridf, or haughtinej<*, oncl is a kind of folly ; for tlj« hmighfy man drpams with liiscycs open tli:it lie is and can ac- coiupli^h ull he feigiis by liis more iniii^inution ; find, bccniiso ho ItKjkK on his tielions as rouliticH, he rejoices ; i. e., ho rejoices («o lon^ us lie docft not imagine things thnt exclude the exist- ence of his fancies and that detcrraino and define his own E roper powers of action. Prii/f or /uiuff/itiiiess therefore is a ind of joy arising from a man's exaggerated opinion of liim- Bolf. The joy, ag.iin, tliat arises from thinking highly of another, more higldy jK-rhaps thun he deserves, is entitled rftpect or rater m ; and the sentiment, that uriscH when one is thought of loss worthily than he perhaps deserves is culled coiitrmpt.
PROP. XXVTI. AVhen we imagine an object like ourselves, but towanls which we are indifferent, to be affected by some pnrticidar emotion, we forthwith become affected by a like emotion.
Dcmomf. The images of things are affections of the body, tho ideas of which represent external Ixnlias to us as virtual presences (liv Schol. to Prop. XVII. I't II.), that is (by Prop. XVI. Pt II.), the idcjLs of which involve the nature of our bodj' at once and the present nature of the external body. If, tliorefore, the nature of an external body resemble t)ie iiuturc of our IkkIv, then wiU the idea of (he external body wo imagine involve an affection of our body similar to the affection of the cxtcnial body. Consc<juently if we imagine one like ourselves to be atfectoil by some mental emotion, this imagination expresses an affection of our body of the same kind us the emotion of the individual supjKised. In this way it comes to pass that in inmgiiiing one like ourselves to bis affected by an emotion, we forthwith experience an emotion of the same kind. If, however, we dislike the individual who resembles us, then (by Prop. XXIII. above) are we adbcted by an emotion the opposite of that wherewith he is affected, and not by an emotion of tho same kind : q. e. d.
Schol. 1. This imitation of the emotions, when referred to sorrow, is culled pity or rouiiinWnition (vide Schol. to Prop. XXII. above); when referred to desire it is entitled cmm/m- //f)H, which, therefore, seems to be nothing but a desire of something aroused in us by our imagining others like our- selves to be affecteil by similar desires.
Coi'olf. 1. If we imagine one towards whom we are in-
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521
rent to occasion pleasure to an individual lite ourselves, we tlien ferl plensiintly disposed towards liim. If, on the contrury, we imugine him causing pain to such an individual, wc dislike hiiu.
Dnnoiiai. This is to be demonstrated in the same way as the preceding proposition, or precisely as Prop. XXII. is demonstrated from Prop. XXI.
Coroll. 2. We cannot hate the thing that moves our pity, because the suffering of the tiling causes us sorrow.
Demount. Were it possible to hate anything from such a cause, then should we also rejoice in its suffering, which is against the hypothesis (vide Prop. XXIII.).
Coroll. 3, We strive to the extent of our power to free the thing we pity from its suffering.
Dcihoimt. Tliat which painfully affects the thing which excites our pity affects us also with a like painful feeling (by the preceding proposition) ; in which case we endeavour to remember all that militates against tlie existence of the thing in question or destroys it (by Prop. XIII. above) ; that is to Bay, we desire or are moved to seek its destruction (by Schol. to Prop. IX.), and in this way endeavour to free the thing that moves our pity from its suffering : q. e. d.
Schol. 2. The will or inclination to confer benefits which arises from this, that the thing we would benefit distresses or causes us sorrow, is called bnirro/encc, and is nothing but a desire sprung of commiseration or compassion. For what might here be said further of the love and hate felt for that which has done good or ill to the thing wo imagine resembles ourselves, vide tbe Schol. to Prop. XXII. above.
PROP. XXVIII. We sti-ivo to bring about all that we
imagine may conduce to joy and happiness, and wc seek
to avoid or to annul whatever opposes these or tends to
induce grief and melancholy.
Demoiisf. We endeavour to tbe extent of our power to cherish the imagination of whatsoever we believe will con- duce to joy (by Prop. XII. above) ; in other words, we strive in so far as we may to contemplate this as present or actually existing (by Prop. X\^I. Pt II.). But the effort or power of the mind in tli inking is equal and like in nature to the effort or power of the body in acting, as clearly appears from the Corollaries to Props. VII. and XI. Pt II. Therefore do we en- deavour absolutely to secure or we desire and intend the ex-
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BKNEDIOr DR SPlS07Jl*fl
istonce of thnt wliich givcB ns joy. This in the 6rst plu Again, if wc imopine ihiif llial which oocosions us grief is pa on ond to, — in other words, if the thing wo dislike is an nulled, wo rejoice (by Prop. XX. nbove), ond are led oitb to seek to destroy it (by our first paragraph above), or (bj l*Top. XIII. ubove) 80 to set it af<iao that we may not ha^i to contemplate it as present. This in the second. Therefon do we, &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. XXTX. We endeavour to do everything which imagine men * regard with pleasure ; and, on the con' trary, wo avoid doing anything we think will bo dis- pleasing to other men.
Dniioiifit. When we imagine that men love this or hat< that, we ourselves are disposed to love or hate the same things (by Prop. XXVII. above), i. o. (as shown in tli Sehoi. to iProp. XIII. above), we rejoice in or are pained by the presence of that thing, and consequently we endeavou to do that which we imagine men mostly like or take pleasur in : q. c. d.
Srfiol. Tlie endeavour to do as also to avoid doing any-, thing for the sole purpose of pleasing other men, is styled ambition, especially when we strive so disinterestedly to please the world that we leave undone something ta our own advantage, and do something to the advantage of others. Under different circumstances, tbe emotion is entitled poUtcufM, cowplaisimcf. Further, I designate afl grafifiifie the feeling we experience from the act of anothec done us we imagine to gratify us, and arvmion the uneasy sense we experience when we imagine anything done with a view to our disadvantage — and whilst we jiraifie the former, we are disposed to blame the latter.
PROP. XXX. When any one has done that which ho imagines will give pleasure to others, ho himself will be pleased, associated as the act must be with the ide& of himself as its cause ; in other words, he will regard himself with satisfaction. If, on the contrary, ho has
• I here use the word vtiin or men in reference to those towards whom ve are indiffereut, for whom we have no atfoction or omuliooal feeling what- ever.
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523
done something which he imagines will be painful or displeasing to others, he will regard himself with dis- satisfaction.
Dciiwiisf. lie who imagines that he affects otlicrs with plciisnro or pain, will thereby himself be pleasantly or pain- fully aifected (by Prop. XXVII. above). But as man is self-conscious throucrh the emotion whereby he is determined to act fby Frop. XIX. and XXIII. Vl II.), ,sa will lie who has done soinetliiiig which he imagines will give pleasure to fiiiotlier, be himself pleasc<l tliruiiffh tlic coiisiiousness of himself as its cause ; or he will look on himself with pleasure — and tire rernd : q. e. d.
Sc/io/. As love (by 8chol. to Prop. XIII. aljove) is pleasure connected with the idea of an external cause, and hate is pain also connected with an outward cause, so will this pleasure and pain appear as a species of love and hate. But as pleasure and pain bear reference to external objects, we have to indicate these emotions by other names. The pleasure experienced in connection with tho idea of an ex- ternal cause, accordingly, we designate (j/ori/ ((jlorin), and the kind of pain or displeasure whicb is opposed to this wo call dmjnice or x/mnir [piulor] — it being understood that the pleasure or pain arises from the belief a man entertains that he will be praised or blamed for his deeds. Otherwise, I designate the pleasure that is connected with the idea of an external cause, seff-mtu/aciioii [acqitieHcenlia in se ipso), and tho unpleasant emotion associated with the opposite of srlf-cotttent- meiit I call ilijfidcnce or modcaty. As, further (by Schol. to Prop. XYII. Pt II.), the pleasure which any one imagines he occasions another, may be entirely in his own imagination, and (by Prop. XXV. above) everj' one may imagine all of himself which his fancy presents to him as pleasant, so is it very possible tliat the nclf-satisfied person becomes arrogant, and persuades himself or imagines tliat he is agreeable to everybody, when, in fact, he is very distasteful to all.
PROP. XXXI. If we imagine that a certain person loves, desires, or hates aught which we ourselves love, desire, or dislike, we shall be disposed to desire, love, or to hato that thing more thoroughly than before. But if we imagiue that he feels aversion i'or what we love, or, on the contrary, lovea what we dislike, then shall we bo
824
UKNEDICT t>E 8PIKUZA S
opt to expcrieuco uncertainty or fluctuation of mind in rospcct of him.
Ikmoimt. In the mere fact of iniugiiiing one to hive any- thing, wo arc oursolvcs tlisposod to love the surae thing (by J'rop. X_XVII. aljovf). Hut U't us supiwse that without tin's we love the thing in question. There then arises a new cause of love by which the afl'eetion is fostered, so that we then love more constantly the thing we loved already. Again, from merely imagining .some one to entertain aversion for a certain thing, we wludl ourHclves feel averse to it (by the same proposi- tion). Ihit if wo 8upj>ose that we at the same time love this tiling, we shall then both love and hate it at the same time (bySchol. to Prop. XVII.), or we shall sutler uncertainty and Tacillation of mind : q. e. d.
Scholium. From the above and Prop. XXVllI. of the present Part, it follows that everyone strives to the extent of of his ability, that idl should love that which he loves bim- 8oll', and hate that which he hates, whence the poet :
SpcreinuR paritcr, pariter nictuamiu untmtes; Kerreos ect, f\ quis, quod sinit alter, amat.
Let lovers bo|i« and frar alike; believe
lie were of steel wbo lores what otJien leave.*
This disposition to have others agree \*'ith us in our likings and dislikings is really ambition {amllliv) (vide Scholium to Prop. XXIX. above). And thereby do we see how it comes to piss that abnost every one naturally desires to have every one else live according to his fancy. Did each obstinately insist on this, each would bo in the other's way, and all desiring to be loved and applauded by all, would bo severally hated and decried by all.
PROP. XXXII. If we imagine that another enjoys a certain
thing which one alone can enjoy, we strive to bring it
about that he shall no longer possess the thing iu
question.
DpMonsf. In the mere circumstance that we imagine ona enjopug a particular thing, we forthwith love that thing (by Prop. XXVII. and Coroll. 1) and seek to enjoy it. But we picture to ourselves, as an obstacle to this pleasure, the fact of the other person enjoying it, and therefore do we then en-
i
• Ovidil Amor. Eleg. XIX. v. 4, 5.
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625
deavour to bring it. about that he shall no longer enjoy it (by Prop. XXVIII.) : q. o. d.;
Sc/io/ium. We thus bce human nature so constituted, that ho with whom thiiipN go amiss is for the most part pitied, whilst he who pro-'ipt-rs is envied ; and this by so much the more intimately as the thing whereof another is imagine<l to be po.ssessefi is more loved and desired. We see, fiirthcr, that it is from the same peculiarity of human nature which makes men pitiful or compassionate that they are also made envious and vain-glorious. Further, when we consult experience, we find that it tea(!hea all this most especially wlu-n the earlier years of our lives are referred to. For chikkeu, be- cause their bodies arc in a persistent state of equilibrium, as it were, are wont to laugh or crj' because they see others laugh or cry ; to imitate straightway what they see others do ; and to covet everything for themselves which they imagine others to enjoy, because, as we have said, the images of things are the affections of the body, which, influenced by external agencies, are by these disposed to act in this or in that par- ticular way.
PROP. XXXIII. ^Vllen we love o thing which resembles
ourselves, we endeavour as much as possible to make it
love us in return.
Demonti. Wo strive to imagine the thing in especial which we love (by Prop. XII. above). If thcrefftre the thing resembles us, we strive above all to give it pleasure (by Prop. XXIX. above), or endeavour that it shall be pleasurably af- fected in connection with the idea of ourselves; in other words, we desire that it shall love us in turn: q. e. d.
PROP. XXXIV. The more we imagine the affection felt for
us by a thing beloved to be great, the more shall we
boast ourselves.
Demonnt. We do all we ctin to have the thing we love love us in return (by the preceding Prop.) ; that is to say (by Bchol. to Prop. XIII. above), to have the loved object experi- ence pleasure in connection with the idea of us ; so that the greater the pleasure with which we imagine the loved object to be affected on our account, the more shall we strive to in- crease its love, i. e. (by Prop. XI. and Schol.), the more shall we experience joyful emotions. But if we rejoice because we have influenced one who resembles us pleasurjibly, then do we
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BKSEDICT DB SPlNOZA*S
regard ourselves with sutt!<fac(ion (by Prop. XXX. and Sc^lioL). Tlie preiiter the def^rec of etnution, therefore, with whieh we inmgine a loved object to bo atfctUtl townnls us, with the greater degre<' of sfitisfiictinu hhiill we coiitoiiijilulo ourselves, or the more bhull we Im; disjKised to vaunt ourhelves ; q. e. d-
PROP. XXXV. Whoever imagines that the thing he loves
unites itself in an equal or more intimate and friendly bond
with another than himself, will be moved to hate the
thing he had hitherto loved and to feel jealous or envious
of the more favoured party.
fJemoimf. The greater the love wc believe the object we admire to feel fur us, the hij^hor are wo raised in our o«*n C8tiinati<»n (by the prci^cnling proixjsition), i. e., the more are we grutilied (Prop. aXX. of this Part). It is because of this that we use our best endeavour to imagine the objt>ct we lo^e especially hound to un in the closest and most intimate manner (by Prop. XXVIII.). Now, this our cnde.'ivour or desire is increased if we fancy thai another ])erson aH'ccts the objw't of our udniinitioii (Prop. XXXI. above). Hut it is presumed that the endeavour in compromised by the image of the loved object when accompanied bv that of a rival ; so that we are sorrowfully affwted (by Scliol. to Prop. XI. aljove) by the concomitant idea of the object beloved, as cause, and simul- taneously by the image of the rival — ^that is to say (by iScliol. to Prop. XIII. alxivc), we are moved by an eraoti<in of hat« both as regards the objwt of our love and our rival (by Coroll. to Prop. XV. nlxive), of whom we are further envious or jealous, because of the deliglit he takes iu the object of our attachment: q. e. d.
Si/in/iiiiii. This halrwl combine<l with envy of an object beloved is called Jra/miKi/, and conse<iucntly is nothing other than a vacillation of mind engendered of love conjoincMl with hate, the idea of some one else of whom wc are envious being associated. The hatred of the loved object will, besides, be great in the ratio of the joy wherewith the jealous man was wont to be affected by the reciprocated love of his mistress, and, further, in the ratio of the afloction he may formerly have felt for him with whom in his imuguiation he now a.s- sociates the objwt of iiis love. If ho had baled this person, he will for this reason alone dislike the object of his love (by Prop. XXIV. above) ; because he imagines that what he himself ha*,ev is plea^urably affected ; and also (by Coroll. to Prop.
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527
XV. above) from this, tliut he is forced to join the image of the object of his love with the image of one whum he hutes. This IS a state of (hiiig.M that occurs especially in love affairs towards women. For he who imagines that the woman he loves yields her person to another, will not only be saddened by the reflection that his own desires are ungratified, but b_v the idea of female delicacy and propriety outraged. To which let it be added that the jealous person imagines he is not receivetl by the object of liis affections with the same warmth as of yore, und this straightway becomes another cause of vexation to him, as I shall now proceed to show.
PROP. XXXVI. He who recalls to mind an object in which he once took delight, desires to enjoy the same under cir- cumstances sunOar to those amid which he was first
delighted with if.
Demount. All that a man sees in conjunction with an object which dclight.s him, becomes contingently a cause of joy to him (by Prop. XV. above), and so does he desire to posaeas this along with the object (by Prop. XXVIII. above) ; in other words, man desires to possess a cherished object along with the whole of the circumstances under which it first became a source of joy to him : q. e. d.
Coroll. If the lover perceives that any one of these circumstances is wanting, he is grieved.
Demoiist. For in so far as some circumstance is wanting, so far is something imagined that precludes the existence of the thing in question. Smce, however, we desire through love of this thing or circum-stance, in so far as we imagine the same to be wanting, wo are grieved (by Prop. XIX.) : q. e. d.
Schol. The grief which refers to the absence of the thing wo love is entitled longing.
PROP. XXXVII. The desire which arises from joy or
sorrow, from love or hate, is great as the emotion which
induces it is powerful.
Di'tnonsL Sorrow diminishes or restrains man's power of acting (Schol. Prop. XI. above), i. e., sorrow lessens or re- strains the endeavour man makes to continue in his state of being (by Prop. VII. above) ; and so is opjwsod to this endeavour (Ijy Prop. V. ). But whatever effort a man under
628
BKXKDICT PR SPIKOZA «
the influenou of sorrow makes, is made with a view to be rid of the sorrow ; so that tho gro:iter the grief, the greater muni neco8.Marily bo tho lunniHt of (U!tive power broaj^ht by tho man agaiusi it ; in oilier words (by S-hol. to I'rop. IX,), with s<) much stronger purjione or desire must n man strivo to Bot aside his grief. Further, as joy (by Schol. to Pixip. XI.) aids or uddt to man's power of aetion, it is easy in the Bomc way to demonstrate tliat man imder the influence of joy has no other desire but t<i preserve his state of being, and this so much the more ardently a* the joy he foels is greater. Lastly, a* halo and love are themselves affwtions of Borrow and joy, it follows in like urinner that the endi-avoiir, appetite, or desire which arises from hate or love will bo groat ill proportion as the hate or love experienced is groat : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXVIII. Should any one begin to conceive hate of a thing once loved, and all love be at length destroyed, he will for the same reason hate that thing with a more perfect hatred than if he had never lovisi it ut all, and with a hatred the greater in proportion as his love formerly was groat.
Demoiist. When hate begins greater number of desires or aif'e; no love had ever been conceived
man strives to tho extent of his power to hold fast (by Schol. to Prop. XIII., and by Prop. XaV'^III. above) ; and this be does by contemplating the thing he loves as pi-oseut with him, by imagining that it also is atfis:te<l with love and joy in the same degree as himself, and is influenced by these emotions to the degree in which he would have his love returned (by Props. XXI., XXVII. and XXXIII. above). But all theJ^ emotions are repressed by hate of the thing loved (by Coroll. to Prop. XIIl. and Prop. XXIII. abovej. Wherefore the lover (by Schol. to Prop. XI.) becomes aflected with grief; and this the more intense as the love he fonnerly felt was gre^it ; that is to say, besides the grief which was the first cause of tho hatred, other emotions engendered by love had sprung up which induce still more son-owful imaginings in coimection with the idea of the thing loved, and causing deeper hale than if no love had ever been felt ; hate all the stronger, too, as the love it euporscdes was great (Schol, Prop. XIIL): q. e. d.
to take the place of love a
L'.tions are outraged than if
For love is a joy which
e
ETincs: PART in. — of the affections.
529
PROP. XXXIX. He who hates another will be disposed to do him evil, unless he fears that greater evil will ensue to hiinsell" by doiiif,' so ; and, on the contrary, he who loves another will by tlio same law be disposed to do him good.
Deiiioimt. To hate another is (by Sc-hol. to Prop. XIII. above) to imagine him a cause of sorrow to ourselves ; and fo (by Prop. XXVIII.) he who hates another will endeavour to get him out of his way or to destroy him. Put if he thence imagines a. greater soirow, in other words, a greater evil, as likely to bfllitl himself, and he thinks he can escape this by not doing the iiijurv he had meditated, he will desire to abstain from it (by Prop. XXVIII.), and this in virtue of a greater effort (by Prop. XXXYII.) than that which had possessed him to do the injury, and which, therefore, as the stronger, prevails over the other. The second part of the demonstra- tion prfieet'ds in the same way. Wherefore, he who hates another, &c. : q. e. d.
Schol. By Oood I hero understand everj' kind of joy, and all that conduc<>s to it, especially when the tendency is to satisfy a specific desire, whatever its nature ; by Edl, again, I mean every kind of sorrow, eNjjocially what.socver opjioses desire. For I have shown above (in Scholium to Pnip. IX.) that we do not desire a thing because we judge it to bo good, but, on the contrary, call that gotwl which we desire ; as, on the other hand, we call that evil to which we are averse. Where- fore every one judges or estimates from his own affections what is good, what is e\'il, what is better, what worse, and lastly, what is best, what worst. Thus the avaricious man looks on plenty of money as the best thing on earth, and ho holds poverty as the worst of evils. The ambitious man, again, thinks there is nothing worth living for but position and glory, and, on the contrary, nothing so teirible as disgi-aco and defeat. To the envious and malevolent there is nothing plcasantor than another's misfortune, nothing more distress- ing than his success. Thus doe.s each individual judge of good and evil, of the u.seful or the useless, Ac, from his own affec- tions. But the emotion or affection whereby man is disposed to resist what he desires, and to yield to what he does not ile- sire, is called fear (liiiior), which consequently ajipenrs to be nothing but cowardice {wctm) influencing man to avoid an evil he deems contuigent, by sulunitting to a present minor unpleasantness or evil (vide Prop. XXVIIl.). But if the
S4
ItEXKDICr DE SPt.VOU «
evil ho foani be thame, then in tho fear that ia folt char Bctcri/cil bv the nanio of bwfhfulnrgK or modrxttf {eer» cuitdia). I'inuUy, if the dt-<in* to avoid continjyeiit evil Ih infltioiicod or rfstruiiiwl by tUo fi<ur of 8o>ue other evil, no tliW we know not truly what part to cho<isc then is the f<?ur tUttl is experienced desig-iiiite*! alarm (ronnltriiatio), especially l either of the evils from which e«cu^>e is sought be oue of tin greatest.
PBOP. XL. He who imagines that ho is an object of hatm to another, yet believes that he ha» never given jtM cau8t> of offence, will in return hate that other.
Dnnonxl. A\Tioever Ix-lieves another to be under th( influence of hatrwl, is himwlf, on this account, niovetl Xi hate (by Prop. XXVII. nliove); that i.x, he is affcct«<d b; grief, ucfonnianied with the idea of an external cause (Sehol. U Proj). XIII. J. But he (on our livi)otluftis) imagine)* no cauai for tbLs grief but the jjcrson wno hates him. Therefore, \n ■who imagines that he is hated by anotlicr is moved by dislikfl the ide4i of the person who has him in hate being a».<<ociate< with his dislike, — in few words (by the same St-lioliura), li( hat^ because be is hatL<d : q. o. d.
Scliol. 1. If a man, however, imagines that he has give! just cause of offence and of hate, then will he be affwtcd b; a sense of shame (by Prop. XXX. and .Schol.J ; but this nirel; happens (by Prop. XXV.). Besides, the rccipi^ocation u hatrwl here may also arise from the fact that the hatred \xai followed an attempt to injure him who is hated (by Prop XXXIX.). He, therefore, who imagines that he is hate<I Iv another will be apt to imagine this other as the cause of anj evil or misfortune that befalls himself, and so wiU he be sor- rowfully affected, his distemper being associated with tlw idea of the person who hates him as its cause.
Coroll. 1. He who imagines that he is disliked by thl object he loves wiU be distracted by the contending emotions o love and hutre^l. For in so far as he imagines that lie ii hated, he is moved to hate the hater (by preceding Prop.) but f by hjiKithesis) he loves hun nevertheless ; therefore wU he be moved by hate and love at once.
Coroff. '2. lie who imagines that an injury hasbeeudon him by another towards ^vnom he had hitherto been per fectly indifferent, will immediately be disposed to retaliate b doing that other an injury.
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531
Demomt. Whoever imagines that a certnin person is iBpitefully disposed towards him, will liold fhut iktsoh in tftf<pite, threaten him with whatever rany rauw liini diKphni- [eiire. and even strive to injure him (hy Trops. XXVI. and XXIX.). But (hy hj-pothesis) the first filing he im- agines is the evil done to liimsclf ; therefore will ho forthwith seek to injure his enemy: q. e. d.
Scholium 2. The dewire to do him an injury whom we hate is called anijer ; luid the desire to pay back an evil done to ourselves is styled rramge,
PROP. XLI. He who imagines that he is loved by another, yet believes that he has given no cause for the love (which by the Corollary to Prop. XV. and by Prop. XVI. above, may very well happen), will love that other in return.
Demonst. This Proposition is demonstrated in the same I way as the one that precedes; the Scholium to which may also be consulted.
Scho/iiim 1. If he believas, however, that ho has given just cause for the love sho^^Ti him, he will be apt to vaunt hiniiiclt (by Prop. XXX. and Sc-holium) — a matter of common enough occurrence ; but tlie contrary, as has been Siiid, mI.m.) hapijons when ho fancies thai he is hated. Now, reciprocation of love and the endeavour to benefit him who loves us and would do us a kindness is styled gratitude (ijraiia, ijratitmiu) (vide Prop. XXXIX.). But it would seem that men are much more ready for revenge than the reciprocation of good offices.
CorolL He who imagines that he is loved by him whom he hates will be agitated by emotions of love and hate at once, as may be demonstrated in the same way as the Coroll. to Prop. 'XL.
Scholium 2. If the hafrwl wherewith a man is affected prevails, he will seek to injure him by whom he is loved. This state or affection of the mind is chamcterized as cruelti/ {criitMitas), especially if he who loves is believed to have given none of the usual causes of hatred.
PROP. XLII. He who has done a service to another from
lovo or hope of renown will be grieved if he perceives
that the kindness is taken in a thankless spirit. 34 •
682
BBJrRDICT PE SPIXOZa's
Demons!. lie who loves his like endeavours to have tlw object of his love return his affection (Prop. XXXIII. above) Ilrj therefore who confers a benefit on another from love do« 8o from the desire he feels to l>e loved in return, that is, either from hope of the renown or the pleasure he expects to accrui from the wi (Props. XXXIV. and XXX.) ; therefore wfl ho otrive to imagine this cause of renown as present, oi contemplate it ns actually existing (by Prop. XII. above). But (l)y liypollie.-si'*) he imagines soraclhing el.-M- which ex- cludes the existence of thiH caune; therefore and from this alone is he made to grieve (vide Prop. XIX.) : q. e. d.
PROP. XLIII. Hate is increased by reciprocal hate, and, oa
the contiury, nmy be »upplante«l by love.
Dcmoimt. He who imagines that the person he hat«a it reciprocally affected by hate towards him, is thereby (the old grudge ^lill continuing) move<l to fresh hatred (by Prop. XL.). But if, on the contrary, he imagines the person ha hates to be aff<H!te(l with love towards him, to the same oxteiil as this is imagino<l will lie contemplate himself with satisfaction (Prop. XXX. above) ; and in the same measure will he strive to show sutisracf ion with the person who returns his hate with love (by Prop. XXIX.) ; in other words, to the extent of hii power will he strive to entei-tain no hatred and to cjiuso na evil to the person coneenied (by Prop. XL.). And thfl effort here (by Prop. XXXVII.) will be greater or less in thi ratio of tlic emotion from wliieh it prot^eeds; if more jjowor- ful tlian that which is induced Viy \\w hatx? and likely to brina grief upon the object hated (by Prop. XXVI. above), it will prevail and cast hat red out ot the soul : q. e. d.
PROP. XLIV. Uate, when fairly vanqui.shed by love, is tumec
into love ; and the love thus engendered is often greater
than if no hatred had gone before.
DriiiorMf. This is similar to that of Prop. XXXVIII. above. For he who begins to love the thing he had hated or ha<| lookwl upon with displeasure, is maile joyful on the ground that he now loves; and the jov which love involves alsa accompauias that which arises from the effort made to hei rid of the grief which involves hatred (vide Prop. XXXVII.), and is strengthened and aided by connection with the idea of hiiu who was the object of hatred iis cause of the pre^eoit salLsfaction.
ETHICS : PART 111. — OP THE APFECTIOJfS.
Scholium. Although the mafter be aa just stated, still no one will strive to hate anything and sock to cause it sorrow with u >ncw to his own greater delight ; in other words, no one decire.s, in the hope of rwtovering an injur\', to injure himself, any more than he will desire to fall sick m the hope of regaining his health. For cverj' one strives so far as he can to preserve his state of being, and to keep sorrow and sadness far away. If it were iwssible, however, to conceive a man desiring to hate another, in order that he might after- wards love him more fondly, he would be forced tolu^ld him in pei-petujil liiite; for the greater the hatred, by so much greater would be the love ; and therefore would he have to desire that the hatred should go on continually increasing. In the same way would the man who would fall sick in order to get well have to desire to be more and more distempered, in the prospect of the increased pleasure to be derived from recovered healtli ; he would consequently strive incessantl}' to fall more and more sick, which is absurd.
PROP. XLV. He who imagines one like himself to hold the
thing which resembles himself and which he loves in
hate, will hat« the hater.
Demomt. For the thing that is loved holds him in hate who hates it (by Prop. XL. above) . And, in the same way, the lover who imagines any one to hate the object of his love, niav on this groimd conceive the object ho loves to beafl'ected wita hate, i. e., with grief (by Schol. to Prop. XIII. above); in this case (by Prop. XXI.) ne himself will be grieved, and this in connection with the idea of him who bates the beloved object as cause of his grief. Therefore will he (by Sehol. to Prop, XIII. above) have the hater in despite : q. e. d.
PROP. XL VI. He who is made to rejoice or grieve by another of a class or nation not his own, by associating this individual imder the general head of his class or nation as cause of the joy or grief experienced, will re- gard not the individual only, but the whole of his class or nation with love or with hatred.
Demonst. This is evident from the Demonst. of Prop. XVI. of this Part,
mi
llENEUIcr OK 8FIX0Z.I 8
PROP. XLVTI. Tlie joy which arises when we imagine tl the thing M-e hate hoe been destroyed or injured, is ] iinaccom|>aniiyi by a senw of sorrow.
Demoimf. For this sec the Demonstmtion of Propomtil XXVII. For as we imagine the thing that has affinity wi or that rtwcinbira ub to be influenced by Borrow, we ourselt ore grieved.
Srholiiim. Thin Proposition is alw demonstrated in t CoroUiirv to Prop. XVII. Pt II. For an of^en as we remc) her a tiling, nlthough it may not then iiettmlly exist, 1 nevertheless contciiiplute it an present, ond ore eorporeally 1 feeted preeisely as we should be were it actually so. Whe* fore, and an the rccoUettion of the thing in question is clel in the same iiu-osure ore we moved to consider it sorrowful whereby the image of the thing, though stilJ eonteniplated predCTit, is overlaid by the reeolleetioii of other things whi( tend to oli!«'ure but do not annul its e.\i>ten<-e. Man, the* fore, only rejoices in so far ns this motion or dispositiou controlled; and hence it is that the pleasure we feel from I injury* done to the thing wo dislike, i* renewed as often as ^ recall that thing to nieraory. For, iis we have said, when t image of the thing in question is excited in the mind, inasmiK OS the idea of its existence is involve<l, we are movc>d contempluto it with the same distaste as we were wont to i gard it when it existed in fact. Put Ixx'uu.se we a-ssociate t image of the thing with other things that cast its existen into the shade, therefore is the di.spisition to grieve immot ately controlled, and we rejoice anew, and this as often as t same process is rejxsated. .(Vnd it is from the same cause th men rejoice as often o.s they recall past erils to memory, ai that they delight to speak of dangers from which they hit escape*!. In imagining particular dangers prospei-tivcly, rai are moved to dread them ; but this inclination is forthwi confrolle<l by the idea of the freedom which they as-socis with dangers overpast and when they feel themselves safety, so that they then rejoice anew.
PROP. XI.. VIII. Love and hate of an indi\-idual — say- Peter — are animlled if the joy which the former and t grief which the latter involve are joined with the idea another cause ; and each, again, is lessened in the sal
KTints: PART ni. — of the affectioxs.
53l
as Peter is imagined not to have been the cause
of either.
Demonnt. This is contained in the Definition of Love and Hate (vide Sehol. to Prop. XIII.). For it is because of this alone that love is called joy, and hate is called sorrow in refereuce t<i Peter, viz., because Peter is considered as cause of one or other of these emotions. These, therefore, wholly or partially removed, the emotion as regards Peter is wholly or partially removed also : q. e. d.
PROP. XLIX. Love or hate towards an object which wo consider free must be greater in either case and from a like cause, than it would be were the object necessary.
Demonst. The object or thing which we imagine as free is perceived by itself without the concomitance of other objects or things (by Def. 7, Pt I.). If, therefore, we imagine a free thing to be the cause of joy or grief, it is on this ground alone that we love or hate it (by Schol. to Prop. XIII. above), ond this with the highest degree of love or hate that can arise from the emotion specified (by the preceding Prop.). But if the thing which is the cause of the emotion be imagined as necessary, then (by the same Def. 7, Pt I.) do we conceive it not the sole cause, but the cause associate with something else, of the emotion experienced ; and consequently the love or hatred felt for it will be less : q. e. d.
Schol. Hence it follows that men, because they fancy themselves free, conceive greater love or hate for one another than for anything else. To the ground now specified, how- ever, must be added imitation or simulation of one or other of the emotions, on which topic vide Props. XXVII., XXXIV., XL., and XLIII. above.
PROP. L. Everything may by accident be the cause of hope or of fear.
Demoiinf. This Proposition is demonstrated in the same way as Prop. XV., which see, along with the Scholium to Prop. XVIII.
Schol. Tilings or incidents that are accidentally held to be the causes of hope or four are entitled (jood or had v/neiix ; and as these are causes of hope or fear, in so far are they causes of joy or sorrow (by Schol. 2 to Prop. XVIII. above), and consequently (by Coroll. to Prop. XV. above) of love or
nisjirmcr bk wutco.* »
of hatred; bo that (by Prop. XXNT^II. above) we etnt oithpr to hold them font- na incans to the end wt« donrc aw hope for, or to jmt thoin iiway iw obsliiclcs to our •wishos an raniM'« of our ffurs. FurlluT, from Prop. XXV. above, i follou'H thut we are bo conolitiited by niiture that we readJl; believe the tilings wo hojio for, nnrl arc iudispascd to git credit to thoKo wo foiir, ami also tliut wo judge more or lei com-ctly in rt-f^iird to each of these severally. Now it is froi this state of thiii(?8 that the superstitions with which man kind are universally <listrnctcd have arisen. For the rest, do not. think it worlli wliile to dcm-atit upon the Bucliiation of boul wliich arise from hope and fcur, seeing; that from th mere dt'linitions of these emotions it follows that there is n hopo without tot\r, nor any feur without hope (as I sha explain at length in the proper place) ; and further, th« we love or hate unythintr so fur as we feel love or fear t connec-tion with it. All we now say concerning love an haired will readily be referred by every one to the tnd sources of these emotions, viz., hope and fear.
PROP. lil. Different men are liable to be differently affect« by one and the same object ; and the same roan may i different times bo differently affected by the same objco
Demonst. The human Innly (by Post. t3, Pt II.) affected in many and various ways by external bodies. TNi men may, therefore, be diversely affected at the same tin by the same object (by Ax. 1, I'ollnwing I^em. 3, wliich sm ceeds Prop. XIII. Pt II.). Again: the human bo<ly liable to be affected now in this way now in that (by tl same Postulate atid Axiom), and consequently to be various affected by the same object at different times: q. e. d.
Si-/ioliiiiii. M'c, therefore, see how it comes to pass thi what one loves another hates, and what one fears nnoth< dws not fear; and that the same man now loves what m had once hated, and now bravely dares what he had former feared to attempt, &c. Further, as every one judges fro his own feelings what is good, what bud, what better, whj worse (vide Schol. to Prop. XXXI X. above), it follows thi men may vary both in judgment and affection ;• and thus happens, when we compare certain persons with ourselves oi otiiers, we perceive that they ditier from us and from ea(
* Thnt this may be the caee, alUioagh the human miad i« part of the ] vine intelligence, we have shown in the Schol. to Prop. XVII. Pt II.
ethics: paut hi. — of the akfections.
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other through diversity in their nffectioiia alone ; some bciufj timid, some hold, some prudent, others rasli, &e. P'or exaiii])ie, I chU him intrepid who dt\spisc8 the evil which I niyseir fear ; liim 1 cull daring who is not restrained in his desire to injure him he hates or to beneht him he lovea by fear of any contingent evil wlicrebv I ara myself controlled ; him I designate timid, who dreads tlio evil which I mj'- self contemn ; and I hold him pusillanimous who is re- strained in his desires by fear of tlie evil wliich does not restrain me ; and so on, every uiie judging of otliers by and from himself. To conclude: it is from this constitution of the nature of man, and this inconsistency in his judgments, that he frequently judges of things from mere uflection ; and that things which lie believes conduce to joy or grief, and wliich he therefore strives to promote or to put aside (by Prop. XXVIII.), are often mere imaginations. And here I pass over other points which, in my Second Part (where I treat of the uncertainty of things) I have shown enable us readily to conceive man as being himself the cause wherefore he grieves or rejoices, the idea of himself being associated as source of the grief or joy experienced. Thus we can easily understand wherein rej/i'iitaiico or regret (pcenifciitia) and ac- quiescence or sclf-voiitent (avqiiiesccri/ia) consist. Repentance is grief, and self-content is joy, in each case associated with the idea of self as its cause, and these emotions are most powerfully felt because men believe themselves free (vide Prop. XLIX.).
PROP. LII. The object we formerly saw along with other objects, or which we imagine to have nothing but what is common to other objects, wiU not engage our attention so much as one that we imagine has something peculiar to itself.
Deinonxt. AVhen wc imagine any object we have seen along with others, we forthwith remember those others (by Prop. XVIII. Pt II. and its Sehol.), and so from the con- templation of one thing we fall into contemplation of an- other or others. And it is even so as regards the object which we imagine has nothing about it but what is common to others. For we then presume that wo contemplate nothing in it which wc have not already observed in others.
Hut if we presume that in a particular object we perceive something which we have never seen before, we then say that
IIKXEDICT OB HWJCOtA «
the mind, whilst contCTnplatinp this ohiwt, ha« nothing in by whidi it ran l>c led to contcmplntc the olijcft in quc*(*tioo and N<> will it \x' (K'forniiiied to uliidc in thi' conteniplatio of theparticuluroliject uUmc. Whc'rcroreiiniilvjcct. «Sc. : q.e.i
Srho/. Tliis oniotion of the mind, or inja«^nation of ii pal liculiir thinff, in so fur as it proceeds in the mind excluKivelj in called adminiliun ; but if the emotion Ix? excited by ai object which we fear, it is then called nlnnn, because ara8Z< ment iadinirotio) in presence of on evil holds a man in sue a slate of susiM-nse through mere self-contemplation that bl becomes inc<im{>etent to think of any means whereby hi mi^fht escaj)e the evil. If. however, the object of our admir* tiou 1m? the wisdom of a man, the industry of a man, or an; other thing of the some complexion, then, and because w c«'>ntemplate the man as far excelling ourselves, our admirai tiun l>eeomc8 rctijiert or t'litcitn ; or otherwise, mutatis tnntandii when we contemplate the meanness and foUy of mankind, i is turned into avrrsion. Further, when we admire the wis dom, industry, &c., of a man whom we love, our lovo ii increased thereby (by Prop. XII.), and love in combinatioi with admiration or respect wo entitle reterena: In liki manner can we conceive nate, hope, prudence, &c., combine with wonder or adtuirulion to produce yot other enioliona forms, which however we are nut accustomed to distinguisl by particular names.
Admiration is opposed to disdain, which mostly springi from this: that we see some one admire, love, four, &c., t certain thing which we ourselves admire, love, fear, &c. ; or from this : that a certain thing appearing at first sight to rosembh things which we admire, love, fear, &c. (by Prop. XV. will its CoroU. and Prop. XXVII.), we are disposed to admire^ love, fear, &.c., this same thing. But if. through the presence of the thing in question, or more careful consideration, w« are forced to gainsuj- all we had connected with it as th« cause of our admiration, &c., then is the mind detormincfl bj the presence of the object to think of tho.se things nithel which belong not than to those which belong to it. The con« trary of thLs, however, happens when, with the object present, we continue to a-s-sociate with it all we had conceived tfl pertain to it. Moreover, as from affection for the thing Wfl love we pass to admiration of it, so does cotitempt arise ironj the hatred or fear we conceive of an object, and scorn, from our dislike of folly or stupidity ; precisely a» reverence arisot from our admiration of prudence and understanding. In the
ETHICS : PAIIT IIJ. OF THK AFFECTIONS.
539
same way can we conceive love, hope, glory, and various other affections conjoined with diwhiin, and deduce other emotions besides those distusse<l, which, however, we are not wont tt) distinguish particularly and to designate by special
mimes.
PKUP. LIII. ANTien the mind contemplates itself and its capacity for action, it rejoices, and this the more as it imagines itself and its power of action more distinctly.
Dt'inomt. Man only knows himself l)y the affections of his bfxly and the ideas of these (by Prop. XIX. and XXIII. Pt II. J. 'When the mind therefore proceeds to contemplate itself, this implies transition to a state of greater perfection, or supposes it to be joj-fully atfwted (by Schol. to Prop. XI. above), and this so much the more as it more distinctly imagines its own jwwer of action : q. e. d.
Coroll. Thi.s joy is more anrl more increased the more man imagines him.self to be lauded by others. For the more he imagines himself the object of praise with others, the more docs he imagine others to be joyfully or pleasurably affected through him, the presumption being associated with the idea of himself (by Scliol. to Prop. XXIX.) ; and so (by Prop. XXVII.) is he him.self atiectwl with the greater gluduoss, the idea of himself accompanying the emotion : q. e. d.
PROP. LIV. The mind endeavours to imagine those things
onlj' which nflSrm its power of action.
Dcmoitnt. Effort, endeavour, power of action, is the very Bncc of the mind itself (by Prop. VII.). But the essence the mind (as is self-obvious) affirms that only which the mind is, and is able to do ; not what it is not, and cannot effect. The mind therefore oiUy strives to imagine that which affirms its own power of action : q. e. d.
PROP. LV. When the mind imagines incapacity of action
in itself, it is grieved.
Dewoiixf. The essence of the mind affirms that only which the mind is and can accomplish; or it belongs to the nature of the mind to imagine tho.se things only which affirm its capacity to act (by the preceding Prop.). Lf we say therefore that the mind in contemplating itself imagines any incapacity on its own part to act, we say nothing more
HVKKMCr DK «f
than that the mind, whilst striNing to imagine nomcth which it* power fti'nclion iiffinni*, feels constraint in it^c-tfa or (l>y Schdl. to Prop. XI.) that it is grieved.
Coroll. 1. The ^rwf in s^uih a cu»ic is increased if imagine that we arc therein bhnned by others, a-t niaj* df-niunslrutcd in tlie same wav as the Corollttr\- to Pro LIII.
Sf/iol. Such grief associated with the idea of our o' weakness is entitle*! hiiniilit;/; whilst the 'y>y arising fro conlenii)lnf ion of ourK^lvcs in called self-lore or self-miiftfactit And as thin last emotion in exiKrienecfl as often a» man col templates hin o\^'n goo<l qiialitie* or powers of action, so ol docs it follow that almoKl everj'one is di.-jxjtied to siH»akof h own doings, and to parade his powers of mind and body his hearers; in this way do men often make thcmser obnf>xious to one another. For the simic reason, also, i men naturally envious of one another (vide Scholia to Prop XXIV. and XXXII.), or are disposed to rejoice over ti foolishness of their fellows, and on the other hand to f< aggrieved by their virtues. For as often as men delight 1 recur in imagination to their owii doings, so often are th plcasantlj' att'ecto<l(bv Prop. LIII.), and this in mea.sure by much the greater us the acts imagined express more of pel fetation, and are more distinctly brought before the mind, i. (by what is said in Schol. 1 to Prop. XL. Pt II.), the moi clearly the acts in question are distinguished from others as contemphited in their individual characters. Wherefoi every one will vaunt himself most when he coufeniplates himself something which he denies to others. But if h refers that which Iio affirms of himself to the general idea < man and the lower animals, he will not feel so much sell elaticn ; on the contrary, he will be grieved or discoQ tented, if, in comparing nis own acts with those of othen be imagines them of an inferior stamp; and then (by Prop XXVlII.) he may endeavour to get rid of his disconten by interpreting the acts of his fellows amiss, or by undid' exalting and embellishing his own doings. It appears, there fore, that men in general are disjwsetl to hatrctl, envy, ani unchnritableuess, tempers of mind to which e<lucation a commonly pursued contributes not a little ; tor parents an mostly wont to excite their cliildren to good conduct am diligence by the stimulus of rivalry and distinction alon< But it may perhaps be said tliat from this jjoint of view tb difficulty remains, viz., that we not imfrequently admire am
ethics: part tii. — of the AFFEmOXS.
even venerate men for their virtues. To meet this I add the following corollary :
Coroll. 2. No man enviea or begrudges his virtues to any one but lui equal.
Deiiioiist. Envy is hatred itself; in other words, envy is an affection whoroby man's power of action is repressed, and his natural strength diminished (as wo have seen above in Props. XXIV., XIII., and XL). But man (by Schol. to Prop. IX.) makes no effort, and desires nothing, wlncli by hjs nature he may not attain. Therefore does he noither dt'sirc any power of action, nor incline to predicate any virtue, which shall be peculiac to the nature of another and foreign to his own ; consequently, ho does not repress any desire of his own ; in other words, he does not vex himself when he contemplates a certain virtue in another unlike himself; therefore neither is he disposed to envy such a one, but one only who is his equal — one he supposes to be impressed with the same stamp of nature a.s himself (Sehol. to Prop. XI.) : q. e. d.
SchnL When we say, as we do above, in the Scholiuiu to Prop. lilL, that we respect a man because wo admire his prud- ence, his fortitude, &c., it is because he has these virtues in high perfection, and not becau.so wo imngiuothera as common to his nature and oui- own ; and we consequently envy them no more than we eu^•y their height to lofty trees, their strength to lions, &e.
PROP. LVI. There are as many species of joy, grief, and desire, and consequent ly of the affections eomiwimded of these, as also species of instabOity of mind and deriva- tives from these, viz., love, hate, hope, fear, &c., as there are species of objects by which we are affected.
DemoMl. Joy and sorrow, and consequently the affec- tions compounded of these or derived from them, are passions (by Schol. to Prop. XI.) ; now (by Prop. I.) wo necessarily suffer so far as we have inadequate ideas, and it is only in .so far as we have such ideas that we suffer (bj' Prop. III.) ; that is to say, we necessarily suffer to the same ex- tent only as we imagine an emotion or as wo are affected by an emotion which involves tlie nature of our own body and the nature of an external object fvide Schol. to Prop. XL. Pt II.. and Prop. XVII. Pt II. with its Scholitimj. The nature of each individual passion whereby we are affected
muDt therefore necessarily be so expliuned, that the nntui of the objwt wliorcby we ore offoctcd shall be expre-H** therein. The jov, for exuiu|ile, which arises from an »\ ject^say A, involves the nature of tlie object A ; and the jfl( which i*pring« from the object B involves the nature of th obje<'t 1< ; therefore are these two kindis of joyful uiTixrtia of different nuturen inasiuueh as they arise fnnu causes di ferinjf in their nature. So also is the emotion of sorrofl which arises from one object different in nature from tk son-ow whii'h arises from another object ; and the Mime i to be understood of love, liate, hope, fear, pcrturbaliou t s]nrit, t"ic. ; fo that there are an many »ixx'ie>( of love, huti liopc, &v., a.s tliere are spei'ies of objects by which wo ur atli-ctini. Hut defire is the very atMcuce or nature of eao and all of the affections, so far forth as they are conceive to be delemiine<l by their several natures to act in a partictl lar way. Vide Schol. to Prop. IX. alnive. Therefor- a» eao individual is affected throujifli external causes by this or b' that spix'ies of love, hate, Iiojk-, iV;c., that i.s, as his nature 1 afi'eetod in this, in tliat, or in some other way, — so must hi denire nt-ectt^irily differ in its nature ami state from tb nature and state of another desire, but this only in so far a the emotion from which each several de-sire arises differs froi( another. There are conMe<]uently us miiny spii-icji of desire a tlieri! ure species of love, hate, hope, joy, i'(;c., and eon.'*e<pient I even by a.s many sjM-cie.s of objwts are we affected : q. e. d.
Schol. Among the various species of appetites and afFeo tions, — and of these, from what has just l)een said, we jier ceive there must be a great number, — the more remurkabli are gluttony, drunkenness, lust, avarice, and ambition. Thes are but fonus or modifiwitions of love or desire, which exphii] the nature of each particular affection by the object to whici it is referred ; for by gluttony, (Irunkenness, lust, avarice, an( ambition we undei-stand nothing more than the inmioderuti love or dewire of eating, of drinking, of sexual indulgence, a, riches, and of glory. Moixjover tJiese affections, inasmuch a we distinguish them from others solely by the object to whiel they are severally referred, have no opposites. For modera tion, which we are wont to oppose to gluttony, sobriety U drunkeimess, and cha.sfity to lust, are not affections or pas sions, but only indicate the power of soid whereby certail appetites or affections are contruUod. For the rest, I cauno here enter on an explanation of various other species of affeo tion, for they are as numerous as the objecta to which they refer
nor if I should, were there any occasion to do so. For witli the purpose I have in view, viz., to deterraino the force of the affections and the power of the mind ovi'rlhcni, it is sufficient if we have a gononil definition of ouch purticuhir affection. It is euouffh, I say, for us to uudorstund the cuuiiuon proper- tics of the uffectioufs and of Uic mind, fo lie enabled to deter- mine the nature and extent of tlie power posscsiied by the mind of moderating and cont rolling the afleclions. Although therefore there be a vast difference between this and that form of love, this and that fonn of hate, cupidity, Ac, for example, between love for children and love for a wife, there is really no occasion for us to asc'crtaiii these differences, and further to investigate the nature and origin of the affoc- tious on which they depend.
PROP. LVII. The affection or emotion of one indi%-idual difi'ers from the affection or emotion of another so far only 08 the essence of one difi'ers from the essence of another.
Demonat. This proposition is already explained bv Ax. 1, fallowing Lcm. '-i of the Schol. to Prop. XIII. Pt II. Nevertheless wo shall proceed to demonstrate it from the definilious of the three primary affections of the mind.
AU the emotions are referred to desire, joy, and sorrow, as the definitions we have given of these proclaim. But desire is itself the nature or es.sence of each emotion (vide the dcfin. of desire in the Schol. to Prop. IX.) ; therefore does the desire of one man differ from that of another only in so far as the nature or essence of one nuin diflers from the nature or essence of another. Joy and grief, again, are emotions whereby th(> power or effort of each individuid to continue in his state of being is augmented or diminished, aided or re- pressed (by Prop. XI. and its Schol.). But by the effort to continue in his state of being, in so far as it is referred to mind and body at onee, we imderstand appetite or desire (vide Schol. to Prop. IX.) ; therefore joy and sorrow are themselves desire or apiietite, in so far as they are increased or diminishetl, aided or repressed, by external causes ; in other words (by the same Schol.), desire constitutes the very nature of each. The joy or sorrow of one man, therefore, differs from the joy or sorrow of another only in so far as the nature or essence of one man differs from the essence of on- other ; and consequently the emotion of one individual differs
BBNKDirr DB SPINOZA S
from the emotion of another in so far only as the essence, &c. : q. 0. d.
Sc/iol. lleuce it follows that the affections of the lower animalw, which are wiid 1o bo without reason — for wo can have no doubt, when wo arc aware of the sourt-e of the mind, that animnls have foolini? — differ from tlie affections of man only in so far as the nature of the lower animals differs from that of the human being. Man and the horsw are alike irapollcd by the snxual appetite to proureute their kind, but the one is human lust, the other equine lust. And so must the lusts and ajipetilea of birds, reptiles, fishes*, and insecti* bo propor to each. Although cveiy individuiil, ihereforo, lives contonledly and enjoys exist- ence in tiie way its nature determines, the life, neverthe- less, and the enjoyment with which each is satisfied arc nothing but the idea or mind of the individual ; and so the enjoyment of one only differs in nature from the enjoy- ment of iinother, as the essence of one differs from the essence of another. Lastly, from the foregoing proposition it follows that there is no trifling difference between the enjoyment which the drunkard, for example, has in his drunkenness and tiiaf which the philosopher experiences in his studies. — a ]xiint which I was anxious to mention by the way.
So much for the affections referred to tiuui, in so far as he gujfir-i. I have still to speak of those affections that are re- ferred to him in so far as he acts.
PROP. LVIII. Besides the joy and desire which are passions,
there are other joys and desires which are referred to us
in so far as we ourselves are agents.
Dcnwnnt. When the mind conceives or is cognizant of itself and its power of action, it is gladdened (by Prop. LIII. ). 15ut the mind necessarily oontcniplales or is conscious of itself when it conceives true or adequate ideas (by Prop. XLIII. Pt II.). Now it does conceive certain adequate ideas (by Schol. 2 to Prop. XL. Pt II.). Therefore does the mind also rejoice in so far as it conceives such ideas, — that is (by Prop. I.), in so far as it acts. Further, the niind. whether it have clear or confused ideas, endeavours to preserve its state of being (by Prop. IX.). But by enderivour we under- stand desire (by Scliol. to Piop. IX.) ; wherefore desire is alike reteired to us whether we are regarded as undei'standing or (by Prop. I.) acting : q. e. d.
ETHICS : PART III. OF TlfE AFFECTIONS.
I I
I
I
PROP. LIX. Among all the affections referred to the mind as agent, there are none save such as are referable to pleasure or desire.
Demons/. All the affections are referred to desire, — to pleasure or pain, aa the definitions we have given of these make manifest. By pain, grief or sorrow, however, we un- derstand constraint of the mind'.s power of thought (by Prop. XI. and its Schol.) ; and in so fur as the mind is grieved or constrained, its power of understanding, i. e., of acting, is leswned or annulled (by Prop. 1.). Tlierefore no sorrowful or painful affection, but joyful and pleasant affec- tions only, can be referred to the mind considered as agent, (by the preceding proposition) : q. e. d.
Scholium. All actions that follow from emotions referred to the intelligont mind I assign to fodilKiie, which I dis- tinguish into iiingaanimitii (aiiiinoHUas), and (jeiwroniti/ ((jein'r- oiitns) ; understanding bj'' the former that desire whereby every one seeks to preserve his state of being in conformity with the dictates of reason alone ; and by generosity, tlie desire whereby each seeks to aid and to live in amity with other men. Those actions, therefore, that tend to the advantage of the agent only, I refer to fortitude ; those that bear upon the good of others I assign to generosity. Temper- ance, sobriety, self-reliance amid dangers, &c., are species of fortitude ; whilst modesty, civility, clemency, are species of generosity.
I have now, I think, discussed and referred to their first causes the principal emotions and fluctuations of the mind that arise from the three primary affections, Desire, Joy, and Sorrow [or the equivalents of the two last — Pleasure and Pain]. From all that has been said it appears that we are liable to be affected and influenced by external causes in a great variety of ways, and that like the sea, agitated by op- posing winds and currents, we are tossed about unconscious of our destiny and the issues of events. I have spoken, as I say, of the principal, but by no means of all, the conflicting emotions of the soul. For, proceeding as we have done above, it would be easy to show love combined with remorse, with modesty, with contempt, &c. I believe, indeed, that every one will allow from what has already been said that emotions of such various stamp and chartt('ter may arise as to exceed all power of computation. With the object I have in view, however, it was enough to have enumerated the principal of
35
BK.VBDICT DE SPINOZA 's
those emotions. Tliosc I have omitted to speak of are, in rather objects of curiosity tlinn of importance. Yet it a rii;ht la say of love, that it mostly hiippciw. whilst enjoy in thing we flesirc, thiit (lie hiMly from such fruition arquii new constitution, by which it in otherwise deterniineil it was before ; bo that other images of things are aroused i and the mind begins forthwith to imagine and to eravo things. For instance, when we imagine something the sa' of which has given us pleasure on former occasions, wa rae<liat»'ly dcs-re to partake of it, to enjoy it. liut who! have enjoyed it for a certain time, the stomach is replcto the body becomes otherwise affected ; so that now, the I being differently disposed, if the image of the same ar be present to and therefore approved by the mind, tho it will bo felt and the attempt made to partake of it ; but new frame or constitution of boily will be opposed to de.sire, to this attempt, and consinjuently the food fora craved and enjoyed will now be loathed. This is the characterized by the epithets repiignanw, loathing, •a.ni, giiit. I have also passed over without notice the out affections of the body, such as tretnor, pallor, laughter, e ing, &c., because they belong exclusively to the body have no relation to the mind. 8(j!uotlnng, however, remains to be said in the way of detinition of the se^ emotions, which 1 shall therefore proceed to enunciate teric, interposing remarks upon points peculiar to each.
DEFI.NITION OF AFFECTIONS OF THE MIND.
1. Desikk (ciipifiifas) is the very essence of man, in i
OS he is conceived to be determined by a given aflccti'
enact or to do anything.
Erp/anaiion. Wo have said above in the Scholium of . position IX. that desire was appetite with consciousness of same. But appetite is the very essence of man in so far a is detennine<l to do those things that subserve his presei tion. In the Scholium just referred to, however, I have i said that I acknowledged no real difference between hui appetite and desire. For whether man be conscious of appetites or not, appetite is still one and the same ; and th fore have I, lest I should seem guilty of tautology, been willing to explain desire by appetite, but have endeavos 80 to define it that all the atrivmgs of our human nature wl
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wo aignify by the names of appetite, will, desire, and impulse or emotion, might be comprehended in one. For I might have siiid that deNire is the very essence of man conceived as determined to do anything; but from this definition it would not have followed that the mind was conscious of any par- ticular desire or appetite (by Prop. XXIII. Pt II.). ^Vhere- fore it was nec^essary to include the cause of the con-sciou-sness (by the same Prop.), and to add : in so far as determined by some one of the affections. For by affection of the human essence we understand a certain constitution of that essence, whether it be innate, or bo conceived by the attribute of thought alone, by the attribute of extension alone, or lu.stly be referred to both of these attributes at once. Hence, therefore, under the name of desire, I understand efforts, impulses, a])petite9, and volitions of every kind, which vary with each variety of con- stitution encountered in man, and are not unfrequently so opposed severally that he is torn this way and that, and knows not whither to turn, what part to take.
2. Joy {Mitin) is the transition of man from a less to a higher state of perfection.
3. Sorrow, grief {trisiitia), is the passage of man from a
higher to a lower state of perfection.
Efplan. I say passage or transition, for joy is not perfec- tion itself. For were man boni with the degree of [Ksrfection to which he attjiins, he might possess it without any emotion of joy, — a propjiition that appears more clearly from tho emotion of sorrow which Ls opposed to joy. Par no one can deny that sorrow consists in transition to a lower state of perfection, and not in the minor perfection itself, inasmuch as man cannot grieve so far as he particiimtes in any perfection whatsoever. Neither can we say that sorrow consists in the absence of a higher perfection, for privation is nothing reid. Soitow, however, is the act of an affection which can be no other than the act of transition to a lower state of perfection, i. e., an act whereby man's power of action is lessened or controlled (vide Schol. to Prop. XI,). I pass over any definition of mirthfulness, exaltation, melancholy, and grief or pain, because these are all especially referable to the body, and ore nothing more than species of Joy and Sorrow.
4. Admiration (admiralto) is the imagination of anything
wherein the mind remains wrapt up, because the pecidiar im-
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BENEDUT DE SPIXOIA S
agination here has no connection with any others (vide P
LII. with it« Schol.J.
Erpfan. In the Schol. to Prop. XVIIl. Pt II., wc shown the reason why the mind from the conteniplatiol one thing immc(liat<?ly falls into thoughts of another, because the images of those things uro so enchained and ordinatod that one inevitably brings up or follows the oth this, however, cannot be conceived to occur when the im of n thing is new or meets the mind for the first time ; t will the mind be held fa.st, as it were, in the contc-mplatio] the object just imagined, until it is dotcrminod by ot causes to thmk of dinerent objoct«. The imnginntion of a object considered in itself is of the same nature as other aginations ; and this is the rca.son why I have not inclv jidmirotion among the affections ; nor do I see any reason ' I ehoidd do so, conceiving that this form of mental distrac< arises from no jxjsitive cause disjoining the mind from contemplation of other objects, but only from this, that a ca is wanting which should tuni the mind from the contem tion of one thing to thoughts of another. I, therefore, knowledge no more than thri>o primary affections, i Joy, Sorrow, Desire; and I mention admiration only beca it is a common practice to indicate certain affections deri from the three primnriea by other and .special names w thej' arc referred to objects that are much tbought of or mired, — a consideration which leads me to append a dofini' of contempt to those that precede.
5. OoNTEMPT {contempttu) is an imagination of anytl^
which touches the mind so little that the mind itself is i
moved bj- its presence to imagine what does not than ■
does belong to it (vide Schol. to Prop. LII.).
The definitions of Veneration (ceneratio) and Di« {dediijnalio) I pas.s by, because, in so far as I am aware, of the affections derive their titles from these.
6. Love {atnor) is joy associated with the idea of
external object.
Explan. This definition explains the essence of love Bufficient clearness. They who define love to be the desiv the lover to unite himself with the object beloved do not osp the essence but the property of love ; and inasmuch as essence of love has not been perfectly appreciated by wri
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they have not been able to form any clear conception of its properties, so thiit the definitioiiB hitherto given of love have always bcru hehl obscure. I beg it to be observed here, that when I say that the property of love is the will or wish of the lover to unite himself with the object he loves, I do not under- stand by iriiih or ifiV/ consent, deliberate purpose, or free resolve (for I have demonstrati'd this as fictitious in Prop. XLVIII. Pt II.) ; neither do I use the word as implying the desire of the lover to unite himself with the object of his love when absent, or ceaselessly to dwell in its presence when near (for love can be conceived without this or that desire) ; but I under- stand by will in this case that contentment or pleasure which the lover feels in the presence of the thing he loves, whereby the joy he feels in his love is cherished and increased.
7. Hate {odium) is sorrow accompmnicd by the idea of an
external cause.
Erplan. Aiiyfliiug that might be said here is already obvious, and will bo found set forth in the preceding defin- ition (vide, fuither, the Schol. to Prop. XIII.).
8. LiKiNO (propensio) is joy accompanied by the idea of an object which is accidentally the cause of joy.
9. Aversion {arerxio) is grief accompanied by the idea of anything that is accidentally the cause of sorrow (on this see Prop. XV.).
10. Devotion (devotio) is love of that which we admire.
Ejrjtiaii. We have .ihown that admiration arises from the novelty of a thing, in Prop. LII. If it happens consequently that we very frequently bring to mind the object we admire, wo end by admiring it no more ; and so the feeling of devo- tion readily degenerates into simple love.
11. Scorn {ii-risio) is pleasure sprung from this: that
something we despise is imagined in the thing we hate.
Ejrplan. In so far as we contemn the thing we hate, in so far do we negative its existence (vide Schol. to Prop. LII. above), and in so far do we rejoice (bj' Prop. XX. above). But as we suppose that a man must hate what he scorns, it follows that the joy here expt^rienced is not real. Vide Schol. to Prop. XLVII. above.
12. Hope {apes) is unstable joy sprung of an idea of some-
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ireSBDlCT Dt SPIXOZA «
tbiug jNist or to come, of the iaaue of which we are more or loss in doubt.
13. Feak {metun) is unstable sorrow sprung of the idea of
•omething po-nt or to come, of the i«6ue of which we are to
•omc extent in doubt (vide SchoL 2 to Prop. XVIII. above).
Erphiii. From the two prwcding definitions it follows that there i.s no hojw witliout fear, and no fear without hojie. For he who live^ in liope, and doubfa of the issue of anything, is pupjxiMod to imagine somelliiTig which prevent* the existence of a future thing ; in so far therefore does he feel pain or sorrow (by Prop. XIX.), and in so far, further, as he dwells in hope, does he fear that this thing may come to pass. On the other hand, he who fears, i. e., who doubts of the issue of fsomething he dislikes, ahso imiiginos something which abrogates the existence of the thing in question ; in so far therefore doea he rejoice, and consequently lives in the hope that it will not come to pass.
14. Security {sccuritw)) is joy derived from the idea of something past or to come, in connection with which all cause of doubt is removed.
16. Despair (de^peratio) is sorrow sprung from the idea
of a future or past thing combined with no cause for doubt.
Explan. Security, therefore, i.s derived from hope, and despair from fear, when cause for doubt of the i.ssue of any- thing is removed ; which happens liy rea.son of man's imagin- ing things past or to come as aeftuilly existing, and contem- plating them as present ; or because he imagines other things which either do away with the existence of the things in question, or suggest doubts concerning them. For although we can never be certain of the issues of individual things (by Coi-oll. to Prop. XXXI. Pt II.), it may still happen that we do tiof (hiiiht of their issues. For we have shown (by SchoL to Prf)p. XLIX. Pt II.) that it is one thing to doubt and another to be certain of anything ; so that it may happen that we are aflecte<i by the same emotion of joy or of grief by the image of a thing past or to come, as by the image of a thing pre- sent ; a principle we have demonstrated in Proposition XVIII. above, to which as well as to its 2ud Scholiiun we therefore refer.
16. Rejoicing, oijvdnkss {gaxdiiim), is pleasure accom-
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panying the idea of a thing past which happens ugaiost our hopes.
17. ArnimoN (the gnawings of conscience) is sorrow accompanying the idea of a thing past which happens against hope.
18. PiTi" {commheratio) is sorrow attending the idea of
some evil befalling another whom we imagine like ourselves
(vide Schol. to Prop. XXll. and Schol. to XXYIT. above).
Erplan. Between comrniseration and compa.ssion (miseri' eordia) there would seem lo be no difference, unless perhaps it be, that commiseration bears reference to an individual emotion, and couiija.'<sion to a mental habit produced by pity.
19. Goodwill {faror) is love for one who does good to another.
20. Indignation {indignniio) is hatred of one who dees
evil to another.
Erplan. These words, I know, are commonly used in a different sense. But it is my pniiKvse not fo explain the meaning of words, but the nature of things, and to indicate this by words the ordinary meaning attached to which docs not whoUv differ from the meaning 1 would connect with them. Let it suffice that I allude to this matter once for all. "With regard to the causes of these mental emotions, I refer to Corollary 1 to Prop. XXXII., and the Scholium to Prop. XXII. of this part.
21. Laldation (eriafmafio) is the Ihiidiiiig too highly of one through too much love of him.
22. Depkeciation {despechu) is the thinking more meanly
through hate of any one than he desenes.
Expian. Laudation is therefore an aH'ection or property uf love ; as depreciation is one of hate ; and so laudation might be defined as love so influencing us that we think more favour- ably of a thing than is right, and depreciation as hute so moving us that we feel less favourably than is just of a thing we dislike. On these points vide Schol. to Prop. XXVI. above.
23. Envy (inridia) is halretl influencing man in such wise
ItKX EDICT DC SPIXOZa's
that lie M grieved by another'* happinoas, and fieoaed bj nuotherV prief.
Kr/t/fin. Sympathy (mueru-orJia) is commonly opposed to envy, and nmy tlicri'fore, in wpitc of the meaning usually attached to the won!, bo thus dtjfined:
'24. Sympathy {mUcricordia) is love so afTccting man that
he rejoices in another '» weal, and, on the coutniry, grieves o\
aaother's woe.
Krjilan. See further concerning Enw the Scl>oL to Prop. XXIV. .nnd the S<;hol. to Prop. XXXtl. above. Thus far I have sjKiken uf the pleasurable and painful emotions which the iniiigination of some rxtrnial thing either of itself or by accident accomj>anic8 as their cause. I now jw-ks on to the enunciation of tliohc emotiiinH which the idea of something internal acconipimies as their cause.
25. CoNTBKTMEXT {ocquifscenda) or self-satisfaction is joy originating in man's contemplation of himself and his powers of action.
2G. Hi'MiMTV {/lumilitas) is sorrow arising from man's
conteinplation of his own irapotency or helplessness.
Krji/aii. Self-contcntmcnt is opposed to humility inasmuch as by self-content we understand joj- sprung from contempla- tion of our power of action. But inasmuch as by the same term we also undcretand joy accompiinying the idea of a deed which we believe we have done of our own free-will, then is self- content opposed to repentance or regret, which we thus define :
27. I'ksitence {pcenitenfia) is sorrow accompanying the
idea of something we believe wo have done of free-will.
ExpUtn. The causes of these emotions have been specifietl above (vide Schol. to Prop. LI. and Props. LIIL, LIV., LV. with its SchoL), and concerning free-will, see SchoL to Prop. XXXV. of Pt II. But here we have to observe, in addition, that it is not surprising that actions which by use and wont are designated as irickid should be followwl by sorrow, and those call^ (jooil by joy ; for that this mainly depends on education is readily to be understood from what hfis been said above. Parents in reproving and often warning children against the one order of actions, and, on the contrary, in praising and inciting them to the practice of the other, necessarily
ethics: paht hi. — of the affections. 553
bring it to paas that pleasure is ofisociated with the former, and grief or pain with the latter. Aud this is sufficiently attested by experience. For habit und religion are not the suine to all; but, on the eontrurv, what one esteems sacred another luoks on as profane, aud what to one seems honourable is base to another. As men are brought up, therefore, do they glnrj" in certain courses of conduct ; or otherwise they shun these and are ashamed of them.
28. Pride {supcrbia) comes of higher thoughts of one's self through self-love than is right.
Exjilan. Pride, therefore, differs from self-e-sfeera in this, that whilst pride is referred to the man thinking too highly of liiraself, self-esteem is connected with love for an external object. For the rest, as esteem is an effeet or property of lovo for another, so is pride an effect or property of self-love, and might therefore Ive defined as love of one's self, or esteem affecting a man in .such a way that he thinks more highly of hira.self than is proper (vide iSchol. to Prop. XXVI. above). There is no opposite to this sentiment; for no man, through hatred of himself and as he imagines he cannot do this or that, thinkH less of himself than is right. For so long as he think.s that he cannot do this or that, so long is he undetermin- ed to action ; and consequently so long is it impossible that ho should act. Nevertheless, if we have regard to matters that dej)end on opinion only, we can conceive it possible that a man should think le.'*8 highly of himself than is just. For it is very possible that a man, in sorrowfully contemplating his own helplessness, should imagine him.self despised by all the world, alt the while that the world is thinking of everything rather than of despising him. A man may, further, think too meanly of himsell' if he denies a thing concerning himself at the present time of which, as regards the future, he is uncer- tain,— such as denying that he shoidd ever conceive any- thing as certain, or that he should ever do anything that was not base and wicked, &c. Finally, we may say that a man thinks less favourably of himself than is just when we see that through shj'ness or timidity he dares not do things which others, his equals, dare. A\ e might therefore oppose to pride or haughtiness a sentiment which might be designated sc(f'- abasemrnl {abjvctio). For as self-esteem arises from pride, so does self-abasement spring from humility, and we tnerefore define self-abasement thus :
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BEKEDICT DE SPINOZA '»
29. SKi.r-ABASEMENT (a^'fcfio) is the act of thinking, through sorrow, less of ouraclves than is right.
Erji/an. We are accustomed, however, to place humilitT in opposition to pride; but we then attend more to both of these emotions than to nature. For wo are wont to call him proad [Qv vain ?] who is boastful or given to self-glorifica- tion (viae Schol. to Prop. XXX. above), who speaks of nothing but his own virtues and of others' vices ; who would have himself preferred to evcrj-bofly else, and whoso forwardness and bearing arc such as are only assumed by persons much his superior in rank and social position. On the contrary, we call him humble who is modest, given to blushing, who takes shame to himself and owns his faults whilst he dilates on the virtues of others, and who, finally, moves about with downcast looks, and is negligent of his personal appearance. For the rest, these emotions — humility and sclf-abuscment — are extremely rare ; for human natui-e. c^msidcred in itself, strives as it were against them to the extent of its power (vide Props. XV. and LlV. above) ; and therefore are they who pass for persons the most humbly disposed very frequently both the most am- bitious and envious.
30. Glory (gloria) is jo}' associate with the idea of an action of ours which we imagine others will praise.
31. Shame (piufor) is sorrow accompanj'ing the idea of an act which we imagine others will blame.
Erplnn. Concerning these two emotions see the Schol. to Prop. XXX. above. But wo have here to note the difference be- tween shame and modesty- iShamo is grief following an act of which we are ourselves ashamed ; bashfulness, again, is fear of doing something that may not bo approved by others. Modesty is commonly opposed to impudence, which however is not an emotion, as I shall show in the proper place; but the titles of emotions, us I have already said, rather bear refer- ence to their applications than to their nature.
So far I have said all I jjroposed on the emotions of joy and sorrow ; and I now proceed to speak of those emotions which I refer to desire.
32. liONGiN(s (desiderium) is desire to possess a thing, cherished by recollection of the thing, and restrained at the
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same time by the recollection of other things which set
aside the existence of the thing desired.
Esplan. When we remember anything, as I have already hnd fVoquent oci'iisinn to observe, we ore by the act disposed to contemplate the thing by the same aifection as we should do were it actually present ; but this disposition or endeavour, whil*t we arc awake, is for the most part restrained by the images of things which exclude the existence of that which is remembered. When, therefore, we remember a thing which affects us with any kind of joy, we endeavour in the act to contemplate that thing with the same pleasure as we should were it present, which endeavour, however, is immefliately fettered by the recollection oC things that exclude its existence. Wherefore lonr/iiiff is truly a grief, which is opposed to the joy arising from the ubsvnce of a thing we dislike. On this ])oiiit vide Sehol. to Proj). XLVII. above. But as long- ing seems to bear reference to hi.st or appetite, I am induced to refer this emotion to the head of dtssiro.
S3. Emi'lation {lemulatio) is the desire of achieving any- thing engendered in us because we imagine others to be pos- sessed by the same desire as ourselvea.
Erplaii. Tie who flees because he .tees others Hy, or who fears because he sees others afraid, and he also who, because he sees another bum his hand, draws back his own hand and moves his borlv as if ho hnd actually burnt himself, imitates, but cannot be said to emulate, another; not because we are aware of one cause for emulation and of another for imitation, but because it is customary only to call him emulous who imitates what we regard as honourable, useful, or agreeable. For the cause of emulation see Prop. XXVIT. with its Sehol. above ; and for the reason why en%'y is so commonly conjoined with this emotion see Prop. XXXII. with its Sehol.
34. Thankfulness, or Gratitcde {gratia, gratitudo) is a desire or purpose of love wherebj' we strive with a like emotion of love to benefit him who has conferred a benefit on us. Vide Prop. XXXIX,, and the Sehol. to Prop. XLI.
35. Benevolence {benerohntia) is the desire to benefit him who excites our pity. Vide Sehol. to Prop. XXVII.
36. Anger {ira) is the desire with which we are moved
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HEN EDICT DB SPIXOZa's
by hole to do him an injury whom we diNlike. Vide Pro XXXIX.
37. Vesokaxck [ruidiclti) is the desiro whereby we are i: cited through reciprocal hute to injure him who from a lik motive would injure us. Vide CorulL 2 to Prop. XL, ita SohoL
38. Sevekh T or Ckielti- {erudclilan grit Mri(ia) is desij
moving any one to do an injury to him whom we love or wb
moves our pity.
Erp/aii. To wveritv is opposed clemency, which is a^H passion, but a power of the mind, whereby man modcrateHH anger or de«ire for vengeance.
39. Feak [titnor) is the desire by which we are move to seek escape from a greater by submitting to a minor evil Vide Schol. to Prop XXXIX.
40. Boi.nNE.ss {audacia) is the desire whereby a man is ia cited to do something attended with danger which his equal fear to face.
41. Pusillanimity {pusiUaitimitm) is laid to his chargn
whose desire is restrained by fear of the danger which hi
equals face.
Ejplan. Pusillanimity is therefore nothing more than fca! of some evil which is not commonly or universally dreaded wherefore I do not refer it to the affections that spring fron desire- Hut I wiis uuxious to give a definition of pusillanimit] here, because when we consider desire merely it is reallj opposed to the emotion of audacity.
42. Consternation {cotisternatio) is the term used to ex- press his state who, desiring to avoid an evil, is restrained in his wish by the wonder and embarrassment inducc<l by the evil he apprehends.
Krplan. Consternation is therefore a kind of pusillanim« ity. But as consternation arises from a twofold tear, it may therefore be more conveniently defined aa a feur which sq stupifios a man and throws him info such uncertainty that he cannot escape or oppose impending evil. I say stupifiea, aa wo understand the desire of the man to escape an evil
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to be restrained by wonder ; and I add uncerUnnty as we conceive the same desire to escape the evil to be restrained by the fear of another evil harassing hira with equal force ; whence it cornea that he knows not which of the two it were best to face or to shun. On these niattera see the Schol. to Prop. XXXIX., and the Schol. to Prop. LII. On pusillanimity and audacity aee further the Sehol. to Prop. LI.
43. Humanity, Politeness (/ninuiiiitas), is the desire to do such things as give pleasure, and to avoid doing such things as give pain to others.
44. Ambition (ambitio) is the immoderate desire of glory.
Explan. Ambition is desire whereby nU the emotions of the soul are cherished and strengthened ; and therefore is this affection itself scarcely to be coerced or overcome. For so long as a man is bound by any desire, so long is he at the same time necessarily under the influence of ambition. * The very best of men,' says Cicero,* ' are especially led by glory ; and philosophers even, who have written books on the contempt of glorj', inscribe their works with their names.'
45. Luxury {liu-uria) is the immoderate desire or even love of feasting.
46. Drunkenness {ebrkta*) is the immoderate desire and love of intoxicating drinks.
47. Avarice (aran'fiu) is the immoderate desire and love of riches.
48. Lust (libido) is the immoderate desire and love of sexual intercourse.
Explan. Whether the sexual appetite be moderate or im- moderate it is commonly spoken of as lust.
The tive affections last defined, as I have already ad- monished my reader in the Scholium to Prop. LII.), have no opposites properly speaking ; for modesty is a kind of ambi- tion (vide Schol. to Prop. XXIX.), and temperance, sobriety, and chastity indicate mental dispositions, but not pas- sions, as before stated. And although it maj' happen that an avaricious, ambitious, or timid man may abstain from ex- cess in meat and drink and sexual indulgence, still avarice, ambition, and fear are not the opposites of luxuriousneas, * Pro Archia Poeto, cap. 11. Conf. Disput. Tiucul, L. i. cap. 15,
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•mSDICr DB SPINOZA'S
drunkouness, and continence. For ho who U greedy of moat
and drink, frequently drsircs to indulge bis apj)etite at the cost of others. The uiiibitious man, aguiii, provided ho but thinks he can do bo Becretly, puts no kind of restraint on himself; living among the intcrajK'riito and libidinous, he will, merely because he is ambitious, be more disposed to yield to the vices of his associates. The timid man, further, does that which he would rather not do. The miser, did he cast his treasures into the sea to escape drowning, would still remain avaricious ; and if the libidinous man is sad l>e<'uuse he cannot indulge himself in the way he desires, ho is not, therefore, the less libidinous. These affections, indeed, do not so much rcgani the acts of gormundi/ing, drinkitig, &c., as the appetites and the likings tnat lead to indulgence. There is, therefore, nothing op- posed to these iiffections but generosity and magnanimity, of whii.'h by-and-by.
I puss over t)cfinitions of jralomy and the other unstable emotions of the mind, because they originate in combin- ations of the affections already defined, and are scarcely designated by more particular titles, which shows that it is enough to know them generally. For the rest, from the Definitions of the affections we have given, it ajipears that they all flow from desire, joy, and sorrow, or nither lliiit they are but these three affections severally designated by different names by reason of their various relations and extrinsic pKJCuliaritics. If now we only keep our thouglits fixed on these three primary emotions and on what has been said above of the nature of the mind, the affections or emotions, in so fur as they are relerred to the mind alone, may be gen- erally defined as is done below.
GENERAI, nEFINITION OK THE AFFECTIOXS :
The affection which is characterized as a passion of the mind is a confused idea, whereby the mind affirms a stronger or weidier power of existing than was bet'oro ex- perienced in its body or in parts of its body, and which being aflSrmed, the mind itself is determined to think of this thing rather than of that.
Erplnuatioii. I say, first, that an affection or passion of the soul ia a 'confused idea;' for we have shown that the mind only suffers (by Prop. LIV.) in so far as it has confused or inadequate ideas. Secondly, I say, ' in so far as the mind affirms a greater or less force of existence than before in ita
ethics: part lit.— of the AKFErmoNs.
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body or the parts of this.' For all the ideas we have of bodios rather proclaim the actual constitution of our own body than the nature of any external body ; and these ideas which constitute emotional forms or essences, must indicate or express the constitution of the body or of some of its parts, whereby its power of acting or existing is increased or di- minished, aided or constrained. But it is to be observed that when I speak of ' a greater or less power of existing than before,' I do not mean that the mind compares the present with the past constitution of its body ; but that the idea which constitutes emotional reality affirms something of the body, which positively involves more or loss of reality than before. And inasmuch as the essence of the mind con- sists in this (by Prop. XI. and XIII. Pt II.), that it affirms the actual existence of the body, and that by perfection wo under- stand the essence of a thing itself, it therefore follows that the mind passes to a greater or less state of pierfection when it is led to affirm something of its body or of the parts of this which involves more or less of reality than it or tiiey had bo- fore. When I said above, therefore, that the thinking power of the mind was increased or diminished, I meant to signify no more than that the mind formed an idea of its body or of some part or parts of its body which expressed less or more of reality than it had previously affirmed of its body or the parts of the same. For excellence of idea and actual power of thought ore estimated by the excellence of objects. I added in conclusion : ' and, which being affirmed, the mind itself is determined to think of this thing rather than of any other thing,' in order that, besides enlarging on the nature of joy and sorrow which is expressed in the first part of the definition, I might further explain the nature of desire.
PART IV.
or
IiniAN SLAVERY. OR THE STRENT.TH OF TI AI-TFCTIONS.*
INTRODrcnoN,
TcAi.L nmii'siiioliility to imxlcrate and control the affc-cliv or eniotionul eli-iiient in liis nature si.avkuy. For man unde the dominion of hi* atlV'ctions is not mnstor of himself, but i controUcfl by fiit<?, na it were, so that in seeing and even np proving; the better course, he, nevertheless, feels himself coa 8traine<l to follow tlie worse. In this Fourth Part of ra; Philosophy I propose to inquire into the cause of tins state c things, and to show besides what there is of good and exal ii the atfections. IJefore setting out on my tusk, however, I aa disposed t<i say a few words on per/eel ion and imperfection, aul on good and eril, by way of preface.
He who proposes anything and completes it, may himsell as may also any one else who rightly apprehend.s or believe he apprehends his purpose, say of his work that it ia pi' rfi-c/eo If for example any one sees a certain structure — which '. shall suppose not yet complctcfl — and knows that thi purpose 18 to build u house, he will say that the houa IS unfinished or imperfect, and on the contrary that it i finished or perfect so soon aa he sees the work brought to th( state of completeness predetermined by the builder. Bu should any one observe a work, the like of which he Iiiu never seen before, und should have no kuowledj(c of th( purpose of the artificer, he could not tell whether the worl were complete or incomplete, perfect or imperfect. And ihi is the sense in which the words appear to have been first em
* The Proposilion*, &0., cited are those of IhU Fourth Part wbea the is no reference to preceding Parta. — Tr.
ETHICS : PART IV
THE STRENGTH OF THE AFFECTIONS. 661
ployed. But after men began to funn general ideas, to con- f'Ceive linuses, towers, palaces, &c., and to prefer one exainplo of such structures to others, it came to puss that each indi- vidual called that perfect which agreed with llie general idea he had formed ; and on the coiilrarv, he styled tliat imperfect which lie siiw accorded less witli the pattern he had chosen tfor himself as the most perfect, uUliough it was obviously complete according to the design of the builder. Nor does there seem any other reason why natural things also, things not fashioned by liuman hands, should commonly bo styled perfect or iiii perfect; for men aro wont to form general ideas of natural things as well as of things produced by art, which they hdld up to themselves as models, and which nature (nature accurding to them doing nothing without a purpose), they think, presents to them and disposes them to regard as patterns. When these jjersons, therefore, witness aught in nature which does not entirely agree with the pattern of the thing they had imagined, they believe that nature itself is in fault or has erred and left the thing imperfect. Men, therefore, we perceive arc accustomed to call natural things perfect or itnperfect from prt>judice rather than true know- ledge. But we have shown in the Appendi.x to our First Part (that nature does not act with a purpose ; for the cterniil and infinite Being whom we c^ll God or Nature, as he exists of necessity, so does he act of necessity. In our ItJth Prop. Pt I., we have shown that by the same necessity that God exists, by the same necessity does he act. The reason, therefore, or the cause why God acts and why ho exists is one and the same, and as he does not exist for any end or purpose, so does he not act for any end or purpose ; for as he is without beginning or end, as regards his existence, so is he infinite and eter- nal as regards his acts. Now a final cause, as it is called, is nothing but a human appetite or desire considered as the origin or cause of anything. For example, when we say that the final cause of the houses men build is that they may serve for habitations, we understand nothing more than that man, moved by what he regards as a convenience of domestic life, experiences a desire to build himself a house. A habita- tion consequently, in so far as final causes are concerned, is but the expression of this particular desire, which is, in fact, the efficient cause considered as the primary cause, for men are commonly ignorant of the causes of their appetites and affections. They are, indeed, as I have often said before, conscious of their appetites and actions, but unconscious of the
36
562
BKNUnUT DK SI'IKOX^ t
muses which move them to desire anything. How it oQ furtluT, thut men suiy nuturo occnRioiially fuJU or Roea uiid prcMliicw imperfirt thin^, I huve oxplitinod in summar)' remarks ui)pon<ii<d to my First Part. Perft and ImpcrfietioH are only to bo concoived of as inod< thought ; notion)*, to wit, which wo arc wont to have comporutons niurle iHitwccn iiidividimU of the Miinic gonu species. This is the reason why I huve said above (I)< I't II.) thut by perfection and roulitv I understand one tlu' same thing. AVo arc accustotuea, indeed, to refer al individuaU constituting nature at large to one genus, w we speak of as uuirerml or most general, — in other word a notion of entity or existence apptrtuining to the who the individuuU in nature abHolutely. In so fur, tlierefo we refer the itidividuiil things constituting nature ut to this genus, and us we contnist llicrn witli one another, pt^K-eivo that one of them has more of entity or reality another, so far do wo say that one is more perfect t another; and in so for us wo ascribe anything to an o\ which involves negution, — such as boundary, terminal impotence, &c., — to this extent do we cliarucferize it as im feet, btx'ause it does not affect our mind in the same mei as the things wo call perfect, and not bocuuse there is thing wanting which properly belongs to the object, or cause nature has failed in regard to it in any way. nothing belongs to the nature of an object save that w follows from the necessity inherent in the nature of efficient cause ; and whatsoever follows from the nature o elHciont cause follows necessarily.
With regard to gi>oil and rril, us applied to things sidcred in themselves, these terms signify nothing of a posii nature ; they arc nothing more than modes of thoughl notions we form to ourselves from comparisons of things one another. For the same thing may be both good and at once, and it may also be neitlier the one nor the ot but inditferent. For cxaniplc, lively music is good or agi able to one in high spirits, bad or disagreeable to one mourns, and neither good nor bud to a deaf man. But tho the matter stands thus, the words good and evil must stilt retained in our vocabulary, because, desiring to form idea of a man as un example of humaa nature, in the way apprehend it, we shall tiiul it useful to employ the wordi the sense attached to them above. By gooil, conseiiuen iu what follows I shuU understand that which we know
ethics: part iv. — oy the strenoth of the AFFEcnoNs. 563
certain to be a means of npproacbing more and more closely to the puttern of liiiman nntiire we are in search of; and by cril, tliat which we know for certain to be on obsfuole to the attainment of our exemplar. Further, we shall speak of mankind ns more perfect or imperfect in projrortion as they approach our exemphir of liumanitv at large. For it is to bo particularly observed, that when I say of any one he proceeds i'rom a less to u higher degree of perfection, and rice rcrnti, I do Tiot understand tliat he changes from one being or one form into another (a horse, for instance, would lose his identity us completely were be changed into a man us ho would were be change<l into a gnat), but rather that we conceive his power of action, in so far as we apprehend this from his proper nature, to be increased or diminished. Lastly, I shall, us I have said, understand by perfection, rcnlili/ in general, — in other words, the essence of each several thing in so far ns it exists and acta in certain ways, and without reference to its duration in time. For no particular .thing can be called more perfect by reason of its longer or •«horter continuance in being, iniismnch as the duration of things cannot be determined from their essence, the essence of things including >vithin it no certain and definite tenn of being; but each individual thing, be it more or less perfect, will continue to be with even the same amount of power as that wherewith it began to be, so that in this respect all things are on the same footing.
DEFINITIONS.
1 . By Good I understand that which we know for certain to be useful to us.
2. By E^^L I understand that which we know for certain prevcnt.s us from enjoying something gootl.
These two definitions have been untici])ated in the preced- ing Introduction.
y. Individual things I call CoNTiNOKNTor AfCiDEXTAi. in so far forth as, their essence only being considere<l, nothing appears that necessarily proclaims their existence or that necessarily hinders them from existing.
4. Those individual things, again, I call Possible when, referring to the causes whence they must proeee<l, we do not know that these are .so determined ns to produce them.
In Scholium to Prop. XXXIII. I't I., I have made no distinction between contingency and possibility, because there
3(i' •
BBNBOICT DB IPIXUZaS
was Uien no (locaaion to diotin^uish them accurately each otliiT.
6. By CoxTR.iRT or Opposite ArfBrnoNs, in what fol I undorHtanrl those affections which, although thev are o ■ame genuA/dran' inru in opiwinito dircx-fions — *wu a.s lu and avarico, which u re species of desire, iinJ aro not opp< by nntiiro hut by aceidcnl.
fi. As to what I understand by an AfKEcnoN as Te\ the futun-, thii j>:tst, and the present, I have nlreadv expl
to
Prop. XVlll. Pt
evcrj'thing in Scholia 1 and which see
lluf here I have further to ohw«rvc, that a-* rc):farda tancc of place, as well as time, we can only distinctly ima remoteness within certain limit-s; that in, a.« objects more ■200 feet dihtant from us, or tlie distance of which fror place wo ocx'upy exceeds "JOO feet, are imagined to bo i equally remote, and are further wont to be imagined by if they were in the same plane, so al«o are obic^cts w time of existence is more remote than any interval of tiin are accustomed to cont^'raplatc, imagined to be all e<jil remote from the present, and are referred as it wer« single instant of time.
7. By the End or Pirpose on account of which we do thing I understand appetite or desire.
8. Bv Virtue and Power I understand one and the thing; that is to say (by Prop. VII. Pt III.), virtue, as ferrod to man, is the very essence or nature of man, in sa as he possesses the power of doing certain things which be understood by the particular laws alone of his nature.
AXIOM.
There is not in the nature of things any individual tli that is not surpassed by others more powerful than iti Whatever strong thing exists, there exists a stronger which it may be vanquished and destroyed.
PROPOSITIONS.
PROP. I. Nothing which a false idea involves as posi
is abrogated by the pre.sence of the true as true.
Demoitst. Falsity consists solely in the absence of cognition involved in inadequate ideas (by Prop. XXI Pt II.), nor have such ideas anything positive belouglii
LA
i;iuics: PART IV.-
THB STRKNGTH OP THK AFFECTIONS. 665
them because of which they are called false fby Prop. XXXIII. Pt II.) ; but on the contrary, and in so far as they are referred to God, they arc true (by Prop. XXXII. Pt II.). If, therefore, that which a false idea has in it of jiosi- tive were efi'accd by presence of the true as tnith, u true idea would be abrogated by itself (by Prop. IV. Pt III.), which is absurd. Therefore, nothing which a false idea, &c. : q. c. d. Sc/iol. This proposition is perhaps more clearly expressed by CoroU. 2 to Prop. XVI. Pt II. For imagination is an idea which rather proclaims the pi-esent condition of the hu- man body than the nature of an external body, not, iudeed, distinctly, but confusedly rather ; whence it comes that the mind is said to waver. For example, when we regard the sun, we imagine him some two or three hundred paces distant, in which wedcceive ourselves so long as wc do not know his true distance. The distance asccrtainetl, the error is removed in- deed, but not the imagination, in other words, not the idea of the sun, which cxphiins his nature only in so fur as our body is af- fectc<l by the idea of the same ; so that although we arc made aware of the real distance of the sun, we nevertheless contiinio to imagine him present or somewhat close at hand. For a* we have said in the Scholium to Prop. XXXV. of Pt II., we do not imagine the sun so near to us because ignorant of his actual distanco, but Iwcuuse the magnitude of the sun is conceived by the mind in consonance with the way and manner in wliich our Ixxly is aHfccte<l by him. Thus, when the rays of the sun fall upon a body of water and arc re- flected from its surface to our eye*, we imagine him as if he were verily in or on the water, though we are perfectly well aware of nis true place in the heavens. And .so of the other imaginations by which the mind is deceived, which, whether they prcxdaim the natural constitution of the bwly, or indicate increase or diminution in its power of action, are not contrary to truth, and do not disappear in its prasejicc. It happens indeed when we erroneouslv fear some evil that the fear vanishes with better infoiination ; but, contrariwise, it also happens when we fear an evil that will certainly befall us, that the fear of it will vanish with false intelligence. Im- aginations thoroforc are not cflTaced in the presence of tnith as truth, but bocau.se other thijigs occur which are stronger than they, and which oppose or put an end to the present ex- istence of the things imagined, as we have shown in Prop. XVII. of Pt II.
Mr,
BKSEDItT DK ^l»INO/_\ »
PROI*. II. Wo Buflfcr in so far ta wo arc a part of n
whi'eU camiot Iw conceived of by it»clf und indcpoud<
of other piirtx,
Drmoimt. Wo ure said to suffer when anjlhinj^ arisfl UK of which we our»olviv) are onir partiullv the cauw Def. 2, Vt II.). i.e. (l.y Dof. 1. IM IlM/onythiiiK wl C4iiini)t he fhvluced from \hv law« of our iiuturx- alone. «uHcr, ihen^fore, in so fur uh we are a part of nature wl c^uinot be conceived by itwlf independently of othon : q.
rilOP. III. The force whereby man proiwrves his atati
bi'iii{» i* limited ; it is infinitely ouqjaiiited by tlie po
of external oauhes.
IMnomtf. The axiom on a prcvcdinp page sufficiet denmrislnitoa this pn)|Misiti(iii. For. p'vini a man, ther eomelliiiijr oUe given, nay A, more powerfiJ than ho, an< given, there in wmething else, say 1». more powerful than and «o on to infinity. Thus consequently is the jxiwer man limited, and intinitcly exceediil by the power of exter cauHeo: q. o. d.
PROP. IV. It is impossible that man should not be a p . of nature; and that he oni suffer no thiuipx* save si
as may be underst<^>d by his nature alone and of wh
his nature is the adequat« cause. DcmotiHt. The power by which individual things, i consequently nu-ii, preserve their state of being, is the v power of God. or of nature (by CorolL to Prop. XXIV. Pt not a.H it is inHnito, but as it can be exjAained by the act essence of man (by Prop. VII. Pt III.). The jwwer of tlieroforc, in ho fur as it is interpreted by hjs own act efwence, is part of the infinite |KJWcr, i. e., of the es-senca God or .nature (by Prop. XXXIV. Pt L). This in the fl phiee.
Again, if it were passible that man underwent nochau, save and except those that may l>e undcrstooil by his nat' alone, it would follow (ty Props". IV. and VI. Pt Hi.) thot could not jierish, but must necessarily exist for ever. A this would follow from a cause the power of which was oitl finite or infinite, viz., cither from the sole ix)wer of ini which would then be adequate to arrest other chau .that might arise from external causes, or from the infix
U
KTIIICS: PART IV. OF THE STRENGTH OF THE AFFECTIONS. 5G7
power of nature by which nil individual things were so ordered that man sutfcrcd iio changes save such us subserved his pre- servation. But the first of these supprwitions is nbsiu'd, as shown by the preceding proposition, the demonstration of which is of universal uj)plication. Were it possible, conse- quently, that nuin should sufler no changes save those which can Ije understood bv his proper nature alone, and con- eequently that he should necesstirily exist for ever, this must happen irom the infinite power of God ; and would therefore have to bo deducetl from the necessity of the Divine nature (by Prop. XVI. Pt I.), in so far considered as it is affected by the idea of a man, and the oj"der of nature at large, in so fur as it is considered under the attributes of thought and ex- tension. And so (by Prop. XXI. Pt I.) it woidd follow that man was infinite. But this is ab.surd, as we have seen in the first section of this demonstration. It is impos-siblo, there- fore, that man should suffer no changes save those of which he' was himself the adequate caiLse : q. e. d.
Coroll. Ilonce it ftillows that man must always be ob- . noxious to passion, that he must follow the common course of ^nature, yield ol)e<lience to it, ond even uccommotlate himself to it, to the extent required by the nature of things.
PROP. V. The force and increment of each passion and its
persistence in being arc not to bo defined as a power
whereby we strive to continue in our state of existence,
but as a power of an outward cause in opposition to our
own power of existing.
Dnnonst. The essence of a passion cannot be explained by the essence of our nature alone (by Def. 1 and 2 Pt III.) ; that is to -say (by Prop. VII. Pt 111.), the power of a passion cannot be defined by the power of the effort whereby we strive to continue in existence ; but (by Prop. XV^I. Pt II.) must necessarily be defined by the power of an external cnu.se in contrast with that which belong.s to ourselves : q. e. d.
PROP. VI. The strength of a passion or affection may so far surpass that of the other capacities or actions of man that the passion or affection shall cling tenaciously to its sub- ject.
Demonat. The force and increase of every passion and it« persistence are defined as the power of an outward cause
668
tlBMEUKT PE SFlXOZJk 9
1
rnnipnrod with Uutofaeaoae intornul to iiurseU'«s,aiid irhirh may therefore nirpaas the power inherent in man : q. e. <L
PROP. Vn. A« affc(!tion ran neither be held in check nor overcome, nave Ity u eonlniry utid stronger afTection coercing or »uppre«.Hing tl»e fonner.
Drmonxl. An uffn'tion or emotion as rererred to tbd mind, ih an ideu wliereliy tlie mind uffirms a greater or lees power of exiftinp than it had formerly experienced fbv the general deruiifiun of the uirottions ut the end of Part III.)- When the mind, therefore, iit ngitute<l by any emotion, the body is fiimultaneously influenced by an emotion whereby its power (if U(.-tion is increased or diminished. Jloreover, this coqjorcul iiff"e<'lion (by Prop. V.) derives its strength from the cause whereliy it persist!* in its stale, and can therefore neither be coerced nor suppro«s«'d snve by a corporeal cause (by Prop. IV. Pt III.) influencing the body with a contrary {by Prop. V. Pt III.) and more powerful affection (by the axiom to thu part). The mind is thus affected by the idea of an emotion stronger than the former one opposed to it, and so setting it aside (by Prop. XII. Pt II.). An aflection, therefore, can neither be held, &c. : q. e. d.
Coroll. An affection, in so far as it is referred to the mind, can neither be restrained nor suppressed save by the idea of a contrary and more powerful affection of the body under which we then suffer. For an affection from which we HuU'er can neither be restrained nor destroyed save by another affc<'ti(in stronger than and opposed to it (by the ])receding proposition); that is to say, in conformity with the general definition of the affections, save by the idea of an affection of the Ixnly stronger than, and opposed to, the affection under which wo .suffer.
PROP. Vin. The knowledge of good and evil is nothing
more than an emotion of joy or of sorrow, in so far as we
ourselves are conscious of the same.
Deiitonnt. We call that good or evil which favours or opposes the continuance of our existence (by Def. 1 and 2 above); that is (by Prop. VII. Pt III.), which increases or diminishes, assists or hinders, our power of action. In so far therefore (by the Definition of joy and sorrow in the Scholium to Prop. XI. of Part III.) as we perceive that a thing afl'ect^ us
ethics:
■ THB 8TRBXOTH OF THK AFFECnOXS.
with joy or sorrow, we call it good or e\^l. The knowknlge of gfKiil luid evil, thoreforo, is nothing more than the idea of joy or sorrow which necessarily ft.illow.s from the special emo- tion of joy or of sorrow itself (hy Prop. XXII. of Pt II.). But this idea Ls connec^ted with the emotion in the same way as the mind is united with the body (hy Prop. XXI. Pt II.); in other words (and as shown in the scholium of the proposition just referred to), this idea is not really distinguishetl from the idea of the aflFection itself, or the idea of the affection of the body, save in the conception alone. ^ATierefore this know- ledge of good and evil m nothing but the emotion itseil" aa far aa we are conscious of it : q. e. d.
PROP. IX. The emotion whose cause we imagine as pre- sent with us is stronger than one whose cause is not imagined as present.
Demount. Imagination is an idea by which the mind contemplates a thing as present (vide the definition of im- agination in the Sholium to Prop. XVII. of Pt II.), but which rather indicates the state or condition of the human body thnn the nature of nn extenial object (by CoroU. 2 to Prop. XV'I. of Pt II.). Imagination, consequently, is an emotion in so far as it indicates the state or constitution of the body. But imagination (by Prop. XVII. Pt II.) is more \\\\A as we imagine nothing which makes the present existence of an external object impossible. AVhercfore also the emotion whose cause we imagine to be present to us is stronger or more intense than it would be, did we imagine its cause not to bo present : q. e. d.
Schol. When I said above (in Prop. XVIII. of Pt III.) that we were affected by the image of a thing past or to come in the same degree as if the thing imagined were actually present, I observed expressly that tliis was true in so far as we have regjird to the imHgt> only of the thing itself (for it is of the same nature whether we have imagined the thing or not). But I have not denied that the imagination is rendered weaker when we contemplate other things as present to us which exclude the present existence of .tome future thing, a point which I passed over then, as I had rcsohxHl to discuss the force of the alfections in the present part of my work.
Coroll. The image of u thing which we contemplate with reference to a future or post time, to the exclusion of" the time present, is, acteris paribus, weaker than the image of a pre-
570
SKXEDKT Dl! sPl^o/^ s
eent thing; and eoiiRoaucntly the nflV-c-tion in respect o' thing vet to bo or that ih inmt is ctrlrrin i>arihu», more fi.*a Uuin tlic affection conniTttnl with a proM-nt tiling.
PROP. X. We arc more powerfully affoctod towards a futi event or thing which wo imagine will come to pi wpeodily than t«wardf< an event or thing the time of wh( occurrcnuo wo imagine iH far remote from the prcst^i and wu uro uli>o more strongly affected by the rccolh tion of u thing which wo imagine to have passed bui short time Iwck, than by the memory of a thing whi passed verj' lojig agtj.
Pif/ioiixf. In iniajjining a thing that will happen sofl or tliat ha])|K'tu*(l ii(it Itmg ugn, we imagine that wliii-h 1 decidedly excludes the pre?ienceuf the thing so imagined tb if the time of its oceurrenco wore imagined am remote frt the present, or as having passed long ago; and eo (by ^ preoe<ling nnijMwition) are we the more intensely affected regard to things or events imagined an immediately impen ing : n. e. d.
Sc/inl. From what ha« been said ui connection with Di tj of this Part, it follows that wc are le-ss j)o\ver(uIly alfcet^ in respect of ohjecta remote from the present time by a long interval than wc can determine by our imagination, ultbouj we may comprehend them as severed from one another very long intervals of time.
PROP. XI. The affection in respect of a thing that '
imagine us necessary is, cietfrii* jmribus, more intoQ
than that which is possible, contingent, or not jieceseair
Demomt. In so far as wo imagine anything to be nec< sary, in so far do we affirm its existence ; and on the contrar we question or deny the existence of a thing in so far as imagine it not to be necessary (b\' Schol. to Prop. XXXIJ Pt I.) ; and thence (by Prop. IX. above) an affection as spects a thing necessary is, cwtei'iK jmribuK, more intense iht it is as respects a non-neccssarj* thing : q. e. d.
PROP. XII. An affection in i-espect of a thing which know not to exist in the present but imagine as possih
IV. — OF THB HTHBNOTH OF THB AFFKtHlOXS. 571
is, nskris paribus, more intense than in respect of a con- tingent thing.
Demount. In so far as we imagine a thing to be toutin- gent, we are affected by the image of no other thing which declares its existence fby Def. 3 above); on tlie contrary (speaking hviwthetically), we imagine things whii'h exclude the present existence of the thing in question. IJut in a.s far as we imagine a thing to be possible in the future, in so far do we imagine things that assert its existence (by Def 4 above) ; that is (by Prop. XVIII. Pt III.), things that move us to hope or fear ; and thus is an aflection as regards a possible thing more intense, &c. : q. e. d.
Corolt. An affection in respect of a thing which we know not to have present existence and which we imagine as con- tingent, is raucli weaker than is that of a thing imagined as now present to us.
Demount. The afTcction towards a thing which wo imagine as existing in the present, is stronger than if wo imagine it as alxiut to be (by Coi-oll. to Prop. IX. above), and very nnich stronger if the contemijlated future thing bo imagined as very far remote from the [ircsent (by Prop. X. above). Affection, as respects a thing whose time of existence wc imagine very remote from the present, is therefore much weaker than if the same thing bo imagined as now present, and yet stronger than if it be imagined as contingent merely. The emotion we experience in re*pect of a thing contingent, therefore, is much more feeble than if the thing be imagined as presently existing : q. o. d.
PROP. XIII. The affection as respects a thing contingent
which we know not to exist in the present, is, cwtciui
piiiibns, much feebler than the affection in respect of a
thing past.
DemoHst. Imagining a thing as contingent, we are affected by the image of no other thing which establishes the existence of that particular thing (by Def. 3 above). f*n the contrary (speaking hypothctically), we imagine some things which put its present existence out of the question. But when wo imagine a thing in relation to time past, in so far are wc suppfisod to imagine something which brings it to memory or excites in us an image of the thing (vide Prop. XVIII. Pi II. with ita Schol.), and then it comes to pass that we con-
KKXBoicr PR srtyozA •
ttnmlate the tlnn^ as if it were pi"e»ent (Tjy Coroll. to V XVII. Pt II.). In fbis wiiy, therefore (by Prop. tX. aba will un ufl'i-ction in respect of a contingi-nt thing whicb kniiw not to exist in tiie present, be, arterin j>aril/H*, m weaker thun an atfiTtion in renpoct of a thing which know Itus actually exi^tted in the pant : q. c. d.
PROP. XIY. True knowledg« of good and evil, in so
a» it ia true, can restrain no aifection; but only ia
far as it in conttidered aa an affection.
Demontt. An affection is an idea whereby the mind afBi a greater or Ie«w power of exintencc in its body thai possessed before (bj* the genenil definition of the affect ioi and thus (by Prop. I. above) haw nothing positive ubou that can abrogate the presence of the true; conK-quently, t knowledge of gotnl and e\Tl, in so far as true, can control affection. But in so fur ns it is affection (vide Prop. VI above), if it be stronger than the affection to be controlled so far will it be able to restrain that affection (by Prop. VI q. e. d.
PROP. XV. The desire which springs from true kn<
ledge of good and evil can be repressed or controlled'
many other desires which arise from the emotionus
affections by which we are agitated.
Ih-nionst. From true knowledge of good and evil, iD far us this is emotion (Prop. VIII.), desire necessarily an (by Def. 1 of the definitions of the affections), and greater or more powerful a.s the affection whence it spring more keenly felt (by Prop. XXXVII. Pt III.). But i desire in this case arising (by hypothesis) from this: that apprehend some certain thing a.s true, therefore does it foil that the desire has its source within ourselves in virtue of agency of our own (by Prop. III. Pt III.). It must con quently be wholly apprehended by our essential human nat (by Def. 2, Pt III.) ; and its power and increment therefl beexphiincd by human prjwer alone (by Prop. VII. Pt II Moreover, the jlcKires which ari.se from the emotions by wh we arc torn are by so mm-h the greater as the.se emotions more violent ; and so tlu'ir {jower and increase (by Prop, above) must be defined by the power of external causes, whj indefinitely surpasses the power inherent in us, when contra*
ETHICS : PART IV. — OF THE STHENOTH OF THE AFFECTIONS. 573
with it (by Prop. III. above). Thus and in this wiso may the
desiri' that spniip^s f'roia similar cinotiuiis be mnrc vehement than tlie dcfiiro which springs from true knowledge of good and evil, and may thcrei'ore (by Prop. VII. above) be capable of repressing or controlling it : q. e. d.
PROP. XVI. The desire which arises from the knowledge
of good and evil, in so far as this knowledge bears upon
the future, is more easily repressed or restrained by the
desire of things present that are agreeable.
Demonst. The affection for a thing which we imagine in prospect is weaker thrin (liat for a present thing (by Coroil. to Prop IX.). Hut the desire which arises from true knowledge of good and evil, although this knowledge is con- nected with things tliat are present in the time being, may be repressed or controlled by a passing desire of any kind (by the preceding Prop., the demonstration of which is general). Wherefore desire arising from knowledge of good and evil, in so far as it bears on the future, will be more easily repressed or restrained, &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. XVII. The desire which arises from true knowledge of good and evil, in so far as it concerns itself with con- tingencies, can be much more readily restrained by the desire of thing.s present.
Demomt. This projwsition is demonstrated in the same way as the last from the Corollary to Prop. XII. above.
Scholium. In the above propositions I believe I have shown why men are more influenced by opinion than by true reason ; and why true knowledge of good and evil causea per- turbations in the soul and often gives way to sensual appetites of every kind, whence the
' Video molioni proboque, Detcriora sequor '
of the poet.* Ecclesiastes t also seems to have had the same idea in his mind when he wrote these words: 'lie that increa.seth knowledge increaseth sorrow.' But I do not make these quotations as if I meant to insinuate that it is better to be ignorant than to be well-informed, or that in the power of controlling their emotions there is no difference between the fool and the sage. I refer to them because I • Ovid. Metani. vii. 2. f Ch»p. i. 18.
674
UENBOItT DE SPIMMU 8
hold it neccMary that wc mHouM know l>oth tbc »tren^L and the vreekneas of our nature, in order to dctoniiino what reaiion can and what it ctumut ctTctrt in miKlemting our tiS*ecti<fnA and paasions ; and, indeed, I huvc Kuid thjit my purp<i«>e in the present part wils to tri>al o.'«]M><'inny o!' human Iniilty: for I rcMolvcd to trt'at bt-parati-ly of the power {if rca-Kin over the affections.
PROP. X\TII. The dtwire which springs from joy ia, ctrteria paribus, more powerful than tliut which Bprings from grief
Drmonst. Desire is the verj- essence of hunuin nature ; in other words (hy Prop. VII, Pt III.), of the effort man inak« to continue in Mix. utate of Iwing. AVhcrefore the desfi whicli sprinpH I'roin joy in cherished or incrensed bv the emotion of Joy il.Helf (vide Def of joy, and Schol. to I*n)p. XI. IM III.) ; hut the desire whii'h arises from prief, on the contrary, is restraine<l or enCeebkHl by the sorrowful emotion itself (jmh; the itame Schol.). Thus must the power of the deaire which Bprin>»s from joy be defined by human power combined with an external cause ; whilst that which springs from grief must be deHnisl by human jwwcr alone; consequently the former must be more powerful than the hitter: q. e. d.
Scholium. In the above brief expotitions I explain the causes of human incompetency and inconstancy, and how it comes tliat tlio precepts of reason are so little observe*! by man. It now remains f<jr ine to show what reason prescribes to us, ond to iudic.ite tlie alfections that accord with tlio rules of rijj^ht reason, and those, on the contrary, that oppose or disagree with these rules. But before I enter more fully oa this subject in our geometrical order, I take occasion here briefly to show what I regard as the nifTATKs of kkawin, that my readers may the more clearly understand my views.
As reason makes no demand against nature, it requires that every one love himself, tliat he seek after that which is truly useful to him, that he strive to attain to all that really leads man to higher perfection, and above all and ab- solutely, tliat every one strive, so far as in him lies, to pre- serve his slate of being ; all of wliich seems on the face of it as necessarily true as tluit a whole is greater than a part. Vide Prop. IV. Pt III. Further, as virtue is uotliing but action in consonance with the laws of human nature (liy Def.
ETHTCS: PART IV. — OF THE STRENGTH OF THE AFFECTIONS. 575
8 above), and no one strives to preserve his st-ate of beiao^ eiivG in conformity with the laws of his proper nature, it follows, 1st, That the foundation of virtue is the endeavour itself to preserve our stuto of being, and that happiness consists in this: that wo are able to preserve our state of being. 2nd, It follows that virtue is to be desired for its own sake, and that there is nothing more excellent or more useful to us; for this reason, therefore, is virtue to be desired. ;3rd, Lastly, it follows that they who cotnuiit suicide are im- potent in soul and suffer themselves to be vanquished by external causes opposed to their nature.
It follows, moreover, from Postulate 4 of Part II., that we can never bring it to pass that we shall require nothing out of ourselves for the preservation of our being, and that we can so live as to have no intercourse or relationship with things beyond ourselves ; and further, if we regard our mind, that our understanding would really be less perfect if the mind were all and apprehendetl nothing but itself. There are, there- fore, many things beyond ourselves that are useful, that arc necessaiy to us, and that are therefore to be desii-ed. Among these none can be conceived of higher e.xccUence than those that entirely agree with our proper nature. For sujiposc two individuals of precisely the same nature conjoined, they would form a single individual of double the power of either severally. Nothing, therefore, is more useful to man than his fellow-men ; nothing, I say, can be desired of men more excellent as means of continuance in their state of being, than that all should so agree in all things, that t)ie minds and bodies of all should constitute as it were one nund and one body ; that all should endeavour, so far as is possible, to persevere in their state of being, and that all together should strive after whatsoever is for the common good. From this it follows that men who are ruled by reason, that is, men who under the guidance of reason strive iiftor what is truly useful, desire nothing for themselves which they do not desire for others, in doing which they are not only true to themselves, but true, just, and honourable to their neighbours.
Such are the precepts of reason, which I desired briefly to enunciate before entering on my task of demonstrating them in regular order and at length ; and I may say that I have given the summary with a view to conciliate if possible those who believe that the principle I announce, viz,, tiiat each individual is bound to pursue what is useful to him, is the foundation of all immorality much rather than of all
576
BEN Enter OB arwotK*t
virtue and inornlily. After I slioll huve briufly shown, ther»-
foro, that this is not so in fiict, I shall proceed to thi- fuller demoiistrutioii of the principlo 1 advocate in the samo wny M we havo adranced thus fur.
PROP. XIX. Every one by the laws of his nature necessarily
desires that which he deems good, and shuns that which
ho deems evil.
Drmomt. The cognition of good and evil is itself (by Prop. VIII. nbovi>) an emotion of joy or sorrow of which we ore conscious; und so {l>y Prop. XXIII. Pt III.) does every one necessarily desire what lie esteems gi>od, nnd, on tlic con- trary, avoid what ho thinks btid. But the d<*sira or appetite here is no other than the very e*<ence or n:iture of man (hy Def. of Appetite in Scliolium to Prop. IX. Pt III., and Def. 1 of the Affections). Therefore, every one by the laws of his nature necessarily deaires or shuns, &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. XX. The more an individual seeks what is useful to him, that is, the more he strives and is able to conserve hia state of being, the greater is the virtue with which he is endowed; and contrariwise: the more an individual neg- lects what is useful to hira, i. e., neglect.3 the conservntiou of his state of being, the more incompetent is he in every way.
Vemonst. Virtue is human power or capacity itself, which is defined from the essence of man alone (by Def. 8 above), i. e. (by Prop. VII. Pt III.), which is, as defined, the effort man makes to conserve his state of being. The more, there- fore. e:ieh one strives to conserve his state of being and suc- ceeds in his effort, with the more virtue is he endowed ; and, per con/rn (by Props. IV. and VI. Pt III.), the more he neglects the conservation of his 8t.ato of being the more im- potent is he ; q. e. d.
Scfio/iiim. No one, tlierefore, save by causes e.vtemal and opposed to his nature, neglects to take such aliment as is use- ful to him or to conserve his state of being. No one, I suy, is ever averse to wholesome food or lays violent hiuida on himself from any necessity of his proper nature, but only when moved by an external cause wliich may be of very various character. Thus a man slays himself if the hand in which he holds a sword bo twisted by another in such a way
ETHICS : PAKT n . — OK THE STRENGTH OF THE AFFECTIONS. 677
that the weapon pierces his heart ; or when by the command of a tyrant, as in tlio ease of Seneca, he opens his veins, in wliich latter case he seeks to escape a greater by encounterinff what he esteems a minor eWl ; lastly, unknown external causes may so dispose a. man's iranfrination and so influence his bi>dy that another nature, of which no proper idea can be formed, is assumed as opp()se<l to his proper nature, whereby he is led to lay violent hands on himself (by Prop. X. Pt III.). lUit that man, by the necessity of his nature, should seek not to exist or should desire to be changed iuto another shape. is as impossible as that something should be made out of no- thing; as evoiy one with a little meditation will perceive.
PROP. XXI. No one can desire to be happy, to do aright,
and to live a good life, who does not at the same time
desire to be, to act and to live — that is, to exist in act.
Demoiint. The demonstration of this proposition, or rather the thing itself, is self-evident, as it is also friHn the definition of desire. For the desire to live happily, to be doing, &c., is the very essence of man ; that is, desire is the effort wherebj' every one strives to preserve his state of being (by Prup. VII. Pt III.). Therefore no one can desire, &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. XXII. No virtue can be conceived prior to this the self-preservative eflbrt.
Demonvt. The self-preservative effort is the very essence of a thing (by Prop. VII. Pt III.). Were any virtue there- fore conceived prior to this, the essence of the thing would be conceived prior to the thing itself (by Def. 8 above) which is absurd. Wheretbre no virtue is prior, &c. : q. e. d.
CoroII. The .self-preservative effort or energy is the first and sole foundation of all virtue. For no principle can be conceived prior to this, as just said ; and without it no virtue ia conceivable (by Prop. XXI. above).
PROP. XXIII. Man, in so far as he is determined to act or to do anything because of his having inadequate ideas, can- not be said to act from virtue absolutely ; he can only be said so to act as he is determined by what he understands.
Demoiist. In so far as man is determined to action by inadequate ideas, in so far does he suffer (by Prop. I. Pt III.); that is, he docs something which cannot be apprehended by
af
578
BXintDia DR spjxoka'a
hi* essential nature alone (bv Dcf. 1 and 2, Pt III.), in words, soniclhiiig: wltifli dni'.t not follow frtnn his p_ power (l)y I><'l'. ^ uhovc). Hut in ax fur as he is tletortn to do uiiylliing on the ground of hJH understauding, in a does he aet truly (by Prop. I. Pt III.^, in so fur does h Bomothinp that is j)crcoive<l by his projwr ivtsence (by I) Pt III.), or that follows adequately from his own inhi power (Def. 8 above). Wherefore, in bo far as man, q. e. d.
PROP. XXIV. To act obsolut^ly from virtuous motiv
in us nothing but to aet luider the guidance of
to live, ami to preserve our slate of being — ond
three mgnify the same thing— on the ground of
the useful or our own gf»od.
Demons/. To act nbsolufi-ly from virtue is nothing el to act in conformity with tlie laws of oui- proper nature Def 8 above). But we only art in confomiify with then BO far a.s we have understanding (by Prop. III. Pt Therefore to act virtuously is for us nothing more than to to live, and to pre-scrve ourselves by the dictates of rea and this on the ground that in doing so we arc seeking useful or our own good : q. e. d.
PROP. XXV. Man seeks to preserve his state of bt>inf
the sake of nothing but that which he thinks usefi
advantageous to him.
Dcmot.d. The effort whereby each several thing ste to continue in its state of being, i<i defined as the es-s* of that thing (by Prop. VII. Pt III.), and from this al not from the essence of any other thing, dcjes it necessa follow that every one seeks to praserve himself (by Prop. Pt III.). The above proposition is also evolved from corollary to Prop. XXII. above. For did man seek to i himself in being from any other cause, then woidd that ci be the priraar\' ground of virtuous action (as is self-evide a conclusion, nowever, which, from the corollary just refea to, is seen to be absurd. Wherefore man seeks, &c. : q
PROP. XXVI. Whatever we attempt from reason is notl else than understanding ; nor does the mind, in mal
ETHICS : PART IV. OF THE STHENGTH OF THE AFFECTIONS. 679
use of roasuQ, judge any tiling to be of use to it, save that
which conduces to understanding.
DcmoHsL The effort of a thing to continue in being is nothing but the very essence of the thing (by Prop. VII, Pt III.), which being present, in so far as it is such, is conccivefl to have the power of continuing in existence (by Prop. VI. Pt III.), nnd of doing those things that follow uece^arily from ils given nature (see the Definition of Appetite in the .Scholium to Prop. IX. Pt III.). But thee-ssence of our reason is nothing but our mind in so far us it is possessed of dis- tinct understiiuding (see the Definition of adequate under- standing in the "Jud Scholium to Prop. XL. PtII.). Where- fore (by Prop, XL. Pt II.) to make an effort from reason, is nothing other than to understand. Further, inasmuch as this effort whereljy the mind, so far as it reasons, strives to con- servo its statuof being, is nothing but understanding, as stated in the first part of this demonstration, therefore is the effort to understand the prime and solo foundation of virtue (by Coroll. to Prop. XXII. above) ; and it is not for the sake of any end or object that wc strive to understand u thing (by Prop. XXV. above) ; on the contrary, the mind, as it reasons, can conceive nothing as truly good save that only which conduces to understanding (by Def. 1 obove) : q. e. d.
PROP. XXVII. We know uuthing for certain as good or
evil save that which conduces truly to understanding, or
which stands in the way of true understanding.
DcmoHst. The mind, in so far as it reasons, desires nothing but to understand; neither does it judge anything to be use- ful to if save that which leads to understanding (by the prc- ce<liug Prop.). But the mind (by Props. XLI. and XLIIl. Pt XL, and the Scholium to the latter) has no certainty of thing.s save in so fur as it is possessed of adequate ideas, or as it reasons (vide Schol. 2 to Prop. XL. Pt II.). Therefore do wo know nothing certainly as good save that wliich leads truly to understan<Iing ; and, on the contrary, nothing as evil save that which hinders us from understanding : q. e. d.
PROP. XXVIII. The supreme good of tho mind is the knowledge of God, and the highest virtue of the mind is to know God. Deniomt. The highest that the mind can know is God,
BE.NKDirr DE SPIXOZA S
— tho licing abjiolutely infinite, without whom nothing i», notliing can be conceive«d to \k' (vide Def. 6, Pt I., and I XV. Pt I.). Therefore that which is supremely ii or pHHl to the mind is the knowledge of Ood (vndt* P XXVI. nut] XXVI I. and Def. 1 ubove). Again, in so the mind understands, in w> far only does it act (hy Pro and III. Pt III,), and wj far only eun it be wiid absolut act virtuou.-ily (by Prop. XXlll. above). The absolute \t or i>ower of the mind, therefore, is lo understand. But Bum or height of the mind's underatanding in God (as demonstratefl); consequently the supreme power of the i is to uudenttand or know Qod : q. e. d.
PROP. XXIX. The imlividual thing whose nature is entj different from our own van neitlier aid nor impcda power of acting ; and nothing can be absolutely goa bad to UB, unlow it have something in common witfai
Drinomt. The jKiwor of each individual thing, and ti fore of man, to exist and act {vide CoroU. to I'rop. X. Pt is not detenniiied sjive by another individual thing (by P XXVIII. Pt I.), the nature of which (by Prop. VI. Pt must be underNtood by the same attribute whereby hu nature in understood. Our power of acting, therefort^ whatever way conceived, can be determined, and consequ aided or restrained, by the iwwer of another individual tl which htir* something in common with us, but not by power of anything whose nature is altogether difierent i our own ; and as we call that good or bad which is the « of joy or of sorrow to us (by Prop. VIII. above), that is. w adds to, or takes from, our power of action (by Schol. to Pi XI. Pt III.) ; therefore cau the thing whose nature is wh different from ours be neither good nor bad to us : q. e.
PROP. XXX. Nothing can be e\'il by that which it hi common with our nature; but, in the same degree i.'i evil to U.S, 80 is it coutrarj- to us.
Dttnonst. We designate that as evil or bad which is cause of grief or pain to us (by Prop. VIII. above), other words, that which takes from or restrains our powi action (vide Schol. to Prop. XI. Pt III.). If, therefor thing were to us evil through that which it had in comi with us, it might take lirom or restrain that which it hat
ETHICS : PART IV
common with iis, a proposition which is absurd (by Prop. IV. Pt III.). Nothing, (herclbre, van he evil to us through that which it has iu common with us ; on the contrarj\ in us far as anything is evil, that is, as anything diminishes or destroys our i>ower of" action, in so far is it contrary to our nature (by Prop. V. Pt III.) : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXI. In so far as a thing accords with our nature, so far is it necessarily good.
DemoHsf. In so far as a thing agrees with our nature, it cannot bo evil (by the hist Prop.). It will therefore necessarily bo either good or indift'erent. If indifferent — neither good nor evil — nothing (by our Axiom alwve) can follow from its nature which can serve for the maintenance of our nature, i. o. 0)y hypothesis), which can contribute to conserve the nature of"the thing itself But this is absurd (by Prop. VI. Pt III.). It will, therefore, in so far as it agrees with our nature, be necessarily good : q. e. d.
Coroll. Ilence it follows that the more anything accords with our nature, the ntore useful is it to us, the more is it good ; and contrariwise, the more useful anything is to us, the more does it agree with our nature. Not agreeing with our nature it would necessarily be different from or opposed to this. If diflerent, then (by Prop. XXIX. alwve) it could bo neither good nor evil ; if opposed, it would then also be opposed to that which agrees with our nature, i. e. (by the preceding proposition), contrary to good or evil. Nothing, I therefore, save in so far as it accords with our nature, can be good ; even as the more a thing uccord.s with our nature, the more useful it is ; and on the contrary, &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXII. In BO far as men are obnoxious to passion, they cannot in so far bo said to accord with nature.
Demomt. Things that are said to agree with nature aro understood to agree in power (by Prop. VII. Pt III.) ; not however in respect to any impotency or negation, neither, consequently, in respect of passion, which involves neg;ation (vide Schol. to Prop. III. Pt II.). Wherefore it cannot be said that men in so far as they are not obnoxious to passion are in accordance with nature : q. e. d.
Schol. The matter here is even self-evident. For he who shoidd say that white luid black only agreed in this that neither was red, would s<iy absolutely that black and white
t»i
«i]iBPia' m wiKotT*
agree iu nothinz. So also (lid one ray <lutt a stoi man sffrocd in this mwch only, that each was finite potent, thiit they did not exist by tht- nw»?tisitj' of their] jK-r nutun-, or that tht-y were indotiuiloly surpassed by jKJWc-r of cxtfrniil causes, he would uflinn uureeenredly a stone and a man agree in nothing. For thingi«. tiuit agree negatively or in that which they have not, <h> nut agree iu anything.
PROP. XXXIII. Men may differ in their nature in
as they are agitated by the emotions that are
and in bo far also is the same indi\4dttal man cht
and incon.'<tanf.
Demotwf. The nature or essence of the affections cal be explained by our essence or natiu'e alone (by Def. 1 2, I't Ill.),but must be defini'<l from the power or natui external causes (by Prop. VII. Pt III.), comparefl with proper nature. ^\ hence it comes to pass that there a] many species of each affection as there are species of ob by which we arc affccte<l (vide Prop. LVI. Pt III.) ; an men are variously affected by one and the some object ( Prop. LI. Pt III.), and tliua and in bo far differ in f nature, and, lastly, as the same man may be diversely affe by the cume object, and in so far is changeable and inconsi therefore may men differ in their nature, &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXIV. In so far as men are variously affecta
the emotions that are passions, they may be oppose
each other.
Dcmoiist. A man — say Peter — may be the cause of to Paul, either because he has sometning about him w Paul dislikes (by Prop. XVI. Pt III.), or because Peter scsses something which Paul likes and covets (by P XXXII. Pt III. and Schol.), or in short, for any other roi (vide Prop. LV. Pt III.). Hence it comes that dislikj hate of Peter takes possession of Paul (by Def. 7 of tlio t tions), and then it as readily happens that Peter in turn ceives dislike of Paul (by Prop. XL. Pt III. and Schol.), effect of which is that each is led to think of doing the an injury (by Prop. XXXIX. Pt III.) ; in other words, are brought into opposition one towards the other (by B XXX.). But the emotion of hate is always a paaeion
ETUICS : PART IV. — OK THE STRKNOTH OP THR APPECTIONS.
Prop. LIX. Pt III.). Tlierefore may men agitated by affections which aro pjisaionM be mutually opposed : q. e. d.
Schol. I have said tliat Paul would hate Potflr becjiuso he imagined that Peter possessed soniethiug which he liked or covetefl. Whence on the Hr.st blush it would seem as if these two. Peter and I'liul, liutod one another because they both liked and desired the same thing, and thus, and becausu they agreed in their natures, were disposed to injure each other. But if they were so, it woidd be in contradiction with what has been said in Props. XXX. and XXXI. of this Part. If we look into the proposition more closely, however, we shall find all that has been laid down to be perfectly accord- ant. For the two men here arc not distastci'ul to one another in so far forth as they agree in nature, i. c., in so far as they both desiderate the same thing, but in so far only as they differ severally. For ina.smuch as both love the same thing, the love of both for the same object is e.xcited (by Prop. XXXI. Pt III.), i.e. (by Dof. (J of the affections "above), the feeling of joy is aroused in both, through the same cause. It is therefore by no means because they love the same thing and agree in nature, that the two men hate each other. The cause of their mutual dislike lies, as I have said, in the assumed discrepancy of their several natures. For let us suppose that Peter Jias an idea of a thing he loves and now possesses, and Paul, on the contrary, has an idea of a thing he loved and has DOW lost ; it will happen that the former will experience an emotion of joy, the latter an emotion of sorrow, and in so far will the two men be in opposition to one another. In the, same way it were easy to show that the other causes of aver- sion and hate depend on the discrepancies, not on the accord- ances, of mankind.
PROP. XXXV. In 80 far as men live under the guidance of
reason, in so far only do they always and necessarily
agree with nature.
LemonM. In so far as men are agitated by the affections which aro passions, they may be said to be of different natures (by Prop. XXXIII. above), and opposed to each other (by the preceding Prop.). But in so fur as men are said to act rationally only or as they live under the authority of reason, 80, whatever follows from human nature defined by reason, must be wholly apprehended by human nature, so defined, as its proximate cause (by Def 2, Pt III.). But as every one by
IIKWI5MCT tm mxOOJV*
the lows of hw nature craves that which he thinloi seeks to escajw that he holds to be bwl (by Prt/p. XI and, inoroover, as tliiit whiuli we judge to be good or from the dictiitt^ of reuaon, is of necosbitr good or bad Prop. XLI. Pt II.), therefore do toen, in so fur «a the; by the rule of rt^a«<.>n, do eiich thiiiffs only as ara Oi good in n.>i»pcct of huinunity ul hirgc, uud conseq respect of every individual human being in particular] other words (by Coroll. to Prop, XXXI. above), which conl witli the nature of each individual man. Wherefore men. in ho fur as they live in aecordatiee with reason, nee sarily and at all tiuicH agreu with one another : q. o. d.
Corn//. 1. There is no single thing in nature more us4 to man than the example of the man who lives in conform with the dictuivs of reason. For that which most agt with his nature is most usi^ful to man (by Coroll. to Pt XXXI. above). But man acts absolutely by the laws of nature when ho lives under the rules of reason (by Def, Pt III.), and in so far only does he always neces.sarily ag with the nature of other men (by the j)receding Proi Therefore there is no single thing in nature more useful, iS q. e. d.
Coroll. 2. When each indindual man strives c«pecia for that which i.s truly useful to himself, then are in most useful to one another. For the more individu seek the useful and are c^ireful to preserve themselves, I more virtuous are they (by Prop. XX.) ; or, — and this coo to the same thing, — with the greater power are they endow! to act according to tlie laws of their proper nature, in oti words (by Prop. III. Pt III.), t« live by the rule of reua But men agree most especially when they live under ( authority of reason (by the preceding Prop.). Therefore ( preceding Corollary) are men most serviceable mutua when each individual strives especially for that which useful to himself: q. e. d.
Siho/. What has Just been said is so fully confirmed daily experience and illustrated by such numerous examp that it has passed into a common adage that man is a God man. It iseldom happens, however, that men do live by rule of reason. They are nmch more commonly found envio of each other and mutually opposed. Nevertheless, no ra of men was ever yet discovered the individuals of which led t lives of hermits in solitude and ulone; so that the definiti of man as a social being has found general acceptance ; a|
ETHICS : PART IV. — OF THE STREXOTH OF THE AFFECTIONS. 585
indeed, things are so ordered that many more advantages than disud vantages accrue from the stx^ial state. Satirists and con- temners of mankind, therefore, may ridicule human insti- tutions, theologians condemn them, and atrabilious jjersons vaunt n rude and savage life, vilify mankind and admire the lower animals as they list, the mass of men still feel that with mutual assistance they can much more assuredly obtain all they require for their comfort and convenience, and by united efforts ward off such dangers as threaten them: I suy nothing of its being so much nobler, so much more worthy of us, to study the actions of men than those of beasts. But of this more and at greater length by-and-by.
PROP. XXXVI. The highest good of those who abide by virtue is common to all, and all may equally enjoy it.
Dcniomf. To act virtuously is to act reasonably (by Prop. XXIV. above), and whatever we attempt under the guidance of reason, is t« have understanding (by Prop. XXVI. above) ; 80 that (by Prop. XXVIII. above) the highest felicity of those who live virtuously is to know God, in other wonls, to enjoy a good that is common to all, and that may be enjoyed by all, inasmuch as all ore of the same essential nature (by Prop. XLVII. Ft II. and its Schol.) : q. e. d.
Sc/w/. Did some one now ask. What if the highest good of the virtuous should not be a thing common to all ? Would it not then follow that men who live bj' the rule of reason (Prop. XXXIV.), that men inasmuch as they essentially agree in nature (by Prop. XXXV.), might be found mutually opposed ? I reply that it is not by accident, but from the very nature of reason, that the highest good which man can know should be common to all ; and this it is, because it fol- •lows from the very essence of humanity defined by reason, and because man can neither be, nor be conceived to be, without the power of enjoying this supreme happiness. For it belongs to the essential nature of the human mind (by Prop. XLVII. Pt II.) to have an adequate cognition of the eternal and infinite essence of God : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXVII. The good which every votary of virtue desires for himself, he also desires for his fellow-men, and this so much the more ardently as he has a higher cognition of God.
586
BunwicT ns smwn* a
DrmonJtf. Men a» thcv Hvo reasonably are Baost th«rfeUow-mi-n(hyOoroll.UiProp.XXXV.Bbove);u' ' - ' oq thu account (by Prop. XIX. above) that we neoeas:i .a
t« indaoo men to live by the rale of reaaon. Du >d
which orerj owo doairea who lires roasonably or i« 1 1 le
of virtue i» this, that he muy understand (^-ide Props. XXI V. and XXVI. above). Therefore does the votary of virta« desire for all men tlie good be desires for hitnaalf. Agaiu, desire, as referred to the miud, is the very esKnce of the mind (by 1 of the Defa of the iitfet^tions) ; but the essence of the mind oonsi^tti in understanding (by Prop. XT. Pt II.), whick involves the knowledge of God (by Prop. XLVII. Pt II.), witliout which mind c-onjieithcr bo nor can be conceived to bo (by Prop. XV. Pt 1.). Thus, therefore, the larger the conception of God involved in the essence of the mind, the greater will bo the desire of the disciple of \-irtuo that iitiy good he enjoys himself should also be enjoyed by others : q. e. d.
Of/teririse. The good which a man loves and desires, he will love and desire the more constantly if he sees that others love and desire it also (by Prop. XXXI. Pt III.); and so will he strive to make others love it (by Coroll. to same Prop.). And because this good is common to all, and all may equally share it, he will further strive that all should enjoy it, and tliis so much the more as ho himself etijoys it the more (by Prop. XXXVII. Pt III.) : q. e. d.
Sc/iol. 1. lie who from atfi-ction only would have others love what he loves himself, and who would have all the world like after his fancy, acts from mere impulse, and is therefore obnoxious to others, to those especially who have ditferent tastes and inclinations, and who, prompted bv like impulses, would also have others live as they do. Further, as the highest good which men desire from mere ali'ection is often such that one alone can possess or enjoy it, it comes to pass that in desiring they are not satished in their minds, and wliilst delighting to laud the thing they love, they yet fear to be taken at their word. But he who would persuade others to live in conformity with the laws of reason proceeds on no mere impulse, but amiably, humanly ; and so is ever at one with himself in spirit. Now, whatever wo desire, whatever we do whereof we are ourselves the cause in so far as we have the idea of God in our minds, or in so far as we know God, I refer to Religion ; and tho desire of doing well which is engendered by a life in accordance with reason, I call Piety
ETUiCS ; PART IV. — OP THE 8TBKNOTH OF THE AFFECTIOXS. 587
(pietas). Further, the desire which the man who Uvea by teasoii experiences to bind others to him in friendship, I designate propriely (/wiies/as) ; and I entitle that propar or seciiihj (/lo/icifiis) which men who live reasonably commend, 88, on the contrarj-, I call that ha-ic or improper (tiirpiji) which is adverse to friendly relations. I have besides and further shown wherein consist the foundations of the civil state. The difference between tnie virtue and poverty of spirit clearly appears from what is above set forth, namely, that true virtue is neither more nor less than the product of a life according to the ndo of reason ; whilst poverty of spirit is implied in this, that men, led by things external to them- ao'ves, are induced to do acts such as the common constitution of outward things may demand, but not such as things con- sidered in themselves— their projjer nature being alone re- garded— proclaim to be right.
These arc the points which in the Scholium to the 18th Proposition of this Part I promised to demonstrate, and from which il appears that any law against slaying the Inwor animals [for our use or advantage] is base<l on a vain super- btition and womanly pity rather than on any principle of reason. Reason, indeed, t<?ache8 the necessity of our joining with our fellow-men in the quest of things useful to us, not with the lower animals or things dittering in their nature from the nature of man : — wo have every right over them that they can have over us. Inasmuch, indeed, as every right is defined by the virtue or ])ower of each individual thing, man has a much greater right over animals than they over him. And here I would by no means be supjMsed to deny that animals feel ; I only deny that it is not lawful or proiM>r for us by reason of their feeling to consult our convenience and to use them in such wise as is for our advantage, seeing that their nature does not accord with ours, and that their affections are different from those of mankind (vide Schol. to Prop. LVII. Pt III).
I have still to explain the meaning of the words just and Kiijiint, of m'li, and lastly of merit. This I shall do in the fol- lowing Scholium.
Schol. 2. In the Appendix to the First Part of this work I promised to explain what is to be underatood by Praise and Blame, what by Merit, what by Demerit, or Crime, and what by Just and Unjust. With regard to what I understand by Praise and Blame, I think I have sufficiently explained myself in the Scholium to Prop. XXIX. Pt III. : so that I have only
588
BBNEDICT DE SriNOKA S
to enter here on the explanation of the other terms. I must premise a few words on the Natural and Civil i
of mnn.
Every one exists by the supreme right of nature; coiisoqufiitly docs that by this supreme right which fol from tlie nct-cssity of hi» proper nature. Evcrj* one, there! by the supremo hiw of nature seeks whnt is good, shuns is bud, consults his own uxlvantiige (Prop. XIX. and ubiive), vindicates his actions (CoroU. 2 to Prop. XI>. III.), strives to hold fust what ho loves, and endeavou csc^apc or destroy wlmt lie dislikes (Prop. XXVIII. Pt II Now, did men live bj- the rule of reason alone, every would of his own right possess what he desired without d< ment to others (by Coroil. 1 to Prop. XXXV. above), inusniueli as men are subject to affections which fur surpa) power the power of their proper humanity (vide Props, luid VI. above), tlierefore are they often swayed in differ directions, and severally set in opposition, because they arc mutually helpful (vide Props. XXXIII., XXXIV., and 8c to XXXV. above).
That men may live harmoniously together, therefore, mutually a.ssist each other, it is indispensable that they their natural individual righfj*, and give security to i other that they will do nothing which can lead to the do ment of others. Now, the way in which this can be uccc plishod — the rule by which men who are nece^isarily obm lous to affections, and variable and inconstant in tt humours, may be rendered helpful and faithful to each otli is whown in Prop. VII. of thi.s ith Piut, and in Pr XXXIX. of Part III. ; and it is briefly this : that they h their affections in cheek — which they can only do by me of another affection more powerful than the one to be strained ; and that they abstain from doing injury to othi which they accomplish by the fear of a greater injury acoi ing to themselves. A society or state is therefore estublisli through the ossumption by the communily to itself of rights pos.sesscd by each of its individual members, of feuding itself against attack, of dctading what is good what is evil, and of establishing im authority to prescribe general mode of livTUg, to institute laws, and to euforce thfl not by reason, however, which has no power over the afl tions, but by threats of pains and penalties (vide Schol. P: XVII. above). Now, such a society resting on law, and p sessed of powers of self-defenc* and of self-preservation,
ethics: part iv.— of the sitikngth of the affections.
589
designated a State or Commonwealth, and they who are pro- tected by its institutions arc called its citizens.
From what precedes wc readily understand, that in the natural state there can be nothing which by common consent is cidlefl good or bad ; inasmuch as every one, living in the state of nature, only consults his own convenience, and de- cides on this or that as good or bad according to his own fancy, and in so far only as his proper advantage is concerned ; no one is here held bound by any law save that which he prescribes to himself; so that in the natural state faults, offences, crimes, cannot be conceived. In the state politic, however, where common consent decides on what is good or evil, every one is held brumd to obey the civQ authority. Offence, crime, therefore, is nothing but disobedience, and is fitly punished by the sole authority of the state. On the other hand, obedience is accounted meritorious in the citizen ; and by this alone is ho adjudged worthy to enjoy the advan- tages of citizenship, i. e., of living as a member of a state politic. No one, again, in the state of nature is owner of any- thing by common consent, nor is there in nature anything which can be said to belong to this man rather than to that, but all tilings belong alike to all men ; so that in such a state there can be conceived no disjxisition to render to every man or to take from any man that which is his ; that is to say, in the state of nature there is nothing done that can properly be characterized as just or unjust ; actions can only be so characterized in the state jjofitic, where general consent de- termines what is justice and what injustice.
From all that precedes, it appears that just and unjust, merit and demerit, or crime, are extrinsic ideas, not attributes which serve to explain the nature of the mind. But of this enough.
PROP. XXXVIII. That which disposes the human body to be affected in several ways, or which renders it apt to affect external bcKliea in various manners, is useful to man ; and it is by so much the more useful as the body is mode more apt to be affected in different ways, and in different ways to affect other bodies. On the contrary, everything is hurtful that renders the body less apt to be influenced or to influence in these several ways. Dcmoiut. The more apt the body to be influenced and to
^^
BF.XEDIC1 PE SPINOZ.\ 8
influence, the moro opt bty'omew the mind to perceive opprcbc-nd (by I'roii. XIV. I*t II.); mid thus in that vr to d«»po!»f« the ImhIv uitossarily usot'ul or good (by P] XXVI. and XXVII. above) ; by so much tho more »sn.'i\ it, indeed, as the bo<ly is rcndcrwl more ui)t in the direct indioit4-<l, iw, on the ronlniry, if the bo<iy l>e made less pa to iiitlueiice and t(i bt: inliiiciiced, is the cause of its incAiM detrinuntal (hy the &amo I'rops. XIV. It II., and XJS, and XXVII. of the preoent Part) : q. e. d.
PHOP. XXXIX. \\Titttevcr conduces to the maintenaiM the proper ratio between the actiWty an<l repose of several constituent partu of Ihr Ixidy is pood ; and t on thecontrarj', is bad wliieh cHjniproniines tho due T required by the several parts of the body in rcHpee: (heir motion nnd rest.
Vi'vionnt. The human frame requires for it5 pre-scrval the concuri-cncc of numerous other lK>dics (by Post. 4, Pt I But that which tonslitutos the re:ility of the human b connistt* in tlun, that the parts of the biKly reciprocally o( munic«tc their motions m certain doliiiite innnners (by Definition preceding Lemma 4 following I'rop. XII I. of Pt I Therefore, whatever tends to preserve the ratio between motion and rt^st which the part!* of the human Ix^y rocij cate, tends nt the wiine time to preserve the tonn or rea of tho liunian body, nnd thcroby brings it to pass that human bo<ly is not only ail'i-cled by, but also nll'ots, extej bodies in various ways (vide Po«t. '<i and 6 of Pt II.) ; am 80 far is this good (by the preceding Prop.).
Again, whatever induces a diti'crent ratio in respect motion ami rest between the parts of the human body, brii it to pass that the human frame assumes another fonn ; other words fas is w^lf-evidcnt, and as liasbc>i>n stated towa the end of the preface to this Part), the body is destroy and is consotjucnllv rendered wholly unfit to be alfcctt-q any way whatsoever. Therefore is this bad (by the proo iug Propf>8ition) : q. e. d.
Scholium. J low and to what extent these things t injure or advantage the mind, will be explained in our F] Part. Put I have here to observe tiiat I underst.'ind tho b< to die when its jjiirts reciprocally acquire another nnd dilfei ratio in respect of their motions and rost. I dare not d^
ethics: part iv. — of the strength of the affections. 591
however, that the human body, the circulation of the blood proceeding as of wout, and the other processes by reason of wliicb it is said to be alive, being duly performed, may never- theless bo changed and assume a nature entirely difl'oreut from that which properly belongs to it. For no reason forces me to say that the body docs not die unless it be changed into a. corpse, altliough experience seems to persuade to the contrary. For it sometimes happens, that men undergo such changes, that we should find some difficulty in asserting posi- tively that tbey were the same individuals. I remember to have heard of a iS[)unish poet who was seized by some disease, and who, though he recovered presently from Lis illness, re- mained so thoroughly forgetfid of his fonner life, that he did not believe the tales and tragedies he had written to be his, and who indeed might have been aptly regarded as an adult infant had he in addition forgotten his mother tongue.* And if this appear incredible, what shall we say of the infant, whose nature the man of mature years thinks so different from his own, that he could never persuade himself that he too had once been an infant did he not infer so much from what is brought before liitn eveiy day. But I quit this sub- ject without further dcvclupmcnt, lost I supply the supersti- tious \vith matter for new questions and conjectures.
PROP. XL. All that conduces to the commodity of civil
society or that tends to make men live in amity is good ;
and, on the contrary, whatever brings di.scord into the
state is evil.
Dcmonst. Whatever leads men to live amicably together
secures at the same time that they shall live in conformity
• Cgee« linve acfually occurred in which the mother tongue, as well as every other inciilvot of prcvioua life, was entirely forgotten, and in which grown men and women of liberal education liegan with the alphabet like children, and learned to rend for the second time iu their lives. In such ca£ea there is undoubtedly fiartial death of the lx)dy, and Uiia may be cither tem- porary, as in fainting and as induced by onresthetio agents, or permanent. The ■ Old Shekarrj- ' is struck ou the head by the splinter of a Itu.^sinn shell at the siege of Selia«to|>ol, and is immediately deprived of all iieuse and of all motion but that concerned with breathing and deglutition, and thisttate con- tinues for 8e\eral weeks, when, transported to England from the Block Sea, n piece of the skull which ha<l been forced in upon the brain is raiiMd, and sud- denly he recovers his couscioufness, and is restored to such soundness uf mind aod body that he is able himself to tell the tale. There arc other and older cases of tlie same kind that might be quoted ; I only cite the latent and nut the least remarkable and authentic ou record. — Tr.
5!)2
BKXEDICT DE SPINOZA S
l^
with rwwon (ty Prop. XXXV. above), and is therefore (Props. XXVI. and \X VII.) ; a«, on the cwntrarj', whfl exciter dijicurd, di!«.4eiii<ion, &c., is bad : q. e. d.
TROP. XLI. Oaierty {Mitia) ia not directly evil, bl
good ; grief or 6udiics«, on the contrary, ia dil
evil.
Demoiut. Gaiety is an affection whereby the p of the IhkIv to act i.t aided or increased (vide Dcfinitio joy in the S^Ik.I. to Prop. XI. Pt III.). Cirii-f, on the tniry, i» oir- whereby this power i.s lessened or repreased; so i« f^aiety directly good, grief directly bad (\'ide 1 XXXV III. above) : q. e. d.
PROP. XLII. Cheerfulness, Coutentment (/li/an'lais), can nothing of excens ab<jut it, but is always good ; ini choly, discontent {mrlancholia), on the other hani always eviL
Dfitioimt. Ohecrfulness is joy (defined in Schol. to Prop Pt III.), wliich rei'erred to the body consists in thi.s, that u partM are aflt-ctiHl alike and in like measure, tliut is. ihul power of the body to act is inereu-sed or a».sit<ted, and in ( wise that all it-s parts acquire reciprocally motion and ra the same ratio (vide Prop. XI. Pt III.). It is in this that hilarity or cheerfulness is always good and caiino excessive (vide Prop. XXXIX. above). Melancholy, oa other hand, is grief (Schol. to Pnjp. XI. Pt III.), whio referred to the body consistjs in this, that its power of aa is lessened or absolutely abrojrated, so that the einotig always bad (by Prop. XXXVIII.): q. e. d.
PROP. XLIII. TitiUation [titillntio)* may be excess but pain, grief {dolor), may be good to the same ex as titillation is bad. Demonst. The pleasure felt through touch ia a joy, wh
• I ara nt n Ior» for a proper translation of Titillatio in this plaoeC tlie iScliolium to I'rop. -XT. i't III. tlif Autlior pives the wonU Hiluritns Titillatio m synonymous, nfft'ctitm Ijrtitiic ail inentem rclatuni titilluti( sou iiilaritntein voco; but lien-, in Trop. XI.II., lie snjs, Hilaritns k nothing of excess and ia always good; wUilst in Trop. XLIII. be Titillatio may lie excessive and so evil. — Tb.
ethics: pakt iv. — of the strknoth of the affections. 593
in 80 far as it is rcfcrrpd to the body conaista ui this, that one or sovei-ul of thp coqxn-eul pnrts arp mf)ro affoclcd flvan others (see tho Dof. of Titillation in the Schol. to Prop. XI. Part III.), and the (li'i^rec of this atfection may be such that it exeeeds the re.st of the bodily actions (by Prop. VI.), and t^kes such hold of and so influences the body that it is rendered less apt to eoine under other itifltienees. Thus and in tliis way may it be evil (by Prop. XXXV7II.). Pain, on the contrary, which is a prief, considered in itself cannot be good (by IVop. XLI.). But as in its strenpth nnd increase it is defined the jxjwer of an extornal cause compared with a cuu^o inherent in ourselves (by Prop, v.), an infinite number of degrees and modes of the affection may be conceived (by Prop. III.) ; we may even conceive it such as to restrain voluptuousne.'is from becoming excessive, and tlitis (by the fii-st part of this demonstration) bringing it about (liat the body shall not be rendered less apt for any or all of its offices, so that und in so far pain may be f good : q. e. d,
PROP. XLIV. Love and desire may be excessive.
Dimonxf. Ijove is a joy (by Dcf. 6 of the Affections) as- sociated with the idea of an outward cause ; titillntion, tlierefore (by Schol. to Prop. XI. Pt III.), tlio idea of an external cause associated with it, is love; and love (by tho prece<ling Prop.) may consequently be excessive. Again, desire is great as the ijffbction itself from which it arises is greater (by Prop. XXX VII. Pt III.). Wherefore, as one emotion may (by Prop. VI.) surpass the other emotions in force, so may the desire, which arises from tho affection thus in excess, also 8urpa.ss the other desires, and thereby present the same excess we have shown in the preceding Proposition to accompany titillation (fiti/lfilio) : q. e. d.
Sc/ioiiuiii. Cheerfulness (/li/tiritan), which I have character- ized as good, is more easily conceived than observed. For the emotions that so constantly agitate us are commonly referable to some part of the body affected in a greater measure than the other parts, and by an atfection thus for the most port in excess, the mind is kept to the contemplation of one object so fixedly that it can think of no others ; and althougli men are influenced by many emotions, and are very ' rarely found contending with one and the same emotion only, )'et is there no scarcity of those who are obstinately possessed by a single emotion. Men have occasionally been seen so affected by one object, that although it was not before them,
■M
091
UEXEOUT UK aPIKOSA's
H-'
thev hav«, lusvertheleM, bclievod that it was; Mid Bucn a thiii<; happens to a man awake, we say he linou« or m.il. Nor nr>? thi<y Iwlioved tho less to ra» burn with the puiwion of lovo utul drcatn dar and ni, the objocl of (licir aifoetion, all.hou;;h ihrir passion ia excite our biui{hl«r. When the miser, however, thil nothing but lucre and his hoard, the ambitious uotliinfj but fclory, &v., thpy «r«' not miid to be mad. thuy iini wont to bu troul'' 'iiHf»ht to d
contempt. Nuvortheli.'*!*, 'ti, lust, &«
really species 'of delirium, although they are not I among diseases.
PROP. XLV. Hatred never con be good.
Demomt. We would injure, we would de«trov him we hate (by Prop. XXXIX. Pt III.); that is (by XXXVII. above), we would attempt something ihnt i therefore, He. : q. e. d.
Sr/iol. 1. Observe that here anil in what foUowa '. speak of liate with reference to man.
C'orotl. 1. Envy, mockery, contempt, anger, revongi tlie other emotions referred to hute, or uriMtiij' from it, i bad, n« also apijoars from Prop. XXXIX. Pt 111. and XXXVII, of the present Part.
Coroll. 2. All that wo desire when we are moved b is b:i80 in ilaelf, and, as regiirds the civil state, unju«t ; i appears from Prop. XXX fX. Pi III., and from the I lions of the terms Ikixc and unjust wliich will bo found i Scliol. to Prop. XXXVII. of this Part.
tichol. 2. 1 ncknowletlge a great difference betwei-n cry, which I have but just characterized as bad, and lau or jest. For laughter and jest, also, are a kind of gladness 80, if fliey have nothing of excess about them, are goi Prop. XLI.). Nothing, indeed, but a sour and gloomy Btition forbiils us to enjoy ourselves : why should it ba: more seemly to satisfy tlie cravings of hunger and than to drive away melancholy ? These are my views, my sentiments. No divinity, none but an envious could take pleasure in my helplessness and sulFering ; : tears and sobs, and fenr and otner affections of the sort, are but evidences of an abject and feeble spirit, ever I virtuous conduct ; the more jnyfuUy wo feel, on the con to the higher grade of perfection do we rise ; in oilier i the more do we necessarily partake of the Divine nature
ETHICS : PART IV. OF TIIE STRENGTH OF THE AFFEtTIOXS. 5D5
use the good things of life, therefore, ond to enjoy ourselves in so far ns this may be done short of satiety and disgust — for licre excess were not enjoyment, — is true wisdom. It is wis- dom. I say, in man to refresh and recreate himself by moderate indulgence in pleasant meats and drinks, to ttsko delight in sweet od<Mirs [and sweet sounds], to admire the beauties of plant-s and flowers, to dress becominglv, to join in maidy and athletic sports and games, to frequent the theatre, and other places of the sort, all of which may be done without injury to others. For tlie luiiiiau frame is compacted of many parts of diverse nature, which continually crave fresh and varied ali- ment, in order that the whole body may be alike fit for everj'- thing whereof by its nature it is capable, and consequently that the mind also may be in a state to take interest in and understand the greatest possible variety of subjects.
Sucli a mcnle of life accords entirely witli the principles I uphold, and with common practice also ; I believe it to be the best that can bo fallowed, and every way to be commended; so that I do not think it necessary to say more on the subject.
PROP. XLVI. ITe who lives in conformity with the dictates of reason strives to the extent of his power to repay the hatred, anger, contempt, &c., of others, with love and good wilL
Demonsf. All the emotions connected with hate are bad (by CoroU. to preceding Prop.) ; and so will he who lives by reason strive as much as possible to escape being agitated by them (by Prop. XIX.), and therefore use his endeavour that another shall not sutler from them (by Prop. XXXVII.). But hate is increased by reciprocated hate, and, on the con- trary, may be extinguished by love (by Prop. XLIII. Pt III.) ; so that hate may even be turned into love (by Prop, XLIV. Pt. III.). Wherefore he who lives agreeably to reason endeavours to return hatred with love, or with kindness (for the Definition of which sec the ISchol. to Prop. LIX. PtIII.).
Schol. lie who avenges injuries by reciprocated hate lives miserably; whilst ho who strives to get the better of hatred by love contends with his emotions joyfully and as- suredly, he oppo.scs a host with the same ease as a single ad- versiiry, and is as little dependent as may bo on any aid from fortune. , They whom he vanquishes, too, yield gladly, and not because of diminished but rather of inoieased strength. These
3S •
Drmonit. The vmotiona of hope and fear are p<-riencc<l without a certain uneiuineMor pain. For ft No. !■{ of lilt" Definitions of the affections) is sorrow ho])c (by 12 uiid l^i of these Definitions) is not ft-lt w misgivings. Those omotious in themselves, therefore, not be g-ood ; they e^in only In* bo in as far as they mil cxoenHive joy (by I'rop. XLIII.): q. e. d.
Srhof. To this it must bo added, that thoee emotion cute deficiency of true knowledge and impotency of For tliis reason, also, ure the feelings of security, of an forecast, of despair, remorse, &c., signs of an iro})otcnt For although elation of mind and a feeling of sccurit emotions akin to joy, they still suppose something ol misgivings we associate with hojw and fear. The m strive to live by tlie rule of reiison, therefore, the less depend on hope, the more do wo free ourselves from fcai more do we endeavour to command fortune, and to mak actions conform to the sure counsels of the understandin
PROP. XLVni. The affections of over estimation aa
preciution are always evil.
Demonat. These affections are opposed to reason (bv i 21 and 22 of the Affections), and so (by Props. XXVI, XXVII.) are bad : q. e. d.
PROP. XLIX. Adulation is apt to make the man who
object vainglorious and haughty.
DcDwmf, If we find any one making more of us than is per, we are apt to plume ourselves upon the notice we reo (by Schol. to Prop. XLI. Pt III.), or we are delighted No. 30 Def. of Anections), and readily believe all the goo hear of ourselves (by Prop. XXV. Pt III.). Thus do we through self-love to think more highly of ourselves tin just, i. e., we readily become vainglorious and haughty (b' 28th Def. of Affections) : q. e. d.
ETHICS ; PART IV. OK THE STRENGTH OF THE AFFEtTIONS. 597
P
I PROP. L. Commieoration is in itsolf evil and useless to the
B man who lives by the rule of reajson.
■ Drmoml. Commiseration is a sort of sorrow (Def. of Affec-
W tions, No. 18). and therefore (by Prop. XLI.) bad in itself.
The good that flows from it, such as our endeavour to free
tthe man from his misery who is the object of our pity (by Coroll. .'! to Prop. XXVII. Pt III.), results from the dictates of reason alone (by Prop. XXXVII.). We can, indeed, do nothing which we assuredly know to bo good, save by the dictates of reason (by Prop. XXVII.). Commiseration in itself, consequently, in the man who lives by the rule of reason, is bad and of no utility : q. e. d.
I Coroll. Hence it follows that the man who lives by reason
endeavours as much as possible not to be touched by pity or com passion.
Scliol. lie who rightly knows that all things follow from the necessity of the Divine nature, and come to pass in con- formity with the eternal laws of nature, will never meet with anything worthy of hatred or contempt; neither will ho com- miserate any one; but in so far as human power will bear him out, he endeavours to do well, and, as is said, to goon his way rejoicing. To this let us add that he who is rowdily touched by pity and moved by the tears and miseries of others, often does things of which he repents afterwards; and lliis is because we can do nothing from mere aflection which we know for certain to be good; and, further, because we are readily deceived by false tears and tales. Here I beg to state that I am speaking expressly of the man who lives in Conformity ■with the rules of reason ; for he who is neither moved by reason nor pity to be helpful to others is, indeed, and proiH;rly, called inhuman ; such a man (by Prop. XXVII. Pt III.) seems to bo diflcrent from other men.
PROP. LI. Partiality {facor) is not repugnant to reason, but may agree with and arise from it.
Demorutt. For partiality is love for one who does good to others (No. 19 Def. Affections) , and maybe referred tp the mind in so far as this is moved to action (by Prop. LIX. Pt III.), in other words (by Prop. III. Pt IlL), in so far us it understands ; and so partiality is not inconsistent with reason : q. e. d.
Of/irrtn'ae. lie who lives by reason finds it good that what he desires for himself should be desired by another (by Prop.
I
ETHICS : PAIIT IV. OF THE STRENGTH OF THE AFFEfTIONS.
Bemoiist. nuniility is a form of o^ief or pain arising; from the contcniplaf ion of our ovn\ incapncif y (by 2(i of Uef. of Aftbc- (ions). In so far, however, iis u niun has u rctisonable know- le<lgp of himself, in so far w he siippose<l to understand his essential nature, in other words, the jrowers with which he is endowed (by Prop. VII. Pt III.). Wherefore if a man in considering himself becomes awure of any incapacity, this is not because of the imderstanding-he has of himself, but be- cause he feels himself coerced in his mwers of action (us has been shown in Prop. LV. Pt III.). But if wo suppose a man to conceive himself incompetent, because he apprehends some- thing more {wwerful than himself, the knowledge of which brings his powers of action into play, then do we really presume that the man di.stinctly knows himself, and thereby IB his power of action aided (vide Prop. XXVI. above). Con- sequently the sense of humility, or the grief which ari.ses from the contemplation of our incapacity, does not proceed from true reflection or rea.son, and is not a virtue but a pas- sion : q. e. d.
PROP. LIV. Repentance is not a virtue, or does not arise from reason ; but he who repents of any deed he has done 18 twice miserable or impotent.
Dcriionsf. The first part of this proposition is demon- strated in the same way as the one that precedes. The demonstration of the second part, again, is involved in the definition of the afi'ection in question (seo 27 of Def. of Affec- tions), The penitent first sutfcrs himself to be overcome by base desire, and is next subdued by sorrow.
Sc/iol. Inasmuch as men so rarely live by tho rules of reason, the two aflcctions of humility and repentance, and those of hope and fear in addition, are, nevertheless, more beneficial than dt^triraentul in the world, and so if men are to sin at all it is good that they sin in a direction that admits of penitence and humility. For if men of feeble souls were all alike insolent and overbearing, took shame to themselves for nothing they did, and had no fears, by what motive could thej' be coerced or controlled ? The multitude are feared, when they do not fear. 'Whence we are not to be surprisetl when we find the Hebrew prophets, who consulted the general and not any private intt'rest, so slrcniiously insisting on humility, reverence, and repentance. And they, indeed, wlio are un^er the influence of these affections are much more
i
600
ensily lc>d to live nt Iciiglh by the rule of reason thnn the who urc under no «uch influence, i. c, to live in freedom, ( enjoy the life of the blessed.
PROP. liV. Exlronie haughtiness {miprrbia) or ubjecti
(afijcctio) are equivalent terms for complete ignorance of
self.
Drwomf. This suflieiontly apponrs from the Definitions of those affections, Nos. 28 and 29.
PROP. LVI. Excessive arrog^ancc or objectness indicates^ extreme impotence of soul.
Dt-moMt. The foundation of ull virtue is the power of self-
5 reservation u!ider tlie guidance of reason (by CoroU. to Prop. ;XII. and Prop. XXIV. above). lie who knows not himself is ignorant of the grounds of all N-irtuc, and consequently of oil the virtues. And then, to act virtuously is nothing nioro thnn to act bj- the rule of reason (by Prop. XXIV.) ; and h« whose octions are guided by virtue necessarily knows that he acts from reason (by Prop. XLIII. Pt II). He, therefore, who is ignorant of himself in the highest degree, and is thereby most thoroughly ignorant of all virtue, can never or by any means act virtuously ; in other words, such a jierson (Viv IM'. S above) is possessed of the most inipotent soul. In this way (by the preceding Prop.) do excessive arrogance and excessive abjectness proclaim excessive impotence of soul : q. e. d.
CoroU. Hence it clearly follows that the arrogant and the abject ore those who arc most under the spell of the affi-etions. Sr/iof. Abjectness, however, is more retidily corrected than arrogunee, inasmuch as the latter is an affection referable to the joyous, the former to the sorrowful, element of our nature, and we have seen (in Prop. XVIII. above) that joy is a more potent emotion than grief.
PROP. LVI I. The vain-glorious man {nuperbuH) loves to be
surrounded by flatterers and parasites, and hates the
independent and self-relpng {(jeueroKi).
Dcmonst. Arrogance (siipcrbia) is a kind of joy arising from this : that a man thinks more highly of hiujself than is proper (I)efs. 28 and G of Afi'.), and thence adopts an opinion which he is careful to cherish (Schol. to Prop. XIII. Pt III.).
ETHICS : rAKT i\-.
-OF THE STRENGTH OF THE AKFECTIONS.
601
The vain-glorioua man, therefore, loves to be courted by flatterers and parasites (definitions of whom I omit us bcinp fauiilitiily known), and sliuus tlie independent and seli'-suf- ficinff, who e.xtiniate him at his proper worth : q. e. d.
IScfio/. It were too niueh did I here go on to enumerate all the evils that follow from arrogance and vain-gloriousness ; for the proud mv slaves of nil the juissions, and are moved by no idtbetion loss than by love and pity. But I must not omit to say that the man who thinks less of others than is right is also called arrogant or haughty (superhiis) ; arrogance or haughtiness iji this sense should therefore be defined as u species of joy arising from a mistaken opinion which a man entertains (hat he is better than others; as its opposite, humility, ahjcctness, is a form of grief arising from a false opinion of relative inferiority. This estnldishcd, we readily conceive that the arrogant man is lux-essarily of envious dis- position (by [^chol. to Prop. LV. Pt III.), hates those more especially who are most lauded for their virtues, dues not readily sutler his dislikes to be overcome by love anil kind- ness (vide Schol. to Prop. XLI. Pt III.), and only takes plea- sure in the company of those who comply with his impotency of spirit, and do all they can to turn him from (ho fool he is into a madman. AbjtK-tness, although opjxjswl to arrogance, is Vet near akin to it. For though the mean- spirited man suffers from e-i-ief arisinjr from the contrast between his own impotency and the power or virtue ot others, vet is his dejection removed if his imagination gets engaged in the con- templation of others' vices— that is to say, he then rejoices or feels glad; whence the proverb: The wretched find solace in the wretchedness of others. On the other hand, the mean- spirited or abject man is ever the more deeply immei-se*! in his grief the more he is led to believe himself inferior to others. Whence it comes to pass that none are more subject to the passion of envy than the abject, that none are so much dis- posed to scan the actions of their fellow-men with a view to find faidt rather than with any pui-poso of bettering them, and finally that (hey only prize and vaunt themselves on their humility ; though this they would still do in such a way as to appear humble. Tliese results, I believe, follow as necessarily from this emotion as from the nature of the triangle it follows that the sum of its angles is equal to two right angles; and I have alrexuly said that when I call (his and o(her emo(ions like it evil, I am thinking of human use- fulness only. But the laws of nature are in relation to the
«JU2
BFNRWCT DB SWXOKA'a
ffoncral order of nature, of which innn i« ti purt, and llii-s T drairo U» notif}* by the wiiv. lost it should be ihouprht I hat it yrtu iny puqutw hen- to disciiKs fho vices aiid fix)lish actiozis of men, and not t<i denioni*tmte the nature and propertiwt of thinga. In niv Introduction to the Third Part, hnwevpr, I have nid that 1 inve-Migato fh<' human atfeelionK and their propertii")* prwist-ly a« 1 do nutuml objects in general. ^Vnd eertuiulv the human affections, if they do not prochiim any ppecial nuinan ixiwer, still proclaim powers and aptitudi« in the nature ot man not less marvellous than many other lliinfrii we admin-, and iu the study of which we are wont to take dclif,'ht. iJut I prrKcwl to remark on matters con- nected with the affi-etionn which are of use to muukiiid, und wliich are also the source of certain disadvautogeH.
PRC)P. L^T^II. Glory is not opposed to reason, but may ari.se from it.
Drmomt. 'ITiis appears in No. 30 of the Definitions of the Att'ections, aTid also frf)m what is said on integrity {/loncHfriH) in S-hol. I to I'mp. XXXVII. above.
Scfw/. What is called vain-glory, is self-satisfaction fos- tered by more vulgar opinion ; for this ceasing, the sclf-satiit- faction or siininin/ii hontim wliich every one loves ceases also (by Schol. to Prop. LII.j. Whence it happens that he who glories in vulgar fame bears a load of care incessantly about with him, and all his thoughts and acts are given to retain or increase his celebrity; for the common herd are changeful and inconstant ; and unless glory, fume, celebrity be anxiously pursued and closely hugged, tliey are Boon gone. Inasmuch as almost all men, indeed, desire to shine before the world, each in turn may succce<l in eclipsing the fame of the other; and then wo see that so often as there is a struggle for what is held the fiiiMmiim boniim of existence, a mighty desire appears among the ambitious to crush and oppress each other; and he who comes as victor out of the strife is often more elated by the damage he has done to another than by any advantage he has gained for himself. Such glory, such self-satisfaction, therefore, is vain indeed, for truly it is nothing.
What may be said of nhanie is readily to be gathered from what has been delivered on pity and repentance./^ I only add, further, that as it is with pity, so is it alsai with shame, which, though no virtue, is yet good, inas- nnich as it proclaims that he whose cheek becomes suffused
ETUtCH : PAUT IV.
THE STRENGTH OF THE AFFECTIONS,
through shame feels desirous of living; virtuously and well ; even as pain in an injuretl limb is good in so far as it declares that the part has not fallen inlo a state of gjingreno. Where- fore, although the man who has dune something of which lie repents and is ashamed is made obnoxious to grief, still is he a better man than the impudent fellow who feels no desire to live in conformity witli reason and propriety.
Such are the views I desired to express on the afi'ections of jov and sorrow.
As regards the dvstrex generally, they are either good or evil, as they arise from good or evil aflections. IJnt all of them, in- asmuch as they originate in ourselves from aifections that are passions, are blind (as may readily be gathered from what ia said in the Scholiuiu to Prop. XLIV.), and would be without influence could men only be induced to live entirely by tho dictates of reason, us I shall now proceed briefly to show.
PROP. LIX. To whatever acts we may be moved by an
affection that is a piission, wo may also be determine*!,
independently of tliis, by reason.
Dftnonst. To act from reason is only to do those things that result from the necessity of our nature considered in it- self (vide Prop. III. and Def. 2 of Pt III.), liut grief is evil in so far as it curt;iils or coerces tliis power of action (by Prop. XLI. above). Therefore we can be led by this affection to do no act which we could not accomplish were we led by reason. And then, joy is not evil save and in so far only as it makes man less capable of acting (by Props. XLI. and XLIII.); so that wo can be moved to no act by tlio emotion of joy which we could not accomplish under tho impulse of rfason. Lastly, in so far a.<i joy is good, in so far does it accord with reason (for by its essence it aids or in- creases man's capacity of action) ; and it is not a passion unless and in so far as the power of man to act fails of such increa-oe through it that he does not adequately conceive him- self and his actions (by Prop. III. Pt III. and its Scholium). Were man, therefore, brought by tlie cmulion of joy to such a state of perfection that he conceived himself and his actions adequately, he would be foimd apt, ay apter, for the actions to which he might be determined by the affections that are passioits. Ihit all tiie afftHjlions are referable to joy, sorrow, or desire (vide Explanation 4 of the Defs. of the Affections), and desire (by 1 of Def of Affections) is nothing but the
BKSRmCT »K WIlWttVF
wUh or will to not, ^^^lcrcfo^e wr tnny be det<»miined lo nil l)ic> u<'t« lu which un nlfi-ctJon that i» a passion dispones ua, by rt-OAon alone and iudcpendcntlv of ntfc-ciion : q. e. d.
Ot/irnn'nc. An action is called bad in so far a« it arises , from our brinj? nffccfctl by hnlrefl or any other base emotion (vide Coroll. 1 to Prop. XLV.). Hut no action considered in itself is either good or bad (us 1 have shown in my Intro- duction to this Part), one and the sumo action beinj? iTOodi or bad indittcrctitly — now gooA, now bad. Wherefore we nmy even be knl by rcusoii to do acts that are evil, or that are determined by an evil emotion (by Prop, XIX.): q. e. d.
Sr/iol. Let me make the above more clenr by an example : The act of striking with the list, considered physically and in ilttelf, as when a man raises his arm, clenches his hand, and advances it violently or brings it down with force, is a power which arises from the mechanism of the human body. If, therefore, a man moved by anger or hatred is influenced to close his hand and move his arm as in striking, this comes to pass, as shown in our Second Part, because with one and the same action various images of things may be associated, and because we may be incited to the same act by those imaginations of things which we conceive confusedly, as well as by those which we apprehend clearly and distinctly. It therefore appears that every desire which arises from an emo- tion that is a passion, would be of no avail were man always le<l by his reason. Let us now see why desire which arises from an affection that is a passion is called blind by us.
PROP. LX. The desire which springs from joy or grief and
is referred to one or to severul but not to all the parts of
the body, has no bearing on utility as regards the whole
roan.
DemmiHt. Lot us suppose a part of the body, which we designate A, to be so invigorated by the power of some ex- tenial cause as to preponderate over the other parts (by Prop. VI.), this part will not seek to lose its power, in order that the other purls may duly perform their functions, for this would suppose it j)ossessed of a capacity to abandon it* power, which (bv Prop. VI. Pt III.) is absurd. The part of the body A, therefore, and consequently the mind also, will strive to preserve their actual state (by Props. VII. and XII. Pt III.); hence the desire which arises j'rom such an emotion of joy is not in true relation to the whole of the bodily parts. For if,
ETHICS : PART IV. — OF THE STREXGTH OF THE AFFECriONS. 605
on the contrary, the part A is supposed to be coerced, so that the remaining parts propondei'ate, it may be demonstrated in the same way, that neither ia the desire which arises from sorrow in due relation with the whole of tlie bodily parts : q. e. d.
Schol. Since joy, therefore, is mostly referable to one part of the body (by iSehol. to Prop. XLIV.), we do mostly en- deavour to continue in our state of being without reference to the wliole of our lieiilthful constitution. To which it may bo udiicd that the desires by wliiuli we are mo.'jlly swayed bear reference to the present only, not to the future (by CoroU. to Prop. IX.).
PROP. LXr. The desire which arises from reason cannot bo
excessive.
Dciiioiist. Desire considered absolutely is the very essence of man, conceived as determined to act in any way (vide 1 of Def. of Aifections). Hence the desire which springs from reaaon, wliich, in other words, is engendered within our- selves, in so far as wc act (by Prop. III. Pt III.), is the very essence or nature of man, considered us determine<l to do those things which are adequately conceived by this essence alone (by Def '2, Pt III.). Could the desire which springs from reason he excessive, therefore, then might human nature, considered in itself, exceed or surpass itself, i. e., acooniplisli more than it was cupable of performing, which is a plain con- tradiction in terms. Consequently desire sprung from reason can never be excessive : q. e. d.
PROP. LXII. In so far as the mind conceives a thing from
the dictates of reason it is equally affected whether the
idea be of a future, past, or present thing.
Demonst. AVhatever the mind, under the guidance of reason, conceives, it still apprehends, under the saine species of eternity or necessity (by Coroll. 2 to Prop. XLIV. Pt. II.), and is affectwl by the same certainty (by Prop. XLIIl. and Schol. Pt II.). Wherefore, whether the idea bo of a future, past, or present thing, the mind conceives the thing with the same necessity, and is affected by the same certainty; and the idea, whether it be of a thing to come, that has past, or is present, will still be equally true (by Prop. XLI. Pt 11.) ; in other words, it will always have the
mwRDtcT ns spnmzA's
projjerties of an adequate idea (by Def. 4, Pt II.). Ani thus the mind, in so far us it tonccivea a thinp, nnder tho inii^anco of reason, is uffcct«<l in the s.-imo w;iy, whether the itlcji be of a thinp jiast, prrsoiif, or to cmne : q. e. d.
Sr/iol. Could wc have an adequate conception of the duration of thinffs. and by our reason determine tho time of their existenfo, we should conlotnplntc thinf»s to como and thin^ present with the siimo afToction ; and the good which the mind conceived in pro^inxjlive, it would then desire as thoug'h it WL-re pri'scnt, and so would necessarily tiej»lt»ct the minor present for the greater future g'Ki.l, and by no njoans desire that which nii^ht he ii present poofl, indeed, hut tho j>oss bio cause of u future evil, as I shall j)resi'ntly show. But wo can liave no other than a very inadi'<]uaU' conception of the duration of things (by Prop. XXXI. Pt II.); for wo do- tcrniine the times of the existence of thiiiijs by onr imaginn- liim alone (by Scliol. to Prop. XLIV. Pt II.), which is not equally attected by the image of a present and by that of u future thing. \V hence it comes to pass that tho actual con- ception wc have of g<ii>t\ and evil is abstract or general only ; and the judgments we form of the order of things and tho connection of causes, with a view to det^-rmino what is pre- Bently good or evil for us, are rather imngiiiary than real. It is not wonderful, therefore, if the desire which arises from the conceptidn of good and evil in so far as the future is ctin- cerned, may be most readily influen<'ed or constrained by tho desire of tilings that are ajjreeable in the present. On ibis point see Projwsition XVIII. of this Part.
PROP. LXIII. lie who led by fear does good that he may escape evil, does not act from reason.
Demount. All the alfections referred to the mind in so far as it acts, that is, all the aflections referred to reason, ai-e no other than, affections of joy or sorrow (vide Props. III. and LIX. Pt III.). He, consequently, who is moved by fear and does good lest he sutler evil, is not influenced by reason : q. e. d.
Sc/iot. 1. The superstitious, who are more ready to denounce vice than to teach virtue, who do not pretend to lend mankind by reason but attempt to drive them by fear, and who would rather have them shun evil than love virtue, have no object in view but to make others as miserable as themselves; and therefore it is not wonderful that such persons are mostly
ETHICS : PART IV.
THE STRENGTH OF THE AFFECTIONS. 607
looked upon as troublesome aufl hateful by tbeir fellow-man.
Curoll. The desire which spring-* from reason leads us directly to pursue the gjod, and indirectly to sliun the bad.
DemoiiHl. For desire proceeding from reiisju cin arise form joyful emotion alone, and this is not a passion (by Prop. LIX. Pt IIL), anl knows notliing of excess (by Prop. LXI.). Hence does this desire arise from a conception of that which is good, not of aught that is evil (by Prop. VIII.). Influ- enced by reason, therefore, wo directly covet the good, and in doing so we shun the bad : q. e. d.
Schol. 2. This Scholium is illustrated by the example of the sick and the healthy man. The sick man swallow* that which he dislikes through fear of dying ; but the healtliy man relishes his food, and tinis enjoys life more than if he dreaded and sought by any direct means to escapj deatli. Sj also the judge who, from no feeling of hatred or anger, &c., but from regard to the public safety alone, condemns the criminal to death, acta entirely from the dictates of reason.
PROP. LXIV. The knowledge we have of evil is inadequate knowledge.
Demount. The knowledge of evil a« we are conscious of it is sorrow itself (Prop. VIII. ). But sorrow is transition from a higher to a lower grade of perfection (by Dof. 3 of Affec- tions), which cannot therefore be underst(X)d from the essen- tial nature of man considered in itself (by Pr.ips. VI. and VII. Pt III.). Sorrow consequently is passion dependent on inadequate ideas (by Prop. III. Pt III.), and the knowledge we liave of sorrow, i. e., of evil, is consequently knowledge of the inadequate kind : q. e. d.
Coro/l. Hence it follows that if there wore none but ade- quate ideas in the mind, it would form no notion of evil.
PROP. LXV. Of two goods we choose the greater, and of two evils we choose the less, under the guidance of reason. Demomt. The good which should interfere with our en- joyment of a greater good were truly an evil ; for good and evil, as shown in our Introduction to this Part, are terms applied to things contrasted with one another ; and, for a like reason, a minor evil is verily a good. AVhereforo (by CoroU. to preceding Prop.), led by reason, wo desire or follow
J
IHmRUICT OK bpisozaV
(^cKxl onlj as • aomothing more, evil as a something Icsa; q. p. A.
Cural/. Jjod by reason we choose a lens evil for tho sake of a gri'ator good, and wo shun a minor good whioU might hu the cauHO of a greater evil. Kor tbo evil which is hero charjcler- ized IIS less is reiilly u giHxl, and the good, on the contrary', is an evil. Wherefore (l)y tho CoroU. to preceding Prop.) we deaire the one and avoid tho other : q. c d.
PROP. LXVI. Ijcd by reason we desire a greater future good rather than u proiiont minor good, and a present minor evil rather than a future greater evil.
Denioiut. If tho mind could have adequate knowledgo of a future thing, it would Ije affecteil by tlic same emotion towards a future as towiinis u present thing (by Prf>p. IjXII.)- Wherefore, as respects reason itself, — and in thia Proposition we are supposed to regard reason alone, — it is the same thing whether it be a greater future or present good or evil that is contemplated. And hence (by Prop. LXV.) we covet a greater good in prospoctive more than a minor good in the present : q. e. d.
Corn//. Under tho guidance of reason, we desire a minor or present evil which is to be the cause ol" a greater future gtxxl, and shun a present minor good which will engender a greater future evil. This Corollary bears the same relation to the pre- ceding Proposition as the Corollary of Prop. LXV. to Prop. LXV. itself.
ScJioL If what has just been said be compure<l with what is delivered in the present part as far as the 18th Projwsitiou on tho force of the aft'ectious, it will be seen what a diUerence there is between the man who is led by mere passion or opinion and tho man who is led by reason. The former nolens roleiis often does that of which he has no true know- ledge; the latter relies on no one but himself, and dcK>s thut only which he knows to be of essential importance in life, and which he cunswiuently most truly desires. Therefore do I call the fonner (Slave, the latter I ree ; and I shall here pro- cee<l to make a few remarks ou the genius and mode of life of each of these — the Bond and the Free.
PROP. LXVII. The free man thinks of nothing less than of death ; and his wisdom is meditation of life, not of
death.
ETIllCS : PAUT lY. OK TllK STUKNOTH OF TUK AKFECT10^S, 609
Dmiomt. The free man, i. e. the man who lives by the dictates of reawm, is not influenced or led to act by fear of death (by Prop. LXIII.); he desires good immediately (by Coroll. to the same Prop.) ; ihat is to say, he desires to live and act — to continue his state of being, on the ground of seeking that which is useful to himself (Tjy Prop. XaIV.). Thus doea he think of nothing less than of death ; his wistlom is meditation of life not of death : q. e. d.
PROP. LXVIII. Were men bom free, they would form no conception of good and evil so long a« they continued free.
D:inoiixf. I have called him free who is led by rea.son alone, lie who is bom free and continues free, therefore, has no other than adequate ideas, and so has no conception of evil (by Coroll. to Prop. LXI V.), and consequently, — good and evil being co-relatives — neither has he any conception of good : q. e. d.
Sc/iol. That the hj-pothesis on which this proposition rests is not false, appeiirs from I'rop. IV. of this Part, and can only be conceived to be so when the nature of man is con- sidered, or rather when God is con.sidered not as he is iniinilo but only in so far as he Ls cause why man exists. And this, among other things (which I have already demonstrated), appears to have lieen signified by Mo!<es in the history of the first man. For therein no other power of Go<l is conceived save that by which he created man, the power, to wit, where- by he only provided tor that which should Ix) of use to man. It is on this account, as we learn, that God forbade the free man to eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evnl, and that «o soon as he should eat of the fruit thereof he would forthwith rather fear to die than desire to live. Further, when the man hud foimd the wife who accorded so entirely with his nature, he knew that there could not possibly be anything in nature more useful to him than she ; but after he believed the lower animals to be like him.sell", he began incontinently to imitate their appetites (\'ide Prop. XXVII. Pt III.), and so lost his liberty. This, however, the patriarchs sidjsequently re- covered, led by the Spirit of Christ, i. e. by the idea of God, which fJone is competent to make man free, and to lead him to desire for others the good he covets for himself, as we have demonstrated above in our 37th Proposition.*
• See on interestiDg passtkgcon the winicsuliject in Ixjttcr XXXIIL to Bley- cnberg. Spinozd'n grand conception is that tlic Spirit of nil wiwioni, inlierent in God from eternity and oonooivod more or ieea perfectly by num in iLe
Si)
BBWKDICT HB «PISOXA'«
PROP. LXLX. The virtue of the freo man appears as Jis- tinclly in Hhimning aa in encountering and oTeroomin^
dunfjer.
I)rmoii*(. An nffection can neither be restrained nor sub- dues! Kiivi- liv tlic power nf n coiitnirj- iind stronger affection (l)y Prop. ^ II.). I5ut blind iiudiuity iind fear ure both af- fection!*, which ciin be eoneeivwl of equal potency (by Projxs. V. and III.). Thirofore is equal power of mind or fortitude re<|uiri"<l to restrain iKiUbiess as to overcome fear (vide SchoL to Prop. lilX. Pt III.); lluit is 1o say, the man who is free avoidM danperit by a like jj«iwer of soul aa that whcrt^bv ho strives to <iverc'<ime them : q. e. d.
Corofl. Petreat at the proper moment is therefore held as ]c^eat a sign of courage in the free man as eng;iging in conflict; in other words, the free man elects to retreat or to' contend with like courage, with like resolution of houL
Sc/iof. I have explnincvl in the St^hol. to Pnjp. LIX. Ft III. what I understand by courage {aiiiiiioisitas). By dan gel I understand whiitover may bo the cause of evil, such asi sorrow, discord, hatred, &c.
PROP. LXX. Tho free man who lives among rude un- cultivated persons, declines as much as jx),ssiblo to receive favours from them.
Demotisf. Every one judges of what is pood, from his own point <if view (vide tSthol. to I'rop. XXXlX. Pt HI.). ITje ignorant por.son, therefore, who confers favours estimates them iiccording to his capacity, and if he sees that a favour is not very highly pi-izetl by him on whom it is conferre<l, he is grieved (by Prop. XLIl. Pt III.). The free mnn, however, desires to bind other men to him in bonds of friendship (by ' Prop. XXX VII.); he seeks not to pny others back in their own coin, meeting like favoui-s with like ; he endeavours him- self to walk, and strives to lead others to walk under tho guidance of reason, and only doe*i those things he knows to be good and of highest moment. Therefore the free man, in BO far as lies in his power, iind that he may escajie the hate of the ignorant aiid not countenance their passions, but live j mider tlie empire of reason alone, is studious to decline their favours: q. e. d.
idea of God, was manifested mora fully in Uie man Jews (Jesbua ben Jousouf) than in any otlier human Iteing. — Tb.
E-1UIC8:PART IV. of THK STKESiGTU OK THE AFFECTIONS.
Scfiol. I say in no far as lies in bis jMJWcr ; for though men are ignorant, still uro they men, who in strait* and ditliculties are able to render human aid — the most precious of all. Henco it often happens that favours are of necessity received from such, and have to be acknowledged in the spirit in which they are proffered. And then, in declining favours a certain delicacy is required, lest we seem to despise the givers, or, fi-om stinginess, to grudge recompensing them, and so, by socking to escape obligation, incur the risk of giving ofiFence. In declining favours, therefore, we are stdl to have an eye to the useful and becoming.
The free alone are ever truly grat<<ful to one
PROP. LXXI.
another.
Demonst. Free men alone are most useful to each other ; are especially knit together by the necessities of true friend- ship (by Prop. XXXV. and Coroll. 1 above), and still strive witn like love to do each other service (by Prop. XXXVII.). The free alone, therefore, are ever most gratcfiil to each other : q. e. d.
Sc/ioL The gratitiide which men led by blind desire feel for ono another, is mostly of the nature of traffic or barter, rather than true thankfubiess. Ingratitude, indeed, is not an aftection or emotion of the mind ; but is a baseness, pro- claiming for the most past that he who shows it is [jossessed by such affections aa hatred, en'X'y, anger, pride, covetoxisnesa, &c. He who through foolishness does not know how to make a return for benefits received, is not properly ungrateful; mucli less so is he who is not moved by the gif^a of a harlot to gratify' her lust, of a thief to conceal his robbery, or anything else of the same sort. He, on the contrary, shows himself possessed of an upright mind and stedfastness of purjiose who refuses to bo bribed by gifts of any kind to his own degrada- tion and the public detriment.
PROP. LXXII. The free never act deceitfully and with
an evil purpose, but always with good faith.
Drmonst. Did the free man do anything deceitfully and of evil jjurpose, inasmuch as he is free, he would do so under the guidance of reason — for only in so far as man acts by the dictates of reason is ho really free, as we have shown. To act deceitfully for an e\'il end, thereibre, would be a virtue (by Prop. XXIV. above), and consequently (by the same
89 •
C12
vt «Pixnzjk'»
Prop.) it would be found most adrantageoua by ervry ono, in order to r-ontinvip his Htatc of b<>in>y, to net wirKodlv and vrilb (^lilc ; llint is (iu> i^ obvious), it would l)e gixxl for men to n>»T(M' ill words but iu d(x>d.M t<> diflorinid oppoM.- oarh other,— ull oi' which, lujwoTcr (by the Coroll. to I'rop. XXXI.), in absurd. Tl>eroforc the frco man does not act aeceitfuUy and for till ovil end, &v.. : q. e. d.
Sc/wl. If I am liere asked. What if a man could free bimnelf by puile and perfidy ulono from the danger of present death, would not renson persutule him by nil means to be per- fidious iind so Rive liis lifo? I reply, Did reason so persuade, the advice were for mankind at large; and bo reason would be found per*uadinj» men not to unite and have right* in common for other thnn evil and deceitful ends; that is, that they should nttt truly have rights in common and live securely, which ia absurd.
PROP. LXXin. The man led by reason is freer when he lives as member of a community, under compact and bond of law, than when he lives in solitude, when he obejs himself alone.
Demontt. He who lives by reason is not moved to obedi- ence by fear (Prop. LXIII.) ; but desiring to preserve his state oi being (by Schol. to Prop. LXVl.) and to live free, he holds on his course, reason and utility pointing the way, and consequently obedient to the laws and decretals of the state whereof he is a member (vide Schol. 2 to Prop. XXXVII.). The man, therefore, who is lc<l by reason and desires to live in freedom is careful to observe the common laws of his country : q. e. d.
Schol. This and other like Propositions that have now been enunciated in connection with the tkve freedom of MAN, BTQ to be referred to fortitude, magnanimity, and inde- pendence of character (vide Schol. to Prop. LIX. Pt III.). I di not think it requisite to enumerate in succession all the formi and aspects of this true nobility of nature, and still less to in- sist on the truth that the generous, magnanimous, self-relying man never yields to hate, envy, anger, spite or spleen, con- tempt or haughtiness. For this, as well as all else that bears upon true life and religion, can readily be deduced from what is said in Props. XXXVII. and XLVI. of this Part. There we have seen how hatre<l is to be vanquished by its opposite — love, and how every one who lives by the rule of reason de-
ETHIC3 : PART IV. — OP TUK STRENGTU UF THE AFFECTIONS. 613
sires that the pood he covets for hitnseir should bo enjoyed by others iilso. To which must bo added what hivs been said in (he 8chol. to Prop. L. of this Part, and in various other phiccs besides, viz., that the strong, th« self-relying, the generoasly-eonstitutcd man, never forgets tlial all that hap- pens, happens from the necessity of the divine nature; and that whafjjocvor he conceives as inconvenient or evil, what- ever he views as impious, horrible, unjust, and base, arises from this : that things are conceived imperfectly, partially, and confusedly. Far this reason especially does the strong man endeavour to conceive things as they are in themselves, to remove all that stands in the way of true conceptions, all such jjassions as anger, hatred, envy, mockery, pritle, and the like, and thereby, and in so far as he may, strives to do well, and to live in joy. It will be mj' business in the next Part lo show how far human virtue is capable of bringing such things to pass.
APPENDIX.
What has now been delivered in this Part in regard to the right rule of life, is not so disposed that it can be taken in at a glance, but is demonstrated in a somewhat irregular way, and as each Pro]iosition seemed to flow out of the one that preceded it. I shall, therefore, before I conclude present the whole subject under a number of comprehensive heads.
Chapter 1. All our endeavours or desirea follow from the necessity of our nature, in such a way, that they can either bo understood by this alone as their proximate cause, or in so far as we are a part of nature, which cannot of itself and without taking other individuals into account be adequately conceived.
Chap. 2. Tlic desires which follow from our nature in such a way that they can be understood from that alone, are those which are referred to the mind, in so far as this ia conceived as constituted by adequate ideas. But the other desires are not referred to the mind save in so far as it conceives things inadequately, and the strength and growth of these have to be deHned not from our human power, but from the power of things external to us. Tiierefore are the former designated actions, whilst the latter are called pnxnioiu ; and whilat the former always proclaim our power, the latter declare our in- comjxjtence and imperfect conceptions.
Chap. '6. The actions, in other words, the desires which are deiined by the proper power or reason of man are
bb:»kmct db «rfj««A'»
alw»y« good; tlie others, on the contrary, may be good or Dad.
Cfntjt. 4. It U, therefore, of especial importance in li we perfect our understanding or reasnn as much as pot in tnis alone, indeed, consists the chief happinoss or bi man ; for blts-s is nothing lona than the repose of soul springs from the intuitive knowledge of God. Now to p the understanding is nothing less than to apprehend and the attributes and acts of God which follow froi necessity of his nature. \Vherefore the final purpa reasonable man, the grand moving impulse by whu studies to regulate all other impulses, is the desire he o3 enoes adequately to conceive and to know himself an things else that fall under the scope of his understandin
Chnp. 5. There is, therefore, no reasonable life wi intelligence, and things arc only good in so far as thi man to enjoy his mental existence defined as understai That, on the contrary, and ihat only, wliich stands in thi of man's perfecting nis understanding and enjoying ral existence I cull bad.
Chajt, 0. But inasmuch as all of which man is hi the efficient cause, is necessarily good, nothing of evi hapixm to man save from external causes, viz., in so fur is a part of nature at largo, whose laws human nature perforce obey, and to whose commands it must accomm itself in an almost endless variety of ways.
Chap. 7. It is impossible that man should be other a part of nature, and should not follow and be subject common order, when he finds himself among such indi\'i as agree with his human nature, however his power of is thereby aided and increased ; and, on the central among such as agree in nowise with his nature, he will be able without great change in himself to accommodate self to them.
C/inp. 8. Whatever there is in the nature of things we judge to be bad, or which can stand in the wayof ou isting and passing a rational life, it is pcrmissibfo for remove in the manner that seems to us best and safest ; on the other hand, whatever there is which wo esteem or useful to our solf-preservation and our enjoymoi rational existence, is it lawful for us to appropriate ai use in the way we please. By Natural Right every is allowed to do absolutelj" whatsoever he thinks will use to him.
ETHICS : PART IV
THE STRENGTH OF THE AFFECTIONS. 615
Chap. 9. Nothing can agroc better with the nature of anything than other indiviiUiuls of the same species; and so (hy chap. 7) nothing can bo had by inun more essential to his self-preservation and the enjoyment of a rational life than intercourse with reasonable men. Further, as among indi- vidual things we know of nothing more excellent than a reasonable man, so, in nothing can man show how much art and ingenuity avail, than in educating men in such wise, that they come at length to live entirely under the orapiro of reason.
Cliap. 10. In the same mea.suro as men are actuated by envy, hatred, Ac, are they opposed to one another ; and it is on this account that they are then to be more feared as they have more power than (he other individuals of nature.
Chap. 11. The heart and understanding of man, however, are not vanfiuishwl by force of arms, but by rcatsou, love, and liberal sentiments.
Chnp. 12. It Is of essential service to men to combine to- gether, to form societies or assoc-iatious, and to bind them- selves to one another by mutual agreements, whereby many are made one as it were, and ends are accomplished that greatly conduce to progress, peiu-eful relations, and good un- derstanding.
Chttp. V'l. To do this, however, skill and watchfulness are requisite. For men are fickle (few living by the rules of reason), and ciiNnous, and for the most part more disposed to vengeance than to mcrev. A i)eculiar strength of mind is .therefore rcfjuired to enaolc a man to bear himself among 'others according to his own ideas, to control himself and not to fall into the habits and adopt the sentiinents of tlioxo with whom he associates. They, again, who are always caqjing at their fcllow-mcn, who delight in proclaiming their vices rather than in teaching virtue, who do not know how to strengthen souls but essay to bend and break them, are only troublesome to themselves as well as others. Whence many, through imjjotence of spirit and false views of reb'gion, have preferred a life among the brutes to one among men ; even OS boys and young men ijnpatient of the yoke of parental authority will sometimes floe from home, enlist as soldiers, and prefer the hardships of war and the tyranny of foreign dis- cipline to the comforts of home combined with paternal reproof: they patiently endure any burthen that is laid upon them so as they can but be revenged on their parent*.
Chup. 14. Although men, tuerefore, mostly, strive to
U6
BRtKDKT DB APtXOKA**
urningc things in Uik way tlic^' like, many more advantages thttii pvils nfvertl»i'U>*« uccrue from their associatiou. It is generally better, therelore, in civil life to boar incon- veniences au'\ injuries with t>quaniinlly, and i1 " do everj-tliin}^ tlmt c<influet'« to eoneonl itiid eng nlly feolin;^.
VIkiji. l/i. The acts that begret concord are Bucb oetpocittlly tM are referred to equity, intogrity, candour, and hououruble proiiodure. For men, besides Ineir dislike of wliiit ibey roganl wi utiJuHt, are iiiueh aviTKi^ to basencsa and uuderliiiud deal* ing of cverj' kind, and will not tolerate attfinpt** agiiiiist tho i cu'jtoinary morals of society. To conciliate love, h(jwever, all that l)rarH upjn religion and piety is more espechiUy and necesMurily to be regardcil. On the matters here touched on vide Sdiol. 1 and 2 to Prop. XXX^'^., tJieSchol. to Prop. XLVI., and that to Prop. LXXIII.. of Part IV.
Chap. lit. Pcjiee in further fretiuently .st«eurcd by fear;' but then il !.■» without trust. Add, tnat fear ari.ses from im- {jott-nee of r*oul and therefore is not in the «erviee of reia^oa ; neither, moreover, i.s pitv or compasenion, although it has an outer air of piety about it.
Chap. 17. Men are yet further conciliated by liberality, e«peciul!y tliey who have not the wherewithal to jirocure the neciwsarie.s of life. Hut to meet the wimt.-* of every needy jierson would fur surpass tlie jxiwer, ii« it would not con- duce to the usefulness of any private individual, however affluent. And then tho power of uu individual is much more limited than the jKjwer of a community. WTiereforo the care of tlie poor devolve.^ on society at large and beara upon the common w«d alone.
Oho]). IK. In accepfing favours, and showing gratitude;, again, our care must Ite entirely different, a point that will bo found fully referred to in the Schol. to Prop. LXX., and in that to Prop. LXXI. of Pt IV.
Chap. 19. Meretrieiou.s love, and indeed all love absolutely that owns any other cause than freedom of soul, turns readily into hatred, unless indee<l — and this is still worse — it be a kind of deliri\im, when it proves a source of discord rather than of concord. Vide CoroU. to Prop. XXXI. Pt Til.
Chap. 20. As regaixls marriage, it certaiidy consists with reason, if the impulse towards cohabitation is not derived from outward form alone, but also fi-om the desire to pro- create children and to educate ihein wisely; and further, if on both parts — that of the man and woman alike — the love is
ETIItCS : PART IV. np THE STREXOTH OF TlIK AKFECriOXS. 017
not because of extcmala only, but has freedom of mind for ils principal motive.
Chap. 21. Flattery or adulation produces concord, but it does 80 through the ba^io offence of servility, or perfidy ; for none are more taken with flattery than the vainglorious, who still desire to be first, and yet are not so.
Cluip. 22. Self-abasement is a kind of false piety or re- ligion ; and although humility is opposed to pride or haughti- ness, still is the abject man near akm to the haughty. Vide Schol. to Prop. LVII. Pt IV.
C/uip. 2y. The sense of shame can only conduce to con- cord in things that cannot be hidden. And then, as shame is a form of sorrow, it hiw no relation to reason.
Chap. 24. The other depressing or sorrowful emotions are directly opposed to justice, Kindliness, honour, piety, and re- ligion; and although indignation has a semblance of justice, yet do they live without law who feel themselves at liberty to criticise the acts of others and are over-forward to assert their own or other people's rights.
Ch(ij>, 25. Love of approbation and modesty {modtstia), that is, the desire to please or be agreeable to others, in so far as it is determined by reason, is referable to veneration or respectfulness {pletan), as has been shown in the Scholium to Prop. XXXVII. of Pt IV. But if the love of approval arise from affection, it is then a species of ambition or selfishness, whereby men under a false show of consideration for others are apt to excite discord and .sedition. For he who would aid others with advice or moi-o solid evidence of the interest he takes in them, in order that they with himself may enjoy true happiness, will bo carefid to conciliate their love, but never attempt to seduce them into any such admiration of himself or his deeds as might lead them to make a watehword of his name. He will also bo cautious to give no handle for envy or detraction to lay hold of; in public he will avoid speaking of the vices or foibles of mankind, but will be ready at all times freely to descant on the virtues and powers for self-improvement of which they are possesscxl, whilst he points out the way that shoidd be taken to make tht^e of most avail. By such means will he endeavour to lead men, ciisting out fear, envy, and mutual distrust, to live under the empire of love and joy prescribed by reason.
C/inp. 2G. Wo know nothing in nature except our fellow men thai needs be a source of mental enjoyment to us, or that can attach us in the bonds of friendship or custom ; so that
BKWKDICT DK SP1KOZA 9
whatever tlierc is in the nature of things besidefi man, not required without reganl to our convenience to pi hut, according to exigency either to prejserve, or to or to iidupt it to our want-t* in the way we judge heat.
Chnji. '27. The use wo tnuke of things external to o selvea, to 8UV nothing of the experience and knowledge i acquire of them from observation, and by causing them undergo changes in form. &c., bears refcrenc« mainly to I preservation of our bodies. For this reason are those thin esiKiciaUy useful to us whicli so nourish our br>dy th all ita parts arc niuintuined in a state fit to diwhar their functions. For the more apt the body is to be varioui ufftH^tcd, and variously to atlect external objects, the bett fitted is the mind for thought (vide Props. XXXVII ond XXXIX. Pt IV.). There would seem to be very fo minds, however, in tnis desirable state in nature. A gra variety of aliraontarv matters are required that the bo< be duly nourished ; for the human frame is comjwsed numerous parts of diverse natures, which require incessal supplies of various aliments in order that the whole organia may bo kept in a stoto fit for all that can possibly folia from its ex)nstitution, and, consequently, that the mind ah may ho maintained equally fit to form the conceptions whicli by nature it is capable.
C/iap. 2H. To secui-e all this, however, the strength ( individuals would scarcely suffice did not men combine an mutually aid each other. But monei/ bus become the con pendious representative of almost everything in the worL and the idea of money engrosses the minds of the vulgar ontirelv that there is scarcely any kind of pleasure or enjo; ment they imagine which is not osaociated with the idea money as its cause.
C/Mji. 29. But this is only a vice in those who covi wealth not that they may supply their daily wants by i means, but in those who give themselves up to the pursuit lucre for the sake of making a figure in the world. Tl money-grub and the miser must feed like other men, but th oft«n starve themselves, for they believe that so much their pelf as they spend in maintaining their bodies, is b< wasted or lost. They, on the contrary, who know the rigl use of wealth, and who make their wants the measure of th gains, live content with little.
C/i(ip. '60. Since, then, those things are good that suppot the body and its parts in a state fit for the performance
ETHICS : PART IV.-
THE STRETTOTH OF THE AFFECTIOXS. 619
their several offices, and as true happiness consists in the maintenance or increase of the powers of man, constituted as ho is of mind and body, therefore are all things that give him joy or pleasure good. Hut on the other haiid, us things do not act to the end that we may have plensure, and their capaci- ties of action are not teraperer) to our service, and, finally, as pleasure is commonly referred to one part of the body in particular, therefore — and unless reason and vigilance pro- side — most of the pleasurable emotions, and by conse- Juence the desires they engender, are apt to become excessive and 80 evil]. Hence it also happens that the emotion, although experienced in the first instance as agreeable, is not always so regarded by and by. Vide Schol. to Prop. XLIV., and iSchol. to Prop. LX. of Part IV.
Chap. <11. Superstition would persuade us, on the contrary, that what brings us pain and sorrow is good, and again that what causes joy and gladness is evil. But ai already said (Schol. to Prop. XLV. Pt IV.) nothing but envy and malevolence could take pleasure in our incapacity and misery. For the more joyfully we are affected, to the higher perfection do wc mount, and thereby the more do we participate in the divine nature ; nor can the joy ever be evil tliat is tempered by reason and moves iu harmony with that whicli is of use to us. He, on the contrary, who is moved by fear, and does good that he ma)' escape evil, is not led by reason (vide Prop. LXIII. Pt IV.).
Chup. 32. I3ut human power is greatly limited, and is infinitely surpassed by the power of external causes; and thus it is that we have no absolute power of adapting to our use things external to ourselves. Still, all that befalls us con- trary to what reason requires for our use and convenience, we bear with equanimity, if we but know that wo have fairly done our duty, that the power we possess docs not extend so far as would have enabled us to escape the evil that has happened, and that we are a part of nature at large, whose order wo obey. And understanding so much clearlj' and distinctly, that part of us which is called intelligence or understanding, in other words, our better part, acquiesces in the conclusion, and seeks to pei-severe in such acquiescence. For, in so far as we nnderstaiul, we demre that only which is tieccsMri/, and can only acquiesce absolutely in that which is true ; so that, in as far as we rightly understand these things, so far does the inclination or eflfort of the better part within us accord with the order of nature at large.
PART V.
or TBI
POWKR OF THE UXDEaSTANDING. OR HUMAN FREEDOM.
INTRODOCTION.
I ooMK at length 1*1 that other Part of Rthirs which treats of the mnnnor or way that loads to freedom. Here, therefore, I shall sneak of the Power of Reason, and shonr what reason of itself can cffwit in resi)ect of the emotions, and exphiin wherein freedom of mind or true happiness {bcatitudo) consists. From this wo shall see how much more excellent is understiinding than ignorance. It is not my intention, however, to treat cither of the conduct of the undcrst<iu'ling, or of the means of maintaining the body in such a state aa best enables it to perform its functions, the former subject fulling properly under the head of Logic, the latter under that of Medicine. My purpose in this Part, I say, will be to treat exclusively of the Power of the Mind, or of Reason ; and, above all, to show the amount and the nature of the empire which reason possesses in restraining or moderating the emotions; for tliat we have no absolute control over these I have already demonstrated in what precedes. The Stoics, indeed, held that the emotions depended entirely on the Will, and that we could command them absolutely. But on grounds of experience, though not of principle, they found themselves forced to confess that no small measure of habit and study was required to restrain and moderate the emotions; a trutL which, if I remember rightly, they were wont to illustrate by the instance of two dogs, one a watch dog, the other a sport- ing dog, which, nevertheless, by training and habit were by- and-by so changed in disposition that the house-dog became eager in the chase, and the hunting-dog gave up running after game. Descartes shows himself not a little lavourablo
ETHICS : PAKT V. OF THE POWER OF THE VNDER8TANI>INO. 621
to the views of the Stoics. Ho maintains that the mind or soul is ospeciully connected with a certain part of the brain called the pineal gland (Des Passions de TAme, Ft I. § 31), by means of which it perceives every motion that takes place in the body, is made sensible of external objects, and, by^villing, effects whatever movements it desires to execute. The pineal gland, Descartes thinks, is so suspended in the middle of the brain as to be thrown into motion by the slightest movements of the animal spirits ; and is suspended, or swayed in as many different ways as the animal spirits in different ways impinge upon it, and that as man}' and as various impressions are made on it as there are external objects that propel the animal spirits towards the gland ; whence it happens that tho gland, having had such a motion communicated to it by the will of tho soul as it had formerly received when acted on by the animal spirits impelled towards it, itself propels and determines the animal spirits in the same way as they had formerly been repelled by a similar suspension of the gland. Descartes further maintains that every volition of the soul is by nature connected with a certain motion of the pineal gland; he, for example, who wills to look at a distant object has his pupil dilated in virtue of the volition ; did ho tliink of dilating the pupil of his eye, however, he would not bo able to do so in virtue of the volition, because nature has not connected the motion of tho pineal gland which serves to propel the animal spirits towards the optic nerve for the pur- pose of causing dilution or contraction of the pupil with the wiU to influence this part, but with the will to look at nearer or more distant objects. Lastly, Descartes maintains that though each particular motion of the pineal gland appears to be connected by nature fi-om the beginning of our life with each of our several thoughts, still that other thoughts may by force of habit be connected with its motions ; a position which he endeavours to establish in article 50 of the First Part of the Treatise on the Passions. From such premises Descartes concludes that there is no soul so feeble but that well directed it may attain to absolute control over its passions. For the passions, according to the detinitiou ho gives of them, are perceptions, sensations, or commotions of the soul, especially referred to it, and produced, maintained, and strengthened by certain movements of the spirits (Vide 5 27, Pt I., Des Passions de I'Ame). Now, if with such and such a volition we could at pleasure associate such and such a motion of the pineal gland, and consequently of tho animal
RKNBniCr Pit SPIKOKA'ft
spirit*, and if tbo determination of the will lay entii within our power, wo should only have to st-ttle tho inotiva our conduct in lite by Hxt-d and definite principles and will to hnvc Huch tinil KUch nioliono in conformity with tlu to tu'iiuirc iin ubwlutc empire over our passions.
Such, in 80 far as I can understand him, is the opinion; this di8ting;uishc<l philosoplior ; ond I must confess thut b it btMjn less recondil»\ loss injrenioiifl, I should scarcely hi expii'lod unything of the kind from him. I cannot, iiidei HuHicicntly express my wonder that a philosopher who lays down brniidly that nothing is to be inferred save from self-ei dent projKjsitions, and nothing to bo iiffimied save thut which clearly and distinctly apprehended, who so frequently char^ the schoolmen with attempting to explain things obscure I occult qualities, — thut he, I say, should assume an liynotJica more obscure than any the most occult quality. What, ask, does he understand by the union of the soid and th body 'i What clear and distinct conception, I demand, ha lie of thought most intimutclv united with even the snialloi atom of any quiintitative thing? I would, indeed, that I] had explained this union by its proximate cause. But he ha conceived the soul as so distinct from the body that he coul neither assign any peculiar cause for this union nor for tho eS istcnce of the soul itself; so that he found it neces.sarj' to hat recourse to the cause of the universe at large, i. e. to Go< Again, I should particularly wish to know what degrees o motion tho soul is able to communicate to this pine^il gland and with what force it can hold the same suspended ? For know not whether the gland is more slowly or more quiekl' acted on by the soul than by the animal spirits, and wlietht the motions of the passions which we connect so closely witi our decisions cannot be again dissevered from these by corpo real causes ; whence it would follow that although tho min^ had firmly resolved to meet a certain danger, and with tlii resolve had associated tho needful courage, nevertheless, ii presence of the danger, the suspension of tho gland might hi such that the mind could think of nothing but Hight. An< indeed as there is no ratio between the will and motion neither can there be any comparison between the powers oi strength of tho mind and that of tho body, and consequently th«
?3wer8 of this can in nowise determine the powers of that 0 all which let us add thut neither is tho pineal giant situated in tho midst of the brain in such a wav that it cai be acted upon on every side so easily and in such a variety o:
ETHICS : PART V. OF TIIK POWER OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 623
ways [as Descartes supposes], nor are all the nerves produced or extended to the cavities of the brain. I say nothing of what Descartes asserts in regard to the will und its freedom, inusiuuch as I shall sufficiently and moro than sufficiently show that his views on this subject are mistaken. Where- fore, and inasmuch as the power of the mind, as I show above, is defined by the intellect alone, the remedies aj^ainst or means of controlling the emotions which all experience, in- deed, but which all, as I believe, do not accurately observe nor distinctly apprehend, are only to bo found in the know- ledge of the mind, from which we shall deduce whatsoever bears upon peace of mind or true beatitude.
AXIOMS.
1. If two contrary actions are excited in the same subject, a change must necessarily take place either in one or in both, until they cease to be contra rj'.
2. ITie power of an effect is defined by the power of its cause ; in so far as the essence of an effijct is explained or defined by the essence of its cause.
This axiom is obvious from Prop. VII. Pt III.
PROPOSITIONS.
PROP. I. In precisely the same way as the thoughts and
ideas of things are arrangetl and connectctl in the mind,
are the affections or images of things rigidly ordered and
concatenated in the body.
Demonst. The order and connection of ideas is the same as the order and connection of things (by Prop. VII. Pt II.); and rice rersn, the order and connection of things is the same jis the order and connection of ideas (by Corolls. to Props. VI. and VII. Pt II.). ^Vherefore, even as the order and connection of ideas t;iko place in the mind according to the order and concatenation of the affections of the body (by Prop. XVIII. Pt II.), so and in the same way, rice rena, are the order and connection of the affections of the body afft^led as the thoughts and ideas of things arc ordered and concaten- ated in the mind (by Prop. II. Pt III.) : q. e. d.
PROP. II. If we dissever an emotion or affection of the mind from the thought of its external cause, and with
624
BRNKOtrr DK SPINOZA
it aMociatc other tbongbt*. ihvn vnil lore or hnln«l
toward* the oxtortml cau«c, n» wt-U na the ngitatintut of
mind that arise frfim thrM« onuitions be superseded.
Dcnwuit. For thiit wliich coiii>«tittit<>jt tbe form of love or hatred i« ji>y or somjw, coniieft«><l with the idea of an oxternal aiusf (l)y Def. 6 and 7 of the Affoc^tions). If this, tiien, be »u)K-rMHlod, the form of love or bntc it> at tbc Mune time annulled, and so arc these emot ionti, or such cmotiousi tut spring from them, unuulled uXao: q. e. d.
PROP. III. An emotion which is n pii6siou ceases to be so
as soon as we form a clear and distinct idcn of it.
Ihtnonsf. The emotion which is ii passion is ii i idwi (hy Ihe Cienernl Dof. of the Affections). If, tl, w«: form t<i ourselvi* a dwir und diflinct idea of the emotion it«elf, thin idwi, as relerrt'd to the mind alone, is not dintin-
fuished save by reason from the emotion (by Prop. X^I. Pt I. with Schol,'), and so (by Prop. III. Tt III.) the emotion ceases to be u pii.ision : q. e. d.
Carol/. An emotion i« therefore by so much the mora J tmder our control, and the mind suffers less from it the bettcrj it is understood by ua.
PROP. IV. Thoro is no affection of the body of which wo cannot form some clear and distinct conception.
Dcmonst. Things that are common to all cannot be con- ceived othen^'ise than udcguately (bv Prop. XXXVIII. Pt II.). Consequeutlv (Prop. XII., and Lcm. 2 which follows tlio Schol. to Prop. Xfll. of Pt II.) there is no affection of the body whereof we cannot form some clear and distinct concep- tion : q. e. d.
Corolt. Hence it follows that there is no emotion of which we cannot form a clear and distinct conception. For on emotion is the idea of an affection of the body, and must therefore (from the preceding proposition) involve some clear and definite conception.
Schol. Inasmuch as there is nothing from which some effect does not follow (by Proj). XXXVI. Pt I.), and what- ever follows from the idea within us adetiuatelv conceivetl, is clearly and distinctly understood (by Prop. Xt. Pt II.), it is deducible that every one has the power of clearly understanding himself and his affections, if not absolutely, yet partially ;
I
I
\
imilCS : PART V. — OF THE POWER OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 625
and consequently of suffering less from Ibem. The grand thing, therefore, here to bo aimed at is this : that each of us as far as possible should clearly apprehend his several affections, 80 that the mind may be determined by affection to think of those things only which it perceives clearly, and in which it acquiesces completely. By this will the affection itself be dissevered from thoughts of an external cause and associated with truo thoughts ; and then will it come to piuss that not only love, halo, &c., will be controlled or subdued (by Prop. II. above), but that the appetite or desire which is wont to arise fi'om an affection shall not become excessive (by Prop. LXI. Pt IV.). For it is particularly to be noted, that it is from one and the same appetite that man is said to act as well as to suffer. For example, when we sliowed human nature so constituted that every man inclines to have all the world live after his particular fashion (vide Schol. to Prop. XXXI. Pt III.), this disposition, in him who is not led by reason, is a passion, which is called ambition, and does not differ much from haughtiness; whilst in the man who lives by reason it is, on the contrary, an action or virtue that is called good-will (pietas). Vide Schol. 1 to Prop. XXXVII. Pt IV., and the 2nd Demonst. of the simie Prop. In this way we perceive that all the appetites or desires arc passions only in so far iLs they arise from inadequate ideas ; and that they are to be referred to virtue when they are excited or engendered by adequate ideas. For all the desires whereby we are deter- mined to do anj-lhing may arise from or be pro<luce«l bv ade- quate as well as ina/lequate ideas (vide Prop. LIX. Pt IV.).
Nothing in our power can be conceived of greater ex- cellence than this remedy for the affections — returaing from this digression — which resides in a true knowledge of their nature; for there is no other power of the mind than that of thinking and forming adequate ideas as we have shown above (vide Prop. III. Pt III.).
PROP. V. The affection we fwl for a thing perse, simply, and not as either necessary or possible or contingent, is, cmterU paribus, the strongest of all.
Demonst. Our affection for a thing which we imagine as free is gripater than that we conceive for a thing we imagine to be necessary (by Prop. XLIX. Pt III.), and consequently is still greater than for a thing which we fancy to be merely
40
ifM
VKKKDIIT D« SPINOZA •
oontingeDt (by Prop. XI. Pt IV.). But to imagfiae a
til" '>oe can only bo to inut^^ino a tbing uimply and in
it- l-t wei aw ig-noratit ul' th«' cnunes hy wbic-li it was
dctoniiiiiiMl to lictiou (In- whut in hIkiwu ta (ho ScboL to Prop. XXXV. Ptll.). \Vherotbre the affection we cxpericnvo for a tiling which wc imaf^ino niiaplv per te, is groat«r, itHeri* paribu; thiin iur ti iK)a8iblo or contingent thing, and is ooo> . aeqoently the grvutest ut' nil : q. c. A.
PROP. VI. In m far a« the mind understands (liiugs as noi'i-jtMir}', in so fur htt« it u grcutiT ptiwer over the aHi><!tions, or suffers Icsw from tbeni.
Dftnonxt. The mind understands uU things to be nccCTwary (by Prop. XXIX. Pt I.), and is determined to exist uiul to act by an intinite concatenation of causwt (by Prop. XXVIII. Pt I.) ; therefore (by the pn>ceding pn>position) d<'»C8 it suffi.T le«8 (Voni tlie iiH"iH.;tions thut arise from necevairy eauijoe (by Prop. XLVIlI. Pt III.), and is less powerfully oil'octcd in their respect, than by others that depend on contingent cuusefl : q. c. d.
Schol, The more that this knowledge of all things being nw.essjiry is made to Ixuir upon particular things, wuioh woi imagine more distinctly or vividly, the greater is the power of the mind over the afftx-tions, a truth which is al»o con- ' firmed by exiwrience; for we see that grief for the loss of' anything good is moderated so soon as he who suffers the Io«s considers that he could in no possilde way have retained what is gone. So also do we see that no one commiserates an in- fant because it cannot speak or walk or reason, — in fine, that it has to pass so many years of its life in a kind of unconscious state. But wert^ the grcutor number of persons born adults and one or two here and there produced as infantti, tien would every one pity these infants; because infancy would now appear not us a natural and nccessar}' state, but as a vice or failure of nature. It would be easy to adduce a great many similar illustrations,
PROP. VII. The emotions that spring from or are excited
by reason are, as regards t ime. more potent than those tbnt
are referred to individual things contemplated as absent,
Vemomt. We do not contemplate a thing as absent from
the emotion whereby we imagine it. but from this, tlmt the
ETHICS : PART V, OF THE POWER OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 627
body is affected by another emotion which excludes the ex- istence of the thing in question (by Prop. XVII. Pt II.). Wherefore the emotion that is referred to a thing contem- pLited as absent is not of such a nature as exceeds the other actions and powers of mun (on which see Prop. VI. Pt IV.), but, on the cuntniry, its nature is such that it can be controlled in some sort by those affections which exclude the existence of its external cause (by Prop. IX. Pt IV^.). The affection, however, which arises from reason is necessarily referred to the common properties of things (vide the Def. of Reason in the 2nd Sehol. to Prop. IX. Pt II.), which we always contemplate as present. — there being nothing that can exclude (heir present existence — and which we also always imagine in the same manner (by Prop. XXX VII I. Pt II.). Wherefore an affection of this kind always continues the same ; and af- fections consequently (by Ax, 1) opposed to it and not fostered by its outward causes, must accommodate themselves more and more to it until they are at length no longer in opposition, tmd the affection arising from reason becomes in so far the stronger : q. e. d.
PROP. VIII. The greater the number of causes that simul- taneously concur to excite an emotion the more power- ful it is.
DetTWwit. A greater number of causes acting together are more powerful tlian a smaller number (by Prop. VII. Pt III.), and HO must the emotion excited by a greater number of causes acting simidtaneously be stronger than one excited by a smaller niunber : q. e. d.
Sdiol. This Proposition is also elucidated by Axiom 2 above.
PROP. IX. An affection referred to several and diverse causes contemplated by the mind simultaneously with the affection, is less hurtitd, is less a cause of suffering (o us, and we are less powerfully affected in regard to it, than we should be by another equally strong affec- tion referred to a single cause, or to a snudler number of causes.
Demonst. An emotion is only bad or hurtful in so far as the mind is prevented by it from thinking (by Props. XX.
40 •
626
nsKKmrr ok «rrxoau »
.uwl XXVII. Pt TV,). Consequently the rmotiijn by which tljc mind is led to tht> simultani'oiis i.-oii'' 'n of sevtral
objects, is K^s hurtful tlwui unolhcr ihii; _ : ■iig- enxitinn whiih bv its own |HJculiar Ibrfo no holds iho mind to tlic cuntcnipliition of one or a sinull number of objects, that it cannot think of any other*. This in the first plnco. Agnin, since the essenee, i. o., the power, of the mind consiHta in thought exclusively (by Props. VII. and XI. l*t III.), there- fftre (IfK's it KufliT less from an emotion whonby it is dctcr- miniHl siniultaiioously t<> contoniphite several objivt-s, thnii fn>jn im eaually great emotion wliieh holds it bound in the con- t«mplat ion of one obiwt only, or of a i«maller number of objects. This in the second place. Lastly, the affection (by Prop. LVllI. Pt III.) lliut is referred to several extrrnal caustss must, a« regards each of those individually, be less hurtful : q. v. d.
PROP. X. So long as we ore not agitated by emotions oppoM<d to our nature, so long have wo the power of ordering and concatenating the affections of the body in consonance with Intellectual order. Detnomt. Affections contrary to our nature, and therefore bad (Prop. XXX. Pt IV.), are evil in so far as they .^itand in wny of the mind's comprehending (Prop. XXVII. Pt IV.). So long, therefore, as we are not agitated by affections oppo-sed to our nature, so long is that power of the mind whereby it eeeka to understand things not impeded (Prop. XXVT.' Pt IV.). Con.sequently, so long has it the power of forming clear and distinct ideas, and of deducing others from these and from yet others in succession (by >Scnol. 2 to Prop. XL., and Scluil. to Prop. XLVII. Pt if .) ; and so long, further, have we the power of ordering and concatenating the affections of the body conformably to the order of the imderstand- ing : q. e. d.
Sc'hol. It is in virtue of this power of rightly ordering and concateiuiting the affections of the bo<ly that we can bring ourselves to resi.st bcijig readily influencetl by evil affec- tions. For (by Prop. Vll. above) a greater force is required to restrain affections arranged and enchained according to Intellectual order, than such affections as are viigue and uncertain. The best we can do, therefore, so long as we have not a perfect knowledge of our affections, is to conceive a rational mo<lc of living, to lay downi certain pjecepts for the conduct of our lives, to commit these to memory, and to
tllllCS: PART V. — OF THE WIWEK OF
, rNDEnSTANOIXG.
629
apply them strictly to the ptirticular incidents e9S8yn*fi^ Jo the world, so that, being alwayi* at hand for applicaliSI3< ^"'' imuginution may be constantly influcncetl by thom. for example, we have laid it down among the rules for t&^ conduct of our lives (vide Prop. XL VI. Pt IV. anditsScbol.),^- Ihat hate is to be overcome by love or magnanimity, not to be paid back or balanced by reciprocated hate. Now that we may always have this prescription of reason at hand, when occasion makes its application nccessar}', we should ever and anon be thinking over the common causes of offence among men, and meditating how and in what way these are best to be g<il the better of by kindness and magnanimity. For thus shall we have the image of an injury in connection with the imagination of a wholesome precept, always present to our mind whtri offence is given or injuiy is done us (vide Prop. XVIII. I't II.). If we also keep steadily in view what is truly useful and even good for us, think of the benefits that accrue from friendship imd social life, what peace of mind ensues from living in conformity with reason, and further that men, like all things else, act by the necessity of their nature, then will dislike or hatred, such as is wont to be excited by an injury done, make the smallest possible impres- sion on the imagination and be most easily overcome ; or, should the anger that is wont to be aroused by greater in- juries not be so easily subdued, subdued it will be nevertheless, although not without mental struggle, continued however for a much shortor time than if such premeditations had not been present to the mind (vide Props. VI., VII., and VIII. above J.
The same train of reflection may l>e pursued with respect to the courage that is required to get the better of fear : the common dangers of life are to be noted and frequently thought over, and the presence of mind and fortitude wherel)y they are best avoided or overctnue made familiar by reflection. But here it is to be observed, that in ordering our thoughts and imaginations we are still to attend to those things that arc g<K>d under all circmnstances and in eveiy place (vide CoroU. to Prop. LXIII. Pt IV. and Prop. LIX. Pt III.) ; so that we are always to be moved to action by the emotion of joy. For example : if any one sees that he is too fond of fame, too eager for glory, ho is forthwith to bethink him of the right use of glory, of the purposes, the ends for wliich it is to be pursued, and the means by which it is to be won ; but he is not to think of its abuse, of the fickleness of mankind or
638
8B>r^
^.CT DB fPIKOZA •
'[ind XX^^ -"'*'" *•* brojn-mck mon alono consider ; fot t},t, p.'- ^-ain- ' f)iily who Uirlure tlipmsolves with
ob- '-'t^^ionH, < whrn lliey <k'spuir of achieving
-^Itiry to wliich ibiry aopiro ; dt>«inug to appear they only proclaim their folly. It is certain that arc often the most enjB^?r for fame who cry out a^iui ■bums and most loudly denounce the vanitic* of the m Ni)r, inde<^Kl, is this |KKuliur to the vain-glorious and bitious, but is common to all to whom fortune is unpropi and who are of fct^ble soul. For the envious or covetous man is for ever 8peakinp of the abuses of wealth and the of the rich, whereby he does but torment himself and a plainly that it is not only his own poverty ho beara
Kitiontly, but the wealth of others whicn he begrudfjes ) ulssti does he who is intlitfereutly received by his m think of nothing but the tickleness, the inconstancy, aiM other accre<lif«xl shortcomings of woman, all of which, ever, are forgotten the moment he is again taken into fa' He, therefore, who would study to moderate his affeo and appetites, through pure love of liberty, strives wit his strength to acquire a knowledge of the \-irtue8 and causes, and to fill his mind with the joy that springs fro; perfect apprehension of these; but he never dwells on vices of mankind ; he takes no delight in detraction, never deceives himself with any false show of freo Whoever diligently considers and faithfullj- puts in pra the foregoing precepta — and they arc by no means diffici will speedily be able to make Jiis conduct square with confonn to the commands of reason.
PROP. XI. The greotcr the number of things with w
the image of some particular thing is associated,
more frequently does it recur to and occupy the mia
Detnonst. The more an imago or aflfection bears on a nui of things, the more causes are there by which it cai excited or kept alive, all of which things the mind (byj pothesis) contemplates simultaneously with tho affe« itself. And thus d(X'S the affection recur more frequent] and engage the mind : q. e. d.
PROP. XII. Images of things are more easily conn with images referred to things clearly and distinctly • prehended, than with others not .so apprehended.
BBNKDfl
ic<n\«
(by Prop. XV.). Therefore ought it chiefly to engage tbc tnind : q. e. d.
PROP XVII. God iairithout passions; and it not affbct by any emotion of joy or sorrow.
Dnnond. All ideas in so fur an tLoy arc roferrpd to God ■re true (by Prop. XXXII. Pt II.), that is (by Dcf. 4, Pt II.), oro adcquuto, and so (from the general definition of the Affwtiuiis) OikI is without passions. Again, God can ni'ithcr piws fmni a greater to a lew, nor from a loss to a greater, state of perfwtion (byCoroll. 2 to Prop. XX. Pt I.), and so (by 2 and .'i of the Dofs. of the Affections) can ba offect^l by no joy nor sorrow : q. e. d.
Coroll. Pmiwrly siwaking, God loves no one, neither does ho hate any one ; for God, as wo have just seen, ia affected by noitfior joy nor sorrow, and consequently can neither love nor halo any ono : q. e. d.
PROP. XVIII. No ono can hate God.
Drmonsl. The idea of God within us is adequate uud perfect (by Prop. XLVI. and XLVII. Pt. II.) : in so far as we contemplate God, therefore, to the same extent do wo act (by Prop. III. Pt II.); and consequently (bv Prop. LIX. Pt III.) there can be no pain or sorrow associated with tho idea of God ; in other words (by 7 of tho Def. of Aff.) no ono can have God in liate : q. e d.
Coroll. Love towards God cannot be turned into hale.
Sr/wl. Here, however, it may be objected to ine that as we know God to be the cause oi all tilings, so roust we also regard him as tho ciiuso of our sorrows. But to this I re- ply, that in so fur as we understand the cause of sorrow, to the same extent does sorrow cerise to be a passion (by Prop. III. above), i.e., it eouses to be sorrow (by Prop. LIX. Pt III.), so that in so far as God were conceived to be the cause of our sorrows, in so fur should we be gladdened.
PROP. XIX. He who loves God cannot seek to have God
lovo him in return.
DcmoiiHt. Did man look for such a thing, ho would there- by desire (by Coroll. to Prop. XVII. above) that God, whom he loves, should not bo God ; and consequently fby Prop. XIX. Pt III.) would desire to be grieved, which (by Prop. XXVIII. Pt III.) is absurd. Wherefore he who loves God, &o. : q. e. d.
ETHTCS r PART V. OF THE POWER OF THE WNDERSTAinJIXO.
PROP. XX. Lovo towards God can be sullied by no feeling of envy or of jealousy, but is the more cherished the greater the number of men wc imagine to be linked to God in like bonds of love.
Demonnt. This love towards Grxi is the siimniiim honum, the supreme good, which man under the dictates of reason can desire (vide Prop. XXVIIl. Pt IV.). It is further common to all mankind nlike (by Prop. XXXVI. Pt IV.), and wc can desire that all alike should enjoy it (by Prop. XXXVII, Pt IV.). Love of God, therefore, cannot be sullied either by emotions of envy or of jealousy, (vide Prop. XVIII. above, and (he definitions of envy and jealousy in the Schol. to Prop. XXXy. Pt III ) ; on tlie contrary "(by Prop. XXXI. Pt III.), it must be cherished the more, the greater the number of our fellow-mon we imagine to enjoy it : q. e. d.
Srfio/. It were easy in the same way to show that there IB no emotion directly opposetl to this love, none whereby it can be obscured or destroyed ; so that we conclude love to- wards God to be of all the emotions the ono which is most constant ; and in so far ns it is referred to the body, that it can only be destroyed with the body itself. As to (he nature of this affection, and In how far it is to be referred to the mind alone, these are points tluit will fall uiuler consideration by- and-by.
In what precedes I have included all the means that arc remedial against excess in the affections, or all that the mind, considered in itself, can effect against the emotions ; whence it appears that the power of the mind over the emotions con- Bts:
Ist, In the conception /)er sc of the emotions (vide Schol. to Prop. IV. above).
2nd, In the separation of emotion from the conception of an external cause, which we imagine confusedly (vide Prop. II. and its Schol. and Prop. IV. above).
;ird. In the time wherein emotions referred to things wo comprehend, suqjass those referred to things we conceive con- fusedly or inifwrfcctly (vide Prop. VII. above).
4tn, In the multiplicity of causes whereby the emotions referred to the common properties of things, or to God, are excited (vide Prop. IX. and XI. aliove).
5th, In the order in which the mind can arrange and connect its emotions with one another (vide Schol. to Prop. X., and further to Props. XII., XIII.. and XIV. above).
6.')4
BENEDICT »i: SPIXOZA S
But tlinf we mnv hnve n l)t«ttcr conoeption of tbo powe of iho mind over tUe etnotiouK, it is prypor to olwwjrve that tho emotions ore by ub called great or powerful when, com- paring the emotions of one ninn with those of nnothor. wo perceive that one is more stronf^ly uffivtul by the saine emo- tion ihiiii unotlicr ; or when, contni.Hting the ■ - of the MUiie man with eaeh other, we pei-ceive that i ■ otod in a greater degree by one emotion than by another. For ( by- Prop. V. Pt IV.) tlio jwwer of ciu:\\ emotion is defined an the power of an external cause eomimred with that wliich ie in ourselves. Hut tho power of the mind is de- fined as understanding alone ; und impotence or passion is regarded as simple j)rivatiim of understwnding, i. e., privation of tlie power by which ideas* called adequate are conceived. %Vlienoe it follown that that mind Bunors most which ia principally constituted by inadeauate ideas. A mind so consti- tuted IS indeisl distinguished rather by whut it suffers than by what it effects. That mind, on the contrary, has the largest sphere of action whoso greater part is made up of adequate ideas. Such a mind, although it may contain ns many in- adequate ideas as the former, i.s still rather distinguished by the ideas that ore as.sociated with human virtue thou by those • tliat urguc human irapotency. Further, it is to be observed that raenfid perturbations and misfortunes mainly Uike their ri.se from too great a love of things exposed to many vicissi- tudes und of such us we can never have entirely in our power. For no one is eager or anxious about a thing unless he loves it, nor do suspicions, evd inclinations, enmities, &c., ari«e save from love of things which no one can truly possess and control. From these considerations we reiidilv perceive whut a clear and distinct iH)nception is, and especially do we under- st4ind what can be effected against the emotions by that third kind of knowledge whose foundation is the conception of Qo<l (vide Schol. to Prop. XLYII. Pt II.), emotions which, if not absolutely suppressed as passions (see Prop. III. and the Schol. to Prop. IV.), are at aU events made to constitute the very smallest part of the mind. This knowledge further engenders love for the immutable and eternal Being, which we may be said to have in our power, which con be sidlied by none of the vices that inhere in vulgar love, but that may go on increasing continually more and more, and so come at length mainly to possess the soul (by Props. XV. and XVT.) and influence it in the most decided manner.
In whut precedes I conclude all I had to say of matters
RTHT09 : PART V. — OF THK POWER OPTHB tTNUBRffTANDING. 635
pertaining to this present, life. By attending to what is nottfl at the beginning of this Scholium, to our definitions ol' the mind and it.s emotions, and lastly to Propositions I. and III. of our Third Pnrt, it will be seen that I have cm- braued a consideration of all the means we posseas of control- ling our emotions. It is time, therefore, that I pass on to the consideration of that which pertains to the duration or con- tinuance of the mind without relation to the body.
PROP. XX I. The mind can imagine nothing, neither can it remember anything that is past, save during the con- tinuance of the body.
Di'moiist. The mind docB not express the actual existence of its body, neither docs it conceive the affections of the body as actual, save whilst tlio body endures (CoroU. to Prop. VIII. Pt II.); and consequently (by Prop. XXVI. Pt II.) conceives no other body as actually existing save whilst ita own botly continues. Hence, also, the mind can neither imagine (vide I)cf. of Imagination in Schol. to Prop. XVII. Pt II.) nor recollect (vide I)cf. of Memory in Schol. to Prop. XVIlt. Pt II.) things past, except during the persistence of its body : q. e. d.
PROP. XXII. In God, however, there must necessorily
exist an idea which expresses the essence of this or that
human body under the form of eternity.
Demonst. God is not only the cause of the existence of this or that human body, but also of its essence (Prop. XXV. Pt I.), which must therefore be neceswirily conceived by the very essence of God (by Ax. 4, Pt I.), and this in \Trtue of a certain eternal necessity (Prop. VI. l*t XI.) ; a conception which indeed must necessarily have place in God (Prop. III. Pt II.) : q. e. d.
PROP. XXIII. The human mind cannot be absolutely
destroyed along with the body ; something of it remains
which is eternal.
Demonnl. There is necessarily in God a conception or idea which expresses the essence of the human body (by the preceding Prop.), and this therefore is necessarily some- thing that pertains to the essence of the human mind (by Prop. XIII. Pt II.). But we ascribe no duration to mind
G36
BEStlMi I UK MiNOtAS
that can he ilr-finwl hy Umc, aave only and in so far ns the al pxiHtence oC the bodv, which is expliiincd by duration and Ik> dcfinwl by tinio. la oxprc-nncd ; that is to sny (by Cor~ Prop. VIII. I't II.), wc do not ascribe duration to the except in connwtion with the body. As. however, iha necewarily u nomfthing which by a certain eternal n w conceivwl by tlio very e»j«cnco of God (by the procet Prop.), thin soniethtnp pertaining lo the essence of the will neci»K.Harilv bo eternal : q. e. d.
Schol. This idea which expresses the essence of the b under an astxrt of eternity i.s, as said, a certain mode thought, which l>clongs to llie ee^ence of mind, and nivfiHurilv eternal. Still it in impossible that we should h any rwolli'clion of ourselves Ix-fore the existence of our bod ina-sniuch as there is neither a trace of anything of the kin< the IkmIv. nor can eternity be defined by time, or be prow naid to nave any relation to time. Nevertheless we feel i are persuaded that we are eternal. For the mind does not truly perceive those things it conceives by the underjstandi than those it romeml)ers. For Demonstnitions arc the v* iCyes of the mind by which it pertreives and observes thi Although we have no remembrance, therefore, of any istouco previous to the existence of the Ixxlvi we are persuaded that our mind, inasmuch a.s it involves the essea of the bo<ly under a form or aspect of eteniity, is et nal, and that this its existence cannot be defined by ti or explained by duration. Our mind, therefore, can oi be said to endure, and its existence to be defined in 8pe<!t of a certain time, in so far as the actual existence of body is involved ; and in so far only has it tJie power of termining the existence of things in time, and of concei%'i them wit^ reference to duration.
PROP. XXIV. The better we understand individual thin
the more do we know God.
Demond. This is comprised in the Coroll. to Prop. XXV. I., to the effect that particulars as things are nothing more tb modes by which the attributes of God are expressed in certain and determinate manner; wherefore the better understand, &c. : q. e. d.
PROP. XXV. The highest effort of tbe mind and highest virtue is to understand things by the third kii of intellection.
ETHICS : PART V.^IF THE POWER OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 637
Demonst. The third kind of knowledge proceeds from an ndequutt' idea of certain attributes of God to an adequate C'onceplioii of the essence of things (vide the Def. of this in iSchol. 2 to Prop. XL. I't 2) ; und She more wo \uiderstund things in this wiiy, much the more do we know God (hj' the preceding Prop.). Consequently the highest virtue of the mind (by Prop. XXVIII. Pt II.)* that is, the power or nature of the mind (by Def. 8, Pt IV.), in other words (by Def. H, Pt IV.), the highest effort of the mind (Prop. VII. Pt III.), is to know thing.s according to the third species of knowledge or intellection : q. e. d.
PROP. XXVI. The more apt the mind is to understand
things by the third kind of intellection, the more does it
desire to understand things by this kind of knowledge.
Demonst. This is obvious : for in so far as we conceive the mind disposed and apt to understand things by this kind of knowledge, the more do we conceive it disposed to understand them by the same, and consequently (by 1 of the Defs. of the Affections) the more apt the mind is for this, the more ia such knowledge desired by the mind : q, e. d.
PROP. XXVII. From this third kind of intellection urises
the highest contentment or acquiescence of mind.
Demontit. The highest virtue of the soul is to know God (by Prop. XXVIII. Pt IV.), or to understand things by the third kind of intellection (by Prop. XXV. above) ; and this virtue itself is by so much the greater, as the mind more perfectly apprehends a thing by this {xiwer (by Prop. XXIV. above). He therefore who knows things in this way attains to the highest grade of human perfection, and is con- sequently (by 2 of the Defs. of the Affections) moved by the highest jov. and this in connection with the idea of himself and his virtue (by Prop. XLIII. Pt II.). Thus and in this way^ from this kind of intellection, proceeds the highest satistaction of Soul that man can know (vide 25 of Defs. of the Affections) : q. e. d.
PROP. XXVIII. The endeavour or desire to know things by the third kind of intellection cannot arise from tho first, but proceeds from the second, species of intellec- tion.
688
BEXEDtCT DK niKOCtk'*
I
Dfnton»t. Tilts proposition is 8clf-e\'ideat For whati wc utxlorKtiind cli-arly and distinctly, wc understund cithel and tlirouf^h the thinfj i;«clf, or by nnd through sotnoth elae which is coni-oixtxl by itstlf; that is to say, the i< thst art^ clfurlv nnd distinctly uithin us, or that are refei to the third kind of intellection (vide Si-hol. 2 to Prop. 1 Pt II.), cannot follow from confused and imperfect ic referable to intellection of the first kitid, but i'n^m udeqi ideas or inlclleetion of the seeond and third kinds. Therel (by 1 of Drfi*. of Atfections) the desire of knowing thij by the tliinl kind of intellection cannot arise from tho fii but must arise from the second : q. o. d.
PROP. XXIX. Whatever the mind understands under I fonn of eternity, is not unt'crstood because tho m conceives the present actual existence of the body, but. cause it conceives the essence of the body under the fd or aspect of eternity.
VtmoiMt, In so far as the mind conceives the present < istonce of its body, to the same extent docs it conceive dm tion which can bo determined by time, und to the sainc ext^ only has it the power of conceiving things in relation to ti (by Prop. XXI. above, and Prop. XXVI. Pt II.). I eternity cannot be explained by duration (by Def. 8, Pt nnd its Explanation). Conswpientlv and in so far, the mi has not the power of conceiving tilings under the form eternity. But ns it pertains to the nature of reason to cfl ceivo things under the form of eteniity (bv Coroll. 2 to Pn XLIV. Pt II.), and to that of the mind also to conceive t body under the form of eternity (by Prop. XXIII. abov and nothing belongs to the essence of tho mind but these t (by Prop. XIII. Pt II.); therefore does the power of co ceiving things under the form of eternity pertain to the mi only in so far us it conceives the essence of the body under t form of eternity ; q. e. d.
Sclwl. Things are conceived by us as actualities in tl ways : either us they exist in relation to a certain time ei place, or as we conceive them to be comprised in God and follow from the necessity of the Divine nature. The thinj however, that by this second mode are conceived by us true or real we conceive under the form of eternity; a] ideas of these involve the etenial and infinite essence of Go
ETHICS : PART V. OF THE POWER OF THE USDEllSTANDING. 639
as has been shown in Prop. XLV. Pt II., to which I refer as well as to its Scholium.
PROP. XXX. Our mind in so far as it knows itself and the body under the form of eternity, in so far has it neces- sarily u knowledge of God, and knows that it is in God and is conceived through God.
Demomt. Eternity is the very essence of God, inasmuch as this involves necessary existence (by Def. 8, Pt I.). To conceive things under the form or species of eternity, there- fore, is to conceive things as real entities, even as they are conceived by the essence of God, or as they in themselves through the essence of God involve existence. Wherefore our mind, inasmuch as it conceives itself and the body under the form of eternity, insomucli has it necessarily a kuowle<lge of God, — knows that it is in God, and is conceived by and through God : q. e. d.
PROP. XXXI. The third kind of intellection depends on the mind as its formal cause, in so far as the mind itself is eternal.
Demomt. The mind only conceives things under the form of eternity in so far as it conceives the essence of the body under the form of eternity (by Prop. XXIX. above) ; that is (Props. XXI. and XXIII. above), as it isitaelf eternal. Whore- fore the mind as an eternal thing has a conception of God, and this conception is necessarily adequate (by Prop. XLVI. Pt II.). Therefore is the mind as an eternal entity fitted to apprehend all that can follow from this conception of God (by Prop. XL. Pt II.), i. e., to know things by the third kind of intellection (vide Def. of this in Schol. 2 to Prop. XL. Pt II.), of which the mind as a thing eternal (by Def. 1, Pt III.), is, therefore, the adequate or formal cause : q. e. d.
Schot. The further advanced we are in this kind of know- ledge, the more conscious are we of ourselves and of God ; thot is, the more perfect and blessed are we, its will appear more clearly from the Propositions that ft)llow. It is well to observe in this place, however, that although it be certain that the mind is eternal in so far as it conceives things under the form of eternity, it is convenient for the purpose of better explaining and more readily understanding what wo have
640 BBNRDKT DB aPIXOZA'«
Btill to gay, to consider the mind o-i if it wore beginning U and ttji if it were but jtist c-omnicncinff to conceive til under the form of eti-rnity, hs wo have nitherfo done, this wo may bo |)orinittwl to do without any risk of ei providtxl iilwiiys that wo come to no conclusion save ou clearest and most iif;.«iirod prcniifisos.
PROP. XXXIL Whatever wo understand through tJie t kind of int<.'lloction, wo take delight in, and our j ussociatod with the idea of Ood as its cause.
Dfinoniit. From this kind of knowledge arises the perfect acquiescence or peace of mind, i. c., the highest (by '•25 of the Dcfs. of tlie AHiTlions), associated with the _ of the mind it^telf (by Prop. XXVII. alKjvo), and consequea (by Prop. XXX. ab<jvc) also with the idea of God ua cause : q. e. d.
Coroll. From the third kind of intellection necessa arises the Inteli,k(tual Love of Gou. For, from this k of intellection proceeds perfect joy, uasociated with the i of Ood as its cause ; that is to say, liOve of God, not as imagine God to be present (by Prop. XXIX. ubovc), bui wo understand him to l)e eternal, and this it is which I the intoUectuul love of God.
PROP. XXXIII. The intellectual love of God which u from the third kind of intellection is etornaL
Drnioust. For the third kind of knowledge is itself etc) (by Prop. XXXI. above, and Ax. 3, Pt I.), and the love springs from it is therefore eternal also : q. o. d.
Sr/io/. Although this love of God shall have had no ginning (by the preceding Prop.), it has, nevertheless, all perfections of love, precisely as it would luul it arisen in way we have supiMsed in the Corollary to the preceding F position. And tliere is no difference here, save that the ra will have hud those perfections eternally which wo h feigned it as boginiiing to acquire, associated with the idea God as their ctirual cause. If joy consist in a transit from a lower to a higher state of perfection, true feli< must surely consist in the consciousness that the mind it is endowed with perfection.
PROP. XXXIY. The mind is not obnoxious to the cmott
ETHICS ; PART V. — OF THE POWER OF THE UNDEBSTAKOUIG. G41
that are regarded as pussions except during tlie continu- ance of the body.
Demomt. Imagination is an idea by which the mind con- templates a particular thing aa present (vide the Def. of Imagination in fhe Schol. to Prop. XVII. I't II. 1, Mhich, however, rather indicates the present state of the body than fhe nature of an external object (by CoroU. 2 lo Prop. XVI. Pt II.). An emotion or affection is consequently an imagina- tion in so far as it indicates the present state or condition of the body, and so the mind is not liable to emotions of the nature of pa.ssions save during the coutitimmce of the body (vide Prop. XXI. above) : q. c. d.
Coroll. Hence it follows that no other than intellectual love can be eternal.
Sihol. When we regard the common opinions of men wo perceive that they arc indeed conscious of the eternity of their souls ; but that they confound this eternity with duration, and ascribe to tlie soul imagination or memory, which they be- lieve to be continued after death.
PROP. XXXV. God loves himself with an infinite intel- lectual love.
Demomt. God is absolutely infinite (by Def. 6, Pt I.), or the nature of God involves infinite perfection (Def. G, Pt II.) (by Prop. III. Pt II.) accompanied by the idea of himself aa Cause (by Prop. XI. and Ax. 1, Pt I.) ; and this is what we have characterized as intellectual love in the Coroll. to Prop. XXXII. of this Part.
PROP. XXXVI. The intellectual love of the mind for God is the very love of God, — the lovo wherewith God loves him- self, not as ho is infinite, but as he can be interpreted by the essence of the human mind considered under a species of eternity ; in other words, the intellectual love of the mind towards God is part of the infinite love wherewith God loves himself.
Demonst. This intelleetuul love must be referred to the actions of the mind (by Coroll. to Prop. XXXII. above, and by Prop. III. Pt III.), and is, therefore, identical \vith that love by which the mind contemplates itself, the idea of God being associated as cause (by Prop. XXXII. above and
41
643
KKsntncr ins ifitmiza. •
Ooroll.) ; that ia to sav, it m an nclion whereby God far aa no can be explained by the human mind, <routev himself, associiitid with tho idea of hiuiAelf (vide Cul Prop. XXV. I't I. and Toroll. to Prop. XI. Pt II.). "V fore (by the pret^^dinj^ Prop.) the int<.lloctual love < mind for (ioa is part of the infinite love wherewit loves himself: q. e. d.
Coroll. Hence it follows that God, in so far as h( himiiM'If, lovi'H ninnkind, and consequently that the I God lor nmn, und thv intelU-ctual love of the mind of ta God, are one und the same.
Schol. From this wo clearly understand wherein oi votion, our true felicity, our Hburty consists. It is in miswerving und eternal love of God, or the eternal 1 God for us. This love in the sacred Scriptures ia spa as glory ;* and with justice ; for whether it be referred mind of man or to God it is rightly designated i)eace of which is not in fiict to be distinguished from the gl Scripture (by 'J5 and 30 of the Dels, of the Affeol For in so far as it is referred to God (by Prop. XXX is joy or happiness, — if I muj- be permitted still to ui words — associated with the idea of himself (Prop. XXi und, referred to llio mind of man, it is still the same XXVII.). Again : iis the essence of our mind cons; understiuiding ulune, the principle and foundation whoi God (Prop. XV. Pt I., and Schol. to Prop. XLVII. P we have it made plain to ns how and in what way our in respect of ila essence and existence results from tho ( nature and ceaselessly depends on God. I have thoU| desirable to revert to thia matter here, that I might sha importance of thut cognition of individual things wli have called intuitive or of the third order (vide Sch I'rop. XL. Pt II.), and how much more excellent it knowledge than that which is general or, as I have desii it, of the second order. For nlthough in my First . have shown generally that all things — the human min elusive— depended on God according to essence and euce, still the demonstration there, although legitima( placed beyond the reach of doubt, does not affect our in such a way as when it is arrived at from the esse the individual thing itself, which, as we have said, depc God.
• InK. vi, 3: Pan), viii., v., cxiii., &c.
ETniCS : PART V. OF THE rOWEW OF TIIE VSDF.T»«TAXmNC.
PROP. XXXVII. There is nothing in nature opposed to this intellectual love or thiit can abrogate it.
DeiiwiiHf. Intellectual love follows necossiarily from the nature of the soul, in so fur as by the nature of God it is regarded as an eternal truth (6y Props. XXXIII. and XXIX. above). If, therefore, anything were opposed to this love, it would bo opposed to truth ; so that anything that should abrogate this love would have the oflect of making that false which is true, which is obviously absurd. Where- fore there is nothing in nature opposed to intellectual love, &c. : q. e. d.
Sr/io/. The Axiom at the beginning of the Fourth Part refers to individual tilings, considered in so far us they are in relation with a certain time and place, of which I presume no one will doubt.
PROP. XXXVIII. The greater the number of things tlio
mind knows according to the second and third kinds of
intellection, the less does it suffer from the passions that
are bad, and the less docs it fear death.
Dcniotisf. Tlio very essence of the raiiid is intellection (by Prop. XI. Pt II.). "the greater number of things tlie mind knows by the second and third kinds of intellection, there- fore, the greater is the part of it engaged in kno\ving (by Props. XXIX. and XXII I. above), and consequently (by the preceding Prop.) the greater the piirt that ia not touched by the emotions which are opposed to our [higher] nature, or are evil (by Prop. XXX. Pt IV.). The greater the number of things, therefore, the mind understands by the second and third kinds of intellection the larger is the part of it that is unaiiecte<l by, and that consequently escnpea suffering from, the emotions : q. e. d.
Scfiol. Hence we may understand that which I merely glanced at in the Schol. to Prop XXXIX. Pt IV., and which I promised to explain at greater length by-and-by ; viz., that death is by so much the less destructive us the clcur and dis- tinct cognition of the mind is greater, and as Go<i conse- quently is loved the more. Further, inasmuch as the most Eerfect peace of mind arises from intellection of the third ind (by Prop. XXVII. above), it follows that the humun mind may be of such a nature that what we have shown as liable to pass away or to perish with tlie body (vide Prop.
641
IKKIONCT DR WIKo^ATT
XXT. aboTe), when rontraated with that which remain chungcid, may bo of no significauce. But of this moi Bnd-by.
PROP. XXXIX. He who has the body opt for or of many things, hoa a mind the greutcet {wrt of wh etonial.
iJcmon^f. He who bos a body capable of the gr Variety of action, is le^* disturbed by evil passions (by XXXVIII. I't IV.), that is, by pawions opposed U proper nature (by Prop. XXX. Pt IV.). lie. ther wlm in so constituted (by Prop. X. above), lins the pow orderiiijj and arniuijriiijj I lie ulfoclions of bis body ancoi to the dictate* of his undertttunding, and consequently o ferrinp uil his corporeal affectionis to the idea of God Prop. XIV. above) ; whence it conies to pass (by Prop altove) that ho is moved by love of God, which (by XVI. above), us it occupies or constitutes tliegroufest pa of his mind, so has he a mind the greatest part of whii et«rnnl : q. e. d.
Schol. Inasmuch as liuniiin bodies ure r-upiiblo of a | variety of actions, it is not doublful that their nature mi Ruch 08 to be referable to minds which have cxtei knowledge of theniselvos and of God, and of which greater itr principal part iseternnl, so that they have scm any fi-iir uf deatli. liuf that thi.s miiy be more clearly u: stood it miiy be .obscrvi'<l that we live in a state of incoj change, and tliat as we alter for the better or the worse, tl fore are we said to be happy or unhappy. The infant that or changes into a corpse is said to Ik? unfortunate or happy ; and on the other hand, he is called happy or tunatc whone life runs on from birth to old age heidthy mind iu a healthy bmly. And indeed he wh child or youth has an imjjerfect Ixxly, good for little, and greatly dependent on outward things, hi mind which, considered in itself alone, has scarcely any seiousucss either of it.'«elf or of God or of objects ; as lu the contruiT, who has a body pos.sessed of gre;it and vai aptitudes, has a soul which, considered in itself, is gr« conscious of itself, of God, and of things. In this life, th fore, we do our best to insure that the bfidy of the child bedevelopwl into one which, in so far as its nature pi'ri is apt for many things and is associated with a mind lar
ethics: part v. — of the power of the understanding. 645
conscious of itself, of God, and of objects ; and this in such ■wise that all that pertains to metnor\' or imagination nhall, in poniparison with that which helongs to under standi us;, bear the HniJillcst possible proportion, as I have just said in the Scholium to the preceding Proposition.
PROP. XL. The more of perfection each individual thing possesses, the more does it act and the less does it suifcr; and the more it acts, the more perfect it is.
Dt'inon/i(. The more perfect anything is, the more reality has it (by Def. (i, I't II.) ; and consequently (by Prop. lit. Pt III. and Schol.) the more doe« it act and fbe less does it suffer. The demonstration here, but following an inverse order, is the same as that of the Proposition which immediately precedes. Hence it follows that the more perfect a thing is, the more active it is : q. e. d.
Coroll. From the above it follows that the part of the mind which remains, whatever its amount, is more perfect than the rest. Now the efenial part of the mind is the under- standing (by Props. XXIII. and XXIX. above) by which alone we say we act (by Prop. III. Pt III.) ; but the part that perishes we have shown to bo that wherewith imagina- tion is connected (by Prop. XXI. above) ; by this part alone, however, do we suffer (by Prop. III. Pt III. and the general definition of the affections), and therefore is the former part of the mind, whatever its amount, the more perfect part: q. e. d.
Schol. I here conclude what I had to say of the mind in so far as it may be considered without reference to the ex- istence of the body. From what innnediately precedes, and also from Prop. XXI. Pt I., and others, it appears that our mind in .so far as it Ls possessed of understanding is an eternal mode of thought, which is determined by another eternal mode, this by another, and so on to infinity, .so that all together constitute the eternal and infinite intelligence of God.
PROP. XLI. Although we did not know that our mind was eternal, piety, religion, and all besides that has been shown in our Fourth Part to pertain to magnanimity and uprightness, would have to bo held in the highest estimation. Demonnt. The chief, the only foundation of virtue or the
046
nrxcDtcT mc nnwazA's
ratimiol lifo is the purBoit of that which in truly uiscfiil t«i iM (l.y Coroll. to Prop. XX.II. and by Prop. XXI S'. Pi IV.). Hut we wtTo without tho tnetuin of jiid^finj; of what iu tJie«?Ta of rciuwin ix ii»cful, nu<l htul nn ^luiid for c<m«-lii<liiij7 that tho mind wun iniinortul until we cniue tu this our FitUi Part. Although tht'ii miinfoniiecl of the etfiiiity of the niind, we nevertht'lcKM nuw grouiidi* for Iioldin); that all that portaina to ina(n>'"'i<"i'y '^^ into^rity i» of tho first iiiip<ir1ancc. And even now, und supptmiiip we wore still unitifonocd on this head, we (*houl<i continue to repird our conduhion a.s the prime preseription of roin«<in : q. e. d.
SrAoi. Vulgar Ixlief would 8i>em to run counter to thi«. For must men apj3ear to think themsolve* free only when they can give full jdiiv In their lust*., und fancy they are hindered of their rightii when held to liv«« in confomiity with the pnv Hcriptionw of the Divine law. Tlicy, therefore, esteem piety and religion, and everjihing absolut<'ly tliat is referred to mapnnnimify of mind, to hv Kmds wliich ihcy hope to lay down after death, when they hope they •will re<!eive the reward of the slavery — the piety and relig:ion. to wit — which they have en- dured in life. Nor are thoy even entirely led by such hope a* thia to live, in eo far as the poverty mid iinpotency of their rainda permit llicin, in confonnity willi ilie coniniuiidx of the divine law ; it is much riither the feur of fri{rhfful punishnient after death thiit influences thcni. Were not such hojK? and fear implanted in mankind, it is said, were they to believe, on the conlniry, that the mind or soul perishes with the Iwdy and that there waa no immortality in store for the wretched toiling, sinking, under a loud of pious obnervancea, they would >neld to their natural bent, give the rein in all things to their nists, and make fortime riifher than themselves the guide and arbiter of their lives. But ^uch notions seem to me not less absurd thun it were to suppose that a man, because he did not believe he could nourish his IkkIv with wholesome food to all eteniity, shoidd put him.self upon a regimen of poisons ; or be<ause iu)t believing that hia soul was eteriud or immortal, he should therefore elect to live like one demented and with- out reason ; such absurdities I do not deejn worthy of serious discustiiun.
PHOP. XLII. Beatitude is not the reward of virtue, but virtue itself; nor do we enjoy true happines.'* because we restrain our lusts ; on the eontrarj', it is because we enjoy tme happiueas that we are able to restrain our lusts.
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Demonst. Beatitude consists in love towards God (by Prop. XXXVI. iind it.i SchoHum above), love which sprinp-s from the third kind of infelleelion (by Coroll. to Prop. XXXII. above). This love must therefore be referred to the mind in 80 fur a.s it is active (by Props. LIX. and III. Pt III.), and consequently is virtue itself (by Def. 8, Pt IV.). So much in the first place. Further, the more the mind enjoys of this ilivine love or true felicity, the larger is the sphere uf itn un- derstanding (by Prop. XXXII. above), i. e., the more complete control has it over the emotions (by Coroll. to Prop. III. above), and the less does it suffer I'rom those among them that are hurtful (by Prop. XXXVIII. above). It is thus, and because the mind enjoys this di^"ine love or perfect bli.-is, that it has the power of controlling the lusts of the IxkIv, — it is because our human power of controlling affection consists in understanding alone. No one, consequently, enjoys beati- tude because he controls his afl'ections ; on the contrary, the power of controlling the affections arises irom beatitude itself : q. e. d.
Coiicfiisiou. In what precedes I have delivered all I wishe<l to say in connection with the freedom ol" the mind. And now are we able to appreciate the wise at their true worth, and to understand how much they are to be preferred to the ignorant, who act from mere appetite or passion. The ignor- ant man, indeed, besides being agitatetl in many and variijns ways by external causes, and never tasting true peace of mind, lives in a state of unconsciousness of himself, of God, and of all things, and only ceases to suffer when he ceases to be ; the wise man, on the contrary, in so far as he is truly to be so considered, scarcely knows what mental perturbation means ; but conscious of himself, of God, and of that special eternal necessity of things, never ceases from being, but is always in possession of true peace of mind. Should the way I point out as leading to such a conclusion appear extremely difficult, it may nevertheless bo foimd. And that truly must newls be difficult which is so seldom attained. For how shoidd it hapijen, if the soul's well- being were at hand and to be achieved without great labour, that it is so universally neglected ? But all good things are as difficult of attainment as they are rare.
TUK END.
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JOHN CHILDS AND BON, PRINTERS.
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