The Road to Inner Freedom

The Ethics

Baruch Spinoza, Dagobert D. Runes, Dagobert D. Runes

• Publisher: Philosophical Library/Open Road
• Year: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781497675780
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Philosophy of Religion

The seventeenth century Dutch philosopher views the ability to experience rational love of God as the key to mastering the contradictory and violent human emotions.

On Human Bondage

or,

The Power of Desires

Perfection, the Good, and the Bad

Human infirmity in moderating and checking the emotions I name bondage: for, when a man is a prey of his emotions, he is not his own master, but lies at the mercy of fortune: so much so, that he is often compelled, while seeing that which is better for him, to follow that which is worse. Why this is so, and what is good or evil in the emotions, I propose to show in this part of my treatise. But, before I begin, it would be well to make a few prefatory observations on perfection and imperfection, good and evil.

When a man has purposed to make a given thing, and has brought it to perfection, his work will be pronounced perfect, not only by himself, but by everyone who rightly knows, or thinks that he knows, the intention and aim of its author.

For instance, suppose anyone sees a work (which I assume to be not yet completed), and knows that the aim of the author of that work is to build a house, he will call the work imperfect; he will, on the other hand, call it perfect as soon as he sees that it is carried through to the end which its author had purposed for it. But if a man sees a work, the like whereof he has never seen before, and if he knows not the intention of the artificer, he plainly cannot know whether that work be perfect or imperfect. Such seems to be the primary meaning of these terms.

But, after men began to form general ideas, to think out types of houses, buildings, towers, etc., and to prefer certain types to others, it came about that each man called perfect that which he saw agree with the general idea he had formed of the thing in question, and called imperfect that which he saw agree less with his own preconceived type, even though it had evidently been completed in accordance with the idea of its artificer. This seems to be the only reason for calling natural phenomena, which, indeed, are not made with human hands, perfect or imperfect: for men are wont to form general ideas of things natural, no less than of things artificial, and such ideas they hold as types, believing that Nature (who they think does nothing without an object) has them in view, and has set them as types before herself. Therefore, when they behold something in Nature which does not wholly conform to the preconceived type which they have formed of the thing in question, they say that Nature has fallen short or has blundered, and has left her work incomplete.

Thus we see that men are wont to style natural phenomena prefect or imperfect rather from their own prejudices, than from true knowledge of what they pronounce upon.

Now we know that Nature does not work with an end in view. For the eternal and infinite Being, which we call God or Nature, acts by the same necessity as that whereby it exists. For we can see that by the same necessity of its nature, whereby it exists, it likewise works. The reason or cause why God or Nature exists, and the reason why He acts, are one and the same.

Therefore, as He does not exist for the sake of an end, so neither does He act for the sake of an end; of His existence and of His action there is neither origin nor end. Wherefore, a cause which is called final is nothing else but human desire, insofar as it is considered as the origin or cause of anything. For example, when we say that to be inhabited is the final cause of this or that house, we mean nothing more than that a man, conceiving the conveniences of household life, had a desire to build a house. Wherefore, the being inhabited, insofar as it is regarded as a final cause, is nothing else but this particular desire, which is really the efficient cause; it is regarded as the primary cause, because men are generally ignorant of the causes of their desires.

They are, as I have often said already, conscious of their own actions and appetites, but ignorant of the causes whereby they are determined to any particular desire.

Perfection and imperfection, then, are in reality merely modes of thinking, or notions which we form from a comparison among one another of individuals of the same species; hence I said above that by reality and perfection I mean the same thing. For we are wont to refer all the individual things in nature to one genus, which is called the highest genus, namely, to the category of Being, whereto absolutely all individuals in nature belong.

Thus, insofar as we refer the individuals in nature to this category, and comparing them one with another, find that some possess more of being or reality than others, we, to this extent, say that some are more perfect than others. Again, insofar as we attribute to them anything implying negation—as term, end, infirmity, etc.—we, to this extent, call them imperfect, because they do not affect our mind so much as the things which we call perfect, not because they have any intrinsic deficiency, or because Nature has blundered. For nothing lies within the scope of a thing’s nature, save that which follows from the necessity of the nature of its efficient cause necessarily comes to pass.

As for the terms good and bad, they indicate no positive quality in things regarded in themselves, but are merely modes of thinking, or notions which we form from the comparison of things one with another. Thus one and the same thing can be at the same time good, bad, and indifferent. For instance, music is good for him that is melancholy, bad for him that mourns; for him that is deaf, it is neither good nor bad.

Nevertheless, though this be so, the terms should still be retained. For, inasmuch as we desire to form an idea of man as a type of human nature which we may hold in view, it will be useful for us to retain the terms in question, in the sense I have indicated. In what follows, then, I shall mean by “good” that which we certainly know to be a means of approaching more nearly to the type of human nature which we have set before ourselves; by “bad,” that which we certainly know to be a hindrance to us in approaching the said type.

Again, we shall say that men are more perfect, or more imperfect, in proportion as they approach more or less nearly to the said type. For it must be specially remarked that, when I say that a man passes from a lesser to a greater perfection, or vice versa, I do not mean that he is changed from one essence or reality to another; for instance, a horse would be as completely destroyed by being changed into a man, as by being changed into an insect. What I mean is that we conceive the thing’s power of action, insofar as this is understood by its nature, to be increased or diminished.

Lastly, by perfection in general I shall, as I have said, mean reality—in other words, each thing’s essence, insofar as it exists, and operates in a particular manner, and without paying any regard to its duration. For no given thing can be said to be more perfect because it has passed a longer time in existence. The duration of things cannot be determined by their essence, for the essence of things involves no fixed and definite period of existence; but everything, whether it be more perfect or less perfect, will always be able to persist in existence with the same force wherewith it began to exist; wherefore, in this respect, all things are equal.

The Force of Passion

No positive quality possessed by a false idea is removed by the presence of what is true, in virtue of its being true.

For instance, when we look at the sun, we conceive that it is distant from us about two hundred feet; in this judgment we err, so long as we are in ignorance of its true distance; when its true distance is known, the error is removed, but not imagination; or, in other words, the idea of the sun, which only explains the nature of the luminary, insofar as the body is affected thereby: wherefore, though we know the real distance, we shall still nevertheless imagine the sun to be near us.

For we do not imagine the sun to be so near us because we are ignorant of its true distance, but because the mind conceives the magnitude of the sun to the extent that the body is affected thereby. Thus, when the rays of the sun falling on the surface of the water are reflected into our eyes, we imagine the sun as if it were in the water, though we are aware of its real position; and similarly other imaginations, wherein the mind is deceived, whether they indicate the natural disposition of the body, or that its power of activity is increased or diminished, are not contrary to the truth, and do not vanish at its presence.

It happens indeed that, when we mistakenly fear an evil, the fear vanishes when we hear the true tidings; but the contrary also happens, namely, that we fear an evil which will certainly come, and our fear vanishes when we hear false tidings; thus imaginations do not vanish at the presence of the truth, in virtue of its being true, but because other imaginations, stronger than the first, supervene and exclude the present existence of that which we imagined.

We are only passive insofar as we are a part of nature, which cannot be conceived by itself without other parts.

The force whereby a man persists in existing is limited, and is infinitely surpassed by the power of external causes.

It is impossible that man should not be a part of Nature, or that he should be capable of undergoing no changes, save such as can be understood through his nature only as their adequate cause.

Man is necessarily always a prey to his passions, he follows and obeys the general order of nature, and he accommodates himself thereto, as much as the nature of things demands.

The power and increase of every passion, and its persistence in existing are not defined by the power whereby we ourselves endeavor to persist in existing, but by the power of an external cause compared with our own.

The force of any passion or emotion can overcome the rest of a man’s activities or power, so that the emotion becomes obstinately fixed to him.

An emotion can only be controlled or destroyed by another emotion contrary thereto, and with more power for controlling emotion.

An emotion, insofar as it is referred to the mind, can only by controlled or destroyed through an idea of a modification of the body contrary to, and stronger than, that which we are undergoing. For the emotion which we undergo can only be checked or destroyed by an emotion contrary to, and stronger than, itself, in other words, only by an idea of a modification of the body contrary to, and stronger than, the modification which we undergo.

An emotion, whereof we conceive the cause to be with us at the present time, is stronger than if we did not conceive the cause to be with us.

We are affected by the image of what is past or future with the same emotion as if the thing conceived were present. This is only true insofar as we look solely to the image of the thing in question itself; for the thing’s nature is unchanged, whether we have conceived it or not; I do not deny that the image becomes weaker, when we regard as present to us other things which exclude the present existence of the future object.

The image of something past or future, that is, of a thing which we regard as in relation to time past or time future, to the exclusion of time present, is, when other conditions are equal, weaker than the image of something present; consequently an emotion felt toward what is past or future is less intense, other conditions being equal, than an emotion felt toward something present.

Toward something future, which we conceive as close at hand, we are affected more intensely than if we conceive that its time for existence is separated from the present by a longer interval; so too by the remembrance of what we conceive to have not long passed away we are affected more intensely than if we conceive that it has long passed away.

An emotion toward that which we conceive as necessary is, when other conditions are equal, more intense than an emotion toward that which is possible, or contingent, or non-necessary.

An emotion toward a thing which we know not to exist at the present time, and which we conceive as possible, is more intense, other conditions being equal, than an emotion toward a thing contingent.

An emotion toward a thing which we know not to exist in the present, and which we conceive as contingent, is far fainter than if we conceive the thing to be present with us.

Emotion toward a thing contingent, which we know not to exist in the present, is, other conditions being equal, fainter than an emotion toward a thing past.

The knowledge of good and evil is nothing else but the emotions of pleasure or pain, insofar as we are conscious thereof.

A true knowledge of good and evil cannot check any emotion by virtue of being true, but only insofar as it is considered as an emotion.

Desire arising from the knowledge of good and bad can be quenched or checked by many of the other desires arising from the emotions whereby we are assailed.

Desire arising from the knowledge of good and evil, insofar as such knowledge regards what is future, may be more easily controlled or quenched than the desire for what is agreeable at the present moment.

Desire arising from the true knowledge of good and evil, insofar as such knowledge is concerned with what is contingent, can be controlled far more easily still than desire for things that are present.

I think I have now shown the reason why men are moved by opinion more readily than by true reason, why it is that the true knowledge of good and evil stirs up conflicts in the soul, and often yields to every kind of passion. This state of things gave rise to the exclamation of the poet:

“The better path I gaze at and approve

The worse—I follow.”

Ecclesiastes seems to have had the same thought in his mind, when he says, “He who increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.” I have not written the above with the object of drawing the conclusion that ignorance is more excellent than knowledge, or that a wise man is on a par with a fool in controlling his emotions, but because it is necessary to know the power and the infirmity of our nature, before we can determine what reason can do in restraining the emotions, and what is beyond her power.

Desire arising from pleasure is, other conditions being equal, stronger than desire arising from pain.

Piety and Selfishness

In these few remarks I have talked of the causes of human infirmity and inconstancy, and why men do not abide by the precepts of reason. It now remains for me to point out what course is marked out for us by reason, which of the emotions are in harmony with the rules of human reason, and which of them are contrary thereto.

As reason makes no demands contrary to nature, it demands that every man should love himself, should seek that which is useful to him—I mean, that which is really useful to him: he should desire everything which really brings man to greater perfection—and should, each for himself, endeavor as far as he can to preserve his own being. This is as necessarily true as that a whole is greater than its part.

Again, as virtue is nothing else but action in accordance with the laws of one’s own nature, and as no one endeavors to preserve his own being except in accordance with the laws of his own nature, it follows, first, that the foundation of virtue is the endeavor to preserve one’s own being, and that happiness consists in man’s power of preserving his own being; secondly, that virtue is to be desired for its own sake, and that there is nothing more excellent or more useful to us, for the sake of which we should desire it; thirdly and lastly, that suicides are weak-minded, and are overcome by external causes repugnant to their nature.

Further, it follows that we can never arrive at doing without all external things for the preservation of our being or living, so as to have no relations with things which are outside ourselves. Again, if we consider our mind, we see that our intellect would be more imperfect if mind were alone, and could understand nothing besides itself. There are, then, many things outside ourselves which are useful to us, and are, therefore, to be desired.

Of such none can be discerned more excellent than those which are in entire agreement with our nature. For if, for example, two individuals of entirely the same nature are united, they form a combination twice as powerful as either of them singly.

Therefore, to man there is nothing more useful than man—nothing, I repeat, more excellent for preserving their being can be wished for by men than that all should so in all points agree that the minds and bodies of all should form, as it were, one single mind and one single body, and that all should, with one consent, as far as they are able, endeavor to preserve their being, and all with one consent seek what is useful to them all. Hence, men who are g...