Alenka Zupancic - What Is Sex

MEANING IN SPINOZA’S METHOD
Readers of Spinoza’s philosophy have often been daunted, and some-

times been enchanted, by the geometrical method which he employs
in his philosophical masterpiece the Ethics. In Meaning in Spinoza’s
Method Aaron Garrett examines this method and suggests that its pur-
pose, in Spinoza’s view, was not just to present claims and propositions,
but also in some sense to change the readers and allow them to look
at themselves and the world in a different way. His discussion draws
not only on Spinoza’s works, but also on those of the philosophers
who influenced Spinoza most strongly, including Hobbes, Descartes,
Maimonides, and Gersonides. This original and controversial book
will be of interest to historians of philosophy and to anyone interested
in the relation between form and content in philosophical works.
a a ro n v. g a r re t t is Assistant Professor at Boston University.

He has contributed to a number of publications and is the editor of
Francis Hutcheson’s An Essay on the Nature and Conduct of the Passions
and Affections (2003), and of Animal Rights and Souls in the Eighteenth
Century (2000).
M E A N I N G I N S P I N O Z A ’S
METHOD
A A RO N V. G A R R E T T
Boston University
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Let us conceive now, if you please, that there is a little worm living in
the blood which is capable of distinguishing by sight the particles of
the blood, of lymph, of chyle, and the like, and capable of observing by
reason how each particle, when it encounters another, either bounces
back, or communicates a part of its motion, and so on. Indeed, it
would live in this blood as we do in a part of the universe, and would
consider each particle of the blood as a whole, not as a part. Nor
could it know how all the parts of the blood are regulated by the
universal nature of the blood, and compelled to adapt themselves to
one another, as the universal nature of the blood requires, so that they
harmonize with one another in a certain way.
(Letter XXXII – Voorburg, 20 November 1665)
Contents
Acknowledgments page viii

List of abbreviations x
Texts and editions xi
Introduction 1
1 A worm in the blood: some central themes in
Spinoza’s Ethics 20
2 A few further basic concepts 50
3 Emendative therapy and the Tractatus de Intellectus
Emendatione 73
4 Method: analysis and synthesis 97
5 Maimonides and Gersonides 123
6 Definitions in Spinoza’s Ethics: where they come from
and what they are for 144
7 The third kind of knowledge and “our” eternity 181
Bibliography 224
Index of passages referred to and cited 231
General index 234
vii
Acknowledgments
After I defended my dissertation my supervisor, Yirmiyahu Yovel, suggested

that I try to answer two further questions: (1) What did Spinoza understand
by the third kind of knowledge in the Ethics? (2) What is the relation
between the Ethics and Spinoza’s earlier work, the Tractatus de Intellectus
Emendatione? At the time I did not realize that, in trying to answer these two
questions, I would need to rethink and revise how I understood Spinoza’s
method and ultimately reject most of what I had written in my dissertation.
My deepest thanks to Yirmiyahu Yovel for supervising my dissertation and
then helping me to move well beyond it. The manuscript from which
this book was built was originally called “A Worm in the Blood.” My
editor properly pointed out that the title was somewhat nauseating and
would probably condemn the book to be shelved in the biology section of
bookstores. But please keep in mind that this was the original title and my
guiding theme for finding some meaning in Spinoza’s method.
Many people have helped me with writing this book, only a few of whom
I can list. The community of Spinoza scholars is, fittingly, one of the kindest
and most thoughtful in academe, and I have benefited greatly from it. Henry
Allison, Michael Della Rocca, Shelly Kroll, Justin Steinberg, Amelie Rorty,
and Andrew Pyle all read the manuscript in full and provided many helpful
comments. Michael, in particular, read two drafts (!), forced me to clarify
much murk in the manuscript (although there is much remaining), and
gave me countless specific criticisms and corrections from which I benefited
enormously. All aided me greatly in turning a draft into a book.
Tom Cook, Brett Doyle, Knud Haakonssen, Genevieve Lloyd, David
Lyons, Regan Penaluna, Gideon Segal, Fred Tauber, and Wayne Waxman
have all read sections of the manuscript and provided helpful comments.
Roger Ariew, Ken Bronfenbrenner, Edwin Curley, Johannes Fritsche, Don
Garrett, Ian Hunter, and Richard Tuck have helped me with specific ideas
and I am very grateful to them. Pierre-François Moreau very kindly gave me
a copy of his translation of Meyer. Many thanks to Piet Steenbakkers, Ron
viii
Acknowledgments ix
Bombardi, and above all Frank Mertens for helping me to track down the
source of the cover illustration. I have also been aided by the many students
I have taught Spinoza to over the years. Hilary Gaskin has been an ideal
editor, and I am grateful to her for all her help, as well as Gillian Maude
and the staff at Cambridge University Press. Thanks also to my friends and
advisors at the NSSR, Richard Bernstein, Teresa Brennan, Agnes Heller,
and Morgan Meis.
I have benefited from the work of many scholars (as will be apparent),
but I would like to thank a few who inspired me from the very beginning of
my interest in Spinoza, in addition to those I have thanked above: Jonathan
Bennett, Herman De Dijn, Stuart Hampshire, Alexandre Matheron, and
G. H. R. Parkinson.
Thanks to Iain McCalman and the Humanities Research Center of the
Australian National University, and the Humanities Foundation of Boston.
I owe a great debt to Charles Griswold and Knud Haakonssen, and to
my many intellectually stimulating and thoughtful colleagues at Boston
University. Thanks also to my family for constant support.
This book is dedicated to my late grandfather Abraham Klein and to my
late teacher Carl Cohen. Carl Cohen taught me that if human history is
not rational at least humans ought to be. My grandfather taught me that
some of the deepest ties can be elective. It was on his bookshelf I found my
first copy of Spinoza’s Ethics.
The publisher has used its best endeavours to ensure that any URLs for
external websites referred to in this book are correct and active at the time of
going to press. However, the publisher has no responsibility for the websites
and can make no guarantee that a site will remain live or that the content
is or will remain appropriate.
Abbreviations
AT Oeuvres de Descartes, ed. Charles Adam and Paul Tannery

(Paris: J. Vrin, 1964–76).
CM Cogitata Metaphysica
CW The Collected Works of Spinoza, ed. and trans. Edwin Curley
(Princeton University Press, 1985).
DC De Corpore
DM Discourse on Method
KV Korte Verhandeling
NS Nagelate Schriften
PP Principles of Descartes’ Philosophy
PWD The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, ed. and trans. John
Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff, Dugald Murdoch, and
Anthony Kenny, 3 vols. (Cambridge University Press, 1988–91).
TIE Tractatus de Intellectus Emendatione
TP Tractatus Politicus
TTP Tractatus Theologico-Politicus
x
Texts and editions
All English translations of Spinoza’s Ethics are my own except when noted.
Some are taken from Edwin Curley (ed. and trans.), The Collected Works
of Spinoza (Princeton University Press, 1985). Translations from Curley’s
Ethics will be abbreviated as CW , and this abbreviation will also be used
when I make reference to his editorial apparatus and commentary. Curley’s
translations are far superior to mine, but I have relied on my clumsier
translations to get across some of the technical oddities in Spinoza’s Latin.
All passages cited from the Principia Philosophia Cartesianae, the Tractatus
de Intellectus Emendatione, and the Korte Verhandeling are from Curley’s
edition, and Curley’s translation is used. The abbreviation NS in some of
Curley’s translations refers to variant readings from the Nagelate Schriften,
the Dutch translation of Spinoza’s works. Thanks to Princeton University
Press for allowing me to cite from Curley’s edition. Latin quotes will be
referenced to Carl Gebhardt (ed.), Spinoza Opera, 6 vols. (Heidelberg: Carl
Winter Verlag, 1925). Although the new French critical edition of Spinoza,
Pierre-François Moreau (ed.), Spinoza: Oeuvres (Paris: PUF, 1999–), estab-
lishes texts which supersede Gebhardt, the edition references the standard
Gebhardt page numbers. I will use the following standard abbreviations
throughout: quotes from the Ethics will be simply referenced by part and
number (i.e., “iiip4”). The Tractatus de Intellectus Emendatione will be
abbreviated TIE and referenced by paragraph number (i.e., “TIE 99”).
Abbreviations employed in the text to refer to Spinoza’s other works will be
TTP (Tractatus Theologico-Politicus), TP (Tractatus Politicus), PP (Principia
Philosophiae Cartesianae), and KV (Korte Verhandeling). All will be refer-
enced by chapter and section numbers and when necessary Gebhardt page
(abbreviated by volume and page), except the PP which will be referenced
by proposition. Spinoza’s letters will be cited in the text as “Letter” followed
by a roman numeral number; i.e. Letter 30 will be cited as “Letter XXX.”
All translations from Spinoza’s letters are from, Abraham Wolf (ed. and
trans.), The Correspondence of Spinoza (London: Allen and Unwin, 1928),
xi
xii Texts and editions
except when noted. Hobbes’ De Corpore will be abbreviated in the text as
DC followed by chapter and section numbers. Descartes’ “Essay” which
opens the Discourse on Method will be abbreviated DM and referenced by
its sections (i.e. DM III). All passages from Descartes will be abbreviated
AT and cited from the Adam and Tannery edition, Charles Adam and
Paul Tannery, Oeuvres de Descartes (Paris: J. Vrin, 1982). Translations are
from John Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff, Dugald Murdoch, and Anthony
Kenny (ed. and trans.), The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, 3 vols.
(Cambridge University Press, 1988–91).
Introduction
This is a book about Spinoza, one of the greatest philosophers of the

seventeenth century, or of any time. He is also a particularly contro-
versial philosopher and particularly difficult to understand. The con-
troversies primarily stem from the fact that Spinoza’s two best-known
works, the Ethics and the Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, contain forceful
criticisms of some of the central pillars of revealed religion. As an alter-
native to revealed religion, Spinoza offered a rigorous and powerful phi-
losophy – most notably a metaphysics that demonstrated the necessity in
and eternity of nature and equated nature with God – that, he argued,
underlay whatever truths could be found in religion and philosophical
theology.1
Consequently, Spinoza was viewed by many of his contemporaries as a
dangerous and nearly Satanic figure. Dutch Calvinists, liberal Hobbesians,
and many key Enlightened figures of the scientific revolution all united in
vigorously attacking the TTP and the Ethics.2 Furthermore, these attacks
1 Spinoza’s main disagreement with his friend Lodewijk Meyer on this issue draws out Spinoza’s
position on the relation between and distinctness of philosophy and religion. Whereas the Lutheran
Meyer (like Maimonides) thought that there was philosophy in Scripture, and that Scripture ought
to be understood as expressing the truths of philosophy, Spinoza thought that Scripture contained
no philosophy, a few moral truths, and a great deal of history of brutal and primitive desert nomads.
Spinoza did not think philosophy could or would replace religion, but rather that the truth of
philosophical theology lies in any proximity it bears to the truth of the metaphysics and epistemology
that he argues for. The rest is history, politics, and stubborn superstition. Given that one cannot get
rid of religion, the problem is how to control it in such a way as to allow for freedom of thought –
see TTP XX. See also J. Samuel Preus, Spinoza and Irrelevance of Biblical Authority (Cambridge
University Press, 2001).
2 As examples of the attacks on him by contemporaries who differed on many other substantive issues:
the Calvinist Blijenburgh attacked Spinoza in letters and publications, the powerful liberal Hobbesian
Lambertus Velthuysen, whose favor Spinoza wished to curry, was horrified by the TTP and wrote a
book against it, and the great ideologist of early modern science Robert Boyle both attacked Spinoza
in his publications and left a bequest to set up a series of lectures – the Boyle lectures – combating
the sort of “atheism” represented by Spinoza.
1
2 Meaning in Spinoza’s Method
did not subside with Spinoza’s death in 1677, but rather continued for
centuries.3
Spinoza’s philosophy was also admired by many free-thinkers and
philosophes.4 In the eighteenth century and early nineteenth century
Spinoza even became the secular saint of a kind of mystical pantheist
deism for authors like Goethe, Schelling, and Coleridge. In the twenti-
eth century Spinoza has been credited with, among many other things, a
founding role in modern empirical psychology, psychoanalysis, Marxism,
Nietzscheanism, liberalism, the modern Jewish secular identity, and too
many other -isms and -ologies to mention.
This brings up the issue of the difficulties that all readers have under-
standing Spinoza. A quick look at the very truncated list above of -isms
and -ologies with which Spinoza has been credited reveals that there is little
that holds them together other than a general agreement on Spinoza’s im-
portance. This is a function of the difficulty of Spinoza’s texts, so daunting
that some of Spinoza’s most virulent detractors hardly read his works at all!
In the eighteenth century even those who did read Spinoza often relied on
popular presentations of his philosophy, most influentially Pierre Bayle’s
entry “Spinoza” in the Dictionnaire. Accordingly Spinoza has sometimes
seemed to function less as a philosopher than as a sort of cipher of Enlight-
enment aspirations, a Rorschach test through which to read heterodoxy,
reason, mysticism, and whatever else one might like.
Who was this philosopher who elicited such responses: contemptuous,
devoted, confused, yet persistent and powerful? He was born in 1632 –
the same year as John Locke, Samuel Pufendorf, and Richard Cumberland
(and Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe). He belonged to the first generation of
philosophers to look back at the anarchic religious war of the late sixteenth
and early and mid-seventeenth centuries from a comparatively stable polity
periodically erupting in spasms of violence.5 He was born into the fairly
conservative Jewish community of Amsterdam. Amsterdam was one of the
3 Nearly one hundred years later the scandal attached to Spinoza was still profound enough that
Lessing’s reported and disputed deathbed announcement to Jacobi that he (Lessing) was a Spinozist
resulted in the greatest scandal of the German Enlightenment.
4 For example Toland, Boulanvillier, Bayle, Lessing, Diderot, and La Mettrie (as discussed in Jonathan
Israel, Radical Enlightenment (Oxford University Press, 2001)).
5 This state of stability was a long and ongoing process: the Peace of Augsburg and Westphalia and
the conclusion of the English Civil War were gradually followed by the Revocation of the Edict
of Nantes, the Glorious Revolution, and the end of the Dutch conflicts between the Gomarists
and Remonstrants, as well as the Orthodox and Republicans like Jan de Witt. Still Spinoza, like
Locke, Pufendorf, and Cumberland, and unlike Hobbes and Descartes (much less the philoso-
phers of the preceding generations like Lipsius and Bodin), was trying to make sense of the end of
violence.
Introduction 3
most economically, politically, artistically, and intellectually vibrant cities
in Europe, although still caught in religious and political struggles which
rose and ebbed over the course of Spinoza’s brief life.
His father Michael was a merchant. Spinoza worked with him until
his death, and then briefly and unsuccessfully attempted to run the fam-
ily business with his brother. At some point, likely in the early to mid
1650s, Spinoza began to drift away from the Jewish community and into
various free-thinking circles centered around Franciscus Van den Enden.6
Whatever caused him to drift away probably also eventually resulted in his
excommunication in 1656, although we cannot be sure.
By 1656 Spinoza had already set a drastically different intellectual course
from most of the other Jews of Amsterdam.7 But expulsion from the Jewish
community meant an inability to communicate and thus to financially in-
teract with other Jews. Consequently, Spinoza had to pursue a different
means of making a living, and so he became a lens grinder. We have a
tendency sometimes to view early modern science through the writings of
the great theorists, but it was an intellectual world centered on observa-
tion, scientific instruments, and experiments. Spinoza was respected for the
quality and precision of his lenses, and the excellence of his work placed
him within the experimental circles at the cutting edge of early modern
science, even if he was far more notorious – from the early 1660s onward –
for his heterodox teachings and works.
I consider relevant details of Spinoza’s biography over the course of this
book. But rather than give more of the particular details of Spinoza’s life I
will provide a broad sense of Spinoza’s intellectual milieu. The spheres in
which Spinoza circulated were unusual for an early modern philosopher,
although the Dutch rabbi Menasseh Ben Israel (who was perhaps one of
Spinoza’s teachers) engaged with a similar variety of intellectual circles, as
did a few others. I would like quickly to sketch the variety of these intellec-
tual and social spheres by considering a contingent fact about Spinoza: his
first name and the many languages into which it was rendered. Through
this device we can get a synoptic view of the many milieus through and in
which he circulated.8
6 These biographical remarks are taken from Steven Nadler, Spinoza: A Life (Cambridge University
Press, 1999) and supplemented by Israel, Radical Enlightenment.
7 There were other excommunications, though, and there are some parallels between Spinoza’s relatively
happy life and the far sadder tale of Uriel da Costa. See Carl Gebhardt (ed.), Die Schriften des Uriel
da Costa (Amsterdam: Hertzberger, 1922).
8 On the issue of the complexity of signification for Spinoza see Yirmiyahu Yovel, Spinoza and
Other Heretics (Princeton University Press, 1989), vol. 1. Much of the following is indebted to his
discussion.
In Latin Spinoza’s name was Benedictus or Benedict. Latin was the
language of most of Spinoza’s philosophical writings and correspondence. It
was the common language of European intellectuals that bridged their many
linguistic and political rifts. It was the language of erudition and learning,
the language in which Spinoza and the students of Franciscus Van den
Enden performed Roman dramas, including works by Spinoza’s beloved
Terence. It was the language of Spinoza’s major ancient influences: Seneca,
Tacitus, Cicero, and Lucretius. Spinoza used Latin to communicate with
intellectuals like Leibniz, Huygens, Oldenburg, Tschirnhaus, and many
others. Latin was the language of science and thus was integral to his
economic pursuits. Latin is the main language through which we know
Spinoza the philosopher.
In Hebrew, Spinoza’s first name was Baruch. It was the language of
Scripture and religious observance in the community in which he was
raised.9 Hebrew was the religious language of the community he was even-
tually excommunicated from, and the language of the theologians he coolly
criticized in the TTP. Spinoza knew the language intimately and even wrote
a Hebrew grammar (although he probably wrote it for the use of radical
Gentiles in understanding Scripture as a historical document).
Spinoza’s first name in Portuguese was Bento. Portuguese was the lan-
guage of his home and family, the language of the country from which his
family had emigrated to Amsterdam. It was also the workaday language of
the Jewish community that he grew up in and of the business he shared
with his brother upon his father’s death: “Bento y Gabriel d’Espinosa.”10
This language was, like Hebrew, intertwined with his Jewish roots. In the
TTP Spinoza notes that, since the King of Spain granted civic rights and
privileges to Spanish Jews who had been forced to convert to Christian-
ity, the converso families quickly forgot their identity. But, as the King of
Portugal denied the Portuguese Jews any social or political status, they held
fast to the Judaism that had been taken away from them even after their
forced conversion. Why not? For, despite their professions of Christian
faith, they were still treated like Jews (TTP iii, iii/42). The Portuguese
community in which Spinoza grew up, with its traditional culture and lan-
guages and insular nature, was likely viewed by Spinoza the philosopher as
9 It is notable that Spinoza equates one of the lower forms of knowledge with the calculations
of merchants (iip40s2). This is also the sort of knowledge on which theocratic authority is
based.
10 See W. G. Van der Tak, “The Firm of Bento and Gabriel de Spinoza,” Studia Rosenthaliana 16 (1982),
178–89.
Introduction 5
pathological. At the same time Portuguese, and Spanish, clearly always
had an appeal for Spinoza, and he owned a number of literary works
including the novels of Cervantes. Portuguese was literally his mother
tongue, the language of his mother Hanna and probably the language of his
lullabies.
Spinoza, of course, spoke a fourth language: Dutch. Dutch was the
language of everyday life once he left the Jewish community, the lan-
guage of his discussion circles, and the language of politics. It was also
the language of important Dutch radical texts like his friend Adriaan
Koerbagh’s Een Blomhofvan allerley Lieflijkheyd sonder verdriet, influen-
tial political works like Pieter De La Court’s Politike Discoursen, as well
as religious polemics like William van Blijenburgh’s De waerheyt van de
christelijcke godst-dienst (against Spinoza). One of Spinoza’s works, the KV ,
has been handed down to us in Dutch, although it was probably translated
from a lost Latin original. Spinoza’s Opera Posthuma was translated into
Dutch immediately upon his death as De Nagelate Schriften (CW x), show-
ing that Spinoza’s circle wished to expand his philosophy from highbrow
Latin to the more colloquial but extraordinarily intellectually rich Dutch
language.
Benedict, Baruch, and Bento all mean the same thing, blessed or blessing.
Spinoza’s goal in his most important work, the Ethics, was to lead readers,
who were capable, to their own blessedness, or more accurately to help them
lead themselves. In his writings Spinoza used the Latin word “beatitudo” for
blessedness (wisely he did not use his own name), which he described as “our
greatest happiness” consisting “in the knowledge of God alone, by which
we are led to do only those things which love and morality advise” (ii49s).
But the many translations of his name and many words for blessedness
point toward the difficulty intrinsic to his undertaking. Spinoza straddled
numerous communities with different cultures and needs and had many
influences arising from his engagements with these different communities.
How to show those who were capable the way to blessedness? How to
help them to recognize their power and to understand God and nature?
How to show them that the desire for blessedness underlaid their many
tongues, and their many ways of speaking, even when they did not know
this? How to show them that blessedness arose from understanding the
metaphysical underpinnings of an apparently chaotic world, underpinnings
which showed much that we take for granted to be either false or so many
expressions of a unified God or nature? And, not the least, how to show
that which he wished to show them was true?
Spinoza tried numerous tactics to get these points across in his different
works, but the Ethics is clearly his ultimate statement on blessedness.11 To
this end, Spinoza employed a particular method, different from many of
the other ways in which he had presented his philosophy over the course
of his intellectual career. This book is concerned with exploring Spinoza’s
method, and seeing how the method bears on and is related to the goals of
the Ethics.
“ i n m o r e g e o m e t r i c o ” – s p i n o z a ’s g e o m e t r i c a l m e t h o d
Philosophical interest in method, interest in the best way to access and
to express truths about morals, God, nature, mathematics, and reality as
such, is as old as philosophy itself. This is not surprising. If all men, or
at least all philosophically disposed men, desire to know, some obvious
questions arise quite immediately and naturally: “Can we know at all?”
“If we can, what can we know?” “What is the best way to know and to
access the most important truths?” These have not turned out to be the
easiest philosophical questions, but they are some of the most fruitful,
witness Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics and Metaphysics, Descartes’ Discourse
on Method , Locke’s Essay, Hume’s Treatise, and many other of the greatest
works of philosophy ancient, modern, and contemporary.
A number of recent works in the history of philosophy have emphasized
that many disparate sorts of philosophers – from Plato, Plotinus, and the
Stoics to Locke, Hume, and Smith to Wittgenstein – share the idea that
the purpose of a philosophical method is not just to offer a series of valid
propositions or claims, but rather in some way to transform or change
readers, to allow them to look at themselves in the world in a different way.
What this different way is varies from philosopher to philosopher, but one
constant is that a method must be constructed in such a manner as to allow
readers to see the ways that the philosophy impacts them and their lives,
and to learn to look at the world from a different perspective than they
might otherwise.
The issue of the transformative purpose of method is interrelated with
the questions of whether we can know, what we can know, and how best
to know. Many of the best-known philosophers prior to the twentieth
century were not primarily interested in providing ingenious arguments
in response to outstanding problems or questions, but wanted to change
11 The TP was written after the Ethics and was at least fairly complete, so one might claim it is the
final word, but, as the TP is incomplete, and as it does not discuss metaphysics or mind, the Ethics
still has pride of place.
Introduction 7
readers, dialogue partners, or listeners, or to allow them to change them-
selves, in such a way that they might become happier and wiser. Philosophy
was not only viewed in terms of the solving of problems, but was also con-
sidered worth pursuing insofar as it was edifying and therapeutic; and these
two goals clearly ought not be mutually exclusive. Clarifying a philosophical
problem or better understanding an important issue are also sorts of self-
clarification, clearing up our heads and making us think a little straighter.
This sort of procedure of clarification also might make us happy and wise,
or at least not so sad and stupid.
Much of what I will say about Spinoza in the following chapters will
respond to and follow from this basic point: that Spinoza’s philosophy is a
kind of self-clarificatory therapy for those capable of self-clarification; that
this self-clarification arises not just from reflection but also from other sorts
of knowing; and finally that the choice of the method by which to establish
appropriate knowledge and the vehicle or means by which to present it, as
a consequence, is absolutely central.
Now I hope you are thinking: “That is an interesting, if somewhat fuzzy,
way of presenting Spinoza and some of the motivations for his philosophy.
But I have looked a bit at the Ethics, and no work of philosophy seems
more ill-suited for such therapy. Spinoza’s Ethics is an exemplar of a sort
of philosophical formalism that places validity of argument far above the
needs of the reader. The Ethics is a geometrical method, a philosophy bound
by the laws of mathematical deduction. If this is a philosophical therapy,
it seems to be a philosophical analogue of the Polar Bear’s Club – the best
therapy is to jump into freezing cold water, only in this case into the iciest
and least human reaches of reason.”
This is a fair objection. I will try to respond to it in the chapters that
follow, but first we need to know something about Spinoza’s method and
its historical context. In the Ethics Spinoza derived a sequence of numbered
propositions from definitions and axioms – much as Euclid did in the
Elements – building each link in the expanding chain on the definitions,
axioms, and propositions prior to it. Euclid derived the celebrated Proposi-
tion 47 of Book I of the Elements – the claim that “in right-angled triangles
the square on the side subtending the right angle is equal to the squares on
the sides containing the right angle” – from prior and apparently far more
obvious propositions about parallelograms (i.41) and angles (i.14).12 In a
12 John Aubrey described Hobbes as converting to the geometrical method while reading Euclid’s
Elements i.47. Hobbes was astonished by the content of Euclid’s proposition while at the same time
recognizing the necessity by which i.47 had been derived from far more obvious propositions. See
Aubrey’s “Life of Hobbes,” iii [1] and iv [8], in Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, ed. and intro. Edwin
Curley (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing, 1994), lxiv and lvi–lxvii.
similar manner Spinoza drew dramatic metaphysical and ethical results such
as that “God is an extended thing” (iip3) from prior and apparently more
obvious propositions.13 Spinoza called the Euclidean manner in which he
presented his philosophy the ordo geometricus or mos geometricus14 – the
geometrical order or manner or way. To present a philosophy in a geomet-
rical manner was to write in ordine geometrico or in more geometrico.
The mos geometricus is a striking way of arranging propositions, but
what is most arresting is the way the arrangement affects readers of the
Ethics. Gilles Deleuze opens his book Spinoza: Practical Philosophy with a
quote from Bernard Malamud’s The Fixer. One of Malamud’s characters
comments about his experience reading Spinoza’s Ethics: “I read through a
few pages and kept on going as though there were a whirlwind at my back.
As I say, I didn’t understand every word but when you’re dealing with such
ideas you feel as though you were taking a witch’s ride. After that I wasn’t
the same man.”15 Although the character is not describing the geometrical
method, it is certainly a crucial part of the “witch’s ride,” the (apparently)
strict necessity by which the reader and all things great and small, from God
to the lowliest worm, are pushed forward, necessarily in a universe without
end. The reader of the Ethics feels rather as if he or she plunged into a
world of necessary reason where metaphysical principles, human actions,
and appetites are treated – just as if it were a “Question of lines, planes,
and bodies” (III “Preface,” ii/138).
13 Where Spinoza derived his propositions primarily from axioms and definitions, Euclid employed a
third category of “postulates” or rules of construction. Spinoza employed postulates in the “physics”
after iip13, but not in the main demonstrations of the Ethics. I will discuss this difference in
chapter 5.
14 Piet Steenbakkers distinguishes between Spinoza’s method and the geometrical form or external
order in which Spinoza presented a number of his works. See Spinoza’s Ethica from Manuscript to
Print: Studies on Text, Form and Related Topics (Aachen: Van Gorcum, 1994). This is quite proper as
the subtitle of the Ethics reads ordine geometrico demonstrata, not in more geometrico, and as the logic
textbooks of the seventeenth century commonly distinguished between method and order, following
on the famous Renaissance controversy between Jacobo Zabarella and Francisco Piccolomini. See
“De Doctrina Ordine Apologiae” (1584) in Jacobo Zabarella, Opera Logica (Cologne: Zetzneri, 1597),
3rd edn. In a crucial passage in the “Preface” to Ethics III, Spinoza claimed that for those who prefer
to curse or laugh at the affections “it will doubtless seem strange that I should undertake to treat
men’s vices and absurdities in the more geometrico.” Here Spinoza explicitly treats geometry as a
mos, an essentially untranslatable term, meaning “way” or “manner” but also “custom” and, in the
genitive plural, morals, character, and so on (and thus similar to ethica). Mos [I will leave the word
untranslated as mos (singular) or mores (plural)] also usually signals a method and not just a mere
ordering. I will argue that the mos geometricus is both a form or ordering and a method. But I certainly
agree with Steenbakkers that this would be untenable if we construed the mos as a linear deduction
from premise to consequence. See the excellent discussion in Steenbakkers, Spinoza’s Ethica From
Manuscript to Print.
15 Quoted in Gilles Deleuze, Spinoza: Practical Philosophy, trans. Robert Hurley (San Francisco: City
Lights Books, 1988), 1. See also Thomas Cook, “A Whirlwind at my Back . . . Spinozistic Themes
in Bernard Malamud’s The Fixer,” Studia Spinoziana 5 (1989), 5–28.
Introduction 9
There is an important difference in the uses made by Spinoza and Euclid
of the geometrical method. Unlike Euclid’s theorems, the propositions that
Spinoza derived geometrically were not about secants and quadrilaterals,
but rather concerned metaphysical first principles, minds, and that which
is advantageous to human life and makes us happy and free. In Spinoza’s
hands the method applies to all beings, not just geometrical figures, and it
applies with equal necessity. Thus, in the Ethics Spinoza brought one of the
most formal and rigorous mathematical methods to bear on philosophy
and on our shared world.
Spinoza was far from unique in presenting his philosophy in a geometrical
manner. Writing in more geometrico was relatively common in the early and
mid-seventeenth century. Such familiar philosophers as Pufendorf, Hobbes,
and Descartes16 presented some of their works or sections of their works in
a geometrical manner, as did less-known figures like Cumberland, Arnold
Geulincx, Jean-Baptiste Morin, and Erhard Weigel.17 Well after Spinoza’s
death Locke argued for a deductive science of morals (although not nec-
essarily a geometrical science of morals) as did Samuel Clarke. And many
who never wrote in a geometrical manner, like Francis Bacon, emphasized
the utility of geometry (and pure mathematics generally) in remedying de-
fects of the intellect and teaching men to avoid miring themselves in the
senses.18 Bacon also built his own philosophy on axioms and definitions –
although not arranged in a geometrical order.
In fact, the generation of philosophers born in 1632, Spinoza, Pufendorf,
Locke, and Cumberland all at one time or another either tried to mathema-
tize (if not always geometrize) morals or present morals as a deductive sys-
tem. The reason why they all did this can best be seen through the example
16 I will discuss Hobbes and Descartes at length below. For Pufendorf see Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann
(ed.), Elementa jurisprudentiae universalis in Thomas Behme (ed.), Samuel Pufendorf: Gesammelte
Werke, vol. 3 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1999).
17 Arnold Geulincx, Ethica (1665) in J. P. N. Land (ed.), Opera Philosophica (The Hague: Martinus
Nijhoff, 1893), iii, 1–271; Jean-Baptiste Morin, “Quod Deus Sit” (1635), translated in Roger Ariew,
John Cottingham, and Tom Sorell (eds.), Descartes’ Meditations: Background Source Materials
(Cambridge University Press, 1998, 230–51); Erhard Weigel, Analysis Aristotelica ex Euclide resti-
tuta (Jena, 1659). There is some question as to whether these authors influenced Spinoza. I believe
Geulincx’s work appeared too late to be an influence on Spinoza’s mos geometricus, however Bernard
Rousset argues that Spinoza’s choice of the title Ethica and other particulars of Spinoza’s “ethical” and
political doctrines can be understood in relation to Geulincx in Geulincx entre Descartes et Spinoza
(Paris: J. Vrin, 1999). It is hard to chart any direct influence between Morin and Spinoza. Weigel is
the most underexplored connection. He was an important influence on Leibniz (cf. Konrad Moll,
Der Junge Leibniz (Stuttgart: Fromman Verlag, 1978), vol. 1.), and on Pufendorf, and was well known
in Protestant countries for Euclid Restituta which attempted to reconcile Aristotle and the moderns
via geometry.
18 Bacon describes pure mathematics as a kind of gymnastic or tennis for the mind in Of the Advance-
ment of Learning (iii. 360).
of Richard Cumberland. In his influential De Legibus Naturae Cumberland
set out to combat Hobbes by presenting an alternative theory of natural
law emphasizing man’s fundamentally benevolent character. Cumberland
argued that in order to do this we need to render moral and political phi-
losophy as a mathematical calculus. Cumberland – like Pufendorf, Locke,
and Spinoza – was dramatically impacted by Hobbes’ De Cive. De Cive
was published in 1642, a month after the beginning of the English Civil
War. Hobbes intended it to be the third work in a trilogy called Elementa
Philosophiae, the first part of which was De Corpore, Hobbes’ physics and
methodology (not published until 1655 but existing in manuscript long
before) and the second part De Homine (not published until 1658 but also
long in manuscript) Hobbes’ theory of perception and his psychology of
the passions. Even without the rest of the Elementa, De Cive had an enor-
mous impact on European intellectuals. In it Hobbes proposed that man
was fundamentally self-interested, that morals was an artificial structure
imposed on the passions by authority, and that these were harsh realities
and harsh solutions that had to be taken into account in helping men to
lead relatively happy lives in the chaos of early modern Europe.
In the “Epistle Dedicatory” to De Cive Hobbes made a remarkable
assertion:
Philosophy is divided into as many branches as there are areas where human reason has
a place, and takes the different names which the difference of subject matter requires,
In treating of figures it is called Geometry, of motion Physics, of natural law, Morals,
but it is all Philosophy; just as the sea is here called British, there Atlantic, elsewhere
Indian, so called from its particular shores, but it is all Ocean. The Geometers have
managed their province outstandingly. For whatever benefit comes to human life from
observation of the stars, from mapping out of lands, from reckoning of time, and from
long-distance navigation; whatever is beautiful in buildings, strong in defence-works
and marvelous in machines, whatever in short distinguishes the modern world from
the barbarity of the past, is almost wholly the gift of Geometry; for what we owe to
Physics, Physics owes to Geometry.19
This claim about the centrality of geometry, that it distinguishes the
ancients from the moderns and that the moderns owe all their successes
to it, is startling. Philosophers like Cumberland – who saw themselves
as responding to Hobbes – also accepted Hobbes’ elevation of geometry
and attempted to use it against the “Monster of Malmesbury” as Hobbes
was sometimes called. If Hobbes was correct, then philosophy could be
19 Hobbes, On the Citizen, ed., trans. & intro. Richard Tuck and Michael Silverthorne (Cambridge
University Press, 1998), 4–5. On the history and import of De Cive see Richard Tuck’s excellent
introduction to this volume, viii–lii.
Introduction 11
geometrized like physics and natural reason could demonstrate necessary
and unshakeable truths about metaphysics, morals, and politics, as certain as
the truths of mathematics. It could establish moral principles of a different
sort than Hobbes, if Hobbes could be shown to have made errors in his
arguments.
But Spinoza was clearly deeply sympathetic to Hobbes and took over
many of Hobbes’ key insights. Hobbes’ mos geometricus could also shear
away the rhetoric and cant of despots and bigots, and leave bare and shining
propositions that held even when they most “kicked against the pricks,”
truths that no rational mind could deny. In advocating the deductive science
of morals, Locke argued it would provide a candle in the soul, illuminating
even when the bigots “cram their Tenets down all Men’s Throats.”20 Thus
the mos geometricus had great allure to heterodox intellectuals, given the
religious and social controversy surrounding much early modern philos-
ophy. And it had particular allure to those like Locke, Cumberland, and
Pufendorf who admired Hobbes (to varying degrees) and attempted to use
his discoveries to counter him on particular issues.
It is important to remember, though, that the mos geometricus was just one
of many mores with which early modern philosophers tinkered. Descartes,
Leibniz, Malebranche, and numerous others offered their philosophies in a
variety of dresses both to communicate with different audiences and to most
effectively present different kinds of content. Descartes remarked in his early
notes called Olympian Thoughts that, “[a]ctors taught not to let any embar-
rassment show on their faces, put on a mask . . . I will now do the same . . .
[and] mount the stage masked.”21 As a philosopher he followed his own
advice and donned many formal masks. The Principles offered the Carte-
sian philosophy as a synthetic curriculum to replace the scholastic manuals
and compendia of Dutch universities like Utrecht, and the Discourse spoke
to the community of early modern mathematicians and natural scientists
as a prelude to a new science and a reform of the old ones. The Meditations
provided a rigorous treatment of metaphysics and epistemology cloaked
in an astonishing synthesis of Jesuit, Augustinian, and Stoical meditative
literature, and in the “Replies to Second Objections” Descartes presented
some cardinal insights of the Meditations in more geometrico.
Leibniz employed countless literary forms in his writings ranging from
the semi-commentary of the Theodicy, to the pseudo-dialogue of the
New Essays, to the Christological structure of the Discourse on Metaphysics
(moving from God the Father to Jesus), and to the distilled Monadology.
20 Locke, Essay, iv.3 §20. 21 AT x 213 (Philosophical Writings of Descartes, i, 2).

Malebranche ranged from the rambling – and extremely popular – essay-
istic style of The Search after Truth to the Dialogues on Metaphysics and the
skeletal Treatise on Nature and Grace. And so on down the list of seventeenth-
and early eighteenth-century authors, major and minor.
The mos geometricus was one of these many forms taken by early modern
philosophy and seen as by no means unique to Spinoza, although indicative
of a particular set of philosophical interests. Spinoza himself experimented
with other forms, incorporating a dialogue into the KV , using the scholastic
manual style in the “Metaphysical Thoughts” attached to the PP, and even
opening the TIE with a Cartesian/Augustinean autobiographical prelude.
Yet readers of early modern philosophy associate the mos geometricus with
Spinoza alone. And this is unsurprising: many of the other authors who
employed the style are now obscure, or, as with Descartes and Locke, it is
considered tangential to their philosophies, or they are known through one
of their less-geometrical works (as Hobbes is in the English-speaking world).
Further, Spinoza’s mos geometricus is far more rigorous than the mores of
the others (with the exception of Descartes), so, once a reader experiences
the Ethics, it is difficult to view many of these other works as geometrical.
Spinoza’s rigor makes his mos seem something entirely different.
There is also the basic question of the relation of style to content in these
different works. The fact that many early modern philosophers presented
core sets of philosophical claims – whether Hobbes’ contract or Descartes’
cogito – in different works garbed in different rhetorical forms, implies that
the content which they wished to express was divorced from the masks used
to present it to different audiences.
Spinoza wrote several other important philosophical works in addition
to the Ethics. Some of these works share themes, arguments, and concepts,
but, for Spinoza, the Ethics is clearly the cardinal presentation of his general
philosophy, the TIE is at best a prelude to it, the KV a draft, and the TTP
and the TP are concerned primarily with politics and not metaphysics.22
As a consequence the Ethics has an authority among Spinoza’s works quite
different from the Leviathan for Hobbes, the Monadology for Leibniz, or
even the Meditations for Descartes (although this is the closest analogue).
Spinoza wrote another work in ordine geometrico, the Principles of Descartes’
22 The Tractatus de Intellectus Emendatione (TIE), which I will treat at length in chapter 3, is a prefatory
treatise to the Ethics concerned with method. The Korte Verhandeling (KV ) is an early draft of the
Ethics, only made widely available since 1851. The Tractatus Theologico-Politicus (TTP) is Spinoza’s
political masterpiece arguing that a tolerant state will be a successful state. The Tractatus Politicus
(TP) is an unfinished late theoretical work on politics, Spinoza’s final work. I will make a great deal
of all of these works (with the exception of the TP) and Spinoza’s letters in this book.
Introduction 13
Philosophy, a work I will discuss in the following, but this is a geometrical
rendering of Descartes’ philosophy for the purposes of teaching students not
yet ready for Spinoza’s own philosophy. The Ethics is Spinoza’s metaphysics,
philosophy of mind and ethics. Although there are important passages in
other works, the Ethics is the only sustained and integrated presentation of
the whole of Spinoza’s philosophy (excepting political philosophy).
Given the cardinal place of the Ethics among Spinoza’s works and its
striking presentation, we might expect there to be a relation between the
presentation and the content (although keeping in mind that it is not
necessarily a unique relation, as the PP is also presented in a geometrical
form). In order to begin to think about what this connection is we ought
to examine the content of the Ethics.
The Ethics is divided into five relatively distinct sections made up of
propositions that ultimately rest (either implicitly or explicitly) on the
definitions and axioms which begin Part I. The structure of the Ethics
mirrors one of Spinoza’s central metaphysical claims, that all follows from
first principles and that philosophers err when they fail to identify and
begin with adequate first principles. For Spinoza, the first principle from
which all others arise and to which all others refer is God. The philosophers
before him failed to create adequate philosophies because they misdefined,
misunderstood, and anthropomorphized God, and thus misunderstood
the various principles arising from God. Conversely, to understand first
principles is to see the way in which all things necessarily follow from God.
And, as this reflects the real metaphysical structure of nature, so Spinoza
sets out a definition of God at the beginning of Ethics I from which he
derives its many propositions.
In this way, Spinoza’s mos geometricus seems uniquely suited for his con-
tent, as it shows how and that propositions arise necessarily from a def-
inition. If the definition the mos geometricus begins with is the adequate
definition of God, then the necessary propositions which arise from this
definition parallel and follow with the same necessity that all in nature
follows from God. This is reinforced by a passage from the TIE:
As for order, to unite and order all our perceptions, it is required, and reason
demands, that we ask as soon as possible, whether there is a certain being, and at
the same time, what sort of being it is, which is the cause of all things, so that its
objective essence23 may be the cause of all of our ideas, and then our mind will
(as we have said) reproduce Nature as much as possible. For it will have Nature’s
essence, order and unity objectively. (TIE 99)
23 I will return to the distinction between objective essences and formal essences in chapter 3.
This passage seems to imply that our minds ought to reproduce nature as
much as possible by discovering the certain being which is the cause of
all things, and understanding what sort of being it is. Through this, our
minds will “reproduce” the order, unity, necessity and essence of nature.
This appears to be what the Euclidean structure of the Ethics attempts
to do, to order philosophy, and our ideas and minds, in relation to our
understanding of the definition of God.
Unfortunately there are some basic and oft-repeated inadequacies of the
mos geometricus which make the relation between the medium and the mes-
sage, if suitable in theory, seemingly untenable in practice. First, the crucial
feature of a Euclidean deduction, on which rests the claim to “reproduce”
the objective order of nature, is that a geometrical method begins with
definitions and axioms and derives propositions from them. The axioms
are common features of minds and bodies, and Spinoza treats them as if
they are intuitively obvious to all readers. We may, and should, interro-
gate them. But it is not difficult to see where they come from and why
Spinoza thinks them clear (even if he is wrong that these are truly common
notions).24
The definitions with which one begins a deduction, though, are the cru-
cial support and warrant of the deduction. They lead to adequate principles
when they are adequate and result in inadequate ideas when they are inad-
equate. Spinoza assumes the former in the quote from the TIE cited above
and apparently assumes that the definitions with which he begins the Ethics
are adequate and will lead to adequate cognition. In the PP Spinoza as-
sumes that the inadequate Cartesian principles upon which his geometrical
presentation of Descartes’ philosophy are based result in various “errors,”
or inadequate ideas.25 Thus, in either case, the definitions are crucial for
what follows from them.
But from whence come the definitions and how are they justified? How
do we justify the definition of God from which all derives, as well as the
many other definitions employed throughout the work? It is not clear what
such a justification would be. The definitions themselves must be clear
and evident ideas, but this does not explain where they come from nor
why a reader ought to agree to them if he does not recognize the ideas as
24 See particularly iip40s1, where Spinoza distinguishes axioms from “universals” arrived at through
induction from the imagination.
25 In the “Preface” to the PP, likely written by Meyer but clearly agreed to in all its details by Spinoza,
Meyer remarks the “Author has only set out the opinions of Descartes and their demonstrations,
insofar as these are found in his writings, or are such as ought to be deduced validly from the
foundations he laid. So let no one think that he is teaching either his own opinions, or only those
which he approves of ” (i/131).
Introduction 15
evident. This problem would have been evident to Spinoza, as Descartes
spelled it out explicitly in the “Replies to the second set of Objections” to
the Meditations, and used it to plead for the superiority of the analytic or
investigative method over synthetic procedures such as the mos geometricus.
One might hope to justify the definitions through the propositions that
arise from them. This approach would be circular though, and to justify
a cause through its effects would be invalid for Spinoza as knowledge of
an effect26 depends on knowledge of the cause (ia4), but the converse is
clearly not always the case.
A second problem is, if the Ethics presents the necessity of nature, why
so many alternative proofs, scholia, and digressions? These seem to lessen
the necessity and rigor of the deduction insofar as they make the deduction
less of an efficient causal process directed toward a single end, like the
efficient processes of nature. If the goal of the method is to allow the
mind to represent nature, why so much in addition to definitions, axioms,
propositions, and demonstrations?
A third objection was offered in a famous letter from Tschirnhaus to
Spinoza (which I will discuss in chapter 6) – Letter LXXXII. In geome-
try one rarely if ever infers a string of propositions from one definition
or principle, rather propositions are inferred from a number of defini-
tions. This is also the case in Spinoza’s Ethics. God is the first principle
of Spinoza’s metaphysics from which all else derives. God has an infinite
infinity of attributes, two of which are thought and extension. All modes of
extension, all extended things, are what they are insofar as they are in and
through the attribute of extension. Is Spinoza then saying that we literally
deduce all extended things from the definition of attribute, that from a
string of words or a group of ideas – “By attribute I understand what the
intellect perceives of a substance, as constituting its essence” – arises all of
extended nature? This would seem to be a rather unfortunate consequence
of Spinoza’s claims about definitions representing the essences of things
and from the demonstration of ip16:
I p 1 6 : Out of the necessity of the divine nature, an infinity of infinite modes (that is,
everything which can come under an infinite intellect) must follow.
d e m . : This Proposition ought to be manifest to anyone, if he attends to this
fact, that the intellect infers many properties from the given definition of any
thing which truly do follow necessarily from it (i.e., from the very essence
itself ); and that it infers more properties the more the definition of the thing
26 By “knowledge” here Spinoza means true or adequate knowledge. I will discuss this at some length
in chapter 2.
expresses reality, i.e., the more reality the essence of the defined thing involves.
But since the divine nature has absolutely infinite attributes (by d6), each of
which also expresses an essence infinite in its own kind, from its necessity
there must follow infinitely many things in infinite modes (i.e., everything
which can fall under an infinite intellect).
This proposition, the cornerstone of Spinoza’s metaphysics, implies that
just as many properties are derived from any given definition, so everything
which falls under an infinite intellect can be inferred from the divine nature.
Thus, it seems, if the definition of God that begins the Ethics is a true
definition, then everything in our world should be able to be derived from
it. But this is, at least on the surface, absurd. It seems to trade on an
apparently insupportable ambiguity between real things and ideas of things
and appeared hopelessly unworkable to Tschirnhaus and many of Spinoza’s
otherwise sympathetic readers.
I will argue that there are answers to these questions in Spinoza’s phi-
losophy, and provide two sorts of justifications for Spinoza. First, I will
argue that careful attention to the mos geometricus will help us better to un-
derstand the role of definitions in his philosophy, how Spinoza conceives
them, and why he thought them justified. This will show that the Ethics is
not a dogmatic work in any normal sense. Second, I will argue that a basic
puzzle in Spinoza’s philosophy – the importance that Spinoza accords to a
third kind of knowledge – can be clarified through understanding Spinoza’s
method.
In order to address these and other questions I will assume the importance
of the geometrical form of the Ethics for understanding some of its central
philosophical claims. I will also assume that the structure of the Ethics
is best understood in relation to Spinoza’s theory of knowledge. Spinoza
argues in Ethics II that there are three sorts of knowledge (derived from a
theory of four sorts of knowledge in the TIE). The first kind of knowledge,
which Spinoza calls imagination, is primarily concerned with testimony,
sense perception and the sorts of ideas that are derived from testimony
and sense perception. Spinoza thinks knowledge of the first kind to be
extremely defective, although he also acknowledges that imagination is
essential to human life and has a pivotal role to play in making our human
lives happy and powerful. The second kind of knowledge, which Spinoza
calls reason, arises from and responds to those common features found in
the parts and wholes of bodies and their correspondent ideas. Scientific
theories, for example, would likely fall in this category as would much
we know by logic. All common notions or axioms fall into the second
kind of knowledge. The third kind of knowledge, which Spinoza calls the
Introduction 17
“scientia intuitiva,” is far more mysterious. Spinoza decribes the third kind
of knowledge as proceeding from “an adequate idea of the formal essence
of certain attributes of God to the adequate knowledge of the essences of
things,” (iip40s2). The final chapter of this book will attempt to make
some sense of the third kind of knowledge. The crucial point will be that
Spinoza considers this “adequate” knowledge and so I will have to consider
adequacy at some length. I will also argue that the third kind of knowledge
is connected with issues of individuation.
There is something satisfying about using a philosopher’s own theories
to evaluate basic points of his or her own doctrine. Furthermore, the two
philosophers whose works Spinoza cites far and away the most, Maimonides
and Descartes, both thought their theories of understanding central for
understanding their works. But, as opposed to Maimonides, and in tandem
with Descartes, Spinoza’s deep suspicion of language seems to preclude the
Ethics being anything but the first kind of knowledge. Words are always
testimonies of someone else’s mental states, of someone else’s experience,
and we have “mutilated” (Spinoza’s technical term) access at best to what
the words stand in for. And, as in the philosophies of both Descartes and
Maimonides, it is not clear how the theory of understanding is to be applied.
The resolution of these issues will be important for my argument and will
rest on the centrality of the mos geometricus to Spinoza’s philosophy.
In centralizing the mos geometricus in this work I am also posting a
claim in the various debates over Spinoza’s philosophy. Commentators
have placed differing degrees of emphasis on the importance of the mos
geometricus for understanding the Ethics. At one extreme, Harry Wolfson
discounts it, remarking, “there is no logical connection between the sub-
stance of Spinoza’s philosophy and the form in which it is written.”27 At the
other extreme, the most dominant French Spinoza scholar of the twentieth
century, Martial Gueroult, places it at center stage, as does his great suc-
cessor Alexandre Matheron and some of Spinoza’s most important critics
such as Hegel and critical commentators like Harold Joachim.
My interpretation of Spinoza’s method will be closer to Gueroult’s and
Matheron’s interpretations than Wolfson’s, although it will also be substan-
tially different from their interpretations. I will claim that the most im-
portant function of the mos geometricus is tied up with what Spinoza calls
“emendation” in the TIE, ridding oneself of inadequate ideas so that those
adequate ideas that already make up our minds can better be expressed.
27 Harry Wolfson, The Philosophy of Spinoza: Unfolding the Latent Processes of His Reasoning (Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press, 1934), i:55.
What results is not merely a formal knowledge or anatomy of our mind, but
rather the discovery and augmentation of those very powers always already
in the human mind and body. This discovery is a process of “becoming
what you are” to use Nietzsche’s famous expression, recognizing that the
being you always were was different from the myriad ways you represented
yourself via the imagination.
The ultimate goal of this emendation – which I have discussed in the first
section of the Introduction – is succinctly expressed in the brief “Preface”
to Book II:
I pass now to explaining that which must necessarily follow from God, or an eternal
being, and its infinite essence. Not, indeed everything; for we have demonstrated
that an infinity of infinite modes must follow from it (ip16): but that alone, which
is able to lead us as if by the hand, to knowledge of the human Mind and of its
highest blessedness.
The title of Spinoza’s Ethics is aptly chosen. Spinoza’s work is not just a
metaphysics, although the first part of the Ethics is one of the most powerful
metaphysics ever thought up by a philosopher. It is an “ethics,” by which
Spinoza means an account of how one ought to act in order to attain joy and
blessedness. Yet the metaphysics is not just preparatory, it is the necessary
precondition of a therapy – an emendative therapy – that allows readers to
see what the relevance of the metaphysics is to them and to “become what
they are.” This is through proper knowledge God, of the human mind, and
then its highest blessedness.
I will try to show the ways in which Spinoza’s mos geometricus bears on this
goal. The book is divided into seven chapters excluding this Introduction.
Chapters 1 and 2 will present some of the basic concepts in Spinoza’s
philosophy – nature, laws, the three kinds of knowledge, adequacy, the
infinite – that are important for understanding Spinoza’s method. It will
not be entirely obvious how all these concepts bear on the mos geometricus
initially, but it will become clear as the book progresses. That this is the
case, i.e. that apparently unrelated concepts are interconnected in often
surprising ways is itself one of the hallmarks of Spinoza’s method.
In chapter 3 I will discuss the key idea of emendation in Spinoza’s phi-
losophy. I will argue that Spinoza believes that adequate knowledge arises
from a process of emending and clarifying the confused and mutilated ideas
we already have, and with them ourselves. That self-clarification and the
clarification of our ideas are interconnected is obvious, but it also points to
the fact that the clarification of our ideas is therapeutic in a very particular
way.
Introduction 19
The fourth and fifth chapters present some background for Spinoza’s
discussion of method, both the frequently discussed early modern
background – Hobbes and Descartes – and two Jewish philosophers –
Maimonides and Gersonides. I argue that Spinoza’s geometrical method
develops aspects of the work of all of these philosophers (as well as Bacon
who is considered at length in chapter 3). As I noted above, one of the
unique things about Spinoza is the diversity of contexts in which he cir-
culated. The tension between these contexts and the single-minded force
with which Spinoza expressed himself is one of the most exciting things to
consider as an interpreter of Spinoza.
The sixth chapter is the heart of the book and provides an interpretation
of Spinoza’s theory of definition. I argue in this chapter that the sort of
emendative therapy that Spinoza proposed in the TIE is part and parcel of
the Ethics itself. Spinoza sought to move us from confused and mutilated
ideas which we access through the flawed medium of language to those
ideas that already make up our minds and have our bodies as their ideas.
I will argue that some of the difficulties of interpreting Spinoza, of getting
just at what he meant, are a necessary consequence of his method. I grant
from the outset that this is an interpretation of the Ethics; there cannot be
final proof in matters about which Spinoza says so little. But different sorts
of evidence, both internal to the Ethics and from the TIE, the TTP, and
the very important letter to Spinoza from his friend Tschirnhaus, will be
brought to bear on the theory of definition.
The final chapter will apply the account of method developed in prior
chapters to one of the cognitive goals of Spinoza’s Ethics, forming a spe-
cial sort of knowledge called the “third kind of knowledge” or “scientia
intuitiva.” Spinoza, unfortunately, says little about the content of this spe-
cial sort of knowledge, and what he does say is extremely confusing. I do
not promise entirely to sort out the third kind of knowledge, but I will
argue that understanding how and why it is the cognitive goal of the mos
geometricus helps bring light to some of Spinoza’s more perplexing claims
about it. In particular I will argue that the third kind of knowledge arises
from knowledge we have of a very special essence, the human essence, and
the way that this knowledge can augment our power and beatitude.
chapter 1
A worm in the blood: some central themes

in Spinoza’s Ethics
The Emmet’s Inch & Eagle’s Mile

Make Lame Philosophy to smile.
William Blake, Auguries of Innocence
In order to understand why Spinoza embraced the geometrical method in

the Ethics it necessary to reflect on the general contours of his philosophy.
It is also important to have a sense of what Spinoza’s method – geometri-
cal or otherwise – is trying to get at, what Spinoza is seeking to discover
with it. The purpose of this chapter and the next is to set the stage for
the chapters that follow, while at the same time developing a few basic
questions about Spinoza’s method. The first section of this chapter pro-
vides a brief sketch of Spinoza’s Ethics and introduces some of Spinoza’s
key definitions and concepts. The middle sections will present a problem
in Spinoza’s Ethics: “What does it mean to be a part of nature?” “Part of
nature” is one of Spinoza’s most potent concepts but it needs careful in-
terpretation in order not to render it inconsistent with other aspects of
Spinoza’s philosophy, particularly his criticisms of anthropomorphism and
teleology.1 The final section of the chapter will consider Spinoza’s system
from the “emmet’s inch”2 or the bottom-up perspective, as opposed to
the “eagle’s mile” or top-down perspective of Part I of the Ethics and the
first section of this chapter. I will introduce the “bottom-up” perspective
through a letter written by Spinoza to his friend Oldenburg describing a
“worm” (by which Spinoza understood a small simple particle or being)
floating through the bloodstream of a giant being and trying to make
1 This is an important theme throughout Spinoza’s philosophical works. Philosophers “place true
happiness solely in virtue and peace of mind, and they strive to conform with nature, not to make
nature conform with them; for they are assured that God directs Nature in accordance with the
requirements of her universal laws, and not in accordance with the requirements of the particular
laws of human nature” (TTP VI, Samuel Shirley (trans.), Theological-Political Treatise [Leiden:
E. J. Brill, 1991], 78).
2 “Emmet” is an eighteenth-century word for ant.
20
Some central themes in Spinoza’s Ethics 21
sense of the vast circulatory maze it finds itself within. Finally I will con-
sider the problem of combining these two perspectives with an allusion to
Wilfred Sellars’ distinction between the manifest image and the scientific
image.
a n o u t l i n e o f s p i n o z a ’s e t h i c s
Spinoza divided the Ethics into five parts.3 Part I presents Spinoza’s
metaphysics. Spinoza populated his metaphysics with three basic sorts of
entities – substance, attributes, and modes. A worm, for example, is a mode
or a collection of modes. Ideas are also modes. Thus the idea of a worm, as
well as any and all ideas worms might have, are modes. Thought as opposed
to a thought or a group of thoughts, is an attribute. God is the only sub-
stance. These entities – substance, attributes, and modes – are referred to
over and over again in the Ethics. Spinoza considers them to be exhaustive
of what there is – anything and everything belongs to one of these three
categories. A central question the Ethics investigates is: what are the conse-
quences of holding these three entities as basic for one’s understanding of
self and world?
Here are Spinoza’s definitions of each:
d e f i n i t i o n 3 : By substance I understand what is in itself and conceived
through itself, i.e., that the concept of which does not require the concept of
another thing from which it must be formed.
d e f i n i t i o n 4 : By attribute I understand what the intellect perceives of a sub-
stance as constituting its essence.
d e f i n i t i o n 5 : By mode I understand the affections of substance, or that which
is in another, through which it is also conceived.
What can we tell about the three definitions on a quick examination? It
is clear that substance is fundamentally different from attributes or modes
insofar as substance is what it is independent of modes and attributes, while
modes and attributes both presuppose substance. What it means to be a
mode is to be an affection of a substance, and an attribute is “what the
intellect perceives of substance, as constituting its essence.” Consequently
substance has pride of place among the basic entities in Spinoza’s ontology.
These definitions also point toward another of Spinoza’s basic dis-
tinctions, a metaphysical distinction between natura naturans and natura
3 It appears that at a relatively early stage of its composition the Ethics was divided into three parts and
what eventually became Ethics III–V was all one large section. The five-part structure of the Ethics
appears to have evolved as the work was written. See Letter XXVIII.
naturata.4 The Latin expression Natura naturans means “naturing nature”
or “nature insofar as it natures.” Spinoza understood this to denote na-
ture considered as fully actual and causal (ip29s). Natura naturata literally
means “natured nature” or “nature insofar as it is natured.” All modes are
natura naturata since they are not free causes – causes arising only from
their own essences or natures (id7) – but rather they are what they are in
and through another. They are natured, they derive some of their essence or
nature from another. Thus there is a kind of divide in Spinoza’s metaphysics
with substance and attributes, natura naturans, on one side, and modes or
natura naturata, on the other. When taken all together they are the whole
of nature.
There is no reference to “cause” in Spinoza’s definitions of substance,
modes, and attributes. In fact one of the main purposes of Book I is to
develop an account of causation. I consider this theory of causation – which
links divine causation, modal causation, and the causal individuation of
modes (to be discussed at greater length in later chapters) – to be the buttress
of Spinoza’s metaphysics. But, even if the distinction is not really implicit
in the initial definitions of substance, attribute, and mode, it is important
to keep in mind that, from the three basic entities in his philosophy, and
a fairly general and abstract notion of cause (id1, ip16), Spinoza developed
this important metaphysical division.
Spinoza did not invent the terms substance, attributes, and modes. From
Aristotle to Descartes many or even most mainstream philosophers were
interested in understanding substances, attributes, and modes, and conse-
quently there was some sort of shared tradition in how the concepts were
discussed. This is not to imply that Spinoza just took over traditional terms.
Rather, over the course of the Ethics Spinoza invests each of these defini-
tions with his own particular sense. For Spinoza there is only one substance,
in contrast to Descartes, Leibniz, Locke, and most Aristotelians. This one
substance has infinite attributes. Spinoza’s attributes are not the sorts of
attributes that many medieval philosophers predicated of God, like om-
nipotence or omniscience, but rather thought and extension. Finally, each
attribute has an infinity of modes that necessarily follow from the divine
essence.5
4 These terms are traditionally left untranslated. When Spinoza introduces them at ip29s he implies
that they are technical terms that most of his readers would know.
5 In The Philosophy of Spinoza Harry Wolfson emphasizes that the definition of substance is traditional
but the definition of mode is a break with the Aristotelian idea of accident (cf., Harry Wolfson, The
Philosophy of Spinoza 2 vols. [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1934] i, ch. 3). I will argue
that the definition of mode is sufficiently vague that it is not at all clear, on an initial reading, whether
it is a Scotistic mode or an Aristotelian accident. As the Ethics unfolds it becomes clear that Spinoza’s
modes are very different from Aristotelian accidents.
All three of Spinoza’s definitions are quite controversial. Spinoza’s def-
inition of substance has been widely criticized, most famously by Hegel.6
Generally these criticisms are directed less at the definition itself than at the
perceived consequences of the definition, i.e., that it commits Spinoza to
only one substance that is God or nature, and the denial of the independent
reality of individuals. There are many problems with Spinoza’s derivation of
this one substance, but these problems seem less to be a direct consequence
of the definition as stated by Spinoza, and more to arise from the ways in
which Spinoza argues from the definition.
Spinoza’s definition of attribute as “what the intellect perceives of a
substance, as constituting its essence” is also extremely general. The most
notable feature of the definition is Spinoza’s emphasis on “intellect,” that
there seems to be some epistemic aspect to the attributes. There is much
ambiguity as to what sort of intellect we are talking about (human or divine),
and whether the attribute is to be understood as a subjective perception
of a substance (what one thinks of substance) or as an objective set of
facts about substance perceived by an intellect.7 This is further exacerbated
by Spinoza’s tendency to use both “perceive” and “essence” differently in
different contexts.
And there are further points of contention. One controversy concerns
just how many attributes there are. I will discuss this in passing in the next
chapter. Another controversy – closely connected to the question of whether
the attributes are subjective or objective – concerns the differences between
substance and attributes. If an attribute is what an intellect perceives of
substance as constituting its essence, and if attributes are objective in some
sense (which there are many reasons to believe they are), then what is the
difference between attribute and substance? This is a notoriously difficult
problem.
Spinoza’s definition of mode is perhaps most intriguing of all. The defi-
nition is neutral as to what sort of content a given mode has. This neutrality
is a consequence of the generality of Spinoza’s definition. Take, for example,
my goldfish Charlie. The idea of Charlie, Charlie’s body, and Charlie him-
self are all modes, even though each mode has a very different content. The
idea of Charlie is a mode of thought (it is conceived in and through some-
thing else, the attribute of thought), Charlie’s body is a mode of extension
6 See particularly G. W. F. Hegel, Wissenschaft der Logik (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1986), i.3.3c
(i:456–7), ii.3.1c (ii:195–200), in English, A. V. Miller (trans.), Hegel’s Science of Logic (Atlantic
Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1969) 382–3, 536–40. For a thorough defense of Spinoza see Pierre
Macherey, Hegel ou Spinoza (Paris: Editions la Découverte, 1990), ch. 1.
7 The consensus is that Spinoza meant attributes to be objective. But see Charles Jarrett, “Some
Remarks on the ‘Objective’ and ‘Subjective’ Interpretations of the Attributes,” Inquiry, 20 (Winter
1977), 447–56.
(it is conceived through the attribute of extension), and Charlie himself is a
mode expressing itself both as thought (Charlie’s mental states or thoughts)
and extension (Charlie’s body, Charlie’s swimming, etc.). Furthermore,
Charlie is both a mode and composed of many modes. This brings up an
obvious question: are the mind and the body of a given thing the same
mode (Charlie) now considered as an extended mode (Charlie’s body), and
now as a thinking mode (Charlie’s mind) or are they two different modes?
Substance, attributes, and modes, despite the many controversies con-
cerning how precisely to understand them, are the basic categories of
Spinoza’s metaphysics, and by extension Spinoza’s account of nature and
the world. There are two further definitions from Part I of the Ethics that are
important for understanding Spinoza’s basic metaphysical commitments:
d e f i n i t i o n 1 : By causa sui I understand that, the essence of which involves

existence, or that, the nature of which is not able to be conceived, except as
existing.
d e f i n i t i o n 6 : By God I understand an absolutely infinite being, that is, a
substance consisting of infinite attributes, [all of] which express the same
eternal and infinite essence.
The definition of causa sui, or “cause of itself,” is only rarely invoked in

the Ethics, but its prominent place as “Definition 1” signals its importance.
It is a somewhat peculiar definition as it equates a causal concept – cause
of itself – with two ontological claims. What seems important about causa
sui is that it implies that the primum ens in Spinoza’s universe, that being
whose essence involves existence and who cannot be conceived except as
existing, is caused. Of course it is caused by itself, but the implication is
that causation and reason extend to all beings. In principle there is nothing
beyond cause and nothing beyond reason. This has many striking and
heterodox consequences.
Ultimately, Spinoza equated causa sui with God. Although the defini-
tion of causa sui is first among Spinoza’s definitions, the definition of God
is the cardinal and crucial definition of the Ethics. For Spinoza, the def-
inition of God does not supplant the definition of substance. Rather, in
Ethics I Spinoza argues that God is the one substance from which infinite
attributes and an infinite infinity of modes arise and which are under-
stood and comprehended, insofar as they are capable of being understood
and comprehended, in and through God. I will have much to say about
Spinoza’s definition of God in what follows.
The metaphysics that Spinoza presents in Ethics I is derived not just
from definitions but also from seven axioms or common notions. Spinoza
presents these axioms as if they are philosophical commitments that anyone
and everyone might hold. But, like the definitions, they are highly equiv-
ocal. It is really only over the course of reading the Ethics that the reader
begins to understand them.8 They are all very important but there are two
that demand particular consideration for my purposes:
a x i o m 3 : Out of a given determinate cause an effect necessarily follows, and
conversely, if no determinate cause has been given it is impossible that an
effect will follow.
a x i o m 4 : Understanding an effect depends on and involves understanding the
cause.
Both of these axioms concern causes. Axiom 4 is a strong claim, one might
imagine the following far weaker version that “Understanding an effect
depends on and involves the cause.” In this variant one need not understand
the cause, it is just the case that when one understands an effect this depends
in some way on the cause of that effect. For example, the variant could just
assert that if it were not for the cause there would be no effect to understand
at all, hence to understand an effect there must be a cause. Spinoza’s real
axiom is far stronger, understanding the effect depends on understanding
the cause.
This has an obvious but important consequence for the Ethics. We need
to first understand causes (not just recognize them) in order to under-
stand effects. Consequently, a proper philosophy needs to be structured
in accordance with this axiom; we need to build our philosophy in such
a way as to understand causes. There is still the problem of how we ac-
cess these causes, but our need to access them and understand them is
clear.
Axiom 3 states that an effect will follow when there is a determinate
cause, and, conversely, if there is no determinate cause it is impossible
that an effect will follow. It is not clear exactly what Spinoza meant by
“determinate,” but the axiom has the following powerful consequence. If
there is no determinate cause as to why something does not exist, God for
example, then it is impossible for that thing not to exist, and consequently
it necessarily must exist. This functions as a kind of principle of sufficient
reason in some of Spinoza’s most important propositions. Taken together
with 1a4 and the definition of causa sui they support a fully causal and fully
rational world where everything has a cause, all causes entail reasons, and,
8 Margaret Wilson, “Spinoza’s Causal Axiom (Ethics I, Axiom 4),” in Y. Yovel, ed., God and Nature:
Spinoza’s Metaphysics (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1991), 133–60.
consequently, to be is to have a cause and a reason. This identification of
causation and existence, which I noted in the discussion of causa sui, is a
central feature of Spinoza’s metaphysics.
In the latter half of Ethics I (ip16–33) Spinoza works out some very dra-
matic consequences that these considerations have for metaphysics. One
notorious consequence is determinism – “that every event is causally de-
termined from antecedent conditions by the laws of nature.” Spinoza also
seems to be committed to some sort of “necessitarianism,” either to the
strong claim that “every actual state of affairs is logically or metaphysically
necessary, so that the world could not have been in any way different than
it is” or to something a bit weaker that does not require that all finite states
are necessitated in all ways.9 Over the course of Part I of the Ethics, Spinoza
argues for an infinite and necessary world where all things arise from one
fully rational God through which all things are what they are. I will discuss
a number of the propositions of Ethics I in the following chapters at some
length.
I would like to briefly sketch the remainder of the Ethics to provide a
general sense of its overall structure. Part II of the Ethics, “Of the Nature and
Origin of the Mind,” offers the consequences for minds (infinite and finite)
of Spinoza’s account of God. Spinoza argues that thought and extension –
both of which are substances for Descartes10 – are each separate attributes
expressing the eternal and infinite essence of God. Thus, Spinoza takes
the heterodox step of identifying both the mental and physical with the
divine attributes. Once Spinoza establishes this, he develops a number of
surprising theses about the mind, including his notorious claim that the
will is just a mode of the mind and thus that the will is as necessitated and
as necessary as any other mode (iip48, iip49c). He also argues that thought
and extension exhibit the same “order and connection” (iip7), that the
mind understands itself and all else through the body, and that the mind
is literally the idea of the body (iip11–13).
There are a number of definitions in Book II that will be important in
later chapters. But, since I have been using “essence” willy-nilly, it seems
particularly important to present this definition at the outset. Actually,
9 Don Garrett, “Spinoza’s Necessitarianism,” in Y. Yovel, ed., God and Nature: Spinoza’s Metaphysics,
(Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1991), 191–2. Garrett provides a highly convincing argument that Spinoza is a
rather strong necessitarian. But see Edwin Curley and Charles Huennemann, “Spinoza’s Necessi-
tarianism Reconsidered,” in Rocco J. Gennaro and Charles Huenemann (eds.), New Essays on the
Rationalists (Oxford University Press, 1999), 241–62.
10 Principles of Philosophy, i.52–3.
strictly speaking, Spinoza does not define essence as such, but rather
“belongs to an essence”:
I i d 2 : To the essence of something belongs that which when given, the thing
is necessarily put forward, and which when removed the thing is necessarily
taken away; or that, without which the thing can neither be nor be conceived,
and vice-versa.
Curley (CW 447n1) points out that this a more restrictive definition of
essence than the Cartesian definition of essence Spinoza offers in the Princi-
ples (the clause “that which when given, the thing is necessarily put forward”
prevents God from necessarily belonging to the essence of each individual
(iip10cs)). The definition of essence is a touchstone throughout the Ethics
connected with Spinoza’s theory of definition, and thus relevant to his
thinking about method.
Parts I and II of the Ethics form a unit for reasons I will discuss in
a later chapter. Parts III, IV, and V also form a unit – although Part V
provides a kind of syncretic conclusion to the entire book and is in this
way different from any of the chapters that come before it. I will discuss
why and how this is the case in the concluding chapter of this book, but,
for the moment, “On the Origin and Nature of the Affects” (III) presents
a theory of the affections and the passions grounded on the metaphysics
presented in the first two parts of the Ethics. Spinoza’s theory of the passions
is extremely interesting, and built on one of his most fundamental concepts,
the conatus. The conatus is a sort of metaphysical principle of inertia, the
drive each individual has to persist in its existence: a human to persevere as
a human, a rock to persevere as a rock, and so on. Spinoza uses the conatus
to develop a theory of the passions and an account of the ways in which
human beings persevere in their existence. In defining the passions in this
way, Spinoza is developing some suggestions derived from Hobbes’ and
Descartes’ theories of the passions.
Theories of the passions were central to the projects of many of the
best-known philosophers of the eighteenth century (Descartes, Hobbes,
Malebranche, Gassendi) as they provided a means to explain the ways in
which the body affected the mind. The ways these philosophers defined
the passions, and what precisely they meant by the body affecting the mind
were quite diverse. But there is a general sense that a mechanistic physiology
would provide a wedge into a rich variety of ethical phenomena. Spinoza
diverges from all of the above philosophers in (1) denying that the passions
were ways in which the body disturbed the mind and (2) considering the
mental and the bodily as autonomous. Descartes and Malebranche accept
(2) but not (1), Hobbes and Gassendi (1) but not (2). The conatus was, for
Spinoza, the concept that anchored (1) and (2), as the tendency to persevere
in existence holds of all modes, mental, physical, or both, yet it does not
imply that mental is reducible to the physical.
There has been a tendency when considering Spinoza’s philosophy to
view Parts III and IV as interesting but ancillary to the meat of Spinoza’s
arguments. I think this is because when teaching philosophy there is a
tendency to make major divisions between moral philosophy, philosophy
of mind or epistemology, and metaphysics. Part I of Spinoza’s Ethics is
clearly a metaphysic. Part II is, at least in part, a philosophy of mind and
theory of knowledge. In Part II Spinoza analyzes and compares different
sorts of knowledge and cognition as well as issues surrounding the relation
(or lack of relation) between mind and body. In addition he develops a
theory of truth and adequacy. Much of what he has to say about issues
in metaphysics, the philosophy of mind, and the theory of knowledge is
relevant to current philosophical practice.
The case is somewhat different with moral theory. Although there has
been a real resurgence of interest in the emotions and the passions among
moral philosophers and philosophers of psychology, and an attendant resur-
gence in interest in Spinoza, most issues in moral philosophy are still
dictated by a few philosophers writing before Spinoza – Aristotle and Plato –
or after – Kant, Mill, Bentham, and Hume. Spinoza’s concerns overlap with
all of these philosophers on particular issues. But his way of doing moral
philosophy built on a theory of the passions, although akin to Hume, is
still foreign to the ways in which most contemporary moral philosophers
do moral philosophy.11
Part IV of the Ethics, “On Human Bondage, or the Powers of the Affects,”
describes the ways in which we are limited and buffeted by our passions
such that they diminish our power. But Spinoza also concurrently develops
his concept of a “free man,” a person who, despite the power of his (or her)
passions, manages to be as little impacted by contingent circumstances as
possible and to be happy, powerful, and free. The discussion of the “free
man” includes some of the most powerful passages in the Ethics including
two of Spinoza’s best-known maxims: that the free man thinks least of all
about death (ivp67) and that if men were born free they would have no
ideas of good and evil (ivp68).
11 There is a notable list of counter examples, Annette Baier, Martha Nussbaum, and Amélie Rorty
being some of the best known.
Part V, “On the Power of the Intellect or Human Freedom,” is the
culmination of the propositions in Parts III and IV of the Ethics and the
Ethics as a whole. In the final sections of Part V of the Ethics, Spinoza
once again adopts the austere metaphysical lens of Part I of the Ethics to
develop two crucial concepts. First, he argues that there is a part of the
human mind that is eternal. These arguments provide a stepping-stone
toward a second claim – that we can know through what Spinoza calls
the third kind of knowledge or the “scientia intuitiva.” This knowledge
is “sub specie aeternitatis” or “beneath a species of eternity” and Spinoza
claims that from the third sort of knowledge arises an intellectual love of
God in and through which we are the very love by which God loves itself.
These aspects of Part V, in tandem with Part I, gave rise to Goethe’s “god-
drunken” Spinoza, as well as the interpretations of Coleridge and a host
of other admirers who wished to view Spinoza’s highest sort of knowledge
as an intuitive understanding of the deep unity of nature. This is at odds
with the more “naturalistic” picture of Spinoza’s philosophy emphasized by
many recent Anglo-American interpreters.
a part of nature
One of Spinoza’s most celebrated claims is that we – human beings – are a
“part of nature.” By describing human beings as a “part of nature” Spinoza
meant above all that man should be explained through the laws of nature
that hold of all natural beings. This is the cardinal thesis of Spinoza’s natu-
ralism. Undergirding all “parts of nature” – humans, lumpfish, telephones,
and neutrinos – are metaphysical and physical laws which relate the “parts
of nature” back to a cause that explains what they are. The laws of nature
are not only physical laws, although physical laws are clearly part of what
Spinoza meant by laws of nature. Since the attribute of thought expresses
the essence of substance, and yet is fully independent of the attribute of
extension, it, too, seems to have laws. Since the attribute of thought is part
of natura naturans – “naturing nature” – its laws are also laws of nature.
Spinoza presents the basic tenets of his naturalism eloquently in the
“Preface” to Ethics III:
There is nothing that happens in nature which can be attributed to a vice; for
nature is always the same, and its virtue and power of acting are everywhere one
and the same, i.e., the laws of nature, and rules, according to which all things are
made, and are changed out of one form and into another, are everywhere, and
always, the same, and so also the nature of things must be understood by one and
the same reason, namely through universal laws and rules of nature.
The laws of nature are uniform and universal and hold of all of nature. As
there is nothing outside of nature, all beings must be understood through
these laws of nature. Supernatural explanations as well as explanations that
depend on a transcendent realm can be ruled out. They lack a referent since
there is nothing above or beyond nature.
Spinoza’s denial of any realm external to nature and any human laws
operating in opposition to the laws that guide all natural beings is expressed
succinctly in a well-known passage (also from the “Preface” to Part III of
the Ethics) criticizing philosophers who elevate man as beyond nature:
Rather they seem to conceive man in nature as an imperium12 within an imperium.
For they believe man more disturbs, than follows, the order of nature, and that he
has absolute power over his actions, and he is determined from nowhere and by
nothing other than himself.
This claim (and Spinoza’s naturalism more generally) is both deflationary
and explanatory. Jonathan Bennett states the deflationary side of Spinoza’s
naturalism well: “His thinking is firmly grounded in the conviction that
there is nothing fundamentally special about mankind as compared with
chimpanzees and earthworms and cabbages and rivers; for Spinoza, man
is just a part of Nature.”13 Humans have no supernatural powers, like self-
determination, that place them in a different imperium from chimps and
cabbages, and if they claim they do, they could be up to some dangerous
nonsense.14 But Spinoza also understands the fact that human beings are
parts of nature as a thesis about explanation. If I am capable of discovering
general laws that hold of all natural beings then nothing is in principle
beyond explanation. Bennett refers to this, aptly, as Spinoza’s “explanatory
rationalism” – everything has a cause, every cause provides a reason, and
consequently everything is rationally explicable.15
This general naturalistic framework is clearly one motivation for
Spinoza’s geometrical method in the Ethics. In fact, the paragraph I have
just quoted is offered by Spinoza as an explanation for why he employs
the geometrical method in explaining “human vices and ineptitudes.” He
concludes the “Preface” to Part III with his strongest characterization of the
geometrical method as deflationary and explanatory naturalism. Spinoza
12 Curley translates imperium as “dominion.” “Imperium” is a key term in Spinoza’s political philosophy,
translating as “dominion,” “empire,” and “command.” But these words are only able to hint at the
rich uses Spinoza makes of it. As with conatus, I will leave imperium untranslated.
13 Jonathan Bennett, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1984), 36.
14 They could use their supposed special access to the laws of the human imperium to add legitimacy
to their political authority.
15 Bennett, A Study, 29.
remarks that in Part III he will consider the nature and force of the affects as
if they were questions concerning “lines, planes, and bodies” just as he had
considered God in Part I and Mind in Part II. Thus, due to the uniformity
and universality of the geometrical method, we can show that human follies
and absurdities are no more or less explicable than anything else in nature.
They are explicable in precisely the same way as anything else is, through
necessary reasons.
So, Spinoza assumes that there are general laws of nature and that these
laws have great explanatory power. He assumes that we are parts of nature.
There has been a tendency in reading Spinoza to consider this dictum to
imply that we are all parts that interlock in a vast whole or community of
nature. I will argue that to be a part of nature means something different
than being a part of a whole in this sense. In other words, if we examine
what it could possibly mean for Spinoza to be a part, we see that it cannot
mean anything so teleological.
There is a general strategy in all of Spinoza’s major works, but particularly
the Ethics and the TTP, of taking over loosely defined terminology, like
“part,” and using it in a determinate way which is sometimes at odds with
the colloquial sense of a term. I will argue in subsequent chapters that this
strategy is important for how Spinoza understands method. So what does
“part” mean? By extension, what is the relation between nature and the
individual and how and what can the individual know of nature? Spinoza’s
answer is one of the most thoroughly naturalistic, in the above sense, that
has ever been put to paper.
pa rts i n t h e w h o l e o f n at u re
1665 was not a happy year for Amsterdam or London, and it was a low
point in relations between Holland and England. The Anglo-Dutch war
flared for a second time, eventually to be settled by the Peace of Breda.
A devastating plague first struck Holland, and then moved on to London
in late 1664, the plague remembered and immortalized more than fifty
years later in Defoe’s Journal of the Plague Year. In 1666 the Great Fire of
London followed the plague. Comets and portents were sighted all over
Christendom. Millenarians and religious enthusiasts awaited the end of the
world in the year 1666, as “prophesied” in the Book of Revelations. Sects,
ranging from large groups such as the followers of the self-proclaimed
Messiah Sabbatai Sevi to small collections of radicals, proclaimed the end
of the world, salvation for the blessed, and punishment of the wicked; and
the signs, the plagues and violence, seemed to confirm it everywhere.
The Thirty Years War, life before the Peace of Westphalia, and the reli-
gious anarchy of Europe in the first half of the seventeenth century were all
within the reach of memory. The English Civil War had recently concluded,
and the failure of the revolution would lead to another political rapproche-
ment between the Dutch and the English: the Glorious Revolution and the
ascent of the House of Orange. At the end of the previous century the reli-
gious discord had led the great Dutch neo-Stoic Justus Lipsius to write De
Constantia presenting a Christianized path of removal from the chaotic and
heaving world of sectarian violence.16 But, even by the rather high standards
of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, 1665 was a remarkable year. If
not as violent as many years in the preceding century, 1665 looked back
toward grim religious and national violence, to present plagues and to the
near future as many tongues proclaimed the millennium. In such times an
ordinary, powerless man or woman might feel like a mere worm or particle,
caught in machinations far beyond their control.
Henry Oldenburg, Spinoza’s most prolific correspondent, the secretary
of the famed Royal Society, and a central figure in the organization and
proliferation of early modern science had a bad time of it. In late 1666
he was thrown into prison on suspicion of being a Dutch spy, and briefly
condemned to the Tower of London. After 1666 Spinoza and Oldenburg
did not correspond again for ten years. Perhaps this was due to Olden-
burg’s perception that friendship with Spinoza – who was already gaining
a reputation for impiety – was dangerous, particularly given Oldenburg’s
own contingent situation. Perhaps it was aggravated by Oldenburg’s hor-
ror at Spinoza’s criticisms of revealed religion in the Tractatus Theologico-
Politicus.17 Whatever the reason the end of this correspondence must have
been a great loss to Spinoza, as Oldenburg was one of his main con-
duits (along with Johannes Hudde and Huygens) into the scientific world.
Through Oldenburg, Spinoza communicated with Robert Boyle, heard
word of other luminaries in the burgeoning days of the Royal Society, and
participated in the “Republic of Letters.”
16 Stoicism is a good philosophy for bad times. What the times were like is evident from Lipsius:
“who is of so hard and flinty a heart that he can ani longer endure these evils? wee are tossed,
as you see, these manie yeares with the tempest of civill warres: and like Sea-faring men are wee
beaten with sundrie blasts of troubles and sedition. If I love quietness and rest, the Trumpets
and ratling of armour interrupt mee. If I take solace in my countrey gardens and farmes, the
souldiers and murtherers force mee into the Towne,” Two Bookes Of Constancie Written in Latine
by Iustus Lipsius, ed. R. Kirk and C. M. Hall (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers, 1939), 72 (critical
reprint of Sir John Stradling’s translation of 1594, De Constantia originally published in Latin
1584).
17 Although Oldenburg would write that he had qualified his negative judgments somewhat when he
resumed correspondence with Spinoza in 1675 (Letter LXI).
The seven letters exchanged in 1665 are significant documents for under-
standing Spinoza’s philosophy. Although today letters might seem periph-
eral to a philosopher’s central doctrines, early modern letters were widely
disseminated. They were an integral part of a philosopher’s corpus; a testing
ground for theories as criticisms flowed in from other scientists and philoso-
phers. They also allowed intellectuals to forge personae in the “Republic of
Letters.” This particular correspondence allows us quickly to glimpse some
of the issues that underlie Spinoza’s complex corpus as he attempted to
explain his philosophy to Oldenburg during what was one of Spinoza’s
greatest periods of intellectual ferment. They give us a brief and vivid
sketch of some central problems in Spinoza’s philosophy through which
we can clarify a few key philosophical issues in the Ethics.
Spinoza invested a great deal of thought in his correspondence. He was
doubtless excited to communicate his philosophy to an open-minded and
intellectually capable listener, as his letters to Oldenburg began amid his ex-
tended and taxing exchanges with the maddening Dutch Calvinist William
van Blijenburgh.18 Spinoza could only take so much of Blijenburgh’s ques-
tions and brought the correspondence to an end in June of 1665. Olden-
burg’s letter, coming after “a space of so many months,” and word of the
continuing interest of the great Boyle in Spinoza, must have been a gust of
fresh air from more liberal and congenial thinkers abroad.
Oldenburg (and by proxy Boyle, who had discussed Spinoza’s letters
with Oldenburg) asked Spinoza the following: “We warmly beseech you to
communicate it to us, if you see any light on the most difficult investigation,
which turns on the question of our knowing how each part of nature agrees
with the whole, and in what way it coheres with the rest” (Letter XXXI).19
This question arose in response to Spinoza’s claim, in the previous letter
that “men, like the rest, are only a part of nature, and that I do not know
how each part of nature agrees with the whole, and how it coheres with the
18 Curley has speculated that Blijenburgh’s inability to understand Spinoza’s arguments made Spinoza
realize time was not yet ripe for the Ethics (CW 350). Subsequent to the end of their correspondence,
Blijenburgh wrote polemics against Spinoza. Spinoza owned a copy of Blijenburgh’s polemic De
waerheyt van der christelijcke godts-dienst etc. of een Wederlegginge van dat Godt-lasterlijcke Boeck,
genoemt Tractatus Theologico Politicus etc. (Leiden: D. V. Gaesbeeck, 1674). See Catalogus, 16.
19 There are affinities between my emphasis on wholes and parts, Letter XXXII, laws and causes, and
the role of the infinite intellect in two essays: Wolfgang Bartuschat, “The Infinite Intellect and
Human Knowledge,” in Yirmiyahu Yovel and Gideon Segal (eds.), Spinoza on Knowledge and the
Human Mind (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994), 187–208; and Richard Mason, “Spinoza on the Causality of
Individuals,” Journal of the History of Philosophy, 24 (1986), 197–210. What I make of these concepts
is quite different from Bartuschat’s interpretation that emphasizes the centrality of the finite human
intellect (although I will also centralize the human intellect in a different way in the following
chapters). My interpretation is closer to Mason who emphasizes the fictive character of parts (210)
and the distinction between finite and infinite.
rest,” (Letter XXX).20 Spinoza must have been flattered by interest from
such important figures in the Royal Society and the European Republic of
Letters – although this did not stop him from criticizing Boyle and Bacon.21
Spinoza immediately ruled out two answers that might be thought
promising – “I should like first to warn you that I do not attribute to
Nature beauty or ugliness, order or confusion. For things cannot, except
with respect to our imagination, be called beautiful or ugly, ordered or con-
fused.” We might argue for a hierarchy in nature from more ugly and less
beautiful to more beautiful and less ugly allowing us to view all of nature
as fitting into a beautiful whole. This was the line pursued in the more
aesthetic eighteenth-century variants on the argument from design such
as Lord Shaftesbury’s Characteristicks and George Berkeley’s Alciphron. Or,
we might view all of the parts of nature as either ordered or confused (as
was assumed by countless philosophers both before and after Spinoza) and
thereby infer that the parts fit into an ordered whole.22
Both assumptions project anthropomorphic prejudices onto nature and
assume that the whole of nature has features much like those we access
through our imaginations. Spinoza rejected all forms of anthropomor-
phism and teleology when applied to nature as a whole.23 Furthermore, he
20 For the entire letter to Boyle, see A. Rupert Hall and Marie Boas Hall (eds. and trans.), The
Correspondence of Henry Oldenburg (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1966), 557–
8 (Letter 430). There is further information in a letter to Sir Robert Moray in ibid., 549–50
(Letter 427).
21 Boyle apparently never saw Spinoza’s response to his question. Oldenburg wrote to Boyle: “I had
lately another letter from Sigr Spinosa, who is very much yr servant, and who entertains me wth a
discourse of his, concerning ye agreement and coherence of ye parts in ye World wth the Whole;
wch is not unphilosophicall, in my opinion, though it would perhaps be tedious to you, to have a
letter filled wth it; and this makes me forbeare to send it to you,” ibid., 615 (Letter 457). Boyle was
horrified by the Ethics and the TTP, and the Boyle lectures were partially instituted to fight against
Spinozism. Some of the differences between Boyle and Spinoza on parts and wholes can already
be seen in Letter VI from 1662, where Spinoza criticizes Boyle’s experiments on the reconstitution
of nitre. For a compelling presentation of the disagreements in this correspondence see A. Rupert
Hall and Marie Boas Hall, “Philosophy and Natural Philosophy: Boyle and Spinoza,” in Mélanges
Alexandre Koyré (Paris: Hermann, 1964), ii:241–56.
22 Oldenburg did not understand Spinoza’s rejection of “order” (and how could he, without the Ethics
or the TIE). He noted in his response to Spinoza’s letter: “Your philosophic reflections on the
agreement and connection of the parts of Nature with the whole give me much pleasure, although
I do not follow sufficiently how we can exclude order and symmetry from Nature, as you seem to
do; especially as you yourself admit that all its bodies are surrounded by others, and are mutually
determined in a definite and constant manner both as to their existence and their action, while the
same proportion of motion to rest is itself the sufficient ground of a true order,” Letter XXXII.
Spinoza’s reply is missing.
23 Almost all Anglo-American interpreters of Spinoza agree that Spinoza argues against anthropomor-
phism. How resolutely anti-teleological Spinoza was, and what teleology meant for Spinoza, are
matters of dispute. Jonathan Bennett has argued that Spinoza is thoroughly, in some cases misguid-
edly, anti-teleological (Bennett, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics, 213–30). Edwin Curley has disputed
considered the idea of “perfection” as particularly suspicious (IV “Preface”),
and, since “beauty” and “order” often draw on some notion of perfection,
they should also be rejected. But what are we then left with?
If we reject order and disorder or beauty and ugliness as poor character-
izations of Nature, then it is not so clear how we can speak of parts and
whole of nature much the less of the agreement of parts of nature. Here is
Spinoza’s explanation:
By agreement of the parts, then, I mean nothing other than how the laws, or
nature, of one part adapt themselves to the laws, or nature, of another part so as
to cause the least opposition. Concerning whole and parts, I consider things so far
as they are parts of some whole, insofar as their natures mutually accommodate
themselves as much as possible; but insofar as things differ among themselves, each
produces an idea in our mind, which is distinct from the others, and is therefore
considered to be a whole, not a part. (Letter XXXII)
We can still talk about parts and wholes but in terms of laws or “natures”
which may differ from region to region. To know about parts and wholes is
to know about these laws and how they adapt from one region to another.
l aw s a n d i n f i n i t e m o d e s
24
In the TTP Spinoza defined law in its “absolute sense” as “that according
to which each individual acts, [the individuals] taken all together or as
belonging to some species, according to one and the same certain and
determinate reason” (TTP IV, iii/43). From this, Spinoza delineated two
different senses of “law”: laws that depend on human wills and laws that
depend on “Nature’s necessity” (TTP IV, iii/43).
Bennett’s claim as being too strong (Edwin Curley, “On Bennett’s Spinoza: The Issue of Teleology,”
in Edwin Curley and Pierre-François Moreau [eds.], Spinoza: Issues and Directions [Leiden: Brill,
1990], 39–52), as has Don Garrett (Don Garrett, “Teleology in Spinoza and Early Modern Ratio-
nalism,” in Rocco Gennaro and Charles Huenemann [eds.], New Essays on the Rationalists [Oxford
University Press, 1999], 310–35). It seems clear that Spinoza writes on numerous occasions in a way
that accepts teleological descriptions of human actions. It also seems fairly clear that, if human beings
are a part of nature and determined by the laws of nature, this determination cannot be teleological
(as it would imply that nature is teleological. I will discuss this issue at length below as well as in
succeeding chapters.
24 Because TTP was being written at the same time as, or after, the letters to Oldenburg, as well as after
major portions of the Ethics, I think it is quite reasonable to use the TTP to illuminate Spinoza’s
ways of thinking about laws (I think, in fact, it is not used enough), and vice versa. I can see no
major discrepancies between the TTP and the Ethics, other than that Spinoza is far more guarded
in the TTP. But, as the TTP presents some of Spinoza’s central concepts to a broad audience, it
can be an enormous aid to understanding the Ethics. It seems to me strangely underutilized in the
Anglo-American Spinoza literature and I will, accordingly, make heavy use of it. See Edwin Curley,
“Notes on a Neglected Masterpiece (I): Spinoza and the Science of Hermeneutics,” in Graeme
Hunter (ed.), Spinoza: The Enduring Questions (University of Toronto Press, 1994).
Both senses of law assume “acting,” which Spinoza defined at Ethics
iiid2 as: “when something is done, in us or outside us, of which we are the
adequate cause, that is (by d1) when something in us or outside us follows
from our nature, which is able to be understood clearly and distinctly
through it alone.” The basic point of the definition is quite clear, that we
can only be said to be the cause of something when it arises from us and
can be understood through us. Of course this is not easy to cash out. What
does it mean to follow from our nature? Is God the only adequate cause
and all adequate causes consequently refer back to the divine nature? There
are also problems individuating acts. If I pull a trigger on a gun and the gun
shoots, this appears to be my act in any ordinary usage of “act.” But does
the bullet follow from my nature? Does anything follow from my nature in
such a manner that I could properly be said to act? And there are parallel
problems, so to speak, as to whether or not an act arises from my thoughts
or my body.
The individuation of beings and acts is central to Spinoza’s discussions of
part and whole, law, and (as I will show later) the third kind of knowledge. I
will touch on this issue only tangentially at the moment, but it is important
to see that individuation bears on how we understand laws. The TTP
definition of law – “that according to which each individual acts, [the
individuals] taken all together or as belonging to some species, according
to one and the same certain and determinate reason” – is strikingly similar
to Spinoza’s definition of “singular thing”:
If more Individuals than one so concur in one action, that they are all simultane-
ously causes of one effect, I consider them to that extent all the same and as one
singular thing. (Iid7)
The two definitions seem to present two perspectives on the same thing:
the acting individual. When an acting individual is evaluated qua laws they
are evaluated qua the necessary conditions for their agency, as an individual
acting from determinate reasons and principals. The definition of “singular
thing” explains what individuates the acting being or group of beings: being
a cause of one effect.25
Iid7 is likely derived from the idea in Hobbes, best exemplified by the
Leviathan itself, i.e., that being the cause of an effect results in the unity of
an apparently diverse group of singular things. For example if I cede from
25 Of course, expressions like “law-guidedness” and “governed” imply a law that acts upon, organizes,
gives causal force, normativity, or necessity to something external to it. Spinoza is rejecting this, but
unfortunately the way we talk about law seems to have externality built into it. I will try to avoid
these idioms as much as possible, but sometimes they are unavoidable.
the Leviathan and am in a state of war with it, this is a combat between two
singular things, one quite small and one terrifyingly big. Hobbes maintains
a difference between artificial and natural beings (for example me and the
Leviathan) although he views them both as singular things. An important
and interesting fact about Spinoza is that he makes no such distinction.
For Spinoza, the Leviathan and I are equally singular things if we are
the causes of one effect. A car phone and a molecule of water are both
singular things insofar as each of them unites in a cause. The difference
between the car phone and a molecule of water is explanatory, a car phone
arises from human practices and through human natures, a molecule of
water does not. But they are both singular things, and both modes. I will
return to this issue in a few paragraphs once I have introduced infinite
modes.
What are examples, then, of laws? In the case of human laws the answer
is obvious, laws are products of human wills that compel or direct human
beings to act in a certain and determinate way: “No jaywalking.” This
picture of laws as arising from wills was a normal one in Protestant countries
throughout the seventeenth century.26 But, as opposed to voluntarists like
Pufendorf and Locke, for Spinoza only human laws are really products
of the will, although not free wills.27 “Natural laws” are not rules legated
and sanctioned by a divine will, but are instead generalities holding of all
modes within an attribute; for example “the motion of a thing decreases
by the same amount as the motion that it imparts to another body.” This
sort of law has its support not in a divine legation but in “motion and
rest,” an “absolute feature” of the attribute of extension, and one of a class
of modes that Spinoza referred to as the infinite immediate and mediate
modes.
As discussed in the first part of this chapter, for Spinoza there are three
basic sorts of beings: substance, attributes, and modes. These three beings
26 Of course, for Hobbes, Grotius, Pufendorf, and Locke, God is a willing lawmaker.
27 Spinoza claims that the will can apply to modes, but does not apply to substance or attributes.
Consequently it does not apply to God (ip31). In modes “will” is the conatus or striving of a given
mode “related only to the mind” (iiip9s, iip49s). There is no such thing as a free will in modes or
human beings, the will is determined and is just a particular facet of determinate individuals, how
their striving is understood in relation to their minds. Although God is free (id7), will does not apply
properly to God. Consequently “free will” is derived from a concept properly predicated of modes
(“will”) and a concept properly predicated of God (“free”) that cannot be predicated of God without
contradiction. One possible objection to my interpretation is that “freedom” comes in degrees, that
a “free man” is a mode, and has a degree of freedom although not the absolute freedom of God.
But this line of argument would not apply to God, as I do not think we have degrees of will in the
same sense. See Don Garrett, “ ‘A Free Man always Acts Honestly, Not Deceptively’: Freedom and
God in Spinoza’s Ethics,” in Edwin Curley and Pierre-François Moreau (eds.), Spinoza: Issues and
Directions (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1990), 221–38.
are grouped into an even more fundamental distinction between natura
naturata (natured nature) and natura naturans (naturing nature). Right
at the limit of the division between natura naturata and natura naturans
are the infinite modes. They have some of the content we associate with
attributes: they are eternal. But they are also modes. They have a crucial
systemic place – as those modes that give rise to general laws – and yet they
are most decidedly not natura naturans.
Spinoza draws a number of distinctions among modes in the Ethics.
As modes are an exceptionally broad category – all beings that are in and
through other beings – we can refer to modes of attributes (a mode of
extension, or a mode of thought), modes of substance (all modes are in and
through substance in some very abstract sense), and modes of other modes
(a moving being is a mode in the attribute of extension as well as a mode of
another mode – “motion and rest”28 ). We can distinguish between infinite
and finite modes. Finally we can distinguish between the representative
content of modes: among infinite modes there are those that are eternal
and express the absolute nature of substance, and those that have duration
and do not express the absolute nature of the attribute.
That all these sorts of modes exist follows from Spinoza’s “principle
of plenitude” as captured at ip11s, ip16, and ip35. Spinoza asserts that an
infinity of modes arises29 from substance, everything which falls under an
infinite intellect (ip16), and everything comprehended by the divine power
must actually exist. Thus, if something can follow from the divine power
and is represented in the infinite intellect, it does follow unless there is
some reason why it does not exist. Spinoza’s principle of sufficient reason
as expressed in ip11s asserts that everything that exists has a reason or cause
for existing, and whatever cannot exist has a reason for its not existing. The
infinite modes are some of the infinity of beings arising from substance
(ip16) and are thus clearly within God’s power. “Whatever we conceive as
being within God’s power, necessarily exists” (ip35). There is no de facto
reason why they do not exist (ip11s).30 Hence they necessarily exist.
28 I place “motion and rest” in scare quotes because Spinoza views them as forming an entity when
taken together, not individually.
29 It is important to be careful not to interpret the immediate infinite modes as emanating from God.
They are eternal and not created in time. Consequently, it makes no sense to view them as arising
in any temporal sense.
30 There could be reasons why the infinite modes do not exist, just as there are reasons why an infinite
substance, God, is not a willer. For example it could be inconsistent to be both infinite and a mode.
But, given Spinoza’s emphasis on there being different kinds of infinites (cf. Letter XII to be discussed
in the next chapter), it does not seem to be incompatible for Spinoza to be infinite in a derivative
sense (to be explained in the next section) and not eternal.
The infinite immediate modes (IIMs) and infinite mediate modes
(IMMs) are some of these many modes following31 from substance. They
have a particularly important systematic place in Spinoza’s metaphysics:
they are eternal and infinite.32 They are modes that share some of the prop-
erties of substance and attributes, and hence they sit at the edge of the fault
line between natura naturata and natura naturans. IIMs and IMMs are two
of the toughest technical concepts in Spinoza’s philosophy. They are not
attributes but are coextensive with attributes. “Motion and rest” applies to
all extended things and consequently to all of extension, all extended bodies
are moving or at rest. IIMs and IMMs are not the only infinite modes,33
but the most important infinite modes distinguished by their distinctive
representative content.34 Although all modes exist out of divine necessity
(i.e., God is the necessary condition of their existence [id7]), not all modes
exist in an eternal manner. IIMs and IMMs differ from each other in pre-
cisely the way that their names suggest. IIMs follow immediately from the
absolute nature of the attribute and therefore are modes of the attribute,
eternal and infinite through the attribute. IMMs are modes of IIMs and
thus are eternal and infinite through them. Almost all of the modes we
encounter in the everyday world have duration and are finite. IIMs and
IMMs are thus modes that are substance-like and attribute-like (in that
they are eternal) but still modes.
This raises an obvious question. Are the infinite modes necessary in the
strong sense? Must they exist in the way that substance and attributes must
exist? Does existence belong to the essence of these modes? The answer is
clearly no. Since all modes are considered by Spinoza to be natura naturata,
their essences are caused by another and they cannot be conceived as causa
sui (ip24). But, then, since these infinite modes are eternal, what does it
mean to say that they are eternal if they are not necessary in a strong sense?
I will return to this issue in the final chapter, but one interesting feature of
Spinoza’s definition of eternity is that an infinite mode can satisfy it without
being causa sui. Spinoza defines eternity as “existence itself, insofar as it is
conceived to follow necessarily from the definition alone of the eternal
31 I mean “following” in a logical sense – i.e., “If substance then modes” – not in any temporal sense.
32 Some have argued that they ought properly to be considered sempiternal and not eternal.
33 That they are not the only infinite modes seems to follow from the fact that Spinoza differentiates
degrees of infinity in Letter XII. But it does seem the case that all infinite modes that are not IMMs
or IIMs are modes of IMMs or IIMs.
34 By the “representative content” of Y, I understand anything Y expresses that refers back to and is
derived from some X. The “eternity” that an infinite mode has and expresses refers back to and
derives from the attribute of which it is an infinite mode. A “distinctive representative content”
distinguishes a group of modes from all other modes.
thing” (id8). Thus eternity is not just a property of God, but a property of
anything that follows necessarily from the divine essence.35
The main systemic role of IIMs and IMMs in Spinoza’s metaphysics is
to provide general laws holding of all modes, and thus to anchor the ways
in which particular beings unite with others in a given attribute. They are
thus an important means by which the nature of the attribute is present to
the modes in a given attribute. For example, a basketball game is a shared
practice of a group of finite modes, human basketball players. But it also
is a concourse of causally interrelated bodies understood through motion
and rest, and plays and strategies of individual modes and groups of modes
understood through the infinite understanding (or at least some aspects of
it are explicable in this manner, the fact that my body stops moving when
we collide and yours starts to move). “Motion and rest” is a modification
of the attribute of extension, coextensive with it, necessary and eternal but
logically dependent on it (there is no “motion and rest” without extension)
and in and through it qua mode (id5).
One question is whether or not there exists a bottom level of atomic,
material individuals from which singular things are built up. I can see
no reason why, for Spinoza there must be, although simple bodies have a
systematic importance in his physics. Rather iid7 seems to be a general
causal variant of the physical principles of individuation of bodies that
Spinoza gives in the “Definition” in his physics after iip13.36 That a body
is individuated by ratios of “motion and rest” means that it falls under the
IIM of “motion and rest”. The fixed ratio is the reason for the unity of
the body arising from the IIM. This reason entails a cause, that all of the
parts that make up a human body, can together “move and dispose external
bodies in a great many ways” (iip13postulate6). Consequently, with ultimate
reference to the IIM of “motion and rest,” the body is as the body does.
Although crucial, IIMs and IMMs are also notoriously difficult to
make sense of because there is very little text in the Ethics to go on,
and what text there is – particularly ip21 – is intractable to the point of
35 Spinoza explicates id8 with the remark, “such existence, like the essence of a thing, is conceived as
an eternal truth, and on that account cannot be explained by duration or time, even if the duration
is conceived to be without beginning or end” (id8 Exp.). This implies that any “existence” that a
mode derives necessarily from the definition of an eternal thing – God – is also eternal. Spinoza
does not say how we are to understand this existence, but, whatever it is, the infinite modes would
seem to have it since they arise from the “absolute nature” of the attribute which, in turn, expresses
the essence of substance. So as the infinite modes follow directly from the essence of substance they
are, by definition, eternal.
36 See Don Garrett, “Spinoza’s Theory of Metaphysical Individuation,” in Kenneth F. Barber and Jorge
J. E. Gracia (eds.), Individuation and identity in early modern philosophy: Descartes to Kant (Albany:
State University of New York Press, 1994), 73–101. Garrett makes a compelling case for “individual”
extending to all modes.
incomprehensibility. It is clear that for Spinoza there are IIMs and IMMS
in each attribute, that the “infinite understanding” is an IIM in thought,
“motion and rest” an IIM in extension, and “the face of the whole universe”
an IMM in extension.37
But what are they, other than shadowy entities that Spinoza considers
to be necessary consequences of his metaphysics? Spinoza’s friend Georg
Schuller asked him this question, albeit more politely. In response, Spinoza
provided the example above of an IMM in the attribute of extension: the
“face of the whole universe.” According to Spinoza, although the modes
that make up the “face” may change, the “face” “remains always the same”
(Letter LXIV). Spinoza’s discussion of the “face of the whole universe” is
similar to the discussion of natural laws in TTP IV, where, as I have noted,
Spinoza gave a version of the conservation of motion as an example of
natural law.
Although the “face” is the eternal, unchanging unity of all bodies in
motion and at rest, the bodies themselves may and do move in infinite
ways, but these “infinite ways” are always modes of this unchanging unity.38
Given that in TTP IV Spinoza identifies laws with the activities of individual
modes, it makes sense to view the IMMs as the infinity of actual modes,39
finite and infinite.40 This interpretation is supported by the simple point
that it is not clear what the “total face of the universe” could mean as
something independent of the many bodies that are or make up the “face.”
By the “face” Spinoza just seems to mean that all modes that move and are
moved and rest “always remain the same” can be taken together because
qua moving bodies they act as expressions of infinite and eternal laws – in
this case something like a law41 of conservation of motion. Corroboration
is found in iip13l7s where Spinoza refers to the whole of nature (by which
he clearly means material nature) as “as one individual varying in infinite
37 See Letter LXIV.
38 One of the most notorious consequences of this picture is that time is not absolute, but only properly
predicated of finite beings and in some sense unreal. It seems fairly indisputable that Spinoza believed
this, at least insofar as the beings were finite, and many readers of Spinoza have found this to be a
disastrous consequence of his metaphysics.
39 This assumes the difference between an infinity of modes and an infinite mode.
40 This interpretation follows Emilia Giancotti, who makes a helpful distinction between the infinite
immediate modes as real systems of laws, and infinite mediate modes as “the infinite totality of
all the bodies which make up the physical universe and the infinite totality of the minds of these
bodies,” Emilia Giancotti, “On the Problem of Infinite Modes,” in Yirmiyahu Yovel (ed.), God and
Nature: Spinoza’s Metaphysics (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1991), 113. My only objection to this is Giancotti’s
expression “infinite totality.” Totality has a somewhat Hegelian flavor, and seems to me to imply a
sense of whole different from “totius.”
41 For the interpretation of infinite modes as laws see Yirmiyahu Yovel, “The Infinite Modes and
Natural Laws in Spinoza” in Yovel (ed.), God and Nature: Spinoza’s Metaphysics (Leiden: E. J. Brill,
1991), 79–96. See also Emilia Giancotti, “On the Problem of Infinite Modes,” and Bennett, A Study
of Spinoza’s Ethics, 111.
ways but unchanging as a whole.” And as these laws of motion and rest are
eternal and unchanging, so also is the IMM that they comprise, insofar as
they are expressions of the absolute features of the attribute.
We then have established the following: (1) Oldenburg asked Spinoza
how he thought the parts of nature cohered with the whole; (2) Spinoza
responded that they agree or disagree in relation to laws, i.e. when one
part adapts itself to the laws of another part; (3) Laws holding of modes
are ultimately rooted in the absolute features of an attribute; (4) IIMs are
eternal and in some sense coextensive with the attribute; (5) The IMMs
are the infinity of infinite and finite modes since they are, taken together,
a mode of the IIM in a given attribute; (6) Somewhere in the activities of
the modes that taken together form the IMM, which in turn is necessary
in and through the IIM, are the laws that govern nature.
Now we have a problem. If Spinoza has IMMs in mind in his reply to
Oldenburg, it is not clear how they might be used to explain the conflicts
and coherences among laws, the main issue discussed in Spinoza’s response.
Spinoza considers something to be “a part of a whole” when that thing is
adapted to other parts such “that they are in accord among themselves as
much as possible.” There can be no conflicts between parts dictated by
infinite modes, or coherences between them, as that would imply a conflict
in the absolute nature of the attribute. The attribute is necessary, eternal,
and fully rational. How then are we to understand parts in terms of laws
as Spinoza suggests we ought to?
The problem is further exacerbated by a claim Spinoza made in the KV :
“The part and whole are not true or actual beings, but only beings of reason;
consequently in Nature there are neither wholes nor parts” (KV i:25). This
remark is supported and explained by another passage in the KV . The
KV includes two interconnected dialogues, one between Intellect, Love,
Reason, and Lust, and another between Erasmus and Theophilus (Spinoza’s
stand-in). In the Second Dialogue Theophilus remarks:42
To this we may add that the whole is only a being of reason and differs from the
universal only in these respects: that the universal is made of various disunited
individuals, whereas the whole is made of various united individuals, and that the
universal includes only parts of the same kind, whereas the whole includes parts
of the same kind and another kind. (KV i/32–3)
42 There is some dispute about this passage; see CW 78n6. I see no reason not to ascribe this view to
Spinoza. In general the KV is a difficult text to work with. Numerous passages appear corrupt, it
is clearly a draft, and it was likely translated from Latin into the Dutch we now have it in. But it
is also full of valuable material. Although there are important inconsistencies between doctrines in
the KV and the Ethics, there is far, far greater consistency.
It seems that Spinoza has something like the following in mind. Univer-
sals and wholes are both beings of reason, fictitious products of human (or
other finite) minds. Universals are beings of reason arising from our expe-
riences of multiple distinct individuals of similar sorts and then predicated
of these individuals.43 We form a universal “horse” from our experiences of
many distinct particular horses. Wholes are also beings of reason, but with
the following difference. Wholes do not just hold of the same individual,
i.e. gnus, but also of different parts all united in a whole, i.e., cheetahs,
tsetse flies, and horses are all united in a whole ecosystem. But what wholes
and universals have in common is far more important: they are both beings
of reason, fictive products of the imagination. Why? Well, given Spinoza’s
emphasis on laws as providing reasons for action, it would seem that both
wholes and universals are lacking any ultimate reasons of the sort that mov-
ing bodies have; there is no warrant for them as an individuated class or
group deriving from the attribute, IIMs or IMMs.44
In the letter to Oldenburg Spinoza emphasizes a reciprocal aspect of
wholes: “To produce an idea in our mind which is distinct from the others,
and is therefore considered [emphasis added] to be a whole, not a part.”
Thus, when we judge X to be a whole, we judge it to be a whole precisely
because it does not agree with Y, and we assume it to be an independent
whole because it conflicts with another from whom we distinguish it. When
we normally judge something to be a part, we judge it to be united with
43 It should be remembered that when Spinoza criticizes the term “universal” he means any universal
built up from sense experience. He certainly has room for general concepts, such as modes, and
there is no doubt that he thinks modes are real. The real problem comes with concepts that we
both gain knowledge of through the senses and have a variety of rational theses about, “man” for
example. Bennett provides an excellent analysis of how Spinoza uses similarities between individuals
to generate classes like “man” (Bennett, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics, 279).
44 Take, for example, horses. Many humans have reason to need a good horse, but the definition
of “good horses” varies according to circumstance (desert, mountain) and needs (Pony Express,
1/4 mile race track, farm). A universal concept “horse” built up in a human mind on this sort of
knowledge would be a bad universal for Spinoza. Horses have various reasons for acting as they
do, and they recognize various similarities between themselves that are important to these actions.
Some, speed, may overlap with the content of our universal “horse.” Others, “ferocious biting
teeth,” “musky smell only discernible by horse nose,” may not. We have very limited knowledge
of any reasons and relevant similarities among horses. What we do know is that the drives, the
bodily constitution, and the mental constitution of horses dictate these reasons. These are features
of all modes, and thus arise from the attribute. We also know they move and rest in relation to
the IIMs and IMMs in the attribute of extension. Consequently, we can really only provide a very
general metaphysical analysis of horses, but being men we can have much more specific knowledge
of human beings. Bennett takes the universal “man” as being paradigmatic for Spinoza’s attitude
toward universals (Bennett, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics, 40), but it is actually a special case, one of
the few determinate universals (i.e. not mode, extension, etc.) that we have access to. We have special
access to it because we have direct knowledge of the human essence. I will return to this point in
chapter 7.
others in the manner described in the KV . Parts and wholes are fictive when
we consider them as limited and interrelated, as parts forming wholes and
wholes dictating the nature of parts. Furthermore, when we view the parts
as not cohering, we view each part that does not cohere as a whole. You view
my gang as a whole and vice versa when we are at war. We consider these
parts to form wholes in turn when we find another part with which they
do not cohere, and thus consider each other as wholes. My gang becomes
the Sharks when the Jets appear. We imagine these wholes in turn to be
parts of other wholes – all our gangs are New Yorkers when the wars with
Boston begin – which are in turn limited by other wholes with which they
do not cohere.
This dialectic is then precipitated by ignorance. Wholes are, at least in
part, a consequence for human minds of their lack of knowledge of the
coherence of parts as well as a way in which we feign the unity of different
sorts of individuals. So what makes the difference between this negative
sense of parts and wholes as arising from our failure to understand, and
Spinoza’s claim that we are a “part of nature”?
In the letter that initiated Spinoza’s consideration of parts and wholes,
Oldenburg made a grim comment about the Anglo-Dutch war: “There will
be wickedness as long as there are men” (Letter XXIX). Spinoza responded:
I will expect news of what they have done recently, when the warriors are sated
with blood, and rest in order to renew their strength a little. If the famous scoffer
were alive to day, he would surely die of laughter. These disorders, however, do not
move me to laughter nor even to tears, but rather they incite me to philosophizing,
and to the better observation of human nature. I do not think it right for me
to laugh at nature, much less to weep over it, when I understand that men, like
the rest, are only a part of nature, and that I do not know in what way each part
of nature agrees with the whole, and in what way it coheres with the rest; and I
find that it is only through this defective cognition that I perceive some parts of
nature, and then only in part and mutilated, and furthermore these parts agree
little with our minds philosophically, all of which had seemed to me before to be
vain, disordered, and absurd.45
In this passage Spinoza emphasizes that we perceive most parts of na-
ture only dimly, and we have no knowledge of what makes them parts in
the sense that we do not understand their principles. This deflates what-
ever pretension we might have to being the center of nature, to being an
imperium within an imperium. Yet we do know that all these things we
only dimly understand are parts of nature. This does not mean that they
45 The Correspondence of Spinoza, ed. and trans. Abraham Wolf (London: Allen and Unwin, 1928).
are parts of a greater whole, fitting with other parts into the vast eco-jigsaw
puzzle that is nature. This sort of talk would demand a kind of knowledge
of the constituent parts we are lacking. Rather “part” can only mean “has
the same reasons for acting as all other natural beings” or has “determinate
reasons for acting that we do have some access to since we belong to the
part.”
Consequently, although we can only know surprisingly little about a very
few particular things, mainly human things, we can know a lot about the
most universal and powerful things, those metaphysical truths that hold
of each and every being which makes them all parts of nature. When we
understand that all beings are constituted by and act from nature, we cease
to laugh at or bemoan the conflicts between parts and wholes – British
Navies and Dutch Navies – as both are only consequences of the limits of
our cognition.46 Rather, we try to understand parts in a different sense, as
groups of modes that are together due to common determinate reasons for
acting or laws. This, of course, has many resonances of the Stoic sage living
according to nature.
When Spinoza claimed in the KV that “the part and whole are not
true or actual beings, but only beings of reason” and that “in Nature there
are neither wholes nor parts,” he referred to wholes and parts as finite
and fictional groupings of beings that need to be dispelled like Scholastic
universals. This is much harder than it seems. Most things that we consider
important in our ordinary life are parts of this sort. This dichotomy, between
the absolute laws that govern nature and what appears to us, even after it
has been carefully philosophically analyzed, has been described by Wilfred
Sellars as the conflict between the “scientific image” and the “manifest
image” of man.47 More colloquially than Sellars meant the distinction,
what is manifestly most important to us, grim wars for example, are in the
absolute sense, from the perspective of the IIMs or the “scientific image,” not
real. They are imaginary conflicts and imaginary wholes. The problem then,
as framed by Sellars, is how to place man, and man’s careful philosophical
understanding of the world in the scientific image.48
46 Unfortunately sometimes we need to worry rather a lot about advancing armies. Spinoza’s point is
that, even though this is the case, we need not consider this as arising from the laws of nature, i.e.
as a dispensation of providence.
47 Wilfred Sellars, “Philosophy and the Scientific Image of Man,” in Science, Perception and Reality
(London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), ch. 1.
48 This appears to conflict with the reality of something like a cell phone. But a cell phone has a causal
description in terms of the laws of physics which explains how it results in an effect, much like a
water pump or a triangle. This analysis would not hold for war since it would be difficult to provide
a discrete effect. This issue will be returned to in the final chapter.
t h e wo r m i n t h e b lo o d
This problem is brought to the fore by perhaps the most striking analogy in
Spinoza’s work.49 In Letter XXXII Spinoza presents us with the following
example. Imagine a worm – the seventeenth-century term for a simple
organism – is placed into the blood of a larger being. The chyle, the lymph
and the other constituent elements of the blood are all parts, which when
taken together can be said to cohere with other parts and form a whole –
the circulatory system – but which, when viewed individually, by the worm,
they are considered wholes in so far as they are differentiated from other
parts, this bit of chyle from that bit of lymph, or chyle from lymph more
generally. The worm lives in the blood, Spinoza writes, as “we live in this
part of the universe” and as we attempt to make sense of and untangle our
world, so the worm does with its world.
Thus we are to make an analogy between the little worm’s condition
and our own human attempts to understand our place in the universe.
The worm observes the various ways which the blood particles counteract
one another, and communicate part of their motion – how they differ. For
this reason it considers each particle of blood as a whole, and sees itself
within a universe of discrete, particular, imaginary wholes,50 interacting,
counteracting, and communicating their respective motions.
The worm has no idea how all the imaginary wholes that it distinguishes
within the blood – the chyle, lymph, etc. – are “moderated by the universal
nature of the blood” (an expression clearly evocative of IMMs). The worm
does not know how the chyle and lymph cohere together and are the blood.
Furthermore, any access the worm has to the ebb and flow of the blood
is through these imaginary wholes, and if the cohering parts that make
up the blood are in turn parts of other sorts of systems or wholes, this is
even more remote. Spinoza is clearly placing the worm into the condition
he investigates in more geometrico in the middle sections of Part II of the
Ethics and the opening of Part IV. Humans are like the worm, endemically
overawed by external causes, ignorant of the bodies that impact their bodies,
yet thoroughly dependent on them also.
49 Spinoza and Oldenburg had been discussing the Jesuit Athanasius Kircher’s popular (and strange)
Subterranean World , a work that probably prompted Spinoza to think about the worlds of microscopic
beings. Another possible source might be Christopher Wren’s gruesome experiments injecting fluids
and foreign agents into the bloodstreams of animals. They were discussed by both Oldenburg
and Boyle. See Hall and Hall (eds. and trans.), The Correspondence of Henry Oldenburg, ii, 336–8,
particularly 338n1. As Spinoza had a practical interest in microscopy, given his occupation as a lens
grinder, there were also probably many sources in his experience.
50 I use “imaginary wholes” to mean wholes arrived at by the imagination.
How to deal with this predicament? Spinoza suggests that, to best under-
stand our human bodies and minds, we should understand them as a “part of
nature” in “the way we have here conceived the blood.” Our human minds
and bodies move through nature and attempt to understand nature just as
the worm does, as a “manifest image” in Sellars’ terms. We are continuously
confronted by false and finite wholes and continuously stymied in our
attempts to access the laws that temper our lives, the laws which endow us
with that very motion by which and through which we course through the
“blood” – our intellectual and bodily experiential worlds.
The “blood” we seek to understand – as opposed to the blood within
which the worm finds itself – seems if anything to inspire even greater des-
peration as we attempt to make sense of it. Nature is infinite and infinitely
more inaccessible than the bloodstream of a giant being. And the caveats
that we began with – that we ought to give up hope of understanding how
the parts of nature cohere and concentrate on truth, recognizing that we are
only one part of nature – seem to point to the impossibility of affirmatively
answering Oldenburg’s question: why ought we think they cohere at all?
So we seem to be the most hopeless of worms: when we perceive wholes
we have no access to parts, and when we perceive parts the whole seems
infinitely remote due to our inadequacies.
As Spinoza claimed above:
I do not know in what way each part of nature agrees with the whole, and in
what way it coheres with the rest; and I find that it is only through this defective
cognition that I perceive some parts (quaedam) of nature, and then only in part and
mutilated, and furthermore these parts agree little with our minds philosophically,
all of which had seemed to me before to be vain, disordered, and absurd.
Yet Spinoza sees a glimmer of hope, and points to two possible answers to
our predicament.
First, we must consider Spinoza’s advice that we “are only one part of
nature” and see the positive content in the expression “part of nature.” Our
partitude is something that we share not only with men but with many
other sorts of beings. We are just one part of nature so we ought not make
too much out of our limitations, we ought not view them as something
which elevates us above the rest of nature in sublimity or drops us below in
depravity. Of course, this does not mean that the goal of the Ethics is not
to speak to like-minded humans, it is. Nor does it mean we have ultimate
access to what they are, we do not. But part of the purpose is also to show
humans that they are not so different from the rest of nature as they might
think, as well as to explain from whence these feelings of superiority come.
Second, at the end of Letter XXXII Spinoza remarks: “I conceive that
with regard to substance each part has a closer union with its whole.” Here
Spinoza is clearly using whole in a positive sense, as well as part. There is
something about the relation of substance to mode, as opposed to that of
worm to blood, which, although apparently infinitely more inaccessible,
abstract, and remote, is actually more proximate and draws out a different
sense of part. Substance has no parts, so we cannot be a part of substance.
But a “part” of nature has a special relation to substance through the general
metaphysical features that hold of all beings as such. They arise from sub-
stance and attributes, are through substance and attributes, and all beings
manifest these features whatever their finite contexts. This body and that
thought are modes of substance, strive to persist in their existence, have
God as their absolutely first cause, etc. – i.e. infinite mode laws.51
In this sense “part” means a modification of the infinite modes, and
whole means the ways in which the infinite modes express the nature of
substance. “Part” does not mean constituent part or a thing teleologically
interlocking with and fitting together with other parts. If we are “part” of
the face of the whole universe, this means that we share certain features with
other sorts of beings and, as such, are modifications of infinite modes – the
whole is just the ways in which all extended beings are modifications of the
laws of nature. “Parts” cannot be determined by final causes or teleological
principles; they do not fit together into systems nested like Russian dolls.
They are not moving toward perfection, order, or beauty. Our partitude
is just that we, like other beings, “take part” in attributes and substance
via the ways in which we are determined.52 This sense of part and whole
cannot explain coherence or conflict. It has nothing to do with orders or
aesthetic hierarchies. Nor can it make sense of how and why we know this.
Spinoza adds somewhat mysteriously in the next sentence that the human
mind is “the infinite power of Nature” in thought, “not insofar as it is
51 A possible criticism of this might be that, whereas motion and rest is an infinite mode and expresses
the absolute nature of the attribute, it expresses the attribute of extension, not attribute as such, and
not those metaphysical features which hold of all attributes. But, insofar as the attribute expresses
substance, the absolute nature of the attribute must express the whole of substance, and thus all
those features that hold of each and every attribute. This is part of why one might want to refer
infinite mode laws not only to the distinctive features of a given infinite mode, but also to those
general features whereby it represents the absolute nature of substance. Put in Spinoza’s terms, this
is why iip1 and iip2, God is a thinking thing and God is an extended thing, hold; the attribute
represents both extension and the trans-attributal character of God.
52 Both that Spinoza understands parts in this sense, and views this knowledge as therapeutic, is
reinforced by Spinoza’s conclusion to the “Appendix” to Ethics IV: “Nevertheless, we shall bear
calmly those things which happen to us . . . if we are conscious . . . that we are a part of the whole
of nature, whose order we follow” (IV “Appendix” XXXII).
infinite and perceives the whole of Nature, but insofar as it is finite and
perceives only the human Body.” This is the crucial fact that Spinoza seems
to think will help us to understand, as opposed to laughing and crying at,
the various parts of nature that we see about us, and to leave them to their
own inclinations. But how are we to make sense of our access to ourselves
as infinite perceivers, qua our finite understanding of our own bodies?
In sum, then, Spinoza’s answer to Oldenburg is in a sense simple. There
are abiding metaphysical principles which are expressed in our world, and
these metaphysical principles offer whatever unity there is. These principles
when properly recognized undermine many of the pretensions humans have
about their importance in the world. They allow us to cease worrying about
things beyond our control and teach us to live for truth and allow others
to live after their own inclinations. But how do we get to these principles?
And what is the infinite power of nature in so far as we finitely perceive our
bodies?
ch a p ter 2
A few further basic concepts
This chapter introduces some important concepts in Spinoza’s philosophy

that will be drawn upon extensively in subsequent chapters. In the Ethics
it seems as if every concept is quite literally interconnected with every
other concept, and there is no way to explain the part without reference
to many other parts and the whole. Trying to understand the Ethics we
are in the position of our worm in the previous chapter, trying to make
sense of a whole through the parts yet at the same time recognizing that
all the parts are interconnected through principles that seem out of our
reach.
In order to cope with this problem, many of the best-known works on
Spinoza are written as commentaries on the Ethics as a whole. By comment-
ing on the Ethics section by section, Spinoza’s terminology and concepts
can be introduced in the narrative sequence in which they arise. This is,
of course, very advantageous, but it makes it difficult to concentrate on a
specific issue – like Spinoza’s method. For this reason I pursue only two
partially satisfactory alternatives. In this chapter I treat a few key concepts
in order that discussion of them does not unduly detract from the larger
narrative; and then, as the book proceeds, I introduce technical issues and
technical problems.
So this excursus into some of Spinoza’s concepts does not seem too
unmotivated, I will point at the conclusion of the chapter toward their
relevance for Spinoza’s claim introduced at the end of the last chapter:
the human mind is “the infinite power of Nature” in thought “not insofar
as it is infinite and perceives the whole of Nature, but insofar as it is
finite and perceives only the human Body.” To understand this claim we
need to understand Spinoza’s take on the infinite. We need to have some
background in Spinoza’s theory of knowledge. Finally, we will need to know
something about Spinoza’s ways of thinking about external and internal
causes.
50
A few further basic concepts 51
t h e t h re e k i n d s o f k n ow l e d g e a n d a d e quac y
In Part II of the Ethics (iip40s2) Spinoza introduces a distinction between
three kinds of knowledge. Throughout the Ethics Spinoza implies that this
typology of kinds of knowledge is exhaustive – any new kind of knowledge
one might think up would really just be one of these three. Spinoza calls the
first kind of knowledge “imagination” or experientia vaga and it actually
includes two (or perhaps three) identifiably different sorts of knowledge:
sensory knowledge and knowledge from testimony or signs. Spinoza also
implies that memory falls under the first kind of knowledge (iip18s). From
the fact that the first kind of knowledge includes a number of different
ways of knowing – immediate sensory perception, memory, beliefs based
on testimony or signs – we can see that Spinoza’s distinction between kinds
of knowledge is based both on the way in which knowledge is received
and the nature of the content. Memory, knowledge by testimony or signs,
and sense perception are all received by happenstance, what Spinoza calls
the “common order of nature,” and are all lacking in intrinsic order. For
this reason, Spinoza lumps them together as one kind of knowledge, the
first kind of knowledge: “mutilated, confused, and without order for the
intellect” (iip40s2).
In the Ethics Spinoza refers to the second kind of knowledge as reason.
Reason regards “things as necessary” and views them “under a species of
eternity.” By this Spinoza meant that reason gets at those eternal scientific,
metaphysical, and logical ideas and structures that are only accessed in
a damaged and limited way by the first kind of knowledge. The central
objects of reason are “common notions”: our ideas of those properties of
bodies that “all bodies agree” on, for example “now they move slowly, now
quickly, and now they absolutely are able to be moved, now they are able
to rest” (iip13l2dem). Each of these predicates applies to each and every
body there is. Since all bodies agree in them, the ideas we form of them
are common to all modes in the attribute of extension. Spinoza further
implies that the common properties the bodies agree on are a consequence
of properties that hold of the attribute as a whole – for example motion
and rest (iip13l2dem.).
Consequently commonality – i.e. that a property holds of each and
every mode in a given attribute – is an important marker of the second
kind of knowledge.1 But there are other ways of characterizing the difference
1 It would appear, although Spinoza does not say it explicitly, that knowledge arising from or grounded
in common ideas is also understood via the second kind of knowledge. If I formed an idea of a group
of common ideas, let’s say a complex idea of a body (X and Y and Z) built on common features of
between the first and second kinds of knowledge. One difference is that the
content of the first kind of knowledge is contingent (“I see this or that”) and
arises from contingent circumstances (“that I am impacted in such and such
a way by such and such a body”), whereas the content of the second (and
third) kind of knowledge is eternal. Another important difference is the
way that we receive the knowledge. We receive the first kind of knowledge
according to the common order of nature (iip29c): it is caused by bodies and
by properties of bodies that we do not share and thus have no knowledge
of their causal antecedents.2 The second kind of knowledge is of properties
common to each and every body and the common notions arising from
them. We have these ideas regardless of whether or not we are impacted by
a body since we have a body (that has these common properties) and this
body is the object of our minds. One last important distinction between
the second kind of knowledge and the first kind of knowledge is in terms
of “adequacy.”
Adequacy is one of Spinoza’s most important concepts. Spinoza claims
that the second and third kinds of knowledge are adequate as opposed to
the first kind of knowledge, which is inadequate (p41dem.). Consequently,
in order to understand the second (and third) kinds of knowledge we need
to get a handle on adequacy. Spinoza seems to have been led to adequacy,
and his distinction between truth and adequacy, via Descartes’ distinction
between “clear and distinct ideas” and truth as correspondence, and the
Cartesian notion that some ideas – like the cogito – are certain independent
of any external verification. Descartes’ argument in the Second Meditation
that “I am, I exist” is certain holds independent of the existence of my
body or of anything beyond “I” and the deceiver. Spinoza is drawing on
this Cartesian insight when he defines an adequate idea as that “which,
insofar as it is considered in itself (in se) without relation to an object, has
all the intrinsic properties or denominations of a true idea” (iid4). He does
not define truth in the Ethics but he does give us at least one characteristic
of a true idea, it “should agree with its object (ideatum),” (iid6). But truth is
clearly important in understanding adequacy for Spinoza, at least negatively,
bodies (X), (Y), and (Z), this idea would also be rational if X, Y, and Z were interconnected through
causal laws. This is important for two reasons. First, if the second kind of knowledge was only to be
had of those common notions holding of all bodies, it is hard to imagine how this knowledge could
get very far. To know that all bodies move is good, but one might want to know other things about
bodies that are a trifle more complex. Second, if common notions can be causally interconnected in
such a way that adequacy is preserved, we can begin to see how we can have adequate knowledge of
differences between entities.
2 Michael Della Rocca, following Jonathan Bennett, emphasizes this as the “inadequacy” of the first
kind of knowledge (Michael Della Rocca, Representation and the Mind–Body Problem in Spinoza
[Oxford University Press, 1996], 56). I will return to this below.
since he adds the following “explanation” to his definition of adequacy at
iid4 – “I say intrinsic in order to exclude that which is extrinsic, namely
the agreement of the idea with its object.”
Is adequacy a property of ideas or a relation? Jonathan Bennett has ar-
gued that adequacy is “a relation, not a property.”3 Bennett emphasizes that
adequacy is a relation because for Spinoza ideas are clearly inadequate in
relation to minds. For example, I may have an inadequate idea – the idea of
that chair I receive through my senses – but the same idea may be adequate
in the “divine mind.”4 Consequently, it seems proper to characterize inad-
equacy as a relation or a relational property that holds of ideas in relation
to minds, just as truth is a relation holding between an idea and its object.
The fact that inadequacy is relational does not necessarily mean that
adequacy is relational. In fact, the definition of adequacy appears to describe
an intrinsic property and not a relation: an adequate idea “has all the
intrinsic properties or denominations of a true idea” (iid4). What does
“intrinsic denomination” mean? There is some evidence from the TIE that
Spinoza thought of “intrinsic denomination” as first of all ruling out cases
where agreement with an object was merely extrinsic (TIE 69).5 Thus, if
someone has the belief that Peter exists but does not know if Peter exists
or not (i.e., has no warrant for their belief ), we might say that the idea was
true just if Peter happened to exist. In this case there would be agreement
between an idea (“Peter exists”) and a state of affairs (that Peter does exist)
and a purely “extrinsic denomination”: true but inadequate. There is further
evidence concerning the distinction between truth and adequacy in a letter
to Tschirnhaus from 1675, although it is terse and difficult to interpret.6

4 What adequacy means in relation to the divine mind is, like much in Spinoza’s philosophy, elusive.
By “divine mind” I understand nothing anthropomorphic, but rather what Spinoza expresses at iip1,
God as a thinking thing. In the demonstration Spinoza refers to ip25c to characterize those singular
thoughts that express God’s nature in a certain determinate way. I think that Spinoza considers
adequacy in the divine mind to be just this fact, i.e. that ideas belong to the attribute of thought
and follow from the divine essence (iip3) when taken individually (as opposed to in relation to an
object). Inadequacy arises when our minds fail to express the entirety of this content, or when we
have only partial access to more than one idea which we then conflate and confuse.
5 See G. H. R. Parkinson, Spinoza’s Theory of Knowledge (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954), 128–32.
Spinoza does not use the term “adequacy” in the TIE, this is one of the most salient differences
between the TIE and the Ethics. Rather he uses “truth” to characterize what will be divided into both
true and adequate ideas in the Ethics. He does, though, primarily identify “clear and distinct” ideas
in the TIE with what will be called “adequate ideas” in the Ethics. This is reinforced by the fact that
Spinoza refers to adequate ideas as clear and distinct at vp3.
6 “Between a true and an adequate idea I accept no other difference than that the word ‘true’ considers
only the agreement of the idea with its ideatum; the word ‘adequate’ considers the nature of the
idea in itself. Thus there is no real difference that may be given between a true and an adequate one
beyond (praeter) this extrinsic relation” (Letter LX). This passage can be interpreted in two ways. It
Spinoza gives a second example that expresses a positive property of
adequate ideas. “If a craftsman (faber) properly conceives of an object he
wishes to make (fabricam), although this object may not exist or even will
never exist, nevertheless the thought the craftsman has is true, and the
thought is the same whether the object exists or not” (TIE 69). This is a
positive characterization of “intrinsic denomination” and Spinoza’s point
seems to be that an idea can have some sort of content, as a consequence
of being “properly” conceived, that is independent of its relation to the
object to which the content apparently refers. This content would seem to
have to arise from common features of objects. For example, there is clearly
some sort of difference between a craftsman’s plan to build a clock that is
in accordance with the laws of nature (mathematical and physical laws, for
example) and a crazy fantasy clock planned on misinterpretations of the
laws of nature. The difference between the two clocks holds independent
of whether either clock will ever exist.
Still, I think these passages from the TIE are consistent with viewing
adequacy as a relation. Although to be adequate assumes some sort of
internal coherence, Spinoza also always presents adequacy as something
minds have in relation to this internal coherence. By internal coherence I
understand the sort of thing implied by the clock example, consistent with
the laws of nature in such a way that the various determinate features of
the idea of the clock – ideas of gears, pendulums, etc. – do not contradict
one another. An ideal candidate for an adequate idea in this sense would be
an essence; of course the clock example brings up the tricky problem that
it is not actualized, and it seems for Spinoza that everything that has an
essence would be actualized.7 In Part III of the Ethics Spinoza introduced a
way of characterizing adequate ideas as “adequate causes,” i.e., in terms of
their efficaciousness. But this presupposes adequacy, so it does not explain
what adequacy is simpliciter.
can be interpreted strongly as saying that the set of adequate ideas is a subset of the set of true ideas,
i.e. true ideas have both extrinsic and intrinsic markers and adequate ideas only intrinsic markers.
On this reading, all true ideas are adequate but not all adequate ideas (necessarily) are true. Or it can
be read weakly as stating that what distinguishes a true idea from an adequate idea (as opposed to
an adequate idea from a true one) is the presence or absence of the extrinsic relation. On the weak
reading, adequate ideas may also be true (although they are not necessarily true) and true ideas may
also be adequate (although they are not necessarily adequate). If an idea is true but not adequate
then we get the first state of affairs that Spinoza describes in the TIE, a mere extrinsic correlation.
If it is adequate but not true we get the second state of affairs described in the TIE, the unrealized
machine. As the weak reading is consistent with the TIE, it seems preferable to me.
7 I am not really sure how to deal with this very basic problem. One could say, on the one hand, that
the essence of the thought clock is something different from the essence of a given real clock, it is a
reflection on the structural features of clocks more generally, an essence of an essence, but this does
not seem to get one very far.
Spinoza seems to have something of the following sort in mind. An idea
is adequate if (1) it is internally consistent (i.e. does not entail a logical
contradiction or a contradictory application of the laws of nature), (2) it
need not refer to anything external to itself (as a true idea does), but (3) it
must have an internal cause of which we also have adequate knowledge and
it must depend on no inadequate ideas (iip34dem.). This last criterion is
recursive but not destructively so. If adequacy is a relation then (1) and (2)
are defined in relation to a mind: ultimately the divine mind. The regress
of (3) stops at God’s idea in thought, and this is the fundamental relation
that each adequate idea must have – to “the perfect idea in God insofar
as he constitutes the essence of our Mind” (iip34dem.). That Spinoza has
something like (3) in mind follows from his claim that inadequate ideas
are like “a conclusion without premises” (iip28). If this is the case, then
it seems to follow that adequate ideas are like conclusions with premises.
Consequently I take Spinoza to mean that adequate ideas are ideas whose
causes we know, as well as knowing how and that these causes result in
the idea.8 Knowing the causes is a basic support of (1) and (3). Conversely,
an idea is inadequate if: (1) it is internally inconsistent, (2) it necessarily
refers to something external, or (3) we lack knowledge of its cause or it
has an inadequate cause or it depends on inadequate ideas. It is important
to note that any positive content in an inadequate idea must come from
somewhere, and the logical place from which to imagine it comes is an
adequate idea or, to follow Spinoza’s example through, a conclusion with a
premise.
A paradigmatic example of adequate knowledge would be the knowledge
we have of properties of bodies that “all bodies agree” on, such as they are
“now they move slowly, now quickly, and now they absolutely are able to
be moved, now they are able to rest” (iip13l2dem). It does not depend on
the existence of a particular body as its ideatum since it is a general idea of
a property shared by all bodies. It is internally consistent since it follows
directly from the laws of nature. Since our body, too, follows from these
laws, we can understand general properties of bodies without having to
include inadequate ideas of bodies external to us of which we have only
partial and inadequate knowledge. And, finally, we have knowledge of the
cause of these relations or properties – the idea of God that we all have.
For Spinoza, the second kind of knowledge extends to most of what we
ordinarily think of as proper reason and reasoning. As I have noted, reason
8 In a way this is just a consequence of ia4, “understanding an effect depends on and involves under-
standing the cause.”
is only one of the two adequate sorts of knowledge. Spinoza also introduces
“a kind of knowing which proceeds from an adequate idea of the formal
essence of certain attributes of God to the adequate knowledge of the [NS:
formal] essence of things” (iip40s2, CW 478). He calls this scientia intuitiva
or the “third kind of knowledge.” I will turn to this sort of knowledge in
the final chapter.
i n t e r n a l a n d e x t e r n a l c au s e
Adequacy draws on a distinction between intrinsic and extrinsic, between
externally caused and internal to an idea, that is not easy to understand.
This distinction is employed in a number of Spinoza’s most important
arguments, in particular his argument for the conatus at Ethics iiip4–6.
I will argue that the distinction between internal and external is also im-
plicit in the solution Spinoza proposed to the worm’s confusion about
the blood that we considered in the conclusion to the last chapter: “the
infinite power of Nature” in thought” (Letter XXXII). But how does this
distinction work? I will take a preliminary step in this section toward under-
standing the distinction by presenting one of the most common ways that
Spinoza draws the external/internal distinction, via external and internal
causes.
External causes are efficient causes – i.e., causes with effects – that are not
part of the definition or essence of a thing. For example, in the scholium
to ip11 – “God, or a substance consisting of infinite attributes, each of
which expresses an eternal and infinite essence, necessarily exists” – Spinoza
notes:
Still there may be many who will not easily be able to see how evident this demon-
stration is, because they have been accustomed to contemplate only those things
that flow from external causes. And of these, they see that those things which
quickly come to be, i.e., which easily exist, also easily perish. (CW 418)
Further on in the same scholium, Spinoza remarks:
For things that come to be from external causes – whether they consist of many
parts or of few – owe all the perfection or reality they have to the power of the
external cause; and therefore their existence arises only from the perfection of their
external cause, and not from their own perfection. On the other hand, whatever
perfection substance has is not owed to any external cause. (CW 418)
When we view nature as external cause – as what Spinoza calls the
“common order of nature” – we imagine that what each part of nature is, is
only explicable in terms of how it arises from and is destroyed by efficient
causes external to it. We observe that many of the things that can come
into existence most easily via external causes – a milkshake or a desire for
a milkshake (invoking Spinoza’s broad identification of mode and thing)
for example – can cease to exist just as quickly. Through this association
we come to the unwarranted conclusion that if something comes to exist
simply or easily it can also cease to exist just as quickly or easily. The
conclusion is unwarranted as it moves from judgments about the natures
of various things via the imagination to claims about their existence or
non-existence.9 Thus the induction that results from judging nature in re
external causes leads to an impoverished and false understanding of nature
and natures.
When we consider God’s existence through internal causes we come
to the opposite conclusion, that finite modes need the concurrence of
multiple external causes to explain them, whereas God’s existence arises
from its very essence or definition, as is obvious to those who attend to
internal causes. And this holds not just of God, but of anything with
an essence. To understand something’s essence is to understand its inter-
nal cause, whether this cause is self-sufficient or arises from some other
being.10
This is further amplified in Spinoza’s discussion of ip7 – “It pertains to
the nature of a substance to exist” – the primary proposition called upon
in ip11. Spinoza remarked about this proposition that:
I do not doubt that the demonstration of p7 will be difficult to conceive for all who
judge things confusedly, and have not been accustomed to know things through
their first causes – because they do not distinguish between the modifications of
substances and the substances themselves . . . But men who would attend to the
nature of substance, they would have no doubt at all of the truth of p7. Indeed
this proposition would be an axiom for everyone, and would be numbered among
common notions. (Ip8s2,CW 412–13)
This passage shows that Spinoza wants to provide us with a particular way
of looking at the world, through the internal and first causes of things, as
opposed to through contingent features immediately evident to the senses.
One of the main purposes of the Ethics is to give readers access to first
9 The ultimate support for this is tied up with Spinoza’s arguments for the inadequacy of the first kind
of knowledge – testimony or imagination – and that this knowledge, insofar as it is inadequate, is
incapable of judging the ultimate contingency or necessity of its objects as it is intrinsic to imagination
to consider everything to be contingent.
10 Of course, we do not know the essences of all things just because we know God is their ultimate
cause. We would need to know how God is the cause of the determinate features of their essence,
i.e. what they are as this or that sort of mode not just a mode in general.
principles and first causes and to understand how propositions like ip7,
when considered in the proper way, are as evident as axioms.11
There are two main sources for Spinoza’s use of internal cause and
external cause, one remote and one proximate. The remote source is the
neo-Scholastic Heereboord’s distinction between an immanent cause as a
cause which produces an effect in se ipsa and a transient cause as a cause
which produces an effect extra se. Heereboord’s distinction between imma-
nent and transient causes is similar to Spinoza’s differentiation between
internal and external causes. Ultimately, though, this definition seems
to warrant a neo-Aristotelian, and rather un-Spinozistic, distinction be-
tween essential predicates or propria which can be said to derive from the
essence of something and accidental features external to the essence of a
thing.12
The proximate source for Spinoza’s account of internal cause is Descartes’
distinction between external and internal causes. Spinoza presents the dis-
tinction in the PP as bisecting the category of cause into “either an external
one, i.e., one outside the thing itself, or an internal one, i.e., one compre-
hended in the nature and definition of the existing thing itself ” (PP ia11).
This is not terribly far removed from Heereboord’s sense, and thus was
amenable to Cartesio-Scholastics.13
As I have noted, this sort of definition is far from unique to early modern
philosophers. Scotus, for example used a similar distinction to build the
contingency of creature into his proof of God via an emphasis on extrinsic
11 Spinoza’s category of axioms corresponds to Euclid’s “koina ennoia” or common notions. Spinoza
understands axioms to be principles agreed upon by all people (but does not mean that all people
grasp their power). I have claimed previously that Spinoza places his primary emphasis on definitions
not axioms (as opposed to modern mathematicians or Leibniz). He does this for a fairly simple reason.
Ultimately axioms derive from common features of various entities – substance, attribute, bodies, and
minds. Axioms are logically dependent on entities such as substance and attributes, and substance
and attributes have essences or definitions. Thus axioms ultimately reflect features of things defined,
more particularly substance and attributes.
12 Martial Gueroult emphasizes the importance of Heereboord in this context. He views Heereboord’s
distinction as presenting an emanative conception of causation which Spinoza is seeking to criticize
by the argument that to be a cause is to be immanent. See Martial Gueroult, Spinoza I – Dieu
(Paris: Aubier-Montaigne, 1968), 297–8. Spinoza would not support the Aristotelian account of
essential predicates nor the essence/accident distinction (as contingency is often a property not of
the predicates themselves, but rather of our modes of cognizing them).
13 See particularly Johannes Clauberg, Logica: Vetus et Nova (Amsterdam: Elzevir, 1658), i.6, 51. As
Cartesio-Scholastics go, Clauberg was very much on the “Cartesio” side, but was clearly try-
ing to reconcile the “vetus et nova.” This work was originally published in 1652 and Spinoza
owned a copy. Often Aristotelians made an additional distinction grounded in Physics I (although
Clauberg did not) between the constituent internal causes (matter and form insofar as they enter
into a hylomorphic compound), and the four causes insofar as they act on a given hylomorphic
compound.
causes as over and against intrinsic causes.14 What distinguishes Descartes
and Spinoza from their forebears is that they do not mention accidents
and they only allow for efficient causes15 where the Aristotelians considered
form and matter to be paradigmatic internal causes.
Spinoza used “immanent cause” in a manner similar to internal cause.
At Ethics ip18 Spinoza opposes “immanent cause” to “transitive cause”:
Everything that is, is in God, and must be conceived through God (by p15), and
so (by p16c1) God is the cause of [NS: all] things which are in him. (CW 428)
This implies that a cause is immanent of, or to, those things which arise
“in” and “through” it, and a cause is transitive of those things which can
be said neither to be caused “in” or “through” it.16 Thus, God would be
immanent to a given mode, insofar as that mode is conceived through God
and in God.
Spinoza only applies immanent cause to God or substance, unlike the
broader term internal cause that could apply to any mode. This is built into
the proof of the proposition since Spinoza argues that, in order for there
to be a transitive cause, it, too, would have to be a substance. As there are
no other substances external to the one substance capable of functioning
as transitive causes, God is the one and only immanent cause.17 In this
way God as immanent cause is the ur-condition of everything that has an
internal cause, each thing is what it is ultimately insofar as it has God as its
immanent cause.
This points to a notable difference from Descartes. In the Meditations
God is both inside and outside – the idea of God is in each of our minds but
God as cause of the idea in me is outside of my mind. This, in turn, is one
of the cornerstones of Descartes’ arguments for the existence of the external
world and the freedom of the divine will. Although the idea of God is in
my mind, through an act of divine volition, the reality that it represents
points outside my mind (or anyone else’s mind for that matter).18 In some
14 See, particularly, Duns Scotus, De Primo Principio, ii.8. On the impact of Scotism on Descartes, and
the enormous popularity of Scotism in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, see Roger Ariew,
Descartes and the Last Scholastics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1999).
15 Zabarella is a crucial figure, along with the Nominalists, in the changing emphasis from formal and
final causes to efficient causes in definitions. Although Zabarella held final causes to be important, he
interpreted material causes as a sort of efficient causa fluens (de Medio Demonstrationis, in Zabarella,
Opera Logica, 592e) efficient causes qua matter, and formal causes as whatever of the other causes is
the best explanation (ibid., 590–1, and also 440c).
16 Adrian Heereboord, Melemeta Philosophica (Amsterdam: Joannem Ravesteinium, 1665), 229.
17 His demonstration that God is not the transitive cause of things reads: “And then outside God there
can be no substance (by p14), i.e. (by d3), thing which in itself is outside God” (ip18).
18 Of course, this sort of interpretation of Descartes as a Scotistic voluntarist is disputable, but see
Ariew, Descartes and the Last Scholastics, ch. 1.
ways Spinoza is thinking in a way entirely at odds with this voluntarist
conception of God and revisiting the Stoic distinction between inside and
outside, inside and outside my power.
Despite this major difference – which makes God also an external cause
for Descartes – both Spinoza and Descartes agree that God is absolutely
infinite (although they mean different things by this as I will show shortly).
For Spinoza, the absolutely infinite is the key to understanding how God is
an immanent cause, and how we are to understand things through internal
causes. This is obvious in a sense, only if we understand how and that God
is absolutely infinite can we then have any access to the adequate idea of
God. But, as we just saw in the case of ip7, the fact that God is evidently
infinite does not thereby mean that it is evident to everyone, as most of us
are flummoxed by the inadequate testimonies of our imaginations.
the infinite
Early modern philosophers were fascinated by the infinite. This was for
fairly obvious reasons: the power of the infinite in mathematics and the idea
of the infinite universe were trumpeted by the philosophical and scientific
avant-garde as signaling major dividing lines from the closed and finite uni-
verse that they associated with Scholastic physics. Scholastic philosophers
had also emphasized the infinite, the infinite power of God for example, but
they normally strongly opposed God’s infinity to the finite and closed cos-
mos. Nicolas of Cusa, though, placed the infinite at the center, literally,19 of
the human world. Bruno radicalized Copernicus’ De Revolutionibus orbum
caelestium by presenting it as an argument for an infinite cosmos.20 In 1643
Torricelli demonstrated that one could construct a solid of finite volume
and infinite length, a result that prompted rich responses from some of the
greatest mathematicians and philosophers writing in the third quarter of
the seventeenth century.21
Although the infinite is particularly associated with Leibniz, Spinoza
and Descartes both made God’s infinity central to their philosophies. For
Descartes, our idea of the infinite was our connection to God and the bridge
between the individual cogito and the world. At the same time Descartes
emphasized that positive infinity was solely predicated of God, the material
19 In particular see Nicholas of Cusa, De Ludo Globi (New York: Abaris Books, 1986).
20 See Hilary Gatti, Giordano Bruno and Renaissance Science (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1999),
chs. 3, 6, and 7.
21 See the excellent discussion in Paolo Mancosu, Philosophy of Mathematics & Mathematical Practice
in the Seventeenth Century (Oxford University Press, 1996), ch. 5.
world could only properly be considered indefinite or without end.22 What
distinguished God’s infinity from the indefiniteness of the world was that
in God “not only do we fail to recognize any limits in any respect, but
our understanding tells us that there are none,” whereas in the case of the
indefinite “we merely acknowledge that any limits which they may have,
have not been discovered by us.”23
Spinoza wanted to extend and radicalize some of Descartes’ ideas about
God’s infinity by extending God’s infinity to the world, i.e. by arguing like
Bruno that nature is not only indefinite but actually infinite. In order to do
this, Spinoza had to show that the strict Cartesian dividing line between
infinite and indefinite did not hold, at least exactly in the way that Descartes
construed it.24 Spinoza began a letter to his friend Meyer by announcing
the singularity of his discovery, which he took great pride in since “the
question of the Infinite has been found to be most difficult by everyone”
(Letter XII). Spinoza claimed that people misunderstood the infinite for
three reasons:
(1) [T]hey have not distinguished between that which follows as infinite by con-
sequence of its nature or by the force of its definition; and what has no ends,
but not indeed by the force of its essence.
(2) They have not distinguished between that which is called infinite because it has
no ends; and that the parts of which, although (quamvis) we have its minimum
and maximum, we are unable to explicate or equate with any number.
(3) Finally, they have not distinguished between that which we can only
understand, but not truly imagine, and that which we can indeed imagine.
(g iv/53)25
These distinctions are quite ambiguous. It is not clear at first whether
Spinoza is distinguishing between types of infinite or between the infinite
and the indefinite like Descartes (although later in the letter it becomes
apparent that Spinoza was distinguishing between types of infinity). But
the ambiguity seems intentional since Spinoza clearly meant the letter for
22 Principles i.26–7 and ii.21. See Roger Ariew, “The Infinite in Descartes’ Conversation with Burman,”
in Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 69 (1987), 140–63; Ariew, Descartes and the Last Scholastics,
170–1; Jean-Marie Beyssade, Etudes sur Descartes: L’histoire d’un esprit (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 2001),
272–85.
23 Descartes, Principles, i.27. Spinoza’s rendering of Descartes’ definition of “indefinite” is at PP iid4.
24 This is already apparent in the PP. Spinoza remarks we “can conceive infinite variations of matter.
I say we conceive them clearly and distinctly so long as we conceive them as modes of extension,
but not as things really distinct from extension” (pp iip6s). This implies that “infinite” is properly
predicated of matter, or of modes of matter. Spinoza ascribes this claim to Descartes, but Descartes
never really says this.
25 I have added the numbers.
a Cartesian audience and remarks that Meyer can refer to his second sort
of infinite as indefinite “if he prefers.”
So what did Spinoza wish to claim about the infinite? His first distinction
holds between infinite in itself, qua its definition or essence, and something
we consider infinite but not through its essence. For readers today this will
seem a bit odd, as Spinoza considers the infinite not to be a number in any
of the ways we ordinarily think of number, but rather a metaphysical pred-
icate attached to beings, i.e. “infinite substance,” “infinite mode.” When
a mathematician constructs an infinite set or set theoretical hierarchy, the
mathematician applies a recursive procedure to generate the counting in-
finite (1,2,3,4, . . .) from a finite set and then via the power set operation
the various levels of the infinite (a1 ,a2 , . . .). This procedure moves from
the finite to the transfinite and infinite. Spinoza’s metaphysical account
of the infinite moves in the opposite direction, the infinite is not caused by
or defined through a procedure applied to finite sets or numbers. Rather
the infinite is defined as infinite in and of itself, and beings that are infinite
but have a cause are caused by it. This distinction will be quite important
when we consider the definition of God in subsequent chapters. At first
glance, though, it makes sense to differentiate between something that is
infinite in and of itself and something that is derivatively or transitively
infinite. There is no reason per se that something could not be derivatively
infinite, as opposed to merely indefinite. Allowing for “derivative infinity”
has an important systematic place in Spinoza’s philosophy in distinguishing
the sort of infinity that substance has and the sort of infinity that modes
have.
The second of Spinoza’s distinctions holds between that which has no
ends and “that the parts of which, although we have its minimum and max-
imum, we are unable to explicate or equate with any number.” This could
be interpreted in two different ways. First Spinoza could be distinguishing
between either:
(2A) What is called infinite because it has no ends and whose parts we cannot
explain or equate with any number.
or
(2Aì ) What is called infinite because it has no ends and whose parts we can equate
with a number.
and
(2B) that the parts of which, although we have its minimum and maximum, we
are unable to explicate or equate with any number.
It seems that the parallels with (1) suggest that Spinoza has (2A) in mind,
not (2Aì ). In (1), both senses of the infinite are distinguished solely by the
fact that one is infinite by force of its essence and the other is not. This is
further supported by (3), which I will discuss in a moment, where Spinoza
distinguishes between what I can understand and not imagine, and that
which I can imagine (independent of whether I can understand it or not).
In (3) once again only one distinction is at issue – whether when consid-
ering the infinite we are considering something we understand or some-
thing we imagine. From these parallels it would seem to follow, then, that
(2) also presents one distinction (ends) as opposed to two (ends, numerable).
Consequently I conclude that it is most obvious to read (2) as supporting
(2A), that the infinite without limits also has no number.26
This, too, bears on basic metaphysical issues in Spinoza’s philosophy.
Spinoza seems to be allowing for the infinite to apply to things that have
maximums and minimums and thus to argue that in some sense the infinite
is contained in what we consider to be limited or finite. In order to under-
stand this we have to ask what Spinoza means by claiming that the infinite
is not numerable. We might think he is pointing toward the mathematical
distinction between the counting infinite (1,2,3, . . .) and the real infinite
(the number of points in a given interval), but both of these definitions
involve number. Spinoza clearly views the different derivative senses of in-
finite as referring back, causally, to that which is infinite in its essence or
definition.27 This makes sense when we realize that, for Spinoza, “infinite”
is a predicate that applies irrespective of quantity, i.e. infinite power does
not mean a numerical scale applied to power which happens to be infinite
but rather causal power without end which then may be enumerated by
restricting it to a numerical genus. So, in order to get any purchase on the
infinite, we have to understand what it means for something to be infinite
through its definition. I will return to this issue below.
We can use the fact that number does not apply to the absolutely infinite
to rule out some sorts of explanations. Spinoza’s definition of God presents
God as a being absolutely infinite or a substance with an infinite infinity of
attributes each of which expresses the eternal and infinite essence of God.
In this definition, Spinoza presents God and God’s absolute infinity in
terms of substance and attributes. As also previously alluded to, at least two
of these attributes will turn out to be thought and extension. A perennial
problem for Spinoza’s interpreters has been whether there are just these
26 As a further support, Spinoza remarks later on in the letter that “it is sufficiently evident that neither
Number, nor Measure, nor Time (since they are only aids to the imagination) can be infinite” (iv/58).
27 “[O]thers [are infinite] by the force of the cause in which they inhere,” iv/61.
two attributes that we experience, each of which is infinite, or an infinity
of attributes that we never experience, and which thus appear inaccessible.
What sort of infinity characterizes the attributes? The attributes are infi-
nite in the sense described in the letter above – that “whose parts we cannot
explain or equate with any number” – which they would appear to have
to be (since they express the absolutely infinite nature of substance). It is
misguided to think of the infinity of attributes as this numerical attribute
(thought), and that one (extension), and a bunch more. Thought and ex-
tension are attributes, we know this as they satisfy the criterion for being
attributes – they express the nature of substance.28 But, as number is not
something which applies to essences (ip8s) and, as the infinity of attributes
cannot therefore be a numerical infinite, it makes no sense to view them as
this, that, and another – as numerable particulars.29
28 This is in contradistinction to many pseudo attributes which need to be ruled out, see KV i:4–7.
Of course Spinoza needs a great deal of argumentation to show that they are to be ruled out. The
argument, at least the one offered at iip1, is as follows. We know from Book I that modes express
God’s nature in a certain and determinate way. Therefore, insofar as they express the essence, they
either are or belong to an attribute. They cannot be the attribute because they are modes, and not
necessary, they just express God’s nature in a certain and determinate way, but they require that
God’s nature is expressed absolutely in order that it may be expressed determinately. This attribute
is thought.
The proof has two obvious difficulties. First there is no reason to assume that God’s essence would
need be expressed as such, but this seems to follow from Spinoza’s version of a plenitude principle
(ip33), the fact that everything that can be expressed is, and God’s essence is the paradigm of what can
be expressed. A more serious problem is should we infer from the fact that mode X is a determinate
thought, that the attribute it belongs to is the attribute of thought?
Spinoza also provides an alternate a posteriori proof in the Scholium. Since we can conceive an
infinite thinking being, and this infinite being is infinite in its power of thought, we are capable of
representing an infinite being through thought alone. Thus thought is capable in itself of representing
an infinite being, consequently is infinite, and satisfies the criterion of an attribute. This proof trades
on the assumption that we do have a real concept of an infinite being.
29 That this is a historically viable way of thinking about the infinite is apparent from Bruno’s Fifth
Dialogue from De la causa, principio e uno as well as Cusa’s De Ludo Globi. Both Cusa and Bruno
emphasize the convergence of the maximum and the minimum in the infinite. Bruno additionally
strongly emphasizes that number in no way applies to the infinite as this would be a partitioning by
magnitude: “[n]ow, if, in the infinite all these particular things are not differentiated, are not divided
into species, it necessarily follows that they have no number” Sidney Greenburg (ed., and trans.),
The Infinite in Giordano Bruno, with a Translation of his Dialogue, Concerning the Cause, Principle,
and One (New York: King’s Crown Press, 1950), 88. By this Bruno does not just mean that the infinite
cannot be numbered. He means that number does not apply. This is a metaphysical as opposed to
a mathematical conception of the infinite, one which post-Cantorians find odd, but that Spinoza
holds a metaphysical conception of the infinite is clear from his definition of the “absolutely infinite”:
“that therefore [is] absolutely infinite, which to its essence pertains whatever essence expresses”. I
do not mean to imply by this that Spinoza was directly influenced by Bruno, just that emphasizing
the non-numerable character of the infinite was plausible in the seventeenth century. Some, like
Hampshire, have viewed Spinoza as a distinctively “mathematical” thinker with mathematics as a
paradigm for knowledge (Stuart Hampshire, Spinoza: An Introduction to his Philosophical Thought
(London: Penguin Books, 1987, rev. edn), 15). Given Spinoza’s emphasis on mathematical entities as
The consistent position, given Spinoza’s account of the infinite, would
seem to be the following. We know that there are at least two attributes.
We also know that there are an infinity of attributes, but they are not nu-
merable. We can only properly consider the attributes we know, and the
non-numerically infinite character of attributes as such.30 We are misled
into thinking we can speak of attributes as forming a numerical series be-
cause of our foggy understanding of the infinite, we think that the fact that
we know two attributes makes us think three is a legitimate inference on the
way to infinity. But it is not, as we are not discussing this sort of infinity.
How Spinoza might think about this can be illustrated via his discussion
of contingency and possibility at ivd3 and ivd4:
I vd 3: I call those singular things contingent that while we attend solely to their
essence, we discover nothing that necessarily posits their existence, or that
necessarily excludes their existence.
I vd 4: I call the same singular things possible, insofar as when we attend to the
causes from which they ought to have been produced, we are unable to
determine whether those causes have been determined to produce them.
In ip33s1 I made no distinction between possible and contingent, because
there was not the need there to distinguish them accurately.
Contingency describes our lack of access, when attending to the essences of
things, to reasons as to why they exist or do not exist. Possibility concerns
our lack of access to the causes of things, not to the essence of the thing
itself. I say X is contingent when there is no means of knowing by examining
X itself whether or not it has a reason for existing or not existing. I say X
is possible, on the other hand, when I know what the cause of X must
be, but I do not know whether said causes are determined to produce X.
beings of reason, his great interest in experimental physics and fairly meagre interest in mathematics,
and his stock triangle examples, I think this is wishful thinking. For better or worse he is an extremely
metaphysical thinker with a deep interest in the instrumental practices of science.
30 In this I am in agreement with Jonathan Bennett, although via a somewhat different argument.
See, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1984), 75–7. I differ with Bennett, however,
in that I do not agree that this limits us to two attributes, as two would also be a specific number
of attributes, and this could not have a rational cause by ip8c. Thus I do not see Letter LXIV as
posing a particular problem. Because we know that there are absolutely infinite attributes does not
mean that we need have determinate acquaintance with finite modes in any but two. And there is
no logical reason why the fact that we know that there are absolutely infinite attributes need imply
that we know what they are.
The problem is countenancing this sort of claim with iip7, as iip7 would seem to imply that there
must be parallel “modes” in each of the infinity of attributes, and that this must be represented in
each and every attribute. But again, if we understand the infinity of attributes as a statement about
the absolutely infinite character of the attributes, it is a somewhat less severe problem. I think that in
general this interpretation is sufficiently Cusan to be historically plausible and to satisfy the criteria
established by Roger Ariew in Ariew, “The Infinite in Spinoza’s Philosophy,” in Edwin Curley and
Pierre-François Moreau (eds.), Spinoza: Issues and Directions (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1990), 16–31.
So a triangle is “possible” when I have no acquaintance with its causes.
A triangle is contingent when by attending to the triangle I cannot tell
whether it exists or not in and through itself.
From the perspective of ip33 – the powerful metaphysical claim that
“Things could have been produced by God in no other way” – the distinc-
tion is entirely unimportant, it is a product of human confusion. But what
is interesting for our purposes is that, although the distinction between
possibility and contingency arises from human ignorance, both possibility
and contingency are limited by the metaphysical distinction between neces-
sity and “possibility and/or contingency” at ip33s1. Thus, we have a general
metaphysical truth – ip33s1 – that acts as a constraint on cognition, and
within this constraint we can make epistemic distinctions between types of
cognition as long as they do not violate the wider constraints.
In the case of the infinity of attributes we can provide a similar, albeit
implicit, argument. We know that it must be the case, metaphysically, that
there is an infinity of attributes. We are acquainted with two attributes
and only two as far as we know. But the fact that we are only acquainted
with two attributes is neither here nor there when it comes to arguing
that there are an infinity of attributes, nor does it have any bearing on
the metaphysical concept of infinity. We know in its broad lines what
the infinite is not. This limits many explanations, notably religious ones,
but it also limits apparently rational explanations that make unwarranted
assumptions based on our finite experience.
To return to Letter XII, (3) distinguishes between what we can only
understand and what we can both understand and imagine. Although this
distinction is epistemic, and consequently is not a necessary condition of
the infinite, it is a prerequisite for our understanding the infinite. Being
able to successfully distinguish between objects of the imagination and of
the understanding allows us to see the differences between the other two
senses, between (1) “what is infinite as a consequence of its own nature”
and “what has no bounds” and (2) “what is called infinite because it has
no limits” and “that whose parts we cannot explain or equate with any
number.”
This is far more difficult than it sounds. We continuously try to rep-
resent proper objects of the understanding through the imagination, even
metaphysical first principles, as was evident in our attempts to understand
the infinite character of the attributes. We try to visualize things, render
them accessible and commonsensical. As a consequence we present and
represent them in a mutilated and confused manner entirely different from
the way we should represent the objects of the understanding. In some ways
this is Spinoza’s cardinal epistemological insight – a deeply Cartesian in-
sight, although one which leads in directions quite remote from Descartes
through the ferocity of its application – that the intellect, and the objects
of the intellect, cannot be judged by the imagination. As for Descartes, the
implication is not that the imagination is intrinsically bad, but rather that
the conflation of the imagination and understanding leads to error.
The need to separate the understanding from the imagination holds most
of all of understanding God. As I noted above, all senses of the infinite
refer back to that which is infinite in its definition, God, and therefore
to understand the infinite is to understand the definition of God. The
definition reads in full:
By God I understand a being absolutely infinite, that is, a substance consisting of
an infinity of attributes each of which expresses an eternal and infinite essence.
Explication: I say absolutely infinite, not indeed infinite in its genus: for that which
is only infinite in its genus, we are able to negate the infinity of its attributes; but
that therefore [is] absolutely infinite, to which whatever expresses essence pertains
to its essence, and involves no negation. (Id6)
This is one of a group of definitions that initiates Book I of the Ethics.
These definitions have different sorts of structures. Some of the definitions
have only one part, introduced by the clause “By X I understand that”: the
definitions of attribute (id4) and eternity (id8). Some present a definition
with two parts, introduced by the clause “By X I understand that” with
the two halves separated by “or, that”: the definitions of causa sui (id1) and
mode (id5). Some introduce the definitions with “That thing is called” as
opposed to “By X I understand that”: the definitions of “finite in its kind”
(id2) and a “free thing” (id7). Two definitions have additional “explications”
attached to the definition proper, the definitions of God (id6) and eternity,
and one has an example – (id2) “finite in its kind.” Finally some definitions
are introduced by “By X I understand that” and contain a second clause
which explicates the first clause linked together by the connective “that is”:
substance (id3) and God.
These last two definitions, along with the definition of “causa sui,” are the
“first causes” of Spinoza’s metaphysics. It will turn out that they define the
same thing: God is the one, unique substance. The definition of substance
enters into the second part of the definition of God, insofar as God is “a
substance consisting of an infinity of attributes, each of which expresses
an eternal and infinite essence.” With the definition of substance it is clear
that the first half of the definition “By substance I understand what is in
itself and is conceived through itself” is the definition proper. The second
half of the definition – “that whose concept does not require the concept
of another thing, from which it must be formed” – includes a negation.
Spinoza does not think that a negation can be included in the presentation
of the essence of something (although sometimes it is unavoidable due to
the limitations on language, a point to which I will return at great length
in chapter 6) so we can reasonably assume that the weight of the definition
rests on its first half.
The second half of the definition of God does not include any sort of
negation, but given the definition of substance, and the structure of the
definition, it seems that Spinoza views the primary definition as “a being
absolutely infinite” and the second part of the definition as explicating it: “a
being” (“a substance”) and “absolutely infinite” (“an infinity of attributes,
each of which expresses an eternal and infinite essence”). At the very least
it is consistent to view the definition of God as providing an explication in
terms of substance and attribute of what absolute infinity means.
Spinoza also provides a further explication that is clearly not part of the
definition proper. He distinguishes absolutely infinite from “infinite in its
own kind” and then adds a notable and strange clause:
that therefore [is] absolutely infinite, to which whatever expresses essence pertains
to its essence, and involves no negation.
It seems by this that Spinoza is claiming that the absolutely infinite being
is not just a being that expresses the entirety of its essence. To its essence
pertains whatever expresses essence (quicquid essentiam exprimit). I think
Spinoza has in mind something like the following. Infinite numbers, infinite
causal power, and the other licit and illicit ways that we represent the
infinite, all are ways of expressing some sort of essence. We might think
that we could get at what the infinite was by just adding together all things
that have essences and express them – whatever expresses essence – but this
would just result in a lot of stuff that is infinite, not the absolute infinite,
as it would not provide a cause, merely an aggregate. Hence we need to
look elsewhere, to that “to which its essence pertains” to move beyond this
aggregative notion. Spinoza implies with this part of the definition that
“infinite” means something like “given X, X is absolutely infinite if and
only if for some y expressing essence, that y pertains to the essence of X”
without negation. This criterion, a kind of essence criterion, holds of both
substance and attributes. It also seems to constitute the connection between
substance and attributes, substance is that through which all essences are
what they are, attributes express the essence. In the case of substance,
whatever has an essence has it in and through substance, and, in the case of
attributes, whatever has an essence has that essence expressed by attributes.
It is hard to put such an idea into non-technical language, but it seems
clear that this is a sort of way of thinking about the infinite that Descartes
would have some problems with, since it denies the centrality of the infinite
will (if not its existence, for it still might exist as a mode of the divine
mind).
We can get some purchase on it in the following manner. Since for
Spinoza the absolutely infinite is whatever expresses essence without nega-
tion, the infinite within a given genus ought to be understood as expressing
the entire essence of a genus without end. So each and every essence of
a number is expressed by the numerical infinite, although constrained by
the genus number and thus not absolutely infinite. Each and every essence
of an extended thing is expressed in the attribute of extension, but lim-
ited to extended things and hence not absolutely infinite. Consequently,
from the structure of the definition and from the explication we can see
that the “absolutely infinite” or God is not just one concept among others.
It is something that, when we grasp through the understanding, and do
not confuse through the imagination, we understand better and better. We
understand it better by understanding all of the essences that arise from
it, a process I will discuss in greater depth in later chapters, in particular
chapter 6 and chapter 7. Conversely, it prevents us from making disas-
trous philosophical mistakes – anthropomorphizing God for example –
and it moves us in the right direction for understanding many crucial
concepts. It acts as an important metaphysical constraint on argument in
the sense discussed above. When we grasp what absolutely infinite means,
as distinguished from our desire to represent the infinite in terms of parts,
numbers, genera, or the imagination, we begin to understand a number
of ideas crucial for our power and joy which are stubbornly thwarted
by our confusions. And, when we understand what it means for some-
thing to “express essence,” we better understand the absolute infinite and
God.31
I would like briefly to discuss an important consequence this has for our
understanding of the Ethics. It is clear in the Ethics that we have adequate
cognition of the eternal and infinite essence of God (iip47). At first we
might think that Spinoza meant something similar to what Descartes does,
but this cannot be the case. For Spinoza, we do not have an infinite idea
placed into our minds qua humans capable of reflection and made by God
31 This is how I understand vp24, “the more we understand singular things, the more we understand
God.” Spinoza derives this from ip25c which states that “particular things are . . . modes by which
God’s attributes are expressed in a certain and determinate way.”
imago dei. Spinoza is making a very different claim, one not specific to
humans or beings capable of reflection, attention, and meditation.
Every part and every whole32 necessarily involves the idea of God (iip45).
More strongly, each and every idea involves adequate and perfect knowledge
of God’s essence (iip46). This includes not only all bodies and minds, but
also each and every perception. Whatever a perception is, it is through
ideas, as these ideas are how we perceive ourselves, our bodies, and other
bodies as existing. So every perception involves the infinite and eternal
essence of God. It is not clear what this means. Spinoza demonstrates iip45
by invoking ia4:
Singular things (by ip15) are not able to be conceived without God; but because (by
iip6) they have God for a cause, insofar as he is considered under an attribute of
which the things themselves are modes, their ideas (by ia4) will necessarily involve
the concept of the attribute itself (by id6), they will involve the eternal and infinite
essence of God.
How do we have this idea of the infinite and eternal essence of God? ip15
asserts that nothing can be conceived without God. This seems to be a weak
claim, that God is a necessary condition of anything we might conceive. We
might wish to construe iip45–7 as simply implying that to have an idea is
to know that the idea has a cause. But, Spinoza clearly construes it far more
strongly since iip45–7 show that “God’s infinite essence and his eternity
are known to all,” (iip47s). And he derives powerful consequences from it:
“since all things are in God and are conceived through God, it follows that
we can deduce from this knowledge a great many things which we know
adequately, and so can form that third kind of knowledge” (iip47s, CW
482).
These consequences derive from Spinoza’s invocation of ia4, that ideas
involve the concept of their attribute and, since the attribute expresses the
essence of God, involve the eternal and infinite essence of God. But how
does Spinoza get from the fact that God is a necessary condition of ideas to
there is actual knowledge of God in each idea? I think he has the following
in mind. If adequacy is relational as Bennett suggests, it cannot be the case
that an idea is adequate in my mind and not adequate in the infinite idea
of God, since “when we say that there is in us an adequate and perfect idea,
we are saying nothing but that (by p11c) there is an adequate and perfect
idea in God insofar as he constitutes the essence of our Mind” (iip34dem.,
CW 472). Hence I take Spinoza’s reasoning, however dubious, as follows.
32 Spinoza means by this just that whatever unit you take, however you individuate modes of thought,
the idea of God is in that individuated mode.
For an idea to be adequate means it relates to God’s idea and part of its
adequacy derives from this relation, there is something of what it means to
be God’s idea involved in each adequate idea. This “something” must be
known adequately, otherwise we could not have adequate knowledge. To
have adequate knowledge is to know the cause. The regress of causes stops
at God’s infinite and eternal essence in thought. Consequently, to have an
adequate idea is to have knowledge of God’s eternal essence in thought.
Spinoza is drawing on the Cartesian account in Meditations III where
each of our ideas has some sort of internal sanction of certitude in relation
to our minds, ultimately going back to the infinite idea of God placed
into each human being. Given that for Spinoza humans are no more or
less special than any other part of nature, this must be a feature of each
and every idea (iip46). And, since the idea is not placed into us through
a special act of creation, but ultimately arises from the fact that we are
beings in attributes like all other beings, it must be a very general sort of
knowledge that each and every idea could involve, something like truth
conditions perhaps.
But how can we have access to the infinite at all? Is this a finite model that
we have as finite beings of the infinite essence of God? How could something
infinite be in every finite bit and not be mutilated and confused, in every
idea of a periwinkle or widget? Can you jam something infinite into us?33
When we represent the infinite in terms of big and little, we represent it qua
the imagination and any adequate cognition we might have must exclude
the imagination. We have a tendency to think of infinity as gigantic, but the
infinite is neither big nor small since nothing finite is more or less infinite
and the infinite can broach no comparison for a comparison would imply
finitude. We are reluctant to say that the infinite and eternal essence could
be included in the whole and part of everything, because we imaginatively
represent the infinite as the “much bigger than” or even the unlimited. But
when we understand that the infinite has nothing to do with big and small,
as big and small involve negation and the infinite is fully positive, it makes
perfect sense to say that our minds have adequate cognition of the infinite.
We get confused when we return to the representations of the imagination.
Spinoza is not claiming anything mystical, but rather that the infinite is
precisely what we know it to be through careful rational argumentation,
and any illicit attempt to represent it destroys its role in the philosophy (as
well as the philosophy itself ). We know, via the geometrical presentation
33 Spinoza clearly thinks that the “absolutely infinite” is adequate by definition since he identifies
“absolute” with “adequate and perfect” (iip33).
in the Ethics, that the eternal and infinite essence of God is part of ideas
we have. We know that it is indivisible and in the part and whole, that
it has little to do with our vision of the infinite bursting out of our little
finite beings. So there really is no serious problem with claiming that the
infinite is included in all of our ideas, even if we the beings that have them
are finite and limited.
The best way to intuitively get at what Spinoza is describing is to combine
(1), (2), and (3) that the infinite as such, what Spinoza calls the “absolutely
infinite,” is that which follows as a consequence of its nature, has no ends,
and we cannot imagine. I think he has something in mind like unending
causal efficacy or power and conversely unending rational explicability, the
sort of thing presented in ip16. That he might have this in mind would
explain the importance of the final proposition of Part I, ip36: “Nothing
exists, out of the nature of which some effect does not follow.” This is a
crucial proposition in the Ethics and I think in some ways the proposition
that best represents Spinoza’s world for us, a world of infinite power without
end in substances, attributes, and each and every mode. The fact that an
effect follows from each and every mode, every mode that arises from us
for example, each thought we have and thing we do, is the most tangible
way that the infinite is present in the finite, finite modes have unending
effects.
This begins to get at what Spinoza means by “the infinite power of
Nature” in thought,34 “not insofar as it is infinite and perceives the whole
of Nature, but insofar as it is finite and perceives only the human Body.”
The infinite power of nature is present in all thought and in each thought
as the conditions that make them adequate. We feel it when we understand
ourselves as arising from an internal cause, God. This includes even a finite
worm’s perceptions of its own body. Throughout this discussion I have
assumed the idea of God, the idea of the infinite, and Spinoza’s definitions.
The question now is how do we get at these ideas? This will be the subject
of the next three chapters.
34 In this use of part and whole Spinoza seems only to mean “in all things.”
chapter 3
Emendative therapy and the Tractatus de

Intellectus Emendatione
In the last two chapters I have discussed a number of issues preliminary to

considering Spinoza’s method. In chapter 1, I discussed the analogy of the
worm in the blood and the problem of how we – natural beings – come
to understand nature. In chapter 2, I considered a number of key concepts
that all have bearing on the solution that Spinoza proposed to the worm’s
problem, specifically on Spinoza’s definition of God. In this chapter and
the three that follow it I will present what Spinoza and some philosophers
who Spinoza drew on have to say about method. By “method” I understand
what the Scholastics called a “via” and Spinoza calls a mos, a way or means
to discover those truths “that can lead us, by the hand as it were, to the
knowledge of the human Mind and its highest blessedness” (II “Preface”).
For Spinoza this via is intertwined with what I call an “emendative therapy.”
Why and that they are interconnected is the concern of this chapter.
The first two sections concern the idea of “emendation” in Spinoza’s
Tractatus de Intellectus Emendatione. In these sections I will try to show that
in the TIE Spinoza draws on and alters Francis Bacon’s theory of mental
tools, Gersonides’ theory of emendation, and Descartes’ account of innate
ideas, and uses them for his own ends. The final section will emphasize that
emendation is the crucial first step to understanding Spinoza’s account of
definition and the mos geometricus. I will discuss the definition of emenda-
tion in greater detail later on, but by emendation I understand the process
of ridding oneself of confusions in order to think and act more clearly.
m e t h o d i n t h e t r e at i s e o n t h e e m e n d at i o n o f t h e
intellect
Spinoza’s earliest extant attempt to supply a philosophical method capable
of explaining where our definitions come from is in the TIE. The relation
between the TIE and the Ethics has always been a matter of some dispute.
It is not clear when the TIE was written, if the KV or the TIE was written
73
first, and whether or not Spinoza had begun his initial drafts of the Ethics
when the TIE was written (although it seems likely).1 But two facts are not
disputed. First, the TIE was intended as a methodological/logical discussion
providing the groundwork for another work called Philosophia.2 Second,
and importantly, Spinoza never disassociated himself from the TIE. Even
if particular details of the TIE differ from the Ethics including the general
emphasis on mind as opposed to mind and body, Spinoza seemed to view
the TIE as representing his philosophical views long after.3 And there seems
not to be much conflict between the methodology of the Ethics and the
methodological considerations in the TIE, despite the fact that there are
a number of doctrines in the TIE that seem far less well thought out
than those in the Ethics.4 This is fortunate, as the TIE provides Spinoza’s
only sustained discussion of philosophical methodology and is the most
important key to accessing the methodology of the Ethics.
The TIE is also one of Spinoza’s most interesting works. It is sort
of Spinoza’s version of Descartes’ Discourse on Method (DM ). Unlike
Descartes’ DM , it is not followed by three “Essays” transforming science,
but instead dramatically breaks off just as Spinoza is about to provide his
method for discovering true definitions! But, like Descartes, Spinoza be-
gins with a stylized autobiography after the manner of the opening section
of the DM , and the Cartesian influence is more pronounced than in the
Ethics.
One of the most intriguing thoughts in the TIE is that philosophi-
cal method is a set of intellectual tools or instruments fashioned by the
mind to clarify and empower it. This emphasis on mental tools antedates
Spinoza, although Spinoza’s take on it is quite original. From the late Middle
Ages through the late Renaissance and the early modern period, philoso-
phers disputed whether logic5 was an instrument or a science. The primary
1 Curley gives an excellent summary of the chronology arguments at CW 49–51. The major work on
the chronology of KV and the TIE has been done by Filippo Mignini in an important series of
articles (see particularly “Per la datazione e l’interpretazione del Tractatus de intellectus emendatione
di B. Spinoza,” La Cultura, 17:1–2 (1979), pp. 87–160, and “Un documento trascurato della revisione
spinoziana del Breve Trattato,” La Cultura, 18:2–3 (1980), pp. 223–73) as well as a critical edition of
the KV . Both works are valuable for understanding the Ethics.
2 See TIE §30n and §36n. 3 See particularly Letters LIX and LX.
4 Herman De Dijn (Spinoza the Way to Wisdom [West Lafayette, IN: Purdue, 1996]) and Bernard
Rousset (Spinoza: Traité de la Réforme de L’Entendement [Paris: J. Vrin, 1992]) both make good cases
for the TIE as a methodological prelude to Spinoza’s Ethics. As to discrepancies, Curley notes that the
“four kinds of knowledge” of the TIE are not as well thought out as the “three kinds of knowledge”
of the Ethics. The TIE emphasizes the mind as source of salvation, and body as source of error, to a
much higher degree than the Ethics does. Joachim argues that the TIE assumes a Cartesian theory
of will, but there seems little evidence for this.
5 These philosophers understood logic very broadly, as everything encompassed in the Organon as
well as in the first book of Physics. Thus, as well as being syllogistic, logic included scientific and
philosophical methodology.
The Tractatus de Intellectus Emendatione 75
exponents of “logic as instrument” were Ockham and the Ockhamists, and
those for “logic as science” Scotus and the Scotists. What was at stake in
these debates was whether logic and syllogistics were instruments for at-
taining particular ends in a variety of general and special sciences (knowing
something about a biological species, for example), or whether we ought
to consider logic and syllogistics to be an object of scientific study. Science
here is understood as Aristotelian episteme: certain knowledge of necessary
causes. More succinctly: is there a science of logic or is logic a necessary
precondition of science but not an object of science in and of itself? This
question impacts not only how we understand logic itself but also how
we understand the unity, authority, and structure of the sciences more
generally.
In the late Renaissance, Jacobo Zabarella wrote two influential treatises,6
De Natura Logicae and De Methodis, in which he argued that method was
not a science – “firm and certain cognition, simpliciter, of necessary and
sempiternal things”7 – but rather a particular sort of instrument, a mental
instrument.8 Just as our hands fashion hammers and nails and the like, so
our minds fashion tools that help us to better organize and understand the
world. Zabarella equated these mental instruments with syllogisms, which
he considered to be a tool for acquiring truths and for showing the necessity
in demonstration.9 Zabarella’s texts were important, for by arguing that
method is a creation of human minds for scientific investigation he removed
arguments about method from their theological contexts in the late Middle
Ages, i.e. questions about the scientia divina, and argued that method was
a set of tools for human scientific investigation (not just demonstration).
Consequently, human minds and the procedures created by human minds
6 Jacobo Zabarella was the most influential logician of the late sixteenth century, although his influence
extends throughout the seventeenth century. A professor at the University of Padua, his discussions
of scientific method have been claimed as an important influence on Galileo (Cf. William A. Wallace,
Galileo’s Logic of Discovery and Proof [Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1992]). Zabarella’s
ideas were widely disseminated throughout Italy, Germany, Holland, and Europe more generally
both through his own works, which went through many editions, and logic handbooks (notably the
handbook of Bartholomeus Kekkermann) that took his discussion of method as authoritative. For a
sign of Zabarella’s influence, see Bayle’s article “Zabarella” in the Dictionnaire Philosophique.
7 De Natura Logicae i.2, 3f, in Jacobo Zabarella, Opera Logica.
8 Ibid., i.10, see particularly 21d–e. The theme goes back to the early Renaissance, notably Cusa’s
wise spoon carver in De Docta Ignorantia. On Zabarella see William Edwards, “The Logic of Iacopo
Zabarella (1533–1589)” (Columbia University Ph.D., 1960), 129.
9 Although it is obvious that a syllogism can provide a necessary demonstration, it is not at all obvious
that it is a tool for scientific inquiry. Zabarella thought that in empirical scientific investigations
we know a conclusion (the sound of thunder) and from this we seek the middle term or cause
(water quenching fire in the clouds). In this way the structure of syllogism points both to scientific
demonstration (showing the necessity in a conclusion from the premises) and scientific investigation
(given conclusions seeking middle terms or causes). This is, as has been often noted, a major change
in thinking about scientific methodology, the use of formal procedures for scientific discovery.
were, for Zabarella, the proper sources of method (as opposed to the divine
order).
Zabarella’s ways of presenting method from within the Aristotelian
Organon tradition is quite similar in some fundamentals to Francis Bacon’s
appropriately named Novum Organum.10 Although Bacon rejected the syl-
logism, the rejection was very much in line with Zabarella’s centering of
method and logic on the human mind, as Bacon wished to replace formal
syllogisms (which Zabarella viewed as a versatile mental tool) with the ac-
tual structures of human thought. This became a rallying cry in the early
modern period, in Descartes’ Regulae, Arnauld and Nicole’s Logique ou
L’Art de Penser, and Locke’s Of the Conduct of the Understanding.
The second aphorism of the Novum Organum reads:
Neither the bare hand nor the unaided intellect has much power; the work is done
by tools and assistance, and the intellect needs them as much as the hand. As the
hand’s tools either prompt or guide its motions, so the mind’s tools either prompt
or warn the intellect.11
If Bacon is a major representative of this theory, and if both Bacon and
Spinoza employed the language of mental tools, what did Spinoza think of
Bacon? On the one hand, Spinoza’s general way of conceiving philosophy
is very different from Bacon’s. Bacon emphasized sensory induction and
experimental and natural history as the proper basis for all avenues of in-
quiry. In his very first extant letter to Henry Oldenburg Spinoza criticized
Bacon in tandem with Descartes for having strayed from knowledge of
first causes, for not having understood the human mind, and for not hav-
ing understood true error. This letter includes the first dated reference to
Spinoza’s geometrical method (October 1661) and evidence of the earliest
propositions of the Ethics.12 Spinoza thought that Bacon’s errors would be
10 While Bacon is not as commonly read by philosophers and historians of philosophy as he was in the
fairly recent past, he was a dominant influence on seventeenth-century philosophy and methodology.
Why he is not read in as much earnest as he once was is not entirely clear to me. But nearly every
well-known philosopher of the seventeenth century was greatly influenced him. Hobbes was briefly
his secretary, Locke’s logic and understanding of method is suffused with Bacon as is Spinoza’s,
and the list goes on. For an impressive attempt to reestablish the importance of Bacon, see Stephen
Gaukroger, Francis Bacon and the Transformation of Early Modern Philosophy (Cambridge University
Press, 2001).
11 Lisa Jardine and Michael Silverthorne (ed. and trans.), Francis Bacon: The New Organon (Cambridge
University Press, 2000), §II, 33. All translations from The New Organon are taken from this volume.
12 These letters are particularly interesting as they give us evidence of Spinoza’s attitude toward axioms
as well as one of the only examples of his taking account of criticisms. Oldenburg criticized some
of the axioms that Spinoza used in his proof of the one substance doctrine as being insufficiently
evident (Letter III). Spinoza defended their truth, but did not try to defend their evidentness (Letter
IV). In the 1677 Ethics, the Ethics as we know it, the disputed axioms became ip2 and ip3, and were
evident to anyone who understood the opening propositions of the Ethics.
For Spinoza, these errors resulted in, among other things, an incoherent
discussion of the will and intellect.
But, given that Descartes and Bacon are discarded in tandem, and
given Spinoza’s obvious respect for Descartes, this letter should not weigh
against Bacon’s influence on Spinoza. From Spinoza’s quoting of the Novum
Organum it is clear that he had read this text seriously (as had most every
seventeenth-century philosopher). Bacon’s influence is backed up by an
important letter from Spinoza to his friend Bouwmeester. Spinoza had
asked Bouwmeester, in a strangely and uncharacteristically beseeching let-
ter (Letter XXVIII),13 if he would be willing to translate the Ethics up to
the eightieth proposition of the third book. Bouwmeester’s response is lost,
but he clearly had some difficulties with Spinoza’s philosophy, for Spinoza
quotes the following question in response to Bouwmeester’s lost letter:
Whether there is or can be such a Method that by means of it we can proceed safely and
without weariness in the consideration of the most exalted subject? Or whether like our
bodies, our minds also are subject to accidents, and our thoughts are governed more by
chance than by art? (Letter XXXVII)
Spinoza’s responded by noting that our clear and distinct ideas only arise
from other clear and distinct concepts in us, not from causes external to us:
From whence it follows that whatever clear and distinct conceptions we form
depend only on our nature and its definite and fixed laws, that is, on our absolute
power, and not on chance – i.e. causes which, though they also act according to
definite and fixed laws, are unknown to us, and are foreign to our nature and
power. Therefore it seems clear what the true Method must be, and in what it
especially consists, namely, only in the knowledge of the pure understanding, and
of its natures and laws. (Letter XXXVII)
In the TIE Spinoza also emphasized that clear and distinct (or adequate)
ideas only follow from other like ideas in us. I think this is clearly an
derived from somewhat “weaker” axioms, and ones that Spinoza thought apparently more evident.
Thus it was important for Spinoza that his axioms be recognized by reasonable people as obviously
true or evident.
13 Margaret Gullan-Whur has a somewhat idiosyncratic reading of this letter, but concludes, I think
correctly, that Spinoza seemed to have thought that Bouwmeester, who had access to all of Spinoza’s
“secret teachings” as part of the Amsterdam circle, was slipping away from him. Gullan-Whur fails
to note Spinoza’s comment about Bacon in this letter (but see p. 159), to be discussed below. See
Within Reason: A Life of Spinoza (New York: Saint Martin’s Press, 2000), 157–8. For an excellent
discussion of Bouwmeester, doctor, close friend of Lodewijk Meyer, possible translator of Ibn Tufayl,
and co-founder of “Nil Volentibus Arduum” with Meyer, see K. O. Meinsma, Spinoza et son cercle.
Étude critique historique sur les hétérodoxes hollandaise, eds. Henry Méchoulan and Pierre-François
Moreau, trans. S. Rosenburg, and Jean-Pierre Osier (Paris: Vrin, 1983).
underlying assumption in the Ethics, but not explicitly stated. First, as
Spinoza had by this time (1666) written the major portion of the first three
parts of the Ethics, it seems unlikely that he changed his mind on this basic
point about the relation between clear and distinct ideas in the process of
revision. Second, he never wrote anything to contradict this in the Ethics,
and he was always careful to distinguish adequate and inadequate knowl-
edge in II and vp1–20. Third, he never gave any account of how the second
kind of knowledge could be said to rise from the first kind of knowledge,
and in fact claimed that the third kind of knowledge cannot arise from the
first kind of knowledge (vp28). It is possible that he had in mind that the
second kind of knowledge arises from the first kind, and the third from
the second, but then it would seem that the third kind of knowledge is
arising transitively from the first kind of knowledge via the second kind
of knowledge. I conclude that on the basis of this evidence it seems far
more likely than not that Spinoza held that adequate or clear and distinct
ideas only follow from other adequate or clear and distinct ideas. The other
interpretation is possible, but, given the chronology of the letter, the TIE,
and supporting evidence in the Ethics, the weight of evidence is strongly
against it.
Accepting this maxim it follows that intrinsically inchoate ideas of the
imagination are ruled out as the basis for true knowledge, and method is set
out as a means to distinguish between clear and distinct or adequate ideas
and confused ideas. In this context Spinoza invokes the difference between
part and whole in stating that inadequate or false knowledge is partial,
whereas adequate knowledge is whole (TIE 63). By this Spinoza seems to
mean that inadequate knowledge is a partial or mutilated perspective on
adequate knowledge in the sense I considered in the previous chapter; he
does not seem to be evoking a part/whole relation.
Returning to Bacon, Spinoza goes on to make the following far more
surprising assertion:
To understand this at least as far as the Method requires, there is no need to
know the nature of the mind through its first cause; it is enough to get together
a short account of the mind or of conceptions in the way Verulam [i.e. Bacon]
teaches.
Spinoza follows this by remarking that, to do this, one must adopt a definite
plan of life and a definite end, and have constant mind and purpose – the
council of the first sections of the TIE.14 Given Spinoza’s rendering of
14 See De Dijn, The Way to Wisdom, 39.

the TIE in a nutshell for Bouwmeester (at a time when the majority of the
Ethics had already been written), and the fact that Bouwmeester had access
to a major chunk of the Ethics (which Spinoza hoped he would translate),
we can rule out this reference to Bacon as being merely placatory. Rather,
Spinoza was here claiming that in its broad lines Bacon’s account of the
human mind, and method is compatible with his own. Given his earlier
rejection of Bacon’s account of the mind this is at first surprising. Likely,
though, it shows that Spinoza was not rejecting this or that thing that
Bacon said. Instead he was claiming that Bacon had no understanding
of the way in which the human mind was related to first principles and
thus fell into errors such as arguing for the existence of a faculty of will
distinct from intellect.15 This would be very similar to his attitude toward
Descartes.
A problem for my emphasis on Bacon is posed by those passages in
the TIE criticizing “knowledge by random experience” and attacking “the
recent philosophers and the Empirics” (TIE, note “i”). These are the
philosophers who do not think that philosophy extends beyond the cat-
aloguing and categorization of random experience. The passage seems to
refer to Bacon,16 but similar attacks on “empirics” can be found in Bacon,
and in fact Spinoza’s attack is much like the Baconian attack on William
Gilbert and the “empirical brand of philosophy” in the Novum Organum!17
Even if Spinoza has Bacon in mind, he is not thereby rejecting the Baconian
“historiola mentis” or history of the mind;18 Spinoza is rejecting only the
metaphysical justifications for Bacon’s philosophy and a number of bad re-
sults derived from them (like the confusion of the will and intellect and the
excessive emphasis on the imagination, the notion of natural philosophy
as starting and ending with experientia vaga). This is again the same sort of
attitude Spinoza had toward Descartes.
Once we see that Spinoza believes that we can discover some adequate
ideas without recourse to metaphysics, we can note affinities between
Spinoza’s and Bacon’s conceptions of philosophical method as expressed
in the first few aphorisms of the Novum Organum and Spinoza’s concep-
tion of philosophical method in the TIE. In the TIE Spinoza claims that a
true method is not susceptible to infinite regress for the following reasons:
15 A similar argument for a possible Baconian influence on Spinoza is made by Allen Gabbey, “Spinoza’s
Natural Science and Methodology,” in The Cambridge Companion to Spinoza (Cambridge University
Press, 1996), 170–2, but Gabbey sees no real Baconian influence beyond natural historical taxonomy.
16 See De Dijn, The Way to Wisdom, 53, and Rousset, Spinoza: Traité de la Réforme de L’Entendement,
202.
17 Novum Organum, i.164. 18 See De Dijn, The Way to Wisdom, 39.
[j]ust as men, in the beginning, were able to make the easiest things with the tools
they were born with (however laboriously and imperfectly), and once these had
been made, made other, more difficult things with less labor and more perfectly,
and so, proceeding gradually from the simplest works to tools, and from tools to
other works and tools, reached the point where they accomplished so many and so
difficult things with little labor, in the same ways the intellect, by its inborn power,k
makes intellectual tools for itself, by which it acquires other powers for other
intellectual works, and from these works still other tools, or the power of searching
further, and so proceeds by stages, until it reaches the pinnacle of wisdom.
(TIE 31)
Like Bacon, Spinoza argued that method is a mental tool or instrument.
In the striking first aphorism of the Novum Organum Bacon famously (or
infamously) claimed that:
Man is Nature’s agent and interpreter; he does and understands only as much as
he has observed of the order of nature in fact or by inference; he does not know
and cannot do more.
The third aphorism reads:
Human knowledge and human power come to the same thing, because ignorance
of cause frustrates effect. For Nature is conquered only by obedience; and that
which in thought is a cause, is like a rule in practice.
These two aphorisms together might be taken to present the following
sort of theory of knowledge. (1) Humans act from nature and know insofar
as they know nature. (2) As humans are natural agents they have mental
tools that aid the intellect both in helping it to better understand nature
and warning it when it falls into error. (3) This results in power, more
particularly causal power, as a consequence of knowing effects through
causes and acting through these causes to produce effects.
Bacon’s aphorisms have clear affinities with some well-known propo-
sitions, axioms, and scholiums of Book I of the Ethics (ip16, ip30s, ip36,
ia4). But there is a notable and central difference between Bacon’s apho-
risms and the ways in which Spinoza takes them up. For Bacon, the mind
must obtain tools in order to make an external nature obedient, and these
tools may or may not be external to the mind (insofar as they arise from
a process of induction moving from knowledge of sensory particulars
to more general axioms).19 For Spinoza, nature manifests itself through,
19 The process of induction for Bacon is very nuanced as has become clear from recent Bacon scholar-
ship. See Michele Malherbe, “Bacon’s Method of Science,” in Makku Peltonen (ed.), The Cambridge
Companion to Bacon (Cambridge University Press, 1996), 75–89. See also Antonio Pérez-Ramos,
Francis Bacon’s Idea of Science and the Maker’s Knowledge Tradition (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988),
iv.17.
indeed is, our natures and the intellectual tools are features of both nature
as such and the nature of our minds. This general idea seems to underlie
Spinoza’s claim that the human mind is “the infinite power of Nature in
thought . . . not insofar as it is infinite and perceives the whole of Nature, but
insofar as it is finite and perceives only the human Body.” For Bacon, man
has an imperium within the larger imperium of nature, and consequently he
tries to understand and dominate the imperium of nature in order to make
his human imperium more powerful.20 For Spinoza, as I have emphasized
in the preceding chapters, nature and man form only one imperium and
man is made more powerful by understanding this one imperium.21 This
does not imply that, for Spinoza, many natural things, like animals and old
growth forests, are not to be used for man’s power. They are, Spinoza is
quite explicit about this.22 This is also thoroughly Baconian and, in some
ways, even more extreme than Bacon (I will return to this in the final
two chapters). His disagreement concerns the divide between man and
nature.
Put in a different way, Bacon stated his credo to a priest worried about
metaphysics: “When true Physics is discovered there will be no Metaphysics.
Beyond the true physics is divinity only.”23 Man controls Nature through
Physics and relates to God, in whose image he is made, through religion.
For Spinoza, physics is explicitly grounded in metaphysics qua the attribute
of extension and the infinite modes; divinity is in no way “beyond” physics,
and metaphysics is the main part of the “true religion.”24
There are many reasons that Bacon and Spinoza might have come to
disagree on this point, but a helpful way to look at the disagreement is
through one of Spinoza’s most apparently Cartesian doctrines, his account
20 Novum Organum ii.1

21 See Spinoza’s Preface to Ethics III:
Most of those who have written about the Affects, and men’s way of living, seem to treat, not of
natural things, which follow the common laws of nature, but of things which are outside nature.
Indeed they seem to conceive man in nature as a dominion within a dominion. For they believe that
man disturbs, rather than follows, the order of nature, that he has absolute power over his actions,
and that he is determined only to be himself. (CW 491)
22 Whatever is in the nature of things beyond men, there is no demand on us by reason of their
usefulness to preserve them. Rather we are taught to conserve and to destroy according to its various
uses, or to adapt it to any use whatever. (IV “Appendix” XXVI). Given this, the interpretation of
Spinoza as a proto-ecological philosopher is clearly wrong and seems to trade on a misinterpretation
of Spinoza’s concept of nature.
23 “Letter to Father Baranzano” (30 June 1622). I owe this to B. W. Young, Religion and Enlightenment
in Eighteenth-Century England: Theological Debates from Locke to Burke (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1998), 83. For an excellent discussion of what underpins this sort of claim see chapter 3.
24 On the “true religion” see TTP XIV.
of inborn power in the TIE. If our natures are not distinct from nature but
rather a part of nature, how do our tools for understanding nature arise
from our natures? Where do they come from if we do not acquire them,
causally, from the external world? It would seem, then, that they would have
to be innate, but in what sense? Is Spinoza suggesting an innatist theory
of the sort made famous by Descartes’ “wax argument” in the Second and
Fifth Meditations, and claiming like Descartes that many of the ways in
which we represent an object of the senses (such as the color of a ball of
wax) are primarily derived from our minds and not in the sensible object we
experience through our senses? If this is the case, are the essences of things
innate in our minds? It seems that if Spinoza is an innatist he cannot, like
Descartes, be implying that the mind is strictly independent of the body,
i.e. that there can be a mind without a body.25 So what, then, does he
mean?
Fortunately there is no reason to read “inborn” in the TIE as requiring
that the mind is more than causally independent of the body. Spinoza
glosses the expression “inborn power” with note “k”: “By inborn power
I understand what is not caused in us by external causes. I shall explain
this afterward in my Philosophy.” He does not explicitly equate “inborn
power” and “internal cause,” but by claiming that the inborn power “is not
caused in us by external causes” Spinoza implies the equating of these two
concepts by exclusion (as everything has a cause, and a cause of one sort or
the other). Thus, what it means to be an inborn power or innate is to arise
from internal causes. Unlike Descartes and other innatists (but perhaps like
Leibniz) Spinoza does not imply that inborn powers hold only of minds,
or that they hold of minds in exclusion of bodies. A mode of the body can
just as well be said to have an internal cause as a mode of thought.26
The way in which Spinoza construes innateness also leads to a difference
between Spinoza’s use of the tool-making analogy and Bacon’s similar ideas
in the Novum Organum. Mental tools arise independent of external causes
and all structures or processes external to our thoughts and bodies. It has
been argued that Bacon belongs to the maker’s knowledge tradition, that
“true knowledge can be had of what is made or can be made” since if we
are able to make something we must understand it as we are the cause of
25 The mind and the body are causally independent, as the two attributes (thought and extension) of
which they are modes are causally independent (ivp2). But although they are causally independent
it is still a necessary condition for there to be a mind that there be a body, and vice versa. Spinoza
develops this last point in Ethics iip7–13.
26 Spinoza wishes to replace the Cartesian inside/outside distinction with a very different account of
inside/outside built on Descartes’ internal cause/external cause distinction as opposed to Descartes’
prioritization of the mental.
its existence and its particular essence.27 Whether or not Bacon actually
belongs to such a tradition, clearly we have dominion over nature as a
result of our creating artifacts based on the discovery and manipulation of
“forms,” the physical constituents of structures found in nature. Spinoza,
like Hobbes, Locke, Pufendorf, and others, far more clearly subscribes to a
sort of “maker’s knowledge” as we ultimately know those things which we
have definitions of and from which we are able to infer (concludi) all of the
properties of the thing (TIE 96). We know them via a causal definition of a
very strong sort that I will discuss in chapter 5 called a “genetic” definition.28
The same considerations that apply to method – that method is some
sort of innate capacity for making tools – also apply to Spinoza’s discussion
of truth and method, although with a notable difficulty.29 A few paragraphs
after the quote I have just discussed, Spinoza makes two further important
claims, first:
From which it is gathered that Method is nothing but a reflexive cognition, or
the idea of an idea; and because we can’t have an idea unless a previous idea has
been given, thus we can’t have a Method unless we have a prior idea. From which
it follows that Method will be good, which shows in what way the mind is to be
directed according to the norm of a given true idea. (TIE 38)30
Two paragraphs later Spinoza states:
For as clearly is gathered from what has been said, a true idea must exist in
us before all else, as an innate instrument, by which the intellect understands.
(TIE 39)
27 Pérez-Ramos, Francis Bacon’s Idea of Science and the Maker’s Knowledge Tradition, passim. This is con-
troversial, though, as Bacon does not actually use the expression “maker’s knowledge.” Gaukroger,
in particular, has criticized interpreting Bacon’s method as centered on “maker’s knowledge”
(Gaukroger, Francis Bacon, 158–9). Although Gaukroger’s case is convincing, it still seems that
post-Hobbesians like Spinoza would interpret the method as based in maker’s knowledge (whether
this is what Bacon had mind or not).
28 See Paolo Mancosu, Philosophy of Mathematics & Mathematical Practice in the Seventeenth Century
(Oxford University Press, 1996), 98–100. Spinoza derives this theory from Bacon’s one time secretary,
Thomas Hobbes. I will be discussing causal definitions at great length in subsequent chapters.
29 Clearly, what Spinoza calls a “true idea” in the TIE includes his definition of an “adequate idea” in
the Ethics. Since this is the aspect of true ideas in the Ethics I am interested in, for “true idea” in the
TIE read “adequate idea” in the Ethics.
30 When I use “true idea” in this chapter I use it in the broad sense of the TIE, as including adequacy.
This is distinguished from the Cartesian theory of truth as elaborated in the Fourth Meditation,
which emphasizes truth and falsity as arising from judgments. Spinoza cannot hold such a theory
for two reasons. First he denies that the will has the sort of role in his philosophy that it did for
Descartes. Second, and more importantly, he denies that there is a distinction ultimately between
an intentional mental act and the idea that is the object of that mental act. Thus, for Spinoza, my
thought about Sam and my mental act that has an idea of Sam as its object are one and the same.
Consequently, there is no place to interpose a will in this scheme. On these issues see iip49.
These passages contain an obvious sort of problem. On the one hand,
Spinoza identifies method with the intellectual tools that we have and
make. On the other hand, he identifies method with a reflexive cognition,
an idea of an idea, ultimately referring back to an initial true idea, which he
also calls an “inborn tool” (TIE 39). This method will show us how to direct
our minds toward an initial true idea, the idea of “the most perfect Being”
(TIE 38).31 Consequently it appears that, in the first case, our method
is the actual intellectual tools that we find – for example our capacity for
discerning truth from falsehood as derived from a true idea – in the second,
a reflection on these tools. The obvious solution to this apparent confusion
is that reflection is the process of drawing out intellectual tools through the
use of “ideas of ideas” that clarify the ways in which our thoughts ought
relate to and arise from our initial true idea.32
Spinoza discusses ideas of ideas in the Ethics at iip21s and explains ideas
of ideas as nothing but “the form of the idea insofar as this is considered as
a mode of thinking without relation to its object.” He adds at iip43: “He
who has a true idea at the same time knows that he has a true idea, and
cannot doubt the truth of the thing” with reference to iip21s. This parallels
the following passage in the TIE:
To know that I know, I first must know. From this it is clear that certainty is
nothing but the objective essence itself, i.e., the mode by which we are aware of
the formal essence is certainty itself . . . [t]he true Method is the way that truth
itself, or the objective essences of things, or the ideas (all those things signify the
same) should be sought in the proper order. (TIE 35–6)
Thus, in his discussions of method Spinoza consistently emphasizes33
that truth (or adequacy in the terminology of the Ethics) resides in the ideas
themselves as opposed to an ancillary reflection or method that validate the
ideas and provide truth conditions.34 Whatever truth the reflection on an
31 Spinoza later will criticize “perfect” as ill suited for the definition of God (see chapter 6). In the
“Preface” to Part IV Spinoza attempts to rid the word “perfect” of any teleological significance
(ii/205–9) and instead identify it with reality and actuality. Consequently to say that God is “most
perfect” need mean nothing more than that God is reality, or whatever expresses essence.
32 That Spinoza is primarily interested in ideas in the TIE does not mean that there will not be some
sort of physical analogue of the way in which ideas of ideas aid us. Bennett has a nice discussion of
this, which he calls the Monitor of a brain subsystem (A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics, 355).
33 On the consistency of the treatment of idea of ideas in the TIE and the Ethics see Alexandre
Matheron’s important paper, “Ideas of Ideas and Certainty in the Tractatus de Emendatione and in
the Ethics,” in Y. Yovel and G. Segal (eds.), Spinoza on Knowledge and the Human Mind (Leiden: E. J.
Brill, 1994), 83–91.
34 At iip43 Spinoza equates adequate knowledge with knowing a thing truly. So the true knowledge here
is derivative of an adequate idea. As previously noted he uses truth in the TIE in much the sense he
uses adequacy in the Ethics. And even in the Ethics he seems to use them fairly interchangeably when
idea has (the objective essence of an idea) is derived from the initial idea
(the formal essence) that has been reflected upon.35 The role of method is
not to seek causes or warrant, those arise from the initial ideas to which we
apply method, but rather to clarify and emend ideas in the proper order.
This last point is supported by a further remark of Spinoza’s, that method
is not “the reasoning by which we understand first causes or the causes of
things”:
it is understanding what a true idea is by distinguishing it from the rest of the
perceptions; by investigating its nature, so that from that we may come to know
our power of understanding and so restrain the mind that it understands, according
to that standard, everything that is to be understood; and finally by teaching and
constructing certain rules as aids, so that the mind does not weary itself in useless
things. (TIE 37)
These “useless things” are unfortunately prevalent, as opposed to the
difficult and rare things described in the final proposition of the Ethics
vp42. It is difficult to avoid the useless and find the rare, but to find the rare
we must consider our inborn power, a true (or adequate) idea, which we
have in us independent of all external causes – of all useless things. How do
we know we have a true (or adequate) idea? Spinoza claims “truth is its own
standard” (iip43s). We always already know the difference between truth
and falsity, and insofar as we know the difference between truth and falsity
we know that we have a true idea by which to judge falsity (iip42dem).36
Hence we have a true idea from which we derive our capacity to distinguish
truth and falsity.
The true idea is also the initial mental instrument upon which we then
reflect. The truth of this idea functions as a norm allowing us to make
judgments distinguishing truth from the falsity. In reflecting on this norm
we form an objective essence or reflection that then helps us to separate our
not making a technical distinction. This also holds for the equally important distinction between
passions and affects.
35 Spinoza’s use of the Scholastic distinction between formal essences and objective essences parallels
Descartes’ distinction between formal and objective reality. Cottingham explains the distinction
clearly – “the ‘formal’ reality of anything is its own intrinsic reality, while the ‘objective’ reality of an
idea is a function of its representational content” (PWD 28n1). Thus the essence is objective insofar
as it has an object which it refers to and represents and from which it derives its representational
content.
36 I think that for Spinoza this argument is a variation on Descartes’ contradictory claims that clarity
and distinctness is its own standard but also that the knowledge of God is the necessary basis for
truly clear and distinct knowledge – the Cartesian circle (see DM IV in particular). In Spinoza’s case
we have a sense of what is true and what is false, even though we err on many occasions, but as we
begin to understand God better our standard of truth and falsity – the idea of God – becomes more
evident and less prone to error.
intellectual wheat from chaff but always in relation to the initial true idea.37
In Baconian terms (which Spinoza does not use) we will learn to diagnose
our idols and “expurgate” our mind. It is crucial though, as I have noted,
that method is not the true idea nor reasoning about things as such, but
rather a reflection on true ideas and reasoning. Method has as its source
the inborn power of a true idea (ultimately the idea of God).
Now as for our worm we begin to see the first stage of responding to its
conundrum. The worm is attempting to understand what is outside it and
what the product of external cause is without first developing a method for
distinguishing between true and false ideas. This method can only arise from
a reflection on the true idea that arises from internal causes in the worm’s
mind. Without first attending to this, the worm will be unable to really
understand its own mind or separate its clear and distinct ideas about the
parts of nature which it confronts from the many inadequate and confused
ideas of the imagination it experiences. This is clearly one of the things
that Spinoza was getting at when he described our minds “as the infinite
power of nature insofar as we finitely perceive our bodies.” Since we are parts
of nature, we somehow have within us a standard or norm that allows us
to form true and adequate ideas, finite worms though we are. The problem
remains, how do we get at it? In order to get at it, we must “emend” our
minds.
emending the mind

What is the correct English translation of Tractatus de Intellectus Emenda-
tione? “Treatise” is an unproblematic translation of “Tractatus.” “Intellect”
is the obvious translation of “intellectus.” And the obvious translation of
emendatione is “emendation.” But what does emendation mean? It roughly
means improving, mending, or correcting. For Spinoza, emendation can-
not mean improving or correcting in the sense of adding something to our
nature as we would add a new chess move to our arsenal of chess strategies.
37 Bennett has noted that the problem is how to stop the collapse of the idea of an idea, of X into
the idea of X, “how can two items be intrinsically exactly alike and yet have different representative
features” (Bennett, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics, 186)? Bennett sees Spinoza as viewing ideas of ideas
as providing a theory of self-knowledge. This is consistent with my more limited emphasis on ideas
of ideas as providing a means for explaining method. Bennett also diagnoses a related problem:
how to stop an infinite reduplication of ideas of ideas of ideas, etc. It seems that Spinoza’s best
response would be that an idea of an idea, insofar as it is a formal essence of a formal essence, is
just the initial idea of the idea, i.e. that above one iteration there is just the formal essence of the
idea.
This is because emendation, the process whereby method helps us to sort
out our ideas, always returns us to adequate ideas already present in our
minds that arise from internal causes. It must rather be closer to purifi-
cation, not purifying the adequate (or clear and distinct or true) ideas we
already have (for adequate or clear and distinct or true ideas are either
adequate or not), but rather ridding ourselves of confused notions and
ideae vagae that limit our adequate knowledge of those ideas that already
make up our minds in order that we may “heal the intellect and purify it”
(TIE 16).38
In other words, we emend our minds in order that the true idea or
true ideas we already have, and which our minds already are, can be better
expressed.
Emendatione is therefore a particular procedure for “mending” our
minds, mending them according to a proper method in relation to a true
idea. And, when we emend our minds we need to mend them in such a
way as to draw out what they always already were and are by ridding them
of all the additions arising from our individual infirmities; ridding them of
general bad propensities such as trusting the imagination, prejudice, bad
philosophy, social influence, etc. – categories roughly corresponding to the
Baconian idols of the theatre, of the cave, of the marketplace, and of the
tribe – from which the mind must purify itself. As a result we will be better
able to organize our minds and use our mental tools to be powerful and
happy.
How I have just described emendation implies that Spinoza’s philoso-
phy has a therapeutic purpose. But what sort of therapy is Spinoza offering?
Stuart Hampshire has compared Spinoza’s therapy to Freudian analysis39
and emphasized the generally therapeutic character of the Ethics. On
Hampshire’s model, Spinoza’s philosophy offers an account of liberation
from egocentricity, and recognition of one’s power through self-knowledge
of the destructive character of the passions.40
38 Tschirnhaus later took over this model in his work Medicina Mentis and Medicina Corporis (1695).
Spinoza claims in the “Preface” to V that the perfection of the intellect as well as the health of the
body are not the provenance of the Ethics, but rather belong to Logic and Medicine respectively. This
might appear to be a difficulty for my claims that Spinoza’s Ethics is a kind of therapy. But the fact
that the Ethics is not a logic – it provides no rules for the perfection of the intellect – does not mean
that it does not use logic to bring its readers to a better understanding of its central doctrines. This
is what Gersonides is suggesting, not a logic but rather how a philosophy can be most effectively
communicated and bring about its goals.
39 Stuart Hampshire, Spinoza: An Introduction to his Philosophical Thought (New York: Penguin 1987
rev. edn), 110–12.
40 Stuart Hampshire, Two Theories of Morality (Oxford University Press, 1977), 66.
While admiring Hampshire’s interpretation in general, Jonathan Bennett
has criticized Hampshire on a number of particular issues.41 First, Bennett
claims that “[N]o philosopher was less inclined to make any theoretical use
of the notion of the first person singular.”42 It is surprising that Bennett
would write this, given that the TIE opens with a narrative of the conversion
of the philosopher from egocentricity to recognition that we, too, are a part
of nature. As I have previously noted, Spinoza never repudiated the TIE,
quite the opposite. The fact that the Ethics does not use the first-person
singular does not mean that the first person is not still something to be
liberated from. “I” is often an inadequate idea and the assertion of “I”
often involves misrecognition both of my nature (what I am) and my
power (what I can do). The TIE discusses the first steps of our recognition
of its inadequacy.
Bennett’s criticisms of other points are more damning. Independent
of his consideration of Hampshire he attacks three basic techniques in
Spinoza’s “psychotherapy”: (1) separating and joining ideas, (2) turning
passions into actions, and (3) reflecting on determinism. (3) is clearly some-
thing Spinoza views as therapeutic, at the very least insofar as it undermines
our tendency to view our own wills as free and the origin of all that is in-
teresting and compelling for us. This was operative, for example, in the
extract from the letter discussed in chapter 1, where Spinoza considers the
part of nature. Bennett’s case against this technique rests on detailed criti-
cisms of the inadequacies of Spinoza’s arguments for iip48, iip49, and vp5,
propositions I will discuss later in chapter 7.
(2) is relevant to emendation. I will discuss passions in chapter 7 as well,
but for the moment what is important is that to turn a passion into an
action means for Spinoza to replace an inadequate idea with an adequate
idea. Consequently Spinoza is offering a kind of cognitive therapy of the
passions. One way we might understand this cognitive therapy (incorrectly,
41 Bennett thinks that there is something to Hampshire’s comparison of Spinoza with Freud, albeit
not much (see Bennett, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics, 352–3. Without belaboring the point, it seems
that Freud and Spinoza drastically differ on basic issues of the constitution of the psyche to such
a degree that the comparison is a bit pointless. Freud’s theory is built on a notion of conflicting
drives. Spinoza’s theory of conatus is built on the idea of a fundamentally unifying conatus that
must become adequate and conatus intellegendi (Bennett seems to note this at 352n15). As to the
emphasis on medical intervention, Spinoza expressly identifies the medicina mentis with the TIE
(cf., V “Preface,” ii/277). Here Hampshire and Bennett are quite correct, the TIE is an important text
in a tradition that emphasizes philosophy as medical therapy – particularly via Mandeville and La
Mettrie, but also Tschirnhaus, Nietzsche, Vygotsky, and many others. But this is far from a tradition
exclusive to Freud and Spinoza, and Vygotsky and Luria make for far more apt comparisons with
Spinoza.
42 Bennett, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics, 348.
I think) is along the following lines. Someone harms us, we suffer, and this
has at its root an inadequate understanding of the event that led to our
suffering. We eventually learn, through Spinozistic therapy, to form an
adequate idea and this dissolves our initial inadequate idea.
Bennett claims that a strong reading of (2), along the lines I have de-
scribed “really . . . is nonsense, for no one could possibly acquire an adequate
idea of an event after it has occurred . . . I can no more make I(x) adequate
by bringing it about that I(y) was inside my mind than I can become royal
by altering who my parents were.”43 On Bennett’s reading, then, Spinoza
is claiming that we form an inadequate idea of event X, and later, through
becoming clearer about our own minds, we then gain an adequate idea of X.
I think Bennett is right, in that were Spinoza advocating the kind of strong
picture I described it would be very hard to support. But, Bennett assumes
that the event or the temporal sequence of events has some bearing on the
adequate content of X. This seems a misreading of Spinoza, as adequate
ideas are not about events – that such and such is the case or such and such
state holds – since such ideas would require an external mark or object and
hence be true (iid4). Although this idea might also be adequate (although
I doubt it in these case), whatever reasons one uses to ascribe adequacy to
this idea of an event will not include the agreement of the idea with an
external event, as the status of the event would derive from the truth but
not the adequacy of the idea. Nor do adequate ideas have anything to do
with tensed sentences for the obvious reason that Spinoza emphasizes they
are sub specie aeternitatis.
I think what Spinoza has to say about turning passions into actions
makes somewhat more sense if we assume the emendative picture I have
pointed toward, that, for Spinoza, we do not gain new adequate ideas. We
have greater or lesser capacity to adequately understand, to form the second
and third kinds of knowledge, from and in relation to that stock of ideas
that we always already have. These adequate ideas, taken together, are our
eternal locus in the mind of God, our essence in the attribute of thought.44
If this is the case, then my inadequate idea of a harm someone has done
43 Ibid., 336.
44 One problem for my claim that only adequate ideas make up an individual’s essence is iiip3. Spinoza
states expressly that inadequate ideas belong to the essence of the mind (iiip3). I distinguish two
senses of essence in the case of finite beings. In the first sense (1) we are trying to describe what
goes into a finite being insofar as it is finite. This will include negation and inadequacy, since
finitude involves negation and is inadequate. Spinoza explicitly notes that beings only are active
insofar as they have adequate ideas, and, as I have noted before, I think Spinoza also implies that
inadequate ideas only have any positive content via those adequate ideas of which they are adequate
perspectives. But (2) finite beings also are bundles of ideas or groups of bodies that arise from the
attribute.
me is really just an inadequate perspective on adequate ideas that make up
my own mind, however much it feels a fundamental part of me.
More colloquially, when I hate Sam because Sam was mean to me, I
cannot form an adequate idea of Sam in order to dispel my corrosive hate
(although that would dispel the hatred were it possible). I only have very
limited access to adequate ideas of what Sam is, arising from common
features of our humanity. Any knowledge I have of Sam derived from
my senses is the first kind of knowledge, inadequate and not able to give
rise to adequate ideas. What I need to do, rather, is recognize that what
bugs me about Sam is mostly the detritus of my own inadequate ways of
understanding adequate ideas that make up my mind and that have my
body as their objects, plus features common to my body and Sam’s body
and, consequently, to my mind and Sam’s mind.
But, regardless, this adequate idea will be quite different from what I
thought the referent of the inadequate idea was. It will not be about the
event, not about Sam. If I imagine the God of Job hurtling misfortunes
at me, I might find inadequate ideas I have about these events alleviated
by conceiving God properly. But this would not involve having adequate
ideas of the events, it would involve having adequate ideas of God and
relating various intrinsic ideas of the imagination45 to this adequate idea
and separating them (1) from inadequate ideas (vp14).
This is a Stoic element of Spinoza’s therapy, and it has often been pointed
out that Spinoza has many affinities with Stoicism.46 Clarifying my passions
is ultimately clarifying my own mind and separating that which I can use
to form adequate ideas from that which I cannot. I will have more to
say about how the therapy is non-Stoical in following chapters. We may
not like Stoical therapy. We may rightly point out that, for many, such a
45 Spinoza claims at vp4 that “there is no affection of the Body of which cannot form some clear and
distinct concept.” This would imply that there are no intrinsic ideas of the imagination. As Bennett
often points out, sometimes Spinoza moves from saying all men can have “X to all will have X,” i.e.
it is a bad inference to move from the fact that “all men eat” to “it is possible for all men to eat well.”
But such an argument from possibility does not seem in keeping with Spinoza. It sounds more like
a Humean criticism, which is why, despite the affinities between the two thinkers, I tend to doubt
that this is what Spinoza means. He is addressing an ideal reader of the Ethics and stating that, in
principle, vp4 holds, not that anyone can do this with all affects. That this is the case is evident from
vp10–14 where there is no assumption of rationalizing all of our affects, but rather doing it as much
as possible through a process of association. But what does this do for images? I think that Spinoza
would claim that, although all affects are rationalizable, none of us will rationalize them all due to
the variety of our minds and bodies. So instead we need to connect images to adequate ideas. I will
return to this in chapter 7.
46 On this theme see particularly Genevieve Lloyd, Spinoza and the Ethics (London: Routledge, 1996),
71–83. I will not really consider Stoicism at length, although it clearly is very important, as it will be
treated in depth in a forthcoming book by Professor Lloyd. Furthermore, as is fairly obvious, I am
primarily concerned with modern influences.
therapy will not work. We may think that if Sam tortured me it is a lousy
response to say that my hate can be dispelled by trying to understand the
adequate idea of which the pain is an inadequate reflection, understanding
something about human essences more generally while recognizing my lack
of access to Sam’s particular determinate essence. But this sort of therapy
has also worked for many in horrible circumstances and I think it is not
unreasonable to consider it to be viable.
Bennett is correct, though, that there are problems with the doctrine.
How do we know when we have formed the adequate idea X which an inad-
equate idea X was a confused perspective on other than X being dispelled?
As an explanation this would seem to be intolerably circular, although it
certainly seems to me quite reasonable as therapy! Bennett further points
out that there are many times when we know causes and nothing is dispelled
(although as noted one can question whether we have adequate knowledge
in these cases, whether we know the relevant causes). My interest is less
in defending Spinoza than in trying to understand his position. And his
position seems to be that inadequacy is what it is, ultimately, insofar as it
is confused perspectives on adequate ideas.
This assumption is what warrants a theory of emendation. Getting rid of
inadequacy is not a replacement by adequacy. It is, rather, grasping whatever
positive content there was, not adding anything but getting rid of confusion
and clarifying those objective ideas involved in one’s essence (at least those
ideas one is capable of clarifying) which always already were the positive
content of confused ideas.
There are antecedents of this theory of emendation in addition to Stoics
and the Baconian account of idols, most notably Descartes’ Discourse on
Method and the Meditations. Descartes stresses not only that we must grad-
ually rid ourselves of all our false and misleading ideas in order to renovate
ourselves, but also that we must dramatically renovate and reconstruct our-
selves via the reconstituted understanding and the properly informed will.
Descartes is like Bacon a clear model for emendation.
I would like briefly to note another predecessor, Gersonides. When one
thinks of Spinoza’s Jewish predecessors, one of course immediately thinks of
Maimonides, the greatest of all Jewish medieval philosophers. Spinoza spent
far more time criticizing Maimonides than any other Jewish philosopher,
and cited him far more than any other philosopher aside from Descartes.
Spinoza had far more affinities with Gersonides, though, than he did with
Maimonides, as I will make clear in chapter 5.
In the “Introductory Remarks” to The Wars of the Lord, Gersonides
outlines what is necessary for the reader who is to take up his work. In The
Wars of the Lord, he set out to treat a series of difficult questions, all of
which concern the border between philosophy and theology, ranging from
the relation between immortality and perfection of intellect, to whether
the universe is eternal or created. Gersonides was interested in pushing the
philosophical–theological question opened by Maimonides to even greater
extremes:
[A]n author realizes that some of his discussions explain things that are strange to the
reader because of the opinions with which the latter is familiar and habituated from
youth, so that the reader is upset by them even if he finds no logical inconsistencies
in them, and hence for this reason would be prevented from obtaining knowledge
from the rest of the book then the author should arrange the material in a way
that is appropriate to what he wants to convey to his reader . . . This kind of tactic
is similar to that employed by physicians of the body and of the soul, and it is
necessary to use such a tactic because of the disposition of the patient. Such an
ill person must be introduced gradually to the therapy . . . Therefore when an
author realizes that the reader has corrupt opinions, whose contraries he is about
to establish, he should uproot them step by step . . . Hence the author should
try to dissipate that which nourishes those opinions before he actually uproots
them.47
This presents Gersonides’ method as a kind of rational therapy that dissi-
pates the false ideas which nourish false opinions, and gradually replaces
these false opinions with true opinions.
Gersonides emphasizes the imperfect state of his reader to a high degree,
and views method as a way to aid readers with less than perfect intellects –
although readers who obviously also have the desire to know. The arrange-
ment of a book should take account of this, and operate as a therapy in such
a manner as a physician would heal a sick patient. The therapy has as its
goal that the author “turns the sustenance for that opinion into sustenance
for the view that he wants to establish . . . This is like war where one tries
to diminish the allies of his opponent; and if one is able to persuade one of
these allies to come to one’s own side, one gains the ascendancy over the
opponent.”48 This is a remarkable passage, and again has very interesting
parallels with Spinoza. The trick is not merely to extirpate and cauterize
bad opinions, it is also to turn the sustenance for inadequate ideas into
the sustenance for truth and adequacy. For both Spinoza and Gersonides,
to extirpate such opinions is literally “the wars of the lord,” in Spinoza’s
case to transform the meaning of God and the metaphysics, physics, and
politics that result from a true recognition of God. And the goal is to show
47 Gersonides (Levi Ben Gershom), The Wars of the Lord , ed. and trans. Seymour Feldman (Philadel-
phia: Jewish Publication Society, 1984), 102.
48 Ibid., 103.
how we reexamine ourselves in light of the idea of God’s absolute infinity,
the concepts that this insight transforms, and the cognition it engenders.
s e pa r at i n g a n d s i f t i n g i d e a s
In the TIE Spinoza divided the mending of the intellect into a method
with two different parts.49 The first part concerns learning to separate true
ideas from false ones and to restrain the mind’s tendency to falsity. Spinoza
concludes his discussion of the first part of the method with the following
remark:
[W]hen we do not distinguish between imagination and intellection, we think that
the things we more easily imagine are clearer to us, and think that we understand
what we imagine. Hence we should put later what we put first, and so the true
order of making progress is overturned, and no conclusion is arrived at legitimately.
(TIE 90)
Through the first part of the method of the TIE we discover which classes of
our ideas are clear and distinct, and which are not, and we learn to restrain
ourselves from making judgment through or about those things that we
know only inadequately. This is much like the process of distinguishing
between the understanding and the imagination I discussed in relation to
the infinite. But this is only a preliminary stage in the mending of our
minds. The next stage is to lead back all our ideas to our true idea and to
“strive to connect and order them so that our mind, as far as possible, refers
back objectively to the formal character of nature, both as to the whole and
as to the parts.”50
This passage is reminiscent of a well-known claim from the “Preface”
to Part III of the Ethics, the “Preface” in which Spinoza discusses imperia.
Spinoza concludes the “Preface” by claiming that in Part III (and IV) he
shall “consider human actions, and appetites, as if it were a Question of
lines, planes, or of bodies.” Why? Because there is only one imperium,
and its laws are always the same, regular, and unchanging. The geometric
rendering is accomplished with reference to our true idea, the idea of the
49 There is a controversy about how many parts there actually are to the method. Curley argues that
there are three, and others, including De Dijn, that there are two. Not a great deal seems to rest on
it for my arguments. What is important is that first comes a stage of purification, and this stage is a
necessary precondition to our “perceiving things unknown” (TIE 49).
50 Spinoza uses “whole and parts” often in the TIE, but not to claim any large-scale teleological
holomerism. Rather, in keeping with his dictum from the KV , he uses it to say something is in
both the whole and parts (i.e. common to all) or that one cannot understand the parts without
understanding the whole (the more common knowledge is a precondition of the more specific
knowledge).
“most perfect being” (TIE 38), an absolutely infinite God or nature that
dictates this objective order.51 The goal of the method is then an exact
reversal of Bacon’s taming of nature. Man does not attempt to order nature
but rather man gains power by discovering that he is natural. Our laws and
acts are understood as manifestation of those infinite modal laws, which
are the whole.
But, of course, there are problems. First, how can we gain particular
knowledge of anything from such an arid plain of abstraction? We may
have clear and distinct (or adequate) ideas, but in order to know any-
thing we also need definitions. We might be able to infer general laws of
mind and bodies, but these laws will have little purchase on any singular
thing. “[F]rom universal axioms alone the intellect cannot descend to sin-
gulars” since axioms extend to infinity, and do not determine the intellect
to the contemplation of one singular thing rather than another. So “the
right way of discovery is to form thoughts from some given definition”
(TIE 93). Definitions are what give us the traction necessary to understand
our laws through the infinite modes, and to see how we are part of the one
imperium.
These definitions are also adequate ideas; in fact the definition of God or
nature seems the most likely candidate for the ur-adequate idea from which
method arises and according to which method organizes itself. It is the most
likely candidate not just because it is infinite, eternal, etc. If we each have
an adequate idea, and this adequate idea provides a basis for recognizing
truth and adequacy, the ultimate set of truth and adequacy conditions is
found in the idea of God or nature. This is decisively affirmed52 at Ethics
iip32 – “All ideas, insofar as they are referred to God, are true.” By this
Spinoza means that if the characteristic feature of a true idea is to agree
with its object, since all ideas and objects are included in God (ip15), then
all ideas in God have objects and are true. The adequate idea that we seek
must be sufficient to act as a standard for truth and adequacy, and the only
idea that seems capable of doing this is the idea of God.
Now we run into a real problem. The idea of God must have a definition
for us to understand it. The Ethics opens with a set of definitions, including
the central definition of God, without any additional justification as to why
these definitions and not others. How to get at definitions, including the
51 Spinoza does not identify God and nature in the TIE to the extent he does in the Ethics. But he
does not strongly distinguish them either, and makes comments such as the following: “we cannot
understand anything of Nature without at the same time rendering our knowledge of the first cause,
or God, more ample” (TIE 92 note f ).
52 I say “decisively affirmed” because this proposition signals the end of a sceptical line of propositions
from iip23–31.
definition of God? We must consider Spinoza’s method generally in order
to better understand the definitions that lie at its heart: the mos geometricus.
Our first clue as to how Spinoza more generally understands the geomet-
rical method is in the TIE. Spinoza claims of the true idea and its relation
to method:
When the mind attends to a thought – to wish it, and deduce from it, in good
order, the things legitimately to be deduced from it – if it is false the mind will
uncover the falsity; but if it is true, the mind will continue successfully, without any
interruption, to deduce true things from it. This I say is required for our purpose.
For our thoughts cannot be determined by any other foundation. If, therefore, we
wish to investigate the first thing of all, there must be some foundation that directs
our thoughts to it . . . nothing other than knowledge of what constitutes the form
of truth, and knowledge of the intellect. (TIE 104–5)
Spinoza further claims that from this foundation we will be able to seek
knowledge of eternal things. But first we must have “the very definition
of thought and intellect” (TIE 106). Spinoza does not say that we need
the definitions of our thoughts, but that we need the very definitions of
thought and intellect. Thought is necessary to define intellect, and we
know that already in 1661 (see Letter II, composed when or before the TIE
was likely written) Spinoza was thinking of extension as self-contained,
insofar as it is conceived through and in itself. Since the same criterion
also applies to thought, it seems to me likely he already defined thought
in a roughly similar way. So the definitions of thought and intellect that
Spinoza is seeking are likely something along the lines of the definitions
at the beginnings of Parts I and II of the Ethics. Spinoza does not use the
mos geometricus as an example of a well-ordered and legitimate deduction,
but it certainly would qualify as one. It seems for Spinoza, in fact, to be
the paradigmatic well-ordered deduction. So it seems that, for Spinoza, in
a well-ordered method like the mos geometricus the true wins out and the
false is uncovered. In this way method functions something like the Sieve
of Eratosthenes, the method used in discovering prime numbers by tossing
out non-primes until only the set of primes persists.53 We can see this sieve
operative in the PP as a means for Spinoza to point out Cartesian failures.
In the case of the Sieve, though, we know that it has been completed when
we have taken account of all the numbers in a given interval. In the case of
the method proposed in the TIE, it can distinguish between true and false
ideas, but it is not clear if it is ever really completed. Our self-clarification
appears more open-ended than sorting primes.
53 My interpretation of these aspects of Spinoza’s method in the TIE has been deeply influenced by
Jean-Marie Beyssade, “The Idea of God and the Proofs of his Existence,” in John Cottingham (ed.),
The Cambridge Companion to Descartes (Cambridge University Press, 1992), 174–99.
The truth does not just win out insofar as it is distinguished from the
false through an effective well-ordered procedure. Spinoza also claims that
if a given idea is true “the mind will continue successfully, without any in-
terruption, to deduce true things from it.” This is reminiscent of Descartes’
famous criterion for innateness, that it is clear that the essence of a triangle
in me is real since:
Various properties can be demonstrated of the triangle, for example that its three
angles equal two right angles, that its greatest side subtends its greatest angle, and
the like; and since these properties are ones which I now clearly recognize whether I
want to or not, even if I never thought of them at all when I previously imagined the
triangle, it follows that they cannot have been invented by me. (Fifth Meditation,
AT VII 64)
Descartes implies in this passage that we know our idea of the essence of a
triangle to be innate because we can deduce a multitude of clear and distinct
properties from it, which we then recognize as clear and distinct once they
are present to our minds. Now the similarity between this passage and the
above passage from the TIE is striking, if unsurprisingly so. Spinoza does
not explicitly say that our criterion is that true ideas follow from a given
true idea, but it does not seem that what he has in mind as following from
a true idea are false ideas. However, there is a subtle difference of emphasis.
Descartes is emphasizing the continued criterion of clarity and distinctness
as the ongoing basis for the judgment of a given idea as clear and distinct.
Spinoza is emphasizing the ongoing continuous deduction that, when the
mind has grasped a powerful and true idea, it deduces and deduces without
any interruption. The powerful idea manifests what Spinoza describes in
the last proposition of Part I of the Ethics, that “nothing exists from whose
nature some effect does not follow” (ip36). Even though this holds of all
modes, insofar as they arise from and are in God, when it comes to human
minds, some ideas have greater efficacy than others and result specifically in
further true ideas. Furthermore Spinoza is interested in those ideas we can
access and know are true, via our method, not just any idea. This has been
apparent from our discussion of substance and God, and the role of the
idea of God in fixing truth. These ideas are the ones we seek as definitions
in the heart of our method.
chapter 4
Method: analysis and synthesis
The method of philosophizing of those who

simply look for scientific knowledge, without
any particular question being proposed, is
partly analytic and partly synthetic.
Hobbes, De Corpore
In this chapter and the next I will be providing some historical context
for understanding Spinoza’s mos geometricus. We can better understand the
Ethics by taking account of some of the many intellectual currents feeding
it. But it is important that one not view influence as providing a rigid map,
as ruling out many interesting things Spinoza could have said. This is a dan-
ger in Quentin Skinner’s well-known maxim: “No agent can eventually be
said to have meant or done something which he could never be brought to
accept as a correct description of what he had meant or done.”1 Skinner is,
of course, quite careful in formulating his maxim as “be brought to accept,”
but the problem is in defining what this means. If in our case “brought to
accept” means to rule out the assumption that Spinoza’s theories should be
evaluated as if a seventeenth-century Dutchman grasped quantum physics,
this is, of course, reasonable. But, if it means that I should define what
Spinoza was capable of saying in terms of what others said around him, this
might have the negative consequence of stripping Spinoza of the capacity to
say original things. Such an evaluative procedure also assumes that philoso-
phers make complete sense to themselves and always know what they are
doing, which is clearly not always the case.
Influences are particularly elusive when dealing with early modern
philosophers such as Descartes and Spinoza. Many early modern
1 This maxim is quoted by Richard Rorty in “The Historiography of Philosophy: Four Genres,” in
Richard Rorty, J. B. Schneewind, and Quentin Skinner (eds.), Philosophy in History (Cambridge
University Press, 1984), 50. Rorty points out one sort of limitation of this approach, that qua philoso-
phers we are interested in drawing out what a philosopher might have said in dialogue with ideas
they could not access.
97
philosophers took perverse pride in obscuring their sources. In Spinoza’s
case there are only a few routes open to us for showing that he was influ-
enced by a particular philosopher: (1) he quoted an author (like Descartes
or Maimonides), or referred to them more generally in a way that exhibits
familiarity with their work (like his reference to Machiavelli in the TP) or
in a letter (like his reference to Athanasius Kircher’s Subterranean World in
Letter XXX); (2) a particular work by an author was included in the posthu-
mous inventory of his library (like Hobbes’ De Cive but not the Leviathan);
(3) there are strict textual parallels between passages in Spinoza’s writings
and passages in a text which Spinoza could have had access to; and (4) a
text was written by one of his associates and very likely to have been read
by Spinoza (like Adrian Koerbagh’s Een Bloemhof van allerley lieflijkheyd
(A Flowergarden of all Lovelinesses)). Even these sorts of evidence are un-
certain as early modern philosophers often discussed thinkers whom they
knew second or third hand. For example St. Thomas Aquinas, who is men-
tioned by name in Spinoza’s KV (1/18), was rarely read first hand by early
modern philosophers.
Even with this caveat, we still have a fairly rigid and stifling vision of
what qualifies for influence, and a limited and underdetermined context
for understanding a text. Consequently, I will diverge slightly from eval-
uating Spinoza’s philosophy only via those texts for which we have some
warrant in claiming that Spinoza read them. I will normally err on the side
of caution for the following reason: I have never seen “Forrest Gump,”
“Beaches,” or “Moonstruck,” but lacking further information one might
have concluded it very likely that I would have seen at least one of these
films. Unfortunately for my interpreter I have seen none of them, and so
they would be an inadequate basis for interpreting my cinematic experi-
ence. Of course this does not mean that I do not have a vague sense of what
took place in the films, nor that I could not refer to them based on this or
the testimony of others. Early modern philosophers often operated on this
sort of vague knowledge, but I will avoid trying to wrest too much out of
specific knowledge of texts that I cannot demonstrate Spinoza read or had
access to.
Consequently I will discuss mostly works that fit into the first two cate-
gories above. But I will extend my analysis to two other important works
both of which I have already mentioned: Gersonides’ Milchamot Ha’Shem
(or Wars of the Lord) and Hobbes’ De Corpore. It seems clear from the strong
parallels in Spinoza’s and Hobbes’ discussions of definition that Spinoza
either had access to De Corpore or some fairly accurate presentation of its
main ideas. In the case of Gersonides, as with Hobbes, Spinoza refers to
Method: analysis and synthesis 99
him and clearly did read at least one of his texts2 but does not explicitly
cite the Wars of the Lord . As it was an extremely famous Jewish rationalist
work, and as Spinoza knew Gersonides’ other writings, I think it is likely
that Spinoza had at least a passing acquaintance with it.
In this chapter and the next I will present some early modern sources
of Spinoza’s method. In the next chapter I will consider two important
medieval Jewish sources, Maimonides and Gersonides.
co n t e m p o r a ry d i s c u s s i o n s o f t h e m o s g e o m e t r i c u s
It is helpful to make a broad distinction between two different functions
of the geometric method. Some interpreters of Spinoza consider the mos
geometricus to be primarily a teaching method used to dress up ideas ac-
quired in some way independent of their geometrical presentation. Follow-
ing Descartes’ distinction – to be discussed at length later in this chapter –
between an analytic method (i.e. the actual process of discovery of truths)
and a synthetic method (an a-posteriori presentation of the results of the
analytic method in an easily digestible fashion), Spinoza’s method is taken
to be a synthetic device to convince readers of truths which are first grasped
analytically and in another order. To use Wolfson’s marvelous phrase it is
an “ethica more Scholastico Rabbinicoque demonstrata” in a purely rhetorical
geometrical cloak.3
There are very good reasons to interpret the geometrical method this way.
Spinoza wrote the Principles of Descartes’ Philosophy to present Descartes’
works to a student not capable of fully grasping the ideas of the Ethics, a
bright, but inconstant and troublesome young student named Caesarius
(Letter IX). Hence one of the functions of the Principles of Descartes’
Philosophy is to present previously discovered results (i.e. Descartes’ philos-
ophy) in accessible dress. As this is the function of the mos geometricus in
Spinoza’s Principles, it is likely also a function of the method in the Ethics.
This interpretation of the method is associated with two great Spinoza
scholars, Harold Joachim and Harry Wolfson. Joachim argued that Spinoza
took his conception of geometrical deduction directly from the aforemen-
tioned Cartesian distinction between synthesis and analysis. Geometrical
2 Spinoza refers to him in passing in the notes to the TTP, and rejects his account of a set of dates given
in the Old Testament, but he remarks that Gersonides was a “virus eruditissimum.” Compliments
by Spinoza are few and far between in the TTP. The importance of Gersonides in understanding
Spinoza (as well as Maimonides) has been emphasized by Idit Dobbs-Weinstein. See Idit Dobbs-
Weinstein, “Gersonides’ Radically Modern Understanding of the Agent Intellect,” in Stephen Brown
(ed.), Meeting of the Minds (Tournhout: Brepols, 1998).
3 Harry Wolfson, The Philosophy of Spinoza (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1934), i, 59.
demonstration is cogent, and has a non-teleological character, but is inca-
pable of discovering first principles or definitions. Consequently the first
principles, common notions, or definitions from which a given argument
is derived must come from elsewhere. Joachim conjectured (as previously
noted) that the TIE was the ultimate source of these first principles rather
than the Ethics.4 Joachim therefore conceived Spinoza’s method roughly as
follows. (1) The TIE presents an analytic a priori investigation of first prin-
ciples, moving from individual lived experience, to abstract thought and
discussions of definition and method, and finally to an attempt to discover
the definitions with which one might begin a synthetic deduction. (2) A
synthetic deduction must begin with the highest and best idea, God or
nature, and may then follow in a variety of ways, each of which will neces-
sarily and logically follow from the initial definitions posited. (3) The final
result of the method will reflect, in some way, the order of the attributes
and a part of nature.
As a consequence of this interpretation, Joachim – quite reasonably –
saw the geometrical method as having two fundamental flaws. First, the
geometrical form was ultimately inadequate to the content that Spinoza
wished to explicate, since geometric presentation stays at an abstract level
and never really attains a concrete form, i.e., it can not really explain any
determinate particulars. This criticism was ultimately derived from Hegel.
The second, and closely related criticism was that the geometrical form
presents itself as a synthetic deduction whereas it includes all sorts of analytic
components.
These are both serious objections that must be addressed by any account
of Spinoza’s method, but unfortunately, while leveling these criticisms,
Joachim did not present the Ethics in its best light. Notably, Joachim as-
sumed that Spinoza followed Descartes in his understanding of synthesis,
a thesis that will need testing. Also, Joachim seemed to assume that all of
Spinoza’s definitions have equal status and weight, yet the definition of
God is different from the others for reasons already alluded to.
But this is obviously not the only way of interpreting Spinoza’s geomet-
rical method. The method is also commonly viewed as a rigorous (or at
least an attempt at a rigorous) deductive system, moving from ground to
consequence in a logically necessary manner, and thus the only form for
Spinoza’s subject matter – as opposed to an external structure applied to
a content independent of said structure as proposed by Joachim. Viewing
the mos geometricus as a rigorous deduction is not necessarily at odds with
4 Harold Joachim, A Study of the Ethics of Spinoza (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1901), 12.
the didactic interpretation, one could discover a set of truths and then
afterwards impart necessity into them via their arrangement. The problem
is that then the truths might cease to be internal since they would be struc-
tured according to some external criterion – the issue to which I alluded in
chapter 2.
Irrespective of the compatibility of this position with the didactic one,
there are clearly good grounds on which to argue that something like a
rigorous deduction is also at work in the argument. It is in keeping with
Spinoza’s determinism; each proposition is determined rigorously by other
propositions. In the form which is least compatible with the didactic ar-
rangement, i.e. the claim that there is an internal necessity of some sort
arising from the very subject matter of Spinoza’s philosophy, it is clearly
consistent with Spinoza’s emphasis on “immanence.”
One way to interpret this is to argue that Spinoza’s Ethics is intended
to exhibit the structure of nature, it is a rigorous deduction mirroring
the immanent necessity of nature. This is an interpretation particularly
associated with the great French Spinoza scholar Martial Gueroult. The
crucial passage for reading Spinoza’s method in this manner is TIE 99.
Spinoza claims:
As for order, to unite and order all our perceptions, it is required, and reason
demands, that we ask, as soon as possible, whether there is a certain being, and at
the same time, what sort of being it is, which is the cause of all things, so that its
objective essence may also be the cause of all our ideas, and then our mind will (as
we have said) reproduce [my emphasis] Nature as much as possible (quam maxime
referet Naturam). For it will have Nature’s essence, order, and unity objectively.5
As the Ethics begins with first principles and moves to the human mind
and affects, it “mirrors” and “reproduces” the internal efficient, causal struc-
ture of nature, from God to modes. This is not strictly true, of course, as
Part V also “returns” or “refers back” to God, and thus it is difficult to
construe the work as an efficient causal deductive process mirroring and
“reproducing” God’s structure (unless we get rid of Part V!). But, whatever
the problems with Part V,6 Gueroult seems to have construed the Ethics
5 This is obviously a crucial passage for understanding Spinoza, but translating refero as “reproduce,”
as Curley does, seems a bit strong, whereas a simpler translation would be “to refer back” or “to be
brought back” (to make a distinction from the more common reduco).
6 Gueroult does discuss Part V at numerous points in his commentary, in particular so as to emphasize
that the proof of the immortality of the soul cannot be completed until Part V. He also discusses
the relation between the last three parts of the Ethics in the extant “Introduction Generale” to his
unfinished commentary on the final three parts of the Ethics (Martial Gueroult, “Le ‘Spinoza’ de
Martial Gueroult,” Revue Philosophique 3 [1977], 285–302).
in this way in keeping with his reading of Descartes’ Meditations, and ul-
timately his early readings of Fichte.7 Gueroult’s interpretation has been
modified and strengthened by a number of commentators, notably Herman
De Dijn. I will return to Gueroult’s position at greater length in chapter 6,
as it has at its base an interpretation of Spinoza’s theory of definition.
Each of these positions has something going for it, but each also leaves
a puzzle. Obviously there is something didactic about the mos geometricus.
If not, why would Spinoza have bothered to put the Principles in geomet-
rical dress to teach Caesarius? But, if it is purely didactic, then we are left
with a series of unfounded intuitions at the base of Spinoza’s philosophy
(a common accusation against him). On the other hand, it seems unten-
able to view the mos geometricus as a thoroughly linear deduction given
the structural difficulties I have just alluded to (as well as all of the scho-
lia, alternate proofs, asides, proofs from one axiom (iip7) or even none (!)
(iiip4 and iip13l6), etc.).
A different way of thinking about how to approach Spinoza’s method
has been offered by Vance Maxwell. Maxwell distinguishes between
“formalist” interpretations of Spinoza, by which he understand “that generic
view holding that Spinoza’s Ethics can be understood in itself and apart
from the purification of the mind grounding deductive method.”8 For
Maxwell, Joachim is a formalist, as would be Wolfson. Maxwell includes
Jonathan Bennett’s claim that the Ethics is a kind of hypothetico-deductive
method9 as a form of formalism as well. Although I mostly agree with
Maxwell’s criticisms of formalism, I actually think that Bennett is, as is
often the case, far closer to the truth than might at first appear to an unchar-
itable reader. But Maxwell effectively shows the difficulties with formalist
interpretations.
One crucial passage for understanding why the formal interpretation of
the mos geometricus, in Maxwell’s sense, is insufficient is the aforementioned
ip7:
If men would attend to the true nature of substance, they would have no doubt
at all of the truth of p7. Indeed, this proposition would be an axiom for everyone,
and would be numbered among common notions.
7 See Descartes selon l’ordre des Raisons, 2 vols. (Paris: Aubier-Montaigne, 1968), and his early L’évolution
et la structure de la Doctrine Fichtéenne de la science (Paris: Les Belles-Lettres, 1930), to see the con-
sistency of his methodological preoccupations. In fact, we might say that, for Gueroult, Fichte
combines the best of Descartes and Spinoza in the immanent and rigorous character of his
deduction.
8 Vance Maxwell, “The Philosophical Method of Spinoza,” Dialogue 27 (1988), 89n1. I only discovered
Maxwell’s excellent article after this book had been accepted for publication. There are many affinities
between Maxwell’s interpretation and my own.
It clearly reveals a number of important things about how Spinoza con-
ceives of his method. First, the set of axioms that Spinoza has chosen for
the Ethics is only one possible set of axioms (as ip7 could have been an
axiom). Second, Spinoza does not presume that readers of the Ethics have
perfect understandings (which would seem to strengthen the didactic in-
terpretation) and consequently the goal of the Ethics is to teach readers the
true nature of substance (and God). Substance and God are not necessarily
evident to all readers, for if they were they would not need to have ip7
demonstrated to them. Finally, when readers understand the true nature
of substance, and particularly that substance and God are not creatures of
the imagination – they will look at some of the propositions of the Ethics
quite differently and see them to be as evident as axioms.
hobbes on method
Hobbes was one of the greatest influences on the way in which Spinoza
thought about method. Some of Hobbes’ general attitude toward method
could be gleaned from De Cive, the work of Hobbes that we know Spinoza
owned and the final volume of the Elements of Philosophy. But Hobbes
set out his logic, basic philosophical terms, geometry, and physics, not
in De Cive but in De Corpore – the first volume of the Elements.10 In
introducing his definition of philosophy in De Corpore, Hobbes noted that
the philosophy of his time was much like corn in the time of the ancients,
common but uncultivated. Geometry was quite advanced, but the rest of
it was full of quarrels, and vague opinions.
Hobbes defined philosophy as:
cognition acquired through right reasoning of effects or phenomena out of the
concepts of their cause or generation, and also of generations which are able to be
out of cognition of their effects. (DC i.2)11
10 De Cive was published first, but was the third part of the Elements of Philosophy. Hobbes also
has a number of other presentations of his geometrical approach to mathematics and the method
it entails (which he normally opposes to the work of his arch-enemy the algebraist John Wallis),
most importantly in Mathematicae Hodiernae (or in English Contemporary Mathematics). This work
also discusses definitions in the context of a criticism of Wallis’ theories. It is a dialogue between
two characters, the evocatively named “A” and “B” (a joke about the algebraists love of variables?)
discussing and criticizing Wallis’ mathematical arguments. It adds nothing important to the discus-
sion in De Corpore as far as I can see (Thomae Hobbes Opera Philosophica, ed. William Molesworth
[London: John Bohn, 1845], iv, 35–39). Gueroult was the first modern Spinoza scholar to point out
the importance of Hobbes’ methodology for Spinoza.
11 My translation of Hobbes. Unless otherwise noted I will use Aloysius Martinich’s translation through-
out this chapter (Aloysius Martinich, Isabel Hungerland, and George Vick [ed., intro., trans., and
comm.] Thomas Hobbes: Part I of De Corpore Computatio sive Logica [New York: Abaris, 1981]).
Martinich’s Introduction is very interesting, and he emphasizes connections between Hobbes and
Zabarella.
Hence Hobbes, like other philosophers of the mid-seventeenth century,
viewed philosophy (as well as science) as a broad enterprise of reasoning,
including mathematical and scientific reasoning. The reasoning that makes
up philosophy may arise from experience or sense perception, but is some-
thing more than an experience, a memory, or an act of the imagination.
For Hobbes it is computation, specifically the addition (either conjoining
a single idea to a group, or the composition of numerous single ideas into
a group as a universal or a concept) or subtraction (as disjunction or anal-
ysis) of ideas.12 Reason derives from empirical, sensible experience, but in
this case a particular sort of experience is then used to organize the ideas
continually arising from our immediate experience.
In De Corpore, Hobbes gives pride of place to a kind of knowledge called
ex cognita generatione – to know something by knowing how it is generated.
It is the only kind of reasoning, other than simple computational reasoning,
treated in Book I of De Corpore. This is because, for Hobbes, it has a special
relation to the goal of philosophy:
after effects have been discovered by the mind, similar effects might be produced
through the application of bodies to bodies by the industry of men, insofar as
human power and the matter of things will allow for the use of human life.
(DC i.6)
We can move from the discovery of the essence or definition of “circleness”
to producing circles, and from understanding nature to artificially generat-
ing when needed what nature only provides us with irregularly, for example
running water and cultured pearls. This is quite similar to Francis Bacon’s
“scientia propter potentiam.” We construct mathematical theorems and
speculate in order to solve problems and for the sake of some action or
work. Hobbes believed that given this marvelous sort of knowledge we
would be able to construct leviathans and avoid civil wars with their atten-
dant “massacres, loneliness, and shortage of all things” (DC i.7) as well as
make wondrous machines.13 Hobbes’ emphasis on construction as the goal
of philosophy resulted in the restriction of the content of philosophy to
those bodies that can be generated once properly analyzed (DC i.7). Con-
sequently, philosophy itself was limited to knowledge ex cognita generatione
(DC i.10)14
12 This may seem, at first glance, to be a “modern,” mechanistic conception of mind, but it is actually
fully compatible with, and perhaps taken from, either the Parisian Nominalists, or Ockham himself.
13 This is a common theme in early modern philosophy, often related to Galileo (see Hobbes’ friend
Marin Mersenne, “Dans lequel on voit la Preface qui monstre l’utilité des Machines,” chapter 1 of
Les Méchaniques de Galilee [Mersenne, Questions Inouyes (Paris: Fayard, 1986), 439–41]).
14 Regardless of how similar Hobbes appears to many Scholastics in his ways of treating method, he is
radically different from most of them by virtue of this limitation on the proper subject of philosophy.
Philosophy and science have no continuity with theology.
For Hobbes this knowledge ex cognita generatione both derives from and
transforms the traditional Aristotelian distinction between tou dioti and
tou hoti knowledge.15 We all begin tou hoti – or, as the Latin Scholastics
called it, quia – with memory or sense experience. This sort of knowledge
is most of what we use to navigate our ordinary life. But, tou hoti does not
tell us much about the causes of things we experience via the imagination,
much the less how we might produce them. It fails to give us any access to
knowledge ex cognita generatione.
A proper philosophical method therefore must lead us to tou dioti –
or propter quid – knowledge – knowledge of causes. But how to move
from quia to propter quid, i.e. to knowledge of causes? Hobbes’ argued in
De Corpore that we should analyze the various causes of the particulars we
experience and then compose them into wholes so as to provide an adequate
causal explanation. In emphasizing the centrality of analysis and synthe-
sis (composition) to method, Hobbes parallels the influential Renaissance
logician Jacopo Zabarella16 who argued in De Methodis that all method is
either compositive (synthetic) or resolutive (analytic).17 Composition and
resolution are to be distinguished from order, which is merely the arrange-
ment of propositions so that we might use them in the most expedient
manner. Order is not an instrument of knowing, only method moves us
from known sensibles to unknown principles and shows the necessity in the
sensibles by making clear how and that they arise from known necessary
causes.18
15 Hobbes uses the Greek terminology at dc i.6.1.

16 It is not certain, nor even likely, that Hobbes knew Zabarella’s work. Although Zabarella was
the most influential logician of the second half of the sixteenth century in Italy, Germany, and
the Netherlands, he was less well known in England (and France). Given Hobbes’ breadth of
knowledge and Continental sojourns, he could have come across Zabarella at some point, but many
of the similarities between De Corpore and Zabarella’s arguments could come from a third party
(like Galileo). Furthermore, the similarities between the two should not be overemphasized; Hobbes
was far more nominalistically inclined than Zabarella. The most one should say is that Hobbes
provides a modern fusion of some central aspects of Zabarellan and Ockhamist logic, whatever
sources he ultimately derived this fusion from.
17 He uses the Latin terms compositiva or demonstrativa, and resolutiva, as does Galileo. Compositiva
and resolutiva directly correspond to the Greek synthesis and analysis.
18 Jacobo Zabarella, Opera Logica, 3d edn (Cologne: Zetzneri, 1597), 224c–e. Zabarella’s Logic is a
collection of treatises, which I will cite by their page number in the collection. Not all philosophers
thought that method should be identified with analysis and synthesis. There were two other op-
tions, proffered by those who followed Galen, a definitive method and a divisional method. Zabarella
showed neither was a proper method, but that both were rather parts of, or results from, the other
two methods (ibid., 264f–266b). Only the resolutive and compositive viae were method proper, and
of the two only the compositive method showed the necessary causes of a thing through a scientific
syllogism (see, particularly, 267d–e).
Unlike Zabarella, Hobbes emphasized the Ockhamist idea that philosophy “is the briefest in-
vestigation of effects through known causes or of causes through known effects.” Hence, reason
can provide a number of computative sequences of effects known through causes, but philosophers
For Zabarella, we are confronted with a sensible “mixta et composita”
which we wish to understand.19 By looking at the mixta we know that it
exists (quod est) but we only have confused, as opposed to causal, knowl-
edge of it.20 Still, we know the mixta must have a cause, for example, if
there are moving and changing things, there must be something like prime
matter that underlies the moving and changing. In this case we recog-
nize that prime matter is a cause, but we only know it in a confused way.
Although we know it as a constant conjunction, prime matter is present
whenever the effect is present, we do not really understand prime matter as
cause.
We are led to move from knowledge of the confused cause to knowledge
of the distinct cause by:
comparison of the cause we have discovered with the effect through which it was
discovered, not indeed by understanding this to be a cause and that an effect, but
this particular thing together with that contributing thing: thus we are led bit by bit
to the knowledge of the conditions of this thing, and by one discovered condition
we are led to discovering another one, up till the time when at last we know this
to be the cause of that effect.21
Thus with regard to prime matter, we look at how it differs from privation,
how it receives contraries, how it is the principle of all natural bodies, etc.
All of these qualities show something peculiar to matter and its relation
to its effects, they are per se predicates. We collect all these together, and
we have a variety of propositions about matter that can be collected into
a definition of prime matter. From this knowledge of our cause, prime
matter, we may then construct a necessary demonstration that shows the
necessity holding between cause and effect. This demonstration can, in
seek the most parsimonious computative sequence. This would seem to imply that what Zabarella
distinguishes from method, as merely order or expedient arrangement, was viewed by Hobbes as
a part of method. Unlike the Platonists, whom Zabarella was arguing against, Hobbes considered
both method and order to be intellectual instruments fashioned by man and not pre-given by the
order of nature (which is how the Platonists viewed order). So on this point the difference is not as
substantial as it might first seem.
19 In Physics i.1 (Physics 184a21–22), Aristotle called the object of knowledge that our method will
analyze into causes, or elements, or principles the sunkexomena (usually translated into English as
“composite” and into Latin as “confusa,” sunkexesthai means to add together). Aristotle gives no clue
as to how we are to interpret this word, and medieval philosophers interpreted as best suited their
respective philosophical systems. St. Thomas Aquinas, for example took confusa to be a confused
universal that becomes a proper universal through scientia (“Quod autem universalia sint confusa
manifestum est,” St. Thomas Aquinas, In Octo Libros Physicorum Aristotelis Expositio [Turin: Marietti,
1954], i:1.i, 7. They are potentially universals in actu for the intellect). For a detailed discussion
of these issues see Johannes Fritsche, Methode und Beweisziel (Frankfurt/am Main: Hain Verlag,
1986).
20 Zabarella, Opera Logica 484e–f. 21 Ibid., 487d.
turn, be reformed into a causal definition of the effect, insofar as it is a
per se accident and effect of the subject, and is caused by it.22
Zabarella equates the first part of this process,23 the move from confused
causes to confused effects, and thus to a confused causal relation, with the
resolutive (or analytic) method which arises from experience and sensible
knowledge.24 This is the logic of discovery by which we discover causes.25
An example of this would be moving from our vague knowledge of how
a car moves to discovering the causes of the car’s movement, but only
understanding them quite vaguely – knowing that there is an engine for
example. The second part, the mental examination of the various predicates,
is neither resolutiva nor compositiva but an intermediate moment where we
consider the effect and cause and come to a distinct knowledge of why this
is the cause of that effect – the combustion of gasoline and oxygen mixture
in the pistons communicating power through the drivetrain.26 The third
and final part of the process demonstrates the necessity that relates cause
to effect, and thus shows how the cause arises from the effect ex cognita
22 Ibid., 573c–e. It is a causal, and not an essential definition, insofar as it is understood through the
middle term, or proximate cause, of a scientific demonstration.
23 The whole process can be looked at syllogistically as Zabarella does. The inquirer has the conclusion
of a syllogism, for example that there is an eclipse, and knows the subject in which the effect inheres,
the moon. The inquirer induces a probable cause of the effect, insertion of the earth (between the
sun) and the moon, and resolves the conclusion into principles. Once this is clarified, she or he
constructs a demonstration that shows necessity, a compositive and scientific demonstration, via the
same syllogism we used to discover the cause.
24 Many have argued, and continue to argue, that Galileo’s method is just a version of this Paduan
method, with the addition of the mathematizing of the causes and effects in the middle section
of the regressu, as previously noted. There is without a doubt some truth in this, although more
in relation to his ways of presenting his experimental procedures, than in anything he has to say
about method (see, W. A. Wallace, Galileo’s Logic of Discovery and Proof [Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1992],
§§5–6). So, it would not be surprising that philosophers who so greatly admired Galileo, such as
Hobbes, would take a route in their attempts to describe his methodology similar to that of his
teachers, on the basis of Galileo’s own presentations of his philosophy (in particular in Two New
Sciences). But note that Descartes, who also admired Galileo, went a very different route, emphasizing
the “mathematical” part of the method to a great degree. And this mathematical part is far more
than any of his Aristotelian forebears, still viewing the world in a qualitative manner, could imagine
(Zabarella explicitly says that mathematical resolution is not the resolutive method, Zabarella, Opera
Logica, 267a). Wallace is thus right in emphasizing that Galileo’s Aristotelian paternity does not
undercut his revolutionary nature (Wallace, Galileo’s Logic, 299–303).
25 “Resolution precedes demonstration, and is the discovery of principles,” ibid., 619c.
26 What is the status of this intermediate moment, of the mental comparison? If it is not speculation in
a high sense (for only demonstration can be considered as true scientific contemplation), then what
is it? Unfortunately, Zabarella does not really explain the process of mental clarification of confused
causes in any detail. One might be tempted to say that he was struggling for something to be achieved
only by Galileo and Descartes, but this would be imparting a somewhat deranged hindsight (pace
Hegel) into the history of philosophy. It is reasoning about causes, not causal reasoning, as with
the other parts of the regress. It is not empirical inference, nor the strongest kind of scientific
demonstration, but reasoning as such, the examination of the things now understood as standing in
a relation of cause and effect in order to clarify what makes the cause a cause of this effect.
generatione. This is the stage of considering the motion of the car insofar
as it arises from our clear, causal knowledge of the combustion engine.
The final stage is compositive and demonstrative, to “infer (colligere) a
conclusion out of its principles, that is by a cause proceeding to the effect,
consequently to compose rather than to resolve.”27
Consequently, for both Zabarella and Hobbes the analytic method is
primarily used in finding principles. According to Hobbes, our intellects
first look at singulars, sensible wholes containing universals that must be
unearthed by reason. The parts of these sensible wholes are then analyzed
in terms of universals such as figure, quantity, motion, etc. This is the
analytic/resolutive portion of philosophical method.
Once we discover the universals present in the confused singular, then we
look at their causes. Unlike Zabarella or any of his Scholastic predecessors,
Hobbes the materialist anchored the causes of all things in motion: “for
the variety of all figures arises from the variety of motions by which they
are constructed, and motion cannot be understood to have any cause other
than another motion” (DC i.62). The motions can vary in kind, but all
things can be explained through some sort of motion, and thus through
efficient cause.
When we arrive at these principles, then, we enter into the “compositive”
part of the method. Hobbes’ take on composition is also distinctively mod-
ern. First, we examine the simplest motions, then more and more complex
motions, and through this we clarify the confused singular that began our
investigation, and explain it precisely through clear, as opposed to obscure
causes. Thus, we are able to fulfill our initial goal of causal knowledge by
constructing and generating a being through its causes in the simplest and
briefest way, and thus explain it as fully as possible and show its necessity.
So, when we have the sort of knowledge by which we can build a com-
bustion engine, then we know ex cognita generatione. This procedure of
Hobbes provides an archetypal example of maker’s knowledge, we know
what we can make and we know it insofar as we can make it.
How does Hobbes apply this regressus to a concrete example? To know
“whether a given action is just or unjust” we must first resolve the sentence
into its parts, for example “‘unjust’ into ‘fact’ and against the ‘laws’” and
“‘law’ into the mandate of him who has the power to control,” etc. until
we arrive at universals that can be analyzed in terms of motion. Then we
“can proceed from this point to the determination of the justice or injustice
of any proposed action by composition.” This method is “partly analytic,
27 Ibid., 619d.
partly synthetic . . . it is analytic from the sense-experiences to the discovery
of principles and otherwise synthetic” (DC i.66).
The reader might ask: if the synthetic or compositive method is to pro-
vide an analysis of a given mixta understood either through signs or sense
images, followed by a compositive construction of methodological ideal
types that are compared to the situation, what sort of causal relations does
this imply? Hobbes argues once again that a causal analysis has both a
synthetic and an analytic component. We examine various accidents that
contribute to the effect for which we are attempting to provide a causal
explanation. Once we have the assembled accidents, we draw them together
as an aggregate, and examine whether they are the cause of the effect, if
when given the effect is given, and if when taken away the cause is taken
away.
All of which confirms why causal definitions, should be the basis
of proof, as opposed to postulates (to be discussed at some length in
chapter 6). As, “the goal of proof is the scientific knowledge of causes
and the generations of things; and if this scientific knowledge is not in
the definitions, it cannot be in the conclusions of the syllogism which is
first built up from definitions” (DC i.73). Causal, generative definitions are
ideal for proofs, as they maintain causal connections at each stage of the
syllogism or proof, and thus are able to show that the conclusion is caused
and or generated by the premise. But, it is always important to keep in
mind that they are products of a human method, made by art, and applied
to nature, not the eternal essences in themselves.
Spinoza appears to emphasize a kind of synthesis similar to that discussed
by Hobbes and Zabarella. We take a group of definitions of real things, and
in tandem with axioms we interrelate them into compositive structures via
a method arising from an inborn power in our minds. The interrelation
of definitions and axioms provides reasons, and thus exhibits and imparts
causal necessity to the effect.28 Such necessity is, for Spinoza (and Zabarella),
both internal to the proofs of the proposition, and derivative of the first
principles from which they arise. For Hobbes, the necessity of any given
proposition is primarily hypothetical, as arising from first principles. All
have different theories of cause, but all view causes qua method as reasons
of some sort. And, insofar as a deductive method provides necessary causes,
it also provides reason.
28 There is no such thing as a pseudo-reason for Spinoza, either it is a reason or it is not. If it is a reason,
then it falls into the “second kind of knowledge” or the necessity arising from common features of
bodies and their correspondent ideas. Any deduction depends precisely on these common features,
a point emphasized by Spinoza in the “Preface” to Part 3 of the Ethics.
The kind of reasons and the kind of necessity that we find in the geo-
metrical demonstration are primarily what Spinoza calls the second kind
of knowledge, or reason. In order to explain the second kind of knowledge,
Spinoza draws an analogy with a procedure for discovering the ratios of
numbers derived from Euclid that arises from and reflects necessary first
principles about ratios and numbers (iip40s2). By virtue of this analogy,
Spinoza seems to imply that computation, ordering, and Euclidean deduc-
tion are all reason. So, Spinoza’s mos geometricus seems to fit quite well with
this Hobbesian picture.
If Spinoza’s vision of the rational and necessary character of deduction is
of a piece with the more avant-garde theorists of method whose work he had
access to, and if in some sense his method can be understood as an extension
of this tradition, there is also a more basic difference. As noted, Hobbes’
theory involves analysis of our sensible experience resulting in clarified
definitions and universals, which may be used in synthetic deductions.
Hobbes’ theory is fundamentally rooted in, derived from, and sometimes
reducible to (as with the passions) the interactions of physical bodies, with
imagination as the fundamental bridge between bodies external to us that
we wish to understand, and our own physical systems. Hobbes’ composition
and necessity are ultimate material, physical necessity as organized for the
benefit of human bodies and minds. Spinoza’s composition obviously needs
some sort of non-empirical basis, independent of the imagination if we
accept that the imagination does not give rise to adequate ideas. How do I
acquire adequate ideas? In order to think a bit more effectively about this,
I will need to take an excursus into Spinoza’s account of individuation, an
issue I have already touched on.
I might wish to explain it by saying that an extended thing, which was
external to my body, entered into a ratio of motion and rest with my body,
and the idea of that body “entered” into or became part of my mind, since
by Spinoza’s “Definition” of individuals (iip13 “Definition”) a body that
enters into a ratio of motion and rest29 with my body becomes my body. The
body can only do so if it has features in common with mine; for example
29 By ratios of motion and rest Spinoza understands the ways in which the parts of a body move in
relation to each other such that the various speeds of the different parts are preserved. For example,
the parts of my heart that pump preserve roughly the same speeds in relation to one another in
order that the heart as an individual can pump consistently. As blood goes in and out of the heart,
although the actual blood may change, the heart and the circulatory system remain the same (and
hence the worms within them have a chance to understand them!). A heart attack is a breakdown
in the ratio of motion and rest, either leading to the destruction of the individual qua individual, or
to a resumption of the ratio of motion and rest and survival.
it moves and rests in such a way as to be able to form a ratio (a delicately
eaten fig as opposed to spoiled Chinese food). All bodies have some features
in common – bullets clearly do as much as figs and bad egg rolls – but
only some bodies can successfully enter into this ratio. Every body has a
correspondent idea, and the bodies that are capable of entering into a ratio
of motion with our own can be said to be part of our body. This does not
mean that we have access to every feature of these bodies or our body –
Spinoza explicitly claims we do not (iip24–25). That my blood is green or
red may have little to do with the ratio of motion and rest into which they
enter. But, when a new body does enter into this ratio, it may concur with
our bodies in such a way as to result in new ideas that are relevant.30
Bodily ratios are Spinoza’s best way of describing local order in the
attribute of extension (as opposed to the global order of the attributes
themselves). I think that in some ways this emphasis on ratios, changing
bodies entering and leaving the ratio, and minds corresponding in some
way to this order, has a contemporary analogue in functionalism in the
philosophy of mind.31 Della Rocca has convincingly argued that Spinoza
assumes neutral properties that do not violate the causal barrier between
attributes and derive from general metaphysical features and properties
that hold of all attributes or all modes in attributes.32 For Della Rocca, this
implies an identity thesis about mind and body. That there are such general
metaphysical properties is clear from the ideas of modes, substance, and
attributes themselves – there are modes in both the attributes of thought
and extension for example. But there are also a number of more particular
neutral properties, perhaps temporal predicates as well as the sort of “order”
that goes into complex individuals.
As I have noted previously, I take Spinoza to hold that there is a corre-
spondence between causes and reasons. This does not mean that causation
is logical entailment, but just that wherever there is a cause there is a
30 Spinoza does not even hint at how this might work, but I can imagine the following sort of Leibnizian
explanation as consistent with Spinoza’s general philosophical picture. Each complex body has a
general ratio and is composed of other complex bodies with different subratios. A subratio can only
persist if it abides by the general ratio – the dynamic structure of my spleen as opposed to another
spleen that I might reject. Many other things can enter into my body though, and they, too, will have
subratios. Some of these subratios will alter other existing subratios – ginseng will get my synapses
moving. Many will do so in subtle ways we have little access to, but to each of these subratios will
correspond structures that have mental analogues.
31 I am not sure whether it makes much sense to move beyond this vague ascription of functionalism
to specifying the kind of functionalism.
32 Michael Della Rocca, Representation and the Mind–Body Problem in Spinoza (Oxford University
Press, 1996), 133–6.
reason of some sort, minimally the cause itself understood in the attribute
of thought. I also take Spinoza to hold that, although a bodily ratio of mo-
tion and rest provides the way to describe the individuation of a complex
body, like the human body, it has its “attribute neutral” version in iid7 –
“If a number of Individuals so concur in one action that together they
are all the cause of one effect, I consider them all, to that extent, as one
singular thing.” The two definitions are not isomorphic: iid7 is a principle
about acting and iip13 “Definition” describes the internal constituents of
an individual. But they clearly pick out the same entities, and something
like iid7 is implied as a consequence of iip13 “Definition.”33 Both principles
describe complex individuals, but iid7 holds of minds and bodies, and the
ratio of motion and rest just of bodies.
Whither the functionalism? I take iid7 to be a principle saying that an
individual is a function of how it acts and what it does. This is a very general
characterization, a reason for acting, which has its physical analogue in the
“bodily ratio of motion and rest.” But the way that Spinoza understands the
bodily ratio implies a distinction between the actual matter that makes up
the body – delicious figs, bad egg rolls, my pacemaker – and the function
(iip13l4). This picture seems to me have the following consequence.
If my identity is dictated by this functional principle of individuation,
then, although bodies enter into my bodily ratio and become part of my
complex bodily identity, this does not necessarily imply that I acquire ideas
when I consider them just in terms of the mental. As stressed in chapter 3, I
think Spinoza is a rather strong innatist, albeit of a unique sort emphasizing
the distinction between external and internal causes. Consequently, if I have
an adequate or true idea it is one of the adequate or true ideas that make up
my mind. It does not make much sense to talk about acquiring it physically
or temporally, first, because we are dealing with the attribute of extension
and, second, because reason is sub specie aeternitatis and tenseless (iip44c2).
I could talk about it in terms of inside and outside, for example an idea that
was external to me now has an internal cause, but it did not really move
from the outside in.
Of course, I talk about getting adequate ideas from books or other people,
but it seems that this is metaphorical. Rather my mind is having different
33 “The human Body can move and dispose external bodies in a great many ways” (iip13Post.6). I think
Spinoza cannot give a general internal principle of individuation, like the bodily ratio of motion
and rest, because attribute neutral properties, at least those we have access to, are not rich enough to
do so. I think he will give a sort of mental individuation principle as I will argue in the last chapter
of this book. A sign that Spinoza does not have the means, or the desire, to give internal principles
of individuals insofar as they are defined in multiple attributes is the teleological character of his
definition of the human essence at iiip9s: i.e. in terms of desires which are acts.
ideas, and I am conceiving or expressing them more or less adequately. These
ideas are some of the ideas that make up the eternal essence of my mind, and,
insofar as this essence is eternal, they do not come and go temporally, rather
I conceive them more or less adequately. On these issues I think Spinoza’s
intuitions are much like Leibniz’s without the strong teleology, and by this
I mean Leibniz’s claim that monads are windowless and arise from internal
principles.34 None of these means, though, that when I consider myself as a
finite being interrelating with other finite beings I do not represent myself
as having gotten an idea. This is the normal way to view it.
Accordingly, any lack of adequacy and truth should be understood as due
to my partial and confused conception of an idea that is adequate or true
insofar as it is related to God (iip32). Thus, idea X is adequate and true in
God, but, since I have access only to common features shared by my essence
and the essence of that idea, and since the idea has adequate features that
are not part of my essence, I only glimpse it inadequately and confusedly.
I may also conflate the idea with other ideas, for example images that only
are related to the idea X by contingencies or association and the like –
but these are not X.35 I still only understand what I understand of X in a
mutilated36 manner via those common features which I have access to.37
The problem, then, is not with “acquiring” ideas but rather in explaining
in what sense those ideas belong to my essence insofar as it is eternal (in
that in this case the ideas do not “come” and “go”). This would depend
on what sort of theory of essence was attributed to Spinoza. One way
of thinking about how an essence works, or what it does, would be in
parallel with the mediate infinite mode in the attribute of extension, i.e. as
being that underlying unity which structures, connects, and gives unity to
a variety of changing and apparently ephemeral phenomena. It would be
those structural, causal features without which X is not X, which structure all
predicates but which do not change in and of themselves. In the attribute
34 Monadology §7,11 in Roger Ariew and Daniel Garber (eds.), G. W. Leibniz: Philosophical Essays
(Indianapolis: Hackett, 1989), 213–14.
35 This is a crucial therapeutic process for Spinoza described in vp11–19. But Spinoza emphasizes that
even when the images are organized around the idea of God they still remain images.
36 Bennett objects to Spinoza’s term “mutilated” (Bennett, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics, 178–9). It is not
original to Spinoza, and is a variant on the common term manca (used by Zabarella, for example).
Spinoza seems to want to use mutilatio as a synonym of inadequatio for a good reason. It makes us
realize that whatever positive content it has derives from the adequate idea on which it is a confused
perspective. It also emphasizes that the inadequate idea is not capable in and of itself of restoring
the adequate perspective. A good example of this is Spinoza’s claim at iip28 that confused ideas are
like conclusions without premises. I take this to mean a sort of knowledge where the causes cannot
be inferred.
37 See Della Rocca, Representation and the Mind–Body Problem in Spinoza, 112–15.
of extension this essence would be expressed via the ratio of motion and
rest of my body. In the attribute of thought it would be that true and
adequate idea in my mind from which and through which all the others
arise.38 Those ideas acquired by X, of which X is the adequate cause are
comprehended as effect by cause, and as such are “part of the essence,” all
that they are is fully comprehended by the essence.
This picture is backed by another feature of essences built on the
“functional” account of individuation at iid7. Iid7 ascribes identity to
a group of singular things when they are all the causes of an effect: “If a
number of Individuals so concur in one action that together they are all
the cause of one effect, I consider them all, to that extent, as one singular
thing.” If there are causes then there are also reasons (although we might not
want to say they are reasons for acting given how teleological that sounds39 ),
finite reasons backed by infinite laws that explain the causal structure of a
given being such that it produces effects. So I know how a gun fires, the
dynamical physical processes that are essential for it to fire a bullet as well
as the finite reasons that results in firing and the effect of a rapidly moving
bullet. All of these reasons, causes, and effects are what they are through the
IMMs in the attribute of extension. Put simply, they are finite mental and
physical descriptions of finite sections of the infinite causal chains that make
up the IMMS. Some of these descriptions are products of the imagination
38 The theory of the ratio of motion and rest as a plausible metaphysical account of individuation
is argued for in Don Garrett, “Spinoza’s Theory of Metaphysical Individuation,” in Kenneth F.
Barber and Jorge J. E. Gracia (eds.), Individuation and Identity in Early Modern Philosophy: Descartes
to Kant (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994), 73–101. Garrett does not explain in
this essay what the difference is between a theory of metaphysical individuation and a theory of
essence. It would seem that the difference lies in that a theory of individuation is primarily concerned
with how an individual exists over time and is distinct from other individuals, whereas a theory of
essence concerns what it is for X to be X as such. It seems plausible, though, to view a theory of
metaphysical individuation as part of an account of essence, insofar as it is expressed in the attribute
of extension. Garrett points out the parallels between iiip4–6 and Spinoza’s theory of individuation.
This is underlined by the obvious intentional similarity between iiip4 and iip13l6. It is clearly an
intentional parallel being drawn by Spinoza as they are the only two propositions (or lemmas) which
do not depend on any other propositions (a point to be returned to in chapter 5).
39 Don Garrett has argued that there is more teleology in Spinoza than some, particularly Bennett, have
allowed. Although Spinoza uses many sorts of teleological explanation throughout the Ethics, he only
uses teleology when describing finite things. Given that there is no hint at all that teleology holds
of the infinite realm, it seems to me that, although teleological explanation seems interconnected
with finite beings, it is ultimately part of the essence of a thing. I tend to see him as having a similar
position to Locke, in that, although teleological descriptions are essential to the ways in which beings
negotiate a finite world, they are not essential predicates. Teleology may be the only way we have to
pick out a given finite entity, and hence our language may be extremely teleological, but this does
not mean there is ultimately any teleology in the being so picked out. This is again a normal position
of functionalism, but see Don Garrett, “Teleology in Spinoza and Early Modern Rationalism,” in
Rocco Gennaro and Charles Huenemann (eds.), New Essays on the Rationalists (Oxford University
Press, 1999), 310–35.
(“this gun will bring truth and justice to the world”), some have a true
content which reflects said IMMs.40 These seem to me the likeliest candi-
date for what belongs to the essence of a given entity, the reasons or causes
that give rise to effects insofar as these reasons and causes are specific to the
individual and consequently satisfy iid2.
To return to the method then, we do not need to consider adequate ideas
as derived from the imagination – Hobbes’ position – to construe method
as a mental tool arising from and related to a true idea. In a famous passage
Spinoza calls demonstrations “eyes of the mind” and characterizes the mind
as feeling and experiencing through these “eyes” as much as through the
senses (vp23s). This feeling cannot be derived from the imagination, since
Spinoza has characterized demonstration and deduction as providing a
means for distinguishing between true and false; and knowledge of the first
kind is incapable of making this distinction (iip42). Thus, those ideas that
begin a deduction would have to arise in us independent of the imagination,
in order to have the sort of compositive causal necessity that Hobbes,
Zabarella, and seemingly Spinoza might wish it to have.
There is one further intriguing aspect of both Hobbes’ and Zabarella’s
treatment of method, besides the emphasis on compositive necessity. An
apparently compositive and synthetic structure, like a syllogism, can also
be analytic, and the same method can be both analytic and synthetic. For
both Hobbes and Zabarella, formal structures like syllogisms are analytic or
synthetic depending on how they are employed as mental instruments. This
is an issue I will return to in chapter 6, but now let us consider Spinoza’s
greatest influence.
d e s c a rt e s a n d s p i n o z a’s “p re fac e” to t h e p p
The Cartesian method is one of the most discussed topics in the history of
philosophy. I will limit myself to Spinoza’s and his friend Lodewijk Meyer’s
(I emphasize Spinoza and Meyer as it is generally thought that Meyer
not Spinoza wrote the “Preface” to the PP) presentations of Descartes’
method and what I think Spinoza saw as its flaws.41 Spinoza, of course,
was enormously influenced by Cartesianism. Spinoza must have felt elated
40 There is some question as to whether there is an IMM in the attribute of thought, given that Spinoza
never provides an example of one. I take the IMM in the attribute of thought to be the unchanging
totality of adequate ideas corresponding to the totality of bodies in the attribute of extension.
41 In “Science and Certainty in Descartes” (in Michael Hooker [ed.], Descartes: Critical and Interpre-
tive Essays [Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978], 114–51) Daniel Garber convincingly
argues that there are serious consistency problems in Descartes’ method in Principles III, particu-
larly in reconciling his hypothetical presentation of cosmology with a certain deduction from first
when he read the opening lines of section 5 of the Discourse on Method ,
where Descartes tantalizingly describes the many truths he was capable
of rigorously deducing with his method. Consequently the rigorous de-
duction, what Descartes called the “chain of ideas,” is one of the cardinal
influences on Spinoza’s way of thinking about method. But there were im-
portant differences in their particular ways of thinking about just what a
deduction was. Consequently Spinoza’s exposition of Descartes’ philoso-
phy, Principia Philosophiae Cartesianae, was the only work published under
his own name during his lifetime. It is not, however, the only work of the
time that attempted to present Descartes’ philosophy in a more accessible
form. Clauberg wrote a Paraphrasis42 of the Meditations as well as a lengthy
Defensio Cartesiana owned by Spinoza.43 Although Spinoza disagreed with
Descartes on many occasions in letters,44 and in the Ethics itself, there is
little question of his intellectual debt to Descartes.
The “Preface” to the PP is not signed by Spinoza, and was likely written
by Lodewijk Meyer. Although not written by Spinoza himself, it is an ex-
cellent imitation of his prose and was certainly overseen by him. We have
no reason to think that Spinoza strongly disagreed with its content.45 Fur-
thermore, clearly there are signs of Spinoza’s own thoughts in the emphasis
on the discrepancies between Spinoza’s own philosophical position and
principles. Garber also shows fundamental differences between Descartes’ earlier work and the prin-
ciples on the issue of method. Spinoza likely noticed similar problems in Principles III, although
he was far more hopeful about providing a cosmology deriving from first principles (see Letter
XXVI).
42 It included a reprint of the Meditations and an extensive commentary intended for teaching students
Descartes’ “esoteric” doctrine. It first appeared in 1658. See Theo Verbeek, Johannes Clauberg (1622–
1665): and Cartesian Philosophy in the Seventeenth Century (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1999), 191.
43 This was Clauberg’s first published work, appearing in 1652. It is a very important work for those
interested in the exoteric/esoteric distinction in Spinoza, as Clauberg distinguishes between an
exoteric (the Discourses) and esoteric (the Meditations and the Principles) doctrine in Descartes’
philosophy. See Verbeek, Johannes Clauberg, 188.
44 Of these, the most interesting for us is his criticism that Descartes did not follow his own method
when he ignored the moons around Saturn (Letter XXVI [g iv/159]). But the criticisms are numerous,
ranging from Descartes’ conception of the free will (Letter LVIII [g iv/265]), to his account of
extension (Letter LXXXI [g iv/332]), to his proof of God (Letter xl/196–8), to his theory of the
pineal gland (Ethics V “Preface”).
45 Curley adduces some interesting evidence to counter this standard assumption. First, although it is
fairly clear that Spinoza thinks that the axioms of Book I are evident, the axioms in the succeeding
books are not so obviously common or evident (Edwin Curley, “Spinoza’s Geometric Method,”
Studia Spinoziana 2 [1986], 152–8). Curley is certainly correct, but I imagine Spinoza believed that
they would become evident to the reader as they worked through the Ethics. They are not evident
to all, but they are evident to the reader who has thought a bit. This rests on Meyer’s key limitation,
that the axioms would be evident and assented to if one “rightly understood the terms themselves.”
The axioms in latter books often draw on terms made evident in the previous chapters. There is a
kind of bootstrapping going on throughout the Ethics. I will discuss this, and Curley’s criticisms of
Meyer’s discussion of definitions, in the next chapter.
Descartes’.46 Hence I will refer to the author of the “Preface” as Meyer/
Spinoza.
In the “Preface” Meyer/Spinoza celebrates Descartes for bringing math-
ematics out of the dark ages and providing firm foundations for philosophy
upon which many truths could be built with mathematical order and cer-
tainty. But Meyer/Spinoza notes that, although Descartes’ works contain
a mathematical rationale (rationem) and order, they are not set out in a
Euclidean style, with definitions, postulates, and axioms, but rather they
are presented in what Descartes called the analytic order. And, as Descartes
wrote in the Reply to the Second Objections (which Meyer/Spinoza quotes),
the analytic order shows “the true way by which things are discovered
methodically, and a priori”(PP i/129).
Analysis, as a logic of discovery, has certain similarities to the Zabarellan
and Hobbesian discussions of resolutiva or analysis. For Hobbes and
Zabarella, though, resolutiva begins in sense impressions, or imagination,
whereas the entire Cartesian process of analysis is radically distinct from
sense. Where Hobbes’ resolution derives from empirical considerations,
Descartes’ interest in resolution was more mathematical47 and speculative.
The Cartesian resolution is a meditative thought experiment, removed
from the empirical world, through which all the fictions and untruths of
the world are rejected, not as misunderstandings, but to their very root,
and replaced by the firm foundations of the new method. Hence it rejects
a priori all which is present but epistemically posterior and replaces it with
what is absolutely, epistemically prior.
The Hobbesian and Zabarellan resolutiva gives scientific emphasis to
the compositiva, as it is in composition that causal necessity is imparted to
the subject matter: springs and gears when put together become a watch.
Descartes, on the other hand, claims that any necessity in a synthetic presen-
tation is weak and a posteriori compared to analytic necessity, or, more cor-
rectly, the necessity that the analytic method uncovers. The model Descartes
has in mind instead is the discovery of real, analytically describable classes of
46 A weakness of Curley’s interpretation is that it assumes that Spinoza would be polite to Meyer
and thus allow him to write the “Preface” while substantively disagreeing. Spinoza, though, did not
shrink from criticizing Meyer; the TTP is an implicit and very strong criticism of Meyer’s Philosophia
S. Scripturae Interpres.
47 The locus classicus of the analysis/synthesis distinction is Pappus. Pappus’ Problem, presented in his
commentary on Apollonius’ Conics, was famously solved by Descartes in the opening sections of
the Geometry. On the importance of Pappus for the development of analysis see Jaako Hintikka and
Unto Remes, The Method of Analysis (Dordrecht: Reidel, 1974). Hintikka and Remes’ discussion
also provides an extremely convincing interpretation of Greek analysis and important cautions
against treating Greek and early modern method as identical. On Pappus and Descartes see Stephen
Gaukroger, Descartes: An Intellectual Biography (Cambridge University Press, 1995), 124–6, 210–12.
curves that underlie ordinary mathematical practice and become powerful
tools for solving mathematical problems.
Cartesian analysis depends on a prior distinction between order and
method. Order, for Descartes, consists in the fact that, when one is pre-
sented with a chain of reasons, what comes first in the chain must be
known entirely without the aid of what comes afterwards. It is a rule of
logical priority. Order is opposed to method, which is divided into analysis
and synthesis.
The method of analysis shows the true way that things are discovered a
priori, and is, in fact, the very act of the discovery of necessary truths. This
act demands the attention of the investigator, and the reader, because there
is no external necessity in the method to compel a thoughtless reader –
only the internal necessity of the ideas as they arise in relation to the will.
Furthermore, the objects of attention, primary notions, are difficult for
many to understand (although clear and distinct and fully intelligible in
themselves). But, if the reader follows through the analytic chain of discov-
ery, by exertion of her will, she will be able to raze the poor foundations of
her understanding, and replace the poor foundations with secure reasons.
Synthesis, the geometrical method of Euclid, is a posteriori, its premises
are epistemically posterior, and it demonstrates epistemically prior conclu-
sions in such a fashion that exertion of the will is unnecessary, and even the
most stubborn reader will have to assent. Thus, the sort of necessity that
a synthetic method applies is compositive, it composes ideas together into
propositions. The purely illative necessity that it presents is external to and
different from the epistemic necessity of the individual clear and distinct
ideas that it arranges (and which, in turn, have their own analytic order
and necessity of discovery).
Synthesis, thus, can only impart a secondary sort of necessity, which is
useful only to convince the stubborn, stupid, and lazy, by prodding their
wills along, whereas analysis imparts both true necessity (the necessity of
ideas arising in their true order of priority in the investigating intellect),
and the transformation of mind which comes with it. For Descartes, thus,
synthesis is totally derivative of analysis. As derivative, it is dangerous, for
one must never think that one can replace an a priori analytic investigation
with an a posteriori synthetic proof, such a proof is merely an aid.48
48 This discussion is in AT vii:155–60. Descartes argues, somewhat humorously, that the ancient
geometers knew of the analytic method, but kept it hidden from the masses as a sacred mystery
(ibid., 156). Descartes thus makes over all ancient wisdom on the model of Cartesian investigation.
Descartes’ conflict with the ancients is discussed, in earnest, in Jean-Luc Marion, Sur L’ontologie
grise de Descartes (Paris: J. Vrin, 1981). Descartes himself uses a more traditional distinction between
resolution and composition in Rule XII, but this was unavailable to Spinoza.
Spinoza did not present the Meditations in the mos geometricus (this was
already partially done by Descartes in the Second Replies to Objections and
had also been explicated with commentary by Clauberg), but instead the
Principles of Philosophy. The Principles is a far longer and more comprehen-
sive work than the Meditations, in particular it includes Descartes’ physics.
Descartes wrote it in such a way that it could take the place of the Scholastic
textbooks of the Dutch universities, which would allow for the wide dis-
semination of his philosophy and the reformation of the Schools.49
The Principles is not in an analytic order, but instead a synthetic, although
not Euclidean, order.50 Since it is clearly not analytic and, furthermore, since
Meyer/Spinoza discusses the distinction at some length in the “Preface,”
Spinoza must have assumed that the order of presentation was a Cartesian
synthetic order, since this was the only other option that Descartes had
proffered for proper presentation, but not a rigorously Euclidean one like
the Second Objections and Replies.
The first group of propositions in the Principles provides a capsule ac-
count of Cartesian doubt and Descartes’ discovery of the cogito. Spinoza, in
his geometric presentation, does not place these passages into a Euclidean
synthetic order. This shows at least one way in which Spinoza’s own philo-
sophical position did not jibe with the philosophy he was presenting: he
did not think for whatever reason that doubt was amenable to geometrical
presentation. But his relation to the content he presented is somewhat more
complicated.
We know that the purpose of the PP was to teach a bright, but inconstant
and troublesome, young student named Caesarius (Letter IX). To this end
Meyer/Spinoza insisted in the “Preface” that, since Spinoza “had promised
to teach his disciple the Cartesian philosophy,” he adhered religiously to the
Cartesian doctrine, never contradicting it and presenting it as adequately
as possible. At the same time, he (Spinoza) “judged some doctrines true,
but many are rejected as false” (PP i/131).
Meyer/Spinoza identified the central falsehood as Descartes’ belief that
the will is free and distinct from the intellect. It is false because the fact
that there is a thinking substance does not imply that the human mind
is that thinking substance, but only thought determined in a certain way
that begins to exist when the body begins to exist. It is easy to show from
49 Like Burgersdijk, Heerebord, Kekkermann, and others. Descartes spent an enormous amount of
time in controversies with Dutch Scholastics, first with Voetius, the rector of the University of
Utrecht, and then with his once enthusiastic supporter Regius, who turned against Descartes (and
wrote the Broadsheet responded to in Descartes, Comments on a Certain Broadsheet, AT viiia, 41–69).
50 “In p r i n c i p i i s autem illud præmisit, quia alia est via et ordo inveniendi, alia docendi, in
p r i n c i p i i s autem docet et synthetice agit,” Conversations with Burman (AT v:153). Clauberg
transcribed the text, and hence knew this passage. Thanks to Roger Ariew for the citation.
this that the will is not distinct from the intellect, and that “the faculty of
affirming and negating is but a fiction” (PP i/132).
If we apply this criticism to Spinoza’s rendering of the Cartesian doubt,
which directly follows it, we see that the problem for Spinoza is not just
doubt but also that which results from the fixing of the Archimedean point.
Spinoza presented the laying aside of prejudices, the doubt of all things,
and even the cogito in such a way that these three are not dependent on
the separation of the will and the intellect. The problem is then to “know
what we are” in order not to confuse our essence with those of others.
To solve this problem Meyer/Spinoza suggests that we reject all the con-
fused ideas that appear to us. Then, we affirm those ideas that are un-
doubtable, famously the cogito. Spinoza furthermore views the structure “I
doubt I think therefore I am” and the fact that we cannot doubt ourselves,
as the main step to maintaining “whatever is perceived clearly and distinctly
is true” (PP i/144). This last for Meyer/Spinoza was the “firm foundation”
as manifest “as Noon light” (PP i/128) and the “foundation of all science”
(PP i/144).
The problem, though, is that we are not willing to let it rest at that, nor
can we, given the foundational role of the cogito in Descartes’ philosophy.
When we attempt to infer facts about the human essence from the cogito,
we run the risk of understanding ourselves only as affirming beings who
think, and then ascribing qualities which are not clear and distinct to that
which we are affirming and thinking. This is related to the point I made in
chapter 3, that it is crucial for Spinoza to show how certain false ideas do
not result in legitimate inferences.
Spinoza remarks that the reader should particularly note that:
(1) These modes of thinking are understood clearly and distinctly without the rest,
of which there is doubt. (2) That the clear and distinct concept which we have
of them will be made obscure and confused, if we wish to ascribe to them those
things which we have doubt. (PP i/145, 19–23)
Thus we can make such claims about clear and distinct concepts, but to
infer anything more than “we affirm a single concept” (for example that we
have a faculty of the will), runs the risk of conflating a doubtful idea (the
existence of a universal faculty) with a true idea (we affirm “X”).
A similar problem to the one Spinoza points out concerning the cogito
and what results from it holds for analysis and synthesis. Although the logic
of discovery can come up with a series of clear and distinct ideas, some of
them true, for Spinoza it will have a problem in generalizing from them
and building upon them, because it has failed to fix the more general theses.
Hence the logic of discovery will be forced to abstract from the existence
of a clear and distinct idea, to a universal, or to a faculty, without being
able to examine claims concerning universals or faculties. It will move di-
rectly from epistemology to ontology, grounding the ontology in the epis-
temology, without seeing how the more general ontological categories arise
from the epistemology. Hence it will be a philosophical egomania, a con-
flation of my own affirmation, with the universal affirmation of a faculty
or an ontological category, and consequently a dangerous sort of imperia.
Furthermore, as opposed to the Hobbesian/Zabarellan theory of synthe-
sis, rooted in the Ockhamist and Averroist traditions, there is no really clear
notion of inference in the Cartesian analysis, just the clarity and distinct-
ness found in successive discoveries (and hence the Cartesian formulation of
innateness discussed in the conclusion of the previous chapter). The prob-
lem is still where does the necessity, however limited, found in a synthetic
deduction come from?
I can certainly affirm my ego, but to understand what this means, I will
need to view it in terms of a general theory of affirmation through which my
individual ego expresses itself (i.e. an account of the conatus). The synthetic
method, although it may fail to provide the logic of discovery, is sufficiently
pedantic and plodding and demands explicit connections at each stage such
that it will not fall into error due to its need to abstract its contents, and
thus remain clear and distinct.
There is a further reason why Descartes’ distinction between analysis
and synthesis, emphasizing the independence of analysis from synthesis as
well as its priority to synthesis, is insupportable for Spinoza. The Cartesian
priority of analysis depends on the will, insofar as the sceptical argument
that generates and allows for Cartesian analysis assumes that the reader has
the capacity to neither assent or dissent to the ideas we experience (PP i/146),
a capacity Descartes identifies with the indifference of the will (AT vii, 58).
This is the feature of the will that Spinoza expends great effort attacking
in the Ethics (iip49s) and which careful readers of the PP would likely call
into scrutiny as well (i/132, 173–6). A “normal” Cartesian (insofar as Spinoza
might be considered a “radical” Cartesian) could in theory pursue analysis
independent of doubt, but it would only be successful if she or he were
already “free” (in Spinoza’s sense ivp66s) and without prejudices. Descartes
seems to think this impossible (vii, 157–8). Like the analysis of the ancient
geometers, such a procedure would be limited by the prejudices of the
analyst and consequently fail to open the infinite vistas of Cartesian science.
But if Spinoza is correct then the final step to opening said vistas is replacing
an analytic method centered on the will with a method which emphasizes
the equal importance, and mutual dependence of both analysis/emendation
and synthesis.
Furthermore, for Spinoza, as well as Hobbes and Zabarella, synthesis and
analysis are not at odds with nature but are interconnected in our natures
as we gradually discover use and refine mental and physical artifacts and
instruments. This gradualist picture is presented quite clearly at TIE 31,
the passage discussing mental tools I considered in chapter 3. Both synthesis
and analysis are reason. In the conclusion to chapter 6, and the conclusion
to chapter 7, I discuss how synthesis and analysis, in Hobbes’ and Zabarella’s
sense, become incorporated into Spinoza’s method, and his conception of
knowledge through method. In brief, there is a process of analytic discovery
and synthetic demonstration in the Ethics itself.
Given this, the following lacunae in Spinoza’s discussion are very in-
teresting. Spinoza quotes Descartes as stating that the method of Analysis
is “as it were a priori” (PP i/129), but notably does not say that the syn-
thetic method is a posteriori. He does not mention that for Descartes the
synthetic order is dependent on the analytic, or any of the features of the
analytic method. In light of the preceding, we might conclude that he was
attempting to present the distinction in a way that he could agree with,
that was useful for his irksome student Caesarius, and so ignored much
of what Descartes had to say about it. By deemphasizing both the poste-
rior character and derivativeness of synthetic presentation he allowed for
the importance of a synthetic presentation and did not imply that it must
intrinsically arise after analysis.
chapter 5
Maimonides and Gersonides
I have now examined the two main early modern sources for Spinoza’s
method, Hobbes and Descartes. We have seen the importance of synthesis
and analysis, the different ways that they could be construed, the different
functions ascribed to them, and finally the problems of reconciling them in
a method not grounded in the imagination. But something is still lacking
in this picture, there seems to be much more to the structure of Spinoza’s
method that has not been discussed: the didactic features of Spinoza’s pre-
sentation and his attempts to instruct his readers. For Descartes this was,
of course, the basic purpose of synthesis, and it was an important part of
synthesis for Hobbes and Zabarella as well. In examining Maimonides and
Gersonides I will stress some different didactic aspects of Spinoza’s method.
I would like to say at the outset that I in no way consider Spinoza to be a
Maimonidean. I am interested in Maimonides for three reasons. First,
part of Spinoza’s own method (and I mean method broadly, not just the
mos geometricus) seems to be a rejection of Maimonides, so by examining
Maimonides we can learn about Spinoza. Second, in rejecting Maimonides,
Spinoza still seems to hold on to some basic features of Maimonides’
method. Third, Maimonides was also extensively criticized by Gersonides,
whose affinities with Spinoza I have already emphasized. There are further
affinities with Gersonides to be explored in the final section of this chapter.
qu otat i o n a n d i ro n y
One notable feature of Spinoza’s method is the way in which a geometric
deduction allows for a process of internal quotation. When I cite a definition
or a proposition in the proof of another proposition I am not just using the
proposition but also mentioning it. This feature is part of any deduction,
although not particularly relevant for Descartes and Hobbes. It is clearly
important to Spinoza, and he is quite brazen about it. For example, the
demonstration of iip7, one of Spinoza’s most important propositions, the
123
claim that “the order and connection of ideas is the same as the order and
connection of things” reads:
This is clear from ia4. For the idea of each thing caused depends on knowledge of
the cause of which it is the effect. (CW 451)
Generations of Spinoza scholars have had trouble seeing why iip7 is
“clear” from ia4, even if it seems to follow from ia4. What is evident is that
Spinoza’s demonstration tells us as much about ia4 as it does about iip7.
Iip7 relates two very different sections of the Ethics: an axiom from Part I
is used to derive a proposition from Part II. This “quotational” feature of
the mos geometricus is most evident in Part V, where Spinoza syncretically
combines definitions and propositions from different parts of the work to
show that the most abstract claims about God (Part I) and mind (Part II)
have bearing on our human blessedness. I will refer to this as contextual
quotation insofar as the quotation refers us to, and consequently evokes,
a different context from the immediate context in which the proposition
first appears.
A related way that Spinoza uses quotation is seen in another proposition
from Part II:
I i p 2 : Extension is an attribute of God, or God is an extended thing.
d e m : The demonstration of this proceeds in the same way as that of the preceding
Proposition. (CW 449)
This is one of the most controversial propositions in the Ethics for an ob-
vious reason, it states that God is a material being. It led Bayle and other
readers to think that Spinoza was a materialist. By referring the reader to
11p1, a far less controversial proposition, “Thought is an attribute of God,
or God is a thinking thing,” with exactly the same form both in its state-
ment and in its demonstration, Spinoza is not showing just the necessity
of iip2. He is also showing that the very same grounds for holding the
uncontroversial iip1 also hold for the very controversial iip2, and thus the
reader who holds one must hold the other (as they are both proven with
the same necessity). Spinoza is not unique in employing this sort of irony;
it is common in Hobbes’ works, particularly Leviathan.
Iip1 is clearly being quoted to ironic purposes in iip2, in addition to
actually providing the necessary deductive ground for iip2. This is not
just an extraneous point of literary interpretation. Part of the purpose of
showing the readers that iip1 and iip2 are kin is to help the readers rationally
to emend themselves from the prejudices that lead to them holding iip1 and
condemning those who hold iip2. I will call this ironic contextual quotation,
Maimonides and Gersonides 125
since it does not only refer the reader to a different context but also uses
quotations in a striking or surprising manner in order to make the reader
think. I only mean “ironic” in this limited sense.1
The import of ironic contextual quotation in the Ethics rests on a fairly
obvious structural feature of the Ethics, a kind of perspectivalism intrinsic
to Spinoza’s system. Part I of the Ethics primarily concerns nature from the
perspective of substance. In Part I Spinoza describes the ways that God can
be said to be a cause, both causa sui and as the immediate cause of countless
infinite modes. Hence, Spinoza treats highly abstract metaphysical ques-
tions from the rather lofty perspective of substance, in terms of the necessary
causes which effect all things and through which all things are determined.
These propositions are highly general, but Part I gives no account of how
they are to be brought to bear on particulars. Part I just affirms that from
first principles follow the determinations of modes and all particular beings
(ip25c), and that any theory that contradicts this metaphysics is incorrect
and its errors will show up in bad inferences (like Descartes’ theory of the
will). Nor can Part I give an account of how substance bears on particulars
in their particularity. To do so would be to explain how a finite particular
cause arises from the absolutely infinite, which seems impossible for finite
beings such as ourselves, given the strong divide between the finite and the
infinite which Spinoza consistently maintains.
Part II primarily concerns one particular attribute, the attribute of
thought (and to a lesser extent the attribute of extension), whereas Part I
concerns the infinite infinity of attributes. Part II describes how the at-
tribute of thought is internally structured (insofar as it describes the rela-
tions among thoughts), how it expresses the essence of substance, and most
importantly how human minds are what they are through it. Parts III–V,
on the other hand, primarily concern modes, particularly human modes,
in their interactions with other modes, aggregations, and most importantly
their qualitative differentiation (for example, how this affect [joy] is more
powerful than that one [jealousy] and why).2 Part V has a unique role in
that it describes how modes are related to substance not because they are
affections of it, but because they become affects3 which bring elation through
the practice of the intuitive science.
1 On ironic therapy in Spinoza see Amelie O. Rorty, “Spinoza’s Ironic Therapy: From Anger to the
Intellectual Love of God,” History of Philosophy Quarterly 17:3 (July, 2000), 261–76.
2 This is primarily the province of iii–vp20s. It is well described in vp20s.
3 Affectus (affect) and affectio (affection) are used differently by Spinoza, but represent two sides of the
same reality, from the perspective of substance and of modes respectively. For an opposing opinion
see Gilles Deleuze, Spinoza: Practical Philosophy, trans. Robert Hurley (San Francisco: City Lights
Books, 1988), 49.
This tripartite division also points to two even more fundamental
“directions” in the Ethics: the division, between natura naturata (modes)
and natura naturans (substance and attributes) divides the work between
Parts I and II and Parts III to V. It also points to two basic “directions.” Parts I
and II are a top-down metaphysics, explaining how what we are follows
from metaphysical principles, how, in the words of ip25c, “particular things
are nothing other than affections of attributes, or modes, by which an at-
tribute of God is expressed in a certain and determinate way.” Although this
gives us some purchase on what a mode is in abstractu, it gives us very little
purchase on what this or that thought is that a human has.4 This is the
“direction” of metaphysics, from substance via attributes to modes.
Although we know in Part II that “Man thinks” (iia2) and that the
“essence of man does not involve necessary existence” (iia1) it is not until
Part III that Spinoza offers a definition of the essence of man (“the appetite
therefore is the very essence of man” – iiip9s). This makes a great deal of
sense, since Part II explicates man primarily insofar as man is a thinking
thing like other thinking things, i.e. investigates generic features of thinking
beings. Part III begins with the particularity of the mode and moves toward
the modes understanding of substance in Part V. Of course it is essential
for understanding man that he be understood as a thinking thing, but in
Parts III and IV man is understood as a thinking thing with particular
determinate desires and particular affective structures which distinguish
him from other beings.
Although one may certainly dispute my reading of the difference between
I and II and III to V, that Spinoza holds a distinction seems evident from
the following passage from the TTP:
All, which we desire honestly, to these three are referred most strongly, to un-
derstand a thing through its first causes, to tame the passions, or to acquire the
habit of virtue, and finally to live securely, and with a healthy body (corpore).5 The
means, which directly bring about the first and the second, and which are able to
be considered as proximate and efficient causes, are contained in human nature
itself . . . but the means which bring about secure living and conserving the body,
are chiefly found in external causes. (TTP III, iii/46)
The third, living securely, refers to politics discussed in the TTP and beyond
the ken of the Ethics (since it concerns external causes, which will unfor-
tunately always exist and always remain external, the bodies and minds of
4 Book II distinguishes between types of knowledge, adequate and inadequate, and rules out certain
sorts of cognition (and objects of cognition) as intrinsically inadequate.
5 The word corpore applies both to an individual body, and a political body.
violent and stupid people). Spinoza here also clearly draws a line between
the understanding of things through their first causes – metaphysics and
epistemology – and an ethics or theory of the passions, a line between I
and II on the one hand and III to IV on the other.6
In these next sections I discuss how Spinoza’s way of using the geometrical
method for the purposes of internal quotation, both contextual and ironic,
has an analogue in Maimonides’ works, despite the fact that Spinoza likely
agreed with the entirety of Gersonides’ criticisms of Maimonides (which I
also discuss). I use this to return to the issue of definition to be treated in
the next chapter.
m a i m o n i d e s : co n t e x t a n d pe r p l e x i t y
The only philosopher whom Spinoza discussed anywhere near as much as
Descartes was Maimonides. His verdict was almost entirely negative, despite
the fact that Maimonides was central to the Jewish rationalist tradition. Yet
Maimonides’ model as presented in the Guide of the Perplexed still seems
to have impacted Spinoza.
Maimonides’ great work opens with an “Epistle Dedicatory,” to his pupil
Rabbi Joseph. This Epistle asserts that the ideal reader of the Guide should
have “a powerful longing for speculative matters,” a firm education in the
prevalent Aristotelian curriculum, and a thirst for understanding theolog-
ical issues that will be presented in “certain flashes.” But unfortunately
teaching this pupil is not easy. Maimonides was separated from Joseph by
the Diaspora as a result of the expulsion of the Jews from Spain. In the
Guide, Maimonides attempts to solve this problem.
Maimonides was quite aware of the danger inherent in communicating
important philosophical doctrines by letters or books; they could be read by
others who are not equipped to understand them, and who, furthermore,
could pervert them. Maimonides in fact emphasizes this danger, he quotes
a saying of the sages throughout the Guide: that the “Account of the Begin-
ning ought not be taught in the presence of two men” (“Introduction to
the First Part”). If the Account of the Beginning (i.e., Genesis/ physics) is so
great that it cannot be taught in the presence of two men, and the Account
of the Chariot (i.e., The Prophets/ metaphysics) is even more exalted and
hence more dangerous, then how can it be placed into a book which can be
6 There are two other notable pieces of evidence. First, Part II is in some sense an extension of Part I;
the first 10 propositions of Part II are derived entirely from the propositions, definitions, and axioms
which open Part I. Second, as noted, Part I has no preface, Part II a very brief one, and Part III a
very substantial one. This seems to signal that Part III is being set off from the preceding Parts.
read by anyone who picks it up? Furthermore Maimonides did not write
the Guide in Hebrew, which would have limited his readership to Jews, but
instead in the koine, Judeo-Arabic. Why did he write it in Judeo-Arabic,
and not even in the Mishnaic Hebrew of the Mishneh Torah?7
There are two interpretations within the tradition of explication of the
Guide. First, some argue that the remarks in the “Introduction” about the
exalted nature of physics and metaphysics were hyperbolic and meant to
scare readers away. Though Maimonides thought his work to be discussing
loaded and difficult scriptural texts, the main job of the Guide was to show
the brightest students how their “Greek” education did not contradict the
truth of their Jewish heritage. This reading has been the norm from the
medieval Jewish and Christian interpreters of Maimonides to recent inter-
preters like Harry Wolfson.8 For this reason the Guide could be written
in Judeo-Arabic, to be dispersed widely among philosophically talented
students.
The other main interpretation is that of Leo Strauss and Shlomo Pines.
Strauss felt that the hermeneutics proposed in the opening section of the
work must be taken seriously to read the work as a whole effectively. As
Strauss was nearly as willfully difficult as Maimonides, it is not at all clear
how he understood the hermeneutics or its application. Furthermore, his
opinions seemed to have changed over his forty-year engagement with
the Guide; but his general emphasis is placed on the fact that reason and
revelation are distinct and cannot be brought together, that Aristotelian
rationalism is something that is both subordinate to and secured by the
law.9 The hermeneutics are so difficult to apply that it can be written in
Judeo-Arabic, hidden in plain sight.
Whether or not we ultimately understand the conclusions that Strauss
draws from his treatment of the Guide, we can certainly agree that the
map of reading that Maimonides gives us must somehow be applied to
the text. And the question of how to apply the map of reading should
be central to how we ultimately interpret the Guide. Only by looking
at Maimonides’ way of reading his own text can we really understand
7 For a clear discussion of this question, see Isadore Twersky, Introduction to the Mishneh Torah (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1980), 324–54.
8 Wolfson has the most extreme interpretation and sees the Guide of the Perplexed as a “scholastic
apology of religion” (Wolfson, “Maimonides and Halevi,” in Studies in the History of Philosophy and
Religion [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1977], 160).
9 cf., Leo Strauss, “The Literary Character of the Guide of the Perplexed,” in Joseph Buijis (ed.),
Maimonides: A Collection of Critical Essays” (University of Notre Dame Press, 1988), 30–58. In this
essay Strauss argues that “the biblical tradition and the philosophic tradition are fundamentally
irreconcilable” (ibid., 47). See also, Leo Strauss, Philosophy and Law, trans. Eve Adler (Albany: State
University of New York Press, 1995).
his method (as with Spinoza). My reading of Maimonides is somewhat
heterodox, since I emphasize the importance of Scripture for him and
transcendent truths. I think ultimately that Maimonides believes in most
every case that Scripture and reason can be reconciled, yet the fact that
Scripture trumps in the end tells us something fundamentally important
about their relation. But a reader who reads Maimonides quite differently
from the way that I do can still accept my points about the relation between
Maimonides and Spinoza.
The “Introduction” to the Guide opens with the assertion: “The purpose
of this Treatise is to explain the meanings of certain terms occurring in the
books of prophecy.” Hence the work does not try to explain the whole
Torah, but specifically those things associated with prophecy. Maimonides’
interpretation of who counts as a prophet is wide, in a way typical of
the Islamic philosophers.10 As opposed to the Christians, the list of the
prophets includes both Moses and King David (we will discuss his division
of prophecy shortly). The mechanics he provides us with to understand the
Guide are set out in the “Introduction” and over the course of the work.
Prophets and sages use the form of the “parable” to tell their meanings
to the worthy few. A parable is a story difficult to understand through
itself, but which when approached with the proper keys reveals a “pearl.”
Maimonides uses a quote from Proverbs xxv:11 to illustrate this: “A word
fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.”11 The silver exterior
of the apple is enticing in itself and will satisfy those who do not have the
wherewithal to continue searching for the gold. This insures that only the
truly worthy will find its secrets.
Parables are of two kinds. In the first type of parable, each individual
word is coded in a different way and must be understood separately. By
way of example Maimonides provides a selection from Genesis where each
phrase is to be taken in a different way (though Maimonides does not tell
us how to interpret it, we might guess from clues provided in Book I).
In the second kind of parable the whole parable refers to a subject that is
not contained in its parts. Maimonides chooses a lengthy quotation from
Proverbs, concerning an adulterous wife seducing the youths away from
the true way. Maimonides argues that the quote is a caution against sensual
pleasures and the way that they may disrupt man’s pursuit of knowledge.
10 See, for instance, Avicenna’s “Commentary on De Anima,” in, Fazlur Rahman, Avicenna’s Psychology
(Oxford University Press, 1952), 36. This is a highly Neoplatonic account of prophecy, but it would
include Muhammad, Abraham, Moses, Isaiah, and many others.
11 Maimonides, Guide of the Perplexed , trans. and comm. Shlomo Pines, with intro. Leo Strauss
(University of Chicago, 1963), 11.
The problem is then how to explicate these two sorts of parables.
Maimonides does not wish to explicate them in an overt manner, as this
would make the secrets of the Torah open to all. So his solution is:
I know that among men generally, every beginner will derive benefit from some of
the chapters of this treatise, though he lacks even an inkling of what is involved in
speculation. A perfect man, devoted to Law and, as I have mentioned, perplexed,
will benefit from all its chapters. How greatly I will rejoice in them and how
pleasant it will be to hear them. But those who are confused and whose brains have
been polluted with false opinions and misleading ways deemed by them to be true
sciences, and who hold themselves to be men of speculation without having any
knowledge of anything that can truly be called science will flee from many of its
chapters.12
The reason for this is:
They are concealed things; none of them has been set down in any book written
in the religious community in the times of the Exile – the books composed in
these times being in our hands. How then can I now innovate and set them down?
However, I have relied on two premises, the one being [the Sages’] saying in a
similar case, It is time to do something for the Lord and so on13 the second being their
saying, Let all thy acts be for the sake of Heaven.14
Maimonides makes two important points in this passage. First, the Guide
is constructed so as to instruct those who are both “perfect” and devoted
to the Law, and to either partially or totally rebuff everyone else. Second,
and of great importance, the Exile is somehow essential to the Guide and
no instructive work has been written since the Exile.
Only the nearly perfect one will be able to navigate the parables and find
the pearls within. Hence, near perfection, or at least having mastered all
the conditions for perfection, is a precondition of both perplexity and the
resolution of perplexity. Since the secrecy of the message can no longer be
maintained by a theocracy as in the past (as the Jewish theocracy ceased to
exist with the destruction of the second temple) the text itself must prevent
all access. This is a political and philosophical problem forced upon the
Diasporic Jew.
The quotation I have just examined, and to which I shall return, makes
the reader aware of this duality. On the one hand, we are taking part in
a generic, transtheological reason. This allows us to debate with Islamic,
Christian, and Greek philosophers concerning abstract truths. On the other
hand, we are in a specific religious and historico-religious circumstance,
12 Ibid., 16. 13 Ibid. The text Maimonides quotes is Psalms 119:126.

14 Mishneh, Aboth, ii:17.
and within a tradition of local historical revelation.15 Does the historical
specificity intrinsically conflict with reason?16
The opening of the Guide exemplifies this problem. Three quotes from
Scripture are followed immediately by three different kinds of terms
prevalent in the logic of Maimonides’ day, “equivocal,” “univocal,” and
“amphibolous.”17 The introduction of the logical terms follows the classical
Aristotelian order of education, that one begins with the Organon (Book I
of the Guide), so as to set one’s terms into a definitional order, then pro-
ceeds to the natural sciences (Book II), and finally moves to metaphysics
and theology (Book III).
The three quotes which set off the Introduction are:
[1] Cause me to know the way wherein I should walk, for unto Thee have
I lifted my soul.18
[2] Unto you, O men, I call, and my voice is the sons of men.19
[3] Incline thine ear, and hear the words of the wise, and apply thy heart
unto my knowledge.20
Each of these quotes has surprising and interesting contexts, but I will only
discuss the first to give the reader the gist of Maimonides’ use of quotation.
It appears to be the prayer of a seeker of wisdom asking God for guidance,
such as the reader about to begin the Guide and seek knowledge. It is in
fact a prayer of David, after:
the enemy hath persecuted my soul; he hath crushed my life to the ground; he hath
made me dwell in dark places, as those that have been long dead . . . I remember
the days of old.
15 This is why people fight over holy sites like the West Wall in ways Spinoza would have thought
particularly detestable and idiotic.
16 At the end of the “Introduction” there are a further set of hermeneutical principles for dealing with
contradictions. They are of three sorts: (1) contradictions resulting from oversights of the author,
(2) contradictions used to hide truths from some readers and to impart these truths, (3) contradictions
which are in the nature of the material. The third kind is the most interesting, as we might ask
whether the contradictions between reason and revelation are of this sort (Maimonides, Guide,
17–18).
17 “Equivocal” means having different senses, “univocal” means having one sense, and “amphibolous”
is an odd category. The history of this classification is treated in Harry Wolfson, “The Amphi-
bolous Terms in Aristotle, Arabic Philosophy and Maimonides,” Studies in the History of Philosophy
and Religion (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1973), i:455–75. All three terms derive
from Aristotle, but the tripartite classification is due to Alexander of Aphrodisius and his Islamic
interpreters. In medieval Christian philosophy the amphibolous term, or mushakkikah, becomes
the “analogical.” The paronymous term of Aristotle, which is a grammatical concept, is placed
in between the two other types of terms. It is very interesting that beginning with Alexander a
grammatical alteration cannot have an existence of its own but must be seen as either univocal or
equivocal.
18 Psalms 143:8. 19 Proverbs 8:4. 20 Proverbs 22:17.
This dreary passage directly precedes [1]. The psalm, from which [1] is taken
ends on a retributive note:
And in thy mercy cut off mine enemies, and destroy all them that harass my soul;
for I am thy servant.
So what appeared, when taken out of its context, to be a perfectly harmless
quote, is in fact from one of the darkest moments in the Psalms: David’s
plea for the wrath of God from the cave. It speaks from a moment of perse-
cution, to those who have been persecuted and scattered by the Diaspora.
Maimonides is writing after having fled from Spain with his family, to a
similarly dislocated student. The picture of David crouching in the cave,
vanquished, calling the Lord to smite his enemies would appear quite ap-
propriate. But only a reader familiar with Psalms would know this.
Whenever confronted by a quote in Maimonides’ text, the reader must
pause and ask himself or herself: why this quote and not another? The
ability to uncover the nature of Maimonides’ quotational subtext, and the
previous discussion, adds up to the following.
The Guide: (1) presents a teaching method, used to present difficult ma-
terial to students over the long and treacherous distance of the Diaspora;
(2) assumes that the student is very advanced in both religion and phi-
losophy – Maimonides emphasizes that these are not the same; (3) uses
quotes in such a way that only the religiously attentive will understand
their importance and context. Hence the ostensibly clarifying tools of
Aristotelian logic point toward matters that are not “neutral” to their reli-
gious context, and the spiritual qualities of the individual, examining them
as clarified independent of the capacities (moral and religious) of the reader
to understand which parables are important, and which are not.
Maimonides’ method then, in brief, has the following structure. (1) Philo-
sophical and metaphysical doctrines are presented together in a book
that ostensibly provides access to all readers, in the order appropriate to
the subject. (2) Readers are equipped with a hermeneutics for decoding the
structure. (3) But, the hermeneutics can only be properly applied if the
reader is religiously, and morally, perfect enough to understand the con-
texts and canonical interpretations of the quotes, and their significance.
(4) The reader must also have sufficient philosophical education to under-
stand the philosophy, and its relation to revealed Scripture. The hermeneu-
tics is only useful if its philosophical application is also understood.
Finally, the whole method has a specifically Jewish context of the Exile,
through which its particular choices of emphasis (Ezekiel as opposed
to Isaiah), and quotation (the quote from Psalms above), can be really
understood. This context has a peculiar relation to metaphysics, as it neces-
sitates metaphysics (in that we have no theocracy, no temple, no Kingdom,
no peace), both in its universality and commonality, while at the same time
providing the moral ground and righteousness which allows us to make de-
cisions concerning matters which metaphysics cannot come to a conclusion
about: for example the creation of the world.
As noted at the beginning of this section, one cannot imagine a method
more different from Spinoza’s: convoluted, dependent on transcendent, and
transcending norms (the Torah, the destruction of the Temple, the Cre-
ation, the coming Messiah) for its axioms, definitions (i.e., Book I describes
various terms, whose sense is understood through the Torah), and ultimate
conclusions. Under a veneer of apparent calm, rational Aristotelianism –
analyzing words used in Scripture via the neo-Aristotelian distinction be-
tween univocal, amphibolic, and equivocal terms – Maimonides makes
their true sense nearly impossible to access except by the few.
Spinoza criticized Maimonides at great length in the TTP. He argued
that the laws of nature are immutable and fixed and that nothing can
transcend or surpass them, that God’s nature can be known by the fixed
and immutable knowledge of nature, and that all decrees and volitions in
Scripture should be understood as and through the order of nature (TTP
VI, iii/82). At the same time he attacked the idea that Scripture is a secret
repository of philosophical wisdom.
Spinoza also developed his own anti-Maimonidean scriptural hermeneu-
tics. Spinoza interpreted miracles as events surpassing human comprehen-
sion but having a natural cause (as opposed to a supernatural one embedded
in a supernatural text [the Torah] for Maimonides) (TTP VI, iii/90). He
replaced the Maimonidean context principles with his own historical con-
text principle, which instructed the reader of Scripture to try to understand
the motives of the actions described in “sacred texts” in terms of our histor-
ical knowledge of the period (as with any other ancient document) and the
psychologies of the historical actors (TTP VI, iii/92). Also, he instructed
the reader to understand the contexts of scriptural quotations, not in order
to access deep theological meaning, but instead to show their common-
sensical, or often false and ignorant meanings (TTP VI, iii/93). Finally,
Spinoza’s method, although it rebuffs many, invites any reader to take up
its historically and religiously neutral arguments.
Yet there are still symmetries between the TTP and the Guide. Both
Maimonides and Spinoza thought Scripture was concerned with the his-
torical and the moral, and both emphasized the centrality of reason. But
of course history and morality meant drastically different things for them.
Spinoza took various Maimonidean ideas, and neutralized them in such
a way as to show the truths they revealed as mundane. For example,
Spinoza argued that Scripture should be treated like any other text, and
that Maimonides viewed the actors and actions detailed in Scripture as in-
volving philosophical truths, and religious miracles, when he should have
simply viewed it as the primitive and superstitious ramblings of a tribe of
on again, off again, desert nomads. It is really a historical text like any other
(if not in influence or political dangerousness). It should be susceptible,
in principle, to the same sort of analysis that Spinoza’s beloved Tacitus
provided of Rome in the Annals.
gersonides
While this gives us an insight into what Spinoza viewed as wrong about
Maimonides’ method, it also gives us some insight into what Spinoza
thought right about his own. A method should be clear, should explain
everything in terms of the order of nature and its immutable laws, and
try to provide explicit intellectual and philosophical contexts. Spinoza was
not the first to formulate a rational philosophical method in opposition to
Maimonides. This was done by Spinoza’s great precursor along the Jewish
philosophical line, Gersonides. Unlike Maimonides, and like Spinoza,
Gersonides lived not in a dominantly Islamic culture but in a dominantly
Christian one: Provence.
In The Wars of the Lord , Gersonides set out to treat a series of diffi-
cult questions, all of which concern the border between philosophy and
theology, ranging from the relation between immortality and perfection
of intellect, to whether the universe is eternal or created. Gersonides was
interested in pushing the philosophical–theological question opened by
Maimonides to even greater extremes.
The task is very difficult, and has the whole universe as its subject.
Further:
this question [i.e., whether the universe is created and how] is a fundamental
principle for many other things. And it is clear that the true understanding of
principles is exceedingly valuable, since it leads to a true understanding of those
ideas that come after these principles; just as an error in principles is serious because
it gives rise to errors in those beliefs which are based on the principles, and political
happiness as is the case in this particular question.21
21 Gersonides, The Wars of the Lord , ed. and trans. Seymour Feldman (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication
Society, 1984), i:92.
Gersonides believed that his questions, and particularly the question of
creation, provided fundamental principles on which the ideas which follow
from the principles rested. This was, of course, perfectly Aristotelian. But,
in the characteristic fashion of Jewish (and Islamic) philosophy, he notes
that the repercussions can diminish our political happiness.22 Hence the
questions are, transitively, philosophical–theological–political questions.
These questions, and most centrally the question concerning creation,
are extraordinarily difficult. First, according to Gersonides his predecessors
have said little of interest about them. And what Gersonides’ predecessors
have said has had a deleterious effect on his potential readership. They
are closed to Gersonides’ inquiries because they “find in them something
unfamiliar to them by virtue of opinions they hold, which do not derive
from philosophical or religious requirements but which they have inherited”
and are unable to see past their traditional answers to such questions. Finally,
many think that these questions cannot and should not be answered because
Maimonides did not answer them.23 If the greatest Jewish philosopher could
not answer them, they can only be answered by a prophet. Philosophers
ought not bother.
As previously discussed in the section on Maimonides, the teaching on
prophecy is central to the Guide as it explains what sort of individuals are
capable of the most perfect knowledge. Maimonides seems to be claiming
that as the teaching on creation was initially divulged by a prophet (Moses),
maybe only a prophet could, and should, interpret it.
This is the orthodoxy that Gersonides attacks. He opposes it claiming
that:
It does not follow that what was not known by the former sages will also not be
known by their successors . . . Were this not so, a man would not [for himself ]
investigate any science but only accept what others have taught him . . . Moreover
if what we say on the matter is right, that which was thought to be shameful on
our part will turn out to be praiseworthy . . . If what we say turns out to be wrong,
then we will be blameworthy, but for this reason only.24
The assumption of orthodoxy is that all questions were best answered by
revelation at some point in the revealed past. As generations of philosophers,
22 Compare Averroes: “In addition to this knowledge of speculative science follows most eminently
and nobly the affects, or mores, as the end of the natural order will be to make clear the necessity to
be virtuous” (Averroes, Aristotelis De Physico Auditu Libri [ Venice: 1562], ii).
23 Here Gersonides is, like Spinoza, clearly attacking the tradition that transformed Maimonides the
philosopher into Maimonides the orthodoxy. Gersonides will make the philosopher’s point, “until
a proof is forthcoming that shows the impossibility of such a philosophical demonstration, this is
not a valid objection against us” (Gersonides, The Wars of the Lord, 96).
24 Ibid., 94.
from Gersonides to Salomon Maimon realized, the very existence of philos-
ophy challenges this assumption because it assumes the progress of knowl-
edge, and natural truth as the sole arbiter of this progress. Gersonides’
formulation of the problem is strikingly bold, even to a modern reader.
What sort of reader can take up this question? Gersonides assumes that
his reader is familiar with the philosophy, mathematics, and science of his
day, and accepts the principles demonstrated in them. But is the model of
the wise man – the prophet in Maimonides’ sense – the philosopher who is
additionally anointed by the powers of revelation? Gersonides gives a very
explicit and powerful answer:
A prophet is necessarily a wise man. Thus some of the things that are known by
him are peculiar to him as a prophet, e.g., most of the things he predicts that will
occur at a particular time; other things he knows simply because he is wise, i.e.,
the things that are known by him about the secrets of the world. The difference
between a prophet and a wise man, however, lies merely in the relative ease with
which the prophet obtains [his knowledge] . . . It is possible that there are things
that a wise man who is not a prophet cannot apprehend, but which can be known
by a wise man who is a prophet insofar as he is wise.
In Book II of the Guide, Maimonides sets out his account of prophets.
Prophets might be viewed in the following three sorts of ways. First, they
might be rude, untutored, but morally perfect individuals who are touched
by God, and given the power of prophecy – pure revelation. Their prophetic
skills are perfected irrespective of the perfection of their intellects. On the
second view prophets might be philosophically perfected intellects and
demand no additional supernatural anointing by God to be prophets, the
only requirement of being a prophet would be reason. Third, they might
be both morally and intellectually perfect as well as anointed by God.
This third account of prophecy demands a conjunction of both reason and
revelation. This seems to be the one that Maimonides opts for.
Gersonides uses Aristotle’s logical tool, the “qua” or “insofar,” to attack
Maimonides. The prophet, must, when compared to the wise man, be
judged insofar as he is wise, not insofar as he is a prophet. We therefore
compare wise man qua wise, and prophet qua wise, to discuss what they
are capable of knowing. It is certainly possible, even likely, that a prophet
can and does know more insofar as he is wise than a wise man. But there
is a fundamental continuity between the kinds of knowledge they have,
and thus the questions and subjects they investigate qua wisdom are the
same.25
25 This attack is fulfilled in the opening chapter of the TTP.
To investigate the questions qua wisdom one must be a wise man and
part of the “community of the philosophers.”26 Hence, the Maimonidean
criterion of moral and religious perfectibility27 for access to the golden
apples of wisdom and Scripture is not really a pre-condition for Gersonides.
In philosophy proper, qua philosophy, and not revelation and philos-
ophy intertwined as in the case of Maimonides,28 there is no need to
hide anything. In fact “it is not proper for someone to withhold what
he has learned in philosophy from someone else. This would be utterly
disgraceful.”29
If the investigator is a would-be wise man qua wisdom, and if the
truth presented by Gersonides is universal and not grounded in any
specific religious doctrines or traditions, then what sort of method and
presentation is adequate to the task? Gersonides lays out seven criteria
for his method. It is here that his similarities to Spinoza become most
evident.30
First, “there are things such that the knowledge of some of them precedes
by nature the knowledge of others.”31 This is both the case within a sci-
ence and for multiple sciences. These things are prior both with regard to
order (i.e., of demonstration) and nature. They are also, this is the second
point, more general and their premises are employed to prove more specific
theorems.
Third, and crucially, a work of philosophy is not written primarily for
the pleasure of the author but “to impart to someone else . . . [i]t is therefore
necessary that he try to present the material in such a way that the reader will
achieve the intended purpose of the book.” The author should therefore
begin with the easiest subject matter and progress to the more difficult
subject. Writing a book is a didactic duty, and on these grounds Gersonides
opposes himself to both Maimonides and Averroes:
26 Gersonides, The Wars of the Lord, 97.

27 Gersonides sarcastically refers to his detractors as “the perfect ones” (ibid., 97).
28 “If the literal sense of the Torah differs from reason, it is necessary to interpret those passages in
accordance with the demands of reason,” and also, “the Torah is not a law that forces us to believe
false ideas; rather it leads us to the truth to the extent that it is possible” (ibid., 98).
29 Because, “just as this entire universe emanated from God for no particular advantage to him, so
too is it proper for someone who has achieved some perfection to try to impart it to someone else”
(ibid., 97).
30 There are a number of other similarities, particularly Gersonides’ Averroistic necessitarianism. But
these similarities ought not to be overstated. Gersonides is a radical Aristotelian, but fundamentally
an Aristotelian. The difference comes out strongly on the question of the infinite, as Gersonides
denies the existence of an actual infinite. See Charles Touati, La Pensée Philosophique et Théologique
de Gersonide (Paris: Les Editions de Minuit, 1973), 221–3.
Those authors, however, who do not follow this procedure but increase obscurity
either because of poor organization or opacity of language so that the easy becomes
difficult, defeat the purpose for which they have written their books. They have
actually increased the perplexity of their readers as well as not having given them
anything worthwhile, unless it was the intention of the author to conceal [his ideas]
from the masses so that only a few would understand [his words], because such
ideas would, if understood, cause harm to the masses. Occasionally the author
intentionally adopts this device when he suspects [his book] contains flaws or
weaknesses.32
The primary purpose is to teach, and, if the student discovers flaws in the
argument, so much the better, for they do not destroy an orthodoxy which
must be kept at all costs33 but help the universal progress of learning. Rather,
a philosophical education is directly opposed to orthodoxy.
The fourth point addresses the priority of demonstration. If a sentence
is needed to prove multiple propositions it must come before. Similarly
the fifth point states that if one must resolve one horn of a dilemma,
before asserting the other, then the resolution of the dilemma should take
place before one of the two propositions is asserted. Both of these are
fairly evident principles of demonstration (but maybe not evident to a
Maimonidean).
Gersonides’ sixth point gets to the heart of the matter for both himself
and Spinoza. I have quoted it in chapter 3 but it bears being quoted again
in light of what we know about Maimonides and Gersonides:
[A]n author realizes that some of his discussions explain things that are strange to the
reader because of the opinions with which the latter is familiar and habituated from
youth, so that the reader is upset by them even if he finds no logical inconsistencies
in them, and hence for this reason would be prevented from obtaining knowledge
from the rest of the book then the author should arrange the material in a way
that is appropriate to what he wants to convey to his reader . . . This kind of tactic
is similar to that employed by physicians of the body and of the soul, and it is
necessary to use such a tactic because of the disposition of the patient. Such an ill
person [i.e., the reader] must be introduced gradually to the therapy . . . Therefore
when an author realizes that the reader has corrupt opinions, whose contraries he
is about to establish, he should uproot them step by step . . . Hence the author
should try to dissipate that which nourishes those opinions before he actually
uproots them.34
32 Ibid., 101.
33 Maybe they do destroy the orthodoxy, but nothing Gersonides cares to keep qua wisdom.
Finally, it is essential that the reader be able “to discern the reason for
the arrangement”35 that the author has adopted, and to see how the latter
propositions in a work rely on the former. If this were not the case, the
reader would have to look to an outside resource to interpret the work, and
it would need a rabbi or an authority other than that of the author himself.
Thus, whatever the presentation of the work, and to whatever didactic
purpose, it must be evident to the reader. Perhaps Spinoza is not quite as
successful at this as Gersonides (although the reason for the basic structure
is quite evident).
Most of Gersonides’ points are contrasted, often explicitly, with
Maimonides’ method. Maimonides presents an esoteric and hermetic
method demanding moral and intellectual near perfection, beginning with
more particular theses and moving to more general ones. He provides little
instruction and both affirms and uproots orthodox opinions. Gersonides
attempts to instruct the reader in a clear manner from the most general
theses in a way such that the arrangement is always apparent to the reader
and will help to uproot irrational beliefs and replace them via a process of
rational therapy with rational ones.
As I have suggested, we can clearly see the didactic elements of Spinoza’s
method in this presentation in the emphasis on: the precedence of the
more general over the more particular; the lucidity of structure; the notion
of method as therapy uprooting false and tenaciously held opinions and
replacing them with true ones; the lack of reliance on transcendent or
external sources; the notion of the prophet as the wise man; and so on. In
fact, were we asked to read Gersonides’ “Preface” not knowing who had
written it, we might suppose it to be penned by Spinoza.
But despite these affinities there is also something Maimonidean in
Spinoza, albeit drastically altered by context. In Maimonides’ Guide, scrip-
tural quotation forms the axis of the work, the transcendent structure that
grounds and responds to the metaphysics. Hence the work has a dou-
ble structure, a transcendent core placed within a rational hermeneutical
method. In Spinoza’s Ethics, there are no transcendent crowns – the term
that Maimonides sometime used for the golden apples of wisdom only
available to the select few. But there are certainly more or less powerful and
important propositions, as Spinoza clearly thought to be the case with ip7,
ip16, iip7, and iiip4. These are the propositions that are continually contex-
tually quoted in such a way as to emphasize their importance. We see them
35 Ibid.
as fonts of a variety of different rational claims, in our scholarly discussions
of Spinoza as well as in reading the Ethics. But, when we view them this
way, we only consider them in part qua the second kind of knowledge,
i.e. as propositions chained together in a rigorous and necessary deduction.
We also regard these propositions as powerful first principles that initiate
sequences of propositions that are dependent on them, and draw together
prior propositions in their demonstrations.36 Because we consider them in
relation to and in comparison with other propositions, we clarify our own
intellects when we compose and divide them. Our ultimate goal, though,
is to consider such propositions in themselves and as arising from God.
Now one might object that, although this may seem intuitively plausible,
are not all propositions equally rational, equally necessary, and hence equally
important – sub specie aeternitatis? There are two responses. First, what arises
from a given idea seems for Spinoza a testimony to the power, importance,
and reality of an idea.37 This is clear from his distinction between the
properties that can be inferred from a real being, versus the properties
that arise from a being of reason or a simple being.38 In this sense the
mysterious principle espoused at ip9, “the more reality each thing has, the
more attributes belong to it” assumes a far more general Spinozist principle:
that reality is convertible with causal force and efficacy, that what a being
is is its activity and its activity is to be understood as rational or causal
activity. This can also be said of ideas, that the more causal (or deductive)
force an idea and the more illative necessity arises from it, the more reality
and importance that idea has.
Second, when we continuously refer to certain ideas, and much comes
of them, we know that these are important ideas, and so, in Spinoza’s de-
duction, they take the place of the role of scriptural quotation in a work
like the Guide. One might comment that there is no particular intrinsic
relation between Maimonides and Spinoza on this issue. This fact holds
as much of Euclid’s geometry and the parallel line postulate as it does of
Spinoza’s ia4. But, for Maimonides, as opposed to Euclid and like Spinoza,
these propositions are particularly important to leading humans to greater
36 There are numerous affinities between my interpretation of the importance of the non-linear char-
acter of some aspects of Spinoza’s method and the work of Diane Steinberg. See, Diane Steinberg,
“Method and the Structure of Knowledge in Spinoza,” Pacific Philosophical Quarterly 79:2 ( June
1998), 152–69. Steinberg’s paper had not appeared when I initially worked out this analysis of Spinoza’s
method, but I have benefited since from her careful discussion.
37 Each being, each mode, each idea has an effect, and this effect has an effect ad infinitum (ip28, ip36).
Consequently it is trivial to say that some ideas result in infinite chains of ideas since all modes do.
But some ideas are clearly more important for our particular human essences, and these are the ideas
that we view as important.
38 Cf. Letter LXXXIII, to be discussed in the next chapter.
blessedness. Although they are in and of themselves truths, like any other
truths, they are particularly important for us. Unlike Scripture, they are
thoroughly accessible rational notions. Like Scripture, they are particularly
fundamental claims from which other truths important for us derive, and
their contextual quotation gives a work a synchronic structure (in addi-
tion to the obvious diachronic force of Hobbesian synthetic deduction or
Cartesian analytic investigation).
Spinoza’s Ethics attempts to provide a fully immanent, rational text, with
no recourse to external justifications, i.e., particularly revealed ones. But
in a strange way Spinoza retains something of the general structure of the
Guide of the Perplexed , its emphasis on “crowns” and on both the linear and
non-linear nature of method, while also accepting and incorporating all of
Gersonides’ criticisms. In particular, like Gersonides, Spinoza views phi-
losophy as a generally therapeutic venture for many sorts of intellects, not
just communication between the cognoscenti and illuminati. Philosophy
teaches all intellects to properly understand and reorient themselves toward
God so as to make the idea of God the font of cognition. And all adequate
ideas have a direct connection to God since they include adequate knowl-
edge of God. It is recognizing which ideas help we human beings most in
this search for beatitude that is key.
Thus, in Spinoza’s Ethics we have a real guide for the perplexed, one that
actually stimulates and gets rid of perplexity (by showing the irrationality of
this perplexity). It is interesting to examine Spinoza’s discussion of prophecy
in this light. As previously noted, Maimonides outlines three possible ways
to interpret prophets. Prophets are the key to revealed knowledge as prophets
are the means by which revealed knowledge is transmitted. First, a prophet
might be an unphilosophical, morally perfect individual touched by God.
Second, he might be a perfected intellect, as the philosophers say, and
demand nothing additional to this. Third, he might be both morally and
intellectually perfect and anointed by God. Maimonides seems to argue
for the first. Gersonides argues for a restrained version of the second in
emphasizing the continuity of revealed and non-revealed knowledge. He is
close in this to Spinoza’s friend Meyer, another ultra-rationalist interpreter
of Scripture (albeit a Lutheran).
Spinoza agrees with Gersonides’ arguments that the sort of knowledge
that philosophers have should not be degraded by comparison with the
knowledge of prophets, per se. But he then uses this to argue for a position
akin to the first, the orthodox position, since what characterizes a prophet
for Spinoza is a powerful imagination, not the intellect (TTP II, iii/112–16)!
Hence Spinoza rids the readers of the prophets of their perplexity not
by showing the deep revealed fruits hidden within, nor by showing the
fundamental rationality of everything, but by dividing between those sorts
of things, beings, ideas, and types of knowledge capable of being adequate
causes, and those terminally incapable. Prophecy is terminally incapable,
and our perplexity will only be dissolved by recognizing it for what it is.
co n c lu s i o n
Spinoza is not interested in the force or power of ideas as such. He is
interested in how these ideas are important for human minds, how they “can
lead us, by the hand as it were, to the knowledge of the human Mind and
its highest blessedness.” Thus, ideas will have more or less importance for
humans pursuing their blessedness. A whippet, or a piece of stardust, need
not “know” the structure of the human mind and body for its blessedness
(whatever that might be). This does not mean that Spinoza views the world
as anthropocentric in any way, shape, or form. Rather, he is able to instruct
those whose essences are like his own, and this is beneficial for him as
well as for those instructed (at least before his death in 1677, and perhaps
for eternity depending on how one reads Part V!). One of the things we
must learn is how to move from the sort of anthropomorphism used by
theocratic communities to back their political authority to a true analysis
of human nature. This is extraordinarily difficult, for it means learning to
analyze man in a non-anthropomorphic way, moving from viewing man
as an imperium within an imperium, to man as one part of nature, but the
centrally interesting one for human blessedness.
Ultimately, certain propositions are particularly important, not because
man is made in the image of God but because man is the part of nature
that man knows best and this knowledge can best express the power of
nature. To return to our worm, we have now understood a bit more of its
predicament. Let us imagine that as it floats through the blood it encounters
other worms. These worms might suggest that the best way to understand
the principles that regulate the blood is to allow that worms have a special
access, a revealed access, to these regulative principles, as opposed to chyle
and lymph. But our worm must recognize, like Gersonides and, above all,
like Spinoza, that such a special status is deeply dubious and self-destructive.
Rather, our worm needs to understand what it is in relation to other worms
and in itself. This is where the clues lie to the mystery of the blood. When
Spinoza suggests that the infinite power of nature insofar as we finitely
perceive our bodies is the solution to the worm’s predicament, and ours,
he is suggesting just this. The worm needs to examine and clarify its own
ideas both through method and in relation to others in order to understand
its own essence. Once it understands its essence it can begin to understand
the adequate causes that will make it happy and free.
In chapters 4 and 5 we have seen a number of different ways of thinking
about method that are incorporated into the structure of the Ethics. As
with Hobbes’ and Zabarella’s synthesis (or compositiva), a mos geometricus
shows the causal force in propositions in relation to clarified first princi-
ples, and this arises in the form of a linear, necessary deduction. As with
Descartes, this deduction cannot be derived from the senses, and rather
entails an investigation and clarification of the understanding independent
of the senses. As with Gersonides, and in opposition to Maimonides, the
method must be lucid, therapeutic, move from the more general to the
more particular, and link our desires to a proper understanding of God.
Finally, as with Maimonides, the mos geometricus will display a synchronic
structure in addition to the obvious linear illative necessity. But, if the mos
geometricus has all these features, and if a radical “wiping the slate” of the
Cartesian variety is unavailable to Spinoza, then we sorely need a means
of finding definitions to get the method off the ground. The ways Hobbes
and Maimonides might seek definitions will not do. So, where to find
definitions?
chapter 6
Definitions in Spinoza’s Ethics: where they come

from and what they are for
Here readers will doubtless come to a standstill and they will imagine
many things that will give them pause. This is why I ask that they
continue with me, stepping slowly, and that they move forward and
not judge until they have read everything through.
Ethics iip11s
Spinoza’s discussion of method in the TIE concludes with his incomplete

attempt to provide a means by which to discover adequate definitions.
Why are definitions so important for Spinoza? In order for a philosophy
to be rational and adequate it must be grounded in a “true and legiti-
mate definition” (TIE 99). This would hold for many philosophers other
than Spinoza, notably Hobbes. It also seems to be a given of deductive
or Euclidean modes of philosophizing. Weigel, Leibniz’s teacher and en-
thusiast for the mos geometricus, emphasized that the Euclidean method,
unlike the account of science that Aristotle gives in Physics, moves from
known to unknown.1 Rather the Euclidean method was consistent with
Aristotle’s Analytics, and Weigel argued that it could lead to a reconcili-
ation of the old and new wisdom. For Spinoza, the mos geometricus is a
process that gets at things and ideas, and in so doing provides us access to
the logical and metaphysical structure of the world we inhabit. And any
geometric demonstration must begin with definitions. So definitions are
the crucial wedge that moves us beyond our part of nature, our limitations,
and opens up the understanding to those things excellent, difficult, and
rare.
But what are good definitions and how and where do we find them?
In this chapter I will try to answer these questions. I will argue that, for
Spinoza, definitions are both nominal and real, that we move from com-
mon and shared conventional linguistic definitions to real definitions, and
adequate ideas, through a process of emendation like the one outlined in
1 Erhard Weigel, Analysis Aristotelica ex Euclide restituta (Jena, 1659), iii.2.13, §1.
144
Definitions in Spinoza’s Ethics 145
chapter 3. I will argue that this is one of the primary purposes of the mos
geometricus.
ts c h i r n h au s’ qu e s t i o n
As Spinoza lay sick with the illness that would shortly claim his life, he en-
gaged in some of his most important correspondence. Notably, he answered
a number of searching questions from Walther Ehrenfried von Tschirnhaus.
Tschirnhaus was a German nobleman of real philosophical skill (and later
of some scientific import), who had met Spinoza in the mid-1760s and had
been given a copy of at least a good part of the Ethics. He had a particularly
lucid mind, and thought through and voiced some of his objections to
Spinoza with impressive clarity. Spinoza thought well of Tschirnhaus, and
responded to him with a bit less vagueness than was his usual custom.
Spinoza’s final extant letter (excluding the late, undated “Letter to a
Friend” which became the “Preface” to the unfinished TP) was to Tschirn-
haus and concerned the status of definitions in the Ethics. Unfortunately
the letter seems to shed little light on the apparently intractable problems
posed by definitions. In fact, the letter seems to make a difficult problem
that much more obscure.
There are two obvious problems concerning definitions for Spinoza.
First, how does one find and recognize adequate or true definitions? Where
do the definitions that begin each part of the Ethics come from? One can try
to answer the question by tracking down the sources of each definition, as
Harry Wolfson attempted to, or one can analyze their structure in minute
detail like Martial Gueroult and a host of others. The first approach tells
you from whence but not why, the second theorizes why but is unable to
explain how Spinoza arrived at these particular definitions as opposed to
other plausible definitions. I have already engaged a bit in the why, with
regard to the definition of God, now I will turn toward the whence as well.
I cannot promise fully to answer this question, there is just not enough
textual evidence in Spinoza decisively to come to a conclusion on it. But,
I will offer a hypothesis, based on a few pieces of corroborating evidence,
that provides a coherent means by which Spinoza could justify his choices
of definitions, and is consistent with a convincing picture of the Ethics as
a whole.
A second problem is what Spinoza meant when he wrote in the demon-
stration of ip16 (“Out of the necessity of the divine nature must follow
an infinite infinity of modes (that is all which can fall under an infinite
intellect)”) that:
[O]ut of the given definition of some thing the intellect infers (concludit) many
properties, which in truth necessarily follow from the same (that is out of the very
essence of the thing) and furthermore, the more reality the definition of a thing
expresses, the more reality the essence of the thing defined involves.
There are many problems with this passage, among which are: Is “the
intellect” finite, infinite or both? On what basis, given his emphasis on
individuals, can Spinoza maintain a hierarchy of real definitions in terms
of their expression? It is certainly the case that the attribute of thought,
as a whole, expresses the essence of substance as such insofar as it is in
the definition of an attribute to express the essence of substance. But it is
not clear that the finite logical forms and definitions which we discover
have such a purchase on metaphysical reality, nor that there is any way of
claiming that X has more reality than Y.
I believe part of the answer is in Spinoza’s response to Tschirnhaus.
Tschirnhaus asked Spinoza:
In Mathematics I have always observed that from anything considered in itself,
that is from the definition of anything, we are able to deduce at least one property,
but that if we desire more properties, then we must relate the thing defined to
other things; then if at all, from the combination of the definitions of these things
new properties result. For instance, if I consider only the circumference of a circle,
I shall not be able to infer anything except that it is alike at all points, or uniform,
in which property it differs essentially from all other curves. But I shall never be
able to deduce any other properties. If I however relate it to other things, say, to
the radii drawn from the center, or to two or also more intersecting lines, then I
shall in this way be able to deduce some more properties. This seems to me to a
certain extent to oppose Proposition XVI of the Ethics, which is almost the most
important one in Book I of your Treatise. In this it is assumed as known that several
properties can be deduced from the given definition of a thing. This seems to me
impossible, unless we relate the defined thing to others. As a consequence of this I
cannot see how from an Attribute, considered in itself, for instance from infinite
extension, there can arise a variety of bodies. (Letter LXXXII)
This is a reasonable objection. In any sort of actual mathematical practice,

definitions are incapable in and of themselves of producing various prop-
erties. It is only in combination with other definitions that a multiplicity
of things, consequences, or inferences result. Furthermore, Tschirnhaus
implies that Spinoza’s claim that definitions have different degrees of in-
ferential power according to their different degrees of “reality” is false.
Regardless of the reality of the thing and its correspondent definition, only
one or at most a few properties can be inferred from a definition taken in
isolation.
Spinoza’s response is particularly mysterious:
As to what you say . . . that from the definition of each thing considered in itself
we can deduce one property only, this may be true in the case of the most simple
things, or in the case of things of reason (under which I also include figures) but
not in the case of real things. For from the mere fact that I define God as a Being
to whose essence belongs existence I infer several of his properties, namely, that
He exists necessarily, that he is unique, immutable, infinite, etc. And in this way I
might adduce several other examples which I omit at present. (Letter LXXXIII)
This is not a very revealing answer, but it raises a number of questions about
definitions. First, Spinoza distinguished between definitions of real things
and definitions of beings of reason such as the sort of geometrical definitions
that Tschirnhaus uses as an example, and the definition of the “most simple
things.” Although it is not clear what the “most simple things” are, Spinoza
is clearly implying that Tschirnhaus’ analogy from mathematical entities to
real beings is unwarranted.
Spinoza did not explain what the differences are between the definitions
of real things, the definitions of the simplest things and beings of reason.
But he gave an example, the definition of the most real thing: God. We
can conclude from this that Spinoza thought the definition of God to be a
far better model for ip16 than Tschirnhaus’ mathematicals, and unsurpris-
ingly so. God is the one substance, the absolutely infinite being, the divine
nature from which follow an infinite infinity of modes. Hence God is the
appropriate being to discuss in re Spinoza’s claim.
But, of course, by saying various sorts of things arise from the definition
of God, Spinoza is just restating ip16, and not in a particularly edifying
way. Why does Spinoza think this answers Tschirnhaus’ objection? It is a
rich question. But first let us turn to Spinoza’s theory of definition.
genetic definitions
In the TIE Spinoza gave two basic criteria for definitions of created things:
1. If the thing is created, the definition, as we have said, will have to include the
proximate cause. E.g., according to this law, a circle would be defined as follows:
it is the figure that is described by any line of which one end is fixed and the
other movable. This definition clearly includes the proximate cause. (TIE 34)
2. We require a concept, or definition, of the thing such that when it is considered
alone, without any others conjoined, all the thing’s properties can be deduced
from it (as we have seen in the definition of the circle). For from it we clearly
infer that all the lines drawn from the center to the circumference are equal.
(TIE 34)
He also emphasized that all the properties must be able to be inferred from
the definition when considering the definitions of uncreated things:
4. Finally (though it is not very necessary to note this) it is required that all the
properties follow from its definition. (TIE 35)
These passages are similar to Spinoza’s response to Tschirnhaus, showing
continuity in Spinoza’s thinking about the question of definition over a long
period of time. There is one additional passage in the account of definition
in the TIE that does not appear to be so consistent with the Ethics. Spinoza
claimed that the definition of an uncreated thing:
Should exclude every cause, i.e., that the object should require nothing else except
its own being for its explanation. (TIE 34)
It seems to directly contradict the following comment Spinoza made to
Tschirnhaus in an earlier letter:
In order that I may know from which idea of a thing, out of many, all the properties
of the object may be deduced, I observe one thing only, that the idea or definition
of the thing should express its efficient cause. For example, in order to investigate
the properties of a circle, I ask whether from the idea of a circle, that it is composed
of innumerable right angles, I can deduce all its properties: I inquire, I say, whether
this idea involves the efficient cause of a circle. Since this is not so, I seek another,
namely that a circle is the space which is described by a line of which one end is
fixed and the other moveable. Since this Definition expresses the efficient cause, I
know that I can deduce from it all the properties of a circle, etc. So also when I
define God as the supremely perfect Being, since this definition does not express
the efficient cause (for I conceive that an efficient cause can be internal as well as
external) I shall not be able to discover all the properties of God from it; but when
I define God as a being, etc. (See definition VI, Part I, of the Ethics; Letter LX).
Gueroult has noted that Spinoza is expressly altering his earlier stricture
against ascribing causes to uncreated beings in this letter.2 Here, God is also
expressly defined causally, in terms of an internal efficient cause. There is no
need, though, to claim, like Gueroult, that the earlier stricture represents
a drastically different theory of definition3 – despite the obvious difference
in attitude toward the definition of uncreated things. It seems equally likely
that, in the passage from the TIE quoted above, Spinoza is just ruling out
external causes, and this is why he distinguishes between external causes
and internal causes for Tschirnhaus. But, even if one need not agree with
Gueroult that there is a drastic change in Spinoza’s theory of definition, it
2 Martial Gueroult, Spinoza I – Dieu (Paris: Aubier-Montaigne, 1968), 172–5.

3 See Herman De Dijn, Spinoza the Way to Wisdom (West Lafagette, IN: Purdue, 1996), 189.
is clear that Spinoza is emphasizing a particular sort of definition. Gueroult
rightly considered “genetic” or generative definitions, definitions capable
of generating the beings along the Hobbesian and maker’s knowledge lines
I considered in prior chapters, as key to understanding the Ethics, and
Spinoza’s philosophy as such.4 For Gueroult, the definition of God offered
a synthesis of the infinity of attributes in and through one substance, which
ruled out the possibility of a multiplicity of substances each with one
attribute, and provided a causal account of God through this synthesis.5
Gueroult concludes his discussion of ip10 (which is the crucial proposition
in this synthesis) with a catalogue of features of the definition of God which
begins with, God “is explicated by its very being, because the infinity of
attributes which give an account of it are precisely that which intrinsically
constitutes its being.”6 Thus God is supremely intelligible and supremely
rational. This, for Gueroult, is something both implicit in the definition
of God which “is defined genetically by its internal structure (constitution
intime)”7 and arrived at by a process culminating at ip10.
Furthermore, he argued that through the genetic definition of God,
Spinoza’s Ethics mirrors the structure of nature. The mos geometricus was
consequently a necessary, strict, causal deduction dependent on genetic
(or generative) definitions, particularly the genetic definition of God. Ac-
cording to Gueroult, Spinoza derived his theory from Hobbes’ De Corpore
(the first part of his Elements of Philosophy) and Examinatio Mathematicae
Hodierne.8
Gueroult treated genetic definition by first discussing definition in gen-
eral in Spinoza’s philosophy. There are two possible ways to view Spinoza’s
definitions, first as “definitions of things” and second as “definitions of
words,” categories that roughly correspond to real or nominal definitions.
4 As will be obvious in the foregoing, I am indebted to Gueroult. I have two fundamental disagreements
with his interpretation though. First, as will be evident, I do not view the Ethics as just a linear
deduction (Matheron also diverges from Gueroult on this). Second, I do not view genetic definitions
in quite the same way, and consequently I consider Spinoza’s method to be both synthetic and
analytic, as is befitting a truly emendative therapy. These make my take on Spinoza look drastically
removed from Gueroult. In many other ways, though, it is quite close to Gueroult (and Matheron).
5 It does not seem to me that Spinoza has a strong commitment to substances with one attribute or
substances with more than one attribute in the opening propositions of the Ethics. Consequently I
do not view the definition of God as producing the sort of synthesis which Gueroult has in mind.
As should be evident from the “Introduction,” I do not agree with Gueroult’s claim that “sovereign
perfection and infinity does not rigorously define the essence of God, but arises from this essence
insofar as it is constituted by an infinite infinity of eternal and infinite attributes” (Gueroult, Spinoza
II – Dieu, 168), when Spinoza expressly claims God to be absolutely infinite in id6.
6 Ibid., 175. 7 Ibid., 67.
8 Gueroult discusses Hobbes and genetic definitions at length in both I and II, but see particularly
Gueroult, Spinoza II – L’âme (Paris: Aubier-Montaigne, 1972), 483–5.
Both are mandated, to some extent, by passages in the PP (PP i:128). But
how does this apply to the Ethics? Gueroult writes:
On the one hand, they express that which we understand by such a word: in this
sense they are nominal definitions; on the other hand, they describe that which
the things are in themselves: in this sense, they are the definitions of things or true
definitions. They are thus at once Definitions of words and Definitions of things.9
Gueroult illustrated this assertion with Spinoza’s primary example of the
generative definition:
If, for example, I say “I understand by a circle a figure produced by a straight
line of which one extreme is fixed and the other moving,” I explicate that which I
understand by the word circle: it is a nominal definition; and if at the same time I
assert that it is the true nature of the circle: it is a definition of the thing. But, it is
evident that a complete definition must be both at the same time.10
It is not exactly clear what Gueroult meant. Certainly it seems that, for
Spinoza, definitions are “real” in the way Gueroult claims, that a true def-
inition actually presents the nature or essence of some thing. And it also
makes sense to say that a “nominal definition” explicates what is understood
by the word “circle.” But what does it mean to say that a “complete defini-
tion” is both nominal and real? And is “a nominal definition” just a word
attached to those mental sentences I associate with “circle” – a “nominal
definition” in the narrowest sense – or is it what is generally commonly
understood by “circle”?
Regardless, the nominal and the real are united for Gueroult in genetic
definition – and this seems quite correct as I will argue, although perhaps
in a sense removed from Gueroult’s intentions.11 Gueroult treated genetic
definition numerous times in his Spinoza volumes, and twice at some
length, once in a general treatment of definitions in Book I and more
thoroughly in his discussion of the “intuitive science” – iip45–7. It is treated
twice because of the two sides of the issue, what genetic definitions are and
how we know through and with them. The former question concerns the
structure of a genetic definition and what it expresses. The latter concerns:
9 Gueroult, Spinoza I – Dieu, 33. 10 Ibid., 34.

11 Curley states: “I think we must quickly put to one side Gueroult’s suggestion that they are both
real and nominal definitions. To say this would be to say both that a good definition must satisfy a
condition of conformity to an object existing outside the intellect and also that it need not satisfy
such a condition, but need only be internally consistent and consistently adhered to. And I do
not see how any definition could be held, at one and the same time, to two incompatible sets of
requirements,” (Curley, “Spinoza’s Geometric Method,” 159–60). Curley’s criticism is quite fair. I
will respond to it below.
the infinite or finite understanding, [which] knows God, not as an opaque fact
(donné), but in his reason, and the things, not as just facts, but in their production
by substance, and describes them, not externally, but according to their essence or
their efficient cause. It follows that all his definitions are genetic.12
Thus, when the mind, whether finite or infinite, knows God and the
things that arise from God according to their internal causes and essences, it
knows them “genetically” – insofar as they arise from and are generated by
their efficient causes. Gueroult believed Spinoza’s emphasis on definition in
general to be an important divergence from Descartes, since Descartes had
criticized the use of logical definitions “in an attempt to explain what was
already very simple and evident” (Principles, i.10).13 Despite this, Cartesians
did emphasize the importance of definition. Arnauld and Nicole discussed
the need for philosophers to use explicit definitions14 but not for those
things that are evident and need no definition. But certainly there is a drastic
difference in emphasis between the Cartesians and Spinoza. Although there
were many important terms that Spinoza left undefined, it is clear that he
wished to define, explicitly, his most important metaphysical concepts, as
opposed to recognize them as evident and undefineable. This is another
feature of his philosophy that has much more in common with Hobbes
and Bacon than with the Cartesians.
h o b b e s , a r i s tot l e , a n d t h e a r i s tot e l i a n s o n
definitions
Spinoza’s way of treating definitions has four main sources. The first and
most important source was the Hobbesian/Baconian way of treating defini-
tions emphasized by Gueroult. A second somewhat less important source
is to be found in the neo-Scholastic and Renaissance treatises on logic
that Spinoza had in his library (Bartholomeus Kekkermann), and likely
read (Franciscus Burgersdijk) or quoted (Adrian Heereboord). Burgersdijk
and Heereboord were somewhat idiosyncratic Dutch neo-Scholastics who
attempted to syncretically present a mixture of Scholasticism and the mod-
ern philosophy. The third source of Spinoza’s theory of definition is the
Cartesians: Descartes, Arnauld, and Nicole, as well as Cartesio-Scholastics
12 Gueroult, Spinoza I – Dieu, 33.

13 Descartes emphasized this consistently from the Regulae (AT x, 426) to the Search for Truth (AT x,
523).
14 The first two rules of the method of the sciences were “Leave undefined no expression which is at all
obscure or equivocal” and “In definitions use only those expressions which are perfectly understood
or already explicated.”
like Johannes Clauberg15 (whose works Spinoza owned and who influ-
enced Spinoza’s friend Meyer’s Philosophia S. Scripturæ interpres) and the
Hobbesio-Cartesian Velthuysen.16 The neo-Scholastics and Cartesians pri-
marily influenced Spinoza’s theory of definitions negatively, they were a
backdrop against which Spinoza developed his very different theory. A
fourth and more remote source is to be found in Maimonides and Gerson-
ides, but I will consider them only in passing as they seemed to have little
impact on the more technical aspects of Spinoza’s theory of definition.
Hobbes is the most important source of Spinoza’s theory of definition,
and by far the greatest influence. Hobbes emphasized, in terms extremely
similar to Spinoza’s, that scientific cognition is the understanding of effects
through causes, in order, then to use causes to bring about desired effects.
Describing the former, Hobbes wrote:17
How the cognition of an effect is acquired from cognition of a cause, is easily
understood via the example of a circle. Given a roughly circular plane figure, it
is difficult to tell whether or not it is a circle. But if the figure given is known
through its generation, it is very easy to tell whether or not it is a circle. A figure
is made by drawing one end of some body18 around the other end which remains
fixed; thus we will be able to argue, this body drawn around is always joined first to
one radius, then to another, then to a third, a fourth, and successively to each and
every one; and therefore the same length touches the circumference everywhere
from the same point. And thus it is understood that from this generation arises a
figure where at each limit a radius touches one middle point. (DC i.5)
Genetic definitions should be the basis of proof because, “the goal of proof is
the scientific knowledge of causes and the generations of things; and if this
scientific knowledge is not in the definitions it cannot be in the conclusions
15 Catologus van de Bibliotheek, 28–9. On Clauberg see Theo Verbeek (ed.), Johannes Clauberg
(1622–1665): and Cartesian Philosophy in the Seventeenth Century (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1999).
16 Velthuysen was both an important popularizer of Hobbes, and a defender of Descartes. Cartesian
and Hobbesian voluntarism fit together well (although this may seem odd to twentieth-century
readers given that they are epistemologically at antipodes, and given the nastiness of Descartes’
replies to Hobbes’ Third Objections to the Meditations) within the avante-garde of Calvinist and
Lutheran political theory. The most eminent example is Pufendorf (despite his numerous criticisms
of Hobbes). Spinoza likely wished to have the favour of Velthuysen, who was horrified by the TTP
to Spinoza’s great surprise. One wonders why Spinoza was surprised given Velthuysen’s voluntarist
bent. On Velthuysen, see Catherine Secretan, “La réception de Spinoza aux Pays-Bas au XVIIe
siècle,” Studia Spinoziana 3 (1987), 27–45.
17 Spinoza seems to equate axioms and postulates (as opposed to postulates and definitions). See the
“Postulates” after iip13.
18 Hobbes’ discussion is quite clumsily written, given Hobbes’ rhetorical genius, as he is trying to
present a particular anti-algebraic, constructivist account of geometry – that geometry concerns
bodies. I have translated the passage quite loosely, but there is no way to get rid of (nor should
one try) his constant use of the word “corporis.” This perhaps is not so surprising in a work called
De Corpore.
of the syllogism which is first built up from definitions” (DC i:73). Thus
one builds up definitions ex cognitione generatione, as universal, compositive
structures that allow us to generate and compose a wide range of artificial
beings, figures, and notions, out of simpler notions and causes. We then
may employ them to judge what a given thing is, and/or to know how and
why it is. Obviously this theory eschews the diaretic mode of definition –
i.e. defining a given being in terms of the genus/species hierarchy – that was
employed by many “moderns” including Clauberg.19 Hobbes’ definitions
are closer to the causal definitions arising from propter quid demonstra-
tions discussed in Posterior Analytics. But there is an important difference.
Aristotelian causal definitions arise from and are convertible with demon-
strations. Hobbesian definitions are the basis for demonstrations. Genetic
definitions are ideal for proofs, as they maintain causal connections at each
stage of the syllogism or proof, and thus are able to show that the conclu-
sion is caused and or generated by the premise. With genetic definitions
the conclusion is both proof and pudding, so to speak.
Traditionally, definitions are divided into two types, nominal and real
(or essential), as seen in the discussion of Gueroult. As Arnauld and Nicole
described it, nominal definitions were the provenance of the geometer,
who operated with beings of reason, and thus stipulated and arbitrarily
fixed nominal definitions in order that there could be no equivocation
about their meanings.20 Nominal definitions were “nominal” insofar as they
clearly set out what a name meant (as opposed to expressed the real essence
of some thing). But according to Arnauld and Nicole, who emphasized the
importance of nominal definitions in demonstration, even the geometers
argued about the meaning and content of their supposedly secure nominal
definitions.
Obviously, one’s account of nominal definitions presupposes a theory of
language, particularly of how words relate to and stand in for things, and
an account of what sort of access nominal definitions give one to reality. A
nominalist like Hobbes would limit all definitions to nominal definitions,
understood to be conventionally agreed upon meanings of names that
correspond to passions of the soul. This would deflate the pretensions of
a science of universals that supposedly has some traction on “horseness”
beyond this thing, the name horse, and the passion elicited in my soul. A
19 Johannes Clauberg, Logica: Vetus et Nova (Amsterdam: Elzevir, 1658), 127. Hobbes uses a diaretic
procedure for the analysis of causes at DC iv.4. This method does not assume a pre-given genus and
species hierarchy. Rather it appears to be derived from Zabarella’s regressus. See Spinoza’s criticism
of definitions by genus and difference at KV i:7.
20 Arnauld and Nicole, Logique ou L’Art de Penser, iv.4.
realist might emphasize real definitions as over against nominal definitions
and argue that each nominal definition is merely an imperfectly understood
real definition.
But the realist/nominalist distinction does not always mean either a great
deal or quite what we think it does, even in the late Middle Ages.21 The
dispute between a philosopher like Arnauld on the one side and Hobbes on
the other concerns less what nominal definitions are than how important
they are to knowledge and in what areas. For Arnauld, they are of limited
but crucial importance in geometry, whether Cartesian or more traditional.
For Hobbes, they are the basis of all understanding and what arises from
it. Particularly in De Corpore, philosophy concerns two sorts of bodies:
natural and civil. Natural bodies are considered in natural philosophy and
civil bodies in civil philosophy, which is further subdivided into ethics and
politics. Logic and method primarily deal with clarifying, organizing, and
structuring language such that one clarifies, organizes, and constrains the
bodies that are named by words. Whoever controls language, controls this
process, and organizes and constrains bodies, civic and natural. By creating
nominal definitions, and they must be nominal definitions in order to
be mutable, one can constrain meanings in such a way as to generate a
well-regulated, productive polity.
One might wonder whether or not the distinction between real and nom-
inal definitions, although important for Hobbes, Arnauld and Nicole, and
the Cartesian and syncretic logicians gives us much purchase on Spinoza’s
account of genetic definitions. Spinoza does not use this terminology. But,
even if the terminology does not apply, the question is still important –
does Spinoza view his definitions as nominal or real?22 First we need to
examine genetic, causal definitions more carefully.
The emphasis on causal definitions is as old as the first systematic theory
of definition: Aristotle’s account of scientific definitions in the Posterior
Analytics. Even the emphasis on efficient causal generation is not particularly
original to Hobbes. It can be found to some extent in Bacon’s Forms, likely
21 See Gyula Klima, “Buridan’s Theory of Definitions in his Scientific Practice,” at http://www.
fordham.edu/gsas/phil/klima/Burdef.htm.
22 In a more general way we might say that Hobbes and Spinoza respectively seem to provide nominal
and real variants on a shared genetic theory of definition. This is reflected in the ways that they
define circles. Hobbes defines “circle” via experiences of sensible bodies. A circle is “a figure made
by drawing one end of some body around the other end which remains fixed.” Spinoza’s definition
is far more abstract and assumes no sensible particulars: “a circle is the space which is described
by a line of which one end is fixed and the other moveable.” But, despite their drastically different
theories of cause, both philosophers consider the mark of the adequacy of their respective definitions
of the circle to be whether it gives the cause. So we must think about what it is that makes a causal
definition causal.
a major influence on Hobbes’ theory (even if Hobbes’ experience as Bacon’s
secretary was not a pleasant one). But Hobbes, in locating the principles of
generation in the definition, made methodologically explicit (via the use of
genetic definitions) what was implicit in Bacon, that to know something
was to organize it in such a way that it could be constructed by human
method. As Hobbes states about philosophy as such: “The end or scope of
philosophy is, that we are able to use previously observed effects for our
benefit” (DC i.6): scientia propter potentiam (DC i.6).
Hobbes seems to assume that there is one best genetic definition of a
given thing, but this is not a necessary consequence of his theory. In a
surprising discussion of Adam he makes an additional, important point.
“A solitary can be a philosopher without a teacher. Adam was able to be
one. But to teach, that is to demonstrate, assumes two, and syllogistic
speech” (DC iv.11). According to Hobbes’ theory we may discover various
propositions in a solitary manner, but we need explicit definitions when we
demonstrate, and thus attempt to communicate and teach. Consequently,
the “definition” sits in between the “analytic” Adamic investigation, and
the “synthetic” post-Fall demonstration.
Where, then, does the necessity lie in the definition? For Hobbes the ne-
cessity of a proposition is understood primarily in terms of the traditional
identity of subject and predicate, an analytical necessity. Hobbes emphasizes
that a proposition like “if X then Y” can be eternal and necessary even
if X and Y do not exist, and this hypothetical necessity is the primary
form of necessity.23 Hypothetically, necessary propositions ultimately rest
on first principles as propositions and definitions capable of generating
knowledge and power. Hobbes argues that these first principles arise from
an analytical procedure that begins with the senses and moves to speculative
knowledge through a process of resolution. Once discovered, the definition
becomes the basis for a synthetic procedure that allows philosophy to be
communicated to others, and to attain the goal of using definitions to
organize and constrain bodies and citizens to and for productive ends.
This is different (but perhaps not as different as one might expect) from
the Cartesian picture, where analysis is communicable but only to a select
few, and synthesis is necessary to popularize truths sanctioned by and com-
municable through analysis alone.
Although Spinoza is in general agreement with much of this Hobbesian
picture, and although it seems evident that much of Spinoza’s own theory
23 For Hobbes, all propositions are definitional, and, conversely, all definitions are also propositions.
Definitions are just those propositions which function in a syllogistic chain as primary anchors
(DC iii.9).
as presented in the TIE is derived from it (or a parallel source), there
are cardinal points of disagreement. For Spinoza, the first principles on
which a method rests could not be derived from the senses, as they would
ultimately be derived from the imagination or first kind of knowledge,
and consequently they would be inadequate. Nor could a definition be
hypothetically eternal and necessary in the sense that Hobbes advocates.
Nor could the definition be primarily a nominal and linguistic entity as it
is for Hobbes (to be discussed in the next section). Consequently genetic
definitions must have a different source, which would result in a different
account both of their generativity and of their necessity.
spinoza on definition
Given Hobbes’ theory of genetic definitions, let us now begin to consider
Spinoza’s account of definitions as it is found in the TIE (which I have
already quoted above) and in Spinoza’s letters. There is little explicit treat-
ment of definition in the Ethics, excepting a brief discussion at IP852. I
am assuming, in using the theory of definition as presented in the TIE to
explicate the Ethics, that Spinoza did not alter his theory substantially.
The one example of possible substantial change is Spinoza’s emphasis on
causal definitions of the highest sorts of beings in the Ethics, as opposed
to his denial that the highest sorts of beings are defined through causes
in the TIE. But, as I noted, this distinction can be construed as between
definitions of things with external causes and the highest sorts of beings
which have no external causes and only internal ones (which is the same
thing in beings whose essence involves existence).
At iiip4 Spinoza counterposes determination by external causes with the
definition that “affirms the essence of the thing itself, but does not negate.”
Consequently “affirmation” seems interchangeable with internal causation.
I can see no further evidence that he did alter his theory, and strong counter-
evidence that he chose to distribute the TIE late in his career, and espoused
doctrines about definition similar to those presented in the TIE throughout
the 1660s and 1670s. Thus the assumption seems relatively uncontroversial
to me, but must be noted.
In the TIE Spinoza laid out the following schema of definitions. The goal
of a method requires that we conceive of a thing either through its essence
alone, or through its proximate causes. If a thing is said to be causa sui or
in se (TIE 92),24 then it should be understood through its essence alone.
24 This passage is of great importance for interpreting the Ethics: (1) because Spinoza explicitly identifies
in se and causa sui; (2) causa sui is described as vulgo, or a common concept.
The idea that one might have a perfect definition of infinite things went
against the arguments of many of his contemporaries, including the theory
of definition proposed by the Calvinist neo-Scholastic Burgersdijk (whose
logical works Spinoza owned and almost certainly read).25 As we have seen
it was also ruled out by Hobbes, but not necessarily by the Cartesians. To
argue that infinite things have the most perfect definitions is extremely
radical, it implies that the essential definitions of infinite beings are fully
rationally accessible.
If a thing is not in se, and if it requires some cause for its existence (whether
external or otherwise), then its cause, or causa proxima, must be given. And
conversely, if we acquire more perfect knowledge of the effect through the
cause, we also gain more perfect knowledge of the cause. Spinoza goes on
to say, in a footnote:
Note, that by this it appears that nothing of Nature is able to be understood by us,
which does not conversely render more ample [our] cognition of the first cause, or
God. (TIE 92 n.f.)
Scientia provides definitions both of things that are causa sui (if you accept
my argument that the TIE and the Ethics are basically consistent on this
point) and things that have causes external to them. In the case of knowl-
edge of things with external causes – causal definitions – we learn both
about the definiens (the defining cause) and the definiendum (that which
is defined through or by the cause). This also holds of the definition of
God. Thus, the method which Spinoza describes provides us with greater
knowledge of even causa sui things (or thing), through understanding their
effects.
A substance has an essential definition that posits no causes external to
the substance itself. Modes are defined via their proximate causes, which
must be substances or attributes if we are to show the necessity in the modes.
But this does not mean that a mode relates to substance in such a way that
it tells us nothing about substance. As Spinoza famously put it at vp24:
“The more we understand singular things, the more we understand God”.
As I have previously noted, this proposition is very controversial. It seems
clear that Spinoza does not mean that all knowledge of modes results in
25 Burgersdijk described perfect definitions as explicating what a thing is in itself, and then immedi-
ately remarked that we cannot have perfect definitions of any infinite thing, much less of God
(Franciscus Burgersdijk, Institutiones Logicorum Libri Duo [Amsterdam: Joannem Ravestinium,
1665], 150). Spinoza’s general framework (although obviously not its content) conflicts less with
the more moderate Calvinist neo-Scholastic Heereboord, who advocated an innatist account of the
idea of God in line with other aspects of the reformed tradition. See H. A. Krop “Natural knowledge
of God in neo-Aristoteliaism,” in E. P. Bos and H. A. Krop (eds.), Franco Burgersdijk (1590–1635)
(Amsterdam: Editions Rodopi BV, 1993), 81–2.
a knowledge of substance, but only a particular sort (which I will discuss
in the final chapter). Furthermore this does not mean that this knowledge
enters into the definition of God, but rather we, humans and worms, learn
something about God, and God’s definition, via this understanding.
Why definitions and not axioms? In the TIE Spinoza emphasized that
universal axioms (TIE 93)26 are incapable of determining us to the con-
templation of one singular essence or another. Rather we need to discover
definitions of singular things upon which the axioms can operate27 in order
to form thoughts from some particular affirmative essence or from a true
and legitimate definition. Only then will we be able to discuss particular
things and their causes, and refer them back to the first cause.28 This does
not mean that axioms are unimportant in comparison with definitions, they
are extremely important, but ultimately they depend on definitions for any
sort of “traction” they have on actual things. We are used to thinking of
axioms, for example in axiomatic set theory, as fundamental and definitions
as of far less importance, but for Spinoza axioms are literally subordinate
to definitions insofar as they arise from common features of beings that
have essences and definitions. For example Spinoza would have to view
“All bodies move or are at rest” (iip13a1) as deriving from the definition of
the IIM of motion and rest in the attribute of extension. This would be the
case for all other axioms as well: there is evidence for this at iip40s1 (ii120)
were Spinoza assumes that axioms are founded on secondary notions or
general concepts. If this is the case, as it appears to be, then the better we
understand axioms the better we understand the definitions from which
they derive (and vice versa).
Therefore, because definitions are more fundamental than axioms in the
sense outlined above, it is very important that we have good definitions,
26 This changes somewhat in the Ethics where common notions have a more fundamental role, but
we still do not derive individuals directly from them. On the normative status of common notions
see Yirmiyahu Yovel, “The Second Kind of Knowledge and the Removal of Error,” in Y. Yovel and
G. Segal (eds.), Spinoza on Knowledge and the Human Mind (Leiden: Brill, 1993), 93–110.
27 Steenbakkers has noted that this differentiates Spinoza’s method from a modern axiomatic system
like ZF (Zermelo–Fraenkel set theory), and thus implicitly criticizes authors like Joel Friedmann
(see “An Overview of Spinoza’s Ethics,” Synthese 37:1 [1978], 67–106) and Charles Jarrett (see “The
Logical Structure of Spinoza’s Ethics, Part I,” Synthese 37:1 [1978], 15–65) who have attempted to
give axiomatic presentations of Spinoza’s Ethics. Although I agree that the Ethics is not an axiomatic
system like ZF set theory (but for rather different reasons) it is not because of the importance of
definitions. Set theory has objects that are organized into sets, and one can and does restrict ranges
of objects and sets. One also defines objects. Steenbakkers is correct though that for Spinoza the
definitions are fundamental and the axioms are dependent on them, where the converse is true in a
modern axiomatic system. See Piet Steenbakkers, Spinoza’s Ethica From Manuscript to Print (Aachen:
Van Gorcum, 1994).
28 Hobbes is, again, quite similar on this point.
definitions that explicate the most intimate (intimam) recesses of the thing.
If we say that a circle is the figure that is defined by having only equal
lines drawn from the center to the circumference, we know little about
the circle (TIE 34).29 It may not matter much for some sorts of math-
ematics (although it probably does), but if we ignore it in physics, ge-
ometry, and metaphysics “we shall undermine (pervertemus) the necessary
connection of the intellect, which ought to refer to the connections of
nature.”30
The force of Spinoza’s claim (pervertemus) is surprising given the ap-
parent similarity between this definition that Spinoza rules out and the
definition he embraces in the earlier letter to Tschirnhaus, that “a circle is
the space which is described by a line of which one end is fixed and the
other moveable.” The difference between these two definitions lies in the
fact that Euclid’s definition only describes the circle, Spinoza’s definition
provides the means of generation, and consequently the proximate cause
of any given circle.31 Furthermore, following Hobbes, it is generative since
it is able to provide the conditions of circlehood, so we might see if a given
closed, convex figure satisfies the conditions.
A definition must also:
require that all properties of the thing, when it is examined alone, and not conjoined
with others, are able to be concluded from it, as it is seen in the definition of the
circle. (TIE 96)32
This condition is the one that troubled Tschirnhaus in his letter to Spinoza.
The legitimate definition of the circle is such that all properties of the
29 This is Euclid’s definition of the circle (Elements, ID15).

30 “Concatenatio” is translated by Curley as “connection” (CW 39). This is the only reasonable way
to translate it (as far as I can tell) but it fails to distinguish it from connexio which Spinoza uses
in the formulation of iip7. Concatenatio has the sense of linking together, and thus emphasizes the
active, creative aspect of method, the mind’s linking together of ideas and natures, as opposed to a
connection which we passively receive.
31 Another example of Spinoza’s ruling out of non-genetic definitions is his criticism of Borelli’s figurals:
“I shall take Borelli’s example. Suppose someone says ‘Let two straight lines enclosing a space be
called figurals.’ If he understands by a straight line what everyone understands by a curved line, then
his definition will be a good one, provided he does not subsequently understand [by it] squares and
other figures . . . But if by a straight line he understands what we commonly understand, the thing is
completely inconceivable. So it is no definition. Borelli whose opinion you are inclined to embrace,
confuses all these things completely” (Letter IX; CW 194–5)
32 The passage from the TIE could be referring to any sort of “other,” as aliis is a dative plural, and
the ending is the same irrespective of gender. Spinoza has often been accused of having bad Latin,
because his constructions are very simple, and he tends to use a word order in his sentences not
far removed from contemporary Dutch. Using the simplest word order, aliis would refer to other
properties of a thing.
circle,33 including Euclid’s definition of the circle, can be concluded out of
it without recourse to anything beyond the properties of the circle.
We might immediately object, there are countless facts about circles
that cannot be derived from this definition. But there are a number of
qualifications that must be kept in mind. First, in Spinoza’s response to
Tschirnhaus’ question, he admits that only a few properties of mathematical
or geometrical figures can be derived from a given definition. Second, there
are many aspects of circles, particular circles of particular sizes for example,
that Spinoza would discount by saying that number is external to the essence
or definition of the circle (ei8s2), and whatever “circleness” said particular
circle has is ultimately reducible to the definition.
Third, and most controversially, Spinoza does not rule out the use of
axioms in conjunction with the definitions of the circle, he is rather claiming
that no other definition is necessary. It might be responded that in order to
understand a particular given feature of a circle we might need to construct
a tangent line or inscribe the circle. It seems that Spinoza would allow this –
the definition does not rule it out – but would add that once a property of
the circle is discovered it would have to be concluded out of the definition
of the circle or it would be a definition of a circle and the definition of
another figure, and consequently not a unique property of the definition
of the circle.
Spinoza adds the following qualification to this theory of definition:
Every definition must be affirmative. I mean intellectual affirmation – it matters
little whether the definition is verbally affirmative; because of the poverty of lan-
guage it will sometimes perhaps, [only] be able to be expressed negatively, although
it is understood affirmatively. (TIE 35)
This signals a great divergence from Hobbes. For Hobbes, philosophy
is entirely intertwined with language as a consequence of the arbitrary
imposition of names on things. Even truth and falsity do not exist inde-
pendent of language (DC iii.8). For Spinoza, human language is just, at
best, a pointing toward ideas that have all of their basic features (truth,
adequacy, content, etc.) independent of language.34 A good definition as
written or spoken in a natural language can at best point toward an idea,
33 Curley notes that perhaps Spinoza meant proprium, a property which all and only members of
a species have, as opposed to proprietas or property (CW 652). It would be far easier to see how
proprium might arise from a definition. Unfortunately Spinoza uses proprietas.
34 This does not mean that thought does not have a logical structure; it does. Nor that there is not
some sort of “language of thought” à la Fodor, perhaps there is and perhaps that is what human
language is pointing toward in a mutilated way. There is a long tradition of “mental-word” theory,
of which Hobbes’ theory of mind is a nominalist variant.
but the recognition of the idea to which the words point involves some-
thing quite different. Does the mind to which the word is pointing already
have this idea? Steenbakkers remarks, after Jaspers, that “whoever is not a
convinced Spinozist can simply ignore all the ‘cogently’ deductive proofs.”
While this may be a bit overstated, it is certainly true that the proofs will
mean nothing to one who does not already have the ideas in a manner
sufficiently clear that they are able to recognize their ideas in Spinoza’s
words.35
Hobbes concluded his discussion of the thoroughly pervasive nature of
language with the remark: “Speech has something similar to spiders’ webs:
for they stick in the words and the most squeamish and tender minds
are ensnared, the strong however break through” (DC iii.8). Although the
metaphor is confusing as a description of Hobbes’ philosophy of language,36
it is, with slight modification, appropriate for Spinoza. Much as was the
case for Bacon and Descartes whose theories of language Spinoza’s own
theory (as minimal as it is) closely resembles and derives from,37 language
is a snare. It is a snare, though, which is useful for fixing and pointing to
ideas, provided one admits its gossamer thinness and its stickiness.38
If definitions cannot be ultimately rooted in language (as they are for
Hobbes), what then gives them sanction? At the root of all caused beings
is the prima causa (or the uncreated thing of the TIE).39 Insofar as all
definitions give a cause of the thing defined, that cause, too, must have
a definition. The cause, in turn, must either be something not in need
of definition, or have a cause in need of definition. We are led conse-
quently to either an infinite regress or to definitions that have their causes
35 Parkinson notes, “I suggest, on the other hand, that Spinoza assumes that, before they read the
Ethics, his readers already have some kind of knowledge of the truth of the proposition” (G. H. R.
Parkinson, “Definition, Essence, and Understanding in Spinoza,” in J. A. Cover and Mark Kulstad
[eds.], Central themes in Early Modern Philosophy: Essays Presented to Jonathan Bennett [Indianapolis:
Hackett Publishing, 1990], 64). I owe the genesis of my own interpretation of method, and emphasis
on the importance of the TIE in understanding the method, to this essay (as well as to the work of
Edwin Curley).
36 The metaphor is confusing in Hobbes as we ultimately burst through the spider web to language.
So, from the spider web to another perhaps more useful web.
37 See Marcelo Dascal, “Leibniz and Spinoza: Language and Cognition,” Studia Spinoziana 6 (1990),
119.
38 This has an important consequence for a theory of toleration. Insofar as we can never be quite sure
what ideas correspond to speeches, we need to be extremely liberal about the speeches we allow, and
only ban them on the basis of empirical and pragmatic negative results – sedition or crowing “Fire”
in a crowded movie theater. Of course, as Hobbes would likely point out, this is easier said than
done, but see TTP XVII.
39 Later Spinoza eschews the created, uncreated language, or reduces it to just causation. The fact that
God is uncreated might lead to the idea that God is uncaused. I think, though, that by “uncaused”
here Spinoza again means not having an external cause.
internal to them or at the very least are affirmative in such a manner as to
need no external cause. For Spinoza, the definition of an uncreated being
ought to:
1 exclude all causes, and require only its own being to explicate it;
2 make all questions as to whether or not a thing is, extraneous;
3 be explained without recourse to abstractions and only through substan-
tives which cannot be converted into adjectives;
4 be constructed such that all properties of the thing defined can be inferred
from the definition (TIE 97).
The fourth criterion is very similar to the second given in the definition
of the created thing. The first is the negation of the first criterion given
in the definition of the created thing (although with the caveat I have
previously noted). The third criterion is strange, but very important for
understanding Spinoza’s theory of definition.
De Dijn has taken (3) to rule out the use of words like “infinite,” “good,”
and “perfect” in defining God.40 Spinoza is likely ruling out “good” and
“perfect” (insofar as they are also adjectives). He seems to have a particular
aspect of Latin in mind with this criterion, that one can use an adjective like
bonus also as a substantive in the plural, i.e., boni, the good (ones). Spinoza
wants to rule out such usages since they are not grounded in any existent
thing, but rather are substantives constituted from abstract, “universal”
categories that have no grounding in metaphysics.
This also explains one of Spinoza’s stranger definitions, id8. Although
it is not entirely clear what Spinoza means by, “By eternity I understand
existence itself, insofar as it is conceived to follow necessarily from the
definition alone of the eternal thing” (CW 409), the form of the definition
follows directly from this stricture. One might think that “eternity” means
something in and of itself in the same way as “infinity.” But “eternity” only
means something insofar as it refers to that being which is eternal, and more
particularly the way in which “existence itself” follows from the definition
of the eternal thing. Thus “eternity” only has meaning qua its referent.
Now, given that these are the ingredients that go into a definition of an
uncreated thing, we might think about whether or not the eight definitions
that Spinoza presented us with at the beginning of the Ethics satisfy them.
Both d2 (“finite in kind”) and d5 (“mode”) are clearly definitions of created
things. d8 (“eternity”) violates the third criterion (as discussed above),
although “eternal thing” likely does not. d7 (“that thing is called free”)
could be considered a definition of an uncreated thing. It gives no cause
40 Helman De Dijn, Spinoza: The Way to Wisdom (West Lafayette, IN: Purdue, 1996), 158.
beyond itself, but the word “free” is equivocal in the same sense as eternity,
and the definition of the “free thing” is coupled to the definition of the
“necessary” thing, which is describing being caused as such.
There are four remaining definitions which might be considered defi-
nitions of uncreated things: God, substance, attribute, and causa sui. Of
these four, two, that of substance and attribute are included in one: God.
This is why Gueroult considers the definition of God to be the only real
definition of an “uncreated” being.
And then there is the definition of causa sui. As previously noted, Spinoza
refers to the expression causa sui as vulgo in the TIE, and identifies it with
“in-itselfness.” He does not define it in the Ethics as “in-itselfness” but rather
as “that the essence of which involves existence, or that, the essence of which
is not able to be conceived, unless as existing,” (id1). This definition is the
crux of ip7, which identifies causa sui with substance and thus shows that
it “pertains to the nature of substance to exist.” Ip7 is the proposition that
Spinoza points to as a would-be axiom for those who are able to distinguish
substance from its modifications (ip8s2). Ip7 is also the basis for ip11, the
proof of God’s existence.
Should we rule out “causa sui” on the basis of criterion 3, that it can be
used adjectivally? Although “eternal” can apply to the infinite modes “causa
sui” cannot – as previously noted the essence of eternal modes does not
involve existence and thus they fail to satisfy the definition. Furthermore,
although it is not part of d6, unlike substance and attribute, it is the
“property” of God which allows us to prove God to exist, and thus to
satisfy the second criterion above (ip11). Thus it is very difficult to rule out
either as a definition of an uncreated thing (despite the expression being
vulgo), or as an integral part of the definition of God, since it is that property
of God from which arises the evident existence of the definiendum.
a p re l i m i n a ry re s p o n s e to ts c h i r n h au s ’ qu e s t i o n
There is a further reason for not ruling out causa sui, which returns us
to Tschirnhaus’ objection, the problem which opened this chapter. Given
what we now know about definitions and the ways in which they are to
be understood as genetic and causal, it is high time to consider whether
Spinoza responds to Tschirnhaus’ question “at its most important point.”
Or is he merely avoiding it?
G. H. R. Parkinson, sees this point as pivotal to understanding the inad-
equacies inherent in Spinoza’s method. As is clear from Spinoza’s response,
Spinoza accepts Tschirnhaus’ objection as applied to beings of reasons,
mathematicals, etc., but not as it applies to real things. Parkinson con-
cludes that:
the implications of Ep. 83 are that things do not follow from God in the same
way that the theorems of mathematics follow from definitions and axioms; that, in
other words, the Ethics presents in mathematical dress a system which is not strictly
mathematical. Two main problems arise. First, what is the nature of this system?
When Spinoza insists on the importance of deduction, going so far as to say that
all things can be deduced from God, what exactly does he mean? Second how (in
the light of what is shown of the nature of Spinoza’s system) is the “geometrical
order” to be interpreted?41
Parkinson judges the method as in some ways appropriate, but more
basically misguided and based on a misunderstanding of the distinction be-
tween analytic and synthetic a-priori truths, later to be clarified by Leibniz.42
He judges this misunderstanding to arise from Spinoza’s misguided desire
to explain in what sense modes follow from God, and in particular how
modes follow from the definition of God according to his poor analogy
with mathematical deduction. Spinoza was thus unable to answer Leibniz’s
friend Tschirnhaus.
But the most interesting fact about Spinoza’s response goes unobserved
by Parkinson (and any other interpreter I know of ). Spinoza writes that
God’s properties can be deduced “out of this alone, that I define God to
be a being to whose essence pertains existence.” Now, as we have seen
from our survey of the definitions which open the Ethics, this is not the
definition of God, but the definition of causa sui, with the replacement
of“ involvit” in the original definition with“ pertinet” ! God is undoubtedly
causa sui, as God is a substance, but the fact that substance is causa sui is
not demonstrated until ip7! And it is here that Spinoza describes existence
as pertaining to the nature of substance as opposed to involving it. Hence
my trepidation in ruling out causa sui as a candidate for the second sort of
definition described by Spinoza.
What to make of this odd state of affairs? I think it is safe to conclude
that if I know what the definition of God is then so did Spinoza, and it is
safe to conclude that he knew what he wrote in the Ethics. Philosophers had
far better memories, in general, in the seventeenth century than they do
today, since their educations emphasized memorizing long passages from
classical texts. This was likely part of Spinoza’s education at Franciscus van
41 G. H. R. Parkinson, Spinoza’s Theory of Knowledge (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954), 72–3.

42 Ibid., 90.
den Enden’s academy. Spinoza was ill when he responded to Tschirnhaus,
but there are no signs of illness in his otherwise alert response.
This ought to lead us to ask whether id6 is the generative defini-
tion of God that Gueroult sought. Up to ip16 (the proposition initiating
Tschirnhaus’ question) the only definitions that Spinoza employed were
id1 (causa sui), id3 (substance), id5 (attributes) and id6 (God). Of these,
id3 and id5 enter directly into the definition of id6. Id1 perhaps also enters
into id6 if one considers Spinoza’s response to Tschirnhaus above. If this is
the case, then Spinoza’s attitude toward definition seems to be thoroughly
circular, he seems to be justifying the choice of his definition by saying:
“By the way, this too was part of the definition at the time and you didn’t
realize it.” Or, worse still, his supposedly neutral definitions have so many
presuppositions built into them that one must swallow the system hook,
line, and sinker to enter (as Jaspers claimed).
If we take Spinoza’s response to Tschirnhaus seriously, and combine it
with a number of features of Spinoza’s discussion of definitions, then we
have the following state of affairs. The definitions offered at the beginning
of the work are the definitions of those things that they claim to define.
But they are also definitions written in language for the purpose of com-
municating to those with like ideas.43 As this is the case, they are written
in highly abstract terminology that can at best point to ideas which others
already have, either in a partial or confused manner or adequately. If they
have these ideas only in a partial and confused manner – which would
likely be the case for many readers – then these readers will either draw
a confused understanding from the definitions, or need to find a way to
better understand the definitions.
As many readers of Spinoza have noted, much of Spinoza’s language is
traditional. In fact, the one definition we might immediately think not to
be, causa sui, is according to Spinoza vulgo. The expression causa sui, the
definition and Spinoza’s appraisal of it are likely derived from the Third
Meditation (AT vii, 34), from Arnauld’s objection (AT vii, 208) and from
Descartes’ unconvincing reply (AT vii, 242–3). The rest of the definitions
use language that was common coin of Scholastics and Cartesio-Scholastics.
Some even use terms, like “in suo genere” which Spinoza will bring into
question later in the Ethics. Spinoza also clearly viewed terminology as
something which is redefined through careful examination – for example
43 Spinoza emphasized this point a number of times over the course of the Ethics, but particularly in
the latter stages of Book IV in his discussions of the free man (ivp70–1).
his redefining of “perfection,” “will,” “possibility,” et alii. Other of his terms
are highly conventional, at least at first glance.
The definitions of “substance” and “attribute” provide good examples of
this. It is difficult to look at Spinoza’s definition of substance with a naı̈ve
eye. But let us attempt to do so. It reads:
By substance I understand that, which is in itself, and is conceived through itself:
i.e. that, the concept of which does not require the concept of another thing, from
which it must be formed.
The definition is extremely ambiguous. There is nothing in the definition
which would allow us to say whether this is a Cartesian substance (as Curley
and Gueroult emphasized)44 or an Aristotelian separate substance. Given
the definition, one could imagine a multiplicity of substances, until this
option is ruled out. It could even be an Aristotelian singular, underlying
subject of predication of the Categories ontology (i.e. things are said of it
but it is not said of anything). All we know is that it is in itself (however we
are to take that, metaphysically, ontologically, logically, or epistemically),
conceived through itself, and its concept does not refer to the concept of
another.45
Spinoza defined attribute as:
That which the intellect perceives of substance as constituting its essence.
This definition has led to a great deal of controversy, about whether or not
the attributes are to be understood as objective or subjective (given they are
the perceptions of an intellect).46 Although Spinoza ultimately wishes to
show us that attributes provide us with the objective essence of substance,
this is not evident from the definition itself.
44 Edwin Curley, Behind the Geometrical Method: A Reading of Spinoza’s Ethics (Princeton University
Press, 1988), 6–9. The general argument strategy I am emphasizing is consistent with and ultimately
derived from Curley’s arguments concerning Descartes (although my justifications via the accounts of
definition and the geometrical method are my own). Curley, in turn, draws on Gueroult’s arguments
concerning substances of one attribute, as Gueroult also wished to argue that Spinoza provides an
immanent criticism of Cartesianism (Gueroult, Spinoza I – Dieu, ch. 3). As Curley notes: “If we can
show that the Cartesian metaphysic leads by plausible steps to the Spinozistic one, then we will have
shown that a very natural way of looking at the world is contained in the seeds of Spinozism” (8).
Ultimately Spinoza wants to show that all metaphysics are Spinozistic metaphysics and all cognition
has within it the seeds of Spinozism (insofar as it includes an adequate idea of God). This way of
thinking about philosophy, that all philosophers draw on the same metaphysics (if confusedly), is
exemplified by Aristotle, Metaphysics, α 1, 993a–b.
45 Thanks to Johannes Fritsche and Ken Bronfenbrenner for help with this crucial point.
46 See Harry Wolfson, The Philosophy of Spinoza (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1934),
i:146. See also Gueroult’s convincing attack on the subjectivist interpretation in Gueroult, Spinoza
I – Dieu, 429–61 and a partial defense of the subjectivist intepretation in Charles Jarrett, “Some
Remarks on the ‘Objective’ and ‘Subjective’ Interpretations of the Attributes.”
In the CM Spinoza rules out Heereboord’s distinction between com-
municable and incommunicable attributes. The distinction holds between
those attributes that are found in creatures and God and those that are
found only in the deity. In considering this distinction, Spinoza claims
that “God’s knowledge agrees no more with human knowledge than the
Dog that is a heavenly constellation agrees with the dog that is a barking
animal” (CM ii.12). But Spinoza’s censure of Heereboord’s distinction is
not built into the definition he presents in the Ethics, since it is sufficiently
ambiguous as to describe both God’s intellect perceiving his own incommu-
nicable attributes and our intellect’s apprehension of communicable divine
attributes.
This is not to say that all interpretations of attributes are counte-
nanced. One must assume that these concepts can be defined to begin with
(a consequence of Spinoza’s high causal rationalism), and many did not
(and do not) believe God, in particular, can be defined. Maimonides even
denied that divine attributes can express the essence of God, and claimed
that attributes describe God’s acts.47 If attributes say anything about the
divine essence, they only describe our distance from God’s true nature.48
But, note that even in denying the applicability of attributes to God,
Maimonides still maintains that attributes are the sort of things that express
essence. So, oddly, Spinoza differs less from Maimonides on the theory of
attributes than on what it means for God to have attributes.49
And the expression of attributes is also ambiguous enough to take into
account more prosaic attributes much as was the case for the theory of
substance. Clauberg provides multiple senses of attributes in the Logica.
All the different senses of attribute share the core sense that “a thing is un-
derstood through its attribute, [which is] positive, absolute, and proper.”50
The most important of the attributes is the “essential” attribute “through
which a thing is, and is that which it is.”51 Spinoza’s theory is, on the sur-
face, perfectly consistent with Clauberg’s theory of the essential attribute
(and the other sorts of attributes could be explained as modes). For Spinoza
the examples that Clauberg gives of essential attributes – “Humanity is the
essence of man, Deity of God”52 – would leave something to be desired.
47 Maimonides, Guide, i:54. 48 Ibid, i:58.
49 As previously noted, there is often a symmetry between Spinoza’s philosophical tenets and
Maimonides’. When Spinoza claims, “God’s knowledge agrees no more with human knowledge
than the Dog that is a heavenly constellation agrees with the dog that is a barking animal,” this
on the surface sounds very much like Maimonides. Spinoza, of course, just means that God agrees
very little with the way humans imagine him. For Spinoza, our understanding of God results in a
revision of how we understand ourselves, for Maimonides there is no revision.
50 Clauberg, Logica, i.v. 51 Ibid., i.vi.44. 52 Ibid.
Even Descartes gives his definition of attribute as “when we are simply
thinking in a more general way of what is in a substance, we use the term
attribute . . . [w]e do not, strictly speaking, say that there are modes or
qualities in God, but simply attributes, since in the case of God, any vari-
ation is unintelligible” (Principles i.56, AT viiia, 26). Of course Descartes
will immediately make various qualifications on this initial definition, but
the idea, that an attribute presents in a very general way what is in a sub-
stance (by which Descartes understands what the substance is), is perfectly
consistent with Spinoza’s definition.
This brings us back to the central definition: God. I will discuss the
definition of God at greater length below in relation to the problem of the
causal nature of the genetic definition. But pace Parkinson, Gueroult, and
many others, many of the definitions are surprisingly vague and uncon-
troversial, and not terribly specific to Spinoza (much the less one thinker
or a group of thinkers). It does not follow on the other hand, that we
should view them like Wolfson as merely traditional,53 for, although clearly
derived from the tradition, Spinoza will use them in ways which are hard
to countenance with the existing philosophical tradition. Rather, they are
vague definitions with broad extensions that include many of Spinoza’s
predecessors – at least in their initial formulations. They are also, crucially,
broad enough to engage a number of philosophers who are relatively like-
minded, and have some commerce with philosophical vocabulary, to enter
a philosophical system built on these premises. This is, of course, one of
the stated goals of Part IV of the Ethics, to show free men that it is in their
best interest to come into intellectual commerce with one another and to
live together (ivp70).
Where did Spinoza get them? I think much in the way described by
Zabarella and Hobbes, he moved from vague concepts – many different
ways of thinking about substance or attributes – to vague causes, inclu-
sive “universal” definitions of important metaphysical concepts that many
philosophers held. This is not included in the Ethics, but it is really some-
thing any of us could do, there is nothing terribly mysterious about it.
That Spinoza can do it of course hinges on the assumption that philosoph-
ical language points, however confusedly, to real metaphysical features of
nature.54 These general definitions then need to be clarified in order that
they become genetic definitions. This is another sort of analysis or resolutiva
for both Spinoza and Hobbes, but in Spinoza’s case I submit the analysis
53 See, for example, the “Introduction” to Wolfson, The Philosophy of Spinoza, 3–31.
54 I will justify this claim in the next section of this chapter.
is internal to the geometrical method. Via the process of emendation de-
scribed in previous chapters we get at the adequate ideas that underlie many
of our confused philosophical thoughts. And, finally, there is synthesis or
compositiva, the illative force present in the deductive aspect of the method
as our minds draw consequences from our emended ideas.
Yet, this appears to jibe poorly with what Spinoza had stated to Tschirn-
haus, that the definition of a real thing, when taken singly, should result in
a deduction of all its properties. So how does one move from these broad
definitions to the controversial claims that ensue from them? And how does
one explain the supposed capacity of perfect definitions to deduce an ap-
parently inexhaustible quantity of properties (in the case of the definitions
of uncreated things)?
Curley states the problem clearly:
Now consider Spinoza’s definitions of substance and God. These are supposed to
account for the known properties of substance and God, and to be judged as better
than alternative definitions in large part because they do so. But in fact Spinoza
thinks people have very mistaken ideas about substance and God. They think
that there can be more than one substance of the same kind. They attribute to
God purposes which he cannot have, as well as all sorts of other anthropomorphic
properties. So in the two cases that matter most, there simply is not a list of agreed
properties that Spinoza’s definitions can undertake to account for. Spinoza really
wants to radically revise our conception of the nature of the things he is discussing.
But the revision is so radical that his definitions no longer seem to be alternative
definitions of the same thing. Whereas the two definitions of the circle picked
out the same class of geometric objects, Spinoza’s definition of substance does not
pick out the same thing as more traditional definitions. Ordinary finite things,
which on traditional definitions of substance turn out to be substances, are not,
on Spinoza’s definition, substances.55
I think Curley is certainly right that Spinoza means us eventually to pick
out things that are different from the traditional definitions. But Spinoza
also means us initially to agree to the definitions, at least some of the most
crucial ones, by virtue of their vagueness and breadth.
This is the wedge into the process of emendation. The definitions that
open Part I are broad enough and in suitably vague and traditional enough
language that, when we first read them, they include a multiplicity of ways
of understanding the definiendum (including likely our preferred ones),
while only excluding those definitions which are antithetical to rational ex-
planation (like Maimonides’ account of the attributes). It is also in keeping
55 Curley, “Spinoza’s Geometric Method,” 165.

with a basic tenet of Spinoza’s theory of knowledge that I have empha-
sized throughout, that falsity is mutilated and confused adequacy or truth.
Spinoza assumes that whatever is true in the content of many false defini-
tions and inadequate ideas (and this only includes some definitions, some
are just wrong – i.e., God is that frog) rests on a core adequate idea and
true definition. However, this does not mean that from a given false claim
we can reconstitute the true perspective on which the inadequate idea is
a false and mutilated variant. This would imply that the particular true
perspective is included in the false one and, if that were the case, it would
be an adequate idea. As I have emphasized throughout, the adequate idea of
God is in some sense included with every idea, adequate or inadequate, but
we cannot reconstruct the particular determinate features of an adequate
idea from an inadequate idea. Instead we have to get rid of the perplexity
that arises from and relates to our false cognition by discovering those true
perspectives that the false and mutilated perspectives only glimpse partially
(vp3).56
To summarize so far, Spinoza’s definitions are broad enough to include
a variety of perspectives adequate and inadequate, and a variety of ways
of thinking about philosophical concepts. The main concepts which he
employs – substance, mode, attribute, essence, God, eternity, etc. – are
the stock and trade of metaphysics and philosophy. In employing them
Spinoza is trying to include a wide variety of rational perspectives, and
communicate a philosophy which claims to be the core set of rational
philosophical commitments which numerous philosophers hold, although
often in an inadequate and mutilated way. This is one reason that Spinoza,
like Gersonides, stresses that the proper order in philosophy is to move
from the more general to the more particular (iip10cs). By demonstrating
what the adequate concepts are, which are at the bottom of this multiplicity
of perspectives, he performs a kind of internal emendation for and through
philosophers and philosophy. As noted, a stellar example of how Spinoza
does this can be seen in Curley’s analysis of the opening passages of Ethics
I, showing Spinoza to be drawing out the logical consequences of the
Cartesian theory of substance and God.57
Since the Ethics is intended to lead the reader to blessedness through
knowledge of the human mind, and more particularly of her or his own
mind, insofar as her or his own mind both reflects and contains principles
common to nature and other minds, to simply list off adequate ideas one
56 I will discuss this proposition at greater length in the next chapter.

57 Curley, Behind the Geometrical Method, 19–23.
after the other would only have the effect, at best, of reinforcing adequate
ideas in those who already have them.58 The purpose of presenting them via
these broad definitions is rather to show readers what lies at the root of their
philosophical commitments. But how should this be done? Well, Spinoza
has given us a partial answer in his claim in the TIE that a well-ordered
method has the consequence that if an idea is false “the mind will uncover
the falsity.” If the idea is true, “the mind will continue successfully, without
any interruption, to deduce true things from it” (TIE 104).
As a reader proceeds with the definitions, the axioms and the broad com-
mitments they entail, he or she implicitly rules out many consequences that
are unproductive. He or she could understand substance to be a multiplic-
ity of singular underlying substances of predication, Cartesian substances,
or separate substances. But, given her or his other basic philosophical com-
mitments – to the other definitions and to the axioms – only certain inter-
pretations of the definition are plausible and coherent. If she or he holds
there to be only one substance this will restrict the ways in which he or she
can construe “attribute.” Thus, he or she restricts the scope of the definition
and slowly begin to understand what they entail – for example that causa
sui-ness is implicit in my notion of God, that there is only one substance,
etc. These are properties arising from the definitions – at least the unicity
of substance – but they arise from restricting what the definition can and
cannot refer to. If he or she holds such and such broad understanding of
attribute, and such and such broad understandings of God, substance, and
causa sui, he or she will actually have a very deep and strong core commit-
ment arising from holding all of these concepts together. And for any given
concept “if it is false the mind will uncover the falsity; but if it is true, the
mind will continue successfully, without any interruption, to deduce true
things from it” (TIE 112–13). Consequently I think Bennett is onto some-
thing when he sees the Ethics as a kind of hypothetico-deductive method,
although, as I have argued, Spinoza wishes the “sturdy hypotheses” to arise
through a process of emending our minds.59
The picture of definitions just described is interrelated with the point
I made earlier in the chapter, that the definitions are written in flawed
language. Donagan dismissed applying Spinoza’s theory of cognition to
the Ethics itself since “cognition is a matter of ideas not words.”60 This is
correct, but then Donagan immediately allowed that the job of the Ethics is
58 This might be a perfectly reasonable thing to do, but it would not be a therapeutic method.
59 Jonathan Bennett, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1984), 20–25. Bennett has no
confidence in the TIE offering an answer to how this works, whereas I do!
60 Alan Donagan, Spinoza (New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1988), 139.
help us to “progress from limited cognition of the second kind to a measure
of cognition of the third kind.”61 So the problem remains, how does the
Ethics attempt to engender adequate cognition, given that the book itself
is necessarily written in mutilated and confused words?
Well, the answer again comes, in part, via the theory of definition. In
restricting and emending nominal definitions I conversely get a better and
better “fix” on the real “definition” – an adequate idea I likely already have –
and better understand how said adequate idea informs the various “nominal
definitions” (is the core commitment they all share). Furthermore, in re
Tschirnhaus, I begin to understand how a multiplicity of properties arise
from the adequate idea (quite literally). They arise not from the words of
the definition, from Spinoza’s formulae, but from my own adequate ideas
and most of all the adequate idea of God which is part of my mind.
Thus my broad definitions will be placed in a method which will combine
them with axioms in such a way62 that the truths internal to these tradi-
tional theses will surface. These truths will result as necessary consequences
of my initial definitions, but will now be better understood through the
emendative process that leads me to the consequences. Hence, in response
to Curley, the definitions are both nominal and real, but not at the same
time! They begin as nominal understandings of indeterminate extensions
and gradually pick out more limited extensions and concrete adequate ideas
as the method proceeds.
In this sense both analysis and synthesis are to be found in Spinoza’s
method. I analytically discover the definition moving from nominal to real
as I proceed to strip away various false referents and limit extension. This
is accomplished in tandem with a “synthetic” method:
a long series of definitions, postulates, axioms, theorems, and problems, so that if
the reader denies one of the consequences, the presentation shows him that it is
contained immediately in the antecedents, and so forces his assent from him.63
When I “discover”64 new claims I also understand my initial definitions
better – most centrally that of God – since “nothing of Nature is able
to be understood by us, which does not conversely render more ample
[our] cognition of the first cause, or God.” This does not mean that the
61 Ibid., 139–40.
62 One might add that insofar as the axioms are expressions of the common features of bodies and ideas,
and thus dependent on beings with particular definitions, they, too, will rule out some applications
and warrant others.
63 This is Descartes’ definition in the Second Replies as quoted in the “Preface” to the PP (PP i/129).
64 In a sense it is more uncovering than discovery, but this would likely be the case for Descartes as
well.
definition is comprehended through its effects, but rather the effects rule out
certain interpretations of what the definition was to begin with, and through
this emendation both the initial definition and the necessary deduction
that arises from it become more evident. Consequently, as opposed to a
Hobbesian notion of construction as basic to definitions, for Spinoza a
“genetic” definition entails an emendation and uncovering of what was
already the basic constituent of the mind, the mental instruments, in a far
more Cartesian fashion. This is how Spinoza draws together elements of
Cartesianism and Hobbesianism in an original theory. Through reading the
Ethics I first point toward and then discover the necessity in those adequate
ideas that already made up and make up my mind. This holds only in a
strong form of the definitions and axioms that open Part I. As we move
through the process of emendation we can then access the definitions and
bootstrap on them. A clear example of this is to be found in my discussion
of possibility and contingency, which although derived from ip33 cannot
be properly understood until Part IV (see chapter 2).
a co r ro b o r at i n g e x a m p l e
Spinoza does actually give us an example where he provides a broad def-
inition to include a wide variety of positions and then submits it to an
immanent criticism, although it is not an example usually thought of in
relation to the Ethics.65 I am referring to Spinoza’s discussion of “prophets”
that opens the TTP and which I touched on in my consideration of
Maimonides.
Spinoza begins the discussion of prophecy and prophets by defining
prophecy or revelation as:
Certain cognition of some thing [or state of affairs] revealed by God to man.
(TTP I, iii/1)
A prophet:
therefore is someone who interprets that which has been revealed by God for those
who are incapable of having certain cognition of it, and are rather only able to
receive it as simple faith. (ibid.)
Both definitions are constructed in order to include the three sorts of
prophecy discussed in the Jewish philosophical tradition: (1) the unphilo-
sophical, morally perfect, and anointed prophet (associated with Saadia
65 This is not the only example. See the discussion of attributes at KV i:4–7, and particularly i:7.
Gaon); (2) the prophet with a perfected intellect and no anointing (asso-
ciated with Gersonides and Averroism); and (3) the morally and intellec-
tually perfect prophet anointed by God (associated with Maimonides). All
three assume something roughly like Spinoza’s definition of prophecy, and
Spinoza’s definition of prophecy arises in an attempt to provide a broad cri-
terion that includes all theories of prophecy (as well as scriptural examples
that he cites).
After defining prophecy, Spinoza then defines a prophet as one who
prophesizes to others who are not prophets. Again Spinoza assumes very
little in this definition. But he immediately subjects it to criticism:
From the definition just given, it follows that natural knowledge can be called
prophecy. For that, which we know by the natural light, depends on knowledge of
God and his eternal decrees.
Thus Spinoza claims that the definition in itself cannot justify the superior-
ity of prophetic knowledge as against the natural light. Natural knowledge
is just as certain as revealed knowledge, it arises just as much from God and
his eternal decrees. Why then do many consider revealed knowledge to be
superior to the lumen naturale? Because the multitude have a tendency to
despise those things which are common to all men and seek those things
which are strange and foreign. Thus, Spinoza gives an account of the error
arising as a consequence of viewing prophecy as drastically different from,
and superior to, natural knowledge. By understanding this error, we both
rid ourselves of this tendency (by understanding the causes of the error –
in this case a psychological disposition to admire the strange and foreign
among the many) and replace the false and mutilated idea with a true one,
hinted at and included (nominally) in the broad definition of prophecy.
Ultimately, Spinoza shows that prophecy is understood in relation to
prophets, and the many examples of prophets in the Old Testament point
toward a particular definition. Insofar as prophets present their prophecy
in images and words, and as Maimonides, Gersonides, and Saadia all agree
that this is part of the character of prophecy, a prophet is best understood
as one with an enlarged imaginative faculty. So Spinoza uses general defi-
nitions of prophecy and prophets to emend the reader’s deeply held beliefs
about prophets, to characterize what prophets actually are, and to point
toward both the actual character of prophecy and the superiority of natural
knowledge (which is at the root of the definition of prophecy).
This is paradigmatic for how I have argued Spinoza employs definitions
in general, and it serves as an external corroboration for my interpretation of
definition in the Ethics. Unlike Maimonides’s theory of education and much
like Gersonides’ (or Descartes’ in the Discourse for that matter), the target is
clearly those capable of understanding the true ideas on which the mutilated
and confused ideas we have of prophecy rest, and helping them to emend
themselves of inadequate ideas and move toward adequate cognition. The
Ethics provides a very similar analysis of first principles, and for this reason
it does not rest on Scripture. Also, unlike the TTP, the criticism must
be internal to the ideas and axioms themselves, extruding a series of core
definitions, and emending inadequate and mutilated ideas in such a way
that the reader can begin to (1) clearly understand the definitions and axioms
which initiate the work, (2) see how a variety of propositions arise from
them necessarily, and (3) emend their own minds in the process.66
w h e re i s t h e c au s e i n t h e c au s a l d e f i n i t i o n ?
I would like to provide an answer to Tschirnhaus’ question that began this
chapter via a different question: “What is ‘causal’ about a causal definition
for Spinoza?” The paradigmatic causal definition of an uncreated thing
is the definition of God: “a being absolutely infinite, that is, a substance
consisting of an infinity of attributes, each of which expresses an eternal
and infinite essence.” Yet, if this is a causal or genetic definition, as Spinoza
maintains in his earlier letter to Tschirnhaus, it is not obvious where the
cause is in the definition. Spinoza claimed:
when I define God as the supremely perfect Being, since this definition does not
express the efficient cause (for I conceive that an efficient cause can be internal as
well as external) I shall not be able to discover all the properties of God from it;
but when I define God as a being, etc. (See Definition VI, Part I, of the Ethics)
Although he claims that there is an efficient cause, Spinoza does not help
us to see where it lies in the definition. Spinoza implicitly rules out God as
the supremely perfect being as being a definition of this sort, but that does
not seem help much either.
Gueroult maintained that the cause lies in the relation between substance
and attributes. It is not quite clear why, for Spinoza, substance “causes” at-
tributes in the sense Gueroult develops, although it appears that substance
can be said to cause attributes and vice versa.67 Gueroult argued that, up
to ip11, Spinoza is considering substances of one attribute, and these sub-
stances of one attribute are “synthesized” into a substance with an infinity
66 Spinoza’s point in the TIE is that any method that works is also a process of emendation.
67 Insofar as substance is understood through attributes which express their essence, and reasons entail
causes. This point was made clear for me by Michael Della Rocca, despite my stubborn resistance.
of attributes. But, Spinoza never claimed that substance causes attributes
in this sense, and, in fact, in ip16 the necessity of the infinity of modes,
which are said to be “caused” by God, is the necessity expressed by the
attributes, each “in suo genere.” Furthermore, given my arguments about
Spinoza’s broad definitions, it would not be plausible for me to maintain
that Spinoza is only discussing substances of one attribute in the opening
propositions of the Ethics.
Substance and attributes do have something in common though: they are
part of the definition or essence of a being “absolutely infinite.” “Infinite”
might appear to be an adjectival predicate like “eternal” which ought to
be ruled out of a genetic definition. But “infinite” has two different senses
as discussed in chapter 2. The derivative sense, which is much like “good”
or “eternal,” is invoked when “infinite” is applied to something else – “the
infinitely good,” “the infinitely big.” Spinoza clearly would like to rule out
predicating “infinite” in this sense of an uncreated being or causa sui being
and does so in Letter XII as well. But there is a difference between the
infinite and the “absolutely infinite,” as well as between the “absolutely
infinite” and eternity. Although, as I have discussed, there are a variety of
interpretations of infinite modes, Spinoza seems to be maintaining that
there are “things which follow from the absolute nature of any of God’s
attributes” and are “eternal and infinite.” Even if they are not eternal in
the same sense as God, and their eternity is derivative of the definition of
the eternal thing, Spinoza is clearly using the word eternal here in a way
which both assumes that “eternal” could apply to a number of beings, and
that the ultimate referent of its adjectival use is that eternity from which
all other eternal beings arise.
The “absolutely infinite” differs in this regard from both “eternity” and
the “infinite.” It is different from eternity as there are many eternal things
but only one absolutely infinite being since “whatever expresses essence
and involves no negation pertains to its essence” (id6exp). If there were
two such beings each would pertain to the other’s essence since they would
both express all essence and consequently have the same essence and be the
same thing. The “absolutely infinite” differs from “infinite” since infinite
is a general term applying both to things that are infinite in their own
kind (and thus can have attributes denied of their nature) as well as the
absolutely infinite. But the “absolutely infinite” cannot be predicated of
anything other than God, it is the unique essential predicate of God.
Therefore, although “infinite” as a description of an uncreated being
might be ruled out in a perfect definition, “absolute infinity” would not be.
Now any cause used to characterize God must be an internal or immanent
efficient cause. As I argued in chapter 2 an internal cause explains how
something is in and through another. In the case of both attributes and
substance, they are “uncreated” entities and as such not in and through any
other. In these cases the cause must be what generally expresses their essence.
In the explanation of the absolutely infinite Spinoza claims “that therefore
is absolutely infinite, which to its essence pertains whatsoever essence it
expresses, and it involves no negation.” Since: (1) absolute infinity expresses
all essence as such, and thus all attributes and modes; (2) no causal relation
between substance and attributes is given in the definition; and (3) no
causal relation is given between God and modes until ip16, (4) “absolute
infinity” seems to me to be the “cause” in the definition.
In order to explain, let me return to Spinoza’s response to Tschirnhaus:
For from the mere fact that I define God as a Being to whose essence belongs
existence I infer several of his properties, namely, that He exists necessarily, that he
is unique, immutable, infinite, etc. (Letter XXXIII)
As I have noted, Spinoza is not presenting us with the definition of God

at ID6, he is defining God as causa sui. Why? Remember, Tschirnhaus has
asked for the way in which God is an immanent cause at ip16, and in his
response Spinoza is attempting to explain God’s causal character to him.
Spinoza is saying that, insofar as the definition of God is causal and genetic,
all things arise from it. The infinite, the immutable, and the unique are all
limited and derivative ways of characterizing a being that is causa sui, just as
the infinite derives from the absolutely infinite and eternity from the eternal
thing. Of course, these do not arise from the words that Spinoza has set out
at the beginning of the Ethics. They arise from substance and attributes, as
expressed in the attribute of thought and the idea of the eternal and infinite
essence of God that is a part of our minds. The emendative process is an
attempt to draw out that idea.
Since our minds always already have an adequate knowledge of the idea
of God (iip46), this process is not one of “constructing” a definition as
Gueroult might have it. Rather, we uncover ideas we already have, ideas
which are included in all of our many cognitions but which are confused
by the imagination. We are brought to do so through various concepts
we hold, and by learning what is fundamentally at issue in these concepts
(as opposed to what we perhaps initially thought they involved) through
ruling out various possible definitions and discovering those definitions
that already form a part of our mind. Once we begin to distinguish these –
and it is a messy process that each comes to with their own particular
encumbrances – we connect other ideas and propositions that we have,
some clear and some confused, to the idea of God. We begin to develop
causal connections, between God and modes (ip25) and attributes and
modes (ip16). As we do so, we turn “the sustenance” we had for false ideas,
so eloquently described by Gersonides, into the sustenance for the idea of
God and all of the ideas that flow from it.
The discussion of perfect definitions in the TIE is best understood as
pointing toward those definitions that have been gradually emended from
the dross in our minds, not the definitions that begin the Ethics. When
Spinoza emphasizes to Tschirnhaus that the definition of God is the def-
inition of causa sui he is emphasizing that all arises from God as a being
whose essence involves existence. Spinoza defines the “absolutely infinite” as
“whatever expresses essence and involves no negation pertains to its essence”
(id6exp). “Absolute infinity” and “causa sui” are similar : the former “what-
ever expresses essence and involves no negation pertains to its essence,” the
latter “that whose essence involves existence.” The most notable difference
between the two definitions is that causa sui involves existence, and ab-
solute infinity is defined only in terms of essence.68 But this is perhaps
deceiving, since there is a “being” in “absolutely infinite being.” Rather the
definition of causa sui and the definition of absolutely infinite appear to
describe different perspectives on substance and attributes, causa sui from
the perspective of substance: attributes are causa sui insofar as they express
the essence of substance – and absolutely infinite from the perspective of
attributes – attributes express the essence of substance.
The internal cause, then, in the definition is understanding the ways in
which attributes and substance are causally interrelated as absolutely infinite
and causa sui. Consequently, I think that Gueroult is correct in recognizing
that Spinoza is trying to show us the necessary causal interdependence of
substance and attributes. It is not effected in Book I alone though, nor
through a discussion of substances of one attribute, nor as a process of
synthesis, but rather over the course of the Ethics by each of our minds
emending our own definitions in ways I have emphasized in preceding
chapters. We come to understand causa sui as the only possible cause that
avoids regress and, whatever we ultimately think of the oddity of causa sui,
the only thing that is clearly identified as a cause in Part 1. What is “caused”
68 Both definitions seem to pick out the same beings, substance and attributes, so they appear to have
similar extensions despite the fact that one definition uses “whatever” and the other “that.” There is
also a difference between the two verbs used in the respective definitions – “pertains” and “involves” –
but the difference is negated at ip7, “It pertains to the nature of a substance to exist. A substance is not
able to be produced from another (by p6c); and thus it will be causa sui, that is (by id1), its essence
necessarily involves existence, or it pertains to its nature to exist.”
are substance and attributes (insofar as they are “causa sui”) and God taken
as a whole is absolutely infinite, whatever expresses essence, both as sub-
stance and as attributes. Finally, the more we understand that the absolutely
infinite is causa sui, that God is not a numerable and circumscribable being
but rather all essence expressed without negation (thus ruling out the finite
aspects of finite modes) and involving existence, through the infinite idea
which is included in our minds, the more we understand the causa sui-ness
of substance and attributes (ip36, vp24).
This seems to me what Spinoza is tersely expressing to Tschirnhaus. The
definition of substance at the beginning of the Ethics is not the genetic
definition from which arise many ideas, but rather the definition or essence
of God one comes to understand at the end of Part I or Part V or as
a consequence of years of Spinozistic therapy, of understanding singular
things and through them understanding God (vp24). After each of us works
through the formal structure of the argument we slowly see how countless
different properties of God all follow from God’s causa sui character just as
the many properties of a circle follow from the proper genetic definition.
And we see how each expresses essence. As Spinoza comments in Book II:
“Here readers will doubtless come to a standstill and they will imagine
many things that will give them pause. This is why I ask that they continue
with me, stepping slowly, and that they move forward and not judge until
they have read everything through” (iip11s).
Thus the definition of God comprehends the definitions of all other
uncreated things within it. To understand how all things are in and through
God, either as God, or in God, is to understand how the definition is
generative, and different from all other definitions. On this issue I am in
agreement with Gueroult, as well as the centrality of causa sui. Where I differ
is in not viewing this as a process of construction, but rather emendation.
There is a place for construction related to how we understand God, and
this will be considered in the final chapter.
This picture of emendation and generative definition combines many of
the themes I have discussed in the previous three chapters. The method is
analytic, it gets at real definitions through generalizing the mixta et confusa
(to use Zabarella’s expression) of the philosophers. The method is synthetic
or compositive in the sense of Hobbes, it involves demonstration and seeing
the necessities in many ideas as they follow from genetic definitions. The
method is enormously influenced by Descartes, in particular the Cartesian
idea of analysis and Cartesian innatism, although it has no truck with the
Cartesian will. The method is clear, well ordered and, at least in theory,
generally accessible, in the sense laid out by Gersonides. Furthermore the
method precisely follows Gersonides’ requirement that a therapy extirpate
false ideas and connect our selves to the idea of God. Finally, the method has
two sorts of affinities with Maimonides. First, it draws out certain propo-
sitions as crucial for our happiness and well-being, although the happiness
and well-being of all men not a historically and religiously specific group
of men. Second, and perhaps most oddly, it rebuffs all but the most intel-
lectually perfect, not because there are de facto requirements for what one
must know in order to read the Ethics, but because only those who would
go through the process of emending themselves by reading the Ethics, will.
chapter 7
The third kind of knowledge and “our” eternity
This final chapter is concerned with explicating what Spinoza refers to as

the scientia intuitiva or the third kind of knowledge. The scientia intuitiva
has pride of place among Spinoza’s three kinds of knowledge due both to
its importance and difficulty. In the Ethics and the KV he related it to love
of God and the part of us that is eternal. He emphasized it in the TIE as
well, although in both the TIE and the KV he referred to it as the “fourth
kind of knowledge” (Spinoza collapsed the first two sorts of knowledge
described in the KV and the TIE into one category, imagination, in the
Ethics).
What is the third kind of knowledge? In the Ethics the third kind of
knowledge is distinguished from the first kind of knowledge – imagination
including memory and testimony, and from the second kind of knowledge,
reason. After considering these other sorts of knowledge Spinoza described
the third kind of knowledge as “a kind of knowing which proceeds from
an adequate idea of the formal essence of certain attributes of God to the
adequate knowledge of the [NS: formal] essence of things” (iip40s2, CW
478). In the TIE Spinoza described it in similar terms: “a thing is perceived
through its essence alone” and we know we are engaged in intuitive knowl-
edge when “from the fact that I know something, I know what it is to know
something” (TIE 22). In the KV it is described as seeing “the thing itself,
not through something else, but in itself” (KV ii:1 n.f., 1/55).
There are nearly as many interpretations of the third kind of knowledge1
as there are interpreters of Spinoza. It seems apparent that one of the
goals of the Ethics is to allow readers to form this sort of knowledge, yet
Spinoza is so vague about it that it is very hard to understand what we
are forming. In this chapter I will explore the third kind of knowledge, its
relevance for understanding Spinoza’s method and purpose in the Ethics,
1 Following Spinoza, I will use the expressions “the third kind of knowledge” and “scientia intuitiva”
interchangeably.
181
and conversely how the third kind of knowledge brings us to understand
God, human beatitude, and the mos geometricus. I have already discussed
the second kind of knowledge, or reason, in prior chapters. In order to
understand the third kind of knowledge we must better understand the
first kind of knowledge. I will also consider a number of Spinoza’s other
important concepts that bear on the third kind of knowledge: the conatus
of the mind, the eternity of the mind, and adequate causes. Their relevance
may not be immediately obvious as I present them, but they will be drawn
together in the concluding sections of the chapter and hopefully illuminate
this very difficult concept and its relation to method.
i m ag i n at i o n , t h e c o n at u s o f t h e m i n d , a n d
t h e f u n d a m e n ta l pa s s i o n s
Imagination, the first of the three kinds of knowledge presented in Ethics
ii40s2, is made up of a number of different kinds of cognition, of which the
first is knowledge “out of singular (things), represented to us by the senses
as mutilated, confused, and without order to the intellect,” which Spinoza
also calls experientia vaga. Also included under the rubric of imagination
are knowledge from signs, either written or spoken, and memory which
involves concatenated, habituated, imagined particulars.
Hence imagination is a broad term which includes two apparently dis-
tinct forms of cognition. G. H. R. Parkinson argues that what links these
two kinds of cognition is that “they do not give the same certainty as is given
by deductive reason.”2 They are both instances of determination by an ex-
ternal and accidental cause,3 and as such dependent on the fortuitousness
of external causes, on happenstance.
Picture a world where we are impacted by happenstance in such a way that
our inductions are always correct and we never see experience as random
2 G. H. R. Parkinson, Spinoza’s Theory of Knowledge (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954), 139. Thus
Parkinson takes experientia vaga as knowledge from vague experience. Alan Gabbey has shown that
the phrase experientia vaga refers to empirical experience as yet unconditioned by a causal method
(Alan Gabbey, “Spinoza’s Natural Science and Methodology,” in Don Garrett [ed.], The Cambridge
Companion to Spinoza [Cambridge University Press, 1996], 176). This might go a long way to
explaining the way in which Spinoza seems to hold a nominalistic theory of universals (iip40s1), as
universals are “ideo summo gradu confusas” empirical concepts to the highest degrees attained via
deduction from experience and awaiting a causal analysis of their essence in a real science. Then they
will cease to be universals and become real, causal, generative essences of singular things.
3 The word that I have rendered by “accidental,” fortuito, is translated by Parkinson as chance. The
word also has a strong sense of fortuitous, as opposed to many of the other words that denote purely
random occurrence or happenstance encounter. This sense is important for the reason outlined in
the previous note.
The third kind of knowledge and “our” eternity 183
or fortuitous. For Spinoza, this would still be experientia vaga, not because
we would not be able to predict what would happen to us, apparently we
could, but we would not have causal knowledge of it that would show in
each case how and why an initial occurrence or an inference from it were
causes or effects. And consequently we would not have adequate knowledge,
knowledge that would reciprocally tell us something about the cause. There
is nothing wrong with imagination per se, or empirical knowledge, it just
does not allow us to understand things causally, and thus does not allow us
in and of itself to have power over effects (since we are not their adequate
cause but they are rather merely conjoined to us by chance).4
Rather, Spinoza emphasizes that the imagination does not contain error,
but is erroneous only insofar as it is judged in such a way that we assume
something to exist which does not:
For if the mind, insofar as it imagines things which do not exist as present to us, at
the same time would know these things not to exist, this sound power of imagining
is attributed to a virtue of its nature and not a weakness. (iip17s)
The problem, then, is not imagination, but improper use of it, or rather a
lack of reason conjoined with imagination. If we understood imagination
properly we would view it as a virtue, for it is through imagination that we
experience, and it is through experience that we come into contact with
those singular things which we judge truly or falsely (Letter XXXII).
To better understand the virtues of the imagination, a point crucial for
understanding the third kind of knowledge, we need to turn to another
important concept. At the root of all our passions for Spinoza is what he
calls the conatus: “the power . . . by which [a thing] endeavours to persevere
in its being” (iiip7). For Spinoza, this perseverance is a kind of metaphysical
principle of inertia holding not just of physical modes but of all modes,
mental, complex, simple, etc. In Parts III and IV of the Ethics, Spinoza uses
the conatus as the basis for his theory of human passions. Like Hobbes and
many other early modern philosophers, Spinoza’s “ethics” was built on an
account of the passions.
But, for Spinoza, even more than Hobbes, we modes are what we are
precisely insofar as we express our conatus. Put crudely, if I am a chimpanzee
I desire chimp things and my activity expresses itself in my chimpness. There
4 Of course, this world might be just fine, something like Bill Murray’s world in “Ground Hog Day”
where he can learn to predict most regular occurrences through studying them empirically, but gains
no satisfaction or joy or causal knowledge of them. But, as in the “Groundhog Day” world, it would
be a world where we would not understand God, and would not understand the ways in which
causes arise from God, and thus could not attain beatitude and joy in Spinoza’s senses. We would be
able to navigate a part of nature, but would not understand it.
is no “chimpness” beyond the way that actual chimps persevere in their
existence and express their desires. The same holds of all things, including
human beings. Yet it is important to note that, for Spinoza, like Grotius
and Pufendorf, neither chimps nor human beings express their essences in
isolation. A human conatus manifests its essence through interactions with
other modes and by producing effects in other modes as opposed to being
effected by them.
To follow through with the chimp analogy, an alpha chimp is not an
alpha chimp in and of itself, but in relation to the many other chimps
around that it subordinates to beta status. More abstractly, the effects a
mode produces, the ways it interacts with (beta chimp), within (jungle,
chimp social organization) and through (rock and stick) other modes, both
finite and infinite, determine its essence. In addition this allows Spinoza to
separate essence from any telos and fixed plan of natural reproduction or
cosmic governance.5
Spinoza refers to a particular sort of conatus at crucial points in Parts III–V
of the Ethics. Every mode or thing has a conatus: bodies have conatuses, as do
individuals that express themselves through the attributes of both thought
and extension. As noted, the conatus is just the tendency to persevere in
existence. But, most importantly for the final book of the Ethics, the mind
has a conatus. Our mind also continues to persevere in its existence, through
the ways in which it expresses its ideas. For Spinoza, the more a mind
expresses eternal ideas, the idea of God in particular, the more it is eternal, a
point I will return to below. This also brings up an interesting “perspectival”
aspect of Spinoza’s philosophy. Ideas can be understood as modes in an
attribute, as they are most often in Book II of the Ethics, or they can
be understood as the ways that a mind expresses its conatus, attempts to
persevere in its existence. I will return to this point, but it is important to
note that, for Spinoza, these two perspectives distinguish a theory of mind
from a cognitive theory of the passions.
How does the conatus of the mind function? Spinoza provides his ex-
planation in iiip11, the proposition that describes the basic mechanisms
underlying Spinoza’s theory of the passions. It reads:
Whatever augments, diminishes, aids, or restrains the power of acting of our body,
the idea of the same thing augments, diminishes, aids, or restrains, the power of
thinking of our mind.
5 Which is not to say that the laws which govern the mode, the modal structures in which it acts and,
most importantly, its determination by God, do not define the essence, but rather the actual essence
is essence viewed from the perspective of the conatus expressing itself through and actualizing itself
in and amongst these laws and structures.
The proof derives directly from iip7 or iip14. Iip7 is, in turn, evident from
ia4, so Spinoza places this proposition in a string of axiomatic claims.
By deriving it from iip7, Spinoza makes clear that he is drawing on the
parallelism between mind and body to explain that whatever restrains or
augments the power of acting on the body restrains or augments the power
of thinking of the mind. This might mean anything from “indigestion
hinders my speculative capacities” to “brain and neural injuries impede
thought.”
Spinoza also provides a secondary genealogy, for those who do not see
that it is obvious, from iip14: “The human body is able to perceive many
things, and it is the more able, the more it can dispose its body by many
modes.” This proposition (iip14) is proven via two of the postulates from
Spinoza’s physics, directly preceding iip14 (Postulates 3 and 6), and a pre-
vious proposition from Book II (iip12). Iip11 therefore draws together one
of the central propositions of the Ethics – iip7 – with Spinoza’s account of
individual, physical bodies and individuation.
The fusion of these two elements in iiip11 – general metaphysical claims
and more particular mechanistic explanations – is central to how Spinoza
understands his theory of the passions. Descartes’ and Malebranche’s theo-
ries of the passions primarily analyzed the ways in which the body’s mech-
anisms impede and disrupt thought. Hobbes’ theory explained the ways in
which feelings and actions are caused by bodily mechanism. For Spinoza,
since the body and mind are parallel and there is no causal interaction
between them, the body cannot cause anything in the mind. Rather body
and mind have their powers augmented and diminished in parallel. The
mind and the body are, in turn, modes respectively in the attributes of
thought and extension. As such they reflect general metaphysical features
of nature, for example they are both individuated, they both arise from
God, etc. In this manner Spinoza considers both mind and body to express
general metaphysical principles and his ultimate goal is to use this fact to
show how we are capable of a central passion: the intellectual love of God.
This takes more than half of the Ethics to develop. Initially in iiip11 the
capacities modes have to augment, diminish, aid, and restrict their power
(insofar as they are and have conatus) give rise to two of Spinoza’s three
fundamental affects: elation and sadness. A passion which moves the mind
to greater perfection6 is elation, to lesser perfection, sadness. Elation, and
sadness, along with desire, which is an appetite together with conscious-
ness of that appetite, are the three fundamental affects. Unlike elation and
6 Spinoza means perfection in the non-teleological sense outlined in IV “Preface.”

sadness, desire is the conatus as referred to both mind and body. Desire is
the conatus insofar as it is intelligible.
Now, to return to the initial subject of this section, why and how is the
imagination important in this process? The initial means by which we affirm
ourselves and seek our perfection in Spinoza’s sense is imagination. From
the perspective of the attribute of thought, imagination is the weakest grade
of knowledge, to be replaced by certain, clear, and thus causal, knowledge.
From the perspective of the mode, the imagination is our navigation system,
our ability to, and means by which we, constitute and grasp much of the
world of modes. We feel our power being augmented or diminished, and
we respond either by continuing to conjoin with a mode, or continuing
to have an idea, or we remember an idea that excludes the existence of the
diminishing idea, and correspondingly alters our body so that it ceases to
diminish in power.
This is because, “the mind insofar as it is able, strives to imagine that
which augments or aids the body’s power of acting” (iiip12) and conversely,
when the mind imagines things which diminish or restrain our body’s power
of acting, we recollect other things which exclude their existence (iiip13).
In other words, the imagination provides us with a procedure by which in
many ordinary circumstances we can augment our power. I might imagine
a fine feather bed at the end of my ten-mile run, which might exclude all
sorts of thoughts I had been recently imagining about the asphalt pounding
into my knees and help my power of acting over the last few miles.
As previously noted, this is a view of mind not only as a subset of ideas in
the infinite intellect of God but also in terms of the actual endeavors of its
ideas (its ideas thus viewed as modes in themselves, and not as modifications
of attributes) and the power that they constitute. The means by which mind
does so is, at least in part, the imagination. The fundamental affects are the
basic ways of characterizing this process.
To return to the worm, when confronted with the blood, it is the power
of imagination, and the virtue of the imagination, that is capable of con-
catenating the modes of the blood in such a way that the worm can have
an idea which will allow it to “go with the flow” so to speak, and augment
its power. It will also ask it to change its physical world, to imagine in the
more conventional sense, which it can put into practice in conjunction with
reason. Through the account of the conatus given in Part III, we see that the
blood is not just that which the worm knows, or feels, but also the means
by which the worm expresses its power through and by its ideas and bodily
affects, and not least of all its actual essence, which is indistinguishable
from the activity of its ideas and its body.
I will now introduce some of the basic concepts of Part V and will shortly
return to the imagination before considering the third kind of knowledge
and our eternity.
f o r m a l c au s e i n pa rt v o f t h e e t h i c s
In Part V of the Ethics Spinoza asserts:
The third kind (genus) of knowledge depends on the Mind, as on a formal cause,
insofar as the Mind itself is eternal. (CW 610)
Vp31 comes directly after a string of propositions, beginning with vp22
that deal with “the eternity of something of the Mind.” Some of these
propositions are agnostic as to what sort of mind we are speaking of – for
Spinoza there are many kinds of minds – others pertain specifically to the
human mind.
There is one aspect of vp31 that might seem odd to a reader who has
worked through hundreds of propositions in the Ethics and is now nearing
the conclusion of the work. Vp31 is the only time in the Ethics that Spinoza
used the expression “formal cause”7 (although he talks about forms in
the Physics after iip13). Spinoza often discussed efficient causes and final
causes. He identified causality as efficient causality throughout the Ethics
and criticized the inherent anthropomorphism of final causation. “Formal
cause,” which Aristotle closely identifies with final causes, is a strange choice
to describe the interrelations between two of the most important concepts
of Part V: the third kind of knowledge and the eternity of the mind.
What does Spinoza think about this formal cause? It clearly cannot be a
formal cause in the Aristotelian sense since then it would be closely intercon-
nected with final cause. I propose we view this expression as useful for trying
to understand what Spinoza’s goal is in Part V, as I used Spinoza’s response to
Tschirnhaus in chapter 6 to illuminate the theory of definition. In Spinoza’s
Ethics, as in Leibniz’s Monadology, small details are interconnected with far
more complicated issues. In drawing out these details we are often able to
understand the interconnection of distinct parts of Spinoza’s system, much
like when a mathematician needs to use apparently unconnected mathemat-
ical tools and disparate branches of mathematics to solve a difficult prob-
lem. We can get a better sense of why Spinoza chooses to use the expression
7 Spinoza does discuss form in other places in order to criticize it. See Pierre-François Moreau, “The
Metaphysics of Substance and the Metaphysics of Form,” in Y. Yovel and G. Segal (eds.), Spinoza on
Knowledge and the Human Mind , (Leiden: Brill, 1993), 27–35.
“formal cause” in vp31 by considering the propositions that Spinoza draws
on in vp31.
The Demonstration of vp31 reads:
The Mind conceives nothing under a species of eternity except insofar as it conceives
its Body’s essence under a species of eternity (by p29), i.e., (by p21 and p23), except
insofar as it is eternal. So (by p30) insofar as it is eternal, it has knowledge of God,
knowledge which is necessarily adequate (by iip46). And therefore, the Mind,
insofar as it is eternal, is capable of knowing all those things which can follow from
this given knowledge of God (by iip40), i.e., of knowing things by the third kind
of knowledge (see the Def. of this in iip40s2); therefore, the Mind, insofar as it is
eternal, is the adequate, or formal, cause of the third kind of knowledge (by iiid1),
q.e.d. (CW 610)
What are the constituents of this proposition? vp31 depends on the two
propositions that come directly before it: vp29 and vp30. In addition it
draws on two very important propositions from the earlier part of the
chapter, vp21 and vp23, three propositions from Part II, and most impor-
tantly a definition from Part III. In addition, the four propositions from
Part V that vp31 draws on, vp21, vp23, vp29, and vp30, are entirely derived
from propositions in Parts I and II of the Ethics, or propositions directly
derived from Parts I and II (vp21, vp22, and vp23). What can we make of
this?
Parts I and II of the Ethics clearly have great bearing on vp31, and on
Part V in general. This is not surprising as Part I concerns God, Part II
is Spinoza’s account of the nature and the origin of the mind, and Part V
deals with the mind, the third kind of knowledge, and the intellectual love
of God.
The first section of Part V (vp1–20), which I will consider in the next
section, describes our control of the affects and images. Spinoza distin-
guishes vp1–20 from the propositions following vp20 that concern “those
things which pertain to the Mind’s duration without relation to the body.”
Cardinal among these is the notorious proposition vp23 in which Spinoza
states that there is something that pertains to the essence of the human
mind that cannot be absolutely destroyed, but is eternal. We might expect
that there is some sort of connection between the themes treated in one or
the other of the parts, and particularly between the third kind of knowledge
and the eternity of the mind.8 The question is, of course, how to bring the
two problems to bear on one another.
8 See Henry Allison, Benedict de Spinoza: An Introduction (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987),
rev. edn., 172–4.
t h e f i r s t s e c t i o n o f pa rt v
The first section of Part V primarily concerns the organization of the first
kind of knowledge in relation to the idea of God. As I have just emphasized,
the first kind of knowledge is inescapable, so the question concerns not
what life would be like without it, but rather how best to deal with it.
Spinoza literally wishes us to organize the first kind of knowledge in such
a way as to “be able to cause all of the affections of the body, or images of
thing, to be related (referantur) to the idea of God” (vp14). This is done
by clarifying our affects and forming clear and distinct concepts of them,
engendering in ourselves that adequate idea of which our affect or passion
provides an inadequate expression and then relating the adequate idea to
God.
But how do we do this? Vp11–15 depict the process by which we conjoin
“images” – by which Spinoza understands both affects and ideas deriving
from the imagination – to the idea of God. At vp4, Spinoza claims: “There
is no affection of the body, of which we are unable to form some clear and
distinct concept.” This might seem to imply that we can become completely
adequate beings, but Spinoza qualifies this in the demonstration:
Those things that are common to all can only be conceived adequately (by iip38),
and so (by iip12 and l2 [ii/98]) there is no affection of the body of which we cannot
form some clear and distinct concept, q.e.d. (emphasis added, CW 598)
Vp4 depends tacitly on the prior proposition where Spinoza claims: “An
affect which is a passion ceases to be a passion as soon as we form a clear
and distinct idea of it” (vp3, CW 598), a proposition many have found
perplexing to say the least.9 It is important to emphasize that Spinoza does
not think that through clarifying our affects we become entirely clear and
distinct beings. Rather, he is claiming that there is no affect of which we
cannot in principle form a clear and distinct idea.10 All bodies agree in
some things (l2) and, since the mind perceives everything in the body,
it perceives these commonalities. These common features are adequate as
they are in the part and whole. We relate as many of our body’s affects as
we can to the idea of God, through whichever of these adequate ideas we
9 See particularly, J. Thomas Cook, “Adequate Understanding of Inadequate Ideas: Power and Paradox
in Spinoza’s Cognitive Therapy,” in E. Yakira, Y. Yovel, and A. Garrett (eds.), Ethica V: Amor Dei
Intellectualis: Spinoza on Intuitive Knowledge and Beatitude (New York, NY: Little Room Press,
forthcoming).
10 Granted, Latin lacks a distinction between indefinite and definite articles. I am claiming that this
seems the most consistent way to construe the passage. For a justification see Spinoza’s invocation
of the “some” variant of vp3 in the demonstration of vp14.
can access. Since these commonalities exist, we can form some clear and
distinct concepts of them via the second kind of knowledge.
But this does not imply, and seems to me cannot imply, that we entirely
rationalize our affects. In fact, most of us do not rationalize our affects to
any significant degree and none of us turn all of our images into adequate
ideas. Rather we come to understand that all of our images arise in a mind
that ultimately has God as a cause.
Whatever positive content these images have is a consequence of those
clear and distinct or adequate ideas in the infinite intellect of which they
are confused representations. Again, this does not mean we always or even
often have access to these adequate ideas as such, rather we normally just
have access to the ideas which have as their object those features of our
bodies which are common with the bodies which impact them (vp4) and
through which the affections are known. So I may not be able to know your
particular affirmative essence to any degree, but I can know various things
that you and I have in common as bodies and minds and know something
about you insofar as these common features are included in your partic-
ular affirmative essence. This, in turn, dissolves certain passions I might
form which depend on images that go against these commonalities. For
example, Spinoza counselled his superstitious friend Balling (Letter XVII)
that by understanding the commonalities between our beliefs in ghosts
and other similar psychological experiences for which we have physiolog-
ical explanations – i.e. by providing an account of why we feel like we
experience ghosts – the fear will subside. This may not always work, but
it is in principle the only solution, resting on Spinoza’s assumption that
an inadequate idea is a limited perspective on an adequate idea, and, once
the perspective is broadened (we understand the context that the ghost
arises in via the commonalities between bodies as opposed to experiencing
it independent of this context), we no longer have access to the inadequate
perspective. For example, once I learn how to play the violin properly I
have a general sense of the poor way I formerly played the violin. But it
is impossible for me to play the violin in just the same shoddy way that I
used to, i.e. to pick out the bad bowing pattern that used to come natu-
rally to me. At best I sound like a violinist imitating a beginner, not like a
beginner.11
11 A well-known pedal steel player, Buddy Emmons, remarked that once you become sufficiently
proficient at an instrument, everything sounds like a well-crafted, intended “lick.” I think that this is
a nice analogy for Spinoza’s virtuous man. The story is recounted by John Hartford in Tony Trischka
and Pete Wernick (eds.), Masters of the Five String Banjo (Roanoke, VA: Acutab Publications, 2000),
203.
What to do though with all of these intransigent and stubborn images
that resist emendation? We order those features of images that remain after
we form adequate ideas of some aspect of them, the difficult detritus of the
first kind of knowledge which does not go away just because we have formed
a few adequate ideas, by conjoining them to “images related to things we
understand clearly and distinctly” (vp12). How? Through forming ideas of
ideas, just as we do when we read the Ethics and examine the order of a
variety of ideas, images and affections that make up our minds. Once we
form ideas of ideas, we use them to organize our affects and relate them
back to the idea of God – the first true idea we find in our minds (vp14).12
This is not to say that the use of ideas of ideas to organize our affects
is not mysterious. Spinoza seems to think that it depends on parallelisms
between ideas of ideas, ideas of the body, and bodily states, especially in vp1
(the root of all the subsequent claims about ordering in Part V).13 Changes
in the body to greater or lesser power do not cause, but have parallels in
changes in the mind as well as changes in formal representations or ideas
of ideas.
Of course, emending ourselves is not easy, nor does it always work.
Furthermore, ideas of ideas are not really discussed by Spinoza in Part V.
So I am filling in what I view as a gap in Spinoza’s argument and presenting
what I think is the most consistent argument open to him. But, I cannot
imagine anything else he could have in mind, as we need to identify and
classify our affects and we can only compare them qua ideas of ideas.
The next stage is to connect images that are difficult to clarify, with the
idea of God (vp5, vp16). Why? The idea of God that we emend in our
minds is an adequate and common idea, included in each and every other
idea. Spinoza claims that “the more an image is joined with other images,
the more it flourishes” (vp13). The demonstration of vp13 reads “the more
an image is joined with other images, the more causes there are (iip18) by
which it can be aroused.” If our images are associated with the idea of God,
then when we think inadequate thoughts we can move by association to
adequate ideas. This particular adequate idea we understand to be common
to all of our ideas, and, although we do not know how our inadequate ideas
are comprehended in the idea of God, we can still know that they include
it and are understood in relation to it. This rids us of some of the grip of
the negative aspects of our imagination and alternately leads us to think
more and more about God.
12 Thanks to Henry Allison for suggesting the importance of ideas of ideas in this context.
13 vp1 is derived from iip7 and thus assumes parallelism.
What does this mean practically? It means that we ought to organize our
necessary recourse to imagination – for eating, surviving, dreaming – in
such a way that we do understand these actions in terms of their “virtue,”
i.e. assisting our conatus. We also ought to connect it by association with
ideas that make us happy and bring us greater power of thinking, those ideas
that produce more and more ideas in the sense described in the previous
chapter. Finally, in case we lose sight of the virtue of the imagination, we
ought to associate the ideas of the imagination with the most comprehensive
of all ideas, the idea of God. Even if we cannot ultimately gain adequate
perspectives on all of our inadequate ideas, at least we can understand their
place in relation to the most comprehensive of ideas.
Now we can return to an earlier question: what does Spinoza mean when
he claims that the human mind is “the infinite power of Nature” in thought
“not insofar as it is infinite and perceives the whole of Nature, but insofar
as it is finite and perceives only the human Body” (Letter XXXII), the
solution he offered to the problem of the worm in the blood? Ultimately
the human mind is made up of ideas, and these ideas are in and through
God. We perceive our bodies finitely, and our minds have our finite bodies
as their objects (iip13). When we understand how our adequate ideas are
comprehended in the infinite intellect insofar as they are in and through
God, we comprehend the infinite power of nature insofar as it is finite
and perceives only the human body. This does not mean that we have
infinite intellects. Our mind has an adequate knowledge of God’s eternal
and infinite essence: it has knowledge of how it is in the part and whole
and that other parts also are in nature even if we do not understand their
determinate features and causes, but it does not comprehend the entirety
of the infinite essence as such. We can have this knowledge because of the
presence of the infinite in the finite in the sense that I described in chapter 2.
As we understand the idea of God better, that it represents an absolutely
infinite and causa sui being, we can emend ourselves further from confusion
and relate our affects more and more to it. Consequently, we understand
better how our finite minds and ideas are in and through it.14
14 This is a fairly orthodox interpretation. For Bartuschat, Spinoza “excludes that what man knows is
part of what the infinite intellect knows . . . knowledge reaches into a sphere that is inaccessible to the
infinite intellect since this sphere belongs to a temporally existing being” (Wolfgang Bartuschat, “The
Infinite Intellect and Human Knowledge,” in Yirmiyahu Yovel and Gideon Segal [eds.], Spinoza
on Knowledge and the Human Mind [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994], 196). This claim seems too strong
to me, Spinoza’s point is far simpler: whatever is positive in cognition is positive insofar as it is
a representation, albeit confused, of the true ideas that make up the infinite intellect. I cannot
see how Spinoza could have ever maintained that there is meaningful content in our ideas which
is inaccessible to the infinite intellect. Bartuschat also claims: “Man is a singular being, and can
t h e e t e r n i t y o f pa rt o f t h e m i n d
Part V is unique in having no definitions of its own. This is because
Part V is concerned with showing how prior definitions and propositions
and how a particular sort of knowledge – the third kind of knowledge – and
a particular sort of affect – the intellectual love of God – can be engendered
in us. Each is crucially important for our beatitude. This follows from the
general structure that I have outlined in the previous chapter, that Parts I
and II concern first principles and how things arise from and are in and
through first principles. Parts III and IV concern the power and servitude
of minds and bodies, how we are what we are in and through these princi-
ples, and more particularly how we have more or less power in and through
them. As noted in the previous section, the theory of the affects culminates
in the attempt to harness the imagination in such a way as to have more
adequate causation as a conatus. Spinoza picks up this theme in Part V after
having considered all the difficulties in Part IV.
Given that Part V has no definitions, we might assume that the two
axioms are of great importance. Oddly, they are hardly employed in V,
and not at all in the propositions after vp20 (va1 in vp7 and va2 in an
alternative demonstration of vp8).15 Va2 is particularly interesting: “The
power of an effect is defined by the power of its cause, insofar as its essence
is explained or defined by the essence of its cause.” Although va2 is not
invoked in the latter parts of Part V, it signals a central theme of this stretch
of the Ethics: power and its interconnection with knowledge of essences. In
addition, given that a1 and a2 are peripheral to the actual demonstrations
in V, we should view the purpose of Part V primarily as syncretic: drawing
together many important propositions in Parts I–IV that have a bearing on
our blessedness.
As noted previously, there are two major transitions in Part V. The first
moves us from considering the connecting of images to the idea of God to
the eternity of the mind. Spinoza alerts the reader to the transition with
the famous remark: “It is time now, to move to that, which pertains to the
duration of the mind without relation to the body” (vp20s). Many readers
perceive only as such; yet, if the reality of a singular thing is marked by existence in time and by
being not only pure essence, then man’s knowledge can only be achieved under the conditions of
temporality” (206). This emphasis on the inaccessibility of the infinite intellect is reminiscent of
Heidegger (or even Hegel on some interpretations) but not Spinoza. Despite this basic difference, I
am, as previously noted, indebted to the way in which Bartuschat draws together important passages
and shows their interdependence.
15 For an interesting treatment, see Pierre Macherey, Introduction à l’Ethique de Spinoza: La cinquième
partie, Les voies de la libération (Paris: PUF, 1994), 45–7.
of Spinoza have found this passage particularly troubling as it seems to
imply that the mind can exist without the body, which would seem to go
against the doctrine of parallelism.
How then to cope with this passage? Martha Kneale influentially dis-
missed one approach, remarking “the reaction of commentators to these
contradictions has for the most part been to say that, when Spinoza in this
section uses language appropriate to duration, he does not mean what he
says but is obliged to speak metaphorically.”16 Kneale is right in noting
that claiming a difficult passage is ironic should be a last interpretive re-
course. But in this case there are good reasons to view vp20s as intentionally
paradoxical.
Examine the Latin from the final line of vp20s that forms the transitional
sentence to the final sections of the Ethics:
Tempus igitur iam est, ut ad illa transeam, quae ad Mentis durationem sine relatione
ad Corpus pertinent.
The passage seems at least partially ironic since, for a passage describing the
eternity of the mind which cannot be explained via temporal predicates, the
first clause is very heavy with temporal words – literally “Time therefore
now it is.” More importantly, it is not necessary to read the clause as a
declarative sentence. The passage is normally translated: “we will now see
how it is the case that duration applies to the mind without the body.”
One can equally well translate it as “it is time now to see what ‘pertains’
to the issue of the duration of the mind without relation to the body,”
which does not assume that there is duration of the mind without the
body.
Why might Spinoza do this? In order to suggest a topic familiar to
readers steeped in Descartes’ philosophy and the works of countless other
philosophers of the religions of the Book – the immortality of the soul.
The Ethics, too, will treat this topic, albeit in a drastically different way
than other philosophers. But, from the way the expression is rendered, it
is still not clear what it means to apply duration to the mind, and perhaps
intentionally so.
What pertains to the “duration of the mind without the body” is con-
sidered in the notorious vp23:
V p 2 3 : The human mind is not able to be absolutely destroyed with its body, but
something of it remains which is eternal.
16 Martha Kneale, “Eternity and Sempiternity,” in Marjorie Grene (ed.), Spinoza: A Collection of Critical
Essays (New York: Anchor, 1973), 237.
We attribute no duration to the human mind, except insofar as it expresses the
actual existence of the body, which is explicated through duration, and is able to
be defined by time, that is (by 11p 8c ) we do not attribute duration to it, unless
with regard to an enduring body.
Spinoza is stressing that “duration” is a property of actual existing bodies,
and thoughts have duration only insofar as thoughts are referred to bodies.17
This passage is particularly mysterious because, when combined with other
important passages in the Ethics, we get overt contradictions:
(1) There is something of the mind that is eternal (vp23);
(2) This something cannot be destroyed with the body (vp23);
(3) The body can be and is destroyed when its ratio of motion and rest is
altered (ivp39s);
(4) The object of the idea constituting the mind is the actually existing
body (iip13);
(5) Whatever the mind understands under a species of eternity, it under-
stands not from the fact that it conceives the Body’s present actual
existence, but from the fact that it conceives the Body’s essence under
a species of eternity (vp29).
The most promising avenue to deal with this mess seems to be to emphasize
that only a part of the mind is eternal. Since the mind is made up of
adequate and inadequate ideas and only those ideas could be eternal which
are adequate, and since the ideas which make up our perceptions of our
body are inadequate, then just those ideas are eternal which are adequate.
The crucial point to keep in mind is that, although it is clear that for
Spinoza the object of the mind is the actually existing body (iip13), the actual
body picks out the mind as a whole and our understanding of it as a whole:
it includes not just adequate ideas but also the inadequate understanding of
the body we have through the imagination. From this perspective, the mind
includes many sorts of ideas, some adequate and some inadequate. When
we separate out the adequate ideas from the inadequate ideas through a
geometrical method in the fashion I have described in prior chapters, we
attempt to distinguish them into two classes (although in practice we cannot
do it neatly). Since Spinoza assumes that inadequate ideas are mutilated
expressions of our perspectives on adequate ideas, and whatever reality
they have arises from the mutilated adequate ideas, it could not be the case
that the inadequate features of the inadequate idea could enter into the
17 In Letter XII Spinoza distinguishes between time and duration, and between duration and eternity,
which makes vp23 all the more confusing as duration is opposed to eternity, but time is derivative
of duration.
eternal essence of anything as they are finite and involve duration. Thus
only the adequate ideas of the body could make up the essence of the body
understood under a species of eternity, and these are logically separable
from the present actual existence of the body that in turn has a particular
determinate essence.18
This is not meant to imply that we have total access to the essence of the
body. Rather, insofar as we have adequate ideas they are adequate ideas of
the body’s essence and form a part of the mind. Furthermore, if we consider
parts of the mind not as parts fitting into a whole, but as parts of nature –
modes guided by and deriving from the eternal laws of the attribute of
thought – there is no reason why these parts of the mind cannot be un-
derstood independently of both the individuated body as a whole and a
determinate mind made up of both adequate and inadequate ideas.
What sort of ideas might these be? Since only the second and third
kinds of knowledge are adequate, an adequate understanding of the actually
existing body would have to arise from knowledge of all those features it
has in common with other bodies, both globally and locally. We do not
have access to an adequate understanding of many features of our actual
existing body, as we only know them in terms of those affective features we
have in common with the bodies we interact with.
Of course, some of us have many adequate ideas and our adequate ideas
assume and include knowledge of a great deal of causes through which we
understand their adequacy as a consequence of the fact that for Spinoza
every definition of an uncreated thing must include a cause. But there is
no reason why part of our minds cannot be distinguished from the rest,
at least logically, and this adequate part would be the eternal “part” of our
minds, a part of nature in the sense considered in chapter 1. This is not an
argument for the eternity of the mind, rather an argument that it would not
be inconsistent for Spinoza to maintain that a part of the mind is eternal.
The more serious problem concerns the immortality of the body. Spinoza
cannot say that this particular, determinate body is eternal any more than
he can say that this determinate mind as a whole is eternal. But if a part of
the mind is eternal then, by iip7, is a part of the body eternal? I think that
the answer must be yes, but not insofar as the stuff in my body is eternal.
Rather the ratio of motion and rest that arises in the attribute of extension
and is in and through the IIM of “motion and rest” is eternal. Clearly
Spinoza cannot mean this particular ratio of motion and rest insofar as it
18 This distinction is made by Spinoza between “actual essence” (ivp4) and “essence of the body under
a species of eternity” (vp23).
organizes particular bits of matter as he makes clear that bodies dies when
they acquires new ratios of motion and rest (ivp39s). Nor can he mean the
bits of matter themselves, or their correspondent ideas, for reasons I will
consider later. But the ratio itself, insofar as it derives from the IIM in the
attribute of extension, could certainly be eternal, in fact would be eternal
as it does not rely on a particular duration. Where is this ratio once my
particular body dies? This is a nonsensical question, an attempt to make
eternal constituents of the attribute of extension correspond to the finite
and durational rules of the imagination.
But none of the above explains why the mind is eternal. For this we need
to examine the interrelation between the eternity of the mind and the third
kind of knowledge, in particular how they are interrelated in the vp31 (the
proposition concerning formal cause).
i n t u i t i ve s c i e n c e
Let us now reconsider the makeup of vp31, a proposition that signals a
transition to the final section of Part V (vp31–42). Three of the propositions
invoked in the demonstration of vp31 deal with the third kind of knowledge.
As I have noted previously, it is not at all clear what Spinoza understands
the third kind of knowledge to be. Spinoza asserts that it proceeds from the
adequate idea of the formal essence of some attributes of God to adequate
knowledge of the essence of things (iip40s2). The “essence of things” is a
rather broad phrase, but it seems to imply that we move from a general sort
of knowledge to a determinate knowledge of particular essences.19 Spinoza
describes it by comparing it with the different sorts of ways one might
discern ratios in numbers. If we have two proportional numbers 1 and 2,
and we are given a third, 3, it is clear to all that the fourth proportional is
6, i.e., 1 is to 2 as 3 is to 6. But why?
In a classic article, Alexandre Matheron has provided an excellent analysis
of how the analogy of the fourth proportional bears on the third kind
of knowledge.20 There are two discussions of the scientia intuitiva and
the fourth proportional in Spinoza’s philosophy other than the discussion
19 It is unclear from the way Spinoza presents the third kind of knowledge, whether the third kind
of knowledge is both the adequate idea of the formal essence of certain attributes of God and the
knowledge of the essences of things that arise from it, or just the knowledge of the essences of things
(and the former belongs to the second kind of knowledge from which the third kind of knowledge
arises).
20 Alexandre Matheron, “Spinoza and Euclidean Arithmetic: The Example of the Fourth Proportional,”
in Marjorie Grene and Debra Nails (eds.), Spinoza and the Sciences (Dordrecht: D. Reidel, 1986),
125–50. [The article was translated by David Lachterman.]
found in the Ethics, one in the TIE and one in the KV . In both the TIE
and the KV the sort of knowledge that Spinoza calls knowledge of the third
kind in the Ethics is referred to as a fourth kind of knowledge. Of these,
the discussion in the KV is the least precise, although Mignini has argued
for its superiority over the discussion in the TIE.21
In the KV Spinoza divides the four sorts of knowledge as follows. In
the first case someone tells us a rule: if you multiply the second and third
numbers, and divide the product by the first, you then find the fourth
number, which has the same proportion to the third as the second to the
first. Spinoza uses no numbers in this passage from the KV , but given two
numbers a and b, which determine a ratio, and another number c, one can
determine a fourth number d , which stands in the same ratio to c as a to
b, by b × c/a. As Spinoza points out, if someone tells us this rule, and we
have no sanctions for believing it beyond his or her authority, since he or
she could be lying we have no “more knowledge of the rule of three than a
blind man has of color” (KV ii:1, i/54).
In the second case we might test it with particular calculations, and try
to sanction the rule via induction. But this is also uncertain. To use an
example not employed by Spinoza, given the fact that there are solutions
of a2 + b2 = c 2 we might assume that there is a solution for a4 + b4 = c 4 ,
and we would be wrong (hence Fermat’s last theorem – although Fermat’s
inductive hypothesis based on the fact that he could find no solution for
a n + b n = c n for n > 2 is correct!).
In the third case we consult reason, and reason tells us that “because
of the property of proportionality in these numbers this is so, and could
not have been or happened otherwise” (KV ii:1, i/55). Here Spinoza is
referring to Euclid’s geometrical demonstration of the fourth proportional
at Elements vii.19. But this is not the end of it since Spinoza offers “a fourth,
who has the clearest knowledge of all. Has no need of either report, or of
experience, or of the art of reasoning, because through his penetration he
immediately sees the proportionality in all the calculations” (ibid.). Spinoza
adds in a note that “this last one never opines or believes, but sees the thing
in itself, not through something else, but in itself” (ii:1, n.d). In a further
elaboration of this sort of knowledge Spinoza emphasizes that it is primarily
to be understood as a union with God (KV ii:22, i/101).
In the KV version Spinoza strongly emphasizes the proximity and imme-
diacy implicit in the highest sort of knowledge. In the TIE Spinoza again
presents four grades of knowledge considered via the example of the fourth
21 Filippo Mignini, “In Order to Interpret Spinoza’s Theory of the Third Kind of Knowledge: Should
Intuitive Science be Considered Per Causam Proximam Knowledge,” in Edwin Curley and Pierre-
François Moreau (eds.), Spinoza: Issues and Directions (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 136–46.
proportional. Some seeking a fourth proportional will take over a rule that
they have heard from their teachers, and apply it based on authority. This is
similar to the first case from the KV . Others will try to construct a universal
axiom on the basis of experience. They will discover the rule by trial and
error, and “infer that the procedure is always a good way to find the number
in the proportion.” This is noticeably different from the parallel stage in
KV , as it is not merely a question of confirming a rule via experiment, but
actually constructing a rule by empirical example.22
Mathematicians understand the rule from the rational evidence given
in Euclid’s demonstration. Through this they come to understand the na-
ture of proportion, and ipso facto how the nature of proportion applies to
numbers such as 2, 4, 3, and 6. But “they do not see the adequate propor-
tionality of the given numbers – [a]nd if they do, they see it not by the
force of that proposition, but intuitively [NS: or] without going through
any procedure” (TIE 24).
Matheron notes that although there are many similarities between the
TIE and the Ethics discussions (iip40s2) of the fourth proportional, there are
also important differences. In the Ethics there are three kinds of knowledge
and in the TIE (and KV ) four kinds (the Ethics lumps the first two sorts
of knowledge in the TIE and the KV together as one kind of knowledge).
But the most important difference appears at first glance far more trivial.
The Ethics version of the fourth proportional is even briefer than the one
in the TIE, and specifically used to illustrate the highest sort of knowledge.
It reads:
But in the simplest numbers none of this is necessary. Given the numbers 1, 2, and
3, no one fails to see that the fourth proportional number is 6 – and we see this
much more clearly because we infer the fourth number from the ratio which, in
one glance, we see the first number to have the second. (CW 478)
Matheron notes that where Spinoza uses 2, 4, 3, and 6 in the TIE, he uses 1,
2, 3, and 6 in the Ethics. In the Ethics Spinoza emphasizes adequate features
of the “simplest numbers” and from this arises the fourth proportional,
whereas in the TIE the proportional arises “not by the force of that propo-
sition, but intuitively [NS: or] without going through any procedure.” This
seems, in turn, consonant with the emphasis on the immediacy of the third
kind of knowledge in the KV .
Matheron uses this to argue that “the relevance of the case chosen by Spinoza
derives precisely from the fact that, in the case of the discovery of the fourth
proportional, the fourth mode of knowledge is not a simple concretization
22 As this is also how Spinoza considers it in the Ethics, this would seem to argue for the later date of
the TIE rather than the KV , contra Mignini.
of the third: their respective structures are entirely different.”23 The ratios
“2/4 = 3/6” and “1/2 = 3/6” differ insofar as “1/2” is the structuring ratio
itself and thus the cause of its multiple “3/6,” whereas “2/4” is a multiple
of the more fundamental ratio “1/2.” When we reason that “1/2 = 3/6” we
derive 3/6 from the essence of 1/2, and structure it via this ratio. We consider
3/6 as a sort of expression of “1/2,” i.e., 3(1/2). Matheron adds:
But then what relation with the second kind of knowledge is involved? To under-
stand this a single remark will be enough. Knowledge whose point of departure
belongs to the third kind can indeed be, in respect to a given object, of the second
kind as far as its point of arrival is concerned.
Matheron’s comment is elliptical, perhaps a single remark is not sufficient,
but I construe his remark as follows. Both the second and third kind of
knowledge deal with adequate ideas, even the same adequate ideas, as they
do in the example of the fourth proportional. In Spinoza’s example of the
second kind of knowledge, adequate ideas are deduced or discovered from
common properties of proportionals. Thus 2/4 and 3/6 share a common
property, 1/2, and this is a common property of proportionals as such. In
the case of the second kind of knowledge we can deduce a rule via the
Euclidean demonstration, and then apply this rule to different sorts of
ratios, all resting on common features of numbers. But in the case of 1/2 we
are dealing with a determinate ratio found only in the simplest numbers,24
and we can understand other ratios, 2/4 and 3/6, through 1/2. Both sorts
of knowledge result in an adequate understanding of a ratio, but one is
derived from a common feature applied to other numbers, whereas in the
case of the third kind of knowledge “we seize the object directly as opposed
to by rules that are applied externally.”25
a d e quat e c au s e s
Now, given this very brief discussion of the third kind of knowledge and the
fourth proportional, I would like to consider vp31. What provides the link
between the eternity of a part of the mind and the third kind of knowledge?
Our mind continually strives and this striving is its essence (iiip9s). It
strives for all sorts of things, which both augment and diminish its power,
both aid and abet its striving. The highest sort of striving or conatus of
23 Matheron, “Spinoza and Euclidean Arithmetic,” 143.
24 This is strictly not true, take for example the ratio of two enormous prime numbers. But the point
seems well enough taken.
25 Alexandre Matheron, Individu et Communauté chez Spinoza (Paris: Éditions de Minuit, 1988), 581.
See also Parkinson, Spinoza’s Theory of Knowledge, 181–90. (Matheron cites Parkinson as the source
of his discussion.)
the mind we can attain is the third kind of knowledge, which arises from
the second kind of knowledge, and gives us our greatest satisfaction and
pleasure. Finally, the third kind of knowledge allows us to understand God,
insofar as it is the most adequate way of understanding singular things, and
the more we understand singular things, the more we understand God
(vp24).
The conatus of the mind attains the third kind of knowledge when
we understand the singular essences of things that please us and help us
to understand God. Viewing the third kind of knowledge in terms of the
conatus of the mind combines two vantage points on this highest cognition.
It is a form of cognition, as outlined in iip40s2 and it is also the highest sort
of striving of the conatus. This shows how and why we attempt to take part
in this third kind of knowledge: it is a striving that results in “the greatest
kind of satisfaction” (vp27). It is notable that Spinoza only speaks of things
that pertain to both the second and the third kind of knowledge in Part II,
he needs the conatus as developed in Part III to be able to distinguish the
second and the third kinds of knowledge.26
So, to summarize: (1) we move from imagination and memory, from the
rejection of knowledge that is contingent and is of duration, to a knowledge
that is adequate and explains the rational logical and physical features of our
world (while still recognizing the virtue and necessity of the imagination);
(2) out of this second kind of knowledge we strive toward a third kind of
knowledge, which is an intuitive science of adequate essences insofar as
they are singular or determinate; (3) mind is the formal cause of the third
kind of knowledge; (4) our intellectual love of God ultimately arises from
this third kind of knowledge.
(3) was the idiosyncracy in vp31, Spinoza’s invocation of formal causes. As
I have noted above, Spinoza equates formal cause with adequate cause. So,
to understand formal cause, we must understand adequate cause. Adequate
cause is defined at iiid1 as:
that whose effect can be clearly and distinctly perceived through it. But I call it par-
tial, or inadequate, if its effect cannot be understood through it alone. (CW 492)
This seems obvious enough. If I, for example, have two ideas, and if one
is perceived through the other in a sufficiently precise and encompassing
26 As described in vp24 (as opposed to iip40s2). Spinoza chooses to add this criterion in Part V (although
he derives it from ip25c [“Particular things are nothing but affections of God’s attributes, or modes
by which God’s attributes are expressed in a certain and determinate way,”] which we have also seen
was very important to iiip6). Knowledge of singular things in Part II is only through the imagination
and the second kind of knowledge, whereas Part V considers knowledge of singular things as the
third kind of knowledge.
manner, then one is the cause of the other. An example might be the causal
relation between a genetic definition of a triangle and the properties of a
triangle.
But this is not a sufficient explanation. First, Spinoza specifies that it is
an adequate cause, so we might wonder what this has to do with adequacy.
Adequate idea and adequacy are discussed at some length in Part II. Cause
is a central but undefined concept throughout the Ethics. Much of Part I
concerns cause, and how primary beings are related through causes. Part
III begins with a uniting of two essential concepts that are central to the
two preceding books.
Why does Spinoza connect these two concepts? He is telling us that
what he is about to discuss concerns how the metaphysics of substance is
connected to the other fundamental categories in his philosophy, and how
it is related to the adequacy of ideas. This is what we have seen in our
analysis of propositions like iiip6 and others, that the key metaphysical,
epistemological, and physical concepts of Parts I and II are now viewed
insofar as they express the conatus, and insofar as the conatus ultimately
seeks to express itself qua adequate cause.
Spinoza chose to emphasize adequate causes, as opposed to true causes,
because he wished to emphasize the cause as the entire ground of the effect
with no need for an external referent. I do not, for example take a cause
and effect, compare it to another cause and effect or to another set of
necessitating conditions, and thereby determine whether the relation is
satisfactory. It is rather an internal cause as set out in chapter 2, the truth
and relevance of the effect arises entirely out of its relation to the cause,
with no dependence on an external object.
Why does Spinoza use the word “perceived” in the definition? In his def-
inition of attribute, Spinoza says that an attribute is that which an intellect
perceives of substance as its essence. This is contrasted with “conceives,”
which Spinoza uses to define substance as that which is conceived through
and in itself. Further, in a note to the definition of idea in Part II (iid3)
Spinoza remarks that “perception” indicates that a mind is acted upon by
an object, whereas “concept” expresses an activity of mind.
This distinction is not terribly consistent in the Ethics. But, assuming
that it holds for this passage, we see that the cause is adequate insofar as
we can perceive the effect clearly and distinctly through it. I submit that
this incorporates a broad epistemic notion into the definition. It is not
sufficient that an effect follow from the cause to be an adequate cause. It
must provide sufficient epistemic context within which to have clear and
distinct knowledge of an effect. If some X is the cause of Y, for it to be
the adequate cause of Y I must reciprocally be able to perceive what Y is
entirely through X, I must need nothing additional to perceive Y. When
Spinoza uses this definition in Part IV, he asserts that an adequate cause,
in relation to human beings, is one whose effects can be deduced from the
laws of our nature alone (ivp2).
In other words, Spinoza uses “perceive” as opposed to “conceive” to
emphasize that the relation from effect to cause is a passive one and that
the effect is understood entirely within the context that its cause provides.
The converse does not hold. A cause can certainly be conceived and one
can conceive with it. For example, Spinoza does not imply that I have to
know the microstructure of an entity down to its atomic constituents to be
said to be its adequate cause, or have built a machine to be the adequate
cause of its product. Therefore, the word “perceive” further emphasizes
that “adequacy” in the expression “adequate cause” does its work as the
ground through which an effect is understood irrespective of an external
object.
Now let us see how all of this is employed in vp31. Spinoza concludes
his demonstration by asserting “the mind, insofar as it is eternal, is the
adequate, or formal, cause of the third kind of knowledge (iiid1, CW 610).”
Furthermore, as we have seen, the adequate cause is an efficient cause since
it has an effect. Thus an efficient cause is a formal cause, an apparently
difficult state of affairs for the theory of the four causes.
Actually, though, Spinoza is not unique in this.27 Zabarella argued in
De Medio Demonstrationis that the form is that cause which best exhibits
necessity in a scientific demonstration.28 Bacon attempted to construct
a theory of forms on the basis of efficient causes, and Hobbes similarly
minimized the difference between “natural” and “artificial” forms insofar
as both arise from efficient causes. For Spinoza, the mind, insofar as it is
eternal, is the formal, or adequate and necessary cause, of the third kind
of knowledge. The mind, insofar as it is eternal, has adequate knowledge
of God, and can know the things that follow from this knowledge of
God. Thus Spinoza is saying that our mind is the cause of the third kind
of knowledge, since our mind, by virtue of being a mind, has adequate
knowledge of God, and all those things that follow from the knowledge
of God. Spinoza uses “formal” cause, as a way of signifying that the mind
is the efficient cause, but specifically insofar as the effect (the third kind
of knowledge) is understood through this cause alone (and thus nothing
27 There are also basic differences between Zabarella, on the one side, and Hobbes and Bacon, on
the other, although I have emphasized the similarities. For example, Hobbes’ emphasis on genetic
definitions has no analogue in Zabarella, despite the theory of mental instruments.
28 See William Edwards, “The Logic of Iacopo Zabarella (1535–1589),” (Columbia University Ph.D.,
1960), 286–322.
external). Consequently the mind is the internal cause of the third kind
of knowledge, through which the essences of the things – the “forms” –
grasped by the third kind of knowledge are fully explained.
How is this related to the eternity of the mind? Spinoza writes:
But here it should be noted that although we are already certain that the mind is
eternal, insofar as it conceives things under a species of eternity, nevertheless, for
an easier explanation and better understanding of the things we wish to show, we
shall consider it as if it were now beginning to be, and were now beginning to
understand things under a species of eternity, as we have done up to this point.29
(CW 610)
This is a strong support for the “epistemological” interpretation of the
eternity of the mind, as Spinoza clearly equates conceiving things under a
species of eternity with the eternity of the mind.30 The simplest interpre-
tation would be that our minds conceive things under a species of eternity
when our ideas have no temporal markers or reference to the duration of
the body, and are related to the definition of God and are seen to arise from
the definition of God (and are consequently adequate). Then they satisfy
id8: “By eternity I understand existence itself, insofar as it is conceived
necessarily to follow solely from the definition of an eternal thing.”
In other words (1) eternity is dependent on existence itself, (2) the abso-
lutely infinite being is existence itself, and (3) God is the absolutely infinite
being, to show how something arises from God is to show that it is eter-
nal. But this only holds in a particular and limited way. Spinoza explains
“absolutely infinite” in id7 as “that therefore is absolutely infinite, which to
its essence pertains whatsoever expresses essence, and involves no negation.”
Insofar as an essence of a mode expresses something positive it expresses
an essence (iiip4). When we understand what an essence expresses, we
understand something of God, as God is “whatsoever expresses essence.”
This circumvents the problem that we cannot show how particular things
arise from God qua finite particular things. We can understand that they
have essences and this sort of eternity is just what they are in and through
“whatsoever expresses essence” or “existence itself.” It is not sempiternal
duration, nor any sort of stock of eternal essences through which beings
manifest themselves. Rather eternity can have no referent beyond positive
assertion of something, insofar as something positive is asserted through a
positive essence, and ipso facto eternal. This may seem a rather trivial sort
of eternity, but Spinoza would claim that if we seek immortal duration we
29 Vp31s.
30 For the “epistemological” interpretation see Allison, Benedict de Spinoza, 116–19.
are seeking to extend our imagined perceptions of what we are beyond its
warrant.31
This, of course, does not mean that our eternity is a feature just of the
activity of our minds. Much that we consider to be part of our selves could
very well be eternal independent of any cognition I have of its eternity.
Spinoza is discussing our certainty that the mind is eternal, and this can
only arise from a particular sort of certain cognition and the objects of this
cognition that we know to be eternal through this cognition. He wishes to
argue that it is intrinsic to this sort of cognition that we understand the
mind is eternal.
But there are two stages in understanding the eternity of the mind, one
associated with the second kind of knowledge and one associated with the
third kind of knowledge. Via the second kind of knowledge, I know that
ideas are eternal insofar as they have essences, and these essences express
something positive which ultimately relates back to God. This is similar
to how I understand things via the common properties of proportionals.
Those common features which are in the part and the whole are common
features of all bodies and minds, they are adequately conceived, and are
part of the idea of God insofar as they are adequate in and of themselves,
are comprehended in and through the idea of God (vp40c), and gain no
additional adequacy from being in the idea of God. As God is the absolutely
infinite being, whose infinity contains “whatever expresses essence, and
involves no negation,” those things that express essence are referred to the
eternal thing, and are thus eternal.
Now this provides us with a highly schematic notion of the eternity of
the mind, the mind is eternal just as many other things are – for example the
essence of the body. And we have access to this via the way that we conceive
them as eternal (although they are eternal independent of our conceiving
them). Of course, one of Spinoza’s central philosophical messages, one
which I emphasized in the discussion of imperia, is that we should not seek
a sort of human eternity or special set of human privileges which set us
above the rest of nature. We are part of nature in a rather deflated sense.
Consequently, the fact that much is eternal besides a part of our minds is
no argument against the importance of said eternity. Rather it is a powerful
naturalistic argument against a tradition that privileges the immortality of
the human soul, the tradition Spinoza referred to at vp20s. It is not this sort
31 Of course, not every way of looking at an essence renders it eternal. It is only insofar as we consider
essences as arising from God that they are eternal, because this is the only way that we can consider
a world with no external causes, and therefore no external causes capable of destroying a given
thing.
of cognition that makes us eternal or makes us special. Rather we recognize
our eternity via this cognition.
Similarly, we should not be upset by the fact that much of what we
consider to be our personal identity is clearly not eternal, and thus belongs
to the inadequate part of our minds and not that part which is eternal. In the
second to last proposition of the Ethics, Spinoza claims: “Although we may
be ignorant that our mind is eternal, piety, Religion . . . can and must be
attained” (vp41). This quote, along with the subsequent discussion, asserts
that our knowledge, or non-knowledge, of the eternity of our minds has
no direct impact on morality and religion, on our behavior toward others,
the communities we associate with, etc.
Since morals for Spinoza primarily involve relations between limited
finite beings (the passions that result from my being acted upon and acting)
and assumes my individual desires that express themselves through thought
and extension and unite them in its activity, to recognize that which in me
is eternal is to have little to do with morals. And little that I recognize
as mine, my vicious and virtuous acts, my passions and sentiments about
others, are recognizable in the eternal at all. As such, they are not me in
the deepest sense, or perhaps more accurately what I colloquially take to
be “me” is not eternal. This goes for the ways in which I imagine my body,
and those of others, and much more.
What is death for Spinoza then? We might imagine it as a birth into
freedom and clarity – as for Plotinus. For when I die, if that part of me
which was most rational ceased to have any concern with that part of me
which worried about death, my imagination, and good and evil, I would
be reborn as a free man. The quote with which I introduced Spinoza
seems to imply this: “a free man thinks of nothing less than of death,
and his wisdom is a meditation on life, not on death” (ivp67), as well as
“if men were born free, they would form no concept of good & evil so
long as they remained free” (ivp68, CW 584). But to say that this part of
us is what is eternal and free is idle speculation about death and terribly
unfree. Those who pursue this sort of immortality through religions that
promote personal immortality of the “vulgar” sort that Spinoza is trying
to undermine, are mired in confused and inadequate ideas. As Spinoza
remarks:
These opinions seem no less absurd to me than if someone, because he does not
believe he can nourish his body with good food to eternity, should prefer to fill
himself with poisons and other deadly things, or because he sees that the Mind is
not eternal, or immortal, should prefer to be mindless, and to live without reason.
These [common beliefs] are so absurd they are hardly worth mentioning. (vp41s,
CW 616)
In worrying and idly speculating about my duration, I am preferring
mindlessness to the activities of reason. I could at that very moment be
manifesting eternity through my thoughts and acts, turning mere immor-
tality into eternity, and becoming free irrespective of the when or where.
our eternity
This is a hard and simple eternity. Spinoza “personalizes”32 it, though,
with the third kind of knowledge. This is important for understanding the
concluding line from vp31s:
we shall consider it as if it were now beginning to be, and were now beginning to
understand things under a species of eternity, as we have done up to this point.
We may do this without danger of error, provided we are careful to draw our
conclusions only from evident premises. (CW 611)
Curley has faithfully rendered the strangeness of this passage. The second
sentence gives pause. Why might we think it would be dangerous to draw
conclusions? Have we not been drawing conclusions for well over two
hundred propositions?
And the first sentence is even stranger. Spinoza implies that we are both
beginning to see things under a species of eternity and have been seeing
things under a species of eternity up to this point. The most sensible way to
read the passage is that we are beginning to “be” under a species of eternity
although we have understood things under a species of eternity up to this
point. We might wonder, what distinguishes the propositions before and
after vp31?
Although the distinction is less strict than might be implied by vp31s,
many of the propositions after vp31 concern the intellectual love of God,
culminating at vp36. Many of these propositions attempt to show what
we are, insofar as we are eternal. Spinoza remarks at vp36, after having
claimed that he has demonstrated how much more powerful the third kind
of knowledge is than the second, that:
Although I have shown generally in Part I that all things (and consequently the
human Mind also) depend on God both for their essence and their existence,
nevertheless that demonstration, though legitimate and put beyond all chance of
doubt, still does not affect our Mind as much as when this is inferred from the
very essence of any singular thing which we say depends on God. (vp36, CW 613)
32 Bartuschat also emphasizes the “personal” character of the third kind of knowledge but as a special
and distinctive feature of humans (Bartuschat, “The Infinite Intellect and Human Knowledge,”
207–8). Still there is a consanguinity between Bartuschat’s emphasis on the third kind of knowledge
as knowledge for the knower and my own interpretation (208).
This passage shows that Spinoza understood Part V to have a similar con-
tent to Part I but a different emphasis. Unlike Part III and Part IV, Part V
deals with first principles, God most centrally, but from the perspective of
the human mode as opposed to from the perspective of the first principles
themselves: the intellectual love of God, harnessing our passions to the idea
of God, the eternity of part of the mind, and the third kind of knowledge.33
It is, above all, the last, the third kind of knowledge which distinguishes
the latter sections of Part V from Part I. For example, in the demonstra-
tion to vp24 – “The more we understand singular things, the more we
understand God” – Spinoza emphasizes that vp24 is directly derived from
a single proposition, ip25c, which reads: “Particular things are nothing,
unless affections or modes of the attributes of God, by which attributes of
God are expressed in a certain and determinate mode.”34 Ip25c is the first
definition Spinoza gives in the Ethics of the particular determinate mode.
Book V concerns how human understanding leads us to God and free-
dom. Since vp24 is derived directly from ip25c, one could consider vp24
as ip25c from the perspective of Part V, the “thing” viewed not insofar as
it arises from God in abstractu, but rather as a particular mode of which
we have determinate knowledge that leads to our blessedness and freedom.
We are clearly invited to try to understand this in terms of the third kind
of knowledge.
But what does it mean to show what something is, its essence and exis-
tence, from the “very essence of any singular thing which we say depends
on God”? Vp31 showed that the third kind of knowledge has the mind, in
our case the human mind, as its formal (or adequate efficient) cause. Thus,
to understand the essences of things via the third kind of knowledge is to
understand them through the essence of our mind (given the definition of
adequate cause which Spinoza equated with formal cause at vp31).
This risks being trivial, for it appears obvious that we always understand
things via the essence of our mind. But I do not think it is true. For
example, I might know that Lodewijk is a Lutheran, but, although this
knowledge involves the essence of my mind in some sense (my mind has an
essence and my mind knows this fact about Lodewijk), it does not entail
that I know this about Lodewijk through the essence of my mind or that
my knowledge of Lodewijk arises wholly from the essence of my mind in
the way that a proportion arises from a ratio and is understood through
a ratio. Rather it is a contingent fact, an inadequate idea that arises from
33 Part V is called “Of Human Freedom.”

34 The syntax of this famous passage is somewhat odd. Ip25c is derived from ip15 and d5.
the imagination, or more properly a confused representation of a mode
with an external cause. My knowledge of Lodewijk is analogous to the
sense in which I can know an external body insofar as I share common
features with it, we both have ratios of motion and rest for example, but
this adequate knowledge is different from the knowledge I would have if
we knew the very ratio that structured a body (I will return to this point
below).
This would also hold of those things I understand via the second kind of
knowledge, for example “bodies have motion.” I have adequate knowledge
of “bodies have motion” and it is clearly one of the ideas that make up
my mind. But “bodies have motion” does not arise from the essence of my
mind in particular: it holds of any body. Something is said to belong to an
essence if (1) when given the thing is given, and (2) if when taken away the
thing is taken away, and an essence is (3) that without which the thing can
neither be nor be conceived, and conversely (4) that which can neither be
nor be conceived without the thing (iid2). “Bodies have motion” satisfies
neither (1) nor (4) as part of the essence of our minds since clearly “bodies
have motion” can be conceived without human minds (Spinoza seems to be
attempting to rule out general properties or causal antecedents as holding
of particular essences (iip10cs)).
To move toward what actually might qualify as the third kind of knowl-
edge we should return to Spinoza’s remark in vp31s that “we shall consider
it as if it were now beginning to be, and were now beginning to under-
stand things under a species of eternity, as we have done up to this point”
(CW 610) As previously noted, Spinoza seems to have the passages after
vp31 in mind, and particularly those concerning the intellectual love of
God, as those through which we understand how we are beginning to be
eternal. The intellectual love of God is not the third kind of knowledge, but
rather a rational affect arising from the third kind of knowledge.35 But, if
we are to understand affects and cognition to be differing (and reciprocal)
perspectives on the same ideas, then one way of distinguishing the third
35 An important question I have dodged is, if the third kind of knowledge is best understood as
arising from the conatus of the mind and expressing something of our essence through adequately
comprehending the essence of an artifact, then is it not an affect instead of a kind of knowledge?
Spinoza states that “Out of the third kind of knowledge necessarily arises the intellectual love of
God. For out of this kind of cognition arises Elation connected to the idea of God, insofar as the
idea of God is the cause [of the third kind of knowledge]. That is the love of God, not insofar as we
imagine God to be present, but insofar as we understand God to be eternal, that is what I call the
intellectual love of God” (vp32c). For Spinoza it seems that the third kind of knowledge properly
becomes an affection when it has an object, in this case God.
Sometimes Spinoza minimizes the difference between cognition and affection: “Cognition of evil
is itself sadness, insofar as we are aware (conscii) of it” (IVP64).
kind of knowledge from the second kind of knowledge is that it picks out
a unique affect: the intellectual love of God.36
It is through this reciprocal relation between the most important of the
affects and the most important sort of knowledge that we understand what
we are, without danger (and by danger I take Spinoza to be alluding to the
possible heterodoxy of his position, which he hopes will be overcome by
the rigor of his argument for it). In vp36s Spinoza takes the following claim
to decisively show the superior power of the third kind of knowledge over
the second:
From this we clearly understand wherein our salvation, or blessedness, or Freedom
consists, viz. in a constant and eternal Love of God, or in God’s Love for men.
Again, because the essence of our Mind consists only in knowledge, of which God
is the beginning and foundation (by ip15 and iip47s), it is clear to us how our
Mind, with respect both to essence and existence, follows from the divine nature,
and continually depends on God. (CW 612)
This passage shows that the intellectual love of God allows us to recognize
the interchangeability of “a constant and eternal Love of God, or in God’s
Love for men,” of “our salvation, or blessedness, or Freedom.” The second
clause is intended to show that what is taken to be salvation in Christianity,
Judaism, and Islam is, when stripped of superstition and nonsense, really
the kind of rational salvation Spinoza is describing in the Ethics (a point
he illustrates with an extremely heterodox reading of Scripture).37 But the
first clause clearly shows us that via the affects we come to “feel” what we
are by expressing our adequate ideas in the third kind of knowledge, that
our mind includes an adequate idea of the infinite and eternal essence of
God, and this adequate idea of the eternal and infinite essence of God
is the way we are in and through God. Although we may know via the
second kind of knowledge that all things arise from God, we only know
the power of our essence as cause of the power of effects (va2), and the
way in which our mind is comprehended in the divine power, through the
reciprocity of the third kind of knowledge and the intellectual love of God.
Thus, we know how our minds, or more correctly parts of our minds, are
in and through God via the causal power they have. This causal power, and
the fact that effects are comprehended through us, tell us something quite
36 In the theory of the affects, Spinoza emphasizes that the more mutilated our knowledge is, the more
diverse the affects (iiip56).
37 Spinoza defines “true religion” as “whatever we desire and do of which we are the cause insofar
as we have the idea of God, or insofar as we know God, I relate to religion” (ivp37s1). On the
many complex issues involved in this see Richard Mason, The God of Spinoza: A Philosophical Study
(Cambridge University Press, 1997).
different about eternity than knowing that all essences insofar as they arise
from God are eternal in some sense. As described in vp23s, we feel through
the causal efficacy of our mind that we are eternal.
Thus the transition toward the third kind of knowledge is the recognition
of how our minds are eternal in and through what follows from them. There
is an important passage from the KV emphasizing just this. Spinoza claims
of human freedom that:
it is a firm existence which our intellect acquires through immediate union with
God, so that it can produce ideas in itself, and outside itself effects agreeing well
with its nature, without its effects being subjected, however, to any external causes
by which they can be changed or transformed. (KV ii:26, i/112)
What I recognize myself, or perhaps more appropriately “itself,” as being on

this picture is very, very different from what I ordinarily recognize myself
as (!). I do not recognize myself in this way as father, mother, Boy Scout
troop leader, obsessive mandolin playing hobbyist, sympathizer with the
plight of the weak, lover of my children, etc. But this is, of course, the goal
of the emendative process, to lead me back to those adequate ideas which
make my mind in such a way that I can express their being and power,
above all the idea of God. And this leads me back to much that is not part
of my finite personal identity.
Here I finally can get to the issue of what sort of knowledge Spinoza is
describing and its bearing on Spinoza’s method. As I have emphasized in
prior chapters, Spinoza’s geometrical method is both a process of emen-
dation and illative deduction. In the Ethics Spinoza wishes to rule out all
sorts of untenable readings of metaphysical, mental, and moral concepts in
order to point to metaphysical definitions rooted in adequate ideas already
in and making up our minds, above all the adequate idea of God included
in our minds that Spinoza points to above in vp36s.
But all ideas include an adequate idea of God. Part of the process of
emending our minds is to see how a wide variety of ideas arise from ideas we
already have, albeit often obscurely. We come to understand this through a
process of geometrical deduction and emendation, seeing the ways in which
certain ideas necessarily follow from others. But there is another set of con-
nections in the Ethics, the ways in which we see how certain crucial ideas –
like iiip7, iip7, ia4, ip7, ip15, ip16, and others – are the sources of many
other ideas which are, in turn, comprehended through them. In Part V this
becomes evident, as important propositions from the preceding sections of
the book are brought together for their bearing on our blessedness. Ulti-
mately all of these propositions must arise from our adequate understanding
of the idea of God, which the Ethics has attempted to clarify, and to rid us
of our tendency to understand God via the imagination.
By recognizing the importance of these propositions, seeing the ways
in which other propositions arise from them, and most importantly by
recognizing that they are not just external, albeit necessary, strings of ideas
guaranteeing certain illative consequences, we see that they are literally ideas
in our minds from which a great deal follows (said ideas having been uncov-
ered via the process described in the previous chapters). We see that many
propositions arise from iip7, and thus recognize it is a particularly powerful
idea for us. This exhibits a kind of diachronic structure in the Ethics, a
variety of powerful ideas manifesting themselves in different propositions
as opposed to the synchronic deduction. Propositions like iip7 also show
us how a string of ideas can arise from one particularly powerful idea (in
this case ia4) and teach us to view ideas as proximate causes. All these ideas
are ultimately referred back to the definition of God, and through them we
understand better and better the nature of this definition. It is a method-
ological version of ip16, a glimpse of the ways in which many modes arise
from the idea of God.
Margaret Wilson has stressed the similarities between the way in which
Spinoza formulates ip16 and the third kind of knowledge.38 On my in-
terpretation the third kind of knowledge is adequate causal knowledge
ultimately deriving from the idea of God, a sort of localization of ip16
to the human mind. This is combined with Matheron’s interpretation of
the fourth proportional, for the propositions arise directly from powerful
propositions in our minds, which, in turn, are understood to arise directly
from the definition of God. But the intuitive science is not a deduction,
as Gueroult understood the third kind of knowledge, rather a proximate
understanding39 of the ways in which ideas arise from those adequate ideas
that make up our mind, which are, in turn, eternal.
One criticism of my interpretation could be that, although it is in accord
with some of the things Spinoza says about the third kind of knowledge,
I have not shown that the third kind of knowledge is “a kind of knowing
which proceeds from an adequate idea of the formal essence of certain
attributes of God to the adequate knowledge of the [NS: formal] essence
38 Margaret Wilson, “Infinite Understanding, Scientia Intuitiva, and Ethics i.16,” in Ideas and Mecha-
nism: Essays on Early Modern Philosophy (Princeton University Press, 1999).
39 On the intuitive knowledge of God and intuitive knowledge of things as per causam proximam knowl-
edge see Filippo Mignini, “In Order to Interpret Spinoza’s theory of the Third Kind of Knowledge:
Should Intuitive Science be considered Per Causam Proximam Knowledge,” in Curley and Moreau,
Spinoza: Issues and Directions, 136–46. On what “deduction” might mean in a seventeenth-century
context see Vance Maxwell, “The Philosophical Method of Spinoza,” Dialogue 27 (1988), 89–110.
of things” (iip40s2). In order to explain how my interpretation is consis-
tent with this version of the definition of the third kind of knowledge in
Part II of the Ethics, I need to take account of the following difficulties:
(1) What does it mean to have adequate knowledge of the formal essence
of attributes? (2) What does it mean to have adequate knowledge of the
formal essences of things? (3) How are they connected?
What sort of knowledge would adequate knowledge of the formal essence
of attributes be? By “formal essence,” Spinoza understood the essence in
the actually existing thing, as opposed to the “objective essence” or its
representative content. Knowledge of the “formal essence” of the attribute
would be knowledge of bodies and ideas insofar as they are “parts” of
their respective attributes representing something of substance. Why does
Spinoza not emphasize our knowledge of the “objective essence”? Take the
parallel with method, the context where Spinoza first presents the relevance
of the formal/objective essence distinction to his philosophy (TIE 33–5). We
know the truth or adequacy of a method – an “objective essence” dependent
on its object – through the ideas that the method represents, our true ideas.
To know the “objective essence” is to know about the method, the process
of emendation, synthesis, and analysis, etc. But method is only interesting
and only exists in relation to the content, the “formal essence.” Spinoza is
trying to represent and emend, via method, our true and adequate ideas,
and method is only justified and warranted as a reflection on these true
ideas.
In the case of the attribute, I think Spinoza is trying to make a similar
distinction between reflecting on attributes, or infinite modes, the sort of
process that the Ethics describes in great detail, and actually having ideas
that express the eternity of substance. Spinoza clearly assumes that modes
are capable of expressing the eternity of substance, for example finite human
modes have an adequate idea of the eternal and infinite essence of God and
the thoughts of finite human modes express the eternal and infinite essence
of God (although that they express substance does not imply for Spinoza
that modes are substance). As modes express substance, they reflect more and
more the eternity of substance, and its unicity, absolute infinity, and causal
power, etc. Don Garrett has, for this reason, argued that the indestructibility
of the conatus is a quasi-substantial feature of modes, something that modes
have insofar as they express substance and are substance-like.40 That modes
are substance-like in some sense arises from their initial definition, they are
40 Cf. Don Garrett, “Spinoza’s Conatus Argument,” in Olli Koistinen and John Biro (eds.), Spinoza:
Metaphysical Themes (Oxford University Press, 2002), 127–58.
conceived through substance. Again this does not mean they are substance,
but it means that many eternal and non-finite features of “modeness” are
derived from substance.41 And this also explains how the “formal essence of
the attribute” gives us knowledge of the “formal essence” of things, at least
some things that belong to the formal essences of things. This knowledge
would be coextensive with that part of our mind that is eternal.
When described in this way, the third kind of knowledge would be
very much like the second kind of knowledge. But there is an important
difference of emphasis that I have already pointed to above. The second
kind of knowledge would be knowledge of anything that is in the part or the
whole, for example knowledge of common properties of bodies. The third
kind of knowledge is knowledge of the essences of things, and therefore
when the objects of the second kind of knowledge are considered via the
third kind of knowledge they are not just considered as common properties
but rather as belonging to and constituting essences. This criterion of
belonging to or constituting essences also holds of the way in which we
understand the attributes as constituting the third kind of knowledge. As
Spinoza emphasized in vp31, we understand the third kind of knowledge as
moving from knowledge of God to knowledge of essences of determinate
things. This is an additional important criterion for knowledge of the
formal essence of the attribute, that understanding an attribute as expressing
substance is understanding it as “part” of God. So we must know the attri-
bute not in and of itself, as extension or thought, but rather as expressing
substance.
As discussed in the previous chapter, Gueroult emphasized that the def-
inition of God is the one properly generative definition. But the definition
of God is not the bundle of words set out at the beginning of the Ethics. The
definition of God is that adequate idea of God we come to understand as
an adequate part of our minds (not via construction but via emendation).
When we reorganize our mind according to this idea of God, we recog-
nize how all the “parts” of our mind arise from this idea of God, and how
they are eternal. This understanding is, of course, an individual process
since we are all qua individuals different expressions of the divine essence.
Through recognizing the ways in which our minds comprehend the divine
41 Individuation would be a good example of this, although individuation not understood via a finite
external boundary delimiting the individual, i.e., not understood as a finite limitation on a mode
arising from another mode (id2), but instead understood as a principle arising from and internal to an
individual – as essence (iid2), or singularity (iid7), or bodily individuation via a ratio of motion
and rest (the “Physics” after iip13). This kind of individuation does not necessarily assume anything
about finitude. For example, Spinoza claims the “Whole of nature is one individual” (iip13l7).
essence, we understand how parts of our minds are eternal (since they arise
directly from the idea of God), and how powerful we are. This is the other
aspect of what Spinoza understood in Letter XXXII by “the infinite power
of Nature” in thought, “not insofar as it is infinite and perceives the whole
of Nature, but insofar as it is finite and perceives only the human Body.”
God’s absolute infinity, and the way we understand God’s absolute infinity
to be included in each and every idea we have that has our body as its
object, helps us to understand the ideas that make up our minds. So, when
we understand the definition of God as it makes up part of our minds, we
have precisely this sort of formal knowledge.
So far I have only considered the third kind of knowledge as how ideas
are adequately comprehended by other ideas. But then how to move to
knowledge of the essences of everyday things? It could not be knowledge
of this dog or horse, at least insofar as I perceive this being called “horse”
or “dog” via the imagination, as this would be inadequate knowledge. I
could understand the mechanistic causal structure of a dog or horse, but
this would really only be access to those features I have in common with
this dog or that horse, I would have no access to the internal constitution of
the parts of their bodies (just as I would have none to the parts of my own
body). Of what can I have this sort of knowledge? Spinoza says that the
essence of man is appetite or desire, all of those ways we seek to persevere in
our existence (iiip9s). So knowing my desire, the way in which I persevere
in my existence, would qualify as this sort of knowledge. Knowledge of that
eternal part of my mind, the eternal ideas that make up my mind, certainly
qualifies as adequate knowledge of my essence as eternal ideas are preemi-
nently how I persevere in my existence: the conatus of my mind. Although
Spinoza says that “the first thing that constitutes the essence of the Mind
is nothing but the idea of an actually existing Body” (iiip3dem, CW 498),
this describes the whole essence of the mind, both the adequate and in-
adequate ideas that make up my mind. The eternal ideas of my mind are
not my whole mind, but they satisfy Spinoza’s account of “belonging to an
essence.” Since Spinoza does not say that we need to know the whole essence
of our mind, any eternal adequate idea that we have satisfies the criterion
for the eternity of our mind set out at iip40s2. And, since the knowledge of
the rest of the essence of our mind is inadequate, it seems fairly clear that we
cannot have adequate knowledge of this intrinsically inadequate portion
of our minds. Finally, as I have stated previously, although the adequate
ideas that make up my mind are not the entirety of my essence as a human
mind, they are whatever of my mind is eternal and consequently is part of
the essence of God.
Is this the only knowledge I can have that constitutes the third kind
of knowledge? In the “Introduction” I quoted a passage from Hobbes’
De Cive that stirred a whole generation of philosophers to think about the
centrality of the mos geometricus:
The Geometers have managed their province outstandingly. For whatever benefit comes
to human life from observation of the stars, from mapping out of lands, from reckoning
of time, and from long-distance navigation; whatever is beautiful in buildings, strong in
defence-works and marvelous in machines, whatever in short distinguishes the modern
world from the barbarity of the past, is almost wholly the gift of Geometry; for what
we owe to Physics, Physics owes to Geometry.42
In past chapters I have argued that Hobbes’ influence was decisive for
how Spinoza thought about definitions. We might think of Spinoza as at-
tempting to make Hobbes’ and Bacon’s most central insights harmonize
with the Cartesian philosophy, something common to his generation, most
notably in Velthuysen43 and Pufendorf. But, as opposed to most Cartesio-
Scholastics, who emphasized similarities between Hobbesian, Baconian,
and Cartesian divine voluntarism, Spinoza seems to have take the oppo-
site path in using Hobbes’ criticisms of the free will to rid Cartesianism
of voluntarism. Still, there are enormous affinities between Spinoza and
this general Cartesio-Hobbesian project pursued by many philosophers of
his generation, in particular the idea of maker’s knowledge that I have
emphasized throughout.
In the KV Spinoza emphasizes that the third kind of knowledge is a
way of seeing “the thing in itself, not through something else, but in itself”
(KV ii:1 n.f., 1/55). By “not through something else” Spinoza seems to
mean not through some sort of mediating structure, but rather directly
or immediately via its cause, in this case the eternal part of the essence of
our mind. One notable sort of thing that would satisfy the criterion for
the third kind of knowledge outlined in the KV would be the philosophy
and methodology I build from adequate ideas and through which I have
knowledge, as these are extensions of my essence via adequate causes without
the mediation of external causes. This, internal causal knowledge of an
essence in itself, has been an emphasis in many of the passages I have
discussed, ip18, iiip4, vp31, as well as in the theory of generative definition.
An immanent philosophy teaches us to look at things in themselves via
42 Richard Tuck and Michael Silverthorne (ed., trans. and intro.), Hobbes: On the Citizen (Cambridge
University Press, 1998), 4–5.
43 This might explain why Spinoza seemed particularly hurt by his negative reception by Velthuysen,
Spinoza thought that they were pursuing a related philosophical project; see Letter XLIII.
internal causes and not through external causes. Internal causal knowledge
is the way that Spinoza wishes us to look at definitions, the propositions of
the Ethics, God, modes, and the world.
In the TIE Spinoza gives an important example of the eternity intrinsic
to the essential knowledge of an artifact:
Nothing is done except to abstract the thoughts from the surrounding bodies so
that the mind directs itself toward the sole contemplation of the candle, considered
in itself alone, so that afterwards it infers that the candle has no cause for its
destruction. So if there were no surrounding bodies, this candle, and its flame,
would remain immutable, or the like. Here, then, there is no fiction, but pure and
simple assertions. (TIE 57)44
Spinoza assumes two things in his discussion of the candle in the TIE.
First, we are taking the candle in itself and alone, independent of any
interaction with external bodies. Second, by doing so we view the candle
independently of any external causes that might destroy it, and thus it
“would remain immutable, or the like.” But Spinoza does not imply that
the candle itself is imagined. He writes that we are considering the candle in
an “imaginary space” but this does not mean that we are taking the candle
itself as imagined since Spinoza wants to distinguish our knowledge of this
candle viewed from a representation of a candle through the imagination.
Are we then considering a given candle, or the essence of the candle
as that which organizes, structures, and asserts the candle independent of
its particular physical circumstances? What do we need to know in order
to access the essence of a determinate thing? As discussed previously, X is
said to belong to the essence of X “which being given the thing is given
and that which, being taken away, the thing is necessarily taken away;
or that without which the thing can neither be nor be conceived, and
which can neither be nor be conceived without the thing” (iid2). As also
noted, for Spinoza belonging to an essence is a very strong requirement.
In fact it is such a strong requirement that it is hard to see that we have
access to much that satisfies it. In the definition of God, both attributes
and substance would satisfy the definition of essence as if either is given
God is given, and if either is taken away God is taken away. But even
very general properties that we might think of as belonging to essences, like
extension belonging to the essence of a body, do not necessarily work on this
definition.
44 I have modified Curley’s translation according to his footnote at CW 26n44. Curley points out both
the importance of this passage, and the great difficulties of interpreting it. See Edwin Curley, Behind
the Geometrical Method (Princeton University Press, 1988), 110.
But we can have essential knowledge of those things we make; they are
not derived from the imagination but rather are applied to the world from
our minds and bodies. As noted previously,45 Bennett has argued that we
do have adequate knowledge of human beings, and, in fact, man is one of
the only modes (or class of modes) that Spinoza explicitly gives the essence
of in the Ethics: “desire is the essence of man.” This essence – desire –
holds of all singular things insofar as they have a conatus, but Spinoza
only implies that we have determinate knowledge of this one, insofar as
we have particular acquaintance with the content of human desires. We
have adequate knowledge of human beings because we are human beings,
and thus have access to our own essences. We are able to build up common
notions about human beings in general through our interactions with them
since “nothing can agree more with the nature of any thing than other
individuals of the same species” (IV “Appendix” IX).46
A surprising example of knowledge that seems to satisfy the definition
of essence is the brief description Spinoza gives of the TTP on its first page:
Some dissertations, by which it is made clear that the freedom of philosophizing
not only preserves piety and is consistent with the peace of the republic, but it is
not able to be taken away without taking away the piety and peace of the republic.
Spinoza has presented “freedom of philosophizing” according to the for-
mula for essence offered at iid2. When freedom of philosophizing is given,
piety and peace are given, and when freedom of philosophizing is taken
away, piety and peace are taken away. If freedom of philosophizing is an
essential predicate of republics, it seems clear that Spinoza views republics
as withering away in absence of this internal cause. This is one of a few
things that we can know about politics that is an extension of our knowl-
edge of the human essence via Spinoza’s arguments concerning freedom of
thought in the concluding sections of the TTP. Unfortunately, most of pol-
itics is mired in the imagination and must deal with the violence and may-
hem caused by desires arising from and through inadequate and confused
ideas.
45 1n46 and n47.

46 Spinoza also explicitly emphasizes that we do not have access to much knowledge about animals,
and beyond animals our knowledge is far more limited. He remarks, “Besides men we know nothing
singular in nature the Mind of which we are able to enjoy” (IV “Appendix” XXVI). It seems fairly
evident that we know little about animals, rocks, and twigs and the various species that they may
instantiate since we have very little in common with them, and to know via the second kind of
knowledge assumes common ideas. Of course, we have many important things in common with
them, we are all parts of nature, but this does not necessarily add up to knowledge of determinate
essences.
If these are primary examples in Spinoza’s philosophy of determinate
essences we have access to, then this again puts him very much in the
company of Hobbes and other purveyors of the geometrical method who
wish to emphasize maker’s knowledge. Stephen Gaukroger emphasizes that
this is what differentiates philosophers like Hobbes, Spinoza, Locke, and
Vico from Bacon, that “[t]he maker’s knowledge principle is a way of
delivering certainty in areas which might seem to offer no hope of certainty –
political and moral philosophy – and as a result are typically raised above
natural philosophy in terms of the degree of certainty attainable.”47
When I make a clock, candle, or a State, what essences are has my mind
and body (and the minds and bodies of other human beings) as a cause,
their ideas are comprehended in an adequate idea that I (and others) have
and they are understood through this idea. This or that candle, insofar as it
is a candle and not made of this bit of wax or this or that color, can literally
arise from me, or through knowing it I can augment my power through it,
light a candle in a dark hallway so I do not fall.
An obvious objection is that we do not have adequate knowledge of
much of the material structure of the candle. But we can see that it arises
from the human essence quite literally if we consider it as an individual
with a ratio of motion and rest and a structure created in order to conjoin
with, or even in some cases enter into, our human ratio of motion and
rest. Others may have this idea also, and then they are comprehended by
the minds and bodies of others as well. Spinoza strongly emphasizes the
distinction between a ratio of motion and rest and actual constituent matter
(iip13def.) in order to explain how bodies can be individuals even though
the matter that makes them up changes. This allows for a logical distinction
between the ratio of motion and rest and the full material composition of a
determinate individual, much like the distinction between the eternal core
of our mind and our whole mind that I have previously considered (the
former accessible through ideas of ideas).
That Spinoza has something like this in mind is plausible for two reasons.
First Spinoza concluded the KV with the statement:
The human body, then, is nothing but a certain proportion of motion and rest. So
this existing proportion’s objective essence in the thinking attribute is the soul of
the body . . . [W]hen the degrees of motion and rest are not equal in all parts of our
body, but some have more motion and rest than others, there arises a difference of
47 Stephen Gaukroger, Francis Bacon and the Transformation of Early Modern Philosophy (Cambridge
University Press, 2001), 159. Whether or not Bacon ultimately advocates maker’s knowledge, the
tradition certainly is derivative of him.
feeling (e.g. from this comes the different kind of pain we feel when we are struck
with a little stick in the eyes or on the hands) . . . And again if the change which
happens in a part is a cause of its returning to its original proportion, from this
arises the joy we call peace, plausible activity and cheerfulness. (KV “Appendix II”
14–17; CW 155–6)
Spinoza goes on to emphasize that we now see how experience and reasoning
arise, and how we understand the immortality of the soul. Although there
are many differences between the Ethics and the KV , the parallels between
the ratio of motion and rest and ratio or reason are consistent and important.
As Matheron emphasized, what the Ethics adds is the recognition that we can
know things through a fundamental ratio, and this seems to be an important
addition in Spinoza’s understanding of the third kind of knowledge. We
are not only interested in maintaining a consistent ratio of motion and rest,
we are also interested in augmenting our power through it.
To sum up, then, having the second kind of knowledge – knowledge of
the rules that hold of bodies and minds – is a necessary but not sufficient
condition for the third kind of knowledge – adequate knowledge of essences
or forms having our essences as adequate causes. The difference between the
two sorts of knowledge is that the third kind of knowledge comprehends
the objects of the second kind of knowledge within essences, immediately
insofar as they arise from our essence as a cause. The third kind of knowledge
is in this sense both sui generis, and an extension of the second kind of
knowledge. It uses the materials of the second kind of knowledge in order
to understand essences each constituent part of which is understood via the
second kind of knowledge, but which are only comprehended as essences
via the third.
What unites many of the sorts of things I have emphasized as being
understood through the third kind of knowledge is that they are instru-
ments. A candle is an instrument. So is a republic. A philosophy is a mental
instrument. It is not surprising that Spinoza would emphasize instrumen-
tal knowledge, as he knew the importance of instruments first hand. The
scientists he knew placed great emphasis on the importance of instruments
in augmenting our bodies, minds and lives.48 The making of scientific
instruments was an important part of his intellectual and practical life.
48 Leeuwenhoek, a central figure in Dutch microscopy, was a fellow lens grinder and Spinoza’s exact
contemporary (b. 1632). Spinoza’s friend Johannes Hudde had been making microscopes since the
early 1660s and was a major influence on the great Jan Swammerdam. See the excellent discussion
in Edward G. Ruestow, The Microscope in the Dutch Republic: The Shaping of Discovery (Cambridge
University Press, 1996), 22–3. On Swammerdam and Hudde see Marian Fournier, The Fabric of Life:
Microscopy in the Seventeenth Century (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), 147.
Microscopes, as Spinoza’s contemporary Robert Hooke claimed,49 provide
“a new visible World discovered to the understanding.” Knowledge through
augmentation of the causal power of my body would count as “having a
body capable of a great many things” and would have its correspondence
in a “mind whose greatest part is eternal” (vp39).
That I can augment the causal power of my body in this way is a conse-
quence of two definitions I have discussed in prior chapters at some length,
iid7 and iip13 “Definition.” Iid7 emphasizes that finite determinate singu-
lar things can form complex individuals through being together the cause
of one effect. A microscope or any sort of instrument seems to satisfy this.
I and the microscope together as one individual are the cause of one effect,
perceiving through the instrument. The microscope also enters into a ratio
of motion and rest with me, and together we form a complex ratio of mo-
tion – this is precisely what makes an instrument instrumental as opposed
to just a packet of matter conjoined with my body.
Although microscopes are not pacemakers or Jarvik 7 artificial hearts,
they do instrumentally extend the capabilities of our bodies, and I can see
no reason not to view them as forming part of our ratio of motion and rest.
But, just as many aspects of the determinate matter that makes up my body
do not enter into the ratio of motion and rest that makes up my body –
roughage for example – and constitutes what I am as a bodily individual,50
so many of the determinate material features of the microscope, its black
matte finish or its chrome appointments for example, do not enter into
the way in which it causes effects as an extension of my mind and body.51
Those material features that do enter into a ratio of motion and rest with
me are part of my body (iip13 “Definition”), and give rise to correspondent
49 Robert Hooke, Micrographia, or some Physiological Descriptions of Minute Bodies made by Magnifying
Glasses with Observations and Inquiries Thereunto (1165), b1v. Thanks to Christa Knellwolf for this
citation. Spinoza was unable to read Hooke’s English though, according to Huygens (Ruestow, The
Microscope in the Dutch Republic, 22n89).
50 That Spinoza holds this to be the case is clear from the fact that extended matter leaves and enters
a ratio of bodily motion and rest, and both the ratio and the expelled matter continue in their
existence independent of one another (iip13 “Definition”).
51 This is a consequence of Spinoza’s theory of individuation, and my prior emphasis on it committing
Spinoza, as opposed to Hobbes, to a vast population of real entities (cell phones and cabbages).
Anything that enters into a ratio of motion and rest and brings about effects can be understood
as part of that individual (the functional properties of my Jarvik 7 artificial heart that result in
continuing my blood flow, the microscope function as an extension of my eyes). Whatever does
not enter into this functional unity (some contingent feature of the plastic in the heart, black matte
on the microscope and whether it is made of copper or steel) is not part of the individual, and is
formally separable. It is also separable insofar as it is known only inadequately, as opposed to the
adequate knowledge we have of the structure of an artifact, despite the fact that we have only sensible
knowledge when we employ it.
cognitions. But the important point is that qua these bits of glass and
metal functioning as a microscope they are part of an act that has a cause
and an effect (iid7) and are part of a single individual. The microscope as
microscope is individuated via its function of extending my mind and body,
and the knowledge I have of its ratio of motion and rest (independent of its
constituent matter),52 the formal knowledge of the essence of the artifact.
This knowledge could be ultimately understood as ideas parallel to the
ratio of motion and rest of the microscope (a sort of subratio to my general
bodily ratio, elating and augmenting it but also subordinate to it and arising
from it as an internal cause). This is the sort of knowledge that Spinoza,
Huygens, and Hudde discussed, pragmatically, in their correspondences
about lens grinding.53
But, I emphasize that I do not have adequate knowledge of the blood I
examine under the microscope. My looking through the microscope may
help to engender adequate ideas in me as a consequence of the ways that
I extend my body through the microscope (although this is not caused by
the microscope). Perhaps I will think about how there are other sorts of
tiny beings in the world inside of us, and I will begin producing adequate
ideas about them. It will certainly give me a more powerful body and
mind. Primarily, though, I mean the microscope as an example of how
adequate knowledge, which arises from me as its adequate cause, can result
in greater and greater power, whether through making scientific instruments
or creating tolerant republics that give me the freedom to philosophize (but
do not in and of themselves cause my philosophizing). The microscope is
an example of the fact that, although the third kind of knowledge does
not seem to give us knowledge of the essences of monkeys and dogs, it has
causal consequences that are far more important.
This also holds of the act of reading the Ethics itself, a mental instrument
or artifact. Just like we access a slide under a microscope via the first kind
of knowledge so, too, the Ethics first of all is a book we read and access via
the first kind of knowledge. As we read it we begin to emend our minds
and begin to understand our own adequate ideas. We understand that the
propositions in the Ethics point to adequate ideas in our minds – above all
the idea of God. We begin to analyze the various preconceptions we have
52 The emphasis on knowledge of ratio of motion and rest has interesting parallels with Bacon’s
emphasis on the analysis of forms (see Gaukroger, Bacon, 138–41). Furthermore, both wished to
replace the Aristotelian physics built on form with a new physics built on a new form based on
efficient causation as, of course, did Boyle and many others.
53 On the centrality of microscopy for early modern philosophers see Catherine Wilson, The Invisible
World: Early Modern Philosophy and the Invention of the Microscope (Princeton University Press, 1995).
had about concepts like substance and attributes and see that, as we sort
true ideas from false, we already have adequate definitions of these concepts
which, once obscure and mutilated, are now becoming clearer and clearer.
What we thought the definitions meant initially could not hold up as we
advanced through the process of emendation and examined their inter-
connections with other definitions, but this, too, is part of clearing away
confusion from the mind. As we emend our minds further, we come to
recognize that all of these adequate ideas have a special relation to the gen-
erative definition of God, and some are particularly important for helping
us to be happy, powerful and free. The ways that we discover that adequate
ideas arise from the generative definition of God in our minds will not
be isomorphic with the order of Spinoza’s deduction in the Ethics. From
these ideas arise other ideas, not considered in the Ethics but produced
by our minds. And so our minds become more and more adequate. Like
Spinoza we perfect our mental instruments, instruments that help us to
understand both our selves and artificial forms like the State, and we create
scientific instruments that allow us to think freely, to extend our bodies,
and to have more and more adequate ideas. And thus, through a process
of both analysis and synthesis, of both emendation and construction of
“artificial” instruments premised on maker’s knowledge, the second kind
of knowledge arising in our minds gives rise to the third kind of knowledge
through which we cause and extend nature by building a world arising from
and responding to human nature.
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Index of passages referred to and cited
ETHICS pa rt ii
part i “Preface” 18
d2 27, 115, 209, 214, 217, 218
a3 25 d3 202
a4 15, 25, 55, 70, 80, 124, 140, 212 d4 52, 53, 89
d1 67, 163, 165 d6 52
d2 67, 162, 214 d7 112, 114, 214, 222
d3 21, 67, 165 a1 126
d4 21, 67 a2 126
d5 21, 40, 67, 162, 165, 208 1 53, 64, 124
d6 67, 149, 163, 165, 176, 178 2 48, 124
d7 22, 39, 67, 162 3 8, 48, 53
d8 40, 67, 162, 204 7 26, 65, 102, 112, 123, 124, 139, 185, 191, 204,
2 76 211, 212
3 76 10cs 209
7 57, 60, 103, 139, 163, 164, 178, 11s 144
211 12 185
8c 65 13 8, 192, 195, 214
8s1 57, 64 13definition 40, 110, 112, 219, 221
8s2 160, 163 13postulate6 40, 112
9 140 13l2 51, 55, 189
10 149 13l6 102, 114
11 163, 175 13l7 41, 214
11s 38, 179 14 185
15 70, 94, 208, 211 17s 183
16 15, 38, 72, 80, 139, 145, 147, 165, 176, 177, 178, 18s 51
211, 212 21s 84
18 59, 69, 216 24 111
21 40 28 55, 113
25 178 29 195
25c 53, 69, 125, 126, 201, 208 29c 52
28 140 29s 22
29s 22 32 94
30s 80 33 71
31 37 34 55, 70
33 64, 66, 173 40s1 14, 182
33s1 66 40s2 4, 17, 51, 56, 85, 110, 181, 197, 199, 201, 213,
35 38 215
36 72, 80, 96, 140, 179 42 115
231
232 Index of passages referred to and cited
43 84 4 90, 189, 190
43s 85 5 88
44c2 112 7 61, 193
45 70 8 193
46 70, 71, 177 10 90
47 69, 70 11 113
47s 70 12 191
48 88 13 191
49 83, 88 14 90, 189, 191
49c 26 16 191
49s 5, 37 20 193
20s 125, 189, 193, 194, 205
21 188
22 187
part iii 23 188, 194, 195, 196
“Preface” 8, 29, 30, 81, 93, 109 23s 115
d1 201 24 69, 157, 179, 201, 208
3 89, 215 27 201
4 102, 114, 139, 156, 204, 216 28 78
6 201, 202 29 188
7 183, 211 30 188
9s 37, 112, 126, 200, 215 31 187, 188, 197, 200, 201, 203, 207, 208,
11 184, 185 214, 216
12 186 31s 204, 207, 209
56 210 32c 209
36 207
36s 210, 211
39 221
pa rt iv 40c 205
41 206
“Preface” 35, 84, 185 41s 206
d3 65 42 85
d4 65
2 82, 203
4 196
37s1 210 PP
39s 195
64 206, 209 “Preface” 14, 117, 119, 120, 122, 172
67 28 ia 2
68 28 iid4 61
70 165, 168 ii6s 61
71 165 ii10cs 27
Appendix IX 218
Appendix XXVI 218
Appendix XXXII 48
TIE
§16 87
pa rt v §22 181
§24 199
“Preface” 116 §30 74
a1 193 §33 213
a2 193 §34 147, 148, 159
1 191 §35 84, 148
3 53, 170, 189 §36 74
Index of passages referred to and cited 233
§37 85 LETTERS
§38 83, 84, 94
§39 83, 84 II 95
§49 93 III 76
§57 217 IV 76–81
§63 VI 34
§90 93 IX 119, 159
§92 156, 157 XII 38, 39, 61–62, 63, 66, 176, 195
§93 94, 158 XVII 190
§96 83 XXVI 116
§97 162 XXVIII 21, 77
§99 101, 144 XXIX 44
§104 95, 171 XXX 34, 98
§112 171 XXXI 33, 116, 192
Note ‘i’ 79 XXXII 215
Note ‘f’ 94 XXXVII 77
XL 116
XLIII 216
TTP LVII 116
LIX 74
I 173 LX 74
III 4 LX 53, 148
IV 35, 41, 141 LXI
VI 20, 133 LXIV 41, 65
XVII 161 LXXXII 146, 183
XX 1 LXXXIII 140, 177
General index
adequacy 17, 18, 52, 53, 54, 89, 94, 113 created
as relation or property 53, 54, 70, 71 definitions of 147, 162
adequate causes (see causes, adequate) definitions of 156
adequate ideas (see ideas, adequate) the most simple
affects and passions 27, 88, 89, 90, 125, 183, 184, definitions of 147
185, 189, 208, 210 real 140
Alexander of Aphrodisius 131 definitions 144, 147, 154, 169
Allison, Henry 188, 191, 204 of reason 43, 140, 147, 153
Amsterdam 2, 3, 4 simple 140
analysis (see method, analytic) uncreated
Aquinas, St. Thomas 98, 106 definitions of 148, 161, 162, 163, 169, 196
argument from design 34 Bennett, Jonathan 30, 34, 41, 43, 52, 53, 65, 70,
Ariew, Roger 59, 61, 65, 119 84, 86, 88, 89, 90, 91, 102, 103, 113, 114, 171,
Aristotelians and Aristotelianism 22, 132, 133 175, 218
Aristotle 6, 9, 22, 28, 131, 153, 154, 166 Bentham, Jeremy 28
Metaphysics 166 Berkeley, George 34
Organon 76, 144, 153, 154 Beyssade, Jean-Marie 61, 95
Physics 58, 106, 144 bigots 11
Arnauld, Antoine 76, 151, 153, 154 blessedness and beatitude 5, 18, 19, 141, 142, 170,
artifacts 83, 122, 217, 222 208
attribute 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 64, 65, 68, 72, 167, 171 Bodin, Jean 2
definition of 15, 21, 22, 23, 67, 146, 166 body
infinite 64, 66 actual existence of 196
of extension 15, 29, 37, 51, 64, 69, 81, 111, 112, augmenting 220, 221, 222
113, 185 Borelli, Giovanni 159
of thought 29, 64, 89, 146, 185, 186, 196 Boulainvilliers, Henri de 2
pseudo 64 Bouwmeester, Johannes 77, 79
subjective or objective 23 Boyle, Robert 1, 32, 33, 34, 46, 222
Aubrey, John 7 Blijenburgh, William van 1, 5, 33
Averroes and Averroism 121, 135, 137, 174 Burgersdijk, Franciscus 119, 151, 157
Avicenna 129 Bronfenbrenner, Ken 166
axioms or common notions 7, 8, 13, 14, 15, 16, 24, Bruno, Giordano 60, 61, 64
51, 52, 58, 77, 94, 109, 116, 133, 158, 171, 175
Caesarius 102, 122
Bacon, Francis 9, 19, 34, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, causa sui 24, 26, 39, 67, 125, 156, 157, 163, 171,
83, 86, 87, 91, 94, 151, 154, 203, 216, 219, 222 178, 192
Novum Organum 76, 77, 79, 81, 82 definition of 24, 25, 67, 157, 163, 164, 178
Baier, Annette 28 causes 15, 22, 25, 36, 105, 111, 125, 202
Bartuschat, Wolfgang 33, 192, 193, 207 adequate 36, 54, 141, 142, 193, 201, 202, 203,
Bayle, Pierre 2, 75, 124 208, 220
beings or things analysis of 13, 109
234
General index 235
efficient 59, 107, 115, 148, 175, 202, 203, 222 causal 107, 109, 153, 154, 156, 161, 163, 175, 177
external 56, 57, 58, 60, 82, 85, 112, 148, 156, 157, External 157
182, 205, 209, 217, 220 essential 157
formal 187, 188, 201, 203, 208 generative or genetic 147, 149, 150, 152, 153, 154,
God as 22 155, 156, 159, 163, 165, 173, 177, 202, 203, 214
immanent 58, 59, 60 nominal 149, 150, 153, 154, 156, 172
internal 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 72, 82, 86, 112, 148, of God (see God, definition of )
204, 216 real 144, 147, 149, 150, 153, 154, 172
intrinsic 59 Defoe, Daniel 2
modal 22 Journal of the Plague Year 31
remote 58 Robinson Crusoe 2
proximate 159 Deleuze, Gilles 8, 125
transient 58 Della Rocca, Michael 52, 111, 113, 175
transitive 59 demonstration (see method and deduction)
Cervantes, Miguel de 5 denomination or marker
Charlie 23, 24 extrinsic 53, 54
Cicero, Marcus Tullius 4 intrinsic 53, 54
clarification 7 Descartes, René 2, 6, 9, 11, 12, 14, 15, 17, 19, 22,
of affects and passions 90, 189 26, 27, 28, 58, 59, 60, 61, 76, 77, 79, 82, 83,
of ideas 85, 142 85, 91, 96, 97, 98, 99, 102, 107, 115, 116, 117,
self- 18, 95 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 127, 141, 143, 151, 152,
Clarke, Samuel 9 154, 161, 166, 168, 170, 172, 175, 179, 185,
Clauberg, Johannes 58, 116, 119, 151, 152, 153, 167 194, 216
cogito 12, 52, 60, 119, 120 Comments on a Certain Broadsheet 119
Coleridge, Samuel 2, 29 Conversations with Burman 119
common ideas, features or properties 16, 51, 189, Discourse on Method 11, 74, 85, 91, 175
200, 205, 214 Geometry 117
common notions, see axioms Meditations with Objections and Replies 11, 12,
common order of nature 51 15, 59, 71, 82, 83, 91, 102, 116, 117, 119, 152,
conatus 27, 28, 121, 183, 184, 186, 192, 193, 202, 172
213 Olympian Thoughts 11
of the mind 184, 209 Principles of Philosophy 11, 27, 61, 102, 115, 119,
conception 202, 203 151, 168
contingency 65, 66, 173 Regulae 76, 151
Cook, Thomas 8, 189 Search for Truth 151
Copernicus 60 desire 185
correspondence 52 determinism 26, 88, 101
Costa, Uriel da 3 diachronic and synchronic structure 143, 212
Cottingham, John 85 Diaspora 127, 130, 132
Court, Pieter De La 5 Diderot, Denis 2
Cumberland, Richard 2, 9, 10, 11 divine (see God)
De Legibus Naturae 10 Dobbs-Weinstein, Idit 99
Curley, Edwin 26, 34, 35, 74, 93, 101, 116, 117, 150, Donagan, Alan 171
159, 161, 166, 169, 170, 172, 198, 207, 217 doubt 119
Duns Scotus, Johannes 58, 59, 75
Dascal, Marcelo 161 duration of mind 194
death 206
De Dijn, Herman 74, 78, 79, 93, 102, 148, 162 Edwards, William 75, 203
deduction and demonstration 14, 95, 96, 100, effects 25, 36, 109
101, 102, 107, 109, 115, 121, 140, 141, 143, 149, egocentricity 87, 88, 121
164 elation 185
Euclidean 14, 15, 110, 117, 118, 144 emanation 38
definitions 7, 8, 13, 14, 15, 19, 68, 73, 83, 94, 102, emendation of the mind or intellect 17, 18, 86,
104, 109, 110, 133, 144, 145, 146, 151, 155, 158, 87, 91, 93, 144, 169, 171, 175, 178, 191, 211,
159, 160, 169, 170, 171, 172, 175, 202 213, 223
236 General index
emendative therapy (see therapy) generation 108
essence 23, 26, 54, 68, 83, 89, 104, 113, 114, 115, Gersonides (Levi Ben Gershom) 19, 87, 91, 92,
143, 158, 182, 184, 196, 197, 204, 205, 209, 98, 99, 123, 127, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139,
210, 213, 214, 215, 217, 220, 222 141, 143, 152, 174, 175, 178, 179
determinate 57, 190, 196, 217 Seven criteria 137
divine 22, 210, 214 Wars of the Lord 91, 98, 99
expression of 68, 69 Geulincx, Arnold 9
formal 13, 85, 86, 213, 214 Giancotti, Emilia 41
human 19, 120, 140, 219 Gilbert, William 79
objective 13, 85, 213 God or Divine 13, 15, 21, 23, 57, 86, 179, 204
of candle 217 as cause 59, 72, 190
of the mind 89, 113, 208, 215 definition or essence of 13, 14, 16, 24, 62, 63,
part of 114 64, 67, 68, 69, 71, 72, 84, 94, 100, 145, 147,
eternity and eternal 39, 40, 163, 176, 177, 181, 149, 157, 158, 162, 163, 164, 165, 168, 175,
204, 205, 207, 210, 211, 213, 215, 217 177, 179, 192, 212, 214, 215, 217, 223
definition of 67, 162, 176 freedom of
of the mind 187, 188, 193, 195, 196, 197, 204, idea 71, 94, 96, 170, 184, 189, 191, 192, 193, 205,
205, 206, 208 211, 212
sub specie aeternitatis 29, 89, 112, 140, 196, infinity of 60, 61, 67, 69, 71, 93
207 mind or intellect 23, 53, 69, 186
Euclid 7, 9, 14, 58, 140, 159, 160, 199 will of 37, 59, 69
Elements 7, 159, 198 Goethe, Johann, Wolfgang von 2, 29
experientia vaga (see imagination) Grotius, Hugo 37, 184
external causes (see causes, external) Gueroult, Martial 17, 58, 101, 102, 103, 145, 148,
“eyes of the mind” 115 149, 150, 151, 153, 163, 165, 166, 168, 175, 177,
178
face of whole universe (see modes, infinite, Gullan-Whur, Margaret 77
mediate)
feeling 210 Hampshire, Stuart 64, 87, 88
Fermat’s last theorem 198 Heereboord, Adrian 58, 151, 157, 167
Fichte, J. G. 102 Hegel, G. W. F. 17, 23, 100, 193
finite in its kind 67 Heidegger, Martin 193
definition of 67, 162 Hintikka, Jaakko 117
Fodor, Jerry 160 Hobbes, Thomas 2, 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 19, 27, 28, 36,
forms 203, 222 37, 76, 83, 103, 104, 105, 108, 109, 110, 115,
Fournier, Marian 220 117, 121, 122, 123, 141, 143, 144, 149, 151, 152,
fourth proportional 197, 198, 199, 200, 212 153, 154, 155, 156, 158, 160, 161, 168, 173, 183,
free man 28, 37 185, 203, 216, 219, 221
free thing 67 De Cive 10, 98, 103, 216
definition of 67, 162 De Corpore 10, 97, 98, 103, 104, 105, 108, 109,
freedom of philosophizing 218, 222 149, 152, 153, 154, 155, 160, 161
Freud, Sigmund 87, 88 De Homine 10
Friedmann, Joel 158 Elementa Philosophiae 10, 103
Fritsche, Johannes 106, 166 Leviathan 12, 36, 37, 98, 124
functionalism 111, 112 Mathematicae Hodiernae 103, 149
Hudde, Johannes 32, 220, 222
Gabbey, Alan 79, 182 Huennemann, Charles 26
Galen 105 Hume, David 6, 28, 90
Galileo 75, 104, 107 Huygens, Christiaan 4, 32, 221, 222
Garber, Daniel 115
Garrett, Don 25, 35, 37, 40, 114, 213 ideas
Gassendi, Pierre 27, 28 adequate 14, 17, 52, 53, 54, 71, 78, 83, 85, 86,
Gatti, Hilary 60 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 110, 112, 113, 114, 115, 141,
Gaukroger, Stephen 76, 83, 117, 219, 222 170, 171, 172, 190, 191, 192, 195, 196, 200,
Gebhardt, Carl 3 210, 211, 214, 216, 219
General index 237
clear (and distinct) 52, 53, 78, 86, 87, 94, 120, Jacobi, Friedrich Heinrich 2
121, 189 Jarrett, Charles 23, 166
confused or mutilated 17, 18, 19, 78, 86, 91, 175 Jaspers, Karl Theodor 165
false 86, 92, 96, 170 Joachim, Harold 17, 74, 99, 100, 102
getting vs. having 112
inadequate 14, 17, 52, 55, 86, 88, 89, 90, 113, Kant, Immanuel 28
170, 175, 189, 190, 191, 195, 196 Kekkermann, Bartholomeus 75, 119, 151
of ideas 84, 191 Kircher, Athanasius 46, 98
separating 88 Klima, Gyula 154
and joining 88 Kneale, Martha 194
true from false 93, 95 Koerbagh, Adriaan 5, 98
true 53, 54, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 89, 93, 96, 114, knowledge, three kinds of 18, 51
115 adequate 15, 17, 18, 55, 78, 126, 141, 172, 175,
identity of mind and body 111 183, 196, 200, 201, 203, 211, 215, 218, 221,
imagination 16, 17, 18, 51, 52, 60, 67, 69, 71, 78, 222
86, 90, 110, 115, 141, 156, 181, 182, 183, 186, ex cognita generatione 104, 105, 107, 108, 153
191, 193, 195, 201, 217, 218, 222 first kind of (see imagination)
experientia vaga 51, 182, 183 inadequate 55, 78, 113, 126, 215
inadequacy of 57 of causes (see also causes, analysis of ) 106, 109,
virtue of 192 216
immanence 101 of effects through causes 80, 107
immortality of soul 194, 205, 220 of God 201, 212
imperium 30, 44, 81, 93, 94, 121, 142, 205 second kind of (see reason)
inadequacy 53 third kind of (Scientia Intuitiva) 16, 17, 19, 29,
inadequate ideas (see ideas, inadequate) 36, 52, 56, 78, 150, 172, 181, 182, 183, 187, 188,
indefinite 61 193, 196, 197, 200, 201, 203, 204, 205, 207,
individuals 40, 110, 214, 219 208, 209, 210, 212, 214, 215, 216, 220, 222
individuation 17, 36, 44, 110, 112, 114, 214, 221 Krop, H. A. 157
acts 36
causal 22, 36, 37, 40, 114 La Mettrie, Julien Offray de 2, 88
infinite 18, 60, 61, 64, 68, 71, 149, 176 language 17, 19, 144, 153, 160, 161, 168
absolutely 60, 64, 68, 69, 71, 72, 93, 94, 125, Dutch 5
176, 177, 192, 215 Hebrew 4
definition 176, 178 Latin 4
counting or numerable 63, 69 Portuguese and Spanish 4, 5
divine infinity (see God, infinite) laws 18, 35, 36, 37, 41, 42, 47, 48, 94, 184, 196
in kind 68 of nature 29, 30, 31, 37, 41, 94
not numerable 63, 64 Leeuwenhoek, Antonie Van 220
propter quid 105 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, Baron von 4, 9, 11,
qua its definition or essence 62, 63 22, 60, 82, 111, 113, 144, 164
quia 105 Discourse on Metaphysics 11
transitive 62 Monadology 11, 12, 113, 187
infinite modes (see mode, infinite) New Essays 11
infinite understanding (see mode, infinite, Theodicy 11
immediate) Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim 2
innate or inborn 82, 96, 112, 179 Lipsius, Justus 2, 32
power 82, 86, 109 De Constantia 32
in se 156 Lloyd, Genevieve 90
intellect 23, 67, 77, 146 Locke, John 2, 6, 9, 10, 11, 12, 22, 37, 76, 83, 114,
divine (see God, intellect) 144, 219
human 23 logic
intellectual love of God 185, 188, 201, 208, 209 as instrument 75
internal causes (see causes, internal) as science 75
internal coherence or consistency 54, 55 Lucretius 4
Israel, Jonathan 2 Luria, Aleksander R. 88
238 General index
Macherey, Pierre 23, 193 moral theory 28
Machiavelli, Niccolò 98 Moreau, P.-F. 187
Maimonides 1, 17, 19, 91, 92, 98, 99, 123, 127, Morin, Jean-Baptiste 9
129, 130, 131, 132, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, motion and rest (see modes, infinite, immediate)
140, 143, 152, 167, 169, 173, 174, 180
Guide of the Perplexed 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, Nadler, Steven 3
132, 133, 136, 139, 140, 141, 167 nature 13, 18, 23, 30, 47, 80, 81
maker’s knowledge 82, 83, 108, 223 infinite power of 48, 72, 86, 192
Malamud, Bernard 8 in thought 50, 72, 81, 142, 192, 215
Malebranche, Nicolas 11, 12, 27, 28, 185 natura naturans 21, 22, 29, 38, 39, 126
Malherbe, Michele 80 natura naturata 21, 22, 38, 39, 126
Mancosu, Paolo 60, 83 parts of (see parts, of nature)
Mandeville, Bernard 88 whole of (see whole, of nature)
manifest image 21, 45, 47 naturalism 31
Marion, Jean-Luc 118 deflationary 30
Martinich, Aloysius 103 explanatory 30
Mason, Richard 33, 210 necessitarianism 26
Matheron, Alexandre 17, 84, 149, 197, 199, 200, necessity 35, 109, 115, 155
212, 220 hypothetical 155
Maxwell, Vance 102, 212 illative 118, 140, 211
Menasseh Ben Israel 3 neutral properties 111
mental instruments or tools (see tools, mental) Nicholas of Cusa 60, 64, 75
Mersenne, Marin 104 Nicole, Pierre 76, 151, 153, 154
method 73, 76, 83, 84, 85, 95, 96, chapters 4–5, Nietzsche, Friedrich 18, 88
211 Nussbaum, Martha 28
analytic or resolution (see also causes, analysis
of ) 15, 99, 100, 105, 107, 109, 117, 118, 121, Ockham, William of 75, 104, 121
122, 123, 141, 155, 172, 213 Oldenburg, Henry 4, 20, 32, 33, 34, 42, 43, 46,
Geometrical (mos geometricus) 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 47, 49, 76
12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 30, 31, 46, 71, opinions 92
73, 93, 95, 97, 118, 123, 124, 143, 144, 145, false 92
149, 155, 168, 182, 195, 198, 211, 216, 219 true 92
Hypothetico-deductive 102, 171 order or presentation 118
synthetic or composition 15, 99, 100, 105, analytic 117
109, 118, 121, 122, 123, 141, 143, 155, 169, geometrical 8, 12
172, 213 synthetic 117, 119, 122
Meyer, Lodewijk 1, 14, 61–62, 63, 77, 115, 116,
117, 119, 120, 141, 152 Pappus 117
microscopes 221, 222 parables 129, 130
Mignini, Filippo 74, 198, 199, 212 parallelism 194
Mill, John Stuart 28 Parkinson, G. H. R. 53, 161, 163, 164, 168, 182,
modes 21, 22, 24, 72 200
definition of mode 21, 22, 157, 162 parts 31, 45, 47, 48, 213, 214
infinite 37, 38, 41, 48, 81, 94, 125, 176 and wholes 16, 31, 34, 35, 36, 42, 43, 44, 45, 50,
immediate modes (IIMs) 37, 39, 40, 42, 43, 70, 72, 78, 189, 196, 205
45, 48: motion and rest (IIM of of the mind 195, 196, 206, 214, 215
extension) 37, 38, 39, 40, 41; intellect of nature 20, 29, 31, 44, 47, 48, 49, 71, 86, 88,
(IIM of thought) 16, 40, 41, 190, 192 196, 205
mediate modes (IMMs) 37, 39, 40, 41, 42, passions (see affections)
43, 46, 113, 114, 115: face of whole perception 23, 202, 203
universe (IMM of extension) 41, 48 Pérez-Ramos, Antonio 80, 83
of attributes 38 perfection 35, 84, 130
of modes 38 perspectivalism 91, 125, 170, 184
of substance 38 physics 81
Moll, Konrad 9 Piccolomini, Francisco 8
General index 239
Pines, Shlomo 128 Secretan, Catherine 152
Plato 6, 28 self-clarification (see clarification, self )
Plotinus 6, 206 Sellars, Wilfred 21, 45, 47
possibility 65, 66, 173 Seneca 4
postulates 8 sense perception
power 186 analysis of 110
augmentation and dimunition 185, 186, separating ideas (see ideas, separating, true from
219 false)
causal 80 Sevi, Sabbatai 31
inborn (see innate) Shaftesbury (Anthony Ashley Cooper) 34
Preus, J. Samuel 1 Sieve of Eratosthenes 95
principle of plenitude 38, 64 singular thing 36, 37
principle of sufficient reason 25, 38 Skinner, Quentin
prophecy 129, 135, 136, 139, 141, 173 Smith, Adam 6
definition of 174 Spinoza, Baruch (Benedict) passim
Pufendorf, Samuel 2, 9, 10, 11, 37, 83, 152, 184 Ethics passim
Korte Verhandeling 5, 12, 35, 42, 44, 45, 64, 73,
qua 136, 137 74, 93, 98, 153, 173, 181, 198, 199, 211, 216,
quotation, internal 123, 124, 127, 131, 132, 139 220
ironic contextual 124, 125, 127 Opera Posthuma/ Nagelate Schriften 5
Philosophia 74
rationalism, explanatory 30 Principles of Descartes’ Philosophy 12, 13, 14, 99,
ratios 110, 200, 208, 220 115, 119, 167
determinate 200 Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect 12,
of motion and rest (bodily) 40, 51, 110, 111, 112, 13, 14, 17, 19, 53, 54, Chapter 3 passim, 73,
209, 214, 219, 220, 221, 222 100, 117, 148, 156, 159, 171, 175, 178, 181, 198,
subratios 111 199
reality, formal or objective 85 Tractatus Politicus 6, 12, 98, 126, 145
reason 16, 51, 52, 55, 78, 104, 109, 110, 140, 172, Tractatus-Theologico Politicus 1, 4, 12, 19, 31,
181, 183, 190, 196, 197, 201, 205, 209, 210, 32, 35, 36, 82, 99, 133, 136, 152, 173, 175, 218
214, 220 Spinoza, Gabriel (brother) 4
reasons 45, 51, 107, 109, 111, 112, 114 Spinoza, Hanna (mother) 4
regius 119 Spinoza, Michael (father) 3
regressus 107, 108, 153 Steenbakkers, Piet 8, 158
Remes, Unto 117 Steinberg, Diane 140
relation Stoics (and Stoical) 6, 32, 45, 60, 90, 91
adequate (see adequate, relation) Strauss, Leo 128
extrinsic 54 sub specie aeternitatis (see eternity)
representative content 39 sustenance 92
Republic of Letters 32, 33, 34 substance 21, 22, 24, 68, 72, 76, 103, 125, 171, 202,
Rorty, Amélie O. 28, 125 213
Rorty, Richard 97 definition of 21, 22, 23, 67, 157, 163, 166, 179
Rousset, Bernard 9, 74, 79 Swammerdam, Jan 220
Royal Society 32, 34 syllogisms 75, 105, 107, 109, 153
Ruestow, Edward 220, 221 synthesis (see method, synthetic)
Saadia Gaon 173, 174 Tacitus 4

sadness 185 Terence 4
Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph 2 testimony 16
Schuller, Georg 41 therapy 7, 18, 19, 48, 73, 87, 88, 90, 91, 92, 113,
scientia intuitiva (see knowledge, third 139, 141, 143, 149, 171, 179
kind of ) thought 95
scientific image 21, 45 definition of 95
scholia 15 time 41, 63
Scripture 129, 132, 137, 140, 141 Toland, John 2
240 General index
tools or instruments 82, 220, 221 wholes 43, 44, 46, 47, 48
inborn 84 of the mind 195
mental 74, 75, 76, 80, 84, 85, 87, 115, 203, 222 whole of nature 81
Torricelli, Evangelista 60 Will 26, 37, 77, 118, 119, 120, 179, 216
truth 52, 85, 94, 96, 113 Divine (see God, will)
Tschirnhaus, Walther Ehrenfried von 4, 15, 16, Voluntarism 216
19, 87, 88, 145, 146, 147, 148, 159, 160, 163, Wilson, Catherine 222
164, 165, 169, 172, 175, 177, 178, 187 Wilson, Margaret 25, 212
Tuck, Richard 10 Witt, Jan De 2
Twersky, Isidore 128 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 6
Wolfson, Harry 17, 37, 99, 128, 131, 145, 166, 168
understanding 67 worm in the blood 20, 21, 46, 47, 50, 86, 142,
universals 43, 45, 106, 110, 153 158, 186, 192
Van Den Enden, Franciscus 3, 4, 164 Young, B. W. 81

Van der Tak, W. G. 4 Yovel, Yirmiyahu 3, 41, 158
Velthuysen, Lambertus 1, 152, 216
Verbeek, Theo 152 Zabarella, Jacobo 8, 59, 75, 76, 103, 105, 106, 107,
Vico, Giambattista 219 108, 109, 115, 117, 121, 123, 143, 153, 168, 179,
Voetius 119 203
Vygotsky, L. S. 88 De Doctrina Ordine Apologiae 8
De Medio Demonstrationis 59, 203
Wallis, John 103 De Methodis 75, 105
Weigel, Erhard 9, 144 De Natura Logicae 75

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MEANING IN SPINOZA’S METHOD

Readers of Spinoza’s philosophy have often been daunted, and some-

a a ro n v. g a r re t t is Assistant Professor at Boston University.

Cambridge University Press

© Aaron V. Garrett 2003

This book is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of

First published in print format 2003

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of

Acknowledgments page viii

After I defended my dissertation my supervisor, Yirmiyahu Yovel, suggested

AT Oeuvres de Descartes, ed. Charles Adam and Paul Tannery

This is a book about Spinoza, one of the greatest philosophers of the

20 Locke, Essay, iv.3 §20. 21 AT x 213 (Philosophical Writings of Descartes, i, 2).

A worm in the blood: some central themes

The Emmet’s Inch & Eagle’s Mile

In order to understand why Spinoza embraced the geometrical method in

d e f i n i t i o n 1 : By causa sui I understand that, the essence of which involves

The deﬁnition of causa sui, or “cause of itself,” is only rarely invoked in

A few further basic concepts

This chapter introduces some important concepts in Spinoza’s philosophy

3 Jonathan Bennett, A Study of Spinoza’s Ethics (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1984), 178.

Emendative therapy and the Tractatus de

In the last two chapters I have discussed a number of issues preliminary to

14 See De Dijn, The Way to Wisdom, 39.

20 Novum Organum ii.1

emending the mind

Method: analysis and synthesis

The method of philosophizing of those who

15 Hobbes uses the Greek terminology at dc i.6.1.

Maimonides and Gersonides

12 Ibid., 16. 13 Ibid. The text Maimonides quotes is Psalms 119:126.

26 Gersonides, The Wars of the Lord, 97.

Deﬁnitions in Spinoza’s Ethics: where they come

Spinoza’s discussion of method in the TIE concludes with his incomplete

This is a reasonable objection. In any sort of actual mathematical practice,

2 Martial Gueroult, Spinoza I – Dieu (Paris: Aubier-Montaigne, 1968), 172–5.

9 Gueroult, Spinoza I – Dieu, 33. 10 Ibid., 34.

12 Gueroult, Spinoza I – Dieu, 33.

29 This is Euclid’s deﬁnition of the circle (Elements, ID15).

41 G. H. R. Parkinson, Spinoza’s Theory of Knowledge (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954), 72–3.

55 Curley, “Spinoza’s Geometric Method,” 165.

56 I will discuss this proposition at greater length in the next chapter.

As I have noted, Spinoza is not presenting us with the deﬁnition of God

The third kind of knowledge and “our” eternity

This ﬁnal chapter is concerned with explicating what Spinoza refers to as

6 Spinoza means perfection in the non-teleological sense outlined in IV “Preface.”

33 Part V is called “Of Human Freedom.”

What I recognize myself, or perhaps more appropriately “itself,” as being on

45 1n46 and n47.

Allison, Henry, Benedict de Spinoza: An Introduction (New Haven: Yale University

Saadia Gaon 173, 174 Tacitus 4

Van Den Enden, Franciscus 3, 4, 164 Young, B. W. 81

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