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The laws and rules of nature, according to which all things happen, and change from one form to another, are always and everywhere the same. So the way of understanding the nature of anything, of whatever kind, must also be the same, viz. through the universal laws of nature.Many philosophers have treated the human mind as an exception to otherwise universal natural laws, as a thing which is capable of good and evil or as an uncaused cause of action for example. Spinoza though insists that human beings are not "outside nature." Any features or deeds of human beings that seem exceptional, then, must have for Spinoza some explanation in terms of natural laws. That is, if there is any sense at all in saying that something which happens to a particular human being is good or evil, that must be a sense in which any other finite mode might also be said to have benefitted or have been harmed; and, if there is any sense at all in calling a human being free, that must be a sense in which other things of different kinds might also be said to be free.
Spinoza's thesis (IIIp7) that the essence of any finite mode, including any human mind (IIIp9), is a striving (conatus) to persevere in being is an attempt to give an account of nature under which human beings with their apparent peculiarities are natural. Spinoza argues that all finite modes strive to persevere in being (IIIp6), and he uses an analysis of human striving to explain human good and evil and human freedom in terms that might apply to any finite modes. An action of a human mind (IIp48) or of anything other than God (Ip17c2), cannot be free, for Spinoza, in the sense of being the effect of a free cause. There is human freedom for Spinoza, however, in the sense of freedom from external interference: I am free in producing some effect (for example, in doing something) if that effect follows from my essence alone, or, in other words, if it is the effect of my striving alone. (For discussions of action and human freedom, see IIId2 and V Preface.) ‘Good’ and ‘evil’ are labels that describe natural properties in the sense that they describe changes that might occur in any particular things at all (although we reserve the labels for these changes when they occur in human beings). An increase in the power with which a mind strives is good, for Spinoza, and a decrease evil ( see IIIp11s, IIIp39s and IV Preface). Because the striving thesis thus explains both human freedom and good and evil, it is of central importance to Spinoza's psychology and ethics. One might raise questions about the validity of Spinoza's argument to the doctrine, about its plausibility as an account of the nature of particular objects, or about its plausibility as an account of human nature. The subsections which follow address these issues in turn.
I Proposition 25 Corollary: 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.
I Proposition 34: God's power is his essence itself.
III Proposition 4: No thing can be destroyed except through an external cause.
III Proposition 5: Things are of a contrary nature, i.e., cannot be in the same subject, insofar as one can destroy the other.
Therefore, I Proposition 6: Each thing, as far as it can by its own power, strives to persevere in its being.
A thing's essence may not be absolutely equivalent to its nature for Spinoza, since a thing such as a square circle has a nature but cannot exist (Ip11) and one might interpret Spinoza as holding that anything which has an essence might exist (IId2). Still, the two terms might be taken interchangeably here because Spinoza is only describing existents. If this assumption is correct, then perhaps Spinoza's reasoning runs like this:
Particular things, subjects, are expressions of power, since they are modes of God's attributes (Ip25) and God's attributes constitute God's essence (ID4) and God's essence is his power (Ip34). It is self-evident that nothing can be destroyed except through an external cause (IIIp4), so an apparent particular thing which is self-destructive is in fact at least two (IIIp5). The power a genuine particular thing expresses, then, must therefore be directed toward its own perseverance in being (IIIp6).
Pace Spinoza, the claim at IIIp4 that no thing can be destroyed except through an external cause is not clearly self-evident. Even assuming IIIp4 to be true, however, one might raise questions about Spinoza's argument. Why is it that, just because a thing does not strive to destroy itself, that thing must therefore strive to persevere in being? A thing might it seems not strive for anything, or perhaps it might strive to do something which is neither perseverance nor self-destruction. Spinoza's use of IP34 and Ip25c seems intended to rule out the first of these possibilities. Although Spinoza's term ‘express’ (exprimere) is notoriously unclear, it may mean something like "is a particular form of." In that case, because particular things are expressions of God's essence, his power, they must be particular forms of power. So there cannot be a thing which does not strive at all or, in other words, there cannot be a thing which is not any expression of power at all.
The second version of the objection, the version which notes the possibility that a particular thing as described in IIIp4 might strive for something other than either self-destruction or perseverance, remains a challenge to sympathetic readers of the Ethics however. The negation of IIIp6, that some thing does not strive to persevere in its being, where perseverance in being is understood as a particular end among many possible options, is perfectly consistent with the truth of IIIp4. After all, not striving to persevere in being, which IIIp6 rules out, is not the same thing as striving not to persevere in being, which IIIp4 rules out. A sympathetic reader of Spinoza might try to resolve the difficulty through an understanding of what it means to strive to persevere in being, under which striving to persevere in being comes to mean just the same thing as striving to do something other than destroy oneself, in particular, striving to maintain a present state. (See Curley 1, 109, for an interpretation similar to this one.) This reading comes closer to making the argument from IIIp4 to IIIp6 seem valid, but it raises a new problem: that of reconciling this interpretation of striving with Spinoza's accounts of human motivation which follow from IIIp6. For Spinoza consistently regards sane human beings as finite modes who, beyond merely not trying to kill themselves, actively try to preserve themselves. People do not merely resist changes to whatever state they are in; they strive to change their states in order to know more and in order to live with a greater force. One of the main problems Spinoza faces, then, is reconciling the most plausible version of IIIp6 as an account of the natures of ordinary objects (under which IIIp6 represents a version of the principle of inertia) with the most plausible version of IIIp6 as an account of human nature (under which IIIp6 represents a version of psychological egoism).
IIIp6 introduces, perhaps, a slightly different thesis about what it means to be a particular thing: a particular thing is one which strives to persevere in being. IIIp6's dependence upon IIIp4 suggests that this thesis means that any object will remain in the same state unless external causes affect it. Such a thesis appears to be a very general form of the principle of inertia, and, indeed, Spinoza seems to invoke the principle of inertia in the terms he uses at IIIp6. ‘Conatus’ is a technical term of Cartesian physics, referring to an object's motion. Spinoza himself uses the term in this way in his exposition of Descartes's Principles of Philosophy. (Compare, for example, Descartes's Principles II, art. 37, III, art. 56 and III, art. 58 to Spinoza's exposition IIp14c, IIID3 and IIp17, respectively). Moreover, at IIIp6, in addition to using the term ‘conatus’ again, Spinoza also uses the same phrase that he uses in framing the principle of inertia at IIp14 of his exposition of Descartes: "as far as it can by its own power" quantum in se est. (Note however that there is some controversy over how this phrase is to be understood: see Curley's footnote to IIIp6 in his translation and Garrett, 1999, note 2.) So there is a good textual basis for the conclusion that IIIp6 indeed has this meaning.
Apart from the question of how the principle of inertia can give us an understanding of human nature, this interpretation of IIIp6 raises two difficult questions. First, one might object that Spinoza puts too much philosophical weight on a single fact about the nature of things. After all, at IIIp7, Spinoza argues that a thing's striving to persevere in being is its essence. One should conclude from an understanding of IIIp6 as a new law of inertia, then, that IIIp7 simply means that an object's current state, in particular its current state of motion, is its essence. But why should a thing's tendency, in the absence of interference, to maintain its current state represent its essence? To hold such a view would be, seemingly arbitrarily, to elevate one natural property above others. On the face of it, there is no reason to suppose that a thing's tendency to continue to hold the properties it now holds is any more characteristic of or essential to it than any of its various tendencies to interact with other kinds of objects to produce particular kinds of effects.
Second, one might object that, IIIp6, understood as a restatement of the principle of inertia, extends a physical principle to mind without sufficient clarity. In stating the principle of inertia, both Descartes and Spinoza are careful to limit the claim to a claim about bodies. Spinoza, for example, in his definition of conatus ad motum, IIId3 of his exposition of Descartes, writes:
By striving for motion we do not understand any thought, but only that a part of matter is so placed and stirred to motion, that it really would go somewhere if it were not prevented by any cause.
In addition to characterizing matter, however, IIIp6 is a foundational claim about the nature of mind and, in particular, about human psychology. There is a basis, in Spinoza's dual aspect theory and parallelism, for thinking that whatever is true about bodies is true about minds also (and see IIIp10 and IIIp11 for Spinoza's account of striving and the mind/body relation). Striving in physics, however, is understood as a tendency to a certain kind of motion, and motion seems, if anything does, to belong to bodies alone. So Spinoza needs to supply an account of the mental correlate to the physical "striving for motion." But IIIp6 leaves open the question of what it means for mind to strive. On this objection, the striving doctrine uses a kind of metaphorical language, the term ‘striving’, where a precise and literal account of what it is that is characteristic of mind is required.
Whether Spinoza successfully capitalizes on his rhetorical skill, however, and draws a plausible account of the nature of the human mind out of his general account of the essences of finite modes depends upon IIIp9:
III Proposition 9: Both insofar as the mind has clear and distinct ideas, and insofar as it has confused ideas, it strives, for an indefinite duration, to persevere in its being and it is conscious of this striving it has.
IIIp9 suggests that Spinoza is a psychological egoist of some sort. That is, it suggests that he believes that what human beings desire to do is to secure their own interests (construed here as perseverance in being). Indeed Spinoza goes on to define desire at IIIp9 as human striving (or appetite) together with the consciousness of striving. So clearly human desire for Spinoza is part of the striving for perseverance in being and thus shares its character.
There is some question, however, about what variety of psychological egoism Spinoza holds. Desire might be part of a striving for perseverance, after all, without all desires being desires for perseverance. One might have a strong instinctual desire for things which are instrumental to perseverance in being without desiring perseverance itself, for example. Or one might desire perseverance in being but also desire other kinds of things.
IIIp9 might be supposed to support a very strong version of psychological egoism, orthodox egoism (perhaps Delahunty, 221, holds this view). Orthodox egoism, is the view that human beings are always consciously selfish. Under this view, A consciously desires only those objects which benefit A, B desires only those objects which benefit B, and so on for all human beings. At IIIp9, Spinoza writes that the human mind seeks to persevere in being both insofar as it has clear and distinct ideas and insofar as it has confused ideas. It is natural to understand this claim to mean something like the following:
Sometimes people do things which conduce to their perseverance and other times people do things which fail to so conduce. In both types of case, though, people desire to persevere. When I do something that fails to help me to persevere, it's because the ideas on which I based my action were confused; that is, I thought I knew what would help me to persevere, but I was wrong. When I do something that does help me to persevere, though (unless I have simply been lucky in acting from an inadequate idea), it is because I acted on clear and distinct ideas or, in other words, genuine knowledge about what would help me to persevere.
The categorical language Spinoza uses in the Appendix to Part I provides explicit support for this interpretation of IIIp9: "men act always on account of an end, viz. on account of their advantage, which they want." Moreover there are other important passages in Spinoza's works which are strongly compatible with the interpretation of Spinoza as an orthodox egoist. These include Ethics IVp8d, and his political writings, especially Ethics IVp36s2, and his Political Treatise, chapter 2)
Other evidence suggests that Spinoza is not an orthodox egoist, however. In particular, there is reason to question whether the argument of the Ethics commits Spinoza to the account of actions following from confused ideas that the interpretation of IIIp9 above attributes to him. Part of IIIp39s concerns those agents who are the most confused. That passage is useful because it describes explicitly the conscious thought-processes that precede action:
Though men are liable to a great many affects, so that one rarely finds them to be always agitated by one and the same affect, still there are those in whom one affect is stubbornly fixed. For we sometimes see that men are so affected by one object that, although it is not present, they still believe they have it with them. When this happens to a man who is not asleep, we say that he is mad or insane. Nor are they thought to be less mad who burn with Love,and dream, both night and day, only of a lover or a courtesan. For they usually provoke laughter. But when a greedy man thinks of nothing else but profit, or money, and an ambitious man of esteem, they are not thought to be mad, because they are usually troublesome and are considered worthy of Hate. But Greed, Ambition, and Lust really are species of madness, even though they are not numbered among the diseases.
In this scholium (and in other discussions of monomania such as III Definition of the Affects, XLVIII and IVp20s) Spinoza describes a variety of possible ends of human action, none of which is perseverance in being. Moreover, lest one think that the greedy man seeks profit because he mistakenly believes that it leads to perseverance, Spinoza emphasizes the point that it is always one and the same object that obsesses these men.
IIIp39s suggests that Spinoza holds a different kind of view, predominant egoism, the view that most people, most of the time consciously desire perseverance in their own being. The particular type of predominant egoism that IIIp39s suggests introduces important aspects of Spinoza's ethical theory: if the most confused people, people addled by greed or lust or ambition are those who always seek something other than perseverance in being, then perhaps Spinoza's view is that, for any of us who act on some similar sentiments occasionally, we do so just to the extent that we also have confused ideas. Thus human beings are predominantly egoistic because, by and large, we act on clear and distinct ideas: it is rational to seek to persevere in being (see also what "reason demands" at IVP18S). But we are not orthodox egoists, on this interpretation of Spinoza as a predominant egoist, because we are not fully rational. To the extent that we have confused ideas, we may indeed consciously pursue ends other than perseverance in being. On this interpretation of Spinoza, there is a right (or at least a rational) end to pursue--perseverance in being--and other ends are wrong (or at least irrational).
IVp20 provides support for this interpretation of Spinoza's predominant egoism:
IV Proposition 20: The more each one strives, and is able, to seek his own advantage, i.e., to preserve his being, the more he is endowed with virtue; conversely, insofar as each one neglects his own advantage, i.e., neglects to preserve his own being, he lacks power.
Here Spinoza explicitly admits that a person may "neglect his own advantage." So IVp20 apparently contradicts the orthodox egoism of I Appendix. Moreover, IVp20 states that, to the extent that a person does seek perseverance in being, that person is virtuous. Virtue has a metaphysical connotation in the Ethics. A thing's virtue is just the same as its power (IVd8). But the term undeniably has moral connotations as well. So IVp20 suggests, as IIIp39s does, that consciously trying to preserve oneself is right and neglecting to preserve oneself is wrong.
IIIp9 admits of various interpretations. However, the weight of the textual evidence supports the view that he is a predominant, not an orthodox, egoist. Any particular human desire, then, even a desire that is not a desire for perseverance in being or its means, must on Spinoza's view be related to perseverance in being in some way (by IIIp6 and IIIp9s). Spinoza's association of desires for things other than perseverance in being in passages such as IIIp39s and IVp20 suggests moreover that such desires are part or product of confusion. So passionate desires, for Spinoza, are often desires for things other than perseverance in being, although they may be confused desires for perseverance as well (see IVp63s2 and other discussions of fear).
Further reading: For discussion of IIIp4, see Matson. For interpretations of Spinoza's argument from IIIp4-IIIp6, see Bennett (1); Curley (1); and Della Rocca. For discussions of the ancient roots of the striving doctine, see James and Wolfson. Lachterman covers Spinoza physics and his use of Descartes. Most book-length interpretations of the Ethics include detailed accounts of Spinoza's view of human nature. One recent account of interest is Yovel's. The best recent discussions of psychological egoism come in the context of the interpretation of Hobbes, to whom Spinoza is sometimes compared. See Kavka and Hampton.
Spinoza, though, because he denies freedom of the will, is more thorough than
Descartes in his commitment to naturalism. This commitment makes the task
Spinoza undertakes in the Ethics an even more dramatic revision of
traditional understandings of the passions than that which Descartes produced.
So Spinoza, even more than Descartes, is open to the sort of objection which
traditional authors, those to whom it seems beyond question that human beings
are outside nature, might raise: how can the full range of human psychological
phenomena be produced by natural causes? For the argument of the Ethics
to succeed, Spinoza must produce, first, an account of how human desires and
emotions might be a part of nature as he has presented it in the Ethics
and, second, a description of those human desires and emotions which is
plausibly complex, that is, plausibly consistent with our experience of
ourselves. The subsections which follow address these issues in turn.
Spinoza introduces the first of his primary affects, desire, at IIIp9s, directly after introducing the doctrine of human striving, which, in its most general form, he calls appetite.
III Proposition 9, Scholium: ...Between appetite and desire there is no difference, expect that desire is generally related to men insofar as they are conscious of the appetite. So desire can be defined as appetite together with consciousness of the appetite.
Thus Spinoza identifies human desire with human essence and especially with consciousness of one's essence, the striving for perseverance in being. Spinoza's theory of consciousness is notoriously incomplete, and it is not clear whether, on his view, things other than human beings have consciousness. For human beings, at least, however, what seems to us to cause us to act, our desire, does, on Spinoza's view, do just that. If I am asked for the proximate cause of my action in picking up my coffee cup, for example, I will respond that it was my desire for the coffee. In identifying the cause of human action, striving, with conscious desire, then, IIIp9s vindicates common sense to a degree. Had Spinoza identified desire with something other than striving, then he would commit himself to the view that my desire does not in fact cause me to pick up the cup. (Desire for Spinoza, in its narrow definition at IIIp9s, is psycho-physical and, in its broader definition at III, Definitions of the Affects, I, may be either. So, this example, perhaps despite appearances, does not run afoul of Spinoza's denial of mind-body interaction.)
IIIp9s, then, goes a long way toward showing how the universal striving doctrine can be the basis for an account of human desire. A serious problem remains, however. Although we tend to see desire as the proximate cause of action, we tend also to conceive of desire as involving teleology or final causes. If desire causes me to pick up the cup, what causes my desire? The common-sense answer is teleological: I have, as an end, coffee, and I am, in a sense, drawn toward it. Spinoza, though well-aware of the fact that we commonly suppose that there are teleological causes of our actions, denies their reality:
What is called a final cause is nothing but a human appetite insofar as it is considered as a principle, or primary cause, of some thing. For example, when we say that habitation was the final cause of this or that house, surely we understand nothing but that a man, because he imagined the conveniences of domestic life, had an appetite to build a house. So habitation, insofar as it is considered as a final cause, is nothing more than this singular appetite. It is really an efficient cause, which is considered as a first cause, because men are commonly ignorant of the causes of their appetites.
While he can accommodate, in a general way, the common-sense view that desire causes action, then, Spinoza must deny the other common-sense view that desire operates teleologically, and must explain what the ends of human action are, why they seem to human beings to explain actions, and what their real relation is to the processes of efficient causation involved in human behavior. (For an argument against this view, the view that Spinoza denies all teleology, see Garrett 2.)
For these tasks, Spinoza introduces the other primary affects and a number of psychological laws associated with them. He introduces the primary passions at IIIp11s.
III Proposition 11, Scholium: We see, then, that the mind can undergo great changes, and pass now to a greater, now to a lesser perfection. These passions, indeed, explain to us the affects of Joy [laetitia] and Sadness [tristitia]. By Joy, therefore, I shall understand in what follows that passion by which the mind passes to a greater perfection. And by Sadness, that passion by which it passes to a lesser perfection.
The perfectionist language Spinoza uses is important for an understanding of the basis for ethics that he finds in psychology. Here, however, it may be understood in terms of striving. An increased power to persevere in being is for Spinoza a transition to greater perfection and a decreased power is a transition to lesser perfection (see IIIp11, the end of IV Preface, and especially III, Definitions of the Affects, III, Exp.). So joy is the passion one experiences in the transition to an increased power to strive, and sadness is the passion one experiences in the opposite transition. Spinoza thus provides, in his account of the affects, the basis for an explanation of how it is that introspection into our conscious experience of desire might fail to bring us accurate knowledge of our own psychological processes. Our conscious experience, both in reacting to ourselves and external objects and also in forming our desires, has an emotional component: we experience joy and sadness and varieties of these. But we may be unaware of why we feel joy or sadness or why, really, we desire what we desire. So Spinoza writes repeatedly, in the context of his criticisms of teleological reasoning and the introspective experiences of free will or mind/body causation (e.g., at IIIp2s): "men are conscious of their actions and ignorant of the causes by which they are determined."
Spinoza offers an explanation of the apparent teleology in desire, in particular, at IIIp28:
We strive to promote the occurrence of whatever we imagine will lead to joy, and to avert or destroy what we imagine is contrary to it, or will lead to sadness.
Spinoza reserves the term ‘imagine’ [imaginor] for the description of conscious states, so IIIp28 describes, at least in part, the objects of desire. If I imagine that coffee will lead to joy, then I will desire that joy and so that coffee. IIIp28, strictly speaking, is not an exhaustive characterization of objects of desire. It implies only that we desire anything which we imagine will lead to joy and are averse to whatever we imagine will lead to sadness and not that we might not have other kinds of desires also, desires unrelated to either joy or sadness. A review of the particular forms of desire Spinoza catalogues in Part III suggests, however, that the view is still stronger than the limited claim of IIIp28: it seems that Spinoza does hold that anything I desire will be a thing which leads to joy or sadness.
What seems on introspection, then, to be a teleological cause of action, the end represented by an object of desire, is for Spinoza a peculiar manifestation in consciousness of striving, which in turn is the genuine (i.e., efficient) cause of action. I reach for the cup of coffee, I may think, because the joy that I anticipate in the coffee "pulls" me to it; in fact, however, I reach for the coffee because my characteristic striving (perhaps as a partial cause in combination with other partial causes such as the memory of past cups--IIIp36) has that effect. It "pushes" me toward the cup.
It's not that I like Jones or would get any joy from having him walk. I think the guy's a jerk, and I hate to think of him out on the street. But I want him to be released from prison. He simply did not do what he's been convicted of, so he should be set free.On the basis of introspective observations like this one, one might complain that, even if Spinoza's account of the affects can be shown to be consistent with the general theory of striving as it is presented at IIIp6, still the theory of affects is not itself a realistically complex account of human desire, since it cannot account for desires like this one which do not have emotional components. The plausibility of Spinoza's view depends upon the extent to which it can reasonably redescribe this desire, and other similarly troubling desires,in ways which are consistent with IIIp28.
Spinoza attempts to show that there many varieties of joy, sadness, and desire. Thus he might attempt to address the complaint by showing that its author offers a slightly inaccurate description of the situation:
The author denies liking Jones. Let us suppose even that he hates Jones. Even so, that does not mean that the author anticipates no joy at all in Jones's release. Knowing that his society is just in at least this one case may reassure the author of the complaint to some degree that he might be fairly treated himself. So it might be a kind of hope (IIIp18s2) which motivates the desire. Or perhaps there are people the author likes, his fellow citizens generally perhaps, to whom he wishes a similar peace of mind. The author may want the release in order to find a kind of joy, whether it be out if his ambition to please them or simply out of his human kindness (IIIp29s) or nobility (IIIp59s), in the well-being of these other people.
Far from insisting that there is one particular kind of emotion that moves people, Spinoza writes that there is an innumerable variety of affects:
III Proposition 56: There are as many species of Joy, Sadness and Desire, and consequently of each affect composed of these (like vacillation of mind) or derived from them (like love, hate, hope, fear, etc.), as there are objects by which we are affected.
IIIp51 assures us, moreover, that the same object might affect different people, or even the same person at different times, in different ways. So Spinoza protects himself from the charge that IIIp28 is obviously false (albeit at the risk of forwarding an unfalsifiable psychological claim) by arguing that, despite the seeming simplicity of that proposition, it cannot be falsified by the great variety of conscious human motives.
Although Spinoza repeatedly insists that the variety of affects is innumerable, he nevertheless does characterize, in his own terms, many of the traditional passions, each of which is either a kind of joy, sadness or desire or a hybrid of two different affects. A few Spinoza's particular accounts are notable.
Pity (commiseratio) is for Spinoza a species of sadness, sadness that arises from injury to another (IIIp22s), and so to feel pity, on Spinoza's view is to experience a decrease in one's own power to persevere in being. If continued perseverance in being is what virtuous agents seek, then, Spinoza will be commmited to the view that pity is not a virtue. Indeed, Spinoza writes at IVp50c, "A man who lives according to the dictates of reason, strives, as far as he can, not to be touched by pity." So Spinoza stands apart from traditional Christian views on this subject (and also on the subjects of humility and repentence), and with Hobbes who conceives of pity in Leviathan VI as a kind of grief and so a kind of displeasure. This revisionary tendency in his thought is tempered, however, by IIIp54, where he presents pity, and also the other traditional Christian virtues of humility and repentence, as, if not genuine virtues themselves, at least means to virtue, by which people are made more able to come to learn to follow the dictates of reason.
Self-esteem (acquiescentia in se ipso) which Spinoza introduces at IIIp30 as Joy accompanied by the idea of oneself as an internal cause becomes an important part of Spinoza's ethical theory, a species of which is even blessedness (beatitudo, see IV, App. 4), the highest form of human happiness. Human beings, as finite modes cannot, on Spinoza's view, avoid affecting and being affected by external objects. Nevertheless, Spinoza's emphasis on self-esteem, and, in his ethical theory, on self-knowledge, suggests that to the extent we are able to bring about effects, including our own emotions, as whole or adequate causes of those effects, we are better off. His remarks concerning the impossibility of controlling the passions and the desireability of controlling them nevertheless to the extent that we can (V Preface) similarly emphasize the ethical importance of self-knowledge and freedom from external influences.Finally, active joy and active desire which Spinoza introduces at IIIp58 represent a separate class of affects notable both for their novelty against the background of traditional accounts of the passions and also for their importance to Spinoza's ethical arguments of Parts IV and V. On traditional accounts of the passions, even Descartes's (The Passions of the Soul, I.1), actions and passions are the same thing, regarded from different perspectives: when A does X to B, X is an action for A but a passion for B. For Spinoza, however, anything which follows in a person where that person is an "inadequate" or partial cause of the thing, is a passion, and anything that follows where a person is an "adequate" or whole cause of the thing is an action. Thus Spinoza's class of active affects places a strong emphasis on people's roles as whole causes of what they do; because it becomes for Spinoza ethically important that a person be active rather than passive, that emphasis raises a host of questions about the extent to which a person, a particular thing interacting constantly with other things and indeed requiring some of them for sustenance, can come to resist passion and guide himself by means of joy and the active desires.
Because joy and sadness as introduced at IIIp11s are passions, all of the desires arising from them or species of them are passive as well, that is, they are not desires which arise from a person's striving alone but only as a partial cause in combination with other, ultimately external causes. Active joy, which must include at least some types of warranted self-esteem, and active desires, among which Spinoza lists at IIIp59s tenacity (animositas) and nobility (generositas) are wholly active however; that is, they are emotions and desires that people have only insofar as they are adequate causes, or genuine actors. (Notice that sadness cannot ever be an active emotion. People cannot, insofar as they are active bring it about that their power of acting is decreased, so passive sadness, unlike passive joy and desire, has no active counterpart.)
Of these active affects, the most important for an interpretation of Spinoza's ethics and political philosophy is likely nobility. Spinoza's predominant egoism, together with some of his still stronger statements of psychological egoism such as that at I Appendix, suggest that individuals are not, or are not often, altruistic. Moreover, his ethics, with its emphasis on self-esteem and self-knowledge appears in ways to be an individualistic one: the good, when I attain it, is a perfection of myself, not of society or the world. However, nobility, as Spinoza defines it, is a wholly active desire to join others in friendship and to aid them. Spinoza needs, in his ethics, to explain how aiding others is virtuous, and, in his political theory, to explain why a person, even a rational one, would want to come to the aid of others.
Further reading: For discussions of Spinoza's theory of affects in a comparative framework, see Hoffman and James (2). For discussions of the relationship between striving and the affects, see these works and also Davidson,and Schrijvers. Bennett (2), Curley (2), Della Rocca and Garrett (2) discuss Spinoza's views on teleology. Lloyd offers accounts of various particular affects. For a detailed discussion of self-esteem, see Rutherford.
As far as good and evil are concerned, they also indicate nothing positive in things, considered in themselves, nor are they anything other than modes of thinking, or notions we form because we compare things to one another. For one and the same thing can be good, and [evil], and also indifferent. For example, Music is good for one who is melancholy, [evil to] one who is mourning, and nether good nor [evil] to one who is deaf.
The phrase "nothing positive in things" means perhaps that an observer of people would find that ‘good’ and ‘evil’, as people use them are two place predicates rather than one place predicates. If Martha calls music evil, then, what that indicates to one who knows about the human use of these terms is that the music is evil to Martha. Moreover, since the same music can be good or evil for different people, or for people in different states, the two place predication reveals more about Martha than about the music. It must be some fact about the person, rather than some fact about the thing called good or evil, that is of central importance to the understanding of the label.
IIIp9s suggests that the fact about the person which the label reveals is her conative state:
It is clear that we neither strive for, nor will, neither want, nor desire anything because we judge it to be good; on the contrary, we judge something to be good because we strive for it, will it, want it, and desire it.
Spinoza finds that the designation of a thing as good follows from a person's conative state: Martha is averse to music and therefore she calls it evil. Should the music become good to another person, or perhaps Martha herself in different circumstances, it would not be because the music has changed, but because the person's conative state is different: she desires the music. (This analysis of the good is remarkable similar to Hobbes's at Leviathan VI. Maimonides, another of Spinoza's influences, also has a similar analysis: Guide of the Perplexed, III, 13.)
IIIp39s offers a similar analysis. There Spinoza writes, in the same vein as IIIp9s, that, "each one, from his own affect, judges, or evaluates, what is good and what is [evil]...So the greedy man judges an abundance of money best, and poverty worst. The ambitious man desires nothing so much as esteem and dreads nothing so much as shame." However, IIIp39s also uses Spinoza's theory of the affects to introduce new definitions of good and evil:
By good here I understand every kind of joy, and whatever leads to it, and especially whatever satisfies any kind of longing, whatever that may be. And by evil, every kind of sadness and especially what frustrates longing.
IIIp28, the proposition establishing Spinoza's doctrine that human beings desire whatever will bring joy and are averse to whatever will lead to sadness, allows Spinoza to connect the objects of any human desire with joy or the avoidance of sadness. So, if it is true that we call a thing good only if we desire it, then it will also be true that anything we call good will be joy or what leads to it. Understood in this way, IIIp39s simply restates the doctrine of IIIp9s in light of IIIp28.
However, Spinoza might be extending rather than merely restating his position at IIIp39s. Every kind of joy we experience is not presumably a result of conscious desire, and Spinoza allows at IIIP39s that these instances of joy (i.e., those which do not satisfy any kind of longing) are also good. So not only is whatever Martha desires good for her, but, in addition, anything which she does not desire but which nonetheless might bring her joy will also be good. IIIp39s therefore identifies the good and evil for a person with broader classes of things, and makes possible an analysis of good and evil in terms of something other than an individual person's current desires. Because, in giving an account of the right way of living in Parts IV and V, Spinoza presumably urges people to desire and do things in a way different from what they desire and do already, this broadening of the application of the terms ’good’ and ’evil’ (to apply to things other than what people presently desire or are averse to) contributes to the plausibility of his ethical naturalism.
Both senses of the term occur in Spinoza's analysis of human perfection. At IV Preface Spinoza invokes a concept of perfection based upon a model of human nature that we set before ourselves. And Spinoza describes perfection of the human mind in terms of its power of thinking, as we have already seen, at IIIp11 and its scholium: the mind's power of thinking is its perfection; joy is an increase in that power or a passage to a greater perfection; and sadness is a decrease in that power or a passage to a lesser perfection.
Thus Spinoza has two different accounts of human perfection which might contribute to the perfectionist language of the ethical argument that he develops in various ways in Parts IV and V. Although the first account contributes to both Spinoza's formal definitions of good and evil and also, probably, to the "free man" propositions of Part IV, it is perhaps the second account which is of greater importance. It, after all, resonates with Spinoza's account of the good at IIIp39s, and so comes to form part of a consistent moral view: if the good is any form of joy (IIIp39s) and joy is the passage to a greater perfection (IIIp11s), then the good is whatever makes us more perfect. On the other hand, the first account might imply a different set of norms from IIIp39s: it seems that we may have different models of human nature that we set before ourselves, and that they may or may not include the various things that give us joy. Perhaps the formal account of perfection at IId6 and later at IIIp11 give Spinoza a means of reformulating the idea of perfection as a model of human nature in a way which reconciles the two senses of the term: the ideal we set before ourselves will be a person who possesses the greatest possible power of action. This would be, in effect, to correlate our systematically distorted ways of perceiving ourselves--as free agents pursuing as an end a model of human nature--with the causes that really determine our actions.
Further Reading: Curley (1), Delahunty, Garrett (1) and Yovel offer accounts of Spinoza's ethical language as it relates to his psychology. For a discussion of Spinoza's views on perfection, see Garrett (1), Allison and Wolfson.
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