SPINOZA By FREDERICK J. E. WOODBRIDGE

A lecture delivered at Columbia University, January 26, 1933 for the Spinoza tercentenary published in Ethics by Benedict de Spinoza, Hafner Library of Classics, Hafner Publishing Co., New York 1949] [here abridged– 1500 words]

Spinoza's book is the study of the life of freedom - the exposition of a way of thinking and the recommendation of a way of living, which, together, will free us from our unruly wills and emotions which are the causes of our misery…

Spinoza uses the terms "slavery" and "freedom." We usually know what we mean when we use them. We know what we mean when we say that a man is the slave of habit or convention instead of the master of them. There is slavery to ambition, to prejudice, to riches, to pleasure, to circumstances. There is slavery to the emotions, to what we love and hate, to what we hope for and fear; slavery to society, to the state, to the church; to family, to husband, wife and children. From all such slavery we think it would be good to be free. We have to pay in some way or other for all that we possess and enjoy, to find ourselves more or less slaves to the price.

Spinoza saw humanity as thus enslaved - creatures in bondage to their emotions, to what they love and want, yet wanting what they love in freedom from the bondage that it brings. Above all Spinoza sees us enslaved by mental anxiety. We must care for what we love and want and that care is anxious care. We may lose, are daily in danger of losing, all that on which our emotions are set. Those things we call the goods of life, health, wealth, esteem, pleasure, friends, all that we hold dear - all these are precarious. They are held at an anxious risk that impels us to fortify ourselves against it by trying to get security, by concessions to others, by propitiations of the fates, of God, by sacrifices of all sorts. In trying to get security, we must secure ourselves against others. There arise, consequently, hatreds and jealousies and enmities. We may shut and lock ourselves in, but anxiety sits outside on the step, waiting for us to come out. A mind without anxiety, undisturbed and at peace would be free.

By what methods do people usually try to relieve the great burden of human anxiety? Some by indulgence in pleasure. Spinoza sees in this nothing but folly. It leads to satiety, disgust, disease and final wretchedness. Others try stoical indifference. There is the appearance of nobility in this, and there is certainly courage and fortitude. But it is courage and fortitude, and not freedom from anxiety. It commands the troubled waters of the mind to be still, but does not still them. Stoicism and asceticism of all sorts are really bewilderment in despair, marked by fortitude. Some there are who try to relieve anxiety by cultivating a belief in a god who will be well disposed towards man, if he is properly worshipped and propitiated. This is superstition that leads to religious bigotry and persecution. It is even worse, for it makes of God a whimsical person moved by human likes and dislikes, a jealous god who takes revenge, a judicial god who punishes and rewards, a changeable god who is flattered by attention. More thoughtful people try philanthropy. They encourage the instrumentalities and institutions that work for the lessening of human misery and distress. But philanthropy is medicine, not emancipation. It defines the human problem instead of solving it. It is intensified anxiety. It is, dispassionately considered, only organized slavery to the emotions.

As Spinoza saw indulgence, stoicism, the belief in providence and philanthropy, he saw human slavery only magnified. He did not see freedom or anything like it. The closer he examined them the clearer he saw in them exaggerated examples of human bondage, examples of anxious care, of being put to trouble with the consciousness of being put to trouble, and with being put to trouble for one's reward. This is not freedom. This is not happiness. It is slavery. Philanthropy is good. Thoughtful people will promote it to the best of their ability. They will, however, recognize it as bondage to the emotions.

The essential character of this bondage, however, suggests the possibility or escape from it... We cannot, Spinoza is convinced, escape the domination of our emotions. We are slaves to the love of something. The character and scope of our slavery depend on the character and scope of what we love.

Is there then something, which has the power to evoke a love, which no other love can hinder or impair? Such a love would be slavery, but it would be so different from all other kinds that it would claim the name of freedom...

Can such an object be found? Spinoza thinks that we ought rather to ask, What is the way to find it? What does trying to find it involve? His answer is: "It involves the discovery of the union of the mind with the whole of Nature." This is to involve a good deal. Before being staggered by the immensity of it, and exclaiming that a discovery so vast is beyond ordinary human power, change it to our union with the whole of nature or to our place in the scheme or things...

This reveals two of Spinoza's deep-seated convictions. One is that we are what we are because of our place in nature, and the other is that, we are bound to be miserable and unhappy so long as we are ignorant of what that place is... We are dissatisfied with the place we imagine ourselves to occupy. We find in it a competition of loves and not one sustaining love. We are haunted by the suspicion that it is not our proper place, that it is not where we really belong... We have the sense of belonging to something and we want to belong to something that will fill us with an overmastering love, but we are ignorant of what that something is. If we knew what it is, Spinoza is convinced that our whole mental attitude would be changed. We should then see life in a different perspective from that of day to day. He tells us our place is in nature and to nature we belong. And that, he thinks, ought to make us happy and free. It sounds easy. Spinoza tells us it is difficult and rare…

But what is our place in nature? The question is now no longer one of geography. It is not a matter of latitude or longitude. It is not even a matter of length of days or of personal biographies. It is not ascertained by chart and compass or by reference to the calendar. It is discovered by the mind. It is the same place as that of the sands of the desert, or of the stars, if you will. It is a necessary place, a place, that is, which nature does not and cannot get on without and without which neither we nor the sands of the desert can get on. It is the place that embraces all places and is all places embraced. It is a belonging to all that can be belonged to, and all that can be belonged to belongs to it. We must keep in mind that this is the mind's discovery. Geographically it is nonsense. The belongings, the property, of which it speaks, are not like those occasional possessions that pass from hand to hand.

Although the mind borrows its words from geography and getting and spending, it has discovered something else. It has discovered order, connection, interdependence, integrity, completeness, perfection. It has discovered essence, existence, idea and power. These do not define something to be found on a map or dated in a calendar. They define something without which nothing can be nor be conceived...

To belong to nature is to belong to what nature is, to belong to that without which neither the sands or the desert nor the stars nor humankind could be at all... Of nothing else, thinks Spinoza, have we more immediate or more certain knowledge. On it knowledge of everything else depends...

[If we could find our place, make that discovery of mind] ...we shall not cease to be human, we shall not cease to work hard or to have troubles and pains, but our attitude of mind will be changed. We shall not go through life crying, complaining and afraid. We shall not be docile, submissive, dissolute or resolute. We shall be something quite different. We shall be like one who has found an object that creates an irresistible love that cannot be lost, or taken away, or impaired should others love it too.

[And in Spinoza's words --]
"If the way which I have shown leading to this, seems to be very difficult, yet it can be found. And surely it must be difficult, because it is so rarely found. For if deliverance were impromptu and could be had without great labor, how could it happen that almost everybody misses it? But all excellent things are as difficult as they are rare."