love towards a thing eternal and infinite alone feeds the mind with a pleasure secure from all pain. . . . The greatest good is the knowledge of the union which the mind has with the whole of nature. The more the mind knows, the better it understands its forces and the order of nature; the more it understands its forces or strength, the better it will be able to direct itself and lay down the rules for itself; and the more it understands the order of nature, the more easily it will be able to liberate itself from useless things; this is the whole method.

Only knowledge, then, is power and freedom; and the only permanent happiness is the pursuit of knowledge and the joy of understanding. Meanwhile, however, the philosopher must remain a man and a citizen; what shall be his mode of life during his pursuit of truth? Spinoza lays down a simple rule of conduct to which, so far as we know, his actual behavior thoroughly conformed:

1. To speak in a manner comprehensible to the people, and to do for them all things that do not prevent us from attaining our ends. 2. To enjoy only such pleasures as are necessary for the preservation of health. 3. Finally, to seek only enough money as is necessary for the maintenance of our life and health, and to comply with such customs as are not opposed to what we seek.1

But in setting out upon such a quest, the honest and clearheaded philosopher comes at once upon the problem: How do I know that my knowledge is knowledge, that my senses can be trusted in the material which they bring to my reason, and that my reason can be trusted with the conclusions which it derives from the material of sensation? Should we not examine the vehicle before abandoning ourselves to its directions? Should we not do all that we can to perfect it? "Before all things," says Spinoza, Baconianly, “a means must be devised for improving and clarifying the intellect." 2 Ve 1 De Emendatione, Everyman edition, p. 231. 2 Ibid.

must distinguish carefully the various forms of knowledge, and trust only the best.

First, then, there is hearsay knowledge, by which, for example, I know the day of my birth. Second, vague experience, "empirical" knowledge in the derogatory sense, as when a physician knows a cure not by any scientific formulation of experimental tests, but by a "general impression" that it has "usually" worked. Third, immediate deduction, or knowledge reached by reasoning, as when I conclude to the immensity of the sun from seeing that in the case of other objects distance decreases the apparent size. This kind of knowledge is superior to the other two, but is yet precariously subject to sudden refutation by direct experience; so science for a hundred years reasoned its way to an "ether" which is now in high disfavor with the physicist élite. Hence the highest kind of knowledge is the fourth form, which comes by immediate deduction and direct perception, as when we see at once that 6 is the missing number in the proportion, 2:4::3:x; or as when we perceive that the whole is greater than the part. Spinoza believes that men versed in mathematics know most of Euclid in this intuitive way; but he admits ruefully that "the things which I have been able to know by this knowledge so far have been very few." 1

In the Ethics Spinoza reduces the first two forms of knowledge to one; and calls intuitive knowledge a perception of things sub specie eternitatis—in their eternal aspects and relations,—which gives in a phrase a definition of philosophy. Scientia intuitiva, therefore, tries to find behind things and events their laws and eternal relations. Hence Spinoza's very fundamental distinction (the basis of his entire system) between the "temporal order"-the "world" of things and incidents-and the "eternal order" the world of laws and structure. Let us study this distinction carefully:

It must be noted that I do not understand here by the series of causes and real entities a series of individual mutable 1 P. 233.

things, but rather the series of fixed and eternal things. For it would be impossible for human weakness to follow up the series of individual mutable things, not only because their number surpasses all count, but because of the many circumstances, in one and the same thing, each of which may be the cause of the thing's existence. For indeed, the existence of particular things has no connection with their essence, and is not an eternal truth. However, there is no need that we should understand the series of individual mutable things, for their essence is only to be found in fixed and eternal things, and from the laws inscribed in those things as their true codes, according to which all individual things are made and arranged; nay, these individual and mutable things depend so intimately and essentially on these fixed ones that without them they can neither exist nor be conceived.1

If we will keep this passage in mind as we study Spinoza's masterpiece, it will itself be clarified, and much in the Ethics that is discouragingly complex will unravel itself into simplicity and understanding.

IV. THE ETHICS

The most precious production in modern philosophy is cast into geometrical form, to make the thought Euclideanly clear; but the result is a laconic obscurity in which every line requires a Talmud of commentary. The Scholastics had formulated their thought so, but never so pithily; and they had been helped to clarity by their fore-ordained conclusions. Descartes had suggested that philosophy could not be exact until it expressed itself in the forms of mathematics; but he had never grappled with his own ideal. Spinoza came to the suggestion with a mind trained in mathematics as the very basis of all

1 P. 259. Cf. Bacon, Novum Organum, II, 2: "For although nothing exists in nature except individual bodies, exhibiting clear individual effects according to particular laws; yet, in each branch of learning, those very lawstheir investigation, discovery and development-are the foundation both of theory and of practice." Fundamentally, all philosophers agree,

rigorous scientific procedure, and impressed with the achievements of Copernicus, Kepler and Galileo. To our more loosely textured minds the result is an exhausting concentration of both matter and form; and we are tempted to console ourselves by denouncing this philosophic geometry as an artificial chessgame of thought in which axioms, definitions, theorems and proofs are manipulated like kings and bishops, knights and pawns; a logical solitaire invented to solace Spinoza's loneliness. Order is against the grain of our minds; we prefer to follow the straggling lines of fantasy, and to weave our philosophy precariously out of our dreams. But Spinoza had but one compelling desire to reduce the intolerable chaos of the world to unity and order. He had the northern hunger for truth rather than the southern lust for beauty; the artist in him was purely an architect, building a system of thought to perfect symmetry and form.

Again, the modern student will stumble and grumble over the terminology of Spinoza. Writing in Latin, he was compelled to express his essentially modern thought in medieval and scholastic terms; there was no other language of philosophy which would then have been understood. So he uses the term substance where we should write reality or essence; perfect where we should write complete; ideal for our object; objectively for subjectively, and formally for objectively. These are hurdles in the race, which will deter the weakling but will stimulate the strong.

In short, Spinoza is not to be read, he is to be studied; you must approach him as you would approach Euclid, recognizing that in these brief two hundred pages a man has written down his lifetime's thought with stoic sculptury of everything superfluous. Do not think to find its core by running over it rapidly; never in a work of philosophy was there so little that could be skipped without loss. Every part depends upon preceding parts; some obvious and apparently needless proposition turns out to be the cornerstone of an imposing development of logic. You will not understand any important sec

tion thoroughly till you have read and pondered the whole; though one need not say, with Jacobi's enthusiastic exaggeration, that "no one has understood Spinoza to whom a single line of the Ethics remains obscure." "Here, doubtless," says Spinoza, in the second part of his book, "the reader will become confused, and will recollect many things which will bring him to a standstill; and therefore I pray him to proceed gently with me and form no judgment concerning these things until he shall have read all." 1 Read the book not all at once, but in small portions at many sittings. And having finished it, consider that you have but begun to understand it. Read then some commentary, like Pollock's Spinoza, or Martineau's Study of Spinoza; or, better, both. Finally, read the Ethics again; it will be a new book to you. When you have finished it a second time you will remain forever a lover of philosophy.

1. Nature and God

one plunges us at once into the maelstrom of metaysics. Our modern hard-headed (or is it soft-headed?) abhorrence of metaphysics captures us, and for a moment we wish we were anywhere except in Spinoza. But then metaphysics, as William James said, is nothing but an attempt to think things out clearly to their ultimate significance, to find their substantial essence in the scheme of reality, or, & Spinoza puts it, their essential substance; and thereby ts unify all truth and reach that “highest of all generalization<" which, even to the practical Englishman,2 constitutes philos ophy. Science itself, which so superciliously scorns meta physics, assumes a metaphysic in its every thought. happens that the metaphysic which it assumes is the metaphysic of Spinoza.

There are three pivotal terms in Spinoza's system: substance, attribute, and mode. Attribute we put aside tempo1 Part II, proposition 11, note.

2 Spencer, First Principles, Part II, ch. 1.