philosophy in the 17th century should be seen as a paradigmatic
species of European Enlightenment Philosophy. Spinoza rejected the
teleological account of human nature and its implications to political
societies in favor of rational, scientific understanding with its
contractual implications. Hence, political societies to Spinoza are
not natural organisms but artificial entities "designed" and
"manufactured" by human beings for certain ends. Such designs are,
however, constrained by an understanding of human nature. It is,
indeed, Spinoza's conception of human nature that forms the foundation
for his political philosophy.One of the aims of Spinoza's political
writings is to demonstrate that, given the central role played by
emotions in human motivations, political authority is a necessary
evil. Human beings, as they are, are not the kind of beings capable of
surviving without it. In addition, Spinoza does not think that
politics are good for much more besides keeping us from chaos, murder,
anarchy. In this, he is in agreement with Thomas Hobbes. On the other
hand, if Spinoza affirms security as the fundamental political value,
as will be argued, he does not necessarily think that such a value is
consistent only with a certain form of government. In this he differs
from Hobbes.
It is only once we understand Spinoza's picture of what human beings
are like, particularly the source of their motivations, that we are in
a position to derive the ends of political societies, which in turn
leads us to explain the sources and justification of political
authority, and why Spinoza is ultimately non-committal as to the kind
of political form best embodying the endorsed fundamental political
values.
1. Human Nature
Spinoza's political philosophy proceeds from the idea, also found in
Hobbes, that political ends, or goals, should be derived from
understanding human nature such as it is, and not as it should or
could be. This fundamental starting point can be contrasted with a
utopian tradition of political philosophy emblematic, for example, in
Plato's Republic and the early writings of Karl Marx. While utopian
political philosophers argue that correct political institutions can
transform human nature into something more desirable or virtuous than
its current state, Spinoza instead commences with a contrarian
conviction, by and large rejecting such a possibility. This conviction
proceeds from Spinoza's interpretation of human nature.
a. Interpretation of the Conatus Principle
Human nature, according to Spinoza, must be studied and understood
just like the nature of any other organism in the universe, in the
following sense; human beings are subsumed in nature along with all
other natural organisms and cannot thus transcend, and are therefore
subject to, natural laws. This includes our nature as physiological
beings and as psychological and cognitive beings. Furthermore, the
laws of nature are to be understood, according to Spinoza, in a
non-teleological fashion. Nature/God does not act with an end in view;
hence, human nature cannot be derived from any such purposes. Instead,
the most fundamental principle guiding all organisms, and therefore
also human beings is what Spinoza calls the Conatus Principle:
Each thing, as far as it can by its own power, strives to
persevere in being. (E:III:P6)
While it is not immediately obvious how Spinoza intends to support
this principle when it comes to the kinds of organisms called human
beings—particularly in the context of political philosophy—it later
becomes clear that the principle, in its current and descriptive,
form, is intended epistemologically as an a priori analytic
proposition, or a necessary truth:
Since reason demands nothing contrary to Nature, it demands that
everyone love himself, seek his own advantage, what is really useful
to him, want what will really lead a man to greater perfection, and
absolutely, that everyone should strive to preserve his own being as
far as he can. This, indeed, is as necessarily true as that the whole
is greater than its part. (E: IV:P18S)
Hence, the Conatus principle, when applied in the context of human
beings, appears to describe human beings as egoistic beings. This, as
stated, is intended as a truth not based upon empirical observation or
self-reflection, but put forth as a necessary truth—a truth as
necessary as the truth that the whole is greater than its part.
According to the descriptive interpretation of the principle
(E:III:P6), we are necessarily egoistic creatures. However, the quoted
passage from (E:IV:P18S) also gives credence to a prescriptive
understanding of the Conatus principle, for Spinoza says that
"everyone should strive to preserve his own being as far as he can."
On this reading, we should always act according to our self-interest.
This position is known as ethical egoism since it urges us to be
egoists rather than describing us as already being egoists.
Now, if both of these interpretations of the Conatus Principle are
plausible, then we need an answer to the following question: If the
descriptive interpretation tells us that we are necessarily actuated
by the Principle, then why bother prescribing this action as
desirable? That is, if we already necessarily act in accordance with
the descriptive version of the Conatus Principle, then why are we also
urged to act this way? Urging us to do something we already
necessarily do is surely redundant.
One way out of this dilemma might be to say that the prescriptive
version of the Conatus Principle is necessary because we do not, in
fact, in all circumstances, act in accordance with our self-interest.
Because we do not do so, Spinoza is urging us to do so. This
interpretation would certainly be in agreement with the empirical
reality of human motivations. We certainly do not always act in ways
that are conducive to the sustenance and enhancement of our being.
Self-sacrificing behavior, such as sacrificing one's life for one's
family, friend, or nation is all too familiar. Surely Spinoza was
aware of such actions. But if this is true, then why advance the
descriptive version of the Conatus Principle at all? After all, if it
can be refuted through empirical counterexamples, then isn't this
enough to show that this version of the principle is simply false? But
Spinoza does not, as we have seen, advance the principle as an a
posteriori truth, but as an a priori truth. Hence offering empirical
counterexamples appears to be beside the point, and offering this way
out of the dilemma will thus not do. But if it is indeed true, that we
do not always act in accordance with our self-interest, then just what
is the force and the meaning of the a priori descriptive version of
the Conatus principle?
Perhaps the solution is to say that the prescriptive version of the
Conatus principle is intended to us human beings as empirical,
affective beings while the descriptive version of the principle is
intended for what humanity could look like, if ideally rational. So,
on this reading, Spinoza is urging us to act according to the dictates
of ethical egoism since we, as empirical beings primarily motivated by
our desires, sometimes fail to do so. This does not change the fact
that we do act according to the principles of self-interest more often
than not; it simply means that we do not always know what is in our
best interest—since we are not ideally rational.
If this is plausible, then the descriptive version of the principle
could indeed be interpreted as a metaphysical truth necessarily true
for ideal humans, and not as a psychological truth. Fully rational
individuals will never fail to seek whatever aids or enhances their
being. But this would not be the case for beings like us, who need to
be exhorted into self-interested behavior. If this is correct, the
descriptive version of the principle describes human beings in their
ideal state while the prescriptive version of the principle is
designed for humans in their current state. Therefore, it is the
prescriptive version of the Conatus Principle that is mainly of
importance for the purposes of political philosophy.
b. Ethical Egoism and the Salience of Passions
If the prescriptive interpretation of the Conatus Principle is correct
for all imperfect human beings, then Spinoza is pressing us to act in
accordance with our best interests. This is not, however, tantamount
to telling us to act selfishly or to see ourselves as individualistic,
non-social beings. In fact, it is Spinoza's thesis that acting in a
selfish or individualistic manner is not in our best interest and
hence a violation of the dictates of the Conatus Principle. And the
reason why humans do not see what is in their best interests is due to
the centrality of passions in their very being:
But human nature is framed in a different fashion: every one,
indeed, seeks his own interest, but does not do so in accordance with
the dictates of sound reason, for most men's ideas of desirability and
usefulness are guided by their fleshly instincts and emotions, which
take no thought beyond the present and immediate object. (TP: V:72-73)
On the other hand, acting according to the Conatus Principle—and hence
in one's best interest–is to act in accordance with the dictates of
sound reason. And to act in accordance with the dictates of sound
reason is to realize the impossibility of persevering in one's being
without mutual assistance. Providing mutual assistance is in the best
interest of human beings. Indeed, Spinoza argues that it is necessary
for even providing the basic needs for survival (TP:V:73). Spinoza
wants us to act in accordance with the principle of ethical egoism
while arguing that it is precisely this that we are not capable of
doing because of our "fleshy instincts and emotions" which run
fundamentally counter to the social dictates of reason.
The anti-social nature of our passions is also an inevitable source of conflict:
In so far as men are tormented by anger, envy, or any passion
implying hatred, they are drawn asunder and made contrary one to
another, and therefore are so much the more to be feared, as they are
more powerful, crafty, and cunning than the other animals. And because
men are in the highest degree liable to these passions, therefore men
are naturally enemies. (PT: II: 296)
This emphasis on the passions as the cause for conflict implies that
ideally, if guided by full reason, human beings might be capable of
avoiding conflict. Again, to act fully in accordance with the dictates
of reason is to avoid conflict as was demonstrated above. Conflict
does not enhance one's being; quite to the contrary—it can annihilate
one's being. So, the emphasis on Spinoza's ethical egoism is on the
"ethical" since such behavior, instead of resulting in conflict, would
embrace the social values of stability and harmony.
2. The Necessity for Political Authority: State of Nature
a. Objective Account
Spinoza's description of human beings as "natural enemies," and the
consequent inevitability of conflict is an account of the human
condition in a state of nature. This is mostly a non-historical,
"conceptual device" used to depict the human condition in the absence
of political authority. While Spinoza's use of it is unsystematic
compared to Hobbes and Locke, he nevertheless presumes something like
it, and argues, along with Hobbes and Locke, that political authority
is necessary for the survival of human societies: "[n]o society can
exist without government, and force, and laws to restrain and repress
men's desires and immoderate impulses." (TP:V: 74). Again, it is our
affective nature that gets us into trouble. Since human beings are
motivated by their self-interested desires for which they seek
immediate gratification, they cannot exist without government. Thus,
Spinoza rejects the possibility of anarchism for human beings
primarily motivated by their desires as we have seen, this is not
necessarily the case for fully rational beings).
Spinoza's account here closely resembles that of Hobbes who similarly
argued that human life without political authority would be
undesirable due to the nature of human desires. Famously, such a life
would be "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short." (Leviathan: I:
xiii, p. 76). Spinoza also significantly agrees with Hobbes that it is
the individual who decides what is in his or her best interest in a
given situation and can hence procure his or her interests by force,
cunning, entreaty or any other means (TP: XVI: 202).
b. Psychological Account
Third-person explanations of why political authority would be
necessary for creatures like us has not yet to offer a first-person
explanation, from the point of view of the very individuals in state
of nature, of why they would actually prefer living under conditions
of political authority rather than under the conditions of anarchy.
Spinoza's explanation of this proceeds from what he regards as
self-evident, axiomatic laws of human psychology.
Spinoza argues that no one ever neglects what he regards as good,
except with the hope of gaining something even better, or for the fear
of some greater evil; and no one ever endures and evil, except for the
sake of even greater evil, or gaining something good (TP: XVI: 203).
The corollary of this is that all of us, given a choice of two goods,
choose the one we think is the greatest and, given a choice of two
evils, choose the least evil. When we combine this axiom with the
Conatus Principle, we can see that we determine what is good and what
is evil for us by judging what is most or least conducive to our
survival.
Now, Spinoza argues, based upon this psychological axiom, that we
would forsake the state of nature in favor of some form of political
authority, because we would judge the situation under political
authority to be a greater good (or a lesser evil) than the state of
nature. But why would we judge the affair this way? Why not favor the
state of nature over political authority? While Spinoza is not
explicit regarding this matter, he nevertheless alludes to the fact
that it is worse—again, from the point of view of our survival—to be
at the mercy of innumerable individuals than at the mercy of one
single entity: the state (TP: XVI: 202-3). Admittedly, this seems far
from obvious as Locke argued later, but Spinoza might defend this
conclusion on the grounds that dispersion of potential evil is more
difficult to countenance than a concentration of potential evil. At
least, in this way, while one may not necessarily be able to do
anything about it, one can at least know where the potential evil is
coming from.
3. The Transition from State of Nature to Political Authority: The
Social Contract
It is clear, from the foregoing, that Spinoza's rejection of anarchy
is based upon the conjunction of the Conatus Principle and his
psychological axiom. It is also clear that political authority for
Spinoza is not something intrinsically good or desirable, but a
necessary evil. It is the least evil choice of two evils. By utilizing
the "state of nature" device, Spinoza is also implicitly conceding
that the state is not a natural organism but an artificial entity
"designed" and "manufactured" by human beings. While these
considerations answer the ontological status of the state and why
political authority is necessary at all, it is still necessary to see
what Spinoza's view is on the transfer of power from the
state-of-nature-individuals to the state. Here it is perhaps useful to
illuminate Spinoza's position by briefly contrasting it to another
social contract theorist, John Locke.
a. Civil vs. Natural Rights in Locke
Locke held that the state of nature was conditioned by what he called
"law of nature" and that these natural laws could be discovered by
reason. Two of the most important natural laws for our comparative
purposes, mentioned by Locke, were (a) that no one ought to harm
another in his or her life, health, liberty, or possessions; and (b)
that should such violations occur, everyone had the right to punish
the transgressor(s). The first of these laws indicate that human
beings in state of nature possess rights to life, health, liberty, and
possessions, and that it is wrong to violate such rights. So, while
the state of nature for Locke is non-political, it is far from being
non-moral: moral terms and actions are applicable in the
non-political, state-of-nature realm. Now, while human beings can and
do sometimes act morally in the state of nature, Locke also recognizes
that often this will not be the case, and because of this, the
survival of the individual is much more likely under a political
authority which would possess a monopoly on punishment. So, according
to Locke, humans still retain their rights to life, health, liberty,
and possessions (this is collective called "property" in Locke's
theory) in the political realm. Such natural rights are now expressed
through the form of civil rights in positive law. So, the distinction
between natural and civil rights in Locke is derived from the
distinction between natural law and positive law. Furthermore, it is
clear that Locke regards such rights as moral constraints on the
political realm; there are natural moral limits to what the state can
do.
In contrast to our retention of the natural rights to property
expressed through civil laws, we do not retain our right to punish the
transgressors of property rights according to Locke. Instead, it is
precisely our abrogation of the right to punish which is transferred
to a state that makes the political realm possible.
b. Civil vs. Natural Rights in Spinoza
Unlike Locke, Spinoza makes no distinction between natural law and
civil law, nor the corollary derivatives of natural rights and civil
rights. Spinoza undermines such distinctions by arguing that "right"
is simply synonymous with any agent's "power" or "ability." So, for
Spinoza, to say that someone has a natural right to life, liberty,
health, and possessions, is just to say that someone has a power to
preserve their life, liberty, health, and possessions—to the best of
their ability. In other words, our "right" to self-preservation is
coextensive with our "power" or with our "ability" for
self-preservation; "…the rights of an individual extend to the utmost
limits of its power as it has been conditioned [by nature]." (TP: XVI:
200)
Denying such a distinction already foreshadows Spinoza's refusal to
regard the state of nature in Lockean terms, as a non-political but
moral sphere. Instead, Spinoza is insistent that the state of nature
is both a non-political and a non-moral sphere; "The state of
nature…must be conceived as without either religion or law, and
consequently without sin or wrong" (TP: XVI: 210). So, moral terms
proper, such as "right," "wrong," "just," and "unjust" are
inconceivable in the state of nature. It is not just that there are no
limits to what we can do to one another in state of nature; it is also
the case that ordinary moral terms do not possess any meaning. Hence,
it follows from that that "the right and ordinance of nature, under
which all men are born, and under which they mostly live, only
prohibits such things as no one desires, and no one can attain: it
does not forbid strife, nor hatred, nor anger, nor deceit, nor indeed,
any of the means suggested by desire…" (TP: XVI: 202).
To use Spinoza's parlance, everyone has a "right" to act deceitfully,
angrily, discordantly, violently, etc. towards others, or in general,
in whatever manner they see fit as long as they are able to do so;
their rights are only limited by their ability. As such, the only
things we do not have a "right" to in the state of nature are things
that none of us wants anyway, or things that are impossible for us to
attain.
c. Transfer of Powers or Abilities
Although Spinoza would agree with Locke that the reasons for forsaking
the state of nature comes from potentially enhanced capacities for
self-preservation under political authority, it is less clear how
Spinoza accounts for this transition. At first blush, it looks as if
Spinoza is simply offering a story very similar to Locke's: the
political realm is made possible by the transference of our natural
rights to punish. In this case, the use of force would belong solely
to the state, just as it does in Locke's account. However, as
explained earlier, this right is conceived by Spinoza in manner very
different from that of Locke. For while Locke thinks that the right to
punish the transgressor of one's rights is a natural, moral right,
having nothing necessarily to do with whether one in fact is capable
of punishing or not, in Spinoza's conceptual apparatus this right is,
once again, synonymous with one's power or ability to punish the
transgressor. One only has the "right" to the extent that one
possesses the power. In other words, no ability or capacity, no
"right." Due to Spinoza's identification of "right" and "power," the
transition from the non-political and the non-moral-state-of-nature to
the political and moral sphere of the state does not appear to take
place through the abrogation of our "right" to punish, as it does in
Locke. Rather, if the interpretation is correct, Spinoza is committed
to the position that, instead of our natural moral rights, we are in
fact transferring our powers or capacities.
But there is a sense in which this is hardly intelligible. For one can
argue that "powers" or "abilities" or "capacities" are not the kinds
of things that is possible to transfer. One's capacity to walk, for
example, cannot be transferred to another in the sense that once the
transfer has taken place, the agent having transferred the capacity no
longer is able to walk while the agent having received the capacity
now is able to walk. One can only lose one's capacity (for example,
when one is dead) but not transfer it. The same considerations are
applicable to one's capacity to defend oneself: one can lose that
capacity but not transfer it. So, Spinoza's identification of "right"
with one's power or ability does not seem to allow him to make the
concept of transferring this "right" intelligible.
A distinction between "power" and the "use-of-power" is necessary.
With such a distinction, Spinoza could make the transition from state
of nature to a political sphere more plausible since he could now
concede that while one cannot indeed transfer "powers" or
"capacities," one can nevertheless transfer one's use of those powers
and capacities. On this interpretation, the Lockean rights to life,
liberty, health, and possession, would be understood by Spinoza not as
one's ability to defend or enhance one's rights, liberties, health,
and possessions, but instead as the actual use of that ability.
4. Obligations
The notion of obligations in Spinoza is relevant only in the political
realm, not in the state of nature since, as we have seen, the state of
nature for Spinoza is not only a nonpolitical but also a non-moral
realm. The orthodox story about obligations tells us they are
customarily derived from either voluntary agreements or someone having
certain rights. Thus, if two parties voluntary agree to a contract,
e.g. marriage, then the two parties incur obligations stipulated in
the contract; or, for example, if someone has a right to free speech,
then it is everybody's obligation not to interfere with that someone's
right. That is the traditional story. But since Spinoza has argued
that rights are synonymous with power, his story about obligations is
anything but traditional. We shall take a look at obligations with
respect to the relation between citizens and the sovereign.
a. Citizens
Spinoza stated that all contracts or promises derive their obligations
from utility. Utility or disutility of a contract, in turn, is decided
by the application of the aforementioned psychological axiom which
tells us that no one ever neglects what he regards as good, except
with the hope of gaining something even better, or for the fear of
some greater evil; and no one ever endures and evil, except for the
sake of even greater evil, or gaining something good. According to
Spinoza, we have an obligation to fulfill a contract only if the
violation of the contract would not gain us something better, or if
the violation of the contract would result in a greater evil. If
either or both conditions hold, then we a "right" to violate the
contract (TP:XVI:203-205). The implication of such an analysis is, at
the very least, that all contracts are revocable at any time, subject
to the kind of analysis stated.
Now, with respect to the specific contract in question here, the
contract to transfer our use of power to a given political authority,
the implication is clear: the citizen's "obligation" to obey the
authority is also contingent on the psychological axiom. "It
is…foolish to ask a man to keep his faith with us forever, unless we
also endeavour that the violation of the compact we enter into shall
involve for the violator more harm than good" (TP:XVI:204). Spinoza,
then, offers a decisive "right" to rebellion for citizens.
Spinoza's equation of "right" to power also has implications to the
issue of citizens' obligations. If the "right" of the sovereign is
also coextensive to its power, then it would seem to follow that the
citizens' obligations extend only so far as the power of the
sovereign. One is "obligated" to obey the sovereign only if one does
not have the power to disobey it.
b. Sovereign
Presumably the obligations and the rights of the sovereign (there is
here no presupposition as to the preferred form of government—that
topic is discussed later—so that by "sovereign" one could mean a
democracy, monarchy, oligarchy, etc.) is subject to similar analysis
as the obligations and rights of the citizens. Since the citizens'
"rights" are coextensive with their power, the sovereign's
"obligations" to the citizens are limited only by the power of both
parties. On the other hand, the sovereign's "rights" are also only
limited by the powers of the respective parties. Hence, the sovereign
has the right to do whatever it wants, and wherever it meets the
counterforce of the citizens, there lay its obligations. Furthermore,
Spinoza is also clear that the sovereign's power is not limited by
laws, but only by its intellectual and physical abilities. There are
no constitutional limitations to the sovereign's actions.
Needless to say, these are devastating implications from the point of
view of individual freedom, but Spinoza is quick to point out that
both the citizens and the sovereign are constrained by the Conatus
Principle as well. Therefore, a sovereign concerned to advance its
being will rarely impose "irrational" commands toward the citizens,
because…"they are bound to consult their own interests, and retain
their power by consulting the public good and acting according to the
dictates of reason…(TP:XVI:205). Presumably, similar things can be
asserted about the citizenry, given the caveat that they also act in
accordance with the dictates of reason. However, the problem with this
sort of argument is that we have already seen Spinoza's reservations
regarding the ability of humans to act in accordance with the dictates
of reason, and even if this was plausible, the force of Spinoza's
argument here is purely speculative. In other words, Spinoza is not
making a principled point but arguing, instead, that the kinds of
irrational commands (perhaps "tyrannical" would be better) would not
likely occur since the sovereign will act in accordance with his or
her best interests. But this sort of argument can surely only be
assessed through empirical means by consulting the available
historical record regarding the purported rationality of sovereigns'
behavior, and such a record has not been kind to Spinoza's speculative
point.
These kinds of considerations demonstrate, among other things,
Spinoza's unorthodox and perhaps incoherent use of the concepts like
"rights," "obligations," and even "contract." After all, what exactly
does the social contract that Spinoza employs accomplish since its
force does not come from the contract itself but rather from the kind
of cost-benefit analysis carried out by the psychological axiom? What
exactly would be lost from Spinoza's political philosophy if the
notion of contract and its correlative notions were simply omitted?
5. The Purpose and Preferred Form of Political Authority
Explaining Spinoza's political philosophy has so far concentrated on
his view of the relevant features of human psychology to political
theory. Humans are creatures driven by passions and desires for
survival that will always be characterized by hope for something
better and fear for something worse. Hence, as has been explained,
none of us ever neglects what he regards as good, except with the hope
of gaining something even better, or for the fear of some greater
evil; and none of us ever endures an evil, except for the sake of even
greater evil, or gaining something good (TP: XVI: 203). Because of
these fundamental features of human psychology, we would judge the
state of nature to be a greater evil, or as something worse, than
living under political authority. But what exactly does the political
realm offer us that we cannot enjoy without it? What is the purpose of
the political realm?
One answer to this question can be gathered from the account so far.
We enter into the political realm in order to secure/enhance our
existence better than we could without it—given the central role of
passions in our nature. This is no less than a Hobbesian answer; the
purpose of the political realm is escaping perpetual war in order to
secure our lives and material possessions. Spinoza confirms this view:
"…for the ends of every social organization and commonwealth
are…security and comfort" (TP: III: 47). To reiterate, a good society
is one which will be "most secure, most stable, and least liable to
reverses…" (TP: III: 46). Spinoza appears to assert security as the
fundamental political value. Such an affirmation can be contrasted, on
the one hand, with political thinkers like Plato, Aristotle, and
Hegel, all of whom saw the realm of politics as essential to the moral
realization of the individual and, on the other hand, with thinkers
like Locke and Kant who emphasized the instrumental nature of the
state in guaranteeing individual freedom.
In spite of these explicit pronouncements on behalf of security by
Spinoza, the issue of the purpose of political authority remains
controversial in Spinoza scholarship. There are many commentators who
do not interpret Spinoza as a Hobbesian with respect to the ends of
political authority, but instead read him either as an advocate of
individual freedom or moral perfection, or perhaps as both. One of the
common threads to all of these accounts is Spinoza's alleged
preference for democracy as a political form. It is argued that
because Spinoza advocates democracy and the democratic political rule
is most conducive to freedom or perhaps virtue, that Spinoza is
therefore affirming either freedom or virtue as the fundamental
political value.
There is some textual as well as inferential evidence for such views.
For example, Spinoza explicitly announces democracy as the most
consonant with individual liberty; "I think I have now shown
sufficiently clearly the basis of a democracy: I have especially
desired to do so, for I believe it to be of all forms of government
the most natural, and the most consonant with individual liberty" (TP:
XVI: 207). Also, because Spinoza sees only de facto human beings as
motivated by their passions and self-interested desires, and claims
that human beings are potentially capable of being guided by reason
which dictates cooperative behavior, perhaps it is the role of
politics to nudge us from the irrational, passionate creatures to
rational creatures by inculcation of virtue. Either way, the argument
goes, security for Spinoza is only an instrumental value, or a
necessary condition for the true political ends of individual freedom
or virtue.
However, while commenting on the absolute obligation to obey existing
laws, Spinoza entertains an objection that his philosophy is turning
subjects into slaves which sheds light to the controversy at hand.
Spinoza rejects the objection as unfounded because real—or
true—freedom is not freedom from the laws of the sovereign, no matter
how oppressive such laws might be, but real freedom is to live "under
the entire guidance of reason" (TP: XVI: 206). Indeed, Spinoza claims
that freedom is specifically a private, not a political virtue while
"…the virtue of the state is its security" (PT: I: 290).
But to live under the entire guidance of reason is, at least
minimally, to control one's unruly passions, whatever else it may also
be. However, if this is the case, then the pressing political question
must be to ask, what political form, if any, is best for achieving
this kind of liberation? And the suggestion here is that there is no
obvious answer to this question. One might, for example, think that an
authoritarian regime might be able to restrain humans' irrational
desires more effectively than a democratic one. Or, alternatively, one
might think that no political regime of any kind is necessary or
sufficient for this kind of realization. So, one cannot easily claim
that because Spinoza is an advocate of democracy, he is thereby
accepting freedom or virtue as the fundamental political end.
There is also textual evidence for the view that Spinoza does not
reject other forms of government in favor of democracy. One of the
central aims of A Political Treatise is precisely to demonstrate how
different forms of governments can meet the fundamental political
value of stability. For example, Spinoza explains that, historically,
monarchies have enjoyed the most stability of any form of government
(PT: VI:317), and that their potential instability results from the
divergent interests between the sovereign and the citizens. In light
of this, Spinoza advises the sovereign to act in his or her own
interests which is to act in the interests of the citizensIn the case
of aristocracy, instability is said to result from inequality of
political power among the ruling aristocrats, the remedy for which
consists of equalizing such power as far as possible. Spinoza's
considered thoughts on the stability of democracy were interrupted by
his untimely death, but while he thought it most consistent with
freedom, he nevertheless regarded it as the most unstable of all
political forms. Indeed, Spinoza comments that democracies naturally
evolve into aristocracies, and aristocracies naturally evolve into
monarchies. At least on one understanding of "natural," democracies
may be interpreted as less natural than aristocracies and monarchies
(PT: VIII: 351).
If stability, as has been argued, is the fundamental political value
for Spinoza, then many forms of government are consistent with it, and
monarchies and aristocracies appear more stable than democracies.
6. Conclusion
Spinoza's political philosophy is a logical extension of his view of
human nature. To understand ends, sources, and justification of
political authority, one does well to begin with the Conatus Principle
and the associated psychological axioms employed by Spinoza. The
source of problems for Spinoza's political theory, specifically the
moral notions of "contract," "rights," and "obligations" can also be
traced to his view of human nature. But what needs to be adjusted? Are
the problems in the political theory an indication that Spinoza's view
of human nature needs to amended, or is his view of humanity
unassailable and the problems in political theory simply a part of the
package?
7. References and Further Reading
a. Primary Sources
* Hobbes, Thomas, Leviathan, ed. Edwin Curley, Indianapolis: Hackett, 1994.
* Locke, John, Second Treatise of Government, ed. C.B. Macpherson,
Indianapolis: Hackett, 1980.
* Spinoza, Benedict de, A Theologico-Political Treatise and A
Political Treatise, trans. R.H.M. Elwes, New York: Dover, 1951.
o The references to the first work cited in the text as TP,
chapter, page. References to the second work cited as PT, chapter,
page.
* Spinoza, Benedict de, Ethics, trans. R.H.M Elwes, New York: Dover, 1955.
o All references to this work cited in the text as E, part,
proposition.
b. Secondary Sources
* Feuer, Lewis Samuel, Spinoza and the Rise of Liberalism, New
Brunswick: Transaction Books, 1958.
* McShea, Robert J, The Political Philosophy of Spinoza, New York:
Columbia University, 1968.
* Negri, Antonio, The Savage Anomaly: The Power of Spinoza's
Methaphysics and Politics, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1991.
* Rosen, Stanley, "Benedict Spinoza" in History of Political
Philosophy, eds. Leo Strauss, Robert Cropsey, Chicago: University of
Chicago, 1987.
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