Since the time of the Greeks, the specter of fatalism has loomed in the minds philosophers. The notion that events are outside our control is troubling even when applied only to physical events such as earthquakes and landslides. But that we are at the mercy of an all encompassing chain of causes and effects, indeed that we are not merely bound by, but do not escape this chain at any point even with our innermost thoughts, is not a position that is generally regarded as optimistic. Free will, it seems, is what give our actions meaning, it is what allows us to make ourselves who we are. Yet, to paraphrase Camus, what is true is not necessarily what is desirable. The apprehension with which people generally regard fatalism (and the solutions proposed by the Stoics and other fatalists) does not determine the truth or falsity of the proposition that all events are necessarily determined, rather it brings to the fore the psychological need to provide an answer to the question of determinism. Benedict Spinoza provides one such answer in his Ethics. In this essay we will provide a brief overview of his metaphysical scheme as it is essential to understanding why he believes everything is necessary. We must examine Spinoza's view of substance, God, the structure of the universe, and the ontological status of individual things as they are explicated in Part I of the Ethics. Finally, we will examine the shortcomings in his approach.
The Ethics are a geometrical proof of Spinoza's philosophy. He begins with axioms and definitions, and then attempts to derive from these the propositions which constitute his system of philosophy. He does not bury his arguments in attractive prose, and he attempts to avoid ambiguity at every point so that, if one grants his axioms, one is compelled to assent to the entirety of his system. The Ethics has an air of certainty about it; it appears as an exhaustive account of God and nature. He does not begin with a justification of his method, nor an account of how his axioms come to be known. We begin with his definitions.
The entirety of his system of philosophy is derived from his notion of substance, in his words: “By substance I mean that which is in itself, and conceived through itself: in other words, that of which a conception can be formed independently of any other conception.”i As Heidegger noted, western philosophy – at least after Aristotle – can be loosely characterized as permutations of the idea of substance. Nowhere is this more evident than in Spinoza. Substance is the grounding of his metaphysics, it is both ontologically and epistemologically primary (given the correct philosophical method). Attributes are defined by Spinoza as “that which the intellect perceives as constituting the essence of substance.” A mode is a modification of substance, something which “exists in, and is conceived through, something other than itself.”ii Finally, God is “a being absolutely infinite—that is, a substance consisting in infinite attributes, of which each expresses eternal and infinite essentiality.”iii
According to Spinoza, a substance cannot be caused by another substance, because by definition a substance is understood only through itself. But an effect is known through its cause, and so nothing external can cause a substance. Spinoza concludes from this that a substance must be its own cause, and that this proves that existence belongs to the essence of a substance. Spinoza does not consider that perhaps cause and effect are expressions which apply only to particular things, and are rather a poor analogy when applied to the totality of things. Neither does he consider that cause and effect are things we project on experience, which are not actually perceived in experience. Spinoza moves on to argue that substance is necessarily infinite. A substance cannot share an attribute with another substance. If a substance existed finitely, it would be limited by another substance of the same kind. However, this is absurd, for then the substances would share attributes. Once Spinoza has achieved this, it is only a small step to equate substance with God. God necessarily exists as the sole substance, and he possesses infinite attributes because he is infinitely perfect.
If there is only one substance (God), what of everything else? They cannot themselves be substances, yet they must participate in substance to exist. Spinoza's first axiom states that something either exists in itself or in something else. Therefore, the only things that exist are substances and modes. Something must either be a mode or attribute of God. One thing alone exists: God, and in him is everything. Spinoza puts it this way: “Whatsoever is, is in God, and without God nothing can be, nor be conceived.” This proposition is the most representative of Spinoza's metaphysics, and it is from this that all else follows.
God is not separate from the world. Properly speaking he does not stand above or behind it, he simply is it—or more precisely, it is in him. It is Spinoza's understanding of everything as belonging in God, either as an attribute or a mode, that guides his thought. Accordingly, it is from the necessity which belongs to God that all things are determined irrevocably. In order to establish necessity in the workings of the world, Spinoza must establish necessity in the nature of God. More precisely, by showing God's nature as necessary, he can demonstrate the necessity of events, because they are not distinguished from God.
Spinoza recognized the use of the term God is misleading. When one thinks of God, it is difficult to separate the God of the Old Testament, the historical figure, from the God of rationalist philosophers, where he is transposed entirely to a metaphysical expression. God is often spoken of as being angry, or in terms which seem to indicate cupidity; he is spoken of as acting in history, as willing this and not that. If God has free will, in the sense of a will which is not bound by necessity, then everything would not necessarily be determined. Therefore Spinoza must argue against the “anthropomorphic” conception of God.
The traditional Judeo-Christian notion of God holds that he has free will in that he is able to refrain from creating things. The universe is not necessary, but contingent on his will. God could have chosen not to create the world, or he could have chosen to create the world differently. There are generally limits to this; for instance, God could not make 2+3=4, as it is true analytically. But he could have created unicorns, or elves, or the made us all characters in a world resembling South Park. Possibility does not move to actuality necessarily, but as God freely wills it.
Spinoza conceives of God's freedom differently. God exists by “the sole necessity of his nature,”iv and it is solely in this that his freedom consists. He addresses the Christian view in this way:
Others think that God is a free cause, because he can, as they think, bring it about, that those things which we have said follow from his nature—that is, which are in his power, should not come to pass, or should not be produced by him. But this is the same as if they said, that God could bring it about that it should not follow from the nature of a triangle, that its three interior angles should not be equal to two right angles; or that from a given cause no effect should follow, which is absurd.
Every event follows necessarily from God's nature. Even if something so seemingly random as a person choosing heads rather than tails were different, God would not be God (which is only to say, nature would not be nature). Spinoza alleges that Christians do not believe that God could bring everything he understands into actuality, for this would destroy God's power:
If, they contend, God had created everything which is in his intellect, he would not be able to create anything more, and this, they think, would clash with God's omnipotence; therefore, they prefer to assert that God is indifferent to all things, and that he creates nothing except that to which he has decided, by some absolute exercise of the will. However, I think I have shown sufficiently clearly (by Prop. xvi.) That from God's supreme power, or infinite nature, an infinite number of things—that is, all things have necessarily flowed forth in an infinite number of ways, or always follow from the same necessity; in the same way as from the nature of a triangle it follows from eternity and for eternity that its three interior angles are equal to two right angles. Wherefore the omnipotence of God has been displayed for all eternity, and will for all eternity remain in the same state of activity. This manner of treating the question attributes to God an omnipotence in my opinion, far more perfect. For, otherwise, we are compelled to confess that God understands an infinite number of things of creatable things, which he will never be able to create, for, if he created all that he understands, he would, according to this showing, exhaust his omnipotence, and render himself imperfect.v
Spinoza probably misrepresents the traditional opinion here. God is not unable to create all that he understands to be possible, he chooses not to. Spinoza assumes there must be a reason beyond the simple choice of God that all things possible are not actualized. Here he simply assumes God doesn't have free will. Why does God not create all he understands to be possible? Simply because he chooses not to, that is the only answer to a free choice. If there were another, it wouldn't be a free choice. Spinoza's God achieves omnipotence in the annihilation of free choice: all that he understands is, there are no possibilities left unactualized.
Proposition XXIX reads: “Nothing in the universe is contingent, but all things are conditioned to exist and operate in a particular manner by the necessity of the divine nature.” Spinoza proves this by saying that all things are “in” God, and that God exists necessarily, not contingently. “Further, the modes of the divine nature follow therefrom necessarily, and not contingently (Prop. xvi); and they thus follow whether we consider the divine nature absolutely, or whether we consider it as in any way conditioned to act.” God not only causes modes to exist, but causes them to act in particular ways, because modes cannot condition themselves. At this point in the Proposition, Spinoza distinguishes between “natura naturans” and “natura naturata.” Natura naturans is the active component of nature, and is conceived through itself, in other words God “insofar as he is considered a free cause” and his attributes. Natura naturata is the passive component of nature, which “follows from the necessity of the nature of God, or of any of the attributes of God.” More precisely they are the modes of the attributes of God, which cannot exist or be conceived with God.
The final step in establishing the necessity of everything is to deal explicitly with will. Proposition XXXII reads: “Will cannot be called a free cause, but only a necessary cause.” Spinoza claims “will is only a particular mode of thinking.” He says will is either finite or infinite. If it is finite, it is caused by something other than itself, and that cause is caused by something else, and so on ad infinitum. Therefore, the finite will is not contingent. If it is an infinite cause, it is one of God's attributes, for it cannot exist outside God. Therefore, the will is not free. The immediate corollary is that not even God has free will. Spinoza now can make explicit his absolute determinism:
All things necessarily follow from the nature of God (Prop. xvi.), and by the nature of God are conditioned to exist and act in a particular way (Prop. xxix.). If things, therefore, could have been of a different nature, of have been conditioned to act in a different way, so that the order of nature would have been different, God's nature would also have been able to be different from what it now is; and therefore (by Prop. xi.) that different nature also would have perforce existed, and consequently there would have been able to be two or more Gods. This (by Prop. xiv., Coroll. i.) is absurd. Therefore things could not have been brought into being by God in any other manner, &c. Q. E. D.
Simplistically stated, if everything is God, then changing even one aspect of a thing changes the composition of God. All things follow from God as the necessary attributes of a triangle follow from the triangle. It is at this point that Liebniz attacks Spinoza. “He give no proofs of his assertion, that all things follow from God, as properties from a triangle...”vi Liebniz is correct, this is too crude. Spinoza provide a way for distinguishing between God as substance and attributes, and the modes within him. The manner of necessity differs depending on whether we are talking about God's attributes or infinite modes, or if we are talking about finite modes (this or that particular thing).
Infinite modes follow necessarily from God or his attributes. Proposition XXIII reads: “Every mode, which exists both necessarily and as infinite must necessarily follow either from the absolute nature of some attribute of God, or from an attribute modified by a modification which exists necessarily, and as infinite.” These modes follow necessarily from God's nature, and are understood though God's nature. Yet finite modes are not understood as following in the same way. Finite modes are conditioned to act by God, but they do not necessarily follow from his substance or attributes—if they did they would be infinite. Therefore “it must follow from, or be conditioned for, existence and action by God or one of his attributes, in so far as the latter are modified by by some modification which is finite, and has a conditioned existence.”vii This is merely pushing the problem back one step. How are individual things caused? Where do they arise from? Individual things are modes of God;viii they are not infinite, and so they must be finite. Therefore, they do not follow necessarily from God or his attributes, yet they follow “insofar as the [attributes] are modified by some modification which is finite.” This is a tautology. Spinoza merely says that finite modes follow from attributes insofar as attributes are modified by finite modes. There must be a cause for a finite mode following from an attribute of God. Spinoza's answer is that a finite mode is caused by another finite mode, which is caused by another finite mode, and so on. This does not rescue us from our difficulty. The individual finite mode does not follow necessarily from God, but from its prior cause. Yet these causes, taken as a whole, must arise from God, for “God cannot properly be styled the remote cause of individual things, except for the sake of distinguishing these from what he immediately produces, or rather from what follows from his absolute nature. For, by a remote cause, we understand a cause which is in no way conjoined to the effect. But all things which are, are in God, and so depend upon God, that without him they can neither be, nor be conceived.”
If we take finite modes as a whole chain of causes and try to determine the cause of this chain as a whole, then we cannot locate the cause within the chain of causes, for then the totality would be self-caused. Therefore, the totality of finite modes must be caused by God. God cannot cause these through a free will divorced from his nature, so he must cause this by virtue of his nature. “All things follow from the nature of God.” These things must either follow necessarily or contingently. If they follow necessarily they are infinite. Therefore, they must follow contingently. This, given Spinoza's system, is impossible. Within the parameters of his metaphysical system, Spinoza cannot account for the origin of finite causes. If everything follows from God's nature, there may only be infinite modes, and there cannot exist finite modes. The starting point of Western ontology (though this has changed in recent times, as in Martin Heidegger and others) is particular things. These are generally referred to as substances, and these are precisely the things that cannot be accounted for when Spinoza's definition of substance (along with his definitions of modes and attributes) is granted.
Spinoza's system can be attacked from another vantage point. He claims that will is only a particular mode of thinking, and so it must have a cause. Since it has a cause, it must not be free. His treatment of the will here is grievously insufficient; he does not consider that the laws of cause and effect which we presume operate in the world may not operate in the same way within a person's thought. The notion that causes exist in the world in a real way is suspicious enough (though it was later, in the work of Hume, that this received particular attention). But although one may accept skeptical view that causes are nowhere perceived in nature, it is difficult to deny that experience operates in a law-like fashion. But what of the psyche? When we think about our emotions or our thoughts, do we perceive a cause? When a pleasant memory from childhood appears, and is not triggered by anything apparent, what causes that? The undulations of our emotions seem to be often tied to inner-worldly events, but sometimes they are not, as in the case of true anxiety. And even thoughts and emotions, as unlawlike as they may be, do not compare to the lawlessness of the will. On introspection, it seems the will lies behind our faculty of perception, emotion, and reason. It is more primordial, in that it can affect the other aspects of the mind, and more difficult to approach through introspection. What justification is there for declaring there are necessary causes and effects in every mental event?
This is more than merely an issue of Spinoza's notion that causes and effects are the same under the aspect of thought as they are under the aspect of extension. In even posing this question, we are active in the question in such a way that we cannot separate ourselves from it. We are not merely a mode among other modes in a philosophical system, we participate in the question by asking it so that we have no vantage point from which we can address it as a problem. This is expressed beautifully by Martin Heidegger in the introduction to Being and Time. Heidegger recognized that when we ask what being is, there is a particular being which asserts itself in the question, without which we cannot consider the question. It is not Heidegger's particular ontological question which is relevant here, merely his recognition of his involvement in the question. For a more concrete way of delineating the significance of treating a question which concerns the being of the questioner, we turn to Gabriel Marcel.
In Marcel's The Philosophy of Existentialism he distinguishes the problematic from the meta-problematic. In the problematic, things are considered objectively, as something which does not concern us, something which does not affect ones being (or in which ones being is not involved). This is the level on which Spinoza engages, his system is the same whether or not we are involved. We exist merely as a finite mode, and this does not sufficiently take into account our inextricable involvement with metaphysical questions. This manifests itself particularly in the treatment of will. Our will is tied up in the question of whether the will is determined, and our very asking of that question depends upon a movement of the will.
The meta-problematical is, according to Marcel, a problem which encroaches on its own data. In other words, it is a problem in which our being is at issue. As the being posing a question which concerns that very being, the problematical is transcended, or more precisely, left aside. Objectivity is compromised. The question cannot be considered apart from the questioner. (This, perhaps, is the definitive insight of existentialism.) The question of the freedom of the will is properly on the plane of the meta-problematic, it cannot disengage itself from its subject matter in order to gain the proper vantage point from which to consider it rationally and objectively (that is to say, as a problem).
Thus, the problems in Spinoza's proof take occur both from within his system, and with his approach as a whole. Within his system, he cannot account properly for how finite modes proceed from the necessary nature of God. More broadly, and more importantly, his account of necessity depends on a particular understanding of will which he does not have the proper vantage point to obtain.
i. Baruch Spinoza, “The Ethics” in On the Improvement of the Understanding, The Ethics, and Correspondence, trans. R. H. M. Elwes, (New York: Dover Publications, 1955), p. 46
ii. Spinoza, 46.
iii. Spinoza, 46.
iv. Spinoza, 60.
v. Spinoza 60-61.
vi. Gottfried Liebniz, A Refutation Recently Discovered of Spinoza by Liebniz, (Edinburg: Thomas Constable and Co., 1911), p. 143.
vii. Spinoza, 67.
viii. Spinoza, 66.
