The Evolution of Modern Metaphysics: Making Sense of Things (19 page)

39
See IVp39s.

40
Cf. n. 26.

41
The Latin words are ‘
affectio
’ and ‘
affectus
’. Shirley renders the latter as ‘emotion’. But see Edwin Curley’s remarks in Spinoza (
1985
), p. 625, for why this is unsatisfactory. See also Deleuze (
1988a
), pp. 48–51.

42
I use the phrase ‘takes place’ in echo of IIId2. For the broadness of Spinoza’s use of ‘affection’, cf. IIIDefEms1e.

43
By the corresponding idea in the man’s mind is simply meant the mode of thought that corresponds to the mode of extension that is the relevant affection (cf. Ip7+s). (‘Idea’ is Spinoza’s catch-all term for any mode of thought formed by the mind ‘because it is a thinking thing’ (IId3).)

44
The two Latin words, as Shirley notes in his translation, are ‘
lætitia
’ and ‘
tristitia
’. Note that there is not the same distinction to be drawn among his active affects, since a man never actively decreases his own power to act (IIIpp58+pf,59+pf).

45
It is important to note that an increase in a man’s
power
to act is not the same as an increase in his actual activity. A man’s power to act is what he can actively do. But
qua
power this is no different from what he can (simply) do. It is involved no less in his passivity than in his activity: cf. IVp18pf.

46
See Bennett (
2003
), §78, for discussion of some complications here.

47
This way of speaking derives from Deleuze: see Deleuze (
1990a
), p. 133.

48
What they are, notwithstanding their passivity, are exercises of
his
power, in particular his power to pass from one degree of power to another. (Indeed, in IIIDefEms3e Spinoza says that each one is an ‘actuality’ – using the Latin word ‘
actus
’, which can also be translated as ‘act’.)

49
Cf. Lloyd (
1996
), pp. 9–10.

50
The arithmetical example that he gives in this passage is not altogether happy, inasmuch as it suggests that the three kinds of knowledge are three ways of knowing the same things, which is not his considered view, as we shall see. For interesting discussions of the three kinds of knowledge, see Craig (
1987
),
Ch. 1
, §5, and Sprigge (
1997
). Note: in
Treatise
, ¶¶18–23, there is a related fourfold classification, but Spinoza had not yet fully worked out his ideas when he wrote that: see Deleuze (
1990a
), pp. 292–293.

51
This was part of what I had in mind in n. 22. We see here how Spinoza’s account precludes knowledge of the first kind of anything transcendent. See also n. 53.

52
Much of Brandom (
2002b
) is concerned with teasing out this sense.

53
Cf.
Treatise
, ¶¶70–71. And see nn. 22 and 51: here we see how Spinoza’s account precludes knowledge of either the second or the third kind of anything transcendent.

54
For criticism of the Cartesian strategy, see
Treatise
, ¶¶19–21, esp. the notes. See further Deleuze (
1990a
),
Ch. 10
.

55
Cf. in this connection Wittgenstein’s observation that ‘one can often say in mathematics: let the
proof
teach you
what
was being proved’ (Wittgenstein (
1967a
), p. 220, emphasis in original).

Note: both inadequate ideas and adequate ideas have their explanations (IIp36). It is just that, when we have an adequate idea, and only then, we thereby
grasp
the explanation.
The
reason for it is
our
reason for it. There are connections with the notion of unconditionedness which I have tried to develop in various places: see Moore (
1997a
), pp. 261–262, and Moore (
2003a
), p. 101.

There are also connections with the notion of ineffability which I have likewise tried to develop in various places: see esp. Moore (
1997a
),
Ch. 8
, where I argue that ineffable knowledge is, precisely, knowledge which is not answerable to anything external to the subject. But what then of the thought that such knowledge includes mathematical knowledge? For the beginning of an answer to this question, see Moore (
2003b
), n. 16. For more on the connections with ineffability, see the next section.

56
See Bennett (
1984
),
Ch. 1
, §§4–6. See also Walker (
1989
),
Ch. 3
, §
2
. (But even if Spinoza’s reply would be of this sort, I think that Walker exaggerates the compass it would have: see esp. p. 53.) Note: whatever Spinoza’s reply to this concern would be, he exacerbates it when he suggests that each of his own definitions should ‘[explicate] a thing as it exists outside the intellect’ (
Letter
9, p. 781).

57
Or must it? Harking back to Descartes’ reflections on his own existence, we might wonder whether each man’s knowledge that he himself exists satisfies the criteria for being knowledge of the second kind, despite its particularity. Does that not carry with it its own credentials? For Spinoza’s reasons for saying that it does not, see IIp29+acc.

58
Cf. IIp31. But, as we shall see, the word ‘duration’ in this proposition is crucial: see IId5+exp.

59
I am indebted in what follows to Deleuze (
1990a
): see esp. pp. 299–301.

60
Spinoza’s own book, of course, testifies to the belief that it is possible for us to attain to such an idea.

61
This explains the significance of the word ‘duration’ in IIp31 (see n. 58), and, relatedly, the importance of the subject’s seeing
X sub specie
æternitatis
. (For an interesting account of something closely related, albeit without reference to Spinoza, see Lowe (
2008
).)

62
See again Moore (
1997a
),
Ch. 8
.

63
See the definition of ‘love’ in IIIDefEms6. (Recall that Shirley uses the word ‘pleasure’ rather than ‘joy’ to translate the Latin word ‘
lætitia
’: see n. 44.) Also relevant is IIp49+acc.

64
For discussion, see Deleuze (
1990a
),
Ch.19
, and Garrett (
2009
).

The links between Spinoza and the early Wittgenstein are profound: cf. also Wittgenstein (
1961
), 6.43–6.45, and Wittgenstein (
1979a
), pp. 81 and 83–84. In the final section of this chapter I hope to indicate how these links extend to the very structures of their two major works. See further
Ch. 9
, §8.

65
For some interesting observations on Spinoza’s relation to metaphysics, in the context of a broader discussion of the nature of metaphysics, see Hampshire (
1962
),
Ch. 6
.

66
See again Moore (
1997a
),
Ch. 8
; and on the impartibility of such knowledge see ibid., pp. 208–209. Here I may be departing from Deleuze: see Deleuze (
1995e
), p. 165.

67
In n. 64 I referred to links between the
Ethics
and Wittgenstein (
1961
). In
Ch. 9
, §8, I shall argue that the latter is likewise an attempt, albeit using very different methods, to impart an ethically important understanding that cannot be put into words.

Chapter 3 Leibniz Metaphysics in the Service of Theodicy

1. The Apotheosis of Making Sense of Things

Both Descartes and Spinoza saw value in metaphysics for its own sake. The ability to make general sense of things was, for each, a mark of humanity, and its execution a mark of human excellence. Nevertheless, there was also, for each, a more fundamental rationale for pursuing metaphysics. This was its service to science in Descartes’ case, and its service to ethics in Spinoza’s. It was perhaps Leibniz, of the three, who came closest to seeing the value of metaphysics in exclusively non-instrumental terms. Indeed, concerning knowledge ‘of the necessary eternal truths, above all those which are the most comprehensive and which have the most relation to the sovereign being,’ he wrote that ‘this knowledge alone is good in itself,’ adding that ‘all the rest is mercenary’ (‘Letter to Von Hessen-Rheinfels’, dated November 1686, in ‘Correspondence with Arnauld’, p. 170
¹
).

G.W. Leibniz (1646–1716) took it as something close to a basic datum that things made sense.
²
This was part of the force of a fundamental
a priori
principle of reasoning that he recognized: ‘
that there is nothing without a reason
’ (‘Metaphysical Consequences’, p. 172, emphasis in original) or
again, that ‘nothing unintelligible happens’ (
New Essays
, p. 381).
³
This principle, which he called
the principle of sufficient reason
, was one of two fundamental
a priori
principles that he recognized. The other, which he called
the principle of contradiction
, was that ‘nothing can at the same time be and not be, but everything either is or is not’ (‘Introduction’, p. 9).
⁴
Between them, these two principles constituted, for Leibniz, a kind of boundary condition on all attempts to make sense of things. The principle of contradiction precluded success beyond that boundary; the principle of sufficient reason guaranteed success within it. There was never any sense to be made of things beyond the boundary, that is there was never any sense to be made of things in attempts that did not have due regard for consistency, because there was never any
sense
to be made there at all; there was always some sense to be made of things within the boundary, that is there was always some sense to be made of things in attempts that did have due regard for consistency, because things always made sense. And Leibniz held that there was intrinsic value in our striving, as far as possible, to discern this sense (and, thus far, to emulate God, who constantly held this sense in view
⁵
). In particular, there was intrinsic value in our striving to discern the most general sense that things made. It was a mark of our very humanity that we had the capacity to do this (cf. ‘Résumé’, §22).

That this was a mark of our humanity held a further significance for Leibniz. It meant that there was something foolhardy in any attempt to discern the most general sense that things made while ignoring the attempts of others. Indeed, in accord with his own most general conception of things (see §3), Leibniz believed that each attempt to discern the most general sense that things made was grounded in a particular point of view from which certain aspects of that general sense were peculiarly perspicuous. We should draw unashamedly on past traditions. Drawing on past traditions would not, in Leibniz’ view, spare us the effort of working out why their insights counted as such: metaphysics is a fundamentally
a priori
exercise. But it would at least put us in touch with their insights, which might otherwise elude us. Leibniz was both by nature and by conviction an eclectic.
⁶

For his own part, although he was very conscious of the various ancient legacies at his disposal, he tried above all to draw on the more recent scholastic legacy handed down to him in the form of mainstream Christianity.
⁷
Thus he believed in an omnipotent, omniscient, perfectly good God, whose existence he took to be susceptible to proof (e.g. ‘Résumé’, §§1–3, and ‘Monadology’, §§43–45).
⁸
God, in Leibniz’ view, was responsible for all that is contingently the case. And what is contingently the case, in the vivid terminology of ‘possible worlds’ that he famously introduced, is what is the case in this possible world but not in others (‘Monadology’, §§53 and 54). But, granted God’s nature, this possible world must be the best. For what is the best ‘God knows through his wisdom, chooses through his goodness, and produces through his power’ (‘Monadology’, §55). Moreover, ‘the best’ here was not to be understood in the naturalistic and relativistic way in which Spinoza had understood it (see §3 of the previous chapter). Leibniz explicitly repudiated that conception in favour of a conception whereby the criteria for what is best were firmly engrained in the large-scale structure of reality and were not dependent on the will of anyone, not even on the will of God (e.g. ‘Reflections’, pp. 911–912 and 916–917; cf. ‘Discourse’, §2).