Spinoza’s Revelation: Religion, Democracy by Nancy K. Levene
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). (SR)
Radical Protestantism In Spinoza’s Thought by Graeme Hunter
(Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2005). (RPS)
Can liberal democracy survive without any absolutes, especially
religious ones, while it expects its citizens to be ethical?
Can this regime depend on its citizens to be moral while it allows
an unconditional questioning of its own moral foundations? In
contrast, are certain beliefs meant to be accepted beyond question,
even in a regime committed to freedom of expression? Is it
more realistic to expect and even perpetuate the survival of
religious belief for the purpose of maintaining morality?
Many liberals since John Stuart Mill have argued that liberalism
and the political usage of religious belief are fundamentally
incompatible. It is also often assumed that the hostility of Mill to
religious belief has antecedents in the early social contract
thinkers. In accordance with this assumption, conventional scholarship
on Benedict Spinoza teaches that his major work of
political philosophy, The Theologico-Political Tractatus (1670),
sets the tone for liberal attitudes towards democracy and religion.
Long before Mill, Spinoza supposedly contends that liberal
democracy has no place for religion in the political realm. The
conclusion of most scholars to date is that Spinoza devalues
religion (or any type of absolute belief) while he defends liberal
democracy. In short, Spinoza is presumably an ideological and
irreligious ancestor of Mill.
Yet new scholarship challenges this common interpretation in
favor of arguing that Spinoza finds utter compatibility between
liberal democracy and religious belief (particularly biblical faith).
These scholars, Nancy Levene and Graeme Hunter, contend that
Spinoza not only sees great value in revealed religion (especially
as a source of ethics), but also finds no serious tension between
liberalism and Scripture. Indeed, both liberals and Christians can
oppose (as Mill later did) all absolutes or “dogmas”” on the grounds
of religious belief. The citizen in Spinoza’s republic is not only free
to question anything, but the Bible itself (as he understands it, in
their view) urges its readers to question everything. Ultimately,
these scholars boldly portray Spinoza as a liberal who defends the
freedom to reinterpret the Bible as the primary text of liberal
democracy.
While I agree with these readers that Spinoza values religion,
I shall argue that they are incorrect in assuming that his ideas fit
easily with the anti-absolutism of liberalism as it stands today.
Hunter and Levene make no effort to situate Spinoza within a
liberal tradition. Therefore, in comparing Spinoza’s philosophy
with the later liberalism of John Stuart Mill, I shall also argue that
Spinoza’s often absolutist understanding of freedom and religion
in a democracy is a far cry from the liberalism which both Mill and
these new readers of Spinoza seek to defend. Spinoza’s insistence
that all human beings obey certain “”dogmas”” without question not
only is in stark contrast to the message of Mill; it forces the reader
to raise questions about the justifiable limits of freedom in a
liberal democracy.
The Meaning of Liberalism since Mill
Liberal democracy is typically expected to be open to all peoples,
ideas, values, and identities. In fact, the very meaning and survival
of liberalism itself require this openness, according to the tradition
of liberalism articulated since John Stuart Mill. In his most
famous work On Liberty (1859), Mill defends the basic foundations
of a liberal polity: freedom of religion, of association, and
most fundamentally, of speech and discussion. Many liberals of
the twentieth century still look to him as the chief architect of the
liberal faith, for it is Mill who first insisted on unconditional
freedom of speech as the fundamental right of all men and women
in a democracy. This regime cannot truly be free unless all
individuals are free to speak and think as they freely choose.
Moreover, Mill is most famous for arguing that the progress of
humanity (both moral and intellectual) will happen if and only if
there are no serious limits to this freedom. When individuals
practice this freedom, they contribute to mass enlightenment.
Readers of On Liberty are familiar with Mill’s famous threefold
defense of absolute tolerance for freedom of the intellect: 1)
no one is infallible, and therefore no one has the right to suppress
any idea if he cannot demonstrate its falsehood; 2) discussion of
ideas in a climate of freedom prevents the rise of “”dogmas”” which
cripple the intellectual vitality of a democracy; 3) even false
opinions may possess some truth, which will otherwise be lost
under conditions of censorship.1 Consequentially, Mill assumes
that discussion of all ideas will bring peace and enlightenment, not
violence and hatred, to a democracy. There is nothing to fear from
the marketplace of ideas. For those who claim that an idea can
contribute to violence, Mill (as an empiricist) responds that the
burden of proof is on his critics to demonstrate that there is a
precise causal connection between the idea and the violent act.
Mill is willing to allow, however, as he indicates in his famous
discussion of the riotous mob at the house of the corn-dealer, that
the attempt to incite violence in the proximity of the target is as
impermissible as it is to yell “”fire”” in a crowded theatre. “”The
liberty of the individual must be thus far limited: he must not make
himself a nuisance to other people.”” (OL, 65) Still, these are
exceptional cases which in no way challenge a society’s commitment
to full intellectual diversity.
Mill considers his work On Liberty to be a revolutionary one.
No other thinker, he himself seems to claim, had ever advanced
the cause of freedom of speech as far as he had. Previous thinkers,
he concedes, had so successfully defended freedom of the press
that Mill hoped the time is “”gone by”” when any further defense is
needed. (OL, 19) However, no one up to his time had, presumably,
supported freedom of speech for all individuals (beyond the
press) to the extent that he did in On Liberty. Mill suggests that
his work is original by scrupulously avoiding all reference to
philosophers of the past who even came close to defending the
cause of individual freedom. Chapter 1 of On Liberty discusses
the sheer backwardness of antiquity, the Middle Ages, and early
modernity as inhibiting the growth of this freedom, without even
referring once to any previous thinker who advanced the cause of
individual freedom. Christian religion in particular is one of the
most serious obstacles to intellectual progress, since “”it is essentially
a doctrine of passive obedience”” which “”inculcates submission
to all authorities found established.”” (OL, 57) It is Mill’s hope
that in time there will be no need for backward religious doctrines,
once people are habituated to conditions of freedom which no
other age has enjoyed or even appreciated. In the words of
Willmoore Kendall, “”Mill thinks of himself as standing not upon
the shoulders of giants but of pygmies.””2 If Kendall is right, Mill
would not have quarreled with the view that he was the first true
defender of freedom of speech.
Naturally, not all scholars of the history of liberalism have
accepted this apparent hubris of Mill. Indeed, it is very common
to portray Benedict Spinoza as a philosopher whose own version
of liberalism rivals that of Mill. For in his Theologico-Political
Tractatus (TPT),3 in which he most famously defends liberal
democracy while he treats extensively the subject of religion (in
his other political work, The Political Tractatus, he rarely refers to
matters of faith), Spinoza also asserts the cause of individual
freedom as central to a democracy. Like Mill, Spinoza discounts
the view that majority-rule democracy itself guarantees freedom
for all. Both thinkers are well aware that democracy can also
violate and undermine individual freedom. Spinoza and Mill
recognize all too well that the democratic majority is often
intolerant of the minority. Additionally, both thinkers oppose
religious superstition for undermining freedom. If Spinoza, then,
makes these similar claims, does Mill add anything to Spinoza’s
political philosophy? Is Mill correct that his work is original when
there are so many family resemblances between his ideas and
those of Spinoza? Or, as I shall argue, are there crucial differences
between the two thinkers which cut to the contradictory heart of
liberalism itself?
It is Mill’s assumption that only a truly liberal democracy can
progress, while an illiberal one stagnates. The price of this
progress is the full toleration of all ideas in the free marketplace
of thought (although, as we have seen, Mill is uneasy about the
influence of religious ideas). While it is tempting to believe (with
the majority of scholars) that Spinoza anticipates this great liberal
project, I shall argue that Spinoza’s so-called liberalism is decisively
different from that of Mill’s. Spinoza’s great work raises
questions about liberal democracy of enormous relevance to our
own time. How liberal should a liberal democracy be? Is any notion
of a limit on freedom of expressing ideas illiberal? Does a liberal
regime flourish under multiple ideas, values, and identities, or
does it flounder? Does a liberal regime strengthen or weaken
democracy as a result of this freedom? Is it even rational to
maximize freedom for all? Increasingly, some contemporary
liberals are wondering if they can marshal the arguments which
justify tolerance of all ideas, especially in a postmodern age which
is suspicious of the idea of a rational defense of any regime, liberal
or illiberal.4
Although Spinoza is conventionally portrayed (even in the
new scholarship, as I shall argue) as an avatar of liberalism, I shall
argue that his vision of freedom in a democracy is categorically
opposed to the anti-absolutist tendencies in Mill and his heirs. In
Spinoza readers shall find a concept of both authority and
freedom which resists what we now call liberalism today. In short,
Spinoza ultimately defends a foundation of politics which Mill
cannot (and perhaps should not).
To my knowledge, no scholar has extensively discussed the
relation between the ideas of Spinoza and those of Mill.5 Yet the
vast majority of scholars who study Spinoza are convinced that he
is a liberal. These scholars are generally divided in two related
camps, both of which attest to his liberalism (even though the
term “”liberal”” does not come into common usage until the
nineteenth century) but differ on the benefits which can be
derived from this politics. There are critical readers like Leo
Strauss6 who contend that Spinoza is the first great defender of
liberal democracy, the first political philosopher to teach that a
democracy must tolerate even those who disagree with democracy.
While Strauss contends that Spinoza has to show caution in
pressing his position about freedom against a climate of religious
intolerance and bigotry, he still believes that Spinoza attempts to
articulate a pure and uncompromising synthesis of liberalism and
democracy. Yet Strauss, as a critic of Spinoza, is not convinced
that a liberal democracy can survive merely upon the fulfillment
of its commitment to universal freedom. Strauss has in mind the
debacle of the Weimar Republic (1919–1933), the most liberal of
democracies in European history up to that time, which permitted
the rise of extremist forces bent on destroying that regime
(and its most vulnerable minority, the Jews). Strauss raises the
pivotal question: can liberal democracy survive when it is too
liberal in allowing murderous fanatics the right to use freedom to
destroy freedom?
Still, Strauss cautions that Spinoza does not fit the most
modern variants of liberalism, since he does not dismiss the value
of religion for liberal democracy altogether. While he has no
doubt that Spinoza is a liberal, Strauss also emphasizes in his
studies that Spinoza is one of the few modern political philosophers
to be aware of the theologico-political problem: the eternal
tension between philosophy and religion. Spinoza is somewhat
cognizant of the fact that philosophers (like Socrates) can go too
far in questioning the fragile yet necessary religious (and ethical)
foundations of a regime. If Spinoza himself is too bold, as Strauss
often observes, in critiquing the established religion of his times,
he nevertheless believes that religion (with the blessing of the
regime) has a positive role to play in this political order.7
#page#
This critical interpretation of Spinoza clearly clashes with the
more popular reading that he justifiably repudiates the serious
usage of religion in order to advance the cause of liberalism. Most
readers of Spinoza celebrate him (rather than critique him, like
Strauss) as a liberal hero of the Enlightenment whose legacy
liberates democracy from religious intolerance at the political
level, and even from religion itself. To be sure, these scholars (like
Lewis Feuer) agree with Strauss that Spinoza lived in a time of
persecution, and faced obstacles that liberals like Mill did not.
(The Holland of the late seventeenth century was clearly not as
tolerant as the England of the mid-nineteenth century.) Since
Spinoza experienced throughout his life threats of irrational and
prejudiced religious authorities against his person, he could not
be as bold as Mill in critiquing the powers of his time. Therefore,
his liberalism was “”hybrid, mixed with strains of concession to
absolutism.”” Feuer concludes with the historicist view that only
this context of persecution and intolerance prevented Spinoza
from fully affirming a mature liberalism. Yet, as Feuer reads him,
Spinoza ultimately succeeds in foreshadowing the irreligious
philosophy of On Liberty.8
Whatever the differences between Strauss and Feuer on the
benefits of Spinoza’s legacy, they broadly agree that he is a liberal
who critiques established religion in order to legitimize a liberal
democratic regime, a position still common to the vast majority
of readers of Spinoza. Most scholars today go even farther, in
claiming that Spinoza rightly rejects religion tout court, even
beyond institutionalized worship. They read Spinoza as either a
mature liberal or at least a pioneer of liberalism who opposes the
usage of any religious ideas in a democracy. J. Samuel Preus
argues that the political applicability of religious ideas was
“”irrelevant”” to Spinoza.9 Steven Nadler and Yirmuyahu Yovel
contend that Spinoza was a “”heretic”” who undermined any concept
of absolute authority invested in an idea (especially a
religious one).10 Jonathan Israel claims that Spinoza doubted that
religion “”contains any truths at all.””11 For the same reason,
Thomas Pangle dubs Spinoza a “”dogmatic”” rationalist.12 Even
those who question the conventional liberal reading of Spinoza
described here nevertheless agree, like Antonio Negri, that this
philosopher is too “”anarchistic”” to believe in any type of absolute
authority in the religious sense.13 It seems inconceivable to these
readers that Spinoza sincerely insists on citizens in a liberal
democracy obeying without question basic Judeo-Christian beliefs.
To be sure, not all Spinoza scholars believe that he is irreligious
in thought. Two bold new works of scholarship forcefully argue
that Spinoza not only has a deep appreciation for religion but sees
no serious tension between biblical faith and liberal democracy.
Nancy Levene, in her Spinoza’s Revelation: Religion, Democracy,
and Reason, argues that every principle of liberal democracy
which Spinoza defends is biblical in origin. Graeme Hunter, in his
Radical Protestantism in Spinoza’s Thought, contends that Spinoza
uses liberal ideas to save Christianity from illiberal (that is,
dogmatic) usages which distort the meaning of Scripture. In
short, there is no necessary conflict between liberalism and
revelation, properly understood.
Both Hunter and Levene clearly challenge the conventional
portrait of Spinoza as a heretic or even an atheist. It is indeed a
“”rarity,”” as Hunter correctly observes, to find scholars of Spinoza
who portray him as favorable to religion. (RPS, 65) Hunter and
Levene are so confident that liberal democracy enjoys biblical
sanction that they often end up defending a version of Christianity
which is liberal to the core. In the process of explaining Spinoza,
then, they are at a loss to explain the illiberal tendencies of his
thought, as I shall argue.
Levene, for example, is certain that Spinoza is, unambiguously,
a political philosopher steeped in the biblical tradition.
There is nothing illiberal about the Bible because, as Spinoza
shows (in her reading), readers can derive liberal democracy from
Scripture while they embrace the authority of revelation. Levene
doubts that one needs to make a difficult choice between liberalism
and the Bible: one can have it both ways. Indeed, the Bible is
the one book to which readers should look for a justification of
basic liberal principles. In discussing Spinoza’s views on the
Hebrew covenant, Levene writes: “”The Bible, we will see, is the
only book to show us that chosenness (exclusivity) depends upon
democracy (inclusivity) and democracy on chosenness.”” (SR,
126; my italics) Moreover, Spinoza’s “”revelation”” of political
philosophy originates from God Himself. (SR, 1)
If Levene is right, both believers and philosophers no longer
have to struggle over the differences between the faith and the
free use of reason. For the God of reason is the God of revelation.
“”Who exactly is Spinoza’s God if not either the God of the
Philosophers or, in any obvious way, the God of Abraham, Isaac,
and Jacob?”” (SR, 69) Anyone who affirms that there is such a
tension between faith and reason is simply an elitist who, like
Strauss, denies the “”true religion”” of democratic charity (all are
equal before God) in favor of “”tyranny.”” (SR, 8) In other words,
the acceptance of liberal democracy is both religiously and
ethically sanctioned.
How, then, does Levene explain those places in TPT where
Spinoza himself emphasizes the tension between revelation, reason,
and liberal democracy? This scholar offers two responses.
First, Spinoza does not know his own ideas well enough, which
leads him to deny his own aim of synthesizing faith, philosophy,
and politics. Spinoza is “”not careful enough to encapsulate his own
conclusions.”” (SR, xv) Spinoza is committed to this synthesis of
faith and reason, “”perhaps despite himself.”” (SR, 141) Levene
clearly believes that she understands Spinoza better than he
understood himself!
Second, Levene’s Spinoza sees no tension between Scripture
and democracy as long as one allows Spinoza to rewrite the Bible
in any way he wants. For example, it is perfectly fine for Spinoza
to affirm the authority of Scripture while he deconstructs belief
in a personal (anthropomorphized) God. Levene insists that this
concept of God is a “”superstition”” and even a “”tyrannical””
doctrine which Spinoza (in her view) wants completely expunged
from liberal democracy. (SR, 9, 17, 63, 153, 162) It is legitimate
that Spinoza denies miracles or a fall, since these “”superstitions””
interfere with liberal democracy. (SR, 19, 36) It is even justified
for Spinoza to believe that “”God is dead”” unless liberal democracy
is made available to all of humanity. (SR, 131) God presumably
will come alive again if this regime is universalized. (As I shall
argue later, Levene’s dismissal of an anthropomorphized God,
above and beyond the political realm, ignores Spinoza’s own
attempts to defend the political necessity of obeying a personal
deity.)
In subordinating the Bible to liberalism, Levene’s Spinoza
nevertheless believes that this hermeneutic does no disfavor to
the authority of Scripture. Levene never doubts that the God of
revelation is the first liberal democrat who, like Spinoza, is
opposed to all oppression. “”Therefore God is that sovereign who
is/which is [sic] the immanent critique of all tyranny.”” (SR, 205)
God, in other words, opposes all absolutes, including the attempt
to see God as an absolute. Levene is so insistent on the point that
Spinoza and the Bible are equally opposed to absolutes that she
even jettisons the need to have a Scriptural text in the first place.
“”What the Bible reveals, Spinoza shows, is that human beings don’t
need the Bible, since the word of God is written preeminently in
the book of the human heart and must be expressed in the work
of living justly.”” (SR, 5; my italics) (This claim is odd, as it comes
from a scholar who believes that only the Bible can teach ethics
and freedom.)
Now it is one thing to argue that the Bible is the source of
liberalism, which is not the primary focus of my discussion. It is
quite another task to argue that Spinoza himself sees God as the
first liberal democrat. Levene ultimately concludes that Spinoza,
both on political and moral grounds, cannot permit the usage of
religious doctrine in an absolutist manner. Spinoza (like God, the
enemy of all tyrants) must allow the free-spirited questioning of
the Bible, his own philosophy, and even the credos of a liberal
democratic state.
Graeme Hunter also contends that Spinoza finds no serious
contradiction between liberal values and revelation. “”The authentic
Spinoza . . . was religiously radical, but still very much under
the umbrella of Christian thought.”” (RPS, 3) In agreeing with
Spinoza that the Bible is primarily a work of ethics (not a work of
cosmology, as the scholastics argued), Hunter believes that
Spinoza ultimately saves the Christian church from its oppressive
and theocratic tendencies while he legitimizes the liberal value of
freedom. How does Spinoza accomplish this great feat?
According to Hunter, Spinoza seeks the emergence of an
“”open society that erects no dogmatic barriers against others who
are following their own paths toward purity of life.”” (RPS, 37; my
italics) Additionally, this philosopher opposes all forms of “”dogmatism,
atheism, and despotism”” in favor of complete “”liberty of
thought.”” (RPS, 75) Spinoza achieves this vision by offering a
“”pluralism”” of viewpoints which all Christians in a liberal democracy
should be able to affirm. (RPS, 135) (This pluralism, in
Hunter’s views, coincided with the aspirations of the Dutch
Collegiant colleges which opposed seventeenth-century Holland’s
drift towards theocracy.) Hunter’s Spinoza seeks to “”rescue”” the
Church from “”antichrists”” who justify oppression on the basis of
the Bible. (RPS, 119) This version of Spinoza wants to bring
Christians together in humility and peace, to guarantee religious
freedom for all. (RPS, 65, 135) Yet the content of the Bible
(especially the New Testament) remains unaltered in this context.
In reducing the Gospel to the “”essentials”” (like obedience to the
doctrine of charity), Christianity will survive and even flourish.
(RPS, 63) While Hunter admits that Spinoza intends a “”liberal
form of Christianity as understood by radical Protestants,”” it is
essentially Christianity all the same. (RPS, 75, 77, 86) The aim of
Spinoza is to “”improve,”” not “”subvert,”” Christianity. (RPS, 52)
Like Levene, Hunter portrays a philosopher who sees no
tragic tension between liberalism and Christianity, despite
Spinoza’s denials of miracles, the Incarnation, or an anthropo154
morphized God. (RPS, 83, 149) Yet Hunter also finds it difficult
to explain away Spinoza as a liberal, since he is often compelled to
acknowledge Spinoza’s insistence that the state must apply coercion
to citizens who resist this secularized Christianity sanctioned
by political power. (RPS, 84, 118) Hunter concludes that the
“”intolerance”” which Spinoza displays towards those who are
illiberal in their religious beliefs is “”slight,”” (RPS, 119), even
though he concedes that Spinoza’s attacks on Roman Catholics (in
his correspondence) seem “”strangely out of keeping with the
pluralism and toleration”” in his political philosophy. (RPS, 133)
Indeed this “”pluralism”” starkly contrasts with Spinoza’s overall
insistence that “”salvation”” must be defined on Christian terms
alone. (RPS, 133) Hunter unintentionally leaves his readers with
the question: if Spinoza so often qualifies his liberalism, how
liberal is he?
Both Hunter and Levene are tempted to conclude, despite
their own findings, that there is no orthodoxy to which the
Spinozistic state expects unconditional obedience. The citizen in
Spinoza’s republic is not only free to question anything, but the
Bible allows him to do so! Yet these authors are then left unable
to understand not only illiberal tendencies in Scripture but those
in Spinoza’s philosophy as well. Hunter even contends that
Spinoza’s method of reading the Bible “”can both allow for dogma
and yet not be dogmatic.”” (RPS, 106) Yet the fact is that Spinoza
requires that the citizens of a republic believe in a personal or
anthropomorphized God, even though this belief contradicts his
own philosophical view that God is impersonal nature. As I shall
argue, the God of revelation is, for Spinoza, a stern, personal
taskmaster who requires absolute obedience to basic laws of
morality.
In chapter 14 of the Theologico-Political Tractatus, for example,
Spinoza lists seven dogmas which all citizens must obey
without question. (TPT, 164–65) Hunter correctly observes that
this is the “”centerpiece”” of Spinoza’s thought. (RPS, 123) The
seven dogmas include belief in:
- 1. the existence of God
- 2. the uniqueness of God
- God’s omnipresence
- God’s omnipotence
- worship of God through justice and charity
- salvation through God alone
- forgiveness belonging to God alone
Therefore, these dogmas mainly include belief in a personal
God and the serving of Him through the practice of charity and
forgiveness. These dogmas are unabashedly exclusivist when they
teach, among other lessons, that only a biblical God can save
human beings and forgive sinners. Moreover, Spinoza insists that
all citizens obey these dogmas as good citizens of his republic.
While it is obvious that Spinoza is favorably describing an
anthropomorphized God in his discussion of the seven dogmas,
Levene insists that he opposes the authority of a personal God,
even for political reasons. In the words of Levene, “”This is
Spinoza’s ultimate problem with an anthropomorphic God, with
a God who is at once conceived on the model of human power (and
usually tyrannical power at that) and at the same time removed
from the human, political domain where this power can be
contested.”” (SR, 153) Levene does not explain why, then, Spinoza
deeply prefers that citizens obey a personal God who is immersed
in the political order. Despite her view that Spinoza’s opposes this
conception of God as tyrannical, nowhere does Spinoza affirm a
conception of God who supports the absolute freedom to think or
believe any idea. Never does he allow a citizen to question the
truth of these seven dogmas. The authority of these dogmas over
citizens is so complete for Spinoza that even Hunter is compelled
to admit that this type of state would tolerate non-Christian sects
which reject the seven dogmas only if none of these sects “”acquired
significant political influence.”” (RPS, 132) Yet this restrictive
policy of Spinoza’s does not deter Hunter from portraying
him as a liberal.
Ultimately, Levene and Hunter read the Bible as selectively as
they read the Theologico-Political Tractatus. Not only do they
ignore or at least understate the illiberal tendencies of his
thought; they avoid altogether the most illiberal elements of
Scripture. Nowhere do they discuss Spinoza’s silence on the
politically authoritarian teachings of St. Paul. Hunter and Levene
instead prefer to discuss Spinoza’s appreciation of Paul’s teaching
on universal morality. As a critic of the doctrine of the “”chosen
people,”” Spinoza finds it very useful to emphasize the Pauline
lesson that all nations are bound by the laws of God. (TPT, 39–40)
This teaching of Paul is consistent, at least superficially, with the
view of Hunter and Levene that Spinoza favors an egalitarian
morality that makes no distinction between the moral sense of
citizens.
While they rightly acknowledge Spinoza’s respect for Paul
(who, like Jesus, rightly understands charity to be the essential
teaching of Scripture), Paul’s teaching on obedience does not
square with the open society that Levene and Hunter favor:
Let every person be subject to the governing authorities; for
there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that
exist have been instituted by God. Therefore whoever resists
authority resists what God has appointed, and those who resist
will incur judgment. For rulers are not a terror to good conduct,
but to bad. Do you wish to have no fear of the authority? Then
do what is good, and you will receive its approval; for it is God’s
servant for your good. But if you do what is wrong, you should be
afraid, for the authority does not bear the sword in vain! (Romans
13: 1–5; New Revised Standard Edition)
The Christian subject, in Paul’s view, does not have the
freedom to question Caesar on any grounds. Paul never suggests
that God favors one particular political regime (like democracy)
over another, nor does he imply that a regime superior to that of
Caesar’s (again, like democracy) will emerge in history. Indeed,
God’s favors all secular authority and it is not up to the subject to
question this dogma. Christian subjects are equal before God’s
laws, but this principle of equality is not a stepping stone for
resisting the tyranny of Caesar. It is impossible to imagine the
Bible as the foundational text of liberal democracy, if one takes
Paul’s teaching seriously. (Additionally, Paul’s clear defense of
obedience to the state actually does not contradict Spinoza’s
views on freedom as much as Levene and Hunter believe, as I shall
later argue in the context of Spinoza’s defense of obeying tyrants.)
It may be tempting to believe, as Levene has argued, that
Spinoza does not always understand just how liberal his thought
truly is. If this is the case, then perhaps Spinoza’s inattention (or
failure to challenge) Paul’s doctrine of obedience is simply an
aberration which does not contradict his overall liberal philosophy.
I shall argue that Spinoza’s supposed lapses into illiberal
territory are not unfortunate deviations from his otherwise stellar
commitment to liberalism, but an attempt to use the Bible to
uphold doctrines (which few liberals today could easily accept
without question) that restrict the freedom of fanatical individuals
bent on disrupting a democracy. In this sense, Spinoza does
not fit well with contemporary liberalism. Hunter and Levene all
too quickly apply the term “”liberal”” to Spinoza. Despite their
efforts to portray him as a philosopher opposed to orthodoxy in
favor of pluralism, I shall argue that Spinoza is not an unequivocal
ideological ancestor of modern liberalism. Since neither Hunter
nor Levene attempts to evaluate systematically the differences
between Spinoza and the liberal tradition, I shall offer an extensive
comparison of Spinoza’s Theologico-Political Tractatus and
Mill’s On Liberty for the remainder of this paper.
#page#
At a superficial level, it is tempting to spot great parallels between
Spinoza and Mill. Despite their radically divergent historic contexts,
they both target the same foes of freedom and intellectual
enlightenment. Both thinkers suffer no illusions about the frailty
of human nature in the practice of freedom. As any reader of TPT
knows, Spinoza relentlessly attacks the “”vulgar”” for spreading
prejudice and hatred in the Holland of his time. The “”vulgar”” (who
include not only the masses but also their theological and philosophical
masters) misuse the ideas of Scripture (especially prophecy)
to serve their own selfish interests while they deny their
critics any freedom to question the rational basis of these claims
about prophecy or miracles. Spinoza is unforgiving in his portrait
of the venality and stupidity of the “”vulgar,”” often manipulated by
those in authority who see in religious superstition an effective
means of keeping the passions of the ignorant in check. (TPT, xvixvii)
The reader of On Liberty also knows well that Mill is equally
harsh on the common “”people”” of his time. For the great mass of
the democratic citizenry believe, according to Mill, “”that their
feelings . . . are better than reasons.”” (OL, 8) They are “”servile”” and
“”prejudiced.”” (OL, 9) They are “”intolerant”” of anyone who dares
to dispute their opinions. (OL, 10) They replace the ancient and
medieval tyrannies of the one (monarchy) or the few (aristocracy)
with a new democratic tyranny of the majority. Like Spinoza, Mill
believes that religious authority in particular stands guilty of
hindering the progress of society. Mill accuses Christian authorities
of manipulating and provoking the most irrational passions of
the people so that the church alone can monopolize the ideas of
a democracy. Significantly, Mill targets the descendants of those
authorities who governed the Holland of Spinoza’s time, the
Calvinists, for almost succeeding in “”crushing out any of the
human faculties, capacities, and susceptibilities.”” (OL, 71) Yet
Mill is confident that, first, religion (especially Christianity) is a
hindrance to progress, and second, that it will end up in the
dustbin of history.14
It is also tempting to believe that both Spinoza and Mill defend
the rights of individuals against all forms of statist and popular
coercion (except when violence is a threat), at least in their major
works on freedom.15 Both Spinoza and Mill claim as their ancestral
hero that great individual, Jesus Christ, as the archetypal
figure who heroically and tragically sacrificed himself for the
betterment of an intolerant humanity. Spinoza argues that Jesus
(whom he dubs a “”philosopher””) taught a far more individualistic
ethic than one can find in the annals of the Hebrew prophets,
whom he often dismisses as the “”vulgar.”” (TPT, 6–7, 18) Mill in
turn believes that Jesus is one of those rare examples in history of
a man who challenged the credos of his time even if that meant
condemnation as a “”blasphemer”” at the hands of the ignorant
authorities and masses. (OL, 29–30)
Additionally, both Spinoza and Mill go out of their way to
contend that nature is not a foundation for freedom or morality.
As I shall argue below, nature is decidedly amoral to Spinoza. It
can only teach that might is right, not that all human beings are
equal (only the Bible teaches this lesson). Unlike Locke or the
American founders, Spinoza’s philosophy lacks a concept of
natural right (all individuals are free by nature), since only the
strong decide what is right, by nature.16 While Spinoza occasionally
refers to the “”natural light”” of those who possess reason, he
does not believe that all share in this light (the philosophers are
still superior to the vulgar). Like Hobbes, Spinoza believes that
the “”state of nature”” teaches only violence and hatred. Although
Levene takes Spinoza at his word that a moral sense is “”inscribed””
in the hearts and minds of all human beings by nature (SR, 5; TPT
55), she does not explain how this premise fits with his overall
dismissal of nature’s authority.
As a utilitarian, Mill also leaves no room for natural right
(although his reasoning has no connection to Spinoza’s worries
about the state of nature). In his perspective, the maximization of
the greatest good for the greatest number must be the rationale
behind the allowance freedom, rather than respect for the natural
rights of all human beings. Any appeal to natural right is, for Mill,
an abstraction at best, “”a thing independent of utility.”” (OL, 14)
Presumably, if natural rights collide with progress, then progress
must take precedence. For this reason, Mill is quite inclined to
deny the rights of the poor to marry (in order to prevent an
unsustainable birth rate among the poor) if it serves the greatest
good. (OL, 124–25)
Finally, Spinoza and Mill support the primacy of charity as the
most suitable ethics for a democratic regime. For only charity can
inspire the universal duty to respect the freedom of all people.
Only charity, or what Spinoza calls caritas, can universalize
freedom itself and challenge the temptation to allow liberty for a
few and tyranny for the many. (TPT, 88) Despite his utilitarianism,
Mill is confident that the freedom of the individual is
consistent with both charity and the greatest good of the greatest
number. In Utilitarianism, Mill observes that in the golden rule of
Jesus “”we read the complete spirit of the ethics of utility.”” (OL,
156) True freedom must require that all who practice charity
tolerate each other. (Mill, however, does not necessarily understand
charity as a religious doctrine, as Spinoza does.) Without
the practice of charity, a democracy is a mere tyranny which
hinders the progress of all.
All of these similarities have led to the conclusion that
Spinoza, while he “”felt short of the degree of liberty Mill insisted
upon,”” is a forefather of liberty, as Mill understood it.17 Given
these parallels, is Mill incorrect in claiming that his work is
original? Does Spinoza say it all before Mill? For the remainder
of this paper, I shall argue that the political philosophy of Mill is
not only different from that of Spinoza in major ways, but that
Spinoza’s political philosophy defends dogmas that Mill believed
his own society could ill afford to support.
It is tempting, once again, to believe with Hunter and Levene
that Spinoza articulates a defense of freedom of speech long
before Mill. For Spinoza vigorously targets, in chapter six of his
work, the theologians of his time for making claims about the
“”certainty”” of the Bible (particularly claims about the supernatural).
This “”certainty”” falsely presupposes that the Bible is a work
of science, rather than a work of ethics whose various authors are
influenced by the “”imagination.”” (TPT, 67–78) The various claims
of the prophets about miracles are not meant to be understood as
scientific claims. These claims confuse the “”vulgar”” about the very
truth of the Bible, the ethic of charity, which then hinders true
enlightenment.
Yet Spinoza himself sounds certain about his own reading of
Scripture. There is no doubt in his mind that his hermeneutic is
the correct one. (Indeed, Spinoza castigates lack of certainty in
the mind as a sign of the failure to be “”steadfast”” in one’s beliefs.)
The entire text of the Theologico-Political Tractatus reveals no
doubts about the truth, as Spinoza understands it, of the Bible.
This truth, incarnated in charity, is the foundational ethic which,
Spinoza believes, is necessary to a functioning democracy. In
contrast, claims about the supernatural are not simply false: they
are dangerous to the very survival of the regime. In short, Spinoza
is only opposed to dogmas that threaten a democracy, not those
that sustain it.
Mill, we have seen, is so confident about the demise of religion
that he does not explicitly call for statist control of belief, nor does
he see any value in using religion for political purposes. Once
again, it is tempting to believe that Spinoza doubts the utility of
religion as well. For he constantly ridicules the temptation of
using fear (rather than hope) to motivate beliefs and acts. Spinoza
warns that “”as long as human beings act solely on the basis of
dread, they do what they mostly do not want to, and they do not
take into account the utility or necessity of what is to be done, but
care only about not being guilty of a capital crime or liable for a
comeuppance.”” (TPT, 59)
Spinoza clearly hopes for a democratic regime that will inspire
the best in people, that love of liberty which is usually lost on the
“”vulgar.”” Yet Spinoza never accepts the view (despite the claims
of Hunter and Levene) that a free flow of ideas will contribute to
this love of liberty. There are always ideas that harm this love
(even if they do not directly threaten violence). Superstitious
claims about the supernatural do not contribute to enlightenment
(Spinoza witnessed firsthand the bloody implications of these
ideas as Holland attempted to move towards democracy). Ideas
that teach that the Bible is a terroristic or theocratic text cannot
have a place in the polity of Spinoza.
These claims may be shocking to readers of Spinoza who are
reminded of Mill when he writes that “”each [citizen] can think
whatever he wants concerning them [theological claims] without
impropriety.”” (TPT, 173) Yet Spinoza, unlike Mill, does not
simply fear the tyranny of the “”vulgar.”” He also fears, like Hobbes
and other social contract theorists, the tyranny of the state of
nature. Big fish eat little fish by “”the highest natural right”” he
solemnly observes in his discussion of democracy. (TPT, 179)
Human beings, without the authority of Scripture, will consume
each other if they do not learn biblical ideas of ethics. (It is
interesting that Mill is silent on this early modern understanding
of the state of nature; did he believe that it was backward and
unprogressive?)
The fact is that On Liberty has no place for “”dogmas”” that
might be essential to the survival of a regime (dogma, we have
seen, is always a pejorative term for Mill). What is truly novel
about Mill is that he wants freedom from any orthodoxy or notion
of truth. If he merely opposed the power of the state, the church,
or majority rule intruding upon the individual, he would have
added nothing to what Spinoza wrote two hundred years before.
Indeed, it is not even clear what truth is for Mill. While Mill refers
to the “”truth”” as the expression of freedom and tolerance, it is also
“”the reconciling and combining of opposites”” to mediate the
“”struggle between combatants fighting under hostile banners.””
(OL, 55) Yet this “”truth”” is opposed in spirit to any absolute
claims to the truth. Truth is simply the result of prolonged
dialogue. Indeed, as Willmoore Kendall has argued, Mill appears
to demand “”the elevation of skepticism to the status of a national
religion”” at the expense of any orthodoxy or preferred doctrine.18
In contrast, as we have seen, Spinoza lists seven dogmas that
require absolute obedience in a democracy. While Spinoza quickly
adds that it matters not to a regime if believers differ on particular
beliefs pertaining to free will or predestination, they are nonetheless
expected “”to live peacefully and harmoniously”” while they
unconditionally obey these dogmas. (TPT, 166) These seven
dogmas, to say the least, would provoke the skepticism of Mill.
From his perspective, it is not obvious that anyone should obey
most of these dogmas without question (except that of charity).
Do we not have the freedom to understand God as a tyrant, for
example, rather than a forgiving deity (the seventh dogma)? The
answer of Spinoza is in the negative. If there were truly free
discussion of this dogma, then Spinoza anticipates the result of
chaos and bloodshed, or a return to the state of nature.
The seven dogmas also pose a great difficulty to readers like
Hunter who are determined to project the vision of an “”open
society”” on to Spinoza’s thought. In his words, Spinoza’s Christianity
is “”maximally tolerant.”” (RPS, 113) How can Spinoza be
liberal, however, if he insists on obedience without question to
these dogmas? Hunter admits that these dogmas raise questions
about the consistency of Spinoza’s efforts to defend liberalism.
Would the attempt to force them on someone who did not agree
also qualify the enforcer as an antichrist? No matter which way
Spinoza answers, it will be in tension with other things he wants
to say. If coercion is disallowed the importance of the seven
dogmas is lost—they are reduced to the state of adiaphora. But
if they can be coercively imposed, it seems to limit Spinoza’s
religious tolerance. (RPS, 118)
In short, if Spinoza is a pluralist, as Hunter claims (and thus
an ancestor of Mill), how can there be any restriction on discussion
of these dogmas?
While Spinoza sincerely believes, like Mill, in philosophic
freedom, he is not so naïve as to believe that all ideas contribute
to this freedom. Spinoza poses the tough question: should people
have the freedom to question freedom (any more than the right
to become a slave)? Or in the words of Rousseau, must people,
paradoxically, be forced to be free?
The practice of freedom still retains a limit which both
philosophers and theologians are required to respect. Theologians
must respect the liberties of philosophers, but philosophers
must also respect the seven dogmas. This agreement (resting on
a universal understanding of charity) fosters not just freedom but
also peace and stability. Unlike Mill, Spinoza does not believe that
mere rational discussion can teach ethics (much less lead to
“”truth””). Nature reveals no knowledge of ethics. For that reason,
the authority of the Bible is essential to a secular regime: only
revealed religion can teach charity.
True freedom is in part obedience to the highest authority,
who has every right to make statutes (especially those regarding
religion). If a statute contradicts one’s faith, the highest power
nevertheless retains this right. This power “”can consult human
beings, yet it is not bound to acknowledge anyone as judge, nor
any mortal besides itself as avenger of any right…but only God
himself, as judge.”” (TPT, 188) Otherwise, as Spinoza warns in
light of the “”diversity of their mental casts,”” each individual
“”could assume a license for everything.”” (TPT, 189) Spinoza is so
preoccupied with stability that he even momentarily contradicts
his oft-expressed democratic predisposition with the stipulation
that “”everyone is bound to keep faith even with a Tyrant, except
one to whom God has promised special help against the Tyrant by
a special revelation.”” (TPT, 224) Like St. Paul, Spinoza believes
that obedience to the state takes precedence over the misuse of
freedom.
Moreover, there is no natural right to overthrow a tyrant,
especially when nature itself teaches that might is right. Indeed,
God alone sanctions resistance to tyranny, and in the meantime
may require obedience to tyrants. Just as Paul believes that God
expects Christians to obey Caesar, so Spinoza believes that God
may at times defend the status of tyrants. This teaching is
consistent with the seven dogmas, which promote the authority
of God in the political realm as beyond question. Charity (the fifth
dogma) is presumably consistent with obedience towards an
uncharitable authority. Despite the claims of Levene and Hunter,
then, Spinoza’s God does not always automatically favor a democratic
regime over a tyranny.19
This position is radically opposed to that of Mill. For he is not
only opposed to the authority of any religious creed (despite his
respect for Jesus). He does not believe that any Christian doctrine
(save charity) is useful for enlightening citizens of a secular
liberal democracy. Belief in God, any god, is not suitable to the
polity of Mill. In fact, Mill much prefers a pagan ethic as the real
foundation of freedom. For this reason, Mill praises Socrates as
the consummate liberal. Socrates, like Jesus, courageously resisted
the opinions of his time at the risk of accusations of impiety,
corruption of the youth, and death. (OL, 29) The Socratic
dialogue is, for Mill, the template of free discussion and inquiry.
(OL, 51) While Mill admits that examples of tyranny abound in
antiquity (even a gentle and virtuous soul like the Roman caesar
Marcus Aurelius still persecuted Christians) and even acknowledges
that the early Protestants “”first broke the yoke of the
Universal Church”” by asserting ‘the rights of the individual
against society”” (OL, 10–11), he insists that only the pagan mind
contains the necessary “”self-assertion”” or courage to think and
act, in contrast to the weakness and slavishness of Christian “”selfdenial.””
(OL, 72) Socrates remains, for Mill, the kind of man “”at
all times needful, and seldom more needed than now.””20 Still, does
Mill understand the authoritarian tendencies of Socrates (and
paganism in general)?
Here the contrast between Spinoza and Mill is undeniably
sharp. It is significant that Spinoza never seeks a return to pagan
teleology or history when he defends democracy and freedom
(and is silent on Socrates). Spinoza sees nothing admirable in the
pagan rulers Alexander the Great or Caesar Augustus who persuaded
the ignorant masses of spurious claims about their ancestral
divinity. (TPT, 194) In discussing democracy, Spinoza omits
any mention of Periclean Athens. Moreover, unlike the pagan
philosophers, Spinoza teaches that nature is not (and cannot) be
the true source of politics. As Hunter correctly observes, Spinoza
rejects the attempt of pagans to find moral authority in nature, an
attempt which amounts to “”superstition.”” (RPS, 73) Since the
state of nature is violently contradictory, a “”natural”” politics
would be neither democratic nor peaceful. The fact that Spinoza
seeks no return to pagan history, myth, or philosophy likely
suggests that he sees no authentic understanding of nature,
freedom, or authority in that tradition. (Presumably, Socrates is
not a model of the free individual, for Spinoza.) Only the Bible is
a suitable foundation for his political philosophy.
Yet Mill lacks any similar understanding of classical Greece.
When he celebrates the pagan (especially Socrates) at the expense
of the biblical (especially Calvin and his heirs), Mill romanticizes
the appearance of free-spirited individualism in the pagan ethos.
Mill fails to grasp that Socrates himself is resigned to the power
of political authority over his own destiny. Mill is ignorant of the
fact that Socrates, as Plato recounts in his Apology, never comes
across as a defender of individual freedom and never doubts the
right of Athens to put a citizen on trial for impiety and corrupting
the youth. At no time during his trial does Socrates demand his
right to freedom of speech (although he questions the accuracy of
the accusations leveled against him). Socrates is decidedly illiberal
in spirit when he accepts the injustice of his death sentence
and even the immorality of the rulers of Athens (as Plato recounts
in the Crito).21 Yet Mill presents a version of Socrates that smacks
of liberal individualism.
While Spinoza is silent on Socrates, it is plausible to believe,
in the words of Hunter, that “”Spinoza resembles Socrates trying
to unravel the web of suspicion spun about him in the popular
mind”” of those readers who accuse him of atheism. (RPS, 71) It
is also plausible that Spinoza understands better than Mill (or
Levene and Hunter) that no regime in history (pagan, biblical, or
secular) can tolerate unlimited freedom of expression. In emphasizing
the distinction between the wise, philosophic few and the
vulgar, irrational many, Spinoza is keenly aware of his audience.
In addressing the Theologico-Political Tractatus to the “”Philosopher
Reader”” (TPT, xxii), Spinoza sets the tone for his entire work.
Spinoza is decidedly not a liberal who believes, like Mill, that
freedom of speech is to be allowed because it will liberate all
human beings from the shackles of religious tyranny. Rather,
freedom of speech is good if and only if the philosopher can
practice such freedom (and as Spinoza makes clear, the vulgar can
never become philosophers.) The “”vulgar”” are never the primary
audience of Spinoza, although they are the proper audience of
theologians. (As he argues throughout chapters two and three of
TPT, the astute Hebrew prophets always took accurate measure
of the limited intellects of their audience.) As the sole possessor
of the “”natural light”” of reason (TPT, 156), the true philosopher
is never one of the “”vulgar,”” despite attempts to portray Spinoza
as a populist who includes himself among the masses.
Levene strongly denies, however, that Spinoza is an elitist,
and even goes so far as to argue that he is committed (despite some
lapses in judgment) to a principle of universal equality (sanctioned
by the Bible) that breaks down any distinction between the
wise few and the ignorant many. For Spinoza (as she interprets
him),
we are all, in theory, the unscrupulous theologians, feeding our
own power through ambition and iniquity, for this need for
power is itself as much a product as a contributor to a specific
social order. And we are equally the masses, credulous, lazy, not
wanting to put in the time to discover things for ourselves. (SR,
160)
Presumably, then, Levene’s Spinoza is opposed to any use of
distinctions between citizens on the basis of talent or aptitude for
ethics. Levene, who is impressed with Spinoza’s view that morality
is inscribed on the hearts of all human beings (SR, 5), believes that
Spinoza is ultimately an unabashed egalitarian defender of the
social contract. Yet Levene fails to explain why Spinoza seemingly
contradicts himself repeatedly when he claims that only a few
possess a “”natural light”” but all human beings nevertheless
possess a moral sense inscribed on their hearts. Still, Spinoza is
guilty of contradiction only if one believes, as Levene does, that
he is completely committed to universal equality.
Levene’s reading also does not explain why Spinoza insists
that only the “”vulgar”” (rather than the philosophically wise) must
learn Scripture. The biblical covenant teaches that human beings
are equal in God (as opposed to pagan hierarchy) and are entitled
in act in freedom under the auspices of this God. Yet one is not
free to destroy this covenant or even to question the sanctity of
the seven dogmas that emerge out of this covenant. No one is free
to return to the state of nature. Neither ruler nor ruled can
impose the tyranny of nature. The “”vulgar,”” who worry Spinoza
most of all, have no place in the social contract if they seek out the
amorality of nature. The biblical covenant is already beyond nature
when it teaches the universality of liberty and equality. Only
outside of nature can citizens “”conceive”” of sin. (TPT, 220) Above
all, the “”vulgar”” must learn, and practice, the lessons of the Bible.
#page#
Spinoza teaches that revelation, while it is not the same as
reason, is absolutely essential to statecraft. If most human beings
are not rational, then they must learn through revelation. The
pagan teleology cannot teach virtue to the masses. Only biblical
caritas can accomplish this feat. The Bible does not teach by
philosophic argument. Thus Scripture can reach those “”who
[cannot] acquire the habit of virtue by reason alone.”” (TPT, 176–
77) In separating philosophy from theology, Spinoza teaches that
no citizen (or ruler) has the right to question the way in which the
sovereign democratic authority interprets this separation, if this
questioning returns the polity to the state of nature. The “”vulgar””
are meant to obey, not to reason about religion. (TPT, 176–77)
While the philosophic few may enjoy the “”natural light”” of reason,
the ignorant many must be content to learn from Scripture.
It is tempting to assume that Spinoza and Mill speak with one
voice in believing that there is a difference between thought and
action and that actions of violence are not identical to ideas that
preach violence. Therefore, why would Spinoza forbid questioning
of the seven dogmas unless there was a clear threat of
violence? (After all, the title of the concluding chapter of his
political opus is “”That in a Free State Every Man May Think What
He Likes and Say What He Thinks.””) Does Spinoza not conclude
his work with the opinion that “”the right of the highest powers
concerning sacred as well as profane matters is only related to
actions; otherwise let it be granted to each both to think what he
wants and to say what he thinks””? (TPT, 236–37)
Yet the line between thought and action is not so surgically
drawn for Spinoza as it is for Mill. Mill typically believes that only
direct threats of violence (as in the story of the corn-dealer) merit
the attention of the authorities. Certainly Spinoza believes, like
Mill, that pernicious attempts to render authority “”hateful”” to
citizens is not permissible. (TPT, 231) Yet disbelief in the seven
dogmas is, for Spinoza, an action. Freedom of judgment, which is
“”a virtue and cannot be suppressed,”” is distinct from the attempts
of those who manipulate the passions of the “”vulgar”” through
theology or pseudo-philosophy and thus undermine the political
religion that the seven dogmas incarnate. (TPT, 233)
The concluding chapter of his treatise is replete with warnings
about the misuse of freedom. While a citizen has the freedom to
“”think, judge, and consequently also say something contrary to
their decrees [of the authorities],”” it is “”provided that he only says
or teaches and defends it simply, and by reason alone, not by a
ruse, in anger, in hatred, or in the spirit of introducing something
into the republic on the basis of the authority of his own decree.””
(TPT, 231; my italics) Spinoza then adds: “”The highest piety,
moreover, is the one that is exercised in connection with the peace
and tranquility of the republic.”” (TPT, 231–32) (It is worth
remembering that this assumption, that the exercise of freedom
requires rationality, is central to Enlightenment thought, both
European and American, of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries.22)
Like John Calvin, Spinoza contends that freedom from psychological
slavery (unreason) is a far greater thing to achieve
than simply political liberty. (This is a running theme in his other
great work, The Ethics.) If citizens lack control of their passions,
they do not deserve to be participants in the social contract.
Control of the passions is crucial to the experience of true
freedom. The passion that desires a return to the violence of the
state of nature is not legitimate. Ultimately, only the philosophical
reader is capable of this self-control or freedom.23 Undoubtedly,
this control of passion would strike Mill as the old self-abnegation
central to Calvinism, an “”insidious”” doctrine whose demise he
eagerly anticipated. (OL, 71–72)
Spinoza ultimately allows freedom to those who are sufficiently
rational to obey the seven dogmas and thereby live in a
spirit of charity and peace. There is true “”freedom of judgment””
(TPT, 236) if this is not confused with the freedom to destroy and
subvert. Ideas that promote charity will be tolerated, and only
these. While both Spinoza and Mill in principle attest to the
rationality of human nature (they address their works to a
philosophical audience), and both share no illusions about the
rationality of the masses or “”vulgar”” (who are usually trapped in
superstitious belief and “”imagination””), Spinoza doubts that discussion
alone in the marketplace of ideas will foster a free social
order. Citizens must understand that the biblical covenant, not
nature, makes freedom of discussion possible. Even reason is
insufficient to legitimize the social contract, for the average
citizen is so often “”pulled by his own pleasure; and the mind is very
often so occupied by greed, glory, envy, anger, etc., that no place
is left for reason.”” (TPT, 182) While Spinoza had experienced
persecution at the hands of religious authorities, he still upholds
the utility of Scripture. Despite the claims of his liberal readers,
Spinoza uses the Bible for the illiberal purpose of restricting,
rather than maximizing, freedom of speech.24
Is Spinoza, then, a liberal in any meaningful sense? In our own
age, liberalism has increasingly become associated with suspicion
of religious doctrine. Certainly few liberal thinkers today argue
that a liberal democracy needs a religion, private or public.25 Yet
Spinoza contends that certain religious dogmas are essential for
a regime to survive. Whereas Mill believes that biblical doctrines
tend to strengthen the cause of tyranny, Spinoza believes that they
alone can prevent it. Freedom itself is a dogma which cannot be
questioned, unless that questioning is based on charity. These
dogmas liberate all human beings from the tyranny of the state of
nature. Spinoza is not open to a society that is open to its own
annihilation.
Grant Havers
Trinity Western University
NOTES
- John Stuart Mill, On Liberty and Utilitarianism (New York:
Bantam Books, 1993), 60–61. All textual citations of OL will refer
to this edition. - Willmoore Kendall, “”The ‘Open Society’ and Its Fallacies,””
in Willmoore Kendall Contra Mundum, Nellie D. Kendall, ed.
(Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1994), 642. - Benedict Spinoza, Theologico-Political Treatise, Martin D.
Yaffe, trans. (Newburyport, MA: Focus Philosophical Library,
2004). All textual citations of TPT will refer to this translation. - See J. Judd Owen, Religion and the
