Akrasia in Spinoza's Ethics

AKRASIA IN SPINOZA'S ETHICS by Eugene Marshall
A Dissertation subm itted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of
Doctor of Philosophy (Philosophy)
at the UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN-MADISON 2006
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A dissertation entitled
Akrasia in Spinoza's Ethics
submitted to the Graduate School of the University of Wisconsin-Madison in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy
by
Eugene Marshall
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AKRASIA IN SPIN O Z A S ETHICS Eugene Marshall Under the Supervision o f Professor Steven Nadler A t the University o f Wisconsin-Madison
Spinozai has a fascinating account o f akrasia. Locating it is well worth the labor involved, however. First, his theory is o f historical significance, because it involves certain views normally thought to originate in Hume. So Spinoza, whom Hume read, should be given some o f the credit for these novelties. Second, Spinozas theory combines several intuitive aspects o f positions generally thought to be mutually exclusive. In this regard, Spinozas theory o f akrasia is conceptually unique, a coherent hybrid view that may capture the good o f the opposing views while avoiding their pitfalls. Finally, his theory o f akrasia is plausible and satisfying, capturing those intuitions we want in a theory o f akrasia. It presents akratic action as it must be understood as freely and intentionally performed, irrational action against our better judgment. The thrust o f this work can be stated as follows: Spinoza has an interesting and viable account o f akrasia. That account is a weakjudgment intemalism that resembles Aristodes and Alfred Meles, though it also appeals to certain Humean intuitions. Specifically, according to Spinoza, akrasia occurs for an agent S just when the power o f As irrational desire forj , which involves an irrational judgment th a tj is a good course o f action, will surpass the power o f S s rational desire for x , which involves a rational judgment that x is the better course o f action; this account o f akrasia is plausible and superior to its competitors, in that it better accommodates our intuitions concerning akratic conduct. After discussing competing theories o f Socrates, Plato, Aristode, David Hume, Donald Davidson, and Alfred Mele, I survey Spinozas affective psychology and thoughts on human
bondage. In the final chapter, I evaluate Spinozas theory o f akrasia vis-a-vis the competing theories. I conclude that his account captures the heart o f strict akrasia - that we can affirm contradictory judgments and feel conflicting desires. And so, strict akrasia is easily explainable. O f course, it is still irrational, because it involves acting against our better judgment which, for Spinoza, means acting against our universal principles in favor o f som e inadequately known particular.
UWMN GRADUATE SCHOOL
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Table of Contents
Introduction 0.1. Akrasia and Spinoza 0.1.1. A Very Brief History of Akrasia 0.1.2. W hy Spinoza? 0.2. An Outline of the Work 0.3. A Survey of the Literature Chapter One: Theories of Akrasia 1.1. Theories of Akrasia 1.1.1. Socrates 1.1.2. Plato 1.1.3. Aristotle 1.1.4. Hum e 1.1.5. Davidson 1.1.6. Alfred Mele 1.2. Summary of Views 1.2.1. Strong Intemalism 1.2.2. Extemalism 1.2.3. Weak Intemalism 1.2.4. Conclusion Chapter Two: Spinoza's Affective Psychology 2.0. Introduction 2.1. Ideas 2.1.1. The Three Kinds of Knowledge: An Overview 2.1.2. The Account of Adequate Ideas 2.1.3. Common Notions 2.1.4. The Idea of G od's Essence 2.2. Affects 2.2.1. Introduction 2.2.2. O n the N ature of Ideas 2.2.3. The Affects 2.2.4. Affects are Cognitive 2.2.5. Spinoza's Janus-Faced Psychology 2.3. The Rejection of the Faculties 2.3.1. Introduction 2.3.2. O n Faculties 2.3.3. Spinoza's Rejection of the Faculties of Will and Intellect 2.3.4. Ideas and Volitions 2.3.5. Affects and Ideas 2.4. The Conatus 2.4.1. The Faculties, Redux
2.4.2. Conatus and Desire Chapter Three: Spinoza on Akrasia, An Exegesis 3.1. On H um an Bondage 3.1.1. Introduction 3.1.2. Akrasia and Parts of the Soul 3.1.3. O n Freedom and Bondage 3.2. Conatus and Akrasia 3.2.1. The Conatus and Egoism 3.2.2. Selfless and Self-Destructive Behavior 3.3. Akrasia in Spinoza 3.3.1. Akrasia in Spinoza: A First Pass 3.3.2. H ow Particular Instances of Akrasia May Occur 3.3.3. The Relation Between Bondage and Akrasia 3.4. Conclusions Chapter Four: Spinoza's Theory of Akrasia 4.1. Intem alism and Extemalism in Spinoza 4.1.1. Spinoza Contra the Strong Internalists 4.1.2. Spinoza Is N ot an Externalist 4.1.3. Spinoza and the Weak Internalists 4.1.4. Spinoza and Mele 4.1.5. Spinoza's Unique W eak Intemalism 4.2. Challenges to the Spinozist Account 4.2.1. H ow are Spinozist akratic actions free and intentional? 4.2.2. Intentionality 4.2.3. Against O ur Better Judgment 4.3. An Evaluation of Spinoza's Account of Akrasia
Introduction
0.1. Akrasia and Spinoza Strictly speaking, 'akrasia' refers to a state of character and 'akratic action' refers to actions in which an agent exhibits akratic characteristics. Nevertheless, w hen I speak of akrasia in w hat follows, I refer to akratic action, not to a state of character. Akratic action is free, intentional action perform ed against our better judgment. It occurs only w hen we intentionally do w hat we know is not best. Some theorists deny this can ever occur, but most accept that this psychological phenom enon is possible and therefore attem pt to explain it. Any discussion of akrasia m ust address two overarching kinds of questions: first, how is akrasia conceptually possible? How could agents intentionally do something
against their better judgment? Some thinkers find this to be incoherent. Those who take akrasia to be conceptually possible m ust thereafter answer this second question: how does akrasia actually occur? This question is answered by reference to psychological mechanisms, hum an tendencies, and behaviors. A variety of different explanations have been presented, of course.
0.1.1. A Very Brief History of Akrasia
Aicpaaia, or akrasia, is a Greek term that means, roughly, a lack of self-rule. In the history of philosophy, the term 'akrasia' makes its most famous appearances in Plato, particularly Protagoras, where he rejects it, and the Republic, where he accepts it, and in Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics, where Aristotle offers his famous explanation of it. The theory has been discussed by a variety of later thinkers; indeed, m ost of the Ancients and Medievals had a theory of akrasia. Yet the topic seemed to fall out of favor in the early m odem period, w ith many thinkers spending only little time on it, if any at all. Only in the 20th Century was the topic revived, largely because of the seminal work by R.M. Hare. According to his prescriptivism, our judgm ent "I ought to do x" motivates us to do x. He suggests that when I assent to the statement, "1 ought to do x," I am in fact issuing a prescription or imperative to myself, "do x." So, w hen I judge that I ought to do x, I will in fact do x, unless I am unable to do so. Hare presents this in the context of explaining w hat happens w hen an agent seems to make a judgm ent that something w ould be best yet fails to do it. According to Hare, whenever an agent appears to fail to follow through on his practical judgment, knowingly following the lesser of two available courses of action, either (a) he does not in fact judge that he ought to do x (perhaps he only recognizes that convention requires it), or (b) he cannot physically or psychologically do x. Thus, strictly speaking, akrasia is impossible for Hare. As we shall see, H are's position is similar in certain ways to Socrates' and Donald Davidson's. More importantly for us, H are's way of approaching the problem - as
turning on the relation between judgm ent and motivation - will set the stage for the w ork done in these pages. Since Hare, theorists have primarily addressed this question: how can we judge that one course of action x is better than some other, incompatible course of action y, yet nevertheless freely and intentionally choose to pursue y against our better judgment? In fact, akrasia is now more often called weakness of will. And w hen Aristotle is
translated into English, aKpaoia is often rendered as incontinence. In w hat follows, these three phrases will be used interchangeably. Spinoza uses none of these phrases. In fact, he does not explicitly address the issue in these terms at all. Instead, he investigates w hat he calls bondage, a state in which a person lacks self-rule and is instead passive, a slave to his passions. This state is related to weakness of will, but is not identical to it. One task I shall undertake, below, is to clarify the relation between bondage and akrasia.
0.1.2. Why Spinoza?
Despite not discussing it directly, Spinoza does have a theory of akrasia. To locate it, however, some work is required, since the theory is only implicit in his affective psychology and his discussion of bondage. Only by a careful investigation of his
thoughts on ideas, affects, and desire, among other things, m ay we uncover Spinoza's thoughts on the question of weakness of will. This excavation will be well w orth the labor involved. For Spinoza's account of
akrasia is a m arvelously interesting theory.
First of all, his theory is of historical
significance, because it involves certain central and novel views that are normally thought to originate in Hume. So it seems that Spinoza, w hom H um e read, should perhaps be given some of the credit for these novelties. Second of all, Spinoza's theory combines several intuitive aspects of positions generally thought to be m utually exclusive. In this regard, Spinoza's theory of akrasia is conceptually unique, a coherent hybrid view that m ay capture the good of the opposing views while avoiding their pitfalls. satisfying. Third and finally, his theory of akrasia is plausible and philosophically It captures those intuitions we w ant a theory of akrasia to capture. It
presents akratic action as it m ust be understood - as freely and intentionally perform ed action against our better judgment. And it explains the irrationality of akrasia. Very few theories of akrasia manage to do all of these things and, thus, Spinoza's own account could be seen as a useful contribution to our philosophical understanding of the phenom enon of weakness of will. The thrust of this w ork can be stated, first briefly and then in more detail, as follows: Spinoza has an interesting and viable account of akrasia. That account is a weak
judgment intemalism that resembles Aristotle's and Alfred Mele's, though it also appeals
to certain Hum ean intuitions. Specifically, according to Spinoza, akrasia occurs for an agent S just w hen the power of S's irrational desire for y, which involves an irrational judgm ent that y is a good course of action, will surpass the pow er of S's rational desire for x, which involves a rational judgm ent that x is the better course of action; this account of akrasia is plausible and superior to its competitors, in that it better accommodates our intuitions concerning akrasia. The meaning of these term s - "weak
judgm ent internalist," "rational desire," "irrational desire," "rational judgm ent," and "irrational judgm ent" - will be explained in w hat follows.
0.2. An Outline of this Work In the first chapter, I will introduce six theories of akrasia, those of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, David Hume, Donald Davidson, and Alfred Mele. I shall then place these six theorists into classes: strong intemalism, weak intemalism, and extemalism. This
categorization will be m ade based on how each theory answers the following question: W hat is the relation between practical judgm ents and motivation? Doing so will allow us to compare Spinoza w ith these other thinkers in informative ways. In the second chapter, I shall begin to present Spinoza's own account. Before I can dive into his account of bondage to find his implicit theory of akrasia, however, I m ust first establish the fundam ental principles of Spinoza's psychology that I shall use in the subsequent chapter. I begin this preliminary work by exploring his thoughts on ideas, including the three kinds of knowledge and adequacy. Next, I turn to affect, which will play an essential role in the account of akrasia. In discussing affects, I m ust establish their relation to ideas, if we are to understand Spinoza's theory of akrasia. Finally, I shall look at Spinoza's doctrine of the conatus, which is often interpreted in ways that would influence his account of akrasia. In the third chapter, I turn to Spinoza's account of bondage itself. I begin by looking into several aspects of Spinoza's system that differentiate him from the other theorists discussed herein. So, for example, I start w ith Spinoza's rejection of a parts of
the soul doctrine, a rejection that distinguishes his theory from Plato's.
I also
investigate Spinoza's thought on the conatus and egoism, which should allow us to see how Spinoza parts ways w ith Socrates. Most importantly, however, are his thoughts on bondage and akrasia. As I trace Spinoza's ideas through these sections, a coherent picture will emerge. As we shall see, Spinoza's theories most resemble Mele's, though there are aspects of Aristotle and Hum e present as well. I finish the chapter w ith a discussion of the relation between bondage and akrasia. Chapter Four brings all that has preceded it together. In that chapter, I take the Spinozist theory as presented in Chapters Two and Three and compare it to the other six theorists presented in Chapter One. I then review where Spinoza falls in our three fold classification. This comparative and classificatory process will subsequently allow us to investigate Spinoza's theory of akrasia on its own terms. At that point, I will be able to formulate Spinoza's theory of akrasia more carefully and discover what fundam ental assum ptions lie behind it. Once the theory has been formulated, I will investigate whether akrasia, in Spinoza's theory, meets the criteria any successful account m ust meet - that akratic action is freely and intentionally perform ed against our better judgment. Finally, I shall issue an evaluation of the w orth of Spinoza's theory of akrasia.
0.3. A Survey of the Literature Despite the passions' prom inent role in the Ethics, they have received relatively little attention from scholars.1 Spinoza's concern w ith the threat of akrasia has received
even less.2 In fact, in the Spinoza secondary literature, akrasia only receives extended attention in a handful of articles or book chapters. In his contribution to the Cambridge Companion to Spinoza, Michael Della Rocca discusses akrasia and several surrounding issues in passing as part of his sweeping overview of Spinoza's psychology in general.3 Della Rocca's prim ary concern
throughout most of this hefty chapter is Spinoza's doctrine of the conatus and the specific terms that Spinoza employs in 3p6 and its demonstration. One of Della Rocca's aims in this essay is to interpret the conatus as allowing future-oriented hum an reasoning. This is im portant because Spinoza is usually
interpreted as denying that any kind of teleological reasoning is possible, which w ould preclude an future-directed planning. Yet people clearly perform such reasoning, so we m ust reinterpret the conatus to allow it. I do not find the problem to be as pressing as some, however. Spinoza is
concerned to banish teleological explanation as found in the Scholastic tradition, where the sleep-inducing nature of opium is explained by reference to "the dormitive virtue." Spinoza is not saying that hum an beings cannot make plans for the future. All he wishes to do is to deny final causation and to assert the universality of efficient causation. Just as a sophisticated behaviorist can easily explain seemingly teleological behavior by reference to a complex netw ork of stimuli and impulses, so too can Spinoza explain future-oriented planning by using only efficient causation. In short, Della
Rocca's w orry leads him to focus on issues quite distinct from those that interest us here.
When Della Rocca turns to discuss akrasia, he carries this project of accommodating future-oriented states w ith him. He therefore attem pts to explain
akrasia by positing a doctrine of anticipation. In fact, this doctrine of anticipation is the
heart and soul of his interpretation of akrasia. According to Della Rocca, w hen the mind is in this state of anticipation, the body is in the state that w ould occur if the state of affairs anticipated were to obtain. That is, w hen we anticipate some pleasure or pain, the body actually feels the anticipated pleasure or pain before the fact. He then qualifies this and says that the anticipation-state is weaker than the realization-state. In response, one m ight ask the following: (a) on w hat textual basis does Della Rocca attribute this discussion of anticipation? In fact, Spinoza has a
detailed account of hope and fear, one that seems underutilized here, (b) If I anticipate my death, in w hat state is m y body? Della Rocca has not sufficiently m otivated his interpretation. He aims at
addressing w hat he takes to be a standing problem w ith Spinoza's theory, w hen in fact the existence of that problem is questionable. It seems that Della Rocca's attem pt to explain akrasia in Spinoza rests on dubious ground. Why w ould we need to speak of a special, forward-looking anticipatory feature to mental states? Consider the following case. Say that m y wife tells me that there will be a birthday party for me tomorrow, at which time I will eat chocolate cake. My
experiences in the past w ith chocolate cake have caused me joy; that joy is revived by the belief that I will soon have chocolate cake again. Here, it is not the pleasure of the future, but the pleasure of the past that is involved in my anticipation. It is past
experience that causes the impulses that direct our actions.
In other words, past
experiences, memories, and the desires they cause can explain akrasia. We do not need to posit an additional, anticipatory m ental state in which we actually feel in the present w hat we expect to feel in the future. Consider another case. Say now that my wife tells me that we shall eat rhubarb pie. Since I have never eaten rhubarb pie, I cannot revive an old feeling of pleasure. How can I feel an anticipatory joy in this case? In fact, I will not feel such a tingle unless I also believe that rhubarb pie is tasty. Perhaps I ask m y wife w hat rhubarb pie is like and she says that it is like strawberry, but more tart. Since I have enjoyed strawberries and tart fruit in the past, I feel those old pleasures again in m y anticipation for rhubarb pie. And if I choose to come home early from work in order to eat the pie, which is teleological behavior (coming home early is aimed at the future pie eating), the stimuli of the past will be driving me to do so. No theory of future-oriented anticipation is necessary. In his recent article, "Spinoza's Account of Akrasia," M artin Lin attem pts to elaborate on Della Rocca's account.4 In so far as his account simply adopts Della Rocca's anticipation interpretation, Lin's account also suffers. Beyond Della Rocca, Lin locates three principles as the basis for how akrasia works in Spinoza. First, stated at 4pl0, Spinoza asserts that the farther an event is believed to be in the future, the weaker our affects concerning the event. Second, stated in 4pl5, desires based on knowledge of the good can be overpowered. A nd third, stated in 4pl6, desires regarding knowledge
10 of future goods can be easily overcome. The third of these is the intersection of the previous two, of course. These principles are aspects of Spinoza's theory of akrasia, to be sure. Yet these principles are not fundam ental, nor is this list exhaustive of relevant Spinozist principles contributing to akrasia. For example, Lin does not explain why knowledge of good and evil can be overpowered. As we shall show below, this principle can be explained through more fundam ental psychological principles. And Lin makes no m ention of the essential 4p60, where Spinoza says, "a Desire arising from either a Joy or a Sadness related to one, or several, but not to all parts of the Body, has no regard for the advantage of the whole m an."5 This principle is certainly relevant to at least some explanations of akrasia. On the other hand, Lin rightly understands Spinoza's theory of m ind as one of a spiritual automaton, saying: By the seventeenth century, the paradigm that encompassed faculty psychology was widely viewed as regressive, both conceptually and empirically. Spinoza aspires to w hat could be described as a mechanistic psychology, parallel under the attribute of thought to the mechanistic physics he endorses under the attribute of extension, and which portrays the m ind as an " automa spirituale." His account of akrasia is fully consistent with that goal. (28) This mechanistic view of Spinoza's theory of m ind is one for which I will argue at length below. Lin is right to accept it and this acceptance could strengthen his argum ent. On the next page, however, Lin asserts a problematic claim, saying:
11 Instead of identifying the rational and governing aspect of an individual with some subset of its parts, he holds that all innate tendencies are rational. Only desires that are alien, i.e., those the existence of which is owed in part to an external cause, are irrational, and require domination. (29) This claim is false. Lin overlooks 3p9, where Spinoza explicitly includes irrationality in the hum an essence. This is one of the fundam ental psychological principles that Lin like most other commentators - does not discuss. Olli Koistinen presents an interpretation of Spinoza that is an alternative to Della Rocca's.6 Koistinen presents an interesting discussion, claiming that Spinoza accepts the principles norm ally found only in those thinkers who deny that akrasia is possible. Yet Spinoza accepts akrasia. Thus, Koistinen reasons, Spinoza's thought represents a uniquely desirable theory - one that begins w ith the allegedly plausible premises of Socrates yet ends w ith the intuitive acceptance of akrasia. Unfortunately, Koistinen's entire argum ent turns on his assertion that Spinoza affirms w hat he calls a "one-goal theory," a view that has its locus classicus in Plato's
Protagoras. According to the one-goal theory, all hum an desires aim at the same, single
end. In Spinoza's case - as well as Socrates' - that same, single end is increasing our pleasure.
If Spinoza were in fact to accept this one-goal theory, then Koistinen's
argum ent w ould carry weight. Spinoza does not accept the one-goal theory, however. According to the one goal theory, all our desires reduce to a single, fundam ental desire for the good. This means that all desires are reducible and thus commensurable. Yet Spinoza follows Plato and
Aristotle on this point. Plato rejects the Socratic one-goal theory, noting that thirst is not the desire for good - it is desire for drink. And one desire can oppose and be contrary to another. If we adopt the one-goal theory, however, it is very difficult to see how desires could be fundamentally opposed to one another. For if all desires aim at the same goal, psychological conflict will occur only between competing means to that goal. Thus, the only psychological conflict we should experience is between relative cause-effect beliefs. In short, then, if we accept the one-goal theory, we m ust reject any real affective or emotional conflict. And this is a view strongly foreign to Spinoza's mechanistic,
affective psychology, as we shall see below.
13
Chapter One: Theories of Akrasia
1.1. Theories of Akrasia Since the beginning, philosophers have discussed akrasia. Socrates himself took
akrasia very seriously and, since his time, m any prom inent thinkers have weighed in
with their own views on the topic. In this chapter, six of the most prom inent views of
akrasia will be sketched.
We shall begin, appropriately enough, with Socrates' famous denial of the possibility of akrasia. He believed that no one could willingly and intentionally choose against one's better judgment. Like all the thinkers discussed here, Socrates' views on
akrasia grow out of his notions of practical reasoning and desire.
In the later Platonic dialogues, especially the Republic, Plato takes a new position on akrasia. Instead of denying its possibility, he offers a m odel of the m ind that
accommodates the phenomenon. W hereas Socrates' agent was a unified, rational m ind single-mindedly pursuing its own good, Plato's agent is a divided soul, containing
14 various competing parts. According to Plato, w hen our passionate soul overpowers our rational soul, we m ay suffer akrasia. Aristotle rejects Plato's account of akrasia, in part because he finds m any problems in Plato's division of the soul. According to Aristotle, the single, unitary rational soul is responsible for both rational and akratic acts. His account of akrasia is based in his theory of practical reasoning. W hen we reason, he argues, we form a practical syllogism, which involves a major, universal and a minor, particular premise. Sometimes, however, we feel a strong, bodily passion for the particular involved in the practical syllogism. This passion leads us to attend solely to the particular in a way that leads us to act against the conclusion of the practical syllogism. Thus, we have
knowledge of the conclusion of the practical syllogism, but we do not use that knowledge, instead acting from the passion for the particular. Many centuries later, David Hum e presented a significant challenge to these views. Before Hume, philosophers generally believed that akrasia involved a seeming paradox: how could reason dictate that we act one way, but desire direct us to act another way? This problem gets off the ground only if our practical judgm ents are motivating. Hum e rejected this fundam ental premise, arguing instead that reason is the slave to the passions. For Hume, judgm ents concerning w hat action w ould be best do not entail desires to perform that action. Instead, H um e suggested, such judgm ents are inert, incapable of m oving us to act w ithout the presence of some independent desire. For Hum e, the problem of akrasia is no problem at all.
15 In the 20th Century, m any philosophers have presented versions of historical these positions.7 Perhaps most renowned among them is Donald Davidson. Davidson presents the problem of akrasia as he sees it and then argues that it is indeed possible in his sense and explainable. Davidson accounts for the seeming contradiction by positing two kinds of judgment. One is a conditional judgm ent concerning w hat w ould be best for us to do all-things-considered. The other is an unconditional judgm ent concerning w hether this particular action is good or not. Akratic action occurs, according to
Davidson, just w hen an agent acts on an unconditional judgm ent that contravenes a conditional judgm ent of the agent. So, w hen we act on a particular judgm ent that runs contrary to some prior all-things-considered judgm ent we have made, w e act akratically. The final thinker I shall discuss here is Alfred Mele. Mele is perhaps the
preem inent theorist of akrasia w riting today. Since his landm ark 1987 book Irrationality:
A n Essay on Akrasia, Self-Deception and Self-Control, he has wrestled w ith the problem of
weakness of will.8 Here, the outlines of his view will be presented. Indeed, Mele's view is of particular interest, because it is the theory that most resembles Spinoza's own. After having discussed these six thinkers, I shall begin to explore Spinoza's own theory of akrasia.
1.1.1. Socrates
Socrates famously denies the possibility of akrasia.9 Perhaps the m ost prom inent text in which Socrates denies the possibility of akrasia is in the Protagoras, especially 3517. There, Socrates and his interlocutors investigate the nature of courage. Along the
16 way, however, the question of w hether pleasure is a good arises. Protagoras protests that it is not always good, for it sometimes leads us to choose the lesser good over the greater. According to Socrates' reconstruction of Protagoras' view, pleasure can even drag around our knowledge of the good and lead us to choose some pleasure that is in fact not a good at all. Socrates then sets out to investigate w hether this can occur; can pleasure lead us to do w hat we know to be bad? In other words, can we suffer from
akrasia?
Socrates begins his argum ent that akrasia is impossible by laying out the two opposing views, saying, Most people think this w ay about it, that [knowledge] is not a powerful thing, neither a leader nor a ruler...w hile knowledge is often present in a m an, w hat rules him is not knowledge but rather anything else - sometimes desire, sometimes pleasure, sometimes pain...they think of knowledge as being utterly dragged around by all these other things as if it were a slave...or does it seem to you that knowledge is a fine thing capable of ruling a person, and if someone were to know w hat is good and w hat is bad, then he w ould not be forced by anything to act otherwise than knowledge dictates, and intelligence w ould be sufficient to save a person? (352bl-352c5) According to Socrates, most people believe that we are ruled by desires, perhaps to pursue pleasure and avoid pain, and that our knowledge of the good does not rule us. W hen these ruling desires run counter to our knowledge of the good, so m uch the worse for our knowledge, m ost people believe.
17 Socrates describes the alleged weakness of knowledge, saying, "most
people...m aintain that most people are unwilling to do w hat is best, even though they know w hat it is and are able to do it. And w hen I have asked them the reason for this, they say that those w ho act that way do so because they are overcome by pleasure or pain..." (352d2-352el). Pleasure is said to overcome or overpower us, preventing us from acting on our knowledge. Opposed to that is Socrates' view that knowledge is capable of ruling us, according to which, if we have knowledge of the good and the bad, we will necessarily pursue the good. Socrates begins his argum ent by first arguing for hedonism, according to which the good is pleasure and the bad pain. The good is not just immediate pain or pleasure, however, but overall pain and pleasure. Thus, surgery, though painful in the short run, is a good in the long run because it brings a net positive am ount of pleasure. Similarly, too m uch drink m ay be pleasurable now, but in the long run has a net negative amount of pleasure. Thus, too m uch drink is bad. In short, Socrates claims that we are able to distinguish something that m ay be temporarily pleasant from the overall good, which is w hat is pleasant overall. Socrates rejects the possibility of akrasia, claiming that if one accepts his understanding of the good then, he says, "your position will become absurd, w hen you say frequently that a m an, knowing the bad to be bad, nevertheless does that very thing, w hen he is able not to do it, having been driven and overwhelmed by pleasure" (355bl255b3). Socrates describes the akratic as one w ho does the bad knowing it to be bad
18 because he is overcome by pleasure. But if pleasure is identical to the good, then this means the akratic does the bad because he is overcome by the good, which is absurd. He then reverses the substitution, replacing good and bad w ith pleasure and pain. Thus the akratic does painful things, knowing them to be painful, on account of being overcome by pleasant things that clearly do not outweigh the painful things. If the pleasure were known to outweigh the pain, then we w ould not describe this person as akratic, for he would be employing good judgment. But to say that someone
knowingly chooses the more painful thing because he is overwhelm ed by a lesser pleasant thing is also absurd. Socrates also rejects the argum ent from temporal bias. According to this
argum ent, the akratic agent chooses a lesser present good over a greater good in the future, usually because he is short-sighted. Socrates replies by saying that the only way to evaluate relative pleasures and pains is to weigh them against one another. And a proper weighing will always result in a preference for the one that brings greater pleasure, regardless of tem poral considerations. Present lesser goods only appear to overshadow future greater goods, in m uch the same way that smaller objects that are near appear larger than farther objects that, in reality, are actually larger. If we judge according to appearances, indeed, we may
mistakenly act as though the nearer building were larger. And if we pass judgm ent according to appearances, then perhaps we w ould choose the lesser present good over the greater future good. As Socrates says,
19 While the pow er of appearance often makes us w ander all over the place in confusion, often changing our m inds about the same things and regretting our actions and choices w ith respect to things large and small, the art of measurement in contrast, w ould make the appearances lose their pow er by showing us the truth, w ould give us peace of mind firmly rooted in the truth and would save our life. (356dl-356el) He then concludes that the results of this m easurem ent are a kind of knowledge. When we lack such knowledge, our m ind is at the mercy of appearance, which causes us to w ander all over the place, changing our m inds regularly. In other words, in ignorance, we m ay suffer a vacillation of the m ind that makes choosing more difficult.10 Note that in this vacillation of m ind, we vacillate between two judgments as to w hat w ould be best overall for us, not between our overall good and some tem porary pleasure or desire. And this vacillation is also not between conflicting desires, but between tw o judgm ents as to which means to happiness is best. Knowledge guarantees that we evaluate our goods truly, Socrates holds. Now, Protagoras had originally claimed that akrasia was possible and that it involved even our knowledge being ruled by pleasure. But, Socrates says, ...those who make mistakes w ith regard to the choice of pleasure or pain, in other words, w ith regard to good and bad, do so because of a lack of knowledge...so this is w hat "being overcome by pleasure" is - ignorance in the highest degree... (357d3-357e3) In short, then, there can be no akratic actions. W hen we err, we are simply in ignorance.
20 Socrates' denial of akrasia involves three claims, which are as follows: (1) All hum an action aims at the good, where the good is our m aximum possible pleasure, or happiness, in the long-run; (2) knowledge is stable, while appearance is fluctuating. Socrates' denial of akrasia lie in (1). (2) is offered as an alternative explanation for the phenom enon nam ed akrasia. According to (1), all hum an action has as its motivation knowledge of belief that the action will bring about our good.11 Thus, whenever we act, we do so in pursuit of our overall, long-term good. And (2) offers an explanation as to how we can suffer something that seems to be akrasia. For, w hen we operate only on appearances, our m ind is liable to vacillation. And w hen faced w ith certain choices, our m ind m ay flip-flop between appearances of the good, giving the impression of conflict. In sum, Socrates believes that all hum an action is motivated by a singular, fundam ental desire - the desire for our overall, long-term happiness. Since all actions aim at this one goal, we choose only the m eans by which to arrive at that goal. O ur choice of means is determined not by desires, for those all aim at the same end, but by our beliefs. And in our desire for the good, we are all the same, as Socrates elsewhere says, "Surely w anting the good belongs to everyone, and in this no one person is better than any other."12 It is not our desire, for Socrates, but our beliefs, that determine w hether we pursue the true good or not. Therefore, we cannot ever be in a situation where our beliefs or knowledge about our good are overcome by a conflicting desire, for all of our desires in fact aim at that very good. The only conflict that can arise is between
21 competing means tow ard the same end. W hen we appear to suffer akrasia, we are in fact experiencing vacillation of m ind between competing means tow ard the same end. A nd w hen we act based on mere appearance and not knowledge, we are especially vulnerable to such vacillations. In Terry Penner's terms, Socrates denies the possibility of synchronic akrasia, where that is understood as action that is simultaneously represented as both desirable and not in our best interest. Instead, he interprets Socrates as allowing only diachronic
akrasia, where that is understood as action that occurs during a period of flip-flopping
between representations, one that the action perform ed is the best m eans to our happiness, and the other that the action perform ed is not the nest means to our happiness. We feel conflicted because we cannot decide w hether this course of action is or is not best. W hen we act from appearances, we act in the m idst of such vacillation. It is to be expected, then, that such action m ay be preceded and followed by judgm ents that such an action is not in our best interest. Thus, in retrospect, we mistakenly believe we suffered synchronic akrasia, w hen in fact we did not. Because he believed all hum an motivation reduces to our desire for happiness, Socrates could not countenance synchronic akrasia. As opposed to Socrates, all of the theorists I will discuss subsequently accept its possibility. Their challenge is to account for how a hum an agent could choose a course of action while representing that course of action as less desirable than another course of action that the agent judges to be available. As part of this account, they m ust explain how these supposedly competing desires could result in intentional or deliberate action and not compelled behavior or a
22 choice made out of ignorance. In other words, if our better judgm ent really is overcome by some passion in akratic action, how are we responsible for that action?
1.1.2. Plato
In the later dialogues, especially the Republic, Plato presents a theory of hum an action that resembles Socrates' in some respects, but one that departs from his on certain key points.13 Most importantly, the later Plato denies Socrates' reduction of all desires to a singular desire for the good, which is expressed in (1), above. For Plato, desires are distinguished by their objects and, thus, can be directed at a variety of different and perhaps competing things. Also im portant is Plato' division of the soul into three parts, a rational soul, a passionate or spirited soul, and a desiring or sensitive soul. Though Plato m ay offer an alternative explanation that allows for something like synchronic akrasia, his account fails to explain how these actions could count as deliberate, intentional actions. incoherence. In the Republic, Plato argues that each of the parts of the soul has its own desires, which can come into conflict. This conflict of desires can result in akrasia, which occurs when the desires of the spirited or desirous souls overpower the desires of the rational soul. Plato argues for his parts of the soul doctrine by pointing to inner psychological conflict. This is an interesting departure from Socrates, who took it upon himself to explain away such conflict as being only apparent; such apparent conflict is in fact Further, his account of the agent is in danger of
23 vacillation. As opposed to this approach, Plato just begins w ith the acceptance of the reality of this conflict. Consider w hat he says in the Republic at 436b, where he says, "It is obvious that the same thing will not be willing to do or undergo opposites in the same part of itself, in relation to the same thing, at the same time. So, if we ever find this happening in the soul, w e'll know that we aren't dealing with one thing but m any."14 He then argues that "assent and dissent, w anting to have something and rejecting it" are pairs of opposites.15 Next, he argues that having an appetite for something, such as hunger for food and thirst for drink, can also be opposites, for we can w ant to have food and we can also w ant not to have food. Now, if a single person both wants and does not w ant the same thing at the same time, it m ust be that these desires are not in the same part of him. As an example, Plato considers a thirsty m an who does not want to drink. He says: Now, w ould we assert that sometimes there are thirsty people who don't wish to drink? -Certainly, it happens often to m any different people. What, then, should one say about them? Isn't it that there is something in their soul, bidding them to drink, and something different, forbidding them to do so, that overrules the thing that bids? - 1 think so. Doesn't that which forbids in such cases come into play - if it comes into play at all - as a result of rational calculation, while w hat drives and drags them to drink is a result of feelings and diseases? -Apparently.
24 Hence it isn't unreasonable for us to claim that they are two, and different from one another. We'll call the part of the soul w ith which it calculates the rational part and the part w ith which it lusts, hungers, thirsts, and gets exciting by other appetites the irrational appetitive part...(439cl-d5; Plato, Complete Works, p. 1071) Insofar as he is thirsty, he wants drink, but insofar as he wishes not to drink, he wants not to drink. As Plato has argued, these tw o wants are opposites and cannot exist in the same part at the same time. Thus, they m ust exist in the m an in different parts of him. Thus, when a m an desires drink and at the same time judges that he should not drink, he feels the conflict of two parts of his soul. Plato's account suggests competing desires, one in the rational part of the soul and the other in the desirous, appetitive part of the soul. According to Plato, these two desires, the rational and the appetitive, cannot each be reduced to a fundam ental desire for the good, as Socrates had argued. Instead, Plato argues, each desire is conditioned by its object. Plato says: Now, insofar as it is thirst, is it an appetite in the soul for more than that for which we say that it is the appetite? For example, is thirst thirst for hot drink or cold, or m uch drink or little, or, in a w ord, for drink of a certain sort? Or isn't it rather that, where heat is present as well as thirst, it causes the appetite to be for something cold as well, and where cold for something hot...B ut thirst itself will never be for anything other than w hat it is in its nature to be for, namely, drink itself, and hunger for food...(437d3-el)
25 So, the objects of our desire condition and define our desires. W hen we thirst, we desire drink and this desire m ust be understood as a desire for drink. From this conclusion, Plato then argues, "hence the soul of the thirsty person, insofar as he's thirsty, doesn't wish anything else but to drink...Therefore, if something draw s it back w hen it is thirsting, w ouldn't that be something different in it from w hatever thirsts and drives it like a beast to drink?" (439a5-b2). This amounts to the rejection of the Socratic claim that all desires are really just the desire for our ow n long term, overall happiness. Plato flatly denies that move here, arguing that each particular desire is a desire for some particular object and not for anything more than that. Further, w hen we experience a seeming conflict of desire, as w hen we thirst but desire not to drink, we must be experiencing tw o distinct desires. For surely, Plato argues, that which draw s us away from drinking m ust be something different from that which draw s us to drink. Thus these desires cannot at root be the same thing; instead, they m ust be
different. In other words, Plato rejects Socrates' theory by positing irreducible and incommensurable desires that can oppose one another. Like Socrates, however, he does not allow that an agent could at the same time both pursue a course of action and try to refrain, so he divides the agent into parts, one of which pursues and the other of which tries to refrain. Plato's account has certain advantages and disadvantages compared to Socrates'. First of all, Plato's account includes synchronic akrasia, because we can simultaneously both w ant to drink and w ant to refrain from drink. On the other hand, Plato's
26 explanation comes at a cost, for his account threatens the akratic nature of the act. Remember, for an act x to be akratic, it m ust (a) be intentional or deliberate and (b) be perform ed by an agent who knows that x is not the best available course of action. If we take Plato's account seriously, either (a) or (b) m ay be in jeopardy. W hen the desire to drink, which derives from the appetitive part of the soul, overwhelms the desire to refrain, found in the rational part of the soul, the agent seems to drink either unintentionally or unknowingly. Consider the desire causing the drinking behavior. On the one hand, we could say that the rational agent is overpowered by a foreign desire originating in his body. If this is the case, then the rational agent does not drink deliberately. Instead, the
drinking behavior comes over him like an irrepressible sneeze, despite his best attem pts to refrain. On the other hand, we could say that the appetitive agent simply follows his own desire and does not actually w ant to refrain, the desire to refrain being just as foreign to this appetitive agent as the desire to drink was to the rational agent. The real problem lies in explaining how one agent m ay have both the desire to drink and the desire to refrain. Thus, in addition to the vexing metaphysical problems that arise from his theory, Plato's tripartite nature of the soul also is problematic as a solution to the problem of
akrasia. As we shall see, Plato's student Aristotle addressed this difficulty head on.
1.1.3. Aristotle
27 Aristotle presents an account of akrasia seated in a larger theory of practical reasoning. That account is to be found in Book VII of the Nicomachean Ethics. He begins in section 2 of that book by introducing and criticizing Socrates' denial of akrasia. According to Aristotle, Socrates holds that "our action conflicts w ith w hat is best only because we are ignorant."16 Aristotle denies this is the case because, w hen someone acts from a false belief, we do not blame them, whereas we do not pardon vices such as incontinence or akrasia. Aristotle argues against Socrates by appealing to our moral intuitions. Because of the way we blame and excuse, Aristotle argues, Socrates' account cannot be correct. Aristotle says: Some people concede some of [Socrates' points], but reject some of them. For they agree that nothing is superior to knowledge, but they deny the claim that no one's action conflicts w ith w hat has seemed better to him. That is w hy they say that w hen the incontinent person is overcome by pleasure he has only belief, no knowledge. If however, he has belief, not knowledge, and the supposition that resists is not strong, but only a weak one, such as people have w hen they are in doubt, w e will pardon failure to abide by these beliefs against strong appetites. In fact, however, we do not pardon vice, or any other blam eworthy condition [and incontinence is one of these]. (1145b32-1146a4; bracketed phrases in Irw in's translation; p. 101) W hen we are ignorant, we are not held to be blam eworthy if we are unable to resist strong desires. And w hen we have weak or doubtful belief, we are similarly excused.
28 However, when we are incontinent and suffer akrasia, we are not excused, but held accountable, as we should be. Because of this im portant moral distinction between acting against the good from ignorance or weak belief and acting against the good from incontinence, Aristotle suggests, incontinence cannot be the same as acting from weak or doubtful belief. Thus, Socrates' explanation of akrasia as being the result of weak or doubtful belief is false, Aristotle argues. In the following section, Aristotle takes up the question again and offers his own account of akrasia. He has suggested in the previous section that Socrates' account, that
akrasia is nothing but ignorance, is false. Thus he m ust explain in w hat way the akratic
agent possesses knowledge of the good when he acts akratically. He explains how this occurs w ith the help of his theory of practical reason. Aristotle begins by m aking an im portant distinction between incontinence and intemperance. The intem perate person, Aristotle says, "acts on decision when he is led on, since he thinks it is right in every case to pursue the pleasant thing at hand; the incontinent person, however, thinks it w rong to pursue this pleasant thing, yet still pursues it."17 Thus, incontinent or akratic action involves pursuing, i.e., choosing, the course of action that one knows or believes to be wrong. And the question of whether the akratic action contravenes knowledge or mere firm belief is irrelevant, Aristotle says. In order to account for akrasia, Aristotle introduces a distinction in ways of knowing. He says, But we speak of knowing in two ways; we ascribe it both to someone who has it w ithout using it and to someone who is using it. Hence it will m atter whether
29 someone has the knowledge that his action is wrong, w ithout attending to his knowledge, or he both has it and attends to it. For this second case seems extraordinary, but wrong action where he does not attend to his knowledge does not seem extraordinary. (1146b31-36; Irwin, 103) We m ay have knowledge of some good and act on that knowledge, or we may possess such knowledge, but act from some other motivation. The account Aristotle is
establishing here is this: w hen the akratic agent acts, he does not primarily attend to his knowledge that this action is bad - he does not act from that knowledge, but from something else. The details of this account turn on Aristotle's theory of the practical syllogism. A practical syllogism contains a universal, or major, premise and a particular, or minor, premise, the conclusion of which issues in an action. Aristotle says, Further, since there are two types of premises, someone's action m ay well conflict w ith his knowledge if he has both types of premises, but uses only the universal premise and not the particular premise. For it is particulars that are achievable in action... (1147al-4) Imagine a person who believes the following universal premise: 'a dieter ought not to eat cake.' Then say that this person also affirms the following particular premises: 'I am a dieter' and 'this is cake.' Now, these premises entail the conclusion, 'I ought not to eat this.' However, if I do not use or attend to some aspects of this syllogism, then this conclusion either does not follow or is not in use.
30 According to Aristotle, one m ight fail to attend to this practical syllogism because the particular in the m inor premise m ay occupy your attention. The particular being generally sensory, it is perceptual and thus resistant to rationality, according to Aristotle. He says, Further, we m ay also look at the cause [of akrasia] in the following way, referring to [human] nature. For one belief is universal; the other is about particulars, and because they are particulars, perception controls them ... Suppose, then that someone has the universal belief hindering him from tasting; he has the second belief, that everything sweet is pleasant and this is sweet, and this belief is active; but it turns out that appetite is present in him. The belief, then, tells him to avoid this, but appetite leads him on... (1147a25-1147a36; Irwin, 1043-4) We m ay indeed be aware that we ought not eat this cake. If we also have appetite, however, this appetite can lead us to reason poorly and act in a different manner. Let us return to our example. Say that a person forms the following practical syllogism: Major premise: a dieter ought not to eat sweet things; Minor premises: I am a dieter; this is cake, which is sweet; Conclusion: thus, I ought not eat this. N ow say that the person also has this belief: this cake, being sweet, is pleasant. The first practical syllogism above should direct the person not eat the cake. But,
Aristotle says, if the person also feels the appetite of hunger, then the person m ight fail to follow through and act on this practical syllogism. For w hen they consider the
31 practical syllogism, they have to consider the particular, the cake. A nd this is when their appetite causes them to divert their attention from the practical syllogism to the alternative line of reasoning that focuses simply on the pleasantness of the cake. Aristotle describes just w hat is in opposition when akrasia occurs and we choose to pursue some particular that our judgm ent has forbidden, saying, The result, then, is that in a way reason and belief make him act incontinently. The [second] belief is contrary to the correct reason, but only coincidentally, not in its ow n right. For the appetite, not the belief, is contrary [in its own right to the correct reason]. That is also w hy beasts are not incontinent, because they have no universal supposition, but [only] appearance and m em ory of particulars. (1147bl-6; Irwin, 104) If I form the practical syllogism laid out above, I will reason from the universal premise that a dieter ought to avoid sweet things. Now, when no contrary appetite is present, I normally form the minor premise as well, that this thing before me, a dieter, is a sweet cake, which leads me to conclude that I ought not to eat it. However, w hen I feel the pull of appetite, I m ay return to the minor premise and dwell on the particular piece of cake and its sweetness. I know that the cake, being sweet, w ould be pleasant to eat. The appetite then causes me to employ this particular not in the context of the universal premise and the practical syllogism, but merely to act from the pleasantness of the particular. Thus I eat the cake, even though my m ind contains the knowledge that I ought not eat the cake. At the very m om ent of choice, m y mind contains the universal
32 premise and the particular premise, but m y m ind does not attend to the universal premise, only the particular one. Thus I act incontinently, or akratically. Let me summarize the account. According to Aristotle, our actions normally stem from deliberation and practical syllogisms that involve a universal and particular premise. The major premise, being universal, contains an abstract principle, while the minor premise, being particular, contains a perception. Now, perceptions are
necessarily bodily things, for Aristotle. If the body becomes disturbed by a strong bodily passion, however, such as hunger or lust, the m ind's conception of that particular can become skewed or unstable. This instability sometimes leads the m ind to focus only on the particular, attending to its pleasantness or unpleasantness, and not attending to the universal premise that accompanies it. Thus, under pressure from certain bodily
passions, our practical reasoning may function defectively, so that it issues actions that ru n contrary to our judgments, thus resulting in akratic action. Several further features of Aristotle's account require comment. To begin, the account just given concerns only in cases of sensual desire, such as lust or hunger. These cases, which are called weak or passionate akrasia, involve our practical deliberations being short-circuited, if you will, by the strength of a bodily passion or appetite. Thus, this account of akrasia does not include cases where an agent acts
akratically as a result of a calm deliberative process, which we m ay call calm akrasia. In calm akrasia, the agent performs a rational deliberation, but arrives at conclusions that seem to rim counter to reason. For example, say that a person has excessive love of country. This person m ay reason as follows:
33 Major premise: one ought to love one's country and so one ought to do whatever one can to aid one's country; Minor premise: I could aid m y country by carrying out torture on these terror suspects; Conclusion: I will carry out this torture, even though it generally runs against other principles I may affirm. This kind of character is one who m ay calmly and rationally deliberate about w hat w ould be best to do. But sometimes, as in this case, these conclusions m ay be abhorrent and rim contrary to his principles. Yet in some cases, he may carry them out anyway. And he may do so simply because he has an excessive love of country. This passion colors and skews his practical reasoning, causing him to value some things too highly. According to Aristotle, this is not a case of akrasia, strictly speaking, because no bodily
appetite has prevented m y from acting on universal principles. Instead, I am guilty of faulty
reasoning, Aristotle w ould say. And this is exactly the same conclusion that Socrates w ould reach. In other words, Aristotle's account agrees with Socrates' except in cases of bodily appetites. Like Plato and unlike Socrates, Aristotle holds that bodily appetites can overcome reason and cause us to act akratically. Aristotle's theory is not w ithout problems. This account of akrasia may be
vulnerable to one of the charges leveled against the Platonic account, which is the charge that akratic action fails to be deliberate or intentional. For, if akratic action is the result of our reason being blinded or bound by a physical impulse or appetite, how can we be said to choose that action intentionally, or to perform that action deliberately? It
34 is not quite clear how we can say this. account lend it this difficulty. As opposed to Plato, however, the problem of multiple agents does not as readily arise for Aristotle, because his account of the practical reasoning integrates the competing motivations into a single practical syllogism. After all, passionate akratic action occurs when one agent entertains a single practical syllogism, but attends too carefully to one aspect and disregards the other. This kind of account makes a parts-ofthe-soul doctrine impossible. On the other hand, Aristotle's bodily appetites seem Perhaps the Platonic origins of Aristotle's
steadfastly anti-cognitive. They involve only the brute perceptions of particulars, which is the same kind of cognition that Aristotle ascribes to animals. Thus, for Aristotle, akratic action occurs w hen a rational animal allows his bestial appetites to direct his practical reasoning, so that he disregards the distinctly rational aspects of that reasoning, namely, the universal principles. Akrasia, then, is the trium ph of the bodily perceived, corporeal particular over the cognitively apprehended universal, abstract principle. Thus, Aristotle provides an account of akrasia that is largely Socratic, but one that accepts the Platonic point that, sometimes, bodily appetites rooted in particulars can overpow er the force of reason. W ith the exception of an arguably narrow range of cases, reason will always succeed in directing action. Thus, as long as we can control our bodily passions, we need only w orry about gaining knowledge in order to avoid error and incontinence.
1.1 A. Hume
35 Over the centuries after Aristotle, various philosophers advocated views that resembled those of Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates in various ways. Except for Spinoza and perhaps the Stoics, however, no one presented a radically distinct theory of akrasia until David Hum e.18 According to Socrates, if one believes a course of action to be best, then one will be motivated to pursue that course of action and will attem pt to do so. According to Aristotle and Plato, if one believes a course of action to be best, one will attem pt to pursue that course of action only if passion does not overwhelm or misdirect our reasoning. All of these ancient views hold judgm ent and motivation in intimate connection. Hum e famously split judgm ent from motivation, claiming that our desires to act develop independently of our judgments. Indeed, for Hume, "Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey th em ."19 Let us turn to H um e's argum ent for this remarkable conclusion. Hum e begins by stating w hat he takes to be the received view, a view that is reminiscent of Aristotle's, w hen he says, Nothing is more usual in philosophy, and even in common life, than to talk of the combat of passion and reason, to give the preference to reason, and assert that m en are only so far virtuous as they conform themselves to its dictates. Every rational creature, it is said, is obliged to regulate his actions by reason; and if any other motive or principle challenge the direction of his conduct, he ought
36 to oppose it, till it be entirely subdued, or at least brought to a conformity with that superior principle.20 Aristotle explains akrasia, for example, as a case where the pow er of a passion causes us to reason poorly. If we are to be continent and thus virtuous, we m ust subdue those passions and assert the supremacy of reason, Aristotle holds. And this is the view that Hum e sketches here - the view that he will endeavor to reject. According to Hume, w hen considering an object, we have the potential to expect pain or pleasure. Reason comes into to play here, because it informs us of the causal relations the possibly painful or pleasurable object bears to us. This realization will lead us to flee or pursue the object. So reason does play a role in directing our action, but the
motive to act arises not from our knowledge of cause and effect (i.e., our judgm ents of
these relations among ourselves and objects), but from the emotions related to pain and pleasure. Hum e says: But it is evident in this case that the impulse arises not from reason, but is only directed by it. It is from the prospect of pain or pleasure that the aversion or propensity arises tow ards any object: And these emotions extend themselves to the causes and effects of that object, as they are pointed out to us by reason and experience. It can never in the least concern us to know, that such objects are causes, and such others effects, if both the causes and effects be indifferent to us. (414) So, w hen we consider an object, we m ay feel an emotion. This emotion then will lead us to react. The direction of this impulse to react is determ ined by our knowledge of
37 cause and effect. So, for example, say that we see a spider on the floor. The spider causes fear in us. Only after this fear has arisen do we use our causal knowledge to determine how to react. Perhaps, after I feel fear of the spider, I will judge that the spider is venomous and could bite me and that the best way to avoid being bitten is not to approach the spider. The impulse from fear is then directed by this knowledge to move me away from the spider. The bodily motion comes from the fear, while the direction of motion comes from the causal knowledge. And no further judgm ent could directly oppose the impulse of fear itself. For, H um e famously says, Nothing can oppose or retard the impulse of passion, but a contrary im pulse... But if reason has no original influence, 'tis impossible it can withstand any principle, which has such an efficacy, or ever keep the m ind in suspence a moment. Thus it appears, that the principle, which opposes our passion, cannot be the same w ith reason, and is only called so in an im proper sense. We speak not strictly and philosophically w hen we talk of the combat of passion and of reason. Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them. (415) Only an impulse can oppose and overpower another impulse. But reason is not an impulse, but a judgment. As such, reason cannot impede an emotional impulse at all. Thus, if something is to oppose a passion, it cannot be reason, for reason serves the passions. For reason does nothing but point the impulses in particular directions; it cannot overpower or impede those impulses.
38 These passions are not rational things; they are not judgm ents or ideas. Instead, they are brute movement. As Hum e says, "A passion is an original existence, or, if you will, modification of existence, and contains not any representative quality."21 And these passions cannot be opposed by the ideas of reason, for ideas m ay oppose only other ideas. So Hum e says, When I am angry, I am actually possest w ith the passion, and in that emotion have no more a reference to any other object, than w hen I am thirsty, or sick, or more than five foot high. It is impossible, therefore, that this passion can be opposed by, or be contradictory to truth and reason; since this contradiction consists in the disagreement of ideas. (Hume, Treatise, 415) Whereas an emotion, for Aristotle, is conditioned by and in some sense refers to its object, H um e's emotions are completely w ithout representational content. For Hume, emotions simply are brute impulses. Thirst is simply a blind drive and not the
judgm ent that drink w ould be good, for example. This non-cognitive account of the passions also means that the passions cannot strictly be irrational, in the sense that they cannot conflict w ith reason. Indeed, Hum e argues, these are the two only ways in which emotions can be called irrational. First, if the emotion arises only as a result of a false belief about som ething's existence, then it can be called irrational. For example, if I feel fear as a result of falsely believing there to be a burglar in m y house, I have an irrational emotion. Second, if I act on an emotion and choose an insufficient means tow ard m y end, I can be called irrational. So, for
39 example, if I fear a burglar and wish to escape him but choose to do so by hiding in a closet he is likely to search, I have acted irrationally. From this view of the non-cognitive nature of emotions and their relation to ideas, Hum e rejects the problem of akrasia. That is, he does not find akrasia to be a problem at all. As he famously says: T is not contrary to reason to prefer the destruction of the whole w orld to the scratching of m y finger. T is not contrary to reason for me to chuse m y total ruin, to prevent the least uneasiness of an Indian or person wholly unknow n to me. T is as little contrary to reason to prefer even m y own acknowledged lesser good to my greater, and have a more ardent affection for the former than the latter. A trivial good may, from certain circumstances, produce a desire superior to w hat arises from the greatest and most valuable enjoyment; nor is there any thing more extraordinary in this, than in mechanics to see one pound weight raise up a hundred by the advantage of its situation. In short, a passion m ust be accompanied w ith some false judgment, in order to its being unreasonable; and even then it is not the passion, properly speaking, which is unreasonable, but the judgment. (416) Emotions arise as a result of a blind process. These emotions impel me tow ard or away from certain things. The specifics of my actions are determined by my ideas, to be sure, but the emotions themselves are the motivations. And these emotional m otivators are neither rational nor irrational, strictly speaking. Thus, if I desire the lesser of two goods m ore than the greater, this is not irrational, H um e says. Just as a lesser w eight m ay
40 raise a greater one in certain circumstances (imagine a lever or pulley system at work), so too can a lesser good create a greater desire. Only if I choose an insufficient means to those desired ends, or if I make a mistake concerning the existence of an entity, can I be said to be irrational in these cases. The emotions themselves afford no such
categorization. Thus, for Hume, akratic action is not irrational. Motivation to act is completely external to our judgm ents concerning m atters of fact - even those concerning w hat w ould benefit or harm us. We m ay judge that a certain course of action is beneficial to us, yet our non-rational desire to follow the lesser course is greater and, thus, we choose the lesser course.22 As Hum e says, "Men often act knowingly against their interest: For which reason the view of the greatest possible good does not always influence them ."23 Hume rejects the description of akrasia according to which reason and the passions struggle to determine hum an action. This does not m ean that he denies all psychic struggle, however, for passions m ay oppose other passions. A nd that feeling of inner turmoil, which other thinkers have ascribed to the conflict of reason and passion, Hum e ascribes to the conflict between calm and violent passions. Because one of the passions involved in calm, the m ind m ay not feel it so strongly and m ay fail to notice its presence. W hen the m ind makes this mistake, Hum e claims, the m ind m ay mistakenly ascribe the opposition to the violent passions to reason itself. This is incorrect, however. So Hum e says, ...there are certain calm desires and tendencies, which, though they be real passions, produce little emotion in the m ind, and are more know n by their effects
41 than by the immediate feeling or sensation... W hen any of these passions are calm, and cause no disorder in the soul, they are very readily taken for the determinations of reason... Beside these calm passions, which often determine the will, there are certain violent emotions of the same kind, which have likewise a great influence on that faculty... W hat we call strength of m ind, implies the prevalence of the calm passions above the violent. (417-8) Strictly speaking, Hum e denies the possibility of akrasia, if akrasia is taken to be irrational. Nevertheless, there is a sense in which Hum e offers an account of akrasia here. Akrasia occurs just w hen a violent passion overwhelms one of our calm passions. A nd strength of will occurs w hen the calm passions overpower the violent ones. The calm passions, Hum e says, are norm ally those associated w ith the determinations of reason, while the violent passions are normally those associated w ith our lusts, hungers, angers, and so on. For Hume, judgm ents as to w hat w ould be the most beneficial course of action do not entail a desire to carry out that course of action - practical judgm ents are independent of motivation. Moral judgm ents are even further removed from reason, since they rely on feelings of sym pathy in the imagination. In general, then, non-
cognitive desires motivate hum an action, not judgments. And the faculty of reason, which includes these judgments, cannot oppose or resist these motivations. Any
resistance to a passion m ust be carried out by another passion. W hen we say that someone is weak willed, we really m ean that he is ruled by one kind of passion over another. The strong-willed person is he who is ruled by the calm passions, not the
42 violent ones.24 Indeed, H um e's theory is a bold rejection of the Aristotelian, Socratic, and Platonic accounts. Despite common opinion, however, Hum e was not the first to carry out so great a revision of moral psychology. For m any of the revolutionary
features of H um e's moral psychology were already present in Spinoza.
1.1.5. Donald Davidson
Perhaps the preem inent theorist of akrasia in the 20th Century was Donald Davidson. In a seminal essay, "How is Weakness of Will Possible?", he presents the problem of akrasia and proposes to explain how this seemingly paradoxical phenomenon occurs. I will argue, however, that it is in fact very similar to theories I have already discussed, especially those of Socrates and Aristotle. Davidson begins by offering his definition of weakness of will, or incontinence, saying: D. In doing x an agent acts incontinently if and only if: (a) the agent does x intentionally; (b) the agent believes there is an alternative action y open to him; and (c) the agent believes that, all things considered, it w ould be better to do y than to do x.25 Akratic action occurs w hen an agent intentionally pursues a course of action that he has judged, all things considered, to be inferior to another course of action available to him. In short, we act akratically when we intentionally act counter to our best judgment. After some discussion, Davidson presents the paradox of akrasia as consisting in the following inconsistent set of three propositions:
43 PI. If an agent wants to do x more than he wants to do y and he believes himself free to do either x or y, then he will intentionally do x if he does either x or y intentionally. P2. If an agent judges that it w ould be better to do x than to do y, then he wants to do x more than he w ants to do y. P3. There are incontinent actions. (Davidson, 23) Like Aristotle, Davidson begins w ith accepting the reality of incontinent actions. Given that we do in fact sometimes intentionally act contrary to our all-things-considered judgm ents, P1-P3 present a paradox. According to P2, if I judge a course of action to be superior to the others, I will w ant to do that action more than the others. And PI holds that I will do whatever action I w ant to do more, assuming I do anything at all. PI and P2 come together to form a kind of Socratic conclusion that I will necessarily do w hat I judge to be best. Yet P3 shows that the picture is not so clear, because I sometimes seem to fail to do what I judge to be best. As Davidson himself notes, P2 is the principle that is most often am ended or rejected. This principle involves a view called internalism, according to which Now, most thinkers do not reject
judgm ents of value entail w ants or desires.
internalism per se, but wish to re-interpret P2 to allow for seeming cases of akrasia. For example, perhaps those judgm ents about w hat w ould be best in P2 actually concern a judgm ent about w hat is expected of us by our community. If so, then I find no
difficulty in rejecting P2, for people often do not most w ant to do w hat they judge their comm unity to condone. If we follow this line, however, then we do not really consider
44 truly incontinent acts, which involve doing w hat we judge to be the worse course, not w hat our community judges to be the worse course. though it may be an unlawful one. Another way people attem pt to dodge this account is by attacking PI. For we m ay most w ant to do some course of action, but we may be overwhelm ed by some other passion. This quasi-Platonic reply is also unsatisfying, however, for it also That is not an incontinent act,
involves the denial of true akrasia. In this case, the agent performing the akratic action does not do so intentionally, for they are at the mercy of this foreign force. So the paradox remains. Davidson then turns to Aristotle's ow n account. Aristotle attem pts to solve the paradox by claiming we can know in two ways: we m ay know something but fail to use such knowledge and we m ay know and use knowledge. W hen we act akratically, Aristotle holds, we know that we ought to do otherwise, but do not use that knowledge. As Davidson points out, Aristotle claims that the m an who has but does not use knowledge is like the drunk or the sleeping man. Davidson criticizes this view, because it seems to conflate weakness of will w ith loss of control. In other w ords, Aristotle's account of akrasia seems only to apply to cases where we lose control and wildly succumb to temptation. His account does not allow for calmly succumbing and subtly and deliberately carrying out our weak willed acts. In short, according to Davidson's Aristotle, the akratic agent does not employ reasons that lead him to the akratic act; instead, his passions prevent him from using reason. This appears to render akratic action unintentional.
45 Davidson continues to criticize Aristotle from another angle. If an akratic act results from a very strong desire, Davidson reasons, this desire m ust have involved a judgm ent that the action was desirable. In this line of argum ent, Davidson seems to employ the converse of P2, above, for he reasons that, if an agent w ants very m uch to perform an action, then he m ust have judged that action to be very desirable. A nd if the agent judged the akratic act to be desirable, he m ust not have fully appreciated how m uch that act was undesirable. Thus, the akratic agent who acts from a strong desire likely did not realize the undesirability of his action. Yet this is exactly the opposite of the alleged akratic agent, who performs an action knowing its undesirability. In other words, if we wish to call the akratic action intentional, then the akratic agent m ust have had reasons for his action. Plausibly, a person has a reason to perform an act just when they judge it to be a good act to perform. Yet this is exactly not w hat the akratic agent does. Therefore, the akratic agent seems not to have a reason for his
action. According to Davidson, if an agent does not act for a reason, then the agent
cannot be said to have acted intentionally. Yet this seems just to be w hat Aristotle requires, so Davidson rejects the Aristotelian account. Davidson then offers his ow n account. Davidson's solution is to make a
distinction between two kinds of judgments. On the one hand, we sometimes make
prima facie, all-things-considered judgm ents, which does not involve a commitment to the
superiority of the better option.
These judgm ents do not tell us which is better
simpliciter, but only tell us which is better in light of some reason r. They are more like a
hypothesis than a decision. These judgm ents employ a kind of prima facie operator, as
46 well as a condition based on reason r. So, according to Davidson, they m ight take the following form:
P f (y is better than x, given r)
Here, r is the reason w hy y is better than x. Given r, y is better, prima facie. Note that this is not the kind of prescription found in Hare and, as such, does not entail a commitment either to doing y or even to evaluating y to be best unconditionally.26 On the other hand, we also make unconditional evaluative judgments, which Davidson sometimes calls "evaluative judgments sans phrase." These are simply of the form x is better than y / Now, PI and P2 only involve unconditional judgments, sans phrase, and not conditional or prima facie judgments. According to Davidson, then, we m ay make a conditional, or all-thingsconsidered, judgm ent that y is preferable to x, but then make an unconditional, or sans
phrase, judgm ent in favor of x, and do x, not y. O ur judgm ent to do y being conditional
on reason r, it does not commit us to doing y. Only the unconditional judgm ent to do x commits us to action. Since only unconditional judgm ents are involved in PI and P2, and since the only conflict in akrasia is between one conditional and one unconditional judgm ent, it follows that akrasia is consistent w ith PI and P2 and, thus, there is no problem of akrasia. First of all, Davidson's account is really not so different from Socrates'. For, according to Davidson, if someone has m ade an unconditional judgm ent that x is better, they necessarily m ust do x. They cannot unconditionally evaluate x to be better yet fail to do x (assuming that they know themselves to be capable of x, of course). In short,
47 then, Davidson's unconditional evaluations are effectively the same as H are's prescriptions. In fact, on Davidson's account of akrasia, here is w hat really happens. The akratic judges course y to be best all-things-considered; that is, given some reason r, y is better. But then the akratic agent makes an unconditional evaluation that x is better and, thus, acts on x, not y. In short, the judgm ent that y is better was only hypothetical. So, when we suffer akrasia, we simply choose to do one thing contrary to some hypothetical judgm ent we have made. Or so says Davidson. But this is unsatisfying, because it relies on w hat m ay be an irrelevant distinction, because it seems simply to deny the possibility of strict akrasia. No final, bottom line, unconditional, non-hypothetical judgm ent has been overturned or has failed to obtain. The only unconditional judgm ent m ade was followed through quite consistently. In
this regard, Davidson seems to resemble Socrates more than any other thinker on this topic. Like Socrates, Davidson denies strict akrasia and tries to offer an alternative
account intended to do away w ith our intuitions of mental struggle. W hat we feel is actually a conflict between two different kinds of judgment, Davidson says. For this apparent denial of akrasia, Davidson's account is rejected by m any writers.27
1.1.6. Alfred Mele
The final theorist reviewed here is Alfred Mele. In his book Irrationality: A n Essay
on Akrasia, Self-Deception, and Self-Control, Mele offers a robust and detailed account of
the phenom enon of strict akratic action, which occurs when an agent performs an act
48 freely, intentionally, and against his better judgment. This is not Socrates' diachronic
akrasia in which the agent flip-flops between judgments. Strict akratic action occurs in
the face of the better judgment. Mele explains first how the concept of strict akratic action is possible and then how the event often occurs. Strict akratic action is, first of all, free action. As Mele points out, this is a serious challenge to any account of akrasia. W hen speaking loosely, people often speak of akratic action as a case where the agent was "carried away w ith passion," so to speak. Indeed, no account of akrasia is complete w ithout an explanation of how the akratic action is free. The other theories reviewed here that allow for strict akratic action, specifically, Plato's and Aristotle's theories, struggle to offer such an explanation. For Plato, one acts akratically when the passions of the lower parts of the soul overpow er those of the highest part of the soul, reason. As Plato explains it, however, it looks as though the faculty of reason is incapable of resisting the greater pow er of the lower parts of the soul at the time of akratic action. Of course, had the agent undergone proper training and gained sufficient knowledge before the m oment of akratic action, the pow er of the agent's reason might have been sufficient to resist the irrational desires. Yet at the time of action, it seems that the agent did not possess the capacity to resist the irrational desire, though he may possess the capacity to gain such a capacity. Aristotle's theory m ay also face this challenge. According to Aristotle, akrasia occurs w hen a bodily passion overpowers a rational practical syllogism and leads to irrational action. The passion somehow renders the agent's practical reasoning
49 defective. The agent reasons and acts not from his universal principles, but out of an undue attention to the particular present in the m inor premise of the practical syllogism. Once again, we m ay w onder how the resultant action can be called free. For the passion seems to overwhelm and prevent the practical syllogism from following through properly. Does the akratic agent possess the capacity to refrain from the akratic action at the time of execution? It is not at all clear that he does, in Aristotle's theory. Mele's own account addresses this challenge head-on. It m ay be the case that when faced w ith the threat of akrasia, the agent is not sufficiently m otivated by his practical judgm ents to resist the akratic action. However, Mele reasons: An agent can, for example, refuse, at the time of action, to focus his attention on the attractive aspects of the envisioned akratic action and concentrate instead on w hat is to be accomplished by acting as he judges best. He can attem pt to
augm ent his motivation for perform ing the action judged best by promising himself a rew ard (e.g., a night on the town) for doing so. He can refuse to entertain second thoughts about the judgm ent that he has just very carefully reached. He can practice more sophisticated self-control techniques prescribed by his behavioral therapist...W hen we ask whether an akratic action was m otivated by an irresistible desire, we should ask w hether it was in the agent's pow er at the time to augm ent his motivation to perform the action judged best, or to decrease his contrary m otivation or, more precisely, it was in his pow er to bring it about that the bulk of his motivation lay on the side of his better judgment. (24)
50 In short, then, the strength of a desire may be sufficient for action, but not be irresistible, because in most circumstances we could m arshal more motivational force by focusing our attention and other cognitive m ethods or by relying on non-cognitive techniques. Mele next takes up an aspect of the Davidsonian denial of the possibility of strict akratic action. Davidson finds difficulty in seeing how the very concept of akrasia is even coherent. According to Mele, Davidson's difficulty lies in his identification of one's unconditional judgm ent w ith an intention. Mele argues convincingly that better
judgment is not identical to choice, nor to intention. Something additional is required in
order for any judgm ent to become a choice to act, or an intention. According to Mele, we can make w hat he calls decisive better judgments. The decisive better judgm ents give us a m otivation to act, but they do not entail that we attem pt to do anything at all. Only forming an intention has that entailment, for Mele. But strict akratic action is not free and intentional action against another of our intentions. Instead, it is free and
intentional action against one of our better judgments. And this is the mistake Mele attributes to Davidson: he mistakenly identifies (a kind of) judgm ent w ith intention. By distinguishing best judgm ent from intention, Mele allows for intentional action that contravenes best judgment. Since he has already shown how such action can be free, Mele has therefore shown how free, intentional action against our best judgm ent is conceptually possible. After having explained this, he turns to explain how it is psychologically possible. At root, his explanation boils dow n to this: "...evaluation and m otivation can be out of line w ith each other."28 Mele first gives a real-world example. Consider a biology student who has an assignment to prick his ow n finger
and place a drop of his own blood on a slide to examine. He evaluates that doing this assignment is in his interest and so he evaluates pricking his finger as being the best course of action to do. So, in one sense of the term wants to, the biology student wants to do prick his finger. But he also fears the pain involved. Now, say he considers the pain at length and decides that, even given the pain, it is still best for him to proceed w ith the pricking. His evaluative judgm ent concerning w hat is best to do becomes
decisive. This decisive judgm ent gives him a m otivation to prick his finger. And say
that this m otivation leads to his forming an intention to do so. He then picks up the needle and brings it tow ard his finger. But at the last moment, he intentionally pauses and refrains from pricking and he does so while still judging it best to proceed. Now, the refraining act is intentional, free, and against his better judgment. This is possible for one of two reasons: First, it may be the case that his motivation to prick his finger remained, but his motivation to refrain grew as the needle approached his finger. At the last moment, the motivation to refrain exceeded the motivation to prick and, so, he refrained. Or perhaps he never had a stronger motivation to prick his finger. In this case, he had an evaluative judgm ent that pricking would be better. Thus, in an
evaluative sense, he w anted to prick his finger. But even then, he lacked to motivational
wherewithal to follow through. student's strict akratic action.
Either of these explanations could account for the
Mele has claimed that Davidson's exclusive appeal to reasons are not sufficient to explain (some) hum an action, especially strict akratic action. To augm ent w hat he takes to be D avidson's too simplistic account, Mele offers several further considerations,
52 beginning w ith a notion of self-control. Mele describes the self-controlled person as follows: In short, a self-controlled person is someone who is appropriately m otivated to conduct himself as he judges best and has the ability to m aster m otivation to the contrary...A nd, of course, self-control comes in degrees... (60) The self-controlled person is one who has a greater motivation to obey his best judgments, which gives him greater pow er to resist contrary motivations. This greater m otivation and pow er come in degrees, of course.29 After having discussed the possibility of strict akratic action (as well as several related paradoxes), Mele turns to explain how strict akratic action could actually come about in Chapter 6, section 3 and 4, where he relies on two methods. First, he discusses the view that our motivation increases as the expected rew ards become more proximate. In other words, hum an beings dem onstrate a bias toward the near. That this is so is supported by psychological research, though this phenom enon cannot by itself explain strict akratic action. After all, we sometimes exhibit self-control in the face of such biases. Mele then introduces considerations of attention. If we attend to the desire to eat the cake instead of the desire to stick to our diet, we may experience an increased m otivation to eat it and thus succumb. In short, then, a bias tow ard the near and a certain use of attention can explain how particular cases of strict akratic action occur. Mele's account captures m any of our intuitions; indeed, it m ay capture more than any previous thinker. Mele allows that strict akrasia can occur, unlike Socrates and Davidson. Mele also acknowledges that desires can come apart from our practical
53 judgm ents, like Hum e. Yet Mele also recognizes that practical judgm ents do motivate. He also offers a m ore thorough account than the other theorists of how strict akratic action is free, intentional, and against our best judgment. account resembles Spinoza's own in m any of these ways. As we shall see, Mele's
1.2. Three Theoretical Positions Six major theorists of akrasia have been presented, each w ith their particular account of how - or w hether - akrasia is possible. To aid our understanding of how these thinkers relate to one another, it is helpful to categorize them according to how they answer a particular question, which is: What is the relation between practical judgm ents and motivation? Those who say that practical judgm ents are modally linked to m otivation m ay be called
strong internalists. Those that say that such judgm ents are only contingently linked to
motivation m ay be called externalists. And those who hold that such judgm ents are modally linked to motivation, but only so linked ceteris paribus, are weak internalists. These senses of internalism are sometimes called judgment internalism. As we shall see, our six thinkers m ay each be placed into one of these three camps. To be sure, there are m any other senses of internalism and extemalism. Indeed, there is even a related discussion concerning where our moral motivation ultimately resides that uses these term s differently.30 In w hat follows, however, internalism is the view that motivation is 'internal' to practical judgm ent - that is, w hen one makes a
54 practical judgment, one necessarily has at least some m otivation to act. I will take extemalism to be the view that practical judgm ent entails no such motivation.
1.2.1. Strong Internalism
Strong internalism concerning judgm ent and m otivation is the view that practical judgm ents are modally linked to motivation. Socrates held this view, as did Donald Davidson. Davidson expresses strong internalism with his P2 principle: P2. If an agent judges that it w ould be better to do x than to do y, then he wants to do x more than he wants to do y. (Davidson, 23) According to Davidson's strong internalism, the course of action we judge to be best is the one we most w ant to do. O ur practical judgment, then, determines our motivation. If P2 is true, then it is impossible that we might judge y to be a worse course of action than x yet nonetheless desire to do y more than x. Of course, for Davidson, we m ay indeed make conditional judgm ents to the contrary. So, we may reason as follows: if we value our long-term health, then action x is better than action y; indeed, insofar as we have these values, action x is the best action available to us. Thus, our w anting to do y the most is conditional and not sans phrase. However, we m ay thereafter make an unconditional or sans phrase judgm ent that action y is best and thus w ant to do y the most. Concerning our unconditional judgments, P2 holds and, thus, Davidson is a strong internalist. According to Socrates, hum an beings desire only their ow n long-term happiness. Thus, any intentional hum an action will aim at this end. Given that all hum an action
55 aims at the same end, our choices concerning how to act are choices of means towards that end. The choice of one means over another is a choice based solely in our beliefs concerning which means is the best to achieve our ends. Before acting, an agent reviews his beliefs about the various means to happiness at his disposal and, if he will act, he will reach a conclusion that one is the best action. The only things that could prevent him from carrying out this acts are if he is prevented by some external obstacle or if he re-evaluates the means available to him and reaches a different conclusion. For if he evaluates one means as best, and if he thereafter does not perform that action but some other action, he either acted for a reason or he did not. If he did, then he m ust have later judged that course of action to be preferable to the formerly chosen action. If he did not act for a reason, then his action is not intentional and thus he does not suffer akrasia, but compulsion. Davidson reasons along the same lines, though for somewhat distinct reasons. For Davidson, all action is done for a reason. So, if an action is to be intentional, it m ust be done for a reason. And having a reason to act is, for Davidson, just to have a belief that this course of action is best. But strict akratic actions seem to go contrary to our judgm ents as to w hat is best, so they do not seem intentional. For Socrates, all action aims at the same end and, so, all action involves choosing the best means. So, w hen we act intentionally, we do so because we have judged that course of action to be best. But strict akratic action seems to go contrary to the course of action we have judged to be best and, so, it is difficult to see how we could have chosen
56 such a course of action at all. And so, it is difficult to see how such a course of action is intentional. Note that both Davidson and Socrates employ certain assum ptions about the relation between practical judgm ent and motivation. For Davidson motivation comes about from reasons, which are judgm ents concerning w hat is best to do. For Socrates, m otivation comes from a judgm ent as to w hat w ould be the best means to our shared end, happiness. Both thinkers require a kind of totalizing, single judgm ent concerning the best course of action in order to engender a motivation to act. Neither thinker, for example, countenances multiple conflicting motivations, because neither allows multiple conflicting judgments. Such judgm ents w ould have to take the form of 'I judge x to be the best course of action and I judge x not to be the best course of action.' Davidson and Socrates reject the possibility of such logically contradictory judgments. Thus it seems that, implicit in the strong internalist position, is the view that hum an action results from a totalizing decision process that cannot result in contradictory motivations, because such a result w ould require a single mind to affirm contradictory judgm ents simultaneously, which the strong internalist takes to be absurd. As we shall see, m any weak internalists attem pt to account for multiple competing motivations and judgments in the same agent, either by allowing a single m ind to affirm contradictory judgments or by positing distinct parts of a m ind affirming non contradictory judgments.
57 Very generally, then, the strong internalist affirms certain theses about the nature of reason and the m ind, namely, that no rational agent m ay affirm contradictory things at the same time and that a rational agent possesses a unitary mind, not one composed of distinct and possibly opposing parts. As we shall see, Spinoza denies these theses. W hat's more, the strong internalist m ust deny the possibility of strict akrasia, instead explaining away instances of akrasia in various ways. For example, Socrates explains instances of akrasia as being diachronic, involving a vacillation of the m ind caused by the instability of appearances. Davidson claims that the opposition in akrasia is between a conditional, or prima facie, judgm ent and an unconditional judgment. But the course of action judged in the prima facie judgm ent cannot be detached from its condition, so that no judgm ent directly opposes the unconditional, sans phrase judgment.31
1.2.2. Extemalism
Extemalism is the view that practical judgm ents and m otivation are only contingently connected, if at all. For Hume, our motivations to act are not internal to, or constituents of, our practical judgments. In this sense, then, Hum e is not an internalist, but an externalist. For, w hen one makes a practical judgment, one m ay not necessarily feel a motivation to act, because motivations, or passions, do not originate in reason. Hum e is considered to be the pioneer of this position, though as we shall see, Spinoza preceded him in certain im portant respects. For Hume, reason is the slave to the passions. This means that the judgm ents of reason m ay not be efficacious except at the command of desire, or passion. Once a
58 passion has arisen w ith regard to some object, only then can reason employ its judgments. Even then, reason does not move the hum an being to act. Instead, reason points the way for the passion to expend its energies, serving as guide tow ard the means judged to be best suited for satisfying the relevant desire. Like Socrates, Hum e takes the role of practical judgm ent to be instrumental. That is, beliefs serve to direct us tow ard means to our ends, while our desires determine w hat those ends are. Reason, therefore, serves only an instrumental function, for it acts only as a means. Unlike Socrates, however, Hum e does not reduce all desires to a single, fundam ental desire for our real and long-term happiness. passions arise in us independently of our reasoned judgments. To support this claim, Hum e provides various examples and makes an appeal to introspection. One way to understand his insight is this: ideas m irror the world; they meet the w orld via the relation of representation. This means that all ideas represent things - and thus judgm ents do as well, for Hum e takes all cognitions, including judgments, to be ideas. But the representational relation has the w rong direction of fit to be the kind of thing that causes action. Desire, on the other hand, has the correct direction of fit. Ideas conform themselves to the world via the relation of representation. Desires, on the other hand, attem pt to conform the world to themselves. The relation between desires and the w orld points tow ard the world, while the relation between ideas and the w orld points tow ard ideas. This is w hat it means to say that the direction of fit for ideas is not appropriate to explain hum an action. A nd it is this insight that underlies H um e's extemalism. Instead, H um e's
Extemalism also conforms to H um e's picture of the hum an mind. W hereas the strong internalist adopts w hat could be called a highly rationalist view of the m ind as a rational, unitary agent, H um e adopts w hat could be called a mechanist view of the mind, one that takes the m ind to be a complex mechanism containing inter-working parts. So, desires may arise and overcome other desires just as a one pound weight m ay move a one hundred pound weight, given the right situation, position, and so on. Hum e
repeatedly presents a picture of the m ind as a mechanism and repeatedly presents his ow n model of explanation as one akin to N ewton's. For Hume, the m ind is a
mechanism of interacting forces and psychology is the science of explaining these mechanical forces and their interactions. If we understand the mind to be such a
mechanism, we m ay see how desires and passions m ay arise independently of our will, indeed, even contrary to our will. It is also natural that such a view of the m ind would include the possibility of multiple, conflicting and perhaps incommensurate desires and goods. So, unlike the strong internalist w ho is generally pressured to deny contradictory judgm ents and contrary desires, the H um ean externalist feels no such pressure. As such, akrasia does not pose the problem it does for the strong internalist, for whom strict akrasia seems impossible. Because the externalist can allow m ultiple opposing desires and, more importantly, because the externalist denies that there is a necessary connection between practical judgm ents and motivation, the externalist can easily allow that our m otivations m ay part w ith our judgments, as w hen we suffer akrasia. Indeed, akrasia is
60 not only unproblematic, for a Hum ean externalist, it is not even irrational, strictly speaking, a rather counterintuitive result. The externalist faces other problems, however. For the externalist m ust now deal with the natural intuition that underlies the strong internalists' principle P2. P2. If an agent judges that it w ould be better to do x than to do y, then he wants to do x more than he wants to do y. The strong internalist adopts this position because it seems natural to say that judging an action to be better results in w anting to do it. Imagine a person who makes a moral judgm ent that doing x is the right or good thing to do. It is implausible that this person w ould not therefore want to do x. Indeed, their judgm ent that x is the best course of action just is their reason to do x, Davidson m ight say. The externalist m ust deny this intuition. And contemporary externalists do just that by appealing to a figure they call "the amoralist." The amoralist is a m an who makes moral judgm ents but simply does not give a dam n about morality and, so, feels no motivation to do those actions he has deem ed right or good. An internalist might cite H are's counterargum ent that this amoralist has not in fact m ade a moral judgment, but an inverted commas moral judgment. An inverted commas moral judgm ent occurs w hen an agent judges that a course of action is condoned or even dem anded by convention or social mores, but not necessarily by the agent himself. So, the internalist might say, this alleged amoralist does not make a true moral judgm ent and, thus, it is to be expected that he does not feel motivated to act in that way.
61 The externalists merely reply that no, the amoralist does in fact make a real moral judgm ent and not sim ply an inverted commas moral judgment. At this point, however, the argum ent breaks down. Some externalists say that the amoralist is a counterexample to strong internalism, while strong internalists will deny this is so. So, whereas the strong internalist m ust finesse his account of akrasia, the externalist m ust explain why moral judgm ents do not entail a motivation to act. The debate about the amoralist can be duplicated for the case of practical judgment. Imagine a person who, w hen he judges that an act w ould advance his If such a person is possible, then
happiness, feels no desire to perform that act.
m otivation m ust be separate from (or external to) practical judgment. As in the case of the amoralist, the strong internalist will reject the possibility of such an individual, while the externalist m ust explain w hy it is that, in almost every case in our experience, we do in fact feel some m otivation to act according to our practical judgments. In either case, the externalist holds that our motivations (Hum e's 'passions') have their origin somewhere other than our judgm ents, a view the strong internalists deny. Certainly, both views hold difficulties, to which we shall return.
2.2.3. Weak Internalism Weak internalism is the view that practical judgm ents are m odally linked to motivation, but only ceteris paribus (i.e., in the absence of certain intervening conditions such as a strong passion). This view is an attem pt to capture the positive aspects of the tw o positions just described, while avoiding their pitfalls. The challenge that faces
62 weak internalism is one of coherence; can the theorist accommodate these disparate intuitions in an account that explains akratic action as freely and intentionally pursuing a course of action judged not to be best? Consider again Davidson's principles: PI. If an agent w ants to do x more than he wants to do y and he believes himself free to do either x or y, then he will intentionally do x if he does either x or y intentionally. P2. If an agent judges that it w ould be better to do x than to do y, then he wants to do x more than he wants to do y. P3. There are incontinent actions. (Davidson, 23) The weak internalist will generally accept PI and P3, but deny P2 as it stands. Instead, they affirm a weaker version of P2, which is: P2': If an agent judges that it would be good to do x, then he w ants to do x. The strong internalist affirms PI and P2. The weak internalist affirms PI and P2'. The externalist, however, affirms only PI. Generally all weak internalists and externalists affirm P3 as well. Strong internalists affirm P3, though they m ust offer an alternative account of akrasia that is consistent w ith PI and P2. Various weak internalists deny either PI or P2, depending on their system. According to Plato, for example, an agent m ay form the rational judgm ent that x is preferable to y and the rational soul m ay m ost w ant to do x, yet the person m ay perform action y instead, if the spirited soul overpowers the rational soul. This seems to be case
63 where P2 is affirmed and PI denied. Plato m ay deny PI because he associates the agent w ith the rational soul. Aristotle allows for P1&P2' but not P1&P2, because it is always possible that the agent will have a stronger, irrational want, i.e., a bodily passion for x, that overpowers his practically reasoned judgm ent that y is best. Thus, there can be cases where P1&P2 fail to obtain. Alfred Mele is also a weak internalist w ho denies Davidson's principle of P2. That he is an internalist is evident by his saying: "Wanting more" in the evaluative sense does involve motivation; for, as I have characterized the notion, w hat are evaluated are objects of wants having motivational force. (163n9) In other words, the competing judgm ents in question already involve motivational wants. Mele assumes that only those kinds of wants are involved in akrasia. Thus, Mele is a kind of internalist. But he is no strong internalist, either. Mele implicitly recognizes and rejects strong internalism and establishes that he is a weak internalist w hen he says: If agents can act akratically even against an unconditional practical judgment, then practical reasoning does not have the pow er that some philosophers have claimed for it. It does not follow from this, of course, that practical reasoning, reasons, and judgm ent have no motivational force, but only that other forces m ust be taken into account in explaining (some) actions. (41)
64 Mele does not m ean to deny that agents act for reasons, of course. Indeed, he clarifies this point a bit later, saying: Akratic actions do not falsify the claim that havings of reasons are causes of action. The agent who akratically does A , does A for a reason. That he took his reason to do a competing action, B, to be a better reason even if he formed an intention to do a B does not show that his having a reason for which he acts is not a cause of his action. (47) In short, then, Mele accepts a kind of Davidsonian causal theory of action, according to which one acts for reasons which are also causes. He does not accept Davidson's
principle P2, however. Mele turns to P2 explicitly, saying: We may, and should, reject Davidson's P2 -- the claim that any agent who judges (unconditionally) that it is better to do x than to do y is more strongly motivated to do x than to do y -- w ithout having to abandon a causal theory of action. P2 is false. The connection between better judgm ents and the balance of an agent's motivation is more complex than Davidson thinks; and this holds as well for the connection between intention and motivation. The extent to which an agent is self-controlled is also an im portant factor. This is not to say, however, that there is no connection, nor that to explain an intentional action by citing reasons(s) for which it was intended and perform ed is not to give a causal explanation of the action. (49) So, practical judgm ent, even unconditional or decisive practical judgm ent, does not entail intention, for Mele. Put another way, strength of evaluation does not entail
65 strength of motivation. But judgm ent or evaluation does entail some m otivation or
reason for action, though it m ay not be efficacious, or the strongest reason or motivation, for action. And so, Mele is a weak internalist.
1.2.4. Conclusion
Six theorists of akrasia have been introduced: Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Hum e, Davidson, and Mele. From these competing theories, three positions have been
identified concerning the nature of the relation between practical judgm ent and motivation: strong internalism, weak internalism, and extemalism. In w hat follows, Spinoza's own thoughts on these questions will be introduced. As with most issues, Spinoza does not discuss these questions in the term s of those who came before him or in term s familiar to 20th Century authors. Therefore some care will be taken in the next chapter to present his thought in his own words. Only after that has been done shall I place his theory in the context of our six theorists. In so doing, we shall see that Spinoza is a weak internalist, one that m ost closely resembles Mele among our six theorists, though w ith certain Hum ean tendencies as well. Indeed, presented in this way, we shall see how novel and attractive Spinoza's account of akrasia truly is.
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Chapter Two: Spinoza's Affective Psychology
2.0. Introduction In the previous chapter, I surveyed six theories of akrasia, as well as three theoretical camps into which those theories can be divided. Before I turn to Spinoza's own account of akrasia and our determ ination of which camp into which he falls, I m ust discuss certain more general features of Spinoza's psychological theory. W ithout
grasping Spinoza's thoughts on ideas, affects, and the conatus, his account of akrasia cannot be comprehended. In what follows, I shall discuss the outlines of Spinoza's psychology. I begin w ith his theory of ideas. Following that discussion, I will treat the affects and how they relate to ideas, a topic that bears the utm ost significance for the Spinozist account of
akrasia yet to come. I shall end this chapter w ith a discussion of the conatus, another
central and necessary theoretical component of Spinoza's psychological theory. This overview will provide the reader w ith the necessary background to be able to follow
67 Spinoza's discussion of the passions, bondage, and akrasia, which I investigate in the following chapter.
2.1. Ideas Like m ost thinkers in the early m odem period, Spinoza employs ideas throughout his epistemology and psychology. For some thinkers, such as the
Cambridge Platonists, these ideas are ectypes, pale shadows of the archetypes in the divine m ind.32 Others, such as Descartes, worked in the wake of Aristotle and the Scholastics, taking ideas to be representations of things.33 Like Descartes, Spinoza takes ideas to be representations. Spinoza's epistemology and psychology cannot be labeled Cartesian, however. For Spinoza introduces a variety of novel aspects to his theory that m ust be understood on their own terms. For example, Spinoza distinguishes between inadequate and adequate ideas. Descartes employs these terms as well in his Reply to A m auld's Objection to his Meditations. Yet adequate ideas are absolutely central to Spinoza's thought, whereas Descartes only mentions them in passing in a reply to A m auld. In fact, Spinoza's usage seems to depart from Descartes'. Because of its
centrality and importance to his doctrine of ideas, Spinoza's theory of adequacy will be investigated at length below. Among the most unusual tenets of Spinoza's epistemology and psychology, however, is his doctrine of the three kinds of knowledge. Since this doctrine is a
component of his theory of adequate ideas, we shall investigate this doctrine first before turning to adequacy.
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2.1.1. The Three Kinds of Knowledge: A n Overview The Ethics addresses an age old question: how can a hum an being gain happiness
in this life?
For an answer, one m ight read his text and reply pithily, "one gains
happiness through knowledge," which is, in fact, largely Spinoza's answer, though this curt reply is hardly informative. It is especially unhelpful w hen one discovers that Spinoza claims there are at least three different kinds of knowledge. Only a close reading of this obscure trichotomy can reveal what Spinoza's proposed path to happiness is. The first kind of knowledge in the Ethics is, roughly, knowledge of particulars from sensation. Such knowledge involves ideas that are inadequate, or incomplete, in some way.34 Spinoza introduces this kind of knowledge, claiming that it m ay derive "from singular things which have been represented to us through the senses in a way that is m utilated, confused, and w ithout order for the intellect (see p29c); for that reason I have been accustomed to call such perceptions knowledge from random experience
[experientia vaga]."35 This knowledge is a result of our body physically interacting w ith
some other body, in which case it can be understood as sense perception. Of course, knowledge of an object can also come about through means other than perceiving the object directly; Spinoza describes this origin w hen he says that such knowledge comes "from signs, e.g., from the fact that, having heard or read certain words, we recollect things, and form certain ideas of them, which are like them and through which we imagine the things."36 In the Ethics, Spinoza claims that the first kind of knowledge can be derived from two sources; one can perceive some object directly, or one can learn
69 about some object via report or hearsay. Because it is inadequate, knowledge of the first kind is the source of error, whereas knowledge of the second and third kinds are adequate and thus true.37 Stated briefly, ideas of things gained from sensation and report are usually inadequate because we cannot generally understand the cause of the thing from direct sensation or report and because we gain only a partial perspective on the thing itself; instead, we m ust engage in the activity of reason.38 Exactly why this knowledge is inadequate will become apparent once adequacy has been treated more fully below. Concerning the second kind of knowledge, Spinoza says, "we have common notions and adequate ideas of the properties of things...This I shall call reason and the second kind of knowledge."39 The second kind of knowledge consists, in part, of common notions [notiones communes ], which are described w hen Spinoza says, "those things which are common to all, and which are equally in the p art and in the whole, can only be conceived adequately."40 In other words, common notions are certain universal properties that we can come to know adequately 41 For example, Spinoza believes that one can rationally grasp the fundam ental laws of motion and rest w hen one interacts w ith bodies in the world. Because I am a body capable of interacting w ith other bodies, I can form an adequate conception of the abstract, fundamental laws of motion and rest that apply to all bodies.42 The common notions will be discussed below. The third kind of knowledge shares m any qualities w ith the second kind. Spinoza says, "knowledge of the second and of the third kind is necessarily true."43 This is so because knowledge of the second and third kinds are adequate, whereas
70 knowledge of the first kind can be false.44 Because the second and third kinds are both adequate, they are both active. That is, the m ind is purely active in forming these ideas. This is apparent w hen Spinoza says, "our m ind does certain things [acts] and undergoes other things, namely, insofar as it has adequate ideas, it necessarily does certain things, and insofar as it has inadequate ideas, it necessarily undergoes certain things."45 Here it is clear that both the second and the third kinds of knowledge are a purely active. These acts are a very different kind from the passive case of being acted upon embodied in the first kind of knowledge. Thus, the second and third kinds of knowledge pertain only to adequate ideas and, because of that, they also constitute a pure mental activity in a way that the first kind of knowledge does not. In Part 5 of the Ethics, Spinoza presents a m ethod for achieving peace of mind, which involves replacing confused ideas w ith adequate ones. He says, "the more the m ind understands things by the second and third kinds of knowledge, the less it is acted on by affects which are evil, and the less it fears death."46 Both the second and third kinds of knowledge help to protect the individual from evil affects, that is, passions. But in the same Part, Spinoza emphasizes the third kind of knowledge w hen he says, "the greatest striving of the m ind, and its greatest virtue is understanding things by the third kind of know ledge."47 Here it is clear that some im portant differences exist between the second and third kinds of knowledge. The third kind of knowledge is first set out in 2p40s2, which says, "there is... [a] third kind, which we shall call intuitive knowledge. And this kind of knowing
proceeds from an adequate idea of the formal essence of certain attributes of God to the
adequate knowledge of the essence of things."48 Spinoza calls this intuitive knowledge
(scientia intuitiva).49 It involves an intuitive m ental movement betw een the essences of
God and a thing. Of the third kind of knowledge, Spinoza says, "because the essence of our m ind consists only in knowledge, of which God is the beginning and foundation (by lp l5 and 2p47s), it is clear to us how our m ind, both with respect to essence and existence, follows from the divine nature, and continually depends on God."50 Spinoza claims that our m ind, like all things, is dependent on God, citing lp l5 and 2p47s. Ip l5 is Spinoza's formulation of the famous doctrine of monism, which says, "whatever is, is in God, and nothing can be or be conceived w ithout God."51 And in 2p47s, he says, "and since all things are in God and conceived through God, it follows that we can deduce a great m any things which we know adequately, and so can form that third kind of knowledge."52 These two propositions, which Spinoza cites in 5p36s, suggest that knowledge of the third kind is related to the doctrine of monism; we have knowledge of the third kind w hen we immediately and adequately grasp that a particular thing is a m ode of God and is dependent on God. discussion below. Spinoza presents the reader w ith one example to aid the understanding of the three kinds of knowledge, which is as follows:
I shall explain all of these with an example. Suppose there are three numbers, and the problem is to find a fourth which is to the third as the second is to the first. Merchants do not hesitate to multiply the second by the third, and divide the product by the first, because they have not yet forgotten what they heard from their teacher without any
I will return to this
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demonstration, or because they have often found this in the simplest numbers, or from the force of the demonstration of P19 in Book VII of Euclid, namely, from the common property of proportionals. But in the simplest numbers none of this is necessary. Given the numbers 1, 2, and 3, no one fails to see that the fourth proportional number is 6 - and w e see this much more clearly because we infer the fourth number from the ratio which, in one glance, we see the first number to have with the second. (2p40s2; Curley, 478; Geb
11/122
This example can be understood in the following way. The first two cases represent two different instances of the first kind of knowledge. In the first case, a m erchant knows how to figure this proportion because of something he was told by his teacher w ithout demonstration. The m erchant who has remembered a dictum from his teacher, then, can be said to be using the first kind of knowledge from signs. Next in the
example is a m erchant who knows how to solve a problem "because [he] has often found this [proportion] in the simplest numbers." This case is of knowledge from
experientia vaga, the vagaries of experience, since this merchant has the knowledge
through w hat he has "found." In the next part of the ratio example, Spinoza claims that some m erchants m ay know the solution to the problem "form the force of the dem onstration of P19 in Book VII of Euclid, namely, from the common property of proportionals." This m ust be a case of the second kind of knowledge, involving a dem onstration based on common notions, especially given that geometers since Euclid have regularly referred to their axioms as common notions.53
73 In the final part of the ratio example, the merchant knows the answer to the problem not because of some Euclidean proof, which is unnecessary for him, but by direct intuition. We see the truth of the m atter "at a glance" (uno intuitu), intuitively. This uno intuitu m ust be scientia intuitiva. Some interpreters take the second kind of knowledge to be an incomplete form of reasoning, only perfected in the third kind of knowledge. knowledge, H enry Allison says,
Knowledge from general principles [the second kind of knowledge] remains ungrounded ultimately...this mystery can be removed only by grounding the principle in the nature of God. This grounding, both of principles and their consequences, is achieved by the third kind of knowledge.54
Of the second kind of
But in 2p46d, Spinoza says, "the dem onstration of the preceding proposition is universal, and... will involve God's eternal and infinite essence. So w hat gives
knowledge of an eternal and infinite essence of God is common to all," which suggests that knowledge m ay be universal yet still grounded in God's nature. In other words, the second kind of knowledge is grounded in G od's nature, though perhaps in a different way from the third. I will return to this distinction below. Yet other interpreters affix an unw arranted kind of mystical insight to the third kind of knowledge. This mysticism has no grounding in Spinoza's text, but the view nonetheless seeps in to otherwise exemplary interpretations.55 Of the second and third kinds of knowledge, M argaret Wilson says, "the second kind of knowledge differs from the third both in requiring steps of reasoning, as distinct from direct m ental vision, and
74 in failing to arrive at the inmost essences of things."56 A t its heart, though, her interpretation leans heavily on her claim that the second kind of knowledge simply cannot look deeply enough into things. Only the third kind, she asserts, has this power. Spinoza had no such miraculous insight in m ind.57 For him, the third kind of knowledge is distinct from the second in that it involves seeing how a particular thing fits into the causal netw ork of nature. understanding a thing in relation to God.58 Though a central doctrine in Spinoza's epistemology, the three kinds of knowledge will not play a pivotal role in the following discussion. The third kind of knowledge is pivotal to Spinoza's account of hum an freedom, but it will not occupy m uch of our space here. Instead, we will focus more of our attention on the distinction between adequate and inadequate ideas, which falls between the first and second kinds of knowledge. Given Spinoza's monism, that means
2.1.2. The Account of Adequate Ideas
Though we have been discussing the outlines of Spinoza's entire epistemology, our real concern is his notion of adequacy, because the central tenets of his psychology turn on the adequate/inadequate distinction. As we shall see, Spinoza seems to present
two criteria for adequacy, so it will useful to determine the details of these tw o criteria
before proceeding. O ur attention, however, will be limited to the Ethics, since he does not present an account of adequacy in the Short Treatise59 and only employs the adjective adaequatus unevenly in the Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect.60
75 In the Ethics, Spinoza offers a definition of adequate ideas.61 The definition alone, however, does not take us far in determining w hether such ideas are available to the hum an mind, so we m ust look to how Spinoza subsequently uses the term. He offers an explanation of adequacy that relies upon his doctrine of monism62 at 2 p llc , where he says:
From this it follows that the human mind is a part of the infinite intellect of God. Therefore, when we say that the human mind perceives this or that, we are saying nothing but that God, not insofar as he is infinite, but insofar as he is explained through the nature of the human mind, or insofar as he constitutes the essence of the human mind, has this or that idea; and when we say that God has this or that idea, not only insofar as he constitutes the nature of the human mind, but insofar as he also has the idea of another thing together with the human mind, then we say that the human mind perceives the thing only partially, or inadequately. (Curley, 456; Geb 11/94-95)
By the doctrine of monism, the hum an m ind is a part of God's infinite intellect. Being infinite in Spinoza's sense, G od's intellect contains all ideas. But the hum an m ind itself is just an idea,63 so G od's intellect includes it and its contents as well. Consider two ideas x and y in G od's mind. Say that y is the idea that constitutes some hum an mind; say, further, that x is some other idea. If God's idea x is a proper p art of God's idea y, then we m ay say that m ind y has adequate idea x. However, if G od's idea x is only partially within his idea y, then we may say that m ind y has idea x only inadequately, or partially. Call this the containment sense of adequacy: (CON) Idea x is adequate in m ind y, itself a complex idea, iff x in its entirety is a proper part of y.64
76 Thus, in 2 p llc , Spinoza seems to equate an idea's being adequate in a m ind w ith its being completely contained in that m ind.65 Elsewhere, however, Spinoza employs a different notion of adequacy, according to which an adequate idea of x's cause is necessary for an adequate idea of x.66 At 2p24d, Spinoza says:
The idea, or knowledge, of each part [of the body] will be in God (by P3), insofar as he is considered to be affected by another idea of a singular thing (by P9), a singular thing which is prior, in the order of Nature, to the part itself...And so, the knowledge of each part composing the human body is in God insofar as he is affected with a great many ideas of things, and not insofar as he has only the idea of the human body, that is (by P13), the idea which constitutes the nature of the human mind. And so, (by PI 1C) the human mind does not involve adequate knowledge of the parts composing the human body. (Curley, 468-9; Geb 11/111)
Each p art of our body has another, prior body as its cause; similarly, each bodily event has another, prior bodily event as its cause. Often, these prior, causing bodies are distinct from our ow n body. So, for God to have an idea of each part of our body, he m ust also have ideas of things besides our body. Thus, God's ideas of our bodily parts are not wholly contained within the idea in God's mind that constitutes our m ind.67 Therefore, our ideas of the parts of our bodies are incomplete, and hence inadequate, even though G od's ideas are not inadequate. Similarly, in 2p25d, Spinoza argues that an idea of an external body is inadequate in the m ind because that m ind does not contain ideas of the external body's causes. He says:
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We have shown (P16) that the idea of an affection of the human body involves the nature of an external body insofar as the external body determines the human body in a certain fixed way. But insofar as the external body is an Individual which is not related to the human body, the idea,
or knowledge, of it is in God (by P9) insofar as God is considered to be affected with the idea of
another thing which (by P7) is prior in nature to the external body itself. So adequate knowledge of the external body is not in God insofar as he has the idea of an affection of the human body, or the idea of an affection of the human body does not involve adequate knowledge of the external body. (Curley, 469; Geb 11/111)
In this quotation, the idea in question is of an affection of the hum an body caused by an interaction with an external body - i.e., a bodily sensation of an external object. Because this kind of sensation involves both our body and an external body, its idea also involves ideas of both bodies. But an external body, or its motion, are generally caused by some third body not related to us; thus we do not have an idea of the cause of the external body involved in our sensation. Because of this lack, Spinoza says, our idea of these kinds of sensations cannot be considered adequate ideas. In both of the preceding propositions, Spinoza implies that having an adequate idea of something requires having an adequate idea of its cause.68 This suggests w hat I will call the causal requirement, which is: (CR) Idea x is adequate in mind y iff y also has an adequate idea of x's cause.69 The argum ent for CR relies implicitly on la4, which says, "the knowledge of an effect depends upon, and involves, the knowledge of its cause." This means that a m ind that has knowledge of x m ust also have knowledge of x's cause. But Spinoza generally uses 'has knowledge of' and 'has an idea of' interchangeably.70 So, having an idea of x
78 depends upon and involves having an idea of x's cause. CR could be seen as an elucidation of the nature of this dependence and involvement. Indeed, the causal
requirement, CR, extends the containment criterion to include not only the idea itself, but the idea of its cause as well. Therefore, the containment criterion (CON) and the causal requirem ent (CR) could be combined, to form this new sense of Adequacy: (ADQ) Idea x is adequate in m ind y iff x and an adequate idea of x's cause is a proper part of y. This doctrine suggests that, in order for a m ind to contain all of an idea, it m ust also know something of that thing's cause. In short, Spinoza thinks, phenom ena are to be understood and explained causally. But (ADQ) dem ands not just an idea of x's cause, but ideas of its adequate cause. This definition seems to establish a vicious regress. For, consider again la4 and the causal requirement (CR), especially as it is used in 2p25d. Knowledge of a sensation, say, requires knowledge of an external mode that caused the sensation. But that cause itself is also an effect of some prior cause. So, to understand the external mode, one m ust understand some prior thing, and so on. This suggests that one cannot have knowledge of a mode unless one has knowledge of a long series of causal antecedents. This iterated application of la4 seems to be employed in 2p9, w hen Spinoza says,
The idea of a singular thing which actually exists has God for a cause not insofar as he is infinite, but insofar as he is considered to be affected by another idea of a singular thing which actually
79
exists; and of this [idea] God is also the cause insofar as he is affected by another third [idea], and so on, to infinity. (Curley, 453; Geb 11/91-92).
One scholar, Michael Della Rocca, interprets this passage as w arranting the following claims: "...the idea of a certain thing is caused by God insofar as God has infinitely other ideas of particular things...G od is the cause of the idea of certain things insofar as God has the infinitely m any ideas that are the causal antecedents of the idea in question."71 In other words, each singular thing, or finite mode, has an infinite series of causes and we should consider this entire series as the cause of that mode. So, Della Rocca suggests, a hum an m ind can have an adequate idea of a singular thing only if that m ind also has an idea of each of its causal antecedents, which is equivalent to (ADQ). He also suggests that each finite thing has an infinite series of causal
antecedents.72 So, adequate knowledge of any finite mode requires knowledge of an infinite series of causal antecedents; therefore, Della Rocca may be correct in saying that we cannot have adequate knowledge of finite things.73 Spinoza has offered two related criteria for adequacy - the containment requirement (CON) and the causal requirement (CR). These two can be combined to form (ADQ). In what follows, it will be shown that the common notions and the idea of God meet (ADQ).
2.2.3. Common Notions Spinoza's theory of adequacy as just explained does not preclude hum an possession of adequate knowledge. As mentioned, Spinoza asserts that hum an beings
80 have adequate ideas. Among those that he affirms we possess are common notions and the idea of God.74 Spinoza introduces the common notions at 2p38, saying, "those things which are common to all, and which are equally in the part and in the whole, can only be conceived adequately."75 The common notions are adequate ideas that take certain things, or properties, as their objects.76 These objects are found universally, "equally in the part and in the whole," further, they can only be conceived adequately. Spinoza offers 2Lem2 as an example of such a common property. 2Lem2d says, "all bodies agree in that they involve the concept of one and the same attribute (by Dl), and in that they can move now more slowly, now more quickly, and absolutely, that now they move, now they are at rest." The capacity for motion and rest found in all bodies is a common property and, so, the idea of this capacity is a common notion. This capacity is also a fundam ental principle in Spinoza's quasi-Cartesian physics. In discussing the nature of bodies, Spinoza begins w ith the following two axioms: "all bodies either move or are at rest" and "each body moves now more slowly, now more quickly."77 Therefore, at least some of the common notions are of fundamental principles of physics. Spinoza speaks of these principles in a somewhat different w ay in a letter to Georg Herm ann Schuller, who has asked on behalf of Ehrenfried W alther von Tschimhaus the following question, "I should like to have examples of those things immediately produced by God, and of those things produced by the m ediation of some infinite modification,"78 to which Spinoza replies, "...the examples you ask for of the first kind are: in the case of thought, absolutely infinite intellect; in the case of extension,
81 motion and rest."79 This exchange refers to the doctrine of infinite modes, which is sketched at lp21-23, where Spinoza says, "all the things which follow from the absolute nature of any of God's attributes have always had to exist and be infinite, or are, through the same attribute, eternal and infinite."80 Put briefly, infinite m odes are properties or characteristics that follow directly from a divine attribute. Spinoza says explicitly that motion and rest is a fundam ental feature of Extension. As such, it is an infinite m ode, following directly from the nature of the attribute of Extension. Common notions are of common properties, which are those found equally in the part and in the whole; that is, they are found in their entirety in every m ode of an attribute. The capacity for motion and rest is one such common property. This
common property is an infinite mode, something that follows immediately from the nature of Extension itself.81 Thus, at least some of the common notions are ideas of infinite m odes under Extension, which themselves are fundam ental principles of Spinoza's quasi-Cartesian physics.82 This interpretation of the common notions is borne out in the dem onstration to 2p38, where Spinoza says:
P38 Dem.: Let A be something which is common to all bodies, and which is equally in the part of each body and in the whole. I say that A can only be conceived adequately. For its idea (by P7C) will necessarily be adequate in God, both insofar as he has the idea of the human body and insofar as he has ideas of its affections, which (by P16, P25, and P27) involve in part both the nature of the human body and that of external bodies. That is (by P12 and P13), this idea will necessarily be adequate in God insofar as he constitutes the human mind, or insofar as her has ideas that are in the human mind. The mind, therefore (by
82
PI 1C), necessarily perceives A adequately, and does so both insofar as it perceives itself and insofar as it perceives its own or any external body. Nor can A be conceived in another way, q.e.d. (Curley, 474; Geb II/ 118)
Take A to be the capacity for m otion and rest. Being a fundam ental feature of Spinoza's physics, this capacity is present in every part of Extension. Because the common
property is involved in every mode of Extension, that is, in every part and affection of body, it follows that the common notion will be involved in every idea of those parts or affections.83 Further, since the common property is completely and wholly present w ithin each m ode of Extension, the common notion is complete w ithin the hum an m ind and its ideas of its bodily affections. In other words, the idea of the common property is a proper part of the idea of the hum an body and its affections and, as such, is wholly contained within the hum an mind. Such containment, it has been established, is one criterion for adequacy. Given that all our ideas are of affections of our own body, and given that there are certain fundam ental laws of physics that hold universally of all bodies, we can come to know these fundam ental laws whenever we consider our body or its physical interactions.84 Because these laws are wholly instantiated in the objects of our ideas, we can form adequate ideas of them.85 But containment (CON) is only one criterion for adequacy. According to (ADQ), an idea of something is complete in the m ind only w hen that mind also contains ideas of that thing's causal antecedents, that is, w hen it contains an idea of that thing's adequate cause. For Spinoza, every finite m ode has an infinite chain of causal
83 antecedents. Infinite modes, however, do not. Some follow directly from God's essence conceived under a certain attribute, while others follow immediately from some infinite mode. Thus, at least some infinite m odes have finite chains of causal antecedents.
Indeed, some have only a single link in their causal chain, following directly from the attribute itself. The capacity for motion and rest is one of these immediate infinite
modes.86 In other words, then, our ideas of infinite modes m ay be adequate yet not result in an infinite regress, because infinite m odes m ay have only a finite series of causes. Thus, the common notions meet the containment criterion for adequacy (CON). If our idea of a common property is to be adequate, then it m ust also meet the causal aspect of (ADQ) expressed in (CR); that is, we m ust also have an adequate idea of its cause. The capacity for motion and rest is an infinite mode that has, as its cause, G od's essence conceived under the attribute of Extension. Thus, for this common notion to be adequate in a m ind, that m ind m ust also include an adequate idea of the attribute of Extension. In order to show this, we m ust determine whether the mind also has an adequate idea of the common notion's cause, namely, the idea of God.
2.1.4. The Idea of God's Essence Concerning the idea of an attribute, Spinoza says, "by attribute I understand w hat the intellect perceives of a substance as constituting its essence."87 The idea of the attribute of Extension is just the idea of the divine essence as conceived under that
84 attribute. If we have this idea, then our common notions of the infinite m odes of extension are adequate.88 Spinoza asserts that we do in fact have an adequate idea of the essence of God. In 2p45d, Spinoza says,
.. .singular things (by IP15) cannot be conceived without God - on the contrary, because (by P6) they have God for a cause insofar as he is considered under the attribute of which the things are modes, their ideas must involve the concept of their attribute (by IA4), that is (by ID6), must involve an eternal and infinite essence of God. (Curley, 482; Geb 11/127)
W henever one forms an idea of any thing or event, one m ust form that idea under a certain attribute. In other w ords, the idea of Thought in general is necessarily a part of one's idea of something mental, while the idea of Extension is a part of one's idea of something bodily; one cannot consider a particular body w ithout assum ing the general idea of Extension. But, Spinoza says, having an idea of Extension just is having an idea of the divine essence.89 Then, in 2p47, Spinoza says, "the hum an m ind has an adequate knowledge of G od's eternal and infinite essence."90 This is so because the m ind necessarily has ideas of itself, under Thought, and of its body and external bodies, both under Extension. Further, given 2p45d, these ideas - of our own body and m ind, for example necessarily involve the ideas of the attributes of Thought and Extension. Thus, every hum an mind necessarily has an idea of G od's essence, as conceived under those two attributes.
85 Further, Spinoza says, this idea of G od's essence is a d eq u a te .91 The
dem onstration for this claim is important, as it echoes the justification behind the common notions:
Dem.: The demonstration of the preceding proposition [2p45] is universal, and whether the thing is considered as a part or as a whole, its idea, whether of the whole or of a part (by P45), will involve God's eternal and infinite essence. So what gives knowledge of an eternal and infinite essence of God is common to all, and is equally in the part and in the whole. And so (by P38) this knowledge will be adequate. (2p46d; Curley, 482; Geb II/127-8)
Spinoza has argued that the idea of every mode m ust involve the idea of its attribute. Necessarily, as we do have some ideas, we therefore do have some idea of an attribute. W hat's more, this necessary connection between the idea of a mode and the idea of its attribute is a property common to all modes. Thus, Spinoza claims, we all have an adequate idea of the divine essence for the same reason that we all have adequate common notions. Let me reiterate. The hum an m ind is just the idea of its body and its bodily interactions. There are certain common properties in all bodies, which are involved in every body and bodily interaction. W hen we form ideas of bodies and bodily
interactions, as we must, our ideas necessarily involve ideas of these common properties. Because these properties are equally in the part as in the whole, our ideas of these properties, the common notions, are wholly contained within our minds. Further, w hen we form ideas of bodies or of our own mind, we m ust conceive of these things under certain attributes. W hen we do so, our ideas necessarily involve an idea of these attributes. Like the common notions, the ideas of the attributes are equally in the part
86 as in the whole. As such, we necessarily form an idea of these attributes that is wholly contained within our minds. Thus, both the ideas of the attributes, which are just our conceptions of G od's essence, and the common notions satisfy the containment criterion (CON), above. Both common notions and our idea of G od's essence m eet the causal requirement (CR) as well. As quoted above, Spinoza asserts that our idea of G od's essence is adequate, but there is another reason for thinking this is so. Concerning God, or Substance, Spinoza says:
A substance cannot be produced by anything else (by p6c); therefore it will be the cause of itself, that is (by d l), its essence necessarily involves existence, or it pertains to its nature to exist. (Ip7d; Curley, 412; Geb 11/49) God, or a substance consisting of infinite attributes, ...necessarily exists, ( lp ll; Curley, 417; Geb 11/52)
God, which Spinoza equates w ith Substance, necessarily exists; for Spinoza, this means that God is self-caused.92 Therefore, in having an idea of God, one also has an idea of the
cause of God.93 And Spinoza has defined the attributes as the divine substance as
perceived by the mind. Thus, the attributes are self-caused as well, just as the divine substance itself is. So, in having any idea whatsoever, the hum an m ind thereby also has an idea of an attribute. But an attribute is just a conception of the divine essence. And w hen one conceives of the divine essence, one also conceives of the cause of the divine essence, since God is a cause per se. Thus, in having any idea whatsoever, the hum an mind necessarily contains an idea of God and an idea of the cause of God. And so, in having
87 any idea whatsoever, the idea of God in the hum an m ind meets both the containment criterion (CON) and the causal requirem ent (CR). Thus, the idea of God in the hum an m ind meets (ADQ) and therefore is adequate. It has also been established that the hum an m ind contains certain common notions. Further, these common notions have as their objects things that have God as their cause. And so, since we have an adequate idea of God, the common notions also meet (ADQ)- Thus, the common notions are also adequate in the hum an mind. Another way to understand this is to consider the principle of simplicity. In Letter 12 and elsewhere, Spinoza holds that the divine attributes are not divisible into parts, even though they are infinite; that is, the divine attributes are not aggregates or sum s of things. On the contrary, he claims, this infinity is a simple and uniform infinity, as opposed to a numerical infinity. If something is simple, it cannot break dow n into parts and, thus, cannot undergo corruption. Thus it is indestructible and eternal. If the attributes are ontologically simple, however, it m ay be reasonable to assume they are conceptually simple as well, especially given Spinoza's doctrine of a parallelism between bodily modes and ideas. Now, if something is conceptually simple, one cannot grasp it only in part, for it is not so composed. Instead, one m ust grasp it completely, that is, adequately, or not at all. For example, self-evident notions often are said to display this characteristic of simplicity. A nd this seems to be exactly how Spinoza takes the idea of the attributes self-evident truths of the highest simplicity. Given these ideas of the attributes,
common notions follow. These common notions themselves have a kind of qualified
88 simplicity and eternity of a hypothetical or dependent form, for example, "given

Extension, then certain common notions follow." And w hat is this simple idea we have of
the divine attribute? I suggest we take seriously w hat Spinoza says at lp34: "G od's pow er is his essence itself."94 In other words, God's essence just is power. So, w hen we conceive of an attribute, which is said to be G od's essence as conceived in a certain way, we are conceiving power in Extension or power in Thought.95 The idea of a uniform, infinite power, for Spinoza, is a simple idea, one that is not composed of sim pler ideas. As such, it can only be know n adequately or not at all.96 Spinoza's theory of ideas divides ideas into two categories, adequate and inadequate. The class of inadequate ideas is coextensive with the first kind of
knowledge. The first kind of knowledge, being inadequate, are ideas that are known only partially and w ithout a full understanding of their causes. The adequate ideas, however, are further divided into two exhaustive categories, the second and the third kinds of knowledge. They are grasped in their totality and their causes are understood. These include the common notions, which involve the laws of nature and logic. The third kind of knowledge, not discussed in the preceding, is a mental activity connecting particulars to the divine essence. As it is not directly relevant to our discussion here, it will be set aside. For w hat concerns us m ost is the distinction between adequate and inadequate ideas. This distinction underlies the opposition between active and passive affects. And this opposition is essential to understanding Spinoza's account of akrasia. It is to the affects, then, that we now turn.
89 2.2. Affects
2.2.1. Introduction
Spinoza's affective psychology lies literally and figuratively at the center of the text of his Ethics. Its introduction in Part 3 serves as the transition from Part 2's
epistemology of ideas to the ethics and politics of Parts 4 and 5. Despite their centrality, however, relatively little has been w ritten on the affects of the m ind in Spinoza's philosophy.97 Spinoza commentators generally agree that affects of the m ind in Spinoza's system involve a kind of cognition, a view sometimes labeled "cognitivism." Philosophers have applied the term "cognitivism" to a variety of theories. Cognitivism is often contrasted with the view attributed to H um e that emotions are brute feelings or sensations that contain no cognitive content,98 as well as that of William James, who took emotions to be the conscious awareness of physiological events.99 The exact nature of the cognitive content ascribed to emotions differs from writer to writer, however. In M artha N ussbaum 's usage, for example, emotions are cognitive in that they bear information in some sense.100 According to Robert Solomon's sense of cognitivism, emotions are judgm ents of a certain sort, lying in certain relations to other mental states.101 Very generally, then, cognitivism is the view that emotions, or affects, contain some cognitive content, though that content m ay not exhaust the nature of the affect, nor m ay it necessarily be propositional in content.102 Most commentators agree that affects in Spinoza's system are cognitive in some sense of that term. For example, Michael Della Rocca says, "in general, for Spinoza, affects are intentional m ental states. They are not contentless sensations (as they are in
90 Hume), but rather cognitive states directed at particular objects or states of affairs."103 As considered in the m ind, affects are representations of some sort. Don Garrett also agrees, saying, "every affect [of the mind] is at the same time an idea (i.e., a representation) of a state of the individual's body, and (indirectly) of external bodies that have contributed to producing that state."104 Affects of the m ind, then, are held to be ideas.
2.2.2. On the Nature of Ideas Spinoza defines "idea" at 2d3, where he says, "by idea I understand a concept of the m ind which the m ind forms because it is a thinking thing."105 In this definition, Spinoza states that ideas are concepts, by which he means something formed by an action of mind. Spinoza states w hy he uses the term "concept" [conceptum ] in an
explanation following this definition, where he says, "I say concept rather than perception, because the w ord perception seems to indicate that the m ind is acted on by the object. But concept seems to express an action of the m ind.106" Spinoza offers this explanation because he wishes to distinguish his notion of ideas from Descartes', who holds that perceptions are purely passive, only volitions being active.107 Ideas m ay be either passive or active for Spinoza, depending on w hether they are inadequate or adequate. He says, "our mind does certain things [acts] and undergoes other things, namely, insofar as it has adequate ideas, it necessarily does certain things, and insofar as it has inadequate ideas, it necessarily undergoes other things."108 This m ay initially seem like a contradiction, for he says in 2d3 that all ideas are m ental acts,
91 yet 3pl suggests that some ideas are inadequate and thus instances of m ental passivity. W ith adequate ideas, our m ind is wholly active, which means that the m ind is an adequate cause. W ith inadequate ideas, however, the mind is partially active and
partially passive, which means that the m ind is only a partial cause, as he explains in 3 d l and 3d2. In both cases, however, the m ind is active in some sense, which is
Spinoza's point in 2d3, above. Spinoza takes pains here not to present ideas as purely passive perceptions; ideas are products of m ental acts.109 If Spinoza means to say that ideas are concepts, how ought we to understand him? At the very least, Spinoza's ideas have cognitive or representative content.110 Spinoza does not explain w hat he means by a concept here, however. By "concept," he could m ean a psychological entity like a representation or m ental act;111 on the other hand, he could also m ean a logical object, such as a proposition.112 Spinoza renders a uniform logical reading problematic, however, w hen he equates ideas w ith particular affirmations of m ind, which are certainly psychological. Spinoza equates ideas w ith mental affirmations, or volitions, w hen he states, "in the mind there is no volition, or affirmation and negation, except that which the idea involves insofar as it is an idea."113 In this statement, Spinoza establishes that a volition is an act of affirmation or negation. Further, there are no volitions in the m ind except those which ideas involve simply because they are ideas. In other words, the only volitions in the m ind are those involved in the essence of ideas. By identifying volitions and ideas, Spinoza is not claiming that volitions do not exist because there are only ideas, nor the converse. Instead, we understand that ideas
92 can be conceived at least in two ways, one cognitive and one volitional. In other w ords, we m ay refer to modes of thought as ideas or as volitions, one referring to their cognitive content, the other to their volitional or affirmative nature. Considered
together, however, they are the affirmation of a representation, which can be understood as a judgm ent.114
2.2.3. The Affects Spinoza turns to discuss the affects in Part 3 of the Ethics, where he offers the following as a definition, saying, "by affect I understand affections of the Body [in] which the Body's power of acting is increased or diminished, aided or restrained, and at the same time, the ideas of these affections."115 An affect is an event in which the body undergoes a change in its pow er and of which the m ind simultaneously forms an idea. This m irrored relation between bodily events and ideas in the m ind is the result of Spinoza's doctrine of parallelism.116 In this case, however, the relation is between not just any mode of body and its idea, but between a power-changing affection of body and its parallel mental affect. Since this affect in the m ind is the m ental correlate of a change in the body's power, this very affect m ust involve a change in the m ind's pow er as well. So Spinoza says, "the idea of any thing that increase or diminishes, aids or restrains, our Body's pow er of acting, increases or diminishes, aids or restrains, our M ind's pow er of thinking."117 For, just as a mode of body has its parallel m ode of thought, or idea, and an affection of body has its parallel affect of m ind, so too does the pow er of the body have its parallel in the pow er of the mind. Thus, an affect is a change
93 in the body's power, which is paralleled in the m ind by an idea involving a change in the m ind's power.118 In the definition in 3d3, "affect" refers both to a change or affection in the body and the idea of that change, though Spinoza often speaks as though he means only the m ental phenomenon by the term "affect."119 In the "General Definition of the Affects," for example, Spinoza says, "an Affect that is called a Passion of the m ind is a confused idea, by which the Mind affirms of its Body, or of some part of it, a greater or lesser force of existing than before..."120 Note, however, that the discussion here is restricted to affects that are "a Passion of the m ind."121 Thus, one need not conclude from the definition that all affects are necessarily only ideas. After all, the definition also defines all affects as passions and confused ideas, even though Spinoza specifically states that some affects can be active and involve adequate ideas.122 Considered solely as m odes of body, affects are the bodily events associated with certain emotions. Spinoza recognizes this w hen he says, "as for the external affections of the body, which are observed in the affects - such as trembling, paleness, sobbing, laughter, and the like - 1 have neglected them, because they are related to the body only, w ithout any relation to the m ind."123 So again we see how the term "affect" refers both to an affection of the body in which its pow er changes and the idea of that affection. Because Spinoza is prim arily interested in the psychological dimension of the affects, however, he restricts his discussion to the mental; I will follow this restriction as well, only addressing affects in the mind. Further, these affects, being ideas, are necessarily cognitive.
94
2.2.4. Affects are Cognitive Spinoza regularly suggests that affects have cognitive content. Consider 4p8, where Spinoza says, "the knowledge of good and evil is nothing but an affect of Joy or Sadness...."124 Spinoza does not m ean to reduce knowledge to non-cognitive affect, of course. Instead, he wishes to suggest that cognitions have an affective dim ension.125 Spinoza repeats this theme at 4pl4 as well, where he states, "no affect can be restrained by the true knowledge of good and evil insofar as it is true, but only insofar as it is considered as an affect."126 Again w e see that one thing - true knowledge in this case can be considered as either a cognition or as an affect.127 In his explanation of the General Definition of the Affects, Spinoza asserts that an affect is not only an idea, but an affirmation. He says,
.. .the Mind passes to a greater or lesser perfection when it happens that it affirms of its body (or of some part of the body) something which involves more or less reality than before. So when I said above that the Mind's power of Thinking is increased or diminished, I meant nothing but that the Mind has formed of its Body (or of some part of it) an idea which expresses more or less reality than it had affirmed of the Body. (Curley, 543: Geb n/204)
W hen the m ind forms an affect, it affirms something. This act of affirmation involves a change in the body's power, which in turn involves a change in the m ind's power. One can consider this mode of thought as a cognition, insofar as it involves some propositionally structured, representational content. Further, one can consider it as an affirmation, for this representational content itself involves an affirmation. Finally, if we consider that the content of an idea involves a change in the pow er of the body or
95 m ind, then we consider this idea as an affect. In other words, all modes of thought, or ideas, are both cognitions and judgm ents.128 And w hen those ideas involve a change in the body's or the m ind's power, these ideas, then, are affects. So, affects are ideas. It should be evident that Spinoza's theory of the affects is strongly cognitivist, as it has been labeled by several Spinoza scholars.129 The appropriateness of this label bears itself out in an examination of the cognitive nature of the particular affects as well. All of the affects, according to Spinoza, are derivatives of the three prim ary affects,130 which are: pleasure or Joy [laetitia], pain or Sadness [tristitia], and Desire
[cupiditas].131 W hen we form certain ideas, which are affirmations of representations,
the pow er of our m ind is increased. The increase in power involved in forming this idea is felt as Joy. W hen we form other ideas, our m ind's pow er is decreased, thus feeling Sadness. So, Spinoza says, "by Joy, therefore, I shall understand in w hat follows that passion [in] which the M ind passes to a greater perfection. And by Sadness, that passion
[in] which it passes to a lesser perfection."132 Passions are simply passive affects, so w hat
has been said of affects applies equally to passions.133 Therefore, Joy is a judgm ent in which the m ind becomes more perfect, which means that the pow er of the mind increases. Likewise, Sadness is a judgm ent in which our m ind becomes less perfect, which means that the m ind's pow er decreases. Here is an example that m ay help to illustrate this point. Say that I believe Peter harm ed me. That is, I affirm a representation of Peter harm ing me. Next, let us say that this involves a decrease in my power. This w ould be a case of a Spinozist affect because
96 I affirm some idea, in which the pow er of m y m ind to act is reduced. By Spinoza's lights, my power will have been reduced, which I will feel as sadness. Further, because I believe Peter to be the cause of this sadness, I will feel this sadness as hate towards Peter.134 Thus, the very same mode of thought is simultaneously a representation, an affirmation, and an affect; that is, it is a change in the m ind's pow er involved in a judgm ent that is felt in a certain way, namely, as hate. Finally, concerning desire, Spinoza says, "desire is m an's very essence, insofar as it is conceived to be determined, from any given affection of it, to do something."135 W hen we are affected in a certain way, specifically, so that we are determined to do something, we have an affect of desire.136 In other words, affects which cause us to act are instances of desire. So, all affects are really species of Joy and Sadness; those affects that motivate us to act are desires, w hether they be joyful or sad.137 In fact, all affects of desire are also affects of either Joy or Sadness, both of which are cognitive. As such, affects of desire are cognitive as well.138
2.2.5. Spinoza's Janus-Faced Psychology The dual nature of ideas as either cognitive or affective explains an aspect of Spinoza's thought w ith which some commentators find difficulties. For example, in the latter half of the Ethics, Spinoza argues in favor of a life lived in accordance w ith reason, offering a kind of cognitive therapy to help free us from the bondage of the passions.139 Jonathan Bennett rightly points out that, for Spinoza, an affect can only be overcome by an opposing affect; this view is contrary to that of Descartes, who holds that one ought
97 to overcome passion w ith reason.140 In other words, Bennett claims, Spinozist reason seems to be impotent, only affects being able to overcome other affects, a view that stands in contrast w ith Descartes' focus on the virtues and strengths of reason. And Bennett is not alone in raising this concern, as several other prom inent interpreters of Spinoza have voiced similar worries.141 So, does Spinoza demean the pow er of reason? Is he a predecessor of Hum e on this issue? I do not believe so. If we understand cognitive therapy as it is found in a
Cartesian psychology, where reason stands on one side and passion or affect on the other, then reason w ould indeed by impotent, for Spinoza, and his cognitive therapy useless. But Spinoza's genius lies in rejecting this very dichotomy; he believes that the objects of the mind cannot be so divided. So, Lee Rice says:
The true revolution in Spinoza's account of affectivity is to be found not just in his consistent and thoroughgoing determinism, but also his systematic and consistent denial of "the split between the cognitive and the emotive or affective, or between faculties of thought and feeling, or, more sharply, between thought and action."142
For Spinoza, every instance of an affect is itself also a cognition. underlies his unique psychological theory.
This principle
For Spinoza, affects are ideas involving
changes in the m ind's power. These changes in the m ind's pow er m ay come about w hen the mind is purely active, or only partially so. That is, in some cases, we
experience a change in m ental pow er in an action we perform and other times we experience such a change in undergoing something. As discussed in the previous W hen the m ind is an
chapter, the m ind's ideas m ay be inadequate or adequate.
98 adequate cause of its ideas, those ideas are adequate; otherwise, the ideas are inadequate. Spinoza speaks of affects similarly w hen he says, "if we can be the
adequate cause of any of these affections, I understand by the Affect an action; otherwise, a passion."143 Affects in which the m ind is an adequate cause are active affects and those in which it is not an adequate cause are passive affects, or passions. Spinoza introduces these active affects w hen he says, "apart from the Joy and Desire that are passions, there are other affects of Joy and Desire that are related to us insofar as we act."144 Given that affects are identical to ideas, it follows that active affects involve adequate ideas and passive affects involve inadequate ideas. Further, though our m ind m ay undergo passions of Joy, Sadness, and Desire, it may only experience active affects of Joy and Desire, as Spinoza establishes w hen he says, "among all the affects that are related to the Mind insofar as it acts, there are none that are not related to Joy or Desire."145 So, we m ay have either passive or active Joy and Desire, but only passive Sadness. To understand this claim, consider Spinoza's doctrine of conatus, according to which we necessarily strive for w hat we believe will increase our pow er of acting.146 Every act we perform will be aimed at w hat we believe will increase our power. Now, if a particular act involves adequate knowledge, then that act will be aimed at w hat
actually increases our power, because in this case our belief is true, being adequate. In
other words, w henever we form an adequate idea, we form an idea that will in fact increase our pow er, so it is not possible for our forming an adequate idea to result in a decrease in our power. Since active affects involve adequate ideas, they too cannot
99 involve a decrease in our power. Given that Sadness is a decrease of pow er felt in the form ation of an idea, we cannot have an active affect of Sadness. It follows, then, that active affects m ay only be felt as species of Joy or Desire. Affects and ideas, including adequate ideas and knowledge, are not different and opposing classes of mental objects, for affects are simply a certain kind of idea. Therefore, when Spinoza speaks of the power of the affects, he means to include the affective pow er of adequate ideas as well. Notice that whenever Spinoza discusses the seeming impotence of reason vis-a-vis the affects, he qualifies reason or knowledge in a particular way. For example, "nothing positive which a false idea has is rem oved by the presence of the true insofar as it is true," though it can remove certain false ideas
insofar as it is an affect.1* 7 And w hen Spinoza says, "consequently the true knowledge of
good and evil, insofar as it is true, cannot restrain any affect," he again qualifies know ledge.148 Thus, Spinoza suggests, knowledge qua knowledge is impotent, but knowledge qua affect has power. Spinoza wishes that we live according to our rational, active affects, not according to the passions, intending his cognitive therapy as a way of achieving this. In short, we are to employ reason so that our active affects are efficacious. This is not a case where we try to pit one set of brute, irrational passions against another set, hoping that the results come out according to the guide of reason, however. No, this is reason itself employing its force against the passions. To say otherwise is to divide - falsely the idea from the affect. Spinoza very literally believes in the pow er of reason. So Ursula Goldenbaum says,
100
[Spinoza] was misinterpreted as a thinker who stood in the long tradition of those who understood human freedom as the freedom from affects, i.e., as the reign of reason over affects. Contrary to this, the achievement of Spinoza was, in my opinion, to show that human action is always and necessarily determined by affects. Even the free man's acts are caused by affects - albeit affects that are actions rather than passions.149
The view suggested by Goldenbaum and explained in detail here dissolves this seemingly contradictory aspect of Spinoza's psychology, according to which he sometimes opposes reason to the irrational affects and other times claims that all hum an action results only from affects. This is not to say that he holds the pow er of reason to be superior to the power of irrational affects, only that reason does have some affective power. W hereas Socrates and the Stoics take knowledge to be stronger than mere belief, or opinion, Spinoza does not.150 For Spinoza, knowledge is not more powerful than belief or even false belief, as he says clearly in the first 17 propositions of Part 4.151 Nevertheless, Spinoza accepts the rationalist view that knowledge is the m ind's ow n power, by which one m ay control the passions to a degree and gain virtue and happiness. He upheld these rationalist
principles while also advancing an affective psychology, according to which various modes of the m ind interact via efficient causation and the outcomes of their conflicts are determ ined solely by their relative strength. This latter aspect also connects Spinoza w ith Hume and his naturalist theory of mind. Thus, in Spinoza's psychology, we find a synthesis of two views usually held to be opposed, the two faces of Spinoza's Janus psychology - one face looking back to a
101 quasi-Cartesian rationalism and the other looking forward to a quasi-Hum ean naturalism . That Spinoza m anaged to combine the two and present a relatively
coherent psychological theory is a significant accomplishment. We cannot divide the m ind into beliefs and desires, for desires are nothing but motivating beliefs. Thus, there are only ideas, some of which, w hen formed, increase or decrease the pow er of our m inds.152 A major philosophical obstacle to identifying the affects w ith ideas is Spinoza's doctrine of parallelism. If affects can be understood as bodily phenomena, how could they interact w ith ideas? Della Rocca accurately argues that parallelism actually entails this view of the affects, saying, "there can be no item in thought, and thus no states of desire, hope, love, etc., that do not reduce fully to ideas. Any such item would have too little in common w ith ideas to be of the same attribute as ideas and to be able to interact w ith th em ."153 In other words, since affects interact w ith ideas, both causally and explanatorily, affects m ust ultimately reduce to ideas. If this were not so, affects w ould represent a violation of Spinoza's parallelism, according to which modes of thought m ay interact only with other m odes of thought. Because only ideas m ay cause other ideas, and because affects causally interact w ith ideas, it follows that affects m ust be ideas. Given that ideas and affects are identical, one m ight be tem pted to reason as follows: (i) (ii) (iii) idea a causes affect b affect b causes bodily event c; thus, idea a is a cause of bodily event c.
If this way of reasoning were acceptable, Spinoza's strict parallelism w ould most certainly be violated in (iii). This problem looms large in any Spinozist explanation of w hat looks like m ind-body interaction, for example, perception or intentional bodily action. The account of the affects given above can be consistent w ith Spinoza's
parallelism, however, as long as one is careful w hen discussing the causal relations of the affects. That is, one w ould need to be careful to speak only of the m ental affect or the physical affect w hen speaking of causation, even though we m ay sometimes refer to the physical affect of Sadness or the m ental affect of Sadness. One m ust reject the move from (i) to (ii) as turning on an equivocation, because the term 'affect b' in (i) denotes an affect insofar as it is mental, while the term 'affect b' in (ii) denotes an affect insofar as it is physical. The two senses of 'affect' are a result of Spinoza's view that "the Mind and the Body are one and the same thing, which is conceived now under the attribute of Thought, now under the attribute of Extension."154 Della Rocca successfully explains how this view does not violate parallelism by appealing to referential opacity, an approach that m ay resolve our difficulty.155 If affects are referentially opaque, we could not substitute 'affect b insofar as it is an idea' for the identical 'affect be insofar as it is a bodily m ode' in the argum ent spelled out in (i)-(iii), above, even though they are identical. This certainly seems to be the kind of approach Spinoza has in m ind, though he of course does not frame it linguistically, as Della Rocca has. Regardless, Spinoza did hold affects to behave in this way and it w ould be uncharitable to conclude that he
103 simply failed to see that this fundam ental theory of his contravened another of his central doctrines, parallelism.
2.3. The Rejection of the Faculties The conatus is not real. This claim will shock most readers of Spinoza, to be sure. In a sense, however, it is true. For the conatus does not play an explanatory or causal role in particular hum an actions. Instead, the conatus is nothing more than a tendency that things exhibit, to behave in a certain way, specifically, tow ard self-preservation. Indeed, the conatus is nothing but the force w ith which we behave in this way. These behaviors are caused by particular desires, however, and not by some reified, essential, baseline Desire. In other words, Spinoza is not a proto-Freudian. Indeed, Spinoza does not countenance any such reified and general psychological entities. Just as the conatus reduces to a set of particular, self-interested desires, so too do the other traditional psychological faculties reduce to their constituents. For example, the faculty of Will, for Spinoza, is nothing but a generalization from the particular volitions in a m ind. In w hat follows, an argum ent from analogy will be offered in order to advance this interpretation of the conatus, according to which the Will is to particular volitions as the conatus is to particular desires. By this analogy, we m ay understand how
particular ideas and affects can explain hum an action, because particular desires can be efficacious, leading us to act. Before m oving to a discussion of hum an bondage and action, then, we m ust first investigate Spinoza's reduction of the psychological faculties.
104
2.3.1. Introduction
One of the most famous doctrines in Spinoza's corpus is his claim that "each thing, as far as it can by its ow n power, strives to persevere in its being"156 and that "the striving...is nothing but the actual essence of the thing."157 Scholars of Spinoza have w ritten hundreds, likely thousands, of pages concerning the nature of this striving
(conatus, in Latin). Concerning this conatus as it exists in hum an beings, Spinoza says,
"w hen this striving is related only to the mind, it is called will; but w hen it is related to the m ind and body together, it is called appetite...Between appetite and desire there is no difference, except that desire is generally related to m en insofar as they are conscious of their appetite."158 So, when this conatus is considered only w ith regard to the mind, it is called Will [voluntas] and w hen considered w ith regard to mind and body together, it is called Appetite [appetitus ] or Desire [cupiditas]. Most scholars who wish to investigate the nature of the conatus have focused on its dem onstration and uses in Part 3.159 These are good avenues of investigation, but a different approach is available, one based on Spinoza's identification of conatus w ith the will and desire. Explanations of Spinoza's opinions concerning desire and the will are valuable in their ow n right, but such an explanation also leads us to interesting insights concerning the nature of the conatus. U nderstanding Spinoza's theory of the will requires a grasp of the Cartesian theory he was rejecting, however, so that m ust be addressed first. Accordingly, Cartesian faculty psychology and Spinoza's rejection of it will be investigated here.
105 2.3.2. On Faculties Historically, philosophers were of two m inds on the composition of the soul. Some, beginning w ith Plato, divide the soul into various rational and irrational parts.160 Others, such as Descartes, hold that the soul or m ind is a true unity, but has distinct faculties.161 A faculty of the m ind is a power, a capability, to perform a certain kind of act; these acts are distinguished, in turn, by the objects they produce.162 For this second group of thinkers, the soul or m ind is not divided in its nature but in its activities and objects; that is, one m ental act m ay involve a cognition, another a volition, and these two are different in kind. Traditionally, philosophers identified several faculties, including the intellect, the will, and the imagination. The intellect forms ideas and understands; the will affirms and forms volitions; and the imagination receives and forms sensory images. Implicit in this division is the assum ption that understanding, willing, and imagining are fundam entally different acts. Further, this assumes that the objects of these acts are similarly distinct.163 Spinoza rejects both the division of the m ind's activities into distinct faculties and the division of m ental objects into distinct classes such as volition, idea, and image.164 Descartes held that the m ind contains distinct faculties of Intellect and Will and that these two faculties behave in fundam entally different ways. In the Fourth
Meditation, Descartes says, "the scope of the will is w ider than that of the intellect."165 In fact, the scope of the will is infinite, in that we have the pow er to affirm or deny anything, he claimed; our pow er of representation, on the other hand, is limited.
106 W hat's more, the will is absolutely free, in that it is not "determ ined by any external force."166 Descartes also recommends that "the perception of the intellect should always precede the determ ination of the will."167 In other w ords, the Will and Intellect concern acts that have different scopes and causes and these acts m ay be perform ed at distinct times. For Descartes, then, the faculties of Intellect and Will are metaphysically distinct mental activities. Calling two entities or activities "metaphysically distinct" is to deny that they are only distinct in reason. Descartes himself w ould call this distinction a
modal distinction.168
N ot only does Descartes attribute m ental acts to distinct faculties of Intellect and Will, but he also distinguishes particular m ental objects into distinct categories. In the Third Meditation, he says:
Some of my thoughts are as it were the images of things, and it is only in these cases that the term 'idea' is strictly appropriate - for example, when I think of a man, or a chimera, or the sky, or an angel, or God. Other thoughts have various additional forms: thus, when I will, or are afraid, or affirm, or deny, there is always a particular thing which I take as the object of my thought, but my thought includes something more than the likeness of that thing. Some of my thoughts in this category are called volitions or emotions, while others are called judgments. (AT VH 37; CSMII, 25-6)
Ideas, for Descartes, are representations.169 Sometimes, our mental experiences involve more than simply an idea, however, but also involve an affirmation or denial, so that together the two constitute a volition or judgment. Volitions and ideas are distinct, for Descartes, for one may have ideas w ithout their being affirmed in a volition or judgm ent. So, for Descartes, acts of m ind are divided in that they are attributed to
107 distinct faculties of m ind, such as Intellect and Will. Further, objects of m ind are
divided into different kinds, such as volitions and ideas. Spinoza rejects both of these divisions - between distinct faculties and between mental objects - in the strongest terms.
2.3.3. Spinoza's Rejection of the Faculties of Will and Intellect Spinoza rejects the assignment of m ental acts to distinct faculties, beginning w ith one particular faculty - the Will. In 2p48 and its demonstration, he says:
In the mind there is no absolute, or free, will, but the mind is determined to will this or that by a cause which is also determined by another, and this again by another, and so to infinity. Dem.: The mind is a certain and determinate mode of thinking (by p ll), and so (by Ipl7c2) cannot be a free cause of its own actions, or cannot have an absolute faculty of willing and not willing, Rather it must be determined to willing this or that (by lp28) by a cause which is also determined by another, and this again by another, and so on, q.e.d. (2p48; Curley, 483; Geb 11/129)
In this demonstration, Spinoza refers to Ipl7c2, which states that "God alone is a free cause," from which he concludes that the m ind cannot be a free cause of its volitions.170 This clearly is a rejection of Descartes' claim. Spinoza also cites lp28, which states that "every singular thing, or any thing which is finite and has a determ inate existence, can neither exist nor be determ ined to produce an effect unless it is determ ined to exist and produce an effect by another cause, which is also finite and has a determinate existence."171 In other w ords, every finite thing existing in duration is determ ined by its cause, which m ust also be a finite and determinate existing thing, and so on, to infinity.
108 Therefore, Spinoza reasons, no particular volition can have an absolutely free, Cartesian mental faculty as its cause, because every volition m ust have an infinite chain of particular things as its cause. The requirem ent of an infinite chain of things renders an appeal to a free, Cartesian faculty of Will impossible.172 In short, Spinoza's determinism precludes the possibility of a libertarian freedom of the Will, as is often attributed to Descartes.173 Spinoza extends this argum ent against the Cartesian faculty of Will to the other faculties of m ind in the scholium to 2p48, where he says:
In this same way it is also demonstrated that there is in the mind no absolute faculty of understanding, desiring, loving, and the like. From this it follows that these and similar faculties are either complete fictions or nothing but metaphysical beings, or universals, which we are used to forming from particulars. So intellect and will are to this or that idea, or to this or that volitions as 'stone-ness' is to this or that stone, or man to Peter or Paul. (Curley, 483; Geb 11/129)
Here Spinoza suggests that just as his determinism make a Cartesian free faculty of Will impossible, so too does it exclude the possibility of any "absolute faculty." But this extension of 2p48d to other faculties is curious, because the argum ent it contains applies only to faculties understood as free causes. Descartes' faculties of Intellect and
Imagination, for example, are not free causes, so it seems that the argum ent of 2p48 does not apply to them. It m ay be that, by "absolute faculty," Spinoza has "a faculty that is a free cause" in mind. If so, then Spinoza is right that 2p48d can be extended to include a rejection of such faculties as the Intellect and the Imagination, though perhaps trivially so, since no thinker posits any absolutely free faculties except the Will.
109 W hat of faculties considered as determ ined modes of thought? If there are no
free faculties of m ind, Spinoza suggests, then faculties are "either complete fictions or
nothing but metaphysical beings, or universals." That is, if faculties are not absolutely free causes, then they are not real. If they are not real, then either there are no such things as faculties, or at best they are nothing more than an abstraction from particular m ental entities - mere beings of reason. So, Spinoza claims, if the Will and Intellect are not absolutely free, then they are either fictitious or abstractions. Spinoza makes this assertion because a fully determined faculty of Intellect or Will is gratuitous in his system; all that is required to explain the advent of a particular finite idea or volition is some previous particular finite idea or volition. Any reference to faculties is thus rendered unnecessary for psychological explanation. To see why this is so for Spinoza, consider the following example. Sally conceives of a rock flying tow ard a window, followed by the idea of the window breaking. Now, if we are to include a faculty of Intellect in this explanation, we m ust say this: Sally forms an idea of the rock in her Intellect; this idea's presence in the Intellect then leads Sally to form the idea of the breaking window. It is not at all clear, however, w hat explanatory role the faculty of Intellect would play here over and above the ideas themselves. This explanation commitments. again runs afoul of Spinoza's general metaphysical
For, Spinoza says, every particular mode of thought has another
particular mode of thought as its cause and is required by his parallelism.174 The inclusion of a faculty of Intellect here is otiose. In short, then, the only kind of thing that
110 could be the cause of Sally's idea of a w indow breaking is something like her idea of the flying rock, and not a faculty at all. The elliptical argum ent given in this scholium is an echo of one given at greater length in 2p40sl, where Spinoza argues that universals such as Man and Horse are artificial creations of the m ind, abstracted from a set of particular ideas of m en or horses. He says:
Those notions they call Universal, like Man, Horse, Dog, and the like have arisen.. .because so many images (e.g., of men) are formed at one time in the human body that they surpass the power of imagining - not entirely, of course, but still to the point where the mind can imagine neither slight differences of the singular [men] (such as the color and size of each one, etc.) nor their determinate number, and imagines distinctly only what they all agree in ...175
Spinoza here rejects abstract ideas, such as m an and horse; for similar reasons, he will reject the faculties of Intellect and Will. All of these universal ideas are confused
abstractions from particular cases and not clear or true ideas at all. Most importantly, however, is this - these confused universal ideas are not of any universal nature at all. Thus Spinoza notes that one person's 'universal' idea of m an will be different from another's, especially if they draw their universal generalizations from different groups of people.176 Likewise, the idea of the Will is nothing but an abstraction from our ideas of particular volitions; similarly, our idea of a faculty of Intellect is nothing bu t an abstraction from our ideas of our ideas. O ur ideas of these faculties of the Will and Intellect are indeterminate, confused ideas formed out of the combination of more particulars than our m inds can grasp at once.
I ll In short, then, Spinoza rejects faculties of the mind such as those Descartes proposed, including the Intellect and the Will. Because psychological faculties are not free causes, they cannot by themselves cause or explain modes of thought; thus, any explanation of a m ode of thought m ust appeal to particular modes of thought besides faculties, specifically, ideas. Since m odes of thought are caused and explained by other m odes of thought, faculties cannot be anything over and above such modes. And if faculties are nothing over and above particular m odes of thought, then faculties are really just abstractions from these particular modes, and thus do not really exist at all in their own right.177 Thus, faculties are, at most, nothing but universals, which for Spinoza am ount to confused abstractions from particulars.178
2.3.4. Ideas and Volitions Ideas, for Spinoza, are m ental acts, not the purely passive perceptions of Descartes.179 Spinoza's ideas m ay be either passive or active, depending on whether they are adequate or inadequate. Ideas are not just acts of cognition, however; they are also acts of volition.180 In 2p48s, Spinoza claims:
.. .we must investigate, I say, whether there is any other affirmation or negation in the mind except that which the idea involves, insofar as it is an idea - on this see the following proposition and also 3D3 - so that our thought does not fall into pictures. For by ideas I understand, not the images which are formed at the back of the eye.. .but concepts of thought. (Curley, 484; Geb 11/130)
In 2d3, Spinoza has emphasized the activity involved in ideas.
He repeats that
emphasis here, contrasting ideas w ith mere pictures passively formed in the eye.
112 Spinoza is not making a distinction here between two kinds of ideas, one an imagination and the other an active conception. Instead, he wishes simply to explain that all modes of thought involve acts of the mind, including those that are visual representations. Spinoza makes reference to images formed at the back of the eye as a paradigm of passive idea formation, a view he wishes to reject in its entirety.181 Once again we see Spinoza distinguishing his view of ideas as active m ental entities from that of Descartes. Spinoza wishes to discover w hether ideas involve a particular activity, that of affirmation and negation, solely on account of their being ideas. In short, he wishes to ask whether ideas, by their very nature, are also affirmations. Spinoza states, "in the m ind there is no volition, or affirmation and negation, except that which the idea involves insofar as it is an idea."182 In so doing, he establishes that volitions are acts of affirmation or negation and that there are no volitions in the m ind except those which ideas qua ideas involve. In other words, the only volitions in the m ind are those involved in the essence of ideas.183 In his article on this identification of volition and idea, Della Rocca focuses largely on the dem onstration for 2p49, arguing against w hat he calls the "standard reading" of that proposition, according to which it merely states that all affirmations m ust be accompanied by an idea, not identical w ith one. Though this m ay be a possible reading of Spinoza's text at 2p49d, I believe such a reading does violence to the proposition at 2p49 itself, as well as to the end of the scholium immediately before it. On the "standard reading," Spinoza's phrase "that which the idea involves insofar as it is an idea" m ust be taken simply as "that which is necessary for an idea." A more
113 natural reading, I suggest, takes this phrase to m ean "that which the idea involves solely in virtue of being an idea" or, better, "that which an idea involves essentially."184 After having argued for the identity of ideas and their affirmations, Spinoza concludes 2p49d, saying, "so (by d2) this affirmation pertains to the essence of the idea of the triangle and is nothing beyond it."185 That is, the affirmation pertains to the idea of the triangle and vice versa; thus, all ideas are volitions and all volitions, ideas.186 In other words, Spinoza believes, every conception involves a predication or assertive stance and every volition or affirmation involves a cognition. Despite his argum ent that volitions and ideas are the same, Spinoza sometimes speaks as though they are distinct.187 This suggests that Spinoza's identification of volitions with ideas is not necessarily eliminative. In other words, by claiming that volitions and ideas are the same, Spinoza is not claiming that volitions do not exist because there are only ideas, nor the converse. Instead, we m ay refer to m odes of thought as ideas or as volitions, one referring to their cognitive content, the other to their volitional or affirmative force.188 Further, ideas m ay be considered in a third way, as affects.
2.3.5. Affects and Ideas We have seen that Spinoza holds all m ental affects to be ideas. It does
necessarily not follow, however, that all ideas, in turn, are affects. This is so because, Spinoza says, "the hum an Body can be affected in m any ways in which its pow er of acting is increased or diminished, and also in others which render its pow er of acting
114 neither greater nor less."189 But affects only involve increases or decreases in power, thus excluding those cases where our pow er remains the same. In other words, there seems to be a class of ideas that correspond to events in the body that do not change its pow er and, thus, are not affects. However, Spinoza also claims that any even seemingly inert ideas can change our power. For Spinoza holds that ideas m ay become connected through accidental association.190 Spinoza specifically applies this principle of the association to those ideas that formerly had no affective dimension, w hen he says,
3pl5: Any thing can be the accidental cause of Joy, Sadness, or Desire. Dem.: Suppose the Mind is affected by two affects at once, one of which neither increases nor diminishes it (see Post. 1). From p l4 it is clear that when the Mind is afterwards affected with the former affect as by its true cause, which (by hypothesis) through itself neither increases nor diminishes its power of thinking, it will immediately be affected by the latter also, which increase or diminishes its power of thinking, i.e. (by p i Is), with Joy, or Sadness. And so the former thing will be the cause of Joy or Sadness - not through itself, but accidentally. And in the same way it can easily be shown that that thing can be the accidental cause of Desire, q.e.d. (Curley, 503; Geb 11/151-152)
Any idea can be associated w ith joy or pain, even those that did not previously involve an increase or decrease in pow er.191 In other words, all ideas have the capacity to become affects, though not all in fact do. Spinoza's use of terms here is not entirely consistent. In 3d3, Spinoza offers a definition of affect [affectus], claiming that affects m ust involve an increase or decrease in power. In 3pl5d, however, his use implies that "affect" [affectus again] includes
115 changes that involve neither an increase nor a decrease in power. If we take the second sense to be the rule, then all ideas are affects. If we follow the first sense, the one from his definition, then only some ideas are affects, though all m ay become affects by association. I suspect that Spinoza simply was not careful in his use of these terms, sliding between a broader and narrow er sense of the term "affect." In any event, we m ay say that all ideas either are or m ay become affects. Thus we see, first, that ideas and volitions are identical and, second, that all affects are ideas and all ideas may be affects. These conclusions lend support to the claim that ideas have a tripartite nature, according to which they may be considered in three ways: as cognitions, as volitions, and as affects.192 The bulk of the exegetical w ork just presented has built to this pivotal conclusion. This result is im portant for us because the uniqueness of Spinoza's account of akrasia turns on his identification of affects and judgments. Spinoza's psychology is his doctrine of the conatus. The other central feature of
2.4. The Conatus In the simplest terms, the conatus is a fundam ental tendency each individual exhibits to act in ways that preserve or increase its power. The tendency m ay be seen in everyday physical objects such as tables and chairs as inertia and cohesion. These
physical tendencies, Spinoza implies, are fundam ental to the object as an individual. In the hum an being, this tendency takes on a different, psychological tendency as well, because the hum an being can act on desires in a w ay that tables and chairs cannot.
116 Nonetheless, both the inertia of the table and the desire of the hum an being exhibit this tendency, Spinoza believes. Since this tendency is often believed to play a significant explanatory role in psychological phenom ena, it is necessary to investigate it if we wish to understand that most vexing of psychological phenomena, akrasia.
2.4.1. The Faculties, Redux
One w as to understand the conatus is as a power or capacity of the mind. If we consider it as such, we may be considering it as a relative of other psychological powers, such as the pow er of cognition and the pow er of volition. As we shall see, however, Spinoza countenances neither these psychological faculties nor the conatus as a real power of the mind. The m ental m odes cannot be divided into distinct classes such as idea and affect. Further, the psychological faculties are nothing but abstractions from these particular modes of thought. If the faculties are nothing over and above their constituents, and if the ideas of the Intellect and volitions of the Will are identical, then the faculties of Intellect and Will should be identical as well. And this is exactly w hat Spinoza says in a corollary to 2p49, where he states, "the will and the intellect and one and the same." He then considers some Cartesian objections to this claim in the scholium. In defense of his distinction between Intellect and Will, Descartes has claimed that our pow er of affirming is infinite, because we may affirm anything, but our power of perception is finite. Referring to this Cartesian doctrine, Spinoza says:
117
I deny that the will extends more widely than perceptions, or the faculty of conceiving...For just as we can affirm infinitely many things by the same faculty of willing (but one after another...), so also can we sense, or perceive, infinitely many bodies by the same faculty of sensing (viz. one after another... (2p49s; Curley, 487-8; Geb 11/133)
Spinoza argues that we cannot have a greater pow er to affirm things than we do to perceive or represent things. We m ust represent whatever we affirm, so the scope of these two faculties m ust be identical. Unlike Descartes, Spinoza's Intellect and Will have the same scope. Descartes also claims that the Will and Intellect are distinct because we experience a power to suspend the judgment, a pow er we do not have w ith regard to perception. Of this alleged pow er Spinoza says,
...I [deny] that we have a free power of suspending judgment. For when we say that
someone suspends judgment, we are saying nothing but that he sees that he does not perceive the thing adequately. Suspension of judgment, therefore, is really a perception, not [an act of] free will. (2p49s; Curley, 488; Geb 11/134)
Spinoza explains this experience as an awareness that one of our perceptions is confused or inadequate. This explanation is consistent w ith Spinoza's view that
volitions are not free causes, but are wholly determined. For Spinoza, the faculties of Intellect and Will are nothing but abstractions from particular ideas and volitions, respectively, which are identical, thus rendering the Intellect and the Will also identical. In other words, the faculties of Intellect and Will are nothing but beings of reason that refer to one or another aspect of the same set of m odes of thought.
118 It seems that, for Spinoza, the m ind perform s one action, that of forming affirmative ideas. Further, these ideas m ay also be considered as affects. In explaining any particular m ental act or decision, one need only refer to ideas; no reference to faculties or other phenom ena is necessary. Given this seemingly complete account of mental phenomena, w hat are we to make of Spinoza's claim that hum an beings have a striving, or conatus? W hen
considered solely in relation to the m ind, the conatus is just the Will. W hen considered in relation to m ind and body together, it is Desire. Does the conatus upset this austere picture of a m ind wholly constituted by ideas and nothing but ideas?
2.4.2. Conatus and Desire Spinoza introduces the conatus at 3p6, saying, "each thing, as far as it can by its ow n power, strives to persevere in its being."193 In one way or another, every entity strives in some way to persevere. In fact, Spinoza says in 3p7, "the striving by which each thing strives to persevere in its being is nothing but the actual essence of the thing."194 Every existing entity has an actual essence, which is its striving to persevere. H um an beings also exhibit this universal tendency, as Spinoza explains w hen he introduces his theory of desire, which he introduces at 3p9s, saying:
When this striving [conatus] is related only to the Mind, it is called Will; but when it is related to the Mind and Body together, it is called Appetite. This Appetite, therefore, is nothing but the very essence of man, from whose nature there necessarily follow those things that promote his preservation. And so man is determined to do these things. Between appetite and desire there is no difference, except that desire is generally related to men
119
insofar as they are conscious of their appetite. So desire can be defined as appetite together with
consciousness of the appetite. (3p9s; Curley, 500; Geb 11/147-148)
Spinoza restates and clarifies this definition w hen he defines the affect of desire in the Definitions of the Affects at the end of Part 3, where he says:
Desire is man's very essence, insofar as it is conceived to be determined, from any given affection of it, to do something. Exp.: We said above, in P9S, that Desire is appetite together with the consciousness of it. And appetite is the very essence of man, insofar as he is determined to do what promotes his preservation. But in the same Scholium I also warned that I really recognize no difference between human appetite and Desire...Here, therefore, by the word Desire I understand any of a man's strivings, impulses, appetites, and volitions, which vary as the man's constitution varies, and which are not infrequently so opposed to one another that the man is pulled in different directions and knows not where to turn. (Def. Aff. I; Curley, 531; Geb 11/190)
According to Spinozas explanation of this definition, Desire is a catch-all term that includes the collection of m an's strivings, impulses, appetites, and volitions. collection is m an's essence. From these two definitions, we can draw certain conclusions about the nature of Desire and conatus. Both Desire and the Will are "nothing but" the very essence of a hum an being. In other words, a person's Will and his Desire are both ways in which we can understand his essence, or conatus. W hen we consider the essence of a hum an being solely under the attribute of Thought, we conceive of his Will. Of course, we may also conceive of this essence solely under the attribute of Extension, in which case we conceive the person's bodily conatus, about which Spinoza does not concern himself in This
120 the Ethics.195 Nonetheless, w hen we conceive of that essence under both Thought and Extension, we conceive of his Desire. Since Desire is distinct from the Will only in that Desire is considered in conjunction w ith the body, it follows that this essential Desire, like the Will, is an abstraction and nothing over and above its particular constituents. So, Desire is nothing over and above particular desires. The constituents of the Will are volitions, or ideas. These constituents m ay also be considered as affects. Particular desires are affects as well. Thus, our essential Desire is nothing over an above our collection of ideas And so, our essential Desire is nothing more than our
considered in a certain way. collection of affects.196
A hum an being is nothing but a collection of modes that are related in a certain way. These m odes can be considered as either ideas or volitions w ith regard to the mind. They m ay also be conceived as particular affects with regard to the hum an being. Similarly, the body is a collection of modes of extension, which are individuated only in their tendency tow ard self-preservation. Thus, the conatus, in all cases, is simply a relation that unites the aggregate of modes; it is a collective tendency toward perseverance. Dan Garber claims that this tendency for an aggregate body to preserve itself has its foundation in the constituent bodies' persistence in their states of motion or rest. This bodily force is inertia. Extrapolating from Garber's view on bodily conatus, we can speculate on the nature of the conatus in the m ind and hum an being as well.
121 The inertia of individual bodies explains their tendency to m aintain their individuating m otion and rest, while a collective, collaborative inertia helps to m aintain the m otion and rest that individuates an aggregate. Only when the individual inertias of a group function as an inertial principle for the whole collective can the collective be considered as an entity itself. Otherwise it is simply a collection; such is the distinction between a listless crowd and an arm y marching in formation.197 That is not to say that this inertial principle of the aggregate is anything over and above the inertial principles of the constituent parts; indeed, the inertial tendency of an aggregate entity does nothing that is not in fact a result of individual forces of inertia.198 Regardless of w hether the speculation just offered is correct, our explanations of particular hum an behavior need not involve abstractions such as Intellect, Will, Desire, or conatus unless it is understood that such terms are abstractions and themselves bear no causal efficacy beyond the efficacy of their constituents. Thus, the following kind of explanation is incomplete: Jones believes there is w ater in the fridge that he needs to drink to survive; as w ith all things, Jones' conatus directs him to do whatever he m ust to survive; therefore he drinks the water. Such an explanation reveals very little,
because the appeal to the conatus here obscures the real causal interaction, which happens at the level of particular modes. Thus, the appeal to belief-desire pairs, for example, m ay be somewhat misleading, since both relata could be described as ideas. Instead, one might say that Jones has an idea of w ater in the fridge and that this idea has a positive affective quality, such that we m ay say that he desires the water. This idea and affect, by virtue of its
122 ow n affective force, m ay be sufficient to drive Jones to act to drink the water. This is Spinoza's mechanistic view of hum an action. This is not to say that the conatus is im potent or that this doctrine is of no use in a Spinozist study of psychology. On the contrary, the conatus doctrine is a principle that represents a universal tendency that all beings exhibit. As such, it can play an explanatory role at a general level. All creatures do in fact strive to persevere in their own being, as the conatus doctrine suggests. But this striving is to be explained by reference to particular desires for apparent goods, not by a general Desire or fundam ental im pulse.199 As we shall see, our affects can come into conflict and our judgm ents can as well. Some of those judgm ents and desires will be rational, others irrational. Yet there is no overarching faculty of volition to assent to some judgm ents and reject others. Further, there is no fundam ental desire to which all other desires can be reduced. Finally, both inadequate and adequate ideas are a part of the hum an essence. These tenets of
Spinoza's psychology will play a significant role in w hat he has to say about bondage and w hat we can take away from that discussion about akrasia.
123
Chapter Three: Spinoza on Akrasia, An Exegesis
3.1. On Human Bondage Spinoza does not discuss akrasia itself at length. Instead, he couches his theory of
akrasia in his larger ethical theory of bondage and freedom. In fact, aside from a few
references to feelings of being to m by the passions and a telling quote from Medea, Spinoza does not discuss akrasia directly at all. Nevertheless, Spinoza does have a novel and interesting theory of akrasia, one well w orth excavating from his larger system. In order to do that, however, we m ust first explore his theory of bondage and freedom. We have seen that ideas can be either adequate or inadequate. The affects, which are really just ideas, can be active or passive, according to w hether they involve inadequate or adequate ideas. Further, affects and ideas are all we really need to
consider w hen trying to understand psychological phenom ena in Spinoza's system. This is the case for understanding bondage to the passions as well.
3.1.1. Introduction
124 Spinoza titled Part 4 of his Ethics "On H um an Bondage, or the Powers of the Affects," a title so memorable as to have inspired Somerset M augham to nam e his great novel after it. W ithin Part 4, Spinoza explains how reason can be overcome by the passions. Being in bondage, we are vulnerable to cases of weak will, in which we knowingly pursue ends contrary to our own interest and good. Spinoza indicates that our bondage to the passions leads to the classical problem of weakness of will, or akrasia, w hen he explains our bondage by quoting O vid's Medea, who says, "I see and approve the better, but follow the worse."200 Spinoza's concern w ith our bondage to the passions extends beyond Part 4, however, as he titles Part 5 "On the Power of the Intellect, or on H um an Freedom." There he offers a solution to the bondage of the passions by which we can gain a degree of hum an freedom. In fact, our bondage to the passions concerns Spinoza throughout the Ethics. In the Preface to Part 2, Spinoza announces his intent to investigate "only those [things] that can lead us, by the hand, as it were, to the knowledge of the hum an M ind and its highest happiness,201" a reference to hum an freedom.202 He arrives at this goal in Part 5, only after laying the necessary groundwork. There, he provides his prom ised avenue to hum an freedom from the passions, also known as happiness. W ithout doubt, then, Spinoza's doctrine of the passions dem ands close scrutiny. Despite the passions' prom inent role in the Ethics, however, his account has received relatively little attention.203 Spinoza's concern with the threat of akrasia has received even less.204 Spinoza does not fully explain the relationship between bondage to the passions and weakness of will, though the existence of some relationship is
125 apparent. In w hat follows, this relation will, it is hoped, become clear. In order to succeed, we will need to review several aspects of Spinoza's psychological theory, including his rejection of faculties. A bit later we shall also return to his doctrine of the conatus.
3.1.2. Akrasia and Parts of the Soul
As discussed, the m ind cannot be divided into distinct faculties, nor its objects into distinct classes. This raises an interesting question, however, since some writers believe that a division of the m ind is necessary for the possibility of akrasia.205 In his classic account in the Republic, Plato explains akrasia by positing distinct parts of the soul that come into conflict.206 Only by positing distinct parts or activities of the m ind in conflict, it m ay initially appear, is akrasia explainable. Against this view, Edm und
Henden has argued that a partitioned m ind is not necessary for the occurrence of
akrasia.207 After reviewing several reasons for believing that the m ind m ust be
partitioned in order to explain weakness of will, Henden concludes that this "partitioning claim" is w ithout merit. According to Henden, a bias tow ard the near and cognitive dissonance are likely candidates to explain weakness of will, even in the absence of any divisions in the m ind. Cognitive dissonance, for example, posits
conflicting beliefs in one mind, not distinct parts of the mind, nor distinct activities or faculties, in conflict.208 Though conflicting beliefs involve a distinction between aspects of the m ind's contents, this distinction is certainly not the metaphysical partition one m ight find in Plato.
126 Terry Penner has also argued against the necessity of partitioning the soul in order to explain akrasia.209 Penner proposes that akrasia occurs w hen the m ind vacillates between alternative representations in a unitary m ind, calling this "diachronic beliefakrasia." His use of this idea in the Socratic case m ay serve as a m odel to explain akratic
acts in Spinoza's psychology as well.210 At the very least, Penner shows that one need not divide the m ind in order to explain weakness of will. Another theorist who is often taken to advance the partitioning claim is Sigmund Freud. Freud invoked mental partitioning as well, though his doctrine was offered in an attem pt to explain repression and self-deception. How, Freud w ondered, could a m ind be said to know something yet not have conscious awareness of it? He attem pted to explain this phenom enon by positing distinct parts of the m ind, such that one part of the m ind conceals knowledge from another part, in some sense. Sartre criticizes Freud's partitioning, claiming that he does not explain the phenom enon at all, but merely internalizes an interpersonal conflict and thus merely pushes the dilemma one step backwards.211 Sartre's alternative explanation is his theory of bad faith, which does not rely on a need for partitions.212 Though Sartre's rebuttal of Freud is valuable, his alternative offers little of use in understanding Spinoza. Spinoza certainly allows for akrasia, though he does not partition the m ind is these ways. Though few have held such a position in the history of philosophy,
Spinoza may not be alone in rejecting a division of the soul, while still accepting the possibility of akrasia. Some of the Stoics also denied such partitioning, while
127 nonetheless allowing for weakness of will. Attributing an account of akrasia to the Stoics is controversial, however, and lies outside the scope of our investigation.213 Spinoza denies the strong sense of partitioning that Plato adopts, in that he does not see distinct parts in the mind. As opposed to Descartes, Spinoza also denies the division of the m ind's activities into distinct faculties, in that Spinoza sees the m ind's activity to be singular. This is not to say that Spinoza takes the m ind to be an absolutely simple unity, however, because the m ind is a complex idea composed of constituent ideas and affects, just as the body of which it is an idea is also a complex, aggregate entity. These constituents m ay come into conflict, resulting in the kind of cognitive dissonance to which H enden refers.214 O ur vulnerability to such dissonance is part of our bondage to the passions.
3.2.3. On Freedom and Bondage Spinoza claims that all hum an beings are to some degree or other in bondage to their passions.215 To be in bondage is, generally speaking, to lack freedom in some sense. Making m atters more complex, however, is the fact that Spinoza seems to utilize two distinct senses of freedom in the Ethics.216 He defines freedom at the beginning of Part 1, saying:
That thing is called free which exists from the necessity of its nature alone, and is determined to act by itself alone. But a thing is called necessary, or rather, compelled, which is determined by another to exist and to produce an effect in a certain and determinate manner. (Id7; Curley, 409; Geb 11/46)
128 Here freedom is a state in which one's existence and action is wholly self-determined, that is, self-caused. Call this absolute freedom, for which there are two criteria. First, (1) an absolutely free being is one that does not depend on another for its existence. Second (2), such a being is also determ ined to act only by its own nature.217 Only God, Spinoza argues, qualifies as absolutely free, saying, "God alone is a free cause."218 Further, Spinoza argues, God is the efficient cause of both the essence and the existence of all things.219 This line of argum ent culminates in Spinoza's strong statement of determinism, which states:
Every singular thing...can neither exist nor be determined to produce an effect unless it is determined to exist and produce an effect by another cause...and so on, to infinity. (Ip28; Curley, 432; Geb 11/69)
In this absolute sense of freedom, no hum an being m ay ever achieve freedom at all, because every hum an action has an infinite chain of m odes as its cause. Further, every hum an being depends on an external cause for his existence. Thus, in the absolute sense of freedom, hum an beings are, w ithout question, unfree. Later in the Ethics, however, a second, hum an sense of freedom emerges, one contrasted not w ith being the cause of one's own existence, but with bondage. Spinoza introduces this notion of bondage in the Preface to Part 4, where he says,
Man's lack of power to moderate and restrain the affects I call Bondage. For the man who is subject to affects is under the control, not of himself, but of fortune, in whose power he so greatly is that often, though he sees the better for himself, he is still forced to follow the worse. (4 Preface, Curley, 543; Geb n/205)
129 Being in bondage, it seems, is a lack of self-control, or rather, a lack of self-determination in action. We lack this self-rule whenever we are under the control of affects deriving in fortune or, as he suggests later on, in affects deriving from experientia vaga - the vagaries of experience. Further, being in this state m ay result in our seeing the better course of action, but following the worse. It should begin to be clear how Spinoza's theory of bondage will relate to his account of akrasia. Spinoza returns to the opposition of freedom and bondage again in Part 4. After having discussed the pow er of the passions over hum an beings, Spinoza says:
.. .we shall easily see what the difference is between a man who is led only by an affect, or by opinion, and one who is led by reason. For the former, whether he will or no, does those things he is most ignorant of, whereas the latter complies with no one's wishes but his own, and does only those thing he knows to be the most important in life, and therefore desires very greatly. Hence I call the former a slave [servum], but the latter, a free man [liberum]. (4p66s; Curley, 584; Geb 11/260)
In this passage, freedom seems to be acting in accordance w ith one's wishes, or doing w hat one knows to be best. Note that one m ay do w hat one w ants or judges best, while nonetheless being determ ined by an external cause.220 That is, one m ay lack freedom in the first, absolute sense while having freedom in the second, hum an sense. This second sense of freedom initially resembles Hobbes' thought, in that it presents freedom as consisting in the ability to do w hat one wants. Bramhall, Hobbes defines freedom by saying,
For he is free to do a thing, that may do it if he have the will to do it, and may forbear if he have the will to forbear.. ,221
For example, in his debate with
130 For Hobbes, to be at liberty is just to be able to do w hat one desires. Like Hobbes, Spinoza sometimes describes freedom as the absence of constraint. On the other hand, this quasi-Hobbesian view is not exactly w hat Spinoza intends, because not just any desire is relevant to hum an freedom. Instead, he suggests that those whose behavior is determ ined by irrational desires, i.e., by inadequate ideas, do not act freely, in this second sense. One who is determ ined by passions is a slave and in bondage in a way that the rational person is not. Therefore, simply doing w hat one desires is not
sufficient; one has hum an freedom just w hen one acts on one's rational desires. Spinoza identifies this hum an freedom w ith reason again in the Preface to Part 5, where he says:
I pass, finally, to the remaining Part of the Ethics, which concerns the means, or way, leading to Freedom [libertatem]. Here, then, I shall treat of the power of reason, showing what it can do against the affects, and what Freedom of Mind [libertas mentis], or blessedness [beatitudo] is. From this we shall how much more the wise man can do than the ignorant. (Part 5 Preface; Curley, 594; Geb 11/277)
Here, Spinoza refers to "freedom of m ind," which functions in the same way that the hum an freedom does. Spinoza also implies that this freedom of m ind involves the pow er of reason against the affects. This pow er of reason over the affects entails that the wise m an is more capable of doing things than the ignorant man. W hen Spinoza talks of reason combating the affects, he means active affects combating passive ones that is to say, adequate ideas versus inadequate ones. In other words, Spinoza suggests here that having adequate ideas em powers reason in its fight against the passions. So,
131 the m ore our action is determ ined by adequate ideas, the more freedom of m ind we gain.222 As is evident from these passages, Spinoza sometimes slides from human freedom, that is, freedom of the hum an being generally to do certain things, to freedom
of the mind, that is, the m ind's freedom in forming ideas. This shift parallels Spinoza's
shift from hum an striving to the striving of the m ind, as found in propositions such as 4p26, for example, where Spinoza says,
What we strive for from reason is nothing but understanding; nor does the Mind, insofar as it uses reason, judge anything else useful to itself except what leads to understanding. (4p26; Curley, 559; Geb 11/227)
This is not a bias in favor of the mental aspect of hum an beings at the expense of their corporeal aspect, however.223 For, given parallelism, the striving of the body, of the m ind, and of the hum an being in general are all one and the same striving, if understood in different ways. In other words, hum an action, w hen understood solely under the attribute of Thought, is nothing other than the formation of ideas. Similarly, hum an freedom, w hen understood solely under the attribute of Thought, is conceived as freedom of the mind. In short, Spinoza takes hum an freedom and freedom of the m ind to be synonymous.224 It is also useful here to remember that Spinoza is no ascetic. He believes that w hatever is really harm ful to the overall, long-term health of the body could not be beneficial to the overall, long-term health of the m ind.225 Because he identifies the striving of the m ind w ith that of the body, he cannot allow for a lifestyle that would, all
132 things considered, benefit the m ind at the expense of the body. W hat's more, given that Spinoza wishes to show the relative impotence of reason in the first part of Part 4 and its role in hum an freedom in Part 5, it is reasonable that his discussion w ould focus on this understanding of hum an existence. There m ay also be another reason for his shift from hum an freedom to freedom of the mind. Spinoza w ould likely agree that, for any instance of adequate knowledge, there is some adequate cause in the body. However, his anatomical and physiological theories are not sufficiently developed to allow him to discuss the bodily aspect of chains of reasoning, for example. Given the weakness of his physical theory, then, he cannot avoid talking in a prim arily psychological sense if he wishes to discuss our bondage, activity, and freedom. Nevertheless, he m ust allow that our bodies can
contain adequate causes that parallel those cases in which our m ind is an adequate cause, i.e., w hen our m ind forms adequate ideas.226 A t first blush, this second account of freedom, called either hum an freedom or freedom of the m ind, appears to be a new and distinct account from the one provided in Part 1. This reading is not quite accurate, however, because hum an freedom is in fact a derivative and limited form of absolute freedom.227 According to the Part 1 definition of absolute freedom, something is free just w hen (1) its existence is self-caused and (2) its action has its own nature as its cause. As discussed, the nature, or essence, of each thing is its conatus. According to the conatus doctrine, each thing strives to maintain or increase its pow er of acting.228 Therefore, if a thing's action has its striving to increase pow er as its cause, then it satisfies condition (2), which is necessary for freedom .229
133 Spinoza claims that the m ind's essence is a striving for perseverance and an increase in its power. W hen this is occurs through reason, it is a striving for
understanding. So he says:
What we strive for from reason is nothing but understanding; nor does the Mind, insofar as it uses reason, judge anything else useful to itself except what leads to understanding. (4p26; Curley, 559; Geb 11/227)
W hen the mind uses reason, it strives only for understanding. Further, he explains, "the essence of reason is nothing but our Mind, insofar as it understands clearly and distinctly."230 W hen the m ind uses reason, then, it understands clearly and distinctly that is, it has adequate ideas. So, w hen the m ind forms adequate ideas, it strives from reason for understanding; this striving is the m ind's essence. Therefore, insofar as the m ind forms adequate ideas and acts from them, the m ind strives from its ow n essence, or nature. In other words, w hen the m ind forms and acts from adequate ideas, it is
determined to act by its own nature, which was condition (2) for freedom.
Thus we see that, in forming and acting from adequate ideas, the hum an m ind fulfills one of the necessary requirements, (2), for attaining a degree of freedom. However, only God m ay meet the requirement (1), because hum an beings are m odes of the divine Substance. As any mode of a substance is dependent on the substance for its existence, so hum an beings are necessarily dependent on God and thus cannot m eet the other necessary condition, (1), for absolute freedom.
134 The claim that no hum an being, indeed, nothing finite at all, can be absolutely free also has echoes in Hobbes. Like Spinoza, Hobbes distinguishes betw een two senses of freedom, only one of which can apply to humans. He says,
.. .the distinction of free into free from compulsion and free from necessitation I acknowledge. For to be free from compulsion is to do a thing so as terror be not the cause of his will to do it.. .But free from necessitation, I say, no man can be.231
Like Spinoza, Hobbes denies that any hum an action can be absolutely free, though he accepts that hum ans m ay be free in the sense of lacking external causal influence. Again, this is not to say that Spinoza's understanding of freedom is straightforwardly Hobbesian - it is not. Yet both thinkers do affirm determinism w ith regard to hum an action, but allow for a sense of hum an freedom - they resemble each other in their compatibilism. H um an freedom, then, is not a completely new sense of freedom, nor is it the same freedom discussed in Part 1. Instead, it is a less robust version of absolute
freedom. For only God is an absolutely free cause, in that only God can meet both conditions. H um an beings, however, m ay meet condition (2) w hen they form adequate ideas and act on them. W hen the hum an m ind forms and acts from adequate ideas, it strives from understanding. W hen it does so, it is determined solely by its own nature, thus meeting condition (2). Therefore, forming and acting from adequate ideas brings us that limited, hum an freedom. This is not to say that we could ever attain total hum an freedom, because no finite m ind m ay possess all and only adequate ideas.232 This is so because m an can
135 never not be a part of nature. Because of this fact, the hum an m ind necessarily contains inadequate ideas. As such, the hum an m ind m ay achieve even the more limited,
hum an freedom only to a degree.233 Further, even if one does succeed in forming adequate ideas, they m ay be overcome by opposing passions in the phenom enon of
akrasia. In other words, the more adequate ideas the m ind forms, and the more that the
actions of the m ind are determ ined by adequate ideas, the more free one will become. One can never be wholly free, however, in either sense of freedom 234 One final clarification is required before m oving on. One reading of Spinoza's theory of hum an bondage is this: we are in bondage to the extent that we have inadequate ideas and free to the extent that we have adequate ones, full-stop. This reading fails to account for akrasia, however. Indeed, we are most in bondage w hen we form adequate ideas b u t fail to behave according to them. This suggests that our bondage and freedom is not just a function of forming inadequate or adequate ideas, but also of living according to them. It m ay be that having our behavior be governed by the right ideas is really w hat concerns Spinoza. Of course, forming adequate ideas is necessary for behaving in this way, but not sufficient.235 Jonathan Bennett, for example, falls prey to this misreading. He interprets
Spinoza as saying that we should avoid sensory perception, since they are inadequate ideas. In fact, he even suggests that this view serves as a reductio for the entire
argum ent of Part 4.236 Bennett overlooks several im portant considerations, however.237 First, though the individual guided solely by reason is said to lack all passivity and thus w ould lack all sensation, this free individual is an impossible ideal, not one we aim to
136 achieve or even imitate.238 The living hum an being is expected only to minimize the passions and try to focus on reason instead of dwelling in the senses - a standard position of rationalists, as well as Stoics. Second, the mind comes to grasp common notions in having sensory perception. In that regard, sensation is necessary for our becoming more free. One m ust remember that Spinoza is ultimately interested in the question of which
ideas determine our actions. So, though we m ay necessarily have sensations and thus
inadequate ideas, we m ay still be free if our actions come not from inadequate ideas, but from reason. Remember the example Spinoza gives of the sun 239 Spinoza says: For example, w hen we look at the sun, we imagine it to be about 200 feet away from us, In this we are deceived so long as we are ignorant of its true distance; but when its distance is known, the error is removed, not the imagination, i.e., the idea of the sun, which explains its nature only so far as the Body is affected by it. And so, though we come to know the true distance, we shall nevertheless imagine it as near us. (4pls; 4pls; Curley, 547-8; Geb 11/211) W hen we see the sun, we have an inadequate idea representing the sun as relatively small and near. W hen we have adequate knowledge via astronomy, we know that the sim is actually very large and far. Yet the presence of this adequate knowledge may coexist in the m ind w ith our visual sensation. As long as we behave according to the
adequate knowledge, however, the inadequate knowledge does not truly bind us. In short,
then, hum an freedom is not to be contrasted w ith absolute causal self-sufficiency as m uch as w ith bondage, our lack of self-determination in our actions. Though we still have
137 a degree of passivity and thus bondage simply in virtue of having the inadequate ideas of sensation, we can minimize our passivity and bondage both by forming the adequate idea and by acting according to it, which is how Spinoza tells us to proceed. Hum an freedom really just boils dow n to being determined by one's own rational nature. Similarly, being in bondage just is the failure to be self-determined. We fail to be self-determined in mere ignorance as well as w hen we suffer akrasia, that is, w hen our adequate ideas fail to be efficacious. It should be noted, however, that these two states are not the same. We have a greater degree of freedom w hen we form an adequate idea but fail to act on it than w hen we are completely ignorant. For in the first case we are to some degree active, but to a greater degree passive, while in the second we almost entirely passive. In sum, hum an bondage is simply the state of being determ ined by something other than one's own rational nature, either in forming ideas or in acting more generally. In other words, hum an bondage is either forming inadequate ideas or, worse, forming them and acting from them. And hum an freedom is the state of being determ ined by one's own nature, either in forming adequate ideas or, more importantly, in acting from them. That is to say, we lack hum an freedom to the degree that our ideas and behaviors are determ ined by passions, rather than reason, or adequate ideas. As discussed in the previous chapters, however, adequate ideas oppose the passions only insofar as they are affective. Thus, we are free from bondage to the extent that our ideas and our behavior are not determined by passions, but by active affects.
138 3.2. Conatus and A kra sia Clearly, being in bondage is not a desirable state. Spinoza vividly describes the experience of undergoing passive affects w hen he says, "we are driven about in m any ways by external causes, and that, like waves on the sea, driven by contrary winds, we toss about, not knowing our outcome or fate."240 Despite this unpleasant experience, we still often behave passionately, not rationally. Given that we essentially pursue our own interest, however, this m ay seem contradictory. This raises the following question: how can Spinoza affirm an egoistic psychology that involves hum an beings knowingly acting against their own interest, as they do w hen they act passionately in the face of opposing knowledge?
3.2.1. The Conatus and Egoism
Spinoza's doctrine of the conatus undergirds his versions of ethical and psychological egoism.241 Like most aspects of Spinoza's psychology, his egoism has its basis deep in his metaphysics and epistemology.242 He begins w ith his definition of activity at 3d2, where he says:
I say that we act when something happens, in us or outside us, of which we are the adequate cause, i.e. (by D l), when something in us or outside us follows from our nature, which can be clearly and distinctly understood through it alone. On the other hand, I say that w e are acted on when something happens to us, or something follows from our nature, of which we are only a partial cause. (3d2; Curley, 493; Geb 11/139)
That is, insofar as w e are active, we are an adequate cause. Next he says:
139
...our Mind does certain things [acts] and undergoes other thing, viz. insofar as it has adequate ideas, it necessarily does certain things, and insofar as it has inadequate ideas, it necessarily undergoes other things. (3pl; Curley, 493; Geb 11/140)
That is, our m ind is an adequate cause just w hen we have adequate ideas. In other words, w hen our behavior is determ ined by inadequate ideas, we cannot be said to act, strictly speaking, but only to undergo certain things. That is to say, w hen we have
inadequate ideas, we do not perform actions, but undergo passions, even though we may be exhibiting some agent-like behavior. Adequate ideas, on the other hand, are active affects, as Spinoza affirms w hen he says, "apart from the Joy and Desire that are passions, there are other affects of Joy and Desire that are related to us insofar as we act."243 Further, these active affects m ay only be related to Joy and Desire, but not Sadness or pain. For, insofar as we act, our pow er increases, while Sadness occurs only w hen our pow er decreases. Spinoza explains this in 3p59, saying, "am ong all the affects that are related to the Mind insofar as it acts, there are none that are not related to Joy or Desire."244 Therefore, because we cannot have active affects in which our pow er decreases, we cannot have adequate ideas in which our power decreases. This means, in turn, that we cannot be an adequate cause in which our pow er decreases. And so, insofar as we are active in Spinoza's narrow sense, our pow er cannot decrease. Thus, w hen we act in this sense, we necessarily act in a w ay that maintains or increases our power; that is, we necessarily act in our own interest.245
140 Spinoza employs this technical sense of the term 'to act/ according to which a hum an being is said to act only from adequate ideas. In this technical sense of action, it is impossible to act irrationally. For a person's irrational action can only involve
inadequate ideas, in which case the person does not act, strictly speaking, but is acted upon. Therefore, one cannot act against one's interest. Thus, Spinoza affirms
psychological egoism. In fact, if Spinoza intends only this strict sense of action, then he is committed to a thesis even stronger than psychological egoism, as it is traditionally understood. For, w hen we act in this strict sense, we only act for w hat is truly in our interest. Strictly speaking, we only act w hen we are determ ined by adequate ideas, which, being adequate, are true representations. Given the conatus doctrine, it follows that any time adequate ideas determine us to act, we will act tow ard w hat is truly good for us. W hereas psychological egoism has traditionally been construed as the view that people always act tow ard w hat they perceive to be good, Spinoza here asserts that people always and only act for w hat they really know to be good. Spinoza's doctrine, then, is psychological egoism of the strongest kind - at least, it is so w hen we consider Spinoza's narrow sense of action just described. In the beginning of Part 3 and elsewhere, Spinoza restricts the use of the term 'to act' [agere] to cases of adequate knowledge. For example, after having presented a m yriad of passions, Spinoza turns to the active affects, which involve adequate ideas. There he makes a distinction between "the affects that are related to m an insofar as he is acted on [patitur ]" and "those that are related to him insofar as he acts [agzf]."246
At other times, however, he uses the verb with regard to inadequate ideas. For example, Spinoza defines ambition, saying, "this striving to do [conatus aliquid agendi] som ething...solely to please m en is called Ambition, especially w hen we strive so eagerly to please the people that we do [agamus] or omit certain things to our own injury..."247 Here Spinoza uses the w ord 'act' in a broader sense, meaning, simply, to do something or to behave in a certain way, though Curley translates agere in this passage as 'to d o / not 'to act.' Later, Spinoza says, "he who strives, only because of an affect, that others should love w hat he loves, and love according to his tem perament, acts [agit] only from impulse and is hateful." 248 In this passage Spinoza
straightforwardly employs agit in a context of inadequate ideas; these passages suggest that Spinoza did not use agere consistently. In fact, Spinoza once uses agere in both senses in the same paragraph, w hen he says,
Insofar as a man is determined to act [agendum] from the fact that he has inadequate ideas, he is acted on [patitur] (by 3pl), i.e. (by 3dl and d2), he does [agit] something, which cannot be perceived through his essence alone...But insofar as he is determined to do something from the fact that he understands, he acts [agit]... (4p23d; Curley, 558; Geb 11/226)
In his first two uses of agere in this passage, Spinoza refers to a behavior determ ined by inadequate ideas, while in the third use he refers to one determined by adequate ideas. In short, like the term affectus, Spinoza employs the term agere and its derivatives in two senses, one broad the other narrow. In general, then, Spinoza recognizes two senses of hum an action. In the narrow sense, he often reserves agere for those cases involving adequate ideas. Nevertheless, he
142 allows that hum an beings m ay act irrationally, even though such behavior does not meet the criteria for action in the narrow sense.249 Yet even in passions we are "partial causes."250 Though w e do undergo something in the passions and we are in some ways passive when we have inadequate ideas, we are nonetheless a partial cause and thus partially active. Indeed, our essence is thus partially active even w ith inadequate ideas, which is just w hat Spinoza establishes in 3p9. And so, our conatus is involved in both adequate and inadequate ideas; that is, we m ay be said to act in the broad sense even w hen we do so from inadequate ideas. Consider Spinoza's adm onition to try to persevere in our being. Now, given that our conatus necessarily directs us to do so, this w ould seem unnecessary. As Michael LeBuffe argues, however, Spinoza in fact exhorts us to do w hat will actually allow us to persevere, not merely w hat we perceive will do so. In other words, w hen Spinoza tells us to try to persevere in our being, he is exhorting us to a life of reason.251 That is, he is urging us to live so that our conatus acts more often from adequate ideas than inadequate ideas. Spinoza's entire project works under the assum ption that some
people act against their interest some of the time. Where does that leave Spinoza's psychological egoism? W hen 'to act' is taken in the narrow sense, Spinoza's theory is a strong psychological egoism, for every act we perform is not only tow ard our perceived good, but toward our actual good as well. Even in the broad sense of action, Spinoza is still a psychological egoist, despite his allowance that we sometimes act against our real interest in favor of an apparent good. W hether or not we act from adequate or inadequate ideas, we necessarily pursue
143 something we represent to ourselves as good for us. Spinoza even allows for cases of
akrasia, where we know w hat is good for us, but instead follow some irrational desire
for a merely apparent good that overwhelms our knowledge. Accepting akrasia certainly does not entail the rejection of egoism, by any means, because every desire we form is one aimed at something perceived to be in our own interest. For Spinoza, akrasia occurs w hen we choose something perceived to be
desirable in the short-term over our long-term good, or something that is good for us in one respect but not overall. In short, Spinoza's particular explanation of akrasia leaves his egoism intact. W hat's more, Spinoza's system m ay even allow for self-sacrificing and self-destructive behavior, which are even stronger challenges to psychological egoism.252 Spinoza's ethical egoism253 follows from the conatus doctrine as well, for he defines virtue as being equivalent to increasing one's pow er when he says:
By virtue and power I understand the same thing, i.e. (by IIIP7), virtue, insofar as it is related to man, is the very essence, or nature, of man, insofar as he has the power of bringing about certain things, which can be understood through the laws of his nature alone. (4d8; Curley, 547; Geb 11/210)
Spinoza reaffirms the identity of virtue and pow er at 4p20, where he says: "the more each one strives, and is able, to seek his own advantage, i.e., to preserve his being, the more he is endow ed w ith virtue; conversely, insofar as each one neglects his own advantage, i.e., neglects to preserve his being, he lacks pow er."254 So, seeking one's own advantage and increasing one's pow er is virtuous behavior, for Spinoza. This
144 understanding is consistent w ith Spinoza's definition of good and evil as well, which he states in 4 d l and 4d2, saying:
4dl: By good I shall understand what we certainly know to be useful to us. 4d2: By evil, however, I shall understand what we certainly know prevents us from being masters of some good. (Curley, 546; Geb 11/209)
Once again, the good for Spinoza is just the good for us, which is w hat brings us an increase in power.255 And so pursuing the good, in this sense, increases our power; therefore, acting to increase our pow er is acting virtuously.256 W hat remains to be seen is if Spinoza's system can account for two challenges commonly raised against theories of psychological egoism: self-destructive and altruistic behavior. Furthermore, seeing how Spinoza's egoism can resist these challenges sets the stage for how he believes
akrasia to occur.
3.2.2. Selfless and Self-Destructive Behavior In 3p9, Spinoza establishes that the hum an m ind strives, from its essence, both insofar as it has desires involving adequate ideas and desires involving inadequate ideas.257 He says:
3p9: Both insofar as the mind has distinct ideas, and insofar as it has confused ideas, it strives, for an indefinite duration, to persevere in its being and it is conscious of this striving it has. Dem.: The essence of the Mind is constituted by adequate and inadequate ideas (as we have shown in p3). So (by p7) it strives to persevere in its being both insofar as it has inadequate ideas and insofar as it has adequate ideas. (Curley, 499; Geb E/147)
145 Since the essence of the m ind involves both adequate and inadequate ideas, it follows that our m ind's essential striving will also involve both kinds.258 Similarly, both our rational and irrational desires exemplify our tendency to pursue those things we take to be good for us, that is, both rational and irrational desires are a part of our conatus. And so, it is hum an nature to be m oved both from reason and from passion.259 In 4p65, Spinoza claims that the principle of choosing the greater of two goods or the lesser of two evils is a principle of reason. In other words, it is not something we do simply because of the striving of our conatus. Instead, it is a rational principle we m ay or may not follow. Though everything that we desire is an apparent good, to be sure, not everything that we desire is always in fact in our best interest. In principle, if a hum an being were to possess only adequate ideas, then any behavior that lessens her power to persevere w ould be inconsistent w ith her conatus. Hum ans are not such beings, however, since their essence is an appetite directed by both adequate and inadequate ideas. This fact, stated clearly in the often overlooked 3p9, w ould help to explain how suicide is possible, which has long been taken as a counterexample to Spinoza's doctrine of conatus.260 A suicidal person is one whose inadequate ideas and irrational desires have gained such prominence that his m ind has become largely passive - i.e., his rational desires are almost entirely inefficacious. At that point, whatever he does is likely to be against his interest. W hether he slowly drinks himself to death or hangs himself, for example, is simply a m atter of which inadequate ideas he has. He is still behaving consistently w ith his conatus w hen he is determ ined by his irrational desires, even those
146
that may lead to his destruction.261 Therefore, when the suicidal person makes his choice
tow ard suicide, his behavior is simply determ ined by some irrational desire.262 Seneca acted similarly when he chose suicide, though his choice was guided by reason, not passion. In Seneca's case, he faced torture and execution, so he chose rationally to commit a painless suicide. As just mentioned, reason directs us to choose the lesser of two evils; therefore, reason w ould direct Seneca to do w hat he did. It should be clear how self-destructive behavior can be explained in Spinoza's egoist psychology. Similar things could be said about seemingly altruistic behavior.263 If we have inadequate ideas about the afterlife, say, that direct us to sacrifice our life for another, we behave in accordance w ith our conatus, even though we are significantly passive in this event. Of course, this m ight not qualify as altruistic self-sacrifice at all, since we aim for a rew ard in heaven. Say, however, that one has the adequate idea "one should return hate w ith love," which is one of Spinoza's common notions.264 If acting on this principle endangers or even ends one's life, has one acted against the conatus? Perhaps not. Above all, though, the conatus does not favor the rational over the irrational, necessarily, but is determ ined solely by their relative affective force. Perhaps this is w hat Spinoza means w hen he denies teleology of the conatus.265 He says, "we neither strive for, nor will, neither want, nor desire anything because we judge it to be good; on the contrary, we judge something to be good because we strive for it, will it, w ant it, and desire it."266 The conatus does not favor reason over the passions, nor does it value our all-things-considered, long-term interests over our short
147 term, heat-of-the-moment desires. Instead, we merely act from the strongest desire, only consequently recognizing objects of desire to be goods. Two further points are relevant here. First, if Seneca's rational suicide is
consistent with the doctrine of conatus, then an irrational suicide can also be consistent w ith that doctrine, given that the conatus involves being determined equally from both adequate and inadequate ideas. In the case of both irrational and rational suicides, the desire for a perceived good determines action, despite the fact that a rational suicide involves more hum an freedom than an irrational suicide. Both, however, are consistent w ith the conatus. One need not resort to extreme examples of altruism to challenge egoism. Consider the simple act of giving money to a beggar. Even so great an egoist as Thomas Hobbes is reported to have done just so and to have seen such behavior as in accordance w ith egoism. John Aubrey reports as follows:
One time, I remember, going into the Strand, a poor and infirm old man craved his alms. He beholding him with eyes of pity and compassion, put his hands in his pocket, and gave him 6d. Said a divine (that is Dr Jasper Mayne) that stood by - 'Would you have done this, if it had not been Christ's command?' 'Yes,' said he. 'Why?' said the other. 'Because,' said he, 'I was in pain to consider the miserable condition of the old man; and now my alms, giving him some relief, doth also ease me.'267
This anecdote does not w in the case for the egoist, nor does the Lieutenant Edens example, above. On the other hand, both show that such behaviors can be explained by an egoist psychology. As opposed to m any other egoists, however, Spinoza grounds
his psychology in his metaphysics, viz. the conatus doctrine, and his theory of mind
148 generally. If those grounds have independent plausibility, then his egoism ought to have such plausibility as well. In that case, the theory need only account for possible counterexamples, which is just w hat it seems to be capable of doing. On the other hand, Spinoza's system could not easily accommodate altruistic or self-destructive behavior if we understand the conatus to be, simply, that we necessarily do either w hat really is in our interest or w hat we believe to be in our long-term, allthings-considered interest. We do neither, of course, instead acting from particular
appetites and desires (3p9s), some of which are rational, some of which are irrational (3p9). We can reason and form beliefs about the future and the future effects of our actions, to be sure. But only insofar as these beliefs about the future engender particular desires in the present can they determine our behavior. Lieutenant Edens believes that, if he rims now, his body m ay survive but his personality will be destroyed in the future, in some sense. More importantly, he believes that, if he remains and fights, he will likely die, but he will be doing w hat he really w ants to do. His beliefs about the future engender self-interested desires in the present, which cause him to behave in the w ay he does, a behavior that from outside appears altruistic. Can Spinoza's theory account for a desire that takes as its goal one's personal destruction? For example, Freud's death drive (der Todestrieb) is not simply a desire for death or destruction that arises from the accidental acquisition of some false information. Rather, for Freud, der Todestreib is a life force, a drive comparable to eros. Similarly, the destrudo impulse that der Todestreib engenders is, like the libido, a fundam ental impulse.268 Though Spinoza's thought can accommodate self-destructive
149 desires, he cannot countenance that such a desire could come from our essence in the same way as our adequate ideas. Though Spinoza can accommodate self-destructive desire, he rejects the claim that hum ans m ight be fundamentally or essentially self destructive, or that they contain two competing tendencies in their essence, one toward life and another tow ard death. For Spinoza, our conatus is nothing but our w ay of striving to persevere. For hum an beings, this striving manifests in our being determined by particular desires to pursue things we believe to be good. If we feel that the continuation of our life would be worse than its end, then we will believe death to be a good for us and so we will desire to die and m ay even be determ ined to pursue it, as Seneca did. It is more likely, however, that we are determ ined to avoid something else, rather than actively pursuing death and self-destruction. The suicidal person usually seeks suicide not out of love of self-destruction and death but only secondarily, as a means of escaping some present pain or fear. In short, then, most suicides are like a m an who jum ps from a high story of a burning building. They do not seek to die by falling, but to avoid the nearer and presently more fearful death by burning. So, their desire to avoid the fire is greater than their desire not to fall from the building, so they jump. At least, this seems to be w hat Spinoza's system entails. If Spinoza is correct here, then a suicidal person is so because he has an inadequate idea that death will bring less pain than life. And this behavior is perfectly in accord w ith our interpretation of the conatus. And of course, the rational suicide of Seneca, who wisely chose a painless suicide over a painful death by torture, raises no problem whatsoever for this interpretation. After all, Seneca's rational choice
150 is explained in the same way as the irrational suicide, the only difference being the fact that whereas Seneca's choice was rational and admirable, the choice of irrational suicide is not. A final point is required in order to give an explanation of how akrasia could occur. In every inadequate idea, the m ind is partially passive, which means that every inadequate idea has some cause external to the mind. The strength of an inadequate idea, as well as the strength of its associated irrational desire, is determ ined not by our m ind but by the strength of the external cause of the inadequate idea. Spinoza says, "the force and grow th of any passions, and its perseverance in existing, are not defined by the power by which we strive to persevere in existing, but by the pow er of an external cause compared w ith our ow n."269 This explains how a passion could be stronger than one of our rational desires, since external causes can always be stronger than our own pow er 270
3.3. Akrasia in Spinoza 3.3.1. Akrasia In Spinoza: A First Pass There are a variety of different kinds of akrasia.271 For example, some very weak cases of akrasia involve acting against one's beliefs or suspicions, while other, more interesting cases involve acting against one's knowledge of the better option. This
distinction is irrelevant for Spinoza, because he does not divide cognitions in this way. For our purposes, then, we shall consider only cases in the latter category - acting against our knowledge of our good.
Instances of akrasia m ay also be synchronic or diachronic (synchronic akrasia corresponds to w hat has been called strict akrasia). Synchronic, or strict, akrasia occurs w hen an agent makes a judgm ent that doing one action is more desirable than doing another, yet at the same time intentionally perform s the less desirable action.272 In diachronic akrasia, on the other hand, the m ind vacillates between tw o appearances of the good, but acts while considering only the appearance of the less desirable option 273 In other words, the judgm ent that one option is better than the other and the performance of the action do not occur simultaneously, but in succession. Sometimes, this kind of akrasia appears as a rash or impulsive action. For example, say that I know I shouldn't eat cake because it will spoil m y diet. In a moment in which I am not
focusing on that judgment, I instead consider the m outhw atering appearance of a slice of cake and then succumb. In this case, I act rashly, choosing to eat the cake at the m om ent when I was considering its desirability and not my prior judgm ent of w hat w ould be best overall. In other words, in synchronic akrasia, the m ind vacillates
between the rational desire to refrain and the m omentary, irrational desire to eat. Then the m ind acts at the m om ent when it is considering only the irrational desire. Spinoza recognizes this phenomenon, in which the m ind vacillates between several representations, w hen he says:
This constitution of the Mind which arises from two contrary affects is called vacillation of the mind .. .From this we can easily conceive that one and the same object can be the cause of many and contrary affects. (3pl7s; Curley, 504; Geb 11/153)
152 Spinoza explains how this vacillation arises by reference to the fact that different aspects of the object in question can cause different desires in us; further, being complex things ourselves, the same objects can cause different desires in us as well. In
considering the object, then, the m ind will vacillate among these several affects, or desires. It may be that one of these desires is rational and another irrational. On which desire we act is a function of the relative strengths of the desires. Spinoza accepts the possibility of synchronic, or strict, akrasia as well. In fact, the first 17 propositions in Part 4 are hard to understand unless they refer to synchronic
akrasia.
According to Spinoza there, an irrational desire or passion overpowers or
restrains a rational desire or active affect, which involves knowledge of our good. In
other words, the cases w ith which Spinoza is concerned here are those in which two representations of our good coexist in the m ind, yet only one, the more powerful one, is efficacious. This does not seem to be a case of the mind attending to one desire over another or vacillating between two representations.274 Indeed, the entire language of pow er used to analyze the affects suggests that one affect meets another head-on and overpowers it, as occurs only in synchronic akrasia. After having explained that our knowledge of the good is not very powerful and can easily be restrained by passions, Spinoza quotes Ovid at 4pl7s, saying, "I see and approve the better, but follow the worse."275 This is best understood as a kind of synchronic, or strict, akrasia.276 In any event, Spinoza does not distinguish these two species of akrasia, instead considering only the genus. For Spinoza, in a case of akrasia, the m ind contains two desires, one a rational desire to do A and the other an irrational desire to do B. The
153 rational desire involves an adequate idea that truly represents action A as being in our interest, while the irrational desire involves an inadequate idea that falsely represents doing B as in our interest. That is, A presents something as good for us that really is so, while B presents something as good for us w hen that is not in fact so. Perhaps A , the true representation, takes into account our long-term interests, while B, the false representation, focuses only on the here and now and thus misrepresents the overall value of some pleasurable behavior. Regardless, the two are competing desires
presenting opposing views of the good in this situation. According to Spinoza, the stronger desire will determine the m ind to act, regardless of the ideas' adequacy or inadequacy. In fact, the mere presence of an idea - even an adequate idea - that action B is not in our interest is not sufficient for removing a desire to do B. For we m ay also have some other, inadequate idea according to which B appears, on the contrary, to be desirable in some way. If we perceive some behavior to be harmful or dangerous in some way, it m ay still appear to be desirable - and we will pursue the stronger of the two appearances, or rather, behave according to their resulting desires.277 Spinoza affirms this claim w hen he says, "no affect can be restrained by the true knowledge of good and evil insofar as it is true, but only insofar as it is considered as an affect."278 That is, our irrational desires cannot be overcome simply by true knowledge of our good; only as a desire can our knowledge of the good overcome these irrational desires. If our rational desires are weaker than our irrational ones, however, we are vulnerable to suffering akrasia.279
154
3.3.2. How Particular Instances of Akrasia M ay Occur Here, then, is how akrasia occurs. First, the m ind m ust contain two ideas of objects, a and b, both of which we are represented as providing joy [laetitia] to the individual. Further, say having both a and b is impossible. Given our essential nature as desirous beings, we will form desires for each of these objects. Thus, from ideas of a and b will arise desires A and B. Given the incompatible nature of having both objects, however, we cannot act on both A and B. Now, say that idea of a is adequate and idea of b is inadequate. Desire A is rational, because a is adequate, while desire B is irrational, because b is inadequate. The strength of desires A and B is determ ined by the strength of the causes of ideas a and b, respectively. So, if the cause of idea b is stronger than the cause of idea a, then desire B will be stronger than desire A , in which case we will act on
B, not A . Therefore, we will act on desire B, while still knowing it is not the best course
of action (knowledge embodied in idea a).
So, we will act knowingly against our
interest. We do this because our conatus does not distinguish between our rational and irrational desires, instead tending us tow ard whatever desire happens to be the strongest, which is a m atter contingent on the relative strength of the causes involved. Spinoza offers a detailed explanation of our bondage to the passions, showing how and why akrasia occurs in particular circumstances.280 He begins by establishing that, as natural beings, we m ust always suffer passions to some degree. He restates this commitment to a naturalistic view of hum an nature, saying:
155
It is impossible that a man should not be a part of Nature, and that he should be able to undergo no changes except those which can be understood through his own nature alone, and of which he is the adequate cause. (4p4; Curley, 548; Geb 11/212)
The metaphysics behind this claim are rooted in the doctrine of monism, according to which each hum an being is a mode of Substance, the larger system of divine nature. Being such modes, hum ans have a limited and finite power, such that they m ay always be acted on by external forces. Spinoza has already announced this view in the Preface to Part 3, where he denies that m an in nature is "a dominion w ithin a dom inion."281 Spinoza elucidates this view in a corollary, saying, "from this it follows that m an is necessarily always subject to passions, that he follows and obeys the common order of Nature."282 Since a passion is the result in the hum an mind when the hum an body is affected from without, and given that the hum an body m ust be so affected, it follows that the m ind m ust be subject to the passions. Spinoza then addresses this question: Given that passions are inadequate ideas, can knowledge remove a passion? He answers this question, saying, "nothing positive which a false idea has is removed by the presence of the true insofar as it is true."283 In the subsequent scholium, he explains this w ith his aforementioned analogy of seeing the sun. The appearance of the sun in the sky as a small relatively proximate orb is an inadequate idea, because in fact it is m uch larger and more distant than it appears to the eye. Even after our having learned these astronomical facts, however, the sun still appears to us in the same way. The relative smallness and seeming proximity of the stm in our sensory perception are not dispelled by knowing the truth.
156 Now consider another case. Say I see a spider and become unduly afraid.
Further, say that I happen to know that this species of spider is harm less to hum ans and cannot cause me any pain. Spinoza's theory plausibly suggests that this knowledge m ay not remove the feeling of fear. Because the cause of the inadequate idea, namely, the sensory stimulus, remains, the inadequate idea remains as well, side by side with the adequate rational idea, which is different in kind. And, just as in the case of the sun, the inadequate sensory ideas remain because their causes continue to act on us. Next, say that the spider is on the floor, in a doorway through which I wish to pass. How I act in this situation depends on how strong the emotion of fear is
compared to how strong my desire is to get through the door. In other words, my knowledge that the spider cannot really hurt me will not remove the fear I feel, nor allow me simply to overcome the fear and pass through the doorway. Only if I also have some further emotional motivation to do so, such as hunger for the food in the kitchen beyond the doorway, for example, m ay I be able to overcome my fear. This account of the interaction of truth and the passions culminates in 4p7, where Spinoza says, "an affect cannot be restrained or taken away except by an affect opposite to, and stronger than, the affect to be restrained."284 This principle undergirds Spinoza's mechanistic psychology, according to which the passions interact according to efficient causation, as constituent parts in a mechanism.285 Each affect in the m ind is the idea of a bodily affection or change. Yet no modification in a body m ay occur except through interaction w ith another body as an efficient cause. And the idea of this efficient cause,
157 being an idea of a change in a body, is itself an affect. Therefore, affects cannot be rem oved except by other affects. This is a model of the m ind w orth considering at greater length. The m ind is a complex idea, Spinoza says, composed of myriad constituent ideas, all of which are interrelated such that they exhibit a tendency to persevere in their being. W ith a
complex physical being like the hum an body, the constituent parts together exhibit a tendency to cohere spatially in such a way that the whole retains its individuating character. In other words, hum an bodies have a distinctive conatus; the hum an body generally tends tow ard self-preservation. Any physical collection that fails to do so also fails to be an entity over and above its constituent parts.286 Spinoza holds the m ind to be the idea of the body 287 In the case of the mind, therefore, its constituent ideas are related in such a way that they exhibit conatus as well; these ideas interact in a way analogous to the bodily mechanism, composing a kind of spiritual autom aton.288 This interaction w ithin the spiritual autom aton is a m atter of efficient causation, as in the bodily autom aton, because Spinoza rejects formal, final, and other kinds of causation. These ideas interacting in the mental autom aton have a tripartite nature - they are cognitions, volitions, and affects. In 4pl through 4p7, Spinoza establishes that m odes of the m ind are causally efficacious only insofar as they
are affects. This is w hat Spinoza means w hen he says that an idea cannot effect change
in the m ind insofar as it is true, but only insofar as it is an affect.289 Akrasia occurs as a result of this aspect of the mind; our affects drive our actions, not our knowledge of the good per se.
158 Spinoza reiterates this view later in Part 4, where he says, "no affect can be restrained by the true knowledge of good and evil insofar as it is true, but only insofar as it is considered as an affect"290 and "a Desire which arises from a true knowledge of good and evil can be extinguished or restrained by m any other Desires which arise from affects by which we are torm ented."291 An idea's being true, even its being true knowledge of our good, does not entail that this idea will be efficacious, since the strength of an affect is determined by the strength of its cause, not by its cognitive content 292 Similarly, w hether desires based on knowledge of our good are efficacious is a function of the strength of the desire's affective cause, not the cognition on which it is based. After having established the basis for the conflict of the affects, Spinoza proceeds to explain the principles according to which they interact. Those affects whose causes we imagine as present will, ceteris paribus, be stronger than those whose causes we imagine as absent. So Spinoza says, "an affect whose cause we imagine to be w ith us in the present is stronger if we did not imagine it to be w ith us."293 The reason for this is simple enough; Spinoza takes an idea considered in isolation of all other ideas to be an idea in which we imagine something as existing. Spinoza introduces the foundation for this principle in Part 2, where he says,
If the human Body is affected with a mode that involves the nature of an external body, the human Mind will regard the same external body as actually existing, or as present to it, until the Body is affected by an affect the excludes the existence or presence of that body. (2pl7; Curley, 463-4; Geb 11/104)
159 In Spinoza's rudim entary account of bodily affections, sensory perception is a process according to which some external body im prints itself onto our sense organs in some way, such that our brains will represent the external body as present until something else m ars or removes the imprint. Since the affects are ideas of bodily affections, it follows that affects in which we imagine something will function as though the object is present as well, unless there is some other idea present that counts against that existence. He makes this principle explicit in Part 3, where he says, "so long as a m an is affected by the image of a thing, he will regard the thing as present, even if it does not exist..."294 This principle can be found in Descartes, who says, "existence is contained in the idea or concept of every single thing, since we cannot conceive of anything except as existing."295 For Spinoza, to imagine something not present is to have two ideas, one that posits the existence and nature of the thing and another idea that posits a state of affairs that excludes the presence of the thing in question.296 Each of these affects has a certain am ount of affective force, as it were. Therefore, the case in which I have a sole affective idea that posits the existence of x will be stronger than a case in which I have an idea positing x and another idea denying the existence of x. Since these latter tw o are opposite in a certain way, the unopposed affect will have a greater effect on me than the opposed and thus weakened one. Therefore, given that having an affect tow ard some object involves imagining the object to be present, it follows that the addition of a second idea denying the presence of the object
160 w ould weaken the affect tow ard the object. After all, if we fear spiders, we will feel more fear in the absence of a belief that there are none present. Spinoza provides other principles concerning affective strength. So, he says, "we are affected more intensely by a future thing which we imagine will be quickly present, than if we imagined the time when it will exist to be further from the present."297 That is, we feel more strongly about things that are nearer to us than those that are farther. Similarly, those things that we imagine as necessary affect us more strongly than those imagined as contingent. For to imagine something as necessary is to imagine it as always existing, while to imagine something as contingent is to imagine something that m ay be non-existent or absent. Finally, Spinoza says:
A Desire which arises from a true knowledge of good and evil, insofar as this knowledge concerns the future, can be quite easily restrained or extinguished by a Desire for the pleasures of the moment. (4pl6; Curley, 554; Geb 11/220)
Here, Spinoza combines w hat he has said about the relative weakness of true knowledge of good w ith the relative weakness of our affects tow ard future states of affairs. Our desires to do certain things that we believe will bring about our good in the future are weak for several reasons. First, the strength of this desire is not a function of the truth or cognitive content of the ideas involved and so this desire is at no advantage over other, less rational desires we might have. Second, this desire concerns our good in the future; as such, it is weakened because its object is imagined as not existing in the present. Therefore, other things being equal, our desires for the pleasures of the present
161 will be stronger than our desire for our good in the future, even w hen that futuredirected desire is based on true knowledge. Later in Part 4, Spinoza explains a final way in which we are in bondage to the passions and thus m ay suffer akrasia. W hereas the previous principles involve the affective nature of desire versus its truth value or our natural bias tow ard the near, the following principle involves a bias tow ard particular aspects of ourselves at the expense of the whole. He says, "a Desire arising from either a Joy or a Sadness related to one, or several, but not to all parts of the Body, has no regard for the advantage of the whole m an."298 This straightforwardly applies to the passions of lust and gluttony, wherein one acts in the interest of parts of our body or brain, but perhaps at the expense of the whole. Yet it could be applied more metaphorically as well. Imagine a m an who takes great pleasure in music, to such an extent that he spends no time pursuing other knowledge or, more generally, tending to other necessities in his life. This w ould be one who favors certain desires at the expense of the good of the whole. This example is not farfetched, for, in a scholium to the above proposition, Spinoza says,
Therefore, since Joy is generally (by p44s) related to one part of the body, for the most part we desire to preserve our being without regard to our health as a whole. To this we may add that the Desires by which we are most bound (by p9c) have regard only to the present and not the future. (4p60s; Curley, 581; Geb 11/256)
162 In short, then, desires very often lead us astray because they exhibit some sort of irrational bias, either tow ard the present or the near future over the long-term, or tow ard a part of our bodies, or our lives, at the expense of the whole. With these statements, Spinoza believes that he has shown how O vid's Medea m ight have been led to say, "...video meliora, proboque, deteriora sequor."299 Spinoza describes how reason prescribes us to act, given that we will pursue our own interests. These dictates of reason, as Spinoza calls them, m ay serve as a guide to the life of reason, for they represent true knowledge of good and evil. As just explained, however, simply knowing these dictates does not entail that one will follow them. And this is Spinoza's account of akrasia.
3.3.3. The Relation Between Bondage and Akrasia
Bondage is the degree to which we lack hum an freedom, yet it is in akrasia that
w e feel our bondage most keenly. For here we see that even in the face of knowledge of
our good, we nonetheless are determ ined by passions.
Yet w hen we lack this
knowledge completely and take the w orld at face value, so to speak, relying solely on our inadequate ideas, we do not become aware that a better avenue m ight be available. But w hen we act akratically, we realize that one action really is better for us, yet we are driven to behave in some other way. W hen two passions compete for our attention, on the other hand, we merely wish we could do both. Only in akrasia do we come to recognize that one perception misleads us, while the other is preferable.
163 When we perceive that something is good for us, we desire it. So, if we reflect on our experiences of akrasia themselves, we m ay perceive that reason is good for us, because it illuminates our true goods and reveals that some of our other, inadequate ideas are not to be trusted. After all, Spinoza says, "knowledge of the second and third kinds, and not of the first kind, teaches us to distinguish the true from the false."300 W hen we see that the true is useful to us, we desire it. So Spinoza says, "the Striving, or Desire, to know things by the third kind of knowledge cannot arise from the first kind of knowledge, but can indeed arise from the second."301 In fact, the desire to know things by the second and third kinds of knowledge is self-perpetuating. In short, then, akrasia can serve a productive role for hum an beings, because it can alert us to the fact that our passions threaten our well-being. Given our egoism, it follows that we will desire to increase our knowledge. However, this desire m ay not aim at knowledge in general, nor at theoretical knowledge, necessarily. For it may aim primarily at knowledge of w hat is useful to us, since this is w hat is at issue w hen we suffer akrasia. Now, Spinoza defines the good just as those things that are useful to us. So, w hen we suffer akrasia, we m ay form a desire for rational knowledge of our good. This rational desire to know w hat is useful to us m ay initially suggest a distinction between theoretical and practical knowledge. For, if we have a desire only for w hat is useful to us, we m ay not desire knowledge of quantum physics or some other topic we judge as useless. Such judgm ents are surely w hat guide people to
pursue some aims as opposed to others, but these judgm ents m ay turn on a false dichotomy. For this opposition between theoretical and practical knowledge is not
164 entirely accurate. Spinoza says, "we know nothing to be certainly good or evil, except w hat really leads to understanding or w hat can prevent us from understanding."302 In other words, the good of the m ind is nothing but knowledge itself. Put another way, the only thing truly useful to the mind is knowledge simpliciter. Knowledge in general, then, strengthens the mind. Thus, the striving of the m ind for understanding does not distinguish between more or less useful reasoning. This should come as no surprise, because the m ind and the body are one thing understood in two ways. Spinoza establishes this w hen he says, "a mode of extension and the idea of that mode are one and the same thing, but expressed in two w ays"303 and "the object of the idea constituting the hum an M ind is the Body, or a certain mode of Extension which actually exists, and nothing else."304 Given that understanding is the m ind's activity and knowledge its power, and given that the m ind and body are two ways of understanding the same hum an being, it follows that my striving tow ard understanding is the same as my striving tow ard increasing m y pow er and persevering in m y being more generally. However, it m ay be that certain kinds of adequate knowledge are m ore useful than others for controlling the passions. Certainly, knowledge of quantum physics
strengthens the mind, brings understanding and lessens our bondage, but knowledge of the causes of the affects m ay allow us to remove the passions more effectively. As such, this knowledge, knowledge of the causes of the passions, is very desirable indeed. Appropriately, this is the kind of knowledge that Spinoza pursues to escape bondage into freedom.
165 And so we see that bondage is a state that makes our perform ing akratic action more likely. Bondage is, in a sense, dispositional akrasia. In this regard, then, Spinoza's concept of bondage resembles akrasia in its original sense - a state of character. A person with an akratic character is one more likely to perform akratic action. And this trait is characterized by ignorance and submission to the passions.
3.4. Conclusions All told, Spinoza divides ideas in several ways. inadequate. They can be adequate or If they are
They m ay also be one of the three kinds of knowledge.
adequate, they originate in the nature of the m ind itself, while if they are inadequate, an external cause acts upon us to give us the idea. Similarly, Spinoza tells us that affects can be either passive or active. When active, they involve adequate ideas and, w hen passive, inadequate ideas. When our m ind is active in adequate ideas, our pow er increases, and is felt as an active affect. When our mind is passive in inadequate ideas, it is felt as a passion, or passive affect. These affects can be felt as varieties of joy, sadness, or desire. Together, our desires constitute our conatus, which is our general tendency to pursue our ow n interest, that is, to pursue w hat we believe will increase our pow er and thus cause us joy. This conatus is not a separate, real faculty, but rather is a being of reason abstracted from our particular desires, just as our Will is abstracted from our particular volitions. W hen we are passive in our inadequate ideas, or rather, w hen we undergo passions, we are not self-determined. As such, we are not free, but in bondage. Even
though the conatus directs us to pursue our own interest, this tendency does not favor rational over irrational desires. Therefore, we often choose the worse of two options, even w hen we perceive the better. That is to say, we can act akratically. O ur desires, both rational and irrational, determine our actions based solely on their affective power. As we shall see in the final chapter, from Spinoza's affective psychology, his concept of hum an bondage, and, m ost importantly, his discussion of issues surrounding of akrasia as just explained, we can draw a powerful, novel, and fascinating theory of weakness of will. This theory compares favorably w ith those of the six theorists
presented in Chapter One.
167
Chapter Four: Spinoza's Theory of Akrasia
4.1. Intemalism and Extemalism in Spinoza We have now surveyed enough of Spinoza's system to compare his account of
akrasia to the other theories we introduced in Chapter One. There, our theorists were
divided into several camps: strong intemalism, weak intemalism, and extemalism. The principle according to which the theorists were so categorized concerns how they answer this question, posed in Chapter One, which was: W hat is the relation between practical judgm ents and motivation? Spinoza has a clear and unique answer. He holds them not only to be linked modally, but to be identical. More accurately, they are two aspects of the same mental mode. W hen we judge that something w ould be the best course of action (usually because it w ould benefit us), we also feel a desire to pursue that course of action. Desire, which for Spinoza fulfills the role of motivation, is the affective aspect of a practical judgment. As we shall see, Spinoza's is in fact a novel kind of weak internalist. He does hold a m odal connection between judgm ent and motivation, which m akes him an internalist.
168 He allows that strength of m otivation and judgm ent m ay diverge, however, in that we do not always m ost w ant to do w hat we judge to be best. Sometimes, Spinoza believes, our desire to do w hat we have judged to be not the best course of action is stronger than our rational desire to do w hat we have judged best. And it is in this phenomenon,
akrasia, that the richness and uniqueness of Spinoza's psychology is on display. In w hat
follows, Spinoza's account of akrasia will be contrasted with the six thinkers discussed in Chapter One and the exact nature of Spinoza's weak intemalism will become clear.
4.1.1. Spinoza Contra the Strong Internalists
The prim ary reason w hy Spinoza cannot be a strong internalist is that he accepts the reality of akrasia, as is evidenced by his citation of M edea's "I see and approve the better, but follow the worse."305 Spinoza certainly does not m ean to refer here to the diachronic akrasia of the strong internalist, for Spinoza describes that phenom enon as a vacillation of the mind, which he takes to be a distinct phenom enon from our acting from passion against our better judgment. As we shall see, Spinoza's account differs in several other im portant respects from the strong internalists we have reviewed. The first strong internalist discussed was Socrates. Like Socrates, Spinoza
believes that a perfectly rational agent will desire only those things which most increase his well-being overall and in the long-run. Unlike Socrates, however, Spinoza does not reduce all desires, rational and irrational, to this desire for happiness or one's good. Indeed, despite his doctrine of the conatus and his strong commitment to egoism, Spinoza countenances conflicting desires. This is so because, like Plato, he believes that
169 desires are conditioned by their objects and, thus, we may possess incommensurable desires. Each desire, on Socrates' view, contains an all-things-considered judgment. That is, each desire concerns w hat w ould be best to do, not merely w hat w ould be good or pleasurable. Spinoza, on the other hand, takes desires merely to concern the object at hand and not to involve any such global considerations. Though behavior tow ard
maximizing our good/pleasure m ay be a general tendency in Spinoza's system, desires need not be global judgm ents of this sort at all. Desires include a judgm ent, to be sure, but that judgm ent is of som ething's goodness, usefulness, or pleasantness, not necessarily whether it is best or not. Essential to Spinoza's view is the claim that the hum an essence or conatus works on both adequate and inadequate ideas. So, for
Spinoza, we m ay act on either our good or our bad judgm ents as well as our rational or irrational desires. For Spinoza, desires also involve a kind of judgment. If I desire something, I judge it to be useful or pleasurable. Note, however, that this judgm ent does not involve an implicit evaluation of the relevant alternatives. This desire is a mechanical response to a certain stimulus, which will not necessarily cause any such evaluation. Further, this stimulus may create a desire in us that aims solely at a short-term good. Indeed, it m ay aim us at something we believe to be bad in the long-run - or even in the short rim. Imagine three different kinds of stimuli, one which causes us to believe that A is better for us than B, one that impels us tow ard A and one that impels us tow ard B. Further, say that the stim ulus impelling us tow ard B is stronger that the other two
170 stimuli combined. We can therefore simultaneously know that A is better yet act
tow ard B. We are being "impelled," yet this impulsion is no different from w hen we are impelled by stimuli and antecedent conditions tow ard something we judge to be good. Indeed, if we adequately judge that A is good for us, we will by that very fact desire A. If we then act tow ard A , we do so from our own knowledge, yet we are nevertheless "impelled." This is a natural result of Spinoza's mechanist, determinist view of the mind. Thus, for Spinoza, it is not just "the skill of measurement" that is the key to our salvation, as it is for Socrates. Instead, we m ust cultivate desires that accord w ith the judgm ents of that skill. In other words, our salvation lies in having the strongest
possible rational desires, not just in rational beliefs. For rational beliefs m ay not involve powerful enough desires to overcome the passions. So Spinoza's account is m uch more Aristotelian than Socratic. On the Socratic view, m aking an accurate m easurement removes any contrary judgments. If I measure w hat good will result from an action, I thereby remove any judgm ents that reach a different conclusion. So, if I judge x to be bad, I cannot at the same time desire x. Spinoza disagrees. I can know that the sun is huge and distant yet still experience its appearance as small and relatively near. The knowledge of the sun's true distance and size do not cancel out or do away w ith the suspicion that it is relatively small and near, given to us in sensation. Similarly, I can judge that something is bad yet still experience the appearance of it as desirable or good. As long as the two
171 distinct causes, or stimuli, of these mental states are present, they can coexist in the mind. In short, then, Spinoza differs from Socrates in that he allows incommensurate desires and coexisting contradictory judgments. These aspects of his system allow him to accept strict, synchronic akrasia and exclude him from being a Socratic strong internalist. The other strong internalist discussed was Donald Davidson. Spinoza's view differs from Davidson's in ways similar to how it differs from Socrates. Like Mele, Spinoza w ould deny Davidson's P2, that "if an agent judges that it w ould be better to do x than to do y, then he wants to do x more than he wants to do y." For Spinoza, motivation and evaluation are simply not so intimately connected. This is w hat
Spinoza means w hen he distinguishes (i) that affects, not ideas determine action and (ii) that affects gain their strength from their causes, which are other affects, not from the judgm ents with which they are involved. Davidson locates the explanation of hum an action in reasons. People act on
account of having reasons, which are the causes of their actions. Akrasia is a problem for a reasons theorist like Davidson, because akrasia seems to be a case where an agent has a better reason to do one thing than another, but still does the other from a less convincing reason. H ow can one have reason to act against one's reason? If we explain hum an action using desire instead of reason, the oddness of this opposition seems to be alleviated. If everyone acts from some desire, then the akratic agent acts against a 'rational' desire. The akratic agent has a desire to act that is contrary to another of his
172 desires, where the two desires are simply opposing. This seems like less of a conceptual problem. For surely people can desire things in different ways - we m ay desire x for its long-term benefits and y for its immediate pleasure, and so on. But to say that we have good reasons to do x and a less convincing reason to do y but our reasons lead us to do y is adm ittedly strange. And that is w hy Davidson comes up w ith his two kinds of judgments, i.e., two kinds of reasons, only one of which can issue in action. For Davidson, conditional and unconditional judgments seem to conflict, though in fact only unconditional, or sans phrase, judgm ents lead to action. For Spinoza, on the other hand, rational and irrational desires, and their constituent evaluative judgments, really do conflict. One impedes the efficacy of the other. Since the affective force of the competing desires determines which is efficacious, however, we m ay indeed act based on a reason that we take to be inferior. reason, in these cases. So, Spinoza's account differs from Davidson's because Spinoza allows for a mind to contain contrary reasons, or judgments, in a way that Davidson does not. Whereas Davidson could not accept that we both judge one thing to be the best course of action and yet still have an efficacious reason to do something else, Spinoza can allow this kind of irrationality to occur. In short, then, Davidson attributes a greater degree of We do act for a reason, but not for the best
rationality to the agent than Spinoza and it is this irrationality - the coexistence of contradictory judgm ents in the m ind - that allows Spinoza to accept synchronic or strict
akrasia.
173 It is clear that Spinoza is not a strong internalist. In investigating w hy he is not a strong internalist, however, several fundam ental Spinozist principles have been emphasized. First, Spinoza allows a single hum an agent to affirm contradictory
judgm ents and thus be irrational to a greater degree than most strong internalists w ould likely allow. Put another way, Spinoza includes irrationality in the essence of the hum an mind. Second, Spinoza accepts incommensurable desires that can lead
tow ard competing, m utually exclusive courses of action. Being incommensurable, these desires cannot be reduced to a single m otivation for happiness or pleasure. Spinoza's allowance of contradictory and incommensurable desires and judgm ents lies at the very heart of his account of akrasia and is key to understanding his psychology in general. This is not to say that Spinoza rejects internalism in its entirety, however. As we shall see, Spinoza is not straightforwardly an externalist, either.
4.1.2. Spinoza Is Not an Externalist
Hum e begins his discussion of akrasia by laying out a traditional and long standing view of hum an psychology. Nothing is more usual in philosophy, and even in common life, than to talk of the combat of passion and reason, to give the preference to reason, and assert that m en are only so far virtuous as they conform themselves to its dictates. Every rational creature, it is said, is obliged to regulate his actions by reason; and if any other motive or principle challenge the direction of his conduct, he ought
174 to oppose it, till it be entirely subdued, or at least brought to a conformity with that superior principle.306 In other words, Hum e takes his predecessors to have advanced a two-fold view according to which (i) reason opposes and is different from the passions AND (ii) the pow er of reason is and ought to be superior. As we have seen in Chapter One, of course, Hum e famously rejects (ii), saying, "Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them ."307 Crucially, however, Hum e accepts a version of (i). He believes that reason involves only inert ideas that represent things, while passion contains the motive forces of the mind. That is, Hum e takes judgm ent and m otivation to be utterly distinct, not only in their function but also in their ontology. Ideas and passions work differently from one
another because they are, fundamentally, different kinds of things. Unlike Hum e, Spinoza holds that judgm ent and motivation are intimately connected. Reason ought not to be the slave to the passions, for Spinoza, though it may be so in the case of the person in bondage. Indeed, the language of slavery and
bondage fit well together. For Spinoza, judgm ents and motivations are ontologically identical. Just as the motion of the arrow and the arrow in motion are conceptually or perhaps modally distinct but not really distinct, so too are the static, representative features of a m ental m ode related to the dynamic, affective features of a m ental mode. W hen we judge som ething to be good, we m ust be desiring it. In this difference lies Spinoza's rejection of extemalism. As it is usually
understood, judgm ent extemalism is the view that practical judgm ents and m otivation
175 are m odally distinct; they are, to use H um e's phrase, distinct existences. As he says, "A passion is an original existence, or, if you will, modification of existence, and contains not any representative quality."308 For Spinoza, this is exactly false; judgm ents and m otivation are not distinct existences, but in fact are identical. Further, for the externalist, judgm ents concerning w hat w ould be the best course of action m ay not entail any m otivation to pursue that course of action. For Spinoza, on the other hand, all judgm ents of the good will be caused by a desire for that thing. As Spinoza's doctrine of the conatus makes clear, hum an beings tend to pursue that which will benefit them. So, w hen we judge
som ething to benefit us, we m ust also be desiring that thing. Of course, this desire may not be very strong at all and m ay be easily overpowered by other modes of the mind. Nevertheless, we do feel some motivation to pursue that course of action we judge to be in our interest, or good. On the other hand, H um e's affective psychology strongly resembles Spinoza's in certain ways. Hum e says, "Nothing can oppose or retard the impulse of passion, but a contrary im pulse..."(415) And this is so, Hum e says, because: W hen I am angry, I am actually possest w ith the passion, and in that emotion have no more a reference to any other object, than w hen I am thirsty, or sick, or more than five foot high. It is impossible, therefore, that this passion can be opposed by, or be contradictory to truth and reason; since this contradiction consists in the disagreement of ideas. (Hume, Treatise, 415)
176 In other words, passions, being non-cognitive, brute forces, are simply not the right kind of thing to oppose ideas, which are representations. Because the two things are fundam entally different in kind, one cannot oppose the other in any true sense. The only thing that can oppose an affect is another affect. For Hume, m ental conflict m ust occur between affects, as he mentions, saying, "...there are certain calm desires and tendencies, which, though they be real passions, produce little emotion in the m ind, and are more known by their effects than by the immediate feeling or sensation..." (417) These calm passions oppose other, violent passions and lead to the feeling of mental conflict we mistakenly associate w ith the battle between reason and passion. Like Hume, Spinoza explains hum an psychological conflict by positing two kinds of affective states. W hat Hum e calls the violent and calm passions Spinoza calls the passive and active affects. H um e's and Spinoza's understandings of these
dichotomies are not the same, however, as Spinoza's affects are aspects of cognitions, while H um e's are brute, non-cognitive m ental states. And it is here, in his cognitive theory of the affects, that Spinoza most noticeably departs from H um e's theory. In m any other regards, however, the two theories are similar. Both employ a mechanistic view of the psyche, in that psychological phenom ena are to be explained by the interacting forces of mental parts. And they are both naturalists, in that they hope to offer a psychology analogous to the physics of their days. Hum e models his
psychology after the Newtonian physics and Spinoza models his after his version of the Cartesian physics.
177 H um e's distinctive non-cognitivism explains how he can accept akratic action
and deny that it is, strictly speaking, irrational. Indeed, according to one interpretation
of Hume, akratic action, like all action, is not properly a m atter of rationality or irrationality at all. Being a result of non-rational passions, action is non-rational in this sense. As opposed to this view, Spinoza's affects are cognitions. As such, Spinoza can label some affects rational, w hen they involve adequate ideas, and others irrational, w hen they involve inadequate ideas. So, Spinoza's account of akrasia retains the
irrationality of akrasia, while H um e's does not. This could be considered a m ark in favor of the Spinozist theory, since akrasia is in fact practical irrationality. W hat's more, non-cognitivists need not be externalists, nor m ust all externalists deny the irrationality of akrasia. Indeed, this is far from the case. For example, there are some expressivists who take m oral judgm ents to be nothing but expressions of emotion. Yet they take these judgm ents to be intrinsically motivational and so they are noncogntivist internalists. Like these expressivists, Spinoza takes motivation to be literally
constitutive of normative beliefs.
Unlike the expressivists, however, Spinoza's
normative beliefs are cognitive and bear truth values. In sum, then, Spinoza cannot be an externalist because he posits an identity relation between judgm ent and motivation. W henever an agent judges a course of action to be best, that agent will also desire to pursue that course of action, though that desire m ay not be efficacious. The position just described in weak intemalism and it is to that which we now turn.
178
4.1.3. Spinoza and the Weak Internalists
The first w eak internalist we surveyed was Plato.
For Plato, our better
judgm ents lead to a m otivation to act on those judgments, bu t it is a defeasible motivation. O ur rational m otivation is defeasible, for Plato, because we m ay have other motivations that overpower our rational motivation. Like Spinoza, Plato allows that a hum an being may contain contradictory and incommensurable motivations. Unlike Spinoza, however, and like Socrates, Plato
seems to disallow that such contradictory impulses could coexist in the same locus of
agency. And so, Plato posits multiple subsystems from which distinct motivations may
originate.309 This is his parts of the soul doctrine. In short, then, Plato and Spinoza both accept that the hum an being m ay have incommensurable desires. They both also accept that a hum an being m ay exhibit akratic action. But they differ w ith regard to w hether a single agent m ay contain contradictory judgments. Spinoza rejects this solution in the strongest of terms, as he should, because Plato's answer to the Socratic rejection of synchronic akrasia is unacceptable on its own terms. For Plato, it seems the agent that matters is the rational soul. If this is the case, then the agent does not freely and intentionally perform akratic acts, because the rational soul is overpowered by the other parts of the soul in those cases. Spinoza's ow n system does not fall into this trap. Though we sometimes may talk as though parts of us are in conflict, this is figurative. Instead, specific elements of the hum an m ind m ay conflict, such as differing judgm ents and desires. This conflict is sufficient to explain akrasia; no drastic partitioning is necessary. If I desire to stay in my
179 room and study because I judge it to be best but I also desire to go for a w alk across the quad, m y desire to take a walk can speak for itself; if it speaks loudly enough, it will be efficacious and m y rational desire will not be.310 No distinct parts to contain these conflicting desires need be postulated; no independent subsystems are required. Indeed, Spinoza rejects portioning the soul into parts just as he rejects medieval faculty psychology. Plato's student, Aristotle, took up the same question that Plato did and attem pted to provide a different weak internalist answer. As we shall see, however, Aristotle met w ith more success, proposing one w ith which Spinoza has some agreement. Aristotle has said that akrasia occurs w hen our passionate, sensual desires lead us to focus only on the pleasantness of certain particulars, as opposed to our universal principles. Aristotle also claims that people can reason poorly, due to emotional biases, and thus act angrily or ambitiously and so on. And so, Aristotle in fact offers two distinct theories. In cases of bodily passion, we m ay perform strict akratic actions. We may be aware of the conclusions of our practical syllogisms, yet act on a conclusion draw n solely from the minor premise and, thus, act against the conclusion relying on the major and m inor premises together. In other words, we m ay act from a particular against our practical reasoning based on universal principles. With regard to this first theory, Aristotle's view accords w ith Spinoza's in certain im portant ways. We suffer akrasia w hen an irrational desire, which involves an
inadequate idea, overcomes a rational desire, which involves an adequate idea. For
180 Spinoza, inadequate ideas are usually ideas of sensation and not universal principles of reason. Further, like Aristotle's, Spinoza's rational desires derive from some universal principles, or common notions. When we suffer akrasia, for Spinoza, the inadequate idea (which is generally an idea of sensation and particular), overcomes the practical syllogism, rendering the common notion ineffective. Finally, like Aristotle, Spinoza also allows that we m ight reason poorly due to the interference of the passions. This is
bondage, for Spinoza.
On the other hand, Aristotle's account of akrasia in cases of non-bodily passion, such as in actions motivated by ambition or greed, does not sit comfortably with Spinoza's theory. For Aristotle holds that, w hen we act from these non-bodily passions, we merely reason poorly. Thus, our misdeeds are to be explained solely by reference to bad reasoning. We acted in a way we had judged to be best, though we had reached that conclusion based on bas reasoning. In short, action from non-bodily passion does not really count as strict akrasia at all, according to Aristotle. Unlike Aristotle, Spinoza does not limit akrasia to cases of bodily passions such as hunger or thirst. Instead, akrasia can involve any passion, including anger and ambition. Perhaps more importantly, Spinoza denies the Aristotelian divide between reason and passion. Spinoza does accept the Aristotelian claim that particulars often trum p
universals in akrasia, since akrasia can involve irrational desires based in the first kind of knowledge overpowering those rational desires based in the second kind. Nevertheless, he diverges from Aristotle w hen he claims that even the bodily passions and desires are
cognitive.
181 Both Spinoza and Aristotle countenance opposing, contrary judgm ents to coexist in the same m ind. So, an agent m ay form a practical syllogism that he ought not to eat the cake. Due to his hunger, however, he m ay focus unduly on the particular and conclude that this cake looks delicious and so he will eat it. So, the agent's m ind m ay be said to contain opposing judgments, for Aristotle. Also like Aristotle, Spinoza denies that all deliberate action is driven by a singular, fundam ental desire to maximize our overall good. He follows Aristotle in holding that desire is simply the pursuit of This allows for longer term
something seen as a good, not necessarily the best. considerations to be sw ept aside by passions.
In short, Spinoza accepts the Aristotelian rejection of Socrates, where the passions can 'overwhelm ' our rational deliberations and prevent them from being efficacious. But he applies this intuition to his own mechanistic, deterministic picture of the mind. Because of this, the passionate desires are m uch more like their rational brethren than they are in Aristotle. For, in Aristotle, we act from reason as a result of a properly formed practical syllogism, while desire is usually something that simply
prevents us from forming such a syllogism. For Spinoza, on the other hand, desires
operate on both sides, for reason and for passion, and in m uch the same way. They are all simply efficient causes applying a degree of force on the mechanism, which is the only kind of efficacy Spinoza's philosophy of m ind can countenance. Aristotle locates the source of our passionate akratic acts in the body, thus establishing a m ind versus body dichotomy that Spinoza cannot accept. Further, on one interpretation, Aristotle can allow strict akratic action only in cases of bodily, passionate
182
akrasia.
In other circumstances, for example, those involving greed or ambition,
Aristotle explains akrasia in a Socratic m anner, denying strict, synchronic akrasia and instead attributing the seemingly akratic action to ignorance or poor reasoning. And on this point Spinoza also diverges strongly from Aristotle. For Spinoza, we m ay act
akratically from any desire, not just from a bodily desire of hunger or lust. These divergences, along w ith Spinoza's disregard for a more general theory of practical reasoning like Aristotle's syllogistic theory, set Spinoza's account of akrasia apart from Aristotle's in significant ways. Indeed, the theorist whose account of akrasia most
closely resembles Spinoza's is Alfred Mele's.
4.1.4. Spinoza and Mele
Consider the other major weak internalists we have considered, Plato and Aristotle. Plato's partitioning is problematic and a m ethod Spinoza rejects. Aristotle's explanation is similar to Spinoza's is certain ways, but affect is opposed to reason for Aristotle in a way that it is not for Spinoza. Indeed, Aristotle's account seems to rely on an opposition between the decisions of the m ind and the urges of the body, a dichotomy that Spinoza also rejects. The distinctive feature of Spinoza's system is his theory of the affects -- m ental m odes can be judgm ents and desires at the same time, though the strength of desires are determined by the strength of their causes, not by the validity or persuasiveness or certitude of the judgm ent in question. In short, the evaluative and m otivational aspects of m odes of thought operate independently, for Spinoza. And this is just the feature of
183 our psychology that Mele locates as explaining akrasia as well. Two of Mele's main points can be stated as follows: (1) judgm ent does not entail intention; p u t another way, strength of evaluation does not entail strength of motivation; (2) But judgm ent/evaluation does entail some m otivation/reason for action, though it m ay not be an efficacious or strongest reason/m otivation for action. The Spinozist can basically accept (1) and (2), though he m ust clarify w hat intentions are and also w hat the "other forces" involved that determine the pow er of motivation are. Both of these requirements will now be addressed. The closeness of Mele's and Spinoza's account can be seen by considering one of Mele's examples. Recall the biology student who has an assignment to prick his own finger and place a drop of his own blood on a slide to examine. He judges that doing so is the best course of action and, so, w ants to prick his finger. In fact, a m om ent before picking up the needle, he wants to prick his finger more than not prick his finger; indeed, he w ants to prick his finger enough to lead him to take up the needle and attem pt to do so. But at the last moment, he intentionally pauses and refrains from pricking and he does so while still judging it best to proceed. Mele offers two possible explanations for this example of weakness of will. First, his desire not to prick his finger m ay have increased so as to overpower at the last moment his desire to do so. Second, he m ay never had had sufficient motivation to prick his finger, though he believed himself to have such a motivation.
184 This second case is similar to a m an who desires to move a piano and intends to do so, but discovers he does not have the physical strength to do so after several failed attempts. Similarly, the biology student most desires to prick his finger and intends to do so, only to discover he lacks the motivational strength to do so. This second
explanation brings to light w hat I take to be the defining feature of both Spinoza's and Mele's accounts - evaluation, though connected to strength of motivation, is not determ ined by it. That is, we m ay evaluate one course of action to be best, but be more m otivated to pursue another. Mele explains how this can occur by presenting a more complex view of hum an psychology, one in which judgm ents play a role, but do not tell the whole story. W hether or not we will be motivated to pursue w hat we judge to be best is a function of w hether or not we are self-controlled. follows: In short, a self-controlled person is someone w ho is appropriately m otivated to conduct himself as he judges best and has the ability to m aster motivation to the contrary...A nd, of course, self-control comes in degrees... (60) The self-controlled person is one who has a greater motivation to obey his best judgments, which gives him greater pow er to resist contrary motivations. This greater m otivation and pow er come in degrees as well. In m any ways, Spinoza's free man, the m an not in bondage to the passions, is similar to Mele's perfectly self-controlled man. The free man, for Spinoza, is he whose actions are wholly self-determined; he is the adequate cause of all of is actions. Mele describes the self-controlled person as
185 Practically speaking, the free m an will always m ost w ant to do w hat he judges to be best. In this regard at least, Mele's perfectly self-controlled m an is similar, for the self controlled person will also always m ost w ant to do w hat he judges to be best. Just as actual hum an beings attain only a degree of freedom, however, so too do we attain only a degree of self-control. We are more likely to w ant to do w hat we judge best, ceteris
paribus, the more free, or in self-control, we find ourselves. And so, in agreem ent w ith
Mele's theory, Spinoza's theory can only explain strict akratic action by reference to the relative degree of self-control, self-determination, and freedom an individual possesses. Both Mele and Spinoza accept that hum an beings may possess incommensurable desires. Further, they both affirm that the hum an mind m ay contain incompatible
judgments. And both Mele and Spinoza deny that one needs to partition the mind in order to explain akrasia. And Mele's explanation for how particular cases of akrasia occur also resembles Spinoza's in certain ways. Mele turns to explaining akratic action as it truly occurs in Chapter 6, section 3 and 4. He relies on two observations about hum an psychology to explain akrasia. First, he discusses the view that our motivation increases as the expected rew ards become more proximate. According to Mele, experimental evidence has led psychologists to conclude that hum an beings are likely to choose a lesser but immediate rew ard over a greater but delayed reward. So, hum an beings will sometimes knowingly and
intentionally choose the lesser good over the greater w hen the lesser good is perceived to be nearer at hand. More importantly, this explanation is arguably Spinoza's most
186 prom inent explanation of akrasia as well, a feature of hum an psychology I have called Spinoza's bias toward the near. The observation that hum an beings prefer immediate gratification to delayed satisfaction will likely not surprise anyone, nor is it enough for us to claim that Mele's account is the same as Spinoza's, of course. Appropriately, then, Mele points out that this is not sufficient to explain cases of akrasia. So he also introduces considerations of
attention. If we attend to the desire to eat the cake instead of the desire to refrain, we
m ay experience an increased m otivation to eat it and thus succumb. Or if we attend to the pleasurable qualities of this cake before us instead of our commitment to our diet, we m ay succumb. Unfortunately, Spinoza does not employ attention in his account of akrasia. Indeed, Spinoza's thought completely lacks such an account and is the poorer for it. However, Spinoza offers another explanation of akrasia, one that has its own virtues. He notes that people often are motivated by a desire that serves some part of them as opposed to one that serves them overall. When we are m otivated in this way, we do not act form a desire for our overall good, but instead from one that is good for us only
in a certain respect. So, for example, we m ay desire the food because it will provide us
w ith a certain gustatory pleasure, though it will not provide us w ith the pleasures of health and self-satisfaction. Yet the desire that serves us only in a certain respect may be more powerful than those that serve our overall well-being. Indeed, these partial desires m ay overwhelm our overall desires in just the same way that our short-term desires m ay overwhelm our long-term ones. This is an aspect of Spinoza's explanatory
187 scheme that differs from Mele's, though it is not a point of fundam ental disagreement, I think. Yet there are significant points of disagreement between the tw o thinkers. For example, Spinoza's psychology is affective and mechanistic in a way that Mele's is not. For Spinoza, every single hum an action m ust be explained by some affect, either active or passive. W ithout a doubt, Spinoza's affective, mechanistic psychology places him closer to Hume than Mele and perhaps closer to Hum e than anyone else. Indeed, Spinoza's entire psychological system, with its emphases on activity versus passivity and adequacy versus inadequacy finds no analogue in Mele's thought. And of course, Mele w ould likely reject Spinoza's parallelism, his pantheism, his quasiCartesian physics, and perhaps even his strong cognitivism. A nd unlike Mele,
Spinoza's thought is entirely lacking considerations of rationality, practical reasoning, intentionality, and so on, all of which are features of Mele's thought. certainly be incorrect to say that Mele is some sort of Spinozist. On the other hand, Spinoza's account of akrasia resembles Mele's m ore than it does any other thinker. Both are weak internalists. They both see a connection between evaluation and motivation. Yet neither believe that this connection is strongly modal, instead wishing to qualify it. Unlike other weak internalists such as Plato, Pears or the later Davidson, neither Mele nor Spinoza partition the mind in order to explain akrasia. A nd unlike Aristotle, they do not pit the body against the mind. W hat's more, they both explain akrasia by pointing to a more general feature of hum an psychology - the relative independence of evaluative strength and motivational strength. For both Mele So it w ould
188 and Spinoza, we may very well make judgm ents that one course of action is best, yet be more motivated to pursue another. And w hat determines w hether our judgm ent and motivation come apart is also a point of similarity between the two thinkers. For Mele, the degree to which one has self-control determines the degree to which evaluation and m otivation diverge. For Spinoza, the degree of freedom, or self-determination,
determines this. And both thinkers rely on notions of a bias tow ard the near in their explanations of the mechanism by which cases of akrasia arise. Thus we see that Spinoza's theory of akrasia remarkably resembles Mele's. Though Spinoza does not develop his theory of akrasia into a book-length study, as Mele does, their accounts are sufficiently close that a Spinozist w ould likely accept most of Mele's conclusions. Indeed, Spinoza's weak intem alism resembles Mele's more than any other thinker's we have examined. However, his weak intem alism is unlike Mele's and, indeed, unlike any other thinker's in several ways. Let us now turn to a discussion of the fine details of Spinoza's unique weak intemalism.
4.1.5. Spinoza's Unique Weak Intemalism
Spinoza's weak intem alism is unique because it incorporates externalist intuitions into a weak internalist framework. Spinoza believes that emotions are moral judgments, so he cannot be said to be an externalist in the sense that emotions are not modally linked to moral judgments. On the other hand, the affective force of an emotion
is only contingently linked to the cognitive content of the judgment. In that sense,
Spinoza resembles the externalists.
189 Recall that, for Hum e, motivations (passions) are not internal to or constituents of practical judgment. In this specific sense, Hum e is an externalist. So, whereas
H um e's extemalism holds judgm ents and m otivating desires to be independent existences, Spinoza denies this. But, like Hum e, Spinoza holds that emotions function independently from judgments. For the strength of an affect is not determ ined by the content of its judgment, but of the force of its cause. Inadequate ideas engender
irrational desires, the strength of which is determ ined by the force of the external cause responsible for the idea. And adequate ideas engender rational desires, the strength of which is determined by our own strength. And in that sense, the emotional aspect functions independently from its cognitive aspect. peculiar kind of externalist in this regard. But his view is also unavoidably internalist. For, if the m ind has formed a moral judgment, it necessarily also has some desire, though the strength of that desire is not determ ined by that judgment. Consider Davidson's principles: PI. If an agent wants to do x more than he wants to do y and he believes himself free to do either x or y, then he will intentionally do x if he does either x or y intentionally. P2. If an agent judges that it w ould be better to do x than to do y, then he wants to do x more than he wants to do y. P3. There are incontinent actions. (Davidson, 23) Spinoza accepts PI and P3, but accepts a weaker version of P2, which is: P2': If an agent judges that it w ould be good to do x, then he w ants to do x. And so, Spinoza resembles a
190 Spinoza affirms P2', but denies P2. The strong internalist affirms PI and P2. The weak internalist affirms PI and P2'. The externalist affirms only PI. Generally all weak
internalists and externalists affirm P3 as well. Only some strong internalists (Davidson, Hare) affirm P3, though they m ust offer an explanation of how it is possible, given its
prima facie inconsistency w ith PI and P2.
A complete explanation of Spinoza's account of akrasia m ust take Spinoza's commitment to parallelism into consideration. This doctrine certainly adds an
additional wrinkle to this story, one which I will attem pt to elucidate here by way of an example. Say I am at the dinner table and I see the piece of cake. Now, m y body, having a certain constitution, interacts physiologically with the cake via perception. This interaction, or affection, results in my body's increasing in pow er in a certain way at the sight of the cake. This particular kind of increase in power is one that brings an initial m ovem ent tow ard the cake. In the m ind, I see the cake and consider it, which brings me a kind of pleasure, the kind that signals I will feel more pleasure upon eating the cake. This is a pleasure that is also motivating, since I feel this pull tow ard the cake. Let's break this dow n into steps: Body: 1 .1 perceive the cake. 2 .1 feel a tingling of pleasure. Mind: I conceive of the cake. I delight in seeing it. (affect) I judge it to be attractive (idea) 3 .1 feel a pull tow ard the cake. I desire the cake (affect) I judge the cake good to eat (idea)
191 D epending on w hat other motions are in m y body and w hat other affects are in my m ind, this pull/desire m ay be strong enough to move me to eat the cake. But it also m ay not be, in which case I will refrain. While this transpires, say I also have a judgm ent in mind that I ought not eat the cake. This judgm ent is really the judgm ent that eating the cake w ould not be good for
me, given Spinoza's ethical egoism. So, my mind possesses an idea that eating the cake
w ould be bad for me. Given Spinoza's psychological egoism and the affective nature of practical judgments, I then also have a desire not to eat the cake. And so, m y body contains a motion away from the cake. In this scenario, then, we have the following states within us: Body: 1. A m otion tow ard the cake. Mind: A judgm ent that it w ould be good to eat, which is also a desire to eat the cake. 2. A motion away from the cake. A judgm ent that the cake w ould be bad to eat, which is also a desire to refrain. The strength of the motions and their parallel desires are determined by the strength of their causes. Let us say that the judgm ent that we ought to refrain from eating the cake is based on adequate knowledge and, thus, this desire is rational. Further, let us say that the judgm ent that cake w ould be good to eat is based on inadequate ideas. Thus, the desire to eat the cake is a passion. The strength of the rational desire is determ ined by the power of its cause, which is our pow er of reason. That is, the rational desire is only as strong as we are, so to
192 speak. The strength of the passion, however, is determined by how strongly the
perception of the cake has affected us. And that is determined by facts both about our body and the cake. So, for example, if we are hungry or predisposed to like cake, then the perception of the cakes will affect us m ore strongly than if we are not. And if the cake appears expertly m ade, then it may also affect us more strongly. Now, if the strength of the passion is greater than the strength of the active affect, we will act on the passion. The motion tow ard the cake in our bodies will overpower the motion away from the cake and we will eat the cake. In our m inds, we will
experience akrasia, for we will act on a desire that is less rational or less in our interest, because we desire it m ore strongly. So, we act for a reason - namely, our judgm ent that the cake w ould be good to eat. But we do not act for the best reason, since we have also judged that the cake would be bad to eat and that judgm ent was based on reason, not inadequate ideas. Thus, our motivating reason has deviated from the normative reason. A nd this is possible only because the strength of our desires comes apart from the cognitive content of our judgments, even though those judgm ents do give us some motivation to act in that way. This is a weak internalist position. Different theorists describe weak judgm ent intem alism differently, of course. For example, consider the following statements of weak judgm ent intemalism: Practical judgm ent and m otivation are m odally linked; Practical judgm ent entails motivation; i.e., judgm ent is sufficient for motivation; M otivation is internal to or constitutive o f moral judgments;
193 the motivational efficacy of m oral judgm ent is a conceptual truth.
Since Spinoza holds that affect and judgm ent are identical, he m ust hold that judgm ent and desire (or motivation) are modally linked and that judgm ent entails motivation. Further, given that they are identical, motivation is internal to judgment, or vice versa. He does not hold that moral judgm ent is motivationally efficacious, however, where that is understood as resulting in action. For we m ay have conflicting motivations, only one of which may result in action. Therefore, the statement that moral judgm ents are
motivationally efficacious m ust m ean only that moral judgm ents succeed in engendering motivation, not that the motivation will necessarily succeed in leading to action. And so, on all of the above descriptions of weak judgm ent intemalism, Spinoza qualifies as a weak internalist. As we have seen, several central tenets in Spinoza's psychology contribute to his unique account of akrasia. Perhaps most im portant is his doctrine that affects and ideas are identical. One part of that doctrine, that concerning desire, however, is most
relevant to his account of akrasia. I now discuss that theory of desire more carefully and use it to formulate a rigorous statement of Spinoza's account of akrasia. Spinoza's cognitive theory of desire can be stated as follows:
S makes a practical judgm ent that x is good for S to do (i.e., in S's interest) iff S
desires to x. This view can be restated in simpler form as follows: S judges x is good for S to do iff S desires to do x
194 This is one way to state Spinoza's cognitive theory of desire, to be sure. Another, more accurate way to state it is as follows, however:
S's judgm ent that x is good for S to do is identical to S's desire to x.
If we assume that the identity relation is a necessary one, we m ay thus state Spinoza's cognitive theory of desire: Necessarily, S judges x to be good for S to do iff S desires to x. Of course, this biconditional necessarily obtains because the desire and judgm ent in question are identical, or rather, they are two aspects of the same thing. From this biconditional, we m ay infer the following conditional: Necessarily, if S judges x to be good for S to do, S desires to do x. Further, I suggest the following: If S desires to do x, then S is motivated to do x (though this m ay be a defeasible motivation) This plausible principle holds that desiring to do x means we have a motivation to do x (namely, to fulfill our desire). In other words, desiring to do something is a synonym for being (defeasibly) m otivated to do it. From the previous two statements, the
following statement of judgm ent intem alism follows: Nec., if S judges that x is good for her to do, then S is m otivated to do x. And this is so, for Spinoza, because the judgm ent that x is good for one to do is identical with one's desire to do x. As long as this motivation is understood to be defeasible, then Spinoza is a weak internalist.
195 N ow let us try to formulate some principles of Spinoza's psychology that capture the core of this weak intemalism. Doing so should also allow us to see how his theory of
akrasia grows out of his weak intemalism. We begin w ith the statement of intem alism
just formulated: Nec., if S judges that x is right for her to do, then S is m otivated to do x. This is a statement of intemalism, to be sure, but not yet weak intemalism. Spinoza also holds the following principles about the affects: - Passive affects (passions) have external causes that determine their strength. - O ur m ind causes rational affects and determines their strength. - Often the pow er of external causes surpasses the pow er of individual agents. W hat makes an affect passive is the involvement of an inadequate idea, which has been defined as an idea not wholly contained in and caused by the mind in question. Therefore, at least some of the cause of an inadequate idea lies outside the m ind and, thus, its strength is determ ined by m atters external to the mind. Active affects, however, involve adequate ideas, which are wholly contained in and caused by the mind. Since these adequate ideas are wholly caused by the m ind in question, the strength of that m ind determines the strength of the adequate idea and thus the active affect. Furthermore, the power or strength of external causes always can surpass the pow er or strength of an individual agent. W hen we take the statement of Spinoza's intemalism, above, and apply it to the affects and ideas discussed in these principles of Spinoza's affective psychology, we can derive the following results:
196 1. If S rationally desires to do x, then the pow er of S's mind determines the power of S's desire to do x. 2. If S irrationally desires to do y, then the pow er of the external cause determines the pow er of S's desire to do y. 3. Thus, sometimes, the pow er of S's irrational desire to y will surpass the pow er of S's rational desire to x. 4. S does w hatever action S has the strongest desire to do. 5. So, sometimes, S acts on her irrational desire to do y over her rational desire to do x. This description of psychological phenom ena captures Spinoza's weak intem alism and provides a picture of how akrasia m ay occur, because we act on either rational or irrational affects. W hen we act on rational affects, we act for our ow n long-term good, while our passionate behaviors tend to go against our long-term interests and often overwhelm our rational desires. In m any ways, this account sounds like Hum e, who describes the struggle in hum an psychology as one between calm, rational passions and turbulent, vulgar passions. This talk all seems plausible w hen we focus on desire. But w hat about w hen we speak of our motivations to act as judgments? la. If S rationally judges that x is right for her to do, then the pow er of S's mind determines the pow er of S's judgm ent that x is right for her to do. 2a. If S irrationally judges that y is right for her to do, then the pow er of the external cause determines the pow er of S's judgm ent that y is right for her to do.
197 3a. Thus, sometimes, the pow er of S's irrational judgm ent that y is better will surpass the pow er of S's rational judgm ent that x is better. 4a. S does w hatever action S has the strongest judgm ent in favor of. 5a. So, sometimes, S acts on her irrational judgm ent that y is better over her rational judgm ent that x is better. In the above description, S considers two judgments, one rational because properly grounded in rational principles, the other irrational because not grounded in rational principles but in experientia vaga - that is, based in sensory perception. So, w hen we suffer weakness of will, we follow a weaker line of reasoning that is motivationally stronger, one based on sensory perception. On this explanation of the account, Spinoza sounds like Aristotle. For Aristotle, we form practical syllogisms based on universal principles; for Spinoza, we form rational judgm ents based on universal common notions. For Aristotle, we m ay also form practical judgm ents based on our sensations and we may do so for Spinoza as well. And for Aristotle, those sensory judgm ents m ay sometimes overwhelm the rational judgm ents and lead us to act akratically. Likewise, for Spinoza, we m ay be persuaded by the sensory judgm ent over the rational one. So we see again Spinoza's Janus-faced psychology. Here in weakness of will, the hum an being m ay be described in quasi-Aristotelian terms, acting for various competing reasons, some of which will be more compelling than others, even w hen those less compelling reasons are rational and the more compelling ones are irrational. Thus, when we act rationally, our practical judgm ents will always lead to act accordingly.
198 And, always, our practical judgm ents give us a reason to act, if not the reason. In this picture, the mind is a deliberator of reasons, one that can be rational ideally, if not really. A nd likewise, the m ind may also be described as a mechanism of competing forces. Each force is fully determ ined by its causes and, so, akrasia occurs w hen the m ind causes one motion within itself, but that motion is overpowered by another internal motion that has been caused by an external force. These forces meet as
calm /active/rational affects, on the one hand, and turbulent/passive/irrational affects on the other hand. This H um ean picture is of the m ind as a mechanism in which forces or desires compete to determine hum an action. W hat does the Janus-faced nature of Spinoza's psychology m ean for the intem alism /extem alism debate? With regard to existence, Spinoza is an internalist. Necessarily, if someone judges that one course of action is best, he will desire to pursue that course of action. So, practical judgm ent entails a defeasible desire. W ith regard to
efficacy, however, Spinoza resembles the externalist.
The strength, or efficacy, of a
judgm ent is independent of the strength, or efficacy, of a desire. Thus, we m ay judge that one course of action is best, all-things-considered, but nonetheless feel a stronger desire to pursue another course of action and, so, carry out that action instead. In order to capture both ways of speaking and thus to present Spinoza's theory in all of its complexity, one should say: lb. If S rationally judges that x is right for her to do, then S rationally desires to do
x, and the pow er of S's m ind determines the pow er of S's desire to do x.
199 2b. If S irrationally judges that y is right for her to do, then S irrationally desires to do y, then the pow er of the external cause determines the pow er of S's desire to do y. 3. Thus, sometimes, the pow er of S's irrational desire to y will surpass the pow er of S's rational desire to x. 4. S does w hatever action S has the strongest desire to do. 5. So, sometimes, S acts on her irrational desire to do y over her rational desire to do x. And so: 6. Thus, sometimes, the pow er of S's irrational desire, which involves an irrational judgm ent that y is better, will surpass the pow er of S's rational desire, which involves a rational judgm ent that x is better. Thus we see how Spinoza's unique weak intem alism explains strict akratic action. For here, we are motivated to act on our practical judgments, ceteris paribus, specifically, as long as an opposing and overpowering irrational desire is not present. Before m aking a final evaluation of this fascinating account of akrasia, however, we will take up some challenges that could be raised against it.
4.2. Challenges to the Spinozist Account Mele and others claim that an agent's action qualifies as strictly akratic if and only if (i) the agent perform s the act freely and intentionally and (ii) against the agent's
200 better judgment. In w hat follows, Spinoza's account of akrasia will be evaluated to see w hether it meets these conditions.
4.2.1. How are Spinozist akratic actions free and intentional?
Any account that accepts strict akrasia m ust explain how akratic acts are different from compelled acts. As we have seen, in one sense, Spinozist actions from inadequate ideas and passions are not free, because we are free just to the extent that we have and act on adequate ideas. And w hen we act akratically, we act from passion, not adequate, rational desire. Thus, in the narrow sense of action discussed above, so-called akratic acts are compelled. But there is another sense in which Spinoza may say that we act. For our passions and inadequate ideas are as m uch a part of us as our rational desires and adequate ideas, as 3p9 makes clear and I discuss above. Thus, we are the ones
perform ing the akratic acts, just as we are the ones performing the enkratic acts. But this does not by itself solve the problem; we have not yet distinguished compelled acts from akratic or enkratic ones. For, if akratic acts involve passions
overwhelming our reason and determining our action, then how is akrasia different from being compelled? Take the following as a paradigm example of compelled
behavior. Say that a sailor goes above deck during a storm, perhaps because he wishes to see the sublimity of the force of nature. While rapt in his aesthetic experience, a wave washes across the deck and knocks the sailor overboard, where he drowns. Though he m ay be guilty of negligence for going above deck during a storm, we w ould not say he
201 freely w ent overboard, nor that he intentionally drowned. Instead, the sailor was
forced overboard. The sailor's going overboard was a m atter of compulsion. O ur explanation of strict akratic action m ust not have the same structure as this paradigm case of compulsion. To see an example of a weak internalist account that fails to meet this challenge, consider again Plato's account. When we suffer akrasia, in his account, the rational soul is overwhelmed by an irresistible external power, namely, the pow er of the spirited or sensitive soul. W hen the rational soul is overpowered by the spirited soul, it is wholly passive in the same way that the sailor is passive w ith regard to being w ashed overboard. Thus, Plato's account of akrasia seems not to meet this first criterion. In order to see how Spinoza avoids this pitfall, we m ust return to his conception of desire as it relates to hum an action. Spinoza accepts the dictum that, if we can be said to do something intentionally, we can be said to have done it for a reason. As we have discussed, the reasons people act, for Spinoza, are desires. In fact, Spinoza defines desire as the affect involved in hum an action. So, if we perform a behavior that is not caused by a pleasurable or painful desire, then we cannot be said to act intentionally. In other words, if we are not driven by the pursuit of pleasure or the avoidance of pain, then our behavior is not something we do intentionally, for Spinoza. So, if a wave washes us overboard, we are not perform ing an intentional act, because our going overboard is not (normally) caused by our desire to do so. If his conception of intentional action is stated this crudely, Spinoza seems forced to include some cases that are often excluded from intentional action. If we have a strong
202 desire that we cannot resist, such as a strong addiction, and if this addiction drives us to partake in a harm ful substance against all of our other wishes, Spinoza m ust still say that we act, in his broader sense, and do so intentionally, because we are m oved by one of our ow n desires. Unless an account can be offered according to which this addiction is not one of our desires, then it seems the addictive behavior against our will is intentional. This is not entirely satisfying. Consider the agoraphobic who simply cannot go outside remain inside, even though he wishes he could. Does he rem ain inside
intentionally, even w hen he w ants so m uch to be able to go outside? It is not entirely
clear that his remaining inside is intentional. We could perhaps construct an account according to which the physiological disease and its attendant 'desire' is not a part of us, in some sense, but a kind of foreign body, like a flu. If this is so, then the behaviors it engenders are not our desires at all and so these acts are not intentional. A better avenue of approach m ay be found in Mele's reply to this challenge. In response to this concern, Mele says: When we ask w hether an akratic action was motivated by an irresistible desire, we should ask w hether it was in the agent's pow er at the time to augm ent his motivation to perform the action judged best, or to decrease his contrary motivation or, more precisely, it was in his pow er to bring it about that the bulk of his m otivation lay on the side of his better judgment. (24) This line of argum ent could work for someone who is not committed to necessitarianism. For an agent m ay undergo two classes of passions - those that, had
203 he followed Spinoza's therapeutic advice in Part 5, he could have resisted, and those he could not have resisted even with the aid of those therapeutic m ethods. In a sense, then, the agent could have resisted the desires in the first class but not those in the second. Yet this questions raises another, thornier issue. For Spinoza seems committed to the thesis of necessitarianism - the view that the actual world is the only possible one. In that sense, then, no being has any pow er or force that it does not actually exert. In other words, agents always bring about precisely w hat it is in their pow er to bring, for they have no power that they do not in fact use. If the actual world is the only possible world, then there is no possible world in which the agent exerts more pow er than he does in the actual world. And thus, we cannot say that the agent could have exerted more power to resist this desire. And so, any desire an agent suffers is irresistible. Therefore, for the necessitarian, it seems that instances of akratic action are not free. Three options rem ain at this point. First, one may reject the possibility of akratic action. Yet our intuitions very strongly suggest that such action is possible. Second, we m ay amend our definition of akratic action so that freedom is not a necessary condition. If we do this, however, we shall have a difficult time distinguishing between akrasia and compulsion. Third and finally, we m ay question necessitarianism. Indeed, myriad reasons for rejecting necessitarianism present themselves upon reflection. Given the serious problems w ith necessitarianism, then, this third option seems preferable. Given the complexity and obscurity of Spinoza's thought on necessity and possibility, however, I will not delve further into this question here. In w hat follows, I will assume
204 that a counterfactual analysis of resistable desire is open to us, even if that means choosing a Spinozist theory over Spinoza's own. In short, then, the strength of a desire m ay be sufficient for action, but not be irresistible, because in most circumstances we could marshal more m otivational force by focusing our attention, by employing other cognitive methods, or by relying on noncognitive techniques.
4.2.2. Intentionality Spinoza can meet the challenge and thus his account satisfies the first condition. But w hat exactly is the nature of intention here? After all, Spinoza employs no concept of intentionality. This fact could lead one to believe that he follows Davidson in simply identifying unconditional judgm ents w ith intentions. Such an attribution does Spinoza a disservice, however. According to Davidson, intentionally acting against our
unconditional judgm ent is impossible, because it w ould involve intentionally acting against our intention, which is absurd. And if Spinoza were to identify unconditional judgm ents w ith intentions, then he w ould fall into this very paradox, which Davidson uses to justify his strong intemalism. Mele avoids the Davidsonian paradox by positing a distinction between w hat he calls decisive judgm ents and intentions. This distinction allows the possibility of strict
akrasia. To be sure, Spinoza does not posit a distinct mental entity like an intention. It
may be, however, that desires can fulfill this function in certain circumstances and thus
205 provide Spinoza the same avenue of escape from the Davidsonian paradox that Mele takes. Spinoza defines any affect that leads us to act as a desire. We are free to the extent that we are ruled by active desire, and in bondage to the extent that we are ruled by passionate desire. Merely forming adequate ideas is not the whole story of hum an freedom, however; these ideas m ust engender active desires that overcome their opposing passionate desires. Since forming adequate ideas alone does not m ean that we will act on them, it follows that merely forming adequate ideas is not sufficient for hum an freedom. Remember, Spinoza defines the free m an as the one "led by reason" versus one "who is led only by an affect."311 Only w hen we are led to act by adequate ideas or, more accurately, active desire, are we free. Unfortunately, Spinoza does not explain the
details of how hum an action results from our ideas and desires. Here is a Spinozist speculation about how hum an action occurs. When two desires oppose one another and one is more powerful, the stronger will w in out and determine our action. At this point, one m ay w onder how the
strongest desire determines our action, given that Spinoza has no account of intention formation. Spinoza has provided the necessary framework for answering this question. Remember, the m ind forms ideas and nothing else, all of which are affirmative. Further, each idea has, or m ay have, an affective aspect. The strength of this affect relative to opposing affects in the m ind determines whether or not it will be efficacious
206 in any given situation. Only those desires w ith enough strength at the end of the day, so to speak, will result in hum an action. Consider again the m ind that contains desires A and B, both of which aim at something perceived to be good for us. Further, these desires, A and B, are opposed in some w ay and B is stronger than A. Now say that the mind considers these desires at the same time, such that the pow er of B is diminished, but the pow er of A is eliminated. If the tw o desires were the same in power, then the m ind w ould vacillate between the two. If, after opposing A , desire B still retains more power, then B becomes an executive
desire.
That is, desire B will be sufficient to cause the hum an m ind to form ideas
involved in pursing B's object. These ideas will be parallel to events in the body that bring the body tow ard B's object. Other scholars have noted that Stoic psychology resembles Spinoza's in several ways.312 Like Spinoza, m any Stoics do not affirm the existence of an independent faculty of will that forms volitions to act.313 Both Spinoza and these Stoics, then, m ust provide an alternative explanation for how ideas and desires bring about hum an action. Though Spinoza provides no details in his account, the Stoics do. In fact, their account of action is surprisingly consistent w ith Spinoza's own moral psychology. According to these Stoics, we act from the conclusion of a process of practical reason. The premises and conclusion of a process of practical reason are each an impulse [horme], which involves a representation of something as good or evil for us. These representational impulses involved in an instance of practical reasoning end at some concluding impulse. This final impulse on which our m ind rests becomes an executive impulse.314 This is
207 similar to the view we attribute to Spinoza above, where one of our affects becomes an executive affect. For example, say that I have an idea that represents some sushi in the refrigerator. Further, say that this (complex) idea represents my eating the sushi as being pleasurable or useful. Affectively speaking, I w ant some sushi from the fridge. However, I also have an idea of remaining at m y desk and continuing my work, an idea which represents that state of affairs as being useful also. Therefore, I also have a desire to remain seated at my desk. If the desire for the sushi is strong enough to overcome m y desire to stay seated, m y desire for the sushi will become an executive desire and lead me to get up and get it. The last desire standing after their conflict will be
executive and will therefore result in hum an action, as long as it is sufficient to overcome my desire to remain in my current state, in this case, seated at m y desk. And so, any practical judgm ent can become an intention, as long as its related desire is strong enough to defeat its competitors and overcome our natural inertia. Yet this result should not surprise us. After all, we have already shown that all ideas are not only representations and affects, but also volitions. Each idea, or affect, has the potential to be a deciding volition leading to action, as long as it is the strongest desire or volition in the m ind at the moment. Another way to pu t this is as follows. Modes of mind express propositions that are logically related in chains of practical reasoning. In this regard, modes of m ind are cognitions, or ideas. But m odes of m ind are also related causally, in that they interact in the spiritual autom aton to bring about action. In this regard, m odes of m ind are affects.
208 Given that the affective aspect of an idea is a function of its power, it is reasonable to assert that modes of m ind are causally efficacious only insofar as they are affective, not cognitive. This description resembles in certain ways at least one formulation of a m odem causal theory of action. So Dennis Stampe says,
So this practical syllogism represents the causal (psychological) process of rational decision making, or intention-formation, by means of a configuration of logically related propositions, representing logically connected states of affairs contained in those causally related states of mind.315
In other words, propositions logically related by practical syllogism are represented by m ental states of affairs, which in turn are causally related states of mind. This is not to say that Spinoza's action theory is a m odem causal theory or that it resembles Stampe's account in other ways. Indeed, in almost all of its detail, Spinoza's psychology differs from these views. Yet in its outlines, its commitment to naturalism, and its distinction between the causal/affective and representational/cognitive dimensions of m ental modes, Spinoza's system bears an interesting resemblance to Stampe's. According to the explanation just presented, an intention is nothing but a judgm ent or desire of sufficient strength to move us. But can this be correct? W hat about w hen we sneeze, say? Surely this is not an intentional action. On the other hand, this event does not involve a judgm ent/desire. But it is a m ovem ent in the body and so, one would think, w ould require a parallel m ovem ent in
209 the m ind. And such a m ovem ent in the m ind w ould be an idea and affect -- that is, it w ould be a judgm ent or desire, according to Spinoza. But this is an overly simplistic account of Spinoza's parallelism. For the hum an m ind does not consciously represent every event that occurs in the body as an idea or desire, such as digestion or a sneeze. Unfortunately, Spinoza does not give us an
account of consciousness. So let me simply write an IOU for such an account, the likes of which w ould require far more space than I have here. In short, then, there is a subset of our ideas/affects that qualify as conscious judgm ents/desires. Only those conscious judgm ent/desires can lead to intentional action. Let us state this Spinozist account of intentional action in some m ore detail here, so that we can better evaluate it. An agent S forms an intention I to act if and only if S has a conscious belief and desire D that is sufficiently strong to overcome any competing belief/desires as well as our natural inertia. Many questions need to be answered in order to flesh out the details of this sketch, of course, especially the use of the concept of a conscious belief or desire. Regardless of whether we attribute such a theory of intentional action to Spinoza or simply recognize that executive desires m ay fulfill a similar function, hoever, the Spinozist has the wherewithal to distinguish intentional from unintentional action.
4.2.3. Against Our Better Judgment
210 The second condition for an agent's action to be strictly akratic is for the agent to perform it against his better judgment. This condition is less an obstacle for Spinoza than the previous one. All we need to do is establish some criterion by which some judgments are considered better than others. For Spinoza, various desire, or judgments, may compete in an agent's mind. A desire or judgm ent D functions as an intention if and only if D is stronger than any competing desires or judgm ents and D is strong enough to move us to act. D is strong enough to move us to act if and only if D is stronger than our natural inertia. In other words, that desire that is stronger than any competitor, as well as being stronger than our inertia, functions as an intention in the Spinozist psychology. We m ay form judgments, and thus feel desires, for a variety of things. These desires m ay compete, in the sense that they m ay aim at m utually incompatible states of affairs, such that we cannot do both. According to the Spinozist, when a judgm ent involves inadequate ideas, our judgm ent is inadequate and thus our desire is irrational. In most cases, these inadequate judgm ents concern only a partially understood particular that is perceived through sensation. And when our judgm ent involves an adequate idea, our judgm ent is adequate and our desire rational. These adequate
judgments usually are based on universal truths and carry a degree of certainty with them. In other words, those beliefs grounded in reason and those judgm ents reached rationally will involve rational desires and those beliefs that lack justification and those judgm ents reached only through the misuse (or lack of use) of reason will involve irrational desires.
211 O ur better judgm ents are those that are m ade rationally. These judgm ents are m ade based on universal principles that are know n sub specie aeternitatis and, as such, generally aim at the best (i.e., w hat is best for the agent), not merely focusing on this particular thing at this m oment in time. But the strength of our m otivation to act is determ ined by the strength of the cause of our beliefs and desires and not by our choice. So, sometimes, we m ay form a rational judgment, that is, a better judgment, yet we may not act on it, because a competing irrational judgm ent m ay have a stronger motivational force. After we subtract the opposing strength of the rational desire, the irrational desire, being stronger, will still retain some of its force. Now, if that remaining force is
sufficient to overcome our natural inertia, then we will intentionally act on that irrational desire against our better judgment. However, if the force of the irrational desire exceeds the competing rational desire but NOT the overall strength of the agent, then the desire
could have been resisted, had the agent attempted to do so. Thus the irrational action is done freely.
Thus, Spinoza's theory of akrasia is a well-developed account of action done
freely, intentionally, and against our better judgment.
4.3. An Evaluation of Spinoza's Account of Akrasia Spinoza's account of strict akratic action meets the criteria of being free, intentional, and against our better judgment. In this regard his account is conceptually satisfactory. His account also manages to incorporate our most convincing intuitions on this issue. Unlike the strong internalists, Spinoza does not deny our intuition that strict
212 akratic action is possible. Indeed, the challenge of explaining akrasia plays a major role in his psychological theory. Spinoza also accommodates the intuition that practical judgm ents entail motivation. Unlike the externalist, who denies this connection, Spinoza and the other internalists accept that our judging a course of action to be best results in our desiring to pursue that course of action. The internalists m ay claim that w hen we judge that
something w ould benefit us and bring us pleasure, we have therefore have at least some motivation to pursue that thing - a claim the externalist m ust reject. The title of this subsection describes Spinoza's view as unique. W hether or not Spinoza's theory is entirely unique, it is at the very least highly unusual. And one way to see how this is so is to compare briefly Spinoza's views w ith those held by metaethicists on the topics of judgm ent intem alism and non-cognitivism. Russ ShaferLandau argues that, nowadays, most internalists are non-cognitivists and most cognitivists are externalists.316 Shafer-Landau offers the following as the general reason why intemalism usually leads to non-cognitivism. He says: 1. Necessarily, if one sincerely judges an action right, then one is m otivated to some extent to act in accordance w ith that judgment. 2. When taken by themselves, beliefs neither motivate nor entail any motivationally efficacious states. 3. Therefore moral judgments are not beliefs. (Shafer-Landau, 270) (1) is weak judgm ent intem alism and (3) is moral non-cognitivism. Hum ean
sentimentalists and expressivists are satisfied by this result, of course. But it is not
213 Spinoza's view. For Spinoza denies (2), which m ost people w ould take as a
straightforward observation of fact. The Spinozist should deny (2) because it presents a false dichotomy. On the Spinozist view, all beliefs are judgm ents of a sort and so the divide between judgm ent and belief is misleading. Instead, we ought to talk of practical beliefs versus non-
practical beliefs. Practical beliefs - i.e., beliefs concerning w hat is in one's interest motivate, while non-practical beliefs do not. If we adopt this understanding of belief and judgment, then (3) does not follow, because moral judgm ents are cognitive, just as our other beliefs are. The only difference is that those things that are generally called moral judgm ents concern beliefs about benefits and harm s to us. One reason that Spinoza is able to combine moral judgm ent and belief is his
reductive ethical egoism.
He reduces good and bad, which are moral concepts, to So moral judgm ent reduces to
beneficial and harmful, which are factual concepts.
practical judgment. And practical judgm ents are judgm ents concerning m atters of fact that are relevant to our well-being. Of course, Shafer-Landau discusses and rejects judgm ent intemalism w ith regard only to moral judgments, not to practical judgments, which is, in effect, Spinoza's view. As such, Shafer-Landau's argum ents are not
directed against a view like Spinoza's, which is not really a view about moral judgm ents at all. Indeed, Shafer-Landau's argum ent for externalism is based on the virtues of cognitivism, which he takes not to be easily compatible w ith intemalism.
214 And so, though Shafer-Landau's argum ents against intemalism cut deeply against noncognitive internalists, they do not really underm ine Spinoza's view. Here are some considerations that add some plausibility to this view of belief and judgment. First of all, belief is generally taken to be involuntary, in m ost everyday cases. I do not choose to believe that I am writing at the m oment - 1 simply do believe it. Of course, if I make a conscious effort, I m ay be able to withhold affirmation to some things. Similarly, w hen presented w ith certain evidence, I cannot but judge in favor of one result over another, in most cases. Say I am judging w hat to eat and I survey the contents of my fridge. Upon doing so, one things looks most desirable and it is healthy to boot. I will therefore judge it to be best and it is hard for me to judge otherwise. Of course, there m ay be other considerations, but w hen the evidence points at one judgm ent it is difficult to avoid. In fact, I w ould argue, this norm ally automatic nature of judgm ent and belief suggest that we form the two in a similar fashion. W hen
provided with the right data or stimuli, we simply do believe or judge things to be a certain way, in most cases. Second of all, some beliefs can act as practical judgments in some cases and not in others. Consider the following: a m an comes to believe that there is a vial of anti venom in his medicine cabinet. This representation is not at one time motivating,
because he has no need for anti-venom. As such, it is nothing but a belief. After having been bitten by a poisonous snake, however, this belief relates to his well-being and, as such, this belief is practical. And if we follow Spinoza in rejecting a pow er of assent that is distinct from our pow er to form beliefs, then the practical belief, by its very
215 practicality, is motivating. And so, the same m ental state is at one time called a belief, but at another time called a m otivating practical judgment. The above considerations have been suggested only to show w hat it is Spinoza says and to lend that view some plausibility. To establish this view as entirely
successful w ould require significantly more and different w ork from w hat has been offered here. Nevertheless, this Spinozist view is interesting, especially because it
seems to reconcile two attractive positions that are usually seen as being irreconcilable, namely, moral cognitivism and m otivational judgm ent intemalism. In fact, Spinoza's view is unusual in another regard. Most judgm ent internalists, Shafer-Landau says, "defend the idea that moral judgments, which in their eyes are just m oral beliefs, are capable of m otivating agents w ithout the existence of antecedently existing desires. However, motivational judgm ent internalists need to show that moral beliefs must motivate, not (just) that they can."317 Spinoza the judgm ent internalist does have an argum ent for w hy practical judgments, which he equates w ith moral judgments,
must motivate. And that argum ent is, of course, his identification of practical judgm ent
and desire. Because practical judgm ents are identical w ith desires, it follows that, if we make such a judgment, we must feel some desire - that is, we m ust be motivated to some extent. A nd this is just the argum ent Shafer-Landau claims is absent from most contemporary internalist views.318 Spinoza's view m ust be defended from another, related argument. Some
externalists justify their extemalism by pointing to a thought-experimental character called the amoralist. The amoralist, these externalists say, makes genuine moral
judgm ents, but feels no motivation to act morally. If this kind of person is possible, then intem alism is false, because moral judgm ent is not m odally connected to motivation. Internalists often reply that the amoralist does not, in fact, make genuine moral judgments, but instead makes only inverted-commas moral judgments. In other w ords, for the internalist, the amoralist simply isn't using the norm ative concepts, but some other ones, perhaps based on social convention or law. Many people find some initial plausibility to the amoralist case, however. This amoralist may be a challenge for most kinds of intemalism. But Spinoza's is unusual in that his moral judgm ents are really self-interested judgments. For Spinoza, x is a good action for S to do iff doing x will increase S's power. That is, Spinoza is an ethical egoist. Though it m ay be quite easy to imagine the amoralist that externalists often cite, it is not so easy to imagine a Spinozist amoralist. That w ould be someone who judges that x would m ost benefit him, but nonetheless feels no desire to do x. That is hard to conceive. And an egoist internalist can plausibly deny such a figure. And so, Spinoza can accommodate the internalist intuition that evaluation is connected to motivation while avoiding the externalist critique of that view. W hat's more, Spinoza even can adhere to the intuition at the heart of extemalism. For the internalists, reasons, or practical judgments, cause actions, because reasons engender motivations to act. Hum e and the externalists believe this to be false, for emotions and ideas do not have this "direction of fit." That is, ideas simply represent things; they try to m irror themselves to the world. Ideas do not try to make the w orld m irror them. It
217 is desire and affect that does that, Hum e claims. For Hume, it is not reasons but affects that cause action. Spinoza w ould agree w ith the spirit of this externalist intuition, for he believes that it is not our beliefs that cause action, but our desires. So, Spinoza is like Hum e in identifying emotion, not representation, as the cause of action. For Spinoza, active affects explain hum an action w hen we act rationally and passive affects explain hum an action w hen we act irrationally. Akrasia occurs when the irrational desires overpower the rational ones. All cases of hum an action, however, akratic and continent, all result from some affective desire or other. Though each of these desires is also a judgm ent, it is the affective aspect of this m ental state that explains action, not the cognitive aspect. And in this regard, Spinoza presages Hume. This is w hat I have described as the Janus-faced nature of Spinoza's psychology. He incorporates the rationalist view that we should attem pt to act from reason, not passion, and that we succeed in doing so through gaining more knowledge. According to the rationalist side of Spinoza's theory, w hen we have more inadequate ideas, we are in greater bondage and thus m ore likely to suffer akrasia. This aspect of Spinoza's psychological theory looks backward to the ancient Greeks and his other predecessors. Another aspect of Spinoza's psychology, however, is quite different. In his
affective psychology, Spinoza looks forward to H um e and other sentimentalist thinkers. For Spinoza also believes that affect and desire explain hum an action in a way knowledge and belief cannot. Because the m ind is a mechanism, as is the body, we m ust explain m ental phenom ena in a way analogous to bodily ones. In this regard,
218 then, Spinoza resembles Hume. And in this great synthesis m ay lie Spinoza's genius.
He can accommodate the prim ary intuitions of the weak internalist as well as those of the externalist. In so doing, he presents a psychological theory that includes both
H um ean and more rationalist aspects. This theory of his depends upon several key assertions, which are: (1) A cognitivist theory of the emotions: affects and judgments are tw o aspects of one mental mode. (2) Doctrine of incommensurable desires: desires are motivational affective states that are conditioned by their objects; as such, they m ay be incommensurable. These two allow Spinoza to hold the following principle, which involves his theory of
akrasia:
(3) Spinozist theory of hum an nature: Irrationality is a fundam ental aspect of the hum an mind; we are able to affirm contradictory judgm ents and feel opposing desires at the same time and, sometimes, the irrational desires are stronger than and thus overpow er the rational ones. In summary, let us consider these three fundam ental assertions. Spinoza's cognitivist theory of the emotions precludes Spinoza from truly being an externalist, because practical judgments will always be accompanied by motivation. And his theory of desire precludes his ever being a strong internalist, because we can have conflicting and irreducible desires. And finally, because Spinoza allows that hum an beings can affirm adequate and inadequate ideas at the same time about the same things, Spinoza
219 encounters no conceptual difficulties in affirming the reality of strict, or synchronic,

akrasia.
Spinoza's theory of desire is not unusual; indeed, those who reject it and instead posit that all desires are reducible to one fundam ental desire, as Socrates does, are in the minority. Spinoza's peculiar theory of the relation between affects and judgm ents is unique, to be sure, but in its function it is quite similar to cognitivist theories of the emotions, such as Robert Solomon's, who holds that emotions are a certain kind of judgment. Finally, the claim that hum an beings are irrational is not at all difficult to accept for m any people. Specifically, Spinoza believes that we are able to affirm contradictory judgm ents at the same time. This will be difficult to accept for some. Consider again Spinoza's example of the sun, however: for example, w hen we look at the sun, we imagine it to be about 200 feet away from us, In this we are deceived so long as we are ignorant of its true distance; but w hen its distance is known, the error is removed, not the imagination, i.e., the idea of the sun, which explains its nature only so far as the Body is affected by it. And so, though we come to know the true distance, we shall nevertheless imagine it as near us. (4pls; Curley, 547-8; Geb 11/211) In other words, the hum an m ind makes judgm ents just w hen it is caused to do so. And when the causes of our judgm ents persist, our judgments will persist as well. And w hen those judgm ents are contradictory yet caused by two distinct, coexisting states of affairs, then we will simultaneously affirm tw o contradictory judgments.
220 Let us state this another way. Spinoza believes that we m ay sometimes hold two contradictory judgments, one of which m ay be rational and the other irrational. So, for example, I m ay at the very same time find the piece of cake before me attractive and desirable, because it looks quite tasty, and also find it undesirable, because I know w hat it will do to m y weigh-in tomorrow, as well as to m y self-satisfaction. Thus, I can simultaneously judge the cake to be desirable and undesirable, good to eat and bad to eat. I can hold these two simultaneously because the cake, being a complex thing, can affect me in a complex way, since I too am a complex thing. I have various
incommensurable desires, after all, and one aspect of the cake m ay satisfy one desire while another aspect of the cake m ay foil another of my desires. In this case, the
apparent sweetness of the icing appeals to my desire for sweets, but the probable high fat content of the cake contravenes my desire to diet. And so, my two desires speak up and the one that speaks the loudest will prevail. Further, I am a being capable of reason, so I m ay evaluate these competing desires and judge that, in the long run, I am best served by refraining. This judgm ent accompanies m y desire to refrain and, if it is
strong enough, it will overpower m y desire to eat the cake. Indeed, I m ay even have an additional desire to be strong-willed and consistent; perhaps I m ade a promise to someone to diet and I desire to keep m y promise. Regardless, after all the desires on each side have spoken up, the side w ith the heavier weight, or loudest voices, wins. From where I stand, this account captures the heart of w hat happens in strict
akrasia.
And this is, roughly, Spinoza's thesis that we can affirm contradictory
judgm ents and feel conflicting desires. And so, strict akrasia is easily explainable. Of
221 course, it is still irrational, because it involves acting against our better judgm ent which, for Spinoza, means acting against our universal principles in favor of some inadequately know n particular. Thus, once we excavate Spinoza's account of akrasia from its surroundings, we find a plausible and commonsensical account. Indeed, we find one that captures all of our im portant intuitions on the issue: we experience strict akrasia, practical judgm ent has some connection to motivation, and desire has the right direction of fit to explain action. Only Spinoza's theory of akrasia can accommodate all three of these quite
plausible intuitions. A nd w hen we review Spinoza's account of akrasia in its philosophical context, we find a rich and unique metaphysical and ethical account of akrasia, one according to which akrasia is a special case of bondage to the passions. If we can gain more
knowledge, especially self-knowledge, and follow certain of Spinoza's cognitive therapies, we gain freedom and reduce our vulnerability to akrasia. And so, considered in isolation or in its philosophical context, Spinoza's theory of akrasia is fascinating and compelling indeed.
222
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1Jonathan Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics ([Indianapolis, IN]: Hackett Pub. Co., 1984), chapter 14, Michael Della Rocca, "Spinoza's Metaphysical Psychology," in The Cambridge Companion to Spinoza, ed. Don Garrett (New York: Cambridge Univ Pr, 1996), Don Garrett, "Spinoza's Ethical Theory," in The
Cambridge Companion to Spinoza, ed. Don Garrett (New York: Cambridge Univ Pr, 1996), Olli Koistinen,
"Weakness of Will in Spinoza's Theory of Human Motivation," in North American Spinoza Society
Monograph (1996), Martin Lin, "Memory and Personal Identity in Spinoza," Canadian Journal of Philosophy
(forthcoming), Anthony Savile, "Spinoza, Medea, and Irrationality in Action," Dialogue: Canadian
Philosophical Review 42, no. 4 (2003).
2 For general overviews that are consistent with my work here, see Henry E. Allison, Benedict De Spinoza :
A n Introduction, Rev. ed. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987), chapter 5, Yirmiyahu Yovel, Spinoza and Other Heretics (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1989), chapter 6.
3 Della Rocca, "Spinoza's Metaphysical Psychology." 4 Martin Lin, "Spinoza's Account of Akrasia," Journal of the H istory of Philosophy 44 (2006). 5 4p60; Curley, 580; Geb 11/255. 6 Koistinen, "Weakness of Will in Spinoza's Theory of Human Motivation."
Notes to Chapter One

7 For a critical survey of recent work on the problem of weakness of will, see Arthur F. Walker, "The Problem of Weakness of Will," Nous. 8 Alfred Mele, Irrationality: A n Essay on Akrasia, Self-Deception and Self-Control (New York: New York University Press, 1987). 9 For one of several good accounts of Socrates' views on akrasia, see James J. Walsh, "The Socratic Denial of Akrasia. Another useful source is
230
10 This is a somewhat controversial interpretation of Socrates, however. I take this interpretation from Terry Penner. See Terry Penner, "Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge: Protagoras 351b-357e," Archiv
fiir Geschichte der Philosophie 79, no. 2 (1997).
11 Another question concerns whether, as Penner holds, we aim for the actual good, whatever it may be, or, as others hold, we aim merely for the perceived good. I will not address this issue. See Santas [1979]
1 2Meno, 78b4-6. This translation is Terry Penner's. See also Plato,

(Indianapolis: Hackett, 1997), 877.
Plato: Complete Works, John Cooper ed.
13 For a discussion of akrasia in Plato, see Christopher Bobonich, "Akrasia and Agency in Plato's Laws and Republic," Archiv fuer Geschichte der Philosophie 76, no. 1 (1994). 14 Plato, Plato: Complete Works, 1067. 15 437b; Ibid., 1068. 161145b; Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, trans. Terence Irwin (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1999), 101. 171146b23-24; Ibid., 102. 18 Perhaps the sole important exception to this is the Stoics, who adopted a quasi-Socratic view that included one critical new feature - assent. According to the Stoics, the mind receives various presentations, which represent what would be best, or fitting, for us to do. The mind then is free to assent to one of them. When these presentations are mere appearance and if the mind is untrained, the presentations may come fast a furious and the mind may assent prematurely or improperly. With proper, rigorous mental training, however, the mind can learn to withhold assent from dubious presentations and it can learn to form veridical presentations as well. This theory of assent was injected into an otherwise Aristotelian account by Scholastics such as Aquinas and Scotus, though those two differed over the relative contributions of the presenting faculty and the assenting faculty. The details of the Stoics account are complex and largely irrelevant to the Spinozist account, however, so the Stoics have been omitted here.
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19 Hume, Part III, Book II, Section iii; David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, ed. L. A. Selby-Bigge and P. H. Nidditch, 2d ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978), 415. 20 Ibid., III.2.iii, 413. 24 Ibid., 415. 22 I here interpret Hume as an instrumentalist about practical reasoning, which is the view that our practical reasoning concerns choosing the means to reach some given ends. Those ends are provided by our desires, which themselves are not amendable by practical reasoning. This view is often called
Humeanism in the contemporary literature. Another way of interpreting Hume is as a nihilist about
practical reasoning, however. A nihilist about practical reasoning holds that there are no legitimate practical inferences and, thus, no such thing as practical reasoning. One might advance this position if one believes that practical judgments are nothing but expressions of non-cognitive, brute emotions. If this is all practical judgments are, then practical reasoning is impossible. Whether or not Hume should be read as in instrumentalist or a nihilist is a question I do not address here. For more on this debate, see... ? 23 Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, 417. 24 This view also has an ancestor in the Stoics, who held that all human action comes about as a result of a
horme, which is motivating judgment. Unlike Hume's desires, these Stoic motivators are cognitive. Like
Hume's psychology, however, rational action results from calm, positive affects and emotions, while irrational action results from passionate, turbulent affects. For example, the pleasure that the wise man feels in knowledge Cicero and Seneca call gaudium and the Greek Stoics called eupatheia. See Cicero,
Tusculan Disp, 4.6.14 and "De Constantia," in Book I of Seneca, Moral Essays, trans. John W. Basore, 3 vols.
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1928). See also Tad Brennan, "Stoic Moral Psychology," in
Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, ed. Brad Inwood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).
25 "How is Weakness of the Will Possible?" in Donald Davidson, Essays on Actions and Events, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 21. 26 Reference Hare here.
232
27 For cin evaluation of Davidson that accords with mine, see the Introduction of Sarah Stroud, and Christine Tappolet, ed., Weakness of Will and Practical Irrationality (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 5. 28 Mele, Irrationality: A n Essay on Akrasia, Self-Deception and Self-Control, 37.
2 9Akrasia and enkrateia [strength of will] lie on a continuum whose endpoints are, on the one hand, the
agent who is totally lacking in self-control (qua ability) and wholly without motivation to act as he judges best and, on the other, the perfectly and ideally self-controlled person. Both sorts of agent, is not philosophers' fictions, are very rare indeed." (60-61) 30 So, for example, see Bernard Williams, "Internal and External Reasons," in Rational Action, ed. Ross Harrison (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979). Williams discusses intemalism and extemalism in very different terms. For a discussion of the dizzying and utterly contradictory ways in which these terms have been used, see John Robertson, "Intemalism, Practical Reason, and Motivation," in Varieties of Practical Reasoning, ed. Elijah Millgram (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001). All of those discussions focus exclusively or primarily on moral judgment and its relation to motivation. In recent years, attention has turned to the more general question of how practical judgments relate to motivation. I follow the usage used in that discussion. See, for example, Russ Shafer-Landau, "A Defense of
Motivational Extemalism," Philosophical Studies 97, no. 3 (2000). 31 Other internalists include R.M. Hare, who advocated a doctrine of prescriptivism. Hare argued that moral judgments are prescriptions, which are imperatives to oneself to do that action judged to be good. These imperatives necessarily result in attempted action.
Notes to Chapter Two

32 "For as the mind of God, which is the archetypical intellect, is that whereby he always actually comprehends himself, and his own fecundity, or the extent of his own infinite goodness and power - that is the possibility of all things - so all created intellects being certain ectypal models, or derivative
233
compendiums of the same." Ralph Cudworth, A Treatise Concerning Eternal and Immutable M orality, trans. Sarah Hutton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). For commentary, see Sarah Hutton, "The Cambridge Platonists," in A Companion to Early Modern Philosophy, ed. Steven Nadler (Oxford: Blackwell, 2002). 33 This is, of course, an oversimplification. For more on the theory of ideas in Descartes and the early modem period generally, see Michael Ayers, "Ideas and Objective Being," in The Cambridge H istory of
Seventeenth-Century Philosophy, ed. Daniel and Michael Ayers Garber (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1998). 34 In Spinoza's early work, the Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect (TdlE), he lays out four "modes of perception," which he later develops into the three kinds of knowledge found in the Ethics, putting the first two modes of perception under the heading of the first kind of knowledge. The Tractatus de Intellectus
Emedatione was an early work, written between 1660 and 1662. For a discussion of Spinoza's kinds of
knowledge as they are found in the TdlE and the Short Treatise (the Korte Verhandlung [KV], another of Spinoza's early works), see E. M. Curley, "Experience in Spinoza's Theory of Knowledge," in Spinoza: A
Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Marjorie Grene (South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1973).
The doctrine of the four kinds of perception can be found at TdlE 19f. 35 2p40s2; Curley, 477; Geb 11/122. 36 2p40s2; Curley, 477; Geb 11/122. 37 What Spinoza calls "the first kind of knowledge," we might call "false belief;" Spinoza's contemporaries would likely call it "opinion." It is not clear whether knowledge of the first kind is necessarily false, or merely the source of error. If we were to say that the first kind of knowledge were exclusively false belief, however, there would be no room in Spinoza's system for true belief that falls short of knowledge.
234
38 For a discussion of the first kind of knowledge, see Amihud Gilead, "The Indispensability of the First Kind of Knowledge," in Spinoza on Knowledge and the Human M ind, ed. Yirmiyahu Yovel (Leiden: Brill, 1994). 39 2p40s2; Curley, 478; Geb 11/122. 2p38; Curley, 474; Geb 11/118. 41 The second kind of knowledge has its predecessor in the TdlE in the third mode of perception, which Spinoza defines in saying, "there is the Perception that we have when the essence of a thing is inferred from another thing, but not adequately. This happens, either when we infer the cause from some effect, or when something is inferred from some universal, which some property always accompanies" (TdlE, 19; Curley, 13; Geb 11/10). Interestingly, this kind of universal knowledge is not adequate in the TdlE, though it is so in the Ethics.
42 Yovel offers a novel interpretation of this ability to grasp common notions, calling it an "inborn power (vis nativa) to perceive these uniformities [laws of Nature] directly." He claims that the mind simply has
such a power to grasp these modes in the world, describing this mental action as "grasping law-like patterns inscribed in the universe." See Yovel, Spinoza and Other Heretics, 98. This view is essentially Wolfson's as well; Harry Austryn Wolfson, The Philosophy of Spinoza; Unfolding the Latent Processes of His
Reasoning (New York: Harvard University Press, 1934), Vol. 2, p. 155. Yovel's account understates the fact
that we are able to grasp common notions in the modes of extension and thought only because we ourselves
are modes of these attributes. Therefore, our experience of coming to hold a common notion is not so much
one of an inborn power grasping some truth out in the cosmos as it is one of recognition, or at least similarity, where we see some property in an object of experience that is equally embodied in our own body or mind. Essentially, we can know about other bodies in the world because we are bodies ourselves. Spinoza says, in la5, "things that have nothing in common with one another also cannot be understood through one another," and in lp3, "if things have nothing in common with one another, one of them cannot be the cause of the other."
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2p41; Curley, 478; Geb 11/122. 44 For Spinoza's unusual account of falsity, see Wim Klever, "The Truth of Error: A Spinozistic Paradox," in Spinoza on Knowledge and the Human M ind, ed. Yirmiahu Yovel (Leiden: Brill, 1994). 3pl; Curley, 493; Geb 11/140. 46 5p38; Curley, 613; Geb 11/304. 47 5p25; Curley, 608; Geb 11/296. 48 2p40s2; Curley, 478; Geb 11/122. 49 The third kind of knowledge has the fourth mode of perception as its predecessor in the TdlE, where Spinoza says, "finally, there is the Perception we have when a thing is perceived through its essence alone, or through knowledge of its proximate cause" (TdlE, 19; Curley, 13; Geb 11/10). Like the third mode of perception, the fourth mode differs in important respects from its analogue in the Ethics. For example, the fourth mode of perception is the only form of adequate knowledge. It is also the only form of knowledge that reasons from cause to effect. Both of these features will change in the Ethics to include the second kind of knowledge. so 5p36s; Curley, 612-613; Geb 11/303. 51 lp l5; Curley, 420; Geb 11/56. 52 2p47s; Curley, 482; Geb 11/128. 53 The phrase Euclid himself uses to name the axioms at the beginning of Book One of his Elements is
"koinai ennoiai," or common notions. Descartes uses it in a similar sense at Principles of Philosophy, Part II,
64 (CSMK 1,247; AT VHIA/78). 54 Allison, Benedict De Spinoza : A n Introduction, 117-8. 55 For a refutation of the alleged mysticism of Spinoza's Ethics, see Steven Nadler, "Spinoza and Philo: The Alleged Mysticism in the Ethics," in Hellenistic and Early M odem Philosophy, ed. Jon Miller (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ Pr, 2003).
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^Margaret Wilson, "Spinoza's Theory of Knowledge," in The Cambridge Companion to Spinoza, ed. Don Garrett (New York: Cambridge Univ Pr, 1996), 118. 57 Frankly, I suspect that some interpreters of Spinoza are mystified by the "mystery" of grasping the inmost essence of a thing. They interpret this cognitive activity in way more akin to what Robert Heinlein's protagonist, Valentine Michael Smith, in A Stranger in a Strange Land does, which Heinlein calls
grokking. Upon encountering some new object or idea, Smith would go into a deep trance for days until,
as if by magic, he would awake with an absolute understanding of the thing or idea, a mystical understanding of the subject that would surpass that of the expert. 58 There is a further question about the three kinds of knowledge that has concerned scholars, specifically, knowledge of particulars. All agree that the first and third kinds of knowledge may concern particulars indeed, the third kind m ust do so. Whether the second also may concern particulars is controversial, however. For example, Edwin Curley says, "reason is knowledge of.. .the attributes and infinite modes of the Ethics. Intuition is knowledge of...the finite modes." Curley, "Experience in Spinoza's Theory of Knowledge," 56-7. Spencer Carr responds well to this issue, saying, "Spinoza's arrangement of the types of knowledge strongly suggests that the description of rational knowledge is meant to contrast more tellingly with that of imagination or opinion. Both reason and imagination or opinion deal with our experience of objects; the demand that reason involve common notions and adequate ideas of properties is a demand that in working from experience we take care to stick to what may be adequate." Spencer Carr, "Spinoza's Distinction between Rational and Intuitive Knowledge," Philosophical Review 78, no. 2 (1978): 247-8. Several recent scholars have adopted Carr's view. For examples, see Syliane Malinowski Charles, "The Circle of Adequate Knowledge: Notes on Reason and Intuition in Spinoza," in Oxford
Studies in Early M odem Philosophy, Volume 1, ed. Steven M. Nadler and Daniel Garber (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 2003), Ronald Sandler, "Intuitus and Ratio in Spinoza's Ethical Thought," British Journal for the
H istory of Philosophy 13, no. 1 (2005). In my opinion, the second kind of knowledge is derived from
particular finite modes; further, it may be the major premise in practical and theoretical syllogisms in
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which the minor premise concerns particular finite modes, but the second kind of knowledge is not of particular finite modes, strictly speaking, but of infinite modes and the idea of God. I will return, briefly, to this question in the first section of the final chapter. 59 Spinoza seems to have a related concept in mind in several places, e.g., Short Treatise, n, xv, 5-6 (Curley, 120-121; Geb 1/79-80). 60 The first use of it is at TdlE, 19: "est perceptio, ubi essentia rei ex alia re concluditur, sed non adaequate" (Geb 11/10). Here Spinoza describes the "third mode of perception," which roughly corresponds to the second kind of knowledge in the Ethics. Spinoza also employs it in describing the fourth mode of perception, which roughly corresponds to the third kind of knowledge, when he says: "solus quartus modus comprehendit essentiam rei adaequatam, et absque erroris periculo" (TdlE, 29; Geb 11/13). In this case, adaequata modifies essentiam, suggesting not that the knowledge is comprehended adequately but that the essence comprehended is adequate. Again, this usage does not map clearly onto anything in the
Ethics, though Spinoza's description of the fourth mode of perception as "without danger of error" does
match his later notion of adequate knowledge. The other two instances of adaequatus in the TdlE suggest certainty (35) and truth (73). 61 "By adequate idea I understand an idea that, insofar as it is considered in itself without relation to the object, has all the properties or intrinsic denominations of a true idea. I say intrinsic, so that I may exclude that which is extrinsic, specifically the agreement of an idea with its object" (2def4; Curley, 447; Geb 11/85). In Letter 60 to Tschimhaus from January 1675, Spinoza says: "between a true and an adequate idea I recognize no difference but this, that the word 'true' has regard only to the agreement of the idea with its object (ideatum), whereas the word 'adequate' has regard to the nature of the idea in itself. Thus there is no real difference between a true and an adequate idea except for this extrinsic relation" See Spinoza, Letter 60; Benedictus de Spinoza, Complete Works, trans. Samuel Shirley (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Pub., 2002), 912-13. In short, then, the definition in Part 2 tells us that adequate ideas are true; that to call an idea adequate is to refer to an intrinsic denomination and not to refer to its correspondence
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to its object; and that an adequate idea has all the properties of a true idea. For help on the last point, one must look to lax6, which states, "a true idea must agree with its object" (Curley, 410:Geb 11/47). Spinoza establishes how an idea agrees with its object by the doctrine of parallelism, which requires that the order and connection of ideas agree with the order and connection of causes. 62 "Whatever is, is in God, and nothing can be or be conceived without God" (lpl5; Curley, 420; Geb 11/56). In the following passage, Spinoza simply applies this doctrine to the human mind. Since the mind is a mode of thought, it is in God as God is understood under the attribute of thought. 63 "The object of the idea constituting the human mind is the body, or a certain mode of extension which actually exists, and nothing else" (2pl3; Curley, 457; Geb 11/96). 64 This could also be stated as follows: Idea x is adequate in mind y iff God's idea x is a proper part of God's idea y. Idea x is inadequate in mind y iff God's idea x is only partially in y. This may be why Spinoza sometimes refers to inadequate ideas as mutilated. Further questions remain; for example, is that part of x that is wholly contained in y adequate? Spinoza does not provide answers, in part because he expands his notion of adequacy shortly after 2p llc. For more on the view of adequacy as containment, see Wilson, "Spinoza's Theory of Knowledge," 99-100. 65 The containment thesis as expressed in 2 p llc may be more complex than CON admits, however, since 2 p llc can be understood in two distinct ways, so that idea x is adequate in mind y iff either (1) mind y wholly contains idea x or (2) the body of mind y wholly contains the object of idea x. One might expect these two to be equivalent, by parallelism, but the picture is not so simple. Spinoza does not identify the body with its parts, but with a ratio of motion and rest, that is, an organization, among the parts; doing so allows the body to gain and lose parts yet retain its identity. This principle of bodily individuation leads Spinoza at 2p24 to say that the mind has inadequate ideas of its own parts, even though those parts are contained in the body. Clearly, then, given this account of the body, something's being contained in the body is not sufficient for our having an adequate idea of it in the mind. So, sense (2) of the containment
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thesis is rejected. But sense (1), I believe, may be retained, depending on how one construes the mindbody relationship. Any more investigation into this issue would take us too far afield, however. 66 The source of this doctrine can be found in 2p9, which states, "the idea of a singular thing which actually exists has God for a cause not insofar as he is infinite, but insofar as he is considered to be affected by another idea of a singular thing which actually exists" (Curley, 453; Geb 11/91-92). That is, the idea of each finite mode is an affect caused by the idea of another finite mode. Spinoza continues this line of thought at Axiom 1" (following Lemma 3), where he states, "all modes by which a body is affected by another body follow both from the nature of the body affected and at the same time from the nature of the affecting body..." (Curley, 460; Geb 11/99). Whenever two bodies interact, a bodily affection occurs; the nature of this affection follows from the nature of the bodies that caused it. Further, by parallelism, the idea of that bodily affection will involve the ideas of both bodies that caused the affection. 67 See also 2pl3 and its demonstration. 68 For more on this causal requirement for adequacy, see Wilson, "Spinoza's Theory of Knowledge," 105-7. 69 Jonathan Bennett believes that this causal notion of adequacy is the reigning sense of adequacy found in the Ethics and the containment sense expressed in 2 p llc is dropped after it. See Bennett, A Study of
Spinoza's Ethics, 177f. I agree that Spinoza generally relies on the sense of adequacy presented in 2p24d,
but the two are not unrelated, in my opinion. According to CON, the mind must contain the entire idea of
x in order to have adequate knowledge of x. According to CR, the mind must contain an idea of x's cause
in order to have adequate knowledge of x. If the nature of x's cause were a constituent part of the nature of x, then it would follow that CON entails CR. For example, see 3pld, where Spinoza relies on 2 p llc to explain adequacy. For the connection between causes and essences, see Michael Della Rocca,
Representation and the M ind-Body Problem in Spinoza (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), chapters 4
and 5. 70 See 2pl2 and 12d, for example, where Spinoza equates the mind's perceiving x, the mind's having an idea of x, and the mind's having knowledge of x.
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71 Della Rocca, Representation and the M ind-Body Problem in Spinoza, 55. 72 lp28; see note 9, above. 73 According to Della Rocca, the use of 2p9 in 2p24d and 25d suggests that the infinite series of causes behind every finite thing prevents us from having adequate ideas of any sort about them, but I am not so sure this claim is warranted. Certainly our ideas of the duration of singular things are in principle inadequate due to the infinite complexity of the causes of duration, as Spinoza says in 2p31d and I will discuss below. However, neither 2p9 itself nor Spinoza's use of it in 2p24d and 25d seem to require knowledge of the infinite series of causal antecedents in the case of sensation, but only knowledge of its
proximate cause; the fact that this proximate cause is not contained in the human body is sufficient for the
idea's inadequacy. It may also be the case that knowledge of only the proximate cause is necessary for adequate knowledge. I agree with Della Rocca's conclusion that ideas of sensation must be inadequate, but I am not convinced that this is so because of the mind's inability to grasp an infinite series of causes. Instead, these ideas are inadequate because a single necessary idea - the idea of the proximate cause - is outside our minds. I will grant this point, however, since it is irrelevant to my aim in this essay. 74 Before Spinoza, the phrase "common notions" was used in conjunction with geometry, as mentioned. Additionally, Edward Herbert, Baron of Cherbury, argued in his De Veritate (1624) that human reason contains innate common notions that the mind may discover if it employs its faculties correctly; we will know these common notions by our natural instinct, the light of nature, he says. Only from these common notions, Herbert argues, may we derive certainty. Further, these rational common notions are the fundamental principles of science and religion. Interestingly, Herbert held that the same five common notions underlie all true religions, though Christianity matches them the best, he said. See Edward Herbert of Cherbury, De Veritate, Prout D istinguitur a Revelatione, a Verisimili, a Possibili, Et a Falso, Editio tertia. ed. (Londini: [s.n.], 1645). Similarly, Descartes held certain notions to be universal and innate, such as the idea of God and substance, as well as the laws of logic. See, for example, Rules for the Direction of the
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M ind, Rule 12 (CSMK I, 44-45; AT X/419-420) and Principles of Philosophy, Part I, 13 (CSMK I, 197; AT
VHIA/9). 75 2p38; Curley, 474; Geb 11/118. Of the common notions, Bennett says, "the enormously obscure p38d has defeated me;" Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics. 761 will speak of the objects of the common notions as "properties." In this usage I follow Spinoza himself, who describes modes held in common among bodies as properties in 2p39 and refers to properties in 2p40s2, among other places. I intend the term in as unobtrusive a way as possible and will try not to rely on any particular metaphysical account of properties in my argument. 77 2axl' and 2ax2'. For more on the Cartesian dimension of Spinoza's physics, see Alan Gabbey, "Spinozas Natural Science and Methodology," in The Cambridge Companion to Spinoza, ed. Don Garrett (New York: Cambridge Univ Pr, 1996), 101 and 09. 78 Letter 63,25 July 1675. See Spinoza, Complete Works, 917. 79 Letter 64,29 July 1675. Ibid., 919. 80 lp21; Curley, 429; Geb 11/65. 81 Edwin Curley argues that the common notions are of the infinite modes, which are the laws of physics. See E. M. Curley, Behind the Geometrical Method : A Reading of Spinozas Ethics (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton
University Press, 1988), 45f. Bennett affirms this view as well; see Bennett, A Study of Spinozas Ethics, 107.
See also Yovel, Spinoza and Other Heretics, 161. 82 Not only are Spinoza's first principles of physics Cartesian, but they are also derived in a Cartesian way. In Principle 37 of Part 2 of his Principles, Descartes says, "the first law of nature: each and every thing, in
so far as it can, always continues in the same state; and thus what is once in motion always continues to move.
From God's immutability we can also know certain rules or laws of nature, which are the secondary and particular causes of the various motions we see in particular bodies." Principles of Philosophy, II, 37 (CSMK I, 240; AT VIH/A, 62). Note that, according to Descartes, we infer the laws of nature from God's
nature. This is exactly what Spinoza suggests we do when he claims we may infer motion and rest from
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Extension, which is the divine essence conceived in a certain way. I would not say that Spinoza's physics are completely Cartesian, however, because Spinoza attributes power to bodies, which Descartes does not. 83 Note that I say that the common notion is involved both in the idea of each part of the body and in the idea of each affection in the body. Spinoza says we do not know the parts of the body, except through ideas of its affections. See 2pl9. According to Spinoza, in sensation, we know more about the modes of our own bodies than those of external bodies (2pl6c2); thus our knowledge of those external bodies is woefully incomplete. In Ch. 6 of his book, Della Rocca gives a novel account of falsity in Spinoza, arguing that we err in sensation because we conflate two different things in one idea. That is, we identify our own sensations - the way things seem to us - with the external object, when these two are really distinct. When we consider the common property of motion and rest that arises from our body interacting with an external body, however, this problem does not occur, because the common property is the same both in our bodies and in the external body. So, if we identify the property in our body and the property in the external body, we do not err, for our idea is an accurate representation of the property in both bodies. Further, we thereby have both an idea of a property of an affection of our own body and an idea of that property in the cause of our affection, even though the cause is an external body. 84 In the letter to Schuller quoted above, Spinoza also refers to infinite modes of Thought. There is no reason to believe that we cannot form common notions about fundamental laws of psychology as well as of physics. In this discussion I refer primarily to laws of physics and motion and rest because Spinoza himself primarily discusses common notions in terms of Extension, not Thought. 85 This is another way in which Spinoza follows Descartes. Both thinkers believe that the laws of physics are deducible from common experience. Wilson also notes this similarity; see Wilson, "Spinoza's Theory of Knowledge," 116. 86 lp23: "Every mode which exists necessarily and is infinite has necessarily had to follow either form the absolute nature of some attribute of God, or from some attribute, modified by a modification which exists necessarily and is infinite." Spinoza here refers to two kinds of infinite mode, one that follows
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immediately from God's attribute and one the follows in turn from this immediate infinite mode. This distinction and between the mediate and immediate infinite modes is obscure and irrelevant for our purposes. 87 ld4; Curley, 408; Geb 11/45. 88 By parallelism, our common notions of thought - our ideas of the fundamental laws of psychology are grounded in the attribute of Thought; so, if we have an idea of that attribute, our common notions of the infinite modes of thought would also be adequate. 89 This is not to say that we are consciously aware of the idea of Extension when we consider a body, though this idea must be implicit, Spinoza believes. Only through analysis of our concepts and similar cognitive labor are these ideas made explicit. Descartes exemplifies the kind of labor that Spinoza might have in mind in his discussion of the wax in Meditation Two. This theme will recur again below. *> 2p47; Curley, 482; Geb 11/128. 91 "The knowledge of God's eternal and infinite essence which each idea involves is adequate and perfect" (2p46; Curley, 482; Geb 1/127). 92 For a discussion of God as a causa sui, see Bennett, A Study of Spinozas Ethics, 73-4. 93 It should be apparent at this point that the argument that we have adequate ideas of the divine attributes of God is structurally very similar to the argument that we have adequate common notions. But the common notions are the paradigms of Spinoza's second kind of knowledge. I believe that the adequate ideas of the divine essence/attributes also should be considered as knowledge of the second kind (only when we consider finite essences in relation to that idea of the divine essence do we have knowledge of the third kind). Edwin Curley agrees; see Curley, "Experience in Spinoza's Theory of Knowledge," 57. 94 Curley, 439; Geb 11/76.
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95 For more on this understanding the divine essence, see Sherry Deveaux, "The Divine Essence and the Conception of God in Spinoza," Synthese: A n International Journal for Epistemology, Methodology and
Philosophy of Science 135, no. 3 (2003).
96 A vexing problem related to this discussion concerns how we become aware of these ideas. What I have attempted to establish here is that we have adequate ideas in the mind. This is not the same claim as saying that we have conscious awareness of these ideas. Wilson notes this problem as well - Wilson, "Spinoza's Theory of Knowledge," 137n37. Delahunty addresses this seeming contradiction, suggesting that adequate ideas may be like intuitions available only after hard mental labor; see R. J. Delahunty,
Spinoza, Arguments of the Philosophers (Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985), 23f. One place where
Spinoza discusses this issue is at 2p47s. After having asserted that all humans have an adequate idea of God, Spinoza then states that most people lack clear knowledge of God. Spinoza claims this is so because they have associated the word 'God' with anthropomorphic images, for example. Thus, though all people have an adequate idea that corresponds to God, i.e., the idea of absolute power, most people do not recognize that idea to be of God. In other words, all have an adequate idea of God, but for most people that idea is not associated with the term 'God/ which gets associated with some anthropomorphic image. Part of Spinoza's program of rational self-improvement, I imagine, would be to connect the term 'God' to that adequate idea of God in our minds. I am not sure more can be said on this topic without some account of consciousness in Spinoza, however, with which we could explain the status of ideas in the mind of which we are not aware. On the absence of an account of consciousness in Spinoza, also see Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 188-91. 97 I follow convention in translating Spinoza's term affectus as "affect," though "emotion" would be acceptable in the context of this article. In other contexts, however, affectus is not well rendered as "emotion," since affectus refers to a phenomenon both mental and physical, as well as one either passive or active, while "emotion" may connote a mental state one undergoes, which is closer to Spinoza's term
passio, which is only one kind of affectus. See Benedictus de Spinoza, The Collected Works of Spinoza, trans.
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E. M. Curley (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1985), 625. Note also that a similar convention exists in German and French, where affectus is translated as das Affekt and Vaffect, rather than as das Gffiihl or I'emotion. See, for example, Benedictus de Spinoza, Ethik in Geometrischer Ordnung Dargestellt, trans. Wolfgang Bartuschat (1999), 223, Benedictus de Spinoza, tth iqu e - Bilingue, trans. Bernard Pautrat (Editions de Seuil, 1999), 203. 98 Hume's view may in fact be more complex than this. For Hume, passions are not propositional, though they may perhaps have intentional objects. In the case of pride, for example, the passion takes as its intentional objects the thing in which one takes pride and oneself. The passion has such objects in virtue of its being a complex mental state involving both a non-representational passion and representational ideas. For a related discussion of the cognitive nature of pride, see Donald Davidson, "Hume's Cognitive Theory of Pride," Journal of Philosophy 73, no. 4 (1976). For an opposing view, see Annette Baier, "Hume's Analysis of Pride," Journal of Philosophy 75, no. 1 (1978). For Hume's claim that the intellect is not involved in the passions, which bear no truth value, see Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, , Book II, Part iii, Section 3 and Book III, Part i, Section 1. 99 William James, The Principles of Psychology (New York,: H. Holt and Company, 1890), Vol. 2,449. 100 Martha Nussbaum, Upheavals of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 114. 101 According to Robert Solomon, "emotions are a kind of judgment," as he says in a variety places. See, for example, Robert Solomon, "Emotions, Thoughts, and Feelings," in Thinking About Feeling, ed. Robert Solomon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 76. Though Spinoza's view is superficially similar to Solomon's in that both take emotions to be judgments, I would not attribute to Spinoza the details of Solomon's theory, which involves a sophisticated explanation of emotion as a nexus of certain judgments, intentions, and desires.
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102 For more contemporary discussion of this issue, see Solomon's Thinking About Feeling volume, as well as A nthony Hatzimoysis, Philosophy and the Emotions, Royal Institute of Philosophy Supplem ent ; 52 (New York:
Cambridge U niversity Press, 2003).
103 Della Rocca, "Spinoza's Metaphysical Psychology," 243. See also Della Rocca, Representation and the
M ind-Body Problem in Spinoza, 71.
104 Garrett, "Spinoza's Ethical Theory," 275. Delahunty agrees as well; see Delahunty, Spinoza, 244. See also Charles Jarrett, "Teleology and Spinoza's Doctrine of Final Causes," in Desire and Affect: Spinoza as
Psychologist (Papers Presented at the Third Jerusalem Conference), ed. Yirmiyahu Yovel (New York: Little
Room Press, 1999), 13. Jonathan Bennett also agrees that Spinoza "is trying to make the attribute of thought as cognitive as possible" in his treatment of the emotions; see Bennett, A Study of Spinozas Ethics, 256. los 2d3; Curley, 447; Geb 11/84. 106 2d3 explicatio; Curley, 447; Geb II/84-5. 107 See, for example, Descartes' Letter to Regius, May 1641, (CSMK III, 182; AT III/372) and Passions I, 17 (CSM 1,335; AT XI/342). los 3pl; Curley, 493; Geb 11/140. 109 For a similar view of this definition and its explanation, see Martial Gueroult, Spinoza (Hildesheim: G. Olms, 1968), Vol. 2, 21-22. Gueroult also connects Spinoza's emphasis on activity in 2d3 to 2p49, as I do below. For a different view, see Wolfgang Bartuschat, Spinozas Theorie Des Menschen (Hamburg: F. See also Wolfgang Rod, Benedictus Se Spinoza: Eine Einfiihrung (Stuttgart:
Meiner Verlag, 1992), 69.
Reclam, 2002), 64f. Both Bartuschat and Rod connect this definition to 2 p ll, where Spinoza defines the human mind as an idea. They take this emphasis on action in 2d3 to be Spinoza's way of defining the human mind as a res cogitans, since the mind is an idea and ideas are acts of thought. I do not find their arguments for this connection to be persuasive. n This view is widely accepted among commentators, as I have mentioned in the Introduction to this chapter. For example, Della Rocca, says, "when Spinoza speaks of ideas, he means psychological items
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that have content, that are about something." See Della Rocca, Representation and the Mind-Body Problem in
Spinoza, 7. Della Rocca also rejects the logical interpretation of ideas about to be discussed, as I do.
1111 say "representation or mental act" for the following reason. Among Spinoza's contemporaries, there was a difference of opinion concerning the nature of ideas. Some, such as Malebranche, saw ideas as objects of the mind; others, such as Amauld, saw ideas as forms of mental actions, such as perception. I will not discuss whether Spinoza takes ideas to be objects created by a mental act or the acts of mind themselves because it is not relevant to my purpose here. For a discussion of this distinction in Descartes, Amauld, and Malebranche, see Steven Nadler, A m auld and the Cartesian Philosophy of Ideas (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), Steven Nadler, Malebranche and Ideas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992). 112 For an interpretation that takes ideas at least sometimes to be logical entities, see E. M. Curley,
Spinoza's Metaphysics: A n Essay in Interpretation (Cambridge,: Harvard University Press, 1969), 124f. For a
criticism of that interpretation, see Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 50-54, Della Rocca, Representation
and the M ind-Body Problem in Spinoza, 8. According to Bennett, Albert Balz believes that Spinoza's use of
"idea" refers to logical entities throughout the Ethics. Curley recognizes that the ideas discussed in most of the passages cited in this chapter are not logical entities, however, because he believes Spinoza switches from a logical conception to a psychological conception with the introduction of ideas of ideas (see 2p29 for that doctrine). 2p49; Curley, 484; Geb 11/130. 114 This is not to say that Spinozist ideas are all-things-considered judgments, by any means. In fact, they need not even be judgments at which we consciously arrive at all. By judgment, I mean nothing more than some proposition that we affirm. Instead of calling Spinozist ideas "judgments," I could have chosen to call them "beliefs." I chose "judgment," however, because it connotes an act of mind more strongly than "belief." This emphasis on mental action better accords with Spinoza's intent, as I will discuss below. This is essentially Descartes' notion of judgment as well, for he holds a judgment to be nothing
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more than the volitional act in which we assent to some idea. See, for example, Descartes" Principles, I, 34 (CSMK 1,204; AT VIIIA/18). 115 3d3; Curley, 493; Geb 11/139. I prefer to translate "quibus" as "in which," rather than Curley's "by which." Bennett agrees saying, "In p59d Spinoza implies that pleasure and unpleasure [his translations of
laetitia and tristitia] cause the upward and downward movements, but his usual view is that they are those
movements. (That is why I render d3 with 'in which the body's power' etc. rather than b y which the body's power'...)" Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 254. 116 "The order and connection of ideas is the same as the order and connection of things" (2p7; Curley, 451; Geb 11/89). Spinoza applies this to particular modes, including ideas, saying, "so also a mode of extension and the idea of that mode are one and the same thing, but expressed in two ways" (2p7s; Curley, 451; Geb 11/90). See also 3p2s, where Spinoza says, "the Mind and the Body are one and the same thing, which is now conceived under the attribute of Thought, now under the attribute of Extension. The result is that the order, or connection, of things is one..." The exact nature of Spinoza's parallelism or the nature of this "expression" need not concern us here; all that is relevant is how it applies to affects. 117 3 p ll; Curley, 500; Geb 11/148. 118 Spinoza speaks in this manner in the General Definition of the Affects, among other places, where he connects the power of the mind to the power of the body, as I have here. See Part 3, General Definition of the Affects; Curley, 542; Geb 11/203. Bennett speaks of the changes in power involved in the affects very generally, not attributing them to the body or the mind, preferring instead to speak of the health of the individual as a whole Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 254. 119 For a discussion of the relevant terms "affection" [affectio] and "affect" [affectus], and how they are to be understood with regard to body and mind, see Jean Marie Beyssade, "Nostri Corporis Affectus: Can an Affect in Spinoza Be 'of the Body'?," in Desire and Affect: Spinoza as Psychologist (Papers Presented at the
Third Jerusalem Conference), ed. Yirmiyahu Yovel (New York: Little Room Press, 1999). Beyssade argues
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that h o w w e understand the nature o f an affect d ep en d s in part on h o w w e interpret the phrase "at the
same time" [et simul] in this definition. 120 3, General Definition of the Affects; Curley, 542; Geb 11/203. 1 21 Beyssade agrees. See Beyssade, "Nostri Corporis Affectus: Can an Affect in Spinoza Be 'of the Body1 ?," 118-19. 122 3p58: "Apart from the Joy and Desire that are passions, there are other affects of Joy and Desire that are related to us insofar as we act" (Curley, 529; Geb 11/187). See the demonstration to that proposition for the specific mention of adequate ideas. 1233p59s; Curley, 530; Geb n/189. Spinoza's setting aside of the purely bodily aspect of emotions is reminiscent of Seneca's Stoic rejection of the relevance of the bodily aspect of emotions as well. Seneca says, "for if any one supposes that pallor, falling tears, prurient itching or deep-drawn sigh, a sudden brightening of the eyes, and the like, are an evidence of passion and a manifestation of the mind, he is mistaken and fails to understand that these are disturbances of the body." See "On Anger," Seneca, Moral
Essays, 173. The question of the nature of the relation between Seneca's and Spinoza's theories of the
emotions is an interesting one, though more than can be addressed here. For more on this connection, see Donald Rutherford, "Salvation as a State of Mind: The Place of Acquiescentia in Spinoza's Ethics," British
Journal fo r the History of Philosophy 7, no. 3 (1999).
124 4p8; Curley, 550: Geb 11/215. 125 Allison agrees, citing both 4p8 and 4pl4; see Allison, Benedict De Spinoza : A n Introduction, 145-7. i*> Curley, 553; Geb 11/219. 127 Garrett also suggests that affects and ideas are related in the same way as I argue here. Garrett says, "Spinoza construes the affective and the representational as two aspect of the same mental events or entities;" see Garrett, "Spinoza's Ethical Theory," 296. 128 Interestingly, Della Rocca claims that what I argue for here - that all objects and acts of the mind are in fact ideas, including volitions and affects - is implicit in 2a3 ("there are no modes of thinking...unless
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there is in the same Individual the idea of the thing loved, desired, etc..." [Curley, 448; Geb 11/85]). See Michael Della Rocca, "The Power of an Idea: Spinoza's Critique of Pure Will," Nous 37, no. 2 (2003): 204. Note, further, that 2a3 specifically names passions of love and desire. If Della Rocca is right to trace these doctrines to 2a3, then it must be the case that all passions are really ideas simply from 2a3, as Della Rocca notes. I am not certain that all of this is implicit in 2a3, however. 129 Amihud Gilead, who applies the term to Spinoza, says, "it is clear that the basic affects, and consequently all the affects, depend on and follow from cognition..." See Amihud Gilead, "Human Affects as Properties of Cognitions in Spinoza's Philosophical Psychotherapy," in Desire and Affect: Spinoza
as Psychologist (Papers Presented at the Third Jerusalem Conference), ed. Yirmiyahu Yovel (New York: Little
Room Press, 1999), 172. Segal follows him in using this label. Neither discusses the current uses of the term "cognitivism," however. 130 3plls: "...apart from these three I do not acknowledge any other primary affect. For I shall show in what follows that the rest arise from these three" (Curley, 501; Geb 11/149). 131 Bennett argues that joy and sadness are too narrow to render laetitia and tristitia; Bennett, A Study of
Spinozas Ethics, 253-4. Though I am sympathetic to his concern, I am not sure that his "pleasure" and
"unpleasure" are significantly better. I expect the reader to be able to distinguish Spinoza's use of "joy" and "sadness" from our everyday common uses of those terms. Curley's translation. 1323p lls; Curley, 500-1; Geb 11/149. For reasons similar to those cited above in footnote 39, I prefer to translate "qua m ens...transit" as "in which the mind passes." Ibid., 254. The German translation accords with my preference in this passage, rendering qua" here as "in denen," which means "in which." Inconsistently, however, Bartuschat renders the quibus" in 3d3 as "von denen," which means "by which." See Bartuschat's translation, Spinoza, Ethik in Geometrischer Ordnung Dargestellt, 223 and 45. The French As such, I have elected to follow
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generally translate the "qua" as "par lesquelles," however, which means "by which." See Pautrat's translation, Spinoza, tth iq u e - Bilingue, 223. 133 "Therefore, if we can be the adequate cause of any of these affections, I understand by the Affect an action; otherwise, a passion." (3d3; Curley, 493; Geb 11/139). 134 Spinoza's definition of hate is to be found at Definition of the Affects VII (Curley, 533; Geb 11/193) and 3pl3s (Curley, 502; Geb 11/151). 135 Definition of the Affects I; Curley, 531; Geb 11/190. 136 In this chapter, I will not address the claim that desire is the essence of man in some sense or another, a claim related to Spinoza's doctrine of the conatus. See 3p6 and 3p7 for that doctrine. See also Bennett, A
Study of Spinoza's Ethics, chapters 9 and 10, Della Rocca, "Spinoza's Metaphysical Psychology." I take up
this issue in the following chapter, however. 137 This claim, that desire is simply a motivating Joy or Sadness, accords with Bennett's treatment of desire. He finds that desire has no place in Spinoza's psychology that Joy and Sadness do not fill themselves; see Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 259. Someone might claim that the Joy we take in something and any desire it might engender are phenomenologically distinct, though I see no reason why that must entail that they are ontologically independent. They could be two phenomenologically distinct aspects of the same complex idea, or affect. Unfortunately, Spinoza gives us very little with which to understand desire in his system. 138 Other commentators who address the cognitive nature of the affects omit or expressly set aside desire, due to its difficult position in Spinoza's system. See, for example, Gilead, "Human Affects as Properties of Cognitions in Spinoza's Philosophical Psychotherapy," passim, Gideon Segal, "Beyond Subjectivity: Spinoza's Cognitivism of the Emotions," British Journal for the H istory of Philosophy 8, no. 1 (2000): 2n2. 139 For discussion of this aspect of Spinoza's thought, see Allison, Benedict De Spinoza : A n Introduction, chapter 5, Delahunty, Spinoza, chapter 8, Garrett, "Spinoza's Ethical Theory."
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140 Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 286. Spinoza says, "no affect can be restrained by the true knowledge of good and evil insofar as it is true, but only insofar as it is considered as an affect" (4dl4; Curley, 553; Geb 11/219). Bennett specifically quotes Descartes" Passions 48, where Descartes says, "some people.. .never let their will fight with its own weapons, but only with ones which some passions provide as a defense against other passions. What I call its own weapons are firm and determinate judgments concerning the knowledge of good and bad, with which the will has resolved to regulate the actions of this life." 141 Delahunty makes a similar complaint; see Delahunty, Spinoza, 245-6. In fact, this criticism is over a century old at least, having been raised by H Joachim, A Study of the Ethics of Spinoza (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1901), 258-9. See also David Bidney, The Psychology and Ethics of Spinoza; a Study in the H istory and Logic of Ideas (New Haven: Yale university press, 1940), 252.
142 Lee C. Rice, "Action in Spinoza's Account of Affectivity," in Desire and Affect: Spinoza as Psychologist
(Papers Presented at the Third Jerusalem Conference), ed. Yirmiyahu Yovel (New York: Little Room Press,
1999), 164. The quote is from Max Whartovsky. 3d3; Curley, 493; Geb 11/139. 144 3p58; Curley, 529; Geb 11/187. 148 3p59; Curley, 529; Geb 11/188. 146 3p6: "Each thing, as far as it can by its own power, strives to persevere in its being." Curley, 498; Geb II/146. The conatus will be discussed at greater length in the following chapter. 442 4pl; Curley, 547; Geb 11/210. 148 4pl4d; Curley, 553; Geb 11/219. 149 Ursula Goldenbaum, "The Affects as a Condition of Human Freedom in Spinoza's Ethics," in Spinoza on
Reason and the Free M an, ed. Yirmiahu Yovel (New York: Little Room Press, 2004).
150 According to Cicero, Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, said that belief was like an open hand, while knowledge was like a fist. See Academica in Cicero, De Natura Deorum. Academica, trans. H. Rackham, Loeb
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Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1933), 2.145. A Socratic statement of this
view can be found at Protagoras 351B to 357E. See Plato, Plato: Complete Works, 781-86. See also the discussion of Spinozist action theory at the end of Chapter 4. 151 Gueroult agrees. See Gueroult, Spinoza, Vol. 2,494. Contrast Spinoza's circumspect and limited view of the power of reason against the passions with Seneca, for example, who says, "I will assert this - that the wise man is not subject to any injury. It does not matter, therefore, how many darts are hurled against him, since none can pierce him...the spirit of the wise man is impregnable." De Constantia, iii.5; Seneca,
Moral Essays, p. 57.
152 Gueroult agrees that ideas or beliefs do not cause desires via transuent causation, i.e., where the cause is external to the effect. Instead, he suggests, ideas and desires are essentially connected, so that ideas are causally related to desires as follows: "elle se l'incorpore au lieu de le susciter du dehors" Gueroult,
Spinoza, Vol. 2,494.
153 Della Rocca, "The Power of an Idea: Spinoza's Critique of Pure Will," 220. According to Della Rocca, all mental objects m ust reduce fully to ideas, for, if there were some non-cognitive mental object, it would be so different from ideas that it could not causally interact with them. This, Della Rocca suggests, would be a violation of parallelism; that is, there cannot be causal interaction between distinct kinds of entity. So, just as all matter is at root of a homogenous kind, so too must the mental realm entirely reduce to ideas. 154 3p2d; Curley, 494; Geb 11/141. 155 See Della Rocca, Representation and the M ind-Body Problem in Spinoza, chapters 7 and 8. 156 3p6; Curley, 498; Geb 11/146. 157 3p7; Curley, 499; Geb 11/146. 158 3p9s; Curley, 500; Geb II/147-8. 159 For excellent studies of the conatus, see Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 231-51, Della Rocca, "Spinoza's Metaphysical Psychology," 192-266. Another notable study is Daniel Garber, "Descartes and Spinoza on Persistence and Conatus," Studia Spinozana 10 (1995). Like my approach in this chapter,
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Garber's paper can be read as an attempt to understand the conatus from the perspective of Part 2 of the
Ethics. Whereas I focus on Spinoza's treatment of ideas and faculties, however, Garber looks to Spinoza's
physical theory and his doctrine of inertia, as well as offering a useful comparison of Spinoza's understanding of that doctrine to Descartes' use of the same term. 160 In Part IV of the Republic, Plato divides the soul into three parts, a rational, a spirited, and an appetitive soul, or part; see Republic, Part IV in Plato, Plato: Complete Works, 435e-39e. Plato may have a somewhat different view in Republic VIII, however. Gassendi may fall into this category as well, since he posits that humans have both a rational and a corporeal soul. See Gassendi, Syntagma, The Physics, Section I, Book IV, Chapter 8, in Gassendi, The Selected Works of Pierre Gassendi, trans. Craig Brush (New York: Johnson Reprint, 1972), 413. For a different way of partitioning the soul, one that has much in common with Descartes' division of the mind into distinct activities or faculties, see Aristotle's De Anima II. Aristotle,
The Basic Works of Aristotle, trans. Richard McKeon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1941).
161 Descartes distinguishes between the intellect and will in a variety of places. For a paradigm case, see his discussion of error in the fourth Meditation. See also Passions I, 17-20 (CSMK I, 335; AT XI/342). Descartes rejected the kind of partitioning carried out by Plato and Aristotle, however. See Descartes, Meditation 6 (CSMK II, 59; AT VII/86). For more on that rejection, see Steven Wagner, "Descartes on Parts of the Soul," Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 45, no. 1 (1984). 162 For example, Aquinas claims that the five genera of powers of the soul are distinguished by five distinct operations of the soul. These operations are distinguished by their objects; see Thomas Aquinas,
Summa Theologiae (London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1964-6), Prima Pars, Q. 78, art. I ad 6 .1 do not wish to
attribute to Aquinas or Descartes an overly simplistic faculty psychology, however. For example, despite suggesting that the distinct powers of mind pick out distinct souls in the above referenced passage, Aquinas elsewhere explains that the man performs these acts, not the faculties; see Aquinas, Summa
Theologiae, Prima Secundae Partis, Q. 17, art. I ad 2. Descartes also emphasizes the unity of the soul
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(Meditation 6; CSMK II, 59; AT VII/86), both thinkers instead distinguishing its actions and objects into distinct categories of volition and cognition. Regardless, Spinoza rejects even this, as I will argue below. 163 For more on the complexities of medieval faculty psychology, see Edward P. Mahoney, "Sense, Intellect, and Imagination in Albert, Thomas, and Siger," in The Cambridge H istory of Later Medieval
Philosophy, ed. Kenny Kretzmann, and Pinborg (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982).
164 For more on the Scholastic background to 17th Century faculty psychology, see Gary Hatfield, "The Cognitive Faculties," in The Cambridge H istory of Seventeenth Century Philosophy, ed. Dan Garber and Michael Ayers (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 165 Descartes, Meditations, Fourth Meditation (AT VII, 58; CSMII, 40). 166 Descartes, Meditations, Fourth Meditation (AT VII, 57; CSM II, 40). 167 Descartes, Meditations, Fourth Meditation (AT VII, 60; CSM II, 41).
168
Descartes recognizes three kinds of distinction: a real distinction, which exists only between
substances, such that one can be conceived clearly and distinctly without the other and vice versa; a modal distinction, which exists between two distinct modes of the same substance, such that the two modes may be conceived separately from one another, but neither may be conceived without also conceiving of their substance (a modal distinction also exists between a substance and its mode); and a conceptual distinction, which exists between a substance and its primary attribute, such that one cannot be conceived clearly without the other and vice versa. For Descartes, the Intellectand the Will can each be conceived without the other, for one can imagine the power of representation without imagining the power of affirmation and vice versa. An act of affirmation, on the other hand, cannot be conceived apart from some act of representation; but the power to affirm may perhaps be considered without considering the power of representation. Neither the Intellect nor Will can be conceived apart from a Mind, however. So, for Descartes, the distinction between Intellect and Will is a modal distinction, according to his understanding of that distinction. Thus, the Intellect and Will are distinct faculties of mind.; see Principles
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I, 60-62 (CSMK I, 213-214; AT VIIIA/28-30). See also the Letter to Gibieuf, 19 January 1642 (CSMK III, 201-204; AT III/473-480). 169 Note that Descartes describes ideas as "images of things". He also claims that they are wholly passive. It is against this view of ideas that Spinoza will aim his own account, discussed below. 179 Curley, 425; Geb 11/61.
Curley, 432; Geb 11/69.
1721 have suggested that the function of 2p48 is to distinguish Spinoza's psychology from Descartes' and others. Wolfgang Bartuschat suggests that 2p48 serves another purpose in addition; see Bartuschat,
Spinozas Theorie Des Menschen, 126. Bartuschat notes that 2p48 comes directly after Spinoza's discussion of
adequate knowledge, which, for Spinoza, is the source of the mind's activity and freedom. By denying the freedom of the will immediately after this discussion, Spinoza clarifies the nature of this activity and freedom, suggesting that the activity and freedom of adequate ideas must be understood solely in the context of a necessary causal order. In other words, Bartuschat perhaps rightly sees 2p48 as playing a role in Spinoza's denial of a libertarian freedom of the will. 1731 say "often attributed," of course, because there is some controversy over whether Descartes himself truly was what today might be called a Cartesian libertarian with regard to the Will. There are several passages that suggest Descartes was a kind of compatibilist and not a libertarian at all. So, for example, Descartes says, "the more I incline in one direction - either because I clearly understand that reasons of truth and goodness point that way, or because of a divinely produced disposition of my inmost thoughts - the freer is my choice" (Meditations 4; CSMK II, 40; AT VII/58). In other words, the more strongly
determined his choice is by his dispositions, beliefs, or, perhaps, by divine grace, the freer his action. In
general, Descartes rejected what is called "liberty of contrariety" but accepted "liberty of contradiction." For this distinction, see Eustachius a Sancto Paolo, Summa Philosophiae Quadrapartita (1609), First part, treatise I, discourse 1, question 3. See also John Cottingham Roger Ariew, and Tom Sorell, ed., Descartes'
Meditations: Background Source Materials (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 78.
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174 lp28: "Every singular thing, or any thing which is finite and has a determinate existence, can neither exist nor be determined to produce an effect unless it is determined to exist and produce an effect by another cause, which is also finite and has a determinate existence." (Curley, 432; Geb 11/69) 175 2p40sl; Curley, 477; Geb 11/121. 176 Spinoza's brief argument against abstraction is reminiscent of Berkeley's argument in the Introduction to his Principles of Human Knowledge, though Berkeley's is more thorough, certainly. See the Introduction to the Principles in George Berkeley, Works of George Berkeley, trans. A. A. Luce and T.E. Jessop (London: Thomas Nelson, 1948-57). For more on Spinoza's nominalism, see Lee Rice, "Le Nominalisme De Spinoza," Canadian Journal of Philosophy 24, no. 1 (1994). For more on Berkeley's argument against abstraction, see Ken Winkler, "Berkeley on Abstract Ideas," A rchivfuer Geschichte der Philosophie 65 (1983). 177 Compare Spinoza's argument here to Locke's discussion of faculties. He says, "for if it be reasonable to suppose and talk of Faculties, as distinct Beings, that can act (as we do, when we say the Will orders, and the Will is free,) 'tis fit that we should make a speaking Faculty, and a walking Faculty, and a dancing
Faculty, .. .as well as make the Will and Understanding to be Faculties." John Locke, A n Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Peter H. Nidditch ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975), II.xxi.17; p. 242.
178 For a discussion of Spinoza's rejection of universals as presented in 2p40sl, see Bennett, A Study of
Spinoza's Ethics, 180-82. For a different view, see Della Rocca, Representation and the M ind-Body Problem in Spinoza, 59-64.
179 See, for example, Descartes' Letter to Regius, May 1641, (CSMK III, 182; AT III, 372) and Passions I, 17 (CSM 1,335; AT XI, 342). See also the passage quoted from Meditation 3, above. iso por discussions of this identification, see Allison, Benedict De Spinoza : A n Introduction, 119-23, Bennett,
A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 162-7, Delahunty, Spinoza, 33-6. See especially Della Rocca, "The Power of an
Idea: Spinoza's Critique of Pure Will." Della Rocca argues this point in great detail. My discussion in this section owes much to his work.
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1 8 1 For evidence that Spinoza would reject a non-cognitive account of imaginations, consider what he says in 2p49s, where he claims that our visual imagination of a winged horse involves the affirmation of wings to a horse. In other words, these imaginations involve affirmations that are propositional in structure. 182 2p49; Curley, 484; Geb D/130. 183 Spinoza's view that every cognition involves an affirmation may strike some as odd, though it has some historical precedent. According to a widely held Scholastic view, for example, when the mind forms propositions, it affirms some predicate of a subject. So Scipion Dupleix presents his interpretation of Aristotle's view that the understanding performs three actions and thus has three faculties. The first is the mere grasping of concepts, such as 'man' and 'rational.' The second is the "enunciative faculty," in which the mind predicates one concept of another, such as "man is rational," thus forming propositions. The third is the "rational faculty," in which man reasons using several propositions. Dupleix advances this view in his Physics (Book 8, ch. 23, 12), published in his textbook, TheCorpus of Philosophy. See Roger Ariew, John Cottingham, and Tom Sorell, ed., Descartes' Meditations: Background Source Materials (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 129, Scipion Dupleix, Corps De Philosophie (1623). Similarly, in their influential Port Royal Logic, Amauld and Nicole identify the mind's forming a proposition with its making a judgment. They say, "this is called affirming or denying, and in general
judging. This judgment is also called a proposition."Part 2, ch. 3, in Antoine and Pierre Nicole Amauld, Logic, or the A rt of Thinking, trans. Jill Vance Buroker (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 82.
Concerning even simple apprehension, Descartes claims that we cannot conceive of a thing unless we conceive of it as existing. Descartes says, "existence is contained in the idea or concept of every single thing, since we cannot conceive of anything except as existing" (Second replies; CSMK II, 117; AT
Vn/166). In other words, even in the first act of the understanding, simple apprehension, we make an
affirmation by predicating existence to the subject being apprehended. And similarly, Gassendi believes that to conceive of a concept, such as "horse," is really to conceive "a horse exists." In other words, to conceive of something is to conceive of it as existing (Second replies; CSMK II, 117; AT VII/166). Perhaps
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Spinoza is following Descartes and Gassendi in holding that even simple apprehension to be an act of affirmation. Accordingly, in the first act of mind, we affirm existence of some thing, for example, "man exists." In the second act, we predicate one of the other, as explained above, and so on with the third. In other words, then, all the acts of the understanding involve affirmations of some sort or other, either the attribution of a predicate to a subject, or the attribution of existence to a subject. See Book II, Exercise 4, Article 4 in his Exercitationes paradoxicae adversus Aristoteleos, 1624; Ariew, ed., Descartes' Meditations:
Background Source Materials, 174.When Spinoza proceeds to justify his identification of volition and idea,
however, he does not rely on Aristotelian or even Cartesian notions of idea and predication, however. Indeed, he presents his own theory as a rejection of these views. 184 Della Rocca, "The Power of an Idea: Spinoza's Critique of Pure Will." Gueroult agrees with my reading, glossing 2p49 as follows: "les differents actes d'affirmer ou nier (les volitions) ne sont pas exterieurs aux idees, mais appartiennent a leur essence." Gueroult, Spinoza, Vol. 2,497. 185 2p49d; Curley, 484-5; Geb 11/130. 186 Like 'involve' [involvere], 'pertain' [pertinere] receives no explicit definition from Spinoza. Another place he employs it is in lp7, where he says: "it pertains to the nature of substance to exist," (Curley 412; Geb 11/49) a doctrine that could be restated as 'existence is a part of the essence of substance' or 'in substance, essence and existence are identical.' Again the French and German translations suggest this understanding, taking pertinere as appartenir and gehoren, both of which translate as "to belong." See Spinoza, Ethik in Geometrischer Ordnung Dargestellt, 201, Spinoza, tth iqu e - Bilingue, 185. 187 See, for example, the explanation given of the definition of the affect of desire in the Definitions of the Affects, where Spinoza refers to volitions. 188 Delahunty, employing an idea from Geach, states that, for Spinoza, ideas are both propositional in structure and assertoric in force. When we discuss ideas, then, we refer to their propositional content. When we refer to volitions, we refer to their assertoric force; see Delahunty, Spinoza, 33-35. Curley also makes reference to Geach on this point; see E. M. Curley, "Descartes, Spinoza, and the Ethics of Belief," in
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Spinoza: Critical Assessments of Leading Philosophers, ed. Genevieve Lloyd (London: Routledge, 2004), 208.
Perhaps similarly, Della Rocca claims that ideas are individual expressions of the mind's power, each bearing a kind of psychic force in Della Rocca, "The Power of an Idea: Spinoza's Critique of Pure Will." 189 3 Postulate 1; Curley, 493; Geb 11/139. By parallelism, this postulate may be restated in terms of the mind, as Spinoza does at 3 p ll, saying, "the idea of any thing that increases or diminishes, aids or restrains, our Body's power of acting, increases or diminishes, aids or restrains, our Mind's power of thinking" (Curley, 500; Geb 11/148). 190 3pl4: "If the Mind has once been affected by two affects at once, then afterwards, when it is affected by one of them, it will also be affected by the other" (Curley, 502; Geb 11/151). This doctrine can be found in Locke and Berkeley but was most famously put to use by Hume in the next century. See, for example, Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, I.l.iv. Its origin may lie in Aristotle, however. See De Memoria et
Reminiscentia in the Parva Naturalia, 451b5-452a5; Aristotle, The Basic Works of Aristotle, 612-13.
191 For more on Spinoza's use of these terms, see Beyssade, "Nostri Corporis Affectus: Can an Affect in Spinoza Be 'of the Body'?." 192 In his Introduction to his edited volume, Desire and Affect: Spinoza as Psychologist, Yirmiyahu Yovel supports my conclusion that ideas have a tripartite nature, that is, that they may be considered in three ways, as a representation, an affirmation, and an affect, when he says, "just as an idea is at once an act of judgment - the affirmation of its own content - so it is also an emotive event. Ideas and emotions are not separate entities, but aspects of the same; the cognitive content is inseparable from an affective event in which it resonates;" see Yirmiyahu Yovel, Desire and A ffect: Spinoza as Psychologist; Papers Presented at the
Third Jerusalem Conference (Ethica lii), Spinoza by 2000; V. 3 (New York: Little Room Press ; Distributed by
Fordham University Press, 1999), xiv. 193 Curley, 498; Geb 11/146. 194 Curley, 499; Geb 11/146.
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195 Spinoza discusses this aspect of the human being briefly in the physical digression after 2pl3. Dan Garber correctly identifies the value of this digression for a larger understanding of the conatus. As Garber argues, the general structures of the conatus of the body are paralleled by analogous structures in the mind. In addition, I would argue that these two structures would also find a parallel in an analysis of human appetites and desires. This aspect of Spinoza's parallelism underlies his attempt to provide a mechanistic account of psychology and his assumption that the mind operates in a way analogous to physical bodies. See Garber, "Descartes and Spinoza on Persistence and Conatus." 196 Gueroult accords a great significance to the relation between desire and will in 3p9s. In his discussion of the will, Gueroult says, "en effet, toute idee, enveloppant son affirmation, envelope par la meme un effort pour perseverer dans cette affirmation et un desir pour toute chose qui favorise celle-ci. Cette chose est en consequence representee comme bonne, et cette representation du bon, accompagnant necessairement le desir, est, de ce fait, concjue comme sa cause, alors qu'elle en est l'effet" (Gueroult,
Spinoza, 494.) I am not sure whether the relation between will and desire implicit in 2p49 is sufficient to
explain Spinoza's denial of teleology, as Gueroult implies, but it may be an essential part of that denial. Certainly it is relevant to understanding the conatus, as I argue above. 197 See Garber, "Descartes and Spinoza on Persistence and Conatus." Though Spinoza does not explicitly discuss mereology, he is committed to the view that a collection of modes may be considered as an aggregate mode only if the collective have some shared ratio of motion and rest, such that the aggregate tends toward its own perseverance. A collection of modes that lacks this coherence cannot qualify as an entity in its own right. Or so one might infer from Spinoza's laconic statements on the issue. 198 If every composite entity is individuated by its component parts, it would seem, there must be some fundamental particles or bodies that are not composite and that have their own principle of individuation. It is likely that Spinoza intends there to be simplest bodies, individuated only by a certain degree of motion or rest, not by a ratio among parts. So, after presenting his basic laws of motion, Spinoza says, "this will be sufficient concerning the simplest bodies, which are distinguished from one another
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only by motion and rest, speed and slowness" (Part 2, Axiom 2"; Curley, 460; Geb 11/99). Spinoza does not provide enough on which to make any strong attributions, but Bennett has provided a fascinating speculation on how Spinoza's physics might work, arguing that Spinoza in fact employs a "field metaphysic." See Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, chapter 4. 199 For Spinoza, the cognitive content of a desire for x is, arguably, the belief that x is desirable" or, more accurately, "x would be good to have." This resembles Anscombe's discussion of desire as well. See G. E. M. Anscombe, Intention (New York: Blackwell, 1958), 37. For an argument that this account of desire is not sufficient to explain human action, see Dennis W. Stampe, "The Authority of Desire," Philosophical
Review 96, no. 3 (1987). This topic will be discussed at greater length near the end of chapter 4, where a
clear statement of Spinoza's moral psychology is attempted.
Notes to Chapter Three

200 Ethics, 4pl7s; Curley, 554; Geb 11/221. 201 2 Preface; Curley, 446; Geb n /84. 202 So Stuart Hampshire says, "the order of Spinoza's thought and the whole structure of his philosophy cannot be understood unless they are seen as culminating in his doctrine of human freedom and happiness and in his prescription of the right way of life." Stuart Hampshire, Spinoza and Spinozism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 25. 203 Bennett, A Study of Spinozas Ethics, chapter 14, Della Rocca, "Spinoza's Metaphysical Psychology.", Garrett, "Spinoza's Ethical Theory.", Koistinen, "Weakness of Will in Spinoza's Theory of Human Motivation.", Lin, "Memory and Personal Identity in Spinoza.", Savile, "Spinoza, Medea, and Irrationality in Action." 204 In the above mentioned works, Della Rocca discusses only how akrasia could follow from more basic Spinozist principles; Savile and Lin concern themselves with the same question, in effect responding to and building on Della Rocca's explanation. Koistinen defends yet another interpretation of Spinoza's
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account of how akrasia happens. Bennett discusses Spinoza's solutions to the problem of akrasia for ten pages of his lengthy work and is largely dismissive. Don Garrett discusses Spinoza's solutions to akrasia, though he is primarily interested in Spinoza's ethical thought. For general overviews that are consistent with my work here, see Allison, Benedict De Spinoza : A n Introduction, chapter 5, Yovel, Spinoza and Other
Heretics, chapter 6.
205 See, for example, David Pugmire, "Perverse Preference: Self-Beguilement or Self-Division?," Canadian
Journal of Philosophy 24, no. 1 (1994).
26
por discussion of Plato's account of akrasia in the Republic and the distinct account in the Lazos, see
Bobonich, "Akrasia and Agency in Plato's Laws and Republic." 207 Edmund Henden, "Weakness of Will and Divisions of the Mind," European Journal of Philosophy 12, no. 2 (2004). 208 The cognitive dissonance theory of modem psychology, on the other hand, generally concerns an inconsistency between behavior and belief. The original statement of this theory is in Leon Festinger, A
Theory of Cognitive Dissonance (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1957).
209 Terry Penner, "Plato and Davidson: Parts of the Soul and Weakness of Will," Canadian Journal of
Philosophy (1990).
210 Penner, "Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge: Protagoras 351b-357e." 211 Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1956), 92-95. 212 For an extended discussion of self-deception, see Alfred Mele, Self-Deception Unmasked (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000). Mele argues against views that explain self-deception in terms of interpersonal deception, which he calls agency views, instead favoring what he calls a deflationary view. 213 See Richard Joyce, "Early Stoicism and Akrasia," Phronesis 40, no. 3 (1995). Joyce provides an account of early Stoic thought according to which the mind is unitary yet may suffer akrasia. Joyce focuses on Chrysippus as the representative of Stoicism, but also discusses other major figures. For another account of the Stoics affirming akrasia, see Justin Gosling, "The Stoics and Akrasia," Apeiron 20 (1987).
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214 Spinoza's view, roughly, is that different complex ideas may represent different and mutually incompatible goods, such that we develop incompatible desires, which then come into conflict. In some cases, a desire arising from a false belief may overpower a rational desire, such that we are led to act against what we know to be better, as will be discussed below. In some ways, Spinoza's view resembles David Pears' homuncular explanation of akrasia, according to which separate clusters of belief-desire combinations come into conflict. See David Pears, "Motivated Irrationality, Freudian Theory," in
Philosophical Essays on Freud, ed. Richard Wollheim (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). See
also Donald Davidson, "Deception and Division," in Actions and Events, ed. E. LaPore (Oxford: Blackwell, 1985). 215 For a nice overview of passion and action in the 17th Century, see Susan James, Passion and Action: The
Emotions in Seventeenth-Century Philosophy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997). See especially
James' discussion of the passions in Spinoza at pp. 145-56 and pp. 200-205. 216 Lenn Goodman also finds two senses of freedom in Spinoza's Ethics - absolute and human freedom, as I do below. See Lenn Goodman, "Determinism: Spinoza, Maimonides, Aristotle," in Responsibility,
Character, and the Emotions, ed. Ferdinand Schoeman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 125-
26. 217 Don Garrett's treatment of ld7 omits criterion (1), focusing exclusively on (2). Because of this, he mistakenly attributes a univocal account of freedom to Spinoza. See Don Garrett, The Cambridge
Companion to Spinoza (Cambridge ; N ew York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 286. Garrett also
mistakenly locates Spinozas definition of freedom at ld8, not ld7. Bennett may also be guilty of this error. 2is Ipl7c2; Curley, 425; Geb 11/61. 219 lp25: "God is the efficient cause, not only of the existence of things, but also of their essence." (Curley, 431; Geb 11/67)
265
220 For more on the relation between determinism and freedom in the 17th Century, see Robert Sleigh, Vere Chappell, and Michael Della Rocca, "Determinism and Human Freedom," in The Cambridge History of
Seventeenth-Century Philosophy, ed. Dan Garber and Michael Ayers (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1998). Like most scholars, Sleigh, Chappell, and Della Rocca describe Spinoza as a compatibilist. 221 Thomas Hobbes, & John Bramhall, Hobbes and Bramhall on Liberty and Necessity, trans. Vere Chappell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 16. 222 This view of human freedom is similar to one that Leibniz attributes to the Stoics, saying, "the freedom
of the will is also understood in two different senses: one of them stands in contrast with the imperfection
or bondage of the mind, which is an imposition or constraint, though an inner one like that which the passions impose; and the other sense is employed when freedom is contrasted with necessity. Employing the former sense, the Stoics said that only the wise man is free; and one's mind is indeed not free when it is possessed by a great passion, for then one cannot will as one should, i.e. with proper deliberation. It is in this way that God alone is perfectly free, and that created minds are free only in proportion as they are above passion; and this is a kind of freedom which pertains strictly to our understanding." Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, N ew Essays on Human Understanding, trans. Peter Remnant and Jonathan Bennett,
Cambridge Texts in the H istory of Philosophy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 175.
223 In other words, Spinoza may seem to identify the person with the faculty of reason, but in fact he does not do so to the exclusion of the body. Contrast this view with the view expressed in the widely used late Scholastic textbooks; cf. Paolo, Summa Philosophiae Quadrapartita, Third part, treatise IV, discourse I, question 2. Excerpt translated in Roger; Cottingham Ariew, John; Sorell, Tom, Descartes' Meditations :
Background Source Materials, Cambridge Philosophical Texts in Context (Cambridge ; N ew York: Cambridge
University Press, 1998). 224 The details of the relation between ideas and action in Spinoza's system will be discussed in a
subsequent section, below.
266
225 For a statement of Spinoza's anti-ascetic attitude, see 4p45s, where he says: "it is the part of a wise man, I say, to refresh and restore himself in moderation with pleasant food and drink, with scents, with the beauty of green plants, with decoration, music, sports, the theater, and other things of this kind, which anyone can use without injury to another." (4p45s; Curley, 572; Geb 11/244) This scholium will be revisited in the final chapter. 226 One result of Spinoza's parallelism is that physics and psychology are both basic sciences. Psychology cannot in principle be reduced to physics. For more on this, see For a discussion of psychology as a basic science in Spinoza, see Donald Davidson, "Spinoza's Causal Theory of the Affects," in Desire and Affect:
Spinoza as Psychologist, ed. Yirmiahu Yovel (New York: Little Room Press, 1999), especially 107-09.
227 Bennett seems to make the same mistake that Garrett does. He says, "my being free in the ld 7 sense is my being the cause of all that happens in me..." Yet ld 7 says, "that thing is called free which exists from the necessity of its nature alone, and is determined to act by itself alone." Clearly, Bennett represents ld 7 as only involving the second half of this definition. From this misrepresentation, he concludes, "so we can get from the 'freedom' which opens Part 1 to the 'freedom' which closes Part 4, and back again, through a chain of Spinozistic biconditionals. Two of them (linking self-caused with adequate, and that with reason) are doctrines of Spinoza's; the third (linking use of reason with living by its guidance) is not an announced doctrine, but it controls all Spinoza's arguments about living by the guidance of reason." Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 316-17. Other than this mistake, however, Garrett and Bennett generally agree with my discussion here. 228 For example: "the Mind, as far as it can, strives to imagine those things that increase or aid the Body's power of acting" (3pl2; Curley, 502; Geb 11/150). See also 4p8d, where Spinoza refers to the conatus doctrine in 3p7 as concerning our striving to increase our power. This move is not without some justification. In the first formulation, the conatus is our striving to persevere in our being. In the second, the conatus strives to maintain or increase our power of acting. First, Spinoza equates our power of acting with our ability to persevere, which is a plausible equation. Second, Spinoza slides from a striving for
267
mere perseverance or maintenance of power to the striving for an increase in power. This slide is justified, given the rest of Spinoza's psychology, for the following reason. The human conatus is just appetite, or desire. But the mind's desires are for that which brings Joy or pleasure, which in turn are things that
increase our power. At least in the case of human beings, then, we manifest our striving to persevere in
our being in a striving to increase our power. Therefore the slide from perseverance to increase in power is reasonable. 229 Delahunty agrees, saying, "but although Spinoza would deny that free will enters into assenting, he would nonetheless allow an important sense in which it remained true that assent could be called free or unfree. For when I an drawn to affirm that p by an adequate perception of the truth of 'p', I am maximally free, since true freedom is nothing other than to be determined to a certain response by the perception of compelling rational justification for that response." See Delahunty, Spinoza, 35. 230 4p26d; Curley, 559; Geb 11/227. 231 Hobbes, Hobbes and Bramhall on Liberty and Necessity, 30. 232 See 4p4 and its corollary. 233 Again, Bennett agrees, saying, "...Spinoza must be talking about degrees of freedom: when he says that a free man is F, he must mean that a man is F to the extent that he is free. Part 4 tells us how to move toward greater freedom, whereas Part 1 reminds us that we cannot go the whole way." See Steven L. Barbone and Lee Rice, "Spinoza and the Problem of Suicide," International Philosophical Quarterly 34, no. 2 (1994): 317. See also Hampshire, Spinoza and Spinozism, 107-08. 234 For a similar discussion of the relation between freedom and passion, see Steven Nadler, Spinozas
Heresy : Immortality and the Jewish M ind (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 133-39.
235 Certain Scholastics, for example Suarez, distinguished between mental acts and bodily acts, where mental acts included the formation of an intention. For more on this background, see Thomas Pink, "Suarez, Hobbes and the Scholastic Tradition in Action Theory," in The Will and Human Action: From
A n tiqu ity to the Present Day, ed. M.W.F Stone, and Thomas Pink (London: Routledge, 2003).
268
2 3 6Bennett, A
Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 324f.
237 Ron Sandler also argues forcefully that Spinoza can admit sensations and the first kind of knowledge in his unpublished dissertation. See Ronald Sandler, "Spinozas Ethical Theory," Wisconsin, 2001). 238 For a conclusive argument that the free man is not an ideal we try to emulate, see Daniel Garber, "Dr. Fischelson's Dilemma: Spinoza on Freedom and Sociability," in Spinoza on Reason and The "Free Man", ed. Yirmiahu Yovel (New York: Little Room Press, 2004). As Garber argues, the real motivator for human beings is to act from reason, not to emulate the ideal of the perfectly free man. Both Bennett and Garber suggest that this free man, which plays a real role in Spinoza's Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect, plays no role in the Ethics. 239 This discussion may be influenced by a similar discussion in Descartes, in the Third Meditation (CSMK II, 27; AT VII/39). 240 3p59s; Curley, 530; Geb 11/189. 241 For a discussion of Spinoza's egoism, see Michael Della Rocca, "Egoism and the Imitation of Affects in Spinoza," in Spinoza on Reason and the Free Man, ed. Yirmiahu Yovel (New York: Little Room Press, 2004). See also Garrett, "Spinoza's Ethical Theory," 302-04. One of the earliest discussions of Spinoza's ethical egoism is Charlie Broad, Five Types of Ethical Theory (Patterson, NJ: Littlefield-Adams, 1959). 242 For a criticism of psychological egoism from a contemporary evolutionary perspective, see Elliott Sober, and David Sloan Wilson, Unto Others: The Evolution and Psychology of Unselfish Behavior (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999). For an argument in favor of egoism, see Scott Berman, "A Defense of Psychological Egoism," in Desire, Identity, and Existence: Essays in Honor of T.M. Penner, ed. Naomi Reshotko (Edmonton, CA: Academic Print and Publishing, 2003). 243 3p58; Curley, 529; Geb 11/187. 244 3p59; Curley, 529; Geb 11/188. (University of
269
245 For an account of Spinozist action in the context of his determinism, see Rice, "Action in Spinoza's Account of Affectivity." 246 3p57s; Curley, 528-9; Geb 11/187. 247 3p29s; Curley, 510; Geb 11/162. 248 4p37s; Curley, 565; Geb 11/236. 249 See 4pl7, where Spinoza quotes Ovid's Medea. Interestingly, however, Spinoza often uses terms other than 'to act' in cases of passionate behavior. 3d2; Curley, 493; Geb 11/139. 251 For an excellent discussion of this seeming contradiction, see Michael LeBuffe, "Why Spinoza Tells People to Try to Preserve Their Being," Archiv fuer Geschichte der Philosophie 86, no. 2 (2004). 252 Somewhat similarly, Andrew Youpa argues that the length of one's life is not the aim of Spinozas egoism, but its quality. See Andrew Youpa, "Spinozistic Self-Preservation," Southern Journal of Philosophy 41, no. 3 (2003). 253 It is common to claim that psychological egoism and the 'ought implies can' principle together entail ethical egoism. For a dissenting view, see Terrance McConnell, "The Argument from Psychological Egoism to Ethical Egoism," Australasian Journal of Philosophy 56, no. May (1978). 254 4p20; Curley, 557; Geb 11/224. See also 4pl8s. 255 For a discussion of Spinoza's moral concepts, see Garrett, "Spinoza's Ethical Theory," 285-95. 256 To complicate matters, Spinoza provides a variant of this understanding of the good in the Preface to Part 4, where he says, "I shall understand by good what we know certainly is a means by which we may approach nearer and nearer to the model of human nature we have set before ourselves" (Curley, 545; Geb 11/208). Bennett takes the reference to a model of human nature to be a relic of an earlier draft. See Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, 296. 257 In addition to the LeBuffe article, see also John Carriero's excellent article John Carriero, "Spinoza on Final Causality," in Oxford Studies in Early M odem Philosophy, Vol. 2, ed. Steven Nadler and Daniel Garber
270
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). As far as I can tell, only LeBuffe seems to appreciate the importance of 3p9 for understanding Spinoza's doctrine of self-preservation. 258 For an in depth discussion of this issue, see LeBuffe, "Why Spinoza Tells People to Try to Preserve Their Being," 141n25. For a roughly similar yet less developed interpretation, see Garrett, "Spinoza's Ethical Theory," 302-05. For competing interpretations, see Della Rocca, "Spinoza's Metaphysical Psychology," 200-10, Mitchell Gabhart, "Spinoza on Self-Preservation and Self-Destruction," Journal of the
H istory of Philosophy 37, no. 4 (1999).
259 An interesting contrast can be found here between Spinoza and other thinkers concerning how to account for human weakness. Spinoza's naturalism, specifically, the view that humans are a part of the natural order, dictates that humans will always be acted upon, so that they will always suffer passions. So, the fact that humans are a part of nature is Spinoza's explanation for human weakness. Descartes, on the other hand, explains human weakness by reference to our dual nature. Our embodied state involves animal spirits constantly striking our pineal gland, such that our mind is inevitably filled with perceptions and passions. For Descartes, like Platonists before him, human weakness is caused by our
bodily nature. Pascal, Calvin, and others offer a postlapsarian explanation, citing the Fall of Man. See, for
example, Spinoza's Preface to Part 5, where he criticizes Descartes on these grounds. See also Passions of
the Soul, I, 34 (CSMK 1,341; AT XI/354). Finally, see Blaise Pascal, Pensees, trans. A. J. Krailsheimer (New
York: Penguin Books, 1966), 45. 260 For a discussion of suicide in Spinoza, see Gabhart, "Spinoza on Self-Preservation and SelfDestruction.", Jon Miller, "Stoics and Spinoza on Suicide," in Der Einfluss Des Hellenismus A u f Die
Philosophie Der Frtihen Neuzeit, ed. Gabor Boros (Flarrassowitz, 2005). See also his unpublished
dissertation, Jon Miller, "Spinoza and the Stoics," (University of Toronto, 2002). 261 Contrast this view with that of Hobbes, who says, "a Law of Nature is a precept or general rule, found out by reason, by which a man is forbidden to do that which is destructive of his life or taketh away the means of preserving the same, and to omit that by which he thinketh it may be best preserved." In other
271
words, nature dictates that we pursue our own interest. For example, for Hobbes, "that every man ought to endeavour peace" is such a law. See Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan : With Selected Variants from the Latin
Edition of 1668, trans. E. M. Curley (Indianapolis: Hackett Pub. Co., 1994), Part I, Ch.xiv, pp. 79 & 80.
262 This view may at first appear to be the denial of intentional suicide. For suicide or death by falling may not even cross the mind of the man who jumps from the burning building. Indeed, his mind could wholly be occupied by fear of the flames. This case is clearly not a problem for Spinoza, but neither is the case where the man realizes that jumping will bring his death. In the latter case, Spinoza would say, the man's desire to avoid the flames simply overwhelms his knowledge that jumping will bring his death. 263 Garrett's discussion of seemingly altruistic acts in Spinoza accords with my own. See Garrett, "Spinozas Ethical Theory," 302ff. 264 Spinoza presents this principle as a dictate of reason in 4p46, where he says, "he who lives according to the guidance of reason strives as far as he can, to repay the other's Hate, Anger, and Disdain toward him, with Love, or Nobility." (Curley, 572; Geb 11/245) 265 Note as well that Spinoza makes this famous claim - which amounts to the denial of a kind of teleology in human psychology - in the same scholium as where he has equated the conatus with desire. Much has been written about the allegedly non-teleological nature of Spinoza's conatus. Bennett takes desire to be completely non-teleological, neither representational ideas nor affects being efficacious; only the formal being of an idea is causally efficacious, he says. Against this, Della Rocca claims that both the formal and objective being of an idea is involved in mental causation. That is, the cognitive content of the idea is causally efficacious. I disagree with both authors, taking the affective aspect of an idea to be what determines its causal efficacy, not its representational content, nor its formal being. I would argue that my understanding of desire and the conatus could provide a new understanding of teleology in Spinoza, though that is a task for another day. See Jonathan Bennett, "Spinoza and Teleology: A Reply to Curley," in Spinoza: Issues and Directions, ed. E. M. Curley and Pierre-Fran^ois Moreau (Leiden: Brill, 1990), Bennett, A Study of Spinoza's Ethics, chapter 9 and pp. 261-62, E. M. Curley, "On Bennett's Spinoza: The
272
Issue of Teleology," in Spinoza: Issues and Directions, ed. E. M. Curley and Pierre-Fran^ois Moreau (Leiden: Brill, 1990), Della Rocca, "Spinoza's Metaphysical Psychology," 252-56, Jarrett, "Teleology and Spinoza's Doctrine of Final Causes." 2 3p9s; Curley, 500; Geb 11/148. 267 John Aubrey and Oliver Lawson Dick, Brief Lives (Ann Arbor,: University of Michigan Press, 1957), 157. 268 Introduced in Beyond the Pleasure Principle, Freud developed the notion of Todestreib in Civilization and
Its Discontents. See Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents, trans. James Strachey (New York:
W.W. Norton, 1938). 269 4p5; Curley, 549; Geb 11/214. 270 So Spinoza says in the Axiom to part 4: "there is no singular thing in nature than which there is not another more powerful and stronger. Whatever one is given, there is another more powerful by which the first can be destroyed." (Curley, 547; Geb 11/210) 271 Speaking generally of several thinkers in the 17th Century including Spinoza, Susan James says of the passions, "while they incite us to pursue our advantage, they do not enable us to make fine discriminations between beneficial and harmful states of affairs and often dispose us to bring about ends which are actually detrimental to our well-being. They are consequently described as arbitrary, unpredictable, enslaving, uncontrollable, and even pathological." She cites the Stoics as the origin of this view, specifically Stobaeus, and mentions Hobbes, Glanvill, Charleton, and Pascal as other 17th Century thinkers who hold this view. Susan James, "The Passions in Metaphysics and the Theory of Action," in The
Cambridge H istory of Seventeenth Century Philosophy, ed. Dan Garber and Michael Ayers (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1998), 914. See also A. A. Long, and D.N. Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 410-11. 272 See Donald Davidson, Essays on Actions and Events (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), 21-2. In some formulations, another necessary condition for an instance of strict akrasia is this: S is or believes
273
himself to be able to perform action x at time t. Spinoza does not discuss cases in which w e fail to choose an action in our interest out of a mistaken belief that we are incapable of said action. Further, this clause is really peripheral to what is most interesting in cases of strict akrasia, which is action in the face of contrary knowledge. As such, this additional condition will not concern us here. 273 For a discussion of the distinction between synchronic and diachronic akrasia in the context of a Socratic action theory, see Penner, "Socrates on the Strength of Knowledge: Protagoras 351b-357e." 274 Also conspicuously absent from Spinoza's discussion here is stability. This suggests that the experience of akrasia is not just a function of unstable beliefs and opinions, though Spinoza's discussion of vacillation suggests that he also allows for that to occur. Instead, in 4pl7 and the surrounding propositions, Spinoza is dealing only with strict akrasia. In Part 5, Spinoza does discuss the constancy of adequate knowledge, in that it is knowledge sub specie aetem itatis, but more on that in next chapter. 275 4pl7s; Curley, 5543; Geb 11/221. 276 Spinoza's account is not as fine-grained as any contemporary accounts in many ways. For example, strict akrasia is said to occur in an "all-things-considered judgment." The modifier "all-things-considered" does not fit well with Spinozas theory of mind, however, because it implies a theory of selective attention, which Spinoza does not have. To develop Spinoza's account further would require extrapolating from his text significantly, such that the account being given would no longer be Spinoza's but a contemporary Spinozist reconstruction. See note 73 for another way in which Spinoza's account does not make distinctions found in contemporary theories. For a reconstruction of Spinoza's action theory that does go beyond the text, see Section 8. 277 See also Koistinen, who makes a similar point, though his discussion is significantly different from my own. Koistinen, "Weakness of Will in Spinoza's Theory of Human Motivation," 16-18. 278 4pl4; Curley, 553; Geb n/219. 279 Alfred Mele raises an important challenge for any theory that allows for akrasia: how are we to determine a case of akrasia from one of compulsion? Alfred Mele, "Akratics and Addicts," American
274
Philosophical Quarterly 39, no. 2 (2002). Spinoza does not take up this question, so it is not clear how or
even whether he could make this distinction. Lin tries to offer other grounds for distinguishing between akratic action and compelled action, though I believe he fails in that regard. Lin, "Memory and Personal Identity in Spinoza." 280 As Michael Della Rocca has already discussed these details at length, I will largely follow him here. See Della Rocca, "Spinoza's Metaphysical Psychology." 281 3 Preface; Curley, 491; Geb 11/137. See also the Appendix to Part 1, as well as Bennett, A Study of
Spinoza's Ethics, 35-38. The aspect of Spinoza's naturalism at play here is both metaphysical and
explanatory. That is, he holds that all things are a part of Nature and that all events have natural causes and explanations. There may be strains of Spinoza's thought that are anti-naturalistic, however, such as his geometric method and his traditional placement of theology and metaphysics as the foundations of knowledge. For example, Spinoza's naturalism seems to contrast with Locke's view, according to which philosophers are epistemological under-laborers to the sciences. Locke, A n Essay Concerning Human
Understanding, 10. For a modem expression of a naturalism that would reject these aspects of Spinoza's
system, see the Introduction to David Papineau, Philosophical Naturalism (Oxford: Blackwell, 1993). According to Papineau, holding that "first philosophy" must rest on something firmer than empirical science is anti-naturalistic.
282 4 p 4
c- Curley, 549; Geb 11/213. in many ways, this corollary expresses Spinoza's commitment to a
certain kind of human weakness or fallibility. See also note 58 on human weakness, the Fall, and postlapsarianism. 288 4pl; Curley, 547; Geb 11/211. 284 4p7; Curley, 550; Geb 11/214. 285 For more on Spinoza's mechanistic psychology, see Allison, Benedict De Spinoza : A n Introduction, 108, Davidson, "Spinoza's Causal Theory of the Affects."
275
286
gee the end of the previous chapter, as well as the already discussed Garber, "Descartes and Spinoza
on Persistence and Conatus." For more on individuation in Spinoza, see Steven L. Barbone, "What Counts as an Individual for Spinoza?," in Spinoza: Metaphysical Themes, ed. Olli Koistinen (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), Lee Rice, "Spinoza on Individuation," in Spinoza: Essays in Interpretation, ed. Eugene Freeman and Maurice Mandelbaum (LaSalle: Open Court Press, 1975). 287 "The object of the idea constituting the human Mind is the Body..." (2pl3; Curley, 457; Geb 11/96).
288
por more on the notion of the mind as a spiritual automaton in Spinoza and subsequent thinkers, see
Lia Levy, Uautomate Spirituel (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2000). 289 See Chapter Two for more discussion on the affective aspect of cognitions and section 8, below.
290 4 pi 4
; Curley, 553; Geb 11/219.
291 4pl5; Curley, 553; Geb 11/220. 292 As commentators have noted, the term "true knowledge" sounds pleonastic, but it is meant to distinguish between adequate and inadequate ideas, both of which Spinoza calls kinds of knowledge. These terms are perhaps better translated as cognition, since the Latin for the three kinds of knowledge is
cognitio primi, secundi, et tertii generis.
293 4p9; Curley, 551; Geb 11/216. 294 3pl8d; Curley, 504; Geb 11/154. 295 Second Replies, CSMK II, 117; AT VII/166. 296 Della Rocca explains the interaction of affects in Spinoza by reference to an account of anticipation that captures the spirit of Spinoza's enterprise. This account is not in the text, however. Spinoza himself rooted the interaction of the affects in his rudimentary account of perception and imagination, as I have explained. Della Rocca's 'anticipation' may be a useful way to talk about this aspect of Spinoza's theory, without getting into the details of Spinoza's crude physical explanation of imagination. See Della Rocca, "Spinoza's Metaphysical Psychology," 227-30. 297 4pl0; Curley, 551; Geb 11/217. 298 4p60; Curley, 580; Geb 11/255.
276
299 4pl7s; Curley, 554; Geb 11/221. 300 2p42; Curley, 478; Geb 11/123. 301 5p28; Curley, 609; Geb 11/297.
302
4p27; Curley, 559; Geb 11/227.
303 2p7s; Curley, 451; Geb 11/90) 304 2pl3; Curley, 457; Geb 11/96.
Notes to Chapter Four

305 Ethics, 4pl7s; Curley, 554; Geb 11/221. 306 Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, HI.2.iii, 413. 307 Hume, Part III, Book II, Section iii; Ibid., 415. 308 ibid. 309 In this regard, Plato's solution has descendents in Davidson's later work on akrasia, as well as David Pears' work in the early 80s. [Citation here] 310 The example and way of speaking here is inspired by an example from Mele, p. 83. 3114p66s; Curley, 584; Geb 11/260; my emphasis. 312 For discussion of similarities and differences between Spinoza's moral psychology and that of various Stoics, see Firmin DeBrabander, "Psychotherapy and Moral Perfection: Spinoza and the Stoics on the Prospect of Happiness," in Stoicism: Traditions and Transformations, ed. Steven K. Strange and Jack Zupko (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ Pr, 2004), Susan James, "Spinoza the Stoic," in The Rise of M odem Philosophy, ed. Tom Sorell (Clarendon Press, 1993), Jon Miller, "Stoics, Grotius, and Spinoza on Moral Deliberation," in Hellenistic and Early M odem Philosophy, ed. Jon Miller (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ Pr, 2003), Derk Pereboom, "Stoic Psychotherapy in Descartes and Spinoza," Faith and Philosophy: Journal of the Society of
Christian Philosophers 11, no. 4 (1994). I will return briefly to the Stoic aspect of Spinoza's thought in the
final chapter.
277
313 See, for example, Epictetus, who asserts that the faculty of reason forms judgments, not a separate faculty. Epictetus, Discourses, trans. W.A. Oldfather (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1928), 1.1. 314 For an excellent overview of this aspect of Stoic action theory, see Brennan, "Stoic Moral Psychology." 315 Stampe, "The Authority of Desire," 380. 316 As Shafer-Landau points out, however, many cognitivists, such as Nagel and Wiggins, call themselves internalists. This is due, in part, to variant uses of the term intemalism. For more the current state of the debate on these issues, see Shafer-Landau's excellent article. Shafer-Landau, "A Defense of Motivational Extemalism." 317 Ibid.: 279.
i
318 Shafer-Landau's challenge that the internalist must show not only that judgment can lead to motivation, but that it m ust is accepted by Michael Brady. He argues for a conceptual connection between judgment and motivation. See Michael Brady, "Valuing, Desiring, and Normative Priority," The
Philosophical Quarterly 53 (2003).

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AKRASIA IN SPINOZA'S ETHICS by Eugene Marshall

Doctor of Philosophy (Philosophy)

at the UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN-MADISON 2006

UMI Number: 3245610

Copyright 2006 by Marshall, Eugene

All rights reserved.

Copyright by Eugene M arshall 2006 All Rights Reserved

Date of Final Oral Examination:

December 6, 2006 2006

Approval Signatures of Dissertation Committee

UWMN GRADUATE SCHOOL

0.1.1. A Very Brief History of Akrasia

0.1.2. Why Spinoza?

First of all, his theory is of historical

akrasia by positing a doctrine of anticipation. In fact, this doctrine of anticipation is the

experience that causes the impulses that direct our actions.

In other words, past

affective psychology, as we shall see below.

Chapter One: Theories of Akrasia

17 Socrates describes the alleged weakness of knowledge, saying, "most

features of H um e's moral psychology were already present in Spinoza.

1.1.5. Donald Davidson

judgm ents of value entail w ants or desires.

superiority of the better option.

These judgm ents do not tell us which is better

1.1.6. Alfred Mele

wherewithal to follow through. student's strict akratic action.

Either of these explanations could account for the

1.2.1. Strong Internalism

happiness, feels no desire to perform that act.

Chapter Two: Spinoza's Affective Psychology

I will return to this

Of the second kind of

2.1.2. The Account of Adequate Ideas

85 Further, Spinoza says, this idea of G od's essence is a d eq u a te .91 The

88 simplicity and eternity of a hypothetical or dependent form, for example, "given

For Spinoza, affects are ideas involving

chapter, the m ind's ideas m ay be inadequate or adequate.

For, Spinoza says, every particular mode of thought has another

In 2d3, Spinoza has emphasized the activity involved in ideas.

2.4.1. The Faculties, Redux

considered in a certain way. collection of affects.196

Chapter Three: Spinoza on Akrasia, An Exegesis

3.1.2. Akrasia and Parts of the Soul

For example, in his debate with

3.2.1. The Conatus and Egoism

According to Spinoza there, an irrational desire or passion overpowers or

of action (knowledge embodied in idea a).

So, we will act knowingly against our

3.3.3. The Relation Between Bondage and Akrasia

our good, we nonetheless are determ ined by passions.

Yet w hen we lack this

They m ay also be one of the three kinds of knowledge.

presented in Chapter One.

Chapter Four: Spinoza's Theory of Akrasia

4.1.1. Spinoza Contra the Strong Internalists

4.1.2. Spinoza Is Not an Externalist

Unlike the expressivists, however, Spinoza's

The first w eak internalist we surveyed was Plato.

For Plato, our better

In other circumstances, for example, those involving greed or ambition,

closely resembles Spinoza's is Alfred Mele's.

4.1.4. Spinoza and Mele

Akrasia in Spinoza's Ethics - Eugene Marshall

Akrasia in Spinoza's Ethics - Eugene Marshall