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(\wrteny of “Opinion
. His Company H as Shunned
His Writings H’ere Proscribed .
T HKRK arc those of the great to whom glory
comes like an accolade of thunder: stren
uous beings who with brandished fists and
roaring throats force the very heavens to sing
their praise. But there are others no less great
to whom glory comes like the dawn-wind, and of
them it is less easy to write. There may be drama
in their lives, but it is for the most part inward;
there may be glamor, but it is largely concealed.
And therefore the biographers pass them by. For
example, Baruch de Spinoza: of commentaries on
his thought there are scores and hundreds, but of
accounts of his life there are exceedingly few.
Clearly enough, the career of that humble lens-
grinder has had little appeal for the tellers of
tales. It contained too little of physical storm to
lend itself to dramatic writing, too little of blood
and bluster and tears. It might have contained
more, much more; for Spinoza’s times encourages
such extravagancies. But the man himself did not.
He was excommunicated in his youth, and hounded
from the ghetto in which he had been reared; his
company was shunned, his writings were pro
scribed. his very life was menaced. Yet, with
supernal aloofness, this Jew rarely troubled to
fight back. “'The wise man," he once declared,
"being conscious of a certain eternal necessity in
whatever exists or occurs, is scarcely ever dis
turbed in his mind." And Spinoza was supremely
a wise man.
And just that, from the point of view of the
biographer, was perhaps Spinoza's sorriest failing.
There was no recklessness in the man, no eager
ness to fling himself on those who harried him,
no readiness to go down in a gory brawl. Not
that he was dead to such all-too-human impulses.
On the contrary, they surged in him throughout
his life, and with urgency that once and again
he was compelled to give vent to them. But,
save for those extremely rare lapses, he was able
to rein them in. He made his mind the sovereign
By Lewis Browne
This year mark» the tercentenary cele
bration of Baruch de Spinoza’s birth,
greatest Jewish philosopher since the
prophets. For this occasion Lewis Browne,
the distinguished author of '‘This Believ
ing H'orld,” "Calvary ” etc. etc., con
tributes this brilliant article which revol
utionizes the generally accepted estimate
of the "God Intoxicated Man."
of his being, and by dint of intellect so
restrained his passions as to rid his life
almost completely of the conflict which
is the warp and woof of drama.
And perhaps that is why so little heed
has ever been paid to Spinoza as a man.
I^essing, Goethe, Shelley, Coleridge—
they were all profoundly stirred by his
thought; but none of them ever wrote
of his life. Byron once talked of doing
so; but nothing came of his words. Like
ly enough he decided the man’s life was
too virtuous to deserve recounting. "It
is perhaps as difficult to write a good
life,” says Lytton Strachcy, "as to live
one.” True. But to write a good life
of a man who himself lived one—that
is perhaps impossible!
Yet, impossible as it may be, the task is
worth essaying. Biographical literature, especially
these latter days, positively crawls with eccen-
m
tries, monsters, fools, and blatherskites. But rare
is the life-story of a good man. And therefore
the biography of such a one as Spinoza is pecu
liarly deserving to be retold. Here is a man who
was indisputably good. Kven his pious contem
poraries had to concede that to him. They con
sidered his ideas pernicious and abominable, and
his books the sinkholes of Satan’s own lies. \ et
his conduct, they were forced to admit, was ex
emplary. His unflagging love of the contempla
tive life, his utter disinterestedness in fame or for
tune, his fortitude in the face of wasting disease,
his patience under relentless persecution, his sweet
ness, gentility, and superlative tolerance—these
were virtues which none could deny in him. Not
until centuries later did his romantic admirers be
gin to describe him as the "holy outcast” and the
"God-intoxicated man.” But even at the time
of his death his barber already spoke of him as
"Mr. Spinoza of blessed memory.”
Yes, he was a good man. But that is not all.
In addition he was a wise man—one of the wisest
that ever lived. And it is this combination that
makes Spinoza's life shine out like a lamp in the
dark that cloaks our world. He was no saint by
the grace of God; he was a good man by virtue
of deliberate reasoning. It was no dread of Hell
or dream of Heaven that kept him from wicked
ness; he drew upon no other worldly faith for
strength to withstand fate’s bludgeonings. He
was a realist, his eyes never closed like a child’s
when wishing, but wide open and aware of the
actual.
And therefore, being under no delusions, Spinoza
could be good without impassioned straining. 'There
was nothing of the ascetic in him, nothing of the
embittered no-sayer who says no only because he
fears to say yes. If he denied himself pleasant
luxuries, and even common comforts, it was not
because he saw a virtue in denial. Rather it was
because his absorption in the quest for truth made
him indifferent to all lesser goods. "It is supersti
tion," he taught, "that sets up sadness as good,
and all that tends to joy as evil. . . . Yes, it is
the part of a wise man to use the things of this
life, and enjoy them to the full.”
That is why one finds in his writings no trace
of those repressions which rise from the mouths
of the conventional saints like stench from hidden
carrion. The man was integrated, never lunging
frenziedlv to lay hold of some abstinence, and
LEWIS BROWNE
. . . His estimate of the "God Intoxicated Man.’
then falling back in hysterical despair. He was
secure in goodness, serene in his joy of life—
because he let reason guide his steps. "Whatever
accords with reason,” he wrote, "is in my belief
most conducive to the practice of virtue.” And
in his own life that belief was completely vali
dated.
There are those who say that he carried reason
too far—that he thought with such excessive
acuteness and inexorable logic as to devour and
absorb the very objects of thought. 'They say
that he reduced all life to nullity; the "ultimate
truth" discovered by his relentless rationalism
seems but an empty equation made up of a God
who is nothing and a world that is less than
nothing. . . . But the fact remains that he who
cleaved to such rationalism was himself a happy
man. And that fact, demonstrated as clearly in
his life as in his words, is the final refutation of
the carping of the mysticists.
Many volumes have been written on Spinoza’s
philosophy and, in this year which marks the ter
centenary of his birth, many more such volumes
are being written. 'That is good, for his philosophy
is all too little known in the world, and even less
understood. But it would be good also if his life
were better known, for it is the most convincing
proof of his philosophy. 'These are days when men
are once more moved to doubt the saving power
of logic. But here was a life ruled completely
by logic—and who shall say it was not saved?
Copyrighted 1952 (or The Soithifn Israelite
* THE SOUTHERN ISRAELITE
Spinoza--the i
Lens-Crinderl