Digressions&Impressions

On An Unphilosophical Legislation of Utopia.

[1] But they report (and there remains good marks of it to make it credible) that this was no island at first, but a part of the continent. Utopus, that conquered it (whose name it still carries, for Abraxa was its first name), brought the rude and uncivilised inhabitants into such a good government, and to that measure of politeness, that they now far excel all the rest of mankind. Having soon subdued them, he designed to separate them from the continent, and to bring the sea quite round them. To accomplish this he ordered a deep channel to be dug, fifteen miles long; and that the natives might not think he treated them like slaves, he not only forced the inhabitants, but also his own soldiers, to labor in carrying it on. As he set a vast number of men to work, he, beyond all men’s expectations, brought it to a speedy conclusion....

[2] They say the whole scheme of the town was designed at first by Utopus, but he left all that belonged to the ornament and improvement of it to be added by those that should come after him, that being too much for one man to bring to perfection. Their records, that contain the history of their town and State, are preserved with an exact care, and run backwards seventeen hundred and sixty years [244BC].

[3] At the first constitution of their government, Utopus having understood that before his coming among them the old inhabitants had been engaged in great quarrels concerning religion, by which they were so divided among themselves, that he found it an easy thing to conquer them, since, instead of uniting their forces against him, every different party in religion fought by themselves. After he had subdued them he made a law that every man might be of what religion he pleased, and might endeavor to draw others to it by the force of argument and by amicable and modest ways, but without bitterness against those of other opinions; but that he ought to use no other force but that of persuasion, and was neither to mix with it reproaches nor violence; and such as did otherwise were to be condemned to banishment or slavery. This law was made by Utopus, not only for preserving the public peace, which he saw suffered much by daily contentions and irreconcilable heats, but because he thought the interest of religion itself required it.--Thomas More, Utopia

While much of the narrative  of book 2 of Utopia is focused on the present, the reader also learns quite a bit about the origin of the polity. While More himself is no Aristotelian, and so may be unmoved by this consideration, an explanation is incomplete without analysis of the origin, which is of independent interest.Above I have collected the three main passages pertaining to the pre-history and founding of Utopia. 

We learn that its origin is in conquest. The original inhabitants lived on a peninsula. This peninsula was eminently defensible, but they lost their freedom for two reasons: first, they were technologically inferior to the conquerors; second, they were dis-unified due to religious disagreements. The latter is significant because it shows that the effects of religion on the dispositions conducive to unity cannot be ignored by those who wish to remain politically independent.

Unusually, the conquest is not followed by permanent subordination, slavery, or destruction of the original inhabitants by the conquerors. For the conquerors are force-ably leveled down and put to work. This has the symbolic significance that the conqueror and conquered are treated equally. It also symbolizes two further facts: first, it dignifies work and, in particular, public works.  Second, no permanent leisure or extractive renter class is permitted to emerge. More subtly, Utopus is ehibited not just as a skillful military commander, but also a kind of despot capable of forcing his own followers to do things against their will (and presumably expectation).

In the previous paragraph I used 'public work.' But the digging of the channel turns the peninsula into an island. This exhibits the control by mankind over nature aimed at in Utopia (which anticipates New Atlantis in this respect).* A further effect is to turn the society into a fortified castle. While it's not the main focus of the description of Utopia, military prowess, even imperial conquest, is not an irrelevant element of its ongoing function (recall this post too).

As an aside, it's unclear how the initial succession of Utopus was arranged. But (eventually) Utopia has evolved into an elective principality. This prince is chosen for life but can be removed if he appears to wish to become a tyrant. He has power to punish crimes, and to pardon them (because he has kept the "prerogative.") In other respects the elected prince has not much further power (except that I assume he is at the head of armed forces).

To return to the main point. Utopus's design for utopia is deliberately unfinished in various respects; it presupposes the possibility of open-ended economic and aesthetic progress ('ornament and improvement'). I am not claiming that modernity is here first invented, but it is a notable break from the more cyclical template(s) that can be found in the classical models to which More richly alludes. 

The possibility of open-ended progress can also be found (recall) in the laws of religion. This is an unusual mixture of requiring core doctrinal agreement about a few core dogmas -- in particular, that souls are immortal and will be punished/rewarded in the afterlife; that God is watchful and providential -- all of which quite clearly conducive to enforcing morality on earth, while simultaneously allowing religious innovation outside the core. However, such religious innovation is, in turn, constrained by the requirements of public order. (All of this anticipates the outlines of Spinoza's position.) The state religion is, with those qualifications, broadly ecumenical and tolerant in spirit. The underlying idea is the product of the fact that "Utopus judged it not fit to determine anything rashly; and seemed to doubt whether those different forms of religion might not all come from God, who might inspire man in a different manner, and be pleased with this variety." Underlying this is the providential idea -- often attributed to J.S. Mill --  that in the long run through the force of polite arguments truth will prevail "he imagined that the native force of truth would at last break forth and shine bright, if supported only by the strength of argument, and attended to with a gentle and unprejudiced mind.")

There is more to be said about this. But the important point is this. Utopus anticipates the Rousseau-ian legislator who introduces and sets a constitution on sound footing and then becomes dispensable. Notably, while there is room for technological and medical innovation on the island, there is little room for genuine political philosophy (or [recall] civilized philosophy) or even speculation (or school philosophy) on Utopia. Moreover, there is little evidence he was guided by such philosophy. This last point may be speculative, but it is made explicit in one of the poems (often attributed to Peter Gilles) that accompanied Utopia in its early printings.

My king and conqueror Utopus by name,
A prince of much renown and immortal fame,
Has made me an isle that once no island was,
Full fraught with worldly wealth,

with pleasure and solace.
I one of all other without philosophy,
Have shaped for many a philosophical city.
And mine I have nothing dangerous to impart,
So better to receive I am ready
with all my heart.*--probably Peter Gilles.

 My only reservation is that the judgment on the philosophical character of Utopia (the city) is incomplete without further evaluation of the blue print in light of the conversations (and the different polities) described in Book I. But that's for another time.

On Ibn Khaldun, Biblical Criticism and Spinoza and Hume

For example, al-Mas'udi and many other historians report that Moses counted the army of the Israelites in the desert. He had all those able to carry arms, especially those twenty years and older, pass muster. There turned out to be 600,000 or more. In this connection, (al-Mas'udi)  forgets to take into consideration whether Egypt and Syria could possibly have held such a number of soldiers. Every realm may have as large a militia as it can hold and support, but no more. This fact is attested by well-known customs and familiar conditions. Moreover, an army of this size cannot march or fight as a unit. The whole available territory would be too small for it. If it were in battle formation, it would extend two, three, or more times beyond the field of vision.
How, then, could two such parties fight with each other, or one battle formation gain the upper hand when one flank does not know what the other flank is doing! The situation at the present day testifies to the correctness of this statement. The past resembles the future more than one (drop of) water another. Furthermore, the realm of the Persians was much greater than that of the Israelites. This fact is attested by Nebuchadnezzar's victory over them. He swallowed up their country and gained complete control over it. He also destroyed Jerusalem,their religious and political capital. And he was merely one of the officials of the province of Fars. It is said that he was the governor of the western border region. The Persian provinces of the two 'Iraqs, Khurasan, Transoxania, and the region of Derbend on the Caspian  Sea were much larger than the realm of the Israelites. Yet, the Persian army did not attain such a number or even approach it. The greatest concentration  of Persian troops, at al-Qadisiyah, amounted to 120,000 men, all of whom had their retainers. This is according to Sayf  who said that with their retainers they amounted to over 200,000 persons. According to 'A'ishah and az- Zuhri, the troop concentration with which Rustum advanced against  Sa'd at al-Qadisiyah amounted to only 60,000 men, all of whom had their retainers.
Then, if the Israelites had really amounted to such a number, the extent of the area under their  rule would have been larger, for the size of administrative units and provinces under a particular dynasty is in direct proportion to the size of its militia and the groups that support the  (dynasty), as will be explained in the section on provinces in the first book. Now, it is well known that the territory of the (Israelites) did not comprise an area larger than the Jordan province and Palestine in Syria and the region of Medina and Khaybar in the Hijaz.--Ibn Khaldun, The Muqaddimah, Translated by Franz Rosenthal.

The quoted passage is from the Introduction to the Muqaddimah. As I have noted before (here and here) the book is embedded in a framework derived from Aristotelian science.* To say this is revealing in lots of ways, but today I want to point to some of his evidential strategies -- Ibn Khaldun calls it "probing with the yardstick of philosophy...[and]  the help of knowledge of the nature of things...speculation and historical insight" -- in which he anticipates methods we are more likely to associate with Spinoza and Hume. I have quoted the first, instructive example of the claim that "historians, Qur'an commentators and leading transmitters have committed frequent errors in the stories and events they reported." The underlying point is to show how one can do source criticism by appealing to non-demonstrative principles that, nevertheless, have the status of robust commitments or generalizations that help one constrain or interpret the data (or some causal claim, etc.). I will call such principles, practical, empirical generalizations. 

Here are some such practical generalizations.

• [A] Every realm may have as large a militia as it can hold and support, but no more.
• [B] An army has [given technological and physiological constraints] a maximum size in which it can fight as a unit.
  • The size of an army/militia is constrained by the requirements of battle-field communication;
  • The size of an army/militia is constrained by field of vision;
• [C] The size of administrative units and provinces under a particular dynasty is in direct proportion to the size of its militia and the groups that support the (dynasty),

The epistemic status of such practical, empirical generalizations is grounded in or based on historical and practical experiences, reflection on human and social nature, underlying political economy, demographics, group psychology,and principles of analogy (etc.). As Ibn Khaldun says, he will show the robust veracity of [C] in a separate chapter. I don't mean to suggest that these are only empirical generalizations. For example, [A] borders on a tautology. But the point of [A] is not to offer an a priori truth, but to make the reader reflect on the demographic, geographic, and economic, !etc.) constraints on the possible size of a militia.  And given the plausibility of such constraints [A] can, in turn, by an informed constraint on the interpretation of source material. (Hume is a master of using informed and empirically grounded constraints to sift data in his work on demographics and political economy. This works in both directions.)

In addition, in practice, [A-C] also assume a further principle of human nature:

• [D] that if military might exists, it will be used to expand territory until it gets checked by an opposing power. 

This principle, [D], is the conatus/will-to-power principle of Ibn Khaldun's historiography. In order to avoid misunderstanding, I don't mean to suggest that for Ibn Khaldun that military power is sui generis or an explanatory primitive; it is grounded in group feeling, demography, economy, leadership qualities, etc. 

Of course, some of the claims that Ibn Khaldun's source criticism relies on are not merely such practical generalizations, but they are connected to more fundamental metaphysical principles. So, for example, one of the principles he explicitly relies (again see the quote above)on is this:

• [E] The past resembles the future,

That Ibn Khaldun embraces [E] is especially notable because he also thinks an unthinking reliance on a version of [E] is simultaneously one of greatest dangers in the writing history because it can license (i) a form of anachronism that prevents understanding of the past (this is familiar enough), and (ii) also (and more interesting) a misunderstanding of the present based on familiarity with works of history. The example he offers is that the content and status of particular political and legal offices have, without changing names, dramatically shifted in character. So, he claims that in the early caliphate and also the conquest of Spain a judge was often somebody who either had the power of the sword or was very closely affiliated to the center of power (due to group feeling); in his own age the judge is more an administrative functionary.+ Contemporary readers, may misunderstand their own time, and "aspire to similar positions" if they think that judges are still at the center of political power.

The last paragraph also hints at the fact that point of source criticism for Ibn Khaldun history is not just an understanding of the past, but also a better understanding of the present. In addition, Ibn Khaldun recognizes that works of history can motivate readers to courses of action. Some other time I return to that. 

Here I want to close with a final observation because the title of this post promises something riviting than Ibn Khaldun's source criticism. In the quoted passage, Ibn Khaldun calls attention to the greatest military victory of early Islam, the battle at al-Qadisiyah. In this battle the numerically inferior Arabs defeated one of the great superpowers of the Ancient worlds, the mighty Persian Sassanid empire. It opened the 'East' to Muslim expansion. The significance of the battle would have been familiar to Ibn Khaldun's readers and a source of group pride. 

Ibn Khaldun's official point of reminding the reader of this famous battle is to undermine the plausibility of historians's reports that Moses's army turned out to be 600,000 or more. Such an army would have been the basis of world domination not the occupation of a small bit of territory. Ibn Khaldun deftly shows that this number is implausibly large.

The interest of the example is, however, not just illustrative correction of bad scholarship. There is a more important point lurking here. For the implausibly large number is (as is well known) in the Biblical source-material. Numbers 1: 45-46 states, "And all those that were numbered of the children of Israel by their fathers' houses, from twenty years old and upward, all that were able to go forth to war in Israel; even all those that were numbered were six hundred thousand and three thousand and five hundred and fifty." As it happens, the Quran recounts the story of exodus and the further exploits of Moses and Israelites, but without the claim to (exaggerated) exactitude of the sort the Hebrew Bible offers.

So, it is quite clear that the historians that Ibn Khaldun criticizes have embellished their account of the Biblical history re-narrated by the Quran by glancing at the Hebrew Bible (itself a sacred text familiar to Muslim scholars). The error is in the historical source not just the scholarship. What to do? After engaging in such source criticism, a pious and prudent scholar can't respond by claiming that the error "occurs only in the Torah which as is well  known, was altered by the Jews" (for reasons of self-aggrandizement, bias, etc.). Even to an Islamic scholar this response is unavailable "since custom prevents people who have a revealed religion from dealing with their divine scriptures in such a matter."

The problem is obvious, if one allows that sacred Hebrew scripture has been corrupted by interests motivated by group-loyalty one is stuck claiming that it is possible other sacred scriptures could also have been corrupted. This is the road to Spinozism. 

From the vantage point of Spinozism, Ibn Khaldun's response is disappointing. He claims that such passages have to be treated as miracles. This is not the end of the matter, of course, because one must understand what a miracle is. But that's for another time. Here I close with the observation that for Ibn Khaldun one can only speak of such miracles after engaging with source criticism. And this means that he has quietly invited us to apply his methods also to the Quran.

 

Ibn Rushd and Functional Explanation of Scriptures

Copulation ought not to be permitted them [the guardians] whenever they wish and with whomever they wish, since we wish that this activity be human among them and that their copulations not be of any chance character. The arrangement of their procreation will be the best possible with respect to their conditions of guardianship, but at fixed times an with determined individuals and characteristics. This is, as it were, common to the other conventions and Laws [Shari'a], though as it appears the adherents of the Laws differ from one another in the force of the statements. We ourselves will here briefly what Plato asserts about these things.---Ibn Rushd on Plato's Republic, the first treatise, 54.20-8, translated by Ralph Lerner.

At the start of the quoted passage, Ibn Rushd is referring to the breading program of the guardians of Socrates's Kallipolis (see Republic, 457-8). It is part of a larger passage, which is explicitly presented as a what "he said" (see 54.19).* But at the second to last sentence of the quoted passage he has slipped into his own voice, something he then calls attention to in the last sentence. The next paragraph then starts with a "we say,"and Ibn Rushd is officially speaking in his own voice. But what concerns me here is the second to last sentence {This is, as it were, common to the other conventions and Laws [Shari'a], though as it appears the adherents of the Laws differ from one another in the force of the statements.} This claim is not in the Republic, and it's Ibn Rushd's addition. 

But to see what's at stake we must first turn to the first sentences of Ibn Rushd's commentary on Plato's Republic; these tell us that Ibn Rushd's "epitome" only presents the scientific, that is, demonstrative elements of the Republic. (Ibn Rushd claims to have  removed the dialectical arguments.) To be clear, Ibn Rushd does not present a summary of the Republic, but rather only conveys the bits that can be taken to be true,+ and useful (because it is a practical science).  So, this is an epitome in both senses: it's the best parts of the Republic and a synopsis.

As an aside, the most immediately striking omissions are that Book I of the Republic is skipped almost entirely (because as he says at the of the  third and final treatise, "it is entirely dialectical arguments") and the contents of Book 10 are barely conveyed. In addition, the dialogical structure of the Republic is entirely effaced. Socrates himself is only mentioned once, en passant, to remind the reader that Socrates chose death when he could not serve the polity anymore.** Ibn Rushd mentions this to convey accurately one of Socrates's claims (that physicians should not cure those who can't contribute in their functional role to society anymore), but this detail is absent in the Republic.

Okay, let me return to the main point. Two key claims of Ibn Rushd's Decisive Treatise are (a) that the hidden meaning of allegorical interpretation of Scriptures should not be shared with the masses, and (b) that (recall) such hidden knowledge can only put in texts that are demonstrative treatises, but these may only circulate among the cognitive elite. As I noted, the reason for (a) is that Ibn Rushd thinks this is the cause of (religious and political) faction; the reason for (b) is that the demonstrative sciences are recondite, and so ordinarily of little interest to the masses. (One can imagine him thinking that a text about Plato would be of even less interest!) Of course, the commentary on the Republic, does not advertise itself as offering evidence of the hidden meaning of Scriptures as revealed by allegorical interpretation. And, now we can return to the point at hand.

In the passage, Ibn Rushd is claiming that Kallipolis is not the only political constitution in which constraints on copulation serve an eugenic or domestic/artificial selective purpose. He says that this is also the point of other polities, including Islamic Sharia. And, in fact, the Quran and the Haddith, regulate, for example, when sex is and is not allowed. De facto, Ibn Rushd is offering a functional explanation of the meaning behind some of Scriptural practices.++ Another function of Sharia is to point (or to use the language of the Decisive Treatise, indicate) to the significance of good governance and good counsel (48.17).

A very important instance of Ibn Rushd's engaging with a kind of functional interpretation of Scripture occurs just after he has explained why woman ought not just be, in principle, guardians (as they are in Kallipolis), but that there is empirical evidence that they can be quite capable warriors (praising the Berber, female warriors of the dessert). And just before he goes on to explain (recall) that the institutions of his own time have the effect of dumbing down women (and causing economic hardship), he briefly pauses to note that Sharia has a tendency to prevent women from being part of the clerisy. He explains this fact as a consequence of an empirical regularity in which -- presumably in the time of revelation -- there are fewer capable women. But as the next page makes clear this regularity is itself a consequence of badly designed institutions. So, here, Ibn Rushd comes extremely close to saying that Scriptures didn't know any better based on the empirical evidence available; and that [the author(s) of] Scripture lacked the demonstrative understanding to correct for this. So, this is a case in which the hidden functionality of Scriptures reveals a defective understanding of nature.***

 

Íbn Rushd and the Meaning of Scripture

[A] So we affirm definitely that whenever the conclusion of a demonstration is in conflict with the apparent meaning of Scripture, that apparent meaning admits of allegorical interpretation according to the rules for such interpretation in Arabic. [B] This proposition is questioned by no Muslim and doubted by no believer. But (a) its certainty is immensely increased for those who have had close dealings with this idea and put it to the test, and (b) made it their aim to reconcile the assertions of intellect and tradition. [C] Indeed we may say that whenever a statement in Scripture conflicts in its apparent meaning with a conclusion of demonstration, [C*] if Scripture is considered carefully, and the rest of its contents searched page by page, there will invariably be found among the expressions of Scripture something which in its apparent meaning bears witness to that allegorical interpretation or comes close to bearing witness.--Ibn Rushd, Decisive Treatise, Chapter 2, Translated by George Hourani. [Letters added--ES]

Earlier in the Decisive Treatise, Ibn Rushd had established that Scripture cannot conflict with demonstrative knowledge/science. The first sentence of the quoted passage [A] is an implication of Ibn Rushd's tendency to rationalize scripture. So, that allegorical interpretations of Scripture are invited whenever these are required to have Scripture come out true by the lights of demonstration/reason and when the apparent meaning of the text would seem to violate it. (Spinoza scholars are familiar with this position because it is the one Spinoza attributes to Maimonides and criticizes; I ignore here the tricky question to what degree, if any, Ibn Rush influenced Maimonides or the other way around.)

As an aside, it is notable that [A] is explicitly treated by Ibn Rushd as a kind of political axiom, and so perhaps constitutive, of the Muslim community: [B] "This proposition is questioned by no Muslim and doubted by no believer." And he goes on to point out that while the axiom [B] is accepted unquestionably, those few, the cognitive elite,+ that put it to work (a) both come to hold it more firmly [suggesting that unquestioned acceptance is perhaps more fragile than it seems] and (b) end up being committed to a reconciliation project between science and revelation/traditional religion. the ways in which inherited religion and reason can be reconciled. (What the exact relationship between (a) and (b) is, is left unclear--perhaps the Arabic makes clear if this conceptual, logical, or contingent.)

This reconciliation project by the cognitive elite presupposes that Scripture is (and this anticipates Spinoza) primarily aimed at the masses who require opinions to be "guided." That is, Scripture is fundamentally a work of social, ethical, and political significance. (In the first sentence of this paragraph, I say 'primarily' because Ibn Rushd also claims that the apparent tension between reason and Scripture are deliberately there "in order to draw the attention of those who are well grounded in science to the interpretation which reconciles them,"--that is to say, Ibn Rushd claims that Scripture has an esoteric message for those that can understand.) The reconciliation project is explicitly not in the service of public Enlightenment because Ibn Rushd argues later in the Decisive Treatise that (recall) allegorical interpretations by the cognitive  elite should not be shared with ordinary folk. This may entail that the reconciliation project is merely for private edification of the cognitive elite.* 

The final sentence [C] is extraordinary. And it can be taken in (at least) two ways: first, the pious way affirms the miracle of Scripture, which is a holistic work in which any passage can, when taken literally be used,to illuminate some  obscure or evidently false passages, which require allegorical interpretation by the cognitive elite. Second, the scandalous way, which suggests that Scripture can be made to say literally just about anything that, in the hands of the skilled cognitive elite, can support the truths they already know!** 

 

On a Humean Debate with Plato over Enthusiasm (and poetry/demagogues).

We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; and this is common both to poetry and madness, that the vivacity they bestow on the ideas is not deriv'd from the particular situations or connexions of the objects of these ideas, but from the present temper and disposition of the person. But how great soever the pitch may be, to which this vivacity rises, 'tis evident, that in poetry it never has the same feeling with that which arises in the mind, when we reason, tho' even upon the lowest species of probability. The mind can easily distinguish betwixt the one and the other; and whatever emotion the poetical enthusiasm may give to the spirits, 'tis still the mere phantom of belief or persuasion.--David Hume, Treatise 1.3.10.10.*

I have noted before that Hume's relationship to poetry is rather complicated (recall here and a bit here). I even even claimed (at the time now four years ago) that according to Hume we need to read poetry for what it reveals about us and its discerning the limits of mortal possibility. One may worry, however, that the quoted passage above suggests a rather deflationary attitude toward poets. Hume makes two claims here: first, that while all of us can be moved by poetry equally, the cognitive or epistemic effects of poetry are due to the character and disposition of the person impacted by it. Second, that regardless of its (shall we say) emotional impact, poetry cannot make us really believe what is not.  

One may well wonder who would think otherwise. Before I get to that, I want to pause at Hume's use of 'poetical enthusiasm.' Today, ‘enthusiasm’ means something like ardor—an energetic interest in a topic. Enthusiasm is derived (via Latin and French) from the  Greek enthousiasmos "divine inspiration, enthusiasm (produced by certain kinds of music, etc.)," and enthousiazein "be inspired or possessed by a god, be rapt, be in ecstasy," from entheos "divinely inspired, possessed by a god."

Of course, Hume primarily uses ‘enthusiasm’ to describe species of religious fervor (see his famous essay, “Of Superstition and Enthusiasm”). While Hume stance is, in general derogatory toward enthusiasm (a form of religious zeal), he recognizes that enthusiasm is grounded in at least some dispositions worth having: “hope, pride, presumption, a warm imagination, together with ignorance, are, therefore, the true sources of enthusiasm.” Moreover, he thinks that while in the short run enthusiasm generates fanaticism, in the long run it can have good political effects in the service of liberty.

Okay, let's return to Treatise, 1.3.3.10. It's worth asking who the target of Hume's remarks are. I suspect they were prompted by Shaftesbury's (1707) "Letter Concerning Enthusiasm," (included in the Characteristics of Men). For in historicizing fashion, Shaftesbury thinks the poets among the ancients (but not the moderns),+ were capable of inspiring belief in what is not (just as modern false religious enthusiasts are also so capable according to him).** The ultimate target here is, of course, Plato or somebody inspired by Plato:

Stop now and tell me, Ion, without reserve what I may choose to ask you: when you give a good recitation and specially thrill your audience, either with the lay of Odysseus leaping forth on to the threshold, revealing himself to the suitors and pouring out the arrows before his feet, or of Achilles dashing at Hector, or some part of the sad story of Andromache or of Hecuba, or of Priam, are you then in your senses, or are you carried out of yourself, and does your soul in an ecstasy suppose herself to be among the scenes you are describing, whether they be in Ithaca, or in Troy, or as the poems may chance to place them? (Ion 535B-C)

Indeed, Socrates uses one such connate (of enthusiasm) to describe poetic frenzy. To be sure, it’s not used to capture the frenzied mania of divine inspiration, but rather to represent the phenomenal experience – the what it’s like – of a poet’s loss of self or identity, in presentating or performing her poem. (Greek poetry is meant to be  performed.) In context (Ion 235b-c), the poetic-performance ecstasy entails that the poet leaves her own body at a particular space and time, and mentally transports himself to the represented reality (somewhere else in time),++ the scenes described. Plato has the poet, Ion, affirm the experience: "I will tell you without reserve: when I relate a tale of woe, my eyes are filled with tears; and when it is of fear or awe, my hair stands on end with terror, and my heart leaps." (Ion 535)

The described effect is politically important because (sophistic) rhetoric produces, in Socrates’s reported experience, an analogous effect on its audience (see Menexenus 235a-c): "they bewitch our souls...when thus praised by them feel mightily ennobled, and every time I listen fascinated I am exalted and imagine myself to have become all at once taller and nobler and more handsome," (etc.). As I noted before (recall here, here, and here), De Grouchy, who lived through the French revolution, was very concerned about the effect of enthusiastic modern, demagogues who may well appear to believe their own rhetoric.

Let's close with Hume. It's possible he was convinced by, say, Shaftesbury that poetic enthusiasm was no political danger at all anymore; that the dangers could be contained by increased freedom of speech, especially the freedom of raillery "for against serious Extravagances and splenetick Humours there is no other Remedy than this." But the way Hume argues in the Treatise he seems to think that given human nature, there is simply little danger that we can be made to believe something just by beautiful words alone. As he put it, "there is something weak and imperfect amidst all that seeming vehemence of thought and sentiment, which attends the fictions of poetry." (1.3.10.10) While Plato may be thought to take the problem too seriously, and to ignore the downside risks of banishing the poets, one may even be tempted to accuse Hume of some complacency in the other direction (if we didn't have Hume's later writings ).

But there is a more interesting point lurking in Hume's position. There is no doubt Hume thinks that enthusiasm can produce strong emotions that make us behave as if we believe its fictions; spirits are excited and our attention is roused. But Hume suggests that if one looks closely there is no firm conviction. People want to believe pleasing poets and demagogues -- as Nietzsche noted "man would rather will nothingness than not will," -- and will express behavior that makes it seem they do. (And the art of demagogues is to make his audience hear what it wants.) But Hume tells us to look more closely, and what one finds is not melancholy, as Shaftesbury thought, but a fragile weakness ("something weak and imperfect"). This entails, I think, that the responsible, political response to enthusiasm should be directed at finding ways of acknowledging this fragility and redirecting it to less harmful ends.

 

 

Darwin's (meta)-Philosophy of Science In The Origin of Species (and a note on his subtle Spinozism and debts to Smith)

The belief that species were immutable productions was almost unavoidable as long as the history of the world was thought to be of short duration; and now that we have acquired some idea of the lapse of time, we are too apt to assume, without proof, that the geological record is so perfect that it would have afforded us plain evidence of the mutation of species, if they had undergone mutation.

But the chief cause of our natural unwillingness to admit that one species has given birth to other and distinct species, is that we are always slow in admitting any great change of which we do not see the intermediate steps. The difficulty is the same as that felt by so many geologists, when Lyell first insisted that long lines of inland cliffs had been formed, and great valleys excavated, by the slow action of the coast-waves. The mind cannot possibly grasp the full meaning of the term of a hundred million years; it cannot add up and perceive the full effects of many slight variations, accumulated during an almost infinite number of generations.

Although I am fully convinced of the truth of the views given in this volume under the form of an abstract, I by no means expect to convince experienced naturalists whose minds are stocked with a multitude of facts all viewed, during a long course of years, from a point of view directly opposite to mine. It is so easy to hide our ignorance under such expressions as the `plan of creation,' `unity of design,' &c., and to think that we give an explanation when we only restate a fact. Any one whose disposition leads him to attach more weight to unexplained difficulties than to the explanation of a certain number of facts will certainly reject my theory. A few naturalists, endowed with much flexibility of mind, and who have already begun to doubt on the immutability of species, may be influenced by this volume; but I look with confidence to the future, to young and rising naturalists, who will be able to view both sides of the question with impartiality. Whoever is led to believe that species are mutable will do good service by conscientiously expressing his conviction; for only thus can the load of prejudice by which this subject is overwhelmed be removed.--Charles Darwin The Origin of Species, Chapter 14.

Yesterday (recall), I remarked that Darwin likes to bookend/frame his arguments in terms of the ignorance of savages (recall also here). In later editions (from the third onward) of Origin this is accompanied by a further framing: in An Historical Sketch, Darwin gives an informed (albeit potted) history of the "progress of opinion on the origin of species" leading up to "the publication of the edition of the work." The book closes with a kind "prophetic glance into futurity"* in which Darwin sketches a trajectory for the reception of his book which I have quoted above. Of course, the rhetorical point of both (the historical sketch) and the quoted passage above is to promote and influence the uptake of Darwin's theory (and, perhaps, to reward him with  proper credit for the relevant bits of it).

Ever since the work of D.T. Campbell (on 'evolutionary epistemology' a term coined by him in Popper's (1974) Schilpp volume) and David Hull (with his evolutionary approach to development of Science) the idea of applying evolutionary ideas to knowledge has been thoroughly worked out and covers many different kinds of projects. The SEP article by Bradie and Harms suggests that Dewey and the pragmatists were the first to to do so. But I am convinced that evolutionary ideas about knowledge precede Darwin and may well have influenced the development of his views in biology (that's for another time). Even so, the purpose of the present post is to look at how Darwin conceptualizes the sociology of knowledge. 

1. The first sentence above suggests that ideas in biology are influenced by ideas about or dependent on cosmogony/cosmology. That's no surprise because as Darwin is at pains to emphasize, his theory requires an almost unimaginable lengthening of the age of the Earth. For those steeped in Christianity that's a problem; but even among christian deists there was a steady increase in the possible age of the Earth from the seventeenth century onward. Spinozists, of course, had no trouble allowing that the age of the Earth extended backward into infinity (as space was infinite).  That is to say, Darwin is acutely aware that the uptake of his ideas about the living world are influenced by what is taken to be possible and reasonable in other domains of inquiry.

2. The second sentence, which restates an important evidential objection against Darwin's theory, reinforces that first point and recalls his ninth chapter which was devoted to refuting the objection. His response there is really three-fold: the geological record has not been exhausted yet; the geological record will always be incomplete (due to constraints on fossilization, and the submersion of previous lands into oceans, etc.); the study of the geological record is itself influenced by the recent "the revolution in our palaeontological ideas." That is, while Darwin is a gradualist about the evolution of species, Darwin conceives of development of disciplinary knowledge as capable of revolutions in thought. I am convinced this idea is indebted to Smith's History of Astronomy.+ Despite the existence of such revolutions, his own 'historical sketch' suggests that there is progress in knowledge. So Darwin is using 'revolution' not in the old-fashioned sense of a circular understanding of knowledge (time, orbits, etc.) but more in the modern sense of a dramatic change, which can (but need not) be an important advance,

Incidentally, as an aside, my mention of Spinozism is not innocent; in that ninth chapter he also writes, "During each of these years, over the whole world, the land and the water has been peopled by hosts of living forms. What an infinite number of generations, which the mind cannot grasp, must have succeeded each other in the long roll of years!" While I am happy to concede to a skeptic that all Darwin needs to be saying here is that there has been a very huge number of generations beyond the mind's possible conception, his use of 'infinite' is politically dangerous--because that implies there need not have been a start at all.** This infinity is repeated in the passage quoted above. 

3. In the second quoted paragraph Darwin then offers a non-epistemic, but psychological error-theory for why a community of enquirers, may be resistant to the uptake of his theory. He claims it is a psychological fact that we require to see intermediate steps before we grant the existence of a great change. And if those steps are not easily visible, we are "always slow" in admitting any "great change." The psychology here is indebted to Smith's psychological-epistemic account (see my book) of how gaps prevent the mind to go along with any claim (and even generate the  painful emotion of wonder--which prompts us to further inquiry). We recoil from such gaps. 

4. This is related to a further psychological point which closes the second paragraph: from the vantage point of the minds of individual epistemic agents, the claims made in geology and in Darwin's theory are fundamentally hard if not impossible to grasp. The point is a quirky one, but can be understood if we take the idea of gaps seriously. It is impossible to inspect visually or manually, as it were, each step in an (unfolding) infinite series. Even if we avoid Zeno style paradoxes here, there is simply no time or resources to do so. The would be knower here, has to allow a form of abstraction that jumps over any would be gaps.++

5. Darwin then closes with a now familiar thought (often attributed to Planck -- "A new scientific truth does not triumph by convincing its opponents and making them see the light, but rather because its opponents eventually die, and a new generation grows up that is familiar with it --) that scientists who grew up with different conceptual framework are likely to resist to come around to his theory. The epistemic significant point is that Darwin again expresses the idea that background ideas influence the uptake of new theories. In this case the background ideas are deeply entrenched in alternative paradigm. 

6. In addition, Darwin points out that there are really two main kinds of stances toward a theory: (i) one can have a disposition" to attach more weight to unexplained difficulties; (ii) and a disposition that attaches more weight "to the explanation of a certain number of facts." The first (i) is a skeptical disposition; the second (ii) is a confirmatory disposition. The interesting point here is that Darwin recognizes that (i) is a legitimate position and that he does not try to argue against it. But it's clear he thinks that this is nonthreatening because such characters may well find even more problems with other theories.

7. Darwin assumes that the community of knowers is populated with epistemic agents that have different epistemic characters. For in addition to (i-ii), it turns out that (iii) flexibility of mind, and (iv) young age (which he claims is correlated with impartiality) may also impact the uptake of new theories. (I don't mean to suggest there can't be hybrids of i-iv for Darwin.) That is, not unlike his theory of plants and animals, Darwin assumes natural variability within epistemic communities. 

8. Okay, this is a long-ish blog post now. So, one closing observation. The selection mechanism here, which is a kind of bottleneck, is the mind and its  disposition of the epistemic agent. So, it strikes me that Darwin is edging close to a theory of cultural evolution of which his meta-philosophy of science is an example.

On Operatic (and political) Desire and Celebrity

And then I savour the subtle
longing in their eyes
when, from my visible charms,
they guess at the beauty concealed.
This onrush of desire
surrounds me.
It delights me, it delights me.--From Puccini's La Boheme (Musetta), libretto Luigi Illica en Giuseppe Giacosa.  Translation: William Fense Weaver 

We went to La Boheme at Covent Garden last night. It was a true gift from my wife (who generally finds nineteenth century music insufferable). It was a warm Summer evening, and after a day of grading all I wanted to do is sit in the garden and eat crackers with cheese (with honey). My wife has been suffering from migraines, which made me uneasy about the crowds in town. Besides my concern, and modest guilt about my lack of gratitude, I was sad to miss the Brazilians play. But when we grabbed a quick bite of pizza, my wife spotted a copy of Lampedusa's The Leopard (recall) in the  window frame next to the bar area. It was clearly put there, with fake nonchalance, part of the restaurant's marketing. I took it as a good omen.

I had never been inside before, and after an appreciative look at the new atrium we found our way to the main hall. While nothing beats an opera staged in an ancient ruin -- my dad introduced me to opera in Veroná's arena when I was a doubting fifteen year old --, I love houses that keep the audience close to the stage and packed up high. Before I eased into the music, I had a moment of anxiety about the effect of the pungent smell from all the perfume on my wife. 

It was a simple and aesthetically tasteful, (and given the bohemian subject matter) perhaps too tasteful, production. The audience, too polite--I missed the rowdy Italian commentary. The stage, during the second act in Quartier Latin, showed signs of shops that echoed a sanitized image of Parisian storefronts to be found in the streets outside of Covent Garden; on our way I had noticed that the Balthazar Bistro had been franchised to London. On our way home, we bumped into the homeless. Seeing the stage design I wanted to tell my wife about how we would get free steak frites at midnight from the bartender at Balthazars on Spring street because one of my college housemates would bake their bread.

I have quoted from the show-shopping moment in Musetta's great comic scene (sung marvelously in an upbeat waltz** by an athletic and hysterically funny Vlada Borovko). La Boheme figures longing poets and philosophers without much to say. (I learned a new term for such philosophers, they are bearish.) A disquieting recognition took hold of me. Even in the rare moments of self-knowledge, they fail to act on their ideals or desires.

The action of the second scene takes place inside Café Momus (while writing this post I was pleased to discover it really existed once). Momus is the god of satire; but I suddenly remembered, from researching Hume's interest in Lucian, that Lucian presents Momus as a xenophobe who postures frank directness in the name of a kind of common sense morality (indeed, see here). I made a mental note to re-read Lucian soon.

In the version I saw, Musetta is standing on the tables at Café Momus, outside and inside crowds, are watching her every movement. Musetta adores being the subject of other people's desire. Earlier in the scene, the insatiability of rather sterile desire for commodities -- personified by Christmas shopping --had been thoroughly mocked. But the desire for Musetta is made to feel vital, even (ahh) inspiring.

Since Amia Srinivasan's now famous piece, I have been made to feel my meekness on the politics of desire (recall). In consumer culture desire is shaped to secure and directed at the profitable fruits of commodification. This much is familiar enough. But because the end of desire is thought in terms of (impersonal) goods, subjects of desire are often left out of the equation (or made to appear gendered [Kate Mann is very good on this in her Down Girl] passive, submissive, attentive and malleable). To be the subject of unwanted desire is unpleasant, and often worse. 

But to be the agent and shaper of welcome desire may be thrilling and empowering. I don't deny there is a petty version of this that is a needy even narcissistic desire for celebrity which follows from self-loathing or worse. This focuses attention on dazzling surface properties to disguise the emptiness within.

But there is another kind which redirects attention -- as Musetta proudly notes -- from the surface to hidden qualities. This other kind, which, in the eternal overflowing now, it's its own reward because (as Spinoza -- acquiescentia in se ipso sit-- noted) it may instantiate a vibrant self-acceptance.*

 

 

 

Spinoza and the Origin of Utilitarianism

This, then, is the end for which I strive, to attain to such a character myself, and to endeavor that many should attain to it with me. (2) In other words, it is part of my happiness to lend a helping hand, that many others may understand even as I do, so that their understanding and desire may entirely agree with my own. (3) In order to bring this about, it is necessary to understand as much of nature as will enable us to attain to the aforesaid character, and also to form a social order such as is most conducive to the attainment of this character by the greatest number with the least difficulty and danger.--Spinoza, Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect. (Translated by Translated by R. H. M. Elwes)

Yesterday, Beth Lord discussed the quoted passage from the unfinished Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect (TIE) in a terrific paper on Spinoza in London. My present remarks are orthogonal to her purposes and are intended as a homage to her lecture. As Lord noted, at the start of the TIE, Spinoza here calls attention to an important political orientation within his larger project of TIE.+ In one sense this is, of course, no surprise because the very first few sentences of TIE are set in opposition to the vanity and emptiness/futility of communal life [communi vita...vana et futilia esse] and against the pursuit of wealth and recognition [honore ac divitiis]. The latter are rejected, in part, because they are uncertain. One wonders if Spinoza would endorse such worldly pursuits if one could guarantee the outcome.*

As an aside, while one should not read too much into this -- Spinoza is echoing here classical tropes about the unpredictability of  the wheel of fortune -- it seems that he is  sensitive to the fact that market outcomes involve a level of chance. (I say markets because of the context in Amsterdam and the family business.)  

Spinoza makes a striking claim about the ordinary pursuit of wealth and fame/recognition: "the more we acquire, the greater is our delight" (quo plus utriusque possidetur, eo magis augetur laetitia) For Spinoza, wealth and fame both involve increasing (marginal) subjective utility, at least in ordinary life. By contrast, sensuous pleasure -- Spinoza is adamant on the contrast --  involve diminished marginal subjective utility in ordinary life.** Of course, I am putting this in anachronistic terms. (I am not suggesting that Spinoza anticipates the marginalist revolution or is working with indifference curves.) In addition, according to Spinoza (and here he anticipates Smith and De Grouchy) if we fail to acquire wealth and fame, when we wish for it, we feel such lack more intensely. 

Either way, for Spinoza a true good is neither risky nor unsteady in its possession. It's also something that does not diminish in quantity or value if others share in it (this very much echoes Seneca). In fact, Spinoza is explicit that his pleasure increases if others share in true goods with him. This means that individually, he is properly incentivized to be philanthropic in his orientation ("it is part of my happiness to lend a helping hand" to others). The political task is to ensure that (a) institutions of society are so organized that individual pleasures are conducive to the public, true good, and (b) that this is attainable by the the greatest number with (c) the least amount of cost and risk  ("deinde formare talem societatem, qualis est desideranda, ut quamplurimi quam facillime, et secure eo pervenian").

On (a): it is important that these individual pleasures are themselves of a kind with the true good. (Mandeville saw this relationship was not necessary; but his conception of what the public good is, is radically different from Spinoza here--for Spinoza's public choice anticipations see here.) On (b): Spinoza here democratizes Seneca style Stoicism. (I am not claiming he is the first to do so--after all, Christian Stoicism has a pre-history to Spinoza as I learned from Christopher Brooke's book [recall].) And in so doing he is edging toward a form of utilitarianism of the  sort familiar from eighteenth century thinkers like Hutcheson, Beccaria, and Helvétius. On (c): I don't think Spinoza means that in one's institutional design of the social order one can trade off number and costs/risk; rather, I think he means that given the same number of people that can share in the true good, a cheaper and less riskier social order is preferable over one that is costly and riskier. This is the kind of reasoning that leads to a welfare state. In the context of TIE, the last sentence is clearly speculative (he never returns to the social order in it)--but it is informed by  Spinoza's emphasis in his political works on the political importance of reducing and redirecting daily fears.

Obviously, there are important differences between Spinoza and the eighteenth century figures just mentioned; and I certainly do not intend to suggest that Spinoza anticipates a Benthamite calculus. For the Dutch Republic's anticipation of such matters one ought to turn to the De la Court brothers and the uses of probability&utility theory by Hudde, Huygens, and De Witt leading up to Bernoulli. But it's also striking that (again not unlike Pascal) in the context of the rejection of the ordinary market place morality, Spinoza develops the kind of moves that will become familiar in a slightly different register.

On Spinoza, Freedom of Expression (Dutch Tolerance) and Demagogues

Now we have seen that in forming a state the power of making laws must either be vested in the body of the citizens, or in a portion of them, or in one man. For, although mens free judgments are very diverse, each one thinking that he alone knows everything, and although complete unanimity of feeling and speech is out of the question, it is impossible to preserve peace, unless individuals abdicate their right of acting entirely on their own judgment. Therefore, the individual justly cedes the right of free action, though not of free reason and judgment; no one can act against the authorities without danger to the state, though his feelings and judgment may be at variance therewith; he may even speak against them, provided that he does so from rational conviction, not from fraud, anger, or hatred, and provided that he does not attempt to introduce any change on his private authority.

For instance, supposing a man shows that a law is repugnant to sound reason, and should therefore be repealed; if he submits his opinion to the judgment of the authorities (who, alone, have the right of making and repealing laws), and meanwhile acts in nowise contrary to that law, he has deserved well of the state, and has behaved as a good citizen should; but if he accuses the authorities of injustice, and stirs up the people against them, or if he seditiously strives to abrogate the law without their consent, he is a mere agitator and rebel.

Thus we see how an individual may declare and teach what he believes, without injury to the authority of his rulers, or to the public peace; namely, by leaving in their hands the entire power of legislation as it affects action, and by doing nothing against their laws, though he be compelled often to act in contradiction to what he believes, and openly feels, to be best.

Such a course can be taken without detriment to justice and dutifulness, nay, it is the one which a just and dutiful man would adopt. We have shown that justice is dependent on the laws of the authorities, so that no one who contravenes their accepted decrees can be just, while the highest regard for duty, as we have pointed out in the preceding chapter, is exercised in maintaining public peace and tranquillity; these could not be preserved if every man were to live as he pleased; therefore it is no less than undutiful for a man to act contrary to his country’s laws, for if the practice became universal the ruin of states would necessarily follow.

...

From the fundamental notions of a state, we have discovered how a man may exercise free judgment without detriment to the supreme power: from the same premises we can no less easily determine what opinions would be seditious. Evidently those which by their very nature nullify the compact by which the right of free action was ceded. For instance, a man who holds that the supreme power has no rights over him, or that promises ought not to be kept, or that everyone should live as he pleases, or other doctrines of this nature in direct opposition to the above-mentioned contract, is seditious, not so much from his actual opinions and judgment, as from the deeds which they involve; for he who maintains such theories abrogates the contract which tacitly, or openly, he made with his rulers. Other opinions which do not involve acts violating the contract, such as revenge, anger, and the like, are not seditious, unless it be in some corrupt state, where superstitious and ambitious persons, unable to endure men of learning, are so popular with the multitude that their word is more valued than the law.

However, I do not deny that there are some doctrines which, while they are apparently only concerned with abstract truths and falsehoods, are yet propounded and published with unworthy motives. This question we have discussed in Chapter XV., and shown that reason should nevertheless remain unshackled. If we hold to the principle that a man’s loyalty to the state should be judged, like his loyalty to God, from his actions only — namely, from his charity towards his neighbours; we cannot doubt that the best government will allow freedom of philosophical speculation no less than of religious belief. I confess that from such freedom inconveniences may sometimes arise, but what question was ever settled so wisely that no abuses could possibly spring therefrom? He who seeks to regulate everything by law, is more likely to arouse vices than to reform them. It is best to grant what cannot be abolished, even though it be in itself harmful. How many evils spring from luxury, envy, avarice, drunkenness, and the like, yet these are tolerated — vices as they are — because they cannot be prevented by legal enactments. How much more then should free thought be granted, seeing that it is in itself a virtue and that it cannot be crushed! Besides, the evil results can easily be checked, as I will show, by the secular authorities, not to mention that such freedom is absolutely necessary for progress in science and the liberal arts: for no man follows such pursuits to advantage unless his judgment be entirely free and unhampered.--Spinoza, Theological Political Treatise, chapter 20.

One of the peculiarities of Dutch political life is that with help of some public intellectuals and politicians, Spinoza has become the hero of Enlightenment freedom of expression. I used to think the motives for this were primarily antisemitic: to use a model second generation immigrant, a Jew -- usefully one exiled by his intolerant contemporaries ,-- to criticize Muslims (often second and third generation immigrants); if only Muslims had their own Enlightenment!* (I am, perhaps, rather too fond of teaching Al-Farabi and Ibn Rushd as predecessors of Spinoza.)

I don't mean to deny that there is also a sense in which Spinoza's arguments here prefigure a central and recognizable component of existing Dutch political culture: the firm acknowledgment that no human institution will be free from annoying byproducts (or externalities), but that attempts to rid the world  of all those byproducts will both undermine the institution that's worth having as well as make matters worse. That is he teaches that even well formed states will have to tolerate a level of unruly inconvenience that are predictable fruits of their best features. 

Now, I used to point out that Spinoza makes an uncomfortable hero of freedom of expression given that his view on the matter is so illiberal (from the perspective of, say, Mill's imperfect version):+ he leaves the ruling powers a lot of room in labeling some views as seditious, especially because he explicitly allows that the implications of some views can be grounds for the judgment. But in recent years, I have come to see this is one reason why Spinoza is so popular among otherwise rather conservative and status quo friendly thinkers. This becomes clear if we notice three consequences of his views.

For, while Spinoza allows some polite criticism of the rulers, the ruling power(s) may not be accused of injustice. This entails that (i) Spinoza's approach allows one to criticize the views of the powerless more than the powerful. In addition, (ii) Spinoza rules out all civil disobedience. In addition,  even though Spinoza agrees with Machiavelli (and others) that expressions of anger are important epistemic signals about bad ruling and the malfunctioning of society's institutions, (iii) Spinoza is suspicious of public expressions of anger--these can be labeled irrational and (potentially) seditious. Here Spinoza makes a good target for those suspicious of Stoic aversion to anger (recall Srinivasian and Audre Lorde). For modern advocates of Spinoza's views these (i-iii) are not bugs, but welcome features because they facilitate an ideology in which critical minorities need to know their place.

But in re-reading Spinoza recently, I recognized his thought is more complex. He really has two doctrines: one for well-formed states and one for corrupt states. In neither one is allowed to accuse the government of injustice (so that remains illiberal). But strikingly in well-formed states there is much wider latitude for the public expression of anger and other vehement emotions. The reason for this is that here Spinoza treats the division between well-formed and corrupt state in terms of susceptibility to demagogues. In the corrupt state anti-intellectual demagogues are dangerously popular.

Spinoza's point is clear, I think. In well-formed states expressions of anger are a means toward starting the process of improving public policy by judicious politicians. By contrast, in states where demagogues can ride waves of anger and superstitious fear they really threaten to undermine the purpose of the polity which is to make all citizens feel secure and free. Spinoza here does justice to the insights of both the critics and advocates of the permissibly of anger in public life. The question is, then, if one grants the insight to a Spinozistic political philosopher, how one can recognize to what degree one's state is among the relatively healthy or relatively corrupt such that one can minimize the downside risks of getting it wrong.  

Huygens on Causal Isolation, Light, and Simultaneity (again) [part I]

I am of opinion then that every Sun is surrounded with a Whirl-pool or Vortex of Matter in a very swift Motion; tho not in the least like Cartes’s either in their bulk, or manner of Motion. For Cartes makes his so large, as everyone of them to touch all the others round them, in a flat Surface, just as you have seen the Bladders that Boys blow up in Soap-suds do: and would have the whole Vortex to move round the same way. But the Angles of every Vortex will be no small hindrance to such a Motion. Then the whole matter moving round at once, upon the Axis as it were of a Cylinder, did not a little puzzle him in giving Reasons for the Roundness of the Sun: which however they may satisfy some People that do not consider them, really prove nothing of the matter. In this æthereal matter the Planets float, and are carry’d round by its motion: and the thing that keeps them in their own Orbs is, that they themselves, and the matter in which they swim. equally strive to fly out from the Center of this Motion. Against all which there are many Astronomical Objections, some of which I touch’d upon in my Essay of the Causes of Gravity. Where I gave another account of the Planets not deserting their own Orbs; which is their Gravitation towards the Sun. I show’d there the Causes of that Gravitation, and cannot but wonder that Cartes, the first man that ever began to talk reasonably of that matter, should never meddle with, or light on it. Plutarch in his Book of the Moon above mentioned says, that some of the Antients were of opinion, that the reason of the Moon’s keeping her Orbit was, that the force of her Circular Motion was exactly equal to her Gravity, the one of which pull’d her to, as much as the Other forc’d her off from the Centre. And in our Age Alphonsus Borellus, who was of this same opinion in the other Planets as well as the Moon, makes the Gravitation of the primary Planets to be towards the Sun, as that of the secondary is towards the Planets round which they move: Which Mr. Isaac Newton has more fully explained, with a great deal of pains and subtilty; and how from that cause proceeds the Ellipticity of the Orbs of the Planets, found out by Kepler. According to my Notion of the Gravitation of the Planets to the Sun, the matter of his Vortex must not all move the same way, but after such a manner as to have its parts carry’d different ways on all sides. And yet there is no fear of its being destroy’d by such an irregular motion, because the æther round it, which is at rest, keeps the parts of it from flying out. With the help of such a Vortex as this I have pretended in that Essay to explain the Gravity of Bodies on this Earth, and all the effects of it. And I suppose there may be the same cause as well of the Gravitation of the Planers, and of our Earth among the rest, towards the Sun, as of their Roundness: a thing so very hard to give an account of in Cartes’s System.

I must differ from him too in the bigness of the Vortices, for I cannot allow them to be so large as he would make them. I would have them dispers’d all about the immense space, like so many little Whirl-pools of Water, that one makes by the stirring of a stick in any large Pond or River, a great way distant from one another. And as their motions do not all intermix or communicate with one another; so in my opinion must the Vortices of Stars be plac’d as not to hinder one anothers free Circumrotations.

So that we may be secure, and never fear that they will swallow up or destroy one another; for that was a mere fancy of Cartes’s; when he was showing how a fix’d Star or Sun might be turn’d into a Planet. And ’tis plain, that when he writ it, he had no thoughts of the immense distance of the Stars from one another; particularly, by this one thing, that he would have a Comet as soon as ever it comes into our Vortex, to be seen by us. Which is as absurd as can be. For how could a Star, which gives us such a vast Light only from the Reflection of the Beams of the Sun, as he himself owns they do; how I say could that be so plainly seen at a distance ten thousand times larger than the Diameter of the Earth’s Orbit? He could not but know that all round the Sun there is a vast Extensum; so vast, that in Copernicus’s System the magnus Orbis is counted but a point in comparison with it. But indeed all the whole story of Comets and Planets, and the Production of the World, is founded upon such poor and trifling grounds, that I have often wonder’d how an ingenious man could spend all that pains in making such fancies hang together. For my part, I shall be very well contented, and shall count I have done a great matter, if I can but come to any knowleg[d]e of the nature of things, as they now are, never troubling my head about their beginning, or how they were made, knowing that to be out of the reach of human Knowle[d]ge, or even Conjecture.--C. Huygens, Cosmotheoros. "Every Sun has a Vortex round it, very different from those of Cartes"

The long quoted passage is the concluding section of Huygens's posthumous Cosmotheoros. I have quoted (and discussed) it before (recall here). It is notable that the book closes with a frontal attack on Descartes's cosmology and cosmogony. These are trifling fancies. Huygens introduces his own book as "fancy," but his is founded on probabilities (and analogies).Scholars sometimes call Huygens a 'Cartesian;' despite their shared commitment to mechanical philosophy, that was always problematic because Huygens's early work on Saturn reveals a platonizing sensibility absent in Descartes. But this late work reveals he is clearly a disillusioned Cartesian  (recall also yesterday's biting criticisms of Descartes's account of animals).

As an aside, the paragraph may also be a subtle dig at Isaac Newton. For the first edition of the Principia (the only one Huygens would have read) closes with some cosmological and cosmogenic speculations about the role of comet in the economy of life in the universe. It's not that Huygens can be against some such speculation, but perhaps he thought it inappropriate for a work in mathematical natural philosophy. 

It is also notable that this closing paragraph is the first and only explicit mention of Newton (there is one earlier allusion) in the whole book. Huygens here is, in fact, rejecting two features of Newton's physics: the law of universal gravity. That is, (i) Huygens is limiting the inverse square law to the bodies of the solar system. (With George Smith, I have explained his empirical argument for doing so.) And (ii) Huygens is rejecting Newton's implicit constraints on any explanation of the cause of gravity--for Huygens bodies are not centers of attraction. And so in Huygens's account of the mechanism of the cause of gravity (something Newton claimed to be agnostic about) the Sun plays no role (see his treatment in the Discourse on Gravity).+ A key background claim for (ii) is spelled out in the Cosmotheoros: (iii) Huygens introduces a fixed ether that fully surrounds the solar system, and each solar system, to keep the system of vertices of each solar system in  place. 

This ether has three important properties: (iv) it is strong enough to keep the system of vertices of each solar system in place; (v) the ability to absorb energy in such a way such as (v*) to prevent causal interaction among the motions of each solar system; while (vi) to allow light waves to be transmitted among solar systems. To the best of my knowledge Huygens does not investigate these properties of this ether. (But it would be worth looking at his papers.) In particular, (iv-v) imply that (vii) this ether must have non-negligible mass and so (vii*) Huygens's (quasi) universal ether is different in character than the ether Newton toys with in the Opticks in order to explain universal gravity. Newton's ether has negligible mass (and so is causally trivial).

There are two very interesting consequence of Huygens's way of conceiving things, the first one he is explicit about the second one not: (viii) even if the motions of the planets are not themselves in stable equilibrium (they are "irregular"), each solar system is in equilibrium due to the universal ether that keeps it in  place ("never fear that they will swallow up or destroy one another"). As Huygens hints this result cannot be assured in Newton's system (without Divine intervention). (ix) Each solar system may have its own gravitational laws that reflect the stable equilibrium of its system of vertices (held in place by the universal ether). While the physics of this is un-Newtonian, in Book I of the Principia, Newton had actually provided the series of gravitational models (with different force laws) that could have given Huygens the thought.

Now, let's grant Huygens the properties of his universal ether. And I ignore interesting questions about the relative motions, if any, among each solar system. (Huygens seems to be implying that the universal ether is at rest or moving uniformly.) Some other time I wish to return to my discussion about simultaneity in Huygens (and Newton). But here I close by calling attention to the following: (x) there is a tension between (v*) and (vi). For, how can each solar system be causally isolated yet somehow allow the transmission of light among them? This would make light, as it were, causally epiphenomenal. The problem does not go away by pointing to the wave theory of light.++  While light is propagated in waves, for Huygens (xi) light is itself matter in motion.+++ So, from (xi) and (vi) it follows that (xii) even solar systems separated by the ether cannot really be causally isolated because matter is exchanged among them through light.++++