Speculative Grace: Spinoza, Immanence, & Affect

In this post, I'd like to continue exploring some side trails related to my experimental port of grace into a non-theistic context. 

This week, I offer an assortment of reflections on Spinoza, theism, and grace. A few points interest me in particular: (1) Spinoza's adherence to a thoroughly immanent ontology, (2) Spinoza's wholesale rejection of any overarching teleology (or goal-driven purpose) as characteristic of reality, and (3) Spinoza's conception of grace (or "blessedness") in the context of this ateleological immanence.

I. With Respect to Theism & the Nature of Reality

A few points with respect to Spinoza's general, metaphysical claims in the Ethics.

1. Spinoza claims that there is only one self-caused substance, that everything else exists in this substance as a modification of it (e.g., human beings are localized, finite modifications of this one substance), and that this infinite substance is God. 

Most of these claims will not be of any use with respect to the work of experimentally porting grace onto a nontheistic platform. For instance, the kind of non-theistic ontology I've previously elaborated is founded on the rejection of claims that (1) reality has a single source or underlying unity, and (2) anything can be impassibly self-caused.

2. But it does follow from Spinoza's understanding of God/Substance that immanence is the rule. Everything that exists is immanent to God and immanent to the rest of what is contained "in" God. This strict immanence - or "flatness" - that allows no ontological exception to this single substance is a welcome opening move.

3. It also follows for Spinoza that because there is only one substance, nothing else exists that could influence or interrupt the unfolding of this substance according to its own nature. Because it unfolds only according to its own nature, everything that happens within it occurs absolutely and necessarily as it must.

In short, determinism follows: every effect is determined necessarily and without remainder by the causes that preceded it. 

However, again, a non-theistic ontology would likely need to disagree with the premise that there is a water-tight causal "order" to the whole of how everything unfolds. The kind of non-theistic ontology we've explored in previous posts would not begin from a single point (it would be fundamentally multiple) and it's order of self-organization would be contingently rather than necessarily produced.

What, then, is salutary about Spinoza's determinism? It is welcome in that it introduces "the unconditional" (in the form of "necessity") as constitutive of the internal unfolding of substance. Because a preeminent mark of grace is its "unconditionality", we might (to paraphrase Novalis) describe Spinoza as a "grace-intoxicated man": the whole of reality is given without condition.

Without claiming a water-tight determinism as fundamental, a non-theistic ontology would still want to claim that the real is saturated with this kind of unconditionality. However, rather than claiming that necessity is unconditionally necessary, we would instead want to claim (following Quentin Meillassoux's argument in After Finitude) that contingency is unconditionally necessary and that it is in relation to the blind contingency of the real that (despite it's contingency) we nonetheless experience something profoundly unconditional.

Where Spinoza claims that the Absolute is unconditional, a non-theistic ontology would want to claim that contingency is unconditional. But either way, the unconditional abounds.

4. It also follows for Spinoza that because there is only one substance with nothing external to it, that there is no place else for this substance to go and nothing for it "strive for" as an "end" or "goal" to be achieved. Substance simply unfolds within itself as its nature demands. It is not "trying" to accomplish anything with this internal unfolding. In short, for Spinoza, reality is not intrinsically teleological. 

Though humans may experience a kind of local teleological orientation, there is no global teleology.

In general, this move may be productive. In a non-theistic ontology, reality would - at root - be similarly indifferent to teleology. What happens is what happens, what is given is given, and all this would happen or be given unconditionally (even if it is the contingency of its taking place that is the true site of what is unconditional).

Why might the lack of a global or intrinsic teleology be helpful when thinking about grace? It may be very helpful insofar as grace is itself ateleological. Grace just gives. To the extent that it is instrumentalized as a means to end, its graciousness tends to dissipate. (Insert here all of Derrida's now classical arguments about the structure of the gift, etc.)

Here, the essential point is that salvation seems to necessarily involve the minimal abandonment of my own teleology. That is to say: you can't find happiness by (directly and intentionally/teleologically) seeking your own happiness. This is an almost "trite" point to make but it is, I think, at the existential heart of this issue. 

Is this abandonment of my own teleology still compatible with a grand, universal teleology? Probably. 

Might the ateleology of grace be a better fit with the idea that the universe is itself fundamentally ateleological? That is one of the things this experimental port of grace into a non-theistic ontology is meant to explore.

II. With Respect to Ethics

All of this is interesting but dispensable. For my part, we haven't yet gotten to any of Spinoza's really interesting work. Spinoza's ontology sets up the metaphyiscal playing field in some productive ways, but the rubber meets the road only when we get down to the actual problem of ethics. (And Spinoza believes this too: hence, the title of the book.)

A couple of points here are particularly worth mentioning (in extremely condensed fashion):

1. Reality being the single substance that it is, Spinoza argues that it is impossible for human beings to not be in open relation with other bodies and ideas.

For what it is worth, I think that a non-theistic ontology would need to radicalize this fundamental point and claim that it applies not only to humans but to everything that is. (See my extensive argument to this effect in an earlier post.)

2. The upshot of this point for human beings is that it is impossible to avoid being affected by external causes. 

This availability for affection, for "suffering" and passivity, is absolutely crucial. As I mentioned in the previous point, a non-theistic ontology would argue that this availability is constitutive of being itself.

Call this an ontological version of the Buddha's first noble truth: (availability for) suffering is universal.

In a non-theistic ontology (contra Spinoza), God would be no exception to this rule of universal suffering.

To be = to be available for affect. Availability for affection is unconditional.

3. For Spinoza, the mind's experience of affection is called "emotion." Every emotion involves two parts: (1) the idea of the external cause acting upon us, and (2) our experience of the "feeling" that this cause produces in us.

4. Spinoza's point is that these emotions are problematic: because we are passive in relation to them (whether pleasant or unpleasant), we experience them as a kind of bondage.

Here, bondage = passivity.

5. A key point: We can find ourselves "bound" or "enslaved" (i.e., rendered passive) just as easily by things that we do want as by things that we don't want. 

That is, I can be enslaved by ice cream when I experience this craving as a bondage just as easily as I can experience being made to eat my broccoli as a kind of bondage (you may speak with my children about this latter point).

Here, grace - as what frees us from this bondage, the bondage of sin -  must be strictly orthogonal to what we do and do not want.

6. Spinoza argues that it is this passivity that makes us miserable.

7. We think then (wrongly!) that the key to escaping from this bondage is to eliminate our availability for suffering. We think: if we can eliminate our availability for suffering, then we'll have eliminated the possibility of bondage.

8. It is at this point that, I believe, we've reached Spinoza's essential insight.

Spinoza does not believe that our misery can be overcome by eliminating our availability for suffering.

Why? (1) Because it is impossible. (2) Because it would condemn us to the hell of solipsism.

In fact, trying to not be available for suffering actually makes us more passive, bound, and miserable. Sticking one's head in the sand by fantasizing, daydreaming, consumer-binging, and seeking perpetual distraction in front of big screen TVs (or computer screens!) can only render us more passive.

9. What then is the answer? Spinoza agrees with the Buddha (and Jesus) that the key is not to eliminate our availability for suffering but to shift our relation to the suffering in such a way as to become active rather than passive.

The key is to actively suffer our availability.

What does this mean? Spinoza, to his immense credit, is extremely clear and precise about the "method" for doing this:

In the experience of an emotion, we must turn our attention away from the "external" face of that emotion (i.e., its "external cause") and center our attention on the "internal" face of that emotion (i.e., the actual "feeling" or sensation).

We must pay extremely close attention to the effects that this affect produces: what does it feel like? what are the details of the sensation? does it make you sweat? is your face flushed? are your hands clenched? is your stomach filled with butterflys? is your pulse rate up? is your breathing irregular? does it make you feel tired? excited? etc.

Paying this close attention to the affect will: (1) render one's relation to the suffering active rather than passive, and (2) detach the suffering from the thought of its external cause.

Actively "seeing" or "understanding" one's affects (rather than passively rolling under them) produces a liberating equanimity - one sees things as they really are. 

Further, actively seeing the affect does not eliminate that affect. In fact, it brings it center stage as what it truly is. But the misery of that affect - a misery produced by the experience of it as a (passive) bondage - is eradicated. 

We don't escape passivity through the "mortification" of our availability for affect, but through our attentive intensification of it.

10. A possible objection: but wouldn't this "detachment" of the affect from the external cause also result in a kind of solipsistic navel-gazing? 

No. Precisely the opposite.

Why? Because insofar as we confuse external causes, bodies, etc. with the affect that they produce in us we have not seen them as they truly are. If, when I feel angry, I see only the external "cause" of that anger, then I will confuse that other person with the affect that they produce in me. 

In order to see the other person as they truly are, I must stop confusing them with the affect they produce in me. 

Only the operation of detachment allows both the affect and the external cause to be seen for what they are. And only the operation of their separation allows for our feelings to be actually (actively) felt as feelings. 

Detachment does not preclude feeling, it makes the feeling of our feelings in their full ramification possible.

Here, both the affect and the "external cause" of that affect can be received as they are given - i.e., as the grace that they are.

Passively received grace is misery. Actively received grace is salvation.

11. What is Spinoza's deficiency with respect to his elaboration of this method? He clearly explains exactly what one needs to do. He doesn't have much to say about exactly how to do it. 

12. Remarkably, the Buddha arrives at exactly the same conclusions as does Spinoza. He agrees about the nature of the problem. He agrees that avoiding availability for suffering is the problem, not the answer. And he agrees that the key is to shift our relation to these affects from passivity to activity through attentiveness to the sensations themselves and detachment of them from the idea of their external cause.

Next week, I'll reflect in more detail on how the Buddha ramifies (in extremely practical ways) Spinoza's insight into the nature of grace.

Comments

[ken oakes]

Dear Adam (if I may),

This whole series has been highly interesting and I wish that your ideas were receiving more discussion and reflection.

My own question regarding this particular post is the operative definition of grace. At one point it is identified as 1) that which frees us from bondage, and at another point as 2) the given as such, to which we either respond actively (which is good) or passively (which is bad). Am I reading this correctly?

My worry about number 2 is the quietism (and probably individualism) that seems directly to follow from it, whereby since everything that affects me is grace, the only ´ethical´ form of life is an amor fati in which I just grin and bear it. Is there not a place for an active, ethical refusal of what I am given, or what he or she is given?

Thanks again for the fascinating and provocative posts.

[Adam Miller]

Ken,

I'm glad you've found the series useful so far.

I think that you've asked exactly the right question. How does the first reading of grace as that which frees us from bondage fit with the second reading of grace as the given as such? And, more importantly, how does this identification not lead to a kind of individualistic quietism?

I hope to address this question in great detail in this Friday's post, but I'll give a precis as I'm able right now.

Re: individualism and quietism. As I mention in the post, I think that Spinoza is right to argue that his approach to grace does two things simultaneously: (1) it shows us things (more nearly) as they truly are, and (2) it allows us to be active rather than passive in the context of our passibility.

That is, I think Spinoza is right to say that we really have only two choices: (1) we can passively suffer our fundamental passivity, (2) we can actively suffer our fundamental passivity. The hope for a third option in which we are not fundamentally passible (option [3]) is the fantasy par excellence. Throwing out the third option as so much daydreaming seems harsh, but this is only true if such a thing were possible. If the truth of me is my fundamental passibility, then keeping (3) is harsh because it condemns me to (1).

This is inadequate, but I hope to take a serious step closer this Friday to saying why I think that this notion of grace may be the least individualistic and quietistic approach with which I am familiar :)

My best,
Adam

[ken oakes]

Adam,

Many thanks for the response. I´m glad to hear that I was at least somewhat on point with my questions.

I´m still left with the question of abuse. I do not mean for this to be a petty or trifling counterexample, for I consider abuse to be the corrollary of the Buddha´s teaching on universal suffering (you too will be abused, and in a thousands different ways everyday). In this case an ethical response requires no disconnect because the affect suffered and the agent responsible, because it is only when I see this agent as abusive, and refuse to suffer in this manner, and refuse to take this a given, that I can then hope to alter the situation.

Thanks again for the responses.

[Adam Miller]

Ken,

I think this pointed question is helpful.

From the Buddha's perspective (and I think he's right), it is even more important to disconnect the affect (e.g., the abuse I suffer) from the source of that affect (e.g., the abuser) in such a case.

Why? Because I will only be able to respond ethically and appropriately if I see both the abuse and the abuser as they really are.

If I do not split the two, then I will almost unavoidably feel anger, hatred, etc. as a response to the abuse. If I do, then I'll have added injury to myself (the negative emotions) on top of the abuse I've already suffered.

Also, if I do not split the two, I will not be able to see clearly enough that abusers (even if undoubtedly and justly guilty) abuse others as the result of a wrong relation to their own suffering. Only this recognition will allow me to act ethically and effectively in response to the (ethical) demands that the abuser does him or herself make upon me (even - especially? - in light of the fact they've abused me).

Swift, decisive, ethical, and compassionate action follows only in light of our ability to separate out the affect from its external stimulus.

So I would say something like this: only a willingness to receive what is given as what it is offers us the hope of being able to alter the situation.

[ken oakes]

These clarifications are very helpful, and I´ll save my other questions and concerns for another time.

I´m sure Kosuke Koyama is beyond outdated by now, but his distinction between a "hot" Jesus (and by implication Christianity) and a "cool" Buddha has stuck with me long after I´ve forgotten everything else I´ve read by him. I´m looking forward to the development of this "cool" account of grace.

Thanks again.

[Adam Miller]

I think that there may be something to the contrast of a "hot" Jesus and a "cool" Buddha.

But I think it's probably still worth emphasizing that, at least in my experience, distinguishing an affect from my projection of that affect onto its perceived source of origination actually clarifies and intensifies the experience of the affect itself.

Normally, we're so wrapped in a projective confusion of the affect with its perceived source that we have only a muddled experience of the affect per se (not to mention the perceived source!).

Attentively and mindfully distinguishing the two allows the actual component aspects of the sensation to come center stage. Then, without running from them or clinging after them, we can - down to the marrow in our bones - deeply and genuinely feel them unfold as what they are.

Thanks again for the comments. More on Friday.

[TC]

In a search to elucidate Spinoza's fascinating, and sometimes elusive, philosophy, I stumbled upon this fantastically smart post. Thank you for your valuable clarification and insight into this immensely noteworthy man.