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In a work ostensibly about ethics, Baruch Spinoza elevates only two ethical propositions to the status of absolute rules. They are these: 1 ‘As an absolute rule, it is permissible by the highest natural right for everyone to do what he judges to be conducive to his own advantage’ (Appendix 8, IV); and 2 ‘It is of the first importance to men to establish close relationships and to bind themselves together with such ties as may more effectively unite them into one body and, as an absolute rule, to act in such a way as serves to strengthen friendship’ (Appendix 12, IV). Since both are described as absolute rules, we cannot assume that one is intended to take precedence over the other, or that one is intended as an exception to the other. We must take them both at face value, and hope along with Spinoza that they never come into conflict.

But they do come into conflict, Imagine, if you will, the dilemma posed by the following scenario: a number of people are gathered in a small unfurnished room, and a terrorist hurls a live hand grenade through the window. If no one does anything, everyone will die; but if anyone will sacrifice himself by jumping on the grenade, everyone else will survive. How do Spinoza’s rules apply here?

By ‘what he judges to be conducive to his own advantage’ I take Spinoza to mean ‘what he perceives as good.’* In ordinary language we would say that it is good for as many people as possible to survive a terrorist attack. If someone made the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of the others in the room, I for one would be inclined to say that that person acted not only ethically, but heroically. Indeed, soldiers who have done just that in battle have been honored posthumously with medals for their courageous selflessness. Clearly, there is a sense in which they have served to strengthen friendship (at least among the survivors) but there is no way that they can be said to have acted for their own advantage: they have sacrificed themselves for a greater good.

Spinoza’s philosophy does not admit of a solution to this dilemma. The grenade martyr breaks rule 1. Admittedly it may be a matter of taste whether one calls someone else a hero or a fool, but it is certainly a matter of ethics on those rare occasions when one must decide for oneself between being a mere victim or a saint.

Following one of Spinoza’s favorite guidelines, it might be argued that the choice for the potential hero is one between passive victimization and active sacrifice. If this were a sufficient analysis, then sacrifice would be preferable on the ground that it arises from action rather than passion. But Spinoza’s insistence on conatus, or drive for self-preservation and activity, as the motivating force behind action precludes consideration of self-sacrifice as an option. Following Spinoza’s criteria, we would praise most highly, not one who flung himself on the grenade, but one who flung his neighbor on it! But in virtually every society the friend-finger would be despised as a villain. Even Spinoza could not praise him too highly, however, since, far from serving to strengthen friendship, his action would engender mutual suspicion among the survivors.

Another way out could be for a Spinozan to argue that the conatus does not apply to one’s body, but only to one’s essence. In support of this alternative, we find that Spinoza believes that ‘Whatever the mind understands under a form of eternity it does not understand from the fact that it conceives the present actual existence of the body, but from the fact that it conceives the essence of the body under a form of eternity’ (Prop. 29, V). The essence of a thing is what persists even when the thing itself no longer exists. Coupling this concern for eternal essence with Spinoza’s brave assertion that ‘A free man thinks of death least of all things, and his wisdom is a meditation of life, not of death’ (Prop. 67, IV) we have the apparent potential for resolution. Perhaps if we were to find a man whose essence it was to be selfless, we could praise him for sacrificing himself (and not his neighbor) because selflessness cannot be preserved through an act of selfishness. Hurling a neighbor onto the grenade would contradict his essence, and only self-sacrifice would preserve it. What is preserved is the selfless man’s essence; what is sacrificed is merely his body’s duration. As if in consolation, the act itself embodies selflessness.

But this path leads to the conclusion that self-sacrifice is admirable only for a person whose essence it is to be selfless. Anyone whose essence is more self- concerned would not only be excused for not sacrificing himself, but could actually be criticized if he ever acted altruistically, on the ground that he contradicted his essence. We would prefer to be in a position to commend anyone who sacrificed himself for others, and perhaps even to criticize those who do not sacrifice, on the ground that they are selfish (although in practice our commendation of the former exceeds our condemnation of the latter).

Finally, there is the problem of imagining a person whose essence it is to be selfless. Can there be such a thing as the essentially selfless man? Not in Spinoza’s vocabulary, because ‘Each thing, in so far as it is in itself endeavors to persist in its own being’ (Prop. 6, Ill). A purely selfless man would be one who persisted without regard for his own being as a man -- and while I do not deny that his persistence is possible (e.g. comatose people are now routinely kept alive by the efforts of others through technological means) I do deny that he can both endeavor to persist in his own being and persist without regard for his own being. The contradiction does not show him impossible; it shows Spinoza wrong.

I propose a solution that requires a small but significant change from Spinoza’s definition of ‘good,’ and a corresponding redefinition of the conatus. If we consider ‘good’ to have a more general character – such that power of activity is increased or assisted, irrespective of whose power – then the conatus becomes the drive to maximize power of activity in general, not merely one’s own power, so at last we have the foundation of a selfless ethic, and a potential justification for sacrificial altruism. This solution has the advantage that it praises the grenade martyr for choosing action over passion, thus eliminating one point of contradiction in Spinoza’s philosophy. Furthermore, there is no remaining conflict between self-sacrifice and conatus. so long as the sacrifice is motivated by an adequate idea of increasing or assisting the power of activity of others. Finally, it does not allow selflessness to fall victim to the contradiction of essence inherent in Prop. 6, I since now each thing endeavors to maximize persistence in general, not merely its own persistence.

In philosophizing on the parts of the body in relation to the rest, Spinoza recognizes that what is good for one part is not necessarily best for the whole (Prop. 60, IV). But Spinoza fails to draw the obvious analogy to individual people as parts of society. With our substitute definition of ‘good’ we can paraphrase the proposition to apply to people and societies as well. What is good for a particular individual is not necessarily best for society in general. There is a seed of this analogy planted in rule 2, where Spinoza speaks of the importance of relationships that unite people into what he calls ‘one body,’ but it fails to take root in Spinoza’s philosophy.

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* This is a reasonable rewriting, since according to Spinoza ‘good consists in this, that a man’s power of activity is increased or assisted. (Proof, Prop. 59, IV). This is close to what we ordinarily mean by ‘advantage,’ and Spinoza gives no other definition.

Essay

Title

THE ESSENCE OF SELFLESSNESS`

‘FOR TO FEEL ONESELF A MARTYR, AS EVERYBODY KNOWS, IS A PLEASURABLE THING.’ – ERSKINE CHILDERS