The Spinoza Problem

by Irvin D. Yalom

  After a reluctant nod from his brother, Spinoza continued. “So three months ago I turned to the Dutch law because it is more reasonable. For one thing, the name Duarte Rodriguez has no sway over them. And the Dutch law states that the head of the family must be twenty-five, to bear responsibility for such a debt. Since I am not yet twenty-five, our family may be saved. We do not have to accept the debts of our father’s estate, and, what’s more, we can receive the money that our mother meant for us. And by us, I mean you and Rebekah—I intend to turn my entire share over to you. I have no family and no need of money.

  “And one last thing,” he went on. “About the timing. Since my twenty-fifth birthday falls before your wedding, I had to act now. Now tell me, can you not see that I do act responsibly for the family? Do you not value freedom? If I take no action, we shall be in servitude for our entire life. Do you want that?”

  “I prefer to leave the matter in God’s hands. You have no right to challenge the law of our religious community. And as for servitude, I prefer it to ostracism. Besides, Sarah’s father spoke of more than the lawsuit. Do you want to hear what else he said?”

  “I think you want to tell me.”

  “He said that the ‘Spinoza problem,’ as he calls it, could be traced back many years, back to your impertinence during your bar mitzvah preparation. He remembered that Rabbi Mortera favored you above all other students. That he thought of you as his possible successor. And then you called the biblical story of Adam and Eve a ‘fable.’ Sarah’s father said that when the rabbi rebuked you for denying the word of God, you responded, ‘The Torah is confused, for if Adam was the first man, who exactly did his son, Cain, marry?’ Did you say that, Bento? Is it true you called the Torah ‘confused’?”

  “It is true that the Torah calls Adam the first man. And it is true that it says that his son, Cain, married. Surely we have the right to ask the obvious question: if Adam was the first man, then how could there have been anyone for Cain to marry? This point—it’s called the ‘pre-adamites question’—has been discussed in biblical studies for over a thousand years. So if you ask me whether it is a fable I must answer yes—obviously the story is but a metaphor.”

  “You say that because you don’t understand it. Does your wisdom surpass that of God? Don’t you know that there are reasons why we cannot know and we must trust our rabbis to interpret and clarify the scriptures?”

  “That conclusion is wonderfully convenient for the rabbis, Gabriel. Religious professionals throughout the ages have always sought to be the sole interpreters of mysteries. It serves them well.”

  “Sarah’s father said that this insolence in questioning the Bible and our religious leaders is offensive and dangerous not only to the Jews but to the Christian community also. The Bible is sacred to them as well.”

  “Gabriel, you believe we should forsake logic, forsake our right to question?”

  “I don’t argue your personal right to logic and your right to question rabbinical law. I’m not questioning your right to doubt the holiness of the Bible. In fact, I don’t even question your right to anger God. That’s your affair. Perhaps it is your sickness. But you injure me and your sister by your refusal to keep your views to yourself.”

  “Gabriel, that conversation about Adam and Eve with Rabbi Mortera took place more than ten years ago. After that I kept my opinions to myself. But two years ago I made a vow to conduct my life in a holy manner, which includes never again lying. Thus, if I am asked for my opinion, I will offer it truthfully—and that is why I declined to have dinner with Sarah’s father. But, most of all, Gabriel, remember that we are separate souls. Others here do not mistake you for me. They do not hold you responsible for your older brother’s aberrations.”

  Gabriel walked out of the room shaking his head and muttering, “My older brother speaks like a child.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  ESTONIA—1910

  Three days later a pale and agitated Alfred sought a conference with Herr Schäfer.

  “I have a problem, sir,” Alfred began as he opened his school bag and extracted Goethe’s seven-hundred-page autobiography with several raggedly torn bits of paper jutting from the pages. He opened to the first bookmark and pointed to the text.

  “Sir, Goethe mentions Spinoza here in this line. And then again here, a couple of lines later. But then there are several paragraphs where the name does not appear, and I can’t figure out if it’s about him or not. Actually, I can’t understand most of this. It is very hard.” He turns the pages and points to another section, “Here, it’s the same thing. He mentions Spinoza two or three times, then four pages without mentioning him. As far as I can tell, it is not clear if he is speaking about Spinoza or not. He is also talking about somebody named Jacobi. And this happens in four other places. I understood Faust when we read it in your class, and I understood The Sorrows of Young Werther, but here in this book I can’t understand page after page.”

  “Much easier to read Chamberlain, is it not?” Instantaneously, Herr Schäfer regretted his sarcasm and hastened to add, in a kinder voice, “I know that you may not grasp all of Goethe’s words, Rosenberg, but you have to realize this is not a tightly organized work but a series of reflections on his life. Have you ever kept a diary yourself or written about your own life?”

  Alfred nodded. “A couple of years ago, but I only did it a few months.”

  “Well, consider this something like a diary. Goethe wrote it as much for himself as for the reader. Trust me, when you get older and know more about Goethe’s ideas, you’ll understand and appreciate his words more. Let me have the book.”

  After scanning the pages that Alfred had marked, Herr Schäfer said, “I see the problem. You’re raising a legitimate question, and I’ll need to revise the assignment. Let’s go over these two chapters together.” Their heads close together, Herr Schäfer and Alfred pored at length over the text, and on a notepad Herr Schäfer jotted down a series of page and line numbers.

  Handing Alfred the notepad, he said, “Here is what you have to copy. Remember, three copies legibly written. But there is a problem. This is only twenty or twenty-five lines, so much shorter a task than the headmaster originally assigned that I doubt it will satisfy him. So you must do something additional: memorize this shortened version, and recite it at our meeting with Headmaster Epstein. I think this will be acceptable to him.”

  A few seconds later, noting a trace of a scowl on Alfred’s face, Herr Schäfer added, “Alfred, even though I don’t like this change in you—this race superiority nonsense—I’m still on your side. Over the past four years you’ve been a good and obedient student—though, as I’ve often told you, you could have been more diligent. It would be tragic for you to ruin your chances for the future by not graduating.” He let that sink in. “Put your whole heart into this assignment. Headmaster Epstein will want more than just copying and reciting. He will expect you to understand the reading. So, apply yourself, Rosenberg. I myself wish to see you graduate.”

  “Do I still hand my copy to you before I make the two other copies?”

  Herr Schäfer’s heart dropped at Alfred’s mechanical response, but he only said, “If you follow my instructions on the note pad, it will not be necessary.”

  As Alfred walked away, Herr Schäfer called him back. “Rosenberg, a minute ago, I just reached out to you and said that your were a good student and that I wished you to graduate. Did you not have some response? I have been your teacher for four years, after all.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “‘Yes sir?’”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “All right, Alfred, you can go.”

  Herr Schäfer packed his briefcase with student papers yet to read, brushed Alfred from his mind, and, instead, thought of his two children, his wife, and the spaetzle and verivorst dinner she had promised for that night.

  Alfred left in a state of confusion about his assignment. Had he made things worse? Or had he gotten a break?
After all, memorization was easy for him. He liked memorizing passages for drama presentations and speeches.

  Two weeks later Alfred stood at one end of Herr Epstein’s long table looking for instructions from the headmaster, who, today, looked larger and fiercer than ever. Herr Schäfer, much smaller, his face grave, gestured for Alfred to begin his recitation. Taking a last look at his copy of Goethe’s words, Alfred stood and announced, “From the autobiography of Goethe,” and began:

  “‘The mind which worked so decisively upon me and had so great an influence on my whole manner of thinking was Spinoza. After I had looked about throughout the world in vain for a means of cultivating my strange nature, I came at last upon the Ethics of this man. I here found a sedative for my passions; there seemed to open for me a wide and free view over the material and mortal world.’”

  “So, Rosenberg,” interrupted the headmaster. “What is it that Goethe got from Spinoza?”

  “Uh, was it his ethics?

  “No, no. Good Lord, didn’t you understand that the Ethics is the name of Spinoza’s book? What is Goethe saying he got from Spinoza’s book? What do you think he means by ‘a sedative for my passions’?”

  “Something that calmed him down?”

  “Yes, that’s part of it. But continue now—that idea will come up again very shortly.”

  Albert recited to himself for a moment to recapture his spot and began:

  “‘But what especially fastened me to Spinoza was the boundless interest which shone—’”

  “Disinterest—not interest,” barked Headmaster Epstein, who was following every word of the recitation closely in the notes. “‘Disinterest’ means not being attached emotionally.”

  Alfred nodded and continued:

  “‘But what especially fastened me to Spinoza was the boundless disinterest which shone forth from every sentence. That marvelous expression: ‘He who loves God rightly must not desire God to love him in return,’ with all the premises on which it rests and all the consequences which follow from it, filled my whole power of thought.’”

  “That’s a difficult passage,” said the headmaster. “Let me explain. Goethe is saying that Spinoza taught him to free his mind from the influence of others. To find his own feelings and his own conclusions and then act upon them. In other words, let your love flow, and do not let it be influenced by the idea of the love you may get in return. We could apply that very idea to election speeches. Would Goethe make a speech based on the admiration he would get from others? Of course not! Nor would he say what others want him to say. You understand? You get that point?”

  Alfred nodded. What he truly understood was that Headmaster Epstein had a deep resentment toward him. He waited until the headmaster gestured for him to continue:

  “‘Further, it must not be denied that the closest unions follow from opposites. The all-composing calmness of Spinoza was in strong contrast with my all-disturbing activity. His mathematical method was the opposite of my poetic feelings. His disciplined way of thought made me his impassioned disciple, his most decided worshipper. Mind and heart, understanding and feeling, sought each other with a necessary affinity, and hence came the union of the most different natures.’”

  “Do you know what he means here by the two different natures, Rosenberg?” Headmaster Epstein asked.

  “I think he means mind and heart?”

  “Exactly. And which is Goethe and which Spinoza?”

  Alfred looked puzzled.

  “This is not just an exercise in memory, Rosenberg! I want you to understand these words. Goethe is a poet. So which is he, mind or heart?”

  “He is heart. But he also had a great mind.”

  “Ah, yes. Now I understand your confusion. But here he is saying that Spinoza offers him balance that allows him to reconcile his passion and bursting imagination with the necessary calmness and reason. And that is why Goethe says he is Spinoza’s ‘most decided worshipper.’ You understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Now continue.”

  Alfred hesitated, signs of panic in his eyes. “I’ve lost my place. I’m not sure where we are.”

  “You’re doing fine,” interjected Herr Schäfer, in an effort to calm him down. “We know it’s hard to recite with so many interruptions. You may check your notes to find your place.”

  Alfred took a deep breath, scanned his notes briefly, and continued:

  “‘Some have represented the man as an atheist and considered him reprehensible, but then they also admitted he was a quiet, reflective man, a good citizen, a sympathetic person. So Spinoza’s critics seem to have forgotten the words of the Gospel, ‘By their fruits, you shall know them’; for how can a life pleasing to men and God spring from corrupt principles? I still remember what calm and clearness came over me when I first turned over the pages of the Ethics of that remarkable man. I therefore hastened to the work again to which I had been so much indebted, and again the same air of peace floated over me. I gave myself up to the reading and thought, when I looked into myself, that I had never beheld the world so clearly.’”

  Alfred exhaled deeply as he finished the last line. The headmaster signaled him to take his seat and commented, “Your recitation was satisfactory. You have a good memory. Now let’s examine your understanding of this last section. Tell me, does Goethe think Spinoza is an atheist?”

  Alfred shook his head.

  “I didn’t hear your answer.”

  “No sir.” Alfred spoke loudly. “Goethe did not think he was an atheist. But others thought he was.”

  “And why did Goethe disagree with them?”

  “Because of his ethics?”

  “No, no. Have you already forgotten that Ethics is the name of Spinoza’s book? Again, why did Goethe disagree with Spinoza’s critics?”

  Alfred trembled and remained silent.

  “Good Lord, Rosenberg, look at your notes,” said the headmaster.

  Alfred scanned the final paragraph and ventured. “Because he was good and lived a life pleasing to God?”

  “Exactly. In other words it is not what you believe or say you believe, it is how you live that matters. Now, Rosenberg, a last question about this passage. Tell us again, what did Goethe get from Spinoza?”

  “He said he got an air of peace and calmness. He also says he beheld the world more clearly. Those were the two main things.”

  “Exactly. We know that the great Goethe carried a copy of Spinoza’s Ethics in his pocket for a year. Imagine that—an entire year! And not only Goethe but many other great Germans. Lessing and Heine reported a clarity and calmness that came from reading this book. Who knows, there may come a time in your life when you, too, will need the calmness and clarity that Spinoza’s Ethics offers. I shan’t ask you to read that book now. You’re too young to grasp its meaning. But I want you to promise that before your twenty-first birthday you will read it. Or perhaps I should say, read it by the time you’re fully grown. Do I have your word as a good German?”

  “Yes sir, you have my word.” Alfred would have promised to read the entire encyclopedia in Chinese to get out of this inquisition.

  “Now, let’s move to the heart of this assignment. Are you fully clear why we assigned you this reading assignment?”

  “Uh, no, sir. I thought it was just because I said I admired Goethe above all others.”

  “Certainly that is part of it. But surely you understood what my real question was?”

  Alfred looked blank.

  “I’m asking you, what does it mean to you that the man you admire above all others chooses a Jew as the man he admires above all others?”

  “A Jew?”

  “Did you not know that Spinoza was a Jew?”

  Silence.

  “You have found out nothing about him these last two weeks?”

  “Sir, I know nothing about this Spinoza. That was not part of my assignment.”

  “And so, thank God, you avoided the dreaded step of learning something extra? Is
that it, Rosenberg?”

  “Let me put it this way,” interjected Herr Schäfer. “Think of Goethe. What would he have done in this situation? If Goethe had been required to read the autobiography of someone unknown to him, what would Goethe have done?”

  “He would have educated himself about this person.”

  “Exactly. This is important. If you admire someone, emulate him. Use him as your guide.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Still, let us proceed with my question,” said Headmaster Epstein. “How do you explain Goethe’s boundless admiration and gratitude to a Jew?”

  “Did Goethe know he was a Jew?”

  “Good God. Of course he knew.”

  “But, Rosenberg,” said Herr Schäfer, who was now also growing impatient, “think about your question. What does it matter if he knew Spinoza was a Jew? Why would you even ask that question? Do you think a man of Goethe’s stature—you yourself called him the universal genius—would not embrace great ideas regardless of their source?”

  Alfred looked staggered. Never had he been exposed to such a blizzard of ideas. Headmaster Epstein, putting his hand on Herr Schäfer’s arm to quiet him, did not relent.

  “My major question to you is still unanswered: how do you explain that the universal German genius is so very much helped by the ideas of a member of an inferior race?”

  “Perhaps it is what I answered about Dr. Apfelbaum. Maybe because of a mutation there can be a good Jew, even though the race is corrupt and inferior.”

  “That’s not an acceptable answer,” said the headmaster. “It is one thing to speak of a doctor who is kind and plies his chosen profession well and quite another thing to speak in this way of a genius who may have changed the course of history. And there are many other Jews whose genius is well-known. Think about them. Let me remind you of those you know yourself but maybe did not know were Jews. Herr Schäfer tells me that in class you’ve recited the poetry of Heinrich Heine. He tells me, too, that you like music, and I imagine you have listened to the music of Gustav Mahler and Felix Mendelssohn. Right?”