“Bento, it’s not that we disagree on this; it’s just that our methods are different. Changing age-old thinking is a slow process. You cannot do everything at once. Change, even from the inside, must be slow.”
“I’m certain you are right, but I’m also certain that much of the slowness stems from the tenacity with which aging rabbis and priests cling to power. It was so with Rabbi Mortera, and it is so today with Rabbi Aboab. Earlier I shuddered as you described how he fanned the flames of belief in Sabbatai Zevi. I lived among the superstitious my entire youth; I am nonetheless shocked at this Zevi frenzy. How can Jews believe such nonsense? It seems impossible to overestimate their capacity for irrationality. Somewhere in this world, with every blink of the eye, a fool is born.”
Franco took his final bite of apple, grinned, and asked, “Bento, may I make a Franco observation?”
“Ah, my dessert! What could be better. Let me prepare.” Bento leaned back and settled himself into the bolster. “I think I’m about to learn something about myself.”
“You’ve said that we must liberate ourselves from the bondage of passion, and yet, today, your own passion has broken through several times. Though you are entirely forgiving of a man who tried to kill you, you are full of passion about Rabbi Aboab and those who choose to accept the new Messiah.”
Bento nodded, “Yes, that is true.”
“I’ll go further—you were also more understanding of the Jewish assassin than you were of my wife’s viewpoints. Is that not so?”
Bento again nodded, this time more warily. “Continue, teacher.”
“Once you told me that human emotions could be understood just as lines, planes, and bodies. Right?”
Another nod.
“Then shall we try to apply that very principle to your vituperative response to Rabbi Aboab and the gullible followers of Sabbatai Zevi? And to my wife, Sarah?”
Bento looked quizzical. “Where are you heading, Franco?”
“I’m asking you to turn your instruments of understanding onto your own emotions. Remember your words to me when I was so enraged at the
assassin. ‘Everything, every fact,
bar none
,’ you said, ‘has a cause, and we must understand that everything
necessarily
occurs.’ Do I have that right?”
“Your memory is impeccable, Franco.”
“Thank you. So let us apply the same reasoned approach today.”
“You know I can’t decline that invitation while at the same time claiming that the pursuit of reason is my raison d’être.”
“Good. Do you remember the moral of the Talmudic tale about Rabbi Yohanon?”
Bento nodded. “The prisoner cannot free himself. No doubt you’re suggesting I can free others but not myself?”
“Exactly. Perhaps I can see some things about Bento Spinoza that he himself cannot.”
Bento smiled. “And why is your vision sharper than his?”
“Just as you described a few minutes ago: your own self is in the way and obstructs your vision. Take, for example, your harsh comments about the gullible fools in Amsterdam taken in by the false Messiah. Your passionate vitriol and their gullibility are
necessarily
so. It could not have been different. And, Bento, I have some notions about the sources of their behavior and of yours
.
”
“And? Go on.”
“First of all, it’s of interest that you and I witness the same events and we have different responses. To quote you, ‘It’s our mind that makes it so.’ Right?”
“Again, right.”
“I’m personally not surprised or perplexed by the gullibility of the Marrano populace.” Franco now spoke with much ease and conviction. “They
necessarily
believe in the Messiah.
Of course
we Marranos are susceptible to messianic thinking! After all, in our Catholic indoctrination, weren’t we constantly confronted by the idea of Jesus as a man who was more than mere man, as a man who was sent to Earth on a mission? And
of course
Marranos are not outraged by Sabbatai Zevi’s conversion under duress. Did not we Marranos experience forced conversion firsthand? And, what’s more, many of us have had the personal experience of reconversion as a better Jew.”
“Right, right, and right, Franco. You see how much I will miss speaking to you! You’re helping me identify my unfree areas. You are right: my words about Sabbatai Zevi, Rabbi Aboab, and gullible fools are not in accord with
reason. A free man does not disturb his peace with such feelings of scorn or indignation. I still have work to do controlling my passions.”
“Once you told me that reason is no match for passion and that our only way of freeing ourselves from passion is to turn reason into a passion.”
“Aha, I think I know what you may be implying—that I have so transformed reason that it is at times indistinguishable from unreason.”
“Exactly. I’ve noticed that your anger and ill-tempered accusations emerge
only
when reason is threatened.”
“Reason and freedom both,” added Bento.
Franco hesitated a moment, choosing his words carefully. “On second thought, there is one other time when I saw your passions arise: when we discussed the place and rights of women. I believe that your arguments proving women’s inferior intelligence lack your usual rigor. For example, you stated that women did not share rulership, yet you neglected the existence of powerful queens—for example, Cleopatra of Egypt, Elizabeth of England, and Isabella of Spain and—”
“Yes, yes, but time is precious today, and we cannot cover all issues. Let’s work on reason and freedom. I’m most disinclined to deal now with the issue of women.”
“Will you not at least agree that this is another area to consider in the future?”
“Perhaps. I’m not certain.”
“Then simply allow me one final comment, and we’ll move on to other topics.” Without waiting for a response Franco hurried on. “It is clear that you and I have very different attitudes toward women, and I think I have an idea of the causative network. Are you interested?”
“I should be, but I feel some reluctance to hear you out.”
“I’ll continue anyway—just for a minute. I think it stems from our different experiences with women. I’ve had a very loving relationship with my mother and now with my wife and daughter, and my guess is that your attitudes toward women are
necessarily
negative because of your previous contact with them. From what you’ve told me your experiences have been bleak: your mother died when you were a young child, and your subsequent mothers—your older sister and then your stepmother—also died. The whole community knows of your harsh rejection by your remaining sister, Rebekah. I’ve heard she filed suit contesting your father’s will so that you wouldn’t
receive his estate. And then there is Clara Maria, the one woman you loved, and she wounded you by choosing another. Aside from her I’ve never heard you mention a single positive experience with a woman.”
Bento remained silent, nodding for a few moments, slowly digesting Franco’s words, and then said, “Now to the other topics. First, there’s something I haven’t said to you—and that is how much I admire your courage in speaking out to your congregation urging moderation. Your public opposition to Rabbi Aboab was based on what I call ‘adequate’ ideas—driven by reason rather then by passion. I’d also like to hear more about your vision of the new Judaism you hope to create. Earlier, I may have diverted the discussion.”
Both knew their time was running out, and Franco spoke quickly. “I hope to create a different kind of Judaism based on our love for one another and our shared tradition. I plan to hold religious services that have no mention of the supernatural and that are based on our common humanity, drawing wisdom from Torah and Talmud that leads to a loving and moral life. And, yes, we will follow Jewish law but in the service of connection and moral life,
not
because it is divinely ordained. And pervading all of this there will be the spirit of my friend, Baruch Spinoza. As I plan for the future, I sometimes imagine you as a father. My dream is to build a synagogue to which you would send your own son.”
Bento brushed away a tear running down his cheek. “Yes, we are of one mind if you believe we should use enough ceremony to appeal to that part of our nature that still requires it but not so much as to enslave us.”
“That is indeed my position. And is it not ironic that, though you try to change Judaism from the outside and I from the inside, we both encounter
cherem
, you already and mine no doubt to come?”
“I agree with the second part of your statement—the irony of our both encountering
cherem
—but, lest you misunderstand, let me say yet once again that it is not my intent to change Judaism. It is my hope that a vital dedication to reason should eradicate
all
religions, including Judaism.” Bento glances at the clock. “Alas, it is time, Franco—almost two o’clock—and the
trekschuit
will be here shortly.”
As they strolled to the
trekschuit
landing, Franco said, “I have one final thing I must say to you—that book you are planning to write about your critique of the Bible?”
“Yes?”
“I love you for writing it, but please, my friend, be cautious. Do not put your name on this book. I believe what you say, but it will not be listened to in a reasonable way. Not now, not in our lifetime.”
Franco boarded. The boatman loosened the moorings, the horses strained at their ropes, and the
trekschuit
pulled away from the dock. Bento gazed at the barge for a long while. The smaller it grew as it moved toward the horizon, the larger loomed his
cherem
. Finally, when no trace of Franco remained, Bento backed slowly away from the dock, back into the arms of solitude.
EPILOGUE
I
n 1670, Bento, age thirty-eight, finished his
Theological-Political Treatise
. His publisher, quite correctly, predicted that it would be deemed inflammatory. Thus it was published anonymously, under the imprimatur of fictitious publishers in fictitious cities. Its sale was quickly prohibited by both civil and religious authorities. Nonetheless, numerous underground copies circulated.
A few months later Spinoza moved from Voorburg to The Hague, where he lived the remainder of his life, first renting a modest attic room in the home of the Widow Van der Werve and then, a few months later, even less expensive quarters—a single large room in the house of Hendrik Van der Spyck, a master painter of home interiors. A life of tranquility—that’s what Spinoza wanted and found in The Hague. There he spent his days reading the great works in his library, working on the
Ethics
, and grinding lenses. Evenings he smoked his pipe and chatted amiably with Van der Spyck, his wife, and their seven children, except for the times he was too engrossed in his writing to leave his room, often for days on end. On Sundays he sometimes accompanied the family to listen to the sermon at the nearby Nieuwe Kerk.
With a cough that never improved and often produced blood-flecked sputum, he grew noticeably weaker from year to year. Perhaps the inhalation of glass dust from optical work had compromised his lungs, but most likely he had tuberculosis, like his mother and other family members. On February 20, 1677, he felt so weak that he sent for a doctor, who instructed Mrs. Van der Spyck to cook an old hen and feed Spinoza the rich broth. She followed instructions, and he seemed better the next morning. The family attended church in the afternoon, but when they returned two hours later, Bento Spinoza, at the age of forty-four, was dead.
Spinoza lived his philosophy: he attained
Amor dei intellectualis
, freed himself from the bondage of disturbing passions, and faced the end of his life with serenity. Yet this quiet life and death left in its wake a great turbulence that roils even to the present day, as many reach out to revere and reclaim him while others expel and excoriate him.
Though he left no will, he made a point of instructing his landlord, in the event of his death, to ship his writing desk and all its contents immediately to his publisher, Rieuwertsz, in Amsterdam. Van der Spyck honored Spinoza’s wishes: he tightly secured the desk and shipped it to Amsterdam by
trekschuit
. It arrived safely,
containing in its locked drawers the
Ethics
and other precious unpublished manuscripts and correspondence.
Bento’s friends set to work immediately editing the manuscripts and letters. Following Spinoza’s instructions, they removed all personal material from the letters, leaving only philosophic content.
A few months after his death, Spinoza’s
Posthumous Works
(containing the
Ethics
, the unfinished
Tractatus politicus
, and
De Intellectus Emendatione
, a selection from Spinoza’s correspondence, along with a
Compendium of Hebrew Grammar
and the
Treatise on the Rainbow
) was published in both Dutch and Latin, again with no author’s name, a fictitious publisher, and false city of publication. As expected, the state of Holland quickly proscribed the book in an official edict, accusing it of profane blasphemies and atheist sentiments.
As word spread of Spinoza’s death, his sister, Rebekah, who had shunned him for twenty-one years, reappeared and presented herself and her son, Daniel, as Bento’s sole legal heirs. However, when Van der Spyck gave her an accounting of Spinoza’s possessions and debts, she reconsidered: Bento’s debts for past rent, for burial expenses, for barber and apothecary were probably greater than the value of his possessions. Eight months later, the auction of his possessions (primarily his library and lens-grinding equipment) was held, and, indeed, the proceeds fell short of what he owed. Rather then inherit debts, Rebekah legally renounced all claims to the estate and once again vanished from history. Bento’s small outstanding obligations were met by the brother-in-law of Bento’s friend Simon de Vries. (Simon, who had died ten years earlier, in 1667, had offered to leave Bento his entire estate. Bento had declined, saying that it was unfair to Simon’s family and that, moreover, money would be only a distraction to him. Simon’s family offered Bento an annual annuity of five hundred guilders. That, too, Spinoza declined, insisting it was more than he needed. He finally agreed to a small annuity of three hundred guilders.)