Newton and Spinoza: On Motion and Matter (And God, of Course)

TITLE: Newton and Spinoza: On Motion and Matter (and God, of Course) AUTHOR: Eric Schliesser BIO: Eric Schliesser is BOF Research Professor in Philosophy and Moral Sciences at Ghent University. Schliesser has published widely in philosophy of economics as well as on figures in early modern philosophy (including Spinoza, Huygens, Newton, Hume, Berkeley, Smith, and de Grouchy). He is co-editor of New Voices on Adam Smith (with Leonidas Montes; Routledge, 2006) and co-editor of Interpreting Newton (with Andrew Janiak; Cambridge, 2012). RH: Newton and Spinoza ABSTRACT: This study explores several arguments against BENEDICTUS DE Spinoza Spinoza’s philosophy that were developed by Henry More, Samuel Clarke, and Colin Maclaurin. In the arguments on which I focus, More, Clarke, and Maclaurin aim to establish the existence of an immaterial and intelligent God precisely by showing that Spinoza does not have the resources to adequately explain the origin of motion. Attending to these criticisms grants us a deeper appreciation for how the authority derived from the empirical success of Newton’s enterprise was used to settle debates within philosophy. What I emphasize is that in the progression from More to Clarke to Maclaurin, key Newtonian concepts from the Principia (1687), such as motion, atomism, and the vacuum, are introduced and exploited in order to challenge the account of matter and motion that is presented in Spinoza’s Ethics (1677). Building on this treatment, I use the arguments from More and Clarke especially to help discern the anti-Spinozism that can be detected in Newton’s General Scholium (1713). Ultimately, the Newtonian criticisms that I detail offer us a more nuanced view of the problems that plague Spinoza’s philosophy, and they also challenge the idea that Spinoza seamlessly fits into a progressive narrative about the scientific revolution. 1. Introduction Rosalie L. Colie’s (1963) work has been indispensable for understanding the depth of the hostile responses to Spinoza’s Ethics (1677) by Cambridge Platonists, especially from Ralph Cudworth and Henry More. She emphasizes, in particular, that More’s Confutatio (1678) is as much an attemp to refutate Spinoza as it is an attempt to restate More’s own position as distinct from Spinoza’s. My goal in what follows is to extend Colie’s important work on British anti-Spinozism by connecting More’s criticisms to later arguments against Spinoza from Samuel Clarke and Colin Maclaurin. Recent French scholarship has tended to read Clarke’s engagement with Spinoza through his controversies with Leibniz, Toland, and Wachter. See the brilliant work by Tristan Dagron (2009). This approach tacitly projects Diderot’s historiographical views back onto a previous generation and, more crucially, ends up assuming that we have nothing to learn about Spinoza from some of his “Newtonian” critics. I thank Mogens Laerke for calling my attention to Dagron. Tracing this peculiar line in the course of British anti-Spinozism shows how the authority derived from the empirical success of Newton’s enterprise was used to settle debates within philosophy. In the arguments on which I focus, More, Clarke, and Maclaurin aim to establish the existence of an immaterial and intelligent God precisely by showing that Spinoza does not have the resources to adequately explain the origin of motion. What I emphasize is that in the progression from More to Clarke to Maclaurin, key Newtonian concepts from the Principia (1687) are introduced and exploited in order to challenge the account of matter and motion that is presented in Spinoza’s Ethics. Namely, Clarke’s arguments can be seen as innovations over More’s arguments insofar as Clarke adopts a Newtonian conception of motion to buttress More’s general critique of Spinozism. Maclaurin later appeals to other elements of Newton’s mechanics, namely, atomism and the existence of a vacuum, to strengthen the charges leveled against the “blind necessity” that characterizes Spinoza’s natural philosophy. Building on this treatment, I use the arguments from More and (especially) Clarke to help discern the anti-Spinozism that can be detected in Newton’s General Scholium (1713). Ultimately, the Newtonian criticisms that I detail offer us a more nuanced view of the problems that plague Spinoza’s philosophy, and they also challenge the idea that Spinoza seamlessly fits into a progressive narrative about the scientific revolution. Before proceeding to the arguments from More, Clarke, and Maclaurin, I begin with a brief overview of Spinoza’s position on motion. This will set the stage for understanding why British critics found the Spinozistic natural system so worrisome and the weaknesses they discerned in it. 2. Motion in Spinoza’s Ethics (1677)2 It is an axiomatic fact for Spinoza that “All bodies either move or are at rest” (E2p13A1). Following standard citation procedures, I offer the book, proposition [p], Axiom [A], Definition [D], Corollary [C], Scholium [S], or Lemma [L] number in my references to the Ethics. I rely on the translation in Curley 1994. My approach to Spinoza’s views on mathematical physics is an elaboration of Savan 1986 and a corrective to Israel 2002, 242ff.–. This present paper is a companion to Schliesser 2012a as well as to Schliesser, forthcominga,b. My treatment of the English Newtonian response to Spinoza runs parallel to the treatment of Dutch Newtonians in Jorink 2009. Motion, in fact, is one of the distinguishing conditions of simple bodies (see especially the demonstration included with E2p13L3), and, as presented by Spinoza, a compound individual is an entity (or nature) that maintains the same ratio of motion to rest among its parts (E2p13L5). For a very good treatment of how bodies are individuated in Spinoza’s system, see sec. 5 of Manning 2012. Spinoza also appeals to the existence of “absolute” motion (E2p13L2) and (presumably), thus, distinguishes between merely apparent (or relative) and absolute motion. While motion clearly plays a crucial role in Spinoza’s fundamental metaphysics, neither in the context of E2p13 nor anywhere else in the Ethics does Spinoza define ‘motion’ or ‘rest’ (or even ‘speed’, for that matter). In a letter to Tschirnhaus, Spinoza admits that his observations on “motion … are not yet written out in due order, so I will reserve them for another occasion” (Letter 60, January 1675). I quote Spinoza’s letters from Shirley 2002. However, in Letter 81 dated 5 May 1676, Spinoza offers some elaboration on the origins of motion and writes to Tschirnhaus that “For matter at rest, as far as in it lies, will continue to be at rest, and will not be set in motion except by a more powerful external cause.” Initially, this sounds like a Cartesian argument for the existence of God, who (like an infinite billiard-ball player) sets in motion unmoving matter, which is governed by an inertia-like law. For God as the general cause of motion in Descartes, see Part II, Section 36 of his Principles of Philosophy (1984). But given that in this context Spinoza explicitly rejects Descartes’s conception of extension and Cartesian natural philosophy more generally (“Descartes’ principles of natural things are of no service, not to say quite wrong” [Letter 81]), we should be cautious in pressing the analogy between Spinoza and Descartes here. In particular, while Spinoza does embrace an inertia-like principle in his corollary to E2L3 (“a body in motion moves until it is determined by another body to rest; and that a body at rest also remains at rest until it is determined to motion by another”), I explore the significant differences between Descartes’s account of inertia and Spinoza’s in Schliesser 2011c. For an opposing view that treats the conatus doctrine as inertia-like, see Viljanen 2008. Spinoza indicates that the only cause that can determine matter to move is some other (larger or more forceful) body. This follows, in fact, from a core commitment that can be traced back to the start of the Ethics, especially E1D2, according to which modes terminate, co-constitute, and delimit each other only within an attribute. So Spinoza is not merely committed to attribute parallelism but also to a kind of attribute “closure.” So in Spinoza’s system it is nonsensical to think of motion as somehow originating outside of the attribute to which it properly (as a common notion) “belongs.” Moreover, in Spinoza’s system, unlike Descartes’s, God is not external to physical nature; for Spinoza, God is immanent (E1p18), so is in no way to be thought of as an external cause. This is not to deny that God plays no causal role for Spinoza; God is the cause of the being of things, including the material ones (see Schliesser 2010a). I understand Newton’s doctrine of substantial omnipresence in the General Scholium along similar lines (for details see Schliesser 2011b). Now Spinoza does distinguish between God as a free cause (Natura Naturans), by which Spinoza refers to the fact that God is the only thing that exists and acts from the necessity of his nature (E1p17C2 and E1p16), and those things which follow from the necessity of God’s nature (Natura Naturata). For Spinoza, bodies “are in God, and neither be, nor be conceived without God” (E1p29S). Now, while it is not easy to understand what Spinoza means by ‘in’ or ‘inherence’ (see Melamed 2006 and Della Rocca 2008, 61ff.), he is very careful to make clear that it is a mistake to understand God as being somehow outside nature. As he infamously puts it, “Deus Sive Natura” (E4Intro). Thus, in Spinoza’s system, if matter “starts” at rest, no motion will be generated; therefore, given the existence of motion, there must be some motion in the universe from the “infinite past.” And this is what Spinoza seems to claim at E1p28, where he says: “this cause, or this mode [of an attribute] … had also to be determined by another, which is also finite and has a determinate existence; and again, this last (by the same reasoning) by another, and so always (by the same reasoning) to infinity.” In order to avoid misunderstanding, let me explain: it need not follow that, for Spinoza, bits of matter, which mutually codetermine, must be passive. Spinoza often repeats that we do not have adequate knowledge of body (e.g., E2p24–25) and so leaves the source of its activity open. Now, this is not to deny that God plays some role as the source of natural motion: “From the necessity of the divine nature [who has absolutely infinite attributes by D6] there must follow infinitely many things in infinitely many modes” (E1p16), including, presumably, motion. So in Spinoza’s system there is what we may call sufficient reason for the existence of motion. However, from our human vantage point, it is not clear that this is a very impressive explanation, which is precisely the point that More and Clarke forward in their attack on the Ethics. 3. More’s Confutatio (1678) Shortly after Spinoza’s Ethics appeared posthumously in 1677, Henry More published a blistering attack on it in his Confutatio. Colie provides useful political and intellectual context for the reception of Spinoza in England and also calls attention to the significance of Spinoza’s views on motion to the debates over his reception by Tolland and Wotton (Colie 1959, 44). Hutton (1990) is an indispensable guide to More’s thought. All citations to the Confutatio refer to the translation by Alexander Jacob (1991). In this section I explore two arguments presented in this work, one that targets Spinoza’s claim that there is an infinite succession of motions and the other that aims at Spinoza’s rejection of final causes. My main reasons for considering these arguments is that they offer a clear sense of the problems that British opponents found with Spinoza’s conception of motion and also give us an instructive starting point for understanding the Newtonian elements that are introduced in similar arguments that are later offered by Clarke. According to More, Spinoza is a materialist (“matter is God”; Jacob 1991, 70–72, 77ff). More’s interpretation of Spinoza here is controversial insofar as he appears to suppose that the other infinite attributes of Spinoza’s God are irrelevant. However, it is by no means entirely implausible. In fact, Curley (1988) is the contemporary standard-bearer for a very influential set of arguments that treat Spinoza as a sophisticated materialist. Against this position, More attempts to show that a (spiritual) God is required to explain certain pertinent facts about our world, including the existence of motion. Here I focus on two such attempts, the first of which comes from More’s self-described “third argument” against substance monism. The argument is presented as follows: it is manifest that that which at any time was not present was not even for a moment past, in the succession of the world. Whence it is plainly proved, since all the moments of its succession were at some time present, and many do not at any time follow at the same time as one, but single moments always follow one after the other, that it was at some time, since all things, at any rate apart from one, were in the process of becoming present. And thus perforce we will be led back to the head or principle [ad caput sive principum] of all successive durations, of whatever extent, and suppose it to be extended, and think and declare, what is equally contradictory, that there can be an infinite successive duration, and a figured infinite magnitude. When it plainly follows that this corporeal world, with all its motions and revolutions of changes, has not existed nor can exist from eternity, and [A] matter cannot be by itself or [A*] at least moved by itself, and so [B] it is necessary that some other substance exists before matter, which communicates motion to matter in some way. (Jacob 1991, 96; bracketed symbols added to facilitate discussion) Now, on the whole, More does not argue from premises shared with Spinoza. Consider, for instance, More’s assumption that time successively unfolds, as it were, moment by moment and that this is an “objective” feature of the world. For Spinoza, this is not the case. Rather, time is imaginary or merely abstract (e.g., E2p45S and E5p29), where to imagine something does not always mean it is false. Even so, imaginings, or confused knowledge, can never yield adequate knowledge (see the long Scholium at E2p49C), because from the point of eternity, things that are not fully adequate (such as duration) do not have full existence. This follows from the way Spinoza applies E1Ax4 in E2p7. AX=AXIOM. Spinoza is committed to different things having more or less reality (E1p9). It is interesting to note that at one point in Newton’s career, in De Gravitatione (Newton 2004), the ontological difference between space and body is one of different degrees of being; bodies have more reality than space and “whatever has more reality in one space than in another space belongs to body rather than to space” (Newton 2004, 27). Newton also affirms the position that bodies have a “degree of reality” that “is of an intermediate nature between God and accident” (32). See Schliesser 2011b and 2012b. For more on the notion of space in De Gravitatione, see Mary Domski’s contribution to this volume. To put this anachronistically, these imaginings should not be thought to belong to the fundamental ontology of the world. Whatever specific premises Spinoza might accept or reject (and certainly there are others in the passage above), the argument as a whole promotes further inquiry into the problems surrounding Spinoza’s account of motion. Specifically, reflection on [A], [A*], and [B] raises important questions about the nature and origin of motion in Spinoza’s system. In particular, we will have to give more consideration to how Spinoza blocks the inference from [A] and [A*] to [B], namely, how he can accept that both the existence and motion of matter depend on some cause without also committing to the existence of an external, nonmaterial cause. What is at stake here is the origin of matter and, in particular, the origin of matter’s motion. In Spinoza, their origin follows from the divine nature; God serves as the sufficient reason. But Spinoza is frustratingly silent on the details, and this leaves “God” acting like an empty placeholder rather than a specific cause for the origin of an infinite succession of motion. We can recognize this point even if we are not very impressed by either More’s blanket denial that the material universe can be eternal or More’s conclusion that there must be “some other substance [that] exists before matter” that is the original source of motion. That More considers that this external cause for the existence and motion of matter must be immaterial is made clear in his earlier anti-Cartesian Enchiridion Metaphysicum (1671), where More presents the same argument against the existence of an infinite succession of motions. He writes: this corporeal world with its motions and revolutions of changes neither existed nor could exist from eternity, and [I] matter does not arise from itself or [I*] at least cannot be moved by itself; and so [II] it is necessary that there exists a certain immaterial principle or incorporeal substance which impresses motion on matter. (Jacob 1991, 87n36) Now if one accepts [I*] that matter cannot be self-moving (because, say, it is taken to be passive), then even if More’s [I] is false or thought to be question-begging against Spinoza, then [II] may be accepted. As already noted, it is not clear that Spinoza can block the inference, given his reticence in discussing the nature of matter and the origin of motion. In the Confutatio, More offers a separate and extended argument against the Spinozistic claim that there is an infinite succession of motions (in the context of his criticism against what he calls the “fourth” of Spinoza’s seven arguments against final causes): Indeed he supposes an infinite succession of motions.… For Spinoza here [E1p32C] speaks of God in the same way as of some infinite matter, whose parts are pushed and pulled one by the other from eternity. But if not so, then motion begins in matter from within at some time, unless God is, such as He doubtless is, distinct from matter, who … from a mind that is never incapable of foresight and counsel (since that mind is eternal and infinite, which, as it were in flash of the eye, can see what is best in each thing) according to His eternal Ideas which include the cause and the end of all things has produced the entire creation as soon as He was capable of creating it. (Jacob 1991, 87) When More writes that “Spinoza here [E1p32C1speaks of God in the same way as of some infinite matter,” on my reading, More subtly reinterprets Spinoza: Spinoza’s God acts in a law-like manner (e.g., in E1p32C1 Spinoza denies that God produces “any effect by freedom of the will”), but that does not prevent God from being distinct from matter in some nontrivial sense. For Spinoza, matter, or extension, is an infinite attribute of substance, but Spinoza’s God also encompasses infinitely more attributes (see sec. 2 above). Here More provides a framework for the way Newtonians will later argue against Spinoza: either motion is eternal (which, as we have already seen, More takes to be absurd); or if not, then either matter generates motion or a wise God generates motion. Crucially, More presupposes that matter is necessarily passive, which renders absurd the notion that matter generates motion. Thus, only one option remains: a wise God generates and is the ultimate source of motion. There is a line of argument that insists that for Spinoza matter is not passive but is naturally active. For example, Nadler (2006, 196n7) has pointed to the Conatus doctrine as evidence that Spinoza rejects the passivity of matter and accepts that it has innate active powers. Diderot seems to have read Spinoza this way (see Wolfe 2010a and 2010b). It is worth remarking here that the passivity of matter was a standard commitment of the Mechanical Philosophy (and even a Platonist like More relies on it in his arguments in favor of the existence of active spirits), but it raises complications in the context of Newtonian claims about action at a distance. To put this tersely: the moment Newton opens the door to the possibility that matter is active, he undercuts this peculiar anti-Spinozistic strategy for the existence of (a providential) God. For evidence of the possibility of active matter in Newton, see Schliesser 2010b and 2011b. And what we see below in Clarke’s arguments, in fact, is that he is able to enhance More’s strategy precisely by appealing to the Newtonian notion of motion without making any commitments about the nature of matter. The second More-ian strategy I focus on is employed in one of his arguments in favor of final causes (something famously denied by Spinoza, as in Ethics Part I, Appendix). According to Colie (1963), More’s argument probably has roots in Boyle’s arguments for design. This particular argument from the Confutatio also gives a nice flavor of More’s generally (hostile) tenor toward Spinoza: O the intolerable petulance and haughty virulence of the completely blind and stupid philosophaster, who since he represents the descent of a stone to the earth as a mechanical cause, most indolently and boastfully holds forth as if he has certainly realized that the structure of the human body was made not by counsel or providence but by blind mechanical necessity. We, on the other hand, hold for certain that mechanical power cannot extend so far. (Jacob 1991, 79) The core of More’s argument here is that (i) mechanical power is limited; (ii) the human body exhibits design; and therefore, (iii) there must be a designer. Now, Spinoza would deny (i), so the argument does not seem very compelling. Moreover, given that Spinoza thinks we know very little about the nature and capacities of the human body (E2p24S; E3p2S), claims such as (ii) reveal mostly wishful thinking (see especiallyE1, Appendix). Regardless of the premises Spinoza might reject here, I mention More’s argument for two reasons. First, he forwards the idea that if one can properly delimit the scope of mechanical causes—and the meaning of these causes shifts before and after Newton—then one has room to marshal evidence for the existence of alternative, nonmechanical causes (including God), which (as we will see) will be a recurring strategy among the Newtonians. Second, the association of Spinoza’s position with “blind mechanical necessity” will become a trope that we see recurring in later anti-Spinozistic arguments and will alert us to possible anti-Spinozism even when Spinoza is not named. In fact, both of these themes emerge in Clarke’s arguments, to which we now turn. 4. Clarke’s Demonstration (1705) Samuel Clarke is, of course, very well known from his celebrated correspondence with Leibniz and Collins. These are extremely relevant to a more thorough study of Clarke’s critical engagement with Spinozism, but here I focus more narrowly on some arguments in Clarke’s 1704 “Boyle’s lectures,” collected as A Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God (1705), with the subtitle “More particularly in answer to Hobbs, Spinoza, and their followers.” I follow Colie’s assessment that “Alone of the [Boyle] lecturers, Clarke treated Spinoza as an important philosopher, not just as an atheist whose foolish arguments could be met with stock physico-theological orthodoxy” (Colie 1963, 207). However, although Colie calls attention to the importance of motion to Clarke’s argument against Spinoza, our approaches to their debate are orthogonal to each other. What I emphasize here is that Clarke engages with the Ethics as offering a natural philosophical system and, in particular, that he introduces a distinctively Newtonian conception of motion into his arguments against Spinoza’s natural philosophy and thereby offers important innovations over More’s earlier arguments against Spinoza’s account of motion. In a lengthy and very important passage, Clarke begins by telling us that there are three possible origins of motion: (i) an eternal intelligent being is the cause of motion; (ii) the motion is necessary and self-caused; or (iii) “an endless successive communication” is the cause of motion. Clarke then offers explicit criticisms of Spinoza in order to rule out (ii) and (iii) and thereby leave us with (i), namely, the position that an eternal intelligent being is the cause of motion. He writes, [I] If [motion] was of itself necessary and self-existent, then it follows that it must be a contradiction in terms to suppose any matter to be at rest. And yet, at the same time, [II] because the determination of this self-existent motion must be every way at once, the effect of it could be nothing else but a perpetual rest. Besides … [III] it must also imply a contradiction to suppose that there might possibly have been originally more or less motion in the universe than there actually was, which is so very absurd a consequence that Spinoza himself, though he expressly asserts all things to be necessary, yet seems ashamed here to speak out his opinion, or [IV] rather plainly contradicts himself in the question about the origin of motion* [*The accompanying footnote refers to E1p33 with E2p13L3—ES]. But [V] if it be said, lastly, that motion, without any necessity in its own nature and without any external necessary cause, has existed from eternity merely be an endless successive communication as Spinoza inconsistently enough seems to assert (*E2p13L3), this I have before shown in my proof of the second general proposition of this discourse to be a plain contradiction. (Clarke 1998, Part VIII, 45; bracketed numerals added to facilitate discussion) Clarke’s discussion is explicitly addressed in the Ethics and shows significant textual command over details of Spinoza’s position. Moreover, a cursory reading of this discussion shows agreement between Clarke and Spinoza on some key points. In particular, Clarke and Spinoza agree that “it is manifest” that matter at rest “could never of itself begin to move” (recall Spinoza’s letter to Tschirnhaus, dated 5 May 1676). Of course, Clarke’s position is a bit more ambiguous. The argument here does not address what intelligent matter could do, only how we should conceive of “unintelligent matter.” In what follows I ignore how Clarke might conceive of intelligent (or minds that are superadded to) matter because this option is irrelevant to the debate with Spinoza (for whom intelligence/intellects/minds would belong to the attribute of thought, not extension). Also, Clarke and Spinoza agree (without argument) that there is “now such a thing as motion in the world” (recall Spinoza’s commitment to “absolute” motion at E2p13L2). However, it is the points on which they disagree (numbered [I]–[V] in the passage above) that reveal Clarke’s Newtonian innovations over More’s initial attack on the Ethics from the Confutatio. I treat each of these five innovations in turn. Clarke’s first innovation is the claim “[I] If [motion] was of itself necessary and self-existent, then it follows that it must be a contradiction in terms to suppose any matter to be at rest.” Such a claim, of course, seems question-begging against Spinoza, who, as we saw, claims it is axiomatic that “All bodies either move or are at rest” (E2p13A1) and, thus, recognizes no blatant contradiction between self-existing, or necessary motion, and matter at rest. That said, Clarke is right to suggest that if we accept something like a principle of sufficient reason, then it does at least seem arbitrary to accept that, at any given time, matter can be at rest if motion is self-existent and if, as Spinoza claims, there must have always been some motion in the universe. Something like this intuition informs Clarke’s best arguments against Spinoza, and this intuition reveals how Newtonian mechanics subtly enters the debate. The basic charge against Spinoza is that he cannot sufficiently distinguish motion from rest, or the existence of motion from the existence of rest, as the natural philosophy of Newton’s Principia does. That Newton sets the standard for Clarke’s criticism of Spinoza is also revealed in his second innovation, according to which “[II] because the determination of this self-existent motion must be every way at once, the effect of it could be nothing else but a perpetual rest.” With the claim that the determination of self-existent motion “must be every way at once,” Clarke suggests here that any body will have tendencies (or determinations) to motion in every direction. Thus, for any determination, d1, in a body there will be an opposing determination, –d1, that cancels it out. The effect is that the body does not move, that is, it will be in perpetual rest. Clarke assumes, of course, that the determinations, or tendencies, to motion are acting with the same force, that is, are of equal degree, as it were. And if this holds, then what Clarke has ultimately shown is that Spinoza cannot designate a single, well-defined determination of motion for each body, which is precisely what Newton does with his principle of inertia. The interpretation presented in this paragraph is due to Mary Domski in private correspondence. Clarke’s third innovation is the most revealing of the Newtonian commitments that underwrite his criticisms of Spinoza. Recall the argument: “[III] it must also imply a contradiction to suppose that there might possibly have been originally more or less motion in the universe than there actually was, which is so very absurd a consequence that Spinoza himself, though he expressly asserts all things to be necessary, yet seems ashamed here to speak out his opinion.” Now, it is important to first point out that all Spinoza actually requires is that the ratio of motion to rest in the universe remains the same, where the universe is taken as an infinite individual that keeps its nature or form (see E2p13L4 and E2p13L7). Keeping this ratio fixed is entirely compatible with variation in the actual motion of the universe. All the same, given that we are dealing with a ratio here, Clarke is right that at any given time there is a sense in which “there might possibly have been originally more or less motion in the universe than there actually was.” This, in turn, violates Spinoza’s claim that “things could have been produced by God in no other way” (E1p33) and gives merit to the charge leveled above. From our present point of view, what is even more important is the role that quantity of motion plays in Clarke’s criticisms. Considering motion as a quantity is at the heart of Newton’s mechanics, and it is a conception that Spinoza would have severe problems addressing. Namely, while adequate knowledge of motion and rest as such is clearly possible for Spinoza—it is one of the common notions of extension—quantities of motion do not enter into such knowledge, since common notions are about qualitative, not quantitative, properties of extension. The manner or magnitude of such properties is extrinsic and, thus, not a common notion. This becomes clear by reflecting on how Spinoza characterizes common notions: common notions are qualities, as it were, that all bodies share regardless of their state (see, especially, E2p38–39). Second, these properties do not just have a high degree of generality—they are common to all bodies (E2L2, cited in E2p28C)—but the manner in which they are present within each and all bodies is also equal (E2p39Dem). The best way to make sense of common notions is, thus, to suggest that they are intrinsic properties of modes within an attribute (in Spinozistic terms they share an “affection”) and that they reflect the peculiar modal qualities of such a mode within an attribute. For example, all bodies are equally capable of motion and of rest, and of moving slower and quicker (E2L2) (see Schliesser 2011c). At the level of quantities of motion, Spinoza is always going to claim that we are dealing with confused knowledge by way of the imagination. See especially Spinoza’s “The Letter on the Infinite” (source) and also Schliesser, forthcominga. At best, it seems we can say that Spinoza will deflect this sort of argument by relegating the natural science of motion to the realm of inadequate knowledge. Thus, in advancing from More, Clarke has not only shifted the burden from explaining the nature and origin of motion in general to explaining the nature and origin of Newtonian motion (understood as a physical quantity), he has also underscored Spinoza’s inability to meet the standards of Newtonian mechanics and to explain the success and authority of mathematical physics as a body of adequate knowledge about natural motions. The final two arguments from Clarke address worries already suggested by More, namely, that Spinoza is unable to give a general explanation for what causes motion and, thus, that Spinoza does not have the resources to identify any natural motions at all. However, as in the case of the third innovation, Clarke is implicitly adopting a Newtonian conception of motion as a physical quantity and a peculiar conception of God in order to strengthen the case against Spinoza. Consider the fourth innovation, where Clarke cites two passages (E1p33 and E2p13L3) and claims that in these, Spinoza “[IV] rather plainly contradicts himself in the question about the origin of motion.” The two texts state (1) “things could have been produced by God in no other way” (E1p33), and (2) “A body which moves or is at rest must be determined to motion or rest by another body, which has been determined to motion or rest by another, and that again by another, and so on to infinity” (E2p13L3 relying on E1p28). Certainly, from Spinoza’s point of view, there is no obvious contradiction that emerges here; it is possible to have a deterministic system in which bodies cause other bodies to move. But from Clarke’s point of view, there is a contradiction that stems from Spinoza’s account of God because it looks as if E1p33 understands God in terms of Natura Naturans, that is, as a free cause (E1p29S). By contrast, E2p13L3 seems to be describing God’s activity in terms that come closer to Natura Naturata, that is, as following from some other cause (E1p29S). Even if it is too strong to call Spinoza’s position a contradiction—Natura Naturans and Natura Naturata are complementary, not contraries—here Clarke successfully puts his finger on Spinoza’s ambiguities and lack of determinateness on the source of motion. Finally, consider the contradiction cited in Clarke’s fifth innovation: “[V] if it be said, lastly, that motion, without any necessity in its own nature and without any external necessary cause, has existed from eternity merely be an endless successive communication as Spinoza inconsistently enough seems to assert (*E2p13L3), this I have before shown in my proof of the second general proposition of this discourse to be a plain contradiction.” As in the previous case, the “plain contradiction” is not easy to detect: from Spinoza’s point of view, there is no contradiction in claiming the existence of an infinite and eternal succession of motion—this simply follows from “the absolute nature” of God’s attribute of extension (see E1p28Dem, which Spinoza relies on in the demonstration of E2p13L3). Spinoza simply asserts that there is some connection between (a) the absolute nature of the attribute of extension, (b) the infinite and eternal succession of motion that “follows” from it, and (c) the particular motion(s) we find in the world. But from Clarke’s point of view, Spinoza can say nothing about the kind of motion we experience. In particular, from Clarke’s point of view, a chain of motions is conserved by Newtonian mechanical causes. These are so-called passive principles, but the motions require some active principles to be generated. To see the point, consider the full argument that Clarke had presented earlier in the book: an infinite succession … of merely dependent beings without any original independent cause is a series of beings that has neither necessity, nor cause, nor any reason or ground at all of its existence either within itself or without. That is, it is an express contradiction and impossibility. It is supposing something to be caused (because it is granted in every one of its stages of succession not to be necessarily and of itself), and yet that, in the whole, it is caused absolutely by nothing, which every man knows is a contradiction to imagine done in time; and because duration in this case makes no difference, it is equally a contradiction to suppose it done from eternity. And consequently there must, on the contrary, of necessity have existed from eternity some one immutable and independent being. (Clarke 1998, Part II, 10–11) Here Clarke is making a Newtonian move insofar as he is explaining the origin of mechanical causes—or explaining the cause of mechanical causation—in terms of an active, immaterial agent. While this is not the only option available within a Newtonian framework—an “independent” God is not the only active principle in Newton’s system I have argued that matter is active according to Newton in Schliesser 2010b and Schliesser 2011b.—it is an important strain in Newtonian anti-Spinozism. As already seen in More’s arguments, it is by properly delimiting the scope of mechanical causes that Clarke makes room to marshal evidence for the existence of an immaterial cause of motion, that is, for the existence of an “immutable and independent” God. While several of Clarke’s innovations over More’s may seem question-begging against Spinoza (insofar as accepting Spinoza’s notions of God/Nature and body seem to render many of the arguments moot), on balance Clarke succeeds in putting the spotlight on the problematic features of motion within Spinoza’s system precisely by adopting a generally Newtonian framework for his analysis. In particular, he has successfully raised the suspicion that when it comes to thinking about motion in terms of a physical quantity Spinoza has very few resources at his disposal, other than to dismiss mathematical physical science as at best offering inadequate knowledge of natural motions. We now turn to Maclaurin’s use of two further Newtonian elements—the vacuum and atomism—to critique Spinoza’s philosophy of nature. Then, in section 6, by returning to Clarke, I examine how the framing of Newton’s natural philosophy in the Principia is taken to subvert the Spinozistic commitment to nature governed by “blind necessity.” 5. Maclaurin’s Account (1748) Colin MacLaurin was the most sophisticated Newtonian of the generation following Clarke (and Newton). As I have documented elsewhere (Schliesser 2011a, 2012a), in MacLaurin’s widely read (posthumous) An Account or Sir Isaac Newton’s Philosophy (1748) one of the main targets is Spinoza’s claim that there is “one substance in the universe, endowed with infinite attributes, (particularly, infinite extension and cogitation) that produces all other things, in itself, necessarily, its own modifications; which alone is, in all things, cause and effect, agent and patient, in all respects physical and moral” (78). Here I focus on just one aspect of his criticisms of Spinoza: So Spinoza represented [the universe] as infinite and necessary, endowed always with the same quantity of motion, or (to use his inaccurate expression*) always having the same proportion of motion and rest in it, and proceeding by an absolute natural necessity; without any self-mover or principle of liberty.… Sir Isaac Newton’s Philosophy,… altogether overthrows the foundation of Spinoza’s doctrine, by showing that there may be, but actually is a vacuum; and, instead of an infinite, necessary, and indivisible, plenitude, matter appears to occupy but a very small portion of space, and to have its parts actually divided and separated from each other. (Maclaurin 1748, 77) In the accompanying footnote, Maclaurin quotes Spinoza in Latin: “* omnia [enim] corpora ab aliis circumcinguntur, et ab invicem determinantur ad existendum et operandum, certa ac determinata ratione, servata semper in omnibus simul, hoc est, in toto universe, eadem ratione motus ad quietem, Epist.---Corpus motum vel quiescens ad motum vel quietem determinari debuit ab alio corpore, quod etiam ad motum vel quietem determinatum fuit ab alio, et illud iterum ab alio, et sic in infinitum” (E2p13L3). (The same Lemma targeted above by Clarke (1998, Part VIII, 45.) Notice the two elements of Newton’s natural philosophy that are marshaled against Spinoza: the vacuum and an atomist conception of matter. Now, there can be little doubt that Newton embraced the possibility of a vacuum; he says explicitly in Book 3, Proposition 6, Corollary 3 of the Principia that “a vacuum is necessary” (Newton 1999, 810; see also Book 2, section 9, scholium; Book 3, Lemma 4, cor. 3; Book 3, proposition 10, theorem 10). The natural reading of these passages is that space is largely empty. They also constrain quite dramatically the nature of any ether that may pervade space, namely, consistent with the remarks in the Queries of the Opticks (1704), any such ether must have near negligible mass and be practically frictionless. Newton’s cautious embrace of atomism is well known from the Opticks, where he writes in Query 31 that “the small Particles of Bodies” that have “certain Powers, Virtues, or Forces, by which they act at a distance, not only upon the Rays of Light for reflecting, refracting and inflecting them, but also upon one another for producing a great Part of the Phenomena of Nature” (Newton 1952, 375–76). But, of course, corpuscularianism, which is compatible with the infinite division of matter, need not be identical to atomism, which embraces perfectly hard smallest particles. In the Opticks, perfectly “hard bodies” out of which other bodies are composed are presented as possible and likely (364page range, 370, 375–78). So it is no surprise that Newton’s position was associated with atomism. Newton’s atomism is more evident in his correspondence with Cotes during the editorial activity leading up to the second edition (1713) of the Principia: “A body is condensed by the contraction of the pores in it, and when it has no more pores (because of the impenetrability of matter) it can be condensed no more” (cited in Biener and Smeenk 2012, 133). But this material was not available during the eighteenth century. See Biener and Smeenk 2012 for a useful analysis of the atomism presupposed at Principia, Book 3, Proposition 6, Corollary 3. In the quoted passage, MacLaurin is as coy about atomism as Newton became from the second edition of the Principia onward. For more on Newton’s attitude toward atomism, see Biener and Smeenk 2012 and Schliesser, forthcominga. MacLaurin (correctly) attributes to Newton the position that there is a vacuum in nature and that matter can be separated from each other. He opposes these positions to the “foundation of Spinoza’s doctrine.” Now few readers of Spinoza will have thought that Spinoza’s claim, “there is no vacuum in Nature” (E1p15S) is fundamental to the program of the Ethics, even if one allows that it may be the only place in the Ethics where Spinoza is vulnerable to empirical refutation. For an excellent treatment of Spinoza on the vacuum, see Schmaltz 1999. So why would MacLaurin call this a “foundation”? Echoing Clarke, MacLaurin appears to be homing in on Spinoza’s commitment to the universe having “the same quantity of motion or (to use his inaccurate expression) always having the same proportion of motion to rest, and proceeding by an absolute natural necessity; without any self-mover or principle of liberty.” But unlike Clarke, MacLaurin neither analyzes Spinoza’s argument carefully nor argues against Spinoza. Here MacLaurin simply asserts the authority of Newton’s natural philosophy as offering the more legitimate source of explanation on these matters. But this does not mean MacLaurin is being merely dogmatic here. For while MacLaurin cites Letter 15 to Oldenburgh, in the Ethics Spinoza also states the conservation doctrine in E2p13L7S. If we trace the sources of the doctrine through earlier commitments in the Ethics (via the proofs of E2p13L7, E2p13L4, and E2p13L1), Spinoza refers back to E1p15S and the arguments for the denial of a vacuum in nature! This suggests that MacLaurin has read the Ethics carefully. More crucially, it also suggests that by explaining away a vacuum, a post-Newtonian Spinozist must respond to the authority that follows from the unprecedented success of empirical mathematical philosophy. 6. The General Newtonian Argument against Spinoza and the General Scholium (1713) In Clarke and Maclaurin, we see the use of specific elements of Newton’s mechanics to buttress the original arguments against Spinoza made by More. Beyond that, we notice in Clarke especially that Newton’s natural philosophy in general is taken to challenge Spinoza’s account of nature and motion. What Clarke argues is that the Newtonian natural system and the findings that stem from it are incompatible with the “blind necessity” that characterizes both the Epicurean and Spinozistic world picture, precisely because this system implies the existence of an immaterial and wise Creator. Colie (1963, 207) claims that Spinoza’s association with Epicureanism in the Boyle lectures starts with John Hancock, who preached his sermons in 1706. Consider these remarks from A Demonstration (1705) where Clarke claims that recent Newtonian science offers “additional strength” to an a posteriori argument that “the supreme cause and author of all things must of necessity be infinitely wise”: The classic treatment of these arguments is by Hurlbutt (1965). For the significance of Spinoza in the Boyle lectures, see Colie 1963, 204. What would [Cicero] have said [against the Epicureans], if he had known the modern discoveries in astronomy? The immense greatness of the world (I mean of that part of it, which falls under our observation), which is now known to be as much greater than what in his time they imagined it to be, as the world itself, according to their system, was greater than Archimedes’ Sphere? The exquisite regularity of all the planets’ motions without epicycles, stations, retrogradations, or any other deviation or confusion whatsoever? The inexpressible niceties of the adjustments of the primary velocity and original directions of the annual motions of the planets, with their distance from the central body and their force of gravitation towards it?… The wonderful motions of the comets, which are now known to be as exact, regular, and periodical as the motions of other planets? Lastly, the preservation of the several systems and of the several planets and comets in the same system from falling upon each other, which infinite past time (had there been no intelligent governor of the whole) could not but have been the effects of the smallest possible resistance made by the finest ether and even by the rays of light themselves to the motions (supposing it possible there ever could have been any motion) of those bodies? (Clarke 1998, Part XI, 81–83) The negative force of these remarks is clear: the very findings of recent science and astronomy cannot be explained by a purely mechanical and deterministic system. Such a Spinozistic/Epicurean system lacks explanatory force because, as Clarke suggests, it cannot explain what Newtonian science has made manifest: the regularity, greatness, exactness, and “niceties” of the natural world. This reinforces the argument by Clarke that we had analyzed in section 4; even if Spinoza can offer a sufficient explanation of motion, he lacks the resources to account for the particular exacting details we find in nature. For a Spinozist to meet this burden, she must articulate a full-fledged mechanics from first principles. One might object that Clarke is discussing Epicureans and not Spinoza here. But this ignores that Clarke tends to equate the two. Indeed, later in the text, Clarke equates “blind metaphysical necessity” and “Epicureanism” (1998, 227–28), where Lucretius and Epicurus are taken to task for their denial of final causes. And prior to that Clarke had connected Spinoza’s view with the position that God was a “mere necessary agent.” But according to Clarke, because Spinoza’s God lacks choice, his is a “blind and unintelligent necessity” (102). With a “blind necessity” unable to account for the world as described by Newtonian science, we are left to embrace the existence of a wise and governing creator: Certainly atheism, which [at the time of Cicero—ES] was altogether unable to withstand the arguments drawn from this topic, must now, upon the additional strength of these later observations which are every one an unanswerable proof of the incomprehensible wisdom of the creator, be utterly ashamed to show its head. We now see with how great reason the author of the book of Ecclesiasticus after he had described the beauty of the Sun and stars, and all the then visible works of God in heaven and Earth, concluded, ch. 43, v 32, (as we after all the discoveries of later ages may no doubt still truly say) “there are yet hid greater things than these, and we have seen but a few of his works.” (Clarke 1998, Part XI, 81–83) Now, the main point of Clarke’s argument is to deploy the amazing precision and empirical success of modern mathematical physics, which reveals the greatest amount of regularity and apparent design in nature as an a posteriori argument for a Designing God. God is not only a necessary origin for the very possibility of motion (motion would be impossible “had there been no intelligent governor of the whole”; citation), but also the particular kinds of motions exhibited in the world. (Spinoza was, of course, the greatest critic of such arguments for design, as we see in Ethics, Part 1, Appendix.) In the quote, Clarke does not mention Spinoza explicitly. But, for those who doubt that Spinoza could be treated as a latter day follower of Epicurus and Lucretius in the period, there is, I think, an oblique reference to Spinoza here nevertheless. Clarke insists that when it comes to knowledge of nature, rather than using clear and distinct intellectual perception, we need to see “clearly and distinctly” with telescopes! Spinoza was of course a great craftsman of telescopic lenses. He was also the proponent of the method of clear and distinctness, which carries its own self-evident-ness (E1p8S2). MacLaurin explicitly targets the method of clear and distinctness to buttress support for an “experimental philosophy”: “In all of these, Spinoza has added largely from his imagination, to what he had learned from Descartes. But from a comparison of their method and principles, we may beware of the danger of setting out in philosophy in so high and presumptuous a manner; while both pretend to deduce compleat systems from the clear and true ideas, which they imagined they had, of eternal essences and necessary causes. If we attend to the consequences of such principles, we shall the more willingly submit to experimental philosophy, as the only sort that is suited to our faculties…” (1748, 77). For discussion, see Schliesser 2012a. According to Clarke, the only thing we may not be able to learn is the “nicety” of God’s “Adjustment of the Primary Velocity and Original Direction of the Annual Motion of the Planets” (recall the quote from Clarke 1998, Part XI, 81) at the origin of the universe. In a general sense this position, too, has its provenance in Boyle, who had emphasized that while we know God exists, we know almost nothing of him (Colie 1963, 201). There are affinities with Newton’s position on our near complete lack of knowledge of God’s substance in the General Scholium. But the main point of the passage is revealed by Clarke’s optimistic use of Ecclesiasticus 43:32. For Clarke this is the predictive assertion that there is still much to learn about nature. In context, Clarke treats Newton’s discoveries as evidence of our progress in knowledge and as a promise that there is much more to learn. In The History of England, Hume, no friend of final causes, writes: “While Newton seemed to draw off the veil from some of the mysteries of nature, he shewed at the same time the imperfections of the mechanical philosophy; and thereby restored her ultimate secrets to that obscurity, in which they ever did and ever will remain” (Hume 1983, Part VI, 542; emphasis added). Hume’s attitude contrasts with the open-ended optimism of Clarke’s reading of Ecclesiasticus 43:32. By reversing the meaning of what Newton has shown, Hume resists the conclusion that Ecclesiasticus 43 leads up to in the very next, final line: “For the Lord hath made all things; and to the godly hath he given wisdom.” Now Clarke’s arguments are not merely an argument for the existence of a wise designer. The significance of Clarke’s arguments rests, in part, in their ability to marshal the authority of Newton’s unprecedented novel, precise, and accurate discoveries to settle an argument within philosophy. I call such a move “Newton’s Challenge to Philosophy” (Schliesser 2011a). Importantly, Clarke’s approach anticipates the contours and much of the specific details of a similar set of arguments that Newton presents in the General Scholium, There is, of course, rich scholarship on the General Scholium: in theological matters see, e.g., Snobelen 2001 and Ducheyne 2006. For useful treatment on Newton’s sources see McGuire and Rattansi 1966 and De Smet and Verelst 2001. which was added to the second edition (1713) of the Principia: But though these bodies may indeed persevere in their orbits by the mere laws of gravity, yet they could by no means have at first deriv’d the regular position of the orbits themselves from those laws. The six primary Planets are revolv’d about the Sun, in circles concentric with the Sun, and with motions directed towards the same parts and almost in the same plan. Ten Moons are revolv’d about the Earth, Jupiter and Saturn, in circles concentric with them, with the same direction of motion, and nearly in the planes of the orbits of those Planets. But it is not to be conceived that mere mechanical causes could give birth to so many regular motions: since the Comets range over all parts of the heavens, in very eccentric orbits. For by that kind of motion they pass easily through the orbits of the Planets, and with great rapidity; and in their aphelions, where they move the slowest, and are detain’d the longest, they recede to the greatest distances from each other, and thence suffer the least disturbance from their mutual attractions. This most beautiful System of the Sun, Planets, and Comets, could only proceed from the counsel and dominion of an intelligent and powerful being. And if the fixed Stars are the centers of other like systems, these, being form’d by the like wise counsel, must be all subject to the dominion of One; especially since the light of the fixed Stars is of the same nature with the light of the Sun, and from every system light passes into all the other systems. And lest the systems of the fixed Stars should, by their gravity, fall on each other mutually, he hath placed those Systems at immense distances from one another. (Newton 1999, 940) Now this is not the place to discuss all the features of this argument (see Smeenk and Schliesser, forthcoming, for a more trenchant discussion). For our present purposes, what is important is that Newton rules out the possibility that three particular features of planetary orbits—that they (i) are law-governed, (ii) hinder each other minimally, and (iii) are jointly beautiful—could be caused by any other cause than God. Newton then offers the “immense distances” among the planetary systems, which thus avoids the possibility of gravitationally induced mutual collapse, as another empirical phenomenon that supports his argument from inconceivability. Moreover, given that Newton could put almost no constraint on the mass of comets, he must have also found it striking that these do not disrupt the motions of the solar system through which they pass. Comets provide a further hint of providential design, in that at aphelia they are sufficiently far apart so as not to disturb each other’s motion. Newton’s position rules out two contrasting, alternative approaches, both discussed later in the General Scholium: (i) that God is constantly arranging things in nature. As he writes, “In him are all things contained and moved; yet neither affects the other” (Newton 1999, 941). No further argument is offered against a hyperactive God. (ii) That everything is the product of “blind metaphysical necessity” (Newton 1999, 942). As I have documented above, in the writings of More and Clarke, this system of blind necessity is associated with the system of Spinoza. So while Newton does not mention Spinoza by name, readers familiar with Clarke’s and More’s rhetoric and arguments would have recognized the target. Thus, in the new, second and third editions’ capstone of the Principia, Newton lends his authority to the project of refuting Spinoza. In addition to a refined version of the argument to design, Newton offers an independent argument against the system of blind necessity, namely, that given that necessity is uniform, it cannot account for observed variety (Newton 1999, 943). Now, it is only a limited objection against Spinoza, for as we have seen, Spinozism is committed to there being sufficient reason for infinite variety in the modes (E1p16 and E1p28). At best Newton has shifted the burden of proof. Because Newton has the better physics, he can claim to have constrained any possible explanation that will account for the observed variety. Of course, this charge is not insurmountable: all a Spinozist needs to show is how the observed laws and the “regular” orbits are possible given some prior situation. I have argued that Kant’s Universal Natural History should be understood as accepting this challenge; see Schliesser, forthcomingb. Even so, by focusing on the origin and nature of motion, the Newtonians do call attention to the Achilles heel of Spinoza’s system. Given their objectives, this is no small achievement. 7. Conclusion: Reading Spinoza More, Clarke, Newton, and MacLaurin were not dispassionate respondents to Spinoza. But their motivated, sophisticated criticisms help us more clearly recognize tensions in Spinoza’s Ethics and other writings. In particular, they were in a position to exploit the increasingly high intellectual status of Newton’s natural philosophy to successfully press the case against Spinoza’s treatment of motion and, consequently, Spinoza’s unprovidential God. A progressive narrative that situates Spinoza at the center of the scientific revolution (as offered, for instance, in Israel 2002) misses the fact that the authority of triumphant, mathematical-empirical science is deployed against Spinozism. Such a progressive narrative is also unsatisfying philosophically because it leaves us wondering how Spinoza could meet the challenge of the Newtonians to address and account for the crucial elements of Newton’s Principia. More important, the progressive narrative has made us blind to the fact that many eighteenth-century thinkers—Mandeville, Hume, Diderot, Buffon, and others—drew upon Spinozistic resources (as developed in the “Letter on the Infinite”) to contest the authority of mathematical natural philosophy and support their insistence that it was useless for the knowledge worth. Finally, the story told here has an unexpected afterlife in the historiography of analytic philosophy. In the middle of the nineteenth century in chapters 13 and 14 of his classic An Investigation of the Laws of Thought, George Boole rationally reconstructed the Spinoza-Clarke exchange in order to showcase the utility and significance of his new symbolic language. Boole had no doubt that "The analysis of its [Spinoza's Ethics'--ES] main argument is extremely difficult, owing not to the complexity of the separate propositions which it involves, but to the use of vague definitions, and of axioms which, through a like defect of clearness, it is perplexing to determine whether we ought to accept or to reject. While the reasoning of Dr. Samuel Clarke is in part verbal, that of Spinoza is so in a much greater degree; and perhaps this is the reason why, to some minds, it has appeared to possess a formal cogency, to which in reality it possesses no just claim." (Boole, 145) This is not the place to evaluate Boole’s judgment or its reflection in Maxwell’s treatment of the relative merits of Newton and Spinoza (Maxwell, 18). I just note that one influential reader of Boole, Russell, praises Spinoza’s moral vision, but explicitly discounts the argumentative value of Spinoza’s works in the context of his attacks on the British Idealists and Bergson (Russell, 64). But the details of these stories must be told elsewhere.. In preparing this paper I have benefitted from Noa Shein’s working paper “Between Physics and Metaphysics—Samuel Clarke’s Response to Spinoza,” and my subsequent, ongoing discussions with her. I have also learned a lot about Spinoza and the sciences from my exchanges with Alison Peterman. I tried out the ideas of this paper on audiences at Oxford, where I received very helpful comments from Martine Pécharman, Sarah Hutton, Daniel Garber, Alex Douglas, and Jasper Reid, and at Cal State Long Beach, where I received splendid criticisms from Marcy Lascano, Larry Nolan, Alex Klein, and the incomparable Wayne Wright. 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