Landon Frim

This paper will set out in plain language the basic ontology of “Deleuze’s Spinoza”; it will then critically examine whether such a Spinoza has, or indeed could have, ever truly existed. In this, it will be shown that Deleuze’s reading of Spinoza involves the imposition of three interlocking, formal principles. These are (1) Necessitarianism, (2) Immanence, and (3) Univocity. The uncovering of Deleuze’s use of these three principles, how they relate to one another, and what they jointly imply in terms of ontology, will occupy Part 1 of this paper. The critique of these principles from a Spinozist perspective, i.e. that their use by Deleuze is incompatible with Spinoza’s own metaphysics, will occupy Part 2 of this paper.

‘Universal benevolence’ may be defined as the goal of promoting the welfare of every individual, however remote, to the best of one’s ability. Currently, the commonest model of universal benevolence is that of ‘impartiality,’ the notion promoted by Peter Singer, Roderick Firth, and others, that every individual (including oneself) is of equal intrinsic worth. This paper contends that the impartialist model is seriously flawed. Specifically, it is demonstrated that impartialist accounts of benevolence (1) attempt to draw positive moral conclusions from negative premises, (2) draw actual conclusions from merely counterfactual premises, (3) fail to live up to stated claims of naturalism, and (4) give no compelling account of moral motivation. By contrast, I propose an alternate model of universal benevolence, grounded in the Stoic, cosmopolitan theory of oikeiôsis, i.e. ‘appropriation.’ Such a model, in contradistinction to impartiality, would see benevolence as the positive identification between moral agent and moral patient, rather than a charitable sacrifice of oneself for a distinct but equal other. An ethics of oikeiôsis has the further benefit of avoiding each of the four abovementioned conceptual pitfalls common to impartialist theories.

Should the state teach ethics? There is widespread disagreement on whether (and how) secular states should be in the business of promoting a particular moral viewpoint. This article attempts to schematize, and evaluate, these stances. It does so by posing three, simple questions: (1) Should the state explicitly promote certain ethical values over others? (2) Should the state have ultimate justifications for the values it promotes? (3) Should the state compel its citizens to accept these ultimate justifications? Logically, each question in this series is a prerequisite for considering those questions further down the list. The result is that responses can be categorized into one of four possible permutations or ‘camps.’ These are: (1) The Libertarian (“No” to all three questions) (2) The Pluralist (“Yes” to question 1; “No” to questions 2 and 3) (3) The Rationalist Republican (“Yes” to questions 1 and 2; “No” to question 3) (4) The Rigorous Republican (“Yes” to all three questions) It will be shown that just one of these positions, the ‘rationalist republican,’ stands out from all the rest. For only the rationalist republican can account for a normative politics while also safeguarding the individual’s freedom of conscience.

The international relations curriculum has long presented a dichotomy between the so-called “realist” and “idealist” positions. Idealists seek to embody universal norms of justice in foreign policy. Realists, by contrast, see competition between states, the balance of power, and relative advantage as basic to international politics. Though considered polar opposites, both the realist and idealist affirm the primacy of the nation state as a sovereign political unit, and so neither embraces cosmopolitanism in the strongest sense, i.e., the transcendence of national divisions as such. Opening up the IR curriculum to such a radical possibility requires its reframing in terms of underlying, ethical worldviews. Under this lens, it becomes evident that the realist and idealist share far more in common than contemporary policy debates would suggest. It also points us toward the space for an alternate ethical worldview, provided by Stoic rationalism, which is more viable for grounding cosmopolitan thought.

Landon Frim and Harrison Fluss’s following article, “Reason is Red: Why Marxism Needs Philosophy” is a response to Aaron Jaffe’s, “Marxism, Spinoza, and the ‘Radical’ Enlightenment.' It’s not that activism is of second-rate import. It’s that something as important as intervening in the world, and affecting people’s lives, requires sound justification. If we are committed to “the idea” of communism, then we’re also committed to its practical realization and all of the real-world consequences that this entails. Being serious about ideas means confronting their flesh-and-blood impacts when they come to fruition. Intellectual maturity, then, demands an accounting of our political ideals. We have to care that we are right and that our enemies are wrong. And this means something more than being on the “right side” of a particular issue; it means knowing that your politics are grounded in an accurate conception of reality and of what is objectively good for human beings.

What is the role of the principle of sufficient reason in Baruch Spinoza’s ontological proof for God’s existence? Is this role identical within Spinoza’s early work on method, the Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect, and his magnum opus, the Ethics? This paper argues affirmatively that the methodology employed within the Ethics is consonant with that method found within the Treatise, and this claim is substantiated through an engagement with the influential works of Don Garrett and Aaron Garrett. It is also demonstrated through an original reconstruction of the Treatise itself. In this reconstruction, basic premises are identified which can validly prove Spinoza’s intended conclusion of substance monism. It is finally determined that what the Treatise and the Ethics share, specifically, is a methodology which begins with non-nominal definitions that denote the real, sufficient causes of their respective objects. However, at certain junctures, this methodology is expressed with greater consistency within the Treatise as opposed to within the Ethics. Evidence for this will be provided from the primary texts themselves and from the subsequent analyses of Don Garrett and Aaron Garret as well.

In a recent article for Salvage, China Miéville responds to several of our earlier pieces in Jacobin Magazine and elsewhere. One target of Miéville’s criticism is our rationalist brand of Marxism, indebted as it is to the Radical Enlightenment legacy. He casts our differences in starkly theological terms; Ours is described as a “cataphatic” (i.e., orthodox, discursive, rationalist) Marxism while he prefers the “apophatic” (i.e., open, mystical, humble) alternative. These are real philosophical differences, and Miéville does a service to Marxist discourse in illuminating such a critical and productive demarcation. Miéville’s fundamental distinctions are correct. We do believe that knowledge is fundamental to politics, and that action unguided by reason is no action at all, but mere reaction. Nonetheless, if we are to justifiably choose between the “apophatic” and “cataphatic” worldviews, it will be necessary to clearly outline the essential elements of each in a schematic manner.

If we want to fight the new fascism, we must not only organise against it politically, but also understand its ideology. Far from being a morbid curiosity, this is essential for understanding twenty-first century fascism’s inner dynamics. Beyond racist tweets, memes, and Richard Spencer’s obnoxious media appearances, we need to lay bare the images, concepts, and ideas that form the core of alt- right thought. We must lay bare the altright imagination. This imagination is an unstable and fractured thing, torn between two opposing ‘animal spirits’. These are Behemoth and Leviathan. Originating in the Bible, these beasts gained philosophical meaning in Thomas Hobbes’ political philosophy, and entered fascist thought through the writings of the Nazi jurist Carl Schmitt. Who are these monsters? Behemoth is a lumbering giant; it is usually mammalian, often an elephant or trampling bull, occasionally a Russian bear. Behemoth jealously defends its territory against incursions by the sea monster, the serpentine whale-fish called Leviathan. As Schmitt put it in 1942’s Land and Sea, ‘Behemoth exerts itself to rip apart the Leviathan with its horns or teeth, while the Leviathan, on the contrary, holds shut the mouth and nose of the land animal with its fins so that it cannot eat or breathe’. For Schmitt, this describes a naval blockade, and has its analogy in the conflicts between England and Russia in the nineteenth century, and England and Germany in the twentieth. These beasts are a pair of opposites: Behemoth is autochthonous, representing the stable order of earth-bound peoples. Leviathan is thalassocratic, embodying the fluid dynamism of seafaring peoples. Behemoth signifies terrestrial empires, while Leviathan suggests commercial trade and exploration. The former stands for traditional, divinely sanctioned state authority, the latter for the spirit of pirate-capitalist enterprise (what Schmitt calls ‘corsair capitalism’).