The Spinoza Problem Read Online Free PDF Page A

thinking, “This is an extraordinary young man.”
    With effort Bento ripped himself away from this moment of moments and continued his recollection of their first meeting.
    The customer persists, “You say that imperishable happiness lies elsewhere. Tell me about this ‘elsewhere.’”
    “I only know that it does not lie in perishable objects. It lies not outside but within. It is the mind that determines what is fearful, worthless, desirable, or priceless, and therefore it is the mind, and only the mind, that must be altered.”
    “What is your name, young man?”
    “Bento Spinoza. In Hebrew I am called Baruch.”
    “And in Latin your name is Benedictus. A fine, blessed name. I am Franciscus van den Enden. I conduct an Academy in classics. Spinoza, you say . . . hmm, from the Latin spina and spinosus , meaning respectively ‘thorn’ and ‘full of thorns.’”
    “ D’espinhosa in Portuguese,” says Bento, nodding. “‘From a thorny place.’”
    “Your kinds of questions may prove thorny to orthodox, doctrinaire instructors.” Van den Enden’s lips curl into a mischievous grin. “Tell me, young man, have you been a thorn in the side of your teachers?”
    Bento grins too. “Yes, once that was true. But now I have removed myself from my teachers. I confine my thorniness to my journal. My kinds of questions are not welcome in a superstitious community.”
    “Superstition and reason have never been close comrades. But perhaps I can introduce you to like-minded companions. Here, for example, is a man you should meet.” Van den Enden reaches into his bag and extracts an old volume, which he hands to Bento. “The man is Aristotle, and this book contains his exploration into your kinds of questions. He, too, regarded the mind and the pursuit of perfecting our powers of reason as the supreme and unique human project. Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics should be one of your next lessons.”
    Bento raises the book to his nostrils and inhales its aroma before opening the pages. “I know of this man and would like to meet him. But we could never converse. I know no Greek.”
    “Then Greek should be part of your education, too. After you have mastered Latin, of course. What a pity that your learned rabbis know so little of
the classics. So narrow is their landscape they often forget that non-Jews also engage in the search for wisdom.”
    Bento answers instantaneously, reverting as always to being Jewish when Jews were attacked. “That is not true. Both Rabbi Menassch and Rabbi Mortera have read Aristotle in Latin translation. And Maimonides thought Aristotle to be the greatest of philosophers.”
    Van den Enden draws himself up. “Well said, young man, well said. With that answer you’ve now passed my entrance examination. Such loyalty toward old teachers prompts me now to issue you a formal invitation to study in my academy. The time has come for you not only to know of Aristotle but to know him yourself. I can place him within your understanding along with the world of his comrades, such as Socrates and Plato and many others.”
    “Ah, but there is the matter of tuition? As I have said, business is bad.”
    “We shall reach an accommodation. For one thing, we shall see what type of Hebrew teacher you are. Both my daughter and I wish to improve our Hebrew. And we may yet discover other forms of barter. For the present, I suggest you add a kilogram of almonds to my wine and raisins—and not the scrawny raisins—let’s try those plump ones on the upper shelf.”

    S o compelling was this remembrance of the genesis of his new life that Bento, lost in reverie, walked blocks past his destination. He came to with a start, oriented himself quickly, and retraced his steps to the van den Enden house, a narrow, four-story home facing the Singel. As he climbed to the top floor, where classes were held, Bento, as always, halted at each landing and peeked into the living areas. He took little interest in the