Still, he’s no easy read, Spinoza. He’s so hard one may wonder why one’s trying. Do I need this, I found myself asking; I’m 72, retired, I’ve gotten along fine without a definite philosophy, why worry myself now? I’m no showy scholar, needing to flaunt my erudition (Carll really gets Spinoza, wow). Few of my readers are likely to find this topic boffo (“Spinoza, oy, life’s too short”). Expert readers will find my responses greenhorn; non-professionals favor topics more readily shared. Why spend time tussling?

How questions inspissate once you start asking! Each snags like thorns, tugging deeper. Spinoza writes as plainly as he can, the lens-grinder ever focused on precision. His reason for writing is evident: he can’t help himself, needs to know, asking is his nature. He’s not teaching or preaching or seducing, not trying to sell books, just doing his damnedest to say what he sees and by saying to see more clearly. He has no writing career per se (most of his thought he left locked a posthumous box). He pursues Truth as fiercely as a randy teen his lovely. His friends gasp, watching him risk his life for his assertions, the philosophical equivalent of Phillipe Petit tightrope-walking between the World Trade Center towers (“If you slip, you’re dead!”). He’s a sensible guy, Spinoza, maybe the most sensible ever, why such a daredevil?

Truth mattered more to Spinoza than life. He was a sort of saint, but one committed to observation not superstition. He saw no evidence for angels or immortality or a Creator God, so why should he parrot stale assertions? Let them boot him from his synagogue and community (they did both), he wouldn’t lie to appease his neighbors. He liked his neighbors fine: no troublemaker, he’d always kept his nose clean and shoe-buckles polished, but must one bullshit to secure regard? Most people grope in a mental fog – let them – they seemed not to mind – but their way was not his. He would see and say what he saw – and, by saying, ask us what we saw? His prose was not meant to defy or defeat but to describe, as clearly as he could, what he’d seen. The courtesy of his modesty makes us smile sadly, so unfazed by the heroism of his pursuit. Let them slaughter him if it came to that. He did not seek martyrdom, but neither would he avoid it. Truth mattered more.

This is the third of seven reflections on my new pal.