What Does 'Conatus' Mean Again? Lesson 1

Salutations fellow seekers of aquatic joy! This week's post is about the word 'conatus'. I know that I have a blurb about this in the 'about' page, but I think it is worthwhile to give some more concrete historical and philosophical background. I will not be able to cover the entire history of the word or its philosophical use in this one post. I will just start with a few basics.

First of all, as mentioned, I take the term from the philosophy of Baruch (or Benedict) Spinoza. Spinoza was born in Amsterdam in 1632. His family was of Portuguese Jewish decent. They were, however, "maranos", that is "crypto Jews" who professed to be Catholic during the Inquisition. Because of his radical ideas about the nature of God Spinoza himself was excommunicated from his Orthodox Jewish community and the Catholic Church (strangely enough the most extant version of the Ethics have recently been found in a Vatican vault). Knowing his ideas were potentially life threatening, Spinoza never accepted a job in an academic institution. Instead he preferred to work as a lens grinder in a optics shop. Thus he was deeply concerned with convex and concave surfaces, reflections, and helping people to see more clearly.

Spinoza wrote exclusively in Latin, the academic lingua franca of the Middle Ages and early modernity (Enlightenment). His three major works are the Ethica Ordine Geometrico Demonstrata (Ethics), Tractatus de Intellectus Emendatione (Treatise of the Emendation of the Intellect), and the Tractatus Politicus (Political Treatise). The word 'conatus' features in all of these texts, but most prominently in the Ethics, which is a metaphysical treatise that is written in geometric order, using definitions, axioms, postulates, demonstrations, correlatives, and scholia. The Ethics is divided into five parts: I. De Deo (Of God); II. De Natura et Origine Mentis (Of the Nature and Origin of the Mind); III. De Origine et Natura Affectuum (Of the Origin and the Nature of the Affects); IV. De Servitute Humana Seu De Affectuum Viribus (Of Human Bondage, or The Powers of the Affects); V. De Potentia Intellectus Seu De Libertate Humana (Of the Power of the Intellect, or On Human Freedom). 

The verb 'conatur' and its corresponding noun 'conatus' is used heavily in the third section (Of the Origin and the Nature of the Affects). I will list some of the passages in Latin below and will provide their corresponding translations. I will not be able to fully explain how these postulates fold upon previous axioms and definitions and I will in most cases also leave out some of the very wordy demonstrations and correlatives. Again, this is just a brief journey to the tip of the iceberg. 

III.P7: Conatus, quo unaquaeque res in suo esse perserverare conatur, nihil est praeter ipsius rei actualem essentiam. 

The striving by which each thing strives to persevere in its being is nothing but the actual essence of the thing. 

Here 'conatus' is translated as 'striving' and 'conatur' as 'strives' or 'to strive'. This postulates that whatever it is within (and possibly without) us constitutes essentially what we are. What we are is something that "strives to persevere in its being". What Spinoza means by 'being' has to do with his definition of God and time, finitude and infinitude. It is important that he believes that being exists sub specie aeternitatis, under a type of eternity (definitely one of my favorite mantras to repeat when surfing). Our essence is both finite and infinite (finite from an infinite source) and we are constantly striving for the infinitude that essentially constitutes what we are.

III.P9.Schol.: Hic conatus cum ad mentem solam refertur, voluntas appellatur; sed cum ad mentem et corpus simul refertur, vocatur appetitus, qui proinde nihil aliud est, quam ipsa hominis essentia, ex cuius natura ea, quae ipsius conservationi inserviunt, necessario sequuntur; atque adeo homo ad eadem agendum determinatus est. Deinde inter appetitum et cupiditatem nulla est differentia, nisi quod cupiditas ad homines plerumque referatur, quatenus sui appetitus sunt conscii; et propterea sic definiri potest, nempe cupiditas est appetitus cum eiusdem conscientia. Constat itaque ex his omnibus, nihil nos conari, velle, appetere neque cupere, quia id bonum esse iudicamus; sed contra nos propterea aliquid bonum esse iudicare, quia id conamur, volumus, appetimus atque cupimus. 

When this striving is related only to the mind, it is called will; but when it is related to the mind and body together, it is called appetite. This appetite, therefore, is nothing but the very essence of man, from whose nature there necessarily follow those things that promote his preservation. And so man is determined to do those things. Between appetite and desire there is no difference, except that desire is generally related to men insofar as they are conscious of their appetite. So desire can be defined as appetite together with consciousness of the appetite. From all this, then, it is clear that we neither strive for, nor will, neither want, nor desire anything because we judge it to be good; on the contrary, we judge something to be good because we strive for it, will it, want it, desire it.  

All that is good in life, is good because we strive for it, not because it is worth striving for. The striving alone, the 'conatus', is what constitutes its goodness. That status of goodness is still under question. It turns out to be defined as an 'increase in joy', but you will have to wait until the next post for that to be explained. For now, I think I have at least given you some context as to the word 'conatus' and how it is roughly used in Spinoza's philosophy.

You will notice that I have bolded where it is used in the Latin passages. It is written differently in different places depending on whether it is used as a verb or a noun, and in Latin nouns and verbs take different endings depending on their status in the sentence. I want to point out here that learning surfing is very similar, and in fact quite related to, learning any other kind of grammar. I have written a paper about that that I will certainly share down the road. And I hope that from this (not so) little blog post you can start to see why I would want to associate my method of teaching surfing with the word 'conatus'.

To sum up, I like the concept of striving as constitutive both of what it is that we are and of our search for the good. I believe that this striving takes an almost infinite amount of forms (or modes in Spinoza's language), and the mode that I most relate to is that one that takes place in the ocean, somewhere between finitude and infinitude. 

New addition to the Conatus quiver, a Malwitz 9'0", sub specie aeternitatis. Photo: Julien Roubinet @julesrbt 

New addition to the Conatus quiver, a Malwitz 9'0", sub specie aeternitatis. Photo: Julien Roubinet @julesrbt 

More Summer Surfing Reading

Happy first week of June everyone! I am trying to implement some new business ethics over here at Conatus Surf Club, starting with providing more content on this here blog. I have made a vow to myself to post once a week throughout the summer season. Today's post is a book review of Jaimal Yogis' fantastic book Saltwater Buddha: A Surfer's Quest to Find Zen on the Sea (Wisdom Publications, 2009). 

This past December I received this book as a Christmas present from a family member. I have to admit that I have seen this book at surf shops and bookstores and simply wrote it off as another hokey surf book. But when it was gifted to me I promised to give it a read. I put down my preconceptions -- ugh, smug pseudo spiritualism and surfing -- long enough to get entirely drawn into Yogis' lucid prose. I ended up finishing the book in one sitting. 

While on point for any surfer, Yogis' tale will really sink in for anyone who has learned to surf at any age past puberty. Yogis succinctly describes the frustration, hang ups, misconceptions, missteps of a determined would-be surfer. He shows how at the end of the day the sheer determination to figure out how to slide on moving cylinders of water is enough to get one further along his/her path and how the pursuit is admirable in and of itself. 

I personally like this book because Yogis and I have a similar pedigree: we're both from central California, we were both punk ass kids, and we both have degrees in religious studies (the religious studies degree is of course a most uncanny link -- I mean there were only 8 religious studies majors in my graduating class at UC Berkeley -- Yogis went to UCSC). Having grown up in Monterey Bay, I can attest that Yogis' description of the kind of localism found there is on the money. It is hard to explain the California brand of surf localism in plausible terms, but Yogis deftly manages it. Thank goodness it isn't that bad on the east coast! 

For me the moment that really makes the whole book worth reading comes when Yogis describes what it is like to paddle out at Ocean Beach, San Francisco. For those that have not surfed there, Ocean Beach is one of the most difficult places in the world to paddle out. Even when it's 3-4 feet it can take 15-20 minutes to get out the back. One time after duck diving what felt like 100 waves in a row I remember saying to myself, "If I pop up from this duck dive and see another whitewater I am going to cry." Yogis had an almost identical moment at OB, which he describes as follows: 

". . . The more I thought about it, the more I realized every surfer has to like paddling, at least a little. This was because extremely little of each surf session is spend on actually standing up on your surfboard on a wave -- maybe one percent -- so if you're looking to have a good time it's essential to find a way to enjoy paddling, or at least good-naturedly bear it. And in that way, I thought, surfing is kind of a good metaphor for the rest of life. The extremely good stuff -- chocolate and great sex and weddings and hilarious jokes -- fills a minute portion of an adult lifespan. The rest of life is paddling: work, paying bills, flossing, getting sick, dying (176-7)." 

Yep, Yogis really nails it here. That one must learn to enjoy paddling is a truism that underwrites and undergirds all of my principles at Conatus Surf Club. One's ability to enjoy the work of surfing amounts to one's success as a surfer. In conclusion, Saltwater Buddha is a great summer read for any surfer. And I promise, it is not (too) hokey. 

Fantastic Surfing Story in the New Yorker

Stoked to open this week's New Yorker and find a story by William Finnegan about surfing on the South Shore of Oahu in the 1960s.  Finnegan accurately portrays an organic experience of being new to a break and figuring it out. He watches the other surfers in the water and stays away from the main peak until he has built up his abilities and has made friends with some of the local Hawaiians. He also writes a succinct paragraph on wave dynamics that I could not have written better myself. I did a little googling and found out that Finnegan is on staff at the New Yorker, and that he surfs on Long Island when he's in town. Finnegan is on the move a lot covering issues of social unrest. This focus on the social is apparent in his sensitive illustration of race relations in mid-century Hawaii. The fact that someone like Finnegan lives and surfs here is a testament to the depth of the New York surfing community. 

Machine Musik.

Here's another little video to amp you out on all that is surfing. I am going through all of my old footage (for the sake of my hard drive) and am putting together clips that I always meant to put together. I shot this time lapse of local shaper Joe Falcone shaping me a board we ended up calling the Google Drive in August. Joe and I worked out the dimensions and overall shape together. It has a 2+1 set up so that it can be ridden as a single fin or a tri fin. Both ways work depending on the waves but it works best with two big side fins and a smaller center fin. It's also the board I'm riding in the video Sick Little Nor'Easter Pits.