Without real science, there is no democracy

When citizens are satisfied, it signifies that the government is fulfilling its duties. As a result, all sectors of society prosper. That is the purpose of science. 

"From this definition, it follows first that substance is infinite in every way, because if it were limited in any way, it would be determined by something else, which would contradict its concept. It also follows that, containing all reality within itself, substance can only be unique; this unique, infinite substance, Spinoza calls God, or natura naturans (creative nature)." --Vladimir Soloviev, Crisis of Western Philosophy.

As I reread this passage from Soloviev’s book, I began to think that the opposition between pluralism (duality) and unity (monism) resembles a conflict between reason and authority.

The latter uses ideology to subject the individual to community rules. It restrains freedom of speech and action to what aligns with unity under authoritarian control. This paradigm becomes problematic when the foundations of knowledge are weak or poor: people end up borrowing or plagiarizing from others, which paradoxically contradicts the dogma of absolute unity. Didn’t the Church reduce the many gospels of the Christian world in the Middle East to just four canonical books?

To illustrate this idea, let me share an example that came to mind spontaneously. While planning my garden’s spring planting, I realized that almost all the vegetables grown and eaten in France are of foreign origin. In other words, before these imports, France barely had a cuisine worthy of the name —as Jean-François Revel pointed out, attributing our gastronomy to Italian influences. Culinary poverty, combined with an integrist authority (like medieval Catholicism), likely hindered scientific development. The scientific mind needs freedom to explore and innovate. Yet, France, with its diverse vegetation and topography, had nothing to envy in its neighbors who developed selective plant cultivation. I conclude that fear and dogmatism are powerful brakes.

Over time, however, empiricism, technological progress, and, no doubt, a love of good food triumphed: they allowed the introduction of new vegetables. Take Canada, where I lived starting in the 1980s: back then, Quebecers barely knew chickpeas, zucchini, or fennel —to name just a few that come to mind. I won’t even mention baguettes, croissants, or pastries… But they quickly caught up. Their enthusiastic adoption of vegetarianism reflects this evolution, as animal welfare has become a major issue in North America, marking a profound shift in our relationship with nature —a sign of spiritual growth. In the past, people doubted whether women or Black people had souls; today, the West is rediscovering wisdom like that of the Bhagavad-Gita:

“Death is certain for those who are born, and birth is certain for those who die.” (2.27)

Animals, plants, and humans follow the same cycle; they die, are born, and fall ill. In short, culinary art evolves, proving that crises and questioning can lead to progress, both material and spiritual.

As proof, consider Grimod de la Reynière, “the father of gastronomic writing and modern cuisine,” as Michel Onfray describes him in The Gourmand Reason. Born in 1758 without hands, with only stumps, he showed that “the emergence of gastronomic science required advances in science.” He tirelessly replaced service staff with machines, technologies, and new mechanisms. “The table is truly a metaphysical place.” But vegetables are not prominent; instead, there are descriptions like still-life paintings, with piles of game, poultry, fish, pig and sheep heads, and here and there, clusters of grapes, watermelons, and sliced melons. Note that these fruits are not of French origin.

In the Middle Ages, authority was mainly religious, and monotheism abhorred anything that didn’t conform to orthodoxy. Religious wars were waged with genocidal cruelty. After returning from Canada, I settled in Ariège at the feet of the Pyrenees. The tragedy experienced by the Cathar communities throughout southern France recalls this legendary intolerance. It’s worth noting that vegetarianism was not foreign to them.

Reason would eventually prevail. Sectarian religion would lose its luster. Authority would have to accept that progress requires an open society, that foreigners are not necessarily barbarians, and that their religion is just as valid. Unity is a strength, but it is not an individual entity, even a transcendent or absolute one. Unity can only be conceived and flourish by recognizing that its existence depends on diversity, and its strength is relative to the individuals who make it up. By its nature, dualism is a reality; monism is an abstract disposition.

V. Solovyov notes, preceding the passage I quoted in my introduction, that Descartes had already ventured down this path of monolithic thought. This approach reduces both faith and reason to an impersonal, abstract state of absolute truth —conveniently labelled as God.

He writes: "...it is evident that there exist not several substances but only one." Then he asks (still paraphrasing Kant): "But what then becomes of individually isolated things and beings? In their individuality, they cannot be substances, for substance is singular." Solovyov parenthetically observes: "we know he [Descartes] considered animals themselves merely as complicated machines without inner life." A cruel irony for anyone familiar with the Bhagavad-Gita and its sacred vision of living beings. Perhaps he hadn't read it —or if he had, he drew no lessons from it. Yet Krishna clearly states: "all that lives and dies is animated by a soul".

"Thus, by logically extending Descartes' thinking," Solovyov continues, "we arrive squarely at Spinoza." With him, there's no afterlife: matter is all that exists; body and soul are one. To hell with "primitive" beliefs: animism, shamanism, paganism, polytheism, gnosticism, manichaeism and dualism! Though a fierce opponent of his ancestors' religion and an atheist in philosophy, Spinoza remains a Jew at heart: he detests idolatry.

Doucement, pas trop vite —as we say in Québec Slowly (tranquilly, not too fast), nevertheless our perceptions are freeing themselves from rigid monotheistic dogma to rediscover the diversity of peoples, animal and plant species, as universal manifestations of dualism. Our view of nature evolves, deepening our understanding and respect for it. This recognition of plurality contains the potential for authentic progress, both material and spiritual. ■