Thinking requires corrections, nuances and subtlety, not ready-made dogmas from the fast-food world of thought.

There are those who follow the path marked by Baruch Spinoza, the Dutch philosopher who lived between 1632 and 1677. They understand what he knew: that our deepest suffering springs from a single source—we do not understand. We live in bondage, as Spinoza named it, shackled by our ignorance of reality's true nature.

In this darkness, we become prey to forces beyond ourselves. They shape our minds and disturb our peace. Yet when truth displaces falsehood—when one clear idea replaces a confused one—something awakens. We become more present in our thoughts, more alive in our actions.

To grasp this truth, to see how emotions and external circumstances govern us, is to feel something ignite within. It burns quietly, persistently, urging us toward freedom.

Still, Spinoza himself knew the weight of this journey. He wrote, "If the way I have shown to lead to these things now seems very hard, still, it can be found. And of course, what is found so rarely must be hard. For if salvation were at hand and could be found without great effort, how could nearly everyone neglect it? But all things excellent are as difficult as they are rare."

Most of us will not reach the Spinozistic ideal. This much is certain.

But through various writings—many exploring Spinoza's vision—The Spinozist seeks to clarify and to assist in this difficult work.

Philosophy is not the province of the privileged few. Neither is it mere entertainment. It attempts, through patient reflection, to illuminate questions that touch everyone deeply, questions for which we often have no answers.

The Spinozist does not presume to provide those answers. Its aim is simply to cast light, to make visible what often remains hidden.

If we can become aware of how vast these questions are, if we can see them with clarity and precision, that alone would be a meaningful contribution to humanity's eternal search for meaning.

The method should be straightforward. We use simple language where possible. We strive for rigour in describing what we perceive. We remain independent of rigid methodologies, seeking instead a balance between serious reflection and accessibility.

The desire to address essential questions without technical jargon or ideological detours rests on a simple conviction, repeated throughout: every human being—educated or not—is a conscious subject capable of becoming a conscious and reflective subject.

We are all, first and foremost, aware. We can all learn to read, to write, and to speak—skills that elevate daily existence.

This means that anyone who does not wish to destroy knowledge can think while reading philosophy. In doing so, they increase their pleasure as a living being, and they deepen their existential well-being.

The work continues. The path remains. We walk it together.