Christopher Scott McClure's Hobbes and the Artifice of Eternity offers a novel interpretation of Hobbes's political philosophy that aims to resolve important problems that have stymied other scholars. The focal point of McClure's book is Hobbes's approach to the problem that the human concern for life after death posed, by Hobbes's own admission, for his solution to the political problem, and therefore for his diagnosis of the political problem. McClure's analysis of Hobbes's approach to that problem entails an account of Hobbes's overall approach, including the relation between his “first philosophy” and his political philosophy, as well as his rhetoric. McClure applies his account of Hobbes's overall approach to other relatedly problematic aspects of Hobbes's teaching, particularly his implausible reinterpretation of Christian doctrine and the lingering need of the sovereign for subjects willing to risk their lives in defense of the commonwealth. Not only would McClure's interpretation resolve each of these difficulties, it would also reveal Hobbes's project to be far more successful than even Hobbes's admirers might suppose. McClure sees Hobbes's influence as extensive and lasting, and his book is an attempt to understand what is afoot in modernity, even in the present day. It is an impressive and ambitious book, well researched and engagingly written. Even readers who do not find it fully persuasive will benefit from it.

McClure's central claim is his most surprising one: Hobbes did not believe that the fear of death, particularly the fear of violent death, is man's most powerful passion. According to McClure, “Hobbes knew … that by nature men would always yearn for immortality, and that his system offered such a truncated prospect of eternity that they would in some instances chafe against it. He understood that man was driven far less by the fear of death than by the desire for immortality, and that the latter was not simply a reaction against the former” (28). Hobbes was as aware as the rest of us of the willingness, even eagerness, of more than a few human beings to risk or sacrifice their lives. Of particular concern to Hobbes was the threat that the hope of acquiring eternal life and the fear of suffering eternal torment after death posed to sovereign authority (Leviathan, chap. 38). Hobbes did not suppose the natural desire for immortality could be expunged, but he did hope to weaken it and increase the still powerful, but naturally weaker, fear of death.

In part, Hobbes appealed to men's reason by directly and indirectly raising doubts about religious doctrines that might strengthen concern for the afterlife. More important, however, was his attempt to “[manipulate] his readers on the basis of his scientific understanding of the passions” (41). Men are indeed driven by their appetites and aversions, but Hobbes's “actual view of the range of appetites is more complex than his overt presentation would suggest.” Hobbes crafted an artificially truncated account of human appetites and aversions, in which the sole focus became worldly goods and evils and the desire for immortality (and fear of eternal damnation) was recast as irrational, even mad, and hence shameful. But whereas the hope for immortality may be baseless and in that sense irrational, Hobbes did not believe that the desire for immortality was itself irrational. It could not be removed, but our attitude toward it could be changed, perhaps even our capacity to recognize it for what it is, and thus its power to wreak political havoc could be minimized.

In support of this argument, McClure widens his scope to lay out a larger argument about Hobbes's overall approach and the fundamentals of his philosophy. Hobbes believed that the true nature of things is inaccessible to the human mind. Science is not essentially perception of reality, but is instead about knowledge of consequences, and hence about the production of effects. Sound science begins like geometry, with clear definitions, or the “apt imposing of names.” But since we have no access to the true nature of things, there is necessarily latitude in science starting at its foundation. And since science is for the sake of producing effects, McClure argues, the imposition of names is governed by the desired effects, which is to say that Hobbes's “first philosophy is bounded by his political philosophy, not the other way around” (62). McClure cites passages from De Corpore in which Hobbes compares the activity of science to the art of sculpture, and philosophic method to divine creation (68–69). In McClure's reading, these are not mere rhetorical flourishes, but instead indicate something fundamental about Hobbes's philosophy and his entire procedure. Science itself is an art, and Hobbes's philosophy makes use of an artful construction of “principles,” which he thought malleable. Indeed, the “artistic, or creative element in his philosophy” (73) extends beyond first principles and permeates Hobbes's rhetoric: “Hobbes blurs the line between science and rhetoric to further his primary goal, which is political” (75).

McClure offers a careful analysis of the rhetorical strategy of Hobbes's reinterpretation of Christianity. Hobbesian Christianity could be seen as his most obvious and predictable failure. In fact, McClure argues, Hobbes's account of religion succeeded masterfully, for he left it to critics to unearth the radicalness of his assault on those doctrines that support the concern for eternal life. McClure dismisses the suggestion that Hobbes sought to do away with religion altogether. Instead he sought to foster peaceful religious tolerance built on religious uncertainty. Diversity of opinion remains, but is overcast by doubt and “an irremediable restlessness” (116). As a result, “citizens will hold to their own beliefs without feeling the need to impose them on others or to expose them to rigorous examination by others,” and the state will have no interest in legislating religion (103). The result is not a thoroughly rational citizenry, but a more feasible and peaceable, if somewhat incoherent, religiosity crafted of the human material as he found it. Similarly, Hobbes's artful approach to the problem of courage and honor, by McClure's account, “rests on an intentional incoherence” (169), as he continues to allow a contained space for the willingness to risk death on the part of certain individuals who by nature are particularly motivated by honor and whose willingness to risk violent death is necessary for the defense of the commonwealth.

The most obvious vulnerability of McClure's central argument with regard to the desire for immortality is a scarcity of clear textual support. The broader application of his approach to reading Hobbes strengthens the sense that he is on the right track, but what in Hobbes's writings leads McClure to conclude that Hobbes thought the desire for immortality is by nature more powerful than the fear of death and cannot be reduced to it? For starters, Hobbes's account of religion focuses on fear far more than on desire. The crucial seeds of religion are “perpetual fear” stemming from “ignorance of causes” leading to “fear of invisible powers.” And Hobbes's first statement in Leviathan related to his political project speaks specifically of the benefit of taking away the “superstitious fear of spirits” (chap. 2). McClure's book includes a fine chapter on Hobbes's attempt to undermine the fear of hell, but without due consideration of the implications of Hobbes's chosen target for his account of human nature. More fundamentally, Hobbes might well have supposed that the natural power of the fear of death had been overwhelmed by passions artificially stirred by belief in imaginary invisible powers. McClure argues that Hobbes's approach depends crucially on enlightening human beings about the baselessness of their hopes and fears regarding the afterlife, with the effect of weakening those hopes and fears and increasing the fear of death. Rather than an artful obscuring of or distraction from man's naturally powerful concern for the afterlife, is it not more likely that Hobbes supposed that enlightenment such as McClure describes would dispel that artificial concern and establish the fear of death in its natural place? This is not to say that Hobbes, as McClure presents him, would be wrong about the desire for immortality. Indeed, part of the power of McClure's book lies in its impressively coherent account of how one would have to read Hobbes, had Hobbes not dismissed the natural longing for happiness in its full measure.