Recognition and Religion: Contemporary and Historical Perspectives (Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies) 9780367133597, 9780429026089, 0367133598

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Recognition and Religion

This book focuses on recognition and its relation to religion and theology, in both systematic and historical dimensions. While existing research literature on recognition and contemporary recognition theory has been gradually growing since the early 1990s, certain gaps remain in the field covered so far. One of these is the multifaceted interaction between the phenomena of recognition and religion. Since recognition applies to persons, institutions, and normative entities like systems of beliefs, it also provides a very useful analytic and interpretative tool for studying religion. Divided into five sections, with chapters written by established scholars in their respective fields, the book explores the roots, history, and limits of recognition theory in the context of religious belief. Exploring early Christian and medieval sources on recognition and religion, it also offers contemporary applications of this underexplored combination. This is a timely book, as debates over religious identities, problematic forms of extremism and societal issues related with multiculturalism continue to dominate the media and politics. It will, therefore, be of great interest to scholars of recognition studies as well as religious studies, theology, philosophy, and religious and intellectual history. Maijastina Kahlos is a senior researcher at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Heikki J. Koskinen is a senior researcher at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Ritva Palmén is a postdoctoral researcher at the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies, University of Helsinki, Finland.

Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies

The Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back into focus for authors, international libraries, and student, academic and research readers. This open-ended monograph series presents cutting-edge research from both established and new authors in the field. With specialist focus yet clear contextual presentation of contemporary research, books in the series take research into important new directions and open the field to new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key areas for contemporary society. Pacifism and Pentecostals in South Africa A new hermeneutic for nonviolence Marius Nel Faith and Freedom Contexts, Choices, and Crises in Religious Commitments Donald A. Crosby Eschatology as Imagining the End Faith between Hope and Despair Edited by Sigurd Bergmann Foucault, Art and Radical Theology The Mystery of Things Petra Carlsson Redell On the Resurrection of the Dead A New Metaphysics of Afterlife for Christian Thought James T. Turner, Jr. Recognition and Religion Contemporary and Historical Perspectives Edited by Maijastina Kahlos, Heikki J. Koskinen, and Ritva Palmén For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/religion/ series/RCRITREL

Recognition and Religion

Contemporary and Historical Perspectives Edited by Maijastina Kahlos, Heikki J. Koskinen, and Ritva Palmén

First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 selection and editorial matter, Maijastina Kahlos, Heikki J. Koskinen and Ritva Palmén; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Maijastina Kahlos, Heikki J. Koskinen and Ritva Palmén to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-0-367-13359-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-02608-9 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Triumviratui bene merenti

Contents

List of contributorsix

Introduction

1

MAIJASTINA KAHLOS, HEIKKI J. KOSKINEN, AND RITVA PALMÉN

SECTION I

Recognition: novel articulations15   1 The recognition of religion in public spaces

17

SIMON THOMPSON

  2 Mediated recognition: suggestions towards an articulation

34

HEIKKI J. KOSKINEN

  3 Causes for lack of recognition: from the secular to the non-secular

51

HEIKKI IKÄHEIMO

SECTION II

Historical struggles for recognition

69

  4 Early Christians and the transformation of recognition

71

HARTMUT LEPPIN

  5 Early Christians on philosophy: a religion seeking recognition in Greco-Roman culture

90

NIKO HUTTUNEN

  6 Recognition through persuasion: an aspect of late antique religious controversy MAR MARCOS

109

viii  Contents   7 Recognizing the road: Greco-Roman appeals for religious diversity in the late Roman Empire

127

MAIJASTINA KAHLOS

SECTION III

Medieval and early modern intersections

147

  8 Shame, self-evaluation, and recognition in the Middle Ages

149

RITVA PALMÉN

  9 Aquinas on recognition

168

ANDREA ALDO ROBIGLIO

10 Theological and legal arguments for the non‑recognition and recognition of the rights of infidels in medieval sources

180

VIRPI MÄKINEN

11 Recognition and masculinity: Luther on the Song of Songs

196

RISTO SAARINEN

SECTION IV

Roots of recognition theory

217

12 Spinoza, religion, and recognition

219

ERICKA TUCKER

13 Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework for understanding his recognition-theoretic account of Christianity

232

PAUL REDDING

SECTION V

Limits of recognition

249

14 On the natural basis and ecological limits of recognition

251

ARTO LAITINEN AND TEEA KORTETMÄKI

15 Justice, friendship, and recognition: reflections on ancient and late ancient debates

270

MIIRA TUOMINEN

Index

291

Contributors

Niko Huttunen is a Senior Researcher at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Heikki Ikäheimo is a Senior Lecturer at the University of New South Wales, Australia. Maijastina Kahlos is a Senior Researcher at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Teea Kortetmäki is a Postdoctoral Researcher at the University of Jyväskylä, Finland. Heikki J. Koskinen is a Senior Researcher at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Arto Laitinen is a Professor of Social Philosophy at the University of Tampere, Finland. Hartmut Leppin is a Professor of Ancient History (Professor für Alte Geschichte) at the Goethe-Universität Frankfurt, Germany. Mar Marcos is a Professor of Ancient History, University of Cantabria, Spain. Virpi Mäkinen is a University Lecturer in Social and Theological Ethics at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Ritva Palmén is a Postdoctoral Researcher at the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies, University of Helsinki, Finland. Paul Redding is a Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at the University of Sydney, Australia. Andrea Aldo Robiglio is an Associate Professor of Philosophy at KU Leuven, Belgium. Risto Saarinen is a Professor of Ecumenics at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Simon Thompson is an Associate Professor in Political Theory at the University of the West of England, United Kingdom. Ericka Tucker is an Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Marquette University, United States. Miira Tuominen is a Professor of Philosophy at the University of Jyväskylä, Finland.

Introduction Maijastina Kahlos, Heikki J. Koskinen, and Ritva Palmén

Contemporary recognition theory Recognition arguably constitutes a fundamental phenomenon, ranging its deepfelt influence on the fields of human psychology, sociology, politics, history, and religion. The systematization of contemporary recognition theory is a project that has been actively advanced since the early 1990s. By now, we are beginning to have a set of well-developed conceptual instruments at our disposal for the purposes of further inquiries and applications. Recognition is also a very timely topic, as witnessed by the acute refugee crisis in Europe, debates over religious identities, problematic forms of extremism, and societal issues related with multiculturalism. The present volume aims to combine contemporary systematic discussions of recognition with studies of some crucial points in history. An initial reflection on recognition might well be that it can be a rather tricky notion. This is simply because the word ‘recognition’ can mean different things in different contexts. In everyday usage, recognition is often understood as in recognizing one’s friend in the street, or as in recognizing a familiar face or the make of a car. In such cases, recognition is spoken of in the sense of identification. This also happens when, for example, an immigrant on the border of a country is recognized or identified as a particular person with a particular nationality. On other occasions, recognition can refer to something like the acknowledgement of facts, values, rules, principles, etc. An example of this could be an immigration officer’s or a country’s recognition or acknowledgement of the need for shelter of refugees fleeing from another country at war. In the sense most relevant for contemporary recognition theory, however, to recognize someone is to grant another human being a positive normative status based on her personhood. On the most general level, an act of recognition thus means taking and treating the other as a person. On a more specific level, recognition then focuses on particular aspects of personhood and results in three characteristic dimensions. In the dimension of respect, recognition focuses on what we are – namely, persons or rational autonomous beings – and it is based on the equal dignity of all persons. In the dimension of esteem, recognition focuses on who we are – namely, persons of a certain kind with particular personal, cultural, ethnic, or religious identities – and it is based on an estimation of the unequal contributions

2  M. Kahlos, H. J. Koskinen and R. Palmén or merits of these identities. In the dimension of love and friendship, recognition focuses on the other’s unique individual personhood – and it is based on unequal personal significance in the sense of strong emotional attachments among a small number of people. As a fundamental normative phenomenon, recognition is central to human psychology, sociology, politics, religion, and history. As suggested previously, in its various dimensions, recognition constitutes an adequate response to specific aspects of personhood. On the other hand, recognition is also a crucial factor in the very constitution of general personhood, as well as more specific aspects of it. When one’s moral autonomy is respected in a legal community by the granting of equal rights, one can develop a healthy sense of self-respect. When one’s identity is esteemed and one experiences solidarity, e.g., in a work community sharing a horizon of values, one can develop a level of self-esteem. When one receives love and support from one’s nearest and dearest, one is also facilitated to acquire a basic sense of self-confidence. These dimensions of recognition have a formative effect on our self-relations, which in turn strongly influence our capabilities to operate as fully functional adult human beings in our respective societies. In the paradigmatic sense, recognition is understood as a mutual granting of positive statuses between individual human persons. In an extended sense, recognition is standardly taken to apply also to groups and institutions. This widens the scope of recognition considerably, and enables recognition-based analyses to deal with a multitude of social, political, and religious entities relevant for human interactions. According to some theoretical suggestions, the subjects and objects of recognition could be understood as normative entities quite generally, extending the sphere of recognition even further, beyond persons, groups, and institutions. Although recognition is often characterized as a vital human need and frequently described as something good more or less by definition, it is clear that there is also a darker side to the phenomenon. Recognition is in many cases understood to involve forms of intensive struggle, the damaging effects of misrecognition have been carefully analyzed, and the problematic features of uneven relations of power have also been critically discussed. These aspects also are relevant for religious communities and institutions. Contemporary recognition theory in its present form is, to a large extent, based on the foundational work of Charles Taylor and Axel Honneth. Both Taylor’s “Politics of Recognition” and Honneth’s Struggle for Recognition were originally published in 1992. Taylor and Honneth were deeply influenced by G.W.F. Hegel (1770–1832), who is in much of the literature referred to as the originator of the idea of recognition (Anerkennung), together with the essentially dialogical conception of human personhood. However, Hegel’s thought is in important ways indebted to Johann Gottlieb Fichte (1762–1814), while both Hegel and Fichte in turn were influenced by Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778), who already insisted on the essentially social character of human personality. Another important framework for contemporary recognition theory is the twentieth-century tradition of Critical Theory. Both Honneth and Nancy Fraser, who has critically contributed to recognition-theoretical discussions, belong to this philosophical

Introduction  3 tradition. There is also a notable Finnish tradition of recognition theory pioneered for over a decade by Heikki Ikäheimo and Arto Laitinen, both of whom contribute to this volume. Ikäheimo and Laitinen have produced many important and useful systematizations based on Axel Honneth’s and Charles Taylor’s work. If recognition does indeed constitute a fundamental phenomenon relevant for human psychology, sociology, politics, and religion, then it would seem that in a historical dimension, we can legitimately move beyond Hegel in searching for systematic traces of recognition. Methodologically speaking, there are at least two different ways of doing this. First of all, we may focus on what are identifiable from our contemporary theoretical perspective as recognition phenomena. Second, we may adopt a more specific focus on language and concepts, tracing occurrences of and changes in the language and terminology of recognition across various historical sources. The distinction between these two approaches is based on the notion that in historical as well as in contemporary sources, recognition phenomena may arguably occur even in the absence of explicit conceptualizations of the very phenomena in terms of directly recognition-based language. In this book, elements of both of these methodological approaches can be found. This volume also exhibits a specific thematic emphasis in that it largely focuses on reflections on recognition in connection with themes of religion and theology. As such, the focus of the volume arises directly from the research topics of the Academy of Finland Centre of Excellence Reason and Religious Recognition. Risto Saarinen, who is also the Director of the Centre, has already charted some central features of the landscape in his monograph Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study published by Oxford University Press (2016). Moreover, the editors of this volume all work as researchers in the Centre, representing its three different teams. The authors of the volume are experts in their own research fields, covering disciplines of theology, history, political theory, philosophy, and social sciences. All articles manifest creative adaptation and use of recognition theory, forming together a novel interdisciplinary research paradigm in the growing field of recognition studies. The interdisciplinary nature of this book project is highlighted by the fact that Kahlos has a doctoral degree in history and classics, Koskinen in philosophy, and Palmén in theology.

Recognition and historical contextualization Although in contemporary recognition theory, recognition is often taken to be a universal phenomenon constitutive of human societies, concrete analyses of the phenomenon should always be based on an understanding of contingent factors determining the contexts. These factors influence the unique historical circumstances tied to particular times and places. In the course of history, languages, vocabularies, and intellectual conceptualizations have also varied, providing different tools for describing human interactions and relations between different agents. This also applies to how humans in the past understood and conceptualized religion. While religion in the modern world has traditionally and

4  M. Kahlos, H. J. Koskinen and R. Palmén predominantly been understood in Western and Christian terms – for instance, as a separate sphere of life – in Antiquity, relations with the divine sphere, beliefs, and cult practices were embedded in societies. Moreover, in reconstructing and evaluating such historical contexts, we should bear in mind that our sources and the available evidence based on them is necessarily limited in nature. For example, most of the ideas, attitudes, and discussions in pre-modern times are derived from the literature of the learned elite, mainly comprised by males. In the following, the conceptual framework of our interpretation scheme comes from contemporary discussions of recognition theory, while the textual material is derived from a selection of texts from Antiquity to the Middle Ages and modernity. In constructing this particular combination of contemporary concepts and historical texts, we have two major aims. First, we try to show that current notions from recognition theory can be used as valuable conceptual instruments for reading and interpreting various historical sources, especially on religious issues. Second, we argue that our analysis of the textual material can usefully increase our understanding of the concept of recognition. Thus, our interpretative position is contemporary, while the interpreted texts are historical. Such a reading of historical material through a framework of contemporary concepts raises some methodological issues that need to be carefully articulated and thought about. Given that our interpretative position, the interpreted text, and our aims are as stated, what are then the most important methodological issues and potential difficulties that have to be considered? Perhaps the most obvious one concerns the risk of anachronism, particularly in connection with our first aim. However, as long as we remain clear about using current notions from recognition theory as part of our interpretative position, and we’re not trying to force contemporary concepts into historical sources, the problem loses most of its initial acuteness. We are not, then, claiming that ancient authors say something that they do not say. But we are trying to show that contemporary concepts from recognition theory can be utilized as useful instruments for highlighting certain aspects of interactions between different agents. As an illustrative example, we might interpret, for example, the story of the Israelites in the Old Testament by using concepts like ‘religious identity’, ‘multicultural encounter’, and ‘struggle for recognition’, managing to say something illuminating and arguably true about the historical text, even if it did not itself contain the very words in the very sense utilized by our interpretation. If we take seriously the view that recognition is indeed a basic human need, as often claimed in the recognition literature, and if the constitution of human persons and their identities actually is based on dialogical interaction involving relations of recognition, then it seems plausible to assume that the phenomena themselves were already present before their conceptual articulation by Hegel. In the Greco-Roman Antiquity, the phenomenon of recognition and its social prerequisites were conceptualized in terminology diverging from the one utilized by contemporary recognition theory. The recognition of persons and groups could be outlined in terms of justice, ‘dikaiosyne’ in the Greek context, and ‘iustitia’ in the Roman one. Another important dimension is freedom, or ‘eleutheria’ and

Introduction 5 ‘libertas’, respectively. A third one involves virtue, or ‘arête’ and ‘virtus’. A fourth frame is then based on friendship, or ‘filia’ and amicitia’. The codes of behaviour and action were defined and justified by the social standing of each individual person. Consequently, the contexts for recognition were founded upon the complex social networks between them. In Roman society, the networks of patronage were fundamental for determining concrete acts of recognition. For instance, the patron and his clients were mutually dependent on each other’s recognition. In a similar manner, even the emperor’s position of power was dependent on the recognition of the army, the governing elites, and the Roman people. Many negotiations over recognition were articulated in terms of cults and their gods. Religion was embedded in society in a way which defined many of the social institutions and relations. These included notions like being a good citizen, a loyal subject, and a just ruler. It is possible to adequately describe this interactive dynamic between various actors as a quest for recognition in the Hellenistic kingdoms, as well as in the Roman Empire. In the second and third centuries CE, early Christian groups struggled for an affirmation of their particular identity, and sought recognition from the Roman emperors. In the post-Constantinian fourth-century Empire, it was the ‘pagan’ apologists who in turn sought recognition from the Christian emperors. In these disputes, issues of what we now from our contemporary perspective would call recognition, religious freedom, and toleration were vigorously debated. The classical civilization was challenged and gradually transformed by its interaction with representatives of three influential cultural clusters: the post-Roman kingdoms, Christianity, and Islam. In Western Europe, these social and political changes came to shape a distinct medieval form of political and economic dominance that was prevalent in Europe from the ninth to the fifteenth. centuries. In this system usually termed as feudalism, society was tightly structured into various categories, and followed a strict set of military and legal customs. Privileges, rights, and nobility were then distributed according to fixed status positions in the hierarchy. Although the Middle Ages are often characterized as a culturally homogeneous era with settled hierarchies, the period includes people and ideas from different cultures and religions, as well. This is evident also on an intellectual level, for the distinct philosophically oriented Christian theology both utilized and challenged Hellenic intellectual paradigms. Scholasticism, the new method of critical thought emphasizing dialectical reasoning and disputation, was developed in the newly established universities. Interestingly enough, Arabic philosophy and sciences were also highly appreciated and extensively used in Christian university theology. Thomas Aquinas (d. 1274), for example, employed Aristotle’s philosophical thought and assimilated metaphysics derived from Muslim philosophers like Avicenna into his own synthesis of the Christian doctrine. Later on, Aquinas’ treatises came to form a core of Catholic philosophy. On a societal level, Catholic Christianity itself was not uniform, either, for debates on dogmas and practices resulted in competing groups within it. From 1095 onwards, Western European Christians also started to organize Crusades,

6  M. Kahlos, H. J. Koskinen and R. Palmén or military attempts to conquer the Holy Land from the Muslims. The politics of crusading proved to be intricate, instigating both intra-faith competition and inter-faith alliances between representatives of different faiths against their coreligionists. These complicated relations within the prevailing hierarchical society, as well as the interactions and dialogues between representatives of different ideas and religions can be conceptualized with the contemporary terminology of recognition, misrecognition, and non-recognition. While the Middle Ages witnessed several attempts towards conformity in cultural and religious questions, more tolerant voices were also heard. For example, Peter Abelard (d. 1142) valued pagan philosophers highly as bearers of truth, and Roger Bacon (d. 1292) developed a philosophy of comparative religion. After the fall and devastation of Constantinople in 1453, Nicolas of Cusa (d. 1464), a cardinal and a diplomat, wrote a visionary treatise on a world conference of different religions aiming to develop peaceful relations between the representatives of all nations and religions. Francisco de Vitorio (d. 1546) defended the rights of ‘Indians’ – or Native Americans – on the basis of the intrinsic dignity and rationality of all humans. The fall of Muslim Spain, the Age of Discovery, and Martin Luther’s Protestant Reformation in 1517 are usually considered to be the signposts of the early modern era. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, European wars of religion, like the Thirty Years’ War, followed. These were partially motivated by a religious confrontation between the Protestants and the Catholics, but mostly influenced by a severe competition over European political and economic supremacy. In the post-war aftermath, Thomas Hobbes (d. 1679) and John Locke (d. 1704) developed their differing political philosophies with respect to religious freedom in society. From his position of religious toleration, Locke argued against Hobbes that coercion of religious uniformity leads to more social disorder than the allowance of a diversity of religions. With German idealism, we finally come to the most immediate roots of contemporary recognition theory and the formation of its basic vocabulary. Among other things, Hegel developed his famous idea of a master-slave dialectics, which greatly inspired later philosophy and political theory. He also clearly emphasized the intersubjective and social aspects of human life over subjectivist and individualistic ones. Yet another important Hegelian theme is the historical embeddedness of reason and morality. This volume’s title Recognition and Religion: Contemporary and Historical Perspectives is meant to convey that it is not intended to function as a systematic survey covering the complete history of recognition from Antiquity to modernity. Instead, the volume aims to present some carefully chosen reflections on particular systematic issues and specific historical topics. The resources of contemporary recognition theory are also kept in mind when considering recognition phenomena in given historical settings, and in analyzing the pre-history of the contemporary conceptualizations of recognition. In turn, by offering new questions and variables, the selection of historical case studies critically challenge modern recognition theory, thus enabling researchers to test and re-evaluate the theory itself.

Introduction  7

Recognition: novel articulations The first section of the book aims at developing some novel articulations of contemporary recognition theory. In the opening Chapter 1, Simon Thompson looks at the recognition of religion in public spaces. In contemporary societies, citizens hold a wide variety of religious beliefs, and wish to manifest those beliefs in a wide variety of different ways. Should at least some such practices be positively recognized, so that measures are taken to ensure that believers are able so far as possible to practice their religion? More strongly, should their faith enjoy positive affirmation in the public sphere? Should some other aspects of religious belief and practice be subject to strict and clear regulation, so that in these cases secular laws take priority over the religious believers’ desire to act in a certain way? In response to these questions, Thompson’s aim is to consider the ways in which religion is recognized in contemporary societies, and also to think about how it should be recognized. Since this is a very large and complex topic, he focuses on just one aspect of it – namely, the recognition of religion specifically in public spaces. Thompson asks if – and, if so, then to what extent – individuals and groups may reasonably expect to be able to manifest their religious identities in such spaces. Thompson’s claim is that, without a clear account of the character of public space, and of the qualities it possesses, it is difficult – perhaps impossible – to determine the extent to which individuals should be able to manifest their religious beliefs in it. Put positively, only if we understand the character and value of public space can we draw clear conclusions about the nature of and justification for the rights that individuals should have to access and make use of that space. The specific focus of Heikki J. Koskinen in Chapter  2 is on articulating a clearer understanding of a practically indispensable and in some respects theoretically still somewhat underdeveloped notion of mediated recognition. Intuitively, a mediated form of recognition is based on a context in which some third party performs a mediating role between two distinct parties that, for some reason or another, do not initially recognize each other in some desired or appropriate way. Mediated recognition thus constitutes an important class of social, political, and religious phenomena in our concrete everyday world of human interactions, both contemporary and historical. In such human interactions, the functional role of a mediator can also be played by various entities like religious authorities, peace negotiators, political institutions, or shared systems of norms and beliefs. What Koskinen aims to add to preceding theoretical contributions is a further articulation of the notion of mediated recognition by considering its structural nature and relations to other closely neighbouring notions. Against the background of the articulated taxonomy, Koskinen then proceeds to argue for a more inclusive understanding of the very notion of recognition itself, resulting in a wider applicability and increased usefulness of conceptualizations based on recognitionrelations. By adopting a more inclusive conception of recognition, the notion of mediated recognition becomes applicable to a greater number of interesting cases of textual interpretation, as well as to contemporary analyses of social, political, and religious phenomena. In religious contexts in particular, an analysis of

8  M. Kahlos, H. J. Koskinen and R. Palmén mediated recognition can help us better understand the role of religious authorities as agents of mediated recognition, and the role of the state as mediating recognition between different religious organizations. In contemporary Hegel-influenced philosophy, recognition is mostly thought of as a good thing. Some see it as a precondition of positive, individual, or collective self-conceptions or -identities, others even as ontologically foundational for the human life-form and thus as something without which we could not exist as the kinds of beings we are at all. In Chapter 3, Heikki Ikäheimo asks: if recognition is indeed such an important and good thing, and if it is in principle something humans can give each other, why is there so often a lack of it? Why is it the case that people so often fail to give others recognition, at least adequately? There are several candidates for an explanation. First, it may be that recognition – the giving or receiving of it, or both – requires capacities or skills that are not always available. Second, it may be that recognition, even though (all things considered) good, involves costs, which leads to reluctance to grant it. Third, and relatedly, even if recognition is objectively good for the individuals or groups involved, fathoming this, or being able to experience its goodness, especially against experienced costs that it may incur, may nevertheless require intellectual capacities or understanding that individuals do not necessarily possess. A fourth possibility that Ikäheimo discusses is the most challenging one in light of the theme of this volume: whether or not one believes in a super-human source and/or object of recognition, a personal God that is, seems likely to have some implications with regard to one’s recognition for other humans. The modern philosophical tradition of thinking about recognition is for the most part emphatically secular, and thus we will need to think through the possible consequences of transferring the theme into a non-secular landscape of thought. A  more precise question that Ikäheimo poses is whether there are ways in which a belief in a super-human ultimate source and/or object of recognition may compromise one’s capacity, or propensity, for recognition for other human beings. If so, what are they, and how could they be avoided? Ikäheimo first discusses candidates one to three, and then turns to the fourth.

Historical struggles for recognition The second section of the book turns to examine the question of whether it is profitable to speak of struggles for recognition in pre-modern history. From different perspectives, all four articles in this section seek to highlight the dynamics of recognition in Antiquity. In Chapter  4, Hartmut Leppin starts the section by discussing passages from Galatians, Justin the Martyr, Athenagoras, the Epistle to Diognetus, and Tertullian, and analyzes the consequences of early Christian social disembeddedness. For various reasons, Christians felt and also were precluded from participating in traditional cults, be they Jewish or pagan. Instead, they stressed the importance of Christians’ inner worth and their dignity, and tried to gain recognition for themselves and their Christian values in different ways. Some proposed a discourse of rejection striving for recognition from God alone. Others preferred a discourse of superiority in regard to the majority. Especially

Introduction 9 apologists underlined that Christians were superior to ‘pagans’ in regard to virtue and intellectuality. This argument, however, was risky: if Christians referred to these values, they had to accept and even emphasize them. Thus, as Leppin argues, the traditional regime of recognition based on honour became ever more important again. In Chapter 5, Niko Huttunen examines early Christian attitudes towards philosophy and the search for recognition of the Christian religion in the Greco-Roman culture. As Huttunen notes, Tertullian’s rhetorical well-known exclamation “What indeed has Athens to do with Jerusalem?” is a blatant misrecognition of philosophy. Nevertheless, the history of theology shows that philosophy became assimilated into the developing Christianity. Was it a later fall from the original ‘purity’ or were there philosophical ‘seeds’ in the beginning? Huttunen answers these questions by concentrating on some New Testament texts, which are often presented as a justification for the misrecognition of philosophy: Colossians 2, Acts 17 and 1 Corinthians 1–2. He claims that these texts actually make good use of the ancient philosophical discourse so that one can read them as seeking recognition in the Greco-Roman intellectual culture. Colossians adapts Plato’s allegory of the cave in its criticism of a particular philosophy in Colossae. Acts 17 presents Paul as a new Socrates and, thus, places Christianity within the philosophical tradition. 1 Corinthians 1–2 criticizes worldly wisdom in a way that reminds of Plato and other philosophers. Huttunen also shortly presents Justin Martyr as an example of the intellectual and the philosophical development within early Christians. His analysis shows that the early Christians did not seek recognition in vain: during the second century, several non-Christian philosophers recognized Christianity as belonging to the category of philosophy, whatever defects they might have seen in Christianity. In ancient material, the borderlines between religion and philosophy were not similar to the modern distinction. Thus, if the origins of this debate on religion and philosophy have any significance for the modern discussions, misrecognition is not the only possibility. Quite the contrary, recognition may be the mainstream in the Western history. The emergence of Christianity in the religious landscape of the ancient Mediterranean triggered the first reflection about the coexistence between diverse religious groups. As Mar Marcos claims in Chapter 6, persecution gave rise to the first interfaith dialogue with the production of a significant volume of apologetic texts, in which Christians presented their case for recognition on the basis – among other arguments – of the superiority of persuasion (peitho) over violence (bia). The conversion of Constantine and the new status of Christianity in the Empire, first as a licit religion and then as the sole authorized one, changed the Christian discourse regarding recognition to appreciate the advantages of coercion. So at the end of Antiquity, it was the pagans, heretics, and other persecuted groups who advocated the use of persuasion against the coercive power of the ecclesiastical hierarchy and the imperial laws. The aim of the chapter is to study the emergence and rhetorical uses of the argument of persuasion as a means of recognition in late antique religious controversy. Departing from an excursus of Athanasius of Alexandria in defence of persuasion written in the context of the

10  M. Kahlos, H. J. Koskinen and R. Palmén Arian controversy, Mar Marcos goes back to the Greek roots of the coupling of peitho/bia, in which both Christian and pagan apologists got inspiration, to analyze its rhetorical use at the different stages of the conflict between paganism and Christianity. After the Constantinian Turn, fourth-century Roman emperors supported Christianity. In the course of the century, the power relations between religious inclinations fluctuated. During this period of changing tides, the issues of religious liberty, recognition, freedom of choice, and religious toleration were intensely discussed. In Chapter 7, Maijastina Kahlos presents two ‘pagan’ writers, the Greek philosopher Themistius (c. 317–388) and the Roman senator Symmachus (c. 345–402), who in the altered circumstances advocated for religious diversity. Themistius discussed imperial religious policies in Oration 5 addressed to Emperor Jovian in the early 364. Symmachus wrote an appeal for religious toleration in the form of an administrative report (Relatio 3) to Emperor Valentinian II in 384, connected with the famous controversy over the Victoria altar in the senate house in Rome. Kahlos’ analysis shows how Themistius and Symmachus deal with the alterations in the religious policies of the subsequent fourth-century emperors. Kahlos will look at Themistius’ and Symmachus’ appeals for religious diversity from the viewpoint of recognition. She shows how Themistius and Symmachus adapt the metaphor of many paths as part of their argumentation.

Medieval and early modern intersections The third section of this book provides novel analyses of medieval intellectual history by utilizing the systematics of contemporary recognition theory as a valuable interpretative resource. In Chapter 8, Ritva Palmén shows interest in the idea of shame in contemporary recognition theory, which often understands the feeling of shame as an outcome of misrecognition in different social encounters. As Axel Honneth argues in his Struggle for Recognition, the feeling of shame is not dependent on which part of the interaction is responsible for violating the supposed norm. It is the emotional content of shame which lowers one’s own feeling of self-worth. The feeling of being ashamed means experiencing oneself as partaking a lower social value than one had previously assumed, and as a consequence, the subjects’ idea of oneself is violated. The awareness that others’ view of oneself is distorted raises an incentive to identify the source of repression and the target for one’s struggle for recognition. The goal of recognition is the elimination of shame. Palmén examines the feeling of shame, as well as other related social feelings as they are manifested in a selection of medieval texts. She focuses on the social dimension of shame, the role of shame in moral conduct, and shame as part of the mechanisms of self-regulation. These questions are treated on a par with a broader issue that concerns the ways the medieval authors viewed the person’s relation to oneself, as well as her surrounding society and reality in general. In Chapter 9, Andrea Aldo Robiglio pays attention to the fact that the notion of recognition, as far as the oeuvre of Thomas Aquinas is concerned, is still waiting for a survey. This is the aim of his contribution, which proposes a twofold

Introduction 11 approach. On the one hand, it tries to provide a concise overview of the different ways and modes in which Aquinas uses the vocabulary of recognition, especially in the use of verbs such as acceptare, agnoscere, colere, commendare, confiteri, honorare, laudare, recognoscere, revereri, salutare, and suscipere. In such a line of inquiry, some attention must be paid to Aquinas’ commentaries on the Scripture as an underrated source for genuine philosophical analysis. On the other hand, however, the study vindicates an original conception of recognition, coalescent with cognate notions like ‘reverence’, ‘testimony’, and ‘divine honour’ (all of them scantly explored in the case of Aquinas). The crucial texts, in this second case, are taken from the Summa theologiae, arguably Aquinas’ more personal work, and especially from its Second Part. Even though on the notion of ‘reverence’ (reverentia) one can find some significant scholarly contributions (e.g.,  R. Heintzman’s Rediscovering Reverence, 2011), the implications for the question of recognition have so far remained unexplored. At the junction of these two lines of investigation, Aquinas’ conception should finally manifest its structure and peculiar characteristics when applied to the proper relationship between God and Human, which constitutes in itself a peculiar sort of asymmetrical relation. Finally, it will be possible to sketch a few cases of successful ‘recognition’ which Aquinas finds in the Holy Scripture and elaborates upon: they might work as a litmus test for the categories previously uncovered. In Chapter 10, Virpi Mäkinen presents an innovative application of the thematic of recognition in the Middle Ages by commenting the discussion of the property rights of infidels. In his commentary on X 3.34.8 (Quid super his) in 1243, Pope Innocent IV held that infidels had legitimate rights over their property. William of Ockham further developed the pope’s account in the 1340s. Ockham used the notion of rights as a universal idea embracing the entire human race and based on the natural law (ius naturale) derived from rational response to contingent situations imprinted on every human being, not on a certain religion. The infidels that Innocent IV and Ockham had in mind were Muslims, people having an advanced civilization. What should be thought of “naked savages, idol worshippers given to human sacrifice and cannibalism”? Did they have rights as well? Francisco de Vitoria defended the rights of Native Americans by arguing that they had rightful ownership over those lands they occupied before the arrival of the Spaniards. Vitoria discussed the case of Indians under the law of nations (ius gentium) which covered all humans and was universally applicable everywhere. Vitoria took much of his discussion on property directly from Conrad Summenhart, but interestingly enough, his argumentation also went back to Ockham. The chapter aims to argue that Ockham and Vitoria recognized the rights of infidels from a similar basis. Granting a right to a person requires certain recognition-relations: one has to recognize another as an active, rights-bearing person who has equal access to rights and has a legal status in a society. Second, granting a right to someone also creates a mutual relationship between the rights of the receiver and the duties of the grantor. In Chapter 11, Risto Saarinen examines the recognition terminology that Martin Luther employs in his Exposition of the Song of Songs (Lectures 1530–31,

12  M. Kahlos, H. J. Koskinen and R. Palmén Print 1539). Luther describes the distribution of power between God, the king, the spiritual leaders, and the state. In order that human political and spiritual powers work properly, the rulers must recognize (agnoscere) the gifts and benefits of God. When God speaks, a special commendation (commendatio) is given to establish the political structure. This commendation needs to be recognized by human rulers. In many ways, Luther continues the medieval tradition as elaborated by Bernard of Clairvaux and Thomas Aquinas. The present paper thus enriches the intellectual history of recognition outlined in Saarinen’s book Recognition and Religion (Oxford, 2016). As this text of Luther has been neglected and misunderstood in the scholarship, Saarinen also provides a close reading of its contents, organized as a dialogue between the bridegroom (God) and the bride (Solomon or the state). While Luther’s decision to interpret the Song of Songs as political allegory is original, he also continues Bernard’s reading of the text as a discourse on spiritual relationship between God and God’s people. As the political rule is manifested in terms of bridal activity, politics and kingship contain a number of seemingly feminine features. Luther’s strong emphasis on peace as the primary aim of the ruler emerges from this context. Moreover, the spiritual teachers display feminine characters (delicate breasts, rosy lips, etc.). Saarinen argues that Luther’s view of theological masculinity must be broadened to understand these features adequately.

Roots of recognition theory The fourth section of the book brings us to the roots of recognition theory. As Ericka Tucker claims in Chapter 12, in the pre-history of the concept of recognition, Spinoza’s social philosophy deserves a special place. Although we rarely think of Spinoza as a social philosopher, Spinoza understood well the ways in which individual subjectivity is shaped by the social forces. Tucker argues that Spinoza offers a mechanism to understand the way in which recognition works, in order to untangle the web of affect, desire, and ideas which support the recognitions and misrecognitions at the foundation of social life. Spinoza sets out this mechanism in Book Three of the Ethics, but his extended example of the first Hebrew Kingdom in the Theological-Political Treatise, shows how he applied his theory of social recognition to the great problem of his times – the debate between faith and reason, and the need to unify a commonwealth. Social unity based on shared religion, for Spinoza, could be powerful, though not so powerful as democracy. Only through understanding Spinoza’s views of social subjectivization can we understand why. Chapter  13 by Paul Redding deals with Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework for understanding his recognition-theoretic account of Christianity. Despite the fact that Hegel’s theory of recognition is standardly discussed in relation to his social and political philosophy, the most developed account of recognition to be found in his Phenomenology of Spirit occurs in the discussion of a form of religious inter-subjectivity based on the dynamics of confession and forgiveness. Redding argues that the recognitive relation is at the heart of Hegel’s

Introduction  13 account of modern Christianity, the theology of which in turn has to be understood in relation to a metaphysical position that, while critical of the idea of any transcendent realm beyond the actual, is also critical of Spinoza’s then popular naturalist and pantheist version of actuality. Redding claims that we might better understand Hegel’s alternative to Spinoza by comparing his metaphysical account of modality to varieties of ‘actualism’ that have recently emerged in reaction to David Lewis’ doctrine of ‘modal realism’. Thus, to counter Spinoza’s necessitarianism, and yet avoid any realm beyond the actual, Hegel aligns with those critics of Lewis’ account of a plurality of ‘possible worlds’. On this ‘actualist’ alternative to Lewis’ possibilism, possibilities should not be conceived as alternate ‘worlds’ that are like the actual world, but as unrealized properties of the actual world itself. But such possibilities are abstracta (for example, sets of consistent propositions), and locating them within the actual, Redding suggests, requires one to recognize other minds as the irreducible loci of such abstract entities. Understood in this way, Hegel’s fundamentally “recognitive” understanding of mind (spirit) complements his ‘this-worldly’ metaphysics, and underpins his distinctive Trinitarian conception of the nature of modern Christianity.

Limits of recognition Discussions about the concept of recognition and the applicability of contemporary recognition theory necessarily involve important questions concerning the phenomenon of misrecognition, as well as the limits of recognition in general. In Chapter 14, Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki are interested in the possible natural basis and boundaries of social recognition. They discuss the idea that social recognition constitutes a dimension of social justice, and examine its natural, ecological, or environmental aspects. The context is David Schlosberg’s multidimensional theory of ecological or environmental justice, which enriches the ‘distributive’ paradigm of ecological justice with considerations of social recognition (linked with the ‘relational’ paradigm of justice), representation and capabilities. Laitinen and Kortetmäki defend the idea that social recognition (and the relational goods of status, standing, power, esteem, reputation, ‘recognition’, relative poverty, independence from domination, etc.) indeed constitutes a key term of social justice. They wish to argue against a view which would conceptualize social recognition (respect, esteem, trust, etc.) as conceptually and ontologically independent from its natural basis, which is captured nicely in R. Sennett’s question “Unlike food, respect costs nothing. Why, then, should it be in short supply?” The article draws on Hegel’s Phenomenology and some recent theories of recognition (Honneth, Deranty) to develop a theory whereby recognition takes place between beings rooted in a natural or material environment, and deeply connected to their material needs. This understanding of recognition will be connected to the debates on ecological or environmental justice in order to show that it has far-reaching consequences: in the context of environmental justice (discussing e.g., the environmental rights of humans), it can be argued that recognizing someone as an equal global citizen, one must be granted an equal slice of available resources

14  M. Kahlos, H. J. Koskinen and R. Palmén and access to nature. In the context of ecological justice (roughly, treating nature as valuable in itself, and seeing humans as one species among others), the legitimacy of these claims is further to be balanced with the legitimate claims of nonhuman nature and concerns for the ecological limits. In this context, ‘recognition of nature’ will be relevant, although the article focuses on the natural basis of recognition of humans. The background picture of human persons resembles the one related to the notion of ‘meta-capability’ (Breena Holland), where the sole focus is not on features of individuals but also on the environment as a material precondition of the capabilities of individuals. Here as well, the social recognition between humans will be rooted in their ecological or environmental setting (so perhaps it is legitimate to speak of a kind of ‘meta-recognition’). What emerges is a sketch of the natural basis and limits of social recognition. In modern discussions about recognition, it is typically assumed that the notion applies to persons who are rational at least in some functional sense. This often excludes non-human animals from the scope of the notion of recognition. The book concludes with Chapter 15, in which Miira Tuominen discusses ancient and late ancient conceptions of justice from the perspective of what in today’s discussion is known as the normative aspect of recognition. In contemporary debate, it is usually assumed that mutual recognition brings along the requirements of justice. With respect to the converse of this claim, however, some scholars have argued that our intuitions concerning recognition contain opposing elements, some of which require mutuality, whereas others focus on the ‘adequate regard’ of those normative features that some creatures or even things have in virtue of which they require justice, although there no mutuality can be achieved. Tuominen explores ancient and late ancient debates on justice from the perspective of these intuitions. She argues that we can detect two rather different perspectives to justice that bear noteworthy resemblances to the two aspects just distinguished: while Aristotle’s notion of justice with his arguments against some of the characteristics of justice as it gets discussed in Plato’s Republic incorporates some of the mutuality intuitions, there is another, less well-known ancient debate about justice that rather focuses on the intuitions of adequate regard and the relevant normative features that entail requirements of justice for us in the treatment of other creatures. Such a discussion can be found in Porphyry’s On Abstinence from Killing Animals, in which he argues against the Stoics that their conception of justice is untenable because it, due to a kind of collective self-love, overlooks the relevant normative features in other animals that they are eager to find in human beings. ***

Section I

Recognition Novel articulations

1 The recognition of religion in public spaces Simon Thompson

Introductory remarks There are many perspectives from which it is possible to reflect on the recognition of religion. In this volume, a variety of approaches have been employed, including from the perspectives of the philosophy of recognition and the history of philosophy. In this chapter, my approach will be one characteristic of contemporary political philosophy. My aim will be to consider the ways in which religion is recognized in contemporary societies, and also to think at least a little about how it should be recognized. Since this is a very large and complex topic, I intend to focus on just one aspect of it – namely the recognition of religion specifically in public spaces. I shall ask if and, if so, then to what extent – individuals and groups may reasonably expect to be able to manifest their religious identities1 in such spaces. This is the issue underlying a number of contemporary controversies, including, for example, France’s 2010 ban on the wearing of burqas in public and Switzerland’s 2009 ban on the building of minarets. The importance of this topic should not, I think, need too much explanation. In contemporary societies, citizens hold a wide variety of religious beliefs, and wish to manifest those beliefs in a wide variety of different ways. One thing that societies must do is decide whether and, if so, how to regulate such practices. Should at least some of them be positively recognized, so that measures are taken to ensure that believers are able so far as possible to practice their religion? More strongly, should their faith enjoy positive affirmation in the public sphere? Should some other aspects of religious belief and practice be subject to strict and clear regulation, so that in these cases, secular laws take priority over religious believers’ desires to act in certain ways? I would suggest, at some risk of hyperbole, that this is one of the great political issues of our day.2 If various sorts of political community treat religious believers in the right way, then the creation of peaceful multi-faith societies may be possible; if they do not treat them right, then such a goal may never be achieved. I cannot, of course, hope to address all aspects of this topic here. This would be the work of an entire academic career, rather than a single book chapter. My much more limited task, as I have suggested, is to begin to consider the extent to which people should have the opportunity to manifest their religious identities in

18  Simon Thompson the public spaces of their societies. In order to make a start on this task, I shall begin by presenting a survey of a range of ways in which religions may be recognized. In this way, I shall put the aspects of the recognition of religion with which I  am principally concerned into context (the second section). Following this broad survey, I shall focus on one particularly important way of recognizing religion  – that which involves granting and protecting rights to it. I  shall look in particular at some recent decisions by the European Court of Human Rights, arguing that it does not have a clear and consistent position on the extent to which Article 9 of the European Convention protects the public manifestation of religious belief (the third section). After that, I shall examine the character of public space more closely, suggesting that it bears comparison with what economists call public goods (the fourth section). I believe that it is essential to conduct such an examination since it is only by understanding what public space is like that we can draw any clear conclusions about the nature and extent of the rights which individuals should have to access and make use of that space (the fifth section). In my conclusion, I shall pull the various threads of my argument together, briefly indicating a number of different directions in which I think that further research on this topic might go. Finally, I shall re-emphasize what I regard as the practical import of the argument that I shall make here (the sixth section).

Ways of recognizing religion In order to frame my analysis of the different ways in which it is possible to recognize religion, I shall draw on Heikki Ikäheimo’s detailed and illuminating account of the various forms and aspects of relationships of recognition (Chapter 3 in this volume), an account which synthesizes and builds upon the work of a number of theorists of recognition, in particular that of Axel Honneth.3 Before making a start on this investigation, I should be clear about its limits. First, I shall not attempt to provide a comprehensive account of all the ways in which the recognition of religion may take place. For the purposes of this chapter, such an account is not necessary. Instead, I shall provide just a few examples in order to give an indication of the full range of ways in which religion may be positively acknowledged. Second, I shall focus specifically on states’ recognition of religions, rather than on other aspects of recognition, such as the ways in which religious believers may acknowledge one another. In Ikäheimo’s terms, my concern is not with ‘horizontal’ recognition between persons. Along this axis, religious believers may think, for example, that they have a duty to tolerate those of other faiths. Rather my focus is on ‘vertical’ recognition “between persons and norms or institutions”,4 and more specifically on the ‘downwards’ direction of such recognition, in which states recognize “persons in the sense of granting them rights”.5 Bearing those restrictions in mind, what forms can the recognition of religion take? A state can positively acknowledge the religious identities of its citizens by giving them rights and immunities, such as an exemption from laws governing animal slaughter in the case of kosher and halal meat production. It can grant them powers and privileges, or subside their activities in various ways, by, for example,

The recognition of religion in public spaces 19 giving faith schools tax-exempt status. It can permit religious bodies a degree of self-governance, or formally establish a particular religion, as in the case of Denmark’s Evangelical Lutheran Church. Turning to Ikäheimo’s classificatory scheme, I would suggest that each of the three modes of recognition which he identifies is at work in these various cases. First, what he calls ‘axiological’ recognition is “concern for the happiness or wellbeing of the other”.6 In this case, the act of recognition is one motivated by care for the other’s welfare. As an example, consider the actions of the United Kingdom’s Joint Council for Qualifications, which is the body responsible for the timetabling of school examinations. In January 2016, it announced that the timing of examinations that year would take Ramadan into account. The aim was to try to minimize, so far as possible, the detrimental effects of fasting on Muslim pupils’ exam performance.7 Second, ‘deontological’ recognition is the acknowledgement that others share authority with us on the norms which govern our shared lives.8 Ikäheimo argues that since humans are autonomous beings whose life-form is governed by social norms, they should have some say in the character of those norms. For this reason, individuals should respect others’ judgements about norms, as well as their decisions about how to live in accordance with them. The most familiar way in which such recognition is expressed is in terms of rights. When the state grants its citizens a right to freedom of religion, it declares that they should be able to decide what to believe, and how to express those beliefs, in a manner of their own choosing. As we shall see later on, Article 9 of the European Convention is intended to do just this. Third, ‘contributive’ recognition is a response to another “as contributor to something one values, or as a bearer of capacities for such contributions”.9 To show such recognition is to express gratitude for the other’s efforts or achievements. For example, the presence of 26 bishops from the Church of England in the House of Lords may be regarded – amongst other things – as an acknowledgement of the positive contribution of that church to UK public life.10 In many cases, particular measures, policies, and practices which positively acknowledge a religion or religions will combine elements of all three of these modes of recognition. One example would be the public funding of faith schools, which may be motivated by concern for the well-being of pupils of that faith, and by respect for the rights of parents to send their children to a school of their choice, and by esteem for the contribution that such schools make to the educational system. Another example would be a decision to make religion what is sometimes called a ‘protected characteristic’ in equality legislation.11 This may express a desire to protect the well-being of religious believers, and to respect their right to be treated equally, and to value the contribution of religion to public life. I believe that Ikäheimo’s taxonomy is the most comprehensive account of the complex and diverse nature of recognition currently available. In this case, it is highly revealing that the location of recognition plays no role whatsoever in it. Whilst he considers who may give recognition, to whom they may give it, what forms it may take, what effects it may have, and so on, Ikäheimo does not consider where it may occur. From this absence, the inference might be drawn that the

20  Simon Thompson location of axiological, deontological, and contributive recognition is insignificant. When a person cares for another’s well-being, grants them authority over shared norms, or values their contribution to shared goals, this may happen anywhere. Location has no role to play in understanding and evaluating acts and relationships of recognition. Against this inference, I  want to argue that where recognition happens can be as important as who does it, how they do it, and to whom. I contend, in other words, that location is a necessary component of any comprehensive account of recognition, including the recognition of religion. In order to make good on this claim, let me begin by explaining the significance of location in general. There is a sense, I would suggest, in which location is unavoidable. Jeremy Waldron puts it like this: “Everything that is done has to be done somewhere. No one is free to perform an action unless there is somewhere he is free to perform it. Since we are embodied beings, we always have a location”.12 If Waldron is right – and how could he not be? – then it follows that the subset of all human actions and relationships which are recognitive in character must also take place somewhere. Acts of recognition must have a place where they can be performed, and – putting the same point another way – those who give recognition and those who receive it must be located somewhere.13 Location is not only inevitable, but, for many human actions and relationships, it is also highly significant. Where something happens makes a difference to what it is that happens. A couple of general examples should suffice to make this point. A  sex act performed in private may be regarded as an expression of intense intimacy. But, if that selfsame act is performed in the street, then it is likely to be regarded as a matter of public indecency or obscenity. A declaration of love between two individuals in private means one thing, but if they proclaim their love in a public ceremony of marriage, this means something significantly different. In the next section, I shall argue that exactly the same point can be made in the case of recognition. My claim, in other words, will be that the meaning, value, and significance of recognitive actions and relationships are also dependent, at least in part, on their location.

The right to religion Having argued that the location of recognition is important, I now want to show that in the specific case of religion, where certain religious activities are recognized has an important bearing on the significance of such recognition. I  shall pay close attention to rights to religion, since they are the dominant language in which religious claim-making is conducted, and I shall focus in particular on those aspects of such rights which concern the manifestation of religion in public space. In order to do so, I want to examine one albeit very important example of a right to religion – namely that to be found in Article 9 of the European Convention of Human Rights. This reads as follows: 9.1 Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief and freedom, either alone or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief, in worship, teaching, practice and observance;

The recognition of religion in public spaces  21 9.2 Freedom to manifest one’s religion or beliefs shall be subject only to such limitations as are prescribed by law and are necessary in a democratic society in the interests of public safety, for the protection of public order, health or morals, or for the protection of the rights and freedoms of others.14 Of particular significance for my argument here are the claims that these freedoms are to be enjoyed “in public or private”, that they may be “manifest . . . in worship, teaching, practice and observance”, and, to a lesser extent, that one sort of reason for restricting such manifestation is to protect “public order, health or morals”. I shall take it for granted that no one disputes individuals’ right to think what they like about religion, and to change their minds about it if they so wish, in private. It might appear that matters are equally straightforward regarding individuals’ rights to manifest their religious identities in public. Article 9 seems to protect such rights, subject only to the carefully worded restrictions in the second part of the article. If, however, we look at the way in which the European Court has understood the right to manifestation in practice, we shall see that matters are not so simple. There is a good deal of controversy about how individuals put their beliefs into practice, and, in particular, about where such beliefs may be given public expression. Indeed, with regard to this final issue, my argument, to put it rather strongly, is that the Court does not have a clear and consistent view of what manifestation is, or of the nature of the location in which manifestation might occur, and therefore it does not have a coherent account of the practical extent of the right to religion. It goes without saying that this is a very bold claim, and it is one which I cannot hope to fully redeem here. The content, scope, and justification of the right to religion specified in Article 9 have, of course, been subject to intense legal, political, and academic analysis. Similarly, the body of law which has been built up by the European Court’s decisions concerning the practical exercise of this right has been scrutinized from many angles.15 For the purposes of this chapter, however, I need only focus on one particular aspect of this right – namely, the part declaring that individuals have the ability to manifest their religious identity in public. I shall, moreover, not attempt to provide a comprehensive account of all that the Court has had to say on this particular matter.16 Instead, I shall refer to a small number of recent cases in which it has reached judgements which have important implications for my current concerns. By doing so, my strictly limited aim is to tease out elements of the Court’s account – or its set of implicit ­assumptions – about the nature of public space and the rights of individuals with regard to that space. The first two cases I want to consider concern special kinds of public space in which particular sorts of activities take place. First of all, in the case of Ebrahimian v. France (2015), the Court ruled against a French citizen who wished to wear a Muslim headscarf when working in a state-funded psychiatric hospital in the Paris area. The French government argued that its principle of neutrality in the provision of public services sufficed to justify this limitation on Ebrahimian’s right to manifest her religion. The Court agreed, accepting that people in her position, whose job involves the provision of a public service, need to appear neutral when carrying out their duties. By contrast, Eweida v. British Airways

22  Simon Thompson plc (2010) concerned an employee working at a BA check-in desk who was told that wearing a Christian cross was in violation of the company’s uniform policy. When the case eventually reached the Court, it held in Eweida’s favour, arguing that British Airways had not struck a ‘fair balance’ between her interest in manifesting her religious beliefs and the company’s interest in portraying a particular corporate image. The second two cases I shall discuss concern public space understood in a more comprehensive way. In the case of SAS v. France (2014), a French citizen appealed against the burqa ban passed into law by the French government in 2010. This ban applies to public space construed very widely to include “the public highway and premises open to the public or used for the provision of a public service”.17 SAS argued that the ban violated several of her Convention rights, including those laid out in Article 9. She lost her appeal, however, because the Court accepted the French government’s argument that the ban was a proportionate measure to take in order to advance the important goal of ‘living together’. Thus SAS’s right to manifest her religious identity in all sorts of public spaces was denied for the sake of what was claimed to be a legitimate collective interest of the state in a particular form of social cohesion. Finally, it is instructive to compare SAS to the Court’s earlier decision in Ahmet Arslan and Others v. Turkey (2010). After Arslan and a number of other followers of the religious group Aczimendi tarikatÿ had attended a ceremony in a mosque in Ankara in 1996, they walked through the streets of the city dressed in the characteristic garments of members of their faith. Arslan and his companions were arrested and charged under anti-terrorism legislation. But their convictions were eventually overturned by the European Court. First, it “established that the applicants had . . . received criminal-law convictions . . . for their manner of dressing in public areas that were open to everyone (such as public streets or squares), a manner that was held to be contrary to the legislative provisions”.18 But it then determined that their prosecution under this legislation wrongfully violated their rights to manifest their religious beliefs in public. With these cases in mind, a couple of remarks are in order. First, the way I have presented this account hints at my belief that there is a key distinction to be drawn between specific kinds of public space and public space construed more broadly. I  shall say more about this in the next section. Second, in addition to this first distinction, there are further differences in the way that public space is conceived in each of these four cases. Ebrahimian concerns the sort of space – a state-funded hospital – in which public services are provided, and to which it is claimed that a principle of state neutrality applies. The Eweida case had to do with the right to manifest religious beliefs in a privately owned space to which the public had access,19 and here the Court decided that BA could not limit that right in order to impose a particular kind of appearance on its employees in that space. In the SAS case, the broadest possible construal of public space can be found, including, it is worth repeating, “the public highway and premises open to the public or used for the provision of a public service”. Finally, Arslan refers to “public areas that were open to everyone (such as public streets or squares)”, a formulation which appears to draw public space somewhat more narrowly than SAS, since it seems

The recognition of religion in public spaces  23 to correspond to the latter’s ‘public highway’ but misses out the other two parts of SAS’s formulation. More controversially, by placing these four cases in pairs, my aim has also been to tentatively suggest that the European Court does not have an entirely clear or fully consistent position on the extent to which Article 9 protects individuals’ right to manifest their religious identity in public spaces of various kinds. Ebrahimian and Eweida concern special kinds of public space: a psychiatric hospital and a privately owned business premises, and both concern the right of women to wear religious garments or symbols in those spaces. But in the first case, the Court ruled against Ebrahimian, whereas in the second it ruled in favour of Eweida. Both SAS and Arslan are cases in which public spaces are construed more broadly to include areas like public streets and squares. But once again the Court appeared to take different sides in these two cases. Whilst SAS’s appeal against the burqa ban was rejected, Arslan’s right to wear religious garments in public was upheld. I want to emphasize that I would not claim to have shown beyond all reasonable doubt that the European Court lacks a coherent account of the right to publicly manifest religious identity. It may be possible to show that the Court’s judgements about public space are consistent, perhaps by pointing to specific differences between these cases, or perhaps by reference to the doctrine of the margin of appreciation, the application of which permits states to apply general rules in their own distinctive ways.20 Be that as it may, I think that, by highlighting the significant differences between the conceptions of public space employed in these four cases, I have done enough to show that it is worth thinking more carefully about the nature and characteristics of public space both in these cases and in others like them. Without a clear account of the character of this space, and of the qualities it possesses, it is difficult – perhaps impossible – to determine the extent to which individuals should be able to manifest their religious beliefs in it.

The nature and value of public space Assuming that my argument in the previous section is accepted, my next task is to begin an investigation into the nature of public space. Before going any further, it may be worth making clear straightaway that, by referring specifically to public space, I mean to distinguish my concerns from those who are interested in what are variously described as public spheres or public squares or forums for the exercise of public reason. By way of illustration, take Jürgen Habermas’ well-known and widely discussed account of the public sphere.21 Nancy Fraser describes this as “a theater in modern societies in which political participation is enacted through the medium of talk. It is the space in which citizens deliberate about their common affairs, hence, an institutionalized arena of discursive interaction”.22 From my perspective, the important thing to note is that, whilst the public sphere may have a physical location, it is never restricted or reducible to it. Thus, such a sphere may be partly located in parliamentary buildings, law courts, and public squares in which rallies or demonstrations take place. But it can also be partly located on internet sites, in the letters pages of newspapers, and in

24  Simon Thompson radio phone-in shows. Furthermore, a particular public space – such as a square or park – might for a while be one of the physical locations of the public sphere, but it will cease to be such a location once the rally is over or the demonstration broken up. Whilst not for a moment suggesting that the nature and function of the public sphere is not an important topic in modern democratic theory and practice, it is simply not my concern here. Having made this clarification, I shall now look more closely at public space, understood as a distinctive part of the physical space of human societies. In order to do so, I shall draw on Francesco Chiodelli’s and Stefano Moroni’s very useful typology, in which they distinguish three types of public space and three types of private space by reference to their corresponding property regimes. Given my purposes here, I shall focus primarily on two of the types of public space which they identify. First, and of particular concern to me here, there are what Chiodelli and Moroni describe as “stricto sensu public spaces”, which they describe as “public spaces for general use. These are typically spaces of the connective and open type: public squares and plazas, streets, pedestrian areas”.23 I think that the European Court’s judgements in SAS and Arslan assumed this kind of public space. Second, there are also “special public spaces: . . . spaces in which more specific public activities take place, such as public schools, hospitals, libraries, playgrounds, cemeteries, and parks”.24 I would suggest that the Court’s decision in Ebrahimian concerned a space of this kind (by contrast, Eweida concerned a “privately owned collective space”).25 What are these sorts of public space like? What characteristics do they possess? What significance do they have for the people who wish to access them? In order to answer these questions, I want to suggest that it will be useful to compare public spaces to what economists call public goods. This is because I believe that public space is a type of a public good, or, more precisely, that it should be regarded and treated as if it were such a good. To show why I think so, I shall begin by briefly summarizing the standard account of public goods, distinguishing between what are called ‘pure’ and ‘impure’ variations thereof. Pure public goods have a number of important features. First, they are nonrival. In the words of Hugh Gravelle and Ray Rees: “The defining characteristic of a public good is that it is non-rival: consumption of it by one individual does not actually or potentially reduce the amount available to be consumed by another individual. Examples include radio and television broadcasts and national defence”.26 Second, pure public goods are non-excludable: “[I]t is not possible to exclude non-payers from consuming [such] a public good”; “Defence and many aspects of police services are obvious examples” (order of quotations reversed).27 Even if I somehow opt out of payment for national defence, I shall continue to enjoy the benefits which it provides. Third, some of these goods are non-optional: “All inhabitants of the country consume the total quantity provided: if one inhabitant is defended, all will be”.28 Others, by contrast, are optional, including, for example, public broadcasts: in this case, individuals “can choose to consume any amount of the output produced, including zero”.29

The recognition of religion in public spaces  25 Impure public goods share some characteristics with pure public goods, but do so to a differing degree. First, they are partially rivalrous. If one person consumes the good, this will to some extent reduce the amount available to others. At the limit, if many people consume it, then the benefit that others can get from it will significantly diminish. In this case, it is said that the good is congestible. Gareth Myles puts it like this: “In practice, public goods tend to eventually suffer from congestion when usage is sufficiently great. Obvious examples include parks and roads”.30 Second, unlike their pure cousins, impure public goods may be excludable. As Gravelle and Rees say: “Some public goods are excludable or can be produced in excludable form at relatively low cost”.31 A  good example would be scrambled television broadcasts, which consumers can only view if they pay for a descrambler. Third, some impure public goods are non-optional: if the state makes all roads toll roads, then drivers must pay to use them. Of course, not all people are drivers, and non-drivers could avoid toll roads; but, for all drivers, such roads cannot be avoided. Other impure public goods may be optional: if there is an alternative to the toll road, even if it is slower and more circuitous, then drivers can avoid paying the toll. With this brief account of the key characteristics of pure and impure public goods in mind, we can now determine the extent to which public space can be regarded as a public good of some kind. First, public space may appear at first blush to be non-rival: if I am presently walking in a public park, you can walk there, too. It is probably more accurate to say that most public spaces are partially rivalrous. In a trivial sense, as I walk through the park, you cannot occupy the precise location which I am occupying at each particular moment. In a more significant sense, if there are too many people in the park at any particular time, then its benefit for each individual may significantly diminish. Second, whatever we may think about the fairness of rules of exclusion, it is undoubtedly the case that public spaces are excludable. Roads can be turned into toll roads, and fences can be put up around public parks. As Chiodelli and Moroni put it, “ ‘territorial goods’ . . . are all excludable. . . . This is true for a plaza, a street, a park, a museum, a school, and so on”.32 Third, and of particular significance in the present context, we may ask if public spaces are optional or non-optional. At first glance, it might appear that they are optional. After all, no one is forced to walk down a particular street, to sit in a particular park, or to visit a particular square. However, whilst this might be true of particular public spaces, it is not true of public space in general. It is very difficult – virtually impossible – to avoid all public streets, parks, and squares. From this perspective, it would seem that public space is in practice non-optional. (I shall have more to say about this aspect of public space below.) Having argued that public spaces bear more than a superficial resemblance to impure public goods, I now want to suggest that it is possible to distinguish three aspects to the value and significance of such spaces. First, they connect private spaces. Given that all private spaces are attached to one another by public spaces, we must move through public spaces to get to the various private spaces over which we have access rights (often, although certainly not always, our homes) or

26  Simon Thompson to which the owner has granted us access (offices, cafes, friends’ houses, and so on). To get to work, to visit family, to meet up with friends, and so on, we need to be able to pass through public space.33 Second, public spaces are not just transitional zones: access to them is also valuable in its own right. For Waldron, the chief virtue of such spaces is that they are “places where anyone may be”.34 It is in public spaces that we are able to meet up with others for a variety of common purposes, including, for example, attending a music concert, taking part in a political demonstration, or simply enjoying good weather together. If we lacked access to public space, all of these sorts of activity would be denied to us. Third, and bringing the two previous points together, when matters are arranged well, private and public spaces exist in a complementary relationship. As Waldron puts it: “Since the public and the private are complementary, the activities performed in public are to be the complement of those appropriately performed in private”. For example: “The parks are for recreations like walking and informal ball-games, things for which one’s own yard is a little too confined”.35 If this gives us some idea of the value of public spaces in general, how do matters look specifically from the perspective of religion? What function do such spaces serve in relation to the religious identities of those who access and occupy them? Again, three aspects to the value and significance of such spaces may be distinguished. First, without being able to pass through public spaces, we would not be able to get to and from our places of worship, or to visit the homes of our fellow religionists, or to work for the religious organization of our choice. Second, if we could not access and occupy public spaces, we could not take part in a variety of kinds of religious celebrations, festivals, and parades with our coreligionists which take place in such spaces. Third, whenever the private spaces to which we have legitimate access are not large enough to house the religious activities we wish to take part in, then we can relocate into larger public spaces in order to engage in those activities there. My conclusion is that access to public space is of great value for all individuals, including those who regard themselves as having religious identities of one kind or another.

A scheme of regulation I have suggested that public space is a kind of impure public good which is partially rivalrous, generally excludable and possibly non-optional. As such, I argued, such space is valuable both in relation to private space and also in its own right, both for people in general, and for those with a religious identity in particular. I now want to consider the ethical implications of this account of public space. If this is what it is like, what normative principles should be applied to it? In particular, how should access to and control of such space be regulated? In order answer these questions, I first need to explain that there are two principal ways of controlling public space, both of which significantly diminish the value which individuals may derive from it. I  shall then be able to identify the considerations which need to be borne in mind when deciding whether and how such space should be controlled.

The recognition of religion in public spaces  27 Chiodelli and Moroni provide a lucid account of the two types of control which may be exercised over public space: A priori restrictions consist of restrictions of access (i.e., before entering somewhere); in this case, access is denied to distinct categories on the basis of certain characteristics or intentions, for example, a place barred to people under 18 years of age, or the barring of access of vendors to the school grounds.36 A  posteriori restrictions are behavior-related (i.e., after entering somewhere); in this case, specific rules of conduct are introduced to regulate users’ behavior – to forbid singing in a library, for instance.37 In the cases with which I am particularly concerned here, control of public space is exercised by the use of a posteriori restrictions on behaviour. That is to say, the individuals in question are not completely denied access to public space, but rather certain restrictions of manner are placed on them if they wish to access and occupy such space. Thus, SAS is not absolutely forbidden from walking along a public highway or sitting in a public square, and Ebrahimian is not absolutely forbidden from working in a public hospital. Rather, the rules of regulation in question specify that if these individuals wish to appear in stricto sensu public space or special public spaces, then they must accept particular restrictions on the manner in which they appear. SAS may not wear a burqa in the street, and Ebrahimian may not wear a headscarf at her place of work. Given what I said in the previous section about the nature and value of public space, it should be clear that these restrictions come at a significant cost to the individuals concerned. Neither is able to manifest her religious identity in the way she wishes in public space. Arguably, SAS is more adversely affected than Ebrahimian. For SAS, it would only be possible to avoid this restriction on the manner of her appearance by voluntarily remaining in the private spaces to which she has legal access. Given the value of public space, this would be a very high price to pay. Ebrahimian also has a significant cost to pay in order to comply with the restrictions on her access to certain special public spaces. In her case, she cannot work in a variety of occupations in the public sector. As Eva Brems points out, “the French exclude Muslim women who wear a headscarf (as well as Sikh men who wear a turban and Jewish men who wear a kippah) from more than 21% of all potential jobs that they might aspire to in France”.38 How, then, are we to evaluate such a posteriori restrictions on behaviour in public spaces? We certainly cannot say that all such restrictions are unjustified simply in virtue of the fact that they impose costs on people. In public spaces, certain forms of behaviour may rightly be regulated; for example, lewdness and indecency may not be permitted. Certain clothing restrictions may justifiably be applied; for example, motorcycle helmets may not be worn inside banks. And certain general rules may appropriately govern conduct; for example, individuals’ activities may not be allowed to exceed certain noise limits. The task, therefore, is to determine when the regulation of behaviour in public spaces is legitimate. When may certain restrictions be placed on the manner in which individuals

28  Simon Thompson appear and how they behave in such spaces? My more specific task is to determine when the manifestation of religious identities in public space may be regulated and restricted in various ways. When, for instance, can bans on the wearing of religious garments and symbols in public space be justified? My suggestion is that, in order to answer these questions, we need to deploy what I shall call a scheme of regulation. Such a scheme comprises a number of criteria which need to be applied in combination to any proposed or already-enacted restriction on individuals’ behaviour in public space in order to determine whether that restriction can be justified or not. Of course, I cannot hope to provide a fully worked-out account of the sort of regulative scheme which I would favour here. My purpose is simply to give an idea of what a complete account of such a scheme would look like. What follows instead is a brief sketch of the four criteria which I think should be applied when considering any restriction of this kind. Without further ado then, here are the four criteria I  would favour, each applied to one specific case. I shall call the first criterion significance. This concerns the goal which it is believed will be served by the restriction being considered. Is this goal of great importance? Will it be of benefit to a large number of people? Will these benefits endure over a significant length of time? How closely is this goal bound up with other legitimate objectives of the state in question? As I shall explain, at the heart of the scheme I am proposing here is a process in which the significance of this goal is weighed against the cost to those individuals adversely affected by the measures being proposed to achieve it. With reference to this first criterion, the French government’s ban on the wearing of the burqa in public space was justified by reference to the idea of ‘living together’. This may be regarded as a particular conception of social cohesion, one which is linked in complex ways to other French political values, including that of laïcité. Defending the ban, the French justice minister Michèle Alliot-Marie argued thus: “The full veil dissolves a person’s identity in that of a community. It calls into question the French model of integration, founded on the acceptance of our society’s values”.39 My suggestion is that the importance of the goal of living together is the first thing which needs to be borne in mind in deciding whether or not the ban was justified. The second criterion which I believe needs to be applied is that of efficacy. This asks whether the restriction being proposed actually furthers the goal in question. Is it a necessary measure to achieve that goal? Is it sufficient on its own to achieve it? If not, what other measures might be required? Surely, one might think, this criterion will be applied whenever a restriction on a particular right is considered. But I shall suggest that there are cases in which it is not at all clear that the restriction being proposed will actually serve the goal in question. So far as this second criterion is concerned, it is possible to find commentators on both sides of the argument. For supporters of the burqa ban, it did indeed achieve its goal. Writing the United Kingdom’s Daily Telegraph, William Langley argues that the ban has been a “victory for tolerance”.40 By contrast, Margaret Hartmann believes that “its biggest effect to date has been to increase the street harassment of Muslim

The recognition of religion in public spaces  29 women”.41 Such a divergence of opinion suggests that it may not be easy to decide whether a particular restriction has actually advanced its intended goal or not. The third criterion which I would suggest needs to be included is that of efficiency. This focuses attention on whether the restriction being proposed furthers the intended goal in a manner which so far as possible minimizes the burdens on the individuals affected by it. Does the restriction help to achieve the goal in a way that imposes the least possible cost? Or is there an alternative restriction which might help to achieve the same goal, but in a less burdensome way? The burden of my argument in this chapter has been that the burqa ban comes at a very high cost. By providing an account of the value and significance of public space, I have sought to show that access to such space, and in a manner of one’s own choosing, is likely to be an important component of virtually every individuals’ life plan. Therefore, even if was accepted that living together is a coherent and important goal, and that the burqa ban helps to achieve that goal, it may still not be justified because of the very high price that some people must pay for it. The final criterion which I have mind is one I shall call equity. This concerns the way in which the proposed restriction distributes burdens between the individuals affected by it. Whose rights are restricted by this measure? Are some individuals or groups more affected than others? If they are, are these differential effects justifiable? These are very deep waters, and I shall be able to say relatively little on this particular aspect of this problem here. It is worth pointing out that the restriction being considered here is called in French the Loi interdisant la dissimulation du visage dans l’espace public, which may be translated as the ‘law prohibiting the concealment of the face in public space’. This may suggest that this restriction burdens individuals in an equitable manner, since it does not single out any particular sex or religion: no one, whoever they are, and whatever they believe, is permitted to cover up their face in public. This way of understanding the significance of the law has, of course, been called into question. It is widely – almost universally – referred to as the burqa ban since it is accepted that Muslim women are its intended object. In this case, it could be argued that the ban does not share out the burdens it imposes in a fair and equitable way.

Concluding remarks I began this chapter by showing that there are a number of ways of recognizing religion, but I pointed out that thus far the significance of location for such recognition has been overlooked. Continuing to focus in particular on religion, I  then described a number of important judgements which the European Court has made about the extent to which individuals should be able to manifest their religious identities in public space. But I  argued that these various judgements do not add up to a coherent whole. In response to this situation, I suggested that it is important to understand exactly what public space is in order to be able to appreciate why individuals have a very significant interest in being able to access that space. With this account of public space in mind, I then showed – at least in

30  Simon Thompson outline – how I think that the justifiability of restrictions on public spaces, such as France’s burqa ban, should be evaluated. Much more work would need to be done, of course, to fully flesh out this argument. Each of the criterion in the scheme of regulation I have proposed would have to be articulated in greater detail, and the relationships between these criteria would have to be carefully specified. But I do think that this work is necessary in order to be able to properly evaluate restrictions on access to and use of public space. And it is only by doing this, I would suggest, that it is possible to set out and defend a coherent account of the nature, scope, and justification of the right to manifest religious identity in public space. Putting it this way might make it sound like a rather academic exercise. But in fact, as I suggested at the start of this chapter, the stakes are very high. The peace and stability of contemporary political communities depends at least in part on their ability to treat religions right.

Notes 1 In this chapter, I shall use the term ‘religious identity’ to include both religious beliefs and practices. 2 Heikki J. Koskinen makes this point very effectively in the introduction to this volume. 3 E.g. Axel Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995). 4 Heikki Ikäheimo, “Conceptualizing Causes for Lack of Recognition: Capacities, Costs and Understanding”, Studies in Social and Political Thought 25 (2015): 27–8. 5 Ibid., 28. 6 Ibid., 29. 7 Hannah Richardson, “Exams Timetabled to Accommodate Ramadan”, BBC News, 6 January 2016. www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-35244444. 8 Ikäheimo, “Conceptualizing Causes for Lack of Recognition”, 30–1. 9 Ibid. 10 Justin Parkinson, “What Is the Role of Bishops in UK Politics?” BBC News, 25 January 2012. www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-16702806. 11 Home Office, The Equality Act 2010, 2010. www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/2010/15/ contents. 12 Jeremy Waldron, “Homelessness and the Issue of Freedom”, UCLA Law Review 39 (1991): 296. 13 It may be noted in passing that misrecognition and non-recognition can occur when certain locations are made inaccessible to certain actors. 14 Council of Europe, “Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms”, 1950. www.echr.coe.int/Documents/Convention_ENG.pdf. 15 See e.g.,  Carolyn Evans, Freedom of Religion Under the European Convention on Human Rights (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001); Malcolm Evans, “Freedom of Religion and the European Convention on Human Rights: Approaches, Trends and Tensions”, in Law and Religion in Theoretical and Historical Context, ed. Peter Cane, Carolyn Evans and Zoe Robinson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 291–316; Ronan McCrea, Religion and the Public Order of the European Union (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). 16 In particular, I shall put aside a number of cases with specific features that limit the extent to which the conclusions drawn from them may be generalized. For example, Lautsi v. Italy (2011) and Dahlab v. Switzerland (2001) concern publicly funded

The recognition of religion in public spaces  31

17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26

27 28 29

30 31 32 33 34 35

36 37 38

schools, and Eweida v. British Airways plc (2010) concerns a privately owned space to which members of the public are granted access. Council of Europe, “Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms”, 1950. www.echr.coe.int/Documents/Convention_ENG.pdf. European Court of Human Rights, Ahmet Arslan and Others v. Turkey, 23 February 2010. http://hudoc.echr.coe.int/eng-press?i=003-3042105-3359681. As Waldron puts it, “Sometimes the state may insist that certain places owned by private individuals or corporations should be treated rather like common property if they fulfil the function of public places” (Waldron, “Homelessness”, 298). Eva Brems, “The Margin of Appreciation Doctrine in the Case-Law of the European Court of Human Rights”, Zeitschrift für ausländisches öffentliches Recht und Völkerrecht 56 (1996): 240–314; Kathleen Cavanaugh, “Policing the Margins: Rights Protection and the European Court of Human Rights”, European Human Rights Law Review 4 (2006): 422–44. Jürgen Habermas, “The Public Sphere: An Encyclopedia Article”, New German Critique 3 (1974): 49–55. Nancy Fraser, “Rethinking the Public Sphere: A Contribution to the Critique of Actually Existing Democracy”, in Justice Interruptus: Critical Reflections on the ‘Postsocialist’ Condition, ed. Nancy Fraser (New York: Routledge, 1997), 70. Francesco Chiodelli and Stefano Moroni, “Typology of Spaces and Topology of Toleration: City, Pluralism, Ownership”, Journal of Urban Affairs 36, no. 2 (2014): 169. Ibid. The third type of public space, which Chiodelli and Moroni call “privately run public spaces” (Ibid.), is not of direct relevance to my concerns here. Ibid. Hugh Gravelle and Ray Rees, Microeconomics, 3rd ed. (Harlow: Financial Times, Prentice Hall, 2004), 326. For the classic formulation, see Paul Samuelson, “The Pure Theory of Public Expenditure”, The Review of Economics and Statistics 36, no.  54 (1954): 387. Gravelle and Reese, Microeconomics, 328. Ibid., 326. To be clear about the difference between the second and third features, a good is nonexcludable if the provider – nearly always the state – cannot prevent a particular individual from receiving that good, whereas it is non-optional if that individual cannot choose to refuse it (Ibid., 326). Gareth Myles, Public Economics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 265. Gravelle and Reese, Microeconomics, 326. Chiodelli and Moroni, “Typology of Spaces”, 170. We also need to move through stricto sensu public space in order to get to the special public spaces where certain public services are provided, such as education, law, healthcare, and so on. Waldron, “Homelessness”, 298. Ibid., 301. It should be noted that this is not an account Waldron endorses without qualification, since the burden of his argument is to show that this works out very badly for the homeless, who lack access to the private spaces which would complement the public spaces to which they do have access. Chiodelli and Moroni, “Typology of Spaces”, 171. As Waldron shows in his essay on homelessness, such restrictions may also apply to stricto sensu public spaces. Waldron, “Homelessness”. Ibid. Eva Brems, “Ebrahimian v France: Headscarf ban Upheld for Entire Public Sector”, Strasbourg Observers, 27 November 2015. https://strasbourgobservers.com/2015/11/ 27/ebrahimian-v-france-headscarf-ban-upheld-for-entire-public-sector/.

32  Simon Thompson 39 Cited in Lizzy Davies, “France: Senate Votes for Muslim Face Veil Ban”, The Guardian, 4 September  2010. www.theguardian.com/world/2010/sep/14/france-senate-muslimveil-ban. 40 William Langley, “France’s Burka Ban Is a Victory for Tolerance”, The Telegraph, 21 October 2014. www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/france/8444177/Burka FranceNational-FrontMarine-Le-PenMuslimFadela-AmaraAndre-Gerinhijab.html. 41 Margaret Hartmann, “French Burqa Ban Has Succeeded in Making Things Worse”, Jezebel, 20 September  2011. http://jezebel.com/5842000/french-burqa-ban-has-suc ceeded-in-making-things-worse.

References Brems, Eva. “The Margin of Appreciation Doctrine in the Case-Law of the European Court of Human Rights.” Zeitschrift für ausländisches öffentliches Recht und Völkerrecht 56 (1996): 240–314. ———. “Ebrahimian v France: Headscarf Ban Upheld for Entire Public  Sector.” Strasbourg Observers, 27 November  2015. https://strasbourgobservers.com/2015/11/27/ ebrahimian-v-france-headscarf-ban-upheld-for-entire-public-sector/. Cavanaugh, Kathleen. “Policing the Margins: Rights Protection and the European Court of Human Rights.” European Human Rights Law Review 4 (2006): 422–44. Chiodelli, Francesco and Stefano Moroni. “Typology of Spaces and Topology of Toleration: City, Pluralism, Ownership.” Journal of Urban Affairs 36, no. 2 (2014): 167–81. doi:10.1111/juaf.12028. Constitutional Council. “Act Prohibiting the Concealing of the Face in Public.” Decision n° 2010–613 DC, 7 October 2010. www.conseil-constitutionnel.fr/conseil-constitution nel/root/bank_mm/anglais/en2010_613dc.pdf. Council of Europe. Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, 1950. www.echr.coe.int/Documents/Convention_ENG.pdf. Davies, Lizzy. “France: Senate Votes for Muslim Face Veil Ban.” The Guardian, 4 September 2010. www.theguardian.com/world/2010/sep/14/france-senate-muslim-veil-ban. European Court of Human Rights. Ahmet Arslan and Others v. Turkey, 23 February 2010. http://hudoc.echr.coe.int/eng-press?i=003-3042105-3359681. Evans, Carolyn. Freedom of Religion Under the European Convention on Human Rights. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Evans, Malcolm. “Freedom of Religion and the European Convention on Human Rights: Approaches, Trends and Tensions.” In Law and Religion in Theoretical and Historical Context, edited by Peter Cane, Carolyn Evans and Zoe Robinson, 291–316. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Fraser, Nancy. “Rethinking the Public Sphere: A Contribution to the Critique of Actually Existing Democracy.” In Justice Interruptus: Critical Reflections on the ‘Postsocialist’ Condition, edited by Nancy Fraser. New York: Routledge, 1997. Gravelle, Hugh and Ray Rees. Microeconomics, 3rd ed. Harlow: Financial Times, Prentice Hall, 2004. Habermas, Jürgen. “The Public Sphere: An Encyclopedia Article.” New German Critique 3 (1974): 49–55. Hartmann, Margaret. “French Burqa Ban Has Succeeded in Making Things Worse.” Jezebel, 20 September  2011. http://jezebel.com/5842000/french-burqa-ban-has-suc ceeded-in-making-things-worse. Home Office. The Equality Act 2010, 2010. www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/2010/15/contents.

The recognition of religion in public spaces  33 Honneth, Axel. The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995. Ikäheimo, Heikki. “Conceptualizing Causes for Lack of Recognition: Capacities, Costs and Understanding.” Studies in Social and Political Thought 25 (2015). doi:10.20919/ sspt.25.2015.45 Langley, William. “France’s Burka Ban Is a Victory for Tolerance.” The Telegraph, 21 October 2014. www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/france/8444177/Burka FranceNational-FrontMarine-Le-PenMuslimFadela-AmaraAndre-Gerinhijab.html. McCrea, Ronan. Religion and the Public Order of the European Union. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Myles, Gareth. Public Economics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Parkinson, Justin. “What Is the Role of Bishops in UK Politics?” BBC News, 25 January 2012. www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-16702806. Richardson, Hannah. “Exams Timetabled to Accommodate Ramadan.” BBC News, 6 January 2016. www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-35244444. Samuelson, Paul. “The Pure Theory of Public Expenditure.” The Review of Economics and Statistics 36, no. 54 (1954): 387–9. Waldron, Jeremy. “Homelessness and the Issue of Freedom.” UCLA Law Review 39 (1991): 295–324.

2 Mediated recognition Suggestions towards an articulation Heikki J. Koskinen

Introduction In this paper, my primary aim is to contribute to the systematic analysis and further development of contemporary recognition theory.1 My specific focus will be on articulating a clearer understanding of a practically indispensable and in some respects theoretically still somewhat underdeveloped notion of mediated recognition. According to the particular notion studied here,2 a mediated form of recognition is based on a context in which some third party performs a mediating role between two distinct parties that, for some reason or another, do not initially recognize each other in some desired or appropriate way.3 On the basis of this initial characterization, we may already conjecture that mediated recognition constitutes an important class of religious, social, and political phenomena in our concrete everyday world of human interactions, both contemporary and historical. Moreover, in such human interactions, it would appear that the functional role of a mediator can be played by various entities like religious authorities, peace negotiators, political institutions, or shared systems of norms and beliefs. In religious contexts in particular, an analysis of mediated recognition can help us better understand the role of religious authorities as agents of mediated recognition, and the role of the state as mediating recognition between different religious organizations. As already implicated, the notion of mediated recognition has been to some extent discussed in previous research literature on contemporary recognition theory. In this respect, of special relevance are Peter Jones’4 ideas on a conceptually mediated form of recognition and Heikki Ikäheimo’s5 systematic views on the nature and role of mediated recognition. In addition to these previous treatments of mediated recognition itself, Robert Brandom,6 Arto Laitinen,7 and Boris Rähme8 have also presented theoretical analyses of recognition-relations which are highly interesting and potentially useful for the topic at hand. I have myself previously studied different ways of applying the notion of mediated recognition in religious contexts, both systematically and using historical sources in collaboration with Ritva Palmén.9 What I hope to add to these preceding contributions is a further articulation of a particular notion of mediated recognition by considering its structural nature and relations to other closely neighbouring notions. My discussion thus primarily aims at formulating a relevant fragment of a general

Mediated recognition  35 taxonomy of recognition-relations. Increased clarity on the level of conceptualizations also gives us a better understanding of corresponding phenomena occurring in the field of religion.10 I shall begin my attempt in the next section by first articulating the notion of trilateral recognition in relation to bilateral and unilateral forms of recognition. I will then turn in the third section to formulating the core notion of mediated recognition as a special case of trilateral recognition. Proceeding further along the taxonomical branch, I go on in the fourth section to analyze the notion of transitive recognition as a special case of mediated recognition. These theoretical analyses together result in an articulation of a schematic structural taxonomy of the relevant types of recognition-relations.11 In the fifth section, I  will then move to discussing a different but closely related topic against the background of the articulated taxonomy. This topic has to do with a more inclusive understanding of the very notion of recognition itself, resulting in a wider applicability and increased usefulness of the recognition-relations charted within the produced taxonomy. Indeed, I  shall explicitly argue that by adopting the more inclusive conception of recognition, we can also apply the previously articulated notion of mediated recognition to a greater number of interesting cases of textual interpretation, religious and otherwise, as well as to contemporary analyses of social, political, and religious phenomena.

Bilateral, unilateral, and trilateral recognition Since my topic has to do with various forms of recognition and involves a specific focus on one of them, it might be prudent to begin this systematic discussion with the fundamental notion of recognition itself. How, then, is recognition to be understood? According to literature on contemporary recognition theory, recognition in the standard sense has a relational nature.12 On a very basic or general level, this simply means that recognition is not something like a property possessed by individual entities but instead a relation, typically obtaining between two distinct entities. So when we are dealing with recognition, we are in effect talking about recognition-relations. The next rather obvious question then concerns the kinds of entities that can in principle enter into recognition-relations with each other. Again, according to the standard conception, recognition is understood to be a relation specifically between two distinct persons. In this sense, then, paradigmatic recognition-relations are taken to be essentially interpersonal in nature. Moreover, recognition-relations can be distinguished from merely physical or spatiotemporal interpersonal relations like ‘Pope Francis is taller than Mother Teresa’ or ‘Augustine was born earlier than Aquinas’ in that they are intentional and involve specific contents, stances, or aspect-related points of view from which the subject views or ‘takes’ the object of recognition. This intentional ‘taking as something’ is also what gives acts of recognition their socio-normative meaning and concrete significance. When one person recognizes another, then, this would seem to make sense only in conjunction with some form of an ‘as what’ specification.13 For example, someone

36  Heikki J. Koskinen might be recognized by someone else generally as a person, or more specifically as a loved one, as an esteemed colleague, or as an autonomous agent responsible for her actions.14 Generalizing the structure of the ‘taking as something’-relation, we may discern the three components of a subject, an object, and a content in all such relations. Having already observed that according to the paradigmatic conception, both the subjects and the objects capable of entering into recognition-relations are persons, we may raise the further question of the possible contents of recognition-relations. A very useful way of analyzing the content-component of ‘takings’ is systematically related to various meanings of the word ‘recognition’ in our everyday usage of language.15 In the widest sense applicable to anything at all, the content of ‘taking as something’ has to do with the identification of an entity as something. In a more narrow sense, the content has to do with the acknowledgement of specifically normative entities like values, principles, or rules. In the paradigmatic sense of recognition which is narrower still, the content has to do with taking the other as a person, where persons can be understood as a specific kind of normative entity.16 Within this paradigmatic level of interpersonal recognition, the further dimensions of love, esteem, and respect are then standardly distinguished.17 Relevantly for the argument concerning the adoption of a more inclusive understanding of recognition later on in the fifth section, it is important to note here that corresponding to the three different colloquial meanings of ‘recognition’, there is an increasing order of specificity of ‘takings’ and their contents ranging from identification via acknowledgement to paradigmatic recognition and its three dimensions.18 Paradigmatic recognition is the most exclusive one of these, and only it is essentially an interpersonal relation whose content is also directly based on (the recognition of ) personhood. Acknowledgement is a wider notion which applies to all kinds of normative entities also beyond persons, while identification is the widest or the most inclusive form of ‘taking’, applying to anything whatsoever in a generic, qualitative, or numeric sense of identity. From a systematic perspective, it would also seem that there is an order of dependency from the more specific to the less specific in the sense that acknowledgement presupposes identification, and recognition in the paradigmatic sense presupposes both acknowledgement and identification. In order to recognize other human beings as persons, then, we need to be able both to identify them as persons and to acknowledge their normative status as persons. Another central feature of the paradigmatic interpersonal understanding of recognition is that recognition-relations are taken to be essentially dialogical or bilateral in nature: it always takes the attitudes of two persons to constitute a recognition-relation. Hence, according to this conception, there is no such thing as one-sided or unilateral recognition. Recognition-relations are seen to require interpersonal dyads, or pairs of persons, where both parties are bilaterally active in the constitution of the relation. The attitudes and actions of the subject of recognition are not sufficient alone. Bilaterality means that the object of the ­recognition-relation also has to contribute by recognizing the subject as a competent recognizer, by being aware of the subject’s response to the object’s

Mediated recognition  37 normatively relevant features, and by taking the subject’s recognitive response to be significant.19 If one party tried, for example, to recognize another as an esteemed philosopher or theologian, the attempted recognition-relation would fail to obtain if the intended object or recipient of recognition did not take the subject or recognizer to be a competent judge on the matter. This example also illustrates that bilaterality has to be distinguished from symmetry: in a bilateral relation of paradigmatic recognition, the ‘takings’ of the subject and object do not have to be identical in content. Having discussed bilaterality as a central feature of the paradigmatic understanding of recognition-relations, it should be noted that in recent research literature, arguments have also been presented for distinguishing a non-paradigmatic unilateral form of recognition. This kind of more inclusive (or less restricted) understanding of recognition has been articulated by Laitinen as a way of dealing with a particular systematic tension in recognition theory.20 For our present classificatory purposes, it suffices to point out that such unilateral recognition-relations are based on one-sided adequate responses to normatively relevant features of anything whatsoever, with no requirements for the object’s intentional participation, or even capability of this, in the constitution of the relation. In effect, then, this kind of unrestricted normativist view makes recognition coincide with the acknowledgement of normative entities. As we saw before, acknowledgement is a wider notion than paradigmatic recognition, and it also corresponds to one of the colloquial meanings of ‘recognition’. To complete our taxonomical picture on its present level, we may then distinguish, in addition to bilateral and unilateral forms, a trilateral form of recognition. At this level of classificatory generality, we are simply focusing on the number of parties involved in a recognition-relation. Hence, trilateral recognition is to be understood as a recognition-relation involving three numerically distinct parties. Of course, talk about numerical identity and distinctness very quickly takes us into deep metaphysical waters, for then we are bound to encounter further questions about how to count the parties involved’ in a recognition-relation.21 It could, for example, be argued that even in unilateral recognition, the object is a second party of a kind. On the other hand, it could also be pointed out that the schematic structure based on the subject, object, and content of a recognition-relation already contains three elements, however and wherever it is applied. On top of these, questions could be raised about the identity-criteria of the entities that we are supposed to be counting. Although I do recognize (in the sense of acknowledge) the interest and importance of such further systematic questions, on present occasion, they are best put to side and left to be discussed elsewhere. Instead of diving to the metaphysical deep end here, I shall remain within more shallow waters, and adopt an attitude of pragmatic functionalism.22 This means that I will treat the distinction between the unilateral, bilateral, and trilateral forms of recognition as a methodological conceptualization that is heuristically, contextually, and pragmatically motivated. The proof of this conceptual pudding, then, is in its usefulness in interpretation,23 and in the way that the notion of trilateral recognition helps to structure the general

38  Heikki J. Koskinen taxonomy articulated below. In the following section, I shall proceed to look at a mediated form of recognition as a special type of trilateral recognition.

Mediated recognition In the Introduction, I characterized mediated recognition as being based on a context in which some third party performs a mediating role between two distinct parties that, for some reason or another, do not initially recognize each other in some desired or appropriate way. From the systematic perspective developed so far, we may now observe that this characterization involves at least two central features. On the one hand, it exhibits trilaterality, since there are two parties whose relation is mediated by a distinct third party. On the other hand, there is also the important functional role of a mediator, which is played in the setting by a suitable third party. From these two initial observations, we may already begin to conclude that mediated recognition is indeed a special type of trilateral recognition and that not all cases of trilateral recognition are cases of mediated recognition. The distinguishing mark here is the functional role of a mediator: there may be all kinds of trilateral recognition contexts where, for example, three individual human beings or three religious institutions happily recognize each other as esteemed collaborators without there being any particular need for mediation between any two of the parties involved. What needs to be added to trilaterality to get the specific form of mediated recognition is precisely the function of mediation, of one party acting as an intermediary element or agent in bringing about recognition between other two distinct parties. To clarify the notion of mediated recognition further, it is useful to look at a couple of illustrative examples of mediation based on recent literature on recognition theory. As our first example,24 let us then consider a case where e.g., a theist and an atheist are encountering each other.25 We may suppose that because of their directly opposing metaphysical views, neither is willing to esteem or give direct merit recognition to the other’s position or specific identity built upon that position. As far as judgements of worth are considered, then, the atheist is likely to consider the value of theism to be neutral or negative. Symmetrically, the same applies to the theist’s evaluation of atheism. Since interpersonal recognition in the dimension of esteem requires a shared horizon of values, and since this very requirement is missing in the example, no esteem-recognition between the two parties is likely to be forthcoming. At this stage, a third element that can play the functional role of a mediator becomes potentially useful. One option for such a recognition-facilitator is a description or a conceptualization that differs in an effective way from the original one blocking the formation of a direct recognition-relation. If direct esteem of specific identities is not to be expected between the two parties, an indirect route via a more general conceptualization could possibly increase the chances of forming a recognition-relation between them. What this means in more concrete terms is that instead of directly esteeming the other as a theist or as an atheist,

Mediated recognition  39 the recognition-relations could be mediated through the dimension of respect as a person, as a human being, or as a being of equal moral standing. By utilizing such more general categories and the dimension of respect, it becomes possible to mediate the recognition of specific identities via a more general form of identity. If the atheist recognizes the theist as a person instead of as a theist (or as a Christian, as a Muslim, etc.), then the atheist’s recognition of the theist’s specific identity can be grounded in the recognition that the atheist owes to the theist as a person, and not in any direct value that the atheist should find or not find in the theist’s specific identity. Naturally, the same applies in the other direction as well. This makes it possible for the two parties to begin not with specific identities and their differently evaluated merits, but with the more general level of persons and what matters to them. As our second example of mediation, we may consider a case concerning private property.26 Supposing that we start with a system based merely on bilateral interpersonal recognition of distributed ownerships between two distinct persons, then this kind of arrangement remains stable as long as, and only as long as, the two relevant parties in fact recognize each other’s property rights.27 However, as soon as one of the parties changes her mind, the fragile bilateral arrangement crumbles and falls apart. In view of this, it can be argued that a system of property rights based only on the contingent and transient attitudes of the parties involved does not constitute as solid an arrangement as one might wish. In this sense, then, the two distinct parties do not initially recognize each other in a desired or appropriate way. Again, a third element that can play the functional role of a mediator, and also solidify the context, becomes useful. The problematic instability of the original bilateral arrangement can be considerably improved upon by introducing a third independent institutional element into the context. This third party is not a third person, but positive law, i.e., a state grounded on a system of norms written down as laws. The two parties are then to entrust their authority over their relation to an impartial and trusted third party. With the introduction of this type of third element, a new kind of institutionally mediated recognition-relation is also created. Moreover, as Ikäheimo28 points out, the introduction of such a mediating third party into the context creates three different directions of recognition-relations, the first two of which are vertical in nature. The state’s downward recognition of the citizens, or the original two parties, grants them certain rights and duties. The citizen’s upward recognition of the state is recognition of the legitimacy of the laws and norms that constitute the state as an institution. The citizens’ horizontal recognition of each other then concerns their mutual rights, or each other as rightsholders rather than as singular individuals. In this generated mediational context, it is important to distinguish between the purely intersubjective recognition between the two original parties of our example on the one hand, and the institutionally mediated recognition between the two original parties on the other. The former is an unmediated recognition-relation, whereas the latter is a mediated one. From these two examples based on conceptually mediated recognition and mediation of property rights by law, we can get a more practical understanding

40  Heikki J. Koskinen of how mediated recognition is supposed to work. We have also seen how mediated recognition is indeed a special case of trilateral recognition where one of the three parties or elements functions as a mediator between the other two. On the basis of these examples, we can also understand on a general level how religious authorities can act as agents of mediated recognition, and how a state can create institutionally mediated recognition between distinct religious organizations. In the next section, we shall turn our attention towards the neighbouring notion of transitive recognition.

Transitive recognition Having understood recognition as a relation, we may note that recognitionrelations have all kinds of interesting formal properties.29 Because of its immediate relevance for our taxonomical enterprise, we shall focus here on transitivity. What does the transitivity of a recognition-relation then mean? In view of our previous conceptualizations, we may begin to formulate an answer by pointing out that transitivity involves trilaterality in that its nature or characterization is in a sense based on three distinct parties or elements. Transitivity also involves mediation of sorts, because there is a third party whose relation to the other two parties is systematically connected with the direct relation between the other two. In terms based e.g., on individual persons, the transitivity of a recognition-relation then simply means that if person x recognizes person y, and person y recognizes person z, then person x also recognizes person z.30 In Brandom’s31 sophisticated analysis of recognition, a central part is played by the notion of robust recognition. This is understood as the practical attitude of recognizing another as a simple recognizer; that is, as itself the kind of thing for which things can have a specifically normative significance. For Brandom, an important point about robust recognition is that it is transitive, which just means that recognizing someone as a recognizer is acknowledging the authority of her recognitions for one’s own, or recognizing whomever she recognizes.32 When we look at a standard dimension of recognition like love, on the other hand, we can relatively easily come up with examples where recognition is not a transitive relation. If x loves y, and y goes on to love z, then often enough, x does not love z.33 This is especially the case if we understand love along Honnethian34 lines as constituted by “strong emotional attachments among a small number of people”. From these examples of robust recognition and love, we may thus conclude that generally speaking, recognition-relations may or may not be transitive in nature. From our systematic taxonomical perspective, the interesting question now becomes: can mediated and transitive recognition-relations be distinguished from one another? In other words: Can we think of cases where a recognition-relation would be mediated but not transitive, or transitive but not mediated? Especially if we are to conceptualize transitive recognition as a special case of mediated recognition, we should be able to come up with a case of non-transitive mediated recognition.

Mediated recognition  41 With respect to this possibility, a lot would seem to depend on how we understand the functional role of mediation in our characterization of mediated recognition. It could, for example, be thought that in our triangle of love presented earlier, y becomes capable of loving only as a result of x’s preceding love. When y then goes on to love z, the process could also be described in such a way that y is a mediator of love between x and z. One problem, however, is that in our characterization and in our examples, we have talked about mediation in a way which presupposes a constructive role effected by a third party in the relation between two distinct parties that do not initially recognize each other in some desired or appropriate way. Recognition-relations that simply link or chain x, y, and z with each other in a consecutive or serial manner would therefore not seem to be sufficient for counting as cases of mediation in the relevant sense. Modifying our earlier property rights example, we could try to argue, for example, that an entity like a referee in a football game could provide us with an instance of mediated recognition without transitivity. Analogously with the earlier example, we might begin with a situation involving any two distinct potential players. Without a referee, their relation remains recognitionally deficient and unstable, whereas with the introduction of the referee as a mediating third party, the players can properly and bilaterally recognize each other as players. In a strict sense, of course, players without a referee cannot even be players, just as without a state, two individual persons cannot be citizens. If we accept cases like these as instances of mediated recognition, it could indeed be argued that there is mediation without transitivity. This line of argumentation is based on the idea that in order for a relation to be transitive, within the relevant context, it has to remain similar in content between x, y, and z. Since the (upward) recognition of the referee as a referee by a player is not similar in content to the (downward) recognition of the player by the referee as a player, and since these two are also different in content from the (vertical and mediated) recognition between players, we do not have transitivity. If transitivity as a property of recognition-relations thus incorporates stricter criteria of application than mediation does, then the former can be conceived as a special case of the latter.35 As a consequence of the foregoing systematic suggestions, we have now articulated the core notion of mediated recognition by considering its structural nature and relations to other neighbouring notions. In the process, we have also arrived at a formulation of the relevant fragment of a general taxonomy of recognitionrelations. According to the overall suggestion, then, trilateral recognition can be understood as a special case of recognition. In the next phase, mediated recognition can be taken as a special case of trilateral recognition. In the final taxonomical step, transitive recognition can then be conceived as a special case of mediated recognition. Based on these conceptualizations, we should now have reached a somewhat clarified understanding of an important group of recognition concepts and phenomena. These suggestions can then be put to test e.g., in analysing religious texts, events, and practices.

42  Heikki J. Koskinen

A wider applicability for recognition-relations While it could be argued that a partial systematization of a recognition-theoretical framework has some intrinsic interest and value in itself, it could also be plausibly maintained that the very conceptualization can acquire its justification only as a practical instrument of understanding concrete recognition phenomena in various settings including religious ones. Let us then turn next to considering a suggestion towards getting as much as possible out of the previously charted taxonomy of recognition-relations, with special interest in them as instruments of interpretation in both historical and contemporary contexts. The particular strategy that I am going to work with is based on the idea that if we adopt a more inclusive understanding of the notion of recognition itself, then this also results in a wider applicability and increased usefulness of the recognition-relations articulated within the produced taxonomy.36 As a general observation, it could be pointed out that the more specifications and restrictions we build into our conceptualizations of recognition, the fewer phenomena they are going to be applicable to in the concrete human world of religious, social, and political interactions. Such burdening with qualifications also makes it more difficult to apply recognition theory to the interpretation of textual sources, whether contemporary or historical. Of course, for the notion of recognition to have any significant practical use at all, some restrictions still have to remain in place. If our conceptualizations of recognition were liberalized to an overly excessive extent, the concept of recognition would thereby lose most of its usefulness for any practical purposes of understanding and guidance of social action.37 Therefore, to get more out of our charted taxonomy, we need to be careful to widen the applicability of recognition-relations just enough, but not too much. In explicating the more inclusive understanding of recognition, it is useful to fix a point of reference from which the widening of the scope is begun. For this purpose, we can start with the paradigmatic understanding of recognition discussed in the second section, focusing on three central features of it. Without going any further into the rationalistic commitments of Brandom’s own elaborate position, we can utilize his38 characterization of recognition, according to which: “Taking something to be subject to appraisals of its reasons, holding it rationally responsible, is treating it as someone: as one of us (rational beings). This normative attitude towards others is recognition, in the sense of Hegel’s central notion of Anerkennung”. For our present purposes, Brandom’s characterization nicely highlights the first central feature of paradigmatic recognition-relations, namely that they are thoroughly interpersonal. In taking the other as a person, or treating something as someone, as one of us, both the subject and the object are persons.39 As pointed out in the second section, also the content of paradigmatic interpersonal ­recognition-relations is directly based on (the recognition of ) personhood, contributing to the thorough interpersonality of the relation. The second central feature discussed in the second section2 is the assumed dialogicality or bilaterality of paradigmatic recognition-relations. As we saw before, in the paradigmatic

Mediated recognition  43 case, both the subjects and the objects of recognition have to play their active intentional roles in the constitution of the relation. A third central feature attributable to the paradigmatic conception is then the assumed positivity of the content of recognition-relations. This positivity assumption is relatively well-documented in the literature. In his seminal essay “The Politics of Recognition”, Charles Taylor40 famously speaks of recognition as a vital human need. In his developmental account of the personhood-constituting roles of recognition, Axel Honneth41 elaborates on the various aspects and functions of love, respect, and esteem, which clearly are something positive in nature. The very idea of a struggle for recognition also seems to presuppose that recognition is understood to be something worth striving and struggling for. The denial of this socio-normative good then constitutes both a harm to a person and a form of wrong.42 Joel Anderson,43 the translator of Honneth’s Struggle, points out on the word ‘Anerkennung’ that in German, to recognize individuals or groups is to ascribe some positive status to them. In his critical introduction to the political theory of recognition, Simon Thompson44 states that in all ordinary uses, recognition is understood as a practical act of positive evaluation. Along the same lines, in his Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy entry on recognition, Mattias Iser45 writes that recognition requires a positive evaluation of the object of recognition. Together, the three central features of the paradigmatic understanding of recognition function as three combined restrictions on its applicability or scope. If recognition were thus to be conceived exclusively in the paradigmatic sense, then it would be limited only to relations that are simultaneously thoroughly interpersonal, bilateral, and positive in nature. In view of the importance and potential usefulness of the notion of recognition, as well as of the various ways in which we actually speak in our everyday social, political, and religious lives, the paradigmatic conception looks like a view burdened with unnecessarily strict limitations. If we remained within the boundaries set by the paradigmatic conception, then the applicability of the notions of trilateral, mediated, and transitive recognition would also be restricted accordingly. We could not, for example have persons recognizing property laws, as in our previous example, because the laws as objects of recognition would already breach against the thorough interpersonality restriction. There could also not be, for example, any recognition of the independent status of a new state by already existing states in the field of international politics.46 In a similar manner, cases involving e.g., religious institutions and doctrines would per definitionem be excluded from the possible sphere of application. However, the extension of the sphere of recognition to include entities like groups and institutions is a fairly standard move.47 By widening the sphere from individual persons to persons collectively, recognition applies in an extended sense to groups of persons. This assumes that analogously with individual human persons, entities like groups, communities, etc., can also be taken as collective agents that can be both subjects and objects of recognition. A further extension then includes also institutions or institutional structures in the form of systems of norms, organizations, etc. As a consequence of allowing groups and institutions as subjects and objects of recognition, the possible contents of recognition-relations

44  Heikki J. Koskinen will also necessarily be altered. If the object of a recognition-relation is a group or an institution, then the paradigmatic generic content of taking someone as a person becomes inapplicable for the obvious reason that although groups and institutions might be conceived as intentional agents of a sort, they certainly are not persons.48 When recognition-relations thus receive a wider range of application, at least the thorough interpersonality restriction of the paradigmatic conception is clearly overridden. A further extension that is perhaps not quite as standard as the preceding one involves eradicating the bilaterality restriction, too. This suggestion, most notably made by Laitinen,49 was already discussed as a unilateral form of recognition in the second section. By accepting normative entities generally as objects of recognition-relations, unilateral recognition goes beyond the thorough interpersonality restriction, as does the previous extension to groups and institutions. By not requiring any intentional participation or even capability of this from the object, unilateral recognition-relations then reach even further, discarding also the dialogical bilaterality restriction so essentially built into the paradigmatic understanding of recognition. At this stage of the gradual widening of the scope of recognition, we are already able to accommodate an impressive host of recognition phenomena that go well beyond the paradigmatically restricted sphere of persons and personhood. When we add groups, institutions, and normative entities generally to the potential relata of recognition-relations, we can also apply the previously articulated notions of trilateral, mediated, and transitive recognition to a considerably larger number of cases. This helps us to utilize the suggested conceptualizations much more extensively in interpreting, understanding, and analyzing both contemporary phenomena and historical texts in religious and other types of contexts. There is, however, one more restriction or central feature of the paradigmatic conception of recognition that still remains untouched. This is the assumption of the positivity of recognition and its contents. Although the topic deserves a more extensive treatment of its own elsewhere, some good reasons can usefully be listed on the present occasion for not simply assuming as a given that recognition is always a positive form of interaction. For one thing, the positivity or goodness of recognition can often be very much dependent on perspective and context. What appears for one party as a positive act of recognition can seem from another perspective as an oppressive, ignorant, or hostile move. The same is true of changes of context. Acts of recognition also include aspects of power, which becomes apparent, for example, when one party seeks recognition from another party in a position to either grant or deny it. Power is also manifested in defining the contents of recognition-­ relations. Moreover, different contents and identities based on them can become too tightly scripted straitjackets that hinder rather than facilitate individual autonomy and flourishing.50 A recognition deficit model based on the assumed positivity or goodness of recognition does not do justice either to the complexity of our struggles for recognition, because it presents us primarily as passive recipients of social recognition.51 The positivity restriction also goes against the

Mediated recognition  45 ways in which we actually speak. To take just one example of this, we might consider the recent discussion and decision in South Carolina over whether the Confederate flag should be recognized as a symbol of heritage and history or as an icon of slavery and racism. The former is a positive content, while the latter clearly constitutes a negative one. If we thus do give up the three restrictions of thorough interpersonality, bilaterality, and positivity, then such a move towards a more inclusive understanding implies that we also have to reconsider our definition or characterization of recognition. What results from the conceptual liberalization that I have been suggesting in this last section is a semantic shift from the stricter paradigmatic notion of recognition towards the wider notion of acknowledgement, with the explicit addition that there is no restriction of positivity in the normative contents or entities to be recognized.52 Consequently, our characterization of recognition can no longer be limited to the taking of other persons as persons in the positive dimensions of respect, esteem, and love, but has to be generalized into something like social interaction with, and based on, normative statuses.53 The paradigmatic conception of recognition can still retain its status as paradigmatic, but for pragmatic purposes related with the notion of mediated recognition, we can certainly use a more inclusive notion of recognition.

Conclusions From the preceding discussion, there are two main points to take home. The first one is that in the second through fourth sections, a series of conceptual and taxonomical suggestions have been presented which articulate a clearer understanding of the notion of mediated recognition. This has been achieved by considering both the precise nature of mediated recognition and its relations to other closely neighbouring notions. In the analysis of contemporary events, as well as in the interpretation of historical texts, including religious and theological ones, we are much better off if we can understand important differences between distinct types of phenomena as clearly as possible. The conceptual spadework undertaken here arguably contributes towards this end. The second main point immediately connected with the first one is that as I have tried to show in the final substantial section that a more inclusive understanding of the very notion of recognition itself is possible, and results in a wider applicability and usefulness of not only mediated recognition, but also of other conceptual instruments of contemporary recognition theory. Although the main focus of this paper has been in theoretical explication, it should by now be fairly obvious how the discussed notions can be applied in better understanding phenomena like the role of various religious authorities as agents of mediated recognition, or the role of the state as mediating recognition between different religious organizations. In addition, the articulated wider notion of mediated recognition can shed important light on metaphysical issues like the theism-versus-atheism debate.54 It can also contribute novel conceptual instruments for interpreting and understanding historical religious sources.55

46  Heikki J. Koskinen

Notes 1 Contemporary recognition theory as I understand it here is based largely on the foundational work of Charles Taylor, “The Politics of Recognition”, in Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition, ed. Amy Gutmann (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994); and Axel Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995), both originally from 1992. In terms of the framework’s systematic development, Heikki Ikäheimo and Arto Laitinen, see e.g.,  “Analyzing Recognition: Identification, Acknowledgement, and Recognitive Attitudes Towards Persons”, Recognition and Power: Axel Honneth and the Tradition of Critical Social Theory, eds. Bert van den Brink and David Owen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007a) are also central contributors. 2 Another interesting notion is the kind of mediated recognition in which recognition gets mediated from one context or from one subject to another. My study of this phenomenon is included in another research paper. 3 On the notion of adequate regard in the context of contemporary recognition theory, see Arto Laitinen, “On the Scope of ‘Recognition’: The Role of Adequate Regard and Mutuality”, in The Philosophy of Recognition: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives, eds. Hans-Christoph Schmidt am Busch and Christopher F. Zurn (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2010). 4 Peter Jones, “Toleration, Recognition and Identity”, The Journal of Political Philosophy 14, no. 2 (2006a): 123–43; “Equality, Recognition and Difference”, Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 9, no. 1 (2006b): 23–46. 5 Heikki Ikäheimo, Anerkennung (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014). To the best of my knowledge, this constitutes the most theoretically sophisticated contemporary treatment of mediated recognition. 6 Robert B. Brandom, “The Structure of Desire and Recognition: Self-Consciousness and Self-Constitution”, Philosophy & Social Criticism, 33, no. 1 (2007): 127–50. 7 Laitinen, “Scope”. 8 Boris Rähme, “Recognition: Reflections on a Contested Concept”, Verifiche XLII (1–3) (2013): 33–59. I  also wish to thank Rähme, who has read an earlier version of this paper, and given me very useful comments on some of the central systematic issues involved. 9 For the systematic study, see Heikki J. Koskinen, “Mediated Recognition and the Categorial Stance”, Journal of Social Ontology 3, no. 1 (2017a): 67–87; for the historical applications, see Heikki J. Koskinen and Ritva Palmén, “Recognition Theory and Agreement in Conflict: The Case of Peter Alfonsi’s Dialogus contra Iudaeos”, Recontres de Philosophie Médiévale (forthcoming); and Ritva Palmén and Heikki J. Koskinen, “Mediated Recognition and the Quest for a Common Rational Field of Discussion in Three Early Medieval Dialogues”, Open Theology 2 (2016): 374–90. 10 This point is extensively demonstrated also by Risto Saarinen, Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). 11 The need to achieve a clear articulation of the notions of trilateral, mediated, and transitive recognition is also set by the research programme of the Academy of Finland Centre of Excellence Reason and Religious Recognition led by Risto Saarinen at the University of Helsinki. In part, this paper can be seen as a systematic continuation of various recognition-theoretical discussions conducted within the CoE. 12 Without going any further into the complicated semantic and metaphysical issues here, it could be noted that this relational nature applies to both the concept and the phenomenon of recognition. 13 For an argument for this important systematic point (and for a critique of some of Honneth’s views), see Heikki J. Koskinen, “Antecedent Recognition: Some Problematic Educational Implications of the Very Notion”, Journal of Philosophy of Education 52:1 (2018): 178–90.

Mediated recognition  47 14 These examples are directly based on what are standardly taken to be the basic dimensions of recognition (Honneth, Struggle, 92–130; Ikäheimo and Laitinen, “Analyzing”). 15 See Ikäheimo and Laitinen, “Analyzing”; cf. Koskinen, “Mediated”. 16 Cf. Heikki Ikäheimo and Arto Laitinen, eds. Dimensions of Personhood (Exeter: Imprint Academic, 2007b); Ikäheimo, Anerkennung. 17 Cf. Heikki Ikäheimo, “On the Genus and Species of Recognition”, Inquiry 45, no. 4 (2002): 447–62. 18 In semantic terms, this increasing order of specificity is based on the relationship between the intensions and extensions of concepts: As more and more specifications are built into the intensions or meanings of the concepts (identification  acknowledgement  recognition), less and less entities in the extension or the extra-linguistic and extra-mental world fall under the concepts. 19 Cf. Laitinen, “Scope”, 329; Ikäheimo and Laitinen, “Analyzing”, 38. Of course, this kind of dialogical bilaterality also somewhat blurs a distinction between the subject and object of a recognition-relation. 20 Laitinen, “Scope”, talks about the mutuality-insight and the adequate regard-insight, where the former emphasizes what I have here called bilaterality and the latter what I have termed unilaterality. 21 Cf. Heikki J. Koskinen, “Quine, Predication, and the Categories of Being”, in Categories of Being: Essays on Metaphysics and Logic, eds. Leila Haaparanta & Heikki J. Koskinen (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 340–3. 22 Cf. Heikki J. Koskinen, “On Quine’s Pragmatic Conception of Ontology”, Action, Belief and Inquiry – Pragmatist Perspectives on Science, Society and Religion, Nordic Studies in Pragmatism 3, ed. Ulf Zachariasson (Helsinki: Nordic Pragmatism Network, 2015), 296; “On Rational Restraints of Ontology”, Logical Empiricism and Pragmatism, eds. Sami Pihlström, Friedrich Stadler and Niels Weidtmann (Dordrecht, Heidelberg, New York & London: Springer, 2017b), 123. 23 This includes the interpretation of both historical and contemporary religious texts, as well as the analysis and understanding of contexts where religious actors, authorities, and institutions are involved. 24 This one is based on a solution offered by Jones “Toleration”; “Equality”. 25 In the example, we could just as well use the identities of a Christian and a Muslim, and so forth. 26 This one is based on Ikäheimo, Anerkennung. 27 Without going any further into this complication, it can be just noted here that the property rights can be recognized generally or more specifically as regarding some given distribution of goods or items. 28 See e.g., Ikäheimo, Anerkennung, 80–2. 29 Cf. Brandom, “Structure”, 137–8; Rähme, “Contested”, 48–55. 30 With ‘R’ standing for the recognition-relation, transitivity can be expressed slightly more formally in the logical notation of first-order predicate logic as ‘∀x∀y∀z (Rxy ∧ Ryz → Rxz)’. 31 Brandom, “Structure”, 142–7. 32 As Ericka Tucker has pointed out to me, we cannot infer Rxz from Rxy and Ryz alone without some further information. Regarding Brandom’s notion of robust recognition, one could also raise questions about whether x and z should also be acquainted with each other (cf. Rähme, “Contested”, 52). 33 It could perhaps be noted that there are also cases where love-relations are transitive. However, for our purposes, it is enough that in some cases, transitivity is not instantiated. 34 See Honneth, Struggle, 95. 35 Of course, if we operated with something like ‘an interaction partner in a football game’, then the content would be similar (cf. the discussion in Rähme, “Contested”, 53–4).

48  Heikki J. Koskinen 36 One way of describing this attempt would be to talk about developing a more userfriendly conceptual interface with the trilateral/mediated/transitive fragment of recognition theory. 37 This point has been helpfully brought up in my discussions with Leszek Koczanowicz and Heikki Haara. 38 Robert Brandom, Reason in Philosophy: Animating Ideas (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009), 3. Cf. the characterizations of recognition given in Brandom, “Structure”, 137, 139, 140, 147. 39 Of course, a theological context creates some complications with respect to the notion of personhood and ‘us’ (cf. Saarinen, Recognition). 40 Taylor, “Politics”, 26. 41 Honneth, Struggle, 92–130. 42 Cf. Christopher F. Zurn, Axel Honneth: A Critical Theory of the Social (Cambridge: Polity, 2015), 33. 43 Joel Anderson, “Translator’s Note”, in Honneth, Struggle, viii. 44 Simon Thompson, The Political Theory of Recognition: A Critical Introduction (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2006), 99–100. 45 Mattias Iser, “Recognition”, in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Fall 2013 Edition. Edited by Edward N. Zalta. http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2013/ entries/recognition/. 46 Cf. e.g., Thomas Lindemann and Erik Ringmar eds., The International Politics of Recognition (Boulder: Paradigm, 2014). 47 See e.g., Heikki Ikäheimo and Arto Laitinen, “Recognition and Social Ontology: An Introduction”, in Recognition and Social Ontology, eds. Ikäheimo & Laitinen (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 3. 48 It could be argued that an important dissimilarity between groups and institutions is that in terms of identity-criteria, they have different relations to individual persons. If we understand the identity of a group to depend on its individual members, then by adding, subtracting, or changing even one single person in the group, we also change its identity, making it a different group. The identities of institutions, on the other hand, can be seen as more structurally or functionally defined. A  church, a debate club, a political party, or some other organization can retain its identity even if the individual persons constituting its membership would change. 49 Laitinen, “Scope”. 50 Cf. e.g.,  K. Anthony Appiah, “Identity, Authenticity, Survival”, Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition Edited by Amy Gutmann (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 159–63. 51 Cillian McBride, Recognition (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2013), 6. 52 It could be pointed out here that in terms of the presupposition- or dependency-­relations briefly discussed in the second section, recognition even in this more inclusive sense still presupposes identification. 53 It could also be argued that the talk about upward and downward recognition (cf. Ikäheimo, Anerkennung, 80–2) utilized in connection with the discussion of mediated recognition in the third section at least implicitly already presupposes this kind of liberalized understanding of recognition. 54 See Koskinen, “Mediated”. 55 Cf. Koskinen and Palmén, “Agreement”; Palmén and Koskinen, “Quest”; Heikki J. Koskinen, Ritva Palmén and Risto Saarinen, “Editorial for the Topical Issue on Religious Recognition”, Open Theology 2 (2016): 1000–1.

References Anderson, Joel. “Translator’s Note.” In The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts, edited by Axel Honneth, viii–ix. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995.

Mediated recognition  49 Appiah, K. Anthony. “Identity, Authenticity, Survival.” In Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition, edited by Amy Gutmann, 149–63. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. Brandom, Robert B. “The Structure of Desire and Recognition: Self-Consciousness and Self-Constitution.” Philosophy & Social Criticism 33, no. 1 (2007): 127–50. ———. Reason in Philosophy: Animating Ideas. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009. Honneth, Axel. The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995. Ikäheimo, Heikki. “On the Genus and Species of Recognition.” Inquiry 45, no. 4 (2002): 447–62. Ikäheimo, Heikki. Anerkennung. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014. Ikäheimo, Heikki and Arto Laitinen. “Analyzing Recognition: Identification, Acknowledgement, and Recognitive Attitudes Towards Persons.” In Recognition and Power: Axel Honneth and the Tradition of Critical Social Theory, edited by Bert van den Brink and David Owen, 33–56. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007a. ———, eds. Dimensions of Personhood. Exeter: Imprint Academic, 2007b. ———. “Recognition and Social Ontology: An Introduction.” In Recognition and Social Ontology, edited by Ikäheimo Heikki and Arto Laitinen, 1–21. Leiden: Brill, 2011. Iser, Mattias. “Recognition.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Fall 2013 Edition, edited by Edward N. Zalta, 2013. http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2013/ entries/recognition/. Jones, Peter. “Toleration, Recognition and Identity.” The Journal of Political Philosophy 14, no. 2 (2006a): 123–43. ———. “Equality, Recognition and Difference.” Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 9, no. 1 (2006b): 23–46. Koskinen, Heikki J. “Quine, Predication, and the Categories of Being.” In Categories of Being: Essays on Metaphysics and Logic, edited by Leila Haaparanta and Heikki J. Koskinen, 338–57. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. ———. “On Quine’s Pragmatic Conception of Ontology.” In Action, Belief and Inquiry – Pragmatist Perspectives on Science, Society and Religion, edited by Ulf Zachariasson, 279–99. Nordic Studies in Pragmatism 3, Helsinki: Nordic Pragmatism Network, 2015. ———. “Mediated Recognition and the Categorial Stance.” Journal of Social Ontology 3 no. 1 (2017a): 67–87. ———. “On Rational Restraints of Ontology.” In Logical Empiricism and Pragmatism, edited by Sami Pihlström, Friedrich Stadler and Niels Weidtmann, 103–23. Dordrecht, Heidelberg, New York, London: Springer, 2017b. ———. “Antecedent Recognition: Some Problematic Educational Implications of the Very Notion.” Journal of Philosophy of Education 52, no. 1 (2018): 178–90. Koskinen, Heikki J. and Ritva Palmén. “Recognition Theory and Agreement in Conflict: The Case of Peter Alfonsi’s Dialogus contra Iudaeos.” Rencontres de Philosophie Médiévale, forthcoming. Koskinen, Heikki J., Ritva Palmén and Risto Saarinen. “Editorial for the Topical Issue on Religious Recognition.” Open Theology 2 (2016): 1000–1. Laitinen, Arto. “On the Scope of ‘Recognition’: The Role of Adequate Regard and Mutuality.” In The Philosophy of Recognition: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives, edited by Hans-Christoph Schmidt am Busch and Christopher F. Zurn, 319–42. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2010. Lindemann, Thomas and Erik Ringmar, eds. The International Politics of Recognition. Boulder: Paradigm, 2014.

50  Heikki J. Koskinen McBride, Cillian. Recognition. Cambridge: Polity, 2013. Palmén, Ritva, and Heikki J. Koskinen. “Mediated Recognition and the Quest for a Common Rational Field of Discussion in Three Early Medieval Dialogues.” Open Theology 2 (2016): 374–90. Rähme, Boris. “Recognition: Reflections on a Contested Concept.” Verifiche XLII, no. 1–3 (2013): 33–59. Saarinen, Risto. Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Taylor, Charles. “The Politics of Recognition.” In Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition, edited by Amy Gutmann, 25–73. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. Thompson, Simon. The Political Theory of Recognition: A Critical Introduction. Cambridge: Polity, 2006. Zurn, Christopher F. Axel Honneth: A Critical Theory of the Social. Cambridge: Polity, 2015.

3 Causes for lack of recognition From the secular to the non-secular Heikki Ikäheimo

In contemporary Hegel-influenced philosophy, recognition is mostly thought of as a good thing. Some see it as a precondition of positive, individual, or collective self-conceptions or self-identities, others even as ontologically foundational for the human life-form and thus as something without which we could not exist as the kinds of beings we are at all.1 But if recognition is indeed such an important and good thing, and if it is in principle something humans can give each other, why is there so often a lack of it? Why is it the case that people so often fail to give others recognition, at least adequately? There are several candidates for an explanation. First, it may be that recognition – the giving or receiving of it, or both – requires capacities or skills that are not always available. Second, it may be that recognition, even though (all things considered) good, involves costs, which leads to reluctance to grant it. Third, and relatedly, even if recognition is objectively good for the individuals or groups involved, fathoming this, or being able to experience its goodness, especially against experienced costs that it may incur, may nevertheless require intellectual capacities or understanding that individuals do not necessarily possess. A fourth possibility that I want to discuss is the most challenging one in light of the theme of this volume: whether or not one believes in a super-human source and/or object of recognition – that is, a personal God – seems likely to have some implications with regard to one’s recognition for other humans. The modern philosophical tradition of thinking about recognition is for the most part emphatically secular, and thus we will need to think through the possible consequences of transferring the theme into a non-secular landscape of thought.2 A more precise question that I will pose is whether there are ways in which a belief in a super-human ultimate source and/or object of recognition may compromise one’s capacity, or propensity, for recognition for other human beings. If so, what are they, and how could they be avoided? In what follows, I will first discuss the first three candidates, and then turn to the fourth. Hegel’s famous story of the master and bondsman illustrates each of the first three mentioned candidates.3 First, starting as primitive desiring animals, Hegel’s subjects seem initially unequipped with the capacity to recognize others as fully independent other subjects irreducible to one’s own solipsistic perspective. But second, aspects of Hegel’s story also suggest that lack of recognition between the subjects is not due to incapacity, but rather reluctance. In short, from their

52  Heikki Ikäheimo perspectives, it seems that by recognizing the other one will lose something important, namely one’s absolute independence or freedom from determination by the other. The third line of thought resonates with Hegel’s distinction between the perspective of the combatants and the perspective of us philosophical observers: we know that what the combatants aspire to and are not willing to give up by granting recognition to each other is in fact an illusion and that by pursuing it they are not acting in their own best interest. Hegel famously has two points to make here. First, it turns out that the unyielding and therefore apparently independent master in fact remains dependent on the slave’s recognition and work  – which is only an illustration of the more general fact that freedom in the abstract sense of independence from other humans is for humans an impossibility. Second, the master in fact also remains more dependent on his own immediate natural needs and urges than the bondsman, since gaining reflective distance from and control over them only comes about through recognizing the freedom or independence of others and thereby acknowledging external constraints on oneself. All in all, though we philosophers understand that recognition is actually good for the recognizer, the protagonists of Hegel’s story are originally incapable of fathoming this – which is why they are so reluctant to recognize one another. Each of the three explanations can also be easily formulated in developmental psychological terms.4 First, it takes time for the human infant to develop the capacity to fully recognize other persons – most relevantly, the mother or caregiver – as independent from its own practical perspective determined by its immediate needs. But second, as the independence of the others implies the uncertainty of their catering for one’s vital needs, the infant has in fact good reasons to be wary of it, and though it is incapable of reflecting on these reasons, it is instinctively reluctant to accept the caregivers’ independence. Third and finally, the psychologist and those versed in psychological thought know, of course, that however frightening it may be for the infant, maturation and thus the capacity to lead a life as a full-fledged adult human being essentially depends on recognizing others in their relative independence from oneself as free persons and thus accepting one’s relative dependence on their independent needs and will. Incapacity, reluctance, and lack of reflective understanding of one’s situation and wider interests are clearly closely intertwined factors, and each of them has to be overcome to reach full adulthood in recognition of the independence of others and thus with a concrete, affective, and epistemic acknowledgement of oneself as one among many. As it is often said, persons exist in plural, and thus to fully grasp oneself as a person – and since for persons their self-comprehension is partly constitutive of their being, to fully be a (psychological) person – such an acknowledgement is essential. On the other hand, an inadequacy or lack of such acknowledgement in adults is something we may call a pathology of (psychological) personhood.5 These are familiar and easily understandable ideas, and they already take us some way towards understanding why recognition is so often not forthcoming, even though in principle it is good for humans – and not only for the recognizees but also for the recognizers. Yet they only take us so far. They have at least two kinds of limitations. First, they assume an idealized dyadic setting with only two

Causes for lack of recognition  53 subjects relating to each other, and abstract from the world of other humans or of various kinds of ‘thirds’ that mediate particular interhuman relations. It may be that lack of recognition between A and B is due to the influence of C, whether C is an individual, a collective, or norms, values, or representations prevailing in the social environment. As to the last-mentioned alternative, most important for my purposes is the influence of representations of a God as an ultimate object or source of recognition. A second problem is the simplicity of the concept of recognition that these familiar ideas, as I have presented them, assume. On this concept, to recognize someone is in some way to accept or acknowledge her freedom in the sense of independence from oneself. Hegel’s own language sometimes suggests such a concept, and this is also how recognition is often understood in psychologically or psychoanalytically informed writing. But in recent years, philosophers and theorists have started thinking of the concept of recognition in a more differentiated way,6 and thus the question remains how to explain lack of recognition in light of the more differentiated concept or concepts that we now have at our disposal, a concept that should in principle give us a more nuanced understanding of the complex of phenomena at issue in discourses on recognition. In what follows, I will try to clarify the question that I started with in terms of the most differentiated analysis of the concept of recognition that I can currently think of. Freedom will turn out to be a central issue to do with recognition also on this account, though on a concept more elaborate than that of freedom as independence from others. I will first work in terms of the well-worn dyadic model, returning to the issue of the ‘third’ towards the end, addressing there also the hard question concerning recognition between God and humans, and its relation to interhuman recognition or lack thereof.

Recognition, an analysis One of the main moves in Axel Honneth’s influential early work on this theme in his monograph The Struggle for Recognition is the differentiation of the conceptual terrain of recognition into three dimensions, as it were, corresponding to the three forms of recognition of love, respect, and esteem.7 This is an important distinction and widely understood nowadays to be necessary for a comprehensive understanding of the complex of phenomena at issue in theoretical and everyday discourses on the theme. Yet it is only one among several important distinctions without which we are bound to speak and think confusedly of this complex. Let me go through what I think are the most important distinctions to make. Vertical versus horizontal recognition The first distinction that we need is that between ‘vertical’ and ‘horizontal’ senses of recognition. By vertical recognition, I mean recognition between persons and something ‘higher’, be it norms or institutions, or, in religious thinking, God as a supreme object or source recognition, or an authority over humans and thus their norms or institutions. Norms exist as norms if and only if they are ‘recognized’

54  Heikki Ikäheimo by those whose life they govern, and the same is true of institutions thought of as systems of norms.8 Anyone, including God, only has authority over norms for someone who recognizes him as authority. In addition to this ‘upwards’-direction of vertical recognition, we often also talk of a ‘downwards’-direction of institutions such as states ‘recognizing’ persons in the sense of granting them rights or respecting their rights.9 One can equally speak of God recognizing humans in this ‘downward’ sense. By the horizontal sense of recognition, I mean more or less equal recognition between persons. One could think that this distinction between the vertical and horizontal senses of the term turns on a contingent homonymy of completely distinct phenomena, but a closer inspection shows that the phenomena are in fact closely interrelated and thus that the homonymy is by no means contingent or unmotivated.10 Normatively mediated versus purely intersubjective horizontal recognition The second important distinction to make is between two forms of horizontal recognition: one in a particular way mediated by norms11 and the other ‘purely intersubjective’. What I mean by the first is recognition of someone as a bearer of entitlements or rights stipulated by norms. These may be institutionalized norms and thus institutionalized rights granted or recognized ‘vertically downwards’ by the state or other relevant authority, such as – in religious representation – God, or they may be more informal norms, and thus informal entitlements or rights in force in interaction. Having a right or entitlement means that relevant others ought to treat one in ways that accord with the right or entitlement, and this is what it means for them to ‘recognize’ one in this sense. In other words, recognition is ‘mediated’ by the norm (whether instituted by humans or God) that stipulates the right or entitlement in question in the sense that being a bearer of a right or entitlement obligates others to recognize one as such. It is easy to see that recognizing norms (vertically upwards) and recognizing persons (horizontally) in the normatively mediated sense are very closely connected. In contrast to recognition mediated by norms in this way  – or ‘normatively mediated’ recognition, as I will call it from now on – what I mean by ‘purely intersubjective’ recognition is not mediated in this way, or in other words, it is not a required or obligatory response to a given norm, or to a person as a bearer of rights or entitlements stipulated by the norm. Rather, it is a response to a person independently of her rights or entitlements. Another way to put this is that whereas normatively mediated recognition is a response to a person as a bearer of a normative or deontic status or role,12 purely intersubjective recognition is a response to her irrespectively of such statuses or roles, or, to offer a short expression, as an individual. This latter, tentative formulation needs to be qualified later, however, after we have introduced a distinction between what I call the ‘conditional’ and the ‘unconditional’ mode of purely intersubjective recognition. In debates on recognition, the normatively mediated and purely intersubjective senses of the term are very often confused, and this may be partly due to the ambivalence of the word ‘respect’ between normatively mediated and purely

Causes for lack of recognition 55 intersubjective use. We talk of both respecting someone’s rights, or (which I take to be the same thing) her as a rights-bearer, and of respecting someone as an individual whose validity-claims demand serious consideration, or in other words as commanding authority (possibly including authority on her rights or those of others).13 In what follows, I will reserve the term ‘respect’ for a particular case of the latter, purely intersubjective use, and denote the former, normatively mediated sense with ‘respect*’ or ‘recognition*’. The axiological, deontological, and contributive dimensions of horizontal recognition I already mentioned the important distinction between the three dimensions of recognition, originally introduced by Axel Honneth. The distinction is, however, in need of further clarification in that Honneth’s own discussion of ‘respect’ as one of the three forms of recognition does not clearly enough distinguish between vertical downwards recognition (or granting rights) and horizontal recognition, nor between the institutionally mediated and the purely intersubjective senses of horizontal recognition – or between respect* and respect, as I call them.14 We can be clearer by saying that there are three ‘dimensions’ of horizontal recognition, one of which has two ‘layers’, the normatively mediated (i.e., respect*) and the purely intersubjective (i.e., respect), whereas the two other dimensions only consist of purely intersubjective phenomena. I will call the three dimensions of horizontal recognition the deontological, the axiological, and the contributive. For reasons that will become clear shortly, we also need to grasp the three forms of purely intersubjective recognition first at a more general level than Honneth does with his distinction between love, respect, and esteem. At this more general level, purely intersubjective recognition is on the axiological dimension concern for the happiness or well-being of the other; on the deontological dimension taking the other as having, or sharing with one, authority on the norms or terms of shared life with her; and on the contributive dimension valuing the other as contributor to something one values, or as a bearer of capacities for such contributions. It is only after first differentiating purely intersubjective horizontal recognition into the three dimensions at this higher level of abstraction, and then distinguishing on each dimension between what I call the two ‘modes’ of purely intersubjective recognition, that we can start speaking about more specific phenomena such as love or respect. The conditional and the unconditional modes of purely intersubjective horizontal recognition On each of the three dimensions, purely intersubjective recognition has further a ‘conditional’ and an ‘unconditional’ mode or variant. Considering the fact that recognition is usually thought to be a morally or ethically charged concept, as soon as one introduces this distinction, it seems rather astonishing that it has so far been practically absent from the philosophical and theoretical debates on recognition. On the axiological dimension, the conditional mode of recognition is

56  Heikki Ikäheimo prudential or instrumental concern for the well-being of the other – or in other words, concern for her that is conditional on one’s concern for one’s own wellbeing or interests: I care about the happiness or well-being of the other insofar as it serves my own happiness, well-being, or ends (including the happiness or well-being of some third person or persons I care about). In contrast, the unconditional mode of purely intersubjective recognition on the axiological dimension is unconditional concern for the happiness or well-being of the other – or in other words, concern for it ‘not for my or someone else’s sake, but for hers’. Love is the word usually used for this unconditional mode of concern for the other, but not for the conditional mode. On the deontological dimension, the conditional mode of purely intersubjective recognition is taking the other as having, or ‘attributing to her’, authority on one for prudential reasons – or in other words, out of fear or calculation of utility. That is to say that I accept the other’s authority on the norms or terms of our coexistence and thus on myself, whether in general or with regard to particular issues, because and to the extent that I fear the consequences of not doing so, or because and to the extent that I estimate it as more useful or advantageous for myself than not doing so. Hegel’s bondsman ‘recognizes’ his master, or accepts the latter’s authority in the relationship, since he fears for the consequences of not doing so. And one can argue that the master must in fact accept the bondsman as having some minimal, technical authority in applying the master’s commands in particular cases, and thus determining their exact content in practice, since not doing so would mean that his commands could not be executed at all. The unconditional mode of purely intersubjective recognition in the deontological dimension is in contrast taking the other as having, or attributing her, authority on one ‘full stop’, unconditioned by prudential considerations. Having such an attitude towards another means, for example, that one may feel ashamed in front of him. Respect is the word usually used for this unconditional mode of taking the other as authority. It is of course sometimes also used more loosely, covering also the conditional mode, but then its meaning isn’t clearly distinct from ‘fear’ or other prudential stances towards its object, whereas in the central unconditional sense it is. On the contributive dimension, the conditional mode of purely intersubjective recognition is valuing someone instrumentally for her contributions to what one values, or for having capacities for such contributions. Hegel’s master values the bondsman as useful for his ends, and if we accept this as a form of recognition, then we must say that in this sense, too, the master does actually have recognition for the bondsman. But here we are clearly at an important juncture regarding how to conceptualize the complex of phenomena designated by the term ‘recognition’. Do we, or do we not, want to say that instrumental valuing is a form of recognition? Again, considering the fact that recognition is usually thought to be a morally charged concept, and considering that instrumentalization, or at least ‘mere instrumentalization’, is usually thought to be morally at least problematic – think of the second formulation of Kant’s categorical imperative – it is surprising that very little attention has been paid to this question in the philosophical literature on recognition.15 My suggestion is not to stipulate that instrumental valuing is not a form of recognition at all, but rather to accept that it is recognition of

Causes for lack of recognition  57 sorts, namely the ‘conditional mode’ of purely intersubjective recognition on the contributive dimension.16 It is contrasted with the unconditional mode or way of valuing or appreciating someone as a contributor to what one values. But is there actually a form or mode of valuing or appreciating someone as a contributor to something one values that is not instrumental valuing, and if so, what is it? There clearly is – namely, gratitude. The analogy of the distinction between the conditional and the unconditional on the contributive dimension on the one hand and the same distinction on the axiological and deontological dimensions on the other is not perfect, since also gratitude is in some sense conditional on one’s own interests. Yet, there are subtle but important differences between what I call the conditional and unconditional mode also on the contributive dimension. Whereas one only instrumentally values something that (one believes) actually contributes (or may contribute) to what one values, it is entirely appropriate to be grateful for someone for mere failed attempts to contribute to what one values. In other words, whereas in instrumental valuing the object is actual performance (or at least a real possibility of actual performance) or its results that contribute to what one values, and the intentions of the agent are only of secondary importance, in gratitude the object is the agent’s intentions, and successful performance that has (or one believes to have) beneficial consequences to one is not required for gratitude to be appropriate. The exact content of the intentions are of utmost importance for the appropriateness of gratitude. First, it is not enough that the other intended to do something that would in fact have contributed to what one values. For gratitude to be appropriate, the agent would also have had to intend to contribute to what one values.17 And second, she would have had to intend this at least in part ‘for the sake of’ the beneficiary – or in other words, with genuinely altruistic motivation or love in the above defined sense. Central for the analogy of the two modes of purely intersubjective recognition on the three dimensions is that on all three dimensions in the unconditional mode, ‘what ultimately counts’ is the perspective or intentionality of the other; whereas in the conditional mode, what ultimately counts is one’s own perspective. Whether or how the perspective of the other counts, is in the conditional mode dependent on its prudential or instrumental significance for one.18 One could therefore also rename the distinction between the conditional and the unconditional modes as a distinction between the ‘egocentric’ and the ‘allocentric’ mode. A third alternative terminology for the same contrast between the two modes would be ‘not-­genuinely personifying’ versus ‘genuinely personifying’, the rationale for this being that only in the unconditional/allocentric/genuinely personifying mode does the other count for me as a genuinely other person irreducible to my own practical perspective. Because of this, we need to specify also the claim I made earlier according to which – in contrast to normatively mediated recognition, where the object is taken as a bearer of a role consisting of deontic powers – in purely intersubjective recognition, the object is taken as an individual. It is namely only in the unconditional mode of purely intersubjective recognition that the recognizee is seen or taken as an individual in the strong sense of irreducible to functional significance in the recognizer’s self-interested perspective, and thus as an irreducible and irreplaceable other person (Figure 3.1).

Condit. concern for well-being

Figure 3.1 The genus ‘Recognition of persons’ and its species

Respect

Love

Axiological

Deontological

Conditional attrib. of authority

Purely intersubjective

Normatively mediated

Downwards

Upwards

Horizontal

Vertical

‘Recognition of persons’

Instrumental valuing

Contributive

Gratitude

Causes for lack of recognition 59

Lack of recognition revisited What more can we now say to respond to the question concerning the existence of lack of recognition than what was already said at the beginning, by reference to the three ideas of incapacity, costs and reluctance, and understanding? Let us see where we can get by utilizing these ideas again, this time putting to work the more differentiated understanding of recognition that we are now equipped with. At this point, it is necessary also to make explicit certain other issues that are at the background of the Hegelian account of recognition, as well as arguably of any plausible developmental psychological account – issues concerning the general structure of life with the human form. As we shall see, this will also turn out to have consequences regarding the concept of freedom. For lack of space, I will limit my discussion of the three ideas to the deontological dimension, though I believe analogous points can be made of the two other dimensions. On the deontological dimension, we can note that one of the essential features of the human life-form distinguishing it from simpler animal life-forms is that it is governed by social norms. On a secular conception, social norms, whether institutionalized or informal, are authorized by humans themselves, as no other ‘seat’ of authority exists. This is to say that collectively speaking, humans are, de facto, autonomous beings – whether or not this is how particular individuals or collectives think or imagine of authority or its seat, in whatever way authority happens to be distributed between individuals in a particular community or society, and whether or not the norms of the community are good or rational on some relevant conception.19 This means that to live a life with this form, an individual must recognize ‘vertically upwards’ some norms as governing her life, and it also means that she must recognize some others horizontally both in the normatively mediated sense as bearers of the rights, duties, entitlements, and responsibilities (or ‘deontic powers’, to borrow a term from John Searle) prescribed by the norms, as well as, on the secular conception, in the purely intersubjective sense as having or sharing authority on those norms.20 Hence, freedom in the sense of general independence from other humans and thereby shared norms as constraints to one’s actions is for humans, as humans (or as ‘human persons’, to speak more precisely),21 an impossibility. How does this now look from the point of view of the three candidate explanations for non-recognition? Individual capacities to submit oneself under norms and thus the authority of others clearly differ, some of the differences being innate (think of psychopathy), others due to differences in early interaction with the caregiver(s) or in later stages of socialization. A  more detailed examination of these differences is the task of psychology, psychoanalysis, cultural anthropology, and other more empirically oriented branches of inquiry. But what we can do without leaving the philosophical armchair is to take a closer look at the connection of costs and understanding. Though freedom in the sense of independence from others or more generally from determination by anything other than oneself is self-subverting when applied to reality,22 there is another sense of freedom which is not. This is what Hegel calls ‘concrete freedom’ and describes with the famous formula of ‘knowing oneself in otherness’, by which he means overcoming the alienness or hostility of what determines one.23

60  Heikki Ikäheimo The connection of these two ideas or concepts of freedom to the question I started with is that the latter is significantly more complex, and thus requires more in terms of intellectual capacities or understanding than the ‘abstract’ concept of freedom as independence from determination. If determination by norms and thus by others as authorities on those norms is experienced, consciously or unconsciously, as imprisonment or as threatening dependence on the whims of the others, and thus as being in general against one’s vital interest of self-preservation as a free being, then reluctance to grant recognition to the norms and the relevant others is perfectly consequent. In this case, the reasons for recognition available for the subject can only be prudential, i.e., the costs of not yielding appearing to outweigh the costs of yielding: Hegel’s bondsman yields to the authority of the master and thus to his commands or norms because the alternative seems to him even worse; an infant yields to the will of adults and the norms of the adult world to the extent that it fears the existential consequences of not doing so even more than dependence on the adults; or a believer yields to God’s authority out of fear of his wrath. On this picture, humanity is thus something to which the human animal submits himself only reluctantly, not really wanting it but having no feasible alternative. And whenever she can actually get away with it, she is prone to deny recognition from others as having authority on her. To stabilize social order the authority of others, or of the society, thus needs to be somehow internalized, so to say, as an internal master threatening the person as a bondsman, or else there must be a strong enough external threat of punishment – whether by other humans or by God, or both. This is, of course, a bleak picture of human existence, a picture in which collective autonomy assumed by the secular view is at the level of individuals actually a state of mutual bondage and heteronomy, or in which, on the non-secular view, living under the authority of God is a state of fearful obedience. Even if everyone were equally feared by everyone else (a situation obviously unfitting for God), and horizontal recognition as fear or prudentiality would thus be fully symmetrical, this would clearly be a highly unappealing picture of human coexistence and thus of being human, something bound to inspire fantasies of escaping humanity. But is this the only way to understand what it is for humans to live distinctively human lives essentially involving governance, and on the secular view collective self-governance, by social norms? Hegel thought not. We can understand his talk of concrete freedom as ‘finding oneself in the other’ on this deontological dimension of not-normatively mediated recognition as finding oneself affirmed by the others in the sense of having authority attributed to one by them. And importantly, being concretely free on this dimension requires that one does not find others attributing authority to one, at least exclusively, in the conditional mode – that is, for merely prudential motives of fear or calculation of costs and utility – but at least also in the unconditional mode of respect. One way in which this is genuine freedom is that unlike the unconditional mode of recognition as attribution of authority, it is not dependent on the contingencies of the recognizer’s prudential situation; unlike conditional attribution of authority, it does not cease if one ceases

Causes for lack of recognition  61 to be threatening or useful in her eyes. Another way to put the same point is that as an object of respect, I can find my authority on the norms or terms of coexistence affirmed by the recognizers in a way that fully satisfies my own claim as a rational being, and in this sense fully allows me to ‘know myself in them’. What I mean is the claim that my judgements and setting of ends are to be taken seriously as having a claim for authoritativeness by the relevant others independently of their prudential considerations. I thus count fully as a person and in this sense as an irreplaceable individual in the intersubjective context in question. Being an object of recognition as respect seems fairly unproblematically to be a good thing for beings that are constitutively bound to others with whom they share norm-governed life  – an essential element of their ‘concrete freedom’ as autonomy. But what about being a subject of respect: in what way, if any, is it good for the recognizer to recognize others in this sense? A  tempting angle is again prudential: if one does not respect others, this may make it less likely that they will respect one in turn. But note that though the respect one receives from others may indeed be influenced by one’s respect for them, or lack thereof, this cannot be a subjective reason for respecting others, for respect is precisely not conditional on prudential considerations. Moreover, the unconditional mode of recognition as attribution of authority, or respect, is not an attitude for which the subject can have subjective reasons of any kind. Respecting someone for a reason is a contradiction in terms, since it assumes that one holds the authority to give or withhold respect, depending on one’s judgement of the balance of reasons. But respecting the other is precisely attributing authority to her on the ways in which one relates to her, authority which is not conditional on one’s own judgements and thus one’s own authority, but irreducible to or co-original with it. To put this in another way: respecting someone is not to be moved by reasons, but rather by the other as presenting herself as one with a claim to authority, or to sharing authority, including authority on what counts as acceptable reasons for treating her in this or that way.24 This clearly also implies limitations as to the way in which an adequate understanding of the human condition – of the futility of the ‘abstract’ idea of freedom and of the goodness of concrete freedom as mutual respect – can contribute to making respecting others more likely. Even if a person has a theoretical understanding of these facts, it cannot provide subjective reasons for her to have respect for others, since respect cannot strictly speaking have subjective reasons. In reflecting on these matters in thought, we occupy the standpoint of Hegel’s philosophical ‘we’, but in our concrete relations with each other, we are in the position of ‘natural consciousness’; and for the previously explained reasons, the wisdom we may have in the first role cannot directly modify the way we relate to each other in the second. In real life, the capacity and propensity to have genuine respect for others develops, if it does, through good-enough early interaction and later stages of socialization with caregivers and other relevant others. In such good-enough interaction and socialization, the infant, child, and adult concretely learns to trust others, and thus to lower her psychological defences and be open to the others in ways that allow her to be moved by the others as having unconditional authority

62  Heikki Ikäheimo on her, while at the same time expecting them to relate to her similarly, having a healthy confidence that they will do so, and the strength not to be psychologically devastated if they don’t. An effective understanding of the goodness of mutual respect and the ways in which it is in a meaningful sense freedom is thus not of a theoretical but of a practical nature. It is part and parcel of the capacity, and develops, or erodes, with it.25 So what role, if any, does theoretical understanding or comprehension then have in explaining a lack of recognition in human relations, and how is it related, if it is, to reluctance? To comprehend this, we need to make a little detour. Though attitudes of unconditional intersubjective recognition (and not only respect, but love and gratitude as well) are not directly responsive to reasons, they are affected by many factors, not only in the subject’s particular psychological constitution, but also in the wider world, or by the various ‘thirds’ that I  mentioned at the beginning. If genuine respect is being moved ‘unconditionally’ by others, then any factors that make it more or less likely that persons will encounter each other in ways in which such affection or being moved can, or is likely to happen, or in which persons can ‘afford’ it, are factors affecting the likelihood of recognition as respect in particular human relations. Institutional roles or functional demands – in particular, contexts of action or interaction – may be such that individuals have little room to attend to each other in ways that would elicit in them the affect of genuine respect for one another. It may even be that the relevant norms or functional demands require the explicit denial of the perspective of one or more parties to the interaction having authority in the interaction, thus making it the case that individuals acting in normgoverned or functional roles cannot afford to attend to the others in question in ways that would elicit in them respect for those others. The most extreme forms of this phenomenon are found in war, genocide, and mass-murder, where to be able to act as perpetrators, those with normal human subjectivity need to be trained to suppress their normal unconditional recognitive responses, or need to be brainwashed so that these responses are bypassed in them (thus effectively making them ‘abnormal’). A major factor in such processes of brutalization is the manipulation of the environment of mutual expectations among the potential perpetrators so that it will become increasingly costly for individuals to express and act upon their normal recognitive responses towards the victims, leading, as it were, to a reluctance of a second order, which in ‘successful’ cases trumps the normal first-order recognitive affection. An essential element of the required ‘depersonification’ of the victims is this withdrawal of respect from them as having authority on the norms or terms in which they are treated in concrete intersubjective encounter. (This also illustrates the point of calling the unconditional mode of purely intersubjective recognition ‘genuinely personifying’ as I proposed earlier.) It would be foolish, however, to think that such depersonification – or reification, if you like  – due to social norms or functional demands only ever takes place in extreme social circumstances such as those just described. Think of penal institutions or practices where part of the punishment is (or is understood to be) making the

Causes for lack of recognition  63 inmates feel that their authority on the norms or terms of how they are being treated counts for little or nothing, and where it is thus part of the prevailing understanding of what it is to do the warden’s job well, that they avoid encountering the inmates in ways which are likely to elicit in them respect for the latter. For a psychologically well-functioning person, working as a warden may thus require developing a secondorder reluctance which in ‘successful’ cases trumps his normal first-order recognitive affection or response to those others who happen to occupy the role of inmates. Finally, think of an idealized capitalist market, where persons, as market actors, are required to act selfishly in order to satisfy the norms or functional requirements of their roles.26 To do so requires that they are only moved by each other’s authority prudentially. Your judgements of me or my actions in the context of the relation are expected to matter to me only insofar as they are relevant for my getting from you what I want, possibly including your willingness to engage in future transactions that I expect to be beneficial for me. Being moved unconditionally by you with the affect of genuine respect could impact negatively upon my efficiency as a market actor – and thus, to be an ideal market actor, I must shield myself, as best as I can, from being so moved. Again, a second-order reluctance due to demands of the ‘third’ of the norms and functional demands of the market-­ institution may trump, and in ‘successful’ cases will trump, the normal human response, the disposition to which is the product of good enough socialization.27 As to theoretical understanding, it is clearly essential in designing, devising, or legitimizing social, institutional, and ideological conditions in which the unconditional recognitive responses either have to be suppressed due to its costs for individuals, or have room to flourish in interhuman relations. The dark side here are theoretical understandings utilized for deliberately manipulating dispositions and psychic mechanism with the aim of corrupting or destroying attitudes and relations of recognition between individuals or groups.28 Whether the theoretical understandings, theories or representations as the ‘third’ are of secular or religious nature is irrelevant in this regard.

Representations of God and recognition for humans As I  pointed out earlier, the modern tradition of thinking about recognition in social and political thought, starting with the post-Kantians Fichte and Hegel, has for the most part been emphatically secular. Contemporary accounts of Hegel, the primary classical source, as a post-Kantian thinker – by Robert Brandom, Robert Pippin, Terry Pinkard and others – are steadfast in their insistence on humans collectively being, and recognizing each other as, the sole authorities of the norms whereby their lives are governed. What then happens if one transfers the conceptuality of recognition (back) into a theist framework or representations of the world? This question is obviously much too large and complex to be addressed adequately in the confines of one article, and I  will limit myself only to a few preliminary notes on the specific question of whether the ‘third’ of representations or theories of a super-human ultimate object or source of recognition could be among causes of lack of adequate interhuman recognition.

64  Heikki Ikäheimo We may first note the obvious: that the representation of a personal God is invariably that of an ultimate object of recognition, or source of recognition, or both.29 Anyone who has heard of Ludwig Feuerbach is unlikely to be surprised to notice that each of the three dimensions of horizontal recognition in its purely intersubjective form are also among classical ways of thinking about our relation to God: God as the ultimate source of care or love, God as the ultimate authority, and God as the ultimate ‘contributor’. We can call these ‘the caring God’, ‘the authoritative God’, and ‘the giving God’, respectively. Depending on the exact conception, God’s attitudes towards us, or our attitudes towards him/her, can be thought of either as conditional or unconditional. For example, one way to understand the practice of sacrificing or alms-giving to God is that it assumes God’s care or concern for us, or his/her motivation to ‘contribute’ to our life to be conditional, dependent on some sort of remuneration or profit. Also, our attitude towards God as authority can either be conditional (fear, or consideration of him/her as useful as legislator, judge, or police) or unconditional (respect). And so on.30 One of the threads of thought running through Max Weber’s Protestant Ethics and the Spirit of Capitalism concerns the axiological dimension of interhuman recognition.31 In short, in its focus on the personal relation to God, in its conception of the sinfulness or the flesh and the suspicious nature of interhuman emotions and attitudes, Protestant ascetism lended legitimacy to coldness in human relations required for capitalist competition and exploitation. Where capitalism demanded repression of unconditional concern for the relevant others, Calvinist ethics justified it, or even raised it into a moral virtue. Independently of the extent that this reconstruction is fair to its object, what we have here is a classic example of theist representation as a ‘third’ making unconditional intersubjective recognition less likely. As to the deontological dimension, it is easy to see that a ‘theoretical’ understanding or representation of God as the ultimate authority implies something with regard not only to one’s own authority, but – crucially for the theme of recognition – that of others. Such theory or representation of the seat of ultimate authority not only condemns me to considering myself as heteronomous; it also condemns me to treating the others who I live with as lacking authority on matters concerning our interaction – other than perhaps conditional, or derived from God’s authority. In times of ideological and religious tension, provocation, and violence, this is a theme that clearly requires serious attention from theorists of recognition, both theological and philosophical. We know all too well that an appeal to God’s authority, however dishonest, blasphemous, perverse, or in bad faith it might be, can provide legitimacy to the most horrendous cruelty and brutality that human beings can exercise on each other: “God commands me to hurt, torture, maim, and kill you, and you have no authority on the matter”. What ways there are of blocking such cruelty while holding on to the thought of God as the ultimate source of authority is a question for theologians, philosophers, and those engaging in relations of interfaith recognition and dialogue.

Causes for lack of recognition  65 I wish to thank Heikki Koskinen, Arto Laitinen, Petteri Niemi, Risto Saarinen, Simon Thompson, and the organizers and participants of the workshop ‘Reflections on Recognition’ at University of Helsinki on 26–28 May 2016 for helpful comments and collegial advice.

Notes 1 Charles Taylor, “The Politics of Recognition”, in Multiculturalism – Examining the Politics of Recognition. Edited by Amy Gutmann (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), is usually associated with the first view; Robert Brandom, “The Structure of Desire and Recognition: Self-Consciousness and Self-Constiution”, Philosophy and Social Criticism 33, no. 1 (2007): 127–50 with the second. 2 Or back to such landscape. See Risto Saarinen’s path-breaking Recognition and Religion (Risto Saarinen, Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016]). 3 I have in mind here especially the ‘complete story’ as Hegel presents it in the Encyclopaedia of Philosophical Sciences (G.W.F. Hegel, Hegel’s Philosophy of Subjective Spirit. Translated by M.J. Petry [Dordrecht: Reidel, 1978–1979]), but much of what I say applies also to the non-complete story ending with the unequal relationship of the master and bondsman in the Phenomenology of Spirit. 4 See especially Jessica Benjamin, The Bonds of Love: Psychoanalysis, Feminism, and the Problem of Domination (New York: Pantheon Books, 1988). 5 Note that this has no automatic implications regarding juridical personhood. It is a matter for ethical and juridical deliberation what role, if any, individual psychological capacities have in determining to whom or what juridical personhood is granted. See Heikki Ikäheimo, “Recognizing Persons”, Journal of Consciousness Studies 14, no. 5–6 (2007): 224–47. 6 See Axel Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflits. Translated by Joel Anderson (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995); Heikki Ikäheimo and Arto Laitinen, “Analyzing Recognition: Identification, Acknowledgement, and Recognitive Attitudes towards Persons”, in Recognition and Power: Axel Honneth and the Tradition of Critical Social Theory. Edited by Bert van den Brink and David Owen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 33–56; and Heikki Ikäheimo, Anerkennung (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014). 7 See Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition. 8 See John Searle on ‘recognition or acceptance’ of institutions in John Searle, Making the Social World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). We call ‘recognition’ of norms, values, and other “normative and evaluative entities” “acknowledgement” in Ikäheimo and Laitinen, “Analyzing Recognition”. 9 Since the state is not an intentional subject capable of having attitudes of recognition, this sense of ‘recognition’ is metaphoric. There are ways to analyse it in terms of human attitudes and thus to conceive it as literally a matter of recognition, but this task cannot be executed here. Thanks to Arto Laitinen for a helpful comment regarding this issue, as well as for many other detailed comments. 10 On the connection between the vertical and horizontal directions of recognition, see Heikki Ikäheimo, “Ethical Perfectionism in Social Ontology – A Hegelian alternative”, in I That Is We, We That Is I: Perspectives on Contemporary Hegel. Edited by Italo Testa, Luigi Ruggiu and Lucio Cortella (Leiden: Brill, 2016). As Risto Saarinen helpfully points out (Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 35–7), the distinction between vertical and horizontal recognition is somewhat fluid. As I see it, one-sided or inequal recognition (think preliminarily of one-sided love, respect, or esteem) ‘lowers’ the recognizer, or ‘elevates’ the recognizee, in relation to the other. It is therefore that the

66  Heikki Ikäheimo

11

12 13 14 15

16 17 18

19 20 21

22

23 24

classic Hegelian master-slave relation, though it is in one sense a ‘horizontal’ relation between human persons, is in another sense a ‘vertical’ relation due to the relative onesidedness or inequality of recognition in it. In Ikäheimo (Anerkennung, and “Ethical Perfectionism”), I  call this ‘institutionally mediated’, but ‘normatively mediated’ works better since I mean it to cover both institutionalized norms, and norms that come about and are administered in intersubjective interaction, without being institutionalized in the sense of administered by a ‘third’ instance. In discourses on recognition, for example, Axel Honneth usually talks of institutionalized norms, whereas Robert Brandom focusses on purely intersubjective norms. A synoptic theory of recognition needs to have both in view. The term ‘normative’ has of course also wider uses, but here it refers exclusively to social (whether or not institutionalized) norms. On the concept of deontic status, see Searle, Making the Social World. ‘Authority’ is here not to be understood as an institutional role, or as something that is due to such a role, say that of a judge or minister, but simply as intersubjective authority that one commands in interaction with others independently of one’s rights. See Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition, 107–21. The only exception I am aware of is Heikki Ikäheimo and Arto Laitinen, “Esteem for Contributions to the Common Good – The Role of Personifying Attitudes and Instrumental Value”, in The Plural States of Recognition, ed. Michel Seymour (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010). This is my response to Arto Laitinen’s emphasis on instrumental valuing as an important form of recognition in Ibid. This includes also cases in which what the other intended to do actually did not contribute to what one values. For example, I  may indeed value instrumentally the other’s loving benevolence towards me though she has failed to actually contribute positively to my good, since I may estimate that her motivation may actually benefit me in some other way or on some other occasion. In contrast, in gratitude, the significance of the other’s loving benevolence is – in my perspective – not instrumental. I thank Nick Smith for a helpful discussion on this theme. See Cornelius Castoriadis, “First Institution of Society and Second Order Institutions”, in Figures of the Thinkable. Translated by David Ames Curtis, n.p, 153–72. Essay published in French in 1986. I abstract here from the question concerning the possibility of private rules or norms. Human life is essentially social, and thus the relevant norms are in any case social or shared. Throughout the text the word ‘human’ refers to ‘human persons’, i.e., to humans insofar as they are capable of leading a life with a form that is not ‘merely animal’. This centrally involves governance by self-authorized norms. For more on this theme, see see Ikäheimo, Anerkennung, ch. 7.2. Hegel’s master exemplifies the consequences of the attempt to prove one’s independence in this sense, declining to recognize others as bearers and authorities of deontic powers and thereby to acknowledge anything as shared or social norms genuinely binding oneself. (I am assuming here that what really binds one to norms cannot be one’s own will, but that it must be the will of others who in one’s perspective have authority on the norms and thus on one.) On the one hand, he in fact has to engage in norm-governed interaction with the bondsman in which he cannot avoid some amount of constraint by the latter, yet on the other hand this constraint remains so minimal that it does not fully pull the master out of the animal state of determination by immediate impulses. See Ikäheimo, Anerkennung, ch. 4. It is widely accepted in philosophical treatises of love that loving as concern for someone’s happiness or well-being is not being moved by reasons to love her, but by the person herself (see Heikki Ikäheimo, “Globalizing Love – on the Nature and Scope of

Causes for lack of recognition  67

25

26

27 28

29 30

31

Love as a Form of Recognition”, Res Publica 18 (February 2012): 11–24). I am arguing here that the same is true of all unconditional attitudes of purely intersubjective recognition. In a word, they are more fundamental than orientation in the space of reasons. This idea goes back, at least, to Fichte’s (2000) idea of the ‘summons’ (Aufforderung) as a pre-rational introduction to rationality (see Ikäheimo, Anerkennung, ch. 3). I thank Arto Laitinen and Petteri Niemi for pressing me on this issue. This has obvious implications regarding the overcoming of incapacity due to less-thanideal socialization at the individual level: gaining theoretical understanding is unlikely to be enough. What is needed is psychotherapy through which the individual may gain or regain a lost, or undeveloped, sense of trust. Embedded in social life, real market relations are, of course, only approximations of the idealized setting. Equally, to the extent that market relations ‘colonize’ (to borrow Habermas’ (1987) term) social life, the latter becomes less accommodating of unconditional recognition. Note that this implies a ‘normative’ notion of normality: the ‘normal’ is what is good for life with a certain form. Normality in this normative sense applies equally to plant, animal, and human forms of life, though with quite different contents. Think of the human potential for ‘splitting’, or in other words, the tendency to a rigid distinction between a ‘good us’ and ‘bad them’ (see ‘Splitting of the object’ in Jean Laplanche and Jean-Bortrand Pontalis, The Language of Psychoanalysis. Translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith [London: The Hogarth Press, 1973], and Melanie Klein, The Writings of Melanie Klein, vol. III, Envy and Gratitude and Other Works 1946– 1963 [London: The Hogarth Press, 1975]). By projecting all that one feels good about to a group one identifies with, and all that one feels bad about to an out-group, one fails to see both those belonging to ‘us’ and those belonging to ‘them’ as the persons they are, idealizing the former and demonizing the latter. Needless to say, the practical consequences are as a rule worse for the latter, who as demonized, or as vessels for projected fears, anxieties, or disgust become difficult or impossible objects for purely intersubjective recognition, and especially for its unconditional forms of respect, love, and gratitude. We are currently witnessing the return of state-sponsored propaganda that deliberately plays with these human potentials, thereby committing crimes against humanity in a perfectly literal sense. Since the individual or collective propensity for splitting depends on the degree of success or failure of reconciliation with ambivalence – with the fact that in truth even good things, and most relevantly good or benevolent others, are bound to frustrate or disappoint one sometime or in some respects – one may say that here the internal third of trauma or unsuccessful reconciliation is strengthened by the external third of propaganda. I thank Simon Thompson, who drew attention to these themes in his talk at the workshop ‘Social Pathologies and Mutual Recognition’ organized by the Academy of Finland research project ‘The Pathologies of Recognition’ at University of Jyväskylä, 24–25 May 2016. For the various modifications of the idea of recognition between God and humans in the Western Christian tradition, see Saarinen, Recognition and Religion. The idea of the infinity of God naturally introduces many paradoxes when one tries to apply the different dimensions and modes of purely intersubjective recognition both ways in the relationship between God and humans. For example, a loving God – God who cares for the happiness of human beings for their own sakes – is of course a major figure in religious imaginary. On the other hand, love for God – or God as an object of recognition as love – is on the same concept of love a highly problematic notion, as it assumes that God is subject to finite determinations that make happiness, or wellbeing, and their opposites possible for him/her. In Christian imagery, the figure of the suffering Jesus enables this, but applied to God as infinite strictly speaking, being the object of love is only possible on some other concept of love (of which there is, of course, no shortage in the history of ideas). Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (London: Routledge, 2001).

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References Benjamin, Jessica. The Bonds of Love: Psychoanalysis, Feminism, and the Problem of Domination. New York: Pantheon Books, 1988. Brandom, Robert. “The Structure of Desire and Recognition: Self-Consciousness and SelfConstitution.” Philosophy and Social Criticism 33, no. 1 (2007): 127–50. Castoriadis, Cornelius. “First Institution of Society and Second Order Institutions.” In Figures of the Thinkable. Translated by David Ames Curtis, 153–72. Essay published in French in 1986. www.notbored.org/FTPK.pdf. Fichte, J.G. Foundations of Natural Right. Translated by Michael Baur. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000 [1797]. Habermas, Jürgen (1987): The Theory of Communicative Action. Volume 2. Translated by Thomas McCarthy. Boston: Beacon Hegel, G.W.F. Phenomenology of Spirit. Translated A.V. Miller. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977. Hegel, G.W.F. Hegel’s Philosophy of Subjective Spirit. Translated by M.J. Petry. Dordrecht: Reidel, 1978–1979. Honneth, Axel. The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts. Translated by Joel Anderson. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995. Ikäheimo, Heikki. “Recognizing Persons.” Journal of Consciousness Studies 14, no. 5–6 (2007): 224– 47. ———. “Globalizing Love – On the Nature and Scope of Love as a Form of Recognition.” Res Publica 18 (February 2012): 11–24. ———. Anerkennung. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014. ———. “Ethical Perfectionism in Social Ontology – A Hegelian Alternative.” In I That Is We, We That Is I. Perspectives on Contemporary Hegel, edited by Italo Testa, Luigi Ruggiu and Lucio Cortella. Leiden: Brill, 2016. Ikäheimo, Heikki and Arto Laitinen. “Analyzing Recognition: Identification, Acknowledgement, and Recognitive Attitudes Towards Persons.” In Recognition and Power: Axel Honneth and the Tradition of Critical Social Theory, edited by Bert van den Brink and David Owen, 33–56. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. ———. “Esteem for Contributions to the Common Good – The Role of Personifying Attitudes and Instrumental Value.” In The Plural States of Recognition, edited by Michel Seymour. New York: Palgrave, 2010. Klein, Melanie. Envy and Gratitude and Other Works 1946–1963. Vol. III of The Writings of Melanie Klein. London: The Hogarth Press, 1975. Laplanche, Jean and Jean-Bertrand Pontalis. The Language of Psychoanalysis. Translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith. London: The Hogarth Press, 1973. Saarinen, Risto. Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Searle, John. Making the Social World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Taylor, Charles. “The Politics of Recognition.” In Multiculturalism – Examining the Politics of Recognition, edited by Amy Guttman. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. Weber, Max. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. London: Routledge, 2001.

Section II

Historical struggles for recognition

4 Early Christians and the transformation of recognition Hartmut Leppin

There is no doubt that the most prominent proponents of the concept of recognition, Axel Honneth1 and Charles Taylor,2 are interested mainly in modern society. When referring back to what they would call pre-modern history, a somewhat generic and stereotypical image of these times emerges. In my contribution, therefore, I aim to discuss the question of how far the concept of recognition might be useful in analyzing a pre-modern historical formation – in this case, early Christian history. Furthermore, I will consider the consequences this might have for the concept of recognition on a more theoretical level, especially when reflecting on the question of transformations of recognition. In his Phänomenologie des Geistes, Hegel described Anerkennung as an element of the development of Selbstbewusstsein (self-consciousness) in a vague historical context. Hegel examines Anerkennung before turning to Stoicism, scepticism, and the unhappy consciousness that he considers a presupposition of the rise of Christianity.3 For Honneth, who predominantly refers to earlier writings by Hegel, recognition is mainly a problem of post-traditional societies.4 According to Taylor, who is himself more interested in political agendas, recognition was not an issue to be raised with regard to pre-modern times, during which, in his view, people were embedded in hierarchical structures based on honour. The decisive change in attitude is marked by the eighteenth century, which saw the rise of two new factors: the idea of equality, and the idea that the worth of a person – their dignity – came from within.5 This also meant that historical agents could opt for various lifestyles. But this clear-cut division of epochs is problematic in itself: a strict separation of modernity from pre-modernity, so popular in the twentieth century, is not so easily applied. It is doubtful whether the hierarchical order of societies before the Age of Enlightenment was very stable in reality, and whether honour was indeed all-pervading. At the very least, in times of change, hierarchies faltered and became subject to debates. The idea of equality, even that of all human beings, was discussed intensely not only in Antiquity. In addition, the concept of the inner worth of humans was by no means foreign to pre-modern times, but accepted by many. Taylor himself is aware for example of the Stoic influence on Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who is a crucial figure for him. But for a scholar who attaches so much importance to Christianity and its impact on modernity,6 he strangely enough does

72  Hartmut Leppin not pay much attention to the complex history of Christianity under the aspect of recognition.7 Thus, both Honneth and still more Taylor have integrated the broad Hegelian concept of recognition into an evolutionary model of modernization. They underline how the nascence of recognition (Taylor) or of various spheres of recognition (Honneth) is a crucial feature of modern times.8 Although they describe a far-reaching development, the concrete historical contexts of the observations made by the philosophers remain rather vague. Their argument is normative, not historical, as modern historian Thomas Welskopp has rightly emphasized.9 Welskopp himself has proposed to distinguish between various arrangements and regimes of recognition in order to write something like a history of recognition. In that sense, a regime of recognition based on honour can exist, as well, even if there is no struggle for recognition. I  believe that a flexible model of this kind will be enormously helpful. Nevertheless, Welskopp persists in seeing a sharp distinction between pre-modern and modern history. His pre-modernity essentially views early modern history as an age shaped by honour (Ehre) and rank (Stand). According to him, recognition became more individualized with the beginnings of modernity, whereas at the end of the nineteenth century, various spheres of recognition emerged, to name only a few of the more significant stages described by Welskopp. Yet, even if his approach remains reductionist in regard to pre-modernity, his distinction between various regimes or arrangements of recognition can be used in order to discuss the question of interpersonal recognition historically. I will therefore examine Roman history during the first centuries CE with this question in mind. A special case in point seems to be the emergence of a group identity among early Christians, which came to pose a problem of recognition within Roman society in a new way, which can be described as a struggle for recognition in pre-modern times. In ancient Mediterranean societies, ethnic, political, and familial origins were crucial for social identity, and religions were embedded within those contexts. The regime of recognition was based on honour. With few exceptions, people became members of a religious organization by birth; the polis was not only a political, but also a religious organization. Practising a cult was a privilege and a moral obligation, but not based on a revelation given by God to all people. The hierarchy within the cult typically reflected the social hierarchy of a community. This did not mean that things were unchangeable: new cults might emerge in these contexts, and would be adopted by communities or individuals. However, it would normally have been an easy – or at least manageable – task to integrate them in the traditional framework. Individuals would freely decide to worship other gods. One could, for example, be initiated in a mystery cult if the group allowed it without being forced to abstain from the traditional cults. Christians, however, developed the conviction that adherence to their group typically entailed the complete rejection of other cults.10 Jews similarly insisted that there was only one true God, but usually highlighted that this God was the god of their own nation only, whereas Christians maintained that their God was universal.

Early Christians, transformation of recognition  73 Jesus grew up in a Jewish context. He would have attended the cult of the God of Israel in the Temple, although he had qualms about some of the things he witnessed. As far as we are aware, Jesus was buried in conformity with Jewish rules and his disciples remained embedded in Jewish cults. The Christians of Jerusalem assembled in the Jewish Temple; Christians elsewhere were keen on taking part in services at synagogues and contributed to a collection for the Temple in Jerusalem. Jacob, the so-called brother of the Lord, is said to have revered God in the Temple of Jerusalem so eagerly that he ruined his knees while praying. He wore a garment similar to that of a priest. And although in the end, he was killed by Jewish authorities, it is nevertheless clear that he acted within the broad field of Jewish practices during the first century CE.11 Since Jacob obviously wanted to achieve honour in a traditional way, his actions cannot be seen as a struggle for recognition in the sense defined by Honneth. Yet, certain Christian communities faced other problems: Christianity proved to be attractive to people with no Jewish background. They – or at least, a relevant group of them – confessed to the teaching ascribed to Jesus, but did not deem it necessary or even expedient to adopt Jewish practices such as circumcision. On the other hand, Jews did not want to share the table with people they regarded as impure. An obvious solution would have been to establish different groups of believers, as other Jewish communities did. And we do know of the existence of groups called theosebeis who sympathized with the Jewish God, but were not subject to the more rigid norms of Jewish practice. The Christians who, in our tradition, are represented by Paul of Tarsus decided otherwise and insisted on forming one community even when they came together for meals. Although Paul’s position proved successful in the end, it is by no means clear how representative he was for early Christians in general. His position definitely did not remain uncontested during his lifetime. A core sentence from his epistle to the Galatians discussed the problem of common meals within the broader context of the question and whether the followers of Jesus were bound by Jewish laws:12 Before the coming of this faith, we were held in custody under the law, locked up until the faith that was to come would be revealed. So the law was our guardian until Christ came that we might be justified by faith. Now that this faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian. So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.13 Clearly, the rhetoric of this passage aims at the following: ultimately, all the addressees are Abraham’s heirs and Jews in that sense, irrespective of their family background. The argument is based on the concept of universalism and faith.

74  Hartmut Leppin Everybody is affected by Jesus’ teaching. Therefore, the idea that religion was placed inside of people, of individuals, suggested itself. Religion was about the inner self, about the person. The only thing that mattered was the interior attitude. We therefore observe an intellectual disposition described as characteristic for the development of recognition in modernity: the affiliation of Christians to their respective groups was based on an individual decision, on their belief. The Christians’ worth as believers came from within; it did not depend on their origin. As a result, anybody could be recognized as a member with equal dignity (in the Taylorian sense). However, we should not overestimate the impact of Paul’s sentence, which was not part of a dogmatic treatise, but belonged to a letter written in a situation of crisis. It is probable that he quoted an element of the baptismal liturgy at this point.14 This would mean that the idea of Christian universalism had a wider base than only Paul’s teaching; nevertheless, it was the idea of a fringe group within the Roman Empire. The idea grew in importance as the letters of Paul gained authority and Christians came to be repudiated by other Jews. This had a heavy impact on Christian self-definitions: from the start, it was clear that they were not pagans; it was, however, difficult for them to build up a Jewish identity, if they were not accepted by the Jewish authorities in Jerusalem and lived in communities with people who abhorred practices respected by most Jews. They were forced to build up their own identity and they faced a particular problem: in contrast to all the other religions, they did not possess a specific place in the world. The principle of locality that was so dear to most ancient cults was inapplicable for early Christians.15 Only centuries later would Christians become convinced that certain sites and their church buildings were holy places.16 Thus, early Christians were disengaged in a verbal and in a metaphorical sense. They were detached from religious places and excluded from certain social contexts. On the ideological level, their disembeddedness was connected with the claim of possessing the exclusive truth, which was binding for every single human being, without taking in consideration race, gender, origin, social position, or intelligence. From a Christian standpoint, no other true belief could exist. This was their distinguishing feature, not certain places or specific traditions. In consequence, orthodoxy – not orthopraxy – was central. At this time, orthodoxy must be understood in a very broad sense. It was not a highly nuanced intellectual system, but amounted to certain tenets: namely, that Jesus played a unique role in the history of humanity and that his death had a beneficial function.17 This claim, which was universal and exclusive at the same time, is again made most explicit by Paul: Christian belief did not only affect the citizens of a polis or an ethnic group; it affected everybody, Greeks and non-Greeks, free and un-free, males and females, and well-educated as well as the uneducated. Here was a major difference from those philosophical schools that likewise pretended to ignore social barriers, but nevertheless presupposed certain intellectual capacities. Yet, universality and internalization were not logical, necessary consequences of Jesus’ teaching. They were responses to challenges imposed by the minority

Early Christians, transformation of recognition  75 status of Christians and by their struggle for recognition, among both Jews and non-Jews. If we view their claims in numerical terms, the Christian answer was simply implausible: so few Christians and such fundamental claims. Seen from the point of view of contemporaries, the whole idea of abandoning social barriers as suggested by Christians must have seemed bizarre – but then, most contemporaries will not even have been aware of this group. These outlandish ideas could have remained merely the Weltanschauung of a fringe group, but they became enormously influential in European intellectual history. I will certainly not set out to give an explanation for Christian success. However, I would like to underline some features of this process that seem to be important for the question of recognition, and especially for the question of what was different in this regard compared to the struggle for recognition of modern history. Clearly, I can only do this in a very rough manner. I will go through some early Christian texts that I consider as characteristic for certain stages of the development. In a few cases, it is clear that they were only directed at a Christian audience, while some of them pretend to speak to Jewish or pagan readers, but it is unclear whether they were ever taken notice of in those milieus. Nevertheless, they seem to be important in terms of the struggle of recognition, since they provide arguments that could be used in such contexts. When the previously quoted passage from Galatians or similar phrases were detached from their context, the universalist argument gained its own momentum: the only concern of importance to Christians was recognition by God, since Christians had merely to focus on their belief. As they were convinced of possessing the truth exclusively, Paul went so far as to declare that the majority would not understand the message of the cross.18 Christians strove to behave in a way that pleased God alone, even if it displeased others. This means that Christians had at their disposal an argument that could help them to do without social recognition. The dialogical nature of recognition would have been restricted to the dialogue with God. In the course of history, some Christians came to interpret this as an invitation to turn against any norm known to the world; I would like to call this the discourse of rejection. The identity of these Christians was based on their readiness to reject whatever the world offered, if it was not in accordance with their belief. They would try to detach themselves widely from their social environment in order to find God’s mercy, some even demonstrating contempt for everything dear to all the others. In his violent rhetoric, Tatian called Christians barbarians.19 This, however, was not an expression of modesty. He rather made an effort to show that this barbaric philosophy was nonetheless superior to what his opponents qualified as philosophy.20 Some were radical enough as to reject marriage, the begetting of children, wine, meat, and property.21 These so-called encratites, although a loose term, denote various groups of Christians who entertained diverse forms of deprecative attitudes.22 In terms of social practices, this attitude might result in provocative, even offending, behaviour: a fictional text, for example, narrates how the future saint Thecla rejected marriage against the wishes of her relatives.23 Perpetua  – who

76  Hartmut Leppin was not an encratite, but a martyr to be – ignored the pledges of her father and the fate of her baby in order to die for God, although she apparently did feel pity for them.24 Believers like these were often held in high esteem by other Christians: Perpetua, the young daughter, appears in her Passio to be superior to her elderly father who is not able to control himself and suffers public humiliation. In later epochs of Christian history, monks set out to leave the world completely, but were brought back into it by the veneration of the believers who were impressed by their asceticism. Rejection of honour yielded dignity in the sense defined by Taylor in many cases. The discourse of rejection was, however, untypical, as far as we can say. Typically, Christians seem to have been convinced that recognition by God corresponded to recognition by the world. As a result, most Christians tried to somehow cope with the hierarchical structures of the world in which they lived. They had to deal with norms about marriage or property that were natural in their world, and they developed various strategies of gaining recognition as people who stood for core concepts of their society without giving up their Christian stance. The majority answer of the Christians might be called the discourse of superiority. They claimed to gain recognition by demonstrating that they were superior to the others, that they outperformed them in their own field. This went two ways: they claimed superiority over both Jews and pagans. The discourse of superiority in regard to Jews is palpable in the works of Justin Martyr, a mid-second-century author. Justin originated from Nablus in Samaria. He seems to have been a Christian intellectual, who taught in public and in private, as many contemporaries did, but was never invested with an office in a Christian community. In his final years, he lived and worked in Rome, where he suffered a martyr’s fate under Marcus Aurelius in the 160s.25 His Dialogue with Trypho shows him in a debate with a contemporary Jew interested in Greek philosophy. Although urban in tone, the interchange is scathing in regard to Jewish religion. It is very doubtful whether this text was in fact read by Jews much as the author purportedly aims at converting them. Justin’s work may have also been read by Christians, since it provided tools for debates with Jews. In an advanced stage of the conversation, the Justin of the dialogue explains himself in the following way, while discussing the text of the Septuagint: “And when Scripture says, ‘I am the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, who have made known Israel your King,’ will you not understand that truly Christ is the everlasting King?” This sentence is crucial for Justin’s argument: according to him the whole Jewish Bible predicts the coming of Christ. He continues in the following way: For you are aware that Jacob the son of Isaac was never a king. And therefore Scripture again, explaining to us, says what king is meant by Jacob and Israel: “Jacob is my Servant, I will uphold Him; and Israel is my Elect, my soul shall receive Him. I have given Him my Spirit; and He shall bring forth

Early Christians, transformation of recognition  77 judgment to the Gentiles. He shall not cry, and His voice shall not be heard without. The bruised reed He shall not break, and the smoking flax He shall not quench, until He shall bring forth judgment to victory. He shall shine, and shall not be broken, until He set judgment on the earth. And in His name shall the Gentiles trust.” Then is it Jacob the patriarch in whom the Gentiles and yourselves shall trust? or is it not Christ? Justin’s argument is philological in nature. Christ corresponds better to the biblical promises than Jacob. He demonstrates his superior intellectual capacities and from this interpretation he draws a clear consequence: “As, therefore, Christ is the Israel and the Jacob, even so we, who have been quarried out from the bowels of Christ, are the true Israelitic nation.”26 This is the core sentence that turns the superiority argument into Christian supersessionism, the idea that the Christians have succeeded the Jews as the true people of Israel and of God. In the following passages, Justin continues to adduce further biblical quotes to shore up his position. The author affirms how the Jews in the Dialogue kept silent when they heard this argument that must have sounded outrageous to them. This passage clearly expresses the idea that the time of the Jews was over, that they had been replaced by Christians. This statement is corroborated by the intellectual attitude of the author throughout the Dialogue. Repeatedly, he highlights that he understands the Septuagint more deeply than his Jewish counterparts. He even claims to know Hebrew better than Jews when it comes to details of interpretation. Justin does not only want his fellow Christians to enjoy recognition as the true people of God; he also wants to be recognized as a superior biblical scholar. He wants to defeat the Jews in their own field. His intellectuality is an important expression of his Christian belief that allows him to understand what the Bible really meant. As I noted earlier, the Trypho of the Dialogue is depicted as a Jew interested in Greek philosophy. In fact, at first he thinks that Justin is a normal philosopher himself since the Christian intellectual is wearing the garb of a philosopher when Trypho comes across him. This is a proof of Justin’s pretensions of not being restricted to demonstrating his superiority towards Jews alone. He moreover pretends to be accepted as an intellectual authority in general. Justin, as an author, was a Christian who rejected being embedded in traditional Jewish practices. He struggled for recognition of his special interpretation of Christian attitudes as being superior both to Jewish and pagan concepts. The main basis for this was the high degree of intellectuality that enabled him to display the superiority of Christian belief to everybody, whether they be pagan or Jewish. A whole genre of Christian literature, the apologies, is dedicated to the task of demonstrating Christian superiority in regard to pagan attitudes or better: in regard to achievements non-Christians ascribed to themselves. The question of whether Christian apologies aimed at a Christian or a non-Christian audience is in dispute. Fortunately, this is not crucial for my argument since my focus lies on Christian self-description and on identity in that sense. Most important for my argument is the observation that the apologies adopt certain attitudes and practices

78  Hartmut Leppin of non-Christians – problematic not only in the eyes of Christians – in order to prove that Christians act differently.27 One of the challenges early Christians had to face was that they were under attack for their anti-social behaviour. Their enemies alleged that they were morally and sexually degenerate, and the discourse of rejection of some Christians might have appeared to corroborate this position. The apologies attempted to prove that Christians were righteous people, or perhaps reminded fellow-­Christians of correct Christian behaviour. But under the descriptive as well as the normative aspect, they showed their superiority in regard to values that pagans used in order to demean Christians. Athenagoras from Athens, who like Justin wrote during the second half of the second century, is one of the foremost representatives of Christian apologetics. The formal addressees of his apology Legatio pro Christianis were the emperor Marcus Aurelius and his son Commodus, but it is improbable that this work ever arrived at the imperial court or, if so, was taken note of. Nevertheless the symbolism of a kind of legal statement is powerful: “Allow me here to lift up my voice boldly in loud and audible outcry, pleading as I do before philosophic princes.” This sentence is obviously intended to remind the audience of the common ground between them and the author: philosophy. Justin had worn the philosopher’s cloak as a symbol that was broadly understood as a sign of intellectuality; other Christians claimed that Christianity was the true philosophy. On the other hand, philosophy was held in high regard generally among pagans and most people, were they Christians or pagans, would expect philosophy to lead to practical, ethical aims. A good life was a sort of proof of good philosophy. This reasoning determines Athenagoras’ line of argument: For who of those that reduce syllogisms, and clear up ambiguities, and explain etymologies, or of those who teach homonyms and synonyms, and predicaments and axioms, and what is the subject and what the predicate, and who promise their disciples by these and such like instructions to make them happy: who of them have so purged their souls as, instead of hating their enemies, to love them; and, instead of speaking ill of those who have reviled them (to abstain from which is of itself an evidence of no mean forbearance), to bless them; and to pray for those who plot against their lives? As you can see, Athenagoras here adduces core Christian tenets, presupposing that they would also captivate non-Christians. On the contrary, they [the wrong philosophers] never cease with evil intent to search out skilfully the secrets of their art, and are ever bent on working some ill, making the art of words and not the exhibition of deeds their business and profession. But among us you will find uneducated persons, and artisans, and old women, who, if they are unable in words to prove the benefit of our doctrine, yet by their deeds exhibit the benefit arising from their persuasion of its truth: they do not rehearse speeches, but exhibit good works; when struck,

Early Christians, transformation of recognition  79 they do not strike again; when robbed, they do not go to law; they give to those that ask of them, and love their neighbours as themselves.28 The main argument here is that Christian belief is so imposing that it turns even those of the lower classes, who are not able to digest philosophical treatises, into true philosophers who have internalized and live by philosophy.29 Referring back to the uneducated, Athenagoras emphasizes how Christian belief transcends traditional hierarchy and that it is universal. Every Christian was able therefore to develop moral attitudes of a kind that were usually ascribed to social elites and the educated. This is an issue that pervades Athenagoras’ apology. Christians attacked for being immoral pretended to be better than their attackers themselves, even if judged against their own values. They could win recognition as people who were virtuous, which then provided the evidence for the truth of their belief. Christian belief was superior to pagan philosophy, since it made people moral and extended this to all classes in society. Again, universality and exclusiveness were closely connected.30 These claims had unintended consequences31 that were to shape the history of Christianity: if Christians argued that they were superior to Jews and pagans in regard to intellectuality and virtuousness, these achievements became essential for their own self-perception. They had to prove that they really were better in this regard. Consequently, the interior attitude of Christians became less important, whereas the performance of intellectuality and virtuousness took centre stage. This might be described as an arrangement of recognition based on honour. In any case, honour in the terminology of Taylor became more influential in relation to other groups, and as a result, also among Christians. This had various effects. People who performed intellectuality, such as certain teachers, gained prominence within the communities; and it became more important for bishops to possess intellectual skills.32 Although intelligence had not originally been of great significance for being a Christian, intellectuality turned into a crucial resource of authority. The integration of intellectuals was to remain a major task for Christian communities. Christian martyrs, on the other hand, were emblematic for virtuousness, but they remained exceptions. Typically, Christians were content with showing that their life in terms of marriage, business, charity, and so on was more orderly compared to that of other people. The tension between the claims of normality and superiority is tangible for example in the Epistle to Diognetus:33 For the Christians are distinguished from other men neither by country, nor language, nor the customs which they observe. For they neither inhabit cities of their own, nor employ a peculiar form of speech, nor lead a life which is marked out by any singularity. . . . Inhabiting Greek as well as barbarian cities, according as the lot of each of them has determined, and following the customs of the natives in respect to clothing, food, and the rest of their ordinary conduct, they display to us their wonderful and confessedly striking method of life. They dwell in their own countries, but simply as sojourners.

80  Hartmut Leppin As citizens, they share in all things with others, and yet endure all things as if foreigners. Every foreign land is to them as their native country, and every land of their birth as a land of strangers. They marry, as do all [others]; they beget children; but they do not destroy their offspring. They have a common table, but not a common bed. They are in the flesh, but they do not live after the flesh. They pass their days on earth, but they are citizens of heaven. They obey the prescribed laws, and at the same time surpass the laws by their lives.34 Christians are not recognizable by any exterior sign, such as clothing, and do not even stand out due to unusual manners. They are unusual because they surpass other people: they care for their children and do not expose them, they fulfil the laws of their respective community and even surpass them. Again, the superiority discourse makes itself conspicuous. By demonstrating individual superiority, Christians struggled for recognition of their group. However, it was not easy to maintain orderly life. And since, under the circumstances described, orderly life was not only important for the individual, but for the whole Christian community, it does not come as a surprise that forms of controls emerged. Communities had to look after their members, who were also representatives of the community and expected to stage the moral superiority of Christian existence. One instrument of social control was the ritual of penance, which was relatively developed already during the time when the Shepherd of Hermas wrote his treatise, most probably during the early second century.35 The ritual of penance helped Christians to compensate for failures. This must have been a relief to many; yet, on the other hand, it made individual sins public. This again is closely related to honour. The developments I  have briefly described transformed the role of recognition among early Christians. If Christians wanted to gain recognition in a world in which they had to show their superiority in terms of virtue, they had to rely on qualities that were embedded in a system of honour, which came to outweigh dignity. This process was slow and never complete. Although Christianity was embedded in a regime of recognition based on honour, other strands of thinking about recognition were preserved in authoritative texts, which prompted ever new struggles of recognition among Christians over history. As in other instances, early Christians reflecting on ways to gain recognition developed ideas that proved successful during the beginnings of modernity. They provided future generations with thought-provoking concepts: extreme individualization, universalism, equality of every human being before God, and exclusive knowledge of religious truth. This was a rich, if ambivalent, heritage for generations to come; it certainly contributed to the emergence of the modern regime of recognition. Even if some of the more radical ideas lost their immediate influence in time or were interpreted otherwise, they were transmitted to later generations; many of them were regarded as authoritative. They could therefore exert an important influence when modernity came about. This was true even when agents tried to detach themselves from Christian traditions, which had in turn detached

Early Christians, transformation of recognition  81 themselves from the more fundamental claims of early Christians. Christian politics of recognition remained and perhaps still remain a pervading issue of European history. Let me look back to what I have tried to say about the transformation of recognition in the history of early Christians: the regimes of recognition in the Roman Empire were based on a system of honour that could be connected with ritual practices, with virtue or with intellectuality. Christians claimed recognition for the idea that they possessed an internal, exclusive, yet universally valid truth. This implied recognition for themselves as persons, but on this basis also for their religion. In the course of time, an arrangement of recognition developed among them that paid more attention to intellectuality and to virtuousness and was increasingly controlled by Christian authorities. As I have aimed to show, the arguments of early Christians had much in common with features ascribed to the modern struggle for recognition, but also displayed significant differences that should be explored more thoroughly. The ancient Christian struggle for recognition was variegated in form. Some Christians wanted to be accepted as Jews, and tried to gain recognition within the Jewish regime of recognition. Others came under the impression that they were neither pagans nor Jews. It was difficult for them to say who they actually were. Some defined themselves as a new polis or ethnos or even race; others preferred to call themselves barbarians. In their view, Christian universality was indissolubly connected with Christian exclusiveness. This peculiar combination of universality and exclusiveness in regard to their belief seems to be characteristic of Christianity also in contrast to modern concepts that are based on the idea of equality. Christian exclusiveness could lead to a discourse of rejection with reference to anything not deemed to be specifically Christian. Most Christians justified themselves with reference to commonalities between them and those groups that they wanted to be distinguished from, were they Jews or pagans. They argued that they were superior in central aspects; and their claim to recognition was based on a superiority discourse. There was, however, no response based on respect for difference36 or, so to speak, on the notion of the dignity of the others. Indeed, Tertullian sounds as if he is pleading for tolerance when he makes the following claim: Let one worship God, another Jupiter; let one stretch forth his suppliant hands to Heaven, another to the altar of Fides; let one (if you so regard the action) count the clouds as he prays, another the panels of the ceiling; let one dedicate his own soul to his own god, another to a goat. For beware lest this action also of yours do not better accord with the criminal charge of irreligion, since you take away liberty of religion and forbid a choice of deity, and do not allow me to worship whom I wish, but compel me to worship whom I wish not. No one, not even a man, desires to be worshipped by an unwilling worshipper; and so even to the Egyptians the right has been allowed to indulge so vain a superstition as the consecration of birds and beasts, and to inflict capital punishment on any one who should kill a god of this kind.37

82  Hartmut Leppin Tertullian’s plea for forbearance is imbued with demeaning comments regarding other cults. The idea of modern tolerance as based on respect for others and on mutuality was foreign to ancient Christians.38 Nevertheless, in their struggle for their own recognition, Christians adopted values from the world they alleged to be superior to. They fell into what one might call the trap of apologetics. By underlining that they were better than others, they could not help but to reaffirm their values. Christians who argued for superiority had to live up to standards that had been set by others. Marriage, for example, had not been dear to the heart of early Christians – but when Christians emphasized that they knew how to lead a perfect marriage, the institution of marriage became ever more important to them, in respect to the reputation both within and outside Christian communities. Similar observations could be made on many grounds. Processes such as these contributed to the re-embedding of Christianity in the hierarchical structures or the regime of honour of Roman society. This development accelerated when Christianity became the religion of emperors, who sought acceptance from various social groups, not only from Christians. To conclude: I have tried to argue that by introducing the concept of regimes of recognition to the philosophical concept of recognition, it can be historicized. Perhaps one should take this a step further: a typological  – and in that sense, Weberian – approach might be still more fruitful. This could result in a distinction between various types of regimes or arrangements of recognition in history. The distinction between honour and dignity I have made here is probably too simple. It would be imperative to discuss whether the spheres of recognition highlighted by Honneth can be distinguished in various historical epochs. It might also make sense to look for historical constellations within which the struggle of recognition typically emerged. One case in point are societies in which alternatives to an existing hierarchical order emerge just as Christianity did in the Jewish and nonJewish world of the Roman Empire. If the typological approach in the study of recognition is pursued, it will be crucial to learn more about what recognition or its equivalents meant in cultures that were not shaped by western Mediterranean traditions. Be that as it may, future research on recognition should, in my opinion, focus more strongly on a comparative perspective in order to determine whether this concept that has proven useful for analyzing modernity is of any worth for other historical formations.

Notes 1 Axel Honneth, Kampf um Anerkennung. Zur moralischen Grammatik sozialer Konflikte (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1992). 2 Charles Taylor, “The Politics of Recognition”, in Multiculturalism. Examining the Politics of Recognition. Edited by Amy Gutmann (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 25–73; Charles Taylor, The Malaise of Modernity (Concord: House of Anansi Press, 1991), 43–55 on recognition, 46–7 on honour and dignity; cf. Hartmut Rosa, Identität und kulturelle Praxis: Politische Philosophie nach Charles Taylor (Frankfurt: Campus, 1998), 181–95 for the concept of recognition within Taylor’s intellectual development. Christopher F. Zurn, “Introduction”, in The Philosophy of

Early Christians, transformation of recognition  83

3

4 5

6 7

8

9 10 11

Recognition: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives. Edited by Hans-Christoph Schmidt am Busch and Christopher Zurn (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books), gives an excellent overview of modern research. Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Phänomenologie des Geistes, [1807] Werke in 20 Bänden: 3 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1980),145–55; cf. Honneth, Kampf, 11–105 for the early development of Hegel’s thought; see also Paul Redding, Chapter 13 in this volume. Honneth, Kampf, esp. 274–5. Honneth takes more interest in the earlier writings of Hegel that affect the problem of recognition. Taylor, “Politics”, 34: “In the earlier age recognition never arose as a problem. General recognition was built into the socially derived identity by virtue of the very fact that it was based on social categories that everyone took for granted. Yet inwardly derived, personal, original identity doesn’t enjoy this recognition a priori”; cf. Taylor, Malaise, 48. The problem has been highlighted by Landesman, Bruce M. “Review of Multiculturalism and ‘The Politics of Recognition’, edited by Amy Gutmann.” Ethics 104 (1994): 384–6. Dignity is not be understood in the sense of Latin dignitas or dignity as used by classicists, but in the Kantian sense; see Thomas Sören Hoffmann, “Würde”, Kant-Lexikon 3 (2015): 2693–6. For Taylor, Kant is central for the modern concept of recognition, along with Rousseau; Taylor, Malaise, 44. Michael Kühnlein, Religion als Quelle zum Selbst: Zur Vernunft- und Freiheitskritik von Charles Taylor. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 5f. for Taylor’s Christian background, including late antique Christianity. See Taylor, “Politics”, 46, 66 on the question whether liberalism is an outgrowth of Christianity. In general, Taylor does not pay much attention to early Christianity, apart from the Bible and Augustine (very briefly Taylor, Malaise, 26), whom he sees as a predecessor of modernity. See e.g., Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self. The Making of the Modern Identity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 127–42, 537f. on Augustine after a chapter on Plato, 537, n. 4 for the steps in between (Gregory of Nyssa). His magnum opus A Secular Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007) starts with the age of the reformation, but looks back to early Christianity at some points (e.g., 135 f.; 275–9); Augustine is in his focus again; cf. Rosa, Identität, 148–9; Rosa, Identität, 331–2 for Taylor’s closeness to Augustine; and Kühnlein, Religion, 132–41 for Taylor’s interpretation of Augustine. Honneth, Kampf; Axel Honneth, “Verwilderungen des sozialen Konflikts: Anerkennungskämpfe zu Beginn des 21. Jahrhunderts”, in Strukturwandel der Anerkennung: Paradoxien sozialer Integration in der Gegenwart. Edited by Axel Honneth et  al. (Frankfurt: Campus Verlag, 2013), 17–39 and Axel Honneth and Titus Stahl, “Wandel der Anerkennungen: Überlegungen aus gerechtigkeitstheoretischer Perspektive”, in Ibid., 275–300. Welskopp, Thomas. “Anerkennung – Verheißung und Zumutungen der Moderne”, in Strukturwandel der Anerkennung: Paradoxien sozialer Integration in der Gegenwart. Edited by Axel Honneth (Frankfurt: Campus Verlag, 2013), 41–63: 43. There are many useful introductions in Roman religion; see for example Jörg Rüpke, ed., A Companion to Roman Religion (Oxford  & Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007); James Rives, Religion in the Roman Empire (London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007). Martin Hengel, “Jakobus der Herrenbruder – der erste ‘Papst’?” in Glaube und Eschatologie: Festschrift für Werner Georg Kümmel zum 80. Geburtstag. Edited by Erich Gräßer and Otto Merk (Tübingen: Mohr, 1985), 71–104; Matti Myllykoski, “James the Just in History and Tradition: Perspectives of Past and Present Scholarship (Part I)”, Currents in Biblical Research 5 (2006): 73–122 and “James the Just in History and Tradition: Perspectives of Past and Present Scholarship (Part II)”, Currents in Biblical Research 6 (2007): 11–98; Jonathan Bourgel, “Jacques le Juste: Un Oblias parmi d’autres”, New Testament Studies 59 (2013): 222–46.

84  Hartmut Leppin 12 Stephen Chester, “Paul and the Galatian Believers”, in The Blackwell Companion to Paul, ed. Stephen Westerholm (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011), 63–78; Michael F. Bird, “The Incident at Antioch (Gal. 2.11–14). The Beginnings of Paulinism”, in Earliest Christian History: History, Literature and Theology. Essays from the Tyndale Fellowship in Honor of Martin Hengel. Edited by Michael F. Bird and Jason Maston (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2012), 329–61; Karin B. Neutel, A Cosmopolitan Ideal. Paul’s Declaration “neither Jew nor Greek, neither Slave nor Free, nor Male and Female” in the Context of First Century Thought, Library of New Testament studies 513 (London & New York: Bloomsbury, T&T Clark, 2015). 13 Gal. 3:23–29 (New International Version). 14 See for this thesis David Hellholm, “Vorgeformte Tauftraditionen und deren Benutzung in den Paulusbriefen”, in Ablution, Initiation and Baptism. Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity = Waschungen, Initiation und Taufe: Spätantike, Frühes Judentum und Frühes Christentum 1. Edited by David Hellholm et al. (BZNW, 176/I.) (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 415–95, esp. 436–9, 458f.; 467f. This interpretation has something in its favour, but it is by no means certain: Paul alludes to baptism, but it is unclear how far the verbal quote went; for the problems from a minority position, see Bernard C. Latigan, “Some Remarks on the Origin and Function of Galatians 3:28”, in Paul, John, and Apocalyptic Eschatology: Studies in Honour of Martinus C. De Boer. Edited by Jan Krans, et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 15–29. 15 Clearly analyzed by Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis, 7.5. Clément d’Alexandrie. Les stromates: Stromate 7. Edited by Alain Le Boulluec. Sources chrétiennes 428 (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1997), 101–111. 16 Sible de Blaauw, “Kultgebäude. C. Christlich”, RAC 22 (2008): 261–393; Miriam Czock, Gottes Haus: Untersuchungen zur Kirche als heiligem Raum von der Spätantike bis ins Frühmittelalter. Millennium Studien, 38 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012). 17 It is difficult to say in how far Christian universalism was accepted by so-called Judeo-Christians, which is a very general term in itself, see Peter J. Tomson and Doris ­Lambers-Petry, eds., The Image of the Judaeo-Christians in Ancient Jewish and Christian Literature. WUNT 158 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Simon-Claude Mimouni, Les chrétiens d’origine juive dans l’antiquité. (Paris: Albin Michel, 2004); cf. for the ideological background, Hella Lemke, Judenchristentum Zwischen Ausgrenzung und Integration: Zur Geschichte eines exegetischen Begriffes. Hamburger Theologische Studien 25 (Münster: LIT, 2001). 18 1 Cor. 1:18. 19 Denise K. Buell, “Race and Universalism in Early Christianity”, Journal of Early Christian Studies 10 (2002): 429–68 for ethnic reasoning among early Christians. 20 Laura Nasrallah, “Mapping the World: Justin, Tatian, Lucian, and the Second Sophistic”, Harvard Theological Review 98 (2005): 283–315, 298–306 has embedded him in the context of the Second Sophistic. For his rhetoric, see Josef Lößl, “Sprachlich-ästhetische Darstellung und ‘Anwendung’ von Gewalt in Texten frühchristlicher Apologeten”, Zeitschrift für Religionswissenschaft 20 (2012): 196–222. Naomi ­Koltun-Fromm, “Re-Imagining Tatian”, Journal of Early Christian Studies 16 (2008): 1–30, shows that the image of Tatian as an encratite and heretic is probably distorted. 21 One example in kind are the so-called Carpocratians, see Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis 3, 2, 6–9; Clemens Scholten, “Karpokrates (Karpokratianer)”, RAC 20 (2004): 173–86. 22 For various phenomena that have been called encratites, see Andrew R. Guffey, “Motivations for Encratite Practices in Early Christian Literature”, The Journal of Theological Studies 65 (2014): 515–49. 23 Virgnia Burrus, Saving Shame. Martyrs, Saints, and Other Abject Subjects (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), esp. 33–5; Katherine Bain,

Early Christians, transformation of recognition  85

24

25

26 27 28 29 30

31 32

33

“Socioeconomic Status in Early Christianity and Thecla’s Rejection of Marriage”, Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 27 (2011): 51–69. Peter Habermehl, Perpetua und der Ägypter oder Bilder des Bösen im frühen afrikanischen Christentum: Ein Versuch zur Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis (Berlin & New York: De Gruyter, 2004); Thomas J. Heffernan, The Passion of Perpetua and Felicity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). For him, Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines. The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Philadelphia, PA: University of Philadelphia Press 2004), 37–73; Id., “Justin Martyr Invents Judaism”, Church History 70 (2001): 427–61; David Rokéah, Justin Martyr and the Jews. Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series, 5 (Leiden: Brill, 2002); Sara Parvis and Paul Foster, eds., Justin Martyr and His Worlds. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2007); Philippe Bobichon, “Autorités religieuses juives et ‘sectes’ juives dans l’oeuvre de Justin Martyr”, RevEtAug 48 (2002): 3–22; Philippe Bobichon (Edited and Translated comm.), Justin Martyr, Dialogue Avec Tryphon, 2 vol., Paradosis 47 (Freiburg: Academic Press, 2003), 73–108; Philippe Bobichon, “Comment Justin a-t-il acquis sa connaissance exceptionnelle des exégèses juives (contenus et méthodes)?”, RTP 139 (2007): 101–26; Denise Kimber Buell, Why This New Race? Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005), 95–115 (for the continuity of ethnic reasoning); Nina E. Livesay, “Theological Identity Making. Justin’s Use of Circumcision to Create Jews and Christians”, JECS 18 (2010): 51–79; Tobias Georges, “Die christlichen Apologeten des 2. Jahrhunderts und das Verhältnis zur antiken Philosophie: Justin und Tertullian als Exponenten unterschiedlicher Grundorientierungen”, Early Christianity 3 (2012): 321–48; Hartmut Leppin, “Christlicher Intellektualismus und religiöse Exklusion  – Justin und der Dialog mit Tryphon”, in Juden, Christen, Heiden? Edited by Stefan Alkier and Hartmut Leppin (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018): 368–389. Justin, Dialogue with Trypho 135. ANF, vol. 1. Online resource www.newadvent.org/ fathers, accessed Dec. 14, 2018. Nasrallah, “Mapping the World”. Athenagoras, Legatio pro Christianis 11. ANF vol. 2. Online resource www.new advent.org/fathers, accessed Dec. 14, 2018. This claim was plausible by the standards of the time; see Niko Huttunen, Chapter 5 in this volume. David Rankin, Athenagoras: Philosopher and Theologian (London: Routledge, 2009) (for the philosophical background); James Rives, “Diplomacy and Identity Among Jews and Christians”, in Diplomats and Diplomacy in the Roman World. Edited by Claude Eilers, Mnemosyne Suppl., 304 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 99–126; Maijastina Kahlos, Forbearance and Compulsion: The Rhetoric of Religious Tolerance and Intolerance in Late Antiquity (London: Duckworth, 2009), 21f. Benjamin Steiner, Nebenfolgen in der Geschichte: Eine historische Soziologie reflexiver Modernisierung. HZ, Beih. 65 (München: De Gruyter, 2014). Odd Magne Bakke, “The Episcopal Ministry and the Unity of the Church from the Apostolic Fathers to Cyprian”, in The Formation of the Early Church. Edited by Jostein Ådna, WUNT 183 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 379–408; Claudia Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in a Time of Transition (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2005); Hartmut Leppin, “Personalentscheidungen und Kontingenzbewältigung unter frühen Christusanhängern”, in Ermöglichen und Verhindern: Vom Umgang mit Kontingez. Edited by Markus Bernhardt, Benjamin Scheller and Stefan Brakensiek (Frankfurt: Campus Verlag, 2016), 49–82, this was not an easy way and always open to criticism; Paul of Samosata is an extreme case; see for him Konrad Vössing, “Paulus von Samosata”, RAC 26 (2014): 1250–64. For his argumentation, Katharina Schneider, “Die Stellung der Juden und Christen in der Welt nach dem Diognetbrief”, JbAC 42 (1999): 20–41; Clayton N. Jefford, The

86  Hartmut Leppin

34 35

36 37 38

Epistle to Diognetus (with the Fragment of Quadratus): Introduction, Text, and Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013) provides a short comment on the epistle. For the intellectual background, Marco Rizzi, “La cittadinanza paradossale dei cristiani (Ad Diognetum 5–6)”, Annali di scienze religiose 1 (1996): 221–60. Epistle to Diognetus 5, 1–10. ANF vol. 1. Online resource www.newadvent.org/fathers, accessed Dec. 14, 2018. Jörg Rüpke, “Der Hirte des Hermas: Plausibilisierungs- und Legitimierungsstrategien im Übergang von Antike und Christentum”, ZAC 8 (2004): 276–98; David Hellholm, “Deliberations on the Nature of the Church in the Shepherd of Hermas”, Tidsskrift for teologi og kirke 78 (2007): 283–97. The justifications of the politics of difference are a major issue in Taylor, Malaise. Tertullian (24.5–7). ANF vol. 3. Online resource www.newadvent.org/fathers, accessed Dec. 14, 2018. Hartmut Leppin, “Christianity and the Discovery of Religious Freedom”, Rechtsgeschichte/Legal History 22 (2014): 62–78.

References Ancient sources ANF  =  The Ante-Nicene Fathers: Transl. of the Writings of the Fathers Down to A.D. 325. Edited by Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson. 1885–1887. 10 vols. Online resource www.newadvent.org/fathers/ Database accessed Dec. 14, 2018.

Ad Diognetum A Diognète. Edited by Marrou, Henri Irénée. Sources chrétiennes 33. Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1965. The Apostolic Fathers – Justin Martyr – Irenæus. ANF vol. 1. Online resource www. newadvent.org/fathers, accessed Dec. 14, 2018.

Athenagoras of Athens Athenagoras Atheniensis. Supplique au sujet des chrétiens et sur la résurrection des morts. Edited by Bernard Pouderon. Sources chrétiennes 379. Paris: Cerf, 1992. Fathers of the Second Century: Hermas, Tatian, Athenagoras, Theophilus, and Clement of Alexandria (entire). ANF vol. 2. Online resource www.newadvent.org/fathers, accessed Dec. 14, 2018.

Clement of Alexandria Clément d’Alexandrie. Les stromates: Stromate. 7. Edited by Alain Le Boulluec. Sources chrétiennes 428. Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1997.

Justin Martyr Iustini Martyris Dialogus Cum Tryphone. Edited by Miroslav Marcovich. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1997. The Apostolic Fathers – Justin Martyr – Irenæus. ANF vol. 1. Online resource www. newadvent.org/fathers, accessed Dec. 14, 2018.

Early Christians, transformation of recognition  87 Tertullian, Apologeticum Tertullien. Apologétique. Edited by J.-P. Waltzing. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1998. Tertullian. ANF vol. 3. Online resource www.newadvent.org/fathers, accessed Dec. 14, 2018.

Modern research Bain, Katherine. “Socioeconomic Status in Early Christianity and Thecla’s Rejection of Marriage.” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 27 (2011): 51–69. Bakke, Odd Magne. “The Episcopal Ministry and the Unity of the Church from the Apostolic Fathers to Cyprian.” In The Formation of the Early Church, edited by Jostein Ådna, 379–408. WUNT, 183. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005. Bird, Michael F. “The Incident at Antioch (Gal. 2.11–14). The Beginnings of Paulinism.” In Earliest Christian History: History, Literature and Theology. Essays from the Tyndale Fellowship in Honor of Martin Hengel, edited by Michael F. Bird and Jason Maston, 329–61. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2012. Bobichon, Philippe. “Autorités religieuses juives et ‘sectes’ juives dans l’oeuvre de Justin Martyr.” RevEtAug 48 (2002): 3–22. ———. Edited and Translated by comm., Justin Martyr, Dialogue Avec Tryphon, 2 Vol. Paradosis 47, Freiburg: Academic Press, 2003. ———. “Comment Justin a-t-il acquis sa connaissance exceptionnelle des exégèses juives (contenus et méthodes)?” RTP 139 (2007): 101–26. Bourgel, Jonathan. “Jacques le Juste: Un Oblias parmi d’autres.” New Testament Studies 59 (2013): 222–46. Boyarin, Daniel. “Justin Martyr Invents Judaism”, Church History 70 (2001): 427–61. ———. Border Lines. The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity. Philadelphia, PA: University of Philadelphia Press 2004. Buell, Denise K. “Race and Universalism in Early Christianity.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 10 (2002): 429–68. ———. Why This New Race? Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity. New York: Columbia University Press, 2005. Burrus, Virginia. Saving Shame. Martyrs, Saints, and Other Abject Subjects. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008. Chester, Stephen, “Paul and the Galatian Believers.” In The Blackwell companion to Paul, edited by Stephen Westerholm, 63–78. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011. Czock, Miriam. Gottes Haus: Untersuchungen zur Kirche als heiligem Raum von der Spätantike bis ins Frühmittelalter. Millennium Studien, 38. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012. de Blaauw, Sible. “Kultgebäude. C. Christlich.” RAC 22 (2008): 261–393. Georges, Tobias. “Die christlichen Apologeten des 2. Jahrhunderts und das Verhältnis zur antiken Philosophie: Justin und Tertullian als Exponenten unterschiedlicher Grundorientierungen.” Early Christianity 3 (2012): 321–48. Guffey, Andrew R. “Motivations for Encratite Practices in Early Christian Literature.” The Journal of Theological Studies 65 (2014): 515–49. Habermehl, Peter. Perpetua und der Ägypter oder Bilder des Bösen im frühen afrikanischen Christentum: Ein Versuch zur Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis. Berlin & New York: De Gruyter, 2004. Heffernan, Thomas J. The Passion of Perpetua and Felicity. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. Phänomenologie des Geistes. Werke in 20 Bänden: 3. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1980 (first published 1807).

88  Hartmut Leppin Hellholm, David. “Deliberations on the Nature of the Church in the Shepherd of Hermas.” Tidsskrift for teologi og kirke 78 (2007): 283–97. ———. Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism: Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity = Waschungen, Initiation und Taufe: Spätantike, frühes Judentum und frühes Christentum. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010. Hengel, Martin. “Jakobus der Herrenbruder – der erste ‘Papst’?” In Glaube und Eschatologie: Festschrift für Werner Georg Kümmel zum 80. Geburtstag, edited by Erich Gräßer and Otto Merk, 71–104. Tübingen: Mohr, 1985. Hoffmann, Thomas Sören. “Würde.” Kant-Lexikon 3 (2015): 2693–6. Honneth, Axel. Kampf um Anerkennung: Zur moralischen Grammatik sozialer Konflikte. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1992. ———. “Verwilderungen des sozialen Konflikts: Anerkennungskämpfe zu Beginn des 21. Jahrhunderts.” In Strukturwandel der Anerkennung: Paradoxien sozialer Integration in der Gegenwart, edited by Axel Honneth, 17–39. Frankfurt: Campus Verlag, 2013. Honneth, Axel and Titus Stahl. “Wandel der Anerkennungen: Überlegungen aus gerechtigkeitstheoretischer Perspektive.” In Strukturwandel der Anerkennung: Paradoxien sozialer Integration in der Gegenwart, edited by Axel Honneth, 275–300. Frankfurt: Campus Verlag, 2013. Jefford, Clayton N. The Epistle to Diognetus (with the Fragment of Quadratus): Introduction, Text, and Commentary. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Kahlos, Maijastina. Forbearance and Compulsion: The Rhetoric of Religious Tolerance and Intolerance in Late Antiquity. London: Duckworth, 2009. Koltun-Fromm, Naomi. “Re-Imagining Tatian.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 16 (2008): 1–30. Kühnlein, Michael. Religion als Quelle zum Selbst: Zur Vernunft- und Freiheitskritik von Charles Taylor. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008. Landesman, Bruce M. “Review of Multiculturalism and ‘The Politics of Recognition’, edited by Amy Gutmann.” Ethics 104 (1994): 384–6. Latigan, Bernard C. “Some Remarks on the Origin and Function of Galatians 3:28.” In Paul, John, Apocalyptic Eschatology: Studies in Honour of Martinus C. De Boer, edited by Jan Krans, Lietaert Peerbolte L.J., Peter-Ben Smit, A.W. Zwiep and Martinus C. De Boer, 15–29. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Lemke, Hella. Judenchristentum Zwischen Ausgrenzung und Integration: Zur Geschichte eines exegetischen Begriffes. Hamburger Theologische Studien, 25. Münster: LIT, 2001. Leppin, Hartmut. “Christianity and the Discovery of Religious Freedom.” Rechtsgeschichte/ Legal History 22 (2014): 62–78. ———. “Personalentscheidungen und Kontingenzbewältigung unter frühen Christusanhängern.” In Ermöglichen und Verhindern: Vom Umgang mit Kontingez, edited by Markus Bernhardt, Benjamin Scheller and Stefan Brakensiek, 49–82. Frankfurt am Main: Campus Verlag, 2016. ———. “Christlicher Intellektualismus und religiöse Exklusion  – Justin und der Dialog mit Tryphon.” in Juden, Christen, Heiden? edited by Stefan Alkier and Hartmut Leppin, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018: 368–389. Livesay, Nina E. “Theological Identity Making. Justin’s Use of Circumcision to Create Jews and Christians.” JECS 18 (2010): 51–79. Lößl, Josef. “Sprachlich-ästhetische Darstellung und ‘Anwendung’ von Gewalt in Texten frühchristlicher Apologeten.” Zeitschrift für Religionswissenschaft 20 (2012): 196–222. Mimouni, Simon-Claude. Les chrétiens d’origine juive dans l’antiquité. Paris: Albin Michel 2004.

Early Christians, transformation of recognition  89 Myllykoski, Matti. “James the Just in History and Tradition: Perspectives of Past and Present Scholarship (Part I).” Currents in Biblical Research 5 (2006): 73–122. ———. “James the Just in History and Tradition: Perspectives of Past and Present Scholarship (Part II).” Currents in Biblical Research 6 (2007): 11–98. Nasrallah, Laura. “Mapping the World: Justin, Tatian, Lucian, and the Second Sophistic.” Harvard Theological Review 98 (2005): 283–315. Neutel, Karin B. A Cosmopolitan Ideal. Paul’s Declaration ‘neither Jew nor Greek, neither Slave nor Free, nor Male and Female’ in the Context of First Century Thought. Library of New Testament studies, 513. London & New York: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015. Parvis, Sara and Paul Foster, eds., Justin Martyr and His Worlds. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2007. Rankin, David. Athenagoras: Philosopher and Theologian. London: Routledge, 2009. Rapp, Claudia. Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in a Time of Transition. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2005. Rives, James. Religion in the Roman Empire. London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007. ———. “Diplomacy and Identity Among Jews and Christians.” In Diplomats and Diplomacy in the Roman World, edited by Claude Eilers, 99–126. Mnemosyne Suppl., 304. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Rizzi, Marco. “La cittadinanza paradossale dei cristiani (Ad Diognetum 5–6).” Annali di scienze religiose 1 (1996): 221–60. Rokéah, David. Justin Martyr and the Jews. Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series 5. Leiden: Brill, 2002. Rosa, Hartmut. Identität und kulturelle Praxis: Politische Philosophie nach Charles Taylor. Frankfurt am Main: Campus, 1998. Rüpke, Jörg. “Der Hirte des Hermas: Plausibilisierungs- und Legitimierungsstrategien im Übergang von Antike und Christentum.” ZAC 8 (2004): 276–98. ———, ed. A Companion to Roman Religion. Oxford & Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007. Schneider, Katharina. “Die Stellung der Juden und Christen in der Welt nach dem Diognetbrief.” JbAC 42 (1999): 20–41. Scholten, Clemens. “Karpokrates (Karpokratianer).” RAC 20 (2004): 173–86. Steiner, Benjamin. Nebenfolgen in der Geschichte: Eine historische Soziologie reflexiver Modernisierung. HZ, Beih. 65. München: De Gruyter, 2014. Taylor, Charles. Sources of the Self. The Making of the Modern Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. ———. The Malaise of Modernity. Concord: House of Anansi Press, 1991. ———. “The Politics of Recognition.” In Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition, edited by Amy Gutmann, 25–73. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994. ———. A Secular Age. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007. Tomson, Peter J. and Doris Lambers-Petry, eds. The Image of the Judaeo-Christians in Ancient Jewish and Christian Literature. WUNT, 158. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003. Vössing, Konrad. “Paulus von Samosata.” RAC 26 (2014): 1250–64. Welskopp, Thomas. “Anerkennung  – Verheißung und Zumutungen der Moderne.” In Strukturwandel der Anerkennung: Paradoxien sozialer Integration in der Gegenwart, edited by Axel Honneth, 41–63. Frankfurt: Campus Verlag, 2013. Zurn, Christopher F. “Introduction.” In The Philosophy of Recognition: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives, edited by Hans-Christoph Schmidt am Busch and Christopher Zurn, 1–19. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2010.

5 Early Christians on philosophy A religion seeking recognition in Greco-Roman culture Niko Huttunen

Athens and Jerusalem – still something in common “What indeed has Athens to do with Jerusalem?”1 Thus asked Tertullian, an early Christian theologian from around 200 CE. Since Athens represented philosophy and Jerusalem the Christian faith, the question deals with the relationship between faith and philosophy. Tertullian’s question is rhetorical, as is evident when read in its textual context. The unstated answer is self-evidently: “They have nothing do with each other”. One can speak of a blatant misrecognition of philosophy. Nevertheless, the history of theology shows that philosophy became assimilated in the developing Christianity. Was it a later fall from the original ‘purity’, or were there philosophical ‘seeds’ in the beginning? With his anti-philosophical ethos, Tertullian is not a unique case in the history of Western thought. One could list several names, but I will refer to just two cases after Tertullian who exemplify the continuing tradition after Antiquity until modern times: Martin Luther and Bertrand Russell. Luther states that Aristotle is a heathen who “has caught and made fools” (vorfuret und narret hat) of even the best of the Christians. In a nutshell: “Using him God has plagued us for our sins” (got hat uns also mit yhm plagt umb unser sund willen). Luther criticizes the use of Aristotle, whose understanding is limited, as the Holy Scriptures teach everything which is necessary.2 Bertrand Russell makes the same division, but preferring philosophy to Scripture: A good world needs knowledge, kindliness, and courage; it does not need a regretful hankering after the past or a fettering of the free intelligence by the words uttered long ago by ignorant men. It needs a fearless outlook and a free intelligence.3 From ancient times to the present day, there seems to be a tradition of making a clear-cut separation between religion and philosophy.4 In line with this tradition, Jerusalem and Athens withheld recognition from each other. The separation between religion and philosophy can be specified – at least from one important angle – as an opposition of free intellectual exploration and the Bible. Both Luther and Russell spoke of this opposition.

Early Christians on philosophy 91 In this article, I  will show that misrecognition is not the only available way of reading the situation. I concentrate on several New Testament texts often presented as a justification for the misrecognition of philosophy: Colossians 2, Acts 17 and 1 Corinthians 1–2. I argue that these texts actually make good use of the ancient philosophical discourse, so that one can read them as seeking recognition in the Greco-Roman intellectual culture. After that, I will briefly present Justin Martyr as an example of the intellectual and philosophical development of the early Christians. I will also show that the early Christians did not seek recognition in vain: during the second century, several non-Christian philosophers recognized Christianity as belonging to the category of philosophy, despite whatever defects they saw in Christianity. Thus, if the origins of this debate on religion and philosophy have any significance for modern discussions, misrecognition is not the only possibility. Tertullian justifies his misrecognition of philosophy with two references to the Bible.5 These verses are the only ones in the entire New Testament to mention philosophy and philosophers.6 The first one is from the epistle to the Colossians: See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy (διὰ τῆς φιλοσοφίας) and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the universe, and not according to Christ.7 Tertullian emphasizes that Paul (or so he thinks  – the epistle’s authorship is a controversial topic)8 explicitly names “philosophy as that which he would have us be on our guard against”. The second biblical reference Tertullian uses is the story of Paul’s visit to Athens: So he argued (διελέγετο) in the synagogue with the Jews and the devout persons, and also in the market-place every day with those who happened to be there (ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ κατὰ πᾶσαν ἡμέραν πρὸς τοὺς παρατυγχάνοντας). Also some Epicurean and Stoic philosophers (τινὲς δὲ καὶ τῶν Ἐπικουρείων καὶ Στοϊκῶν φιλοσόφων) debated with him. Some said, “What does this babbler want to say?” Others said, “He seems to be a proclaimer of foreign divinities (ξένων δαιμονίων).”9 On Paul, Tertullian notes: “He had been at Athens, and had in his interviews (with its philosophers) become acquainted with that human wisdom which pretends to know the truth, whilst it only corrupts it”. As Acts mentions two different philosophical schools, Epicureans and Stoics, Tertullian hastens to argue that philosophy is “divided into its own manifold heresies, by the variety of its mutually repugnant sects”. Commenting Paul’s visit in Athens actually leads Tertullian to rhetorically ask: “What indeed has Athens to do with Jerusalem?” However, the suggested negative answer is prescriptive, not descriptive. Tertullian means that Athens and Jerusalem should not have anything in common – but, in fact, they have much in common. Tertullian’s attack on philosophy is due to his attack on the other Christian theologians, whose views he did not accept. He

92  Niko Huttunen blamed them for heresies arising from mixing up faith and philosophy. “Away with all attempts to produce a mottled Christianity of Stoic, Platonic, and dialectic composition!” Tertullian exclaims. However, if mixing up philosophy and Christianity is a brand of heresy, Tertullian himself is heretical. It is widely known that his theology is deeply in debt to philosophy, especially to Stoicism. The polemics against philosophy is in fact nothing but polemics against heresies. Outside this constellation, he can “call on the Stoics also to help” and then praise Zeno of Citium, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus.10

Tertullian’s biblical warrants: colossians and acts Tertullian’s harsh criticism of philosophy seems rather an occasional rhetorical device than a conscious theological position. A careful reading also reveals that Tertullian’s biblical references do not present an uncompromising position regarding philosophy. A few verses after condemning philosophy, the author of Colossians admonishes: Do not let anyone condemn you in matters of food and drink or of observing festivals, new moons, or sabbaths. These are only a shadow (σκιά) of what is to come, but the substance (σῶμα) belongs to Christ.11 A philosophically trained reader may notice that here we encounter a variation of Plato’s allegory of the cave.12 Plato tells the story of people chained in a cave, where shadows on the walls are everything they know of the world outside. According to Plato, material facts are like the shadows of immaterial ideas. Colossians adapts the Platonic allegory to the apocalyptic, temporarily linear worldview. The true substance is to come, but its shadow is already visible in the present. Lacking this temporal dimension, Plato’s allegory does not speak of the present and the future. Instead, the shadows and the ideas are present at the same time. Despite this difference, Colossians shares the contemporary philosophical discourse.13 The author of Colossians adapts this allegory to her/his own purposes: Jewish ritual practices are but a shadow of the substance, and ignorance in these matters should not lead to condemnation – hinting at a potential conflict with Jewish Christians. A conflict is also present in Plato’s text. The philosopher, who knows the ideas, “is forced to plead in the law courts, or anywhere else, about the shadows (σκιῶν) of justice, or the images whose shadows (σκιαί) they are, and dispute about it on the basis of how these things are understood by those who have never yet seen actual justice”.14 If Colossians adheres to philosophy, how then should we understand its negative words on philosophy? It may well be that the negation is a rhetorical move, just as we saw in Tertullian’s case. The other – and more probable explanation – is that the blame of philosophy by the author of Colossians does not involve general condemnation. Scholars usually note that the author is speaking of his/her adversaries and, thus, of their particular philosophy.15 As the adversaries seem to be obliged to adhere to some Jewish ritual practices, it may seem extraordinary to

Early Christians on philosophy  93 call their views “philosophy”, yet we have several examples of Judaism or some of its sects presented in that way.16 This wide understanding of philosophy is by no means limited to Judaism. In fact, the separation between religion and philosophy is extraordinary in ancient culture. According to Pierre Hadot, even Epicureans who denied the vernacular beliefs participated in the cult. In antiquity, the philosopher encountered religion in his social life (in the form of the official cult) and in his cultural life (in the forms of art and of literature), yet he lived religion philosophically, by transforming it into philosophy. If Epicurus recommended participation in civic festivals and even prayer, this was to allow the Epicurean philosopher to contemplate the gods as conceived by the Epicurean theory of nature. . . . The philosophical way of life never entered into competition with religion in antiquity, because at the time religion was not a way of life which included all of existence and all of inner life, as it was in Christianity.17 This philosophical attitude towards religion is present also in the philosophy which the author of Colossians opposes. Gregory E. Sterling notes how the Colossian philosophy coheres with the philosophical views of the Jewish Philo of Alexandria, who in turn owes much to the Middle Platonic demonology. Sterling supposes that the author of Colossians seemingly knew the Middle Platonic scale of being. The scale they knew placed the angels or daemons in the intermediate zones between God and humanity. Their fasting practices suggest that they thought of these beings negatively: their asceticism served as a protection against injurious elemental spirits. It is likely that they observed their fasts in conjunction with a Jewish liturgical calendar.18 The Colossian philosophy is what Hadot describes as practicing religious rites with a philosophical mindset. The author of the epistle philosophically responds to this practice by placing such rites in the lower level of shadows. It remains unclear if this is a carefully considered answer to the scale of being. The scale cannot explain the temporal dimension introduced by the author, but this difficulty should not be overestimated. Hebrews contains temporal and non-temporal adaptation of the Platonic allegory, side by side.19 The discrepancy between the eschatological and non-eschatological adaptations is not enough to dismiss philosophical influences in Colossians. Both the author of Colossians and her/his adversaries seem to participate in a discussion, which one can describe as being philosophical in nature. The case of Acts is clearer. When reading the episode in Athens, one cannot avoid remarking that its relationship with philosophy is much more positive than Tertullian claims. Actually, Paul’s figure in the narrative intentionally hints at Socrates. This observation is commonplace among scholars.20 David M. Reis has called Acts 17 an echo chamber, which not only provides an opportunity to

94  Niko Huttunen hear Socratic echoes in the figure of Paul, but also Pauline echoes in the figure of Socrates. Justin Martyr employed the latter when describing Socrates as Paul at Areopagus.21 With the help of Socratic echoes, the Areopagus episode positions Christian identity within the Greco-Roman intellectual culture and, thus, it sets a standard for the recognition the Christians sought among the philosophers. The author of Acts22 opens the episode by narrating Paul’s sightseeing in Athens. The apostle roams in public every day, arguing (διελέγετο) in the synagogue and in the marketplace (ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ) with “those who happen to be there”. This is what Socrates did: Socrates lived ever in the open; for early in the morning he went to the public promenades and training grounds; in the forenoon he was seen in the market (ἀγορᾶς); and the rest of the day he passed just where most people were to be met: he was generally talking, and anyone might listen.23 If any one, whether young or old, wishes to hear me speaking and pursuing my mission, I have never objected, nor do I converse (διαλέγομαι ) only when I am paid and not otherwise.24 Paul is reproached for being “a proclaimer of foreign divinities (ξένων δαιμονίων)”, Socrates for proclaiming “novel divinities” (καινὰ δαιμόνια).25 When the story continues in Acts, Paul is taken to Areopagus to report his teaching.26 Again, Luke’s choice of words echoes the story of Socrates, who was sentenced to death there. In Paul’s time, Areopagus possibly functioned as a city council,27 but this is a moot point. The name Areopagus in the story merely serves to create a new echo of Socrates. Even Luke’s ambiguous word choice is evocative. The verb ἐπιλαμβάνομαι may mean ‘arrest’, but also well-intentioned attachment.28 Luke “appears simply to evoke the image of trial and arrest, allowing it to resonate in the reader’s mind without feeling need to make the connection explicit”.29 At Areopagus, both Socrates and Paul began their speeches with the words “Men of Athens” (ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι).30 As a result, one can easily agree with Sandnes’ observation that there is “a firm basis for saying that the prelude to the Areopagus speech involves a clear comparison between Paul and Socrates”. Sandnes emphasizes that the readers have been aware of this comparison as Socrates’ figure was well-known. Sandnes cites Lucian’s words to illustrate the situation: “His praises are sung by everyone”.31 Socrates’ reputation was true, but some did not praise him. Scholars have mainly missed that Luke uses the Socratic echoes to locate Paul more closely with one of the two mentioned philosophical schools: namely, closer to the Stoics than the Epicureans. The Stoics eagerly invoked Socrates while the Epicureans despised him. According to A.A. Long, “from Zeno to Epictetus, that is to say throughout the history of the Stoa, Socrates is the philosopher with whom the Stoics most closely aligned themselves”. Three stories of Zeno’s (the founder of the Stoic school) devotion to philosophy point out that Socrates inspired him one way or another. Long accurately notes the function of these diverging accounts: “The literal truth of these stories is unimportant. What they attest to is a tradition, which

Early Christians on philosophy 95 Zeno’s followers must have encouraged, that Socrates was the primary inspiration of his philosophy”. One source even claims that the Stoics wanted to be called Socratics.32 The contrary was true of the Epicureans: If Epicurus was fairly restrained in his remarks about Socrates, his immediate followers were not. From Metrodorus and Idomeneus, extending through Zeno of Sidon and Philodemus down to Diogenes of Oenoanda, a tradition of hostility to Socrates was established that is virulent even by the standards of ancient polemic. In their writings, Socrates was portrayed as the complete anti-Epicurean – a sophist, a rhetorician, a sceptic, and someone whose ethical inquiries turn human life into chaos.33 Thus, Paul’s Socratic characterization associates the apostle with the Stoics. This association becomes clearer in the speech Luke has him deliver at Areopagus. Of the several Stoic themes of the speech,34it is enough to mention only one, the quotation: “For we too are his offspring (τοῦ γὰρ καὶ γένος ἐσμέν)”.35 These words belong to the opening verses of the poem Phaenomena by the Stoic Aratus: From Zeus let us begin; him do we mortals never leave unnamed; full of Zeus are all the streets and all the market-places of men; full is the sea and the havens thereof; always we all have need of Zeus. For we are also his offspring (τοῦ γὰρ καὶ γένος εἰμέν).36 Aratus’ poem was famous and celebrated in Antiquity. Its reputation is illustrated by the fact that the poem was translated several times into Latin (for example, by Cicero and Ovid).37 The Jew Aristobulus of Alexandria cited it in the second century BCE, which shows that the poem was also known within the Jewish boundaries.38 Aratus’ Stoic idea of God permeating the whole universe accords well with the Areopagus speech, in which Paul preaches: “In him [= God] we live and move and have our being”.39 However, at the end of his speech Paul diverges from the Stoics by saying that God has overlooked ignorance until now.40 This is an implicit placing of the Stoics among other ignorant people. The sudden turn of the speech after a Stoic-sounding proclamation is a slap in the face of the Stoics, who claimed to know the truth and – contrary to the Sceptics – claimed that virtue is nothing else than knowledge.41 The Stoics associated their teaching with Socrates, but the Socrates figure  here nullifies their knowledge. In a way, Paul fulfills Socrates’ prophecy: “You would pass the rest of your lives in slumber, unless God, in his care for you, should send someone else to sting you”.42 Paul is the prophesied person in Luke’s narration, the real follower of Socrates. From the perspective of seeking recognition, the Areopagus episode is interesting. Paul debates with philosophers with the consequence that he is challenged to report his teaching at Areopagus. It is as if the Athenians were considering their recognition of Paul. Paul, in turn, seeks recognition by adhering to the Stoics in his speech. At the end of the speech, the constellation turns upside down: Paul proclaims that everything up to that point is ignorance. The apostle assumes the

96  Niko Huttunen role of granting or withholding recognition – in this case the latter. The audience becomes irritated with Paul’s idea of resurrection. They seemingly interrupt the speech, and, in turn, withhold their recognition. Only a small group joins Paul, like those who remained faithful to Socrates during his trial.43 The mutual misrecognition, however, is not the whole story. In the eyes of the reader, through the character of Paul, Christianity has attained its place among the philosophical schools. Ries comments aptly: Luke constructs a Socratic Paul who deftly negotiates among his enemies with rhetorical skill, first by developing an argument for reality of the one true God based on common Hellenistic philosophical principles, and then by proclaiming the decidedly Christian teaching about the resurrection and judgment, which elicits among his audience consternation, intrigue, and conversion.44 Paradoxically, the fact that the encounter with philosophers at Areopagus ends up in mutual misrecognition may have resulted in Christianity being located among the philosophers. Hubert Cancik notes that the recurrent disputes in Acts elevated Christianity from a cult to a philosophical school: It is furthermore highly remarkable, so far as I see, that this kind of dispute over unity, inheritance, and continuity does not occur in Greek and Roman religion. Controversies over “worldview”, moral behavior, the relation of the individual to the state, marriage, work, war, and death, so far as these can be rationalized, are dealt with in Greco-Roman culture by means of philosophy, not religion.45 Luke’s picture of Paul disputing with philosophers did not propagate an antiphilosophical tendency. The episode is a claim of Christianity as the most truthful philosophy, which surpasses other schools. Tertullian’s anti-philosophical reading of this text seems more than questionable. I will still widen the discussion on the first two chapters of 1 Corinthians, which Tertullian did not use, but which are often thought of as representing an anti-philosophical attitude. 1  Corinthians – philosophical folly in the world “Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” Paul46 asks rhetorically.47 The answer is affirmative, as Paul points out several times in 1 Corinthians 1–2. After the salutation, Paul shortly relates what he has heard of Corinthians and then, from 1:18 onwards, proceeds to his criticism of worldly wisdom: the Greeks have searched for wisdom without acknowledging God. Therefore, God decided to save the world through foolishness (μωρία), through the proclamation of Christ crucified. Paul stresses that he did not proclaim “in lofty words or wisdom”.48 He even denies knowing something, with one exception: “I decided to know nothing (οὐ γὰρ ἔκρινά τι εἰδέναι) among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified”.49

Early Christians on philosophy  97 Yet, Paul’s proclamation, indeed, is wisdom: not “a wisdom of this age”,50 but God’s wisdom so that “faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God (ἐν δυνάμει θεοῦ)”.51 Christians, he says, speak “in words not taught by human wisdom but taught by the Spirit”.52 In his commentary, Gordon D. Fee summarizes the main thesis of 1 Corinthians 1–2: “The gospel is not some new sophia (wisdom, or philosophy), not even a new divine sophia. For sophia allows for human judgments or evaluations of God’s activity”.53 What is this but a total misrecognition of philosophy? Should Tertullian refer to this text? No. When Paul’s words are put into a philosophical context, they no longer seem so anti-philosophical. My aim is to show that there are several contact points with philosophy and that Paul’s text therefore participates in philosophical discourse. I  mostly cite Plato, but this does not indicate Paul’s particular attachment to Platonism. Plato’s texts were also used outside of the Platonic school and interpreted differently by various schools.54 Instead of showing Paul’s affinity to a certain philosophical school,55 I generally argue that the ostensibly anti-philosophical words actually belong to the philosophical discourse. Fee’s claim that the gospel is no divine sophia is forced. In fact, he later has to admit that Paul speaks of the divine wisdom as an opposition to the human wisdom. Fee explains that Paul “transformed ‘wisdom’ from a philosophical, rhetorical term into a historical, soteriological one”.56 True, Paul identified salvific wisdom with the crucified Christ; thus, divine wisdom really is historical and soteriological. I argue, however, that these features do not rule out philosophy. One can find a similar opposition between human and divine wisdom in Plato’s texts. In Apology, Socrates states that Apollo claimed him to be the wisest human being. Socrates wanted to prove this claim wrong  – without success. Socrates explains: “[T]he god is really wise and by his oracle means this: ‘Human wisdom (ἡ ἀνθρωπίνη σοφία) is of little or no value’ ”.57 Here the most famous representative of ancient philosophy differentiates between divine and human wisdom. Plato’s Sophist repeats the same opposition, adapting it to the division between the philosophers and the sophists. The latter imitate the former and, therefore, what the sophists represent is “not divine, but human” (οὐ θεῖον ἀλλ᾿ ἀνθρωπικὸν).58 The background is Plato’s theory of ideas: unlike the true philosophers, the sophists just imitate the divine wisdom of ideas. As imitators, the sophists are on the worldly level. In 1 Corinthians, Paul does not represent the Platonic theory of ideas. Nevertheless, the opposition between human and divine wisdom is present in both Plato’s and Paul’s texts. This similarity is quite general, but it proves that the differentiation between divine and human wisdom created by Paul should not be straightforwardly explained as anti-philosophical. Plato’s dialogue Ion59 comes closer to Paul, who associates divine wisdom with the power of God. Ion is a dialogue between Socrates and Ion, who is specialized in performing Homer’s poetry. We are told that Ion is not at all interested in other poets and cannot even form any clear opinions about them. Socrates infers that Ion is not skilled in the art of poetry. If he were, he would have been able to perform any poetry. As this is not the case, the conclusion is that Ion’s skill to perform

98  Niko Huttunen poetry – or anyone’s, for that matter – cannot be of human origin. The skill must originate via divine influence, that is, divine power. For not by art do they utter these things, but by divine influence (θείᾳ δυνάμει); since, if they had fully learnt by art to speak on one kind of theme, they would know how to speak on all. And for this reason God takes away the mind of these men and uses them as his ministers, just as he does soothsayers and godly seers, in order that we who hear them may know that it is not they who utter these words of great price, when they are out of their wits, but that it is God himself who speaks and addresses us through them.60 One may recall that in Republic, Plato openly expresses his disgust of poetry, which is just an imitation of reality: “Starting with Homer, all composers of poetry are imitators of images of virtue and of every other subject they deal with, but they don’t grasp the truth”.61 Thus, poetry as an imitation is on the level of sophistic arguments. It is thus possible, though not obvious, that Plato’s praise of the divine inspiration in Ion is ironic: in reality, Plato would hint that poetry is nothing but foolishness.62 Be that as it may, Plato is not the only philosopher to present the concept of divine power. In Xenophon’s version of Socrates’ Apology, Socrates says that the daimonion speaking to him is no novel idea, as people traditionally believe in omens coming through birds, thunder, and Pythia. The only difference between them and me is that whereas they call the sources of their forewarning ‘birds,’ ‘utterances,’ ‘chance meetings,’ ‘prophets,’ I call mine a ‘divine’ thing (δαιμόνιον), and I think that in using such a term I am speaking with greater truth and piety than those who ascribe the gods’ power to birds (τῶν τοῖς ὄρνισιν ἀνατιθέντων τὴν τῶν θεῶν δύναμιν).63 A later philosopher presenting the idea of divine power can be found in the text of the Stoic Epictetus at the beginning of the second century CE. Epictetus may be dependent on Xenophon’s words, as his argumentation is quite similar.64 Epictetus creates an opposition between the divine and the human message, and the former originates in divine power. Once you have heard these words go away and say to yourself, “It was not Epictetus who said these things to me; why, how could they have occurred to him? but it was some kindly god or other speaking through him. For it would not have occurred to Epictetus to say these things, because he is not in the habit of speaking to anyone. Come then, let us obey God, that we rest not under His wrath.” Nay, but if a raven gives you a sign by his croaking, it is not the raven that gives the sign, but God through the raven; whereas if He gives you a sign through a human voice, will you pretend that it is the man who is saying these things to you, so that you may remain ignorant of the power of the divinity (τὴν δύναμιν τοῦ δαιμονίου), that He gives signs to some men in this way, and to others in that, but that in the greatest and most sovereign

Early Christians on philosophy 99 matters He gives His sign through His noblest messenger (διὰ καλλίστου ἀγγέλου) [= Hermes; Epictetus continues by citing Odyssey]?65 Epictetus does not seriously claim to be an oracle in the normal sense of the word.66 However, he surely understood his philosophical message as divine wisdom, which makes the comparison to oracles understandable. As a Stoic, Epictetus believed in the god within, which he calls by many names. Here he speaks of the power, of δαιμονίον, which denotes the divine and the rational part of the human being.67 Thus, “the power of the divinity” simply means human rationality. This is not what Paul thinks.68 However, Paul’s concept of divine spirit abiding within Christians comes close. He makes it clear that the Spirit boosts cognitive capacity.69 Stoics could also call the divinity spirit (πνεῦμα), though the word is quite rare in Epictetus’ usage.70 Finally, I would like to treat Paul’s report of his earlier sojourn, found in 1 Corinthians: “I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing (οὐ γὰρ ἔκρινά τι εἰδέναι) among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified”.71 Fee understands this non-knowing as a rejection of philosophical reasoning,72 but even this saying has its parallel in Plato’s Apology: “I am conscious that I am not wise either much or little”, and “Neither of us really knows anything fine and good, but this man thinks he knows something when he does not, whereas I, as I do not know anything, do not think I do either (ἡμῶν οὐδέτερος οὐδὲν καλὸν κἀγαθὸν εἰδέναι, ἀλλ᾿ οὗτος μὲν οἴεταί τι εἰδέναι οὐκ εἰδώς, ἐγὼ δέ, ὥσπερ οὖν οὐκ οἶδα, οὐδὲ οἴομαι)”.73 The last sentence in particular sounds similar to Paul.74 Both Socrates and Paul reflect on their knowledge and make decisions accordingly. Paul, however, does not claim to be ignorant, but reports about his decision to be ignorant except in what comes to Christ. Anthony A. Thiselton is right when he states that this interpretation releases Paul from any anti-intellectualism.75 Yet, if ignorance is anti-intellectualism, is Socrates anti-intellectual? It depends on the philosophical school. As it turns out, the Sceptic school ‘invented’ the Socrates who knows nothing. Conversely, the Stoic Socrates knows a lot of things.76 It is difficult to say what Paul’s position on these epistemological questions was – if he had strong attachments to any position. It is possible, however, that his words echo these discussions. In sum, it seems plausible that Paul was partaking in the general philosophical discourse. The division between worldly and divine wisdom is present in the philosophical texts. Plato, Xenophon, and Epictetus refer to divine power. Although Paul emphasized his ignorance (except in matters of Christ), he does not seem to reject knowledge – and if he did, he would come close to the Sceptic school. These similarities do not diminish the dissimilarities. For example, Paul and Epictetus share a conviction of divine power within human beings, but Paul restricts it to Christians, who are the only ones to receive the divine Spirit.77 Stoics thought spirit to be present in every human being. Dissimilarities between Paul and Epictetus are clear, but there are also dissimilarities, say, between Plato and Epictetus. I cannot see that Paul’s discourse categorically deviates from the philosophical discourse.

100  Niko Huttunen This being the case, I would like to question the traditional reading of 1 Corinthians 1–2. Paul does not try to deviate from philosophy. He is not presenting a categorical alternative to what is earlier presented in the philosophy. Quite the contrary, he joins in the contemporary philosophical discourse. In fact, Paul’s words against the specious human wisdom can be seen as a search for recognition in the intellectual culture. In this discourse, truth was presented as a divine essence and as an opposite to worldly wisdom. Paul presents himself as the most truthful philosopher, a messenger by the divine call (κλητὸς ἀπόστολος),78 who reliably presents the divine mysteries, “God’s wisdom, secret and hidden”.79 His revelatory character or invocation of the authority of the Septuagint do not make him deviant, either. Pierre Hadot describes the character of schools in the imperial period. Among many philosophers, natural revelation “was augmented by what the Greeks have always believed: revelations made by gods to a few inspired mortals”. The texts of Plato, Xenophon, and Epictetus which I have quoted exemplify this well. “Also sought-after were revelations made to the barbarians: Jews, Egyptians, Assyrians, and inhabitants of India”. Philosophical teaching took the form of commenting on authoritative texts.80 In this tradition, 1 Corinthians 1–2 is no misrecognition of philosophy.

Mutual recognition becomes mainstream About one hundred years after Paul, the Christian apologist Justin Martyr wrote about his conversion to Christianity. After vainly seeking the truth in numerous philosophical schools, one day he encountered a mysterious old man on a lonely shore. The characterization of the old man hints at the figure of Socrates and, in a sense, Socrates becomes the midwife of Justin’s conversion.81 The man tells him about Christianity and then leaves, but not without making a lasting impression: I have not seen him since. But straightway a flame was kindled in my soul; and a love of the prophets, and of those men who are friends of Christ, possessed me; and whilst revolving his words in my mind, I found this philosophy alone to be safe and profitable. Thus, and for this reason, I am a philosopher.82 Justin’s conversion to Christianity was no abrupt shift from philosophy to religion. “Justin’s new identity as a Christian philosopher became readily integrated with his identity as a Platonist”.83 His recognition of philosophy becomes clear when he assesses it quite positively. Christianity, the true philosophy, was fragmentarily present already in the ancient tradition: “There seem to be seeds of truth among all men; but they are charged with not accurately understanding [the truth] when they assert contradictories”.84 As there were excellent pre-Christian philosophers, Justin reasons that they must have been Christians. They namely stuck to reason, which he identifies with Christ.85 “He [Christ] is the Word (λόγον ὄντα) of whom every race of men were partakers; and those who lived reasonably (μετὰ λόγου) are Christians, even though they have been thought atheists; as, among the Greeks, Socrates and Heraclitus, and men like them”.86 In this way, Justin baptizes the Greek intellectual tradition by saying that Christianity does not contradict but

Early Christians on philosophy 101 completes it. This apologetic strategy to seek recognition in the Greco-Roman intellectual milieu continued after Justin.87 The standard picture is that Paul’s, Justin’s and other Christians’ bold claims of Christianity as the supreme philosophy were received with disgust.88 Three famous accounts of Christians are quoted time and again: those of Tacitus,89 Suetonius,90 and Pliny the Younger,91 according to which Christianity is a criminal superstition. However, this is only a partial truth. The Stoic Epictetus, the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, the satirist Lucian, and Galen (the famous physician and philosopher) described Christians more or less positively. The chief indicator of recognition is the fact that Christians are assessed in the category of philosophers – albeit with certain failures. The most positive is Galen, who explicitly mentions “the school of Moses and Christ” (Μωϋσοῦ καὶ Χριστοῦ διατριβή).92 Although Christians belong to the people who are unable to follow demonstrative arguments, they have attained virtue “not inferior to that of genuine philosophers”.93 It would require a more profound analysis to position early Christianity in the intellectual map of the ancient philosophical schools. However, I dare to claim that the biblical texts presented as anti-philosophical actually participate in ancient philosophical discourse. None of the texts (Colossians 2, Acts 17, 1 Corinthians 1–2) present a blatant misrecognition of philosophy in the manner of Tertullian’s Jerusalem/Athens opposition. Justin proves that by the mid-second century at the latest, a Christian could recognize himself as a philosopher. But this development must have begun earlier. The epistle to the Colossians attests that around the year 100 CE, some Christians called their conviction ‘philosophy’. Around the same time, Luke ‘Socratized’ Paul, and in the early second century, Epictetus included the Christians in the category of philosophy, in spite of whatever deficiencies Christianity had from his Stoic point of view. Early Christians recognized ancient philosophy as a legitimate part of their faith, and searched for recognition in their intellectual milieu. The relationship was not equal, as Christianity was a novelty in Greco-Roman culture. Some pagan authors attest to disgust of Christianity. This, however, is not the whole picture. From the early second century onwards, we have also information of pagans granting recognition to Christians. This was the strengthening development, which led finally to the Christianization of the whole Greco-Roman intellectual world in the following centuries. The tradition separating philosophy and religion does not recognize this strong and – I would say – mainstream course of Western history.

Notes 1 The Prescription Against Heretics 7 in The Ante-Nicene Fathers: Transl. of the Writings of the Fathers Down to A.D. 325. Edited by Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson, 1885–1887, 10 vols., repr. (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. 1994), 3.246. Hereafter ANF. 2 D. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe. Weimar 1883 –, 6.458. Hereafter WA. On Luther’s attitude towards Aristotle, see, e.g., Theodor Dieter, Der junge Luther und Aristoteles. Eine historisch-systematische Untersuchung zum Verhältnis von Theologie und Philosophie (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2001). 3 Bertrand Russell, Why I Am Not a Christian and Other Essays on Religion and Related Subjects (New York: Simon and Schuster Inc., 1957), 23.

102  Niko Huttunen 4 On the relationship between religion and philosophy, see, e.g., Gerhard Ebeling, “Theologie und Philosophie II: Historisch”, Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Handwörterbuch für Theologie und Religionswissenschaft IV. Edited by Kurt Galling (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1962), 789–819. 5 The Prescription Against Heretics 7; ANF 3.246. 6 In the Greek Old Testament (Septuagint), philosophers and philosophy are mentioned only in Dan. 1:20 and several times in 4 Macc. According to Otto Michel, “φιλοσοφία, φιλόσοφος”, in Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament IX. Edited by Gerhard Friedrich (Stuttgart: Verlag W. Kohlhammer, 1973), 176 in 4 Macc. 5 King Antiochus and the Jew Eleazar discuss if Judaism can be recognized as a philosophical lifestyle (als φιλοσοφεῖν anerkannt werden kann). 7 Col. 2:8, Holy Bible, Containing the Old and New Testaments with the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books, New Revised Standard Version (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1990). 8 Most scholars assume that Colossians was written after Paul, despite the fact that the epistle presents itself as written by him. On the discussion, see standard scholarly commentaries on the epistle or, e.g., Outi Leppä, The Making of Colossians: A Study on the Formation and Purpose of a Deutero-Pauline Letter, Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 86 (Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society, 2003). 9 Acts 17:17–18. 10 De Anima 5; ANF 3.184–5. On Tertullian’s slogan, its interpretation and his use of philosophy, see, e.g., Eric Osborn, Tertullian: The First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 27–47. 11 Col. 2:16–17. 12 Plato, Republic, Vol. II: Books 6–10. Edited and Translated by Christopher EmlynJones and William Preddy. Loeb Classical Library 276 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013), Republic 514a–518b. 13 Sometimes scholars note that the pair of σῶμα and σκιά is unusual, as one usually speaks of εὶκών instead of σῶμα. There are, however, other examples of pair of σῶμα and σκιά, too (see, e.g., Peter T. O’Brien, Colossians: Philemon (Waco: Word Books Publisher, 1982), 139–140). Moreover, Plato does not use any fixed terminology for the substance in his allegory. 14 Plato, Republic, 517d. 15 Michel, “φιλοσοφία, φιλόσοφος”, 183–4; Lukas Bormann, Der Brief des Paulus an die Kolosser (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2012), 126. 16 O’Brien, Colossians, 109; Bormann, Der Brief, 127. 17 Pierre Hadot, What Is Ancient Philosophy (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2002), 271–2. See Ingrid Maisch, Der Brief an die Gemeinde in Kolossä (Stuttgart: Verlag W. Kohlhammer, 2003), 153: “Philosophie bezeichnet im Hellenismus nicht ein theoretisches Lehrgebäude, sondern ein umfassendes System, das Weltdeutung, Identitätsstiftung, Spiritualität, Einsicht in den rechten Lebensvollzug und sogar magische Praktiken in sich vereinigt.” 18 Gregory E. Sterling, “A Philosophy According to the Elements of the Cosmos. Colossian Christianity and Philo of Alexandria”, in  Philon d’Alexandrie et le langage de la philosophie. Edited by Carlos Lévy. Monothéismes et Philosophie 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1998), 270. 19 Heb. 8:5, 10:1. 20 Karl Olav Sandnes, “Paul and the Socrates: The Aim of Paul’s Areopagus Speech”, Journal for the Study of the New Testament 50 (1993): 20. 21 Justin Martyr, 2 Apology 10; ANF 1.191; David M. Reis, “The Areopagus as Echo Chamber: Mimesis and Intertextuality in Acts 17”, Journal of Higher Criticism 9 (2002), 270–1. 22 In fact, we do not know the name of the author who is responsible for Acts and the Gospel bearing Luke’s name. The scholarly commentaries discuss the question of authorship.

Early Christians on philosophy  103 23 Xenophon, Memorabilia. Oeconomicus. Symposium. Apology.  Translated by E. C. Marchant and O. J. Todd, rev, Jeffrey Henderson. Loeb Classical Library 168 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013), Memorabilia 1.1.10. 24 Plato, Apologia 33a in Plato, Euthyphro. Apology. Crito. Phaedo. Phaedrus. Translated by Harold North Fowler. Loeb Classical Library 36 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1914). 25 Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.1.1; Plato, Apologia 24c. 26 Acts 17:19. 27 C. K. Barrett, The Acts of Apostles II, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary (London: T&T Clark London, 2004), 831–2. 28 Ibid., 831. 29 Reis 2002, 260, 273–4. 30 Plato, Apology 17a; Acts 17:22. 31 Lucian, Dream 12 in Lucian. The Dead Come to Life or the Fisherman. The Double Indictment or Trials by Jury. On Sacrifices. The Ignorant Book Collector. The Dream or Lucian’s Career. The Parasite. The Lover of Lies. The Judgement of the Goddesses. On Salaried Posts in Great Houses. Translated by A.M. Harmon. Loeb Classical Library 130 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1921); Sandnes, “Paul and Socrates”, 22. 32 A.A. Long, “Socrates in Hellenistic Philosophy”, The Classical Quarterly 38 (1988): 151, 160–1. Long also states: “Socrates’ presence in Epictetus’ Discourses – which I must pass over here – could be the topic of a monograph”, 150. This task was completed in 2002 in his book Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002). 33 Long, “Socrates”, 155. 34 Scholars routinely note the Stoic colouring of the speech. See, e.g., Barrett, The Acts of Apostles. This does not exclude, however, the possibility of also finding parallels with the Jewish texts. 35 Acts 17:28. 36 Aratus, Phaenomena 1–5 in Callimachus, Lycophron, Aratus. Hymns and Epigrams. Lycophron: Alexandra. Aratus: Phaenomena.  Translated by  A. W. Mair, G. R. Mair, Loeb Classical Library 129 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1921). 37 Marco Fantuzzi, “Aratos”, in Der Neue Pauly: Enzyklopädie der Antike I. Edited by Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider (Stuttgart: J.B. Metzler, 1996), 959–60. 38 Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica 13.12.1–8 in Eusèbe de Césarée, La Préparation Évangélique, Livres XII – XIII. Edited and Translated by Édouard des Places, Sources Chrétiennes 307 (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1983). 39 Acts 17:28. 40 Acts 17:30. 41 Long, “Socrates”, 158. 42 Plato, Apology 31a. One may note that the idea of a prophecy did not sound strange to Stoic ears. The Stoics firmly believed in divination, and Cicero tells that the Stoic Antipater “gathered a mass of remarkable premonitions received by Socrates” (De divinatione 1.123; Cicero: De Senectute, De Amicitia, De Divinatione, translated by William Armistead Falconer. London: William Heinemann, 1959, 359). 43 Plato, Apology, 38b; Xenophon, Apologia, 27–8. 44 Reis, “The Areopagus”, 272–3. 45 Hubert Cancik, “The History of Culture, Religion, and Institutions in Ancient Historiography: Philological Observations Concerning Luke’s History”, Journal of Biblical Literature 116 (1997): 693. 46 Contrary to Colossians, the authorship of 1 Corinthians is not disputed. The author is Paul himself. 47 1 Cor. 1:20. 48 1 Cor. 2:1. 49 1 Cor. 2:2. 50 1 Cor. 2:6.

104  Niko Huttunen 51 1 Cor. 2:5. 52 1 Cor. 2:13. 53 Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, The New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1987), 68. 54 Long, “Socrates”, 152. For example, Long, Epictetus, 70 suggests that the Stoic Epictetus “knew the Gorgias more or less by heart”. 55 Some have seen similarities between Paul and the Stoics (e.g.,  Troels EngbergPedersen, Paul and the Stoics [Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000] and Troels Engberg-Peders, Cosmology and Self in Apostle Paul: The Material Spirit [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010]; Niko Huttunen, Paul and Epictetus on Law: A Comparison, Library of the New Testament Studies 405 [London: T&T Clark, 2009]; Runar M. Thorsteinsson, Roman Christianity and Roman Stoicism: A Comparative Study of Ancient Morality [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010]), others between Paul and the Platonists (e.g., George H. van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context: The Image of God, Assimilation to God, and Tripartite Man in Ancient Judaism, Ancient Philosophy and Early Christianity, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 232 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008]; Emma Wasserman, The Death of Soul in Romans 7: Sin, Death, and the Law in Light of Hellenistic Moral Psychology, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 2, Reihe 256 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008]). F. Downing Gerald, Cynics, Paul and the Pauline Churches: Cynics and Christian Origins II (London: Routledge, 1998) prefers the Cynic Paul. 56 Fee, The First Epistle, 73. 57 Plato, Apology, 23a. 58 Plato, Sophist, 268c–d. 59 It is possible that Ion was not written by Plato himself, but somewhat after him (Holger Thesleff, Studies in Platonic Chronology, Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum 70 (Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1982), 221–3). 60 Plato, Ion, 534c–d. 61 Plato, Republic, 600e. 62 Thesleff, Studies, 222. 63 Xenophon, Apology, 13. 64 Long (“Socrates”, 151) holds it certain that “Epictetus has reflected hard on the Socratic writings of Plato and Xenophon.” 65 Epictetus, Discourses, 3.1.36–7 in Epictetus, Discourses, Books 3–4: Fragments. The Encheiridion. Translated by. W.A. Oldfather. Loeb Classical Library 218 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1928). 66 Huttunen, Paul and Epictetus, 21. 67 Adolf Bonhöffer, Epictet und die Stoa: Untersuchungen zur stoischen Philosophie, 83–6. Bonhöffer’s work is still worth consulting, despite its age. He profoundly contextualizes the philosophical concepts Epictetus uses. 68 In Romans, there is a closer parallel to Epictetus. Paul presents the devotion to the rational cult (τὴν λογικὴν λατρείαν) as an ideal (Rom. 12:1), similarly to Epictetus (Discourses 1.6.20 in Epictetus, Discourses, Books 1–2. Translated by W.A. Oldfather. Loeb Classical Library 131 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1925). 69 1 Cor. 2:10–16. On the cognitive role of the Spirit and its relationship to Stoicism, see Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology, 76–80. 70 Stoicorum veterum fragmenta. Edited by Ioannes ab Armin (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1903–24), 1.121.6; 2.112.31; 2.299.11; 2.306.21; 2.307.21. In Epictetus’ texts, the word πνεῦμα or its derivatives occur only in Discourses 2.1.17; 2.23.3; 3.3.22; 3.13.15. 71 1 Cor. 2:1–2. Paul’s word order is somewhat surprising. The more precise translation may be “I did not decide to know something . . .”, but I do not see any difference in the meaning. On the translation, see Anthony C. Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, The New International Greek Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000), 211–2.

Early Christians on philosophy 105 72 Fee, The First Epistle, 92. 73 Plato, Apology, 21b, d. 74 The former sentence (οὔτε μέγα οὔτε σμικρὸν ξύνοιδα ἐμαυτῷ σοφὸς ὤν) is close to 1 Cor. 4:4 (οὐδὲν γὰρ ἐμαυτῷ σύνοιδα). 75 Thiselton, The First Epistle, 212. 76 On the Sceptic and the Stoic interpretations of Socrates, see Long, “Socrates”, 156–60. 77 1 Cor. 2:12. 78 1 Cor. 1:1. 79 1 Cor. 2:7. 80 Hadot, Ancient Philosophy, 149–53. 81 Runar M. Thorsteinsson, “By Philosophy Alone: Reassessing Justin’s Christianity and His Turn from Platonism”, Early Christianity 3 (2012): 496, 502. 82 Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho 8; ANF 1.198. 83 Thorsteinsson, “Philosophy Alone”, 509; cf. Anders Klostergaard Petersen 2017, “Plato’s Philosophy – Why Not Just Platonic Religion?” in Religio-Philosopical Discourses. Edited by Anders Kolstergaard Petersen and George H. van Kooten, Ancient Philosophy & Religion 1 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 11–12: “Justin did not conceive of Christianity as something so different from philosophy that it would preclude a description of Christianity in terms of philosophy.” 84 Justin Martyr, First Apology, 44; ANF 1.177. 85 cf. John 1:1–3. 86 Justin Martyr, First Apology, 46; ANF, 1.178. 87 Hadot, Ancient Philosophy, 239–40. 88 See, e.g., John Granger Cook, Roman Attitudes Towards the Christians: From Claudius to Hadrian, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 261 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 2. 89 Tacitus, Annals, 15.44.2–5 in Tacitus, The Annals, with an English Translated by J. Jackson I–IV. LCL. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1962–1963). 90 Suetonius Lives of the Twelve Caesars, Nero 16 in Suetonius, Lives of the Twelve Caesars. Translated by J.C. Rolfe II. LCL. (London: William Heinemann, 1965). 91 Pliny the Younger Epistles 10.96 in Pliny, Letters. Translated by W. Melmoth, rev. W.M.L. Hutchinson. LCL (London: William Heinemann, 1961–1963). 92 De pulsuum differentiis; Galen. Claudii Galeni opera omnia 8. Edited by Karl Gottlob Kühn (Leipzig: Car. Cnoblochius. 1824), 579. 93 Niko Huttunen, “In the Category of Philosophy: Christians in Early Pagan Accounts”, in Others and the Construction of Early Christian Idnetities. Edited by Raimo Hakola, Nina Nikki and Ulla Tervahauta, Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 106 (Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society, 2013), 239–81 and Niko Huttunen, “Epictetus’ Views on Christians: A Closed Case Revisited”, in Religio-Philosophical Discourses. Edited by Petersen and van Kooten, 306–22. Translation of Galen’s text is based on several versions, see R. Walzer, Galen on Jews and Christians (London: Oxford University Press, 1949), 15–16.

References Sources ANF = The Ante-Nicene Fathers: Transl. of the Writings of the Fathers Down to A.D. 325. Edited by Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson. 1885–1887. 10 vols. Reprint. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. 1994. Callimachus, Lycophron, Aratus.  Hymns and Epigrams. Lycophron: Alexandra. Aratus: Phaenomena.  Translated by  A.W. Mair and G.R. Mair. Loeb Classical Library 129. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1921.

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Early Christians on philosophy  107 Bonhöffer, Adolf. Epictet und die Stoa: Untersuchungen zur stoischen Philosophie. Stuttgart: Verlag von Ferdinand Enke, 1890. Bormann, Lukas. Der Brief des Paulus an die Kolosser. Theologischer Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament X/1. Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2012. Cancik, Hubert. “The History of Culture, Religion, and Institutions in Ancient Historiography: Philological Observations Concerning Luke’s History.” Journal of Biblical Literature 116 (1997): 673–95. Cook, John Granger. Roman Attitudes Toward the Christians. From Claudius to Hadrian. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 261. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010. Dieter, Theodor. Der junge Luther und Aristoteles. Eine historisch-systematische Untersuchung zum Verhältnis von Theologie und Philosophie. Theologische Bibliothek Töpelmann. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2001. Downing, F. Gerald. Cynics, Paul and the Pauline Churches. Cynics and Christian Origins II. London: Routledge, 1998. Ebeling, Gerhard. “Theologie und Philosophie II: Historisch.” In Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Handwörterbuch für Theologie und Religionswissenschaft IV, edited by Kurt Galling, 789–819. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1962. Engberg-Pedersen, Troels. Paul and the Stoics. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000. ———. Cosmology and Self in Apostle Paul. The Material Spirit. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Fantuzzi, Marco. “Aratos.” In Der Neue Pauly: Enzyklopädie der Antike I, edited by Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider, 957–62. Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler, 1996. Fee, Gordon D. The First Epistle to the Corinthians. The New International Commentary on the New Testament. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1987. Hadot, Pierre. What Is Ancient Philosophy. Translated by Michael Chase. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2002. Huttunen, Niko. Paul and Epictetus on Law: A Comparison. Library of the New Testament Studies 405. London: T&T Clark, 2009. ———. “In the Category of Philosophy: Christians in Early Pagan Accounts.” In Others and the Construction of Early Christian Identities, edited by Raimo Hakola, Nina Nikki, and Ulla Tervahauta, 239–81. Helsinki: Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 106, 2013. ———. “Epictetus’ Views on Christians: A Closed Case Revisited.” In Religio-Philosophical Discourses in the Mediterranean World, edited by Anders Kolstergaard Petersen and George H. van Kooten, 306–22. Ancient Philosophy & Religion 1. Leiden: Brill, 2017. Klostergaard Petersen, Anders. “Plato’s Philosophy – Why Not Just Platonic Religion?” In Religio-Philosophical Discourses in the Mediterranean World, edited by Anders Kolstergaard Petersen and George H. van Kooten, 9–36. Ancient Philosophy & Religion 1. Leiden: Brill, 2017. Kooten, George H. van. Paul’s Anthropology in Context. The Image of God, Assimilation to God, and Tripartite Man in Ancient Judaism, Ancient Philosophy and Early Christianity. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 232. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008. Leppä, Outi. The Making of Colossians. A Study on the Formation and Purpose of a Deutero-Pauline Letter. Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 86. Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society, 2003. Long, A.A. “Socrates in Hellenistic Philosophy.” The Classical Quarterly 38 (1988): 150–71.

108  Niko Huttunen ———. Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002. Maisch, Ingrid. Der Brief an die Gemeinde in Kolossä. Theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament 12. Stuttgart: Verlag W. Kohlhammer, 2003. Michel, Otto. “φιλοσοφία, φιλόσοφος.” In Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament IX, edited by Gerhard Friedrich. Stuttgart: Verlag W. Kohlhammer, 1973. O’Brien, Peter T. Colossians, Philemon. Word Biblical Commentary 44. Waco: Word Books Publisher, 1982. Osborn, Eric. Tertullian: The First Theologian of the West. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Reis, David M. “The Areopagus as Echo Chamber: Mimesis and Intertextuality in Acts 17.” Journal of Higher Criticism 9 (2002): 259–77. Russell, Bertrand. Why I Am Not a Christian and Other Essays on Religion and Related Subjects. Edited, with an Appendix on “the Bertrand Russell case” by Paul Edwards. New York: Simon and Schuster Inc, 1957. Sandnes, Karl Olav. “Paul and Socrates: The Aim of Paul’s Areopagus Speech.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 50 (1993): 13–26. Sterling, Gregory E. “A Philosophy According to the Elements of the Cosmos. Colossian Christianity and Philo of Alexandria.” In Philon d’Alexandrie et le langage de la philosophie, edited by Carlos Lévy. Monothéismes et Philosophie 1. Turnhout: Brepols, 1998. Thesleff, Holger. Studies in Platonic Chronology. Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum 70. Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1982. Thiselton, Anthony C. The First Epistle to the Corinthians. The New International Greek Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000. Thorsteinsson, Runar M. Roman Christianity and Roman Stoicism: A Comparative Study of Ancient Morality. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. ———. “By Philosophy Alone: Reassessing Justin’s Christianity and His Turn from Platonism.” Early Christianity 3 (2012): 492–517. Walzer, R. Galen on Jews and Christians. London: Oxford University Press, 1949. Wasserman, Emma. The Death of Soul in Romans 7: Sin, Death, and the Law in Light of Hellenistic Moral Psychology. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 2. Reihe 256. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008.

6 Recognition through persuasion An aspect of late antique religious controversy1 Mar Marcos

The emergence of Christianity in the religious landscape of the ancient Mediterranean triggered the first reflections on coexistence between diverse religious groups. Persecution gave rise to the first inter-religious dialogue with the production of a significant volume of apologetic texts in which Christians presented their case for recognition on the basis – among other arguments – of the superiority of persuasion (peitho) over force (bia). The conversion of Constantine and the new status of Christianity in the Empire, first as a licit religion and then as the sole authorized one, changed the Christian discourse regarding religious freedom, bringing an appreciation of the advantages of coercion. At the end of Antiquity, there were pagans, heretics, and other persecuted groups that advocated the use of persuasion against the coercive power of ecclesiastical hierarchy and imperial law. The purpose of this paper is to study the emergence and use of the rhetoric of persuasion as a means of recognition in late antique religious controversy. Departing from an excursus by Athanasius of Alexandria against imperial coercion written in the context of the Arian controversy, I study the classical Greek opposition between peitho and bia, and its use in both Christian and pagan apologetics that transfer this rhetorical argument from the political and philosophical domain to religious polemic.

‘To force and compel the unwilling’: an excursus of Athanasius on religious coercion In the History of the Arians,2 written in the winter of 357 CE, Athanasius, the bishop of Alexandria, who was then in his third exile as a consequence of the Arian controversy, makes an excursus on the value of persuasion over coercion in the matter of religion: Now if it was altogether unseemly in any of the bishops to change their opinions merely from fear of these things, yet it was much more so, and not the part of men who have confidence in what they believe, to force and compel the unwilling. In this manner it is that the Devil, when he has no truth on his side, attacks and breaks down the doors of them that admit him with axes and hammers. But our Saviour is so gentle that He teaches thus, “If any man wills

110  Mar Marcos to come after Me,” and, “Whoever wills to be My disciple;” and coming to each He does not force them, but knocks at the door and says, “Open unto Me, My sister, My spouse;” and if they open to Him, He enters in, but if they delay and will not, He departs from them. For the truth is not preached with swords or with darts, nor by means of soldiers; but by persuasion and counsel.3 The HA, the most polemical of Athanasius’ extant works, narrates the persecution of Nicene bishops from the council of Tyre in 335, when Arius was exonerated of the charge of heresy, to 356, when Athanasius began his third exile.4 The account focuses upon the latter years in that period, when the emperor Constantius’ antiNicene policy was exacerbated by the banishment of several western bishops who supported Athanasius’ case. More than a history of the Arian controversy, the HA is an invective against Constantius, whom Athanasius insults with a parrhesia that shocks modern readers. Cruel, impious, ignorant of religion, the patron of heresy, the precursor of the Antichrist. . . . Constantius was the prototype of a tyrant, an appalling ruler who, unable to reach consensus among his subjects through persuasion, appealed to force to impose his theological views.5 Athanasius bases his defence of persuasion on a choice of biblical passages at first sight not particularly relevant for the topic. The first one is Psalm 74:3–7, a lament for the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple by Nebuchadnezzar: Lift up thy feet unto the perpetual desolation; even all that the enemy hath done wickedly in the sanctuary. Thine enemies roar in the midst of thy congregations; they set up their ensigns for signs. A man was famous according as he had lifted up axes upon the thick trees. But now they break down the carved work thereof at once with axes and hammers. They have cast fire into thy sanctuary, they have defiled by casting down the dwelling place of thy name to the ground.6 Athanasius then reminds readers how gentle (praos) the Lord is, citing Matthew 16:24 (“Then said Jesus unto his disciples, if any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me”)7 and Song of Songs 5:2 (“I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night”.)8 to argue that truth should be preached only by persuasion (peitho) and counsel (symboulia). Even King David, who held his enemy (Saul) in his power, did not prevent his soldiers from killing him by exercising his authority but by persuading them with reasoned arguments (logoi).9 Constantius, in contrast, lacking logos, coerces through the weight of his power (exousia). The excursus, which is unique in Athanasius’ works, reaches its sense against the background of a long rhetorical tradition, starting in classical Greek political thought, that opposed persuasion to coercion, distinguishing what was morally acceptable or reprehensible, civilization from barbarism. In the following pages, I will study the long journey of this pair of opposites from classical Greek thought to late antique religious debate.

Recognition through persuasion 111

The game of opposites: peitho and bia in classical Greek thought The Athenians venerated Peitho as the goddess who personified erotic seduction and persuasion.10 Peitho, whose worship was thought to have been introduced by Theseus, the founding hero of Athens, had a temple with her mother Aphrodite on the slope of the Acropolis and came to represent rhetorical persuasion; the Romans converted her into Suada.11 By the fifth century BCE, Peitho was associated with the political context in connection with the power of logos.12 A personified Peitho is often represented in vase-painting beside Aphrodite in scenes depicting the story of love of Endymion and Selene and of Paris and Helen.13 In his Coniugalia Praecepta (Precepts for Married People), Plutarch relates the erotic aspect of Peitho with her rhetorical powers. The Greeks, he says, set up statues to Peitho, Aphrodite and the Graces so that married people succeed in reaching their mutual desires by persuasion and not quarrelling.14 In Greek literature, peitho appears often together with its opposite bia, the personification of force and compulsion.15 Plutarch narrates that Themistocles made himself hateful to the Athenian allies by exacting money from them; on occasion, when he tried to do so from the inhabitants of the island of Andros, he made a speech saying that he came escorting two gods, Peitho and Bia; the Andrians replied that they already had two great gods, Penia (Penury) and Aporia (Powerlessness), who prevented them from giving him money.16 In Lysias’ Funeral Oration, peitho is the quality that distinguishes humans from animals, which are characterized by violence. Plato’s Crito, which dramatizes the impossibility of persuasion at the same time as its necessity, applauds the use of peitho, whereas bia is regarded as morally reprehensible; peitho represents civilization, while bia characterizes uncivilized behaviour and barbarism. It is the same in Isocrates’ Antidosis, where the Greeks use peitho while barbarians do not. For the Greeks, societies that function without the benefits of peitho are condemned to violence and tyranny, whereas peitho is associated with nomos (law) and dike ( justice).17 Bia was also a divinity in Greece, the daughter of Styx and Pallas, who had a consecrated site (hieron) on the road up to Acrocorinth, close to a shrine of Ananke (Compulsion), into which, Pausanias says, it was not customary to enter.18 Good citizens, and in particular good rulers, distinguished themselves by the ability to persuade by means of a reasoned and argumentative discourse. For Aristotle, rhetoric was the art and science that deals with persuasion. Among the three technical means of persuasion that he singles out (ethos, pathos, and logos), Christians, as will be seen, opted for logos, the persuasive speech that reveals truth.

The rhetoric of persuasion in early Christian apologetics The persecution of Christians, which extended from the second century to the reign of Constantine, stimulated the production of a large number of apologetic and polemical works aimed at defending Christianity against external attacks, whether perceived or real.19 Varied though they are in their literary forms, internal structure, and argumentative strategies, apologetic texts – at the same time that

112  Mar Marcos they refute the charges brought against Christians – reflect on the Christian ethos, helping to forge their self-identity. The apologists, most of them converted from philosophy, use Greek rhetoric and theoretical training in the articulation of a discourse that revolved around the relationship between Christianity and other religions in an attempt to gain social respect and legal recognition. As in the case of Judaism, Christians of the first centuries, a minority sect, took for granted the need to coexist with other cults and, despite their universalistic ambitions and their combative attitude towards traditional worship, nothing indicates that they thought of replacing the state religion or Greco-Roman polytheism. Divided into multiple churches with significant differences both of doctrine and liturgy, Christians did not have a homogeneous position regarding the various religions of the Empire. All that apologists sought was to achieve recognition by the state, which led them to reflect on religious coexistence and to articulate a discourse that may be valid both to an external and internal audience. Until the spread of Christianity, religious debate, focused on theological and ethical issues (e.g., Cicero, On the nature of the gods), had remained in the philosophical sphere. Mutual recognition had not been a subject of concern in GrecoRoman society, which was preeminently inclusive in religious matters.20 Several arguments were brought forward. The first was the traditional pluralism of the Greco-Roman world and the consideration of religion as inherent to ethnic identity. Greek apologists in particular employ the argument of ethno-religious diversity to claim from the emperors the same toleration that Rome had always shown towards national religions. Adopting classical parameters on race and religion, Christians presented themselves as a ‘nation’ (ethnos, natio), a ‘third race’ (tertium genus), next to the Greeks and the Jews and in contrast to them, a nation defined only by its religious practices.21 To counter the charges of atheism, misanthropy, and disloyalty to the Empire, apologists insist on Christians’ devotion to the emperors and on the benefits of Christianity to the state. Christians are excellent citizens, pay their taxes, and show the greatest respect for the social order. They are, indeed, the best citizens because they worship the true God. For Tertullian, writing at the turn of the second to the third century, their character as loyal citizens compels the emperors to guarantee religious freedom for Christians, on an equal footing with other citizens, whom – even if they practice abhorrent rites like the Egyptians, or criticize Roman religion like philosophers – Rome has never persecuted.22 With an excellent rhetorical training, the apologists, particularly the Greeks, took up the classical Greek rhetoric of persuasion, extolling tolerance as reasonable and civilized against the irrationality and barbarism of persecution. By the middle of the second century, Justin Martyr requests the emperor Antoninus Pius not to get carried by violence (bia) and tyranny (tyrannia), but by piety (eusebeia) and philosophy (philosophia).23 Athenagoras addresses Marcus Aurelius and Commodus as ‘most philanthropic’ (philanthropotatoi) emperors, the ‘lovers of knowledge’ (philomathestatoi) and ‘truth’ (philaletheioi).24 To prohibit Christianity, Tertullian argues, is not philanthropic, but proof of a violent and unjust tyranny.25

Recognition through persuasion  113 Greek apologists appeal to the classical dichotomy peitho/bia. The anonymous writer of the Letter to Diognetus, dated to the second or the third century, remarks that “God sent His Son to persuade us, not to compel us, because violence has no place in the character of God”.26 Justin presents Christians as a generous people who pray for their enemies and “try to persuade those who hate them unfairly to convert”.27 Origen, in the third century, advances the same argument: “We kindly seek to convert those who are blind on the subject of religion”. However, with the goal of improving humankind, Origen admits that Christians “sometimes use threats and punishments, as we believe they are necessary and, perhaps, useful”.28 Origen anticipates a form of reasoning (that of the efficacy of coercion) which we shall see flourishing in the Christian Empire. It was, however, Tertullian, followed closely by Lactantius, who best developed the argument of the irrationality of coercion, putting the emphasis on the voluntariness of religion and the requirement of free will as a condition for a religious act to be valid. Tertullian, influenced by Stoicism, appeals to freedom of conscience for the individual to make a religious choice. He is also the first apologist to use the expression libertas religionis: Let one man worship God, another Jove; let this man raise suppliant hands to heaven, that man to the altar of Fides; let one (if you so suppose) count the clouds as he prays, another the panels of the ceiling; let one dedicate his own soul to his god, another a goat’s. Look to it, whether this also may form part of the accusation of irreligion – to do away with freedom of religion, to forbid a man choice of deity, so that I may not worship whom I would, but am forced to worship whom I would not. No one, not even a man, will wish to receive reluctant worship.29 After some decades of peace, the persecution initiated by Diocletian in 303 reopened the debate on the status of the Christians in a traditionally polytheistic state which required from its subjects some religious commitments that Christians could not meet. The Neoplatonist philosopher Porphyry of Tyre wondered if Christians, who had turned away from the ancestral gods, choosing impiety and atheism, should be considered worthy of tolerance (syngnome) or, instead, should be deservedly punished.30 Lactantius, a rhetor recently converted to Christianity and an eyewitness to persecution, responds in the fifth book of the Divine Institutes, devoted to the theme of justice, to the attacks by Porphyry (who is not mentioned by name) and other anti-Christian propagandists and activists, such as the provincial governor Hierocles. In his plea against persecution, with its defence of freedom of worship, Lactantius mainly depends on Tertullian and does not afford new arguments on the subject. His originality lies in his insistence on the value of persuasion and dialogue for mutual recognition, and against the use of coercion, a plea that is unique in ancient literature. Religion, he argues, should be a free choice and fully voluntary.31 Instead, pagans do not use dialogue and reasoning to attract Christians, but violence and tortures, against human dignity. Lactantius invites his opponents to draw up their arguments and meet Christians

114  Mar Marcos in a face-to-face discussion, since truth cannot be joined with force nor justice with cruelty, but with words.32 Both Tertullian and Lactantius make a claim for religious freedom – everyone has the right to practice the religion they think is true – but not for toleration, based on the recognition of the individual’s right to practice a religion that the ‘tolerant’ person considers as false. The notion of toleration was at the time far from the Christian mentality, which strongly opposed truth to error: and error included both pagans and heretics. Having invented the idea of ​​religious freedom, Christians never came to internalize it.33 The rhetoric of persuasion, however, survived the profound changes brought about by the conversion of Constantine, and for a long time it was wielded – if not the only allowed tool for conversion, as the preferred one.

Constantine and the rhetoric of persuasion The conversion of Constantine in 312 freed Christians from the threat of persecution and thus of the need to argue for recognition, while the emperor’s personal interest in sponsoring the Church granted them advantages unimaginable a few years earlier. Constantine, however, maintained a balanced religious policy that he promoted in his writings making an extensive use of the arguments coined by Christian apologetic  – the influence of Lactantius in his anti-heretic legislation is proved, but Constantine may have read other apologetic literature, which, as we shall see ahead, has left a recognizable mark in his religious legislation. The opposition between peitho and bia was one of the pillars in the building of his own image as a civilized and tolerant prince. Raised in a polytheistic culture and guided by the search for consensus, Constantine supported Christianity without thereby expressing actual hostility against traditional cults.34 Freedom of religion was on the basis of the so-called Edict of Milan in 313, which recognized religious plurality as a guarantee that divinity would obtain due reverence, as well as for the sake of peace and the welfare of the state. Constantine recognized freedom of choice and announced a policy of toleration to which he remained faithful throughout his reign. In spite of his dislike for pagan ritual and in particular for animal sacrifice, it is not proven that Constantine came to prohibit it, while during his reign the link between traditional cults and the state was maintained. According to the declaration of religious freedom (eleutheria tes threskeias, in the Greek version of Eusebius, Church History 10.5.2, equivalent to the Latin libertas religionis found in Tertullian) with which he began his government, Constantine manifests himself repeatedly against coercion. The emperor, Eusebius says, liked to surround himself with a regular audience that included pagan philosophers, for debate on religion. Even on his deathbed, he spoke on the subject of the soul’s immortality and other matters relating to polytheism, reaching some success among his pagan audience.35 As soon as he eliminated his last rival, Licinius, in 324, and took the government of the Eastern Empire, Constantine addressed a long letter to the inhabitants

Recognition through persuasion 115 of the provinces now under his control, who may have feared the worst from an avowedly Christian ruler.36 Constantine announced his intention to implement a policy of toleration: For the general good of the world and of all mankind I desire that your people be at peace and stay free from strife. Let those in error, as well as the believers, gladly receive the benefit of peace and quiet. For this sweetness for fellowship will be effective for correcting them and bringing them to the right way. May none molest another; may each retain what his soul desires, and practice it. But persons of good sense ought to be convinced that those alone will live a holy and pure life, whom you call to rely on your holy laws. Those who hold themselves back, let them keep if they wish their sanctuaries of falsehood. To us belong the shinning house of your truth, which you have given in accordance with nature. This we pray also for them, that by means of the general concord they too may enjoy what they desire.37 However, let no one use what he has received by inner conviction as a means to harm his neighbour . . . it is one thing to take on willingly the contest for immortality, quite another to enforce it with sanctions.38 The edict, however, should be read in its proper context. Before those (pagans) defiant of his religious policy, Constantine presents himself as a mild emperor who will rule for all his subjects. But his tone is quite different when dealing with the Jews, a “nefarious and deadly sect”,39 and with the newly created legal category of heretics and schismatics, whom he qualifies as an idle folly, a venomous poison, an epidemic disease, a polluted and destructive deviance, the opponents of truth and the enemies of life.40 To suppress heresy and get reconciliation within the Church, Constantine advocates a balanced combination of persuasion and coercion. This is what he writes to Arius and Alexander, bishop of Alexandria, in 324, at the beginning of the Arian controversy: My first concern was that the attitude towards the Divinity of all the provinces should be united in one consistent view, and my second that I might restore and heal the body of the republic which lay severely wounded. In making provision for these objects, I began to think out the former with the hidden eye of reason, and I tried to rectify the latter by the power of the military arm. I knew that if I were to establish a general concord among the servants of God in accordance with my prayers, the course of public affairs would also enjoy the change consonant with the pious desires of all.41 On the death of Constantine in 337, the policy of religious consent virtually came to an end. The divergent theological inclinations of his sons, the pro-Nicene Constans in the West and the pro-Arian Constantius in the East, divided the Church for decades, a breach that was not closed until the reign of Theodosius and after firm imperial interventions.42 The reign of Constantius as a sole ruler (350–361) was marked by intense doctrinal disputes and by imperial coercion. Outsider

116  Mar Marcos observers, like the historian Ammianus Marcellinus, considered Constantius an agent provocateur of the religious agitation of his time: The plain and simple religion of the Christians he obscured by a dotard’s superstition, and by subtle and involved discussions about dogma, rather than by seriously trying to make them agree, he aroused many controversies; and as these spread more and more, he fed them with contentious words. And since throngs of bishops hastened hither and thither on the public post-horses to the various synods, as they call them, while he sought to make the whole ritual conform to his own will, he cut the sinews of the courier-service.43 Athanasius fell victim to Constantius’ persecution. His excursus opposing persuasion to coercion (discussed in the beginning of this article) relies on previous apologetic tradition, and only his choice of biblical citations is original. Its novelty resides in the addressee, a Christian emperor whom Athanasius transforms into a tyrant on account of his religious politics.

Julian and the ideal of the civilized prince The reign of Julian (361–363) brought the temporary suspension of the privileges of Christians, while the ‘Apostate’ emperor did his best to revitalize traditional cults. One of Julian’s first measures as the emperor was to decree religious freedom and the return of the bishops exiled under his predecessor Constantius. Julian’s measures, however, did not achieve reconciliation, but provoked more unrest. Perhaps, as Ammianus and Christian historiography suggest, it was not reconciliation which Julian pursued when he called back the exiles, but the creation of more rivalry among bishops.44 Christians, in any case, perceived Julian’s regime not only as sectarian and intolerant, but as a true persecution, an opinion shared also by a good part of modern historiography.45 The conflict between pagans and Christians, and among Christians themselves, persisted under Julian, marked by several violent episodes: Mark of Arethusa was tortured and put to dead by a pagan mob for having destroyed a temple;46 bishop George of Alexandria was lynched by Athanasius’ supporters.47 This fact, and the awareness that his religious policy called his reputation into question, led Julian to declare his opposition to any form of coercion.48 In a letter to the Christians of Bostra, in Arabia, he states that he does not permit anyone to be forced to altars against his will (akonta), proclaiming that anyone could voluntarily (ekon) take part in the traditional ceremonies after offering sacrifices of purification.49 Julian asks the Christians of Edessa to abstain from using violence in reciprocation for the good treatment they had received under his rule: I have behaved with so much friendliness and kindness (praos kai philanthropos) to all the Galileans that none of them has suffered violence (bia) anywhere, or has been dragged to the temples or any other place against their will.50

Recognition through persuasion  117 Educated in Hellenism, Julian, who wished to emulate the emperor-philosopher Marcus Aurelius, did not want to be thought a tyrant. Many of his writings are devoted to explaining his political decisions, presenting himself as a civilized ruler, distinguished by virtues such as humanity (philanthropia), mildness (epieikeia), and gentleness (praotes).51 For Julian, Christianity was an illness that should be cured. But, even if it was within the ruler’s competence to force Christians to be healed against their will, he asserts that in no way were they to be compelled.52 Julian died on the battlefield while campaigning against the Persians. His reign, and in particular his religious policy, were the object of immediate controversy. For his admirer Ammianus Marcellinus, who gives little importance to religious matters in his Res Gestae, Julian embodied the ideal king and had been an example of tolerance and gentleness (patientia et lenitudo). The rhetor Libanius, who appreciated also Julian’s culture and shared his dislike for the Christians, praises him in his Funeral Oration for having avoided coercion and violence. For the historian Eutropius, who was a member of Julian’s army, his policy against the Christians was a persecution, although Julian being in all his actions a civilized person (civilis in cunctos) and desirous of glory (gloriae avidus), he refrained himself from using violence (cruore abstineret).53 Julian’s opponents, however, were not willing to recognize those qualities. The binary peitho/bia was recalled by the most formidable of his detractors, the bishop Gregory of Nazianzus, who soon after Julian’s death wrote two long invectives aimed at demolishing his reputation as a philosopher-king.54 Gregory accuses Julian of having being a cruel and refined persecutor, who did not dare to make open war to the Christians only out of fear of being judged a despot: That thing, however, was very bad and ill-natured in him, when not being able to persuade us openly, and being ashamed to use force like a tyrant, he disguised the foe in the lion’s skin, or if you like it better, he disguised in the mask of Menos, a measure most unjust. What is the proper name for it? He forced with gentleness.55 Julian may have taken care of preserving an image of tolerance by delegating to others (officials, civic authorities, and crowds) the exercise of coercion: But he, as though he were about to deprive us of a very great honour (for the vulgar always judge of other people’s feelings by their own), particularly persecuted this reputation of ours: neither did he, in common with former persecutors magnanimously proclaim his own impiety: nor does he (if not like a sovereign, at any rate like a tyrant), take his measures about us, in the way of one who thought it a fine thing to force impiety upon the nations of the world, and to tyrannize over a creed that had vanquished all other creeds – he attacks our religion in a very rascally and ungenerous way, and introduces into his persecution the traps and snares concealed in arguments. Consequently, as power is divided into two parts, persuasion and force (peithein kai biazesthai), and what was yet more inhuman, he made over the exercise of his

118  Mar Marcos tyranny to mobs and to towns, of whom the frenzy is less open to blame on account of their want of reason, and inconsiderate impetuosity in everything; and this he did, not by means of a public order, but by not repressing their outbreaks, making their will and pleasure an unwritten law.56 Julian’s successor was again a Christian emperor, Jovian, whose arrival opened a new period of uncertainty. Christians from various sects anxiously approached him to present their case, while pagans may have feared some sort of retaliation. The Hellenist philosopher Themistius was deputed by the Senate of Constantinople to deliver an oration that may celebrate Jovian’s first consulate.57 Themistius praises the emperor for his declaration of tolerance in a law issued shortly after his appointment, while at the same time exhorting him to keep that policy. Themistius advances also several arguments in favour of toleration: the fact that the Roman Empire has always been religiously diverse, the variety of cults as a natural thing wanted by divinity, the emperors’ obligation to rule for all their subjects independently of their religion, the existence of multiple roads to reach divinity, the advantages of religious competition, and also the uselessness of coercion. No individual, concludes Themistius, holds exactly the same beliefs as his neighbour. One believes one thing and the other believes something different. So, why use force when it achieves nothing?58

Augustine on the power of words During his episcopate (395–430), Augustine of Hippo conducted intense discussions with pagans, schismatics, and heretics. Starting with the conviction that persuasion was the only valid strategy of conversion, he changed his attitude to recognize the advantages of coercion and its usefulness to accelerate the attainment of orthodoxy.59 Augustine’s writings allow us to understand this important shift in Christian discourse, which was to be very influential in later thought. When he was a priest, Augustine says, he had striven to face his rivals in public disputations and personal encounters, trying to persuade them through friendly dialogue, free of coercion. In letter 23, to the Donatist Maximinus in 392, Augustine explains his desire to maintain a conversation with him in order to see if they were able to remove what were supposed to be minor differences among them. As those differences (on rebaptism) were greater than he thought, Augustine asked Maximinus to write a letter in which he could explain himself.60 Augustine also invites him to a public meeting when they will be free of constraints. He will not meet in the presence of the soldiery, lest anyone should think that he wished to act in a violent way, rather than as the interests of reaching peace. All who attend the debate may understand that he does not propose to compel men to change their opinion, but to show the truth to those who search for it willingly and free from pressure. Augustine demands that no intimidation be exerted by either party, and that they should concentrate on the matter in debate, appealing to reason and to the authoritative teaching of the Sacred Scriptures dispassionately and calmly, “so far as we are able”.61

Recognition through persuasion 119 The same attitude is found in a letter to Eusebius, dating from 396, at the beginning of Augustine’s episcopate: God, to whom the secrets of the heart of man are open, knows that it is because of my love for Christian peace that I am so deeply moved by the profane deeds of those who basely and impiously persevere in dissenting from it. He knows also that this feeling of mine is one tending towards peace, and that my desire is, not that any one should against his will be coerced into the Catholic communion, but that to all who are in error the truth may be openly declared, and being by God’s help clearly exhibited through my ministry, may so commend itself as to make them embrace and follow it.62 Evidence that dialogue did not give the fruits expected, and that the Donatists’ conversion was very slow, led Augustine to accept the enforcement of imperial legislation. Augustine himself explains this change of mind in Retractions: There are two books of mine whose title is Against the Party of Donatus. In the first of these books, I said: “I’m displeased that schismatics are violently coerced to communion by the force of any secular power”. And truly, at this time, such coercion displeased me because I had not yet learnt either how much evil their impunity would dare or to what extent the application of discipline could bring about their improvement.63 The book he mentions is lost, and may be dated to the period 397/400. The progress of the anti-Donatist campaign began to be appreciated after the year 405, when Honorius issued a series of edicts ordering the unity of the churches in Africa, with penalties that included fines, confiscation of property, deprivation of civil rights, and exile, which unleashed a persecution.64 The Conference of Carthage in 411 – presided over by an imperial delegate, count Flavius Marcellinus – finally ended the controversy, which reaffirmed Augustine’s conviction of the goodness of coercion. He felt the need to justify this by providing a scriptural basis to support his view. Letters 93 (in 408) and 185 (in 417) are the documents in which this ‘theory’ is best developed. Letter 93 is addressed to Vincentius, the bishop of the Rogatists, a small group that had split from the Donatists because of their violent behaviour. Vincentius wonders if Catholics, who appeal to imperial legislation to suppress the Donatists, are not themselves exercising violence. Augustine confesses that in the past he had advocated the use only of words, discussion, and reasoning (verbo esse agendum, disputatione pugnandum, ratione vincendum).65 The use of force (coercitio) and terror (terror, timor) is justified, however, by the evidence that it has brought about a large number of conversions. Donatists who converted out of fear now express their gratitude for having been freed from their past error. They have understood that Catholic persecution was an act of love; they were sick and have been healed; medicine is often unpleasant. Augustine finds support in several biblical passages from the Old and New Testaments: the parable of the Great Banquet,66 in which

120  Mar Marcos the guests are compelled to come in (cogite intrare), Paul’s conversion (Acts 9), an act of great divine violence (magna violentia Christi), Sara’s cruelty towards her maid Hagar, an expression of maternal love, Moses’ torments to his people, Elijah’s persecution of false prophets, and the example of Christ himself who flagellated the Jews. Now that the Empire has Christian rulers, why not resort to the salutary force of law? A decade later, Augustine comes back to the matter of coercion in a letter (185) addressed to Boniface, the count of Africa, asking him to collaborate with the Catholic bishops to end the savage conduct of Donatists and Circumcellions. Augustine explains at length the benefits of organized violence and persecution, when this is fair, for the unity of the Church. Donatists, he argues, still maintain a rebellious hostility against the unity of the Church, and it is the duty of Christian princes to deliver them from their error, even against their will. The laws that they considered their enemies were actually their friends, so now they profess ardent love to their former enemies. Augustine admits that he is responding to Donatists who think that no one can be justified in using violence, an argument that they had used during the Carthage Conference in 411.67 Donatists argued then that the apostles never sought action from the kings of the Earth, to which Augustine responds by appealing to changing times: everything comes in its own season, and now there are Christian princes who serve Christ by enabling laws against impiety. In spite of his change of attitude, Augustine continued to appeal against the use of severe action against pagans and heretics, and even in cases of serious violent doings against Catholics. In letters 100 (in 409) and 133 (in 412), he asks the governor Donatus and the tribune Marcellinus respectively to be lenient towards the impious and wicked Donatists and to act with the moderation which is suitable to Christian forbearance. The heretics’ death should not be sought, but with the help of the terror of laws, their deliverance from error, giving them the opportunity of repentance. Bad times should not lead Christians to such distress of mind as to forget the precepts in regard to their enemies.68 Christians should not apply the law of equal retribution, even in extreme cases of violence.69 Augustine never ceased to privilege words as a means of converting. So he writes to Boniface: Let all be recalled from the path of destruction; those who may, by sermons of Catholic preachers; those who may, by the edicts of Catholic princes; some through those who obey the warnings of God, some through those who obey the emperor’s commands.70 Coercion was only one among the strategies of conversion, a preparatory stage for persuasion: It is indeed better (as no one ever could deny) that men should be led to worship God by teaching, than that they should be driven to it by fear of punishment or pain. . . . For many have found advantage (as we have proved, and are daily proving by actual experiment), in being first compelled by fear or pain,

Recognition through persuasion  121 so that they might afterwards be influenced by teaching, or might follow out in act what they had already learned in word.71 In fact, Augustine never radically changed his attitude, as he always defended the superiority of persuasion over coercion. He “took the only way open to him, a middle way between argument alone, which was ineffective, and systematic imperial coercion, which was not feasible even if desirable”.72 Still at the end of Antiquity, when the process of Christianization was considered to be accomplished, the value of persuasion was appreciated as an effective means for recognition. In sixth-century Ostrogothic Italy, where Arians, Catholics, and Jews coexisted, the Christian Cassiodorus reminds in the Variae that coercion cannot be applied to the religious sphere (religionem imperare non possumus, quia nemo cogitur ut credat invitus),73 and that religious pluralism and competition were perhaps not wanted, but at least tolerated by the Deity (cum divinitas patiatur diversas religiones esse, nos unam non audemus imponere).74

Conclusion In Late Antique religious controversy, intellectuals  – pagans and Christians alike – gave the greatest value to free will and the power of words as a means of mutual recognition. The superiority of persuasion to coercion and violence had been argued by the classical Greeks, who worshipped Peitho as the goddess who personified the discourse of persuasion and seduction, and from the fifth century BCE also the power of logos. Peitho was associated with nomos and dike, representing civilization, while its opposite (bia) was proper to uncivilized behaviour and barbarism. For the Greeks, societies operating without the benefit of peitho were doomed to tyranny. The discourse of the value of persuasion against coercion was developed in apologetic literature during the period of persecution against Christians, with the intention of convincing the rulers that persecution was wrong and useless. A good king should not behave like a tyrant, but as a philanthropist. The opposition between peitho and bia re-emerges in the apologetic literature of the midfourth century, in the context of the conflict between Christians and pagans, on one side, and in intra-Christian struggles for orthodoxy, on the other. The fact that this reasoning was not ‘religious’ in its nature permitted Christian and pagan intellectuals, educated in a common paideia and rhetorical training, to make common use of it. Persuasion, humanity, gentleness, moderation, prudence, and justice were the qualities of the good ruler, and the principles that were expected to govern life in the community. Athanasius of Alexandria demanded those virtues from Constantius, while Constantine and Julian presented themselves in their writings as persuasive, non-coercive rulers. At the end of Antiquity, when Theodosius and his dynasty got fully involved in the eradication of any form of religious dissent in favour of Catholicism, Christians began to appreciate the advantages of coercion on the basis of its effectiveness as a means of conversion. Peitho, however (“as no

122  Mar Marcos one ever could deny”), was always thought to be superior to Bia and remained the favourite strategy for dealing with religious opponents.

Notes 1 This chapter has been written within the framework of the Research Project HAR2015– 66453 – R, funded by the Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness (MINECO) Government of Spain. Universidad de Cantabria. 2 Archibald Robertson, Athanasius: Arian History, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, second series, vol. 4 (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co, 1892). Henceforth HA. 3 HA 33. I have studied this excursus in M. Marcos, “Persuasión vs. coacción en la controversia religiosa de la Antigüedad Tardía (Atanasio, Historia Arianorum 33)”, Conventus Classicorum, vol. 2 (Madrid: Sociedad Española de Estudios Clásicos), 485–92. 4 David M. Gwynn, The Eusebians: The Polemic of Athanasius of Alexandria and the Construction of the “Arian Controversy” (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 40–2. 5 Sonia Laconi, Costanzo II: Ritratto di un imperatore eretico (Rome: Herder, 2004). 6 Ps. 74:3–7 (King James Bible). 7 Matt. 16:24 (King James Bible). 8 Song of Sol. 5:2 (King James Bible). 9 1 Sam. 26:9. 10 Vinciane Pirenne-Delforge, “Le culte de la persuasion: Peithô en Grèce Ancienne”, Revue de l’histoire des religions 208, no. 4 (1991): 395–413. 11 Cicero, Brutus, 59. 12 George A. Kennedy, A New History of Classical Rhetoric (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 12–13. 13 For representations of Peitho, see Harvey A. Shapiro, Personifications in Greek Art: The Representation of Abstract Concepts, 600–400 BC (Zurich: Akanthus, 1993), 186–207; Emma Stafford, “Personification in Greek Religious Thought and Practice”, in A Companion to Greek Religion. Edited by Daniel Ogden (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 78–9. 14 Plutarch, Moralia, 138c–d. 15 Megan Foley, “Peitho and Bia: The Force of Language”, Symploke 20, no. 1–2 (2012): 173–81. 16 Plutarch, Life of Themistocles, 21.1. 17 For these and further references, see Richard G.A. Buxton, Persuasion in Greek Tragedy: A Study of Peitho (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982); Jacqueline de Romilly, La Grèce antique contre la violence (Paris: Éditions de Fallois, 2000); Jacqueline de Romilly, La douceur dans la pensée grecque (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2011). 18 Pausanias, Periegesis, 2.4.6. 19 Mark Edwards et al., Apologetics in the Roman Empire: Pagans, Jews, and Christians (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Averil Cameron, “Apologetics in the Roman Empire – A Genre of Intolerance?” in Humana sapit: études d’Antiquité tardive offertes à Lellia Cracco Ruggini. Edited by Jean-Michel Carrié and Rita Lizzi Testa (Turnhout: Brepols, 2002), 219–27. 20 Mar Marcos, “Current Perspectives on the Notion of Toleration in the Ancient World”, in Contemporary Views on Comparative Religion. Edited by Peter Antes, Armin W. Geertz and Mikael Rothstein (Sheffield & Bristol: Equinox, 2016), 325–36, for an upto-date discussion of Roman and Christian toleration. 21 Denise K. Buell, Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005). 22 Tertullian, Apology, 46.3.

Recognition through persuasion  123 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31 32

33

34

35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

Justin, First Apology, 3.2. Athenagoras, Plea for the Christians 2, a. 176/177. Tertullian, Apology 4.4: vis et iniqua dominatio. To Diognetus, 7. Justin, First Apology, 14. Origen, Against Celsus, 2.78; 3.10. T.R Glover, Tertullian: Apology, De Spectaculis, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1931), 24.5; Similar remarks in Tertullian’s Against Scapula, 2.2. See Mar Marcos, “Persecution, Apology, and the Reflection on Religious Freedom and Religious Coercion in Early Christianity”, Zeitschrift für Religionswissenschaft 20, no. 1 (2012): 35–69; Hartmut Leppin, “Christianity and the Discourse of Religious Freedom”, Rechtsgeschichte-Legal History 22 (2014): 62–78, with further references. Elizabeth DePalma Digeser, “Lactantius, Porphyry, and the Debate Over Religious Toleration”, Journal of Roman Studies 88 (1998): 129–46. Lactantius, Divine Institutes, 5.13. Ibid., 5.19; Maijastina Kahlos, “The Rhetoric of Tolerance and Intolerance, from Lactantius to Firmicus Maternus”, in Changes and Continuities in Christian Apologetic. Edited by Jörg Ulrich, Anders-Christian Jacobsen and Maijastina Kahlos (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2009), 79–85. Jean Bouffartigue, “L’empereur Julien était-il intolerant?” Revue d’études augustiniennes et patristiques 53 (2007): 1–14; Guy G. Stroumsa, “Tertullian on Idolatry and the Limits of Tolerance”, in Tolerance and Intolerance in Early Judaism and Christianity. Edited by Graham N. Stanton and Guy G. Stroumsa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 174. Harold A. Drake, “Constantine and Consensus”, Church History 61, no.  1 (1995): 1–15; Harold A. Drake, Constantine and the Bishops: The Politics of Intolerance (Baltimore & London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002); José Fernández Ubiña, “Paz y consenso en la política de Constantino”, in La paz, partera de la historia. Edited by Juan M. Jiménez Arenas and Francisco A. Muñoz Muñoz (Granada: Editorial de la Universidad de Granada, 2012), 99–128. Eusebius, Life of Constantine, 4.55.2. Ibid., 2.48–60. Ibid., 2.56. Ibid., 2.60. Averil Cameron and Stuart G. Hall. Translated by Eusebius: Life of Constantine (Oxford: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1999). Theodosian Code, 16.8.1, a. 329. Eusebius, Life of Constantine, 3.64–6. Ibid., 2.65. Trans. Cameron and Hall. Richard P.C. Hanson, The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God: The Arian Controversy, 318–381 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988). Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae, 21.16.1. Translated by John C. Rolfe, Ammianus Marcellinus: Res Gestae, The Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1939–1950). Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae, 22.5.3–4; Sozomen, Church History, 5.5; Philostorgius, Church History, 7.4. See Bouffartigue, “L’empereur Julien”, for a balanced analysis of Julian’s religious policies. Socrates, Church History, 2.17; Sozomen, Church History, 3.10.1. Julian, Letter, 10. Mar Marcos, “ ‘He forced with gentleness’. Emperor Julian’s Attitude to Religious Coercion”, Antiquité Tardive 16 (2009): 7–20. Julian, Letter, 114.436c.

124  Mar Marcos 50 Ibid., 115.424c. Translated by Wilmer Cave Wright, The Works of the Emperor Julian, vol. 3, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1923). 51 Marcos, “ ‘He forced with gentleness’ ”. 52 Julian, Letter, 61c. 53 Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae, 22.9.16; Libanius, Oration, 18, 121–5; Eutropius, Breviarium, 10.16. 54 Gregory of Nazianzus, Oration, 4, 5. Translated by C.W. King, The Emperor Julian (London: Bell and Sons, 1888). 55 Ibid., 4.79. 56 Ibid., 4.61. 57 Themistius, Oration, 5, 1 January 364. 58 Themistius, Oration, 5, 67b–70a. 59 Peter Brown, “St. Augustine’s Attitude to Religious Coercion”, Journal of Roman Studies 54 (1997): 49–70; John Bowlin, “Augustine on Justifying Coercion”, The Annual of the Society of Christian Ethics 17 (1997): 49–70; Émilien Lamirande, Church, State, and Toleration: An Intriguing Change of Mind in Augustine (Villanova: Augustinian Institute, 1975); Frederick H. Russell, “Persuading the Donatists: Augustine’s Coercion by Words”, in The Limits of Ancient Christianity: Essays on Late Antique Thought and Culture in Honor of R.A. Markus. Edited by William E. Klingshirn and Mark Vessey (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999), 115–30; Matthew A. Gaumer and Anthony Dupont, “Understanding Augustine’s Changing Justification for State-Sponsored Religious Coercion and Its Context Within Donatist North Africa”, Augustinus 54 (2009): 345–71. 60 Augustine, Letter, 23.3. 61 Ibid., 23.7. 62 Ibid., 34. J. G. Cunningham, Translated by The Letters of St. Augustine, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, first series, vol. 1 (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co, 1886). 63 Augustine, Retractions 2.31. Mary I. Bogan. Translated by St. Augustine: The Retractions, The Fathers of the Church 40 (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1968). 64 Theodosian Code, 16.5.37–38; 16.6.4–5; 16.2.2; 16.6.4. 65 Augustine, Letter, 93.5.17. 66 Luke 14:15–24. 67 Augustine, Letter, 185.2.10. 68 Ibid., 100.1. 69 Ibid., 133. 70 Ibid., 185.2.8. J.R. King. Translated by The Letters of St. Augustin, Nicene and PostNicene Fathers, first series, vol. 1 (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co, 1887). 71 Augustine, Letter 185.6.21. Translated by King, The Letters of St. Augustin. 72 Russell, “Persuading the Donatists”, 125. 73 Cassiodorus, Variae 2.27. 74 Ibid., 10.26.

References Modern literature Bogan, Mary I. St. Augustine: The Retractions. The Fathers of the Church, 40. Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1968. Bouffartigue, Jean. “L’empereur Julien était-il intolerant?” Revue d’études augustiniennes et patristiques 53 (2007): 1–14.

Recognition through persuasion  125 Bowlin, John. “Augustine on Justifying Coercion.” The Annual of the Society of Christian Ethics 17 (1997): 49–70. Brown, Peter. “St. Augustine’s Attitude to Religious Coercion.” Journal of Roman Studies 54 (1964): 107–16. Buell, Denise K. Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity. New York: Columbia University Press, 2005. Buxton, Richard G.A. Persuasion in Greek Tragedy: A Study of Peitho. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. Cameron, Averil. “Apologetics in the Roman Empire  – A  Genre of Intolerance?” In Humana sapit: études d’Antiquité tardive offertes à Lellia Cracco Ruggini, edited by Jean-Michel Carrié and Rita Lizzi Testa, 219–27. Turnhout: Brepols, 2002. Cameron, Averil and Stuart G. Hall. Eusebius: Life of Constantine. Oxford: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1999. Cunningham, J.G. The Letters of St. Augustine. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers. First Series. Vol. 1. Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co, 1886. Digeser, Elizabeth DePalma. “Lactantius, Porphyry, and the Debate Over Religious Toleration.” Journal of Roman Studies 88 (1998): 129–46. Drake, Harold A. “Constantine and Consensus.” Church History 61, no.1 (1995): 1–15. ———. Constantine and the Bishops: The Politics of Intolerance. Baltimore & London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002. Edwards, Mark, Martin Goodman, Simon Price and Christopher Rowland, eds. Apologetics in the Roman Empire: Pagans, Jews, and Christians. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. Fernández Ubiña, José. “Paz y consenso en la política de Constantino.” In La paz, partera de la historia, edited by Juan M. Jiménez Arenas and Francisco A. Muñoz Muñoz, 99–128. Granada: Editorial de la Universidad de Granada, 2012. Foley, Megan. “Peitho and Bia: The Force of Language.” Symploke 20, no. 1–2 (2012): 173–81. Gaumer, Matthew A. and Anthony Dupont. “Understanding Augustine’s Changing Justification for State-Sponsored Religious Coercion and Its Context Within Donatist North Africa.” Augustinus 54 (2009): 345–71. Glover, T.R. Tertullian: Apology, De Spectaculis. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1931. Gwynn, David M. The Eusebians: The Polemic of Athanasius of Alexandria and the Construction of the “Arian Controversy.” Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Hanson, Richard P.C. The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God. The Arian Controversy, 318–81. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988. Kahlos, Maijastina. “The Rhetoric of Tolerance and Intolerance, from Lactantius to Firmicus Maternus.” In Changes and Continuities in Christian Apologetic, edited by Jörg Ulrich, Anders-Christian Jacobsen and Maijastina Kahlos, 79–85. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2009. Kennedy, George A. A New History of Classical Rhetoric. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. King, C.W. The Emperor Julian. London: Bell and Sons, 1888. King, J.R. The Letters of St. Augustin. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers. First Series. Vol. 1. Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co, 1887. Laconi, Sonia. Costanzo II. Ritratto di un imperatore eretico. Rome: Herder, 2004. Lamirande, Émilien. Church, State, and Toleration: An Intriguing Change of Mind in Augustine. Villanova: Augustinian Institute, 1975.

126  Mar Marcos Leppin, Hartmut. “Christianity and the Discourse of Religious Freedom.” RechtsgeschichteLegal History 22 (2014): 62–78. Marcos, Mar. “ ‘He forced with gentleness’. Emperor Julian’s Attitude to Religious Coercion.” Antiquité Tardive 16 (2009): 7–20. ———. “Persecution, Apology, and the Reflection on Religious Freedom and Religious Coercion in Early Christianity.” Zeitschrift für Religionswissenschaft 20, no. 1 (2012): 35–69. ———. “Current Perspectives on the Notion of Toleration in the Ancient world.” In Contemporary Views on Comparative Religion, edited by Peter Antes, Armin W. Geertz and Mikael Rothstein, 325–36. Sheffield & Bristol: Equinox, 2016. Pirenne-Delforge, Vinciane. “Le culte de la persuasion. Peithô en Grèce Ancienne.” Revue de l’histoire des religions 208, no. 4 (1991): 395–413. Robertson, Archibald. Athanasius: Arian History. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers. Second Series. Vol. 4. Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co, 1892. Rolfe, John C. Ammianus Marcellinus: Res Gestae. The Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1939–1950. Romilly, Jacqueline de. La Grèce antique contre la violence. Paris: Éditions de Fallois, 2000. ———. La douceur dans la pensée grecque. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2011. Russell, Frederick H. “Persuading the Donatists: Augustine’s Coercion by Words.” In The Limits of Ancient Christianity: Essays on Late Antique Thought and Culture in Honor of R. A. Markus, edited by William E. Klingshirn and Mark Vessey, 115–30. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999. Schaff, Philip, and Henry Wace. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers. Second Series. Vol. 4. Buffalo, NY: Christian Library Publishing, 1892. Shapiro, Harvey A. Personifications in Greek Art: The Representation of Abstract Concepts, 600–400 BC. Zurich: Akanthus, 1993. Stafford, Emma. “Personification in Greek Religious Thought and Practice.” In A Companion to Greek Religion, edited by Daniel Ogden, 71–85. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010. Stroumsa, Guy G. “Tertullian on Idolatry and the Limits of Tolerance.” In Tolerance and Intolerance in Early Judaism and Christianity, edited by Graham N. Stanton and Guy G. Stroumsa, 173–84. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Wright, Wilmer Cave. The Works of the Emperor Julian. Vol. 3. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1923.

7 Recognizing the road Greco-Roman appeals for religious diversity in the late Roman Empire Maijastina Kahlos

Introduction Once Emperor Constantine (reigned 306–337) started supporting Christianity, the succeeding Roman rulers – with one exception – were Christian and supported Christianity in one form or another. In the course of the fourth century CE, the power relations between religious inclinations fluctuated. It was by no means selfevident which would get the upper hand and prevail in the Mediterranean area. Scholars continuously debate the details, such as the speed, depth, and spread of Christianization. Even the concept of Christianization is problematic.1 What we can state with certainty is that Christianity in its many forms becomes dominant in our sources and traditional religions, conventionally called ‘paganism’,2 gradually fade away from the public space. Consequently, the fourth century was a period of repeatedly changing influences. In these circumstances, issues that we moderns call religious freedom, toleration, and recognition were discussed vigorously, both in connection with intra-Christian disputes and in inter-religious debates.3 This article looks at the ways in which two fourth-century writers, the Greek rhetorician and philosopher Themistius (c. 317–388) and the Roman senator Symmachus (c. 345–c. 402), understood and conceptualized the religious changes in the late Roman Empire after the so-called Constantinian Turn.4 Both writers discussed the alterations in the religious policies of fourth-century emperors and spoke for religious diversity, asking for recognition of traditional religions. First, I review the religious changes in the fourth-century Empire in order to open up the historical context in which these ideas were articulated. Second, I ask what recognition of a religious group or tradition in the context of late Roman society might have meant in the reality of everyday life. I then discuss the ideas articulated by Themistius and Symmachus, focusing on the arguments for the compatibility of all religions – the metaphor of many paths – and for the utility of competition. Finally, I look at the reaction that Symmachus’ appeal raised from the point of view of the Christian bishop Ambrose.

Religious changes in the fourth century In 313, the Emperors Constantine and Licinius issued a proclamation, the ‘Letter of Licinius’, usually but erroneously called the ‘Edict of Milan’. Licinius and

128  Maijastina Kahlos Constantine granted everyone the freedom to follow whatever religio they wanted. Christians were specifically recognized by the emperors as one of the groups permitted. The emperors speak of the supreme divinity whose goodwill and benevolence are maintained when no one is denied freedom of religio. Furthermore, the emperors hope that the divine goodwill that the emperors have enjoyed so far will continue to ensure the public welfare. This is the pompous late antique way of expressing expectations of devotion to the imperial rule from the subjects and citizens.5 Thus, the recognition by the emperors was not unconditional but was linked with the allegiance shown by subjects. Before the Christian emperors, loyalty was often presented in the manifold communal ceremonies, such as sacrifices and libations for the welfare of the emperor, whereas Christian emperors expected prayers for the well-being of the emperor.6 Showing this allegiance in the form of sacrificial rituals or prayers can be compared with the modern tax reports. Emperor Constantine started supporting Christianity, abundantly indeed, with donations and privileges. This was no novelty in Greco-Roman Antiquity – rulers had showed their favour for certain cults and deities by pouring donations into temples and granting privileges to priests. Thus, Christianity became the emperor’s favourite religion. This does not mean that Christianity became a state religion – that is a modern concept and an anachronism. It is impossible to determine what Constantine’s or the succeeding emperors’ personal convictions were and it is not our concern here. What is important is what religious inclinations were recognized by emperors as permitted. In regard to traditional Greco-Roman polytheistic cults, Constantine by no means concealed his personal repugnance towards many traditional practices, especially animal sacrifice. However, he allowed public sacrifices to continue. He did not pursue the policy of coercion against adherents of old cults. To sum up, Constantine’s policy could be depicted as concord (Mario Turchetti), a permission concept of tolerance (Rainer Forst), or reluctant forbearance (Maijastina Kahlos).7 Constantine’s successors displayed their Christian sympathies in their proclamations. Some supported Christianity in its Nicene form, others in its Homoian form (conventionally called ‘Arian’). In the manner of Constantine, several emperors, especially Constantius II, showed their repugnance for many traditional practices, especially animal sacrifice. Animal sacrifices were harshly forbidden with threats in imperial legislation. A number of temples were ordered to close.8 However, many local practices were permitted to continue, in imperial rulings with the specific mention that they were necessary in the life of the people. We perceive emperors as balancing between showing their revulsion for traditional religious practices, probably with the rigorist Christian circles as their audience, and trying to maintain social stability.9 During this period of change, in addition to the Nicene–Homoian (‘Arian’) fluctuation, there was Christian–Hellene (pagan) alternation. Emperor Julian (reigned 361–363) promoted Hellenism (paganism), and he was explicitly hostile to Christianity. He had been raised as a Christian, but he was converted to Hellenism. Julian represented his religious policy as guided by condescending moderation that resembles Constantine’s reluctant forbearance. Neither Constantine nor

Recognizing the road  129 Julian concealed their ultimate wish to wipe out what they saw as impiety – in Constantine’s case ‘idolatry’ (that is, traditional cults), in Julian’s case ‘atheism’ (that is, Christianity).10 Both emperors wished to see all their subjects as embracing what they considered piety.

Late antique struggles for recognition The struggles for religious recognition in late Roman society can be examined from two perspectives, vertical and horizontal. First, while groups or individuals seek recognition from the emperor, emperors also seek recognition from their subjects, citizens, aristocrats, and bishops. Constantine, for instance, looked for support from Christians, and this led him to recognize them as a permitted group. Second, individuals and groups seek horizontal recognition among their peers.11 Our cases, Themistius and Symmachus, sought recognition from the leading Christians, bishops, Christians at the imperial court, and landowners and aristocrats. This does not mean that various religious groups in late Roman society were engaged in a reciprocal search for love, respect, and esteem. Rather, they were also in constant contention with each other for the support of emperors and imperial ladies, the imperial court and local governors. What did imperial recognition mean in terms of every day life realities? When the emperor recognized a cult or a group as something to favour or to support, he recognized this cult or religious group as a recipient of privileges and donations. Thus, recognition was not only something abstract, an identity matter, but the issue of economy was always involved, as well.12 Constantine provided the Christian clergy with privileges similar to those of the priests of the traditional Roman religion, the exemption from taxes and curial duties (munera, leiturgia) being the most important one. Emperors also funded the establishment and maintenance of churches and monasteries. The continuation of the emperor’s support for the traditional Roman cults – privileges, tax exemptions, revenues of estates – was one of the bases of Symmachus’ appeal. This is not a minor detail. In the intra-Christian controversies in particular, it was crucial which Christian group was recognized by the emperor as the true version of Christianity and, consequently, as the recipient of the imperial support and privileges: Nicene or Homoian Christians (‘Arians’)? Caecilianists (‘Catholics’) or Donatists in the North African disputes? Therefore, the decisions on which group represented the ‘true Christianity’ were crucial, not only from the viewpoint of doctrine and identity, but also from the economic perspective. A  group that lost the rightful possession of the nomen Christianum and subsequently the imperial support was at risk of losing properties (church buildings among them) and privileges (such as the exemption from curial duties). Towards the end of the fourth century, emperors recognized the Nicene interpretation as orthodox Christianity. Those Christians who did not come under the Nicene definition were to be treated as heretics, and importantly, their meeting places were not regarded as churches. This segregation had economic consequences, since if their meeting places did not have the status of churches, they were excluded from all the privileges that emperors provided for churches.

130  Maijastina Kahlos The issues of religious recognition, freedom and toleration were conceptualized using the road metaphor (via, iter, hodos). The metaphor of the road, or path, especially the choice made between two paths – ways of life, or ethical options – was a commonplace in both Greco-Roman and Jewish, Christian, and Manichaean literatures. In Greek mythology, for instance, the young hero Heracles was to decide whether to take the easy route to luxury or the difficult one that finally led to immortality. In early Christian writings, the two sharply opposed paths – that of life and that of death, or the paths of light or darkness – abound.13 At the turn of the fourth century, the Neoplatonist Porphyry of Tyre remarked that no doctrine had yet been established that would offer a universal path to the liberation of the human soul. Porphyry’s statement is preserved in Augustine’s discussion in the City of God, written a century later. Augustine aims to refute Porphyry’s claim and to demonstrate that Christianity is in fact the via universalis pursued by Porphyry. In his reply, Augustine also appeals to the Johannine Ego sum via, veritas et vita14 as the indication of the unique Christian truth. A number of other Christian writers also discussed via universalis, and insisted upon Christianity as the universal route to all, possibly reacting to Porphyry’s statement.15

Themistius on the road Themistius16 uses the road metaphor in his Oration 5, addressed to the Emperor Jovian in the early 364, discussing the religious policies of the new emperor.17 Jovian had become emperor in the middle of the military crisis following Emperor Julian’s death in the Persian campaign in 363. Themistius shows his support for Jovian’s religious policy, which he depicts as moderate. Jovian’s legislation on religious issues is not extant and has therefore been much discussed in modern research. Almost all we know of his religious policy is deduced from this speech by Themistius. The intended audience of his oration was probably moderate Christians, whom he tries to convince of the utility of Jovian’s moderate policy.18 Themistius complains about the sudden changes in religious policy in the past decades, obviously alluding to the reigns of Constantius II and Julian.19 We can imagine what a nuisance religious extremism and outright changes in the favouritism of emperors had been for a considerable number of people, average Christians and pagans alike. Themistius laments this disruption of social stability, referring to the indictments emanating from the capital from each of the two religions (that is, Christian and pagan emperors, respectively); these have been more damaging than the attacks of the Persians, the external enemy.20 Themistius declares Jovian’s decree on religious moderation as “no less important” than the peace with the Persians struck by the emperor in 363; thanks to this peace, the Romans will not be at war with the barbarians, while thanks to Jovian’s decree, the Romans will live undisturbed by discord with one another.21 In addition to this pragmatic reasoning about social stability, Themistius appeals to the uselessness of coercion. The use of force in religious issues is futile. A ruler is not able to compel his subjects in every matter – Themistius praises Jovian for being aware of this. Some matters – such as virtue and reverence for the divine – are

Recognizing the road  131 beyond compulsion, and are stronger than intimidation and the use of force.22 In religious issues, compulsion is inappropriate, since religion is an impulse of the soul that should be uncompelled, independent and based on free will.23 Referring to the fickleness of imperial policies, Themistius states that it is ridiculous to do service to the imperial purple rather than God,24 implying that compulsion in religious matters only produces opportunists who just switch sides in order to please each reigning emperor. For instance, all people have become kothornoi, with boots suited to either foot. The same people come to the altars of the traditional gods, sacrifices, shrines and Christian altars.25 God has made the disposition towards piety (eusebeia) a natural part of everyone, but the form of worship should depend on one’s own decision.26 Themistius states since God allows the form of worship to be left to each individual, any coercion would conflict with the liberty (ten exousian) that God has granted to humans.27 Jovian’s law decrees that the soul of each person is set free to follow the form of worship it chooses.28 Physical violence is useless. Confiscation of property, whipping, and burning are all futile. Even if the body is persecuted and killed, the soul will flee with free thought (eleuthera gnome). Here Themistius’ distinction between physical force and spiritual freedom closely resembles the arguments of second- and thirdcentury Christian apologists.29 Furthermore, Themistius appeals to the ideas of the supreme deity and the fundamental unity of religions, ideas shared by contemporary intellectuals, pagans, and Christians alike. He employs the widespread idea of the supreme deity that all humans seek in different ways and in different forms.30 Themistius explains the differences between religions as the consequence of the inaccessible magnificence of the supreme deity and of human limitations. Here Themistius resorts to the ‘monotheistic koine’, the common form of argument fashionable in Christian, pagan, and other educated circles. The concept of the supreme deity was well received and recognized by his listeners, who could accept the argument about the supreme deity in accordance with their own religious traditions.31 Building upon the mutual agreement on the supreme deity, Themistius is able to proceed to argue for the diversity of religions that he calls poikilia – colourfulness, or diversity. He draws an analogy between the supreme deity and the emperor. The emperor had at his command a variety of soldiers and not only soldiers, but all other people – peasants, orators, magistrates, and philosophers. Similarly, the supreme deity, the creator of the universe, delights in the diversity of worshippers.32 The human poikilia prevails in accordance with the will of God, who wishes the Syrians (Christians) to administer their affairs (politeuesthai) in one way, the Hellenes (pagans) in another way, and the Egyptians in yet another way.33 There is diversity even among the Syrians themselves because God has split them into small sects,34 not a negative phenomenon for Themistius.35 No one believes in exactly the same way as his or her neighbour, Themistius says. Instead, one believes one way, while another thinks another way.36 At the first sight, Themistius’ recognition seems to embrace all religious traditions in the Empire. He nevertheless reminds his listeners that Jovian promotes the

132  Maijastina Kahlos good things and restrains the bad, opening up the temples but closing the “haunts of imposture” as well as allowing “lawful sacrifices” but forbidding magical practices.37 Themistius’ boundary-making is very much in line with the traditional Greco-Roman thinking. There had been no system of legal or illegal religions as such in the pre-Constantinian Empire.38 That does not mean that Roman society was a happy family with everyone living and loving side by side. Instead, there were many other ways of forbidding, excluding, marginalizing, and harassing; for instance, by means of the legislation against magic.39 Placing Christianity as one among many different regional cults and religions of the Roman Empire, Themistius implies that Christianity is not a unique alternative and that all forms of religions are compatible. This is reinforced by the metaphor of the many paths connected with the notion of competition. Not everyone proceeds on the same course in shared competition towards the same Judge (Athlothetes). Some take this course, others that course, and even those who are weaker than others in the race will not be entirely unrewarded. There is not just one path (hodos) leading to the divine. Instead, there are many paths, of which one is harder to pass and the other easier, one rocky and the other flat, but they all lead towards this same goal.40 Thus Themistius maintains that there is some value in all religions or the religious pursuits of all people – even though, it is implied, some are weaker than others. The utility of contest is stressed in connection with the metaphor of many paths. The Emperor Jovian does not prevent the religions of the Empire from competing with one another in piety because mutual competition and rivalry is beneficial. Religions are compared with competitors in a race – all speeding towards the same Judge, but along different routes. If there were no competition between religions, people would become lazy and bored. “The spirit is always easily galvanized by opposition to take pleasure in toil”, Themistius says, and if the emperor allows only a single route and prohibits the others, he “will fence up the broad field of competition”.41 Themistius suggests that this competition be held under imperial tutelage. Thus, the emperor’s role is to safeguard social tranquillity in the Empire. Themistius describes this through the metaphor of the scale that should find its natural equilibrium between the religious traditions by itself. The emperor should not attempt to disturb this balance, forcing one side to go down or the other side to go up,42 implying that the fourth-century emperors tried to influence the balance with all their decrees and actions. Themistius states that the emperor should let prayers on behalf of his imperial rule rise to heaven from all sides.43 Thus, in Themistius’ view, the emperor should function in a medial position, some kind of a middle man, a judge in court, or a referee in a contest. In the terminology of recognition, religions in the Empire would be recognized and the imperial government would act as the mediating machinery of recognition.44

Symmachus and the controversy over the altar of victory Jovian’s reign turned out to be short-lived (reigned June  27, 363  – February 17, 364). The succeeding emperor, Valentinian I  (reigned 364–375) and his

Recognizing the road  133 co-emperor Valens (reigned 364–378), issued a decree at the beginning of their reign in which they granted everyone the freedom to embrace any form of worship (colendi libera facultas) they wished.45 Valentinian and Valens seem to have followed the model of Constantine and Constantius II by forbidding blood sacrifice. Other traditional cult practices such as hymns, candles, libations, and anointing were allowed to continue.46 Towards the end of the fourth century, during the overlapping reigns of Emperors Gratian (reigned 375–383), Valentinian II (reigned 375–392) and Theodosius I (reigned 379–395), there was a change towards stricter policies on religious unity and laws against religious dissenters, non-Christians (‘pagans’), non-Nicene Christians (‘heretics’), Jews, Samaritans, and Manichaeans, forbidding beliefs and practices deviating from the Nicene Christianity, which was declared the normative religious system of the Empire. In 380, Theodosius I  announced in the so-called cunctos populos decree that the emperors desired to see all the peoples under their government adhering to the religio that was then further clarified as the Nicene version of Christianity.47 This is a very complex issue, and I would not like to over-simplify it in a teleological manner as a drive towards religious intolerance. The details of imperial policies and practical enactments are far from clear and continue to be debated in scholarship. For our discussion, however, it suffices to say that the space of other religions was diminished, and it is in these circumstances that another pagan apologist, Symmachus, appealed for the recognition of the status of the traditional cults from Christian emperors. Even in the post-Constantinian Empire, the traditional Roman cults enjoyed public subsidies and the emperor remained the head of the Roman priestly college, the pontifex maximus, thus a head of the traditional Roman religio, probably until the reign of Emperor Gratian.48 This meant that the traditional Roman cults maintained imperial recognition – at least in theory. This situation may look messy from our perspective, but from the Roman perspective this was ‘normal’ or ‘typical’, the emperors giving their support and, consequently, recognition to cults here and there. This was changed. Gratian removed the public subsidies of the traditional Roman cults; annulled the economic privileges of the Roman priests and priestly colleges, such as Vestals; and confiscated the revenues of some temples.49 This has often been interpreted in modern scholarship as the separation of the state and religion in Roman society, but that might be an anachronistic way of outlining the ancient world. The controversy over the altar of Victoria, the personified deity of victory, at the senate house in Rome relates to this situation. For Christian rigorists, the altar represented idolatry. Emperor Gratian had it removed. In 384, during the reign of Gratian’s successor, the 13-year-old Valentinian II, Symmachus (c. 345–c. 402) wrote an appeal for returning the altar to the senate house and at the same time for the continuation of imperial support of the traditional Roman cults and the privileges that Roman priests enjoyed.50 As I already mentioned, imperial recognition was also an issue of economic benefits. Almost half of Symmachus’ appeal was dedicated to economic privileges and the revenues of pagan temples.51 The episode has become famous in modern scholarship and has been regarded as one of the most important ancient appeals for religious

134  Maijastina Kahlos tolerance.52 It seems that for contemporary Romans, it was not such a great incident as it is to modern scholars, even though Ambrose, Bishop of Milan (c. 334– 397), composed two letters in reply to Symmachus and turned the controversy into an issue of faith for Christian rulers (for Ambrose’s reply, see ahead).

Symmachus’ arguments The Roman senator Symmachus was famous for his eloquence and was therefore capable of using sophisticated rhetorical skills in arguing for the maintenance of imperial support and recognition of the traditional Roman cults. Symmachus appeals to the example of preceding emperors who ‘from both sects and both inclinations’ (utriusque sectae utriusque sententiae) – Symmachus refers to both non-Christian and Christian emperors – had pursued a policy of religious moderation: earlier (non-Christian) emperors had observed the ancestral rites and recent (Christian) rulers had not removed them. If the religion of the ancient emperors could no longer serve as an example for the present ones, then the dissimulatio of the more recent ones should be the rule. It is difficult to translate dissimulatio here, but the sense is positive. It usually means turning a blind eye, negligence, laissez-faire, and – in Symmachus’ sense, something similar to toleration.53 Symmachus uses Emperor Constantius II (whom some other ancient writers and modern scholars would not see as such a moderate ruler) as an example. This emperor, even though he himself observed a different set of rites (alias religiones, that is, Christianity), preserved the other rites with his ruling.54 In spite of his own religious conviction, the emperor let other religions continue. Symmachus introduces the idea that all people worship the same deity, the supreme God: “whatever all worship can be, with good reason, regarded as one and the same” (Aequum est, quidquid omnes colunt, unum putari). This statement is intended to establish a common basis for all forms of piety. Furthermore, “each has one’s own religious custom and one’s own rite” (suus enim cuique mos, suus ritus est). This diversity of religious traditions is authorized by the supreme deity, which Symmachus calls the divine intellect, mens divina, that has assigned various cults as protectors to various cities (varios custodes urbibus cultus mens divina distribuit).55 Mens divina is to be understood as a modified form of the Greek concept of nous, the divine intellect, recurrent in contemporary discussions, including popular philosophy.56 By using the concept of the supreme deity, Symmachus appeals to the monotheistic koine of his time in a manner similar to Themistius. Symmachus then introduces the road metaphor in order to build the common ground of religious traditions: We gaze at the same stars; the same sky is common to us all, the same world turns around us: therefore, what does it matter which system of wisdom each human uses to search for the truth? Such a great mystery (tam grande secretum) cannot be reached by one way only.57

Recognizing the road  135 Both in Symmachus’ and Themistius’ arguments, we can perceive that as skilled orators they wish to build a consensus among their audiences, pagans and Christians alike, making use of shared premises on the supreme deity and the internal unity of religions, and popular imagery and metaphors such as that of the many roads.58 What is shared by the pagan and Christian learned elites is the common language and the view of the world governed by the divine sphere.

Ambrose’s reply Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, wrote two letters to Emperor Valentinian II in reply to Symmachus’ appeal.59 Whatever Symmachus’ motivations may have been  – among them the need to guarantee the economic privileges for the continuation of traditional Roman cults – he requested that the imperial policy of dissimulatio towards traditional cults should be maintained. What Ambrose did in his replies was to turn Symmachus’ appeal for the recognition and coexistence of religious traditions into a polarized dichotomous juxtaposition between pagans and Christians as well as a test of belief and conviction for the emperor. Ambrose reminds Valentinian II of his duty as a Christian emperor to defend the true religion. Christian rulers are the servants of the omnipotent God in the same way as all humans are the subjects of the emperors. A person who made any compromise with pagans was participating in a pagan sacrifice.60 Consequently, making compromises was comparable to apostasy. Ambrose also threatens the emperor with excommunication from the Church. He insists upon a choice, quoting the biblical words “you cannot serve two masters” (Non potestis duobus dominis servire, Matthew 6:24). For Ambrose, the emperor certainly cannot remain on the fence, but needs to take a stand.61 Ambrose reminds the emperor that God is to be served with the zeal of faith and devotion (fidei studium et devotionis), not with pretence and indifference (non dissimulationem, non conniventiam).62 He takes the word dissimulatio that Symmachus used in a positive sense and twists it into a negative use, meaning dishonesty or pretence, even corruption, thus turning the term against Symmachus. Furthermore, Ambrose argues that he is in fact protecting the freedom of faith of the emperor (and Christian senators in the senate) against the machinations of pagans. The pagan practices are seen as a threat to the liberty of Christians. The ritual of burning incense at the altar of Victoria pollutes Christian senators. “ ‘Everybody ought to be free to defend the sincere conviction of his mind, and to hold on to it”, Ambrose writes.63 What would be the place for non-Christian cults in the Empire, in Ambrose’s vision? His standpoint here is what we can call misrecognition, or denial of recognition. The gods of the others are simply demons (dii enim gentium daemonia), and the religious tradition of the others is superstitio, and even superstitio aliena.64 As we saw earlier, pagan practices pollute Christians. Ambrose offers a policy in which Christians and pagans have separate, strictly distinguished paths. He writes “let them [pagans] keep their means of protection [their tutelary gods and cult practices] to themselves, and let them [gods and cults] defend their own – if

136  Maijastina Kahlos they can”. This has sometimes been taken as some sort of concession of liberty to pagans.65 Along these lines, we could say that Ambrose is ready to give nonChristians something which has been called the “permission concept of tolerance” (Rainer Forst), “repressive tolerance” (Wendy Brown), “insult” (J.W. Goethe), or condescending concord in which a deviating religious group is tolerated for the time being but the eventual conversion of the group to the predominant religion is expected (M. Turchetti).66 Ambrose nonetheless drives pagans to the margin. His “let them keep their means . . . let them defend” is by no means an amiable acceptance of pagan practices, adopting a condescending and scornful tone. Ambrose states that Christianity and pagan religions cannot have anything in common: Christians could not endure fellowship with the errors of the other (Alieni erroris societatem suscipere non possumus),67 and the affairs of pagans did not go with Christian ones (Non congruunt igitur vestra nobiscum).68 The lives of religious groups are to be separate and segregated. Is segregation the prerequisite for ‘toleration’? The emperor is Christian, and in Ambrose’s view, “a Christian emperor has learnt to honour no one but Christ”.69 The conviction of the emperor sets the tone of the whole Empire. Ambrose also employs the road metaphor, rejecting Symmachus’ idea of the unattainability of the great secret (tam grande secretum) through one path only. He works out the dichotomy of pagan ignorance and the Christian truth. Christians have already uncovered the great mystery.70 It may appear that Symmachus and Ambrose are, so to say, talking at crosspurposes, or having a dialogue between the deaf.71 If one wants to see something positive in the dispute, one can say that there is a regime of recognition on the learned level between the participants. In fact, Symmachus and Ambrose have much in common, since they represent the same aristocratic elite, recognizing each other as cultivated interlocutors, move on the common cultural ground of Greco-Roman paideia, and use shared symbols and literary devices. Ambrose aknowledges Symmachus as the most celebrated orator of his time.72 The same applies to Themistius and his probable audience. The shared paideia and the use of shared language presupposes a certain form of recognition of all participants, if not as equally authoritative or as proper religious agents, at least as cultivated and eloquent participants.73 For instance, shared language and worldview make it possible for Symmachus to appeal to the divine order and supreme deity, and for Ambrose to twist the word dissimulatio against Symmachus. He understands the force of Symmachus’ strategy, and needs to refute the interpretation of dissimulatio in Symmachus’ terms.74 For Ambrose, dissimulatio is clearly negative, the wrong kind of toleration.

Aftermath The altar of Victoria was never returned to the senate house in Rome. Symmachus’ appeal raised one more reply by the Christian poet Prudentius in Contra orationem Symmachi, usually dated to 402/403. It is uncertain whether Symmachus was still alive that time. Prudentius worked in the poetic manner on the road

Recognizing the road  137 metaphor and rejected the many paths as the work of the devil. The simplex via of Christianity was free from error.75 Prudentius tells pagans to keep away from proper Christians. Pagans cannot have any fellowship of paths (consortia nulla viarum) with God’s people.76 After the transitional period in the late fourth century, imperial religious policies, especially by Emperor Theodosius I, took a more authoritarian and coercive form. It is difficult to avoid representing the narrative of fourth-century Roman society as too simple a trend towards religious intolerance  – the coercive turn that Christianity took in the aftermath of Constantine’s conversion.77 To avoid this, it is imperative to stress that Church leaders such as Ambrose of Milan do not represent all Christians of the period, not all even ecclesiastical writers. The various forms of Christianity were by no means a unified tradition. The same applies to the people whom Christian writers called ‘pagans’. They were by no means a unified group, and probably had very little in common with each other. As a matter in fact, ‘pagans’ was the neat category created by Christian writers to refer to their religious others, and they only exist in relation to the ‘Christians’.78 Themistius probably had less in common, for example, with Emperor Julian’s militant form of Hellenism than with moderate Christians and, vice versa, moderate Christians were probably closer to moderate pagans than to Ambrose. In the research into late antique identities, there is an on-going, vigorous discussion on the boundaries of Christianity, paganism, and groups in general, and an enterprise of going beyond ‘groupism’.79 It is time to recognize the ancients as individuals,80 not simply as groups.

Notes 1 The criteria for what constituted Christianization varied in Late Antiquity, and still vary in modern research, depending on who defined and defines the phenomenon. 2 The words ‘pagans’ and ‘paganism’ should be read with quotation marks throughout this article. The same applies to the words ‘heretics’, ‘heresy’, ‘Arians’ and ‘Arianism’. 3 For intra-Christian disputes, see the contribution by Marcos, Chapter 6 in this volume. 4 Both writers, especially Symmachus, and the controversy over the Victoria altar, have been widely discussed in research on Late Antiquity, even though they are absent in the general histories of religious toleration. 5 Lactantius, De mortibus persecutorum 48.3: liberam potestatem sequendi religionem quam quisque voluisset; the text in Greek in Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 10.5. The ‘Edict of Milan’ is an erroneous term: the imperial proclamation was neither pronounced in Milan nor technically an edict. Constantine and Licinius made a proclamation of their common religious policy after having formed an alliance with one another. The proclamation is traditionally regarded as the turning point in the religious history of the Roman Empire, which it necessarily is not, since another proclamation by Galerius two years earlier basically established the same principles. 6 Early Christian apologists, e.g., Tertullian (Apologeticum 29.5–30.1; 33.2; Ad Scapulam 2.9), had offered the prayer of Christians on behalf of the emperor as the marker of loyalty to the emperor, instead of traditional sacrifice. In the early fourth century in Galerius’ proclamation in 311 (in Lactantius, De mortibus persecutorum 34.4–5), the prayer for the imperial rule was represented as an indication of a subject’s fidelity. Maijastina Kahlos, “Who Is a Good Roman? Setting and Resetting Boundaries for

138  Maijastina Kahlos

7

8

9 10

11

12

13

14 15

Romans, Christians, Pagans and Barbarians in the Late Roman Empire”, The Faces of the Other. Religious Rivalry and Ethnic Encounters in the Later Roman World. Edited by Maijastina Kahlos (Brepols: Turnhout, 2012), 259–74. For prayers in Themistius’ oration, see below (n. 42). For a general survey on Constantine’s religious policy and the modern disputes on Constantine, see Noel Lenski, “Introduction”, The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Constantine. Edited by Noel Lenski (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 1–13. Mario Turchetti, “Religious Concord and Political Tolerance in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century France”, Sixteenth Century Journal 22 (1991): 15–25 uses the concept ‘concord’ to depict the policy in which a government allows what it finds offensive but only because it regards this policy as the best method to achieve unity; the ultimate target of concord is unity and unanimity. For the permission concept of tolerance, see Rainer Forst in Wendy Brown and Rainer Forst, The Power of Tolerance. A Debate. Edited by Luca Di Blasi and Christoph F.E. Holzhey (New York: Columbia University Press, 2014), 25–6, and for reluctant forbearance, Maijastina Kahlos, Forbearance and Compulsion. The Rhetoric of Religious Tolerance and Intolerance in Late Antiquity (London: Duckworth, 2009), 58–9. These orders were given by Constantine’s sons and successors, especially Constantius II (reigned 337–361), Constantine II (reigned 337–340), and Constans (reigned 337– 340). Some prohibitions against sacrifices and divination (e.g., Codex Theodosianus 9.16.4, 9.16.16) followed earlier Roman legislation against private practices. For the fourth-century legislation, uncertainties and the enforcement of laws, see Michele Salzman, “Superstitio in the Codex Theodosianus and the Persecution of Pagans”, Vigiliae Christianae 41(1987), 179–80 and Kahlos, Forbearance, 64–6. For continuities, see John Curran, Pagan City and Christian Capital: Rome in the Fourth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 161–93. For a survey of varying modern interpretations of Julian’s religious programme, see Rowland B.E. Smith, Julian’s Gods. Religion and Philosophy in the Thought and Action of Julian the Apostate (London: Routledge, 1995), 207–16. Constantine ordered pagans and Christians to act with moderation toward each other; Julian stressed that people should be persuaded, not forced. Both emphasized concord and social stability. Peter Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity. Towards a Christian Empire (Madison WI: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1992) has stressed the shared culture and education, paideia, that transcended the ethnic and religious differences in the Roman Empire in Late Antiquity; see also Claudia Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2005), 180–1, especially in the case of bishops. This has also been stressed by Nancy Fraser, e.g., in Nancy Fraser and Axel Honneth, Redistribution or Recognition? A Political-Philosophical Exchange (London: Verso, 2003). For the debate, see Danielle Petherbridge, “Introduction: Axel Honneth’s Project of Critical Theory”, Axel Honneth. Critical Essays: With a Reply by Axel Honneth, ed. Danielle Petherbridge (Leiden & Boston: Brill, 2011), 20. The road metaphor is by no means a Greco-Roman or Christian idiosyncrasy, but is found in other cultures, as well. For Greco-Roman and Christian Antiquity, see Christian Gnilka, Chrēsis: Die Methoden der Kirchenväter im Umgang mit der antiken Kultur. 2, Kultur und Conversion (Basel: Schwabe, 1993), 28–9. John 14:6. Augustine, De civitate Dei 10.32 (= Porphyry, De regressu animae, fr. 12). Porphyry claimed that not even the truest philosophy (probably referring to Platonism), nor the moral teaching of the Indians nor the initiation of the Chaldeans, could offer a universal path to the liberation of the soul. As Garth Fowden, Empire to Commonwealth: Consequences of Monotheism in Late Antiquity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993), 39 points out, “much of the argument’s original texture has clearly been

Recognizing the road  139

16

17 18

19

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31

32 33

lost in the Augustinian filter”, and it is impossible to reconstruct the entire line of Porphyry’s reasoning. Themistius had an outstanding career not only as a philosopher and teacher of rhetoric, but also as the adviser of emperors and the leading senator in Constantinople, from Constantius II until Theodosius I (but probably not during Julian’s reign). Gilbert Dagron, “L’empire romaine d’Orient au IVème siècle et les traditions politiques de l’hellénisme: le témoignage de Thémistios”, Travaux et Mémoires 3 (1968): 5–16; Hartmut Leppin and Werner Portmann, Themistius, Staatsreden (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1998), 1–26; Peter Heather and David Moncur, Politics, Philosophy, and Empire in the Fourth Century. Select Orations of Themistius (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2001), 1–42. Themistius delivered his Oration 5 (hereafter Them. Or.), first in honour of Jovian’s consulship in Ancyra, Jan. 1, 364 and again later in Constantinople. Themistii orationes quae supersunt I. Edited by H. Schenkl and G. Downey (Leipzig: Teubner 1951). Themistius’ characterization of Jovian’s policy is reinforced by the Church historian Socrates (Historia ecclesiastica 3.25.4), who depicts the Emperor’s moderate attitude towards religious dissidents. For Jovian’s policies, see R.M. Errington, Roman Imperial Policy from Julian to Theodosius (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 173–5. Especially Them. Or. 5.67d. Themistius’ Oration 5 is not a petition for religious moderation addressed to Jovian, as scholars, e.g., John Vanderspoel, Themistius and the Imperial Court: Oratory, Civic Duty, and Paideia from Constantius and Theodosius (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1995), 148–53, have sometimes interpreted it. Rather, as Heather and Moncur, Politics, 34–5, 157–8 suggest, it should be read as a justification and support for the new emperor’s already on-going policy. For a survey of the scholarly discussions, see Kahlos, Forbearance, 82–3. Them. Or. 5.69c. Ibid., 5.69b–c. Ibid., Ibid., 5.67c. Ibid., 5.67c–d. Themistius alludes to people who under the reigns of Constantius II and Julian converted to Christianity, then turned towards paganism and finally even abandoned paganism, returning to Christianity. Them. Or. 5.67d–68a. Them. Or. 5.68a. Ibid., 5.68a. Ibid., 5.68b. The resemblances are stressed by H.A. Drake, “Constantinian Echoes in Themistius”, Studia Patristica 34 (2001): 49; and Clifford Ando, “Pagan Apologetics and Christian Intolerance in the Ages of Themistius and Augustine”, Journal of Early Christian Studies 4 (1996): 171–207. For the earlier Christian apologists, see Hartmut Leppin’s contribution, Chapter 4 in this volume. Them. Or. 5.68a. For the monotheistic koine in Late Antiquity, see Polymnia Athanassiadi and Micheal Frede, “Introduction”, Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity. Edited by Polymnia Athanassiadi and Michael Frede (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 16–18; Alfons Fürst, “Christentum im Trend. Monotheistische Tendenzen in der späten Antike”, Zeitschrift für antikes Christentum 9 (2006): 496–523; and Guy G. Stroumsa, The Making of the Abrahamic Religions in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 43–4. Them. Or. 5.70a. Ibid., 5.70a. Themistius divides the subjects of the Empire into three religions, calling Christians Syrians and making Egyptians a distinct group. Porphyry of Tyre and the

140  Maijastina Kahlos

34 35

36 37 38

39 40 41 42 43 44 45

46 47

Emperor Julian had referred to Christians as Galileans, which also emphasized the regional origin of Christians and was thus aimed at weakening Christian claims of universality. The Egyptians were occasionally distinguished as a group of their own from Christians and pagans in Late Antiquity. Themistius’ use of the term Egyptians has sometimes been interpreted as a reference to the Iamblichean mysteriosophy: Riccardo Maisano, “Il discorso di Temistio a Gioviano sulla tolleranza”, Pagani e cristiani da Giuliano l’Apostata al Sacco di Roma. Edited by Franca Elia Consolino (Messina: Rubbettino editore, 1995), 36; and Dagron, “Thémistios”, 155–6. Them. Or. 5.70a. On the one hand, the diversity of philosophical opinions, cults, and religious traditions was appreciated by other pagan writers such as Maximus of Madauros (letter 16, preserved in Augustine’s correspondence), who speaks positively about the discordia concors of the traditional cults. On the other hand, the unity of a religious or philosophical tradition was highly valued by a number of Platonic authors and most Christian writers (see Maijastina Kahlos, Debate and Dialogue. Christian and Pagan Cultures, c. 360–430 [Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007], 68–70). Them. Or. 5.70a. Ibid., 5.70b. What was understood by “lawful sacrifices” and the “haunts of imposture” probably depended on the interpretations of local magistrates, according to local circumstances. Thus, the early fourth-century proclamations (Galerius’ decree, Licinius’ letter, or the ‘Edict of Milan’) were a change in the pattern of outlining legal and illegal religions. In the earlier scholarship, a Roman system of licit and illicit religions was construed from Tertullian’s Apologeticum 21.1, in which the writer calls the cult of Jews religio licita and Apologeticum 39.20, in which he calls the assembly of Christians “coitio Christianorum . . . illicita”. However, Tertullian did not write in the terms of Roman jurisprudence here. He introduced a new expression religio licita for apologetic purposes that had not existed before as a Roman concept. Strictly speaking, Roman legal writers only mention lawful and unlawful colleges (collegia). Andreas Bendlin, ‘Eine Zusammenkunft um der religio willen ist erlaubt . . .?’ Zu den politischen und rechtlichen Konstruktionen von (religiöser) Vergemeinschaftung in der römischen Kaiserzeit”, Die verrechtliche Religion. Der Öffentlichkeitsstatus von Religionsgemeinschaften, Edited by H. G. Kippenberg and G. F. Schuppert (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 78. For the concept of magic and Roman legislation, see James B. Rives, “Magic in Roman Law: The Reconstruction of a Crime”, Classical Antiquity 22 (2003): 313–39. Them. Or. 5.68c–69a. Ibid., 5.68c; 5.69a. Translated by Heather and Moncur, Politics, 168–9. Them. Or. 5.69c. Ibid., 5.69c. For prayers as the marker of allegiance, see note 6. For the mediated recognition, see Heikki J. Koskinen’s contribution, Chapter 2 in this volume. The proclamation is not extant, but Valentinian I and Valens refer to it in their decree of 371: Codex Theodosianus 9.16.9. This declaration of libera facultas resembles Licinius and Constantine’s proclamation of 313 (‘Edict of Milan’) that granted everyone the freedom to follow whatever religio they wished. Codex Theodosianus 9.16.8 prohibited all sacrifices, both public and private, by day as well as by night while Codex Theodosianus 9.16.9 permitted public soothsaying unless it was used for harmful purposes. Codex Theodosianus 16.1.2 (in 380) defined religio as the one that had been passed on by Apostle Peter and followed by Damasus, Bishop of Rome, and Peter, Bishop of Alexandria, and was defined yet further in terms of the Nicene Trinitarian doctrine. For the influence of the cunctos populos, Peter Garnsey and Caroline Humfress, The Evolution of the Late Antique World (Cambridge: Orchard Academic, 2001), 141–2.

Recognizing the road  141 48 The date is also under scholarly dispute; for a discussion, see Alan Cameron, The Last Pagans of Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 644–7; and Alan Cameron, “Pontifex Maximus: From Augustus to Gratian – and Beyond”, in Emperors and the Divine – Rome and Its Influence, ed. Maijastina Kahlos (Helsinki: Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies, 2016), 139–59. 49 Gratian’s decree on subsidies and revenues has not been preserved but the Codex Theodosianus 16.10.20 issued by Honorius in 415 refers to it. The revenues of the Vestal Virgins became a key issue in the dispute on the altar of Victoria between Symmachus and Bishop Ambrose. 50 Symmachus’ plea was in the form of an administrative report (Relatio 3, hereafter Symm. Rel. 3) that he wrote as the prefect of the city of Rome nominally to all three reigning emperors, Valentinian II, Theodosius I, and Arcadius, but in practice to Valentinian II, then at the court of Milan. Q. Aurelii Symmachi quae supersunt, ed. Otto Seeck, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Auctores antiquissimi, VI 1 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1961 (1883)). 51 Symm. Rel. 3.11–19. This gave Ambrose in his reply (Letter 18.11) a good opportunity to label ‘pagans’ as interested only in the economic advantages: “We [Christians] glory in the blood spilt by martyrs. They [pagans] are upset by expense”. Translated by J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose of Milan: Political Letters and Speeches (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2005), 84. 52 For the controversy, see, e.g.,  Richard Klein, Der Streit um den Victoria altar: Die dritte Relatio des Symmachus und die Briefe 17, 18 und 57 des Mailänder Bischofs Ambrosius (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1972). 53 R.H. Barrow, Prefect and Emperor. The Relationes of Symmachus (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), 37 translates dissimulatio as ‘the policy of the blind eye’; Klein, Der Streit, 101 as ‘Duldsamkeit’; and Fabrizio Canfora, L’altare della Vittoria (Palermo: Sellerio, 1991), 145 as simply ‘tolleranza’. Dissimulatio is usually in pejorative legislative texts, meaning pretence, deception, trickery, and negligence. Ambrose uses the word in a negative sense. 54 Symm. Rel. 3.3; 3.7. 55 Ibid., 3.8; 3.10. 56 Nous is the second hypostasis of the neo-Platonic trinity of the One (Hen), Intellect (Nous), and Soul (Psyche). Furthermore, nous is the first emanation from the One and was regarded as the Creator God. 57 Symm. Rel. 3.8: Eadem spectamus astra, commune caelum est, idem nos mundus involvit: quid interest, qua quisque prudentia verum requirat? Uno itinere non potest perveniri ad tam grande secretum. 58 The resemblances reflect the common notions employed in the discussions of religious plurality in the fourth century. Furthermore, it is possible that Symmachus knew Themistius’ orations, and was even personally acquainted with him. 59 Ambrose, Letters 17–18 (hereafter Ambr. ep. 17 and Ambr. ep. 18). (= Letters 72–73 in Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum 82.3) The appeal had impressed the imperial court with its argument and eloquence, or at least this is how Ambrose represented the affair: for Ambrose of Milan, see Neil McLynn, Ambrose of Milan. Church and Court in a Christian Capital (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1994) and Liebeschuetz, Ambrose, 1–46. 60 Ambr. ep. 17.8. 61 Ibid., 17.13–14. Furthermore, God must be set before all other things: Ambr. ep. 17.6. Ambrose addressed his letter as a restoration of Christian discipline not only for Valentinian II, but also for the Christian aristocrats who sympathized with Symmachus’ plea. For Ambrose, those Christians who supported compromises with pagans were Christians in name only (aliqui nomine Christiani: Ambr. ep. 17.8). 62 Ambr. ep. 17.2; again ep. 18.29: dissimulationem principum.

142  Maijastina Kahlos 63 Ambr. ep. 17.7. Translated by Liebeschuetz, Ambrose, 65; ep. 17.11. Ambr. ep. 17.9– 10: Christian senators are deprived of their dignity while pagan senators are allowed to fulfil their impious aspirations. The argument is enhanced by the claim that Christian senators form the majority of the senate. For Ambrose’s argument, see Klein, Der Streit, 46–7 and Peter Garnsey, “Religious Toleration in Classical Antiquity”, Persecution and Toleration. Edited by W.J. Sheils (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 1984), 16. 64 Ambr. ep. 17.1; 17.6; 17.17; 18.10. 65 Ibid., 18.22: Sibi habeant praesidia sua; suos, si possunt, illa defendant; see also Ambr. ep. 17.6–7. Klaus Rosen, “Fides contra dissimulationem. Ambrosius und Symmachus im Kampf um den Victoriaaltar”, Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 37 (1994): 35–6 sees Ambrose’ stance as in an overtly positive light (speaking even of Anerkennung). 66 Brown and Forst, Power of Tolerance, 15: “Permission conception: you are tolerated on a set of conditions, you are given permission to exist but all the power is in the hands of the one who grants this permission.” Brown and Forst, Power of Tolerance, 23–4: ‘repressive tolerance’. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Sämtliche Werke: Bd. 9, Die Wahlverwandtschaften; Novellen; Maximen und Reflexionen. Edited by Ernst Beutler and Paul Stöcklein, [Nachdr.] (Zürich: Ex libris, 1979), 614: Maximen und Reflexionen no. 876: “Toleranz sollte eigentlich nur eine vorübergehende Gesinnung sein: Sie muss zur Anerkennung führen. Dulden heißt beleidigen.” Turchetti, “Religious Concord”, 15, 20–2, 25, makes a distinction between concord and toleration, based on the French sixteenth- and seventeenth-century texts; see also Cary J. Nederman and John Christian Laursen, “Difference and Dissent: Introduction”, Difference and Dissent: Theories of Toleration in Medieval and Early Modern Europe. Edited by John Christian Laursen and Cary J. Nederman (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1996), 9. 67 Ambr. ep. 17.13–14. 68 Ibid., 18.8. 69 Ibid., 18.10. 70 Ibid., 18.8. 71 Domenico Vera, Commento storico alle Relationes di Quinto Aurelio Simmaco (Pisa: Giardini editori, 1981), 15: ‘Un dialogo fra sordi’; François Paschoud, “L’intolérance chrétienne vue et jugée par les païens”, Cristianesimo nella storia 11 (1990): 566 also speaks of ‘un dialogue de sourds’. 72 This has been stressed by Isabella Gualandri, “La risposta di Ambrogio a Simmaco: destinatari pagani e destinatari cristiani”, Pagani e cristiani da Giuliano l’Apostata al Sacco di Roma. edited by Franca Elia Consolino (Messina: Rubbettino editore, 1995), 242–9; see also McLynn, Ambrose, 264; Kahlos, Debate, 76–7. 73 Mattias Iser, “Recognition”, in Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, first published Aug 23, 2013. http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/recognition/,discussing Habermas’ remarks on discourse ethics. 74 Wendy Brown, Regulating Aversion: Tolerance in the Age of Identity and Empire (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006), 25 is correct in stressing tolerance as a discourse of power and showing that tolerance “does not operate as a conception, it operates as a discourse; and if it operates as a discourse that means it is already organized by certain arrangements of power that it masks”. 75 Prudentius, Contra orationem Symmachi 2.889–91; simplex via: 2.849–50. 76 Prudentius, Contra orationem Symmachi 2.901–2. 77 H. A. Drake, “Intolerance, Religious Violence, and Political Legitimacy in Late Antiquity”, Journal of the American Academy of Religion 79, no. 1 (2011): 218. 78 For the concepts of paganism and Christianity, see Kahlos, Debate, 15–28. 79 For discussions on groups and identities, see, e.g.,  Stanley Stowers, “The Concept of ‘Community’ and the History of Early Christianity”, Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 23 (2011): 238–56; and Éric Rebillard, Christians and Their Many

Recognizing the road  143 Identities in Late Antiquity, North Africa, 200–450 CE (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2012). The term ‘groupism’ is from Rogers Brubaker, Ethnicity Without Groups (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), who warns scholars against sticking to group categories. Warnings are also expedient for the study of the past. 80 This is not to speak about individuals in the modern sense of the word. The emergence of new individuality from the early imperial period onwards in discussed in the articles in Jörg Rüpke, ed., The Individual in the Religions of the Ancient Mediterranean (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013).

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Symmachus, Relatio 3 Q. Aurelii Symmachi quae supersunt. Edited by Otto Seeck. Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Auctores antiquissimi, VI 1. Berlin: Weidmann, 1961 (1883). Prefect and Emperor. The Relationes of Symmachus. With translation, introduction and notes by R.H. Barrow. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973.

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Modern research Ando, Clifford. “Pagan Apologetics and Christian Intolerance in the Ages of Themistius and Augustine.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 4 (1996): 171–207. Athanassiadi, Polymnia and Michael Frede. “Introduction.” In Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity, edited by Polymnia Athanassiadi and Michael Frede, 1–20. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. Bendlin, Andreas. “ ‘Eine Zusammenkunft um der religio willen ist erlaubt . . .?’ Zu den politischen und rechtlichen Konstruktionen von (religiöser) Vergemeinschaftung in der

144  Maijastina Kahlos römischen Kaiserzeit.” In Die verrechtliche Religion. Der Öffentlichkeitsstatus von Religionsgemeinschaften, edited by H.G. Kippenberg and G.F. Schuppert, 65–107. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013. Brown, Peter. Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity. Towards a Christian Empire. Madison WI: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1992. Brown, Wendy. Regulating Aversion: Tolerance in the Age of Identity and Empire. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006. Brown, Wendy and Rainer Forst. The Power of Tolerance. A Debate. Edited by Luca Di Blasi and Christoph F. E. Holzhey. New York: Columbia University Press, 2014. Brubaker, Rogers. Ethnicity Without Groups. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004. Cameron, Alan. The Last Pagans of Rome. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. ———. “Pontifex Maximus: From Augustus to Gratian – and Beyond.” In Emperors and the Divine – Rome and Its Influence, edited by Maijastina Kahlos, 139–59. CollEGium, Studies across Disciplines in the Humanities and Social Sciences. Helsinki: Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies, 2016. Canfora, Fabrizio. Simmaco – Ambrogio, L’altare della Vittoria. Palermo: Sellerio, 1991. Curran, John. Pagan City and Christian Capital: Rome in the Fourth Century. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Dagron, Gilbert. “L’empire romaine d’Orient au IVème siècle et les traditions politiques de l’hellénisme: le témoignage de Thémistios.” Travaux et Mémoires 3 (1968): 1–242. Drake, H. A. “Constantinian Echoes in Themistius.” Studia Patristica 34 (2001): 44–50. ———. “Intolerance, Religious Violence, and Political Legitimacy in Late Antiquity.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 79, no. 1 (2011): 193–235. Errington, R.M. Roman Imperial Policy from Julian to Theodosius. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006. Fowden, Garth. Empire to Commonwealth: Consequences of Monotheism in Late Antiquity. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993. Fraser, Nancy and Axel Honneth. Redistribution or Recognition? A Political-Philosophical Exchange. London: Verso, 2003. Fürst, Alfons. “Christentum im Trend. Monotheistische Tendenzen in der späten Antike.” Zeitschrift für antikes Christentum 9 (2006): 496–523. Garnsey, Peter. “Religious Toleration in Classical Antiquity.” In Persecution and Toleration, edited by W.J. Sheils, 1–28. Oxford: Blackwell, 1984. Garnsey, Peter and Caroline Humfress. The Evolution of the Late Antique World. Cambridge: Orchard Academic, 2001. Gnilka, Christian. Chrēsis: Die Methode der Kirchenväter im Umgang mit der antiken Kultur. 2, Kultur und Conversion. Basel: Schwabe, 1993. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. Sämtliche Werke: Bd. 9, Die Wahlverwandtschaften; Novellen; Maximen und Reflexionen, edited by Ernst Beutler and Paul Stöcklein. [Nachdr.]. Zürich: Ex libris, 1979. Gualandri, Isabella. “La risposta di Ambrogio a Simmaco: destinatari pagani e destinatari cristiani.” In Pagani e cristiani da Giuliano l’Apostata al Sacco di Roma, edited by Franca Elia Consolino, 241–56. Messina: Rubbettino editore, 1995. Heather, Peter and David Moncur. Politics, Philosophy, and Empire in the Fourth Century. Select Orations of Themistius. Translated with an introduction by Peter Heather and David Moncur. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2001.

Recognizing the road  145 Iser, Mattias. “Recognition.” In Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, first published 23 August 2013. http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/recognition/ Kahlos, Maijastina. Debate and Dialogue. Christian and Pagan Cultures, c. 360–430. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007. ———. Forbearance and Compulsion. The Rhetoric of Religious Tolerance and Intolerance in Late Antiquity. London: Duckworth, 2009. ———. “Who Is a Good Roman? Setting and Resetting Boundaries for Romans, Christians, Pagans and Barbarians in the Late Roman Empire.” In The Faces of the Other. Religious Rivalry and Ethnic Encounters in the Later Roman World, edited by Maijastina Kahlos, 259–74. Cursor mundi 10. Brepols: Turnhout, 2012. Klein, Richard. Der Streit um den Victoria altar: Die dritte Relatio des Symmachus und die Briefe 17, 18 und 57 des Mailänder Bischofs Ambrosius. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1972. Lenski, Noel. “Introduction.” In The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Constantine, edited by Noel Lenski, 1–13. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Leppin, Hartmut and Werner Portmann. Themistius, Staatsreden, Übers., Einf. und Erläut. von Hartmut Leppin und Werner Portmann. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1998. Maisano, Riccardo. “Il discorso di Temistio a Gioviano sulla tolleranza.” In Pagani e cristiani da Giuliano l’Apostata al Sacco di Roma, edited by Franca Elia Consolino, 35–51. Messina: Rubbettino editore, 1995. McLynn, Neil. Ambrose of Milan. Church and Court in a Christian Capital. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Nederman, Cary J. and John Christian Laursen. “Difference and Dissent: Introduction.” In Difference and Dissent: Theories of Toleration in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, edited by Laursen, John Christian and Cary J. Nederman, 1–16. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1996. Paschoud, François. “L’intolérance chrétienne vue et jugée par les païens.” Cristianesimo nella storia 11 (1990): 545–77. Petherbridge, Danielle. “Introduction: Axel Honneth’s Project of Critical Theory.” In Axel Honneth. Critical Essays: With a Reply by Axel Honneth, edited by Danielle Petherbridge, 1–30. Leiden & Boston: Brill, 2011. Rapp, Claudia. Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005. Rebillard, Éric. Christians and Their Many Identities in Late Antiquity, North Africa, 200– 450 CE. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2012. Rives, James B. “Magic in Roman Law: The Reconstruction of a Crime.” Classical Antiquity 22 (2003): 313–39. Rosen, Klaus. “Fides contra dissimulationem. Ambrosius und Symmachus im Kampf um den Victoriaaltar.” Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 37 (1994): 29–36. Rüpke, Jörg, ed. The individual in the religions of the Ancient Mediterranean. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Salzman, Michele. “Superstitio in the Codex Theodosianus and the Persecution of Pagans.” Vigiliae Christianae 41 (1987): 172–88. Smith, Rowland B.E. Julian’s Gods. Religion and Philosophy in the Thought and Action of Julian the Apostate. London: Routledge, 1995. Stowers, Stanley. “The Concept of ‘Community’ and the History of Early Christianity.” Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 23 (2011): 238–56.

146  Maijastina Kahlos Stroumsa, Guy G. The Making of the Abrahamic Religions in Late Antiquity. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Turchetti, Mario. “Religious Concord and Political Tolerance in Sixteenth- and SeventeenthCentury France.” Sixteenth Century Journal 22 (1991): 15–25. Vanderspoel, John. Themistius and the Imperial Court: Oratory, Civic Duty, and Paideia from Constantius and Theodosius. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1995. Vera, Domenico. Commento storico alle Relationes di Quinto Aurelio Simmaco. Pisa: Giardini editori, 1981.

Section III

Medieval and early modern intersections

8 Shame, self-evaluation, and recognition in the Middle Ages Ritva Palmén

1.  Introduction Shame has often been claimed to be one of the strongest social emotions of human beings. At the same time, it is very private. This paradoxical nature of shame makes it an intriguing but difficult emotion to study. Contemporary research on shame is active, especially in the medical and psychiatric sciences, literary criticism, and philosophy.1 The traditional view in most studies is that shame is a social emotion and is therefore fundamentally linked with social values, revealing our submission to external standards or our concern for “the eyes of others”.2 In modern political philosophy, contemporary recognition theories have often taken the feeling of shame to be an outcome of misrecognition in social encounters. Most theories of recognition assume that in order to develop a practical identity, people fundamentally depend on the feedback of other subjects. Axel Honneth argues in The Struggle for Recognition that the feeling of shame does not depend on which part of the interaction is responsible for violating the supposed norm. It is the emotional content of shame which lowers one’s own feeling of self-worth. Feelings of being ashamed mean feeling that one has a lower social value than one had previously assumed, and as a consequence, the subject’s self-conception is violated. This kind of shame can be experienced only in the presence of a real or an imaginary interaction partner, who acts as a witness to the injured ideal of oneself. In terms of recognition theory, the person’s ego-claim is disregarded by significant others. The awareness of the fact that the conception of oneself by others is somehow distorted produces the incentive to identify the source of repression and becomes a target for one’s struggle for recognition. The goal of recognition is thus the elimination of shame.3 In the framework of recognition theory, the feeling of shame may be seen as a fundamental instigator in social and political evolution. A number of social movements, like the Civil Rights Movement and the Gay Rights Movement, can be explained as struggles to alter social responses to and definitions of stigmatized attributes, replacing shame with the feeling of pride. In my article, I will examine the feeling of shame, as well as other related social feelings as they are manifested in a selection of medieval texts.4 I will pay special attention to the social dimension of shame in moral conduct and shame as part of

150  Ritva Palmén self-regulation. These questions are treated on a par with the broader issue of how the medieval authors viewed one’s relation to oneself, as well as the surrounding society and reality in general. The basic assumption in this article is that social feelings, such as shame or desire for esteem, are essentially associated with various historically and culturally grounded systems of shared meanings, which may change according to context. While emotions undeniably have their physical and psychological bases, they are also influenced, defined, and reinforced by ideologies, teachings, and common beliefs. The emotional reactions thus rely on learned practices and existing moral norms and are not reducible to sociobiological explanations. The aim of this article is to examine the history of the emotion of shame and its formation in medieval cultural and intellectual settings. The resulting re-articulations of shame can in turn offer novel perspectives for contemporary understanding of emotions and the ways in which they are culturally constructed in our own times.5 In the following, I will first make some remarks about the medieval writings based on commentaries on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and Rhetoric, as well as the Aristotelian tradition of virtue ethics in general. Second, I  will explore medieval ideas of the confession of sin which frequently include analysis of the role of shame as a constitutive element in penitence. These two discussions oftentimes overlap. Third, I  will introduce and analyze sources which consider the individual’s inner psychological mechanisms and the regulation of the self. These texts seek to promote balanced spiritual and/or social life in their communities. In this tradition, inspired by Augustinian psychology, the importance of self-­ reflection and formation of a good relation with oneself come to the fore, aspects that are strongly emphasized in modern recognition theories as well. The vocabulary of shame is particularly rich in the Middle Ages, including such words as verecundia, pudor, erubescentia, confusio, ignominia, and pudicitia. As research shows, often these are used synonymously; however, in some cases, the author may distinguish them by giving them some further qualifications. Shame is usually discussed together with other social emotions like respect or emotions that may have social counter effects, like indignation. The texts also include discussion of various biased forms of shame and how they should be avoided.6

2.  Shame in medieval commentaries on Aristotle In order to address the medieval ideas of shame, we first need to examine the medieval commentary tradition on Aristotle. Aristotle discusses shame mainly in the Nicomachean Ethics and the Rhetoric. In Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle famously writes that shame should not be described as a virtue, for it is more like a feeling than a state of character. It is defined as a kind of fear of dishonour, even producing effects similar to those produced by fear of danger in that people who feel disgraced blush, and those who fear death turn pale. Moreover, the feeling of shame is not becoming to every age, but only to the young. Young people should be predisposed to shame because they live by feeling and therefore commit many errors, but are restrained by shame; however, an older person should

Shame, self-evaluation, and recognition 151 not be praised for being prone to the sense of disgrace, since he should not do anything that would cause shame. The sense of disgrace is not characteristic of a good man since it is consequent on bad actions. Aristotle makes a distinction between actions which are disgraceful in very truth and those which are held to be such only by common opinion. He considers that this makes no difference; since neither class of action should be done, accordingly, no disgrace should be felt.7 Aristotle has a different approach in his Rhetoric, which deals with the modes of persuasion in public speeches that are premeditated for politics and trials. In this longer and somewhat different account, Aristotle does not relate shame to virtues or a particular age, but defines it as a mental picture of disgrace, in which we shrink from the disgrace itself and not from its consequences.8 This idea interestingly highlights the paradoxical nature of shame as something private as well as public. The sense of shame includes an unpleasant mental picture of ourselves, i.e., an element of critical private self-evaluation. However, shame is simultaneously something social or even political. Shame includes an unpleasant awareness that we are losing the respect of others. In particular, Aristotle mentions that we tend to feel shame when we lack a share in the honourable things common to all or nearly all who are like ourselves. By ‘those like ourselves’, Aristotle refers to people who share the same race or country or age or family, or are considered to be generally at the same level. It is disgraceful not to get an education or other advantages similar to other people at the same social level. This all may happen because of our own moral turpitude, which is blamable, but Aristotle implies that all this may also be a consequence of something else, which we cannot control.9 Aristotle writes straightforwardly that the people before whom we feel shame are those whose opinion of us matters.10 Shame thus reveals those people who are significant to us. The idea of ‘significant others’ is often mentioned in contemporary recognition theories, as well. The formation of identity and the struggle for recognition is thought to take place in continual dialogical encounters with our ‘significant others’, those to whom a person is bound by relations of intimate recognition.11 Aristotle holds that these people include those who we respect or who possess something good that is esteemed. They might also be special in that we are anxious to get something from them. In general, we relate ourselves to our equals.12 These remarks highlight the social nature of shame, which is given a clear expression in Aristotle’s often cited note that “shame dwells in the eyes”. The specific nature of an audience is complex. Aristotle observes that before our intimates we are ashamed of those faults that seem to be genuine. However, before strangers, we are ashamed of faults that are considered to be conventional. This awareness of being observed by an audience and the potential for shame makes us both do some things, but also avoid doing some other things.13 Thus, shame has a direct effect on our conduct. As noted by Charles Taylor, our comportment is shaped by our awareness that we appear before others, that we stand in public space, and this space is potentially one of respect or contempt, or pride or shame.14 Aristotle’s reception in the Middle Ages occurred in several stages and was not a straightforward process. The Nicomachean Ethics was eagerly commented on, unlike the Rhetoric, which was much less discussed.15 This unequal reception and

152  Ritva Palmén commentary tradition shaped medieval intellectual discussions on shame significantly. In commentary literature, three basic tenets are manifest: first, the debate on whether shame can be considered as a virtue; second, deliberation about the social dimensions of shame on the basis of the Rhetoric; and third, the discussion concerning behavioural tendencies of shame like blushing, already noted by Aristotle, usually mentioned and linked with new medical theories of the time.16 In his commentary on Nicomachean Ethics, the German Dominican Albert the Great (d. 1280) repeats Aristotle’s idea that well-disposed adults and old people should not feel shame, since they do not commit bad acts. There is nothing laudable if an old person is ashamed. Albert discusses shame and the possibility of distinguishing between really disgraceful acts and those that are only considered to be disgraceful according to common opinion. A person may feel shame in both cases, and a well-disposed person should not commit either kind of act. The good that is interiorly understood in one’s own heart is important, but so is the good that is formed according to common opinion. Albert links the common opinion with fame by concluding that one who disregards reputation should be considered as inhuman/cruel.17 Thomas Aquinas (d. 1274) treats the sense of shame in his Summa Theologiae and commentary on Nicomachean Ethics.18 He also discusses shame in his commentary on Peter Lombard’s Sentences. In his commentary on the Ethics, Aquinas affirms Aristotle’s paradigmatic stance of shame; that is, saying that shame is not properly called a virtue, but is more like a passion than a habit which is of the genus of virtue. Shame is said to be fear of disgrace or confusion which is the opposite of glory. Consequently, shame belongs to the genus of passion.19 In his Summa, Aquinas, relying on John Damascene’s authority, enumerates six different species of fear, which are sluggishness (segnities), shamefacedness or embarrassment (erubescentia), shame (verecundia), wonder (admiratio), amazement (stupor), and agony (agonia).20 The sense of shame is presented as a species of fear of evil, which concerns the disgrace that damages an individual’s reputation (turpitudo laedens opinionem).21 If disgrace is feared in an act about to be committed, it is called shamefacedness (erubescentia), whereas if the fear has to do with a disgraceful act that has already been committed, then it is shame (verecundia).22 In his analysis of temperance, Aquinas continues the discussion of whether shame (verecundia) can be counted as a virtue. Since the emotional disposition of shame is avoidance of disgrace, it serves well as an integral part of temperance, which is a cardinal virtue in itself. Another integral part of temperance is honesty. Shame and honesty together are required conditions for virtue. Shame makes one resist the disgrace that is contrary to temperance, whereas through honesty one loves the beauty of temperance. This way shame serves as a conditional disposition for a virtuous life, even for elderly and morally good people.23 This characterization of shame goes beyond Aristotle’s idea that a morally good person is not disposed to feel shame.24 Aquinas explains his departure from the standard definition by claiming that virtue itself can be understood in both a strict and a broad sense. If virtue is

Shame, self-evaluation, and recognition  153 considered as a perfection, shame cannot be counted among the virtues. However, in a broad sense, virtue denotes whatever is good and praiseworthy in human acts or passions; therefore, since shame is a praiseworthy passion, it still may sometimes be called a virtue.25 Clearly, Aquinas wishes to maintain the basic Aristotelian position; however, he has a strong tendency to integrate the sense of shame as part of his general theory of virtues and morally good behaviour. This inclination is presumably influenced by Stoic ethical thought, which sees shame as a kind of virtue, an incentive to deliberate thoughtfully, and important in learning to live a virtuous life. In this setting, shame is understood more like eupatheia, a form of cautiousness, than the emotion of fear.26 Aquinas addresses the social aspect of shame directly by asking whether man feels more shame before those who are more closely connected with him.27 Basically, we fear reproach (or disgrace). Shame is a kind of deliberate fear that makes one assess one’s behaviour in different social exchanges and evaluate one’s standing in relation to other people. It also forces the individual into self-evaluation and restraint from transgressing social norms.28 Reproach testifies to a person’s defect. If the attestation of the defect is considered to be weighty, the person is more ashamed. We are more apt to be ashamed by those who are connected with us, since they know our deeds better. Strangers and people entirely unknown to us do not inspire us to shame. We are not ashamed before animals and children, either, because they lack the judgement. We feel shame before people who are able to harm us, since people of our own society are able to harm our lives continually.29 This highlights how the person with more social relations has all the more occasion to practice shame.30 The feeling of shame also indirectly reveals who we think our superiors are in the sense that the attestation of people of the better sort has more weight and makes us feel more shame. Aquinas seems to think that better people means morally or intellectually superior people. They have not attained their position on the basis of their secular status, like a place in the economic or political hierarchy. We also feel shame before people whom we have done no harm, because those people might lose their previous good opinion of us.31 Aquinas acknowledges that shame often accompanies reproach, even in cases when one suffers it because of virtue. It may happen that a man is ashamed of virtuous deeds either because he looks upon them as vicious according to human opinion, or because he is afraid of being seen as arrogant or hypocritical for doing virtuous deeds. The feeling of shame in such cases might be considered as weakness.32 However, the example shows that people who are virtuous or morally good can still feel ashamed of themselves in the eyes of their significant others; that is, their own reference group. In other words, the socially constructed norms collide with an individual’s own norms, which creates pressure for the individual’s moral deliberation. Although Aquinas goes into some detail in his paraphrasing of Aristotle’s Rhetoric and its ideas on shame, he interestingly omits some of its important observations. For instance, he does not elaborate Aristotle’s deliberation of the kind of shame that is inspired by the lack of a share in the honourable things common by

154  Ritva Palmén our kind of people. Aristotle mentions how disgraceful it is to be without similar education or other advantages to other people at the same social level. Aquinas does not comment on these ideas, but briefly mentions that sometimes an individual may be ashamed of poverty, disrepute, or servitude, which, without being actual sin, are defects, at least according to man’s opinion.33

3.  Salutary shame Along with experiences of shame felt by individuals, medieval texts embrace a more general notion of shame, which is reflected in various metaphysical and theological assumptions in Western culture, i.e., metaphysical shame.34 Its original religious and cultural foundation may be found in the first pages of the Bible, where Adam and Eve feel shame after the fall. Another instance of shame in the biblical setting is Christ’s shameful death on the cross. Metaphysical shame may also be located in various philosophical systems of thought, such as those dualist models that emphasize the division between matter and form and regard the bodily nature of humans as shameful. Interestingly, metaphysical shame seems to be connected with body shame, which is one of the most private forms of shame.35 Metaphysical shame in the Christian context was principally developed by Augustine of Hippo (d. 430), who discusses the individual’s awareness of losing one’s higher status in the fall and how people are constantly reminded of this degradation through shame.36 Although Augustine recognized the fundamental and permanent role of shame in humanity, he also introduced the idea of redemptive shame, or healing shame. He writes: “[F]or none of us can live without being shamed, unless we have first been shamed and then risen to a new life”.37 Thus, Christian theologians understood negative dimensions of shame, but they also asked whether shame could be seen in a more positive light, as an important remedy for the soul. Feeling shame before confession or at least being ashamed during the confession in front of others was essential in penitence. The shame was seen as a punishment which started to purify the soul. The intensity of feeling of this shame showed whether confession was genuine. The limits of good shame were important to understand. Overly obsessive shame might lead to withdrawal from confession altogether, or omitting some of the graver sins. Furthermore, true contrition should not be fundamentally motivated by shame or fear of expulsion from the Church, either.38 The twelfth century saw the penitential revolution: every Christian should confess his or her sins once a year, during Lent. This private confession before a priest became common. Peter Lombard, whose discussion of penance in his Sententiae reflects these new trends, enumerated three major elements of penance: contrition (compunctio cordis), confession (confessio oris), and restitution (satisfactio operis).39 This practice reached its culmination in Fourth Lateran Council 1215, which made private confession obligatory.40 Later in the commentary literature on the Sentences, shame was reckoned among the main qualities that constitute confession.41 The key idea is that confession is the sinner’s (self )-accusation, through shame for what one has done and which through the keys of the Church

Shame, self-evaluation, and recognition 155 makes satisfaction of his sins and binds him to perform a penance imposed on him.42 Theologians discussed how both contrition, the desire to be forgiven, and oral confession were needed for penitence and whether shame was possible only after confession, in the presence of an audience. The general idea was that shame needed an external reproving viewer. The concern for pastoral issues eventually became an integral part of university theology. Albert the Great makes a number of distinctions about shame. He writes in his commentary on Aristotle’s Ethics that no one wishes to have shame for its own sake. However, it is good conditionally, like medicine. In an unqualified sense, it is something bad.43 He distinguishes two forms of shame: spiritual and corporeal. Spiritual shame is fear of an accusation of a disgraceful act. This spiritual shame is the one that draws a person to confession, whereas corporeal shame is seen in the body through blushing and varies between people according to their bodily complexion.44 Albert notes that shame is twofold in another sense, too. First, it is a corporeal passion, manifested in blushing. This kind of shame can be defined as accidental in confession. Second, shame is also rational, which refers to one’s own confusion because of the greatness of defect. Only the latter shame, which is interior, is substantial in confession.45 Albert is aware of how the reproachful eyes of others stimulate shame. He asks whether we should therefore confess our sins before our co-religionists, not just to a priest. This kind of confessing might sound practical in judgement, since it shows the shame of the penitent publicly. However, the custom would discourage most people from confessing their sins. If, however, the crime is major, for the sake of others, the penitence may also be public.46 Albert finds it self-evident that an individual is more ashamed before many people than in secret confession.47 Guido de Monte Rochen wrote one of the most widely read and used manuals for medieval preachers, called Handbook for Curates. In his analysis of penance, he enumerates three different motives that lead to contrition: love for God, shame for disgrace, and detestation of the vileness of sin. The sinner should think that even his most secret and hidden sins are manifest and open to God. However, what seems to be even worse for the sinner is that if he does not repent his sins, God will reveal and manifest them to the whole world. This thought should provoke the person to move to contrition and penance for his sins.48 Here it is possible to see how the audience of the sinner’s shame turns out to be the group of other people after all. The ideal, spiritual shame seems to be both rarer and weaker than that felt before other human beings. The basic setting is in a sense in conflict with the very idea of penitence, where the priest acts on behalf of God, not in his own name. The priest is still, de facto, another human being.

4.  Shame, conscience, and practical relation with oneself In the medieval context, the audience of shame, ‘the eyes of others’ was no longer merely an immediate reference group of other people, but expanded to include the eyes of the priest – the ‘eyes of God’ – and even one’s own eyes. If and when shame is a socially constructive emotion that exerts normative pressure, God and

156  Ritva Palmén our introspective gaze can be counted as part of the virtual audience that evaluates our deeds and before which we also may feel shame. These factors changed the idea of shame in that it became a more private, introspective emotion to be nurtured in a spiritual life. Yet, shame could simultaneously be even more public than before, since the person was always seen either by God or him- or herself, even in his most secret thoughts. Both these new aspects of shame were adopted by the Church institution in the form of penitence. In medieval pastoral theology, emotions such as shame were seen as a part of creating an economy of displeasure, a system that causes negative feelings to circulate in constructive ways.49 Shame makes one avoid the offence of significant others by preventing morally (or socially) unsuitable actions, but it also protects the self and its unique Godgiven value. These novel ideas of shame can be found in the works of Richard of St. Victor (d. 1173) composed for the spiritual advice for the novices of monastery of St.  Victor. Richard intertwines discussion of virtues and affections in his writings. As Richard argues, affections (affectiones) can be directed to good or evil. If they are directed to good, they are ‘moderated’ and disposed, in which case they will become virtues (virtutes). The task of the affections as virtues is to guide the will to the right course. However, the affects become vices unless reason, self-­ knowledge, and grace direct them.50 Richard states in Benjamin Minor that there are seven principal emotions, which are hope, fear, joy, sorrow, hatred, love, and shame (spes, timor, gaudium, dolor, odium, amor, and pudor).51 The most thorough analysis concerns shame (pudor). As Richard maintains, it is impossible to feel the right kind of shame if the person does not first learn to hate sin. People are ashamed when they are caught in sin, but they feel shame because of the infamy and damage to their reputation. Even perverse people can feel this kind of unordered shame. A more subtle form of the wrong kind of shame is linked with pride and false self-esteem. Some preachers are accustomed to rail against pride, but, as appears in their well-formulated speeches, they are themselves proud and commit the vice of self-esteem (elatio).52 Interestingly, Richard compares the shame which arises from nudity to the shame that should be felt on account of the sins of the mind. If a naked person was compelled to pass a crowd of people, he would certainly feel shame. However, an even stronger sense of shame should be felt when an impure thought comes to the mind. God created the human body, even the so-called shameful parts of it, but man himself defiles his own mind. This shows how people fear the face of other people more than the sight of angels.53 The standard formulation of ‘eyes of the others’, is complemented by the idea of ‘the sight of angels’ and even ‘the eyes of God’. In Richard’s model, good shame is a kind of judgement by which everyone is addressed, convicted, condemned, and punished by his own conscience. The punishment is confusion (confusio) of the soul effected by shame. This process requires self-reflective activity of mind, since if the person is not conscious of his sins, there would be no reason for feeling shame. Every person delivers a judgement against himself, but also exacts satisfaction from himself. The one

Shame, self-evaluation, and recognition  157 who condemns and he who is condemned are one and the same.54 The idea of a person’s relation to himself, its diligent analysis, and consequent deep-rooted self-regulation form the core of Richard’s moral psychology. The aim is to establish a positive self-relation, which takes into account prevailing theological and metaphysical presumptions. The moderated shame stands as an indicator and moderator of the soul’s present state. As Kaster formulates, shame has a reciprocal character in the sense that the person capable of feeling shame is necessarily a decent person, deserving a certain respect from others.55 Richard does not treat shame as an isolated feeling, seeing it as one of the major members of the family of affections. In particular, it ameliorates the ferocity of hatred. Although shame does not bring out bold actions, it has an important task as a guardian of honour. It also makes the soul lovable so that people always seem to affectionately embrace those who are shamefaced more.56 For Richard, shame is one of the most complicated feelings, since its proper boundaries are hard to determine and it is easily corrupted. Spiritual men often wish to show that they have a superb sense of shame by undergoing all kinds of hardships for making a name for themselves and receiving empty praises. This distorted labouring for the sake of the favour of man signifies that shame has been raped. The ‘rapist’ is love of vainglory (vana gloria). This damage is not an intentional act, but shame is usually said to struggle against vainglory. With a keen psychological eye, Richard observes that when we feel shame because of our weaknesses, we start to wonder whether others have similar weaknesses. Finding some similarities offers a kind of consolation in discovering that we have companions in this respect. Our own sense of shame makes us discover the state of the souls of other people from exterior signs. We thus start to compare one another, leading to vainglory.57 Richard also has some understanding for the ‘wrong’, or perverted, sense of shame. He admits that it is difficult to do things for God, but the same things are easily taken care of when we fear the disgrace of shame before other people. This is all just human, and people should not reprove good conduct that is not done out of the right intention too easily.58 Furthermore, too harsh a reproof and shame can lead to excessive sadness or indiscriminate abstinence, which might even destroy both physical and mental health. Obsessive abstinence might also end in complete dissipation of the discipline of soul and shamelessness.59 In Richard’s model, the right kind of shame is motivated by the idea of being seen by God, and the sense of shame is what condemns the person. Italian Renaissance philosopher Coluccio Salutati develops this theme further in his work dedicated to shame, called De verecundia (1390).60 Salutati wishes to analyze shame for his friend Anthony, a physician, who is aching to understand whether shame is virtue or vice. As the text testifies, Salutati is well aware of Aristotle’s ideas on this topic. He also acknowledges that there are a number of other ancient ideas about shame, and wishes to determine whether these different ideas are compatible with each other and their apparent differences reconciled.61 The text differs markedly from the earlier scholastic tradition in the sense that it is informed by several classical authors, such as Seneca, Cicero, Valerius Maximus and their ideas of shame. The general approach is systematic and analytic. Salutati does not

158  Ritva Palmén offer many biblical references or use theologically motivated assumptions related to shame. Salutati pays more attention to various social aspects of shame, such as the importance of a direct reference group prevailing in social emotions, than previous writers. Salutati reminds us that Aristotle defines shame (verecundia, sive erubescentia) as the fear of losing honour62 as well as a kind of sadness and confusion in respect of misdeeds, past, present, or future, which seem to tend to bring dishonour.63 He repeats the Aristotelian dictum that shame is a passion and should not be counted among the virtues. However, ‘the Latins’ have seemingly different opinions about shame. As an example, Salutati mentions Christian authority, namely Ambrose of Milan’s influential work De officiis, which was written to promote the duties of the clergy, a treatise very much relying on Cicero’s renowned De officiis. Ambrose discusses verecundia and pudor, forms of shame that are felt before the shameful act itself is committed. Quoting Ambrose he writes: “Lovely, then, is the virtue of shame (verecundia), and sweet is its grace. . . . For shame is the companion of purity, in company with which chastity itself is safer. Shame, again, is good as a companion and guide of chastity”.64 This means that shame should be accounted among the virtues. In his Epistles, Seneca tells of a young man who was giving a speech. As he started, he felt shame (verecundia) and as a sign of it, blushed. Seneca considered this as a good indication and was assured that the habit of blushing would stay with the person even in his adulthood.65 Cicero, in turn, writes that shame (verecundia) is like an ornament of life; it embraces temperance, complete subjection of all the passions, and moderates all things.66 As a consequence, it looks as if there is a clear discrepancy between the Latins and the Greeks, which Salutati, however, wishes to resolve. For this purpose, he first explicates the terms verecundia, erubescentia, and pudor. He then shows how shame can be essentially defined. Finally, he explains how the disparate views of the Greeks and Latins may be united by sound reasoning. As Salutati explains, humanity has a basic urge to hide vile acts. No one is so brazenly indecent that he would lose his sense of honesty and not prefer that his sins remain hidden rather than revealed. Thence comes the fear that the hidden deeds of the past and present will be manifest. We are typically afraid of those people by whom we wish to be honoured, e.g., parents, members of the same group, and fellow citizens. Among these, we fear most the superiors who have authority. Since vereri refers to fear with veneration, it is appropriate to apply the idea of fear with shame (verecundia). Erubescentia, in turn, is linked with the bodily affect in shame. When our sins are revealed, the confusion arises in us, making the incoming blood rush to the fore so that we blush. Lastly, pudor can be derived from puer (a boy), since children blush readily and feel shame in the presence of their parents, feeling dread in both the good and ill opinion of others. Verecundia, instead, concerns only those cases in which the opinion is right.67 Salutati also notes that children have a strong tendency to discover their genitals, which seems to indicate that shame is related to sexual corruption in particular. If shame (verecundia) comes from the viciousness of indecency from which

Shame, self-evaluation, and recognition 159 we derive shame and dishonuor, it is certainly not virtue or an act. Virtue is always a voluntary act. Shame is a passion, either sadness or fear which results in losing one’s honour, because of the deeds already committed or concealed, through reproach, complaint, abusive songs, or some other way. Unlike all virtues, shame is something unpleasant. In general, most medieval authors consider shame as a disposition or passion, which is important because it prevents sinning. It is laudable passion, a sort of stimulus to avoid all shameful things. Salutati notes that shame has some characteristics similar to virtues, since it is like a medium between extremes. These extremes are cataplexia and shamelessness.68 Cataplexia refers to those people who are ashamed of all kinds of praise; whereas shameless people do not feel ashamed, even of disgraceful things.69 Although Salutati argues against the idea that shame could be virtue, he still wishes to point out that shame is a kind of acquired habit (habitus), which induces prudence, admonishes justice, strengthens fortitude, and brings temperance. Shame is especially important in connection with other virtues, supporting and moderating their functions and giving extra decoration for our actions.70 Shame has a clear link with the outer observance of good habits and behaviour in general. It is said to be the guardian of mysteries, the bond of military discipline, and the foundation of chastity. It either gives or takes the greatest honours. Shame also recalls the duties of every age and condition, puts limits to proper clothing and housing, guides in prosperity, and consoles in adversity.71 Interestingly, Salutati’s thinking reflects Hellenic ambivalence towards shame in the sense that shame is both an unpleasant feeling of fear and the irreplaceable guardian of good social life. Sometimes, shame arises when the person has done nothing wrong himself, but his relatives or friends have done things that usually generate disgrace. In such cases, even the most virtuous man can accidentally feel shame. It is natural for men to feel joy when one’s kin acquires glory, as well as feel sadness when they encounter infamy.72 Citing Aristotle’s Rhetoric, Salutati reminds us that we feel shame because of actions that either we or our kin evaluate as bad. As the philosopher says, people feel shame when they have done bad actions or those commonly considered bad. However, he points that the truly virtuous person should escape from both shame (turpitudinis) and its sign, in order to prevent the opinion which lowers ones’ self-esteem.73 The social aspects of shame and the standard idea of the ‘eyes watching us’ motivates Salutati to consider the role of conscience in man’s life. He encourages his readers to be afraid of their inner conscience, which is like a witness for all our deeds, seeing with its terrible sight even our most minor acts, both already done as well as planned. Unlike Seneca suggests, we should not choose an image of some good man as our witness, but instead rely on our conscience, which we cannot escape. Shame pushes people away from sin and coerces our conscience ‘to accuse, persuade, and judge us’. It is easy to carry out the commendation of shame in such a way that we ourselves are like our own guides, directing us from all baseness to virtuous things.74

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Conclusions As Aristotle writes in the Rhetoric, we feel shame before those whose opinion matters to us. In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle writes that shame should not be described as a virtue, for it is more like a feeling than a state of character. This paradigmatic stance, which underlines the character of a person, private experience, and behavioural manifestations of shame, has been extensively treated in subsequent Western philosophical and theological writings. Many commentators, like Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas, and Bonaventure repeat Aristotle’s ideas, but also add some more positive characteristics to shame. This tendency can also be seen in medieval monastic literature, which demonstrates an urge to provide profound analyses of the various psychological mechanisms of human beings to promote a balanced spiritual and social life in monasteries. In the monastic tradition, the public norms are reflected in private spiritual life. Noticeably, shame acquires the status of a real and important virtue within the family of other virtues. Recognition theorists have suggested that shame both entails and reinforces the hierarchical structure of society. Most instances of shame have clear vertical orientation, as the person who experiences the emotion signals, by experiencing it, that he knows where he stands on the social ladder. Interestingly, shame also has an obvious horizontal dimension, since it operates within peers, in an even more intensive way than in relations with more distant people. Both these dimensions of shame are discernible in Antiquity, e.g., in Aristotle’s Rhetoric. Although medieval authors owe much to their Hellenic and Roman predecessors, the Christian assumptions about the man and his place in reality changed the fundamental constituents of shame. In particular, the idea of an audience, or ‘the significant others’ for shame was rethought in Christian philosophical theology, in which all people were thought to be equally created by God, reflecting the image and likeness of God in the very essence of the soul. As a consequence, shame and its link with social hierarchies is not that an important issue, the meaningful hierarchical structure being that between God and his creation. However, since in Christian theology and anthropology all members of the Church are seen as equals, and shame operates horizontally no less than vertically, it may also be strongly felt between people who are at the same level; that is, between fellow Christians. New tendencies in ideas of shame can be seen in the theology of penitence and spiritual literature. The priest could act as a representative of significant others, i.e., in its most fundamental idea, the eyes of God. Some authors recognized that the penitent still felt that he was confronted and seen by another human being. Fear of shame was not a reason to avoid confession, but bearing the pain of shame was in fact essential for the purificatory purposes of penitence. Shame was an internal manifestation of real repentance. Simultaneously, penitential literature stressed the self-evaluative aspect of shame and the incorporation of an audience (God, the self ) into one’s inner life to the point that the penitent was able give less weight to ‘the eyes of the others’, the reproach of others, fear of worldly punishment, and loss of worldly honour. In monastic contexts inspired by Augustinian psychology, shame was eventually interiorized to the point that the individual

Shame, self-evaluation, and recognition  161 himself embodied the audience for shame. As a consequence, in medieval theology, both horizontal and vertical aspects of shame could be reduced to the subject himself and his own self-reflective act of assessment. This aspect is well formulated in Richard of St. Victor’s (d. 1173) thinking. As Max Scheler has observed, in the absence of any social realities, we can still be ashamed of ourselves. Through shame we can feel our own selves. Shame also saves and justifies our most intimate self.75 In Coluccio Salutati’s work, even the heavenly hierarchies and vertical dimension of shame, the ‘eyes of God’, are absent, and the sense of shame may be born from inner encounters between the self and the conscience. Our own conscience acts as an interaction partner, constituting a witness to our own injured ego-ideal. The moral crisis is triggered by the agent himself being disappointed with regard to his own normative expectations that he believed he could maintain.76 The emphasis on the role of conscience and inner psychological movements of man also show how both Richard of St. Victor and Coluccio Salutati conceived that the private and public spheres are distinct in that self-respect and public respect do not stand and fall together. This idea contradicts the traditional idea of medieval ‘shame-culture’, in which the public esteem is the greatest good and losing reputation means annulling one’s value in the eyes of all members of the honour group.77 In conclusion, the medieval authors gave sophisticated analyses of shame and its social implications in their texts, but were most keen to discuss the role of shame as a self-regulating guide in one’s interior life. The awareness of the distortion of one’s conception of oneself and the urge to eliminate the consequent shame are not presented as the primary motives for social and political evolution but as initiators for developing a practical relation to self, a more balanced spiritual life, and a relationship with the highest of all hierarchies, i.e., God.

Notes 1 The studies, however, include abundant and controversial, even radically contrasting, evaluations of shame. Some scholars have argued that shame has been overestimated in previous moral psychological discussions, which have sought to privilege shame over guilt by treating it as a morally more neutral concept; e.g.,  Bernard Williams, Shame and Necessity (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1993). Others have argued that shame can have either a positive role in moral conduct, see Deonna et al., In Defense of Shame: The Faces of an Emotion (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012); or that it is a morally dubious, even bad character trait, cf. Patricia Greenspan, Practical Guilt: Moral Dilemmas, Emotions, and Social Norms (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995). Shame has also been discussed by taking its social, cognitive and neural aspects into consideration; see, e.g., Tracy et al. The Self-Conscious Emotions: Theory and Research (New York: Guilford, 2007), while the philosophical aspects of shame in historical texts have been studied by Douglas Cairns, Aidōs: The Psychology and Ethics of Honour and Shame in Ancient Greek Literature (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993); Robert Kaster, “The Shame of the Romans”, Transactions of the American Philological Association 127 (1997): 1–19; Emotion, Restraint, and Community in Ancient Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); Jörn Müller, “Scham und menschlische Natur bei Augustin und Thomas von Aquin”, in Zur Kulturgeschichte der Scham, Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte. Edited by Michaela Bauks and

162  Ritva Palmén Martin Mayer, Beiheft 9 (Hamburg: Felix Meiner, 2011), 55–72; Simo Knuuttila “The Emotion of Shame in Medieval Philosophy”, Spazio Filosofico 5 (2012): 243–9. 2 Deonna et al. in their Defense of Shame interestingly challenge this traditional view by supporting the idea that shame can have a positive role in moral conduct against the currently dominant consensus on prioritizing guilt. The authors also raise the following rhetorical question: was Plato severely mistaken when he spoke of shame as a safeguard, or was Hume in error when he mentioned shame as the proper guardian of every kind of virtue? 3 Axel Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995), 132, 136, 138. 4 In this article, the emphasis is on philosophical psychology and intellectual history. My sources have no apparent links with the medieval social system, except for penitential customs. I do not, therefore, address the chivalric writings or courtly love, which include important observations about the emotion of shame in the medieval social context. For literary genres dealing with shame in the Middle Ages, see Mary C. Flannery, “The Concept of Shame in Late-Medieval English Literature”, Literature Compass 9, no. 2 (2012): 166–82. For social aspect of shame in penitential customs, consult a collection of articles in Shame between Punishment and Penance. The Social Usages of Shame in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times. Edited by Bénédicte Sère and Jörg Wettlaufer (Florence: SISMEL-Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2013). For the methodological complexities in analyzing emotions, such as shame in historical texts, see comments in Robert Kaster, Emotion, Restraint, and Community in Ancient Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 3–12; and Paul R. Kolbet, “Rhetoric, Redemption, and the Practices of the Self: A Neglected Mode of Augustine’s Thinking”, in Ministerium Sermonis III, eds. G. Partoens, A. Dupont and M. Lamberigts (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016), 351–77. 5 Understanding the dynamics of shame in various historical contexts and cultures has direct relevance to the discussion of the formation of the modern self. For instance, Charles Taylor claims that the understanding of who we are is fundamentally intertwined with our understanding of the good, since identity is defined by commitments and identifications that provide a frame of reference within which a person defines what is good. Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992), 27. 6 As Kaster shows, in ancient Rome pudor and verecundia are often used synonymously, but some distinctions can still be made. Verecundia is about the behaviour of an agent in a given situation and closely integrates the regard of others. Pudor, in turn, denotes vulnerability to just criticism, which is socially diminishing. Pudor interestingly comprises the dynamics between private and public, i.e., self and others. It can be felt all alone, and it may also contrast other’s judgements about the matter in hand. Unlike in verecundia, the regard of others is contingent, not constitutive for pudor; in this sense pudor reflects a person’s character. Pudor also includes strong sensitivity towards displeasure caused by possibly shameless actions and a desire to avoid such actions. For women, pudor is strongly related to sexual behaviour. See Kaster Emotion, 31, 62–4; Kaster, “Shame”, 4, 9, 10. 7 EN, 1108a, 1110a, 1128b. Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea (hereafter EN), ed. I. Bywater, OCT (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988). 8 Rhet. 1383b. Aristotle, Ars rhetorica (hereafter Rhet.), ed. W.D. Ross, OCT (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959). 9 Rhet. 1384a. 10 Ibid., 20–5. 11 See, e.g., Simon Thompson, The Political Theory of Recognition: A Critical Introduction (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2006), 24–5. 12 Rhet. 1384a30. 13 Ibid., 1384a35, 1384b. Researchers have addressed the idea of self-forming aspect in Hellenistic philosophy by noting the importance of the faces of others and visual

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14 15

16

17 18

19

20

21 22 23 24

25 26

27

constitution of oneself through the everyday gaze of others. For this, see Shadi Bartsch, The Mirror of the Self: Sexuality, Self-Knowledge, and the Gaze in the Early Roman Empire (Chicago: University of Chicago press, 2006), esp. ch. 3. Taylor, Sources, 15. For the reception history of the Rhetoric in the Middle Ages, see La rhétorique d’Aristote: Traditions et commentaires de l’Antiquité au XVIIe, eds. Gilbert Dahan and Irène Rosier (Paris: Vrin, 1998); and for the Nicomachean Ethics, The Reception of Aristotle’s Ethics, ed. Jon Miller (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). Among the most significant works were an anthology of six medical texts named Articella, and Pantegni, written by Haly Abbas, both translated into Latin by Constantine of Africa; and Nemesius of Emesa’s De natura hominis. Translated by 1080 by Alfanus of Salerno. Pantegni lists six emotions of accidents of the soul, which are relevant in medicine since they have physiological causes: joy, distress, fear, anger, anxiety, and shame (verecundia). Anxiety and shame differ from the first four simple emotions which give rise to only one movement. Shame first involves fear, which is centripetal, and then defence, which is centrifugal. In centripetal movement, the vital spirit rushes back to the heart (fear), while centrifugal movement refers to movement of vital spirit from the heart to extreme parts of the body (defence). For the terminology, see Knuuttila, “Emotion”, 233, n.165. Ethica Lib. IV, tract.3, cap.6, 327. All citations to Albert are from his Opera omnia, ed. A Borgnet (Paris: Vivés, 1890–1899). Citations are from Leonine edition Opera omnia (Rome: Leonine Comission, 1882–). Aquinas’ theory of shame has been analyzed; e.g.,  Knuuttila, “Emotion”; Müller, “Scham” and Thomas Ryan, “Aquinas on Shame: A  Contemporary Interchange” in Aquinas, Education and the East, eds. Thomas Brian Mooney and Mark Nowacki (New York: Springer, 2013), 73–100. Sententia libri Ethicorum, Lib IV, l. 17.867–8. For an interpretation and the analysis of historical background in Aquinas commentary, see James C. Doig, Aquinas’s Philosophical Commentary on the Ethics: A Historical Perspective (Dordrecht:Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2001), 215–20. This list is frequently repeated in medieval texts. However, clear-cut analyses of different species of fear are rarely given. The difference between erubescentia and verecundia is often mentioned, but the overall discussion may neglect it and use the terms synonymously. Here Aquinas uses the Latin word turpitudo as he refers to disgrace. In Summa Theologiae (hereafter ST) II, II, qq.144–5, he also uses opprobrium and exprobrabilis (disgraceful), which imply strong reproach. ST II, I, q. 41, a. 4 co. Aquinas’ mentor Albert the Great gives a similar account of shame in his commentary on Sentences. Albert the Great’s Super Sententiarum Lib. III, dist.34, art.7, 636a, 636b. ST II, II, q. 143. co; q. 144, a. 1 co. Aquinas oscillates between different interpretations of Aristotle’s idea of shame. The idea that shame belongs conditionally to good people probably derives from Albert the Great’s Super Ethica. For the timing of the interconnectedness of Aquinas’ ethical writings, see Doig, “Aquinas”, 196–8, 216. ST II, II, q. 144, a. 1 co. For Stoic ideas of shame, see David Wray, “Seneca’s Shame”, in Cambridge Companion to Seneca, eds. Shadi Bartsch and Alessandro Schiesaro (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 199–211. This more positive account of shame can be also seen in Plato’s Protagoras, 322cd, which mentions that shame (aidos) and justice (dike) are granted to people as principles of the organization of cities. For the wording, see commentary on Protagoras. Translated and Notes by C.C.W. Taylor, Clarendon Plato Series, repr. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), 85. ST II, II, q. 144, a. 3 co.

164  Ritva Palmén 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

35 36 37 38 39

40

41 42 43 44

45 46 47 48

49 50

Kaster, Emotion, 15. ST II, II, q. 144, a. 3 co. Kaster, “Shame”, 10. ST II, II, q. 144, a. 3 ad.1–4. Ibid., a. 2 co. Ibid., a. 2 ad 2. The idea of metaphysical shame is developed by Max Scheler; see Parvis Emad, “Max Scheler’s Phenomenology of Shame”, in Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 32, no.  3 (1972): 361–70. An English translation of Max Scheler’s essay on shame appears in Max Scheler, Person and Self-Value: Three Essays. Edited and Translated by M.S. Frings (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff, 1987). As Knuuttila observes, metaphysical shame does not refer to a social ranking since the downgrading of human beings is universal and democratic in this sense. Its foremost purpose is to explain the human sense of shame in regard to sexual matters. “Emotion”, 248. For Augustine’s ideas on shame, see Knuuttila, “Emotion”, 247–8. For a survey of passages of shame in Augustine’s sermons, see Kolbet, “Rhetoric”. en.Ps 85.23 (CCL 39: 1195); Ep. 102:19 (CSEL 34/2: 560.16). For references, see Kolbet, “Rhetoric”. Thomas N. Tentler, Sin and Confession on the Eve of the Reformation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1977), 128–30. Sententiae IV, d.16.1.1. Sententiae in IV libris distinctae, ed. Ignatius C. Brady, 3rd rev. ed. (Grottaferrata: S. Collegii Bonaventurae ad Claras Aquas, 1971–1981). See Lesley Smith, “William of Auvergne and Confession”, in Handling Sin: Confession in the Middle Ages, eds. Peter Biller and Alastair J. Minnis (Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 1998), 99. Shame has been used as a form of humiliation in public penance. For this, see Mansfield, Mary C., The Humiliation of Sinners: Public Penance in Thirteenth-Century France (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995). The new genre of penitential literature sought to advise how the confessor could elicit the right kind of reaction in the penitent, such as tears. For religious individuality, the privacy of conscience is a crucial test. Public humiliation of sinners is one of the most powerful means of instilling conformity in the community. Arrai A. Larson, Master of Penance (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2014), 84–5. For medieval penitential practices, see Peter Biller, “Introduction”, in Handling Sin: Confession in the Middle Ages, eds. Peter Biller and Alastair J. Minnis (Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 1998), 1–34. Albert the Great, Super sententiarum Lib. IV, dist.17, art.36, 707b. Super sententiarum Lib.IV, dist.16, art.16, 575b. Ethica Lib. IV, tract.3, cap.6, 326a. Super sententiarum Lib. IV, dist.16, art.16, 579. Blushing is the most commonly mentioned psychosomatic reaction linked with shame. It is involuntary in character in that a person cannot prevent himself from blushing. Although blushing is a sign of shame, it can also be a marker of honesty or modesty. Super sententiarum Lib. IV, dist.16, art.36, 623. Ibid., dist.17, art.27, 697ab. Ibid., art.36; 712. Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates (Manipulus curatorum) (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2011), 177. For medieval manuals for confession, see Pierre Michaud-Quantin, Somnes de casuistique et manuels de confession au moyen âge (XII-XVI siècles), AMN 13 (Louvain: Nauwelaerts, 1962). For a list of important studies and penitence references, see Biller, “Introduction”, 23–31. For the idea of economy of displeasure, see Kaster, “Emotion”, 15. Bm VII, 108.5–9. Richard of St.  Victor, Les douze patriarches ou Benjamin Minor (hereafter Bm). Texte critique et traduction par Jean Châtillon et Monique DuchetSuchaux; introduction, notes et index par Jean Longère, Sources Chrétiennes (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1997), 419.

Shame, self-evaluation, and recognition  165 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60

61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77

Bm VII, 108.10–12. Bm XLVII, 226, 228. Ibid., 228. Bm XLVIII, 228, 230. Kaster, “Shame”, 9. Bm XLIX, 232. Bm LI, 240. Bm LIV, 248. Bm LIII, 246; LVIII, 260. De verecundia [Tractatus quod medici eloquentie studeant et de verecundia an sit virtus aut vicium], ed. Eugenio Garin (Firenze: Vallecchi Editore, 1947). For Salutati, see, e.g., Ronald G. Witt, Hercules at the Crossroads: The Life, Works, and Thought of Coluccio Salutati (Durham: Duke University Press, 1983). For the impact of De verecundia on the ideas of Machiavelli, see Maurizio Viroli, Machiavelli’s God (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2010), 182, 187–8. As Machiavelli points out, one should not feel shame because of another man or fear of reproach, but one should have an internal sense of shame for violating one’s duties. Religion is important in teaching people the right kind of shame. This concerns soldiers particularly, since discipline and shame go hand in hand. De verecundia, 291–2. EN., IV, 15 1128b. Rhet., II, 6. De verecundia, 292, 294. De officiis I, XVIII, 67. Ambrose of Milan, De Officiis, Corpus Christianorum Series Latina, vol. 15, ed. M. Testard (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2001). Epis. XI, I. Cf. De verecundia, 320. For reference and an analysis of Seneca, see Wray, “Seneca”, 207. De officiis I.93; I.96; I.98. Cicero, Marcus Tullius, De officiis, ed. M. Winterbottom, OCT (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994). As the edition indicates, this distinction derives from an eleventh-century lexicon written by Papias. De verecundia, 304, 306. See Albert the Great’s Ethica Lib. IV; tract.3; cap.6; 327b. De verecundia, 314, 316. Ibid., 318. Ibid., 322, 324. Ibid., 328. Ibid., 334, 336. Emad, “Max Scheler’s Phenomenology of Shame”, 361–70. Cf. Honneth, Struggle, 138. For the general description of shame-culture, see Taylor, “Pride”, 54–7.

References Albert the Great. Opera omnia. Edited by A. Borgnet. Paris: Vivès, 1890–1899. Ambrose of Milan. De Officiis. Vol. 15 of Corpus Christianorum Series Latina. Edited by M. Testard. Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2001. Aquinas, Thomas. Opera omnia. Rome: Leonine Comission 1882. Aristotle. Ars rhetorica [Rhet.]. Edited by W.D. Ross. OCT. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959. ———. Ethica Nicomachea [EN]. Edited by I. Bywater. OCT. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988. Bartsch, Shadi. The Mirror of the Self: Sexuality, Self-Knowledge, and the Gaze in the Early Roman Empire. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006.

166  Ritva Palmén Biller, Peter. “Introduction”. In Handling Sin: Confession in the Middle Ages. Edited by Peter Biller and Alastair J. Minnis. Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 1998, 1–34. Bonaventure. Sententiae in IV libris distinctae. Edited by Ignatius C. Brady. 3rd rev. ed. Grottaferrata: S. Collegii Bonaventurae ad Claras Aquas, 1971–1981. Cairns, Douglas. Aidōs: The Psychology and Ethics of Honour and Shame in Ancient Greek Literature. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993. Cicero, Marcus Tullius. De officiis. Edited by M. Winterbottom, OCT. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994. Coluccio Salutati. De verecundia [Tractatus quod medici eloquentie studeant et de verecundia an sit virtus aut vicium]. Edited by Eugenio Garin. Firenze: Vallecchi Editore, 1947. Dahan, Gilbert and Irène Rosier, eds. La rhétorique d’Aristote: traditions et commentaires de l’Antiquité au XVIIe. Paris: Vrin, 1998. Deonna, Julien A., Raffaele Rodogno and Teroni Fabrice. In Defense of Shame: The Faces of an Emotion. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. Doig, James C. Aquinas’s Philosophical Commentary on the Ethics: A Historical Perspective. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2001. Emad, Parvis. “Max Scheler’s Phenomenology of Shame.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 32, no. 3 (1972): 361–70. Flannery, Mary C. “The Concept of Shame in Late-Medieval English Literature.” Literature Compass 9, no. 2 (2012): 166–82. Greenspan, Patricia. Practical Guilt: Moral Dilemmas, Emotions, and Social Norms. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995. Guido of Monte Rochen. Handbook for Curates (Manipulus curatorum). Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2011. Honneth, Axel. The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995. Kaster, Robert. “The Shame of the Romans.” Transactions of the American Philological Association 127 (1997): 1–19. ———. Emotion, Restraint, and Community in Ancient Rome. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Knuuttila, Simo. “The Emotion of Shame in Medieval Philosophy.” Spazio Filosofico 5 (2012): 243–9. Kolbet, Paul R. “Rhetoric, Redemption, and the Practices of the Self: A Neglected Mode of Augustine’s Thinking.” In Ministerium Sermonis III, edited by G. Partoens, A. Dupont and M. Lamberigts, 351–77. Turnhout: Brepols, 2016. Larson, Arrai A. Master of Penance. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2014. Mansfield, Mary C. The Humiliation of Sinners: Public Penance in Thirteenth-Century France. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995. Michaud-Quantin, Pierre. Somnes de casuistique et manuels de confession au moyen âge (XII-XVI siècles), AMN 13. Louvain: Nauwelaerts, 1962. Miller, Jon, ed. Nicomachean Ethics, The Reception of Aristotle’s Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Müller, Jörn. “Scham und menschlische Natur bei Augustin und Thomas von Aquin.” In Zur Kulturgeschichte der Scham, Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte, edited by Michaela Bauks and Martin Mayer, 55–72. Beiheft 9. Hamburg: Felix Meiner, 2011. Plato. Protagoras. Translation and notes by C.C.W. Taylor, Clarendon Plato Series. Reprint. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985.

Shame, self-evaluation, and recognition  167 Richard of St. Victor. Les douze patriarches ou Benjamin Minor. Critical text and translation by Jean Châtillon and Monique Duchet-Suchaux. Introduction, notes and index by Jean Longère, Sources Chrétiennes 419. Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1997. Ryan, Thomas. “Aquinas on Shame: A Contemporary Interchange.” In Aquinas, Education and the East, edited by Thomas Brian Mooney and Mark Nowacki, 73–100. New York: Springer, 2013. Scheler, Max. Person and Self-Value: Three Essays. Edited and Translated by M.S. Frings. Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff, 1987. Sère, Bénédicte and Jörg Wettlaufer, eds. Shame between Punishment and Penance. The Social Usages of Shame in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times. Florence: SISMEL-Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2013. Smith, Lesley. “William of Auvergne and Confession.” In Handling Sin: Confession in the Middle Ages, edited by Peter Biller and Alastair J. Minnis, 95–108. Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 1998. Taylor, Charles. Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992. Tentler, Thomas N. Sin and Confession on the Eve of the Reformation. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977. Thompson, Simon. The Political Theory of Recognition: A Critical Introduction. Cambridge: Polity Press 2006. Tracy, Jessica L.,‎ Richard W. Robins and June Price Tangney. The Self-Conscious Emotions: Theory and Research. New York: Guilford, 2007. Viroli, Maurizio. Machiavelli’s God. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010. Williams, Bernard. Shame and Necessity. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993. Witt, Ronald G. Hercules at the Crossroads: The Life, Works, and Thought of Coluccio Salutati. Durham: Duke University Press, 1983. Wray, David. “Seneca’s Shame.” In Cambridge Companion to Seneca, edited by Shadi Bartsch and Alessandro Schiesaro, 199–211. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015.

9 Aquinas on recognition Andrea Aldo Robiglio

Let us begin from a point in the distance. In order to explain the ultimate human happiness, Thomas Aquinas (ca. 1225–1274) introduces the concept of the beatific vision and presents a paradox. How could any finite creature’s understanding immediately grasp, viz., ‘see’, the nature of an infinite and perfect being? Thomas admits that for such a ‘vision’ to be possible, the human mind ought to be granted a divine gift, a ‘light of glory’ which was denied to the wayfarer. Thanks to the gracious ‘light of glory’ (lumen gloriae) which it receives from God, the human soul may finally ‘see’ Him.1 The ‘light’ bestowed by God upon the human intellect is a sort of divine insight which empowers the otherwise limited human capacity of understanding. God gives his infinite ‘light’ to the finite creature in order for it to be able to grasp and to appreciate his infinity. Even though Aquinas does not make the implication explicit, the consequence of such explanation seems to be the following: human knowledge of God requires some divine knowledge as a received supernatural gift, so that we can ‘see’ God as he is. To recognize whom and how God is, a change and enhancement of the self is needed. If it is so, it is fair to say that, for the medieval thinker, the human recognition of God (in which, according to John 17:3, happiness consists) passes through a form of divine self-recognition. Beatific vision, viz., the highest instantiation of cognition in Aquinas’ writing, does not simply mean ‘taking something as true’; such vision attests to the close interplay between two other dimensions of the notion, i.e., recognition as self-attestation (by God) and mutual recognition (both by God and by the ‘elected’ creature).2 The question of recognition has been long left, yet in the case of an intensely explored author like Thomas Aquinas, uncharted by the historians of philosophy. Risto Saarinen’s recent monograph Recognition and Religion arguably provides the first explicit account of it.3 Even though it goes beyond the scope of my contribution to trace the reasons for such historiographical neglect, it might be interesting to reflect on the biases which might have characterized the analysis of the notion of recognition, including the idea according to which only in a secular society could such a notion acquire relevance.4 The modest proposal of this chapter is to introduce the reader to an appreciation of the relevance of the notion of recognition in Aquinas’ philosophical and theological reflection, as well as the

Aquinas on recognition  169 concept’s basic structure according to the medieval thinker. For the completion of such task, however, a couple of caveats might be useful. First, in order to uncover any concept in the wide-ranging writings of Aquinas, following its instantiations and the manifold uses of it, we should not forget the general aim and scope of his oeuvre. Understanding Aquinas implies the awareness that we are dealing with a thinker who wanted (and claimed) to be, first and foremost, a Master of Theology. At the beginning of his Summa contra Gentiles, he adds an autobiographical ring to a quotation taken from Hilary of Poitiers: Since I trust, in the name of the Divine mercy, to embark upon the work of a wise man (sapiens), even though this may surpass my powers, I have set myself the task (propositum) of making known, as far as my limited powers will allow, the truth that the Catholic faith professes, and of setting aside the errors that are opposed to it. To use the words of Hilary: “I am aware that I owe this to God as the chief duty of my life, that every word and sense may speak of Him.”5 Aquinas’ writings provide distinctive philosophical insights and arguments, but they do so in a theological context where ‘philosophy’ responds to a critical function (e.g.,  to identify errors and set them aside), rather than responding to any systematic and totally autonomous conceptual endeavour. The second premise I would like to make concerns the rhizomorphic presence of a concept which no single section of Aquinas’ works truly encompasses and which no single term can fully capture. Recognition has to be identified in the diverse contexts and through a changing vocabulary. The use of the specific terminology (viz., the Latin verbs agnosco and recognosco, and their nouns agnitio and recognitio) offers, of course, the necessary starting point. However, the premodern vocabulary of recognition varies beyond specific terminology. At least four areas of Aquinas’ writings, as a consequence, may be relevant for our inquiry: the anthropological implications of Christ’s Eucharist (a Greek term for ‘thanksgiving’); the analysis of gratitude and its vocabulary (e.g., religio, iustitia, recognitio, gratia, gratitudo); the actions of grace and their conditions (e.g., acceptatio, recompensatio, commendatio, reverentia, and even votum); the questions of legal dignity, honour, and social reputation (e.g., honor, observantia, dulia, reverentia, nobilitas, vindicatio, and purgatio, as well as their antonyms like infamia, irreverentia, inobservantia, blasphemia, calumnia, etc.).6 A comprehensive survey should analyze each of these semantic areas separately. For the purpose of the present article, however, it might be useful to focus on select crucial passages where Aquinas shows the connection between the above-mentioned dimensions. Again, since he writes as a theologian, it is not surprising that his treatment of honour and social reputation manifests already a link with the issues of ‘actions of grace’ and gratitude. The specific context of such treatment is the study of the virtue of justice, the subject of the longest treatment of any topic in the Summa.7

170  Andrea Aldo Robiglio Thomas begins assuming the juridical definitions of justice, which he considers fitting “if understood aright”, namely: the “constant will to render to each one his right?”.8 Both the notion of reciprocity and that of right (ius) are explicitly recalled here. Another definition he maintains is that of justice as “rendering to another his due according to equality”.9 Later on, when dealing with the ‘potential parts’ of justice, i.e., the virtues annexed thereto, the theologian explains how such annexed virtues should share in the principal virtue, viz., justice, even though they may, in some respect, “fall short of the perfection of that virtue”. This falling short can happen due to a lack of equality in the reciprocity or the absence of an explicit duty, i.e., “by falling short of the aspect of due”.10 Concerning ‘equality’ and ‘moral obligation’, there is room, in justice, for negotiation. The list of such annexed virtues is taken from different sources, including Aristotle, Cicero, and Augustine. The following chapters of Aquinas’ Summa concern five of these parts of justice, teaching us how to recognize due honour either to God or to the fellow human beings: (i) religion, (ii) piety, (iii) observance, (iv) servitude, and (v) gratitude. ‘Religion’ is the recognition of God’s majesty and expresses the respect due to him;11 this part of justice entails three kinds of interior acts – devotion,12 prayer,13 and adoration14 – all of which imply reverence (reverentia). There are also kinds of exterior acts, like sacrifice,15 oblations,16 and tithes.17 The next questions concern the nature and consequences of promise and oath,18 including superstition, idolatry, perjury, sacrilege, and simony.19 ‘Piety’ consists of the recognition of the duty of gratitude and love towards one’s parents and, more generally, towards the homeland (patria).20 The extension of a similar recognition to other persons who have authority and precede us according to their social rank is called ‘observance’:21 “Therefore – Aquinas summarizes – just as under religion, whereby worship is given to God, we also find piety, whereby we worship our parents; so under piety we find observance, whereby honour is paid to persons in positions of dignity”.22 ‘Observance’ is the due recognition of those who have authority and, according to the kind of authority and dignity involved, observance may be twofold. By way of answering to an objection, Aquinas introduces a qualification: By the very fact of being in a position of dignity a man not only excels as regards his position, but also has a certain power of governing subjects, wherefore it is fitting that he should be considered as a principle inasmuch as he is the governor of others. On the other hand, the fact that a man has perfection of science and virtue does not give him the character of a governor in relation to others, but merely a certain excellence in himself.23 Such a distinction plays a role in what follows. There is legal duty to recognize those who are in charge, as we should obey the legitimate authorities. ‘Obedience’24 is the legal form of observance. However, there is an excellence independent from political roles and legal prominence in a given jurisdiction. There are intellectual and moral excellences connected to a

Aquinas on recognition  171 moral duty (debitum morale), so as to recognize them beyond legal prescription alone. Such moral duty obliges according to a principle of fairness (ex quadam honestate). “Yet  – Thomas argues  – forasmuch as science, virtue and all like things render a man fit for positions of dignity, the respect which is paid to anyone on account of any excellence whatever belongs to the same virtue”.25 Another element deserves attention: Aquinas seems to imply that a sort of preliminary recognition is required by the conditions for obedience, and such an act does not coincide with the act of obedience itself. In other words, the recognition expressed by an act of civic obedience presupposes, albeit indirectly, an appreciation and respect for the person who is in charge. We read, in Article 2 of the same question, that someone who obtains an excellence of position possesses a certain dignity in himself, not only as regards the exercise of his power: In respect of his excellence – Thomas explains – there is due to him honour, which is the recognition (recognitio) of some kind of excellence; and in respect of governance, there is due to him worship (cultus), consisting in rendering him service (in quodam obsequio), by obeying his commands, and by repaying him, according to one’s faculty, for the benefits we received from him.26 Aquinas devotes q. 103 to this second, broader instantiation of observance, which he calls ‘dulia’: “dulia being the Greek for servitude”.27 In the four articles which make up q. 103, the theologian is indeed developing his conception of recognition. First, Aquinas defines honour as a manifestation of reverence (reverentia) as a testimony to excellent virtue. Such testimony, when concerning finite corporeal human beings, viz., human beings, requires the external signs of recognition. The expression of recognition via external, corporeal signs (gestures, words, gifts, etc.) is an aspect that cannot be overlooked and that remains, to some extent, even when the reverence is due to the immaterial, infinite Divinity. Also relevant is that, just after the previously mentioned analysis (having completed an examination of ‘disobedience’ in q. 105),28 the Summa introduces “thankfulness and gratitude”. ‘Thankfulness’, in Latin gratia, encompasses both civic and religious meanings. We are now entering the realm of the ‘Action of Grace’, which presents us with a double dimension. On the one side, there is an action of grace in the effect, which is objective recognition, while, on the other, there is an action of grace in the affection, which is rather subjective gratitude.29 Questions 106 and 107 sum up the hierarchical instantiations of recognition we have encountered so far: Now the cause of debt is found primarily and chiefly in God  – Thomas explains – in that He is the first principle of all our goods: secondarily it is found in our parent, because he is the proximate principle of our begetting and upbringing: thirdly it is found in the person that excels in dignity, from whom general favours proceed; fourthly it is found in a benefactor, from whom we have received particular and private favours, on account of which we are under particular obligation to him. Accordingly, since what we owe

172  Andrea Aldo Robiglio God, or our father, or a person excelling in dignity, is not the same as what we owe a benefactor from whom we have received some particular favour, it follows that after religion, whereby we pay God due worship, and piety, whereby we worship our parents, and observance, whereby we worship persons excelling in dignity, there is thankfulness or gratitude, whereby we give thanks to our benefactors. And it is distinct from the foregoing virtues, just as each of these is distinct from the one that precedes, as if it were falling short thereof.30 It is interesting that Aquinas insists, in his analysis of gratitude, on the notion of friendship: in order to make friendship possible, justice  – at least in its principle, even though not in its perfect instantiation – requires a certain ‘repayment’ (recompensatio) of favours. The relevant aspect is not so much the repayment itself – be it full, or only partial – but rather the recognition of the debt of gratitude, a ‘debt’ which is found first and foremost in God, i.e., in the relation of the creature towards its creator. As a consequence, human recognitions rest, according to Aquinas, upon an original divine recognition. The Latin notion of vindicatio, which the thinker introduces and discusses immediately afterwards,31 has juridical overtones and does not only mean ‘revenge’, but rather ‘vindication’, since it may refer to some charge and implies a doubt cast upon one’s reputation.32 Aquinas goes on, analyzing ‘truthfulness’33 and the vices opposed to truth (of lying, first, in q. 110; then of dissimulation and hypocrisy, in q. 111; and of exaggeration, in q. 112).34 The general assumption behind his last questions is that the dialectic of recognition would collapse and turn out to be impossible if truthfulness disappeared. This is the case, precisely, in the broader realm of what is morally due, even though this may not respect the rule of legal duties. Truth as virtue, viz., truthfulness, shares in the virtue of justice in two ways: In the first place  – Aquinas contends  – it is directed to another, since the manifestation, which we have stated to be an act of truthfulness, is directed to another, inasmuch as one person manifests to another the things that concern himself. In the second place, insofar justice sets up a certain equality between things, the virtue of truth does so also, for it equates (external) signs to the things inasmuch as they concern any human being in himself. Nevertheless, it falls short of the proper aspect of justice, as this refers to the notion of debt: for truthfulness does not refer to legal debt, which justice considers, but rather moral debt, in so far as, out of equity, one man owes another a manifestation of the truth.35 The notion of ʽwhat is morally due’ is set forth as a direct implication of the social nature of the human beings and with its necessary corollaries: the unavoidable role of trust among human beings and the relevance of showing this according to reliable communication.36 The very possibility of lying and the effectiveness

Aquinas on recognition  173 of lies, in fact, depend on a sort of ‘principle of relevance’37 according to which people trust each other and take for true what they say to each other. The cognitive dimension of recognition (‘taking something as true’) rests upon a complex model which includes the recognition of a moral obligation among human beings, what Aquinas constantly refers to in the questions we are commenting, when speaking of debitum morale. The treatise on justice in the second part of Aquinas’ Summa theologiae confirms what Saarinen has noted: Thomas generally analyzes the question of recognition in terms of feudal allegiance, in terms of mercy and pity, and in a way in which both sides involved in the act of recognition “turn to one another and create an asymmetrical bond between a lord and a servant”.38 Moreover, insisting on the relevance of moral esteem and ‘recognition of honour’ for the intrinsic value of a human being, Aquinas gives to the discussion of recognition a breadth which expands the notion well beyond the boundaries of a given social order and its distinct status. If we direct our attention to the scriptural commentaries by ­Aquinas – in line with the second caveat acknowledged at the beginning – we can see how the medieval theologian further elaborates on the understanding of what is due beyond the law and how it can be established. The Commentary on the Gospel of St John and the Commentaries to St. Paul Epistles, works of Thomas’ mature years, are rich. The Gospel of St. John includes a reflection on the nature of religious testimony, and offers obvious opportunities to Aquinas to elaborate both on truthfulness and its requirements.39 Following in Albert of Cologne’s footprints, Aquinas was trying to integrate the Aristotelian virtue of magnanimity into a Christian framework. His balanced solution, as René-Antoine Gauthier has shown, consists of distinguishing the distinct ends of the otherwise opposing virtues of magnanimity and humility. Magnanimity governs the horizontal relationship among equals: one human being to another human being; humility governs the vertical relation between those unequal, that is, any human being to God.40 Since the relation of anybody to God is mostly mediated through fellow humans, a tension arises in the notion of humility: what is the due measure of humility in human intercourse and social life? Thus, Aquinas makes some usuful remarks while commenting on St.  Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians (Phil. 2:3): “Do nothing from selfishness or conceit, but in humility count others better than yourselves”. The master explains that humility, in the realm of the moral duty (debitum morale), has a universal range, and nobody is excused from it, even the highest and the most noble in rank: For just as it pertains to pride that a man extol himself above himself, so to humility that he restrains himself according to his limitations. But how can a superior person [according to status] do this? For he either does not know that he is superior and virtuous, and then he is not virtuous, because he is not prudent. Or he does know, and then he cannot consider someone else as superior to himself. I answer that – Thomas states – no one is so good that there is no defect in him, or so evil that he has no good. Therefore, he should not prefer

174  Andrea Aldo Robiglio another to himself from each and all points of view (simpliciter), since he is able to acknowledge in his mind: ‘Perhaps there is some defect in me that is not in this other person.’ . . . But suppose that one person is good from every aspect, and another [absolutely] evil; nevertheless, you and he bear a double person, namely, yours and Christ’s. Therefore, if you cannot prefer him to yourself by reason of his person, you can do so by reason of the divine image: “Outdo one another in showing honour”.41 Aquinas indicates that each human being can be seen in himself or in her likeness to God, viz., in Christ. Such a reciprocal vision (duplex persona) might serve some of the purposes of the post-Kantian distinction between empirical and transcendental ‘I’. Given the inerasable distance from God, in whose likeness each of them is created, human creatures may always be unworthy while remaining worthy of reverence. It is useful, at this point, to say something on Aquinas’ notion of this matter.42 ‘Reverence’ is involved, as we have said, in religion, piety, observance, servitude, and gratitude. It always implies a form of fear (timor), even in the absence of any danger or risk. In the medieval tradition, the schoolmen’s teaching on reverence “was in fact a by-product of their theology of the gifts”43 and implied the awareness of the supreme excellence of the Creator and the disproportion between the Divinity and the dignity of any creature. The reverent man is one who flees from thinking himself as being equal to God, from comparing himself to the divine majesty. ‘Reverence’, on the other hand, takes the asymmetry between the two partners in relation as an opportunity for self-development. It gives to both partners a degree of autonomy and freedom, despite their respective disproportion.44 The inferior is free, despite his subordinate position within the relation; he can refuse to show reverence to the superior, even though that would conspire against what is morally due and would constitute a lack of due recognition. If one keeps in mind the possibility of esteeming each human being in the light of his or her likeness to the perfect, infinite Divinity, it is easy to see how the dialectic of honour – in Aquinas’ writings – is not opposed to the dialectic of recognition. Rather, it is an unavoidable consequence of it. The hierarchical and somehow rigid structure of society as reflected by the debitum legale, Thomas contends, wraps a more universal rule of living together comprising some range of equalization and individualization, viz., autonomy of each agent involved and accountability for her or his actions. This deeper level is reflected by the debitum morale, i.e., by what is morally due in human intercourse before and independently from the law. On the level of moral duty, Aquinas affirms that the recognition of each one’s particular value and virtue gives rise to a dynamic hierarchical structure in which – as we have just seen – there may not be fixed vantage positions. Everybody should follow the advice of the Apostle Paul, when he said: “With honour preventing one another”.45 Aquinas is aware of other like-minded passages in the New Testament, like the First Letter of St. Peter claiming “Honour all men”.46 Do such statements found in Scripture destroy the dialectic of honour according to which “honour is not due properly to those who are [not] above us” in rank?47

Aquinas on recognition  175 Aquinas’ answer insists on the double nature of any human being’s dignity: In every man there is to be found something that makes it possible to deem him better than ourselves, according to Philippians 2: 3, “In humility, let each esteem others better than themselves,” and thus, too, we should all be on the alert to do honour to one another.48 Since the due motive (debita causa) of honour is virtue alone (sola virtus), honour does not replace the struggle for recognition, since the latter coalesces with it.49 Instead of allowing us to adopt the pattern of an historical shift, from the age of honour to the age of recognition, the re-reading of Aquinas’ writings reveals how both concepts could be mutually implied. This might help contemporary debates take into account a notion of recognition which does not push honour into philosophical obsolescence, but rather helps uncover the fact that such an obsolescence is, in fact, untimely for a sophisticated and effective social analysis.

Notes 1 See the first article of Aquinas’ 7th Disputed Question de quolibet, on whether any created intellect could immediately see the divine essence (Utrum aliquis intellectus creatus possit divinam essentiam videre immediate): “Since everything which is received, is received according to the capacity of the receiver, it is impossible that the representation (similitudinem) of the Divine essence be received in a created intellect insofar such a representation would truly represent (representet) the entire measure of the divine essence in a complete way. Therefore, if the essence could be seen by us through some such likeness, we would not see the divine essence immediately, but only a certain shadow of it (umbra eius). It follows, therefore, that the first and only means will be in the beatific vision, namely, the light of glory by which the intellect will be enhanced to the point of seeing the essence of God; about which the Psalm 36 says: ‘In thy light shall we see light’ (de quo in Psalm. XXXV, 10: in lumine tuo videbimus lumen).” The writings of Aquinas are available online, at: www.corpusthomisticum.org, and their standard English translations have been revised by me, when necessary, against the original. 2 Cf. Arto Laitinen, “Paul Ricoeur’s Surprising Take on Recognition”, Études Ricoeuriennes 2 (2011): 35–50, esp. 47. One should remember, at any rate, that God can have a comprehensive vision of his infinite essence which remains denied to any creature. Even in the beatific vision, in fact, we ‘see’ God but cannot comprehend him. 3 Cf. Risto Saarinen, Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 69–79. On the notion of recognition as mere cognitive identification and ‘taking as true’, see Joseph Bobik and Kenneth M. Sayre, “Pattern Recognition Mechanisms and St.  Thomas’ Theory of Abstraction”, Revue Philosophique de Louvain 61 (1963): 24–43. 4 The common opinion, which Paul Ricoeur shared, considers that the question of recognition enters the philosophical debate with the Enlightenment and in the shadow of the French Revolution, when the concept of honour was rapidly becoming obsolete. On the mischaracterization involved in such an history of ‘recognition’, cf. D. Clifton Mark, “Recognition and Honor: A Critique of Axel Honneth’s and Charles Taylor’s Histories of Recognition”, Constellations: An International Journal of Critical and Democratic Theory 21 (2014): 16–31. 5 Aquinas, Summa contra Gentiles, I, 2 (I follow Anton C. Pegis’ translation, introducing minor modifications). Thomas’ quotation is taken from Hilary, On Trinity, I, 37.

176  Andrea Aldo Robiglio 6 For a first orientation in the theological tradition, see Ephrem Longpré, “Eucharistie et expérience mystique”, in Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascétique et mystique: doctrine et histoire, fondé par M. Viller, F. Cavallera, J. De Guibert, SJ continué par A. Rayez et Ch. Baumgartner, SJ, t. IV (Paris: Beauchesne, 1961), 1586–621; H. Monier-Vinard, “Action de graces”, Ibid., t. I (Paris: Beauchesne, 1937), 178–85; and Raymond SaintJean, “Gratitude”, Ibid., t. VI (Paris: Beauchesne, 1967), 776–81. 7 See Aquinas, Summa theologiae, II-II, qq. 57–122. Cf. Bernard McGinn, Thomas Aquinas’s Summa theologiae: A Biography (Princeton, NJ & Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2014), 74–116. Hereafter ST. 8 Ibid., q. 58, a. 1 resp. 9 Ibid., q. 58, a. 11. 10 Ibid., q. 80, a. 1. This shortcoming does not mean, for Aquinas, a lack of normativity, but rather the presence of broader ‘moral obligation’ going beyond the limits of any specific civic jurisdiction. 11 Ibid., q. 81, aa. 1–8. 12 Ibid., q. 82. 13 Ibid., q. 83. 14 Ibid., q. 84. 15 Ibid., q. 85. 16 Ibid., q. 86. 17 Ibid., q. 87. 18 Ibid., qq. 88–9. The act of promising anything to someone, while it posits a moral obligation toward the other person, seems to imply a recognition of this other person, e.g., Aquinas’ Commentary on the Sentences, Book 4, d. 38, q. 1, a. 1, quaestiuncula 2, ad 1m: Illa Jacob promissio magis fuit recognitio quaedam obligationis quam obligationis causa. 19 Ibid., qq. 90–100. 20 Ibid., qq. 101. 21 Ibid., q. 102. 22 ST II-II, q. 102, a. 1 resp. 23 Ibid., q. 102, a. 2 ad 2m. 24 Ibid., q. 104. 25 Ibid. See Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 75. 26 Ibid., q. 102, a. 2 resp. 27 Ibid., q. 103. 28 Ibid., q. 105. 29 On the distinction between recognition and gratitude, that is between the objective and the subjective aspect of ‘servitude’, a careful reader of Aquinas like Francis of Sales (1569–1622) elaborates further in order to overcome the confusion which had arisen from the identification of the two (e.g., Seneca, On Benefits I, 22–5). On the ‘acknowledgment of benefits’, see also Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 73 n. 102. 30 ST II-II, q. 106, a. 1 resp. 31 Ibid., q. 108. 32 Cf. Andrea A. Robiglio, “Poi che purgato è questo pane: Vindication and Recognition in Dante’s Convivio”, in Dante’s Convivio or How to Restart Writing in Exile, ed. Franziska Meier (Bern: Peter Lang, 2018), 178 n. 15. 33 ST II-II, q. 109, a. 1 resp, de veritate. 34 Ibid., q. 110, 111, 112. 35 Ibid., q. 109, a. 3 resp. 36 Ibid., ad 1m: “Since man is a social animal, one man naturally owes another whatever is necessary for the preservation of human society. Now it would be impossible for men to live together, unless they believed one another, as declaring the truth one to another. Hence the virtue of truth does, in a manner, regard something as being due.”

Aquinas on recognition  177

37

38 39

40

41

42

See Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 71. Textual passages from the treatise on justice are referred to by Saarinen (Ibid., 74–5). I am using here the notion of ‘relevance’ in continuity with its meaning in linguistic pragmatics (as in the eponymous work by Dan Sperber and Deirdre Wilson), but extending it beyond linguistic convention in order to express Aquinas’ implication of human intercourse (civilis conversatio). Thomas explicitly makes ‘human social intercourse’ depending on human freedom and individual responsibility; e.g., Aquinas, Expositio super Peryermeneias, I, l. 14: “in relation to human affairs, for clearly man seems to be the principle of the future events that he produces insofar as he is the master of his own actions and has the power to act or not to act. Indeed, to reject this principle would be to do away with the whole order of human association (ordo conversationis humanae) and all the principles of moral philosophy . . . and thus nullify the whole of civil science (civilis scientia)” (Translated by Jean T. Oesterle). Cf. Dan Sperber and Deirdre Wilson, Relevance: Communication and Cognition, Second Edition (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1996). See Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 71. Textual passages from the treatise on justice are referred to by Saarinen (Ibid., 74–5). Risto Saarinen already paid attention to Aquinas’ Super Iohannis Evangelium and to how the theologian reviews the scenes of recognition found in the Gospel’s narrative (e.g., the recognition of Jesus after the resurrection from the dead); cf. Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 73: “When Mary [Magdalene] was first converted in the heart, she ‘recognized’ (agnovit) Christ. When Christ says to her, ‘Mary’, he is asking her ‘to recognize him who recognizes you’ (reconoscere eum a quo recognosceris).” Another scene of recognition which Thomas carefully comments upon, is the manifestation of Jesus as the Messiah to Nicodemus (John 3: 1–21). He stresses the moral esteem of Nicodemus implied by Jesus’ revelation to him. Cf. Andrea A. Robiglio, “Testes nobilitatis: una riflessione sul nesso tra verità e nobiltà”, in La nobiltà nel pensiero medieval, eds. A. Palazzo, F. Bonini and A. Colli (Fribourg: Academic Press Fribourg, 2017), 208–9. Cf. René-Antoine Gauthier, Magnanimité: L’idéal de grandeur dans la philosophie païenne et dans la théologie chrétienne (Paris: Vrin, 1951). See Andrew Pinsent, The Second-Person Perspective in Aquinas’s Ethics: Virtues and Gifts (New York: Routledge, 2012). Pinsent analyzes not only ‘The Puzzle of Humility and Magnanimity’, but also draws attention to the reinterpretation of friendship in terms of ‘joint attention’ and focuses on such mutual attention as applied to ‘friendship with God’. On this antiAristotelian theme in Aquinas, cf. Super Iohannis Evangelium, 15, lc. 1; ST I-II, q. 62, a. 4; q. 66, a. 6; II-II, q. 23, aa. 2–3; q. 24, a. 8; q. 25, a. 4; q. 26, a. 7. (Rom. 12:10) Aquinas, Sup. Epistolam Ad Philippenses Lectura, Cap. 2, lc. 1 (ed. R. Cai, Turin, Marietti, 1953, 99–100; I am using, with slight changes, F. R. Larcher’s translation). Some of the most reliable manuscripts do not have the expression sed quantum ad hoc dicat in mente sua (viz., since he is able to acknowledge in his mind), which might be a later interpolation. See also Carla Casagrande, “Entre justice et humilité: Les vertus du respect chez Thomas d’Aquin”, Revues des Sciences philosophiques et théologiques, 101 (2017): 219–37, 233. Regarding the notion on honour in Aquinas, scant literature is available; see at least Cajetan Chereso, The Virtue of Honor and Beauty According to St. Thomas Aquinas (River Forest, IL: The Aquinas Library, 1960). On reverence, in Aquinas and beyond, see: Francis B. Sullivan, “The Notion of Reverence”, Revue de l’Université d’Ottawa 23 (1953): 5–35; William Desmond, “On the Betrayals of Reverence”, in Is There a Sabbath for Thought? Between Religion and Philosophy, (New York: Fordham University Press, 2005), 262–88; Andrea A. Robiglio, “Per non ‘mancare l’onore’: Dante e le radici razionali della riverenza”, Rassegna europea di letteratura italiana 35 (2010): 51–66; Ralph Heintzman, Rediscovering

178  Andrea Aldo Robiglio

43 44 45 46 47 48 49

Reverence: The Meaning of Faith in a Secular World (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2011). Sullivan, “The Notion of Reverence”, 8. Ibid., 16–35. Rom. 12:10. 1 Pet. 2:17. ST II-II, q. 103, a. 2, 3rd objection. Ibid., q. 103, a. 2, ad 3m. Cf. Ibid., q. 63, a. 3 resp.

References Aquinas, Thomas. Corpus Thomisticum. www.corpusthomisticum.org/. Bobik, Joseph and Kenneth M. Sayre. “Pattern Recognition Mechanisms and St. Thomas’ Theory of Abstraction.” Revue Philosophique de Louvain 61 (1963): 24–43. Casagrande, Carla. “Entre justice et humilité. Les vertus du respect chez Thomas d’Aquin.” Revues des Sciences philosophiques et théologiques 101 (2017): 219–37. Chereso, Cajetan. The Vitue of Honor and Beauty According to St. Thomas Aquinas. River Forest, IL: The Aquinas Library, 1960. Desmond, William. Is There a Sabbath for Thought? Between Religion and Philosophy. New York: Fordham University Press, 2005. Gauthier, René-Antoine. Magnanimité: L’idéal de grandeur dans la philosophie païenne et dans la théologie chrétienne. Paris: Vrin, 1951. Heintzman, Ralph. Rediscovering Reverence: The Meaning of Faith in a Secular World. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2011. Laitinen, Arto. “Paul Ricoeur’s Surprising Take on Recognition.” Études Ricoeuriennes 2 (2011): 35–50. Longpré, Ephrem. “Eucharistie et expérience mystique.” In Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascétique et mystique: Doctrine et histoire, fondé par M. Viller, F. Cavallera, J. De Guibert, S.J. continué par A. Rayez et Ch. Baumgartner, SJ, t. IV. 1586–621. Paris: Beauchesne, 1961. Mark, D. Clifton. “Recognition and Honor: A  Critique of Axel Honneth’s and Charles Taylor’s Histories of Recognition.” Constellations: An International Journal of Critical and Democratic Theory 21 (2014): 16–31. McGinn, Bernard. Thomas Aquinas’s Summa theologiae: A Biography, 74–116. Princeton & Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2014. Monier-Vinard, Henri. “Action de graces.” In Dictionnaire de spiritualité, edited by M. Viller et al., t. I, 178–85. Paris: Beauchesne, 1936. Pinsent, Andrew. The Second-Person Perspective in Aquinas’s Ethics: Virtues and Gifts. New York: Routledge, 2012. Robiglio, Andrea A. “Per non ‘mancare l’onore’: Dante e le radici razionali della riverenza.” Rassegna europea di letteratura italiana 35 (2010): 51–66. ———. “Testes nobilitatis: una riflessione sul nesso tra verità e nobiltà.” In La nobiltà nel pensiero medievale, edited by A. Palazzo, F. Bonini and A. Colli. 201–213. Fribourg: Academic Press Fribourg, 2017. ———. “Poi che purgato è questo pane: Vindication and Recognition in Dante’s Convivio.” In Dante’s Convivio or How to Restart Writing in Exile, edited by Franziska Meier. 173–90. Bern: Peter Lang, 2018.

Aquinas on recognition  179 Saarinen, Risto. Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Saint-Jean, Raymond. “Gratitude.” In Dictionnaire de spiritualité, edited by M. Viller et al., t. VI, 776–81. Paris: Beauchesne, 1966. Sperber, Dan and Wilson, Deirdre, Relevance: Communication and Cognition, Second Edition. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1996. Sullivan, Francis B. “The Notion of Reverence.” Revue de l’Université d’Ottawa 23 (1953): 5–35.

10 Theological and legal arguments for the non‑recognition and recognition of the rights of infidels in medieval sources Virpi Mäkinen Introduction The Middle Ages is not known as a period of tolerance towards non-Christians in European history.1 Already in the early Middle Ages there existed several kinds of regulations concerning the others. Regulations, for example, forbade Saracens and Jews from possessing Christian slaves. The laws of Decretals forbade Christians from entering the service of Jews (for example, for Christian women to act as their nurses or midwives); they forbade Christians from employing Jewish physicians when ill; they restricted Jews to specific quarters of the towns into which they were admitted, and to required to wear clothing by which they might be recognized. All these regulations were based on the idea of the superiority of Christians to infidels.2 Alongside with the emergence of individual rights, the lawyers and theologians of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries started to be concerned with nonChristians (in this article, infidels) in more positive ways, as well, at least in their theoretical writings. One important bull in this regard was Pope Innocent III’s Quod super his, and especially Pope Innocent IV’s commentary on it. In his commentary, Innocent IV (pope from 1243–1254) held that infidels possess lordship, possession, and jurisdiction licitly and without sin, for these things were made not only for believers, but for every rational creature. Further, the pope claimed that the rights of infidels could only be taken away if they sinned against natural or divine law. However, he also held that while infidels had a right to dominium, the pope as the Vicar of Christ de jure had the right to the care of their souls and had the right to politically intervene in their affairs if their ruler violated or allowed his subjects to violate a Christian and normative concept of natural law.3 This was not a reciprocal right, and non-Christian missionaries (such as those of Muslims) could not be allowed to preach in Europe “because they are in error and we are on a righteous path”. Innocent IV also stated that he had an obligation to send missionaries to the infidels’ lands, and if they were prevented from entering them or preaching in them, then the pope was justified in dispatching Christian forces, accompanied by missionaries, to invade those lands. The pope argued: “[I]f infidels do not obey, they ought to be compelled by the secular arm and war may

The rights of infidels in medieval sources  181 be declared upon them by the pope, and nobody else”. It should also be noted that the background for the pope’s bull was the long period of crusades from the twelfth century to the end of the thirteenth century. It raised discussion of justification for occupying the lands and property of infidels and their subjection under the Christian rulers. These questions were closely related to another long-lasting debate; the discussion concerning the legitimation and origins of secular (regnum) and ecclesiastical (sacerdotum) power.4 What is important for our discussion is that Pope Innocent IV’s bull also raised the long-lasting discussion of concerning the metaphysical basis of rights in general and of concerning so-called dominium rights in particular. In this article, my primary aim is to examine the arguments by which medieval authors (both theologians and canon lawyers) recognized or did not recognize the rights of infidels. Through a close reading of the relevant medieval texts, I ask: what is the ultimate origin and source of dominium rights, and what are the basic criteria or capacities for possessing these rights? Another interesting question arising from the sources is whether these rights were applicable as universal rights. These questions – that of ontology and capacity for possessing rights – also concern the emergence of natural rights (ius naturale), also termed individual or subjective rights in modern research.5 In the discussion concerning the rights of infidels, the central notion was dominium, which already from the beginning of the thirteenth century was understood as equivalent to the notion of ius (a right). The main arguments for non-recognition of the rights of infidels were in general based on the notion of a grace-based dominium which was only possible for Christians inside the Catholic Church to possess. Authors arguing for recognizing the rights of infidels claimed human rationality as the capacity on the basis of which a person hold rights. Methodologically, I rely on conceptual elements of recognition theories. At the same time, however, I do not use the modern theory of recognition, per se.6 Very generally defined, recognition focuses on the psychological and social identities, capacities, and statutes which are constituted as a result of dialogical interaction between persons.7 Granting a right to a person requires certain relations of recognition. One must to recognize another as an active, rights-bearing person who has equal access to secular rights and has legal status in society. Second, granting a right to someone also creates a mutual relationship between the rights of the receiver and the duties of the grantor. Thus, rights are also fundamental to social integration. Therefore, the recognition of infidel rights also increases peaceful inter-religious encounter in society. Despite the fact that there are many excellent studies concerning the emergence and early development of natural rights,8 the criteria for someone possessing natural rights are not very clearly stated in the research.9 My contribution is first to explain the basic criteria for possessing natural rights and, on this basis, to discuss what difference the clarifications make to the idea of recognizing the rights of others. However, it should be noted that long before the language of rights came into use, philosophers and theologians had recognized and valued human freedom

182  Virpi Mäkinen and individual discretion in another ways; for example, using the ideas of justice and the good life.10 Natural rights and dominium rights In his commentary on the Quid super his, Pope Innocent IV used the notion of dominium as equivalent to ius, which was a common understanding among medieval authors from the mid-thirteenth century onwards.11 Despite this use, the notion of dominium is not a uniform concept but has many senses when it came to discussing its formation and content. Even the same author often has several kinds of meaning for it, depending on the context. Four senses are worth noting here: dominium can mean mastery over one’s own actions (self-dominion), rulership, ownership over things, or the mastery over other creatures Adam and Eve had in the state of innocence. Many medieval scholars called this last sense a ‘natural dominium’ (dominium naturale), or ‘original dominium’ (dominium originale), and by analogy some write of evangelical dominium, beatific dominium, and other kinds of dominion enjoyed by particular categories of people. It should be noted here that natural rights are often referred to as ius naturale, but some medieval authors also use the notion dominium naturale.12 After the Fall, when referring to the distinct lordship that relates to property rights and the right to authority and jurisdiction, they use the notions of human dominion (dominium humanum) or civil dominion (dominium civile). When speaking about God’s dominion over creatures, the notion employed is divine dominion (dominium divinum). The first sense of dominium (the master over one’s own actions) and the latter sense (that is, natural dominium) were not understood as legal rights.13 Only the second and the third senses were themselves rights or objects of rights. From the thirteenth century onwards, authors began to speak of the equivalence between dominium and ius in civil and canon law traditions. This conceptual development was important for the development of a subjectively understood ius naturale.14 Medieval authors explain human agency as one having dominium over his own actions (dominium suorum actuum) through the possession of reason and will.15 In accordance with this ‘self mastery’, human beings act deliberately; their acts are within their control (i.e., dominium), whereas animals act as necessity. Medieval authors term this self-mastery as right-as-dominium or dominiumright.16 The rights arising from nature (which, during the Middle Ages, meant those rising from the consequences of having been created by God) were understood both as inalienable and imprescriptible, in the sense that any renunciation or extinguishing themselves would constitute at the same time the cessation of one’s personhood. The notion of dominium was also understood as a hierarchical relation, such that a superior being had higher dominion over an inferior one: for example, God’s dominium over creation or on a practical level, a feudal lord’s dominium directum over his peasants’ dominium utile. However, it should be noted that having dominion did not necessarily mean arbitrary domination, but only dominion regulated by reason; that is, in the case of natural dominion. “The ascription to a person of a dominium right does not give that person dominion over anyone else. The

The rights of infidels in medieval sources  183 right-holder does not legislate for others or subordinate others to his or her will”. Rights belong to human beings as equal citizens in a community of friendship and cooperation, as Thomas Aquinas puts it: “[E]very law aims at establishing friendship”.17 Non-recognition of the rights of infidels in the writings of the canonists The canonical discourse of the mid-twelfth century, such as that espoused by the Cistercian theologian and monk Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153), legitimized German colonial expansion and forceful Christianisation of Slavic lands, arguing that infidels were a danger to Christians. What kind of theological and juridical arguments legitimated these kinds of acts? Among canon lawyers, the English canonist Alanus Anglicus (active between c. 1190–c. 1210) denied the existence of an infidel dominium because, he argued, they were not in the state of grace and did not obey God’s vicar, the pope. Thus, he asserts the pope’s universal jurisdictional authority over the Earth: that is the right to authorize pagan conquests solely on the basis of non-belief because of their rejection of the Christian God. Alanus’ arguments were influential among canonists and theologians in the age of the Crusades.18 In his commentary on Pope Innocent’s X 3.34.8, the Italian canonist Hostiensis (Henricus de Segusio, 1200–1271) provided more specific arguments concerning the non-recognition of the rights of infidels. His response came to be viewed as the standard gloss on Innocent IV’s more human views concerning the subject. According to Hostiensis, just dominion rested on grace and existed only within the confines of the Christian Church; therefore, none outside the Church could exercise dominion legitimately. He also argued that, with the coming of Christ, every office and all governmental authority and all dominion and jurisdiction was taken from every infidel lawfully and with just cause and granted to the faithful through the pope (who was the supreme power and who could not err).19 Hostiensis, however, also argued that even the pope was not permitted to take property, jurisdiction, or lordship from infidels, because they possessed them without sin. But he also stated that by law, infidels should be subjected to the faithful. Only small differences exist between the statements of Innocent IV and Hostiensis, but they came to be important for the later discussion. Whereas Innocent IV required that the pope demonstrate either that infidels who were the objects of a Christian invasion occupied previously Christian territories, or that they clearly violated the terms of the natural law, Hostiensis did not require such demonstration because, he argued, the infidels lacked divine grace and thus were usurpers, unlawful possessors. Both nevertheless thought that only the pope could authorize such wars, because such wars were a part of the spiritual mission of the Church.20 Grace-founded dominium in Giles of Rome and Richard Fitzralph One interesting group of authors were those theologians, many of them belonging to the Augustinian tradition, who (following in the Hostiensian line) state that the

184  Virpi Mäkinen origin of dominium was founded on divine dominion (dominium divinum) and on God’s grace. This idea is based on the Augustinian doctrine of grace as the true source of justice. These authors often follow the hierocratic theory concerning the papacy in their politics, and thus argue that infidels do not have dominium since it was based on the divine law which, in its part, was held only by the pope in the Christian Church. In his De ecclesiastica potestate, Giles of Rome (1243–1316), Archbishop of Bourges, employs the notion of dominium as a term for understanding the created order. Since God was the ultimate source of dominium, no human being could possess it without receiving it through divine grace. Grace, for its part, is received through the Church and above all by the papacy. For Giles of Rome and the papalists in general, all earthly dominion came from God and was mediated to human beings through the pope. Giles also equates the Church with the pope, arguing that it was fitting that the noblest institution would wield the greatest dominion as the mediator of divine dominion.21 In his De pauperie Salvatoris,22 Richard Fitzralph (c. 1300–1360), Archbishop of Armagh and publicist in the Roman curia at Avignon, follows Giles of Rome in his Hostiensian line of argumentation and states that the original dominium was based on God’s grace.23 According to Richard, God originally shared his dominion with Adam, but the Fall damaged human nature and thus deprived humankind of divine dominion.24 However, the Incarnation of Christ renewed human nature and original dominion, which ever since has been necessarily possessed by all of Christ’s true followers.25 Following the traditional medieval understanding, Richard employs the notion of dominium as the relation between the Creator (the ultimate Dominus) and the creation. Following Genesis 1:26–28, Richard states that God shares his dominion only with rational creatures who, in their part, share God’s lordship over irrational creatures. This kind of dominion he terms ‘natural’ or ‘original dominion’ (dominium naturale sive originale).26 Thus, there is a hierarchical order in his understanding of dominion. All these views are in accordance with traditional teaching among medieval theologians.27 Richard defines original dominium this way: “It seems possible that Adam’s dominion was rational creature’s mortal right, or original authority, of naturally possessing things that are subject to him by nature, according to reason, and on fully using or exploiting them”.28 Richard, however, differs from the tradition in his emphasis that rationality was not a sufficient foundation for natural, original dominion. Because of sin, he emphasizes the need of God’s grace that is also necessary for a nature to be just: “Dominium does not follow immediately from the specific nature of man, but is mediated by justice, which cannot be had without justifying grace”.29 The theological reason for this argument is that the human being was first created in justifying grace, and it was this grace on which the original dominium was based.30 Furthermore, metaphysically speaking, original dominium was both inalienable (that is, one cannot renounce or transfer it)31 and involuntary (because dominion originates from the inspired grace that is present in the soul).32 It should be noted that original dominion was not understood as exclusive to or proper to an individual, but

The rights of infidels in medieval sources  185 rather possessed jointly and in a similar way by all those possessing it.33 Despite the fact that the Fall destroyed the original dominium, it was recovered by Christ at his Incarnation and thus pertains (in a necessary way) to all human beings who possess saving grace. Regarding civil dominion (dominium civile), Richard states that it is given by God “on the condition that the person to whom it is given renders to God his due service. Therefore, when a person sins mortally, and by this, by losing and forfeiting original dominion, he equally and by the same reason forfeits the civil dominion”.34 In accordance with the hierarchical understanding of dominium, civil dominion is seen as dependent on divine dominion, so that “no one is dominus of things unless he is made righteous by the justifying grace”.35 However, sin does not totally destroy the capacity to possess legal rights. This argument became evident, for example, from Richard’s ideas on hereditary rights. He mentions, interestingly, that if the civil heir is a sinner, then a righteous stranger (for example, from India) has more of a right, and a better right, to the inheritance that the actual heir.36 Another reason for the argument that the capacity to possess legal rights is not destroyed by sin, is based on the fact that human laws are inferior to God’s law; thus, they cannot concede dominion to the sinner because dominion is communicated solely by God and only to those who have similitude to God through being in the state of grace. Nevertheless, human law is not left completely without legal legitimation. Following a traditional anthropological view among medieval theologians, Richard thought that the Fall did not destroy the image of God in the human soul. Therefore, a sinner can also possess a title that is inferior to dominion, but which at the same time provides justification for the human legal order.37 Grace-founded dominium and the doctrine of predestination in John Wyclif The forefather of the English Reformation, John Wyclif (1320–1384), follows Richard Fitzralph’s theory of dominium and argues with almost the same wording that there cannot be dominion without God’s grace as its formal cause. Further, Wyclif states that by necessity, the perfect way of human life entails divine dominion over the rest of creation.38 For him, original dominion (which he terms as fundamental dominion, dominium fundamentum) is not the right but “presupposes the right as its foundation”. The original dominium is independent of natural and civil circumstances.39 Thus only by rational human nature is the human being able to possess dominium (capax dominii). With this dominium, human beings are able to possess dominium over other things which is, however, not to be understood as any kind of legitimate use.40 Wyclif’s theory of dominium depends strongly on Richard’s theory, but there is at least one important difference: Wyclif’s doctrine of predestination, which also has consequences for his doctrine of dominium. According to Wyclif, God provides a portion of his dominium to those people who are favoured by his grace (gratia) to receive and possess it and are able to exercise it righteously.41 Thus the state of possessing dominium presupposes a justice, what is had. “Since justice is to be in grace; and to be in grace is the only

186  Virpi Mäkinen true being. . . . [T]he mode of one’s being determines the mode of one’s possession”.42 Concerning a person who lives in the state of sin, Wyclif states as follows: “The sinner possess things only in that way, in which he is, but howsoever he is, he is unjustly. Therefore howsoever he possesses, he possesses unjustly”.43 Wyclif refers here to Augustine’s doctrine of sin. For Augustine, sin totally destroys nature and “is nothing and when they sin, human beings become nothing”.44 The capacity of possessing dominium is based on God’s justifying grace, but “no one can merit anything if he does not have a right to it”.45 Annabel Brett analyzes Wyclif’s ideas as follows: The full sense of ‘right’ in Wyclif is therefore merit, claim, worth or title: coinciding with grace, it is the creature’s very mode of being or ontological status. Outside grace, there is only primary being (esse primum) and the natural good (bonum naturae). The just alone have secondary perfection (perfectio secunda) and the good of grace (bonum gracie).46 According to the doctrine of predestination, the elect are the ones who belong to the Church, but Wyclif argues that being baptized by a Catholic priest does not indicate membership of the true Church. God has eternally predestined a portion of the humankind to salvation, while the non-elect will be eternally punished for their sins. The more radical aspect of Wyclif’s theology of predestination was his identification of the true Church with the body of the elect.47 For Wyclif, the notion of justice understood as grace and as ontological status, is the most important quality and status of the human being for possessing dominium. As some modern scholars have noted, Wyclif’s strong account of predestination seems to make his theory of dominium useless. If there is no way of knowing which part of the people are predestined to salvation and which part is foreknown to be damned, what sense does it make to argue that righteous dominium may be held only by those who are part of the elect? Does not a move like this make questions of righteous ownership and jurisdiction mysteries as great as the future salvation and damnation themselves? Furthermore, if a ruler’s subjects have absolutely no way of knowing whether the ruler is exercising dominium lawfully, the political realm becomes totally unintelligible.48 However, some scholars have pointed out that, for this very reason, Wyclif did not connect righteous dominium to the ruler’s status as elect or damned, but rather with his possessing or not possessing the grace of God. It is on grace, not predestination, that lordship rests. Since even the elect may fall, and indeed do fall into sin sometimes, for Wyclif being predestined does not imply much more than final perseverance.49 Thus the legitimacy of a dominium relation would be dependent on whether the lord was currently in a state of grace, rather than on whether he belonged to the elect or not. Concerning predestination, Wyclif’s opinion was that it remained a mystery and was not knowable to human beings without special revelation. Thus, Wyclif’s theory was far from having the revolutionary practical implications some critics attribute to it. Even though a bad ruler did not actually have just dominium and therefore was not a true ruler (properly speaking), in practice this state of affairs

The rights of infidels in medieval sources  187 was ultimately unknowable to the ruler’s subjects. It is best to simply obey the ruler.50 Wyclif’s doctrine of dominium based on grace was condemned at the Council of Constance (1414–1418).51 The council supported the position of Pope Innocent IV on the legitimacy of infidel dominium under natural law, and brought to an end the Hostiensian and Wyclifite line of argument regarding the dependence of dominium upon grace. William of Ockham and the rights of infidels In his Breviloquium de principatu tyrannico (A Short Discourse on the Tyrannical Government) composed in 1341–1342, Ockham defends the rights of “all peoples” (whether Christians or non-Christians) against the tyranny of the supreme pontiff, Pope John XXII (pope from 1316–1334).52 Ockham argues that the authority and power of the pope also ought to be limited by the same rights as the others.53 Ockham is interested not only in defending the rights of Christians against the absolutist claims of the papacy, but also in defending the rights of all peoples.54 In several passages concerning the secular rights (saecularia iura) of people,55 he explicitly mentions that these rights also belong to infidels: he indicates this view through the use of such phrases as “among believers and infidels” (inter fideles et infideles), “both believers and infidels” (tam fidelibus quam infidelibus) or that they exist “not only among believers, but also among infidels” (non solum apud fideles, sed etiam apud infideles). In his Breviloquium, Ockham’s main argument is that there is a true dominium outside the Church and also among the infidels, because such a right was conferred on the whole human race in God’s original grant of dominium to Adam in the natural law.56 For Ockham, a right (ius) is “a licit power (potestas licita) of agency in accordance with right reason (recta ratio)”. Thus a right is a subjective power of action, “capacity for reasonable activity” and the capacity “to live reasonably”.57 With this interpretation, Ockham seeks to separate rights from the hierarchical connotations of authority or dominion.58 According to him, after or before the Fall, in the persons of the first parents, God gave to the whole human race the general licit power of using (potestas licita utendi).59 He explicates this general power further by stating that God gave two things to the human being when creating him. The first was dominium over all the other creatures of the world. Traditionally this was termed as natural or original dominion, but Ockham does not like to use the notion because of the Franciscan poverty dispute. Second, God give to the human being and to all other animals the power of using (potestas utendi) certain things. The original dominion was lost in the Fall, but the power of using external things remained.60 According to Ockham, this ‘natural dominium’ was conferred on the whole human race (including infidels) in God’s original grant to Adam. Thus the power to acquire property came from ‘nature’ (that is, corrupt human nature) and from the dictate of human reason.61 Ockham also points out that natural rights were not given by God through positive divine law, as Pope John XXII had argued,62

188  Virpi Mäkinen but rather through the law of nature (ius naturale), and more particularly, in its third sense: through natural law ‘on supposition’ (ex suppositione).63 Ockham differentiated three kinds of natural law, and the third kind can be seen “as a kind of conditional natural law, which was derived from rational response to contingent situations”.64 According to the natural law on supposition, the ius naturale “is said to be what can be gathered by evident reason from the law of nations or some other law or some act, divine or human, unless the contrary is established by those concerned, and this can be called natural law by supposition”.65 By using his teaching on the natural law of supposition together with biblical arguments, Ockham seeks to demonstrate that people possess rights by virtue of their human nature and have enjoyed them long before Christ. Thus, he also notes that to deny these rights to infidels would also mean denying them to Christians. This narrative leads him to the sphere of hereditary secular rights. Ockham argues that if infidels had no true temporal jurisdiction and property rights, their Christian descendants would not have the legal right to inhere them. He writes: “For believing kings, princes, and those who are their inferiors would be able to claim by right of inheritance absolutely nothing of the goods and rights of their unbelieving progenitors, if the latter had no true lordship and true temporal jurisdiction”. The reason was that children could not claim property that their fathers held illicitly or had no right to at all. Nor could they help themselves by prescription, because “a possessor who at any time possesses in bad faith does not prescribe”.66

Conclusions The arguments for non-recognition of the rights of infidels were based on the notion of dominium founded on justifying grace. As Richard Fitzralph put it: truly to be is to be in grace, and grace is right. Thus, righteous dominion could be possessed in the Church, by the pope. For John Wyclif, righteous dominion belongs only to the elected. Since the infidels lived in sin and outside the Christian Church, they were not capable of possessing just dominion. The arguments recognizing the rights of infidels were based on the inalienable natural rights belonging to all human beings due to their rationality. Another important requirement for being a rights-bearing individual was to be a rightsbearing agent: possessing a natural power to act. Whereas the human beings, per se, are bearers of rights and can assert moral claims, Ockham did not give any evidence to protect the individual from the unilateral intrusion of the secular ruler into the lives of subjects.67 In this sense, his theory is not in a modern sense a rights-based theory. For the first time, such theories were developed by the Spanish neo-Scholastics in the Age of Discovery.

Notes 1 For the Janus face of Christian toleration in the Middle Ages, see Rainer Forst, Toleration in Conflict: Past and Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 47–70. 2 See Norman Roth, “Canon (Church) Law and Jews”, Medieval Jewish Civilization: An Encyclopedia, ed. Norman Roth (New York & London: Routledge, 2003), 129–33.

The rights of infidels in medieval sources  189 3 See Innocent IV, Commentaria Innocentii . . . super libros quinque decretalium, Frankfurt 1570, X.3.34.8. See also Brian Tierney, The Crisis in Church and State 1050–1300 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1988); James Gordley, The Jurists: A Critical History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 80–1, who speaks about the canonist Sinibaldus’ commentary. Innocent published his commentary the same year he was elected as pope, so we also can refer to it as the pope’s commentary, as most modern scholars do. 4 On the one hand, the debate concerned such questions as whether the members of a community could or actually did alienate all their rights in the act of constituting a government, and if so, would they have instituted an absolute regime? Another question related to this was whether the emperor’s role as dominus mundi (lord of the world) gave him absolute power as the actual owner of his subjects’ property. On the other hand, the debate dealt with the absolutist claims of the fullness power of the pope (potestas plenitudo papae). See Kenneth Pennington, The Prince and the Law: Sovereignty and Rights of the Western Legal Tradition (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1993); William D. McCready, “Papal Plenitudo Potestatis and the Source of Temporal Authority in Late Medieval Papal Hierocratic Theory”, Speculum 48, no. 4 (1973): 654–74. 5 For a good introductory article to the medieval understanding of natural rights, see John Kilcullen, “Natural Rights”, in Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy, ed. Henrik Lagerlund, vol. 2 (Dordrecht: Springer, 2011), 867–73. 6 For examples of combining concepts from contemporary recognition theory with medieval sources, see: Ritva Palmén and Heikki J. Koskinen, “Mediated Recognition and the Quest for a Common Rational Field of Discussion in Three Early Medieval Dialogues”, Open Theology (2016): vol 2: 374–390; Ritva Palmén and Heikki J. Koskinen, “Recognition Theory and Agreement in Conflict: The Case of Peter Alfonsi’s Dialogus contra Iudaeos” (forthcoming). 7 See Axel Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Charles Taylor, “The Politics of Recognition”, in Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition. Edited by Amy Gutmann (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 25–73. 8 See e.g., Brian Tierney, The Idea of Natural Rights: Studies on Natural Rights, Natural Law and Church Law 1150–1625 (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1997); Annabel S. Brett, Liberty, Rights and Nature: Individual Rights in Later Scholastic Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 9 In her recent article, Annabel Brett considers the question of human capable of natural rights in the light of late-medieval and early-modern Thomist theories. See Annabel Brett, “Human Rights and the Thomist Tradition”, in Revisiting the Origins of Human Rights. Edited by Pamela Slotte and Miia Halme-Tuomisaari (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 82–101. 10 See John Kilcullen, “Medieval and Modern Concepts of Rights”, in The Nature of Rights: Moral and Political Aspects of Rights in Late Medieval and Early Modern Philosophy. Edited by Virpi Mäkinen, Acta Philosophica Fennica 87 (Helsinki: Philosophical Society of Finland, 2010), 31. Cf. Fred Miller Jr., who argues for the existence of “rights” in Aristotle. However, he also admits that Aristotle does not have any explicit concept of rights. See Fred Miller Jr., Nature, Justice and Rights in Aristotle’s Politics (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995); “Anticipations of Human Rights in Aristotle and Other Ancient Thinkers”, New Perspectives to Aristotelianism and Its Critics. Edited by Miira Tuominen, Sara Heinämaa and Virpi Mäkinen (Leiden: Brill, 2014). 11 Richard Tuck, Natural Rights Theories: Their Origin and Development (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979); Peter Garnsey, Thinking About Property: From Antiquity to the Age of Reformation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 184–90. 12 I am following here John Kilcullen’s differentiation in his “The Origins of Property: Ockham, Grotius, Pufendorf, and Some Others 2001” (1995). The article has been

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published electronically by the Pandora Archive of the Australian National Library. See: www.pandora.nla.gov.an. It is also available through philpapers.org. However, there were exceptions to this, as well. Pope John XXII (pope from 1316– 1334) argued that there was dominium in the state of innocence and Adam had individual lordship before the formation of Eve. For Pope John XXII’s theory of dominium, see Jonathan Robinson, William of Ockham’s Early Theory of Property Rights in Context, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions 166 (Leiden  & Boston: Brill, 2013), 29–63; Virpi Mäkinen, Property Rights in the Late Medieval Discussion on Franciscan Poverty, Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie médiévales 3 (Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 162–73. For other important historical and terminological factors on the emergence of individual rights, see Tierney, The Idea of Natural Rights. See e.g., Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, 1a2ae, q. 1, ad. 2. On the equivalence between ius and dominium in medieval jurisprudence and its importance to later theories of individual rights, see Tuck, Natural Rights Theories, esp. 5–31. For the critics of Tuck’s arguments, see Brian Tierney, “Tuck on Rights: Some Medieval Problems”, History of Political Thought 4 (1983): 429–41. For the development of dominium-right as the object of commutative justice among the Spanish neoScholastics and its importance to later human rights theories, see Brett, “Human Rights and the Thomist Tradition”. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, 1a2ae, q. 99, a. 1, ad. 2. Cited in Kilcullen, “Medieval and Modern Concepts of Rights”, 55. Cf. Brian Tierney, who describes a right as a kind of “sovereignty over the other’s will”. See Brian Tierney, “Medieval Rights and Powers: On a Recent Interpretation”, History of Political Thought 21 (2000): 328. See Robert A. Williams Jr., The American Indian in Western Legal Thought: The Discourse of Conquest (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), 64. For Hostiensis’ view, see his Lectura in V libros Decretalium, Venice 1581. See also James Muldoon, Popes, Lawyers, and Infidels: The Church and the Non-Christian World (Philadephia, PA: University of Philadelphia Press, 1994), 18; Williams, The American Indian, 85; Tierney, The Idea of Natural Rights, 182. Tierney, The Idea of Natural Rights, 266–7. For Giles of Rome’s ideas on dominium, see R. W. Dyson, “Introduction”, in Giles of Rome on Ecclesiastical Power: The De ecclesiastica potestate of Aegidius Romanus. Translated by R.W. Dyson (Suffolk: Boydell Press, 1986), iv–xxiii; Walter Ullmann, Medieval Papalism: The Political Theories of the Medieval Canonists (London: Hyperion Press, 1949), esp. chs. IV and V. Richard Fitzralph, “De pauperie Salvatoris I–IV”, in John Wyclif, De dominio divino. Edited by R.L. Poole (London: Trübner & co., 1890), 257–476. The De pauperie Salvatoris consists of seven books; the first five deal with the theory of dominion based on grace, and the rest consider the controversy on Franciscan poverty. For the theological and political background of Richard’s work, see Brett, Liberty, Rights and Nature, 68–9. The background for Richard’s theory of dominium was a tangled web of Augustinian theology, Aristotelian politics, hierocratic papal theory, and canon law. With his theory of dominium, he also took part into the disputes on Franciscan poverty by critizing their doctrine of absolute poverty, as well as their understanding of ecclesiastical and secular power. See Stephen E. Lahey, Metaphysics and Politics in the Thought of John Wyclif (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 1. Katherine Walsh has suggested that Richard’s theory was perhaps influenced by his contemporary Augustinian, William of Cremona. See Katherine Walsh, A Fourteenth-Century Scholar and Primate: Richard FitzRalph in Oxford, Avignon and Armagh (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), 383–5. For Richard’s theory of dominium, see also Jussi Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart’s Theory of Individual Rights (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012), 37–44; Brett, Liberty, Rights and Nature, 68–71.

The rights of infidels in medieval sources 191 24 Fitzralph, De pauperie Salvatoris, lib. II, c. XII, 352. 25 Ibid., 335, 344, 348–56. As Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart, 38 notes, Fitzralph critizises here the Franciscan ideal of renouncing all dominium. 26 Fitzralph, De pauperie Salvatoris, lib. I, c. XX, 310. See also Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart, 38. 27 Compare e.g., Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologia, 2a2ae; Bonaventure, Commentaria Sententiae. 28 Fitzralph, De pauperie Salvatoris, lib. II, c, I, 335: “Videtur ita posse describi, quod Ade dominium fuit racionalis creature mortale ius sive auctoritas originalis possidendi naturaliter res sibi natura subiectas conformiter racioni, et eis plena utendi sive eas tractandi”. Translation in Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart, 41. It was important for the discussion of ecclesiastical and secular power that Fitzralph defines the original dominium as authority (auctoritas) and not as power (potestas). The pope possessed auctoritas, whereas the secular rulers had potestas. Furthermore, it was significant to Richard that authority and rights concerned only rational beings, and power (or faculty) concerned only irrational creatures. Jussi Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart, 42, also notes that Richard here uses natural philosophical language: power and faculty lack normative connotations, and thus can be used when describing animal activity. Brett, Liberty, Rights and Nature, 69–70, compares Richard’s notion of dominium to that of William of Ockham. Ockham’s work is probably the direct source for Richard. 29 Fitzralph, De pauperie Salvatoris, lib. II, c. IV, 344: “Istud igitur dominium non sequitur naturam specificam immediate, sed mediante iusticia, que sine iustificante gracia non habetur.” Translation in Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart, 40. 30 Fitzralph, De pauperie Salvatoris, lib. II, c. IV, 344. See also Brett, Liberty, Rights and Nature 70–1. 31 Ibid., c. XX, 362. 32 Ibid., lib. III, c. VII, 390. Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart, 40. 33 Fitzralph, De pauperie Salvatoris, lib. IV, c. I, 437. Nor can original dominion be diminished; it can only be limited in act. See Ibid., lib. II, c. XXIV, 367. For these notions, see also Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart, 41. 34 Fitzralph, De pauperie Salvatoris, lib. IV, c. IV, 441: “Civile dominium . . . datum est a Deo hominibus pro prestando debito Deo obsequio ab eo cui est datum; igitur, cum quis peccat mortaliter, per hoc perdens ac forefaciens originale dominium, pariter et paru ratione forefacit civile dominium.” Translation in Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart, 42. 35 Fitzralph, De pauperie Salvatoris, lib. IV, c. III, 441. 36 Ibid., c. IV, 441. For more on Richard’s understanding of inheritance rights, see Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart, 43–4. 37 Varkemaa, Conrad Summenhart, 43–4. 38 See John Wycliffe, De civili dominio, lib. I, p. 1. Wyclif discusses his theory of dominium in his De dominio divino, De civili dominio and De officio regis. 39 Wyclif, De dominio divini, lib. I, 4: “Dominium est habitudo nature racionalis secundum quam denominatur suo prefici servienti.”; lib. II, 8; lib. 1, 1 For Wylif’s theory of dominium, see Brett, Liberty, Rights and Nature, 72–6; Tierney, The Idea of Natural Rights, 229–30; Stephen E. Lahey, Metaphysics and Politics. For Wyclif’s thought in general, see Stephen E. Lahey, John Wyclif, Great Medieval Thinkers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009); John Adam Robson, Wyclif and the Oxford School (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961), 69–70. 40 Wyclif, De dominio divino, lib. I, 5: “Ecce primo, constitucio hominis in esse secundo ad ymaginem et similitudinem Dei, secundum quam est capax dominie; . . . Non ergo quilibet usus licentia est dominium.” Here, Wyclif refers to the discussion of Franciscan poverty. 41 Wyclif, De divino dominium, lib. I, 1: “oportet in primo videtur si civile dominium presupponat dominium naturale fundatum in gracia . . . Intendo itaque pro dicendis ostendere duas veritates . . . prima, quod nemo u test in peccato mortali habet iusticiam

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53 54 55

56 57

simpliciter donum Dei; secunda, quod quilibet existens in gracia gratificante finaliter nedum habet ius, sed in re habet omnia bona dei.” Translation in Brett, Liberty, Rights and Nature, 73. Brett, Liberty, Rights and Nature, 73. Wyclif, De divino dominium, lib. I, 2: “Peccator solum illo modo quo est possidet, sed qualitercunque est, iniuste est, ergo qualitercunque possidet, iniuste possidet.” Ibid., 3: “Et inter alia hoc movet Augustinus, super Ioannem omelia prima, quod ‘Peccatum nihil est fiunt homines cum peccant’.” Ibid., lib. II, 15. Brett, Liberty, Rights and Nature, 74. See also Wyclif, De divinio dominium, lib. II, 11. The question of whether God also actively predestins some to eternal damnation need not concern us here. What sets Wyclif apart from most of his contemporaries are the strong political and ecclesiological conclusions he draws from his predestinarian theology. See Lahey, Metaphysics and Politics, 181–2. For these notions, see Gordon Leff, Heresy in the Middle Ages: The Relation of Heter­odoxy to Dissent c. 1250–c. 1450, vol. I  (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000), 325. In his De civili dominio, Wyclif writes revealingly that although we may not know who will be saved in the end, compelling evidence may be found in the clergymen’s attitudes towards private property. Those priests who seem to be most fond of temporal riches are the most likely candidates for eternal damnation in the afterlife. See more Michael Wilks, The Problem of Sovereignty in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 21. See Wilks, The Problem of Sovereignty, 20–1. The council debated on the rights of infidels, especially because of the Polish-­ Lithuanian-Teutonic conflict (1409–1411). I have used the edition in William Ockham, Breviloquium de principatu tyrannico, in Quillelmus de Ockham Opera Politica, vol. IV, ed. H.S. Offler, 97–260 (Oxford: British Academy, 1997). Hereafter Brevil. For the English translation, I  have used William Ockham, A Short Discourse on Tyrannical Government, ed. Arthur Stephen McGrade. Translated by John Kilcullen, Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001). This work was not published until the twentieth century, when German scholar Richard Scholz discovered it in 1962 (as an incompleted manuscript) in the municipal library of Ulm. The manuscript ends in the middle of a sentence after beginning of the Book 6, ch. 5, and we do not know whether the work was ever completed. The long and descriptive title of the work A Short Discourse on the Tyrannical Government Over Things Divine and Human, but especially Over the Empire and Those Subject to the Empire, Usurped by Some Who Are Called Highest Pontiffs is possibly not Ockham’s own title. See H. S. Offler, “Introduction”, in Quillelmi de Ockham Opera Politica, IV: 81–2; Arthur Stephen McGrade, “Introduction”, in Ockham, A Short Discourse, xviii, 169. Ockham does not identify the infidels to whom he refers, but considering the historical context, he certainly speaks at least about Muslims and Jews. Cf. Tierney, The Idea of Natural Rights, 183. For the notion of saeculare iura, see, e.g.,  Ockham, Brevil, 3.6, 177: “Infideles igitur . . . sunt capaces dominii temporalium rerum et temporalis iurisdictionis aliorumque iurium saecularium et honorum. Nec mirum. Talia enim dominia et saecularia iura inter bona minima computantur.” Ockham, Brevil., 3.2, 164: “quod verum dominium temporalium rerum et vera iurisdictio temporalis, non solummodo permissa, sed etiam concessa et ordinata a Deo, fuit extra populum Dei et extra catholicam ecclesiam.” William of Ockham, Opus nonaginta dierum, c. 2, 174–6. For Ockham’s rights theory, see Stephen McGrade, “The Ontology and Scope of Human Rights: Forward with Ockham”, American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 86, no. 3 (Summer 2012): 527.

The rights of infidels in medieval sources  193 58 His formulations were also significant for the application of the language of natural philosophy to the subsequent rights discourse. Varkemaa (Conrad Summenhart, 35–44) argues that “[o]ne characteristic of writers who became involved with the Franciscan case after Ockham was that they could no longer easily employ the traditional language in which the terms ‘right’ and ‘dominion’ were treated as equivalent. To be more precise, the theorists in question were driven to make a choice: Was individual right a matter of authorative or superior status or was it a matter of legitimate agency?” This notion was also important for subsequent rights development and for the rights of infidels. 59 William Ockham, Opus nonaginta dierum, c. 61, 130–7. See also Jonathan Robinson, “Ockham on the Right to (Ab-)Use Goods”, Franciscan Studies 67 (2009): 347–74. 60 William Ockham, Opus nonaginta dierum, c. 14, 432. 61 Ibid., c. 65. Ockham, however, states that by God’s authority the Church can take away from unbelievers at least their dominium over believers. By their infidelity, unbelievers deserve to lose power over those who have come children of God. 62 For Ockham’s refutation of Pope John XXII’s misuse of an Augustinian text in asserting that all rights are based directly on divine law, see Brevil. 3.14–15, 189–92. 63 See John Kilcullen, “Natural Law”, in Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy 2. edited by Henrik Lagerlund (Dordrecht: Springer, 2011), 831–9; Kilcullen, “Natural Rights”, in Ibid., 867–73. 64 Tierney, The Idea of Natural Rights, 178. 65 Ibid., 178–9. 66 Ockham, Brevil., 3.5, 175: “Reges enim fideles et principes ac alii inferiores hereditario iure de bonis et iuribus progenitorum suorum infidelium nichil penitus vindicare valerent, si progenitores sui infideles verum dominium et veram iurisdictionem temporalem minime habuerunt. Quia filii illa vindicare non possunt, quae patres nullo iure, sed solummodo illicite tenuerunt, praesertim si sciant vel teneantur scire quod patres sui in huiusmodi nullum ius penitus habuerunt. Nec possunt se praesriptione iuvare. Quia possessor malae fidei ullo tempore non praesribit, Extra, de regulis iuris, c. Possessor, libro vi”. Translation in Kilcullen, A Short Discourse, 84–5. See Giles of Rome. 67 Cary Nederman notes that “there are inklings of such a view already during the Middle Ages, rooted in a Stoic-inflected but essentially Ciceronian conception of a unitary humanity that binds all people to respect a fundamental principle of justice, regardless of political (or even religious) identities, grounded in the contitution of human reason.” According to him, one of the earliest illustration of this may be found in Marsilius of Padua’s (1275–1342) Defencor pacis (completed in 1324). See Cary Nederman, “Rights”, in The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Philosophy, ed. John Marenbon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). See also his Community and Consent: The Secular Political Theory of Marsiglio of Padua’s Defencor Pacis (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995); Worlds of Difference: European Discources of Toleration, c. 1100–c. 1550 (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000).

References Brett, Annabel S. Liberty, Rights and Nature: Individual Rights in Later Scholastic Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. ———. “Human Rights and the Thomist Tradition.” In Revisiting the Origins of Human Rights, edited by Pamela Slotte and Miia Halme-Tuomisaari, 82–101. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015. Dyson, R.W. “Introduction.” In Giles of Rome on Ecclesiastical Power: The De ecclesiastica potestate of Aegidius Romanus. Translated by R.W. Dyson, iv–xxiii. Suffolk: Boydell Press, 1986.

194  Virpi Mäkinen Fitzralph, Richard. “De pauperie Salvatoris I–IV.” In John Wyclif, De dominio divino, edited by R.L. Poole, 257–476. London: Wyclif Society, Trübner & co., 1890. Forst, Rainer. Toleration in Conflict: Past and Present. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Garnsey, Peter. Thinking About Property: From Antiquity to the Age of Reformation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Gordley, James. The Jurists: A Critical History. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Honneth, Axel. The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995. Kilcullen, John. “The Origins of Property: Ockham, Grotius, Pufendorf, and Some Others 2001.” (1995). www.pandora.nla.gov.an. It is also available through philpapers.org. ———. “Medieval and Modern Concepts of Rights.” In The Nature of Rights: Moral and Political Aspects of Rights in Late Medieval and Early Modern Philosophy, edited by Virpi Mäkinen. Acta Philosophica Fennica 87. Helsinki: Philosophical Society of Finland, 2010. ———. “Natural Rights.” Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy 2. Edited by Henrik Lagerlund, 867–73. Dordrecht: Springer, 2011. ———. “Natural Law.” In Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy, edited by Lagerlund, Vol. 2, 831–9. Dordrecht: Springer, 2011. Lahey, Stephen E. Metaphysics and Politics in the Thought of John Wyclif. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. ———. John Wyclif. Great Medieval Thinkers. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Leff, Gordon. Heresy in the Middle Ages: The Relation of Heterodoxy to Dissent c. 1250– c. 1450. Vol. I. Manchester University Press: Manchester, 2000. Mäkinen, Virpi. Property Rights in the Late Medieval Discussion on Franciscan Poverty. Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie médiévales 3. Leuven: Peeters, 2001. McCready, William D. “Papal Plenitudo Potestatis and the Source of Temporal Authority in Late Medieval Papal Hierocratic Theory.” Speculum 49, no. 3 (1973): 654–74. McGrade, Arthur Stephen. “Introduction.” In William Ockham, A Short Discourse on Tyrannical Government. Edited by Arthur Stephen McGrade and Translated by John Kilcullen. Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. ———. “The Ontology and Scope of Human Rights: Forward with Ockham.” American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 86, no. 3 (Summer 2012): 527–38. Miller Jr., Fred. “Anticipations of Human Rights in Aristotle and Other Ancient Thinkers.” In New Perspectives to Aristotelianism and Its Critics, edited by Miira Tuominen, Sara Heinämaa and Virpi Mäkinen. Leiden: Brill, 2014. ———. Nature, Justice and Rights in Aristotle’s Politics. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995. Muldoon, James. Popes, Lawyers, and Infidels: The Church and the Non-Christian World. Philadephia, PA: University of Philadelphia Press, 1994. Nederman, Cary. Community and Consent: The Secular Political Theory of Marsiglio of Padua’s Defencor Pacis. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995. ———. Worlds of Difference: European Discources of Toleration, c. 1100–c.1550. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000. ———. “Rights.” In The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Philosophy, edited John Marenbon, 641–60. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Ockham, William. Breviloquium de principatu tyrannico. In Quillelmus de Ockham Opera Politica, edited by H.S. Offler, Vol. IV, 97–260. Oxford: British Academy, 1997.

The rights of infidels in medieval sources 195 ———. A Short Discourse on Tyrannical Government. Edited by Arthur Stephen McGrade. Translated by John Kilcullen. Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Offler, H.S. “Introduction.” In Quillelmus de Ockham Opera Politica. Edited by H.S. Offler, Vol. IV, 97–260. Oxford: British Academy, 1997. Palmén, Ritva and Heikki J. Koskinen. “Mediated Recognition and the Quest for a Common Rational Field of Discussion in Three Early Medieval Dialogues.” Open Theology (2016): Vol 2: 374–390. Pennington, Kenneth. The Prince and the Law: Sovereignty and Rights of the Western Legal Tradition. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1993. Robinson, Jonathan. “Ockham on the Right to (Ab-)Use Goods.” Franciscan Studies 67 (2009): 347–74. ———. William of Ockham’s Early Theory of Property Rights in Context. Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions 166. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2013. Robson, John Adam. Wyclif and the Oxford School. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961. Roth, Norman. “Canon (Church) Law and Jews.” In Medieval Jewish Civilization: An Encyclopedia, edited by Norman Roth, 129–33. New York & London: Routledge, 2003. Taylor, Charles. “The Politics of Recognition.” In Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition, edited by Amy Gutmann, 25–73. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994. Tierney, Brian. “Tuck on Rights: Some Medieval Problems.” History of Political Thought 4 (1983): 429–41. ———. The Crisis in Church and State 1050–1300. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1988. ———. The Idea of Natural Rights: Studies on Natural Rights, Natural Law and Church Law 1150–1625. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1997. ———. “Medieval Rights and Powers: On a Recent Interpretation.” History of Political Thought 21 (2000): 327–38. Tuck, Richard. Natural Rights Theories: Their Origin and Development. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979. Ullmann, Walter. Medieval Papalism: The Political Theories of the Medieval Canonists. London: Methuen & Co., Ltd., 1949. Varkemaa, Jussi. Conrad Summenhart’s Theory of Individual Rights. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012. Walsh, Katherine. A Fourteenth-Century Scholar and Primate: Richard Fitzralph in Oxford, Avignon and Armagh, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981. Wilks, Michael. The Problem of Sovereignty in the Later Middle Ages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2000. Williams Jr., Robert A. The American Indian in Western Legal Thought: The Discourse of Conquest. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990.

11 Recognition and masculinity Luther on the Song of Songs Risto Saarinen

Martin Luther had some illuminating ideas that changed the course of Western theology. He also had some dark and harmful ideas, especially concerning other faiths. In addition, Luther had new ideas, which were and continue to be considered odd or strange, and were therefore never received. Understandably, this third category has not interested scholars as much as the first and second ones. In the following, one of the oddest and least received ideas of the Reformer is investigated. My aim is to show that this third category of idea can be properly understood when we pay attention to the recognition procedures that Luther employed.

How to approach a strange and neglected work? In 1530–1531, Luther lectured on the Song of Songs. The odd thing in these lectures is that Luther interprets the biblical text as a discourse on politics. The Song of Songs is neither a collection of Jewish love songs nor a mystical wedding allegory between Christ and the Church. Instead, Solomon praises good political order.1 Luther says explicitly that he wants to challenge both the spiritualizing allegorical readings and the literal interpretation of the text as love song.2 Luther’s political reading is considered unique in the interpretation history of the Song of Songs, and it has not found any significant followers.3 In modern Luther research, this reading is either considered as incorrect,4 or it is totally bypassed. The exposition of the Song of Songs has probably received less attention in the scholarship than any other lecture series of Luther. Endel Kallas contrasts Luther with Origen in this regard. Jarrett A. Carty concludes that Luther’s reading is “not so strange after all”, as it repeats Luther’s well-known doctrines regarding the authority of temporal magistrate.5 In his definitive historical study of the sixteenth-century interpretation of the Song of Songs, Max Engammare shows that ecclesial and theological readings reveal a plurality of different spiritualities, often depending on confessional context. Engammare situates Luther’s exposition into this intellectual environment. While Luther’s political interpretation is original, Engammare notes that Luther continues to speak of the bride and the bridegroom, and to use allegories. Among Luther’s disciples, Francois Lambert and Johannes Brenz wrote commentaries on the Song of Songs. Brenz is the only one who mentions Luther’s political reading.6

Recognition and masculinity  197 Engammare and Michele Mastroianni pay extensive attention to the dialogical structures of the Song of Songs. In commentaries, the person of the speaker can be interpreted literally, figuratively, and allegorically all at the same time. The similarities and differences between various authors often reflect their decisions regarding the particular roles attributed to the assumed speakers and addresses in each verse. These attributions concern the different roles of woman (bride, Church, beloved, lover, maiden, teacher, Mary, etc.) and man (bridegroom, Christ, beloved, lover, teacher, prophet, etc.). To give an account of a particular commentary, one needs to know which distribution of roles it employs.7 In Luther research, this elementary task has been neglected. The readings of Kallas and Carty do not pay attention to the complexities of Luther’s text. Moreover, they only use the printed version of 1539, which has been translated into English in Luther’s Works. However, the extensive lecture notes (1530–1531) by two of Luther’s students have survived. One of them, by Rörer, is printed in the Weimar edition (WA, volume 31/2) of Luther’s works together with the print of 1539. The length of the 1539 print is about a quarter of the text available in Rörer’s lecture notes. In addition, the print was prepared by a former student, Veit Dietrich. Luther only wrote a new Preface to it. Dietrich Thyen and Engammare compare the two versions, arguing that Dietrich’s print is more indebted to Luther’s colleague Philip Melanchthon than to Rörer’s original notes.8 In the following, I will make use of both the lecture notes and the later print. While I  share Engammare’s view that the print deviates from Luther’s lecture notes, I do not scrutinize this relationship in detail. For the most part, the print simplifies the issues and makes pedagogical adaptations. We will see ahead that this sometimes means significant deviation. Important for the following analysis is, however, the positive observation that the print does mention almost all role changes, which Luther assumes in the lecture notes. Given this, I agree with Engammare that Rörer’s lecture notes must be considered as the primary source and the print as an adaptation.9 The relationship between the lecture notes and the print is not, however, the most fundamental problem of interpretation. In order to make sense of Luther’s argument, one needs to be aware of (i) the basic distribution of power between the actors and (ii) their different roles assumed in the exposition. For Luther, the Song of Songs is a dialogue between Solomon (as the bride) and God (as the bridegroom). With regard to each verse, the reader needs to know who speaks, who is addressed, and what hierarchy is assumed between them. In particular, the reader needs to be aware of the acts of mutual recognition that this dialogue assumes. To create this awareness, my own reading starts with the second section by paying attention to the language of recognition available in Luther’s text. I argue that the basic distribution of power between God, Solomon, and his state is constituted and highlighted with three concepts: namely, recognition (agnosco, agnitio), commendation (commendo, commendatio), and peace. Such an approach has not been employed in Luther studies, or in the overall reception history of the Song of Songs. In my Recognition and Religion, I use this approach to expound Bernard of Clairvaux’s Sermons on the Song of Songs.10 My reading of Luther’s exposition

198  Risto Saarinen assumes that its recognition procedures need to be explained first in order that the manifold roles of the speakers and addressees of this rich text make sense. The recognition procedures enable a bird’s eye view of the entire text, offering a meaningful macrostructure. Next in the third section, I  will pay detailed attention to the manifold roles assumed in Luther’s exposition. While my accomplishment of this task follows the methodological insights of Engammare and Mastroianni, no such analysis has yet been made with regard to Luther’s text. To accomplish this, I will lay out a brief chart, which elucidates all dialogical roles assumed in Luther’s exposition. Reading the text through these roles elucidates its microstructure, giving a frog’s perspective to the text. While the Song of Songs is, for Luther, basically a dialogue between Solomon and God, Solomon as speaker (and addressee) takes six or seven different roles. He appears as himself, as the state or magistrate, as human conscience, and as the bride. Likewise, God speaks (and is addressed) as bridegroom, the divine word, and the Holy Spirit. At times, the Holy Spirit speaks through Solomon, addressing humans as ‘you’. In the last passages, the bride also appears as the Christian Church and the bridegroom then becomes Christ. Other exceptions to these rules are mentioned ahead. Due to the manifold role changes, it is pointless to discuss whether Luther’s reading is ‘literal’ or ‘spiritual’. It is both, and in this respect not very different from many other sixteenth-century readings investigated by Engammare and Mastroianni. While Luther’s political reading is original, the chart allows one to see that the concrete exposition is in many ways traditional, employing the roles of the bridegroom and the bride, and paying attention to the spiritual nature of their relationship. These roles assume the underlying macrostructure of mutual recognition, which brings about peace. After presenting the chart, I  will elucidate its microstructure through a brief comparison between Bernard and Luther. This comparison enables seeing the general trends of Luther’s readings, as well as the passages in which he deviates from his own main trend. We will see that Luther is not primarily interested in the details of political rule. Instead, he describes the human transformation and the nature of spiritual community. In this spiritual setting, the gender roles of Solomon and other spiritual leaders receive diverse imaginative contents. Within the basic structure of recognition, Solomon and the state relate to God as a bride relates to the bridegroom. For this reason, the most prominent roles in the text express gender, typically describing the masculine rulers in feminine terms. To elucidate such microstructure properly, in the fourth section, I will next proceed to some more specific issues of gender transformation in Luther’s text. He (i) presents teachers and doctors in distinctively feminine terms, (ii) likes to interpret the kisses and the breasts mentioned in the Song of Songs in diverse ways that transform gender, and in particular, (iii) regularly describes Solomon and his people as bride, thus making their leadership and teaching roles feminine. Finally, in the fifth section, I will discuss how Luther’s reading relates to some current discussions of gender and masculinity in theology and Reformation

Recognition and masculinity 199 studies. While I avoid apology and anachronism, I argue that we can understand Luther’s exposition better than earlier scholars. To grasp this text as meaningful, one needs to see (i) how the acts of recognition create its macrostructure and (ii) how its microstructure is established through the frequent role changes.

The foundational distribution of power: recognition, commendation, and peace Following biblical and patristic traditions, Bernard of Clairvaux in his Sermons on the Song of Songs explains the loving relationship between the bridegroom and the bride in terms of commendation and recognition. Both parties express diverse commendations that enable the loving attachment. The bride recognizes (recognoscat) the bridegroom’s beneficial gift, thus strengthening the attachment.11 Bernard employs the verb agnosco to denote the attachment relevant in the ownership of such a gift.12 Such ownership relation is basically a relationship between lord and servant. In this relationship, the lord commends and the servant recognizes. While the language of downward commendation and upward recognition has feudal connotations, the context of love and wedding gives these terms new meanings. Given this, the relationship between the bridegroom and the bride is nevertheless also hierarchical. Thomas Aquinas employs the verbs agnosco, recognosco, and commendo to depict hierarchic relationships between lord and servant. The master commends his servant, and the servant recognizes his master.13 The offerings to the lord are performed “in recognition of divine benefit”.14 A person in a position of dignity is not only an object of honour due to his status, but also an object of recognition due to his skills.15 When Luther takes over this terminology, he is most likely aware of its earlier use in bridal mysticism, as well as in the relationship between lord and servant or God and the faithful. Since both the wedding imagery and the lordship imagery express recognition in medieval discussion, Luther’s political reading of the Song of Songs is not so unexpected as it first looks. In the Preface to his exposition, Luther states that the Song of Songs is “a common song for all states which are the people of God”. Such states acknowledge (agnoscunt) that the institutions of governing are established by God. They thank God for “these great benefits”.16 Luther concludes his Introduction by saying that Solomon “in this poem commends (commendat) his own government to us” so that his readers can learn to give thanks to God and acknowledge (agnoscere) his “greatest benefits”.17 We see already here how the act of ‘commending’ proceeds downward from Solomon towards his readers and the act of recognizing upward from Solomon and the people towards God. This elementary distribution is preserved through Luther’s exposition. Let us first look at the dynamics of upward recognition. In the print of 1539, these dynamics are spelled out in the context of Songs 2:4–5. With the help of God’s banner of love (Songs 2:4), I  can recognize (agnosco) my belonging to this position. This act of recognition can either relate to such spiritual benefits (beneficia) as good conscience and peace of heart, or to the

200  Risto Saarinen external blessings of the political realm.18 Under this banner, our gratitude should be understood broadly, so that we “acknowledge our eyes, our ears, and all the other things we have to be the greatest gifts . . . of God’s goodwill towards us”.19 When Solomon says to God: “Sustain me with flowers, refresh me with apples” (Songs 2:5), he gives an example of how people can learn to acknowledge (agnoscere) these benefits of God and give thanks for them. In this manner, our poverty is richness and we can recognize the gift of God that we possess.20 The lecture notes mention recognition here four times, stating emphatically that the gifts are not evaluated in themselves (ex re), but through the recognition given to them (ex agnitione).21 In this manner, the act of recognition constitutes the relationship between the people and God. It is a relationship of giving and receiving gifts. When the people pray in Songs 5:1, “Let my beloved come [to his garden]”, they acknowledge the benefits and gifts of God.22 The lecture notes employ here also the downward act of commendation, stating that such an acknowledgement results from God’s magnificent commendation of the people’s garden.23 In this manner, the acts of recognition spelled out in Luther’s exposition follow the tradition of Bernard and Thomas. Recognition is a human upward act of giving thanks for the received benefits and gifts. In this manner, people should acknowledge (agnoscite) God and the Word of God in her [the bride as perfect state], as well as a government established not by human but by divine counsel.24 Technically speaking, the object of such recognition is God. However, as the speaker recognizes various divine gifts, he affirms a more complex hierarchic order. In this manner, the speaker “recognizes the gift of politics” (agnosco donum Politiae), and the state recognizes the pious magistrate that God grants to it.25 Luther can also state that the divine gifts are already present; they only need somebody to recognize them.26 Given this, the upward act can have different external objects. In some sense, the person who recognizes certain things also constitutes and affirms the power structure relevant to him or her. The logical counterpart of upward recognition is the downward act of commendation. Luther employs the verb commendare abundantly, often describing the acts of the bridegroom towards the bride and the acts of God towards God’s people. In Songs 1:13, “my Beloved is to me a bag of myrrh”, Luther speaks about the commendation of consolation (commendatio consolationis). Also in Songs 1:14, the “cluster of balsam” is explained to be the “figurative commendation of the consoling discovery that God loves, cherishes, protects”.27 As consolation in Luther’s theological language means gospel and forgiveness, it is an act of favour or mercy that proceeds from a more powerful person to a less powerful one. Similarly, Luther says in Songs 6:5 that God can commend the eyes of the bride as part of a consolatory argument. The eyes mean the teachers, and God can here employ an extraordinary and spiritual consolation. While God praises the eyes, he also rhetorically asks teachers to look away, so that no emotion of arrogance arises in love.28 Often, however, God’s commandment means a general praise through which a structured order is established. An act of commendation can also proceed from Solomon to his subjects.29

Recognition and masculinity  201 A particularly rich variant of commendation is spelled out in Songs 4:1. The “eyes of doves” are a property of the bride, which means the office of teachers. This phrase is called the ‘first commendation’.30 It is first in the series of commendable bridal properties.31 However, Cicero employs the term ‘first commendation’ in a philosophical sense to depict the first attachment that one has to both body and life.32 For Luther, the eyes of doves are the first property, because the eyes are the lamp of the body.33 In the body of the bride, the teachers and leaders who remain sincere have the eyes of doves.34 The lecture notes spell out this primacy in some detail. The eyes are the rulers. A doctor and a teacher have eyes that see. The pupils and subjects are listeners who operate with their ears, following the teachers. In this manner, the ministers lead the people of God in religion and state.35 Teachers with dove’s eyes are mediating figures between God and the people. The commendation expresses here a downward movement from God to visionary teachers and from the visionary leaders to their listeners. The ‘simple doctors’ (simplices doctores) have this capacity of seeing first. Therefore, their teaching is a magnificent gift.36 Through his exposition, Luther refers to the eyes of doves as the capacity of leaders. While this way of speaking is sociologically conditioned – Luther’s listeners in the classroom were future Church leaders – it is also theoretically significant. The first commandment is not merely first in a row, but it gives the legitimation of leadership in general. In the long intellectual history of recognition, ‘struggle’ is the attribute that is often connoted to this phenomenon. Recognition leads to a peaceful situation through a societal struggle in which the hierarchical relationship creates tension. On the other hand, the recognition between the bridegroom and the bride offers a peaceful option already in Bernard.37 Luther makes use of these traditions. In Luther’s exposition, the person of Solomon – as well as the different qualities of the bride – symbolize peace. For Luther, the very name of Solomon means ‘Fridrich’, the reign of peace. While the earlier kings were primarily warriors, God gave Solomon a peaceful reign.38 Solomon’s book is a praise of peace.39 In Solomon’s times, people could eat and drink in peace. His state gives thanks to God who is present in it.40 Luther interprets the “mother” in Songs 3:11 to mean people who voluntarily give the rule to Solomon. This ‘maternal rule’ (regnum matri) avoids tyrannical features and brings about the state of peace. Such a relationship between ruler and people resembles the joys of wedding. It brings about peace with other nations.41 The Song of Songs describes “the very lovely period of peace which flourished under Solomon”.42 Teaching is the activity of peaceful times.43 Following the tradition of bridal mysticism, Luther compares the peaceful state with the union between man and woman. This peace is ordered by God; thus we find God in the household as well.44 The importance of peace is underlined several times as a feature of the ideal state.45 The ideal state is not based on the power of arms, but on the mercy of God.46 It is a divine miracle that the crowd is ruled by a magistrate; such rule is a beautiful divine gift.47

202  Risto Saarinen The passages on peace assume that the actors approve the basic hierarchy constituted by the acts of recognition and commendation. Instead of continuous struggle, the community can live in peace when it recognizes God’s gifts, including the gifts of proper political rule. As Luther is not known to be a great peacebuilder, the prominence of peace in this text is fascinating. He also offers a view of the ideal state built on peace. Such peace results from the basic acts of mutual recognition between social actors, most fundamentally God. While Luther says elsewhere that even impious rulers can rule prudently,48 here he teaches that the peace of the ideal state emerges through pious rulers.

The roles assumed in Luther’s exposition Box  11.1 lays out the dialogical roles employed between God and Solomon, or the bridegroom and the bride, as Luther understands them in his exposition. Luther indicates these roles in the places given in the table in parentheses. Due to these explicit indications, the dialogue is “altogether clear” (admodum dilucida), as the print title formulates.49 My chapter and verse numbers follow the usage of the Weimar critical edition50 and Luther’s Works. In parentheses, the deviating numberings of the Vulgate and the first words of each Latin passage are given. The page and line numbers of WA 31/2 indicate the places in which the roles are explained. As a rule, Luther assumes the Vulgate terminology. In the lecture notes, he also discusses the Hebrew meanings, sometimes formulating his own translation. Capital initials in You, Beloved, and so on, indicate the divine person.

Box 11.1  The dialogical structure of the Song of Songs, according to Luther Chapter 1 1:2–7 (1:1 Osculetur) Solomon speaks in the person of the people of God, as the bride of God (588, 19), and as state (610, 31). God is addressed as He, You, and the King (604, 28). 1:8–11 (1:7 si ignoras) God speaks as Bridegroom (620, 25) to the state or magistrate. Solomon/the state is addressed as you, woman, and bride. God consoles Solomon. 1:12–14 (1:11 dum esset rex) Solomon speaks as political ruler (626, 36) about God, who is the King and Beloved. 1:15–16 (1:14 ecce tu pulchra) God (Holy Spirit) speaks (630, 25–27) to the state, addressing it as you, the beautiful beloved, and the dove with faithful eyes. A mutual testimony between the Holy Spirit and conscience takes place. 1:17 (1:15 lectulus noster Solomon speaks (631, 35).

Recognition and masculinity  203

Chapter 2 2:1 (ego flos) Solomon or the magistrate speaks as the flower of the field (636, 35), exposed to different dangers of the world. 2:2 (sicut lilium) God speaks (637, 32–33), offering consolation. 2:3–6 (sicut malum) The people of God speak; the entire dialogue also takes place between human conscience and the divine Word (639, 25–27). God appears as He, Beloved, and the apple tree, offering nourishment and defense. 2:7 (adiuro vos) God speaks as Bridegroom (650, 31) to the state, addressed as bride and Jerusalem. 2:8–9 (vox dilecti) Solomon or the state speaks as bride (654, 23) to God as Beloved, gazelle, and stag. The animals symbolize the swift progress of the Word of God. 2:10–14 (2:10b surge propera) God speaks as Bridegroom to the bride (657, 34), i.e., the people. The faithful people of God appear as doves and they dwell in the temple. 2:15–17 (capite nobis) Solomon speaks (663, 31) about the foxes and calls God “my Beloved”.

Chapter 3 3:1–11 (in lectulo meo) Solomon speaks in his own person (666, 29), the state being his “bed”. He also appears in the person of the state, recognizing God (668, 33–34). While the entire passage pertains to Solomon or bride (666, 8, 29; 674, 1), he is also said to represent the bridegroom (669, 3) with regard to his “bed”, that is, the people or state described in feminine terms (mother 673, 16–17, daughter 673, 24–25).

Chapter 4 4:1–5 (quam pulchra es) God speaks as Bridegroom (674, 26–27), addressing the leaders and teachers of the people. They receive feminine attributes (rosy lips, delicate breasts, etc.). 4:6 (4:6b vadam ad montem) Solomon responds with an acclamation (686, 25–28). 4:7–16 (tota pulchra es) God speaks new words of praise (688, 25–26), addressing the people as bride and sister.

Chapter 5 5:1a (veniat dilectus) The people speak in words of prayer (700, 32), addressing God as Beloved. 5:1b (veni in hortum) God speaks in response to the prayer (702, 33), addressing the people as friends.

204  Risto Saarinen 5:2–16 (ego dormio) Solomon speaks about the near future crisis following his time of peace (705, 30–32). God appears as He and Beloved. As bride, Solomon praises the Bridegroom (719, 34). In 5:10–16, the body parts of the Bridegroom point to the Church (716, 16–717, 4). Therefore, these verses depict God’s doctrine and its teachers (cf. 4:1–5).

Chapter 6 6:1–2 (5:17 quo declinavit) Solomon speaks as a bride in crisis (720, 29). The consolation returns. God is He and Beloved. 6:3–9 (pulchra es) God speaks as Bridegroom (721, 33; 729, 20), giving extraordinary commendations and consolations (728, 24; 729, 33) to the people and their teachers and government. 6:10–12 (descendi in) Solomon or the bride encounters a new trial (729, 30; 730, 9, 26). 6:12–13 (revertere) God speaks as Bridegroom, addressing the bride as Sulamit (732, 34). Instead of worrying, the bride should look at herself and see her own strength.

Chapter 7 7:1–7 (7:1b quam pulchri sunt) Solomon depicts “you” as bride (737, 24), using the mouth of the Holy Spirit (736, 31–35). As the lecture notes (735) point out, the “queenly maiden” of 7:1 is not vulgar people, but a divinely talented community. 7:8–9 (dixi ascendam) God speaks as “I” (745, 28), addressing the statebride as you, as palm tree, and in terms of breast, throat, and lips. 7:11–13 (veni dilecte) The state speaks as bride (748, 25), addressing God as Beloved. The neighbouring nations are addressed in 12–13.

Chapter 8 8:1–5 (quis mihi det) Solomon or the state looks at a more distant future, speaking to God as You, the Bridegroom, He, and Beloved. God is also the infant-Christ (751). 8:6–7 (pone me) God speaks as Bridegroom (756, 35) about love. 8:8–11 (soror nostra) Solomon speaks as bride (764, 26), making prophecies about the little sister, the spiritual rule or kingdom of Christ (760, 29–30). The sister-bride is the future Church in 8:9–10, the vineyard is the Church in 8:11. 8:12–13 (vinea mea) God speaks, addressing Solomon as “you” (768, 23). 8:14 (fuge dilecte) Solomon as bride says farewell to God as Bridegroom (769, 27).

Recognition and masculinity  205 The table shows how Luther employs the traditional idea of a dialogue between bride and bridegroom. While Solomon speaks in the political roles of ruler, government, and the state, he also speaks as bride. When God addresses the bride, both Solomon and the state are addressed. The language of mutual love thus continues to shape the various dialogical roles of the bride and the bridegroom. At the same time, Luther transforms these roles through his political reading. The narrative assumes Solomon’s foundational upward recognition of God in all his roles (as state, as bride, etc.) and God’s downward commendation of Solomon (as well as the bride, the state, etc.). The people of God perform an upward recognition of Solomon and his magistrate. Through these primary acts, a hierarchical state of peace emerges. Luther’s continuation and transformation of the medieval tradition can be elucidated with a brief comparison between the most influential medieval reading of the Song of Songs, Bernard of Clairvaux’s Sermons, and Luther’s exposition. Regarding Songs 1:2, “He kisses me with the kisses of his mouth”, Bernard interprets the speaker to be Solomon in the role of the bride. According to Bernard, God is he, the mouth is the divine word, and the kiss is the mediator Jesus Christ.51 Luther also interprets the act of kissing as the giving of God’s word. This gift of kiss allows the people to see that God is present, and that a priestly or sacerdotal political rule is established.52 However, Luther does not mention Christ here. While for Bernard, the kiss establishes the union with Christ, Luther interprets the giving of the divine word in terms of a first distinction between the godly and the ungodly. This gift does not yet establish a Christian Church, but it nevertheless provides consolation and is in some sense spiritual.53 The kiss is a sign of grace, which is hidden under the word and can be recognized as a sign.54 In this manner, the Word does not merely appear in terms of law, but it also contains the proto-gospel of consolation and mercy. This trend can also be seen in the exposition of Songs 1:2–3: “For your breasts are more delightful than wine, for your name is oil poured out so that your best anointing oils are fragrant”. If the speaker is assumed to be Solomon as bride, then the verse speaks of the breasts of the bridegroom. Bernard investigates this option in great detail, considering that divine mercy and grace flow from the bridegroom’s breasts.55 Luther, on the other hand, says that it is not fitting to speak about God’s breasts. He nevertheless also chooses the option that “you” refers to the divine bridegroom, interpreting the verse to say that divine favour and friendship is better than all earthly riches.56 While the printed version holds that the breasts refer to doctrine, the lecture notes speak more generally of divine friendship and love.57 However, the basic idea of a flow of goodness from the divine other to the speaker connects Luther with Bernard. For Luther, the “name” poured out is the word of God, which is recognized as a gift. As gospel, this word spreads its fragrance into the neighbouring regions. At the same time, the verse speaks of earthly government and not of Christ. With the help of the word of the gospel, however, we know how to live in this world.58 Bernard reads the words “your name is oil poured out”59 as pertaining to salvation

206  Risto Saarinen and sanctification.60 Luther does not read this phrase in terms of immediate soteriology, but he does understand it as depicting the gospel’s external benefits. Even in Solomon’s times, the world was ruled by this proto-gospel. Luther thus steers his course between Bernard’s spiritualist reading and an impious understanding of government that only relies on law and force. For him, the Song of Songs portrays divine favour and gifts as crucial elements of Solomon’s political rule. Bernard reads the verse “draw me after you”61 as an appeal for grace.62 The bride is willing to follow, but she does not have the power or virtue needed for that. Luther’s understanding of the verse is fairly similar. Before the reception of the word, people did not know how to live well. But even when they know and have the word, they need to ask for the spirit and the power to illuminate their ways.63 Both Luther and Bernard teach here that, in addition to hearing the word and knowing the right, humans need divine aid to follow right teaching. The comparisons could be extended to the beginning of the third chapter of the Song of Songs, in which Bernard’s Sermons actually end. Luther alludes somewhat playfully to the traditional readings. For instance, Bernard devotes several sermons64 to an elaborate categorization of the “foxes” spoiling the vineyard.65 Like Bernard, Luther says that the vineyard means the people of God, but he introduces only two categories. While the foxes are the enemies of the government, the “little foxes” are false brethren in the Church.66 In sum, Luther often agrees with Bernard regarding the roles of the bride and the bridegroom. He is nevertheless unwilling to apply these roles to the Church and to the union with Christ. Instead, he speaks about Solomon’s earthly government, considering that the bride does not yet represent the Christian Church but the Jewish rule of Solomon. However, Luther underlines the aspects of consolation and the divine blessings given through the word. He is not interested in the details of politics and governing. Rather, he aims at showing how God was present in Solomon’s rule, exercising consolation and other evangelical acts of mercy. The proto-gospel was thus proclaimed already in Solomon’s government. This general trend is broken in two significant places. First, in the theologically challenging passage of Songs 5:10–16, the bride describes the body parts of the bridegroom in amatory terms. Luther takes this description ‘figuratively’; that is, as referring to the worship of God. In the lecture notes, he further explains this to mean the marks of the Church; namely, word, sacraments, worship, and ministry. He goes on to expound the body parts as the marks, members, and events of the Church.67 In this manner, the Church appears to Solomon as the body of the bridegroom in Songs 5:10–16. The amatory words of the bride are thus addressed to the Church as divine body. In the printed text, the term Church appears without detailed explanation.68 Second, in the prophecy of Songs 8:8–11, the “little sister” of 8:8 becomes the Christian Church and the counterpart of the male “infant” of Songs 8:1, identified as Christ or the bridegroom.69 In this manner, the medieval view of the relationship between Christ and the Church appears also in Luther’s exposition. While in Songs 5:10–16, the Church appears as a masculine divine body, Songs 8:9–11 presents the Church as the grown-up bride, oriented to the kingdom of Christ.70

Recognition and masculinity  207 While Solomon does not yet live or experience the Church, he grasps it in the divine body71 and in the future prophecy.72 Given this, Luther can find the Christian Church in these two passages of the Song of Songs. In addition to this narrative timeline, the Church is mentioned in several other places.73 Rhetorically, in those places, Luther either addresses the Church of his own times, or says that the people of God in Solomon’s times were already a Church in some sense. The latter meaning is explicitly affirmed in Luther’s Preface, stating that since Solomon sings of the people of God, his text can be read as guidance in later states where the Church is present.74 For instance, the “dove” in Songs 2:14 is the figure of the Church.75 Such rhetorical and figurative broadening of the term ‘church’ increases similarities between Luther and medieval allegorical readings. While Luther in his preface stresses the novelty of his reading and the abolition of old allegories,76 his actual exposition makes ample use of them. In sum, there are more continuities between Bernard and Luther than Engammare assumes.77 These continuities are not, however, direct quotes. Luther employs the medieval material from memory, stretching the contents of old allegories. The distribution of roles often connects Luther with Bernard. As the microstructure of different roles is very rich, I will discuss only some roles in more detail. There are at least three roles in which a transformation of gender takes place. These cases are particularly interesting, since they also elucidate the aspects of masculinity in Luther’s reading. When God commends Solomon’s rule, God also commends these roles. When Solomon and the state recognize God’s benefits, they also approve their own transgender roles.

Three transgender roles I will discuss these three roles successively, starting from (i) the depiction of teachers as women. Next, (ii) the transformative role of kisses and breasts is investigated. Finally, (iii) I focus on the overall role of Solomon as bride. Let us first look at (i), the role of teachers as women. In his exposition of Songs 4:1–5, Luther attributes the properties of the bride to the leaders and teachers of the people. We already noted that their ‘first commendation’ concerns their eyes of doves; that is, their sincerity and simplicity.78 Luther compares the congregation of teachers to the orderly arranged hair of beautiful women. The teachers must be in concord with one another like such hair. The flock of goats in Songs 4:1 likewise means the agreement among teachers and ‘beautiful doctors’ (die schonen doctores).79 The whiteness of the teeth in Songs 4:2 is another attribute of beauty. White teeth operate in agreement, but they can also bite like alert teachers. However, the teeth can only remain white when they operate without hatred. Such teeth bite out of shining kindness (ex candore).80 The rosy lips81 of the teachers signify law and gospel, as well as the red colour of love. Their lovely mouth means that they have the words of life.82 In these verses, the printed text employs the word “doctrine”, performing a simplification of the lively, affective teaching depicted in the lecture notes.83

208  Risto Saarinen The portrayal of teachers as women reaches its peak in Songs 4:5 when they are said to have two breasts. In the lecture notes, Luther mentions that, in Hebrew terminology, God can be conceived as the gentle Earth or Venus who feeds all creature.84 He goes on to hold that we should not understand breasts in terms of human desire, but as organs giving consolation. Their milk flows to afflicted people. In this sense, one can speak about the breasts of the Church. Luther says twice that this allegory is difficult.85 While the printed text speaks about consolation only briefly,86 Luther’s actual struggle with the expression is visible in the lecture notes. The breasts are compared with fawns that feed among the roses.87 For Luther, the roses signify the particular sweetness of consolation flowing from the breasts.88 The words of praise and gratitude are exemplary. Therefore, in the same manner as Solomon employs the language of roses and breasts, we should also praise God as our sun and friend and the Church as “his gazelle, pastured in flowers”.89 Songs 4:1–5 thus teaches how to employ proper theological language. Especially in Luther’s lecture notes, this language is expressed in terms of detached feminine beauty. In Songs 5:10–16, very similar characteristics are given. We already mentioned that Luther employs a clever hermeneutical move: the bridegroom addressed in these verses is God “in his Word and worship”, that is, in the marks of the Church. Due to this move, the addressees also here appear to be the teachers of the Church. While the printed text mentions this only in passing, the lecture notes explain the hermeneutical move in detail, exposing the text first literally and then in ecclesiastical terms.90 For this reason, the eyes of doves also here signify the leaders of the people of God and the red lips teach love and commandments.91 In Songs 5:14–16, the comparison proceeds from leaders to other people in the Church. The golden hands signify good works and the ivory tower means the mass of people in the Church body. This body includes all people, also women and children.92 The entire people of God are desirable93 because it has the pure word of God. This people praises the bridegroom.94 In this manner, Luther’s hermeneutical move transforms Songs 5:10–16 into a description of the bride, the Church, as reflected through the bridegroom. In sum, Luther’s lecture notes transform the teachers of the Church into beautiful women and mothers from whose breasts consolation flows. Roses, white teeth, beautifully arranged hair, and dove’s eyes characterize their distinctive aspects. A quick look at Engammare’s helpful biblical indexes gives the impression that other expositors interpret Songs 4:1–5 in similar fashion.95 As to Songs 5:10–16, the bridegroom is normally taken to represent the person of Christ. Luther’s exposition emphasizes the bridal beauty of teachers in both passages. Let us next proceed to (ii), Luther’s discussion of kisses and breasts. At this point, we should be careful not to introduce our own twenty-first-century stereotypes of masculine and feminine into Luther’s text. Luther and his hearers were probably not disturbed by the seemingly feminine portrayal of Church teachers as such. The term “breasts”, however, gives Luther an occasion to reflect on the proper nature of such portrayal. Another term that evokes a sort of disturbance is

Recognition and masculinity  209 “kiss”. With regard to the opening phrase,96 Luther reminds his hearers and readers that Germans do not hold kisses in high esteem. They prefer shaking hands.97 As stated earlier, Luther follows Bernard to an extent when he considers that the kisses in Songs 1:2 mean the Word of God.98 He deviates from Bernard when he says in Songs 1:3 that one cannot speak of men’s breasts literally. Luther also mentions Bernard here.99 In some sense, Luther moves away from gender terminologies when he compares kisses to words. The matter is, however, complex. The printed text gives a pedagogical simplification, stating that the kisses mean words and the breasts signify doctrine.100 In the lecture notes, however, Luther focuses on divine conduct, especially favour and friendship. When God gives me many kisses, God shows friendship, love, and favour. The first verses of the Song of Songs want to provide a human conscience with the certainty that God is on our side. Together, such a kiss and word are an enormous treasure.101 In the lecture notes, Luther does not state explicitly that the breasts mean doctrine. Instead, he argues that the breasts signify divine friendship, enabling us to think that God loves us.102 The gospel is mentioned as an element of divine friendship,103 but the difference between the lecture notes and the print is here evident. The lecture notes stress here the emotional side of divine love, friendship, and favour, returning to the doctrinal matters of name and words only in Songs 1:3b, “your name is oil”. This difference means that the lecture notes preserve much of the gendered language of Songs 1:3. The recipients are portrayed in terms of divine love and friendship, not as hearers of doctrine. The emphasis on friendship is here significant. While Luther through his exposition assumes the roles of bridegroom and bride, here their relationship is one of friendship. This kind of love avoids problematic associations given through kisses and breasts, but it also preserves the intimacy between the partners. Breasts are also mentioned in many other passages of the Song of Songs. We already mentioned the breasts of consolation as an attribute of teachers.104 While Luther calls this allegory “hard” (dura, schwer),105 it does not offend him as a human attribute. In Songs 4:10, he states that also ordinary people can console one another and have breasts in this sense (in plebe habent mammae).106 As the gospel is essentially consolation for Luther, it is significant that he can employ a transgender move with regard to it. When men teach and console one another, they have breasts. Similarly, Luther’s speaks of the breasts of the bride in Songs 7:3. While the print only mentions the breasts in passing, the lecture notes speak about avoiding false sexual thoughts related to female breasts.107 In Songs 7:8, the teachers are compared to the breasts that not only give milk but solid food to the people. Such food preserves us even in adversity.108 The prophecy about Christ in Songs 8:1 employs both “breast” and “kiss” figuratively. The infant sucking the mother’s breast depicts Christ who is already present but not yet preaching the word.109 The kiss means preaching. In the lecture notes, Luther expresses the event of kissing in the plural, “I want to preach with you”, indicating that the first-person speaker is the bride or the Church.110 While

210  Risto Saarinen friendship is not mentioned here, the speaker’s intimate relationship to the divine “you” matches well with the intimacy of Songs 1:2–3a above. In Songs 8:8–10, the breasts of the future Church, “the little sister”, are depicted. First, the sister has no breasts and thus cannot preach the gospel or teach publicly.111 But, when she is mature, her breasts are like towers, that is, she can teach and console. Breasts are the vehicle of the ministers of the Church.112 While Luther occasionally warns of false associations, he employs the language of kisses and breasts abundantly. With these concepts, the intimacy between the faithful and God as well as the great importance of consolation are underlined. Especially the teachers of the Church appear in feminine terms. The lecture notes do not emphasize the content of teaching, but rather the tender and considerate attitude which is essential in ministry. Again, we see the gender transformation of the teachers at work. Luther’s warnings against false associations do not concern this transformation but other issues, such as the gender of God or the sexual thoughts regarding female breasts. The feminine appearance of Church teachers is not offensive for Luther. On the contrary, such feminine masculinity is actually required in order to make the evangelical and fraternal consolation work properly. As a third gender transformation, I will discuss (iii), Solomon’s role as bride. The figure of Solomon is particularly rich, when we aim at understanding Luther’s transformation of different masculinities. As Solomon represents the bride and as he wants to restore peace, he differs from many other biblical men. Solomon and his state are depicted as beautiful and they are compared with flowers and other lovely things in Luther’s exposition. Due to such comparisons, Solomon transforms his gender and becomes a new kind of exemplary king for worldly rulers. When Solomon lies on his bed,113 he is seeking peace in the middle of political troubles. He realizes that neither Saul nor David were able to bring about peace.114 In Songs 3:3–4, Solomon also exemplifies the state, affirming that under Solomon’s rule the peace was established. Under Solomon’s rule, the same people have thus become “a new daughter”.115 In Luther’s exposition, the different troubles and temptations of the bride are underlined. The praise of the bride is often interpreted as her consolation. Thus, for instance, Songs 5:6 expresses temptation, followed by consolation in Songs 6:2.116 A new trial follows in Songs 6:11; this time it concerns the person of Solomon directly. When the king inspects his government, acting as bishop, he only meets impious people.117 Addressing the king as Sulamit, God nevertheless asks him to look at the situation more closely. Sulamit means ‘peace’ and ‘perfection’. Solomon should not be troubled by some impious men. Rather, he is to be consoled, as he has peace and abounds of good things.118 Finally, this peace is a spiritual matter instituted by God. Instead of pessimistic introspection, Sulamit or Solomon should therefore rely on God.119 When the bride acknowledges God and the effects of the Word of God in the government, she can see the strength of her state.120 Through Songs 7, the self-confidence of the bride is strengthened. While the explicit text employs amatory terms, Solomon is actually speaking about the “spiritual birth of this people”. Thus, for instance, the “navel” of the bride mentioned in Songs 7:2 means the power of conception and

Recognition and masculinity  211 generation. In this manner, the bridegroom ‘commends’ to the bride her gifts in order that the bride is consoled.121 At the rhetorical level, Luther is probably addressing the rulers of his own time, admonishing them to be pious and rely on God in the manner of Solomon. Within the textual world of the exposition, it is nevertheless noteworthy how Solomon is depicted as bride. He can overcome temptation and bring about peace and prosperity through understanding himself in bridal terms. As bride, he can recognize the bridegroom and become aware of the issue that her own strengths are gifts. This textual narrative provides a number of interpretative challenges. From our modern perspective, one is easily led to think that the shifts between temptation and consolation, as well as the state-bride’s submission to a higher authority, are stereotypical feminine features. This judgement may, however, be an anachronistic projection. Luther evidently thinks that Solomon is a better king than Saul or David, because of his ability for introspection and, in particular, because of his dialogical flexibility. These virtues belong to the bride, but they are not seen as typically female character traits. In modern terms, the bride is resilient; that is, she is responsive to the dialogical nature of reality. In his narrative on temptation and consolation, Luther does not employ a feminine stereotype. He rather says that a good king is as responsive as the bride in the Song of Songs. In saying this, Luther also holds that the flexible and peaceful masculinity of Solomon is better for a king than the militant masculinity of Saul and David. The subversive power of love distinguishes Solomon’s politics from other rulers. The ideal state and its pious rule thus make use of bridal properties.

Conclusion: recognition and theological masculinity I have shown that we can make sense of Luther’s Exposition of the Song of Songs through distinguishing its two interpretative layers. First, we need to be aware of the fundamental macrostructure; namely, the recognition between God on the one hand, and Solomon, the state, and the people of God on the other. When this mutual recognition takes place, the state can be ruled in peace, and loving relationships are possible. Second, there is a rich microstructure of different roles ascribed to the partners in dialogue. In different chapters and verses of the Song of Songs, different speakers and addressees are assumed. Both Luther’s lecture notes and the print of 1539 mention these role changes in detail. Much of my analysis above consists of clarifying these roles. In medieval texts on recognition, two fundamental images are employed. The first one is the feudal relationship between lord and servant; the second is the amatory relationship between the bridegroom and the bride.122 As the first image is political and as the second image also assumes a hierarchy, in particular when the bridegroom symbolizes a divine person, Luther’s political reading is not so strange or different from Bernard’s bridal symbolism as one may think. Both traditional images employ an asymmetric relationship of recognition. Luther continues this tradition, making a connection between household and political state.

212  Risto Saarinen However, Luther’s political reading of Solomon as bride highlights the gendered roles in a manner that we are not accustomed to finding in the Reformer’s writings. In mainline research, Luther is typically portrayed in the masculine terms of modernity. Drinking beer, procreating children, and practicing robust humour, as well as certain aggressive rhetoric, are typical features of this modern portrayal. In the Exposition of the Songs of Songs, we encounter a Reformer who speaks extensively on peace, beauty, flowers, and men’s fertile breasts. In Luther’s lecture room, such features were most likely not considered to compromise masculinity in any way. It may be symptomatic that, for Luther and his audience of future pastors, the teachers and ministers are the distinctive group that displays a broadened and transformed masculinity. This may relate to their upper-class position as rulers of the people. The visionary role of teachers as those who receive God’s ‘first commendation’, the so-called eyes of doves, may also indicate that the teachers are able to perceive the entirety of humanity in a privileged manner. Therefore, the transformation of their masculinity into rosy lips and delicate breasts (ubera delicata), which ‘inebriate’ in their affective fullness,123 would be due to their visionary capacity. Contemporary studies of masculinity show in which ways we depict past figures and their message in gendered ways.124 Luther scholars have only very recently started to think about masculinity in the Reformation. One clear historical finding seems to be that masculinity, in the medieval and early modern world, was constructed in many different ways, depending on social class and education. Virtues like tenderness, clemency, and humility were considered to be distinctively male virtues in the upper classes.125 This finding is in keeping with my results here. The difference between Luther and later stereotypes is most striking in the use of transgender language, in particular, the practice of men addressing other men in amatory female terms. We know this practice from many early modern sources, from Ficino’s De amore126 to Shakespeare’s comedies. We are not, however, accustomed to hearing it in Reformation theology. As shown here, Luther very directly recommends several variants of transgender conduct in both fraternal consolation and preaching the gospel. When we become better aware of our own ways of constructing masculinity, we may be able to receive strange old texts in a more open manner. Luther is not only a stubborn German beer drinker, but also an author who can speak of exemplary gender transformations. For the historical study of religious recognition, this openness to gender variation is fascinating. When we grasp the underlying macrostructure of divine commendation, human recognition of divine benefits, as well as the resulting peace and love, we also have clues to understanding the role and gender changes available in the narrative microstructure. Given this, the Exposition of the Song of Songs still remains one of Luther’s oddest pieces of writing. While it deserves to be read carefully, its basic idea of interpreting love songs in a political fashion is nevertheless curious. I have merely argued that the awareness of recognition procedures helps us to understand this curious text, not in spite of its strangeness, but rather with the help of its odd features. Luther’s interpretation of the Song of Songs remains very strange, after all.

Recognition and masculinity  213

Notes 1 Martin Luther, Werke (Weimar: Böhlau, 1883–2007). Hereafter “WA”, 31/2, 591, 23. 2 WA 31/2, 589, 25–8. 3 Jarret A. Carty, “Martin Luther’s Political Interpretation of the Song of Songs”, The Review of Politics 73 (2011): 462–6. 4 Martin Brecht, Martin Luther: Shaping and Defining the Reformation, 1521–1532 (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 249. 5 Endel Kallas, “Martin Luther as Expositor of the Song of Songs”, Lutheran Quarterly 2 (1988): 323–41; Carty, “Song of Songs”, 467. 6 Max Engammare, Qu’il me baise des baisers de sa bouche: Le Cantique des Cantiques á la Renaissance (Genevè: Droz, 1993), 304–12, 343–4. 7 Engammare, Le Cantique des Cantiques; Michele Mastroianni, “Chassignet lecteur du Cantique des cantiques” in Le Cantique des cantiques dans les lettres françaises. edited by Maria Barsi and Alessandra Preda (Milano: LED Edizioni Universitarie, 2016), 91–108. 8 Dietrich Thyen, “Martin Luthers Hohelied-Vorlesung von 1530/31”, Siegener Pädagogische Studien 23 (1977): 62–77; Engammare, Le Cantique des Cantiques, 305. 9 Engammare, Le Cantique des Cantiques, 305. 10 Risto Saarinen, Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 58–69. 11 Bernard, Sermons on the Song of Songs 1–4. Translated by Katherine Walsh. Collegeville: Cistercian Publications, 1971–1980, 13, 8; Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 63–4. 12 Bernard, Sermons, 2, 6, 35, 5; Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 66. 13 Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Gospel of St. Matthew (Camillus, NY: Dolora Press, 2011), 25:14–30; Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 70. 14 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae (Christian Classics Ethereal Library, 1981), 2/2 q86 a4 resp (hereafter Summa theol.); Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 74. 15 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theol. 2/2 q102 a2 resp; Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 74–5. 16 WA 31/2, 587, 9–15. See also the Translated edition: Martin Luther, Luther’s Works, American Edition (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1955–1986). 17 WA 31/2, 592, 23–7. 18 Ibid., 644, 30–645, 33. 19 Ibid., 646, 30–2. 20 Ibid., 647, 25–36. 21 Ibid., 647, 6–14. 22 Ibid., 700, 32. 23 Songs 4:12–16; WA 31/2, 700, 12–13. 24 WA 31/2, 734, 32–4. 25 Ibid., 636, 31; 668, 33–4 cf. 734, 32–4 above. 26 Ibid., 594, 6. 27 Ibid., 628, 30; 629, 30–1. 28 Ibid., 723, 30–724, 29. 29 Ibid., 601, 26, cf. 592, 23. 30 Ibid., 675, 29–30. 31 Songs 4:1–5. 32 Cicero, De finibus 2, 35. Cf. Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 58–62; Cicero, Works. 33 Matt. 6:22. 34 WA 31/2, 675, 11–12, 25–6. 35 Ibid., 676, 2–6. 36 Ibid., 676, 14–15. 37 Cf. Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 6–17 (struggle and peace) and 67–69 (Bernard).

214  Risto Saarinen 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91

WA 31/2, 668, 2–13. Ibid., 592, 13, 23. Ibid., 668, 17–20, 33–5. Ibid., 673, 17–23, 29–30. Ibid., 705, 15, 31–2. Ibid., 682, 9–10, 26. Ibid., 734, 12–13. Ibid., 734, 6–8; 734, 27; 735, 3. Ibid., 735, 9–11. Ibid., 753, 9, 16–17. E.g. WA 56, 553, 21–8 and the parallels listed in WA 67, 545. WA 31/2, 588, 22. Ibid. Bernard, Sermons, 2, 3. WA 31/2, 596, 15–23. Ibid., 594, 8–9. Ibid., 597, 1–4. Bernard, Sermons, 9, 5–6. WA 31/2, 597, 10–11; 598, 8–9. Print: WA 31/2, 597, 25. See lecture notes on pp. 597–8. Ibid., 599, 9–12; 599, 21–600, 7. Songs 1:3. Bernard, Sermons, 18. Songs 1:4. Bernard, Sermons, 21, 1. WA 31/2, 602, 20–2. Bernard, Sermons, 63–6. Songs 2:15. WA 31/2, 664, 22–4. Ibid., 716, 15–717, 4; 717, 11; 718, 28; 719, 11. Ibid., 714, 11–13; 716, 20; 718, 23. Ibid., 751, 4–5, 26. Ibid., 764, 6–31; 765, 12–35. Songs 5:10–16. Ibid., 8:8–11. WA 31/2, e.g., 611, 1, 27; 656, 31; 686, 23; 689, 21; 730, 9–10. Ibid., 587, 7–11. Ibid., 661, 26–7. Ibid., 589, 25–32. Cf. Engammare, Le Cantique des Cantiques, 309. WA 31/2, 675–6. Ibid., 677, 15–17; 678, 14, 27. Ibid., 679, 28–31, 679, 13. Songs 4:3. WA 31/2, 681, 2, 18–19, 681, 11. Ibid., 680, 24, 29, 681, 23. Ibid., 684, 1–3. Ibid., 684, 5–18, 684, 3, 19. Ibid., 684, 26. Songs 4:5. WA 31/2, 685, 12, 23. Ibid., 686, 5–6, 21–3. Ibid., 714, 11–12; cf. 716, 15–717, 5. Ibid., 715, 22, 715, 13–14; 716, 26–7.

Recognition and masculinity  215 92 Ibid., 716, 28–717, 37, 718, 26–7. 93 Songs 7:16. 94 Ibid., 719, 16, 31–2, 719, 24. 95 Engammare, Le Cantique des Cantiques, 269, 780–1. 96 Songs 1:2. 97 WA 31/2, 594, 11–16, 23–4. 98 Ibid., 595, 28. 99 Ibid., 597, 10–12. 100 Ibid., 595, 28; 597, 25. 101 Ibid., 595, 2–3; 595, 16–18, 596, 13–19. 102 Ibid., 597, 12–18; 598, 5–9. 103 Ibid., 598, 6. 104 Songs 4:5; WA 31/2, 683–4. 105 WA 31/2, 684, 3, 19. 106 Ibid., 692, 12. 107 Ibid., 738, 32, 739, 7–25, cf. the print in 736–7. 108 Ibid., 745, 12–35. 109 Ibid., 751, 5–12. 110 Ibid., 751, 14–22, 31–5. 111 Ibid., 760, 18–761, 3. 112 Ibid., 764, 7–11, 25–9. 113 Songs 3:1. 114 WA 31/2, 667, 25–31, 668, 2–3, 24. 115 Ibid., 668, 30–6, 669, 3. 116 Ibid., 710, 37, 720, 33. 117 Ibid., 730, 26, 29–37. 118 Ibid., 732, 34–5, 733, 29–35. 119 Ibid., 733, 17–24. 120 Ibid., 734, 31–6. 121 Ibid., 737, 3–4, 24; 737, 17, 30, 738, 25–6. 122 Saarinen, Recognition and Religion, 58–79. 123 WA 31/2, 684, 31–2, 684, 22–685, 2. 124 See e.g., R.W. Connell, Masculinities (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995) and Colleen M. Conway, Behold the Man: Jesus and Greco-Roman Masculinity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). 125 Scott Hendrix and Susan Karant-Nunn, eds., Masculinity in the Reformation Era (Kirksville: Truman State University Press, 2002), x–xi. 126 Marsilio Ficino, Commentarium in convivium Platonis, De amore. Edited by Pierre Laurens (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2002).

References Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Theologiae. Grand Rapids: Christian Classics Ethereal Library, 1981. ———. Opera omnia. Vatican: Polyglot Press, 1888. ———. Commentary on the Gospel of St. Matthew. Camillus, NY: Dolorosa Press, 2011. Bernard of Clairvaux. Sermones Super Cantica Canticorum. Sancti Bernardi Opera 1–2 Rome: Editiones Cistercienses, 1957–1958. ———. Sermons on the Song of Songs 1–4. Translated by Katherine Walsh. Collegeville: Cistercian Publications, 1971–1980. Brecht, Martin. Martin Luther: Shaping and Defining the Reformation, 1521–1532. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990.

216  Risto Saarinen Carty, Jarrett A. “Martin Luther’s Political Interpretation of the Song of Songs.” The Review of Politics 73 (2011): 449–67. Cicero. De finibus In Works. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1913–2010. Connell, R.W. Masculinities. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995. Conway, Colleen M. Behold the Man: Jesus and Greco-Roman Masculinity. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Engammare, Max. Qu’il me baise des baisers de sa bouche: Le Cantique des Cantiques á la Renaissance. Genève: Droz, 1993. Ficino, Marsilio. Commentarium in convivium Platonis, De amore, edited by Pierre Laurens. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2002. Hendrix, Scott and Susan Karant-Nunn, eds. Masculinity in the Reformation Era. Kirksville: Truman State University Press, 2008. Kallas, Endel. “Martin Luther as Expositor of the Song of Songs.” Lutheran Quarterly 2 (1988): 323–41. Luther, Martin. Luther’s Works, American Edition. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1955–1986. ———. Werke. Weimar: Böhlau, 1883–2007. Mastroianni, Michele. “Chassignet lecteur du Cantique des cantiques.” In Le Cantique des cantiques dans les lettres françaises, edited by Maria Barsi and Alessandra Preda, 91–108. Milano: LED Edizioni Universitarie, 2016. Saarinen, Risto. Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Thyen, Dietrich. “Martin Luthers Hohelied-Vorlesung von 1530/31.” Siegener Pädagogische Studien 23 (1977): 62–77.

Section IV

Roots of recognition theory

12 Spinoza, religion, and recognition Ericka Tucker

Introduction In this chapter, I will show how Benedict Spinoza contributes to the debates on recognition by providing two intertwined elements: the mechanisms through which individual recognition is achieved and sought and the consequences of these individual processes in the collective. Spinoza proposes that human emotions yield the phenomenon of recognition, which creates both individual and collective identities. These identities can be either empowering and inclusive, or disempowering and exclusionary, but the mechanisms for both are the same. I will begin by situating Spinoza in the contemporary literature on recognition. Spinoza contributes to – and indeed, is an important source of – what is sometimes called the ‘pessimistic’ or negative theory of recognition.1 This school, typified by the work of Judith Butler, Michel Foucault, and Louis Althusser, proposes that becoming a subject in a social or political order requires conformity to existing social norms. This conception of recognition as ‘interpellation’ is seen as negative or pessimistic because the conditions of being recognized as a person require that one submit to the normative expectations of another, normally a more powerful individual or collective. Those who cannot conform are ‘misrecognized’, or seen as less than human, or at least not capable of full participation in the social or political order.2 This process of coming to conform is sometimes called ‘subjectivization’, and I will refer to it as such. Harms of misrecognition are catalogued by several political theorists, and include effects such as marginalization, political exclusion, low social status, powerlessness, stereotyping, bias, etc.3 The work of recognition theorists in the 1990s was in part an effort to recognize these misrecognitions as issues of justice. Spinoza contributes two elements to the pre-history of this approach to recognition. First, he argues that becoming a self requires mediation through the social, and second, he explains the mechanism of subjectivization – the affects and imagination. In outlining Spinoza’s naturalistic approach to explaining the mechanism of recognition, I hope to show both how Spinoza contributed to recognition theory and how a Spinozist approach can continue to offer insights into what he saw as the mechanism by which both subjects are created and the social world is formed. The emotions and desires, for Spinoza, are what motivate us to become part of

220  Ericka Tucker social life, to join with others and to make their desires ours. This process, like the affects themselves, can be both harmful and empowering. For Spinoza, the very process of recognition itself is neither necessarily good nor necessarily bad – it is simply how human societies function. Thus, we can understand Spinoza as offering an explanatory and descriptive account of how recognition works and can place him squarely on the side of those for whom recognition is constantly functioning – at least as long as there are humans with emotions like ours. Spinoza prefigures the post-structuralist and Critical Theory notion of recognition as interpellation – the way in which the subject becomes recognizable only on the terms in which the social regime allows. The social calls to us, either as policeman or lover, and we can answer only by making ourselves into something recognizable, acceptable. It may be a happy accident that the social calls to us as we are, or the process of subjectivization might be so complete that we do not doubt or reject the social identities available to us within our culture, but for Spinoza this is unlikely. Not just in his case, but in the case of all individuals, whose diversity of affect, belief, and desire he takes to be basic.4 The crucial recognitional tension that Spinoza focuses on is not the notion of recognition of minority groups as such – as critical theorists may – but particularly the tension between the sage and the social. The central tension is as follows: the sage, the free individual, recognizes humans as part of nature, or God, and seeks to understand humans and the world naturalistically.5 The only norm of the sage is to understand  – whatever yields knowledge ought to be pursued. This norm puts the sage in tension with her ­society – which seeks riches, glory, or other ephemeral goods. Yet, the sage cannot reject society completely – the sage needs society.6 So, the sage – in this case, Spinoza – takes up the challenge of trying to understand the mechanisms of social affiliation, power, and identity. For Spinoza, we are inherently social beings insofar as we have human affects, desires, and imagination. These three elements ‘create’ the socialized individual. However, the form this socialized being takes, and indeed the degree of ‘sociability’ depends on many factors, and is not guaranteed to yield peace. Human affects, desires, and imagination are unstable, imperfect and even dangerous – they do not automatically create social harmony. While shared norms and collective identities can yield social unity, the inherent diversity of human emotions, beliefs and desires troubles the idea of a stable unity. Thus, collective identities are inherently unstable. This gives rise not just to problems of recognition and misrecognition, but also to problems of community dissolution. So, for Spinoza, we must find a way to unify a diverse group of individuals in some way, which is both stable and inclusive. I will show that some collective identities are better than others for Spinoza. Spinoza on recognition When we think of Spinoza, we think perhaps of a god-intoxicated man, a rationalist, determinist, a metaphysician who strangely argues that we are mere modes of

Spinoza, religion, and recognition  221 God. As such, it will be surprising to learn that this determinist man was in fact obsessed with understanding the mechanisms of the emotions and how they create social life, to the end of trying to build political states which can best organize these mechanisms to yield a maximally powerful state with maximally empowered individuals. However, it is perhaps an accident of biography that gives us Spinoza the social theorist. As a young man, Spinoza studied Descartes in Amsterdam, and found himself increasingly at odds with the Jewish community of which he was a part. At the age of 26, he was excommunicated, ostracized from his community. The reasons for this cherem, as it is called, are debated hotly by historians and philosophers alike – whether Spinoza went outside the community for a lawsuit, whether he refused to countenance the God of Abraham, whether he was some annoying 20-something who wouldn’t stop talking about Descartes – or perhaps all three.7 But what is clear, particularly from the Theological Political Treatise (henceforth abbreviated TTP) wherein Spinoza defends his decision to leave the community of his birth, is that Spinoza refused the social norms of his community and refused recognition in that community for his own reasons, primarily related to his identification with the new philosophy and republicanism developing in Amsterdam at the time. As a Jew, however, Spinoza could not genuinely be part of that community, either.8 As a result, he bore the costs and burdens of being first a dissenter and then an outsider. As such, he was acutely aware of the power one loses when one abandons or is rejected form one’s community, yet he stood by his decision, arguing that the rocky road to reason would not be possible in that society, and that the terms of social recognition offered by the Jewish community of Amsterdam were too high, since they meant abandoning his philosophical path. Spinoza studied society as an outsider – with an eye toward reform. Although the outsider’s life can be difficult, it offers a clearer view of the norms and practices that insiders take up as natural, normal, and ‘good’. Spinoza disagreed, but he was sensitive to the ways in which the process through which we become social beings shapes our emotions, desires, and beliefs in such a way that rejecting the norms of the community means losing an aspect of ourselves. Such rejection is difficult. Beyond the loss of social power one suffers from dissenting from one’s community, one also loses the bonds of affiliation and the connection with those norms, practices and beliefs which one still aligns oneself. So, we find in Spinoza a curious insight into the role of society: he argues that the free man, the philosopher, the sage, needs society. But that society needs to change if the free individual is to become welcome. Spinoza, however, was no social critic, but rather a social scientist who thought the key to political stability and individual flourishing can only be achieved through the design of social and political institutions. For Spinoza, if we can understand the mechanisms that create affiliation to, for example, harmful norms and practices, we can then intervene into this process by creating social and political institutions to reform individual emotions and beliefs by creating new and better collective identities.

222  Ericka Tucker

Affects, desires and imagination: the mechanisms of recognition For Spinoza, emotions, desires, and imagination create the social world. We are bound to and divided from those around us through our affects – love, hate, contempt, joy, fear, etc. He insisted that to understand our social attachments and conflicts, we must first understand these affects. Affects are the mechanisms, or better, the motions of social life. To understand the social, Spinoza investigates the affects, their variety, their power, and their power over us. Spinoza divides the affects into two types: passive and active. Active affects, like joy, are defined as affects that express an increase in our power.9 Passive affects, like sadness or pain, express a decrease in our power.10 While there is much to say about the notion of power in Spinoza, for present purposes I will offer an attenuated explanation. For Spinoza, each individual has a degree of power of acting and thinking called ‘conatus’.11 This ‘conatus’ is the power we have as parts of nature or modes of substance.12 Whatever increases our power of acting and thinking is ‘good’, and whatever decreases this power is ‘bad’.13 Our individual power is not just affected by our affects, but also how we understand these affects, their causes and their value to us, and finally, how they shape our desires and our conceptions of ourselves. These various dimensions of human power work together. That is, our joy may increase our power, allowing us to think more clearly about what causes our joy in the long term, and thus allow us greater power to bring about joy in future. If we experience joy, but misidentify the cause of this joy, we risk the potential enervation of our power, and indeed a false conception of what it is that gives us joy, and thus leave us desiring something that does not yield joy. We can think of active affects as empowering emotions. When we feel such emotions, our power increases. Depending on the cause of our joy, or the perceived cause of our joy, we may be able to sustain this increased power, or it may decrease. If we love, for example, something infinite, like God or nature, and derive joy from this love, we are more likely than those who love and find joy in the ephemeral to sustain the power given to us by this joy. Affects like joy are not the only way to increase our power. Indeed, sustaining increased power requires  that we are better able to understand ourselves and the causes of our desires. Understanding sustains empowerment in a way that emotions – because they are often fleeting – cannot. Affective power, then, conjointly with our ideas about the objects that affect us and our desires toward them, determines our degree of power. Spinoza proposes that there are as many types of affects as there are objects in the world.14 Our love, hate, admiration, and contempt vary depending on what we love or hate. Not all of the objects we experience are alike. One group of objects – namely, other humans – influences us in very special ways. We imagine that they, like us, desire things and strive to realize their desires. To the extent that we think that these others are like us, we take up their desires, their likes, and dislikes as our own. Spinoza calls this ‘imitation’ and defines it as “the desire of something

Spinoza, religion, and recognition  223 which has been engendered in us from the belief that others similar to ourselves have this same desire”.15 That is, through ‘imitation’, we endeavour to bring about whatever it is we imagine is conducive to pleasure or which we imagine others like us to desire.16 This is a process that begins in childhood and is a result of both physiological and psychological facts about humans.17 This imitation is bolstered by the desire for esteem. Individuals, from their earliest years, seek love and approval.1819 Spinoza writes: “If anyone has done something which he imagines affects others with pleasure, he will be affected with pleasure accompanied by the idea of himself as cause”.20 In general, this process works as follows: we strive to increase our pleasure by bringing about what we desire and what we imagine others desire.21 When we do what we believe will bring pleasure to others and are praised, we feel good about ourselves. This ‘esteem’ we receive from others increases our power.22 The more praise we receive, the more our esteem increases. The more our self-esteem increases, the more our power increases. Esteem is a built-in motivator for social conformity, for seeking to please others. Spinoza spends much of Book III of the Ethics investigating this motivational force. Spinoza explains that we, as humans, seek to conform our desires to others if they are like us in some respect; we take up what we imagine to be their desires as desirable. Even if we do not know the individuals in question, we seek, in general, to conform to what we believe are the expectations and values of others. Spinoza is clear about this: “We endeavor to do whatever we imagine men [men for whom we have felt no emotion] to regard with pleasure, and on the other hand we shun doing whatever we imagine men to regard with aversion”.23 Even for those individuals whom we don’t know or care about, we still aim to act in a way that they would approve and seek to avoid their disapproval. We do not just seek to act in a way that others approve we also seek to align our preferences, values, and desires with theirs. Spinoza explains: If we imagine that someone loves, desires, or hates something that we love, desire or hate, this very fact will cause us to love, desire or hate the thing more steadfastly. But if we imagine he dislikes what we love, or vice versa, then our feelings will fluctuate.24 Spinoza explains this process as “the imitation of the affects”.25 He explains how this works in great detail in Book III of the Ethics. He sets the stage for this discussion by explaining the ways in which the human mind and body can be affected by external objects (E3P2-E3P17). From E3P27–57, he explains how, depending on our orientation towards a particular individual, we may either imitate or reject that individual’s emotions. By ‘orientation’ he means whether we love a thing, hate it, or are indifferent to it. If we love something, we will love whatever we imagine to be pleasing to that individual (E3P19); whereas, if we hate something, we will hate whatever gives it pleasure (E3P23) and love whatever gives it pain (E3P20 – what we might call the schadenfreude proposition. Perhaps most importantly, if we are indifferent to other humans, but take them to

224  Ericka Tucker be like us, we will act in a way that we imagine will please them.26 This ‘imitation’ of the affects of those around us, for Spinoza, is the foundation of all social life.27 Through this imitation, we become trained as members of the community. We take up the values of others; we come to value what they value and to shape ourselves into the kinds of beings who will merit esteem from those around us, while avoiding blame and negative judgement. Becoming a member of a social group requires valuing those things the group values. This ‘common valuing’ begins in childhood, and is supported by pleasurable rewards for following and punishments for flouting these common values.28 How we act in the world and how we understand the world are influenced by common customs and practices – first of a family, then of a social group. We imitate others and learn from those we wish to please how to act in the world—what is right and wrong, respectable and shameful. We learn how to obtain praise that feeds our self-esteem, increasing our power.29 These affective-imaginative connections can be very powerful. These shared affective-imaginative connections can form the basis of stable communities and can increase the power of those who join them – at least while they conform. Through the imitation of the affects, human individuals seek to conform themselves to the desires, expectations, and values of others. However, this process doesn’t determine social order – sociability is far from guaranteed. Indeed, there are many ways in which individual’s desires, affects, and imaginative conceptions of themselves and the world can challenge the group, despite having been shaped by the group. The theory of affects and the imitation of the affects comprise Spinoza’s contribution to recognition theory. These are the mechanisms though which recognition, and indeed, misrecognition operate. Before delving into Spinoza’s second contribution to recognition theory – his application of the affect theory to the collective – it is worth taking a few moments to see how Spinoza’s ideas clarify a central concept in the ‘negative’ theory of recognition, and why his affect theory is a real contribution to the debate. Alternately called ‘subjectivization’, ‘subjection’, and ‘constitution’, this process whereby we become recognized as persons is always one where we do not determine the meaning of our subjectivity alone, but are rather recognized always on the other’s terms can be seen both as the conditions for the possibility of subjectivity and as the process by which we are subjected to the norms of the social, over which we have very little control.30 The idea of the social constitution of the subject is one that generates consternation for those who question how an individual can ever be a non-subject or who reject the notion that we are not always autonomous subjects, free to determine the meaning of our existence, social or otherwise. There is a sense in which subjectivization is seen as mysterious and troubling, in that it suggests a kind of irrevocable social determination. Although I believe this is a mischaracterization of the notion of subjectivization, I think that only through understanding the mechanism of the “production of the subject-effect”31 can we elucidate the notion and further understand the limits of social change and individual freedom in society.

Spinoza, religion, and recognition  225 For Spinoza, the structure of human emotions creates the social phenomenon of recognition and subjectivization. We are not free to determine either our own emotions or those of others, and the process by which we take up the emotions, ideas, and desires of others as desirable begins too early for us to avoid understanding ourselves in terms of the identities available within our societies. What it is to be ‘constituted’ by the social is that what we think, what we feel, what we desire, and what we believe acceptable to desire, think, and feel are shaped through the process of the imitation of the affects. To be part of a group is to think, feel, and desire in a manner acceptable to that group. To feel, think, or desire otherwise is to fine oneself in conflict with the group. For Spinoza, such conflicts are always possible, given the general volatility of human emotions. In Spinoza’s view, to be recognized and approved by a group is pleasurable. Social recognition increases our power through both joy and through the ways in which we can use the power of the group for our own protection and flourishing. However, to be misrecognized by the group brings one empowerment, but with a recognition of its tenuousness. One can only retain this power and pleasure through a pretence. Should one reject the conditions upon which one is recognized, one would lose the power of the group. There is little joy in being required to think, feel, and believe in ways that one does not or cannot. The misrecognized, the misfit, the dissenter, lives with a conflict – to be part of the group is both painful and seemingly necessary. Without the power of the group, the individual not only has very little power, but may consider the power of the group as a threat. Finally, for Spinoza, changing the conditions under which we are recognized requires changing the norms of our society. Changing the norms of our society is not easy – it requires, in a real sense, changing the emotions, ideas and desires of a good number of individuals within our society. This is certainly no easy task. However, it is the project that Spinoza takes up in his political works. Individual and collective power For Spinoza, human individuals, considered within the whole of nature, have a relatively small degree of power.32 In the first part of the Ethics, Spinoza outlines how an individual can gain more power as they seek joy, and ultimately knowledge of themselves as part of the natural world. However, Spinoza understands that increasing one’s power as an individual alone is not just unlikely but in fact impossible. Alone, individuals are weak and cannot flourish.33 Only by joining with other humans can we thrive. When individuals join together they have more of the power of nature. The larger the group of human individuals, the more power they can have within nature.34 However, the dynamics of the group  – specifically how they are joined together; what norms, practices and collective identity they share – determines whether they are more or less powerful. For Spinoza, a group unified by fear may have some collective power, but less than one unified through love or joy. This follows from the discussion above of the power of the emotions.

226  Ericka Tucker For individuals, being a part of a group is beneficial – they are able to use the power of the collective to flourish, and to live in ways impossible alone. However, joining a group has its costs. Should an individual come to disagree with the group in some way, the costs are evident. While certain group norms may in fact be disempowering to individual – may cause fear or pain or hatred – if this is required for membership in the group this individual has a kind of power-related math problem to solve. Is it better to live diminished within the group, or to live without it – free from that particular norm or practice, but yet without the strength of the group itself? In the Political Treatise (henceforth abbreviated TP), Spinoza investigates this kind of mathematical social query – when one disagrees with the group, one finds not just that one might be alone, but also that the full power of the group might be mobilized against them, either to ensure their conformity or to expel them from the group. Dissenters then, have a difficult decision – to seek recognition and community membership on the terms offered, or to accept the consequences of exile. Ultimately, for Spinoza, complete exile is untenable as a solution to the problems of misrecognition or dissent. The dissenter, for Spinoza, must live in a hidden way, as much as possible, and to seek to avoid arousing the ire of the community while working to improve it from within. While Spinoza was exiled from the Jewish community, he continued to live in Amsterdam, writing his Ethics and political works in the service of trying to understand human society, and its mechanisms, while arguing that the fundamental stumbling block to his own freedom and identity – the religious prohibitions on investigation into the nature world, were unnecessary and indeed harmful as a way to organize and unify a society. In his political works, the TTP and the TP, Spinoza argued that once we understand how the mechanisms of social life work – that is, once we understand imagination, emotion, and desire and their contagion, then we can theorize political solutions to the problem of coordinating a diverse multitude of individuals in the best way.

Recognition, religion, and the noble lie How can we unite a disparate group of diverse individuals? This question is not new with Spinoza, but he takes it up, as before him Plato proposed a noble lie might unite a people. Since Plato, theorists of nationalism have written about this practice – both of its utility and its danger. Benedict Anderson writes of “imagined communities” as the basis of national unity, and indeed Spinoza recognizes the importance of imagination in both individual and collective identity.35 So, it should be no surprise that Spinoza’s political theory proposes that to unite a multitude one needs a shared collective identity.36 For Spinoza, religion played this unifying role in the first Hebrew Kingdom, which he discusses at length in the TTP.37 The Jews, emerging from slavery, free for the first time to decide their fates and lives, were given a collective ­identity – one which they took up with awe and love rather than fear and force. This religion of Moses, Spinoza insists, was not just followed through love, which is an

Spinoza, religion, and recognition  227 essential dimension of its power, but was also comprehensive  – allowing it to shape every aspect of its adherents’ lives and to shape their collective life. The Law of Moses prescribed and proscribed from morning until night, from eating and sleeping to farming and marriage, dress, comportment, worship, and governance. This comprehensive religion gave the Jews not just structure to serve them for their newfound freedom but also marks of individuality as a group. Religious identity, particularly as set out by the Law of Moses, was as thick a collective identity as one could hope for.38 This ‘thickness’ was, in the early days of the kingdom, its virtue. Not just were the Jews united, but the sheer number of shared practices and beliefs made their degree of agreement (in Spinoza’s view) high. Yet, what was originally a virtue had become – in Spinoza’s time – vicious, for religious doctrines which once serve a people may not always be found to be true. Yet, there is no mechanism in revealed religion for revising revelation. The particular worry in Spinoza’s own time was the rejection of the new science on religious grounds, and attempts to block investigation into the natural world based on the idea that revelation had shown all – or at least the way. Thus, we know Spinoza as a critic of religion. But this criticism is not entirely rejection. Spinoza thought religions, particularly those based on the active affects of love and awe, to be good ways to organize a multitude – though not the best way.

Recognition and collective identity Lewis Feuer argues that for Spinoza religion is a kind of developmental stage in the freedom of a people.39 First, united by an imaginative conception of themselves, a free people becomes more free by making this imaginative conception of themselves more adequate – allowing their imaginative self-conception to change and develop with the power of its people. Religions, however, are rarely so easily reformed and malleable. Thus, these very strong imaginative agreements or collective identities can succumb to what we might call the dark side of recognition – exclusion, enforced conformity, and rejection of better norms and customs. Religious institutions in the seventeenth century had, in Spinoza’s view, failed to embrace the demonstrable truths of the new science in favour of clinging to false doctrines in the mistaken view that change might weaken the collective agreement that religion had so long sustained. However, Spinoza insisted that to ignore the new science – and worse, to banish it, to make it illegal – would not save collective agreement, but weaken it. The subtitle of the TTP thus reads: “[F]reedom to philosophize may not only be allowed without danger to piety and the stability of the republic but cannot be refused without destroying the peace of the republic and piety itself”.40 Religion, once necessary for the peace of collective agreement, would necessarily endanger the same should it fail to recognize the new truths of the new science. Specifically, Spinoza argues that such views in requiring conformity to falsehoods alienate the ‘best’ citizens, and undermine the power of their collective agreement by demanding belief based on fear rather than through love or belief.41 Yet, Spinoza recognized that it was hardly surprising that an imaginative collective identity should be resistant to change and

228  Ericka Tucker challenge. Such imaginative identities, without an in-built mechanism for reform and change, were ultimately sustainable only through fear once they were challenged. Fear, as explained earlier, is a very unstable basis for collective life, and weakens the commonwealth. For Spinoza, democracy was the only form of state that could sustain reform of the collective identity of a multitude. That is not to say that the collective identity within a democracy would not be imaginative, for it surely would. However, democracies have a built-in mechanism for reform. By being open to all citizens, with collective agreements only good until the next assembly meeting, democracies can be shaped and reshaped by those who participate in it. Democratic assemblies should, in Spinoza’s view, be large and inclusive, drawing on the incomplete knowledge of the many to create a better (if not fully adequate) imaginary identity for the whole. How does a republic unify itself without religion, or another imaginative conception of collective identity? The answer Spinoza gives appears to be is that it cannot. As long as humans congregate, they will need some manner of imaginative group identity to unify them. The question for political philosophers is what the content of the collective identity will be, and what are the emotions to which it will give rise. For Spinoza, collective identities that are based on and give rise to active affects like joy and hope are better than those that employ or result in sadness or hate. Those identities that empower citizens, whether through encouraging active affects or through expanding their knowledge of themselves and the natural world are better than those that do not. Institutions that allow for open discussion of common and individual problems can yield a better collective identity than those that do not. Further, those that unify more are better than those that unify few. These points are Spinoza’s systematic proposals for how to best organize an imaginative collective identity in order to yield maximal positive recognition.

Conclusion What, then, can we take to be Spinoza’s contribution to the understanding of recognition and indeed its pre-history? I take Spinoza to be a firm supporter of a naturalistic conception of the social, and to propose and outline an affective mechanism that yields the recognition and misrecognition that shapes social life. From the foundation of his social account of selfhood, he works upward toward the idea of a social or collective self or imaginative self-understanding. These accounts of individual and collective self-identity are both parallel and reciprocal. Collective identity is shaped by the interaction of individuals, and the interaction between their affects and imaginative conception of themselves, which in turn shapes and is shaped by the collective imaginary  – yielding the phenomena of recognition and misrecognition. Spinoza’s own experience of misrecognition and the struggles of one who dissents from the social consensus gives us a powerful example of this process. Spinoza’s second contribution, as I hope to have shown in the second part of my paper, is the proposal that not all imaginative collective identities are equal – some

Spinoza, religion, and recognition  229 are better than others. Those that allow for collective agreement based on more adequate understandings of humans as part of nature and of the natural world itself are better than those which bind the collective to a fixed and perhaps false self-understanding. Although Spinoza does not expect us to have full or complete knowledge of ourselves or the social world  – at least, not beyond a few ­individuals – he does think that some political mechanisms are better at encouraging this kind of adequate understanding than others. Thus, for Spinoza, while a collective religious identity can be a powerful way to coordinate the action of many, it is not the best way to do so.

Notes 1 It is beyond the scope of this chapter to follow the genealogy of the notion of recognition back from Butler to Althusser to Marx to Spinoza. Hasana Sharp in Chapter Four of Spinoza and the Politics of Renaturalization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011), 117–55 argues for this point, although without using the terminology ‘negative’ or ‘pessimistic’ recognition. 2 Foucault coins the term ‘assujettissement’ in Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality, vol. 1 (London: Allen Lane, 1976), which Butler translates as ‘subjectivation’ Judith Butler, The Psychic Life of Power (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997); Butler goes on to use Althusser’s concept of ‘interpellation’ from Louis Althusser, “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses”, in Lenin and Philosophy and other Essays, [1971] (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2001); Jacques Lacan, The MirrorStage as Formative of the I as Revealed in Psychoanalytic Experience. Translated by Alan Sheridan in Écrits: A Selection. (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1977). 3 Iris Young, Justice and the Politics of Difference (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990); Nancy Fraser, “Rethinking Recognition”, New Left Review 3 (May–June 2000); Nancy Fraser and Axel Honneth, Redistribution or Recognition? A Political-­ Philosophical Exchange (New York: Verso, 2003); Nancy Fraser, Justice Interruptus: Critical Reflections on the “Postsocialist” Condition (New York: Routledge, 1996). 4 I employ the standard abbreviated references to Spinoza’s work: for example, E3P11S is a reference to Ethics, Book 3, Proposition 11, Scholium. Abbreviations of Spinoza’s writings: E (Ethics), KV (Short Treatise), CM (Metaphysical Thoughts), TdIE (Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect), TTP (Theological-Political Treatise), TP (Political Treatise); Ep (Letters). Other abbreviations: A  (Axiom), P (Proposition), C (Corollary), Pref (Preface), App (Appendix), DefAff (Definition of the Affects), D (Definition), L (Lemma), S, (Scholium). E1, Appendix. All references to Spinoza’s work from: Baruch Spinoza, Samuel Shirley, Michael L. Morgan, Complete Works (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Pub, 2002.) 5 E1, Appendix. 6 E4P18S. 7 Steven Nadler, Spinoza’s Heresy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994) and Spinoza: A Life (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 8 Henry Oldenburg, in a letter to Robert Boyle dated 10 October 1665, refers to Spinoza as one who “lives in Holland, but no Hollander”, in Correspondence of Robert Boyle, vol. 2, 550, ed. Michael Hunter, Antonio Clericuzio, and Lawrence M Principe (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2001). (citation thanks to Filip Buyse). 9 E3P11S. 10 Ibid. 11 E3P7. 12 TTP, ch. 4; TTP, ch. 16: “The universal power of Nature as a whole is nothing but the power of all individual things taken together [E2P13SL5]”, “universalis potentia

230  Ericka Tucker

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

35 36

37 38 39 40 41

totius naturae nihil est praeter potentiam omnium individuorum simul, hinc sequitur unumquodque individuum jus summum habere ad omnia, quae potest, sive jus uniuscujusque eo usque se extendere, quo usque ejus determinata potentia se extendit.” E1, Appendix. E3P56. E3P27. E3P29. E3P32S. E3P33–34. E3P29. E3P30. We may, of course, be wrong about what others desire. More ahead. There is an important difference, for Spinoza, between esteem and what we might think of excess of esteem, e.g., pride, and deficits of esteem, e.g., humility and what Spinoza calls ‘self-abasement’. Although Spinoza prizes self-esteem because it enhances individual power (E3P53), he argues that pride, humility, and self-abasement are bad for us, since they are miscalculations of self-esteem. Being prideful, we err by esteeming ourselves too much (E3DefAff 6, 28; E4P48–9); being humble, we err (E3DefAff 26; E4P53) by focusing on our weakness, and thus diminishing our power; in self-­abasement, we err by esteeming ourselves too little (E3DefAf29). Ultimately, for Spinoza, error in estimation of anything, ourselves included, can decrease our power. E3P29. E3P31. E3P27S. E3P27 Alexandre Matheron, Individu et communauté chez Spinoza. (Paris: Éditions de minuit, 1969) 150–67. E3P32S. E2P17S, E3P29, E3P32C, E3P32S, E3P33–4. Pierre Macherey (Translated by Stephanie Bundy) “Judith Butler and the Althusserian eory of Subjection”, Décalages 1, no. 2 (2011–2012); Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality, vol. 1 (New York: Vintage, 1990), 10–12. Macherey, “Judith Butler”, 6. TP 2.15. Ibid. The power of a group of human individuals is not just a function of the number of individuals, but depends on their degree of agreement. A more elaborate discussion of this would be required. I am asserting here only that a larger group of humans working together has the potential for more power than any one individual alone. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (New York: Verso, 1991). This has made many argue that Spinoza is the first political theorist of nationalism, e.g., Lewis Samuel Feuer, Spinoza and the Rise of Liberalism (New Brunswick: Transaction Books, 1987), and David A. Freeman, “Spinoza on Self-Consciousness and Nationalism”, History of European Ideas 16, no. 4–6 (January 1993). This is true to some extent – however, in what follows, I will show that while a collective imagined identity is necessary, it is no guarantee of peace. TTP, Chs. 18–19. Clifford Geertz, “Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture”, in The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays (New York: Basic Books, 1973). Feuer, Spinoza and the Rise of Liberalism. TTP, title page. TTP, Ch. 20, §44.

Spinoza, religion, and recognition  231

References Althusser, Louis. “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses.” In Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays. [1971]. New York: Monthly Review Press, 2001. Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. New York: Verso, 1991. Butler, Judith. The Psychic Life of Power. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997. Feuer, Lewis Samuel. Spinoza and the Rise of Liberalism. New Brunswick: Transaction Books, 1987. Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1. London: Allen Lane, 1976. ———. The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1. New York: Vintage, 1990. Fraser, Nancy. Justice Interruptus: Critical Reflections on the “Postsocialist” Condition. New York: Routledge, 1996. ———. “Rethinking Recognition.” New Left Review 3 (May–June 2000). Fraser, Nancy and Axel Honneth. Redistribution or Recognition? A Political-Philosophical Exchange. New York: Verso, 2003. Freeman, David A. “Spinoza on Self-Consciousness and Nationalism.” History of European Ideas 16, no. 4–6 (January 1993). Geertz, Clifford. “Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture.” In The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays. New York: Basic Books, 1973. Lacan, Jacques. The Mirror-Stage as Formative of the I as Revealed in Psychoanalytic Experience. Translated by Alan Sheridan in Écrits: A Selection. New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1977. Macherey, Pierre. “Judith Butler and the Althusserian Theory of Subjection.” Translated by Stephanie Bundy. Décalages 1, no. 2 (2012). Matheron, Alexandre. Individu et communauté chez Spinoza. Paris: Éditions de minuit, 1969. Nadler, Steven. Spinoza’s Heresy. New York: Oxford University Press, 1994. ———. Spinoza: A Life. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Sharp, Hasana. Spinoza and the Politics of Renaturalization. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011. Spinoza, Baruch, Samuel Shirley and Michael L. Morgan. Complete Works. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Pub, 2002. Young, Iris. Justice and the Politics of Difference. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011.

13 Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework for understanding his recognition-theoretic account of Christianity Paul Redding Introduction Since G. W. F. Hegel’s own time, the understanding and evaluation of his philosophy has been dominated by a number of pressing questions. Immediately after his death, the most obvious was that of the commitment of Hegelianism to religion, and to protestant Christianity in particular. Of the factions into which his followers split, the so-called left Hegelians attempted to interpret Hegel’s thought away from such a commitment to a more secular and naturalistically conceived view. More recently, analogous questions have been posed with respect to the prospect of extracting Hegel’s thought from those metaphysical commitments that have been traditionally ascribed to Hegel,1 a reinterpretation of Hegel that is starting to be carried over into his theology.2 Indeed, it has often been thought difficult, if not impossible, to keep questions of these two types of commitment distinct. Famously, Hegel himself had described philosophy as having “no other object but God”,3 and even when he refrains from talking of ‘the Absolute’ in overtly religious ways, his descriptions to the modern ear often sound like talk about God expressed in other ways. Here I  want to question the traditional interpretation that Hegel’s systematic idealist ‘metaphysics’ can be thought of as a somewhat conventionally conceived Christian view of the world, given a philosophical gloss. Philosophy, not religion, is for Hegel the ultimate explanatory category: we must understand his religious commitments in terms of his metaphysical ones, and the latter, I  suggest, have been poorly understood up to this time. In contrast to traditional interpretations of Hegel’s metaphysics, here I want to explore the idea of his idealism as a metaphysics based on the idea of recognitively conceived relations among individuals constituting spirit (Geist) as a realm that is different from nature but located in it. This coheres with what I will describe as Hegel’s actualist and non-Platonist, this-worldly metaphysics, but a form of actualist metaphysics that contrasts with the naturalism of the other major modern critic of Platonic transcendentalism, Spinoza. I will start with a sketch of Hegel’s account of recognition in the Phenomenology of Spirit. Hegel’s account is related to, but should be seen as differing from, that developed by Fichte, but one popular way of interpreting Hegel, that coming

Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework  233 from Kojève,4 systematically confounds these two accounts. In the Phenomenology, and against the picture found in Kojève, I suggest, the most developed account of Hegel’s understanding of recognition is to be found in the context of the type of recognitive bond he posits at the heart of modern protestant Christianity as he conceives it. This is the dynamic of the interaction of mutual confession and forgiveness in which we come to understand some of the objections that Hegel had to Spinoza’s this-worldly form of philosophy. After that, I  will take up the theme of Hegel’s actualism and how it relates to his recognitive theory of spirit. In the course of this, I will attempt to locate Hegel’s philosophy within the contemporary terrain of modal metaphysics, as such a comparison, I think, can help make clear what Hegel’s metaphysical commitments actually amount to – those commitments in terms of which we should understand his attitude toward religion.

Recognition in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit commences in a way that is relatively familiar from the perspective of modern philosophy, an examination of consciousness and its contents. The opening move has a recognizably epistemological feel: it effectively asks after what we can be certain of.5 The mind’s immediate sense contents first suggest themselves as entities the existence of which one can be certain, as in empiricism, for example, but Hegel unearths a problem that is now familiar and discussed as the “myth of the given”.6 Merely given conscious contents cannot have the sufficient conceptual determinacy or logical shape to enter into relations of justification required by knowledge, and this initial model of ‘sense certainty’ collapses to be replaced by another, ‘perception’, and then another, ‘the understanding’. By the time of this last form of consciousness, we have one in which the mind actively posits rather than passively receives its content – the model being that of the positing of something non-perceived, such as underlying forces, meant to function in the explanation of perceived events. With the conscious subject as an ineliminable active presence now having come to the fore, Hegel’s focus will shift from that of consciousness to self-consciousness, and it is in the discussion of self-consciousness and its conditions that the theme of recognition emerges. Thus in the course of Chapter 4, “Self-Consciousness”,7 we find what is perhaps the most well-known part of the Phenomenology, the account of the “struggle for recognition” [Kampf um Anerkennung] in which emerges the idea of the necessity of intersubjective conditions for any form of consciousness of self: “self-­consciousness”, we are told, “exists in and for itself when, and by the fact that, it so exists for another; that is, it exists only as something recognized or acknowledged [anerkannt]”.8 In the early to mid-twentieth century, these passages, with their famous accompanying “master–slave dialectic”, had been thematized by Alexandre Kojève9 and, after him, Jean-Paul Sartre.10 More recently, however, this Kojèvean reading of the notion of recognition has come in for criticism, and the notion has been read in more complex and systematic ways.11 Nevertheless, the discussion of Hegel’s concept of recognition can, I believe, be easily

234  Paul Redding distorted by continuing Kojève’s focus on the master-slave dialectic of Chapter 4 of the Phenomenology.12 In order to orient ourselves with respect to Hegel’s philosophical use of the concept of recognition, we might first set his account of self-consciousness in relation to that of Kant. At the most general level, it could be said that like Kant, Hegel thinks that one’s capacity to be conscious of some external object as something distinct from oneself requires the reflexivity of self-consciousness; that is, it requires one’s awareness of oneself as a subject for whom something distinct, the object, is presented as known.13 Hegel goes beyond Kant, however, and expanding on an idea found in Fichte, makes this requirement dependent on one’s recognition (or acknowledgement  – Anerkennung) of other self-conscious subjects as self-conscious subjects, but Hegel goes beyond Fichte and challenges the conceptual structure of Fichte’s account. Fichte had introduced the notion of recognition in his work of 1796, Foundations of Natural Right According to the Principles of the Wissenschaftslehre.14 The “Wissenschaftslehre” of the title refers to a work published over the period 1794–1795 representing the first of a series of attempts to develop a ‘Doctrine of Knowledge’ based broadly on Kant’s principles.15 There Fichte had described his task as that of discovering the “primordial, absolutely unconditioned first principle of all human knowledge” – a principle to be found in an “Act which does not and cannot appear among the empirical states of our consciousness, but rather lies at the basis of all consciousness and alone makes it possible”.16 Fichte’s ‘act’, that of a self-positing, self-identical I, an ‘I=I’, clearly plays a role of a dynamic analogue to Kant’s more static notion of the ‘transcendental unity of apperception’, a transcendental self-consciousness that conditions all acts of consciousness. However, in Fichte’s work on natural right this ‘act’ receives an intersubjective interpretation signalled by the notion of ‘recognition’. In Foundations of Natural Right, Fichte appeals to the intersubjective condition of mutual recognition in addressing the contradiction between the I qua instantiation of the I=I, and the limitations to which any actual finite I is subject by its being conditioned by an object or ‘not-I’.17 Any practical I must think of the object of which it is conscious as simultaneously conditioning it but, as an object to be transformed by the will, as having no independent efficacy.18 The solution is to “think of the subjects’ being-determined as its being-determined to be self-determining, i.e. as a summons [eine Aufforderung] to the subject, calling upon it to resolve to exercise its efficacy [sich zu einer Wirksamkeit zu entschliessen]”.19 The external factor limiting any subject is thus conceived, not as another object, per se, but as another subject, as a ‘summons’ is clearly something that issues from another minded being.20 The ‘summons’ is a demand to be recognized as a being with rights, and thus “the finite rational being cannot assume the existence of other finite rational beings outside it without positing itself as standing with those beings in a particular relation, called a relation of right”.21 Belonging to such a network of mutual recognitive relations between subjects in which each recognizes and is recognized by the other as a free being will become

Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework  235 the infrastructure to self-consciousness itself: “[T]he necessity of this universal, ongoing expectation must be shown to be the condition of the possibility of selfconsciousness”.22 While in these early sections recognition and right are discussed in somewhat abstract terms, later recognition comes to be seen as the basis of all property rights: As soon as the human being is posited as being in relation to others, his possession is rightful only if it is recognized by the other; and only in this way does his possession acquire an external, shared validity, a validity that – at this point in the analysis – holds only for him and for the other who recognizes it. Only in this way does the possession become property. . . . All property is grounded in reciprocal recognition, and such recognition is conditioned by mutual declaration.23 In his Philosophy of Right, Hegel will repeat this treatment of property relations as grounded in the mutual recognition of rights.24 But for Hegel, the sphere in which this operates, that of ‘civil society’, does not exhaust the ways in which recognition can appear as mediating human relations, and there he treats the antithetical sphere of the family as a form of spirit based upon a different form of recognitive relation.25 We then might expect Hegel’s conception of recognition to be more general and broader that Fichte’s, such that legal recognition is simply one of its species. This more general structure is indeed demonstrated in the Phenomenology. So, rather than taking Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit as the prime locus of his ‘theory of recognition’, I suggest that what is found there should be understood more as Hegel’s presentation of Fichte’s account – an account that he will appropriate in a critical way, and the limitations of which he will attempt to demonstrate. Moreover, in that chapter we do not get much beyond the general outlines of Hegel’s own account, and on its basis cannot really appreciate the metaphysical depth that the notion of recognition plays for him, nor the multifaceted role it comes to play in his metaphysics of Spirit. On introducing the notion, Hegel sums up his discussion of recognition in Chapter 4 of the Phenomenology with these well-known sentences: A self-consciousness exists for a self-consciousness. Only so is it in fact self-consciousness; for only in this way does the unity of itself in its otherness become explicit for it. The ‘I’ which is the object of its Notion is in fact not ‘object’; the object of Desire, however, is only independent, for it is the universal indestructible substance, the fluid self-identical essence. A self-consciousness, in being an object, is just as much ‘I’ as ‘object’. With this we already have before us the Notion of Spirit. What still lies ahead for consciousness is the experience of what Spirit is – this absolute substance which is the unity of the different independent self-consciousnesses which, in their opposition, enjoy perfect freedom and independence: ‘I’ that is ‘We’ and ‘We’ that is ‘I’.26

236  Paul Redding Recognition, it might be said, for Hegel just is the stuff of ‘spirit’ – it is that which separates spirit from mere nature – but at the same time, Hegel’s treatment will root all recognitive relations and processes within nature. His will ultimately be a this worldly metaphysics, which like Spinoza’s, can be called an actualist one: the actual world we are in is all of reality  – there is no transcendent ‘beyond’, no Jenseits. Whatever Hegel’s account of Christianity will amount to, it cannot be an orthodox one if we take belief in a transcendent God, inhabiting a transcendent realm, to be a core feature of that religion. But as recognition marks the separation of nature and spirit, Hegel’s metaphysics and theology, with God understood as ‘absolute spirit’, must be understood as distinct from Spinozist pantheism, as well.27 As one progresses through the text of the Phenomenology, one encounters more and more faces of the structure of recognition and with that, an increasingly complex conception of spirit itself.28 The primary idea emerging from Chapter 4 had been that one’s individual self-consciousness is, in fact, dependent on one’s recognition of others as similarly recognizing oneself as a self-conscious subject, with such complex patterns of mutual recognition being conceived as making up ‘objective spirit’  – that concrete social matrix within which all individual selfconsciousnesses come into being. It is in this way that the Phenomenology can change course. While it starts off in the first four chapters tracking shapes of individual consciousness and self-consciousness, this effectively comes to be replaced by a tracking of the distinct patterns of mutual recognition between subjects themselves  – that is, the ‘objective shapes’ of spirit, which form the historically varying ground within which particular forms of consciousnesses/ self-consciousnesses emerge. It goes from a phenomenology of consciousness to one of spirit itself. But this is only worked out in the text gradually. We – the reading, ‘phenomenological’, we – can see how particular shapes of self-consciousness depend on certain institutionalized forms of mutual recognition. But we are seeing this, as it were, ‘from the outside’, and one of the things we are meant to be learning about recognition is that there is no ‘outside’. The fact that belonging to the ‘circle’ of mutual recognition is a condition of consciousness and self-consciousness undermines the very idea of cognitively grasping its structures from somewhere outside it.29 That is, we phenomenological observers have to learn how actual self-consciousnesses could gain these insights themselves, and we must learn to see ourselves not as onlookers but as participants within this process – that is, as belonging to the circle. At the end of the book, we must be brought to the recognition that we phenomenologists belong to and are emerging within this history. The stuff making up spirit that we have observed is recognized as what makes us up, as well. This is a hugely ambitious task for a philosophical work: that Hegel even conceives of a project so head-spinningly daring surely assures him a place in the Western philosophical canon. Hegel’s systematic discussion of spirit starts from what he calls ‘Sittlichkeit’, usually translated as ‘ethical order’ or ‘ethical substance’. Thus Hegel might be seen as adopting the viewpoint that since social life is ordered by customs, we can approach the lives of those living in it in terms of the general patterns of

Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework  237 those customs or conventions themselves – the conventional practices, as it were, constituting specific, shareable forms of life that are made actual in the lives of particular individuals who had internalized such general patterns in the process of acculturation. Given the universality of Sittlichkeit, it is not surprising then that Hegel’s account of spirit here starts with a discussion of religious and civic law. That is, we abstract from the lives of particulars and focus directly on the universal principles they instantiate. But we must avoid two problems here. First, our relation to such law must not be modelled on that pertaining to the laws of the natural world. Something about we humans must separate us out from non-human nature that allows our behaviour to be regular in the sense of rule-following and not merely regular in the sense of rule-conforming, as with law-governed natural phenomena. Next, we must avoid the trap of Platonism in thinking of laws as abstracta residing in some transcendent realm. Once more, the theory of recognition is meant to show the way around these problems. Traditionally, it is a subject’s capacity to have done otherwise than they have actually done that is thought of as a requirement of any genuinely normative existence. Action must be understood against a background of unrealized but real possibilities. But this has typically been thought of as the possession of some overtly non-natural substance – a soul, rather than a body subject to natural physical laws – and such souls are typically conceived as other-worldly entities, transplanted or fallen into this world. Hegel’s alternative to naturalism must reject any such entities, and his recognitive theory of theoretical and practical selfconsciousness is designed to provide an alternative to them. In the Phenomenology, his most sustained treatment of the conditions of the normative dimension of a non-mythically conceived form of agency emerges from the dilemmas of a broadly Kantian conception of freedom and marks the transition from his discussion of morality to that of religion. Of particular importance is Hegel’s discussion of a type of recognition that is at the heart of his conception of the Christian ­community – confession and forgiveness.30

Confession and forgiveness, and the bond of religion Recognition is a notion with a theological as well as a philosophical history,31 and as Risto Saarinen has recently made clear, the notion of ‘Anerkennung’ appeared in Germany in the 1790s simultaneously in philosophical and theological contexts.32 Thus in 1794, the year of the appearance of Fichte’s Grundlage der Gesamten Wissenschaftslehre, the Enlightenment theologian Johann Joachim Spalding published two works in which the notion of recognition was used in a primarily religious context in terms of the individual’s self-transforming act of recognizing or acknowledging Christ.33 In Chapter 6 of the Phenomenology of Spirit, Hegel also employs the notion of recognition in an overtly theological context in a passage crucial for the transition between morality and religion as forms of spirit. We might consider Hegel’s discussion here against the background of an influential movement of his time – a form of romantic religious worldview, with a peculiarly pantheistic theology.

238  Paul Redding Hegel considers a type of pathological extreme of the sensitive romantic individual, the so-called ‘beautiful soul’.34 The beautiful soul grasps himself or herself as ideally acting on natural dispositions which are conceived as good, and struggles against the distortions of unnatural and merely social conventions which are the source of what is bad. With this, a type of divinized nature is regarded as the source of normativity with which convention should accord.35 We might think of Rousseau’s Second Discourse as in the background here, but Kant’s model of the aesthetic genius in whom nature ‘gives the rule’ presents a more contemporary model for this image of nature as normative. For Hegel, however, nature can be in no sense divine, per se: it can be regarded as divine only insofar as it has been taken to be normative – that is, divinized – by those capable of acting according to rules, capable of having their behaviour shaped by convention. That is, it is only spirit that could be the source of nature’s normativity. And what spirit bestows it can take away. As we will see, the beautiful soul’s form of pantheism will come to grief on the problem of evil, which, for Hegel as in Christian thought, is a consequence of the necessity of spirit’s existence in nature, but of course this cannot involve a relapse into traditional Christian transcendentalism. The beautiful soul believes that in acting on his or her purest, most natural intentions, his or her acts must be good, but the very privacy of those intentions as conceived means that such acts can be misunderstood from the perspective of others. We phenomenologists, however, already understand enough about the role of recognition in self-consciousness to see through this fantasy of individual selftransparency. The beautiful soul’s certainty of self, a certainty shown to be illusory in Hegel’s earlier discussion of self-consciousness, prevents that individual from realizing that they can mistake the character of their own intention, and so fail to see that a source of evil resides within themselves as individuated natural beings. They must get beyond such naïve innocence and be brought to the point where it is acknowledged that evil may be a consequence of one’s stark differentiation from others – a differentiation that is a function of one’s specific embodiment and location in the world as a particular natural organism. This is an evil that had been captured in the Christian doctrine of original sin. And so to achieve this insight, the beautiful soul must be brought before a harsh judge capable of unmasking the dissimulation involved in the beautiful soul’s profession of the goodness and universality of their will. This judge must be one whose heart is so hard that the mere fact of an individual’s having a natural aspect will be enough to judge their acts as essentially evil. This ‘hard-hearted’ judge, I suggest, gives voice to Kant’s conception that reason must transcend nature and particularity, and that in Fichte takes on the role of infallible authority given to an individual’s ‘conscience’. Once more, however, we phenomenologists must be reminded that there is nothing that can be given that is normative. The beautiful soul and the hard-hearted judge are just two sides of the one ‘self-certain’ personality. The hard-hearted judge, too, must be brought to the realization that his naturally based particularity undermines his pretentions to universality. The accusation that the hard-hearted harsh judge directs to the beautiful soul must rebound upon him, as well. The hard-hearted judge must, in

Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework  239 the very activity of judging, be shown to be caught up in the same dissembling that had marked the acts of the beautiful soul. So, too, in turn the judge must, like the beautiful soul, be brought to the point of confession, and this confession must be met by forgiveness, as any alternative to forgiveness will testify to the pretention on the part of this judge to be beyond evil in their judgement. The ‘reconciliation’ that can emerge from this interaction of mutually confessing and forgiving moral agents is of profound importance for Hegel: it is this, not nature itself as pantheists would have it, that constitutes the presence of the divine in the world. “The word of reconciliation is the objectively existent Spirit, which beholds the pure knowledge of itself qua universal essence, in its opposite . . . a reciprocal recognition (ein gegenseitiges Anerkennen) which is absolute Spirit”.36 The speech act of mutual forgiveness, the “reconciling Yea, in which the two ‘I’s let go their antithetical [entgegegensetzten] existence”, says Hegel, “is the existence of the ‘I’ which has expanded into a duality, and therein remains identical with itself, and, in its complete externalization [Entäusserung] and opposite [Gegenteile], possesses the certainly [Gewissheit] of itself: it is God manifested in the midst of those who know themselves in the form of pure knowledge”.37 This suggests that the source of normativity that transcends the instituting act of any individual and that is grasped from the religious point of view of the protagonists as divine is the dynamic process of reciprocal recognition itself that is inherent in this community of agents who deal with the evil consequences of their own ineliminable singularity by the mutual acts of confessing and forgiving. Divested of the overtly religious imagery, here we get a picture close to the type of account found in relation to epistemology by Wilfrid Sellars – a normative picture of the mind as fallible and self-correcting, in which it is dialogue between mutually correcting agents that is the context within which self-objectification and reflective self-correction can occur.38

Hegel’s actualist metaphysics In this section, I aim to develop the link between this anti-Spinozist element of the theme of recognition in Hegel’s Phenomenology with his particular alternative to Spinoza’s metaphysical actualism. First, I will turn briefly to his Science of Logic, and in particular, the chapters that conclude Volume 1, the so-called ‘Objective Logic’ where Hegel discusses the category of actuality in order to explore something of the shape of the actualist thesis found there, as from this section we can, I think, learn something further about Hegel’s thought about agency and its material conditions. In doing so, I’ll try to locate Hegel’s approach broadly within the landscape of contemporary approaches in modal metaphysics The Science of Logic presents us not with shapes of consciousness or shapes of spirit, but rather with a type of category theory, along the lines of that found in Aristotle. The categories purport to be fundamental concepts that the thinker takes to be essential for thought about being, and so starts with the concept of ‘being’ itself. But in a move somewhat parallel to the progression of the Phenomenology, the category ‘being’ is shown to collapse because, lacking a proper contrast, it is

240  Paul Redding indeterminate and thus unable to be thought. A dialectic ensues with ‘being’ coming to be replaced by more and more complex categories, the ultimate category appearing at the end of the Objective Logic being that of actuality (Wirklichkeit). Here Hegel presents the actual in relation to the other modal categories of possibility and necessity. As I have emphasized, in his rejection of the idea of a transcendent beyond, Hegel presents himself broadly as an actualist, affirming the ultimate reality of this world, but there are various ways that this thesis might be developed. For example, positivism, with its attendant critique of traditional metaphysics, is a form of actualism, but it is such in what we might call an amodal form. For the positivist, what exists is just the totality of actual facts. Possibilities are non-­ existents, and the positivist can go so far as to contest the very meaningfulness of modal discourse. In contrast, Hegel is a modalist, in that he holds to the meaningfulness of notions like necessity and possibility, so his form of actualism will not be like that of the positivist. In particular, he must therefore somehow account for the ontology of the possible. It has been recently argued that Hegel’s account of actuality is predominantly directed against Spinoza’s necessitarianism,39 in which the actual and the necessary are equated. There are many dimensions to Hegel’s critique here, but positivists and pragmatists might agree with Hegel that ultimately, any conceptual distinction between actual and necessary – when they are identified in this way – must come to nothing. One difficulty for Spinoza’s form of necessitarianism will thus be that of preventing its collapse into amodal actualism. Possibility must find a place in the mediation of necessity and actuality. One way of thinking of the possible is, like Leibniz or more recently, David Lewis, to conceive of the actual world as only one possible world among many other equally real possible others.40 In Leibniz, this world is actual rather than a merely possible because God has chosen to actualize it – the basis of this being the fact that it is the most perfect of the array of possibilities – the best of all possible worlds. David Lewis has a less evaluative sense of the nature of the actual world, however. The actual world is actual simply because it is the particular possible world in which we happen to be. To other individuals in other possible worlds, it would be their worlds that would be considered actual, and from their perspective, ours would be conceived as a mere possibility. Actuality is thereby understood indexically. For Lewis, echoing ancient analogies between modality and temporality, the indexicality of actuality is akin to that of the now. To think of other possibilities as unreal is, he claims, as unwarranted as thinking of other times as unreal simply because we are not there, or ‘then’.41 One variant to Lewis’ way of thinking of the actual as indexical has been offered by Robert Stalnaker, who reverses Lewis’ ‘possibilist’ construal of the relation between actuality and possibility, and insists that possibilities are no more than possible alternate states of the actual world. For Stalnaker, possibilities are abstracta that belong to the actual world, not concrete alternative actualities indexed to the minds of other subjects in them. Alternate possibilities are properties that the actual world might have possessed, but does not actually possess.42

Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework  241 Qua abstracta, such possible worlds can be identified with “maximal consistent sets of propositions”43. From within this array of approaches to possibility, Hegel’s is, I suggest, closest to Stalnaker’s. As Hegel makes clear, his idea of the actual is to conceive of it so as to make possibility a type of reflection existing within the actual. For example, in the Encyclopaedia Logic, he describes possibility as “the inward reflection that is posited as the abstract and unessential essentiality, in contrast to the concrete unity of the actual”.44 “Possibility”, he goes on, “is what is essential to reality, but in such a way that it is at the same time only possibility”.45 This may seem to displace the problem to another part of the theory. Abstracta are, of course, ontologically contentious entities, and there is a strong tendency to treat them platonistically as other-worldly, as is commonly the case with numbers, for example, or Fregean ‘thoughts’. Such a reading would, of course, be incompatible with Hegel’s this-worldly actualism. However, there is a strong pragmatist dimension to Stalnaker’s account of propositions that would seem to suit Hegel. On Stalnaker’s account, as we have seen, possibilities can be treated as ­propositions – that is, abstract entities that are capable of truth and falsity, and capable of being objects of ‘intentional attitudes’ such as beliefs. Accepted at face value, propositions would be Platonic entities, but as I understand it, in Stalnaker’s more pragmatist account the existence of propositions are tied to their role in the activity of attributing thoughts to others in the effort of giving meaning to the sorts of sentences that they utter. Propositions are, as he puts it, “objects that are used by the attributors of propositional attitudes to characterize states of mind”46 – the means by which we attempt to understand what they ‘have in mind’ when they express their thoughts to us. They allow us to conceive how the world is for them, that is, how it is from a point of view that we may not share.47 On this pragmatist reading, then, without the existence of other subjects in the world, subjects who make those utterances that we take to be meaningful and as expressive of their own cognitive point of view onto the world, there would be no place for appealing to either possibilities or propositions. Here there seem clear parallels with Hegel’s account of the infrastructure of mutual recognition grounding all individual cognition. The recognition of others as beings for whom the world is in a certain way, is somehow presupposed by our talk of possibilities and propositions, without which we would be incapable of rational thought at all. In Hegel’s terms, abstracta such as propositions or possibilities are posits that have a place in the world in the context of our practice of reflecting on and explaining or making explicit the contents of the thoughts of other subjects. A form of modal actualism conceived along these lines would, then, presuppose a certain type of idealism. In a sense, it presupposes the necessity of the existence of the mind in the world, but this, I  suggest, can be conceived as a benign form of idealism, as it asserts nothing more than the necessity of the mind in the actual world – a view which must be distinguished from the thesis of the necessary existence of the mind, per se. That is, it accepts the idea of possible worlds, or possible courses of this world, without minds, and so is able to think

242  Paul Redding of the evolutionary development of the mind as contingent. It is really just David Lewis’ thesis of the indexicality of the actual world – the idea that the actual world is our world – without Lewis’ commitment to the reality of other worlds. While Lewis’ indexicality of the actual is maintained by the idea of the contrast of our world with other concrete alternative possible worlds, the actualist’s idea of the indexicality of the actual might be thought of such that the indexicality of this world contrasts with the non-indexicality of those meaningful unrealized possibilities we entertain in thinking about the world. Thus, when I confront a part of the actual in perceptual experience, for example, that part will always have the character of ‘this, here, now’, whereas a possibility that I merely posit will lack this feature. The actualist can therefore keep the indexicality of the actual thesis without Lewis’ contrast. In short, a type of idealist-leaning actualism of an Hegelian stamp does assume the presence of minds in the actual world, but it limits those minds to the actual world, and interpreted as a thesis about the actual world, it is surely a thesis that is hard to argue against. As Descartes famously pointed out, it might be said that argument is an activity of which only beings with minds are capable, and so the idea of arguing against the actuality of minds is self-defeating. But the actualist is able to extract this part of Descartes’ argument from its more metaphysically worrisome larger context. This might account for the presence of minds in the world, but what of something larger, the sort of mind that is typically revered of as the object of religious attitudes? Can this idealist form of actualism be thought to leave a place for something like the traditional God, but one not premised on the type of transcendent metaphysics with which this God has been traditionally associated?

A recognitively existent god of the actual world Hegel’s God is spirit in its purest form – absolute spirit – and we have learned from Hegel’s Phenomenology that recognition is the stuff out of which spirit is made. Recognition, then, must be the medium of God’s existence, a conception of which we have seen in the example of the God-bearing ‘reconciling Yea’ of the mutual forgiveness reconciling the otherwise alienated figures of the beautiful soul and the hard-hearted judged. This is God “manifested in the midst of those who know themselves in the form of pure knowledge”.48 Of course, in some sense, the words being uttered in this exchange are being uttered by actual finite human beings: Hegel doesn’t envisage this phenomenon in terms of something like divine possession in which some mysterious spiritual substance occupies our corporeal form. But in another sense, the utterances of each of the protagonists cannot be understood as reducible to or constructed out of the acts of those individuals. The type of speech act under consideration is one in which a certain type of spiritual bond comes into or is maintained in being in such a way as to constitute a form of ‘objective spirit’ that is the ground of the existence of those individuals as ‘spiritual’ beings. It would be blatantly circular to think of spirit as their creation, and it would be similarly circular to think of ‘who’ is speaking in those encounters in

Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework  243 terms limited to the participating individuals themselves.49 But is this idea enough to grant to Hegel a genuine theology, or is not this the scenario an emergent type of atheist humanism? This was the question, of course, that split Hegel’s followers after his death. For his part, however, Hegel seems to have thought of himself as a genuine Christian, albeit one of a genuinely modern stamp. The type of hierarchically organized medieval Christianity typical of Catholicism is one he clearly took to be reflective of a form of spirit that had not yet achieved its true form with the freedom and rationality enabled by genuinely reciprocal forms of recognition that are achievable in modernity. The type of reciprocity theorized by Fichte within the modern sphere of right implemented within the modern state was clearly an instance of such a modern form of spirit. Nevertheless, as exemplified by the unmediated opposition between the hard-hearted judge and the beautiful soul, it reflected a form of spirit that lacked the capacity to properly accommodate within it the nature in which we are all embodied and located. In this sense, Hegel had always linked the limitations of the morality found in Fichte’s Kantian position with what he thought to be the theological limitations of the Old Testament. In contrast, the subsequent Christian religion was based upon the idea of humans as having been redeemed from a state in which they were alienated from God and enmeshed in nature. This redemption was, as expressed in the picture-like representations (Vorstellungen) of religion, via an act in which God had sent his son into the world to undergo the suffering and death that is a part of the fate of any actual living being, and thereby to atone for the sins of those who, collectively, by an act of will, had become estranged from him. It is not surprising, then, that the structure of the Holy Trinity receives a particular focus in Hegel’s account of Christianity. The Trinity, rightly understood, will in fact give expression within the representational medium of religion to the intersubjective structure of recognition that is at the heart of spirit itself. The conception of the Holy Trinity had been a development within the early Church under the influence of neo-Platonic forms of thought prevalent at the time. The doctrine had been fiercely contested in the fourth century, and opposition re-emerged in the modern period, critics denouncing the contradiction at its heart – God as simultaneously one and three. For Hegel, however, the trinity doctrine expressed the logical structure of the recognitive dynamic at the heart of intersubjective life. Here, everyday notions of identity cannot hold. Recognition is constitutive of the individual who comes to grasp “the unity of itself in its otherness”,50 or comes to be at one with themselves (bei sich selbst sei) in this other person (in diesem Anderen).51 Besides this, however, Hegel’s appropriation of the Trinity doctrine had drawn heavily on the more ‘this-worldly’ Pelagian interpretation of Christianity that had been influential within the southern Schwabian parts of Germany from whence he had come.52 In Hegel’s unorthodox account, one might say that the person of the Old Testament ‘Father’ has shrunk to an extensionless point, akin to the neo-Platonic ‘one’. All the work is then to be done in terms of the relations among the ‘hypostasies’ – the divine mind becoming distributed across a dynamically evolving plurality of finite minds

244  Paul Redding (represented by the second person, Jesus) all linked recognitively (represented by the third person, the ‘Holy Spirit’). In sum, the doctrine of recognition was at the heart of Hegel’s metaphysics as well as his theology. It demonstrated, he thought, how a Christian could have a this-worldly worldview typical of modernity, while avoiding the combination of naturalism and pantheism that he criticized in Spinoza. Hegel’s solution to the problem of religion in modernity seems not to have been found among his followers, fractured into their rival ‘right’ and ‘left’ camps. Whether there is a future for his solution, however, is yet to be determined.

Notes 1 E.g. Robert Pippin, Hegel’s Idealism: The Satisfactions of Self-Consciousness (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). 2 Thomas A. Lewis, Religion, Modernity and Politics in Hegel (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011). 3 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Hegel’s Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art, in two volumes [1835]. Translated by T. M. Knox (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), volume 1, 101. 4 Alexandre Kojève, Introduction to the Reading of Hegel [1947]. Edited and Translated by Allan Bloom, James H. Nichols Jr. (New York: Basic Books, 1969). 5 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit [1807]. Translated by. A.V. Miller (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), ch. 1. 6 Wilfrid Sellars, Empiricism and the Philosophy of the Mind [1956], (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997); Willem A. deVries, “Sense-Certainty and the ‘ThisSuch’ ”, in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit: A Critical Guide. Edited by Dean Moyar and Michael Quante (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). 7 Chapter 4 is the single chapter making up Section AA. Both chapter and section are titled “Self-Consciousness”. 8 Hegel, Phenomenology, § 178. 9 Kojève, Introduction to the Reading of Hegel. 10 Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology [1943]. Translated by Hazel E. Barnes (New York: Philosophical Library, 1956). 11 Axel Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts. Translated by Joel Anderson (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995), 212; Heikki Ikäheimo and Arto Laitinen, eds., Recognition and Social Ontology (Leiden: Brill, 2001). 12 Paul Redding, Hegel’s Hermeneutics (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996), ch. 6; Robert R. Williams, Recognition: Fichte and Hegel on the Other (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992); Robert R. Williams, Hegel’s Ethics of Recognition (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1997). 13 Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason [1781/87]. Edited and Translated by Paul Guyer and Allen W. Wood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). This is the result that had emerged in the discussion of the understanding and forces. 14 Johann Gottlieb Fichte, Foundations of Natural Right According to the Principles of the Wissenschaftslehre [1796]. Edited by Frederick Neuhouser (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). 15 Johann Gottlieb Fichte, “Foundations of the Entire Science of Knowledge”, in The Science of Knowledge [1794–5]. Edited and Translated by Peter Heath and John Lachs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). 16 Ibid., 93 (emphasis in original).

Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework  245 17 In Kant, this is expressed as that between the determinacy of our existence qua phenomenal beings and our freedom qua noumenal ones. 18 Fichte, Foundations, 31. 19 Ibid (emphasis in original). 20 “But if there is such a summons, then the rational being must necessarily posit a rational being outside itself as the cause of the summons, and thus it must posit a rational being outside itself in general” (Fichte, Foundations, 37). 21 Ibid., 39. 22 Ibid., 43, Fichte attempts to articulate the logical structure of the complex articulation of intersubjective attitudes by establishing a syllogism. The major premise is that “I can expect a particular rational being to recognize me as a rational being, only if I myself treat him as one” (Fichte, Foundations, 42). But such recognition cannot be conceived as a type of inner mental attitude, and the minor premise of the syllogism asserts “not that I merely grasp the concept of [some other] as a rational being, but rather that I actually act in the sensible world. . . . Something is given to the [other] individual only by experience, and I give rise to such experience only by acting. The other cannot know what I think” (Ibid., 43). These mutually entertained and acted-upon attitudes between subjects become what, for Fichte, allows the passage from Kantian ‘problematic’ practical attitudes to categorial ones. Indeed, this will effectively be the starting point for Hegel’s own theory of recognition, but his will be a transformative appropriation of Fichte’s theory. Importantly, while Hegel too treats recognition as having a ‘syllogistic’ form, a ‘syllogism’ in his account will be understood in ways that cohere with his very different conception of logic. 23 Ibid., 117 (emphases in original). 24 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right [1820]. Edited by Allen W. Wood, Translated by H. B. Nisbet (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991a), § 71 remark. 25 Redding, Hegel’s Hermeneutics, ch. 7. 26 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, § 177 (emphasis in original). 27 Thus, Hegel’s position is sometimes discussed as a form of panentheism (e.g., Peter C. Hodgson, Hegel and Christian Theology: A Reading of the Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005], 68). 28 Redding, Hegel’s Hermeneutics, ch. 6. 29 The imagery of the ground of self-consciousness as a circle of which there is no outside is already found in Fichte’s Wissenschaftslehre in a number of passages that hint at the idea of being a circle of intersubjective recognition. There, however, while there is another consciousness involved, the circle of interaction is of the self with itself, albeit as mediated by a non-self. “As we can also put it, therefore: the ultimate ground of all consciousness is an interaction of the self with itself (eine Wechselwirkung des Ich mit sich selbst), by way of a not-self that has to be regarded from different points of view. This is the circle from which the finite spirit cannot escape, and cannot wish to escape, unless it is to disown reason and demand its own annihilation” (Fichte, “Science of Knowledge”, 248). From Hegel’s point of view, Fichte’s use of the notion of recognition is undercut by the fact that the other really functions only as the means to secure the I’s achievement of unity with itself. The other cannot have the proper independence that it must have in truly reciprocal recognition. 30 In his way, too, Kant had been critical of traditional metaphysics. For him, the practical knowledge of morality, which orients an agent within the world to noumenally conceived others, exceeds the scope of theoretical knowledge, which is limited to phenomena. Hegel, however, thought that unless theoretical and practical knowledge could be unified, the Kantian solution to the problem of traditional metaphysics would, as a form of metaphysical scepticism, be still beholden to the framework of that metaphysics. For Hegel, recognition is central to this reconciliation of the two perspectives.

246  Paul Redding 31 Paul Ricoeur, The Course of Recognition. Translated by David Pellauer (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005). 32 Risto Saarinen, “J. J. Spalding und die Anfänge des Anerkennungsbegriffs”, Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 112 (2015); Risto Saarinen, Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). 33 Saarinen, “J. J. Spalding”, 234. 34 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, §§ 632–71. 35 Thus “this solitary divine worship is at the same time essentially the divine worship of a community (Gemeinde)”. Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, § 656 (emphasis in original). 36 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, § 670. 37 Ibid. § 671 (emphases in original). 38 Sellars, Empiricism. 39 George Di Giovanni, “Hegel’s Anti-Spinozism: The Transition to Subjective Logic and the End of Classical Metaphysics”, in Hegel’s Theory of the Subject, ed. David Gray Carlson, 30–43 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005); Franz Knappik, “Hegel’s Modal Argument Against Spinozism: An Interpretation of the Chapter ‘Actuality’ in the Science of Logic”, Hegel Bulletin 36, no. 1 (2015). 40 David K. Lewis, Counterfactuals (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 1973); David K. Lewis, On the Plurality of Worlds (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 1986). 41 Lewis, Counterfactuals, 86. 42 See, for example, Robert Stalnaker, Mere Possibilities: Metaphysical Foundations of Modal Semantics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). 43 Stalnaker, Mere Possibilities, 22. 44 George Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, The Encyclopaedia Logic; Part I of the Encyclopaedia of Philosophical Sciences with the Zusätze [1830]. Translated by Theodore F. Geraets, Wallis Arthur Suchting and Henry S. Harris (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1991b), § 143 (emphasis in original). 45 Ibid (emphasis in original). An excellent account of this issue is to be found in Karen Ng, “Hegel’s Logic of Actuality”, Review of Metaphysics 63 (2009): 139–72. 46 Stalnaker, Mere Possibilities, 234. 47 Robert Stalnaker, Our Knowledge of the Internal World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). 48 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, § 671. 49 This, in turn, brings out something of the peculiar nature of the act of recognition, per se. It can seem that ‘recognizing’ another is something that one can do or fail to do at will. But when we consider the variety of ways in which an act of recognition can fail, it becomes apparent that the situation is more complex. 50 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, § 177. 51 George Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, § 7. 52 Laurence Dickey, Hegel: Religion, Economics and the Politics of Spirit, 1770–1807 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); Cyril O’Regan, The Heterodox Hegel (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994).

References Brandom, Robert. “The Structure of Desire and Recognition. Self-Consciousness and SelfConstitution.” Philosophy & Social Criticism 33 (2007): 127–50. Bubbio, Paolo Diego. “God, Incarnation and Metaphysics in Hegel’s Philosophy of Religion”, Sophia 53 (2014): 515–33. deVries, Willem A. “Sense-Certainty and the ‘This-Such’.” In Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit: A Critical Guide, edited by Dean Moyar and Michael Quante. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008.

Hegel’s actualist metaphysics as a framework  247 Dickey, Laurence. Hegel: Religion, Economics, and the Politics of Spirit, 1770–1807. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Di Giovanni, George. “Hegel’s Anti-Spinozism: The Transition to Subjective Logic and the End of Classical Metaphysics.” In Hegel’s Theory of The Subject, edited by David Gray Carlson, 30–43. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. Fichte, Johann Gottlieb. “Foundations of the Entire Science of Knowledge.” In The Science of Knowledge [1794–5]. Edited and Translated by Peter Heath and John Lachs. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. ———. Foundations of Natural Right According to the Principles of the Wissenschaftslehre [1796]. Edited by Frederick Neuhouser. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. Hegel’s Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art, in two volumes [1835]. Translated by T. M. Knox. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975. ———. Phenomenology of Spirit [1807]. Translated by A.V. Miller. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977. ———. Elements of the Philosophy of Right [1820]. Edited by Allen W. Wood. Translated by H.B. Nisbet. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991a. ———. The Encyclopaedia Logic; Part I of the Encyclopaedia of Philosophical Sciences with the Zusätze [1830]. Translated by Theodore F. Geraets, Wallis Arthur Suchting and Henry S. Harris. Indianapolis: Hackett, 1991b. ———. The Science of Logic [1831]. Edited and Translated by George di Giovanni. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Hodgson, Peter C. Hegel and Christian Theology: A Reading of the Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Honneth, Axel. The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts. Translated by Joel Anderson. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995. ———. 2012. The I in We: Studies in the Theory of Recognition. Malden, MA: Polity Press. Ikäheimo, Heikki and Arto Laitinen, eds. Recognition and Social Ontology. Leiden: Brill, 2011. Jaeschke, Walter. Reason in Religion: The Foundations of Hegel’s Philosophy of Religion. Translated by J. Michael Stewart and Peter C. Hodgson. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1990. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Pure Reason [1781/87]. Edited and Translated by Paul Guyer and Allen W. Wood. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Knappik, Franz. “Hegel’s Modal Argument Against Spinozism: An Interpretation of the Chapter ‘Actuality’ in the Science of Logic.” Hegel Bulletin 36, no. 1 (2015): 53–79. Kojève, Alexandre. Introduction to the Reading of Hegel [1947]. Edited by Allan Bloom. Translated by James H. Nichols, Jr. New York: Basic Books, 1969. Lewis, David K. Counterfactuals. Oxford: Blackwell, 1973. ———. On the Plurality of Worlds. Oxford: Blackwell, 1986. Lewis, Thomas A. Religion, Modernity and Politics in Hegel. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011. Ng, Karen. “Hegel’s Logic of Actuality.” Review of Metaphysics 63 (2009): 139–72. O’Regan, Cyril. The Heterodox Hegel. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994. Pippin, Robert. Hegel’s Idealism: The Satisfactions of Self-Consciousness. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Redding, Paul. Hegel’s Hermeneutics. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996. Ricoeur, Paul. The Course of Recognition. Translated by David Pellauer. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005.

248  Paul Redding Saarinen, Risto. “J. J. Spalding und die Anfänge des Anerkennungsbegriffs.” Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 112 (2015): 429–48. ———. Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Sartre, Jean-Paul. Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology [1943]. Translated by Hazel E. Barnes. New York: Philosophical Library, 1956. Sellars, Wilfrid. Empiricism and the Philosophy of Mind [1956]. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997. Stalnaker, Robert. Our Knowledge of the Internal World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. ———. “What Is De Re Belief?” In The Philosophy of David Kaplan, edited by Joseph Almog and Paolo Leonardi. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. ———. Mere Possibilities: Metaphysical Foundations of Modal Semantics. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012. Williams, Robert R. Recognition: Fichte and Hegel on the Other. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992. ———. Hegel’s Ethics of Recognition. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1997.

Section V

Limits of recognition

14 On the natural basis and ecological limits of recognition Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki

“Unlike food, respect costs nothing. Why, then, should it be in short supply?” Sennett’s slogan vs. Hegel’s master and slave Richard Sennett has asked: “Unlike food, respect costs nothing. Why, then, should it be in short supply?”. The question is important as such, as there certainly are mechanisms that prevent us from giving each other due recognition when we could materially or economically afford it.1 There may be psychological and existential ‘costs’, such as having to admit one’s own vulnerability and dependence, and there may be human tendencies not to make any such admissions. We will not focus on such ‘costs’ here. The idea that ‘respect costs nothing’ expresses a view that social recognition (respect, esteem, trust, etc.) is conceptually and ontologically independent of its natural or material basis. It is a rather disembodied, unencumbered view of recognition, and we wish to contest it here. Hegel’s famous dialectic of the master and the slave communicates a vivid image of the material basis of recognition: in a struggle of life and death, it comes apparent that a dead person cannot give recognition.2 Mutual recognition costs at least as much as keeping someone alive. Of course, if the other already has plenty of resources, it may not cost in practice anything for me to form a relationship of mutual recognition – which creates the image that it costs nothing. Hegel further notes that the relationship between the master and the slave is materially mediated: the master holds the slave in chains, and the slave works on the material environment for the master.3 There are theories of recognition that have insightfully stressed this natural and embodied basis of recognition, drawing on Hegel.4 Let us approach this in two steps: by asking what recognition is, and then by asking what direct and indirect ways there are in which recognition requires material resources. What is recognition in the relevant sense? adequate regard and mutuality It is often noted that recognition in the relevant sense goes beyond mere ‘identification’.5 It can further be noted that paradigmatic parties in relations of mutual

252  Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki recognition are persons, whose self-relations depend on getting recognition from each other. The relationship of mutual recognition between persons is different from a person merely ‘acknowledging’ the value of something, or the validity of principles: values and principles do not have a relation to self, and cannot be offended by misrecognition.6 Thus, recognition in then relevant sense seems to be different from such acknowledgement of normative entities. What is it then? There are two ways one can go there: either define recognizing in the relevant sense as a special kind of ‘personifying’ attitude,7 or see recognizing persons as a kind of normative acknowledgement: acknowledging the evaluative significance of the relevant features.8 What is special about the recognition of persons in the latter views is not located in the nature of the ‘personifying’ recognitive attitude, but in the fact that it is responsiveness to persons, who have features that other entities do not have, and who are capable of mutual relationships that other entities are not. There is a consideration that speaks for defining the recognition of persons in such a way that such ‘recognizing’ can also concern non-persons, and another consideration that speaks against such a definition. These can be called the ‘adequate regard’-insight and ‘mutuality’-insight.9 Adequate regard-insight starts from experiences of misrecognition: what do people want when they want to be recognized? It is not merely that they want to be noticed or identified or classified as persons, or persons of this or that type, but they want that they are taken and treated adequately in light of what they are. Such adequate regard for persons is responsiveness to their evaluatively relevant features (which of course need to be noticed, but noticing them is not enough). In that respect, similar responsiveness and regard can concern non-persons: it is a matter of the agent being responsive to the evaluatively relevant features of whatever they deal with. In that sense, then, for example valuing nature non-instrumentally is a matter of adequate regard and ‘recognition’ of nature (it is adequate, assuming that nature has non-instrumental value). Another insight would stress that persons experience being recognized, and getting recognition can affect their relations to self. In experiencing ‘getting recognition’, one at the same time gives recognition: one recognizes the recognizer as recognizer. Only recognizers can have such experiences of getting recognition. This mutuality-insight would lead to defining recognition in the relevant sense as something that only takes place between persons: say, the nature as a whole cannot experience being recognized (unless it is a person, cf. animism and Gaiahypothesis ahead).10 The specific kind of two-directionality is built in very deep in experiences of getting recognition: in the very experience of getting recognition, there is implicit recognition of the recognizer as recognizer. Recognition goes both ways. Mutual recognition occurs when both A and B recognize both A and B as recognizers. The Hegelian tradition makes the strong claim that in inadequate cases, such as the relationship between the master and the slave, both A and B suffer. The claim is that everyone must be recognized for anyone to be adequately recognized (to be truly free, to be justly treated, etc.).11 This has been called by Raimo

Natural basis and ecological limits  253 Tuomela the ‘collectivity condition’: a shared goal is realized for one only if it is realized for all.12 Recognition as what? What we want, then, when we want recognition, is not merely being noticed, but our relevant features being adequately responded to. What are such relevant features? Charles Taylor13 distinguished two kinds of features, universality and difference, and Axel Honneth three kinds of features: the universal basis of respect, particular bases of social esteem, and whatever is at stake in loving care – perhaps our neediness and vulnerability or perhaps our ‘singularity’.14 All these come in different varieties, and the number of further distinctions needed will be relevant to the theoretical and practical context under consideration. Here is a list of ten central kinds of features that should be adequately responded to in different kinds of mutual recognition. (Compare with the list of ten forms of capabilities that Martha Nussbaum has advocated.)15 Universal ‘difference-blind’ respect can concern four crucial aspects of personhood: 1 2

3 4

Basic dignity: being the bearer of the high moral status of persons (which is not conditional even on the degree of one’s actual capacity for self-determination) Autonomy: the right and capacity for self-determination (which further can be subdivided into personal autonomy, moral autonomy, and cognitive autonomy, and also participation in democratic or collective self-determination, which can be mentioned separately) Co-authorship of constituted norms (which is the same as participation in democratic or collective self-determination)16 Being an equal among others, a recipient of just and fair treatment, being a party in established egalitarian relations, being a peer in a social world, being a recipient of distributive justice (note that this is a comparative, relational notion – a ban on second-order citizenship)17

Difference-sensitive esteem or regard for merits or particularities can also concern four different kinds of features:18 5

6

7

Not being inferior to others despite having such-and-such features (this is a ban on stigmatization and discrimination; this need not be blindness to these features, but a requirement that such features that have acquired salience as ‘inferior’ should be affirmed as ‘fully okay’ when they are paid attention to) Being a valuable contributor to the common good (typically, having a job or other position or status where one can be assumed to contribute to society; this is central to Axel Honneth’s theory, which sees the unpaid contributions of housewives as a central example of lack of due recognition)19 Doing well in personal features and characteristics, pursuing a worthwhile personal project, and having a valuable biographical identity

254  Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki   8 Belonging to a valuable culture or tradition; this is central to Charles Taylor’s theory of politics of recognition in contexts of multiculturalism One can then note that parental love, or romantic love or friendship, is typically neither universal, nor based on one’s ‘merits’. There are two aspects that can further be separated as relevant:   9 Being a needy, vulnerable being 10 Being a singled-out loved one, a parent, a friend – standing in relations in which attributions and perceptions of special significance for the other are constitutive One can then use these different aspects in arguing, for example, that modern social solidarity (unlike a pre-modern one) must be consistent with the relevant types of universal respect (1–4 in the list), and consists in taking turns as being a contributor (6) and recipient (9) of mutual aid, and constituting one more layer of special significance – not as thick as being a lover but being a fellow citizen (10).20 How does recognition require material resources? Having taken a closer look at what is at stake in recognition, we can ask whether it indeed ‘costs nothing’. There are direct and indirect ways in which recognition requires either sufficient, equal, fair or sufficient slices of resources. Most directly, recognition as an equal recipient of just treatment (4) requires a fair slice of resources. Rival theories of distributive justice will plug in different distributive principles of what fairness amounts to, and there is conceptual work to be done in figuring out how ‘relational’ and ‘distributive’ approaches are related, but two claims seem incontestable: being regarded as an equal in matters of justice is a central aspect of one’s experience of being adequately recognized, and being regarded as an equal in matters of justice will require getting one’s fair share of the societal resources. ‘As an equal’ must be part of the answer to the question ‘recognition as what?’ So, adequate recognition costs at least as much as distributive justice does. One cannot have the former without the latter. Treatment unjustly in terms of distributive justice is directly constitutive of a form of misrecognition. More indirectly, for example, being autonomous (2) arguably requires sufficient resources (similar argument could be made by appealing to life in accordance with dignity). That means that sometimes, for the rightly positioned recognizer who has the right kind of responsibility, adequately responding to someone’s actual or potential capacity for self-determination means granting not only the formal rights to self-determination, but also the resources needed for the development and actualization of the capacity to self-determination. The relevant responsibility will be higher for parents, but is significant also for the whole society (and its members): sustaining practices like schooling and ­adequate social security.

Natural basis and ecological limits  255 The same consideration goes for being and becoming an able contributor to society (6), with an extra twist that if it really is a deep need that one gets to contribute to the well-being of others via work, then the society should provide meaningful job opportunities for everyone. While the experience of being unemployed can easily feel like a personal failure – not being worthy of societal esteem, as one does not work and contribute to others – it can more soberly be seen as a societal failure to adequately recognize the person: giving only some the opportunity to contribute (due to structural unemployment), means to discriminate against those who do not even have the opportunity. Here we will start to appreciate how costly adequate recognition can be for society and its members: not only does it need to provide adequate schooling and social security, but also a non-­ discriminatory system in which everyone can meaningfully contribute (via work or other arrangements). Third, as the republican tradition rightly stresses, being a citizen, (a co-author, of norms not dominated by others) (3), requires relatively equal resources.21 This consideration is slightly different than sufficiency – what is deemed necessary for non-domination will depend on what others have. The key is to have sufficient material resources so as to be independent from pressures to yield to the arbitrary will of someone else, or be forced to work under inhuman conditions. Finally, the recognition of needy, vulnerable beings (9) naturally brings to fore the various material needs of embodied beings, and special relationships (10) typically mean special obligations to do so. Social solidarity as responsiveness to such aspects may go beyond distributive justice strictly speaking. Merely providing the goods in a mechanistic manner is not to express genuine concern, but on the other hand, expressing genuine concern will require providing for the needs of the other if the means are at one’s disposal. All these considerations point out different ways in which limited resources might mean limited recognition, or at least, ways in which genuine recognition might have materially distributive aspects. It is no wonder, then, that recognition has come up in debates on social justice (see especially the debate between Fraser and Honneth).22 It is perhaps less obvious how recognition has come to fore also in debates on environmental and ecological justice. We will now turn to these debates.

Recognition in social, environmental, and ecological justice Three approaches to distributive justice can be distinguished by the role nature plays in them: first, social justice (including intergenerational, global justice); second, environmental justice (cf. also: environmental human rights); and third, ecological justice. Linking recognition with social, environmental, and ecological justice clarifies the connection between recognition and materialities further. We will here merely mention a possible fourth approach (e.g., Gaia-hypothesis, animism) of taking a personifying stance to nature, regarding nature more strongly a potential party to mutual recognition. What we mean by ecological justice does not require such personifying stance towards nature.

256  Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki How is the lack of recognition linked with injustice in these approaches? Connecting recognition to the debates on ecological or environmental justice has farreaching consequences: in the context of environmental justice, it can be argued that recognizing someone as an equal global citizen means that he or she must be granted an equal slice, or fair share, of available resources and access to nature (or at least sufficiently for human capabilities needed for human dignity, and sufficiently for non-domination). In the context of ecological justice (which extends the community of justice to non-humans), the legitimacy of these claims is further to be balanced with the legitimate claims of non-human nature and legitimate concerns for ecological limits. In this context, ‘recognition of nature’ will be relevant, even in the absence of personifying stances towards nature. Recognition, social justice, and the instrumental relation to nature In the traditional theories of social justice, nature figures first and foremost as a (source of ) resources to be divided among people: everyone ought to have their equal or fair share, or sufficiently for a life consistent with human dignity. In this approach, the question of natural limits appears as a challenge of scarcity: there is an incentive to overcome the limits technologically and not to waste resources. No explicit acknowledgement of any limits to technologically mediated progress in terms of material wealth is made: the implicit background assumption is that limitless growth is possible – the focus is on distribution of what has been made available. Social justice can be broadened to cover global justice and intergenerational justice, which will mean that a society in a relatively resourceful area might not be entitled to all those resources it has landed on. People in other parts of the globe, and future generations, are to be taken into consideration. (What this means will, of course, depend on whether the planetary limitations are acknowledged.) One more way in which the ‘prevalent paradigm’ of justice has come to be challenged – in addition to making justice not only global, intergenerational, environmental, and ecological – is posed by the ‘relational paradigm’ of justice.23 This has taken many forms, e.g., in the so-called ‘relational egalitarianism’, which suggests that distributive justice is not the key concern of justice, but the relations established between agents. A theory of justice may take the form not of distributive principles, but an outline of relations that would realize justice.24 We will focus on the way in which the (by definition relational) theories of recognition have figured in this: in what ways do distributive justice and recognition constitute or presuppose each other? The relationship between recognition and distributive justice was debated by Nancy Fraser and Axel Honneth.25 Fraser defended a dualist (later a trivalent) view in which material distribution and social recognition of identities and statuses are separate societal concerns. Honneth defended a monistic view such that questions of distributive justice are covered by an encompassing theory of recognition. How does one assess whether dualism or monism is the better view? Both have their appeal, but remain one-sided, because recognition has two aspects which can

Natural basis and ecological limits  257 come apart: a practical aspect, roughly that of external acts which can be assessed by the criteria of justice; and a motivational or attitudinal aspect, which is also constitutive of recognition. Monism gets right the constitutive connection, and dualism gets right the possible divergence between the aspects. Doing whatever first-order distributive justice requires is not sufficient for adequate recognition: it must further be done for the right reason, with the right kind of motivation or attitude that sends the adequate ‘recognitional message’. Adequate recognition requires that the reason, for e.g., doing what justice requires must be that one acts simply because that is what justice and adequate treatment as equals requires.26 Yet, meeting the demands of first-order justice and equal respect is constitutive of the relations (of mutual recognition) to be established, so that responding to the normative demands is the right way to establish the relations (respecting the respectworthy, esteeming the esteemworthy, etc., for the right reasons). In order to actualize a global order of equal respect, global distributive justice must be realized. That is very demanding (even when a merely instrumental view on nature is adopted). Suppose that A  is an affluent person in the West, and B works in a sweatshop in a developing country. There are well-understood moral demands on A: she should try not to participate in upholding the practices by not buying products made in the sweatshops, should politically work for a world where such practices are eradicated, and should give to development aid a sufficient amount of her income (‘latitudinarian obligation’).27 Suppose B does as much as morality and justice requires of her. Yet the world is blatantly unjust. It can be argued that A and B have now faced tough moral luck in that fully equal interpersonal respect between A and B cannot be realized. It cannot be realized even though A sends the right kind of recognitional message. They stand on an unequal footing nonetheless. It is a bit like A sends the message that he wants to give equal slices of the cake to each, but ends up having 99% whereas B gets 1%. Such distributive injustice, even when it is not in the power of A to change it, means that fully equal respect cannot be realized; and that is a distinctive harm to both A and B. Environmental justice and recognition The notion of recognition has recently been applied to environmental and ecological justice as well. In Defining Environmental Justice, David Schlosberg argues that theories of environmental and ecological justice are incomplete if they consider justice merely as a distributional question, and suggests that the notion of recognition is apt for broadening the concerns of environmental and ecological justice.28 Environmental justice concerns the fair distribution of environmental risks or bads (from pollution to deteriorated landscapes) and environmental goods (i.e., raw materials, access to green space, and ecological services) within human– human relations. Our dependence on nature is accepted as a starting point, and overcoming it is not considered as a desirable goal. Environmental justice is best

258  Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki understood as a complement to social justice: it broadens the list of concerns relevant to justice. Whereas ‘traditional’ social justice adopts a ‘resourcist’ view on natural goods, environmental justice thinks about the goods and risks more broadly. The central arguments of environmental justice can be traced back to the environmental justice movement of the people of colour in the United States. It demanded fairer environmental distribution and questioned many forms of distribution. It argued that human health cannot be traded for profit, and that human exposure to harmful substances cannot be justified by appeals to economic or employment benefits:29 it is not just the existence or the amount of environmental resources, but their quality, that matters. The distribution of substitutive goods cannot compensate for everything: when industrial activities pollute a lake, bringing cans of clean water to the affected people nearby simply does not amount to justice being done.30 Another theme linked with environmental justice is the idea of environmental human rights such as the right to an environment that is sufficient for well-being and health.31 This illustrates the fundamental character of demands related to environmental goods and conditions: rights are not to be traded for some ‘greater good’. They should be granted to everyone, and any calculations of benefits and burdens are to take place only after these basic rights have been secured. The importance of recognition has been articulated repeatedly in the environmental movement literature. Claims for recognition are also central in the struggles of indigenous communities whose cultural traditions and practices have been ignored or disvalued in public discourse.32 Misrecognition present in such cases is an injustice in its own right, but it is also interlinked with other elements of justice. Addressing misrecognition then helps grasp the ‘why’ of injustice: structural, institutional, and cultural patterns that produce it.33 Environmental injustice and the lack of recognition often takes a collective form. This is illustrated well in the Arizona Snowbowl case.34 In 2002, a privately owned ski area in the San Francisco Peaks requested permission to make artificial snow from sewage water to advance business. This was opposed by Native American tribes in the region, for whom harnessing a part of the sacred peaks for artificial snow production would contaminate the mountain and make it ‘impure’. This would thwart the prospects for maintaining traditional cultural and spiritual practices, and thereby be a form of misrecognition of tribes: their cultural traditions and values are not regarded equally important to business prospects. Another example of environmental injustice related to misrecognition concerns global climate negotiations. This far, the most vulnerable communities – such as indigenous peoples – have been rendered nearly invisible in climate negotiations, in particular regarding the actual outcomes of the negotiations and strategies rather than just media visibility. Schlosberg observes that there are “understandings, social practices, norms, and ideologies that . . . do not recognize or value the cultures or peoples made most vulnerable by a changed climate”.35 On the other hand, climate negotiations have made the difference between the global South and the wealthier global North visible: that distinction has been

Natural basis and ecological limits  259 accentuated with struggles concerning e.g., how China should be categorized in this respect. Has the global South thereby received due recognition as a result of this visibility? Evidently not: although the status injury at stake may not be about invisibility or ignorance anymore (as the relative position of the global South has been noted in the process), due recognition of course requires that the legitimate claims of the developing countries are in fact met in the process, not merely rendered visible. One could say that the global South has been observed but not really listened to or heard. Bringing the notion of recognition into the mitigation discussion involves not only greater emission reductions but also asking more carefully how the mitigation is actually done: are the views and various lifeways of locals respected in the mitigation sites, and do local people(s) have their say over mitigation policies as well?36 Recognition and ecological justice Some theorists argue that there are no grounds to exclude non-humans from the community of justice.37 Ecological justice significantly expands the community of the recipients of justice: it addresses human–nature relations and considers at least some non-human entities as proper recipients of justice. This expands the scope of justice: many ecological problems such as human-induced species extinctions and the impact of climate change on wildlife habitats become relevant topics of justice.38 It is vividly debated whether and what kinds of ecological objects can belong to the community of justice: some theorists argue for the inclusion of ecological systems like ecosystems, while others think that only individual beings can suffer from injustice.39 Regardless of the precise answer to the question about who the recipients of ecological justice are, such an expansion evokes the question of how nature should be treated, to be treated justly. One way to address this question relates to the recognition of non-human nature. In which meaning does the recognition of nature make sense, and how does that amount to nature being among the parties to be treated justly (as opposed to being something the access to which is distributed justly)? It is a substantive ethical question: what kind of value does nature or the natural environment possess? In addition to instrumental value of nature, a plurality of non-instrumental values can be discerned: the value of life, its integrity or autonomy, the value of species and ecological systems, the value individual flourishing, and so on. It is a substantive ethical question what kind of weight or priority these have  – for example, in comparison to human well-being, freedom, relations of friendship or love, or social justice – but arguably at least some weight should be given to the non-instrumental value of nature. If this substantive view is combined with the adequate regard-insight concerning recognition, it can be argued that such intrinsic valuing of nature is indeed a form of recognizing nature. Schlosberg has proposed that the target of the recognition of nature should be its integrity, ability of autonomous self-regulation, development, and maintenance.40 The adequate regard-insight entails that we ought to respect these autopoietic capacities of

260  Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki ecological systems and non-human entities in a largely similar sense as we respect the autonomy of human persons. Another approach to recognition stresses the nature of recognition as ideally mutual: only recognizers can be recognized. This rules out recognition from being applicable in ecological justice (unless we adopt some animistic worldview). Thus, to the extent that ‘recognition’ applies to non-human nature, it will not be the full-fledged sort that is at stake in mutual recognition, but rather a matter of adequate responsiveness to nature and its integrity. The social and institutional valuations affect our treatment of nature at large, but unlike recognizers, natural formations do not experience being misrecognized or protest out loud. Thus, the notion of recognition applies to ecological justice only with some reservations (see, however, the next subsection). The crucial point here is however what ecological justice means to Sennett’s slogan. Interpersonal recognition might turn out even scarcer if we take ecological justice into account (or consider the integrity of nature important even without the notion of justice): though the needs of different species and ecological systems for their existence differ, the justifiable pool of resources available to humans will be seriously limited if we take the claims of the non-human nature seriously. Land use is an example of this. As we have seen, sufficient, fair, or relatively equal slices of resources might be required by adequate recognition, and land is needed for building shelters, producing food and acquiring other resources for human use. Such extra land might be available in the wilderness not yet touched by human habitat, but it might be out of bounds from the viewpoint of ecological justice. Animistic outlooks and recognition of nature: a brief excursus A wholly different approach to the recognition of nature can be found in the spiritualist worldviews like the Gaian spiritual outlook and Māori cosmology that personify ecological parts of the world or the Earth as a whole. Animism is one dominant variant of primitive worldviews.41 We will merely mention it here as a contrast case to the kind of ecological and environmental recognition that this chapter focuses on. The Gaian spiritual outlook on nature represents one aspect of the school of thought, the Gaia theory, that was first established by James Lovelock and Lynn Margulis. The essential core idea of the theory is that the Earth as a whole is a kind of giant, self-regulating organism. Diverging interpretations of this hypothesis have emerged since that, some of which are almost trivial whereas others are radical like the idea of a ‘teleological Gaia’, where the biosphere is regulated by and for the biota.42 The more extreme interpretations involve the idea that essentially personifies nature and challenges the Western scientific-rational paradigms that take the physical matter of the world as mechanistic, or non-living at a minimum. Lovelock himself speaks of the recognition of Gaia but does so in the sense of identifying A as belonging to a particular category X (he speaks also of the recognition of a sand-castle as a human artefact).43 Recognizing Gaia in the adequate regard sense would mean adopting a view that in our actions, we should respect

Natural basis and ecological limits  261 and approach Gaia as a giant organism in itself. Damaging this living organism or disrupting its self-organizing capacities in some way (through for example pollution) might constitute a case of misrecognition. Perhaps one can even feel recognized and taken care of by Gaia – so that there would even be mutuality in the recognition. For indigenous cosmologies similar ideas are not strange and their thinking goes even further in a direction that personifies nature. Māori cosmology involves a view that essentially personifies various ecological entities. It views rivers as living ancestors, with their own spiritual strength. Recently, the Māori people won the struggle for the recognition of The Whanganui River in New Zealand as their ancestor and a living being. Now the river has been granted legal personhood with the corresponding rights and duties.44 It is an interesting question how the status of The Whanganui River should be approached in terms of recognition. Granting legal statuses is itself a form of recognition. Legal treatment clearly implies an assumption of some kind of mutuality: the river has both rights and duties, and the view that river is an ancestor also means that it is essentially similar to people in at least some spiritual sense. The river is regarded as an agent: some events are its doings. If so, it might conceivably have e.g., a duty to refrain from inappropriate actions; and in treating presently living humans appropriately, it can in principle be interpreted as reciprocating adequate regard towards humans. Further research on how in fact the Māori people understand this mutuality and these duties would be required to better understand this relationship with nature. In any case, the status of the Whanganui River appears to represent the strongest form of the recognition of nature present in the world as we know it. In a world with diverse relationships to nature, we can also study whether different communities’ or peoples’ or tribes’ views about nature are adequately recognized. In granting the Whanganui River the status of a legal person, the legal system of New Zealand gives recognition to the values and worldview of the Māori people. There can be three kinds of recognition going on simultaneously: even if the legal system treats the river only ‘as if’ it is a person, it nonetheless respects the tribe’s rights to formulate a worldview of their own. It possibly also esteems or gives positive value or recognizes the differential worth of the view in question.45

Planetary limits Scarcity, unsustainability, and future generations Our discussion has focused mainly on present-day humans. Environmental justice and even some accounts of social justice, however, require taking the future generations into account: doing justice to current generations by ‘borrowing from the future’ is unjustifiable. Thus, sustainability becomes an additional condition for global justice. The concern for both present and future humans, when linked with the problems of scarcity and unsustainability, constitutes a challenge that can be termed the natural or planetary limits of recognition.

262  Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki The problem of scarcity is here relevant insofar as it concerns natural goods (resources or ecosystem services) that are necessary for a decent human life. Scarcity means that those goods cannot be provided for everyone to the extent required by equal recognition, or that their provision needs to be done at the cost of some other crucial good: metaphorically, the cake may be too small for everyone to get a decent slice. Scarcity with respect to basic necessities constitutes a pressing dilemma for the theories of social justice and recognition. Assuming that the cake is too small, should we just give equal yet indecent crumbles to everyone, or try to get as many as possible above the decency threshold? Getting around the problem with short-term fixes may be possible, but unsustainable: justice to present humans would mean injustice for future generations. To determine how serious the problem of scarcity will be, there should be a view of how big of a slice a decent human life and equal recognition requires. What standard of living would be decent and consistent with human dignity, and could it be provided sustainably? Evidently, the average Western standard of living must go. If everyone lived like, let us say, an average Finn, the whole humanity would need four Earths to meet its material needs.46 Worse, a study on minimum income receivers in Finland found that the ecological footprint of even the poorest Finns exceeded sustainable resource use, with the exception of homeless persons.47 This indicates that prospects for the equal and sustainable recognition of all persons seem weak under current post-industrial forms of life, at least in the countries where even having an adequate shelter involves high energy consumption. One solution could be to migrate people to more favourable conditions where decent lives require less resources. But a forced mass migration is hardly justifiable from the viewpoint of recognition, and it can be doubted whether more favourable locations could sustain increased population in the long run. Another solution to the scarcity problem could be a radical change in the patterns of production and consumption, which would likely require a significant change in the capitalist economic system, or even abandoning it. The global greenhouse gas emissions and the carbon requirements of a decent human life are another case in point. Current per capita carbon emissions are roughly 5 t/a (tonnes per year) in industrialized countries. If the global population reaches 10 billion, the dangerous climate change can be avoided with high likelihood only if the emissions are reduced to net zero by 2100.48 Much could, of course, be done by switching to renewable energy, reducing the production of red meat and rice, and fundamentally changing the transportation and fuel infrastructure – but the difference in numbers is huge, and progress has thus far been minor. It appears that the humanity is at great risk of exceeding the natural limits of recognition, or might have done so already, in terms of environmental justice – granting all people the access to a stable atmosphere and the natural resources whose production or renewal requires such atmospheric stability. Planetary boundaries The planetary boundaries framework provides a useful approach to the limits of recognition that relate to scarcity and unsustainability. Humanity’s total impact on

Natural basis and ecological limits  263 the Earth has borders that should not be exceeded in the long run. Those borders are formed by the natural limits of resource availability, ecosystem services, and the renewal rate of resources, as well as the capacity of natural cycles (like nutrient cycles) to maintain themselves. This idea of a safe operative space for the humanity has been conceptualized by the planetary boundaries approach that defines the safe operating space for humanity if we want to avoid major human-induced global environmental changes.49 Such changes – including but not limited to dangerous climate change or freshwater availability collapse  – can undermine the material conditions of human well-being and, as we argue, make the equal recognition of all persons impossible. These limits can be called the natural limits of recognition. From the overall nine environmental variables that are called planetary boundaries, it is estimated that humanity has already transgressed the safety limit of four: climate change, biosphere integrity, biogeochemical flows, and land system change.50 The problem is further worsened by population growth. At present, the global population is approximately 7.5 billion and still increasing. The aggregate human impact on the Earth is the product of global population and the average ecological impact of a person. Unless global population or the average ecological impact per capita begins to decrease (both seem unlikely in the near future), there is an increasing pressure towards the boundaries of safe operating space for humanity. Global population growth inevitably makes the equal recognition of all humans an increasingly difficult task. Ecological justice and planetary limits As we have seen, ecological justice requires that non-human nature should be granted recognition, as well. This requires respect for nature’s autonomy and integrity that allows the realization of potential in nature.51 Taking this view into account has radical impacts on the natural limits of recognition. Non-human entities are biological creatures, just like humans, and their wellbeing likewise has a material dimension. Recognition of nature, then, involves a material dimension. This worsens the problem of scarcity: the community of justice expands significantly, but the amount of available natural goods does not.52 A decent life of many species of non-humans is likely to have very modest requirements in comparison to human needs, but this does not solve the problem. Resources appropriated for human use are usually not available for non-humans anymore. It is possible to keep some public goods such as clean air and freshwater supplies equally available for both humans and non-humans, but in the case of distributable resources, the problem of scarcity (that existed even without the consideration of non-human needs) worsens. Ecological justice would require that a significant part of the ‘cake’ should be left to non-humans, and this unavoidably reduces the amount of cake available for promoting social justice.

Conclusion This chapter has examined the intertwinement of social recognition with material pre-conditions and ecological, planetary limits. Contrary to Sennett’s slogan,

264  Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki recognition is at least as hard to achieve as social justice, because just treatment is one constituent in adequate recognition. Broadening the scope of social justice and recognition to intergenerational and global questions, and to environmental and ecological justice, makes answering the question even harder. In circumstances where systematic injustice prevails, we each suffer from not being able to pass the ‘eyeball test’ of being able to look everyone in the eyes as an equal – we suffer from not being in a position of adequate mutual recognition.

Notes 1 See e.g., Heikki Ikäheimo, Anerkennung (Berlin & New York: De Gruyter, 2014). 2 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, [1807] (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977). 3 Orlando Patterson in his classic Slavery and Social Death points out that historically speaking concerning real slaves work need not have been the main motivation behind slavery. Slaves have not always worked, as sometimes they have been more like status symbols for the slaveowners. Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982). 4 Jean-Philippe Deranty, Beyond Communication: A Critical Study on Axel Honneth’s Social Philosophy (Boston: Brill, 2009); Italo Testa, “Second Nature and Recognition: Hegel and the Social Space”, Critical Horizonz 10, no. 3 (2009): 341–70. 5 See Arto Laitinen, “Interpersonal Recognition: A Response to Value or a Precondition of Personhood?” Inquiry 45, no. 4 (2002): 463–78; Heikki Ikäheimo, “On the Genus and Species of Recognition”, Inquiry 45, no. 4 (2002): 447–62; Heikki Ikäheimo and Arto Laitinen, “Analyzing Recognition: Identification, Acknowledgement and Recognitive Attitudes Towards Persons”, in Recognition and Power. Edited by Bert van den Brink and David Owen (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 33–56; Paul Ricoeur, The Course of Recognition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005). 6 Laitinen, “Interpersonal Recognition”, Ikäheimo, “On the Genus and Species of Recognition”, Ikäheimo and Laitinen, “Analyzing Recognition”. 7 See Ikäheimo, Anerkennung. 8 Arto Laitinen, “On the Scope of Recognition: The Role of Adequate Regard and Mutuality”, in The Philosophy of Recognition. Edited by Hans-Christoph Schmidt am Busch and Christopher Zurn (Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2010), 319–42. 9 Ibid. 10 Laitinen, “On the Scope of Recognition”. 11 Note that this is a highly demanding claim: is it so that adequate mutual recognition requires global, intergenerational justice? Why exactly would this be the case? 12 Raimo Tuomela, Philosophy of Sociality (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). 13 Charles Taylor, Multiculturalism and “the Politics of Recognition” (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992). 14 Axel Honneth, Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995); Axel Honneth, “Grounding Recognition: A Rejoinder to Critical Questions”, Inquiry 45 (2002): 499–519; Laitinen, “Interpersonal Recognition”. 15 Martha Nussbaum, Creating Capabilities (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011). 16 Ikäheimo, Anerkennung, holds that this is what universal respect is all about. 17 See Carina Fourie, Fabian Schuppert and Ivo Wallimann-Helmer, eds., Social Equality: On What It Means to Be Equals (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015).

Natural basis and ecological limits  265 18 See Arto Laitinen, “Recognition, Solidarity, and the Politics of Esteem: The Case of Basic Income”, in Recognition and Freedom: Axel Honneth’s Political Thought. Edited by Odin Lysaker and Jonas Jakobsen. Social and Critical Theory 17 (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 57–78. 19 See Heikki Ikäheimo and Arto Laitinen, “Esteem for Contributions to the Common Good: The Role of Personifying Attitudes in Instrumental Value”, in The Plural States of Recognition. Edited by Michel Seymour (Basingstoke  & New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), 98–121, for two rival views on how to understand esteem for contributions. 20 Laitinen, “Recognition, Solidarity, and the Politics of Esteem”. 21 See Philip Pettit, Republicanism: A Theory of Freedom and Government (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997); Elizabeth Anderson, “What Is the Point of Equality?” Ethics 109, no. 2 (1999): 287–337. 22 Nancy Fraser and Axel Honneth, Redistribution or Recognition? A PoliticalPhilosophical Exchange (London: Verso, 2003). 23 David Schlosberg, Defining Environmental Justice: Theories, Movements, and Nature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). 24 Axel Honneth, Freedom’s Right: The Social Foundations of Democratic Life (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2014). 25 Fraser and Honneth, Redistribution or Recognition? 26 See Thomas Scanlon, What We Owe to Each Other (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998); Arto Laitinen, “Recognition, Needs and Wrongness: Two Approaches”, European Journal of Political Theory 8, no. 1 (2009): 13–30. 27 On latitudinarianism, see Henry Richardson, Practical Reasoning About Final Ends (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). 28 Schlosberg, Defining Environmental Justice. Schlosberg’s relational conception of justice contains three separate yet intertwined elements: distribution, recognition, and representation; we will focus on distribution and recognition here. Fraser has introduced similar trivalent view of justice in her theory of social justice (Nancy Fraser, Scales of Justice: Reimagining Political Space in a Globalizing World [New York: Columbia University Press, 2009]); this is a further development from the earlier twodimensional version of justice that comprised distribution and recognition (Nancy Fraser, “Social Justice in the Age of Identity Politics: Redistribution, Recognition, and Participation”, in The Tanner Lectures on Human Values, vol. 19 [Salt Lake City, UT: University of Utah Press, 1998)]; Fraser and Honneth, Redistribution or Recognition?). 29 Robert Bullard, ed., Unequal Protection: Environmental Justice and Communities of Color (San Francisco: Sierra Club Books, 1994). 30 Teea Kortetmäki, “Is Broad the New Deep in Environmental Ethics? A Comparison of Broad Ecological Justice and Deep Ecology”, Ethics & the Environment 1 (2016): 89–108. 31 Tim Hayward, “Constitutional Environmental Rights: A Case for Political Analysis”, Political Studies 48, no. 3 (2000): 558–72. 32 David Schlosberg and David Carruthers, “Indigenous Struggles, Environmental Justice, and Community Capabilities”, Global Environmental Politics 10, no. 4 (2010), 16. 33 Schlosberg, Defining Environmental Justice, 12–24. 34 Schlosberg and Carruthers, “Indigenous Struggles”. 35 David Schlosberg, “Climate Justice and Capabilities: A  Framework for Adaptation Policy”, Ethics & International Affairs 26, no. 4 (2012a): 452. Schlosberg also refers to practices and ideologies that undermine the human dependence on the environment more generally. Criticizing such a denial of our material dependence on nature does not require adopting a stance of environmental justice: as we remarked earlier, even basic distributive social justice theories can acknowledge the material dependence on nature.

266  Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki 36 Marion Hourdequin, “Justice, Recognition and Climate Geoengineering”, in Climate Justice and Geoengineering: Ethics and Policy in the Atmospheric Anthropocene. Edited by Christopher Preston (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016). 37 E.g. Brian Baxter, A Theory of Ecological Justice (London: Routledge, 2005); Schlosberg, Defining Environmental Justice. 38 Schlosberg, Defining Environmental Justice, 103–59. 39 Ibid. 40 Ibid., 136–8. 41 Anthropologists have often remarked the Amazonian tendency to ‘treat certain elements in the environment as persons endowed with cognitive, moral and social qualities analogous to those of human’ (Philippe Descola, Beyond Nature and Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013), 31). Thus, in addition to humans, the category of persons can include ‘spirits, plants, and animals’ (Ibid.). The Anthropologist Philippe Descola (Ibid., 122) argues that such animism in one of the four basic ways to understand how humans differ from the rest of nature, the others being naturalism, totemism and analogism. 42 James W. Kirchner, “The Gaia Hypotheses: Are They Testable? Are They Useful?” in Scientists on Gaia. Edited by Stephen H. Schneider and Penelope J. Boston (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1991), 38–46. 43 James Lovelock, Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 30–43. 44 Abigail Hutchinson, “The Whanganui River as Legal Person”, Alternative Law Journal 39, no. 3 (2014): 179–82. 45 But not necessarily; see e.g., Taylor, “The Politics of Recognition”; Peter Jones, “Toleration, Recognition and Identity*”, Journal of Political Philosophy 14, no. 2 (2006): 123–43; Arto Laitinen, “Interpersonal Recognition and Responsiveness to Relevant Differences”, 47–70. 46 This estimate is based on the ecological footprint data available at Global Footprint Network (www.footprintnetwork.org/). 47 Tuuli Hirvilammi, Senja Laakso, Michael Lettenmeier, and Satu Lähteenoja, “Studying Well-Being and Its Environmental Impacts: A  Case Study of Minimum Income Receivers in Finland”, Journal of Human Development and Capabilities 14, no.  1 (2013): 134–54. 4 8 IPCC. https://www.ipcc.ch/sr15/chapter/summary-for-policy-makers/ and World Bank data on world emissions (2014): https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/EN.ATM. CO2E.PC?. 49 Will Steffen, et al., “Planetary Boundaries: Guiding Human Development on a Changing Planet”, Science 347, no. 6223 (2015). 50 Ibid. 51 Schlosberg, Defining Environmental Justice, 131–42. 52 Actually, the size of the cake does increase slightly – or perhaps we should speak of multiple cakes: there are natural goods that are of no use for humans, but necessary for other organisms (consider decayed plant material or inedible mushrooms). Many of the goods, however, are crucial for both humans and other organisms, or the human way to use them prevents other uses (consider the lands transformed into monocultural plant cultivation).

References Anderson, Elizabeth. “What Is the Point of Equality?” Ethics 109, no. 2 (1999): 287–337. Baxter, Brian. A Theory of Ecological Justice. London: Routledge, 2005. Broome, John. “Fairness.” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 91, 87–101. Aristotelian Society, Wiley 1990.

Natural basis and ecological limits  267 Bullard, Robert, ed. Unequal Protection: Environmental Justice and Communities of Color. San Francisco: Sierra Club Books, 1994. Deranty, Jean-Philippe. Beyond Communication: A Critical Study on Axel Honneth’s Social Philosophy. Boston: Brill, 2009. Descola, Philippe. Beyond Nature and Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013. Fitzgerald, Des. “Review of Beyond Nature and Culture.” In Somatosphere, edited by Philippe Descola. http://somatosphere.net/2013/10/philippe-descolas-beyond-natureand-culture.html. Fourie, Carina, Fabian Schuppert and Ivo Wallimann-Helmer, eds. Social Equality: On What It Means to Be Equals. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Fraser, Nancy. “Social Justice in the Age of Identity Politics: Redistribution, Recognition, and Participation.” In The Tanner Lectures on Human Values, vol. 19. Salt Lake City, UT: University of Utah Press, 1998. ———. Scales of Justice: Reimagining Political Space in a Globalizing World. New York: Columbia University Press, 2009. Fraser, Nancy and Axel Honneth. Redistribution or Recognition? A Political – Philosophical Exchange. London: Verso, 2003. Hayward, Tim. “Constitutional Environmental Rights: A  Case for Political Analysis.” Political Studies 48, no. 3 (2000): 558–72. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. Phenomenology of Spirit [1807]. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977. Hirvilammi, Tuuli, Senja Laakso, Michael Lettenmeier and Satu Lähteenoja. “Studying Well-Being and Its Environmental Impacts: A Case Study of Minimum Income Receivers in Finland.” Journal of Human Development and Capabilities 14, no.  1 (2013): 134–54. Honneth, Axel. Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995. ———. “Grounding Recognition: A Rejoinder to Critical Questions.” Inquiry 45 (2002): 499–519. ———. The I in We: Studies in the Theory of Recognition. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2010. ———. Freedom’s Right: The Social Foundations of Democratic Life. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2014. Hourdequin, Marion. “Justice, Recognition, and Climate Geoengineering.” In Climate Justice and Geoengineering: Ethics and Policy in the Atmospheric Anthropocene, edited by Christopher Preston. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016. Hutchison, Abigail. “The Whanganui River as a Legal Person.” Alternative Law Journal 39, no. 3 (2014): 179–82. Ikäheimo, Heikki. “On the Genus and Species of Recognition.” Inquiry 45, no. 4 (2002): 447–62. ———. Anerkennung. Berlin, New York: De Gruyter, 2014. Ikäheimo, Heikki and Arto Laitinen. “Analyzing Recognition: Identification, Acknowledgement and Recognitive Attitudes Towards Persons.” In Recognition and Power, edited by Bert van den Brink and David Owen, 33–56. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007. ———. “Esteem for Contributions to the Common Good: The Role of Personifying Attitudes in Instrumental Value.” In The Plural States of Recognition, edited by Michel Seymour, 98–121. Basingstoke, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010.

268  Arto Laitinen and Teea Kortetmäki Jones, Peter. “Toleration, Recognition and Identity.” Journal of Political Philosophy 14, no. 2 (2006): 123–43. doi:10.1111/j.1467-9760.2006.00246.x. Kirchner, James W. “The Gaia Hypotheses: Are They Testable? Are They Useful?” In Scientists on Gaia, edited by Stephen H. Schneider and Penelope J. Boston, 38–46. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1991. Kortetmäki, Teea. “Is Broad the New Deep in Environmental Ethics? A  Comparison of Broad Ecological Justice and Deep Ecology.” Ethics & the Environment 1 (2016): 89–108. Laitinen, Arto. “Interpersonal Recognition: A Response to Value or a Precondition of Personhood?” Inquiry 45, no. 4 (2002): 463–78. ———. “Interpersonal Recognition and Responsiveness to Relevant Differences.” Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 9, no.  1 (2006): 47–70. doi:10.1080/13698230500475481. ———. “Recognition, Needs and Wrongness: Two Approaches.” European Journal of Political Theory 8, no. 1 (2009): 13–30. ———. “On the Scope of Recognition: The Role of Adequate Regard and Mutuality.” In The Philosophy of Recognition, edited by Hans-Christoph Schmidt am Busch and Christopher Zurn, 319–42. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2010. ———. “Recognition, Solidarity, and the Politics of Esteem: The Case of Basic Income.” In Recognition and Freedom: Axel Honneth’s Political Thought, edited by Odin Lysaker and Jonas Jakobsen, 57–78. Social and Critical Theory 17. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Lovelock, James. Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Nussbaum, Martha. Creating Capabilities. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011. O’Neill, John, ed. Hegel’s Dialectic of Desire and Recognition: Text and Commentary. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996. Patterson, Orlando. Slavery and Social Death. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982. Pettit, Philip. Republicanism: A Theory of Freedom and Government. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. Rauschmayer, Felix and Ortrud Lessmann. “The Capability Approach and Sustainability.” Journal of Human Development and Capabilities 14, no.1 (2013): 1–5. Richardson, Henry. Practical Reasoning About Final Ends. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Ricoeur, Paul. The Course of Recognition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005. Scanlon, Thomas. What We Owe to Each Other. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998. Schlosberg, David. Defining Environmental Justice: Theories, Movements, and Nature. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. ———. “Climate Justice and Capabilities: A Framework for Adaptation Policy.” Ethics & International Affairs, 26, no. 4 (2012a): 445–61. doi:10.3197/096327106778226293. ———. “Justice, Ecological Integrity, and Climate Change.” In Ethical Adaptation to Climate Change, edited by Allen Thompson and Jeremy Bendik-Keymer. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2012b. Schlosberg, David and David Carruthers. “Indigenous Struggles, Environmental Justice, and Community Capabilities.” Global Environmental Politics 10, no. 4 (2010): 12–35. Sen, Amartya. Inequality Re-Examined. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992. Sennett, Richard. Respect: The Formation of Character in an Age of Inquality. London: The Penguin Press, 2002.

Natural basis and ecological limits  269 Spengler, Laura. “Two Types of ‘Enough’: Sufficiency as Minimum and Maximum.” Environmental Politics 25, no. 5 (2016): 921–40. Steffen, Will. et al. “Planetary Boundaries: Guiding Human Development on a Changing Planet.” Science 347, no. 6223 (2015). doi:10.1126/science.1259855. Taylor, Charles. Multiculturalism and “the Politics of Recognition.” Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992. Testa, Italo. “Second Nature and Recognition: Hegel and the Social Space.” Critical Horizons 10, no. 3 (2009): 341–70. Tuomela, Raimo. Philosophy of Sociality. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Wilkinson, David M. “On Gaia: A Critical Investigation of the Relationship Between Life and Earth.” International Journal of Environmental Studies 72, no. 4 (2015): 724–30.

15 Justice, friendship, and recognition Reflections on ancient and late ancient debates Miira Tuominen

Introduction As a term of art, ‘recognition’ is a modern one1 and embedded in debates of present-day society, and as such it cannot of course be directly applied to ancient Greek and Roman philosophical discussions. Nonetheless, it is worthwhile to detect some similarities and differences between pre-modern ethical arguments and the modern debates on recognition. Moreover, as late ancient society was culturally and religiously diverse, today’s debates about multiculturalism are far from alien to the period. It has also been argued that Aristotle’s notion of philia – ‘friendship’ as it gets translated despite some discrepancies2 between the terms – has important similarities while also significantly differing from (Hegelian) recognition.3 Insofar as one is committed to a narrow and characteristically modern notion of recognition, ancient (and late ancient) discussions certainly diverge, say, from the dynamic Hegelian process of struggling for recognition or Honneth’s teleological conception. In this essay, I shall start from a less restricted notion of recognition and argue that important similarities to the modern debates about recognition can be found in ancient ethical discussions. As a remark of clarification, it must be said that I am by no means aiming at an exhaustive treatment of what kind of recognition we can or cannot find in Antiquity. For the present, I shall first consider briefly in the second section Plato’s and Aristotle’s notions of justice in order to lay foundations for my discussion (in the fourth section) of a very different approach found in Porphyry’s (c. 235–305 CE) arguments against the Stoics on animal justice. This debate is important for the history of the notion of recognition, I argue, because it shows how the kind of normative features that are relevant for something like the ‘adequate regards intuitions’ concerning recognition distinguished by Laitinen,4 are also central in Porphyry’s arguments against the Stoics. Before moving to Porphyry, however, I  shall consider Aristotle’s account of friendship (or philia) and address it from the perspective of another, narrower notion of recognition, namely a contribution-based personifying one (PC) defended by Ikäheimo.5 I contend that although differing from a PC account of recognition, Aristotle’s discussion can be seen to involve: (i) an attitude that is (ii) personifying and entails not quite contribution-based gratitude as Ikäheimo’s

Justice, friendship, and recognition  271 analysis requires, but (iii) something like appreciation for the common activities that the friends share with each other. My main task in this chapter is not to argue for a specific notion of recognition that would best satisfy the different and partly conflicting intuitions about it in today’s debates. Neither is my contention simply that we find recognition in the ancient discussions. Rather, I focus on exploring some features in ancient and late ancient discussions that can, to some extent, be articulated in terms used in the modern recognition discussion. For the present purposes, especially the debate between Laitinen and Ikäheimo, Laitinen’s article on the different intuitions about recognition, and the contribution of Laitinen and Kortetmäki (Chapter 14 in this volume) are useful because they can be used to bring out some significant features in both Aristotle’s account of friendship as just explained and Porphyry’s claims about animal justice.6 As mentioned, it is necessary not to start from an account of recognition that requires the objects of recognition to be recognizers and limits recognition to persons. One reason is that, at least as regards a personifying account of recognition like the one Ikäheimo defends (2010), the reasons given for taking, say, gratitude or something like it as the attitude that best describes what is central for recognition, one is already assuming that the attitude must be such that it can only be directed at persons.7 As such, an account of gratitude does not give additional support to the claim that recognition only exists between persons. I agree that there is a narrower and perhaps fuller use of the notion that requires the recognized (or the recognizee) also to be recognizers. However, at the same time, it is perfectly legitimate to explore whether all recognition must be between persons. In a word, it seems to me that mutual recognition is an important case, but cannot be assumed, from the outset, to be the only one. This is especially the case with respect to the recent discussions about recognizing nature and its value.8 Such claims about recognition having nature in general as its object cannot be found in Porphyry, and neither are the problems related to (intergenerational) distribution of globally scarce resources known to him. However, his arguments for restraint from injuring living beings, and thus also from eating meat, offer an important and not-very-well-known precedent to the case arguing for extending justice outside the category of human beings. I shall also argue, as mentioned, that Porphyry’s criticism of the Stoics can be understood in light of the adequate regard intuitions about recognition that focus on the relevant normative features of the recognized, whether or not they are recognizers.

Justice as an other-regarding virtue in Plato and Aristotle A pertinent question for any discussion concerning the possible similarities or dissimilarities between ancient ethical discussions and recognition is whether, or to what extent, justice as the ancient authors understand it is an other-regarding virtue. Although Aristotle is clear that it is – consider his claim at the opening of Nicomachean Ethics V 1 that justice is a perfect virtue precisely because it can be used towards another (pros heteron)9 – this is not equally clear with respect to

272  Miira Tuominen the Platonic notion as it gets defined in Republic IV.10 Given that justice is there articulated as the parts of a soul or a city focusing on their own activity (oikeiopragia)11 and not messing with that of the others, this notion is not, at last prima facie, other-regarding. A similar question can also be posed with respect to any account that underlines the nature of justice as a virtue of character (as Aristotle also does). This is important because insofar as recognition and its normative implications with respect to justice are at stake, the notion of justice must be concerned with what one does or refrains from doing to others, those who are (potentially) recognized. Although the definition of justice in Republic IV is not given in explicitly other-regarding terms, evidence for its other-regarding dimensions can be found elsewhere in the treatise. The metaphor of the cave notoriously claims that the philosophers would be happiest if only they could remain outside the cave engaged in theoretical activity. They cannot choose this, however, because it would come at the cost of justice that requires them to re-enter the cave.12 Disregarding justice in this way would render the philosophers’ theoretical happiness worthless, in which case one could not even talk about real happiness. The justice requiring the philosophers to return to the cave must thus be other-regarding, since it is concerned with those who were left behind. Therefore, Plato’s discussion indicates that the overall conception of justice in the Republic assumes an other-regarding aspect, and the normative requirements it brings along override even the concerns of the highest human activity, theoretical contemplation.13 Aristotle, as mentioned, praises justice for its other-regarding nature. In the following, he connects justice to the whole of virtue exactly because it is towards others: The best person is not the one who can exercise virtue towards himself but towards others, since this is a difficult task. And indeed, justice is not [merely] a part of virtue but the whole of it, and neither is the opposite, injustice, a part of vice, but the whole of it.14 This claim is then qualified by the clause that although virtue and justice are the same, their being (to einai) is different: justice manifests itself as other-regarding, but is also simply a disposition of character and a virtue.15 Although justice is a virtue of character and thus a disposition of the individual, it also has another way of being that is realized in just actions towards other people. One important implication of the claim of the qualified identity of justice and virtue is that, for Aristotle, there is no contradiction between the other-regarding aspects of justice (what one does for the sake of others) and virtue as an excellence of character that also makes its central contribution to the constitution of the person’s happiness as the soul’s activity in accordance with virtue.16 Therefore, although virtue has a way of being as a disposition of character that is constitutive of the agent’s own happiness, it also is a standard for other-regarding virtuous action – and the former does not cancel the latter. The two are, as it were, sides of the same coin, and the constitutive element of happiness is determined by the

Justice, friendship, and recognition  273 nature of justice itself, and not by subjective considerations about how something promotes the agent’s interests.

Aristotle’s friends: recognition in philia? In Nicomachean Ethics VIII 2, Aristotle lays out the following conditions for philia, or friendship.17 While Heikki Ikähiemo has discussed Aristotle’s brief description of philia in the Rhetorics as a special case of recognitional attitudes, that of love,18 I shall approach Aristotle’s account from a slightly different angle. Starting from his account of philia that I understand in a broader sense as closer to friendship since it can also comprise fellow-citizens, I analyze what personifying attitudes it includes. While I agree with Ikäheimo that there are personifying attitudes involved, starting from Aristotle, I shall offer a slightly different analysis of them. Perhaps the most important difference between my analysis and that of Ikäheimo, however, is the scope of application of the attitude. While love that Ikäheimo talks about is restricted to rather limited circles, the philia in Aristotle’s account comprises the whole of one’s community. This also includes the claim that the application scope of justice corresponds to that of philia.19 I shall not be able to discuss this part of Aristotle’s theory here in more detail.20 For the present, the important implication is that if we conclude that philia, for Aristotle, includes a personifying attitude (resembling recognition), it follows that the scope of justice is co-extensive with the scope of that personifying attitude. It would be exaggerated to claim that this entails that the personifying attitude somehow determines justice but this, broadly speaking, brings Aristotle’s theory closer to those views in which justice and recognition are taken to coincide and it can be opposed with those, such as Porphyry’s in which the application scope of justice is considerably wider. According to Aristotle, in order for there to be philia, there must be: 1 Reciprocal loving or affection (antiphilêsis) 2 Each party must wish good to the other for the other’s sake 3 Both parties must be aware of the reciprocal well-wishing21 These could be characterized as the affective, ethical, and cognitive conditions for philia, and there is no doubt that whatever goes on between friends as Aristotle understands them, the relations that constitute philia must be mutual. How, then, should these constituents be understood with respect to recognition? Let us leave condition (1) aside because although important, I do not think that it is vital for identifying the similarities between Aristotle’s view of friendship and a personifying account of recognition. This said, however, the mutual affection or ‘loving back’ (antiphilêsis) can be taken as an attitude, and thus at least roughly in the same category as personifying recognition. Aristotle also takes its mutuality as vital for philia because although there can be love (philein, i.e., the verb corresponding to the noun ‘friend’, philos) for inanimate objects such as wine or

274  Miira Tuominen money, this is not philia or friendship exactly because no matter how much we love money or wine, they will not love us back (antiphilein). However, there is another attitude in condition (2) that is crucial with respect to a personifying account of recognition. Condition (2) states that friends must mutually wish good things for the friend for the friend’s sake.22 It seems uncontroversial to identify this wishing good things as an attitude (what else could it be? And what grounds could there be for denying it is?). Therefore, it belongs roughly to the same category with personifying recognition. However, so do contempt and scorn, and yet they should not be identified with personifying recognition. This is not an important difficulty, though, because wishing good things for one’s friend for the friend’s sake – being a benevolent attitude – clearly differs from contempt and scorn in its content and quality. Is such wishing good things – as mentioned in condition (2) – then a personifying attitude? One indication that it is can be taken from the condition itself, since it requires wishing good for the friend for the friend’s sake. This, I take it, has to mean something like considering the friend as a person: treating the other as an end – the Greek phrase to hou heneka (“for the sake of which”) that for Aristotle means ‘end’ in the general teleological context is also used here.23 This point, however, is somewhat controversial, because some scholars have suggested that wishing a good thing for the sake of the friend only applies to the friendships that are based on the friend’s good character.24 There are several reasons to resist this suggestion, however. First, if friendships based on pleasure and usefulness were excluded from the scope of philia by definition and only character friendship satisfied it, it would make Aristotle’s insistence that there are three kinds of friendships incomprehensible.25 There are also more specific textual and philosophical reasons for taking Aristotle’s account to require mutual wishing of good things for the friend’s sake from all friendships. He, for example, himself insists in the Eudemian Ethics that all three are genuine cases of philia,26 and the brief definition given in the Rhetorics underlines precisely the mutual wishing good for the sake of the friend.27 Note, however, that even if this reading were not correct, it would not prevent us from detecting similarities between Aristotelian character friendship and personifying recognition. As I take it, the reading that assumes all three kinds to be genuine kinds of philia as clearly the more plausible one, the general similarities should be taken to hold in all three types.28 Wishing good things for one’s friend for the friend’s sake thus suggests that this attitude is personifying. Additional evidence for its personifying nature can be derived from Aristotle’s claim that lifeless things cannot be our friends precisely because, first, we cannot wish them good things for their own sake (perhaps we could only wish, e.g.,  wine to stay well so that we ourselves can drink it, but this would not mean wishing good things for the wine for the wine’s sake) and, second, because they cannot reciprocate our good wishes or be mutually aware of them.29 Therefore, the attitude that is required for genuine cases of philia is such that its object must be capable of reciprocating it. It does not seem much of a stretch to claim that this amounts roughly to the requirement that the recognized

Justice, friendship, and recognition  275 are also recognisers, or at least persons. Aristotle himself does not operate on the notion of person, but talks about human beings.30 Yet such human beings, who can reciprocate well-wishing for another’s sake, seem to satisfy important conditions for personhood. Moreover, Aristotle notorious claim that the friend is “another self”31 clearly seems to involve a personifying attitude – at least insofar as one takes oneself to be a person, which I presume is relatively uncontroversial. Although the friend’s being another self does not belong to those conditions that are necessary for a relation to be a friendship, it adds support to the previously mentioned pieces of evidence that, for Aristotle, a friend is a person and, in a sense, recognized or identified as such. Up to now, I have argued that Aristotle’s conditions for philia involve a (benevolent) personifying attitude towards a friend for the friend’s sake. What, then, about something like gratitude that is in Ikäheimo’s conception32 articulated as being based on contributions to the common good? In Aristotle, if there is a similar attitude, it cannot of course be based on wage-labour, because he did not have a high regard for it, rather seeing the contributions to the common good as donations that citizens had to make for the common projects of the city such as combat ships, tragedy choirs, and the like. These he certainly respected and he even articulated a virtue of character that corresponds to performing these civic duties with grace, greatness, and generosity. Since in character friendships, friends are loved for their character, such virtues can of course be loved in them, as well. However, this is not the only attitude in Aristotle’s account of philia that can be taken as performing the kind of role as gratitude or something similar in Ikäheimo’s account. Rather, I argue that Aristotle claims friendships to involve appreciation of the time spent together and the common activities that one performs with friends. When describing the things that friendships involve (ta philika)33 in book IX of the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle mentions wishing and doing good things or things that at least appear to be good to the friend, spending time together and choosing the same things, sharing in friend’s joys and sorrows, as well as wishing the other to exists for the other’s sake.34 In IX 12,35 he points out that people wish to spend time with friends in accordance with activities they enjoy and why they take life to be choice-worthy: for some this means drinking together, for others playing dice – and for some, practicing philosophy. In any case, such activities are those that each loves the most in life36 and I take it that such an attitude can be characterized as appreciation. Given that it concerns the whole of life and what one takes to be choice-worthy in it, the attitude transcends mere liking and basic sensory pleasure. Without something like appreciation, the enjoyment of such common activities would lack the dimension of valuing that I think Aristotle gives to it in IX 12 when describing the activities as such that, for the people involved, makes life choice-worthy and makes them want to share these activities with friends. At the end of IX 9, Aristotle also points to the pleasurable quality of perceiving that the friend exists, which can be achieved by living together and sharing in discourse and thought.37 Given that the pleasure derived from the friend’s

276  Miira Tuominen existence is also for the other’s sake, this seems to be rather accurately described as involving appreciation of the friend’s existence for the sake of the friend. In the present context, I cannot argue in more detail about appreciation, but as regards the comparison with a personifying contribution-based account of recognition, it is important to note the following. I think that neither enjoyment of common activities nor appreciation is an attitude that one can only have towards persons. If I am, for example, taking a walk with a dog, we could say that I am sharing a common activity of taking a walk with the dog and, in a fortunate case, we are both enjoying it. It also seems perfectly possible to appreciate works of art, sunsets, and perhaps even mathematical necessities. Therefore, my claim is not that the attitude of appreciation and the enjoyment of common activities in Aristotle’s account of philia is similar to gratitude in Ikäheimo’s analysis, because it could only be directed towards persons. Rather, I take it, Aristotle is – in his account of philia – describing the kind of enjoyment or appreciation that is only possible between persons. Consider, for example, the remark that the enjoyment is of such activities for which people take life to be choice-worthy. It seems plausible that only persons can take something as making life choice-worthy, but one might perhaps have doubts whether this enjoyment and laying value on activities and life, in Aristotle’s description, must be reciprocal. Could not playing the dice or philosophizing (perhaps even drinking) with a computer fit the bill? I do not think that this is a serious problem for Aristotle’s account, however. There seems to be a great difference between performing such activities with friends rather than with a computer, and I seriously doubt that such substitute activities (as I see them) would be shared with a computer in the way Aristotle takes them to be shared among friends. (In any case, computers cannot seem to be able to take life to be choice-worthy for any activities.) Aristotle also uses all verbs with the Greek prefix sun- that indicates joint activity in a way that, I think, would be missing if one is engaged in them with a computer. In any case, sharing in thought and discourse, in joys and sorrows, does not seem like the kind of thing that one could have with other than persons and thus, I take it, the appreciation and enjoyment in Aristotle’s account of philia can be seen as a similar kind of attitude as is gratitude in Ikäheimo’s personifying account of recognition.

Justice that requires restraint from injuring harmless living creatures It is wrong to take lives of living things Turning now to justice and adequate regards intuitions concerning recognition, I  shall consider Porphyry’s arguments about justice in his On Abstinence from [Injuring] Living Beings.38 The notion of justice that Porphyry introduces there is rather different from the one found in Plato and Aristotle. This is remarkable because Porphyry also accommodates the definition given in Republic IV of justice as oikeiopragia.39 However, partly based on arguments quoted from Aristotle’s junior colleague Theophrastus40 in Book 2 against sacrificing animals,

Justice, friendship, and recognition  277 Porphyry stresses that the restriction of justice to the human species is untenable, and justice must be extended to all living beings. Understood in this way: (Justice as Harmlessness, also JH) Justice lies in restraint from harming anything that does not do harm.41 Therefore, Porphyry argues, justice must be extended not only to all human beings, as the Stoics suggest, but also to non-human animals and ultimately even to plants. I shall argue ahead that Porphyry can be taken to suggest that the Stoics miss important normative features in non-human animals due to their excessive love for the human species that can be understood as a kind of collective selflove. As such, when considering what the adequate regard is that different kinds of creatures require from us, one needs to be careful not to fall prey to speciesism thinking that the relevant normative features exist in some beings only because they belong to a certain species and, conversely, do not belong to others because they are not members of that species. It must be stressed that although animal rationality is at the core of Porphyry’s polemics against the Stoics, his own insistence on extending justice to non-human animals does not depend on it. There seems to be some evidence that Porphyry is, in some sense at least, committed to animal rationality: early on in Book 3, he says that the claim according to which where there is sentience and memory there is reason is “both true and Pythagorean”.42 At least prima facie, this seems to entail that Porphyry ascribes some kind of rationality to non-human animals, but this is a contested issue.43 However, what is important for our present purposes is that (i) Porphyry does not explain in On Abstinence what he takes rationality to be. If he accepts the notion that rationality properly speaking requires contact with Platonic Forms and follows Plotinus in what this means, rationality is a demanding cognitive achievement that even eludes most human beings; and (ii) this, however, is not relevant for his own argument about justice because neither rationality nor any other cognitive or other feature is the reason why Porphyry assumes animals to pose requirements of justice on us. He rather focuses on arguing against the Stoics that on their conception of reason, they should ascribe it and therefore also justice to animals and not deny it from them.44 One of the most important reasons why rationality cannot be the hinge-point of Porphyry’s argument is that he also extends considerations of justice to plants. There is evidence for this both in the material that Porphyry quotes from Theophrastus’ treatise On Piety (Peri eusebeias) in Book 2 and his own account of justice and how it connects to assimilation to God.45 Such assimilation is in On Abstinence and late ancient Platonism more generally understood as the goal of human life.46 Another reason is that, in the arguments quoted from Theophrastus and recapitulated in On Abstinence,47 another explanation is given for why animals and plants require just treatment from us. In the context of Theophrastus’ arguments against animal sacrifice, the central claim is that sacrificing animals harms them because it deprives them of their souls. Taking something (in this case the soul as a principle of life) from another creature without its consent is, for Theophrastus, essentially a theft. How could one not agree that theft is wrong?

278  Miira Tuominen Theophrastus compares animal sacrifice to trying to show one’s piety with stolen goods. How could it be holy, when injustice is done to those who are robbed? But if a man who takes even crops from others cannot sacrifice them in holiness, it is certainly not holy to sacrifice by taking something more valuable, for that makes the wrongdoing greater. Now soul is much more valuable than that which grows from the Earth, so it is not fitting to take it away by sacrificing animals.48 Thus, according to Theophrastus, everyone agrees that it would be wrong to steal your neighbour’s crops in order to show piety to the gods, and thus it should be taken as a much greater crime to steal the lives of living creatures. This would be unjust because the life or soul belongs to the animal whose life or soul it is, and not to us.49 Theophrastus also maintains that everything, in a sense, belongs to the gods,50 and this would make it not only unjust but also imprudent to take lives of animals and offer them to the gods. First, one would be stealing lives from animals to whom they belong, and this would be unjust. Second, since, in a sense, animals also belong to the gods and it would never escape their notice if we take their lives, this would make the act imprudent, as well. What about plants, then? When outlining his reform of religious rituals and practices, Theophrastus takes a rather positive view with respect to offering agricultural products to the gods. However, this does not mean that he would ignore the possibility of treating plants with (in)justice. Quite the contrary. He raises the question of whether it is possible to steal from plants, and argues that something analogous is possible.51 However, we do not steal from plants if we: 1 Take fruit that they drop without us even touching the tree or plant 2 Take only parts of the organism, such as leaves, while letting the rest of it continue living, or 3 Have significantly contributed to the coming-to-be of the plant organism Case (1) is, for Theophrastus, analogous to plants willingly giving something to us. Case (2) is one in which we might cause some harm to the organism, but we do not steal its highest belonging, the soul, because we let it continue its life. Finally, case (3) is one in which our action does not count as stealing because we have, together with the gods, taken part in the process of bringing the plant about when tilling the soil, sowing the seeds, and giving water to what grows from the ground. From Theophrastus’ perspective, these cases do not violate justice, and are permissible ways of using plants in religious rituals and for nourishment. With respect to animal products, Theophrastus allows using some of them on grounds similar to that of using plants in case (3). He argues that: 4 Taking milk and honey does not count as stealing, provided that human beings have taken care of the goats and bees

Justice, friendship, and recognition  279 In this case, Theophrastus assumes something like a fair trade to exist between human beings and animals in which milk and honey are a kind of salary for the care given to goats and bees. Although it is not explicitly stated, Theophrastus supposedly takes this rightful commerce to extend to those other human beings who fairly purchase the agricultural or animal products from other human beings who have acquired them rightfully. The vicissitudes of modern-day food production and economy, as well as the global scarcity of natural resources, were of course unknown to both Theophrastus and Porphyry – and especially Theophrastus endorses a positive view on agriculture. Although Porphyry quotes Theophrastus’ On Piety with approval, his own reform of religious practices is much more radical, and extends to the way in which living things are used as nutrition in general. Porphyry argues that we should not only refrain from sacrificing animals, but ultimately from offering anything material to the highest gods.52 Nonetheless, Theophrastus’ argument about plants gives him a way of describing what kind of nutrition is appropriate for human beings and can be acquired without violating justice. Porphyry is painfully aware that we are not entirely self-sufficient, and cannot thus exemplify full beneficence and full abstinence from injuring living creatures. In Book 4, he exclaims: If only it were possible to abstain without problems even from crops as food, if there were not this corruptible part of our nature! If only, as Homer says, we had no need of food or drink, so that we might really be immortals!53 Porphyry takes it not merely as practical, but also as some kind of a moral necessity that we must nourish ourselves on something because starving ourselves to death is not permissible.54 Therefore, the best we can do is to refrain from injuring harmless animals and plants, abstain from eating meat, and use plants in the ways described by Theophrastus. The fact that plants belong to the scope of justice as Porphyry understands it in On Abstinence also entails that the animal capacity to feel pain cannot be the decisive normative feature that makes living things the kinds of creatures that must be treated with justice.55 This is important because Porphyry presents an argument,56 perhaps quoted or adapted from a lost work by Plutarch, according to which animals differ from plants precisely because they can feel pain.57 However, this does not entail that Porphyry would base his claim about animal justice on their capacity to feel pain. First, that would be incompatible with plants also posing requirements of justice on us. Second, the remark about animal capacity to feel pain must be read in the context of the polemics of On Abstinence. Within this framework, the argument constitutes a move against those who claim that we can eat animals because we must eat plants anyway.58 These cases are not comparable, exactly because animals can feel pain and plants cannot. Therefore, the argument goes, the fact that we must eat plants does not justify eating animals. However, although plants are included in the scope of justice, their difference from animals entails that the two genera of living creatures are not quite on a

280  Miira Tuominen par with respect to just treatment. Porphyry claims, for example, that the more we extend our scope of justice, the more we become godlike, and the passage assumes that it is even more demanding to show justice to plants than to animals.59 This does not mean, however, that they would deserve justice more than animals do. Rather, Porphyry supposes it to be easier for us to show justice to creatures that are more similar to us. Within the human species, there are of course the family ties that incline people to respect justice,60 which might show that such justice is based on affection. However, the argument according to which the Stoic restriction of justice to those creatures that are similar to human beings (with respect to rationality) is based on self-love61 rather points to the direction that similarity induces some kind of tendency to care that makes one more liable to justice than with respect to dissimilar creatures. Therefore, although animals perhaps in a sense deserve justice more than plants because they can feel pain (and can thus be doubly hurt, both through pain and through the deprivation of life), an even more godlike disposition of character allows one to extend justice to plants, as well, because it is more demanding.62 In addition, although Porphyry assumes that justice extends to living things, there is no indication that he would allow us to treat other kinds of beings in whichever way. He would probably not encourage us, for example, to stomp on stones and try to break them for no good reason. This is because where the virtue of justice cannot be exercised or where it is not called for, we must be beneficent or practice purity. The latter virtue, for example, forbids eating the meat of an animal that has already been killed, although the injustice is not on our account, or even if the animal would have been rightfully punished or prevented from attacking someone.63 Beneficence, in its turn, requires an overall attitude to everything existent of being protective rather than destructive.64 All in all, even though our obligations of justice (in modern parlance) hold with respect to harmless living creatures, there are ethical codes or virtues that apply even more generally. From this perspective, the adequate regard with respect to the whole universe should be one of beneficence. As mentioned, although justice as restraint from injuring harmless creatures is central in Porphyry’s polemics with his adversaries,65 he argues that justice as the characteristic activity of the soul’s parts (oikeiopragia) also requires abstinence from eating meat. His argument is that injuring (and eating) animals that are harmless to us is always ultimately motivated by an overall quest for pleasure.66 This, however, does not hit the mark against someone who, say, without even especially enjoying the meat, would rather hunt his own food than go to the store to buy it because of the exploitation of workers in stores and animals in farms. In any case, Porphyry insists that meat-eating is always a sign that the person is guided by an overall quest for pleasure. Such a quest, in turn, implies that the soul’s parts are not focusing on their own characteristic activities but mess with that of the others. Especially, appetite is doing the ruling that should be reason’s task. This of course, in terms of the definition Republic IV, implies injustice.67

Justice, friendship, and recognition  281 Against the Stoics on animal rationality Porphyry’s criticism of the Stoics takes basically two forms. On the one hand, he attacks the Stoic claim that non-human animals do not belong to the scope of justice because they are not similar to us in the relevant respect of rationality. On this front, Porphyry argues, first, that the Stoics should concede that non-human animals exemplify rationality as they conceive it,68 and, second, that there are all kinds of other relevant similarities between human beings and other animals,69 and thus the claim of dissimilarity is untenable. On the other hand, he argues against the Stoic notion of justice more directly claiming that restricting it to the human species collapses justice with another virtue, i.e., love for our own species.70 Moreover, he argues that the Stoics’ failure to recognize rationality as they conceive it in non-human animals is based on self-love and exemplifies speciesism, since it is not based on unbiased inquiry into animal cognitive capacities. I contend that, according to Porphyry, such self-love or speciesism prevents the Stoics from seeing the relevant normative features in animals that require us to treat them justly. With respect to recognition, either such normative features should be taken, on the basis of the adequate regard intuitions, as implying recognition of non-human animals as such creatures that require just treatment from us. Or, alternatively, if this is not accepted as a case of genuine recognition, Porphyry’s arguments present a strong case for justice without recognition. In this case, it should be concluded that although recognition implies requirements of just treatment, justice does not necessarily require recognition, at least not in its mutual form. However, as mentioned, Porphyry’s arguments imply that nonhuman animals do bear such normative features that make them require just treatment from us. I take it as an advantage of Porphyry’s argument that it does not require assuming animal rights or posing inherent value on nature, as some modern arguments do.71 As we saw, Porphyry quotes Theophrastus’ arguments against animal sacrifice, in which taking lives of living creatures is likened to theft (taking something that belongs to another) and considered as being inherently wrong. Injuring animals in the sense of causing them pain is ruled out by the clause that justice lies in the restraint from injuring harmless creatures. Therefore, Porphyry rather relies on a relatively simple analysis of the actions that eating meat or injuring animals involve than wide-ranging claims about rights and values. Moreover, his argumentative strategy is to turn the tables against the objectors. Irrespectively of whether he or she concedes that nature has value, animals have rights, or whether animals are rational, how can the objector deny that taking lives of living creatures without their consent is something like theft? And how could the objector refute the claim that the stolen good, the creature’s life, is much higher than external possessions and in fact, a prerequisite for all other possible goods? As regards the Stoics on rationality, Porphyry starts his criticism from a Stoic distinction between internal reason (endiathetos logos) and expressive speech ( prophorikos logos),72 arguing first that animals clearly have the latter. Porphyry’s

282  Miira Tuominen arguments aim at showing that animals have expressive language that is sufficiently similar to the human linguistic capacity, so that even mutual understanding is possible (with practice) between some human beings and some animals. To claim that animals do not have language simply because we do not necessarily understand it (at least not without practice) would be equally ridiculous as to claim that those human beings whose language we do not understand do not have language at all.73 Second, Porphyry avails himself to Plutarch’s writings on animal intelligence,74 arguing that, on the basis of the Stoic conception of inner rationality or reason, there is only a difference in degree and not one in kind between human and animal rationality. Animals perceive what is beneficial and what is harmful to them,75 and this is significant because it can be analyzed within the Stoic theory of reason. For the Stoics, reason is a stock of so-called preconceptions,76 and because one of the preconceptions is that good is beneficial,77 Porphyry’s argument suggests that animals possess some preconceptions Stoically conceived – and thus exemplify only a quantitatively lesser kind of rationality rather than a different kind of it. Another example of Porphyry’s arguments is that since human beings do not learn to perfect their rationality into full virtue without education, we should not conclude that animals do not possess any capacity for perfect rationality.78 Who knows what they can achieve if properly trained? Not to mention the Stoic assumption that there have not been any fully virtuous human beings in the history of humanity, except perhaps one or two.79 From the Stoic point of view, non-human animals pose no requirements of justice on us because the boundaries of justice are defined by a process of “making things our own” (oikeiôsis).80 In the process, we start from those things that are naturally and without a question of our kin, like ourselves and our bodies, families, extended families, villages, and cities. We are instructed to train our concern for others by extending this process up to the whole humanity.81 Porphyry quotes Theophrastus on the point that animals actually do belong to the same community (koinônia) with us and are naturally our kin (oikeioi to us).82 Although the community that includes animals is not, from Porphyry’s perspective, characteristically political or one that only includes persons or rational beings, his arguments indicate that he takes the Stoics not to have sufficient grounds for excluding nonhuman animals from the scope of our own community, and thus from the process of making things our own (oikeiôsis). Therefore, according to Porphyry, something like speciesism prevents the Stoics from having adequate regard to non-human animals. Many arguments in On Abstinence Book 3 claim the Stoics to be wrong to assume some capacities to belong to human beings but not to non-human animals merely because the latter do not belong to our species. The following argument is a case in point: But, they say, animals do not deliberate or hold assemblies or sit in judgment. Tell me, do all humans do so? Do not many people act before they deliberate? And how could anyone show that animals do not deliberate?83 Because we cannot directly enter the inner cognitive life of animals, we must speculate about it on the basis of outside behaviour, and observing human behaviour

Justice, friendship, and recognition  283 would rather suggest that they do not deliberate, either. Therefore, things like the capacity of deliberation cannot simply be judged on the basis of species membership; unbiased inquiries into the animal’s and human cognitive capacities are needed. Book 3 of On Abstinence is a cumulative argument to the effect that nonhuman animals have more similar cognitive capacities to ours than the Stoics are prepared to grant. One of the indications that this is how we should read Porphyry’s claim about self-love for our species in On Abstinence Book 3 is related to the resonance with Plato’s Laws. When it comes to self-love, in Laws V, Plato argues that excessive self-love is a moral defect because it makes us eager to see good in ourselves but unable to see it in others.84 As such, Plato’s account differs from Aristotle’s in Nicomachean Ethics IX that rather distinguishes between two kinds of self-love, the love for the self and the love for the good. The point that is important for Porphyry is precisely the idea that the kind of excessive self-love Plato is talking about prevents the perception of what is good in others. In the context of Porphyry’s anti-Stoic polemics, such goods are the animal cognitive capacities and their other features similar with human beings that, Porphyry argues, the Stoics should recognize as such relevant normative features that make non-human animals the kinds of creatures that require just treatment from us.

Concluding remarks As regards Aristotle’s discussion of friendship, I have argued that it can be seen to bear important similarities with a personifying account of recognition, although I  suggest that the benevolent personifying attitude it involves is not quite like gratitude but rather something like appreciation. Philia, as characterized by Aristotle, can be taken in this way because: 1 It essentially requires a personifying attitude towards the friend in the sense that one wishes good things for the friend for the friend’s sake. This attitude is personifying, I have argued, precisely because it takes the friend as an end. This condition, I have also suggested (following Whiting and Cooper, contra. Irwin), holds in all three kinds of friendships Aristotle distinguishes. 2 Another indication that the attitude is personifying, I  have argued, is that the friend is characterized as ‘another self’. Insofar as one takes oneself as a person, the other self must be one, too. 3 Philia as described by Aristotle also includes a personifying attitude that can be characterized as appreciation and enjoyment that is directed at those activities that for one also make life worth living. Such enjoyment and appreciation, I have suggested, satisfies the requirement of being personifying. As mentioned at the beginning, my view also differs from Ikäheimo’s with respect to the scope of application for the kind of personifying attitude that Ikäheimo refers to as love and I do as philia. This has the important implication that, for Aristotle, the relevant attitude that can be argued to be personifying, applies to the

284  Miira Tuominen whole of one’s community and not only in the closer circles of love and strong emotional affection. When it comes to Porphyry’s arguments against the Stoics on animal justice, I have argued that it marks a rather significant departure from the earlier theories of justice because of its remarkably wide scope of application. I have also suggested that his argument can be seen to pay attention to what in today’s discussion about recognition are called ‘adequate regard intuitions’. From this perspective, Porphyry’s own position clearly requires that there must be justice that extends beyond the category of persons or those kinds of creatures which can be just towards us or recognize us. This kind of justice forbids us from taking lives of other living creatures, because their lives belong to them and not to us; it also prohibits inflicting injury on harmless creatures. This condition clearly includes a sense of mutuality: the requirement of our restraint from injury applies to those living creatures that do not injure us. It, however, does not require that animals recognize our harmlessness to them. It is rather that we must be aware of their harmlessness which then requires harmlessness from us. In addition, however, Porphyry’s arguments against the Stoics stress that insofar as we – operating on the Stoic conceptions of reason, justice, and appropriation of what is our own (oikeiôsis) – recognize human beings as the kinds of creatures that require justice from us, there are many animals that in fact satisfy the same criteria. Therefore, there is no a priori guarantee that there must be recognition among human beings and not among human beings and other animals. From this perspective, if mutual recognition were a condition for justice, this would not only need to be demonstrated in the case of non-human animals, but equally with human beings, as well.

Notes 1 Characteristic of nineteenth-century discussions; see also Jacob T. Levy, “Multicultural Manners”, in The Plural States of Recognition. Edited by Michel Seymour (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), 46. 2 For the discrepancies, see, e.g.,  Jennifer Whiting, “The Nicomachean Account of Philia”, in The Blackwell Guide to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. Edited by Richard Kraut (Wiley-Blackwell, 2006), 276–7; Martha C. Nussbaum, The Fragility of Goodness: Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 354; John M. Cooper, “Aristotle on Friendship”, in Essays on Aristotle’s Ethic. Edited by Amelie O. Rorty (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1980), 301–2. 3 Robert R. Williams, “Aristotle and Hegel on Recognition and Friendship”, in The Plural States of Recognition. Edited by Michel Seymour (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), Recognition, 15–19; Heikki Ikäheimo, “On the Genus and Species of Recognition”, Inquiry 45, no. 4 (2002). 4 Arto Laitinen, “On the Scope of Recognition: The Role of Adequate Regard and Mutuality”, in Philosophy of Recognition: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives. Edited by Hans-Christoph Schmidt am Busch and Christopher Zurn (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2010). 5 Heikki Ikäheimo and Arto Laitinen, “Esteem for Contributions to the Common Good: The Role of Personifying Attitudes and Instrumental Value”, in The Plural States of Recognition. Edited by Michel Seymour (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010).

Justice, friendship, and recognition  285 6 Ikäheimo and Laitinen, “Common Good”; Laitinen, “On the Scope of Recognition”. 7 Ikäheimo and Laitinen (2010). 8 David Schlosberg, Defining Environmental Justice: Theories, Movements, and Nature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). 9 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics V 1, hereafter referred to as EN. Aristotle also claims that of the virtues justice alone seems to be “the good of another” (agathon allotrion; cf. the discussion of the Thrasymachean notion of justice in Republic I, hereafter Rep.) because it is “towards another” (pros heteron, 1130a3–4), i.e., other-regarding. I agree with Rachel Barney (“Callicles and Thrasymachus”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Edited by Edward N. Zalta, Fall 2017) that although Thrasymachus’ suggestion that justice is the rule and benefit of the more powerful is rejected in book I of the Republic, the assumption that it is the good of another is retained. 10 Aristotle, Republic IV, 434c8–9. 11 This is what the Greek word oikeiopragia means: a praxis, i.e., action or activity that is oikeios, one’s own. 12 Aristotle, Republic VII, 519c-521a. For a discussion of the passage and its relation to the later ancient tradition of Platonism, see Damian Caluori, “Reason and Necessity: The Descent of the Philosopher-kings”, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 40 (2011), 7–28. 13 There are also other indications of justice as other-regarding in the Republic. In book I (335d7–12), for example, it is argued that it is not in the nature of the good to harm or injure (blaptein) but to do the opposite, and because justice is good its function is not to harm. Similarly, in book X: whereas the bad ruins and destroys, the good does the opposite, i.e., is protective and beneficent (608e3–4), and justice as something good cannot harm. See also n. 6. 14 Aristotle, EN V 1, 1130a7–10. The translations of Greek texts are mine unless otherwise indicated. 15 Ibid., 1130a11–13. 16 Aristotle, EN I 7, 1098a16–18. Other scholars have also pointed to the fact that ancient ethics is not built around an assumption of a foundational conflict between one’s own happiness and morality or virtue. Quite to the contrary, virtues are usually taken as constitutive of happiness although virtuous action must be chosen as such in order to be virtuous. A seminal work on this general feature of ancient ethics is Julia Annas, The Morality of Happiness (Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press, 1993). 17 Ikäheimo (“On the Genus and Species of Recognition”) himself considers Aristotle’s philia under the translation ‘love’ and in accordance with a rather similar definition in the Rhetorics (II 4, 1380b36–1381a3) also referred to in the body text earlier. He maintains (Ibid., p. 453) that “Aristotle’s general definition of philia is the best definition of what we mostly call ‘love’ ” and “grasps the largest amount of our mutually coherent intuitions of something called ‘love’.” 18 Ikäheimo, “On the Genus and Species of Recognition”. 19 As Stern-Gillet puts it: “Aristotle there [i.e., in his discussion in EN VIII] emphasizes that the concepts of community, friendship and justice are coextensive”, Suzanne Stern-Gillet, Aristotle’s Philosophy of Friendship (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995), 154. 20 One might ask to what extent an Aristotelian notion of justice is expendable outside one’s own, relatively small community. I  have discussed this question with respect to Aspasius’ commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics in Miira Tuominen, “Why Do We Need Other People to Be Happy? Virtues and Other-Regard in Aspasius and Porphyry”, in The Quest for the Good Life: Ancient Philosophers on Happiness. Edited by Øyvind Rabbas, Eyjólfur K. Emilsson, Hallvard Fossheim and Miira Tuominen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). 21 Aristotle, EN VIII 2, 1155b27–1156a3. See also Whiting, “The Nicomachean Account of Philia”, 280–1.

286  Miira Tuominen For the condition, see also Stern-Gillet, Aristotle’s Philosophy of Friendship, 59–77. See ekeinou heneka in EN VIII, 1155b31. Terence Irwin, Aristotle’s First Principles (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988). Therefore, I agree with Whiting, “The Nicomachean Account of Philia”, and John M. Cooper, “Aristotle on the Forms of Friendship”, Review of Metaphysics 30 (1977a); “Friendship and the Good in Aristotle”, Philosophical Review 86 (1977b); “Aristotle on Friendship”; Reason and Emotion: Essays on Ancient Moral Psychology and Ethical Theory (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999) on the three kinds of philia being its genuine types, although character philia is obviously the highest and best one. 26 Aristotle, Eudemian Ethics, VII 2, 1236a23–32. See also Whiting, “The Nicomachean Account of Philia”, 281–2. 27 Aristotle, Rhetorics, II 4, 1380b36–1380a3. 28 This is also because I am concerned with similarities between philia as understood by Aristotle and a PC account of recognition. It has been argued by Laitinen (Ikäheimo and Laitinen, “Common Good”), however, that usefulness does not automatically cancel out personifying concern. Therefore, even if well-wishing in utility philia were based on or directed at usefulness (which I do not think it is), an unrestricted normative (UN) conception of recognition could accommodate it on the arguments given by Laitinen (Ibid.). 29 EN VIII 2, 1155b28–34. 30 Stern-Gillet talks about selfhood with respect to the remark that a friend is another self and argues that Aristotle’s conception of it significantly differs from the modern one (Aristotle’s Philosophy of Friendship, 11–35). 31 EN IX 4, 1166a31–32; 9, 1169b6–7; 1170b6–7. 32 Ikäheimo and Laitinen, “Common Good”. 33 Whiting (“The Nicomachean Account of Philia”) argues, I  think convincingly, that these things belonging to friendships (ta philika) are such that they are not required by its definition (i.e., something can be a friendship without having them), but that they are typically included and perhaps even contribute to the coming about of friendships. 34 For the list, see Ibid., 284. 35 EN IX 12, 1172a1–5. 36 Ibid., 1172a6. 37 Aristotle, EN IX 9, 1170b10–12. 38 Translated as On Abstinence from Killing Animals by Clark; On Abstinence for short. Gillian Clark, Porphyry: On Abstinence from Killing Animals (Ancient Commentators on Aristotle) (London: Duckworth, 2000). 39 I refer to Porphyry’s On Abstinence with the section numbers that are found both in Clark’s English translation and Bouffartigue and Patillon’s translation. Jean Bouffartigue, Michel Patillon and Alain Segonds, Porphyre: De l’abstinence, 3 vols. (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1977–2003), 3.26.10. 40 For a brief, recent account of Theophrastus as a philosopher, see Katerina Ierodiakonou, “Theophrastus”, in Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Edited by Edward N. Zalta (Summer, 2016). 41 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 3.26.9. 42 Ibid., 3.1.4. 43 Fay Edwards argues (“Irrational Animals in Porphyry’s Logical Works: A  Problem for the Consensus Interpretation of on Abstinence”, Phronesis 59, no. 1 [2014]; “The Purpose of Porphyry’s Rational Animals: A  Dialectical Attack on the Stoics in On Abstinence from Animal Food”, in Aristotle Re-Interpreted: New Findings on Seven Hundred Years of Ancient Commentators. Edited by Richard Sorabji [London & New York: Bloomsbury, 2016]) against most other scholars that Porphyry’s claim about animal rationality is merely dialectical, meaning that on the Stoic conception of rationality, they should accept that non-human animals are rational as well.

22 23 24 25

Justice, friendship, and recognition  287 44 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 3.1.4. 45 Ibid., 3.27.2. 46 The reference point is especially Plato’s Theaetetus, 176b1–3, and the claim of such assimilation as the goal of human life was endorsed at least since Alcinous, whose Handbook of Platonism identifies assimilation to god as the human goal (ch. 28). 47 Ibid., 3.26–7. 48 Theophrastus quoted by Porphyry, On Abstinence, 2.12.4, tr. Clark. 49 Theophrastus’ Greek for taking the life is “taking away the soul” (tên psuchên aphairein), and scholars have debated whether Theophrastus simply means ‘life’ (as Bernays and Pötscher maintain) or whether a thicker meaning referring to some specific capacities is assumed (Bouffartigue and Patillon, vol. 2, n. 2, 202–3 ad 81). Life is certainly explained by reference to soul, and Theophrastus generally follows Aristotle’s custom of using it to refer to all living beings (plants, animals, human beings), in which case ‘ensouled’ means ‘animate’. However, as in Aristotle (e.g., in Physics VII 2, 244b11–5a1), ensouled (empsuchon) can also mean ‘animal’, in which case it implies sensory or perceptual awareness, as well as the capacity of self-movement. In Porphyry, both meanings are also relevant, because the abstinence from the ensouled often means abstinence from eating animals (e.g.,  2.49.1, to mention one example) and, on the other hand, it includes the abstinence from using plants inconsiderately (3.27.2). 50 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 2.13.3. 51 Ibid., 2.13. 52 In a monograph in progress, I argue with more references to scholarly literature that Porphyry entirely revises the traditional notion of sacrifice that requires something to be destroyed in order for something good to be achieved. For Porphyry, nothing can be destroyed as an expression of reverence for the immaterial gods but only pure silence, pure thoughts can be devoted to the ‘god above all’, and some hymns can be sung to the intelligible gods to whom we can also devote our theoretical contemplation of the structure of reality. The Theophrastean modest material offerings (flowers, barley, honey, and wine) can, according to Porphyry, be sacrificed to the good demons that are responsible for seasons and appropriate rains, for example. 53 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 4.20.13, tr. Clark. 54 see, e.g., Ibid., 2.47.1. 55 Some scholars have argued that it would be; see Giuseppe Girgenti, “Porfirio nel vegetarianesimo antico”, Bollettino Filosofico: Dipartimento I  Filosofia dell’Università Calabria 17 (2001). Sorabji (Richard Sorabji, Animal Minds and Human Morals (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1993), 184) also mentions in passing that if he were not following Plutarch here, Porphyry might have been the first one to argue for just treatment for animals on the basis of their capacity to feel pain. However, as I explain in the body text, I do not agree on the role of pain in Porphyry’s argument. 56 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 3.19.2. 57 The evidence that the passage comes from Plutarch is based on the fact that shortly before the relevant section (in 3.18.3), Porphyry announces that he starts to quote from Plutarch, and at the end of the quotations from the (still existent) De sollertia animalium, he declares the end of the quotations from Plutarch; see Bouffartigue and Patillon, De l’abstinence, vol. 2, 144. However, it is difficult to say, of course, how exactly Porphyry follows Plutarch. Sandbach (F.H. Sandbach, Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. XV (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1969), lists the relevant section of On Abstinence (3.18.3–3.20.6) as a fragment (fr. 193) of Plutarch, although the original has been lost. This is why we cannot assess whether Porphyry is quoting or adapting his material. 58 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 1.18. 59 Ibid., 3.27.2. 60 Ibid.

288  Miira Tuominen 61 Ibid., 3.2.4. 62 Cf. Aristotle’s argument quoted earlier according to which justice is the highest virtue because it is other-regarding and thus more difficult to acquire and practice. 63 Porphry, On Abstinence, 2.44. 64 Ibid., 3.26.11. This also resonates both with Plato’s description of the good as that which only does good and never harms (Rep. I 335d7–12; X 608e3–4), and with the Stoic description of god as explained by Plutarch (De communibus notiitis adversus Stoicos, hereafter Comm. not. 1075e5–7). 65 In fact, Cicero articulates it as one of the foundations of justice that one refrains from harming others (De officiis 1.31). Given that the book makes much use of the Stoic sources, it is not impossible that the Stoics would have accepted a similar condition on justice as well. However, the condition is not explicitly listed as a Stoic one in the context. 66 See e.g., Porphyry, On Abstinence, 3.26.4–5. 67 In my monograph on Porphyry’s On Abstinence, I argue against Fay Edwards, who claims that, for Porphyry, we must follow a vegetarian diet simply for the sake of our own inner justice and moderation. G. Fay Edwards, “Reincarnation, Rationality and Temperance: Platonists on Not Eating Animals”, in Animals: A History. Edited by Peter Adamson and G. Fay Edwards, Oxford Philosophical Concepts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018). I need to leave this topic aside here. 68 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 3.3–6. In sections 3.2–18, Porphyry’s arguments resemble those found in Sextus Empiricus Outlines of Pyrrhonism (1.62–77) and Philo of Alexandria’s On Animals. Some scholars conjecture that there was a common source for the three treatises, but this remains uncertain. For the similarities between Porphyry, Philo, and Sextus, see the table in Bouffartigue and Patillon, vol. 2, 143. 69 Eg., Ibid., 3.7–8. 70 Ibid., philanthrôpia, 3.26.9. Philanthrôpia is, in the ancient context, typically a virtue of a god. However, in Porphyry, it occurs in his criticism of the Stoics, who, he claims, confuse justice with this virtue. The passage reads as follows: “They [the Stoics] suppose that from the appropriation towards human being one is led to this [i.e., justice], but this would be a form of love of the human species. And the just person is conceived of in the following manner and not that [i.e., the Stoic one]: justice, extending up to living things, lies in restraint from injury. For this reason, its essence [lies] in the rational governing [the irrational], and the irrational following. When this is governing and that following, it is altogether necessary for the human being to be harmless towards all” (On Abstinence, 3.26.9–10; my translation). 71 For a recent overview of the discussion on the intrinsic value of nature, see Adam Riggio, Ecology, Ethics, and the Future of Humanity (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 9–37. 72 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 3.2.1. See also Sextus Empiricus, Math. 8.275, 5–276,1 = SVF 2.135. 73 Ibid., 3.3.3–4; 3.5.2–5. 74 Porphyry uses especially Plutarch’s De sollertia animalium, from which he quotes its Sections 2–5 that make up sections 20.7–24.5 of Book 3 of On Abstinence. 75 Ibid., 3.9.1–4. See also 3.21.5–7 quoted from Plutarch’s De sollertia animalium. 76 See Galen, On the Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato 5.3.160 = SVF 2.841. 77 Epictetus, Discourses, 1.22,3. 78 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 3.10. 79 Ibid., 3.2.3. 80 Other translations of oikeiôsis include ‘appropriation’ (A.A. Long and D.N. Sedley, Hellenistic Philosophers, 2 vols. [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986]) and ‘familiarization’ (Julia Annas, The Morality of Happiness). When something is oikeios to us, it is our own, proper or appropriate for us, or our kin.

Justice, friendship, and recognition  289 81 See Hierocles, in Stobaeus 4.27.23,5ff. (Wachsmuth and Hense, repr. 1958) = Long and Sedley 57G. 82 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 3.25. 3.25 is again quoted from Theophrastus, who also stresses the quality of things being our own (oikeios). Some scholars (F. Dirlmeier, Die Oikeiosis-Lehre Theophrasts, Philologus, Supplementband XXX/1 [Leipzig: Dieterich, 1937]) have suggested that the Stoics took the notion of oikeiôsis from Theophrastus, and not the other way around. For arguments against the suggestion, see Charles O. Brink, “Theophrastus and Zeno on Nature in Moral Theory”, Phronesis 1, no. 2 (1956). 83 Porphyry, On Abstinence, 3.15.4 (tr. Clark). 84 Plato, Laws V, 731d6–732b4.

References Adamson, Peter and G. Fay Edwards, eds. Animals: A History. Oxford Philosophical Concepts. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018. Annas, Julia. The Morality of Happiness. Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. Barney, Rachel. “Callicles and Thrasymachus.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, edited by Edward N. Zalta. Fall 2017. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2017/ entries/callicles-thrasymachus/. Bouffartigue, Jean, Michel Patillon and Alain Segonds. Porphyre: De l’abstinence, 3 vols. Paris: Les belles lettres, 1977–2003. Brink, Charles O. “Theophrastus and Zeno on Nature in Moral Theory.” Phronesis 1, no. 2 (1956): 123–45. doi:10.1163/156852855x00104. Caluori, Damian. “Reason and Necessity: The Descent of the Philosopher-Kings.” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 40 (2011): 7–28. Clark, Gillian. Porphyry: On Abstinence from Killing Animals (Ancient Commentators on Aristotle). London: Duckworth, 2000. Cooper, John M. “Aristotle on the Forms of Friendship.” Review of Metaphysics 30 (1977a): 619–48. ———. “Friendship and the Good in Aristotle.” Philosophical Review 86 (1977b): 290–315. Cooper, John M. “Aristotle on Friendship.” In Essays on Aristotle’s Ethics, edited by Amelie O. Rorty, 301–40. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1980. ———. Reason and Emotion: Essays on Ancient Moral Psychology and Ethical Theory. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999. Dirlmeier, F. Die Oikeiosis-Lehre Theophrasts. Philologus Supplementband XXX/1. Leipzig: Dieterich, 1937. Edwards, G. Fay. “Irrational Animals in Porphyry’s Logical Works: A  Problem for the Consensus Interpretation of On Abstinence.”  Phronesis 59, no.  1 (2014): 22–43. doi:10.1163/15685284-12341259. ———. “The Purpose of Porphyry’s Rational Animals: A Dialectical Attack on the Stoics in On Abstinence from Animal Food.” In Aristotle Re-Interpreted: New Findings on Seven Hundred Years of Ancient Commentators, edited by Richard Sorabji, 263–90. London & New York: Bloomsbury, 2016. ———. “Reincarnation, Rationality and Temperance: Platonists on Not Eating Animals.” In Animals: A History, edited by P. Adamson and G.F. Edwards, 27–55. Girgenti, Giuseppe. “Porfirio nel vegetarianesimo antico.” Bollettino Filosofico: Dipartimento di Filosofia dell” Università della Calabria 17 (2001): 75–84.

290  Miira Tuominen Ierodiakonou, Katerina. “Theophrastus.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, edited by Edward N. Zalta. Summer 2016. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2016/ entries/theophrastus/ Ikäheimo, Heikki. “On the Genus and Species of Recognition.” Inquiry 45, no. 4 (2002): 447–62. doi:10.1080/002017402320947540. Ikäheimo, Heikki and Arto Laitinen. “Esteem for Contributions to the Common Good: The Role of Personifying Attitudes and Instrumental Value.” In The Plural States of Recognition, edited by Michel Seymour, 98–121. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010. Irwin, Terence. Aristotle’s First Principles. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Kraut, Richard, ed. The Blackwell Guide to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006. Laitinen, Arto. “On the Scope of Recognition: The Role of Adequate Regard and Mutuality.” In Philosophy of Recognition: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives, edited by Hans-Christoph Schmidt am Busch and Christopher Zurn, 319–41. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2010. Levy, Jacob T. “Multicultural Manners.” In Recognition, edited by Michel Seymour, 61–77. London: Palgrave, 2010. Long, A.A. and D.N. Sedley. Hellenistic Philosophers, 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Nussbaum, Martha C. The Fragility of Goodness: Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986. (Updated Edition 2001). Rabbås, Øyvind, Eyjólfur K. Emilsson, Hallvard Fossheim and Miira Tuominen, eds. The Quest for the Good Life: Ancient Philosophers on Happiness. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Riggio, Adam. Ecology, Ethics, and the Future of Humanity. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. Rorty, Amelie O., ed. Essays on Aristotle’s Ethics. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1980. Sandbach, F.H. Plutarch’s Moralia, Vol. XV. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1969. Schlosberg, David. Defining Environmental Justice: Theories, Movements, and Nature. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Schmidt am Busch, Hans-Christoph and Christopher Zurn, eds. Philosophy of Recognition: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2010. Sorabji, Richard. Animal Minds and Human Morals. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1993. ———, ed. Aristotle Re-Interpreted: New Findings on Seven Hundred Years of Ancient Commentators. London & New York: Bloomsbury, 2016. Stern-Gillet, Suzanne. Aristotle’s Philosophy of Friendship. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995. Tuominen, Miira. “Why Do We Need Other People to Be Happy? Virtues and OtherRegard in Aspasius and Porphyry.” In The Quest for the Good Life, edited by Rabbås, Emilsson, Fossheim and Tuominen, 241–64. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Whiting, Jennifer. “The Nicomachean Account of Philia.” In The Blackwell Guide to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, edited by Richard Kraut, 276–304. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Williams, Robert R. “Aristotle and Hegel on Recognition and Friendship.” In The Plural States of Recognition, edited by Michel Seymour, 20–36. London: Palgrave, 2010.

Index

actualism 233, 240, 242; amodal 240; thisworldly 241 affects 222 – 5; active vs. passive 222 affect theory 224 Against the Party of Donatus (Augustine) 119 Age of Discovery 6 Ahmet Arslan and Others v. Turkey 22 – 3 Alanus Anglicus 183 Albert the Great (Albert of Cologne) 152, 155, 160, 173 Alexander of Alexandria 115 Alliot-Marie, Michèle 28 altar of Victoria 133 – 4, 136 Althusser, Louis 219 Ambrose, Bishop of Milan 134, 137, 158; response to Symmachus 135 – 6 Ammianus Marcellinus 116, 117 anachronism 4, 128, 199 Anerkennung 2, 42, 43, 71, 233, 234 animal justice 270, 271, 284, 289 animals: intelligence of 282; linguistic capacity of 281 – 2; rationality of 281 – 3, 286n43 animal sacrifice 64, 114, 116, 128, 131 – 2, 133, 135, 138n8, 140n37, 140n46, 170, 277 – 8, 279, 281, 287n52 animism 252, 255, 260 – 1, 266n41 anti-intellectualism 99 Antoninus Pius (emperor) 112 Aphrodite (Greek goddess) 111 Apology (Plato) 99 Aquinas see Thomas Aquinas Aratus 95 Areopagus 94, 95 Arian Christianity 121, 128 Arian controversy 109 – 10, 115, 128, 129 Aristobulus of Alexandria 95

Aristotle 14, 90, 111, 150, 159, 160, 169 – 70; Eudemian Ethics 274; on friendship 270 – 1, 273 – 6; on justice 271 – 3; Nicomachean Ethics 150 – 2, 155, 160, 271, 273, 275, 283; Rhetoric 274; on shame 150 – 2, 157 – 8; shame in commentaries of 150 – 4 Arizona Snowbowl 258 Athanasius of Alexandria 9, 109 – 10, 116, 121 atheism 38, 45, 112, 113, 129 Athenagoras 78 – 9, 112 Augustine of Hippo 138 – 9n15, 169 – 70; Against the Party of Donatus 119; City of God 130; on coercion 119 – 21; on the power of words 118 – 21; on shame 154 autonomy 2, 44, 60, 61, 174, 253, 254, 259 – 60, 263 Bacon, Roger 6 beatific vision 168, 175n1 beautiful soul 238 – 9, 242, 243 Benjamin Minor (Richard of St. Victor) 156 Bernard of Clairvaux 12, 183, 197, 199, 205 – 6 Bia 111, 121, 122 Biblical references: Acts 91, 93 – 4, 96, 101; Colossians 91, 92 – 3, 101; I Corinthians 91, 96 – 100, 101; Matthew 110; Psalms 110; Song of Songs 196 – 212 bilaterality 36, 37, 39, 41 – 5 Bonaventure 160 Boniface 120 Brandom, Robert 34, 40, 63 Brems, Eva 27 Brenz, Johannes 196

292 Index Breviloquium de principatu tyrannico (A Short Discourse on the Tyrannical Government) (William of Ockham) 187 burqa ban 22, 23, 27, 28, 29 Butler, Judith 219 Caecilianists 129 Calvinism 64 Cancik, Hubert 96 Carty, Jarrett A. 196, 197 Cassiodorus 121 cataplexia 159 Catholic church 5 – 6; see also Christianity Chiodelli, Francesco 24, 25, 27 Christ see Jesus Christ Christianity: and the apologies 77 – 8; Arian 121, 129; Catholic 5 – 6; conversion to 139n25; criticized for immorality 78 – 80; and the discourse of rejection 75 – 6; and the discourse of superiority 9, 76 – 80, 180; and the doctrine of Trinity 243 – 4; early communities of 72 – 3, 80, 237; Epistle to Diognetus 79 – 80; group identity in 72; Hegel’s recognition-theoretic account of 12 – 13, 232 – 44; history of 71 – 2; Homoian 128 – 9; and the institution of marriage 82; minority status of 75; Nicene 128, 129, 133; persecution of 113, 121; and philosophy 9, 78, 90 – 101; and the rhetoric of persuasion 111 – 22; Roman recognition of 81, 82, 129; and social disembeddedness 8 – 9; supported by the emperor 127 – 8; universality of 72 – 4, 130; writings of Athenagoras 78 – 9; writings of Justin Martyr 76 – 7; see also Christians Christians: considered barbarians 75; criticism of 79; group identity of 72 – 4, 75; laws affirming superiority of 9, 79, 180; persecution of 111 – 12, 113, 121; struggles for recognition 8 – 9, 75 – 8, 80 – 2, 109, 129 – 37; Western European 5; see also Christianity Christian transcendentalism 238 Chrysippus 92 Church History (Eusebius) 114 Cicero 157, 158, 169 – 70; On the nature of the gods 112 Circumcellions 120 citizenship 253, 255 City of God (Augustine) 130 Cleanthes 92

climate negotiations 258 – 9, 262 co-authorship of norms 253, 255 collective identity 220, 225 – 9; see also identity Coluccio Salutati 157 – 9, 161 commendation 12, 212; of shame 159; in the Song of Songs 197, 199 – 202, 205, 207, 212 Commentaries to St. Paul Epistles (Thomas Aquinas) 173 Commentary on the Gospel of St. John (Thomas Aquinas) 173 Commodus (emperor) 112 common good 253, 275 Conference of Carthage 119, 120 confession of sin 12, 150, 154 – 5, 160, 233, 237 – 9 Coniugalia Praecepta (Plutarch) 111 conscience 20, 155, 156, 159, 161, 164n40, 198, 199, 209, 238 consciousness 71, 233, 234, 235, 236, 239; natural 61; phenomenology of 236 Constans (emperor) 115, 138n8 Constantine (emperor) 9, 109, 121, 127 – 9; and the rhetoric of persuasion 114 – 16 Constantine II (emperor) 138n8 Constantinian Turn 10, 127 Constantius II (emperor) 110, 115 – 16, 121, 128, 134, 138n8 Council of Constance 187 Critical Theory 2 – 3, 220 Crito (Plato) 111 Crusades 5 – 6, 183 David (biblical) 110 De ecclesiastica potestate (Giles of Rome) 184 Defining Environmental Justice (Schlosberg) 257 democracy 12, 228 De officiis (Ambrose of Milan) 158 De officiis (Cicero) 158 De pauperie Salvatoris (Richard Fitzralph) 184 Descartes, René 221 desires 222 – 5 De verecundia (Coluccio Salutati) 157 Dialogue with Trypho (Justin Martyr) 76 – 7 dignity 6, 8, 71, 74, 76, 80 – 2, 83n5, 113, 142n63, 169, 170 – 2, 174, 199, 253, 256, 262 Diocletian 113

Index  293 Diogenes of Oenoanda 95 discrimination 253 distributive justice 253, 254, 255 – 7 Divine Institutes (Lactantius) 113 dominium rights 190n13; Catholic view of 180 – 1; civil 185; and the doctrine of predestination 185 – 7; grace-founded 183 – 7; medieval notion of 184; and natural rights 182 – 3; non-recognition of the rights of infidels 183; in the writings of Giles of Rome 183 – 5; in the writings of John Wyclif 185 – 7; in the writings of Richard Fitzralph 183 – 5, 190n23, 191n28 Donatists 118, 119, 120, 129 Donatus 120 Ebrahimian v. France 21, 22 – 3, 27 ecological justice 13 – 14, 255 – 6, 259 – 60; and planetary limits 263 Edict of Milan 114, 127 – 8, 137n5 egalitarianism, relational 256 emotions 40, 64, 156, 219 – 23, 225 – 6, 228, 284; of accidents of the soul 163n16; seven principal 156; social 149 – 50, 155, 160; see also guilt; shame encratites 75 Encyclopedia Logic (Hegel) 241 Engammare, Max 196 – 7, 198 environmental human rights 255, 258 environmental justice 13 – 14, 255 – 9, 261 Epictetus 94, 98 – 100, 101 Epicureans 93, 95 epistemology 239 Epistles (Seneca) 158 Epistle to Diognetus 79 – 80, 113 equality 71, 80, 81, 170, 172, 253 equality legislation 19 esteem: biblical injunctions concerning 175; desire for 150, 223 – 4; differencesensitive 253; for an entity 19, 38, 129; for human beings 1 – 2, 38, 53, 55, 76, 174, 224; and love and respect 36, 43, 45, 53, 55, 65n10, 129; moral 173, 177n39; public 161; and respect and trust 13, 251; social 253, 255; as social recognition 13, 65n10, 251; Spinoza’s view of 230n22; spiritual 131; for a viewpoint 38, 261; see also self-esteem ethical order (ethical substance) 236 – 7 Ethics (Spinoza) 12, 224, 225, 226 Eudemian Ethics (Aristotle) 274

European Convention of Human Rights 20 – 1 European Court of Human Rights 18 Eusebius 114, 119 Eweida v. British Airways 21 – 2, 22 – 3 Exposition of the Song of Songs (Luther) 11 – 12, 211 – 12 the Fall 154, 182, 184, 185, 187 Fee, Gordon D. 97 feudalism 5 Feuer, Lewis 227 Feuerbach, Ludwig 64 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb 2, 63, 234, 237, 243, 245n22, 245n29 Flavius Marcellinus 119 forgiveness 12, 200, 233, 237, 239; mutual 239, 242, 244 Forst, Rainer 128 Foucault, Michel 219 Foundations of Natural Right According to the Principles of the Wissenschaftslehre (Fichte) 234 Fourth Lateran Council 154 Francis of Sales 176n29 Fraser, Nancy 2, 23, 256 freedom: in Antiquity 4 – 5; barriers to 226; concept of 59, 62; concrete 59 – 61, 257; of conscience 113; Hegel’s conception of 237; human/individual 52, 177n37, 181, 224, 259; as independence 59 – 60; individual 224; of a people 227; of religion 6, 10, 19, 20 – 21, 109, 112, 113 – 14, 116, 127 – 8, 130, 131, 133, 135, 140n45; and reverence 174; and self-consciousness 235; see also independence friendship 5; Aristotle’s view of 273 – 6, 283 – 4 functionalism, pragmatic 37 Gaia-hypothesis 255, 260 – 1 Galen 101 Gauthier, René-Antoine 173 George of Alexandria 116 German idealism 6 Giles of Rome 183 – 5 God: alienation from 243; assimilation to 7, 277; authority of 54, 60, 64; commendation by 212; discipline from 60; and distributive power 12; essence of 175n1; Hegel’s conception of 242; humans as part of 220; infinity

294 Index of 64, 67n30; influence on Solomon 206; involvement of 240; love for 222; manifestations of 239, 242; man’s likeness to 174, 280; nature of 242 – 3; people of 207; personal 51; and philosophy 232; recognition of/from 8, 53, 211; relationship with humans 11, 53; representations of 63 – 5; sacrifices to 278; traditional 242, 252; transcendent 236; and the Trinity 243; worship of 206; various aspects of 64; see also Song of Songs god, of the actual world 242 – 4 grace 156, 158; and dominium 184 – 7 Gratian (emperor) 133, 141n49 gratitude 271; compared to recognition 171 – 2, 176n29; contribution-based 270; of the Donatists 119; in Song of Songs 208; Thomas Aquinas on 170, 172, 174; vocabulary of 169 Gravelle, Hugh 24, 25 Greco-Roman Antiquity 4 – 5 Gregory of Nazianzus 117 groupism 137 Grundlage der Gesamten Wissenschaftslehre (Fichte) 237 Guido de Monte Rochen 155 Hadot, Pierre 93 Handbook for Curates (Guido de Monte Rochen) 155 Hartmann, Margaret 28 headscarf ban 21, 27 Hegel, G.W.F. 2, 4, 6, 8, 12 – 13, 51 – 2, 53, 59, 63, 71; actualist metaphysics of 12, 239 – 42, 245n30; and the ‘beautiful soul’ 238 – 9; on Christianity 243 – 4; on God 242 – 3; interpretations of 232, 243 – 4; master-slave dialectics 6, 51, 52, 65 – 6n10, 233, 234, 251, 252; Phenomenology of Spirit 12, 13, 71, 232, 233 – 7, 239, 242; on recognition 4, 8, 12 – 13, 51, 232 – 7; on religion and metaphysics 232 – 3 Hegelianism 232 Hellenes 131 Hellenism 128, 137 heresy 92, 110, 115 heretics 9, 109, 114, 115, 118, 129, 133 Hierocles 113 Hilary of Poitiers 169 History of the Arians (Athanasius of Alexandria) 109 – 10

Hobbes, Thomas 6 Homer 97, 98 Homoian Christianity 128, 129 Honneth, Axel 2, 3, 10, 18, 43, 53, 71 – 2, 82, 149, 253, 256, 270 Honorius 119 honour 9, 11, 23 – 4, 71 – 2, 79 – 80, 82, 160, 174, 175n4, 199 Hostiensis (Henricus de Segusio) 183 human rights, environmental 255, 258 humility 173, 175, 212, 230n22 idealism 4, 5, 6, 22, 23, 26, 27, 28, 30, 30n1, 74, 75, 77, 94, 129, 241, 242 identity 2, 5, 38, 39, 129, 149, 151, 162n5, 243, 253; biographical 253; collective 220, 225 – 9; ethnic 112; group 48n48, 72; imaginary 228; of justice and virtue 272; numerical 36, 37; religious 227, 229; social 72, 83n5; see also selfidentity Ikäheimo, Heikki 3, 8, 34, 39, 271, 273, 275 imagination 219, 220, 222 – 5, 226 imitation 98, 222, 223 – 4 impiety 113, 117, 120, 129; see also piety independence 13, 52 – 3, 59 – 60, 66n22, 235, 245n29; see also freedom indexicality 242 infidels 180, 181, 192n53; rights of 11, 180 – 1, 183 – 4, 187 – 8, 193n58; see also non-Christians; pagans Innocent III (pope) 180 Innocent IV (pope) 11, 180 – 1, 182, 183 inter-faith alliances 6 interpellation 219 – 20 intra-faith competition 6 Ion (Plato) 97 Islam 5; see also Muslims Jacob (brother of Jesus Christ) 73 Jesus Christ: as bridegroom 198; Incarnation of 184 – 5; as a Jew 73; teachings of 73 – 4 Jews: Christian claim to superiority over 76, 77, 79; Christian co-existence with 121; Constantius’s attitude toward 115; as early Christians 73 – 5, 77, 81, 92; group identity of 226 – 7; Jesus Christ as 73; laws governing 133, 180; monotheism of 72; see also Judaism; Spinoza, Benedict (Baruch)

Index  295 John Damascene 152 John XXII (pope) 187, 190n13 Jones, Peter 34 Jovian (emperor) 118, 130 – 1 Judaism: and early Christianity 73; on the exclusivity of God 72; and Jesus Christ 73; see also Jews Julian (emperor) 116 – 18, 121, 128 – 9, 137 justice 4, 14, 169 – 70, 173, 182; animal 270, 271, 279, 284; in Antiquity 270; distributive 253, 254, 255 – 7; and dominium 185; ecological 13 – 14, 255 – 6, 259 – 60, 263; environmental 13 – 14, 255 – 9, 261; for non-human species 281 – 3, 284; as other-regarding virtue 271 – 3; and plants 278 – 80; in Plato and Aristotle 271 – 3; relational conception of 257, 265n28; requiring restraint from injuring harmless creatures 276 – 80; social 13, 256 – 7, 258, 261, 264; as virtue 271 – 5, 280 – 2, 285n9 Justin Martyr 76 – 7, 91, 94, 112, 113; conversion to Christianity 100 – 1 Kahlos, Maijastina 128 Kallas, Endel 196, 197 Kant, Immanuel 234, 238, 245n30 Kaster, Robert 157 kippah ban 27 Kojève, Alexandre 233 Lactantius 113 – 14 Laitinen, Arto 3, 34, 37, 271 Lambert, Francois 196 Langley, William 28 Laws (Plato) 283 Legatio pro Christianis (Athenagoras) 78 – 9 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm 240 Letter of Licinius see Edict of Milan Letter to Diognetus 79 – 80, 113 Lewis, David 13, 240, 242 Libanius 117 Licinius (emperor) 127 – 8 living creatures, restraint from harming 276 – 80 location, significance of 20 Locke, John 6 Long, A. A. 94 love: courtly 162n4; divine 64, 200, 209; for God 67n30, 155; for enemies 78, 120; maternal 210; for neighbors 79;

parental 254; towards parents/homeland 170; persecution as 119; as philia 273 – 4, 275, 283 – 4, 285n17; reasons for 66 – 7n24; and recognition 2, 36, 40 – 1, 43, 45, 53, 55 – 7, 62, 67n28, 129; romantic 20, 254; self- 14, 277, 280, 281, 283; as one of seven principal emotions 156; in Song of Songs 199, 200, 205, 207, 208, 209, 211, 212; for our own species 277, 281; Spinoza’s views on 222 – 3, 226 – 8 Lovelock, James 260 Lucian 94, 101 Luke (apostle) 94, 95, 96, 101 Luther, Martin 6, 90; dialogical structure of the Song of Songs 202 – 4; on the Song of Songs 11 – 12, 196 – 212 Luther’s Works 197 magical practices 132 Manichaeans 133 Māori people 261 Marcellinus 120 Marcus Aurelius (emperor) 101, 112, 117 Margulis, Lynn 260 Mark of Arethusa 116 masculinity 211; in the Reformation 212; theological 211 – 12 master-slave dialectics 6,, 52, 65 – 6n10, 66n22, 233, 234, 251, 252 Mastroianni, Michele 197, 198 Maximinus 118 Melanchthon, Philip 197 meta-capability 14 metaphysics 245n30; actualist 232, 239 – 42; this worldly 236 Middle Ages 5 – 6 misrecognition 228 – 9, 254 modal realism 13 modernity 244; vs. pre-modernity 71 Moroni, Stefano 24, 25, 27 multiculturalism 254 Muslims 5, 6, 11, 19, 21, 27, 28, 29, 39, 180 Myles, Gareth 25 nationalism 230n36 Native Americans 6, 11, 258 naturalism 237 natural law of supposition 188 nature, instrumental relation to 256 – 7 necessitarianism 240 neo-Platonism 113, 130, 243

296 Index New Testament 9, 91, 119, 174; Acts 91, 93 – 4, 96, 101; Colossians 91, 92 – 3, 101; I Corinthians 91, 96 – 100, 101; Matthew 110; Nicene Christianity 128, 129, 133 Nicolas of Cusa 6 Nicomachean Ethics (Aristotle) 150 – 2, 160, 271, 273, 275, 283 noble lie 226 – 7 non-Christians 9, 77 – 8, 91, 133, 134, 135, 136, 180, 187; see also infidels; pagans non-human entities 259 – 61, 263, 266n41 observance, as recognition of authority 170 – 1 Old Testament 119, 243; Psalms 110; Song of Songs 196 – 212 On Abstinence from [Injuring] Living Beings (On Abstinence from Killing Animals) (Porphyry) 14, 276, 277, 279, 282 – 3 On Piety (Theophrastus) 277 – 8, 279 On the nature of the gods (Cicero) 112 Origen of Alexandria 113, 196 original sin 238 paganism 127, 128, 135 – 6, 137n2, 139n25 pagans 5, 6, 8, 9 – 10, 74 – 9, 81, 101, 109, 113 – 16, 118, 120, 121, 130, 131, 133, 135 – 7, 183; see also infidels; nonChristians Palmén, Ritva 34 pantheism 236, 237, 238, 244 patronage 5 Paul of Tarsus 73 – 4, 75, 91, 94, 95 – 6, 101, 120, 174; Epistle to the Philippians 173 – 4; I Corinthians 96 – 100 peace 30, 114, 115, 118, 119, 130, 197, 198, 220, 227; and power, 199 – 202; in the Song of Songs 12, 205, 210 – 11, 212 Peitho (Greek goddess) 111, 121 – 2 penance 80, 154 – 5, 164n40 penitence 150, 154, 155, 156, 160 penitential literature 160 – 1 Perpetua 76 persecution 109, 121 persuasion: Christian use of 111 – 14; under Constantine 114 – 16; in Greece and Rome 111, 113, 121; under Julian 117 Peter (apostle) 174 Peter Abelard 6 Peter Lombard 152, 154 Phaenomena (Aratus) 95

phenomenology 238; of consciousness 236; of spirit 236 Phenomenology of Spirit (Phänomenologie des Geistes) (Hegel) 12, 13, 71, 232, 239, 242; recognition in 233 – 7 philia see friendship; love Philodemus 95 Philo of Alexandria 93 philosophy: and Christianity 9, 90 – 101; Christianity’s aversion to 90 – 1; Hegel’s approach to 232 – 3; mentioned in the Bible 91, 92 – 6; pagan 6 Philosophy of Right (Hegel) 235 piety 98. 112, 129, 131, 132, 134, 170, 172, 277, 278; see also impiety Pinkard, Terry 63 Pippin, Robert 63 planetary limits: and ecological justice 263; planetary boundaries 262 – 3; scarcity, unsustainability, and future generations 261 – 2 plants: consideration for 287n49; and ecological justice 278 – 80 Plato 14, 92, 98, 99 – 100, 111, 226, 270; Apology 99; Crito 111; Ion 97; on justice 271 – 3; Laws 283; Republic 14, 98, 272, 276, 280 Platonism 93, 97 Pliny the Younger 101 Plutarch 111, 279, 287n57 “Politics of Recognition” (Taylor) 2 pontifex maximus 133 population growth 263 Porphyry of Tyre 14, 113, 130, 138 – 9n15, 270, 271, 273; On Abstinence from [Injuring] Living Beings 277, 279, 282 – 3; on animal justice 284; on animal rationality 281 – 3; on justice requiring restraint from injuring living creatures 276 – 80 positivism 240 possibilism 13 possibilities 240 – 1 post-structuralism 220 power: absolute 189n4; to acquire property 187 – 8; coercive 9, 109; collective 225 – 6, 230n34; deontic 57, 59, 66n22; distribution of 12, 197, 199 – 202; divine 97 – 9; ecclesiastical 190n23, 191n28; individual 222, 224 – 6; of love 211; natural 188; political 5; of the pope 183, 187; and recognition 44; rhetorical 111; secular 190n23, 191n28; social 220,

Index  297 221; to use certain things 187; of words 118 – 21 power relations 2, 10, 127 predestination 185 – 7 pride 149, 151, 156, 173, 230n22 private property 39, 192n49 property rights 11, 39, 41, 182, 188, 235 Protestant Ethics and the Spirit of Capitalism (Weber) 64 Protestantism 64 Protestant Reformation 6 Prudentius 136 – 7 public goods 24 public space: nature and value of 23 – 6; as public goods 24 – 5; regulation of 26 – 9; religion in 7, 17 – 18; three types of 24 public sphere 23 – 4 Rähme, Boris 34 recognition: in Antiquity 270 – 1; axiological 19 – 20; based on social networks 4 – 5; bilateral 42 – 3, 44; and collective identity 227 – 8; colloquial meanings of 36; contributive 19 – 20; deontological 19 – 20; and distributive justice 256; and ecological justice 259 – 60; and environmental justice 257 – 9; features of 253 – 4; focus on language and concepts 3; in friendship 273 – 6; in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit 233 – 7; and historical contextualization 3 – 6; historical struggles for 8 – 10; horizontal (axiological, deontological, and contributive dimensions of) 55; horizontal (conditional and unconditional modes of purely intersubjective) 55 – 7; inclusive understanding of 45; institutionally mediated 39; interpersonal 42, 43 – 4; intersubjective 38 – 9, 245n29; of Jesus Christ 177n39, 237; lack of 51, 59 – 63; limits of 13 – 14; material resource requirement of 254 – 5; mechanisms of 222 – 6; mediated 7 – 8, 34 – 45, 46n2; medieval and early modern intersections 10 – 12; mutual 234, 236, 241, 252 – 3, 264; natural limits of 263; negative theory of (pessimistic) 219; normatively mediated vs. purely intersubjective horizontal recognition 54 – 5; novel articulations 7 – 8; paradigmatic understanding of 42 – 3;

of personhood 1 – 2, 36, 42; of persons 252 – 4; positive 43, 44; relational nature of 35; and religion 18 – 20, 226 – 7; of religion in public spaces 7, 17 – 18; robust 40; social 13, 14, 225, 251; and social justice 256 – 7; in the Song of Songs 197 – 8, 199 – 201, 211; Spinoza’s writings on 220 – 1; by the state 39; and theological masculinity 211 – 12; Thomas Aquinas’ writings on 168 – 75; transitive 35, 40 – 1; trilateral 35, 37, 38, 41; understanding of the term 1 – 2; vertical vs. horizontal 53 – 4; as vital human need 43; vocabulary of 6, 11, 169 Recognition and Religion: A Historical and Systematic Study (Saarinen) 3, 12, 168, 197 recognition deficit model 44 – 5 recognition of persons, genus and species (chart) 58 recognition phenomena 3 recognition-relations 35 – 7; wider applicability for 42 – 5 recognition theory/ies 42, 149, 150, 160, 181 – 2, 224; contemporary 1, 2 – 3, 34, 46n1; roots of 12 – 13 Rees, Ray 24, 25 Reis, David M. 93, 96 religion: conceptualization of 3 – 4; Hegel’s thoughts on 232 – 3; people’s right to 20 – 3; in public spaces 7, 17 – 18; recognition and 226 – 7; as recognition of God’s majesty 170; state recognition of 18 – 19; value of persuasion over coercion 109 – 10, 130 – 1; ways of recognizing 18 – 20; see also Christianity; Judaism; Muslims; Roman cults religious diversity 10 religious freedom 6, 20 – 1, 113 – 14, 116, 127 – 8, 133 religious tolerance 5, 112, 114, 115, 118, 127 – 8, 133 – 6, 142n66, 142n74 Republic (Plato) 14, 98, 272, 276, 280 respect 1, 13, 19, 36, 39, 43, 45, 53, 54 – 5, 56, 60, 61 – 4, 65n10, 67n28, 112, 129, 151, 157, 170, 171, 251, 253 – 4, 257, 259 – 61. 263; see also self-respect reverence 11, 114, 130, 170, 171, 174 Rhetoric (Aristotle) 150 – 2, 153, 159, 160, 274 Richard Fitzralph 183 – 5, 188

298 Index Richard of St. Victor 156 – 7, 161 rights: in Aristotle 189n10; grace-founded 188; individual 180; natural 181, 182 – 3, 188; of non-Christians 180 – 1, 183, 187 – 8, 193n58; secular 187; see also dominium rights road metaphor 130 – 2, 133, 136, 138n13 Rogatists 119 Roman cults 129, 133 – 5 Roman society 5 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 2, 71, 238 Russell, Bertrand 90 Saarinen, Risto 3, 168, 173, 237 sacrifice see animal sacrifice Samaritans 133 Sandnes, Karl Olav 94 Saracens 180 Sartre, Jean-Paul 233 SAS v. France 22, 27 Saul of Tarsus see Paul of Tarsus scarcity 256, 261 – 3, 279 Scheler, Max 161 schismatics 115, 118 Schlosberg, David 257 scholasticism 5 Schoolmen 174 Science of Logic (Hegel) 239 Searle, John 59 Second Discourse (Rousseau) 238 Selbstbewusstsein 71 self-comprehension 52 self-conception 8, 51, 149, 227 self-consciousness 71, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 245n29 self-determination 253, 254 self-esteem 2, 156, 159, 223, 224, 230n22; see also esteem selfhood 228 self-identity 52, 112, 228; see also identity self-love 14, 277, 280, 281, 283; see also love self-regulation 10, 150, 157, 161, 259 self-respect 2, 161; see also respect Sellars, Wilfred 239 Seneca 157, 158 Sennett, Richard 251, 260, 263 Sentences (Sententiae) (Peter Lombard) 152, 154 Sermons on the Song of Songs (Bernard of Clairvaux) 197, 199 servitude 176n29; as recognition 171

shame 10, 149; and conscience 155 – 9; and the hierarchical structure of society 160; in medieval commentaries on Aristotle 150 – 4; medieval vocabulary of 150; metaphysical 154, 164nn34 – 35; and moral 160 – 1; in moral conduct 149; new tendencies in 160 – 1; salutary 154 – 5; and self-regulation 150, 161 Shepherd of Hermas 80 Sittlichkeit (ethical order/ethical substance) 236 – 7 social justice 13, 256 – 7, 258, 261, 264; see also justice social movements 149 social norms 19, 59, 60, 62, 66n22, 153, 219, 221 Socrates 94 – 5, 97, 98, 99, 100 Solomon 197, 198, 201, 206 – 7 Song of Songs 196 – 212; and the foundational distribution of power 199 – 202; Luther’s dialogic structure of 202 – 4; and the role of the Church 206 – 7; three transgender roles 207 – 11 Spalding, Johann Joachim 237 speciesism 281 Spinoza, Benedict (Baruch) 12, 13, 219 – 20, 228 – 9, 244; on affects, desires and imagination 222 – 5; Ethics 12, 224, 225, 226; necessitarianism 240; on recognition 220 – 1; on subjectivization and collective identity 219 – 20 splitting 67n28 Stalnaker, Robert 240 – 1 Sterling, Gregory E. 93 stigmatization 149, 253 Stoicism and Stoics 14, 71, 92, 94 – 5, 98 – 9, 101, 113, 153, 277, 284, 288n70; and animal rationality 281 – 3 Struggle for Recognition (Honneth) 2, 10, 53, 149 Suada (Roman goddess) 111 subjectivization 219 – 20, 225 Suetonius 101 Summa contra Gentiles (Thomas Aquinas) 169 Summa theologiae (Thomas Aquinas) 11, 152, 169 – 73 Symmachus 10, 127, 129; and the altar of victory 132 – 4; Ambrose’s response to 135 – 6; arguments of 134 – 5 Tacitus 101 Tatian 75

Index  299 Taylor, Charles 2, 3, 43, 71 – 2, 151, 254 Tertullian 81 – 2, 90, 96, 112, 113 – 14; opposition to philosophy 91 – 2 Thecla (saint) 75 Themistius 10, 118, 127, 129, 130 – 2, 133 – 4, 139n16, 139n25 Themistocles 111 Theodosius I (emperor) 115, 121, 133, 137 Theological Political Treatise (Spinoza) 12, 221 Theophrastus 277; on justice 277 – 9 theosebeis 73 Thirty Years’ War 6 Thiselton, Anthony A. 99 Thomas Aquinas 5, 10 – 11, 12, 160, 199; Commentaries to St. Paul Epistles 173; Commentary on the Gospel of St. John 173; as Master of Theology 169; on recognition 168 – 75; on shame 152 – 4; Summa contra Gentiles 169; Summa theologiae 11, 152, 169 – 73 Thompson, Simon 43 Thyen, Dietrich 197 transcendentalism, Christian 238 Trinity 243 – 4 truth: Christian claim to 74, 75, 78, 79, 80, 81, 96, 115, 130, 136, 169; entities capable of 241; in pagan philosophy 6, 91, 98, 100 – 1; preaching by persuasion 110, 111, 112, 114, 118, 119; of science 227; Stoic claim to 95; universal search for 134; as virtue 172, 176 – 7n36; see also truthfulness truthfulness 172, 173; see also truth Tuomela, Raimo 252 – 3

turban ban 27 Turchetti, Mario 128 unemployment, structural 255 unsustainability 261 – 2 vainglory 157 Valens (emperor) 133 Valentinian I (Roman emperor) 132 – 3 Valentinian II (Roman emperor) 10, 133, 135 Valerius Maximus 157 Victoria altar 10, 133 – 4, 136 Vincentius (bishop of the Rogatists) 119 virtue(s) 5, 9, 80, 81, 95, 98, 101, 117, 130, 156, 170 – 2, 285n16; magnanimity as 173; moral 64; shame as 150 – 2, 157, 158 – 9; in Song of Songs 206, 211, 212, 227; Thomas Aquinas on 152 – 3; truth as 172, 176 – 7n36; see also honour; justice virtue ethics 150 de Vitorio, Francisco 6, 11 Waldron, Jeremy 20, 26 Weber, Max 64 Welskopp, Thomas 72 Whanganui River 261 William of Ockham 11, 187 – 8 Wyclif, John 185 – 7, 188 Xenophon 98, 99 – 100 Zeno of Citium 92, 94 – 5 Zeno of Sidon 95