Tradition as the Future of Innovation [1 ed.] 9781443879835, 9781443874335

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Tradition as the Future of Innovation

Tradition as the Future of Innovation Edited by

Elisa Grimi

Tradition as the Future of Innovation Edited by Elisa Grimi This book first published 2015 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2015 by Elisa Grimi and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-7433-7 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-7433-5

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction ................................................................................................. 1 Elisa Grimi Part One. Tradition: An Historical Background Chapter One ................................................................................................. 6 The Aristotelian Tradition as Occasion for Innovation Enrico Berti Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 25 Prohairesis as a Possible Instance of Metaphysical Implication in Aristotle’s Ethics Nicoletta Scotti Muth Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 45 Innovation within a Tradition: Considering Thomas Aquinas Anthony Lisska Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 65 Analytical Thomism: A Misleading Category? Elisa Grimi Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 80 Rethinking the History of Philosophy within an Intercultural Framework Riccardo Pozzo Part Two. Tradition and Innovation: Which Future? Chapter Six ................................................................................................ 96 Treason or Tradition? Rémi Brague Chapter Seven........................................................................................... 111 Anamnesis and Tradition: Aquinas and Nietzsche John O'Callaghan

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Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 139 Traditional Ethics Today: The Case of Thomas Aquinas Angelo Campodonico Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 155 Tradition as Consuetudo in the Thought of Thomas Aquinas Giovanni Turco Part Three. Law and Tradition Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 188 Constitution and Tradition Salvatore Amato Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 202 Traditions and Jurisprudence Stamatios Tzitzis Part Four. Tradition: A Theological Point of View Chapter Twelve ........................................................................................ 220 “A Healthy Shock”: Tradition and the Epiphany of Beauty Peter Casarella Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 242 Tradition: After and Beyond MacIntyre John Milbank Contributors ............................................................................................. 255

INTRODUCTION ELISA GRIMI

Tradition and Innovation are two related terms. In its etymology, the term ‘tradition’ derives from the Latin tradere, and therefore means to take charge of the past, to pass down what the past leaves as a legacy; tradition is the narrative that constitutes a subject. But tradition also means transmission, and therefore includes an operational force that arises from the subject. For this reason, 'tradition' is a term that cannot be easily grasped because it belongs to the past, but at the same time resolves the present and guides the future. From here, one begins to notice the connection that tradition has with innovation, which, in fact, affects that which is new and renews the present culture, highlighting tradition. The present study consists of four parts. There are four perspectives that address the relationship between tradition and innovation. In the first part, the relationship between tradition and innovation is approached from the point of view of the history of philosophy. The first contribution to this section is by Enrico Berti, who highlights how the Aristotelian tradition is an opportunity for innovation. The Aristotelian tradition is not only the history of Aristotelianism, but is also made up of a wealth of concepts, distinctions, and definitions. Next is the contribution by Nicoletta Scotti, who proposes an in-depth analysis of the ethics of Aristotle in the light of contemporary interpretations. Anthony Lisska deals with the thought of Thomas Aquinas, outlining a magnificent review of the way in which Thomas is present in more recent studies. On this track, I then ventured to include in this section my contribution, a suggestion regarding the revival of Thomas in the last century in England within the analytical sphere. Riccardo Pozzo’s contribution closes this section by helping to emphasize the importance of the work of historians of philosophy in an innovative perspective for an enrichment of the field. In the light of this first reflection, which shows the relationship that tradition has had with innovation in philosophical studies through several examples, the second section is a reflection of concerns about the current

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Introduction

studies in research and debate. If the concept of tradition has its origins in the past, it is necessary to investigate also the current status of research to understand not only how a tradition is structured, but also how innovation comes into being. In this section, through the studies of Rémi Brague, John O'Callaghan, Angelo Campodonico, and Giovanni Turco, what stands at the center of reflection is identifying what the dynamics of tradition are in relation to innovation, while demonstrating some suggestions for future studies. While the past acts as a guide, a plan for the future is also necessary. In the third section, the relationship between tradition and innovation is examined from a legal perspective. Salvatore Amato discusses the importance of tradition in the Constitution, unlike its importance in a conception of legal positivism, elaborating his analysis in the multicultural society. Also valuable in this part is the contribution of Stamatios Tzitzis, who analyses how the conception of law has changed with respect to the prevailing politics in a society. Characterizing the fourth and final part is an analysis of the relationship between tradition and innovation in a theological context. There are two contributions: the first by Peter Casarella, in which he presents the work of Maurice Blondel, Charles Taylor, Livio Melina, and Pope John Paul II, highlighting how tradition constitutes a gift; while the second is by John Milbank, who, starting from the writing of Alasdair MacIntyre, presents an analysis of the value of tradition, showing that tradition is a tool for the understanding of culture, as well as recalling the Christian perspective. In this introduction I just wish to recall the importance that this study holds. It must be observed that there are few studies and little research still underway on the issue of tradition and innovation. The present research has its origins in a preliminary study, the outcome of the International Workshop of Philosophy held in 2012 in Milan, sponsored by the Philosophical News Cultural Association, and published in the fifth volume of the review Philosophical News on the theme of tradition and innovation. The most important texts presented during the conference were published in the review Philosophical News. Therefore, it was decided to continue this research to obtain an organic text in which the theme was approached from several points of view in order to highlight the importance of the scope of the theme of tradition and innovation and current research. So I thank all of our contributors who wanted to present one of their studies on this subject, aware of the enrichment that results from the meeting between scholars either for

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research purposes, or for the reader who is interested in understanding the importance of tradition and generating innovation, namely, a living tradition. I hope that this study will be a useful tool in the humanities, the area that best tells of the generativity that preserves the human being and in which he finds himself, therefore, an expression of both tradition and innovation.

PART ONE TRADITION: AN HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

CHAPTER ONE THE ARISTOTELIAN TRADITION AS OCCASION FOR INNOVATION ENRICO BERTI

The Aristotelian tradition in a sense is constituted by the history of Aristotelianism, i.e. by the philosophies of those who declared themselves Aristotle’s followers, even if in fact they hardly ever have been completely so. However, in another sense the Aristotelian tradition is formed by the patrimony of concepts, distinctions, definitions, which not only philosophy, but also culture in general and even the common language have used for millennia and which are still now in use: category, subject-predicate, square of oppositions, syllogism, induction, refutation, contradiction, matter-form, potency-act, essence, substance-accident, types of cause, types of change, nature-art, time, place, infinite, chance, luck, soul-body, sensation, memory, fantasy, experience, intellect, desire, analogy, meansend, action-production, choice, deliberation, virtue, happiness, justice, friendship, city, family, slavery, constitution, revolution, persuasion, character, passion, poetry, tragedy, myth, catharsis, etc.

I. Introduction By “Aristotelian tradition”, we normally mean the history of Aristotelianism, which is a long story, because it began in the Hellenistic period with Theophrastus and Eudemus, it continued into late antiquity with Alexander of Aphrodisias and the Neoplatonic commentators on Aristotle (Syrianus, Ammonius, Asclepius, Simplicius, Philoponus, and others), and developed in the Middle Ages, starting in the Muslim era (alKindi, Al-Farabi, Avicenna, Averroes) and later in the Christian era (Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas, John Duns Scotus). It was present in the Renaissance (Pomponazzi, Zabarella), but it survived into modern times too (Suárez), in the Schulmetaphysik of German universities at least until

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Kant, to revive in the XIX century with Trendelenburg and Brentano and to arrive to the XX century, as I have tried to show in a book1, without even stopping in the new century, as indicated in the volume Contemporary Aristotelian Metaphysics, published three years ago by Cambridge University Press2. The study of this subject is the task of the Inter university Centre for the History of the Aristotelian Tradition, with its seat in Padua. The Inter university Centre includes seven other Italian and foreign universities (Université de Bourgogne, Università della Calabria, Università “Federico II” di Napoli, Università di Palermo, Aristotle’s University of Salonika, Università del Salento, Università di Verona). I have been the director of the Centre for some years now, and it has published more than 50 volumes. Here, however, I cannot deal with such a tradition, as too long a speech would be required. Instead, I would like to draw attention to another type of Aristotelian tradition, that is to the presence not only in the history of philosophy, but also in the history of culture in general (scientific, literary) and even in the common language, of terms, concepts, definitions, distinctions, and connexions, whose origin is in Aristotle’s works and which form a patrimony of thought and culture perhaps unique in the whole of western civilisation. (I do not have the competence to consider eastern civilisation, even if Aristotle’s presence in it, for instance in China, goes back even to the XVII century3). I shall refer consequently to the transmission (this is one of the meanings of “tradition”) of the content of Aristotle’s works in contexts which cannot be brought back directly to Aristotelianism, i.e. to authors who are not clearly nor implicitly Aristotelian. For convenience, I will follow the “traditional” partition of the corpus aristotelicum, including, in sequence, the works of logic, of physics (with what we call psychology, biology, or zoology), of metaphysics, of ethics, of politics, of rhetoric, of aesthetics. I apologise in advance for the vagueness of my exposition, which treats such a wide theme and which therefore cannot be too technical in character4. 1

E. Berti, Aristotele nel Novecento, Laterza, Roma-Bari 2008 (I ed. 1992). T.E. Tahko (ed.), Contemporary Aristotelian Metaphysics, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2012. 3 R. Wardy, Aristotle in China. Language, Categories and Translation, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2000. 4 I presented a lecture like this to the World Congress of Philosophy held in Moscow, 1993, which was published with the title Aristotle’s Renaissance as an Example of the Essential Tension between Tradition and Innovation, «Philosophical Inquiry», 16, 1994, pp. 26-37 (reprinted in my Nuovi studi 2

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II. Logic In the preface to the second edition of his Critique of pure reason (1787) Immanuel Kant, who cannot be considered an Aristotelian philosopher, speaking of logic wrote «since the time of Aristotle […] until now it has been unable to take a single step forward, and therefore seems, to all appearances to be finished and complete»5. This is obviously false – Kant was not as competent in the history of philosophy as he was in theoretical and moral philosophy – because after Aristotle logic made important progress in Antiquity with the Stoics, in the Middle Ages with the calculatores, in modern times with the Port Royal logicians and with Leibniz. Besides, there is no need to speak of the progress that logic made thanks to Kant himself and after Kant, with transcendental logic, dialectic logic, mathematical logic, symbolic logic and the “paraconsistent” logics. However, Kant’s declaration is meaningful, because it reveals how, in spite of its progress, the basis of logic, which is used in various sciences and in common language, is still formed for the most part by Aristotelian logic. Let us consider the short treatise with which the corpus begins, Categories, which is also the first of the works of logic included in the collection called Organon. There is a “material” history of this treatise, i.e. of the work as such, which is rich mainly in Antiquity and the Middle Ages6, but there is also a history of its contents, which continues afterwards and arrives at our days. First of all the term “category”, with the meaning – attributed to it by Aristotle, because earlier it meant “accuse” – of a class or a group of objects, has become part of the common language, even of sports language (for instance of football). Besides, many among the most important western philosophers, for instance Kant or Hegel, elaborated their own doctrine of categories, so that in the middle of the XIX century F.A. Trendelenburg could write a History of the Doctrine of Categories7. In the XX century, G. Ryle, in a famous article entitled Categories, explained what “category mistakes” are, i.e. the attribution to subjects belonging to a category, in the Aristotelian sense, of predicates which are appropriate to other categories, as for instance in the sentence “Saturday is in bed”8. aristotelici, IV/2, L’influenza di Aristotele – Età moderna e contemporanea, Morcelliana, Brescia 2010, pp. 217-228). 5 I. Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, translated and edited by P. Guyer, A.W. Wood, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1998, p. 106. 6 Cfr. O. Brun et L. Corti (éd.), Les Catégories et leur histoire, Vrin, Paris 2005. 7 F.A. Trendelenburg, Geschichte der Kategorienlehre, 2 vols., Berlin 1846. 8 For this and other quotations I have to refer to my book Aristotele nel Novecento

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When W. van Orman Quine, in his famous article On what there is (1953), began one of the favourite activities of analytic philosophy in XX century, that of making a catalogue of all existent objects, it became immediately clear that it was necessary to distribute the various objects into types, or classes, or “categories”, because of the impossibility of counting in the same series, among the objects contained for instance in a room, persons, tables and chairs, with colours, sounds, thoughts and emotions9. Therefore, it came about that at the beginning of the XXI century some of the major contemporary philosophers (Vuillemin, Bouveresse, Hacking, Granger, Searle) published a collection of essays, each one devoted to one of Aristotle’s ten categories, to show the utility that they still have10. Moreover, Jonathan Lowe, one of the best renowned English philosophers, has just proposed a new ontology, where the ten categories of Aristotle are reduced to four, but these four are obtained by the combination of the two criteria exposed by Aristotle in chapter 2 of the Categories, i.e. the distinction between substances (objects) and accidents (attributes and modes), and the distinction between primary substances (individual objects) and secondary substances (universal kinds)11. This last distinction, although refused and sometimes quite vituperated by modern philosophy (see Hume’s criticism of the idea of substance and Cassirer’s thesis on the substitution of “substance” by “function” in modern science), has been the basis for the first objections addressed to Hegel, around the middle of the XIX century, by non-Aristotelian philosophers like Feuerbach, Marx and Kierkegaard. In fact, Feuerbach accused Hegel of having inverted the predication relationship, putting the predicate (the thought) in the place of the subject (the man). In his early Criticism of Hegelian Philosophy of Public Right, Marx addressed the same criticism to the relationship between State and civil society, using the quite Aristotelian term of hypokeimenon to indicate the subject, written with Greek characters, and in his stressing of the importance of the individual, Kierkegaard referred explicitly to the “primary substance” of Aristotle’s Categories12. Moreover, the Oxonian philosopher, David (in this case, p. 137). 9 Cfr. E. Berti, Sono ancora utili oggi le categorie di Aristotele?, «Rivista di estetica», n. s. 39, 2008, pp. 57-72. 10 J. Benoist et al., Quelle philosophie pour le XXIe siècle? L’Organon du nouveau siècle, Gallimard, Paris 2001. 11 E. J. Lowe, The Four-Category Ontology, Clarendon Press, Oxford 2006. 12 For the documentation of these observations see E. Berti, Aristote dans les premières critiques de la philosophie hégélienne chez Feuerbach, Marx et Kierkegaard, in D. Thouard (éd.), Aristote au XIXe siècle, Presses Universitaires du

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Wiggins has recently indicated the Aristotelian concept of “substance” as the unique criterion, which permits recognition of the identity of objects, and therefore of persons, in the change of space-temporal conditions where they are situated, in this way satisfying the classic request of analytic philosophy “no entity without identity”13. The second treatise of the Organon is the De interpretatione, where there is the distinction between the statement-making sentences and sentences of the type which Austin would have called “performing”, such as the prayer or the order, or where there is the famous “square of the oppositions”, which distinguishes between affirmative and negative sentences, particular and universal sentences, contrary and contradictory sentences, with the precision that the contrary ones cannot be both true, but can both be false, whereas the contradictory ones can neither be both true nor both false, but necessarily one of the two is true and the other is false. It seems to me that these rules have not been questioned by anybody, except those who deny the law of non-contradiction or the law of excluded middle, who nevertheless are very rare. On the contrary, they have been invoked, for instance by Trendelenburg, and more recently by Popper, in order to show that the oppositions used by the Hegelian dialectic are not authentic logical contradictions, but they are real oppositions, that is contrarieties or correlative oppositions14. The so-called “logical laws”, i.e. the law of non-contradiction and the law of the excluded middle, formulated by Aristotle, have been denied respectively by the paraconsistent logics and by the logic which derives from the intuitionistic mathematics of Brouwer, but in both cases for very particular spheres, as the limit-cases, the situations of transition, the paradoxes, or the infinite wholes15. But the paraconsistent logics, in particular the “dialetheism” of Graham Priest, according to which two opposite sentences can be both true, are not able to explain why in all other cases, which are the majority, these laws have to be respected16. Septentrion, Villeneuve d’Ascq 2004, pp. 23-35. 13 D. Wiggins, Sameness and Substance renewed, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2001. 14 F.A. Trendelenburg, Logische Untersuchungen, Berlin 1878 (1840); K.R. Popper, Conjectures and Refutations, Routledge, London 1969. 15 At this regard too I have to refer to my book Contraddizione e dialettica negli antichi e nei moderni, L’epos, Palermo 1987. 16 About the “dialetheism” there has been a conference in the Technische Universität Berlin, June 2011, with the participation of Priest himself, whose proceedings are edited by E. Ficara, Contradictions: Logic, History, Actuality, W. de Gruyter, Berlin/Boston, 2014.

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I will not consider the theory of syllogism exposed in the Prior and Posterior Analytics, which is one of the major glories of Aristotle, because, although vituperated, the syllogism has a logical value that nobody could question, and which was drawn on again by the XX century logic, for instance by Jan Lukasiewicz, who showed how it can be expressed by the formal logic17. Neither will I consider the theory of refutation, exposed by Aristotle in the Topics, because Popper has made of the refutation, i.e. of falsification, the main method of science18. Likewise, I will not consider the theory of fallacies, exposed by Aristotle in the Sophistical Refutations, which has been recognised as an unsurpassed model by the experts in this field of contemporary logic19, because such subjects would require research that is more technical.

III. Physics Physics was often considered the weak point of Aristotle’s philosophy, because it was considered surpassed by the modern physics of Galileo and Newton. As Sir Anthony Kenny wrote, «many mediaeval Aristotelians took Aristotle’s writings as the last as well as the first word on scientific matters, instead of following his own example of close examination of nature. His authority kept fundamental science static for much of the Middle Ages, and since the era of Bacon, Galileo and Newton the Aristotelian tradition in natural philosophy has been effectively dead»20. But a great historian of science, Thomas S. Kuhn, wrote that for many years he was not able to understand why Aristotle, who in other disciplines revealed himself a genius, said so many absurd things about physics, and why his physics for many centuries was taken seriously. When he read Aristotle’s Physics, Kuhn at last understood that for Aristotle, movement, which is the object of physics, was something completely different from what it was for Galilei and Newton, i.e. it was a phenomenon which included not only the fall of a stone, but also complex processes such as the passage of a man from infancy to maturity. From that moment, Aristotle’s statements no longer appeared so absurd to him and he understood why they had been so successful throughout the centuries21. 17

J. Lukasiewicz, Aristotle’s Syllogistic from the Standpoint of Modern Formal Logic, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1957. 18 K.R. Popper, Logik der Forschung, Wien 1935. 19 C.L. Hamblin, Fallacies, Methuen, London 1970. 20 A. Kenny, Essays on the Aristotelian Tradition, Clarendon Press, Oxford 2001, p. 3. 21 T.S. Kuhn, The Essential Tension: Selected Studies in Scientific Tradition and

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If we take the most important doctrine exposed by Aristotle in Physics, following which all the bodies in movement are composed by matter and form (the famous “hylomorphism”), and we try to understand it in its most authentic meaning, without reducing matter to a substratum obscurum or form to an “occult quality”, as many modern philosophers believed, we can see that it indicates precisely the direction taken by research in all modern sciences of nature, whether it is physics, chemistry or biology. In fact, what else do physics and chemistry look for when they reduce bodies to elements, elements to molecules and atoms, atoms to subatomic particles, if not what Aristotle called “material cause”, or rather, that of which bodies are constituted? Even now, scientists speak of matter and anti-matter, of “obscure matter”, of “black holes”, to indicate the last constituents of bodies, that is what Aristotle called “prime matter”. Form seems to have been less fortunate than matter, perhaps because no scientist denied the existence of matter – only the idealists did this, but they were philosophers, not scientists – while it seemed much easier to deny the existence of form. However, what are the formulae used by physicists and chemists? Formula in Latin means “little form” because the formula indicates the way in which matter is structured and behaves. For instance the chemical formula of water, H2O, means that the molecule, i.e. the smallest quantity, of water is composed of two atoms of hydrogen and one atom of oxygen. Its material components are therefore these three atoms, and nothing else. The formula H2O is not a further component that is, it is not itself matter, but if it were not just so, i.e. if the three atoms were not combined in this proportion, there would be no water. The formula is what Aristotle called the form, or the formal cause, of water. Physics uses equations, which express the relationships between mass, energy, space, time, etc., i.e. they express these relationships in algebraic terms, that is in numbers. Well, the first example of form given by Aristotle in Physics (book 2, ch. 3) is the number, or the relation between two quantities. Besides, as Kenny says, «the doctrine of matter and form is a philosophical account of certain concepts we employ in our everyday description or manipulation of material substances»22. Let us however pay attention to the part of physics that was the most interesting for Aristotle, i.e. the science of living beings, which we call biology. With regard to this, it is important to remember that, after having read the English version of the De partibus animalium, the greatest modern biologist Charles Darwin, author of the theory of the evolution, Change, University of Chicago Press, Chicago 1977. 22 Op. cit.

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wrote a letter to the translator of the work, William Ogle, saying: «Linnaeus and Cuvier have been my two gods, though in very different ways, but they were mere schoolboys to old Aristotle»23. And Max Delbrück, 1969 Nobel prize for medicine, wrote that, if it was possible to give a Nobel prize in remembrance, we ought to give it to Aristotle for having discovered the implicit principle in DNA, i.e. in the acid contained in the nucleus of the cells of every living being. This principle, following Delbrück, is just the form, which acts as a “programme”, or a “plan of development”, guiding the embryo from its conception up to the complete development of the mature individual, plant or animal24. In fact Aristotle in his De generatione animalium explains animal reproduction admitting that the male parent transmits to the matter, given by the female parent, a series of impulses which confer to it a certain form. This form then determines the following formation of the various organs until the fulfilment of the whole organism (a process that the Aristotelian William Harvey, the discoverer of blood circulation, called “epigenesis”). Regarding this, contemporary genetic speaks of “information”, a term which precisely means transmission of forms25. Hylomorphism is also at the basis of Aristotelian psychology, i.e. of the science of the soul (psychê). This for Aristotle, is the form of all living beings, plants, animals and human beings, and is not a daemon which enters the body at the moment of birth, and leaves it at the moment of death, as the Orphists and the Pythagoreans believed (and sometimes also the great Plato), but it is “an actuality of the first kind”, i.e. the effective presence of a capacity, precisely the capacity of living, “of a natural body having life potentially in it” (De anima II 1). When one of the major English philosophers, Gilbert Ryle, the editor of “Mind”, published his best known book, The Concept of Mind (London 1949), he proposed a conception of the mind as a bundle of “dispositions”, or capacities, retaking tacitly (i.e. without quoting him, because in his book Ryle quotes only Descartes, but to refute him) the concept of intellective soul formulated by Aristotle. Ryle in fact was like the other representative of the Oxford School, John L. Austin, an Aristotelian incognito, which nobody realized, and consequently he was believed to be a behaviourist26. 23 A. Gotthelf, Darwin on Aristotle, «Journal of the History of Biology», 32, 1999, pp. 3-30. 24 M. Delbrück, Aristotle-totle-totle, in J. Monod and E. Borek (eds.), Of Microbes and Life, Columbia University Press, New York 1971, pp. 50-55. 25 Cfr. E. Berti, Aristotele e la genetica contemporanea, «Fenomenologia e società», 29, 2006, pp. 5-11 (reprinted in Id., Nuovi studi aristotelici, pp. 437-443). 26 His book was translated into Italian with the title Lo spirito come

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If that book were kept in mind, perhaps the so-called “Mind-Body Problem” – which created a lot of distress, because of the development of neurosciences and cognitive sciences, the contemporary philosophy of mind – would never have been formulated. This is at least the opinion of two well-known representatives of American analytic philosophy, Hilary Putnam and Martha C. Nussbaum, who, with regard to the relationship between mind and body, proposed a “Return to Aristotle” or an “Aristotle after Wittgenstein”27. However, this is also the opinion of Anthony Kenny, who says: «philosophy of mind is the area in which the Aristotelian tradition is most relevant and vital. I have argued in my book Aquinas on Mind (Routledge 1993) that the account of the human mind developed by Aquinas on an Aristotelian basis is as good a basis for a philosophical understanding of its nature as any other account currently on offer»28. Speaking still of the problem of mind, Kenny adds: «the fundamental incoherence of the Cartesian system has been exposed by Kant, and in more recent times by Wittgenstein. Many of those who have been convinced by the Kantian and Wittgensteinian refutations of Descartes have realized that the best worked out systematic alternative to Cartesianism is to be found in the Aristotelian tradition»29. We may say that for this reason in the field of psychology the Aristotelian tradition is an example of how a tradition can transform itself in an occasion for innovation. In addition, another famous book of the Oxford School, Intention, by Gertrud Elisabeth M. Anscombe, can be brought back to the Aristotelian tradition in the field of the theory of action (choice, deliberation, practical inference).

IV. Metaphysics Metaphysics is perhaps the part of Aristotle’s thought which has been most discussed in the history of this discipline, which not by chance received its name from the title that the editors attributed to the work where Aristotle exposed his “first philosophy”. In my opinion it is also the part which has been most misunderstood, hence regarding this, the term “tradition” runs the risk of assuming the meaning of “treason”. The comportamento (Ghost as behaviour), Einaudi, Torino 1955. 27 Cfr. H. Putnam, Words and Life, ed. by J. Conant, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass., 1994, and my article Aristotele e il “Mind-Body Problem”, «Iride», 11, 1998, pp. 43-62 (reprinted in Berti, Nuovi studi aristotelici, pp. 309328). 28 Kenny, p. 9. 29 Ibidem, p. 11.

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Metaphysics is a work which was probably put together by Andronicus of Rhodes at the end of the I century B.C. It had a strange destiny, because it began to circulate in the Greek cultural area at the time when the Roman Empire came into contact with the great monotheistic religions, Judaism and Christianity. The “pagan” (a term used by Christians) culture reacted to them by developing a philosophy like Neoplatonism which, without repudiating the polytheism of the official Greek and Roman religions, deduced the whole reality from only one Principle, the One of Plotinus or the Being of Porphyrius, in competition with Judaic-Christian creationism. In this climate, Aristotle’s Metaphysics was interpreted essentially as a rational theology, i.e. as a philosophy fit to give a rational basis for a theology of strongly religious character, founded on a divine revelation for the Judaists and the Christians, or on the word of Plato for the Neoplatonists. This tendency already appeared in the first great commentator on Aristotle, Alexander of Aphrodisias (II-III century A.C.), who, even chronologically preceding the Neoplatonism, was influenced by the so called “Middle-Platonism”, which was an attempt to reconcile Aristotle with Plato in view of a substantially monotheistic system. Nevertheless Alexander did not reduce Aristotle’s metaphysics to philosophical theology, but stressed the presence in it of an essentially ontological element, the science of being as being, which is exposed in the IV book of the homonymous work, interpreting rightly the “God” of Aristotle i.e. the unmoved mover, as one of the first causes which explains being as being. His Platonism revealed itself in interpreting the causality of the unmoved mover as a causality of exemplar kind, i.e. in claiming that heaven rotates on itself in order to imitate the immobility of the unmoved mover30. Unfortunately, only the first five books of Alexander’s commentary on Metaphysics have been preserved, therefore we do not know exactly what interpretation he gave, in comparison with the rest of the work, to the book XII, the famous Lambda book, where the theory of the unmoved mover is exposed. From the commentary by Averroes, who knows and quotes the lost commentary by Alexander, it is possible to deduce that also the Greek commentator considered this book as the peak of the whole Metaphysics31. Metaphysics was certainly reduced to a theology by the Neoplatonic commentators on the work, Syrianus, Asclepius and the Byzantine 30

Cfr. M. Rashed, Essentialisme. Alexandre d’Aphrodise entre logique, physique et cosmologie, de Gruyter, Berlin-New York 2007. 31 Ibn Rushd’s Metaphysics, a Translation with Introduction of Ibn Rushd’s Commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics, Book Lam, by C. Genequand, Brill, Leiden 1984.

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Michael of Ephesus (XII century), who rewrote the lost books of Alexander’s commentary, transmitting them to posterity as though they were the work of Alexander32. The behaviour held by the Muslim commentators in this regard is also interesting. They too, as followers of the third great monotheistic religion, looked for a rational basis in Greek philosophy for the revealed theology. As the Christians in Antiquity and in the Middle Ages, i.e. before the XIII century preferred Plato’s philosophy to Aristotle’s, because it was easier to reconcile it with the creation of the world and the immortality of the soul, Muslims – in competition with the Christians of the Byzantine Empire – chose Aristotle as their philosopher. However, they did not find a true theology in Aristotle, because even the XII book of Metaphysics offers very little in this regard. Hence they themselves made up two works of philosophic theology in Arabic, which they attributed to Aristotle: the so called Theologia Aristotelis, composed in the circle of Al-Kindi with excerpts from Plotinus’s works, and the book On the pure Good, translated into Latin as Liber de causis, made up of excerpts from Proclus’s Elementatio theologica33. Therefore, the major Muslim philosophers, inspired by Neoplatonism, interpreted Aristotle’s Metaphysics in a theological way, with Al-Kindi, even if they stressed the ontological aspect of it, with Al-Farabi and Avicenna, for whom metaphysics is a science of being which includes even God. On the other hand, Averroes stressed its connection with physics, considering nevertheless, under the influence of Alexander’s commentary, the XII book as the best part of the whole Metaphysics. In Christian Scholastic tradition, Thomas Aquinas skilfully reconciled the ontological moment of Aristotle’s metaphysics, i.e. the study of being as being (ens commune), with its theological moment, i.e. the demonstration of the necessity of an unmoved mover, showing how the last one is the first cause of being. He too, however, shared the theological tendency of his predecessors, developing his commentary up to the XII book and refraining from commenting on the last two books of Metaphysics (XIII-XIV), devoted to criticism of the Platonic-Academic doctrines of ideas-numbers and of their principles. A true turning-point was introduced by John Duns Scotus, who reduced Aristotle’s metaphysics to its ontological moment, already stressed by Avicenna, making of it exclusively the science of being as being, i.e. the study of the 32

Cfr. R. Salis, Il commento di pseudo-Alessandro al libro Lambda della Metafisica di Aristotele, Rubbettino, Soveria Mannelli 2005. 33 Cfr. C. D’Ancona Costa, La casa della Sapienza: la trasmissione della metafisica greca e la formazione della filosofia araba, Guerini, Milano 1996.

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transcendental proprieties of the last one, conceived even as univocal and including God too as part of it. A similar interpretation was given some centuries afterwards by Francisco Suárez, who conceived metaphysics as the science of being, including even the science of God as part of it, and preparing in this way the road to the German Schulmetaphysik, where the modern concept of “ontology” was born (with Lohrard, Göckel, Clauberg). Therefore, in the heart of the modern age, the metaphysics of Aristotelian origin articulated itself, with Christian Wolff, in general metaphysics, or ontology, and special metaphysics, i.e. rational theology, rational cosmology and rational psychology, offering itself in this way to the criticism of Kant. By following the Schulmetaphysik, Kant saved general metaphysics, transforming it into transcendental analytic metaphysics, and rejected the special metaphysics, considering them mere dialectic, in the worse sense of the term. Hegel continued in the same direction, identifying metaphysics with logic, the science of the Idea, the first category of which is the total indeterminate being (because univocal) and hence resolving itself in nothing. Nevertheless, Hegel appreciated Aristotle’s metaphysics, and in the conclusion of his Encyclopaedia of philosophical sciences, he referred to Aristotle’s description of the unmoved mover as the act of thought, as the description of the absolute Spirit. Franz Brentano reacted against the univocal interpretation of Hegel, vindicating the multiplicity of the meanings of being affirmed by Aristotle, but he too, following Thomas Aquinas, reduced being to substance and substance to unmoved substance, i.e. to God34. On the contrary, the Neokantian Paul Natorp re-proposed the distinction, made by Kant under the influence of Wolff, between metaphysics as the universal science of being as being and rational theology, appreciating the first and quite rejecting the second as non-Aristotelian35. Heidegger, combining Brentano’s interpretation with Natorp’s, distinguished two sciences in Aristotle’s metaphysics: ontology, the science of being, and theology, science of the Supreme Being. In this way, he introduced into the philosophy of the XX century the idea, which afterwards became commonplace, that metaphysics would be an “onto-theology”, which reduces the universal being to a particular being and in this way definitively forgets the true being36. Notwithstanding the total refusal by 34 F. Brentano, Von der mannigfachen Bedeutung des Seienden nach Aristoteles, Freiburg i. B., 1862. 35 P. Natorp, “Thema und Disposition der aristotelischen Metaphysik”, «Philosophische Monatshefte», 24, 1888, pp. 37-65 and 540-574. 36 M. Heidegger, Identität und Differenz. Die onto-theo-logische Verfassung der

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Heidegger of Aristotle’s metaphysics as oblivion of being, the fact remained that for him metaphysics was still Aristotle’s metaphysics and that the object of philosophy was fundamentally the being, as it was for Aristotle’s Metaphysics. Pierre Aubenque, one of the major specialists of Aristotle, with a Heideggerian tendency, after having declared 50 years ago the failure of Aristotle’s metaphysics37, has more recently come back to the subject, declaring that metaphysics «surmonte les confinements, déconstruit les enfermements, ouvre toujours de nouveau des possibilités prématurement closes dans la pensée. Elle est, pour le dire avec Kant, la respiration même de la pensée»38. If, by his interpretation of Aristotle’s metaphysics, Heidegger has influenced the whole “continental” philosophy of the XX century, the presence of Aristotle has not been less important, even if with a completely opposed sign, in the “analytic” philosophy, as it is attested not only by the linguistic analyses of Austin and Ryle (already quoted) but also by the so called “descriptive metaphysics” of P.F. Strawson, by the theory of substance of Wiggins and by the Contemporary Aristotelian Metaphysics which forms the title of the collection of studies in honour of Jonathan Lowe. Here, about fifteen philosophers, for the most part from North-Europe (England, Ireland, Finland) and from North-America (United States and Canada), all rigorously English-speaking and all, I would say, of analytic extraction, not only admit the possibility of metaphysics, but they explicitly defend Aristotle’s metaphysics, as the title suggests, without taking into consideration not only the criticisms of metaphysics advanced by Kant, by Heidegger and by “post-modern” philosophers, but also not even those criticisms advanced by neopositivistic philosophers such as Carnap and Ayer. The conception of metaphysics that they propose is interesting, because on that basis, on the one hand metaphysics precedes particular sciences (physics, biology), discussing the meaning of the terms used by them, and on the other hand it follows them, in the sense that it takes into account their results. In fact, K. Fine stresses not only the general character, but also the “eidetic” of metaphysics, which analyses just the “essences” (eidê), i.e. the final nature, of the objects which are the concern of the sciences. T.E. Tahko, the editor of the collection, recovers the concept of metaphysics proposed some years ago by the “neo-Aristotelian” E.J. Lowe as a preliminary inquiry regarding the categories in which the objects of the sciences are included, and on the principles that are common to them (for instance the Metaphysik, Neske, Pfullingen 1957. 37 P. Aubenque, Le problème de l’être chez Aristote, Paris 1962. 38 P. Aubenque, Faut-il déconstruire la métaphysique?, Paris 2009, p. 76.

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law of non-contradiction). Furthermore, in the collection there are also criticisms made by Russell and Quine about the reduction of the existence of a quantifier (T. Crane, E.T. Olson), and above all there are discussions of the new classification of categories proposed by Lowe. Some authors propose an alternative classification (G. Rosenkranz), others a reduction of categories from four to two (A. Bird), others the elimination of the universals (J. Heil), others again an integration of the categories with the dependence relationships (P. Simons). In the collection one can find actualisations of the Aristotelian concept of substance (J. Hoffman), of potency (I.M. Guenin), of life (S. McCall, who refers to it in relation to the discovery of DNA), of demonstration as explanation (K. Koslicki), and a defence of the priority of action with respect to potency (D.S. Oderberg). The most neglected aspect of Aristotle’s metaphysics, in the field of analytic philosophy, is certainly the “theological” moment, not because analytic philosophy does not cultivate rational theology, but because, in general, the lovers of this discipline do not refer to Aristotle39. The Christian specialists on Aristotle rightly stress the theological aspect of Aristotle’s metaphysics40, but there is no doubt that they consider it completely insufficient in comparison to the natural theology of Thomas Aquinas. A re-proposition of Aristotle’s metaphysics conceived as “classical metaphysics” has been made by the School of Padua thanks to Marino Gentile, who has seen in it that integral questioning of experience which is requested by authentic metaphysics and the indication of a transcendent Absolute as Intelligence, which is the only one capable of satisfying the problematic character of experience41. Inspired by this concept, I too have tried to propose a problematic and dialectic metaphysics, fundamentally of Aristotelian character, which is weak from the epistemological point of view, i.e. poor in information, but strong from the logical point of view, because very difficult to refute42.

39

Cf. M. Micheletti, La teologia razionale nella filosofia analitica, Carocci, Roma 2010; M. Damonte, Una nuova teologia naturale, Carocci, Roma 2011. 40 J. Owens, The Doctrine of Being in the Aristotelian Metaphysics, Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, Toronto 1978 (I ed. 1951); V. Décarie, L’objet de la métaphysique selon Aristote, Montréal-Paris, Institut d’études médiévales-Vrin, 1961; G. Reale, Il concetto di filosofia prima e l’unità della Metafisica di Aristotele, Vita e pensiero, Milano 1993 (I ed. 1961). 41 M. Gentile, Trattato di filosofia, Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, Napoli 1987. 42 Cf. E. Berti, Incontri con la filosofia contemporanea, Petite Plaisance, Pistoia 2006; Id., Aristotele e la metafisica classica, Il ramo, Rapallo 2012.

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V. Practical philosophy Concerning the so-called practical philosophy, i.e. the ethicseconomics-politics complex, it is not necessary to remember the wellknown “renaissance” (or “rehabilitation” for its detractors) of practical philosophy, which took place in Europe in the second half of the XX century and which then spread to North-America. The disenchantment of public opinion with respect to the social sciences, from which many people had expected the solution to all the problems concerning man and society, which became evident when, as predicted by Max Weber since their birth, they revealed their incapacity to evaluate, i.e. their inability to distinguish good and evil, just and unjust, and therefore to guide praxis, had as a consequence the rediscovery of a form of philosophical rationality, not dependent on a political ideology nor on a religious faith, but “practical”, i.e. capable of resolving practical problems, and consequently a return to the two philosophers who had stressed it, respectively in antiquity and in modern times, i.e. Aristotle and Kant. The former was the author of the expression “practical philosophy” (Metaph. II 1, 993 b 21), which then he developed in his Ethics and Politics, while the latter was the author of the Critique of practical reason and of an ethics completely founded on reason. The return to Aristotle was nevertheless still stronger than the return to Kant, thanks above all to the re-proposal of his practical philosophy as the model of hermeneutics by Hans-Georg Gadamer and to the convergence of his philosophy and his school (R. Bubner) with the philosophy of Hannah Arendt and of her school (E. Vollrath), and of the Hegelian Joachim Ritter and of his school (G. Bien). As Franco Volpi recently wrote, Gadamer has rehabilitated the phronêsis, Ritter has rehabilitated the êthos and Arendt has rehabilitated the praxis, i.e. the communicative acting, all the concepts going back to Aristotle43. However, the reference to the phronêsis has led to the rediscovery of the Aristotelian concept of virtue, which happened in America thanks to Alasdair MacIntyre44, and in England thanks to G.E.M. Anscombe, G.H. von Wright and Philippa Foot, who founded the tendency of moral philosophy today known as “ethics of virtues”45. At the same 43 F. Volpi, Heidegger und der Neoaristotelismus, in A. Denker, G. Figal, F. Volpi (Hrsgg.), Heidegger und Aristoteles, Alber, Freiburg-München 2007 (“HeideggerJahrbuch”), pp. 221-236. 44 A. MacIntyre, After Virtue. A Study in Moral Theory, University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame, Indiana 1981. 45 Cf. M. Mangini, Etica delle virtù: appunti di viaggio, «Philosophical News», 4, 2012, pp. 82-94. The whole issue of this review is devoted to the virtues.

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time, in the field of the ethics, there has been a re-evaluation of concepts of Aristotelian origin, such as happiness, justice, pleasure, relational virtues (friendship), and the perception of the precariousness of the human condition has been stressed, which Aristotle shared with the great Greek tragedians, thanks to Martha Nussbaum46. A part of practical philosophy, meant in the Aristotelian sense, is what we call political philosophy, and Aristotle included ethics in this too, thus forming the whole practical philosophy called “political science”. The treatise in which it is exposed, i.e. Politics, nearly unknown in antiquity, was widely successful in the Middle Ages (not only with Thomas Aquinas, but also with Dante Alighieri and Marsilius of Padua) and in the Renaissance (with the so-called “republican” thought). Even Niccolò Machiavelli, who certainly cannot be considered an Aristotelian, was considered as such by his contemporaries, because in Florence, then dominated by Neoplatonism, he made use of the central books of Aristotle’s Politics in order to realistically describe the revolutions, that is, the ways in which power can be conquered or lost. However, precisely with Machiavelli a new political institution entered history, and consequently philosophy, that of the modern State, completely unknown to Aristotle, which was destined to dominate modern political thought too, with Bodin, Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau, Kant and Hegel. The political philosophy of Aristotle was recovered in the XX century, both by the supporters of the renaissance of Aristotelian practical philosophy (in particular by Hannah Arendt, Leo Strauss, Eric Voegelin) and by Jacques Maritain, a thinker, who considered himself more a Thomist than an Aristotelian. Arendt was among the first to discover the category of “the political” as a public space reserved for the exercise of praxis, i.e. acting not with the aim of production, but above all consisting in communication, that is to say free discussion, while Strauss and Voegelin insisted above all on the connection between politics and ethics, affirmed by Plato and Aristotle, against the autonomy of politics claimed by modern political thought. In his masterpiece of political philosophy, Man and the State (Chicago 1951), Maritain criticised the modern State, which through the idea of sovereignty claims to be self-sufficient, opposing it with another form of political organisation, the political body, or “political society”, which re-proposes on a larger scale the civitas of Thomas Aquinas, i.e. the polis defined by Aristotle, conceived as the community which is sufficient for the achievement of the common good, 46 M.C. Nussbaum, The Fragility of Goodness. Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1986.

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i.e. of “living well” (eu zên), or a good life. After 50 years, contemporary history has confirmed the correctness of Maritain’s theory, and therefore of Aristotle’s too, demonstrating that national and sovereign States were incapable not only of achieving “living well”, but also of achieving simple “living”, and the consequent necessity of creating larger political organisations, of supra-national character, which can fulfil in a different way the essence of the polis, i.e. the “common good”47. Moreover, further particular aspects of Aristotelian politics, such as the criticism of “unnatural chrematistic”, aiming for the infinite growth of richness, and the necessity of an ethical inspiration for politics, was confirmed by Amartya K. Sen, one of the most reputed economists of the XX century, the 1998 Nobel Prize winner for economics, whose conception of the distribution of wealth on the basis of the “capabilities” of people to enjoy it was rightly compared by Martha Nussbaum, with its author's approval, to the Aristotelian concept, according to which the right measure of wealth is that which makes happiness possible, intended as the complete fulfilment of human capabilities48. It is not by chance that today there is a Centre for Contemporary Aristotelian Studies in Ethics and Politics (CASEP) in the London Metropolitan University, which aims to promote research informed by, and into, Aristotelian principles, i.e. a teleological conception of the human good and human capabilities, an ethics of virtues, and a politics of the common good. This is another example of how the Aristotelian tradition can become an occasion for innovation.

VI. Rhetoric and Poetic After centuries of contempt and oblivion, even Aristotle’s Rhetoric, decreed in the name of a rationality of a geometrical kind, has been rediscovered, as the theory of an argumentation which cannot be reduced to formal models, by the “new rhetoric” of Chaïm Perelman (Bruxelles), and continued in Germany by T. Viehweg, in France by M. Villey and in the USA by H. Johnstone Jr with the review “Philosophy and Rhetoric”. It has proved itself of great utility in the fields of law, ethics and politics, permitting a discussion in rational form in spheres of practical life which 47

Cf. E. Berti, Soggetti di responsabilità. Questioni di filosofia pratica, Diabasis, Reggio Emilia, 1993. 48 M.C. Nussbaum, Nature, Function, and Capability: Aristotle and Political Distribution, in G. Patzig (Hrsg.), Aristoteles’ “Politik”. Akten des XI. Symposium Aristotelicum, Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, Göttingen 1990, pp. 152-186.

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do not lend themselves to the formalisation of the logical calculus49. A new ethics has been founded concerning this kind of argumentation, and the argumentations which Aristotle considered of dialectic competence, such as the refutation, by K.O. Apel and J. Habermas, known as “discourse ethics”, according to which rational discussion is not merely a formal activity, but also implies some moral values, like acknowledgment of the equal dignity of the interlocutors, freedom to criticise, and the duty of replying to objections. The Aristotelian theory of argumentation, recaptured by the “new rhetoric”, is exposed in the first book of Aristotle’s Rhetoric, while the second book contains the so-called Aristotelian theory of passions, knowledge of which, according to Aristotle, is fundamental for those who want to persuade an audience. This theory was taken up in the XX century even by Heidegger, who, referring to the II book of Rhetoric, not only wrote that the ontological-fundamental interpretation of the principles of emotions did not make a single remarkable step forward after Aristotle50, but devoted a whole course to commentary on this book51. Unfortunately, Heidegger reduced all the Aristotelian analysis of passions, which also concerns anger, friendship, shame, kindness, pity, envy, emulation, to the analysis of fear alone. Aristotle’s discourse was developed by Hannah Arendt in a quite different direction, in the book that she declares totally inspired by Heidegger, The Human Condition, which in European editions has the title of Vita activa (Aristotle’s praxis), although the author would have wanted to entitle it Amor mundi52. Lastly, what can be said of Poetics? The word itself has entered the common language to indicate the theory of poetry, as has the word “catharsis” to indicate the purification of passions by poetry, which Aristotle theorised in his Poetics, and references to “myth”, i.e. the plot, “peripetia”, i.e. the reversal of fortune, and “recognition”, i.e. discovery, as the essential and typical moments of tragedy. Diego Lanza, an Italian editor of the work, wrote: “Few treatises boast the authority and the prestige of Aristotle’s Poetics. A book that, for nearly 23 centuries, has been an almost obligatory point of reference in every discourse on poetry. 49

Cfr. S. Thomas (ed.), What is the New Rhetoric?, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, Newcastle 2007. 50 M. Heidegger, Being and Time, translated by J. Macquarrie and E. Robinson, Blackwell, Oxford 1967, § 29. 51 M. Heidegger, Grundbegriffe der aristotelischen Philosophie, Klostermann, Frankfurt a. M. 2002 (GA II 18). 52 E. Young-Bruehl, Hannah Arendt, for Love of the World, Yale University Press, New Haven-London 1982.

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Idolized by classicism, detested by romanticism and rediscovered in more recent years by structuralism, the Poetics preserves an incalculable historical importance. For the first time in the history of western culture, poetry is separated from morals and from the religious sphere and it is referred to as a true technique, regulated by norms and laws, which can be studied and taught. The Poetics, in short, is still today the basis for every theory of literature”53. All this illustrates, in a way that seems eloquent to me, what “tradition” means: that is, the transmission of ideas, values, experiences which have become a common patrimony of humanity, and how tradition can be an occasion for innovation.

53 Aristotele, Poetica, a cura di D. Lanza, RCS Libri, Milano 1997 (my translation).

CHAPTER TWO PROHAIRESIS AS A POSSIBLE INSTANCE OF METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATION IN ARISTOTLE’S ETHICS NICOLETTA SCOTTI MUTH

Aristotle’s ethics – as his physics – is not bare of metaphysical implications. My purpose is to clarify some central topics of Book I and II of the Eudemian Ethics in which this nexus exhibits particular evidence. They will prove to be all intrinsically connected with the concept of purposive choice (prohairesis). This will lead us to challenge some paramount contemporary interpreters who consider Aristotle’s ethics as substantially disjointed from his metaphysics. “…not initiated are those who think nothing is except what they can hold firmly with their hands, and who don’t acknowledge that actions and generations and all that is invisible also belong to being as its part.” (Plato, Theaet. 155 E)

The nexus between ethics and metaphysics was regarded as structural in the scholastic tradition, a philosophical mainstream which started to grow at the beginning of the Christian era, and soon absorbed some main conceptions of the then recently rediscovered esoteric works of Aristotle into a systematic complex with broad Platonic coordinates. Typical of the scholastic tradition were such basic conceptual distinctions as visibleinvisible, sensible-immaterial, corporeal-spiritual, as related to different but not unconnected realms of being. Man, situated as he is on the crossing of these roads should, in this context, behave in a way which enables him to assimilate himself as much as possible to the superior realm. «Nothing of this interpretation was really Aristotelian» – maintains the majority of the contemporary scholars of Aristotle – convinced as they are

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that his ethics is bare of any metaphysical implications1. This statement has been for a long time simply assumed as a theoretical starting point in further discussion of Aristotle’s ethical topics, without taking notice of the historical hermeneutics it presupposes, which was separately discussed in more philological contexts. According to this hermeneutic, the story should sound as follows: when he abandoned the Academy, Aristotle was not a Platonist any more, having overcome metaphysics as such, that is the metaphysics of ideas. The treatise which bears his name should therefore be divided in two different parts – a theological and an ontological one – reciprocally unconnected, as they belong to two contradictory phases of Aristotle’s thought. This interpretation has evident consequences also for his ethical treatises: it is all the more possible that some concepts of a descriptive ontology found application in the Nicomachaen Ethics or even in the Eudemian. But if residual traces of theology can be found in them, we have to conclude either that they don’t suit in the context (bright as Aristotle was, his arguments still need not be all equally sound and coherent), or that they are something such as relicts of a dismissed view. And if ancient and medieval interpreters tell us, on the contrary, that in Aristotle ethics and metaphysics were related, we have to cast doubt upon 1

As reported by Julius Moravcsik, this was the opinion of J.L. Austin, cf. J.M.E. Moravcsik, Aristotle. A Collection of Critical Essays, Macmillan, Melbourne 1968, p. 10. According to D.J. Allan «[Aristotle] was more concerned to state the conditions under which an action may seem to express the fixed character of the agent, than to consider in a metaphysical spirit, what forces have contributed to its formation», cf. D.J. Allan, The Philosophy of Aristotle, Oxford University Press, London-Oxford-New York 19702, p. 131. Amélie Rorty writes: «[Aristotle’s] emphasis is on character and its proper development rather than on the rules for the propriety of rational motives or for the evaluation of the consequences of actions (…). We cannot deduce moral truths from universal necessary premises». Cf. A.O. Rorty [ed.], Essays on Aristotle’s Ethics, University of California Press, BerkeleyLos Angeles-London, pp. 2-3. More recently Hellmut Flashar has confirmed this reading: «Die Grundkonzeption [der aristotelischen Ethik] ist einfach und natürlich. Es ist keine Pflicht-ethik, keine Ethik, die Umkehr von allen gewohnten Anschauungen fordert, sondern eine Ethik ohne Metaphysik für den normalen Bürger», cf. H. Flashar, Aritoteles. Lehrer des Abendlandes, C.H. Beck, München 2013, p. 71. Quite different is to stress that «Aristotele può essere considerato il fondatore del concetto della filosofia pratica, intesa come scienza diversa da quella teoretica, tuttavia fornita di una propria razionalità», cf. E. Berti, Profilo di Aristotele, Studium, Roma 1985, p. 244. Berti’s comment follows from Aristotle’s famous distinction between theoretical, practical and poietical sciences in Met. VI 1, 1025 b 25.

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such a statement, because the picture it draws is perceived through Neoplatonic glasses. The true face of Aristotle would rather exhibit unequivocally naturalistic features and was rediscovered in the Renaissance. As a matter of fact, it was just then that some people began to doubt the speculative unity of Metaphysics, considering senseless and empty its effort to put together what has to be set apart2. Are there any better means than philology in order to demonstrate a doubt taken as an axiom? Werner Jaeger’s enterprise crowned this secular effort, tracing the ambitious project of splitting both metaphysical and ethical treatises in order to gain an understanding of the different evolutionary phases of Aristotle’s thought3. The question whether such a method is suitable for our philosopher was not asked; had it been, the answer would probably have sounded “it isn’t”, in so far as this method understands genesis as not developmental. To assume that the succeeding moment abolishes the preceding one is the same as to break one of Aristotelian basic principles, according to which you can become only what you, to some extent, already are: «Something of what [already] is coming to be has come to be and in general something of what is changing has [already] changed»4. If we assume, on the contrary, that Aristotle was not a rhapsodic thinker, this implies an effort to grasp anew his reasons for maintaining the relationship between ontology and theology. From what I’m going to say it will follow that our understanding of ethics as such is something quite different in respect to Aristotle’s, not so much because he purported an eudemonistic conception and we a normative one5, but rather because our ontology, deprived as it is from any theological reference, is 2

Aristotle’s Metaphysiscs exhibits a double intention, which was keenly defined as onto-theological. Whether this duplicity is a mark of the epistemological structure which is peculiar to metaphysics as such or is the result of a bad juxtaposition is still an open question. In the sixteenth century Scholastic metaphysics had already been split into a metaphysica generalis (ontology) and a metaphysica specialis (theology and cosmology). 3 In modern times, Hans von Arnim made a large use of the three ethical treatises to reconstruct the order of composition of the Metaphysics. He put the “Urmetaphysik” between Magna Moralia (MM) and EE, and the second draft between EE and the Nicomachean Ethics (NE). Cf. H.v. Arnim, Eudemische Ethik und Metaphysik, «Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien. Sitzungsberichte der philosophisch-historische Klasse», 207, 5. Abh., Wien-Leipzig 1928. 4 Cf. the description of movement in Met. IX 8, 1049 b 35-37. Cf. also Phys. III 1, 201 a 27-29. 5 For us «the sphere in which happiness is to be pursued is sharply distinguished from the sphere of morality», cf. A. MacIntyre, After Virtue. A study on moral theory, Notre Dame University Press, Notre Dame 1984, p.45.

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unable to identify man’s specific features, a point which seems to be central in Aristotelian ethical discourse. Not only this: his conception of metaphysics as inquiry about both the structure of reality and its last justification was so essential to the Greek philosophical tradition that it wasn’t abandoned even in the Hellenistic aftermath. Against widespread opinion, it could be argued that Stoicism and Epicureanism were not some sort of modern ethics ante litteram: insofar as their point of departure always consisted in stating the human place in the cosmos, they were rather the consequences of a metaphysics. These premises stated I will now approach the central target of my enquiry: to show that an adequate understanding of prohairesis implies some important references to metaphysics.

I. Prohairesis: what is it about? Prohairesis stays at the core of Aristotle’s reconstruction of human agency and is discussed at length in NE III 2-4 and EE II 10-116. According to current English translations of Aristotle, the term is rendered as preference, choice (Ross), or decision (Rowe), but according to the ancient usage it also means aim, purpose, plan7. Aristotle seems to have taken it from its juridical application and made of it a technical term of his anthropology8. 6

Consider also MM I 17. References to NE have been made with regard to the following editions and translations: Aristoteles Ethica Nicomachea, recognovit brevique adnotatione critica instruxit L. Bywater, “Oxford Classical Texts”, Oxford 1894; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, translation (with historical introduction) by Christopher Rowe, philosophical introduction and commentary by Sarah Broadie, Oxford University Press, Oxford/New York 2002; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Books II-IV, translated with a commentary by C.C.W. Taylor, Clarendon Press, Oxford 2006; Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics, translated by David Ross, revised with an introduction and notes by Lesley Brown, Oxford University Press, Oxford/New York 2009. 7 We find in Plato several occurrences of the verbal medium form prohairesthai which means to choose, to prefer. Prohairesis occurs only once (Parm. 143 c 3) and bears the same meaning. In a spurious Platonic work (Def. 413 a) it assumes the meaning of purpose, resolution. This very meaning is attested in political language and juridical jargon, in order to state the degree of consciousness and therefore of guilt of a criminal act. Cf. Liddell-Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1968. 8 Reference to this point in EE II 10, 1226 b 36 – 1227 a 1, where pronoia means the same as prohairesis; Aristotle speaks about this in his examination of justice in NE V 7, 1135 a 16 ff.

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The philosophical employment of prohairesis didn’t come to an end with Aristotle. The term still figures in Stoicism, and Epictetus will impose it anew as a the turning point in ethical discernment, followed by Plotinus, Gregory of Nyssa, Proclus and Maximus the Confessor9. In his own hermeneutic Aristotle understands prohairesis also etymologically, as he says «The name too seems to indicate that it is something chosen before other things»10. Purposive choice, reasoned choice followed by decision, enterprise, intention seem therefore all adequate candidates: we usually need a whole range of meanings in order to express – often by means of locutions – the faceting of Aristotelian technical terms. In traditional consideration of Aristotelian ethics prohairesis took a relatively modest place, if compared with the attention paid to the couple voluntary/involuntary (hekousion/akousion), or self-control/intemperance (enkrateia/akrasia). More recently, it has been paid increasing attention, in the context of Aristotelian theory of action11. The reason for previous 9 Cf. J.M. Rist, Prohairesis: Proclus, Plotinus et alii, in: De Jamblique à Proclus. Neuf exposés suivis de discussions, Entretiens préparés et présidés par Heinrich Dörrie, (Entretiens sur l'Antiquité Classique XXI), Vandoeuvres-Genève 1975, pp. 103-117; G. Dal Toso, La nozione di prohairesis in Gregorio di Nissa: Analisi semiotico-linguistica e prospettive antropologiche, Peter Lang, Frankfurt 1998; J.D. Madden, The authenticity of early definitions of will, in: Maximus Confessor. Actes du Symposium sur Maxime le Confesseur, édités par F. Heinzer et C. Schönborn, Fribourg (Suisse) 1982, pp. 61-79. It is worthwhile to stress that Gregory and Maximus made recourse to the Aristotelian conception of prohairesis rather than to the Plotinian one. 10 NE III 2, 1112 a 17, hyposemainein d'eoike kai tounoma hos on pro heteron haireton (Translation Taylor). 11 For recent analysis of prohairesis cf. C. Rapp, Freiwilligkeit, Entscheidung und Verantwortlichkeit (NE III 1-7), in O. Höffe (hg.), Aristoteles, Die Nikomachische Ethik, Akademie Verlag, Berlin 1995 pp. 109-133; Idem, What use in Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean?, in Burkhard Reis (ed.), The virtuous life in Greek Ethics, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2006, pp. 99-125; M.T. Liske, Unter welchen Bedingungen sind wir für unsere Handlungen verantwortlich?, in K. Corcilius and Ch. Rapp (Hg.), Beiträge zur Aristotelischen Handlungstheorie, Franz Steiner, Stuttgart 2008, pp. 83-103. For previous influential discussions of the problem cf. also T.H. Irwin, Reason and Responsibility in Aristotle, in A.O. Rorty (ed.), Essays…, pp. 117-155. The problem of responsibility has been discussed at length in R.R.K. Sorabji, Necessity, Cause and Blame, Duckworth, London 1980 and in A.J.P. Kenny, Aristotle’s Theory of the Will, Yale University Press, London and New Haven 1979. An older but still interesting study is offered by H. Kuhn, Der Begriff der Prohairesis in der Nikomachischen Ethik, in Die Gegenwart der Griechen im neueren Denken. Festschrift für H.G. Gadamer zum

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neglect may consist in a tendency to consider praxis more in its broader than in its narrower sense: according to the first, it is given a physical explanation as a sort of movement (kinesis) which admits no leap between the animal and the human12; according to the second, praxis is characteristic only of man and is a consequence of prohairesis, which has a strong rational component. In the first books of both the Nicomachean and the Eudemian Ethics, Aristotle develops an impressive phenomenology of human action (praxis). His argumentation follows in each of the treatises a different pattern, but it is noteworthy that both culminate in an accurate attempt to define the essence (ti esti) of prohairesis13. This will disclose a proper mark (idion) of man: man is that sort of being which acts for the sake of something. Although the single steps leading to the treatment of prohairesis (happiness, action, virtue, voluntary) are better analysed in NE, and interpreters usually make reference to this work, EE pays more attention to prohairesis itself14. Moreover, in EE we find frequent references to a global vision of reality in which also the foundations of morals are to be found. All this presents, as it has been noticed, some implicit bond with Plato, even terminologically. Thirdly, with regard to the displacement of the arguments developed, the Eudemian Ethics seems to offer a better opportunity to ask if is it possible to assign ethical treatment a proper place 60. Geburtstag, Mohr (Siebeck), Tübingen 1960, pp. 123-40. 12 Quite influential in this regard: Martha C. Nussbaum, Aristotle’s De motu Animalium, with translation, commentary and interpretative essays, Princeton University Press, Princeton 1978. 13 Cf, NE II 2 and I-III, passim; EE II 10. 14 Eudemian Ethics (EE) is presently made the object of increasing study, cf. F. Leigh (ed.), The Eudemian Ethics on the Voluntary, Friendship and Luck, Brill, Leiden 2012. The Eudemian Ethics had a strange destiny: the accurate research of Harfinger and Kenny about its documentary tradition has shown that it was considered as the ethical treatise par exellence up to the 3rd century A.D., but that subsequently predominance passed to Nicomachean, to the point that Eudemian was considered spurious in the nineteenth century. References to the EE are made in accordance with the following edition: Aristotelis Ethica Eudemia recognoverunt brevique adnotatione instruxerunt R.R. Walzer et J.M. Mingay, praefatione auxit J.M. Mingay, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1991; for recent English and Italian translations cf. Aristotle, Eudemian Ethics Books I, II, and VIII translated with a commentary by Michael Woods, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1992; Aristotle, The Eudemian Ethics, a new translation by A. Kenny, Oxford World's Classics, Oxford 2011; Aristotele, Le tre etiche, ed. by A. Fermani, Bompiani, Milano 2008; Aristotele, Etica Eudemia, ed. by M. Zanatta, Rizzoli, Milano 2012.

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in the Aristotelian map of reality15. And this will give us the opportunity to ask if the meaning we give to the word “ethics” is the same as Aristotle’s. It is sound first to sketch the development of EE according to the three successive “new departures” taken by Aristotle in the first two books. They exhibit a striking reminder of the three waves of Plato’s Republic16 and show well Aristotle’s ontological emplacement of ethics. The opening remarks are of methodological character: Aristotle declares that the present enquiry aims at gaining the specific genos of reality in which human life and its activities are included. This inquiry will require a specific approach17. Notwithstanding, it will remain philosophical, no less and no more than all the others, insofar as it aims at finding the dia ti, the “why”; and its method will be dialectic, insofar as it builds a circularity between solving aporiai and verifying the results obtained through recourse to phainomena18. As stated in Metaphysics (IV 4, 1006 a 15-18) this circular procedure will supply us with some principles (archai) to start with19.

15

If we avoid strictly dividing the topics of Aristotelian philosophy according to the titles of his main works, we will notice that connected themes are developed in different works. This has to be taken as a token of the fact that Aristotle conceived his work as an open unity. 16 The three waves in the Republic mean a progressive change of perspective. They consist in women’s education (457 B); the community of women and children (457 C); the philosopher as right king (473 D). For the three departures in EE cfr. infra, n. 22 and 27. 17 The difference between knowledge and action doesn’t mean, as we’ll see, that the second is deprived of any cognitive dimension. The distinction rests, rather, on a metaphysical basis. But they have also something fundamental in common: «All knowledge and every pursuit aims at some good» (pasa gnosis kai prohairesis agathou tinos oregetai, NE I 4, 1095 a 14-15). 18 Which in this case are both the opinions of the wisest and the data of innerexperience. 19 The principles are primary in relation to everything else, and it is necessary to deal with them through the generally accepted opinions on each point» (Topics, I 2, 101 b 1-2). «If we are able to raise difficulties on both sides, we shall more easily discern both truth and falsehood on every point» (ibid, I 2, 101 a 35-37). As MacIntyre says: «Demonstration is dependent on dialectic for the acquisition of the premises which provide it with a starting point. And this … is equally true of theoretical enquiry and of practical reasoning, unsurprisingly perhaps since the first principles of theoretical enquiry into the nature of practical reasoning and of the practical reasoning which issues in action are one and the same», cf. A. MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality?, University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame, Indiana 1988, pp. 91-92.

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By means of this procedure we will try to catch man in the moment of action and to distinguish the many interrelated elements which are so difficult to disentangle. The first start consists in identifying happiness as something to obtain (ktesis) through action (praxis). As we all want to be happy, it must in principle be possible for everybody to gain happiness. The question to be answered in EE is not so much in what does happiness consist20, but rather how is it to be caused? The second start21 is introduced as follows: «Next we must contemplate the psyche» (1219 b 27)22. This will enable us to better understand what virtue is. Soul has a bipartite structure: both parts partake of reason «one having the capacity to give orders, and the other to obey and listen»23, that is having the capacity to be “persuaded” by the first. Psyche can accomplish its work (ergon) only if its two parts are in accordance with each other. To accomplish one’s ergon well means to be virtuous; as the ergon of psyche is life, it follows that its virtue consists in living well (kalos zen). The recall to Plato’s Republic is even less remote here24, but 20

This question is solved in NE I 7. «After that we must take another starting-point», cf. EE I 8, 1218 b 27, meta tauta allen labousin archê. 22 As G.E.M. Anscombe remarked in her pioneer study Modern Moral Philosophy, «it is not profitable for us at present to do moral philosophy; that should be laid aside at any rate until we have an adequate philosophy of psychology, in which we are conspicuously lacking». Cf. Human Life, Action and Ethics. Essays by G.E.M. Anscombe, edited by M. Geach and L. Gormally, Imprint Academic, Exeter 2005, p. 170. 23 Cf. EE II 1, 1219 b 30-31: «The parts that we have mentioned are the special properties (idia) of the human spirit» (1219 b 39). Aristotle stresses that he has abstracted any other part which is not a special property of man. For recent remarks about what is proper of man cf. R. Brague, Le propre de l’homme. Sur une légitimité menacée, Flammarion, Paris 2013. 24 It emerges as a possible bond with some central themes examined in the Republic, a dialogue which represents a sort of watershed in Plato’s philosophical work. In his effort to overcome the aporetic treatment of virtue, which was typical of his earlier dialogues, he states the necessity of introducing an internal division in the preceding monistic conception of the psyche as opposed to the body. Moreover, in this dialogue Plato begins to interweave the threads of anthropology and metaphysics, an aim which can be accomplished only by means of a critical reconsideration of Eleatism, further to be developed in the Theaetetus and in the Sophist. On this problem it is still worth reading Michael Woods, Plato’s division of the soul, «Proceedings of the British Academy», 73 (1987), pp. 23-48. 21

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the treatment of virtue is fully Aristotelian, insofar as it is stressed that virtue consists not so much in a condition (hexis) as in an activity (energeia)25.

II. Man as principle of being The “third beginning”26 is typically Aristotelian and typically metaphysical: Psyche is a substance (ousia) and as such a sort of cause. The point to disclose is: what is psyche the cause of? An unequivocal reminder of Metaphysics is to characterize «substance (ousia) as principle of generation and movement». Every substance is «able to generate many things of the same sort as itself» (EE II 6, 1222 b 17). But man is a peculiar substance: «Man alone among living beings is principle of actions as well» (b 20). This statement makes clear that stricto sensu to speak of animal action is a sort of abuse. We have to keep in mind that Metaphysics is a progressive search (zetesis) for principles and causes of all things. In Met. IV Aristotle breaks, with a keen insight, the tenor of the preceding books, and states that what we are seeking as a principle is being as being (archai tou ontos he on, Met. IV 1, 1003 a 29-31); among the many meanings of being, he identifies substance (ousia) both as principle of being and as the new object whose causes and principles we have to seek anew. This recollection of Metaphysics enables us to better understand why this “third start” in EE attains the core of ethics, which consists in a study of man as ousia, and more deeply of the ousia of man, which is psyche, as cause27. All the other sections of ethics will follow as a consequence of this fundamental question: how does man’s soul exercise its causality? The treatment of prohairesis is placed at the top of this third “ascent”. We already know from the Physics and Metaphysics that nature, necessity and chance are each causes of some sort of reality, and we are 25

Discussion of this point in NE brings the reader to a different conclusion, as it is said that virtues are “states” (hexeis) in so far as they can be neither feelings nor capacities (dynameis): «We are capable of things by nature, but we do not become good or bad by nature», cf. NE II 5, 1106 a 9-10 (trans. Taylor). For a discussion of this point cf. Eugene Garver, Aristotle’s metaphysics of morals, «Journal of the History of Philosophy», 27 (1989), pp. 7-28. 26 «Let us take another starting point» (EE II 6, 1222 b 15, labômen oun allên archên). 27 This seems to be a proof of the fact that the division and organization of the esoteric treatises is judicious but not rigid. Aristotle expects from his hearers that they keep always a telescopic glance above his entire work.

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indirectly reminded of this now28. We now have to ask “what is man cause of”? In fact if man as ousia is a principle, a principle is a cause: «The first principle is a cause of what is or comes into existence because of it» (EE II 6, 1222b 30-31). Considering prohairesis has much to do with considering how man is inserted in the order of the causes, that is to ask about the place he takes in reality as a whole.

III. Human possibilities «Hence if in fact there are among existing things some that admit of the opposite state, their first principles also must necessarily have the same quality; for of things that are of necessity the result is necessary (…). And the things that depend on man themselves in many cases belong to [the] class of variable, and men are themselves the first principle of things of this sort» (EE II 6, 1222 b 41 - 1223 a 4)29.

These sorts of things are actions (praxeis): «Hence it is clear that all the actions of which a man is the first principle and controller may either happen or not happen, and that it depends on himself for them to happen or not, as he controls their existence or nonexistence» (EE II 6, 1223 a 4-7).

That’s why his actions can be praiseworthy or blameworthy: both goodness and badness have to do with the fact that man is himself the cause and origin of his actions30. But there are two conditions for affirming that someone is the cause of his acts. They have first to be voluntary (hekousion), secondly purposive (kata prohairesin): in fact these two elements «enter into the definition of goodness and badness» (EE II 7, 1223 a 22). The investigation of hekousion shows how far it has to do with appetite 28

Hapasai gar ai geneseis schedon piptousin eis tautas tas archas (EE I 1, 1214 a 29). 29 Plato has reformulated in the Republic Parmenides’ distinction among the spheres of Being, not-Being and Appearance, conferring to this last one an intermediate and proper ontological status: it is the realm of intermediate being (metaxy). This opens a new continent to explore, in which both physis and techne are included. Man is placed in the middle of it as a two-faced Janus, opened towards material realities and immaterial ones. 30 Part of the problem for Aristotle seems not to consist in the fact that good and bad in the moral sphere have nothing to do with true/false – as Hume suggests – but that the morally good/bad is intrinsically praiseworthy/blameworthy, in so far as it is caused by the agent.

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(orexis), purposive choice (prohairesis) and thought (dianoia). We’ll confine ourselves here to a short investigation of orexis. Appetite is tripartite, and this internal configuration is pretty revealing. Orexis consists in wish (boulesis), passion (thumos) and desire (epithumia). This plurality carries in itself a seed of dissension, for what is in accordance with passion and desire is often not in accordance with wish. An action can be committed not in accordance with all the three parts of orexis, but this doesn’t impede it from being free and spontaneous31. Aristotle insists that hekousia are also those acts committed according to passion and desire but against wish: in spite of this dualism internal to the appetitive dimension man remains undivided, and fully responsible of his deeds32. But actions stricto sensu are something more. After the voluntary begins now the investigation of prohairesis. The preliminary distinction genos/eidos is as always abiding. In which genus is prohairesis to be included? It seems to pertain to hekousion as its species: all actions performed according to purposive choice (kata prohairesin) are voluntary (hekousia) but the opposite doesn’t hold. This is typical of the relation genus/species: a species always denotes something whose meaning is included but not exhausted in the concept of its genus33. Current opinion explains prohairesis as either doxa (opinion) or orexis (appetite). That it can hardly be the second already follows from our preceding analysis of orexis. Some further remarks may still be added: animals possess desire and passion too, but «they do not have purposive choice» (EE II 10,1225 b 3). In addition, purposive choice decisions are often taken without pain, which mostly accompanies passion and desire. Nor does it coincide with wish, although boulesis essentially consists in 31

«When the source of action is from within, we do not speak of the act as done under force» (EE II 8, 1224 b 15). 32 We cannot consider at this place under which conditions an action can be esteemed as involuntary (akousion) (on this point cf. EE II 7). Once again the terminology used by Plato in order to denote human interiority and the complexity of its faculties, which seems to impair its unity (cf. Rep. IV, 443 D), will be maintained by Aristotle. Plato says: justice in the polis, which we have just considered, was something similar to the justice of the soul, which we are in search of. And the tripartition of the soul will be affirmed in accordance with the principle of non-contradiction. But the fundamental difference between the polis and the psyche is that we are here in a different realm in respect to materiality, as plurality does not impair the identity and unity (of man): a man who doesn’t afford one “class” to accomplish the role of the other «bonds together all his faculties…». Plato expressly speaks of internal behavior (peri ten entos) which fully involves the individual and his faculties (heauton kai ta heautou). 33 The reference of the genus is more extensive, that of the species more intensive.

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desiring the good. This is due to two reasons: first, «many things that we wish we do suddenly, whereas nobody makes a purposive choice suddenly» (EE II 8,1224 a 3-4). Secondly, wish holds also for things that one knows to be impossible (such as never to die), but «nobody purposively chooses a thing knowing it to be impossible, nor in general a thing that, though possible, he does not think in his own power (eph’auto) to do or not to do» (1225 b 35-36). «So that this much is clear»: actions made through purposive choice are related more with wish than with desire and passion, but they differ from it because they are not extemporary and «must necessarily be something that rests with oneself» (1225 b 38). That prohairesis is the same as doxa will also be negated. Aristotle states that «purposive choice is not opinion either, nor something that one simply thinks (oietai) (…) for we have opinions as to many things that do not depend on us» (necessary things, object of nature, etc.); and again, choice is not true or false; nor is it an opinion that makes us think that we ought to do or not to do something (dein ti prattein h ou prattein, 1226 a 6). It follows that purposive choice arises from both opinion and wish, but it doesn’t consist in them: «As to purposive choice, it is clear that this is not absolutely (aplos) identical with boulesis nor with doxa» (1227 a 3).

Objects of wish and opinion are rather the ends: «Clearly it is specially the end (to telos) that man wishes (bouletai), and he opines (doxazei) that he ought to be healthy (hugiainei) and to do well (eu prattein)» (EE II 10, 1226 a 14-15).

As to purposive choice, no one purposively chooses to be happy (or healthy), but to do something in order to be happy (or healthy), therefore purposive choice is not of the end, but of the means to the end. In order to choose the means (what to do to attain an end) one has to deliberate (bouleuesthai). The object of deliberation (boule) deserves an ontological explanation: «Now, of things that can both be and not be, some are such that it is possible to deliberate about them, but about others it is not possible. Some things can either be or not be but their coming into being does not rest with us (all'ouk eph'hemin autou he genesis estin), but in some cases is due to the operation of nature and in others to other causes. And about these things nobody would deliberate unless in ignorance of the facts» (1226 a 19-26).

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Things which it’s up to us to choose and to realize (ta prohaireta kai prakta ton eph’hemin) seem therefore to build a double possibility: not only their existence or non-existence is possible, but they are also possible in dependence to us. Through deliberation we come to formulate a doxa about what is practicable and what is not34. But what is deliberation itself? According to some interpreters it simply consists of considering two alternatives, and in choosing one of them35. And in fact Aristotle says: prohairesis hairesis heterou pro heterou, (1226 b 8). But he also adds that it is not the same as doxasai ei poieteon he me poieteon, 1226 b 24: «It is quite possible that many men may possess the faculty of forming an opinion whether to do or not to do a thing without also having the power of forming this opinion by process of reasoning» (1226 b 24-25). In other words: «We deliberate about everything that we choose, although we do not choose everything that we deliberate about» (1226 b 17-19). What does make the difference? The turning point in purposive choice seems to be that only in this case do we choose to do something because we recognize that it is the most adequate means to obtain a particular end; this is the same as to say that we acknowledge having a good reason to do it (hypolepsis tou dia ti, 1226 b 23): «For the deliberative faculty is the soul’s power of contemplating a kind of cause – for one sort of cause is what it is for the sake of»: to bouleutikon tes psyches to theoretikon aitias tinos he ou heneka mia ton aition estin (1226 b 26-27). Our analysis of prohairesis will come to a conclusion showing how the result of deliberation eventually becomes the object of will. Before considering this, let us dwell shortly upon the last point mentioned. 34 Of the intermediate realm of being we can find an earlier characterization in Rhet. I 4, when Aristotle already speaks of a realm of being which can happen and not happen (cf. endechetai kai genesthai kai me), of a realm of possibilities (ton endechemonon) among which one deliberates. It forms a sort of genos amidst metaxy, of what is subjected to movement. For the mature reflection about this point cf. Met. XII 2. The similarities and differences which Aristotle further draws between physis, techne and praxis are in debt to Plato: in the realm of intermediate realities the principle of becoming (of the going from potency to act) can be nature, necessity and chance, but in the realm of poiesis and that of praxis the principle of becoming is man. Cf., on this regard, the fundamental Platonic distinction, between techne poietike and techne ktetike in Soph. 219 C. 35 Cf. C. Rapp, Freiwilligkeit… «etwas anstelle von etwas anderen zu wählen (antiprohairein), beschreibt nun gerade den Vorgang der prohairesis, was wir als Entscheidung, Wahl, o.Ä. übersetzen» (pp. 112-3).

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Aristotle stresses that the cause he means is the final cause: «What for the sake of is a sort of cause (aitia), and the cause is a reason (dia ti) and anything for the sake of which a thing becomes, we especially designate as its cause» (1226 b 26-28). This brings us back to the “first start”.

IV. Well living (kalos zen) as skopon We may now throw a retrospective glance at the first book, where we already found the idea of man as cause (of his happiness). The argument had two levels. First, it was stated that good living (eu zen) is something which we obtain and exercise (kteseis kai praxais) and not simply which we know (gnonai). Things being so, neither nature, nor necessity, nor chance could be its cause. And no more could it be divine power. As the desire to be happy pertains to our nature (elpis), to obtain eudaimonia should be in principle possible for everyone – as nature does nothing in vain36. This can be the case only under the condition that we ourselves can somehow be the cause of it. The second step was to show in what eudaimonia consists: the most likely candidates (airetotata, EE I 2, 1214 a 32) were wisdom (phronesis), virtue (arête), pleasure (hedone). But are these candidates legitimate? We know from NE that each of them exhibits good credentials to be reputed a good in so far as it is chosen for its own sake37, but this not in a definitive way: each of them is chosen in order to attain eudaimonia. Appearances seem therefore to indicate that none of these candidates is the same as eudaimonia, a problem which is not explicitly discussed in EE. Given that only eudaimonia is a perfect end (telos teleion), this implies that we choose everything else in order to attain it and that we don’t choose it in order to attain something else. A perfect end is a skopon and to be happy seems to be such a thing. In Book II it will be stated that to have an end which is a skopon is essential to perform a good deliberation: «people who have no skopon are not given to deliberation» (EE II 10, 1226 b 30). And true actions (praxis kai prohairesis) are only those done for the sake of an end38: «generally, 36

Here the second premise is only implicit. Some criteria to ascertain whether something is a good are given in Rhet. I 6. For a discussion of the different meanings of the good cf. EE I 8 e NE I 6. Human good must be attainable through praxis. This is somewhat polemically stated against the supposed Platonic conception of the “ethical” good as a condition of the soul. 38 «Everybody able to live according to his own purposive choice should set before him some object (skopon) for noble living to aim at (…) on which he will keep his eyes fixed in all his conduct since clearly it is a mark of folly to not have one’s life 37

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one who makes a choice always makes it clear both what his choice is and what its object is, object meaning that for the sake of which (tinos heneka) he chooses something else and choice meaning that which he chooses for the sake of something else» (EE II 10, 1226 a 12-14). Aristotle speaks here of end as a ou tinos heneka and not as a ou tini heneka39. The Latin translation of the terms makes it clear that a finis quo (ou tini heneka) is to be intended as a target, that is something which is attained only when the process of becoming has come to a rest. It functions as a limit (peras). On the contrary, a finis cuius gratia (ou tinos heneka), is the “for the sake of” of something, and as such immanent to each process of becoming (genesis). But it functions analogically in each different realm of being: when it pertains to human actions (praxeis) as a whole, the proper finis cuius gratia is eudaimonia. This finis cuius gratia constitutes the proper good in the realm of human action, and its coincidence with eudaimonia is expressly stated in NE: «since there are evidently more than one end, and we choose some of these (…) for the sake of something else, clearly not all ends are final ends: but the chief good is evidently something final. Therefore, if there is only one final end, this will be what we are seeking … we call that which is never desirable for the sake of something else more final than the things that are desirable both in themselves and for the sake of that other thing, and therefore we call final without qualification that which is always desirable in itself and never for the sake of something else. Now such a thing happiness, above all else, is held to be» (NE I 7, 1097 a 21 ff.).

Eudaimonia is the telos for the sake of which we do everything (toutou gar heneka ta loipa prattousi pantes, ibid, ll. 21-22). “Praxis and prohairesis” in a narrow sense are only those which are performed for the sake of such a telos. And we know that this telos is eudaimonia even before we can precisely tell in what does eudaimonia consist. regulated with regard to some end. It is therefore most necessary first to decide within oneself (en hauto diorisasthai, EE I 2, 1214 b 11) in which of the things that belong to us the good life consists (en tini ton hemeteron to zen eu … hyparchein) and what the indispensable conditions for man’s possessing it are» (EE I 2, 1214 b 7-14); on this topic cf. also NE I 7, 1097 a 2-22. About eudaimonia as perfect end (telos teleion) in NE, cf. N. Scotti Muth, Si può essere felici senza virtù? La risposta di Aristotele (guardando a Platone), «Philosophical News», 4 (2012), pp. 126-154. For the hendiadys praxis kai prohairesis cf. Lexicon III. Aristoteles, edited by R. Radice, electronic edition by R. Bombacigno, Milano 2005. 39 For this distinction cf. Met. XII 7, 1072 b 1-3.

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That’s why eudaimonia runs in ethics as a principle. And this telos runs as a principle in the prohairesis in analogy to the premises running as a principle in syllogismus. (NE I 7, 1098 b 1-3): only eudaimonia holds a mark of completeness and is, as the end, the proper mover “for the sake of which” we ultimately do all that we do. In virtue of its striking analogy to the Prime Mover – both are principles through being last ends – it brings something “divine” to human life40. To conclude this point we can say that the proper human good is something we can obtain through action and that it coincides with the end of all we perform through action. And as true action is made according to purposive choice (kata prohairesin), things chosen by means of prohairesis are not chosen in and for themselves, but for the sake of something else. If this is a skopon it makes possible that the process of choosing something for the sake of something else doesn’t go on indefinitely. If it were not so, there would be no place left for the good but only for the useful in the field of human agency.

V. Action and desire We have now to consider briefly how Aristotle concludes his analysis of prohairesis. As we’ve seen, to deliberate means to seek the proper means in order to get an end41. When one sees the connection between a concrete means and the end – which is, as we know, the object of boulesis and doxa – the process of deliberation has come to a rest and the chosen means has become the object of will. As soon as deliberation is accomplished we desire what we have chosen and decide to do it. That’s why purposive choice constitutes a new sort of orexis: 40

That eudaimonia is something divine is said in NE I 9, 1099 b 11-17: «Now if there is any gift of the gods to men, it is reasonable that happiness should be godgiven and most surely god-given of all human things inasmuch as it is the best. But this question would perhaps be more appropriate to another inquiry; happiness seems, however, (…) to be among the most godlike things (…) [it] seems to be the best thing in the world and something godlike and blessed» (trans. Ross). For God (theos) as the “for the sake of” of the movement of the celestial spheres cf. Met. XII 7, 1072 b 7-10. 41 This point is well expressed as follows: «Das Ende bestimmt die Wahl, die Ergreifung und unter Umständen die Variation der entsprechenden Mitte und das bei allen Wegen und Umwegen zu seiner Erreichung doch stets unverändert im Auge behält». Cf. R. Schönberger, Abhängige Selbstständigkeit, in Appel/Weber/ Langthaler/Müller (Hg.), Naturalisierung des Geistes? Beiträge zur gegenwärtigen Debatte um den Geist, Könighausen und Neumann, Würzburg 2008 pp, 171-20, p. 179.

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«I call appetite deliberative when its origin or cause is deliberation, and when a man desires because of having deliberated» (EE II 10, 1226 b 1920)42.

Deliberative appetite is the will. At this point we can better understand what it means to say that prohairesis «is doxa plus orexis when these follow as a conclusion43 from deliberation» (1227 a 5). A further point follows: someone deliberates if he has considered (eskeptai) from the standpoint of the end (telos) either what tends to enable him to bring the end to himself or how he can himself go to the end (1227 a 16) (…) and by nature the end is always a good and a thing about which man deliberates step by step (1227 a 19). As we already know, deliberative appetite is always “of things within one’s power” (orexis ton eph'auto bouleutike, 1226 b 17). By asking «does this or this contribute to it, and how will that be procured?» we all pursue this deliberation until we have carried the starting-point in the process of producing the end back to ourselves44. In order to let the end be ours we have to choose the appropriate means, that is to act: the only way we have at our disposal to obtain our good in life is through action. That’s why all our actions contribute in realizing some concrete way of life45; and to identify one’s end properly is the main 42 «The object of choice being one of the things in our own power which is desired after deliberation, choice will be deliberate desire of things in our own power: for when we have reached a judgement as a result of deliberation, we desire in accordance with our deliberation» NE III 3, 1113 a 9 -11. 43 Sumperanthosin = to infer, to conclude; the term is taken from the logic. 44 For the parallel in cf. NE III 3, 1112 b 18-20: «They consider how it will be achieved by this and by what means this will be achieved, till they come to the first cause, which in the order of discovery is last». This procedure is here compared with that of geometry: «As though he were analyzing a geometrical construction (…) all deliberation is enquiry, and what is last in the order of analysis seems to be first in the order of becoming» (23-24). But it has also a striking similarity with the method pursued in the techne, which is discussed in Met. VII 7, 1032 b 6-9. An important analogy between techne and praxis we find in NE I 1, 1094 a 1-2: prohairesis plays in the praxis the same role as the method in the techne. This is the same as to say: no praxis without prohairesis. 45 The telos is principle and assumption (arche and hypothesis), like the postulates in the theoretic sciences, cf. Anal. post. 72 a 20, and Met. IV 3, 1005 b 5-9. It is not the object of deliberation and we have not to seek it anew every time we act, but it must be assumed as an hypothesis in order to deliberate about the means. That this is de facto the case in each human life is showed by the many different ways of life there are, each developing according to the respective end which has been taken. On this point, cf. EE I 4, 1215 a 27-28.

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question of human life46. A further point analysed is the difference between good and bad ends and the role played by a virtuous character in identifying the right end. The possibility to err rests on the fact that rational potency – which is proper to man – knows both the good and the bad, that is both contraries47. But virtue is a disposition (ethike hexin) to fulfil purposive choice appropriately, in so far as it doesn’t allow pleasure and pain to corrupt the rational part of the soul: arête poiei ten prohaireton orthon: the agent chooses the end he ought to according to the logos. And self-control (enkrateia) saves the rational principle from corruption (EE II 11, 1227 b 16). On the other hand, virtues are not only dispositions, but chiefly consist in being actualized through praxis. That’s why virtuous actions are also the object of prohairesis. This is stated in NE, where Aristotle says: «We are angry or afraid without choosing it, but the virtues are choices and not without choice»48.

VI. Some concluding remarks We have pointed out on several occasions Aristotle's debt to Plato. This is an important indicator of the fact that his ethical discussion has a remote origin and is embedded in an ontological background. From a careful parallel reading of some mature works of Plato, especially the Republic and the Sophist, and of Aristotle’s Eudemian Ethics as well as Metaphysics, it has emerged that Aristotle succeeded in subsuming the old basic distinction material-immaterial in the new one potential-actual. This enabled him to implement the plexus corporealspiritual, visible-invisible, whose validity proves itself especially inside human psyche. In Plato the nexus between ethics and metaphysics was dependent on acknowledging man as a corporeal and at the same time as a spiritual substance, with all the logical aporiai but also with the evidence which obliges us to stand on such an apparently contradictory admission. Ethics has chiefly to do with the question what sort of being man is, and not, as many suppose, with what he ought to do, because what he ought to do is a consequence of who he is. This guideline is fundamental in both Plato’s 46

As maintained by Socrates in Plato’s Gorgias 550 B. On this point cf. Met. IX 2, 1046 b 5. 48 Cf. NE II 5, 1106 a 4-5. «One who pursues excessive pleasures, or pursues things to excess and from choice (dia prohairesin)», cf. NE VII 7, 1150 a 20. 47

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and Aristotle’s treatment of arête. Furthermore Aristotle tries to insert the investigation about man in his larger research about the realm of genesis. As we know, this was also Plato’s interest in his later years, as he came to understand man as the junction between intermediate (metaxy) and transcendent reality49. Developing Plato’s idea of metaxy, which he reads as the huge area of coming-to-be and passing-away (genesis), Aristotle makes an effort to distinguish different realms inside it. Besides the three main causes of genesis which are nature, necessity and fortune, he makes clear that techne and praxis are also causes of their own and form a further area of objects whose being depends upon man. Being a natural substance, man engenders other individuals of the same species. But in the realm of genesis he is also cause of activities (praxeis). In a broader sense praxis means simply the way in which man is active, which includes knowledge (gnome), art (techne) and action (praxis) in a narrower sense. It is possible to deduce both from EE and NE a sort of triangle of gnome-techne-praxis. Everybody knows that techne and praxis aim at a good (NE I 1), but this is true for gnome as well (NE I 4). Still, it’s not a matter of a generic good (which is denied in NE I 6 and in EE I 8), but of different sorts of good proper to each activity. To speak about goods is the same as to speak about ends (telos): actions which have an end in themselves are called energeiai (activities), actions which have an end besides (para) themselves can be sciences, arts and also actions. But in a proper sense it is art which has an end external to itself: that is the work (ergon). As we have seen, the proper object/end/good of action is eudemonia, The analogy between techne and praxis at the very beginning of NE has shown that prohairesis is the method of praxis, that is the way through which praxis reaches its own good50. This sort of action is not impulsive nor immediate but holds in advance a sort of intellectual mark, attested by the “recognition” of a human good as the best, by the intellectual desire of it and by the decision to obtain it 49

Cf. Tim. 27 D: to gignomenon, Cf. Rep. 477 A and passim: metaxy as the inbetween of being and not-being rather than of the One and the Dyad. On this respect cf. Eric Voegelin, Order and History vol III: Plato and Aristotle, University of Missouri Press, Columbia-London 2000, p. 120. 50 NE I 1, 1094 a 1. Also from EE I 1, 1214 a 12-13 we can infer a narrow parallelism between techne and praxis, as opposed to gnome, and we are reminded of the distinction between poietical and acquisitive arts in the Sophist. On this subject cf. R. Spaemann, Was heißt “Kunst ahmt die Natur nach?”, «Philosophisches Jahrbuch», 114 (2007), pp. 247-263.

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through the suitable means which stand at ones disposal. Prohairesis is the result of a deliberation which is led by the following question: how is it now possible for me to get the last good which is the proper object of my desire? It is therefore the turning point in the analysis of human agency, in which six main streams of ethical investigation converge. As a matter of fact prohairesis seems to be connected with: 1. eudaimonia as perfect end (telos teleion), 2. boule (wish) as the best part of the orexis; 3. the part of the soul gifted with logos; 4. man as cause of what is up to him (ta eph’emin); 5. actions as activities (energeiai); 6. virtue (arête). We have to acknowledge that Aristotle, besides his unequalled effort to describe animal movements, was also able to intercept the peculiarity of human movements. Human causality cannot be reduced to the capacity of moving in space, but involves intention. Neither can it be reduced to a tendency (appetite as horme) but must include a moment of initiative, that is of will, which is not passively subjected to passions and feelings, and is conscious in so far as it can adduce the last “why” of his acts.

CHAPTER THREE INNOVATION WITHIN A TRADITION: CONSIDERING THOMAS AQUINAS ANTHONY LISSKA

While Thomas Aquinas is one of the ten most important Western Philosophers, nonetheless, since his death his significance has waxed and waned. In addition, this Aristotelian/Christian tradition has been modified and interpreted in several substantive ways. In 1277, the Archbishop of Paris condemned several philosophical propositions rooted in Aquinas’s Aristotelianism. Following a modest textual revival near his canonization in 1323, Aquinas’s writing became generally insignificant until the Second Scholasticism revival in the 1500s at Spain’s Salamanca. In the early 1600s, Aquinas’s writings became mostly moribund with the rise of Modern Philosophy. The nineteenth century revival of classical Thomism following Pope Leo XIII’s encyclical, Aeterni Patris, provided once again an impetus towards critical interpretations of Aquinas’s works. A more vibrant set of interpretations within this tradition developed in the mid-twentieth century and continues into the present. Several cohorts of scholars render their own insights into this tradition. First, the classical neo-Thomists follow the ontological insights of Leo XIII’s call for renewal. Next, Gilsonian Thomism incorporates the interpretative insights put forward by Etienne Gilson. Thirdly, Joseph Marechal’s Transcendental Thomism fostered reading Aquinas through the lens of Kant’s transcendental method. Analytical Thomism utilizes the techniques of contemporary analytic philosophy to render perspicuous readings for aporia found in Aquinas’s texts. Augustinian Thomists in turn incorporate insights from Augustine’s method to interpret Aquinas’s work. The post-modernist Radical Orthodoxy of John Milbank and Catherine Pickstock offers nonrealist renderings of Aquinas’s texts. Lastly, a metaphysical school at Utrecht argues against any post-Modernist account of Thomas. The tradition of interpreting Aquinas’s philosophical and theological texts hovers over this innovative re-working, illustrated recently by Alasdair

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MacIntyre and Martha Nussbaum. These differing approaches provide renewed energy pondering the texts and grappling with philosophical insights within this significant tradition. This essay offers a brief tour discussing the concept of a “tradition” while considering the development over a seven-century period of a tradition exemplified in the philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. Incorporating insights from the work of Alasdair MacIntyre on the analysis of tradition, this essay will evolve into a discussion of MacIntyre’s and Martha Nussbaum’s accounts of the re-working of the Aristotelian moral theory of Thomas Aquinas together with several other philosophical positions on Aquinas’s natural law theory as elucidated in contemporary philosophy. The last two decades of the twentieth century witnessed a renaissance in Aristotelian studies, with special reference to Aristotle’s moral theory and to the moral texts of Thomas Aquinas. Elizabeth Anscombe challenged contemporary philosophers to come to an understanding of the inherent limitations to moral theory as studied in the first two thirds of the twentieth century1. Two philosophers who have responded to Anscombe’s clarion call are MacIntyre and Nussbaum. In addition, Henry B. Veatch’s Rational Man (1962) and John Finnis’s Natural Law and Natural Rights (1982) were part of this revival of the Aristotelian tradition. Veatch offered an Aristotelian response to William Barrett’s treatise on Existentialism, Irrational Man (1958). Finnis’s Natural Law and Natural Rights, which has been referred to as the harbinger of the “New Natural Law Theory”, was an early attempt to incorporate Aquinas’s moral theory into the context of analytic philosophy. MacIntyre’s After Virtue (1981) began the serious reworking of Aristotelian moral theory meeting the criticisms of contemporary analytic philosophy, beginning with the “is/ought” dilemma of Hume. Nussbaum followed suite with her The Fragility of Goodness (1986) and Love’s Knowledge (1990). MacIntyre developed his insights in three other books, one of which, Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry (1989), was his Gifford Lectures. His last book in this long-term project is Dependent Rational Animals (1999). Nussbaum, well-versed in both philosophy and classics, has continued her intensive work in Aristotelian moral theory, always bringing to bear the tradition of classical studies with contemporary issues. Her co-edited The Quality of Life (1993) with Amartya Sen was the result of extensive research undertaken for a United 1 G.E.M. Anscombe, “Modern Moral Philosophy”, «Philosophy», Vol. 33, n. 124 (January 1958), pp. 1-19.

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Nations Project. More recent books include Cultivating Humanity, Upheavals of Thought (2001); Hiding From Humanity: Disgust, Shame, and the Law (2004); Animal Rights: Current Debates and New Directions (2004); and Frontiers of Justice (2006). This philosophical work is all part of the rediscovery of the Aristotelian tradition, which has been robust and significant, reaching a state of philosophical sophistication hardly thought possible in the middle part of the twentieth century. The architectonic structure of this essay proceeds seriatim over major issues central to the revival of the Aristotelian tradition. This recovery of a significant but quite neglected tradition has been in opposition to modern moral theory found in the writings of Bentham, Mill and Kant. Both MacIntyre and Nussbaum note the radical animality found in Aristotle’s and Aquinas’s moral theories, which are opposed in principle to another vibrant tradition in moral theory rooted in the Enlightenment and exemplified in Kant’s moral philosophy. This recovered approach is foursquare with Aquinas’s claim: “Anima mea non est ego”. In addition, the revival of the Aristotelian ethical tradition has influenced contemporary legal theory through a consideration of Aquinas’s natural law texts. This recovered tradition has had an impact in the current revival of virtue ethics. Following a discussion of Aquinas and the Aristotelian tradition, this essay will assist the reader to understand better the seminal work of two important Aristotelian philosophers in the last decades of the twentieth century.

I. Aquinas over the centuries The great Aristotelian medievalist, Thomas Aquinas (1226-1274)2 is normally found on the list of the ten most important philosophers in the Western Tradition. Not only has Aquinas’s significance waxed and waned over the seven centuries since his death, but even more significant are the several important ways in which this Aristotelian/Christian tradition has been modified, understood, and ultimately interpreted. In 1277, a mere three years following Aquinas’s untimely and early death, the Archbishop of Paris, Stephen Tempier, condemned a series of philosophical propositions rooted in Aquinas’s Aristotelianism. Following a modest revival of interest in his work near his canonization in 1323, Aquinas’s writing became mostly moribund until the revival of what became known 2

The exact year of Thomas's birth has been contested for centuries. Simon Tugwell suggests that sufficient evidence indicates 1226 is the correct year. Some documents state that Thomas was forty-eight when he died in 1274.

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as the Second Scholasticism at Salamanca, Spain, in the 1500s. The influence of Aquinas’s writings did not survive the rise of Modern Philosophy following Descartes’s revolution. Nonetheless, the nineteenth century’s revival of classical Thomism under the aegis of Pope Leo XIII gave a new impetus to the study and interpretation of Aquinas’s significant works. From this boost of intellectual energy came the attempt to render a critical edition of Aquinas’s Omnia Opera, which is still incomplete today nearly a century and a half later. Anthony Kenny notes that Aquinas’s textual output is prodigious, totalling over eight and a half million words in the texts considered authentic3. But beyond the rough and tumble existence of Aquinas’s texts up until the encyclical work of Leo XIII, a more exhaustive set of interpretations developed in the second quarter of the twentieth century and continues running strong into the twenty-first century. In English language philosophy, there are several somewhat distinct groups of contemporary philosophers working assiduously with Aquinas’s texts. At least seven different groups of scholars render interpretative twists to the grand tradition of understanding Aquinas’s texts. There are, first of all, the classical Thomists following the ontological insights of Leo XIII’s call for renewal; next would be Gilsonian Thomism, following the lead of Etienne Gilson, who incorporated insights of interpretation rooted in the Exodus tradition of “I am who am”. Transcendental Thomism is a third mode of interpretation made famous by Joseph Marechal, which fosters an attitude of reading Aquinas through the lens of Kant’s transcendental method. A rival of Transcendental Thomism is the Analytical Thomist branch [with Wittgensteinian Thomists and Analytical Thomists as subsets] utilizing the tools and techniques of contemporary analytic philosophy to render more perspicuous the important metaphysical and epistemological problems found in Aquinas’s texts. Late in the twentieth century, a new group of interpreters attempted to provide grist for the mill by incorporating insights from Augustine’s philosophical method, rendering new insights for Aquinas’s texts. The recently published Aquinas the Augustinian4 illustrates this patristic emphasis used in interpreting the texts of Aquinas. The post-modernist work of John Milbank and Catherine Pickstock linked to the Radical Orthodoxy movement provides insights from this version of philosophy into Aquinas’s texts. And lastly, there is a newer metaphysical school at Utrecht arguing against any post-Modernist account of Thomas. These distinct groups of philosophers reading Aquinas with seriousness 3

A. Kenny, Aquinas on Mind, Routledge, London and New York 1993, pp. 10-11. M. Dauphinais, B. David and M. Levering, (eds.), Aquinas the Augustinian, Catholic University of America Press, Washington, DC 2007.

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suggest the validity of Thomas O’Meara’s theme that “there has never been one Thomism”5, and MacIntyre’s assertion that there are “too many Thomisms”6.6.Fergus Kerr contends that the “reception of Aquinas’s work has been contentious from the beginning”7. An “orthodox” reading of Aquinas on most philosophical issues, therefore, is fraught with historical and theoretical difficulties8. Furthermore, Vivian Boland suggested that articles in the Summa Theologiae exhibit a dialogical inquiry rather than an authoritarian, monological treatise. «Each article… (is) a short, formalized dialogue: space is given to a range of voices, there is an appeal to one or more authorities, there is time for the teacher to present his own understanding, as well as responding to the earlier speakers in the dialogue….»9. Philippa Foot, a contemporary analytic philosopher, wrote about Aquinas’s import on moral theory: [I]t is possible to learn a great deal from Aquinas that one could not have got from Aristotle. It is my opinion that the Summa Theologiae is one of the best sources we have for moral philosophy, and moreover that St. Thomas's ethical writings are as useful to the atheist as to the Catholic or other Christian believer.10

II. On reading Aquinas only as a theologian Within the Aquinas tradition, several recent philosophers suggested that the only proper way to read Aquinas and to reinstate this tradition is through the lens of theology. This harks back to Gilson’s mode of interpretation. Hence, these contemporary philosophers and theologians debate the status of Aquinas as a philosopher. In his preface to the Leonine Edition of the Commentary on the Ethics, Rene-Antoine Gauthier asserts a strong position claiming that, because Aquinas accepted theological principles, his extensive commentaries on the Aristotelian texts are superficial at best11. Mark Jordan holds a similar position: «In short, no 5

T.F. O’Meara, Thomas Aquinas: Theologian, University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame, IN 1997, p. 155. 6. A. MacIntyre, Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry, Duckworth, London 1990, p. 58. 9 V. Boland, O.P., “Kenny on Aquinas on Being”, «New Blackfriars», Vol. 84, No. 991 (September 2003), p. 389. 10 P. Foot, Virtues and Vices and Other Essays in Moral Philosophy, Revised Edition, The Clarendon Press, Oxford 2002, pp. 1-2. 11 Cf. Preface, Sententia libri ethicorum, Omnia Opera 47, Leonine Edition, Roma 1969.

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single work was written by Aquinas for the sake of setting forth a philosophy. Aquinas chose not to write philosophy»12. Simon Tugwell, with the theological principles of Gauthier in mind, provides probably the best succinct analysis of the complex issues regarding Aquinas as a philosopher, a theologian, or a hybrid intellectual: «Gauthier argues that Thomas' concern was always theological, even in his ‘philosophical’ writings, but his critics have pointed plausibly enough to signs that Thomas did have a serious philosophical purpose and that he was interested in clarifying Aristotelian philosophy in its own right»13. Tugwell also notes that Aquinas thought that the only way to discover true propositions was to engage in a serious philosophical argument. Thomas composed his Commentary on Aristotle’s On the Soul (Sententia Libri De anima) near the time he composed the Prima Pars of the Summa Theologiae on the nature of the human person. In a similar vein, Aquinas authored the Prima Secundae of the Summa Theologiae – containing his so-called “Treatise on Law” – at the same time as he wrote his Commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (Sententia Libri Ethicorum). That these two Aquinas treatises should have conceptual similarities with the respective parts of the Aristotelian corpus should not be surprising14.

III. MacIntyre on tradition Throughout this essay, the significant tradition of Aquinas’s philosophical work is taken as a given; various innovative approaches provide thrusts of new energy into reading the texts and grappling with contemporary philosophical insights. In the late twentieth century, MacIntyre re-discovered the importance of this tradition of practical reasoning within the context and tradition of Aquinas’s moral theory rooted in Aristotelian philosophy. These insights first appeared in MacIntyre’s early paradigm-changing treatise, After Virtue (1982), and were further refined in his Whose Justice? Which Rationality? (1989) and 12

M. Jordan, “Theology and Philosophy”, in N. Kretzmann and E. Stump, The Cambridge Companion to Aquinas, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1993, p. 233. 13 S. Tugwell, “Introduction”, Albert and Thomas, The Paulist Press, Mahwah, NJ 1988, pp. 257-258. This essay may be the best overall intellectual biography of Aquinas. 14 Aquinas used at least two sources for his Aristotelian texts: those which came to Paris from the Islamic translating institute at Toledo and especially those texts that his Dominican confrere, William of Moerbeke, acquired in Constantinople.

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the published version of his Gifford Lectures, Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry. (1990). Nonetheless, it is in his fourth monograph on these topics, Dependent Rational Animals (1999), that MacIntyre developed his most penetrating analysis of this tradition of practical reason rooted in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and the Prima Secundae of Aquinas’s Summa Theologiae, both of which texts play a major role within the seven century tradition of Aquinas studies. Before considering MacIntyre’s insights in developing the concept of practical reason (phronesis), several insights offered by MacIntyre on the concept of tradition are useful. In an extended interview published in the British Journal, Cogito15, MacIntyre suggested three working principles as necessary conditions for elucidating the concept of tradition. First of all, MacIntyre noted that philosophical concepts are «embodied in and draw their lives from forms of social practice». This entails that in understanding a particular concept, one must discover how the concept has been used in the norms of a set of established practices. MacIntyre argues that to separate any concept – especially moral concepts – from the context of its tradition normally brings about serious intellectual damage and misunderstanding to that concept. Secondly, MacIntyre suggests that any significant and fruitful tradition exemplifies a “shared ability” to engage in serious discussion about the common inheritance of concepts within its tradition. In Dependent Rational Animals, MacIntyre argues that without undertaking a shared discussion about the moral questions that matter, it is impossible to grasp the meaning of the acquisition of virtues, a practice and theme so central to any version of Aristotelian moral theory. This engaged discussion will render, MacIntyre suggests, an awareness of what aspects of a concept embedded in a tradition are open to criticism and thus require modification and “remaking”. This inquiry, however, must be undertaken within the boundaries of the tradition itself. MacIntyre demands that concepts within a tradition must be reworked over time, but this re-working must be undertaken within the confines of the tradition. An example would be the naturalistic fallacy developed in the writings of the English moralist, G. E. Moore. In his Principia Ethica (1903), Moore argued that attempts to reduce a moral concept to a set of natural properties were bound to fail. Such a reduction entailed what Moore called “the open question argument”. Considered briefly, this claim resulted in the charge that any natural property serving as the foundation for a moral property – for example, Mill’s utilitarianism defining “good” as “pleasure” – entailed a 15

A. Pyle, Key Philosophers in Conversation, Routledge, London 1999, pp. 75-84.

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further question – is this pleasure itself “good”? Moore’s famous fallacy suggested that meta-ethical naturalism was bound to fail because of the “open question argument”. Moral philosophers in the twentieth century often openly dismissed the moral tradition of Aristotle and Aquinas by uttering the quick and facile phrase: “Naturalistic fallacy!”. An Aristotelian rejoinder to this reductive fallacy would be that Moore considered all fundamental properties as ontological simplicities that were self-contained. An Aristotelian moral theory rests on the concept of a dynamic potency or disposition as being fundamental to defining the basis of a moral property. Aquinas refers to these potencies as “inclinationes”. This disposition is a potency to a development into an end, which end is built into the potency itself. Thus, there is no fallacy involved because the open question argument is avoided. Understanding the tradition of Aristotelian potency and action within the context of meta-ethics renders Moore’s charge against Aristotelian ethical naturalism wrong-headed and mis-directed. Moral philosophers applying the naturalistic fallacy to Aristotelian moral theory – and the number was legion in the twentieth century – were blind to the philosophical anthropology rooted in dispositional properties central to understanding Aristotle. Hence, ignoring this tradition brought about what English ordinary language philosophers call a “logical howler”! Lastly, MacIntyre argues that the process of rational inquiry itself is directed within the context of a live tradition. Rational enquiry is not dependent upon the acceptance of “some timeless set of canons” against which contemporary manifestations of a moral claim are measured – like the standard metre in Paris. Rather, the arguments for the moral theory within the tradition need to be thought through creatively and substantively in light of present and often changing issues. MacIntyre suggests that the Aristotelian concept of virtue (arête) as moral excellence fell by the wayside in modern philosophy because the tradition on which it depended and the role of reason which it articulated were displaced. Hence, MacIntyre’s monograph, After Virtue, considers what happened to western moral theory once the concept of Aristotelian virtue was radically dismissed. The recovery of Aristotelian meta-ethics has been one of the philosophical highlights of western analytic philosophy in the last quarter of the twentieth century.

IV. Thomas Aquinas and the classical canon for natural law Using the insights of MacIntyre on tradition, the following analysis

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suggests how Aquinas’s moral theory has been part of the Aristotelian tradition and how it might be reworked in order to meet the theoretical concerns of contemporary meta-ethical theory. The task is to render the natural law tradition of Aquinas rooted in Aristotle consistent conceptually and comprehensive meta-ethically. The classical canon for natural law theory is often cited as Questions 90-97 in the Prima Secundae of the Summa Theologiae, where Aquinas develops a four-fold division of law: eternal law, natural law, human law and divine law. This analysis concerns principally natural law. One must note, however, that Aquinas distinguishes between eternal law and divine law. Divine law is a set of biblical propositions while eternal law is the set of archetypes – analogous to Platonic Forms – contained in the divine mind. Natural law is the set of moral principles based on human nature, which is an instantiation of the archetype of human nature found in the divine mind. Positive or human law, which must be in accord with natural law, is the set of laws promulgated by those in charge of and who have care of the community. The Summa Theologiae, written near the end of Aquinas’s abbreviated but productive scholarly life, is the incorporation of Aristotelian philosophical insights – modified by the traditions of the Hebraic and Islamic philosophers – into the developed theology of the Christian Fathers and Doctors of the Church, especially Augustine. The issue contemporary philosophers must address is how to reconstruct Aquinas’s natural law theory in a mode that is consistent and comprehensive yet with roots in the meta-ethical tradition. In order to develop his theory of natural law, Aquinas must account for (1) the possibility of essence or natural kinds, and (2) a dispositional view of essential properties determining the content of a natural kind. Aquinas’s moral and political theory is a second order inquiry in which Aquinas builds his moral theory upon his philosophical anthropology of the human person. An ethical naturalist, Aquinas constructs a realist “metaphysics of morals” yet not in the Enlightenment tradition of a Kantian transcendental version. Aquinas builds his human nature ontology first, and from this philosophical anthropology follows moral norms and principles. Aquinas’s meta-philosophy is ontologically realist without being Cartesian foundationalist. Scott MacDonald articulated this antifoundationalist theme: «Aquinas does not build his philosophical system around a theory of knowledge. In fact, the reverse is true: he builds his epistemology on the basis provided by other parts of his system, in

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particular, his metaphysics and psychology»16. This same meta-theory holds for Aquinas’s natural law theory. A second order activity, moral theory is based on a metaphysical foundation, which is the natural kind of the human person. Aquinas avoids adopting what Veatch calls “the transcendental turn”17, central to Kantian moral theory and independent of a realist theory of natural kinds. Using the categories of contemporary analytic philosophy, Aquinas’s ethical naturalism is never anti-realist and internalist but realist and externalist. Aquinas’s philosophical dialectic is akin to recent ontological questions exemplifying the rubric of “truthmaking”, arguing that truth claims are not metaphysically primitive but rather metaphysically grounded. Hence a proposition is true in virtue of some aspect of reality. These contemporary metaphysical positions on “truth-making” are, it would appear, analogically similar to Aquinas’s meta-philosophy18. Central to an explication of Thomas’s theory is a sophisticated teleology rooted in the theory of dispositional properties or inclinationes found in human nature. In order to grasp Aquinas’s ethical naturalism within this tradition, one needs to understand his concept of a natural kind, which suggests an interesting connection in analytic philosophy. Michael Ayers observed that late twentieth century philosophical analysis illustrated similarities with Aristotle on natural kinds: «… there is some awareness that the (Kripke/Putnam) view (on natural kinds) is not so new as all that, since it is not at all unlike Aristotelian Doctrine»19. In rejecting ontological relativism, Ayers also noted that the evidence of modern biology suggests that a species, as a natural kind, «… is a far cry from the radical arbitrariness that Locke (and most Empiricists) took to infect all classifications»20. Serious discussions regarding essential properties, often generated through modal logic, have returned vigorously in writings by analytic philosophers21. Aquinas’s essence is analogous with the “metaphysically necessary” that Saul Kripke discussed in Naming and 16

S. MacDonald, “Theory of Knowledge”, in Kretzmann and Stump, p. 160. Veatch discusses this concept in several of his books. 18 For a discussion of these recent issues, the interested reader might consult E.J. Lowe and A. Rami (eds.), Truth and Truth-Making, Stocksfield, Acumen, 2009. 19 M. Ayers, “Locke versus Aristotle on Natural Kinds”, «Journal of Philosophy», May 1981, p. 248. 20 Ibid., p. 267. 21 This renewed interest in essence as a substantive metaphysical question is common to both Anglo-American and European analytic philosophers. One needs but consider the “Metaphysical Project” currently being undertaken at the University of Geneva under the auspices of Kevin Mulligan and Fabrice Correia. 17

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Necessity22. MacIntyre’s defence in Dependent Rational Animals of his earlier rejected “metaphysical biology” in Aristotle illustrates the realism resonating in recent renditions of natural law. Accordingly, Aquinas bases his moral theory on the foundation of the human person as an instance of a natural kind. Aquinas argues that a human person is, by definition, a synthetic necessary unity grounding a set of potentialities, capacities, or dispositions, which is a dispositional analysis of a natural kind. A disposition is a structured causal set of properties that leads toward the development of the property in a specific way. For example, the structure of a daffodil bulb is organized botanically to produce in the spring a daffodil flower and not a rose. In Aquinas’s metaphysics, the substantial form is the ontological ground for dispositional properties or inclinationes. Following Plato’s suggestion in the Phaedrus, Aquinas uses ontological essences to categorize nature – to “divide nature at its joints”23. Utilizing categories common to the tradition in which Aquinas worked, human nature is the quidditas determined by materia prima and forma substantialis. Aquinas’s theory of a natural kind essence might best be referred to as a set of synthetic necessary properties. In his discussion of essence comprised of dispositional properties Aquinas differs from most modern and contemporary philosophers; an essence is not a set of fixed, static, simple properties. This account illustrates Aquinas’s philosophical dependence on Aristotle’s biological paradigm for philosophical explanation. Both Aristotle and Aquinas reject the mathematical model common to Plato and later utilized by Descartes and appropriated by early analytic philosophers like Russell and Moore. The mathematical paradigm breaks with the tradition of using the biological paradigm common to Aristotle and Aquinas. In considering his rudimentary metaphysical principles, Aquinas argues repeatedly that the principal division of being is “act and potency”. An essence composed of dispositional properties is “directed towards” a certain developmental end indicating where the teleological enters Aquinas’s system. A set of dispositional potencies reaches its “end” when the set has developed as it should according to its very nature or being, which is a reference to its internal structure. To function well is to develop the dispositions or capacities according to the nature or structure one has. In the language of hylomorphism common to the Aristotelian tradition, the development of the dispositional properties of the substantial form – the formal cause – is to attain the final cause. 22

S. Kripke, “Identity and Necessity”, in M.K. Muniz (ed), Identity and Individuation, New York University Press, New York 1971, pp. 144-46. 23 Phaedrus, 265e.

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This is what, regarding humans, the Aristotelian tradition calls “eudaimonia” and Aquinas refers to as “beatitudo” or “felicitas”. Aquinas divides these human capacities or inclinationes into three generic headings serving as the basis for the human natural kind24. This three-fold set of dispositional properties making up the human essence are best elucidated in the following manner: living dispositions; sensitive dispositions; and rational dispositions. This is a variation of the potency/act distinction that runs throughout Aquinas’s ontology. A potency is directed towards a specific end or development, which is the “act”. Human nature as a set of dispositional properties (inclinationes) might be construed as follows: 1. The set of Living Dispositions (what humans have in common with plants). 2. The set of Sensitive Dispositions (what humans have in common with animals). 3. The set of Rational Dispositions (what renders humans unique in the material realm). The final cause as a teleological goal built into the very structure of human nature is what Gauthier calls “The Metaphysics of Finality”25, which differs radically from the standard consequentialist paradigm. The virtues are the acquired means enabling each human agent to exercise those actions leading to felicitas or beatitudo. Contemporary Aristotelians often translate eudaimonia as “flourishing”. This is the foundation in human nature for the natural moral laws rendering Aquinas’s theory as part of the tradition of ethical naturalism. Thomas’s theory provides for the moral protection that prevents, in principle, the hindering of the development of these basic human dispositions. Considered schematically, a living disposition is the capacity all living beings possess in order to continue in existence. In human persons, this capacity is to be protected. Had humans been created or evolved differently (e.g. evolution through Augustine’s rationes seminales), a different set of moral prescriptions would hold. Put simply, a moral protection is what it is because human nature is what it is. This analysis is similar to what the British philosopher of law, H. L. A. Hart, called “natural necessities” in the Concept of Law; these “natural 24

Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Ia-IIae, Q. 94, a. 2. Found in Veatch, Swimming Against the Current in Contemporary Philosophy, Catholic University of America Press, Washington, DC 1990, p. 116; Veatch acknowledges his debt to Gauthier.

25

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necessities” in principle referred to the right to protection against violence26. In a similar fashion, one rational disposition Aquinas considered is the inclinatio human beings have to know – the innate curiosity to understand, reminiscent of Aristotle’s first line in the Metaphysics. Aquinas suggests that this disposition is developed only when persons know true propositions. Hence, human persons have a “moral claim” to the truth. Finnis argued that college faculties have an obligation to avoid teaching what is known to be false, because this fractures the intrinsic right students possess to know true propositions. This is based, Finnis claims, upon «a conception of human dignity and worth rooted in the interpersonal act of communication»27. In his The Morality of Law28, the American philosopher of law, Lon Fuller, postulated communication as a necessary condition for his substantive natural law theory. Moreover, Aquinas argues that this rational disposition is the foundation for the social nature or “affiliation” of human persons. Aquinas rejected the atomistic view of human nature exemplified in Hobbes and found in most of the later contractarians, or suggested in Sartre’s existentialism; these normative theories break with the Aristotelian tradition, which depends on a communitarian model rather than an egoist paradigm so common to contemporary contractarians in political philosophy. In considering how this moral tradition of ethical naturalism has fared from the mid-twentieth century onwards, the following philosophers have addressed several of these issues. The English Dominican, Columba Ryan, using insights from Aquinas, once wrote that the three general aspects of human nature are «the good of individual survival, biological good, and the good of human communication»29. Martin Golding referred to the living dispositions as the “basic requirements of human life”, the sensitive dispositions as the “basic requirements for the furtherance of the human species”, and the rational dispositions as “the basic requirements for the

26

H.L.A. Hart, The Concept of Law, Oxford University Press, Oxford 1961, pp. 194 ff. 27 J. Finnis, Aquinas: Moral, Political and Legal Theory, Oxford University Press, Oxford 1998, p. 60. 28 L. Fuller, The Morality of Law, Yale University Press, New Haven, CT 1964, pp. 84-86. 29 C. Ryan, O.P., “The Traditional Concept of Natural Law: An Interpretation”, in Light on the Natural Law, edited by Iltud Evans, O.P., Helicon Press, Inc., Baltimore 1965, 28. This essay remains one of the best accounts of natural law theory from the mid-twentieth century. Sadly, Father Ryan died on August 4, 2009, the former feast of St. Dominic.

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promotion of (a human person’s) good as a rational and social being”30. In his Aquinas, Finnis wrote: «The order Aquinas has in mind is a metaphysical stratification: (1) what we have in common with all substances, (2) what, more specifically, we have in common with other animals, and (3) what is peculiar to us as human beings»31. Nussbaum once articulated eight fundamental human properties analogous to the Aristotelian analysis: «We can nonetheless identify certain features of our common humanity, closely related to Aristotle’s original list»32. In Frontiers of Justice (2006), Nussbaum enlarged this list, which she now refers to as the “capabilities approach”33. Aquinas’s theory of the person is not Cartesian mind/body dualism but rather an illustration of what John McDowell calls “embodiment”. Both MacIntyre and Nussbaum employ this concept of “embodiment”, which transcends the limits of Cartesian dualism. Like Aquinas, McDowell insists that human persons possess a particular form of reason. Moreover, Aquinas emphasized continuously the prominence of reason as opposed to will. Duns Scotus and William of Ockham, however, alter this tradition of Aristotelian realism by emphasizing the role of will and fostering voluntarism as central to natural law. This emphasis on the will fractures the Aristotelian tradition of practical reason. Throughout his discussion of law-making and moral theory, Aquinas argues that reason, both speculative and practical, is to be employed rigorously. Law is, as Aquinas states, “an ordinance of reason”. A purely voluntarist account according to Aquinas is faulty conceptually34.

30 M. Golding, “Aquinas and Some Contemporary Natural Law Theories”, «Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical Association», (1974), pp. 242-43. 31 J. Finnis, Aquinas: Moral, Political and Legal Theory, p. 81. 32 M. Nussbaum, “Non-Relative Virtues”, in M. Nussbaum and A. Sen (eds.), The Quality of Life, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1993, pp. 263-64. 33 M. Nussbaum, Frontiers of Justice, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA 2006, pp. 76-78. Nussbaum considers the capabilities thesis in several of her works; the interested reader might consult Women and Human Development: The Capabilities Approach, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2001 and “Constitutions and Capabilities: ‘Perception’ Against Lofty Formalism”, «Harvard Law Review», 2007, pp. 15 ff. 34 In contemporary jurisprudence, both Fuller and Golding defend versions of reason and are opposed to a voluntarist account.

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V. MacIntyre’s recovery of the Aristotelian moral tradition MacIntyre’s own version of Aristotelian and Aquinian moral theory is rich and vibrant, and his writings constitute a “recovery” of the tradition of Aristotelian moral theory. Rarely does one single work trigger a major revolution in philosophical theory, but the publication of MacIntyre’s After Virtue inspired such a revolution in moral philosophy in the Englishspeaking world. MacIntyre called for a reconsideration – a “recovery” – of the theory of virtues common in Aristotle’s moral theory, especially as spelled out in the Nicomachean Ethics. Western moral theory had been dominated by the classical formalist theory of Kant (moral motives/intentions are primary) and the utilitarianism or consequentialism of Bentham and Mill (consequences of actions are primary). MacIntyre suggested that several fundamental flaws are found in these Enlightenment ways of approaching moral theory. The principal question confronted by several contemporary Aristotelians becomes not, “What are my moral obligations?” but rather, “What kind of life should I lead?” MacIntyre’s moral treatises exerted significant influence in the resurgence of interest in Aquinas’s natural law tradition. MacIntyre’s monumental moral manuscripts are clarion calls for renewed conceptual analysis while keeping within the tradition of Aristotelian and Aquinian ethical naturalism. What Russell Hittinger proposed a quarter century ago still holds: «If nothing else, MacIntyre has made this (Aristotelian) recoverist project professionally respectable. Less than a decade (now over two decades) has passed since its publication, yet many are already prepared to admit that After Virtue represents something pivotal»35. After Virtue produced a cottage industry centering on virtue ethics. MacIntyre joined Anscombe in arguing against placing the virtue ethics of Aristotle and Aquinas into the meta-ethical dustbin with those theories succumbing to Moore’s naturalistic fallacy. MacIntyre’s later writings, especially Dependent Rational Animals, illustrating his rediscovery of Aristotle’s metaphysical biology, respond in principle to the new natural law philosophers like Finnis and the postmodernist Thomists. In After Virtue, MacIntyre was chary about committing to an ontological foundation, while in Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry he wrote: «The concept of good has application only for beings insofar as they are members of some species or kind»36. In Dependent Rational Animals, MacIntyre discussed his return to 35

R. Hittinger, “After MacIntyre: Natural Law Theory, Virtue Ethics and Eudaimonia”, «International Philosophical Quarterly», December 1989, p. 449. 36 A. MacIntyre, Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry, p. 134.

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metaphysical biology addressing the query: does one need an ontological foundation for Aristotle’s theory of the person? John Haldane argues that MacIntyre «retracts this criticism (in After Virtue) and argues that an idea of the good for an agent cannot be formed independently of having a conception of the kind of being it is»37. This metaphysical turn proposed a move towards realism since MacIntyre rejects his earlier post-modernist abhorrence of ontological foundationalism. MacIntyre explains his significant change: .

In After Virtue I had attempted to give an account of the place of the virtues, understood as Aristotle had understood them, within social practices, the lives of individuals and the lives of communities, while making that account independent of what I called Aristotle's “metaphysical biology”.... I now judge that I was in error in supposing an ethics independent of biology to be possible.... No account of the goods, rules and virtues that are definitive of our moral life can be adequate that does not explain – or at least point us towards an explanation – how that form of life is possible for beings who are biologically constituted as we are, by providing us with an account of our development towards and into that form of life.38 (Italics not in the original.)

In reflecting upon naturalism as a necessary condition for moral theory, Philippa Foot’s work is aligned with MacIntyre in recovering the Aristotelian tradition. Foot once wrote: «…the human will should be determined by facts about the nature of human beings and the life of our own species...»39. This claim is similar ontologically to MacIntyre’s metaphysical biology and Aquinas’s set of dispositional properties. In principle, Foot’s position is reducible to Aquinas’s philosophical anthropology, which is the foundational question critics like Finnis avoid. This ontology, however, is a necessary condition for explicating natural law theory in Aristotle and Aquinas. Contemporary moral philosophers will note immediately that these ontological positions are opposed to the purportedly specious claims of “speciesism” articulated by Peter Singer and other post-modernists.

37 J. Haldane, “Thomistic Ethics in America”, «Logos», Vol. 3, n. 4 (Fall 2000), p. 154. 38 A. MacIntyre, Dependent Rational Animals, p. x. 39 P. Foot, “Does Moral Subjectivism Rest on a Mistake?”, in Logic, Cause and Action, ed. R. Teichmann, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2000, p. 123.

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VI. Nussbaum’s capabilities approach Nussbaum illustrates another chapter in the reworking of the Aristotelian tradition within the framework of the classical tradition of Greek philosophy and the context of contemporary political theory. Nussbaum is concerned that the contractarians, principally John Rawls, have focused attention so heavily on the Enlightenment tradition that the insights of Aristotle and Aquinas have been lost for contemporary discussions. Rawls is, in essence, a Kantian, and his use of the “Original Position” in The Theory of Justice illustrates a strictly rational approach in the determining of human rights40. Responding to this excessive rationalism in Rawls’s contractarianism, Nussbaum developed the “Capabilities Approach”, which is her contemporary rendition of the Aristotelian tradition of a dispositional theory. Nussbaum argues that the capabilities represent the “necessary conditions of a life worthy of human dignity”. She lists ten “central human functional capabilities”, which are: «life, bodily health, bodily integrity, imagination, emotions, practical reason, affiliation, compassion for other species, play, and control over one’s environment in both the material and political senses».41 In her earlier essay, “Non-Relative Virtue” noted above, Nussbaum developed a slightly modified list of what she later referred to as capabilities42. Like Anscombe and MacIntyre, Nussbaum is concerned that English speaking moral theory has been throttled by an overly Kantian emphasis. Nussbaum argues that Aristotelian ethical naturalism provides a necessary corrective to the strict deontological or Kantian approaches to moral theory on the one hand and to utilitarian or consequentialist approaches on the other. Nussbaum, in the manner of MacIntyre’s suggestions on working within a tradition, incorporates into her contemporary version of this tradition the Stoic concept of equality for all persons. Nussbaum is concerned that a concept of equality is missing in Aristotle’s analysis of moral and political theory. Parenthetically, the French Dominican, JeanPierre Torrell, argues that Aquinas was not only sensitive to but also transcended the limits of Aristotelian equality of persons. Torrell suggests that Aquinas’s reading of the Stoics through the lenses of Augustine and Cicero prompted his widening of the limits of the Aristotelian restrictions on inclusiveness in the polis or civitas43. This indicates a modification of a 40

J. Rawls, A Theory of Justice, Oxford University Press, Oxford 1972, pp. 85-86. M. Nussbaum, Frontiers of Justice, pp. 76-78. 42 M. Nussbaum, “Non-Relative Virtues”, in Nussbaum and Sen, pp. 263-64. 43 J.-P. Torrell, O.P, Saint Thomas Aquinas (Volume Two): “Spiritual Master”, 41

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tradition that MacIntyre considers so important. Finnis too, in his Aquinas: Moral, Legal and Political Theory, argues that Aquinas adopts a foundational equality among human beings based upon the concept of personhood. Finnis writes that Aquinas affirms «...a fundamental equality of human persons, precisely and simply as members of one race, each able to participate in some measure in human goods...»44. Hence, in addition to adopting an Aristotelian philosophical anthropology, Aquinas’s natural law theory modified this Aristotelian tradition by assimilating several basic Stoic themes requiring universal equality. Accordingly, this set of Aristotelian moral properties requires an added dimension of inclusiveness for all persons into the body politic that Aristotle himself ignored. This modification fits in with the recommendations MacIntyre offered for an appropriate way for working within but not being paralysed by a specific philosophical tradition. In providing only what one might call a “thin theory of the good”, contemporary contractarian political philosophers like Rawls dismiss a theory of the human good. Following Kant, contractarian theory separates the right from the good, whereas the Aristotelians affirm a relational dependence between the two. However, Nussbaum, like Rawls, rejects any ontological foundation for moral claims. Aligning her position with the Stoics, Nussbaum writes: «We may, however (with Cicero, who was agnostic in metaphysics), view these claims as freestanding ethical claims out of which one might build a political conception of the person that can be accepted by people who hold different views in metaphysics and in religion»45. This resembles Finnis’s rejection of a philosophical anthropology in his new theory of natural law.

VII. A metaphysical but not a linguistic turn That there are significant similarities with the Aristotelian tradition in Nussbaum’s Capabilities Theory cannot be gainsaid, but the scope of the foundational applicability differs. In considering the capabilities approach, Aquinas would pose a query to Nussbaum: Does one need an ontological foundation for a successful capabilities theory of the human person? Can one be consistent with the “free-standing ethical” theory Nussbaum proposed? Nussbaum rejects an ontological foundation on which the Translated by R. Royal, Catholic University of America Press, Washington, DC 2005, p. 377. 44 J. Finnis, Aquinas: Moral, Legal and Political Theory, p. 117. 45 Ibid., p. 36.

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human good is rooted; here Aquinas and Nussbaum part company with the Aristotelian tradition. In addition, the human capacities appear known solely by intuition, which both Finnis and Nussbaum appear to adopt; an intuitive awareness of basic goods or human capabilities, it would seem, is not a sufficient condition to ground a moral theory of the human person. Aquinas argues that ontological questions regarding natural kinds are necessary conditions for ethical naturalism. What is needed is an ontological foundation in the human person on which a theory of the human good is rooted. In addition, this set of human properties is not known solely by intuition – which mental awareness Nussbaum appears to adopt. In Women and Human Development, Nussbaum wrote that the capabilities approach is «informed by an intuitive idea of a life that is worthy of the dignity of a human being»46. An intuitive awareness of human capabilities, it would seem, is not a sufficient condition to ground a moral theory of the human person. Aquinas would argue that ontological questions – especially the natural kind of a human person – are not dead in the water. One significant way to address these foundational questions of human personhood is to consider MacIntyre’s return to Aristotle’s long neglected – especially in After Virtue – “metaphysical biology”. Contemporary moral philosophers realize that in After Virtue MacIntyre was chary about committing to an ontological foundation. On the other hand, in Dependent Rational Animals, MacIntyre articulates clearly his return to the metaphysical biology by adopting a metaphysical rather than a linguistic turn. This is a significant move since MacIntyre rejects his earlier almost post-modernist abhorrence of questions leaning towards ontological foundationalism. That there are similarities between the early McIntyre and Nussbaum’s lack of an ontological foundation is noteworthy. MacIntyre’s and Foot’s recent remarks are important in contemporary discussions of the renewal of the natural law tradition based on the writings of Aristotle and Aquinas. Both suggest the importance of a metaphysically grounded theory of an “order of nature” found in the human person. It is this foundational question, however, that Nussbaum wishes to avoid. This metaphysical turn is a necessary condition for explicating a consistent view of the moral and legal tradition based on natural law explicated in both Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas. This, in turn, requires a discussion of philosophical anthropology, which pushes Nussbaum’s capabilities approach further than she wishes to be pushed. Yet Nussbaum also argues that the “basic capabilities” are not based on 46

M. Nussbaum, Women and Human Development: The Capabilities Approach, p. 5.

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any particular human person but are “the basic capacities characteristic of the human species”47. Hence, within this tradition, Nussbaum appears to be playing fast and loose with the categories of capacities and the human species. This ends the discussion of understanding a tradition through an analysis of the ethical naturalism of Thomas Aquinas, which is derived from Aristotelian moral theory.

47

Ibid., p. 285.

CHAPTER FOUR ANALYTICAL THOMISM: A MISLEADING CATEGORY? ELISA GRIMI

In this paper I present a study about the notion of Analytical Thomism. I therefore propose a brief summary on the history of Thomism. Then I point out the resumption of the thought of Thomas that occurred in England at the end of the twentieth century by many authors, the first among them being Gertrude Elizabeth Margaret Anscombe, Peter Geach and Anthony Kenny. These authors operated within the analytical horizon and began to take an interest in Thomas. In light of this historical path, one can see how tradition and innovation are closely intertwined. I therefore propose an argument on the notion of Analytical Thomism, in light of the outlined historical process and the research now discussed. During the twentieth century, the thought of Thomas Aquinas had been studied from different perspectives. In particular, in England, there has been a revival of the study of Aquinas within the context of the analytical matrix. John Haldane, professor at University of St Andrews in Scotland, emphasized this fact. In 1992, he held some conferences at the University of Notre Dame in the United States, invited by Alasdair MacIntyre, under the title that he coined, Analytical Thomism. Later in 1997, Haldane published under this title the first work on this subject with the monographic issue, «The Monist»1, within which appears the definition of Analytical Thomism for the first time. Here is the definition given by Haldane: «Analytical Thomism is not concerned to appropriate St. Thomas for the advancement of any particular set of doctrines. Equally, it is not a movement of pious exegesis. Instead, it seeks to deploy the methods and 1

«The Monist», LXXX, 1997, n.4 (Prefatory note by J. Haldane).

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ideas of twentieth-century philosophy – of the sort dominant within the English-speaking world – in connection with the broad framework of ideas introduced and developed by Aquinas»2. Haldane is the organizer of a new Thomist trend in close connection with the method of analytic philosophy. It calls for a renewal of the thought of Thomas that is free from: 1. a useful, albeit limited, historiographical exposition of the thought of Thomas; 2. a Neothomism that does not derive strictly from Gilson, Maritain and transcendental philosophers. He also argues that analytic philosophy has a lot to offer to Thomism and that if Thomas were alive today, he would resemble an analytic philosopher to some slight degree. Haldane emphasizes the connection between Thomism and analytic philosophy in the issue of the «New Blackfriars»3 two years later, which also includes a bibliography on the subject. Haldane then identifies Gertrude Elizabeth Margaret Anscombe, Peter Geach and Anthony Kenny as the initiators of this new trend. But what is Analytical Thomism? Is it really a new trend? It is a fact that within cultural history there have been authors who have revived the thought of Thomas in a decisive manner. Anscombe and her husband Peter Geach, from an analytical tradition, were careful readers of Aquinas’s texts. In the writings of Anscombe, Thomas is often present, though rarely mentioned. Anscombe makes an accurate use of the Thomasian texts and – in the opinion of Candace Vogler – she was more Thomist than Aristotelian. Reading her texts, I must confess, however, one has the opposite impression, especially in regard to the strong resumption of the teleological character of human action as distinctly Aristotelian. Of course it is a fact that the texts by Anscombe are extremely complex and therefore require a deep reading, also for carefully noting the references to which they refer. A resumption of the thought of Thomas found a great attention in the studies of Geach. In Mental Acts (1958) he criticized Ryle’s conception of mental acts, distinguishing them from mental events. Then, in Three Philosophers4, written in collaboration with Anscombe, he dedicated one of the three main sections to the thought of Thomas and one section to the thought of Frege (the one on Aristotle was instead written by Anscombe). Geach, in the essay entitled “Aquinas”, of crucial importance, examines the main themes of the philosophy of St. Thomas in an effort to clarify the 2

J. Haldane, Analytical Thomism. Prefatory note, «The Monist», LXXX, 1997, n. 4, p. 486. 3 Id., “Thomism and the Future of Catholic Philosophy”, «New Blackfriars», LXXX, 1999, n. 938. 4 G.E.M. Anscombe ‫ ޤ‬P. Geach, Three Philosophers, Blackwell, Oxford 1961.

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misinterpretations; in particular, he focuses on the distinction, which will then be reexamined5, between the two senses of existence: existence, in the manner of Frege, as a feature of the second level (the 'there is sense') and existence as a present actuality. Geach also believes that this second meaning is present in Frege even if not developed. Next to Anscombe and Geach, there is then a third author, Anthony Kenny, who has devoted many texts to Thomas. Informed by the teachings of Peter Hoenen and Bernard Lonergan, Kenny has matured day by day his interest in the philosophy of Thomas, deepened by his meeting in Oxford with Peter Geach and Herbert McCabe. I recall here some of his important works: Action, Emotion, and Will6 (1963); Aquinas: A Collection of Critical Essays7 (1969); Will, Freedom, and Power8 (1975); The Metaphysics of Mind9 (1989); Aquinas in Being10 (2002). It is now necessary to observe that neither Anscombe, nor Geach nor Kenny identify themselves with the new idea coined by Haldane “Analytical Thomism” that would see a mixture of analytic philosophy and Thomism. Anscombe, beloved disciple of Wittgenstein and executor of his last works together with Rush Rhees and Georg Von Wright, distances herself from analytic philosophy with a strong criticism of it because it considers several aspects contrary to Catholic doctrine. Geach was born a logical person and no matter how much attention he directed to Thomas, he would deepen his writings about his devotion to Wittgenstein. Kenny has recently said at a conference held in Lugano11 in Italy that he would not identify himself as a Thomist, although he has conducted many studies on Thomas, even analytically. Before addressing in detail how the resumption of the thought of Thomas was generated in England, what constitutes it, and what led the attention of scholars to the current debate on Thomas, it is necessary to outline a method of observation, useful for addressing the issue of consistency of Analytical Thomism.

5

In Italy E. Berti, M. Micheletti and G. Ventimiglia have been long focused on this issue. 6 A. Kenny, Action, Emotion, and Will, Routledge, London 1963. 7 A. Kenny (ed), Aquinas: A Collection of Critical Essays, University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame, Ind. 1976. 8 A. Kenny, Will, Freedom, and Power, Routledge, London 1975. 9 Id., The Metaphysics of Mind, Oxford University Press, Oxford 1989. 10 Id., Aquinas On Being, Oxford University Press, Oxford 2002. 11 “I sensi dell'essere. Ontologia medioevale e ontologia contemporanea”, 28-29 November 2012, Lugano.

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I. Methodological observation In the history of culture, classifications are often present to designate schools and cultural orientations. During the twentieth century there was also a tendency to want to group together authors in the genre of so-called Virtue Ethics. In 1999, Martha Nussbaum wrote a very interesting article entitled “Virtue Ethics: A Misleading Category?”. In the article, she notes that the notion of Virtue Ethics has now become commonplace in the contemporary landscape of ethics, and is usually thought of and discussed as one of the characteristic approaches to the most notable problems of ethics. Also, next to utilitarianism and ethics of Kantian perspective, it is one of the leading positions to take. Neither utilitarianism nor Kantianism, according to the author, contain a treatise on the theme of virtues, and therefore the same Virtue Ethics cannot be a third approach in contrast with these two. On the other hand there are few scholars in the field of contemporary philosophy that investigate virtues without being either utilitarian or Kantian; some of them find their inspiration in theories about the virtues of ancient Greece. But in this case, Nussbaum attests, there is not much unity, although these authors are compatible in some respects, such as the interest in the role of the reasons and passions in good choice, or an interest in the character or in the entire lifetime of the agent. On the other hand, however, there is a deep disagreement about the role of reason in ethics. Nussbaum then argues that a group of modern virtue theorists are primarily anti-utilitarians, in reference to the plurality of the value and the predisposition of passions in the social sphere. These authors seek to enlarge the place of reason in ethics, arguing that reason can influence the objective, and the process of arriving at that objective, and that reason can modify the passions. Then there is another group of virtue theorists who are primarily anti-Kantians. They believe that reason plays too dominant a role in most of the philosophical explanations in ethics, and that instead a greater role should be given to feelings and passions. The entire essay proposed a detailed investigation of these two perspectives, concluding that it is not helpful to speak of “Virtue Ethics” and that it would be a greater enrichment for the person who carries out this investigation to define the actual positions of each thinker and then come to a precise understanding of what they say at the end of the research. Faced with this clear indication that Nussbaum reports, one wonders now if it does not also apply to Analytical Thomism, as if to say that it is a fact – as observed – that there is a resumption of the thought of Thomas, in particular at the end of the twentieth century, belonging to or embedded in an analytical context that arises in all the authors out of their particular needs. The aim

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of these authors is not “the resumption of Thomas”, but to develop research referring to these texts for help in their investigation. This leads to the very same argument by Nussbaum: it would perhaps be worth pausing, with an attention free from pre-established frameworks, to define the thoughts of each author according to the thread of his own assessment, and not solely with the criteria, which is used as a filter, to list recurrences to the texts of Thomas. With regard to the forced wording of “Analytical Thomism”, it seems useful to examine the contribution of Anscombe and in particular her critique of analytic philosophy. Before analysing the Anscombian text, it seems necessary here to recall – albeit very briefly – the main stages that have characterized the study of Thomas.

II. A Short History of Thomism The history of Thomism is usually divided into several phases12. Soon after Thomas's death in 1274, his philosophy was faced with quite a few hardships. Suffice it to say that in 1277 the bishop of Paris, Stefano Tempier condemned the famous 219 Aristotelian-Averroist theses of inspiration among which also included two principles formulated by Thomas about the uniqueness of the substantial form. The first period13 of Thomism, also called “first Thomism”, that extends from the thirteenth to fifteenth century, is very distinct for the defence of the Thomasian doctrine and for the awareness to create a theological school. There were some Dominican students of Thomas who defended his doctrines, becoming advocates in a vigorous rehabilitative action, not free, however, from 12

This part of the reconstruction of the history of Thomism is taken in part from Chapter 8, “Cenni di tomismo” of my book G.E.M. Anscombe. The Dragon Lady, Cantagalli Siena, 2014, pp. 393-403. Different conclusions: as indeed hinted at in the end of the chapter of the book, my study on Analytical Thomism was ongoing. It seems to me that the notion of “Analytical Thomism” is to be analyzed with care. The argument has to be weighted, not only given the contemporary studies by Haldane at the time of the coining of the term, but more in depth about the origin of the entire study in England around Thomas, by understanding the reasons that led and pushed scholars to return to this thought. 13 See item “Thomism”, edited by M.M. Rossi, Enciclopedia filosofica, Bompiani, Milano 2006, vol. 12. Here he identified three phases in the history of Thomism that we choose to follow in our argument: the “First Thomism” also known as Thomism in a strict sense, the “Second Thomism” or “baroque Thomism”, and the “Third Thomism” or “neo-Thomism”. There is also a clear division into four periods: apology (from the end of 1200 to the first half of 1400), commentaries (from 1450 to the beginning of 1600), controversies and abstracts (from 1600 to the beginning of 1700), and neo-Thomism (1840-1960).

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internal conflicts of Order. These students are grouped into three groups belonging to three geographical areas, England, France and Italy. In England we find William of Hothum, Robert of Oxford, and William of Macclesfield. The latter in particular carried out theological activity between 1293 and 1301 defending Thomism within and beyond the area of Oxford, especially against Henry of Ghent. In France, there was John of Paris, attentive to a harmonization between philosophy and theology, Giles of Lessines, the famous Bernard of Trilia, a teacher in Paris between 1284 and 1287 who was considered one of the founders of the Thomistic school, and Bernardo of Auvergne. In Italy, the influence exercised by the Thomistic doctrines was the strongest and numerous scholars promoted such thinking. Among them: Reginald of Piperno, Annibale Annibaldi, Bartholomew of Lucca, Ramberto de' Primidazzi, John of Naples, Remigio de' Girolami. The results of the defence and the deepening of the thought of Thomas then saw his canonization in 1323. The “second Thomism” occurred during the XVI-XVIII centuries. The Council of Trent (1545-1563) must be mentioned here, because it led to the birth of new religious orders such as the Jesuits. This period was also punctuated by a wide doctrinal exposition with insights that were often original, prompted also by the serious crisis that the church suffered at that time given the Lutheran Reformation and the evangelization of the New World. Representatives of this period are: Melchior Cano, Francisco Suárez, John Capreolo, Antoninus of Florence. During the seventeenth and eighteenth century, Thomism had seen a period of stalemate and then found its liberation later between the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. Its rebirth is then verified in what was then called “neo-Thomism”, in particular thanks to the studies of some thinkers such as Thomas Zigliara and Joseph Kleutgen, culminating in the encyclical Aeterni Patris by Pope Leone XIII in 1879, capable of reawakening the metaphysical and theological tradition and raising many new realities, schools, projects etc. as a result of Thomist inspiration. In “Thomism and the Future of Catholic Philosophy”, Haldane noted how the rebirth of the philosophy of Thomas, following this important encyclical, was looked at in two different ways: a) the “problem” that tries to use the philosophy of Thomas to provide an explanation of reality as well as the idealism deriving from Descartes and Kant or Hume's empiricism; b) the “historical” that tries to use the latest techniques of textual analysis and historical research to discover the “real” Thomas, freeing it from various misinterpretations. The realization of Thomism differentiates itself according to the geocultural areas in which his maturation was experienced, and also according

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to whom the information was being directed. Two different orientations are thus determined: the first, highly metaphysical, making reference to Jean Baptiste Henri Lacordaire, Ambroise Gardeil, Reginald GarrigouLagrange, Louis Billot, Joseph Maréchal, Pierre Rousselot, Joseph de Finance, Charles Journet, Jacques Maritain; while the second, mainly spread in the German area and favored by the influence of romanticism, is connected with authors such as Clemens Bäumkerm, Heinrich Denifle, Pierre Mandonnet, Martin Grabmann, Franz Ehrle, Étienne Gilson, MarieDominique Chenu, Antonin-Dalmace Sertillanges, Yves Congar. Furthermore, it is useful to reference alongside the value of the traditional interpretation, different reworked versions such as those of Edith Stein, Karol Wojtyáa, Karl Rahner, Joannes Baptist Lotz, Cornelio Fabro, Joseph Pieper, Palémon Glorieux, Louis Jacques Bataillon. Faced with the challenges of modernism, the appointment of Thomas to the status of “official” philosopher per the Catholic doctrine inadvertently involved the need for a series of manuals and compendiums to be used within the various schools, seminaries and colleges; the offered reading over time also showed trends of indoctrination, a dogmatic view of his thought. Rossi highlighted the shortcomings that had emerged from the transmission of the thought of Thomas: «The internal tensions at the conciliar event are exciting Thomism, and the reception of the Council itself tends to devalue it. In fact, despite the explicit references to the teachings of Thomas in the conciliar and subsequent documents – that celebrate the anniversary of the death of the saint and the centenary of the Encyclical of Leo XIII: Gravissimum Educationis (n. 10) and Optatam Totius (n. 16); the letter Lumen Ecclesiae of 1974 and the speech Tommaso d’Aquino maestro e guida delivered at the Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas in 1979 – the theological renewal is understood in terms of the return to the sources, anthropological re-centering, attention to practice, and the legitimacy of theological pluralism. It is losing ground, therefore, the investigation on the epistemic act, on metaphysics, on theological theocentrism, in a word, the Thomist current»14. If the skepticism in the thought of Thomas was spreading within the nonCatholic continental philosophers, it was still greater in the analytic philosophical landscape15. Analytical philosophy in its early developments came to be characterized by a very strict philosophy, with a particular focus on logic, mathematics and science, and careless, at least at first sight, 14

Cf. Voce “Tomismo”, edited by M.M. Rossi, Enciclopedia Filosofica, Bompiani, Milano 2006, vol. 12. 15 Cf. C. Paterson ‫ ޤ‬M.S. Pugh (eds), Analytical Thomism: Traditions in Dialogue, Ashgate, Aldershot, Burlington, 2006, p. xvii.

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of metaphysical or religious issues. This conception, though accentuated by some philosophers, cannot be attributed to the entire analytical view, considering that during the mid-twentieth century there was an authentic resumption of the thought of Aristotle and Thomas by those authors that Haldane identifies as the promoters of the new current that he called “Analytical Thomism”. In particular, between Oxford and Cambridge in England, there was a tendency of many analytic philosophers to return to the ancient texts for fresh philosophical inspiration16. Therefore, we witnessed a strong critical recovery – they were schools of thought – of the metaphysical nature of problems because of the fall and then the overcoming of logical positivism. To introduce a change of perspective in the analytical landscape were G. Ryle and J.L. Austin. Although their philosophy is not associated with the thought of Thomas, both carried on lines of thought in the spirit of Aristotle; think for example of Ryle's attack on Cartesianism in The Concept of Mind17 or the anthropological research outlined by Austin in “A Plea for Excuses”18, an obvious reference to the Aristotelian method of dealing with problems. As part of ethics, there is also a space for the recovery of classical texts. In particular, in England we are witnessing the perseverance of doctrines such as emotivism, noncognitivism and utilitarianism within Oxonian scope. Anscombe's essay, Modern Moral Philosophy (1958) will be significant. If Thomas is taken into the field of ethics, he is also into the field of logic. In this field, Anscombe’s husband, Professor Geach, criticizes Ryle’s conception of mental acts, distinguishing them from mental events in his text Mental Acts (and later in Three Philosophers) written in the same year, representing a speculative triumph for the couple. So if the thought of Thomas is taken as necessary in the face of ongoing problems, and therefore will establish itself strongly in different contexts from those in which it was born and found its first maturation, this is not enough – in my opinion – to be able to baptize a new trend: the Analytical Thomism would be a discipline without an intent but with a father, and there is no true birth that does not retain in itself a reason, at least a raison d'etre.

16 See the text of M. Ricciardi, Diritto e natura. H.L.A. Hart e la filosofia di Oxford, ETS, Pisa 2008. 17 G. Ryle, The Concept of Mind, Hutchinson, London 1949. 18 J.L. Austin, Philosophical Papers, J.O. Urmson & G.J. Warnock (esd.), Clarendon Press, Oxford 1961.

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III. Anscombe and analytic philosophy Anscombe’s education is marked by the teachings of Wittgenstein. She traveled extensively between Oxford and Cambridge in order to follow the lessons. She also owes her academic achievement to him. She was one of the few students to understand the thought of Wittgenstein, so much so that he gave her the task of overseeing the care of his last works. There are many anecdotes about Anscombe and Wittgenstein that I have already narrated elsewhere. Suffice it here to reiterate that there was a strong bond between the teacher and his pupil. Interesting how Ricciardi says: «The three philosophers of which we speak are tied to Wittgenstein in different ways. The first is Elizabeth Anscombe, the second is Iris Murdoch and the third, Philippa Foot. None of the three can be called a follower of the troubled Austrian in the strict sense, but each has assimilated the lesson of his way of philosophy, developing, each in her own way, a personal reflection, sometimes troubled, far from the facetious style of the Senior Common Room that distinguishes its male peers and colleagues. Reading the works of these three authors helps to get rid of the banality of analytic and continental philosophy that is so popular among those who think that the task of philosophers is dealing with classifications, as entomologists of thought. In Anscombe, Wittgenstein’s best legacy merges with a passion for the classics of philosophy, philology that does not mind, but is driven by a strong sense of the theoretical dimension of the work of the philosopher. Even in the historical contributions, what matters are the topics. In Iris Murdoch and Philippa Foot, instead, Wittgenstein’s influence is most often underground, but operates in depth, particularly in the common opposition to subjectivism»19. Notice how in turn the study of Wittgenstein is connected to the philosophical tradition, as if to say that the reference to an author is – in the search for Anscombe (and dare I say even the majority of those who do research) – central in conducting his investigation. It should also be noted that Anscombe, however, deviates from the thought of Wittgenstein and there have been comments on his writings, and letters to newspapers found throughout the course of her production. So clearly grown into an analytical framework, Anscombe – whose character was modelled on an intellectual honesty from which she never seemed to come unstuck – has always placed truth as the criterion of her research. There is no space here to rebuild the themes that inspired her to do research, or even what weight – great – that her conversion to 19

M. Ricciardi, Introduction to “Tre filosofe a Oxford”, in «Aut Aut», 324 (2004), pp. 127-132.

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Catholicism had on her. One can see the validation in her studies, but is sufficient to discuss the ruthless criticism20 that she brought against the analytic philosophy, in twenty points. At the beginning of the essay she writes: «Analytical philosophy is more characterized by styles of argument and investigation than by doctrinal content. It is thus possible for people of widely different beliefs to be practitioners of this sort of philosophy. It ought not to surprise anyone that a seriously believing Catholic Christian should also be an analytical philosopher. However, there are a number of options which are inimical to Christianity which are very often found implicitly or explicitly among analytical philosophers. A seriously believing Christian ought not, in my opinion, to hold any of them. Some analytic philosophers who have no Christian or theistic belief do not hold any of them or hold very few of them. But it is so frequent for at least some set of them to be found in the mind of an analytic philosopher, that it is worthwhile to give as complete a list of them as I can. This may be useful as suggesting warnings to some who have not always realized that certain views are inimical to the Christian religion. It may also be helpful to have these opinions collected together so that they can be surveyed together»21. The beginning is very strong, and reads in Anscombe's clear style, always tending to that personal intellectual honesty that characterizes all of her work. Following is the list of twenty points that I relate here for completeness: 1. A dead man – a human corpse – is a man, not an ex-man. 2. A human being comes to be a person through the development of the characteristics which make something into a person. A human being in decay may also cease to be a person without ceasing to be a human being. In short: being a person is something that gets added to a human being who develops properly, and that may disappear in old age or imbecility. 3. We aren't (mere) members of a biological species, but selves. The nature of 'the self' is an important philosophical topic. 4. There is no such thing as a natural kind with an essence which is human nature. This opinion is an effect partly of the philosophy of John Locke and partly of confused thoughts about evolution and a 20 International Congress of Moral Theology, April 1986, Rome. “Twenty Opinions Common among Modern Anglo-American Philosophers”, in Faith in a Hard Ground. Essays on Religion, Philosophy and Ethics, edited by M. Geach and L. Gormally, Imprint Academic, Exeter 2008, pp. 66-68. 21 Ivi, p. 66.

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theory of natural selection which is accepted as explaining evolution. 5. Ethics is formally independent of the facts of human life and, for example, human physiology. 6. Ethics is 'autonomous' and is to be derived, if from anything, from rationality. Ethical considerations will be the same for any rational being. 7. Imaginary cases, which are not physical possibilities for human beings, are of value in considering moral obligation. Thus it may be imagined that a woman gives birth to a puppy or that 'people-seeds' float about in the air and may settle and grow on our carpets; this will have a bearing on the rightness of abortion. 8. There are no absolute moral prohibitions which are always in force. 9. The study of virtues and vices is not part of ethics. 10. Calling something a virtue or vice is only indicating approval or disapproval of the behaviour that exemplifies it. The behaviour is a fact, the approval or disapproval is evaluation. Evaluation or 'value judgements' are not as such true or false. 11. It is mistake to think that 'ought' has properly a personal subject, as in 'X ought to visit Y'. It properly governs whole statements as in 'It ought to be the case that X is visiting Y'. 12. If there is practical reasoning of a moral kind, it must always end in a statement of the necessity of doing such-and-such. 13. It is necessary, if we are moral agents, always to act for the best consequences. 14. There is never any morally significant distinction between act and omission of an act. This is shown by producing an example where that difference does not make any difference to the badness of an action. 15. Causation = necessitation, and is universal: so determinism is true. 16. Either there is no such thing as freedom of the human will, or it is compatible with determinism. 17. Past and future are symmetrical. There is no sense in which the past is determined and the future is not determined. 18. A theist believes that God must create the best of all possible worlds. 19. God, if there is any God, is mutable, subject to passions, sometimes disappointed, must be supposed to make the best decisions he can on the basis of the evidence on which he forms his opinions. 20. The laws of nature, if only they can be found out, afford complete explanations of everything that happens.

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Anscombe’s relationship with analytic philosophy is therefore understandable from these twenty observations, very attentive, sharp. Anscombe questions it with respect to the 'tradition' by which she was trained and through her faith in Catholicism. One can find some references to Thomas in her writings, and on the other hand, however, she jars at being called analytic. One certainly cannot define her as an analytic. In view of this, it seems clear that you want to summarize Thomism and analytic philosophy in a forced term. It should be noted that the criticism that Anscombe makes about analytic philosophy retains many of the points that, to her, were more close to the heart than to her faith or to her research and studies. Let us consider for example the opinion number nine in which she mentions the virtues and vices, or number eleven where there is an explicit reference to 'moral duty'. We recall here also the conclusion of the essay of 1986 cited here: «In saying these opinions are inimical to the Christians religion I am not implying that they can only be judged false on that ground. Each of them is a philosophical error and can be argued to be such on purely philosophical grounds»22. Anscombe establishes herself in respect to analytic philosophy in a professional manner. She assesses the contents and argues properly. One can observe not only that the development of Anscombe’s philosophical nature is in line with her beliefs, but also that she has an honest reasoning, a reasoning that follows well-defined criteria.

IV. Conclusion. New ideas Authors from an analytical context have felt the need to reference the thought of Thomas as an aid to clarify their research. I maintain, on the methodological grounds reported at the beginning of this essay recalling Nussbaum, that the name “Analytical Thomism” is a bit risky. This is because the authors in an analytical context refer to Thomas in different ways. It is also interesting to note the statement by Ralph McInerny: «It is not that Thomists have become Wittgensteinians, or vice versa, but that common truths are acknowledged»23. This raises the problem of the strong link between tradition and innovation. The debate about the resumption of Thomas in the analytic scope is the emblem. John Haldane was made, therefore, a spokesman for this new kind of current that he called Analytical Thomism. He tries to deepen the key points in the text Faithful Reason. Essays Catholic and Philosophical. In 22 23

Ivi, p. 68. R. McInerny, «New Blackfriars», LXXX, 1999, n. 938, p. 195.

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the introduction “Analytical Thomism and faithful reason” he emphasizes the distinction of the 'linguistic philosophy' from the analytic philosophy and offers an interesting reading of Thomism. He claims to have an orthodox approach rather than radical. Haldane writes: «Thus far at any rate, I have been more concerned to understand old truths than to issue new challenges. But, of course, as anyone who has thought long and hard knows, the greatest challenge is to understand things as they are»24. And here emerges the problem of tradition and new research underway. Now, most interesting is the observation by Brian O. Shanley, OP, who writes: «Like all other innovations within the tradition, Analytic Thomism has its critics among adherents of other versions of Thomism. For many Thomists, any movement that purports to synthesize Thomism with some foreign philosophical approach will end up betraying Thomism; there can be no such thing as “–––– - Thomism”, whether the blank be filled in by “Analytical”, “Trascendental”, or “Phenomenological” because any such marriage will undermine Thomism»25. Shanley continues by recalling – and thus supporting – Haldane’s position, that Thomism would risk stagnation and isolation in the English-speaking world if it does not learn to dialogue with analytic philosophers. Shanley makes an interesting suggestion: «As every Thomist would agree, if Aquinas were alive in the contemporary North American intellectual world, he would engage with analytic philosophy just as he engaged with contemporary Aristotelianism in his own day. This kind of engagement need not and must not involve jettisoning the central metaphysical and epistemological claims of Thomism, yet it would involve learning how to make those claims in a new language or idiom»26. I do not know for sure if this is the opinion of each scholar who is Thomist, but in the light of Bonnie Kent’s assumption27, the purpose of Analytic Thomism is not to facilitate the assimilation of analytic philosophy, but rather to learn how to translate the assumptions of the Thomist texts into the language and idiom of that philosophy; however, one can distance oneself from this idea. In fact it seems that in this case, the Thomist should make an effort to insert himself into another context, order of thought, language, possessed by virtue of truth, or by the right way of understanding the argument. The scholar, of whatever tradition he may be, makes use of the Thomas texts in search of 24

J. Haldane, Faithful Reason. Essays Catholic and Philosophical, Routledge, London 2004, p. XIV. 25 B.O. Shanley, O.P., The Thomist Tradition, Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, 2002, p. 19. 26 Ibidem. 27 See B. Kent, «New Blackfriars», LXXX, 1999, n. 938, pp. 185-188.

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a greater explanation, to investigate the problem etc. It is in this way that you have a flourishing spirit of enquiry. Conversely, the return to Thomas would result in something imposed, and under forced labor, destined to last only for some time and maybe only in Catholic contexts, without producing a result. Instead, and this one can maintain by looking at history, the thought of Thomas gets to be interesting for the truth that it preserves, for the actual contribution that it brings to problems. There are no hermeneutics to relate meaning, and not because the philosophy of Thomas is characterized to be perennis, but because of the consistency of its assumptions. Remarkable is the conclusion by Shanley, that well branches off from the link between tradition and innovation: «What emerges from this brief survey of twentieth-century Thomisms is that the tradition has always been marked by the tension between conservation and innovation, between doctrinal fidelity and dialogue. This has been true throughout the entire history of Thomism, and it will continue to be true in the new century. How could it otherwise? A Thomism that stayed in a defensive intellectual ghetto would cease to be a living tradition, while a Thomism that accommodated itself to every new philosophical movement would cease to be Thomism. Each age demands both a genuine fidelity to the original and a genuine willingness to dialogue with what is new in philosophy. Not every Thomist will engage in both tasks, but all must at least recognize the need for both in the enterprise of making Thomism a living tradition»28. Now it is true that – as narrated briefly in this short study – there is a resumption of the thought of Thomas in an analytical context, so much so that also observing the subject is Roger Pouivet with his study Après Wittgenstein, Saint Thomas29 in 1997 where the expression “Wittgensteinian Thomism” can be found. There is also Fergus Kerr with the study Theology after Wittgenstein30, that focuses on aspects of the thought of Wittgenstein with close connection to the thought of Thomas. But it is also true that this recovery of the thought of Thomas is always from a particular interest and therefore cannot be established as the key criterion of the entire research of all the scholars. One can also observe the array of authors who have worked on the study of Thomas, who, in addition to the triad mentioned before Anscombe, Geach, Kenny, also include Philippa Foot, Richard Swinburne, Alvin Plantinga, Brian Davies, Herbert McCabe, 28

Ivi, p. 20. R. Pouivet, Après Wittgenstein, Saint Thomas, PUF, Paris 1997; transl. by M. S. Sherwin, After Wittgenstein, St. Thomas, St. Augustine’s Press, South Bend (Indiana) 2006. 30 F. Kerr, Theology after Wittgenstein, Blackwell, Oxford 1986. 29

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Ralph McInerny, Stephen L. Brock, Alan Donagan, Alasdair MacIntyre, and other authors who have contributed in their own way to outline a synergy between analytical style and Thomist content such as Jacques Maritain, Frederick Copleston, Étienne Gilson, Bernard Lonergan, Cornelio Fabro, Joseph Bochenski, John Finnis, Joseph Boyle, Michel Villey, Germaine Grisez, Gianfranco Basti31. It can be observed that each author elaborates a specific development of the given problem in his research and that the approaches are different. Rossi makes an important note: «[...] the fruitfulness of the declinations of Thomism with the currents from time to time arising in the sciences, as well as the inherently dialectical nature of the thought of Thomas, urged his followers to neutralize the risk of marginalization and relapse in arid repetition of the past, in favor of a creative re-launch, responsive to ongoing cultural questions. And the names of the great post-conciliar theologians are often names of great Thomists»32. In this horizon of tradition and innovation, they are set in close connection, bringing new results. That some scholars have found themselves operating in an analytical context, therefore, with an accurate method of processing and having references defined in research, this is a piece of history, of tradition; and it is from a personal interest in research that some authors have taken inspiration from Thomas. Rather than coining a label in which Thomism seems to need to 'update' itself, perhaps it would be worthwhile to develop the contents of individual research, understanding the reason why scholars refer to some texts rather than others, and thus to discover the vitality that generates thought and causes culture to blossom. From faith there is culture, from tradition, alive and loved, there is innovation.

31 The lists given here are generic; therefore they should not be considered as fixed. They are just a few reminders to keep in mind in the face of the resumption of Thomas in the analytical field, or more generally within the contemporary scene. 32 Cf. M.M. Rossi, Item “Tomismo”, Enciclopedia Filosofica, Bompiani, Milano 2006, vol. 12, pp. 11649.

CHAPTER FIVE RETHINKING THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY WITHIN AN INTERCULTURAL FRAMEWORK RICCARDO POZZO

The paper is structured along a question of consequence: how to account for a scientifically validated non-Eurocentric history of philosophy? The issue is rethinking the discipline of the history of philosophy within a twenty-first-century intercultural framework. It is about using digital infrastructures with the aim of setting standards that enable new research and new offerings of digital content, which is based on context-guided lexical analysis of texts, whose effectiveness arises from the necessity of establishing continuities and interactions of cultural traditions – transcriptions, interpretations, and translations of texts into new contexts. Culture, and philosophy as its backbone, is a living heritage, a source of wealth and difference. For the purpose of considering the migration of thoughts through the different alphabets, historians of philosophy should work with historians, political scientists and scholars who are well versed in philosophical texts written in Greek, Roman, Cyrillic and Arabic Alphabets as well as in Mandarin ideograms. 1) In his Philosophiegeschichte, Pirmin Stekeler-Weithofer has pointed out that it is necessary for philosophy to continuously look for assurances. In other words, it is part of the mission of philosophy to constantly renew the issues it works on and the methods it works with1. While philosophers tend to disregard differences of cultural contexts, intellectual historians devote themselves to close reconstructions of philosophical arguments as recorded in texts during the centuries of their transmission2. Among the 1

Cf. P. Stekeler-Weithofer, Philosophiegeschichte, de Gruyter, Berlin 2006. Cf. A.J. Lovejoy, “Reflections on the History of Ideas”, «Journal of the History of Ideas», 1 (1940), pp. 3-23; M. Mandelbaum, “The History of Ideas, Intellectual

2

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most substantial European contributions to the history of concepts are the Dictionnaire des intraduisibles and the Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, which were completed respectively nine and eight years ago; while Reinhart Koselleck’s approach to the history of political concepts, the Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe, was completed by 19973. Englishspeaking interest in Begriffsgeschichte has provoked a conspicuous linguistic turn in current history of philosophy. While the history of “purely” philosophical concepts continues to play a central role within the New Dictionary of the History of Ideas, Donald R. Kelley and UlrichJohannes Schneider have made it clear that the history of philosophy and intellectual history cannot be said to be co-extensive. The “intelligible” field of study is language, or languages, and the history of philosophy is not the model of, but rather a “province” in the larger arena of intellectual history. The history of philosophy finds thus a re-positioning as a separate field within the approach of intellectual history, which is being disseminated by Steven Gaukroger and Howard Hotson, the past and the current president of the International Society of Intellectual History, and by the editors of the Journal of the History of Ideas, Warren Breckman, Martin J. Burke, Anthony Grafton and Ann E. Moyer4. History, and the History of Philosophy”, «History and Theory», 5 (1965), pp. 3366; J. Ritter, “Editionsberichte: Leitgedanken und Grundsätze eines Historischen Wörterbuchs der Philosophie”, «Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie», 47 (1965), pp. 299-304; Q. Skinner, “Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas”, «History and Theory», 8 (1969), pp. 3-53; M. Richter, “Begriffsgeschichte and the History of Ideas”, «Journal of the History of Ideas», 48 (1987), 247-63; id., The History of Political and Social Concepts: A Critical Introduction, Oxford University Press, Oxford 1999; G. Scholtz (ed.), Die Interdisziplinarität der Begriffsgeschichte, Meiner, Hamburg 2000; H.E. Bödecker (ed.), Begriffsgeschichte, Diskursgeschichte, Metaphergeschichte, Wallstein, Göttingen 2002; O.G. Oexle (ed.), Das Problem der Problemgeschichte 1880-1932, Wallstein, Göttingen 2001; K. Palonen and Q. Skinner, History, Politics, Rhetoric, Polity Press, London 2003; E. Müller (ed.), Begriffsgeschichte im Umbruch?, «Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte Sonderheft 4» (2004); A. Grafton, “The History of Ideas: Precept and Practice 1950-2000 and Beyond”, «Journal of the History of Ideas», 67 (2006), pp. 1-32; R. Pozzo and M. Sgarbi (eds.), Eine Typologie der Formen der Begriffsgeschichte, Meiner, Hamburg 2010; id. and id. (eds.), Begriffs-, Ideen- und Problemgeschichte im 21. Jahrhundert, Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden 2011. 3 Vocabulaire européen des philosophies: Dictionnaire des intraduisibles, ed. B. Cassin, Le Seuil, Paris 2005; Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, ed. J. Ritter, K. Gründer, 13 vols., Schwabe, Basel 1972-2006; Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe, ed. O. Brunner, W. Conze and R. Koselleck, 9 vols., Klett-Cotta, Stuttgart 1972-1997. 4 U.J. Schneider, “Intellectual History and the History of Philosophy”, «Intellectual

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At the dawn of the twenty-first century, the history of philosophy must be redirected towards all cultures. However, not only the past should be taken into consideration. The redesign of the present is of equal importance. Intercultural history of philosophy is a means for making variety heard. Interculturality derives from the overlapping of cultures. Intercultural philosophy is by no means an exotic term for anything nonEuropean. It is instead an attitude that precedes philosophical thinking. Working out overlapping issues despite differences enables one to understand cultures not identical to one’s own5. Let us imagine a young researcher who is under contract to a publisher for a volume on, say, “communitarianism”. He or she will first delve into a mass of critical editions, translations, monographs, articles and encyclopaedia entries, which will always be updated, since they are online. All texts will be read in common as happens in social reading, guaranteeing that they will also be horizontally enlivened (content sharing, social annotations, discussion, collaborative expansions and references). The outcome will be a seventy-page booklet, of which two hundred copies will be printed and read by a similar number of researchers, lecturers and members of the public. This example shows, however, how researchers, publishers and readers used to work in the twentieth century. We are now in the twenty-first century, and we can do so much better. We can anticipate relying very soon on a hypertext of philosophical and scientific sources, which will provide metadata-rich and fully interoperable sources, translations, bibliographies, indexes, lexica and encyclopaedias. Users will begin at the top level by perusing general narratives. They will then follow the links to details of critical editions, their translations in a number of languages, articles, indices and monographs. First, the humanities will no longer depend on paper. Interface devices will be entirely digitized. Second, the information that the researcher gathers will be complete, because search engines run through recursive series. Third, the role itself of the researcher will lose its relevance, as News», Autumn 1996, pp. 8-30; New Dictionary of the History of Ideas, ed. M.C. Horowitz, 6 vols., Scribner’s, New York 2005 5 Cf. H. Kimmerle, Die Dimension des Interkulturellen, Rodopi, Amsterdam 1994; F.M. Wimmer, Interkulturelle Philosophie, UTB, Wien 2004; R.H. Nisbett, The Geography of Thought: How Asians and Westerns Think Differently and Why, Free Press, New York 2004; H.R. Yousefi, Grundpositionen der interkulturellen Philosophie, Bautz, Nordhausen 2005; P. Gregor, Einführung in die interkulturelle Philosophie, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, Darmstadt 2008; E. Holenstein, “A Dozen Rules of Thumb for Avoiding Intercultural Misunderstandings”, Polylog: Platform for Intercultural Philosophy (2010).

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instead of there being one writer and two hundred readers we will have two hundred writers able to produce their own reconstruction of the history of the concept of communitarianism. In this way, we will have more interactive readers. In fact, the future of digital humanities is about empowering. What is more, we will have no need to have any booklet printed, as the social benefit of having two hundred people find out about a relevant political category like communitarianism will be achieved through an exercise they have managed for themselves. The main idea is that all citizens of any state ought to have at least once in their lives the experience of what a philosophical argument on communitarianism is, i.e. an argument that is based neither on confessional nor on political choices, nor on material interests or whims of fashion, but is nonetheless related to vitally important problems. As a rule, every young person ought to experience philosophy at least once, for this experience will give him or her meaningful orientations regarding what to do later in life. I am talking about the ability and the empathy associated with picking up new languages, translating them, and last but not least gaining insights about one’s own cultural identity on the basis of a dialogue-based exchange. From this perspective, the very heart of the unity in diversity of multilingual and multicultural societies lies in texts. Remaining focused on the centrality of texts is a neohumanistic endeavour: the common ground of congruence is the exchange of thoughts, discourse and the debates about texts that have come to us from afar in time and space6. 2) The challenge is rethinking the discipline of the history of philosophy within an intercultural framework. In the twenty-first century the history of philosophy is not an issue for philosophers alone, nor are migratory phenomena issues only for statisticians, demographers and economists. An intercultural history of philosophy provides an effective case study for migrants, who are bound to keep their own cultural identity while mingling with the cultural backgrounds of others. Philosophy has been intercultural since its beginnings in a non-relativistic sense in as far as it has thought of itself in relation to others. Owing to its nature, philosophy – like all languages – is a dynamic reality in continuous evolution, in which the datum of tradition is preserved and reformulated in a process of constant reinterpretation. In his inaugural lecture upon conferral of the degree honoris causa at the University of Padua on 14 December 2006, the secretary general of the Organization of the Islamic 6

Cf. R. Pozzo, “Translatio Studiorum e identitad intelectual de Europa”, in Palabras, conceptos, ideas: Estudios sobre historia conceptual, ed. F. Oncina, Herder, Barcelona 2010, pp. 259-75.

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Conference, Ekmeleddin øhsano÷lu, made it clear that different cultures may or may not share the same values. They certainly share, however, a number of problems and strategies for their solutions. For example, the problem of defining mankind was first investigated in religion (e.g. in Psalm 8), then in philosophy (e.g. by Socrates), and in the last five centuries in the natural sciences (e.g. by James Watson and Francis Crick). At stake is the development of cultural terminologies and interdisciplinary ideas that arise from the necessity of establishing the continuity of a cultural tradition by transcribing it into new contexts. Philosophy is a science. Putting it the way that Aristotle did in Ethica Nicomachea Zeta: philosophy is neither an art nor prudence, nor wisdom nor intuition nor even an instrument, the way logic is. Philosophy is a science, and the history of philosophy claims the same status as the history of any other science. In the history of philosophy, as Stekeler-Weithofer has noted, lies an immense ocean of traditional questions and new answers. It was Hegel who took the history of philosophy off the diallele of skepticism by establishing the relation between the “history of philosophy” and the “science of philosophy” making it clear that the former is the latter’s Hauptsache. In a much debased form, the impact of Hegel’s thought explains the unreflective use of catchwords such as “alienation”, “ideology”, “fetishism”, “contradiction” and “superstructure” in the current vocabulary of journalists and high-school students7. 3) Intercultural history of philosophy is by its nature multilingual. Today, we can interrogate texts from different alphabets. Philosophy is particularly apt for experiments in multilingual semantic alignment, because of its essential, non-redundant lexicon, which is the result of longstanding codifications. For instance, a textual string in the ancient Greek alphabet such as ȖȞ૵șȚ ıİĮȣIJȩȞ (gnǀthi seautón), nosce te ispsum, “know yourself” can be transliterated today biunivocally in the Roman alphabet that, due to constant Unicode development, will produce in the near future new reliable biunivocal transliterations. The problem is how to provide access to these intercultural contents. The solution is the new discipline of intercultural history of philosophy, alongside the setting up of an open-lab environment for experimentation, creative applications, and services for a flexible and open infrastructure for intercultural presentations of key concepts.

7

Cf. P. Stekeler-Weithofer, Philosophiegeschichte, de Gruyter, Berlin 2006

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Digital humanities scholars agree in seeing a handful of leading models for the future of the book8. There is the vertical model for setting up ebooks, advocated by Robert Darnton, according to which the reader of a hypertext starts at the top level by perusing the highest, simplest, and most general narrative, and from there on follows the links and goes into the details9. The second model is the horizontal model. The Institute for the European Intellectual Lexicon and History of Ideas (ILIESI-CNRwww.iliesi.cnr.it) is already working in this direction by means of its Daphnet platforms, which are part of a federation that connects texts physically located and maintained in several European locations – a vast territory ready to be explored, described, and mapped out10. Third is the dynamic textbook model already experimented with successfully since the late nineties by a number of US-based publishing houses, which makes the shift of much of the details and updates of textbooks from paper to digital devices effectively. The model that lies at the basis of intercultural history of philosophy is the vertical one, whereby modules on the history of ideas in general studies will make the top-most narratives, and ILIESI-CNR databases and linked contents the deeper layers, which are arranged in the shape of a pyramid. Users can download the text and skim the topmost layer, which will be written like an ordinary monograph. If it satisfies them, they can print it out, bind it, and study it at their convenience in the form of a custom-made paperback. If they come upon something that especially interests them, they can click down a layer to a supplementary essay or appendix. They can continue deeper into the book, into bodies of documents, bibliography, historiography, iconography, and even background music – everything one can provide to give the fullest possible understanding of the subject. In the end, the users will make the subject theirs, because they will find their own routes through it, by reading horizontally, vertically, or diagonally, wherever the electronic links might lead. One ought to begin to think about providing a key for accessing texts on digital resources in the six UN official languages (Arabic, English, French, Mandarin, Russian, Spanish), four further literary languages (German, Italian, Japanese, Portuguese) plus three classical languages (Greek, Latin, Sanskrit). Cultural identity and diversity are political issues. 8

G. Roncaglia, La quarta rivoluzione: Sei lezioni sul futuro del libro, Laterza, Roma 2010 9 R. Darnton, The Case for Books: Past, Present, and Future, Public Affairs, New York 2009 10 ILIESI-CNR, Digital Archives of Philosophical texts on the Net (www.daphnet.org).

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The point is that multiculturalism and interculturalism are not about giving answers. They are about questions to be raised. Philosophy ought to be intercultural at all times even though it is not yet so. On the other hand, philosophy is always embedded in culture, in certain means of expression and in certain questions. Hence the rule proposed by Franz Martin Wimmer: never accept that a philosophical thesis from an author in a single cultural tradition is well founded11. We are globally interconnected. It is Leibniz again and his dream of a universal library. A new domain is opening that proposes an innovative way of working with the history of scientific lexica within cultural studies. The application of computational techniques and visualization technologies in the human sciences is bringing about innovative approaches and methodologies for the study of traditional and new corpora. This computational turn has required philosophers to consider the methods and techniques from computer science for creating new ways of distant and close readings of texts. Within this field there are important debates about the assessing narratives against database techniques, pattern matching versus hermeneutic reading, and the statistical paradigm versus the data-mining paradigm12. Additionally, new forms of collaboration within the human sciences are emerging that use team-based approaches as opposed to the traditional lone-scholar. These require the ability to create and manage modular research teams through the organizational structures provided by technology and digital communications together with techniques for collaborating in an interdisciplinary way with other digital humanities scholars. Finally, the development of increasingly sophisticated software programs opens up exciting research possibilities for mining the everincreasing number of historical texts available in digital form, which should also be of interest to anyone in the human sciences who works with texts and deals with basic socio-political concepts, including collective identities. 4) The intercultural history of philosophy is an approach to philosophy that revolves around the need for mapping other cultures into one’s own. In fact, we are looking today into appropriating philosophy’s specific ways of thought, which in its present form is intercultural – in the sense of the capability of confronting one’s own tradition with the tradition of one’s neighbour, alongside what has been known as a continuing translatio studiorum. It is the cultural melting pot already spoken about by Plato in 11

F.M. Wimmer, Interkulturelle Philosophie, UTB, Wien 2004. A Companion to Digital Humanities, ed. S. Schreibman, R. Siemens and J. Unsworth, Wiley Blackwell, London 2007.

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the Timaeus (23c) with regard to the translation of the art of writing from Egypt to Greece, thus prefiguring the translation of Greek words, culture and thoughts into Cicero’s and Boethius’ Latin words, or the dynamics of the great Mediterranean cultural circle made of translation and tradition of philosophical, religious, and medical texts from Greek and Hebrew into Arabic, Latin and eventually all vernacular languages. When Boethius set out to translate Aristotle into Latin, he was motivated to do so, first, in order to keep alive the Latin classical tradition and, second, to modernize it by transcribing it into the new contexts opened up by the paradigmatic acceptance of Aristotelianism. When Kant chose to take up again Greek terms such as phainómenon and noumenon he did so because he wished, first, to keep up the tradition of writing on philosophy in German, a tradition that had its classical references in Meister Eckhart and Martin Luther; and, second, to revitalize it by transcribing it into the new context of his own Copernican Revolution13. Although inspiring, this model of circularity is bound to lose its spirit if it is not open to the risky endeavour of confronting other cultures. In the globalized world of the near future, the notion of translatio studiorum is the basis for mutual enrichment. We must learn to embrace an intercultural identity rather than an identity that is inclusive only in order to exclude. Political boundaries define some as members, but lock others out. As a matter of fact, more and more people live in countries that are not their own, given that state sovereignty is not as strong as in the past, and borders are becoming porous14. 5) Imagine a second-generation Chinese immigrant who attends high school in Italy. At a certain point, he might be asked to read a text by Plato, e.g. the Apology of Socrates, which he shall first do in Italian and perhaps later also in the original Greek or in Marsilio Ficino’s Latin rendering. My point is that the student should be given the chance of also accessing the same text in Chinese, for the reason that he or she ought to be able to start a discussion in his or her Chinese-speaking family on Socrates. Inversely, schoolmates might seize the opportunity for appropriating the Analecta of Confucius on the basis of the references indicated by our student.

13

Cf. T. Gregory, Origini della terminologia filosofica moderna, Olschki, Firenze 2006, pp. 39-40, pp. 57-58. See also A. Liburdi, Per una storia del Lessico Intellettuale Europeo, Lessico Intellettuale Europeo, Roma 2000. 14 Cf. C. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays, Basic Books, New York 1973, pp. 3-30; S. Benhabib, The Rights of Others, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2004; S. Vertovec, Migration, Routledge, London 2010.

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There is no utopia in this view, for even today we can think of pupils delving into multi-layered multilingual hypertexts – like the ones envisaged by Darnton – on the basis of reciprocal guidance made possible by social reading tools. A well-organized structure of social reading ensures that an on-going exchange of information, debate and knowledge among students of all faculties and scholars will take place, thus helping to increase knowledge and appreciation among citizens – especially young people – of their shared, yet diverse, cultural heritage. What is needed are touch-stones for a new paradigm for content organization, one that draws upon book culture but opens it up by incorporating multi-layered content, community-based social reading tools and multimedia. The new readers take up the task of building strong, complex, self-consistent narratives or arguments, favouring the freedom of movement within a rich, but granular, landscape of content. 6) The objective is to increase accessibility to, and integration of, an intercultural history of philosophy through improved technological tools and skills. This will not only upgrade quality and efficiency of research in this very special field through advanced IT, but will also ensure increased employment potential for early stage researchers. The goal is the implementation of an IT-based innovative service carried out e.g. at ILIESI-CNR under realistic conditions. The service is about setting standards and guidelines for: (i) verifying the existence, status and interoperability of digital libraries and databases in the humanities; (ii) verifying quality and content of intercultural texts online, with a view to enlarging cooperation and increasing accessibility; (iii) promoting research into texts and textual corpora to ensure greater understanding of cultural exchanges between ethnic groups, religions, and cultures; (iv) intensifying exchange on projects relating to online intercultural resources, thus increasing regional know-how and capacities. As regards acquiring skills, at a number of universities information alphabetization is currently being taught in the form of General Studies modules aimed at transmitting texts and methodologies in the humanities, which are about philosophy and reflection on culture, cultural theory, cultural management and artistic practice. The main goal of the General Studies modules is orienting students in the years that precede their final choice of a profession15.14For this reason, there is usually no degree in studium generale. It is instead an auxiliary program offered to all students. 15

R. Pozzo, “The Studium Generale Program and the Effectiveness of the History of Concepts”, «Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte Sonderheft», 7, (2010), pp. 171-84

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The stress is on the autonomous and reflective ability for connecting among diverse disciplines, for thinking and acting beyond one’s own field, for producing one’s own strategy as well as on mastering communication techniques. In other words, the stress is on developing the constitution of one’s own personality, ripeness of judgment, sharpness of perception and taste for beauty. At the base lies the tradition of neohumanism, which in the last century had inspired Robert Maynard Hutchins to ask for the introduction of the Humanities 1 and Humanities 2 modules of the “Great Books Curriculum” and for its textual basis in the fifty-four volumes of the celebrated Encyclopaedia Britannica series, The Great Books of the Western World – from Homer to Sigmund Freud. Besides, one neither offers nor requires a simple canon of books, one offers more. One offers – as Hans Blumenberg has suggested – the appropriation of Denkformen: first and foremost the ability to come to terms with old and new forms of translatio studiorum, resulting in a cultural fusion of one’s tradition with the tradition of one’s neighbours16. Education has an internal relation to the promotion of creativity17. General Studies aim at drawing justified connections between aspects of personality formation and determinate goals. In fact, they neither offer nor require the transmission of a canon of texts and images, they offer more. Society and the economy demand not just professionally qualified specialists and experts for an increasingly international competition, they demand comprehensively educated and scientifically trained people who are capable of lifelong learning and professional flexibility. The “transaction model” tested in the General Studies modules involves a symmetric, though not necessarily an equal, notion of communication in as far as both teachers and students can learn from each other, given that both have access to the same hypertext while pursuing normative and political values that are relevant for scientific choices. The basic concern should be with the ways of dealing first with traditions, with the “how”, with the methods of this interaction, and then with the “what” of the concrete texts, writings, Denkformen and images that have been brought into play, some of which have preserved themselves in the most diverse contexts and interpretations18. In fact, scientific knowledge is necessarily provisional and subject to change19. 16

H. Blumenberg, Die Lesbarkeit der Welt, Suhrkamp, Frankfurt 1981. Kreativität, ed. G. Abel, 5 vols., Meiner, Hamburg 2006, vol. 1, pp. 1-21. 18 H.-J. Gehrke, “The Cultural Identity of Europe and the General Education in the University”, in Bologna Revisited: General Education at Europe’s Universities, ed. M. Jung and C. Meyer, Berliner Wissenschaftsverlag, Berlin 2009, p. 296. 19 MASIS Expert Group, Challenging Futures of Science in Society: Emerging Trends and Cutting-Edge Issues, European Science Foundation, Strasbourg 2009, 17

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Along these lines, I have myself developed since the academic year 2006/07 at the University of Verona the 6 ECTS interdisciplinary module M-FIL/06 History of Concepts20. 7) In the article he wrote for the Dictionnaire des intraduisibles, Rémi Brague remarked that the Arabic term for dictionary αϮϣΎϗ (qƗmnjs) is a translation of the Ancient Greek ੩țİĮȞȩȢ (ǀkeanós), in the original literal sense of a liquid extension that embraces all emerged lands, permitting navigation and hence communication. Leibniz has used this ocean metaphor for an encyclopaedia. In fact, languages are the place of constant commerce, and commerce takes place in space and time. The objective is achieving a wider audience by relying on the intellectual growth of the global community, and by preserving cultural identities while providing a platform for their diversity. The objective is substantial. It goes well beyond the current state of the art, in as much as it finds a common denominator in that history of the terminology of culture which was started by the translatio studiorum of different disciplinary traditions. Due to the impact of economic globalization on migration, nation states ought to consider embracing a multicultural identity centred on loyalty to liberal democratic constitutional principles. Starting from the best practices of the World Digital Library (www.wdl.org) and the European Cultural Heritage Online (www.echo.mpiwg-berlin.mpg.de) projects, together with the databases of ILIESI-CNR, we may consider the consequential question: how to account for a scientifically validated nonEurocentric history of philosophy? Validation is the result of a process of comparison and exchange. One thinks of a specific methodology for context-guided lexical analysis of texts, whose effectiveness arises from the necessity of establishing continuities and interactions of cultural traditions – transcriptions, interpretations and translations of texts into new contexts. 8) The World Digital Library was launched by the Librarian of Congress James H. Billington in a speech before the US National Commission for UNESCO in 2005. After a number of meetings dedicated to developing the pilot, the World Digital Library became operative on its site in April 2009 with the goals of promoting intercultural dialogue, increasing the volume and the variety of cultural contents offered on the internet, providing resources to educators, scientists and the general public, pp. 50-52. 20 R. Pozzo, “The M-FIL/06 History of Concepts Module at the Università degli Studi di Verona”, in Bologna Revisited, p. 312.

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and eventually diminishing the digital divide between poor and rich countries. The European Cultural Heritage Online initiative – based at the Max Planck Institute for the History of Science – is a formidable cultural heritage infrastructure aimed at enriching the agora and envisaging a future web of culture and science. Finally, ILIESI-CNR has been working since 1964 on: (a) the history of European philosophical and scientific thought in the Greek-Roman, Jewish, and Arabic world; (b) the history of ideas and linguistics from antiquity to modernity; (c) ICT methodologies for textual analysis; (d) the production of critical texts and studies, (e) philosophical and scientific lexicography. ILIESI-CNR focuses on the phenomenon of cultural migration, which accompanies the whole history of civilizations while involving continuous relations and reciprocal exchanges among diverse cultures, and thus translations (in their widest sense) of texts from one to context to another, be it linguistic, economic, political or cultural. Its researchers investigate several epochs under the assumption that at the root of the history of philosophy and of the sciences, and more generally of the history of ideas lie textual corpora that have been developed in the context of each discipline over the centuries. 9) For a century and a half, the Lachmann method has been accepted as the best possible option for editing texts. In the 1930s, philologists such as Giorgio Pasquali maintained the method to be applicable to texts originated in all cultures, provided the principle of the “centrality of texts” was asserted21. Textual traditions all over the world have their different ways of carrying forth the traditio lampadis. Today we know that such a claim is not universally applicable. Textual traditions all over the world have their own channels. The intercultural historian of philosophy shall consider the way texts have been transmitted and used within individual cultural communities, which today occurs by means of websites, for example in the Islamic Philosophy Online portal22. For this purpose, the Committee on the History of Philosophy of the Fédération Internationale des Sociétés de Philosophie (FISP) has posted a call for collaboration to national societies to encourage the communication of which completeworks editions they propose for philosophers whose birthplace lies in their 21

G. Pasquali, Storia della tradizione e critica del testo, Le Lettere, Firenze 1988. Cf. Standford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (http://plato.stanford.edu); Islamic Philosophy Online (www.muslimphilosophy.com); Iranian Institute of Philosophy, ed. by Gholamreza Aavani (www.iptra.ir); «Journal of Islamic Philosophy»; Encylopedia of Chinese Philosophy, ed. by Antonio S. Cua, Routledge, New York and London 2003; Resources in Russian Philosophy (www.mavicanet.de); Institute of Philosophy of the Russian Academy of Science (www.eng.iph.ras.ru). 22

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countries – e.g. Ruÿer Boškoviü in Croatia. For this reason, the Committee on the History of Philosophy of FISP, on behalf of the Conseil International de Philosophie et Sciences Humaines at UNESCO, is asking member societies to prepare a list of texts that they think represent the philosophical richness and traditions of their countries. The editions are to be published in the original language and at the same time in several world-languages. There is no censorship by FISP – the decisions based on the proposals are taken depending on mere formal standards and on existing translations and copyright23.22. 10) As a matter of fact, in the lexica of non-Roman languages a copious introduction of Ancient-Greek and Latin forms has taken place, the consequence of the diffusion in Europe of a set of scientific lexica. As an example of awareness of the limits to overcome, Wilhelm Risse stopped his Logik der Neuzeit at the year 1780, because he understood he was not able to look into the Russian logic literature published after that year24. In the humanities, everything speaks in favour of multilingualism. Besides, a substantial batch of key-concepts has already been investigated during thirteen international symposia held at ILIESI-CNR. They have been already published in the “Lessico Intellettuale Europeo” (LIE) series that shall be posted on open access on the ILIESI-CNR website. They are: Experientia (LIE, vol. 91), Idea (LIE, vol. 51), Locus-Spatium (LIE, vol. 122), Machina (LIE, vol. 98), Materia (LIE, vol. 112), Natura (LIE, vol. 105), Ordo (LIE, vols. 20-21), Phantasia (LIE, vol. 46), Ratio (LIE, vol. 61), Res (LIE, vol. 26), Sensus (LIE, vol. 66), Signum (LIE, vol. 77), and Spiritus (LIE, vol. 32). The individual concepts are signified with their Greek or Latin forms, which are the beginning of their history and evolution in the different languages of Europe. In fact, some of the most important facets of Greek culture remain greatly influential on the historical and cultural identity of the Roman and Byzantine ages, even though more and more it was interwoven with the intellectual perspectives provided by Judaism and Early Christianity. Different forms of cultural universalism were experimented with in the Middle Ages, in the Renaissance and in early modernity. What makes education is not a canon of scattered texts, it is a familiarity with traditions and their pluralities. Although English has become indispensable in its function of auxiliary international language (as Umberto Eco has put it), the lingua franca of 23

FISP, Newsletter Spring/Summer 2011. W. Risse, Logik der Neuzeit, 2 vols., Frommann-Holzboog, Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1964-70.

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our day, no nation state can afford to lose its linguistic variety. The new challenge is to work on the new forms of interrogation that digital humanities make possible today. The solution at hand is neither Wikipedia nor Google Books, which provide thickets of information that needs to be sorted out. The solution at hand is a new approach to existing open access resources. 11) At stake are some of the basic problems of cosmopolitanism such as cosmopolitan memory, human rights, and borders as connectivity. An intercultural history of philosophy helps overcoming “humanist myopia”, in as far as it makes philosophy intrinsically multidisciplinary in connection with economics, demography, human geography, law, sociology, political science and social anthropology25. In philosophy a first step is undertaken through the approach of comparative philosophy, which connects the study of arguments with the discovery of the rich diversity in the geography of other cultures. This must be supplemented, however, by a global history of philosophy, whose task is to deliver information towards a better understanding of the points of view of other traditions and cultures. By considering the evolution of traditions, cultures and institutions, as well as their modification by different audiences, new pictures arise of the development of ideas in their concrete contexts. By this means, artificial distinctions between the history of philosophy, of the various sciences, of society, of politics and of literature can eventually dissolve.

25

Cf. A. Grafton ‫ ޤ‬M.S. Rodriguez (eds.), Migration in History: Human Migration in Comparative Perspective, University of Rochester Press, Rochester, N.Y. 2007; A. Campodonico ‫ ޤ‬M.S. Vaccarezza (eds.), Gli altri in noi: Filosofia dell’interculturalità, Rubbettino, Soveria Mannelli 2009; G. Cacciatore and G. D’Anna (eds.), Interculturalità: Tra etica e politica, Carocci, Roma 2010; id. and R. Diana (eds.), Interculturalità: Religione e teologia politica, Guida, Napoli 2010; S. Vertovec, Transnationalism, Routledge, London 2009; id. and S. Wessendorf (eds.), The Multiculturalism Backlash, Routledge, London 2010; M. Nowicka and M. Rovisco (eds.), The Ashgate Research Companion to Cosmopolitanism, Ashgate, London 2011; A. Taraborrelli, Il cosmopolitismo contemporaneo, Laterza, Roma 2011; G.C. Bruno et al. (eds.), Percorsi migranti, McGraw Hill, Milano 2011.

PART TWO TRADITION AND INNOVATION: WHICH FUTURE?

CHAPTER SIX TREASON OR TRADITION? RÉMI BRAGUE

Tradition has always been an ambiguous notion. It is felt at the same time as a weight and as a gift. Both casting off from one’s moorings in the past and trying to get back to it are blind alleys. Yet, both stances express a truth: the human capability of initiative and our being the product of past circumstances. The past is partly a construction, because we highlight what we choose to further, but we can’t possibly start from scratch. A healthy relationship towards the past can be called by the name of the Roman virtue of pietas. It could help us out of two pitfalls of present-day culture: on the one hand self-hatred and contempt for our own past, on the other hand a parasitism that preys on the treasures hoarded by the past without renewing them. “Tradition” is a dangerous word, full of pitfalls and source of many fallacies, because of the strange ambivalence that it contains. This character comes to the fore at best in the adjective “traditional”. It has a derogatory undertone, or even becomes a term of abuse, when it qualifies for example morality or family over against what John Stuart Mill called new “experiments of living”1. The world-view of the so-called Bobos2, from the time of the Bloomsbury Group till the present day, loathes whatever is branded with being “traditional”. By contrast, it rings emphatically positive and becomes a powerful argument in the strategy of advertising when it qualifies, for instance, food or the way it is prepared. In Paris, a loaf of bread is supposed to taste better, and to be more 1 J.S. Mill, On Liberty [1859], ch. 3, in Utilitarianism, Liberty and Representative Government, ed. A.D. Lindsay, Dent, London 1968, p. 115; see also p. 122 et 4, p. 137. 2 See D. Brooks, Bobos in Paradise. The New Upper Class and how they got there, Simon & Shuster, New York 2000.

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expensive, when it is a “baguette de tradition”, i.e. when it is baked “according to the traditional recipe”. And the Bobos will queue for that. Among philosophers, tradition has the two-sided face of Janus, too. At the beginning of the work in which he pitilessly chronicles Napoleon the Third’s seizing of power, Karl Marx writes: “The tradition of all the bygone generations weighs like a nightmare (Alp) on the brains of the living”3. On the other hand, in his meditation on the origin of geometry, Husserl slightly less than a century later, wrote: “the world of culture in its whole exists, according to all its forms, as a consequence of tradition” (Die gesamte Kulturwelt ist nach allen ihren Gestalten aus Tradition da)4. Tradition is at the same time a crushing weight and a gift that presents us with whatever is valuable.

I. Tradition as productive As time goes on, and in recent times at an increasing speed, both sides of the coin, the positive as well as the negative, get a deeper and deeper dimension. a) At our present point of time, the pendulum is swinging in the direction of negation. It looks like that the West is immersed in some sort of all-pervading self-hatred5. It envisions its own past not only as containing crimes, which is a common feature of any people or culture, but as made of a continuous series of crimes: the conquest of the New World, the colonization of Africa, capitalist exploitation, the Shoah, etc. The “white man’s burden”, the line by Kipling that became a saw, is taking a bitter and ironical tinge. As a counterpart, the West can sometimes cast a nostalgic glance on other civilizations that it dreams of as being innocent, at least in comparison with its own guilt. b) We have learnt since the 19th Century that the past moulds us far more than what we are conscious of. Historical science has taught us to take with an ever greater seriousness a famous sentence by Auguste Comte: “The living are always, and more and more, governed by the dead. Such is the fundamental law of the human order” (Les vivants sont toujours, et de plus en plus, gouvernés nécessairement par les morts: telle 3

K. Marx, Der achtzehnte Brumaire von Louis Bonaparte [1852], I, Dietz, Berlin 1953, p. 11. 4 E. Husserl, [Der Ursprung der Geometrie], Beilage III in Die Krisis der europäischen Wissenschaften und die transzendentale Phänomenologie, ed. W. Biemel (Husserliana VI), Nijhoff, The Hague 1962, p. 366. 5 See f.i. P. Bruckner, Le Sanglot de l’homme blanc. Tiers-monde, culpabilité, haine de soi, Seuil, Paris 1986.

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est la loi fondamentale de l'ordre humain)6. This does not hold true only for the realm of human action and its results. For natural scientists confirm the intuition of the historians. In biology, Charles Darwin, on the basis of the path-breaking work that he published in 1859, seven years after Comte, has taught us that we are the heirs to a past that harks back, in the last analysis, to the very beginning of life in a “warm pond”7. Astrophysics adds today: we are the heirs to the whole past history of the universe, our body is made of atoms that came to be billions of years ago, etc. The past doesn’t only lead us; it makes us what we are. Two attitudes arise from those symmetrical phenomena: the one of the revolutionary and the one of the reactionary. Both of them stress one of those two dimensions that are in themselves perfectly sensible, but both go so far as to make of them something absolute. a) The revolutionary wants to weigh anchor from the past. He refuses to admit that the past could influence our present-day choices. To put it with the pithy formula coined by a Frenchman on the eve of the French Revolution: “Our history is not our code of law” (Notre histoire n’est pas notre code)8. The revolutionary wants to make a clean slate (tabula rasa) and to begin again from scratch. The Chairman Mao Zedong once said that you can’t write a beautiful poem unless you get a perfectly white sheet of paper. He pretended to write on the raw human material of China the most enticing social calligraphy. From this point of view, the adjective “traditional” took a polemical value and is made use of in order to discredit what is qualified as such. b) The traditionalist wants to get back to the past or at least to maintain it. His argument is not devoid of plausibility: The past has asserted itself, the state of affairs was possible, since it was real, whereas the future probably will be worse than the past. In any case, it is uncertain, in its content as well as in its very reality: we don’t know whether there will be any future. Some catastrophe, natural or artificial, say a huge meteorite or an all-out nuclear war, could put a stop on the human adventure. Hence, “traditional” will have the shade of meaning of “reliable”, “trustworthy”.

6

A. Comte, Catéchisme positiviste [1852], I, 2; ed. P.-F. Pécault, Garnier, Paris s.d., p. 70. 7 C. Darwin, The Origin of Species by means of natural selection or the preservation of favored races in the struggle for life [1859]. 8 J.-P. Rabaut Saint-Etienne, Considérations sur les intérêts du Tiers-État adressées au peuple des provinces par un propriétaire foncier [1788], Kleffer, Paris 1826, p. 1-105, quote §1, p. 11.

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II. The truth of the revolutionary: the phenomenon of birth The revolutionary takes his/her bearings from a fundamental feature of whatever is human. It is a great merit of Hannah Arendt to have put it into light and to have coined, in order to give it a name, the word “natality” as a counterpart to the “mortality” upon which philosophers have always being harping. In her first book in English, she writes: “Beginning, before it becomes a historical event, is the supreme capacity of man, it is identical with man’s freedom. […] This beginning is guaranteed by each new birth; it is indeed every man”9. The idea received a fuller form in what is, in my opinion, her masterpiece: “Action has the closest connection with the human condition of natality; the new beginning inherent in birth can make itself felt in the world only because the newcomer possesses the capacity of beginning something anew, that is, of acting. In this sense of initiative, an element of action, and therefore of natality, is inherent in all human activities”10. In her last work, left unfinished, she was still returning to the theme11. Each and every human being brings about, by simply being born, a newness that can be called absolute, in the etymological meaning of this term: unbound, detached, freed from what came before. Freedom is spontaneity, the capability for us to introduce into the web of facts new, unpredictable events. The French philosopher Henri Bergson has written on this topic pages that are, in my opinion, decisive12. Now, this new beginning implies that what already existed is left behind, forgotten. Forgetting is not necessarily a negative process, due to a lack of attention. It can be the “gallant forgetting” Hölderlin spoke about: “Spirit likes colony and gallant forgetting” (Kolonie liebt, und tapfer Vergessen der Geist)13. In his second Untimely Meditation, Nietzsche meditated on the drawbacks of historical research (Historie) for life. You have to forget

9 H. Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism [1951], Schocken Books, New York 2004, p. 616 (last words of the whole book, in the second edition, 1958). 10 H. Arendt, The Human Condition [1958], The University of Chicago Press, Chicago 1998, p. 9; see also, apart from the references given in the index, p. 178 and 191. 11 H. Arendt, The Life of the Mind, t. 2: Willing, Secker & Warburg, London 1978, pp. 109-110; 212, 217. 12 H. Bergson, Essai sur les données immédiates de la conscience [1889]. 13 F. Hölderlin, Brot und Wein [1801], reading, in Sämtliche Werke, ed. F. Beissner, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, II-2: Gedichte nach 1800. Lesarten, 1951, p. 608.

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what was done already in order to be able to create14. More than a century earlier than the German philosopher, a French philosophe wrote that “human beings, in order to be happy, are in a still greater need to forget than to learn” (les hommes, pour être heureux, ont encore plus besoin d’oublier que d’apprendre)15.

III. The error of the revolutionary Yet, the newly-born child can’t develop, nor even survive, without his or her receiving from the surrounding milieu. At the elementary level of biological realities, we badly need to breathe and to feed. The sad case of the wolf-children shows that humanization can’t fulfil itself completely unless in a surrounding that is already human16. First of all, the child who is still unable to speak, the in-fans in the original Latin meaning of this word, has to receive language as the vehicle of almost the whole tradition that is handed over to him or her. The individual will be able to use this common language in a singular way, each will have his or her particular style, and this singularity will come to a head in the great writer. But the revolutionary is scarcely a subject who would be able to take a stance towards the past like a judge who looks at what is happening from the outside. The subject who lives in the present is him/herself the product of the past. Even if he/she wants to bring in new modes, he/she may be only repeating ancient, or even archaic gestures. The attempt at breaking with the past is often punished by a “return of the repressed” under a more archaic form. Among the people who played the lead in the French Revolution, the fact that they kept referring to ancient historical facts, and even aped Antiquity, in particular ancient Rome such as they saw it through their reading Plutarch or Tacitus as schoolboys, shows this most clearly. 14

F.W. Nietzsche, Unzeitgemässe Betrachtungen, II: Vom Nutzen und Nachteil der Historie für das Leben [1877], §1, in Kritische Studienausgabe, ed. G. Colli & M. Montinari, de Gruyter, Munich, dtv /Berlin 1980, t. 1, pp. 252-253. 15 F.-J. de Chastellux, De la Félicité publique ou considérations sur le sort des hommes dans les différentes Epoques de l’histoire [1772], Vues ultérieures sur la félicité publique, Société typographique, Bouillon 1776, t. 2, p. 313; the attention of the students of history of ideas was drawn to this almost forgotten author by Carl L. Becker, The Heavenly City of the Eighteenth Century Philosophers, Yale University Press, New Haven 1932, pp. 93-94. 16 See R. Shattuck, The Forbidden Experiment. The Story of the Wild Boy of Aveyron, Farrar, Strauss & Giroux, New York 1980.

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Forgetting can be only unconscious and passive17. To be sure, we may in some cases wish to forget, especially traumatic events. But we can’t possibly decide that we shall forget. Such an endeavour would lead to the very contrary of the result we looked for. In order to decide to forget, one has to know precisely what is to be forgotten, which can’t happen without our having a vivid remembrance of what should be erased. The will to forget brings about its very contrary, i.e. an exacerbation of memory. One could call this mechanism the “Erostratus effect”: What made his name immortal is not the foolish crime he perpetrated, i.e. burning down the Temple of Diana in Ephesus, one of the seven wonders of the world. It is rather the still more foolish command of the local ruler, forbidding anyone ever again to pronounce his name18. Some people would like to abolish the past because they imagine that this will make place for the new to arise more freely. Most unfortunately, experiments to this effect were attempted in recent history. They did succeed in doing away with many traces of what existed previously, including the human brains that were their carriers. But nothing arose in their place. In his short spell at the head of the newly created Soviet Union, Lenin could already destroy many things. Stalin who inherited his power, could implement Lenin’s plans on a larger scale. So did partly together with him and mainly after him Mao, later still Pol Pot, and other ones. But nothing whatsoever was created. Where is socialist society? What is left is only desert, and mass graves. As for the need for a previous oblivion, one could turn the tables and venture to say that we have to create so as to be able to forget. Let us begin with creating, and we’ll see later on whether the newly created is a match for the older state of things, or is even able to bury it. Let me quote a beautiful and deep sentence of the Polish poet Czesáaw Miáosz, who was awarded the Nobel prize for literature in 1980: «Neither critique nor theoretical manifestoes, but only a fuller existence can do away with faded existences»19.

17

U. Eco ‫ ޤ‬M. Migiel, An Ars Oblivionalis? Forget It!, PMLA, CIII, 3 (1988). pp. 254-261. 18 Valerius Maximus, Memorable Deeds and Sayings, VIII, 14: Non Roman examples, 5; Lucian, Death of Peregrinus, 22. 19 C. Miáosz, Ziemia Ulro [1977], §19, end; I could access only the French translation by Z. Bobowicz, La Terre d’Ulro, Albin Michel, Paris 1985, quotation p. 104; my translation.

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IV. Where the traditionalist is wrong: the invention of tradition The traditionalist is wrong in his/her strong tendency to overrate the strangeness of the past: “in former times, things were not as they are today, things today are no longer what they used to be”, etc. He/she neglects the common elements that subsist, and that more often than not are the overwhelming majority of what constitutes our world. By so doing, he/she ascribes to the rifts in the historical continuum a greater weight than the one they really possess. This stance makes of him/her, against his/her intention, an objective fellow-traveller of the revolutionary. The traditionalist wants, not to come back to the past, which is impossible, but at least to keep it. Now, it is the case that this past is the result of a process of selection operated by some individual or collective present subject who gives him/herself the past which he/she dreams of. What we believe to be tradition is for a large part the product of an invention. The British historian Eric Hobsbawn, who recently died, edited in 1983 a book that soon became a classic. It had given it the title The Invention of Tradition20. He succeeded in showing that many elements of the folklore supposed to be traditional were in fact invented when nations endeavoured to ground their claims on an alleged past history, which happened by and large in the 19th Century. The book was followed by a bevy of books with the title of The Invention of… or The Making of…, unless it is The Social Construction of…, a title the origin of which was perfectly legitimate, but that became so trendy that it was lampooned21. We keep of the past what looks relevant for today, depending on our present-day interests. Not that the past tells us what we have to do. On the contrary, we decide, at least for a large part, what the past was by unceasingly recapitulating it into what we do. And we decide about it on the basis of the projects that we make for the future. In our personal lives, we constantly re-read and revisit our own past and reinterpret it as leading to our present decisions. By this token, there is more than a grain of truth in the analyses of Jean-Paul Sartre on human existence as a project22. This observation leads us to a more radical conclusion that compels us 20 Eric Hobsbawn ‫ ޤ‬Terence Ranger (ed.), The Invention of Tradition, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1983. 21 See I. Hacking, The Social Construction of What?, Harvard University Press, Cambridge (Mass.) 2000. The serious work was P. Berger & T. Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality. A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge, Doubleday, New York 1967. 22 J.-P. Sartre, L’Etre et le Néant [1943], Gallimard, Paris 1968, p. 508ff.

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to qualify what sounds like an evidence that was expressed in Aristotle’s psychological teaching. The Greek philosopher drew a parallel assigning the three dimensions of time to the three powers of the soul: the present is the object of perception, the past being the object of memory, and the future the object of “anticipation” (elpis)23. That memory can access the past sounds clear. Now, Heidegger put forward somewhere, at least orally, the paradox according to which the attitude in which the past is given as such is not remembering, but on the contrary forgetting24. For remembering makes the past present, literally re-presents it, and by so doing fails to grasp the essential character that makes the past what it is, i.e. nothing else than its very absence.

V. What is true in traditionalism Whoever respects tradition is more often than not labelled as a conservative. As far as I am concerned, if I may bring in a personal note, this adjective has taken for me a more positive shade of meaning since an operation I had to undergo some three years ago and that gave me the opportunity to learn a word of art of medical parlance: a surgical intervention is said to be “conservative” when it endeavours to keep the largest possible part of the damaged organ… The contemporary German philosopher Odo Marquard (*1928), from whom I borrowed the reflection I have submitted to you, puts forward a plea for some conservatism and props it with several arguments. What tips the scales in the favour of a conservative stance is the simple fact that we are finite and mortal beings. Descartes proposed to us that we call everything into question25. But we won’t ever have time to scrutinize everything afresh before taking the decisions that are necessary for us to keep alive. Therefore, it is prudent not to go far astray from what has been done up to now26. In the same way, and earlier than him, the British philosopher G.E.R. Moore, in spite of a most original way of grounding morality, stood for 23

Aristotle, De memoria, 1, 449b27-28; Rhetoric, I, 11, 1369b34-35; see also Nicomachean Ethics, IX, 7, 1168a13-14. Elpis doesn’t only mean “hope”. 24 Quoted by Hans-Georg Gadamer, Die Kontinuität der Geschichte und der Augenblick der Existenz [1965], Wahrheit und Methode. Ergänzungen, in: Gesammelte Werke, Mohr, Tübingen 1986, t. 2, p. 145. 25 Descartes, Discours de la Méthode, II; in Œuvres, ed. C. Adam & P. Tannery, Cerf, Paris 1902, t. VI, pp. 13-14. 26 O. Marquard, Abschied vom Prinzipiellen. Auch eine autobiographische Einleitung, in Ib., Abschied vom Prinzipiellen, Reclam, Stuttgart 1981, p. 16.

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utterly traditional values: «The individual can […] be confidently recommended always to conform to rules which are both generally useful and generally practised»27. Hence, the correct attitude towards the past consists in letting it be what it was, and to leave it to produce its effects. The question “what is to be done”? may be as old as mankind. But it took an ominous turn when Lenin chose it, consciously recycling Chernyshevsky’s novel, for the title of the pamphlet he published in 190228. The consequences of the answer proved to be far more “painful” than the “problems” alluded to in the subtitle. The answer I would suggest is: “well, nothing at all! or merely piecemeal reforms and, in any case, no sweeping attempt at changing ‘society’, let alone at creating a new man by first liquidating the older one”. A crucial point consists in noticing that respect for the past doesn’t prevent us from preparing the future. On the contrary, it is what allows the future to be. Edmund Burke, in the uncommonly clear- and far-sighted book that he wrote against the French Revolution, hardly a year after its inception, wrote: «People will not look forward to posterity, who never look backward to their ancestors»29. Half a century later, Tocqueville, who was a staunch supporter of the new regime, took up the very rhythm of this sentence and went to the bottom of the idea in his famous chapter on individualism, where he wrote: «Democracy doesn’t only make people forget their forebears, but it conceals their offspring from them» (Non seulement la démocratie fait oublier à chaque homme ses aïeux, mais elle lui cache ses descendants)30. Why is it so? We have to know that we were once the future of our past in order for us to be able to become the past of our future. This abstract rule has a most concrete example that is more than a simple example, but the grounding stone of the whole history: we have to become conscious that we were born to parents in order for us to beget children and become their parents.

27

G.E.R. Moore, Principia Ethica [1903], V, §99; ed. T. Baldwin, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1993, p. 213. 28 V. I. Lenin, ɑɬɨ ɞɟɥɚɬɶ? ɇɚɛɨɥɟɜɲɢɟ ɜɨɩɪɨɫɵ ɧɚɲɟɝɨ ɞɜɢɠɟɧɢɹ, Dietz, Stuttgart 1902. 29 E. Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France, ed. J.G.A. Pocock, Hackett, Indianapolis 1987, p. 29, see too p. 83. 30 A. de Tocqueville, De la Démocratie en Amérique, II, 2, in Œuvres, t. 23, ed. A. Jardin, Gallimard (Pléiade), Paris 1992, p. 614.

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VI. Pietas as the virtue of temporal existence If we had to give a name to the right stance, to the virtue if one prefers, that deals with temporal existence as such, I would suggest the hardly translatable Latin term pietas31. On its etymology, the Latin adjective pius, our most reliable guides leave us somewhat in the lurch32. The Latin word may be somehow related to the ideas of cleanness and purification, hence the verb “to expiate”. In any case, it refers most frequently to the duties of the offspring towards their parents, and still more towards the parent of each citizen, the patria, on behalf of which even filial piety should be overruled33. Pietas is far from reducing itself to an attempt at clenching one’s fists to retain the past that irresistibly slips away. Aeneas, the paradigmatic hero of Roman experience, the hero whom Vergil never tires of calling pius Aeneas, not only for metrical reasons, bears witness to that. He never shows himself more pious than when he transfers his Penates from burning Troy to Latium, according to the legend about the origins of the Gens Iulia and, in its wake, of the Roman Empire. To be sure, he had to carry his crippled father on his own shoulders, a scene that inspired many artists. But this burden is not crushing, such as Jean-Paul Sartre understood it in one of the passages of his autobiography that are most fraught with hatred and resentment34. Aeneas’ piety towards his own origins culminates when he buries the old Anchises. The end result of his piety is not conservation, but, far from that, a new foundation, the opening of a new space of possibilities. The Latin pietas survives in Romance languages and in English words of French origin as the etymology not only of “piety”, but also of “pity”. The two words branched asunder rather late in the history of language. 31 I take up here a passage from my preface to the French translation of the book by Theodor Haecker, Virgile, Père de l’Occident, Ad Solem, Geneva 2007, p. XI-XII. After writing this article, I stumbled, quite by chance, on Richard Weaver’s classic work Ideas Have Consequences, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London 1948, a book that I had read in early 2006. I realized that the basic idea of the last chapter (pp. 170-187), i.e. pietas, is exactly the same as the one I thought to have had independently. Most probably, it had unconsciously wormed its way into my mind, so that I’m afraid I can’t claim any originality on this point. 32 The word is not to be read in the index of the admirable book of Emile Benvéniste, Le Vocabulaire des institutions indo-européennes, II. Pouvoir, droit, religion, Minuit, Paris 1969. 33 See f.i. Cicero, De officiis, III, xxiii, 90; ed. C. Atzert,Teubner, Leipzig 1963, p. 113. 34 J.-P. Sartre, Les Mots, Gallimard, Paris 1964, p. 11.

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The kinship between the two words betrays some nearness between their meanings, too: you have to display some indulgence towards the past in order to be able to accept its influence. I don’t mean only the indulgence towards the mistakes and misdeeds that it almost always brings with it, and that must be confessed and can possibly be forgiven. I am thinking of the deeper forgiveness towards the very fact that the past is past, irretrievably passed by. This is what Nietzsche called resentment towards the past and its “it was” that fuels the “spirit of revenge”, the latter being “the bad will of will against time and its ‘it was’” (des Willens Widerwille gegen die Zeit und ihr “Es war”)35. The German philosopher proposed as a remedy against this spirit his own world-view. I would suggest that pietas could be as efficient a means.

VII. More on contemporary ailments I hope that one will forgive me a cheap pun: a culture that, as our own does, wants to be impious, can’t expiate any longer. To be sure, we don’t exactly tire of accusing. We spend our time accusing, and in particular in accusing our ancestors of all crimes, real or imaginary. A great part of the Western popular historical production in the present day feeds on selfhatred. Distinguished authors show how the past is an arbitrary construction. Hence the cancerous proliferation of titles that I mentioned above, and that imply that what was “done” or “constructed” can be “undone” or “deconstructed”. More vulgar writers bring our past down to a long series of crimes and denials of justice. There is a great deal of truth in that, for which culture, which human group that could use force against others ever refrained from using it? It is a matter of fact that Europe discovered the rest of the world, dominated and colonized it. It owed those achievements to its progresses in naval and military technology. Europe is the only culture that ever had the physical ability to intervene in the others. Were the other cultures innocent victims? When we look more closely, we observe that their alleged innocence stems from de-negation and disguise of the past. In any case, such an innocence would be the innocence of the armless cripple, innocent of any theft, of the dumb, innocent of any calumny, or of the eunuch, innocent of any rape. In this context, I often tell a fable of my own invention, in the manner of La Fontaine. I called it “The elephant and the mouse in the chinaware 35 F.W. Nietzsche, Also sprach Zarathustra, II, Von der Erlösung; loc.cit., t. 4, p. 180.

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shop”. A very nice elephant, a saintly animal on the one hand, and a very wicked and perverse mouse each enter a chinaware shop. Which will make more damage? As a matter of course, the presence of the nice elephant will prove far more devastating. Not because of some conscious will to do as much evil as possible, but simply because it is so huge. The bad mouse that dreams of smashing everything to smithereens is too minute for it to be able to do that. Europe and the West at large did a great deal of mischief in the rest of the world, first because they did not export only saints, far from that. They were not nice elephants, but they were elephants tout court. But second, and more important, because, in the most prosaic way, they had at their disposal material means to intervene that other cultures did not possess. Furthermore, one may wonder: What is the good of those perverse confessions that never end up in an absolution? They can only inoculate us with a poison that could paralyse us.

VIII. Parasitism of modernity Modern Times distinguish themselves from all the other historical periods that came before them in so far as they define themselves on the basis of a break which they claim to have performed towards the preceding period, namely the period that they call by the name of “Middle Ages”36. Now, modernist propaganda camouflages a less rejoicing fact: modernity preys on the past, while striving to repudiate, and even to destroy it. The fact has been seen most clearly at least since the beginning of the 20th Century, and perhaps already in the late 19th, in Nietzsche, if we may interpret in this sense a somewhat obscure fragment: «we have ceased to hoard up, we spend the capital of our ancestors, even in the way in which we know» (Wir sammeln nicht mehr, wir verschwenden die Capitalien der Vorfahren, auch noch in der Art, wie wir erkennen –)37. In the present paper, I will content myself with quoting two authors, and first of all Charles Péguy, who is the earliest whom I could find who explicitly mentioned the idea of parasitism. He wrote in 1907: «In fact, with an unshakable nerve that may be its only invention and all that takes after it in the whole movement, lives almost entirely on past mankinds that it despises, that it feigns to ignore, the essential 36

This is shown with great clarity by Hans Blumenberg, Die Legitimität der Neuzeit, Suhrkamp, Frankfurt am Main 1988 (2d ed.), p. 543. 37 F.W. Nietzsche, Fgt. 14 [226], Spring 1888; KSA, t. 13, 398=Der Wille zur Macht, §68b.

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qualities of which it most really ignores, but whose commodities, uses, abuses and other uses he doesn’t ignore. The only faithfulness of the modern world is the faithfulness of the parasite» (En réalité, avec un aplomb imperturbable, et qui est peut-être sa seule invention et tout ce qu’il y a de lui dans l’ensemble du mouvement, vit presque entièrement sur les humanités passées, qu’il méprise, et feint d’ignorer, dont il ignore très réellement les réalités essentielles, dont il n’ignore point les commodités, usages, abus et autres utilisations. La seule fidélité du monde moderne, c’est la fidélité du parasite). The same author made his point still more forcefully some years later, some months only before he was killed in action at the outset of the First World War: «The modern world is, into the bargain, essentially parasitic. It draws its strength, or its sham strength, only from the regimes that it fights against, from the worlds that it has endeavoured to disintegrate» (Le monde moderne est aussi essentiellement parasite. Il ne tire sa force, ou son apparence de force, que des régimes qu’il combat, des mondes qu’il a entrepris de désintégrer)38. The second author, an Englishman, G. K. Chesterton, made the point in a still more precise way some years after the War: «The fact is this: that the modern world, with its modern movements, is living on a Catholic capital. It is using and using up, the truths that remain to it out of the old treasury of Christendom; including, of course, many truths known to pagan antiquity but crystallized in Christendom. But it is not really starting new enthusiasms of its own. The novelty is a matter of names and labels, like modern advertisement; in almost every other way the novelty is merely negative. It is not starting fresh things that it can really carry on far into the future. On the contrary, it is picking up old things that it cannot carry on at all. For these are the two marks of modern moral ideals. First, that they were borrowed or snatched out of ancient or medieval hands. Second, that they wither very quickly in modern hands»39.

38

C. Péguy, De la situation faite au parti intellectuel dans le monde moderne devant les accidents de la gloire temporelle [October 6, 1907], in Œuvres en prose, ed. R. Burac, Gallimard (Pléiade), t. 2, Paris 1988, p. 725; and Note conjointe sur M. Descartes et la philosophie cartésienne [1914], in: Œuvres en prose, ed. M. Péguy, Gallimard (Pléiade), Paris 1961, p. 1512. 39 G.K. Chesterton, “Is Humanism a Religion?”, in The Thing [1929], Sheed & Ward, London 1946, pp. 16-17.

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IX. Two relationships to tradition As a last step, I would like to come back to the ambivalence that I pointed out at the beginning, in order to shed on it some new light. We imagine that what we don’t like in tradition is its link with the past. We imagine that we prefer the future. By so doing, we dream of ourselves as being “progressive”. But in truth, the line that separates the tradition that we like, in the case of the loaf of bread and the tradition that we dislike, for instance in the case of the “traditional family”, is to be found elsewhere. And the distinction that we must perform here is far less flattering for us… In order to clarify the purport of this distinction, I suggest that we should borrow a distinction drawn by St. Augustine in a passage from the Confessions40. It was commented upon by Heidegger, in a lecture-course he gave in Marburg on the phenomenology of religious life41. Augustine asks a question that is exegetical in nature: how is it that the Scripture, more precisely John, can say that some people hate Truth? How is it that a poet, a pagan, wrote: veritas parit odium, “Truth begets hatred”? Augustine answers by distinguishing two aspects of Truth. Truth can be lucens and it can be redarguens. We love lucens truth, whereas we hate redarguens truth. Lucens does not mean only shining, but light-shedding. Truth does not only shine in itself, thereby manifesting itself. It casts its glow on other things and enables us to get cognizant of them. Redarguens means first: what “argues” against us, but at the same time, as the very root *arg- suggests, it is some sort of light, too. I suggest it could be rendered as “lucidity”. Now, lucidity is not that pleasant, because it reveals many shades, no to say dust and cobwebs, in the nooks and corners of our soul. The first love of Truth is thirst for knowledge. The second one is honesty towards oneself. Now, if we really loved Truth, we would wish other people, nay everybody, to be able to pry into our soul and expose its content. Which we hardly do. We even try to escape our own knowledge of our shortcomings. In the last analysis, the first love for truth, for truth lucens, unmasks itself as love for the knowledge that we can get. We don't like Truth per se, we like what truth enables us to know and to get hold of. Hence, such a love is in the last resort self-love. To apply a more classical Augustinian distinction, we use (uti) Truth, whereas we should enjoy (frui) it. 40

Augustine, Confessiones, X, XXIII, 34; ed. A. Solignac, Desclée De Brouwer, Paris 1962, t. 14, p. 202. 41 M. Heidegger, Phänomenologie des religiösen Lebens, ed. C. Strube (GA, vol. 60), Klostermann, Francfort 1995, pp. 199-201.

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We can apply the same analysis to the idea of tradition: The tradition that we like is the one that makes the past appear as what leads to us, so that we can profit of it. In the same way, we like the loaf of bread that we eat and thereby destroy by assimilating it. The tradition that we dislike is the one that enables the very transition from the past to the future. But this happens if, and only if we take the necessary steps that will make such a shift possible. This may compel us to do things that we are hardly prone to do. In a nutshell: we like tradition as reception; we dislike tradition as transmission42.

X. As a conclusion From this point of view, an especially important character of the past comes to light. The past, our past, may have many dark sides. It harboured many criminal and many stupid things. But it has, at the very least, a double merit: on the one hand, it existed, whereas nobody knows whether the future will be; on the other hand, there is something more important: it has brought us into being, we who adopt towards it the position of judges. We can say, looking back, that the past was pregnant with what, for it, was still the future, and is now our present. On the other hand, nothing guarantees that our present contains anything other than itself, or that it opens towards a future. The future state of things won’t come about of itself. We have to let it come. There are decisions that prevent the future from coming – in politics, in ecology, in demography. Those that will make it possible should be taken right now.

42 I develop here some lines from my Les Ancres dans le ciel. L’infrastructure métaphysique, Seuil, Paris 2011, p. 73.

CHAPTER SEVEN ANAMNESIS AND TRADITION: AQUINAS AND NIETZSCHE JOHN O'CALLAGHAN

In this paper I suggest that it is useful to consider the Greek philosophical concept of anamnesis or memory in relation to the work of Thomas Aquinas and Friederich Nietzsche in pursuing the topic “Tradition and Innovation”. They provide two exemplary but opposed examples against which to consider the role of “tradition” in philosophical thought. First I analyse the concept tradition itself as it functions in Philosophy against the background of its history. Such analysis reveals different ways in which “tradition” may be approached by the contemporary philosopher – it may be understood to be a kind of object consisting in a body of doctrines passively received or rejected by the philosopher considering “a tradition”. On the other hand, it may be understood to be the active expression of the philosophical engagement of philosophers of the past with the objects of philosophy, communicating their insights to another. The difference between the active and the passive in describing “tradition” raises the question of how a contemporary philosopher ought to engage a tradition – actively or passively. With this dichotomy in mind, I proceed to look at Thomas Aquinas and Friedrich Nietzsche, to consider the ways in which they may be understood to engage philosophical tradition, whether actively or passively. In particular I employ Nietzsche's distinctions between “historical men” to ask in what sense Aquinas is or is not subject to Nietzsche's classifications. I also employ the Greek notion of Anamnesis as a philosophical method to consider the ways in which Aquinas and Nietzsche differ in their respective approaches to tradition as having a role within the philosophical enterprise.

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I. The Concept of Tradition The topic of this volume is “Tradition and Innovation”. In addressing that topic I will suggest that if we consider the concept of anamnesis or memory in relation to the work of Aquinas and Friedrich Nietzsche, they provide two exemplary but opposed examples against which to consider the role of “tradition” in philosophical thought. But before proceeding to look at Aquinas and Nietzsche, it will be useful to consider the concept of tradition itself. The concept of tradition can be approached philosophically in at least two different but related ways. In the first place, it can be considered from a purely speculative point of view, tracing out its conceptual linkages with other notions, and discovering heretoforeunknown features of its intelligibility. It can also be considered less speculatively and more methodologically in the inquiry into the nature of Philosophy itself. What role does tradition play in the philosophical task rather than, say, in History, Mathematics, or the Law? One of the central tasks of Philosophy throughout history has been to consider the nature of Philosophy itself – what is Philosophy? And in many ways Philosophy has not been as successful as other intellectual disciplines in establishing a generally accepted consensus as to just what it is or how it should proceed, neither a consensus over time nor in different places1. This failure to achieve consensus need not be seen as an objection to philosophical inquiry, since it may simply reflect the fact that the goal of Philosophy, if it has a goal, is more difficult and elusive than these other disciplines. And so in inquiring into what Philosophy is, we can consider whether the concept of tradition plays a role in understanding the nature and method of philosophical inquiry. Clearly this second task is not independent of the first task, for what we say about tradition as a speculative object will shape what we say about it in its relation to, or its constitutive role within the philosophical enterprise. On the other hand, considering tradition as a speculative object without considering how it has actually been embedded in the methodological contours of actual philosophical movements may lead to a restricted and abstract “idea” that has little to do with any actual 1 Obviously, partisans of one particular method of Philosophy may simply insist that any inquiry that does not share its method is not Philosophy, and thus establish consensus by fiat. However, if we use the term 'philosophy' according to the usus loquentium, that is, according to the way people speak without committing to a normative view from the outset, it is clear that there is no consensus concerning the method of Philosophy, neither at the present time nor historically. Claims to the contrary are illusory.

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philosophical inquiry. What is necessary is a kind of dialectical engagement of speculative reflection with the study of actual concrete philosophical inquiries whose methods of inquiry display more or less the importance of traditions shaping them. It is for that reason, in the limited scope of this paper, that I have chosen the examples of Aquinas and Nietzsche. So my interest here bears more upon the second mode of considering tradition. By and large I want to consider the role it plays in actual philosophical inquiry. But to pursue that interest it is important to point out two features of the concept of tradition as a speculative object. First, the word ‘tradition’ in its etymological history signals a passing on of something. The English word, as well as the Italian ‘tradizione’2 comes from the Latin ‘traditio’ which is the substantive of the verb ‘tradere’. The Latin verb means to hand over, surrender, deliver, bequeath, or relate. In its verb form it is active and suggests the agency in this handing over more than the object or product handed over. The verb requires an active subject to complete it in an actual utterance – someone or something “hands over”. But as a substantive, generally the emphasis of ‘tradition’ or ‘traditio’ is upon a kind of object or product that is handed over or related – something received passively rather than the activity of handing over. This relation between the verb and the noun that exists in Latin no longer really exists in English. ‘Tradition’ could in the past be used as a transitive verb to “transmit by a tradition”. It was used as such as late as 1872. But that use is for all practical purposes now dead. Now in English we only have the noun 'tradition' without any cognate verb, and this is true of Italian as well3. As a substantive, one of the more interesting uses in older English expressions was to speak of a “tradition” as a surrender. So Christ's “tradition” meant His surrender – Christ surrenders himself, or hands himself over to those who would kill him. So the noun in this now lost use refers to the act of surrender. As a noun, it can also refer more generally to the act of handing over, as when it is said that something has been passed down “by tradition”. This use suggests that a tradition itself is a quasi-agent. The emphasis in this older English use would be upon the 2

I employ the Italian example here and throughout because this paper originated in a presentation to an Italian audience at the Catholic University of Milan, and it nicely parallels the point about English. 3 In conversation with Kevin Flannery, we considered whether “to trade” is the cognate verb, since it at least suggests an exchange. However, “trade” has an entirely different etymology, coming from German not Latin. http://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/acref/9780192830982.001.0001/ac ref-9780192830982-e-15866?rskey=12cXd4&result=1&q=trade

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act referred to by the substantive. But by and large when we speak of a “tradition” now, it is thought of as a kind of object to which one would relate or which one would encounter, not an action, as in “studying the Aristotelian tradition”4. I want to suggest that this loss of the verb form is actually important for the way we think about tradition. The valence of ‘tradition’ or ‘tradizione’ as a noun emphasizing the thing or object handed over or received will in some ways hide or at least minimize the verbal sense in Latin that more clearly brings to mind those who do the relating, handing down, or bequeathing – those who act. Even the older use of ‘tradition’ to suggest the action of handing over or transmitting “by tradition” transfers the sense of the action from the human beings involved to a kind of substantive abstraction that they may participate in, and in a way masks those human agents behind the abstraction. So ‘tradition’ brings to mind a thing received, as well as tacitly a recipient, the one who receives – an odd reversal of the original Latin verb form which explicitly emphasizes the giver of something given. Indeed, with the loss of the verbal cognate in at least English and Italian, we have no direct way of expressing the human agency that expresses itself in a tradition, no direct way that is tied linguistically to the noun. So, unless we actively reflect upon the role of tradition within philosophy, it is likely that most philosophers experience a tradition, whether to accept it or reject it, as a simple fact or oddly present reality. Perhaps they encounter it in the persons of their teachers, or by engaging certain canonical texts. But to use the term 'tradition' is to draw attention to the thing or object encountered in that way, even that thing or object as a quasi-agent itself. It is not to draw attention to the human agents responsible for the philosophical inquiry that forms, projects, and hands over a tradition. I say “oddly present” since a tradition must be present to us here and now, and yet what it makes present to us is by its very nature not present here and now. Whether we consider earlier stages in its development or its archai or principles – whoever or whatever originated the tradition – these aspects of the tradition are of the past and not of the present where the tradition is encountered. This is because one always encounters a tradition in its current stage. What is present to one here and now as a tradition is always something other than its earlier stages; and the stage that one encounters here and now is always pointing to something beyond and other than itself, unless it has become a static tradition, that is, unless it has died. Indeed, it is an interesting philosophical question to ask whether a 4

For the etymological data of this paragraph concerning ‘tradition’ see entries for ‘tradition’ as a noun and as a verb in Oxford English Dictionary. http://www.oed.com/

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dead tradition that we encounter can be a tradition at all. Certainly the verb form ‘tradere’ suggests activity, and thus life. Less so the noun form ‘traditio’ in the absence of the verb. When we say we encounter some bit of philosophical inquiry as a present encounter with a tradition, we are taking that present stage to point beyond itself – not to its future, but to its past. This pointing to the past by what we now encounter as a tradition remains, even if we never bother to investigate the actual past to which the present stage points. We might call a pointing to the past, without an actual investigation of the pointed to, the immaturity of a tradition. On the other hand, the death of a tradition might seem to involve this pointing to the past, indeed perhaps even a careful and highly sophisticated investigation of the past pointed to that does not simultaneously look forward in the way in which philosophical inquiry must of necessity look forward from the known to the unknown. Supposing, however, we are encountering a dynamic or living tradition, it is as if the tradition we encounter is a landscape painting of a countryside that has long ago disappeared – the painting confronts us here and now in the absence of the countryside that was painted and the painter who painted it, and yet makes them somehow present to us here and now in their absence. So it is in thinking about both what is handed over or bequeathed and those who do the handing over or bequeathing that the second feature of the concept of tradition that I mentioned comes out in clear relief – that what a tradition presents to one is an inherently historical phenomenon. I do not mean the trivial sense in which it involves past events that from our perspective now appear to be static objects of study. I mean the sense of ‘historical’ as a dynamic shaping of events over time by the agency of figures appropriating the agency of others before them, and making their agency available to others after them – the emphasis is not upon historical events but upon historical agents and what they do to shape the course of philosophical inquiry. On the one hand, a tradition is received in the present moment or era, which moment or era is easy enough to conceive of as an ahistorical static now. And yet the present moment or era is itself embedded in a historical process involving agents acting in ways quite often very different from the historical process or processes within which what is now considered the tradition was born and developed. Again, somewhat oddly, tradition qua tradition can only exist in the present now of those who receive it. Plato did not encounter the tradition of Platonism; Augustine did, although by the time he did so it had become the tradition of neo-Platonism. And what Augustine then did was not only encounter a tradition in the substantive noun sense. What he did involved tradere, the active verb sense. He passed on or handed over, but handed over in a way

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that is the expression of his philosophical agency. In that respect a genuine philosopher who encounters a tradition will also always move from the encounter with tradition to the act of tradere. Nonetheless, tradition is constituted by the present now of the recipient as the background for his act of tradere. And what is made present to one now when it becomes a tradition for one is not something of the present now; it is something of the past – what is handed over in the present now of tradition is the agency of others now no longer present to one. Again the noun use of ‘tradition’ that solidifies it into a quasi-agent may hide these real agents from us; and such an abstract tradition will of course be informed by historical processes, but in taking them all within its scope will itself be a kind of trans-historical object – a tradition encountered in that abstract way is itself not a historical process as if it could be included within itself as historical. It is now; what it encompasses was then. And the figures we are considering as hidden by an abstract tradition are necessarily of the past. Yet this quasi-agency of the abstract tradition can only be exercised in the present in which the tradition is encountered. So that is the sense in which the abstraction can hide from one the actual historical agency of the human figures who formed what is handed on in and through a tradition – the abstract tradition renders them impotent. But then if one proceeds to force oneself to think of the human agency hidden by a tradition, the actual agents who bequeath it to one, it is even more clear that their agency in bequeathing a tradition to one takes place within historical processes quite different from one’s own. To be sure, at least initially one cannot encounter these agents at all except in the context of the traditions that might make them present to one here and now, present like the painter is present in the painting, even if one strikes off on one’s own to attempt to encounter them in ways marked precisely by departing from the traditional modes of presentation by which they are first encountered. I have here in mind the idea that one might begin to question and interrogate a traditional presentation of some philosophical agent as he or she was first presented to one, in light of new conditions. But one must first encounter them in those traditional ways before questioning and interrogating those traditions of presentation. But if one simply considers a tradition as a kind of object or thing that is encountered now, and not as an engagement with the agency of others – as a being handed to by human agents, a receiving from human agents – one runs the risk of slighting, ignoring, indeed killing after a fashion those agents who bequeath or hand over the tradition to one. One may receive the product, the tradition, while remaining in ignorance of those who present it to one as a bequest.

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A verb like ‘tradere’ can take as a subject not simply an abstraction like ‘tradition’, but also, and more properly an agent, a philosopher like Plato, Aristotle (who refers to himself as among “we Platonists”5), Aquinas, Kant, Scheler, Edith Stein, Elizabeth Anscombe, or Peter Geach, and so on. But in effect, with the loss for us of the verbal cognate, the reality of a tradition becomes merely its present face as one encounters it now; its reality does not include those who act to produce it, and so they are not part of the tradition one encounters. We might begin to ask then, is this absence of philosophical archai, conceived of as historical agents inquiring, asserting, denying, wondering, mistaking, achieving, and not simply conceived of as the thoughts or propositions they inquire into, assert, deny, wonder about, mistake, or achieve, a loss or a gain for the philosophical enterprise? This fact about a tradition, that it may be received as a kind of static product in ignorance of and excluding the agency that produces it, itself opens up points of inquiry for philosophical reflection upon the nature of Philosophy. Is there any role within philosophical inquiry for considering not just the tradition that is bequeathed to us, but also the historical agency that expresses it and hands it on? Does the fact that a tradition is the product of historical agency imply that it holds no philosophical weight for us because we cannot enter into the time and historical processes formed by the actions of those agents? Is the study of that historical agency merely a kind of history of ideas as a museum piece curiosity? Or does the agency that stands behind the tradition and which is of necessity historically expressed agency affect the properly philosophical enterprise itself as one engages in it today? If philosophy must consider a tradition as a product of historical agency in order to understand it properly, must it then also see that agency as a threat or limitation to free and autonomous philosophical inquiry, a threat to be overcome somehow? But can the objects of philosophical inquiry actually be engaged apart from the philosophical agency of other human beings as encountered within a tradition? If not, does engagement with their philosophical inquiries put one in contact with nothing other than their thoughts, and not the objects of their thoughts? Are those who philosophically engage a tradition simply engaging philosophical idols? Or can the thoughts of these historical agents put one’s philosophical inquiry into contact with something beyond those thoughts and those agents themselves? Can a philosophical encounter with a tradition put us into contact with any other object of philosophy than the tradition itself? Or 5

See Metaphysics I.9. Aristotle. The Complete Works of Aristotle. Revised Oxford Translation, edited by Jonathan Barnes, 2 vols. © 1984 The Jowett Copyright Trustees, Princeton University Press, Princeton 1984, vol. 2.

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perhaps to be genuinely philosophical and to engage with the objects of philosophical inquiry, if there are any and whatever they may be, one’s inquiry must be an unmediated engagement of the individual mind alone apart from the thoughts of all others, contemporary and historical. But what then would be the objects that the unmediated mind could encounter apart from the thoughts of all others? What sense could be given to the thesis that one’s own unmediated thoughts bear upon the very same objects across philosophical traditions and the agents who produce those traditions by their philosophical acts? These questions all arise once we begin to reflect philosophically upon the agency of the human beings who hand over to us the traditions we encounter in our own day. Insofar as these questions bear upon the nature of Philosophy and its method, they are eminently philosophical questions themselves. And anyone engaging in philosophical inquiry will have given them at least tacit if not explicit answers, answers shown by the questions he or she thinks are interesting philosophical questions as well as the method by which he or she pursues those questions – they are philosophically unavoidable even to those who deny their relevance. I cannot hope to address all of these questions here, but they do effectively begin to bring me to the topic of memory or anamnesis and the philosophers of my title, Aquinas and Nietzsche.

II. Anamnesis: The Platonic and Augustinian background I want to suggest that engagement with a tradition can be thought of as an exercise of memory. Obviously, it is not, by and large, an exercise of the individual memory of any particular person of actions and events in his or her own past – as we have seen, the point of its being a tradition is that by and large the one who engages a tradition did not produce it, but, rather, receives it. The agency that produced and handed it over to him or her is not a possible object for his or her individual memory precisely because he or she is encountering it as a tradition produced by others. Nonetheless, it is not out of place to think of it as memory if we focus upon the theme of recollection in memory. And that a tradition is the product of the agency of others is no argument that one’s encounter with it must therefore be thoroughly passive, any more than the fact that one who engages a conversation partner is thoroughly passive because he or she must listen. So one can speak of both active and passive engagement with a tradition; and thus to the extent that one can speak of the encounter with a tradition as an act of memory, one can thus also speak of active and passive memory in such an encounter.

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A tradition in its actual and present sources for us is by and large a collection of written documents, and will most often also involve the oral transmission of those documents at least initially in a learning environment6; those documents and the teachers who present them present a kind of embodied repository of information concerning some subject matter produced by agents other than those who receive it, and often other than those who presently transmit it. Still, unless a tradition is encountered philosophically by a philosopher or philosophical community that repository is really nothing at all other than a set of inert physical bodies, a lifeless collection of paper or papyri or scrolls, while the teachers who present them are little more than reporters of facts7. It only comes alive for one as a tradition when it is engaged philosophically. And one question we might ask is to what extent a philosophical engagement with that repository would differ from the engagement of an academic historian concerning those very texts, or a paleographer, and so on. But once it is encountered philosophically it comes to life as a tradition and shapes the philosophical memory of the individual or community that engages it. Why should we consider it memory, even though it is not a memory of one’s own actions or experiences? In the first instance, because it does put before one the past, as I have described above. But more importantly because it is a kind of recollection, and recollection does not as clearly suggest that what is recollected must belong to one’s own actions or experiences as perhaps memory suggests in English. “In the midst of class we were asked to recollect that it was Lincoln who wrote the Gettysburg Address”. It would be inappropriate to say that I had a memory of Lincoln’s writing the Gettysburg Address. But here is where the plasticity of the term ‘memory’ is important, for while I would not say “I had a memory of Lincoln writing the address”, or “I remembered Lincoln writing it”, it would not be incorrect to say “I remembered that Lincoln wrote the Gettysburg Address”. Of course the reason why I can remember this is likely to be because I have been taught it, and taught it in a particular place at a particular time. But the recollection is not a recollection of my having learned it, that is, a recollection of the very place and time where and when I learned it, and of how I learned it. Of 6

Of course, in some instances it may be purely oral. In a way one might suggest that one who does not engage a tradition philosophically, though in the guise of a philosophical education, does an injustice to the tradition and those who present it here and now. And vice versa, those agents who fail to present the tradition philosophically here and now, and yet fail to do so in the guise of a philosophical education do an injustice both to the tradition and to those to whom they seek to present it.

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course I can have such a recollection. But that is not what is taking place here in this example. No. It is Lincoln’s writing it that is made present to me in such recollection, not the context in which I learned it even if that context of learning is a necessary condition for my recollecting it8. All that matters so far for my point is that one can speak of recollecting agents, events, and processes of the past, even if the condition for such recollection is not one’s own past actions or experiences, but the actions and experiences of another. Something of the past is made present to me through the acts and experiences of another. That phenomenon is different from but also similar to the phenomenon of knowledge acquired from another, as objects of knowledge are made present to me by the acts and experiences of others, as for example that this man is my father made known to me by my mother, or that Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle governs subatomic particles such that the velocity interval of an object in motion is inversely proportional to the position interval of such an object made known to me by my Quantum Mechanics professor. Philosophically engaged, a tradition becomes an act of philosophical memory for us, by placing us in the presence of the philosophical inquiry of others. For reasons that I hope will become clear, I will introduce here the Greek term ‘anamnesis’. For now, notice the active character of what I just asserted – a tradition has to be engaged as an exercise of a kind of active memory on our part in order for it to have any life as a tradition for us. While it is not produced by us, it is only alive for us as a tradition by our active engagement with it, our anamnesis. As memory or anamnesis it is our act of memory constituted by and large by the agency of others; thus it has both active and passive moments to it. Received purely passively, it would be dead for us, or perhaps better to say we would be dead to it.

8 It might also be tempting to suggest that because of the “that clause” involved in the construction, what I recollect is a proposition and that that proposition is true. But one need not be misled by a grammatical feature of the language in which one gives expression to the recollection into positing a realm of propositions that one engages in such memories. After all, I can say “think about Lincoln writing the Gettysburg Address”, which does not at all suggest that what I engage in my thought is a proposition, rather than Lincoln, his writing, and the address. And even if I am recollecting the truth of a proposition in such a recollection, left unanswered is how I can have an engagement with such a proposition, distinguishing it from any other proposition, that Washington led his troops at Valley Forge for instance, if Lincoln, his writing, and the Gettysburg Address are not themselves brought to mind rather than Washington, his troops, and what he did at Valley Forge. But of course I will not settle here the ontology of intentional contents of thought concerning the past.

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Of course the philosophical theme of anamnesis goes back at least as far as Plato’s Phaedo and most especially his Meno. In the Meno Socrates argues for the thesis that coming to know is not a matter of being taught certain things by a teacher, the teacher impressing heretofore-unknown things upon one’s soul, but a process of recollection on the part of the individual who comes to know. This leads to a suggestion of a kind of preexistence of the individual soul when the soul was in the presence of the objects of knowledge, before its fall into the body. The fall is forgetfulness. Recollection overcomes this forgetfulness and makes the objects of knowledge re-present. Socrates illustrates this thesis by asking questions of a slave boy about the incommensurability of a diagonal on a square with the sides of the square. It is important that the boy is a slave, since that is a metaphor for his ignorance. Insofar as the slave boy cannot be expected to have had an education in Geometry before his enslavement, and insofar as Socrates does not instruct but merely asks questions, it seems the best account of the slave boy’s capacity to correctly demonstrate the theorem is that he has recollected a knowledge he once had but had forgotten. His memory then, his anamnesis, is seen as a kind of liberation from his slavery to ignorance. Progress is made in freedom to the extent that one re-encounters what one has simply forgotten – one’s past knowledge becomes present again through the process of memory or recollection. Anamnesis liberates one from ignorance9. Insofar as we are to take the account of the pre-existence of the soul seriously and not as a useful myth, Plato’s anamnesis has a certain historical character to it – it is not simply the re-presence of the objects of knowledge but also a memory of a former existence, a time when one was not enslaved to ignorance. It is also important for Plato that the slave’s reencounter with the objects of knowledge is unmediated, and portrayed as a kind of intellectual vision, since that connects it with the Allegory of the Cave from the Republic in which we also see slaves freed from bondage to ignorance, compelled out of the darkness of the cave into the light of day where with their own eyes they encounter reality directly without the mediation of distracting images. Socrates' questioning is the occasion of the slave’s anamnesis. But if Socrates’ speech actually mediated the slave’s encounter with the truth, it would be another form of slavery, slavery to Socrates’ images drawn in speech. So in Plato we encounter the importance of memory or anamnesis as philosophical method, even though such anamnesis must be unmediated 9

See Plato: Meno and Phaedo, Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy, edited by D. Sedley, transl. by A. Long, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2010.

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by the agency of another. So if we turn now to the topic of philosophical traditions, it is clear that such traditions, written or spoken, would be for Plato just another form of mediation that must be abandoned if genuine philosophical wisdom is to be achieved. Traditions are images drawn in speech, and contribute to the enslavement the slave boy needs to escape by his recollection. For Plato, it seems, recollection abandons and transcends traditions and those who have formed them. Or at best the encounter with a tradition, just like Socrates' questioning, could only be the occasion of one’s unmediated anamnesis of the objects of philosophical inquiry – the occasion of anamnesis but not the path through which anamnesis proceeds. So perhaps the encounter with traditions may be the external occasion of philosophical inquiry; but for them to be internal to the philosophical method itself would be for them to obscure the objects of philosophical inquiry. Augustine picks up this thesis of recollection or memory in philosophical inquiry, likely from his encounter with the tradition of neoPlatonism. It is seen in particularly striking fashion in his dialogue with his son Adeodatus called De magistro or On the Teacher, and his systematic treatment of the Christian doctrine of the Trinity called De Trinitate. In the former, in the genre of a dialogue reminiscent of Plato, Augustine attempts to show Adeodatus that there can be no teaching by an external teacher like himself. He focuses upon the presumed vehicle of teaching – words. If there is to be teaching by external teachers, it will come through instruction employing words. But how does one come to understand the meaning of written or spoken words? Clearly not through other words, for that would either be circular or lead to an infinite regress. Perhaps then through ostensive acts of pointing at objects and uttering the sounds associated with those objects. But that will not work, since pointing is ambiguous or it is itself quasi-linguistic to the extent that one would have to know the meaning of the pointing to know what is pointed at10. No. It must be that one already has within oneself, internally, the knowledge of the things that words are used to speak about. And learning a language is simply learning the sounds associated with what one already knows. One does not learn through language what one already knows. One learns how to communicate what one already knows to another who also presumably already knows what one is communicating. Perhaps there is an inner teacher who puts these objects of knowledge before the mind; but that placing of the objects of knowledge before the mind will not be a 10 This is of course a point that Wittgenstein will make 15 centuries later in his Philosophical Investigations.

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linguistic act of any ordinary sort. So, like Plato, Augustine can conclude that knowledge does not come through the teaching of others, but by the grasping of what is already present to the mind but somehow obscured. In Augustine this presence to the mind is conceived as an “inner” presence11. In the De trinitate this theme of turning within the mind for understanding is explicitly thematized as involving a process of memory or recollection. Here Augustine is interested in thinking about how the Christian doctrine of the Trinity can enlighten his understanding of himself as made “in the image and likeness of God” as described in the first book of Genesis, and conversely, how a better understanding of himself can enlighten his understanding of God. The process is repetitive and somewhat circular – as the image is better understood so also that of which it is an image, and as that of which it is an image is better understood, so also the image. So Augustine will often go back to a point he had made earlier only to reexamine it again in light of any progress that has been made in the inquiry. The process is described as a kind of polishing of a mirror in which the image of God can be seen, a mirror that has been smudged and obscured by the distractions of sin. As a literary device in the De trinitate, it actually enacts the anamnesis Augustine seeks. In order to come to an understanding of oneself then, one has to explicitly turn away from the distractions of the “outer man” engaged with the fleeting things of the world; in other words one must actively forget the outer man. One must then turn within to the “inner man”. This turning within is a kind of active recollection or memory of what has always been present to one, but was forgotten in the distractions of the “outer man”. Turning within, the soul grasps that it is in the acts of the mind that the image of God is to be seen, the acts of memory, intellect, and will. Here memory is understood to be an activity from which understanding in the intellect proceeds, and then understanding flows over into the will in love. Notice that memory is the ultimate arche from which the other acts of the mind proceed. The image of God is seen in the first place by recalling the fundamental unity in the mind different from the soul and the activities we share in common with animals, while the image of the Father is recalled in the act of memory, the image of the Son who proceeds from the Father is recalled in the activity of intellect, and the image of the Holy Spirit is recalled in the activity of will. So through a process that begins in memory, the soul comes to understand itself, and to love itself properly, 11

One important difference from Plato here is that Plato does not tend to conceive of the presence of the objects of knowledge as within the mind. They are present to the soul, but not the soul as an inner world. The play of inner versus outer is much more important for Augustine.

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because what has been remembered is the image of God within the mind – proper self love is achieved in recollecting the Trinitarian God within the soul who has always been present to the soul but forgotten, and then loving oneself as the image of the Trinitarian God that one has come to comprehend more clearly through recollection. This image was never absent from the mind. It was always present. Indeed, it looks as if God Himself is present to the mind as a kind of inner teacher, the inner teacher of De magistro, instructing Augustine in and through the image; and so it was God who was forgotten, and is now recalled through active memory. However this activity of recollection for Augustine is not unmediated by a tradition, as it appears to be in Plato. Augustine had begun the discussion with the Trinitarian doctrine of three persons, one God, a teaching of the Church most recently asserted at the Council of Nicea. And the text from Genesis about the human being made in the image and likeness of God is the starting point for thinking in and through that doctrine. But one of Augustine’s principles of interpreting Holy Scripture is that one cannot give an interpretation of scripture that violates the rule of faith, by which he means the teaching of the Church as it comes to be expressed in Apostolic tradition – one needs to be guided by the rule of faith12. For the purposes of the De trinitate the most important teachings would be the Trinitarian teachings of the Council of Nicea that have become creedal. So, in apparent conflict with the De magistro, it turns out that there can be teaching from without, the teaching of scripture understood within sacred tradition, what Aquinas will later call Sacra Doctrina. And the structure of the De trinitate proceeds in that fashion, beginning first with an extended discussion of Church teaching concerning the Trinity, then proceeding to an extended reflection upon Biblical texts, and finally fully half way through the fifteen books of the work turning to the philosophical contemplation of the mind as memory, intellect, and will taken up into the theological understanding of the soul as made in the image and likeness of God. Presumably Augustine thinks he can proceed in this fashion because he believes that the God in whose image he is made is encountered in the life of the Church as it is expressed in sacred tradition, Sacra Doctrina. The God who has always been present to his mind, if he but remembers, is present also in the tradition that he turns to in order to guide his inquiry into De trinitate and the imago dei. So in Augustine we do not see an aversion to tradition, at least in this area, since 12

See St Augustine, The Literal Meaning of Genesis (De Genesi ad litteram libri duodecim), transl. by J.H. Taylor in Ancient Christian Writers, Newman Press, New York N.Y. 1982, volume 41.

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the object of his inquiry is made present to him in that tradition and will guide him in his inquiry into his own self understanding. Encountering a tradition here is internal to the methodology of philosophical inquiry, for Augustine conceives of his inquiry in continuity with the Greek tradition of Philosophy, the love of wisdom, the knowledge of the highest cause of things that allows one to put order into one’s own life and order into the world around one. By encountering a sacred tradition, Augustine engages with the object of Philosophy that the Greeks had pursued but could not adequately attain.

III. Anamnesis: Aquinas and Nietzsche Aquinas’ use of the disputed question provides an exemplary instance of what I am considering. No one would confuse Aquinas’ use of authorities in either the objections or the sed contra of a disputed question with what we would now call academic history of philosophy. He is not interested in providing us with anything like a detailed account of the historical conditions and context within which the authoritative statements were made. But neither is he simply taking them out of context as isolated statements of theses to be engaged as distinct propositions. By his references to authorities in the statement of the objections and sed contra he is placing the theses within traditions of interpretation that ought to be well known to his readers – the statement of the objection is meant to be shorthand for a much larger philosophical or theological tradition brought to mind by the citation, and for how that tradition understood the problem at hand. In addition, the mentioning of multiple authorities in the objections and sed contra serve to place the various traditions into contact with one another argumentatively. In that respect Aquinas is engaging them philosophically and theologically. Aquinas operates with an understanding of those traditions that makes them relevant to the question at hand; they provide conflicting elements of the philosophical, and in his case also theological traditions that provide aporiae to be engaged philosophically and theologically. From that active engagement with conflicting traditions, a resolution is proposed in his respondeo, and a second engagement with the traditions is engaged in his responses to the objections. So through a kind of anamnesis Aquinas makes us recall where the problems came from, what they consist in, and where he will go with them. He moves philosophically from traditio to tradere. Just consider the first question of the Summa Theologiae on Sacra Doctrina. Aquinas is clearly engaging a philosophical tradition concerning the nature of wisdom or Sophia that derives from Plato. Although Aquinas

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did not have access to Plato’s Republic, Plato had given there a picture of Wisdom as the knowledge of the highest causes of things that allows one to put order into one’s own life and order into the world around one – it is thus the ruling science among all sciences, and is thus speculative and practical. This conception of Wisdom is mediated to Aquinas through Aristotle, particularly Aristotle’s Metaphysics and Posterior Analytics. But Aristotle had departed from the traditio of his teacher Plato by distinguishing practical wisdom from speculative wisdom. Practical wisdom, prudence, allows one to put order into one’s own life and the life of the world around one. Speculative wisdom is one of the conditions of the good man contemplating the highest cause. But the two wisdoms are to be distinguished from one another. So broadly the Summa takes this controversy as its background from the traditions in order to engage it argumentatively. That controversy had been bequeathed to Aquinas from the philosophers; it is not just a static tradition as an object before him, but an encounter with Plato and Aristotle, among others. And the clear argument of the first question is that if we engage that controversy about Wisdom bequeathed to us by the philosophers, Sacra Doctrina is the surpassing Wisdom that the philosophers sought, but only very inadequately achieved. Sacra Doctrina comes to us as a tradition bequeathed to us by the prophets, Apostles, and God himself in Jesus Christ, not the Greeks. It puts us into contact with the highest cause of things, God, and allows our understanding to participate in God’s own Wisdom, His knowledge of Himself. In addition, Aquinas argues that the philosophers do in fact put us into touch with the highest cause of things, God. Thus the very first article of the first question presupposes the authority of the philosophers when it asks whether any other discipline is necessary beyond the philosophical disciplines. That is not a denial of the authority of the philosophers – it is an acknowledgement of it because of their success in achieving the object of philosophy. And yet, that success is only slight, it is filled with many errors, and what success is achieved is only achieved after a lifetime of study. Sacra Doctrina on the other hand is the most certain discipline, and by the standards set out in Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics itself qualifies as the Wisdom the Greeks were seeking. And in articles four, five, and six Aquinas argues that Sacra Doctrina is a practical science, the science of the highest dignity, and wisdom itself. As practical it provides the knowledge of human beings’ sole final end, attainment of which will provide them with beatitude, as well as practical knowledge of the means to attain that end. So in making this argument throughout and in the heart of question one, Aquinas is opting for the Platonic traditio of Wisdom that

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unites the practical and speculative over the Aristotelian traditio that separates them. Thus Aquinas’ Summa cannot be understood as simply an active engagement with the prophets, Apostles, and Christ Himself as bequeathing to him a tradition of theological inquiry, but must also be understood to be an active engagement with the philosophers. They have an authority for him because of what they have in fact achieved, and yet they have not achieved nearly enough. We must remember both sets of authorities and the traditions they hand on in our love of and inquiry into Wisdom – conceptions of Wisdom bequeathed as traditions to us by the Greeks that only find fulfilment in a tradition bequeathed to us by the prophets, the Apostles, and God Himself in Jesus Christ. Of course it is important that the method of the disputed question Aquinas adopted was widely practiced in his time, itself forming a traditio of philosophical and theological method; but Aquinas’ own practice is exemplary. And it is important that the theme of Sacra Doctrina as the surpassing Wisdom the Greeks were searching for was bequeathed to him by the Church Fathers, chief among whom was Augustine, although the form that argument takes in Aquinas is very much structured by the concerns of the 13th century not the 4th. So Aquinas’ active philosophical and theological anamnesis of the traditions that are bequeathed to him is put on display in the Summa as a way forward from those traditions as origins or arches of his own thought. Aquinas can engage in this philosophical and theological anamnesis because he acknowledges that the texts he is dealing with have an authority for him beyond their mere conceptual content – they are the expressions of authoritative voices, philosophers and theologians as agents engaged in the same tasks of philosophy and theology as he is engaged in. One rarely finds him denying the truth of those statements he recalls in the objections, but, rather, discerning what truth is to be found in them and how it is to be understood. But of course he lived in an age and used a language in which not just ‘traditio’ had a sense but so also did the verb ‘tradere’ that suggests the agency as correlative to the noun that suggests the product, the verb from which the noun derived13 .

13

Much of my reflection on Aquinas’ use of the disputed question is indebted to my reflections upon the work of my colleague Alasdair MacIntyre, on both the disputed question itself and the notion of philosophical traditions, particularly in A.C. MacIntyre, Three rival versions of moral enquiry: encyclopaedia, genealogy, and tradition: being Gifford lectures delivered in the University of Edinburgh in 1988, University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame, Ind. 1990, as well as my teacher David Burrell.

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But I have already suggested that we are in a different position. The loss for us of the verbal cognate of ‘traditio’, namely ‘tradere’, may cut us off from or at least signal the loss of the idea of an active origin or expression of “a tradition” that we engage. Yes, of course, a tradition will have to have been the result of the achievements of historical agents. And yet in receiving it as a tradition, with that loss the role of those agents is a mere historical fact with little bearing upon our philosophical engagement with and appropriation of that tradition. Indeed, for us it seems as though those who turn to a tradition express their own agency in the absence of any originating agency worthy of being philosophically engaged – the important agency in relation to a tradition seems to us to be expressed on the part of the one who receives the bequest not by any agency on the part of anyone bequeathing. To use an image, it is like encountering a horizon by actively looking at it, not by its being presented to us by any agency on the other side of the horizon. In fact that is just how a horizon works – it is produced actively by the visual capacities and acuity of the observer. It is not something we receive visually, but something our visual capacities produce in actively looking. But then thinking again of the idea of actively engaging a tradition that is not for us engaged as the expression of the agency of those bequeathing it to us, our philosophical anamnesis may seem like nothing other than the active creation of the tradition on the part of the philosopher who engages it, a kind of philosophical horizon for him that is nothing other than the creation of his interpretative and historical capacities. Because it is not engaged as the product of the philosophical acts of others on the other side of what is received, our engagement with it ceases to be an act of anamnesis – it becomes an originating act of creation, creating a philosophical horizon for our own reflection but not recollection. If we turn now to Nietzsche, the idea of memory was an issue of great philosophical interest to him but often in a negative way. On the one hand he employs the idea of active memory. But he also introduces the need for a kind of “active forgetfulness” or since we have used “anamnesis”, we might say active “lethe” as necessary for life in the midst of the active memory exercised in the study of history. And I think we can extend what he says about history to a tradition which will simply be one stream within history of particular interest to the philosopher. In his essay On the Use and Disadvantage of History for Life14, Nietzsche distinguishes for us three different sorts of men in relation to history. There is the unhistorical 14

In Nietzsche: Untimely Meditations, ed. by D. Breazeale, transl. by R. J. Hollingdale, Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1997.

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man who must turn his back upon the maelstrom of history in order to achieve something great by his deeds. Concern with the past can become an obsession that binds one and makes one impotent. He writes of the “capacity to feel to a certain degree unhistorically as being more vital and more fundamental, inasmuch as it constitutes the foundation upon which alone anything sound, healthy and great, anything truly human, can grow”. Being unhistorical is the necessary condition for action, a kind of saying no to what has been for the sake of what one will do. This is where active lethe will have a place. Mentioning Goethe, Nietzsche writes of the unhistorical man that just “As he who acts is,…., always without a conscience, so is he also always without knowledge; he forgets most things to do one thing, he is unjust towards what lies behind him….” The agent acting in the present must in a sense do violence to the past. It is useful to recall Milton’s Apostate here as a model of the “unhistorical”: That we were formed, then, saist thou? & the work Of secondarie hands, by task transferd From Father to his Son? strange point and new! Doctrin which we would know whence learnt: who saw When this creation was? Rememberst thou Thy making, while the Maker gave thee being? We know no time when we were not as now; Know none before us, self-begot, self-rais’...15

The Apostate engages in lethe precisely to achieve self mastery and self rule – to achieve his greatness he must forget his origin as a creature, and all that went before him. And yet, man cannot be completely unhistorical. The Apostate who has no use for history is a beast, because to be completely unhistorical is the lot of the beasts, the cattle grazing in the pasture. Those who would engage simply in an active lethe of history or a tradition are mere beasts. The human being must employ the past for the purposes of life, which means that no human being can be completely unhistorical. And yet this man who would be genuinely human runs the risk of being overrun by history; if being completely unhistorical makes a beast of a man, being too historical does so as well. Nietzsche writes: «With an excess of history man again ceases to exist, and without that envelope of the unhistorical he

15

Paradise lost: a poem written in ten books: essays on the 1667 first edition, edited by M. Lieb – J.T. Shawcross, Duquesne University Press, Pittsburgh 2007, V. 856-860, p. 159.

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would never have begun or dared to begin»16. So the purposes of life require a certain degree of being unhistorical and yet a kind of subordination of history to this being unhistorical in action. Thus turning back to the past always looks forward; and turning forward always takes place against a background from which one turns away. Here we can see the role of active anamnesis, an active memory that only recollects that which serves the desire of the philosopher to move forward, and does not allow the totality of history and its traditions to overwhelm him or her. This mix of the unhistorical and the historical brings us to the second type, the historical men who turn to history as a kind of tool for progress toward the future. They are men who study history for its failures in achieving happiness, a kind of scrapheap of failure that turns them toward the future. Quoting Hume’s mocking statement Nietzsche writes of them, “and from the dregs of life hope to receive what the first sprightly running could not give”. History helps them understand the present moment that is so unsatisfying, and gives them a “courage and a hope” that impels them forward toward progress and the future. There is a kind of incompleteness to the past and the present, and a longing for finality in the future. The process of history through the present finds completion and finality in some future not-yet, precisely in the absence of that finality or completeness in the history they have studied. They look forward because of what they do not see in the past. So again, thinking of the Nietzschean philosopher who turns in active anamnesis to a tradition or traditions along the lines of the “historical man”, such a philosopher will recall the failures of those who went before, as a kind of goad to success in the future. It seems such a “historical” philosopher will be animated by a negative passion toward the traditions that moves the active anamnesis in its judgments as to what failures to recollect for the purpose of future success. But Nietzsche points out that these “historical men” are typically ignorant of the fact that in their historical studies they are acting unhistorically, precisely because their history does not stand in service of knowledge itself, but, rather, the life of the future and happiness that lies forever over the horizon of the hill towards which they move. Because their looking back is always a looking forward, they are never truly historical. Turning directly for a moment to our topic, and recollecting what I wrote earlier, we might say that Nietzsche is correct here at least in the thought that a philosophical engagement with a tradition is never genuinely traditional because it is always looking to put the tradition to the

16

Nietzsche: Untimely Meditations: Use and Disadvantage of History, p. 64.

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service of the present and the future. Turning to a tradition looks to be unhistorical, untraditional. Finally as a third type of man in relation to history, there are the “supra-historical men”, who have no need of history and its processes, because for them all of reality and its finality is complete, is captured at each and every moment of the present now, not the movement from the past through the present to a finality in the future. The supra-historical man risks “nausea” as from above and outside of the sweep of history he watches “the unending superfluity of events [which] reduce him to satiety, over-satiety and finally to nausea”. At every fleeting moment the suprahistorical man experiences the completeness of the reality of that moment, only to be succeeded by yet another, and then another, and then another different but equally complete now. If we try to situate Aquinas in relation to these types of men recollected by Nietzsche, and thinking now of “tradition” particularly rather than more generally of history, it is difficult to know just how to place him. On the one hand he cannot be the unhistorical man, since he does not actively forget the past in order to perform a deed that projects him forward in life – quite the contrary, Aquinas explicitly turns to the past, to traditions, to move forward – his turning back is always a turning forward. On the other hand, he cannot be the “supra-historical man” because he does not think that the world is complete in all its finality in the present moment. He looks forward from the present moment to a consummation of happiness in God that is not yet complete. Indeed, in the first article of the first question of the Summa it is precisely because of that forward-looking desire for happiness that he thinks God has revealed Himself through the prophets, the Apostles, and Christ Himself, which means looking back to the tradition to look forward toward beatitude. It is precisely the inadequacy of the philosophers, even as they successfully put before us the object of philosophy, to put it before us in a way that serves life and happiness that makes it necessary for there to be a discipline in addition to the philosophical disciplines. And so Aquinas argues that Sacra Doctrina is both a speculative and a practical science, which two conditions are both necessary for it to be Wisdom by the Greek criteria – a knowledge (speculative) of the highest causes of things that allows one to put order into one’s life (practical). That looking forward is what is expressed in the extended argument of question one of the Summa, and in the conclusion that Sacra Doctrina is practical and not just speculative. It provides the the way forward to finality and completion in a beatitude not yet fully present now. So as “practical” it must, in Nietzsche’s terms, “serve life”.

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But then, because Aquinas’ turning back is always a turning forward, perhaps we should think he is an exemplar of Nietzsche’s historical man because he puts history to the service of life looking forward to happiness. But that will not do either. What is characteristic of the historical man when he turns to history is that the object of his desire is not to be found there. It is that absence in the past of the object of his desire for a full life that “propels him forward”, and puts the past to the service of life. But this negative attitude toward the past is precisely not Aquinas’ approach to the traditions he confronts. Those traditions hold the authority they do for him precisely because the object of happiness is to be found within them, and is passed on or bequeathed to him within them. The object of happiness that he looks forward to in beatitude is already present in the origin of the traditions to which he turns, including, he argues, the traditions of the philosophers, not just the tradition of the prophets; that object is thus also present to him in his encounter with those traditions in his present now; finally it is present to him as impelling him forward to the consummation of beatitude. It is not the absence of the object of happiness in those traditions that propels him forward – it is its presence within them that propels him forward. Through those traditions he already encounters a participation in, however incomplete, the beatitude toward which they point. As against the historical man, Aquinas looks forward precisely because of what he finds present in the historical traditions. In theological terms, he encounters the Alpha in the traditions, the arche, the highest cause of all things, and that encounter with that Alpha impels him forward toward the Omega, the telos, the final cause of all things. But this simply confirms that for Aquinas his active memory encountering those traditions is not the encounter with a horizon or horizons produced by his own capacity to gaze upon tradition in the absence of any agency responsible for originating and bequeathing or handing over those traditions to him. It is an encounter through those traditions with that agency – truly but inadequately in philosophy, truly and adequately in Sacra Doctrina. The traditions he engages cannot be adequately engaged either philosophically or theologically but for the character of the agency that bequeaths those traditions to him – it is not a mere fact of agency, but a philosophically and theologically potent agency present within them that makes those traditions worthy of philosophical and theological anamnesis. Aquinas encounters more than just the traditio; he encounters their tradere as well. Consequently, while he must engage in active anamnesis, and in that respect Nietzsche is correct, Aquinas’ is not the only agency at play in that

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anamnesis, in which respect Nietzsche is incorrect. Aquinas does not encounter in a tradition a horizon that he himself has created for himself. Thus Aquinas does not look like he falls within the scope of Nietzsche’s classification of the different types of men in relation to history – to use a kind of Nietzschean imagery, he remains untamed by Nietzsche’s categories. In that respect he stands opposed to Nietzsche as a kind of equal. In order to understand why I say “opposed to Nietzsche”, it is important to consider one particular element of the philosophical and theological traditions Aquinas engages in the Summa Theologiae. The Summa can be thought of as an extended reflection upon the imago dei, the image of God in human beings in the opening of Genesis. The First Part of the Summa culminates in a discussion of the imago dei as the culmination of the six days of creation. The Second Part discusses those acts, virtues, and vices whereby that image of God is exhibited or lost in human life, and the Third Part was to be a discussion of how the human image of God returns to God through Christ, who as Son of the Father is the perfect divine image of the Father, and as son of man is the perfect human image of God. Aquinas inherits this theme of the Imago Dei at the heart of Sacra Docrtina, from among others, that tradition originating in Augustine’s reflections in the De trinitate where Augustine contemplates Genesis and searches for the most adequate image of God in human life. As we have seen, in the De trinitate Augustine explicitly engages in a kind of anamnesis. In Augustine it is not historical anamnesis as we have been describing in discussing Nietzsche, but what we might call ontological anamnesis. By turning away from the flux of life in the world, what Augustine calls the outer man, and turning within to the inner man, one recollects to oneself the operations of the mind, and one can recall the image of God within one that has been forgotten through sin. The forgetting through sin is a kind of passive forgetfulness or passive lethe. The turning away from the flux of the outer man engaged in worldly affairs is a kind of active forgetfulness or active lethe in service to the ontological anamnesis Augustine intends. Through that ontological anamnesis of the inner man, one sees as in a mirror the image of God, and one then moves on to God who has always been present to one however much one has passively forgotten him through sin. Only then can one return to the outer man and the maelstrom of events in history to properly understand it. This is Augustine’s transformation of the Platonic anamnesis of the slave boy in the Meno, whereby one recalls and encounters again the forms that one had previously known. As the slave boy is freed from ignorance through anamnesis, so also may the Christian as “inner man” be

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freed from sin though his ontological anamnesis which is only possible through the workings of God’s grace within him. Aquinas modifies this theme of the Imago Dei significantly, without at the same time forgetting that it comes from Augustine17. In particular it is for him not a matter of an ontological turn from the “outer man” to the “inner man” driven by active forgetfulness of the outer man. On the contrary, it arises from a reflection upon the way the man acting in the world, seeking to understand it and his engagement with it, comes to understand the God who created him in it, and redeems him in it. Thus he comes to understand himself as a creature made and redeemed in the imago dei. But this understanding of himself as creature and imago dei only arises in the encounter of his understanding of the world with the historical traditions that precede his understanding – Greek traditions of Philosophy, Jewish and Islamic traditions of Philosophy and Theology, and the Christian tradition of Sacra Doctrina. In that respect it is not ontological anamnesis as in Augustine, but genuinely historical anamnesis. So for both Augustine and Aquinas, what anamnesis does, whether it is the ontological anamnesis of Augustine or the traditional anamnesis of Aquinas, is place one within the presence of God, and allow one to properly understand oneself as imago dei to move forward, as Augustine puts it “from glory to glory”18. And it is important that for both of them this is an exercise of active memory – active anamnesis. But when we turn to Nietzsche in light of this theme within the tradition of man as imago dei, it turns out that it is oddly present within his thoughts as a kind of remnant in and of the traditions he confronts – a remnant he would destroy, or using the imagery from above, do injustice and violence to. I think he knows that the imago dei must be actively forgotten. One must, if one is to achieve happiness, which is a kind of process of self creation in Nietzsche, engage in active lethe of the image of God. The death of God must be the death of the image of God. I mentioned above that a notion just as important for Nietzsche as “active memory” was “active forgetfulness” as a condition for progress. The theme of active forgetfulness shows up in two passages from On the Genealogy of Morals in his discussion of how nature can breed an animal capable of making promises and of developing a bad conscience. The first passage is this:

17

See my “Aquinas on Augustine’s Mind and the Imago Dei”, Aquinas as Augustinian, Washington Catholic University of America Press, 2007. 18 Augustine, On the Trinity, ed. G. Matthews, trans. S. McKenna, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2002, Bk. 15.8, p. 182.

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To close the doors and windows of consciousness for a time; to remain undisturbed by the noise and struggle of our underworld of utility organs working with and against one another; a little quietness, a little tabula rasa of the consciousness, to make room for new things, above all for the nobler functions and functionaries, for regulation, foresight, premeditation (for our organism is an oligarchy) – that is the purpose of active forgetfulness, which is like a doorkeeper, a preserver of psychic order, repose, and etiquette: so that it will be immediately obvious how there could be no happiness, no cheerfulness, no hope, no pride, no present, without forgetfulness.19

Notice how the opening of this passage that speaks of closing off the doors and windows of consciousness reminds one of Augustine’s urge to turn away from the outer man embedded in worldly things toward the inner man within the self-reflection of the mind. But the reference to the tabula rasa also brings to mind Locke. The active forgetfulness he speaks of here is the condition for psychic order and happiness. Here Nietzsche is engaged in active memory in placing his thoughts tacitly against the background of the Augustinian tradition of inner reflection, which is to be found in Descartes as well as figures like Locke and Hume, as is also the modern epistemological quest for a kind of clarity of ideas. In this respect, Nietzsche is himself exhibiting the character of the historical man, looking back in order to look forward, for the looking back serves to impel him forward to his praise of active forgetfulness in which one will find happiness in the present that will come to one through active forgetfulness in which one will achieve “psychic order”, “repose”, “cheerfulness” and “hope”. The second passage from the same discussion in Beyond Good and Evil concerns the need for a man to pass beyond the morality of custom in his promise keeping. Nietzsche's account of promise keeping involves the affirmation of one’s will. «This involves no mere passive inability to rid oneself an an impression, no mere indigestion through a once-pledged word with which on cannot “have done”, but an active desire not to rid oneself, a desire for the continuance of something desired once, a real memory of the will»20. It does not involve remaining faithful to the one to whom the promise is made. On the contrary, that would be to be indebted to that person in some way. No, one keeps a promise because in doing so one is remaining faithful to the affirmation of one’s own will in the promise making – one is 19

On the Genealogy of Morals, transl. by W. Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale, Random House, New York 1967, II, pp. 57–58. 20 Genealogy of Morals, II, p. 58.

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guaranteeing that reality shall be just as one said it shall be in making the promise. The one to whom the promise is made is actively forgotten in the active memory of one's own will in making the promise. Willing a promise is a kind of act of self-creation in which one guarantees the reality one has promised. Remaining faithful to the promise is remaining faithful to oneself, more than the one to whom the promise is made. The one to whom the promise is made is a mere occasion for the act of will. This is for Nietzsche the maturity that a man must achieve in turning away from the morality of custom that otherwise makes a man think he ought to keep his promises. In a morality of custom one is simply bowing down to what has gone on before in a kind of subordination of the will. Here is what Nietzsche writes: If we place ourselves at the end of this tremendous process, where the tree at last brings forth fruit, where society and the morality of custom at last reveal what they have simply been the means to: then we discover that the ripest fruit is the sovereign individual, like only to himself, liberated again from the morality of custom, autonomous and supra-moral (for “autonomous” and “moral” are mutually exclusive), in short, the man who has his own independent, protracted will and the right to make promises – and in him a proud consciousness, quivering in every muscle, of what has at length been achieved and become flesh in him, a consciousness of his own power and freedom, a sensation of mankind come to completion.21

Turning away from the morality of custom does not mean that one will break one’s promises. What it means is that one will keep one’s promises as an exercise of the will to power, an exercise of self-creation, autonomy, and the “supra-moral”. In the morality of custom, promise keeping is a duty or obligation. But the sovereign autonomous individual turns his back upon this duty or obligation, and promise keeping then becomes a supramoral act of self-creation – one makes of oneself a promise keeper, rather than being made a promise keeper by a morality of duty and custom that is other than the will. Turning away from these customs of morality can be understood to be a kind of turning away from the philosophical traditions that seek to defend this morality of custom. I think Nietzsche has in mind here Kant. In fact, elsewhere Nietzsche describes Kant as a kind of philosophical laborer22. Philosophical laborers are those great philosophers who have 21

On the Genealogy of Morals, II, p. 59. Beyond Good and Evil, trans. W. Kaufmann and R.J. Hollingdale, Random House, New York 1966, VI, p. 136. 22

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made of great achievements a kind of systematic custom – the philosophical laborers are those great philosophers who have established for one the philosophical customs one inherits, the traditions, as an occasion for one’s own active philosophical forgetfulness. He writes that laborers like Kant have their value for a time. But sovereignty and autonomy require an active forgetfulness of these philosophical laborers that one finds within the tradition, in order that one may be creative in one’s philosophizing “with a hammer”. All genuine philosophers are creators. They are not bound by the past. What I want to point to specifically in the passage on promise keeping is the remarkable sentence in the middle of the passage, namely, “then we discover that the ripest fruit is the sovereign individual, like only to himself”. Being subject to a morality of custom makes of one an image of that custom. It holds sovereignty over one. And if divinity is characterized by power for Nietzsche – the divine being is that which is more powerful than one and sovereign over one – then the custom bears the mark of divinity in one’s life; and in being subject to the custom one is an image or likeness of the divine, an imago dei. One is not divine. It is easy enough to see how this reflection upon custom can be extended to the notion of a tradition as a kind of custom of philosophical thought. And so by the sovereign act of will whereby one actively forgets the morality of custom, and asserts the power of one’s own sovereign will, one becomes a “likeness only of oneself”; one ceases to be the image or likeness of God. God can only die if the image of God dies. Similarly, a tradition bears the mark of divinity within it, insofar as it holds sway or power over one's thought. And so to be divine one must turn from this image of God in traditions by active forgetfulness, and set forth upon a kind of philosophical path of creation whereby one will be an image only of oneself. So for the philosopher who receives a tradition as a historical man, his active anamnesis serves his equally active lethe in an act of philosophical self creation and forgetfulness of the imago dei. Consider again Milton's Apostate: We know no time when we were not as now; Know none before us, self-begot, self-rais’d...”. There is much more to be written about this topic. What I would like to end with is the contrast between Aquinas and Nietzsche in relation to traditions. Keep in mind that Nietzsche describes the philosophers who preceded him as “laborers”. This is a pejorative term. It acknowledges the agency of the laborer on the one hand. But, on the other hand, it sets up a kind of moment when the genuine philosopher will constitute himself as sovereign over the laborer by turning away from the laborer, which is to deny the origin or arche of that tradition, the agency that bequeaths it to

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one. This is the moment in which a tradition becomes merely a tradition-the philosopher is left with a traditio in the absence of tradere. It is merely custom. It is not the setting within which one meets the object of philosophy. It becomes a horizon against which one must turn in order to create the object of philosophy. What I would like to suggest is that in the contrast between Aquinas and Nietzsche, the question of tradition resolves itself into the question of whether in a tradition we encounter something of the divine, the highest cause of things, that helps us understand ourselves as images of the divine, or whether in a tradition we simply encounter an image of the divine from which we must turn in order to encounter the divine. To use and reshape somewhat Nietzsche's image of promise keeping, when confronted with a tradition the philosophical question is whether the task is to remain faithful in active anamnesis to something or someone present through its agency in the tradition; or in the absence of that agency in active lethe to remain faithful to ourselves alone.

CHAPTER EIGHT TRADITIONAL ETHICS TODAY: THE CASE OF THOMAS AQUINAS ANGELO CAMPODONICO

This paper concerns an ethics of our medieval tradition (in particular good, happiness, natural law and virtue) and tries to show how to recover it, facing the problems of pluralism, freedom and scientific approach in the modern and contemporary age. The author points out: - The central role of the desire for good and happiness and for goods adequate or inadequate to the openness of desire (particularly of the human person). Today we speak of the meaning of life. - The role of ethical virtues as the flowering of the first principles of natural law. - The principle of the entirety of the good (bonum ex integra causa) in order to judge the moral goodness of an action and as a criterion to compare different ethics in a pluralistic world. This is to distinguish between different levels of the human and moral good. - The principles of natural law as a result of the encounter between certain inclinations and practical rationality that recognizes them as normative. Nature and natural law are the conditions of freedom, not primarily limits to it. - Now we must increase the roles of freedom of choice – which is based on rationality – and of the virtues as ways to freedom. It is essential to emphasize the value of personal risk and the fact that evil can serve the good. In general the author tries to face the challenges of deontology, utilitarianism and contemporary virtue ethics.

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I. Contemporary and classical ethics We will consider the following problem: how to recover today traditional ethics, ethics of virtue, of character education, and of natural law such as that of Thomas Aquinas? We must first of all be aware of the distance between that ethics and contemporary ethics. This is due to several factors, including: 1. the end of the medieval religious context and theological unity1. 2. the role of modern scientific paradigms in ethics that favour fragmentation of traditional ethics based on character formation, focusing on other perspectives (deontologism, utilitarianism, intuitionism, etc.), stressing the role of foundationalism also in ethics and neglecting the temporal dimension inherent in virtuebased ethics. 3. more recently the influence of ethical issues raised by technology requiring precise answers (applied ethics). 4. the centrality of freedom of choice and authenticity2. However, there are important aspects that allow us to recover ethics such as that of Aquinas today. In general: a) First of all terms such as ethical, moral etc. have become heavily moralistic or even meaningless due to the gap between ethics and human life, ethics and happiness3. On the contrary the main question of classical ethics, ancient and medieval, is: how to become happier and more human?4 This concept of ethics has a new appeal today. 1

On this topic see C. Taylor, A Secular Age, Harvard University Press, Cambridge (MS) 2007. 2 See C. Taylor, The Malaise of Modernity, Anansi press, Toronto 1998. 3 Cf. G.E.M. Anscombe, “Modern Moral Philosophy”, «Philosophy», 33, 124 (1958), pp. 1-19; Collected Philosophical Papers III, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis 1981, in particular, p. 176: «[…] if such a conception (of obligation) is dominant for many centuries, and then is given up, it is a natural result that the concepts of “obligation”, of being bound or required as by a law, should remain though they had lost their root, and if the word “ought” has become invested in certain contexts with the sense of “obligation”, it too will remain to be spoken with a special emphasis and special feeling in these contexts». 4 See T. Chappell, “Virtue Ethics in the Twentieth Century”, in The Cambridge Companion to Virtue Ethics, CUP, Cambridge 2013, p. 152: «When modern readers who have been brought up on our moral/prudential distinction see Plato’s and Aristotle’s insistence on rooting the reasons that the virtues give us in the notion of well-being, they regularly classify both as “moral egoists”. But that is a

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b) Today the «plastic» idea of practical rationality that Thomas Aquinas derives from Aristotle is very interesting. Practical reason puts order in reality, aiming at good actions and looking closely at reality (precisely at the object of natural inclinations)5. The practical dimension of the unique human reason concerns both moral experience and moral philosophy. According to Aquinas practical reason is always also speculative reason (speculative from speculum, mirror), because it knows reality. We must also stress that reason is always speculative (in a wide sense) when it is practical (has a practical aim) and makes order. Moral knowledge presupposes the knowledge of real goods (ontological goods, human beings, perfections as knowledge, friendship etc.), but its object is the intentional order with which it informs the will concerned with real misapplication to them of a distinction that they were right not to recognize». In fact Plato, Aristotle and Aquinas had no word for “moral”». 5 See ST I-II. 94, 2: «Now as “being” is the first thing that falls under the apprehension simply, so “good” is the first thing that falls under the apprehension of the practical reason, which is directed to action: since every agent acts for an end under the aspect of good. Consequently the first principle of practical reason is one founded on the notion of good, viz. that “good is that which all things seek after”. Hence this is the first precept of law, that “good is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided”. All other precepts of the natural law are based upon this: so that whatever the practical reason naturally apprehends as man's good (or evil) belongs to the precepts of the natural law as something to be done or avoided. Since, however, good has the nature of an end, and evil, the nature of a contrary, hence it is that all those things to which man has a natural inclination, are naturally apprehended by reason as being good, and consequently as objects of pursuit, and their contraries as evil, and objects of avoidance. Wherefore according to the order of natural inclinations, is the order of the precepts of the natural law. Because in man there is first of all an inclination to good in accordance with the nature which he has in common with all substances: inasmuch as every substance seeks the preservation of its own being, according to its nature: and by reason of this inclination, whatever is a means of preserving human life, and of warding off its obstacles, belongs to the natural law. Secondly, there is in man an inclination to things that pertain to him more specially, according to that nature which he has in common with other animals: and in virtue of this inclination, those things are said to belong to the natural law, “which nature has taught to all animals” [Pandect. Just. I, tit. i], such as sexual intercourse, education of offspring and so forth. Thirdly, there is in man an inclination to good, according to the nature of his reason, which nature is proper to him: thus man has a natural inclination to know the truth about God, and to live in society: and in this respect, whatever pertains to this inclination belongs to the natural law; for instance, to shun ignorance, to avoid offending those among whom one has to live, and other such things regarding the above inclination».

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goods. Therefore practical rationality creates the moral order of habits, virtues, laws etc. From this point of view everyday experience of dialogue is very important because we find in it both the practical and the speculative dimension of the unique reason. In fact, when trying to convince someone (practical rationality) we always look at the expressions of his/her face (speculative rationality), and we might also consider his/her dignity as a person: we switch the approach of practical reason to its object. It is worth noting that we find this kind of relationship between metaphysics and ethics in a contemporary philosopher like Iris Murdoch: I would suggest that at the level of serious common sense and of an ordinary non-philosophical reflection about the nature of morals it is perfectly obvious that goodness is connected with knowledge: not with impersonal quasi-scientific knowledge of the ordinary world, whatever that may be, but with a refined and honest perception of what is really the case, a patient and just discernment and exploration of what confronts one, which is the result not simply of opening one’s eyes but a certainly perfectly familiar kind of moral discipline6.

II. The main topics of Aquinas’ ethics Let’s consider the main topics of Aquinas’s Summa theologiae I-II, which concerns general ethics: 1) the true goal of man (perfect and imperfect happiness); 2) human acts (philosophy of action – the same act can have different meanings from the ethical point of view)7. Aristotelian and Thomistic theory of action has been recovered in the second half of the Twentieth Century by Elizabeth Anscombe, Anthony Kenny etc. as a condition for ethics. But we will not deal with this topic here8. 3) good and evil of human acts (the good comes from an integral cause: end, object, circumstances of an act), 4) emotions, ethical virtues («internal» principles of human acts) and prudence9; 5) law 6

I. Murdoch, The Sovereignty of God, Routledge, Oxford and New York 1970, p. 38. Cf. J. Porter, Nature as Reason. A Thomistic Theory of the Natural Law, Eerdmans, Cambridge 2005, p. 303: «Aquinas offers a credible way of distinguishing between doing and allowing in the form of a more fundamental analysis of the structure of human action, in terms of which we can (non ironically) speak of “the act itself” and distinguish it both from its consequences and from the agent’s overall intention». 8 See, in particular, G.E.M. Anscombe, Intention, Blackwell, Oxford 1957. 9 Cf. ST. I-II. 56, 3: «The subject of a disposition (habitus) which is simpliciter called a virtue can only be the will or some other power in so far as it is moved by the will. The reason for this is that the will moves to their acts all those other 7

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and natural law («external» principles of human acts). Since Aquinas’ ethics deals with passions and virtues, it is a virtue ethics that is rooted in law and in human inclinations. Therefore, according to Aquinas, natural law is not immediately evident (as it is for most modern thought, Calvin and Locke in particular)10. Natural law is not immediately known, as it is the eternal law of God (lex aeterna – the point of view or the plan of God for our world). Man cannot know God's plan, putting himself in God’s place, from God’s point of view. Instead we can say that man «is conformed to the Divine will, because he wills what God wishes him to will»11. The first principles of natural law are a kind of beginning (inchoatio)12; they are the very seeds of virtues – semina or seminalia virtutum13. We learn to know the first principles of natural law not immediately, but by means of a resolutio (analysis) going step by step from moral experience, from civil law, from objects of determinatio (we might say of interpretation), and from virtues and vices, that are the fruit of habituation, towards first principles. We learn the first principles of natural law asking, for example: what is the real ground of that virtuous behaviour or of that civil law? Or, why is there something morally wrong here and now?

III. Happiness and virtue Let’s consider some main topics of Aquinas’ ethics. First, the central role of the desire for good and happiness («flourishment») and for goods adequate or inadequate to the openness of desire. Furthermore we should note the central role of the human person among goods: this role is implicit in Aquinas. Today we speak of the issue of the meaning of life. powers that are in some way rational (as distinct from powers to digest or have dreams). That a man acts well is because he has a good will (quo homo bene agat contingit ex hoc quod homo habet bonam voluntatem) […] just as the subject of scientific knowledge is the theoretical intellect ordered by the light of the creative mind, so the subject of prudentia is the practical intellect ordered by a right will». 10 See J. Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion; and J. Locke, Questions Concerning the Law of Nature. 11 ST I-II, q. 19, a. 10. 12 See De veritate, q. 14, a. 2; De virtutibus, q. 1, a. 8, co. 13 Cf. ST I-II, q. 51, a. 1: «In the appetitive powers, however, no habit is natural in its beginning, on the part of the soul itself, as to the substance of the habit; but only as to certain principles thereof, as, for instance, the principles of common law are called the “nurseries of virtue.” The reason of this is because the inclination to its proper objects, which seems to be the beginning of a habit, does not belong to the habit, but rather to the very nature of the powers». Cf. De veritate, q. 14, a. 2.

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According to Aquinas the more the true goal of life is known and loved, the more there is happiness (imperfect happiness), the more the order of reason (ordo rationis) informs life, inclinations and passions. The more we are fascinated by true goods and by the Good (the goods considered as signs of the Good-God), the happier we are or the more we hope for happiness and are capable of a virtuous life, and of the order of reason in our life. MacIntyre maintains that this concept of happiness comprehends all the features that are found in the various concepts of happiness of modern philosophers (Utilitarians, Kantians, etc.). The best defence of Natural Law will consist in radical, philosophical, moral, and cultural critiques of rival standpoints […] The claim that I am advancing is that the failure of utilitarians to overcome the difficulties that arise from their use of the concept of happiness, or of some substitute of it, provides Thomistic Aristotelians with sufficient reason to judge that they are able to understand the truth about utilitarians better than utilitarians can.14

According to Aquinas happiness does not consist primarily in anything to deserve, be worthy of (Kant), nor in the result of a calculation (Consequentialism, Utilitarianism). These approaches share an extrinsic connection between means and ends. On the contrary, happiness is the task of desire and is always anticipated by partial tasks and not by extrinsic and instrumental means. Although in a secular age we might not believe in the Christian God, the topic of the true end of man and of openness towards being and God still has some appeal15. Evil is still today a great problem for ethics, in particular for religious ethics. In facing the problem of evil the philosopher’s and every man’s main problem is to understand the concept of ontological good and to experience it – birth (natura), self preservation and movement towards perfection of being – more than the concept of evil and death. In other words, knowledge of ontological good is a condition of ethical good. Aquinas says: Si est malum, est Deus. Only from the point of view of good, of goodness as God, can we recognize something as evil. According 14

A. Macintyre, Intractable Disputes about the Natural Law. Alasdair Macintyre and Critics, L.S. Cunningham, ed., Notre Dame University Press, Notre Dame 2009, in particular pp. 19-52. 15 See C. Vogler, Aristotle, Aquinas, Anscombe and the New Virtue Ethics, http://www.academia.edu/2500806/Aristotle_Aquinas_Anscombe_and_the_New_ Virtue_Ethics, p. 18: «The Christian story inspires the expectation that there is more to be said on behalf of respecting moral prohibitions than non-theists can say».

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to Thomas, where there is evil, right there is also the presence of God. Furthermore, from a wider and theological point of view, in this life the answer to the problem of the meaning of evil is more a presence, the presence of the Christian God, rather than an exhaustive rational answer16.

IV. Integrity and beauty The principle of the integrity and entirety of good (bonum ex integra causa) allows us to judge the moral goodness of an action and is a criterion to compare different ethics in a pluralistic world. This is to distinguish between different levels of human and moral good. In Aquinas’ ethics moral goodness concerns the goal, the object and the circumstances of action, according to the Dionysian principle by which any single defect causes evil, but good is due to the integral cause («bonum ex integra 16 Today according to a secular and naturalistic approach a) What we call evil is the effect of natural evolution (of chance as chaos or of a nature that does not care about human beings). 1. There is no ontological goodness in our world or God is not omnipotent 2. There is no difference between good and evil. In general we can hold that there is a deep connection between the relationship with God (in second person) or the absence of that relationship on the one hand, and the philosophical-theological argument about evil (in third person) on the other hand. A merely philosophical approach towards evil might not be adequate. Nowadays (in the “age of nihilism” after the tragedies of the XX century) most philosophers and theologians believe that Aquinas’s approach to the problem of evil is too optimistic. I think that, if we want to understand Aquinas’s approach towards evil, we must pay attention to the following: 1) Evil is privatio debiti boni. But privatio est exists. There is no evil without ontological goodness, without nature and order. 2) Evil can be done because man always likes good (a particular good) and thanks to ontological good. Therefore we can understand why the effects of evil increase when there is more ontological goodness. Nowadays this might be the case of technology. 3) We must consider the problem of evil within the whole work of Thomas which has also a religious-theological meaning (and not only a philosophical meaning). The faith in Christ helps the believers in facing evil. Evil always has a meaning, although we cannot know which is the precise meaning for us of that particular evil. 4) Malum culpae is more important than malum poenae, because it is in action: «malum culpae est malum in actu voluntatis». 5) Moral evil is easier to do than moral good: «bonum ex integra causa, malum ex singularibus defectibus». In particular: evil is without reason, without measure (sine ratione, sine mensura).

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causa»)17. To be a moral man means to answer here and now with the wholeness (integrity) of ourselves to the wholeness (integrity) of being. Integrity is the sign of beauty. Moral goodness, bonum honestum, is beautiful and can be fascinating for man. Also according to contemporary philosopher and novelist Iris Murdoch moral goodness and beauty are largely part of the same structure: Goodness and beauty are not to be contrasted, but are largely part of the same structure. Plato, who tells us that beauty is the only spiritual thing which we love immediately by nature, treats the beautiful as an introductory section of the good […].Virtue is au fond the same in the artist as in the good man in that it is a selfless attention to nature: something which is easy to name, but very hard to achieve18.

Furthermore goodness as complete human perfection is not only appealing, but also puts forward a moral claim. From this point of view I hold that integrity as a pattern and aim of man and his reason (Putnam and other contemporary philosophers used to speak of “flourishment”19) does not develop a priori in a Platonic or Kantian way. On the contrary, it develops in an Aristotelian or Thomistic way, continuously in touch with experience of reality and its order as well as that of the human person, playing a role of focus in the horizon of being. Without such experience of reality both speculative use of reason (in the narrower sense of philosophy) and practical use of reason could not develop. If it is true that, without ontological experience of integrity, there would be no idea of epistemic, ethical and aesthetic integrity, it is also true that our experience of human and moral integrity makes it possible, on the philosophical level of reflection, to acknowledge and complete our pattern of epistemic metaphysical and scientific integrity. This is not surprising: man is a part of reality, the most important part of reality we can perceive. A certain anthropomorphism is necessary. We can acknowledge here a specific hermeneutic circle that safeguards the classical distinction between speculative and practical reason.

17

Cf. A. Campodonico, “Bonum ex integra causa”. Aquinas and the sources of a basic concept in Aquinas’s Sources, The Notre Dame Symposium, Smith Timothy Editor, St. Augustine Press, South Bend 2012, pp. 209-233. 18 I. Murdoch, The Sovereignity of Good, p. 41. 19 See, for instance, H. Putnam, Pragmatism. An Open Question, Blackwell, Oxford 1995, p. 51.

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Today the topic of integrity in anthropology and ethics seems to be very important20. In the first place for the central role played by hermeneutics in considering the characters and the circumstances of ethical action; in the second place, because, in a period of ethical crisis, it gives the criteria to evaluate one ethics in comparison with another: which attitude considers every aspect of an action, which misses some aspect? What attitude considers coherently every value? These are very important questions. In the third place, the topic of integrity connects also ethics and aesthetics (integritas is a basic character of beauty), allowing us to read in moral action a beauty, full of appeal. This character has been missed by modern Kantian and Utilitarian ethics.

V. Virtue and natural law Addressing the role of ethical virtues as the flowering of the first principles of natural law: […] Aquinas’ systematic analysis of the virtues in terms of a metaphysics of perfection is the most striking aspect of his distinctive theory of the virtues. Nearly every scholastic theologian up to Aquinas’ time would have agreed that the virtues are perfections of the agent, but Aquinas stands out for the systematic way in which he interprets and integrates this claim in the light of his overall metaphysics21.

According to Aquinas, ethical virtues are the flourishment of the main natural inclinations and of the main precepts called the seeds of natural law (semina virtutum or seminalia virtutum). Jean Porter holds that: even though the practice of the virtues, and therefore, happiness, does not depend on the attainment of well being for Aquinas, the idea of well being does have a normative function in his overall account of moral virtue. Virtues are the dispositions of human capacities oriented toward well being, and as such they take their norms, in key part if not entirely, from the exigencies of basic well being (see, for example II-II 141, 6) and since the idea of well being forms the link between nature in the more comprehensive sense and the norms of natural law – between nature as nature and nature as reason – this suggests that for Aquinas the idea of human well being yields natural law precepts through the mediation of ideals of virtue, which are themselves developed from general paradigms 20

On the topic of integrity in ethics see H. Ramsay, Beyond virtue. Integrity and Morality, Macmillan Press, London 1997. 21 J. Porter, Virtue Ethics in the Medieval Period, in The Cambridge Companion to Virtue Ethics, ed. by D.C. Russell, CUP, Cambridge 2013, p. 81.

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Chapter Eight to reflective ideals through a process of reflection on what it means to live a complete, fulfilled – in a word – perfect human life[…]the life of virtue is paradigmatically linked to pursuing and enjoying these goods in a particular way which is itself enjoying and satisfying22.

We can grasp the narrative character of virtues, their capacity of giving sense and unity to life23. Today we have to stress that in Aquinas, as in classical and medieval tradition, ethical virtue means an excellence of character and not only (as happens often today) a mere motivation in order to act applying moral precepts. This topic is relevant if we want to give a sound foundation to moral education and to education in general: only by aiming at the good, the supreme good, can we be whole, happy, and therefore able to educate others. Without virtues as outstanding qualities there is no education. The principles of natural law are a result of the encounter between certain inclinations and a practical rationality that recognizes them as normative24. Furthermore from this point of view virtues and moral law are both present: they have in common practical rationality that makes order («ordinem facit»), with attention to reality. But virtues are not deduced from precepts of natural law. Virtues grow from rational 22

J. Porter, Nature as Reason, A Thomistic Theory of the Natural Law, Eerdmans, Cambridge 2005, pp. 174- 221. Cf. ST. II-II, 141, 6: «I answer that, as stated above (1; 109, 2; 123, 12), the good of moral virtue consists chiefly in the order of reason: because “man's good is to be in accord with reason”, as Dionysius asserts (Div. Nom. iv). Now the principal order of reason is that by which it directs certain things towards their end, and the good of reason consists chiefly in this order; since good has the aspect of end, and the end is the rule of whatever is directed to the end. Now all the pleasurable objects that are at man's disposal, are directed to some necessity of this life as to their end. Wherefore temperance takes the need of this life, as the rule of the pleasurable objects of which it makes use, and uses them only for as much as the need of this life requires». 23 Cf. H. McCabe, On Aquinas, edited by B. Davies and A. Kenny, Burns and Oates, London 2008, p. 52: «We are not just human beings but human becomings. Like all other animals, but unlike rock crystals, for us, to be is to have a lifetime, a development; but for us, to be is to have a lifetime, a development and unlike for other animals, our lifetime is a life story. Human animals are to this extent in charge of their lifetimes, their life stories[...]. Ethics then is just the study of human lives considered precisely as life stories. And what it is concretely to be a human being is to be a character in a life story – this is what is known as your “self”». See also P. Hall, Narrative and Natural Law. An Interpretation of Thomistic Ethics, Notre Dame University Press, Notre Dame and London 1994. 24 On this topic cf. A. Campodonico, How to read today natural law in Aquinas?, in «New Blackfriars», 94, 1054, 2013, p. 716-732.

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inclinations and from the main principles (ultimate ends) of natural law under the influence of practical rationality. There is no deduction from propositions, but flourishment from the very seeds (the ends or principles of natural law) of moral virtues by means of habituation and the application of prudence (prudentia) here and now25. The idea that natural law is based on the consideration of the order of nature is, instead, a modern and rationalistic conception that we can find, for example, in Locke and in the modern school of natural law26. Natural law requires harmony between practical reason and basic human inclinations (not every inclination, but inclinations towards perfect goods). Inclinations towards good are known (also implicitly), valued, and interpreted by practical reason. In particular they become moral norms (precepts) thanks to very practical reasons. Ethical order according to Aquinas is based on the encounter between reason, which is nature (ratio ut natura) in an analogical sense, and human nature as unity of body and soul with its main inclinations. Also when they are common both to human beings and to other animals, they are human thanks to rationality with its openness to the infinity of being that informs them: Now good in general, which has the nature of an end, is the object of the will. Consequently, in this respect, the will moves the other powers of the soul to their acts, for we make use of the other powers when we will. For the end and perfection of every other power, is included under the object of the will as some particular good: and always the art or power to which the universal end belongs, moves to their acts the arts or powers to which belong the particular ends included in the universal end. Thus the leader of an army, who intends the common good – i.e. the order of the whole army – by his command moves one of the captains, who intends the order of one company27. 25

Cf. C. Vogler, p. 15: according to Thomas, «[…] the only universal moral principles geared to kind/species of act are the negative ones that tell us never to do acts of such and such a kind. Anscombe might put the point this way; we are always in the ethical; the only way to ensure that a particular act, ordinarily good, will be good to do here and now will be to screen out the world in such a way that it cannot obtrude and make what is ordinarily good bad under the circumstances; it is not in our power to stop the world from interfering in this way». On the topic of phronesis- prudence in Aristotle and Aquinas see M.S. Vaccarezza, Le ragioni del contingente. La saggezza pratica tra Aristotele e Tommaso d’Aquino, Orthotes, Napoli 2012. 26 Cfr. J. Locke, Questions concerning the Law of Nature, Cornell University Press, Cornell 1990. 27 ST. I-II. 9, 1.

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Contrary to many streams of modern thought our desire «has eyes», because it is informed by reason. As Steve Brock holds: My basic thesis, then, is that not only the apprehension that Thomas is talking about in our passage (I-II, 94, 2), but also the inclination, is rational. Reason’s natural understanding of human goods does not follow the natural inclinations to them. The inclinations follow the understanding28 […]. Another point is the calibre of the inclinations that he must be talking about. They are right inclinations. Their objects are true human goods. Otherwise they could hardly correspond to the precepts of natural law29.

But Thomas is quite explicit about the fact that sometimes the nonrational inclinations existing naturally in a human being are wrong. This is particularly clear in the case of the sensitive appetite. Unreasoned feeling may be right or wrong. The rectitude of a person’s feeling is guaranteed only when it is directed by (right) reason30. Thomas holds:

28

Cf. In II De anima lect. XII, §747: «Desire or shunning did not follow at once from the grasp of that which is good or bad, as here with intellect; but pleasure and pain followed, and then from this, desire and shunning. The reason for this is that just as sense does not grasp universal good, so too the appetite of the sensitive part is not moved by universal good or bad, but by a certain determinate good which is pleasant to sense, and by a certain determinate bad which is painful to sense. But in the intellective part there is the grasp of universal good and bad; whence too, the appetite of the intellective part is moved immediately by the apprehended good or bad-II, 19, 3: I answer that, As stated above (1,2), the goodness of the will depends properly on the object. Now the will's object is proposed to it by reason. Because the good understood is the proportionate object of the will; while sensitive or imaginary good is proportionate not to the will but to the sensitive appetite: since the will can tend to the universal good, which reason apprehends; whereas the sensitive appetite tends only to the particular good, apprehended by the sensitive power. Therefore the goodness of the will depends on reason, in the same way as it depends on the object». There are different interpretations of the inclinations in Aquinas’ natural law. 29 S. Brock, “Natural Inclination and the Intelligibility of the Good in Thomistic natural law”, «Vera lex», VI 1-2, p. 61-62. Cf. ST I, 60, 1: Reply to Objection 3: «As natural knowledge is always true, so is natural love well regulated; because natural love is nothing else than the inclination implanted in nature by its Author. To say that a natural inclination is not well regulated, is to derogate from the Author of nature». 30 Cf. ST. I-II, q. 94, a. 2, ad 2. See I-II, q. 94, a. 4, ad 3: «the inclinations of the parts of human nature, such as the concupiscible and irascible appetites, pertain to natural law insofar as they are regulated by reason».

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what is desired according to concupiscence seems good because it is desired. For concupiscence perverts the judgment of reason, such that what is pleasant seems good to it. But what is desired with intellectual appetite is desired because it seems good in itself (secundum se)31.

These natural inclinations are known (also in an implicit way), valued, interpreted by practical reason and they become moral norms thanks to the same practical reason. Individual inclinations known in their ontological goodness by practical reason in its speculative dimension, give a content to moral experience; practical reason as such makes them normative (precepts). The risks here are: a) On one hand a formalistic interpretation of practical rationality, which ignores human nature and natural inclinations that are to be known and interpreted, and b) On the other hand an idea of human nature, which would become normative without the work of practical reason. These are the risks of a Kantian interpretation of Aquinas (in which inclination does not pay any role and practical reason does not know reality) on one hand, and on the other hand of an objectivist or naturalistic interpretation of his ethics, where practical reason does not play an autonomous role. Sometimes norms are deducted from metaphysics or they are only inclinations conceived biologically as mere instincts. The first position implies voluntarism in order to apply norms. Let us look at some examples of how inclinations become precepts according to Aquinas. These moral judgements might not be explicit, but only implicit, according to Maritain’s idea of «dynamic schemes of action», although they can be made explicit on the justification level. Within the main formal and inclusive inclination toward goodness with the main precept founded on it «good is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided», there are some basic natural inclinations or dynamic evidences on which precepts are founded. Although every kind of inclination is informed by reason and sometimes the inferior inclination might be sacrificed to a superior one, they proceed from the more general, common to every thing, to the more particular: 1) «I wish to preserve my health. It is morally good to preserve our health». 2) «I desire to educate my kids. It is morally good to educate our kids». 3) «I desire to read books 31

In XII Meta., lect. vii, §2522.

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in order to know. It is morally good to read books». Or: «I desire to be happy. It is morally good to search for happiness». Thus, even the topic of the desire for happiness, the most inclusive inclination, belongs to natural law. It concerns the general precept, all the three precepts and, particularly, the third inclination and the third precept. As Daniel Russell holds dealing with Aristotelian happiness (eudaimonia): […] where philosophers like me disagree with Kant is less over the nature of obligation than over the nature of happiness. Happiness, or eudaimonia, is entirely different from desire satisfaction; in fact, it is a normative notion in a couple of ways. First of all, it is the very nature of practical reasoning that shapes our understanding of happiness, since happiness is the final end (recall the «formal constraints» on happiness). And second, the conception of human nature employed in our account of happiness is, I would argue, part of a broader ethical outlook32.

In Aquinas’ ethics there is a primacy of love of the goal. The relationship with God has a strict connection with happiness and this has a strict connection with ethics33. According to the Bible, but somehow also to Aristotle, since human desire is open to the infinity of being, only an infinite being can fulfil it and not a finite one (i.e. wealth, honour, glory, science etc.)34. As we have seen, the normative dimension of law is, according to Aquinas, also finalistic. There is no normativity without teleology. Its criterion is convenientia, fitness (something is convenient, fits) or, more 32

D.C. Russell, Virtue, Ethics, Happiness and the Good Life. The Cambridge Companion to Virtue Ethics, ed. by D.C. Russell, CUP, Cambridge 2013, p. 25. 33 Cf. A. Campodonico, M.S. Vaccarezza, La pretesa del bene. Teoria dell’azione ed etica in Tommaso d’Aquino, Orthotes, Napoli 2012, pp. 150-188. 34 Cf. ST I-II, qq. 1-5. See in particular 2, 1 ad 3: «The desire for natural riches is not infinite: because they suffice for nature in a certain measure. But the desire for artificial wealth is infinite, for it is the servant of disordered concupiscence, which is not curbed, as the Philosopher makes clear (Polit. i, 3). Yet this desire for wealth is infinite otherwise than the desire for the sovereign good. For the more perfectly the sovereign good is possessed, the more it is loved, and other things despised: because the more we possess it, the more we know it. Hence it is written (Sirach 24:29): “They that eat me shall yet hunger.” Whereas in the desire for wealth and for whatsoever temporal goods, the contrary is the case: for when we already possess them, we despise them, and seek others: which is the sense of Our Lord's words (John 4:13): “Whosoever drinketh of this water,” by which temporal goods are signified, “shall thirst again.” The reason of this is that we realize more their insufficiency when we possess them: and this very fact shows that they are imperfect, and the sovereign good does not consist therein».

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precisely, that kind of good called bonum honestum. What is the meaning of conveniens as honestum? It does not mean neither the extrinsical usefulness of modern Utilitarianism and Consequentialism, nor the mere a priori ought of deontological Kantianism35. Natural law is what is convenient for the human being in his wholeness and in the hierarchical harmony of his dimensions (also the dimensions of human act as end, object and circumstances) according to the phrase of Dionysius «the good comes about from the integral cause, but evil from single defects»36.

VI. Virtue and freedom Finally there is a widespread difficulty in accepting the term natural in ethics. This happens paradoxically, despite the fact that one continues to use expressions like «it’s natural» to state what should or should not be done. The problem is that affirming nature, when speaking of man and morality, seems to clash against the exaltation of freedom, understood as essentially the absolute rule of freedom of choice, which is a dogma of the anthropocentric, modern and contemporary conception. Human nature is often perceived, in fact, in the negative, as a limit on freedom, and not as a possibility, a condition for the use of that freedom. This suggests that above all the testimony of man can now be fully convincing about the truth of natural law (the seed of virtue) as a wellspring of a fully human life. Reading Aquinas’ ethics today, we must increase the role of freedom of choice which is based on rationality and virtues. It is essential to emphasize the value of personal risk and the fact that even evil can serve good. 35 Cf. C. Vogler, Aristotle, Aquinas, Anscombe and the New Virtue Ethics, http://www.academia.edu/2500806/Aristotle_Aquinas_Anscombe_and_the_New_ Virtue_Ethics, p. 8: «Consequentialism comes into play whenever we are inclined to calculate the likelihood that doing something specifically bad (bad in its kind, bad because of the kind of action that it is ) will result in getting something good, or in preventing something worse. In coining the term consequentialism, Anscombe highlighted the philosophical source of the loss of an ability to comprehend moral prohibitions. Anscombe’s term drew attention to accounts of good, bad, right and wrong that focused on expected outcomes of actions (the part that became the standard definition of consequentialism) and obliterated the distinction between intended and merely foreseen expected outcomes of an action (the part that was ignored by most of her followers)». 36 ST I-II, q. 20, a. 6, ad 1.

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There is a deep ontological reason why there is no opposition between human nature and freedom, natural law and freedom: of course nature is a limit, but it is also an occasion, a chance to become more human. As Harry Frankfurt maintains: The notion that necessity does not inevitably undermine autonomy is familiar and widely accepted. But necessity is not only compatible with autonomy; it is in certain respects essential to it. There must be limits to our freedom if we are to have sufficient personal reality to exercise genuine autonomy at all. What has no boundaries has no shape. By the same token, a person can have no essential nature or identity as an agent unless he is bound with respect to that very feature of himself – namely the will whose shape most closely coincides with and reveals what he is37.

And will is directed towards the object of our love. But we do not decide here and now what we should choose to love and which are the traits of our character. According to Thomas Aquinas freedom is founded on reason (intellect as nature – intellectus ut natura) and on the openness of will towards good in general. Furthermore loving more true good, putting order among goods, we become more and more virtuous, whole and freer, because we can consider finite beings as relative. In fact, as moral beings, we cannot act without freedom or against freedom (here Kant agrees with Aquinas), nor act without searching freely for all fundamental human goods and for a supreme good. Otherwise freedom is an empty idea. This is the meaning of nihilism in contemporary thought.

37 H.G. Frankfurt, The Importance of what we care about. Philosophical Essays, CUP, Cambridge 1988, p. IX.

CHAPTER NINE TRADITION AS CONSUETUDO IN THE THOUGHT OF THOMAS AQUINAS GIOVANNI TURCO

In the work of Thomas Aquinas, there are several references to consuetudo, and they are scattered around different contexts. Consuetudo is a philosophical concept, which cannot be grasped through an empiricist reduction to sociology. The Thomistic notion of consuetudo is properly axiological, and it rests on the foundation of rationality and justice. Hence, it can be seen as a way to know of the order of essences, and, in its turn, as requiring a judgment about its own ontological ground. Consuetudo is important in respect to the (subjective and objective) layering of human experience, which is – as such necessarily – evaluative. Consuetudo is fundamental for prudential judgments, both in the ethical and in the legal sphere. At the same time, the importance of consuetudo is evident in connection with positive law, as it is one of the criteria for its production and its evaluation. The meaning of custom, deduced from Saint Thomas' philosophy, underlines at the same time a peculiar consistency and a clear reference – implicit and explicit – to the characteristic fields of virtue, of political systems and of the community. Hence, it refers also to the context of moral, juridical and political thought. Moreover, custom's attention, because of the strict relation of these themes, is linked to its interest for the subjects of memory, history and tradition. In this respect, custom presents itself as founded on historical memory, and so it shows itself able to give rise to tradition. It lies at a turning point where history (like ordo historiae)1 – as memory in an objective and subjective sense2 – and 1

About this see my G. Turco, Storia e memoria come condizioni assiologiche della storiografia: la prospettiva di san Tommaso d’Aquino, in Atti del Congresso

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tradition3 (authentic if secundum rectam rationem) express their intrinsic sociality and show their axiological intelligibility.

I. The nature of custom As for its being (according to the famous Aristotelian expression), it is necessary to recognize that, in the thought of Saint Thomas, custom bears an analogical meaning. It can be stated in many different ways. It has different meanings, interrelated among themselves. These depend on a common notion which goes through them proportionally. At the same time they can be brought back to a focal analogy (which can be distinguished in the same manner – as it appears detectable – into an analogatum princeps quoad se and an analogatum princeps quoad nos). The various analogical determinations of custom differ both as far as the subject and as far as the object are concerned. The subjects of custom may be very different among themselves, both in the essential-ontological order and in the existential-practical order. The subject of custom may be either a single entity (as in the case of the consuetudo Christi4, of the consuetudo Aristotelis5, of the consuetudo unius Evangelistae6 or of the consuetudo prophetarum7) or a community (an entire people or a city). In the case of customs of individuals, it is possible to deal with both a human subject and an exclusively spiritual entity, or even God (in the governance of the world, in the realization of Providence, in the pedagogy of Divine Revelation). In this sense we can refer to a custom of the diabolic way of behaving8 (which can use an ambiguous and shady language)9, or to the Internazionale su L’umanesimo cristiano nel terzo millennio: la prospettiva di Tommaso d’Aquino (21-25 settembre 2003), vol. III, Pontificia Academia Sancti Thomae Aquinatis, Città del Vaticano 2006, pp. 607-624. 2 About such a question see Id., “L’autenticità della memoria storica: principi fondativi tomistici”, «Nova Historica», VII (2008), pp. 14-32. 3 For an analysis of such a question see Id., “Significati della memoria e senso della storia in prospettiva tomistica”, «Civiltà Europea», I (2008), pp. 173-188. 4 Cf. Tommaso D’Aquino, In Matt., c. XII, lect. 3; ivi, c. XXVI, lect. 5; ivi, c. XXVI, lect. 6; In Ioann., c. XVIII, lect. 1 (all the next references – except for a different indication – have to be considered as referring to the same author). 5 Cf. In De caelo, l. I, lect. 22; ivi, l. II, lect. 17; ivi, l. II, lect. 3; In Physic., l. VIII, lect. 6. 6 Cf. Catena in Matt., c. II, lect. 7; In Matt., c. XXVII, lect. 1. 7 Cf. Catena in Io., c. I, lect. 16. 8 Cf. In Sent., l. II, d. 22, q. 1, a. 2, ad 3. 9 “Daemonis promissio […] cuius consuetudo est ut dubiis verbis homines fallat” (ibidem).

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custom of idolatrous rituals10. When the subject is a multitude unified by determined common characters, it is possible to recall as an example the customs of the Greeks11, the Romans12, the Jews13 and the ancient populations14; up to the possibility of referring to the custom of the people who are inexperienced15, unwise16 or bold17. The community, which is the subject of custom, may be of natural or supernatural origin. It is possible to handle, hence, the custom of one human community – in that sense, of religious, literary, juridical, or political custom – or the custom of the Church, or the ecclesiastic custom. In this last case, the subject of custom may be the Universal Church – namely the Church as it is – or one part of it (like the Greek or the Latin one). Whence, respectively, originates the (communis) consuetudo Ecclesiae18 (universalis)19 – normative, in terms of faith and morals20 – (where the consuetudo ecclesiastica21 comes from) and the consuetudo

10

Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 102, a. 6, ad 1. Cf. In Ioann., c. I, lect. 1. 12 It’s clearly meaningful that the following indication is referred to a custom of legal nature: “non est consuetudo Romanis damnare aliquem hominem prius quam is qui accusatur praesentes habeat accusatores, locumque defendendi accipiat ad abluenda crimina quae ei obiiciebantur” (S. Th., II II, q. 67, a. 3). Cf. In Matt., c. XXVII, lect. 1; In II Cor., c. V, lect. 2. 13 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 187, a. 4; ivi, III, q. 51, a. 2, ad 2; Quodlib., VII, q. 7, a. 2; In Isaiam, c. VIII, lect. 1; ivi, c. XVI; In Psal., 44; In Matt., c. I, lect. 1; ivi, c. I, lect. 4; ivi, c. XXIII, lect. 2; ivi, c. XXVI, lect. 2; ivi, c. XXVII, lect. 1; ivi, c. I, lect. 5; In Ioann., c. VII, lect. 5; In Rom., c. I, lect. 1; Catena in Matt., c. I, lect. 1; ivi, c. III, lect. 2; ivi, c. XXVI, lect. 3; Catena in Io., c. XVIII, lect. 9, ivi, c. XVIII, lect. 11. 14 Cf. S. Th., III, q. 29, a. 2, ad 3; In Matt., c. IV, lect. 1; ivi, c. XIV, lect. 1; ivi, c. XXIII, lect. 2; ivi, c. XXVI, lect. 2; Catena in Matt., c. I, lect. 9. 15 Cf. In Ioann., c. VIII, lect. 7. 16 Cf. ivi, c. X, lect. 5. 17 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 69, a. 1, ad 3. 18 Cf. In Sent., l. IV, d. 3, q. 1, a. 4, qc. 1; ivi, l. IV, d. 15, q. 3, a. 3, qc. 2, ad 1; ivi, l. IV, d. 15, q. 3, a. 4, qc. 2, sc. 1; ivi, l. IV, d. 20, q. 1, a. 3, qc. 3, sc. 1; ivi, l. IV, d. 20, q. 1, a. 4, qc. 3, sc. 1; ivi, l. IV, d. 25, q. 2, a. 2, qc. 2, sc. 1; ivi, l. IV, d. 45, q. 3, a. 2, sc. 3; S. Th., III, q. 68, a. 10; S. c. G., l. IV, c. 50; De Malo, q. 4, a. 1; In I Cor., c. XI, lect. 3. 19 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 147, a. 3, ad 3; S. c. G., l. IV, c. 91; In I Cor., c. XVI, lect. 1; Catena in Matt., c. 21, lect. 6. 20 Itis prevailing also with respect to Church Fathers doctrinal authority, like St. Augustine, St. Jerome and any other Doctor. (cf. Quodlib., II, q. 4, a. 2). 21 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 147, a. 5; De perfect., c. 17. 11

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ecclesiarum (latinorum or graecorum)22, which is specific and peculiar23. The subject of custom may be Holy Writ24 or Tradition25 (considered, from a theological point of view, as a source of Divine Revelation). On the other hand the natural course of events of the physical world also shows a custom26, which consists of effects derived from specific natural cause27. Even if, rigorously, what is natural happens always and not in an unusual manner28, custom actually shows the course of natural events considered in their (ordinary) regularity or in their (effective) generality. Both indicate the occurrence of what depends on the nature of things, and define what habitually, or at least more commonly (ut in pluribus), takes place. Let us now consider the object of a custom. It can be related to an expression, to an action, to a virtue and to a vice. Custom may concern also the denomination of something29. It is clear that custom as such is always determined, as far as its object is concerned. It cannot take place in undetermined terms, because in that case, being deprived of its object, it simply does not subsist (neither could it subsist, nor could it be thought of). Being deprived of its object, custom would lack reality. As a void formality, it would fall – for that reason – into the state of non being. Each aspect of knowing and acting (as far as the exercise of it is concerned) may be determined by a custom, which gives it a certain 22 Cf. S. Th., III, q. 74, a. 4; ivi, III, q. 78, a. 2, ad 5; Contra imp., p. 2, c. 4 (here a reference to “consuetudo Romanae Ecclesiae”); ivi, p. 2, c. 3 (here a reference to “consuetudo Orientalis Ecclesiae”). 23 Cf. Quodlib., VI, q. 5, a. 2; In Ioann., c. VI, lect. 7; In Gal., c. II, lect. 2 (it is particularly referring to the sale of personal goods that was an ancient Church usage having Jewish roots); In I Thess., c. IV, lect. 1; Quodlib., VI, q. 5, a. 1. Sicché si può dire di “diversae ecclesiarum consuetudines” (S. Th., III, q. 74, a. 4). 24 Cf. S. Th., III, q. 29, a. 1; ivi, III, q. 24, a. 1, ad 3; S. c. G., l. IV, c. 8; ivi, l. IV, c. 23; In Sent., III, d. 4, q. 3, a. 2, qc. 2; De Pot., q. 4, a. 1, ad 2; Comp. Theol., l. I, c. 225; In De Div. Nom., c. VII, lect. 1; In Job, c. I; ivi, c. VII; In Matt., c. I, lect. 6; ivi, c. XII, lect. 2; ivi, c. XXVI, lect. 1; ivi, c. XXVII, lect. 2; ivi, c. I, lect. 4; In Ioann., c. I, lect. 1; ivi, c. I, lect. 15 (it is referring to John the evangelist only); ivi, c. II, lect. 2; ivi, c. V, lect. 4; ivi, c. VII, lect. 1; In Philip., c. II, lect. 4; In Rom., c. III, lect. 2; ivi, c. V, lect. 3; In Eph., c. II, lect. 6; Catena in Io., c. VIII, lect. 10. 25 Cf. Contra imp., p. II, c. 3. 26 Cf. S. Th., III, q. 13, a. 2; De Pot., q. VI, a. 2, ad 2. 27 Cf. S. c. G., l. III, c. 100; In Psal., 17. 28 Cf. In Sent., l. III, d. 23, q. 1, a. 4, qc. 2. 29 It is the case of the “second plank”, corresponding to the one the castaway is allowed to cling to, to escape drowning. Compared to such an expression baptism is said to be the “first plank” (invoking figuratively the Ark of Noah), so it comes before the wreck: cf. In Sent., l. IV, d. 14, q, 1, a. 2, qc. 4.

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perpetuity and continuity, beyond the act in which it shows itself. In this sense, by actualizing inclinations typical of human nature30, it is possible to determine a debita et communis consuetudo31 (more or less varied, in its object, in its expression and in its being rooted)32, which results in a behavior habitual for humans33 (or, by analogy, also in the field of the natural events) 34. The consistency of custom stems from the subject and the object it pertains to. Custom has no reality beyond its subject and its object. It has no place if not in relation to them. In relation to them it is qualified in terms of knowing and willing. With regard to them it acquires its truth and the possibility of being appreciated. Without taking them into consideration, on the other hand, custom comes to the fore as an abstract and void notion. Its axiological evaluation is not possible if it is not made in relation to the subject (individual or community) and its object (namely to its objective purpose). Its ontology is the foundation of its axiology. The latter stems from the former. Without the former, the latter is bound to be frustrated. Even in the case of custom, it should be stressed that the act is based on the object and not the other way around. Similarly, custom can refer to very different manners, both with regard to knowing, and with regard to acting. In the first case it is possible to find a custom related to knowledge, language and reasoning: like consuetudo audiendi35, consuetudo loquendi36, consuetudo significandi37, consuetudo argumentandi38, and consuetudo scribendi39. Similarly, there can be a custom 30 Thomas, referring to the habit of taking food to meet the needs of the body, writes of “naturae nostrae consuetudine” (S. Th., III, q. 15, a. 5, ad 1). 31 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 147, a. 7 (text refers specifically to the “debita et communis consuetudo comedendi hominibus”, but the notion in itself maintains a concept of wide and analogical extension); In Ierem., c. VIII, lect. 3 (here the reference is to a datum usual in humanity). Elsewhere Thomas refers also to communis hominum consuetudo (cf. Contra retr., c. 3). 32 Cf. In De sensu, c. 2; In Matt., c. XXVI, lect. 4. 33 Cf. In Matt., c. VIII, lect. 3. 34 Cf. In Matt., c. VIII, lect. 3. 35 Cf. In De caelo, l. II, lect. 14. 36 Cf. S. Th., I, q. 31, a. 4; S. c. G., l. I, c. 42 (“consuetudo loquendi etiam in Sacra Scriptura invenitur”); ivi, l. IV, c. 5; Quodlib., III, q. 6, a. 3, ad 1; De Pot., q. III, a. 1, ad 7; In De caelo, l. I, lect. 20; In II Cor., c. IV, lect. 5; Catena in Io., c. XVII, lect. 4; Catena in Matt., c. XXII, lect. 3; Catena in Mar., XII, lect. 3. 37 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 36, a. 1, ad 3; De Ver., q. e, a. 1; In Matt., c. XXVII, lect. 2; Catena in Io., c. I, lect. 1; ivi, c. III, lect. 4. 38 Cf. S. c. G., l. II, c. 61; In Physic., l. VIII, lect. 1; In Met., l. III, lect. 1; In Ephes., c. I, lect. 2; ivi, c. V, lect. 5.

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which gives rise to a certain way of acting, practiced either by a single individual or by a community40 (a family, a city, a people, a kingdom). Custom manifests itself in the frequency of determined acts (or operations) which constitute its particular content41. It itself derives from the repeated multiplication of homologous acts42 and it takes place through a determined use43 or a determined habit44. Moreover, the habitual use is the act often performed by a determined faculty45, in connection with what is effectively possible for everybody46 as a product of the will (hence, freely elected and not naturally determined) 47. While discussing Aristotelian theses, Thomas underlines that custom is analogous to habit. It involves a customary habit, acquired through repetition48, by means of which the habit is performed and manifested. Custom finds its fulfillment in the manner of the nature it pertains to, and it is configured like a particular nature49. In other words, custom is tantamount to an acquired nature: “consuetudo est altera natura”50. As a matter of fact, it inclines to actions which are convenient to itself (like nature), namely those which are connatural51. This connotation identifies a consistency which, even remaining properly in the field of accidents, adheres insomuch to the subject (according to the content of the object which substantiates it) with which it is intensely entrenched. This happens up to the point that it can be considered essential, even if it remains changeable and eradicable, since it was acquired52.

39

Cf. In Col., c. IV, lect. 1. As in the case of clothing of a distinctive worthiness connected to the office: cf. In Matt., c. XXVII, lect. 2. 41 Cf. In Sent., l. I, d. 1, q. 1, a. 2. 42 “Actus, maxime multiplicatos […] consuetudinem efficiunt” (S. Th., I II, q. 97, a. 3). 43 “Usus est idem quod consuetudo” (ibidem). 44 Cf. In Sent., l. III, d. 23, q. 1, a. 4, qc. 2. 45 “Usus est actus frequenter de potentia elicitus” (In Sent., l. I, d. 1, q. 1, a. 2). 46 “Consuetudo autem importat quamdam frequentiam circa ea quae facere vel non facere in nobis est” (In Sent., l. III, d. 23, q. 1, a. 4, qc. 2). 47 Cf. ibidem. 48 “Consuetudo causat habitum consimilem naturae” (In Met., l. II, lect. 5). 49 “Consuetudo […] est quasi quaedam natura, nihil autem est aliud habitus consuetudinalis quam habitudo acquisita per consuetudinem, quae est in modum naturae” (S. Th., I II, q. 56, a. 5). 50 De Ver., q. 24, a. 10; cf. De Virt., q. 1, a. 8, ad 16. 51 “Consuetudo in naturam vertitur” (In Ethic., l. II, lect. 6). 52 Cf. In Ethic., l. VII, lect. 5. 40

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Hence, custom converts itself into something natural53 (or, in some way, into compliance with the nature of the subject), making the inclination to the recovery and the reiteration of its object something almost natural. In this sense, it inclines to determined acts which are related to it. From this essentiality derives a tendency towards action. This principle, even if acquired, acts in the same way as nature (conceived like the essence which is the principle of activity). This is since it has a stability – and, thus, a permanence – analogous to – although, clearly not identical to – that typical of the nature of things. Custom, in fact, suits the capacity which stems from the appetitive faculties54. Even the fact that custom is rooted in man is natural, in that it is typical of the human subject – and, in the same way, of the human community – because it is – as such – rational and free. As a matter of fact, the human person is endowed with rational and appetitive faculties which can be exercised not only in order to perform particular acts but also in order to perform them in certain ways, to choose among them, and to perform them with certain attitudes. The habit which derives from custom, thus, makes certain actions almost connatural55 to the subject. All this purports that a custom is able to generate a habitus56, namely a permanent inclination, which, at the same time, can be either virtuous or vicious. The habit constitutes a mode which qualifies a subject (with regard to the knowing and the acting). Analogously a customary habit is a mode acquired through custom57. With regard to custom, to some extent it constitutes the cause of the habit – since it entails the reiteration of determined acts, where the habit entails only the reiteration of the kind of acts it comes from – and to some extent the habit constitutes its effect, inasmuch as its actuation stems from the internal disposition which substantiates itself in custom (to perform similar acts). It is clear that a good custom (namely a custom directed to the good) makes one inclined 53

“Consuetudo est sicut quaedam natura” (In Ethic., l. III, lect. 15). “Consuetudo quodammodo vertitur in naturam, et facit inclinationem similem naturali. Manifestum est autem quod inclinatio ad actum proprie convenit appetitivae virtuti, ciuis est movere omnes potentias ad agendum” (S. Th., I II, q. 58, a. 1). 55 “Quia unicuique habenti habitum, est per se diligibile id quod est ei conveniens secundum proprium habitum, quia fit ei quodammodo connaturale, secundum quod consuetudo et habitus vertitur in naturam” (S. Th., I II, q. 78, a. 2). 56 Thomas refers specifically to the “habitus virtutis consuetudinalis” (In Sent., l. II, d. 6, q. 1, a. 5) that (in itself) allows it to win over passions and vices. A habitus can be caused, in fact, “propter consuetudinem” (S. Th., I II, q. 40, a. 5, ad 1). 57 “Nihil autem est aliud habitus consuetudinalis qua, habitudo acquisita per consuetudinem” (S. Th., I II, q. 56, a. 5). 54

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(and willing) to perform acts typical of virtue58. Analogously, custom is akin to ethics (mos)59 and to virtue (virtus)60, even if it can differ from them61. Virtue, as such, comes from a particular custom62 (regarding acts proper to a determined field of practice, in accordance with reason)63 and it gives rise to a certain ethos64. At the same time custom confirms, serves and enhances virtue65. On the other hand, custom takes place in the continuity of the ethos linked to an individual or to a community. It characterizes its activity and expression. It inputs its vital capacity, it shapes its physiognomy, it signals its distinctive trait. However virtue, being a permanent mode of the subject, is more inherent in it as such than any custom. So, custom can be more or less unflinching, more or less rooted, more or less deep. It does not constitute an independent hypostasis of the subject and the object. Even less does it exist independently from its coming from the former and consisting of the latter. It takes place neither without the knowledge, which permits anyone to assume it to be like its own, nor without the freedom by means of which it is wanted. For this reason, it can be acquired or lost, enhanced or weakened, accepted or rejected66. And at the same time it can be thought of as a cause or an effect, with regard to its actuality or to its consistency.

58

Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 95, a. 1. “Haec inclinatio frequenter est ab assuefactione, ideo mos sic dictus, a more prout consuetudinem importat” (In Sent., l. III, d. 33, q. 1, a. 2, qc. 3, ad 4). “Apud nos nomen moris quandoque significant consuetudinem, quandoque autem id quod pertinet ad vitium vel virtutem” (In Ethic., l. II, lect. 1). 60 “Virtus moralis non dicitur a more secundum quod mos non significat consuetudinem appetitivae virtutis” (De Virt., q, 1, a. 10, ad 18). 61 “Virtutes morales non dicuntur proprie a consuetudine sed a more quantum ad secundam significationem sed tamen […] parum differt hoc a consuetudine” [Autographi Delecta (In Sent., l. III), ed. Busa, Fromman - Holzboog, Stuttgart Bad Cannstatt 1980, p. 453)]. 62 Cf. In Sent., l. IV, d. 21, q. 3, a. 3, ex; S. Th., I II, q. 51, a. 2; ivi, I II, q. 78, a. 3; In Met., l. II, lect. 5. 63 “Ex consuetudine operum exteriorum generatur interior habitus, secundum quem etiam cor hominis bene disponitur” (In Rom., c. IV, lect. 1). 64 “Nomen virtutis moralis sumitur a consuetudine, parum inde declinans” (In Ethic., l. II, lect. 1). 65 Cf. In Ethic., l. I, lect. 16; ivi, l. VIII, lect. 5. 66 Cf. De malo, q. VI, a. un., ad 24. 59

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II. The ethics of custom As in the case of fact and value, which remain necessarily distinct from each other, no custom is a criterion for and to itself. Its presence does not identify itself with its value. Its taking place is not the same as its being worth something. Nor can its modality be identified with its purpose. Custom does not found the custom, as nothing in the world of finite things can found itself. Otherwise it would be contradictory, being, at the same time and under the same aspect, cause and effect (namely itself and something different from itself). Custom is not an (ontologically) originating element, but an (actively) originated element. It presupposes a cause and it substantiates itself in a content. In order to think about custom, one must is value it. Precisely because of its reality, it is liable to be intrinsically valued, from an alethic and an ethical point view; that is, in a nutshell, with regard to its truth, its morality, its legality and its political significance. In other words, custom neither is, nor can be in any way evaluationfree. Just as no custom deprived of its subjective and objective consistency has any reality, so no adiaphorous custom has any reality. Precisely for the reason that it stems from a determined subject aiming at a determined object, it is intrinsically – and it cannot be otherwise – ethically qualified. So, the custom is good or bad, fair or unfair, just or unjust. Moreover, it can be useful or useless, convenient or inconvenient, appropriate or inappropriate. Essentially, for the very reasons of its existence and for the effects it produces, custom cannot be axiologically neutral. Experience presents a highly diversified range of customs as far as the content is concerned, or rather with regard to the actions which are customary. Their contents – quid consuetum – make them essentially and objectively diverse and irreducible. The foundation of the validity (moral, juridical, political) of custom in relation to action is a inescapable problem. From here, the question concerning the relationship between custom and good arises, i.e. whether a certain custom is a good or not. The issue is whether custom constitutes or creates the good, or has to recognize it; whether custom is the foundation of the good or the good is the foundation of custom. There are no alternatives: tertium non datur. Analogously, it is necessary to investigate whether custom constitutes the validity of the right (by itself), or whether it is the right (as such) that gives validity to custom. A custom may confer on somebody a determined faculty, creating a duty for someone else: hence, the problem comes to the fore of knowing what intrinsically legitimates custom. As a matter of fact, custom must have an intrinsic qualification: moral, juridical and political. The mere historical-sociological fact that a certain

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custom holds does not solve the problem, but demonstrates it. The philosophical question is related to the value which is proper for each custom: where does custom take its obligatory power from? Is its power the right which it takes part in? Or does its right consist merely of its power, in a way that reduces it to its capacity of being enforced? In other words, either the content of custom is the foundation of its performance, or its performance is the foundation of its content. In the first case the ontology of the content of custom founds its deontology, and the right is thereby rooted in facts. Its legitimacy founds itself in its end, in the ethical-metaphysical order, since being precedes and founds the act. In the second case, the content of custom would be indifferent (from the axiological point of view). In this case the (usual) action would precede the being: the undetermined would take priority over what is determined. It follows as a consequence that the question of legitimacy reflects itself on that of subjective obligation. What makes custom morally (or, better, rationally and voluntarily) obligatory, for those who participate in it? What forces those who do not take part in a certain custom to follow it? Its value or its surveillance? In this latter case, is the mere fact of being shared enough to legitimate a custom? If this were so, on the one hand, those who are not actually participating would be necessarily excluded and, on the other hand, custom would be susceptible to any content whatsoever (since it would substantiate itself in both the directions of fairness and unfairness). Now, if we look correctly into it, the evaluation of custom – in the field of intelligence as in that of the will – satisfies a condition of conformity. It is – namely – the conformity between knowing and being, as well as that between acting and being. Custom, in fact, comes from its foundation in nature (like essence as a principle of activity). So it is a natura. In that sense, nature is a principle of the origin of the activity (and of the aptitude) which is habitual. Without the nature (like a subject and an object) it could not even be actual and develop. However, custom can or cannot be secundum naturam, namely it can (or cannot) conform itself to the nature of the subject (with the consistency which objectively identifies constraints and specific duties) in its (concrete) relation to a determined object. In a way, nature – considered as a principle of conformity – founds the rectitude of custom, namely its being founded in being. In the same way, the evaluation of custom depends on considerations concerning its capacity to improve character (or, in the contrary direction, to corrupt it). Being a development of the act, it can actualize the potentialities of a subject in relation to its natural end, making that subject more suitable to reach its end. It can determine the disposition – improving

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or corrupting it – with regard to what is owed (of a determined subject, in relation to a determined field of obligations) and definitively with respect to the conclusive end. Substantially, the evaluation of a custom is founded on its own ethical truth. It is about the truth which derives from conformity between the content of custom and the nature of things, between the subject and the essential end, between the content of custom and the duties required by the common good (and flowing from it). Ultimately, the evaluation of custom is founded on its intrinsic rationality67, conceived both in the theoretical sense (as intelligence of the natures of things) and in its prudential sense (as intelligence of the right measure in action). Furthermore, custom presupposes inescapably reason68 (so the meaning) which substantiates and consolidates it. In this way, a legitimate custom manifests itself as a via inventionis of the truth of the individual and social action. At the same time (and reciprocally) truth (moral, juridical and political) constitutes its via iudicii. Custom turns out to be be a measured measure69: measure – secundum quid – under the inductive profile of the validity of a determined activity, which – simpliciter – needs to be measured in itself, by the order of the good and the just. The political virtues, in fact, bring about a custom concerning the acts which are typical of them70. In the end, the custom is founded on rationality (classically intended, like intelligence of reality) and, thus, on prudence71. It is, for this, subject to natural law and to divine law. What results from it, then, is based on the foundation of law (as a determination of justice), and not otherwise. No custom (like no law) can transform bad into good or the other way around72. In this sense, we can note that the right of custom consists of the custom of the right. The right gives value to it and not the other way around. Custom acquires its legitimacy from the determination of justice (and so from the fairness) which it expresses. The aspect for which it is customary does not change wrong into right (by means of custom itself) or the other way around. Rather, the right which substantiates it ensures legality to it: legality could not be obtained from mere reiteration. By 67

Cf. In Sent., l. IV, d. 36, q. 1, a. 4. Cf. S. Th., III, q. 74, a. 4. 69 Cf. In Met., l. II, lect. 5. 70 Cf. In Sent., l. II, d. 44, q. 2, a. 1, ad 6. 71 Thomas stresses that consuetudo “sine prudentia non habet perfectionem rationis” (S. Th., II II, q. 141, a. 1, ad 2). 72 Exemplarily, “nulla lege aut consuetudine est permissum unam uxorem habere plures viros” (In Sent., l. IV, d. 1, a. 1, ad 8). 68

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itself, custom neither prejudices the natural and the divine (positive)73 law, nor jeopardizes the natural moral law, as far as the first precepts are concerned. In sum, custom – with relation to its knowledge and explanation – can legitimately lead to an implementation of these laws, or, as a matter of fact, to their detriment74. No custom (and no positive law) can render licit what is not, or vice versa (as in the case of polygamy, polyandry75 and simony76). The request to perform something in the name of a custom which is contrary to natural and divine law renders that custom itself invalid and not binding (namely, intrinsically unfair)77. No custom, therefore, can release someone from what is owed on the basis of natural and divine law78. Experience shows that there are both right79 and corrupted customs, virtuous80 and vicious81 customs. As there are good and honest customs (bona vel honesta consuetudo)82, in the same way there are bad and unfair customs (prava o mala consuetudo)83. Among the admissible customs, some can be permitted84, others licit85, others laudable86. While among the inadmissible customs some can be unpleasant87, others reproachable88, 73

Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 100, a. 2. “Consuetudo non praejudicat legi naturae quantum ad prima praecepta ipsius, quae sunt quasi communes animi conceptiones in speculativis; sed ea quae ex istis trahuntur ut conclusiones, consuetudo auget, et similiter minuit; et hujusmodi est praeceptum legis naturae de unitate uxoris” (In Sent., l. IV, d. 33, q. 1, a. 1, ad 1). 75 Cf. S. c. G., l. III, c. 124. 76 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 100, a. 2. 77 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 100, a. 2, ad 4 (the immediate reference is to simony). 78 Cf. Quodlib. II, q. 4, a. 3 (Thomas refers specifically to the duty to pay tithes). Other than that is the case (in terms of subjective morality) of one who requires dues (such as tithes) where such a request (legitimate in itself ) could look like something to stimulate a scandal (cf. ibidem; ivi XII, q. 13, a. un, ad 1). 79 Thomas indicates (symbolically) the “consuetudo boni animi et innocentis” (In Ioann., c. XIII, lect. 5). 80 Cf. Catena in Ioann., c. XIII, lect. 3; ivi, c. XIII, lect. 4. 81 Cf. In Matt., c. XXIV, lect. 1; Catena in Lucam, c. XIX, lect. 1. 82 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 79, a. 2, ad 2; In Matt., c. VII, lect. 2. Similarly, there is the consuetudo “bonorum operum” (In Sent., l. II, d. 32, q. 1, a. 1). 83 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 94, a. 4; ivi, I II, q. 94, a. 6, ivi, I II, q. 159, a. 2; In Met., l. XI, lect. 6; In Pol., l. I, lect. 1. 84 Cf. S. c. G., l. III, c. 123. 85 Cf. Contra imp., p. II, c. 4. 86 Cf. Catena in Matt., c. XII, lect. 7. 87 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 95, a. 8; ivi, II II, q. 169, a. 2 (where reference is made to a custom which, whilst lawful, is not commendable); De sort., c. 5. 88 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 91, a. 2, ad 3. 74

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others condemnable89. A right (and for this reason beautiful) custom90 consists essentially of a determined right way of acting91. In particular, it is custom which reveals the virtue of humility92. Furthermore, with regard to the ethical perspective, we can mention right and legitimate customs, which, however, cannot be evoked by one who could benefit from them but who does not want to give the impression of acting in order to make money93. Moreover, erroneous (namely, mistaken) customs can become established, resulting in falling from one error into another94 (either exceeding or being insufficient). Bad customs can be compared to other infirmities95. It is about bad customs (or the customs of evil)96. These can reach as far as affection for sin, and so far as to be directed permanently to harm97. Among customs unfair in themselves we can recall those of hypocrisy98, of libel99, of polygamy100, of incest101, of corruption and falsification of the interpretation of the Bible102. Resulting from a custom contrary to justice constitutes an aggravating circumstance of the malice of an act, far from being its justification. Custom, in fact, in some ways converts even inequity into something subjectively connatural, reaching the point of turning the action of a man who falls while facing the pressure of the passions into something similar to that of an animal. Even though it should be remarked that an unjust human act, aggravated by vice, results in something worse than whatever 89

Cf. In Sent., l. IV, d. 11, q. 2, a. 4, qc. 4, ad 4. Cf. In Pol., l. II, lect. 4. 91 “Et ideo dicit pro consuetudine, scilicet recte agendi” (In Heb., c. V, lect. 2). 92 Cf. In Io., c. XIV, lect. 6. 93 This is the case of custom in force among the Jews of rewarding those who devoted themselves to the study of Sacred Scripture and preaching. Paul, preaching to the Gentiles, does not claim that he attributed this practice to an attempt to avoid the reproach of venality. Cf. In Matt., c. XXVII, lect. 2. 94 Cf. Contra imp., p. II, c. 1. 95 Cf. In Ethic., l. VII, lect. 5. 96 “Consuetudo […] malignorum” (Catena in Matt., c. II, lect. 7); “Consuetudo hominum nimis malorum” (ivi, c. XXVI, lect. 6). 97 Thomas observes that “haec enim est consuetudo Daemonis” (In Matt., c. XII, lect. 3). 98 Cf. ibidem. 99 Cf. In Iob, c. I. 100 “Consuetudo habentium plures uxores” (S. c. G., l. III, c. 124). 101 “Consuetudo eorum qui propinquis suis se carnaliter commiscent” (S. c. G., l. III, c. 125). 102 Cf. In Gal., c. VI, lect. 3. 90

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act can be performed by beasts103. On the contrary, an unjust custom (consuetudo peccandi)104 constitutes a dissolutive process105, which solicits sin (being a permanent solicitation to repeat it)106; the fact of being deeply rooted increases guilt107, up to a point in which it may cause desperation108. The fact of society having a favourable opinion of it cannot change the mentioned custom from being a vice into being a virtue109.

III. The value of custom Custom is deeply rooted in the subject, to the extent that it solicits a correspondent inclination – related to the object itself – both in the cognitive and in the operational order. Thanks to custom a certain act (with its content) becomes almost natural (or, better, connatural), delightful, easy, familiar. Thomas outlines that custom acquires the strength typical of nature110. In fact, what the soul is imbued with (particularly when it is so since childhood) is considered as natural and as such known. This takes place because generally – from the psychological point of view – what is known absolutely by itself is associated with what is known as far as 103

“Quando homo ergo assuescat secundum passionem vivere, jam vertitur in naturam: et ideo, similis factus est illis, per habitum ex malis operibus aggravatum [...] et ideo dicit Philosophus, quod pejor est malus homo quam mala bestia; quia cum malitia habet intellectum, ut diversa mala adinveniat” (In Psal., 48). 104 Cf. In Sent., l. II, d. 42, q. 2, a. 2, ad 4; S. Th., I II, q. 98, a. 6, ad 1; ivi, I II, q. 99, a. 2, ad 2; ivi, I II, q. 105, a. 2, ad 9; ivi, III, q. 68, a. 6; S. c. G., l. III, c. 12; In Ethic., l. III, lect. 13; In Psal., 13; ivi, 27; In Isaiam, c. I, lect. 2; In Ioann., c. XI, lect. 6; In Gal., c. VI, lect. 1; Catena in Io., c. XI, lect. 7. 105 Thomas recalls that the custom of sin implies contempt of God (S. Th., II II, q. 162, a. 4, ad 4). Cf. Catena in Ioann., c. XI, lect. 4. 106 In Rom., c. VI, lect. 2 (“consuetudo peccandi, quae quamdam necessitatem ingerit ad peccandum”). 107 “Consuetudo est quaedam circumstantia aggravans peccatum ex multiplicatione ipsorum actuum; et ideo in consuetudine est ultimus progressus peccati” (In Sent., l. II, d. 42, q. 2, a. 2, qc. 1, ad 4). 108 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 72, a. 7, ad 2 (“consuetudo vero et desperatio sunt gradus consequentes post speciem perfectam peccati”). 109 “Consuetudo peccandi diminuit turpitudinem et infamiam peccati secundum opinionem hominum, non autem secundum naturam ipsorum vitiorum” (S. Th., II II, q. 142, a. 4, ad 2). 110 Thomas does not confuse or assimilate custom to nature. In fact, the first is in the order of the accidental, the second one is the substantial. In this regard symbolically revealing is the expression according to which “consuetudo est similis naturae” (In Met., l. II, lect. 5). Similarly, far from being identical, it is explained that “consuetudo est sicut quaedam natura” (In Ethic., l. III, lect. 15).

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anyone is concerned111. What is usual is, for each one, better acknowledged112. So custom has a noteworthy role in orienting people to perform quickly and neatly113 determined acts and to understand (also by means of comparison) their value114. Whence comes the relevance of custom with regard to morals (since it makes acquired behaviors akin to natural ones)115 and with regard to pedagogy116. What is typical of a certain custom is perceived as easy117 and pleasant118 because in some way it seems natural119. Custom constitutes almost a second nature120. Everybody comes back to what is usual (with analogy to what is natural)121 in the same way as one goes quickly to what is typical of one’s own nature122. The pleasure123 of those acts124, which 111

“Consuetudo, autem, et praecipue quae est a puero, vim naturae obtinet: ex quo contingit ut ea quibus a pueritia animus imbuitur, ita firmiter teneat ac si essent naturaliter et per se nota. Partim vero contingit ex eo quod non distinguitur quod est notum per se simpliciter, et quod est quoad nos per se notum” (S. c. G., l. c. 11). 112 “Illud enim quod est consuetum, est nobis magis notum” (In Met., l. II, lect. 5). 113 “Quod autem consuetudo sit sicut natura, manifestat per hoc, quod sicut in natura quidam fit ordo, quo hoc potest hoc fit, ita etiam quando multae operationes per ordinem se consequuntur, faciunt quamdam naturam” (In De sensu, t. II, lect. 6). 114 “Huiusmodi cultus exterior homini necessarius est ad hoc quod anima hominis excitetur in spiritualem reverentiam Dei. Ad hoc autem quod animus ad aliquid moveatur, multum operatur consuetudo: nam ad consueta facilius movemur. Habet autem hoc humana consuetudo, quod honor qui exhibetur ei qui summum locum in republica tenet, puta regi vel imperatori, nulli alii exhibetur” (S. c. G., l. III, c. 120). 115 Cf. De virt., q. 1, a. 8, ad 16. 116 Cf. Catena in Ioann., c. IX, lect. 4. 117 “Illa facilitas quae ex consuetudine relinquitur, est secundum hoc quod potentiae inclinantur ad actus individui” (In Sent., l. II, d. 32, q. 1, a. 3, ad 3). 118 “Id quod est consuetum, efficitur delectabile, inquantum efficitur naturale” (S. Th., I II, q. 32, a. 2, ad 3; cf. S. Th., I II, q. 32, a. 2, ad 3). 119 “Ex consuetudine efficitur aliquid facile et delectabile, quod prius erat difficile” (In Sent., l. III, d. 33, q. 1, qc. 2). 120 Consuetudo indeed “est altera natura” (S. Th., I, q. 63, a. 4, ad 2). 121 The same custom of sin is hardly eradicable. We cannot escape from usual sins unless for fear of severe punishments (cf. S. Th., I II, q. 105, a. 2, ad 9). 122 “Consuetudo est quasi quaedam natura. Unde sicut ea quae sunt naturaliter de facili fiunt et reparantur, inquantum scilicet res cito redeunt ad suam naturam propter naturae inclinationem, [...] ita etiam ea quae multoties consideravimus, de facili reminiscimur propter inclinationem consuetudinis” (In De sensu, t. II, lect. 6). 123 “Ea quae sunt consueta, sunt delectabilia ad operandum” (S. Th., I II, q. 32, a. 8, ad 3).

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preserve custom and avoid its dissolution, derives from that125. That character of pleasure126 (and the inclination which flows from it) derives, substantially, from the acquired connaturality, in other words from the sense of consent – which, coming from the act, is rooted in being – between the subject and the content of a determined custom127. Custom brings a benefit also to the functions typical of sensitive knowledge (like memory, imagination and the cogitativa). Thomas, adhering to an Aristotelian thesis, underlines that these faculties receive from a right custom a permanent improvement to acts typical of them, because sensual cognition is moved to operate under the guidance of reason too128. So frequent meditation strengthens memory; and what is learnt many times is promptly remembered. Whence the natural aptitude with which one gets used to its intrinsic order129. As far as the will is concerned, it is possible to observe that its tendency toward an act is made smoother130 by custom. This enhances the will in its exercise and confers on it a determined inclination. It gives rise to a determined kind of act131 conformed to the subject (or the community), tracing down to a sort of place where the flow of action finds the most appropriate condition to take place quickly and efficiently. The natural aptitude to the good is actualized in the existential field and improved in the ethical order of custom132. By such means, it acquires 124

Cf. In Ethic., l.VII, lect. 5; ivi, l. VIII, lect. 4; ivi, l. X, lect. 14. “Id quod est consuetum, efficitur delectabile, inquantum efficitur naturale, nam consuetudo est quasi altera natura. Motus autem est delectabilis, non quidem quo receditur a consuetudine, sed magis secundum quod per ipsum impeditur corruptio naturalis habitudinis, quae posset provenire ex assiduitate alicuius operationis” (S. Th., I II, q. 32, a. 2, ad 3). 126 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 138, a. 1, ad 1. 127 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 32, a. 2, ad 3. This allows a person to overcome any difficulties (cf. Catena in Io., c. IV, lect. 10) 128 “Consuetudo multum operatur ad bene memorandum, quia etiam istae vires [sensitivae apprehensivae] movetur ad operandum ex imperio rationis” (S. Th., I II, q. 50, a. 3, ad 3). 129 “Oportet quod ea frequenter meditemur quae volumus memorari. Unde Philosophus dicit, in libro de Memoria quod meditationes memoriam salvant, quia ut in eodem libro dicitur, consuetudo est quasi natura; unde quae multoties intelligimus cito reminiscimur, quasi naturali quodam ordine ab uno ad aliud procedentes” (S. Th., II II, q. 49, a. 1, ad 2). 130 Cf. De malo, q. 3, a. 12. 131 “Ad consueta facilius movemur” (S. c. G., l. III, c. 120; cf. In Met., l. II, lect. 5) 132 “Consuetudo vertitur in naturam; unde et habitus ex consuetudine generatur, qui inclinat per modum naturae. Ex hoc autem quod aliquis habet talem naturam vel 125

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a permanence which goes beyond the same reiteration of actions and a power which ensures its continuity (at least inchoative) in a way which impresses a precise orientation to individual and social action. In sum, in order for one to become good and to do the good, neither education nor knowledge are sufficient (which goes against the ethical stand-point of the intellectualist and rationalist), but the rectitude of the appetite (which has to be directed to the good) is also necessary. This is the result of a virtuous custom133. It is clear that custom presupposes nature, both of the subject and the object134. It does not do without it, neither on the ontological, nor on the deontological order. Nature – as principle and purpose of custom – constitutes its basis and its fulcrum. Custom should be intrinsically ordered to it: to its essential finalism and its perfective fulfillment. The very inclination to the good flows – in a different manner – from nature: from custom, or from grace135. Taken in itself, the value of the custom originates from its relationship with nature: of the subject and the object (of the first in relation to the second), and also of the purpose and the duty. Custom has its influence on acting, as it makes a determined act or behavior easy and quick. Namely, it renders it almost natural. In this sense custom is ordered to nature, namely to perfective development, and cooperates with the vigor of the inclination itself. The incidence of custom goes well beyond its empirical status, consisting of the effectiveness of the reiteration of determined acts. Nor does it remain circumscribed to the psychological impact, consisting of mere addiction. On the other hand, custom reveals its typical efficiency. It expresses a capacity to attract and persuade, which depends on its character: on its capacity to ensure a certain transient permanence, on its suitability to subtract the determinateness of the acts136 (always particular to itself) from the voracity of time. Its natural coincidence is rooted in its very nature: in talem habitum, habet proportionem determinatam ad hoc vel illud” (In Met., l. II, lect. 5; cf. In Sent., l. II, d. 39, q. 2, a. 1, ad 2; ivi, l. III, d. 33, q. 3, a. 1, qc. 2, ad 2). “Habemus aptitudinem ad virtutes morales ex natura; sed perficiuntur in nobis per consuetudinem” (De malo, q. 5, a. 5). 133 Thomas's emphasis follows Aristotle. Cf. In Ethic., l. X, lect. 14. 134 Cf. In Sent., l. III, d. 1, a. 4, qc. 2. 135 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 101, a. 3. 136 “Cum multoties inclinantur, determinatur ad idem a proprio movente, et firmatur in eis inclinatio determinata in illud, ita quod dista dispositio superinducta, est quasi quaedam forma per modum naturae tendens in unum. Et propter hoc dicitur, quod consuetudo est altera natura” (De virt., q. 1, a. 9).

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its persistence, keeping being from becoming, beyond becoming. In that coincidence custom expresses a certain transcendence with relation to acts: the transcendence of the principle which informs it and of the content which connotes the inclination. The profound humanity of customs comes to the fore. Custom is made possible thanks to the natural rationality and freedom of the human subject, which, as such, recognize it and adhere to it. They give rise to it, transmit it and modify it. Its knowledge expresses a dynamism, which is typical of human knowledge and which starts from sensation. Custom, in fact, makes itself present by a certain experience of itself: it is made of a certain expression, which is perceptible through the senses. First of all, it is appears to the senses, it catches their attention and it shows itself to them right through the particularity which characterizes its continuity. In the same way, action itself is required to adhere to custom rationally and freely. It is not necessitated, though. It stands freely in front of custom, and is still inclined to it. In relation to it, judgment and discernment cannot be overlooked. Their relationship with custom (whatever the specifics) means that human freedom does not take place in the absence of premises and relationships. It is always relative to an object to be reached or to a purpose to be fulfilled. The human subject has freedom, it is not freedom. In front of freedom, custom is not, as such, an obstacle, but a condition: it may be favorable or not favorable to the fulfillment of the good. Not only is the uprising of custom possible precisely because the human subject is as it is, namely rational and free, but it is also true that the relationship of man (in his or her natural rationality, morality, or political tendency) with custom remains undoubtedly human and able to reveal human nature. An example may be the case of a custom which originates from friendship, and through which friendship feeds itself137. Custom turns out to be particularly able to reveal the natural sociality of people. This is evident in the life of a community and in relation to social bonds, in reference to the persistence of a community through time, beyond the existence of its particular individuals. In a certain sense, through custom, an occasional feature is turned into a tradition. This is accomplished, in a certain manner, by consolidating the occasional feature and subtracting it from its provisional nature. So, thanks to custom, time manifests itself as duration, where the past and the future meet each other in the present. And the present encloses past and future (in the way that is appropriate to each of them) remaining to itself present. The natural inclination to the formation of custom tends naturally (or 137

Cf. In Psal., 26.

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better, as such) to convert itself into a connaturality. It actuates itself in knowledge and in action, in the search for truth and the good, to which a determined object becomes connatural. In that sense, a consuetudo ad verum et ad bonum testifies and expresses the connaturality to truth and to the good through custom. Ordinarily, custom reveals its intrinsic rationality138, which informs its convenience and its opportunity (of a determined content with reference to a certain subject, individual or communitarian)139. According to the natural actuation of the faculty, in consolidating the continuity of the act, custom expresses an intrinsic reason of being, and, thus, of its almost apparent and inchoative legitimacy. Custom, in fact, is indicative of a certain evaluation140, for which a particular activity is distanced from others as a manifestation of a value (real or apparent) which is placed on the purpose141. This is particularly evident in the sensible and artistic expressions of custom itself. The very act of the virtue of the cogitativa requires a certain custom142. Here, the reference is neither to practical rationality, nor to empirical rationality, which coincides with whatever is doing something or manifesting itself, but rather to theoretical rationality. In other words, the 138 So much that it is recognized in continuity “humana ratio et consuetudo” (In Gal., c. III, lect. 6). Elsewhere it is shown that custom is ordered “salubriter et necessario” (In Sent., l. IV, d. 15, q. 3, a. 3, qc. 1, ad 5). Cf. In Sent., l. IV, d. 19, q. 1, a. 3, qc. 2. 139 Thomas points out the importance of custom in the case of external expressions of political authority and public worship. This demonstrates the rational finality (essential) for which “reges et principes […] oportet in reverentia haberi a subditis” (S. Th., I II, q. 102, a. 4) and, on the other hand, similarly, “animi hominum ad maiorem Dei reverentiam adducerentur” (ibidem). 140 Even in the case in which the pursued good has only the character of utility (cf. In Iob, c. 15, In Psal., 37), of semantics (cf. In Psal., 5; ivi, 41; ; In Matt., c. V, lect. 1; In I Cor., c. XI, lect. 2; In Heb., c. VI, lect. 4; Catena in Matt., c. I, lect. 13; ivi, c. III, lect. 4; Catena in Ioann., c. XIX, lect. 11), of exhortation (cf. In Psal., 31), of remuneration (cf. ivi, 38), of preparation (cf. Catena in Matt., c. III, lect. 4; In Matt., c. IV, lect. 3), of invocation (cf. Catena in Matt., c. IX, lect. 4; In Matt., c. IX, lect. 4), of manifestation (cf. In Matt., c. XXVII, lect. 1; In Io., c. VI, lect. 2; In II Cor., c. XIII, lect. 3; Catena in Matt., c. X, lect. 2; Catena in Mar., c. X, lect. 8), of stuffiness (cf. Catena in Matt., c. XIV, lect. 2), of promise (cf. ivi, c. XV, lect. 5), of instruction (cf. In Matt., c. c. XXVII, lect. 2; Catena in Matt., c. XXVI, lect. 19; Catena in Mar., c. XIV, lect. 8;), or of memory (cf. ivi, c. XXV, lect. 1). 141 As in the case of the duty to bear witness of the truth (cf. Catena in Ioann., c. XXI, lect. 6) or of the need to wear clothes affordable to one’s condition (In Matt., c. XI, lect. 1). 142 Cf. S. c. G., l. II, c. 76.

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rationality testified to and actuated by a right custom is the essential and finalised consideration of the nature of things and of the very nature of custom. It expresses itself in custom as prudential rationality, which (for itself) is an ordering of the means in relation to an end. It presents principles through facts, it expresses the absolute through the contingent, it permeates the possibility of the particular with the necessity of the universal (without confusing these two relevant terms). Custom reveals also an unmistakable treatment of sociality. This expresses itself through particular marks143, in the first place through the semantics of the acts typical of custom itself. A telling example can be the custom of making efforts towards others with a promise reinforced by appropriate guarantees144. In fact, custom presents itself ordinarily like a quoad nos – closer and clearer – way in which we have to be, in a determined field of human relations. The sociality of custom is such that it indicates a via consuetudinis toward the common good (and so to the fulfilment of the order of justice). More precisely, as custom always brings with it a particular content, its value – namely its criterion of legitimacy – consists in being the actuation and the judgment of the right in a concrete case (in the concreteness of a determined field of relations). Of course the normativity of custom is shared. The normativity does not identify fact and value, but takes the former as the condition of the latter. It is shared both in the order of exercise and in the order of specification. The normativity of custom derives primarily from the natural human inclination to act ad bonum and, in its consolidating process, from the reiteration in bono145. Its exercise transforms the natural inclination into the continuity of an act, into a natural transition from acts into habits, from action to custom. This natural inclination, as far as the human subject is concerned, is a rational, voluntary, conscious and free inclination. Moreover, the inclination is rooted in the ontology of the subject, in its knowledge and in its act (as such). On the other hand, participation in normativity in the order of specification is acquired by custom with relation to its content, namely its objective purpose (to the finis operis) which substantiates it. This finality is constitutive of the axiological validity (moral, juridical, political) of whatever custom is under consideration. Rather, it should be recognized that the exercise of making norms from a specification is the foundation of a custom. The content which specifies the custom constitutes the objective 143

Cf. In Matt., c. III, lect. 1. Cf. Contra retr., c. 6. 145 “Bonum est, quod homo a consuetudine subdat se bono operi” (In Matt., c. XII, lect. 2). 144

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measure and the intrinsic criterion of the evaluation. This is because the act is founded in the content and not vice versa; and because the means (and the modality) are founded in the purpose, and not vice versa. It is possible to understand that custom can constitute an argument only if it is able to reveal a judgment which is alethically consistent, namely true for itself. An example is the case of consuetudo Ecclesiae146, which has authority in itself, in the field of faith and morals, because it directs to the Good as its foundation and guarantee. It is through such custom that the doctrinal authority of whichever author (among the Fathers and the Doctors), whose authority comes from it, becomes supreme147. The custom of the Church has, for itself, the highest weight as an argument of authority148. In it, authority is able to reveal truth. Conclusively, the argument ex consuetudine is an argument ex auctoritate, which – as Saint Thomas points out – is the weakest in philosophy and the strongest in theology. In the first case, we deal with a human authority; in the second case, with a divine one. Nonetheless, it can be said that the argument which takes its force from custom reveals its ability to persuade quoad nos, nearer to the subject than to the object. Particularly, the consuetudo Ecclesiae is indicative of the faith of the Church, as for its content (which consists of the fides quae creditur), and, thus, of the apostolic teaching. In that sense, the consuetudo Ecclesiae testifies to Tradition as a source of the Revelation. It ought to be observed that the efficacy of custom manifests itself particularly in quick decisions. In these cases, it makes up for the lack of the possibility of deploying reflection on the motives of deliberation. Efficacy acquires a positive character from the axiological substance which informs custom, while it acquires a negative character when it depends on a (noetic and ethical) lack of value. It is clear that custom inclines without necessitating, even if its being rooted (devoid of opposition) determines that there is a vigor in inclination 146

“Maximam auctoritatem habet Ecclesiae consuetudo, quae semper est in omnibus aemulanda: quia et ipsa doctrina Catholicorum doctorum ab Ecclesia auctoritatem habet; unde magis est standum consuetudini Ecclesiae quam auctoritati Augustini vel Hieronymi, vel cuiuscumque doctoris” (Quodlib., II, q. 4, a. 2) 147 “Maximam habet auctoritatem ecclesiae consuetudo, quae semper est in omnibus aemulanda. Quia et ipsa doctrina Catholicorum doctorum ab Ecclesia auctoritatem habet, unde magis standum est auctoritati Ecclesiae quam auctoritati vel Augustini vel Hieronymi vel cuiuscumque doctoris” (S. Th., II II, q. 10, a. 12). 148 “Ecclesiae consuetudo […] maximum obtinet auctoritatis pondus” (Contra retr., . 3).

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which is comparable to necessity149. It disposes, by making an act easier, without imposing any determinism150. It does not exclude the freedom of the subject (and not even of the subjects which compose a particular community). Rather, custom can strengthen the will in relation to a particular good, thereby supporting freedom. Basically, right custom constitutes, precisely as such, a factor of stability and of improvement in the exercise of the rational faculties and in the disposition of those faculties which are of the senses. For that reason, custom – when it is axiologically qualified – constitutes an element of progress in the field of knowledge and action, both from an individual and a social (political) point of view. The importance of custom is to be stressed in cases where it constitutes a reason to (even partially) depart from a law or a disciplinary rule151. This can be explained through the very reasons which custom carries in itself, through the good social life represented by a right custom, and through the need to avoid the scandals which could emerge from violation of a custom.

IV. Custom, law, politics From the ontological point of view, custom stands between nature and grace (and all supernatural gifts). In a similar way, from the juridical and political point of view, custom precedes laws and precepts. In fact, custom has its foundation and measure in nature (intended properly as essence and principle of activity). Ordinarily, custom is established in the order of usual actions (common to individuals and communities) which are typical of a given nature (in its generic and specific tendencies, both of individuals and communities), up to the acquisition of a sort of individual nature. In this way, a universal of nature is actualized in a particular nature. The particular which results expresses (in its proper consistency) the universal, which substantiates its essence. In fact, custom is hard to change precisely because it is similar to nature152. And nature itself is 149 Thomas writes that “dum consuetudini non resistitur, facta est necessitas” (S. Th., II II, q. 142, a. 2). Obviously it will not be physical necessity (or metaphysical), but an inclination, which for its force is comparable to necessity. In fact, Aquinas states that “consuetudo facit necessitatem non simpliciter, sed in repentinis praecipue; nam ex deliberazione quantumcumque consuetus potest contra consuetudinem agere” (De malo, q. 6, a. un., ad 24). 150 Cf. In Ethic., l. II, lect. 1. 151 Cf. In Sent., l. IV, d. 14, q. 1, a. 5, qc. 1, ad 3; ivi, l. IV, d. 25, q. 3, a. 2, qc. 3, ad 2. 152 Cf. In Ethic., l. VII, lect. 10.

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inclined to assume certain customs which conform to it153. Analogously, custom displays an intrinsic analogy to the law154 and its precepts, because the normativity of the common good, showed by the rationality of the law155, characterizes the raison d'etre of custom, based on justice. This happens in such a way that custom itself can generate a duty156, just as it can (normatively) approve157 or disapprove certain behaviors or acts. On the other hand, custom itself can be tolerated (and served)158, also in case it does not pose obligations erga omnes; or custom can prohibit what is not prohibited by a law159. A law can eventually abrogate a precedent custom160; or a custom can revoke particular rights which preexisted161. To that extent precepts can be intended to have a wider meaning or a stricter meaning: it may mean both what is ordered by the law162 and a particular order typical of legitimate authority163 (directed to a determined individual or group). The Thomistic analogy between custom, law and precept testifies to the intrinsic similarity of these concepts164. This takes its analogical ratio from the ipsa res iusta, namely it finds its foundation in justice165, (which requires the necessary articulation of the elements through which it can be realized). In itself, thus, custom opposes neither the law, nor the statutes and practices of virtue166. Rather it specifies the request for equity, in its peculiar expressions167. At the same time, it can be observed that from custom to law up to 153

Cf. In I Cor., c. XI. Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 154, a. 9, ad 3. 155 It is to be remembered that law – according to the definition of Thomas Aquinas – is “dictamen rationis, quo diriguntur humani actus” (S. Th., I II, q. 97, a. 1). It is therefore not a mere act of will of the legislator. 156 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 86, a. 1. 157 Cf. Contra retr., c. 4. 158 Cf. S. Th., III, q. 27, a. 2, ad 3. 159 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 103, a. 1, ad 4. 160 Cf. Quodlib., IX, q. 7, a. 2. 161 Cf. Quodlib., IX, q. 7, a. 2. 162 It is a “legis praeceptum” (Catena in Io., c. 18, lect. 11), that (just as such) is different from consuetudo. 163 Cf. In I Cor., c. XI. 164 Cf. In Sent., l. IV, d. 33, q. 1, a. 1, ad 2. 165 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 9, ad 1. 166 Cf. Contra retr., c. 3. 167 As with the custom of the Romans not to condemn someone, unless, in the presence of his accusers, the accused has the opportunity to defend himself (cf. In Ioann., c. VII, lect. 5; ivi, c. XVIII, lect. 5; In I Cor., c. V, lect. 1). 154

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precepts, essential normativity specifies itself up to the point of individualizing itself168. In that sense, the diversity of legitimate customs, far from presenting itself as a contradiction to the homogeneity of justice, reveals its universality in particularity. This diversity means that, on the basis of the same criterion of equity, different situations call for different indications, and similar situations for similar indications. Right custom has a legal and mandatory character, namely it is like an unwritten law and like a juridical obligation, which leads to the one on the whom the moral duty is imposed. Custom, far from challenging the law, is apt to reinforce it and to enforce its fulfilment169, mostly in virtue of a custom to respect the law and its customary implications170. Hence, custom is a safeguard for the obedience of the law. Law itself, on the other hand, implements or consents to one or more customs171 (and this does not constitute a detriment). Rather, the law takes advantage of custom, in order to persuade subjects of its own goodness. The very intention of the legislator finds – first of all – its intrinsic purpose (beyond that in a particular determination of justice which constitutes the object of the authentic law) in the aim of favoring the acquisition of the virtues172. This is particularly true of the social virtues (namely those which govern relations with others), which

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In fact, it conforms to justice to treat unevenly positions (of the community as individuals) in unequal ways, having obviously taken care to recognize and give each his due. Thomas points out that “non est acceptio personarum si non serventur aequalia in personis inaequalibus. Unde quando conditio alicuius personae requirit ut rationabiliter in ea aliquid specialiter observetur, non est personarum acceptio si sibi aliqua specialis gratia fiat” (S. Th., I II, q. 97, a. 4, ad 2). 169 Cf. In Pol., l. II, lect. 13. 170 “Leges ab hominibus positae ostendunt per experientiam, quantam vim habeat consuetudo: in quibus quidem legibus propter consuetudinem magis valent fabulariter et pueriliter dicta, ad hoc quod eis assentiatur, quam cognitio veritatis. Loquitur autem hic philosophus de legibus ab hominibus adinventis, quae ad conservationem civilem sicut ad ultimum finem ordinantur; et ideo quicumque invenerunt eas, aliqua quibus hominum animi retraherentur a malis et provocarentur ad bona secundum diversitatem gentium et nationum in suis legibus tradiderunt, quamvis multa eorum essent vans et frivola, quae homines a pueritia audientes magis approbabant quam veritatis cognitionem” (In Met., l. II, lect. 5). 171 As, similarly, can be observed for each “consuetudo veteris legis” (In II Cor., c. V, lect. 5). Cf. In Heb., c. II, lect. 3. 172 “Intentio legislatoris est de duobus. De uno quidem, ad quod intendit per praecepta legis inducere: et hoc est virtus. Aliud autem est de quo intendit praeceptum ferre” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 9, ad 2)

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refer to the common good173. Hence, this intention is right if it has the goal of soliciting a custom geared to favoring the acquisition of morally good habits. Since custom consolidates itself over a long period of time, anyone who changes the law frequently hastily weakens, in so doing, the strength of the law itself174. In fact, custom, precisely as such, strengthens the efficacy of the law, since acting against custom is harder than complying with it. The change of a law weakens its capacity to bind175, exactly because it is deprived of the sustenance which comes from custom. To avoid that harm to the common good, it is rationally advisable to change laws only if the gain in terms of common good is at least equal to the loss caused by abandoning the old law; the gain should offer a proportional compensation for the change. For example, the new law should bring about an absolutely clear advantage, or show that compliance with the previous law resulted in unfairness or harm which it is necessary to avoid176. Moreover, custom itself can constitute a criterion to expose or change the law. In fact, the law can be modified or extended, both through words (as it expresses certain concepts) and through acts (which express a value intentioned by reason). With an analogy to the law, which derives immediately from reason and the will of the legislator, so also is custom – which derives from the reiteration of homologous acts – an expression of reason and will too. The reason is precisely that external acts, which give rise to custom, show the intention of the will guided by the concepts of reason. Custom, hence, not only can constitute a criterion to extend and modify the law, but it can also give rise to a rule which may have the value of law. That is the reason why custom can have the strength of law; it can abolish and construe the law177. 173 “Virtutes ordinantes ad alium directe pertinent ad bonum commune” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 11, ad 3). 174 “Lex nullum habet robur ad hoc quod persuadeatur subditis, quia sit bona, nisi consuetudinem” (In Pol., l. II, lect. 12). 175 “Qui facile mutat legem, quantum est de se, debilitat legis virtutem” (In Pol., l. II, lect. 12). 176 “Habet autem ipsa legis mutatio, quantum in se est, detrimentum quoddam communis salutis. Quia ad observantiam legum plurimum valet consuetudo: intantum quo ea quae contra communem consuetudinem fiunt, etiam si sint leviora de se, graviora videantur. Unde quando mutatur lex, diminuitur vis constrictiva legis, inquantum tollitur consuetudo. Et ideo numquam debet mutari lex humana, nisi ex aliqua parte, tantum recompensetur communi saluti, quantum ex ista parte derogatur” (S. Th., I II, q. 97, a. 2). 177 “Etiam et per actus, maxime multiplicatos, qui consuetudinem efficiunt, mutari

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When human law is not appropriate (or rather when it is deficient because of its content and/or its end), a custom which goes against the law legitimately prevails over it, showing that that law is not useful (and so is dysfunctional with regard to the common good). In fact it is licit (as Thomas observes) to act against the law, if the law itself is inadequate. If, by contrast, the law serves its purposes, custom shall not prevail over the law (but the other way round can happen), unless the uselessness of the law can be deducted by its contrast with the legitimate customs of the political community178. Custom prevails over the authority of the prince himself, when it stems legitimately from a community apt to give laws to itself and so, also, to generate customs179. Analogously, custom acquires the vigor of law (also in respect to political authority), if it has been tolerated by those who are entitled to legislate. This tolerance is equal to an approval of the introduction of that custom itself180. In both cases, as it is clear, the criterion for the prevailing of custom (or, alternatively, of the law) is objective, by reference to its content, and prudential. The criterion is set against all forms of subjectivism (voluntaristic, statist, historicist or sociological), and formalism (rationalistic, normativist, proceduralist). It is based on rationality, legality and on agathology. Like custom, law is intrinsically valued by the rationality which informs it, by the justice in which we take part, by the tendency to the common good which finalizes it. The very order of justice presupposes the common good, and, therefore, the order of good. The intention of an authentic legislator must have as primary and principal end the common good and, from this, the order of justice, in which and through which the common good shall be served and potest lex, et exponi, et etiam aliquid causari quod legis virtutem obtineat: inquantum scilicet per exteriores actus multiplicatos interior voluntatis motus, et rationis conceptus, efficacissime declaratur; cum enim aliquid multoties fit, videtur ex deliberato rationis iudicio provenire. Et secundum hoc, consuetudo et habet vim legis, et legem abolet, et est legum interpretatrix” (S. Th., I II, q. 97, a. 3). 178 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 97, a. 3, ad 2. 179 “Si enim sit libera multitudo, quae possit sibi legem facere, plus est consensus totius multitudinis ad aliquid observandum quem consuetudo manifestat, quam auctoritas principis, qui non habet potestatem condendi legem, nisi inquantum gerit personam multitudinis. Unde licet singulae personae non possint condere legem, tamen totus populus legem condere potest” (S. Th., I II, q. 97, a. 3, ad 3). 180 “Si vero multitudo non habeat liberam potestatem condendi sibi legem, vel legem a superiori potestate positam removendi; tamen ipsa consuetudo in tali multitudine praevalens obtinet vim legis, in quantum per eos toleratur ad quos pertinet multitudini legem imponere: ex hoc enim ipso videntur approbare quod consuetudo induxit” (S. Th., q. 97, a. 3, ad 3).

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pursued181. Thomas (while commenting on an Aristotelian text) points out that the custom of the good life (consuetudo vitae bonae) is required in order to be good, so this custom is propitiated by the positive just law (legis positio)182. The rectitude of a law, like that of custom, is measured with respect to the common good183 (and common utility)184. In the same way, good laws solicit a custom of the good185. A custom which opposes a just law is for that reason reproachable186; a just and valid custom can benefit from a waiver with regard to compliance with the law187. Among the diverse forms of custom we should register the custom of the homeland (consuetudo patriae)188, and also civil custom (consuetudo civitatis seu civilitatis)189, through which the custom of political life (consuetudo politicae vitae)190 also takes place. Custom has a character and a content that are juridical and political. Building on the foundation of the common good, custom specifies social bounds and enforces forms of relationship derived and consolidated by experience. On the basis of the natural legality and political character of the human subject and of the nature of the political community itself, custom binds together and orders; it is the start of the weaving of (specific and concrete) social bounds. In that sense, there is an essential analogy between family and civil (or political) custom. In both cases custom is required by conjugal and social life, and at the same time it is characterized in its definiteness. At the same time, family and civil customs are related to what is directed to communication; in particular, to a specific form of conversatio191. 181

“Intentio autem legislatoris cuiuslibet ordinatur primo quidem et principaliter ad bonum commune; secundo autem ad ordinem iustitiae et virtutis, secundum quem bonum commune conservatur, et ad ipsum pervenitur” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 8). 182 Cf. In Ethic., l. X, lect. 14. 183 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 90, a. 2. 184 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 97, a. 1, ad 3. 185 Cf. In Ethic., l. X, lect. 4. 186 “Consuescere autem ad dissolvendum leges est valde pravum” (In Pol., l. II, lect. 12). 187 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 147, a. 4. 188 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 54, a. 4; ivi, II II, q. 71, a. 4; ivi, II II, q. 86, a. 4; In Isaiam, c. III, lect. 3; In I Tim., c. II, lect. 2. 189 Cf. In Ethic., l. III, lect. 9; In Pol., l. II, lect. 2; ivi, l. III, lect. 1. 190 Cf. In Ethic., l. X, lect. 16. 191 “Sicut vita civilis non importat actum singularem hujus vel illius, sed ea quae ad communicationem civilem pertinent; ita vita conjugalis nihil est aliud quam conversatio ad communicationem talem pertinens; et ideo quantum ad hanc vitam semper consuetudo est individua, quamvis sit diversa quantum ad actus singulares

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Custom is valid on the basis of the good and the right, not the other way around. Custom, in the same manner as the law, is good if it is authentically rational (as a doctrine is true on the basis of right reason)192. This is so where the good is intended as moral good (bonum honestum, measure of the bonum utile) and the right is intended as the determination of justice. A right custom takes part in the good and the right. It does not create it. It testifies to it, it indicates it, it concretizes it, in particular determinations which actualize its essence193. The good and justice intrinsically legitimate custom. This happens beyond any extrinsic effectuality of power. Without this legitimation, or if it is missing, the binding force of custom is radically jeopardized and it could even be necessary to eliminate it194. In sum, custom presupposes the natural law and it can never prevail over it195. The law as such ensures the rights of custom. Custom neither creates nor extinguishes for itself the law196. This is true from both the ontological and the deontological points of view. In fact, a legitimate custom translates and gives efficacy to a specific duty (and, so, a specific right) the substance of which stems from the obligation to comply with justice, which is required by natural law. On the other hand, the obligation to comply with the demands of an ethic indicated by custom finds its foundation directly in the natural law, which by itself calls for obedience and for the recognition of the link between the debitum and the suum. Whence it is the natural law which is the foundation for the legitimacy of custom and for its being in force. Customs, on the other hand, signal certain realizations of justice197, and utriusque” (In Sent., l. IV, d. 27, q. 1, a. 1, qc. 3, ad 3). 192 “Sicut enim doctrina ostenditur esse vera ex hoc quod consonat rationi rectae, ita etiam lex aliqua ostenditur esse bona ex eo quod consonat rationi” (S. Th., I II, q. 98, a. 1). Similarly “illi mores dicuntur boni qui rationi congruunt, mali autem qui a ratione discordant” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 1). 193 “Iura determinant quod in hoc servetur consuetudo diu obtenta” (S. Th., II II, q. 87, a. 3, ad 2). In order to avoid a scandal, a custom can not be relied on (with the rights that ensue) in front of those who would not be able to understand its merits (cf. Contra imp., p. II, c. 6, ad 12). 194 “Homines autem in legibus ponendis non debent quaerere, quid fuerint a patribus abservatum, sed quid sit bonum observandum; et ita conveniens est antiquas leges mutare, si occorrant meliores” (In Pol., l. II, lect. 2). 195 “Ius naturale abrogari non possit per contrariam consuetudinem, utpote irrationalem” (Quodlib., IX, q. 7, a. 2). 196 “Consuetudo non praeiudicat iuri” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 2). 197 Justice indeed “est proprie directiva communitatis humanae” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 2).

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they make it possible to recognize the universality in the particular of what legitimate customs envisage. Thanks to knowledge of customs it is possible to judge what is more convenient as far as political systems are concerned198. Natural law itself appears, in some way, to be alive and in force because of the right custom. Custom, far from being a kind of formalism, makes manifest the objectively realistic and content-shaped character of natural law. A fair custom has the function of ordering social life. No man, indeed, though individually considered, can live in a society without absorbing (in some way) its customs199 (clearly enough, under the condition that they are objectively valid). Human law itself – which, in order to be that, ought to be honest and just – has to be modulated according to the capacities of those to whom it is directed and to the customs of the community. Therefore it follows that human law is concretely possible, to the extent that it is adjusted to its addressees200. In that way custom specifies the political community201. It constitutes the existential humus and the active ferment of its particular duration. The permanence which comes from the ontology and from the theology of the community gains, thanks to right customs, a certain ontic consistency and ethical perfection. It follows that custom reveals an intrinsic juridical and political normativity. Through custom (in a way more or less complete) the two orders of fundamental duties are indicated, necessary in order for everybody to have a right conduct (bene se habeat) towards the community in which one takes part: namely, one must be respectful of the duties202 both towards authority and towards others with whom one is associated203. Because of custom, particular obligations can take place204 which the riotous are also bound to205. Far from being an obstacle to the life of the community, a custom encompasses and consolidates the vitality of a certain community, while remaining by itself susceptible to modification, integration and abrogation. Indeed, custom can develop or 198

Cf. In Ethic., l. X, lect. 16. “Non enim potest homo solus in societate vivere, aliis morem non gerens” (S. Th., I II, q. 95, a. 3). 200 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 95, a. 3. 201 There are, in fact, different ways of looking (and implementing) (the same) justice (cf. S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 8, ad 1; ivi, I II, q. 100, a. 8, ad 3). 202 “Praeceptum autem habet rationem debiti” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 5, ad 1). Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 7, ad 1. 203 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 5. 204 Cf. S. Th., II II, q. 86, a. 1. 205 Cf. S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 3. 199

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vanish, in relation to the very foundation of the common good (hence, of the fairness), in a determined field of relations206. A right custom (consuetudo honesta) ensures the improvement of the political community, in a way coherent with human nature and with the nature of the community itself, in conformity with the natural ends which stem from community. Moreover, it can be recognized that a right custom constitutes an improvement and leads to an improvement of the community. A right custom actuates the end characteristic of the community and finds its reason for being in the actuation of the end typical of the community, of each of its parts and of every one of its components, in the primacy of the common good. Indeed, the perfective development of the political community is homologous to that of a single person. The end of the community is the same as the end of everybody. For both, fulfilment is in the order of good and the foundation is in the absolute Good, namely in God (from Whom happiness derives and on Whom happiness depends)207. Indeed, the common good is, ultimately, God itself, from Whom each order directed to the common good comes208. Customs (if right), laws and (philosophical) knowledge contribute to it209. Custom ordered to the common good has to be considered as law, because of the normativity of the order of the good. Both the law and custom have the common good as their end. For that reason it is necessary that what is disposed by the law differs on the basis of the different concrete connotations of each community210. The common good is custom's reason for being; custom, that is, considered as participation in the common good with reference to a determined community (i.e. one which is in some way regulated)211. For that reason any violation can be committed either against the natural inclination or against the right custom212. For that reason, a custom can abrogate particular prerogatives 206

Cf., for example, Contra imp., p. IV, c. 1, ad 3. “Finis autem humanae vitae et societatis est Deus” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 6). 208 “Ipsum ordinem ad bonum commune et finale […] Deus est” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 8). 209 Chiefly, it is possible rectificare civitatem “per bonas consuetudines et leges, et per philosophiam, id est sapientiam” (In Pol., l. II, lect. 5). Indeed, “sapientis autem est omnia debito modo et ordine disponere” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 7). 210 “Cum praecepta legis ordinentur ad bonum commune […] necesse est quod praecepta legis diversificentur secundum diversos modos communitatum” (S. Th., I II, q. 100, a. 2). 211 Symbolically, in relation to a particular custom, Thomas writes: “supposito quod illa consuetudo […] sit ad commune bonum mercatorum” (De empt., c. 1). 212 “Inclinatio naturae pertinet ad praecepta legis naturalis. Consuetudo etiam honesta habet vim praecepti, quia ut Augustinus dicit, in epistola de ieiunio sabbati 207

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which are contrary to it. The law itself can be abrogated because of the fading of custom. On the other hand, custom may envisage waivers with regard to the law213. A remarkable case, as far as the moral and juridical relevance of custom is concerned, is represented by the obligation of paying the tithe (by the faithful to the Church). Thomas here underlines that, even if paying the tithe is mandatory214, whoever does not pay them because there is no such custom does not commit a sin215. From this example, it can be inferred that the presence of a custom can induce a positive obligation, while its absence can (subjectively) exempt a person from an obligation. In this vein, even if Paul was entitled to ask for a compensation for his ministry (as was usual among the Hebrews), he did not require it when he was among the Christian communities of converted pagans, because there they had no custom of that kind (and even the mere request could have caused a scandal). Even in order for exhortations aiming at correcting injustices to be effective, it is necessary that a custom of virtuous acting preexists, and an inclination to love the good and to hate evil216. Good customs, indeed, dispose men to enjoy the good and to dislike evil217. In that way, by contrast, a custom (generally) represents an objective presumption218. Custom in the exercise of prudence is typical of political authority. For this reason, prudence, in the correction of citizens, is able to avoid exaggerations which would be irrational219. From the legal point of view, and on a political grounds, custom is profoundly associated with authority. Custom, indeed, has its own authority, coming from its content, its end and mos populi Dei pro lege habendus est. Et ideo tam peccatum quam transgressio potest esse contra consuetudinem honestam et contra inclinationem naturalem” (S. Th., II II, q. 79, a. 2, ad 2). 213 “Quia ius civile non obligat omnes, sed eos solos qui sunt his legibus subiecti; et iterum per dissuetudinem abrogari potest, ideo apud illos qui sunt huiusmodi legibus obstricti, tenentur universaliter ad restitutionem qui lucrantur; nisi forte contraria consuetudo prevaleat” (S. Th., II II, q. 32, a. 7, ad 2). 214 “Semper tenentur homines reddere decimas, si ecclesia exigat, etiam contraria consuetudine non obstante” (Quodlib., II, q. 4, a. 3). 215 “Non peccant illi qui non solvunt decimas in terris illis in quibus non est consuetum” (Quodlib., VI, q. 5, a. 4, ad 2). 216 “Ad hoc, quod sermo monentis in aliquo efficaciam habeat, oportet praeexistere consuetudinem, per quam homo acquirat morem proprium virtutis, ut scilicet diligat bonum honestum, et abominetur turpe” (In Pol., l. X, lect. 14). 217 Cf. In Pol., l. X, lect. 14. 218 Cf. De forma absolutionis, c. 1. 219 Cf. In Gal., c. IV, lect. 5.

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its cause. Substantially, the authority of custom rests on its objective advantageousness. On the other hand, political authority has the facility to solicit custom, because of its legitimacy of order and exercise, hence because of the substantial legitimacy of custom itself220. In that sense, authority can neither be confused with power, nor reduced to any praxis whatsoever. The very authority of the ancients, which comes down221 to right custom, goes beyond the diachronic profile, and attains transcendent validity, beyond any mere chronological datum. It is precisely this transcendence which gives custom (which complies with the order of the good) the possibility of going beyond the past. To that extent, value and not time is decisive. Custom is not equivalent to the past. What makes its endurance possible is not the fact that it has lasted, but the value which it conveys. Only under this condition can it escape vanishing into what merely happened, or reducing itself to a restless flow. It is not time, and it cannot be the judge of time. By lasting, the past meets the future in the present, because the value which informs custom (somehow) gives it the right to be subtracted from oblivion and justifies a duty to acquire it. It is clear that an axiologically grounded custom cannot be confused with any form of historical or sociological determinism. It cannot be identified with the self-immanence of society, nor with the constitutive claims of collective identities. It does not impose a naturalistic necessity or a mechanical execution. Custom is typical of an individual or a community, from the accidental and not the substantial point of view. For that reason it can supervene, it can change or disappear (fully or partially). In other words, custom does not purport any necessity. It calls for responsibility. When custom is mandatory, it gives rise to duties. In any case, it interrogates reason and freedom. It can be taken on or rejected. But taking it on or rejecting it are not – and cannot be – indifferent options: they are objects of evaluation. Whichever way one might go, evaluation is the issue. And evaluation brings into the picture the responsibility of the evaluators, no matter whether they are individuals or communities.

220

This can be claimed in analogy with the criteria according to which the law binds in conscience: cfr S. Th., I II, q. 96, a. 4. 221 Cf. In Sent., l. II, d. 33, q. 1, a. 2, ad 3.

PART THREE LAW AND TRADITION

CHAPTER TEN CONSTITUTION AND TRADITION SALVATORE AMATO

As an apparent effect of legal positivism, tradition has progressively lost importance and by now carries out a marginal role in interpretative processes. In reality tradition as the “settledness of the past” nourishes the Constitution of every country, guaranteeing the existence of a shared memory and justifying the origins of social ties. This essay examines the extent to which this role of tradition can continue to survive in a multicultural society. It also examines the differences in the answers to this problem, in both the common law and civil law systems.

I. New versus Old Since the 1500s “New” has been an adjective which has woven its way through philosophy. Machiavelli's The Prince was written mainly to explain and analyse the “New Principalities” which, unlike the “Hereditary” ones, «are acquired by one’s own arms and ability” and for this reason “the difficulties they have in acquiring it rise in part from the new rules and methods which they are forced to introduce to establish their government and its security»1. It is not just about legitimising the power which has been acquired by individuals who owe nothing to their predecessors, it is also about offering a different solution to the need which emerges from society for order and stability. It is a very realistic way of observing power, which progresses as a result of the need of evil, definitively breaking every tie with the Aristotelian and Thomistic traditional view of man as naturally “socialis et politicum”.

1

N. Machiavelli, The Prince, Encyclopaedia Britannica, Chicago 1952, cap. VI, p. 9.

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In Hobbes the “new” Machiavellian principalities become “a Commonwealth by acquisition”, yet this doesn’t alter the idea of a new entity, free from the past and «acquired by force, when men singly, or many together by the plurality of voices for fear of death, or bonds, do authorise all the actions of that Man, or Assembly, that hath their lives and liberty in his power»2. Politics is not conservation, continuation or adaptation but creation. Hobbes is convinced that it is essential to create a new God, a mortal one who makes co-existence more stable. “For by art is created that great Leviathan called a Commonwealth or State (in Latin Civitas) which is but an artificial man…and in which the sovereignty is an artificial soul” 3. Leibniz proposed a Nova methodus discendae docendaeque jurisprudentiae, after Galileo and Descartes had changed the way of analysing and observing reality. A systematic review which reduces law down to its essential parts, getting rid of all the historical “baggage” and “facts” accumulated over time in order to permit «uno obtuto primùm in generali tabula totam scientiae velut geographicam mappam, deinde verò speciatim singulas quasi provincias lustrare» (II, §7). Montesquieu, in defending Esprit des Lois from censure by the theological faculty of the Sorbonne, had to emphasise that «my ideas are new and therefore I have been obliged to find new words or to give new acceptations to old terms, in order to convey my meaning». One of the new words that he refers to is “political virtue” and this caused him to be indicted. Political virtue is the foundation of democratic governments «where the person entrusted with the execution of the laws is sensible of his being subject to their direction». In his opinion, no comparison can be made with the past. It is not moral virtue nor Christian virtue and neither is it respect for the monarchy but it is a different way of relating to power, of imagining its structures, the forces which move it and the balance which it must achieve: it is as much a mechanical issue (ressort) of the governmental machine as it is a spiritual issue (esprit) in the dynamics of human relationships4. Condorcet knew that in order to investigate the progress of the human mind we cannot disregard the past and he didn’t hesitate to state that «…the accurate observation of the longitude, which preserves navigators 2

Th. Hobbes, Leviathan Or The Matter, Form, & Power Of A Common-Wealth Ecclesiastical And Civil, tr. Chicago, Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1952, cap. XX, p. 109. 3 Ibid., Introduction, p. 47. 4 C. Montesquieu, The Spirit of Laws, Advertisement, Encyclopaedia Britannica, Chicago 1952, p. XXII.

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from shipwreck, is indebted to a theory which, by a chain of truths, goes as far back as to discoveries made in the school of Plato, though buried for twenty centuries in perfect inutility»5. However, the past weighs heavily like a cloak of ignorance and superstition and so “new truths” are vital, but so are new words, wants, arts, methods, policy so as to delete all the errors of the past. Condorcet is the author and the victim of the French revolution that was so conditioned by the pressing force of the present that it had to rewrite the calendar in order to announce its progress: «the times open a new book to history and in its new course – simple and majestic as equality, one must carve with a new vigorous chisel the annals of a regenerated France»6. The last pages of Démocratie en Amérique seem to somewhat summarise all this. They are full of the subtle impotence which Tocqueville averts in the face of a political world which changes inexorably, and for which we must find “new remedies…for new disorders”. New remedies for a “new society” which has no link with the past. Democracy, freedom, equality, independence, work, the press, individual rights, legal power are building something that seems clear in individual developments, but whose final outcome is absolutely indecipherable, because the past is no longer able to offer them a key to understanding. «I go back from age to age up to remote antiquity: but I find no parallel to what is occurring before my eyes: as the past has ceased to throw its light upon the future, the mind of man wanders in obscurity»7. New Principalities, new methods, new words, new truths, new days, new remedies, a new society: “Now let the past be past, behind us flung” as Goethe's Faust8 depicted. The Enlightenment's idea of progress is exasperated by the tensions of the French Revolution. Decadence, conservation, reaction, oppression and ignorance can be glimpsed in the past. For the first time in history, that same idea of Revolution took on the characteristic of an integral and radical upheaval whose foundation is in the need to cut all previous ties. Enthusiasm and ingenuity are welded to the belief that they face a radical change that is absolutely incompatible with any remnant of the past: «... un jour brise vos fers ... République, tu

5

The Outline of an Historical View of the Progress of the Human Mind, Lang and Ustick, Philadelphia 1796, p. 118. 6 These are the words of Gilbert Romme, member of the Convention, reported by B. Baczko, Lumières de utopie, Payot, Paris 1978. 7 A. De Tocqueville, Democracy in America, tr. Lagley, New York 18414, p. 352. 8 J. W. Goethe, Faust II, tr. Chicago, Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1952, v. 9563 p. 231.

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nais pour venger l’univers»9. Even a thinker of a subtle liberal vein such as Edmund Burke criticises the French Revolution «you possessed ... in all the foundations of a noble and venerable castle. You might have repaired those walls; you might have built on those old foundations»10. The Enlightenment's concept of progress is, in short, the hub of a slow cultural process through which emancipation from the past takes on increasingly more “ideological” connotations. The traditional/modern dichotomy is no longer only an aspect of historical development: it becomes a choice between backwardness and innovation. Tradition seems to be a way of being and of acting that must be defended or fought for at all costs; it seems to be the root of all evils or the source of absolute good. One of the clearest anti-enlightenment aspects of Romanticism is represented by this “invention of tradition”. It is a purely artificial and contrived world whose purpose is to fight the paucity of the “new” with the grandeur of the “old”, the uncertainty of recent fashions with the authority of that which has been consolidated over time. Unfortunately that “old world” which we long to recreate never actually existed. As Hobsbawm states, «Invented tradition is taken to mean a set of practices... which seek to inculcate certain values and norms of behaviour by repetition, which automatically implies continuity with the past»11. Victor Hugo provides us with a highly effective picture of the political use of tradition. «Still, there are theorists who hold such theories. These theorists, who are in other respects people of intelligence, have a very simple process; they apply to the past a glazing which they call social order, divine right, morality, family, the respect of elders, antique authority, sacred tradition, legitimacy, religion; and they go about shouting, ‘Look! take this, honest people’»12. This premise is important in helping us to understand another invention of the Enlightenment, the legislator, who is no longer the mere custodian of tradition, but is the creator of justice. The legislator, being the most knowledgeable (knowing all the needs of humanity), is the embodiment of maximum power (he completely reshapes the structure of 9

Citizen Lebrun verses cited by J. Starobinski, 1789: Les emblèmes de la raison, Flammarion, Paris 1979, p. 42. 10 E. Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France, and on the proceeding in certain societies in London relative to that event: in a letter intended to have been sent to a Gentleman in Paris, J. Dosley, London 17905, p. 50. 11 E. Hobsbawm, Introduction: Inventing Tradition, in The Invention of Tradition, edited by E. Hobsbawm and T. Ranger, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1983, p. 1. 12 V. Hugo, Les Miserables, Web-Books.Com, Vol. II., Book 7th, cap. 3, p. 518.

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the law). «If you want good laws, burn the ones you have and make new ones»13. Voltaire expresses the radical idea that rationality is not to be found in observing the past but in the ability to change the present. What emerges then is the need for a complete rethink, ex novo, of the entire legal experience, which will culminate in the great legal codification movement. Codification concerns civil law. In common law systems, law still continues to be considered as an apparently heterogeneous collection of rules united by respect for and a sense of tradition: «nothing else but the Common Custom of the Realm consisting in use and practice handed down by tradition and experience and recorded and registered no-where but in memory of the people»14. Common law is different from the romantic invention of a past that never really existed. As Hobsbawm points out, in this case we should speak rather of “Custom”15, because it embraces a unique combination of flexibility and formal adherence to the past, a change that the judge manages using the stare decisis legal principle. Does the court control or create? Is it the custom of the people or the custom of the court? These questions reveal, just as the binding nature of precedent in Common Law does, that there is something artificial and false about it: an ideological conditioning which make Richard Posner state that «law is the most historically oriented – more bluntly the most backward looking, the most past-dependent of the professions»16.

II. The conceptual “blackmail” of the immutability of law What do we mean when we say that lawyers depend on the past? Is it a strength or a weakness? According to Posner it is a weakness. Referring to the past has a rhetorical effect, it serves to cloak with authority decisions whose logic would otherwise be unjustified. According to Dworkin it is a strength. He believes that the past preserves law as integrity, where the law is interpreted in terms of consistent and common rules and principles. «Law as integrity… begins in the present and pursues the past only so far as and in the way its contemporary focus dictates»17. Interpretation is a 13

Laws in The Philosophical Dictionary. The historical definition (1612) of Sir John Davies, Irish Reports cited by G.G. Postema, Some Roots of our Notion of Precedent, in L. Goldstein ed. by, Precedent in Law, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1987, p. 15. 15 Op. cit. p. 2. 16 R.A. Posner, Law’s Dependence of the Past, in Frontiers of Legal Theory, Cambridge (Mass.), Harvard University Press, 2001, p. 145. 17 R. Dworkin, Law’s Empire, Harvard University Press, Cambridge (Mass.) 1986, p. 227. 14

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sort of ultimate collective endeavour, a “chain novel” which allows us to compare law with other forms or occasions of interpretation. It could be said that every judge «has the job of writing his chapter so as to make the novel being constructed the best it can be»18. The different stances taken by Posner and Dworkin reflect the broader and more complex issue of interpreting the law. Is it a random and variable act of will (of the legislator, of the judge, of the individual) or an act of stable and consistent knowledge? In posing this question, the role that time plays in the relationship between natural law and positive law cannot be ignored. According to the theory of natural law, every jurist has the duty of ensuring continuity, of discovering the ties with the past and reestablishing them. According to the theory of positive law, every request for stability must be rejected, entrusting the jurist with managing a continual process of transformation that is open to review: law has positive value only when its decidability and therefore its mutability become permanent and can be supported as such19. I do not intend to reintroduce a long-standing dispute that many now consider useless, but only to reflect upon one particular aspect. Positivist theories somehow seem to use the bond between natural law and tradition as a controversial weapon under the guise of what we could call the “conceptual blackmail of immutability”. If the conceptual premise and the qualifying characteristic of positive law seem to be its mutability, then natural law has the role of ensuring the opposite, and that is guaranteeing its immutability. Here is the threat of blackmail: either natural law is immutable and has absolute legal validity or it mutates and then, what is there to differentiate it from positive law? If it truly were immutable, how can the many divergent and contrasting points of view be explained? «As soon as the natural law theory undertakes to determine the content of the norms that are immanent in nature (may be deduced from nature) it gets caught in the sharpest contrasts. The representatives of that theory have not proclaimed one natural law but several very different natural laws conflicting with each other»20. I do not believe that immutability is one of the essential elements of natural law. Excluding some forms of theological hardening, for example the Islamic culture, the immutability of law does not certainly mean that everything remains the same. However could Roman or medieval lawyers 18

Ibid. p. 229. N. Luhmann, Ausdifferenzierung des Rechts. Beiträge zur Rechtssoziologie und Rechtstheorie, Suhrkamp, Frankfurt 1981, cap. 4. 20 H. Kelsen, Pure Theory of Law, University of California Press, Berkeley 19782, p. 220. 19

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have believed such a thing, if it was their role to organise and describe change through exceptio and glossa? Through the relationship with the past, that relationship which tradition maintains and revitalizes, new ties and bonds are formed within the “common sense” of a shared existential experience. Immutability means that law is always “positive”, it is always an assertion: it asserts the “position” of ties between man and God, man and nature, man and reason, man and history and between man and himself. These teachings can be found in Cicero's De oratore, where the remote antiquity of the Twelve Tables seems to be the ideal backdrop for a present day scene «…plurima est in omni iure civili et in pontificum libris et in XII tabulis antiquitatis effigies, quod et verborum vetustas prisca cognoscitur et actionum genera quaedam maiorum consuetudinem vitamque declarant… bibliothecas mehercule omnium philosophorum unus mihi videtur XII tabularum libellus, si quis legum fontis et capita viderit, et auctoritate pondere et utilitatis ubertate superare»21. The past, expressed in these words, not only seems to be an aspect of culture but also of personal identity. From this point of view, behaviour that is tradition-oriented expresses a sort of “fullness” mentality or “settledness of the past”22: it is the belief that the law is the aspect of a completed totality, of an ultimate, rational, cultural “fullness” which the lawyer makes his own, placing himself within that “chain novel” described by Dworkin. Tradition is the voice of a present, which descends from the past, a living organism that grows and is continually enriched23. The immutability of natural law is therefore the idea that cultural experience and, within this, legal experience, is formed through addition and not subtraction, according to that striking vision of justice as ordo factivus24 which can be found in the pages of St. Bonaventure. It seems extremely significant to me that it is constitutional law which refers to the impossibility of creating a legal science that at the same time is not a “cultural science” and does not confront the issue of the “multilevel” aspect of truth25. We can draw on the international community for proof of this view. In order to prove the existence of crimes against humanity, the international 21

Cic., De or. 1, 43, pp. 193-44, p. 195. E. Shils, Tradition, Chicago University Press, Chicago 1981, p. 197. 23 B. Pastore, Tradizione e diritto, Giappichelli, Torino 1990, p. 21. 24 F. D’Agostino, Filosofia del diritto, Giappichelli, Torino 1996, pp. 2 and following. 25 P. Häberle, Wahrheitsprobleme in Verfassungsstaat, Baden-Baden, Nomos, 1995, III, cap. 1, § 2. 22

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community must create a series of great collective rites, that collection of remembrance and atonement that make up the various Memorial Days. Is it the umpteenth invention of tradition or is it the impossibility of finding a solid reference in the past on which to build the present? If this reconstruction is plausible, there is nothing “innocent” in the claim that legal positivism relegates the past to a simple database of no value. There is a subtle “nihilistic” tendency to this pretence: a theoretical shift where mutability implies relativity and equivalence of all legal values. The positivity of law comes to coincide with its opposite “negativity”: the ability to repudiate oneself, to reject any element of stability or permanence. I am referring to Luhmann when he states that the foundation for the validity of positive law lies, by now, in its own evolution, in the possibility of its own negation. Positive law as negation itself is maintained through re-deniability26. What is positive paradoxically becomes negative: the absence of foundations, values and principles. Ethical scepticism, in all its non-cognitive, non-naturalist, fallible, emotive, intuitionist variables... appears the only epistemological model of a theory that tends to deny its own theory. How else can we explain the doubts of Kelsen in the General Theory of Norms, in which the efforts to give law some kind of scientific rigour lead to the extreme irrationality of the norm as arbitrary will? I think it is extremely significant that the strength of the Grundnorm, in Kelsen's eyes, is precisely that of establishing the absence of any value. It has no content: «empowering norm is blank norm… the conditioning state of affairs with a specified content can be subsumed under the conditioning state of affairs – representing an empty form – in the empowering legal norm, and the legal consequence with a specified content can be subsumed under the legal consequence – representing an empty form – in the empowering legal norm»27. It is arbitrary: «...law is anything created in the way the Constitution prescribes for the creation of law»28. It is not real: «since this basic norm cannot be the meaning of an act of will… it can be only the meaning of an act of thinking»29. Nor is it an act of thought, rather a necessity of economic thought. This was the criticism that Kelsen directed to customary law as a source of law. Individual conduct cannot determine a legal rule. «They may erroneously believe themselves to be bound by a rule of law, but this error is not necessary to constitute a law-creating 26

N. Luhmann, cap. 11 H. Kelsen, General Theory of Norms, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1991, p. 261. 28 H. Kelsen, Law and Peace in International Relations. The Oliver Wendell Holmes Lectures 1940-41, Harvard University Press, Cambridge (Mass.) 1942, p. 16. 29 H. Kelsen, Pure Theory of Law, cit., p. 204. 27

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custom. It is sufficient that the acting individuals consider themselves bound by any norm whatever»30. There is a strange analogy between what for Heidegger is one of the central themes of nihilism, the will to power31, a will that wants to will as such and a will that wants what was willed as such, and what for Kelsen is one of the central themes of law: a will that wants the will of the law. A mere conflict of forces from within us and from around us, towards the present and towards the past, as the radical and disenchanted analysis of Stanley Fish explains: «... the force of the law is always and already indistinguishable from the force it would oppose. Or to put the matter in other way: there is always a gun at your head»32. From this point of view the reference to the tradition of natural law becomes a sort of idealistic limitation at risk of nihilism by positive law, because it demonstrates how even change, the essential element of every theory on positive law, presupposes a permanent and aggregate nucleus in all the various tensions and expectations. As hermeneutic theory teaches us, there is always an implicit ethical tension in the role of tradition. The etymology of the word traditio shows that there is a handing down from one person to another. Tradition is language that speaks to us like a “Thou” (“sie spricht von sich aus ein so wie Du”)33, but it is also a gift, because you cannot own it without receiving it34. This necessary relationship with “from an I and a Thou” excludes the absolutism of a will that wants only itself, as is outlined in the subtle nihilistic shift of the theory of legal positivism. Hermeneutics teaches us that it is not enough to observe that there is “someone” next to us, tradition tells us much more. It reveals to us that we are in debt with that someone, that we owe them something for what they have taught us. This is the reason why tradition cannot be considered as a simple database from which to learn something when we need to, nor as a mere museum of values to display when needed. Tradition is commitment and responsibility, because the past questions us with all the expectation, promises, hopes and disappointments that still need answering and need fulfilling. The past becomes the premise of the 30

H. Kelsen, General Theory of Law and State tr. Cambridge (Mass.), Harvard University Press, 1949, p. 115. 31 M. Heidegger, Nietzsche I, The Will of Power, Harper & Row, New York 1979. 32 S. Fish, Doing What Comes Naturally. Change, Rhetorik and the Practice of Theory in Literary and Legal Studies, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1989, p. 520. 33 H.-G. Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode. Grundzüge einer Philosophischen Hermeneutik, Mohr, Tubingen 1986, p. 364. 34 E. Lévinas, Difficult freedom: essays on Judaism, Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore 1990, p. 15.

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future through this responsibility which is handed down from one generation to another, feeding a constant polarity of strangeness and familiarity (eine Polarität von Vertrautheit und Fremdheit)35. In short, as Ricoeur says, you cannot make history without making history36.

III. A Constitution with no tradition? In calling attention to the role of tradition, hermeneutic theory has only made the subtle plot that characterises legal experience more obvious. The Constitution is one of the elements of this plot, one that in recent centuries has more intensely expressed the relationship between preservation and innovation. Even if “Constitution” is one of the new words or one of the words that takes on a new meaning as evoked by Montesquieu, it has always been, since the beginning of its history, deeply tied to the past. It forces us to observe the law from the bottom up, starting from that togetherness of values around which the identity of a people is rooted. Even “people”, when linked to Constitution becomes a new word, because after years of suffering and emargination, it takes on a central role in building the bonds of solidarity on which the foundations of a State are based. The community is no longer like Spinoza's shapeless mass, nor is it the dirty beast of the many heads of Charron, nor Montesquieu's lower class, nor Voltaire's riffraff. With different inflections both Qu’est-ce-que le Tiers Etat? by Sieyes and Rights of Man by Paine lay claim to the same need, that Constitution is not the act of a government which creates a people but the act of a people who create a government. Furthermore, the American Constitution begins with the words “We, the people”. It is both a revolutionary and a conservative moment. It is revolutionary because it lays the foundations of a different future consistent with the deepest aspirations. It is conservative because it marks the achievement of that cultural process with which a people acquires its identity and upholds it as a foundation of the State. Kant interprets the first aspect when he defines the Constitution as the supreme task of nature concerning the human species37. Hegel emphasizes the second aspect, when he says that the people find the self-consciousness of their reason in the Constitution38. In any case, the Constitution never 35

H.-G. Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode, p. 300. P. Ricoeur, “Le marque du passé”, «Revue de Métaphisique et de Morale», 1998-1, p. 32 37 I. Kant, Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals, Hackett, Indianapolis 1981, Part. II, sect. I. 38 G.W.F. Hegel, Philosophy of Right, Chicago, Encyclopaedia Britannica, 36

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appears as anything definite, but as a situation which is continually under completion. Therefore, the Constitution has the same function as tradition in representing an open totality through which the past contributes to give a sense to the present. Despite the continual heated differences regarding the activism of judges and the respect for original intent39, the historical developments of the American Constitution show how it has played a fundamental role in guaranteeing continuity in the construction of the ideals of social coexistence. The interpretative process “not only makes sense of the complex historical traditions that frame our self-understanding as a constitutional community committed to inalienable right of conscience, but coordinates and explains…areas of our law, which are often discussed in unconnected isolation from one another, appear as the coherent elaboration of common principles and back-ground political ideals and conceptions”40. European Constitutions have a more recent history. In some cases, it is very recent and yet they have played the same role of integration and establishment. It is particularly significant because the writing of the Constitution took place, in many cases, in a climate of strong ideological tensions. With regards to the Italian Constitution, Capograssi41, a few years after it came into force, wrote that it was completely detached from reality, that it was a catalogue of differences rather than a catalogue of agreements, an index of dissent rather than one of consensus. It was a pessimistic analysis, but an essentially correct one, which reflected the atmosphere of the times. Yet the Constitution manages, in our country, to overcome these difficulties and in the end represents a fundamental moment of cohesion and renewal. The Constitution has this uniting force not because of its formal role at the top of the hierarchy of sources, but because it implies an answer to the central question about the legitimacy of power: when do we have the right to create law? The right to create law brings with it the ability to recognise and realise a set of values in contrast with the will to power and the Chicago, 1952, § 273. p. 92. 39 For example, R.H. Bork, The Tempting of America: the Political Seduction of the Law, Free Press, New York, 1990. It is a comment about this book made by Richard A. Posner, “Bork and Beethoven”, in Overcoming Law, Harvard University Press, Harvard (Mass.) 1995, pp. 237 and following. 40 D.A.J. Richards, Toleration and the Constitution, Oxford University Press, Oxford 1986, pp. IX-X. 41 G. Capograssi, L’ambiguità del diritto contemporaneo, in Incertezze sull’individuo, Giuffrè, Milano 1969, pp. 109-110.

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ruthless logic of political relationships. The Enlightenment's invention of the “great soul” of the legislator is nothing other than the asseveration of the founding moment, but this moment, despite the Enlightenment's apologia of the new, does not reject the past: it makes it its own, and puts it as the basis of the conceivability itself of power. The people, as such, claim the right to create the law because it has a past, which gives it a legitimate expectation of having a starring role in history. It is within this perspective that we understand why that theme of immutability, that also characterises the theory of natural law, returns in the theory of the Constitution. Kelsen42 notices it with a certain irony when he says that a Constitution could declare itself “eternal” or that single norms could be declared immutable. Kelsen, as the perfect theorist of positivism, limits himself to noting that the Constitution is only a tool for regulating change within the hierarchy of sources. The idea of an “eternal and immutable Constitution” cannot, therefore, but appear meaningless to him. Kelsen is correct from the formal point of view, but he neglects the substance of the problem, because he does not take into consideration the fact that the limitations of the possibility of constitutional revision express a need to stabilize that right to create law which is the foundation of the legitimacy of power. A Constitution subsists as long as it expresses the solidarity and the shared values from which it originated. Once again, the idea of traditio emerges. Namely, it emerges from the idea of the transmission of the same ideal tension from one generation to another. This vision seems to disappear before the two major integration processes that characterise our time: European integration and global integration. In both cases the question “Why are we together?” becomes crucial, yet ironically it appears preposterous. For fear of discord, of the emergence or the re-emergence of national conflicts and cultural divergences, we must limit ourselves to taking note of the present, of the fact that we are together, without going beyond that to look for shared values or feelings. During the recent drafting of the European Union Charter, explicit doubts regarding the role of tradition emerged. Should the cultural roots from which the values that the Preamble intends to lay as the foundation of the integration process have been identified? The debate was particularly heated in reference to the Christian tradition, but the problem was more general and concerned, beginning with Christianity, the way in which tradition could or should be a binding principle. Explicitly 42

H. Kelsen, Allgemeine Staatslehre, Springer, Berlin 1925, book III, chp. VII, §36 d.

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mentioning some aspects which are relevant to the past places the interpretative processes in a rut already defined by history. It means stating that Europe already exists as a cultural unit and it must now be made into a political and legal unit as well. The other option, which was the one adopted, seems to hide a subtle nihilistic mistrust, where the absence of tradition is better than the conflict between traditions, where the present is the negation of the ties with the past It is true that omitting tradition does not mean ignoring values. The Preamble of the Constitution stresses the "indivisible and universal" values of human dignity, freedom, equality and solidarity, and reiterates the basic role of the democratic principle and the rule of law. Is it enough? These values already exist in the Constitutions of the individual countries and in the European Declaration of Human Rights, so what is the sense in reshaping them and repeating them? Is it a new beginning that breaks with the past once and for all, and where tradition is abolished? Is it the culmination of the past? So why abolish tradition? Bearing in mind the difficulty in answering these questions, “more Court than Charter”43 would have be advisable. However, the experience of the courts has highlighted the presence of conflicts of value which are difficult to reconcile. I refer in particular to the problem of cultural offences. Is it possible to invoke one’s own cultural tradition to justify the violation of the fundamental and unavoidable legal interests necessary for a peaceful co-existence, such as life, physical integrity or personal freedom, which make up the constitutional fabric of all Western countries? The courts have on occasions condemned and on others justified rape, homicide, aggression and psychological constraints in a variety of situations where the evaluation tool was the respect or lack of respect for local traditions. Faced with this complex panorama of hard contrasts, the decision to abolish tradition seems to be the path of least resistance and seems almost obligatory in order to maintain a minimum of social cohesion. In my opinion, this vision exposes the same visual fallacy as the Enlightenment because it considers tradition as something static, which tightly binds the individual to his past. If, as natural law and hermeneutic theory suggest, it is something dynamic, which gives a voice to the present through the past, then it is by abolishing tradition that the legislator or the courts seem impotent in the face of contrasting tensions. Fish would be correct then in stating that there is always a gun at your head. If tradition 43

P. Grossi, “Le molte vite del giacobinismo giuridico” (ovvero: la “carta di Nizza”, il progetto di “costituzione europea”, e le insoddisfazioni di uno storico del diritto), in «Jus», 2003, p. 413.

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is the language of Thou that asks the I for help, the symbol of responsibility for unachieved developments, the ultimate bond between generations, “nevertheless, multiculturalism should not be permitted either intentionally or incidentally to erode the progress we have made as a culture in protecting the rights of minorities, women, and children, or to reverse our relative success in elevating the rights of these groups to the level traditionally enjoyed by propertied men of European descent”44. Even Habermas has, on more than one occasion, expressed concern about the spread of a post-modern scepticism regarding the possibility of an intercultural agreement on the interpretation of human rights and on adherence to democracy45. Tradition is one of the most effective antidotes for this scepticism. It is in fact the same concept of integration that emphasises how social ties and social participation must include all aspects of relational life. Tradition is part of this totality in the form of historical fact and ethical moment. It is traditio: it is the memory of the past, but it is also a responsibility towards the future, the responsibility for what we will deliver.

44

D. Lambelet Coleman, “Individualizing Justice through Multiculturalism: the Liberals' Dilemma”, «Columbia Law Journal», 1996-5, p. 1166. A comprehensive analysis of these issues can be found in C. De Maglie, I reati culturalmente motivati. Ideologie e modelli penali, Edizioni ETS, Pisa 2010. 45 J. Habermas, The divided West, Malden Polity, Cambridge 2006, p. 223.

CHAPTER ELEVEN TRADITIONS AND JURISPRUDENCE STAMATIOS TZITZIS

In the classical period of Athens, the legislation expresses the culture that contains all the moral, legal, political and social pillars of the city. The ancestral laws (patraôoi nomoi) constitute the most characteristic example. Therefore the legal culture of the Hellenes reflects a lesson on traditions that govern their existence. Thus the law, instead of designating a command (ought to), involves the freedom of a people to act according to the demands of their idiosyncrasies that arise in their multiple exchanges. In modern times, in a similar way, the Historical school of law considers law as the privilege of the spirit of a people. It is designed to be the incarnation of the right of Volksgeist. More specifically, there are laws in the sense of justice wrought by the traditions of a people. In postmodernity, the law of “secular” character is open to other perspectives. The problems arising from cultural diversity and communitarianism that mark the postmodern state require this law as an existential necessity that goes beyond the history and culture of a nation. Today democratic regimes, in order to defend human rights and in particular equality for all, enact utilitarian and pragmatic legislation in the name of world peace. Relying on a personalized philosophy of law, these regimes want to ignore the specificities of a nation that shape the nature and character of its indigenous law. They therefore provide legal standards of a techno-scientific character: even if the purpose pursued promises positive and effective results, these standards involve risks that are not easily manageable; therefore, they could have adverse effects. These kinds of laws aim at creating a world where the prevalence of traditional specificities tends to be lacking. Result: instead of contributing to the richness of cultural diversity, they impoverish, by the standardization and leveling of cultural traditions, the existential status of citizens.

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The borders of a state define its extent. But its soul oversteps its territory. The soul of a state encompasses its history and its culture. It is used as a cartography of the evolution of its existence. Any human community which is growing and declining contemplates its future in search of its identity from its present, while going back to its roots. These searches make up the space of the spiritual borders which we call homeland. The homeland holds the memory of a people that determines itself through individualization within the human family. The idea of homeland is, thus, to be related to the legacy of a people's identity, spreading out and going forward, whereas the term country refers to its present actualization while looking towards the future. The particular ancient idea of homeland, just as later the idea of nation, evokes an axis indicative of identity for any people that has been scattered, when it has to claim its origins by insisting on the historical rights of its entity. Because even if the rights only have a moral force and value, they enjoy a determining place on the world stage; it is up to them to fix the destiny of a people. A country where no account is taken of its past has lost the ability to mould the awareness of its identity which is shared by all its natives. These ones are deprived of the basic characteristics that shelter their patriotic identity and feed the coming generations with their own ideals. The result of the tabula rasa is: the loss of the historical self which makes the fact of belonging to one’s homeland a natural consequence of one's existence. If an identity can be built up, it cannot be reborn ex nihilo. It has to take into account, in order to be successful, the culture of its pre-existing roots. In other words, a patriotic identity cannot be invented, it grows as it progresses. What feeds these roots are the customs and traditions updated by legislation in force in the country. Admittedly it is not inaccurate to claim that the rights issued by positive laws express an ought as defined by Kelsen (1881 - 1973). And even if Villey (1914-1988), another prominent law philosopher, is in strict opposition to the Austrian lawyer when he considers law as a res (thing) bred from synallagmata (exchanges) carrying historical values, we will not contradict him. Both of them defend aspects of the same legal reality, which is intricate enough and which requires a highly subtle analysis. However, a legislation which does not express how the people tend to appreciate what is fair is unlikely to succeed. Usually legislations that command without taking into consideration the fair longings of a people are the legislations of

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totalitarian states. These longings bear the mark of a law which pays tribute to the intuition of what is fair stemming from the way of life and the patriotic ideals that make one country distinct from another. And we cannot dissociate from this intuition the traditions that have fed it. Even if traditions make up a philosophy or a cultural ideology that reaches beyond the strict sphere of the law, they contribute to its legitimacy as a sign of a people’s consent to the formal law. Hence, the safeguarding of citizens' freedom transcends in importance the obligations imposed by positive law. Respect for traditions, to help confine the sphere of the state, stands as a democratic token. Traditions represent the trunk from which stems the life of a homeland or of a nation; they secure the harmonious continuity of generations; they are the bridge between the past and the future. Even the most radical positivism could not deny the contribution of traditions to the making of positive laws and to the development of each specific legal culture. Political philosophy and Hellenic anthropology can provide us with characteristic examples that strengthen these remarks.

I. Legal culture and traditions among the Ancients The distinction between the Greeks and the Barbarians made by the Greeks (especially in the Classical Age) comes from a feeling of superiority provided by the rise of their legal culture1. For the Hellenes, legislation implies a high degree of culture and is part of an existential philosophy, that is to say their daily way of life in the city. This everyday life is based on the quest of the just (dikaion) which has to be relentlessly applied in social events so that you can be distinguished as a kalos kagathos politis, a citizen worthy of his homeland. Furthermore, speech matters a lot to the Hellenes, and consequently this law which is orally transmitted from one generation to another and shapes the nature of the members of the city, while educating their soul, matters to them too: it bears the name of paideia. This education aims at a harmonious life free from the excesses that harm man’s being and the fair running of the city. What is at stake is the longing to be in harmony with oneself as well as with the other citizens. And this harmony is dressed in the clothes of 1

Euripides, Medea v. 536-539. The remarks of Jason to Medea reveal the superiority of the moral and legal universe upon the social organization of the Barbarian people: «First, thou dwellest in Hellas, instead of thy barbarian land, and hast learnt what justice means and how to live by law, not by the dictates of brute force; and all the Hellenes recognize thy cleverness, and thou hast gained a name», translated by E. P. Coleridge.

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justice2. Plato, in particular, views justice as a harmony between the three parts of the individual soul. Aristotle, for himself, links law to a fair share, a consequence of the judge’s fixing a just mean between excess and deficit3. Both philosophers put traditions at the core of their preoccupations. The king-philosopher who is to rule over the Platonician city must be endowed with a wisdom mainly passed on by traditions. According to Aristotle, when the judge is looking for the happy medium in order to settle a fair solution he has to take into consideration, besides written laws, the ancestral customs (traditional laws) that express the city’s ideals. It is above all a matter of patrooi nomoi (the fathers’ laws). Pericles refers to them in his Funeral Oration4 to point out that they have to be immensely respected by the city of Athens. They are also mentioned by Isocrates in his praise of Hellen5. Greeks view them as a mark of identity reference and ethnic superiority over the Barbarians, but at the same time they hint that these laws combine justice and truth6. They grant more value to the past (traditions) than to the present and the future, because life in the city cannot be conceived without taking the past into account. Everything that belongs to the distant past and that has survived, as still authentic and legitimate, is honored as the vehicle of true knowledge. Thus do Hellenes draw from traditions, by abiding by them, extremely valuable lessons to be used within the framework of their city and in their relationships with other men. This is the reason why truth and justice go together, unlike postmodern legislations that only care about the validity7 of norms, the idea of truth having lost its ontological substance. If each city has its own cultural heritage, the Hellenism which brings all Greek cities together is based on customs and features that set it apart from the Barbarians, such as the language, the divinities, and above all the legal culture, which encompasses traditional customs under the form of unwritten laws deeply rooted in the heart of every Greek citizen. They are «customs»8, or the «law of all Hellas»9 that in case of potential invasion motivates the Hellenes and makes them forget their controversies and fight together against the Barbarians. These laws are the ones that prevail in all 2

Cf. Plato, Republic, book III. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, book V. 4 Thucydides, The History of the Peloponnesian War, book II §34. 5 Isocrates, Hellen, §63. 6 Isocrates, To Philip, § 77, 79, 113; Panathenaicus, § 134. 7 As H. Kelsen, in Pure Theory of Law. 8 Euripides, The Suppliants, v. 311 9 Ibid., v. 525. It is going about panellinon nomon; v. 671. 3

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Greek cities10. It has to be stressed that the Greeks hold the lack of laws and, above all, of traditional laws to be the criterion which sets them apart from the Barbarians. Jason, who holds Medea to be a Barbarian, speaks to her in these terms: «First, thou dwellest in Hellas, instead of thy barbarian land, and hast learnt what justice means and how to live by law, not by the dictates of brute force; and all the Hellenes recognize thy cleverness, and thou hast gained a name»11. Similar words are used by Odysseus in the Cyclops of Euripides. Cyclops is a Barbarian, because his world is governed by force and not by law12. This is why Polyphemus the Cyclops is inhospitable and cannibalistic13. Hospitality is sacred14. It is a law under the patronage of Zeus15, as are the right to be buried and the respect due to parents16: all are traditional Greek customs17. These three ancestral customs have coined the Greek temper and live on, indelible, in the memory of the polis (city) as pillars of Hellenic culture. These kinds of nomoi (laws) are thus supposed to translate the divine will; they denote the religious character of the city because religion and politics are not to be dissociated in the city. Indeed, religion is one of the component elements of political culture, and at the same time it travels through the history of the city. The citizen fulfils himself by abiding by these laws, and he freely integrates into the city through his tacit and inevitable consent to these traditional values. It is therefore impossible to imagine a politis (member of the city) as someone who would exist outside the context of these traditions. What gives the Hellene a basic sense to his existence is his belonging to the city; in other words, his approval of ancestral traditions. For a Greek citizen, there is nothing worse than being apolis: without a homeland, banned from his city or else unworthy of living in his city18, or, generally speaking, everything that implies that a man is uprooted from the history of his polis because of his inability to follow its traditions. These nomoi that refer at the same time to the nature, culture and 10

Cf . Euripides, The Heraclidae, v. 1010 Euripides, Medea, v. 536-538. Translated by P. Coleridge. 12 Euripides, The Cyclops, v. 23-24. 13 Ibid., v. 125. 14 Aeschylus, The Suppliants, v. 641; 671-673. For further details: Julian PittRivers, “The law of hospitality”, in «Journal of Ethnographic Theory» 2 (1), 2012, pp. 501-517. 15 Cf. Euripides, The Suppliants; It is going about a «heaven's ancient law», v. 563. 16 Cf. Euripides, The Suppliants, v. 308-309. 17 Cf. Aeschylus, The Suppliants, v. 707-709. 18 Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, v. 1357. 11

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history of the Greek city, and that determine the existential status of its members, moreover bear the name of thesmia. They suggest accepted (and eventually put down by men) laws the origin of which is unknown but which still have a relevant validity19. They constitute founding principles of justice, the basin of traditional culture20. They represent ancestral treasures and have to be taken into great consideration when any new legislation is to be born within the city. Deep down, these laws contain the sense of fairness which has to inspire the new governors of the city. They can be traced back to the law which roots the city in the Being, which consequently finds its legitimacy, as objective law, in order to give birth to history. As law which imposes itself regardless of human will, it has to prevail over any other law or statutory order which a new legislation would be tempted to oppose to it. A classic example is the case of Antigone. Her uncle, Creon, forbids, by statutory order, the burial of her brother Polynices because he has been a traitor. Antigone, in the name of the right to be buried, disobeys the King21. She remains deeply attached to the historical law of the city, that is to say to the ancestral traditions. For his own part, Creon tries to have his own laws ratified in the name of the legitimacy of his position as the King of Thebes. When confronted by his son Heamon, he asks him a question and waits for an affirming answer: «Am I to rule this land at someone else’s whim or by myself?». But Heamon disagrees in these terms: «A city which belongs to just one man is no true city». Creon persists: «According to our laws does not the ruler own the city?». But the Prince retorts: «By yourself you’d make an excellent king but in a desert»22. Creon wants to ignore the fact that the Hellenic mentality is attached to the traditions that make customary (ancestral) law a priority. The fact of uniting legislation with the traditions of the polis is to be found in Plato’s Laws. The philosopher, disappointed by the KingPhilosopher (Republic) he has vainly looked for, has changed his mind. Instead of the knowledge of a learned man, he has put forward the reign of laws to safeguard the good functioning of his city. Plato goes further, insisting on the past, that is to say the traditions of the city and, in particular, on the contribution of the legislators and the judges of former days, who have played a part in the blooming of the polis thanks to their 19

Homer, The Odyssey, 23, 296. Cf. Ancreont, Poetae Lyrici Gr., ed. Bergk, frg 58. 21 Sophocles, Antigone, v. 441 et sq. 22 Sophocles, Antigone, v. 837-838 et sq. Translated by Ian Johnston, Vancouver Island University. 20

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legal knowledge which has never been refuted. Plato thinks that, even if it is necessary to enact laws that meet the present demands of a community, one must not neglect the contribution brought by ancestral traditions to the legislator’s task23. From the very beginning of the first book of Laws, Plato takes the opportunity, concerning the institution of new laws, of recalling the important part played by King Minos and King Rhadamenthus in the field of legislation. These Kings governed according to justice and in conformity with the traditional rules of the city24; this is what Plato plans to do in his book. The legacy to the city in terms of legal culture is put on an equal footing with parental advices, which he recommends his readers to study carefully. These dictates are likened to wise advices that should be followed, and are not to be accepted as a categorical imperative25. In the Laws, Plato strives to convince us of the importance of the nomoi representing the prerogative of the ancient legal culture. In this work, more particularly, the philosopher lays a specific stress on the laws the fair man has to conform to. Obeying them is a priority in physical training and in the quest for excellence during the Olympic games: «In relation to his State and fellow-citizens that man is by far the best who, in preference to a victory at Olympia or in any other contest of war or peace, would choose to have a victorious reputation for service to his native laws, as being the one man above all others who has served them with distinction throughout his life»26. On the list of these laws clearly appear the ancestral customs that bear witness to Greek identity, among which is the law which prescribes the duty to offer hospitality27. In Rome too, under Greek influence, ancestral traditions play a prominent part in terms of legal culture to support the legacy of identity. When Cicero mentions the famous Roman men who were illustrious in their virtuous practice in the affairs of the city, he observes: «What can be more admirable than the study and practice of the grand affairs of state, united to a literary taste and a familiarity with the liberal arts? or what can we imagine more perfect than a Scipio, a Lælius, or a Philus, who, not to omit anything which belonged to the most perfect excellence of the greatest men, joined to the examples of our ancestors and the traditions of 23

Cf. Plato, Statesman, 299 d. Laws, 624 a-625 a. 25 Laws, 858 e et sq. 26 Ibid., 229 d. Translated by R.G. Bury Plato. Plato in Twelve Volumes, Vols. 10 & 11. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press; London, William Heinemann Ltd. 1967 & 1968 27 Ibid., 729 e 24

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our countrymen the foreign philosophy of Socrates?»28. Later on, Cicero will explain that these men are praiseworthy because they have put in practice the traditional precepts29. As a consequence we can rightfully claim that Hellenic traditions are cultural conventions that favor the idea of justice while embodying an irrefutable axis of Hellenic identity. They stand for moral experiences indicating the idiosyncrasy of the Greek people because they contain important lessons of humaneness, of its active humaneness, that is to say a humaneness in which the ability to improve one’s self is put to test by the hardships of life. Because the Hellenes have no static conception of their history or culture they are different from the 18th century thinkers, who are analytically minded and interested in a set universalism and a standardization of nature and morals to be shared by all.

II. Modern humanitarianism and the memory of traditions The Modern Age, and above all the 18th century open new prospects. The 1789 Declaration of the Rights of Men expresses a universalism tinted with the philosophers’ vision. They believe that humanity does not change but that reason is above the reversals of history and that its powerful lights make it possible for man to grasp what is Fair and Good. The famous Voltaire is a fine representative of them. However this philosopher does not deny the variety of morals and customs. He only asserts that nature gives birth to unity because it establishes a small number of unvarying basic principles everywhere30. If culture produces varied effects, nature keeps being the same everywhere. Likewise, humankind as a whole could not overstep the borders fixed by its nature even though nature is not supposed to be defined once for all. You cannot apprehend it in its universal validity because it is hidden behind practices and customs and is often invaded by prejudice. Thanks to the power of reason, the movements of nature31 can be detected and explained. Reason, as a basic human faculty, presides over History because it is endowed with an ethical function which enables mankind to seize the moral norms inherent in it. Reason dominates through its universality and its uniformity (Kant makes a brilliant description of it in the Critique of Pure Reason) without needing 28

Ibid., 729 e. Ibid., § IV 30 Voltaire, Essais sur le moeurs, Oeuvres, Garnier, Paris 1879, vol XXXVI, p.129. 31 E. Cassirer, La Philosophie des Lumières, Agora, Paris 1966, p. 289. 29

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several sorts of justification. Reason has an authority over things which legitimates its decisions. We can trace this conception back to Cicero first because he has the idea that reason is universal, timeless and everywhere identical and that a law can be conceived by human reason32. But Grotius, the humanist, is going to sharpen this condition as a major founder of the Modern Rationalist Natural School33. He is at variance with Aristotle who has introduced a varying natural right (dikaion), as such a right is in the nature of things, and consequently dependent on the culture and traditions of the city. With Grotius, legal science is an aspect of rational evidence34. It cannot depend on traditions35. Grotius replaces the Ancients’ dialectical method with the analytical method which mathematizes law. Thus, Mathematics is not only related to physics but also to legal ethics. This humanist wants to demonstrate the autonomy of reason over faith and traditions. So he has traditions, as the substratum of the dialectic law dear to Aristotle, give way to man’s inner faculty: individual reason, identical everywhere, enables man, with time, to abolish the dictates of traditions and human operations. As far as Kant is concerned, this philosopher is not hostile to rationalist universalism36. More specifically, he deduces universal moral laws from the reason which is the same for every man37. Hume criticizes this dogmatic universalism in order to show the relativity of things in nature, its lack of order and the variety of ethics and rights38. Hume rejects the theory according to which it is the role of reason to enable us to make a difference between good and evil39. Reason cannot explain moral feelings. He holds ethics to be solely grounded on feelings. He thinks that reason is just paving the way for our sensitive judgments through the analysis of moral problems. According to Hume there are no moral motives without an organized society. If nature is there to provide us with dispositions and interests, socio-legal institutions are the only ones to make it possible to broaden the individual's moral horizon. Our motives end up being interpreted in a properly moral manner thanks to our politicians' education 32

Cicero, On the commonwealth, book III, §XXII, Laws, book, I, § V-VI. R. Derathe, Jean-Jacques Rousseau et la science politique de son temps, Vrin, Paris 1995, p. 389- 390. 34 E. Cassirer, p. 308. 35 J. Tuck, Natural Rights Theories, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1979 36 Cf. E. Kant, Leçons d’Ethique, Classiques de Poche, Paris 1997, p. 124-125. 37 Sir D. Ross Kant's Ethical Theory, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1954. 38 E. Cassirer, p. 243. 39 Traité de la nature humaine, III, I, 1. 33

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and tricks. However, in the early 19th century, the so-called Historical School of Law with Friedrich Carl von Savigny (1779-1861) as a main founder is opposed to the universal ethics of Enlightenment in its contexts. The concept of Volksgeist (spirit of the people) which reveals its philosophy is to be traced back to Fichte (1762-1814), to Herder (1744-1803) and to Hegel (1770-1831)40. This concept brings forward, as an essential factor of law, the cultural inheritance of a people. The ideas he expresses in this chapter have Greek resonances. Let us now open an important bracket: it would be unfair to establish a link between the Volksgeist philosophy and Nazi totalitarianism on the ground that both Fichte and Herder mean, when they use the word Volksgeist, the spirit of the race. That would be unfair because neither of them has in mind a genetic or a biological meaning of the word race. Both think that race is a linguistic expression which depicts a community of people sharing the same traditions, like a similar language and a common culture41. Herder, in particular, holds that each civilization and each culture has its own specific features which denote the values inherent in the people that abide by them. The will to merge them by universalizing them and making them uniform through the demands of positive law would mean deforming and destroying their specificities. Hegel, for his part, states that the spirit of the people is the architect of the State-Nation, this spirit being moulded by that people’s history. Friedrich Carl von Savigny, when he locates the idea of Volksgeist in terms of law, gives great importance to the history and traditions of a people, that is to say its legacy shaped and elaborated by the diachronical evolution of its destiny. The German author, thus, gives the leading role to history seen as the creator of laws which are above the individual will. We are not far from the idea of ancestral customs which gave form to the history of Greek cities; not far indeed from those historical laws that support and legitimate the right (dikaion) seen as a cultural and historical law set in the nature of things. We can then note similarities between the Volksgeist and the fathers’ laws. The legal and philosophical consequences at stake are of paramount importance to the Hellenes and to Savigny. Indeed, history is to be considered as essential in the making of objective rights. The transgression of these rights could not legitimate any positive creed inspired by the will of political strategists determined to change, as they please, the map of the 40

B. Dupret, Droit et sciences sociales, Armand Colin, Collection Cursus, Paris 2006, p. 5. 41 N. Hampson, Histoire de la pensée européenne, 4. Le siècle des Lumières, Seuil/Points-Histoire, Paris 1986, p. 207, 242.

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world. More specifically, von Savigny, when he develops the idea of Volksgeist in legal matters, seems tempted to establish a link with the Hellenes’ ancestral laws, because he believes laws to be a confirmation of what is fair rooted in what is both natural and cultural, through the historical events of a people striving to mould its own identity. Law then builds a bridge between that past and the present, between the being and the becoming of a people in the making of its homeland (or nation, in the non-derogatory sense of the word) as a place of identity as well as a political landmark. The Ancients believe that the individual can only make sense in relation to the whole. A citizen cannot contemplate a future home independent from the community he belongs to, a community characterized by the common values that link the single to the whole. The Volksgeist makes it clear that the context of laws derives from the past legacy of the nation as a whole, not in an arbitrary way so that it can be so or differently, but in the sense that law stems from the essence of the nation (the soul of the country). This context for law feeds the essence of its citizens according to the demands of history42. The Volksgeist is opposite to unhistorical law, abstract and dogmatic, which welcomes the recognition of an abstract reason supposed to be able to make legislation. However we must not overestimate the past without following the natural course of things and acting in the present; which makes law a law which lives and is likely to adapt to new situations. There is no sense of claiming that law must derive from facts, and thus end up as one of the categories of legal sociology. The Volksgeist suggests that it is the collective conscience which is responsible for the working out of law, a conscience which adheres to the essential values shared by all members of a people, this law being the foundation of its historical and therefore patriotic identity. From then on, law reveals itself as being a spontaneous creation (a natural one) of the spirit of a people, and crystallizes in the customs and ways required by this folk’s fulfilment. However the lack of transcendence internal to the Volksgeist makes us doubt we can accept it. I mean here that, when historical circumstances raise themselves to the status of forces working on collective conscience, they root themselves in standards of behavior and in beliefs; the result might well be the worship of a national law which is likely to play a harmful role on the world stage. This is what I mean: should we accept von Savigny’s Volksgeist and take it to its ultimate conclusion it could, we must admit, lead the citizen to idolize his nation and, as a consequence, the 42

Esprit de l’Ecole historique du droit, textes inédits en français de F.C. Von Savigny, et G.F. Puchta. Etude de J. Ruckert, textes réunis par O. Jouanjan, Presses Universitaires de Strasbourg, 2004, p. 27.

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values dear to a people who revere them, while taking no account of the rights of other peoples, who are seen merely as requirements for the nation's own fulfilment. Such a prospect bears in its womb the predominance of the rights of those who are superior and stronger. A characteristic example: the Nazi version of the theory of the master race. Another one: the disastrous wars between the peoples who lived in the former Yugoslavia in the last ten years of the 20th century. And even further, the ethnic rivalries leading to slaughter in Rwanda. However one must be aware that all principles or ideas brought to their ultimate consequences are often twisted in their contents and in their aims, and thus run the risk of being judged in a negative manner.

III. Forgetting traditions The Ancients as well as the Historical School of Law are a long way from modern humanitarianism, which holds law to be the fruit of an autonomous reason which is not subject to the requirements of history; in other words axiomatic, abstract and idealistic. Instead of being issued from the natural order of things, it stands in contradiction with this order. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948 strengthens this humanitarianism. It puts the individual forward and hence gives greater value to man’s existential nobleness by endowing him with the dignity inherent in his quality of Person. It sees the world as a borderless, raceless, colourless family devoid of other distinctive signs such as we find in the ethics of classical traditions43. Henceforth, man, as a sexless person, is in the center of his world with prerogatives which have been axiomatically conceived and indisputably imposed. Indeed man is the object of law but as a subject of law. Traditions as sources of law and rights are undervalued, to the advantage of the juridical personality. The spirit of the Universal Declaration of Humans Rights of 1948 establishes universalism and the making uniform of ethics as well as rights. The very spirit of this Declaration could not distance itself from this universalism and uniformity without losing its coherence. Indeed, this Declaration cherishes two basic moral ideas: liberty and equality. But their validity cannot be supported by traditions, solely by universality. This is because traditions, above all those to be found in 43

Cf. preamble: «Whereas recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world». Cf. Article 1. «All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood».

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Greek cities, advocate existential, political and sexist inequalities and slavery. As for liberty, it is the permanent dream of nations and individuals. But with the fall of Constantinople, it received a fatal blow. The 18th century which opens the era of true modern democracy stands out in history. The Balkans are still under the yoke of the Ottoman Empire when the French Revolution rekindles peoples’ hope to have their liberty restored. Slavery is not abolished. It still has legal tender in America. More specifically, from the middle of the 18th century a wind of political and individual freedom starts blowing. Europe witnesses a decisive toppling in favor of abolitionist dynamics, owing to a deep moral revulsion against the slave trade and slavery44 itself. The Declaration has to break with segregationist traditions and devise a future of egalitarian bliss for all. From then on, it widens mankind’s new horizon by advocating a universal law embodied in Human Rights. These rights are introduced as the product of nature, of an idealized nature giving vent to universal ethics. If this nature in the modern sense preserves some affinities with the physis that does not necessarily mean chaos or acceptance of a legislating power. It is, however, at the opposite extreme from the Ancients’ traditions, which are considered, too, as a natural fruit. The ethics of the Declaration differ from the ethics of traditions, which compose a culture based on particularism and distinctions (distinctions between Greeks and Barbarians, between free men and slaves, between men and women). Through the conception of liberty and equality as subjective and gender-free rights these legal ethics substantially clash with the objective right (dikaion) of the Hellenes to be found in their social relations (synallagmata). So we leave behind the culture of traditions advocating non-personal rights, and move to a Greek legal ethics based on the idea of the person in its universalist conception. Any human being quia man (as such a person) is the owner of subjective rights that are timeless, sacred and imprescriptible. Henceforth traditions can no longer legitimate anything in the name of a specific form of humanism: what comes into force is modern humanitarianism as a universal ideology of equality and liberty. The Declaration supports a humanitarianism which is to be traced back to Grotius, whose conception of natural law tries to go beyond all the cultural specifics proper to every people on the world scene. This humanitarianism gives birth to post-modern cosmopolitan humanism, the 44

O. Petre-Grenouilleau, Les traites négrières, essai d'histoire globale, Gallimard, Paris 2004, p. 210.

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vocation of which is to bring all individuals together into a melting-pot in which anonymity and uniformization hold the sceptre. This post-modern cosmopolitan humanism bears the name of globalization. Its main trademark is the rationality of Finance, which influences the policies of the state. Indeed, today’s economic utilitarianism has changed the basis of ethics and has even erased the classical ethics supported by traditions, and in their place it has set up an economic and hedonistic pragmatism. From now and on, what prevail over and conceal utilitarianism are non-historical and deeply secular humanitarian rights. This humanitarianism, grounded in the universality of the human family, tends to split apart the person in each citizen. It is very difficult for the citizen to be separated from his past as the source of his historical and cultural identity, a factor that helps to make him different in the uniqueness of his being, in order to be identical to others as a typical individual. Today, on the basis of a secularism imposed to avoid the bloody battles of peoples over religious matters, we are trying to change borders and geopolitical conditions in the world, and in Europe in particular, according to the Superpowers’ centralizing strategies to regulate the destiny of homelands. The heterogeneous but peaceful symbiosis of cosmopolitan heterogeneous individuals attempting to mould a future supposed to satisfy their basic vital needs replaces the patriotic feeling of citizens who are trying to live in a natural background shaped by their roots. It is the consequence of former values falling into oblivion because of the present existential social and political crisis45. If communitarianism is a meaningful reaction to the process of making individuals uniform, in order to safeguard their cultural specificities seen as vital to the human person, then integration, as a kind of policy to defend post-modern humanitarianism, is likely to make the feeling of belonging to the history of a people more radical and more active. If immigrants have to abide by a law which does not express their intuition of the fair inspired by their traditions and values, they may, then, experience it as a wrong or an injustice, an act of violence. And this is not the sole danger which could trigger state disorder46. In Europe, whose governments try to solve the problems raised by the 45

R. Aron, “Is Multinational Citizenship Possible?”, «Social Research», 41 (4), Winter 1974, pp. 638-656. 46 For a position against the communitarianism R. Andrau – A. Sfer, Liberté, égalité, Islam. La République face au communautarisme, Tallandier, Paris 2005; L. Levy, Le spectre du communautarisme, Éditions Amsterdam, Collection Démocritique, Paris 2005.

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migratory flux with humanitarian rules, the belief prevails that economic integration (the fact of granting both a controlled sojourn and a job) may be the source of a happy symbiosis of life within a community47. The status of foreigner is a status which is based on financial self-reliance. However, it is too simplistic to think that acquiring citizenship on the basis of autonomy can guarantee full integration and make these new owners belong to a new country. In order to be successful, true integration requires adopting the values that prevail in a country and adhering to them, these patriotic values being inescapable ones as they mirror the past and the present and contain the promise of the future. A wild and uncontrollable migration may give birth to a «cultural inversion» with the risk of its transforming itself into a «cultural cataclysm». To be more precise: some communities build up in a host country and refuse to abide by the laws of their country under the guise that their customs do not fit in with the natives’ laws. The fact of having a citizenship which is not that of his ancestors, as is the case for an immigrant's child born in the country where his parents have their jobs, does not automatically imply his willingness to belong to a homeland, nor an essential integration. The citizenship of this child is a mere administrative certificate which grants him a legal and political status, whereas the notion of «patriotism» implies awareness that one’s own ideals fully identify with the ideals of the country where one was born or which one has adopted. In other words, patriotism implies one’s consent to the values of the adoptive homeland and an unquestioning loyalty to its purposes. As a characteristic example: the «Harks», those Algerians who have adopted the values of France. A counter-example: the Islamic terrorist48 who has behaved as if he were the enemy of the democratic ideals of France and of its citizens. He has killed several French citizens whose culture or ways of practising it did not fit in with the values of his own cultural identity. This last example shows how important cultural legacy is in the forming of a citizen's identity and conscience. Thomas Alexander Slezàk, a distinguished professor of classical philosophy, picks out some news items showing that it would be inaccurate to consider the cosmopolitanism of Europe as a success, in so far as it is secular and humanitarian and can peacefully coexist with other cultures foreign to the old continent. To support his case, Slezàk puts forward the examples of the fatwa against Salmon Rushdie and of the 47

P.B. Lehning, “European citizenship: towards a European identity?”, in «Law and Philosophy», 20 (2001), pp. 239-282. 48 Affair who shocked the public opinion in 2012. It is going about a French citizen, who killed seven people including three Jewish children.

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murder of Theo van Gogh49, as well as the series of events that followed the publication of the caricatures of Prophet Mohamed50. This author thinks that keeping and defending the European cultural legacy is a duty that no citizen of the old continent can ignore51. It would not be accurate to pretend that the construction of Europe, with the evolution of its policies, represents the continent as a stronghold of traditions, or that it is opening itself to the development of a European classical identity. It is much more universal and atypical. It pays little tribute to the past and concentrates on the present while opening itself to the pragmatic demands of the future. These demands, under the influence of powerful lobbies, aim at the economic and financial goals that could be beneficial to the member States. However, these goals cause the cultural impoverishment of the citizens. And that is paradoxical. When the Strategists at the head of the old continent increase the proliferation of Human Rights, they weaken through this policy the man who has found himself confronted with a greater loss of identity. Last but not least, forgetting traditions in the quest for a law conceived to regulate the affairs of states and man triggers a new restructuring of state borders, which has a negative effect on the formation of a consciousness–raising identity. It is a mistake to create new states without taking into consideration the history of a people, its identity and its diachronic evolution. Such acts, instead of contributing to international peace, are likely to sow discord, to give birth to hatred between peoples and to revive the feeling of an appealing racist nationalism. The fact of imposing the construction of a state like Kosovo on the territory of Serb martyrs, which embodies the historical memory of its people, can only worsen hostility between the countries, endowed with opposing values derived from their cultures. Indeed, pacifying nationalist turmoil is not to be achieved by the 49

Theodoor “Theo” van Gogh (1957 –2004) was a Dutch film director, film producer, author and actor. Van Gogh worked with the Somali-born writer Ayaan Hirsi Ali to produce the film Submission, which stigmatized the treatment of women in Islam and aroused reactions among Muslims. On 2 November 2004 he was assassinated by a Dutch-Moroccan Muslim. 50 Was Europa den Griechen verdankt. Von den Grundlagen unserer Kultur in der griechischen Antike, Turbugen, Mor Siebeck, 2010. Greek translation: Academy of Athens, Research Center of Greek philosophy, Athens 2012, p. 372. 51 Ibid., p. 373.

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historical lobotomy of homelands but by respect for historical rights, those rights that go behind man's will and emerge from the dialectics of the course of nature and history. This is because the identity of man results from nature in its historical flow, not from a legalistic ought foreign to the identity traditions of a country. The history of peoples is to be assimilated, with a world court passing judgment on the dialectical manifestations and actions of these peoples. And these lead, according to Hegel, to the Universal Spirit as a World Spirit. It is an unlimited and unconditional Spirit which exercises its right. This one being the suprême right52.52.

52

G.W.F. Hegel, Principes de la Philosophie du Droit ou Droit naturel et science de l’Etat en abrégé, Vrin, Paris 1998, § 340 p. 333.

PART FOUR TRADITION: A THEOLOGICAL POINT OF VIEW

CHAPTER TWELVE “A HEALTHY SHOCK”: TRADITION AND THE EPIPHANY OF BEAUTY PETER CASARELLA

In this essay we consider how tradition gives expression to an encounter within the field of free human action with a gift that surpasses human understanding. The rational and moral structure of such action is seen to be awakened to a new purpose through the category of beauty. The “shock of beauty” (Benedict XVI) spurs engagement with tradition in a manner that counters with equal force both moralism and its antithesis. Beauty unveils a wounded innocence in and through the tradition of Christian reflection and opens up a new conversation between theological aesthetics and theories of moral action that highlight the embodied expressiveness of action. In other words, the perception of genuine beauty leaves the viewer changed for life. The key contribution to the study of tradition lies in the notion of human activity open to God as a space in which the unforeseen epiphany of love can enter. This appearance is analysed both in terms of its phenomenological dimensions and theologically in terms of the activity of the Spirit of God within the free self-determination of the graced human subject. Borrowing insights from Charles Taylor as well as Maurice Blondel, the category of theopoetics is introduced to articulate the mode of expression of this epiphany of activity. The essay concludes that the tradition as awakened by the shock of beauty stands opposed to a lifeless and nostalgic traditionalism. “Tradition comes to life and achieves the glory for which it was intended when it is enacted freely by a people for the sake of the good”. Tradition as a theological category is a critical constituent of faith. Tradition contributes to norms for daily life and prospects for real happiness. Tradition is carried into the present in order to be transmitted to those who will appreciate, nurture, and enjoy it. In order for it to

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strengthen the bond between past and future, the recipients too need to regard tradition as an essential part of a human search for happiness. On the other hand, when tradition becomes an ossified remnant of an irretrievably lost past, it becomes transformed into nostalgia. Nostalgia is a condition of fatigue that yearns for a life that is gone. Part of such an attitude is the conviction that what has gone before has been forever obliterated. In that light, clever strategies of resistance can be devised to reproduce isolated moments or single artifacts of past glory, but the tender trust that strengthens the bond between what went before and the future happiness of individuals and societies has been severed. This essay concerns the attitudes of the Christian faithful toward the vital idea of a tradition1. Most importantly, traditio for Roman Catholic believers is an active process never to be considered in isolation from the testimony of Scripture. In Dei Verbum, the Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation from the Second Vatican Council, great care was taken not to juxtapose the concept of tradition to that of divine revelation. Whatever tradition adds to the original deposit of faith should accordingly be seen as an unfolding of the original message. In Dei Verbum, one reads: «Sacred Tradition and sacred Scripture, then, are bound closely together, and communicate one with the other»2. In short, the Holy Spirit works to bring about the salvation of souls through both Scripture and Tradition, and both Scripture and Tradition «must be accepted and honored with equal feelings of devotion and reverence»3. Vatican II confirms that notion that the Word of God stands above both as their common source and norm. The idea of tradition as a process actually predates Vatican II and the post-conciliar ecumenical convergence. Even before the Council, the new emphasis on the vitality of Tradition was well developed by the theologian Yves Congar, O.P. (1904-1995), who distinguished between Tradition and traditions. This distinction was an important one that helped to separate the wheat from the chaff in the development of a new theology of tradition4. 1

Although it is not the focus of this essay, dialogues about tradition can also be the basis for profound interfaith understanding. See, for example, Learned Ignorance: Intellectual Humility among Jews, Christians, and Muslims, ed. James L. Heft, S.M., Reuven Firestone, and Omid Safi, Oxford University Press, Oxford 2011. 2 Dei Verbum, Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation in Vatican Council II: The Conciliar and Post Conciliar Documents, ed. Austin Flannery, O.P., Costello, Northport, N.Y 1987, #9, p. 755. 3 Ibid. 4 La Tradition et les traditions: essai théologique (Paris, 1963), published in English as: Tradition and Traditions: An historical and a theological essay, Basilica Press, San Diego 1997.

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«Tradition», – Congar writes – «comprises two equally vital aspects, one of development and one of conservation»5. Equivalence in vitality does not mean that each of these aspects moves necessarily in tandem. He describes the interplay between these two forces as «a sort of tension or dialectic between purity and totality, neither of which should be sacrificed»6. The Magisterium is needed to maintain purity. He considers the instinct of conservation to be a natural one in this regard. But the mission of the Church by its nature needs also to broaden the base of those who hear the Gospel. Tradition is not merely memory. It is actual presence and experience. It is not purely conservative, but, in a certain way, creative.7

Accommodation is not the issue here. Accommodation causes the message to lose its salt and fails to broaden the base. Creativity comes from the Spirit’s guidance in and through the communion of the Church as it enters more deeply into the heart of the world. The Word of God in the Church takes on a wider significance in the world through a dynamic process that is ultimately more centrifugal (going from the Church to the world) than centripetal (going from the world to the Church)8. This organic idea of tradition is deeply imbedded in earlier Catholic understandings and has yielded much fruit in the ecumenical exchange with other Christians. In Harvesting the Fruits, Cardinal Walter Kasper, ex-President of the Pontifical Council for the Promotion of Christian Unity, speaks about a “broader context” and “a new hermeneutical horizon” within which the theology of Scripture and tradition is to be received today.9 Citing a dialogue with the Anglicans (ARCIC) from 1999, he notes that «tradition is a dynamic process, communicating to each generation what was delivered once for all to the apostolic community»10. The historical difference between Catholic and Protestant emphases is not being erased, but the convergence points to a new source of unity grounded in a mutual need to come to a greater understanding of the 5

Y. Congar, The Meaning of Tradition, Hawthorn Books, New York 1964, 110. Ibid. 7 Ibid., 113. 8 Cf. H.U. v. Balthasar, “Sull’idea di una casa editrice cattolica”, in E. Guerriero, Hans Urs von Balthasar, Edizioni Paoline, Milano 1991, pp. 387-93. 9 Card. W. Kasper, Harvesting the Fruits: Basic Aspects of Christian Faith in Ecumenical Dialogue, Continuum, New York and London 2009, p. 88. 10 Ibid., 93, citing International Dialogue between the Anglican Communion and the Roman Catholic Church, “The Gift of Authority: Authority in the Church III (1999)”, #14. 6

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positive role of tradition in Christian life. More recently, Pope Francis repeated this idea in the context of highlighting that all central truths in the new mission of the Church going out to the periphery derive directly from the Word of God. The Word of God, in other words, guides the establishment of a hierarchy of truths: All revealed truths derive from the same divine source and are to be believed with the same faith, yet some of them are more important for giving direct expression to the heart of the Gospel. In this basic core, what shines forth is the beauty of the saving love of God made manifest in Jesus Christ who died and rose from the dead.11

The connection made here between tradition and beauty is the central theme of this essay. Pope Francis does not naively maintain that tradition is always perceived as an object of beauty. We live in an age in which the lustre of tradition can never be taken for granted. «It is undeniable», – Pope Francis writes – «that many people feel disillusioned and no longer identify with the Catholic tradition»12. He says rather that the faithful can have an experience of God’s beauty in the Christocentric process of assimilating tradition. In other words, the beauty of the saving love of God is made visible in Jesus Christ. The passing on of tradition depends upon our re-awakening to this beauty and enables us to draw others closer to it. These theological insights are foundational for a proper understanding of tradition, but they are not intended to answer all questions about the transmission of an ecclesial tradition in contemporary society. New social realities like what Zygmunt Baumann calls “liquid” modern life, the increase in global migration, the prevalence of consumerism, the spread of cultural amnesia, and the advent of social media have arisen. Each of these developments has social consequences not factored into the drafting of Dei Verbum13. There are subtle entailments of the idea of tradition that shape our understanding even when not articulated. We think that we know what tradition is whether or not we are fully conscious of what it means to absorb and hand on traditional knowledge. Hans Georg-Gadamer, himself a defender of the philosophical idea of tradition, would call these entailments the Vor-urteile of tradition, those judgments we are already making prior to any thematic articulation of the question of tradition. The 11

Pope Francis, Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium of November 24, 2013, #36. See also number 167-8 on the via pulchritudinis. 12 Ibid., #70. 13 See, for example, Z. Bauman, Liquid Times: Living in an Age of Uncertainty, Polity, Cambridge, UK and Malden, MA 2007.

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recognition of these pre-judices is a delicate process that bears some likeness to Freud’s therapeutic disclosure of the unconscious14. We cannot dislodge them and leave ourselves unchanged. Once we recognize them, we have to grapple with the way that they infuse our understanding of the world as a whole. We first have to recognize the presence of these hidden pre-understandings that denigrate tradition without even naming it as such. This problem is more acute in the United States than in the United Kingdom or continental Europe. «The past is never dead» –, said William Faulkner, a writer from Oxford in the state of Mississippi. «It’s not even past»15. If one is going to examine the cultural seedbed of a living theology of tradition, then generational change can hardly be ignored. That question is very dependent upon context although transnational patterns might perhaps be identifiable in some later stage of inquiry16. Notre Dame sociologist Christian Smith in his study of the religious attitudes of young people in the United States isolated a legacy that is likely to endure for some time. He summarized massive amounts of empirical data into the thesis that “moralistic, therapeutic Deism” is the dominant religious attitude of young people17. By “deism,” Smith did not mean a strict adherence to a certain religious philosophy of the European enlightenment. He meant rather that a penchant for a therapeutic religion with no moral legislation was mixed in an incoherent way with a strong desire to deduce moral codes. In a more tradition-laden (or for that matter Scripturally reasoned) culture, the force of tradition as norm for life and prospect for happiness can serve as a means to sift through this incoherence and bring some order to the chaos18. In moralistic, therapeutic Deism, the tug-of-war between the poles of pre-established authority and self-established autonomy can never end. The thin description of the idea of God and the lack of genuine warrants for belief provide only minimal content, not to mention personal or intellectual incentive, for making real sense of things. In sum, I will be investigating the theological notion of tradition in the 14 Joel Weinsheimer, Philosophical Hermeneutics and Literary Theory, Yale University Press, New Haven, CT 1999, p. 84. 15 W. Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun (1953), Act I, Scene III. 16 See, for example, J.C. Ribeiro, Religiosidade Jovem - pesquisa entre universitarios, Loyola, São Paulo, Olho d’Água 2009. 17 C. Smith, Soul Searching: The Religious and Spiritual Lives of American Teenagers, Oxford University Press, New York 2005. 18 An argument of this sort can be found in A. MacIntyre, God, Philosophy, Universities: A Selective History of the Catholic Philosphical Tradition, Rowman & Littlefield, Lanham, MD 2009.

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light of the claim that a pattern of thought trapped between moralism and anti-moralism is what many people today, especially young people in the United States, bring to the concept of tradition itself.

I. Moralism, anti-moralism, and traditio Let me begin with a definition of terms. The question of tradition is deeply imbedded in all processes of moral reasoning. It matters little whether one’s self-conception is that of a preserver of traditional values or a liberator from the same. Any serious process of moral reasoning is inevitably going to draw upon a moral capacity of human nature that has been recognized and dissected through virtually all ages. Efforts to explain away human nature altogether on the basis of the inevitable march of scientific progress eventually are revealed as self-refuting. The most unapologetic progressive eventually creates a new tradition to guide moral reflection. Who in the process of liberation from tradition would not want to call Moses, Socrates, Jesus, Gandhi, or Martin Luther King to her or his side? So the problem of moralism cannot by definition involve detaching tradition from moral reflection or vice versa. It is rather a question of how theology can help to situate the two in relation to one another. Moralism is a problem of perception. Pope Francis speaks to this point directly. He sees the problem of moralism in terms of an imbalance or loss of a fitting sense of proportion: [I]n preaching the Gospel a fitting sense of proportion has to be maintained. This would be seen in the frequency with which certain themes are brought up and in the emphasis given to them in preaching. For example, if in the course of the liturgical year a parish priest speaks about temperance ten times but only mentions charity or justice two or three times, an imbalance results, and precisely those virtues which ought to be most present in preaching and catechesis are overlooked. The same thing happens when we speak more about law than about grace, more about the Church than about Christ, more about the Pope than about God’s word.19

This lesson applies not only to the task of the preacher but to the whole of the Christian life. If one perceives reality largely in terms of a categorical imperative, then one must discern how I can universalize my next activity in terms of an “ought” that is binding for all of humanity. This process can represent a freedom from mere opinion, but it can also lead to the trap of moralism. Moralistic perception does not even get to the 19

Evangelii gaudium, #38.

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question of the truth of moral action because it tries to categorize actions based on a deterministic view of nature. I am not rejecting here Kant’s definition of the categorical imperative, only a highly restricted use of it. Alisdair MacIntyre clarifies this point when he discusses moral autonomy and the universal validity of the negative precepts of the natural moral law according to the encyclical Veritatis Splendor. In the encyclical, he states, Pope John Paul II is in agreement with the Kantian understanding of the negative precepts of the moral law as exceptionless norms20. On the other hand, the encyclical «is in disagreement in its assertion that human reason needs to be instructed and corrected by this revelation of God’s law»21. The encyclical plainly states that self-determination is compatible with theonomy or instruction by divine law since «free obedience to God’s law effectively implies that human reason and human will participate in God’s wisdom and providence»22. Moreover, MacIntyre continues, the encyclical also veers away from the Kantian claim that we are to do our duty by obeying the moral law for its own sake. On the contrary, The doctrine of the encyclical is that we are also to obey that law for the sake of the further good of ourselves and of others. The natural law teaches us what kinds of actions we need to perform, what kinds of actions we need to refrain from performing, and what kinds of person we need to become, if we are to achieve our own final end and good and to share with others in achieving our final end and good.23

In sum, the universal validity of the proscriptions of the natural moral law functions as much more than a stern taskmaster. It guides us toward a vision of reality that is ultimately attractive and beautiful. An example from the classroom will make matters more concrete. I am currently teaching a class to sophomores at the University of Notre Dame on the foundations of theology. In that class we consider the New Testament message of “the kingdom of God” preached by Jesus of Nazareth. There are many moral entailments in approaching the question of the meaning of he basileia tou theou. On the other hand, my students come to the topic thinking that entering this kingdom is primarily by choosing good over evil, primarily by imitating the well-known and 20 A. MacIntyre, “How Can we Learn What Veritatis Splendor has to Teach?”, Veritatis Splendor and the Renewal of Moral Theology: Studies by Ten Outstanding Scholars, ed. J.A. DiNoia, O.P. and Romanus Cessario, O.P., Scepter Publishers, Princeton, N.J. 1999, p. 79. 21 Ibid. 22 Ibid., citing Veritatis Splendor 41.2. 23 Ibid.

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universally accepted exercise of selfless acts of virtue. To teach them to recognize the gift of charity is much more challenging than to enjoin them to humanitarian engagement. Anti-moralism suffers from precisely the same lack of vision. Antimoralism starts with the innocent claim that there is a much broader view of the meaning of life than the choices involved in private morality. (The claim that the private sphere of sexual morality has become isolated from the social teachings of the Church is but a corollary of this view.) This attempt at a broadening of vision becomes a restriction on vision precisely because all serious moral questions are then shunted to the side. In the worst case scenario, tradition becomes a cultural relic. It can be displayed in on-line resources, impressive art exhibits, stunningly beautiful old cathedrals where Mass attendance is low, newly minted academic programs that emphasize the cultural heritage of Catholic immigrants, etc. At this point the capacity of tradition to inspire a life of goodness has been virtually exhausted. Tradition exists as an entity drawn from the past. It has lost its capacity to turn around the lives of individuals. It is information rather than formation. In sum, the theological question of the issue of tradition needs to consider once again the fundamental issue of how free human action can respond to a gift that surpasses human understanding in a manner that is neither moralistic nor its opposite. The New Testament is filled with many examples. The action undertaken by faithful disciples in response to Jesus’ teaching about the coming of a kingdom is not arbitrary; it is rather imbued with reason, purposive, and based upon its own moral structure. Christian freedom responds to the appearance of divine love in the field of human action.

II. “Saved by beauty”: traditio beyond moralism and anti-moralism The horizon opened by beauty extends far beyond the narrow perspective of moralism, but the aesthetic viewpoint need not becloud or enervate moral commitment. Thus, we begin with a valuable insight from Pope John Paul II on the truth of moral action. As the title indicates, the encyclical Veritatis Splendor begins: «The splendor of truth shines forth in all the works of the Creator and, in a special way, in man, created in the image and likeness of God (cf. Gen 1:26)»24. Splendor is the radiance of 24

Pope John Paul II, Veritatis Splendor, Encyclical of August 6, 1993, prologue, as cited on-line at

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God’s truth in the world, a beckoning to see the light of conscience. Archbishop Joseph Augustine DiNoia, O.P. notes that the encyclical was signed on the feast of the Transfiguration25. In this Biblical event, «the ordinary dusty Jesus who was their companion and master was transformed before [the disciples’] eyes in a dazzling display of glory»26. Beauty here is not an ornament. The perception of beauty is an unveiling. To see beauty is not to see a more appealing version of what went before. It is to see what is already present in a wholly new light. In the Transfiguration Jesus’ true nature was revealed to his disciples. Why did he allow them to behold his glory? One reason pertains to the moral life, which finds its ultimate pattern in Jesus Christ. DiNoia explains: The Transfiguration signals to us that our transformation must be conformation…What must be made clear here is that this conformation does not amount to mere conformity. The conformation to Christ which is the principle of our transformation is not a mere cloning but the realization of our distinctive and unique personal identity. This must be so, for otherwise the communion to which this transformation is directed could not be consummated. The image of God in us consists precisely in the spiritual capacities of knowing and loving that make interpersonal communion possible.27

To realize oneself in the light of a completely new vision of the total view of the reality that lies before you, a vision supplied by faith but confirmed by natural knowledge of God’s creation – that is the task of moral commitment according to Veritatis Splendor. On this basis, Pope John Paul II surpasses both moralism and anti-moralism. In Dostoevsky's novel The Idiot, Ippolit Terentiev asks the Christian Prince Myshkin: «Is it true, prince, that you once said that the world will be saved by beauty?». Then Ippolit adds, as if to mock him: «What sort of beauty will save the world?»28. Talking about beauty is always going to raise such questions because talk about beauty is talk about how we http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_paul_ii/encyclicals/documents/hf_jpii_enc_06081993_veritatis-splendor_en.html, accessed on Dec. 6, 2013. 25 J.A. DiNoia, O.P., “Veritatis Splendor: Moral Life as Transfigured Life”, in Veritatis Splendor and the Renewal of Moral Theology: Studies by Ten Outstanding Scholars, Scepter, Princeton, N.J. 1999, pp. 1-10. 26 Ibid., p. 5. 27 Ibid., p. 7. 28 F. Dostoevsky, The Idiot, Penguin, London 2004, p. 446. See also J. Sullivan, The Beauty of Faith: Using Christian Art to Spread the Good News, Our Sunday Visitor, Huntington, IN 2009.

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perceive the universe. Beauty is not an abstraction but the direct result of our capacity to wonder or marvel at the nature of things. Every theory of beauty is a theory of perception. This claim is not the same as the saying that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It is a simple recognition of the fact that attending to beauty is a calling or vocation that must be sought in the everyday. Unfortunately, the universe in our world today – the virtually present world of Facebook, Google earth, and tweets – is no longer perceived, as St. Bonaventure once said, as a beautifully composed poem. No contemporary believer can take for granted an unmediated vision of a transcendent God in the immanence of the created order. Even Cardinal Henry John Newman seemed to be aware of it. In An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent he says quite plainly what many contemporary believers sense: What strikes the mind so forcibly is [God's] absence (if I may so speak) from his own world. It is a silence that speaks. It is as if others had got possession of His work. Why does not He, our Maker and Ruler, give us some immediate knowledge of Himself?29

Is Newman’s reflection on the sensible presence and felt absence of a God who speaks relevant to everyday believers? There is no immediate fusion of the human with the cosmos in the daily struggles of most working people. Consider the case of the multitudes of Hispanic men and women who wait at the bus stop every morning in many urban settings in the US on their way to fix the rooftops or tend the babies of suburban households. Where are they supposed to see the beauty of the cosmos – solely in the tidiness of the well-painted and laboriously dusted suburban homes? Or can they also be afforded a view of vestiges of God's creative power in the very urban landscapes which they inhabit at night when they return home from work? The linking of beauty and justice has many resonances in contemporary thought and experience. Pope Benedict XVI, for example, writes in his 2009 letter to artists, a speech that he delivered in the Sistine Chapel facing Michelangelo’s Last Judgment: Indeed, an essential function of genuine beauty, as emphasized by Plato, is that it gives man a healthy “shock”, it draws him out of himself, wrenches him away from resignation and from being content with the humdrum -- it 29

J.H. Newman, An Essay In Aid of a Grammar of Assent, University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame 1979, p. 309. See also my essay, “Waiting for a Cosmic Christ in an Uncreated World”, «Communio: International Catholic Review», 28 (Summer 2001), pp. 1-35.

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Alejandro García-Rivera calls this piercing of the viewer by the beauty of the work of art: “Wounded Innocence”31. Beauty makes us more aware of our condition as wounded innocents in the world. Aesthetic perception that shocks in this salutary fashion never remains on the level of the purely aesthetic. A poem by Rainer Maria Rilke entitled “The Archaic Torso of Apollo” makes the same point. The key here is the very startling last line of the poem: We cannot know his legendary head with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso is still suffused with brilliance from inside, like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low, gleams in all its power. Otherwise the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could a smile run through the placid hips and thighs to that dark center where procreation flared. Otherwise this stone would seem defaced beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur: would not, from all the borders of itself, burst like a star: for here there is no place

30 Pope Benedict XVI, “Letter to Artists”, Nov., 21, 2009, accessed on-line at http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/benedict_xvi/speeches/2009/november/docume nts/hf_ben-xvi_spe_20091121_artisti_en.html, on Dec. 6, 2013. 31 A. García-Rivera, A Wounded Innocence. Sketches for a Theology of Art, The Liturgical Press, Collegeville, MN 2003.

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that does not see you. You must change your life.32

The last line – “You must change your life” – suggests that the perception of genuine beauty cannot leave you unchanged33. Perceiving beauty and being attentive to its precise contours as expressed in a concrete form are as transformational practices as anything we can imagine. These foundational theological reflections on human action serve to show how tradition, including a tradition of Catholic reflection on the free exercise of conscience, can in the midst of everyday burdens and anxieties still be received as a gift of new life.

III. Action as the epiphany of love Christians look to tradition to guide their lives. If the perception of beauty is the new insight that guides action, then we need to give some account of how the aesthetic perception can yield to a new form of life. Thus far, we have asserted that the link between the perception of beauty and the transmission of tradition are mutually reinforcing experiences. The classic works on the organic development of tradition, works such as Irenaeus of Lyon’s (d. ca. A.D. 200) Against Heresies, Johann Adam Möhler’s, Symbolism (1832), and John Henry Newman’s An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine (First ed., 1878) all speak to the role of the Holy Spirit in shaping the process. Irenaeus even turns the “governance” of the whole process by the most holy Trinity into a work of art: You do not make God; God makes you. If you are God’s artifact, then wait for the hand of the Master which makes everything at the proper time…Offer him a soft and malleable heart; then keep the shape in which the Master molds you…God’s artistry will conceal what is clay in you. His hand fashioned a foundation in you; he will cover you inside and out with pure gold and silver…If, therefore, you commit to him the submission and trust in him which are yours, then you hold on to his artistry and will be God’s perfect work.34

32 R.M. Rilke, “The Archaic Torso of Apollo”, in Ahead of All Parting: The Selected Poetry and Prose of Rainer Maria Rilke, tr. Stephen Mitchell, The Modern Library, New York 1995, p. 67. 33 H.U. v. Balthasar, The Glory of the Lord: A Theological Aesthetics, I, Ignatius, San Francisco 1982, p. 23. 34 Irenaeus of Lyon, Against Heresies, Book IV, ch. 29 in Theological Anthropology, ed. Patout Burns, Fortress, Philadalphia 1981, p. 27.

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Irenaeus shows that you can liken the synergy between God and humanity that develops into tradition to the creation of a living expression of beauty. The beauty here is neither physical nor moral. Nor is it a purely spiritual reality. The lowly clay of human existence is shaped into a perfect work by the redeeming grace of divine glory. The Catholic tradition is quite clear about the role of divine grace and the freedom of human agency in the process. What is not so clearly articulated in these great works is the mode of expression by which human agency can disclose an encounter with divine beauty. Here is not the place to articulate a comprehensive theology of nature and grace that follows the via pulchritudinis. What follows is a contribution on just one neglected element of the whole puzzle – to what does human action give expression when it confronts the healthy shock of beauty? How can action even be expressive in the first place? The reflection proceeds in two steps. First, we shall examine the nature of the human act as a bearer of moral meaning. Second, we will look at the epiphany of beauty as the goal and fruit of moral action. The first part articulates why and how one can think of the activity of a believer as expressive as such. The second part assumes that Christian life is expressive in its own distinct way and lays out a way to think about the expression of Christian love along the path of the via pulchritudinis. Why even talk about beauty, when tradition transmits only faith and morals? Beauty matters because it is a vital and palpable aspect of the transcendental of the good. In God there is no distinction between beauty and the good. God is both, and both are in God in God’s own fullness. But in human volition the distinction between beauty and goodness arises quite naturally. Dionysius the Areopagite identified God with the self-diffusion of the good that elicits universal attraction35. Commentators on the Areopagite have used this definition (Bonum est diffusivum sui) to talk about how beauty and goodness are related. To state the issue more pointedly: “Given that it is possible to distinguish between beauty and the good, what specific role does beauty play in the eliciting of the good?” A recent commentator on Dionysius explains: The divine as the transcendent good elicits desire spontaneously prior to any determinate form that the desire may take; the good, it might be said, is the very generic code of desire itself. Insofar as beauty is bound up with God in himself, it identifies a transcendent plenitude that calls (kalos) to all other beings. It therefore elicits a more concrete attraction provoking a 35

Dionysius the Areopagite, On Divine Names, IV.1 (693B), in Pseudo-Dionysius: The Complete Works, ed. Paul Rorem, Paulist, NewYork 1987, p. 71.

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greater degree of volition in the percipient. As a name for God, however, beauty is a transcendent plenitude of all determinate content and so of desirable things. Consequently beauty provokes the will toward that which the will may not know, or at least may not fully know, it wills. Everything that was, that is and that will be is swathed in the divine being. As the good, God is that which all things desire. As beauty, God is that desire insofar as it is more concretely ordered toward determination, and so may be seen as a plenitude of volitional content.36

There is some form of reciprocity between God as the end of desire (the good) and beauty as the eliciting subject of desire, and this particular account might go too far in highlighting that reciprocity. At the same time, the genius of the Areopagite is to claim that beauty beckons the desiring subject to the divine good out of beauty’s self-determined plenitude. Beauty as the radiant aspect of self-diffusive goodness cannot be reduced to a subjectivity that instrumentalizes the good for a purely personal end. If «beauty provokes the will toward that which the will may not know, or at least may not fully know, it wills», then we still need to investigate the form of ignorance that impels the subject willing the good to seek more than it can ever will. Dionysius implies that this privation is not just of a provisional sort. In willing the good, we can never will all that we wish to will. This is not just a problem of tactics. It is, as Maurice Blondel has demonstrated, woven into the nature of the moral act itself. Blondel maintains that there is always a privative relationship between a willing will (volonté voulante) and a willed will (volonté voulue)37. When Blondel writes that negation (antíphasis) is an inadequate symbol of privation (stérƝsis), he is echoing the Biblical motif of “doing the truth” while remaining a disciple of the One who is the way, the truth, and the life38. Without at all denying that both the need for syllogistic reasoning and that formation in the virtues should play a role in the living out of practical reasoning, Blondel is articulating how every moral choice particularizes our aim at the Good. In other words, «every truly moral choice or decision presupposes an ineradicably created knowledge of the totality of the good, to which I am always of necessity oriented and that I have to choose in

36 B.T. Sammon, The God who is Beauty: Beauty as a Divine Name in Thomas Aquinas and Dionysius the Areopagite, Pickwick, Eugene, OP 2013, p. 133. 37 M. Blondel, “Principe élémentaire d’une logique de la vie morale”, in Les premiers écrits de Maurice Blondel, Presses universitaires de France, Paris 1956, pp. 123-47. For a theological commentary, see H.U. v. Balthasar, Theologik, II, Johannes, Einsiedeln 1985, pp. 29-33. 38 Cf. John 3:21, 1 John 1:6 and H.U. v. Balthasar, Theologik, II, 31.

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freedom»39. One is bound to lose one’s aim if the privation is taken as a separation, as a breach imposed from above to prevent synergy between human efforts and divine goodness. If one formalizes the privation into a merely temporary gap that is overcome with repeated effort, one goes equally astray. The privation is a distinction that expresses a constant factor in moral volition in the face of transcendence. Blondel himself already commented on this enigmatic volitional structure in his great book of 1893: It is impossible not to recognize the insufficiency of the natural order in its totality and not to feel an ulterior need; it is impossible to find within oneself something to satisfy this religious need. It is necessary; and it is impracticable. Those are, in brutal form, the conclusions of the determinism of human action.40

The privation between the willing will and the willed will is what beckons for more knowledge of infinite beauty and goodness even as moral progress is being made. Thus Blondel offers an account of the privative nature of volition in the face of inexhaustible and radiant goodness. But how, if at all, is human action expressive of the good? There is a very weak form of expression that is based upon the analogy of physiognomy, and a stronger form that Taylor calls natural expression and that we will call theo-poetics41. A smile, the wave of a hand, or a thumb raised in the air are familiar examples of the former. Body language (even of the less intentional sort than what is educed from these examples) should not be discounted, but there is a form of expression we are seeking here that is not covered by the model of physiognomy. To give expression to a desire for the good in a human act, we need to think in a different way than the model of physiognomy about the nature of action42. In theo-poetics we are still talking about embodied action and acts that are chosen in the midst of 39

H.U. v. Balthasar, Theologik, II, 31, translation my own. M. Blondel, Action (1893), University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame 1984, p. 297. 41 This distinction is derived, at least in part, from Charles Taylor, “Action as Expression,” in Intention and Intentionality: Essays in Honor of G.E.M. Anscombe, ed. Cora Diamond and Jenny Teichman, Cornell University Press, Ithaca 1979, pp. 73-89. Taylor does not, for example, avail himself of the term “theo-poetics”. This term derives from Amos Wilder. My own use of it comes principally from Roberto Goizueta, Caminemos con Jesús: Toward a Hispanic/Latino Theology of Accompaniment, Orbis, Maryknoll, N.Y. 1995, especially chapters four and five. 42 C. Taylor, “Action as Expression”, pp. 81-2. 40

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determinate precepts. It is not possible to sever the meaningfulness of moral acts from what Taylor calls their “bodily style”. «Desire is not a candidate for manifestation outside of some medium»43. One difference between a wave of the hand that signifies goodbye and the willingness of a faithful Christian to endure the sacrifice of martyrdom is that the latter is an act of the whole person to manifest love44. There is a difference here of the locus of desiring45. In the first case, we can isolate a discrete desire to wish someone well. In the latter case, «the action doesn’t just enable us to see the desire; it is the desire, embodied in a public space»46. This difference is not one of degree. It is between two kinds of expression. In the first instance we isolate with relative certainty that there is something that we desire. In the second case, if it is an act of faith, then the thing that is expressed is the act of witnessing by a person offering the witness47. Many physical and verbal gestures reveal key insights into our character. Together they point to a totality. But theo-poetic action by its very nature makes it clear that we are involved in the form of expression that seeks to express the totality as such. The totality can still only be expressed in an indirect fashion. It is a way of being in the world more than a thing or single utterance. Beauty can be expressed in either mode. Tradition hands on what is received as a gift within the Christian experience of God. In a word, the gift that is to be surrendered is known as love48. We turn now to the epiphany of love, which is the focus of its 43

Ibid., p. 82. E. Ortiz, “Le azioni, epifania della persona”, in Il Bene e la persona nell’agire, ed. Livio Melina and Juan-José Pérez-Soba, Lateran University Press, Roma 2002, pp. 97-109. 45 C. Taylor, “Action as Expression”, p. 87. 46 Ibid. 47 I offer an analysis of the witnessing character of faith in P. Casarella, “Conversion and Witnessing: Intercultural Renewal in a World Church”, «Proceedings of the Catholic Theological Society of America», 68 (2013), pp. 1-17. 48 We deliberately leave to the side here the nearly exhausted debate about eros and agape. Suffice it to say: «Yet eros and agape – ascending love and descending love – can never be completely separated. The more the two, in their different aspects, find a proper unity in the one reality of love, the more the true nature of love in general is realized. Even if eros is at first mainly covetous and ascending, a fascination for the great promise of happiness, in drawing near to the other, it is less and less concerned with itself, increasingly seeks the happiness of the other, is concerned more and more with the beloved, bestows itself and wants to “be there for” the other. The element of agape thus enters into this love, for otherwise eros is impoverished and even loses its own nature. On the other hand, man cannot live by oblative, descending love alone. He cannot always give, he must also receive. 44

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appearance in the theo-poetic mode. Massimo Borghesi and Livio Melina in particular have advanced the discussion by highlighting the aesthetic category of epiphany as a field of moral action in which love appears49. The epiphany of love needs to be considered in two dimensions—as the epiphany of love and as the epiphany of love. By examining the form of disclosure last, we will highlight the close relationship between the content disclosed and its mode of self-presentation50. With this Blondelian prelude, the epiphany of love can be seen as a new gloss on St. Paul’s teaching in Galatians 5:6: «For in Christ Jesus, neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything, but only faith working through love». The scholastic tradition considered with respect to this verse the doctrine of fides caritate formata, i.e., that the infused virtue of faith is formed by the infused virtue of charity. Melina explains this new path to Biblical and scholastic thought by means of the phrase “the excellence of acting as an expression of charity”. Here he is using “excellence” in an etymological sense that derives from a barely noticed feature of Summa Theologiae, I-IIae, quaestiones 69-70, which explains the role of the Holy Spirit in elevating the human person to the beatific vision. Two key terms, excellens and excedere, recur with abundance51. The former signifies a pressing outward from an interior impulse to the outside. The second signifies movement beyond an established limit. Both terms apply to the role of the Holy Spirit, which is always magnanimous in its bestowal of gifts and beyond measure in its capacity to love and be loved. As a consequence, the love that is imprinted upon human acting that is “ex-cellent” is one that exceeds every natural virtue (like prudence) without contradicting the rule of reason or the proper measure of virtue. The source for this teaching is the new discovery Anyone who wishes to give love must also receive love as a gift. Certainly, as the Lord tells us, one can become a source from which rivers of living water flow (cf. Jn 7:37-38). Yet to become such a source, one must constantly drink anew from the original source, which is Jesus Christ, from whose pierced heart flows the love of God (cf. Jn 19:34)». Pope Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est, Encyclical from Dec. 25, 2005, #7, accessed on-line at http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:5LYqbqvjd_AJ:www.vatic an.va/holy_father/benedict_xvi/encyclicals/documents/hf_benxvi_enc_20051225_deus-caritas-est_en.html+&cd=2&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us on Dec. 8, 2013. 49 M. Borghesi, Salvati dalla Bellezza, Edizioni Porziuncola, Assisi 2001; L. Melina, Azione: epifania dell’amore. La morale cristiana oltre il moralismo e l’antimoralismo, Cantagalli, Siena 2008. 50 L. Melina, Azione, 121-7: “L’agire eccellente, expressione della carità”. 51 Ibid., 124.

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of St. Thomas Aquinas on beatitude as a fulfilment of a natural desire to see God according to his essence and as a supernatural gift. The Thomistic orientation to beatitude exceeds moralism and antimoralism since the superabundant gift of beatitude can never be confined to either isolated precepts or the therapeutic project of human self-direction52. Melina summarizes: «In the ex-cellence of acting (nell’agire eccellente), realized through the synergy between the action of the Spirit and human freedom, there appears a real participation in the eternal beatitude of communion with God»53. A new synergy emerges when the Spirit gets involves in the aesthetics of moral action. Thus, excellence refers not just to the surpassing of the human by the divine but equally to the openness to excessive synergy, what is also known as the ever greater love in the plan of redemption. This point about synergistic action, as we shall see below, is decisive for grasping the connection between expressiveness and the organic development of Catholic tradition. The excessive synergy of charitable action underscores the need to examine the expressiveness of such action not just in terms of what is disclosed but also in terms of its mode of disclosure. The “what” (or better yet “whom”) and the “how” of a revelation of love are not easily separated. The word “epiphany” comes from the Greek epi-phainesthai, signifying the possibility of a phenomenon in the sense of a manifestation to or upon someone54. In literary theory it can have the sense of a sudden and total self-disclosure. The epi-phany of charitable action, on the other hand, need not be sudden or centered on the self, as was just seen in Melina’s retrieval of the Thomistic pneumatology of excessiveness. The distinctiveness of the appearance of the gifts of the Holy Spirit is that these gifts do not simply repeat or extend what is acquired by the natural virtues. They work together and elevate what is given by reason without contravening reason’s own postulates. The epiphany of expressive action correlates with the wonder of beauty itself. In the words of Borghesi, commenting on Pope Benedict’s Letter to Artists cited above: This wonder (stupore), which is neither excitement nor stupefaction, is the wonder above all [that transpires] in the face of things as they simply are. 52

Ibid., 122. See also L. Melina, “Desire for Happiness and the Commandments in the First Chapter of Veritatis Splendor”, «The Thomist», 60 (1996), pp. 341-59, republished in Veritatis Splendor and the Renewal of Moral Theology, 143-60. 53 L. Melina, Azione, p. 126. 54 J.P. Manoussakis, “The Phenomenon of God: From Husserl to Marion”, «American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly», 78/1 (2004), pp. 53-68, here at 61.

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As Martin Heidegger noted in “The Origin of the Work of Art”, the event of epiphany conceals a sense more original than what appears to the eye of the beholder56. The epiphanic disclosure is thus neither the object qua object (natures stripped of their existence) nor the emotional state of the beholder (what Borghesi calls excitazione e stordimento). The event of epiphany belies beholding altogether even though it cannot avoid it. To grasp the event character of the disclosure of love, one’s gaze remains fixed on the invisible excessiveness that permeates the giving of the gift. Given that the Spirit pushes itself from the inside of the I to the outside and given the limitlessness of this movement, a variety of factors needs to be taken into account all at once. In becoming aware of the epiphany, we are returning to what Martin Heidegger considered the original question of metaphysics: “Why is there anything at all, rather than nothing?”57. The epiphanic disclosure is present as greater than the sum of its individual parts. Its beauty lies in its indescribable wholeness and, simultaneously, the concrete manifestation of its presence. Borghesi opines that the true epiphany of beauty, the healthy shock recalled by Pope Benedict, is perfectly expressed in the remarkable film of 1997 directed by and starring Roberto Benigni: La vita è bella (“Life is beautiful”)58. The film is not just about the Holocaust, Borghesi notes. Let us briefly recall a sketch of the plot. Benigni plays Guido Orefice, a Jew who falls in love with a local school teacher, Dora. At the time of their meeting, Dora is engaged to a rich civil servant. Guido’s eccentric charms win her over, and before long they begin a family. Then at the outset of World War II, Guido and the son Joshua are slated to go to a concentration camp. Dora insists on her own accord to accompany them, but they become separated at the camp. In the camp Guido invents the fiction of an elaborate game to win a tank from the guards in order to shield the innocence of the child. In the end, the fiction prevails because American 55

M. Borghesi, Salvati dalla Bellezza, 19. M. Heidegger, “The Origin of the Work of Art”, in Poetry, Language, Thought, tr. Albert Hofstadter, Harper Colophon, New York 1971, pp. 17-87. 57 M. Heidegger, An Introduction to Metaphysics, Yale University Press, New Haven 1959, p. 1. 58 M. Borghesi, Salvati dalla Bellezza, pp. 10-11. 56

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liberators take the boy away in a tank even as Guido is sent to the death chamber. The movie is ultimately about the love between a man and a woman and about protecting the son from the violently personal drama unfolding before his eyes even though he will one day come to see that he is enduring just that. (The whole story is recounted by the son as an adult.) For Borghesi “the beauty of the film is that it unites drama and irony in a way that is extremely delicate and most difficult (una maniera lievissima e difficilissima)”59. The theopoetic value of beauty is not that it turns moral ugliness into something less than gruesome. On the contrary, beauty here emerges from the realistic and meaningful narrative of the sacrifice of love. We have attempted to show the convergence of the divine-human encounter of love as the content of the epiphany with its radically expressive mode of manifestation. What appears in this disclosure is an epiphany even when we are not able always to grasp the limitlessness of the phenomenon. This creates a challenge for thinking about tradition since tradition is about both content and form. How can we then think of the epiphany of charitable action as traditio, as a handing on of knowledge from one generation to the next? The clue lies once again in the discernment of the work of the Holy Spirit as a key actor in the process. Pope Francis in a recent Wednesday catechesis explains the epiphany of beauty as the symphonic work of the Holy Spirit. This particular catechesis dealt with the meaning of the term “catholic” as that term appears in the creed. He concluded with this reflection: The Church is catholic, because she is the “home of harmony” where unity and diversity know how to merge in order to become a great source of wealth. Let us think about the image of a symphony, which implies accord, harmony, various instruments playing together. Each one preserves its own unmistakable timbre and the sounds characteristic of each blend together around a common theme. Then there is the one who directs it, the conductor, and as the symphony is performed all play together in “harmony”, but the timbre of each individual instrument is never eliminated; indeed, the uniqueness of each is greatly enhanced!60

The symphony of the Holy Spirit is the epiphany of beauty that holds together catholic truth. The uniqueness of each instrument is enhanced 59

Ibid., p. 11. Pope Francis, General Audience, Saint Peter's Square, Wednesday, 9 October 2013, accessed at http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/francesco/audiences/2013/documents/papafrancesco_20131009_udienza-generale_en.html on Dec. 8, 2013.

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rather than diminished when they are blended together around a common theme. Tradition arises and maintains its attraction largely by virtue of this unique Godly form of blending that actually achieves genuine consensus while highlighting diversity.

IV. Conclusion The shock of beauty lends a renewed sense of purpose to the process of tradition. The emphasis on theopoetics may not be wholly novel, but at the very least it helps to clarify why tradition properly understood is meaningful in the first place. Tradition needs to be placed in the context of its most original meaning and purpose. For example, Iris Murdoch says in The Sovereignty of the Good: Human life is chancy and incomplete. It is the role of tragedy, and also of comedy, and painting to show us suffering without a thrill and death without a consolation. Or if there is any consolation it is the austere consolation of a beauty which teaches that nothing in life is of any value except the attempt to be virtuous.61

This somber but prudent lesson applies directly to the problem of tradition. Tradition can be studied as a cultural artifact. That task is the province of the historian and ethnographer, but it is not theology. Furthermore, a historian of art rightly places Michelangelo’s Last Judgment in its proper historical and aesthetic context. Cultural epochs that form the past can be handed on through pedagogies that are traditional or non-traditional, stultifying or transformative. One need not assume that innovation alone breeds transformation. The healthy shock of beauty can arise in the Sistine Chapel or in Latino mural art in East Los Angeles. Either way, the transmission of cultural artifacts qua artifacts generally does not aim at the question of the good. This does not mean that either the production or the experience of the work of art is divorced from the pursuit of the good. In treating the artifact as an aesthetic object, it severs its ties to the healthy shock that brings the work of art back to true life. Tradition in the life of faith does more than recall what was once deemed to be beautiful. The idea of a healthy shock reminds us of the true meaning of tradition. Properly understood, tradition is valuable as an attempt in the midst of present life to be virtuous. Without this practical aim and inner directionality, tradition loses its capacity to shape life. To 61

I. Murdoch, The Sovereignty of the Good, Routledge, Florence, KY 2001, p. 85. Italics added.

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aim at the beauty of God’s love is the opposite of moralism or traditionalism. Against moralism, we need to see that we cannot enact God’s love for humanity. The task is too immense. Against traditionalism, we need to see that nostalgia breeds weariness when the meaning of tradition is ignored. Tradition comes to life and achieves the glory for which it was intended when it is enacted freely by a people for the sake of the good.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN TRADITION: AFTER AND BEYOND MACINTYRE JOHN MILBANK

Tradition understood etymologically as the 'handing on of a gift' is the most realistic way of understanding human culture. For cultures commence as seemingly arbitrary 'proposals' by a few, which command the assent of the many. Religions are able to admit this reality of origination, whereas secular thought must either view it cynically and nihilistically, or else obfuscate it with myths of 'democratic' contract. Religion and tradition lie close together, yet there is a valid and objective sense in which Christianity is 'the most religious religion' because it is 'the most traditional tradition'. For it is not quite true that 'tradition' is equally to the fore in all 'traditions'. To the contrary, it is particularly prevalent in Christianity because of 1. Roman legal usage; 2. an originally gnostic usage later recovered by orthodoxy; 3. the 'passing on' character of Latin civilisation as discussed by Rémi Brague; 4. the origination of Christianity in a narrative which is necessarily (as narrative) a story of 'handing on a gift'. Other religions do not so clearly originate in a narrative and are more concerned with unalterable permanence. Islam, for example, is arguably more addicted to a pretended stasis of identical repetition than to the non-identical repetition germane to the notion of tradition. Yet its more mystical currents offer exceptions to this. MacIntyre is right to link ethics to narrative and tradition, though he needs to see this as more intrinsically religious and not just a matter of a non-revealed natural law. Equivalently, one should see the development of a tradition as more a matter of rhetorical persuasion to receive gifts rather than mainly an affair of dialectical development, as with MacIntyre's quasi-Hegelianism. Since liberalism is not inherently religious one must disagree with MacIntyre that it can genuinely constitute a tradition in its utilitarian guise after Burke.

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Is the notion of tradition applicable to all cultural phenomena, both secular and religious? Or is it to be associated especially with religious phenomena? We speak very easily of both cultural and religious traditions, and in general we tend to contrast a “traditioned” mode of life with a “modern” mode of life that is seen as having emanated from the West. “Tradition” as a category then appears to be at once global, ecumenical and nostalgic. It is seen in contrast to the “modern”, which though contemporary and now global, is also regarded as parochial because of its specifically European lineage. Yet precisely in the most seemingly innocent generic category, the danger of a concealed specificity can often lurk. One can ask whether or not this is true of the category “tradition”. It is, after all a Roman word: is it specifically marked in a significant way by this Latin legacy, or are apparently similar terms in other languages, for example Arabic, strictlyspeaking equivalents? To this question I do not know the answer, but it is certainly true that the word “tradition” in Romance and semi-Romance tongues (like English) carries a specific semantic freight. And that freight is reflexively to do with the notion of “carrying” itself. Or more exactly with “handing over”: the handing over of a gift, as the etymological components of traditio in Latin are trans and dare. The semantic echoes here are very complex and include the proximity of the idea of “handing over” to that of a journey, just as the English word “passage” has such a double sense. Thus the English word “trade” lies close to the word “tradition”. Although it now primarily indicates a process of exchange, it more originally meant a course, way or path, the track of a beast or the route of a wind. And this more self-contained and unilateral sense survives in the transference of “trade” as a practice to “trade” as a profession, as the chosen course of an individual life. Similar points can be made about the equivalent Greek term paradosis which also implies, at root, the handing on of a gift. Cognates of this term are used in several places in the New Testament (e.g. Luke 1:2) to indicate the passing on of the word of God, or of Christ. And in fact the enhanced importance of the notion of “tradition” in later Western culture stems precisely from this source. In later usage “tradition” especially had to do with both the public passing on of oral words, ritual usages and written texts, besides elements of a more esoteric transfer and continuity. Indeed, while paradosis was an important term in connection to “secret teachings” in originally protoorthodox early Christian circles, it was then far more developed as a

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notion of central importance by Christian Gnosticism1. Only with Irenaeus and then Origen was the term re-appropriated by Catholic Christianity. Here it once more refers to the exoteric, and yet continues also to refer to the esoteric. Thus Irenaeus contrasted the public and simple character of the traditio (in both substance and category) of Christian baptism, compared with the convoluted and hidden character of Gnostic rites, while both he and still more Origen insisted on the necessarily originally “secret” character (to guard truth from those lacking in insight) of Old Testament traditions hidden symbolically beneath historical events and literal-seeming texts2.2. So in the case equally of the Latin and the Greek terms one can validly say that to be within a tradition means both to pass something on and to pursue one’s way along a path. But though a path always leads into the future, its difference from a trackless waste in which one might wander is that it has been marked-out by previous walkers. To walk a path therefore is also to receive a gift and to further trace the path through one’s own footsteps is to hand over this very same gift to future walkers. One can therefore conclude that the unilateral, self-contained and temporal dimension of tradition is more primarily interpersonal, and that for just this reason the root meaning of “handing over a gift”, which can be spatial as well as temporal, retains its primacy. To act in a traditioned fashion is to pass on a gift which one has already received and therefore according to a particular laid-down manner, along the lines of a particular path. It is to give according to some sort of prescribed notion of measure and order. Not surprisingly then, traditio is above all a legal term, which referred to the transfer of the ownership of a slave by simple handing over within the ius gentium, or law of the nations, as opposed to the ius civile or the ius naturale. Now it might well be plausible to argue that this structure of traditioning is proper to all human culture as such. However, it is also possible to argue that the Roman legacy is peculiarly obsessed with the traditional insofar as it tends paradoxically to balance an extreme sense of indebtedness on the one hand, with an extreme pride in its own mission to “transmit to others” on the other hand. Thus Rémi Brague has argued that the peculiar mark of Western European culture that has come to dominate 1

See D.B. Reynders, “Paradosis: Le progrès de l’idée de la tradition jusqu’à Saint Irénée”, «Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale», 5 (1933), 155-191. 2 See J. Daniélou, Gospel Tradition and Hellenistic Culture, trans. John A. Baker, Westminster Press, London 1973; Henri de Lubac, History and Spirit: the Understanding of Scripture According to Origen, transl. by Anne Englund Nash, Ignatius, San Francisco, 2007, p. 173.

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the world is its “eccentricity”3.3.Its imperialistic impulses are not the consequence of an extreme self-centredness, and indeed he argues that it is only in its post-colonial phase that the latter has set in. To the contrary, they are to do precisely with its sense of being caught in the middle of a process of traditio. Thus ancient Rome thought of itself, to an extreme degree, beyond that of ancient Greek religiosity, as being in sacrificial debt to its gods and founders and bound to maintain and extend both inherited cultic rites and legal norms. But this sense of vertical indebtedness was also applied on the horizontal plane: thus Rome came to see itself as a transmitter of Greek culture to which it always felt inferior. Later, after Christianisation, it in effect came to see itself also as a transmitter of Jewish culture. For, as Brague points out, there is a remarkable homology between the Roman sense of secondariness with respect to Greece and the Christian sense of secondariness with respect to Israel. For even though the Incarnation and the gospel are held by Christians to be a novum, they can only be both recognised and interpreted by a ceaseless return to the Old Testament, which therefore retains a kind of primacy, just as God the Son only reveals God the Father and does not displace him, as for some Gnostic variants. In the later, post-Roman history of Europe these two experiences of “belatedness” merge and are combined with a third which sees the entire classical world, including Rome, as in certain ways superior to what comes later. Thus Europe as a whole sees itself as carrier of what precedes it and remains external to it. Yet this is no simple inferiority complex: the tradition of incarnational fulfilment in particular always suggests that a renaissance of antiquity can also be a surpassing and a new realisation. Nevertheless, the very hubris of imperial conquest continues strangely to be driven by a certain humility: the duty to give further onwards what precedes and measures one, namely the path which one has received wherein to walk. Christianity therefore, and perhaps Latin Christianity most especially, is not simply one religious tradition among many. Rather, one might suggest, it is peculiarly dominated by the notion of tradition, which it has itself most decisively promoted. At least up until 1300 and often beyond, it understood its self-authentication in terms of a constant handing over of a received gift, a constant re-elaboration that yet sustained a certain measure, a certain rhythmic pattern. Authority here derived from a process of inter-personal temporal transmission and re-interpretation of natural and 3 R. Brague, Eccentric Culture: a Theory of European Civilisation, transl. by Samuel Lester, St Augustine’s Press, South Bend, IN 2002.

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scriptural signs and not from a spatial centre, either ecclesial or textual. Even the canonical scripture was internally constituted by a new handing over of an earlier body of scripture by a later, and this entire double body was itself understood to indicate the prior authority of the incarnate “bridegroom” God and his “bride” the inspired Church. So in a peculiar sense, for authentic, Catholic Christianity, authority, or tradition, or the passage of a gift are entirely at one. Whether or not this is true for other religious traditions and to what degree, I do not pretend to know. Clearly, in the case of Islam for example, something like tradition plays an enormous role and a greater one within some variants of Islam than in others. Nevertheless, one could validly ask whether the idea that the Qur’Ɨn is itself the original revelation of Allah does not mean that the notion of tradition is less fundamental here than for Christianity? One might think that the opposite applied, because Islam is far more concerned than Christianity with demonstrating the exact provenance of a hadith, a record of a saying or deed of Muhammad, by tracing it back through a series of named links in a chain to the prophet himself. But this process, called tawatur, in its zealous concern to demonstrate a purity of lineage reveals itself to be, arguably, precisely the opposite of a notion of tradition. How so? Because the concern here is to show that something survives unbroken and unchanged since its origin, whereas the idea of tradition privileges and encourages a continuous variation of the same, such that alteration need not betoken distortion. In addition, the very nontraceability of routes through time can serve to validate the authenticity of Christian tradition, because it retained its “Gnostic” mark (throughout orthodoxy in both East and West) of a hidden, oral current, guaranteed by the succession of the wise and saintly. So if one were looking for something more approximating to Christian and European tradition in the case of Islamic culture one should surely consider primarily those Shi‘ite traditions initially marked by a Gnostic legacy. One needs also to realise here that the idea of a fundamental handing over is inherently paradoxical, for it posits nothing isolated to “begin with” and so no real “original”. Therefore it is possible that to be traditioned through and through is one facet of that extreme paradoxicality of Christianity with which other religious traditions sometimes feel themselves to be slightly ill at ease. And while of course we think of Judaism as saturated by a sense and practice of tradition, Franz Rosenzweig’s characterisation of Judaism in The Star of Redemption could be taken as implying that traditionedness is actually not as constitutive of Judaism as it is of Christianity. Judaism always seeks a Sabbath return to the moment of Sinai, to the giving of the law. It is not, according to Rosenzweig, as

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obsessed by a sense of positioning within a historical chain as is the Christian faith4.4. What I am trying to do here is to point up possible concealed differences between various cultural traditions around the very notion of tradition itself. Of course the extreme traditioned character of Christianity is not necessarily a good thing. I have already pointed out its constitutive link with a drive to a certain kind of imperial expansion – something which might very well be viewed askance by outsiders. When we approach the views of Alasdair MacIntyre on tradition, it is as well to bear all this in mind. He purports to write mainly as a philosopher, and yet his own approach to the topic of tradition would surely allow that his very views on tradition are strongly marked by his insertion of himself within a Latin Christian tradition. Most striking of all here is the way in which he makes (at least in After Virtue) the notion of narrative the way into the notion of tradition5.5.For the kind of radical traditionedness which I am ascribing to Christianity implies, as we have already seen, not simply that one hands on as a gift what was once not a gift, nor that one hands on what was once simply just given in the sense of inertly “there” like a stone by the wayside, but rather that one hands on what has always been there only as handed on, or in other words always as a gift. A traditio, the handing-over of gifts, can only ever be told, and cannot merely be asserted, like a proposition. Here it would seem that there is a clear contrast between the Christian gospels, for which the revelation is contained within certain narratives, and the Qur’Ɨn, for which revelation is contained in certain authoritative utterances. The case of Judaism is perhaps, by comparison, a mixed one. In this light one has to ask whether MacIntyre’s favouring of narrative rather than law or norm or conditional criterion as the primary category for ethics is not a highly Christian one? Nevertheless, there are features of his discussions of narrativity which would seem to have a less controversially universal bearing. With persuasiveness he argues that narrative is equally split between fiction and history because history only occurs in the first place in a narrative mode. This is because we are inherently symbolic creatures: specifically human as opposed to natural action (the case of animals may be intermediate here) always involves a detour through meaningful descriptions that invoke categories which are, with respect to given nature, sheerly gratuitous. A volcanic eruption of ash is a 4

F. Rosenzweig, The Star of Redemption, University of Wisconsin Press, Madison 2005; translated by B.E. Galli. 5 A. MacIntyre, After Virtue: a Study in Moral Theory, third edition, Notre Dame University University Press, Notre Dame 2007; (first published 1981).

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manifestation of mere natural power; a military victory is that indeed, but it is also an event which has only occurred at all because it is in a sense fictional: Thermopylae is taken to be lost by the Greeks and won by the Persians because symbolic conventions define some people as Greeks, others as Persians, and give a certain valuation to a certain sort of physical struggle conducted, despite its seeming chaos, according to certain conventional rules. So even though human history has no very tidy beginnings and endings it could not be history at all without ceaseless beginnings and endings and all sorts of emplotments in between. After all, no dramatist could have perfected the pictured pathos of the departure of Gordon Brown’s family from the steps of Number 10 Downing Street in May 2010, nor the way in which the easier psychic chemistry between David Cameron and Nick Clegg in part led to a new realignment within British politics that has proved to have fatal consequences. If, for MacIntyre, human history therefore contains characters who are literally characters within stories, then his further claim is that we only have characters or subjective identities as characters within stories. This is a more debatable claim, which many philosophers (for example Galen Strawson) would dispute. But it seems to me defensible in the simple terms that we only come to understand ourselves at all through being first named, first spoken to and first acted upon. Only gradually do we reflectively appropriate a cultural legacy within which we are situated by others. Nevertheless, it is important to note here that this situating involves something more like the giving of gifts than the mere according of status, and that it is for this reason that we can come to appropriate those gifts in our own way and start to take a hand in shaping our own selfhood. Cultures that try to eradicate gift in terms of status might well be considered pathological and can never be entirely successful. And the way in which we receive our identity as gift, and yet for this reason can help to mould it, reinforces the view that our identity is that of characters in a story. For in a good novel the novelist must, as it were, fantasise a shaping culture or ethos and yet make it appear that within that environment distinctive characters have a life of their own and even a will of their own – as Rowan Williams has pointed out with respect to Dostoyevsky6.6. MacIntyre does not actually make it entirely clear just how tradition relates to narrative. But he seems to proceed in After Virtue from the latter to the former. This implies that tradition is something like a story of 6

R. Williams, Dostoevsky: Language, Faith and Fiction, Continuum, London 2008.

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stories, a metanarrative, rather like a novel sequence. Just because we do not entirely shape our own characters but are born into cultural roles and biological legacies, we remain part of a longer story without any traceable beginning. One could also say that this metanarrative is “meta” not just in the sense of being a “story of stories” but also “meta” in the sense of providing the half-formulated norms, the ‘literary theory’ within which all stories valid for a particular cultural legacy are to be played out. For MacIntyre in After Virtue tradition therefore seems to be the endless embedding of stories within yet further stories according to a fairly coherent normative pattern. More controversial still is MacIntyre’s claim that the norms of both theoretical and practical reason are ultimately embedded in narrative. But he argues with cogency that, just as we cannot will anything at all without first being granted an identity by being addressed, so also we cannot think at all without first taking something for granted, something that we will never be able entirely to call into critical question, because it is the very basis upon which we are able to reason or to act at all. Hence our rational assumptions always remain akin to the first events in a story that have to be narrated rather than proved. This can sound like a licence for dogmatism. But here it is important to remember once again that what has been handed over by the tradition is a gift and not a fixed position. The gift has to be interpreted and this applies most of all to that supreme gift which is our socio-historical role. We must ask: what is this for? This is why MacIntyre appeals to the example of the medieval quest and rightly says that its point was not merely reaching a goal, but trying to work out just what that goal might be. In a parallel fashion MacIntyre points out that while Plato, Aristotle, Augustine and Aquinas all thought that there was an objectively good way to be human, they also thought that that good has to be continuously re-discerned. Hence for Aristotle one aspect of the good city which pursues the good life is that it creates a space for a constant debate about the nature of that good life. MacIntyre raises two further pertinent questions. First, how do traditions radically change; and second, is it possible for a culture to live outside the notion of tradition altogether? In the first case he suggests (especially in works later than After Virtue7) that traditions change when other, rival traditions turn out to have better answers to issues that have become problematic within their own 7

Whose Justice? Which Rationality?, Notre Dame University Press, Notre Dame 1988; and Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry, Notre Dame University Press, Notre Dame 1990.

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trajectory. No doubt this is true for some instances if one takes “better” to mean more formally coherent and avoiding of contradiction. However, it is notable that MacIntyre more and more comes to speak of tradition without mentioning narrative, despite the fact, that, as we have seen, the latter seems to be his paradigm for the former. This could be taken as symptomatic of the fact that MacIntyre does not sufficiently ask whether shifts in a tradition are not often more seemingly arbitrary matters of new twists in the plot that break with latent metanarrative norms, or else the adoption of someone else’s story because it seems more attractive and compelling. Given the narrative assumptions of all cultures, it will surely often not be clear in merely rational terms whether a new narrative development is preferable or not. Yet this is not to say that the seemingly arbitrary switches in focus are really just that. For MacIntyre himself insists that a crucial aspect of belonging to a tradition is knowing how to go on in a tacit sense for which there are no prescribed rules. This knowledge can only be that of an insider, just as only the trained musician can successfully improvise, even though improvisations might appear to be possible even for a beginner. For the latter’s efforts are always likely to be cack-handed. Something ineffable but real would appear to be at work here and we recognise this also in the ruleless tact that is exhibited within the social sphere by truly good people as opposed to annoying prigs. In relation to the second issue, regarding seeming rejection of the notion of tradition, MacIntyre takes modern Western liberalism as his example. For this political theory, the past can have no normative validity. Any justifiable order is rather set up by entirely freely choosing and isolated individuals on the basis of no preceding assumptions. They mutually agree to do certain things on condition that other people do certain things in a perfectly closed spatial circle of market contract and formal law. So no unconditional gifts are here passed down as both authorisations for the present and possibilities for the future. In consequence tradition is no longer supposed to govern our social and political behaviour. But MacIntyre thinks that traditionedness is inescapable. He admires ethical theories which recognise this reality, such as those of Aristotle and Hume (whom he rightly does not take to be a liberal, though he dislikes his elevation of feelings above reason). Theories which do not recognise this reality (Utilitarianism, Deontology) are for MacIntyre self-deluding; partly on this account they are neither really ethical theories at all, nor convincing accounts of human behaviour. So just for this reason MacIntyre seems to think (though he is not perhaps entirely clear about

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this) that they institute quasi-traditions which they cannot themselves fully recognise on pain of self-dissolution. MacIntyre’s paradigm for this is Burke, who extolled not tradition-asreasoning but tradition justified in utilitarian terms as providing social and political stability. By this manoeuvre he was able to recognise, beyond contractual Lockean liberalism, that English absolute property ownership was a sheerly historical event. In effect Burke, rooted in agrarian capitalism, recommends a sentimental attachment to this event, which is justifiable in terms of the social upshot – since he at least recognises in pragmatic terms how human beings live in time as well as space8.8. The conversion of liberalism into a tradition seems then, for MacIntyre, to be to do with a shift of liberalism from contract theory towards utilitarianism. Yet, as Alain Caillé points out, the latter still preserves the conditionalism of the former: e.g. I agree to forego present pleasures for the guaranteed return of more stable and less threatened ones in the long-term. The risk of handing-over and receiving a gift that is the very essence of a tradition is here refused. Yet one can note here that modern philosophical explorations of the “prisoner’s dilemma”, as Caillé has explained, are fatal for all modes of liberal conditionalism9.9.This is because sheerly isolated individuals could never, logically speaking, take the risk of trusting each other. Human society is only there at all because of an initial, arbitrary, “aristocratic”, magnanimous offer that is relatively unconditional in the sense of seeking an equal “abandonment” in return. Because tradition means “to hand over a gift” one can see how the primacy of handing down in time also implies an open spiral movement in space rather than the closed circular one of liberalism. Here we recognise that the primary social bond is not one of exactly kept laws and precisely fulfilled contracts, but rather of a paradoxical sense of continued mutual and positive indebtedness in which each party always feels that she owes more to the other rather than the other way round. It is therefore a consequence of MacIntyre’s treatment of liberalism as a tradition that all modes of thought which seek to occlude the necessity of justification by tradition are doomed not only to erect a pseudo-tradition, but also to tell mythical stories about human origins like that of the social contract, the perfect equilibrium of markets or the basic sway of purely utilitarian motives. They fail to see the primacy of the human search, as 8

MacIntyre fails to mention the later Romantic Burke who surpassed this earlier perspective and, partly in a Humean trajectory, adumbrated in Reflections on the Revolution in France a very theological virtue ethic on the basis of feeling and imagination – an approach to which MacIntyre remains problematically averse. 9 A. Caillé, Anthropologie du Don, La Découverte, Paris 2007.

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Hegel noted, for mutual recognition or mutual honouring, of which our honouring of wealth or fame for fame’s sake are but particular (and one could argue debased) modes. This primacy of recognition is a simple consequence of our nature as a symbol-using animal which ensures the detour through gratuity which one could define as apparently unnecessary display10.10. It follows from this that the tradition-denying theories of liberalism have to erect either the political or the economic, either the whole or the individual, as more primary than the social, and that in the course of so doing they are bound to obfuscate human history. And one can add that all secular thought will have this tendency because it will search for immanent modes of the justification of social order in terms of the naturally given. Here the likeliest candidates are always either an assumed organic whole or else allegedly isolated atomic individuals. But the only historically plausible understanding of the human social essence is a traditioned one where what is primary is human relationship, which can only be constituted by the play of relative unconditionality – the play of give and take in space and of inheriting and handing over through time. All human associations are constituted in this manner and any purportedly contractual polity or market in reality conceals the tacit bonds of custom and trust which are crucial for holding it together, as the later Burke realised. Yet given this primacy of the association over the conditional alliance, one can see the secondariness of (merely) political and (merely) economic groupings compared to the association as such, which, as Augustine suggested, can be any formation of persons united by the object of its desire. In our present circumstances this can suggest a mode of counterpolemic for all the world religions. Far from it being the case that they are aberrant formations compared to the state or the market, just the opposite is true. For religions, just because they claim supernatural foundations, do not need to lie about their origins in time. They, and not secular bodies, can be critically honest about their own genealogy. This is because they can admit the unconditional character of their origins in gift, when a founder or founders offered something as a new cultural basis that had neither been voted for nor agreed upon, even though it awaited the “democratic” assent of the people in order to attest its authenticity. It is just this classical ‘mixed constitution’ of every maturely reflexive world 10

One can, however, note here that an important tradition in modern biology argues that all biological organisms exist only in order to display themselves, functional survival being secondary to this and wholly unable to explain the variety of species that are all equally well “adapted”.

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religion that ensures its critical rigour. It is able to understand its own traditioned process in ways that a purely secular body must necessarily obfuscate. This is mainly because telling the truth about unconditional origins would appear from a secular humanist point of view to reveal the role of the purely arbitrary. And at this point only secularity turned into a cult of power à la Nietzsche can tell something like the truth, yet only at the price of reducing all of the symbolic to the ruses of a blind and amoral nature and therefore exiting the human altogether. For this reason it is only a religious humanism that can be both honest and coherent. For the symbolic order which is passed on as gift – as the combination of sign and thing – having by definition no rational foundation, can only be justified if it is taken to participate in or to reveal a transcendent divine or heavenly order. In this context I would reject MacIntyre’s implied suggestion that an immanent dialectical development of a tradition works in some respects as a justification in terms of natural law: for this leaves unaffected the problem of its seemingly arbitrary commencement. These comments may throw some light on the way in which current global politics, but especially British politics, seems to be tilting away from a left versus right axis towards one which pits secular believers in individual choice, and so in the primacy of state and market, against religious or ethical believers in the primacy of association and of human relatedness. For despite the anti-traditional stridency of secular thinkers, the social illogic of the former position is beginning to be demonstrated in practice. An associative void has opened up, which new forms of association-making are somewhat beginning to fill. At the end of this essay I have suggested a kind of pan-religious logic of tradition. But I began it by wondering how far an extreme insistence on the primacy of tradition was in fact an explicitly Christian emphasis. That is a matter for discussion, though I do not think that the two suggestions are entirely incompatible with each other. For my own part (though I know that this would not command general assent) I would venture that Christianity is exactly that religion which reaches the clearest insights about a primacy of tradition which one can take as a sociological and meta-historical truth, and is accordingly able to be the most critically honest about its origins – since if these were already a “handing-over” they were necessarily both murky and complex and necessarily at once entirely symbolic and entirely real. It is further able to rest its faith upon “tradition alone” (tradition being also the evergenerative scripture and the historicity of reason) because “handing over” is taken to be exhaustively an inter-change of love which has refused all competition save in the degree of self-abandonment. The revelatory and

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participatory justification of the Christian order is moreover in terms of a divine order that is internally a mediating and a handing over. It is in this respect no accident that the New Testament names the third person of the Trinity “gift” and insists that the Holy Spirit’s specific mode of personal action, which conveys the action of the entire Godhead, is to give gifts to us in every sense. The Triune God is an eternally established and yet forever re-ignited traditio. One could then further suggest that the crisis of Christian tradition in the west involves a sudden doubt about whether after all it is love that is handed over, and in consequence a highly novel attempt (as compared with other cultures) to abandon the ground of tradition altogether in favour of static immanent norms. The later, anti-liberal but secular alternative to this initial response to crisis, as with Nietzsche, is as we have seen a nihilistic construal of tradition which naturalises it and so abolishes it once more in its human, donating character. In various modes though (of which Mauss’s discovery of gift-exchange is one and the explorations of both the Polanyi brothers another), some modern secular Western thinkers have rediscovered the primacy of tradition in a way that covertly rejoins both their Latin and Christian legacies and yet may be of universal import.

CONTRIBUTORS

Salvatore Amato is Full Professor of Philosophy of Law at the Department of Law of the University of Catania. He is member of Italian National Bioethics Council. His main publications include Sessualità e corporeità, Giuffrè, Milano 1985; I limiti dell’identificazione giuridica, Giappichelli, Torino 1990; Il soggetto e il soggetto di diritto, Giappichelli, Torino 2002; Coazione coesistenza, compassione, Giappichelli, Torino 2002; Biogiurisprudenza, Giappichelli, Torino 2006; Eutanasie, Giappichelli, Torino, 2011; ed. by S. Cristofari and S. Raciti, Biometria, Giappichelli, Torino 2013. Enrico Berti is Emeritus Professor at the University of Padua and Doctor honoris causa at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. He has been Professor of Philosophy at the University of Perugia: also at Padua, Geneva, Bruxelles and Lugano. He has been President of Società Filosofica Italiana, Vice-President of the Fédération Internationale des Sociétes de Philosophie and currently he is President of the Institut International de Philosophie. He is Member of the Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei (Rome) and of the Pontificia Accademia delle Scienze. His latest publications are: In principio era la meraviglia, Laterza, Roma-Bari 1997; Aristotele nel Novecento, Laterza, Roma-Bari 2008; Nuovi studi aristotelici, 4 vols., Morcelliana, Brescia 2004-2010; Sumphilosophein. La vita nell'Accademia di Platone, Laterza, Roma-Bari 2010; Invito alla filosofia, La Scuola, Brescia 2011; Aristotele e la metafisica classica, Il ramo, Rapallo 2012; Studi aristotelici, new edition, Morcelliana, Brescia 2012. Rémi Brague is Emeritus Professor of Medieval and Arabic Philosophy at the University of Paris I. He teaches also at the Ludwig-MaximilianUniversität of Munich where he holds the chair Romano Guardini. He was visiting professor at the University of Boston, at the Universidad de Navarra (Pamplona) and at the University San Raffaele (Milan). He is a member of the Institut de France (Academy of moral and political sciences). He is author of the following volumes: La loi de Dieu. Histoire philosophique d’une alliance, Gallimard, Paris 2008; Au moyen du Moyen âge. Philosophies médiévales en chrétienté, judaïsme et islam, Flammarion,

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Paris 2008; Les Ancres dans le ciel ou l’infrastructure métaphysique, Seuil, Paris 2011; Le Propre de l’homme: Sur une légitimité menacée, Flammarion, Paris 2013; Modérément moderne, Flammarion, Paris 2014; Le règne de l’homme. Genèse et èchec du project moderne, Gallimard, Paris 2015. The following volumes have been translated into Italian: Il futuro dell’occidente. Nel modello romano la salvezza dell’Europa, Bompiani, Milano 2005; La saggezza del mondo. Storia dell’esperienza umana dell’universo, Rubbettino, Soveria Mannelli 2005; Il Dio dei cristiani, l’unico Dio?, Cortina, Milano, 2009; Ancore nel cielo. L’infrastruttura metafisica, Vita e Pensiero, Milano 2011. Angelo Campodonico is Full Professor at the University of Genoa where he teaches Ethics, Philosophical Anthropology, Intercultural Philosophy and Contemporary Practical Philosophy. Among his latest publications: “Sagesse pratique et éthique de la vertu dans la pensée anglo-saxonne contemporaine”, in Le jugement pratique. Autour de la notion de phronèsis, ed. by D. Lories, L. Rizzerio, Vrin, Paris 2008, pp. 361-279; “Hans Urs von Balthasar’s Interpretation of the Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas”, «Nova et Vetera», English Edition, vol. 8, No. 1 (2010), pp. 33– 53; The Idea of University in John Henry Newman, in Innovazione filosofica e istituzione universitaria fra Cinquecento e primo Novecento, CLEUP, Padova 2011, pp. 287-309; “Bonum ex integra causa”. Aquinas and the sources of a basic concept, in T. Smith (ed.) Aquinas’s Sources, St. Augustine Press, South Bend, pp. 209-233; (with M.S. Vaccarezza) La pretesa del bene. Etica e teoria dell'azione in Tommaso d'Aquino, Orthotes, Napoli 2012; How to read today natural law in Aquinas?, «New Blackfriars», IV, 2013, pp. 716-732. Peter J. Casarella is an Associate Professor of Theology at the University of Notre Dame. His main areas of research are Latino/a Theology and Theological Aesthetics. He served as professor of Catholic Studies and director of the Center for World Catholicism and Intercultural Theology (CWCIT) at DePaul University from 2008-13 and also held teaching and administrative positions at The Catholic University of America and the University of Dallas. He received his PhD in Religious Studies at Yale University in 1993 after completing a dissertation on the theology of the word of the fifteenth century Catholic thinker Nicholas of Cusa. Anthony J. Lisska is Maria Theresa Barney Professor of Philosophy at Denison University in Granville, OH, USA. His Aquinas’s Theory of Natural Law: An Analytic Reconstruction was published by Oxford

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University Press (1996, 2002). Lisska published several articles and book chapters recently on both medieval and contemporary theories of natural law. Lisska recently completed a monograph on Aquinas’s Theory of Perception focusing attention on inner sense. He was the 2006 president of the American Catholic Philosophical Association, served as Denison’s Academic Dean of the College and Chair of the Department of Philosophy several times. Lisska was the 1994 Carnegie Foundation United States Baccalaureate Colleges Professor of the Year. He is listed in Who’s Who in America and Who’s Who in the World. John Milbank is Research Professor in Religion, Politics and Ethics and Director of the Centre of Theology and Philosophy at the University of Nottingham. Additionally, he is the Chairman of the London-based Respublica think-tank. He is the author of several books, including Theology and Social Theory (1990, 2006), The Word Made Strange (1997), Truth in Aquinas (2001, written with C. Pickstock), Being Reconciled: Ontology and Pardon (2003), The Suspended Middle (2005), The Future of Love (2009), The Monstrosity of Christ (2009, written with S. Žižek), Beyond Secular Order. The Representation of Being and the Representation of the People (2013). John O'Callaghan is Associate Professor of Philosophy at the University of Notre Dame. He is Director of the Jacques Maritain Center there. He is President of the American Catholic Philosophical Association. He is a permanent member of the Pontifical Academy of St. Thomas Aquinas. Finally he is the author of Thomistic Realism and the Linguistic Turn, University of Notre Dame Press, 2003, as well as articles generally on the thought of Thomas Aquinas, and also on Ethics and the Philosophy of Religion and Metaphysics. Riccardo Pozzo received his M.A. at the University of Milan in 1983, his Ph.D. at the Saarland University in 1988, and his Habilitation at the University of Trier in 1995. In 1996 he went to the U.S. to teach German Philosophy at the School of Philosophy of the Catholic University of America. In 2003 he came back to Italy to take up the Chair of the History of Philosophy at the University of Verona. From 2009 to 2012 he was the Director of the CNR-Institute for European Intellectual Lexicon and History of Ideas. Since the beginning 2013 he has been the Director of the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, Cultural Heritage of CNR. In 2012 he was elected a member of the Institut International de Philosophie. He is currently member of the ESF-Standing Committee for

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Contributors

the Humanities, ambassador scientist of the Alexander von HumboldtFoundation for Italy and chair of the Committee on the Teaching of Philosophy of the Fédération Internationale des Sociétés de Philosophie. He is author of monographs on the Renaissance (Schwabe, Basel 2012), the Enlightenment (Frommann-Holzboog, Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 2000), Kant (Akal, Madrid 1998; Lang, Frankfurt 1989), and Hegel (La Nuova Italia, Firenze 1989). He has edited and co-edited the proceedings of the 36th Congresso Italiano di Filosofia (Mimesis, Milano 2009) and recently a miscellany on Kant on the Unconscious (de Gruyter, Berlin 2012) as well as volumes on Dilthey and the methodology of the history of ideas (Meiner, Hamburg 2010; Harrassowitz, Weisbaden 2011; FrommannHolzboog, Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 2011), the philosophical academic programs of the German Enlightenment (Frommann-Holzboog, StuttgartBad Cannstatt 2011), intellectual property (Biblioteca di via Senato, Milano 2005), the impact of Aristotelianism on modern philosophy (CUAPress, Washington 2003), the lecture catalogues of the University of Königsberg (Frommann-Holzboog, Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1999), and twentieth-century moral philosophy, together with Karl-Otto Apel (Frommann-Holzboog, Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1990). He has published in the following journals: Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte, American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly, Berichte zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte, Giornale critico della filosofia italiana, Hegel-Jahrbuch, History of Science, History of Universities, Intersezioni, Isis, Jahrbuch für Universitätsgeschichte, Journal of the History of Philosophy, Kant-Studien, Medioevo, Philosophical News, Quaestio, Review of Metaphysics, Rivista di storia della filosofia, Studi Kantiani, and Topoi. Nicoletta Scotti is Researcher in History of Ancient Philosophy and teaches History of Ancient Metaphysics at the Catholic University of Milan. She studied at the Catholic University of Milan, at the International Academy of Philosophy (Dallas) and at the LMU in Munich (HumboldtStipendium), where her education focused on the development of ancient thought and on some correlate topics in contemporary philosophy. She studied the Platonic tradition (Proclus), the link between empiricism and phenomenology in the theory of knowledge (R.M. Chisholm), the history of the interpretations of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, and the connection between Greek tradition and ancient Eastern culture. She is principal editor of the Italian edition Ordine e Storia of Eric Voegelin. She has recently edited the miscellaneous volume Prima della filosofia. She translated into Italian important works by Robert Spaemann, Martha Nussbaum, Werner Baierwaltes, Thomas Szlezak, and Frede-Patzig’s

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commentary on book Z of Aristotle’s Metaphysics. She collaborates with the Voegelin-Zentrum fur Politik, Philosophie und Religion at LMU (Geschwister-Scholl-Institut). Giovanni Turco is a permanent research fellow in Political Philosophy at the Department of Legal Studies of the University of Udine, in Italy. Here, he teaches Outlines of Philosophy of Public Law, Theory of Human Rights, and Professional Ethics and Deontology. A corresponding member of the Pontifical Academy of St Thomas Aquinas, he is the President of the Naples branch of the International Society St. Thomas Aquinas. He previously taught History of Medieval Philosophy at the Oriental University of Naples, History of Political Thought at the European University of Rome, and Medieval Philosophical Historiography at the Pontifical Salesian University of Rome. He collaborated with several journals, including “Sapienza” (Naples), “Metalogicon” (Rome), “Archivio giuridico” (Rome), “Nova Historica” (Rome), “Anales de la Fundación Francisco Elías de Tejada” (Madrid), “Catholica” (Paris), “Ethos” (Buenos Aires). He is author of the following volumes: I valori e la filosofia. Saggio sull’assiologia di Nicola Petruzzellis (L.E.R, NapoliRoma 1992), Della politica come scienza etica (Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, Napoli 2012), La politica come agatofilia (Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, Napoli 2012). He published several essays on the foundations of the political and juridical order, and on the issue of values in the thought of Thomas Aquinas. He edited, translated and wrote the introductions for the first Italian editions of the volume by Francisco Elías de Tejada, Europa, tradizione, libertà (ESI, Napoli 2005) and of the monograph by José Pedro Galvão de Sousa, La rappresentanza politica (ESI, Napoli 2009). Stamatios Tzitzis is Director of Research at the National Center of Scientific Research, Associate Professor of the Laurentian University of Sudbury (Canada) and Adjunct Director of the Institute of Criminology (University Panthéon-Assas, Paris). He is a specialist in comparative jurisprudence and Philosophy of penal Law. His works in French are translated into many languages such as Greek, English, Portuguese and Spanish. Amongst his other principal works are: Philosophie Pénale, PUF, Paris 1976, Qu’est-ce que la Personne?, Armand Colin, Paris 1999, La Personne, l’Humanisme, le Droit, Les presses de l’Université Laval, Québec 2002; La Vittima e il carneficie (Lezioni Romane di Filosofia del Diritto), Giuffrè, Milano 2004, Droit et Valeur Humaine, Buenos Books International, Paris 2010.