THE THOMIST
A SPECULATIVE QUARTERLY REVIEW
OF THEOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY
EDITORs:

THE DoMINICAN FATHERS oF THE PROVINCE oF

ST. JosEPH

Publishers: Sheed & Ward, Inc., New York City

VoL. IV

JANUARY, 1!142

No.1

VALUE, BEAUTY, Al\'D PROFESSOR PERRY
LL philosophy begins-or should begin-with the obvious but unfathomably profound statement that there
is something which is what it is. That " something" is
the datum of all realistic, that is to say of aU true, metaphysics. Descartes and his ever more bewildered and wavering
followers, from Locke and Berkeley to Hume and Kant and so
on to Dewey and Bertrand Russell, assume too much at the
very beginning when they declare that this " something" is a
thought or mental event. Soon after a child first opens his as
yet uncorrupted eyes he comes to a realization of that·" something " which will some day lead him, if he does not become a
self-indulgent sophist, to the discovery of that other and infinite
"Something" which is God. This tiny sage will become aware
of the actually infinite "Something" by becoming aware of
himself as perceiving potentially infinite, or indefinitely finite,
"somethings" which fringe on mystery. Thus, after he has discovered beings in general, he discovers his "I " long before he
knows the word for it, an " I " which he verifies continually
during his waking hours and sooner or later during some of his
1

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

sleeping hours, through his growing memory, that treasurehouse of wonder. Of such an "I" he is absolutely certain,
unless in due time he becomes a skeptic who in practice denies
his own teaching that the " something" which he observes cannot be both itself and something else at the same time and
under the same aspect. Any apparent departure from this experience will make him start and stare and look for what he
will later call a "cause" which he will always find necessary
to explain whatever does not completely explain itself. In due
time he will find out, unless he allows himself to be led astray
by men like Kant and William James, that the only "something " which adequately explains itself and so needs no cause
is the "Something" who once said to Moses, " I am who am."
Until this infant discovers Him" who is," however, he suffers
acutely from that restlessness which Saint Augustine describes
so eloquently in the first paragraph of his Confessions. The
babe wants something, and he wants it the more because he is
far from certain just what he wants. In our distracted pagan
era he will flounder from the bassinet to the crematory without
ever knowing what he really wants-unless he accepts, revelation. He is restless; he wants something. And just as "something" is the datum of all speculative philosophy, that is to
say, of metaphysics (both ontology and epistemology) this
" act of wanting" is the datum of all practical philosophy, that
is, of axiology, or general theory of value, which includes both
ethics, the science of the righteous or happy life, and aesthetics,
the science of the meaning of beauty and its transcendental
significance throughout and around the universe.

I
Many modern philosophers have written about this wanting
or valuing as if it were somehow essentially or basically in conflict with facts, as if it could not validly hope for a real object
with which to come into vital union or even, with more detachment, to contemplate. George Santayana, for instance,
turns with contempt from the world of reality which seems to
him to be mere matter in meaningless fl.ux'to a pseudo-spiritual

VALUE, BEAUTY, AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

world of shadowy thoughts or values which are unreal but, to
his urbanely disillusioned mind, charmingly untainted in their
very unreality. But the overwhelming majority of pure-hearted
children of all ages and the few adults who are not merely
learned but wise, have always recognized .that acts of valuing
are facts and that they always, at least ultimately, refer to
other facts which are equally real.
Everyday folk and the greatest of the philosophers have
always found themselves impelled to associate somehow value
with both object-beings and desire-beings (appetitions, interests). The Scholastic philosophers are fond of the words,
" appetition " and " conation" (contrasted with " cognition")
and these cannot be bettered. Of late, Professor Perry has
given a great deal of currency to the word "interest" which he
carefully defines and describes biologically and psychologically,
not in the narrow senses of "curiosity " and " prejudice," but to
include "instinct, desire, feeling, will and all their family of
states, acts and attitudes," in short the entire "motor-affective
life." I will use " conation," " appetition," " desire," and " interest " by turn in this same sense; but I will always prefer
" appetition," which, as the schoolmen used it, may even include the gravitational "attractions" and "repulsions" and
the valences of lifeless planets and molecules, atoms and
electrons.
Everyday folk and philosophers have always been tempted
to associate value with some sort of desire and with a desire
that, ultimately, always is oriented toward a real object. But
some contemporary philosophers, such as G. E. Moore, Professor John Laird, and Bertrand Russell (in an earlier mood
diametrically opposed to his present egoistic attitude), in their
zeal to justify what seems to be common-sense realism or in
their solicitude to establish reasonable scales or standards of
value, the better and the worse, the worst and the best, have
sought to locate value entirely in the object valued. Other
philosophers, as well as many artists and sybarites, recognizing
the invariable appearance of desire when things are found or
sought as somehow good materially or spiritually, have been

4

HERBERT ELLSVVORTH CORY

seduced into investing such interests (as Bertrand Russell does
today) with a sort of creative power and hence over-emphasize
the physiological or mental state of the values, the subject, the
ego, at the risk of condemning us to a helplessly subjective or
even skeptical attitude toward economics, morals, taste, and
worship.
Professor Perry deals with the first group of thinkers, the
pan-objectivists and kindred extremists, in his analysis of the
first logically possible definition, or rather class of definitions of
value, " value as irrelevant to interest." His main concern is to
show that definitions of this class too readily accept indefinability or make the definition so comprehensive as to be
meaningless or wander in circles. He shows with considerable
success that many of these objectivists more or less unwittingly
readmit the subjective element, the desire, from which they
strive to emancipate us. On the other hand Professor Perry
falls into the danger of ignoring the first of two facts equally
important for the understanding of value: there must be or
appear to be something desirable; this is quite as inescapable as
the fact that there must be a desire for the real or ideal something. And when Perry comes at last to the fourth, his own
definition, he seems often to forget, like a number of his philosophical contemporaries, that valuing (which he confuses with
value) cannot exist by itself and that interest, desire, appetition without an· object is a mere abstraction. Even if value
should prove to be, as Perry sometimes (not without inconsistency) maintains, a "relation," like betweenness or beforeness, then we must remember with St. Thomas Aquinas that a
relation is the weakest and most tenuous kind of a being,
indeed a non-being but for its absolute dependence on the
terms which it relates, in this case the object-valued and the
subject-valuer. There must be both something desired and
someone who desires it, otherwise value would not exist; it
would at best be merely potential. Even the most fantastic
desire must have an object either possible or actual. If nothing
existed except God, then God would be both the object and
the subject of value, and indeed, in a supereminent sense, that

VALUE, BEAUTY,

AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

5

is precisely what He is eternally. " Before Abraham was made,
I am."
In addition to the object valued and the valuer there is a
third constituent of what we may call the value situation.
This is the end o:r purpose which certainly has much to do with
influencing the valuer in his relation to the object which he
values. In his two constructive books, Philosophy of Value,
and Values and Reality, Father Leo Richard Ward, C.S. C.,
has shown that the comparative neglect of this end or purpose
(a term anathema to the mechanistic "psychologist" though
no longer so to the physicist on whose findings he professes to
base his investigations) is a fertile source of sophistry among
our contemporary post-Cartesian philosophers.

II
Professor Perry begins his masterpiece with all the magnanimity of true scholarship, and throughout his work he maintains this magnanimity. Snobbish hothoused a-priori methods
have no appeal for him. He is democratically empirical; he
observes what everybody wants, what even the most deluded
man or non-rational brute thinks delectable. He seeks a definition of good (value) which will include all interests, the most
vicious and the most virtuous, the most frivolous and the most
exalted, the most saintly, the most animal, the most humanly
sub-bestial, the most obscene. 'Vhat could be more workmanlike? Moreover he enumerates, classifies, and criticizes all
definitions of value with the ripe erudition of a fair lifetime of
research. Yet I wonder if here he does not begin too prematurely to diverge a little from his own devotion to empirical
method. Next (perhaps he should have done this before) he
defines and describes interest, wanting, liking, disliking. He
does it on a vast scale, enumerating once more all conceivable
biological and psychological wants and not wholly negligent of
the analogous attractions, repulsions, affinities of lifeless but
certainly active atoms, electrons, protons, neutrons, positrons
and the rest of the entities explored by the physicist and of
what, with cautious, implied comparison and contrast, the
chemist calls valence.

6

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

Would Professor Perry have been more accurately empirical
if he had begun, not with definitions of value, but with definitions of valuing, of interest? Doubtless he would answer," No,
for in this case, I would not be fair to these definitions of value
which ignore or seek to ignore interest altogether." But he
himself shows that no such definition really succeeds when we
come to examine its implications. His first class of definitions
of value as " irrelevant to interest " seems logically possible
a-priori, but not a single specimen of its pan-objectivism endures the test of application to the facts. I suspect that Professor Perry's exposition would have proved more consistently
empirical if he had begun, not with groups of definitions, but
with the brute fact of unceasing and ubiquitous appetition,
which-if we substitute this term as the schoolmen used it for
" interest "-may be applied to everything finite, whether organic or inorganic and, by a duly proportional analogy,· to the
infinite Being, Almighty God, Creator of heaven and earth, the
infinitely active but Unmoved Mover. Although appetition
involves an imperfection (a need) as reason involves a process,
we predicate will (and love, justice, mercy, and all its other
operations) for they involve perfection in their formal concept,
and we predicate intellect (which involves knowledge) as
" attributes " of God.
The philosophical science which deals most comprehensively
with all motion or change, of which all finite appetitions are
certainly specimens, is called by Scholastic philosophers cosmology, the first branch of natural philosophy which has the
closest interrelations to the particular experimental sciences,
such as physics and chemistry, astronomy and geology, botany
and zoology in all their branches anatomical and physiological,
and all the so-called social sciences in so far as these are really
sciences in the modem restricted sense. The second branch
of natural philosophy is rational psychology which goes much
more deeply, broadly, and consistently into the nature of all
life, vegetal and animal and human, than do those loosely
organized and groping last chapters of physiology which, although admirable in many of their achievements, are unfortu-

VALUE, BEAUTY, AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

7

nately miscalled psychology in modern universities. After
natural philosophy comes the tremendous and most precise
science of metaphysics which deals much more exclusively with
eternal verities (although still not arrogantly negligent of the
findings of the particular sciences) than do the twin branches
of natural philosophy. Metaphysics, most of which is practically unknown in modern universities since Descartes, Hume,
and Kant more or less unintentionally did so much to discredit
it, includes first ontology, the science of all being, then epistemology which scrutinizes the relations between the being known
and the being who knows, and finally natural theology or theodicy which proves by the pure reason without recourse to
authority the existence and something of the nature of the uncreated infinite Being, God. Only after all these investigations
does the Aristotelian-Thomist turn to the practical science of
axiology (ethics and aesthetics). From this perspective of the
philosophia perennis which at the outset is certainly fully as
empirical as Perry's, some of his problems seem wrongly formulated, some of his conclusions unduly narrow. It is unfortunate
that nearly all non-Scholastic philosophers, since the days when
the Leibnitzian Wolff muddled things so badly for his disciple
Kant, have apparently forgotten this, the only impeccably
logical classification of the philosophical sciences, a classification which of course presupposes logic as a discipline for all the
fields.
Scholastic philosophers are not, as Perry seems to want to be,
empirical first and last; rather they make the most exhaustive
use of all the ways of knowing-empirical, a-priori (rationalistic), pragmatic, authoritarian (dogmatic) which St. Thomas
called the weakest of all the arguments in philosophy, and
even, in the proper places and in the case of those few who are
much more gifted than most of us, mysticaL Scholasticism
may be said to begin (as all enlightened philosophy must),
empirically, that is with the observation of sense impressions.
It then, at the proper moments, makes use of all the other four
ways of knowing. The philosophia perennis, unlike all its
.rivals, is not sectarian and therefore is not, at some crucial

8

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

point, blurred and inconsistent; it has its unresolved difficulties,
but it is free of impossible assumptions and undetected fallacies.

Ill
The scholastic philosopher, who begins, empirically enough,
at the level of common sense and the particular sciences, with
cosmology, the speculative science of all bodily changes or
motions, and who goes on to reach his speculative climax in
natural theology where, with St. Thomas Aquinas, he proves
a posteriori from the observation of moving objects, and apodicticaHy from the analysis of motion the existence and nature of
the Unmoved Mover, God, is bound, when he arrives at the
practical sciences of axiology, to take as his point of departure
the actions or kind of motions which he observes in those who
seek, love, and hate. Professor Perry comes very close to this
point of view when he says that the philosophy of value is the
philosophy of life. As Father Ward notes at the outset of the
constructive part of his Philosophy of Value: "That we act is a
sine qua non of our living, and a sine qua non of our action or
of any acting is that it be for something." He shows that in
the last analysis, it is the task of philosophy of value to show
us why we act at all.
While the particular experimental and statistical sciences
should, as such, be content with seaching out the how of things,
the philosophical sciences are in quest of the why. Until lately
the more restricted scientists, imprisoned in their precisely
delimited but artificially abstracted fields, were wont to sneer at
the why as irrelevant or even unknowable for even those outside their own circle. Of late however the more severely disciplined of them, the mathematical physicists, astrophysicists,
and physical chemists, for instance, have begun to see that their
own work suffers from their neglect of the why. Unfortunately,
instead of going for advice to the natural philosopher and the
metaphysician, they often indulge in amateur philosophizing
with, in the case of men like Einstein, Eddington and Jeans,
some rather bewildering results.

VALUE, BEAUTY,

AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

At all events, the why is not to be contemptuously sniffed at
or snubbed; the what is because of the why in all being except
God. In axiology we must get at the why of all action if we
would understand all values, including beauty. Action, although
it is not to be equated with the much more comprehensive concept of motion, is indeed a kind of motion, and the actions called
"wanting" or "appetition" are species of motion (change).
Motion is a fact so universal that some philosophers, from
Heraclitus to Bergson and Bertrand Russell, with many others
of our contemporaries who otherwise differ widely, would deny
all meaning and reality to permanence, scoff at all substances
(which, since the days of Descartes and Locke, they have forgotten how to define) as fictions, and analyze the totality of
reality into a vast congeries of non-existent mathematico-logical
abstractions which they call "point-instant events." This is
because they have forgotten what motion (change) really
means. Motion, change, whether of lurching planets o:r hurtling
beta-particles, photosynthesizing plants or breathing, eating,
growing, child-bearing animals, human reasoning or surging
and waning emotions, the disintegration or reintegration of
molecules, the degeneration of a sinner or regeneration of a
saint-all motion or change-is the transition from potentiality
to actuality. Motion or change without some accompanying
permanence would be intrinsically contradictory, an unknowable nothing. But the scholastic philosopher who begins at the
level of common sense and the particular sciences, with cosmology, the philosophical science of the changes or motions of
all bodies, reaches in theodicy a sublime climax where he proves
from the glorious spectacle of these galaxies of restless beings
the necessary existence and the absolutely and boundlessly
perfect nature of the infinitely active Unmoved Mover, God.
All this, assuredly, is momentous matter for the practical science
of axiology which begins like the speculative science of cosmology with the same datum of motion. Although this sort of
motion, appetitive action, is of but a limited kind, one will not
plumb its depths, one will not find the "why," until one
establishes the manifold relations of this so:rt of motion, cona-

10

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

tion, with all the cosmic and supercosmic motions which began
when the Unmoved Mover, where there was nothing, made by
His omnipotent creation and now prepetually conserves innumerable and splendid hierarchical ranks of finite beings.

IV
In every one of the four families of definitions of value which
Professor Perry has so comprehensively classified for us, there
are some scattered implications that are perfectly valid-as far
as they go. Professor Perry, I believe, has erred in committing
himself to one family so exclusively; rather he has erred in
principle but happily not always in his deeds. Here I intend no
more than to make more explicit and flawless what he has, less
consistently but with admirable catholicity, already accomplished. I propose quite mercilessly and affectionately to enlist
him, willy-nilly, under the gonfalon of the Angel of the Schools.
Professor Perry's title for his first family of definitions,
" Value as irrelevant to interest," is somewhat prejudiced. H he
had said " Value as purely objective " he could not have
proceeded so doughtily to demolish it. He admits that common
sense is, at least in one of its not always consistent moods, disposed to find value in the object perceived. The object is valuable if it has or is value. When we value it we find or expect to
find it to be in some sense good, good to eat, good to love, good
in itself, so superlatively good that we may even call it" holy."
Like most non-Scholastic philosophers today Perry does not
deign to tarry with common sense. He does not drive directly
towards its refutation, but he warns homely folk quite correctly
that their sophisticated pan-objectivistic champions defend
their pet conviction with sophistries against which they themselves would protest heart and soul. Perry is right. The panobjectivists, in their zeal to correct the fatal subjectivistic
tendencies of the idealists who ruled so despotically in their
hothoused philosophical republic a generation ago, have recklessly jettisoned all criteria by which we might distinguish
between facts and illusions. Why should the pure in heart be
made to suffer for the epistemological monstrosities of those

VALUE, BEAUTY,

AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

11

whom learning not fully assimilated hath made, not truly wise,
but, alas, a little mad?
Professor Perry falls afoul of those who claim value to be a
quality in an object, a " quale " which we all can dearly perceive, like red, or round, or square. Well perhaps red is a value.
According to my mother, I found it so in my babyhood. It was,
I am told, necessary only to present me with a red rag and at
once my tantrums dissolved in beatific calm. But Professor
Perry will say that we must have a "generic" definition of all
values. So we must-if we can-but are we sure that we can
find a generic definition of value which can always be absolutely
abstracted from a catalogue of specific values? Then there is
this matter of perception itself. Professor Perry, like all nonScholastics since Descartes, forgets that we perceive not only
with the senses but also with that faculty, or power, which we
call intellect or the mind. " I see," says the blind man. His
usage of the word " see " is confirmed in all the languages I
know and even, so I am told, in Japanese. Perhaps the mind
sees the objective quality or character or attribute which is
value-in-generaL As the mind ranges abroad, tireless adventurer
that it is, it discovers that value is everywhere and therefore,
in a logical sense, indefinable, not because it is in some beggarly
meaning "a simple notion" as George Moore (whom Perry
holds rightly suspect) affirms in Principia Ethica, not, at least,
a vacantly simple notion like Hegel's notion of being which he
identified in his reason-destroying dialectic with non-being, but
an indefinable simple notion because it is absolutely comprehensive. Value (the good), as Scholastic ontology proves, is a
transcendental property of being, that is to say, a characteristic
which :flows from any nature as rationality :flows from human
nature, a property which transcends all genera and species (and
therefore all logical definition) because it :flows ubiquitously
from everything actual or possible, ideal or real, that in any
sense is. The supremely good God looked at all his creations
and at his eternal exemplar " ideas " of future creations on the
first _sabbath and saw that all of them were "very good."
All this underlies, implicitly, the primordial and perennial

12

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

conviction of common sense that value is somehow primarily in
the object. Common sense has been much maligned because it
has been known to contend that the earth is :flat. But genuine
common sense, which is not by any means invariably identifiable with convention or superstition, cannot be accused of
Such perclinging to error even after error is demonstrated.
versity is more likely to be found among the so-called intelligentsia. Common sense is humble. It is not inflexible. You
can fool all of the people (in a given locality) some of the time;
you cannot fool all of the people (over all the continents and
across all the millennia) all of the time. This is strong testimony to the unlimited moral certainty that value is somehow
in or of the object valued, nay perhaps the very object itself, a
moral certainty t:qat is established as an absolute, a metaphysical certainty by Aristotelian-Thomistic thought.
For a decade or two in the immediate past, a few philosophers
were tempted to identify values with what they called " tertiary" qualities. We were already familiar with a distinction
as old as Aristotle and as modern as Galileo and Locke between
"primary" qualities (or "common" sensibles) such as shape,
figure, rest, or motion which tradition has always regarded as
inherent in the object, and " secondary-'' qualities (or "proper "
sensibles) such as color, sound, odor, and taste, which physicists
and physiologists have held to be mental reactions to dissimilar
causes in the object. Our contemporaries proceeded to advocate
a so-called " tertiary " quality or characteristic which was localized as a purely subjective but which, by a process which Ruskin
called the "pathetic fallacy," we project, as it were, into the
object. " Tertiary " quaJities, in other words would be affects
or emotions which we rather fancifully read into objects, as
when we forget our own clumsiness by damning the supposedly
recalcitrant golf-ball. For a striking and, for us, a very pertinent
example we may turn to Santayana who once was very fond of
playing with this concept. "Beauty," for instance, he defined as
"pleasure regarded as a quality in the thing " or, somewhat
more soberly, as "pleasure objectified." But when we go on
to examine at length the warm and luminous description of the

VALUE, BEAUTY, AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

18

experience of beauty which this most sensitive philosopher gives
us-and assuredly he has described " the sense of beauty" for
many and perhaps for all, future generations-we find that all
that is intelligible in his brilliantly cryptic definition is that
when we experience beauty we are self-forgetful. In other
words, the process of aesthetic valuing, although intensely and
massively conscious, is a purified un-self-conscious experience.
Generalizing from this we may venture the thought that the
concept of tertiary qualities is a quibble characteristic of nonScholastic post-Cartesians, striving ever ineffectually to escape
from utter scepticism or at best solipsism, and that desperately
irrational attempt to evade the issue which has been swaggeringly accoladed as " positivism." In so far as the concept of
tertiary qualities means anything it is a sort of pleasantly and
irresponsibly poetic definition not of value but of valuing which
may be safely consigned to oblivion since it tells us little about
longing and loving and less about the good. This then is one
member of the family of definitions of value as "irrelevant to
interest " which without a twinge of conscience we may, with
Professor Perry, reject. We reject it, but not for his reasons.
He handles it far too tenderly in his desire to wean us away
from the common-sense location of value in the object, in favor
of his inclination to make the valuer the creator of value, a view
which we might take of God, but of God alone.
Because he cannot discern a value such as beauty or moral
goodness in the same way he discerns an objective quality such
as red, which may be seen with the fleshly eye, and because he
forgets that the intellect might directly see (understand) a
value in an object as it certainly does see a cause or a substance,
the post-Cartesian, neo-Humean, positivistic sensist is fain to
conjure up such will-o' -the-wisps as tertiary qualities. He comes
nearer to the truth, in fact he tells the truth as far as he goes,
when he suggests that value is a " logical indefinable." Like
Professor Perry I derive little comfort from Professor A. P.
Brogan's brilliant hypothesis that if we regard value (the good)
as " relatively indefinable" we can find our bearings if we take
" better" to be " the fundamental value universal " and with

14

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

"worse " as its "logical converse " we shall be able to conclude
first that "'A is worse than B' means 'B is better than A'"
and so be permitted to conclude this much of good that " ' A
is good' means 'the existence of A is better than the nonexistence of A.'" Perry concedes that Dr. Brogan has furnished
us with a" self-consistent hypothesis " but adds that its application to the facts is not clear unless, with Professor John Dewey
who favors it, we interpret it in terms of "preference" or
" selection-rejection" in which case, as Perry notes, it must be
subsumed in some family of definitions which make value " a
function of interest " and thus give up the effort to locate value
in the object with its aid. I would say that if Dewey and. Perry
are correct then Brogan is following post-Cartesian, postKantian footsteps and confounding "value" with "valuing."
Even so, I should demur, because when I attempt to applythe
Brogan-formula to various specific acts of valuing I do not find
" preference " invariably present. As Father Ward has pointed
out we do not begin life by preferring it to non-life. Life we
certainly value, but non-life we do not, at least normally, desire
at alL
Well, then, what of the view that" the good" is" absolutely
indefinable," that is to say, logically? Professor Perry's skillful
arguments against George Moore, Santayana, and other contemporaries who flirt with this theory do not come to close
grips with the position of the Thomists of either yesterday or
today. Anything that anybody can think in terms intrinsically
consistent can in some sense, the schoolman holds, both exist
and be valued. Whether it exists or is, as a fact, valued belongs
to another tale of which more anon. But "being " and its transcendental property " value" are limitless, indeterminate concepts and are therefore, indefinable logically because they
cannot be subsumed under any genus or differentiated from any
species, unless we except nothing, which is, however, no thing.
We arrive at our comprehension of "being " by the highest of
all the acts of abstraction, the third. The first reveals concrete
individuals and qualities, and certain laws of their governance.
This is the way of the particular physical sciences from

VALUE, BEAUTY, AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

15

astronomy to zoology. The second way, mathematical, focusses
on bare quantity, which reeks not whether a cube is changing
or immutable, pure or composite, of clay or marble, adamant
or gold. The third way and, in spite of modern ill-informed prejudices, the most precise as well as sublime, is the way of the
metaphysician who fixes his attention upon what is common to
all things.
" Being " is not, as we observed before, the empty concept
which Hegel thought. Although of all terms it is the narrowest
in comprehension, intention, connotation, it is of all things
widest in extension, denotation; it is applicable, both potentially
and actually, to the infinite. Although, therefore, it cannot be
confined by a strict philosophical definition, it may be described
with spacious universality as whatever is not nothing. It
becomes more and more vivid for us as we catalogue its amazing
varieties-logical, real or ideal, substantial or accidental, finite,
relative, infinite, absolute. It may be contracted to its logical inferiors, substantial beings (incorporeal ones, or corporeal bodies
which may be organic or inorganic, and, if living, non-sentient,
or sentient and therefore animal, irrational, or rational and so
human) and, within or along or adjoining these substances
(beings which exist in themselves), the accidents (quantity,
quality, relation, action, passion or reaCtion, time, place, placein-space, posture and habit). Its ultimate ground of possibility
is the essence of God Himself, the transcendent Creator of al1
beings not Himself. Vast as is" being" the term is not applied
to its innumerable kinds equivocally, never with entirely different meanings; yet it may not be applied univocally, in a
strictly uniform manner, to such endless varieties, but it is
applied analogously with due attention, not so much to identities, as to similarities. It does not completely embrace or
swallow its kinds as the pantheist blurringly believes.
Convertible with " being," identified with each being that
exists or ever can exist, the Thomist finds at least three " transcendental properties " already mentioned in these pages: " oneness or unity,"" truth," and" goodness." Should not" beauty"
be a fourth? It would be hazardous to venture a final answer

16

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

without a thorough review of the relations of beauty with al]
the other three. Meanwhile we must note that every simple
being is obviously one, for it is partless; that every compound
being is one, since its parts are not totally separated; and that
every entitative unit, in contrast with the mathematical
standard for measuring abstract quantity, every transcendental
unit is a being since it cannot be a one made up of nothing.
As for truth, considered ontologically, it refers to being regarded
as intelligible. Since all beings are intelligible to some onecertainly to God-all beings, as such, are true since God,
supremely intelligible to Himself, is Truth. Being and goodness
are similarly convertible, according to the scholastic philosopher.
Goodness is for him the suitability of anything for the nature
of some being which strives for it; the good is the desirable and
the desirable is the good. Professor Perry does not neglect this
view; he finds ample room for it in his second family of definitions. Let us leave it therefore, a little while until we have
followed our leader in his appraisal of the other kinsmen of the
first stock.
"To be good means to further something," wrote Professor
George Herbert Palmer in The Nature of Goodness, and Father
Ward tells us that value is perfective; value (the good) helps.
If however, so Perry fears, we ignore the valuer who is being
helped and seek our definition in the fitness of the object we will
identify value .with cause and " theory of value would lose
subject-matter." Well, what is cause? It is that which in any
way gives or transforms being. Why would it be calamitous to
identify value and cause? If value helps the valuer toward the
perfection to which his nature ordains him it is indeed some sort
of cause. " Then," warns our exacting guide, we must " define
the type.'' In due time we shall. Perry associates this view with
the definition of value as form. If we hold with AristotelianThomistic hylomorphism that substantial form is that which
actualizes or determines a nature we may be drawing nearer
to the light; both substantial and accidental form are fundamental for at least the valuable object which we call beautiful.
Value in general, as some sort of perfective form, could be

VALUE, BEAUTY, AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

17

thought of as that which helps the valuer in any way to realize
himself. Here the concept of value draws near to that of end.
St. Thomas, happily free from the cant of the recent socialisms,
end is precisely the agent
does not :flinch from saying that
himself. Does this make the Angelic Doctor a rugged rapacious
individualist? Not at alL For St. Thomas Aquinas this identification of value with that which helps toward self-realization
means nothing less than the ultimate ascription of self-realization to the grace of God which responds at once to the valuer's
humble impetration. When the valuer is full of that grace he
will not forget that his fellow-men are travelling at his side;
as St. John the beloved disciple pointed out, he who claims to
love God and hates his neighbor is a liar.
Professor Perry at this point edges us toward his own subjectivistic bias by declaring that "It is not unqualified being
which common sense takes to be good, and whose help or
hindrance it therefore accepts as also good, but .it is being
in so far as desired." On the very next page he puts it better,
I think, but with a significant difference which, with my italics,
I will accept: "'Good for' does not ordinarily mean' conducive
to,' but ' conducive to something recognized as desirable.' "
Now is it not clear that recognition implies that there is something valuable that may be :found in or of the object? It does
not follow at all that, because desire, interest, or appetition is
inevitably thought of with value, therefore, value itself must
reside in the valuer. An object "recognized as desirable" becomes an objective for the subject precisely because he discerns
in it some good. Perry has separated cognition from conation
too sharply, forgetting that cognition (understanding) must
occur before conation (desiring, valuing) is possible. Value
then, must somehow be in the object understood as something
valuable.
For the Thomist, any good (value) physical or moral can
be measured in terms of its fulfilment of the demands of any
given valuer. Any deed, for instance, which perfects human
nature is a moral good. Professor Perry is well acquainted with
the expressions of this self-realization theory in Greek
2

18

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

phy, its associations with Platonic "ideas" and Aristotelian
"forms" (between which he does not discriminate as carefully
as he should) ; but he makes no allusion to the development of
this doctrine in the Summa Theologica, for instance, in the eighteenth to the twenty-first questions of the Prima Secundae.
Consequently he can write, quite mindless of the distinction
between potential and actual being, "If a is better m than b,
it follows that b is a better n than a. Everything is the most
shilling example of something. The worst specjmen of a man
may be the most perfect specimen of inebriety or feeblemindedness." For St. Thomas this would not present the
slightest difficulty. Man is a rational animal. The child and the
idiot are, however, only potentially rational. The child will
grow up and become actually rational. The idiot, unless the
sciences can cure him, will not become actually rational until he
gets to heaven whither he is much more sure of arriving than
many men much more rationally endowed than he. Feeblemindedness is not a being; it is a privation of being. Drink is
good but drunkenness is an excess in the use of drink which
leads to a tragic privation of other goods, that is to say to evil.
The inebriate is or has become only potentially human. Since,
unlike the babe and the idiot, he is responsible, if he ever was
normal, he has become more or less inhuman.
A valuer, then, acts for himself. His self-perfection is his end.
Any object which can further this end may become an objective; it has value, it is good. The rugged individualist knows
this. He errs only because he has an altogether too trivial or
sordid conception of himself. Altruists are more or less unconscious egoists and would be much more helpful in healing
their fellowmen if they began by healing themselves. A man's
perfection, his bodily and spiritual health, his wholeness may be
evaluated by measuring the depth of his peace, and genuinely
peaceful men are never selfish. Check this point in the lives of
the true supermen, the saints.
It will not surprise us that Professor Perry turns next to
definitions of value in terms of "organic unity and reciprocity
of parts " as exemplified by " the physical organism," " the work
of art," and "systematic thought," the three outstanding

VALUE, BEAUTY, AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

19

examples of what Professor George Herbert Palmer used to call
"intrinsic goodness," the purest goodness in which, as he said,
"each part is both means and end, . " . each aids and is aided
by all the others." We have already seen tha:t for the Thomist,
unity, oneness, whether composite or simple, is a transcendenta]
property of all being. In a discussion like this, then, we may
expect to see the concepts of unity and value recur again and
again in the closest association. The unity-definition of value
led Palmer and others of his generation straight into arms of
the amorphous, pantheistic Hegelian Absolute, although the
gentle Harvard· professor was wont, unconvincingly, to deny
that his master intended to submerge the individual in the One.
At any rate, the view has led others back to Spinoza, concerning whose monism there can be no question, despite certain
indications of his rather inarticulate desire to escape it. There
is little doubt that Spinoza could have avoided his annihilating
confusion of all values and evils in a pantheistic monistic blur if
he had been acquainted with the pure source of that Scholastic
philosophy which was so decadent in so many quarters in his
day. The Thomistic concept of creation, which can be proved
philosophically, whether or not the universe ever had a beginning in time, leads us straight to a God who is a transcendental,
not immanent, source of all finite unities and so exonerates the
unity-definition of value from the helpless and hapless monism
toward which, as Professor Perry justly observes, so many of
its modern proponents, from Spinoza to Bosanquet, are
oriented" Once we have grasped the meaning of creation-conservation, as Aquinas defended it, it is possible to say that all
finite beings are valuable at least partly'because of their unity
(whether this be simple or a composite, organic reciprocity of
parts) and that in God, the Source of all these beings, unity and
value are identical in His infinite Simplicity which they reflect
in a hierarchy of multitudinous perfections of every imaginable
kind.

v

We have been drawing nearer to those families of definitions
which, according to Professor Perry, recognize interest or appei:ition as either a constituent of value or, in the case, of the fourth,

20

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

actually constitute value. I will consider first, with a sympathy
not exclusive but much warmer than Perry's, those which he
garners under the heading, " Value as the qualified object of
interest." Professor Perry, at least in the days when he wrote
this chapter, was nobly loyal to that suspicion of the reality of
purpose which prejudiced the adolescent outlook of the brilliant
and fertile but over-confident naturalists of the nineteenth
century and which still warps today the purview of the practitioners of the youngest and the more inaccurate sciences such
as sociology and behavioristic psychology, although it does not
nullify the great importance of a good deal of their work.
Of the definitions so far reviewed I agree with Perry in the
conclusion that they are all wrong in so far as they ignore or
tend to ignore the role of interest, conation, appetition, in the
value situation. On the other hand I should contend that they
are all justified in their insistence that value is in the object and
that most of them have provided us with valid hints of the
nature of that objectivity. If the objectivity of value is ignored,
then axiological solipsism is inevitable and the validity of all
standards must be denied. Finally I maintain that we can refer
all these fragmentary aspects of finite to the Value of values if
we reason, as St. Thomas did, by that analogia proportionalitatis which finds all pure perfections supereminently in God
·their Creator as His "attributes" which we discover (thus
l:j,ttaining a golden mean between anthropomorphism and agnosticism) when we realize that they are distinguishable conceptually in our minds and yet are grounded in the reality of
God's Unity, Simplicity, and Unicity. The angelic Doctor's
dialectic reaches a point here where his logic, always so studiously cold, seems to span the very threshold of supra-rational
mysticism without allowing the faintest hue to warm that passionless austerity which he, the greatest of mediaeval lyric
poets, maintained so relentlessly throughout every paragraph
of his philosophic writing.
At this point the Harvard scholar's discussion takes a turn so
critical that, despite his attempt to clear himself-with which
we will deal later-his whole axiology would founder on the

VALUE, BEAU'fY,

AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

21

Charybdis of idealistic subjectivism, in a relativistic philosophy
of value for which the problem of moral .and artistic standards
of conduct and taste would be meaningless, were it not for the
fact that his own position is not :rigorously sustained. The
crucial problem for Perry here is: shall we conceive the "value
of an object " and its " relation to inierest . . . after the analogy of the marksman and his target, and say that the interest
directs itself toward the object?
shall we conceive it after
the analogy of the magnet and the iron-filing and say that the
object dravvs the interest toward itself."
Both analogies, to the first of which he plights his troth, are
expressive but rather treacherous. It is very questionable,
regards as the crucial problem is a probover, whether what
lem at all, for in both analogies
is certainly some truth.
The second and more objective account of the value-relation
Perry attributes to philosophers who in their zeal to make
theory of value a normative science, a study of canons of conduct and of taste, unduly subordinate the findings "of biology,
psychology, and sociology, which merely describe what animals,
men, and societies as a matter of fact want." 'What he charges
is quite true of the great legion of modern philosophers who
have been more or less influenced, wittingly or unwittingly,
willingly or unwillingly, by Kant. It is not at all true of St.
Thomas Aquinas who devotes some ten volumes (the fourth to
the thirteenth of his Summa Theologica as translated by the
English Dominican fathers) very largely to such a description
of what man wants as would furnish material for a Shakespeare
and all his fellows and followers. Of course the schoolman's language is not scientifically up to date, but for those who will
patiently peruse his work it will have incessantly a startlingly
familiar ring. Even Professor Perry's own encyclopedic account
in chapters six to nineteen of General Theory of Values, which
includes, as St. Thomas does, an examination of ·the interrelations of appetition and cognition and
the individual and
society, is not as rich and comprehensive as that of the Angelic
Doctor. In Professor Perry's appraisal of the variations of
definition, in both his second and third families, he devotes

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

much space to Kant, his diverging followers, and their search
for norms at the cost of facts. I cannot here outline this, but I
feel bound to record my belief that his criticisms are keen,
kindly, and just.
Nevertheless I repeat that our contemporary's analogies of
marksman and magnet are not· comprehensive and precise
enough. Neither fully describes the real value-situation which
is this: the valuer certainly finds himself somehow drawn
toward the valued thing. How shall we account for this? The
most importunate answer, as our guide shows, is that the object
itself has an interested and therefore an interest-evoking origin,
that it is the product of intelligence, is in a word, purposive.
It is just here that Perry disposes of the subtle but faltering
Kant and also of Plato who, although he struggled far in the
right direction, wavered to the end and just missed the Pisgah
sight to which, his fortunate pupil, Aristotle attained.
If it can be proved that an almighty and good God exists, if
He created all things and made tpem good, even though He
permits perverse wills to warp them or to thwart them temporarily in their strivings toward the realization of their own
ordained perfections in the tremendous hierarchy of beings,
then we can say that, while all objects are certainly valued
whenever they are wanted in any way whatsoever by any
being, an object is truly, not apparently, valuable when it is
wanted for the purpose for which God eternally intends it.
Opium is good, but opium is not good for the drug-addict in his
weaker moments, no matter how intensely and sincerely he may
desire it. Yet opium is good for all of us medicinally in proper
doses or in appropriate combination with other ingredients.
The full circle of a complete philosophy is peculiarly embarrassing for the spiritual pilgrim because, no matter with which
one of its segments, natural philosophy, metaphysics, or
axiology, he begins, he will often find himself compelled to rest
momentarily on some assumption which is justified only in some
philosophical discipline perhaps for the moment quite remote
from that of his immediate concern. Pilgrims may have begun
their journey at varous points. They can never rest secure until

VALUE, BEAUTY, AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

28

they have completed their circumnavigation.· I have chosen the
Aristotelian-Thomistic order of divisions which I outlined at
the opening of this discussion and which I will review· toward
the· end.
While scholastic philosophy in general begins with no assumption whatsoever, with the bare recognition of being which is
what it is, in a treatise on aesthetics with which one must plunge
in medias res I must content myself from time to time with
rather Parthian salutations to other branches of AristotelianThomism wherever they impinge. I shall, for instance, dwell
briefly from time to time on all of St. Thomas' "five ways"
of proving the existence of God. Here we must pa.y our respects
to the fifth, the teleological. It is important to realize that the
Angelic Doctor presented first three strictly metaphysical arguments each one of which begins with the most obvious facts
analysis of the unmoved
observable, that he builds up from
mover and the uncaused efficient cause to a powerful climax
with the third, the argument in terms of the necessary being,
that he enriches the contents of all three with the sumptuous
fourth argument in terms of the various kinds and degrees of
perfection and their common ground, and then only, with these
immense perspectives, turns to the fifth argument from the
" goven1ance" of the cosmos which now introduces the relation
of purposes-whether internal or external as regards finite
things, animate or inanimate--:to the final cause. In contrast
vvith this serried procession of arguments the version of the
teleological proof which Kant, not without a wistful qualification, undertook to refute and Paley's creaky comparison of
the watch with God's design, which Perry rightly, but fa:r from
conclusively criticizes, seem almost frivolous.
According to all Scholastic philosophers "a cause is that
which in any way whatever exerts a positive influence in the
production of a thing." Some moderns challenge the reality of
any cause. For the moment we assume that they are wrong and
pass on to deal specifically,:with final cause, purpose, intention,
"for the sake of which an efficient cause (by
end, that
which something is produced) acts." Professor Perry argues

24

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

with great plausibility that the mere existence of various organisms and gravitational harmonies in the universe is not a conclusive proof of the existence of a cosmic or a super-cosmic
purpose. He has admitted the existence of unities, even a pervasive uniformity without which as he sees clearly, all the proud
erudition of the naturalist, aU hope of scientific advance would
be nonsense. But he believes that these unities are sufficiently
explicable in terms of "necessary relations." He is-or wasa mechanist, although a very discriminating and liberal one.
He would be the last to deny the presence of intelligible purpose
in at least some living beings, but he sees no reason for imputing
purpose, interior or exterior, to electrons and stars. Men, indeed,
do act obviously and consciously with some definite end in
view. Animals evince no evidence of understanding an end
as an end but they reveal persistent desires and strivings that
are more or less purposive. When we come to the actions of
chemical compounds and physical bodies we pause. They
certainly are subject to "natural laws." But such a "law" is
a mere fiction unless it is a manifestation of some inner tendency
of the self-preserving nature of a thing, a sort of selective
orientation. In organisms it is spectacular. I was completely
converted from mechanism when, no longer content with reading the ingenious speculations of Jacques Loeb and Perry, I
went into the laboratories of the Johns Hopkins University
and for several years observed for myself the embryological
developments of frogs, birds, pigs and men, the exfoliation,
sometimes under my very eyes, of billions of cells, first specializing, then co-operating, often migrating unerringly together
from remote distances, in the construction of tissues and of
organs as marvellous as the ear and the eye; I believed in
finality. And I set out on my long journey from a stubbornly
maintained agnosticism to a gradually clarified belief in God.
Assuredly the end at which a tadpole or a chick is ultimately
to arrive cannot be a cause unless it already exists. It does so
exist-in some mind or Mind. I began to see, moreover, that
the end must be nobler than the blind means of cellular behavior which is not enlightened by any conscious search for the

VALUE, BEAUTY,

AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

25

good. It makes a tremendous difference when one ceases to read,
takes off his coat, and gets to work with scalpel and microscope,
with microtome and alcohol, paraffin, turpentine and staining
chemicals. For my part 1 became less and less satisfied with
" blind force" as an explanatory substitute for a " purpose
which shapes our ends, rough hew them how we may." I saw
that "chance" is no less an avowal of ignorance after it has
been spelled with a capital " C." I saw, in due time, with the
help of Aristotelian-Thol'msts, that a "chance" which is a
collision of two or more clearly discerned chains
cause
effect leads our thoughts irresistibly at last to a superior intelligence which foresees both the chains of events and their-for
us-unexpected conjunction. I was not surprised in 1936 to
read in The Philosophy of Phyffics of one of our most distinguished contemporaries, Max Planck, of quantum-theory fame:
" The most perfect harmony and consequently the strictest
causality in any case culminates in the assumption that there
is an ideal spirit having a full knowledge of the action of the
natural forces as well as of the events in the intellectual life of
men; a knowledge extending to every detail and embracing
present, past and future." I knew just who that " ideal spirit "
is, because for three years I had been a Catholic,
One of the most striking features of the Thomistic version
the argument from design is that, instead
making any indispensable use of analogy, as Paley does with his watch (although
this argument is by no means worthless), the Angelic Doctor's
reasoning is based on the whole sweep of the cosmic order contemplated, as Mozart heard his symphonies with his inner ear
in his most ecstatic moments, not in the temporal .flow of their
melodies, but zusammen. Everywhere we find tendencies inherent in the nature of things and these tendencies are vastly
harmonious. Lately the British astrophysiast, Reginald Dingle,
has suggested that the Heisenbergian " principle of indeterminacy" (the discovery of the scientists's inability to measure
simultaneously the velocity and the mass of an electron), far
from justifying the impulse of certain tychistic philosophers to
enthrone chance, is merely the result of looking at the events

26

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

from the wrong angle. And Sir Arthur Eddington has lifted
his eyes from his star-gazing to observe that if we are to speak
of" causation" as a one-way procession of effici(mt causes and
results we must have another word (he offers "causality ")
for a very real and significant two-way relation of events for
which the past-present flow has no bearing; in other words he
seems to be groping toward a_ recognition of the fact that we
must recognize the result, the end, as one kind of cause. Scientists, as J. K. Heydon points out in The, God of Reason, are
beginning in many quarters to realize that a thing is not
plained or even adequately described when it is picked to
pieces. Biologists, with their theory of emergent evolution,
are realizing that a man is not the mere sum of his anatomically
dissectable parts but a unity, parts plus form. And this form
must have a formal, not a merely efficient or material, cause.
As Alfred North Whitehead has written (I add italics) in
Scierwe and the Modern World, " An electron within a living
body is different from electron outside it, by reason of the plan
of the body." Then he adds, most significantly for us, " But
the principle of modification is perfectly gerneral throughout
nature, and represents no property peculiar to living bodies."
Lo, the scoffer of Aristotle shall be scorned and the scientists
may yet discover the Angel of the Schools.
" Whereas Heracleitus," as Mr. Heydon observes,
said that we could not cross a river twice, forasmuch as it did not
remain the same river but always changing, Aristotle observed that
we must look deeper than the changing drops of water, for the
river remained the river for all that. Now the science of the last
century sided with Heracleitus, in effect, for we could not look
deeper than the changing drops of water, or rather the atoms of
which they were composed. . . . But now the ultimate in the direction of picking to pieces has receded into mystery, and we come
back to the other end of reality, unities having a form or plan;
having, in particular, parts which are unities in themselves, such as
eyes, but which may yet serve the greater unity as means whereby
it may attain its natural ends.

Empedocles, partly anticipating the drift of Darwin's thought
by more than t'wo thousand years, had argued that causes

VALUE, BEAUTY, AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

are not oriented toward a goal but if they merely happen to
reach an end which has survival value it will outlive less fortunate results. As Heydon reminds us, Aristotle answered by
showing that Empedocles was merely assuming a tendency to
permanence in the case of lucky chances, without accounting
for the source of this tendency. Darwin, although he never
could bring himself to abandon absolutely the teleological view
and still wrote reverently of the likelihood of a divine purpose,
Providence, even after he had felt agnostic pangs, yet with his
lofty conscientiousness so cautiously formulated his theory of
"natural selection " as to tempt his less discrete followers to
hail his work, with a sort of adolescently satanic glee, as the
doom of theology. Still there remained the necessity for finding the sufficient reason for that very competition which the
great evolutionist found so prevalent (though he did not himself ignore the mutual aid) in nature. Darwin himself was
careful to confess that fo:r him the word "fortuitous" was but
a confession of his own limited understanding of the phenomena. The humble truth-seeker was beyond fear and beyond
reproach. And now since Mendel and his followers have found
out so much more about variations, evolution, as Thomas Hunt
Morgan has noted in his Critique, assumes a much more
"peaceful aspect." Today scientists of all kinds are finding
at work among " chance" happenings some force so positive
that one desperate philosophical atheist, determined at all cost
to keep God from returning to hamper " progress," is compelled
to substitute for Him an hypostatized anti-god called a
"Vector" with a capital "V."
Nevertheless we are compelled to see all around us and
beyond us a colossal hierarchy of beings which are themselves
unities and parts of unities yet more vast. In the midst of
everything we find ourselves to be wonderfully integrated societies of cells, tissues, and organs, each one of us finally integrated
in a point which we know as the "I." We are microcosms
which in some way mirror the macrocosm or its Source. For
this entire macrocosm all the king's scientists and all the Icing's
men have failed to find the universal " efficient " cause for

28

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

which the moribund materialists have so long been seeking.
They must therefore regard this stupendous unity as acting at
random. "But," as Heydon concludes,
it is impossible that all things that are should constitute a harmonious unity, each attaining its end and each contributing to the
ends of the whole, if that efficient cause acted at random; because
then each being might, with equal probability have been other
than it is, in a strictly infinite number of ways, and it is not merely
highly improbable but absolutely impossible that they should constitute a unity. Such a universe would not be a universe but a
mere multitude of unlike things without law or order. Therefore,
not at random but by design did the First [the Uncaused] Cause
work; therefore He is an intelligent Being and we call Him God.

All this means that everything inanimate or animate in the
universe is appetitive and that this appetition, perhaps in all
living things and certainly in men is a valuing activity which
reflects God who values Himself and also values, with a love
that will brook no ultimate frustration, the minutest and most
evanescent of His creatures as well as His saints. It means that
the end is the first principle of every action. Every being seeks
its perfection, its realization. Man is no exception. His end
is himself. ·Valuing is self-realization. The end desired, as St.
Augustine says, is "not that which is consumed so that it be
not, but that which is perfected so that it fully be." But sooner
or later, in his search for his own perfection a man will find,
even if too late, that only God can fulfil him. " Thou hast
made us for Thyself and our hearts are restless until they find
rest in Thee."
The objects which contribute in any way to this end may be
said to have value or be desirable. It is not necessary to assume
within them some occult " force," a gratuitous assumption
which Professor Perry wishes upon all of us who hold this view
and then accuses us of the pathetic fallacy. He is right as far
as he has certain agnostics or pragmatically theistic philosophers in mind. He would be wrong as far as Aquinas is concerned; but to the Angelic Doctor he does not here allude.
Perry is also very suspicious of theories that hold an object to
be valuable in the sense of being capable in any way of being

VALUE, BEAUTY, AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

desired. Here again, however, he devotes his energies to certain nineteenth and twentieth century philosophers who are
more or less befogged with post-Kantian idealism no matter
how much they knead it into strange and novel shapes. Now here does he really refute the perfectly lucid commonsense
conviction that value is in the object, that it possesses some
quality or qualities discernible by sense or intellect or both
and in some manner capable of satisfying desire or at least of
being desired whether or not a finite valuer happens to be
around. It is not necessary to pin our faith on one quality or
quale. Any character or quality or complex of qualities will
do, provided it serves the end-the end too often, as we saw,
forgotten by contemporary axiologists in their analysis of the
value situation. N mv the end, as we have here described it, is
the perfection, the fulfillment of the valuer himself. And the
valuer realizes his ,perfection solely and precisely to the degree
in which he attains to the presence of God. And this involves
the recognition that all his neighbors, including his enemies,
are equally loved by God. " 0 my God," let us reiterate the
act of Charity, "0 my God, I love Thee above all things because Thou art aU-good and worthy of all my love. I love my
neighbor as myself for the love
Thee." It is only a society
such valuers who can ever hope to create a community
which, in the words of Christopher Dawson,
is neither an inorganic mass of individuals nor a mechanized organization of power, but a living spiritual order.
The ideal of such a community was the dream that inspired the
political reformers and revolutionaries of the last two centuries [and
the Communists, Facists, Nazis and" Liberals" of today], but since
they rejected [and still reject] the power of the Spirit their ideals
proved [and prove] unreal and Utopian, and they achieved [and
achieve] either freedom without order, or order without freedom.

If then an object is valuable by virtue of an indeterminate
number of qualities which make it desirable in the sense that
it in any way furthers or seems to further the beatification of
the valuer, we may infer that for different qualities there will
appeticorrespond in the soul of the valuer different modes

30

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

tion, interest, and conation whether these be sybaritic or
rational, perverse or noble. This brings us to Professor Perry's
third family of definitions: "Value as object of qualified interest." An expressive version of this view was made current
by Brentano at the beginning of this century when, in The
Origin of the Knowledge of Right and Wrong, he asserted:
"We call something good when the love relating to it is right."
Before this, it was championed in various ways by Kant and
his more voluntaristic satellites as opposed to his more intellectualistic followers. Some of its roots may be traced in some
of the schoolmen, backward to the ancient Stoics, and even in
certain phases of Plato's protean thought. Any Thomist,
mediaeval or modern, can readily fuse one variant of this view
with certain variations from the other three families, namely
the qualification of human appetition that describes it as a
more or less implicit love of God which certainly characterizes
any rational will which has not become utterly reprobate. But
if we remember our former observation that many modern
axiologists are prone to blur value with valuing, we will realize
that all members of this third class of definitions are more
likely to characterize the latter than the former. We will do
well also to keep constantly in mind Professor Perry's just
criticism that all definitions of this class tend to limit the concept of value to the higher values although we might temper
his position by adding that the more distinctively human the
process of valuing becomes the more explicit will be its orientation towards man's perfection, his self-fulfillment, his endfellowship with his Creator.
The oft-quoted passage in the Symposium of Plato (whom
along with Aristotle St. Justin Martyr called " the pedagogues
of Christ ") is the most promising point of departure here.
He who has been instructed thus far in the things of love, and who
has learned to see the beautiful in due order and succession, when
he comes toward the end will suddenly perceive a nature of wondrous beauty (and this, Socrates, will be the final cause of all our
former toils), a nature not fair in one point of view and foul in
another, ... but beauty absolute, separate, simple and everlasting,
which . . . is imparted to the ·ever-growing and perishing beauties

VALUE, BEAUTY,

AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

31

of all other things. He who ascending from these under the influence of true love, begins to perceive that beauty, is not far from
the end. And the true order of going, or being led by another, to
the things of love, is to begin from the beauties of earth and mount
upwards for the sake of that other beauty, using these as steps
only, and from one going on to two, and from two to all fair forms,
and from fair forms to fair practices, and from fair practices to fair
notions, until from fair notions he arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at last knows what the essence of beauty is.

Professor Perry himself points out the development and
broadening of this "hierarchical conception " in Aristotle and
in St. Thomas Aquinas. To the latter, throughout his whole
long work, Professor Perry refers but thrice, each time contenting himself with brief quotations from comments on the
Angelic Doctor in the Mediaeval Philosophy of Professor
Maurice De Wulf, but the quotation in this context is well
worth repeating.
Doubtless the man who desires good as such, perfect good, does
not at once perceive that it is God alone who can fully satisfy the
aspirations of his mind and heart. His reason arrives at this conclusion by the gradual elimination of objects other than God. Until
this process of reasoning is performed, man seeks for happiness,
unaware that God is his happiness.

Professor Perry's sceptical attitude toward such an outlook
because it assumes" that the ultimate end of the process should
be conceived as directing all of its stages " does not take into
account the Aristotelian-Thomistic ordering of the mansions of
philosophy. We must remember once more that the schoolman
does not approach practical philosophy, axiology, until after
he has proved in speculative philosophy (by a long process of
reasoning that takes full account ofall the facts available from
ages of human experience and from all the latest findings of the
particular sciences from astronomy to zoology) that all cosmic
changes are the results of causes (cosmology), that all causes
derive from an uncaused efficient and final cause who is God
(ontology and theodicy), and that the nature of God (as
expounded in the last chapters of metaphysics) makes it perfectly clear how all His creatures respond with their hierarchy

32

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

of appetitions growing ever more explicit, if they are not
warped, from the " blindest" electron hurtling out of an exploding atomic nucleus as a beta-particle to a Saint John o£
the Cross in a supra-rational ecstasy crowning years of the
most intense discipline as he meditates on the Blessed Trinity.
It is very significant to note that Professor Perry's animadversions against this doctrine of the " final will or the implicit
love of God " together with the closely related theories of " the
all-harmonious will or desire in accord with nature,"" the absolute will as a necessary presupposition," and "the authoritative
or obligatory will," are levelled mainly at versions which are
distinctly pantheistic or deistic, at a conception of God either
utterly immanent and so either absorbing or absorbed in the
totality o£ finite beings or utterly transcendent and so indifferent and alien to His creatures. Nowhere does he clearly
formulate the golden mean of traditional and strictly orthodox
Christian theism with its God both transcendent and immanent
and His hierarchy of creatures ranging from electrons and
stars with their " blind " appetition through plants with their
dim immanent actions and animals with their quasi-mechanical
but resourceful instincts up to more or less free beings partly
or wholly spiritual and torn, precisely because free to make that
great surrender which is love, between impulses toward egoidolatry and impulses to lose themselves to save themselves,
reborn with grace, as no longer the merely created but now
the adopted children o£ the only unequivocal Giver, God. In
any completely comprehensive axiology one should also have
much to say ahout Augustine's Christian clarification and
enrichment o£ Plato and the tremendous Christian supplementation of Aristotle by Aquinas.
The doctrines of the "all-harmonious will," which was an
attenuated Stoical form of Platonism and Aristotelianism, and
of the " absolute will," which is a modern idealistic perversion
of Christianity, lead us with Perry to the efforts of philosophers
to unify or to find a common ground for beauty, goodness, and
truth. It makes all the difference in the world whether such
a unity is attempted on an epistemological basis, as by the

VALUE, BEAUTY,

AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

88

post-Kantians like Green and Bradley, Windelband, Muensterberg, and Royce, with whom Perry is almost exclusively concerned, or on an ontological basis, as by the Augustinians and
Thomists whom he ignores.
The two great Christian philosophers undoubtedly derived a
great deal of inspiration and factual material from revealed
religion, though never, at least in the case of Aquinas, to the
point of basing their philosophy on theology" It must be remembered too that from the beginnings of Christianity, from
the days of St. Paul himself on to sub-apostolic writers of the
next generations, like SL Justin Martyr and Origen, and so on
to Augustine and from Augustine to Anselm and from Anselm
to Cajetan, the Christian philosophers were always ready with
an apologetics to defend revelation by the reason: the natural
philosophical proofs of the existence of God, the historical,
archaeological, philological and psychological defense of the
Gospels and the divinity of Christ. Sh "" the so-called reformers such as Luther and Calvin and their ,
have
done so much to discourage research into what the Catholic
calls the rational preamble to faith, modern philosophers of the
various non-scholastic, post-Cartesian persuasions have sought,
alike from friendly or hostile points of view, to reduce religion
to mere emotional or at best vaguely voluntaristic expressions"
It is not surprising therefore to find Professor Perry practically
ignoring the traditional Christian view, which is the contemporary Catholic view, of human nature as neither all bad, as
Calvin and Luther, like the Buddha, tended to describe it, nor
aU good as Rousseauists liked to believe, nor neither good nor
bad (morally neutral) as so-called evolutionary naturalists
hold with frequent self-contradictions.
In the Christian view,
human nature can be both good and bad under the fundamental inspiration of those practical moral judgments called
conscience and the more superficial and more feeling-toned
impulses toward the primrose path called concupiscence, our
heritage of original sin which does not mean for Catholics, as
it did for the first Protestants, total depravity, but merely a
weakness, a disposition to forget our distinctively human end,
3

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

self-realization through attainment to God, for self-attenuation
through the idolatrous confusion of values-as-means with
values-as-ends.
To this point we will return when we are engaged with Professor Perry's fourth family of values. It is more relevant here
to focus on the efforts of some modern post-Cartesians to establish a fundamental identity of beauty, goodness, and truth.
This, as has been said, has been unfortunately attempted by
modern philosophers on epistemological grounds. More ununfortunately still, these epistemological grounds are less intellectualistic than voluntaristic and consequently make of
truth-seeking a mere process of more or less pragmatic valuing
by virtue of which truth may even be subordinated to beauty
and goodness.
We are here already committed to an ontological view of
the interrelations of truth, goodness, and beauty, their fundamental convergence in finite beings and their fundamental
identity within the infinite being who is the creative source of
all finite beings, producing these, not out of Himself, but, because He is omnipotent, out of nothing. This view accords
a certain primacy to the intellect over the will. So far as man
is concerned he must somehow, more or less adequately, understand an object before he can desire or value it. Some being,
which is whatever it is, not necessarily one of his own thoughts,
is his first object. He finds first that this being is more or less
intelligible, that is to say true. As he understands it more or
less adequately he finds it more or less apparently or actually
desirable, good. Sooner or later he will, if he develops normally, become more or less aware of the fact that the highest
good is identical with the Supreme Being, "He who is," God.
What then of beauty in this trinity of spiritual experiences?
St. Thomas Aquinas has called it a kind of good. His followers,
to the very days of our great contemporary, Jacques Maritain
(in his Art and Scholasticism), have been unable fully to agree
whether this means that beauty is merely a very general property of being or, like good itself, a transcendental attribute with
boundaries as wide or rather as limitless as those of being itself.

VALUE, BEAUTY, AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

35

Here I present, briefly, my own view. God, we have seen, is
both transcendent and immanent. He is transcendent because
He is absolutely distinct from his creatures. But He is also
immanent in the sense that He is not content with creating his
creatures in fieri but He does, nay He must, if they are not to
lapse at once into nothingness, perpetually conceive them
in esse. He is therefore present in them in many different
senses, but for our purposes here we may be content with the
recognition of what in ontology and theodicy is called His
operative presence. Upon this basis I offer the following
hypothesis: an object is beautiful to the extent that it revealsor can reveal-to anyone in a properly contemplative mood
the operative presence of Almighty God.
Does this mean that all objects are beautiful? I answer
unflinchingly: in so far as they are beings, yes. In so far as
they have arrived at their perfection-and all beings, in contrast with non-beings, have gone some distance on the way of
fulfillment-,-yes. In so far as they do not suffer from a lacking,
in so far as they are not privative-yes. It is obvious that this
beauty, however discernible, is not always discemed even by
painters and poets, sculptors and dancers, architects and
musicians, be they most sensitive and sane. This brings us to
an important set of facts which will also transport us to an
appraisal of Professor Perry's fourth family of definitions, his
own allegiance, value defined as "any object of any interest."
This formulation seems at first in irreconcilable conflict with
the other three types of definitions particularly the third, which
has been the most befriended here, the definitions of value in
terms of the desirability of an object and of its capacity to
arouse desire. We may make ample provision for Professor
Perry's favored definition, for our own, and indeed for all four
types, by the employment of a distinction which, so far as I
know, is in our own day most clearly formulated by Father
Ward in his Philosophy of Value. Let me quote him with my
italics:
Wherever there is action, there certainly is value; indeed, at such
a place, value is demonstrated. But unmistakably there is static

36

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

value in the mere existent [object] from the beginning, because the
existent is a possible aim [end] of action. Yet functional value
needs something in addition to ens or existent and in addition to
this as desirable: to ens as desirable, functional value adds the element of being desired. This makes a logical difference [but not so
far as the object valued is concerned a real difference, that is to say
a difference which is independent of the valuer's mind].... Value
... is resident within the existent [object] always and is functionally
there when this is object [objective] or is sought. And "good,"

says Saint Thomas, "is anything" is the thing itself-" in so far
as it can be striven for and in so far as it is the end of conative
action."

With Father Ward's words in mind we should have no difficulty in accepting wholeheartedly Professor Perry's chosen
definition exactly as he phrases it in the title of his fifth
chapter: " Value as [is or is in] any object of any interest."
To this formulation, however, Perry himself does not hold
steadfastly true. He is forever veering towards that subjectivism which is the curse alike of post-Cartesian sceptical or
solipsistic epistemology and its parallel relativistic axiology
which, consistently held, implies the denial of metaphysics and
which, if held with the consistency of despair, must eventuate
as intellectual nihilism, the denial of the validity of the reason.
The occasions for the Harvard philosopher's divagations, which
lead him, when he is more conservative, to attenuate value
almost into nothing by identifying it with some mere relation
between object and value: and, when he is less wary, to speak
of the interest of the valuer as " conferring " value on the
object valued-these occasions are real temptations; for he is
seeking to account for all desires and all objects, no matter
whether the moralist or. the aesthete would call them bad or
good. He seeks, with perfect justice, a generic definition which
will include every value, angelic or diabolical or, perhaps we
should say more precisely, every act of valuing. It is practically impossible for Perry to pass from his too exclusively
empirical all-inclusiveness to any sure-footed discovery of the
origins and establishment of accurate measurements of the
higher values, of the better and the best. This need not arrest

VALUE, BEAUTY,

AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

37

us here. We may safeguard ourselves from the empirical
debacle, the same kind of debacle that wrecked the epistemology of Hume, with a revision which will be far from necessitating a rejection of all definitions of the fourth type. All
that is essential is to keep consistently in mind Father Ward's
contrast of value as functional and value as static. We can
illustrate and exemplify the point sufficiently by applying this
contrast to the particular value, beauty. We may, with a
proper use of the third type of definitions, which pays due
emphasis to the different kinds of appetition, apply the same
distinction, to all kinds of value. VIle will indeed observe, as I
promised, that there is truth in all four types: that value as
static, is quite irrelevant to interest; that the object whether
valued or not, is always valuable, has value, because it does, i£
functional, or can in any case, arouse interest, appetition; that
specific values arouse specifically qualified conations; and that
any object, in so far as it has positive as opposed to privative
(a lack of) being, has or is value. To illustrate and to apply
then-an object is beautiful in so far as it reveals or has the
capacity to reveal the operative presence of God; it is recognized as beautiful when that operative presence is-whether
consciously or unconsciously, dimly or vividly-discerned.
Scholastic philosophy, contrary to much opinion among our
contemporaries who ought to know better, begins' without any
assumption whatever, but merely with the inescapable recognition that there is something which is what it is and cannot be
itself and something else at the same time and in the same
respect. Almost in the same instant, with the recognition of
being, we accept the inevitability of becoming, that mutability
of things that forever stirs the nostalgia of singers old and new.
There is flow everywhere. Yet this very flow would never be
discerned as such were there not also permanence. The spiritual pilgrim becomes more and more widely aware of similarities as well as of differences, nay of identities or somehow,
somewhere at least one Basis of identity. So while poets dream
of forgotten beauty and long to conquer immortality with their
sighing verses, the philosopher, at the relatively uncritical level

38

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

of common sense, becomes a cosmologist and talks of change
and quantity, time and space, matter, form and cause, always,
it is to be hoped, in healthy give-and-take with the specializing
experimental observers of various abstracted aspects of nature,
the astronomers and botanists, chemists and geologists, physicists and zoologists.
It is not long before the child and the philosopher are spellbound before the exciting differences between things that live
and things that do not, and, among living things, the essential differences between the dainty violet, the gorgeous tiger,
and the dazzling knight-at-arms. This is the field of philosophical or rational psychology which ought to flourish in
fruitful symbiosis with the physicists and physiologists of the
laboratories. From such mutual aid should bourgeon rich wisdom concerning desire, wishes, hope, sorrow, joy. It is just
at this point that our investigator would derive immense profit
from the encyclopedic enumeration and classification of " modes
of interest " surveyed by Professor Perry from biological,
psychological, sociological and philosophical points of view in
the second part of his magnum opus.
It is not, however, until we arrive at the first stage of metaphysics, ontology, that we become critically precise, equally
suspicious of the naivete of common sense and the occasional
speculative presumption of the specialist in the particular sciences. Now, in ontology, from the tremendous perspective of
all being in every sense of the word, not only living and nonliving but perfect and privative, real and ideal, possible and
impossible, relative and absolute, finite and infinite, we learn
how to discern in everything positive, approached from the
appropriate angle, beauty, goodness, and ontological truth.
In epistemology, the second stage of metaphysics we re-examine truth, this time not from the point of view of being in
general but from the point of view of judgments about beings;
truth from this aspect appears more distinguishable but even
now not wholly isolated from the values pleasant, useful,
righteous, and beautiful.
By means of natural philosophy and metaphysics, we come

VALUE, BEAUTY,

AND PROFESSOR

PERRY

39

from our first recognition of something that is what it is,
through the observation of billions of billions of moving and
changing things minute and immense, to the ultimate source
of that ubiquitous change. From our classification of things
from the point of view of their unity, truth, goodness and
beauty, from the point of view of their substantial existence in
themselves or their accidental existence in adjoining substances,
we are steadily advancing toward theodicy or natural theology,
the crowning stage of metaphysics, wherein we contemplate
with awed eyes the meridian reality of the uncreated being, the
absolutely one, true, good and beautiful God.
From this height we turn back, in the axiological or practical philosophies of economics and morals and art, to reconsider man's place in the universe from the point of view not
of his understanding but of his appetitions, his yearnings trivial
and fathomless, in the light of the vistas of the speculative
philosophies. From this perspective, we can fully appreciate
why all the greatest philosophers from Plato to Augustine, from
Augustine to Aquinas and from Aquinas to Kant, have united
in defining aesthetic appetition as contemplation, non-possessive, disinterested, sheer delight. If I am correct in calling an
object beautiful to the extent that in it the operative presence
of God is or can be discerned, wittingly or unwittingly, we can
understand how the artist or art-lover or nature-lover thrills,
suspended as it were in an ecstasy of the purest joy, content
with the intense activity of adoration, on tiptoe with a mood
preludial to what the dogmatic theologian, in describing the
Sacrament of the Eucharist, calls "the fervor of charity."
Valuing, from its homeliest to its highest, is, if wholesomely
carried out, whether we are aware of it or not, nothing less than
an evolving imitation of Christ who showed us how to strive to
be perfect as His heavenly Father is perfect. Human valuing,
at its homeliest and highest, when it is unequivocally humanin eating, loving and dying-as our deeper conscience prevails
over our shallower conscience, valuing in aU its forms, utilitarian, moral and aesthetic, is, I repeat it, an imitation of
Christ. Of these values desired, the utilitarian ones merely

40

HERBERT ELLSWORTH

CORY

serve as means to discover further values, intrinsic goods, some
of which adumbrate more and more luminously the beatific
vision, none more alluringly than beauty which is, as Keats said
in Endymion, "a joy forever," because as Keats more clearly
divined in "The Ode to a Grecian Urn " it is ultimately identifiable with truth in God, for, when we discern the beauty in
an object, we discern in it and under it the perpetually sustaining hand of God.
HERBERT ELLSWORTH

The University of Wa8hington,
Seattle, W a8h.

CoRY

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING
0' er land and sea love follows with fond prayers
Its dear ones in their troubles, grief and cares;
There is no spot
On which it does not drop this tender dew,
Except the grave, and there it bids adieu,
And prayeth not!

T

-STODDARD,"

In Memoriam"

HE foregoing lines seem to sum up rather well the conclusion with which the novels which we read in our
maturity supplant the endings of the fairy tales we read
in childhood. Once our stories ended: "And so they lived
happily ever after." Now we are older and more enlightened
and the better stories, though marked with passing bliss, prefer
to reach their term in stark despair and utter dashing of hopes.
If the happy couple do not find shipwreck before, the sacrificial
novelist leads all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave-but
to the grave. And there he " bids adieu and prayeth not."
Our Prince elopes with Cinderella-only to divorce her some
time later. They had hoped for too much; the gods do not
smile on such dreams. Cinderella moons away on her alimony
and the Prince drags his bruised and battered heart sadly
through an unfeeling w-orld. Grant them the prospect of happiness without alloy, then just as Cinderella and her Prince are
about to drive off in the pumpkin carriage to some castle of
dreams, a mad goblin will appear on the scene and stab our
Prince to the heart, leaving him to expire in the arms of the
heart-broken Cinderella. This situation occurs in Maurice
Baring's Friday's Business/ wherein the hero, having at last
discovered his beloved, is more or less casually murdered in a
Balkan revolution which promptly melts away a few moments
1

Maurice Baring, Friday's Business (London: 1932).

41

PIERRE H. CONWAY

later. The tragic future of the beloved is left to the reader's
imagination. As he closes such a book, he can hear the spirit
of the author saying: "Sorry, old man, I'd like to give you a
happy ending, but life is just not like that, and as a truthful
observer of life, I can't lie to you and delude you." As far as
life goes, we must admit the author has done a good job of
reporting.
The champions of fairy tales may denounce modern authors
as downright pessimistic and perverse, but most of us feel more
inclined to applaud them for their effort at truthfulness, even
if it must hurt. If they do not settle the problem, at least
they do not evade it but follow their human models to their
logical, even if tragic, conclusion. 2 The problem is age-old.
Love, that perfect union of hearts which has the tendency to
be complete and eternal, is constantly menaced by the whims
of fate and fortune, and is ultimately sundered by its inexorable
enemy, death. In story-telling it is quite possible to overcome
ill fortune by the stroke of the pen and to evade death si;mply
by saying " they lived happily ever after" in keeping with
Pascal's maxim: "Men, unable to remedy death, sorrow and
ignorance, determine, in order to make themselves happy, not
to think on these things." 3 In life, not so. Hence stories which
aim to be a mirror of life, and not mere products of the imagination and momentary " opium for the people " feel obliged to
2 Such cannot be said of all modern novels.
Some, no less successful, shake ofi
the logical implications leading to a tragic conclusion. Thus, in Marriage Is A
Private Affair by Judith Kelly, whereas logically and psychologically husband and
wife are cutting themselves adrift from one another by an abortion, this tragedy,
by an insidious and post-childhood use of the fairy tale technique, is neatly transformed into the prospect of a glowing future of fast-knit happiness for the guilty
pair.
Novels incorporating such unjustifiable metamorphosis of evil into good and such
gratuitous re-routing of human nature evade the problem encountered by novels
in which the characters strive earnestly and rationally for happiness, yet seem
relentlessly baulked by fate. The former thus prematurely nullify what value they
might have as insight into human destiny while the latter throw up the problem
squarely, if cruelly. The latter occupy our attention here.
• Les hommes n'ayant pu guerir la mort, la misere, 1' ignorance, se sont avises,
pour se rendre heureux, de ne point y penser (Les Pensees). Cf. C. Kegan Paul,
The Thoughts of Blaise Pascal (London: 1885), p. 38.

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

43

present their blissful unions as menaced by adversities and
ultimately destructible by death.
Confronted by such inevitable reality, one must, on comparing the heart's desires with the fruition they attain, pronounce existence as something truly tragic, since love, which is
life at its best and fullest, is irretrievably doomed. However,
the heart does not give up easily, driven as it is by its perpetual yearning. It enshrines the histories of those who have
fought the battle for love's victory over fortune and death.
The tales that have lived the longest among men are, at their
core, love stories, whether mythical or historical. Such are the
stories of Pygmalion and Galatea, Abelard and Heloise, Dante
and Beatrice, Romeo and Juliet. The most touching stories
of the Old Testament are of love and friendship, as those of
Abraham and Sara, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Rachel,
David and Jonathan.
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below, and saints above.4
Tragic and unsatisfactory as it may be, love can still exact and
obtain the highest sacrifices from man. " A man shall give
all the substance of his house for love, and count it as nothing." It is more than a banal commonplace to say "Love
makes the world go round." Love is the union of man with
what he most desires, a union embracing all that is good to
him. It is this urge which drives him through the years and
to all his enterprises. Somehow, man cannot be convinced that
love cannot survive the hinderances of fate and that one final
obstacle which incorporates them all, death. Even if the transition from childhood to maturity, from dreams to life, is paralleled by the transition in our reading tastes from imaginative
fairy tales to realistic novels, nevertheless one retains at heart
a penchant for the fairy tale motif. Even if those cynical
people, contemporary authors, have ceased to believe in fairy
deep down we have not.
While grown-ups torture their hearts with the most sombre
'Alfred Lord Tennyson, The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto ill, Stanza I.

44

PIERRE H. CONWAY

and melancholy tales which drip from the pens of our selfsacrificing writers and drown love in wells of despondency, as
in Winesburg, Ohio,5 nevertheless they carefully keep this
horrid truth from their children. With sublime optimism they
feed their young on fairy tales wherein all is sunshine, and
true love shortly attains its goal over the carcasses of several
easily skewered dragons. Somehow they do not feel deceitful
about cramming youth with such illusory optimism. Deep
down in their hearts they are still playing Cinderella and the
Prince, still hoping that their dreams will come true, if not
for them, for these little ones.
When, on growing older we discover to our chagrin that after
having put a few scaly, flame-throwing dragons-or their contemporary equivalent-out of the way, we are not necessarily
going to live happily ever after, that is not sufficient reason to
dismiss fairy tales as an insult to the intelligence. When we are
politely reminded that good bookkeepers are more in demand
than potential giant killers, it is not quite fair to reproach the
fairy tales with having ill-prepared us for life. The myth of
Santa-Claus
evaporates as one becomes more and more
aware of his parental understudy, yet the dismissal of the jolly
old gentleman in the red suit from the realm of reality is not an
excuse to cease all giving and to strike Christmas from the
calendar because Santa Claus is not real. Santa Claus is a
symbol of Christmas adapted to childlike minds. He is not to
be supplanted by a void, but by a truer, deeper, and far more
sublime understanding of Christmas. The basic concept is
sound and unchanging., So with fairy tales.
To despair of life because fairy tales do not come true is
like doing away with Christmas because there is no Santa Claus.
Authors, those seers of the people, have sought to see fairy tales
come true in life, to satisfy us. Tracing the lives of the modern
counterparts of the stout hearted knights in armor and their
fair and loyal damsels, they have seemed to perceive, to their
disappointment and ours, that fairy godmothers are noticeably lacking, that wicked stepmothers often carry off the day,
• Sherwood Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio (New York: 1919). -See "Mother."

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

45

and that modern economics and bureaucracy are far more
devastating than the most ill-humored dragons. Our Prince
may not be a good business man, yet Cinderella must have her
hats. After many ups and downs the whole affair is just as liable
to end in the moat instead of the dream-castle. The ending lines
" ... rind so they lived happily ever after," are simply out of
the question. Hence they sorrowfully conclude to the bankruptcy of the fairy tale and put it aside as a design for living,
to give us in its place the apparently hard, unimaginative facts
of reality, momentarily brightened by a heroism pathetic with
despair and hopelessness.
This indictment of the fairy tale we wish to challenge. Like
Santa Claus, fairy tales are prompted by a concept that is
fundamentally sound and of which they are the imaginative and
sketchy representation. This concept is of the possibility of
human happiness which consists in the union of hearts. If the
concept embodied in the fairy tale fails to attain realization in
life, one possible explanation 'is, of course, that the concept is
false and illusory. However, if the concept is sound and fails
to attain realization, then the explanation must be that it is
the application of the concept and not the concept itself which
is at fault. Just as Christmas seems to lose its freshness and joy
as one grows older because one has failed to grasp its inner
meaning, so it is our aim to show that it is also a misconception
that leads to the discarding of the visions and hopes of childhood
embodied in fairy tales. Our thesis is to show that, if properly
understood, fairy tales really do come true in life.
As already mentioned, we here consider the novel of maturity
as the natural successor of the fairy tale of childhood. In it
we shall try to perceive whether there is not some misconception
which causes it to attain conclusions so diametrically opposed
to those of its precursor, the fairy tale. We do not seek a defect
of literary form, but rather a defect of philosophy. Having
detected such a defect, we shall try to trace the conclusion
a novel should reach, at least implicitly, if it is really to embrace
life in all its meaning. Here again the intention is not literary,
but philosophical. Just as the fairy tale embodies the philoso-

46

PIERRE H. CONWAY

phy of childhood, so the novel aims to embody the philosophy
of maturity. We feel the philosophy thus presented is unnecessarily pessimisitic and obscure, and we would like, in
the interests of truth, to oppose it with a philosophy at once
more real and more optimistic. For the satisfaction of other
disappointed readers and our own, we should like to lay bare
and verify the principles which allow a sanguine interpretation
of destiny and supply its logical conclusion.
The facts of the modern novel of the dead-end finish are not
here in question. It is possible to admit that in their depiction
of trials and hardships they are true and unassailable. It is the
interpretation of these facts which is in question. It is vain for
an author to protest that he has no desire to interpret, that he
merely wishes to hold a mirror to life and leave interpretation
to the reader. One must inevitably have a concept of the end
to which the story will tend before beginning the story. It is
this concept of the end which determines the evolution the
characters follow. It is solely the end which distinguishes the
fairy tale from the pessimistic novel. I£ our hero and heroine
live happily ever after, after chalking up the last dragon, it is
a fairy tale. I£ they do not live happily ever after, it is a modern
novel. Whether the hero is encased in shining armor or merely
a ready-made suit, whether the heroine goes to the ball in glass
slippers or something quite conventional, whether the dragon
breathes fire or is merely a pneumonia germ, whether the witch
has a hook nose and rides on a broom by the light of .the moon,
or disseminates advice on birth control in an irreproachably
polite way, is purely accidental. Cinderella and our Prince have
quite as much to contend with in the modern novel as they did
in the fairy tale. Above all, they must contend with death,
which in fairy tales is only reserved for the wicked. Will they,
can they," live happily ever after?" Can their union not only
survive
. . . the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressors wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The insolence of office, . . .

but even the departure of one of them to

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY EN:QING

47

The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, ... ? 6

If we wish to see the verification of the fairy tale ending,
" ... and so they lived happily ever after," that union must
survive.
However, very few self-respecting novelists permit themselves such a happy ending, even temporarily, on this side of the
grave, let alone eternally after death. To present a so-called
movie finish except in rare cases would be felt naive and would
be mildly scoffed at. Nevertheless, despite our outward cynicism, the heart refuses to be disillusioned. Are we to believe
that chapters of life's story replete with heroism quite worthy
of the most inspiring conte de je must end, blankly and bleakly?
Must all "that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave ... lead but
to the grave?" Two who have lived and loved are torn asunder
by the cruel circumstances of rank, money, hatred, misunderstanding, distance, loss. Shall they never be united? Shall that
yearning union of two strong hearts which, through the firm
hope of eventual union, can survive and surmount the separation of distance, of station, of time, of force, of calumny, be
annihilated by death and left forever undone? Take for instance
this brief recital of a tragedy of the present war, written by a
Polish girl who served in one of her country's hospitals. " Sister
Mary was engaged before the war to a young lieutenant. They
were to be married in September. War broke out. He left for
the front. She went to work in the hospitaL The third day of
the war a cannon ball tore off the head of the lieutenant.
Precise and energetic, Sister Mary went on working in the
hospital every day, as if nothing had happened." And the writer
ends, " the war had destroyed the home, the life, the family, the
youth of each of us." 1 Is he who proves his love by dying to be
less rewarded than he who lives to enjoy the presence of his
beloved? Souls have sworn eternal love. Have they sworn in
vain? Is this to be but an empty jest, a childish dream that
death sweeps away?
• Hamlet, Act III, Sc. I.
Marta Wankowicz, "I Nursed the Nazis in a Polish Hospital," America, Nov.

7

2, 1940.

48

PIERRE H. CONWAY

Not only does the public from time to time, claim from its
writers a good straightforward happy ending, but in daily life
nien go on making supreme sacrifices in the hope of love's
ultimate triumph, no matter how dark the future may be
painted. This. hope and confidence cannot be eradicated by any
amount of somber philosophy or sad experience, because it is
an innate desire of human nature, and as such is indestructible,
no matter how much its fruition, may be thwarted or misled.
" The friendship was never true that can have an end" (St.
Jerome).
Some few authors, recognizing the heart's indestructible conviction, leave us :rays of hope shining through the darkening
twilight as in Hi]ton's We Are Not Alone.
"But never-never-to see you again!"
" Maybe you will. If there's a next world, I'll try to find you
in it as I found you in this. There will be other worlds, surely, or
maybe this world over again . . . worlds in which the things we
have won't be wasted like this."

*

*

*

" Come with me, go with me, I don't know where, but there are
a few of us, we make a good company already, we carry love in our
hearts, we are not alone. . . . " 8
Some seem to envision a greater love lifting human love to
greater, eternal heights, broadening it into a love of all men,
merging it with an infinite, eternal, all-powerful and divine love,
as in Ernest Raymond's A Family That Was. 9 But these few
are vague, groping, merely refusing to smother the last sparks
of their hearts' yearning as the final darkness closes in around
them. That is all that we are left of childhood's" ... and so
they lived happily ever after."
Where can be found a story which will embody at once the
realism of the novel and the happy ending of the fairy tale?
Where is there a philosophy which dares to face life at its worst
and yet promise clearly defined victory and the satisfaction of
all the heart's desires? One has not far to search. Both the fairy
James Hilton, We are; Not Alone (New York: 1937), pp. 201, 215.
• Ernest Raymond, A Family That Was (London: 1929).

8

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

49

tale and the novel are half-truths. The fairy tale is only halftrue because by artificial and purely imaginative means it arrives
at a happy ending. The modern novel is only half-true because
by a real portrayal of life it arrives at an ending which is both
somber and fictitious. Taking the half which is true in both the
fairy tale and the novel and uniting them one has real life with a
happy ending. This perfect, substantial whole is found in the
source from which both the fairy tale and the novel have
wandered.
This source is, as a story, the Lives of the saints as written
about them; as a philosophy, the lives of the saints as lived by
them. A perfect union is achieved in the Lives of the saints,
a type of reading which once occupied both the place of fairy
tales in child life, and that of novels in grown estate. The saints
give us the perfect realistic novel with the perfect fairy tale
ending. They do not leave their heroes and admirers with a
technical knowledge of how to dispatch imaginary monsters,
but rather teach the child how to overcome the very real
dragons of life: sadness, poverty, sickness, loneliness, disappointment, and that worst ogre of them all, death. They
write that last chapter which turns the tragic ending of the
novel into a triumph.
At the time of the Reformation, so called, the notion of
human destiny was revised by Calvinism. Henceforth the good
were to be rewarded in this life, and wealth and prosperity
became the mark of virtue. It was very easy to incorporate
this philosophy into tales for children. If they were good and
honest, they should grow up rich and prosperous, marry happily,
and live on the fat of the land. The novels of the eighteenth
century became pleasantly naturalistic.
Rousseau's Emile
would grow up in the woods, where his naturally good nature
would flower into virtue. Later he would marry a wife equally
virtuous by her naturalistic upbringing, and both would live
on happily, with their children, among the fields and flowers,
unhampered by care or trouble. Heaven had been brought
right down on earth. The Heaven above could now be dispensed with and forgotten, which it was.
4

50

PIERRE H. CONWAY

However, it did not take long for dear thinking and honest
writers to perceive that such was not the case. Despite any
amount of wishful thinking, the good, beginning with Job,
rarely prosper materially in this vale of tears. Now came the
tragedy. The Heaven above had been forgotten, the heaven on
earth had vanished into thin air once it ventured from the pages
of the imaginative novel. There was no Heaven where true love
might find its perfection. There was only the, at best, passing
happiness of a few brief moments of bliss for the few here below,
for the many hardship and disaster, and for all the bitter ending
of death cutting short the heart's hopes of enduring happiness
with those it loves. Witness Lamartine in Le Lac, a key
strophy of which may be crudely rendered as follows:
Let us love, therefore, let us love!
With haste enjoy the fleeting day!
Man has no port, and time no shore;
It flows on, and we pass away! 10

Hence the modern pessimistic novel, shortsighted, hopeless, but
true as far as it goes, which is a very short way. The fairy
tale has survived precisely because it does not pretend to be real.
It was destined to be a vehicle for childhood dreams of 'happiness. It answers and corresponds to the very real and innate
desire of the human heart for perfect happiness. If the terms in
which that happiness was couched were made unnecessarily
materialistic and earthy, they were left sufficiently vague and
fantastic to be unattackable. These terms are just realistic
enough to cause disillusionment when one grows up and ·really
puts one's dreams to the test. The result of the test is incorporated in our pessimistic novel.
Our modern novelists and our modern philosophers have not
been able to lend an optimistic contour to the shape of things
10

Aimons done, aimons done! de l'heure fugitive,
Hatons-nous, jouissons!
L'homme n'a point de port, le temps n'a point de rive;
II coule, et nons passons!
(From Le Lac, printed in Les Meditations Poetiques of
Alphonse Louis de Lamartine.)

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

51

to come. They are well aware of the desires and aspirations of
the human heart, but when they confront them with what seems
should be their accomplishment in this vale of tears, the result
seems very sad indeed, and as such is committed to their copy
books. They cannot explain why man, so naturally good, can
become the slave of his passions and quite unreasonable,
despite every logical inducement to do that which is good. The
painfully consistent pattern of front-page romances which begin
with all the glamor and eclat of the fairy tale and end in the
uninspiring and ungallant atmosphere of the divorce courts
defies them. Worse still, while it is not beyond comprehension
that certain marriages of convenience wherein youthful beauty
becomes the bride of ancient wealth, or a title is wed to a gold
mine, should go on the rocks, yet how can they explain why a
loyal and loving couple who are good, industrious, and kind to
all, should be visited by a merciless fate with adversities innumerable, poverty, and human malice? They are obliged to
throw up the sponge as far as ultimate happiness is concerned,
in favor of a sacrificial stoicism eventually rewarded with a
merciful oblivion, an attitude well expressed in Alfred de Vigny's
poem, La Mort du Loup, in which the hunter reads in the
eyes of the fierce, dying wolf brought to bay, which has paid
with its life to make good the escape of the she-wolf and its
cubs, this grim exhortation:
Do with energy thy task long and heavy,
In the Fate-chos'n way not of thy seeking,
And then, as I, suffer and die without speaking. 11
11

Fais energiquement ta longue et Iourde tache
Dans la voie ou le sort a voulu t'appeler,
Puis, apres, comme moi, souffre et meurs sans parler.
(From La Mort du Loup, printed in Poemes Philosophiques by Alfred de Vigny.
The poem is said to have been inspired by a passage in Byron's Childe HarOld;
... Mute
The camel labors with the heaviest load,
And the wolf dies in silence, not bestow'd
In vain should such example be: if they
Things of ignoble or of savage mood,
Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay
May temper it to bear,-it is but for a day.)

52

PIERRE H. CONWAY

It is more mildly put in Elizabeth Bowen's Death of the Heart.
Major Brutt endeavors to console Portia whose heart has been
broken by a callous youth who has grown weary of her affection.
" How can you say ' first? '" she said. " This can't happen
again."
"Oh, one forgets, you know. One can always patch oneself up."
"No. Is this being grown up? " 2
The only possible optimism available is by promising one a
collective, impersonal happiness in the ultimate evolution of
humanity to an era of supreme longevity and comfort, which is
not a very comforting explanation to two people who hope to
see one another again and are told that in the future they will
not be themselves at all, or, in fact, anybody. Of course, there
is no proof of all this. It is a way out and not a very cheering
one, which our hopeful visionaries ask us to take on faith. The
modern era began by rejecting faith, and now its only solace
is to contrive a faith of its own, inadequate and contradictory
and groundless. They realize the necessity of a vision, the vision
discarded by the Reformation.
This vision, which is Christian Faith, can alone face the
disasters and hardships of life, and bring about a happy ending.
We do not say promise a happy ending, but bring about a
happy ending. Just as the philosophy of the modern novel, if
lived out, will lead to tragedy, so the Faith, if lived out, will
lead to happiness. Modern philosophies are first concocted, disseminated in literature, and then followed with disastrous
results. The Faith is first lived, and the results of living it are
set down in those perfect " novels " which are the Lives of the
saints. Reading them we find all the trials and hardships of
novels and of life, but in the end we find a truly happy ending
triumphing over death and pain. They look upon the world
as it really is-and seek elsewhere for the solace of its troubles.
These lives are no mere literary artifice. They were lived first
and their result set down. Those who live according to the
same principles, will attain the same happy ending.
12

Elizabeth Bowen, The Death of the Heart (New York: 1939), p. 384.

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

53

Both novels and Lives of the saints .teach and influence us
consciously or unconsciously since both treat of life, and every
deliberate act of a human being, either at work or at diversion,
is aimed at discovering and securing a perfect happy life. Just
as novels seek to ferret out a happy life without the faith, so the
Lives of the saints portray the pursuit of a happy life with
the faith. The subject matter, humanity, is the same. It is the
presence or absence of the faith which leads to the diametrically
opposed conclusions. Hence we shall endeavor, by outlining the
design for living embodied in the faith, to show how it, applied
to life, can both face far more adequately the facts of life portrayed in the novel, and infinitely surpass the fairy tale in its
attainment of a happy ending. Once again this is not done by
way of proposing a new literary genre, but by way of providing
an outline of happiness parallel to that which the novel, the
unconscious Bible of so many, endeavors to do but at which,
if it is true to life's realities, it must admit that it is not a
success. \Ve have said that love is at the core of all stories of
striving for happiness, just as the love of God and man is at
the core of all life's striving for happiness. Hence we shall see
how the faith makes this love come true far better than the
novelist's imagination.
The faith solves the problem of life's hardships and disappointments coupled with the simultaneous yearning of the
heart for unlimited, perpetual happiness by setting them in their
true perspective with the doctrines of original sin and eternal
life. The ignorance of these doctrines on which human destiny
is based leads to disaster and chaos. The embracing and living
of them leads to happiness, for they represent the divine
economy by which man is to attain the fruition of the desires
implanted in him by his Creator. These two doctrines complement each other. The first explains why man does not attain
to natural happiness on this earth despite its apparent possibility; the second brings within reach the happiness which he
desires but no longer finds here below.
'l'he desires of man's heart for earthly happiness do not
deceive him. They once found their perfect fruition in the

54

PIERRE H. CONWAY

garden of Eden, and would have continued to do so for all men
but for the fall of our first parents. The mistake of writers who
seek earthly happiness for their characters does not lie in the
fact that such desires are illusory, but in the fact that the state
in which they found their fruition no longer exists. It is the
ignorance of this fact which brings the dreams of natural happiness to the dead-end they encounter in life and in the novel
which strives to portray the facts of life. However, by way of
strengthening our confidence in the future happiness we are
to enjoy, it is well to note how the God who will give it to us,
knew how to provide an earthly happiness for our first parents
such as the most optimistic of our naturalistic novelists never
dared to envisage in the most generous concepts of his imagination. With this illustration that no one can make man
happier than God, that no one can devise and provide man with
greater happiness than God, we will be better prepared to
conceive the infinity and satisfaction of the future happiness
He will give to us in HeaYen.
The joy which our first parents enjoyed in the garden of
Paradise is more easily grasped by our sensible natures. In order
to bring out the sublimity of the future joy which those who
love one· another will enjoy in Heaven, it is fitting to describe
the joys of our first parents, which are at once only a token of
the joys of Heaven, and yet far surpass in human earthly happiness anything that a novelist or a teller of fairy tales would
have desired for his hero and heroine. If Divine Providence
could satisfy the desires of man so knowingly and well, certainly
when it promises greater joys, it will fulfil its promise proportionately. All of which is not surprising when one stops to consider that man's desire for love and happiness are not creations
of his own but appetites placed in him by the God Who made
him. It is God Who made a wife for Adam from his own rib,
and caused him to love her. The joys he hopes for from this
union are not something that he has snatched from a bitter
fate, but a gift which God has given him and of which he owes
even the minutest pleasures to God's benevolence.
Considering the garden of Paradise as the end of a perfect

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

55

novel, let us consider what the reader would exact for his hero
and heroine and how these things could be achieved, or rather
how they would be achieved. In one word, what is demanded
is happiness. Happiness consists in the possesion of the good
which one desires. The goods which our heroine and hero would
desire are the following. First come the goods of the heart and
soul: their peaceful love and possession of each other and their
children in a single happiness; next are the goods of the mind:
perfect, clear all-fathoming knowledge that could appreciate all
the beauty of their situation. Then comes perfect control over
the body-no sudden fits of impatience or sadness that the mind
could not control. Lastly there are the goods of the body itself:
beauty, health, immortality. Externally they would require a
world so equipped that it would yield them its fruits without
the curse and burden of uncongenial labor, a climate that would
always shield them. Finally, since no man can be happy while
his fellow men are in distress, an equal happiness must be
the children of Adam and Eve. All
claimed for all men, for
this was perfectly fulfilled in Paradise, all and more.
The first surpassing thing about Paradise is that our first
parents did not have to wade through hardships and overcome
obstacles to become happy; they were created in perfect bliss.
To emphasize even more the close union of these two who loved
one another, Eve was taken from the rib of Adam so that he
might love her more, and cleave to her inseparably since he
knew that she had been taken from himself/ 3 Of the passions
the happy pair had only the pleasing ones, and an imperturable
love of God. Of fear and pain and unrequited desire there was
none, only joy, and love, and hope of a future good to be had
in due time, desire and hope which did not affiict. 14 Though
some would be stronger, more intelligent, more beautiful, yet
none would suffer any defect of mind or body. 15 As long as
Adam and Eve and their descendants obeyed God, they were to
be preserved from death. 16 Divine Providence and his own
13 Cf. Summa Theol. I, q. 92, a. 2.
"Cf. ibid., q. 95, a. l.
15 Cf. ibid., q. 96, a. 3.

16

Cf. ibid., q. 97, a. 1.

56

PIERRE H. CONWAY

reason preserved man from every ill.11 They would live together
in such concord that there would be no need for a division of
property. 18 The sensible pleasures which the descendants of
Adam and Eve would have had, would have been even greater
than any experienced now, since their nature was purer and
their physical make-up more sensitive. They were not to live as
angels but as men. Continence then would not have been
laudable as now, because there was no danger of lust to be
avoided. 19 There would have been as many men as women, each
sex contributing to the perfection of human nature, just as the
diverse degrees of things contribute to the perfection of the
universe. 20 Yet Adam and Eve had not yet reached the peak of
their happiness; they had not yet seen God. Of the place where
they lived, the garden of Eden (which means, translated from
the Hebrew, pleasure) St .•John Damascene wrote that it was a
divine region and worthy of the life led there which was according to the image of God. What work Adam would have done
would not have been laborious as now, but joyful because of
experiencing the power of his nature. 21 After a period of enjoying this heavenly Paradise, m:an was to be brought to Heaven
to share the infinitely more joyful angelic life of the angels and
the divine life of God.
Few, if any novelists in their most extravagant descriptions
of earthly bliss could approach the description of the mutual
happiness of Adam and Eve as described by St. Augustine in the
City of God. " There is nothing so social by nature, so unsocial
by its corruption, as this race. And human nature has nothing
more appropriate, either for the prevention of discord, or for the
healing of it, where it exists, than the remembrance of that first
parent of us all, whom God was pleased to create alone, that
all men might be derived from one, and that they might thus
be admonished to preserve unity among their whole multitude.
From the fact that the woman was made for him from his side,
it was plainly meant that we would learn how dear the bond
Cf. ibid., q. 97, a.
ad 4.
Cf. ibid., q. 98, a. 1, ad 8.
19 Cf. ibid., q. 98, a.
ad 8.

11
18

1

°Cf. ibid., q. 99, a. q, ad S.

u

Cf. ibid., q.

a. 8.

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDr.NG

57

between man and wife should be. . . . Their love for God was
unclouded, and their mutual affection was that of faithful and
sincere marriage; and from this love flowed a wonderful delight,
because they always enjoyed what was loved." 22 Here one has
the "happily ever after " for which the heart intuitively
gropes-existing not as a fairy tale but as a reality.
"Adam had food that he might not hunger, drink that he
might not thirst, the tree of life that old age might not waste
him. There was in his body no corruption, nor seed of con·uption, which could produce in him any unpleasant sensation.
He feared no inward disease, no outward accident. Soundest
health blessed his body, absolute tranquillity his soul. As in
Paradise there was no excessive heat or cold, so its inhabitants
were exempt from the vicissitudes of fear and desire. No sadness
of any kind was there, nor any foolish joy; true gladness ceaselessly flowed from the presence of God. . . . The honest love
of husband and wife made a sure harmony between them.
Body and spirit worked harmoniously together, and the commandment was kept without labor. No languor made their
leisure wearisome; no sleepiness interrupted their desire to
labor." 23 Here we recognize the setting of the perfect fairy tale
come true.
The mistake of the novelists is to conclude from the fact that
one does not live happily ever after here below to the fact that
it is impossible to live happily ever after anywhere. Faith shows
us by the example of our first parents that our intuition of such
happiness is correct-and effaces its inaccomplishment here
below by its ineffably happy fulfilment in Heaven, Vita
mutatur, non tollitur. "The body will not only be better than
it was here in its best estate of health, but it will surpass the
bodies of our first parents ere they sinned" (St. Augustine).
It is with this wisdom of faith that Pope Leo XIII writes in
Rerum N ovarum: " The things of earth cannot be understood
or valued aright without taking into
the life to
" 2 St. Augustine,
The City of God (Translated
1878), bk. XXVII, 27.
•• Ibid., bk. XIV, 26.

by Marcus Dods: Edinburgh:

58

PIERRE H. CONWAY

come, the life that will know no death. Exclude the idea of
futurity, and forthwith the very notion of what is good and
right would perish: nay, the whole scheme of the universe would
become a dark and unfathomable mystery. The great truth
which we learn from Nature herself is also the grand Christian
when
dogma on which Religion rests as on its
we have given up this present life, then sb,all we really begin to
live." 24 " Even the righteous himself does not live as he wishes,
until he has arrived where he cannot die, be deceived or injured,
and until he is assured that this shall be his eternal condition.
For this nature demands; and nature is not fully and perfectly
blessed till it attains what it seeks." 25
The garden of Eden was to have been surpassingly the happy
ending which modern novelists would like to place at the end
of their books and the modern reader would like to read. But
even those who have the " simplicity " to believe in the existence
in the past of such a heaven of delights on this our uncertain
planet, are inclined to murmur wistfully: "It might have
That is in keeping with pessimism and despair. But the God
who devised such delights for man as he himself would not dare
to hope for, is not petty in His providence. In His justice, He
deprived mankind of its earthly Paradise, but in His mercy
He restored to mankind the goal and the overflowing, inconceivable bliss of the term of earthly Paradise, namely, the
eternal joy of Heaven, fully and abundantly won for us all by
His own infinitely loving Son. Some people, conceiving Heaven
as a place whose inhabitants sit on clouds and play harps, consider it a monotonous and none too desirable prospect. They
conceive Heaven precisely as the loss of all earthly joys in
return for a vague, colorless and insensible spirituality-as if
God had not given them the very joys they fear to lose in
Heaven. It is impossible to pause and examine the inanities,
fallacies and all manner of inconsistent reasoning embodied in
this concept. Suffice it to outline the particular aspect of
Heaven as it is the goal and completion of all the very real
desires of this earthly, fleshly life. We consider Heaven as the
•• Pope Leo XIII, Reritm Novarum.

•• St. Augustine, op. cit., bk. XIV, 25.

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

59

unwritten last chapter of life. If life limits itself to the rigid
present, it comes to a dead-end and a very hopeless one at that,
since the garden of Paradise, once man's, is now no longer to be
had. Heaven remains as the one other possible alternative for
the happy fulfilment of man's innate longing for love and
happiness.
The future happiness of Heaven is believed by our faith in
our risen Lord. The joys of Heaven are joys promised by Him
to us, and which we are to share as His brothers and sisters.
Although the principal and essential happiness of Heaven consists in the spiritual vision of God, we here consider Heaven as
it also completes and fulfils the desires of terrestrial life. The
happiness of our first parents, around which all their other joys
centered, consisted in the loving friendship and society of Adam
and Eve, of man and woman, forming a single entity which was
the prototype and essence of all human existence. In this union
still consists the natural happiness of man in general. Nature
itself has ordained it, and the experience of all ages has confirmed it. The attainment of this happiness is the theme of
the fairy tale, the impelling motive of the modern novel. To the
bewildered novelist who has reached the end of the thread ruthlessly cut in twain by the Parcae, we offer Heaven as a happy
ending. This is not said jocosely. We are not presenting Heaven
as a literary device, but since we have considered the novel as
a mirror of the thoughts and aspirations of the times, as a
certain setting forth of the problem of mankind accompanied
by its solution, as a kind of device by which humanity may look
at itself and consider various solutions to its problems in a
theoretical way, using characters and personages to represent
the people of real life, in short, just as the novel is presented
as a transcript of life and its ending not only as literature but
as a real evaluation of the outcome of human existence, so also
we present the ensuing description of Heaven, not as a way of
adding synthetic cheer to novels but rather as a happy solution,
or frankly, the one and only solution, of life's difficulties.
Life is not one thing and Heaven another, each with its own
beginning and ending. Life is the beginning and Heaven is the

60

PIERRE H. CONWAY

ending of one complete existence. Heaven is part of life, its
completion. To consider life without Heaven is to look at the
leaf and ignore the tree, to hear the single note and ignore the
symphony, to look at an eye or a tooth as a complete entity
and expect to-see in them the beauty of the human face to which
they are ordained. In a certain country churchyard there are
graven on a moss-covered tombstone the words David spoke of
his dead child: "I shall go to him rather, but he shall not return
to me." 26 We cannot call our loved ·ones back to us, but we
have not lost them. Rather we shall soon go to them, which is
far better. Such is the thought so beautifully expressed in the
Preface of the Mass for the Dead: " For the life of thy faithful,
0 Lord, is changed, not destroyed; and when the home of this
earthly life is dissolved, an everlasting dwelling in Heaven shall
be gained." This life is so real, that we cannot conceive of
anything but darkness and oblivion beyond its pale, whereas
with all its reality, this life is but the transitory shadow of the
even more real, more vivid, more definitely full and living life
to come. But just as sunny days make us gay and rainy days
make us sad according to our manner of letting the emotions
so we let the absence of sensible persuasion
do our
infer to us that Heaven cannot compare with " the warm
precincts of the cheerful day." 27 Songs and stories, unstrengthened by any definite concept of the future, not daring to claim
any such brimming happiness for miserable man, at best lose
themselves in vague, vaporous generalities when they reach
death.
But Heaven is most definitely a place, even more of a place
than this world, which shall be overtaken by a complete change
on the last day. There in the city of God, husband, wife, father,
mother and children, lovers, friends, shall be united. God is
love and the happiness of the blessed is love, a love so allabsorbing that it has been the tendency of heretics to augment
the union of this love to the annihilation of all personality in
divine substances. This, of course, is false, as the blessed shall
love God, and one another with infinitely satisfying divine love
•• II Kings, xii, !tS.

07

Thomas Gray, Elegy in a Country Churchyard.

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

61

while remaining themselves, as the members of the Holy Trinity
love and enjoy one another infinitely while constituting Three
Persons" It is noteworthy that the infinite, eternal, divine
happiness, the prototype and cause of all happiness does
not consist in the happiness of one, but in the happiness
of society, that of the Three Persons of the Most Holy
Trinity" Indeed, it is in this happiness and all-encompassing
mutual love that the blessed share. "0 how blessed is this
company! The least of them is more beautiful to behold than
the whole world; what will it be to behold them all? But, 0
my God, how blessed they are! They ever sing the sweet can tide
of everlasting love; they ever rejoice with a gladness that is
unfailing; they exchange one with another ineffable pleasures,
and live in the consolation of a happy and indissoluble
society.'' 28
Here at last is found the happy ending of the story which
broke off so tragically on earth" The young wife who has gone
through life without her husband will find him again, never
more to be separated from him, and will love him with a love
made all the greater by the years of sacrifice endured for her
beloved's sake" Here the mother will find again her dear
children, taken from her flesh, whose being and happiness are
so dear to her as to be a part of herself. Here the lovers whom
this life parted and kept asunder, will meet in mutual love,
proven and rendered priceless by perpetul fidelity or the
supreme sacrifice of the giving of one's life. Friends will meet
again united by bonds of affection of equally great love. The
thought of this future reunion is the driving force of great souls.
It is mirrored in this letter of Mother Seton to her son: " Oh,
my soul's dearest, deny me not the only meeting where we will
never part. You know well, it depends on yourself. The agony
of my heart, as I carry your beloved name before the Tabernacle, and repeat it in torrents of tears, which our God alone
understands, is not for our present separation; it is our long
eternal years which press on it beyond all expression" To lose
you here a few years of so embittered a life is but the common
28

St. Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, I, ch. Hi.

62

PIERRE H. CONWAY

lot, but to love
I love you,
lose you forever-oh, unutterable anguish." 29
Whereas the love of man and wife in this life is limited to
themselves, nevertheless, the human heart, made in the image
of the divine will, is capable of loving not one other soul but an
indefinite number, since its Iove has the same infinite and therefore unlimited character as the divine love. It is plain to all
that while in this life love in its sensible effects is limited by the
claims of duty and material limitations, nevertheless the affection in its wishing good to others, which is the essence of love,
can be quite boundless. A woman must render to her husband
a love which is measured by her whole existence and which is
entitled to
the devotion in her power not stopping short of
life itself, nevertheless this does not exhaust her capacity for
love. The essence of her love for her husband and for others
does not consist solely in the good which she herself can give
them which is necessarily limited, but since she loves with the
divine love of charity
wishes those she loves the divine good
which is infinite and inexhaustible and can be given to an
infinite number of
in an infinite degree to all. In
Heaven where love is the
love, she will love her husband
even more than before, and will love all the blessed in the same
unlimited way. In Heaven there shall be no more marriage,
but that does not mean that conjugal love shall cease. It means
that it shall be extended and deepened to an even greater love
of all. As in marriage love is extended by union with another,
so in Heaven the love of God is extended to all the blessed,
uniting therr 'lmong themselves in a closer bond than any marriage. It is notable that even in this life this bond of charity
among all Christians is even greater than the marriage bond
considered in itself, since the latter is parted by death but the
former is destined to endure perpetually.
"The first unites
bodies only, while the second, more pure, more blissful, unites
soul to soul." 30 Those who seek the satisfaction of the infinite
longing of their heart from one sole human being are doomed
20

80

Leonard Feeney, S.J., An American Woman (New York: 1938), pp. 260-261.
St. John Chrysostom, Ad Viduam Juniorem, III, 4.

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

63

to disillusionment since only the love of God and of all men can
properly fill the heart's capacity.
Some people are attracted by the intellectual or moral qualities of another; others are attracted by physical beauty. Some
are attracted by the riches of another, which makes that one
desirable, others are attracted by the honor with which another
is surrounded and which, it is hoped, will suffuse his associates.
The absence of all or any of these qualities makes a person less
desirable. They may be ignorant or vicious. They may be ugly
and repulsive. They may be poor and consequently show small
promise of entertainment. They may be without wordly honors
and consequently offer little glamor to their associates. The
absence of such attractions makes love or friendship that much
less spontaneous and that much more difficult, since love is
based on a sharing of good, some good, whatever it is.
If one were to review those friends whom one loves very
willingly, one would find no doubt that each possesses one or
the other of the aforementioned goods. It is indisputably easy
to love a person who is intelligent, good, fair, rich and honored.
If one were to pass in review those people whom one cannot feel
any great attraction for, one would see how the addition of one
or the other of the above-mentioned qualities could make each
desirable. Perhaps he or she should have more education, perhaps more money, perhaps a slightly more comely visage.
Granted the possession of these qualities, this is still not enough
for perfect love, love of friendship, which is based on a common
basis or sharing, that is, the will on the part of both parties by
which each wishes the good of the other as though it were his
own in such a way that both are united in a common love and
happiness. Quite obviously there are many barriers to this in
the present life. It is difficult for people on different planes of
society to have any of their worldly interests in common. It is
difficult for people separated by distance to have much sensible
People's mentality, temperament, and a
communication.
thousand other things set up barriers which give each individual his own sphere of life into which it is difficult for any
one else to enter fully.

64

PIERRE H. CONWAY

In Heaven these barriers will be eliminated. No one will
want any longer for wisdom, virtue, beauty, riches or honor.
Each in his own peculiar way will be quite supremely attractive
and charming. Those things he lacked here below will be
supplied. And there is no one whom even our own feeble
imagination cannot doctor up by adding the things we like to
him, who could not become a very lovable person while still
remaining himself. Thus in Heaven is fulfilled that which even
the most optimistic stories do not dare to dream of. " There
shall be no deformity resulting from want of proportion in that
state in which all that is wrong is corrected. . . . The body
shall be of that size which either it had attained or should have
attained in the flower of its youth, and shall enjoy the beauty
that arises from preserving symmetry and proportion in aU its
members." 31 No one will be too short, no nose too long. Though
stories may have a handsome hero and a beautiful heroine,
though to the two favored characters they mete out physical
perfection abundantly, they do not dare to hide the ugliness and
sordidnes of the remaining ones, thinking it much if only a few
among men are thus blessed. In Heaven beauty is the lot of all.
What is the good which the blessed share in a common and
that will unite aU in a single love? In Heaven when aU the
blessed will be raised to a perfection and beauty surpassing anything conceivable by our feeble minds, they will all have a bond,
a love which will draw them closer than any human love, namely
the divine love, the love with which God loves Himself, the love
which is responsible for all the beauty and all the love the world
can possess or can conceive, a love which is founded on the
sharing of infinite goodness and happiness.
A foretaste of this heavenly love is already perceivable in the
lives of the saints. They truly loved everyone on earth, because
of the intensity within them of charity, the love with which
God loves all He has made. They loved the poor and despised,
they kissed the sores of lepers, they embraced the disgruntled
and peevish, they became enthusiastic with the boring. Nor
was this mere pretense on their part; their love was genuine and
31

St. Augustine, op. cit., bk. XXII, flO.

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

65

heartfelt, the only kind that cheers. It was because their clear
vision could see the beauty of an immortal soul, any immortal
soul.
Above all, that which will perhaps mean most to us here
and now, is that in Heaven we will intimately love those whom
we loved on earth more intensely for· various reasons. Here
again we have the testimony both of sober theologians and
exalted mystics. "The causes of honest love shall not cease
from the soul of the blessed," says St. Thomas 32 St. Catherine
transcribes in her Dialogue the words of God the Father: "And
they (the blessed) rejoice and exult, participating in each
other's good with the affection of love, besides the universal
good that they enjoy together. And they rejoice and exult
with the angels with whom they are placed . . . being all
bound in the bonds of love. . . . And they have a special
participation with those whom they closely loved with a particular affection in the world ... and, in the life everlasting,
they have not lost their love but have it still, participating
closely, with more abundance, the one with the other, their love
being added to the universal good, and I would not that thou
shouldest think that they have this particular good, of which
I have told thee, for themselves alone, for it is not so, but it
is shared by all the proved citizens, My beloved sons, and all
the angels for, when the soul arrives at eternal life, all participate in the good of that soul, and the soul in their good ....
They exult in Me in the good of that soul, which good she
has received through my goodness. . . . In those bonds of
love in which they finished their life, they go on and remain
eternally." 33
Nevertheless, the reason for love which derives from the
nearness of the one loved to God win incomparably surpass aU
other motives for love. While none of the love had here below
will diminish in intensity, to it will be added that very just love
whereby the blessed will be loved in the measure that they are
Summa Theol., II-II, q. 26, a. 13.
St. Catherine of Siena, Dialogue (Translated
1907), pp. llO, lll.
82

88

5

by Algar Thorold:

New York:

66

PIERRE H. CONWAY

pleasing to God, for the love of the blessed in Heaven is the love
of God and in accord with His in all things.
It is the perspective of this perfect love in Heaven that enables the saints and the true followers of Christ to triumph
over those difficulties which shipwreck purely passing, ephemeral
love. It is their confidence in ultimately attaining their goal
that enables them to push on joyously. Traces of it are everywhere visible in their writings. They have the practical solution
that other musers upon human destiny lack. Just as the courses
of the planets seemed vague ineffectual wanderings as long as
aU things were considered to turn around the earth, but became
beautiful, rhythmic orbits when it was understood that their
course was around the sun, so love, if its fulfilment is desired
on earth, seems doomed to hopeless chaos, but when considered
as a participation of the eternal divine love, and the blissful
union of mankind with God, its course becomes something
measured, irresistible, and sure, attaining to ultimate perfection
with God, as the planets turn around the sun in a perpetual,
perfect harmony.
This love does not begin in Heaven, but with the first light
of Faith. Its happiness is already enjoyed, and it is enhanced by
those precious sacrifices of this life, which as they are
evoke a greater love and will find all the greater fruition in
Heaven. In all this the exemplar is our divine Saviour. It was
not enough for Him to labor a little before enjoying His love
for us; first He must give all, even His life to prove His love.
And this is in itself a proof that true love will find its fruition
in Heaven. For love consists in the society and union of those
that love, but yet the greatest love is that which brings about
the greatest separation as far as this life goes, namely death.
It is the thought of the imperishableness of every human being
that makes separation bearable, for no soul that exists will ever
perish but is destined, if it will, to live in eternal happiness with
God and those it loves, after a sojourn on earth which will one
day appear infinitesmal.
Some modern novels, as already mentioned, do attempt to see
beyond present tragedy the prospect of future happiness, as

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

67

34 or Erik von
in Maurice Baring's The Coat without
35
Kuhnelt-Leddihn's Gates of Hell. But this perspective seems
somewhat vague and devoid of outline, so abstract by its
generality that it seems more of a deus ex machina than a very
real, three-dimensional
conclusion of an earthly drama.
Nevertheless, Heaven is a very real place,
as hell is. If
our hope is to be full of immortality, if Heaven is to be the end
for which we are willing to make aH sacrifices in this life, if it
is to draw us, to appeal to us, as an answer to our present desires, we must have a definite idea of it. It is a philosophical
truism that it is the desire for the end which impels a man
onward; the only way he can spur himself to greater efforts is
by seeing the end as more desirable. His efforts will be proportionate to the measure in which the end appears attainable,
real. If the end is something vague and unsatisfactory, he will
not strive for it very eagerly, or make great sacrifices for it.
We have no doubt about our end; that is not in question.
And we also know speculatively that it is perfect happiness.
But the more we can envisage it as the fulfillment of very
real, specific desires, the more powerful will be its influence
in helping us to overcome momentary sadness by the thought
of the certain joy and reunion to come. Thus St. Paul banned
immoderate sorrow for the dead because of the certainty of
reunion: "And we will not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning them that are asleep, that you be not sorrowful, even
as others who have no hope" on which St. Thomas tersely
comments: " These latter think such defects to be perpetual,
but not we." 36 Thus too, we are meant to console ourselves
for passing separation by the thought of Heaven, so much
more real and definite than earth. Thus the saints have done:
St. Ambrose: "0 my brother! what comfort remains to me
but the hope of soon meeting you again." 31 St. Augustine:
"We have not lost those who leave a world from which we

Maurice Baring, The Coat without Seam (London: 19£9).
Erik von Ki.ihnelt-Leddihn, The Gate:s of Hell (New York: 1934).
36 In 1 Thess., iv, 12.
3'

35

37

St. Ambrose, De Excessu Fratris Sui, bk. II, 135.

68

PIERRE H. CONWAY

must ourselves depart; but we have sent them before us into
that other life, where the better they are known to us, the
dearer to us they will become." 38 St. John Chrysostom consoling a young widow: "You will abide with him, not only
during five years, as on earth, not only during twenty, a hundred, a thousand, two thousand, ten thousand, or many more
years, but during ages without end." 39 St. Bernard on his
dead brother: "In fine, since 'charity never falleth away,' you
will never forget me." 40 St. Francis Xavier writing to St.
Ignatius: "It is all over, we shall never meet again on earth
otherwise than by letters; but in heaven-oh! we shall meet
face to face. And then with what transport shall we not
embrace one another." 41 This is the excuse for having tried
to write a final chapter to tragic novels and to complete their
mirror of life.
It is not a plea for eve:ry novelist to add a last chapter
wherein the hero and the heroine are happily united forever,
from which they very wisely refrain, since words can poorly,
rather not at aH, describe the joys of Heaven. Let them stick
to the facts of life, let them give us the earthly tragic endings.
In that they are rendering a service to mankind as great as
the novel with the artificial " and so they lived happily ever
after" ending is deluding. H they and we can understand this
ending in the proper perspective, it will be a help and a consolation. We will understand that God sends us such trials and
tribulations which prevent us from being peaceful and content
in our earthly love to make us look to Him where our real
happiness is prepared and which we might lose if we were
content on earth. It is not to crush and extinguish our love,
but to enlarge it from something small, selfish and earthly to a
love of our friends which is infinite and divine, to make us
snatches for a few
realize that love is not something that
brief hours in the midst of a hostile world, but that man was
St. Augustine, Epist. XCII, l, 2.
St. John Chrysostom, loc. cit.
•o St. Bernard, In Cant., Serm. XXVI, 3.
u St. Francis Xavier, Letteu.
38
39

69

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING

created by love and for love eternally, God does not merely
grant us love as a gift, God is love, and for love He created us,
a love of Him and His creatures that is so great that Dante
realized that only God could make us comprehend it, and so
he ended his Divine Comedy:
Here vigor failed the lofty fantasy:
But now was turning my desire and win,
Even as a wheel that equally is moved,
The Love which moves the sun and the other stars. 42
The Church, meanwhile, sings this joyous antiphon on the
feasts of Many Martyrs: "0 how precious is the death of the
saints, who ever stand before God and are not separated from
each other,''
PIERRE

H. CoNWAY, 0. P.

Dominican House of Studies,
Washington, D. C.

42 Dante,
The· Divine Comedy (Translated
Boston: 1871), Canto XXXIII, 142-145.

by Henry Wadsworth

Longfellow:

CHARITY AND THE SOCIAL ORDER
[Second Installment]

III. MODERN THEORIES OF· SOCIAL RECONSTRUCTION
RELATED TO CHARITY
I.

HISTORICAL

DEVELOPMENT

OF INDIVIDUALISM

(1350-1800)

Any attempt to sketch the course of modern theories of
social reconstruction which claim love in some shape or form
as a principle is subject to definite limitations. Doctrines on
love of self, of country, of race or the brotherhood of man might
be catalogued in logical fashion under the heads of individualism, statism, racism, and communism, their respective progenitors listed and criticized, their good points noted and their
fallacies exposed. On the other hand, these various schemes of
social reconstruction might be viewed as they appear in the
course of historical development, the principles of one giving
birth to the other, one doctrinaire borrowing, distorting or
expanding the ethic of his predecessor. And though both the
logical and historical treatment are fraught with complications,
it seems better, in the interest of continuity, to pursue the latter
course. For all its meanderings amidst the warp and woof of
historical processes, it is freer from the lack of perspective
engendered by "pigeon-holing" men and doctrines under their
respective "isms."
Since this thesis is concerned with charity and the modern
world, its definite preoccupation in this part will point to
the development of the so-called "modern spirit," by which is
meant the social idea or ideas contrary to the Christian love of
neighbor. This spirit is often characterized, rightly or wrongly,
as the capitalistic spirit. The capitalistic spirit, it is true, is
not the only spirit behind social reconstruction today, but, as
we hope to show in the progress of this paper, the other social
"isms," statism, racism, and communism, are developments of,
or oppositions to, this capitalistic spirit; as such they can best
70

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL

ORDER

71

be understood by taking this spirit as a point of reference.
The capitalistic spirit is not to be confused with the words
" capital " or even "capitalist " as they are used in common
parlance today. It is rather to be considered the realization of
the philosophy of liberal individualism, a spirit which did not
suddenly appear on the stage of history but which is rather the
product of a long evolution. Fanfani estimates the development
of the capitalist spirit to have taken nearly ten centuries, from
the ninth to the eighteenth. 68
The capitalist spirit is not exclusively an economic spirit,
though it certainly has revolutionized economics; it is a complexus of economic, political, philosophical, and even theological
theory. It might safely be likened to liberal individualism as
defined by Christopher Dawson.
It denies the sovereignty of the moral law in the economic world,
the principle of authority in politics, and the existence of an
objective divine truth in religion. It makes self-interest the supreme
law in economics, the will of the majority the sovereign power of
the state, and private opinion the only arbiter in religious matters. 69

If the adjective " capitalistic " be often retained to signify the
liberal, individualistic spirit, it is because the authoritative
writers whom we are to quote use the term quite generally; it
better emphasizes the socio-economic implications of the
individualist, secularist philosophy of life.
The capitalistic conception, as Fanfani points out/i) is
founded on a separation of human aims, fixing its gaze on
natural goals to the exclusion of supernatural, religious ends.
Its essential characteristics are three: no limit is placed on any
means of acquiring wealth that are by positive legislation lawful
and economically useful, the appraisals of value in the economic
sphere are to be governed by an economic criterion alone, and
priority is given to economic rationalization to the hurt, and
not seldom to the exclusion of moral, religious supernaturaliza68 A. Fanfani,
Catholicism, Protestantism and Capitalism (New York: 1939),
p. 37.
•• C. Dawson, Religion aru!J the Modem State (New York: 1985), p. 188.
•• Op. cit., p. 187.

LOUIS A. RYAN

tion. Opposed to this is what might be called the pre-capitalistic
spirit, the primary characteristic of which is that the choice of
the means of acquiring goods is determined by criteria, not of
pure utility, but of utility only insofar as is compatible with the
vigorous existence of extra-economic, moral criteria. 71 Its
second characteristic is the social use of wealth, implying both
a conformity to social morality guaranteed either by church or
civil laws, and a limitation in favor of the supernatural end of
the individual or the natural end of society, a limitation at
the expense of the natural-individual and purely economic
ends. 72
The precise relation of this capitalistic spirit to the love
of neighbor remains yet to be determined. The virtue of charity
directs man's actions to the ultimate end which is God. As such
it is the drive directing all of man's actions, personal and
social, endowing them with a supernatural signifi.cance.73 The
capitalistic spirit is opposed to charity in that it conceives
of at least some of man's actions as without relation to the
supernatural goal; some economic and social relationships
possess an autonomy that considerations of a higher end cannot
control. In the realm of economics, the negation of charity
means that wealth, instead of being a means to virtuous living,
becomes an end in itself. The social functions of wealth cared
for especially by almsgiving, operating in charitable institutions, guilds, corporations, monasticism, the mendicant orders,
are surrendered to considerations of individual utility and selfinterest. The unlimited retention of wealth and its frightful
social consequences becomes but one of the more evident
products of the capitalistic spirit Ullregulated by the higher
demands of charity.
The relationship of the capitalistic spirit to the Christian
spirit of charity encompasses practically the whole of Christian
history. Obviously, such an extensive survey cannot be made
here. Some writers 'have dated their study of the capitalist
spirit from the age of the classical economists in the seventeenth
n
"2

Cf. idid., p. 25.
Ibid., p. 28.

78

Summa

II-II, q. 28, aa. 7, 8.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL

ORDER

73

and eighteenth centuries; others have sought in the Reformation the genesis of modern individualism; and still others go
back to the Middle and Dark Ages. For our study it seems best
to begin with the Middle Ages. This terminus a quo is by no
means an arbitrary one. For two reasons it is especially pertinent.
Ernst Troeltsch, in his monumental work The Social Teaching
of the Christian Churches, 74 shows that although the Christian
ethic of love was operative from the very beginning in the
early Church despite the opposition of a pagan, individualistic
world, it was only in the Middle Ages that a " Christian unity
of civilization" 75 became apparent due largely to the complexus of the times. Without accepting Troeltsch's theory of
the evolution of the Church's doctrine, we may nevertheless
admit that with the Church organized as a religious hierarchy
through its centralization in the Papacy, with the opposition
of the independent secular powers broken, with the structure
of society and its charitable institutions, guilds, corporations,
monasticism, and the popular mendicant orders so conducive
to the realization of the ethic of love, the Middle Ages mark
a point of perfection as far as the relation of charity to the
social order is concerned. Not only did the Middle Ages create
a Christian unity of civilization; a "comprehensive Christian
sociological fundamental idea" appeared in this era, a view of
the universal social philosophy of Catholicism which, Troeltsch
observes, arose out of Thomism. 76 Since we have already discussed the doctrine of charity as expounded by St. Thomas,
the beginning of our historical sequence at the time in which
he wrote should tend to bring the doctrine of charity and the
capitalistic spirit into sharper contrast. Having already become
acquainted with the Thomistic doctrine which is reflective of
and was reflected in the thirteenth century, we need only recall
the words of a modern Tho mist, Jacques Maritain, to place the
Thomistic synthesis in historical perspective:
74

E. Troeltsch, The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches (New York:

1931), I, 303-307.
75 Ibid., p. 306.

•• Ibid.

74

LOUIS A. RYAN

Need it be observed that the whole ethical theory of St. Thomas
is based upon that doctrine which he derives from the Gospel and
St. Paul? He has erected upon that teaching of the Gospel an
infrangible theological synthesis, in which he shows how love, which
makes us undeviatingly desire our last end, enjoys an absolute
practical primacy over the whole of our individual and social life
and constitutes the very bond of perfection, how it is better for us
to love God than to know Him, and how no virtue, lacking such
love, is truly virtuous or attains it& perfect form, not even justice.
And St. Thomas knows that such love really dominates human life,
is effective love of God above aU things and of one's neighbor as
of one's self, only if it is supernatural, rooted in faith, proceeding
from the grace of Christ, which makes us, in the image of the
Crucified, sons and heirs of the God Who is Love. If we follow the
Angelic Doctor, we shall realize that peace in man and among men
(the direct work of charity, opus charitatis, 'for love is a unifying
force and the efficient cause of unity') descends from that superessential Peace and from that eternal Love which resides in the
heart of the Trinity. 77

Even the casual student of history realizes that the :;trchitectonic social theory and system of the thirteenth century did
not long survive. The Protestant revolt in the sixteenth century brought the collapse of medieval society into open relief,
and since the time of the " reformers " a concept of society
totally at va:ria:l).ce with that of the Middle Ages has marked
the historical process down to our own day. But while the
revolt is a dividing point as fa:r as the religious unity of
Christendom is concerned, still from the socio-theological
viewpoint another division has to be made. For though the
revolt burst asunder the society that was Christendom, there
were disunities long before the sixteenth century that are highly
significant for ·the social historian; though the reformers
ushered in a new theology of life having a definite influence on
the formation of the modern spirit, it was not until a later date,
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the age of the classical economists and the moral sense philosophers, that the
theological revolution was completed. Accordingly, our treatment of the .historical development is thrown into two broad
77

J. Maritain, Thf! Angelic Doctor (New York: 1931), pp. 79-80.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

75

sections: the first extending from the late Middle Ages to the
eighteenth century of Adam Smith and the Utilitarian School;
the latter continuing the progress of the individualist spirit
down to our own day. Furthermore, the :first section is treated
in two periods characterized as: (1) the appearance of the
capitalistic spirit (1350-1550); (2) the adolescence of the
capitalistic spirit (1550-1800).
PERIOD ONE

The first period from 1350 to 1550 is essentially one of
transition. It is a preparation. :for that gTeat historical event,
the Protestant revolt. In this period we may note various
factors tending to the decline of the traditional spirit, factors
which are distinguishable in their beginnings like tiny rivulets
coursing down the mountainside of the thirteenth and the three
following centuries, finally to be absorbed in the bewildering
eddies of the maelstrom that was the Reformation. We may
distinguish intellectual, moral and material factors that cooperated in the initial transition from the sacred to the secular
society.
Foremost among the intellectual factors was the apathy of
a Scholasticism which failed to appraise sufficiently the
problems of changing Europe, to catch up, unify and sanctify
in the ethic of love the trends of the times as St. Thomas had
done so masterfully in his age/ 8 While some scholars were
apathetic, still others, like Pierre du Bois and Marsiglio of
Padua, were coining a new theory of secular absolutism which
promoted the conciliar theory, attacked the temporal power
of the Pope, the secular holdings and authority of the Church,
and paved the way for sectarianism and nationalism by
destroying the universalist concept of the medieval Church.
Machiavelli was to emphasize further the individualist element
in society through his Discourses on the Fin;t Ten B oaks of
Livy. He it was who maintained that the ultimate ground for
all social activity an:wng men is self-interest, and that men
Cf. R. H. Tawney, Religion and the Rise of Capitalism (New York: 1926),
p. 65.

76

LOUIS A. RYAN

are satisfied with material prosperity. Another factor, humanism, offset the supernaturalism of medieval Christianity by a
new preoccupation with the things of this world, and so contributed to the intellectual metamorphosis.
From the moral point of view, there was a noticeable
inversion of the order of charity. Really voluntary giving,
loving man through God, was gradually watered down to a
philanthropic service of God through man, with custom and
expediency taking the place of true almsgiving. Adam Smith
in The Wealth of Nations no doubt puts the case too strongly
when he says that once the clergy found in the produce of arts,
manufactures and commerce something for which they could
exchange their rude produce, and thereby discovered the means
of spending their whole revenues upon themselves, " their
charity became gradually less extensive, their hospitality less
liberal or less profuse." 79 Still, the disillusionment that followed upon the not too successful Crusades which were perhaps
the most enormous projects ever conceived and executed in the
name of Christian charity, the increased demands upon the
charity of the faithful on whom the Western Schism had laid
the burden of supporting several anti-popes a:rid their courts,
the wealth of some mendicant orders which led to abuses in
almsgiving, and the scandals over indulgences which arose from
emphasis on the gift rather than on the motive of the giverthese are some of the factors which conspired to sap the strength
of the pristine medieval love of neighbor by beclouding the
supernatural motive behind acts of charity:
This externalization of charity was further complicated by
material factors which, if not directly opposed to, were at least
distractions from true love. With the returning legions of
Crusaders came not only strains of an Oriental passivism so
noxious to charity, but also a stream of Levantine goods and
customs which soon broadened into a torrent. The commercial
revolution began. The Italian city-states, now repositories of a
new financial power, attracted, like social magnets, the offspring
•• Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nati01111
(Cannan edition, New York: 1987), p. 755.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL

ORDER

77

of a weakening agricultural feudalism in a veritable frenzy of
urbanization with its consequent loss of the old neighborliness,
the breakup of family and regional ties, absentee ownership,
and an alarming growth in usurious business practices. Some
of the Popes of that period were somewhat prone to accumulate
wealth, and so were less adamant in face of the rising tide of
secularization. 80 The guilds, once potent instruments of social
charity, were static in the midst of tremendous change; they
failed to capture the new forces for the hierarchic ethic of love
and then gradually lost face. New inventions multiplied the
availability of material goods to allure the fancy of man. New
discoveries in the ·direction of Africa and America brought
European Christians into contact and commerce with rather
strange human beings they called savages and whose title to
inclusion in the orbit of love of neighbor was quite practically
and horribly contested. "An accessible, secular society, made
accessible by the Crusades and secular by commerce, began to
take form and shape." 81
The bewildering panorama of new ideas and new interests,
new forces and new faces, proved too much for late medievalist
minds who did not have sufficient vigor to order and cast this
new society in the mold of a burning Christian love, to find
place for new peoples and new goods in the order of a comprehensive charity. The molten forces, left to themselves,
flowed hither and thither, to congeal and harden-separate,
disparate, and self-contained. Individualism was on its way.
At the dawn of the Protestant revolt, then, there could be
detected an individualistic, capitalistic spirit rising out of the
complexus of factors listed above, Even before Luther tacked
his theses on the door at Wittenberg, European men were
claiming for themselves a new sovereignty, They were vividly
conscious of a new power sprung from the discovered lands
and novel inventions they controlled; the coins of profit,
acquired despite the Church's protest of usury, jingled
pleasantly in their pockets, while the love of the brotherhood
Cf. Tawney, op. cit., pp. 29-30.
H. A. Barnes and H. Becker, Social ThO'Ught from Lore; to Science (New
York: 1938), I 263 (With the permission of the publishers.)
81

78

LOUIS A. RYAN

faded with the absorption in commercial interests. Supernatural charity had not flown out of the window as yet. But
it no longer reigned over all man's actions; economic life had
been ceded to a rival-self-interest.
For the succeeding three
centuries man was to weigh the suitors for his allegiance,
finally to deny supernatural charity altogether and constitute
the principle of self-interest as the dogma of social activity.
To a study of that struggle in the soul of Western man we shall
now turn.
PERIOD

Two

In sketching the development of the doctrine of self-interest,
in what might be called the adolescence of the capitalistic spirit,
we shall conceive of it mainly in terms of the Protestant revolt
and the commercial revolution, since these two historical
influences most prominently effected the transition from the
medieval ethic of love to utilitarian self-interest. First the
theological relationships between the two will be treated, in
general and in particular; then the socio-economic aspects, or
the reflection of these forces in the society of the period. Lastly
we shall consider, as the terminus ad quem of this section, the
doctrine of Adam Smith and the Classical School, in which the
dogma of self-interest, after a long evolution, is finally promulgated as the new social ethic.

Theological Aspects
The revolutions, at once religious, political, and social, which
herald the transition from the medieval to the modern world, were
hardly less decisive for the economic character of the new civilization than for its ecclesiastical organization and religious doctrines.
The economic categories of modern society have their roots in the
economic expansion and social convulsions which accompanied the
age of the Renaissance and the Reformation. 82
A) General relation of the religious revolution to the
econmnw.
All social historians are agreed that a new phase in western
civilization was entered upon in the fifteenth and sixteenth
•• Tawney, op. cit., ix.

CHARITY .AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

79

centuries, and many of them concur in pointing out the Protestant revolt and the commercial revolution as the two prime
factors conspiring in the evolution of the modern capitalistic
spirit. Max Weber in The Quintessence of Capitalism and Ernst
Troeltsch in The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches
give the credit for the new spirit to Calvinism. Tawney inclines
to place the emphasis on Calvinism as the active and radical
force of change, although he allows for other factors. H. M.
Robertson, in The Rise of Economic Individualism, 83 maintains
that Protestantism did not influence capitalism, but capitalism
influenced the social ethics of Protestantism. Amintore Fanfani,
considering all these opinions, concludes:
Protestantism encouraged capitalism inasmuch as it denied the
relation between earthly action and eternal recompense. . . .
Protestantism by this principle did not act in a positive sense as
Weber believes, but in a negative sense, paving the way for the
positive action of innumerable impulses which ... led man to direct
his action by purely economic criteria. 84

With the help of these authors we shall proceed to examine the
problem more particularly.
First of all, the capitalistic spirit does not seem to have
been a direct consequence of the Protestant revolt, especially
if we consider the attitude of Luther and Calvin. Luther, far
from encouraging capitalistic enterprise, inveighed against the
capitalism of the Church and the age. He invoked the traditional economic doctrine against the usurious traders and urged
a return to the faith and charity of the early Church (perhaps
as described by Troeltsch) ,85 a religion freed from the encumbering structure of a hierarchic Papacy. According to Tawney,
Luther was attacking the perversion of the order of charity
which grew up in the latter Middle Ages. As mentioned above,
the tendency had been away from love of men through God to
a philanthropic love of God through men. Luther claiming to
sound the clarion call to the true love of God and man, cut
•• H. M. Robertson, The Rise of Economic Individualism (Cambridge, 1983),
passim.
•• Op. cit., I, 184-88.
•• Op. cit., pp. 205-206.

80

LOUIS A. RYAN

away the whole fabric of organized religion with the blasphemous trivialities of a :religion of works.
The difference between loving men as a result of first loving God,
and learning to love God through a growing love for men, may not,
at first sight, appear profound. To Luther it seemed an abyss, and
Luther was right. It was, in a sense, nothing less than the Reformation itself. . . . The question of the religious significance of
that change of emphasis, and of the validity of the intellectual
processes by which Luther reached his conclusions, is one for
theologians. Its effects on social theory were staggering. 86

With Luther's desire to return to the true order of charity we
have no quarrel; but we may well question the probity of a
theology which teaches the ethics of a Christian love and yet
attacks its very basis and the corporate organization by which
it operates. " He preaches a selfless charity, but he recoils with
horror from every institution by which an attempt had been
made to give it a concrete expression." 87 As will be shown
later on, Luther's fundamental nominalism prevented him from
making the distinction necessary to a true understanding of the
love of God and neighbor, and he became involved in hopeless
contradictions. Simplicity is not so simple as it seems.
While it is true to say that Calvin approached the commercial
revolution with a more positive attitude, still his benediction
on the order of the day was not such as to give it a theological
carte blanche. He quoted St. Thomas anent the social justification for commerce, condemned as unlawful all gain obtained
at a neighbor's expense and urged moderation in the use of
material goods. He sought to restore a primitive life of Christian love at Geneva which was more collectivist than individualist. But for all his Gallic legal acuity, Calvin, like Luther,
overlooked the necessary differences in the order and intensity
of true love of neighbor, and his enforced communism of love
proved abortive.
Capitalistic yearnings were, however, indirectly aided by the
doctrinaires of the Protestant allegiance. The overthrow of
Papal power by them sufficiently silenced the teaching on
•• R. H. Tawney, op. cit., p. 97.

•• Ibid., p. 96.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL

ORDER

81

mutual love, almsgiving, and ethical commercial practice,
doctrines which had proved highly irritating to the new world
of business. The emphasis on the autonomy of the individual
conscience in the doctrine of private judgment gave new sanction to the ever-increasing desire of gain. Calvin's forthright
recognition of the economic status quo, plus a somewhat lefthanded blessing on the same, was most encouraging. Add to
these the economic upheavals consequent on the reformers'
orgies-the seizure of monasteries and lands and their conversion from instruments of universal charity to political
rewards for fanatical greed, the suppression of the free bargaining associations, such as the guilds, the tremendous increase in
the labor market following the secularization of religious-all
of which were eminently useful to capitalistic enterprise.
Though they perhaps little realized it, the reformers were
playing into the hands of the predestined, not of God, but of
mortal, moneyed man.
B) Particular influence of the theological revolution on the
economw.

The interrelationship of the Protestant revolt and the rise
of capitalism will become clearer through a more particular
study of the doctrines of the new religions, Lutheranism and
Calvinism.
Luther, while often reiterating the medieval economic teaching with almost slavish literalness, systematically attacked
the rules and ordinances in which it received positive expression, rules which, for all their imperfections, were nevertheless
curbs on the individualistic spirit. The doctrine of salvation
by faith alone robbed good works of the stamp of eternal merit.
Denying such merit to good works, Luther denounced the
institutions of medieval charity, fraternities, guilds, mendicant
orders, festivals, and pilgrimages, and thus cut away from the
individual the organs of group action so essential to man's social
nature, and left men helpless in the face of the new concentration of political power in the State and economic power in the
rising corporations. The hierarchic order of the medieval ethic
6

82

LOUIS A. RYAN

was reduced to a pitiless contest between extremes in the social
scale. Moreover, the denial of free will by Luther was catastrophic for a true appreciation of charity. Love implies preference, devotedness, union of mind and heart; none of these
are possible without free will, either in the natural or in the
supernatural order. There can be no order in charity on man's
part if man has no free will with which to choose. Finally, the
fundamental dualism of the Lutheran theology rooted in that
fatal error of minds which confuse separation with distinctionfaith without works-was fraught with far-reaching implications. In philosophy, Descartes was to divide body and soul;
in politics, the Liberals separated Church and State; in social
economics, the Utilitarians divorced economics and ethics.
Of the logic of Luther's religious premises, Tawney remarks:
"It riveted on the social thought of Protestantism a dualism
which, as its implications were developed, emptied religion of
its social content, and society of its souL" 88
The contribution of Calvin to the new capitalistic spirit was
even more pronounced. It is the opinion of Tawney that the
most characteristic and influential form of Protestantism in the
two centuries following the Reformation descends from the
teaching of Calvin. Whereas Lutheranism has been socially
conservative, Calvinism was an active and radical force.
Calvin accepted the main institutions brought into being by
the commercial revolution and supplied a creed to the classes
which were to dominate the future, At the root of the Calvinistic creed was the theory of predestination which quite effectively eliminated man's labors for supernatural reward, and
later paved the way for other deterministic concepts of society
less theocentric than Calvinism. The question of salvation or
no was cut and dried. Good works could not merit eternal
reward for man, though they are indispensable as a proof that
salvation has been attained. The elect of God were, therefore,
the men who produced results. The appeal of this doctrine to
the ever-growing bourgeois class upon whose activity and
prosperity the Church had frowned, and upon whom Calvin
88

Op. cit., p. 101.

CHARITY AND THE SOCIAL OIIDER

83

now smiled, was tremendous. Calvinism grew apace in urban
centers, frankly recognizing the necessity of capital, credit and
banking, large-scale commerce and finance, and the other practical facts of the new business life. " It was on this practical
basis of urban industry and commercial enterprise that the
structure of Calvinistic social ethics was erected!' 89
Calvinism not only fostered a new theological influence in
its doctrine of predestination and a new economic trend with
its systematized approval of the economic virtues; it contained
social tendencies which later centuries and varied soils were to
develop. From Calvinism could be deduced both an intense
individualism and a rigorous collectivism. The moderating
influence of charity which had traditionally reconciled these
two human tendencies was now gone. The two flew apart and
went their unholy ways. The " omnicompetent" church in
Geneva is a classic example of the collectivist trend, an urban
Christian socialist state; and as we shaH see, Puritanism in
England followed the individualist urge. Long after, even
when the clash and clamor of the theological revolution had
died away, and religion had thrown in its lot with capitalism,
the individualist-collectivist antimony was to persist and to call
down on the heads of religion and capitalism alike new social
revolutions.
Socio-Economic Aspects
Having sketched. the theological aspects of the religious
and economic revolutions, it now remains to consider hurriedly
the working out· of the new theology in the social world. In the
interest of brevity and in view of the rise of England to
economic supremacy in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries, our comments will quite particularly concern
England which was definitely committed to the Protestant
ideology. The influence of the physiocrats in France is also
highly important in this period, but can merely be mentioned
he:re.
Some historians of social thought distinguish three phases of
doctrine in the evolution of modern socio-economic science:
•• Ibid .• p. 108.

84

LOUIS A. RYAN

(1) mercantilism, which flourished from about 1600 to 1750;
(2) the physiocratic doctrine of the eighteenth century developed as against the restrictions of the mercantilist system;
(3) the quasi-synthesis achieved by Adam Smith in The
Wealth of Nations. 90
Without going into an exposition of all the tenets of the
mercantilists, we may observe that mercantilism was, at root,
an effort to apply the traditional medieval social concepts,
:robbed however of their supernatural significance, to the new
economic conditions. Of prime interest is the socio-theological
implication behind their" favorable balance of trade." Starting
from the principle (definitely unethical and even uneconomical)
that the available supply of metals is the all-important measure
of the wealth of a nation, and accepting trade as the chief
means of accumulating these precious metals in the shape of
specie, they held for a favorable balance of trade which would
secure their specie, a balance which could be maintained only
if colonies were acquired to supply raw materials and buy the
finished products of the mother country. Production was for
gold, not for the common good. In England the reign of mercantilism was iH-omened. The English State, independent after
the break from the Church of Rome, rich from the loot of the
monasteries, the income from the privateering, customs duties,
fees for chartering monopolistic enterprises, and powerful
through the army and officialdom maintained by these
"revenues," assumed autocratic control of the life of the
people. The revolt had destroyed the guilds and the monasteries with their charities; these burdens now fell upon the
state. At :first the state met the problems with the traditional
social ethic, but with the instruments of that ethic gone, the
inference was useless. The personal, individual relationships
associated with the charity of the medieval period gave way to
impersonal, corporate relationships between the needy individual and the powerful state. That the state was not too
benign or provident a benefactor may be realized from a study
of the reign of Charles I of England. Financial evils were rife,
9

° Cf. Barnes and Becker, op. cit., I, 514-15.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

85

and despite aU the efforts of the crown to direct the ebb and
flow of socio-economic forces, the tide finally overwhelmed
those mercantilistically inclined. Mercantilism required a home
economy geared to a colonial economy-a favorable balance of
trade. With the home economy so disastrously out of gear,
the crown found it quite impossible to regulate the vast, unorganized activities of its citizenry. Even the Church of England, which was little more than an arm of the civil government,
finally succumbed to the anomalies brought about by the new
social forces, and substituted in its ethics the analogy of a
self-regulating mechanism for that of the organic, mystical
body as the prototype of society." 1 The cross of gold had
proved, as is oft the case in history, much more onerous than
the Cross of Christ and His charity. And yet the underlying
concept of mercantilism, production for sale and profit instead
of for human betterment, was to survive.
The physiocratic theory was a reaction against mercantilism,
and its practical significance is largely bound up with the
economy of France. However, in England there was also a
definite resurgence against mercantilist practices, partly inspired
by the French physiocrats; and it is the more interesting to us
in that it had a definite theological drive to it. That drive
was Puritanism.
Puritanism in its early form had to some extent been responsible for mercantilist rule. There was a striking, though
perhaps undesigned, affinity between the main economic dogma
of the mercantilist and the main ethical dogma of the Puritan.
As has already been pointed out, production, not consumption,
was the pivot of the mercantilist economic system, and consumption was useful only in so far as it offered a new market
for productive energies. To the Puritan, the cardinal virtues
were precisely those which found in the toils of industry and
commerce their most natural expression. On the other hand,
it was Puritanism which, as a non-conformist group centered
in the cities, consolidated the growing discontent of the urban
big business interests with the mercantilist state and the
91

Cf. Tawney, op. cit., pp. 189-93,

86

LOUIS A. RYAN

Church of England. As a minority group in the early Reformation period, it had necessarily adopted an attitude of passive
conformity and polite discontent; but as the inefficiency of the
crown and the .mitre became more patent, the ire of business
men became greater and their quest for free commerce more
rapacious, Puritanism, by way of the democratic agitation of
the Independents, came more into the open, championing the
new individualism and opposing the whole mechanism of
ecclesiastical discipline and compulsory conformity. The social
order, they could well maintain in accord with their theory
of predestination, should be left to the beneficent control of
God. The multitudinous laws regulating commerce enacted by
the mercantilists were only futile interferences of man in the
economic world. With no interference from human legislation,
the free play of business would realize the designs of Providence
in society.
The pursuit of commercial enterprise found ample justification in the doctrine of the " vocation" or "calling," which
seems to have been the Calvinist substitute for the doctrine
of meritorious good works in the Catholic theology. Since
conduct and action, though availing nothing to attain the gift
of salvation to which men are predestined, are a proof that the
gift has been accorded, what is rejected as a means is resumed
as a consequence, and the Puritan entrepreneur flings himself
into business with the daemonic energy of one who, all doubts
allayed, is conscious that he is a sealed and chosen. vessel. 112
Though Robertson and Fanfani disagree with Weber's identification of the early Puritan doctrine of the " calling " with the
capitalistic urge, 93 history at least seems to bear out the contention that the rationalistic type of conduct inaugurated by
the Calvinistic concept of the "calling" gave to the entrepreneur a clear bill of conscience in the race for commercial
success. 94 Tawney agrees with Fanfani in saying that the
•• Ibid., p. 280.
•• Cf. Robertson, The Rise of Economic Individualism, p. 6 ff.; Fanfani, op. cit.,
pp. iOO ff.

e• Cf. Barnes and Becker, op' cit., I, 8i6-i8.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

87

"capitalist spirit" antedates the doctrine of Puritanism, but
he also contends that the capitalist spirit found in certain
aspects of later Puritanism
a tonic which braced its energies and fortified its already vigorous
temper .... Like traits of individual character which are suppressed
till the approach of maturity releases them, the tendencies in Puritanism, which were to make it later a potent ally of the movement
against the control of economic relations either in the name of
social morality or of the public interest, did not reveal themselves
till political and economic changes had prepared a congenial environment for their growth .... It had begun by being the very soul of
authoritarian regimentation. It ended by being the vehicle of an
almost utilitarian individualism. . . . So little do those who shoot
the arrows of the spirit know where they will light. 95
Not only did the Puritan " theology " lead to new political
concepts as its growing number of adherents sought to achieve
its social and ethical aims by political action, 96 but it gave
birth to a rationalized and revolutionary "law of nature"
which was to influence the course of social thought down to the
present day. Whereas the law of nature in the pre-capitalist,
medieval ethic had been considered as the reflection of the
eternal law of God in man, the Puritan idealization of personal
responsibility in the doctrine of the "calling" gave rise to a
theory of individual rights which, secularized and generalized,
so as to conform to the demands ofeconomic expediency, caused
the "law of nature" to be conceived of as the expression of the
free play of human appetites.
The law of nature had been invoked by medieval writers as a
moral restraint upon economic self-interest. By the seventeenth
century, a significant revolution had taken place. 'Nature' had come
to connote, not divine ordinance, but human appetites, and natural
rights were invoked by the individualism of the age as a reason why
self-interest should be given free play.G7

Adam Smith and the Classical School. The prracticalist
theology of the Puritan divines, with its "law of nature," the
•• Op. cit., p.
96 Cf. Locke's Two Treatises of Government
(London: 1823), passim.
97 Tawney, op. cit., pp. 179-180.

88

LOUIS A. RYAN

sacrosanctity of human appetites, and the dogma of selfinterest, was soon translated into socio-economic terms. The
one man who caught up the trends of his time and synthesized
them in compact form was Adam Smith
famed
as the author of The Wealth of Nations. In him the social
revolution initiated by the later medievalists, accelerated and
expanded by the reformers Luther and Calvin, and further
entrenched by Puritanism in England, a revolution leading
from the medieval ethic of charity to the doctrine of selfinterest, carne to its full realization. He represents a turning
point in the history of social theology and philosophy; with
him socio-economic life is stripped for the most part of its
supernatural orientation,· self-interest as the basic social force
is given official benediction, and the era of the classical school
of economy, whose influence is felt to this day/ 8 makes its debut
on the stage of history. Smith was considerably indebted to
Quesnay, Turgot and other continental physiocrats, those
hardy champions of liberty and property as the keystones of
rational social order, who maintained society is governed by
private self-interest which is "the born servant of the general
interest." 99 But for his social philosophy he owed more to
Locke, Ferguson, Hutcheson, and others who inspired his faith
in a divinely ordained harmony of egoistic and altruistic
impulses in man. 100 Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679), who thought
that a few simple egoistic principles, such as self-interest, could
adequately explain human behavior, may be considered one
of Smith's intellectual forebears, even though Smith devotes
part of The Theory of the .LVIoral Sentiments to a criticism of
Hobbes. 101 Great was his indebtedness to John Locke (16321704), apostle of "the reasonableness of Christianity," the one
who systematized the economic interests of Puritan England
into a political theory which held that the state which inter•• Cf. K R. A. Seligman, " History of Economic Thought," Encyclopaedia of the
Social Sciences (New York: 1937), V, 347.
•• Cf. G. Weulersse, "The Physiocrats," ibid., p. 349.
10 ° Cf. K. Diehl, " The Classical School," ibid., p. 351.
101 Cf. Adam Smith,
The Theory of the Moral Sentiments (London: 1853),
p. 463 ff.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

89

:feres with property and business destroys its own title to exist,
and for whom the ideal seems to have been a state of nongovernment-" If men could live peaceably and quietly
together, there would be no need at all of magistrates or
politics, which are only made to preserve man in this world
from the fraud and violence of one another." 102 Nor was
Smith without intellectual affinity to David Hume (17111776), "the Voltaire of Great Britain," who developed Locke's
sensationalist psychology and maintained that passions and
sentiments rule mankind, who opposed to religions o£ priestly
"superstition" religions of enthusiasm favorable to progress,
and, since good anq evil, both natural and moral, are entirely
relative to human sentiments, virtues are to him but expressions
of social and public utility. Adam Ferguson (1723-1816) was
a contemporary of Smith. Like Smith he carried out the
implications of Hume's social philosophy, adopting a naturalistic, psychological concept of human society. "All the actions
o£ men are equally the result of nature." 103 Francis Hutcheson
(1694-1746), the teacher of Smith at the University of Glasgow, is commonly believed to have impressed upon his pupil
the psycho-sociological significance of sympathy as a social
.factor as well as having given a cast to Smith's analysis of
economic life. Smith, however, while attaching great import
to natural sympathy, recognized weaknesses in it, and accepted
self-love as a more basic factor. Disagreeing with his mentor
on this point, he wrote:
Dr. Hutcheson was so far from allowing self-love to be in any case
a motive of virtuous action., that even a regard to the pleasure of
self-approbation, to the comfortable applause of our own consciences, according to him, diminished the merit of a benevolent
action. . . . In the common judgment of mankind, however, this
regard to the approbation of our minds is so far from being considered as what can, in any respect, diminish the virtue of any
action, that it is rather looked upon as the sole motive which
deserves the appellation of virtuous. 104
:to• Quoted

by C. A. Ellwood, A History of Social Philosophy (New York: 1939),

p. 133.
103 Quoted, ibid., p. 263.
104

The Theory of the Moral Sentiments pp. 444-45.

90

LOUIS A. RYAN

While Adam Smith is famous as the author of The Wealth of
Nations (1776) , it is his Theory of the Moral Sentiments
(1759) that provides us with a broader view of his social
philosophy and a key to a proper understanding of his masterpiece. We mention a few ideas of the Theory which quite
peculiarly reflect the doctrine of self-love. The subjectivist
approach of Smith is clearly illustrated in the early pages of
The Theory of the Moral Sentiments. He says that the sentiment of the affection of the heart from which any action
proceeds and upon which its whole virtue or vice must ultimately depend, may be considered under two different aspects:
first, in relation to the cause which excites it, or the motive
which gives occasion to it; and, secondly, in relation to the end,
or the effect it tends to produce. Maintaining that recent
philosophers have considered chiefly the tendency of affections
·with little attention to the cause which excites them, he inclines
to the causal approach, the rule or canon of which is the
affection of the self.
Every faculty in one man is the measure by which he judges of
the like faculty in another. I judge of your sight by my sight, of
your ear by my ear, of your reason by my reason, of your resentment by my resentment, of your love by my love. I neither have,
nor can have, any other way of judging about them.w5
As if recognizing at once the possible abuses of this subjectivism, Smith counters the suggestion of selfishness with an
appeal to mutual feeling and sympathy. In the Theory these
two principles of self-interest and social sympathy are continually argued one against the other; an The Wealth of
Nations, and even more in the works of his followers, the
precision is less noticeable and self-interest unhappily proves
the better of social sympathy. Yet this very sympathy possesses
an unhealthy subjectivism, as appears from the following
extract:
The principle by which we naturally either approve or disapprove
of our own conduct, seems to be altogether the same with that
by which we exercise the like judgments concerning the conduct of
10 "

Ibid .• pp. 17-18.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL

ORDER

91

other people. We either approve or disapprove of the conduct of
another man, according as we feel that, when we bring his case
home to ourselves, we either can or cannot entirely sympathize
with the
and motives which directed it. And, in the
same manner, we either approve or disapprove of our own conduct,
according as we feel that, when we place ourselves in the situation
of another man, and view it, as it were, with his eyes and from
his station, we either can or cannot entirely enter into and sympathize with the sentiments and motives which influenced it. 106

This confusion of principles of social behavior is further
illustrated by Smith's comparison of the law of supernatural
love with the law of nature. "As to love our neighbor as we
love ourselves is the great law of Christianity, so it is the great
precept of nature to love ourselves only as we love our neighbor,
or, what comes to the same thing, as our neighbor is capable of
loving us." 107 Positing this contrariness of the supernatural
and natural orders of affection is the more serious for having
been written in an age when the fire of Christian charity had
grown cold and self-interest disgustingly robust. Such a concept of the precept of nature destroys the foundation for true
order in the love of neighbor, and even more disastrously,
denies the validity of" the law of Christianity." It is true that
Smith later seeks to save both by identifying one with the
other, but in view of his earlier statements, the conclusion
sadly miscarries. Though stating that the will of the Deity
ought to be the supreme rule of our conduct/ 08 he also says
that by acting according to the dictates of our moral faculties,
which are the natural senses of merit and propriety by which
the general rules of morality are formed/ 09
we necessarily pursue the most effectual means for promoting the
happiness of mankind, and may therefore be said, in some sense,
to co-operate with the Deity, and to advance, as far as in our power,
the plan of providence.l1° Since these, therefore, were plainly intended to be the governing principles of human nature, the rules
which they prescribe are to be regarded as the commands and laws
of the Deity, promulgated by those vicegerents which he has thus
set up within us. 111
••• Ibid., p. 161.
••• Ibid., pp.
lOB Ibid., p. !M,L

Ibid., p. 224.
Ibid., p. 235.
111 Ibid., p. 284.

109

110

92

LOUIS A. RYAN

For an application of this naturalist doctrine of moral sentiments, we select one more passage from the Theory:
To compare, in this manner, the futile mortifications of the
monastery, to the ennobling hardships and hazards of war; to
suppose that one day, or one hour, employed in the former should,
in the eye of the great Judge of the world, have more merit than
a whole life spent honorably in the latter, is surely contrary to all
our moral sentiments; to all the principles by which nature has
taught us to regulate our contempt or admiration. 112
Without failing to appreciate the keen psychological analysis
of The Theory of Moral Sentiments, and giving due notice to
its referen,ces and allusions to the supernatural, Christian ethic
of love, we may safely question the validity of the author's
thesis. And even if we forgive Smith's practical exclusion of
supernatural love as a social force, there still remains the
fundamental opposition between the altruistic and egoistic
sentiments in natural man which he failed to resolve. The antimony was unhappily decided in favor of self-interest in The
Wealth of N atiCYnS, in the second chapter of which Smith was
to say:
But man hll,s almost constant occasion for the help of his brethren,
and it is vain for him to expect it from their benevolence only. He
will be more likely to prevail if he can interest their self-love in his
favor .... It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer,
or the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to
their own interest. We address ourselves, not to their humanity,
but to their self-love, and never talk to them of our own necessities
but of their advantages. 113

The Wealth of Nations, though it has often been classed as
an economics classic, is considered by the American, Albion
Small, essentially a work in social philosophy, a sociological
treatise, and he speaks of modern sociology as being virtually
" an attempt to take up the larger program of social analysis
and interpretation which was implicit in Adam Smith's moral
philosophy, but which was suppressed for a century by prevailing interest in the technique for the production of wealth." 114
118 The Wealth of Nations, p. 14.
112Jbid.• p. 190.
110 A. W. Small, Adam Smith and Modem Sociology (Chicago: 1907), p. 288.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

93

The fundamental thesis of this work is that human happiness
and «the wealth of nations " can most rapidly and effectively
be increased by bringing about complete industrial and commercial liberty. This thesis is founded on two basic assumptions: first, that the prime psychological drive in man is selfinterest; 115 secondly, the existence of a natural order in the
universe through which the collective self-interests add up to
the common good. 116 As we have seen, the latter is an outgrowth of Puritan predestinarianism via the natural scientists
after
the philosophes and the physiocrats; the former
is a necessary corollary of the doctrine of the " calling " as
rationalized by Locke, Hume, and Ferguson.
In Book Five of The Wealth of Nations where Smith treats
of the education of youth and religious instruction, one may
see quite clearly how thoroughly the medieval ethic is thrown
overboard by this philosopher of the capitalist revolution.
When moral, as well as natural philosophy, carne to be taught
only as subservient to theology, and the duties of human life
were treated of as chiefly subservient to the happiness of a life
to come, the most important branches of philosophy became
corrupted. 117 The Church of Rome, in the Middle Ages," may
be considered as the most formidable combination that ever
was formed against the authority and security of civil government, as well as against the liberty, reason, and happiness of
mankind . . .118 The industry and zeal of the lower clergy
of the Catholic Church are kept more alive by the powerful
motive of self-interest [sic!] than perhaps any established
Protestant Church. 119 And as for the mendicant orders, the
Dominicans and Franciscans, who derive their whole subsistence from the voluntary offerings of the people, "it was
with them as with the hussars and light infantry of some armies;
no plunder, no pay." 120 It was concepts of the Church such as
these that were assimilated by later generations along with
the economic doctrines of this high pontiff of individualism;
The Wealth of Nations, p. 651.
Ibid., pp. 423, 508.
117 Ibid., p. 726.
115

11 "

Ibid., p. 754.
Ibid., pp. 741-42.
uo Ibid.
119
110

94

LOUIS A. RYAN

and if a casual fealty to religion persisted, it was to the highly
sectarian type advocated by Smith, a type which would not
prove too embarrassing or formidable for organized commercial
interests. The religion that counted was business. As Harold
Laski observes in his Rise of Liberalism: " With Adam Smith
the practical maxims of business enterprise achieved the status
of a theology." 121
Along with the denial of a real supernatural orientation to
human life and the promulgation of the dogma of self-interest,
the breakdown of the organic concept of society and the substitution of a doubly mechanistic capitalism, Smith is also
responsible for the theory of labor value which has proved a
two-edged sword for social thinkers ever since his time.
Through Ricardo, James Mill, and their followers, the theory
became the cornerstone of the exploiting, highly capitalistic
Manchesterism; Karl Marx utilized the same theory in the
interests of a scientific socialism bitterly opposed to the system
of the economic liberals. But all these and other developments
are material for a separate consideration. Smith, like his namesake the father of the human race, was to have many intellectual offspring, not a few of whom were, like Cain and Abel,
to be at each other's throats ere their father was long dead.

II. INDIVIDUALISM AND ITs SuccEssoRs
Having traced the development of liberalism or the capitalistic spirit to the time of Adam Smith, we continue the study of
the modern social "isms " in relation to the Christian ethic of
love of neighbor. Though the sketch of the rise of the doctrine
of self-interest led us through a rather tortuous maze of theological heresy, economic revolt, and social upheaval, the period
ahead is even more complicated. It was not merely that the
destruction of the unity of faith, and the definite substitution
of the doctrine of self-interest for the fundamental sociological
idea of Christendom set loose a veritable torrent of divergent
social philosophies. The multiple problems rising out of the commercial and. industrial revolutions fostered the growth of a new
121

H. Laski, The Rise of Liberalism (London: 1986), p.

CHARITY AND THE SOCIAL

ORDER

95

science of society-sociology-the
devotees of which, lacking
unity of theological and philosophical approach and further
divided by social and geographic climes, were, and are, legion.
Obviously we cannot give space here to all these social
philosophers and sociologists. Nor can we even presume to
deal with the complete doctrines of the social systems which
have direct bearing on the subject of this thesis. Laboring,
then, under the double onus of limitation of subjects and
partial treatment of those selected, we must be content to
restrict our inquiry to the " isms " which most vitally affect
contemporary society-liberal individualism, dassism as req
presented by scientific socialism and communism, the statism
of the Fascist ideology and the racism of the Nazi school-and,
excluding consideration of all but their socio-theological implications, to delineate such salient features as bear upon the
Christian ethic of love. This selectivity and partiality does not
necessarily imply a distortion of social history. As will be seen,
these " isms " are not at all unrelated, arbitrary targets for the
sociological sharpshooter; there is a common social principle
running through them all, an ethical continuity which weaves
them into an intelligible pattern. And the socio-theological
aspect of each is sufficiently deep and vital and far-reaching
to provide a fundamental grasp of the whole system.
As we have seen, naturalistic self-love, conceived as a social
principle in the late Middle Ages, born in the travail of the Protestant revolt and the commercial revolution, nourished to a
vigorous adolescence by Lutheranism, Calvinism, and Puritanism, finally became of age in the doctrines of Adam Smith
and the classical school of political economy. The story of its
maturity extends from the time of Adam Smith to our own
day. To change the metaphor, if we take this philosopher of the
capitalist revolution as the point of departure, we may conceive
of subsequent socio-theological theory as two great rivers
tracing back to the headwaters of the classical school. In the
preceding section, mention was made of the conflicting tendencies in the persons and philosophies named-the individualism and collectivism of Calvin, the organic and mechanistic

96

LOUIS A. RYAN

trends of Puritanism, the antimony of self-interest and social
sympathy in Smith's Theory of the Moral Sentiments. After
the publication of The Wealth of Nations and its translation
into societal reality, these fundamental divergencies became
more apparent. We see one stream stemming from the headwaters, intensely individualistic, tending more and more to a
mechanistic concept of society, confident in the orthodoxy of
self-interest. Another current, less perceptible at first, but
growing in volume, flowed along collectivist, organismic, and
professedly altruistic channels. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, aided respectively by rationalist and romanticist tendencies, these streams flowed wider and wider apart,
catching up the new springs of social thought. The industrial
revolution, which occurred in this period, with its tremendous
social changes-the factory system, machine manufacture,
steam and rail transportation-might be represented as a huge
storm which blew across the course of both streams, whipping
up their waters into a froth of activity, charging them down
their divergent courses with accelerated speed and deepened
channels, now and then cutting a furrow from one to the other,
but most generally preserving the main course of the two currents. We might mention also that in the nineteenth century
a third stream could be detected,. flowing midway between the
individualistic and collectivistic rivers and arising, it seems,
from well-springs tapping a powerful subterranean river
identified with neither of the others. This was the social
Catholicism of Le Play, Ozanam, Ketteler, Leo XIII, and
others, a reappearance .of the currents of the Church's
mental social ethic which had been diverted underground by
the flotsam of the Renaissance, the Protestant revolt and the
commercial revolution. We shall draw on this third source
for our concluding comparison of the Christian ethic and the
modern" isms."
I. Individualism
The development of the capitalistic or individualistic spirit
from the time of Adam Smith to the present will not occupy us
long. The synthesis achieved by Smith in The Theory of the

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL

ORDER

97

Moral Sentiments and The Wealth of Nations furnished the
rising bourgeois class with a comfortably comprehensive social
philosophy. The general acceptance of Smith's thesis is not
surprising if we recall that the intellectual world into which
Smith introduced his masterpiece not only shared the common
Calvinistic heritage and was familiar with the tenets of physioc:racy and the Gallic philosophes, but also had already been
metaphysically cultivated by the reflexive sympathy and
utilitarian societal concepts of Spinoza, the deism of Shaftesbury and his "gentleman-god," and Berkeley's "social physics."
Writers of the English school especially carried on the individualist
trend, namely,
Bentham,
Malthus,
Ricardo,
McCulloch, James, and John Stuart Mill.
Bentham (1748-1832) molded the contemporary radicalism
into utilitarianism,
regarding unrestricted competition and
enlightened self-interest as the chief means of attaining the
"greatest
good to the greatest number." 122 Malthus,
McCulloch, and Ricardo developed particular aspects of economic liberalism; the latter's famous "subsistence theory of
wages " was definitely individualistic, and yet certain implications of it anent labor-value were to prove highly useful to
Karl Marx later on. James Mill brought into economic liberalism the utilitarian philosophy of Bentham, and his son, John
Stuart, rigidly schooled in the discipline of his parent and
Bentham, was responsible for " the :final synthesis of all the
essential contributions to classical theory from the time of
Smith to his own day." 123
While it is true to say that John Stuart Mill (1806-1873)
broke with the economic liberals in holding that the processes
of production alone, and not those of distribution, were subject
to the control of the rather anomalous "natural law," thus
opening the way for some social legislation on the distributive
process, he nevertheless continued the secularist trend in social
philosophy. The "greatest happiness principle," which "holds
that actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote
122
123

Cf. The Principles of Morals and Legislation (1789), passim.
K. Diehl, " The Classical School," Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, V, 351.

98

LOUIS A. RYAN

happiness, wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness " 124 apparently had, as its ultimate end, not supernatural
beatitude, but " an existence exempt as far as possible from
pain, and as rich as possible in enjoyments both in point of
quantity and quality." 125 Mill refers specifically to charity in
this connection, but it is not the supernatural love of the
medieval ethic:
In the golden rule of Jesus of Nazareth, we read the complete spirit of the ethics of utility. To do as you would be done
by, and to love your neighbor as yourself, constitute the ideal perfection of utilitarian morality. As the means of making the nearest
approach to this ideal, utility would enjoin, first, that laws and
social arrangement should place the happiness, or (as speaking
practically it may be called) the interest, of every individual, as
nearly as possible in harmony with the interest of the whole; and
secondly, that education and opinion, which have so vast a power
over human character, should so use that power as to establish in
the mind of every individual an indissoluble association between
his own happiness and the good of the whole .... 126

In another place, the younger Mill protests against the
accusation that the doctrine of utility is a godless doctrine, and
explains that if it be a true belief that God desires above all
things the happiness of His creatures, then the doctrine of
utility is "more profoundly religious than any other." 121 The
distinction of material and spiritual happiness would hardly be
out of place here. Treating of the ultimate sanction of the
principle of utility, Mill conceives of the external sanction as
the hope of favor and fear of displeasure not only of fellowcreatures but also of the Ruler of the universe, along with
whatever we may have of sympathy or affection for them, or of
love and awe of Him, inclining us to do His will independently
of selfish consequences. 128 However, the natural sentiment
seems to predominate over the supernatural, objectively as well
as subjectively. At least this is the way the author of
Utilitarianism puts it:
J. S. Mill, Utilitarianism (Everyman's Library, New York: 1936), p. 6.
107 Ibid., p. 20.
Ibid., p. 11.
108 Ibid., p. 25.
"" Ibid., p. 16.
m

125

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

99

But there is this basis of powerful natural sentiment; and this is
it which, when once the general happiness is recognized as the
ethical standard, will constitute the strength of the utilitarian
morality. This firm foundation is that of the social feelings of mankind: the desire to be in unity with our fellow creatqres, which is
already a powerful principle in human nature, and happily, one of
those which tend to become stronger, even without express inculcation, from the influences of advancing civilization. . . . If we
now suppose this feeling of unity to be taught as a religion, and
the whole force of education, of institutions, and of opinion, directed,
as it once was in the case of religion, to make every person grow up
from infancy surrounded on all sides both by the profession and
practice of it, I think that no one, who can realize this conception,
will feel any misgiving about the sufficiency of the ultimate sanction
for the Happiness morality. 129

Mill's intellectual progeny, particularly those lusty Manchesterians, were less cosmopolitan in their concept of his utility
principle. Not caring too much for the faded religion that stood
as god-parent to the new principle, and with an eye to the
founder of Protestant modernism, Immanuel Kant (17241804), whose philosophy of the "unsocial sociability of
men " 130 argued sufficiently for the superiority of the egoistic
18 ° Cf. Wm. Hastie, Kant's Principles of Politics
(Edinburgh: 1891), pp. lO-U.
impulses over the altruistic, they pushed utilitarianism to its
ultimate and horrible conclusions. Readers of Dickens will
recall his plea to their charity (apocalyptic in view of Marx)
in the novel, Hard Times:
Utilitarian economists, skeletons of schoolmasters, Commissioners
of Fact, genteel and used-up infidels, gobblers of many little dogeared creeds, the poor you will always have with you. Cultivate in
them, while there is yet time, the utmost graces of the fancies and
affections, to adorn their lives so much in need of ornament; or,
in the day of your triumph, when romance is utterly driven out of
their souls, and
and a bare existence stand face to face, Reality
will take a wolfish turn, and make an end of you. 131

Herbert Spencer (1820-1903), the greatest British social
thinker after Ferguson and Smith, and the sociological grandfather of innumerable writers in the present, is most often
129

Ibid., pp. 29-80.

181

C. Dickens, Hard Time11, Book ll, c. 6.

100

LOUIS A. RYAN

identified with the organismic philosophical

schooL And yet

it was in his writings that the philosophy of individualism
received its most complete formulation. Although evolutionism
inclined him to a consideration of the organic structure of
society, much as Smith inclined to the sentiment of sympathy
and Mill to altruism, his discussion of the concept is reckoned
merely " an incidental, unimportant, and rather illogical phase
of Spencer's social philosophy." 132 He stood for a system of
natural liberty in moral and social realms as well as in industry;
and "probably no more consistent exponent of all-round;
laissez-faire principle is to be found among modern thinkers,
with the possible exception of the philosophical anarchists." 133
The concluding lines of The Principles of Sociology politely
epitomize this philosophy:
The ultimate man will be one whose private requirements
coincide with public ones. He will be that manner of man who, in
spontaneously fulfilling his own nature, incidentally performs the
functions of a social unit; and yet is only enabled so to fulfil his own
nature by all others doing the like.134
Spencer interests us precisely as the most influential philosopher of individualism in the last half-century, one whose
lectures still echo in the halls of learning. His intellectual
genealogy includes the Newtonian cosmic mechanists, the
English Deists, the French philosophes and physiocrats, Comte
and the social Darwinists, if not Darwin himself. With his
doctrine of cosmic evolution, he buttressed anew the laissezfaire theory much as the physiocrats and classical economists
had championed it on the socio-theological deductions of
Newton's celestial mechanics and the Puritan law of nature.
Man should, for the most part, leave things to the inexorable
process of evolution, thus " uniting philanthropic energy with
philosophic calm." 135
There was no place for supernatural charity in Spencer's
132

188
184
135

Barnes & Becker, op. cit., II, 799. (With the permission of the publishers.)
C. A. Ellwood, op. cit., p. 458.
H. Spencer, Principles of Sociology (New York: 1897), III, 61L
H. Spencer, The St,udy of Sociology (New York: 1874), p. 403.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL

ORDER

101

scheme of society. In his First Principles (1862) he had
posed of theology by assigning its object of study to the realm
of the ultimately unknowable, and in the Principles of Sociology
(1876-96) he made the religious idea an evolutionary concept
of waning vigor. As he observed, in his Principles of Ethics,
"Now that moral injunctions are losing the authority given by
their supposed sacred origin, the secularization of morals is
becoming imperative." 136 To Spencer, love of neighbor according to the Catholic ethic was of the "ghost-idea" pasL We
find among the interdicted activities listed in his Social Statics
(1850) commercial regulation, state religious establishments,
charitable activities tending to interfere with natural selection,
etc.
However, looking through Spencer's Principles of Ethics, one
does find references to the commandment " Love thy neighbor
as thyself." Still his evolutionary concept of religion robs the
precept of its supernatural object and sanction,
he appeals
practica]
from its theoretical " ethics of amity " 137 to
"ethics of enmity" of the world in which he moved, in substantiation of his agnosticism. Quite obviously, Spencer's
notion of divine commandment was
influenced by
Protestant voluntarism, and this misunderstanding caused him
to reject the supernatural import of ethics,
misunderstanding is manifested when, after establishing that egoism
has a permanent supremacy over altruism as a truth which
to the
ethics has to recognize/ 38 Spencer opposes
dogma of charity, to conclude: "Those who repeat with
emphasis the maxim 'Love your neighbour as yourself,' do not
render up what they possess so as to satisfy the desires of all as
much as they satisfy their own desires." 139 The Thomistic
exegesis of the words "as thyself" might have altered his
Instead he
conception of the commandment immeasurably.
concludes to individualism against charity, Where "transcendent altruism in theory co-exists with brutaJ egoism m
1 "'

H. Spencer, The Principles of Ethics (New York: 1897), I, xiv.

Ibid., p, 307 ff.
UB Ibid., p, 187 fL
137

130

Ibid., p. 199.

LOUIS A. RYAN

practice, so, conversely, a more qualified altruism may have for
its concomitant a greatly moderated egoism. For asserting the
due claims of self, is, by implication, drawing a limit beyond
which the claims are undue, and is, by consequence, bringing
into greater clearness the claims of others." 140 His is an ethical
system, egoistic-altruistic in theory but egoistic in practice, in
which the complete living of each man consists in, and conduces
to, the complete living of all. 141 Its principle is that of justice
and liberty as defined by Spencer in the Principles of Ethics:
" Every man is free to do that which he wills, provided he
infringes not the equal freedom of any other man." 142 This
"law of equal freedom " is "an ultimate ethical principle,
having an authority transcending every other ... "; 143 on this
is erected the social philosophy whose influence has been profound in nations of the capitalistic persuasion for the last
half -century.

II. Collectivism
We have traced the course of individualism from Adam
Smith through the classical school and the utilitarians to
Herbert Spencer who completely formulated the philosophy of
laissez-faire in his voluminous writings. It now remains for us
to retrace our mental course up the river of individualism and
proceed down the stream representing the collectivist, organismic, romanticist tradition in social thought since Adam Smith.
Whereas the philosophy of laissez-faire, breaking with the
fundamental sociological Christian ethic of love, made the
individual and self-love the center of its system, we may
distinguish other philosophies, collectivist in nature, which,
though alien to the Christian ethic in their denial of supernatural charity, are attempts to recapture the organic structure
of society that accompanied this ethic of love. In a sense, these
other social " theologies " or philosophies are at once individualistic and collectivistic. They share in the individualistic,
capitalistic spirit in so far as they conceive of society in terms
uo Ibid., p.
1"

Ibid., p. 148.

u• Op. cit., II, 46.
us Ibid., p. 60.

CHARITY AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

103

of socio-economic criteria, without reference to extra-economic,
supernatural criteria; the autonomy of man is asserted against
the universal rule of God. On the other hand, they are collectivistic in that they consider the focal point of society to be,
not the individual as such, but a group as the family, the class,
the nation or the race. The individualist opposes love of self
to the love of God; the collectivist opposes love of the group
(which is but a projection of man's love of self) to the love
of God.
Strangely enough, we may observe an almost hierarchic progression in the great collectivist concept of society. Comte
considered the family the true unit of political society; Marx,
the class; Mussolini, the nation; Hitler, the race. Comte himself
remarked in the Positive Polity 144 that as far as moral progress
is concerned, man's social nature finds satisfaction, :first in the
family, then in the state, and lastly in the race; in another
place 145 he mentions the class as another complex social group
flowing from the family. We shall briefly consider each of the
collectivist concepts as they bear on the subject of this paper,
treating summarily their nature and their relation to the
capitalistic spirit and the medieval ethic of love of neighbor.

Comte. Before proceeding to a study of the "isms" of the
collectivist species which have been put into practice today,
it might be well, for the sake of historical continuity, to mention
a collectivist philosophy which originated prior to these others,
and which, by laying stress on the family as the true unit of
society and not the individual, initiated the trend towards a
more organic concept of society. This philosophy was the
positivism of Auguste Comte (1798-1857) .
Comte's social polity is not so much a specimen of original
social thinking as a novel synthesis of variegated social
philosophies-the positivism of Hume and Kant, the historical
determinism of Hume, Kant, and. Turgot, the development
theory of Saint-Simon, borrowings from the current idealism,
plus the medievalism of DeMaistre and a sort of social Catholic1 ..
145

A. Comte, System of Positive Polity (Paris: 1851), IV, 157.
Comte, op. cit.• ll, 188.

104

LOUIS A. RYAN

Ism without the Church or God. Against the empiricist
capitalism of his day, Comte was very bitter, though he
recognized the possible benefits of the new industrialism. He
called for a code of morals which would be much more efficacious
than political measures, by providing a universal reproof for
" a selfish use of riches possessed." This code of morals, however, was not to be such as in the medieval theocracy; rather it
was to be positivistic, an ethic promulgated by the priesthood
of a new sociocracy, an ethic with love as its principle, order its
basis and progress its end. 146
According to Comte, a society can no more be decomposed
into individuals than a geometric surface can be resolved into
lines, or a line into points, " The simplest association, that is,
the family, sometimes reduced to its original couple, constitutes
the real unit of society." 147 The family helps to bridge the gap
between the natural egoism of the individual and the altruism
that social life demands. However, the family is not society.
Society is a functional interdependence of individuals and
families that have common aims, the limits to which is
humanity itself. The ethical code for the perfection of this
familial society was the " religion of humanity " which Comte
explains in The System of Positive Polity. Though its principle
is love, and its epigram " Live for others," its likeness to
Christian charity was only superficial. Comte denied a personal,
transcendent God, and claimed that the theological basis of
Christian ethics was a mistake. The supreme reality is
humanity, "a relative absolute," the only one a positivist
religion can know. AU that is best in altruistic individuals shaH
live on forever in the relatively immortal life of humanity.
While there is not objective immortality of the soul, there is a
subjective immortality of all who live for others. There is no
selfishness in seeking the immortality of helpful influence, as in
Christianity. One's individual life may close with death, but
his good works go on forever.
Compared with the rank individualism of the day, which
paid lip-service to God and exalted self-interest, Comte's
""Ibid., pp. 286, 343.

147

Ibid., p. 153.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL

ORDER

105

religion of humanity without God, but for mankind, was a
challenging opposite. If positivism did not gain wider acceptance in his era, it was because it was at once behind and ahead
of its time. Its basic familial concept was too narrow for the
anti-individualistic people who were rapidly becoming classconscious through the oppression of capitalism; its constitution
of humanity as the ultimate end of the individual was too
broad and general. What pragmatically-minded
collectivists
wanted was a doctrine which would accept the growing anticapitalistic group, the proletariat, as the fundamental social
principle and posit for it a more concrete, practical end. In
Karl Marx's theory of the class struggle they found their
answer.

Classism. Much has been written on the multiple aspects
of the Marxian ideology, and it cannot be repeated here. What
directly concerns us is the Marxian concept of class, for this
represents a second stage in the attempted development of an
organic concept of secular society. Class-consciousness is merely
the inevitable reaction of a man who, having thrown over love
of neighbor for God's sake, finds himself loving his fellow-men,
if at all, for his own sake; then realizing that such selfishness
is generally destructive of self, he seeks to remedy the anomaly,
to widen the scope and relieve the loneliness of his ego by
projecting it to a larger group, in this case, the class.
Around the middle of the nineteenth century, a new social
group began to take shape and form. It was composed of an
ever-increasing number of workers despoiled of their land and
labor by the entrepreneurs
of individualistic capitalism.
Individualism as a theology of life, which had proved so appealing to all men dissatisfied with the Christian ethic, now lost
its allure for those whom the more successful and powerful
individualists had socially and economically excommunicated.
A keen student of the times, Karl Marx (1818-1893) recognized
the new milieu and formulated for it his doctrine of the class
struggle. His statement of the theory is expressed in the
opening paragraphs of the Communist Manifesto (1848) which
he composed in conjunction with Fredrich Engels

106

LOUIS A. RYAN

The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class
struggles .... In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a complicated arrangement of society into various orders, a
manifold gradation of social rank. . . . Our epoch, the epoch of the
bourgeoisie, possesses, however, this distinctive feature: it has
simplified the class antagonisms. Society as a whole is more and
more splitting up into two great hostile camps, into two great
classes directly facing each other-the bourgeoisie and proletariat. 148
Anent the relation o£ the bourgeoisie to the individualistic spirit
and its theological sanction, Marx and Engels are quite explicit:
The bourgeoisie, wherever it has got the upper hand, has put an
end to all feudal, patriarchal, idyllic relations. It has pitilessly torn
asunder the motley feudal ties that bound man to his 'natural
superiors,' and has left no other nexus between man and man than
naked self-interest, than callous 'cash payment.' It has drowned
the most heavenly ecstacies of religious fervour, of chivalrous enthusiasm, of philisthine sentimentalism, in the icy water of egotistical
calcula tion. 149
The capitalistic class, however, by its relations of production,
of exchange, and property, inevitably breeds the proletarian
class, which alone is the really revolutionary class. Law,
morality, religion, are to the proletarian so many bourgeois
prejudices, instruments of bourgeois self-interest. The Communists have no interests separate and apart from those of the
proletariat as a whole. The immediate end of the Communists
is the formation of the proletariat into a class, overthrow of the
bourgeois supremacy, and conquest of p<>litical power by the
proletariat. 150
While Marx ideologically posited a classless society as the
ultimate desideratum of social reconstruction/ 51 it is nevertheless true to speak of class interest not only as a means of social
reform but also its principle. The so-called " classless " society
is one in which the interests of the proletarian class are completely satisfied. The morality of Marxism is a class morality,
and human actions are judged good or bad according as they
"" K. Marx & F. Engels, The Communist Manifesto (International Publishers,
New York: 1932), Sec. I.

"" Ibid.

160

Ibid.

101

Ibid.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

107

promote the interests of the proletariat. 152 'With this in mind,
let us proceed to the theological implications of the doctrine.
Marx's emphasis on the bourgeoisie and the proletariat as the
fundamental divisions of society has, quite apparently, an
economic criterion as its basis. Viewing the principles of society
in terms of such a secular criterion, he definitely accepts what
we have considered the fundamental tenet of the capitalistic
spirit, i. e., the priority of economic rationalization to the hurt,
and not seldom to the exclusion of moral, religious supernaturalization.
In the preface to The Critique of Political
Economy, Marx said,
The aggregate of productive relationships constitutes the economic
structure of society, the real basis on which a juridical and political
superstructure rises, and to which correspond definite forms of social
consciousness. The mode of production of the material means of
existence conditions the whole process of social, political and intellectual life. It is not the consciousness of men that determines
their existence, but, on the contrary, it is their social existence that
determines their consciousness.153
The religious world is, then, but the l'e:flex of the real world,
and can only vanish when the practical relations of everyday
life offer to man none but perfectly intelligible and reasonable
relations with regard to his fellowmen and to nature. In
accordance with his principles, Marx says that for the capitalist
society "Christianity with its ,c;ultus of abstract man, more
especially in its bourgeois developments, Protestantism, Deism,
etc., is the most fitting form of religion." 154 In the Communist
Manifesto is a severe indictment of the "law of nature" of
Puritantism and the classical school, addressed to the
bourgeoisie:
The selfish. misconception that induces you to transform into
eternal laws of nature and of reason, the social forms springing from
15 " Cf. N. Lenin, Religian, pp. 47, 48.
We deny all morality taken from superhuman or non-class conceptions. . . . We say that our morality is wholly subordinated to the interests of the class struggle of the proletariat.
1.•• K. Marx, Preface to " The Critique of Political Economy," in A Handbook
of Marxism (London: 1935), pp.
154 K. Marx, Capital (New York: 1906), pp. 91,

108

LOUIS A. RYAN

your present mode of production and form of property-historical
relations that rise and disappear in the progress of production-this
misconception you share with every ruling class that has preceded
you.155
His animadversions to Protestantism, the religion of the England in and of which he wrote, are many. 156 Thus, he caustically
refers to the British predestinarianism:
Englishmen, always well up in the Bible, knew well enough that
man, unless by elective grace a capitalist, a landlord, or sinecurist,
is commanded to eat his bread in the sweat of his brow, but they
did not know that he had to eat daily in his bread a certain quantity
of human perspiration, mixed with the discharge of abscesses, cobwebs, dead black-beetles, and putrid German yeast, without counting alum, sand, and other agreeable mineral ingredients. 157
Equally acrid are his observations on the " Christian colonial
system," the price lists for Indian scalps drawn up by "those
sober virtuosi of Protestantism, the Puritans of New England." 158 Marx also noted that Protestantism, by changing
almost all the traditional holidays into workdays, plays an
important part in the genesis of capital. 159
After reading Marx's condemnation of individualistic Protestant theology, upon which, for the most part, his animus to
religion seems to be based, one might well wonder how familiar
he was with the medieval ethic of Catholicism. He speaks of the
medieval guilds as preventing masters from becoming capitalistic, and zealously repelling every encroachment by the capital
of the merchants; 160 he refers to the social closeness of master
and workman in the independent peasant proprietary in the
country and the guild brganization in the town. 161 Although
Marx's concept of history forces him to accept the change as
evolutionary progress, he is not too enthusiastic in saying that
the economic structure of capitalistic society grew out of the
economic structure of feudal society. " The dissolution of the
The Communist Manifesto.
Cf. Capital, p. 675, note 3; p. 793, note
157 Ibid., pp.
160 Ibid., p. 394.
158 Ibid., pp.
161 Ibid., pp. 809-810.
159 Ibid .• p. 303, note I.

165

156

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL

109

ORDER

latter set free the elements of the former." 162 But we cannot
expect the author of Capital to concede the economic structure
of medievalism to have been inspired by the order of the
Christian ethic of love. It was objected to him that while his
economic structure theory might be tenable in times when
materia] interests preponderate, it was not so for the Middle
Ages, in which Catholicism reigned supreme. Marx replied:
In the first place it strikes one as an odd thing for any one to
suppose that these well-worn phrases about· the Middle Ages and
the ancient world are unknown to anyone else. This much, however,
is clear, that the Middle Ages could not live on Catholicism, nor
the ancient world on politics. On the contrary, it is the mode in
which they gained a hvelihood that explains why here politics, and
there Catholicism, played the chief part. 163
Obviously, Marx's economic determinism blinded him to
any appreciation of the medieval Catholicism in which the
economic life of feudal society was orderly because of its ethic,
and not its ethic orderly because of its economic life. Unfortunately his experience with British and continental Protestantism robbed him of a proper perspective of religion. As we
have shown, the Calvinist-Puritan-classical
school accommodated religion to the demands of the capitalistic spirit, and,
in a sense, did only reflect the economic structure of society.
Little wonder that such " economical " theology brought forth
an economics that took the place of theology. Marx considers
his theory precisely in this light. Of the primitive accumulation
of capital which is the starting point of the capitalist mode of
production, acquired by "the spoliation of the Church's property, the fraudulent alienation of the State domains, the robbery of the common lands, the usurpation of feudal and clan
property, and its transformation into modern private property
under circumstances of reckless terrorism," 164 Marx observes:
This primitive accumulation plays in Political Economy about
the same part as original sin in theology .... The legend of theological original sin tells us certainly how man came to be condemned
to eat his bread in the. sweat of his brow; but the history of economic
162

Ibid., p. 786.

163

Ibid., pp. 93-94, note 9.!.

1 "'

Ibid., p. 805.

110

LOUIS A. RYAN

original sin reveals to us that there are people to whom this is by
no means necessary .... And from this original sin dates the
poverty of the great majority that, despite all its labour, has up to
now nothing to sell but itself, and the wealth of the few that
increases coqstantly although they have long ceased to work. 165

Marx condemns the classicist dogmas consequent upon this
original sin, but accepts the analogy for his own use. The Cain
and Abel born soon after this " original sin " are the two
classes-the. bourgeoisie and the proletariat. The primitive
accumulation of capital has as its genesis "the expropriation of
the immediate producers, i. e., the dissolution of private property based on the labour of its owner." 166 The expropriation
of the immediate producers was accomplished with merciless
vandalism, and self-earned private property was supplanted by
capitalistic private property. 167 Redemption is achieved when
the " expropriators are expropriated " 168 by the formidable
proletariat their system has called into being. Force is the
means of effecting the transformation, and the beatitude, presumably, economic felicity. The radical opposition of this
theory to the supernatural felicity aimed at in charity, which is
the basis for an order in love of neighbor, is patent.
Around the theory of the class struggle, as justification for
or consequences from it, are ranged the other ideological concepts of Marxian . socialism-the Hegelian idealism and the
materialism of Feuerbach, both of which can be traced through
Cartesianism to the theological errors of Protestantism, the
Darwinian law of survival of the fittest, French socialism, the
surplus-value theory of Ricardo--and though the orthodoxy of
these tenets is not unquestioned even by followers of Marx
today, still the central classist dogma perdures. Lenin, the
theologian of modern Marxism, preserves and even defines more
sharply the classism of Marx. Apropos of " this most important
and fundamental point," he says: " The state is the product
and the manifestation of the irreconcilability of class antagonIbid., pp. 784-785.
Ibid., p. 834.
187 Ibid .• pp. 835-836.
18 "

180

188

Ibid., p. 837.

CHARITY AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

111

ism." m
" The substitution
of the proletarian state for the
bourgeois state is impossible without a violent revolution." 170
True, he also retains the ideal of a classless society: " Only
Communism makes the state absolutely unnecessary, for there
is no one to be suppressed-' no one' in the sense of a class,
in the sense of a systematic struggle against a definite section of
the population." 171 We shall not attempt an evaluation of this
" higher phase of communism," still happily futuristic. Our
point here is that communism, in its first phase, is founded on
economic self-interest, and it is that communism which we have
to face today as an existent modern" ism" opposed to charity.
Whether and when the perfect communist society is attainable,
is highly problematical. Lenin himself conceded: "We leave
the question of length of time, or the concrete forms of the
withering away (of the state), quite open, because no material
is available to enable us to answer these questions." 172

Statism. Evident weaknesses in the class concept as the basis
for the reconstruction of society, especially the failure of society
to resolve itseH into two mutually antagonistic groups, called
forth yet another attempt to restore the organic structure of
society so imperilled by individualism. This we call statism,
or etatism, the philosophy of society which makes the state the
principle and the ultimate end of man's activities. Though
statism has an intellectual lineage stretching back through
Hegel and Fichte to The Prince of Machiavelli, its practical
expression is incorporated in contemporary Fascism. None can
speak more authoritatively than Benito Mussolini on this subject, and upon his exposition of the doctrine of Fascism contributed to the Enciclopedia Italiana in 1932, we shall draw for
our analysis of its tenets. Did time and space permit, other
writers, such as Pareto, Rocco, and Spann, could be adduced
and with great benefit. The latter writer especially dwells on
the antithesis between individualism and universalism, so
characteristic of totalitarian social theory. He teaches that the
169 N. Lenin,
The State and Revolution (The United Communist
America; 1917), c. l.
171 Ibid., c. 5.
1 u Ibid.
170 Ibid.

Party of

112

LOUIS A. RYAN

heart of universalism is that it finds the original essence from
which everything proceeds, not in the individual, but in society,
the totality: Society itself is the true reality; the whole is
primary and consequently the individual exists only as a
component of. the whole.173
Mussolini expresses the statist concept of Fascism very
plainly:
The foundation of Fascism is the conception of the State, its
character, its duty, and its aim. Fascism conceives of the State as
an absolute, in comparison with which all individuals or groups are
relative, only to be conceived of. in their relation to the State ...
the Fascist State is itself conscious, and has itself a will and a
personality-thus it may be called the ' ethic' State. 174

With equal directness, II Duce explains the relationship of
Fascism to three essential problems dealt with in this articlethe Christian ethic of love of neighbor, Marxism or Socialism,
and individualism.
Regarding the first, Mussolini maintains that the Fascist
State is not indifferent to the fact of religion in general, or to
that particular and positive faith which is Italian Catholicism.
The State professes no theology, but a morality, and in this
state religion is considered as one of the deepest manifestations
of the spirit of man; thus it is not only respected but defended
and protected. 175 The state is a spiritual and moral fact in itself,
and thus must be in its origins and development a manifestation
of the spirit. It is not only a living reality of the present; it is
also linked with the past and above all with the future, and thus
transcends the brief limits of individual life.176 This concept
of the state gives a distinctively Fascist meaning to the
theology of love of neighbor. The Fascist conceives of life as
duty and struggle and conquest, lived for oneself,
178 Cf.
Landheer, "Othmar Spann's Social Theories," Journal of Political
Economy, XXXIX,
1 70 B. Mussolini, " The Political and Social Theories of Fascism," trans. from
Enciclopedia Italiana (New York: International Conciliation, 1935), p. 13.
175 Ibid., p. 16.
176 Ibid .• p. 14.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

113

but above all for others-those who are at hand and those who are
far distant .... Thus the Fascist loves in actual fact his neighbor,
but this ' neighbor , is not merely a vague and undefined concept,
this love of one's neighbor puts no obstacle in the way of necessary
educational severity, and still less to differentiation of status and
to physical distance. 177

As Mussolini points out, this conception of life makes Fascism
the complete opposite of Marxism. First, Fascism :rejects the
Marxian economic concept of history, and believes, now and
always, in holiness and heroism, "in actions influenced by no
economic motive, direct or indirect." 178 Secondly, Fascism
denies the class-war can be the preponderant force in the transformation of society. Furthermore, after refuting "these two
fundamental concepts of Socialism," Mussolini repudiates the
very conception of the materialist " economic happiness of
Socialism and denies its possibility." 179
Anent liberalism, political and economic, which for Mussolini
is synonomous with individualism, " Fascism has taken up an
attitude of complete opposition." 180 " The absurd conventional
untruth of political equality dressed out in the garb of collective
irresponsibility, and the myth of 'happiness' and indefinite
progress," which Mussolini attributes to democracy and we to
the capitalistic spirit, are likewise discounted. 181
The self-characterization of Fascism as a "religious conception in which man is seen in his immanent relationship with
a superior law and with an objective Will that transcends the
particular individual and raises him to conscious membership
of a spiritual society," 182 its acceptance of Catholicism which it
claims is more than " mere opportunism," 183 its hierarchic
syndicalism akin in concept to the medieval economy-all these
make an evaluatory criticism of the doctrine in the light of the
Ibid., p. 8.
180 Ibid., pp. 9-lO.
Ibid., pp. 8-9.
179 Ibid.
181 Ibid., p. 10.
182 B. Mussolini,
"The Doctrine of Fascism; F'undamental Ideas," The Social and
Political Doctrines of Contemporary Europe, edited by M. Oakeshott (Cambridge:
177

178

1989)' p. 165.
188

Ibid.

8

114

LOUIS A. RYAN

Catholic ethic rather difficult. The etatist concept is at least
one--and decidedly important-point of departure. The social
charity of a theology which refers all man's actions to God cannot
well be reconciled with a system which "repudiates any universal
embrace " and which requires its votaries to accept the state
as " the true reality of the individual," and for which "everything is in the State, and nothing human or spiritual exists,
much less has value, outside the State." 184 The State as
ultimate end is nothing short of self-interest on a national scale,
and thus opposed to charity.

Racism. In his Enoiclopedia Italiana exposition of the doctrine of Fascism, Mussolini expressly excludes the race concept .from his ideology. "Race; it is an emotion, not a reality;
ninety-five per cent of it is emotion." 185 However this may be,
a new sociological concept based on race, and often confused
with Fascism, has captured the attention-and considerably
more--of the contemporary world. The Nazi ideology is
phrased by its greatest exponent, Hitler, thus: "All that is not
race in this world is trash. All world historical events, however,
are only the expression of the races' instinct of self-preservation
in its good or in its evil meaning." 186 The well-springs of this
racist ideology may be detected in the socio-biological doctrine
of Althusius, German theorist of the seventeenth century, in
Sombart, 181 Kant, Fichte/ 88 Hegel, Spengler, and Spann, the
universalist. 189 However, for the definite statement of the
theory as it is inN azism today, we can draw on no better source
that the writings of its celebrated protagonist, Adolph Hitler. 190
The whole philosophy of his racism may briefly be treated
under four concepts which we shall explain singly: the con"'1bid.
Cf. Oakeshott, op. cit., p. 167, note.
188 A. Hitler, Mein Kampf
(New York: Reyna! & Hitchcock, 1989), p. 406.
187 Cf. Der modeme Kapitalismus: Die Jude:n und das Wirtshaftslebe:n.
188 Cf. Reden an die deutsche Nation.
189 Cf. Der wahre Staat.
190 Alfred Rosenberg's Der Mythus
des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts (1980) is a
valuable
for the Nazi "ilieology," which, however, has not yet been translated into English.
1

185

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL

ORDER

115

ception of race itself, the folkish philosophy of life, the concept
of society and the state, and lastly the notion of individuality
and leadership.
The conception of race is founded on what Hitler calls the
"iron logic of Nature,'' nl according to which nature wills to
breed life as a whole towards a higher level. 192 With nature the
highest race is that which is most pure of blood. Accordingly,
" there is only one most sacred human right, and this right
is at the same time the most sacred obligation, namely: to see
to it that the blood is preserved pure, so that by the preservation of the best human material a possibility is given for a more.
noble development of these human beings." 193 Once this
standard is posited, the evident inequality of races has to be
considered; some races are higher and others lower. The highest
people are, according to Hitler, the Aryans, " the original
bearers of human culture," " the actual founders of what we
sum up with the word ' mankind.' " 194 On the other hand, the
people without any true culture are the Jews. 195 Following upon
the two root principles of racism, i. e., the natural principle of
the distinction of races and the historical principle of the
inequality of races, are two important conclusions, the rejection
of the "pacifist-humanist " ideal and the importance of raceconsciousness.196 As for the first, an echo of humanitarianism
and utopian socialism which Hitler abhors, he remarks:
"Therefore, first fight, and then one may see what can be done.
He who wants to live should fight, therefore, and he who does
not want to battle in this world of eternal struggle does not
deserve to be alive." 197 " The Jewish doctrine of Marxism
rejects the aristocratic principle in nature; instead of the
eternal privilege of force and strength, it places the mass of
Mein Kampf, p.
Ibid., p. 390.
193 Ibid., p. 606 (Italics by author).
194 Ibid., p. 397.
195 Ibid., p. 416 :ff.
196 Cf. M. Oakeshott, "Some Notes on the Doctrine of Mein Kampf,"
op. cit.,
191
192

p. 197 ff.
197

Mein Kampf, pp. 395, 397.

116

LOUIS A. RYAN

numbers and its deadweight." 198 Rosenberg, the theologian of
Nazism, expresses the idea even more dramatically:
History and vocation no longer consist in struggle of class against
class, church dogma against dogma, but in struggle between blood
and blood, race and race, people and people .... That history must
be judged from the point of view of race is a truth that will soon
be self-understood .... 199

The folkish state's entire work of education and training has
some day to find its culmination in branding, through instinct
and reason, the race sense and race feeling into the hearts and
brains of the youth with whom it is entrusted. 200
The second concept, the " folkish" philosophy of life, grows
out of the idea of race. The designation" folkish" is similar to
the conception "religious," implying certain basic :realizations/01 which are formulated and put into action by the
Party. 202
The ' folkish ' view recognizes the importance of mankind in its
racially innate elements. In principle, it sees in the state only a
means to an end, and as its end, it considers the preservation of
the racial existence of men. Thus it by no means believes in an
equality of the races, but with their differences it also recognizes
their superior and inferior values, and by this recognition it feels the
obligation, in accordance with the Eternal will that dominates this
universe, to promote the victory of the better and stronger, and to
demand the submission of the worse and the weaker. 203

Accordingly, the Nazis conceive of the state and society, with
their first principle of racial unity, as means to the social
existence of man.
The State is not an assembly of commercial parties in a certain
prescribed space for the fulfillment of economic tasks, but the
organization of a community of physically and mentally equal
human beings for the better possibility of the furtherance of their
Ibid., pp. 83-84.
A. Rosenberg, Der Mythus.
200 Mein Kampf, p. 636.
001 Ibid., p. 575.
202 Ibid., p. 582.
196
100

Quoted by Oakeshott,

003

op. cit., p. 200.

Ibid., pp. 579-580.

CHARITY

AND THE SOCIAL ORDER

117

species as well as for the fulfillment of the goal of their existence
assigned to them by Providence. 204
Just as the folkish philosophy of life recognizes the disparity
of races and stocks and assigns values to them, so also does it
assign different values to individuals within the race. 205 The
first consequence of this recognition of different individual
values is the provision for the purest members of the race to
breed apart from the rest; the obvious corollary of which is the
prevention of reproduction by the unfit. 206 Secondly, individual
personality must be developed and used for the state, leaders
discovered. " The best State constitution and State form is
that which, with the most natural certainty, brings the best
heads of the national community to leading importance and to
leading influence." 207 The means of doing this is the Party
organization, or better, the German Army, "a school for the
mutual understanding and adjustment of all Germans." 208
Thus the fourth essential concept of Nazism-the notion of
individuality and leadership.
With this ideological structure of :racism in mind, we can
better appreciate the relation of Nazism to the Christian ethic
of love of neighbor and the individualist principle of selfinterest.
Regarding the first, we have, first of aU, the statement of
Hitler: " The National Socialist State declares itself for a positive Christianity." 209 Positive Christianity, according to the
exegesis of Rosenberg, is opposed to the negative Christianity
which includes Roman Catholicism and, in a lesser degree,
Protestantism. 210 Had it not been for their conversion to historic Christianity, the Germans, the latter says, would have
developed a new ethical system with honor as its basic principle.

•o• Ibid., p. 195.

•o• Ibid., pp. 661, 668.

•o• Ibid., pp. 608, 611 ff.
Ibid., p. 669.
Ibid., p. 843.
209 Quoted by N. Micklem, National Socialism and the Roman Catholic Church

207

208

(New York: 1939), p. l.
01 ° Cf. Oakeshott,
op. cit .• p. 193, note 1.

ll8

LOUIS A. RYAN

"Unfortunately," they adopted the ideas of Christian love in
the sense of "humility, mercy, subjection, and asceticism,"
a conception of universal love which is a " blow at the soul of
Nordic Europe." 211 The Minister for Church Affairs, Dr.
Kerrl, formulates the race theology thus:
The Church must recognize the supremacy of the State; that
ought. not to be difficult, as the State expressly represents Positive
Christianity. The will of our Father in heaven has been passed into
our Blood; it works through the nation. Everything which National
Socialism is now doing for the community, for the preservation of
the nation, is the doing of the will of God. Our ' neighbour ' is he
who is indicated to us by Blood. 212

Again Rosenberg states: "The German character-values are
the eternal to which everything else must be related .... The
racial soul of the people is the measure of all our thoughts, all
the motions of our will, all our actions; it is the final norm of
our values." 213 His doctrine is summed up in these words
by German Catholic scholars who refuted the Mythus:
The :race-value is the only absolute, the supreme value, from
which all other values derive their status; the concept ' God; in
particular, has only a basis in reality in so far as the 'eternal'
:race-soul is meant. 214

Plainly, there is no place in this doctrine for the ethic of love
of neighbor according to the Catholic ideal.
Apropos of the individualistic doctrine of self-interest, the
basest egoism is attributed by Hitler to the Jews, such as may
be considered representative of the capitalistic class, and more
especially those of the Marxist persuasion. 215 After showing the
Nazi self-preservation instinct of" egoism" to be a sublimated
idealism,Z16 he brands the Jewish instinct of self-preservation
as" pure egoism on the part of the individuals," 217 uncultured,
Quoted by Micklem, op. cit., p. 19.
Quoted ibid., pp. 222-223.
918 Rosenberg, quoted ibid.
2 " Studien zum Mythus des XX Jahrhunderts.
Quoted by Micklem, op. cit., p. 21.
n• Cf. Mein Kampf, p. 449 ff.
217 Ibid., p. 416.
816 Ibid., pp. 407-U.
811

012

CHARITY OF THE SOCIAL ORDER

119

lacking the requisite idealism, parasitic, selfishly crass. Of the
Jew, Hitler writes: "His life is really only of this world, and
his spirit is as alien to true Christianity, for instance, as his
nature was two thousand years ago to the Sublime Founder of
the new doctrine." 218 The egoism of non-Semitic capitalism
may be said to fall under a similar indictment of the Fuehrer,
who credits even Manchester Liberalism with" a basic Jewish
tendency." 219
In summary, we may say, without prejudice to whatever
good there may be in Nazism, that its racist ideology, while a
reaction against the private self-interest of liberalism and the
classist self-interest of Marxism, is yet permeated by a racist
self-interest inimical to the Christian ethic of love which ordains
everything, not to the self, the class, nor the race, but to God.
In Nazism the self-interest principle is simply projected on a
grander scale than heretofore.

*

*

*

Before concluding our survey of the social " isms " opposed
to the Christian love of neighbor, we might, for the sake of
completeness, mention a new form of self-interest ideology
which is gaining recruits today. It comes as a reaction to
individualism and to Fascism and Nazism especially. As if to
free itself from the shackles of the individual, nation, and race,
it parades under the banner of universal democracy, the new
religion of humanity. Its concepts are still too ill-defined, its
creed unformulated, and its protagonists of not sufficient prominence, but the not too distant future may bring it more to the
fore. A recent volume, The City of M an, 220 endorsed by fifteen
liberal signers, may be considered as an introduction to this
new creed which, it seems, represents man's love o£ self without
God on a scale even broader than the racist ideology. A few
excerpts follow:
Ibid., pp. 4S£-23.
Ibid., p. 120.
220 The City of Man: A Declaration on World Dernocracy by the Committee of
Fifteen (New York: 1940).
218

219

120

LOUIS A. RYAN

A new foundation, then, must be laid for a new democracy in the
firm rock of conviction, deep below the moving sand of opinion.
And the concept of a vital democracy must be disassociated from
the notion of a disintegrated liberalism, which is a precursor of
tyranny and a prey to it. There is, indeed, no liberty but one: the
right, which is a duty, of making oneself and others free through
absolute allegiance to the final goal of man .... Democracy, therefore, must be re-defined: no longer the conflicting concourse of
uncontrolled individual impulses, but a harmony subordinated to a
plan; no longer a dispersive atomism, but a purposive organism ....
'Thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.'
These tenets, and the Golden Rule, and Paul's injunction, ' Be ye
members one of another,' comprise the essential sociology and economics of democracy. . . . It is the plenitude of heart-service to a
highest religion embodying the essence of all higher religions ....
Democracy, in the catholicity of its language, interprets and justifies the separate creeds as its own vernaculars .... Democracy is
nothing more and nothing less than humanism in theocracy and
rational theocracy in universal humanism .... 221
LOUIS

A. RYAN, O.P.

St. Mary of the Springs CoUege,
Columbus, Ohio

(Part III will appear in the next issue.)

sn Ibid., passim.

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY
PART

T

m

THE END OF THE STATE:

HAPPINESS

HE reader of this series of articles is by now fully
apprized of our aim-to demonstrate the proposition
that Democracy is, on moral grounds, the best form of
government. But he may wonder why an objective which can
be so simply stated requires us to go to such great lengths in
the way of theoretical analysis. He may even have felt that
the elaborateness of our theoretical effort has carried us away
from rather than toward our stated objective which, after all,
is eminently a practical concern. Since the present article will
be more theoretical than its predecessors, and will appear to
take us still further afield, we feel obliged to explain why the
ambit of our thought must encompass so much to reach the
conclusion we have announced as our goal.
To those who are impatient of this undertaking because it
is remote from the hurly-burly realities of the political upheaval
which has unsettled the whole world, we can appeal only by
repeating the perennial defense of philosophy whenever it has
been charged with retreating from the scene of action. The
work of the philosopher is thought, not action, and it is a work
which some men must do so that the actions at which others
labor can ultimately be guided or judged by reference to the
truth. Action loses its brutality and becomes human only by
regarding itself as an expression of right, not might. Once
this distinction is admitted, once the notion of right is introduced, even in the most rudimentary way, the philosopher is
called into collaboration with the man of action, and it is for
him alone to decide how far it is necessary to go to establish in
:reason the rights his fellow-men would uphold by deeds. How
far either must go is determined by the exigencies of his chosen

121

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

to

sphere-in action,
the risk of life itself; in thought, to the
very edge of the truth that is knowable to man in this life.
There are no more difficult truths for man to know in the
natural order than the existence of God and the subsistence of
the human soul-and their inwardness is difficult to penetrate
even with the light of faith-yet certainly action will be
affected by their affirmation or denial, and any consideration
of rights must reach to these ultimates for their foundation.
In the domain of practical problems, which are never resolved
except by action, the work of the philosopher is necessarily
remote from the sort of judgments which derive from practical
experience or which express the decision of prudence in the
particular case. But however " abstract" and " theoretical"
they may appear to be, the philosopher's judgments are essentially practical so long as they are not simply knowledge, but
directions of action, albeit from afar. Herein lies the distinction between the speculative and the practical philosopher, on
the one hand, and between the practical philosopher and the
man of prudence, on the other. 113
Impatience with speculatively-practical considerations is not
the only source of dissent from what we are trying to do. There
are some who think the proposition about Democracy does not
need to be proved, or that the reasons for its truth are so
obvious that it might almost be regarded as a self-evident principle rather than a conclusion. There are others who think it
is neither self-evident nor capable of being proved, however
much they would like to believe that it is true, for " reasons "
difficult to state. 114 Curiously enough, both types of friendly
criticism require us (though not for the same reason) to go
deeply into traditional political theory, and beyond that into
113 The paradox
that some may find in the phrase " practical philosophy " is
paralleled in the phrase " speculatively-practical " which names the highest level
of practical thought-and also the most distant from action-beneath which the
philosopher qua philosopher cannot go. Cf. our discussion of these matters in
Part I, supra, in THE THOMIST, III, 3, pp. 413, 446-447, and fns. 32, 33, 34. Vd.
also Maritain's discussion of dirigerl!! and cognoscere on the several levels of practical thought, in Science and Wisdom (New York: 1940)., pp. 107 ff.; 222-224.
114 Vd. Professor
O'Neil, "The Unity of the Moral Order," in The New
XV, 3, pp. 280-83.

THE THEORY OF

123

the whole tradition of philosophia perennis: the one, because
its supposition that our thesis needs little, if any, argument to
support it rests upon ignorance of that tradition; the other,
because its supposition that our thesis cannot be demonstrated
rests upon what seems to us to be a misapprehension of some
crucial points in traditional teaching. One type of critic, in
short, does not know or underestimates the difficulties which
the tradition puts in the ' way of this departure in political
theory; whereas the other exaggerates difficulties into insolubilia or wrongly :finds them where they do not really exist.
That is why our undertaking has two responsibilities to discharge: :first, the logical task of demonstrating a conclusion in
terms of true principles; and second, the interpretative task of
showing that the principles on which the demonstration rests
are thoroughly compatible with the central truths in traditional
theory, not only in the sphere of political doctrine narrowly
conceived, but also in any part of philosophy and theology
which has a bearing on the issue.
1. In this article, which concerns happiness as an end beyond
the political common good-as the end of the state itself, in
distinction from the well-being of the state (i.e., the political
common good) as the end of political activity-we must face
what is, perhaps, the most difficult problem in the practical
order: the problem of a plurality of last ends, natural and
supernatural, temporal and, eternal. This will require us to go
beyond politics into ethics,, and beyond the whole of moral
philosophy as a work of natural reason into the dogmas of
faith and their elucidation by theology. Nothing less than an
understanding of last ends can terminate the search for principles in the practical order. The common good, as we defined
it in the preceding Part, is only an intermediate end and, therefore, insufficient by itself to guarantee the truth of conclusions
in the sphere of politics, even though it is their proximate
measure. We must, therefore, look beyond it to the end which
it serves as means.
The problem which we are about to consider is closely related to the problem we dealt with in Part II. Parts II and

124

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER

FARRELL

III taken together constitute our answer to objections which
claim that the thesis about Democracy is not demonstrable.
Once we have removed these objections, we shall be able to
proceed in Parts IV and V to solve difficulties concerning the
demonstration itself. It is important to note this distinction
between demonstrability and demonstration, because in the
first case we are concerned with showing the possibility of a
moral hierarchy of political forms, whereas in the second we
must establish the actual existence of what has been shown to
be possible. The demonstration that Democracy is, on moral
grounds, the best form of government, will be completed when
we have proved the actual separation and cumulative combination of three distinct elements of political justice. The demonstrability of that thesis will be seen, we hope, as a result of
completion in this part of discussions begun in Part II concerning the order of goods, and the disposition of means and
ends. Upon an adequate account of means and ends, and upon
a more elaborate analysis of the order of goods than is usually
given, depends not only the truth, but the intelligibility, of the
political theory we are trying to expound. 115
The statu? of the common good as an ultimate end secundum
quid (i.e., in the restricted sphere of activity which is specifically political) implies that the common good must also be
regarded as an intermediate end which, as such, is then ordained as a means to an end which is ultimate simpliciter. 116
But this truth appears to be compatible with alternative possibilities: (la) that the only end beyond the common good,
which is ultimate simpliciter, is the eternal good of super11 " This has been our insistence
from the very beginning.
" The test of truth
in any practical theory," we wrote, " is the validity of its account of means and
ends. The truth of the theory of Democracy must be made evident in these
terms" (Part I, supra, .Zoe. cit., p. 429). Cf. Part II, supra, in THE THoMIST, III,
4, pp. 590-91.
118 We shall use the phrase "common
good" in only one sense--to signify the
good which is identical with the well-being of a political community.
There is no
difficulty about finding other words to name the various other goods which we have
distinguished from the welfare of a state. Vd. Part II, supra, lac. cit., pp. 599607. A resolute avoida11ce of the ambiguities latent in the phrase "common good "
is an indispensable condition of clarity in the further analysis of the order of goods.

THE THEORY OF

natural beatitude, and (lb) that the notion of a strictly temporal, natural happiness, comprehends nothing but the common
good, viewed as enjoyed by the individual members of a community vs. (2a) that, in addition to supernatural beatitude
as an end beyond the common good, there is natural, temporal happiness, which is also an ultimate end simpliciter, and
(2b) that such happiness is not identical with the common
good, even in so far as the common good is individually
enjoyed, but rather that the common good as so enjoyed is a
constitutive part of individual happiness.
In the first alternative (the two points here being necessarily
conjunctive), the common good is not only the last end secundum quid in the political order, but also in the temporal order
without qualification; there is no higher or greater good in the
natural, temporal life of man than the good of civil life, i.e.,
the common good as the good both of the whole (the community) and of the parts (its individual members).
In the second alternative (the two points being similarly
conjoined), there is a natural and temporal good which is an
end simpliciter, not secundum quid, for although the happiness
here signified is an ultimate end only in the natural, temporal
order, it is in no way a means to the perfect happiness which is
eternal and supernatural beatitude, the two types of happiness
being ends simpliciter in the radically distinct orders of time
and eternity, and requiring for their achievement such radically
distinct means as natural and supernatural causes. Furthermore, what is traditionally called " the good of civil life " cannot signify both the common good and also the end which the
state itself serves as a means. If the phrase is intended to
signify the ultimate temporal end, then it must be construed
as referring to natural happiness in this life.117
117 Two points should be observed here.
(1) The phrase "good of civil life" is
traditionally used with the same ambiguity as "common good," sometil:)'les referring
to the well-being or welfare of the state, and sometimes referring to
good life
of individual men according as that is lived temporally under civil auspices. In
the second signification, "the good of civil life " names happiness, jnst as the phrase
" common good " names happiness when " common " is used to signify a perfecis essentially the same for all men because they all have
tion of human nature

126

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

These basic alternatives pose the problem we must solve.
The dilemma cannot be escaped, for, in the absence of evidence
that a third possibility is conceivable, we are faced with a
perfect contradiction.
The consequences for political theory
of a choice between these alternatives should be immediately
obvious. The theory of Democracy is tenable
if we can
show that a true account of means and ends requires us to
affirm natural happiness as the temporal last end, and to
subordinate thereto the common good as a means. A hierarchy
of political forms, unequal in justice, involves, as we have seen,
several grades of common good as ends (finis effectus) of
political activity. But this by itself is not sufficient as the
condition prerequisite to proving that Democracy is the best
form of government because it effectively establishes the
highest grade of common good. It is also necessary to show
that the several grades of common good are, as means, not
equally efficient in the production of human happiness; in fact,
there must be a perfect correlation between the grade of intrinsic goodness (i.e., justice) possessed by each type of common good (Royal, Republican, and Democratic) as an intermediate end, and the degree of extrinsic goodness (i. e.,
efficiency) it is able to exercise as a means to the ultimate
end simpliciter. Now, if the ultimate end in question be
supernatural and eternal beatitude, such a correlation is
impossible, and there is no way of understanding the
moral inequality of political forms; for every inte:r:mediate
end (such as the state or the common good) must have, as
a means to some more ultimate end, a degree of goodness which
corresponds to its own grade of goodness as an end. It follows,
a common nature or essence. (2) When it is implied, as in the text above, that
the common good is not the end of the state, a distinction already made must be
remembered: that is, between two ways in which the state can be said to have
an end-as a means, and as an agent. What we have called the ideal, as opposed
to the existential, common good (finis causa, not finis effectus) can be the end
of the state as an agent in the sphere of political activity; but when the state is
regarded as a means, through which the primary political agents (human individuals) work for an end more ultimate than the common good, then that end
obviously cannot be the common good itself, but is happiness. Vd. Part II, supra,
loa. cit., pp. 619-21.

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY

127

therefore, that unless there is natural, temporal happiness as an
ultimate good which is more or less efficiently served by
diverse forms of government according to the grade of common
good they establish, the gradation of common goods becomes
unintelligible even if we can show that such inequalities in
political justice actually exist. 118 Hence the proof that there is
a natural happiness which subordinates the common good in
the temporal order, and the account of what such happiness is,
are the main tasks that we must undertake in this Part in
order to complete the analysis begun in Part Il. 119
118 So long as its form of government
is just, and thereby establishes, preserves,
and promotes the common good, the State may cooperate with the Church (as an
instrumental cause in the service of a principal cause) to the end of man's salvation. Political institutions by themselves (i. e., apart from their instrumental
causality) cannot function as means to the supernatural end of eternal beatitude.
Furthermore, it makes no difference to the efficiency of the State, functioning as a
means through instrumental causality, whether it is more or less just, i.e., whether
the grade of common good it exhibits is more or less perfect. It is generally understood that the Church exercises an attitude of indifference toward the several forms
This is usually interof good government, regarding each as equally acceptable.
preted to mean that the several forms of good government are really all equally
good on moral grounds, and differ inter se only through being more or less adapted
to the conditions of a people living under certain historic circumstances, or as
varying in the degree of efficiency with which they achieve the same common
good. But another interpretation is possible, namely, that the Church's indifference arises from its viewing political institutions as instrumental means toward
the supernatural end, in which case, of course, the several good forms of government are equally dispositive.
This · interpretation,
accords with the
analysis, given in Part II, of the moral inequality among states as more and less
just, and requires the analysis we are about to make; for though states which are
unequally just serve equally as instrumental means to the supernatural last end,
which is eternal beatitude, they do not serve equally as among the principal means
to the natural last end, which is temporal happiness.
119 The points just emphasized
were indicated in Part II: that the common good
is not identical with happiness (loc. cit., p. 605); that the common good is subordinated to happiness as means to end (ibid., pp. 607-609, 619-20, and fns. 58 and
60); that temporal happiness is the end implied in the proof, from final causality,
that the state is natural (ibid., p. 610); that there is a diversity of last ends within
the analogy of happiness according to the diversity of time and eternity, nature and
supernature (ibid., pp. 593, ,634, and fn. 92); and that temporal happiness must
be defined in a manner analogous to Boethius's conception of eternal happiness as
the state of those made perfect by the possession of all good things (ibid., pp. 62628). But careful readers will remember that we explicitly said in Part II that
"in this discussion, we shall assume that there is a happiness in the temporal
order as well as in the eternal.
The truth of that assumption, and the fuller

128

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

But it is not merely in order to complete the analysis begun
in Part II, that we must devote ourselves to these tasks. There
is the additional obligation of meeting that objection to the
demonstrability of Democracy, which arises from supposing
that the only last end simpliciter is eternal beatitude, that the
last end in the temporal order is only an end secundum quid,
i.e., an intermediate end, and that this intermediate end is the
common good, which is the greatest good that men can enjoy
in this life. Sometimes this supposition derives from what we
hold to be a false interpretation of the traditional saying that
there are only three goods: individual, common, and Divine. 120
Sometimes it is based on an erroneous conception of what the
unity of the moral order requires so far as means and end are
concerned-such notions, for instance, as that there can be
analysis of the plurality of common goods in relation to the unity of temporal
happiness, belongs to Part ill " (ibid., p. 595) . The respective problems of Parts
II and III are so intimately related that we found it " impossible not to anticipate "
(in Part II) "matters which will be more fully discussed later." Vd. ibid., pp.
590-91.
120 We have already shown that the ambiguity
of such words as " individual "
and " common " makes this tripartite classification of goods false if it be too
simply understood. When " happiness " is understood as an existentially individual good which is essentially common, when the "individual good " is understood as an existentially individual good which is accidental and hence not common
to all who share a common nature, when the " common good" is understood as a
good which is existentially as well as essentially common, it will be seen that an
adequate account of the order of goods involves more than three terms, because
there is the Divine good (in which eternal beatitude consists) as well as temporal
happiness. Cf. Part II SUpTa, loc. cit., pp. 606-607. rhe last point, of course,
remains to be proved.
The consequences of an ina,dequate analysis are momentous. Accepting them,
Father J. F. McCormick concludes that the profound error of tobilitarianism can
be avoided only by referring man to God. " Without this ultimate reference to
God, it is not possible to rescue the individual man from total immersion in the
community. On the plane of pure naturalism the community is the highest good,
and man is necessarily subjected to the highest good" (Proceedt'ngs of the American Catholic Philosophical Association, XV, P·.
Cf. fns. 18 and 58 supra.
With no intention of defending the hypothesis of "pure naturalism,'' we, nevertheless, hope to show, in the order of purely natural goods, however these are attained,
that the well-being of the community is not the highest good, but rather the individual happiness of human persons in this life. And this will make intelligible the
status of the common good as a natural means, for a natural means must have a
natural end.

THE THEORY OF

129

only one last end simpliciter, despite the radical diremption
between man's life in time and eternity; or that the unity of
the Christian life abolishes this diremption. 121 Whatever its
source, we hold the supposition to be false, and in attempting
to defend its opposite, we hope to be able, not merely to refute
an er:mr, but to reinterpret traditional doctrine on some of the
extremely difficult points which are involved.
We shall proceed in the following order. In the immediately
subsequent section (2), we shall try to prove that temporal
happiness is; then (in 3) we shall try to show what natural
happiness is, both in itself and by analogy with supernatural
and eternal beatitude; and also what natural, temporal happiness is not, by distinction from the common good, on the one
hand, and from contemplation, on the other. This completed,
we must turn (in 4) to consider whether natural perfection can
be naturally attained by a creature whose powers have fallen
below the level of their natural aptitude and here, obviously,
will arise all the questions concerning the cooperation of
natural and supernatural means as working toward both
natural and supernatural ends; then (in 5) we shall try to
resolve the paradox that the state, which is a means to temporal happiness, seems nevertheless to subordinate the individual life to its own welfare by reason of the supposed priority
121 Vd. the question put to us by Professor Charles O'Neil
(loc. cit.), as challenging our thesis. We have already pointed out (vd. fn. 4la supra) that we think
the analysis, begun in Part II and completed in this Part, completely answers Dr.
O'Neil's question, and removes the difficulties he supposes stand in the way of a
demonstration of Democracy. Let us say at once that a duality of last ends,
temporal and eternal, does not mean that they are coordinate; on the contrary, as
we shall show, eternal beatitude is the supreme human good and temporal happiness is at its best imperfect. But an imperfect last end simpliciter is never a
means, even though it must be ordered to a perfect last end, as any inferior good is
ordered to a superior. A good which is ordered as a means to an end is, of course,
inferior to the good which is the end; but this relation of inferiority is not the
same as the inferiority of an imperfect last end to a perfect last end. An intermediate end is always a means; but an imperfect last end, thought it is a subordinate and inferior good, is never a means. Failure to make such indispensable
distinctions accounts for Dr. O'Neil's difficulties. Vd. our prior discussion of means
and ends, in Part II, supra, lac. cit., pp. 588-90. Cf. Maritain, Science and Wisdom
(New York: 1940), pp. 179-80;

9

130

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

of the good of the whole over the good of a part; and we shall
conclude (in 6) by showing the bearing of this analysis on the
theory of Democracy.*
As the foregoing outline indicates, we cannot avoid theological problems because any discussion of natural happiness
must be related to the central Christian dogma of man's fall.
In the practical order, genuinely directive truth cannot be
achieved in terms of a false hypothesis concerning the actual
state of human nature. But though the hypothesis of uncorrupted nature must lead to false practical conclusions about
what men can and should do to attain their end, it does not,
however, falsify a purely theoretical analysis of what man's
natural end is. To prevent misunderstanding on the part of
impatient readers, let us at once make two points which should
throw the whole discussion into clearer perspective. (1) The
proof that natural happiness is and the definition of what it is
can be undertaken without any reference to the dogma of
man's fall, for the natural end must be understood in terms of
the nature, even though the actual condition of the nature
puts difficulties in the way of its accomplishing its end by the
unaided exercise of natural powers, or the use of purely natural
means. Hence, the difficult theological question about the
indispensability of grace in relation to the natural, as well as
to the supernatural, end does not arise until we come to Section 4 where the problem of how natural happiness can be
achieved is discussed. (2) The theological difficulties which
arise in this connection would be exactly the same if the common good, rather than happiness, were the ultimate good to
be achieved in the temporal order. The actual condition of
man's nature would present the same obstacles to his attaining
by purely natural means, or unaided powers, the good which is
due his nature, whether " the good of civil life " be interpreted
as the community's welfare or the perfection of a human being
in this life. The resolution of these theological difficulties (as
" EDIToR's NoTE: The whole of Part III is too long for publication in a single
issue. The last three of the six sections indicated in the above outline of Part ill,
will be published in the next issue (April) .

THE THEORY OF DEThdOCRACY

131

to means) may not be completely satisfactory, because no
answers men can give, however free from contradiction, ever
penetrate ultimate mysteries so that the truth is fully comprehensible to us. But the mystery of the cooperation of natural
and supernatural causes working toward a natural end is the
same whatever this natural end may be. Hence, the residue of
mystery at the heart of our analysis is no argument against
the conclusion that it is individual happiness rather than the
social welfare which is the ultimate good in the temporal order.
2. The proposition to be proved, that there is a natural
perfection of human life which can be properly called happiness in the temporal order, can be proved prior to a definition
of what constitutes such happiness. What is to be proved is a
good having certain formal. properties: it is a good (a) proportionate to man's nature, (b) capable of realization in this
life, (c) an end simpliciter and, therefore, not a means to any
further end or greater good (to say which is not to deny that
there is a greater good), and (d) an end which subordinates
the common good. The last two points may appear redundant, but it is necessary to insist that the common good
cannot satisfy the formal requirements of a last end in the
temporal order.1Z2
We shall proceed with the proof in three stages. (I) Since
what is being proved is a natural end, we shall first consider
arguments which depend entirely upon facts known to natural
reason. (2) We shall then show that these arguments, and the
conclusion they establish, are in no way incompatible with
122 We shall use the word "happiness"
without qualification usually to refer to
the greatest natural and temporal human good just as we shall use the word
" beatitude" to refer to the supernatural and eternal perfection of man. It will
be necessary sometimes to use both of these words with distinguishing qualifications, as when we shall have to compare perfect and imperfect happiness, or natural
and supernatural beatitude; but there will be no confusion so long as it is remembered that the phrase " perfect happiness " is synonymous with " beatitude "
and that "imperfect happiness " signifies what is meant by the word "happiness "
when that is used without any qualification. Any deviations from the usages indicated will be noted when they occur. Thus, whenever we speak of "the analogy
of happiness " the context will make plain that " happiness " is being used to
name what is common to perfect and imperfect happiness.

132

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

what Christian faith teaches concerning another last end, i. e.,
beatitude, which is superior to the happiness of this life. (3)
Finally, we shaH confirm our conclusion by explaining the
subordination of the common good to happiness.
(1) The binding force of what seems to us to be adequate
proof derives from a single fact-the naturalness of the state
or political community. As we have already shown, following
Aristotle, the state is not natural in the order of efficient or
formal causality, but only in the order of material and final
causality, and here primarily in the order of final causes. 123
But what is natural in the order of final causality may be
natural either as an end, or as a means, or as both. What is
natural as an end is a good which corresponds to some natural
desire-its proportionate object. What is natural as a means
is a good which is indispensable to the attainment of a natural
end. Now the state, like the family and the village, corresponds to the desire of man's social nature to live with his
fellows in permanent association. Hence association is itself
an intrinsic good, an object of natural desire and, as such, an
end. But this does not exhaust the nature or naturalness of
any community, for, as Aristotle says, "every community is
established with a view to some good." 124 One community is
higher than another according as the good it aims at, the end
it serves, is greater. 125 Now, the domestic community is that
"association established by nature for the supply of men's
everyday wants"; and the association of families to form a
123 Vd. Part II, rnpra, lac. cit., pp. 609-18.
The Aristotelian analysis is to be
found, of course, in Politics, I, l,
and esp. at
B< Politics, I, l,
125 " If all communities
aim at some good, the state or political community, which
is the highest of all, and which embraces all the rest, aims at good in a greater
degree than any other, and at the highest good" (Politics, I, 1,
Aristotle here suggests two principles of gradation among communities as higher and
lower: (l) that the higher aim at the same good as the lower, but in a greater
degree; and (2) that the higher aim at a greater good. The first of these principles
does not specify communities as essentially distinct in type. If the state, for example, were merely more efficient than the family in serving the same end, it could
not be regarded as a more perfect type of community than the family. It is a
more perfect type of community because (according to the second principle) it
serves a greater good (which is its specifying end).

THE THEORY OF

133

village community "aims at something more than
supply
126
of daily needs."
The state, or political community, has a
higher aim than these, for " when several villages are united
in a single complete community, large enough to be nearly or
quite self-sufficing, the state comes into existence, originating
in the bare needs of life, and continuing in existence for the
sake of a good life." 127 Thus we see two things: first, that no
human association is natural merely as an
always also
as a means to some good for which men voluntarily
liberately associate themselves
contrast to
stinctive gregariousness of brutes);
which makes the state
as an indispensable means is not
life itself (i. e., subsistence and the satisfaction of
needs), but a good life (i.e., a life perfected
of goods appropriate to men, not
specific difference in their natures) .
tion
and
simply be no need for the state over
above
village community, except perhaps as a more "'"·''-"·"'All"
the same end (i.e., subsistence and the
sire), in which case the state would not
120 Politics, I, !il, l25QbH!, 15.
What is here being said is that the family is,
according to the nature of man's economic insufficiency in a solitary condition,
naturally indispensable as a means to his subsistence.
The village community,
strictly speaking, does not have a different end, but merely is a more efficient
means to the same end, because of greater division of labor, etc. Vd. fn .. l\!5 supra.
Hence the family and the village are not specifically distinct, but differ only in
degree.
This signifies that the state is not merely a more efficient
" 7 Ibid., 125£bQ7-30.
means toward the end of subsistence, in which respect the village exceeds the family,
but that it is also distinguished from the latter two by serving an end they cannot
aim at-namely, a good life. Hence the distinguishing mark of the naturalness of
the state is that it is, according to the nature of man, indispensable as a means
toward the end of his leading a good life, i. e., a specifically human life. Whereas
the village is merely more efficient than the family (serving the same good to a
greater degree), the state, in addition to being still more efficient in serving that
same good (because it is larger, can have a greater division of labor, etc.), is
specifically distinct because it serves a greater good, one that neither of the inferior
communities serves at alL Hence, although three communities can be distinguished,
there is, strictly spealdng, only one essential distinction in type-between family
and village, on the one hand, and state, on the other.

134

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

from these other communities. And if there were no additional
need for the state, it would not be necessary in the order of final
causality, for it is only as a means to an end which family and
village cannot serve that the state has its peculiar naturalness
and special necessity. Now there is such a need because a
rational animal can either merely live in a manner analogous to
,brute subsistence, or can also live well in a specifically human
manner which exceeds the entire range of brute life. But what
we mean by a good human life, a life made perfect by the possession of specifically human goods, by the satisfaction of man's
natural desires, is happiness. Therefore, we must conclude that
there is a purely natural happiness for man, constituted by
goods proportionate to his specific nature, for if that were not
so, then the state itself would not be natural, for it would have
no necessity as a means to an end which distinguished it from
less perfect natural communities. Since we cannot deny that
the state is natural, and specifically distinct from family and
village by reason of the natural end it serves, we cannot deny
the existence of such an end, happiness in this life.
This proof is complete. Nothing need be added to establish
the truth of its conclusion in the order of natural reason. As
we shall subsequently see, the truths of faith concerning man's
suspernatural destiny do not, and cannot, abolish this truth,
though its significance may be profoundly altered. What the
pagan Aristotle affirms-in the light of purely natural knowledge, and with nothing but natural goods in view-must be
affirmed by any Christian thinker. who agrees with Aristotle
that the state is the perfect, natural community, for it would
not be natural if it did not have a natural end, and it would
not be perfect if this end were not the complete good of human
life. What must be affirmed, as the end which naturally necessitates the state, is happiness, and happiness cannot be identified with the common good, for the common good is the
well-being of the community itself. (albeit a good commonly
enjoyed by its individual members), whereas happiness is the
well-being of a human life.1:28 That Aristotle understood the
'"" Vd. Part IT, supra, Zoe. cit., pp. 599-607. The common good is primarily the

THE THEORY OF

135

end of the state to be happiness is confirmed not only by the
fact that the "good life" of which he speaks in the Politics is
obviously what he uses " happiness " to name in the Ethics;
but also by many clear passages in the Politics itself in which
he explicitly speaks of happiness as the end of the state. 129 Nor
is this interpretation of Aristotle's thought in any way altered
by the oft-quoted and much misconstrued passages in which
he says that the good of the whole is greater than the good of
its parts; for these do not, and cannot mean, that the common
good is greater than happiness, or that, in the purely natural
goodness of the political community as an end of natural desire; it, therefore,
cannot be the end which the state serves as a means. Cf. ibid., pp.
But
the state is not an end in itself; it is an intermediate end, an end secundum quid,
and, therefore, it must be a means. But if it is natural as a means, it must serve
a natural end. This fundamental truth, that means and ends must be in the
same order, as causes are, does not violate another truth, that natural means or
causes may be instrumentally elevated to the service of supernatural ends. When it
functions as a principal, not as an instrumental, means, the state must have a
natural, temporal end, for it functions principally as a natural and temporal means.
That end, as we have shown, is happiness, an end simpliciter, not an intermediate
end, not an end secundum quid.
'"" Vd. II, 5,
in which he criticizes Plato for depriving the guardians
of happiness, and for supposing that the only end is the " happiness " or well-being
of the state itself. The fact that he himself speaks in other places (III, 6,
and VII, l,
of the happiness of the state, as well as the happiness of individuals, does not argue that they are the same existentially, but only that the
word " happiness " is used as synonymous for " well-being" or "welfare," and the
state, which has some being, has its own characteristic well-being and welfare, just
as individual men do. Even when he says (as in VII, 1) that the happiness of
individuals and of states is the same, he does not mean that they are existentially
identical, but only that they are analogically the same, since each is a well-being,
though not the goodness of the same sort of being. In the other passage (III, 6),
where he says that happiness is the chief end of individuals and states, he can be
interpreted to mean either that each sort of being (the community and the individual man) has its own appropriate perfection, or that both the state and its
individuals work for the same end, i. e., the happiness of men. That the latter is
his primary meaning is shown by his explicit statement that the state exists for
happiness or the good life: " a state exists for the sake of a good life, and not for
the sake of life only; if life only were the object, slaves and brute animals might
form a state, but they cannot, for they have no share in happiness or in a life of
"the state is the union of families and villages
free choice" (III, 9,
for the sake of a perfect and self-sufficing life, by which we mean a happy and
honorable life" (ibid.,
And finally he tells us that "the best form of
government is one under which every man, whoever he is, can act best and live
happily" (Vll, 2,

136

M, J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

order and without any reference beyond it, the state is the ultimate good or end, and man is ordained to its service as a
rneans. 130
130 The two capital
texts which, as wrongly interpreted, make Aristotle to be,
like Plato, an exponent of totalitarianism on philosophical grounds, are: Ethics, I, !(!,
l094b7-l0: "Even if the end is the same for a single man and for a state, that of
the state seems at all events something more complete and greater, whether to
attain or preserve "; and Politics, I, 2, 1253"19-20: "The state is by nature clearly
prior to the individual, since the whole is of necessity prior to the part." Cf.
ibid., III, 17, l28Sa:z'7. Now, that these passages cannot be interpreted simply to
mean that the common good is naturally a greater good than happiness follows
from the incompatibility of such interpretation with the truth about the very
nature of the state itself-as a means naturally ordained to the happiness of men.
What is so ordained obviously cannot be a greater good than the end it serves.
Moreover, on metaphysical grounds, as we have shown, the well-being or goodness
of a substantial being (a man) is necessarily greater than the well-being of an
accidental being (a state). Nor can this truth be evaded by those who would say
that the state has metaphysical priority over its human members because it is
related to them as form is to matter; for, as we have shown, the state is an accidental form (of organization) inhering in a plurality of associated substances, and
substance always has more being than accident even though substance is said to
ibe related to accident as matter is to form. Cf. fn. 58 and 60, supra. Not every
sort of form is prior to its matter, but only substantial form to prime matter.
Not every whole is prior to every part, in being or goodness, but only a substantial
whole to its substantial parts. For Plato to make the error of treating the state as
if \t were a substantial organism, and its human members as organic parts, may be
corldonable, but there can be no excuse for Aristotle or Aristotelians, in view of
their metaphysical understanding of substance and accident in being and unity.
How, then, shall these troublesome passages be interpreted?
We suggest, in
the first place, that the context of the passage in the Ethics reveals that Aristotle
is simply saying that the happiness of many men is greater than the happiness of a
single man; that, in short, he is using the word " state " here distributively to
signify the multitude of individual men, each of whom is entitled to happiness.
And, in the second place, we suggest that, since the state is an indispensable means
to the happiness of its members, individual men must, in seeking that end for
themselves-and everything naturally desires its own perfection- must seek it
through the preservation of the state's common good as a necessary means. Certain paradoxes arise from these facts, as well as from the mixture of selfishness
and altruism ( love of one's fellow man) which enters into pursuit of happiness. We
shall deal with these later in Section 5, infra; here let it be said that a paradox
can be explained, but not a contradiction.
Those who make the state the last
end in the temporal order, or the common good the highest natural good, are
involved in contradicting the very nature of the state as a means ordained to the
happiness of individual men, that happiness being necessarily, through such ordination, a natural and temporal good itself. Vd. the position of Father McCormick
(lac. cit.) and all others who so interpret the innumerable passages in St. Thomas
where he speaks of the state as a whole and human beings as parts.

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY

137

Before we turn now to a Christian interpretation of the
conclusion which has been proved, let us observe one point of
great significance for contemporary discussion. Aristotle's
analysis of the naturalness and necessity of the state, which
implies not only the reality of temporal happiness, but also the
ordination of state to man as means to end, did not and could
not appeal to the truths of the Christian religion. Even as a
matter of natural knowledge, Aristotle did not understand God
as the creator of man, nor did he ever assert unequivocally the
self-subsistence of a separated souL If his argument is quite
sound without appealing to these truths, then the fact that
Christian knowledge of man's relation to God, both in origin
and in end, confirms the dignity of man as an end to be served
by the state, cannot be interpreted as indicating truths essential to the argument itself. It is currently said, again and
again, that the dignity of man cannot be affirmed apart from
the truths of revealed religion, which show man to be created
in God's image and to be destined to eternal salvation. These
facts certainly increase man's dignity among earthly creatures,
but they are not requisite for establishing that dignity, if what
is meant is his worth as an end which subordinates the state to
his service ..130 • That can be defended today, as it was argued by
130 " Man's dignity-his
inalienable worth as an end-is known as a natural truth
flowing entirely from the fact that man, being rational, is a person (i. e., an individual substance of rational nature).
Hence human nature has a mode of subsistence which differs ip. metaphysical type from the subsistence of every other
corporeal nature. Individuals which are not pers0ns lack the dignity of end, for
they are but fragments of the species to which they belong and for whose perpetuation they are generated and generate in turn. Whether or not, as in the case of
some brutes, such substances are gregarious and belong to the organized whole of
a social group, any completely corporeal substance is a part of the unorganized
whole which is the species. In contrast, an individual person is a subsistent whole,
superior to the accidental whole which is a society, as well as rising above the
species. The fact that man needs the state for biological as well as moral reasons,
and the fact that man, being an animal as well as rational, is concerned with the
perpetuation of his species, are not inconsistent with his status as a person-as a
whole and an end-for man, unlike the angels, is a corporeal, not a spiritual, person. Vd. Fr. G. Phelan, "Person and Liberty," in the P1·oceedings of the American
Catholic Philosophical Association, XVI, pp. 53-69, esp. pp. 59-65. In short, it is
the rationality of a rational animal which, in conferring the lowest degree of personality on man, also co_nstitutes the only individual and corporeal substance that
has the dignity of an end.

138

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

Aristotle, entirely in terms of the nature of the state as flowing
from man's nature as a rational animal. Natural reason, in
short, suffices to refute the error of totalitarianism, though revealed religion augments the refutation by what faith teaches
concerning the significance of man's rationality. 131
(2) Aristotle affirms only one last end simpliciter-happiness. The Christian affirms two, one an object of natural
knowledge and intention (happiness), the other an object of
supernatural faith and hope (beatitude). It may be objected
131 One cause of misunderstanding
about this matter is that man's rationality is
at once a premise for two independent conclusions; on the one hand, that he has a
self-subsistent soul; on the other, that the state is necessary as a means to provide the conditions of a good human life, as opposed to a merely animal life. (A
rational soul is incorruptible; hence from the fact of rationality we can argue to
immortality.
But a rational soul also constitutes a corporeal person; hence from
the same fact of rationality, we can also argue to man's dignity as an end, subordinating the state as a means. Vd. fn. 130a supra.) Now the fact that two
conclusions follow necessarily from the same premise does not permit us to
say, in sound logic, that one of these conclusions follows necessarily from the
other. Yet that is precisely what is said by those who make man's immortality,
and the destiny it implies, an indispensable premise from which to argue to
man's .dignity as an end to be served by the state. All of man's natural rights
flow from his nature as a rational animal. They do not depend on his having
an immortal soul except in so far as self-subsistence of soul is implicated in a
rational nature. It is true, however, to say that no one can consistently deny
man's immortality and at the same time claim to demonstrate man's dignity or
natural rights, because if two conclusions are implied by the same premise, the
denial of either conclusion requires the denial of the common premise on which
the other conclusion depends f01; its proof. (To be logically exact, we must add
the qualification that the additional premises, differing in each case, be unquestioned. Thus, let P stand for a major premise which is common to two syllogisms;
pl for
for the different minor premises with which it is conjoined in these
two syllogisms; and Cl and C2 for the two conclusions respectively.
Then, on
the condition that pl and p2 are not questioned, the denial of C2 requires the
denial of P, and this removes the proposition which, as major premise along with pl
as minor premise, is indispensable for the proof of Cl. The proposition about
man's rational nature is P, the common major premise; C2 is the conclusion that
man's soul is self-subsistent; and Cl the conclusion that man is an end to be
served by the state. Now, on the condition indicated, the denial of C2 requires
the denial of P, indispensable to the proof of Cl.)
The point we have just made belongs in the order of knowledge, not of action.
We have said only that man's dignity can be known apart from revealed religion,
not that it can· be successfully defended in practice (as opposed to argument)
without the supernatural aid which nature needs to achieve even the good which
befits it. We shall return to this matter in Section 4 infra.

THE THEORY OF

139

at once that this cannot be so because two last ends simpliciter
are impossible. The objection arises from a failure to distinguish two ways in which goods can be ordered to one another:
as means to end, and as inferior to superior. While it is true
that every good which is a means is inferior to the good which
is its end, it is not true that every inferior good is ordered as a
means to the good which is its superior. Thus, for example,
the habit of science is inferior in the goodness which belongs to
virtue, to the habit of justice, the one being a secondary, the
other a cardinal virtue; but science is not ordained as a means
to justice. Similarly the happiness which belongs to this life,
and which is called by St. Thomas " imperfect happiness," is
inferior as happiness to beatitude, or perfect happiness; but
this does not make the one a means to the other. Now what is
good entirely as end, and nowise as means, must be regarded as
an end simpliciter; it cannot be an intermediate end, or end
secundum quid. Objection to the notion of two last ends
simpliciter arises from the supposition that every inferior good
must somehow be a means to some superior good. That supposition being clearly false, the objection is removed. 131 • We are
not saying that it is easy to understand the relation which
obtains between an inferior and a superior last end (simpliciter), especially with concern for the unity of man's moral
life. But that is a problem we shall deal with later. Here we
wish only to show that Christianity in proclaiming man's
supreme end to be beatitude does not, and cannot, deny happiness as the analogous good of man's natural life on earth-a
131 • Vd. Summa TheOl. I-II, q. 1, a. 5, where St. Thomas says, per contra, that
"it is impossible for one man to have several last ends not ordained to one
another."
This impossibility certainly excludes two natural last ends, for they
could not be ordained to one another either as means to end or as inferior to
superior good. But there is nothing at all impossible about the duality of a natural
and a supernatural last end, for though the former cannot be directed to the
latter as a means, it is subordinated to the latter as an inferior. Moreover, the
motions by which man tends simultaneously toward these two last ends are
accomplished by natural and supernatural acts. The will cannot tend naturally
to more than one last end, but it can be activated by supernatural, as well as
natural, tendency. As resti.fied by the natural virtues, the will tends toward an
end which is other than the end for ordination to which it must be elevated by
charity and the infused virtues. Vd. fn. 136 infra.

140

M, J. ADLER AND WALTER

FARRELL

last end simpliciter, though subordinated to beatitude as imperfect to perfect in the same analogous genus. 132 For the sake of
brevity, we shall merely indicate the relevant evidence under
thefollowing four headingso
(a) Church and State. Church and State differ in two ways
that are related: in mode of origin and in end. The State is
130 Much of the difficulty
about means and ends is due to the inadequacy or
imprecision of the vocabulary we use to make the distinctions.
As a result we do
not make enough distinctions or make them clearly enough. Ignoring goods which
are mere means, let us consider goods which are entirely ends or both means and
ends. Now here there are two principles of distinction, which are independent of
one another.
(l) The distinction between end secundum quid and end simpliciter,
according as the end is also a means to some further end, or entirely an end.
(2) The distinction between a superior and an inferior end, whether it be secundum
quid or simplic:iter. Now the trouble is that such words as "intermediate" and
" subordinate " are used as if they were synonymous.
Yet an end might be subordinate in the sense of being inferior, but not be intermediate because it is an
end simplic:iter rather than secundum quid. Maritain, for example, seems to use
these words interchangeably; and sometimes speaks of an "infravalent end" though
it is not easy to tell when he means, by this phrase, an intermediate end, such as
the common good, or a subordinate last end, such as natural happiness.
The
difficulty is complicated by the fact that all intermediate ends are subordinate
(because means are inferior as goods to their ends); whereas subordinate ends need
not be intermediate, as in the case of happiness.
Furthermore, the phrase
"secundum quid" is sometimes interpreted to mean "in the temporal order"in which case, the happiness which is the last end simpliciter in the temporal
order should also be called a last end secundum quid; but this would violate the
distinction between secundum quid and simpliciter as signifying an end which is
also a means, and an end which is not. ·we suggest, therefore, that this confusing
vocabulary be renovated to conform to the basic distinctions.
The only words
we really need are: " intermediate" and '"final," "imperfect" and "perfect."
Ends are either intermediate or final, and either sort of end may be imperfect or
perfect (imperfect and perfect ,virtues, as intermediate ends; imperfect and perfect
happiness, as final ends) . If in certain cases synonyms cannot be avoided, then let
it be understood that " secundum quid " signifies intermediacy, that " simpliciter "
means inferior, though
signifies finality, that "subordinate" or "infravalent"
not necessarily as a means is inferior to an end, for it can signify simply the
relation of the imperfect to the perfect in the same analogous genus. The phrase
"last end " is also ambiguous because it can be used to name either an end which
is last secundum quid or simpliciter, but if it is used without qualification it
should be interpreted to mean a genuinely final end. The opposition of " absolutely" and "relatively," in St. Thomas's reference to beatitude as the last end
absolutely and to temporal happiness as the last end relatively, imports nothing
new, but in this case "absolutely" must not be regarded as a synonym for
" simpliciter," nor " relatively " for " secundum quid."

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY

141

naturally generated and serves a natural end, whereas the
Church has a supernatural foundation and serves a supernatural end. These institutions or associations are specified by
their ends, just as the natural virtues are specifically divided
against the supernatural virtues in terms of end. Now if a
natural end were to be denied, the State would have no end to
serve as a principal means; it could function only as an instrumental means, entirely subalternated to the Church, in the
work of saving souls. And the common good cannot be the
natural end of the State, because even if we think of the com-·
mon good as the ideal perfection toward which the State itself
tends, the State as· perfect is still a means, and must serve an
end beyond itself-beyond its own well-being-and this is the
happiness of men, the welfare of individuals
this life. Nothing else is both final and natural as an end. 133
(b) Natural and supernatural virtues. Like Church and
State in the sphere of institutions, natural and supernatural
133 Cf. Pope Leo XIII, in lmmortale Dei: "The Almighty, therefore, has appointed
the charge of the human race between two powers, the one being set over divine, the
other over human, things. . . . One of the two has for its proximate and chief
object the well-being of this mortal life; the other the everlasting joys of salva"tion." And Pope Pius XII, in Summi Pontificatus: "As our great predecessor,
Leo XIII, wisely taught in the Encyclical lmmortale Dei, it was the Creator's
will that civil sovereignty . . . should facilitate the attainment in the temporal
order, by individuals, of physical, intellectual, and moral perfection; and should
aid them to reach their supernatural end." Note here the distinction between the
State functioning as principal means toward the natural end, and as instrumental
means, assisting toward the supernatural end. In the next paragraph, Pope Pius
speaks of the " common good" not as the prosperity of the State itself, but as
" the harmonious development and the natural perfection of man. It is for this
perfection that society is designed by the Creator as a means." Though " common
good" is here used in one of the senses we have relinquished (vd. Part II, supra,
at pp. 599-604), the analytical intention of the passage quoted is not at variance.
Cf. Maritain, The; Things That are not Caesar's (New York: 1931), pp. 5, 1Q5;
True Humanism (New York: 1938), pp. 90-95, 169-173; Scholasticism and Politics (New York; 1940), pp. QQ5-Q8. Throughout all these passages in which Maritain clearly distinguishes between the temporal and the eternal ends, respectively
the ends of State and Church, he does not distinguish clearly enough between that
meaning of the phrase " common good " in which it names the intermediate end
(bonum communitatis) that is identical with the well-being of the State itself (and
as such not the end of the State) and the meaning in which it is synonymous with
"happiness "-the tatum bene vivere which is possible to men on earth.

142

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

virtues are divided, in the sphere of habits, according as they
function, respectively, as principal means to natural and supernatural ends. Here, too, there is a difference in origin which
corresponds to the difference in end: one type of virtue can be
naturally acquired, the other is supernaturally infused. We
need not consider here whether perfect possession of the natural
virtues is within the competence of fallen man without the
assistance of grace; or whether, as subalternated by the infused
virtues, theacquired virtues function, in instrumental causality,
as means to an end beyond their natural scope. The only point
is that the possibility of natural virtue implies the possibility
of a natmal end-an end which is just as proportionate to
man's nature as these virtues are as means. Moreover, it follows that to whatever extent the natural virtues do exist, and
under whatever conditions they are acquired, the natural end
to which they are ordained must be realized. Now this end is
not the common good, for only one of the virtues regards the
commonweal directly/ 34 Even though all the acquired virtues
are also called social virtues, 135 this does not mean that the
commonweal is their ultimate end (except when they are considered under the aspect of justice), but :rather that they are
acquired and exercised in the course of the social life that is
connatural to man. The ultimate end of the cardinal virtues,
including justice, is a whole life lived according to virtue, and
this as we shall see is natmal happiness on earth. 136
184 " Legal justice alone regards the commonweal directly; but by commanding
the other virtues it draws them all into the service of the commonweal " (Suwma
Theol., I-II, q. 61, a. 5 ad 4).
185 Summa Theol., I-II, q. 61, a. 5.
136 " Man is perfected by virtue for those actions whereby he is directed to happiness. Now man's happiness is twofold. One is proportionate to human nature,
a happiness, to wit, which man can obtain by means of his natural principles.
The other is happiness surpassing man's nature. . . . Hence it is necessary for man
to receive from God some additional principles, whereby he may be directed to
supernatural happiness, even as he is directed to his connatural end by means of
his natural principles, albeit not without the Divine assistance" (Summa Theol.,
I-II, q. 62, a. 1). This central truth is confirmed by other passages in which the
distinction between acquired and infused virtues is further clarified: vd. ibid., q.
51, a. 4; q. 63, aa. 2, 3, 4. Nor is this point altered in its essential signification by
the discussion of the acquired virtues in relation to charity (vd. ibid., q. 65, aa.
1, 2) or in relation to the need for grace (vd. ibid., q. 109, a. 2); on the contrary,

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY

143

(c) Divine and natural law. Law is an ordination of reason
which directs man to his end. Hence an essential division in
types of law must be according to a difference in end. Now, as
St. Thomas points out, the need for divine law, over and above
both natural and human law, is that the latter is not competent
to direct man to a supernatural end; wherefore it follows from
the existence of natural law, and of positive law as its human
derivative, that there is a last end, other than the supernatural
end, toward which men are directed. 137 Now this end may
either be the common good or happiness according as we consider positive law or natural law; for the former is entirely a
matter of political institution and, therefore, is directed toward
the common good as its proximate end; whereas the latter
directs man to seek the end which is appointed by his natural
appetites, and this is happiness, as constituted by the whole of
natural goods, including, of course, the common good as the
object of man's natural desire for social life. Moreover, the
common good is itself ordained as a means to happiness. Hence
the ultimate end toward which law directs is always happiness,
though positive law directs men primarily to the common
good.las
the difference in end which divides natural and supernatural virtues is confirmed
in the discussion of the light of reason and the light of grace as related, respectively,
to these two kinds of virtue (vd. ibid., q. 110, a. 3). Cf. De Virt. Card, q. l, a.
'" 7 " If man were ordained to no other end than that which is proportionate
to
his natural faculties, there would be no need for man to have any further direction
on the part of his reason, besides the natural law and the human law which is
derived from it" (Summa Theol., I-II, q. 91, a. 4). Cf. ibid., q. 91, a. 5, where
an earthly and a heavenly good are contrasted.
188 Vd. Summa
Theol., I-II, q. 90, a. 2: "The first principle in practical matters, which are the object of practical reason, is the last end; and the last end
of human life is bliss or happiness. Consequently the law must needs regard principally the relation to happiness." The subsequent discussion, in this article, of
happiness and the common good is obscure, first, because St. Thomas fails to distinguish the proximate end of positive law from its ultimate end, which is the end
declared by natural law; and secondly, because St. Thomas fails to clarify Aristotle's statement that law concerns both happiness and the good of the body
St.
politic. But when later he discusses natural law by itself (ibid., q. 94,
Thomas does make clear that the end toward which the natural law directs men
is the whole natural good, including each partial good that is the object of each
natural appetite, and thus including the common good which corresponds to man's
desire for social life.

144

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

(d) Imperfect and perfect happiness. In addition to the
foregoing contexts, in which the distinction between a natural
and a supernatural last end is implicated in other basic distinctions, there is an explicit discussion of this distinction itself
in St. Thomas's theory of happiness. We cite this fact, not as
an argument from authority, but as evidencing the Christian
incorporation of the natural truth about man's happiness in
this life, in its larger doctrine concerning the ends of man, both
temporal and eternaL We will not here examine all the texts in
which St. Thomas adverts to this distinction, because we shall
consider them later in trying to define what natural happiness
is. 139 Whether Aristotle and St. Thomas agree in their conception of the happiness which Aristotle regarded as natural and
St. Thomas calls "imperfect," whether or not there are several
apparently conflicting or at least competing definitions of what
this happiness is, makes no difference here, for our only contention here is that happiness is an analogous notion which
includes at least two goods that are ultimate ends, proportionate respectively to the natural and supernatural potentialities of human Jjfe.140
(8) We have already shown in Part II how necessary it is
to cure the phrase "common good" of its radical ambiguities.
Our present problem re-emphasizes the need. Despite the fact
that the welfare of a community and the welfare of a man cannot be identical goods; despite the fact that the causes of wellbeing in a community and the causes of well-being in a man
are not the same; despite the fact that the state as a good is an
intermediate end and hence a means, whereas the goodness of
a human life is a final end and not a means; despite these facts,
inveterate habits of imprecise speech permit many to speak of
180 These texts occur principally
in Summa Theol., I-II, qq. 3, 4, and 5; and· in
Ill Contra Gent., 25, 34-48, 63.
140 Vd. Summa
Theol., I-II, q. 3, a.£ ad 4: "Happiness signifies some final
perfection; hence, according as various things capable of happiness can attain to
various degrees of perfection, so must there be various meanings applied to happines." Cf. also ibid., II-II, q. 186, a. 3 ad 4: "Happiness is twofold. One is perfect, to which we look forward in the life to come; the other is imperfect, in
respect of which some are said to be happy in this life."

THE THEORY

OF DEMOCRACY

145

the "common good " or the " good of civil life " as the last
end in the temporal order without distinguishing between the
welfare of the state and individual happiness. These phrases
can, of course, be used to name happiness in this life, because
it is a good that is common to all men, a good proportionate to
their specific nature; and because it is a good that is achieved
only in the course of civil life, under the auspices of a civil
community. But if they are thus used, then to avoid the peril
of self-contradiction they must not also be used without distinction to name the welfare of the community itself, for then
what is named is both an intermediate and a final end, which
is impossible. It is precisely this quite avoidable confusion
which has led many to regard the supreme good of temporal
life as if it were a last end only secundum quid and hence,
as intermediate end, also a means. But if this were the
case, then there would be no natural or temporal happiness, for
happiness, albeit imperfect, can never be a means to any further end. In view of all this, it seems desirable to employ
the names " common good " and "happiness " with clearly distinct significations-the one to signify the goodness proper to a
community as such (bonum communitatis), the other to
signify the goodness of a human life (to tum bene vivere) . Then •
there can be no question that when we speak of the common
good, we are considering an intermediate end which is a means
to happiness. And when we speak of happiness it will be clear
that we are referring to a final end which is none the less an end
simpliciter because it is both temporal and imperfect. Unless
these things are absolutely clear, there was no point in having
proved that temporal happiness exists, for no one in the tradition of Aristotle and St. Thomas has ever denied the existence
of a temporal common good, though many, in affirming the
latter as the natural end, have supposed they were acknowledging a supreme temporal good that is not only subordinate
to, but also ordained as a means to, beatitude, 141
141 Cf. Maritain,
Science and Wisdom (New York: 1940), pp. 179-82; and
Scholasticism and Politics (New York: 1940), pp. 225-228.

10

146

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

To confirm the rightness of this distinction, we need only
remember the following points: (a) that a good state, sustained by the institutions of good government, is only one
condition of the life of virtue; the other, and more proximate,
cause is the possession of virtue itself; (b) that the life of
virtue, which is usually identified with happiness, is a life led
by individual men, just as virtues are habits possessed by them,
and that the community as such, not being a living organism,
neither has virtues nor leads a life of virtue, in the primary
and proper signification of these terms; 142 (c) that the "good
of civil life " must, therefore, be construed as referring to the
goodness of the life men can lead in civil society, not to the
goodness of the state's own "life," nor to the goodness of a
civilization or a culture as such; (d) that enjoyment of the
common good is only a necessary, but not a sufficient, condition
of happiness, for not all the members of a good society in fact
possess virtue, and lacking it they cannot be happy; hence
enjoyment of the common good leaves much to be desired even
in this life, which could not be the case if the common good
were the last end in the temporal order; (e) that there are
supra-political aspects of human life which are indispensable to
its perfection, even though such things as speculative and
artistic activity may be politically supported and socially exercised; 143 and (f) that St. Thomas affirms the ordination of the
common good to happiness when he shows how all temporal
means are ordered to " the service of those who contemplate
the truth." l.4.t
... Both life and virtue are said of the state by attributive analogy, as when we
speak of the justice of the state, or of its agency. Cf. Part II, supra, lac. cit., pp.
620 ff. and esp. fn. 73.
148 Vd. Maritain,
Scholasticism and Politics, pp. 75-76. Cf. Freedom in the
Modern World (New York: 1936), p. 44.
, .. " Perfect contemplation requires that the body should be disencumbered, and
to this effect are directed all the products of art that are necessary for life. Moreover, it requires freedom from the disturbance caused by the passions, which is
achieved by means of the moral virtues and prudence; and freedom from external
disturbance, to which all the regulations of civil life are directed " (III Contra
Gent., 37) . Or, as Maritain puts it, " to what end is the whole government of civil
(Art and
life, if not to assure the exterior peace necessary to contemplation?"

THE THEORY OF

147

This last point turns our attention to the problem we must
now consider: What is happiness? Is it adequately defined as
contemplation or contemplative activity; or is it a whole life
lived in accordance with perfect virtue and supported by a
sufficiency of the goods of fortune? How that question is
answered does not alter the truth of what has so far been
proved (that happiness is) , but it does profoundly affect its
significance for political theory. If temporal happiness is nothing but contemplation, then political institutions are never a
principal, but only an instrumental, cause of happiness in this
life, just as the State and the natural virtues function only
instrumentally by subalternation to the Church and the supernatural virtues in the work of salvation. And if this be so, then
the several good forms of government (however uneqaal they
may be in their intrinsic justice) are all equally good as means
to man's last end, whether that be temporal happiness or eternal beatitude. We have already pointed out why the theory of
Democracy is not tenable if temporal happiness be denied. 145
We must now add that it is not tenable if temporal happiness
be identified with contemplation.
That identification can be
denied without denying the paramount place of knowing the
truth in the order of goods which men can possess in this life.
Scholasticism (New York: 1930), p. 80). To what epd is that unity of peace
which is the common good, if it be not happiness?
It does not make any difference to the significance of this point whether we
agree that temporal happiness consists in contemplation or whether, as we shall
show, the purely natural end of man in this life must be otherwise defined. The
point remains that to this end all other temporal goods are somehow ordered as
means, among them the common good, the exterior peace which it is the work of
just government and prudent civil regulations to provide. Cf. our prior discussion
(fn. 87, supra) of the distinction between the social, or exterior, peace (which is
directly the work of justice) and the human, or interior, peace (which is directly the
work of the virtues, and especially charity). Yd. also Summa Theol., I-ll, q. S,
a.4 ad l.
Moreover, the statement that " man is not ordained to the body politic according to all that he is and has" (Summa Theol., I-II, q. 21, a. 4 ad 8), is subject to
two interpretations. The one given by St. Thomas in that passage, namely, that
beyond the state man must be referred to God as his prime ruler; the other, which
follows from the recognition of a temporal, as well as an eternal, last end, namely,
that it is to natural happiness, not to the common good, that all human actions
must be ultimately referred, in so far as they function principally as natural means.
145 Yd. Section I supra, at p. 126.

148

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARnELL

The problem is a difficult one. It requires :us to examine the
various meanings of "happiness " in traditional discussion, not
merely for the sake of understanding Aristotle and St. Thomas,
but in order to show the relation of several distinct notions
within the analogical concept of happiness.
3. An analogical concept cannot be expressed in a definition.

We cannot define what is common to natural and supernatural
happiness. But we can, nevertheless, state the formal properties or signs of happiness. Being a last end, happiness must
satisfy every desire. It must be that which, when possessed,
leaves nothing to be desired. If we understand what this
means, we realize that happiness is not a good, but the good.
The phrase " a good " can be used for any type of partial good,
the highest as well as the lowest in the order of such partial
goods. In sharp contrast, " the good" signifies the whole of
goods, that whole which includes every type of partial good,
the types being enumerated according as they are distinct
specifying objects of diverse desires, and ordered according to
the grades of potentiality in which these diverse desires are
founded. Thus, wealth is a (type of) good, and health, and
knowledge, and virtue, and a good society. None of these by
itself oan constitute happiness, for its possession leaves much
else to be desired. But if the various partial goods be exhaustively enumerated, and if they be rightly ordered inter se, then
taken together they can be said to constitute happiness, for the
possession of this ordered aggregate of goods would necessarily
satisfy every desire. Now if happiness is the whole of goods,
thus constituted by an ordered variety of parts (i. e., partial
goods), it cannot also be one of the parts (i.e., one type of
good among others in the order of goods). Hence when we
speak of happiness as " the highest good " or "the greatest
good " we must be careful not to confuse what is the whole of
goods with what may be the most desirable partial good by
comparison with other types of partial good which are less
worthy. Happiness, in short, is not a good among others, but
the good which includes all others. 146
106

For a fuller explication of these points, vd. " A Dialectic of Morals," in The

THE THEORY OF

149

So far, it may be said, we have been talking of temporal
happiness, for we have mentioned only temporal goods. But
just as in the apprehension of being we
proceed from that
analogical mode of being which is most knowable to us, so, too,
in regard to the good we must proceed f:rom that analogical
mode of happiness which falls within our present experience.
This procedure is fruitful only if it enables us to grasp, however indistinctly, what is common to being or the good in all
its modes. Now the conception of happiness as the whole of
goods does enable us to understand the analogy of temporal
and eternal happiness. This conception is best expressed in
the formula of Boethius, which St. Thomas quotes with approval: that happiness consists in a life made perfect by the
possession in aggregate of all good things. 147 But life in time
Review of Politics, III, 3, pp. 354-86. Cf. Part II, supra, loc. cit., pp. 6'26-27; also
pp. 595 ff. and fns. 43, 44.
This conception of happiness as the whole of goods entails a distinction between
constitutive and functional means.
Since a whole cannot be possessed except
through possession of the parts, the partial goods which constitute the whole of
goods are means to its possession, and from this relation to the whole they are
called " constitutive means." This relation of means to end is in the order of
material causality. But means may also be related to ends in the order of efficient
causality, and when they operate in this way, we speak of them as functional or,
productive means. Furthermore, among functional means we must distinguish
between those partial goods which are productive of other partial goods, and those
which are productive of happiness itself. One and the same good may, of course, be
in different relations both a constitutive means (constitutive of happiness) and a
functional means, and as a functional means, it may either serve another partial
good as end, or happiness itself. Vd. "A Dialectic of Morals," loc. cit., pp. 373-76.
147 Vd. Ill Contra Gent., 63.
Cf. Summa Theol., I-II, q. 5, a. 8 ad 3: "This
definition of happiness given by some-" Happy is the man who has all he desires,
or, whose evNy wish is fulfilledr-is a good and adequate definition, if it be understood in a certain way; but an inadequate definition if understood in another. For
if we understand simply all that man desires by his natural appetite, thus it is
true that he who has all that he desires is happy, since nothing satisfies all of
man's natural desires except the perfect good which is happiness. But if we understand it of those things that man desires according to the apprehension of reason,
thus it does not belong to happiness to have certain things that man desires; rather
does it belong to unhappiness, in so far as the possession of such things hinders
man from having all that he desires naturally. . .
And it was through taking
this into consideration that Augustine added-so as to include happiness-that he
desire nothing amiss; although the first part suffices if rightly understood, to wit,
that happy is hB who has all he

150

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

is only analogically the same as life in eternity. The one consists primarily in the transitive activity of a composite substance; the other is entirely the immanent activity of the soul,
in which, of course, the resurrected body may participate. In
time, the ·aggregate of all good things can be possessed only
successively, accumulated during the course of a whole life;
hence just as temporal life does not exist in any moment, but
is a process in becoming, so the perfection of this life, which is
happiness, cannot truly be said to be at any moment,
but only to become; so that, as Solon wisely remarked, a man's
happiness in this life cannot be judged until he is dead, and
there is a finished whole to examine. But in eternity, all good
things can be possessed simultaneously and in no other way,
for where there is no time, there is no motion, no process of
becoming. Hence, although happiness is a whole of goods in
both time and eternity, that whole differs in the two cases as
radically as do the modes of life which can occur in these two
orders: in time, only a finite whole is possible, whereas
thing like an infinite whole can exist in eternity; in time, a finite
whole can be constituted only by a complex diversity of ordered
parts, whereas in eternity, a quasi-infinite whole can be constituted as a simple unity, in which a diversity of distinctions is
present only formally. In short, man's natural happiness is in
every respect proportionate to hls nature: it cannot be accomplished Without work, nor can it be enjoyed in perfect rest; it is
successively realized as is his life itself, nor is it finished until his
life is done; it is a finite whole complexly constituted by diverse
partial goods, as man is by nature a finite being, complexly constituted by many faculties, each the source of a diverse natural
desire. But in the beatific vision man is supernaturally united
to God, and the perfection which he thus enjoys is proportionate to the object in which beatitude consists: it derives its
quasi-infinite character as a whole of goods from its truly
infinite object; it is a simple whole, for in the vision of God,
the blessed enjoy. all good things in an eminent unity; every
" natural " desire is satisfied by the knowledge and love of God
which beatitude confers, and in the immanent activity of s11ch

THE THEORY OF

151

knowledge and love, the blessed are at once completely alive
and completely at rest. 148
us One other difference between natural and supernatural happiness must be
mentioned. In both cases, happiness exists subjectively in the perfection of man's
being, a goodness convertible with the actualization of his potentialities. But beautitude also consists objectively in thl'l Divine being and goodness. Vd. Summa Theol.,
I-II, q. l, a. 8; q. 3, a. 8; q. 16, a. 3. It is in this sense that we speak of God as
man's last end, rather than the beatific vision itself, which is the acquisition of the
end. In contrast, the objective constitution of temporal happiness does not consist
in a single object the attainment of which satisfies every natural desire; it consists
of some objects which are extrinsic and entirely useful goods, such as the forms
of wealth, of some which are intrinsic and useful, such as health; and of some
which are intrinsic and enjoyable, such as virtue and knowledge. Here happiness,
which is the whole of these goods, whether objectively as desired, or subjectively
as attained, is greater than any of them; whereas beatitude is necessarily inferior
to the goodness of God from which it flows. Cf. A Dialectic of Morals, pp.
When it is said that God is man's last end objectively, in common with all other
creatures, it must be understood that only man, of all corporeal creatures, attains
this last end subjectively, which attainment, says St. Thomas, is properly called
happiness. Furthermore, this attainment occurs only in beatitude, not in the happiness of this life. The natural knowledge which man can have of God in this life
is a partial good and does not constitute temporal happiness. God is not the
temporal last end objectively, in the attainment of which natural happiness subjectively consists. Cf. Summa Theol., I-ll, q. 3, a. 5 ad 3. We shall return to this
point subsequently when we compare what is truly natural happiness with what
is a temporal participation of supernatural happiness, i. e., namely the supernatural
contemplation of God which, though it may occur in this life, occurs only through
the agency of theological and infused virtues. Strictly speaking, God is never an
object of desire, natural or elicit, but always an object of love. The ultimate object
of desire is an immanent perfection. But God is a transcendant good. To speak
of " the desire for God " is as improper as to speak of " the love of the beatific
vision." We do not love the beatific vision; we love God. We do not desire God,
we desire to know Him in the vision that is promised the blessed. This clarification
is necessary to make precise what is meant by the loose statement that God is man's
last end. If a last end is an ultimate object of desire, an attainable immanent perfection, then God is not man's last end. Happiness, natural and supernatural, are
man's last ends. When it is said that all creatures tend toward God as their
end, as toward the final cause of the universe, nothing more is meant than that
the ultimate (immanent) perfection toward which each thing tends according to
its nature is a participated or created good-participating to some degree in the
uncreated goodness of God, just as the being of each creature participates in some
degree in the uncreated being of the first efficient cause. " Created good is not
less than that good of which man is capable, as of something intrinsic and
immanent in him; but it is less than the good of which he is capable, as of an
object, and which is infinite" (Summa Theol. I-II, q. 2, a. 8, ad 3). Man can
love the uncreated and infinite good (as a transcendant object); but man cannot
desire anything but an intrinsic and immanent good, which must, therefore, be a

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

Thus we see that between happiness and beatitude there
obtains a perfect analogy of proportionality, for each is a perfection proportionate to the nature perfected, according to the
radically diverse conditions of life in time and eternity, and
according to potentialities or natural desires naturally realized
or supernaturally fulfilled. 149 Moreover, we see why natural
happiness at its best, in its most complete realization, is imperfect by comparison with its supernatural analogue. The most
complete finite whole is less than the infinite. The happiness
created good, and a finite perfection. Even the beatific vision, which consists in
the knowledge and love of what is objectively infinite, is subjectively a finite perfection, because a finite creature cannot be infinitely perfected without ceasing to
be a creature' and becoming God·. That is why it is always better for the creature
to love God than to lmow Him, as St. Thomas says (Summa Th"eol. I. q. 82, a. 8);
the goodness of love is measured by its object, but the goodness of knowledge is
measured by what is known of the object. Though we can know an infinite object,
insofar as we can know God, we cannot have infinite knowledge, either naturally
or supernaturally. Vd. Sttmma Theol. I, q. 12; also q. 86, a. 20.
In sharp contrast to both knowledge and love, desire always has a finite object;
for the good to which it is directed is an immanent perfection, which being a
created good, the perfection of a finite creature, is always a finite object, whether
that be supernatural or natural happiness. If we compare supernatural to natural
happiness as an infinite to a finite whole of goods, that must be understood only as
signifying that beatitude consists in the knowledge and love of an infinite object,
not that it is an infinite perfection. In short, desire is always of the finite good,
and this applies to the will as a faculty of elicit desire, as well as to natural desire,
though we must remember, of course, that the will is also a faculty of love and
may thus have an infinite object. Failure to realize this results from the confusion
of love and desire, and the confusion of the good in general with the infinite good.
When the will is regarded as a faculty tending toward an attainable end, whether
naturally or supernaturally, its object is a finite good--either the natural happiness which is known to reason, or the supernatural beatitude which is known to
faith. It is absolutely false, then;fore, to argue against natural happiness (as an
immanent perfection, an object of desire) by saying that the will is an infinite
faculty, a faculty ordained in every way to an infinite object. The fallacy of this
argument is paralleled in a similarly erroneous argument from a false supposition
about the intellect as an infinite power. Vd. fri. 149a infra.
uo The analogy of happiness here considered is only part of the larger analogy
which St. Thomas discusses, for here we are concerned only with a proportionality
arising from man's different modes of being-happinews: man on earth : : happinews:
man in heaven. But St. Thomas also considers the happiness of beings other than
man, and therefore extends the proportionality to include--happiness: God : :
happiness : angels : : happiness : man in this life : : happiness : man hereajttn".
Vd. Summw. Theol., 1-11, q. 8, a. 2 and 4.

THE THEORY OF

153

of work can never quiet all desires simultaneously as does the
happiness of rest. And even if temporal happiness satisfy
every natural desire which can be requited in this life, it cannot be said to leave nothing more to be desired, for man, by
reason, of his spiritual nature (his incorporeal intellect and
will), transcendentally tends toward what he cannot naturally
achieve-a greater knowledge of the Truth, a more perfect union
with the Good. There is nothing paradoxial about imperfect
happiness being the perfect good in the temporal order, yet not
complete enough, because of the limitations peculiar to that
order and the weakness of man's natural operations therein.
The paradox is avoided by qualifying temporal happiness by
reference to the inescapable defects of temporality itself. The
analogical concept of happiness is not violated, if we say that
natural happiness leaves nothing to be desired which can be
naturally achieved in this life. To insist upon more is to posit a
happiness that either exceeds the bounds of time or transcends
the efficacy of nature. To ask for less is to accept some partial
good as a substitute for happiness. 149 "
Hoa To ask for more is to ask for an end that is not natural; to ask for less is
, to ask for a natural good that is not the end. Even though natural happiness is
not the highest perfection of which man is capable, it is the complete or perfect
temporal good because it leaves nothing to be desired which can be naturally
achieved in this life. In this sense, natural happiness satisfies every natural desire.
To understand this point, it is necessary to distinguish two radically distinct meanings of " natural desire " according to the distinction between effective and
obediential potentiality.
Effective potentiality is one which tends actively toward
a perfection attainable by natural operations, the potency not only tending toward
a certain act as its due end, but also being the principle of the operations by which
that end is reached. Obediential potentiality tends passively toward a fulfillment
because here the potency is not a principle of operation: it is entirely subject to
being operated upon by causes transcending the nature in which the obediential
potentiality exists. One must speak, therefore, of active and passive natural
desires; or, if one regards the causes by which the desire is fulfilled, one must
speak of natural and transcendental desire-both of which are generically natural
only in the sense that nature includes both sorts of potentialities.
Now man has
only a passive natural desire, that is, a transcendental desire, for such knowledge
of God as exceeds the limitations of natural operation.
He does not have an
active natural desire for the beatific vision, or even for the knowledge of God
which man :receives through faith. He can actively desire only what he can
actively acquire.
(And if one passes from the consideration of natural desire to
elicit desire, one must observe the distinction between willing and wishing: we can

154

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

There is no difficulty about the analogical genus of happiness or in seeing how it comprehends as proportional analogues
the natural and supernatural modes of human perfection. The
only difficulty arises with respect to the natural mode itself,
for this, as a species of happiness, can be defined, and the queswill, L e., rationally desire, only such goods as we know to be actually attainable
by our own operations; if we know other goods to be possible, we can wish for
them, but we cannot will them. Thus, without grace, man can wish for the
beatific vision if he is able to conceive its possibility, but such wishing is ineffectual; an effectual elicit desire for the beatific vision is impossible without grace, for
it belongs to the supernatural virtue of hope.) In short, the object of active
natural desire, and of an elicit rational desire that is naturally founded and
naturally developed, never exceeds the scope of purely natural operations: no good
which is not thus attainable is an object of such natural (as opposed to transcendental) desire, or of the will as naturally (not supernaturally) activated. Hence
the only knowledge of God which is an object of such natural or rational desire
is either the sort of knowledge which men can attain without faith or grace in this
life, or hypothetically, the sort of knowledge which the separated intellect would
naturally achieve by its special mode of operation in a separated condition, if it
ever existed in such a condition apart from supervening supernatural status. The
latter sort of knowledge constitutes the hypothetical condition called " natural
beatitude." The former sort is one of the partial goods which belongs to natural
happiness in this life, albeit the highest because it is natural wisdom.
As a result of confusing these two radically distinct meanings of " natural
desire," the perfection, in fact, the very existence, of temporal happiness has been
denied by those who claim that man has natural desires which such happiness
does not satisfy because the whole of naturally attainable goods does not include
the greater knowledge of God for which man has an obediential potentiality.
The
error of such argument should be immediately obvious. Nor can its central fallacy
be hidden by loose talk about the human intellect being a naturally infinite faculty,
and so the root of a natural desire for an infinite object, the infinite Truth which is
God. Anyone who will read what St. Thomas says about our knowledge of the
infinite will see the very special sense in which our intellect is called " infinite."
Vd. Summa Theol., I, q. 86, a.
and esp. ad 4. Nor is our intellect infinite even
in obediential potentiality, if by " infinite " is meant the capacity for knowing
adequately an actually infinite object, or even all intelligible things. Only God
is able to comprehend God. Not even in the beatific vision does man know all
intelligible things. Vd. Summa Theol., I, q.
aa. 4, 7, 8,
13. When it is said,
therefore, that man naturally desires to understand the cause whose effects he
knows (vd. ibid., a. l), this cannot mean "adequately understand" or "comprehend " the transcendental cause of being. It can mean only that man has an active
natural desire for such knowledge of God as he can actively acquire (discursive,
remote, negative, analogical), and a transcendental desire for such knowledge of
God as God Himself transcendentally causes some men to receive in fulfillment of
their obediential potentiality-neither
of which can be adequate because man's
intellect, like his essence, is finite.

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY

155

tion is how it shall be defined. To define it as consisting in, or
identical with, the contemplation of God which can be enjoyed
in this life through the light of grace and the virtues and gifts
it confers, is to violate the naturalness, though not the temporality, of imperfect happiness. To define it as consisting in,
or identical with, that exercise of the natural speculative
virtues, and especially wisdom, through which man is able to
consider the truths he has naturally learned, is to violate the
very notion of happiness as the possession in aggregate of aU
good things-the whole of goods which leaves nothing to be
desired (that can be naturally achieved in this life). Both
definitjons are false, though in opposite ways-the former
positing a happiness that transcends the efficacy of nature, the
latter accepting a partial good (albeit the highest among all
partial goods) as a substitute for happiness. To say that they
are false does not mean that supernatural contemplation is not
the highest good which men can enjoy in this life, a higher
good than natural happiness itself of which it cannot be an
integral part; nor does it mean that the exercise of the natural
speculative virtues is not the highest good among all the partial goods which constitute natural happiness. These things
being true, the falsity of these definitions remains, because they
simply do not define the object in question. They either add
what cannot be included or omit what must be comprehended.
In rejecting these definitions, we realize that we shall appear
to be gainsaying the authority of St. Thomas, in the one case,
and of Aristotle, in the other. But we hope to show that that
only appears to be so; that, in fact, we reject the definition of
happiness which Aristotle gives in Book X of the Ethics only
for the sake of embracing the definition he gives in Book I,
with which, by the way, the opinion of Book X can be reconciled if it is properly construed; and that we do not reject the
definition of St. Thomas as positing an imperfect and temporal
participation in supernatural beatitude, but only as the definition of the natural analogue of beatitude, which not only is
imperfect as happiness, which not only occurs in this life, but
which is also an end attainable entirely by natural principles.

156

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

Before we undertake the textual commentary that is required
to support these statements, let us first attempt to demonstrate
the truth of our central contention-'-that the definition of
natural happiness in this life is activity in accordance with
perfect virtue in a complete life attended by a sufficiency of the
goods of fortune. 150
The truth of this definition can be tested in two ways: first,
by applying the formal criteria which derive from the analogical
notion of happiness; and then by measuring its conformity to
the special conditions of natural, temporal life. By these same
criteria and conditions, it can be shown that the other definitions are false, i.e., that they do not rightly say what natural
happiness is.
Formally, as we have seen, happiness is all good things, the
complete good or perfection of a human life, here or hereafter.
Because it is the whole of goods (whether these goods be
possessed in their actual diversity and successively, or in an
eminent unity and simultaneously), happiness leaves nothing
to be desired. 151 Now, in order to show that the definition
proposed meets these formal criteria, it is only necessary to
enumerate the variety of partial goods which can be possessed
in this life, imd to show that virtue and good fortune are the
causes whereby a complete life can become enriched by their
possession, so that when it is done it can be reviewed and
judged as having left nothing to be desired. 152 The Aristotelian
150 Happiness
is an " activity of soul in accordance with virtue, and if there is
more than one virtue, then in accordance with the most complete virtue. But we
must add 'in a complete life.' For one swallow does not make a summer, nor does
one day. And so, too, one day or a short time does not suffice for happiness"
(Ethics, I, 7, 1098'-15-18). "He is happy who is active in accordance with complete virtue and is sufficiently equipped with external goods, not for some chance
period, but throughout a whole life " (ibid., I, 10, 1101 •15). "Happiness is an
activity of soul in accordance with perfect virtue" (ibid., I, 13, 110S!"5).
151 Happiness
is that which makes life " lacking in nothing. . . . It is of all
things most desirable without its being counted as one good thing among others;
for if it were so counted, it would clearly be made more desirable by the addition
of even the least of goods; for that which is added becomes an excess of goods, and
of goods the greater is always more desirable" (Ethics, I, 7, 1097"15-20). Natural
happiness meets this formal requirement if no type of naturally attainable good is
omitted from its constitution. Vd. fn. 149• supra.
15 " Vd. Ethics, I, s, l099b; 9, noo•I0-15.

THE THEORY OF

157

enumeration of all the partial goods under three heads (external goods, goods of the body, and goods of the soul) must be
analytically expanded so that every distinct type of good is
specifically mentioned; there are then these goods which man
can either use or enjoy in this life: wealth (all physical external
goods) , health and sensual pleasure (goods of the body) , social
goods (such as a good society, friends, honor), virtues and
virtuous activity (goods of the soul) .153 Since happiness is the
whole of these goods, each type of partial good is a constitutive
means to happiness as the end. No constitutive means can
be lacking, for the whole does not come into being unless aU
the parts which constitute it are accumulated. But not all of
these goods need be mentioned in the definition of happiness,
for happiness as something which becomes is defined in terms of
its causes, and of these the chief cause is " activity in accordance with perfect virtue." To possess all good things, a man must
not only rightly judge between :real and apparent goods according to the measure of natural desire; he must not only rightly
enumerate the various types of real good, but he must also
rightly order them one to another so that all can be possessed. 154
Now the moral virtues and prudence, grouped together as the
cardinal virtues, are habits of right desire for the end, accompanied by a right choice of the means thereto; hence a man of
good moral character (i.e., having the cardinal virtues), as he
exercises his virtues in action with respect to every type of
partial good, is one who is becoming happy, for all good things
are obtainable in the course of a complete life if they are rightly
desired and the means are rightly chosen. Such a man will
not desire more external goods than are necessary; he will seek
both wealth and health as conditions of good activity; he will
forego pleasures that interfere with the acquisition of greater
goods, and suffer pains for their attainment; he will love his
fellow men according to the virtue in them which makes them
153 Vd. Ethics, I, 8.
Cf. Summa Theol., I, q. 5, a. 6. For a commentary on
these two enumerations of the partial goods, see " A Dialectic of Morals," Zoe. cit.,
III, 3, pp. 367-9.
n• Cf. "A Dialectic of Morals," Zoe. cit., III,
pp. 204-24; III, 3, pp. 358-60,

378-80.

158

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

truly friends, and will be similarly loved by them; he will seek
the good of others, harming no one, and thus he will support
the common good; and, above all, he will regard as most worthy
the goods of his intellect which are perfections of the highest
part of his nature. The man of virtue thus possesses in himself
the active principle (i.e., the principle of activity) whereby to
become happy, for he so desires and so chooses among every
type of partial good that he can possess them all, each in due
proportion and ordination to the rest. But temporal happiness
does not exist at a moment; it is not a simultaneous but a successive whole; the order of its constitutive parts must be disposed. throughout a whole life; happiness, in short, is not
achieved by a single act, but by continuous activity from day
to day. Again we see the role of virtue as a cause, for the
virtues are stable habits which may take years to form, but
which then function as the enduring source of good activity in
the pursuit of happiness throughout a whole life} 54 " Though
necessary, good habits are, however, not enough. Good fortune
is also necessary. Forces beyond the control of each individual
man affect his possession of external goods, determine his
health and his span of life, and even determine whether he
shall live under the beneficent auspices of a good society in a
period of peace, during cultural as well as material prosperity.
Not that these goods do not come within the causality of
virtue, but it cannot be said that they are entirely at virtue's
command.· There is an aspect of each of them which falls
under the aegis of what the Greeks called fortune, which Christians understand to be the providence of God. Hence in
defining happiness as activity in accordance with perfect virtue
in a complete life, we must take account of that aspect of the
15 .. To speak strictly, we should refer to happiness, not as the perfection of a
man, but as the perfection of a human life. The perfection of a man aa /lUck consists in the virtues. According as man, the agent, is perfected by virtue, so is his
life perf-ected by the consequence of virtue in operation-happiness.
Also, in strict
speech, we should use the word "well-being" to name man's perfection in being
by the possession of virtue, whereas the word " welfare" should be used ta_ signify
happiness as the perfection of a life in the process of becCY/7/,ing. If we under&tand
tke causal relationship between virtue and happiness, we can appreciate this dietinction between human well-being and human welfare.· Cf. fn. 170, infra.

THE THEORY OF

159

goods being sought which lie beyond virtue's power, by adding
the qualification " attended by a sufficiency of the goods of
fortune." 155 This definition has now been shown to be true as
measured by the formal signification of happiness: that whole
of goods which leaves nothing to be desired.
Before we complete the test of this definition by seeing if it
conforms to purely natural conditions, one important discovery
should be noted. The foregoing analysis reveals that " perfect
virtue " means not every virtue, but only such virtue as is the
productive cause of happiness itself. Any virtue, since it is a
good habit (a good of the soul) and hence among the partia]
goods man naturally seeks, is a constitutive means or part of
happiness. But not every virtue is a functional means directly
productive of the least end itself/ 56 Since the last end, or
happiness, is a whole of goods which can be constituted only
by every type of good in the right order and proportion, those
virtues alone which order and proportion desires (and the
choices which fulfill them) are the productive cause of becoming happy. The cause must be equal to the effect. The effect
being a whole of rightly ordered desirables, the cause must be a
unity of rightly ordered desires. Hence the cardinal virtues,
and only they, are means productive of happiness; moreover,
the requisite unity of all right desires requires the connection of
the four cardinal virtues. What is meant by "perfect virtue,"
then, in the definition of happiness is, first, the virtues which
regulate man's desires for, and choices among, partial goods;
and, second, the condition indispensable to the unified functioning of these virtues-their interconnection. Each cardinal
virtue is a perfect virtue, but none exists in a perfect mode (in
the status of habit as opposed to mere disposition), nor can it
function perfectly, apart from the coexistence of the other
three. 157
155 Note that St. Thomas says: man is "directed to his connatural end, by means
of his natural principles, albeit not without the Divine assistance" (Summa Theol.,
I-ll, q. 62, a. l). The italicized clause states the Christian transformation of the
factor of fortune.
156 On the distinction
between constitutive and productive means, vd. fn. 146,
supra.
157 Aristotle explicitly recognized one of these two notes in the meaning of perr-

160

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

Now let us ask whether the definition we have been considering describes the sort of happiness which can be attained in
this life by purely natural means. That it is a perfection appropriate to the conditions of man's temporal existence is at once
evident. And the requisite means also appear to be purely
natural, for they are acquired virtues, which are habits formed
through the exercise of man's natural powers. But it may be
objected that fallen man cannot, without the aid of grace, exercise his natural powers in such wise as to acquire the perfect
virtues perfectly, i.e., in the state of habits through connection
with one another. 158 We shall return to the problem this objecfeet virtue. Vd. Ethics, VI, 13, where he insists upon the connection of the moral
virtues and prudence " for the one determines the end and the other makes us do
the things that lead to the end" (1145b5). It might even be said that in thus
arguing for the unity of the cardinal virtues as prerequisite to their functioning as
true virtues rather than as dispositions, he also implicitly recognized that the
cardinal virtues, rather than the intellectual virtues (excluding prudence, of course)
are perfect as virtues because they, and they alone, are productive of the end. But
there can be no question that St. Thomas makes this point explicitly. Vd. Summa
Theol., I-II, q. 61, a. 1: "When we speak of virtue simply, we are understood to
speak of human virtue. Now human virtue is one that answers to the perfect idea
of virtue, which requires rectitude of appetite, for such-like virtues not only confer
the faculty of doing well, but also cause good deeds to be done. On the other hand,
the name virtue is applied to one that answers imperfectly to the idea of virtue,
and does not require rectitude of appetite, because it merely confers an aptitude
for doing well, but does not cause the good deed to be done. Now it is evident
that the perfect is principal as compared to the imperfect; and so those virtues
which imply rectitude of appetite are called principal or cardinal virtues. Such
are the moral virtues and prudence alone of the intellectual virtues." Cf. ibid.,
q. 66, a. 3, in which the cardinal virtures are said to be more excellent than the
intellectual virtues, as virtues, though not as habits, and this arises from considering a habit in relation to the end of life, and not simply in itself as the perfection
of a power. The cardinal virtues make a man good simply, and through causing
him to perform good deeds, make his whole life good, enabling him to attain happiness; whereas the intellectual virtues make a man good only in a certain respect.
Vd. ibid., q. 56, a. 3: "And since virtue is that which makes its possessor good, and
his work good likewise, these latter habits (the cardinal virtues) are called virtues
simply." On the other point, i. e., the mode of the virtues as connected and disconnected, St. Thomas is, of course, clearer than Aristotle. Vd. ibid., q. 65, a. i,
where the perfect virtues (i. e., the cardinal virtues) are described as existing
under two conditions: disconnected or imperfectly, connected or perfectly. As a
thing is, so does it function. Hence only the perfect
having the status of
perfection through interconnection, function perfectly, i.
as adequate productive
means to the end of life which is happiness.
158 Vd. Summa Theol., I-II, q. 109,

THE THEORY OF DE]JOCRACY

161

tion raises (in Section 4 infra), but here it is enough to note
what St. Thomas says concerning the efficacy of nature without
Grace: "It is possible by means of human works to acquire
moral virtues, in so far as they produce good works that are
directed to an end not surpassing the natural power of man;
and when they are thus acquired, they can be without charity,
even in so far as they were in many of the Gentiles." 159 Postponing further consideration of the question whether, without
charity, the acquired virtues have the perfect status of true
habits or the imperfect status of dispositions, we can conclude
that the definition given describes a genuinely natural happiness-" a connatural end to which man is directed by means
of his natural principles, albeit not without the divine assistance." 160 Even if we decide subsequently that the means themselves (i.e., the natural virtues) cannot be acquired perfectly
by purely natural operations (i.e., without the assistance of
grace), it will remain true that the end we have defined is
connatural, for it is an end proportionate to natural virtues,
however they are acquired by man in a fallen state. The truth
of this conclusion consists entirely in seeing the commensuration of the end to the means: the natural virtues can have no
other commensurate end than the sort of happiness we have
defined, and that in turn can require no other productive means
than the sort of virtues which perfect man's composite nature.
This is the truth which Aristotle expounded in Book I of
the Ethics. 161 It needs no further explication, but it is necesIbid., q. 65,
Italics ours.
Ibid.,
1. This happiness is called connatural because it is " proportionate
to human nature, a happiness, to wit, which man can obtain by means of his
natural principles" (ibid.). Cf. fn. 136 supra.
161 The truth of this definition of happiness can be understood
theoretically, and
as so understood it is not altered by the aetiological problems which arise from the
fact of man's fallen nature. But when this same truth is apprehended practically as
direction to seek the end defined, then it becomes necessary to consider the unavailability of purely natural means in the absence of grace. The truths of natural
ethics thus become transformed when they are used by what Maritain calls moral
philosophy adequately considered-an ethical doctrine subalternated by theology.
"Aristotle's ethics prepares the
Vd. Science and Wisdom, pp. 161-67,
materials of an adequate moral science (moral theology and moral philosophy
adequately considered), which adequate moral science tells me how I ought to act
159

160

11

M. J . .ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

sary to show that what is said about happiness in Book X
cannot be accepted as a definition, though the remarks there
made can be construed in a manner consistent with the true
definition given in Book I.
In order to refute its falsity, let. us express what is said in
Book X as a definition of happiness (for unless· it be regarded
as a definition, what is there said is not false). Suppose, then,
we interpret Book X as saying that happiness is contemplative
to become a good man. If I turn Aristotle's ethics into an independent moral
philosophy by which I seek to direct my life; and if I expect it to tell me . . . how
I ought to act to become a good man and direct my life perfectly, I will be led
astray by the omissions it makes in regard to the supernatural order and the
existential truth of my life" (ibid., p. fl26). Natural ethics is, however, adequate
theoretically (i. e., as speculatively-practical knowledge of what the natural end
and means are) insofar as the truth about the existence and constitution of the
natural last end can be inductively established by reason in terms of purely
natural evidence. If this were not so, there would be no science of natural
ethics at all, for without a natural last end as a first principle, no further scientific reasoning would be possible about the order of partial goods, the role of the
virtues, etc. Aristotle's Ethics would not only be practically inadequate, in the
way Maritain so rightly points out, but it would have no foundation whatsoever.
Apart from faith and dogma, there would be only opinion, not knowledge, in the
sphere of morals.
On the other hand, it must be recognized that natural ethics is limited even as
theoretical knowledge about the good for man, because it must proceed in terms of
man's natural, not his transcendental, desires, in order to be a practical science,
albeit inadequate practically in terms of man's fallen nature. The objects of
transcendental desire cannot be attained by natural means. Furthermore, that such
objects exist and what they are, cannot be naturally known. Although natural
reason can prove the existence of a supernatural first cause and reach an analogical
or negative understanding of its essence, natural reason cannot prove the existence
or determine the character of a supernatural last end-for this is not God, the
transcendant final cause, but the beatific vision, an immanent but supernatural
perfection of human nature. Vd. fn. 148 supra. That there is such an end, and
what it is, are entirely dogmatic truths which faith knows through revelation. In
this sense, therefore, natural ethics is inadequate, even theoretically, in a way in
which natural theology is not. The Treatise on the Last End (Summa Theol., I-ll,
qq. 1-5) is misunderstood if it is regarded as expounding knowledge of the same
sort as set forth in the Treatise on God (Summa Theol., I, qq. 1-11). The major
truths which the latter enunciates are truths of reason as well as known by faith,
whereas the primary truths about the supernatural last end are not knowable by
reason at all. The supposition that they are arises from the fatal error of confusing the two senses of "natural desire "-related to the distinction between
effective and obediental potentiality. Vd. fn. 149a supra.

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY

163

activity .162 To regard this as a definition requires us to treat
contemplative activity as identical with the whole of happiness,
not merely as a part thereof, albeit the most worthy. "We must
also understand precisely what is meant by " contemplative
activity." Aristotle tells us that he does not mean the search for
truth, but rather the consideration of truth already known/ 63
We know, furthermore, simply from the fact that Aristotle was
not a Christian-a fact which, unfortunately, St. Thomas sometimes seems to forget-that Aristotle does not mean by contemplation that cooperation of intellect and will in which the
knower is united to the object of contemplation through love
as well as apprehension. On the contrary, we know from Aristotle's explicit statement that he means nothing more than the
actual exercise of the virtue of philosophic or speculative wisdom, through which exercise a man can consider the philosophical truths he has previously acquired by research/ 64 From
this we also know that God is not the only object of contemplation. If Aristotle's own Metaphysics is a book of philosophic
1 "" "The activity of the most divine element in us, in accordance with its proper
This activity is contemplative " (X, 7,
virtue, will be perfect happiness.
1177"16-17). "The activity of God which surpasses all others in blessedness, must
be contemplative; and of human activities, therefore, that which is most akin to
this must most be of the nature of happiness. This is indicated, too, by the fact
that the other animals have no share in happiness, being completely deprived of
such activity. For while the whole life of the gods is bliss, and that of men too
in so far as some likeness of such activity belongs to them, none of the other
animals is happy, since they in no way share in contemplation. Happiness extends,
then, just so far as contemplation does, and those to whom contemplation more
fully belongs are more truly happy, not as a mere concomitant, but in virtue of
the contemplation. Happiness, therefore, must be some form of contemplation "
(ibid., 8, 1178b2I-31) .
163 ]bid.,
7, 1177.28. Cf. St. Thomas: "Since then as Aristotle himself shows
(Ethics, X, 7) man's ultimate happiness in this life consists apparently in speculation, whereby he seeks the knowledge of truth, we cannot possibly allow that man
obtains his last end in this life" (Ill Contra Ge:nt., 48). St. Thomas elsewhere
interprets Aristotle as meaning by contemplation the knowledge of truth, not the
search for it: In Ethica, X, 7, Lect. 10, 2092.
164 "The activity of philosophic wisdom " is synonymous with " contemplation "
or "contemplative activity." Vd. Ethics, 7, 1177"24. Cf. St. Thomas's comment on
the difference between the wisdom of a Christian and of a non-Christian philosopher,
Summa Theol., II-II, q. l!t, a. 7. Cf. Maritain, Three Reformers (New York:
1932), note 67, p. 230.

164

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

wisdom, then the happy man is one who spends his hours
considering a great variety of truths-about contradiction,
matter and form, substance and accident, the one and the
many, as well, of course, as truths about God. According to
Aristotle, it is not God or the Truth which is the object of
contemplation, but truths; and even if it be said that Aristotle
would place the truths about God foremost, as the most worthy
of contemplation, we must remember that the best knowledge
of God which men can attain by purely natural reason, unaided
by faith, is not only radically inadequate, but also likely to
be profoundly erroneous-as Aristotle's Metaphysics reveals.
Even if Aristotle's happy man contemplated God (i.e., considered the truths he knew about the supra-sensible one who
was purely actual) , he would not be considering a divine Creator, a divine Provider, or a divine Savior. Such are the limitations of natural knowledge, either accidentally or essentiaily.
The quiddity of a corporeal substance, not the divine essence
and existence, is the proportionate, the connatural, object of
the human intellect. If God were its proportionate object,
man's intellect would be truly an infinite power, i.e. capable of
actually infinite knowledge.
Taking this definition as having only the significance with
which Aristotle, not St. Thomas, might have proposed it, we
can give many reasons why it is preposterously false. In the
first place, contemplative activity is neither by itself all good
things, nor is it a whole constituted by every type of partial
good in a right order; therefore, it cannot be happiness. In the
second place, contemplative activity, even when most fully
enjoyed, leaves much to be desired, since a man can have
knowledge (even philosophic wisdom) and lack the moral virtues and prudence, suffer ill-health, be deprived of friends, be
enslaved by a tyrant, etc.; therefore, it cannot be happiness. In
the third place, happiness as the natural end of man must be
connatural to him, which means that, despite all the inequality
of individual differences in intelligence and talent, the attainment of happiness must be open to all men because they are
all equal in their specific human nature; but few men have

THE THEORY OF

165

either the talent or interest to become philosophers, few have
sufficient intellectual power to learn much philosophic wisdom,
and few have the leisure to acquire what wisdom is within their
power to learn; therefore, contemplative activity cannot be
happiness. 165 In the fourth place, if contemplative activity is
happiness, then the natural means commensurate with the end
as thus defined must be the intellectual virtues, especially
wisdom, and happiness would be defined as activity in accordance with such virtue; but then the intellectual virtues must be
the cardinal or perfect virtues, and the moral virtues with
prudence must be secondary and imperfect virtues; but the
intellectual virtues cannot be perfect virtues for they confer
only an aptitude for good activity, but not the stable disposition to do good deeds; nor do they make a man good simply,
but only in a certain respect; hence if we affirm that the moral
virtues and prudence are the cardinal or perfect virtues, and if
we retain the notion that happiness is activity in accordance
with perfect virtue, we must deny that happiness is contemplative activity, for neither wisdom nor any other speculative
habit is perfect virtue, though they be more excellent as habits
regarded simply as perfections of man's highest power. In the
fifth place, if the habit of wisdom can exist apart from the
cardinal virtues, so can activity in accordance with that habit;
165 Vd. Ill Contra Gent., 39, wherein St. Thomas proves that happiness does not
consist in the knowledge of God acquired by demonstration, in the course of which
he says: "Now happiness is the end of the human species; since all men naturally
desire it. Therefore happiness is a common good that can be attained by all men,
unless some obstacle occur to some whereby they are debarred from it. Few, however, attain to the possession of the aforesaid knowledge of God by way of demonstration. . . . Therefore, this knowledge is not essentially man's happiness." And
he goes on to argue that happiness should exclude unhappiness; but the possession
of such demonstrative knowledge of God, in which philosophic wisdom consists,
does not exclude many elements of human unhappiness. Cf. ibid., Ch. 44, in which
St. Thomas seems to take back his objections to philosophic wisdom as the source
of the ultimate happiness man is able to obtain in this life. Vd. also ibid., Ch. :25,
in which St. Thomas interprets Ethics, X, 7, as confirming Matthew, v. 8:
Vd. also Summa Theol.,
' 1 Blessed are the clean of heart for they shall see God."
I-II, q. 57, a. :Z ad 2.
Maritain condemns the typically Greek error of making happiness available only
to a chosen few (a leisure class), and of sharply dividing mankind into homo
sapiems and homo faber: vd. Scholasticism and Politics, pp. 17:2 ff.

166

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

in which case, since the virtue of wisdom does not depend on
the cardinal virtues, a man could be happy (i.e., enjoy contemplative activity) without having the cardinal virtues; but
this is contrary to the very meaning of cardinal virtue as indispensable for a good human life; hence, happiness cannot consist in contemplative activity. We can also argue conversely
from the fact that a man can have the cardinal virtues, and
lack science or wisdom. 166 In the sixth place, and finally, the
active life is connatural to man, and man's natural life on earth
is ordained to work, not rest. Even in the sphere of speculative
matters, man must be primarily engaged in the work of seeking
the truth; nor, because of the uncertainty and inadequacy of
his natural knowledge, can he ever desist from such labors to
rest in the contemplation of a settled truth. 167 Hence, to propose a definition of natural happiness which makes man's
earthly bliss the enjoyment of rest through immanent activity,
violates the conditions of man's terrestial life. Furthermore,
such happiness could be enjoyed in a single moment and would
not be the quality of a whole life, never fully in being, always
becoming. For all these reasons, it is necessary to conclude
that man's natural happiness in this life does not consist in
contemplation.
It remains necessary, however, to explain the apparent deviation of Book X from Book I of Aristotle's Ethic8, with regard
to happiness. There seem to be three possibilities. The first is
simply that Aristotle fell into error by changing the meaning of
" perfect virtue " and by confusing " the highest good " with
"the whole of goods." For if by "perfect virtue" is meant
the most excellent of all human habits, qua perfection of power,
then wisdom is the highest or most perfect virtue; in which
case, following the definition given in Book I (activity in
accordance with perfect virtue) , Aristotle slipped unwittingly
into the false conclusion that happiness must be contemplative
activity, for such activity flows from wisdom, the perfect
Vd. Summa Theol., I-II, q. 58, aa. 4 and 5.
Vd. fn. 163, supra. Cf. III Contra Gent., 47, 48, which argue that there is
no rest in this life.
166

167

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY

167

virtue. 168 And if he permitted himself to use the phrase "the
highest good" ambiguously, sometimes to mean the most excellent among all partial goods, and sometimes the whole of all
good things, to which nothing can be added, Aristotle may have
passed unconsciously from thinking of happiness as the highest
good in the second of these two senses, which is the only right
sense, to conceiving it in terms of the first of these two senses,
which allows happiness to become identified with contemplation, for such activity is certainly the most worthy type of partial good. 169 But though contemplation, or even the activity
of speculative work, may be an end in the order of partial
goods, because it is the highest among them, it is not the end
of human life, for that is constituted by the whole order of
partial goods, and achieved only through the cardinal virtues
as productive means. 170
The second explanation is the most likely. It consists in
168 There is some evidence that he did precisely this. " If happiness is activity
in accordance with virtue, it is reasonable that it should be in accordance with the
highest virtue, and this will be the best thing in us" (Ethics,. X, 7, H 77"11). In
one place, St. Thomas seems to follow him in this error (vd. Ill Ccmtra Gent.,
44), although elsewhere St. Thomas clearly asserts that, though wisdom is the
highest of the intellectual virtues (vd. Summa Theol., I-II, q. 66, a. 5), nevertheless, the moral or cardinal virtues are better as virtues, more perfectly virtues in
relation to the end of human life, than are the speculative virtues (vd. ibid., q. 66,
a. 3; q. 66, a. 1; q. 57, a. 1; q. 56, a. 3).
uo Cf. "A Dialectic of Morals," Zoe. cit., III, 3, 381-83, for an analysis of this
error. The substitution of means for ends is a major fallacy in moral thinking.
So is the substitution of a partial good for the whole of goods. In fact, it is the
8ame error in its paramount form, which is obvious as soon as we remember that
every partial good is a constitutive means to the end as the whole of goods. This
is the error of Ethics X on one interpretation of what is there being said. Those
who conceive their last end as wealth or honor commit this fallacy-converting a
means into an end, a partial good into the whole. But to conceive happiness as consisting in contemplation is formally the same error. Materially, it is not aB
egregious, because speculative activity is the highest part in the order of goods
constituting happiness as the whole, whereas wealth and honor are distinctly
inferior goods.
or speculative activity is an end which the intellectual virtues
,_ 7 ° Contemplative
serve directly as productive means, and which the cardinal virtues may also serve
indirectly. Vd. fn. 144, supra. But when the end of human life is properly conceived as the possession of all good things, then only the cardinal virtues function
directly as productive means. The cardinal virtues perfect a man simply, as the
happiness they produce perfects a whole human life.

168

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

showing that there is only an apparent inconsistency between
Book I and Book X. Aristotle's intention in Book X was
merely to discuss one part of happiness which had not yet been
treated, namely, contemplative or speculative activity. The
fact that this is the highest part of happiness does not mean
that it alone constitutes happiness, though there is reason for
saying that a man who is able to enjoy more of such activity
is comparatively happier than those who can enjoy less.
(Strictly, of course, if such activity is a constitutive part of
happiness, it must belong to every happy life in some degree
proportionate to individual differences in talent and fortune.)
Though Aristotle may appear in Book X to be identifying happiness with contemplation, that is only a manner of speaking,
for he explicitly tries to relate his discussion of contemplation
to the definition of happiness given in Book I. 171 Furthermore,
he concedes that contemplation by itself is not enough for a
good life. Because we are men, he tells us, we " also need
external prosperity, for our nature is not self-sufficient for the
purpose of contemplation; hence our body must be healthy and
must have food and other necessaries"; 112 and he goes on to
mention the acts of the moral virtues as also constitutive of
happiness. 172 Though the enumeration is not complete, it can,
nevertheless, be taken as indicating that Aristotle has not departed from the conception of happiness which, as defined in
Book I, consists in the possession of all good things in a complete life-by means of virtue, and with the aid of fortune. But
this interpretation of Book X requires us, of course, flatly to
reject the identification of happiness with contemplation. 174
171 Vd. Ethics, X, 7, 1177•18, where he says: "Now this would seem to be in
agreement with what we said before."
172 vd. ibid., 8, 1178h33-1179•.
178 " Solon, too, was describing well the happy man when he described him as
moderately furnished with externals, and as having done noble deeds and lived
temperately, for one can with but moderate possessions do what one ought "
(Ethics, X, 8, 1179•10-U).
174 In other words, the "definition " of happiness in Book X can be reconciled
with the correct definition given in Book I only on the condition that it be
properly subordinated thereto. And this can be done ouly by seeing that it is not,
strictly, a definition of happiness at all, but merely a statement of what is the

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY

169

The first explanation can be subordinated to the second; 175
but there are some obstacles to accepting the second as completely right, and these lead to a third explanation. In Book I,
Aristotle distinguishes between the active and the contemplative life, and promises to return later to a fuller discussion of
this distinction. 176 He does so in Book X, and there he says
that a life led in accordance with the active (i.e., the moral
highest good in the order of partial goods.

Cf. "A Dialectic of Morals," loc. cit.,

III 3, fn. 47.
There are many passages in the Summa Theologica which seem to confirm this
interpretation of Ethics, X, 7, 8. If we assume that St. Thomas meant by contemplation what Aristotle meant-which we hope to show is not the case--then
we will find that he adds the same qualifications, namely, that imperfect happiness
in this life involves contemplation (i.e., speculative activity), but that it also
requires bodily goods (Summa Theol., I-II, q. 4, a. 6), external goods (ibid., q. 4,
a. 7), friends and fellowship (ibid., q. 4, a. 8) . Moreover, he says explicitly that
happiness in this life does not consist entirely in contemplation, as it does hereafter (ibid., q. 3, a. 5) ;, and elsewhere he supports this by saying that happiness
in this life " consists in an operation of the intellect, either speculative or practical" (ibid., q. 4, a. 5); not only is prudence, then, indispensable for happiness,
but also the moral virtues, for, as he points out, " recititude of will is necessary
for happiness, both antecedently and concomitantly" (ibid., q. 4, a. 4). All of
these texts support the definition of happiness given in Ethics, I, 7, 10, 13; and
this is confirmed by the fact that he says that imperfect and perfect happiness
cannot be of the same species (ibid., q. 5, a. 5 ad 3), and since the specifying
object of the latter operation is God, it cannot be the same in the case of the
operations which generate happiness in this life; moreover, he agrees that happiness must satisfy every natural desire (ibid., q. 5, a. 8 ad 3), which is not the
case with contemplative activity in this life. Finally, in Ill Contra Gent., 63, he
enumerates the various goods which constitute happiness in this life and thereby
satisfy every natural desire that can be requited by natural means: viz: to know
the truth, to exercise virtue in the occupations of active and civic life, to have
honor and friendship, wealth and pleasure. He concludes by agreeing with Boethius
that " happiness is a state of life made perfect by the accumulation of all goods,"
and adds that of all the goods which can be enjoyed in this life knowing the
truth is the most desirable, wherefore " the philosophers who were un>tble to obtain
full knowledge of the final beatitude placed man's ultimate happiness in that
contemplation which is possible during this life." This last statement need not be
construed as contradicting the major portion of the preceding text, any more than
Ethics, X, need be read as contradicting Ethics, I. But it is necessary to read the
words "placed man's ultimate happiness in contemplation" so that "ultimate"
signifies merely the highest part of happiness, and not the whole of it.
"' 5 By properly
interpreting " the highest good " and by understanding the two
ways in which one type of virtue can be said to be better than another.
176 Ethics, I, 5.

170

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

or social) virtues is happy in a seccmdary degree.171 Yet it is
precisely such a life that is being described in Book I as the
happy life for man, without qualificaticm.178 And although, in
Book X, he calls this active, social life a happy one in a secondary degree, he also admits that the contemplative life is " too
high for man, for it is not in so far as he is man that he will
live so, but in so far as something divine is present in him;
and by so much as this is superior to our composite nature
is its activity superior to that which is the exercise of the
other kind of virtue" .(i.e., the social virtues) .179 This suggests that Aristotle, in Book X, is going entirely beyond the
conception of natural happiness as that is developed in Book
I-for a happiness which is not connatural to man as a composite substance, which is not proportionate to his human
powers but can belong to him only "in so far as something
divine is present in him," is not, strictly speaking, an end
commensurate with natural principles. If this be so, there is
no inconsistency between the two accounts, but neither can
they be reconciled as if both were treating of the same mode of
happiness. By some almost miraculous anticipation, Aristotle
may here be thinking-vaguely and remotely, of course-of
the supernatural participation, in this life,· of eternal beatitude,
occurring in the supernatural contemplation that is open to
all who through God's grace (i.e., the divine element in man)
have faith, charity, and the gift of wisdom. Whether or not
this is the truth about Aristotle, it seems· evident that St.
Thomas read Book X of the Ethics as if Aristotle were anticipating a distinctively Christian truth. To complete our discussion of traditional doctrines, in so far as they bear on the
true definition of natural happiness, let us now consider St.
Thomas's account of imperfect happiness.
St. Thomas uses the words "imperfect" and "perfect" to
distinguish between the happiness which can be enjoyed in this
177
178

Ibid., X, 8, ll78•8.
Ibid., I, 7. Especially to be noted is the fact that he there says the happy

life is the social life, not the solitary life-the life of a citizen (vd. l097blO).
179 Ibid., X, 7, H77b£6-29.
Vd. St. Thomas's commentary on this passage, In
Ethic., X, 7, Lect. n, 2105.

THE THEORY OF

171

life and the ultimate beatitude which is possible only hereafter.
The problem of interpreting St. Thomas, in himself and in
question: Is what St. Thomas
relation to Aristotle, turns on
calls " imperfect happiness" a purely natural perfection of man,
or is it a supernatural participation of the divine good, imperfect because oocurring in this life. The issue is not about the
temporality of imperfect happiness, but about its nat·uralness.
The issue is complicated by the fact that St. Thomas obviously
wishes to think that, in treating of imperfect happiness, he is
following Aristotle. 180 But if Aristotle was considering purely
natural happiness-which is the only mode of happiness that
was strictly within his competence as a philosopher and as a
pagan-then St. Thomas's discussion of imperfect happiness
must be subject to the same criticisms and interpretations we
have already applied to Aristotle. If imperfect happiness is
natural, then it cannot be defined as consisting in, as identified
with, contemplation, i.e., natural knowledge of any sort, even
wisdom. We need not reexamine the various texts of St.
Thomas to show that the same difficulties apply to his apparent
identification of natural happiness with contemplation, as apply
to the philosopher's opinions in Ethics, X, 7, 8, unless the
apparent inconsistencies be removed by reconciling the later
discussion with the true definition of natural happiness given
in Book 1.181
180 Summa Theol., I-II, q. 3, a. 6, where after saying that "the consideration of
what can be known by the speculative sciences is a certain participation of true
and perfect happiness," St. Thomas says: "In his book on Ethics, the Philosopher
treats of imperfect happiness such as can be had in this life" (ad l). Cf. Ill
Contra Gent., 44, where he says: " Clearly the opinion of Aristotle was that the
ultimate happiness which man is able to obtain in this life is that knowledge of
divine things which can be acquired through the speculative sciences." Vd. also
ibid., 48: " Happiness in its most perfect form is not possible to man, yet he has
a certain participation thereof, even in this life. This seems to have been Aristotle's opinion about happiness." He then goes on to say, citing Ethics, I, 10,
that such happiness consists in deeds of virtue, and " those who in this life attain
to such perfection are happy as men, not thus attaining to happiness simply, but
in a human way." Deeds of virtue are not contemplation. The virtues here referred to are the cardinal virtues. Yet St. Thomas, in the same chapter, also says
that, according to Aristotle (citing Ethics, X, 7), man's happiness in this life
consists in the speculation whereby he seeks the knowledge of truth.
181 Vd. fn. 174 supra, wherein it will be seen that the same interpretation
can be
made of the Thomistic texts, as in the case of Aristotle.

172

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

But there is another possibility, as we have already suggested, namely, that for St. Thomas-whether or not this can
be said of Aristotle-the imperfect happiness which is identified
with contemplation is not natural but supernatural; that, in
short, the contemplation being considered is not an activity in
accordance with the natural speculative virtues, but rather
what is truly the contemplation of God in this life, achieved
through the gift of wisdom, and consisting in union through
love as well as through knowledge. Such contemplation is, of
course, impossible without grace, without faith and charity,
without the infused moral virtues. 182 Such happiness must be
called supernatural, even though it occurs in this life, because
it is operation flowing from supernatural, not natural, virtues. 188
Despite the fact that St. -Thomas wishes his own discussion
to appear to be in conformity with Aristotle, despite the fact
that in certain places he explicitly says that imperfect happiness is natural, 184 there is much evidence to the contraryevidence which shows that, in addition to the imperfect happiness which is natural, there is also an imperfect participation
(in this life, but through supernatural causes) of supernatural
and eternal beatitude; and that it is of this that St. Thomas
mainly speaks. It should be noted at Oiice that, strictly speaking, there are not two imperfect happinesses. What is truly
natural happiness is the analogue of, not a participation in,
eternal beatitude; whereas supernatural contemplation in this
life is an imperfect participation in beatitude. Both can be
called imperfect, but not for the same reason: the one be182 Vd. Summa Theol., II-II,
q. 4, a. 8; q. 8, a. 9. In regard to the distinction
between natural wisdom and Christian wisdom, vd. ibid., q. 19, a. 7. Cf. fn.
164 supra.
183 Even if the natural
virtues cannot be acquired perfectly without grace, the
sort of operation which flows from them, however they are acquired, can rightly
be regarded as natural happiness; but the sort of operation which is directly in
accordance with the supernatural virtues, and the consequent gifts, cannot be
regarded as natural, even if it occurs in this life, and even if it may also involve
the natural virtues as instrumental causes.
18 • " Imperfect happiness, which can be had in this life, can be acquired by man
by his natural powers, in the same way as the virtues in whose operations it
consists" (Summa Theol., I-II, q. 5, a. 5).

THE THEORY OF

173

cause, though a true analogue of beatitude, it is limited by
the defects of temporality and motion; the other because,
though a participation of beatitude, it is limited by man's
corporeal defects. 185 But, strictly speaking, both cannot be
called happiness, for only natural happiness (as truly defined
by the philosopher) and supernatural beatitude (as analogically
understood by the theologian) are genuinely modes falling
within the analogy of happiness, conforming to the notion of
happiness as the possession of all good things. Supernatural
contemplation is rather the beginning in this life, a first taste as
it were, of eternal bliss; but as it occurs under the limitations
of this life it is neither the finite (natural) whole of goods, nor
the infinite (supernatural) whole of goods.
Let us briefly review the evidences which support this interpretation of St. Thomas's teaching. In the first place, St.
Thomas explicitly speaks of the "imperfect happiness" which
is contemplation as being an imperfect participation in this
life of the beatific vision; in one sense, they have the same
object, i.e., God, though they differ in not being the same kind
of knowledge of that object. 186 In the second place, in treating
Qf intellectual habits, he justifies calling them virtues, because
the acts of these virtues, especially of wisdom, is a " kind of
beginning of the perfect bliss which consists in the contemplation of the truth " 187 -i. e., the knowledge which occurs through
vision; and if this can be said of the acts of natural wisdom,
how much more so can it be said of the activity of contemplation which can occur in this life through the supernatural gift
of wisdom that accompanies faith and charity; the activity of
natural wisdom is only the beginning of that beginning. In the
third place, in distinguishing between the active and the contemplative modes of life, and in regarding the latter as superior,
St. Thomas praises the contemplative life as being more of a
participation here of the perfect happiness hereafter. 188 But
165 Vd. St. Thomas's discussion of rapture in the case of St. Paul, Summa Theol.,
H-II, q. 175. Rapture is the limit of contemplation in this life-the nearest
approximation to the vision whereby God is seen in His essence.
166 Vd. Summa Theol., I-II, q. 5, a. 3 ad
Cf. ibid., q. 5, a. 5 ad 3.
188 Vd. ibid., q. 3, a.
1 67 Vd. ibid., q. 57, a. 1 ad
ad 4.

.174

M. J . .ADLER .AND WALTER FARRELL

if now, finally, we study St. Thomas's doctrine concerning the
active and the contemplative modes of life, we find that both
require charity as their principal productive cause, and hence
that neither can be regarded as natural. 189 The division into
the active and contemplative applies, strictly, only to the life
of a Christian, and the perfection of the Christian life requires
charity. 19 ° Furthermore, St. Thomas explicitly tells us that the
contemplative life consists not in the consideration of any
truths, but only in the contemplation of God. This contemplation, he says, " will be perfect in the life to come when we shall
see God face to face, wherefore it will make us perfectly happy;
whereas now the contemplation of the divine truth is competent to us only imperfectly, namely, through a glass and
darkly (I Cor. xiii,
hence it bestows on us a certain
inchoate beatitude which begins now and will be continued in
the life to come." 191 The language here plainly makes the
point on which we are insisting, namely, that what is truly
contemplation in this life (flowing from supernatural causes)
is not happiness as the natural analogue of beatitude, but rather
an imperfect participation of that beatitude-" a certain inchoate beatitude which begins now and will be continued in
the life to come."
Two important conclusions follow from this analysis. The
first concerns the various meanings of happiness. The second
concerns the character of natural happiness in this life.
(1) There are four distinct perfections of human life, which
the word " happiness " has been used to name. The fourfold
division is made by the opposition between time and eternity,
189 Vd. ibid., II-II, q. 182, a. 2.
Cf. Maritain, Scholasticism and Politics, Ch.
VII: " :Action and Contem.plation."
190 Vd. ibid., q. 184, a. 1.
Cf. ibid., q. 184, a. 2 ad 8; q. 184, a. 8.
191 Vd. ibid., q. 184, a. 4. Yet in this very passage St. Thomas goes on to say:
" wherefore the Philosopher (Ethics, X, 7) places man's ultimate happiness in the
contemplation of the supreme intelligible good." Cf. ibid., q. 182, a. 1, where St.
Thomas also tries to make it appear that Aristotle's arguments for the superiority
of the contemplative life can be cited as supporting his own point, though he must
know that Aristotle cannot be considering the modes of. Christian life which have
their root in charity; ap.d also that Aristotle nowhere specifies the activity of
contemplation as having God alone for its object.

THE THEORY OF

175

and by the opposition between natural and supernatural causes.
In time, there is a natural and a supernatural perfection of
human life. In eternity, there is also a natural and supernatural perfection of the life of the soul. Of these four, we
have not discussed what has been called "natural beatitude "namely, the knowledge which is possible for a separated soul to
have, operating naturally according to that mode of operation
which it can have in separation from the body; 192 nor need we
consider it, for it is both hypothetical and without bearing on
our problem. With respect to the remaining three, there is no
likelihood of confusing the eternal, on the one hand, with the
temporal, on the other. The only difficulty arises with regard
to the two temporal significations of "happiness." Here disastrous confusions result from using that ambiguous phrase
"imperfect happiness" to refer, without distinction, to the good
natural life and to the good Christian life (whether active or
contemplative) .193 Clarity can be achieved only by distinguishing between what is, in time and this life, a truly analogical
mode of happiness and an imperfect participation of eternal
beatitude. By the formal criteria which derive from the analogical notion of happiness, supernatural contemplation in this
·life is not a mode or species of happiness. It is a kind of
rest enjoyed in time-imperfect as rest, and supernaturally
elevating man above the vicissitudes of temporality and becoming. If, however, the word "happiness" be used to name
this sort of rest which a Christian can enjoy, then such happiness can be said to consist in contemplation, most fully
experienced in the contemplative mode of Christian life, but
also present in the active mode of Christian life. But if we use
the word " happiness " more strictly to name the natural perVd. Summa Theol., I, q. 89, aa. 1,
3; cf. ibid., I, q.
aa.
13.
The confusion is increased by the ambiguity of the word " contemplation "
as Aristotle uses it to mean the activity of the natural speculative virtues (whether
seeking or considering natural truths), and as St. Thomas uses it to mean the
supernatural knowledge and love of God which follows upon grace. The confusion becomes almost incurable unless we observe the apparent inconsistency
between the two accounts of natural happiness in Aristotle's Ethics, and reconcile
them in favor of the truth of the definition given in Book I.
192
193

176

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

fection of human life-as naturally achieved as are the natural
virtues which are its principal cause-then temporal happiness
does not consist in contemplation (not even in the consideration of the truths knowable by natural wisdom) , but rather in
the possession of all good things; and this requires us to define
such happiness as activity in accordance with complete virtue,
in a complete life, attended by a sufficiency of the goods for
fortune. 194
(2) In the natural dimension of human life, there is no
significance to a distiction between active and contemplative.
This distinction corresponds to the two directions of charitylove of one's neighbor and love of God-and, therefore, applies
'properly only to the supernatural dimension of a Christian life
on earth. 195 The life that is connatural to man is both active
and social. This does not mean that speculative activity has
no place in man's natural life; but it means that it is transitive,
19 • Wherever it is necessary to avoid confusing the two temporal significations
of the word " happiness," we shall speak of " natural happiness in this life " in
contradistinction from "Christian happiness in this life." Nor should the making of
this distinction lead anyone to suppose that the one excludes the other. A Christian can enjoy both, just as he can enjoy inchoate beatitude in this life (mere
contemplation)_ and perfect beatitude hereafter (the fullness of vision) . On the
contrary, we shall subsequently show that only a Christian can fully enjoy natural
happiness in this life, for without grace the diminished efficacy of fallen nature for
acquiring virtue can accomplish only some degree of approximation to the perfection of natural happiness in this life. Vd. Section 4 infra.
195 Vd. fn. 189 supra.
Maritain (loc. cit.) makes clear the sense in which the
Greek distinction between action and contemplation (between work and rest) is
false (vd. pp. 170-72); and then shows how Christianity transfigured the truth
that the Greek distinction contained (p. 173 fl'.) . Christian contemplation is open
to all men, not only to the learned and the wise. It can occur in any sort of
human activity which is motivated by charity and which, therefore, both springs
from and has its root in the immanent activity of knowing and loving God. The
Christian distinction between active and contemplative lives is not one which
places rest only in purely speculative activity: the rest of supernatural contemplation can occur in the active life as well as in the life which is withdrawn from the
affairs of this world and hence is called " contemplative."
For what is meant
here by supernatural contemplation is the mystical life to which " all souls are
called, if not in a proximate manner, at least in a remote manner," as the result
of the "normal blossoming of grace's virtues and gifts" (p. 185) : in a proximate
manner, through the operations of the contemplative (or solitary) life; in a remote
manner, through the operations of the active (or social) life.

THE THEORY OF

177

not immanent, activity-the activity of work, rather than rest.
It means, furthermore, that man's natural intellectual life is
lived socially; consisting in work done by cooperation and interchange with his fellows; it does not require nor can it long
flourish in solitude.
When we say that man's connatural life is active and social,
we are likely to be misled if we understand the word " active "
in opposition to "contemplative "-for that would re-import
the distinction which is not at all appropriate to man's natural
mode of life. To be perfectly clear here, we should say that the
life connatural to man is a life of work, not rest; and whether
the work a man does is primarily speculative, or primarily
practical, labor, it is the sort of transitive activity which requires the cooperation of his fellow men. Human work is
both rational and social, and these two factors interpenetrate
each other to give full meaning to the discursive quality of
human life. It is for this reason that St. Thomas says that
all the natural virtues-both moral and intellectual-are social
virtues .1 96
This point has great significance for the character o£ natural
happiness. Not only must we deny that there are two grades
or degrees of natural happiness (active and contemplative);
but we must see that natural happiness is specifically the good
of civil life--the natural perfection of a human life as lived, not
196 Vd. Summa Theol., I-II, q. 61, a. 5: "Since man is by nature a social animal,
these virtues, in so far as they are in him according to the condition of his
nature, are called social virtues, since it is by reason of them that man behaves
well in the conduct of human affairs." It must be stressed that St. Thomas is not
speaking here only of the moral virtues, but of all the natural virtues. Cf. ibid.,
II-II, q. 181, a. 4, ad 3, and q. 182, a. 4, ad 1, which show that even in the
supernatural dimension, the active life is connatural to man, not the contemplative.
And the. active life is always a social life, not a solitary one: vd. ibid., q. 181, a. l
and q. 188, a. 8. This suggests that, apart from grace, the natural life for man
is entirely one of work in society, for if this were not so, it would not be true
that the common form of supernatural contemplation, when grace supervened,
would be that of the active and social life, rather than that of the contemplative
and solitary. Cf. fn. 196 supra; and Maritain, Scholasticism and Politics, p. 187;
Three Reformers, pp. 120-123: "The solitary life is not human; it is above or
beneath man." Vd. also Note 67 (p. 230): "Social life has the solitary life not
for its specific end but for its higher limit."

12

178

M. J. ADLER AND WALTER FARRELL

only under temporal, but also under social, conditions. The
vita civilis is the natural occupation of a homo politicus or,
what is strictly synonymous, a homo virtutum acquisitarum; 197
and the perfection of such a life by the possession of all temporal goods is the end naturally commensurate to the operation
of the acquired virtues. To make this point explicit, and without changing its essential significance at all, the definition of
natural happiness might be stated thus: work in accOIJ"dance
with the social virtues, in a complete life, lived politically,
enriched by the fruits of the common good, a:s well as supplied
sufficiently with the goods of f01J"tune.198
Cf. Maritain, Science qnd Wisdom, p. 182.
Let us repeat that the social life is to the solitary, the life of work is to the
life of rest, as the human is to the divine life of man. If we keep this in mind,
we shall understand why social (i. e., the human) happiness for man must be sustained by the common good, enriched by its fruits flowing back into his individual
life. (Cf. Maritain, Scholasticism and Politics, Ch. III, esp. p. 72). Similarly, we
shall understand how man's solitary (i.e., divine) happiness is created by au
overflow from the superabundance of the divine good.
But most important of all is the fact that a right understanding of human
happiness as essentially social prevents anyone from supposing that there can be a
conflict between individual happiness (which is social precisely because it is
individual) and the common good on which it depends. There is no need to
call this natural happiness personal, as opposed to individual, in order to make
sure that it will not be conceived as something which can be pursued only at the
expense of the common good. (Cf. Maritain, loc. cit. above) . On the contrary,
this natural social happiness must be spoken of, and understood, as individual
because it is a perfection of the life of the composite substance of man, not of
his soul. It is not the human soul which is naturally social, but man the substance composite of matter and form. And just as the material principle in this
composition is the source of man's need for social life (the rational principle being
the source of his peculiar administration of that need) , so the same material principle is the source of his individuality. Considering the rational principle by itself
as the seat of man's personality, the word "personal " should be used to name
man's spiritual happiness. In contradistinction to man's individual happiness
(which is social), man's personal (or spiritual) happiness is solitary and divinethe happiness of man with God, here or hereafter, not with his fellow men in the
political community.
This is not to deny the community of saints-for each of the blessed is united
with all in rejoicing over God's presence. Though this enjoyment of spiritual
fellowship is not of the essence of beatitude, it is nevertheless a consequence
which, as St. Thomas says, " conduces to the fullness of happiness " (Summa
Theol., I-II, q. 4, a. 8). The point here being made is that man's individual
(i. e., natural) happiness is essentially social, whereas man's personal or spiritual
197

198

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY

179

Once more, and for the last time, it is necessary to answer
those who will cite the authority of Aristotle against this conclusion. The fact that Aristotle appears to distinguish between
two grades of happiness, that of the active and that of the contemplative life, must be interpreted as we have previously
interpreted Aristotle's remarks about contemplation: either as
error on Aristotle's part, for no such distinction can be made in
the natural order; 198 " or as a vague anticipation of a truth
appropriate to the supernatural dimension of Christian life. If
we dismiss these texts, 199 therefore, as having no relevant
authority, we will find that the ,remainder of Aristotle's discussion supports the conclusions we have reached. The happy
life is the life of a citizen, for that is what man is born to be. 200
What is said in the Ethics on this subject is both confirmed and
amplified by what is said in the Politics. "The best life," he
there tells us, " is the life of virtue, when virtue has external
goods enough for the performance of good actions." 201 Moreover, "that form of government is best under which every man,
whoever he is, can act best and live happily." 202 And then
(i.e., supernatural) happiness is essentially through union with God, and only
accidentally through union with his fellows.
We shall return to a consideration of the problem of happiness in relation to a
false individualism, in Section 5 infra.
298 " In order to avoid the error here indicated, the Aristotelian
distinction must
be understood entirely as a division between two modes of reason's work, theoretic
and practical, not as a distinction between two grades of rest-the active and the
contemplative enjoyment of God. There is, first of all, the distinction between
work and rest, between transitive and immanent activity in this life, but this
distinction can be given practical significance only by a Christian, because a life of
rest (centered in immanent activity) is impossible to sustain without supernatural
causes. Then, subsequently, there is the Christian distinction, in the sphere of rest,_
between the active and the contemplative modes of life; and, in the sphere of
human work, there is the thoroughly natural distinction between the dimensions of
theoretic and practical activity. It is this last, and this alone, which Aristotle is
competent to make in terms of natural knowledge. A crucial text in Book I
seems to show that Aristotle was concerned with the distinction between practical
and theoretic modes of activity in accordance with the rational part of man's
·nature. Vd. 1098•3-6. The apparently disparate passages in Book X, speaking of
" active " and " contemplative," should be interpreted accordingly; or else they
must be rejected as untenable on purely natural grounds.
199 Ethics, I, 4; X, 8.
"""Vd. Ethics, I, 7, l097b8-l2.
202 Politics, Vll, 2, 1324"23-25.
202 Politics, Vll, l, 1324•.

180

M. J. ADLF.R AND WALTER FARRELL

raising the question whether the "best life " is active or contemplative, Aristotle does not oppose them as exclusive; but
while insisting that " the active life will be the best," makes
clear that "activity" here is intended to include both the
practical activities which constitute the wmk of statesmen
and the speculative activities which constitute the work of
philosophers. 203
This concludes our discussion of what natural happiness is.
If natural happiness were not as we have defined it, then there
would be no end commensurate to the natural (i. e., the social)
virtues; and, like the natural virtues, the State would have no
temporal end beyond itself to serve, proportionate to its natural
efficacy as a principal cause. Herein lies the great significance
for political theory of a true conception of natural happiness
in this life. The State, we say, must sustain human life, it
must respect human liberty, and it must help man in the pursuit of happiness. But there are several happinesses men can
pursue-two in this life, and one hereafter. And of these, the
State is competent to help men achieve only one-natural happiness in this life-competent, that is, to work for this end as
a principal cause. The State may also serve as an instrumental
cause subalternated by the work of the Church in helping men
toward Christian happiness in this life, and beatitude hereafter.
If temporal happiness did not exist, the State would have
neither naturalness nor necessity. If the only temporal happiness there were consisted in the joy, the peace and rest, of
contemplation (perforce supernatural) , the State would have
no work to do as a principal cause. But these things not being
so, the State has a natural mission to perform, and a principal
work to do. It remains only to show that it performs this mission and does this work well, in proportion as it is intrinsically
better as a State, according as its form of government is more
or less just. The supremacy of Democracy is not merely that it
effects the greatest common good, but more ultimately that,
through this common good, it distributes to all men the help
they need in the pursuit of natural happiness.
203

Politics, VII, 3, 13:il5bl5-30.

181

THE THEORY OF DEMOCRACY

Before we draw these political implications from our analysis
of happiness, it is necessary to consider certain theological
questions which arise from the fact of man's fallen nature. We
must ask whether the State can do anything, in the sphere of
natural happiness and as a principal cause, without the help of
the Church. We must try to understand how the unity of
Christian life is able to embrace several last ends, not only
temporal and eternal, but also natural and supernatural in this
world of change. Whatever solution is possible must flow from
the truth that grace elevates, it does not destroy, nature; that,
healing fallen nature, grace helps it to achieve what is its due.
WALTER FARRELL,

0. P.

Dominican House of Studies,
Washington, D. C.

MoRTIMER

J. ADLER

University of Chicago,
Chicago, Illinois

(Part III will be completed in the next issue, with the
publication of Sections 4, 5, and 6.)

BOOK REVIEWS
Thomistic Psychology. By RoBERT EDWARD BRENNAN, 0. P. New York:
The Macmillan Co., 1941. Pp. xxvi + 401, with index. $3.00.
This book is a comprehensive study of the mind of man in terms of the
teaching of Thomas Aquinas in its relationship to the experimental data of
modern physiology and psychology. It is not Father Brennan's first effort in
this direction. In 1937 he published a textbook that was " an interpretation
of the science of mind based on Thomas Aquinas." In the earlier work
the greater part of the author's attention was devoted to theories and conclusions which are to be found in any of our standard modern psychology
textbooks. He added, however, several sections on the psychology of Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas for the purpose of fitting the data into a general
frame such as these two authors afford.
In the present volume he has reversed his procedure. The first section is
a summary of Aristotle's "Treatise on the Soul," "Treatise on Sense and
the Object of Sense," and " Treatise on Memory and Recollection." The
second section, and major portion of the book is an exposition of the
Psychology of Aquinas with frequent references to the relationship between
the general principles set forth by the Angelic Doctor and scientific investigation. In each instance the author takes special pains to show that there
is no contradiction between these principles and scientific facts. At the
end of the book there is a brief epilogue concerning modern psychology
and the Thomistic synthesis. Here, the major principles of the contemporary schools of psychology are reviewed and evaluated. Throughout,
Father Brennan maintains that these schools are based on the fallacy of
materialism, since they ignore man as " a besouled organism ... a creature
composed of matter and spirit." In his fiDal evaluation of modern scientific
psychology he says, " the first mistake is in the point of view that the sole
subject matter of scientific psychology is either consciousness and its
pheRomena or behavior and its phenomena. . . . The second mistake is
in the mvesti.gator's complete abandonment of philosophic criteria for his
work. Om of this abandonment comes the loss of the precious concept of
sew. . . . Witkout a soul, :psychoklgy is like a temple without a diety."
Father Brennan admits that scientific psychology has profited by its
sepad'ation from the field of philosophy. It is quite likely that the author
would !Moo admit that such a discipline is a life's work in itself for any
investigllltor: stiY, in p11esentingthe final results of the study of the human
mind he WQUM insi6t that the experimental data is but one part of a
whole, the structure of which is the psychology of Thomas Aquinas alone.
There are several criticisms which I should like to make as they appear

BOOK REVIEWS

188

in chronological order. First, both in his chapters on Aristotle and Aquinas,
Father Brennan makes the sharp distinction between reproductive and
creative imagination. The concept of a creative imagination is neither
Aristotelian nor Thomistic. It is part af our late 18th century heritage aD.d
perhaps an unfortunate one. Secondly, in so far as he has pointed out so
many relationships between Aquinas' description of the sensitive knowledge
of man and our present day knowledge of the nervous system, he might
have discussed the possible relationship of the Thomistic concept of
" common sense " to the function of the association areas of the cortex,
Thirdly, there is experimental data which might lead one to conclude that
animal and human reasoning differ in degree only, which, if true, would
invalidate the Aristotelian and Thomistic dichotomy between the rational
and non-rational animal. Father Brennan in nowise glides past this
problem. He refers to the problem solving of Kohler's apes and cites an
example of what Aquinas called " animal prudence," a capacity distinct
from human reasoning; still, the author's solution to the problem is by
means complete. A number of difficulties lie in the way which he can
take up at some future time.
Despite these criticisms it is surprising that Thomists have taken so
long to write a book such as this, but now that it does exist they should
be grateful.
LIVINGSTON WELCH
Hunter College,
New York, N. Y.

Between Science and Philosophy. By PHILll'P FRANK. Cambridge, Mass.:
Harvard University Press, 1941. Pp. f.l38, with index. $2.75.
The author is a physicist, once professor of physics at Prague, now
Visiting Lecturer at Harvard University. His name is known to philosophers as one of the founders of the so-called Vienna Circle and as a staunch
advocate of " Logical Empirism." His book, a collection of essays dating
from 1908 to 1938, deals mostly with problems concerning the philosophy
of science. They deserve the attention of the philosopher because the spirit
of this particular interpretation of science, and of philosophy, is scarcely
stated as clearly elsewhere. It is not because of the importance of Dr.
Frank's personal viewpoint, but because of the fundamental importance
of the ideas he shares with quite a few well-known students of the theory
or philosophy of scienee that this reviewer feels the work merits extensive
analysis.
The title is as misleading as it is obscure. " Between " might refer either
to relations obtaining between the two fields of science and of philosophy,
or to a field located, as it were, between· two well defined boundaries.
Neither meaning applies to Dr. Frank's view. Philosophy, that is metaphysics, deals, according to the author and his fellows, with " meaningless

184

BOOK REVIEWS

propositions " and has no right to be considered as science. Between a
non-existent something and any other thing there can be no relations,
nor can there be a field bordering on both. If, however, the title should
refer to certain differences of opinion between science and philosophy, or
scientists and philosophers, the question is decided beforehand. Philosophy
loses, because it has no right to exist. The late Professor M. Schlick, of the
University of Vienna, repeatedly emphasized that the task of the philosopher is to reveal the problems of philosophy either as pertaining to some
special science and to deliver them to this science for solution, or to
reveal them as pseudo-problems and thus to eliminate them altogether.
The task of the philosopher, Schlick said, was to prove'that his own work
had no meaning.
Schlick, however, apparently never conceived of this statement as philosophical, nor does Dr. Frank pretend to make certain preliminary suppositions which, according to his. own definition, rank as philosopbjcal. Dr.
Frank speaks in several places of the necessity of adopting his viewpoint
in order to bring about a perfect unity of science. By this he means that
all empirical knowledge has to be stated in a uniform language and that
the boundaries between physics and biology, biology and psychology,
natural and social sciences, thus will be made to disappear. Such a program is possible only if it is previously assumed that reality is uniform
throughout. Now, the term reality does not occur in the language of
Logical Empirism. The only thing we are allowed to speak of are perceptions. Whether these perceptions refer to any kind of reality, material or
ideal, is not a question to be discussed by the scientist, since this question
cannot be answered by the only means recognized as valid, namely experiential verification. To express the state of things correctly (that is in
the language adopted by Dr. Frank) we would have to assume beforehand
that all perceptions are essentially of one kind and permit the application
of the same type of language.
It makes no difference, however, whether we adopt the expressions of
ontology or the rules of " syntax " as developed by Carnap. In both cases
a preliminary investigation becomes necessary to prove that the notion of
the "unity of science" is legitimate. With Dr. Frank and the other
followers of Logical Empirism, there is no question about the legitimacy
of this notion. In this regard they are fully in accord with the most
cherished beliefs of the nineteenth century or with what Dr. Frank loves
to call "school philosophy." By this term he refers to a philosophy moving between the alternatives of idealism, mostly of the Kantian kind, and
materialism. Although Dr. Frank expressly denies any intention of siding
with materialism, he shares views of this philosophy in that he is convinced that a system of terms can be constructed suitable as well to physics
as to any other discipline dealing with observable facts, that is, he believes
in a thoroughgoing uniformity of facts of any kind whatsoever. Perhaps

BOOK REVIEWS

185

he will contend that this statement is not one of philosophy and therefore
"meaningful," since it may be tested by experience. He would, however,
be very much at a loss, so this reviewer feels, if he were called upon to
produce any factual verification. The attempts to build up a psychology
which would be in line with physics is hopeless. Such an enterprise can be
considered as possible only by someone who has fallen prey to the typical
vicious circle underlying most of the reasonings on unified science. First
it is assumed that the methods of science, that is physics, are the only ones
allowing for true experiential verification. When it becomes manifest
that there are certain data which escape any approach of this kind, these
data are eliminated as lacking the scientific character. Thus, psychology
is reduced to an assembly of data which lend themselves more or less to a
treatment moulded on the ideal of physics. But the elimination rests on
the assumption which i'u truth has still to be proved, that there are no
other methods, permissible and reliable, outside of those fashioned according to the pattern of physics.
Dr. Frank has some curious ideas on the history of philosophy. He speaks
of an animistic world view as having dominated medieval philosophy. He
apparently believes that the categories by which Scholasticism conceived
the universe were formed by applying terms derived from inner experience
to the physical world. He seems to ignore the fundamental role played by
the notion of strata of being and of analogy. He once refers to Maritain's
remarks on the philosophy of the Vienna circle, but he has, it seems, no
primary knowledge either of Maritain's ideas or of Scholasticism. This is
not amazing, since his notions on what he calls the school philosophy are
equally inaccurate. Had he a more precise idea of what Scholastic
ontology really is, he might have considered it worth while to inquire into
the legitimacy of his-and, of course, his companions'-notion of unified
science. He might, at least, have discovered that this notion is not so simple
and so inescapable as he evidently believes.
We can agree with the author in many points, as long as he is dealing
with physics. It is quite permissible to consider the statements of the
physicist as mere formulations of factual observations. A " law " of physics
may be defined-these are not the author's words-as the actually most
convenient way of summarizing the greatest possible number of phenomena,
taken in their quantitative aspect, by one formula. One may also side
with the author when he emphasizes that physics as such is independent
of metaphysics and that the former's discoveries or theories have no bearing on ontology. The reason indeed is not what Dr. Frank thinks; it is
not that philosophical statements are " meaningless " and, therefore, without any importance to physics; it is rather that physics does not attain
the level where questions of ontology arise. We should be grateful to Dr.
Frank for pointing out forcibly that the notions proposed occasionally
by philosophers, but more frequently by philosophizing physicists, regard-

186

BOOK REVIEWS

ing indetermination and freedom are utterly void. It is preposterous to
attempt any justification of human freedom by reference to the indeterminancy principle of Heisenberg.
Another premise, taken for granted and accordingly not inquired into,
states the superiority of " simple " propositions, but why must a simple
proposition be preferred in any case to the less simple proposition. It
cannot, of course, be denied that the human mind longs for simplicity, at
least in a certain degree. It is also true that simplicity is a category of
importance in. mathematics. Many modern thinkers quote approvingly
"Occam's razor." They usually forget that the proposition warning against
an undue multiplication of principles is limited-even with Occam himself
-by another which asserts that principles are not to be dismissed arbitrarily (principia praeter necessitatem non esse temere minuenda).
Experiential verification, which alone makes a proposition meaningful,
refers, we are told, to perceptions. Here, however, the statements of the
author definitely lack the desirable clarity. He does not distinguish between
perception as a mental state and the percept as that which is " presented "
or " intended " by this state. His admiration for the Austrian physicist and
philosopher, E. Mach, makes him overlook the same lack of clarity in this
thinker's statements. The distinction between the thing perceived and the
perceiving mental state, however, is a primary fact. To ignore it amounts
to an arbitrary simplification and, therefore, a falsification of factual evidence. This .neglect of obvious facts is the more remarkable as Dr. Frank
taught for many years at a university where the name of Franz Brentano
was held in high esteem. The identification of " school philosophy " with
Neo- Kantianism or, eventally with crude materialism, is due to the same
neglect. Dr. Frank ought to be aware of the existence at his time of other
schools of philosophy, in Germany. Among these schools those going back
to Brentano deserve particular mention.
Like the other members of the Vienna circle, like the various positivists
and pragmatists, Dr. "Frank is a thorough nominalist. He does not, however, care to justify this viewpoint; he takes it for granted. He· approves,
of course, of the operationistic interpretation of concepts as proposed by
Professor P. W. Bridgman, of pragmatism, at least in regards to its fundamental attitude, of behaviorism in psychology and of all similar schools.
It is obvious to anyone reading this book with a somewhat critical eye
that this partisanship
nothing to do with the notions on the natiD"e of
physical theories. A relation with these other fields of study becomes
visible only if the primary proposition of the essential uniformity of knowledge and its objects is previously granted. Besides these general and basic
objections, there are many other criticisms or questions which come to the
mind of the reader. It is not feasible to take up all. the points which may
be questioned. Some few instances must do here by way of illustration.
Dr. Frank remarks {p. 65) that physicists are the more dominated in

has

BOOK REVIEWS

187

their thinking by " the traditions of school philosophy " the less they are
used to thinking about philosophical questions. This is true, but it applies
to the non-school philosophy in the same degree. A school which a priori
declares that all philosophical problems are meaningless, cannot be considered as " used to thinking about philosophical questions." These questions are eliminated and not thought of at all. Back of the position taken
by the logical empiricists is a definite philosophy, as this reviewer has tried
to show; but this philosophy is not thought of, it is taken for granted. So
also it is taken for granted that "inventing a procedure which, with the
help of a skillfully chosen system of symbols, is capable of bringing order
into our experiences " is a matter of course and does not entail any further
problem. But it is not meaningless to ask how much an invention becomes
possible or why" imagination" is capable of creating a framework wherein
to comprise the data of experience. Dr. Frank's notion becomes understandable when one reads that " in practice we encounter only experiences,
never an object." This too is statement not of " experience " but of
metaphysics. Experience tells us of objects; the human mind distinguishes
between its experience and the object to which the experience refers. If
the testimony of common sense is to be rejected, reasons must be given
for this; else such a statement is no more than an arbitrary decree without
any justification.
The answer to this objection, as given by logical empirism, declares that
the question whether the real world, apart from perceptions, exists can
neither be answered nor even expressed because it cannot be " expressed
through constituted concepts" (p. 89). This, of course, is but another
way of formulating the fundamental axiom of the meaninglessness of metaphysical statements because they escape experiential verification. The
testimony of' common sense which, after all, expresses a verification common
to everyone (unless his ideas be fettered by some idealistic philosophy),
is disregarded. In this direction the Vienna school is a true follower of
Kant, whose ironical comments on common sense could find a place alse
in a treatise by one professing the creed of Carnap, Frank, Wittgenstein, etc.
Already in his first article, of 1908, Dr. Frank gave an interpretation· of
causality which is based on notions altogether different from those contained, e. g., in Aristotelian-Thomistic philosophy. The only interpretation the author knows, besides his own, is more oc less Kantian. His views
have not developed; twenty-one years later he had not changed his previous standpoint. One passage deserves quotation. "If the symbols conform
to the experiences in a very detailed manner, we speak of causal laws; if the
correspondence is of a broader sort we call them statistical" (p. 99).
Dr. Frank apparently
that the degree of correspondence depends
only on the progress of methods. This leaves umtRswered the question
whether or not there are rea§ons, depending on the material investigated,
for the greater or lesser correspondence. This question, to Dr. Frank, is

188

BOOK REVIEWS

meaningless, since it cannot be tested by experience, or so he says. But
experience to him means measurement. Were there data which escape
measurement, the question would become of primary importance. This
problem again does not exist for such a mentality. "Only the formula
for the connection between electric charge and inertia (and of course similar data) is a statement about the observable world " (p. 157) . It is well
to note the particular sense of " observable." Only what the physicist
observes with his methods and what may be observed by anyone capable
of handling the appropriate method is recognized. There is not the slightest
attempt at any justification for restricting in this manner the field of
experience. The fact of inner experience, for instance, is disregarded.
The indeterminacy principle of Heisenberg is well know. According to
Dr. Frank it has to be stated thus:
has no right to speak of particles
the positions and velocities of which are present but cannot be accurately
observed (p. 159). One can only speak of "experimental arrangements in
the description of which the expressions ' position of a particle ' and
'velocity of a particle' can never be employed simultaneously. If ...
the expression ' position . . .' can be used, then in the description of the
same arrangement the expression ' velocity .. .' cannot be used.'' By this
" complementary description " the danger of metaphysical conception is
avoided.
As has been pointed out before, one has to agree with Dr. Frank that
the principle of Heisenberg is, as such, metaphysically irrelevant. To make
it an argument in favor of free will, is a thorough misunderstanding of the
facts. 1£,
Dr. Frank pretends that" free will is no expression from
the psychology of daily life but rather a metaphysical or theological expression," he evidently is prejudiced. A little more knowledge of facts would
have shown him that this is not the case. Freedom and coercion are
primarily facts of daily, pre-philosophical experience. The statements: I
shall do what I want, or: I cannot do what I want, are expressions of
common experiences. The whole discussion on the problem of freedom
shows an amazing ignorance of facts. The suggestions on how to build up
a " scientific " psychology (p. 171) are utterly preposterous and can originate only in minds that know nothing of the empirical data regarding
mental life.
The Aesopian fox found a meager consolation, when he could not reach
the grapes, by telling himself that they were_sour. More ingenuous, another
fox in the same predicament proclaimed: Whether grapes are either sweet
or sour cannot be tested by experiment. By tasting we ascertain the fruitnature. The statement that there are grapes is, therefore, meaningless.
Unfortunately, this fox forgot to consider that there could be other beings,
taller than he is, and therefore capable of tasting the grapes.
Catholic University of A merioa,
Washington, D. C.

RunoLF

ALLERS

BRIEF NOTICES
God and Philosophy. By ETIENNE GILSON. New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1941. Pp. xviii + 147, with index. $Q.OO.
This book, though short, is extremely important for anyone wishing to
understand Prof. Gilson's contribution to philosophical method. In the
preface to the work he explains what he is trying to do in his teaching and
writing, viz. to extract from the history of past philosophies "the essential data that enter into the correct formulation of a philosophical problem,
and of determining, in the light of such data, its correct solution." This
is not simply history of philosophy, but philosophy in the light of its
history, philosophy using the histories of philosophies as a handmaid. In
the four lectures of the present work, Gilson confines himself to the metaphysical problem of God, and the particular aspect of that problem chosen
for emphasis is "the relation which obtains between our notion of God
and the demonstration of his existence."

Living Religions and a World Faith. By WILLIAM E. HocKING. New
York: Macmillan, 1940. Pp. Q9l. $2.50.
This volume has one end in view-a prognosis of the future relationships
between world religions. As an executive of the Protestant foreign missions, Dr. Hocking has had ample opportunity to enjoy actual contact with
many of the Asiatic religions, and brings the results of his deep study to
the ·production of this book. He treats, in order, his own concept of religion and its relationship to the many Christian religions; the characteristics of oriental religions, methods in attaining a world faith and,
finally, a survey of the present religious situation and a forecast for the
future world faith. It is unfortunate that a man of Dr. Hocking's ability
is unable to realize that a living religion and a world faith is already in
existence, has been in existence for two thousand years, and, if Christ's
promises are at all to be trusted, will exist till the end of time.

Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical Association, December
30 and 31, 1940. THE PROBLEM OF LIBERTY. Washington, D. C.:
Catholic University of America.
The papers read at the American Catholic Philosophical Meeting of last
year attack the problem of liberty from many aspects. The titles of the
papers are as follows: "Necessity and Liberty: An Historical Note on St.
Thomas Aquinas," by A. C. Pegis; "The Metaphysics of Human Liberty
in Duns Scotus," by Bernard Vogt; "The Influence of Immanuel Kant's
concept of Liberty," by Joseph B. McAllister; "Person and Liberty," by

189

190

BRIEF NOTICES

Gerald B, Phelan; "Intelligence and Liberty," by Gerard Smith; "Liberty
and Authority," by Yves R. Simon; "The Purpose of Liberty," by Geoffrey
O'Connell; " The Limitations of Liberty," by John McCann. To be noted
also is the paper read in the panel discussion by Bernard Muller- Thym on
"The To Be Which Signifies the Truth of Propositions."

The Emancipation of a Freethinker. By HERBERT E. CoRY. Milwaukee:
Bruce, 1941. Pp. xx + 313, with index. $3.00.
Within a slight framework of biographical detail, Dr. Cory gives us here
the workings of his mind toward the Catholic Faith. His intellectual
background is amazingly broad. After graduating from Brown, he received
his doctorate at Harvard, taught English literature for nine years at the
University of California, became something of a Marxist. During the war
he settled in Baltimore and for four years specialized in biology at Johns
Hopkins. His training there led him finally to see the validity of the
proofs for the existence of God. Thereafter his progress towards the
Church was rapid. As he sketches this background, Dr. Cory presents to
the reader the answers he found in the faith to the problems that faced
him along the way. Hence we find an exposition of the Church's social
teaching, of her attitude towards the problem of evil, of the nature of
faith, of the nature of beauty. There is also in broadest outline a history
of the Church in her greatest crises, and an explanation of some important
dogmas. This book is, then, a treasury of apologetic material colored by
the splendid literary and scientific culture of its author.

The Concept of Sacred Theology. By JosEPH C. FENTON. Milwaukee:
Bruce, 1941. Pp. xi + fl76, with index. $3.00.
In his latest work Dr. Fenton offers to all who are interested in theology
an exposition and defense of its scientific character. He does more; for
included in the book are an exposition of the loci theologici and a brief
history of theological writings. Basing his work on the latest researches
in the field, Dr. Fenton, with utmost clarity, presents a well-rounded view
of theological science. His work is especially welcome now when so many
are completely ignorant of what theology has to offer in the way of sane
thinking and sound moral principles.

Landmarks in Philosophy. By IRWIN EDMAN and H. W. ScHNEIDER. New
York: Reynal and Hitchcock, 1941. Pp. x + 1008, with index. $3.00.
This is a selection of continuous texts from some of the outstanding
philosophers of Western culture. The following are included: Plato,
Aristotle, Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Descartes, Hobbes, Berkeley, Hume,
Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, James and Bergson. In their Introduction the authors say: "We have, for example, omitted Spinoza because
it seems impossible to present in brief compass in his own words the whole

BRIEF NOTICES

191

character of his central themes, problems and solutions." Presumably they
think that they have succeeded in presenting the " whole character of his
central themes, problems and solutions," of the other authors in the volume.
This is, of course, not so. They have presented an excellent selection of
texts from these philosophers dealing with one or another important
philosophical problem. In the hands of a skillful professor this work would
make an excellent introduction into the methods of philosophical thinking.
The index is especially valuable for collating the opinions of the philosophers
on any one question. Unfortunately, the selection from St. Thomas is taken
from Rickaby's translation of the Summa Contra Gentiles; consequently the
central portion of the text, the proof of God's existence, is expressed in a
general syllogism with no attempt to give the fundamental reasons contained in its premises.

Les Parents et l'Enfant. Deuxieme Congres annuel, 18-21 juin 1941.
Ottawa: Les Editions du Levrier.
The following papers are contained in this report: "La Philosophie des
Relations Familiales," by Louis-Marie Regis, 0. P.; "L'Education des
Parents," by Irenee Lussier; "Parents and Heredity," by Peter Sandiford;
"Les Parents et Ia Formation de la Conscience Morale," Noel Mailloux,
0. P.; "Parental Acceptance and Rejection and their Influence on the
Child's Behavior," by Charles M. Diserens; "La Famille et L'Ecole dans
L'Education de la Personalite," by Jean-Charles Miller; " The Identification,
Description and Development of the Intellectually Gifted," by Florence S.
Dunlop.

A Catholic Dictionary. Edited by DoNALD ATTWATER. New York: Macmillan, 1941. Pp. xvi 576. $1.98.
This is a reissue of a book originally published under the title The
Catholic Encyclopaedic Dictionary. Because of a conflict of titles, the
publisher has changed the title of this valuable work and offers it to the
public at an extremely reasonable price.

Summa Cosmologiae seu Philbsophia Naturalis Generalis. By FREDERICK
SAINTONGE, S. J.
Imprimerie du Messager, 1941.
Professors of Cosmology will welcome this new textbook by Fr. Saintonge.
It is very simple, clearly written and well presented. Each thesis is
presented in traditional Scholastic style, but there are several additional
features. Carefully constructed nominal definitions are given of all the
necessary concepts at· the head of each thesis. The objections are well
chosen and quite modern. Best of all, a short bibliography is appended,
giving the capital texts in Aristotle and St. Thomas, page references to
other manuals, and a list of periodical literature dealing with the question
discussed. This last feature makes the book especially valuable.

BOOKS RECEIVED
Blakney, R. B. Meister Eckhart: A Modern Tmnslation. New York:
Harper & Bros., 1941. Pp. xxviii + 333, with Introduction and Notes.
$3.00.
Cargill, A. Intellectual America.
+ 777, with index. $5.00.

New York: Macmillan, 1941. Pp. xxi

Gondin, W. R. Prefaces to Inquiry.
Pp.
with index. $2.00.

New York: King's Crown Press, 1941.

Greene, E. B. Religion and the State in America.
University Press, 1941. Pp.
with index.

New York: New York
$4.00.

Lowinger, A. The Methodology of Pierre Duhem.
University Press, 1941. Pp. 184, with index.

New York: Columbia

Meehan, F. X. Efficient Causality in Aristotle and St. Thomas. Washington, D. C.: Catholic University Press, 1940. Pp. xxii + 4M, with index.
Robinson, R. Plato's Earlier Dialectic. Ithaca, N. Y.: Cornell University
Press, 1941. Pp. viii+
with index. $3.00.
Shields, L. W. The History and Meaning of the Term Social Justice.
Notre Dame, Indiana: 1941. Pp. SL
Stolz, K. R. Pastoral Psychology (Rev. Ed.).
Cokesbury, 1941. Pp.
with index.

192

New York: Abingdon-