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(For the nature of the sections see the “General Introduction”, here.)

Abbreviations: Ar. = Aristotle, AQ= Aquinas, NE = Nicomachean Ethics, EE= Eudemian Ethics




If, therefore, there is some end of our actions that we wish for on account of itself, the rest being things we wish for on account of this end, and if we do not choose all things on account of something else —for in this way the process will go on infinitely such that the longing involved is empty and pointless — clearly this would be the good, that is, the best. And with a view to our life, then, is not the knowledge of this good of great weight, and would we not, like archers in possession of a target, better hit on what is needed? If this is so, then one must try to grasp, in outline at least, whatever it is and to which of the sciences or capacities it belongs.

But it might be held to belong to the most authoritative and most architectonic one, and such appears to be the political art. For it ordains what sciences there must be in cites and what kinds each person in turn must learn and to what point. We also see that even the most honoured capacities —-for example, generalship, household management, rhetoric—- fall under the political art. Because it makes us of the remaining sciences and, further, because it legislates what one ought to do and what to abstain from, its end would encompass those of the others, with the result that this would be the human good. For even if this is the same thing for an individual and a city, to secure and preserve the good of the city appears to be something greater and more complete: the good of the individual by himself is certainly desirable enough, but that of the nation and of cities is nobler and more divine.

The inquiry, then, aims at these things, since it is a sort of political inquiry. ” (NE, 1094a18-1094b11; Aristotle´s Nicomachean Ethics, Bartlett, Robert, and Collins, Susan; University of Chicago, Chicago, 2011)


1) Why does Ar. begin once again with a conditional if-sentence? Is HE unsure of himself? Or rather, does he wish to make US open to the possibilities? Does he wish to allow us to think for ourselves? And, why exactly does he offer two —and only two— choices? Why does he present us with an either/or predicament? Why is it EITHER a Summum bonum OR a pointless longing for the unattainable? For it is clear, isn´t it, that modern thinkers such as Hobbes, Locke and Montesquieu actually come up with a RADICALLY different strategy? Isn’t their/our modern strategy one which ALLLEGEDLY, does away with the either/or predicament? For instance, isn´t it clear that Hobbes , rather than positing a SUMMUM bonum puts forth as the basis of all political philosophy what could be called a MINIMUM bonum, namely, self-preservation/security? But if we are the heirs of such an INNOVATIVE and challenging reduction by the early moderns, HOW to even SEE the radically different and challenging nature of Ar.’s stark choice? Or put another way, has modernity really done anyway with the ALL/NOTHING dilemma posited by Aristotle? Are OUR longings, leading us ANYWHERE; are OUR ends worthy of us? For we must recall what has been said of modernity’s solution as a “joyless quest for joy”, mustn’t we? At the cost of being imprudent, wouldn’t we wish either tragedy OR happiness, rather than an obfuscating “appearance” of impoverished and spiritually barren secure living? Isn’t this exactly why Ar. promptly qualifies himself by saying that we are speaking not simple of the good, but THE BEST simply?

2) But much more radically speaking, what exactly is the longing nature of human beings ALL ABOUT? How is this longing going to play out as we move along the paths of the NE? What exactly is this Summum bonum for which we all search and which, allegedly, may bring an “end” to such needful longings? And what to do with Locke’s description of our motivation as simply being one in which NO Summum bonums appear, but rather sets of pleasures and pains we seek or avoid? But, what if this longing were to turn out to involve our longing for a certain kind of immortality, of eternity? What is the nature of such eternity, of such desire for immortality? And in this regard, isn’t it the case that, as modern, Machiavelli ALSO did NOT see the need for positing any superior or more architectonic end than that of FAME? And don’t the Federalists in the Constitutional debates to a large extent AGREE with him? (See SECTION IV below) But as we said in our previous commentaries, wouldn’t it be odd to long to be famous for the WRONG reasons?

3) And doesn’t Ar. early on tell us very clearly that this is ALL a question of the kind of life we ACTUALLY lead? But then again, how exactly are we to connect KNOWING about this good (if there is such a overarching good, and if it DOES have such weight) with actually DOING/ACTING/MAKING in our everyday lives? For couldn’t it happen that perhaps the greatest good might turn out to be of such a radically different nature that all acting, doing and making in our everyday moral concerns, might come to be cast as secondary? Or put another way, what if SOME of us, as archers, were pointing to a target we cannot even see at the start? Will engaging the NE make it visible for some of us? To whom? To which of Ar.’s DUAL audience? And, what if precisely such longing is part of the reason we fail to see? How would our longing be thus transformed? Would it even remain? Further, what is it about the example of archery that makes it attractive to Ar.’s audience? I mean, couldn’t we just substitute it for a revolver, or even a machine gun? But, isn’t archery a very demanding SKILL (so much so that it is still part of the Olympics)? Isn’t it true that just about ANYONE can fire a gun at ANY target? What is it about the TECHNOLOGICAL achievement of gunnery that DOES AWAY with the nobility of ARCHERY? And, what is it about archery that is SO different from hand-to-hand fighting skills? Are we seeking a certain distance from the actual fight?

4) And crucially connected to our previous commentary on Ethics I,1: why does Ar. ONCE AGAIN waver between saying what exactly it is that hits upon this target? Why does he say it is a science OR a capacity? Isn’t he once again making us see the highly complex relation between KNOWING and having a CAPACITY that can be activated? Is it actually a science that can activate the capacity (dunamis) and release its energy? But isn’t the ethical inquiry to proceed in OUTLINE? Which exactly is the SCIENCE of outlines? And wouldn’t it be EXTREMELY odd to think that the PRACTICAL SCIENCES are, in the end, under the MASTERY of the speculative/theoretical ones? Wouldn’t it be odd to think that one becomes good/noble/moral at the Lyceum? Or, going back to our previous commentaries, wouldn’t a certain part of Ar.’s audience —that of the serious citizens—- see this submission with radical suspicion? Isn’t this why General Laches protests so much against General Nicias in the Platonic dialogue which bears HIS name? And, isn’t Nicias’s fate –—and the defeat of Athens— in Sicily quite relevant in this regard? And to find a certain parallel in areas beyond the humanities, isn’t it clear that famous business professors such as Mintzberg actually see clearly these dilemmas when they argue that it is EXTREMELY difficult to categorize what MANAGING actually is all about? Isn’t this why they argue that MANAGING is a science and an art and a capacity and an activity and a kind of knowing? And isn’t managing a KIND of leading? Or put another way, aren’t business schools quite unaware of these Aristotelian puzzles, and likewise of the very history of the economic goods which they claim hold Ar.’s privileged position as being THE BEST?


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(For the nature of the sections see the “General Introduction”, here.)

Abbreviations: Ar. = Aristotle, AQ= Aquinas, NE = Nicomachean Ethics, EE= Eudemian Ethics




Every art and every inquiry, and similarly every action as well as choice, is held to aim at some good. Hence people have nobly declared that the good is that at which all things aim. But there appears to be a certain difference among the ends: some ends are activities, others are certain works apart from the activities themselves, and in those cases in which there are certain ends apart from the actions, the works are naturally better than the activities.

Now, since there are many actions, arts and sciences, the ends too are many: of medicine, the end is health; of shipbuilding, a ship; of generalship, victory; of household management, wealth. And in all things of this sort that fall under some one capacity —for just as bridle making and such other arts as concern equestrian gear fall under horsemanship, while this art and every action related to warfare fall under generalship, so in the same manner, some arts fall under one capacity, others under another —–in all of them, the ends of the architectonic ones are more choiceworthy than all those that fall under them, for these latter are pursued for the sake of the former. And it makes no difference at all whether the ends of the actions are the activities themselves or something else apart from these, as in the sciences mentioned.” (NE, 1094a1-18; Aristotle´s Nicomachean Ethics, Bartlett, Robert, and Collins, Susan; University of Chicago, Chicago, 2011)


1) Why does Aristotle begin his text by using such complicated, even technical, vocabulary (technē, methodos, praxis, proairesis, kalos, telos, energeia, ergon, dynamis, epistēmē..)? For surely this is not your everyday terminology, is it? I mean, one just needs to read the contrast between epistēmē and technē in Book VI to see the comprehension requirements of such a beginning, doesn’t one? Or, alternatively, one just needs to survey the complex commentaries which such a beginning has spawned in academia! But then, WHO precisely is Ar. addressing as his audience by proceeding thus? Does he wish to point to the fact that his audience must be prepared to engage a vocabulary that is not simply given in everyday experience? Will everyday experience have to somehow be “clarified” as we proceed along his path? So, wouldn’t Aristotle be seeking from the very start an audience friendly —or better, that could potentially become friendly—– to philosophical jargon, its complexities and its detailed characterizations? But, how can he guarantee this? And MUCH more importantly, doesn’t Ar. begin AS WELL by signalling to the fact that he will bow in his ethical investigations to what is “held to be” (dokein) the case? And surely “what is held to be” is precisely what thinks itself in no need whatsoever of investigation, isn’t it? So, isn´t the audience that hears Ar. comprised as well by those morally sound citizens whose opinions are seen to be noble (kalos) from the very beginning? And, aren’t the examples actually given in subsection 1 taken from the very everyday activities known to any educated citizen of the polis? For it would be odd to think that shipbuilding/war goes on in the Lyceum, wouldn’t it? Consequently, wouldn’t Ar. be pointing to the fact that this audience has a kind of dual nature? Aren’t we moved to understand that philosophers must confront a mixed kind of audience, namely, those who have been properly educated in moral things, and those —-much much fewer, one surmises—– who being properly educated in these noble things, have a underlying longing to understand whence such education? Thus, wouldn’t such an audience be conformed both by serious citizens as well as would be individuals keen in understanding the foundation of such moral education, and because GOOD, absolutely clear on the dangers of philosophy to practical life? (Warning made explicit in EE, 1216b39-1217a6)

2) But then again, why does Aristotle wish to point to the relationship between the noble and the good? Why exactly should this be THE beginning? What is it about the noble that gives it such weight that IT allows for the beginning of THE serious ethical inquiry? Who could be the audience such that the noble would be an object of admiration and desire? Who would actually be moved by such initial assumptions? All humans? Surely not. All the citizens? Perhaps only those ALREADY capable of hearing the noble? But then, what are THEY to learn? Or, is it would-be philosophers in the Lyceum? But aren’t they supposed to question “assumptions” such as this? And, crucially, what is the nature of this kind of relationship between the noble and the good that the means of communication by the philosopher is by way of rhetorical argumentation and the use of enthymeme (Rh, 1355a)? Why does rhetoric in the investigation of the ethical take precedence over the scientific and logically syllogistic? Is the enthymeme simply a truncated syllogism? Or is it the other way around, the truncated syllogism being that syllogism which is SIMPLY scientific? Don’t many modern discussion around the ethics suffer, precisely, from this illness of inversion? But then again, what if modernity has actually subverted such rhetorical skills? How then are we to prepare ourselves to be able to listen to such beginnings? Can we moderns, in fact, even listen to the noble in its true magnitude?

3) In what perhaps has to be one of the complex puzzles: Why does Aristotle introduce the issue of teleology from the start? “By nature” (physis); what does that exactly mean? Does it mean what it means for Montesquieu at the beginning of The Spirit of the Laws? Does it mean what it means for us post-Galileans? Don’t we obviously know that Aristotle deluded himself into thinking that the universe had an intrinsic teleology which can no longer be accounted for? Or rather, aren’t WE deluding ourselves into thinking we in fact understand Aristotle so that we have little or nothing to learn from him in terms of the understanding of the whole (in this regard Bolotin’s An Approach to Aristotle’s Physics: With Particular Attention to the Role of His Manner of Writing, is of the essence)? Is “nature” merely a concatenation of natural effects and causes following certain “natural” laws (see Hobbes, Leviathan, Part I, Chapter V. “Of Reason and Science”? Or rather, does it refer to a certain intelligibility of the whole? But then again, what in humans makes them capable of understanding such a whole? And how is the understanding of the whole made accessible SOLELY by way of an understanding of the ethical/political things? And if this were true, wouldn’t then the NE be THE entrance point par excellence?

4) And why the initial reference to choice? Is Aristotle prudently, gently, preparing some of us for a choice which involves getting to understand the noble and its dynamics? Why so? Because in the EE, Aristotle in contrast has NO qualms whatsoever about making it LOUD AND CLEAR to the reader that the question is, in fact, one of CHOICE (EE, 1214b6-13: “everyone who can live according to his own choice should adopt some goal for a the fine life … “) ? But then again, why is Ar. so reticent about being as LOUD in the NE? Is it because of his better understanding of the nature of the mixed audience attending his lectures? Isn’t part of the audience, the noble part, less akin to the loudness of philosophical inquiry? Wouldn’t that audience rarely —if ever—- visit the Lyceum where the activity of dialogical questioning is taken for granted? And, very importantly for students of Ar., wouldn’t this signal to the greater maturity present in the NE in contrast to the EE? Or put another way, wouldn’t the EE stand to Plato’s Republic, as the NE stands to the elder Plato’s Laws?

5) And, why does Aristotle seem to struggle with the hierarchical relation between different ends, those that are activities for their own sake, and those which have an end (a work) apart from the activities themselves? Why does he FIRST say that the those with works apart are naturally better (again, in what sense of “nature”?)? But then at the end of this very same Subsection 1, he goes on to, seemingly, contradict himself by saying that actually “it makes no difference at all whether the ends of the actions are the activities themselves or something else apart form these”? Didn’t he just a few lines before argue the exact opposite? Why exactly is Aristotle trying to “confuse” us? Is he trying to get us to see that the relation between ethical activity and its “products” is one that will be shown to be problematic? For shouldn’t one be ethical for the sake of the activity itself and not for any results stemming from these noble actions? Or put another way, what is the product of being ethical apart from being ethical? Wouldn’t that alone be the greatest pleasure? Is the product for another, or rather the product becoming oneself a certain kind of person? Or put another way, can the moral virtues be seen solely for their own sake, and not for any ulterior product which they may obtain? And we know, as well, that Ar. will go on to claim that eudaimonia, which is in fact THE end of our human activity, is in fact not a state but an ACTIVITY? So once again, Ar. seems to make us puzzle precisely as to which type of ends take precedence over the others. Or, rather, may there not be instances in which the activity undergone IS the “product”? Isn’t the relation between logos (speech) and ergon (deed) a bit like this? Because, following Ar. and the Socratic legacy, isn’t the core question HOW we should lead our lives? And, isn’t Ar. starting to signal, perhaps, that understanding is some such kind of activity?

6) And as regards the famous expression “hence people have nobly declared that the good is that at which all things aim”, why once again is Aristotle so reticent to distinguish between the “good simply” and the merely “apparent good”? For surely we may believe of our arts, inquiries, actions and choices that they may be directed towards the/our good, but be totally wrong about this! Evidently too many are not (drug trafficking, lock-picking, bullying, smoking, stealing, murdering, prostituting ….) Why is Aristotle so resistant about giving us any of the too well-known bad examples? Isn’t it, of course, because of the connection to the puzzles put forward in 2)? Or to provide an example, why would Ar. simply see with amazement —or better, disgust—- the fact that Colombian TV networks, and MANY citizens, find it unproblematic to produce a series on the life of Pablo Escobar? And what is it about our anti-Aristotelianism that allows such actions to generate HUGE ratings and economic benefits? And, beyond this, if “the good is that at which all things aim”, surely what this superior end is, must be further dealt with? For Ar. knows quite well —as he will let us CLEARLY know as he proceeds in Book I—- that there is a philosophical tradition stemming from “Plato” that seems to claim that THE Good, and most probably also those who claim to know IT, are “not even of this world”! Doesn’t Ar. know all-too-well Aristophanes Clouds?


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It seems now the time has arrived to put forth, as best as possible, some of the reflections —reflections which have guided me throughout the last few years of my life—– with regards to  Aristotle’s all-important views on the question of happiness as presented in his Nicomachean Ethics. For I take it that it has in fact been this encounter which has sent me on a path which I would have otherwise never encountered.


Which path is this? Negatively speaking, it is a path which stands in stark contrast to the traditions that have made up the horizon of my/our conceptual possibilities and practical lives. On the one hand, the horizon of our modern liberal democracies grounded precisely on the very critique of Aristotelian political philosophy; particularly as set out in the works of Hobbes, Machiavelli, Locke and Montesquieu, all of whom to different degrees see Aristotle as THE rival to face and even, literally, to conquer. The realization of this inherent animosity must clearly point to us students how ALIEN the work of Aristotle must actually be to us children of such an anti-Aristotelian modern tradition. For if we ARE as modern democrats defined partly against Aristotelianism, it would be extremely odd that we would easily delude ourselves into believing that Aristotelianism is primarily akin to our own, that is to say, that it is somehow readily accessible and altogether familiar.  We must fight the easy consolation, the very troubling consolation, of assuming that Aristotle is simply “one of us”. Nowhere is this more clearly seen than precisely in the CORE Aristotelian investigation of virtue (areté), and of happiness (eudaimonía); and even more importantly of the complex and perhaps tense relationship which might come to slowly unfold as Aristotle guides us into seeing the puzzling relationships between said virtue(s) and happiness. By way of an example of how easily we disregard Aristotle’s challenge,  we can focus on the fact that many academics STILL continue to hold on to the erroneous view that Aristotle simply enumerated ——because he agreed with implicitly and explicitly—– the Greek virtues set out in Books 3 and 4; an intellectual magical disappearing act which overlooks these books which are PRECISELY the very key to understanding the dynamic and the general course of the Aristotelian argument at its most fundamental! So, we could in fact say that for us modern western democrats  Aristotle is —–at least initially, perhaps even indefinitely—- an Other that challenges our presuppositions, and does so like no Other can or ever will. Obviously then, this commentary objects to the generalized view that Aristotle is somehow solely the founder of a tradition, namely civic republicanism, that can still be seen in much later modern authors which even include Machiavelli. For surely, there is as much oxygen in gaseous form on the moon, as there is Aristotle in Machiavelli. And to make this clear, Machiavelli is certainly very proud of this.

And on the other hand, this is a path which stands in stark contrast to the traditions that have made up the horizon of revealed religion, fundamentally the tradition of the Bible in both its Judaic and Christian traditions, but also that of the Koran in Islam. Such a horizon finds its grounding not ——-as it does for Aristotle—— in the spirit of free and rational philosophical inquiry on the nature of the political and the ethical, but rather on the persistent obedience due to God in whose all encompassing and mysterious justice, merciful loving grace and creative omnipotence we alone can find THE sole anchoring required for our constantly tepid and all-too-debased sinful humanity. Again, it is the realization of this inherent tension which clearly points to us how ALIEN the work of Aristotle must be to us children of the rise and triumph of revealed monotheism (even if, of course, modern western democracies have in fact, via Locke and Montesquieu, redefined the very framework within which we have come to understand such divine revelation in our days). Nowhere is this more clearly seen than in the peak which is the virtue of magnanimity (megalopsuchia), virtue which has as its most deficient extreme, the religious virtue par excellence of humility; for let us be clear, humility is, for Aristotle, a vice simply. Or further, it can be clearly seen in the very fact that the virtue of faith (pistis) is, dramatically —–and to our astonishment as part of a monotheistic tradition—– not even considered one of the virtues to be analyzed in the list of eleven virtues found in the Nicomachean Ethics itself (Evidently, this is NOT to say that Aristotle does not take up the question of the divine continuously in the text, as we shall have occasion to witness). But one could also mention, so that we again come to be taken aback by the very strangeness of Aristotle’s arguments, the inexistence of any serious development of the notion of friendship  (philia) within the Bible; or the initial unflattering status of the political within Genesis itself, Cain being the founder of the first political city which will lead directly, and not metaphorically, to the just destruction of the pretensions of the kind of “magnanimous” arrogance found in  the technological project of Babel. So we must again repeat, as we attempt to follow this new path —–and perhaps to our initial dismay—– that Aristotle once again stands as a kind of Other who questions fundamentally the presuppositions of our thought, or more truthfully and with greater relevance,  the presuppositions of our lives. And that this is so, is extremely fortunate, for realizing his otherness we can thankfully ask: how then could we still remain the same by reading and dwelling upon his strange remarks? Aristotle liberates, and it would seem, some of us are in need of a great liberal education by such dialectically challenging type of friends.

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Filosofía política clásica; el modelo socrático y aristotélico como respuesta a las encrucijadas modernas.

El interés principal para esta propuesta de investigación ——como aspirante a su departamento——- es la de hacer una defensa profunda de lo que representa la filosofía política clásica como posible respuesta a la actual crisis del liberalismo moderno occidental. Dicha investigación se enfrentaría conceptualmente a los defensores del proyecto de la modernidad que buscan las condiciones universales para la defensa de nuestras democracias en una teoría comunicativa (Habermas), y a aquellas posturas que buscan hacer explícitas las condiciones fundacionales imaginarias e hipotéticas para una teoría de la justicia (Rawls). Por otra parte, aunque esta investigación ve la importancia del serio y profundo cuestionamiento radical a la razón moderna que plantean las obras de Nietzsche/Heidegger ——–que en su conjunto incluso llegan a cuestionar el proyecto occidental de racionalidad política fundado originariamente por Sócrates—– esta considera que la falta de una reflexión política sostenida permite a los neo-nietzscheanos post-modernistas (Foucault, Derrida) una ilusoria victoria conceptual que permanece incompleta, que es imprudente (en el sentido Aristotélico de phronesis), y que por ende es altamente peligrosa para la salud general de la comunidad política. En contraposición, afirmamos que es en la obra ético-política de Aristóteles que se da la máxima expresión de lo que representa la filosofía política clásica como contrapropuesta. (1)

Dejando de lado las múltiples interpretaciones que puedan haber surgido de Aristóteles, lo cierto es que al centro de la argumentación detrás de esta investigación radica una lectura que se funda en el pensamiento de Leo Strauss (y en particular, de su estudiante Thomas Pangle). En general el reto neo-aristotélico se ve enmarcado dentro de una tradición aún más amplia que se puede comprender hoy en día como la del “movimiento socrático”. Este movimiento de retorno retoma con seriedad el evento socrático ejemplar, a saber, el de la fundación de la reflexión filosófica de lo político por parte de Sócrates. Comprenden ellos que en efecto hay un segundo Sócrates que se ha distanciado de las presuposiciones apolíticas de los pre-socráticos, presuposiciones que llegaron a conformar la postura conceptual del primer Sócrates interesado exclusivamente en la pregunta por la naturaleza (physis). Esto es lo que es conocido como la “segunda navegación” de Sócrates (Fedón, 99c). Strauss lo resume así: “Socrates was the first philosopher who concerned himself chiefly or exclusively, not with the heavenly or divine things, but with the human things”; Strauss (TCaM, 13).  Es por ello que para lograr una real recuperación del reto del pensamiento político clásico se debe recurrir a la ya mencionada perspectiva que ve el debate antiguos-modernos como el conflicto fundamental para las aspiraciones de una verdadera filosofía política que tenga respuestas concretas, prudentes y sabias a nuestras crisis. (2) Sin embargo este retorno comprometido y serio al racionalismo de la filosofía política clásica tiene ya desde su comienzo diversas variantes interpretativas. Esto se puede ver claramente en la triple comprensión que se da de Sócrates por parte de Platón el filósofo dialéctico, por parte de Jenofonte el escritor militar y por parte de Aristófanes el comediante. La evidente tensión entre estas apropiaciones socráticas se ve claramente hoy en día en el contexto filosófico universitario en la medida en que Jenofonte no es considerado, como sí lo era en la antigüedad (por los romanos, por Maquiavelo, por Hobbes y por Shaftesbury), como un pensador digno de un estudio serio, profundo y continuado; sobretodo por la recuperación del valor de la retórica como lenguaje privilegiado de lo político. (3)

Ahora bien, la excepción a esta regla de exclusión silenciosa, es precisamente la propia tradición straussiana. Al recuperar la multiplicidad de lenguajes socráticos, y muy especialmente la obra de Jenofonte, la tradición straussiana gana una interpretación enriquecida de los clásicos, y en particular, de la obra aristotélica. El retorno recuperativo de la filosofía política clásica por parte de la tradición straussiana por lo tanto permite el planteamiento de preguntas olvidadas. Por ello a la base de esta interpretación surge la pregunta fundamental que el discurso filosófico moderno ha relegado al olvido, a saber, la pregunta misma de ¿por qué la filosofía? A la importancia de las preguntas heideggerianas tanto por el sentido del ser como por el “¿qué es la filosofía?”, se enfrenta una pregunta aún más fundamental y originaria en términos políticos. Es decir, el “qué es” de la filosofía sólo se puede comprender cabalmente una vez hayamos realizado una investigación prudente del “por qué” de la necesidad del filosofar dentro de la comunidad política. Leo Strauss ofrece cierta claridad acerca de esta pregunta que funda las posibilidades del saber filosófico una vez se ha liberado de su “amnesia” frente a la filosofía política clásica: “The philosophers, as well as other men who have become aware of the possibility of philosophy, are sooner or later driven to wonder, Why philosophy? Why does human life need philosophy? … To justify philosophy before the tribunal of the political community means to justify it in terms of the political community, that is to say, by means of a kind of argument which appeals, not to philosophers as such, but to citizens as such.” (mi énfasis) (4) Sin duda la academia, en gran medida, no ha escuchado este llamado. (more…)

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Review of: Great Debate: Advocates and Opponents of the American Constitution, here

(Taught by Professor Thomas L. Pangle  here , The Teaching Company)



Perhaps one way to express the extraordinary debt we owe Professor Thomas Pangle for the many gifts his teaching generously provides us, is by recalling one of the specific difficult issues taken up in the deeply and intelligently contested debates held between the Federalists and the Anti-Federalists over the very meaning of the American Founding and the foundational requirements of the new American Constitution. Thus, in dealing with the very complex question over the separation of powers ——partly following Montesquieu, the Oracle for all those involved in the debate—– Hamilton goes on to defend the idea that for the very stability of a sound modern commercially-oriented Republic, the executive must possess, embody and publicly be made clear to possess, what he calls ENERGY. Hamilton writes: “Energy in the executive is a leading character in the definition of good government” (FP, No. 70, p. 421).

And surely one part of the goodness of the gift that Professor Pangle offers us in these 12 (yes, only 12!), very short, very dynamic, very powerful and very concise lectures, is precisely his ENERGY-rich presentation of the Founding Debate itself, an energetic presentation which should in fact allow for a better sense of the dynamics of government and of governing by better prepared citizens, that is to say, ennobled citizens better educated for the intricacies of learning to rule and to be ruled as the dignified self-governing beings that they can become. In other words, these lectures, at the very least, allow for the creation of the requisite spaces for a better UNDERSTANDING of the  conditions underpinning the political sphere on its own terms, that is to say, of the struggles undergone to gain the privilege of ruling and of the intense struggles over the hierarchical ordering of the ends of good government as seen by diverse practically-minded statesmen/stateswomen. The course does so via an understanding of the conceptually and practically privileged origin, irrepeatable historical origin, which IS the unique and momentous Founding of any given political community. Such prioritization of the Founding notably defended as particularly enlightening by all of classical political philosophy, but nowhere more clearly brought to light for us to see than in the dramatic presentation which is Plato’s Laws. Within the American civic heritage such privileged moment is precisely that of the Confederation Debates held between 1787 and 1790 when the post-revolutionary “Articles of Confederation” came under serious questioning during and after the Convention of 1787. It is the Federalists (Madison, Hamilton, Jay; using the pen name “Publius”) —–in response to highly critical newspaper articles published anonymously by brilliant Anti-Federalists (Brutus, Federal Farmer, Centinel), some of whom had left the Convention filled with intense indignation—— who, because of said challenge, are “put on the spotlight” and made to defend their radical, previously unheard of, innovations.

And, it is made transparently clear to us, in the urgency of the tone of the delivery, and through certain republican rhetorical abilities used (!), that such a return ——which stands in serious contrast to a simple shallow “progressive” reading of history as economically/ideologically driven——- is by no means an exercise in luxurious time consumption. Rather, such a return bespeaks of the crisis of the American political system, if not of the very crisis of the democratic west itself as exemplified in ONE of its member nations (albeit a very powerful, one could even say, a kind of model one; of this, more later). Or, as Professor Pangle’s Professor wrote:

It is not self-forgetting and pain-loving antiquarianism nor self-forgetting and intoxicating romanticism which induces us to turn with passionate interest, with unqualified willingness to learn, toward the political thought of antiquity. We are impelled to do so by the crisis of our time.” (Strauss, The City and Man, 1).

This uniquely energetic presentation, then, is all the more comprehensible as a kind of response to such a crisis. Such a vigorous presentation is a philosophically-inspired reflexive attempt at UNDERSTANDING the core elements that may be considered, in part, and primarily by those interested in the political life itself, in order to become the types of public leaders ——in their souls, so to speak—– who can ultimately generate sound, decisive and prudent educational practices amongst their liberally-educated citizens. Such leaders, the dignity of whose moral virtuous and intellectual skills is repeatedly recovered by Professor Pangle, would then be better capable of generating a certain kind of political healing of our complex modern democratic condition, which ——–because not seen in its complexity—– can be worsened furthermore by a false sense of security that is derived always from all convenient uncritical “ideological” oversimplifications. Such medical therapeutics, in an important sense, deals with origins, not merely with a multiplicity of simplified and disconnected symptoms. Undoubtedly, Aristotelically speaking, the course is partly a courageous attempt at a therapeutics of critical recovery. And to know that this unique experience is available to us all via the internet through The Teaching Company bespeaks of the energetic generosity of shared thought and of thoughtful American enterprise.



But prior to going into the CONTENT of the course itself, it might be wise to look at some of the features which make the course such an exemplary one for us all, academics and non-academics alike; specially for those of us interested in recovering the dignity of political life, of public service and of the complex sacrifices and dilemmas involved in the pursuance of our highest most virtuous moral and intellectual ideals.


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“Nadie enciende una luz para después cubrirla con una vasija, ni la pone debajo de la cama, sino que la pone en un candelabro para que los que entren vean la luz.” (Lucas 8:16)

Mi queridísima, creyente y dulce madre,

Recorriendo el paso de los años llegamos hoy, en un nuevo junio 28, a  aquel número ya demasiado avanzado (!), ese número que al hablar siempre como madre e hijo que quieren ser cada vez más amigos,  reímos jurándonos jamás revelar. ¡No lo revelamos por eso de los secretos que es mejor guardar bien guardados! Pero, eso sí, todos sin excepción, todos (desde el más desconocido hasta los más cercanos) te han mirado y se sorprenden al ver cómo ——sin tanto artilugio femenino moderno y tanta vacua vanidad excesiva—- has logrado revertir ese paso de los años en tu mirada noble, en tu piel canadiense y en todo tu ser único. Porque es en verdad importante también recordar hoy la muy bella mujer que eres y has sido siempre. Las fotos de tu vida así lo revelan, así te lo hayan ayudado a olvidar los cercanos. Y recuerda bella madre querida; ¡cabello blanco canoso, jamás!

Y hablando del paso del tiempo; ¿recuerdas madre aquellas cartas —-ya “compartidas” con algunos otros a través de internet por razones precisas—– cartas dedicadas a mi padre, cartas escritas en vida para intentar sanar a partir de la comprensión momentos difíciles vividos? ¿Recuerdas aquello que te compartí acerca de cómo fueron escritas? Cuestión de brevedad y de ver qué limitada es la reflexión profunda que nos guía en la vida, sobretodo en la vida de familia en donde las certezas del silencio garantizan una limitada seguridad ——una “seguridad” supuestamente ingenua, que irónicamente llega a ser defensiva y agresiva a la vez——-  por sobre las difíciles posibilidades de una real felicidad y de relaciones mucho más honestas y profundas. Porque es que se requiere de cierto tipo de coraje reflexivo para la felicidad, y ese coraje es una virtud cada vez más rara de encontrar y hasta de reconocer. Era como si aquellas cartas para mi padre, ya muerto, ya estuviesen escritas en mí hace mucho tiempo atrás pero sin destinatario real; sólo que era preciso compartirlas con mi complejo y querido padre en quien ya la vejez avanzada  hacia su aparición. Ahora se comparten con algunos otros para que él no sea olvidado; los eventos posteriores a su muerte las hacen todavía más necesarias que nunca. Por ejemplo,  otros creen y tácitamente defienden el que no hablar con el padre durante toda la vida es algo defensible y honorable. Claro mientras ELLOS no sean ese padre. Pero dejando eso de lado; madre esta carta es para ti, intenta ser un recuerdo de tu ser.

Te recuerdo esto madre porque en cambio contigo no he tenido la necesidad de escribir múltiples cartas. Hoy te cuento por qué, aunque tú en cierta medida ya los sabes. Y te cuento que la agilidad para escribir estas palabras se da gracias a aquello que he decidido en parte hacer con mi vida y que tú has siempre apoyado incluso sin realmente saber en un principio su significado especialmente para la futura historia de nuestro paso por la vida y de nuestro encuentro “reciente” en la amistad ganada. Tuvieron que pasar décadas para que tú, y claro también yo (!), comprendiéramos mejor el valor para el alma de cada uno de la dedicación a las humanidades, y sobretodo a la obra de Aristóteles y la vida de Sócrates. Aristóteles, bien llamado en la Edad Media “El Filósofo”, que cuestiona tan seria y hábilmente los fundamentos y presupuestos de nuestra actual academia filosófica. Y también, tú lo sabes, es sólo gracias al efecto tanto de Taylor, y de manera imposible de agradecer de Pangle, en mi vida. ¡Por qué es que ese tipo de profesores son como un cierto tipo de madres! ¡Qué competencia tan fuerte para la madres de verdad, no! No en vano Sócrates se comparaba él mismo a una partera que nos ayuda a nacer bajo un tipo de cuestionamiento continuo acerca de nuestras vidas y de la naturaleza de la virtud y de la excelencia humana. Y algo así como parir es lo que hicimos juntos en los últimos años. Y podríamos hasta decir que ya en la vejez naciste a la vida una vez más. Dejaste de ser tan solo esposa silenciada, madre asumida, abuela repetida,  para regresar a ser aquella Denise con voz, color, económicamente independiente, libre para una fe más sólida y sana  y con un sano sentido del amor —–y hasta del humor—- propio. Y ese proceso se ve en tu actual manejo de la palabra, tu capacidad de defender tus importantes valores, y en tu mayor capacidad para sonreír y reír.  Y hoy, hoy, nadie te puede hacer perderte nuevamente. Ya nunca más te perderás;  así incluso yo ya no sea más.

¿Y, entonces, por qué no hemos escrito cartas entre los dos? El por qué es bien sencillo de responder; o por lo menos  hasta cierto punto. Pero el motivo principal es que nuestra relación en los últimos 10 años ——los que “en verdad” cuentan pues la vejez nos revela nuestra real vulnerabilidad humana—– se convirtió con gran esfuerzo de parte y parte en una relación más honesta y abierta que intentó entregarse a la palabra hablada, intentó llevar al lenguaje aquellos silencios abismales que para muchos se convierten en un cierto tipo de mundo invisible y sobreseguro. Porque, ¿qué fortaleza defensiva más consolidada que aquella que ni siquiera se quiere ver con real seriedad, cierto madre? Y es verdad madre que tú misma te creíste así de sobresegura, indignada en silencio con mi muy complejo y difícil padre ——a quien recuerdo ahora con mucho cariño—– sin entrar a ver cómo y por qué las cosas se dieron como se dieron. Es que el silencio indignado y temeroso está a la base de una de las tiranía más efectivas; sobretodo porque se considera cobijada por un cierto autosacrificio que se cree, erróneamente, absolutamente bondadoso. Sobre esto regresáramos más adelante en esta carta. En cambio, qué bueno madre hoy poder decir que no tienes esa indignación, ni ese temor, ni esa burda carencia de palabra. Y aquí entre los dos, ¿cómo nos sirvió la tarjeta roja que inventamos juntos, cierto? Qué bueno poder querer hablarnos, poder querer vernos, poder reírnos, poder burlarnos, poder querer compartir, poder pedir perdón y perdonar, poder madrear (que viene de la palabra madre!), poder agradecer, poder querer querer, poder amar; y por sobretodo todo lo demás,  poder querer reflexionar.

Tal vez tú no lo sepas, pero el ejemplo político más revelador de esa dinámica perniciosa es el libro La Madre de Gorkii y su ingenua aceptación de la revolución comunista como el mayor bien para sus conciudadanos y para la humanidad. ¡Por esa “Madre” estará permitido dentro de esa realidad hasta convertirse en asesino! Y es que las infames y cobardes FARC de nuestra Colombia querida sólo creen en ese tipo de madre “leninista/estalinista”. No tienen problema alguno, con su visión militarista criminal, en robarle a muchas madres campesinas sus hijos e hijas por todo nuestro territorio. No tienen problema alguno en obligar a abortar a aquellas guerrilleras que desean ser madres. No tienen problema alguno en dejar sin hijos/as a las madres de los secuestrados —basta recordar a la constante tristeza indignada de la madre de Ingrid—- sumidas en la profunda desgracia del desconocimiento y teniendo que recurrir a todos los medios para poder volver a ver a quienes dieron a luz en complejas situaciones personales. No tengo problema alguno en “madrearlos” eternamente como lo hacia hábilmente mi padre, ¿cierto? Y, ¡qué frescura recordar la operación Jaque!

Obviamente esto no quiere decir que siempre pudimos hablar; no, tú y yo lo sabemos bien, todo lo contrario. Pues al crecer yo de niño y de joven comenzaba a encontrar las palabras que creía tu ya tenías, pero que ya mayor entendí en realidad eran precisamente las pocas palabras que en verdad nunca habías podido hacer tuyas. Por esos motivos que ahora podemos juntos revivir y confrontar, un silencio profundo tomaba en ti el lugar de la palabra. Y como tú eras mi muy querida madre, ese silencio intentó hacer su casa también en mí. No resulta para nada extraño que haya decidido, muy pero muy joven a los 17 años, ir bien lejos de nuestra Colombia querida, al lugar de tu nacimiento, al lugar donde encontraste el amor y comenzó tu familia, al lugar donde yo me comencé a hacer quien soy; a ese hermoso Montreal que llevamos los dos en el alma como pocas ciudades y que parece gracias al “destino” podremos visitar en unos pocos meses de nuevo.

¡Y tal vez incluso sería como protesta ante esa realidad de silencio a la vez deseado y forzado  que me convertí en profesor de idiomas y traductor y escritor y profesor de humanidades con altísimo interés en la naturaleza del lenguaje siguiendo la obra de Taylor! ¿Sería un rechazo a esa existencia ensimismada que nos caracteriza a tantos como modernos? ¿Y ahora quien me calla, cierto madre? Pero tú sabes bien que no, que yo prefiero el silencio de la paz bien conseguida, que busco la distancia frente al constante bullicio. Y tú sabes bien que mi vida en los últimos años, años de enfermedad, ha sido un poderoso enfrentamiento de aquellos silencios y aquellas privaciones que te enmudecían y de cierta manera te hacían insensible y fatalista. Como decimos los colombianos, la grosera tradición del “deje así mijo”. Tal vez muchos países puedan “dejar así”; pero Colombia no es uno de ellos. Tal vez muchos ciudadanos puedan “dejar así”, pero los ciudadanos colombianos no son unos de ellos. Tal vez muchos hijos/as puedan “dejar así”: pero yo no seré uno de ellos. Y tú tuviste el coraje de no dejar así las cosas; mi padre lo intento también. Por eso pudimos cuadrar que fueran a la finca juntos. Porque es poco creíble la otra opción en que se desarrollan familias sin haber hecho el trabajo duro y largo de sanar la propia familia de la que se surge. A largo plazo, ¿habrá salud verdadera y real allí? ¿A qué precio?

Pero lo que sí quiere decir el no habernos escrito cartas es que la palabra hablada, o mejor la vivencia en cercanía silenciosa (porque fueron muchos los años que vivimos separados, muchos otros los que vivimos en cercanía en diferentes momentos de la vida)  siempre fue el camino de nuestra comunicación mutua por sobre cualquier posibilidad escrita. El motivo puede ser que el mismo escribir al cual me he dedicado yo, te causa un nerviosismo extremo por aquellas historias que sólo los dos sabemos. Entre ellas, ¿recuerdas esa profesora en Montreal que de entrada te indispuso hacia el conocimiento escrito?  Otras son demasiado evidentes.

Es por esto que escribo esta carta este día especial, sabiendo que para ti la actividad de la escritura te es ajena, misteriosa, incluso peligrosa. En verdad es peligrosa, a menos de que uno tenga la confianza requerida, y la habilidad retórica,  para seguir el camino indicado por las palabras. Y tal vez aunque somos en cierta medida  parecidos querida madre (incluso físicamente como me lo recuerdan los que nos conocen bien, y como lo revela de manera absolutamente impactante esa foto tomada por Marya sentados en aquella banca de Kensington en la que compartíamos mientras los seres de todo el planeta pasaban frente a nosotros),  lo cierto es que esa es la más profunda y dramática diferencia entre los dos. En la palabra escrita, en cambio, yo tal vez pueda encontrar el camino para darte un regalo de amor y de agradecimiento que sea mío, un regalo como —ahora lo entiendes un poco mejor —- muy pocos hijos/as pueden dar y muy pocas madres puedan recibir.

Porque en verdad te escribo esta carta para recordarte nuevamente mi amor por ti y para hacer de nuevo un recorrido de cómo fue que pasó aquello que paso entre los dos, es decir, el surgimiento de una profunda, real y verdadera amistad fundada sobre las complejas bases siempre presentes entre todas las madres y sus hijos (y de manera aún más compleja con sus hijas por razones que no es difícil imaginar). Son estas bases no siempre las más sanas posibles, en la medida en que la vida de sacrificio permanente con la cual vemos el valor de la madre puede generar un cierto tipo de dinámica que imposibilita un real querer y un real amor propio que es la condición sin la  cual una real amistad reflexiva y emocional se hacen imposible. En otras palabras, aun cuando esas no sean las intenciones reales, el camino de la vida y sus complejidades pueden llevar a un cierto tipo de autosacrificio que hace que el amor sea percibido como un cierto tipo de  “deuda” que debe ser “recompensada”. El ejemplo más preocupante para gente como yo es toda la parafernalia del llamado “Día de la Madre” en donde supuestamente por fin se les reconoce a las madres todo lo que han dejado de hacer y de ser por nuestra felicidad. La ironía es que resulta, hasta cierto punto, en un día de trancones y hasta  sobresaltos. Y ese orgullo pernicioso del autosacrificio incuestionado puede ser precisamente una de las mayores causas de un malestar generalizado que nos cuesta enfrentar decididamente. Esto sobretodo dada nuestra cultura colombiana y québecoise católica, en donde el sacrificio de sí mismo casi es el objetivo primario ya que de lo contrario supuestamente  —– Aristóteles diría, ingenuamente—– se dice que caemos en cierta vanidad orgullosa. Dicha tradición católica que como tu sabes respeto y defiendo —sobre todo frente a cierta arrogancia del cristianismo protestante en Colombia—- gracias a ejemplos católicos como el Padre Francis, el profesor Taylor, el Padre Durán, Pacho, Marya y  tú misma; pero que veo puede aprender de otras tradiciones y así generar mejores condiciones vitales para quienes la practican decididamente o al menos intentamos reflexionar honestamente acerca de sus limitaciones y posibilidades autodestructivas personales, y sobretodo, políticas (por ejemplo, la presidencia de Andrés Pastrana). Porque, ¿no resulta acaso extraño que sea difícil encontrar madres felices? En este sentido madre, y sabiendo de tu amor por la Virgen María, ¿no contrasta con esta realidad de la que te hablo el hecho de que la Virgen casi nunca es representada en nuestra tradición como sufriendo y padeciendo? (excepto claro, en el momento de la muerte de Jesús).

Como tú sabes, madre, es gracias en parte a esa otra tradición, la de los griegos y sobretodo la de Aristóteles y Sócrates,  que hemos podido comprender el sacrificio más allá de simples “deudas” que incluso en sus peores ejemplificaciones hacen que el mismo Dios quedé en cierto tipo de transacción negativa con nosotros! ¡La gracia de Dios con saldo en rojo!

Aristóteles —-como siempre—– nos ayuda a ver con una mayor claridad esa dinámica en dos apartes de su obra magistral sobre ética, es decir, sobre el carácter y la excelencia, sobre la virtud y la felicidad. Por un lado,  indica él el ejemplo culminante del sacrificio de las madres al decirnos que se considera que las madres aman tan incondicionalmente que:

“una señal de esto es que las madres  gozan en querer. Pues algunas entregan sus hijos para que (otros) los críen y, con tal de que sepan de ellos, los siguen queriendo sin buscar la correspondencia en el amor; y si no pueden tener ambas cosas, parece que les basta con verlos prosperar, y ellas quieren a sus hijos, aun cuando estos, por ignorancia, no devuelven nada de lo que se le debe a la madre.” (EN VIII *8)

Madre, como modelo de la entrega total; y yo que soy tu hijo veo ya en el transcurrir de los años los peligros de semejante ecuación total, sobretodo si no va de la mano de una cierta pausada reflexión. El olvido de sí mismo, la falta de felicidad vital real, la indignación ante la no-correspondencia, el silencio de la soledad y la acusación de miradas sin palabras. Podríamos decir de manera muy general que ese amor incondicional sin una mirada hacia la felicidad y al bien reflexivo de la madre misma puede terminar haciendo del amor maternal una labor y una carga incapaz de entrar a indagar seriamente la raíz de semejantes transformaciones inesperadas y  realmente problemáticas para el alma tanto de las madres como de sus hijos/as. ¡Y sobretodo, nos prepara menos para la vejez en la que ya no contamos con las energías para semejantes reflexiones y decisiones y en la que podemos entrar a depender totalmente de nuestros hijos/as!


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Reflections: Response to “El Tiempo” columns 7: Comentario a Francisco Cajiao: “Educar para la Política”, febrero 17 de 2009.

Debo decir que es casi siempre un verdadero placer leer sus columnas. Su profundo conocimiento de las dinámicas educativas de Colombia es admirable.

Ahora bien, considero que en su columna sobre educación para la política hay varios elementos de gran importancia. Ante las actuales dificultades políticas que vive nuestro país —y las conectadas dificultades éticas y educativas—— usted invita al lector, en parte, a hacer un recorrido histórico hacia los griegos. En este sentido usted, muy prudente y acertadamente, indica que hay al menos dos elementos a considerar. Citándolo directamente dice usted:  1. “La política es el comportamiento fundamental del ciudadano. Política viene de polis (ciudad). Por eso, cuando se habla de competencias ciudadanas es necesario entender que ellas deben conducir a la formación política. …. el ciudadano debe aprender desde su infancia a discriminar lo que conviene para el bien común, de acuerdo con un orden ético y jurídico.”,  y 2. “Siempre, desde la antigua Grecia, se consideró la educación como el medio privilegiado para fortalecer la democracia, formando ciudadanos libres, capaces de discutir sus diferencias y propuestas mediante el ejercicio de la razón. Por esto, el ágora es el espacio privilegiado de la política.”

Al primer elemento le podemos dar el nombre famoso de republicanismo clásico en la medida en que el ser humano según Aristóteles es por naturaleza un ser político. El segundo elemento que usted enfatiza acertadamente es lo que podríamos llamar la importancia de una educación liberal para los griegos. Lo cierto es que en su conjunto estos dos elementos indican una parte de las bases fundamentales de la reflexión filosófica sobre la política que encontramos principalmente en la obra de Aristóteles, que a su vez está respondiendo de manera directa, y también indirecta, a las reflexiones políticas y filosóficas por parte de Platón y su maestro Sócrates. Pero como veremos, estos dos elementos no subsisten de manera tan armónica como podríamos pensar, y sobretodo como podríamos desear, en tanto modernos. Es decir, en tanto modernos nos parecería obvio que, si  logramos dar con el adecuado tipo de educación política, entonces lograríamos llevar o transferir a la realidad esas conclusiones, los resultados de dicha investigación, como base de un proyecto político definitivo de fundamentos universales y generalizables. De esta manera, entonces la práctica y la teoría se retroalimentarían de manera beneficiosa para ambas de tal manera que la justicia se encarnaría como nunca antes. Algo así sí creyó posible todo movimiento marxista/socialista/comunista (y más aún el leninista/stalinista que es modelo aún para las afiebradas FARC) con su consigna de transformación total de la realidad tal y como aparece formulada de manera dramática en las breves y famosas Tesis sobre Feuerbach del propio Marx: (“Tesis 11: Philosophers have hitherto only interpreted the world in various ways; the point is to change it”.)

Pero me temo que semejante proyecto que cree que la educación política puede adquirir real vida y guiar decididamente “desde arriba” (e incluso militarmente) el quehacer político contrasta radicalmente con el verdadero realismo filosófico-político de los grandes pensadores políticos griegos Platón, Jenofonte y Aristóteles (posteriormente complementados por la obra de Cicerón para los romanos). No puedo entrar en detalle aquí, pero por ejemplo, el ejercicio dialógico que presenta La República de Platón, cuyo tema es la pregunta de su interés, es decir, la pregunta por la virtud de la justicia (virtud fundacional de lo político en tanto que nos remite al “bien común”),  invita no a que fundemos una ciudad realmente gobernada por aquellos filósofos políticos o líderes que supuestamente sí han logrado ver el verdadero esquema educativo a seguir, sino todo lo contrario, invita a ver en cierta medida el por qué de las limitaciones profundas y serias de creer que la teoría puede llegar a tener semejantes efectos sobre la realidad política de cualquier ciudad o de cualquier comunidad política. Es más, al comienzo del drama que es este diálogo fundacional entre Sócrates y dos interesantes jóvenes (Glaucón y Adimanto) con intereses políticos diversos, Sócrates mismo es forzado a permanecer en la discusión contra su propia voluntad. Posteriormente en el diálogo Las Leyes Platón retoma de nuevo las intrínsecas limitaciones de lo político comenzando esta vez su investigación desde el lenguaje propio  de lo político. Por ejemplo, los interlocutores son ahora hombres mucho mayores, ya no de Atenas sino de una ciudad extranjera debido a la peligrosa complejidad de las preguntas propuestas, hombres de la “tercera edad” que además deben beber un poco de licor (!) para poder incluso dar arranque al diálogo mismo acerca del complejo rol de las leyes y de lo divino en la fundación de una comunidad política.

Pero incluso, bajo cierta interpretación, también los últimos dos libros de la Política de Aristóteles revelan una posición similar; no hay allí un modelo que podamos simplemente copiar e instaurar en la realidad. Por el contrario, revela esta obra de manera magistral un cierto dualismo claramente jerarquizado indicando, a la vez, tanto la importancia del ámbito político como igualmente las limitaciones inherentes a dicho ámbito humano, limitaciones que sólo se vislumbran desde  la filosofía política  misma. Y una concepción similar ocurre en La República de Cicerón. Además, siglos después, Santo Tomás Moro siguiendo el mismo modelo escribió su Utopía que de nuevo es un ejercicio para percibir los límites de lo político desde el lenguaje de la filosofía política, no un manual de cómo llevar a cabo transformaciones definitivas en la “realidad”.

Esto es lo que se conoce, en el lenguaje de una corriente interpretativa que toma como base la obra de Leo Strauss, como el debate entre el “utopianismo clásico” que se enfrenta decididamente al “idealismo moderno”. Se resume dicho debate, y disculpe que no lo traduzca, de esta manera:

“classical political philosophy  conceives the “best regime” not as an ideal to be realized, nor even something to be approached and worked toward; the elaboration of the best regime is intended, rather, as a subtly playful thought-experiment meant to reveal the limitations of what we can expect from all actual political philosophy” (Pangle, Thomas, Leo Strauss: An  Introduction to his Thought and Intellectual Legacy, p. 46)

Es decir, sea lo que sea que aprendamos de los filósofos políticos griegos, resultará nocivo el no intentar ver sus escritos en sus propios términos. Es más, el pensamiento político clásico es la vacuna precisamente contra el  complejo deseo, por parte de cierto tipo de seres humanos,  de instauración de la justicia total y verdadera en el ámbito real de la política ciudadana. El siglo XX nos dio múltiples ejemplos de los desastres al intentar llevar a cabo cierto tipo de proyecto secular radical a como de lugar (Stalin, Mao, Khmer Rouge,  …. FARC). El periódo del terror bajo Robespierre que se desprende de la Revolución  Francesa de 1789 nos lo revela igualmente. Es decir, el deseo de encarnar un proyecto totalizante de justicia terrenal (piénsese en el resultado de “aplicar” el “Libro Rojo” de Mao para los ciudadanos chinos) , y un cierto deseo inmoderado, violento y hasta tiránico, parecen estar conectados de maneras que el racionalismo político griego nos permite entender mejor. Para estos últimos no puede haber una reconciliación final entre filosofía y política; es más, es gracias a esta fructífera tensión inevitable que garantizamos tanto cierta moderación real en la praxis política, como la creación de unos líderes/ciudadanos hasta cierto punto libres de falsas expectativas y deseos destructivos con respecto a un cierto ordenamiento legal que ellos encarnan y del cual descienden. Como usted lo pone: “el ciudadano debe aprender desde su infancia a discriminar lo que conviene para el bien común, de acuerdo con un orden ético y jurídico.” Pero además esta valiosa tensión “garantiza” la aparición en escena de aquellos individuos filosóficamente preparados en la tradición clásica que puedan generar interpretativamente dos proyectos diferentes, a saber,  la más profunda explicitación de las bases que fundamentan un proyecto político dado (piénsese por ejemplo en el valor que los straussianos le dan a los “Founding Fathers” de los Estados Unidos),  explicitación que a la vez  les permite de esta manera poder juzgar sana y prudencialmente —– al igual que criticar seriamente—— los progresos y/o retrocesos del ordenamiento mismo desde su fundación.  Un ejemplo de dicha postura dual sería el entrar a considerar críticamente la Constitución del 91 más allá de una simple defensa progresista. (more…)

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Three biblical stories, two in the Old Testament ——specifically in Genesis—— and one in the New Testament, might aid us in trying to understand, however imperfectly and sketchily, the issue of brotherhood in the Bible. The first story is the well-known story of Cain and Abel; the second, the well-known story of Joseph; and finally, the third story, the well-known story of the parable by Jesus of the Lost Son. All three will be presented solely by way of puzzles and questions. In this regard we ask hesitantly: Could it be that the possibility of friendship according to the Bible is very limited in the case of brothers for some very precise reasons? But, why would this be so? Don’t citizen parents actually put all their conjoined strengths into bringing up their children to be good to each other, to love each other?

Story 1: Cain and Abel, Genesis 4

Why provide a second fall immediately following the most foundational of all falls by Adam and Eve? Why indeed are the primary models of brotherhood Cain and Abel? Why is the story so astonishingly short? Why did God not accept Cain’s offering even if it was the first? Why is Cain so wronged and upset by God’s not accepting his gift? Is it because he is the first born? But, what is it that the first born feels entitled to that feeds such angry responses? Moreover, why does he seek to kill his brother? Why not simply punch him a few times? What is the nature of such blinding rage? What is the fundamental importance of Abel’s being a “keeper of flocks” as against Cain’s being “a tiller of the ground”? Is there something about nomadic lives that is more akin to the nature of the divine? Would it be its greater independence from the earthly? Or is it that nomads are much more in need of the presence of the divine as they move around a “homeless” world? Does it have to do with the fact the Abel deals with animals and their care? But then again, why can’t Cain see that God himself actually speaks to him in the story and not to Abel? In the same vein, why is the story about Cain and much less about Abel? Why does it matter so little to know what Abel’s life was like? And furthermore, why does Cain lie to make things even worse? But if Cain knows he is a sinner, and the worst at that as a fratricidal kind of being, why continue to punish Cain with a permanent eternal sign that will mark him permanently to all on the earth? Why punish him beyond his own consciousness of his knowing he has done a terrible, spiritually self-destructive, deed? (See Appendix 1 below.) And dramatically for political philosophy as defended by Athens, why is Cain the one who actually founds the first city of the Bible, the city of Enoch? Why is the Bible so pessimistic about the political from the very start?

Story 2: Joseph, Genesis 37-50

Why is the love of Joseph by his father so connected to the varicolored tunic he gave him in his old age? Does this shed light into the relation of the beautiful and the divine? Why is it also so intimately connected to his actually accompanying his father in old age as the younger one? Does this shed some light into the commandment regarding the honoring of our parents? Is honoring our parents primarily being able to accompany and prepare them for death? But if so, wouldn’t believers also learn much from Socrates for whom philosophy is a constant preparation for dying? And, why does the Bible see it fit to show that now it is not only one brother, but many, who hate Joseph? Moreover, why does Joseph so naively express such complex dreams to his brothers? Didn’t he surmise he would be in trouble? Must faith be necessarily naive (see Ricoeur’s Freud and Philosophy)? And besides, what is so special about dreams and our connection to the divine in the Bible? How to contrast these presence with Aristotle’s own consideration in his prudential text on dreams? And his brothers, why can’t they appreciate Joseph’s honesty? Would they have rather Joseph not tell them anything at all, that is, not prepare them at all for God’s presence? And very polemically, does Joseph’s being selected by God shed some light on our modern democratic families? And still, why in this occasion do the brothers decide only to fake Joseph’s death? Is it because they are thinking of their father with a certain sympathy? Surely not, for their father would still think Joseph to be dead, wouldn’t he? What is so particularly appalling about Judah’s idea of selling and wreaking profit from his brother’s enslavement? What is it about our desire to have and posses material things than makes Judah lead his own family into utter dislike by God? His future generations, the creations of his creations, are somehow condemned by his avarice, aren’t they? Is this part of the basis as well for Aquinas’ powerful condemnation of usury which speaks little to us nowadays? And what precisely could anger brothers and sisters about one of their own actually being chosen by God? Why wouldn’t this be an occasion for joy? What are brothers particularly so much in competition about? Could it be that at the bottom of their hearts lies a desire to become god-like and to be recognized as such by their kin? Wouldn’t this be what Aristophanes tells us as well in the Symposium? And moving closer to our times, why did Thomas Mann rewrite the story of Joseph in so many pages in our modern context of war? And very importantly, perhaps most importantly, how to understand Joseph’s final words to his fearing brothers:

“But Joseph said to them, “do not be afraid, for am I in God’s place? And as for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good in order to bring about this present result, to preserve many people alive. So therefore do not be afraid: I will provide for you and your little ones” So he comforted them and spoke kindly to them” (Genesis, 50: 20-21)

What exactly does Joseph mean by saying that God “meant it for good”? Was Joseph at all times aware that things would end so? Wouldn’t one apply the words “all ‘s well that ends well “ here? Is this last question simply a reflection of one’s pride? And why does he not suffer as much as Job does? What is it about Joseph that gives him such strength?

Story 3: Parable of the Lost Son, Luke 15: 11-32

Why does this parable follow the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin? Why are they so ordered? Why one must speak of losing oneself in parables? Is it because we are moving in a particular direction? And crucially, why does the lost son wish to become a migrant risking his own life? Is it because he is more like Abel than Cain, the tiller of the land? Why wish to get lost? For surely, we know what is at stake in leaving our families, don’t we? And once again, why does the brother get so angry? Why is the love of his own recognition so important to him if he has lived right beside his father all his life? Wasn’t that enough? What more could he be looking for? And again, who would be envious of one’s brother’s having suffered and despaired in solitude? Which of these two brothers would actually be better prepared to honor his parents, as is our duty according to the 10 Commandments? Would the adequate honoring of one’s parents be a compromise between the two? But wouldn’t such a compromise involve a certain strange kind of anger that is not to be seen in the noblest of honorings and loves?

Appendix 1:

For a much more developed puzzling presentation of the Bible, one can turn to Professor Thomas Pangle’s difficult, yet engaging and puzzle-creating, Political Philosophy and the God of Abraham where he touches on the life of Abraham and the sacrifice of his son Isaac. In particular, see pages 93-96 ‘The Puzzle of Divine Foreknowledge” which are three complete pages made up only of puzzles and questions. Or later on, in the chapter on “Guilt and Punishment” where Pangle writes in crucial relation to the above questions:

“But this last formulation brings close to us a final troubling question. However we are to understand criminal responsibility, what are the intelligible grounds for the overwhelming conviction that the guilty deserve to suffer for what they have done; and what are the intelligible grounds for the concomitant hope that they –that even we ourselves— will suffer the punishment that they, and we, deserve. For guilt betokens sin or vice; and sin or vice are either genuinely and severely harmful, in the most important respect, to the very soul of the criminal; or else they betoken an alienation of the criminal from the source of meaning for him as a being designed to devotion. Why, then, is it appropriate, why is it sensible, that such a crippled and or alienated being receive, in addition to and as a consequence of his corruption or alienation, further harm or suffering. Why is it so terribly important for us that to the suffering and mutilation of the spirit that is entailed in being unjust there be added extrinsic bad consequences for the perpetrator?” (PPGA, p. 101)

Pangle keeps alive, in critical contrast to modernity, the enriching yet tense debate between Athens and Jerusalem.

Appendix 2:

For a striking story of how Socrates views, at least minimally, the relation between brothers see Memorabilia 2.3 where one finds an astonishing conversation with Chaerecrates who has fought with his older brother. To begin to even try to understand this story, one would have to reconsider what Socrates considered to be a philosophical life and its relation to the citizens who inhabit the agora. Without such a perspective, the story seems merely to involve a strange naivety. And we know for certain that Xenophon, a general, was anything but naive.

But perhaps the true nature of brotherhood is best exemplified in The Republic where Glaucon and Adeimantus —both Plato’s brothers— encounter Socrates dialogically on the question of justice and reveal dramatically to the reader their unique and differing characteristics as regards the political and philosophical life. Perhaps it is by looking at the question of justice that at least some healthier brotherhoods may come about.

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On the unconscious needs underlying the relation between the ill and their caretakers.

One of the difficulties which lies at the basis of much possible conflict between the ill and caretakers is this. Most of us seem to unconsciously desire in our lives someone who will be there for us in the worst of times, those times where usually no one would want to be with us! For supposedly, this kind of thinking goes, everyone wants to be with you when you are rich and beautiful and young and powerful. One of the most dramatic examples of such a desire can be found in the work Like Water for Chocolate link where the youngest daughter cannot marry because tradition holds she MUST take care of her aging mother. Having many children is a way of assuring one’s future security.


And in this same vein, this is why marriage vows include for better and FOR WORSE. For, according to the “normal” way of seeing things, being there in the worst of times must be somehow enforced as NO ONE would want such a thing! This kind of thinking is highly distorted. However, one thing is true, being in those situation which include the “for worse” part, specially in the case of illness (but think also of the case of unemployment) does not usually mean that BOTH parties find themselves worse off. Usually when one person falls ill, the other does not; when one person is unemployed, the other is not.


When one of them actually falls ill, then the ill person actually might find —or at least he thinks he has found—- what he deeply desired, namely, someone who unconditionally loves him. But on the other hand, the caretaker finds something radically different, not only that someone does not care for him —for many caretakers are left alone to care for their loved ones—- but also deeply and unconsciously they come to realize that no one will be physically able to take care of them if they in fact become ill! This helps to understand the anger felt by the mother in Like Water for Chocolate. (Not to mention the meeting of other needs which will not be met, such as those regarding sexuality, the possibility of a family, ….)


The only path towards ameliorating the caretakers condition in this respect is for her to come to a clear understanding of how problematic such a deep desire for having another take care of her —–even when the situation does not involve illness— actually is. This holds true for the ill person herself as well. For we humans, as Aristophanes’ discourse in Plato’s Symposium tells with fine comic revelation, are deeply afraid of living a life of true self sufficiency, and by this I mean, primarily, a life of reflective self-sufficiency. In this respect, one can say that caretakers and the ill are in need of a serious reconsideration and understanding of those deep desires which in normal conditions remain constrained, but which in times of crisis come to the fore as they had never done so before. If unprepared for this appearance, the likelihood of growth in true and deep friendship under such circumstances is close to nil.


I think these reflections hold some of the central keys to understanding why it is that Aristotle ends his considerations on friendship —-–some of the most famous and powerful in the history of reflections on friendship—– with what appears to be a very strange question, namely: Do we need friends more in good fortune or in bad? (Nicomachean Ethics, IX, 1170a21) True happiness might include friends, but might point beyond our everyday distorted considerations of what friends are. And however that may turn out to be, one should and must be one’s own best friend.

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Appendix to ‘On illness 13’: “The Yellow Wallpaper”: a short story for all caretakers.


(please read the former to see the context of this story)




Charlotte Perkins Gilman, The Yellow Wallpaper (1899)

(Printable version in PDF format)

It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer.
A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity–but that would be asking too much of fate!
Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.
Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted?
John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.
John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.
John is a physician, and perhaps–(I would not say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind)–perhaps that is one reason I do not get well faster.
You see he does not believe I am sick!
And what can one do?
If a physician of high standing, and one’s own husband, assures friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression–a slight hysterical tendency– what is one to do?
My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing.
So I take phosphates or phosphites–whichever it is, and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to “work” until I am well again.
Personally, I disagree with their ideas.
Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me good.
But what is one to do?
I did write for a while in spite of them; but it does exhaust me a good deal–having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.
I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulus–but John says the very worst thing I can do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.
So I will let it alone and talk about the house.
The most beautiful place! It is quite alone standing well back from the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think of English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners and people.
There is a delicious garden! I never saw such a garden–large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them.
There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.
There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and coheirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.
That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid, but I don’t care–there is something strange about the house–I can feel it.
I even said so to John one moonlight evening but he said what I felt was a draught, and shut the window.
I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes I’m sure I never used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.
But John says if I feel so, I shall neglect proper self-control; so I take pains to control myself– before him, at least, and that makes me very tired.
I don’t like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it.
He said there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no near room for him if he took another.
He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction.
I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.
He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect rest and all the air I could get. “Your exercise depends on your strength, my dear,” said he, “and your food somewhat on your appetite; but air you can absorb all the time. ‘ So we took the nursery at the top of the house.
It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then playroom and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.
The paint and paper look as if a boys’ school had used it. It is stripped off–the paper in great patches all around the head of my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life.
One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin.
It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide–plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions. (more…)

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