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In order to try to better understand the different ways in which the moral virtues are exhibited and understood, on the one hand, by the person pursuing the theoretical life, and on the other, by the one who seeks the practical life, I propose to briefly look at the specific moral virtue of courage as understood by Aristotle.

A) Practical Courage and Its Complexities

In a lengthy section of Book III, Aristotle lays out his basic tenets regarding courage. The courageous, in order to truly exhibit her virtue, must know what she is doing, choose it for its own sake, and do so from a fixed and permanent disposition (1105b33). Moreover, her choosing involves aiming at the mean lying between rashness and cowardice as determined rationally by the prudent man (1107a1).

Practically speaking, the truly courageous are those who face the greatest terrors that humans can face, those of the battlefield where the dangers are “greatest and most glorious” (1115a30). City-states honour their dead; presumably then we would expect Aristotle to base the choosing of courageous actions as the means to the, more important, survival of the community by safeguarding the conditions for the common good. But Aristotle wants instead to investigate the viability of choosing the moral life for ITS own sake, not for anything external to it (only later to be considered under the banner of justice). This is the reason why for Aristotle civic courage, though the most akin to moral courage, is not quite it. The civically courageous yearns to receive something in return for what she knows involves the greatest of self-sacrifices, death. What moves her to act is truly something outside the action itself, namely the honour bestowed on those who are remembered as martyrs of the community. Now, if the greatest courage involves death in the battlefield, and such actions cannot be grounded on one’s own love of one’s country, then one is puzzled and led to ask, what precisely is the courageous rationally choosing, in choosing to die for its own sake?

According to Aristotle, having negatively characterized what courage is not, it should not be difficult to grasp what courage actually is (1117b22). But, if our target is that of happiness, at the core of which lie the moral virtues in a complete life (1101a16), and which is pleasant in itself because virtuous actions are pleasant in themselves (1199a14), it looks as though courage as virtue stands quite at odds with such a goal.

Aristotle tells us that the pleasurable in courage lies in the end obtained, just as boxers who receive punches, but in the end gain glory (if they win). So, and if the analogy holds, the courageous human will endure death and wounds “because it is a fine thing OR because it is a disgrace not to” (1117b8). (The ‘or’ revealing the tension between choosing it for its own sake, or for something else).

In the case of the happy human the conflict reaches its peak for his life is pleasurable and supremely worth living; “he will be distressed at the thought of death” (1117b10). However, as morally virtuous, she will choose, and more bravely than any other, to give up his life “because in preference to these blessings he chooses a gallant end in war” (1117b14)

B) Contemplation and courage

In Book X, *6, Aristotle reminds us that happiness involves activity chosen for its own sake; in it nothing is required beyond the exercise of the activity. (1176b9). Strikingly, it seems he still maintains that happiness consists in activities in accordance with virtue (1177a9, reminding us of 1098a16 in BK. I).

Chapter *7 therefore is quite illuminating in that it points to a reconsideration of the possibility of human happiness through the activity of contemplation; the “highest virtue” in us corresponding to the best in us (1177a12). Not only is this activity the most continuous, the most perfect and self-sufficient, one seeking no end beyond itself, but that which is most akin to the divine. The gods are the supremely happy beings, and we ought therefore to aim, not simply at living according to mortal thoughts, but instead, “so far as in us lies, to put on immortality” (1177b33).

Herein lies “the perfect happiness of man” (1177b33), not simply the secondary kind of “happiness” associated to the actions of the morally minded human. Politics and warfare (courage being as central virtue to both), lack the necessary leisure (1177b9) and are chosen for something external to themselves (1177b16). Moreover, all the virtues cataloged by the morally minded, are unworthy of the gods (1178b15), who instead are dearest to those engaging in the contemplative life (1179a28).

Given all this, in the case of a courage demanding situation, how will the contemplative human act? Will he run away leaving his friends and the city which is worthy of defending? Will he not seek to preserve himself instead?

Although the contemplative human is the most self-sufficient, he can practice contemplation by himself, Aristotle is quick to point out that “he does it better with the help of fellow-workers” (1177a33). Besides, like the moral human, the contemplative is in need of external necessities such as that of a healthy body (1178b31), and friends (1170b12). But in excess these can even become a hindrance (1178ba). Aristotle quotes both the man of practical affairs (Solon) and the man of wisdom (Anaxagoras) as agreeing on the  limited importance of such external accessories. The happy human might turn out to be “an oddity in most people’s eyes, because they judge from outward appearances” (1179a12). But how precisely would this human regard courageous action? Who could be such a courageous human?

Perhaps one ought to consider a being such as Socrates whose courage was displayed both in words and in deeds. He was courageous, not only in the battlefield, where particularly in retreat he shone like no other in the defense of his worth-while city and worth-while friends (Symp. 220 , Laches 181b), but also in the world of the struggle for articulation and clarification. The contemplative Socrates tries to get clearer on the nature of courage in the Platonic Laches. Although the dialogue seemingly ends in Socratic aporia, for he tells us “what I don’t advise is that we allow ourselves to remain in the same condition we are now” (201a), it carries the seeds to move beyond aporia in the very picture of Socrates. Socrates’ quest is one of self-understanding and courageous questioning of his and other’s way of life. Socrates will fight, but he will do so nowhere better than in the realm of understanding. Perhaps even deaths will follow and new re-births from a wise human who leads us “into giving an account of (our) present life-style and of the way (we have) spent it in the past” (187e). However, unlike Socrates, Aristotle, whose work so questions us while at the same time aiding us in clarifying our perplexities, did not choose the hemlock.

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INTRODUCTION

 

 The very fact that Aristotle dedicates two complete books to the issue of friendship, coupled with the strategically important positioning of the discussion —–suspiciously close to the final considerations on the supreme value of the contemplative life and its relation to happiness—— immediately lets it known to the reader that she is entering what is both difficult and decisive territory. It is no small wonder, then, to see many questions flourishing as one pursues their reading: why are they situated in between two discussions of pleasure? Why are they broken down into two Books  separated by a seemingly untruthful “so much for our discussion of this topic” (1163b28)? Why did Aristotle not simply write one single Book, however long it might have turned out to be? Is he simply giving us a friendly break so that as listeners of his lectures we can digest all the information and gather our minds? Is there something to the fact that the discussion on friendship as expressed in the household and in the city is taken up in the first book? Is Aristotle pointing towards a form of friendship which somehow goes beyond all conventional links, just as natural right went beyond, or better, completed, its legal or conventional counterpart?

  These questions are indeed puzzling and difficult. But to begin to get clearer on some of them, however imperfectly and indirectly, I would like to center this essay on the difficult and sometimes obscure relation between the most perfect form of friendship, the noble variant, and the possibility of self-love. What exactly does Aristotle consider to be the characteristics of the former? Is the noble friend simply a selfless being intent of benefiting his friend over everything else? Is the self-lover identical to the happy human? Is Aristotle pointing towards a new form of self-love which goes beyond its conventional understanding?

  Although the issues I will explore in addressing some of these questions are still very undeveloped, in order to do so I propose to divide the essay into three sections. In the first I will begin by focusing on the three kinds of friendship as outlined in Book VIII; in particular by paying attention to the problematic relation between the inferior kinds based on utility and pleasure, and how still in the higher form these two elements seems to persist though perhaps modified to a great extent. In the second section I propose to look more closely at some of the aspects found in Book IX, particularly by looking at what kind of agent Aristotle has in mind when speaking of self-love, and contrasting her to the happy human being from which, if I understand the chapters involved correctly, she is quite distinct.. Finally, and all too briefly, I will take up some of the differences between Montaigne’s understanding  of friendship and Aristotle’s own position, particularly by centering on the death of one’s friends, and the consequent impossibility of attaining the fullest happiness achieveable by human beings.

   However, even before taking up the issue more closely, one must remind oneself continuously that Aristotle only once, in the whole of the Nicomachean Ethics (except of course for the very title itself),  refers to his friends. He does so early on in the complex discussion on the nature of the Good and the Platonic Forms. There he tells us: “yet, surely it would be thought better, or rather necessary (above all for philosophers) to refute, in defense of the truth, even views to which one is attached; since although both are dear, it is right to give preference to the truth” (1096a11-14). That among Aristotle’s friends one finds a Plato clearly sets quite a high standard on the nature of friendship, but that even in such a case there is something which goes beyond the allegiance to friends ——namely, a friendship of the truth—– is more telling indeed.

 

SECTION I: SOME ASPECTS ON NOBLE OR PERFECT FRIENDSHIP IN BOOK VIII.

 

  Having extensively praised the value of friendship as necessary to us humans even at the levels of the family and the political community, Aristotle proceeds to question the different views on what friendship has been taken to be (1155a32). In so doing once again Aristotle tries to clarify for us the internal workings of something we take to be central to our human self-understanding.

  Divergent answers have been given regarding the question “Who are friends?”, and in order to clarify where the possible nobility of friendship lies, Aristotle is led to ask among other things, whether there is one kind of friendship or several ones. Without even waiting for a reply Aristotle immediately tells us: ”those who think that there is only one, on the ground that it admits of degrees, have based their belief on insufficient evidence, because things that differ in species also admit of difference  in degree”. (1155b13ff) Now, if I understand this passage correctly, Aristotle seems to be arguing that there exist different kinds of friendship just as there are different kinds of fruits: apples, peaches, and even sour lemons. So it would be odd, for instance, to compare apples and oranges. But moreover, even within each distinct kind of friendship there seem to be varying degrees of perfection, so that some apples are more fully developed apples than others. And some lemons much more bitter than others.

  In order to begin to understand what these different species of friendship are, Aristotle asks us in chapter 2, to consider what is and how many are the objects of affection. Not everything is loved by us, Aristotle argues, but only the good, the pleasant and the useful (1155b16). Seemingly it is these three things which set us going, which somehow are sought as satisfying in different ways the needs we as humans have. However, Aristotle sets a sharp demarcatory line between the first two, the love of the good and the pleasant,  and the love of the useful. Only in the loving of the good and the pleasant do we aim at ends in themselves; in contrast, the love of the useful seems to involve a relation purely of a means towards an end. The latter, one could say, requires a relation of pure instrumentality. Now, given this sharp separation it seems not odd to ask: if all benefit is fundamentally the use of another to further one’s own good and pleasure, then, can there really be a truly selfless friend? Moreover, are not the good and the pleasurable, the things which are particularly “beneficial” to the soul, to the furtherance of its intellectual strength and emotional health?

  We know, having read on, that Aristotle will ground his three kinds of friendship upon these different objects of affection (which suspiciously do not include in them the beautiful), but instead of immediately listing these, Aristotle instead reminds us of something already asked before: do we humans love the Good simply/absolutely,  do we not love the good as somehow good for us? What would it mean to love the Good if loving it involved somehow transcending our bodily desiring nature, our human neediness? Would this not be a desire to end all desire, an objective which paradoxically ends human longing as we actually know it? Cautiously Aristotle answers our questions by telling us: “It seems that each individual loves what is good for himself; i.e. that while the good is absolutely lovable, it is the good of the individual that is lovable for the individual” (b24). The good, it seems, cannot be see independently of its being good for someone.

  (This discussion, of course, reminds one of the critique held against Plato’s conception of the Good. There, although Aristotle accepted the plausibility of the Platonic argument about whether it is not necessary to gain knowledge of the good  in order to attain the goods of practical life (1097a2-5), he criticized it primarily because in the realm of ethical and  practical affairs involving human conduct, one deals with particular individuals. So too the doctor centers his activity not so much on achieving health for human beings but rather the health “of a particular patient, because what he treats is the individual” (1097a12-14).)

   It looks as if  because the good is good for someone, Aristotle is led to remind us also that we humans do not in reality love what is good, but what appears  to us to be so (1155b24). This would seem to imply that our needy nature can at times go radically astray, missing the mark. This perhaps because many a time we may not be clear on ourselves, on what and why we desire what we do. Would not our friends, and our friendship to others, precisely allow us to clarify ourselves so as to get clarity on this appearance?

  However, be that as it may, it is only after having provided us with the tripartite division of the objects of affection, and reminded us of two earlier  central points, that Aristotle finally returns to his discussion of friendship (1155b27). We speak of friendship where we sensibly can expect some return of affection. As humans it seems as though friendship gives us something which inanimate objects (perhaps even the books we love) cannot provide. This is so because in the case of inanimate objects we cannot wish for the good of the object. In  contrast, it is characteristic of friendship, Aristotle tells us ‘they’ say —–it is not clear precisely who this ‘they’ are—– that we “ought to wish (our friend) good for his own sake” (1159b30). Friends are truly friends when such a wish becomes reciprocal and mutual affection sets in.

   But after having heard this one cannot but be puzzled. Did not Aristotle say just a few lines before that what the individual loves is precisely what is, or at least appears, good for himself? Is it possible then to simultaneously seek the good for ourselves while at the same time arguing that what we really do in seeking friends is actually to do the good for the other? Moreover, if the lovable objects upon which the different kinds of friendship will be based, involve not only the good but also the pleasant and the useful, then how precisely do we, for instance, ‘use’ our friends as means, while almost contradictorily at the same time claiming that when we do so we are actually seeking their good  and not ours? Will good friends not have to redefine the foundations of their mutual benefit? However, did Aristotle not say that the different forms of friendship were different in KIND, not in degree?

  Having quietly alluded to these puzzles Aristotle finally  gives us his famous tripartite division of the kinds of friendship.  The three forms correspond neatly to the three objects of affection: there is a friendship based on utility, another on pleasure, and the final, most perfect friendship, on goodness. All of these, Aristotle claims, are characterized by involving not only mutual affection known to both parties, but also a wishing “for each other’s good in respect of the quality for which they love (each other)” (1156a7). Bewildered we are led to ask once again, does Aristotle seriously entertain the idea that when we enter into relationships of utility we are actually doing a good to the other? This is particularly problematic in view of the fact that Aristotle points out, when we desire the good of the other in terms of utility or pleasure, we are primarily motivated by our own good, not that of our friend: “these friendships (being)  accidental, because the person loved is not loved on the ground of his actual nature, but merely as providing some benefit or pleasure” (1156a17-8). Now, if this is true, then how do good humans ever end up feeling a need for the other?

  Having said this Aristotle now proceeds to characterize each friendship. The friendship of utility is of an impermanent nature and found primarily among the elderly and middle aged, specifically those centered on seeking their own advantage. This allusion to the elderly, who are continuously regarded as difficult to be friends with and even linked to the sour (1158a5),  reminds the reader of Cephalus’ concern for money in the beginning of the Republic. No wonder then that, as the Book progresses, we will be told that it is these relationships which for the most part “give rise to complaints because since each associates with each other for his own benefit, they are always wanting the better of the bargain, and thinking that they have less than they should, and grumbling because they do not get as much as they want, although they deserve it” (1162b17ff) (see also 1157a14).

 Friendships based on pleasure, in contrast to the utilitarian ones, are characteristic of the young of whom, from the start of the book, we are told tend to follow their feelings (1095a4ff). Although this might sometimes lead them astray, this too makes them much more capable of having a more generous nature (1158a22). In this they differ from the instrumentalist. However, they share with them the fact that their friendships are anything but long lasting: their erotic impermanence proves ground even for some Aristotelian humour: “that is why they fall in and out of friendship quickly, changing their attitude often within the same day” (1156b3-4). What kind of friendship would prove both much more permanent and agreeable?

  It looks as though to find such characteristics we have to turn to the third form of friendship, the one founded on the goodness of both (or more) parties. At first we are told that this friendship stands in stark contrast to what we have been told about the other two. It seems as though only until now do we come up with a real selfless mutual regard. It is the friendship “of those who are good and similar in their goodness” (1156b5) who alone are capable of wishing their friends good for what they are essentially, and not simply accidentally (1156b9).

   However, as the discussion moves on Aristotle proceeds to make a very puzzling remark, one which seems to run counter to what was argued before. According to him at this level “also each party is good both absolutely and for his friend since the good are both good absolutely and USEFUL to each other. Similarly they PLEASE one another too; for the good are pleasing both absolutely and to each other” (1156b13-16).  (see also 1157a1-3) Saying this seems to imply that the three forms of friendship are then not really like different fruits, but rather like one fruit capable of perfection in all its constituent elements. Does this not come closer to the way we perceive friendship? If so, would this not allow us to better comprehend how it is that the good humans, which are desiring beings like all of us, by somehow transforming what they take to be pleasurable and useful, nonetheless see in the pleasurable and the beneficial the starting ground for the full-fledged formation of mutual goodwill?

   Aristotle explicitly stresses the fact that even at this level both parties receive a benefit (11565b9). And moreover each provides the other, through his healthy outlook and flourishing nature, the possibility of pleasure: for “everyone is pleased with his own conduct and conduct that resembles it” (1156b17). And this is much more so of those who are good. However, if this is so why does the good friend not simply turn out to be a mirror of self-satisfaction, rather than a window for self-comprehension and that of the world? What if this mirror, as we shall see in Book IX, ends up being somewhat stained?

  Of course Aristotle goes on to tell us that such relationships are extremely rare among us humans, not only because these friends need intimacy and time to know each other —— Aristotle uses the example of eating salt together which seems to portray the idea not of happiness but rather of making it together “through tough times”—— but also because of the fact that these good men only become friends once they have proven, and know each other is worthy of their love (1156b23-29). But if this is true, how is it possible then for some good humans to actually be deluded, thus falling into utility or pleasure based friendships? (1157a15).

  It seems then that the good humans are not blind to the pleasure and the benefits that accrue from engaging in conversation and spending time  with each other. But what they seem to find pleasurable and beneficial seems to be radically different from what is normally taken to be so. Perhaps part of the answer starts to develop in Chapter 5 where Aristotle reminds us that friendship involves not only a state and a feeling, but primarily an activity. Likewise it seems as though it is not a chance affair  that,  here for the first time in the whole discussion of friendship, Aristotle mentions the happy human being. We are told that nothing is so characteristic of friends as spending time together because they are agreeable to each other. And in an oddly situated parenthetical remark we are told “those who are in need are anxious for help, and even the supremely happy are eager for company, for they above all are the least suited by a solitary existence” (1157b20-20).

  Happiness comes back onto the stage, but it does very indirectly, silently. Happiness too, we were told in Book I involved activity, it was precisely the end of all actions. (1097b19-21) Perhaps only later on will it become clearer what this activity, in the case of friends, might involve. However, we are reminded too that friendship involves a state, a permanent disposition from which good choice emerges in accordance to moral virtue. Particularly in the highest form of friendship, the good friends choose each other, and choice we know “is either appetitive intellect or intellectual appetition” (1139b3-4). When choosing a friend then desire has a say, and this Aristotle clearly argues as we read on: “for when a good man becomes a friend to another he becomes that other’s good; so each loves his own good, and repays what he receives by wishing the good of the other and giving him pleasure” (1157b30-31). In the case of the happy human too that pleasure is central, for she would not even pursue the Good “if (s)he found it unpleasant” (1158a24).

   Now,  also in the case of the happy human being the paradox we alluded to in friendship, seems to recur. The friends of the happy human seemingly are not Gods, for Aristotle tells us friendship with the gods is impossible because between us and them there lies too great a gulf (1159a6). This is why it seems that in the case of the happy human, if she acts for the sake of the good of the friend, he must wish for his friend to remain human: “so if we were right in saying that a friend wishes his friend’s good for his friend’s sake the latter must remain as he is, whatever that may be. So his friend will wish for him the greatest goods possible for a human being. And presumably not all of these; because it is for himself that everyone most of all wishes what is good” (1159a 10-12). Now this seems unproblematic except for the fact that in Book X we will be told something quite striking, true happiness lies in contemplation and this kind of life involves a move beyond the merely human “for any man who lives it will do so not as a human being but in virtue of something divine within him .. and we ought not to listen to those who warn us ‘man should not think the thoughts of man’” (1177b26 and 31-32). The happy human too seems to be caught in the tension between seeking his own good, and at the same time, seeking the good of his friends. However one is led to ask, is the divine self-sufficiency towards which the happiest and healthiest of humans strive, comprehensible to us in our human terms which precisely involve needy friends? Will Book IX, in which the problematic relation between friendship, self-love and happiness is discussed allow us to, however faintly, get clearer on these questions?

 

SECTION II: SOME TENTATIVE ASPECTS OF  THE IDEAS OF SELF-LOVE  AND HAPPINESS IN BOOK IX

 

 Aristotle resumes his discussion of friendship in Book IX by placing particular emphasis on the motives that underpin the mutual affection between friends. Again he reminds us once more that the highest form of friendship, that founded on character, is reeally disinterested (1164a13). This is an assertion which would seem to take us back to the paradox to which we alluded in the previous section. However, already in chapter 1 new information is given to us. In speaking of the relationship between what is due to a benefactor Aristotle suddenly, out of the blue, mentions philosophy. An activity which in its very name alludes to a kind of friendship, a friendship of wisdom; the useless activity in which Anaxagoras and Thales were engaged (1141a5). In contrast to the Sophists who require a pay back in monetary terms for their services, the benefits accrued by philosophy involve a strikingly unique payless payback: “presumably it is enough if (as in the case of the gods or one’s parents) the beneficiary makes such a return as lies in his power” (1164a5). Perhaps the highest possible form of friendship between humans is founded on such a perception of mutual benefit. But, according to Aristotle this view is inconceivable for most who tend to see the relation between beneficiary and benefactor as analogous to the relationship between a creditor and a debtor. They do so because they are looking at things from the “dark side”, something which Aristotle tells us “is not inconsistent with human nature, because most people have short memories and are anxious to be well treated than to treat others well” (1167b26). Generosity seems not to be the order of the day amongst most.

  To this sudden unexpected appearance Aristotle adds in chapter 2 a reminder about the methodological difficulties involved in dealing with practical affairs. In considering the actual complexities of the problems involved in our friendships —–in particular our conflicting allegiances, our friends, the household, the city—– Aristotle reminds us that “it is perhaps no easy matter to lay down exact lines in such cases, because they involve a great many differences of every kind” (1164b27-8) (see also 1165a12). One is led to ask, why does Aristotle wait until this point to remind us of this? Why not mention it at the beginning of Book VIII with its contradictory assertions? Is Aristotle letting us know here that the classificatory divisions set in place are somehow in Book IX more closely tied to actual practical conflicts such as the grounds for dissolving friendship?

  It is by focusing on the latter that it becomes clear that the clear cut divisions and assertions found in Book VIII, are revisited and enriched. Take for instance the, perhaps all too frequent, cases of deception and self-deception among friends. Even though previously we have been told that friendship among the good makes  slander an impossibility (1157a21), it seems as though sometimes things can, and do go wrong. This is particularly so when “when the basis of their friendship is not what (friends) suppose to be” (1165b6). This is puzzling, particularly in the case of good friends, whom we were told only become friends precisely after they know that each other is worthy of their affection. How then does it happen that sometimes they can be deceived by the other so that in such case it is correct to protest  “even more than if it had been a case of uttering false coin, since the offense concerns something more valuable than money” ? (1165b11).

  We would expect Aristotle to somehow tell us that in such cases the good must somehow run for cover and protect his own good. However, astonishing as it might seem, Aristotle tells us that even if the other turns out to be, or even appear like a villain (one here is somewhat confused and is led to ask, what does ‘appearing like a villain’ mean?),  the good friend ought to stay and, as far as possible, help out. This is of course not in cases of utter depravity (but how would a good man ever end up with an utterly depraved one?), but in those cases where a transformation of the situation is possible: “those who are capable of recovery are entitled to our help for their characters even more than for their fortunes, inasmuch as the character is a higher thing and more closely bound up with friendship” (1165b18-20). Here, one could think  of a friend of ours who due to difficult circumstances has sought, or had sought, refuge in drinking or worse. It seems as though sometimes friendships do involve sacrifices, but in  surpassing them there lies too the strongest of goodwills possible. (Perhaps we know this because we have found ourselves in difficult times, and yet have not failed to remain our own best friends).

 Perhaps then, by looking at the feelings we have towards ourselves, we might understand why it is that it is possible both to seek our own good while at the same time that of our friends. In chapter 4 Aristotle claims that not only the feelings we have towards our neighbors, but also the characteristics of the different kinds of friendship, SEEM to be derived from our feelings to ourselves (1166a1-3). He then proceeds to do three things: i) to tell us how it is people define friends (1166a3ff), ii) to tell us how the morally good man defines himself (a11ff), and finally, iii) to tell us, not exactly how the bad human defines himself, but how the good man, as standard, sheds light on the torn nature of the bad humans; who, besides, according to Aristotle are the majority (1166b2).

  Will we finally arrive at an easing of the tension between the seeking for our good and that of our friend. It does not seem so. This is so for if one looks at the lists characterizing the definition of a friend and that of the feelings we hold towards ourselves, not only do they vary in order and are actually transformed as Aristotle goes through them, but more importantly, seem to  stand in outright conflict at times.

  The first and most obvious tension is that to which we have alluded throughout: while we define a good friend as one who first of all wishes to effect the good or apparent good for us, the healthy feelings towards ourselves involve seeking the good for us, not for another. But, another more striking tension seems to come to light when we realize that a good friend is he who wishes the existence and preservation of his friend for his friend’s sake. Now, in the case of our friendly feelings towards ourselves we desire not only our preservation and safety, but Aristotle goes on to say, the preservation of the highest part in us. What to do then in the case of life-threatening situations in which the life of our friend and ours is at stake? Precisely in such extreme situations the tension between our preservation and our friend’s comes to light. However that may turn out to be, after looking at the different characteristics, Aristotle concludes that self-love “it would seem from what we have said ….. IS possible” (1166b1-2).                                           

   But, exactly what is involved in this self-love which leads to goodwill towards our friend? As we have seen it seems to imply a reconsideration of what is to be understood as beneficial between the strongest and healthiest human beings. And not only that, but a reconsideration of what is beneficial to ourselves, that is to say, in what self-love lies. According to Aristotle “the author of a kindness feels affection and love for the recipient even if he neither is nor is likely to be of any use to him”. The theme of disinterest comes to the surface once again. This time it is exemplified most clearly in the works of the poets who regard their creations even as their children (1168a1). Aristotle allows us to see what is going on in the creative activity of the poets. A poet’s creations provide the artist no other benefit than that of a self-clarification which never ends, but is a continuous process founded on a rare and strong openness, few have, towards the world and themselves. Just as in the case of the poets the benefactor loves his handiwork better than work loves the maker. As to why this is so is explained in a complex way, one which prefigures the discussion of the need for friends of the happy human: “The reason for this is that existence is to everyone the object of choice and love, and we exist through activity (because we exist by living and acting); and the maker of the work exists, in a sense, through his activity… the maker loves his work, because he loves existence. This is a natural principle for the work reveals in actuality what is only potentially” (1168a4ff). Benevolence allow friends to mutually make themselves into beings who delight in their seeing what is potentially in them flourish in different forms. However both in the case of poets and benefactors somoething is lacking; neither of them is “loved” back by their work, which is precisely what we somehow expect from our friends.

  Presumably if we look at the issue of self-love we will start to move beyond this paradox. In chapter 8, where the discussion of self-love finds its climatic formulation, Aristotle mentions two conflicting views. The first view of self-love seems to involve a two-sided coin. Under this view people believe that the self-lovers are truly bad men whose chief concern is only with their selfish motives. And simultaneously, on the other side of the coin, these same people view the good man as the complete opposite, namely the purely self-less individual who acting from fine motive does everything “for sake of his friend and neglects his own interest”  (111168b2). As regards this two-sided camp founded on the view “that a man should love his best friend most”, Aristotle is quick to tell us that it is not surprisingly, not borne by the facts (b3-4).

  To this position, I think,  Aristotle counters another starting at  (b4) with the following words “But a man’s best friend is the one who not only wishes him well but wishes it for his own sake (even though nobody will ever know it); and this condition is best fulfilled by his attitude towards himself” (1168b5). Unlike the previous camp built on absolute self-sacrifice, and perhaps getting something in return for it, this new camp is seemingly not so interested in what others might think. It is primarily concerned on what the person thinks about himself for  “a man’s best friend is himself” (1168b9). These two broad camps inevitably stand in conflict with each other, and Aristotle is quick to point this out: “naturally it is hard to say which of these opinions one should follow since each has some plausibility” (1168b10).

  In order to clarify what underlies each camp, Aristotle tells us that we ought to get clearer on the different ways that people view self-love. One way, which is that of the first camp, is to link it to the irrational cravings of humans seeking more than their share in goods such as money, public honours and bodily pleasures: “because most people have a craving for these, and set their hearts on them as the greatest goods, which makes them objects of fiercest competition” (1168b18ff). Immediately after having mentioned this first side of the coin, Aristotle points out that on the other hand the person performing just (which implies acting for the sake of the good of another) or temperate acts and in general acting honourably (which seems to involve a desire for public recognition), of this exceptional kind of person, “certainly nobody would reproach him for being a self-lover”. (1168b27).

  It seems to me that Aristotle is here still taking us for a voyage in the geography of the first camp, the one in which selflessness is the basis of true self-love. This person “might be considered to have a better title to the name” (1168b28). Why so? This is so because just as was argued in the feelings towards oneself he wishes what is good on account of the intellectual part in him (1166a18) and  this human being assigns himself what is most honourable and most truly good (1168b32). Moreover, this human acts voluntarily through reasoned acts so that in comparison to the self-lovers who incur reproach he is “far superior … as life ruled by reason is to life ruled by feeling, and as desire for what is fine is to desire for an apparent advantage” (1169ba7)

  It seems then that we have found the true self-lover, who in loving himself actually does the good thing for his friend. However, is the self-lover Aristotle speaking of here really that selfless, benefiting the other without himself seeking some kind of return? Would this human act as he does even if ‘nobody will ever know it’? Or does this human really bring to an end the paradox of friendship alluded to in section I, as Aristotle seems to argue “and if everyone were striving for what is fine, and trying his hardest to do the finest deeds, then both the public welfare would be truly served, and each individual would enjoy the greatest goods, since virtue is of this kind” (111169a12).

 It seems as though we have reason to be rather optimistic. However, this optimism seems to collapse once Aristotle tells us a little more about the kind of actions in which this selfless self-lover is engaged. According to Aristotle this morally good man, presumably engaged in moral and noble friendships, “performs many actions for the sake of his friends and his country, and if necessary even dies for them. For he will sacrifice both money and honours and in general the goods that people struggle to obtain, in his pursuit of what is morally fine” (1169a19). The most noble of friends seems to desire even death before upsetting the recognition of others. This becomes more evident yet if one looks closely at the actions in which this self-lover is involved. In reality, if I understand it correctly, his disinterest seems to hide a craving for something more, some kind of payback for his activities. This would seem to account for the fact that this human would rather have intense pleasure for a short period of time rather than quiet pleasure for a long period of time, live finely one year rather than indifferently many and, more strikingly yet, do one glorious deed rather than many petty ones. 1169a23-5). Do this actions not evidently involve something beyond pure  selflessness, so that even the most selfless act is done out of a need for public recognition: “this result is presumably achieved by those who give their lives for others; so their choice is a glorious prize”? (1169a25).

  Somehow these words ring a bell. They stand, I believe, as a striking reference to the portrait of the magnanimous or high-spirited human “who does not take petty risks, nor does he court danger, because there are few things that he values highly; but he takes great risks, and when he faces danger he is unsparing of his life, because to him there are circumstances in which it is not worth living” (1124b6). The magnanimous human in his actions clearly disrupts two of the fundamental factors involved in the possibility of achieving human happiness: first, the fact that  happiness involves a complete life time (1100b20 and 1098a20), and second, the fact that the happy human is, of humans, the most self-sufficient (1097b21). Moreover this form of self-lover, who is ready to give up his life for recognition, clearly is tied to an inferior view of courage namely, that of civic courage which, though the closest to real courage, is not courage precisely because of its linkage to public recognition (1116a28). It is worth recalling too the few words dedicated to the happy human in that specific discussion, the happier he is “the more he will be distressed at the thought of death. For to such a man life is supremely worth living; and he is loosing one of his greatest blessings and he knows it and this is a grievous thing” (11711ff). Happiness seems to require a new view of what self-love is all about.

  In this sense it is really illuminating to find that the chapter which follows the discussion of  self-love (which I take has really moved only in the field of the first camp), deals directly with the happy human and the question as to whether she needs friends or not. Why introduce this question precisely here? Does Aristotle intend us to consider what a new conception of self-love with a view to happiness would require? What would be the “needs” of this most complete human type?

  As was the case with the discussion on self-love, also here Aristotle finds two conflicting camps. According to the first, the happy human needs no friends for she is wholly self-sufficient, needing nothing further to complete his existence (1169b7). To this position Aristotle immediately counterargues that this position seems quite odd for it is strange not only not to assign the happy human friends, who are the ‘greatest of external goods” and allow her to confer benefits upon them, but also  because it is paradoxical to have the happiest human living in solitude while humans are characterized by being social creatures. These two “arguments” thus point to the need for the happy human to have friends. (1169b23).

  Having said this, Aristotle goes on to look more carefully at the first camp: “what then, is the meaning of those who uphold the first view, and what truth is there in their argument?” (1169b23). The idea that the happy human needs no friends stems from the erroneous popular conception of friendship conceived solely in terms of utility or pleasure. (1169b26-28). Of the first, the happy human has no need, of the second “only to a limited extent”. It is because of this that the happy human is thought not to need friends, “but this is presumably not true” (1169b29)

   The happy human seems to need friends, but friends of a particular nature. In him the need for another seems to have been so transformed that a new kind of benevolence shines forth. But how exactly is this so?  It seems that some of it has to do with a process towards our self-formation. In trying to make it clearer for us Aristotle returns to the very beginnings of the Nicomachean Ethics.   

  Although the arguments put forward by Aristotle are extremely complex and difficult to follow, I will try to understand in what general direction they are moving. Happiness, Aristotle told us way back, (1098a7, 16, b31) is a kind of activity. Now, if friendship brings about the possibility not of extreme self-sacrifice, but of mutual enrichment then it too involves a kind of activity. Both friendship and happiness then involve not a possessing of something already given, but more precisely a task and a work which must be given time to grow its fruits and reproduce them both in oneself and in others. Happiness, Aristotle tells us, consists  in living and being active, but not just living for the sake of preserving life; more importantly living so as to bring to light those activities which stand as highest possibilities for us human beings. Now, among the multiple and concentrated arguments put forward by Aristotle in what is a weird rush, he alludes to the value of a friend as guarantor against the possibility of self-deception: as Aristotle puts it in an important conditional statement, “if we are better able to observe our neighbors than ourselves, and their actions than our own” (1169b33-4). Presumably we do not only delight in sharing in the birth and rebirth of another human being intent on exploring his capacities, but we do so primarily because we too, to an extent have sworn allegiance to this never ending process of change. As Aristotle puts it, in order to fully enjoy life, the happy human needs others for it is difficult to “keep up continuous activity by oneself” (1170a6). Friends stand as references and guides towards mutual goals.

   Finally, and in order to defend the view that happy humans do need friends, Aristotle provides his reader with a set of very complex and scientific arguments. (Only twice has Aristotle used scientific arguments previously: in his critique of Plato, and in his reference to Socrates’ doctrine concerning the impossibility of weakness of the will). In what is a tidal wave of intricately interconnected arguments, I would like to signal some in particular. First of all one finds in them a position which stands in stark contrast to the attitude of the self-lover of chapter 8. Here in contrast we are reminded that for the happy human “Life is in itself good and pleasant (as appears from the fact that it is sought after by all, especially by those who are virtuous and truly happy, because their life is in the highest degree desirable and their existence the truest felicity” (1170a26). Second, and in contrast to the exclusive reference to the  rational part which the self-lover gratifies (1168b34), here in contrast the highest involves much more than this: “hence it appears that to live is primarily to perceive or to think” (1170a17) and furhter down “to be conscious that we are perceiving or thinking is to be conscious of our existence” (1170a33). Third, we are reminded that this capacity for perceiving or thinking is a “capacity relative to its activity, and its realization is dependent upon the activity” (1170a17); in other words, it is a determinate activity, one in which a potentiality is capable of  being actualized. But how, more precisely, can such activity be brought to the fore in all its strength?

  As a conclusion to his long and complicated scientific argument, Aristotle points out:

            If all this is true, it follows that for a given person the existence of his friend is desirable, or almost as desirable as his own.. But as we saw, what makes      existence desirable is the consciousness of one’s own goodness and such      consciousness is pleasant in itself. So a person ought to be conscious of his             friend’s existence, and this can be achieved by living together and conversing            and exchanging ideas with him — for this would seem to be what living    together means in the case of human beings; not being pastured like cattle in             the same field (1170b5-13).

 

The happy human’s type of self-love is primary, and from it flows his goodwill towards others whose existence is “almost as desirable as his own”. But though clearly of the most self-sufficient kind, this human nevertheless knows quite well of a strong bondage which becomes redirected with another’s presence towards higher pleasures and benefits. This  is why although Aristotle, unlike Plato is puzzingly silent about erotic love, he nevertheless sees in its passionate force something akin, though distinct from the strongest friends. (for the strength of the desire as compared to that of lovers see 1171a8ff and 1171b30).

   These happy human beings realize that the consciousness they aim at is not itself a given, but must “be actualized in their life together” (1172a1). All humans know of this desire to share in the occupations and activities which “constitute… (their) existence or makes life worth living”. Some, Aristotle goes on to tell us, seek each other simply to drink, other to play dice, yet others to engage in athletic competitions. But some see in the philosophical way of life that which provides them with the highest satisfaction (1172a5). As contrasted to the friendship of what Aristotle considers to be the “worthless”:

            the friendship of the good is good, and increases in goodness because of their         association. They seem even to become better men by exercising their      friendship and improving each other; for the traits that they admire in each       other get transferred to themselves. Hence the saying: From good men goodness     (11728-13).

 

Engaged in the mutually enriching activity of good happy humans, these friends together,, but without having become one, come slowly to perceive and act on that terrain within which goodness is nourished and flourishes by some for us to try to emulate.

 

 

 

SECTION III: MONTAIGNE’S VIEWS ON FRIENDSHIP IN LIGHT OF ARISTOTLE’S   

 

  To conclude this already too extensive essay, in this final section I would like, briefly and very sketchily, to hint at some of the striking differences one finds between Montainge’s views on friendship and the one’s already addressed in Aristotle.  However, rather than being a fully developed section, I take this final words to be more like an incomplete appendix which, perhaps later on, might be delineated and completed much more fully. In trying to make sense of the differences between both authors I propose to follow a numerical ordering. Of course the different themes  interact in deep ways, but for the sake of clarity such ennumaration may end up proving helpful.

   But before looking at Montaigne himself one can always remember Freud’s own words, found in Civilization and its Discontents, regarding the search for human happiness through a life centered on a strong bondage between lovers. For him “the weak side of this tehnique is that we are never so defenceless agaisnt suffering as when we love, never so helpelessly unhappy as when we have lost our loved object or its love“ (Penguin, 270). Words which seem to fit quite perfectly the whole underlying position of Montaigne.

  Now, some of the striking differences that one finds between the Greek and  French thinkers are:

 

1) Montaigne begins his essay by attempting to imitate  a painter who fills a wall with grotesque and fantastic pictures “having no other charm than their variety and strangeness” (161). He himself perceives his own works  as “grotesque bodies, pieced together of sundry members, without definite shape, having neither order, coherence or proportion, except by accident” (161). This imitation, not of nature, but of the grotesque, stands in outright conflict with the whole Aristotlian position which sees in nature a teleological ordering of which we form a part, and without which the highest form of happiness seems inconceivable.

 

2) Montaigne throughout his essay frequently refers to, either the intervention of chance or god’s will, in his attempt to comprehend how incredible it seems to him that a person such as de la Boétie somehow came to be part of his life. As he puts it: “preparing the way for that friendship which we cherished, so long as it was God’s will, with such entirety and such perfection …. It needs so many concurring factors to build it up that it is much if fortune attains to it in three centuries” (162) (or elsewhere: “I know not what inexplicable and fated power that brought this union …. I believe it was by some decree of heaven” (166)) However, according to Montaigne himself it is this God which has taken the friend away from him: “which I/ Shall ever hold, for so ye gods have willed/ sacred to grief and honour without end” (171) In contrast, as we saw, for Aristole, not only is there a gulf between us and the Gods (which are of a very different nature than Montainge’s), but likewise friendship involves choice, not simply an inarticulate fate.

 

3) Montainge’s emphasis on the type of bond which comes about among friends reflects a loss of self in which one even turns out to have the other in his power. This position cannot but remind one, to what occurs to Aristophanes’ half creatures permanently looking for their other halves in order to achieve true completion (though it is not by any means identical for Aristophanes speaks of erotic lovers; and ‘eros’ is strangely absent froom Aristotle’s account). As Montainge puts it: “in the friendship I speak of they mingle and unite one with the other in a blend so perfect that the seam which has joined them together is effaced, and can never be found again”  (166). (or elsewhere “It is I know not what quintessence of all this mixture which, having seized my whole soul, brought it to plunge and loose itself in his” (167); ”the complete fusion of wills” (168); “one soul in two bodies” (169)). This particular outlook seems to deny the view that, as we saw, for the happiest most self-sufficient human, the existence of his friend is “almost” as desirable as his own; ‘almost’, but not quite the same.

 

4) From Montaigne’s emphasis on a strong fussion between friends, follow demands which perhaps to others, who have not experienced such proximity, appear wholly irrational. As Montaigne puts it: “this answer carries no better sound than mine would do to one that should question to me in this fashion: “If your will should command you to kill your daughter, would you fdo it?. and I should answer that I would. For this carries no proof of consent to such act, because I have no doubt of my own will, and just as little of the will of such a friend. No action of his, what face soever it might bear, could be presented to me of which I could not instantly find the moving cause” (167). (and elsewhere: “should trust myself more willingly with him than with myself” (168)) For Aristotle it would seem odd that a friend would even make us entertain such thoughts. And as we know, Aristotle criticizes even friends of the caliber of Plato precisely because their outlooks might prove, in the realm of pratical life, to have diverse shortcomings. Likewise, Aristotle struggles as we saw above with the possibilities both of deception and self-deception among what amy appear to be even the noblest of friends.

 

5) Tied to the previous remarks, one finds a difference regarding the actual number of friends one can have. For Aristotle in the case of the happy human: “presumably there is no one correct number (of friends), but anything between certain limits” seems reasonable (1170b30). It is true that Aristotle does remind us that in friendships “the celebrated cases are reported as occurring between two” (1171a14). But his understanding of the helathiest friendships is not limited to two beings fused together by the power of a Hephaestus. In contrast, Montaigne tells us about his most perfect form of friendship: “(it) is indivisible; each one gives himself so entirely to his frriend that he has nothing left to distribute to others; on the contrary, he is sorry that he is not double, triple or quadruple, and that he has not several souls and several wills, to confer them all upon this ONE object” (169). Montaigne had one friend in his life, and now he has departed.

 

6) Yet another striking difference partially alluded to above, lies in the actual reference to particular individuals in the analysis. We know exactly who Montaigne is talking about, though we are not so clear as to the character of his friend. But this seems to be not a fundamental problem for him because he speaks only to those who have actually experienced such a mutual belonging:: “so I also, could wish to speak to such as have had experience of what I say. But knowing how remote a thing such a friendship is from common practice and how rarely it is found, I do not look to meet with any competent judge. For even the discourses of antiquity upon this subject seem to me flat in comparison with the feeling of it. And, in this particular, the facts surpass even the precepts of philosophy” (170). The attack on writings such as that of Aristotle seems to be  very poignant and clear. However, it is likewise true that Montaigne fails to see that in Plato something like what he speaks of can be seen not only in the confrontation between Alcibiades (and in a different sense Aristophanes) and Socrates in the Symposium, but also in the type of “symbolic” pederasty found in the beautiful Phaedrus.

 

7) And this brings us to another discrepancy between both writers. There seems to be in their view of friendship a struggle between poetry and philosophy. Montaigne finds in the poets the only words to express the force and strength of what he as needy human being feels. Thus he persistently quotes writers who have experienced what he, right now feels burdens his heart with an overwhelming weight: “Why should I linger on, with deadened sense/ and ever-aching heart/ a worthless fragment of a fallen shrine?/ No, no one day hath seen thy death and mine” (172). Now, this tragic overtones, though comprehensible to Aristotle, nevertheless are precisely what stand in the way of actual human self-sufficiency and the completeness required in order to pursue the contemplative life. Thus is speaking of whether we need friends in good or bad times, Aristotle tells us: “a man of resolute nature takes no care to involve his friends in his troubles ….; and in general does not give them a chance to lament with him, because he himself does not indulge in lamentation either” (1171b6ff).

 

8) The previous difference brings us to the last and most fundamental clash between both perspectives. Just as in Freud, for Montaigne it is painfully clear that the death of his friend has so marked his life that it is a blow from which he cannot nor sees how it is possible to recover. Life without him is a life of nebulosity in which all lights have been exhausted, and consequently all consciousness fades. If it were not because of the grace of God such condition would truly be unbearable:: “For in truth, if I compare the rest of my life, though with the grace of God it has passed sweetly and easily and, except for the loss of such a friend, free form any griveous affliction and in great tranquility of mind, seeing I was content with my natural and original advantages without seeking others, if I should compare it all, I say, with the four years that were granted to me to enjoy the sweet company and society of that man, it is nothing but smoke, nothing but a dark and irksome night” (171). Montaigne is now only half of what he once knew was possible, namely a oneness of unspeakable strength and beauty. In contrast to such a life devoid of happiness and concentrated on “tranquility”, Aristotle tells us, as part of the “scientific argument” to which we alluded at the end of our second section: “we must not take the case of a vicious life and corrupt life, or of one that is passed in suffering, because such a life is indeterminate, just as are the conditions that attach to it” (1170a22-4). The happy human is not content with what is given her, but seeks as far as possible to allow and foster, with the desirable presence of others, the growth of what as humans, and more than humans, we are capable of.

 

 

BIBLIOGRAPHY

 

A) Primary Sources

 

Aristotle, The Ethics of Aristotle, Penguin Books, London, 1rst- 1953, 1988. Translated by J.A.K. Thomson.

 

Montaigne, Michel de, The Essays of Michel de Montaigne, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1934, Translated by Jacob Zeilin. Volume I, Essay 28,  pgs 161-173.

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ARISTOPHANES’ SPEECH IN PLATO’S SYMPOSIUM: A presentation

 

1) SITUATING THE SPEECH

 

  Just as Socrates covers up his physical ugliness through his unusual use of “fancy slippers” (174a), so Aristophanes covers up the tragic nature of his brief speech on the nature of human erotic longing with the temporary soothing elements of comic myth. In this sense Ar. shares, as we shall see, Freud’s own pessimism regarding the search for human happiness through a life centered fundamentally on the erotic intermingling between lovers. For Freud, as we already know, “the weak side of this technique  of living is easy to see … it is that we are never so defenceless against suffering as when we love, never so helplessly unhappy as when we have lost our loved object or its love” (CiD, 270). But before looking more closely at the way this pessimism finds expression in Aristophanes’ speech, we must seek to briefly situate the comedian’s words within the whole of the Platonic dialogue. In doing so we should keep in mind the fact that it is not Aristophanes the author of The Clouds who speaks, but rather Plato appropriating the comedian’s way of life for his own purposes.

  That this concern is central in trying to understand the comic’s speech can be clearly seen in that Ar. is mysteriously silenced by Plato at different crucially climatic points of the dialogue. The first of these occurs just after Socrates has finished recollecting Diotima’s complex words concerning the possibility of an ascent to “the beautiful in itself”. Diotima’s speech not only explicitly mentions and rejects Aristophanes’ myth ———due to its distancing itself, allegedly, from the goodness of the lovers involved (206d-e)——– but also involves a starting point in the ascent that stands in outright conflict with the comedian’s understanding of what is involved in the erotic interrelation between lovers. For Diotima the initiate in erotic understanding “first of all … must love one body and there generate beautiful speeches. Then he must realize that the beauty that is in any body whatsoever is related to that in another body; and if he must pursue the beauty of looks, it is great folly not to believe that the beauty of all bodies is one and the same. And with this realization he must be the lover of all beautiful bodies and in contempt slacken this erotic intensity for only one body, in the belief that it is petty” (210a). For the Diotimian lover the uniquely beautiful body of the loved one is not only interchangeable with others, but is linked  to a kind of brutishness unworthy of those engaged in ascending towards “higher ground” (and those who believe this bodily interchangeability is not so problematic, must grapple with the fact that it also holds for the individual soul of that human being which we love as no other (210d)). Now, what is extremely suspicious from the stance of the defender of Ar.’s speech lies in that, once Socrates has finished speaking, we learn that the comedian does not only NOT praise it, but moreover is just about to speak when Plato silences his reservations via the entrance of the bodily beautiful and drunken Alcibiades. (212c). Perhaps Alcibiades’ speech will retake elements of Ar.’s myth, but perhaps too Alcibiades will not fully express the comedian’s deepest reservations. Now, however that may turn out to be, it is likewise suspicious that towards the end of the dialogue Plato once again is quick to silence Ar. In the culminating conversation between Ar., Agathon and Socrates, conversation in which the latter is trying to “compel” (223d) the other two to admit that the tragic poet is also a comic poet, Ar. , by the magical hand of the author, is the first to be “put to sleep”. Socrates, in contrast, goes on sleepless to the Lyceum. How to understand this? Is their a hierarchy between the different speeches, Socrates’ being the culminating one? Does Socrates speech take up and complete Ar.’s, just as Pausanias claimed to complete Phaedrus’? Does Ar.’s speech present itself not as a dialectical “stepping stone” for what is to follow, but rather as a sort of broken bridge which divides two different ways of living one’s erotic life? Could one then not say that Ar. sleeps first for he somehow knows that his speech has already accomplished what Socrates is trying him to compel him to admit, namely, that comedy and tragedy are two sides of a circle eternally split for us humans who are continually torn between the bitterness of tears and the sweetness of laughter.

  The  competition  between Socrates, who is characterized by his ‘strangeness’ (215a), ‘outrageousness’ (175c) and ‘oddness’ (175a), and Ar., is further made clear by the starting point each takes up in order to the clarify our erotic involvements. While Socrates, unlike in the Apology, claims to have “perfect knowledge of erotics” —— a knowledge expressed not by him but by Diotima (177d) ——– Ar. speaks from his own personal, perhaps lived-through, opinion (189c) (although it is also important to remember that Ar., of all the speakers, is the only not paired with any other as lover to beloved). Moreover, both speakers seems to hold allegiance to very different gods. Socrates lets us know that Ar.’s “whole activity is devoted to Dionysius and Aphrodite” (177d). Ar. is concerned with two very particular Olympians: on the one hand Dionysius, the only god who knows of death and a subsequent rebirth, the god of wine and music (music being “exiled” from the dialogue, while wine is “moderated”), the god of excess which Agathon calls upon to judge the rivalry between him and Socrates (175e), and on the other hand, Aphrodite, the beautiful goddess of delicate feet born asexually from the genitals of Uranus after having been conquered by Cronos, the goddess who commits adultery with Ares, god of war, and is made to pay for it by Hephaestus, to whom we shall return. (It is noteworthy that Ar. seems to avoid Pausanias’ clever and complex split between the Uranian and Pandemian Aphrodites, a split which leads to controverial dualities such as those of beloved/lover, passive/active, body/mind and, their social expression in conventional roles such as those of the “machismo/marianismo” dichotomy in a Latin American context). These two gods, which are mysteriously absent from Ar.’s speech itself, stand in outright contrast to the Apollinian values of self-knowledge and moderation, values which partly characterize the behaviour of Socrates.

  Aristophanes’ linkage to the love of wine, and thus to Dionysius, is made clear from the very line which marks his entrance. Celebrating Agathon’s victory he drank not moderately, but rather like a human sponge, taking in so much that he has become completely soaked. (176b). Aristophanes is not by any means a measured  Athenian gentleman. His disordering presence becomes even more evident precisely when his turn to speak arrives. If Socrates rudely interrupts by his bodily inacitivity the dinner to which he is invited (174d), Ar. rudely interrupts by his bodily activity the original order of the speeches. Just when Pausanias has finished his sophisticated speech on pederasty, Ar. reveals that hiccups have gotten the best of him. Hiccups, we are mysteriously told, due to “satiety or something else” (perhaps wine?) (185d). Eryximachus, the physician who had played a key role both in ordering the whole banquet (177d), and in moderating the dangerous effects of wine (176d), sets out to cure the poor comedian’s sudden illness. Medicine rescues the comedian by putting forward the strongest of cures known to hiccuping, the soaking outbursts of sneezing. Once Eryximachus’ “doctoral” speech come to an end (presumably with Ar. hiccuping and sneezing throughout), the comedian ironically challenges the doctor’s claims to understanding the nature and erotics of the body. He says: “so I wonder at the orderly decency of the body, desiring such noises and garglings as a sneeze is; for my hiccuping stopped right away as I applied the sneeze to it” (189c). That Ar. is not by any means thanking his doctor, is made evident by the laughter of all those present;  a laughter which comes into conflict with the seriousness of the doctor who fights back by way of an aggressive challenge. Eryximachus will become the guardian of comedy; “you did have the  chance to speak in peace”, he tells Ar. (189b). The comic poet becomes now the doctor who must cure the excessive anger which bursts easily from the moderate physician. Ar.  seeks a truce (as in his work Peace), claiming to want to start from the beginning: “let what has been said be as if it were never spoken” (189b). (An apology which seems to imply that the previous speeches have somehow gone wrong.) Eryximachus, in turn, demands that the poet give a rational account (‘logos’) of eros; a demand which, if fulfilled, would reduce the speech of the comic to pure silence.  Ar. will speak in another vein, it is one which involves story-telling, imaginative interaction and poetic creativity; much the same things we feel are neccesary in speaking about one’s love for that other who makes us feel “head over heels”. Finally, the comedian shares with us his one big fear; Ar. is not afraid of saying laughable things, that is to say, things which can be shared by all of us who somehow feel ourselves identified with what is said —–things which, besides, represent a gain for the poetic Muse (189c)—— but he is afraid of saying things that are “laughed at”, that is to say, things from which we think we can distance ourselves and judge from a higher plane than that of our vulnerable and tragic condition (189b).

 

2) ASPECTS OF THE SPEECH

   

  At the outset  I argued that Freud and Ar. investigate the viability and shortcomings of the highly risky human possibility which centers the attainment of happiness on a radical emphasis in the life of erotic  sharing between two individuals. But besides this similarity, what is more amazing still, is that we find in Freud a passage in which he makes us recollect Ar.’s own mythological comprehension of the power of Eros in our lives. For Freud: “ a pair of lovers are sufficient to themselves, …… in no other case does Eros so clearly betray the core of his being, his purpose of making one out of more than one … (thus) we can  imagine quite well a cultural community consisting of double individuals like this, who libidinally satisfied in themselves, are connected with one another through the bonds of common work and common interests …. but this desirable state of things does not, and never did, exist” (CiD, 298). For Ar., once upon a time, such state did “exist”, and his story stands as imaginative “proof”. It  is a story which allows us to re-’collect’ the  genesis of human erotic longing. Only through its understanding can we come closer to comprehending that force in us which strives to reach out for another’s physical and psychical partnership.

  The brevity of the speech stands in stark contrast with its complexity. Too many issues are brought together and unfortunately, I cannot, nor know how to, deal with many of them. Therefore, I propose first to put forward some questions regarding a few of the most relevant aspects within the myth, and second,  to zero-in more closely on one of these aspects, namely, the central issue which links Ar. to Freud’s ‘community of double individuals’..

  Some of the questions one could  consider in trying to begin to understand the comic speech by Ar. are: i) Why are the circular gods of nature ——– the sun, the earth and finally the moon as intermediary between both—— gods from which the circular beings are born (male, female, androgynous respectively) (190b), quickly transformed into the anthropomorphic gods of Olympus whose origin is not even discussed (190c)? How to understand the needy nature of the Olympic gods (particularly Zeus) who wisely, after being perplexed, come to realize that by destroying the circular race of protohumans they will end up destroying their ‘other half’, namely, the one which honours and praises them? Is the Zeus mentioned here identical with the Olympian Zeus of tradition? And if so, then why so much emphasis on his deliberation (190c), his perplexity and his pity (191b)? Moreover, why, if Socrates has told us that Ar.’s god’s are Dionysius and Aphrodite, do precisely these gods not appear in the mythical narration of the genesis of eros and our permanent illness? Furthermore, why is Zeus made to speak three times in the present  “says” (190c), “supplies” and “rearranges” (191b), while the rest of his speech is in the past? Does this imply, as in Freud, that somehow the process of civilization, although comprehensible to a certain extent regressively, is nevertheless a process which has constituted us in a radically imperfect and incomplete way, a process that is, in other words, ‘here to stay’? Finally, is the process of what Ar. considers the unjust splitting up by Zeus, a split which seems to link sexuality to shamefulness,  comparable to the “unjust”  process of religion in Freud’s own perspective, a process which links sexuality to guilt? How could one link this new reference to shame, to the shame of the lovers of honour which one finds in Phaedrus’ speech? ; ii) How to understand the fact that the circular beings, who seem complete in themselves, nevertheless are, from their very mysterious conception, made to lack something so that they are taken over by “proud thoughts” which make them try to overturn, not the natural gods, but the anthropomorphic gods of Olympus (190b)? How do they end up getting this overwhelming desire for power into their heads in the first place? And if not their own fault, then why are they punished for something which presumably is not in their power to modify? Moreover, what is one to make of the status of the ‘androgynous’ original kind which has mysteriously disappeared, leaving only its reproachable name behind (189e)? Is it reproachable, not for Ar. who in the Lysistrata  reaches peace through a Panhellenic strike of wives, but for the Greeks in general due to their view that men are superior to women? Could one link this ‘androgynous’ type to Freud’s views on bisexuality, particularly as it finds expression in each individual?; iii) How can we understand Ar.’s intention of including in his speech a concern for all human beings by focusing on human nature in general (189c-d, 190d, 191c-d), and not just a few who have the ‘real’ key to loving? Does not Ar. then miss the fact that loving IS somehow or other inevitably linked to the customs (‘nomos’) within which it develops; so that for instance loving between Canadians, Latin Americans and Japanese is really quite different?; iv) What is the relationship between the, ironic, yet serious reference Ar. makes to pederasty as the only activity which prepares men to political office, but does so by setting aside the very procreation of the species and thus endangering the very subsistence  of the city (192a)?; v) Is Diotima’s critique concerning the ethical nature of lovers one that radically undermines Ar.’s position? (For instance, we think there is something odd in saying that Eva Brown was the ‘other half’ of Adolf Hitler) Moreover, don’t we conceive of lovers likewise as somehow seeking out to become friends in terms of character?; and finally, vi) given that each half of the circular beings, I think,  must have been generated simultaneously in time, and that in their original form they each had their  own set of everything, except for the head which was shared by the two opposing faces, could one not then somehow link these creatures to Freud’s notion of narcissim by looking at the following passage in which he discusses the relationship between love and hypnosis: “we see that the object is being treated in the same way as our own ego, so that when we are in love a considerable amount of narcissitic libido overflows onto the object. It is even obvious, in many forms of love-choice, that the object serves as a substitute for some unattained ego ideal of our own. We love it on account of the perfections which we have striven to reach for our own ego, and which we should now like ro procure in this roundabout way as a means of satisfying our narcissim.” (GP, 143). (one could also look at the Phaedrus  (252e) where the beloved becomes a mirror image of us, a divine mirror image that is) Would one not have to consider then the complex relation between self-love and the love of others?

   Not having the space, nor the understanding to even start to provide some answers to these questions, I would like instead to focus now on Ar.’s claim that the power of Eros lies in its providing us with the greatest possible happiness any human being could ever expect to achieve in this world. As he puts it: “Eros is the most philanthropic of gods, the helper of human beings as well as a physician dealing with an illness the healing of which would result in the greatest happiness for the human race” (189c-d)”.  According to Ar. we humans can allegedly reach happiness via erotic involvement, but it seems, not just with anybody. Eros represents this regressive possibility by allowing us to catch a glimpse of our ancient nature (also, but differently, Phaedrus 250 ff). Unlike the tragic results of the first operation by Zeus, operation which culminated in the painful death of the two newly severed parts which were left to cling unto each other, dying “due to hunger and  the rest of thier inactivity, because they were unwilling to do anything apart from one another” (191b), (a  reminder of the cicadas in the Phaedrus (259b)), for us who are the  “beneficiaries” of the second more complex Apollinian operation, sexuality has been brought to the fore. Having placed the genitals, the “shameful things” in Greek,  in the front (191b), we can move beyond clinging by now engaging in sexual activity. Through the latter the previous oneness can be, only temporarily for sure, remembered once again. Eros’ power allows this, and it is because of it that we must thank, praise and sacrifice to this god’s, usually  taken for granted, divine presence (189c). But sexual interaction with just anyone will not lead to the happiness which reminds us of our past protohuman “fulfillment”. We must permanently search for that other who matches the jagged features of our patched up bodies (191a). Eros is then  “the bringer-together of their (that is to say, ‘our’) ancient anture, who tries to make one of two and to heal their (that is to say, ‘our’) human nature. Each of us is a token (‘symbolon’) of a human being ….. and so each is always in search of his own token” (191d). Ever since we become old enough to feel the erotic longing for another’s patches, we turn into permanent seekers of what in Spanish we call “mi otra media naranja”, that is to say, that “my other half-orange” who will complete our fruit like original nature in which we ressembled the natural gods. The Greeks here preferred to speak of apples (190e).

   And if ever we are so lucky as to be allowed by Eros to find that other who strikes us wondrously with friendship and erotic love to the point that, now,  we “are unwilling to be apart from one another even for a short time” (192c), then human bliss seems to reach its highest possible peak. The other’s presence modifies one’s own self-perception and that of the world in a way in which both are mutually enriched; we feel ourselves enhanced in a world which suddenly opens itself to new, previously unseen, possibilities. Nietzsche captures this optimism beautifully: “the lover is more valuable, is stronger …. his whole economy is richer than before, more powerful, more complete than in those who do not love. The lover becomes a squanderer, he is rich enough for it. Now he dares, he becomes an adventurer, becomes an ass in magnanimity and innocence; he believes in god again. He believes in virtue because he believes in love; and on the other hand this happy idiot grows wings and new capabilities, and even the door of art is opened to him” (WtP #808) (The very same wings that the lover of the Phaedrus will grow in one of the most beautiful passages of all the Platonic dialogues (255ff.))

  But unlike Nietzschean optimism, Ar. and Freud seem to have reservations. Freud, as I have said from the outset, centers  his critique on the loss  of the beloved. Ar., though  aware of this danger, provides a more devastating critique by looking at the problematic functioning of erotic desire itself. The lucky lovers who are finally able to reach each other, presumably following several painful misses and rather uncomfortable fits ——— for Ar. makes it clear that this reunion is not what normally happens at present (193b) ———- these lucky lovers nevertheless seem to desire something more. This something, Ar. jokingly says, one could not conceivably take it simply to be the delight of sexual intercourse with that other half which seems to fit, ‘just right’, in yourself: “as though it were for this reason —-of all things—– that each so enjoys being with the other… but the soul of each wants something else” (192c) But that ellusive ‘something else’ which the soul of each wants for him/herself, that cannot be easily put into words. Just as it so happens when one is asked why one loves his/her, hopefully, ‘real’  other half, there comes a point where you cannot quite “explain”, and instead just feel like saying, “Can’t you see why?, well that is really odd”.

  Nevertheless Ar. challenges this silence, the same silence which Plato forces on him, by providing us with a riddle to be solved. The riddle, like Oedipus’, concerns humans, but unlike the King’s, Ar.’s concerns a dilemma which is brought to light by looking at our desiring nature. The riddle is spoken by yet another Olympian god, Hephaestus, the weak god of fire and crafts/arts (techne). It is he who chained Aphrodite and Ares for having committed adultery; chaining them, not to bring them eternal bliss, but rather eternal boredom. Hephaestus seems, tragically, to seek welding as punishment (Od  315). This god is made to ask us humans what we really want out of love, and, just as Zeus was perplexed with the attitude of the circular beings, so we humans stand perplexed by Hephaestus’ question (192d). He must therefore not only rephrase the question, but very directly answer it in doing so. Would we not really desire just to become one once again, our belly wrinkles giving way to a stronger sphericity? What more lovely than reaching this “golden state” capable even of denying the individual death of its members, so that even “in Hades you (that is to say, we) would be together one instead of two?” (192e). Would this not be the ultimate happiness, that which involved a shared immortality?

  The riddle, and riddles one would think are so because they are, presumably, very difficult to answer, is to our perplexity immediately answered in the affirmative. It seems as though nothing would be more desirable for us, ill halves, than to permanently rejoin that other whom Eros has granted us, finally, to reach. However, we should remember that even the protohumans though fused to their extremities, nonetheless did not seem to have seen themeselves as part of a Paradise in which nothing was lacking. Even human sphericity finds itself lacking, striving to move beyond its original condition. Oneness reaches beyond itself, although of course it reaches out more powerfully with four arms, four legs, not just two of each. And moreover, what distinguishes our humanity lies precisely in that,  like it or not,  we will forever remain as halves in constant search for that which we lack. Desire flourishes precisely due to this incompleteness which moves us beyond ourselves. The feverish conditions which evolve out of the absence of the loved one seem to move in the same direction. If Hephaestus’ riddle were not only answered in the affirmative, but actually set in place, our human condition as we know it, fragile and ill as it may be, would come to a permanent end. Letting Hephaestus do his work would turn out to be a punishment much severer than that of Zeus who intended to break us down once more, leaving us “hopping on one leg” ( 190d). Seeking to become spherical again requires the death of Eros’ presence in our lives. And Ar. hints to this towards the end of his speech in a paragraph which links past, present and future possibilities: “our race would be happy if we were to bring our love to a consummate end, and each of us were to get his own favorite on his return to his ancient nature. And if this is the best, it  must necesarrilly be the case that, IN PRESENT CIRCUMSTANCES, that  which is closest to it is the best; and that is to get a favorite whose nature is to one’s tastes” (193c) (here a specific reference to the  pederasts, but shedding light, I believe, into all the different kinds of relationships). Ar. qualifies his appeal to a return to oneness by continually using the hypothetical ‘if’, as in ‘if this is the best’. But as I have argued this undoubtedly is not the best desirable course for us humans to take. Our present circumstances cannot be done away with, no matter how hard we imagine ourselves to have been otherwise. At best we should seek out to reach the sweetness of that other who allows the growth of  those beautiful wings characteristic of the highest kind of lovers in the Phaedrus (251e); but, at the same time bitterly knowing, or perhaps feeling, full well that Eros’ presence immediately sets us humans in the web of a dilemma which maybe Sophocles, a tragedian, can better help us to understand. Eros is like ice, we delight in having it, yet its presence is a reminder of a painful reality, that of our constant neediness:

            “Like children that beneath a frosty heaven

            Snatch in their eagerness at icicles

            (First they are ravished with this latest toy;

            Yet soon they find it hurts their hands to hold

            That icy thing; and yet how hard to drop it!)

            Even such are lovers too, when what they love

            Tears them between ‘I would not’ and ‘I would’” (Lucas, 224)

 

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INTRODUCTION

One of the main reasons why an understanding of the relationship between ‘natural right’ and ‘conventional right’ must be high in the hierarchy of activities we engage in, lies in that its consideration brings to light the difficult issues of relativity between, and criticality of, different political communities. The extremely compressed passage in which Aristotle takes up this relationship is full of difficult lines, lines which are themselves enlightened by sometimes perplexing examples. In it, one could say, Aristotle seems to move back and forth from one kind of right to the other; uncomfortably trying to delineate the space which lies between them.

The tension between both kinds of right leads to an array of difficult questions which come to light precisely out of the opposition in which they stand. On the one hand, if political justice is wholly conventional, one is necessarily led to ask; is it not then doomed to be variable to the extent that, what a given community considers to be just, is just as valid as what any other does? Will the question of justice not be reduced to a prior question, namely, ‘whose justice’ are we speaking of; justice becoming then a relative term? This is more problematic because if, as Aristotle holds, law shapes our very being, then, “stepping aside” to critically assess the regime which seeks to foster precisely its own outlook, seems a rather difficult, if not impossible, course of action. In other words, if one’s tradition determines to a large extent what one considers to be just, how is it possible for “us” to reach some kind of ‘objective’ standpoint from which our own and other conventional conceptions of right can be judged? Must tolerance be reduced to a passive acceptance of difference, independent of the ethical considerations and violations underlying such diversity?

On the other hand, if one holds onto a natural view of political justice, then although one can claim to be able to assess all conventional right by measuring it to a common ground, a standard to which all political communities have access in virtue of something common to all humans (e.g. rationality), still the position is not itself without difficulties. First of all that ‘common something’ seems contested by the different traditions themselves. But besides this, if all perspectives can be assessed by way of this standard, still, how to figure out and agree upon what is the fundamental nature of such standard is by all means not an easy task. Is it grounded on a transcendental ideal to which only few have access? Is it to be found in the natural order of things? Does it follow alone from divine revelation? Is it ultimately, particularly for us moderns, simply a matter of promoting and defending some group of basic inalienable human rights and duties (perhaps to be supplemented by different kinds of group differentiated rights for minorities)? Or, if it is indeed based on a distinctively human capacity such as reason, how is one to conceive of this rationality —- be it that of classical thought or that of the Enlightenment—— other than by acknowledging it as part of a specific tradition which has come to understand itself in such ‘rational’ terms? What guarantee do we have that when assessing other cultures by way of some form of natural right, we are not simply, though disguisedly, projecting the values of our own? Finally, what is the relationship between philosophy, born out of a particular tradition, and the search for this critical space in which the city, and all cities for that matter, come to be questioned? (*1)

The complexity and importance of the issue under consideration is well put by Strauss:

“If there is no standard higher than the ideal of our society, we are utterly unable to take a critical distance from that ideal. But the mere fact that we can raise the question of worth of the ideal of our society shows that there is something in man that is not altogether in slavery to his society, and therefore, that we are able and hence obliged to look for a standard with reference to which we can judge the ideals of our society as well as any society” (NRH, 3) (*2)

To question is part of our nature, but indeed it would be rather absurd to try to answer all these mind-boggling puzzles in a short essay like this. Nevertheless they stand as avenues that can be pursued, some of which we will begin to pursue here only tentatively. But before proceeding, I would like to make two cautionary remarks. The first deals with the idea that whatever conception of natural right is ultimately available to us moderns, its grounding cannot proceed from the imitation of a given hierarchical ordering of a purposeful universe which we admire in its beauty and inherent goodness; an external teleological reality which, by shaping ourselves according to it, allows our own human beauty and goodness to flourish. Nature for us moderns is not a mirror we model ourselves upon. As Charles Taylor puts it with respect to the creative imagination found in art’s capacity to transfigure reality:

“it becomes possible for us to see a crisis of affirmation as something we have to meet through a transfiguration of our vision, rather than simply through a recognition of some objective standard of goodness. The recovery may have to take the form of a transfiguration of our stance towards the word and the self, rather than simply the registering of external reality” (SotS, 448) (*3)

The second prefatory point is that, even though the search for such a ‘objective’ standpoint ——-which is somehow or other implied in the notion of natural right—– is of great importance in judging and differentiating unjust regimes, as well as individuals, from just ones, that this ‘natural’ standard can ultimately be found is another matter altogether:

“our aversion to fanatical obscurantism must not lead us to embrace natural right in a spirit of fanatical obscurantism. Let us beware of the danger of pursuing a Socratic goal with the means, and the temper of Thrasymachus. Certainly the seriousness of the need of natural right does not prove that the need can be satisfied” (Strauss, NRH, 6) (*4)

Having said this, and in order to get somewhat clearer on the relationship between conventional and natural right, I would like to divide the essay into two sections. In the first I will look at the difficult and compressed passage in the Nicomachean Ethics where Aristotle deals directly with the subject matter; chapter seven of the Book on Justice. There I will try to follow Aristotle’s own struggle with the issue by looking and trying to elucidate, as far as possible, the arguments and examples given to us readers. In the second section I will take up two of the most prominent interpretations of the passage; one by Saint Thomas Aquinas, the other by Marsilius of Padua. I will there try to, briefly and in outline, show that neither does justice in their reinterpretation to the complexities found in the first section where the text by Aristotle was considered. To conclude this section, I will likewise question some of the arguments put forward by Strauss in his search for a middle road between these conflicting interpretations.

SECTION I: ARISTOTLE AND THE MUTABILITY OF BOTH NATURAL AND CONVENTIONAL RIGHT IN POLITICAL JUSTICE.

Aristotle is the first to point out that when speaking of the just, one can do so in many ways. For instance one can consider, either general justice (1129b12 ff.), or a part of this general form, that is to say, particular justice and its distributive and corrective aspects. Some even speak of justice in terms solely of the relation of the parts of the soul and its health (1138b1 ff). Furthermore, one can speak of justice with reference to the different domains in which relationships between agents take place. In this sense political justice is not the same as the justice appropriate to the household; relations between citizens, for Aristotle, are not the same as those of inferior kind that hold between husband and wife, master and slave, and father and son (MM, 1194b5 ff.). (*5)

Besides, it is not just any social organization which meets Aristotle’s criteria for being considered political. This is why in the chapter immediately preceding the one dealing with the relationship between conventional and natural right, Aristotle points out the conditions for the politically just. It

“obtains between those who share a life for the satisfaction of their needs as persons free and equal … hence in the associations where these conditions are not present there is no political justice between members, but only a sort of approximation to justice” (1134a26-8)

This seems rather puzzling. We have not even begun to attempt to determine what natural right might be, and yet Aristotle has already set up a criteria for the consideration of the political, namely, equality and freedom between participants who share at the same time in being ruled and ruling (1134b16-19). Now, if political justice develops under these conditions, and if it is true that “if anyone wants to make a serious study of the fine and just things, or of political science generally, he must have been well trained in his habits” (1095b2-4), then truly few regimes will be able to carry out such an inquiry, namely those in which such equality and freedom already exists, in some sense or other. Presumably a tyranny could not then reflect on the politically just precisely because the conditions for its appearance are in it wholly lacking. But let us look closer then at this very specific type of justice, that is to say, political justice.

In the Magna Moralia, even though one finds the bipartite differentiation between the just things, on the one hand by nature, and on the other by convention, there what is considered to be politically just is reduced only to the realm of the conventional:

“so the just according to nature is better than the just according to convention, but what we are inquiring about is the politically just; and the politically just is that which is by convention, not that which is by nature” (MM, 1194a1-4)

It seems as though in that work Aristotle is skeptical of finding any such natural justice within the political. But this position is altogether different from what Aristotle himself holds in the corresponding passage of his Nicomachean Ethics.

The conflict between both is strikingly made evident from the very first line where we are told that the division between natural right and conventional right IS set, unlike the previous quotation, within the overall discussion of political justice (1134b18-19). Perhaps why this difference exists can be somewhat understood by looking at the passage more closely.

In it, Aristotle first defines natural right as “that which has everywhere the same power and does not depend on being opined or not”. The “naturalness” of natural right resides precisely in its being independent both of spatial and temporal differences —-it is in a sense transhistorical and transcultural——, and of the multiplicity of conflicting opinions held by different humans. Natural right is truly something unchanging, or so it would seem. Suspiciously, Aristotle here gives no example to elaborate upon.

Conventional right, in contrast, can be seen in three interrelated forms. First it refers to “that with regard to which in the beginning it makes no difference whether matters are this or that way, but once it is established one way or another it does make a difference”. An interpretation could be as follows. For instance, in the downfall of a regime or in its early periods of consolidation, some aspects of conventional right can go in many different possible ways. It is ‘up for grabs’, so to speak. But once it has been set down as law, it determines (to a large extent in a negative form) what is to be considered just and what unjust. And here, unlike the case of natural right, Aristotle aids us somewhat by providing some examples. These refer specifically to laws regarding some aspect or other of war, the ransom of prisoners, and of religion, the number and nature of animals to be sacrificed. (Would it be too exaggerated to read these then as portraying how relativity appears foremost and most dangerously in the realm of the defense of one’s community and in religious strife?) Perhaps another example of this type of conventional right could be the national symbols of different states. Colombia’s or Canada’s flag could presumably have been otherwise, but now that they have been set in place it does make a difference if someone were to attempt to modify them in one way or another. In the religious realm for instance one could say it makes a great difference if one is brought up as Catholic or as Muslim (*6).

As a second field of conventional right Aristotle points to legislation that takes place in particular cases; private laws which for instance require sacrifices for outstanding, honour-deserving individuals such as the sacrifices for Brasidas, a spartan general (Penguin, 371). Conventional law then seeks to put forward legislation which acknowledges the sacrifices of some distinguished people who, for the sake of the political community, have sacrificed themselves and therefore “ought to be given some reward, honour or dignity. It is those who are not satisfied with these rewards that develop into despots” (1134b6-8). A similar contemporary example of this type of ‘conventional right’ would be the changing of the name of a city street to remember a given person ——for instance, in Montreal, the ‘Rene Levesque Avenue’—– however this example is not closely linked to law itself. (*7)

Finally the third category is that of ‘things passed by vote’. Although it is not clear to me what Aristotle refers to, perhaps one could think of cases such as the referendum in Quebec. If it had gone through, matters would now stand a quite different light. Aquinas sees this category of conventional right as referring to the decrees of judges (1022). If this is the correct way to understand it then examples of these type of decisions can be seen in multicultural societies where different conventional understandings require the transformation of the positive laws already set in place. As Parekh puts it:

“In all these cases person’s cultural background made a difference to his or her treatment by the courts. The law was pluralized and departures from the norm of formal equality were made in different ways and guises, showing how to reconcile the apparently conflicting demands of uniformity and diversity” (Parekh, BCCD, 200)

Having given us a first look at the differentiation between natural and conventional right, Aristotle then proceeds to argue against those who believe that the politically just is only what is conventionally just; a position with which he himself sides, as we saw in the Magna Moralia. Aristotle continues his argument as follows: “but in the opinion of some, all things are such on the ground that what is by nature is unchangeable and has everywhere the same power, just as fire here and in Persia burns, but they see that the just things change”. Fire burns equally in Greece and in Persia, but what the Greeks and the Persians take to be ‘the just’, varies considerably. And furthermore, if what we said at the outset concerning the conditions of political justice is true, then Persia does not meet the conditions for speaking of political justice at all. This because of their not sharing in freedom and equality. Having chosen Persia in the example, therefore seems not to have been by luck.

Presumably Aristotle would go on to tell us, finally, just precisely how this standard, which natural right is, works. But to our disappointment this is precisely what Aristotle proceeds NOT do; or at least fully. Instead he tells us that all natural right is in fact just as changeable as conventional right. Or, he pauses, almost always, he says. That is, natural right seems unchangeable in reference to the gods, the celestial beings which for the Aristotle, as Aquinas reminds us (1026), are unchanging. But to our surprise once again the statement is qualified; even in divine matters the unchangeability of natural right is only ‘probably’ so. In this sense, as we shall see, Aristotle’s Gods do not fit well with Aquinas’. But leaving this question aside, for our purposes it is important to point to the changeability that Aristotle makes characteristic of natural right; the tranformability of that standard through which we aim somehow at ranking conventional understandings of the just. As Aristotle puts it, among us humans (*9): “while there is something by nature, it is ALL changeable and yet nevertheless there is that which is by nature and that which is not by nature”. The variability of natural right does not preclude its remaining to a degree invariable. The standard, if it exists at all, would then seem to resemble not an iron pole, but a more flexible structure such as that of a rubber band; capable of transforming itself without necessarily becoming something other that that which it is.

And while we stand rather perplexed by all of what has bee said, Aristotle, one feels almost jokingly, tells us that all this ought to be as clear as daylight: “now, which is by nature of the things that can be otherwise and which is not, but is instead conventional and by agreement, since both of them are equally changeable is CLEAR”. Well perhaps it is not. However, unlike the previous definition of natural right which excluded variability, this new qualified perspective is indeed, finally, followed by an example. But it is an extremely odd example, one which seems rather removed from the discussion of the politically just. It goes like this: “by nature the right is stronger though it is possible for everyone to become ambidextrous”. Few words which make one wonder what Aristotle is getting at.

Our first reaction could be to say; but look around you, there are many left handed people, for instance my brother –in–law, for whom the left hand is by nature the strongest. Is their left hand not ‘by nature’ the strongest? So Aristotle, what you are saying is not at all true (*10). Unfortunately our first objection seems made irrelevant if one looks at the corresponding example found in the Magna Moralia. There the same example is put forward, but with the notion of superiority left on the side: “yet nevertheless the left is such and such by nature, and the right is no less better than the left, even if we were to do everything with the left as with the right” (MM 1199b31-34). Aquinas understands this example as showing that natural right is valid in the majority of cases, but in some few cases it does not hold (1029); a position to which we shall return in the following section (*11). But perhaps there is another way to comprehend this flexibility of natural right, while having its kind of flexibility not partaking of the same type which characterizes that of the conventional.

One imaginative, perhaps too imaginative, way to do interpret the example, though this is not what Aristotle himself says, would be as follows. By nature most of us are indeed right handed, and some left handed. But being left handed or right handed takes no extraordinary effort on our part; we are so equipped by nature one way or the other. Aristotle himself has told us that we are equipped as humans in just the very same way not only as regards the different faculties of the soul, namely, the vegetative, the desiderative and the rational (1102b28ff), but likewise in the case of the potentiality to develop the moral virtues of which he says we are “constituted by nature to receive them” (1103a29). But although this is true under normal conditions, still few seek to modify what is given to us by nature, transforming it so that new, more complete organizations, can be achieved. Becoming ambidextrous, through a habitual practice involving throwing with the other hand (MM 1194b27), is just such a practice which changes what is, without making it something wholly different. In a similar way, the passage alluded to above, the one concerning the moral virtues, culminates by telling us that “their full development is due to habit”. Becoming virtuous transforms us in that, what we are potentially capacitated to do, reaches its utmost level of actualization. If one can imagine those who have indeed attempted to become ambidextrous, one can imagine the patience and personal commitment required in order to achieve that end which represents a flourishing towards higher natural completeness. And this end goes beyond utility and survival, though perhaps ambidextrous people will be more helpful under certain circumstances, for instance in the case of strikers in soccer who, because they can use both legs to hit the ball, can score more goals. This end involves, in a sense, a healthier realization, a completeness comparable to works of art (1106b9). It would be a little like becoming fully bilingual, not an easy matter, assuming that is that one learns the language not simply as a child. Unfortunately our imaginative analysis seems far removed from what Aristotle argues in the passage considered, for the passage as a whole focuses principally on political justice, not on individual health. (*12) But perhaps some regimes are healthier than others; some regimes fighting against all odds in order to become more readily ambidextrous.

Aristotle goes on to exemplify how, in contrast to the variability of the natural, so too the conventional has its own kind of variation. The conventional is now defined as that which “is by agreement and what is beneficial”. The appearance of the beneficial, which had not entered into the argument previously, seems to determine natural right contrastively as that which is not primarily concerned with utility, though it can incidentally be useful in different ways (as we saw in the case of the soccer striker). And once more, to clarify the issue, Aristotle gives us an obscure example regarding measures. A similar example, if I understand the issue correctly, would be that of the beneficial, and agreed to, use of human standards such as that of the metric system. We all agree what a 100 meters are, we sense it is beneficial to agree thus, particularly in Olympic races. However the conventional nature of this standard, the metric one, comes to the fore when compared to other systems like the US system and its use of feet. Unfortunately these examples do not refer to lawful arrangements and in this way would seem to differ somewhat from what Aristotle tells us. But if this example is not the best, Aristotle himself has provided us with one in the whole discussion of Justice, that of the use of money by communities. Even the name itself of money, nomisma reflects its conventionality: “this is why money is so called, because it exists not by nature but by custom, and it is in our power to change its value or render it useless” (1133a29-31).

The fact that Aristotle somehow senses that his own example concerning measures is far removed from political justice, surfaces in the line which continues his argumentation. Relativity and conventionality are present not simply in measurements, but principally in political regimes: “the just things that are not by nature but merely by humans are not the same everywhere, since the regimes are not”. It is precisely here where political justice seems to be destined to a relativity based upon the different views of what conventional right is, or might be. But this is not new to Aristotle. He has pointed to this difficulty from the very start of the Book on Justice, particularly in his consideration of justice in the general sense. There justice as the lawful, which aims at securing happiness for the members of the political community, was partly understood as follows:

“the laws prescribe for all departments of life aiming at the common advantage whether of all the citizens, or of the best of them, or of the ruling class, or on some other basis. So in a sense we call just anything that tends to produce or conserve the happiness (and constituents of happiness) of a political association (1129b16-21)

If law so varies from regime to regime, then it seems that the search for a natural right from which to critically assess the different interpretation of the role of law is ruled out as utopian. This troubling conclusion is in fact made worse because of the fact that within each type of regime there exists fallibility as to the setting down of the laws themselves: “the law commands some kinds of behaviour and forbids others; rightly of the law is rightly enacted, but not so well if it is an improvised measure” (1129b28-29). There would then be different types of happiness, one here, one there; all equally unquestionable. Or so it would seem.

Aristotle knows of this variability of conventional law, but he knows too of the necessity of providing a human standard from which judgment can be passed on diversity. This is why the passage we have been analyzing continues precisely by calling forth such criteria. The complete passage reads: “similarly the just things that are not by nature but merely by humans are not the same everywhere, since the regimes are not, THOUGH there is only one that is everywhere according to nature the best”. We stand perplexed for Aristotle seems to want it both ways. He wants to argue that what is merely by humans is not by nature, and presumably all political justice concerns the human, and, therefore cannot be by nature. And yet there is such a regime, he claims, that is by nature the best of possible regimes; and presumably if this regime has anything to tell us humans, then it is of human form. Perhaps natural here could be understood by looking back at the example of the ambidextrous individual. Just as by nature we are all born either right handed or left handed, so by nature, according to Aristotle, we humans are political animals; we live in political associations where alone the good life can be achieved. However all existing regimes deviate to different extents from the best human level of political fulfillment and health; one must therefore seek to understand the complex circumstances in which such deviations have come about.

But if the development of the ambidextrous person requires a level of personal commitment and dedication that is undertaken by few; this effort presumably would be much more difficult to obtain at the level of the whole political community. A tension arises between those transforming themselves in order to become ambidextrous, and the need to transform the political conditions in which becoming ambidextrous rises as a human possibility. As Aristotle puts it:

“As for the education of the individual, that which makes him simply a good man, we must determine later whether it falls under political science or some other, because probably it is not always the same thing to be a good man and a good citizen” (1130b25-30)

But indeed it would seem too that the healthier the regime’s commitment to political justice, the healthier the individuals partaking of that standard; and vice-versa the healthier the individuals, the healthier the political association itself. (e.g. 1129a16-21). Furthermore. the fact that this standard is not a transcendental object independent of the way we humans live in our always imperfect political communities, is hinted too also in the Ethics. The final lines of the work tell us of an investigatory procedure that must be followed to complete our understanding of the realm of the ethical by way of a study of the political:

“So let us first try to review any valid statements … that have been made by our predecessors; and then to consider, in the light of our collected examples of constitutions what influences are conservative and what are destructive of a state …. and for what reasons states are well governed … for after examining these questions we shall perhaps see more comprehensively what kind of constit ution is the best ….” (1181b13-21).

What is by nature the best is not an immutable given, but the end object of a comparative study of the different existing regimes which remain always wanting due to the very complex circumstances in which they develop. In this sense political justice by nature is transformable though it is not made completely anew each time new information is gathered as regards the different conventional political communities. (*14) Respect for multiplicity does not signify not being able to reach out to certain criteria which the best possible polis ought to follow; an issue taken up at length in the Politics.

SECTION II: AQUINAS AND MARSILIUS OF PADUA ON ARISTOTLE: IS A MIDDLE ROAD CONCEIVABLE?

Two of the most important interpretations of the passage we have attempted to clarify have been those of Saint Thomas Aquinas and Marsilius of Padua. Their positions are so divergent that for Strauss they can be said to exemplify the opposition between the ‘theological’ and the ‘philosophical’ interpretations of natural right (Strauss, PAW 96-7). Are these two views thus condemned to the very incommensurability which we have argued an account of natural right seeks to counter at the level of the political? Is one more in accordance with the Aristotelian position as articulated in the text itself? Or do both take from Aristotle what fits their personal mold, so that the Aristotelian perspective is, though transformed, not Aristotelian in a strong sense? Can one, as Strauss proposes, seek some middle road between what, perhaps in the final analysis turn out to be not two extremes in a continuum, but rather two altogether different fields of human understanding? Perhaps by looking critically at each of the authors in turn, we might gain some insight, however slight, on these difficult questions.

Aquinas’ outlook of the world and ourselves is that of one of the major strands to be found within the Catholic tradition; the other being that of Saint Augustine. Because of this, Aquinas superimposes a Catholic mold over the pre-Christian Aristotelian interpretation of natural right. And this does not go by unnoticed when one compares it to the original text in Aristotle. One of the places where this recasting of Aristotle’s wording becomes more salient can be seen in what Aquinas takes to be the relationship between the principles concerning speculative matters, and those that serve as guides for human action in the variable realm of practical affairs. In his commentary on the Ethics he tells us that, just as in speculative philosophy:

“likewise in practical matters there are some principles naturally known as it were, indemonstrable principles and truths related to them, as evil must be avoided, no one is to be unjustly injured, theft must not be committed and so on” (1018)

The ethical, according to Aquinas, deals with indemonstrable principles which we humans ought to take as starting points and guidelines by way of which we can determine the just or unjust nature of actions, both at the level of the individual and that of the political community. Just as we cannot prove Euclid’s most fundamental axioms, so in the realm of conduct we cannot demonstrate the validity of those fundamental principles which determine that evil, injustice and theft ought always, without exception, to be avoided. (*15)

Although it is quite true that Aristotle sometimes speaks in an Aquinas-like fashion, particularly in Book 2 of his Ethics, he nonetheless goes out of his way to clarify more fully what is set there as an introductory framework; one to be followed by different qualifications. The passage in question, which concerns the inexistence of a mean in some cases, reads as follows: “but not every action or feeling admits of a mean; because some have names that directly connote depravity, such as malice, shamelessness and envy and among actions, adultery, theft and murder ….. in either case … one is ALWAYS wrong” (1107a9-15). Though superficially on the same track as Aquinas’ argument, nevertheless Aristotle gives us much more, and much less, than Aquinas does. Aristotle never alludes to any indemonstrable truths, and besides, his longer list includes not only actions, but feelings as well. For Aristotle goodness is concerned not only with the way we act on the world and others, but also, and just as importantly, with the way we are open to this world and others with whom we share in it (1109b30).

Besides Aristotle does not leave this statement, which appears early on in the text, unqualified. Instead his different discussions ——on the difficulty of defining the mean when considered in relation to us and the action concerned, on the relationship between voluntary and involuntary action, and on his analysis of the virtues and the tension present in their being taken as ends in themselves or for the sake of something else—— rids the Aristotelian passage of Aquinas’ sense of immutability and indemonstrability. And this is no surprise to us who sense that Aquinas’ “free(dom) from hesitations and ambiguities” (Strauss, CNR) (*16), is somehow linked to the certainty offered by the presence of clear cut, and clearly articulated, divine commandments. Aquinas lacks, at times, the permanent Aristotelian consideration for the fluidity and flexibility characteristic of the practical affairs in which different human beings are involved. For Aristotle:

“questions of conduct and expediency have as little fixity about them as questions about what is healthful; and if this is true of the general rule, it is still more true that its application to particular problems admits of no precision” (1104a3-7) (see also 1094a11 ff).

(Which is of course not to say that Aristotle does not have criteria for the consideration of an action as praiseworthy or blameworthy). A clear example of the tension between both the Catholic and the Greek outlook can be seen by focusing on one of the actions to which both writers allude, namely, that of theft. For Aquinas “those actions belonging to the very nature of justice cannot be changed in anyway, for example, theft must not be commited because an injustice” (1029). Robbing is an activity that we should strive with all our might to avoid for it involves, under all circumstances, committing an unjustice. Stealing is sinful. In contrast, by taking up the Aristotelian multilayered qualifications, one could eventually come to conceive of, or be actually involved in, situations where stealing would not only not be evil, but perhaps the best possible course of action under the constraining circumstances. War sets the conditions for just this kind of exceptional undertakings. (*17)

But this reading is rather unfair to the very sensitivity which is characteristic of Aquinas’ outlook. The Catholic philosopher himself acknowledges some variability. Nevertheless it concerns not the principles (i.e. no variability in terms of natural right), but the specific actions undertaken. His interpretation of the passage on becoming ambidextrous is here, I think, revealing. He tells us: “so also the things that are just be nature, for example, that a deposit ought to be returned must be observed in the majority of cases but is changed in the minority”(1028) (which deals with part of the first definition of justice given by Polemarchus to Socrates in Plato’s Republic 331d (*18)). However, although this example does qualify somewhat what we previously said, still the principle to which this specific example alludes, is definitely not of the stronger type, the kind which merits inclusion under the Decalogue.

But no matter how the matter stands here, that which is most un-Aristotelian in the whole interpretation by Aquinas on natural right, lies in that the standard upon which such right is founded is not of human origin. Aquinas’ yardstick, though it is in fact related to human rationality ——a faculty Aquinas tells us is shared by all humans making them capable of distinguishing what is disgraceful from what is honorable (1019)—— is itself measured by a not so human standard. Reason is completed only with view to faith; natural right is superseded, or finds its fundamental expression in divine law. As Strauss puts it: “the ultimate consequence of the Thomistic point of view is practically inseparable from natural theology … but even from revealed theology” (Strauss, NRH, 164). This theological perspective retakes some of the conceptions presented by Aristotle, but informs them with a mold which at times does not fit as gracefully as one would desire. Natural right looses the ambivalence which enriched the Aristotelian perspective, and which we saw was continually present in the struggles faced in the passage analyzed. All conventional right, all political justice, can therefore be adequately compared to that standard which holds universally and equally for all. And given that its fundamental seal of guarantee lies not in rationality but rather in faith, no matter what one makes of this position, it remains true that Aquinas’ faith in the Catholic God, as contrasted to the divine in Aristotle, stands unchallenged by any appeal to reason. (*19) Precisely because of this, finding some kind of middle road between this interpretation, and Marsilius’, seems an unfortunate project to undertake. One cannot have both of them at the same time, for their standards for measuring are fundamentally of a different qualitative kind. These would stand very much in accordance to Marsilius view. But to see why this is so, one needs to consider the other side of the balance.

What Strauss calls the ‘philosophical’ interpretation of Aristotle, is carried out by Marsilius of Padua, following Averroes. While the Renaissance writer does take up some of the elements analyzed in the discussion of the Aristotelian passage, his primary objective seems to be to set itself as a radically different alternative to Aquinas’ ‘theological’ view. In that Marsilius seems —–I say ‘seems’ for, as we shall see, this is not completely so—— to set himself against a religious tradition, one finds a first parallel between him and Aristotle. The latter too sets his conception of philosophy against a traditional perspective of the divine which finds its clearest expression in the Delphic inscription found both ethics (EN 1099a26-7). However, the religious traditions which they both question, are of a very different nature.

In his attack on the view of natural right which links it to divine law, Marsilius puts forward two arguments concerning the relationship between it, and its counterpart, conventional right. In order to go through each I will designate the first the ‘as-if’ argument, and the second, the ‘plural rationalities’ argument. According to the first, natural right concerns “that which almost everyone agrees is respectable”. A statement with which neither Aquinas nor Aristotle would agree. On the one hand, for Aquinas it is precisely its immutability that which gives natural right its divine force. On the other, for Aristotle, it is precisely its being independent of opinion that which makes natural right that which it is; general agreement belongs only to the realm of conventional right. Moreover, to differentiate himself much more profoundly from the Catholic alternative, Marsilius includes under this conception the immutable laws which conform the Decalogue; obligations which are, according to Aquinas, exception-free, such as worshiping God and honouring one’s parents. What I have called the ‘as-if’ argument really gets its name it what follows position based on consent. Marsilius understands natural as being conceivable solely in a “metaphorical” sense. If one is clear about natural right, then one does not delude oneself into really believing it can be taken in the literal sense. Natural right is not univocal but equivocal; it is simply a very good intentioned belief we humans hold on to. It is neither an indemonstrable truth as for Aquinas, nor a real standard as for Aristotle.

It is particularly illuminating in understanding the difference between Marsilius and Aristotle, to look at the example concerning the fact that fire burns equally everywhere. In Marsilius its articulation is completely transformed. And this change points us back to one of the prefatory remarks I made in the introduction, namely, that the non-teleological view of the universe is the view of nature open to us moderns. As Marsilius puts it: “like the acts of natural things NOT having purpose are everywhere the same, such as fire which burns here just as it does in Persia”. Nothing would seem more foreign to the Aristotelian conception of teleological nature. For Marsilius, in a universe devoid of purposefulness, the notion of natural right cannot stem from a consideration of an external order which we seek to understand, and in so doing reach our highest potentialities. (However, it seems clear that Aristotle in his own argumentation did not lay claim to such teleology as grounding his own perspective on natural right).

The second argument, what I have called the ‘plural rationalities argument’, seems once again set primarily against Aquinas’ view of natural right; though it is likewise not wholly in accordance with what Aristotle has told us. As we saw, for Aquinas the force of natural right stemmed from the rational capacity we humans have to be able to recognize and live by the principles revealed to us by God. In stark contrast, Marsilius tells us, quite sure of himself —— he uses the words ‘of course’—- that these rational principles (not to say anything of the divine principles underpinning them), are not at all known to all humans. An affirmation which, for instance would still seem not to preclude the search for evangelization. This is so because with an effort on the part of different missionaries, all of us could be brought to finally see and abide by these standards. However, the ignorance of the ‘correct’ principles, for Marsilius, leads consequently to the much more problematic fact that they are “not admitted by all, and all nations do not concede (them) to be respectable”. Presumably those who do not admit them, as opposed to those who are merely ignorant of them, could also be brought to finally admitting them. But the history which lies behind this procedure, particularly in the case of the Catholic Church, would make us now hesitate over considering such “forceful” transformation. Natural right, and it is noteworthy that nowhere does Marsilius mention the example of the ambidextrous human, would then seem to be inexistent. Consequently, any attempt to judge these different nations would be, if not an unrealistic affair, at least a much more arduous one than either Aquina or Aristotle would allow. For Marsilius what each nation finds respectable, is precisely what each holds to be their view of conventional right. Natural right ceases to exist because as Strauss puts it:

“The effectiveness of general rules depends on their being taught without ifs or buts. But the omission of the qualification which makes the rule —— makes them at the same time untrue. The unqualified rules are not natural right but conventional right” (Strauss, NRH, 158).

Or so it would seem. What Strauss does not mention, though it is striking and reminds us of Aristotle’s ambivalence, is that Marsilius, in the end, pauses to tell us that, for the most part, we can still go on with divine law: “There are also precepts, prohibitions, or permissions in accordance with divine law which agree in this respect with human law, which since they are known in many instances, I have not given examples of for the sake of abbreviating this sermon”. But even at this level one would, following Marsilius own propositions, be led to ask; which set of divine laws are you speaking of?

As has been seen, both Aquinas’ and Marsilius’ interpretations not only stand in conflict with each other, but likewise read into, and suspiciously pass over, central elements of the Aristotelian passage analyzed. Furthermore, as we pointed out, seeking to find a middle road between these alternatives is an entreprise which seems to be blind to the fact that both stand in rather different spaces of inquiry. However Strauss has attempted to move in that direction seeking to avoid the extreme immutability of Aquinas’ position, and the extreme variability of Marsilius’. Briefly put, for Strauss natural right consists in highly particular decisions, taken in concrete circumstances. However this variability of the natural is, as in Aristotle, at the same time accompanied by an underpinning sense of what are the ethical principles: “(for) one can hardly deny that in all concrete decisions general principles are implied and presupposed” (159). An instance in which such concrete and variable decision making becomes evident, lies in those extreme circumstances in which the survival of the political community, the existence of the common good itself, is what is at stake. In such circumstances normality is shaken to the point that what becomes primary, and urgently so, is the very survival of the community itself: “in extreme situations the normally valid rules of natural right are justly changed, or changed in accordance with natural right, the exceptions are as just as the rules” (160) (*20). One could ask, however, are extreme situations the only ones in which natural right, in all its variability, appears? Is its scope then so limited as to become rather secondary? Moreover, in a given community one need ask, who is it precisely that decides what constitutes an extreme situation in which normalcy can be temporarily waived? (*21) What if the regime in question precisely seeks such appeals to set itself as unquestionable?

Strauss acknowledges these difficulties in his distancing himself from the Machiavellian conception of natural right, founded on the extreme situations themselves rather than on the normality which Aristotle takes as starting point. Moreover, Strauss points out to a critical standard which, he holds, holds universally for all conventional right:

“there is a universally valid hierarchy of ends, but there are no universally valid rules of action” (162) ….or elsewhere “the only universally valid standard is the hierarchy of ends. This standard is sufficient for passing judgment of the nobility of individuals and of actions and institutions. But it is insufficient for guiding our actions” (163).

Unlike Aquinas’ position, Strauss’ has the virtue of regaining the fluidity and transformability of natural right which characterized the Aristotelian understanding. Likewise, unlike Marsilius’ alternative it does present us, like Aristotle, with some natural standard which would allow political justice to surge above the ephimerality of conventional right. Moreover, he points to the fact that Aristotle’s hesitations stem from the multiplicity of circumstances in which human beings find themselves throughout their lives. As we saw: “questions of conduct and expedience have as little fixity about them as questions about what is healthful; and if this is true of the general urle, it is still more true that its application to particular problems admits of no precision” (1104a4-9). Furthermore, as in Aristotle the focus too is not primarily on knowing what goodness is, but on learning how to become good human beings (1103b28-9) (a statement qualified for young people in 1095a5 who fail to learn anything from lectures on ethics for they are lead away by their passionate natures into different types of actions).

But, precisely how this hierarchy of ends is to be understood is quite a different problem altogether. As we saw not even Aquinas and Marsilius seemed to be in agreement as to an extremely short passage within Aristotle’s text. Presumably then one cannot claim to have the unique interpretation which will, finally, clarify what counts as constitutive of this hierarchy. How to understand is a contested matter presumably to be cleared by reading and re-reading the text itself. However, let us conclude by saying that an elucidation of this hierarchy must consider different passages in which such a hierarchical structuring takes place. Briefly, some of these are: i) the existence of a hierarchy in the arts which culminates in the architectonic arts, ii) the formulation of happiness as the highest possible end for us humans, end under which all other goods are subordinated, iii) the hierarchical division of the soul into the vegetative, the appetitive and the rational (logos); linked to the corresponding proper function of humans according to rational principle, iv) the hierarchy of goods as found in the tripartite division, goods of the body, external goods, and goods of the soul, v) the hierarchy of different types of lives; the life of business, of enjoyment, of politics and of philosophical contemplation, vi) the hierarchy of the moral virtues, hierarchy in which greatness of soul stands as one of the peaks and finally, vii) the peak which justice represents, one revealing a reconsideration of the moral virtues under the perspective of the good, fundamentally, for the other.

FOOTNOTES

INTRODUCTION

1. This important question is posed by Strauss in his Persecution and the Art of Writing pg 95.

2. Strauss goes on to compare modern relativity to nihilism; though he does not mention that nihilism can be of two very different variants, the active and the passive. Nietzsche, Will to Power #22.

3. Strauss agrees with Taylor here, pg. 164

4. Taylor agrees with Strauss here. Section 3.1

SECTION I

5. Arendt deals with this extremely important difference, between the private and the public, in her The Human Condition.

6. A case in point is that of Charly Garcia, a famous Argentinian rock star, and his reinterpretation of the Argentinian National Anthem in heavy metal form. It shocked many Argentinians.

7. Presumably the important issue of equity, as dealing with the faulty generality of law, would somehow be linked to these particular transformations of the law.

8. Parekh gives examples such as this: “In R v Bibi (1980) the Court of Appeal reduced the imprisonment of a Muslim widow, found guilty of importing cannabis, from three years to 6 months on the ground, that, among other things, she was totally dependent on her brother-in-law and was socialized by her religion into subservience to the male members of her household” (200) Other very interesting and complex examples are given in the readings by Carens (see bibliography).

9. The qualification ‘in relation to us’ has taken place not only concerning ethical inquiry in general (1095b11 ff), but also concerning the mean (1106a30 ff)

10. It is interesting to note that under Catholicism the left hand has had a rather unfortunate history. This is more salient in the Spanish words siniestra, the left, and diestra, the right. Siniestra has altogether negative connotations just as sinister does in English.

11. Aquinas gives an example of humans having by nature two feet; this of course is not the Aristotelian example precisely because it does not deal with the transformability of the natural.

12. The connection here between this example and the always elusive issue of health as regards justice (see chapter 1) I believe is there, though I do not quite know how to articulate it fully at the moment.

13. That these matters make a difference can be seen, for instance, if one asks somebody used to one of the given measurements to imagine the other. If somebody asked me, for instance, the altitude of Santafé de Bogotá in feet, I would be at a loss as to what to answer. Though I know, and was brought up to memorize as a child, the corresponding measure in meters.

14. This looking at actual real cases is what lies behind Carens’ appeal to differentiating between policy making and philosophical comprehension, or between idealistic and realistic approaches to politics. He asks one to, rather than staying at one of the extremes. move towards a form of reflexive equilibrium. On a different note, the passage which ends the chapter to be analyzed was left on the side primarily because of the difficulty in viewing how to link it to the whole discussion. Is there such a connection?

SECTION II

15. Of course in modern geometry Euclid’s axioms are only a set of the possible starting points. Conventionality has reached even such indemonstrable truths for us moderns.

16. Kantian ethics is too permeated by this rigidity, primarily as regards its distinction between the moral and the non-moral spheres. There is a sharp line differentiating both.

17. Strauss gives the example of espionage. pg 160

18. Socrates “tricks” Thrasymachus into assuming a natural standard which he himself did not hold by way of his definition of justice with reference to the strongest.

19. The question as to whether one can return to the Greeks, having had 2000 years of Catholic tradition, is a difficult one. One can see he ambivalence in poems such as Rimbaud’s nostalgic Soleil et Chair.

20. The extreme situation for the individual is presented by Aristotle in 1100b31 ff.

21. In Colombia, where I was born, there is such a law which is called “Ley de Conmocion Interior”. It can be set in place when the public order is imperiled; as it has happened many times happens under the Colombian reality, one of a weak form of democracy (some would argue an oligarchy). But it is limited to a 3 month period of application; presumably so that the exception does not become the satte of normalcy. But also so that the government does not use it to further its own objectives. Under this law for instance military officials require no warrants in the persecution of criminals. However the governement has used it, I believe, as a weapon to fight matters which go beyond the defense of the public realm; or at least as a substitute for other measures which would go to the heart of the violence and poverty which permeates everyday reality.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

A) Primary Sources

Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1rst 1894, 20th 1988, Edited by I. Bywater.

Aristotle, The Ethics of Aristotle, Penguin Books, London, 1rst- 1953, 1988. Translated by J.A.K. Thomson.

B) Secondary Sources

Carens, Joseph, “Complex Justice, Cultural Difference and Political Community”

——– “Realistic and Idealistic Approaches to the Ethics of Migration”

——– “Democracy and Respect for Difference”

Course Handouts:

——Aquinas, Commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, 1018-1032

——Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Bk. 5, chap 7 9113418-35a15)

——Marsilius of Padua, Defender of Peace, Discourse 2, Chap 12, sec 7-9

Parekh, Bikhu, “British Citizenship and Cultural Difference”, in Geoff Andrews (de.) Citizenship, Lawrence and Wishart, London, pp.  183-204.

Strauss, Leo, Natural Right and History, University of Chicago Press, “Introduction“ and “Classical Natural Right”, pp.  156-164.

——- Persecution and the Art of Writing, pp.  95-98

Taylor, Charles, Sources of the Self, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, 1990.

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IMPORTANT: PLEASE REDUCE FONT IN BROWSER

AS I HAVE HAD SERIOUS PROBLEMS SCANNING THIS ESSAY

LANGUAGE, GOODS AND DIALOGUE: SOME TENTATIVE ASPECTS OF THE IMMIGRANT CONDITION

INTRODUCTION

Albert Camus carried his beloved Algiers with him throughout his whole life. Both his

body and pen knew of a sky, a sea, a sun and an earth which were radically different

from those of the Europe he went to live in. This other sky, sea, sun and earth were

those that constituted the unforgettable landscapes of his homeland. Camus knew, like

few have, about the life that begins far from one’s native land; a life which in the most

extreme cases is one of exile. In his beautiful short essay entitled Summer in Algiers,

this lyrical philosopher summarizes, in few words, this feeling: “it is well known that

one’s native land is always recognized at the moment of loosing it. For those who are

uneasy about themselves their native land is the one that negates them” (152). (*1)

These brief remarks on Camus allow us to begin to shed some light on the complex

situation in which immigrants from around the globe find themselves. Most

immigrants, I believe, know of this loss, they know of this negation and of this

uneasiness. They are rather daring figures who set out to sail leaving behind the

landscape –usually a nation-state— in which their values, commitments and

practices were set within a meaningful cultural and linguistic context. Immigrants carry

with them more than physical suitcases, they carry a heavy load of cultural heritage

which has shaped and allowed them to grow as they have.

Nevertheless immigrants dare to move, they are not static. To migrate is their

characteristic activity. But once immigrants have ‘landed’, that is to say, have become

‘landed-immigrants’, they come into contact with a societal reality which, to most, is to

a large extent new. It is one with its own standards, language, and modes of self-

perception; one which, perhaps, may appear alien.

It is this double belonging that which, I believe, marks immigrants. It is a tension

governed by Camusian ‘uneasiness’, which, at least, first generation immigrants feel

acutely. And truly there is nothing easy about migration; it is literally, an ‘un’-easy

affair. The familiar is displaced, and in its place, the immigrant is set within an

unfamiliar framework which provides her with, in many cases, radically new conditions

for intelligible and meaningful choice and action. What appeared to be self-evident,

perhaps even unquestionable, seems not to be shared by others who, nevertheless, are

1

set within the same novel reality. Many of our deeply held values and practices arechallenged, subverted, questioned and given new possibilities stemming frominteraction, not only with the mainstream culture, but likewise with the continuousand inevitable sight of other, quite different immigrant cultures. Incomprehensionopens up a space of intercommunication in which a plurality of languages and ways of

life begin to comprehend each other. (*2) This is a space of interaction that, as Walzer

tells us, allows for the birth of a deep type of moral philosophy; ” (one) understood as a

reflection upon the familiar, a reinvcntion of our homes” (Walzer, 17).

Multiculturalism reinvents the homes we carry within. It remodels, redesigns and

makes mirror reflection with others a delightful necessity. But multiculturalism can

also, by being denied its enriching possibilities, be simply seen as a destructive

tendency which must be demolished in order to preserve the secure foundations of

either, a mainstream society which sees itself threatened by the influx of difference

and diversity, or of severed islands populated by minority groups intent on

hermetically safeguarding themselves from any change whatsoever.

In this essay, I would like to explore some of the primary moral issues that spring

from these brief considerations on immigrants. My concern is purely normative, in

other words, I am concerned with considering some aspects of ‘ought’-questions such

as for instance; what are some of the factors that ought to be considered in trying to

begin to understand the complexity of the immigrant minority groups’ situation, and

their interaction with mainstream society? This theoretical overweight will clearly

make of the discussion something quite unbalanced. (*3) If, as Carens tells us, “any

discussion of the ethics of migration should (not only) recognize reality, ….. (but) also

consider whether we should embrace that reality as an ideal or regard it as a limit to be

transcended as soon as possible”, then this essay lies on the idealistic end of the

spectrum of possible analysis (Carens RIAEM, 9).

In particular, my central concern will be to point out some of the relevant aspects that

must be considered if any headway is to be achieved in the relationship between

immigrant minorities and the society within which they are set. In order to get clearer

on them, I propose to divide the essay in three sections. In the first, I will take up the

2

crucially important issue of language by focusing on Will Kymlicka’s Multicultural

Citizenship. Here I will try to, briefly and sketchily, elucidate the central importance of

considering not only the protection and preservation, but also the positive

enhancement of the conditions for the adequate flourishing of immigrants’ mother

tongue (particularly in cases where numbers warrant). Immigrants surely leave what

some have designated as the ‘father’ land, but just as surely they cannot leave behind,

what others have called, the ‘mother’ tongue. Although Kymlicka sets out to give some

mechanisms for ensuring special group differentiated rights for immigrants, as we shall

see, he nevertheless greatly, and dangerously, ends up watering these claims down.

This is specially so in what he himself acknowledges to be one of the most central

aspects of culture, the issue of language.

In the second section, I will take up Waldron’s view of cosmopolitanism which claims

that our modern allegiance goes beyond any specific and limited communal

framework. Instead, he sees in Rushdie’s writings a more adequate and faithful

reflection of the hybrid nature characteristic of modern, globally interdependent,

societies. Nevertheless, although claiming to be speaking from an immigrant’s

perspective, I would like to look more closely at the underlying ‘thin theory of the

good’ which cements his argument (as well as Kymlicka’s), and its linkage to a very

particular view of the self. From the immigrants perspective, I believe, these two

presuppositions may not only seem at odds with the societal culture within which they

have been brought up, but likewise can actually be detrimental and dangerous to the

healthy survival and flourishing of theirs, and their children’s, identity.

Penally, in section III, I will address Parekh’s views on the complexity of British

society understood as a multiethnic reality. I will restate there what I take to be

Parekh’s most important contributions to the debate; contributions which, like this

essay, move more on the level of a normative theory of migration rather than on the

needy-greedy conditions for its real application in politically complex circumstances.

Re-reading Parekh will allow us to see how the relationship between immigrants and

mainstream society is one involving a continual give and take, a game in which both

parties, if there concern is to foster healthy and mutually enriching conditions for

3

dialogue, must listen and respect each other’s voices. For Parekh “integration requiresmovement on both sides, otherwise it is an imposition” (B , 105).JSECTIQN I: CULTURE, LANGUAGE AND IMMIGRANTSIf what Parekh says is true, ‘words are never mere words …. they shape our

understanding and approach of the world” (BCCD, 183), then Kymlicka’s being a

philosopher aids us immensely. His attempt to understand the language of minority

rights within the liberal tradition starts to give us a vocabulary “appropriate to

nuances” (30); a vocabulary which is sensitive to a variety of hard cases and difficult

grey areas (19). It is a novel conceptual scheme which challenges the narrow focus of

the previously held frameworks stemming from the liberal tradition itself. Some of

these ended up, and continue defending, the erroneously held view of justice based

on benign neglect for minorities; a policy based on the mistaken assumption of

neutrality of the liberal state (56). In contrast, Kymlicka’s is an investigative procedure

which aims, not at hermetically closing itself upon its findings, but one which is rather

focused on opening the discussion through the portrayal of a plurality of empirical

cases and a historical tracing of the complex issue of a theory of minority rights within

the liberal tradition.

Kymlicka provides us, in different ways, with conceptual novelty, reconstruction and

clarification. First, in his view of multiculturalism as assuming two main possible

forms: 1) as ‘multinarion multiculturalism’, arrived at through the incorporation of

previously self-governing, territorially concentrated, cultures into larger states, or 2) as

‘polyethnic multiculturalism’, that is to say, a type of pluralism arising from the

incorporation of multiple immigrant cultures within a mainstream culture by way of

individual and familial uprooting (*1). A second novelty in Kymlicka’s analysis lies in

his tripartite division of ‘group differentiated rights’ for minorities; a) ‘self-government

rights’ which allow for a delegation of powers to national minorities through the

development of different forms of federalism, b) ‘polyethnic rights’ related to financial

4

and legal protection, as well as active support, for different cultural practices pertainingto ethnic groups, and finally, c) ‘special representation rights’ which guarantee seats ingovernmental institutions for minorities which would otherwise remain unheard. Thethird novel addition which Kymlicka puts forward in his book is that of the dualanalysis of ‘collective rights’ — a distortive and over-generalizing category (39) — in

terms of, either ‘external protections’, a group’s right to limit the power exercised by

the larger society thus ensuring the conditions for its survival and positive flourishing,

or ‘internal restrictions’, a culture’s right to limit its own individual’s liberties for the

sake of a good held in common by the larger group. (*2) Finally, Kymlicka reconstructs

and reinterprets the fundamental concepts of freedom and equality — which have

been considered by liberals fundamentally from the perspective of human rights —

by incorporating onto this incomplete analysis, not only an emphasis on the

individual’s belonging to a societal culture, but also by recovering the previously

mentioned ‘group differentiated rights’ which alone can allow for free and equal

interchange between minorities and majorities within democratic governments. (^3)

Having briefly and too tightly laid out the central aspects of Kymlicka’s rich

conceptual clarifications and innovations, it will now be easier to focus on the issue of

immigration which, according to the diverse categories mentioned above, must be seen

under the broad category of multiculturalism as polyethnic, and with reference to

rights involving some type of polyethnic claims for external protections.

Among the different reasons for the suspicious silence of contemporary liberal

political thought on minority issues (M), Kymlicka mentions the ethnic revival in the

US of the 1960’s and 1970’s: “the increasing politicizarion of immigrant groups

profoundly unsettled the American liberals, for it affected the most basic assumptions

and self-conceptions of American political culture” (52) (*S). The uneasiness of which

Camus spoke seems to have become contagious. It stemmed from the fact that

immigration, without some adequate process of integration, was perceived

theoretically to challenge the very foundation of US society. A melting pot must

somehow melt if it is to continue existing as such. (*6). For US political theorists, the

way to keep the melting going, was to adopt a policy of benign neglect towards

5

immigrant affairs; a policy which held that minorities not only have no special rights toclaim, but that such claiming can lead to the dangerous destabilizarion of the veryconditions for social cohesion and bonding required to unite a society under acommonly held banner(s).Unlike US theorists, Kymlicka denies the possibility of ever achieving a neutral state

which can, by remaining silent on minority issues, actually promote a just interaction

between the mainstream culture and those which lie in the outskirts- F’or Kymlicka

immigrant groups have a right to group differentiated rights; without them they will

remain invisible, unheard and voiceless (53). For the Canadian writer, the US

theoreticians’ fears were born out of a misperception, namely, that the purpose of the

ethnic revival was to end up in the creation of separate self-governing ethnic islands

which posed a real threat to the unity of the “united states”. For Kymlicka, on the

contrary, such ethnic revival aimed rather at demanding an appropriate level of

recognition for the minority ethnic groups. Ethnic groups were struggling to defend

their peculiar and distinctive identities and cultural modes of expression. Ethnic

revival “involved a revision of the terms of integration, not a rejection of integration”

(83). This is why, unlike his colleagues south of the border, the Canadian philosopher

believes that the demands set forth by immigrant groups do not aim at consolidating

^elf-government rights, but rather different types of permanent polyethnic rights. For

Kymlicka the crucial difference can be elucidated by contrasting the goals and

conditions which have characterized both, colonists, and immigrants:

“There was a fundamentally different set of expectations accompanying

colonists and immigrants, the former resulted from a deliberate policy aimed at

the systematic recreation of an entire culture in a new land; the latter resulted

from individual and familial choice to leave their society and join another

existing one” (81)

Nevertheless Kymlicka recognizes that it is not absolutely illogical too think of a future

scenario in which, territorially concentrated, and culturally consolidated immigrant

groups, could in effect forge such a strong sense of identity as to seek some kind of

self-government rights, even separation. Kymlicka is Canadian; he knows of Quebec

and its particularity; a particularity to which we shall return. But, while Kymlicka

6

acknowledges this as a possibility, it is not, according to him, a morally permissible

alternative for immigrants. Immigrants ought not to actively seek such a goal. This is

so, the argument goes, because immigrants, the parents at least, have chosen to leave

their homeland, thus waiving their claims to self-governance:

“Immigrants have no legitimate basis to claim national rights. After all they had

come voluntarily knowing that integration was expected of them. When they

chose to leave their culture and come to America, they voluntarily

relinquished their national membershipfad/narional rights which go with it”

(53) ^

(Although here Kymlicka is arguing for the case of ethnic revival in the US, it is a

position which he not only endorses, as we shall go on to see, but which permeates the

whole of his conceptual framework; one in which the duality between

multinarionalism from polyethinicity is found again and again)

Whoever re-reads the previous quote, might be somewhat puzzled by its claim that

immigrants “chose to leave their culture”. Surely what Kymlicka must mean is that

immigrants leave behind the “nation-state” (or some such political structure) to which

they belonged. Leaving a territory is, more or less, an easy matter; but leaving one’s

culture, as Camus reminded us, not an easy one at all. And Kymlicka is well aware of

this. This is the main reason why, within his interpretation, he is at pains to point out

that the liberal notion of individual freedom is one which can only be made sense of by

shedding light on its intricate linkage to the societal culture within which the

individual is ‘thrown’. This concept of societal culture is defined by Kymlicka as

“a culture which provides its members with meaningful ways of life across a full

range of human activities, including social, education, religion, recreational and

economic life, encompassing both public and private spheres. These cultures

tend to be territorially-concentrated, and based on a shared language” (67)

According to this definition of ‘societal culture’ immigrants seem to be in a tight spot.

They have left one such societal culture, the one in which they were raised throughout

their whole life, but at the same time they are just beginning to enter one of which

they know few aspects; perhaps not even the language. The problem is made more

acute within Kymlicka’s own argument precisely because it is the societal culture

7

which provides any human being with the meaningful context of choice.Understanding the praxis of a given agent then, under this particular view, implies to acertain extent comprehending the cultural background in which the individual is set.Furthermore, for Kymlicka, the way that this process of comprehension goes aboutinvolves an understanding, not only of the language used in the mainstream culture

which immigrants enter, but moreover an understanding of the practices for which

language stands as expressive realization:

“to understand the meaning of a social practice therefore requires,

understanding the shared vocabulary –i.e. understanding the language and

the history which constitute this vocabulary, whether or not a course of action

has any significance for us depends on whether, and how, our language renders

vivid to us the point of that activity …… understanding those cultural narratives

is a precondition of making intelligent judgments about how to lead our

lives”(72)

Understanding the shared vocabulary of, let us say, Canadians, means not only having

high-level linguistic skills (something difficult to achieve(*7)), but furthermore a

sense of the values and commitments underlying the diverse linguistic functions which

Canadians use in their everyday life. However, immigrants are precisely characterized

by their (unless they are extremely qualified and fast language learners) standing in a

complex situation where two different narratives meet; one very deeply entrenched

and in danger of dying, the other barely born and in danger of being misunderstood.

According to Kymlicka, unless the conditions for this mutual understanding are fully

met, the context of choice for immigrants wi\\ not be one which does justice to their

dilemma. Intelligent judgments for immigrants involve two narratives: one readily

available, but context-less, the other one yet to be written and not even, for some,

faintly comprehended.

Nevertheless, for Kymlicka, since immigrants have voluntarily uprooted themselves

from their countries of origin, in doing so they have relinquished some of the rights

which went with belonging to a ‘secure’ societal culture which was territorially

concentrated and shared a distinct language. Immigrants, Kymlicka tells us have

“relinquished some of the rights that go along with their original national

membership” (81). But even if this is true, still, Kymlicka wants to argue that even in

8

the case of immigrants, their societal culture cannot be simply overseen. Kymlickaknow\s we\\ of the tense situation in which immigrants find themselves:”they have left behind the set of institutionalized practices conducted in theirmother tongue which actually provided culturally significant way of life topeople in their homeland, they bring wdth them a ‘shared vocabulary of

tradition and convention’, but they have uprooted themselves from the societal

practices which this vocabulary originally referred to and made sense of.” (68)

Having acknowledged that immigrants cannot simply do away with their cultural

make-up, Kymlicka then goes on to inquire whether they should be allowed to seek an

active and strong flourishing of their respective culturally shared practices, their sense

of self-identity, and their communal modes of belonging and understanding. To put in

interrogative terms, if people have such a deep bond to their societal culture why

should immigrants not be allowed to develop, to a large extent, their societal cultures

within the space they have been allowed to land in? Kymlicka himself classifies the

problematic as one of the ‘hard cases’ with which a liberal theory of minority rights

must deal. (80). The problem is clearly an ‘un’-easy one.

At different points throughout his book, Kymlicka allows for two types of external

protections to which immigrants, and presumably their descendants, have access; this

h even after having acknowledged their having uprooted themselves. In Chapter 2 he

tells us that the first kind is of a negative character, they are linked to the fighting of

prejudice and discrimination through, for instance, antidiscrimination laws. These

law^s, more than promoting the development of a given group, prevent its dissolution

through reference to human rights in general; it is in this sense that they can be

understood as belonging to a negative policy, the aim of which is simply the physical

survival of those concerned. But Kymlicka goes beyond these.

The second type of polyethnic rights to which immigrants are entitled involve a

much more positive political stance. It is one which actually seeks, not simply to build

thin layered protective walls around disadvantaged groups — a procedure which can

lead to viewing these minorities as an unproductive burden and an unwelcome

responsibility — but rather to build healthy and just interactions which foster the

growth of cultural elements from diverse ethnic communities and their enriching

9

variety of ways of life. Among the latter Kymlicka allows for two distinct cases: a)public funding of cultural and artistic (even linguistic classes) where the market andpolitical forces would greatly disadvantaged minority groups and their numericalinferiority, and b) religious cases in which minority ethnic groups have beendisadvantaged, albeit not intentionally, as for instance in dress codes, traffic laws,

holiday celebrations and economic issues such as that of Sunday closing. (22-23)

Now, while it seems that Kymlicka has provided quite a lot of strongholds upon

which immigrants can seek to safeguard and promote their culture, nevertheless he

seems to shy away from the strong kind of polyethnic rights which would be required if

he took seriously his claims concerning the centrality of societal culture as a context of

choice and meaningfulness for individuals from different cultures. This is nowhere

rendered more problematic than in the case of the defense of immigrant languages.

Are immigrants, and particularly their children, condemned to view their language,

their shared vocabulary, as a nice relic worthy of the admiration reserved for museum

pieces which are doomed to constant and unrelenting fading away? Are immigrants and

their children condemned to relegate their language simply to the private sphere in

order that a more secure mainstream societal culture can flourish?

Kymlicka himself acknowledges that “it is very difficult for languages to survive in

modern industrialized societies when they are not used in public life” (68). Immigrant

languages then would seem to be set on a destructive course. Immigrants uprooted

themselves voluntarily, so they must, to put it rather crudely, somehow pay for their far

from wise decision; or so it seems. I add ‘or so it seems’, because even in the case of

languages Kymlicka is sensitive to the complexity of the issue. This is why he

dedicates a few lines to the issue of ESL teaching for immigrants. Presumably if

immigrants ought to learn the ways of the societal culture they have entered, then

learning the language in which this community deals is the most important aspect of

integration; one which can morally be demanded of all immigrants who arrive to

English-speaking, immigrant receiving countries, such as Canada and the US.

Kymlicka, in his struggle to provide immigrant groups with polyethnic rights, tells us

10

that ESL courses must move away from the view that imposes English as uniquelanguage:”current policy has operate on the assumption that the ideal is to makeimmigrants and their children as close as possible to unilingual speakers ofEnglish (i.e. that learning English requires losing their mother tongue), rather

than aiming to produce people who are fluently bilingual (i.e. that learning

English involves gaining a language, in addition to one’s mother tongue)” (82)

Given this passage it would seem then that Kymlicka, finally, provides the basis in his

argument for a strong immigrant defense of their minority languages- Nevertheless this

is not the case, and precisely here, is where Kymlicka disconcerts the most.

Kymlicka’s doubts and hesitations on the immigrant language issue can be seen when

he discusses the case of Quebec and its special status within Canada as French

sneaking national minority It is not a chance event that Kymlicka discusses both the

Quebec issue and the immigrant issue side by side. Perhaps he fears, just as the US

theorists he himself criticizes feared, that immigrant groups will in a distant future

evolve into such a strong position, with such a strong differentiating identity7, that they

will seek for themselves some claims of regarding self-government rights; perhaps

even to the extreme of secession-

According to Kymlicka the Quebecois do have a claim (and have greatly advanced in

this resnect, as the referendum clearly shows) to group differentiated rights within the

whole Canadian context founded on a tacitly accepted form of asymmetrical

federalism. Nevertheless the Quebecois are not immigrants, they should be

considered, within Kymlicka’s framework, instead as original colonists with particular

multinational rights. This is why they have a right to exercise strong forms of group

differentiated rights (in its three forms) at three levels: i) the individual level,

francophones outside Quebec have access to public services in French; ii) the group

level French-speaking parents can demand a French school where numbers warrant it

(Kvmiicka does not mention Bill 101 and its ‘internal restrictions’ here); and finally, iii)

the provincial level, in order to preserve culture and the conditions for the active

flourishing and recognition of the French-speaking minority in North America. But no

11

such strong rights are accessible to any immigrant groups whatsoever; they areconceived of as groups of uprooted ethnic communities, not as national minorities (*8).Presumably then, newly arrived immigrants will have, under these conditions, tostruggle hard to preserve their own languages given that the language of the publicsphere will remain English in the US and Canada, and French within the, up to today,

province of Quebec. Integration of the first generation immigrants will remain a

difficult task, for if learning a language takes years of dedication, understanding the

context of that language much more than that. But what is truly more troublesome is

the situation which second generation and even third generation immigrants face. If

language is so central to the definition of a societal culture, then by not providing an

adequate defense and a positive enhancement of immigrant languages, the children of

immigrants will be left with, at best, only one societal culture within which to choose

how to be, that of the mainstream English (or French). It seems to me highly

implausible to preserve central, core-type, polyethnic rights without granting much

more than anti-discriminatory laws and religious “exemptions”. And Kymlicka himself

is not silent on this issue either; but his answer reveals his fundamental fear of any

strong type of ethnic revival which emerges from a strong definition of identity which

need not, as he fears, end up in claims of national minorities:

“adult immigrants may be willing to accept a marginalized existence in their

new country, neither integrated in to the mainstream culture nor able to

recreate their old culture. But this is not acceptable for children … Parents at

least had the benefit of being raised in a societal culture in their homeland … If

we do not enable immigrants to recreate their old culture then we must

strenuously work to ensure that children integrate into mainstream” (91, FN 19)

Parents have waived their right to security, so to speak; they were free to be insecure,

but not to make their children insecure beings. But children must be afforded the kind

of security7 which will enable to them to be brought up under adequate social

conditions. In order to do so Kymlicka seems to be arguing that a ‘strenuous effort’

must be made to make them into mainstream beings who learn from their parents’

inadequate marginalized existence. But this is precisely to do away with the | //

foundation of any strong sense of multiculturalism which is founded, as the word

12

portrays, on different cultures (minority and majority), not on a set of watered downcultural backgrounds. It seems to me Kymlicka gives a strong blow to the chances of astrong and healthy deep diversity which, in the Canadian environment could be, asTaylor puts it, a true object of pride; one “where a plurality of ways of belonging wouldalso be acknowledged and accepted”? (Taylor, SDV, 75). (*9)

In yet another of his interesting footnotes Kymlicka tells us that linguists consider

language to be a “dialect with an army” (93, #28). Mainstream culture truly can

become like this, failing to perceive the richness and possibilities of a stronger

perspective on polyethnic rights concerning language. Perhaps security will not follow,

but it will not follow either from failing to see the problematic at hand. And besides, as

Walzer tells us “morality …. is something we have to argue about. The argument

implies common possession, but common possession does not imply agreement”

(Walzer, 3PI, 32). Even though Kymlicka fights hard for some kind of polyethnic

rights, he ends up by denying any strong version of these. He lowers the level of

argumentation by implying that common possession must follow from a very strong

sense of agreement.

SECTION II: COSMOPOLITANISM AND ITS ASSUMPTIONS

Immigrants are caught up in a two-sided struggle which pulls them in two directions.

In the first place they seek to preserve their valuable cultural heritage, not simply for

the sake of the first generation, but, presumably, also of the benefit of their

descendants. However, this tendency is set limitations, by the cultural

forces of the society they enter upon having left their homeland. Immigrants therefore,

  • )

and those who receive and welcome them, must search jointly for some sort of balance

between their, at times, conflicting claims, rights and obligations.

The political structure which immigrants migrate into, the one governing countries

such as Canada and the US, is that of the western tradition of democratic liberalism. It

is a form of political government to which most immigrants have had some access,

though of course, in different degrees and forms. This particular tradition is one that

13

holds that a critical stance towards the goods valued by the individual is, thoughdifficult, both possible and desirable. This modern perspective is itself the product ahistorical tradition born out of the Enlightenment. While enlightening implies,negatively, liberating one from the obscurity of traditional conceptions of the good, thisnew born tradition knows likewise of the possibility of a self-critique, that is to say, it is

intent on coming to an understanding of its own limits of understanding and practice.

(*1)

Within the liberal branch of the Enlightenment, individual liberty and autonomy, the

capacity to deliberate and choose among conflicting goods for oneself, becomes a

central commitment. This is one of the reasons the individual has the right and

capacity to become highly critical of the political, religious and social community in

which she is born. This is a point of view to which Kymlicka holds allegiance, for “it

allows to choose a conception of the good life and then allows then to reconsider that

decision and opt a new and hopefully better plan of life” (70).

The end, or ends, which guide our everyday practice, are no longer static and

unquestionable, but rather dynamic and requiring a continuous investigatory capacity

capable of revising, reconsidering, even rejecting them. This is, of course, not to say

that the individual is to be held up as the atomic center of the universe. Kymlicka

already let us see the crucial force of a societal culture as framework of choice for each

agent; society is constitutive of the individual’s identity and possibilities of self-

understanding. Nevertheless this position claims that there is in reality a peculiarly

modern human capacity to stand back and question the presuppositions, not only of

other culture’s goods, but of those which provide its own conceptual and practical

framework:

“the freedom which liberals demand of the individual is not primarily the

freedom to go beyond one’s language and history, but rather the freedom to

move around within one’s societal culture, to distance oneself from particular

cultural roles, to choose which features of the culture are most worth

developing, and which are without value” (Kymlicka, 78)

Liberals like Kymlicka, do not want to argue that a pure objective stance is humanely

possible. This is so for stepping wholly outside one’s own tradition is as impossible, as

14

stepping outside one’s very own skin. Walzer’s defense of the path of interpretation inmoral affairs is here particularly illuminating: “I do not mean to deny the reality of theexperience of stepping back, though I doubt that we can ever step back all the way tonowhere. Even when we look at the world from somewhere else, however, we are stilllooking at the world” (Walzer, 6). And presumably ‘the’ world means here in some

deep sense ‘our’ world, that which springs forth form ‘our’ interpretation.

If one inquires as to why it is that this standing back is possible in this Western

tradition, while it remains inexistent in many others — at least to the same degree

and in the same form — part of the answer seems to lie in the conception of the good

underlying it. This stance, common to both Kymlicka’s multiculturalism and

Waldron’s cosmopolitanism, is founded upon a peculiar view of the good for human

beings; it is that of a ‘thin’ theory of the good, as opposed to a ‘thick’ or ‘substantive’

one. According to Waldron this conception “give(s) us the bare framework for

conceptualizing choice and agency, but leaving the specific content of choices to be

filled up by the individuals” (20) (*2\ \

But, even though Kymlicka and Waldron share the same thin theory of communal

and individual goods, they are led to radically different positions regarding the defense

of the goods held as valuable, and in need of defense, by minority groups. Unlike

Kymlicka’s triad of group differentiated rights, which places barriers on the goods held

by majorities within liberal democratic states, Waldron pushes the view of a thin theory

of the good to its extreme in his view of the alternative to a defense on

communitarianism –in Kymlicka’s terminology ‘societal culture’– namely,

cosmopolitanism.

He finds this perspective expressed most clearly in Rushdie’s immigrant perception

of modern Britain’s multiethnicity. What shines forth in the persecuted author’s

writings is a migrant’s perspective of the kaleidoscopic reality in which she lives daily.

It is a realization of the hybrid and highly amorphous structure of the public sphere in

which she moves about. Members of such a diffuse, tension full and diversified reality,

are keen on questioning the fundamental tradition(s) in which they were brought up

for they “refuse … to think of (them)selves as defined by (their) location or (their)

15

ancestry or (their) citizenship or (their) language”. (Waldron, 753). Meaningfulnesslies not in the sharing of a unique piece of land, or a singularly held language, or ahomogeneous and secure societal culture, but rather in the intermingling of diversesocietal cultures with different languages encountering each other publicly on a day today basis. Authenticity and human fulfillment lie, not in complete allegiance and

rootedness in one’s or anyone’s traditional culture, but in a never finished web of

relativized and multivocal threads of discourse which conform the public arena of

polyethnic societies.

Under this perspective, the emphasis on the validity of a mongrel-type lifestyle

stands in opposition to the conformation of isolated islands made up of self-enclosed,

and externally protected societal cultures (752). The communitarian idea “that there is

a universal human need for rootedness in a particular community (which) confers

character and depth on our choices and actions”, is misguided and even dangerously

misrepresentarive of a dynamic reality which it, not only fails to see correctly, but

worse yet, actively covers up.

Allegiance now makes sense primarily, though not exclusively, at the level of the

global community which, according to Waldron, has come to represent the real realm

on intelligible economic, moral and political interdependence (771). (*3). Only via a

defense of such a broad community, and its international organizations, can there be a

real understanding and effective battle of global issues such as redistribution, pollution

and resource depletion. (770). Just as the communitarians understand the individual

with reference to a particular community, Waldron believes that their argument

nowadays ought to be pushed further. This to the point where individual communities

can only be made sense of, now, with reference to the global framework: “no honest

account of our being will be complete without an account of our dependence on large

social and political structures that goes far beyond the particular community with

which we pretend to identify ourselves” (780).

The ties that help constitute our identity(ies) do not pertain to one individual societal

culture, as it seems Kymlicka argues at times, but rather to a plurality of these; all of

16

which shower us with a great number of different narratives, goods, meaningfulfragments, multiple images and moral valuations. For Waldron:”From the fact that each option must have a cultural meaning, it does not followthat there must be one cultural framework in which each available option isassigned a meaning. Meaningful options may come to us as items or fragments

from a variety of cultural sources” (783)

We do in fact need cultural material in order to provide the context for meaningful

choices, but what we do not need is ONE unique, more or less homogeneous and

secure cultural framework. We need choices in a plural context and not one context for

choosing. The preeminence of one societal culture would in fact lessen the

possibilities of reaching out for diversity. Furthermore, by placing all ‘strenuous

efforts’, as Kymlicka argues, in securing one social structure, its component elements

are much less easily opened up to new and enticing possibilities.

This is why, for Waldron, securing and preserving minority cultures, and cultures in

general, is a way, not of promoting such enriching diversity, but rather of clogging up

the sources which feed the ground for mutual interaction:

“cultures live and grow, change and sometimes whither away; they amalgamate

with other cultures or they adapt themselves to geographical and demographic

necessity, to preserve a culture is often to take a favored snapshot version of it

and insist that this version must persist at all costs, in its defined purity,

irrespective of the surrounding social, economic and political circumstances”

(787-8)

According to Waldron, if we are to take seriously the cosmopolitan alternative, then

excessively campaigning for minority rights is seen almost as a backward tendency.

Kymlicka, who himself views a conception of the thin good as desirable, provides us

with some elements to criticize Waldron’s argument. His arguments are put forward

immediately following the already analyzed ‘hard cases’ which included among them

the ‘un’-easy case of immigrants. While Kymlicka acknowledges the enriching power

of intercultural exchange, he is likewise quick to point out that “there are limits in the

cultural material which people find meaningful” (86). Why is this so? Well because for

Kymlicka, although he subscribes to a thin theory of the good just as Waldron does, his

-tv

thinness is radically less thin than the required for a strong version of cosmopolitanism.

/’

17

Different societal cultures share a language which gives and shapes the sensepossibilities of practices and ideas. Snatches of culture dragged out of context loosetheir deeper meaning, they remain context-less and in this way extremelyimpoverished. Ridding cultural elements to a large extent from their original languageleads to incomprehension of words and actions. For Kymlicka “options are available to

us if they become part of the shared vocabulary of social life , i.e., embodied in the

social practices based on a shared language that we are exposed to” (86).

It is precisely because of this that the protection of minority right, particularly in the

case of immigrants becomes a necessity. This is so because of the inexistence of a

neutral sphere in which all cultural components of the cosmopolitan alternative are set.

Waldroifs alternative seems to presuppose that all traditions entering upon the public

sphere enter into it as equals. Only in this way can a strong view of hybrid reality make

sense. Unfortunately while Waldron delights, as we all should, in the intercultural

exchange which marks immigrant receiving countries, he does away with the very

conditions for the active flourishing, rather than mere preservation, of the roots from

which a strong multi-cultural reality springs. While Waldron seems led to deny special

immigrant treatment because of his anricommunitarian arguments, Kymlicka, as we

saw in the previous section^ does not go far enough.

What is so problematic in Waldron’s argument, from the perspective of immigrant

groups, comes to light clearly in his conception of the cosmopolitan picture of the self.

Its amorphous identity is based, not on any kind of hierarchical structuring based on

some special elite’s perception of some substantive view of the good, but rather on the

democratic governance of a pluralistic society of equals brought together by their

sharing a ‘thin’, perhaps too thin, theory of the good.

However, minority groups are so thin themselves as compared to majority traditions,

that, under Waldron’s conditions they will truly, I believe, disappear; their deep

richness condemned to invisibility and inaudibility. As Iris Young argues: “democratic

public should recognize mechanisms for the effective representation and recognition of

the distinct voices and perspective of those of its constituent groups who are oppressed

or disadvantaged within it” (Young, 261). While Waldron cherishes the hybridity born

18

out of interaction between cultures, he precisely takes out the very protectivefoundations which can guarantee real complex intermingling. If in Kymlicka’sargument the future scenario ends up being a secure societal culture, under Waldron’sperspective security will, in the long haul, end up being achieved by a mainstreamsociety free from the struggles of any communitarian oriented minorities.

A second serious problem in Waldron’s view of the self, from the perspective of

immigrants, lies in its relation to the identity struggles faced by immigrant children.

While his view of the self can in fact lead to an enriching and multiply fulfilling

condition; while it is true that this selfs tension, its chaotic nature and healthy

confusion, can lead — perhaps is the main road — to an artistic creation such as

Rushdie’s, it is also true that not all immigrants are potential Rushdie’s who can

articulate the confusion in which they are set in. Immigrant children do in fact face this

same kind of chaotic self structure, but from them, as we shall see in the next section,

there do not spring literary works, but rather a lack of self-esteem and disorientarion. A

senselessness born precisely out of the lack of the adequate conditions for the

reccognition

Finally, I would just like to question the very idea put forward at the beginning of

‘ this second section; the one dealing with a critical stance based on a thin theory of the

good. It makes one wonder whether Waldron, while trying to argue for a hybrid

\~\

coexistence of cultures, does in fact end up putting forward only ONE alternative,

namely, the one which is based on a very thin theory of the good in which real deep

ties to one’s culture are to be seen as radically suspicious; and the incapacity to

question these as absolutely inauthentic. But in the case of immigrants precisely this

perspective is what can in the fact be missing, at least to the same degree and in the

same form. Take for instance family ties; while family ties seem linked to the nuclear

family in North America, few North Americans would comprehend the virtual

necessity for some people of living in an extended family; living outside these is like

being torn apart. This is why I tend to believe that the most valuable aspect of the

liberal tradition which can stand back from its goods is that it can stand back, prior to

judging other communities’ goods, from its own goods by assuming a self-critical

19

stance. This inward turn, if done properly, can then truly pave the way to thepossibility of a dialogue which is both more honest and much deeper; one whichrespects the fact that other communities do not share the same goods as it does, and donot share the same type of questioning as it can.SECTION III: PAREKH ON IMMIGRANTS

In his paper on aboriginal Canadians, Alain Cairns points to the fact that the broad

category, ‘aboriginal’, tends to cover up the diverse traditions that, if one looks up

close, are found within it: “Metis, Inuit, and Status Indians are very different ways of

being aboriginal that derive from distinct histories and particular interactions with

Euro-Canadian society” (3). Simplifying reality conceptually can lead to overseeing the

real complexity which lies behind such all-encompassing terms.

This is likewise the case, I believe, with the broad category of ‘immigrant’. The term,

of course, is not only inevitable because it facilitates overall discussion and general

policy planning, but it does so —if it simply stays at this level of generality– by

homogenizing widely diverging experiences of different immigrant groups constituted

through varying traditions, histories, purposes and languages.

Kymlicka’s astonishing sensibility to difference is here lacking. Although he does, in

the case of Hispanics, differentiate between four groups –national minorities

(Chicanes and Puerto Ricans), refugees (Cubans), illegal workers (Mexican) and

immigrants (presumably Central and South America)— he fails to sec the latter

category’s internal diversity. Spanish immigrants, while certainly sharing the Spanish

language, do not by any means share the same societal culture. (This, not only across

boundaries such as for instance Colombia and Venezuela, but within boundaries

themselves due to the huge class differences which grow out economic disparities.)

Kymlicka himself acknowledges that sharing a language, while being a necessary

condition for sharing a culture, is not a sufficient one for doing so: “while the members

of a culture share the same language, it does not follow that all people who share the

same language belong to the same culture. Not all anglophones in the world belong to

20

the same culture” (93, footnote 28). By the same token, not all Spanish speakingimmigrants belong to the same culture. And if this is so for Spanish speakingimmigrants, well one can truly see the necessity of considering the difficulty ofviewing all immigrants as somehow commensurable to each other, for instance,because of their having uprooted themselves.

In contrast, Parekh is extremely conscious of the importance of signaling out the

different cultural groups which conform the broad immigrant population. In the first

place, he tells us that immigrants, who have certainly uprooted themselves from the

territory they inhabited, nevertheless do so for quite different reasons. These fall into a

continuum with an extensive area of greyish tonalities which allows us to move

beyond a voluntary/involuntary dichotomy: “immigrants come for a variety of reasons,

ranging from search for asylum to their active recruitment by the state, and each

generates distinct claims and obligations” (Parekh, TRA, 701). Different conditions

for uprooting , or better, migrating, require different relational interactions between

the members of mainstream culture and the newcomers. Dealing with refugee claims,

for example, requires radically different considerations from those which arise with

regards to immigrants who are so skilled that they enter the job market with relative

ease.

Parekh also points out that it is an unquestionable fact that immigrants come from all

over the globe. They share little in common; not language, not religion, not diet, not

dress, not customs, not family relations, not gender relation, not economic abilities.

Immigrants “come from different countries, ranging from ex-colonies to fellow

members of such international organizations as the European community. In each case

they stand in different historical and contractual relations to the receiving country”

(ibid.)(*l)

And not only the ‘why’ and the ‘where’ tend to vary to a considerable degree in the

case of immigrants, but likewise the ‘how long’ and ‘to what degree attachment is felt’.

This variation, I suspect, is determined, to a large extent, on the favorable conditions

found upon arrival, that is to say, on the degree to which immigrants feel respected and

21

respecting, recognized and recognizing, valued and valuable, and finally seen asworth- deserving as well as worth- giving beings. For Parekh:”some immigrants are or see themselves as short-term residents anxiousafter a few years to return to their home countries of origin or to moveelsewhere; some are or see themselves as long-term residents anxious

eventually to return to their countries of origin and in the meantime to remain

and work within, but not to become full members of, the host society; some

others want to remain members of their countries of origin as well as become

full members of the host country; yet others have completely broken with their

countries of origin” (Parekh, TRA, 702)

It is true that by putting forward all these differentiating factors, the issue of

‘immigrants’ might become much more dense and less easy to handle practically, but

at least it is a move which does not shy away from portraying the complexity of the

issue. Not by closing one’s eyes, no matter how hard one tries, will the dense multi-

layered reality of a multicultural society fade away.

This idea is one which Parekh develops more fully in his understanding of British

society. For him contemporary Britain ought to be seen as a multiethnic society. He

purposely rejects designating it as ‘multicultural’, precisely because for him this term

“does not adequately express, and even seems to obscure the kinds of difference that

obtain between different communities in modern Britain” (Parekh, BCCD, 184).

Ethnicity refers to identity and character differentiation, it is in this sense that Britain

can be seen as made up of such differentiating communities, “each with its distinct

culture or ways of thought and life” (184). (*2) Their having landed on British soil is a

fact to which there exists not one unique way of responding. Mainstream British

culture which, for different reasons, allowed these multiethnic appearance on its

shores: “ha(s) to decide how to respond to this fact, bearing in mind their own history,

system of values and aspirations as well as the likely reactions of the ethnic

community” (186). Parekh sees four general possible paths to follow: i) a rejoicing in

multiethnicity (polyethnicity for Kymlicka or cosmopolitanism for Waldron), ii) a

grudging acceptance of its nature, iii) a slow, but effective, undermining of it or finally,

iv) an open declaration of war upon it (186). Regardless of which is adopted, it remains

fundamental to realize that their implementation, just as in the case of Aboriginal

22

demands for fair treatment in the Canadian context, must continuously remind itselfthat, “simply put, the difficulty (here) is that the direction in which we are going isuncharted territory with few signposts” (Cairns, 1).However, this is not to say that the ethnic presence is somehow new to mainstreamculture; a kind of surprise to which they have suddenly awakened. In fact Parekh

shows how British governments have adopted more or less clear political policies with

determined objectives. Parekh traces the history of the two main responses to

immigrant arrival: on the one hand, the assimilationist/ nationalist alternative, and on

the other, the integrationist/liberal one. Both have subsisted side by side; the

preeminence of one over the other has depended primarily on the political climate of

the times (191). The first promotes some form of benign neglect, a policy which, as we

have argued, ends up being neither ‘benign’ nor ‘neglecting’. This interpretative path

perceives the incompatible ways of life found in ethnic communities as a diversity

which can lead eventually to political instability; even to a serious fragmentation of

what it sees as a cohesive and unified Britain with a univocal identity. According to this

view, Britain “could not remain cohesive without fully integrating them (note; the

ethnic groups), and it couldn’t integrate them without dismantling their internal

bonds” (188). Through both a discriminatory immigration policy which for instance

did not allow relatives to join already settled immigrants, and a mainstream education

focusing on English curricula (primarily history and language), this policy sought an

active cultural engineering of ethnic groups. Of course immigrants were not denied

basic human rights, but neither were they given any type of group differentiated rights.

The second model, the liberal/integrationist, valued diversity as actually enriching the

social fabric of contemporary Britain. Nevertheless “it remained vague and was not

clearly distinguished from its assimilarionist rival” (191). It pushed forward both

antidiscriminatory laws and demanded an education curricula based on mutual

understanding and tolerance. It fostered an environment where both parties sought to

interact actively in order to enrich each others’ perspective to the fullest. But it did so

timidly and halfheartedly.

23

Parekh sees various difficulties in each of these approaches. But among the critiquesthat he puts forward, I would like to signal one out which takes up the issues raised inthe first two sections of this essay. It is one which he directs primarily against thestrong assimilationist strand, but which can equally be argued against a weak liberalperspective which does not guarantee strong forms of group differentiated rights to

immigrant minorities. The critique concerns the effects of a strong defense of minority

rights, not simply on first generation immigrants, but on their children and their

children’s children as well.

Immigrant children, as we saw in Section I, did not decide to uproot themselves.

Nevertheless, they stand now, because of their parents’ decision, in an environment

which can not only foster the most extreme uneasiness and disorientation, but also

provide them with the most enriching of possibilities in the conformation of their

directional identity. While their parents had the possibility of growing into different

sorts of, more or less, solid trees –trees which can use their strength to survive in

unknown terrain — immigrant children are like fragile seeds and plants facing a forest

the richness and dangers of which can be compared to a jungle. This can lead to a

sense of loss and disorientation without comparison. In the case of Asian immigrants,

for instance:

“There is ample evidence that (their) children growing up in non-Asian Areas,

or taught in overzealous assimilationist schools, are deeply confused, insecure,

tense, anxious, emotionally hollow, ashamed of their past, including their

parents, lack resistance and self-confidence, and display disturbing disorders in

their thoughts, feelings and behavior” (192)

Kymlicka’s answer to this dilemma, which I take it goes beyond Asian boundaries, lies,

as we saw, in adopting a ‘strenuous effort’ to bring these children closer to mainstream

society. A solution which, we argued, sidestepped the problem itself by seeming to

imply that cutting the roots of one’s culture, and one’s language could be morally

demanded of immigrant children because, if not, they would end up just as

disoriented. Waldron, in turn, presumably would argue that this is the price to be paid

for the constitution of a radically new form of multiple thin identities which together

constitute the cosmopolitan view of the self.

24

Parekh is perturbed, and rightly so, by these troubling effects of migration. And,unlike Kymlicka, he views the source of the problem, not primarily in diversificationitself, but precisely in the inability of mainstream culture, not only to provide adequatemechanisms for the survival of immigrant identities, but also those which canguarantee their active and strong flourishing.

A case in point is that of the issue of the use of immigrant languages in the public

sphere. As we have argued, unless some strong defense of the minority language is

allowed — presumably where numbers warrant– these languages are, if not

doomed to disappear, then, and perhaps worse yet, forcefully sent to search for self-

enclosed islands in which they remain in use, quietly awaiting an opportunity to come

to public light through some kind of political demand. A shocking example given to us

by Parekh is that of the Urdu parents speaking in crowded train. To her parents use of

the shared language used in their homeland, a young immigrant girl reacts with utter

shame:

“When the confused mother asked for an explanation, the girl shot back: ‘Just

as you do not expose your private parts in public, you do not speak in public in

that language’. Though no one had presumably taught her that, she knew that

the public realm belonged to the whites, that only their language and customs

were legitimate within it, and that ethnic identities were to be confined to the

private realm. In a society dominated by one culture, pluralism requires more

than mere tolerance” (193) (*3)

Immigrant children’s healthy upbringing requires more than a mere bipartite strategy

in which their language remains exclusively private-oriented. This strategy may so

severe the identification links with their parents as to even deform the identities of

those children who make up second and third generations.

But it is not Parekh’s aim simply to safeguard minorities, and their languages, from

any interaction with mainstream society. This is neither possible, nor desirable given

that extreme differentiation, the kind which disregards some sort of integration is just

as counterproductive and damaging; “differentiation draws attention to oneself,

intensifies self-consciousness, singles one out as an outsider, and denies one the

instinctive trust and loyalty extended to those perceived to be ‘one of us'” (192) (*4^).

Some type of communicative interaction can alone respond adequately to the

25

multiethnicity which marks Britain’s social reality. It is an interaction that finds in adialogical relationship an extremely alluring model for new kinds of coexistence andcohabitation.Some of the central points for such a healthy interaction are given to us by Parekhhimself. His position, which springs from a critique of the previous two approaches, is

founded on five central premises: i) cultural difference is a valuable asset, ii) in

polyethnic societies such diversity is grounded partly in ethnicity which finds

expression in fragile minority communities, iii) these communities are not a threat to

mainstream society, but rather positively strengthen the latter’s economic, social,

cultural and linguistic possibilities, iv) the British have as part of their liberal tradition

an understanding of tolerance within morally permissible limits, and finally, v)

minority ethnic cultures ought to have a say in the public, politically charged, realm.

According to this perspective, minority immigrant communities are not simply to be

preserved in formaldehyde jars. They ought rather to be defended to the extent that

the conditions for their survival and active flourishing can be met by both (or more)

parties involved. The healthy tension found between minority(ies) and majority(ies)

can perhaps be seen to resemble a game which maybe most of us played as young

children; and if not so shared, it is one that can be taught to others (for the lovely thing

about games is that they can be taught to others who are eager to learn and participate

in them). It is that game in which two teams pull real hard on a single rope they share,

in order to bring one of them across a painted or imaginary line. It is true that Majority

cultures can indeed push the shared cord so as to send minority groups flying, in worse

case scenarios, right into the puddle which lies between them. But what both sides

must come to realize is that the possibility of the game itself makes sense only given

the presence of both. Of course one can play against oneself, but that, children can tell

you, is neither as challenging, nor as fun. It is in this sense, I think, that one can say

that “integration requires movement on both sides, otherwise it is an imposition”

(Parekh, 195).

Imposition reflects a desire to deny diversity, it proceeds from a leveling hunger

which fails to critically assess the underlying motives behind its game destroying

26

action. Fortunately as we saw in Section II, the mainstream culture of countries such asCanada and the US is born out of a tradition which knows itself to be born out of a self-critical and dialogical tradition. This is why it can indeed come to see that ethnicminorities:”widen the range of lifestyles upon its citizens, enabling them to borrow from

others what attracts them and to enrich their way of life. They also bring

different traditions into a mutually beneficial dialogue and stimulate new ideals

and experiments” (195) (*4)

Borrowing and lending are the social expressions of a hard won trust and

understanding.

This mutual activity, this rope game, is the one which Parekh defends by expliciting

six primary normative objectives to have in mind in determining the healthy

relationships between minorities and majorities. First, cultural diversity ought to be

given strong public status so that diversity and difference come to be viewed, not as a

limiting factor by both parties — half grudgingly accepted by the majority,

halfheartedly rejected by immigrant children– but rather as a deep challenge for

both. One in which both (or more) parties are called upon to foster the cohabitation of

strong identities living side by side and committed to respect their traditions by way of

increasing bilingual education, multicultural curricula, acceptance of dress codes,

religious beliefs, and minority holidays, among many others. Second, on the minority

culture’s side of the rope, it is expected that they accept the obligations of British

citizenship through national loyalty and sensitivity to British political values;

principally through an active respect for the liberal democratic practices and

institutions and an understanding of the history and language which provide the

foundations of Britain’s shared cultural vocabulary. Nevertheless, and this is the third

point, minority cultures must be allowed to develop in their own direction and at a

speed not to be imposed from outside. These minority groups, even if they come from

a tradition that does not know of such a critical stand as that which characterizes the

countries they enter upon, have among them: “intelligent and wise men and women,

most of them heirs to old civilizations, and familiar with the art of making changes.

They love their children, are deeply concerned about their well-being, and know

27

better than anyone else that their future is tied up with British society, which theymust therefore understand and to which they must adapt, however painful the process”(199). Fourth, it is necessary to understand, and here Parekh coincides with Kymlicka,that individuals comprising communities flourish or decay with the downfall oruprising, literally up-rising, of these communities. This is why the proper conditions

for communal recognition and identification must be set in place; from this conditions

perhaps will follow more smoothly, higher individual levels of self-confidence and self-

esteem. The fifth consideration involves the need for the recognition of the distinct

character of ethnic communities by the mainstream legal system. This, not through the

implementation of a plurality of incommensurable legal systems (*5), but rather

through a more flexible, imaginative, and not because of this less secure, interpretation

of British laws: “the courts confront one with the other and decide how best the

general intentions of the law can be realized and justice done as well as seen to be

done in a specific and unique case” (202) () Vor instance, while cases of female

circumcision ought to be rejected, equal treatment of genders ought to be fostered

(*7).

Finally, and here Waldron and Parekh come close to each other, but through

radically different routes, the idea of identity must be reconsidered so as to

acknowledge the diversity upon which it is now to be construed. Identity is “not an

abstract but a concrete and internally differentiated universal. It is not something all

Britons (note: or Canadians) possess; but rather a milieu, a self renewing process in

which they participate’. Identity is a dynamic concept which, regardless of our

intentions, seems to have a life of its own. Its fluidity continually escapes us no matter

how hard we fight to reach its alleged security. Multiculturalism implies

interdependence; it requires an open stance capable, both of listening to perspectives

which at first may appear radically alien, and of articulating self-critically one’s own

goods and valuations. To speak of a British identity makes sense only through the

recognition of this mutual belonging:

“In other words none of us is fully British. We are constantly trying to become

one, each on his own way and at his own pace. Only he is fully British who can

honestly say that no British citizen, black or white, Christian or Hindu, is a

28

cultural stranger to him. Those generally regarded as quintessentially British arein some way the least British” (203)Identity is a never-ending process in which becoming supersedes being. Polyglots aresuch becoming loving creatures. We positively admire polyglots, among other things,for their incredible capacity to perceive and produce sounds of differing tonalities, for

having the mnemic capacity required to recognize distinct words, for their graceful and

almost effortless comprehension of grammar and functional structures pertaining to

diverse linguistic groups. But polyglots are truly gifted humans; immigrants and their

hosts can simply try to learn from the former the mutual advantages to be won from

aiming at some type of expressive and respectful bilingualism. (*8) Having won this

linguistic advantage, perhaps then can follow different types of trilingualism, and who

knows, maybe even an enriching polyglorism. (*9)

FOOTNOTESINTRODUCTION1. In this passage Camus refers not only to the loss of his beloved Algiers, but likewise to a loss whichhe sees permeates the whole of the Western tradition. For him it is one which, in modernity, ischaracterized by the birth of nihilism and the absurd. Nihilism is itself understood as a leveling of all

values which, for example for Nietzsche, is seen as a detrimental aspect of the democratic tradition and

its perspective of a ‘thin view of the good’ (a perspective taken up in section II of this essay). The

liberal tradition is not without critiques itself, starting from Plato and Aristotle..

2. Having lived most of my life in Colombia, born from a Quebecois mother and a Colombian father,

having had access to the English language from early on, having lived for four years in Montreal some

years ago, and for a few months here in Toronto, I still am at a loss sometimes as to how to respond to

some elements in Canadian culture. Although there are too many examples, I would like to signal out

two in particular. The first occurred some days prior to the Quebec referendum. I asked a fellow Master

student whom I met in the Department what she thought about the issue. She gave me her opinion

and I proceeded to ask her who she was going to vote for. She stared at me rather oddly and asked

“Isn’t that kind of personal?”. Then, somehow, it clicked that such a question, though perhaps common

in a Colombian setting, is radically personal here. It took us some seconds to understand why she

thought it was such a strange question and why I thought it to be rather normal. Although embarrasing,

we seemed to realize the context within which the question was made. The second occurred in 1986

when I, for the first time was coming to a country I was a citizen of, but which I had never before

visited. Upon arriving to the airport and showing my passport where it says I was born in Colombia, I

was ‘jokingly’ asked by the immigration official; how many kilos do you have with you? He seemed to

take it for granted that it was obvious what the kilos WCTC of (Colombians abroad are dealt with with

extreme unfairness). Many examples which occur in day to day interactions still occur to me. I take it

that it is something that most immigrants share to even greater degrees. (This is likewise true for

people who migrate, from the countryside, into the ever growing cities in the Latin American setting.)

3. Perhaps a more balanced consideration can be reached with the difficult empirical study that will

follow this essay, and which will focus on the issue of immigration, either in Quebec, or a Province such

as Ontario. I will, in this essay, disregard all questions dealing with the economic requirements

necessary to foster a healthy relation between minorities and mainstream culture in a period where

cutbacks are the order of the day. But I will likewise remind myself that practice, without some kind of

theoretical framework, can be dangerously blind.

SECTION I

1. For Kymlicka both forms of multiculturalism, the multination, and the polyethnic, are not as distinct

as the separate categories might portray (19); furthermore for him Canada is among the few countries

which shares both (16).

2. For Kymlicka internal restrictions are to be regarded by liberals with very suspicious eyes.

Nevertheless, when he discusses the Quebec case he seems to shy away from considering Bill 101 .Is

not this Bill an internal restriction. Does Kymlicka see it as a suspicious one? How does it presence

affect incoming immigrants to the province of Quebec? Can they claim such internal restrictions using

the same arguments? Up to what extent?

3. Kymlicka is extremely sensitive to a multitude of empirical cases which he acknowledges do not fit

easily in his complex conceptual framework. Some of these are African Americans, refugees and

Hutcerites in Canada (19).

4. The other reasons for this minority rights skepticism lie in: i) the failure of minority treatises such as

that of Poland and Germany prior to the beginning of the Second World W^ar, and ii) racial

desegregation in the LS which seeks a color-blind society.

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5. The continual use of the adjective and noun American in the part of Kymlicka is radicallydiscriminating to the peoples who live in the American CONTINENT; a continent comprised ofSouth, Central and North America. This use of the term cannot be defended either morally norgeographically. It is as if one, unintentionally, argued that all Canadians are gringos. This might seemlike a nominal problem, but if the arguments in Section I are correct, then it is certaiily more than this.

This use ought to be changed; but, of course, watching the news and reading the newspaper, it seems

quite illusory to try do so.

6. For Kymlicka there is not that much of difference between the two immigration models usually

discussed, the Canadian ‘mosaic’, and the US ‘melting pot’. Perhaps the first is not so mosaic-like, the

latter, not so melting. (10-11)

7. Having taught English as a Foreign Language for several years, I have seen the difficulty, and time

consuming task, which is to learn a language such as English (that is in all the four linguistic skills:

reading, writing, speaking and listening). I know that the ESL situation changes, and soon will begin to

prepare myself to look at the differences.

8. On the identity of the Quebecois, Kymlicka moves from referring to them sometimes as Quebecers,

sometimes as French Canadians. But precisely the Quebecois see themselves, before Canadians, as

members of the French speaking Province of Quebec. For Taylor this is furthermore linked to a

perspective which holds that the Quebecois hold a view of the good which stands in tension, to some

extent, with the ‘thin’ view of the good upheld by Kymlicka and Waldron. That Taylor dedicates pages

to the issue of language in political thought is therefore no surprise.

9. This deep diversity follows from an acceptance of a first level agreement on the basic principles of

liberalism and human rights.

SECTION II

1. A tradition grounded on the Kantian imperative, Sapere Aude! (Learn to be wise) As Kant asks of us:

“Have courage to use your own understanding” (Kant, What is Enlightenment”). This is a tradition in

which autonomy is set against all forms of heteronomy.

2. This is a position which is radically criticized, I believe, by Aristotelian ethical thought. The amazing

clement in Waldron’s argument is that he can still use Aristotle to foster his argument of global

interdependence, while clinging to a thin theory of the good. The tension can also be seen, I think, in

the Taylorite differentiation between what he calls hypergoods, and the goods which follow from the

modern affirmation of ordinary life (Sources of the Self.)

3. Here Waldron follows Habermas’ modernist project: “the arrival of world citizenship is no longer

a phantom though we are still far from achieving it. State citizenship and world citizenship form a

continuum w-which already shows itself (at least) in outline form” (Habermas, 7).

SECTION III

1. Recently a friend of mine from Colombia, who was not as lucky as I to have been born from a

Canadian, and therefore by law having the right to Canadian Citizenship (something envied by many in

countries such as Colombia), told me that during his swearing allegiance to the Queen and Canada,

there were, in the same place, about 120 people coming, and this is astonishing, from 29 different

countries !!!!!

2. Parekh clearly differentiates between the processes followed by Asian immigrants and their economic

claims, Afro-Caribbean and their political claims, and Muslims and their religious claims. Of course all

three claims are interrelated, but each immigrant group has tended to emphasize some over the others.

3. One of my Canadian nieces, the one old enough to speak, does not like to speak any Spanish,

although she can understand just about anything one tells her. In contrast, one of my Colombian

nephews speaks English as much as he can. Precisely it is in these everyday realities that, I think, one

can sec the difference between having a language extremely valued for different purposes as English is

in Latin America, and the parallel relevance of Spanish in Canada. Of course the case of Hispanics in

the US is radically different. Most of my students in Colombia would, if they could travel to learn

English, shy away from cities such as Miami for they argued, “one does not need English there”.

31

4. It is disturbing sometimes to hear stories of immigrants whose success within mainstream societyleads them away from the culture within which they were brought up. But this is a very personal andbiased opinion.5. The difference between immigrants and Aboriginal Indians is here illuminating. The latter do have,for different reasons, their own legal systems; but these seek not to deny basic human rights.

6. Aristotle in his Ethics points this out in quite another historical context: “‘it is he mark of the trained

mind never to expect more precision in the treatment of any subject than the nature of the subject

permits” (1094b28-30)

7. In the case of legal claims drawing the line is precisely the problem. While Carens argues that cases

of gender equality must hold universally, as well as the female circumcision of children (for adults it is

different) (CJ,CD,PC), there are other more problematic cases to which Parekh points. One of these is

the legalization of marijuana by Rastafarians of which he says: “The Rastafarians cannot be easily

isolated from the rest of the community, there is always the risk of the large-scale traffic of drugs, and

the likely health risk to them that cannot be ignored by the state” (201). Here, I believe, Parekh seems

to be sidestepping the issue. And it is one which of course permeates the whole modern debate on drug

control.

8. I write bilingualism because I take it that the primary relationship to consider in multicultural society

is between specific immigrant groups and the English speaking society. Once this dialogue takes place,

I believe, there can follow the more complex possibility of carrying over these intercommunicative links

to the relationship between immigrant groups themselves. But here I may perhaps be wrong.

9. What one certainly does not want, I have argued, is some kind of Esperanto which all human beings

share, but without having any ties to real practical and theoretically complex and differentiated

contexts. (The Bible story of the Tower of Babel can perhaps be here illuminating)

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BIBLIOGRAPHY (Readings for the course)Cairns, Alan, “Aboriginal Canadians, Citizenship and the Constitution”.Carens, Joseph, “Realistic and Idealistic Approaches to the Ethics of Migration”.— “Complex Justice, Cultural Difference and Political Community”.— “Canadian Citizenship and Aboriginal Self-Government”.

— “Democracy and Respect for Difference: The Case of Fiji”.

________ “Liberalism and Culture”.

Habermas, Jurgen, “Citizenship and National Identity: Some Reflections on the

Future of Europe”.

Kymlicka, Will, Multicultural Citizenships

Parekh, Bhikhu, “British Citizenship and Cultural Difference”.

— “The Rushdie Affair: Research Agenda for Political Philosophy”.

Taylor, Charles, “Shared and Divergent Values”.

Waldron, Jeremy, “Minority Cultures and the Cosmopolitan Alternative”.

Walzer, Michael, “Three Paths in Moral Philosophy”.

Young, Iris, “Polity and Group Difference: A Critique of the Ideal of Universal

Citizenship”.

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