Utraque Unum Volume 4, Issue 2 (Summer 2011)

A Journal of Georgetown University’s Tocqueville Forum on the Roots of American Democracy

VOLUME 4, ISSUE 2 Summer 2011

Featuring

Books that are “Great”— Books that are “True” Also The Right of Revolution in Theory & Prohibition of Rebellion in Practice A Crusade to Save Western Civilization: American Philhellenism in the Greek War for Independence Despotism from Montesquieu to Tocqueville: A New Function of Materialism Can Democratic Tyranny Exist in the United States?

The Minotaur and the Republic: On the Applicability of de Jouvenel’s Theory of Power to the Future of the American Polity Pope Benedict’s Liturgical Vision and its Implications for Young Catholics Contesting The Secular: Aquinas and Charles Taylor on Reason in the Public Sphere Between Jerusalem and Athens ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ĴȂ ȱȃ ȱ Ȅ Spiritual Atheist: Philip Larkin Race, Identity, and National Consciousness: Georgetown University’s Changing Conceptualization ȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ Georgetown, Dolley Madison, and the Mexican-American War An Interview with Fr. David Collins Considering the Value of the Georgetown Core Curriculum: A Chilean Case Study

Editor-in-Chief Collan Rosier Managing Editor Stephen Wu Section Editors ŠĴ‘Ž ȹ ÂŒ ’••’™ȹǝ ‘Žȹ Â˜Â›ÂžÂ–Çź

Š¢ȹ Â˘Â”ÂŽÂœČąÇť ‘Žȹ ‘Š–‹Ž›ǟ –’•¢ȹ Ž›”’ȹǝ ‘Žȹ Š—ŒÂ?žŠ›¢ǟ

ž•’Žȹ Š—ľȹǝ ‘Žȹ ÂŠÂ›Â•Â˜Â›Çź ŠĴ‘Ž ȹ Š—Â?Â’Â›Â’Â—Â˜ČąÇť ‘Žȹ Ž••Š›ǟ ‘›’œÂ?Â˜Â™Â‘ÂŽÂ›Čą Â˜Â˜Â—ÂŽÂ˘ČąÇť ‘Žȹ ‹œŽ›Â&#x;ŠÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘Çź Graduate Assistant Rachel Blum Spencer

Utraque Unum Georgetown University’s seal is based directly on the Great Seal of the United States of America. Instead of an olive branch and arrows in the American eagle’s right and left talons, Georgetown’s eagle is clutching a globe and calipers in its right talon and a cross in its left talon. The American seal’s eagle holds a banner in its beak that states, E Pluribus Â—ÂžÂ–Ç°ČąÂ˜Â›ČąČƒ žÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Š—¢ǰȹ —ŽǰȄȹ’—ȹ›ŽÂ?ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘Žȹ–Š—¢ȹÂ?’쎛Ž—Â?ČąÂ™ÂŽÂ˜Â™Â•ÂŽČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂœÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽÂœČąÂŒÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂ?’—Â?Čą a union. The Georgetown seal’s eagle holds a banner in its beak that states, Utraque Unum. ÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ˜ÄœÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ–Â˜Ä´Â˜ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?¢ǰȹUtraque Unum is often translated as “Both Â—ÂŽČ„ČąÂ˜Â›ČąČƒ ˜Â?‘ȹŠ—Â?Čą —ŽȄȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?Š”Ž—ȹÂ?Â›Â˜Â–Čą ÂŠÂžÂ•Č‚ÂœČąÂŽÂ™Â’ÂœÂ?•ŽȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â™Â‘ÂŽÂœÂ’ÂŠÂ—ÂœÇŻČą Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ–Â˜Ä´Â˜ČąÂ’ÂœČą found in a Latin translation of Ephesians 2:14: ipse est enim pax nostra qui fecit utraque unumÇŻČą ‘Žȹ ’—Â?Čą ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČą ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â’Â‹Â•ÂŽČąÂœÂŠÂ˘ÂœÇ°ČąČƒ Â˜Â›Čą Žȹǽ ‘›’œÂ?ÇžČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ˜ÂžÂ›ČąÂ™ÂŽÂŠÂŒÂŽÇ°ČąÂ Â‘Â˜ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂ?‘ȹ made both one.â€? Utraque Unum is the Latin phrase to describe Paul’s concept of unity between Jews and Gentiles; that through Jesus Christ both are one. —ȹÂ&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—ČąÂœÂŽÂŠÂ•Ç°ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ–Â˜Ä´Â˜ČąÂ›ÂŽÂ™Â›ÂŽÂœÂŽÂ—Â?ÂœČąÂ™ÂžÂ›ÂœÂžÂ’Â—Â?ČąÂ”Â—Â˜Â Â•ÂŽÂ?Â?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹŽŠ›Â?‘•¢ȹ ÇťÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ Â˜Â›Â•Â?ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂŒÂŠÂ•Â’Â™ÂŽÂ›ÂœÇźČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ™Â’Â›Â’Â?žŠ•ȹǝÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ›Â˜ÂœÂœÇźÇŻČą Š’Â?‘ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂœÂ˜Â—ČąÂœÂ‘Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂŽÂĄÂŒÂ•Âžsive. In unity faith and reason enhance the pursuit of knowledge.

Acknowledgements The publication of Utraque Unum was made possible by the generous support of Bill Mumma, Georgetown University Edmund A. Walsh School of Foreign Service Class of 1981, as well as the Collegiate Network. The Tocqueville Forum on the Roots of American Democracy additionally wishes to acknowledge the generous support of The Veritas Fund as administered ‹¢ȹÂ?‘Žȹ Š—‘ŠĴŠ—ȹ —œÂ?Â’Â?žÂ?ÂŽÇ°ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â‘Â˜Â–ÂŠÂœČą ÇŻČą –’Â?‘ȹ ˜ž—Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Ç°ČąÂ?‘Žȹ —Â?Ž›Œ˜••ŽÂ?’ŠÂ?ÂŽČą Â?žÂ?Â’ÂŽÂœČą —œÂ?Â’Â?žÂ?ŽǰȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ÂŠÂŒÂ”Čą ’••Ž›ȹ Ž—Â?Ž›ǯ The Tocqueville Forum promotes events and activities devoted to furthering and deepening student understanding of the American constitutional order and its roots in the Western philosophical and religious traditions. The Tocqueville Forum sponsors these activities solely through the contributions ˜Â?ČąÂ?ÂŽÂ—ÂŽÂ›Â˜ÂžÂœČąÂœÂžÂ™Â™Â˜Â›Â?ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂ˜Â?ȹ’Â?ÂœČąÂ–Â’ÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ÇŻČą Â?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂ Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ȹ•’”ŽȹÂ?ž›Â?‘Ž›ȹ’—Â?˜›–ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą about supporting the Tocqueville Forum, please e-mail tocquevilleforum@ georgetown.edu or visit www.TocquevilleForum.org.

As always, we welcome your thoughts and comments regarding this jour—Š•ǯȹ Â?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â›ČąÂ˜Â—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂŠČą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?Â˘ČąÂœÂ?žÂ?Ž—Â?Ç°ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?ÂŽÂœÂœÂ˜Â›ČąÂ˜Â›Čą ÂœÂ?ÂŠÄ›ČąÂ–ÂŽÂ–Â‹ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ ÂŽČąÂ Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ČąÂ ÂŽÂ•ÂŒÂ˜Â–ÂŽČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ˜Â™Â™Â˜Â›Â?ž—’Â?¢ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ›ÂŽÂ&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÂ›ČąÂ Â˜Â›Â”ČąÂ?Â˜Â›Čą publication in Utraque UnumÇŻČą —ȹŠÂ?Â?Â’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ Â›Â’Â?ÂŽÂ›ÂœÇ°ČąÂ ÂŽČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽČąÂ•Â˜Â˜Â”Â’Â—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂœÂŽÂŒtion editors, artists, graphic designers and web designers. Please e-mail the editors at utraque.unum@gmail.com for these inquiries.

Cultivating Knowledge of America and the West

TO CQ U EV I LLE F O R U M AT G E O RG E TOW N U N I V ER S I T Y

www.TocquevilleForum.org

|

Ph ..

Tocqueville forum on the roots of american democracy

| Utraque Unumȹȹ ÂžÂ–Â–ÂŽÂ›ČąĹ˜Ĺ–Ĺ—Ĺ—ČąČą Â˜Â•ÂžÂ–ÂŽČąĹšČą ÂœÂœÂžÂŽČąĹ˜

Table of Contents From the Editor-in-Chief. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 About The Tocqueville Forum Faith, Reason, and Liberty, by Professor Patrick Deneen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 The Forum (Feature Articles) Books that are “Greatâ€?—Books that are “True,â€? by Father James V. Schall, S. J.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 The Right of Revolution in Theory & Prohibition of Rebellion in Practice, by Charlie Beller . . . . . . . . . . . 11 A Crusade to Save Western Civilization: American Philhellenism ’—ȹÂ?‘Žȹ ›ŽŽ”ȹ Š›ȹÂ?Â˜Â›Čą —Â?Ž™Ž—Â?Ž—ŒŽǰ by Collan Rosier . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 The Chamber (Articles on Law and Politics) Despotism from Montesquieu to Tocqueville: A New Function of Materialism, by Brenner Fissell . . . . . 20 Can Democratic Tyranny Exist in the United States?, by Raymond Tolentino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 ‘Žȹ ’—˜Â?Šž›ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ÂŽÂ™ÂžÂ‹Â•Â’ÂŒÇąČą —ȹÂ?‘Žȹ ™™•’ŒŠ‹’•’Â?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?ÂŽČą ˜žÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ—ÂŽÂ•Č‚ÂœČą Theory of Power to the Future of the American Polity,ȹ‹¢ȹ ‘›’œÂ?Â˜Â™Â‘ÂŽÂ›Čą ˜œŽĴ’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 The Sanctuary (Articles on Religion) Â˜Â™ÂŽČą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Č‚ÂœČą Â’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą Â’ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂŠÂ—Â?ȹ’Â?ÂœČą –™•’ŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂ?Â˜Â›Čą ˜ž—Â?Čą ŠÂ?‘˜•’Œœǰ by Kieran Raval . . . . . . . . . . 33 Contesting The Secular: Aquinas and Charles Taylor on Reason in the Public Sphere, by Karl O’Hanlon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 ÂŽÂ? ŽŽ—ȹ ÂŽÂ›ÂžÂœÂŠÂ•ÂŽÂ–ČąÂŠÂ—Â?Čą Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ—ÂœÇ°ČąÂ‹Â˘Čą ŠĴ‘Ž ȹ ’Ž‹•Ž› . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 The Parlor (Reviews of Books, Movies, Music, and Plays) ‘Žȹ ˜•’Â?Â’ÂŒÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â’Â?•Ž¢ȹ ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČąČƒ Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?ǰȄȹ‹¢ȹ ŠĴȹ Â˜Â˘Â?Čą. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Spiritual Atheist: Philip Larkin,ȹ‹¢ȹ ŠĴ‘Ž ȹ ÂŒ ’••’™ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 The Cellar (Scholarship related to Georgetown University) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52 ÂŠÂŒÂŽÇ°Čą Â?Ž—Â?Â’Â?¢ǰȹŠ—Â?Čą ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•Čą Â˜Â—ÂœÂŒÂ’Â˜ÂžÂœÂ—ÂŽÂœÂœÇąČą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?Â˘Č‚ÂœČą ‘Š—Â?’—Â?Čą ˜—ŒŽ™Â?žŠ•’£ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?Čą ŠÂ?Â›Â’ÂŒÂ”Čą ÂŽÂŠÂ•Â˘Č‚ÂœČą ÂŠÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą Â?Ž—Â?Â’Â?¢ǰȹ‹¢ȹ ŠĴ‘Ž ȹ ‘Ž™Â?žŒ” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 Georgetown, Dolley Madison, and the Mexican-American War, by Michael Meaney . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 ‘Žȹ ‹œŽ›Â&#x;ŠÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘ČąÇť ŽĚŽŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂ›ÂŽÂ•ÂŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜Čą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?¢ǟ —ȹ —Â?Ž›Â&#x;’Ž ȹ ’Â?‘ȹ ›ǯȹ ŠÂ&#x;Â’Â?Čą ˜••’—œǰ by Michael Clark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Considering the Value of the Georgetown Core Curriculum: A Chilean Case Study, by Eric Schmidt . . . 69 Endnotes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74

The Editor’s Desk Dear Readers, The purpose of organizations like the Tocqueville Forum and our publication, Utraque Unum, is to create a sense of belonging and community and to give Georgetown students grounding in an increasingly lost world. From the family to friendships, and, increasingly, the community at large, ›Ž•ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÂ‘Â’Â™ÂœČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ’Â—Â?ČąÂ?ÂŽÂœÂ?Â›Â˜Â˘ÂŽÂ?ȹŠ—Â?ȹ›ŽÂ?Žę—ŽÂ?ÇŻČą Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ?ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ?Â’ÂŒÂœČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽČąÂŽÂ&#x;Ž›¢ ‘Ž›ŽȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ˜Â&#x;Ž› ‘Ž•–’—Â?ǹȹ marriage is under assault and dying as a viable institution, the nuclear family is nearing extinction, and the country has moved from the public front porch to the very private back patio. These are very daunting challenges for recent graduates as they enter and seek to make sense of an increasingly confused and misdirected world. The Forum seeks to provide students, willing to receive it, with a roadmap on how to endure life on the right track and to remind students that the destination and the path taken are vitally important.

The most disturbing part is that we are increasingly told, in our education and in our interactions with others, that these changes are positive, or at least neutral. The destruction of society is deemed as “progress.â€? Society is not a shark; it will not die simply because it has ceased to move. C.S. Lewis Â™Â›Â˜Â™ÂŽÂ›Â•Â˘ČąÂ?›Šœ™ŽÂ?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ—ŠÂ?ÂžÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?Â›ÂŽÂœÂœČąÂ’Â—ČąÂŠČąÂ–Â˜Â›ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â–Â™Â•ÂŽÂ?Žȹž—Â?Ž›œÂ?Š—Â?’—Â?ÇŻČą —ȹ Ž›Žȹ ‘›’œÂ?’Š—’Â?¢ǰȹ‘Žȹ —˜Â?ÂŽÂ?Ç°ČąČƒ ŽȹŠ••ȹ Š—Â?ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?Â›ÂŽÂœÂœÇŻČą žÂ?ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?Â›ÂŽÂœÂœČąÂ–ÂŽÂŠÂ—ÂœČąÂ?ŽĴ’—Â?ȹ—ŽŠ›Ž›ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ™Â•ÂŠÂŒÂŽČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂ ÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‹ÂŽÇŻČą —Â?ȹ’Â?Čą Â˘Â˜ÂžČąÂ‘ÂŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČąÂ?ÂŠÂ”ÂŽÂ—ČąÂŠČąÂ Â›Â˜Â—Â?ČąÂ?ž›—’—Â?ČąÇ˝ÂœÂ’ÂŒÇžÇ°ČąÂ?‘Ž—ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?˜› Š›Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ÂŽÂœČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂ?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂŠÂ—Â˘ČąÂ—ÂŽÂŠÂ›ÂŽÂ›ÇŻČą Â?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â—Čą the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; and in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man.â€? Undoing a wrong is not necessarily reactionary and changing in order to improve can be conservative if it preserves something ˜Â?ČąÂ?›ŽŠÂ?Ž›ȹÂ&#x;Š•žŽȹÂ?‘Š—ȹÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ•Â˜ÂœÂ?ÇŻČą ‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ–ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ Â‘ÂŽÂ?‘Ž›ȹ’Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ‹ÂŽÂœÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂœÂ˜ÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ?¢ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ—Â?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â›ČąÂ?Â˜Čą preserve that which is best about itself.

When it comes to personal and civic morality, America took a wrong turn somewhere. All of this stems from a declining respect for traditional morality, whether based in faith, in reason, or their ÂžÂ—Â’Â˜Â—ÇŻČą Â‘ÂŽČąÂ—ÂŠÂ–ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ˜ÂžÂ›ČąÂ“Â˜ÂžÂ›Â—ÂŠÂ•ČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ–Â˜Ä´Â˜ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?¢ǰȹUtraque Unum is a referÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ?Â›Â˜Â–ČąÂ˜Â—ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â?ÇŻČą ÂŠÂžÂ•Č‚ÂœČąÂ•ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â™Â‘ÂŽÂœÂ’ÂŠÂ—ÂœČąÂŠÂ—Â?ȹ–ŽŠ—’—Â?ČąČƒ ˜Â?Â‘ČąÂ˜Â—ÂŽÇŻČ„Čą Â—ČąÂ˜Â›Â?Ž›ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?ÂžÂ›Â—ČąÂ‹ÂŠÂŒÂ”Ç°ČąÂ ÂŽČą need to know where we went wrong and how to get back through understanding of our basis in faith

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

1

and reason. We at Utraque Unum believe that we have been provided a guide in the form of the political and religious traditions we have inherited from Western Civilization and the Founding Fathers.

Only through the unity of faith and reason can the republic survive. John Adams said “Our Con-

ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱwholly inadequate to the government ȱ ¢ȱ ǯȄȱ ȱ ȱ ěȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ple. The problem is not with the Constitution, but with the people. By increasing understanding of our past and the rich lessons and traditions passed down to us—both religious and secular—the next generation of citizens can build stronger marriages, families and communities in order to keep the republic strong and help it to endure the many challenges faced in the struggle to improve society. ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ǯȱȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ late, but the longer we head down the wrong road, the longer it will take to get back and the more Ĝ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Utraque Unum point to various road signs along the way. Safe travels and enjoy!

Sincerely,

Collan B. Rosier Editor-in-Chief

2

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

Čą Čą

Faith, Reason, and Liberty Patrick J. Deneen

Čą

have just returned from a week in Krakow, Poland, where Karol Wojtyla served as priest, bishop, and cardinal until his Ž•ŽŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂŠÂœČą Â˜Â™ÂŽČą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą Šž•ȹ ȹ’—ȹŗĹ&#x;Ĺ?Şǯȹȹ Â’ÂœČąÂœÂ™Â’Â›Â’Â?Čą and memory in that city was greatly present in Â?‘Žȹ  Š”Žȹ ˜Â?Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČą ›ŽŒŽ—Â?Čą ‹ŽŠÂ?’ęŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â˜Â—Čą Š¢ȹ Ĺ—Ç°Čą Ĺ˜Ĺ–Ĺ—Ĺ—ÇŻČąČą ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂ‘Â˜Â—Â˜Â›ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Ž•’Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ČąÂŠČąÂœÂŽÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ•ÂŽÂŒÂ?ÂžÂ›ÂŽÂœČą to audiences of students and the general public Â?ž›’—Â?ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?Â’Â–ÂŽÇ°ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ ÂŽÂ•Â•ČąÂŠÂœČąÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ—Â?’—Â?ȹ–Š—¢ȹ’—Â?Â˜Â›Â–ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ?ŠÂ?‘Ž›’—Â?ÂœČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘Čą ȹ‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ˜Â™Â™Â˜Â›Â?ž—’Â?¢ȹ Â?Â˜ČąÂ?Â’ÂœÂŒÂžÂœÂœČą Â˜Â•Â’ÂœÂ‘ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘Ç°ČąÂŒÂžÂ•Â?ž›ŽȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂœÇŻČąČą Čą ‘ŠÂ?ȹ‹ŽŽ—ȹ’—Â&#x;Â’Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜Čą Â›ÂŠÂ”Â˜Â ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?ÂŽÂŠÂŒÂ‘Ç°ČąÂ‹ÂžÂ?Čą ȹŽ—Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą ÂžÂ™ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂŒÂ•ÂžÂ?’—Â?ȹ’Â?ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČą ǰȹŠ—Â?Čą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—ÂœČąÂ?Ž—Ž›Š••¢ǰȹ who stand to learn much from the Poles. ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂ™ÂŠÂ›Â?Â’ÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›Â•Â˘ČąÂœÂ?Â›ÂžÂŒÂ”ČąÂ‹Â˘ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?ŽŽ™ȹ™’ŽÂ?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą the people of Krakow. Catholicism in Poland is vibrant and exciting, sustained especially of the ›ŽŒŽ—Â?Čą Â–ÂŽÂ–Â˜Â›Â˘Čą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â‘ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂ‘Č‚ÂœČą Â›Â˜Â•ÂŽČą ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ •’‹eration of Poland from the totalitarian plagues that ravaged that nation in the twentieth century. While most nations of Europe have moved gradually or precipitously away from Christianity in general, and Catholicism in particular, Poland shows a singular devotion to the Church Š—Â?Čą ™Š›Â?Â’ÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›Â•Â˘Čą ÂœÂ?›˜—Â?•¢ȹ Â’Â?Ž—Â?Â’Ä™ÂŽÂœČą ‘›’œÂ?’Š—’Â?¢ȹ with political liberty.

This connection is becoming less self-evident for many Americans, growing numbers of whom regard Christianity in general, and Catholicism in particular, to represent restrictions upon the unencumbered liberty of modern individuÂŠÂ•ÂœÇŻČąČą —œÂ?ŽŠÂ?ǰȹ’Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂŠÂ›Â?žŽÂ?ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ȹ›Ž•’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂœÂ‘Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ȹ‹Žȹ Šȹ –ŠĴŽ›ȹ ˜Â?Čą ™›’Â&#x;ŠÂ?ÂŽČą ™›ŽÂ?ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇ°Čą Š—Â?Čą ˜Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ›Â Â’ÂœÂŽČą people should be at liberty to live their lives in  ‘ŠÂ?ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž›ȹ–Š——Ž›ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ˘ČąÂœÂŽÂŽČąÄ™Â?Ç°ČąÂœÂ‘Â˜Â›Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ȹ‘Š›–’—Â?Čą Â˜Â›ČąÂ’Â—Â“ÂžÂ›Â’Â—Â?ČąÂ˜Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂœÇŻČąČą ‘›’œÂ?’Š—’Â?Â˘Č‚ÂœČąÂ‘Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â’ÂŒČąÂ›Â˜Â•ÂŽČąÂ’Â—Čą seeking to promote a view of liberty as self-governance over the will and the curbing of appetite is increasingly replaced with a view of liberty

Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą ›ŽÂ?Š›Â?ÂœČą ÂœÂžÂŒÂ‘Čą Â?ŽŠŒ‘’—Â?ÂœČą ÂŠÂœČą ž—“žœÂ?’ęŽÂ?Čą ÂœÂ?›’Œtures upon individual preference.

Nevertheless, this intuitive understanding of the Poles—the equation of Christianity and selfgovernance, of Church and political liberty—is present to us in daily evidence in the central symbol of Georgetown: the University seal.

Portrayed on the seal is an understanding that American liberty—represented by the American ŽŠÂ?Â•ÂŽČŻÂ’ÂœČąÂ‹ÂžÄ´Â›ÂŽÂœÂœÂŽÂ?ČąÂ‹Â˘ČąÂŠČąÂŒÂ˜Â–Â‹Â’Â—ÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂœÂ˜Â—Čą (represented by the globe held in one of the eaÂ?Â•ÂŽČ‚ÂœČąÂŒÂ•ÂŠÂ ÂœÇźČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ?Š’Â?Â‘ČąÇťÂ›ÂŽÂ™Â›ÂŽÂœÂŽÂ—Â?ÂŽÂ?ȹ‹¢ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ›Â˜ÂœÂœČą grasped in the other claw). American liberty, the seal discloses, is based in the twin inheritances of rationalistic philosophy and Biblical faith—the ’—‘Ž›’Â?ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂœČą ˜Â?Čą Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ—ÂœČą Š—Â?Čą ÂŽÂ›ÂžÂœÂŠÂ•ÂŽÂ–ÇŻČą Čą ÂŽÂŠÂœÂ˜Â—Čą and faith combine in a powerful witness for liberty in light of Truth, as articulated powerfully ‹¢ȹ •ŽœœŽÂ?Čą Â˜Â™ÂŽČą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą Šž•ȹ ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂ˘ÂŒÂ•Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąČƒFides et Ratioâ€? [“Faith and Reasonâ€?].

Faith without reason threatens to become untethered, a mere assertion of belief ungrounded in the reality of the created world. At the same time, reason without faith is prone to increasingly narrow forms of self-serving instrumentalism—and would appear, in the context of the modern university, to the more imminent of the two threats. ÂœČą Â˜Â™ÂŽČą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą Šž•ȹ ČąÂ Â›Â˜Â?Žǰȹ’—ȹFides et Ratio, “Reason [alone], in its one-sided concern to investigate human subjectivity, seems to have forgotten that men and women are always called to direct their steps towards a truth which transcends them. Sundered from that truth, individuals are at the mercy of caprice, and their state as person ends up being judged by pragmatic criteria based essentially upon experimental data, in the mistaken belief that technology must dominate all. It has happened therefore that reason, rather than voicing the human orientation towards truth, has wilted under the weight of so much knowledge and little by little has

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

3

Faith, Reason, and Liberty |

lost the capacity to lift its gaze to the heights, not daring to rise to the truth of being.”

Universities throughout the nation and world are increasingly dominated by the utilitarian logic described here by Blessed Pope John Paul II. As Georgetown becomes dominated by the language of “assessment” and “measurable learning outcomes,” it too is susceptible to the reductionism provided by “pragmatic criteria.” Like all institutions of higher learning today, there is tremendous pressure to demonstrate the pragmatic usefulness of a Georgetown degree, and the increased emphasis upon science and research are some of the responses to this pressure.

Yet, in losing sight of the corrective of faith to the reductionism of reason, we endanger our ability to “rise to the truth of being,” and the capacity to live in liberty in the light of truth.

4

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

As we begin activities to commemorate the 100thȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȯ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ sought to inform the West about the slaughter ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ę ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ instrumentalist Nazis—we need to recall and commit anew to that deep connection between Christianity and liberty in light of the truth, and £ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ way from the great example and triumph of that ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ěȱ ȱ ȱ and Poland. ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ American Democracy.

ȱ

Books that are “Great”— Books that are “True” ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ Ǽȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¡ ǯȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¡ ǰȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱĚ ȱ ȱ ȱĚ¢ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ǯȄ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ¢ ȱ 1

James V. Schall, S.J.

ȃ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȄ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǰȱŗ ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱȁ ȱ ǯȂȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȭ ȱ Dzȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¢ ȱ ǯȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȭ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ nineteenth century.” ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ǵȄ2

ǯȱ

Let me begin with some autobiography. For those who know me, they ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ where, suggest to them books or essays to read. ȱ ¢ȱ ¢ Ȃȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǷȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ƿȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȃ ȱ · ·ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǷȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ĵ ǯȱ ȱ ǯȱ ěȬ ¢ǰȱ ȱ ȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ

can probably save your soul and your mind by ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȬȬ ȱ ȯ ȱ ¢ǰȱ Ȃ ȱ ¡¢ǰȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ǯ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢Ȭę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȃ ȱ ȱ by,” or books “that tell the truth,” or books that

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

5

Books that are “Great�—Books that are “True� |

“awaken the mind.â€? These are never lists of what are ordinarily called “great books,â€? though, ’—ȹ Š—˜Â?‘Ž›ȹ  Š¢ǰȹ Čą Â?‘’—”ȹ Â?‘Ž¢ȹ Š›Žȹ ČƒÂ?›ŽŠÂ?Č„Čą Â’Â?Čą Â˘Â˜ÂžČą grant that a book that keeps you sane, wakes you up, or tells you the truth is something you have Â‹ÂŽÂŽÂ—ČąÂ•Â˜Â˜Â”Â’Â—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂŠÂ•Â•ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÂ›ČąÂ•Â’Â?ÂŽÇŻČą Â?ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂœČąÂ•Â˜Â—Â?ȹ‹ŽŽ—ȹ–¢ȹ contention that someone could go to the best (or worst) of the universities, read the “greatestâ€? of books assigned there, listen to the most famous professors, either on-line or in person, and still never come close to inciting that drive to know what is that lies at the heart of our personal existence. ČąÂ?›Š—”•¢ȹŽ—Â&#x;Â˘ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂœÂ?žÂ?Ž—Â?ÂœČąÂ‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂŠÂ?Čą Ž•–˜—Â?Čą Abbey College, since all you need to do to come in contact with the highest things is simply to go and chat with your Academic Vice-President for three minutes, which, alas, is about all the time she has left over from her daily duties. Ask her Š‹˜žÂ?Čą Â?Š’›¢ȹ Â?ÂŠÂ•ÂŽÂœÇ°Čą Â–Â˘ÂœÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ’ÂœÂ–Ç°Čą ›Ž•Š—Â?Ç°Čą Â?ÇŻČą Â˜Â•Â˘oke, horses, the speech of Parisian women, DaÂ&#x;Â’Â?Čą Â˜Â—ÂŽÂœÇ°Čą ˜žœÂ?Â˜Â—Ç°ČąÂ?‘Žȹ •ŽœœŽÂ?Čą ’›Â?Â’Â—Ç°ČąÂœÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇ°Čą her favorite poems, our last end, or just about Š—¢Â?‘’—Â?ČąÂŽÂ•ÂœÂŽČąÂŠČąÂ‹Â˜Â?Â˘ČąÂŒÂŠÂ—ČąÂ?Â‘Â’Â—Â”ČąÂ˜Â?ÇŻČą Â˜ÂžČąÂ Â’Â•Â•ČąÂ‹ÂŽÇ°ČąÂŠÂœČą ȹ‘ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Â?Ž—ȹ‹ŽŽ—ǰȹŠ–Š£ŽÂ?ȹŠ—Â?ȹ’—Â?ÂŽÂŽÂ?ČąÂŠÂ–ÂžÂœÂŽÂ?ÇŻČą She is herself a “liberal education.â€? And what is so good about Carson Daly is that she has a twin sister who can cover the same route just as well as she can and in French, not that Carson does not also know French. Čą Â?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽČą Šȹ œ‘˜›Â?Čą ’—Â?Â˜Â›Â–ÂŠÂ•Čą ÂœÂžÂ‹ČŹÂ?Â’Â?•Žȹ Â?Â˜Čą –¢ȹ Â‹Â˜Â˜Â”Čą Another Sort of Learning, a book that tells you Â–ÂžÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ˜Â?ȹ ‘ŠÂ?Čą ȹ Š—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŠÂ”ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?˜Â?Š¢ǯȹ Â˘ČąÂœÂ‘Â˜Â›Â?Čą sub-title, in lieu of the much longer one on the Â‹Â˜Â˜Â”Čą Â’Â?œŽ•Â?Ç°Čą Â’ÂœÇąČą Čƒ Â˜Â Čą Â?Â˜Čą ÂŽÂ?Čą Š—ȹ Â?žŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â&#x;Ž—ȹ ‘’•Žȹ Â˜ÂžČą ›Žȹ Â?’••ȹ’—ȹ ˜••ŽÂ?ÂŽÇŻČ„Čą Â‘Â’Â—Â”ČąÂŠÂ‹Â˜ÂžÂ?ȹ’Â?ÇŻČą ČąÂžÂœÂžÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘ČąÂŠÂ?Â?Ç°ČąČƒÂ˜Â›ČąÂŠÂ—Â˘Â Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂŽÂ•ÂœÂŽÇ°Č„ČąÂœÂ’Â—ÂŒÂŽČą ČąÂ?‘’—”ȹ the country and the world are full of people who realize that they really did not learn many of the important things as a result of their formal ÂŽÂ?žŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÇŻČą ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂ?‘’—”ȹÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ”Â—Â˜Â Â’Â—Â?Ç°ČąÂ˜Â›ČąÂ‹ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›Čą learning to know, is painless. ‘ŠÂ?Čą ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â‘Â’Â—Â”Ç°ČąÂ‘Â˜Â ÂŽÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ›Ç°ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ˜Â—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ ÂŽČąÂ›ÂŽalize that “things exist and we can know them,â€? Â?Â˜ČąÂžÂœÂŽČą Â’Â•ÂœÂ˜Â—Č‚ÂœČąÂ–ÂŽÂ–Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ‹Â•ÂŽČąÂ™Â‘Â›ÂŠÂœÂŽÇ°ČąÂ ÂŽČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ˜ÂžÂ›Čą  Š¢ǯȹ Â—ČąÂ–Â˘ČąÂŽÂĄÂ™ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇ°ČąÂ Â‘ÂŠÂ?ČąÂžÂœÂžÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘ČąÂœÂŽÂ?ÂœČąÂœÂ˜Â–ÂŽ-

6

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

Â˜Â—ÂŽČą Â˜Ä›Čą ’—ȹ Â?Â‘Â’ÂœČą ™ž›œž’Â?Čą Â’ÂœČą Šȹ Â‹Â˜Â˜Â”Čą ›ŽŠÂ?Ç°Čą Â˜Â—ÂŽČą žœžally encountered by chance in some odd hour or out of the way place. The book indeed can be Plato or Aristotle, and we always go back, or more likely, go forward to them, once we begin.

But in saying these things, we are reminded that philosophy is not reading a book. Philosophy is closer to conversing than to reading.

But there are books that teach us ourselves to philosophize. And to philosophize is simply to know the truth and know that we know. PhiÂ•Â˜ÂœÂ˜Â™Â‘Â˘Č‚ÂœČąÂ–ÂŽÂ?‘˜Â?ČąÂ’ÂœÇ°ČąÂŠÂœČą ÂœÂ?›ǯȹ Â˜Â”Â˜Â•Â˜Â ÂœÂ”Â’ČąÂœÂŠÂ˘ÂœÇ°Čą to make distinctions and to delight in making Â?‘Ž–ǯȹ ‘ŠÂ?Čą  Žȹ ę—Â?Ç°Čą Čą Â?‘’—”ǰȹ Â˜Â—Čą ›ŽŠÂ?’—Â?Čą ÂœÂžÂŒÂ‘Čą Šȹ Â‹Â˜Â˜Â”Čą ÂŠÂœČą Čą ‘ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČą ’—ȹ –’—Â?Ç°Čą ÂœÂŠÂ˘Čą Â’ÂŽÂ™ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČą ÂŽÂ’ÂœÂžÂ›ÂŽÇąČą ‘Žȹ ÂŠÂœÂ’ÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą ž•Â?ÂžÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â›Čą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Č‚ÂœČąČƒ ÂŽÂ?Ž—œ‹ž›Â?Čą ÂŽÂŒÂ?ž›ŽǰȄȹ Â˜Â›Čą ÂŽÂ Â’ÂœČ‚Čą ’••ȹ ÂŽČą ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČą ÂŠÂŒÂŽÂœČą Â’ÂœČą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą we simply cannot contain ourselves. We want to tell someone about what we read, as if it is too great for us to keep to ourselves, which it is. This is why reading leads to conversation by its inner nature. The best thing you can do for a boy, Š–žŽ•ȹ Â˜Â‘Â—ÂœÂ˜Â—Čą ÂœÂŠÂ˘ÂœČą ’—ȹ Â˜ÂœÂ ÂŽÂ•Â•Č‚ÂœČą ‹’˜Â?›Š™‘¢ǰȹ is to teach him to read. This will give him the whole world to talk about. —ŽȹÂ?ž›Â?‘Ž›ȹÂ?‘’—Â?ȹ—ŽŽÂ?ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ—Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜ÇŻČą Â?Čą Â’ÂœČąÂœÂ˜Â–ÂŽÂ?‘’—Â?Čą ȹ•ŽŠ›—ŽÂ?Ç°Čą ČąÂ?‘’—”ǰȹÂ?Â›Â˜Â–Čą ›’œÂ?˜Â?•Žǯȹ Â?Čą is that the adventure of learning is also an adventure in the morality of how we are living, of how we choose to live our lives. The Aristotelian distinction between practical and theoretical intellect is a most important, but it is not intended to tell us that we have two intellects. We have but one mind that we did not give ourselves. We can use it in two ways, 1) to know how and what things are, and 2) to know how to live and how Â?Â˜ČąÂ–ÂŠÂ”ÂŽÇ°ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂ’Â?ČąÂ?ÂŠÂ‹Â•ÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â›ČąÂœÂ˘Â–Â™Â‘Â˜Â—Â’ÂŽÂœÇŻČą Â‘ÂŽČąÄ™Â›ÂœÂ?ČąÂ’ÂœČą Â?‘Žȹ ÂœÂ™Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą  ’œÂ?Â˜Â–Ç°Čą ꛜÂ?Čą Â™Â›Â’Â—ÂŒÂ’Â™Â•ÂŽÂœÇ°Čą Š—Â?Čą ÂœÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇ˛Čą Â?‘Žȹ •ŠĴŽ›ȹ Â’ÂœČą Â?‘Žȹ Š›Ž—Šȹ ˜Â?Čą ÂŽÂ?Â‘Â’ÂŒÂœÇ°Čą ™˜•’Â?Â’ÂŒÂœÇ°Čą rhetoric, craft, and art. We should seek to know, ÂŠÂœČą ȹ‘ŠÂ&#x;Žȹ™žÂ?ȹ’Â?ȹ’—ȹÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?Â’Â?Â•ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂŠČąÂ‹Â˜Â˜Â”Ç°ČąÂ?Â›Â˜Â–Čą šž’nas, “the order of things.â€? This is our delight.

ÇŻČą

Â˜Â‘Â—ÂœČą Â˜Â™Â”Â’Â—ÂœČą —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?¢ǰȹ Â?‘Žȹ ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒČą University of America, and Clark Univerœ’Â?¢ȹ’—ȹ ÂŠÂœÂœÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂžÂœÂŽÄ´ÂœČąÂ ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â›Â’Â?’—Š••¢ȹÂ?˜ž—Â?ÂŽÂ?ȹ’—ȹ

| ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČą ÇŻČą ÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ•Â•Ç°Čą ÇŻ ÇŻ

Â?‘Žȹ •ŠĴŽ›ȹ ™Š›Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Ĺ—Ĺ&#x;th Century as American models of German “researchâ€? universities. They were conceived, perhaps, as a higher form of university being. The German universities did ÂŠÂ›Â’ÂœÂŽÇ°Čą ‘˜ ŽÂ&#x;Ž›ǰȹ ˜žÂ?Čą ˜Â?Čą Šȹ Â?Žę—’Â?ÂŽČą Â™Â‘Â’Â•Â˜ÂœÂ˜Â™Â‘Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą presupposition, namely, that truth was the result of “research,â€? of modern science. What was important was the “methodâ€? by which a thing was known. But a “methodâ€? can only reveal what the method is designed to reveal. Reality is always larger than any human method to discover it. ‘Žȹ —Â?Â•Â’ÂœÂ‘ČąÂžÂ—Â’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?Â’ÂŽÂœČąÂ‘ÂŠÂ?ȹŠȹÂ?’쎛Ž—Â?ȹ’Â?ŽŠǰȹ that of the “liberal arts,â€? a notion that goes back perhaps to Aristotle and Plato. Something was “liberalâ€? when it freed us to be what we are, even in spite of ourselves. Liberal arts were concerned with what living well means. There were things for their own sakes that each person was Â?Ž•’Â?‘Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â™ÂžÂ›ÂœÂžÂŽÇ°Čą Â’Â?Čą ‘Žȹ  ˜ž•Â?ÇŻČą ÂŽČą Â?˜••˜ ŽÂ?Čą this path, to be sure, with the help of the great thinkers, including the religious thinkers. But the emphasis was on understanding the things that are.

No human person, not even Shakespeare, created the world or what was important in it.

But most us wanted, out of a spirit of wonder, Â?Â˜Čą ę—Â?Čą ˜žÂ?Čą  ‘ŠÂ?Čą •’Â?ÂŽČą Â ÂŠÂœČą Š‹˜žÂ?ÇŻČą Â‘Â’ÂœČą ’—Â?’ŒŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą a world of speech and conversation. None of us have enough experience in our own lives to know what the range of human life is about. This is why, as C. S. Lewis also said, that we are given books so that we can know more lives than our own. We do this vicariously, by reading of them.

Earlier this year a friend gave me a copy of ŠžÂ?Â‘Č‚ÂœČą Čą Š—Â?Â?ž•ȹ ˜Â?Čą žœÂ?Ç°Čą Šȹ Â?Â’Â?•Žȹ Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą ™›˜‹ably comes from Genesis through T. S. Eliot. The novel was about a rather dysfunctional English aristocratic family. The only child dies in a hunting accident. The couple breaks up. The husband Â?Â˜ÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂŠČąÂœÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—Â?Â’Ä™ÂŒČąÂŽÂĄÂ™ÂŽÂ?Â’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ?Â˜Čą ˜žÂ?‘ȹ Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠČą  ’Â?‘ȹŠȹ ÂŽÂ›Â–ÂŠÂ—ČąÂœÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—Â?Â’ÂœÂ?ÇŻČą —ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ›ÂœÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘’—Â?ÂœÇ°Čą they wend their way from Guyana to the Amazon. Everyone leaves or is killed except the EngÂ•Â’ÂœÂ‘Â–ÂŠÂ—ÇŻČą ÂŽČąÂœÂ?ÂžÂ–Â‹Â•ÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂŠČąÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ›Â˘ČąÂ›ÂŽÂ–Â˜Â?ÂŽČąÂ˜ÂžÂ?™˜œÂ?Čą in which there was a man who saved him from the jungle. The man was peculiar. The only thing

he had was the complete works of Dickens, which he wanted read over and over again out •˜žÂ?ÇŻČą Â?ČąÂ‹ÂŽÂŒÂŠÂ–ÂŽČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?ž—ŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ —Â?Â•Â’ÂœÂ‘Â–ÂŠÂ—Čą to read Dickens day after day for a few hours. Â?Čą ꛜÂ?Ç°Čą ‘Žȹ ÂŽÂ—Â“Â˜Â˘ÂŽÂ?Čą ›Ž›ŽŠÂ?’—Â?Čą •ŽŠ”ȹ Â˜ÂžÂœÂŽČą and Pickwick. But he began to think that he œ‘˜ž•Â?Čą Â?›¢ȹ Â?Â˜Čą Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â‹ÂŠÂŒÂ”Čą Â?Â˜Čą —Â?•Š—Â?ÇŻČą Â?Čą Â ÂŠÂœČą Â?‘Ž—ȹ that he discovered that he was in prison. The ž¢Š—Š—ȹÂ?Ž—Â?•Ž–Š—ȹ‘ŠÂ?ȹŠȹÂ?ž—ǯȹ Žȹ‘ŠÂ?ȹŽÂ&#x;Â’Â?Ž—Â?ly killed a previous reader who tried to escape.

One night, the Englishman was deliberately drugged. When he came to, he found that there were three Englishmen who came to the outpost Â?Â˜ČąÄ™Â—Â?ȹ‘’–ǯȹ žÂ?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â’ÂŒÂ”ÂŽÂ—ÂœČąÂ•Â’ÂœÂ?Ž—Ž›ȹÂ?Â’Â?ČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂ?Ž••ȹ them where he was. The searchers returned to —Â?•Š—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ›ÂŽÂ™Â˜Â›Â?ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ–ÂŠÂ—ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂ?ŽŠÂ?ÇŻČą —ȹÂ?‘Žȹ meantime the only future that the captive Englishman had to look forward to was death and the endless re-reading of Dickens to his jailor. ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â˜Â˜ČąÂ•Â˜Â—Â?ȹŠÂ?Â˜Ç°Čą ČąÂ?ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČąÂŠČąÂ•ÂŽÂŒÂ?ž›ŽȹŠÂ?Čą •ŽœœŽÂ?Čą ŠŒ›Š–Ž—Â?Čą ÂŠÂ›Â’ÂœÂ‘ČąÂ’Â—Čą ›•’—Â?Â?Â˜Â—ÇŻČą ČąÂ?˜•Â?ČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘ÇŻČą ČąÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ™Â•ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ ÂŽÂŽÂ”ÂœČąÂ•ÂŠÂ?Ž›ǰȹ ČąÂ›ÂŽÂŒÂŽÂ’Â&#x;ÂŽÂ?ȹŠȹ•ŽĴŽ›ȹÂ?Â›Â˜Â–Čą ŠȹÂ?Ž—Â?Â•ÂŽÂ–ÂŠÂ—ČąÂ Â‘Â˜ČąÂ‘ÂŽÂŠÂ›Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ•ÂŽÂŒÂ?ž›Žǯȹ ÂŽČąÂœÂŽÂ—Â?ȹ–Žȹ a copy of a chapter of a book entitled Great Fishing Stories. The story was about a man who was Šȹ Â?›ŽŠÂ?Čą Ě¢ȹ Ä™ÂœÂ‘ÂŽÂ›Â–ÂŠÂ—ÇŻČą ‘Žȹ –Š—ȹ Â?Â’ÂŽÂ?Čą Š—Â?Čą  Ž—Â?Čą to heaven. When he got there, St. Peter had to Â•Â˜Â˜Â”ČąÂ˜Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ›ÂŽÂŒÂ˜Â›Â?ǯȹȹ ÂŽČąÂœÂŠÂ ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂŠÂ—ČąÂŠÂ&#x;Â’Â?Čą Ä™ÂœÂ‘ÂŽÂ›Â–ÂŠÂ—ÇŻČą ÂŽČąÂŠÂœÂ”ÂŽÂ?ȹ‘’–ȹ ‘ŠÂ?ȹ‘Žȹ Š—Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â˜Čą in heaven. The man told him that he wanted alÂ ÂŠÂ˘ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÄ™ÂœÂ‘ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂŠČąÂ™ÂŽÂ›Â?ÂŽÂŒÂ?ČąÂ?›˜žÂ?ČąÂœÂ?›ŽŠ–DzȹÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?Čą be his idea of heaven. So Peter thought that could be arranged. Â˜Čą ÂŽÂ?ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â&#x;Â’Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ‹ÂŽÂœÂ?ČąÄšÂ˘ČŹÄ™ÂœÂ‘Â’Â—Â?ȹŽšž’™ment. The man found himself by a very lovely Â?›˜žÂ?Čą ÂœÂ?›ŽŠ–ȹ Š—Â?Čą ‘Žȹ ÂœÂŠÂ Čą Šȹ Â?›˜žÂ?Čą ›’œ’—Â?ÇŻČą ÂŽČą grabbed is rod and cast out. Sure enough he had a strike and brought in a very plump three pound Dolly Varden. The Man thought, “Well, Â?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?ÂŽÂ›Â›Â’Ä™ÂŒÇŻČ„Čą žœÂ?ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ?Š›Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ•ÂŽÂŠÂ&#x;ÂŽÇŻČą ÂŽČąÂœÂŠÂ Čą Š—˜Â?‘Ž›ȹ Â?›˜žÂ?Čą ›’œ’—Â?Čą ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ÂœÂŠÂ–ÂŽČą œ™˜Â?ÇŻČą ÂŽČą ŒŠœÂ?Čą again. Bingo, another beauty. As he left again, Â‘ÂŽČąÂ—Â˜Â?’ŒŽÂ?ȹŠȹÂ?‘’›Â?ȹ›’™™•Žǯȹ ÂŽÂ?ČąÂŠÂ—Â˜Â?‘Ž›ȹꗎȹÂ?›˜žÂ?Čą was reeled in. The man began to be bored with this same spot so he started on. Peter asked him Â Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂ?˜’—Â?ÇŻČą ÂŽČąÂ?˜ž—Â?ČąÂ˜ÂžÂ?ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ•Â?Čą

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

7

Books that are “Great�—Books that are “True� |

not go anywhere else in his own chosen heaven. Â‘ÂŽČąÂ–ÂŠÂ—ČąÂœÂŠÂ’Â?ČąÂ?Â˜Čą ÂŽÂ?ÂŽÂ›Ç°ČąČƒ ČąÂ?˜Â?ȹ ‘ŠÂ?Čą ČąÂŠÂœÂ”ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ‹ÂžÂ?Čą Â’Â?Čą Â’ÂœČą —˜Â?Čą ‘ŽŠÂ&#x;Ž—ǰȹ Â’Â?Č‚ÂœČą Â–Â˜Â›ÂŽČą •’”Žȹ ‘Ž••ǯȄȹ ÂŽÂ?Ž›ȹ œŠ’Â?Ç°Čą Čƒ ‘ŠÂ?Č‚ÂœČąÂ›Â’Â?‘Â?Ç°ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Č‚ÂœČąÂ Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽÇŻČ„Čą ČąÂ?ÂŽÂ•Â•ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂœÂŽČąÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â’ÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â—Â•Â˘ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂŽÂĄÂ™Â•ÂŠÂ’Â—ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČą what Schall learned this summer from his read’—Â?ÇŻČą ÂŽÂ•Â•ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?ŽĴ’—Â?ȹ Š—Â?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂ ÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ˜Â&#x;Ž›ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ˜Â&#x;Ž›ȹ ŠÂ?Š’—ǯȹ ŽŠÂ&#x;Ž—ȹ Â’ÂœČą —˜Â?Čą  ‘ŠÂ?Čą Â˘Â˜ÂžČą  Š—Â?Ç°Čą ‹žÂ?Čą  ‘ŠÂ?Čą ˜Â?ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂœČąÂ˜Ä›ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÇ°ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂŒÂ˜Â™ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČą cannot imagine. This is, in fact, a rather rough summary of what the Book of Genesis is about. Čą  ˜ž•Â?Čą Â?Ž••ȹ Â˘Â˜ÂžČą ÂŠÂ•ÂœÂ˜Čą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ  ŽœÂ?Ž›—ȹ ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘Čą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Â˜Â”ČąÂ™Â•ÂŠÂŒÂŽČąÂ’Â—Čą ˜Â?Â?ÂŽČą Â’Â?Â˘ČąÂŠÂ‹Â˜ÂžÂ?ȹŠȹęÂ?‘Â?Ž›ȹ ’Â?‘ȹÂ?‘Žȹ ÂœÂ˘Â–Â‹Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒČą —Š–Žǰȹ ›ǯȹ Â’Ä´Â•ÂŽÂ“Â˜Â‘Â—ÇŻČą Â?ÂœČą ÂŽÂœÂœÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą Â ÂŠÂœČą that if a man did a cowardly thing to the woman he loved, he spent the rest of his life in seeking to do something brave that would save her. This too is right out of Aristotle.

ÇŻ

Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ•ÂŠÂœÂœÂ’ÂŒČą Žœž’Â?ČąÂœÂŒÂ‘Â˜Â˜Â•ÂœÇ°ČąÂ?Â‘Â˜ÂœÂŽČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?˜•lowed the Ration Studiorum, looked overall to eloquence, to the ability to speak and know how to deal with the world. They could —˜Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂžÂ—Â•ÂŽÂœÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ˘ČąÄ™Â›ÂœÂ?ȹ”—Ž ȹ ‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ Â˜Â›Â•Â?Čą was intended to be. This curriculum was much ’—ĚžŽ—ŒŽÂ?Čą ‹¢ȹ ›’œÂ?˜Â?Â•ÂŽČ‚ÂœČą ‘ŽÂ?Â˜Â›Â’ÂŒČą Š—Â?Čą Â’ÂŒÂŽÂ›Â˜Č‚ÂœČą ÂŽČą ›ŠÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽÇŻČą Â?Čą Â ÂŠÂœČą —˜Â?Čą Ž—˜žÂ?‘ȹ Â?Â˜Čą Â”Â—Â˜Â Ç°Čą ‹žÂ?Čą one had to be able to speak, to convince, and to persuade. Students were to understand that ”—˜ •ŽÂ?Â?ÂŽČą Â ÂŠÂœČą —˜Â?Čą ŽěŽŒÂ?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽČą Â’Â?Čą Â’Â?Čą Œ˜ž•Â?Čą —˜Â?Čą ‹Žȹ ÂœÂ™Â˜Â”ÂŽÂ—Čą Â˜Â›Čą  ›’ĴŽ—ȹ  Ž••ǯȹ ›žÂ?‘ȹ —˜Â?Čą Â˜Â—Â•Â˘Čą ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂœÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą in judgment, but in knowing how to make this judgment persuasive in terms of words. There is a world of words as well as a world of things. ’”Žȹ•’‹Ž›Š•ȹŠ›Â?ÂœČąÂŽÂ?žŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Ç°ČąÂŒÂ•ÂŠÂœÂœÂ’ÂŒČą Žœž’Â?ȹŽÂ?žŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂŠÂ ÂŠÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŽÄ›ÂŽÂŒÂ?ÂœČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?›žÂ?‘ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂŠÂŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą when our souls were formed by vices, pride, and vanity. Š•™‘ȹ ÂŒ Â—ÂŽÂ›Â—Â˘ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂœČąÂ˜Â?Â?ÂŽÂ—ČąÂ™Â˜Â’Â—Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ˜ÂžÂ?ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Š–‹’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ȹž—’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?Â’ÂŽÂœČąÂ?˜Â?ÂŠÂ˘ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂŒÂ•ÂŠÂœÂœÂ’Ä™ÂŽÂ?ČąÂŠÂœČą “research universities.â€? We often see universities advertizing their program as preparing undergraduates to be “researchâ€? oriented. Belmont Ab‹Ž¢ȹ ˜••ŽÂ?ÂŽÇ°Čą ȹ‹Ž•’ŽÂ&#x;ÂŽÇ°ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ˜Â—Â•Â˘ČąÂ™Â•ÂŠÂŒÂŽČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂŒÂŠÂ—ČąÂ?Â˜Čą to learn to manage a motor speedway, something ČąÂ Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ČąÂ—Â˜Â?ȹ–’—Â?ČąÂ”Â—Â˜Â Â’Â—Â?ČąÂ‘Â˜Â ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ–Â˘ÂœÂŽÂ•Â?ÇŻČą

8

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ČƒÂ›ÂŽÂœÂŽÂŠÂ›ÂŒÂ‘Čą ž—’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?¢Ȅȹ –˜Â?Ž•ǰȹ ‹ŽÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽČą students have any clue about the whole, about the human and divine worlds, they narrow themselves to be “researchâ€? specialists. They neglect the what goes on in the thinking of any man, that thinking that we are still best exposed to by reading Plato and Aristotle, Augustine Š—Â?Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœÇŻČą Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂœÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ?Â˜ÂŽÂœČąÂ—Â˜Â?ȹ‘ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČą something to tell us, but that real education is about what science does not and cannot tell us.

Almost all schools of higher learning today, moreover, do have a program that, in one way or another, are designed to be a “great booksâ€? program. Often a certain mystique or elitism ‘˜Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂŠÂ‹Â˜Â&#x;ÂŽČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂœÂŽČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?Â›ÂŠÂ–ÂœÇŻČą Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąĹ—Ĺ&#x;ĹžĹ?ČąÂŽÂœÂœÂŠÂ˘Ç°Čą “The Great Books: Enemies of Wisdom?â€? Frederick Wilhelmsen addressed himself to the subject of the great books program, usually associated  ’Â?‘ȹ Â?ÇŻČą Â˜Â‘Â—Č‚ÂœČą ˜••ŽÂ?Žȹ’—ȹ Â—Â—ÂŠÂ™Â˜Â•Â’ÂœČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?¢ȹ ˜Â?Čą ‘’ŒŠÂ?Â˜Ç°Čą  ’Â?‘ȹ ˜‹Ž›Â?Čą žÂ?ÂŒÂ‘Â’Â—ÂœČą Š—Â?Čą Mortimer Adler, themselves liberally educated men, though some petulantly thought overly educated.3 Wilhelmsen thought that such proÂ?Â›ÂŠÂ–ÂœČą  Ž›Žȹ Šȹ œž‹œÂ?Â’Â?žÂ?ÂŽČą Â?Â˜Â›Čą Šȹ Â–ÂžÂŒÂ‘Čą ‹ŽĴŽ›ȹ ™›˜gram, that of the direct study of philosophy from common sense. This was a method usually associated with the much-denigrated system of scho•ŠœÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ’ÂœÂ–ÇŻČą ˜œŽÂ?Čą Â’ÂŽÂ™ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČą Â‹Â˜Â˜Â”Čą Ž—Â?Â’Â?•ŽÂ?Ç°Čą ÂŽÂĄÂŠÂŒÂ?•¢ǰȹ Scholasticism, is not to be missed on this topic. Â‘Â’ÂœČą œŒ‘˜•ŠœÂ?Â’ÂŒČą –ŽÂ?‘˜Â?Ç°Čą ’—ȹ Â’Â•Â‘ÂŽÂ•Â–ÂœÂŽÂ—Č‚ÂœČą view, did not confuse philosophy with the history of philosophy. And it did not think philosophy was something for the specialists, someÂ?‘’—Â?Čą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Čą Čą ÂŠÂ•ÂœÂ˜Čą Â?˜žŒ‘ŽÂ?Čą Â˜Â—Čą ’—ȹ Spe Salvi when he remarked that Christ came to be depicted as a philosopher in the classical sense ˜Â?Čą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą Â?Ž›–ǯȹ ÂŽČą Â ÂŠÂœČą ÂœÂ˜Â–ÂŽÂ˜Â—ÂŽČą Â Â‘Â˜Čą ”—Ž ȹ Š—Â?Čą Â ÂŠÂœČąÂ Â’ÂœÂŽČąÂŠÂ‹Â˜ÂžÂ?ČąÂ‘Â˜Â ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ•Â’Â&#x;ÂŽÇŻČą ÂŽČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂŠČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?ÂŽÂœsor in a philosophy department.

Leo Strauss had also remarked that, not infrequently, it happens that the study of great books leads students to skepticism. When examined carefully, the great thinkers contradict each other. The student is thus thrown into confusion as he has not the wit or experience to see the Â?Š—Â?ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂœÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Â?›ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘ČąÂ™Â˜ÂœÂ’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÇŻČą Žȹ‹Ž-

| ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯ

gins to doubt if anything can be known if those said to be great prove each other wrong. ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Thomas Dillon, the President of Thomas Aqui ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ę ȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǯȱ Ȃ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱȃ ȱ books” program. Dillon was quite sure that the careful study of “great books” would indeed result in this skepticism if no genuine philosophic understanding of things surrounded thinking of ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ what the great thinkers hold, even when in great error. Study of error is an intrinsic part of the study of truth, as Aquinas always reminded us.

Wilhelmsen himself gives the following description of a curriculum of studies that he himself took as a young man. This was before Catholic universities dropped what was, in fact, their strength. They suddenly themselves began voluntarily to imitate the great books programs or education based on electives, wherein the student went to college to study whatever he wanted. ȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ my studies, during my junior year,” Wilhelm ȱ ǰȱ ȃ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ǯǰȱ troduced a textual course in the Summa Contra Gentiles of St. Thomas; we read only the Latin original, something no junior class could do ¢ǯǯǯǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ discussing these subjects were often located ȱ ¢ǯȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ Ě ȱ ȱ crucial. But the goal remained the same: mastery of subjects and the acquisition of habits in pursuit of that mastery. When the stout lad who had done his apprenticeship was examined by ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ¢ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ between essence and existence or the principle ȱ ȱ ȱ ě ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ to exegitisize the texts in which these doctrines ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ problem to its essentials, to reason about it, and, ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ĝ ȱ a truth. We wanted truths, the reasons for them, and the capacity to orchestrate them. That con-

stituted the study of philosophy on the undergraduate level in the vast majority of American Catholic colleges and universities.” Ȃ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ the student is to learn is philosophy itself, not the history of philosophy or the sundry opinions of the philosophers. Such things are worth knowing, but knowing them was not preparing a young student for the philosophic life, no matter what kind of life he chose to live in making a living.

Wilhelmsen points out further that the superior system of education that in fact existed in Catholic schools at the time was not “taken” away from them by some totalitarian government or some overzealous department of educa ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ imitating the “elite” schools. Wilhelmsen is quite blunt about this: Philosophy is not the reading of books; philosophy is not the contemplation of nature; philosophy is not the phenomenology of personal experience; philosophy is not its history. These are indispensable tools aiding a man to come to know the things that are. But that knowing is precisely knowing and nothing else. We once were given this, not too long ago, in the American Catholic academy. With a few honorable exceptions, we are given it no longer. This is why phi ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¡ ǯȱ ȱ is no longer talked into existence because it is no longer thought into existence.4 Such are remarkable words, really.

Msgr. Robert Sokolowski, in his essay on “Philosophy in the Seminary Curriculum” ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ posed to textbooks that summarize and distill philosophic issues so that the student can see the issue itself apart from, though not neglecting, the historical or contextual origins of the problem. “Philosophy helps to articulate the way things are and the way they appear to us…,” Sokolowski wrote:

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

9

Books that are “Great�—Books that are “True� |

A very good way of presenting the Christian things is to contrast them with natural things: to develop some human good, some human truth that people know from their own experience, and then to show how Â?‘Žȹ ‘›’œÂ?’Š—ȹÂ?›žÂ?Â‘ČąÂ‹Â˜Â?Â‘ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Ä™Â›Â–ÂœČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ?˜˜Â?Čą and goes beyond it. The Christian sense of God, for example, is best conveyed to people by developing for them the human sense of an ultimate meaning in the world, and then showing how Christian revelation Â?›Š—œŒŽ—Â?ÂœČąÂ’Â?ǰȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ?ÂžÂ•Ä™Â•Â•ÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ȹ–ŽŠ—’—Â?ȹŽÂ&#x;Ž—ȹ while speaking about a God who is not part of the world.5 ‘ŠÂ?Čą Â˜Â”Â˜Â•Â˜Â ÂœÂ”Â’ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?ŽĴ’—Â?ȹŠÂ?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ȹ Žȹ—ŽŽÂ?Čą to see these things in our own souls, in our own activities. We need ourselves to begin to philosophize, which does not mean that we need to become faculty members with “greatâ€? degrees. Â˜Čą Œ˜—Œ•žÂ?ÂŽČą  ‘Ž›Žȹ Čą ‹ŽÂ?Š—ǰȹ Čą Œ’Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â?‘›ŽŽȹ things, one from Wendell Berry about the need to realize what is the present we ourselves live in, the actual people, the actual life that confronts our own lives. A second citation was also from Wilhelmsen who again urges us to look to Œ˜—Â&#x;Ž›œŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Ç°Čą Â?Â˜Čą œŽŽ’—Â?Čą Â?‘’—Â?ÂœÇŻČą ÂŽČą Â’ÂœČą —˜Â?Čą Š—Â?Â’ČŹ book unless the book is separated from our lives. Â‘ÂŽČąÂ‹Â˜Â˜Â”Ç°ČąÂŠÂœČą ČąÂœÂŽÂŽČąÂ’Â?Ç°ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ˜Â?Â?Ž—ȹ ‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ ÂŠÂ”ÂŽÂœČąÂžÂœČąÂžÂ™Ç°Čą what begins our search for the truth, for what is. The third citation was the famous one from Aquinas, who tells us that we study philosophy —˜Â?Čą Â?Â˜ČąÂ”Â—Â˜Â ČąÂ Â‘ÂŠÂ?Čą –Ž—ȹ Â?‘˜žÂ?‘Â?Čą ‹žÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Čą ę—Â?Čą ˜žÂ?Čą what is true.

10

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

ŽŒŽ—Â?•¢ǰȹ Čą ›ŽŒŽ’Â&#x;ÂŽÂ?Čą Šȹ •ŽĴŽ›ȹ Â?Â›Â˜Â–Čą Šȹ –Š—ȹ ’—ȹ Ohio who told me of the death of his wife. Along Â?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ’Â?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂœÂ?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ›Â˘Ç°ČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂŠÄœÂĄÂŽÂ?ČąÂŠÂ—Â˜Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ›ČąÂŒÂ’Â?Štion from Aquinas, one that, in its way, completes Â?‘Žȹ Œ’Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą Čą “žœÂ?Čą ›ŽŠÂ?ÇŻČą Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â˜Â—ÂŽČą ÂŠÄœÂ›Â–ÂœČŻ Š—Â?Čą Čą ‘ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČą —ŽÂ&#x;Ž›ȹ Â?˜ž—Â?Čą Â’Â?ÂœČą ÂŽÂĄÂŠÂŒÂ?Čą ÂœÂ˜ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂŽČŻČƒ ‘Žȹ greatest good that one can do to his neighbor is Â?Â˜ČąÂ•ÂŽÂŠÂ?ȹ‘’–ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?›žÂ?‘ǯȄȹ Â˜ÂžČąÂ–Â’Â?‘Â?ČąÂ—Â˜Â?Â’ÂŒÂŽČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą here Aquinas does not say “Give him a cup of water or needed clothing,â€? not that this should not also be done. The greatest good is that we •ŽŠ›—ȹÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?›žÂ?‘ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ ÂŽČąÂ Â’Â•Â•ČąÂ—Â˜Â?ȹę—Â?ȹ’Â?ȹ’Â?ȹ ŽȹÂ?Â˜Čą not seek it. Â˜ÂžČą ‘ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČą Š•›ŽŠÂ?¢ȹ ‹ŽŽ—ȹ ÂŽÂĄÂ™Â˜ÂœÂŽÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Čą –Š—¢ȹ things that are not true. That is not such a bad Â?‘’—Â?ÇŻČą Â˜ÂžČą  ’••ȹ ‹Žȹ Â?˜•Â?Čą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą Š••ȹ Â’ÂœČą ›Ž•ŠÂ?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽÇ°Čą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą you make your own truth, that truth is pecu•’Š›ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÂ›ČąÂ?Â’Â–ÂŽČąÂ˜Â›ČąÂ™Â•ÂŠÂŒÂŽÇŻČą žÂ?ČąÂœÂ˜Â–ÂŽÂ?Š¢ǰȹ ČąÂ‘Â˜Â™ÂŽÇ°Čą you will come across a book, or a poem, or a teacher, or a musing of your own that will wake Â˘Â˜ÂžČąÂžÂ™Ç°ČąÂ–ÂŠÂ”ÂŽČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂŒÂžÂ›Â’Â˜ÂžÂœÇŻČą Â˜ÂžČąÂ Â’Â•Â•ČąÂ”Â—Â˜Â ČąÂ Â‘ÂŽÂ—Čą this happens. Plato called it a “turning around.â€? žÂ?žœÂ?’—Žȹ ŒŠ••ŽÂ?Čą Â’Â?Čą Šȹ ČƒÂ›ÂŽÂœÂ?Â•ÂŽÂœÂœÂ—ÂŽÂœÂœÇŻČ„Čą Čą ÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•Čą Â’Â?Čą Šȹ grace. “The greatest good that one can do to his —Ž’Â?Â‘Â‹Â˜Â›ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ•ÂŽÂŠÂ?ȹ‘’–ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?›žÂ?‘ǯȄȹ Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ•ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›Čą good cannot happen in the neighbor unless it Â‘ÂŠÂœČąÄ™Â›ÂœÂ?ȹ‘Š™™Ž—ŽÂ?ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ˜Â—ÂŽÂœÂŽÂ•Â?ǰȹ’—ȹÂ?‘Žȹ›ŽŠ•’£ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?›žÂ?Â‘ČąÂ’ÂœČąÄ™Â›ÂœÂ?ČąÂ?Â’Â&#x;Ž—ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂžÂœÇ°ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ȹ Žȹę—Â?ȹ’Â?ǰȹ Žȹ do not make it.

ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČą ÇŻČą ÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ•Â•Ç°Čą ÇŻ ÇŻČąÂ’ÂœČąÂŠČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?ÂŽÂœÂœÂ˜Â›ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?¢ȹ Ž™Š›Â?–Ž—Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą ˜Â&#x;Ž›—–Ž—Â?ÇŻČą Â‘Â’ÂœČą ÂŽÂœÂœÂŠÂ˘Čą Â ÂŠÂœČąÂ˜Â›Â’Â?Â’Â—ÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘ČąÂ™Â›ÂŽÂœÂŽÂ—Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂŠÂœČąÂŠČąÂ•ÂŽÂŒÂ?ž›ŽȹŠÂ?Čą Ž•–˜—Â?Čą ‹‹Ž¢ȹ ˜••ŽÂ?Žȹ’—ȹ Ž•–˜—Â?Ç°Čą ˜›Â?‘ȹ ÂŠÂ›Â˜Â•Â’Â—ÂŠČąÂ˜Â—Čą Ž™Â?Ž–‹Ž›ȹ 12, 2009.

Čą

The Right of Revolution in Theory & Prohibition of Rebellion in Practice Charlie Beller

K

ant employs the terms “revolutionâ€? and “rebellionâ€? to delineate two ž—’šžŽȹ Â™Â‘ÂŽÂ—Â˜Â–ÂŽÂ—ÂŠÇŻČą Čą ę—Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ œ™ŽŒ’ęŒ’Â?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ?Ž›–’—˜•˜Â?Â˘ČąÂœÂ’Â?—’ęŒŠ—Â?ČąÂ‹ÂŽÂŒÂŠÂžÂœÂŽČąÂ’Â?Čą underscores the revolutionary potential of ideas ’—ȹ Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ™Â‘Â’Â•Â˜ÂœÂ˜Â™Â‘Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂœÂ˘ÂœÂ?Ž–ǯȹ Š—Â?ȹ›ŽÂ?ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČą essay “Theory and Practiceâ€? to the concept of political revolt as rebellion, and not as revolution 6. —Â?ÂŽÂŽÂ?Ç°Čą Š—Â?Čą —ŽÂ&#x;Ž›ȹ ÂžÂœÂŽÂœČą Â?‘Žȹ Â?Ž›–ȹ ›ŽÂ&#x;˜•žÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ’—ȹ the German edition of “Theory and Practice.â€?

Kant does, however, employ “revolutionâ€? in the preface to the second edition of the Critique of Pure Reason in reference to the “revolutionaryâ€? change in the point of view (Denkweise) of modern science.7 The German terminology is important because it helps mediate the ostensible paraÂ?Â˜ÂĄČąÂ™Â˜ÂœÂŽÂ?ȹ‹¢ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąČƒÂ•Â’Â‹ÂŽÂ›ÂŠÂ•Č„Čą Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąČƒÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂœÂŽÂ›Â&#x;ŠÂ?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽČ„Čą prohibition of rebellion Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ™ÂŠÂ™ÂŽÂ›ČąÂŠÂ›Â?ÂžÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Â?Ž–—ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą of rebellion is consistent with his larger philoÂœÂ˜Â™Â‘Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â“ÂŽÂŒÂ?Ç°ČąÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ’Ä™ÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘ČąÂ Â’Â?Â‘ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ’Â?Ž—Â?’ęŒŠtion of duty as the ideal principle of morality Š—Â?ČąÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂœÇŻČą •Â?’–ŠÂ?Ž•¢ǰȹ Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â‘Â’Â‹Â’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ȹŠȹ “right to rebellionâ€? emerges as consistent with Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â?Ž—Ž›Š•ȹ ŠĴŽ–™Â?Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â?›˜ž—Â?Čą Â–Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ•Čą Š—Â?Čą •ŽÂ?Š•ȹ judgment in the a priori principle of duty. More˜Â&#x;Ž›ǰȹ Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČą Â–Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ•Čą Š—Â?Čą ™˜•’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ˜Â›Â˘Čą Â˜Ä›ÂŽÂ›ÂœČą more than a polemic against traditional theories of action and politics: it promotes the principle of duty for ethical and political judgment. Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČą –Š’—ȹ Â?Â‘ÂŽÂœÂ’ÂœČą ’—ȹ Čƒ Â‘ÂŽÂ˜Â›Â˘Čą Š—Â?Čą ›ŠŒÂ?Â’ÂŒÂŽČ„Čą is that the validity and value of theory does not

Â?Ž™Ž—Â?ČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ’Â?ÂœČąÂ’Â–Â–ÂŽÂ?’ŠÂ?ÂŽČąÂ™Â›ÂŠÂŒÂ?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂŽÄœÂŒÂŠÂŒÂ˘ÇŻČą Â˜Â›ÂŽČą lucidly stated: the truth of a theory should not be evaluated according to its revolutionary potential, i.e. its ability to precipitate practical change; but to the extent that it discovers a rational purpose in nature behind human relations and a valid a priori basis for judgment and action.8Čą Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČą argument for “theoryâ€? aims against moral and political theories that ground precepts in empirical experience. Kant argues that such theories fail to provide any “pureâ€? bases for moral and political action. On the contrary, empirical theories reveal themselves to be completely contingent, and ’—ȹ Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ˜Â™Â’Â—Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂžÂ—Â Â˜Â›Â?Â‘Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ȹž—’Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂŠÂ•ČąÂœÂ’Â?—’ęcance. Kant writes in “Theory and Practice:â€?

This maxim [that may be true in theory, but does not apply in practice], so very common in our sententious, inactive times, does Â&#x;Ž›¢ȹ Â?›ŽŠÂ?Čą ‘Š›–ȹ Â’Â?Čą Š™™•’ŽÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â–ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœČą ˜Â?Čą morality, i.e. to moral or legal duty. For in such cases, the canon of reason is related to practices in such a way that the value of the practice depends entirely upon its appropriateness to the theory it is based on; all is lost if the empirical (hence contingent) conditions governing the execution of the law are made into conditions of the law itself, so that a practice calculated to produce a result which previous experience makes probable is given the right to dominate a theory Â Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?ŠŒÂ?ČąÂœÂŽÂ•Â?ČŹÂœÂžÄœÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—Â?ÇŻ

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

11

The Right of Revolution in Theory & Prohibition of Rebellion in Practice |

Ȃ ȱ ȃ Ȭ Ȅȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ moral and political formulation of his epistemic insights in The Critique of Pure Reason (CPR). ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ num opus, initiated a Copernican shift in epistemology that reoriented knowledge around the ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ę ȱ ȱ and strived to import its methodology to inquire about the possibility of a priori and transcenden ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ valued the recognition in the historical development of science that reason ought to uncover permanent natural laws, rather than impose arbitrary principles upon material relationships that were at best approximations of reality itself.

Kant writes in the CPR: ȱ ¢ ǰȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ę ȱ revolution in its point of view entirely to the happy thought, that while reason must ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱę ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ whatever as not being knowable through Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ learnt at all, only from nature, it must adopt as its guide, in so seeking, that which it has itself put into nature.9 Aside from being a point at which Kant employs “revolution” to describe conceptual change, Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ic methodology from arbitrary imposition of “rational categories” to critical disclosure of a priori ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ to synergize the epistemic methodology of Empiricism and Rationalism to overcome the prob ȱ ȱę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ of utilitarianism (materialistic and eudemonistic,) rationally posited abstract right (Natural Law), ȱ ȱ ȱ ǻ Ǽǯȱ ¢ǰȱ ȱ CPR provides a narrative of the development of metaphysics that provides an archetype for Ȃ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ǯ10 The ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱȃ ¢Ȅȱ ¢ȱ ě ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃȱ

12

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ Ȃ ȱ laws of physics would not have been possible.

Kant has a similar goal in his moral and political theory: he aspires to initiate a revolutionary shift in the understanding of morality and politics, and in so doing, to push history in the rational direction of increasing freedom. From this contextualized “judicial perspective,” let us return to the ȃ ȱ ȱ Ȅȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ǯȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ can be schematized into an argument from law, morality, and history. Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ provide the basis for his rejection of the right of rebellion and engender the ostensible paradox ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ lar limits of duty and the general telos of free ǯȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ĝ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ the transcendental key to grasping the limits of ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ alistically naïve; it does not place its hope in an idealistic principle that has no relation to reality.

On the contrary, Kant states in the forward to “Theory and Practice:” But in a theory founded on the concept of duty, any worries about the empty ideality of the concept completely disappear. For it would not be a duty to strive after a certain ě ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ě ȱ ȱ sible to experience (whether we envisage the experience as complete of as progressively approximating to completion). And it is with theory of this kind the present essay is exclusively concerned11 Kant moves from this argument for the prac ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ę ȱ ȱ why there can be no positive law in the constitution of a State that permits the abrogation of the ǯȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ ȱ ȱ his general philosophy) is simple to the point of Ĝ ¢ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ȱ genmacht, i.e. a constitutionally sanctioned right

| Charlie Beller

of non-compliance, is contradictory to a foundational principle of a constitution as a political (or “social”) contract. Moreover, Kant argues that the possibility of non-compliance is contradictory because “such resistance would be dictated by a maxim which, if it became general, would destroy the whole civil constitution and put an end to the only state in which men possess rights.”12 Kant later provides a legal argument against the right to rebellion based on the fact that a constitutional government would have no means to adjudicate between parties in the social contract because both the head-of-state and the subject are parties in the case.13 Kant recognizes ȱ Ĝ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ¢ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ę ȱ for the absolute demands of duty. Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ rebellion is anti-utilitarian. Kant critiques a utili ȱ ę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ against the idea that the ends justify the means. ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ Ȃ ȱ cal theory leaves no space for a right to rebellion grounded in the superior utility or happiness of the end state of things. Thus, Kant writes in “Theory and Practice:” “No generally valid principle of legislation can be based on happiness.”

On the contrary, Kant argues that the general welfare should be considered according to Right and not in relation to utilitarian principles: The doctrine that salus publica suprema civitatis lex est retains its value and authority undiminished; but the public welfare which ȱ ę ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ in that legal constitution which guarantees everyone his freedom within the law, so that each remains free to seek his happiness in whatever way he thinks best, so long as he does not violate the lawful freedom and rights of his fellow subjects at large..14 ǰȱ Ȃ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ the individual to determine his subjective eude ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ¢ ȱ is the rule of law that grants freedom to pursue

ȱ ȱǻ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ the general will as the arbitrary determination of the sovereign authority). Moreover, the contrac ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ¢ tem are binding by virtue of their rationality, not by virtue of any actual assent of the will to a con ǯȱ ǰȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ not arbitrary (dependent on the will). Thus, the obligations of the constitutional contract extend beyond the willed assent of the subject: “For so long as it is not self-contradictory to say that an entire people could agree to such a law, however painful it might seem, then the law is in harmony with right.”15 Although the subject is bound by the rationality of the law (rather than by vir ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ǽǰȱ Ȃ ȱ ¢ ȱǻ ȱ ȱ Ǽȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ system, the sovereign can only act coercively if there has been a violation of right, i.e. if a subject has infringed on the freedom (through violence ȱ ȱ ȱ Ǽȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ the sovereign is bound by the principle of right:

ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ cording to him (De Cive, Chap.7) the head of state has no contractual obligations towards the people; he can do no injustice to the citizen, but may act towards him as he pleases. The proposition would be perfectly correct if injustice were take to mean any injury which gave the injured party a coercive right against the one who has done him injustice. But in its general form, the proposition is quite terrifying.16 Kant obviously positions himself against

ǰȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ to rebellion lead to the same practical end? The ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ tory and epistemology. ȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ Kant advocates a right of revolution in so far as ȱ ę ȱ ȱ ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȅȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱȃ Ĵ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ advance along a course intended by nature.”17

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

13

The Right of Revolution in Theory & Prohibition of Rebellion in Practice |

Â’Â&#x;Ž—ȹ Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ•Â’ÂŽÂ?ȹ’—ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŽÄœÂŒÂŠÂŒÂ˘ČąÂ˜Â?ȹ›ŽÂ&#x;˜•žÂ?’˜—ary ideas on the course of history (in the CPR), Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂŠÂ?Â&#x;Â˜ÂŒÂŠÂŒÂ˘ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ?›ŽŽÂ?Â˜Â–ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂŽÂĄÂ™Â›ÂŽÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ public realm is a radically revolutionary concept.

Kant discusses the suspension of the civic life between the freedoms of public realm and the obligations of private realms in “What is EnlightŽ—–Ž—Â?ÇŻČ„Čą Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂŠÂ›Â?ž–Ž—Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ™ÂŠÂ›ÂŠÂ?Â’Â?–ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒČą of how it is that a citizen can be absolutely obligated by the law and simultaneously capable of initiating reform in his capacity for expression. ˜›Ž˜Â&#x;Ž›ǰȹ Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ?Â’ÂœÂŒÂžÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?Ž•Ž˜•˜Â?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą ‘’œÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąČƒ Â?ÂŽÂŠČąÂ˜Â?Čą —’Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂŠÂ•Čą Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘Č„ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?‘Žȹ most explicit exposition of his understanding of rebellion and reform. Čą —ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąČƒ Â?ÂŽÂŠČąÂ˜Â?Čą —’Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂŠÂ•Čą Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘Ç°Č„Čą Š—Â?ČąÂ›ÂŽÂŒognizes that proximate arbitrary actions (like Â›ÂŽÂ‹ÂŽÂ•Â•Â’Â˜Â—ÇźČą ›Š›Ž•¢ȹ Â?Â˜Â•Â•Â˜Â Čą Šȹ ›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•Čą ™ŠĴŽ›—ȹ ’—ȹ ‘’œÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘ÇŻČą ÂŽÂ?Ç°Čą Â?‘Žȹ ČƒÂ?›ŽŽȹ ÂŽÂĄÂŽÂ›ÂŒÂ’ÂœÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ  ’••ȹ Â˜Â—Čą Šȹ large scaleâ€? (in adherence to duty) opens up the possibility for a rational progression in human relations. Viewed from a historical perspective, rationally motivated arbitrary actions, such as those existing in the actions of non-compliance and rebellion, are meaningless. Nonetheless, a reform in the structure of compliant action, according a principle like duty, has the potential Â?Â˜Čą ŠěŽŒÂ?Čą Šȹ –ŽŠ—’—Â?Â?ž•ȹ Â?ž›—ȹ ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ™›˜Â?Â›ÂŽÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—Čą

14

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

˜Â?ČąÂ‘ÂžÂ–ÂŠÂ—ČąÂŠÂŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÇŻČą ˜—œŽšžŽ—Â?•¢ǰȹ Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂœÂ˘ÂœÂ?Ž–ȹ aims to open up the possibility for sustainable revolutionary change in a rational direction. Not Â˜Â—Â•Â˘Čą Â?Â˜ÂŽÂœČą Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČą Ž—Â?’›Žȹ Â™Â‘Â’Â•Â˜ÂœÂ˜Â™Â‘Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą ÂœÂ˘ÂœÂ?Ž–ȹ –˜Â&#x;ŽȹŠÂ?Š’—œÂ?Čą Â˜Â‹Â‹ÂŽÂœČ‚ČąÂ–ÂŽÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ—Â’ÂœÂ?Â’ÂŒČąÂŠÂ—Â?ȹŠ›‹’Â?›Š›¢ȹ ÂŠÂ™Â™Â›ÂŠÂ’ÂœÂŠÂ•Čą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ™˜•’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Ç°Čą Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČą ™›˜‘’‹’Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą rebellion functions and is grounded in funda–Ž—Â?Š••¢ȹ Â?’쎛Ž—Â?Čą –ŽÂ?ÂŠÂ™Â‘Â˘ÂœÂ’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Ç°Čą Ž™’œÂ?Ž–˜•˜Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Ç°Čą Š—Â?Čą Â–Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ•Čą ™›ŽŒŽ™Â?ÂœÇŻČą —Â?ÂŽÂŽÂ?Ç°Čą Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČą ČƒÂ?žŠ•ismâ€? engenders ostensibly paradoxical demands on the political subject. Nevertheless, a critique ˜Â?Čą Š—Â?ČąÂ˜ÂžÂ?‘Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â˜Â•Â•Â˜Â Čą Â˜Â™ÂŽÂ›Â—Â’ÂŒÂžÂœČ‚ČąÂ–Â˜Â&#x;Ž–Ž—Â?Čą from within to without: it is only from the judiÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹŽ—Â?’›ŽÂ?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ?Ž—Ž›Š•ȹ philosophy that dualistic tensions can be synergized within the whole. The right to revolution and prohibition of rebellion in Kant stand in union under the principle of duty and the raÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™Â˜Â?Ž—Â?Â’ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘Ç°ČąÂŠÂ—Â?ȹŠÂ?Š’—œÂ?Čą Â˜Â‹Â‹ÂŽÂœČ‚Čą conception of the surrender of natural rights to the arbitrary dictates of the sovereign. At last, it Â’ÂœČąÂ˜Â—Â•Â˘ČąČƒÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ•Š›Â?ÂŽČąÂœÂŒÂŠÂ•ÂŽČ„ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ™ÂŠÂ›ÂŠÂ?Â˜ÂĄÂ’cal demands on the political subject reveal their rational unity and progressive potential in the course of history. ‘Š›•’Žȹ ÂŽÂ•Â•ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂŠČąÂœÂŽÂ—Â’Â˜Â›ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą ˜••ŽÂ?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą ›Â?ÂœČąÇ­Čą ÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂœČąÂœÂ?žÂ?¢’—Â?Čą Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘ÇŻ

Čą

A Crusade to Save Western Civilization: American Philhellenism in the Greek War for Independence Collan B. Rosier

Čą

n 1821, Greece was far removed from the days of voting at the acropolis or of PlaÂ?Â˜Č‚ÂœČą ŒŠÂ?Ž–¢ǯȹ Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ—Â?Â›Â˘ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Â?›˜••ŽÂ?Čą ‹¢ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ™˜ Ž›Â?ž•ȹ ‹žÂ?Čą  Š—’—Â?Čą Ä´Â˜Â–ÂŠÂ—Čą –™’›Žǯȹ When Greece revolted in 1821, they turned to the inheritors of the Athenian traditions: Europe— especially Great Britain—and the United States.

Unlike earlier foreign policy decisions for the United States about the use of force, “the Greek war posed an even more fundamental question.

Should the United States give precedence to its economic interests in the Middle East or should Â’Â?ČąÂ?˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÄ™Â—ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂœÂ’Â?Ž›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂžÂ™Â‘Â˜Â•Â?ȹ’Â?ÂœČą democratic ideals?â€?18 This dilemma arose because America engaged in substantial trade with the empire while also seeing itself as the successor to classical Athens. Public opinion was dia–ŽÂ?Â›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘Čą ˜™™˜œŽÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠČ‚ÂœČą Â?˜›Ž’Â?—ȹ Â™Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒÂ˘Čą ’—Â?Ž›ŽœÂ?ÂœÇŻČąČƒ Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠČ‚ÂœČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ›ŽŽ”ȹ›ŽÂ&#x;˜•Â?Čą was in large measure an outgrowth of PhilhelÂ•ÂŽÂ—Â’ÂœÂ–Ç°ČąÂ˜Â›ČąČ Â•Â˜Â&#x;ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ȹŠ••ȹÂ?‘’—Â?ÂœČą Â›ÂŽÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ—Ç°Č‚ČąÂŠČąÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą and intellectual movement dedicated to ancient Greek civilization.â€?19 ‘Žȹ –˜Â&#x;Ž–Ž—Â?Čą Â ÂŠÂœČą ’—ĚžŽ—Â?’Š•ȹ Š—Â?Čą  ’Â?Žœ™›ŽŠÂ?ČąÂŠÂŒÂ›Â˜ÂœÂœČąÂ?‘ŽȹŽ—Â?’›Žȹ—ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÇŻČą Â?ČąÂŒÂ•ÂŠÂ’Â–ÂŽÂ?ČąÂœÂžÂŒÂ‘Čą ™ŠÂ?Â›Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂŠÂœČą Š—’Ž•ȹ Ž‹œÂ?Ž›ȹŠ—Â?Čą Â? Š›Â?Čą Â&#x;Ž›ŽĴǰȹ Š•˜—Â?Čą  ’Â?‘ȹ Œ˜ž—Â?Â•ÂŽÂœÂœČą ˜Â?‘Ž›ȹ Ž•ŽŒÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â˜ÄœÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•ÂœČą Š—Â?Čą Â™ÂžÂ‹Â•Â’ÂŒČą ’—Â?Ž••ŽŒÂ?ÂžÂŠÂ•ÂœÇŻČą žœÂ?Čą ÂŠÂœČą —˜Â?Š‹•Žȹ  Ž›Žȹ Â?‘Žȹ opinions expressed in newspapers and by common citizens who were vehemently pro-Greece,

staging meetings and donating supplies and money. These groups disagreed sharply with Â?‘ŽȹŠĴŽ–™Â?ÂœČąÂ‹Â˘ČąÂ?‘Žȹ —’Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â?ŠÂ?ÂŽÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ—ÂŽÂ?˜Â?’ŠÂ?ŽȹŠȹ ÂŒÂ˜Â–Â–ÂŽÂ›ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą ŠÂ?›ŽŽ–Ž—Â?Čą  ’Â?‘ȹ Â?‘Žȹ Ä´Â˜Â–ÂŠÂ—ÂœÇ°Čą Š—Â?Čą were perceived as undermining the foreign policy being implemented by President Monroe and Â‘Â’ÂœČą ŽŒ›ŽÂ?Š›¢ȹ ˜Â?Čą Â?ŠÂ?ÂŽÇ°Čą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą ÂžÂ’Â—ÂŒÂ˘Čą Â?ÂŠÂ–ÂœÇŻČą •Â?‘˜žÂ?‘ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ’Â—ÄšÂžÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â‘Â’Â•Â‘ÂŽÂ•Â•ÂŽÂ—Â’ÂœÂ–ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂŒÂ˜Â–manding and widespread in America, the desire to free the Greeks from political and religious oppression was ultimately not strong enough Â?Â˜Čą ˜Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂŒÂ˜Â–ÂŽČą Â?‘Žȹ —’Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â?ŠÂ?ÂŽÂœČ‚Čą Â?’™•˜–ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒČą Š—Â?Čą ÂŒÂ˜Â–Â–ÂŽÂ›ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ’Â—Â?Ž›ŽœÂ?ÂœČąÂ Â’Â?‘ȹ ÂžÂ›Â˜Â™ÂŽČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Ĵ˜man Empire. —ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ŽŠ›•¢ȹ —’—ŽÂ?ŽŽ—Â?‘ȹ ŒŽ—Â?ž›¢ǰȹ Â?‘Žȹ —ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą was swept up in a renewed religious fervor known as the Second Great Awakening in reaction to the widespread conception that economic concerns should be paramount in foreign and domestic policy. One major by-product of the Second Great Awakening was the advent of an Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Â’ÂŁÂŽÂ?ČąÂœÂŽÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›ČąÂ?Š’Â?‘ȹ’—ȹÂ?‘Žȹ‹Ž—ŽęÂ?ÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?ÂŽmocracy and a desire to ensure these same principles for other peoples. The United States saw itself as a guiding light for the world. “Many Americans shared that dream, viewing Greece, Š•˜—Â?ȹ ’Â?‘ȹ Â’Â‹Â•Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą ÂœÂ›ÂŠÂŽÂ•Ç°ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ’Â›ČąÂŒÂžÂ•Â?ž›Š•ȹ‹’›Â?Â‘Â™Â•ÂŠÂŒÂŽČąÂŠÂ—Â?Čą Â›ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂŽČ‚ÂœČąÂšÂžÂŽÂœÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ?›ŽŽÂ?Â˜Â–ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ’Â?Ž—Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠČ‚ÂœČą Â˜Â Â—Čą ›ŽŒŽ—Â?Čą ÂœÂ?›žÂ?Â?•Žȹ ŠÂ?Š’—œÂ?Čą –’œrule.â€?20 Public support for the Greek cause was

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

15

A Crusade to Save Western Civilization |

national; it crossed geographic and economic boundaries. Mass meetings and societies sprang up in areas such as Washington, D.C., Albany Š—Â?Čą ÂŽÂ Čą Â˜Â›Â”Čą Â’Â?¢ǰȹ ‘Š›•ŽœÂ?Â˜Â—Ç°Čą ˜žÂ?‘ȹ ÂŠÂ›Â˜Â•Â’Â—ÂŠÇ°Čą ™›’—Â?ꎕÂ?Ç°Čą ÂŠÂœÂœÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂžÂœÂŽÄ´ÂœÇ°Čą ÂŽÂ Čą Â›Â•ÂŽÂŠÂ—ÂœÇ°Čą Š•Â?Â’more, Cincinnati and countless cities in between.

As quickly became apparent, “popular support for the Greek insurrection meant that Congress could no longer ignore the issue.�21 This recognition spurred Daniel Webster to involve himself in the Greek cause.

Although the American public held a civic faith of sorts, one must remember the role of Â?›ŠÂ?Â’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•Čą ›Ž•’Â?Â’Â˜ÂžÂœČą Â?Š’Â?‘ȹ ’—ȹ ’—ĚžŽ—Œ’—Â?Čą Â™ÂžÂ‹Â•Â’ÂŒČą opinion on Greece. “The Greek revolt appealed —˜Â?Čą Â˜Â—Â•Â˘Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—ÂœČ‚Čą ›˜–Š—Â?Â’ÂŒČą œ’Â?ÂŽČą ‹žÂ?Čą ÂŠÂ•ÂœÂ˜Čą to their religious convictions. Large segments ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—ČąÂ™Â˜Â™ÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â—ÄšÂ’ÂŒÂ?Čą ÂŠÂœČą Šȹ œ‘˜ Â?Â˜Â Â—Čą ‹ŽÂ? ŽŽ—ȹ ÂœÂ•ÂŠÂ–Čą Š—Â?Čą ‘›’œÂ?’Š—ity, and the Greeks as later- day Crusaders.â€?22 žŽȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŽÄ›Â˜Â›Â?ÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ“Â˜ÂžÂ›Â—ÂŠÂ•Â’ÂœÂ?ÂœÇ°ČąÂ™ÂžÂ‹Â•Â’ÂŒČąÂ˜ÄœÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•ÂœÇ°Čą and American eyewitnesses, a polarized view Â?ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž•˜™ŽÂ?ȹ‹ŽÂ? ŽŽ—ȹ Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—ÂœČ‚ČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ ÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â?tomans and the Greeks. This view was designed by pro-Greek groups to reinforce philhellenism and sway public opinion in favor of proactive engagement, as Most Americans thought of the Turks as barbarians—uncouth, uncivilized and destructive. As Christians, Americans applauded the uprising of Greek Christians against the ’—ęÂ?Ž•ȹ ÂžÂ›Â”ÂœÇł •Ž›Â?¢–Ž—ȹ ÂŽÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘Čą  Ž›Žȹ shocked by the execution of the Patriarch and the dragging of his body through the streets of Constantinople‌Greek atrocities against the Turks, on the other hand, were usually excused.23 Americans and Greeks alike both made a ÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂœÂŒÂ’Â˜ÂžÂœČąÂŽÄ›Â˜Â›Â?ČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ–Â’ÂœÂ?ž’Â?ÂŽČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ™ÂžÂ‹Â•Â’ÂŒÇ°ČąÂ‹ÂžÂ?Čą Â?Â’Â?Čą —˜Â?Čą ÂœÂ‘Â˘Čą Š Š¢ȹ Â?Â›Â˜Â–Čą ’—ĚžŽ—Œ’—Â?Čą ŠĴ’Â?žÂ?ÂŽÂœÇŻČą They hoped to underpin a particular mindset and to properly utilize public outcry to the best ŽěŽŒÂ?ÇŻČąČƒ ‘Žȹ’—Â?Ž—œ’Â?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą Â‘Â’Â•Â‘ÂŽÂ•Â•ÂŽÂ—Â’ÂœÂ–Čą Š—Â?Čą ˜™™˜œ’Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â?Â˜Čą ÂœÂ•ÂŠÂ–Čą Â ÂŠÂœČą ž—Â?˜ž‹Â?Š‹•¢ȹ Ç˝ÂœÂ’ÂŒÇžČą

16

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

known to the provisional Greek government when it asked the ‘fellow citizens of Penn, of Šœ‘’—Â?Â?Â˜Â—Ç°ČąÂŠÂ—Â?Čą ›Š—”•’—ȂȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‘ÂŽÂ•Â™ČąČ Â™ÂžÂ›Â?ÂŽČą Â›ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂŽČą from the barbarians, who for four hundred years ‘ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČą ™˜••žÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â’Â?ÂœČą ÂœÂ˜Â’Â•ÇŻČ‚Č„24 These tactics were incredibly successful. Food, arms, supplies and capital were raised and sent to the aid of the Â›ÂŽÂ‹ÂŽÂ•ÂœÇ°ČąÂ˜Â?Â?Ž—ȹÂ?‘›˜žÂ?‘ȹ ›’Â?Â’ÂœÂ‘ČąÂ’Â—Â?Ž›–ŽÂ?Â’ÂŠÂ›Â’ÂŽÂœÇŻČąČƒ —ȹ all, Americans raised some $100,000—about $2 Â–Â’Â•Â•Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â?˜Â?Š¢ȯŠ—Â?Čą ǽŽÂ&#x;Ž—Ǟȹ ‘Ž•™ŽÂ?Čą Ä™Â—ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą Â?‘Žȹ ‹ž’•Â?’—Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ÂœÂ’ÂĄÂ?¢ȏÂ?Â˜ÂžÂ›ČŹÂ?ž—ȹ Â?›’Â?ŠÂ?ÂŽČą žÂ?ÂœÂ˜Â—Ç°Čą Â›ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂŽČ‚ÂœČąÄšÂŠÂ?ÂœÂ‘Â’Â™ÇŻČ„25Čą Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂœÂŠÂ?ÂŽČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂœÂŠÂ˘ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ™Â‘Â’Â•Â‘ÂŽÂ•Â•ÂŽÂ—ÂŽÂœČą Ž¥Ž›Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Š–Š£’—Â?Čą Â’Â—ÄšÂžÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą ˜Â&#x;Ž›ȹ Â™ÂžÂ‹Â•Â’ÂŒČą opinion toward the revolt. ÂŽÂ›Â‘ÂŠÂ™ÂœČą Â?‘Žȹ ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ’Ä™ÂŒČą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą ’—Â?Â’Â&#x;Â’Â?žŠ•ȹ most associated with the cause of Greek emancipation was then Congressman Daniel Webster. Though it is true that he was a staunch proponent of extending diplomatic relations to the Greeks and moving toward recognizing independence, it appears he did not personally believe in the arguments regarding civic or re•’Â?Â’Â˜ÂžÂœČą Â?Š’Â?‘ǯȹ ÂŽČą ÂœÂŽÂŽÂ–ÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą ‘ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČą ›ŽŒ˜Â?—’£ŽÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ overwhelming public support for Greece and for reasons of political expediency, to advance and repair his reputation after his opposition Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ Š›ȹ ˜Â?Čą Ĺ—ĹžĹ—Ĺ˜ÇŻČą Čƒ ÂŽČą ‹Ž•’ŽÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ?Čą ‘Žȹ Œ˜ž•Â?Çł [turn] the Greek revolution to his own advanÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽÇŻČą ÂŽČą ”—Ž ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ›ŽŽ”ȹ ÂœÂ?›žÂ?Â?•Žȹ ‘ŠÂ?Čą Â‹ÂŽÂŒÂ˜Â–ÂŽČą a popular cause with many Americans.â€?26 This does not, however, detract from his impact on the formation of pro-Grecian sentiments in Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÇŻČą Â’ÂœČąÂ‹Â’Â?Â?ÂŽÂœÂ?ČąÂ’Â–Â™ÂŠÂŒÂ?ČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?Ž‹ŠÂ?ÂŽČąÂ ÂŠÂœČą in a resolution and subsequent speech he gave Â˜Â—ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÄšÂ˜Â˜Â›ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â˜ÂžÂœÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą Ž™›ŽœŽ—Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â—Čą

Š—žŠ›¢ȹŗĹ&#x;Ç°ČąĹ—ĹžĹ˜ĹšÇŻČą Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ™Â›Â’Â&#x;ŠÂ?ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â›Â›ÂŽÂœÂ™Â˜Â—Â?ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą  ’Â?‘ȹ Â? Š›Â?Čą Â&#x;Ž›ŽĴȹ ‘’•Žȹ™•Š——’—Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂ‘Čą the previous November, he noted, “the message will contain strong expressions of sympathy for the Greeks, & [propose] that‌ Congress should pass a Resolution, appropriating a fund for some sort of agency to Greece.â€?27 That was the express purpose of the resoluÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Ç°ČąÂ‹ÂžÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂ‘Č‚ÂœČąÂ’Â–Â™Â˜Â›Â?ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â–ÂŽÂœČąÂ?Â›Â˜Â–ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČą compelling reasons as to why American should œž™™˜›Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â›ÂŽÂŽÂ”ÂœÇŻČą —ȹÂ?ŠŒÂ?Ç°ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂ‘ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Â?ÂŠÂ’Â—ÂœČą

| Collan B. Rosier

many of the central arguments in favor of extending relations to the Greeks used in the pubÂ•Â’ÂŒČą Â?Â’ÂœÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ›ÂœÂŽÇŻČą Â’Â?’—Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â™Â‘Â’Â•Â‘ÂŽÂ•Â•ÂŽÂ—ÂŽÂœČ‚Čą Â&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ Čą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą the roots of American liberty were based in Ancient Greece, Webster declared: “This practice of free debate and public discussion, the contest of –’—Â?ȹ ’Â?‘ȹ–’—Â?dzŽÂ&#x;Ž—ȹÂ?‘ŽȹŽÂ?Â’Ä™ÂŒÂŽČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ ÂŽČą assemble‌all remind us that Greece has existed, and that we, like the rest of mankind, are greatly her debtors.â€?28 The torch from ancient Greece had been passed on to the new bastion of liberty, the United States. The glory that was Greece had faded though, and they were now being œž™™›ŽœœŽÂ?Čą ‹¢ȹ Â?‘Žȹ Ä´Â˜Â–ÂŠÂ—Čą –™’›Žǯȹ ČƒÇ˝ Ž‹œÂ?Ž›ǞȹŠÂ?Â?›ŽœœŽÂ?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â˜ÂžÂœÂŽČąÂŠÂ?ȹ•Ž—Â?Â?‘ȹŠ—Â?ȹŠ›Â?žŽÂ?Čą that Americans, as custodians of liberty for the world, had an obligation to publicize their moral support for the cause of Greek independence.â€?29 Beyond expressing the views of the philhellenes, the speech also contained arguments of a religious nature in favor of American support of the revolutionaries, stating that “the Christian subjects of the Sublime Porte feel daily all the Â–Â’ÂœÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŽÂœČą Â Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘Čą ÄšÂ˜Â Čą Â?Â›Â˜Â–Čą Â?Žœ™˜Â?Â’ÂœÂ–Ç°Čą Â?Â›Â˜Â–Čą Š—archy, from slavery, and from religious persecuÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Çł —ȹ Â?‘Žȹ Â Â‘Â˜Â•ÂŽČą  ˜›•Â?Ç°Čą ÂœÂ’Â›Ç°Čą Â?‘Ž›Žȹ Â’ÂœČą Â—Â˜Čą ÂœÂžÂŒÂ‘Čą oppression felt as by the Christian Greeks.â€?30 Strong language like this begs a response and increasingly enlivened the public fervor. The resolution ultimately failed due to the maneuÂ&#x;Ž›’—Â?ÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â˜Â—Â›Â˜ÂŽČąÂŠÂ?–’—’œÂ?›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Ç°Čą Ž‹œÂ?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČą considerable oratorical repertoire helped propel the cause.

Although Webster provided the lungs of the American Philhellenes, he needed the asœ’œÂ?ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą Â? Š›Â?Čą Â&#x;Ž›ŽĴȹ Â?Â˜Čą ÂœÂžÂ™Â™Â•Â˘Čą Â?‘Žȹ ’—Â?Ž••ŽŒÂ?žŠ•ȹÂ&#x;Â’Â?Â˜Â›ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ™Â›Â˜ČŹ ›ŽŽ”ȹŠ›Â?ž–Ž—Â?ÇŻČą Â&#x;Ž›ŽĴǰȹ ‘’–œŽ•Â?Čą Šȹ ˜—Â?Â›ÂŽÂœÂœÂ–ÂŠÂ—Ç°Čą Â ÂŠÂœČą Šȹ Â?Â˜Â›Â–ÂŽÂ›Čą Š›Â&#x;Š›Â?Čą ™›˜Â?ÂŽÂœÂœÂ˜Â›Čą Š—Â?Čą ÂŽÂ?Â’Â?Â˜Â›Čą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ’—ĚžŽ—Â?’Š•ȹ ˜›Â?‘ȹ American Review, which he used to advocate for the Greek cause. More importantly, EverÂŽÄ´Čą ‘ŠÂ?Čą Â™ÂŽÂ›Â‘ÂŠÂ™ÂœČą Â?‘Žȹ •˜—Â?ÂŽÂœÂ?Čą ‘’œÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘Čą ˜Â?Čą ‘’•‘Ž•lenism of any prominent American at the time.

Â’ÂœČą ŠœÂ?Ž›ȹ ˜Â?Čą ›Â?ÂœČą ˜›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ŠÂ?Čą Š›Â&#x;Š›Â?Čą Â ÂŠÂœČą Â˜Â—Čą ›ŽŽ”ȹ ’—Â?Ž™Ž—Â?ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇŻČą ‘’•Žȹ ’—ȹ ˜—Â?Â˜Â—Ç°Čą Â&#x;Ž›ŽĴȹ met with Lord Byron—the ultimate champion

of the Greek cause—and travelled Greece extensively, forming amicable relationships with the Greek elites.31Čą Ž‹œÂ?Ž›ǰȹ ŠÂ?–’ĴŽÂ?•¢ȹ Â’Â?—˜›Š—Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą many of the particulars of the Greek cause, natu›Š••¢ȹÂ?ž›—ŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ?›’Ž—Â?ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂŒÂ˜Â•Â•ÂŽÂŠÂ?žŽǯȹ Â—ČąĹ—ĹžĹ˜Ĺ™Ç°ČąČą Ž‹œÂ?Ž›ȹ  ›˜Â?ÂŽČą Â?Â˜Čą Â&#x;Ž›ŽĴȹ ›ŽÂ?Š›Â?’—Â?Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â?˜›Â?‘Œ˜–’—Â?Čą ›Žœ˜•žÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Š—Â?Čą ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂ‘Čą ǹȹ Čą Čƒ Čą Â?ŽŽ•ȹ Šȹ Â?›ŽŠÂ?Čą inclination to say or do something in their [the Â›ÂŽÂŽÂ”ÂœČ‚ÇžČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ‘ÂŠÂ•Â?Çł Â?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂŒÂŠÂ—ČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂ?’•¢ȹÂ?’›ŽŒÂ?ȹ–ŽȹÂ?Â˜Čą Š—¢ȹ ÂœÂ˜ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂŽÂœÇ°Čą Â?Â›Â˜Â–Čą Â Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘Čą Čą ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą ˜‹Â?Š’—ȹ Â–Â˜Â›ÂŽČą ’—formation than is already public, respecting their ÂŠÄ›ÂŠÂ’Â›ÂœÇ°Čą ČąÂ Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂ˜Â‹Â•Â’Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÇŻČ„32Čą Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÄ´ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČą the brain behind the eloquence of Webster pri–Š›’•¢ȹ Â‹ÂŽÂŒÂŠÂžÂœÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÄ´Č‚ÂœČą •˜—Â?ȏ‘Ž•Â?Čą ŠÂ?Â&#x;Â˜ÂŒÂŠÂŒÂ˘Čą ˜Â?Čą ›ŽŽ”ȹ ’—Â?Ž™Ž—Â?ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇŻČą Â?Čą ÂŠÂ™Â™ÂŽÂŠÂ›ÂœÇ°Čą ‘˜ ŽÂ&#x;Ž›ǰȹ Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÄ´ČąÂŠÂ•ÂœÂ˜ČąÂœÂŠÂ ČąÂœÂ˜Â–ÂŽČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?ÂŽÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ?Š’—ȹ’—ȹ Greek independence. “Webster prevailed upon Â&#x;Ž›ŽĴǰȹ Â Â‘Â˜Â–Čą ‘Žȹ ’–™•’ŽÂ?Čą –’Â?‘Â?Čą  Ž••ȹ Â‹ÂŽÂŒÂ˜Â–ÂŽČą Â?Â‘ÂŽČąÄ™Â›ÂœÂ?Čą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—ČąÂŠÂ–Â‹ÂŠÂœÂœÂŠÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ?Â˜Čą Â›ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂŽÇ°ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ“Â˜Â’Â—Čą him as a silent collaborator.â€?33Čą •Â?‘˜žÂ?‘ȹ Â&#x;Ž›ŽĴȹ Â ÂŠÂœČąÂŽÂ–Â’Â—ÂŽÂ—Â?•¢ȹšžŠ•’ęŽÂ?Ç°ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â–Â˜tion undoubtedly weighed on his mind. Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÄ´Č‚ÂœČą Â“Â˜ÂžÂ›Â—ÂŠÂ•Čą Â ÂŠÂœČą —˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ÂœÂ˜Â•ÂŽČą Â&#x;Â˜Â’ÂŒÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą literary support for the Greeks. “[G]enerally speaking, the American Press was pro-Greek and sought to arouse public interest in the Greek ÂœÂ?›žÂ?Â?•Žǯȹ Â?Čą ™›Š’œŽÂ?Čą ›ŽŽ”ȹ Â&#x;Â’ÂŒÂ?Â˜Â›Â’ÂŽÂœČą Š—Â?Čą Â?ÂŽnounced Turkish atrocities in detail and horror while explaining away Greek atrocities.â€?34 The journals purposely hid the dissension amongst the Greek revolutionaries, the reality of which would have undermined public support for the Greek cause. These journals idealized much of the news coming from Greece to appeal to the newfound civic and religious faith sweeping the country after the Second Great Awakening. “American journals praised Greek revolutionary leaders‌ They depicted them as true heirs of the Š—Œ’Ž—Â?Čą Â›ÂŽÂŽÂ”ÂœÇ°ČąÄ™Â?‘Â?’—Â?Ç°ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ’Â›ČąÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂœÂ?Â˜Â›ÂœČąÂ˜Â—ÂŒÂŽČą did, at Marathon, Thermopylae and Salamis for civilization and freedom against hordes of barbarians.â€?35 Papers from New England to Richmond and Ž—Â?ÂžÂŒÂ”Â˘ČąÂ?Â˜Čą ’Ĵœ‹ž›Â?Â‘ČąÂŠÂ•Â•ČąÂŽÂĄÂ™Â›ÂŽÂœÂœÂŽÂ?ȹŠȹÂ?ÂŽÂœÂ’Â›ÂŽČąÂ?Â˜Â›Čą the United States to openly endorse Greek freedom. These journalists were successful mainly

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

17

A Crusade to Save Western Civilization |

because they tapped into and expanded a fervor that already existed in the general populaÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÇŻČą —Â?ÂŽÂŽÂ?Ç°Čą ČƒÂ?‘Žȹ Â™Â›ÂŽÂœÂœČą ›ŽŒŽ’Â&#x;ÂŽÂ?Čą Â—ÂŽÂ ÂœČą Š‹˜žÂ?Čą Â›ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂŽČą Â?Â›Â˜Â–Čą Â•ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœČą Â?Â›Â˜Â–Čą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—ÂœČą ’—ȹ Â›ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂŽČą and Turkey and American seamen in the eastern ÂŽÂ?Â’Â?Ž››Š—ŽŠ—ǯȹ Â‘ÂŽÂœÂŽČąÂ•ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂ ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂŠÂ•Â–Â˜ÂœÂ?ČąÂŠÂ•Â ÂŠÂ˘ÂœČą sympathetic to the Greek cause.â€?36 The journalistic outpouring of support, though, was matched ‹¢ȹÂ?‘ŽȹÂ&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ ÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ–ÂŠÂ—Â˘ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â–Â’Â—ÂŽÂ—Â?ȹęÂ?ÂžÂ›ÂŽÂœČąÂ’Â—ČąÂŽÂ?žcation, the arts and the government—beyond those already mentioned. American poet William Cullen Bryant following the example set by Lord Byron, joined the cause. The author Wash’—Â?Â?Â˜Â—Čą ›Â&#x;’—Â?ȹŠĴŽ—Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ–ÂŠÂ“Â˜Â›ČąÂŽÂ&#x;Ž—Â?ÂœÇ°ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ?Â’Â?Čą Š•Žȹ —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?¢ȹ ›Žœ’Â?Ž—Â?Čą Ž›Ž–’Š‘ȹ Š¢ǰȹ Š—Â?Čą Â˜ÂŠÂ‘Čą Webster of dictionary fame. Nicholas Biddle, later to become president of the Second Bank of the United States, former Treasury secretary and minister to France Albert Gallatin, and William

Ž—›¢ȹ ÂŠÂ›Â›Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Ç°ČąÂŠČąÂ‘ÂŽÂ›Â˜ČąÂ?Â›Â˜Â–ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ÂŠÄ´Â•ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą ’™™Žcanoe and the War of 1812 as well as later President of the United States, among countless others also heralded the Greek cause. Even former ™›Žœ’Â?Ž—Â?Čą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą Â?ÂŠÂ–ÂœČąÂ?•ŠÂ?Â•Â˘ČąÂ˜Ä›ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ–Â˜Â—ÂŽÂ?Š›¢ȹ Â?˜—ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â›ÂŽÂŽÂ”ÂœÇŻČą —ȹŠÂ?Â?Â’Â?Â’Â˜Â—Ç°ČąÂ?˜Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›Â—Â˜Â›ÂœČą and state legislatures from across the country sent petitions and resolutions to Washington in favor of the Greeks.37 Support for the Greek cause was widespread and deeply felt, but the question remained whether this would lead to Â˜ÄœÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ?˜Â&#x;Ž›—–Ž—Â?ČąÂŠÂŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÇŻ Despite the widespread support of politicians and the general public, one very important person was not pro-Greek: Secretary of State

Â˜Â‘Â—Čą ÂžÂ’Â—ÂŒÂ˘Čą Â?ÂŠÂ–ÂœÇŻČąČƒ Â?ÂŠÂ–ÂœČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ™Â›Â˜ČŹ ›ŽŽ”ȹ ŠÂ?Â’Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂŒÂ˜Â•Â?•¢ǰȹŠ—Â?ȹŠÂ?Š–Š—Â?Â•Â˘ČąÂ˜Â™Â™Â˜ÂœÂŽÂ?ČąÂ˜ÄœÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą ›ŽŒ˜Â?—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Š—Â?Čą Š’Â?ÇŻČą ÂŽČą ›ŽÂ?Š›Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ™‘’•‘Ž•lenic movement as a threat to the isolationist foreign policy that he had gradually persuaded Monroe and his cabinet to accept.â€?38 Adams embodied the diplomatic corps of the United States ‹ŽÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â—ÂŽČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂ?Â˜Â›Â–ÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘ČąÂŒÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?ÇŻČą Žȹ‘ŠÂ?ČąÂœÂŽÂ›Â&#x;ÂŽÂ?Čą in many of the most prominent diplomatic positions in the new republic before becoming ŽŒ›ŽÂ?Š›¢ȹ ˜Â?Čą Â?ŠÂ?ÂŽČą ž—Â?Ž›ȹ ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČą Â˜Â—Â›Â˜ÂŽÇŻČą Â’Â?ÂŽspread acceptance of his prominence in foreign

18

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

ÂŠÄ›ÂŠÂ’Â›ÂœČąÂ•ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜Čą Â?ÂŠÂ–ÂœČąÂ‘ÂŠÂ&#x;’—Â?ČąÂŠÂ—ČąÂžÂ—ÂžÂœÂžÂŠÂ•ČąÂŠÂ–Â˜ÂžÂ—Â?Čą of control over American foreign policy during this period. One of the major dilemmas of his tenure revolved around whether or not to rec˜Â?—’£ŽȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ˜ÄœÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘ČąÂŠÂ’Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â›ÂŽÂŽÂ”ÂœÇŻČąČƒ Â˜Â ČąÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ•Â?Čą the interests of merchants and missionaries in the Middle East be reconciled with the philhellenism displayed by much of the American public? This was the predicament that confronted

Â˜Â‘Â—Čą ÂžÂ’Â—ÂŒÂ˘Čą Â?ÂŠÂ–ÂœÇŻČ„39 Although Adams shared a very deep re•’Â?Â’Â˜ÂžÂœČą ˜™™˜œ’Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â?Â˜Čą ÂœÂ•ÂŠÂ–Čą Š—Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Ä´Â˜Â–ÂŠÂ—Čą Â–Â™Â’Â›ÂŽÇ°ČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂŠÂ–ÂŽČąÂ?Â˜Â Â—ČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ’Â?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠČ‚ÂœČą Â?’™•˜–ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒČą Š—Â?Čą Ä™Â—ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą ’—Â?Ž›ŽœÂ?ÂœÇŻČą Â?Čą Â?Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â?’–Žǰȹ Â?ÂŠÂ–ÂœČą Â ÂŠÂœČą •ŽŠÂ?’—Â?Čą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą Žě˜›Â?ÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą ÂœÂŽÂŒÂžÂ›ÂŽČą Â?‘Žȹ ꛜÂ?Čą —’Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â?ŠÂ?ÂŽÂœČą ÂŒÂ˜Â–Â–ÂŽÂ›ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą Â?›ŽŠÂ?¢ȹ  ’Â?‘ȹ Â?‘Žȹ Ä´Â˜Â–ÂŠÂ—Čą –™’›Žǯȹ —ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂžÂ–Â–ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ˜Â?ČąĹ—ĹžĹ˜Ĺ˜Ç°ČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽČą Ž‹œÂ?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČą ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂ‘Ç°Čą ČƒÂ?‘Žȹ ŠÂ?–’—’œÂ?›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą œŽ—Â?Čą into Greek waters a naval squadron‌Both the Greeks and their friends abroad regarded this move as evidence that America was considering giving them her support. Actually, the administration was interested only in protecting American commerce.â€?40 Whereas the philhellene –˜Â&#x;Ž–Ž—Â?Čą Ž¥Ž–™•’ęŽÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ œ™’›’Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą •’‹Ž›Â?¢ȹ Š—Â?Čą the idealism for global democracy, Adams took a very cautious and realistic approach.

Adams maintained that the most important goal for America should be the expansion of her commercial empire and the protection of her ÂœÂ™Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą Â’Â—ÄšÂžÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂœÇŻČą ČƒÇ˝ Â?ÂŠÂ–ÂœÇžČą worried that by intervening on the European continent in favor of Greece America might undermine its opposition to further European conšžŽœÂ?ÂœČą ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ÂŽÂœÂ?Ž›—ȹ ÂŽÂ–Â’ÂœÂ™Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÇ°Čą ÂŠÂœČą ÂœÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą ’—ȹ the Monroe Doctrine.â€?41 The Monroe Doctrine originally “contained a broad acknowledgement of the Greeks as an independent nation, and a recommendation to Congress to make an appropriation for sending a minister to them.â€?42 AdÂŠÂ–ÂœÇ°Čą ‘˜ ŽÂ&#x;Ž›ǰȹ žÂ?’•’£ŽÂ?Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â’Â—ÄšÂžÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą  ’Â?‘’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ cabinet to have the passage removed. The only agent appointed to the region was George B. —Â?Â•Â’ÂœÂ‘Ç°ČąÂ Â‘Â˜ČąÂœÂŽÂ›Â&#x;ÂŽÂ?ČąÂŠÂœČą Â?ÂŠÂ–ÂœČ‚ČąÂœÂŽÂŒÂ›ÂŽÂ?ȹŽ—Â&#x;Â˜Â˘ČąÂ?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ Ä´Â˜Â–ÂŠÂ—Čą –™’›ŽȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ—ÂŽÂ?˜Â?’ŠÂ?ÂŽČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â–Â–ÂŽÂ›ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą agreement.43 When it came to the federal govern-

| Collan B. Rosier

ment choosing between its philosophical motivations and the preservation of its commercial and diplomatic interests, economics and realpolitik clearly won. ȱ Ȃ ȱę ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ between upholding its principles and securing interests abroad, the Monroe Administration responded by protecting its material wealth.

America did this in stark opposition to pervasive and vehement public support for Greek independence. The fervor surrounding Greece at the time also claimed many of the most important minds in American politics and culture and saw widespread support from newspapers of the time. While the American people as well as many of their elected representatives were publicly supportive of the Greek revolutionar-

ies, even going as far as to send supplies and ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ě ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ

ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ a seemingly inexorable tide of public opinion. ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ě ȱ to help the revolutionaries, the idealism of a reinvigorated Greek democracy was not enough to dissuade the American government from securing the economic power of the nation above ideology. ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǭȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ History.

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

19

This article (pages 20-25) have been removed at the request of the author.

This article (pages 20-25) have been removed at the request of the author.

This article (pages 20-25) have been removed at the request of the author.

This article (pages 20-25) have been removed at the request of the author.

This article (pages 20-25) have been removed at the request of the author.

This article (pages 20-25) have been removed at the request of the author.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

Čą

Pope Benedict’s Liturgical Vision and its Implications for Young Catholics “ ÇŻČą —Â?Â›Â˜Â’Â‹Â˜ČąÂŠÂ?ȹŠ•Â?Š›Žȹ ÂŽÂ’ÇŻČą ÇŻČą Â?Čą Žž–ȹšž’ȹ•ŠŽÂ?’ęŒŠÂ?Čą juventutem meam.â€?

Kieran Raval

Â›Â˜Â–ČąÂ?‘ŽȹŗĹ&#x;ĹœĹ˜Čą Â’ÂœÂœÂŠÂ•ČąÂ˜Â?Čą •ŽœœŽÂ?Čą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą

F

or centuries these words immemorial ‹ŽÂ?Š—ȹÂ?‘Žȹ ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒČą ÂŠÂœÂœÇąČąČƒ ȹ ’••ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?Â˜Čą the altar of God: to God, who giveth joy Â?Â˜Čą –¢ȹ Â˘Â˜ÂžÂ?‘ǯȄȹ ˜ ŽÂ&#x;Ž›ǰȹ Â?˜••˜ ’—Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ŽŒ˜—Â?Čą Vatican Council (1962-1965), the Mass, and the liturgy as a whole, was reformed, culminating ’—ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ’ÂœÂœÂžÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â˜Â–ÂŠÂ—Čą Â’ÂœÂœÂŠÂ•ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Šž•ȹ Čą ’—ȹŗĹ&#x;Ĺ?Ĺ–ČąÇťÂ Â‘Â’Â•ÂŽČąČ Â•Â’Â?ž›Â?Â˘Č‚ČąÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂ˜Â–Â™ÂŠÂœÂœÂŽÂœČąÂ–Â˜Â›ÂŽČąÂ?‘Š—ȹ just the Mass, the term will generally be used in this paper to refer to the Mass, as the Mass is the principal liturgy). This reform was called for Š—Â?Čą œž™™˜œŽÂ?•¢ȹ Â?ž’Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą ‹¢ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ꛜÂ?Čą Â?˜Œž–Ž—Â?Čą issued by the Council, the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, Sacrosanctum Concilium, promulgated in 1963. Despite the number of positive developments brought about by this liturgical reform, it has become increasingly evident that Â?ÂŽÄ™ÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂœČą Š—Â?Čą Â?Â’ÂœÂŒÂ›ÂŽÂ™ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂœČą ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂœÂ?Čą ‹ŽÂ? ŽŽ—ȹ the proposed reform outlined in Sacrosanctum concilium and the reality of the liturgy as implemented in the Church following the Council. Â—ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ–Â˜ÂœÂ?ȹ’—ĚžŽ—Â?’Š•ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ’Â–Â™Â˜Â›Â?Š—Â?ČąÂ?‘Ž˜•˜Â?Â’ÂŠÂ—ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ Â›Â’Â?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ™Â˜Â’Â—Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČą Â˜ÂœÂŽÂ™Â‘Čą Šľ’—Â?Ž›ǰȹ Â Â‘Â˜ČąÂ‹ÂŽÂŒÂŠÂ–ÂŽČą Â˜Â™ÂŽČą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Čą ČąÂ’Â—ČąĹ˜Ĺ–Ĺ–Ĺ›ÇŻČą ŠÂ&#x;’—Â?Čą been ordained at a Mass as it existed before the council, having taken an active role as a theologian in the Second Vatican Council, and having experienced the liturgical reforms implemented Â?˜••˜ ’—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â˜ÂžÂ—ÂŒÂ’Â•Ç°Čą Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ˜Ä›ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂŠČąÂžÂ—Â’ÂšÂžÂŽČą and valuable perspective and vision on the lit-

ž›Â?¢ǯȹ Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ™Â›ÂŽÂŒÂ’ÂœÂŽÂ•Â˘ČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â‘ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂ‘Čą must contemplate and put into practice, in order that the Catholic liturgy might constantly “give glory to God and bring salvation to soulsâ€?157 by more fully and faithfully implementing the Â˜ÂžÂ—ÂŒÂ’Â•Č‚ÂœČąÂ?ŽŠŒ‘’—Â?ÂœÇŻČą Â‘ÂžÂœÇ°ČąÂ?‘Žȹ•’Â?ž›Â?¢ȹ–’Â?‘Â?ȹ‹Ž—ŽęÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ™Â’Â›Â’Â?žŠ•’Â?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÂ—Â?ČąÂ™ÂŽÂ˜Â™Â•ÂŽÇ°ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ™ÂŠÂ›Â?Â’ÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›Ç°ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ˘ČąÂœÂŽÂŽÂ”ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‹ÂžÂ’Â•Â?ȹ ‘ŠÂ?Čą Â˜Â™ÂŽČą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą Šž•ȹ Čą called a “civilization of love.â€? Â&#x;Ž›ȹ Â?‘Žȹ Â˘ÂŽÂŠÂ›ÂœÇ°Čą Šľ’—Â?Ž›ȹ Â‘ÂŠÂœČą Â?ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž•˜™ŽÂ?Čą Šȹ vision for the liturgy that is both critical of the ™˜œÂ?ČŹÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂŒÂ’Â•Â’ÂŠÂ›Čą •’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą ÂœÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą ÂŠÄ›ÂŠÂ’Â›ÂœČą Š—Â?Čą ›Žformative on the basis of an authentic reading of Sacrosanctum ConciliumÇŻČą Â‘Â’ÂœČą •ŠĴŽ›ȹ Šœ™ŽŒÂ?Čą Â’ÂœČą ÂŽÂ–Â™Â‘ÂŠÂœÂ’ÂŁÂŽÂ?ȹ‹¢ȹ ›ǯȹ •Ž—ȹ ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂŠÂ•Â•ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ?Â’ÂœÂŒÂžÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?ž—Â?Š–Ž—Â?ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™Â›Â’Â—ÂŒÂ’Â™Â•ÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ’Â—ÄšÂžÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČąÂžÂ—Â?Ž›œÂ?Š—Â?’—Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ•’Â?ž›Â?Â˘ÇąČąČƒ ‘Ž›Žȹ Â’ÂœČąÂ—Â˜ČąÂšÂžÂŽÂœÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ȹǽ Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœÇžČąÂŒÂ˜Â–Â–Â’Â?–Ž—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘Žȹ doctrinal content of Sacrosanctum Concilium.â€?158 ÂœČą Â?Â˜Â›Čą Â?‘Žȹ ›ŽŠœ˜—’—Â?Čą ‹Ž‘’—Â?Čą Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČą Â?ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž•opment of his vision, the then cardinal himself explains: ČąÂŠÂ–ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Â&#x;’—ŒŽÂ?ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ›Â’ÂœÂ’ÂœČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â‘ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂ‘Čą that we are experiencing is to a large extent due to the disintegration of the liturgy‌ when the community of faith, the worldwide unity of the Church and her history, and the mystery of the living Christ are no longer visible in the liturgy, where else,

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

33

Â˜Â™ÂŽČą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Č‚ÂœČą Â’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą ’œ’˜— |

then, is the Church to become visible in her spiritual essence? Then the community is celebrating only itself, an activity that is utterly fruitless.159 Â‘ÂžÂœÇ°Čą Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›ČąÂœÂŽÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘Žȹ•’Â?ž›Â?Â˘ČąÂŠÂœČąÂŠÂ—ČąÂ’ÂœÂœÂžÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą paramount importance, one that impacts all othÂŽÂ›ČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â‘ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂ‘Č‚ÂœČąÂ•Â’Â?ÂŽÇŻČą ŒŒ˜›Â?’—Â?Â•Â˘Ç°ČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂ‘ÂŠÂœČą often been grouped with theologians and liturgists, such as Klaus Gamber and Aidan Nichols, who advocate for a “reform of the reform.â€?160 —Â?ÂŽÂŽÂ?Ç°Čą Â?Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â’ÂœČą —˜Â?Čą Š—ȹ ž—Â?Š’›ȹ Œ‘Š›ŠŒÂ?Ž›’£ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Ç°Čą ÂŠÂœČą Šľ’—Â?Ž›ȹ ‘’–œŽ•Â?Čą Â‘ÂŠÂœČą ÂœÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČą œž™™˜›Â?Čą Â?Â˜Â›Čą Šȹ —Ž ȹ •’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą –˜Â&#x;Ž–Ž—Â?ǹȹ Čƒ Â?Čą Â?Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â‹Â˜Â˜Â”Čą Ç˝ ‘Žȹ Spirit of the Liturgy] were to encourage, in a new way, something like a “liturgical movement,â€? a movement toward the liturgy and toward the right way of celebrating the liturgy, inwardly and outwardly, then the intention that inspired Â’Â?ÂœČąÂ Â›Â’Â?’—Â?ČąÂ Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂ›Â’ÂŒÂ‘Â•Â˘ČąÂ?ž•ę••ŽÂ?ÇŻČ„161 Â™ÂŽÂŒÂ’Ä™ÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘Ç°ČąÂ Â‘ÂŠÂ?ȹŽ•Ž–Ž—Â?ÂœČąÂ Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ČąÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›ÂŠÂŒÂ?Ž›’£Žȹ Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂŠČąÂ—ÂŽÂ ČąÂ•Â’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ–Â˜Â&#x;Ž–Ž—Â?Ǿȹ ›˜ŠÂ?•¢ȹ œ™ŽŠ”’—Â?Ç°Čą Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČą •’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą vision is built on the central theological premise that liturgy must “look, not at itself, but at God ǽŠ—Â?ÇžČąÂŠÂ•Â•Â˜Â Čą ’–ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂŽÂ—Â?Ž›ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂŠÂŒÂ?ÇŻČ„162Čą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą Š•Â?˜Â&#x;’—ǰȹ ČąÂœÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?›ŽŠÂ?ÂŽÂœÂ?ČąÂœÂ?›Ž—Â?Â?Â‘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČąČƒÂŠÂ—ÂŠÂ•Â˘ÂœÂ’ÂœČąÂ˜Â?ȹ•’Â?ž›Â?¢ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂœÂŠÂŒÂ›ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂ—Â?ČąÂ?˜Â?Š¢ȹ is his insistence on keeping God at the center of the liturgical celebration.â€?163 On this cornerÂœÂ?Â˜Â—ÂŽČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽČąÂ•ÂŠÂ’Â?ČąÂ˜Â?‘Ž›ȹ”Ž¢ȹŽ•Ž–Ž—Â?ÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČą liturgical vision including active participation as involving an inner process164, the importance of silence165, the proper physical and spiritual orientation in the liturgy166, and the use of Latin in the liturgy167. None of these tenants in any way Â?ÂŽÄ™ÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â›ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Â?›ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?ÂœČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?ŽŠŒ‘’—Â?ÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â˜ÂžÂ—ÂŒÂ’Â•Čą in Sacrosanctum ConciliumÇŻČą —ȹÂ?ŠŒÂ?Ç°ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?˜Œž–Ž—Â?Čą ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ’Ä™ÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘ČąÂ–ÂŽÂ—Â?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ’Â–Â™Â˜Â›Â?ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂœÂ’Â•ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽ168 and that, contrary to the general de facto reality of the domination of the vernacular in the liturgy, the “use of Latin is to be preserved in the Latin rites.â€?169 —ȹ ˜›Â?Ž›ȹ Â?Â˜Čą ž—Â?Ž›œÂ?Š—Â?Čą ‹ŽĴŽ›ȹ Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČą •’turgical vision, it is important to place it within the context of the post-conciliar liturgical land-

34

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

ÂœÂŒÂŠÂ™ÂŽČąÂ‹Â˘ČąÂ‹Â›Â’ÂŽÄšÂ˘ČąÂŽÂĄÂŠÂ–Â’Â—Â’Â—Â?ČąÂŠČąÂ—ÂžÂ–Â‹ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ’Ä™ÂŒČąÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂŒÂŽÂ›Â—ÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂœČąÂ›ÂŽÂ?Š›Â?’—Â?ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą landscape. Drawing on Sacrosanctum Concilium, Šľ’—Â?Ž›ȹ ꛜÂ?Čą ›ŽĚŽŒÂ?ÂœČą Â˜Â—Čą Â?‘Žȹ Œ›’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą Â™Â›Â’Â—ÂŒÂ’Â™Â•ÂŽČą that liturgy “grow[s] organically from forms already existing.â€?170Čą Žȹ ›’Â?ÂŽÂœÇ°ČąČƒ —ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ ÂŠÂ”ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Council a lot of things happened far too quickly and abruptly, with the result that many of the faithful could not see the inner continuity with  ‘ŠÂ?ȹ‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜Â—ÂŽČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽÇŻČą —ȹ™Š›Â?ȹ’Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂœÂ’Â–Â™Â•Â˘ČąÂŠČąÂ?ŠŒÂ?Čą that the Council was pushed aside.â€?171Čą Šľ’—Â?Ž›ȹ shows the disparity between Sacrosanctum Concilium §23, which mandates that liturgical reform take place organically, and how the reform of the Roman Missal proceeded in reality: “With all its advantages, the new Missal was published as if it were a book put together by professors, not a phase in a continual growth process. Such a thing Â‘ÂŠÂœČąÂ—ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž›ȹ‘Š™™Ž—ŽÂ?ȹ‹ŽÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽÇŻČą Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂŠÂ‹ÂœÂ˜Â•ÂžÂ?ÂŽÂ•Â˘ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—trary to the laws of liturgical growth‌â€?172 The aforementioned principle found in Sacrosanctum Concilium is then applied to the phenomenon of Č ÂŒÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂ?Â’Â&#x;Â’Â?¢ȂȹÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?Â?ÂŽÂ—ČąÂ–ÂŠÂ›Â”ÂœČąÂ–Â˜Â?Ž›—ȹ•’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŽÂœČąÂ’Â—Čą one way or another: —•¢ȹ ›Žœ™ŽŒÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Â›Čą Â?‘Žȹ •’Â?ž›Â?Â˘Č‚ÂœČą Â?ž—Â?Š–Ž—Â?Š•ȹ unspontaneity and pre-existing identity can give us what we hope for: the feast in which the great reality comes to us that we ourselves do not manufacture but receive ÂŠÂœČąÂŠČąÂ?Â’Â?Â?ÇŻČą Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ–ÂŽÂŠÂ—ÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąČ ÂŒÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂ?Â’Â&#x;Â’Â?Â˘Č‚ČąÂŒÂŠÂ—Â—Â˜Â?Čą ‹Žȹ Š—ȹ ŠžÂ?‘Ž—Â?Â’ÂŒČą ŒŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘Čą Â?Â˜Â›Čą Â–ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœČą •’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ÇłÇ˝ Â?Ǟȹ Â‘ÂŠÂœČą Â—Â˜Čą Â™Â•ÂŠÂŒÂŽČą  ’Â?‘’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ •’Â?ž›Â?¢ǯȹ The life of the liturgy does not come from what dawns upon the minds of individuals and planning groups. On the contrary, it is ˜Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ?ŽœŒŽ—Â?ČąÂžÂ™Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜ÂžÂ›ČąÂ Â˜Â›Â•Â?Ç°ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ˜ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą real liberation.173 ’—Š••¢ǰȹ Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂŒÂ•ÂžÂ?ÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ›ÂŽÂœÂžÂ•Â?ČąÂ˜Â?Čą localized creativity in the liturgy turns the true nature and purpose of liturgy on its head, instead making the liturgical action into mere enÂ?Ž›Â?Š’—–Ž—Â?ÇąČąČƒÇł Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ•’Â?ž›Â?Â˘ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ Â˜Â›Â”ČąÂ˜Â?Čą the community, it must also be created by it; and, ™žĴ’—Â?ȹ’Â?ČąÂŒÂ›ÂžÂ?Ž•¢ǰȹÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ•ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ’Â?ÂœČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ’Â—Â?ČąÂ–ÂŽÂŠÂœÂžÂ›ÂŽÂ?Čą

| Kieran Raval

by its entertainment value‌as a result of all this, the liturgy actually lost its authentic inner vibrancy.â€?174Čą ¥Ž–™•’Â?¢’—Â?ČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ™Â˜Â’Â—Â?ČąÂ‹Â˘ČąÂ›ÂŽÄšÂŽÂŒÂ?’—Â?Čą on the not uncommon occurrence of applause ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ •’Â?ž›Â?¢ǰȹ Šľ’—Â?Ž›ȹ ÂœÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽÂœÇ°Čą Čƒ ‘Ž—ŽÂ&#x;Ž›ȹ Š™plause breaks out in the liturgy because of some human achievement, it is a sure sign that the essence of liturgy has totally disappeared and been replaced by a kind of religious entertainment.â€?175Čą Â‘ÂžÂœÇ°Čą Šľ’—Â?Ž›ȹę—Â?ÂœČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ’Â—Â˜Â›Â?ÂŠÂ—Â’ÂŒČą development, creativity, entertainment factor, and other phenomena of modern liturgy cause for great concern and for the need for a reform of the reform.

ŠÂ&#x;’—Â?Čą Œ˜—ę›–ŽÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂœÂ?ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą Â–ÂŠÂ“Â˜Â›Čą challenges to authentic liturgy and the corresponding need for reform, the present liturgical situation ought to be examined in its relation to young Catholics. One might begin by assuming that youth are the “modern peopleâ€? of Â Â‘Â˜Â–Čą Šž•ȹ ČąÂœÂ™Â˜Â”ÂŽČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ?Ž—Ž›Š•ȹŠžÂ?Â’ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ˜Â—Čą November 26, 1969, who, for instance, are supposedly “so fond of plain language [as opposed to the traditional language of the liturgy, Latin] which is easily understood and converted into everyday speech.â€?176 The mentality of this sort of assumption is certainly evident in practices such as youth masses, which, it would seem, tend to approach the aforementioned entertainment-focused venue particularly through various modes of creativity and popular forms of music. ÂŽÂ?Čą ÂŽÂ&#x;’—ȹ › ’—ǰȹ ›ŽĚŽŒÂ?’—Â?Čą Â˜Â—Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČą ˜‹œŽ›Â&#x;Štions of college students and the profound differences that exist even between his and their Â?Ž—Ž›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÇ°Čą Â˜Ä›ÂŽÂ›ÂœČą Šȹ Â?’쎛Ž—Â?Ç°Čą Š—Â?Čą Š›Â?žŠ‹•¢ȹ Â–Â˜Â›ÂŽČąÂŠÂŒÂŒÂžÂ›ÂŠÂ?ÂŽČąÂ™Â’ÂŒÂ?ÂžÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÂ—Â?ČąÂ™ÂŽÂ˜Â™Â•ÂŽČąÂ?˜Â?ÂŠÂ˘ÇąČąČƒ Čą “žÂ?Â?ÂŽČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ȹž—Â?Ž›•¢’—Â?ČąÇ˝Â˘Â˜ÂžÂ—Â?ČąÂ™ÂŽÂ˜Â™Â•ÂŽČ‚ÂœÇžČąÂ?›ŽšžŽ—Â?Čą participation in devotions [including those Â Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘Čą –’Â?‘Â?Čą ‹Žȹ Œ˜—œ’Â?Ž›ŽÂ?Čą Â–Â˜Â›ÂŽČą Č Â?›ŠÂ?Â’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•Č‚Ç°Čą such as Eucharistic adoration] is a hunger for silence‌My generation cultivated silence and solitude. These students live in an iPod, earbud, ˜ž ž‹Žǰȹ Ç°ČąÂ?ÂŽÂĄÂ?ČąÂ–ÂŽÂœÂœÂŠÂ?ÂŽÇ°Čą Â•ÂŠÂŒÂ”Â‹ÂŽÂ›Â›Â˘Ç°ČąÂ’ Â‘Â˜Â—ÂŽÇ°Čą iTunes, Myspace, cellphone culture in which it is rare to see any of them without something in or at their ears‌â€?177Čą Â›Â Â’Â—Č‚ÂœČą ˜‹œŽ›Â&#x;ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČą •ŽŠÂ?Čą

to the conclusion that in the rush to modernize following the Council, particularly with regard to the liturgy, it is not outrageous to say that reformers, because they could not envision the ÂŽÂĄÂ?Ž—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ–Â˜Â?Ž›—’Â?Â˘ČąÂ Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ČąÂ’Â—ÄšÂžÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ?‘Žȹ individual and the culture (such as through the omnipresence of mass media) at the dawn of the 21st century, partially or totally stripped the liturgy of certain qualities, such as profound lengths of silence, which had always been necesÂœÂŠÂ›Â˘ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ˜Â—ÂŽČ‚ÂœČąÂœÂ™Â’Â›Â’Â?žŠ•’Â?¢ȹ‹žÂ?ȹŠ›ŽȹŽÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ–Â˜Â›ÂŽČąÂ—ÂŽÂŒessary today.

Furthermore, to the detriment of the Church, many in positions of liturgical leadership have continued to hold fast to such emaciated reforms even as the situation of modern society and culture is quite evident and causes the believer, especially the younger ones,, to cry out for want of stability, tradition, depth, and meaning.

Thus Tracey Rowland is accurate in her assessment of modernity and liturgy: “Anyone wanting to escape the culture of modernity with its lowest-common-denominator mass culture will ę—Â?Čą Â’Â?Čą Â?’ĜŒž•Â?Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â?Â˜Čą ÂœÂ˜Čą ŠÂ?Čą –Š—¢ȹ Œ˜—Â?ÂŽÂ–Â™Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą Catholic liturgies based on the Lercaro-Bugnini principles.â€?178 Not only do such liturgies deny young people a spiritual alternative to modernity, they deny them the rich spiritual, theological, and liturgical heritage of the Catholic faith: “Certainly, listening to a sustained lament over the loss of certain ancient forms has meant that young Catholics have grown up with a nagging ÂœÂŽÂ—ÂœÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą •’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą ’—‘Ž›’Â?ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą Â?Ž—’ŽÂ?ÇŻČą —Â?ÂŽÂ—ÂœÂŽČą Â?˜›Â?¢ȹ Â‘Â˜ÂžÂ›ÂœČ‚Čą Â?ÂŽÂ&#x;˜Â?Â’Â˜Â—Ç°Čą ÂŒÂ‘ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂ‘ÂŽÂœČą ÂœÂ?žěŽÂ?Čą  ’Â?‘ȹ ÄšÂ˜Â ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂŒÂŠÂ—Â?Â•ÂŽÂœÇ°Čą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ Â’Â?‘ȹŽŠ›ȏ›’—Â?ing Latin and eye-stinging incense, whispered prayers and booming hymns—all described a veritable ™‘Š—Â?Šœ–ŠÂ?˜›’Š that was within cultural memory but usually outside contemporary experience.â€?179Čą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą ŽŠ›Â?Čą ›ŽÂ?ÂŽÂ›ÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČą Ž¥™Ž›’ence as an altar boy growing up, often hearing the regrets of priests and elders over the various liturgical losses that followed the Council, concluding that “The implication was often that if things were not exactly done  ›˜—Â? now, then at least they were too often done in a manner

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

35

Â˜Â™ÂŽČą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Č‚ÂœČą Â’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą ’œ’˜— |

that was less than heavenly. The wider point was that our generation had missed out.â€?180 To correct this depravation and to promote Catholic •’Â?ž›Â?¢ȹ’—ȹ’Â?ÂœČąÂŠÂžÂ?‘Ž—Â?’Œ’Â?¢ǰȹ Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Ç°ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—Čą for the liturgy “believes that showing respect for Â?Š’Â?‘Â?ž••¢ȹ Â?›Š—œ–’Ĵ’—Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â’Â?ž›Â?¢ȹ Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ —Ž¥Â?Čą Â?Ž—Ž›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŽÄ›ÂŽÂŒÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?žŠ›Š—Â?ŽŽ’—Â?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?›žŽȹ freedom of the faithful.â€?181 Â—ČąÂ˜Â›Â?Ž›ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂŠÂŒÂŒÂ˜Â–Â™Â•Â’ÂœÂ‘ČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?Š’Â?‘ful transmission of the liturgy to the next genŽ›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Ç°Čą Šľ’—Â?Ž›ǰȹ Â—Â˜Â Čą ÂŠÂœČą Â˜Â™ÂŽČą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Čą Ç°Čą undertook what Thomas Woods termed a “revolution,â€? by issuing the motu proprio Summorum ˜—Â?Â’Ä™ÂŒÂžÂ–ČąÂ’Â—Čą ÂžÂ•Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ČąĹ˜Ĺ–Ĺ–Ĺ?ÇŻ182 This move, allowing for the liberalization183 of the Traditional Latin Mass, now termed the “Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite,â€? is clearly in line with Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Č‚ÂœČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ?‘Žȹ•’Â?ž›Â?Â˘Ç°ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ˜ÂžÂ?•’—ŽÂ?ȹŠ—Â?Čą discussed above. ›’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą ›ŽŠŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â˜Â™ÂŽČ‚ÂœČą –˜Â&#x;ÂŽČą ›Š—Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą from viewing it as a radical rollback of the Second Vatican Council184 to the more common dismissive approach that saw the motu proprio as pertaining only to “a tiny minority.â€?185 While the former approach is generally hysterical and has already been shown to be severely lacking in œž‹œÂ?ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇ°ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ•ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ČąÂŒÂ›Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂ’ÂœÂ–ČąÂ–ÂžÂœÂ?ȹ‹ŽȹŽ¥Š–’—ŽÂ?Čą ’—ȹÂ?‘Žȹ•’Â?‘Â?ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Č‚ÂœČąÂ•Â’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ÇŻČą Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČą ŽĴŽ›ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â’ÂœÂ‘Â˜Â™ÂœÇ°ČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂŠÂŒÂŒÂ˜Â–Â™ÂŠnied the motu proprio, Benedict explains that his directive is to be understood as recognizing the existence of two forms of the same Roman Rite: the Ordinary Form (the Missal of 1970) and the Extraordinary Form (the Missal of 1962).186 Furthermore, Benedict boldly asserts the principle that is evidently the basis for the reform of the reform, his liturgical vision put into practice: “The two Forms of the usage of the Roman rite can be mutually enriching.â€?187Čą ˜ •Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂŽÂĄÂ™Â•ÂŠnation neutralizes both of the aforementioned Œ›’Â?Â’ÂŒÂ’ÂœÂ–ÂœÇąČą Čƒ —ȹ ˜Â?‘Ž›ȹ  ˜›Â?ÂœÇł Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Čą  ˜ž•Â?Čą œ’–ž•Â?ÂŠÂ—ÂŽÂ˜ÂžÂœÂ•Â˘Čą ÂŠÄœÂ›Â–Čą Â?‘Žȹ ›’Â?‘Â?ÂœČą ˜Â?Čą Â?Â‘Â˜ÂœÂŽČą Â Â‘Â˜Čą prefer the [Extraordinary Form] at the same time as fostering a reform of the reform based on what he regards as an authentic reading of Sacrosanctum Concilium.â€?188 Three ways in which

36

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

the liberalization of the Extraordinary Form will •ŽŠÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â?›ŽŠÂ?Ž›ȹ ›ŽŠ•’£ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Č‚ÂœČą Â&#x;Â’sion for the liturgy are “the hope that even those who decline to use the Missal of [1962] will be encouraged to celebrate the Novus Ordo of 1970  ’Â?‘ȹÂ?‘Žȹ›ŽÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂœÂ˜Â•ÂŽÂ–Â—Â’Â?¢ȹÂ?‘ŠÂ?ȹ‹ŽęÂ?ÂœČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â’Â—ÂŽÄ›ÂŠÂ‹Â•ÂŽČąÂ–Â˘ÂœÂ?ÂŽÂ›Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ÂŠÂœÂœČ„189, the “strengthening [of] the continuity of the Catholic tradiÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ–ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂ™ÂŽÂ›Â?Š’—’—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ•ÂŽÂĄČąÂ˜Â›ÂŠÂ—Â?Â’Ç°Č„190 and regarding the Missal of 1962 as “an essential point of reference for the reform of the Pauline Missal [of 1970].â€?191 These three factors point to the reality that Benedict “has no desire to return ÂœÂ’Â–Â™Â•Â˘Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ ™›Žȏ ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą Čą •’Â?ž›Â?¢ǯȄ192 Rather, ÂžÂ–Â–Â˜Â›ÂžÂ–Čą ˜—Â?Â’Ä™ÂŒÂžÂ–ČąÂœÂ‘Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ȹ‹ŽȹÂ&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ ÂŽÂ?ȹ’—ȹÂ?‘Žȹ context of being both a gift to the “good number ˜Â?ČąÂ™ÂŽÂ˜Â™Â•ÂŽČąÇ˝Â Â‘Â˜ČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽÇžČąÂœÂ?›˜—Â?Â•Â˘ČąÂŠÄ´ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÇ˝Â?‘Žȹ ÂĄtraordinary] usage of the Roman riteâ€?193 and a major dynamic in and impetus for the reform of the reform. Â?Čą Â˜Â—ÂŽČą ›ŽŠÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ŠÂ?˜›Ž–Ž—Â?’˜—ŽÂ?Čą ÂœÂ?Š—Â?Š›Â?Čą Œ›’Â?Â’ÂŒÂ’ÂœÂ–ÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą ÂžÂ–Â–Â˜Â›ÂžÂ–Čą ˜—Â?Â’Ä™ÂŒÂžÂ–ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ’ÂœÂ˜Â•ÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą (or as some agenda-driven critics would prefer their pieces be read), one could easily draw Â?‘Žȹ ÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂŒÂ•ÂžÂœÂ’Â˜Â—Čą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ –˜Â?žȹ Â™Â›Â˜Â™Â›Â’Â˜Čą Â‘ÂŠÂœČą •’Ĵ•Žȹ Â˜Â›ČąÂ—Â˜ČąÂ‹ÂŽÂŠÂ›Â’Â—Â?ČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÂ—Â?Čą ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒÂœÇŻČą ÂŽÂ?Ç°ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ’Â?ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂœČą been demonstrated, young people especially are in need of a reform of the liturgy and a major element of such reform is the opening of the Â‘ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂ‘Č‚ÂœČąÂ›Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ•Â’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™ÂŠÂ?Â›Â’Â–Â˜Â—Â˘ČąÂ?‘›˜žÂ?‘ȹ ÂžÂ–Â–Â˜Â›ÂžÂ–Čą ˜—Â?Â’Ä™ÂŒÂžÂ–ÇŻČą ž›Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ›Â–Â˜Â›ÂŽÇ°Čą ÂŠÂœČą Ž¥™•Š’—ŽÂ?Ç°Čą ÂžÂ–Â–Â˜Â›ÂžÂ–Čą ˜—Â?Â’Ä™ÂŒÂžÂ–ČąÂŠÂ•ÂœÂ˜ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂœČąÂ’Â–Â™Â•Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂ?Â˜Â›Čą those many young people who may prefer the Ordinary Form. “By liberalizing the use of the 1962 Missal, the object is not then the scrapping ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąČ Â—ÂŽÂ Č‚Čą ÂŠÂœÂœÇ°ČąÂ›ÂŠÂ?‘Ž›ȹŠȹ™Ž›Â?ÂŽÂŒÂ?’—Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ˜man Rite as a whole and a way of more perfectly ’–™•Ž–Ž—Â?’—Â?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?ŽŠŒ‘’—Â?ÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą ČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ liturgy, in their entirety.â€?194 For example, Tracey ˜ •Š—Â?Čą ™˜’—Â?ÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Č‚ÂœČą ™›˜–˜Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ use of Latin in the Ordinary Form of the liturgy, even in those liturgies “gearedâ€? towards young Â™ÂŽÂ˜Â™Â•ÂŽÇąČąČƒ —ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂœÂŽČąÂ?Â’Â–ÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â•Â˜Â‹ÂŠÂ•Â’ÂŁÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ’Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂžÂœÂŽful to have a liturgical language which is transcultural and transnational. [Benedict] has therefore expressly recommended the use of Latin

| Kieran Raval

for large-scale liturgies such as those associated with papal events. The clearest example would ‹ŽȹÂ?‘Žȹ ˜›•Â?Čą ˜žÂ?‘ȹ Š¢ȹ ÂŠÂœÂœÂŽÂœČąÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ—Â?ÂŽÂ?ȹ‹¢ȹ–’•lions of pilgrims from all over the world.â€?195 Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Čą ÂŠÂ•ÂœÂ˜Čą Â?Â›ÂŠÂ ÂœČą ŠĴŽ—Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ ™‘Žnomenon of young people being drawn to the Extraordinary Form, a phenomenon that seems to run contrary to the mainstream accepted wisÂ?Â˜Â–ÇąČą Čƒ ––ŽÂ?’ŠÂ?Ž•¢ȹ ŠÂ?Â?Ž›ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ŽŒ˜—Â?Čą ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą Council it was presumed that requests for the use of the 1962 Missal would be limited to the older generation which had grown up with it, but in the meantime it has clearly been demonstrated that young persons too have discovered Â?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ•Â’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ?Â˜Â›Â–Ç°ČąÂ?Ž•Â?ȹ’Â?ÂœČąÂŠÄ´Â›ÂŠÂŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ?˜ž—Â?Čą in it a form of encounter with the Mystery of Â?‘Žȹ ˜œÂ?Čą Â˜Â•Â˘Čą žŒ‘Š›’œÂ?Ç°Čą ™Š›Â?Â’ÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›Â•Â˘Čą œž’Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Čą them.â€?196Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ?›žÂ?Â‘ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂœČąÂ‹ÂŽÂŽÂ—ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Ä™Â›Â–ÂŽÂ?ȹ‹¢ȹ ›Œ‘bishop Burke of St. Louis197 and by the existence ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ žÂ&#x;Ž—Â?žÂ?Ž–ȹ —Â?Ž›—ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•Čą ÂŽÂ?Ž›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Ç°Čą Š—ȹ international organization of young people attached to the Extraordinary Form, conceived Â?Â›Â˜Â–ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ˜›•Â?Čą ˜žÂ?‘ȹ Š¢ȹÂ?ŠÂ?‘Ž›’—Â?ÂœÇŻ198 Why then are many young people in particular drawn to the Extraordinary Form? Recalling both his observations of young adult liturgical ™›ŠŒÂ?Â’ÂŒÂŽČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ?ŠœÂ?ŽȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ›ÂŽÄšÂŽÂŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂ˜Â—ČąĹ˜Ĺ—ÂœÂ?ČąÂŒÂŽÂ—tury society and culture compared to that of the mid-20thČą ŒŽ—Â?ž›¢ǰȹ ÂŽÂ&#x;’—ȹ › ’—ȹ Â˜Ä›ÂŽÂ›ÂœČą ’—œ’Â?‘Â?ǹȹ Čƒ Čą suspect that some of their fascination with the [Extraordinary Form] is its plentiful silence (for the congregation), its strict controls that avoids (sic) having to engage the vagaries and vicissiÂ?žÂ?ÂŽÂœČą ˜Â?Čą Â?’쎛Ž—Â?Čą ™›’ŽœÂ?Čą ŒŽ•Ž‹›Š—Â?ÂœÇ°Čą Š—Â?Čą Š—ȹ Šžtomatic sense of otherness and transcendence

by the use of Latin, incense, and ritual silence‌ this generation seeks out devotions [such as the Extraordinary Form] precisely because they participate at Mass and have so much noise in their lives.â€?199Čą ••ȹ ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â?ŠŒÂ?Â˜Â›ÂœČą •’œÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą ‹¢ȹ › ’—ȹ correspond neatly with the liturgical vision of Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Čą ˜žÂ?•’—ŽÂ?Čą Š‹˜Â&#x;ÂŽÇŻČą —ȹ ™Š›Â?Â’ÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›Ç°Čą Â?‘Žȹ •ŠœÂ?Čą ™Š›Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ šž˜Â?ÂŽČą ž—Â?ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂŒÂ˜Â›ÂŽÂœČą Â?‘Žȹ Â˜Â™ÂŽČ‚ÂœČą ™˜’—Â?Čą that the post-conciliar liturgy has often lacked the contemplative silence, which is so necesÂœÂŠÂ›Â˘Ç°ČąÂŽÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ?˜Â?ÂŠÂ˘Č‚ÂœČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÂ—Â?ČąÂ™ÂŽÂ˜Â™Â•ÂŽÇąČąČƒ Ž›Â?Š’—•¢ǰȹ ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž—ȹ ‹ŽÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽČą Â?‘Žȹ Â˜Â™ÂŽČ‚ÂœČą motu proprio, many young people had developed a sense of alarm about liturgical reform. Faced with what the Pope has called ‘arbitrary deformations of Â?‘Žȹ•’Â?ž›Â?¢Ȃȹ’—ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ˘ÂŽÂŠÂ›ÂœČąÂœÂ’Â—ÂŒÂŽČą ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą Ç°ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÂ—Â?Čą people have looked at the Catholic liturgical past Š—Â?Čą œ˜–ŽÂ?Â’Â–ÂŽÂœČą ›ŽÂ?›ŽĴŽÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ  Š¢ȹ Â˜ÂžÂ›Čą •’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą present fails to match up.â€?200 Thus, with noise Š—Â?ČąÂŒÂ•ÂžÄ´ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ‹Â˜Â?‘ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ’Â›ČąÂœÂŽÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›ČąÂŒÂžÂ•Â?ž›ŽȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ?‘Ž’›ȹ standard liturgies, young people have sought out and found something more spiritually proÂ?˜ž—Â?Čą Š—Â?Čą Â?ž•ę••’—Â?Čą ’—ȹ ‹˜Â?‘ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ÂĄÂ?›Š˜›Â?’—Š›¢ȹ Â˜Â›Â–Čą Š—Â?Čą ’—ȹ Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Č‚ÂœČą •’Â?ž›Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą Â&#x;Â’ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—Čą ÂŠÂœČą Šȹ Â Â‘Â˜Â•ÂŽÇŻČą Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â™Â‘ÂŽÂ—Â˜Â–ÂŽÂ—Â˜Â—Čą ŠĴŽœÂ?ÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â&#x;Š•’Â?Â’Â?¢ȹ ˜Â?Čą Â˜Â™ÂŽČą Ž—ŽÂ?Â’ÂŒÂ?Č‚ÂœČą Â˜Â Â—Čą  ˜›Â?ÂœÇąČą Čƒ ‘ŠÂ?Čą ŽŠ›•’Ž›ȹ generations held as sacred, remains sacred and great for us too, and it cannot be all of a sudden entirely forbidden or even considered harmful. Â?ČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ‘Â˜Â˜Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČąÂŠÂ•Â•ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂžÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ™Â›ÂŽÂœÂŽÂ›Â&#x;ÂŽČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ›Â’ÂŒÂ‘ÂŽÂœČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘Čą ‘ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČąÂ?ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž•˜™ŽÂ?ȹ’—ȹÂ?‘Žȹ Â‘ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂ‘Č‚ÂœČąÂ?Š’Â?‘ȹŠ—Â?ȹ™›Š¢Ž›ǰȹ and to give them their proper place.â€?201 ’Ž›Š—ȹ ŠÂ&#x;ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂŠČąÂœÂ˜Â™Â‘Â˜Â–Â˜Â›ÂŽČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą ˜••ŽÂ?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą ›Â?ÂœČąÇ­Čą ÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂœČąÂœÂ?žÂ?¢’—Â?Čą ˜Â&#x;Ž›—–Ž—Â?ÇŻ

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

37

Čą

Contesting The Secular Aquinas and Charles Taylor on Reason in the Public Sphere Karl O’Hanlon

Čą

n the section of the Summa Theologica dubbed the “Treatise on Law,â€? Aquinas Â?ÂŽÄ™Â—ÂŽÂœČą •Š ȹ ÂŠÂœČą ČƒÂŠÂ—Čą ˜›Â?Â’Â—ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą Â›ÂŽÂŠÂœÂ˜Â—Čą for the common good, promulgated by him who has the care of the community.â€?202Čą —’Â?’Š••¢ǰȹÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â?Žę—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂœÂŽÂŽÂ–ÂœČąÂœÂŠÂ•ÂžÂ?Š›¢ǰȹ’—ȹ•’Â?‘Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ‘Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™Â˜ÂœÂ?ČŹ ˜›•Â?Čą Š›ȹ ȹŠ Š”Ž—’—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?Š—Â?ÂŽÂ›ÂœČą ˜Â?ȹ•ŽÂ?ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™Â˜ÂœÂ’Â?Â’Â&#x;Â’ÂœÂ–ÇŻČą Â’Â?Â•ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČąÂ–ÂŠÂĄÂ’Â–ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąČƒÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?˜Â?Š•ȹ ÂœÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽČąÂ–ÂžÂœÂ?ČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂ”Â—Â˜Â ČąÂŠÂ—Â˘ČąÂ?Â’Ä›ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ? ŽŽ—ȹ•Š ȹ and ethicsâ€?203 is the apotheosis of the non-difference between will and good, circumventing reason, which Aquinas dismisses as lawlessness masquerading as law.204 Nevertheless, despite the historical recommendations for a renewed Thomistic theory of law, there are, as Fergus Kerr elucidates, “incommensurable readingsâ€? of what exactly that theory consists, and how it is to be posited in contemporary pluralistic society.205 There is no shortage of fronts on which these Â?Ž‹ŠÂ?ÂŽÂœČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽČąÂŠÂ›Â›ÂŠÂ—Â?ÂŽÂ?Dzȹ ȹ Š—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â˜ÂŒÂžÂœČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â—ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą the chief contemporary complaints about AquiÂ—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą Â?Žę—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą •Š ǹȹ —Š–Ž•¢ǰȹ Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą Â’Â?Čą Â’ÂœČą ‹Ž‘˜•Â?Ž—ȹÂ?Â˜Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą ‘›’œÂ?’Š—’Â?¢ǰȹŠ—Â?ČąÂŠÂœČąÂœÂžÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ’ÂœČą either inaccessible in the public sphere to “secular reasonâ€? so-called, or to be instantly rendered inadmissible as contravening some untouchable Â?˜Â?ÂŽÂ–ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ–Â˜Â?ÂŽÂ›Â—ČąÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ’Â?Ž—Â?Â’Â?¢ȹǝŽǯÂ?ÇŻÇ°ČąÂ•ÂŠÂ’ÂŒÂ’Â?ÂˇÇ°ČąÂ˜Â›Čą a total, secular society). The aim of this essay is Â?‘›ŽŽÂ?˜•Â?ǹȹǝŠǟȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂœÂŽÂ?ČąÂ˜ÂžÂ?Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ČąÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™Â‘Â’Â•Â˜Âœophy as a theological politics (though the term —ŽŽÂ?ÂœČą Œ•Š›’ęŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÇźÇ˛Čą Čą  ’••ȹ Â?Â˜ÂŒÂžÂœČą ™Š›Â?Â’ÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›Â•Â˘Čą Â˜Â—Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą Â?Žę—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą Â›ÂŽÂŠÂœÂ˜Â—Ç°Čą Â?Â›Â˜Â–Čą Â Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘Čą Â?‘Žȹ other features of law take shape; (b) to draw on the political thought of contemporary philoso-

38

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

pher Charles Taylor in relation to secularism and Â™ÂžÂ‹Â•Â’ÂŒČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂœÂ˜Â—Â’Â—Â?DzȹŠ—Â?ČąÄ™Â—ÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘Ç°ČąÇťÂŒÇźČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ™Â›ÂŽÂœÂŽÂ—Â?ȹŠȹÂ?’Š•˜Â?Â’ÂŒČą ÂœÂ?ŠÂ?Ž–Ž—Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą Â?‘˜žÂ?‘Â?Čą Š•˜—Â?œ’Â?ÂŽČą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Č‚ÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą ÂœÂ‘Â˜Â Čą Â‘Â˜Â Čą Â?‘Žȹ ‘˜–’œÂ?Â’ÂŒČą Â?Žę—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą of law bears relevance to current problems concerning religious diversity in the public sphere.

I.

Aquinas’s Theological Politics Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ•ÂŠÂœÂœÂ’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂ?’—Â?ČąÂ˜Â?Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČąÂ?›ŽŠtise on law has been to emphasize the centrality of natural law to the entire project, and its derivation in turn from the eternal law of God. This is Â?‘Žȹ’—Â?Ž›™›ŽÂ?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ?Â’Â&#x;Ž—ȹ‹¢ȹ ÇŻ ÇŻČąÂ?Č‚ —Â?›¸Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČą ÂœÂŽÂ–Â’Â—ÂŠÂ•ČąÂœÂ?žÂ?¢ȹ ŠÂ?ž›Š•ȹ Š ǹȹ —ȹ —Â?›˜Â?žŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ?Â˜Čą Legal Philosophy, which “insists strongly on the –ŽÂ?ÂŠÂ™Â‘Â˘ÂœÂ’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą Â?˜ž—Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą —ŠÂ?ž›Š•ȹ law doctrine, seeing this as supposing the world to be governed by divine providence.â€?206Čą —ȹÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČą reading, the natural law is an ordinance placed in the human heart by God, and ineradicable, at •ŽŠœÂ?Čą ’—ȹ ꛜÂ?Čą Â™Â›Â’Â—ÂŒÂ’Â™Â•ÂŽÂœČą ÇťÂŒÂ?ÇŻČą Š ŠŽǰȹ ÇŻČą Ĺ&#x;řǰȹ Š›Â?ÇŻČą ĹœÇźÇŻČą Nevertheless, this has been contested by Antho—¢ȹ ÇŻČą Â’ÂœÂœÂ”ÂŠÇ°ČąÂ Â‘Â˜ČąÂŠÂ›Â?ÂžÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ȹ›ŠÂ?‘Ž›ȹÂ?‘Š—ȹ—ŠÂ?ž›Š•ȹ law being something “in the human heartâ€? it is rather â€œâ€Śthe ontological foundation in human nature which explains the possibility of a moral Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ˜Â›Â˘Čą Š—Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą •Š –Š”’—Â?Čą ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ꛜÂ?Čą Â™Â•ÂŠÂŒÂŽÇŻČ„207 Lisska maintains that the Thomistic theory of law is not drawn from his theology, but rather Â’ÂœČąÂ‹ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›ČąÂžÂ—Â?Ž›œÂ?˜˜Â?ČąÂŠÂœČąÂŠČąÂ–Â˜Â?’ęŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ›istotelian metaphysics of human nature; that, as Brian Davies has it, “the idea here is that there is such a thing as what we might grandly call ‘the Â‘ÂžÂ–ÂŠÂ—ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â“ÂŽÂŒÂ?ÇŻČ‚Č„208Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČąČ Â‘ÂžÂ–ÂŠÂ—ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â“ÂŽÂŒÂ?Č‚ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂŒÂ˜Â—-

| Š›•ȹ Č‚ Š—•˜—

ŒŽ’Â&#x;ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂŠÂœČąÂœÂžÄœÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—Â?ȹ ’Â?‘’—ȹŠȹ™ž›Ž•¢ȹ’––Š—Ž—Â?Čą scheme. ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž›Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ•ÂŽÂœÂœÇ°Čą Â’ÂœÂœÂ”ÂŠČ‚ÂœČą Œ˜––Ž—Â?Š›¢ȹ —ŽÂ?•ŽŒÂ?ÂœČą the way in which transcendental and theocentric ž—Â?Ž›™’——’—Â?ÂœČą ’–™’—Â?ÂŽČą ÂžÂ™Â˜Â—Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą Â?Žę—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ™Â˜ÂœÂ’Â?Â’Â&#x;Žȹ•Š ǯȹ Â‘ÂŽČąÄ™Â›ÂœÂ?ČąÂ?ŽŠÂ?ÂžÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ™Â˜ÂœÂ’Â?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽČą law, that it be an ordinance of reason, is rooted —˜Â?ČąÂ˜Â—Â•Â˘ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ›’œÂ?˜Â?Ž•’Š—ȹÂ?Žę—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąČƒÂ–ÂŠÂ—ČąÂŠÂœČą Šȹ›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•ČąÂŠÂ—Â’Â–ÂŠÂ•Ç°Č„ČąÂ‹ÂžÂ?ȹ’—ȹ ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą ÂŽÂ˜ČŹ •ŠÂ?˜—ic and Christian notion of rationality as participation in the divine light: â€œâ€Śthe light of natural reason, whereby we discern what is good and what is evil, which is the function of natural law, is nothing else than an imprint on us of the divine light.â€?209Čą Â?ȹ Žȹž—Â?Ž›œÂ?Š—Â?ČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂœÂ˜Â—ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ?‘Žȹ ꛜÂ?ČąÂ?ŽŠÂ?ž›Žȹ’—ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂœÂ?Â’Â?žÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ȹŠȹ•Š ǰȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ’Â—ÂŽČą qua non for the other constituent features, then it follows that the constitution of law as a whole is, for Aquinas, a kind-of participation in the divine light. ‘Ž›ŽÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽÇ°Čą Â’ÂœÂœÂ”ÂŠČ‚ÂœČą ’––Š—Ž—Â?Čą Â?˜ž—Â?ŠÂ?’˜—Š•ism fails to elucidate the insuperability of ThomÂŠÂœČ‚ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ˜Â›Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ȹ•Š ȹÂ?Â›Â˜Â–ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ?‘Ž˜•˜Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ Â˜Â›Â”ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą emerges in the Summa. Moreover, as Alasdair ŠŒ —Â?¢›Žȹ ˜‹œŽ›Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČą ›ŠÂ?‘Ž›ȹ ŒŠžœÂ?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘Ç°Čą Â?Â˜Čą œž‹tract God from Thomistic ethics is not to arrive at Aristotle, but rather “a radically truncated version of the Nicomachean Ethics.â€?210Čą —ȹ Â?‘Žȹ Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›Â˘ČąÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ’Ä™ÂŒČąÂœÂŽÂ—ÂœÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą ˜Â?ȹ‹Ž’—Â?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?Â›ÂžÂŽČąÂœÂ˜ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂŽČą Š—Â?ČąÂ?˜ž—Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ˜Â›Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ȹ•Š ǰȹ’Â?ČąÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą be said that we must accept his as a theological politics.

II.

Charles Taylor: Religion, reason, and the Public Sphere The question arises: why would it be desirable to eliminate theological foundations from ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą Â Â˜Â›Â”Čą ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ꛜÂ?Čą ’—œÂ?ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇľČą žœ‘’—Â?Čą this question towards a proximate answer will Ž•žŒ’Â?ŠÂ?ÂŽČą Â?‘Žȹ ™›˜‹•Ž–ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒČą ›ŽŒŽ™Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą Â?Žę—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ•ÂŠÂ ČąÂ›ÂŽÂŒÂŽÂ’Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ˜ÂžÂ›ČąÂ–Â˜Â?Ž›—ȹ™•ž›Š•ist democracies. Firstly, we must remind ourœŽ•Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą —ŠÂ?ž›Š•ȹ •Š ȹ Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ˜Â›Â˘Čą ÂœÂŽÂŽÂ–ÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą Â˜Ä›ÂŽÂ›Čą Šȹ bulwark against the dangers of legal positivism.

Rationality is the key factor in this, since it is the ꛜÂ?Čą Â™Â›Â’Â—ÂŒÂ’Â™Â•ÂŽČą ÇťÂœÂ˜Čą Â?Â˜Čą ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŠÂ”ÇźČą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Œ˜—œÂ?Â’Â?žÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą

of positive law for Aquinas. After the horrors of Nazi Germany, where “lawâ€? and will fused in an unholy matrimony, it became necessary to reiterate that the will must be seen as subordinate to reason, otherwise a state of lawlessness rather than one of law prevails. Thus, for a non-theist Œ˜—Â?ÂŽÂ–Â™Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ›Â˘ČąÂ?‘Ž˜›’œÂ?ČąÂœÂžÂŒÂ‘ČąÂŠÂœČą ݛÂ?Ž—ȹ ÂŠÂ‹ÂŽÂ›Â–ÂŠÂœÇ°Čą who lived under the Nazi regime, the emphasis Â˜Â—ČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂœÂ˜Â—ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ—ÂŠÂ?ÂžÂ›ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ•ÂŠÂ ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂŠÄ´Â›ÂŠÂŒÂ?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽÇŻČą ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž›Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ•ÂŽÂœÂœÇ°Čą ‘Ž›Žȹ ÂŠÂ‹ÂŽÂ›Â–ÂŠÂœČą ‹›˜ŠÂ?•¢ȹ ™Š›Â?ÂœČą ÂŒÂ˜Â–Â™ÂŠÂ—Â˘Čą with the intellectual presuppositions of natural law. As has been shown, Aquinas envisaged reason as “nothing else than an imprint on us of the Â?Â’Â&#x;’—Žȹ •’Â?‘Â?ȄDzȹ Â’Â?Čą Â’ÂœČą Â™Â›ÂŽÂŒÂ’ÂœÂŽÂ•Â˘Čą Â?Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą ÂŠÂ‹ÂŽÂ›Â–ÂŠÂœČą ›ŽŠŒÂ?ÂœČąÂŠÂ?Š’—œÂ?ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ?Žę—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂœÂ˜Â—ÇąČą ˜•’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą Â•Â’Â‹ÂŽÂ›ÂŠÂ•Â’ÂœÂ–Čą ÇťÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘Čą Čą Â?ÂŽÂ?Ž—Â?Čą ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ’Ä™ÂŒČą Â?Â˜Â›Â–Čą ˜Â?Čą Šȹ Š—Â?’Š—ȹ Â›ÂŽÂ™ÂžÂ‹Â•Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Â’ÂœÂ–ÇźČą understands itself as a nonreligious and ™˜œÂ?–ŽÂ?ÂŠÂ™Â‘Â˘ÂœÂ’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ“ÂžÂœÂ?’ęŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ—Â˜Â›Â–ÂŠtive bases of the democratic constitutional state. This theory is in the tradition of a rational law that renounces the “strongâ€? cosmological or salvation-historical assumptions of the classical and religious theories of the natural law.211 Thus, while Kantianism shares with natural law theory the necessity of the formulation of raÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ•ÂŠÂ ČąÂŠÂœČąÂŠÂ?Š’—œÂ?ȹ•ŽÂ?ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™Â˜ÂœÂ’Â?Â’Â&#x;Â’ÂœÂ–Ç°ČąÂ’Â?ČąÂ?ÂŽÄ™Â—ÂŽÂœČą itself against, not legal positivism, but rather —ŠÂ?ž›Š•ȹ•Š ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ˜Â›Â˘ÇŻČą Ž••’—Â?•¢ǰȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ“ÂžÂœÂ?’ęŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ?Â˜Â›Čą modern democracies is to be “nonreligious and postmetaphysical.â€?

Charles Taylor has consistently exposed the Šœœž–™Â?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂŽÂ—Â?Š’•ŽÂ?ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂœÂžÂŒÂ‘ČąÂŠČąÂ?Žę—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ȹ›ŠÂ?’˜—Š•’Â?¢ǰȹŠ—Â?ȹ’—ȹŠȹÂ&#x;ŠœÂ?ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂœÂŒÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ™Â‘Â’Â•Â˜ÂœÂ˜Â™Â‘Â’cal output has sought to trace the emergence of such a project in discrete historical struggles towards nationhood, which often entailed reductive “fetishesâ€? of certain historical arrangements, ÂŽÇŻÂ?ÇŻČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ•ÂŠÂ’ÂŒÂ’Â?ÂˇČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â›ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂ‘Čą ’›œÂ?Čą ÂŽÂ™ÂžÂ‹Â•Â’ÂŒÇŻČą —ȹŠȹ ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ?Â’Â?•ŽÂ?ČąČ Â˜Â ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?ÂŽÄ™Â—ÂŽČąÂœÂŽÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›Â’ÂœÂ–Č‚ČąÂ?Â’Â&#x;Ž—ȹŠÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ —œÂ?Â’Â?žÂ?ÂŽČąÂ?Â˜Â›Čą ÂžÂ‹Â•Â’ÂŒČą —˜ •ŽÂ?Â?ŽȹŠÂ?Čą Ç°Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›ČąÂŠÄ´ÂŠÂŒÂ”ÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ™Â›ÂŽÂœÂžÂ™Â™Â˜ÂœÂ’Â?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą ÂŠÂ‹ÂŽÂ›Â–ÂŠÂœÂ’ÂŠÂ—Čą secularism:

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

39

Contesting the Secular |

The idea seems to be something like this.

Secular reason is a language everyone speaks, and can argue and be convinced in.

Religious languages operate outside of this discourse, by introducing extraneous premÂ’ÂœÂŽÂœČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ˜Â—Â•Â˘ČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ•Â’ÂŽÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂŒÂŠÂ—ČąÂŠÂŒÂŒÂŽÂ™Â?ÇŻČą Â˜ČąÂ•ÂŽÂ?Č‚ÂœČą all talk the common language.212 Â˜Â›Čą ÂŠÂ‹ÂŽÂ›Â–ÂŠÂœČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ˜Â?Â‘ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ•Â’Â‹ÂŽÂ›ÂŠÂ•ÂœČąÂœÂžÂŒÂ‘ČąÂŠÂœČą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą ÂŠÂ Â•ÂœÇ°Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČąÂ—ÂŠÂ?ž›Š•ȹ•Š ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ˜Â›Â˘ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ’Â—ÂŠÂ?–’œsible in political debate within the public sphere, since it is a discourse inaccessible to secular reaÂœÂ˜Â—ÇŻČą Â?Čą Â’ÂœČą Šȹ Â?’쎛Ž—Â?Čą •Š—Â?žŠÂ?ÂŽÇŻČą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Čą ›˜˜Â?ÂœČą Â?Â‘Â’ÂœČą epistemic distinction in a certain myth that is propagated about the Enlightenment, namely that there was a self-evident move from Revelation to reason alone.213 This is on the epistemic level.

There is another level at which the trajectory from the Enlightenment is working to delegiti–’£Žȹ Â?‘Žȹ ŠÂ?–’œœ’‹’•’Â?¢ȹ ˜Â?Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą Â?‘Ž˜•˜Â?Â’cal politics in the modern public sphere: on the political level, for some, the return of religion would simply be “full of menace.â€?214 This is  ‘Ž›ŽȹÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?Â˜Â›Â–ÂžÂ•ÂŠÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąČƒÂœÂŽÂ™ÂŠÂ›ÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Č„ČąÂ˜Â›ČąČƒÂ•ÂŠÂ’ÂŒÂ’Â?¡Ȅȹ become inescapable for some. There is perhaps the fear that religious legal discourse would be detrimental to pluralism. With reference to Aquinas, however, that claim is not easily made, unless pluralism is seen in a radically libertarian Â&#x;Ž’—ǯȹ ÂŽČą –Š’—Â?ÂŠÂ’Â—ÂœČą Šȹ Â?Â’Â&#x;Â’ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—Čą ‹ŽÂ? ŽŽ—ȹ ‘ž–Š—ȹ and divine law, the things of Caesar and those of God, and though human law is derived from God, divine law is distinct from human and natural law in ordaining man “to an end of eternal Â‘ÂŠÂ™Â™Â’Â—ÂŽÂœÂœÇ°ČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂŽÂĄÂŒÂŽÂŽÂ?ČąÂ–ÂŠÂ—Č‚ÂœČąÂŠÂ‹Â’Â•Â’Â?¢ǯȄ215 Â˜Čą ›ŽÂ?ž›—ȹ Â?Â˜Čą Â’ÂœÂœÂ”ÂŠČ‚ÂœČą ›ŽŠÂ?’—Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą natural law theory, there is now some clarity regarding why a subtraction of its theist foundations seems inescapable: reason, in a “nonreligious and postmetaphysicalâ€? democracy, must be sold as reason alone, divested of religious Â?˜ž—Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•Â’ÂœÂ–ÇŻČą ÂŽÂ?Ç°ČąÂŠÂœČą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›ČąÂŠÂ›Â?ÂžÂŽÂœÇ°ČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ‹ÂžÂ›den of translation for religious interlocutors in the legal discursive process amounts to negative ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ?›ŽŠÂ?–Ž—Â?ÇŻČą Žȹ ›’Â?ÂŽÂœÇ°ČąČƒÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂŠÂ•Â•ČąÂ?‘Ž’›ȹÂ?’쎛-

40

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂœÇ°ČąÇ˝ ÂŠÂ Â•ÂœČąÂŠÂ—Â?Čą ÂŠÂ‹ÂŽÂ›Â–ÂŠÂœÇžČąÂœÂŽÂŽÂ–ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ›ÂŽÂœÂŽÂ›Â&#x;ŽȹŠȹ special status for non-religiously informed ReaÂœÂ˜Â—ČąÇťÂ•ÂŽÂ?Č‚ÂœČąÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•ČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂœÂ˜Â—ČąÂŠÂ•Â˜Â—ÂŽÇźČąÂŠÂœČąÂ?‘˜žÂ?‘ȹǝŠǟȹÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČą •ŠĴŽ›ȹ Ž›ŽȹŠ‹•ŽȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ›ÂŽÂœÂ˜Â•Â&#x;ÂŽČąÂŒÂŽÂ›Â?ÂŠÂ’Â—ČąÂ–Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ•ČŹÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą issues in a way which can legitimately satisfy any honest, unconfused thinker and (b) where religiously-based conclusions will always be dubious‌â€?216

III.

Aquinas, Taylor, & Pluralism ÂŽÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›Â’ÂœÂ–ČąÂœÂ˜ČąÂ?Žę—ŽÂ?ČąÂŒÂŠÂ—Â—Â˜Â?ȹ‘Ž•™ȹ but discriminate against religion, making a speÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą ÂŒÂŠÂœÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą Â’Â?ÇŻČą —ȹ ÂœÂžÂŒÂ‘Čą Š—ȹ ž—Â?Ž›œÂ?Š—Â?’—Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ very normative conditions of liberal democraÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂœÇ°ČąÂ’Â?ČąÂ Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂ’Â–Â™Â˜ÂœÂœÂ’Â‹Â•ÂŽČąÂ?Â˜Â›Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČąÂ?Žę—’tion of law to receive fair hearing as soon as it is acknowledged that his rational principles are ’–™•’ŒŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?ȹ’—ȹŠȹÂ?‘Ž˜•˜Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂŠÂ—Â?‘›˜™˜•˜Â?¢ǯȹ ÂŽÂ?ǰȹ’Â?Čą Â’ÂœČąÂ™Â›ÂŽÂŒÂ’ÂœÂŽÂ•Â˘ČąÂ’Â—ČąÄ™Â?Ž•’Â?¢ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąČƒÂ’Â–Â™Â•Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Č„ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą the hard- line of laĂŻque-secularism is challenged Š—Â?ČąÂŽÂ›Â˜Â?ÂŽÂ?ÇŻČą ÂŽÂ?ČąÂžÂœČąÂœÂžÂ™Â™Â˜ÂœÂŽČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠson as an imprint of divine light is reckoned by a modern liberal to favour a narrow and homogeÂ—ÂŽÂ˜ÂžÂœČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ‘ÂžÂ–ÂŠÂ—ČąÄšÂ˜ÂžÂ›Â’ÂœÂ‘Â’Â—Â?ÇąČąÂ’Â—ÂœÂ?ŽŠÂ?Ç°ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ?‘Žȹ second feature of positive law highlights, reason tends to its last end, which is happiness or beatitude, and “since man is a part of the perfect community, law must needs concern itself properly with the order directed to universal happiness.â€?217 Aquinas rebuts the liberal charge, and inverts it: by positing atomistic, “unencumbered œŽ•Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČ„ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂŠÂ?˜™Â?Čą Â’ÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂŽÂ•Čą Š—Â?ÂŽÂ•Č‚ÂœČąÂ?ÂŽÂ›Â–Ç°ČąÂœÂŽÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›Â’ÂœÂ–Čą ÂŠÂœČą Â?Žę—ŽÂ?Čą ŠÂ?Š’—œÂ?Čą Œ˜—ŒŽ™Â?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â?˜˜Â?Čą rooted in a theological anthropology cannot fulꕕȹÂ?‘Žȹ™•ž›Š•’Â?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?˜˜Â?ÂœČąÂ?Ž–Š—Â?ÂŽÂ?ȹ‹¢ȹŠȹ™•ž›Š•ist society. ÂŽČą ÂœÂŽÂŽČą Â?‘Žȹ ÂŽÂĄÂ?Ž—Â?Čą ˜Â?Čą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČą ›Ž•ŽÂ&#x;ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą Â?Â˜Čą lawmaking in pluralist democracies in the 21st century in his assertion that positive law must be framed in a common rather than particular way: since the end of law is the common good, it “comprises many things. Therefore law should take into account of many things, as to persons, as to Â–ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœÇ°ČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â’Â–ÂŽÂœÇŻČą Â˜Â›ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â–Â–ÂžÂ—Â’Â?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ state is composed of many persons, and its good is procured by many actions; nor is it established

| Š›•ȹ Č‚ Š—•˜—

to endure for only a short time, but to last for all time by the citizens succeeding one another.â€?218 ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœČ‚ÂœČąÂ™Â›ÂŽÂ–Â˜Â?Ž›—ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ˜Â›Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ȹ•Š ǰȹ’—Ž¥Â?Â›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ‹Â•ÂŽČą from its theological bases, arguably provides much greater scope to plural societies than the hard-secularist line of modern liberalism. —ȹ ÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂŒÂ•ÂžÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ÇąČą Â?Žœ™’Â?ÂŽČą Â’ÂœÂœÂ”ÂŠČ‚ÂœČą ŠĴŽ–™Â?ÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą Â•ÂŠÂ’ÂŒÂ’ÂœÂŽČą ÂšÂžÂ’Â—ÂŠÂœÇ°Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â?Žę—’Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą •Š ȹ Â›ÂŽÂ–ÂŠÂ’Â—ÂœČą deeply embedded in his theological not to mention Christian principles. This religious discourse prescinds Thomistic accounts of lawgiving for the large part in the contemporary secular public sphere, where secularism, instead of allowing for a plurality of conceptions of the good, actively excises religion from the public sphere. The reasons for doing so, Charles Taylor argues, are historical and political, and largely untenable on an epistemic level (even though it Â’ÂœČą ‘Ž›Žȹ Š—Â?Čą Â˜Â—Â•Â˘Čą ‘Ž›Žȹ Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą ÂŠÂ‹ÂŽÂ›Â–ÂŠÂœČą ÂœÂŽÂŽÂ–ÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą maintain a distinction). Moreover, natural law theory and Kantian rationality are in agreement against legal positivism. ÂŽÂ?Ç°ČąÂ?‘Žȹ’—Š‹’•’Â?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ•Â’Â‹ÂŽÂ›ÂŠÂ•Â’ÂœÂ–ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂŠÂ•Â•Â˜Â ČąÂŠČąÂ™Â•Âž-

›Š•’Â?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?˜˜Â?ÂœČąÂžÂ—Â?ÂŽÂ›Â–Â’Â—ÂŽÂœČąÂ’Â?ÂœČąÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ–Â™Â?ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?˜›Â?ÂŽČą Â™Â›ÂŽČŹÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂœÂ˜Â•Â’Â?Š›’Â?¢ǯȹ Â?ȹ›Ž•’Â?Â’Â˜ÂžÂœČąÂ“ÂžÂœÂ?’ęŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČą for action (i.e. reason is the imprint of the divine light of God) were admissible, alongside Kantian “žœÂ?’ęŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÇ°Čą ÂŠÂ›ÂĄÂ’ÂœÂ?ČąÂ“ÂžÂœÂ?’ęŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÇ°ČąÂŽÂ?ÂŒÇŻÇ°ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂœÂŽÂ—ÂœÂžÂœČąÂ‹ÂŽÂŒÂ˜Â–ÂŽÂœČąÂœÂ?›˜—Â?ÂŽÂ›Ç°ČąÂ—Â˜Â?ȹ ŽŠ”Ž›ǯȹ Â—ČąÂŒÂ•Â˜ÂœÂ’Â—Â?Ç°ČąÂ?‘Žȹ  ˜›Â?ÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą ÂŠÂŒÂšÂžÂŽÂœČą Š›’Â?Š’—ǰȹÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂœÂ’Â—Â?ž•Š›•¢ȹÂ?Â’Â?Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Thomist and modern, are apposite: ȹŠ–ȹšž’Â?ÂŽČąÂŒÂŽÂ›Â?Š’—ȹÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ–Â˘ČąÂ ÂŠÂ˘ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ“ÂžÂœÂ?Â’Â?¢’—Â?Čą belief in the rights of man and the ideal of liberty, equality, fraternity is the only way  ’Â?‘ȹ Šȹ ꛖȹ Â?˜ž—Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ’—ȹ Â?›žÂ?‘ǯȹ Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â?Â˜ÂŽÂœČą not prevent me from being in agreement on those practical convictions with people who are certain that their way of justifying them, Ž—Â?’›Ž•¢ȹ Â?’쎛Ž—Â?Čą Â?Â›Â˜Â–Čą –’—Žȹ Â˜Â›Čą ˜™™˜œŽÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Čą mine‌ is equally the only way founded upon truth.219 Karl O’Hanlon is a third year Master of Arts student ’—ȹ —Â?Â•Â’ÂœÂ‘Čą ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą ›ŠÂ?žŠÂ?ÂŽČą ÂŒÂ‘Â˜Â˜Â•Čą ˜Â?Čą Arts & Sciences.

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

41

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

Čą

The Politics of Ridley Scott’s “Robin Hoodâ€? ŠĴȹ Â˜Â˘Â?Čą

Čą

—ȹ Â’Â?•Ž¢ȹ ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČą —Ž ȹ –˜Â&#x;Â’ÂŽÇ°Čą Čƒ Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą

˜˜Â?Ç°Č„Čą Â?‘Žȹ ÂŽÂ™Â˜Â—Â˘Â–Â˜ÂžÂœČą Â‘ÂŽÂ›Â˜Čą ǝ™•Š¢ŽÂ?Čą ‹¢ȹ Russell Crowe) looks upon the citizens of England and declares, “Rise, and rise again— until lambs become lions.â€?231 Though the resil’Ž—Â?Čą Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?Čą –¢Â?‘ȹ Â‘ÂŠÂœČą ‹ŽŽ—ȹ ™•Š¢ŽÂ?Čą ˜žÂ?Čą ’—ȹ hundreds of adaptations over hundreds of years, ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČąČƒ Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?Č„ČąÂœÂ?Â›Â’Â”ÂŽÂœČąÂŠČąÂ—Â˜Â&#x;ÂŽÂ•ČąÂŒÂ‘Â˜Â›Â?ÇŻČą —like the famous outlaw who steals from the rich Š—Â?Čą Â?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â™Â˜Â˜Â›Ç°Čą ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČą Â&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—Čą ›Žœ˜—ŠÂ?ÂŽÂœČą with the political and philosophical course of English liberalism: man must rise into his own Â™Â˜Â ÂŽÂ›Ç°ČąÂŠÂ—ČąÂŽÂŒÂ‘Â˜ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą Â˜ÂŒÂ”ÂŽÇ°ČąÂ—Â˜Â?Čą Š›•ȹ Š›¥ǯȹ The movie, set in 12th century England, thrusts us into the throes of medieval politics. Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČ‚ÂœČąÂŠČąÂ”Â’Â—Â?Ç°ČąÂŠČąÂŒÂ›ÂžÂœÂŠÂ?ŽǰȹŠ—Â?ȹ Š››’—Â?ČąÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŽÂœÇ°Čą Â›ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂŠÂ—Â?Čą —Â?•Š—Â?ÇŻČą —ȹ —Â?•Š—Â?Ç°ČąÂ ÂŽČąÂœÂŽÂŽČąÂ?ŽžÂ?Š•ȹ Â•ÂŠÂ‹Â˜Â›ČąÂ›ÂŽÂ•ÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÇŻČą —ȹ Â›Â’Â—ÂŒÂŽČą Â˜Â‘Â—Č‚ÂœČąÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ›Â?Ç°ČąÂ ÂŽČąÂ‘ÂŽÂŠÂ›ČąÂ˜Â?Čą taxes, debt, divine right, law, and order. Center ˜Â?ȹŠ••ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŽÂ•ÂŠÂ‹Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ?ÂŽÇ°ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂœÂŒÂŽÂ—ÂŽÂ›Â˘Ç°Čą ÂŒÂ˜Ä´ČąÂ™Â›ÂŽÄ™Â?ÂžÂ›ÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?žÂ?ÂžÂ›ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą —Â?Â•Â’ÂœÂ‘ČąÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™Â‘Â’Â•Â˜ÂœÂ˜Â™Â‘Â˘Čą Â?‘›˜žÂ?‘ȹ Â‘Â’ÂœČą ›Ž™›ŽœŽ—Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ  ˜›•Â?Č‚ÂœČą –˜œÂ?Čą Â?ÂŠÂ–Â˜ÂžÂœČą ÂŒÂ›Â’Â–Â’Â—ÂŠÂ•ÇŻČą Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?Ç°Čą Šȹ ÂœÂ˜ÂŒÂ’Â˜ČŹÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą •ŽŠÂ?Ž›ȹ ’—ȹ ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČą ÂŽÂ˘ÂŽÂœÇ°Čą ‹›’—Â?ÂœČą Š‹˜žÂ?Čą Šȹ šžŽœÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą of obligation: What does the polity (England) owe its citizens? At the start of the movie, Robin ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŠÂ”ÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą ’—Â?Čą ’Œ‘Š›Â?ÂœČ‚ÂœČąÂ–Â˜Â—ÂŽÂ?Š›¢ȹÂ?Ž‹Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘Žȹ soldier. By the end of the story, though, Robin ›ŽĚŽŒÂ?ÂœČą Â˜Â—Čą Â›Â’Â—ÂŒÂŽČą Â˜Â‘Â—Č‚ÂœČą ÇťÂ Â‘Â˜Čą Â‘ÂŠÂœČą ÂœÂ’Â—ÂŒÂŽČą ÂœÂŽÂ’ÂŁÂŽÂ?Čą power) obligation to serve his citizens. The ÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ›ÂœÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ˜ÂžÂ?Â•ÂŠÂ ČąÂ›ÂŽÂ‹ÂŽÂ•Â•Â’Â˜Â—Ç°ČąÂ’Â—ÂœÂ?ŽŠÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?ŽęŠ—Â?ȹ›Ždistribution, speaks of vested empowerment.

From money to morals, Robin follows the ÂœÂŠÂ–ÂŽČą ™˜•’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą ™ŠÂ?‘ȹ ÂŠÂœČą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą Â˜ÂŒÂ”ÂŽÇŻČą Â˜ÂŒÂ”ÂŽÇ°Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â?ŠÂ?‘Ž›ȹ ˜Â?Čą Â•Â’Â‹ÂŽÂ›ÂŠÂ•Â’ÂœÂ–Ç°Čą Â?ÂŠÂ–Â˜ÂžÂœÂ•Â˘Čą Â?Š’•˜›ŽÂ?Čą Â˜Â‹Â‹ÂŽČ‚ÂœČą Leviathan for a new social class. Rather than an

absolute monarchy, Locke realigned the polity; in place of the king, the upper middle class would rule. “As much land as a man tills, plants, improves, cultivates, and can use the product of, ÂœÂ˜ČąÂ–ÂžÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â™ÂŽÂ›Â?¢ǯȹ ÂŽČąÂ‹Â˘ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ•ÂŠÂ‹Â˜ÂžÂ›ČąÂ?Â˜ÂŽÂœÇ°Čą as it were, inclose it from the common,â€?232 wrote Locke in his Second Treatise of Government in 1690. Man, born in a state of nature, joins a society of previously independent citizens in his Žě˜›Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂŠÂ&#x;˜’Â?ȹ Š›ǯȹ Â—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ’Â—ČąÂœÂ˜ÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ?Â˘Ç°ČąÂ–ÂŠÂ—ČąÂŒÂ•ÂŠÂ’Â–ÂœČą what his labor creates. Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?ǰȹ’—ȹ ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČąÂŠÂŒÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ—Â?Ç°ČąÂ–Â’Â›Â›Â˜Â›ÂœČą Â˜ÂŒÂ”ÂŽÇ°Čą Â?ŽŒ•Š›’—Â?ČąČƒÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ—Â˜ČąÂ?Â’Ä›ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ? ŽŽ—ȹŠȹ”—’Â?‘Â?Čą and any other man aside from what he wears.â€?233 All men join the polity as equals before nature, a notion accepted by both Locke and Robin. For ÂŽÂŠÂŒÂ‘Čą Â’ÂŒÂ˜Â—Ç°Čą Â?Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â?›ŽŽÂ?Â˜Â–Čą ™›ŽęÂ?ÂžÂ›ÂŽÂœČą Â&#x;ÂŠÂ•ÂžÂŽČŹÂ•ÂŠÂ‹Â˜Â›Čą ÂŽÂŒÂ˜Â—Â˜Â–Â’ÂŒÂœÇ˛ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?žŒÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ–ÂŠÂ—Č‚ÂœČąÂ•ÂŠÂ‹Â˜Â›ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â™erty, and its value coincides with the labor put ’—Â?Â˜ČąÂ’Â?ÇŻČąČƒ Â&#x;Ž›¢ȹ —Â?Â•Â’ÂœÂ‘Â–ÂŠÂ—Č‚ÂœČąÂ‘Â˜Â–ÂŽČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂŒÂŠÂœÂ?•ŽǰȄ234 Robin tells the skeptical Prince. Without rights ˜Â&#x;Ž›ȹ Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â˜Â Â—Čą ™›˜™Ž›Â?¢ǰȹ –Š—ȹ Â’ÂœČą Šȹ œ•ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽÇŻČą ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇ°Čą every property is as valuable as a castle, at least Â’Â—ČąÂœÂ˘Â–Â‹Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒČąÂ?ÂŽÂœÂ?ž›Žǯȹ Â?ČąÂ?Â˜Â•Â•Â˜Â ÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ǰȹ’—ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą —ŠÂ?ž›Žǰȹ’Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â˘Č‚ÂœČąÂ?žÂ?¢ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?ÂŽÂŒÂ?ČąÂ–ÂŠÂ—Č‚ÂœČąÂ–Â˜ÂœÂ?Čą basic freedom: property rights.

With these duties, however, Locke feared â€œâ€Ś men can never be secure from tyranny, if there be no means to escape it till they are perfectly under it: and therefore it is, that they have not only a right to get out of it, but to prevent it.â€?235Čą —ȹÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČą statement, Locke sanctions new purveyors of the polity. When threatened by an absolute monarch who, unable or unwilling to till land and ™›˜Â?ÂžÂŒÂŽČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ˜Â Â—ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Ä™Â?Ç°ČąÂŽÂĄÂ™Â•Â˜Â’Â?ÂœČąÂ?‘Žȹ•Š—Â?Â˜Â Â—ÂŽÂ›Ç°Čą the owners can and must rise to power. This re-

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

45

‘Žȹ ˜•’Â?Â’ÂŒÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â’Â?•Ž¢ȹ ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČąČƒ Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?ȄȹȹȹȊ

lationship, carried out over time, empowers an aristocratic class—eventual members of Eng•Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČą Š›•’Š–Ž—Â?ÇŻČą ÂœČą Â˜ÂŒÂ”ÂŽČą ÂŠÂ•Â•Â˜Â ÂœČą Š›’œÂ?˜Œ›ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒČą Â?ÂŽÄ™ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ–Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ›ÂŒÂ‘Â˘Ç°ČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â&#x;Â’Â?ÂŽÂœČąÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ›ÂœÂŽČąÂ?Â˜Â›Čą œ’Â?—’ęŒŠ—Â?ČąÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ—Â?ÂŽČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂŠÂ•Â•ČąÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂœÇŻ Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Ç°Čą ÂŠÂœČą ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČą ›Ž™›ŽœŽ—Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą —Â?Â•Â’ÂœÂ‘Čą social change, notes “in tyranny lies only failure. Empower every man and you will gain strength.â€?236Čą ÂŽÂ—ČŻÂ–Â˜Â›ÂŽČą ÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ’Ä™ÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘Čą •Š—Â?ČŹÂ˜Â Â—Â’Â—Â?ČąÂ–ÂŽÂ—Ç°ČąÂ Â‘Â˜Â–Čą Â˜Â‹Â’Â—ČąÂŠÂ?Â?Â›ÂŽÂœÂœÂŽÂœČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽČąÂ‹ÂŠÄ´Â•ÂŽČŻ have a right to protect their property, or to overthrow the tyrant that steals it. When the Prince ’—Â?›’—Â?ÂŽÂœČą Â˜Â—Čą ŠÂ?¢ȹ ÂŠÂ›Â’ÂŠÂ—Č‚ÂœČą ™›˜™Ž›Â?¢ȹ Â?‘›˜žÂ?‘ȹ taxation (exaggerated through pillage and murÂ?Ž›ǰȹ‹žÂ?ČąÂ—Â˜Â—ÂŽÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ•ÂŽÂœÂœČąÂ?Š¥ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÇźÇ°Čą Â˜Â‹Â’Â—ČąÂ˜Â‹Â“ÂŽÂŒÂ?ÂœÇŻČąČƒ Â?Čą Â’Â?Č‚ÂœČą ’••ŽÂ?Š•ȹ Â?Â˜Â›Čą Šȹ –Š—ȹ Â?Â˜Čą Â?Ž—Â?Čą Â?Â˜Â›Čą ‘’–œŽ•Â?Ç°Čą Â‘Â˜Â Čą can he be a man of his own right?â€?237 Robin, like Â˜ÂŒÂ”ÂŽÇ°Čą Â™Â‘Â’Â•Â˜ÂœÂ˜Â™Â‘Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘Čą “žœÂ?Â’Ä™ÂŽÂœČą Â?‘Žȹ Â›Â’ÂœÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ landed class over the monarchy. ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČą Â˜Â‹Â’Â—ČąÂ™Â•ÂŠÂ˘ÂœČąÂŠÂ—ČąÂ’Â—Â?Ž›ŽœÂ?’—Â?ČąÂ›Â˜Â•ÂŽČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ›ÂŽÂ•ÂŠtion to Locke, especially in this context. Rather than serving the starving peasantry, Robin serves the noble barons and distances himself Â?Â›Â˜Â–ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ™Â˜Â˜Â›ÇŻČą Â˜ÂŒÂ”ÂŽČ‚ÂœČąÂŠÂ›Â’ÂœÂ?˜Œ›ŠÂ?ČąÂœÂžÂ™ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂŽÂ?ÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘Žȹ democratic rights of the peasant-citizen, a group not philosophically empowered until Rousseau.

46

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

˜˜”’—Â?ȹŠÂ?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?›ŽŠÂ?ÂŽÂ›ČąÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ?Â›ÂžÂ–ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?Čą –¢Â?Â‘ÂœÇ°Čą ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČąÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂœÂ?Š—Â?ÂœČąÂžÂ—Â’ÂšÂžÂŽČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ’Â?ÂœČąÂ’Â–Â™Â•Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÇŻČą ŽȂ›Žȹ ›Ž–’—Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą ˜Â?Čą Ž—Â?˜ ŽÂ?Čą Â™Â˜Â ÂŽÂ›Ç°Čą wholly unlike the redistributive equality of most outlaw folklore. The most famous discourse on ˜žÂ?Â•ÂŠÂ ÂœČŻ Â›Â’ÂŒČą Â˜Â‹ÂœÂ‹ÂŠÂ Â–Č‚ÂœČąČƒ ›’–’Â?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽČą ÂŽÂ‹ÂŽÂ•ÂœÇ°Č„Čą  ‘Ž›Žȹ‘ŽȹÂ?ÂŽÂœÂŒÂ›Â’Â‹ÂŽÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąČ ÂœÂ˜ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ‹ÂŠÂ—Â?Â’Â?Č‚ČŻÂ?Ž™’ŒÂ?ÂœČąÂŠČą pseudo-socialist ethos in peasant society.238Čą ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Čą Â? ’œÂ?ÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ’ÂŒÂ˜Â—Â˜Â?Â›ÂŠÂ™Â‘Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂŒÂ›ÂŽates a new version, a herald to liberal reconstitution rather than social revolution. ‘˜žÂ?‘ȹ Â’Â?Č‚ÂœČą Â?Ž–™Â?’—Â?Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â?’œŒŠ›Â?Čą Â’Â?•Ž¢ȹ ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČąÂ›ÂŽÂ™Â›ÂŽÂœÂŽÂ—Â?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?ČąÂŠÂœČąÂŠÂ—ÂŠÂŒÂ‘Â›Â˜nistic, he explores questions of power and right, like most of its predecessors. Using a similar Œ‘Š›ŠŒÂ?Ž›ȹ Š—Â?Čą Œ˜—Â?ÂŽÂĄÂ?Ç°Čą ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Čą ›Ž’—Â?Ž›™›ŽÂ?ÂœČą Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą

˜˜Â?ČąÂŠÂœČąÂŠČąÂ‘Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™Â›ÂŽÂ?ÂŽÂŒÂŽÂœÂœÂ˜Â›Ç°ČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂŠČąÂ‘Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą ÂŠÂ—Â˜Â–ÂŠÂ•Â˘ÇŻČą ‘Ž—ȹ Â›Â’Â—ÂŒÂŽČą Â˜Â‘Â—ČąÂŠÂ—Â—Â˜ÂžÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂœČąČƒÂ‘ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂ?˜›Â?‘ȹ Čą Â?ÂŽÂŒÂ•ÂŠÂ›ÂŽČą Â˘Â˜ÂžČą Â?Â˜Čą ‹Žȹ Š—ȹ ˜žÂ?•Š ǰȄ239Čą Â’Â?Č‚ÂœČą Â?‘Žȹ ‹ŽÂ?’——’—Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?ȹ–¢Â?‘ǰȹŠ—Â?ČąÂŠČąÂ–Â˜Â&#x;Ž–Ž—Â?ČąÂ?˜ Š›Â?ÂœČą Â˜ÂŒÂ”ÂŽČ‚ÂœČąÂŠÂŒÂŒÂŽÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ÇŻČą —Â?˜›Â?ž—ŠÂ?Ž•¢ǰȹ ’—ȹ Â’Â?•Ž¢ȹ ÂŒÂ˜Ä´Č‚ÂœČąÂ—ÂŽÂ ČąÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąČƒ Â˜Â‹Â’Â—Čą ˜˜Â?Ç°Č„Čą Â’Â?Č‚ÂœČąÂ?‘ŽȹŽ—Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ–Â˜Â&#x;Â’ÂŽÇŻČą ŠĴȹ Â˜Â˘Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂŠČąÂ“ÂžÂ—Â’Â˜Â›ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ˜••ŽÂ?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą ›Â?ÂœČąÇ­Čą ÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂœČąÂœÂ?žÂ?¢’—Â?Čą ˜Â&#x;Ž›—–Ž—Â?ȹŠ—Â?Čą —Â?Â•Â’ÂœÂ‘ÇŻČą

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

Čą

Georgetown, Dolley Madison, and the Mexican-American War Michael Meaney

Čą

˜žœŽÂ?ČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?‘ŽȹęÂ?Â?Â‘ČąÄšÂ˜Â˜Â›ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Šž’—Â?Ž›ȹ ’‹›Š›¢ǰȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?Â˘Č‚ÂœČą special archives collection preserves records of university activities dating back to Ĺ—Ĺ?ĹžĹœÇ°Čą Â?‘›ŽŽȹ Â˘ÂŽÂŠÂ›ÂœČą ‹ŽÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽČą Â’Â?ÂœČą Â˜ÄœÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą Â?˜ž—Â?’—Â?ÇŻČą Among the more intriguing documents in this Œ˜••ŽŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂŠČąÂ•ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ?Â›Â˜Â–Čą Â˜Â•Â•ÂŽÂ˘Čą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Ç°ČąÂ Â’Â?ÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą ›Žœ’Â?Ž—Â?Čą ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Ç°Čą Â?Â˜Čą ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Čą during the Mexican-American War. While it appears initially inconsequential in content—a mere two lines introducing then-General TayÂ•Â˜Â›ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ—ÂŽÂ Â•Â˘ČąÂŠÂ™Â™Â˜Â’Â—Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ™Â•ÂŠÂ’Â—Ç°Čą ÂŽÂ&#x;ÇŻČą ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČą McElroy—historical analysis unveils a complex tale that explains the social and political culture ˜Â?Čą Š—Â?Ž‹Ž••ž–ȹ Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÇ°Čą  ’Â?‘ȹ Šȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą ÂŽsuit at the crux.

The question remains, however, of why Mrs. ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Čą Â ÂŠÂœČą ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž—ȹ ’—Â&#x;˜•Â&#x;ÂŽÂ?Čą ’—ȹ ÂŠÄ›ÂŠÂ’Â›ÂœČą ˜Â?Čą ÂœÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽČą Ĺ˜Ĺ&#x;ČąÂ˘ÂŽÂŠÂ›ÂœČąÂŠÂ?Â?ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ‘ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ‘ÂžÂœÂ‹ÂŠÂ—Â?ȹ•ŽÂ?Â?ČąÂ˜ÄœÂŒÂŽÇŻČą ˜›Ž˜Â&#x;Ž›ǰȹ Â˜Â—ÂŽČąÂ Â˜Â—Â?ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂ‘Â˜Â ČąÂœÂ‘ÂŽČąÂ›ÂŽÂ•ÂŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜Čą Ž—Ž›Š•ȹ ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Ç°ČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ‘Â˜Â ČąÂœÂ‘ÂŽČąÂ”Â—ÂŽÂ Čą ÂŽÂ&#x;ÇŻČą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘ÇŻ To start to put the puzzle together, the analysis begins with Mrs. Madison, determining why, in fact, she was at all involved with the American government during this time period. Once this Â’ÂœČąÂŽÂœÂ?Š‹•’œ‘ŽÂ?Ç°Čą ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›ČąÂŒÂ˜Â–ÂŽÂœČąÂ’Â—Â?Â˜ČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ Ç°Čą and it eventually becomes clear why it was a —ŠÂ?ž›Š•ȹęÂ?ČąÂ?Â˜Â›Čą Â˜Â•Â•ÂŽÂ˘Čą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ Â›Â’Â?Žȹ‘’–ȹÂ?‘Žȹ •ŽĴŽ›ȹ ˜Â?Čą ’—Â?›˜Â?žŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÇŻČą ‘Ž—ǰȹ Â?‘Žȹ ÂŠÂ—ÂŠÂ•Â˘ÂœÂ’ÂœČą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ  ›’ĴŽ—ȹ Œ˜—Â?Ž—Â?Čą  ’••ȹ Â?Ž–˜—œÂ?›ŠÂ?ÂŽČą  ‘ŠÂ?Čą Â˜Â—ÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Č‚ÂœČą Žœž’Â?ÂœÇ°Čą ÂŽÂ&#x;ÇŻČą ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČą ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘Ç°ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂ?Čą Â?Â˜ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ Â’Â?‘ȹÂ?‘Žȹ•ŽĴŽ›ȹǝŠ—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂŒÂŠÂ—ČŹ Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą

War) at all. Following a general conclusion, an Š——˜Â?ŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ•ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ’Â—ÂŒÂ•ÂžÂ?ÂŽÂ?ÇŻ Mrs. D. Madison Wife of President Madison To Matamoros, Mexico Brigadier General Taylor Matamoros, Revd. Mr. McElroy Mexico Šœ‘’—Â?Â?Â˜Â—Čą ž—ŽȹŞth 1846 Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ Â’Â?Â‘ČąÂœÂ’Â—Â?ÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›ČąÂ™Â•ÂŽÂŠÂœÂžÂ›ÂŽČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą ČąÂ?›ŽŽÂ?Čą General Taylor with many wishes for the continuance of his health, good fortune and that beautiful determination to mercy, which embellishes the Patriots glory with which he has covered himself.

The respected and good chaplain McElroy who will present these lines to you has been long known to me as one of high character and regarded by all as one of a pure spirit, and integrity. ČąÂ?›žœÂ?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂ Â’Â•Â•ČąÂ–ÂŽÂŽÂ?ȹ‘’–ȹ‘Š™™’•¢ǯȹ

Â˜ÂžÂ›Čą ›’Ž—Â?ȹŠ—Â?Čą Ž•ŠÂ?’˜—ǰ D.P. Madison

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

63

Georgetown, Dolley Madison, and the Mexican-American War |

ŃœŃ™Ń™Ń’ŃŚČą ŃŽŃ‘Ń–Ń ŃœŃ› Dolley Madison is perhaps most remembered for saving the portrait of George WashingÂ?Â˜Â—ČąÂ?Â›Â˜Â–ČąÂŠČąÂ‹ÂžÂ›Â—Â’Â—Â?Čą ‘’Â?ÂŽČą Â˜ÂžÂœÂŽČąÂ?ž›’—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Š›ȹ ˜Â?ČąĹ—ĹžĹ—Ĺ˜ÇŻČą Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ?›˜••ŽÂ?ȹŠ›–ȹ’—ȹŠ›–ȹ ’Â?‘ȹ ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČą Â˜Â•Â”Čą at his last social outing as President in 1849.312 Madison was so well-regarded that, at her funerŠ•ǰȹ ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›ČąÂŒÂ˜Â’Â—ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?ÂŽÂ›Â–ČąČƒ ’›œÂ?Čą ŠÂ?¢Ȅȹ to honor her unprecedented work.313 Many similar events of great consequence during the life of Dolley Madison are recorded. But why did Dol•Ž¢ȹ ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—ČąÂ Â›Â’Â?ÂŽČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ•ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂšÂžÂŽÂœÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Çľ The answer is mildly underwhelming. Mrs. Madison had strong ties to the Polk Administration,314 which was in power at the time of the ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą Š›ǯȹ Ž›ȹ Â™Â›Â˜Â–Â’Â—ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą ’—ȹ Šœ‘’—Â?Â?Â˜Â—Čą was well established when the Polks arrived in 1844. After a brief retirement following the death of her husband, Dolley Madison returned to Washington with a great deal of social and political capital. Serving as a sort of national hostess, Dolley Madison received guests as frequently as the President and played host to the most prominent parties in Washington.315Čą ‘Žȹ ÇŻ ÇŻČą Â˜ÂžÂœÂŽČą of Representatives honored her by granting her full access to all proceedings and debates.316Čą Â?Čą is no wonder, then, that Sarah Polk quickly beÂ?›’Ž—Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â˜Â•Â•ÂŽÂ˘ČąÂžÂ™Â˜Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â˜Â•Â”Čą Â?–’—’œÂ?›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Č‚ÂœČą arrival to the city.

During the middle of his presidency, PresiÂ?Ž—Â?Čą Â˜Â•Â”Čą ÂŒÂŠÂ–ÂŽČą ž—Â?Ž›ȹ ™˜•’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Čą ꛎȹ Â?žŽȹ Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ poor treatment of Catholics in the U.S. Army.

Protestants with nativist inclinations hated Catholics, and showed it. Catholics faced ridicule and ™ž—’œ‘–Ž—Â?Čą Â?Â˜Â›Čą ›ŽÂ?žœ’—Â?Čą Â?Â˜Čą ŠĴŽ—Â?Čą ›˜Â?ÂŽÂœÂ?Š—Â?Čą services, for example. Also, Polk faced persisÂ?Ž—Â?Čą ŠŒŒžœŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČą ˜Â?Čą ŠĴŽ–™Â?’—Â?Čą Šȹ ›Ž•’Â?Â’Â˜ÂžÂœČą Œ›žœŠÂ?ÂŽČą ŠÂ?Š’—œÂ?Čą ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒÂœČą ’—ȹ ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂŒÂ˜ÇŻČą —ȹ Â›ÂŽÂœÂ™Â˜Â—ÂœÂŽÇ°Čą Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â–Â–Â’ÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ÂŽÂ?Čą ŠÂ?‘Ž›ȹ Â˜Â‘Â—Čą ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘Ç°ČąÂŠÂ—Čą Â›Â’ÂœÂ‘Čą ’––’Â?›Š—Â?Čą Š—Â?Čą Žœž’Â?Čą ™›’ŽœÂ?Čą Â?Â›Â˜Â–Čą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Ç°Čą to serve as Chaplain to the armed forces under Ž—Ž›Š•ȹ ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Čą ’—ȹ ŠÂ?ÂŠÂ–Â˜Â›Â˜ÂœÇ°Čą ÂŽÂĄÂ’co.317,318Čą ÂœČąÂŠČąÂ›ÂŽÂ•ÂŠÂ?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›ČąÂ?‘›˜žÂ?‘ȹ her husband,319 as well as a common political patroness of the time,320 Dolley Madison wrote a •ŽĴŽ›ȹ’—Â?›˜Â?žŒ’—Â?Čą ›ǯȹ ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘ČąÂ?Â˜Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›ÇŻČą ÂŽÂŒÂŠÂžÂœÂŽČą

64

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

˜Â?ČąÂ‘ÂŽÂ›ČąÂŠÂœÂœÂ˜ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ Â’Â?‘ȹÂ?‘Žȹ Â˜Â•Â”ÂœÇ°Čą ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Čą and a connection to Fr. McElroy through her ties at Georgetown, Mrs. Madison served as an appropriate intermediary in the situation.

ŃŽŃ?Ń•ŃŽŃ&#x;ŃŚČą ŃŽŃŚŃ™ŃœŃ&#x; ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂ˜Â—ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ–Â˜ÂœÂ?ȹŽ–’—Ž—Â?Čą Ä™Â?ÂžÂ›ÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ?’–Žǯȹ Â’ÂœČąÂ•Â’Â?Žȹ‹ŽÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŽČąÂ?‘Žȹ–’Â?ČąĹ—ĹžĹšĹ–Č‚ÂœČą was admirable and note-worthy. Serving couraÂ?ÂŽÂ˜ÂžÂœÂ•Â˘ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ÂŠÂ›ČąÂ˜Â?ČąĹ—ĹžĹ—Ĺ˜Ç°ČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂ›ÂŽÂŒÂŽÂ’Â&#x;ÂŽÂ?ČąÂŠČąÂ–ÂŠÂ“Â˜Â›Č‚ÂœČą brevet. After his service in 1832 during the war ŠÂ?Š’—œÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â•ÂŠÂŒÂ”Â‘ÂŠÂ Â”Čą Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą —Â?Â’ÂŠÂ—ÂœÇ°Čą ‘Žȹ oversaw combat command during the Seminole War in Florida in the late 1830s. Due to his bold leadership style and his cantankerous character, his soldiers gave him the nickname “Old Rough and Ready.â€?321Čą ÂŽČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂ?¢ȹÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ›ÂŽÂ?’›Ž–Ž—Â?ǰȹ‹žÂ?Čą the imminent Mexican-American War called Â‘Â’Â–ČąÂ‹ÂŠÂŒÂ”ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂœÂŽÂ›Â&#x;Â’ÂŒÂŽÇŻČą ’Ĵ•ŽȹÂ?Â’Â?ČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂ”Â—Â˜Â ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČą œŽ›Â&#x;Â’ÂŒÂŽČą Â?Â˜Â›Čą Â˜Â•Â”Č‚ÂœČą ›–¢ȹ  ˜ž•Â?Čą ŒŠÂ?Š™ž•Â?Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČą ÂŒÂŠÂ›ÂŽÂŽÂ›ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘Žȹ‘’Â?‘ŽœÂ?ČąÂ˜ÄœÂŒÂŽČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ•Š—Â?ǰȹŠ—Â?ȹ–Š”Žȹ his name even more immortal. Â?Čą ÂœÂ’ÂĄÂ?¢ǰȹ ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Čą ›Ž•žŒÂ?Š—Â?•¢ȹ Œ˜—Â?’—ued his service to the United States Army, serving as Brigadier General during the Mexican War. Commanding the occupational forces in newly annexed Texas, Taylor was ordered by the ambitious President Polk to push his men to the border of the Rio Grande. Taylor and his troops established Fort Brown (also known as Ft. Texas), across from Matamoros, Mexico. After sucŒŽœœÂ?ž••¢ȹ›Ž™Ž••’—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂŒÂŠÂ—ČąÂ˜Ä›ÂŽÂ—ÂœÂ’Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČąÂŠÂ?Čą ÂŠÂ•Â˜Čą Alto and Resaca de la Palma, Taylor galvanized his troops and took the town of Matamoros.322 ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Č‚ÂœČąÂ?Š–Žȹ’—ȹÂ?‘Žȹ ÇŻ ǯȹ‹ŽÂ?Š—ȹÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â›Â˜Â Ç°ČąÂ?‘˜žÂ?‘ȹ Â?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ‹ÂŠÄ´Â•ÂŽÂœČąÂŠÂ?Čą ˜—Â?Ž››Ž¢ȹŠ—Â?Čą žŽ—Šȹ Â’ÂœÂ?ŠǰȹÂ?‘Žȹ Štershed victories of his career, were still to come. ‘˜›Â?•¢ȹ ŠÂ?Â?Ž›ȹ ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Č‚ÂœČą ÂœÂžÂŒÂŒÂŽÂœÂœČą ŠÂ?Čą ŠÂ?ÂŠÂ–Â˜Â›Â˜ÂœČą however, President Polk was ridiculed for his lack of concern for Catholic troops. The treatment they were receiving in the U.S. military was far from acceptable. A controversy arose, for Ž¥Š–™•Žǰȹ  ‘Ž—ȹ Â›Â’ÂœÂ‘ČŹ ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒČą ’––’Â?›Š—Â?Čą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą Riley and a few members of the U.S. military were punished and tormented for refusing to attend Protestant services. For political cover, Polk

| Michael Meaney

appointed two Catholic priests, Father Rey (a Ž›–Š—ǟȹŠ—Â?Čą ›ǯȹ ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘ČąÇťÂŠÂ—Čą Â›Â’ÂœÂ‘Â–ÂŠÂ—ÇźČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂœÂŽÂ›Â&#x;ÂŽČą as army chaplains. Polk also used Fr. McElroy to ÂŠÂœÂœÂžÂ›ÂŽČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â›Â’ÂœÂ‘Ç°ČąÂ Â‘Â˜ČąÂŒÂ˜Â–Â™Â˜ÂœÂŽÂ?ČąÂ? Ž—Â?¢ȏęÂ&#x;Žȹ™Ž›cent of the military at the time, that he had their ’—Â?Ž›ŽœÂ?ȹ’—ȹ–’—Â?ÇŻČą ›ǯȹ ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂœÂŽÂ—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Č‚ÂœČą ‹›’Â?ŠÂ?Žȹ’—ȹ ÂžÂ—ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąĹ—ĹžĹšĹœÇŻ323

Ń•Ń’Čą Ń’ŃĄŃĄŃ’Ń&#x; Though brief in its content, this seemingly Â’Â—Â—Â˜ÂŒÂžÂ˜ÂžÂœČą •ŽĴŽ›ȹ ’••ž–’—ŠÂ?ÂŽÂœČą Â’Â?ÂœČą ÂœÂ˜ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Ç°Čą ™˜•’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Ç°Čą and religious context, as well as Dolley MadiÂœÂ˜Â—Č‚ÂœČą ’—ĚžŽ—Â?’Š•ȹ Œ˜——ŽŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČą Š—Â?Čą Â˜Â™Â’Â—Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÇŻČą ‘Žȹ Â•ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›ČąÂœÂ?Š›Â?ÂœČąÂ Â’Â?‘ȹ Â˜Â•Â•ÂŽÂ˘Čą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Â?›ŠÂ?ž•ŠÂ?’—Â?Čą Š—Â?ČąÂ™Â›ÂŠÂ’ÂœÂ’Â—Â?Čą ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›Č‚ÂœČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂœÂŽÂ›Â&#x;Â’ÂŒÂŽČąÂ?ž›’—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą Š›ǯȹ ‘ŽȹÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ•ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›ČąÂœÂ’Â?Â—Â’Ä™ÂŽÂœČą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â‹ÂŠÄ´Â•ÂŽÂœČą Â?Â˜Â›Čą Â Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘Čą Â›ÂœÇŻČą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Čą Â’ÂœČą thanking Taylor occurred right as the war began (i.e. Palo Alto and Resaca de la Plata), before TayÂ•Â˜Â›Č‚ÂœČąÂ–Â˜ÂœÂ?ČąÂ’Â–Â™Â˜Â›Â?Š—Â?ČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂŒÂ?Â˜Â›Â’ÂŽÂœČąÂŠÂ?Čą ˜—Â?Ž››Ž¢ȹŠ—Â?Čą Buena Vista.324 Mrs. Madison then introduces Fr.

Â˜Â‘Â—Čą ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘ČąÂ?Â˜Čą ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›ÇŻČą Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â–Â–ÂŽÂ—Â?ÂœČą McElroy as a man of “pure spirit and integrityâ€? and asks Taylor to receive him warmly. Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂŒÂ˜Â–Â™Â•ÂŽÂ?ÂŽÂ•Â˘ČąÂŒÂ•ÂŽÂŠÂ›ČąÂ‘Â˜Â Čą Â›ÂœÇŻČą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Čą ”—Ž ȹ ›ǯȹ ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘ÇŻČą Š—¢ȹŽ•Ž–Ž—Â?ÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Č‚ÂœČą life, however, seem to suggest that she and Fr. McElroy were acquaintances or perhaps even friends. Mrs. Madison had a strong connection to Georgetown College primarily through her hus‹Š—Â?ÇŻČą —ȹ ŗŞŗśǰȹ ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Čą œ’Â?—ŽÂ?Čą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Č‚ÂœČąÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â?Ž›ǯ325 Also, Mr. Madison had a close ›Ž•ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÂ‘Â’Â™Čą  ’Â?‘ȹ Â˜Â‘Â—Čą ÂŠÂ›Â›Â˜Â•Â•Ç°Čą Â?‘Žȹ ž—’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?Â˘Č‚ÂœČą Â?˜ž—Â?Ž›ǯȹ ‘’•Žȹ ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂœÂŽÂ›Â&#x;’—Â?ČąÂŠÂœČą Â‘Â˜Â–ÂŠÂœČą ÂŽÂ?Â?ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂ˜Â—Č‚ÂœČą ŽŒ›ŽÂ?ÂŠÂ›Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â?ŠÂ?ÂŽÇ°ČąÂ?‘Ž—ȏ Â›ÂŒÂ‘Â‹Â’ÂœÂ‘Â˜Â™Čą ÂŠÂ›Â›Â˜Â•Â•Čą Â?ŠŒ’•’Â?ŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ –ŠÂ?›’Œž•ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą Š¢—Žǰȹ Â˜Â•Â•ÂŽÂ˘Čą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Č‚ÂœČąÂœÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?Â›Â˜Â–ČąÂ‘ÂŽÂ›ČąÄ™Â›ÂœÂ?ȹ–Š››’ŠÂ?ÂŽÇ°ČąÂ?Â˜Čą Â?ÇŻČą ÂŠÂ›Â˘Č‚ÂœČą ÂŒÂ‘Â˜Â˜Â•Čą ’—ȹ Š•Â?Â’Â–Â˜Â›ÂŽÇŻ326 Additionally, –Š—¢ȹ ˜Â?Čą Â›ÂœÇŻČą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Č‚ÂœČą Â?›’Ž—Â?ÂœČą Š—Â?Čą ›Ž•ŠÂ?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČą sent their daughters to Georgetown Visitation, a ÂœÂŒÂ‘Â˜Â˜Â•Čą Â?Â˜Â›Čą Â˘Â˜ÂžÂ—Â?Čą •ŠÂ?Â’ÂŽÂœČą ŠĜ•’ŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą  ’Â?‘ȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽtown College. As Fr. McElroy had been a member of the Georgetown community since 1806,327 it is not a stretch to believe that Fr. McElroy and Mrs. Madison knew each other. Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Â?ÂŽÂĄÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ•ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?Šž—Â?’—Â?Ç°ČąÂ’Â—ÂŒÂ•ÂžÂ?-

ing nationwide disagreement over issues of exÂ™ÂŠÂ—ÂœÂ’Â˜Â—Â’ÂœÂ–Čą Š—Â?Čą œ•ŠÂ&#x;Ž›¢ǯȹ žÂ?Čą ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž—ȹ ÂŠÂœČą Â?Â‘Â’ÂœČą •ŽĴŽ›ȹ Â?Â˜ÂŽÂœČąÂ•Â’Ä´Â•ÂŽČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂŠÂ?Â?Â›ÂŽÂœÂœČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ‘Â˜Â?ČŹÂ‹ÂžÄ´Â˜Â—ČąÂ™Â˜Â•Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ’Âœsues slavery, it does broaden our understanding of a few equally important, religious and social tensions of the time: xenophobia and anti-Catholicism.

As previously mentioned, an incident occurred at the outbreak of the Mexican War that exposed the nativist and anti-Catholic tendencies of many men in the U.S. army. Moreover, ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą •ŽŠÂ?ÂŽÂ›ÂœČą ŠĴŽ–™Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Čą –˜Â?Â’Â&#x;ŠÂ?ÂŽČą Â?‘Ž’›ȹ country and their soldiers with claims that Polk Â ÂŠÂœČą ŠĴŽ–™Â?’—Â?Čą Š—ȹ Š—Â?Â’ČŹ ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒČą Œ›žœŠÂ?ÂŽÇŻ328 The mistreatment of U.S. Catholic servicemen coupled with the anti-Catholic crusade rhetoric from Mexico motivated Polk to try and appease ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒČą Œ˜—Â?’—Â?Ž—Â?ÂœÇŻČą ÂŽČą Šœ”ŽÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ›˜Â&#x;Â’Â—ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą Counsel of Bishops, which met in Maryland in May of 1846, to recommend two Catholic priest to serve as chaplains. Directed to Georgetown ˜••ŽÂ?ÂŽÇ°Čą Â˜Â•Â”ČąÂ?˜ž—Â?Čą ›ǯȹ ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘ČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂŠÂ—Â˜Â?‘Ž›ȹ ÂŽsuit by the name of Fr. Rey.329 Čą Œ˜—ęÂ?Ž—Â?’Š•ȹ •ŽĴŽ›ȹ  ›’ĴŽ—ȹ ‹¢ȹ ŽŒ›ŽÂ?Š›¢ȹ ˜Â?Čą Š›ȹ ’••’Š–ȹ ÂŠÂ›ÂŒÂ˘ČąÂ?Â˜Čą ÂŠÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â˘Čą ÂŠÂ˘Â•Â˜Â›ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â&#x;Â’Â?ÂŽÂœČą ÂœÂ?ž——’—Â?Čą ÂŽÂ&#x;Â’Â?ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą ˜Â?Čą ›Žœ’Â?Ž—Â?Čą Â˜Â•Â”Č‚ÂœČą –˜Â?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽÂœÇŻČą Marcy explains to Taylor that Polk was very aware and nervous of his Catholic controversy.

Marcy makes clear that the maneuver was purely political, and that, constitutionally speaking, Polk could not appoint chaplains. Fr. McElroy and Fr. Rey were to serve in that capacity anyway, only without formal title.

Another alarming fact that sheds light onto Â˜Â•Â”Č‚ÂœČą Â?›žŽȹ –˜Â?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČą Â’ÂœČą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą ›ǯȹ ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘Čą Š—Â?Čą ›ǯȹ Rey were paid by secret service funds. As they were not actually commissioned as chaplains, Â?‘Ž¢ȹ Œ˜ž•Â?—ȂÂ?Čą ›ŽŒŽ’Â&#x;ÂŽČą Â˜ÄœÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą ™Š¢ǯȹ —œÂ?ŽŠÂ?Čą Â?‘Ž¢ȹ were enlisted as regular civilian employees to the U.S. Army. Polk did this to quell the Protestant backlash that would result from pandering Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒÂœÇŻČą ÂŽČą ÂŠÂ•ÂœÂ˜Čą ŠÂ&#x;˜’Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ’—‘Ž›Ž—Â?Čą unconstitutionality of the situation.330 Â›Â˜Â—Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘Ç°Čą ›ǯȹ ÂŒ Â•Â›Â˜Â˘Č‚ÂœČąÂ˜Â Â—ČąÂ?‘Ž˜•˜Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ’Â—tolerance toward Protestants can be seen in his Â“Â˜ÂžÂ›Â—ÂŠÂ•ÂœČąÂ?ž›’—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Š›ǯȹ ÂŽČąÂ?ÂŽÂœÂŒÂ›Â’Â‹ÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?ž›-

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

65

Georgetown, Dolley Madison, and the Mexican-American War |

ing his time in Mexico he baptized about 100 non-Catholics, saying, he was â€œâ€Ś consoled that they all made a happy end,â€? 331 suggesting that only through conversion to Catholicism would Â?‘Žȹ Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą œŽ›Â&#x;Â’ÂŒÂŽÂ–ÂŽÂ—Čą •ŽŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČą ŽŠ›Â?‘ȹ ’—ȹ ˜Â?Č‚ÂœČą good graces.

As an additional note of interest, Dolley ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Č‚ÂœČąÂ™ÂŠÂ›Â?’Œ’™ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘ŽȹŽÂ&#x;Ž—Â?ÂœČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Â?›ŠœÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą  ’Â?‘ȹ ‘Ž›ȹ ‘žœ‹Š—Â?Č‚ÂœČą Â˜Â Â—Čą Â˜Â™Â’Â—Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČą Œ˜—ŒŽ›—’—Â?Čą Â–ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂ˜Â?ȹ›Ž•’Â?Â’Â˜ÂžÂœČąÂŽÂœÂ?Š‹•’œ‘–Ž—Â?ÇŻČą Â—ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ–ÂŽÂ–Â˜Â’Â›ÂœÇ°Čą ÂŠÂ–ÂŽÂœČą ŠÂ?Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—Čą –ŠÂ?ÂŽČą Â’Â?Čą Â&#x;Ž›¢ȹ ÂŒÂ•ÂŽÂŠÂ›Čą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą ‘Žȹ ꛖ•¢ȹ‹Ž•’ŽÂ&#x;ÂŽÂ?ȹ’—ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂŽÂ™ÂŠÂ›ÂŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂŒÂ‘ÂžÂ›ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂŠÂ—Â?Čą ÂœÂ?ŠÂ?ÂŽÇŻČą ŽȹŽÂ&#x;Ž—ȹ Ž—Â?ČąÂŠÂœČąÂ?ÂŠÂ›ČąÂŠÂœČąÂœÂŠÂ˘Â’Â—Â?ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂžÂœÂŽČą of chaplains in the military was unconstitutional, calling it a clear violation of the establishment clause.332

ŃœŃ›Ń?Ń™Ń˘Ń Ń–ŃœŃ› Through Fr. McElroy and Fr. Rey an important precedent was set, one that would have a large impact on a war fought only a few years later. The secretive appointment of Catholic Chaplains during the Mexican-American War, facilitated by an unusual intermediary in Dolley Madison, served as precursor to Catholic ’—Â&#x;˜•Â&#x;Ž–Ž—Â?Čą ’—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ Â’Â&#x;’•ȹ Š›ǯȹ Â‘Â’ÂœČą •ŽĴŽ›ǰȹ ‹¢ȹ ›ŽÂ&#x;ŽŠ•’—Â?Čą Â˜Â•Â”Č‚ÂœČą ’—Â?Ž—Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â?Â˜Čą ÂŠÂ™Â™ÂŽÂŠÂœÂŽČą ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒČą ’—Â?Ž›ŽœÂ?ÂœÇ°ČąÂ’Â•Â•ÂžÂœÂ?›ŠÂ?ÂŽÂœČąÂŠČąÂ‹Â›Â˜ÂŠÂ?Ž›ȹŠĴŽ–™Â?ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‹Â›Â’Â?Â?ÂŽČą ÂœÂ˜ÂŒÂ’ÂŠÂ•Čą Š—Â?Čą Œž•Â?ž›Š•ȹ Â?Â’Â&#x;Â’Â?ÂŽÂœÇŻČą Â?Čą ÂŠÂ•ÂœÂ˜Čą ‹ŽÂ?Â›ÂŠÂ˘ÂœČą Â?‘Žȹ ›ŽŠœ˜—’—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ–Â™Â?Ç°ČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‹Â˜Â•ÂœÂ?Ž›ȹ Â?‘Žȹ Â–ÂŽÂ›Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—ČąÂŠÂ›Â–Â˘ČąÂŠÂ—Â?ȹ’Â?ÂœČąÂ ÂŠÂ›ČąÂŽÄ›Â˜Â›Â?ÂœČąÂ’Â—ČąÂœÂ™Â’Â?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą cultural divides between Protestants and Catholics. The lasting consequence was an increase in Â?‘Žȹ —ž–‹Ž›ȹ ˜Â?Čą ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒÂœČą Ä™Â?‘Â?’—Â?Čą Â?Â˜Â›Čą Â?‘Žȹ Š›–¢ǰȹ including a number within the Union Army even greater than the number that fought during the Mexican-American War. The role of Catholic chaplains, throughout this evolution, fostered and encouraged Catholic participation in war efforts. Without the contributions of Fr. Rey and Fr. McElroy, the Union may not have tapped into the weight of Catholic soldiers.333

66

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

Ń›Ń›ŃœŃĄŃŽŃĄŃ’Ń‘Čą Ń’ŃĽŃĄ

Čą

Čą

Mrs. D. Madison Wife of President Madison Sent to Under Courier334 Â˜Čą ÂŠÄ´ÂŠÂ–Â˜Â›Â˜ÂœÇ°Čą ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂŒÂ˜335 Brigadier General Taylor Matamoros, Revd. Mr. McElroy Mexico Šœ‘’—Â?Â?Â˜Â—Čą ž—ŽȹŞth 1846

Â?ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ Â’Â?Â‘ČąÂœÂ’Â—Â?ÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›ČąÂ™Â•ÂŽÂŠÂœÂŽÂ›ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą ČąÂ?›ŽŽÂ?Čą Ž—eral Taylor with many wishes for the continuance of his health, good fortune and that beautiful determination to mercy, which embellishes the Patriots glory with which he has covered himself with.336 The respected and good chaplain McElroy who will present these lines to you has been long known to me337 as one of high character and regarded by all as one of a pure spirit, and integrity.338Čą ČąÂ?›žœÂ?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂ Â’Â•Â•Čą meet him happily.339

Čą

Â˜ÂžÂ›Čą ›’Ž—Â?ȹŠ—Â?Čą Ž•ŠÂ?’˜—ǰ340 D.P. Madison

Michael Meaney is a junior is in the Edmund A. ÂŠÂ•ÂœÂ‘Čą ÂŒÂ‘Â˜Â˜Â•Čą ˜Â?Čą ˜›Ž’Â?—ȹ Ž›Â&#x;Â’ÂŒÂŽČą ÂœÂ?žÂ?¢’—Â?Čą —Â?Ž›—Štional Politics.

Čą

An Interview with Fr. David Collins Michael Clark

T

‘ŽȹÂ&#x;Â˜Â•ÂžÂ–ÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ‹Â˜Â˜Â”ÂœČąÄ™Â•Â•Â’Â—Â?Čą ŠÂ?‘Ž›ȹ Â˜Â•Â•Â’Â—Č‚ÂœČąÂ Â’Â—Â?Â˜Â Â•ÂŽÂœÂœČąÂ˜ÄœÂŒÂŽČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ČąÂœÂŽÂŽÂ–Čą Â?Â˜ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—ÂœÂžÂ–ÂŽČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžÇ°ČąÂ—ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž›ȹ•ŽĴ’—Â?ČąÂ˘Â˜ÂžČąÂ?˜›get that they are there. Despite the fact that he is a medieval historian who focuses mainly on intellectual and cultural history (with a special current interest in the history of science and magic), he is not trapped in the Middle Ages. ‘Žȹ Â&#x;Â˜Â•ÂžÂ–ÂŽÂœČą ˜Â?Čą Â‹Â˜Â˜Â”ÂœČą ꕕ’—Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ œ‘Ž•Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČą ˜Â?Čą Â‘Â’ÂœČą Â˜ÄœÂŒÂŽČąÂ›ÂŽÂ™Â›ÂŽÂœÂŽÂ—Â?’—Â?ȹ•Š›Â?ÂŽČąÂœÂ ÂŠÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ™ÂŠÂœÂ?ȹŠ›Žȹ the limit of his desires to travel back in time; Â Â‘ÂŽÂ—ČąÂŠÂœÂ”ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ“Â˜Â”Â’Â—Â?•¢ȹ’Â?ȹ‘ŽȂÂ?ȹ›ŠÂ?‘Ž›ȹ•’Â&#x;Žȹ’—ȹÂ?‘Žȹŗřth ŒŽ—Â?ž›¢ǰȹ‘Žȹ•ŠžÂ?‘ŽÂ?ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂŠÂœÂ”ÂŽÂ?ȹ’Â?Čą ČąÂ ÂŠÂœČąÂ”Â’Â?Â?’—Â?ÇŻČą Georgetown University, like the country it has grown up with, has changed greatly since 1789. The education required for its citizenry has changed too. As an educator and as a member of Â?‘Žȹ ˜Œ’ŽÂ?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą ÂŽÂœÂžÂœÇ°Čą ŠÂ?‘Ž›ȹ Â˜Â•Â•Â’Â—ÂœČąÂ?Â‘Â’Â—Â”ÂœČąÂ‘Â’ÂœČąÂ“Â˜Â‹Čą is neither to bemoan the lack of Aquinas or Aristotle in the classroom nor idealize the past but to face the challenges of students and society today with the help of the lessons from yesterday.

Whether he is elaborating on a certain point in class or driving a student to clarify and expand on an idea in a discussion section, he cannot hide his excitement for what he teaches students toÂ?Š¢ǯȹ Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ‘Â’Â–ČąÂ’ÂœÂ—Č‚Â?ČąÂ“ÂžÂœÂ?ČąČƒÂ˜Â—ÂŽČŹÂ?Š–—ȏÂ?‘’—Â?Čą after anotherâ€? but a carefully crafted storyline of the notable people and events and a host of other pieces of evidence. While the content itself is important, the process of analysis develops capacities useful for students to take outside of Â?‘Žȹ ž—’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?¢ǯȹ ‘Žȹ ÂœÂ?žÂ?Ž—Â?ÂœČą ŠĴŽ—Â?’—Â?Čą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽtown University are not the same students who ŠĴŽ—Â?ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ? Ž—Â?¢ȏęÂ&#x;ÂŽČąÂ˜Â›ČąÂŽÂ&#x;Ž—ȹęÂ?Â?Â˘ČąÂ˘ÂŽÂŠÂ›ÂœČąÂŠÂ?Â˜ČąÂŠÂ—Â?Čą ÂŽÂĄÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ?ČąÂ?’쎛Ž—Â?ČąÂ˜ÂžÂ?ÂŒÂ˜Â–ÂŽÂœČąÂ?Â›Â˜Â–ČąÂ?‘Ž’›ȹŽÂ?žŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÇŻČą

When asked about this change, Collins said Â‘ÂŽČąÂ Â˜ÂžÂ•Â?ČąÂ•Â˜Â&#x;Žȹ’Â?ȹ’Â?Čą ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒČąÂœÂ?žÂ?Ž—Â?ÂœČąÂ ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂ‹ÂŽÄ´ÂŽÂ›Čą catechized in the faith as they generally were in Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Č‚ÂœČąÂ™ÂŠÂœÂ?ÇŻČąČƒ Â˜ÂžČąÂŒÂŠÂ—Č‚Â?ČąÂ›Â˜Â•Â•ČąÂ‹ÂŠÂŒÂ”ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ•Â˜ÂŒÂ”Čą Â?‘˜žÂ?Â‘Č„ČąÂ‘ÂŽČąÂœÂŠÂ’Â?ÇŻČąČƒ Â˜ÂžČąÂŒÂŠÂ—Č‚Â?ȹ™›ŽÂ?Ž—Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂœÂ?žÂ?Ž—Â?ÂœČą Â?˜Â?Š¢ȹ Š›Ž—ȂÂ?Čą ’—ȹ Š—ȹ ÂŽÂ?žŒŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘Čą Â?’쎛Ž—Â?Čą Â™Â•ÂŠÂŒÂŽČą Â?‘Š—ȹ Â?‘Ž¢ȹ  Ž›Žȹ Šȹ ‘Š•Â?Čą ŒŽ—Â?ž›¢ȹ ŠÂ?Â˜ÇŻČ„Čą žÂ?Čą Â‘ÂŽČ‚ÂœČą Â•Â’Â”ÂŽÂ Â’ÂœÂŽČąÂœÂ”ÂŽÂ™Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂŒÂ•ÂŠÂ’Â–ÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?‘Žȹž—’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?Â˘Č‚ÂœČą Â“Â˜Â‹ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?‘Žȹ›Ž–ŽÂ?Â’ÂŠÂ•ČąÂ Â˜Â›Â”ČąÂ?Â˜Â˜ÇŻČą 옛Â?ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą nineteen and twenty-year old kids to believe in God as if they were still twelve are silly. Students, regardless of their religious background, need to be challenged with questions and ideas appropriate to their intellectual capacity.

Despite more than two centuries of history, the heart of a Georgetown education has re–Š’—ŽÂ?ČąÂ™ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÂ—Â—Â’ÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘ČąÂ’Â—ÄšÂžÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂ?ȹ‹¢ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ–Â’ÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ ˜Œ’ŽÂ?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą ÂŽÂœÂžÂœÇŻČą Â—ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘ŽȹÂ?›ŽŠÂ?ÂŽÂœÂ?ČąÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ›Â?ÂŽÂœČą ˜Â?Čą Â?‘Žȹ Žœž’Â?ÂœČą Â’ÂœČą Â?Â˜Čą Â?Â˜Čą ˜žÂ?Čą Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ Â?›˜—Â?Â’ÂŽÂ›ÂœÇ°Čą Š—Â?Čą there, on the margins, to explore, defend, and expand the Catholic faith. Father Collins remarked that he has been especially encouraged by Pope Šž•ȹ Č‚ÂœČąÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•ČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ˜Œ’ŽÂ?Â˘ČąÂ˜Â?Čą ÂŽÂœÂžÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ’Â—Â&#x;ÂŽÂœÂ?Â’gate and address the challenge of atheism, in few places more prevalent than the modern western ŠŒŠÂ?Ž–¢ǯȹ ÂŽČąÂ—Â˜Â?ÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂŠÂœČąÂŠČąÂ™ÂŠÂ›Â?Â’ÂŒÂžÂ•ÂŠÂ›ČąÂ’Â›Â˜Â—Â˘ČąÂ?Â’Â&#x;Ž—ȹ Â?‘Žȹ ž—’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?Â˘Č‚ÂœČą ˜›’Â?Â’Â—ÂœÇŻČą —ȹ Ĺ˜Ĺ–Ĺ–ĹžÇ°Čą Â?‘Žȹ ˜Œ’ŽÂ?¢ȹ ›ŽŠĜ›–ŽÂ?Čą Â’Â?ÂœČą Â–Â’ÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—Čą Â?Â˜Čą ™›˜Â&#x;Â’Â?ÂŽČą Šȹ Â?‘˜žÂ?‘Â?Â?ž•ȹ check upon “the spread of a dominant culture,â€? which “has been marked by subjectivism, moral relativism, hedonism, and practical materialism leading to‌ a new apostolic challenge and op™˜›Â?ž—’Â?¢ȄȹÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Žœž’Â?ÂœČąÇť ÂŽÂŒÂ›ÂŽÂŽÂœČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Ž—Ž›Š•ȹ ˜—Â?›ŽÂ?ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąĹ™Ĺ›ÇźÇŻČą ŠÂ?‘Ž›ȹ Â˜Â•Â•Â’Â—ÂœČąÄ™Â›Â–Â•Â˘ČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ•Â’ÂŽÂ&#x;ÂŽÂœČą Â?‘ŠÂ?Čą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—ČąÂŠÄ´Â›ÂŠÂŒÂ?ÂœČąÂœÂ?žÂ?Ž—Â?ÂœČąÂ Â‘Â˜ČąÂ?ÂŠÂ”ÂŽČąÂœÂŽÂ›Â’ously the life of the mind and also have serious

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

67

—ȹ —Â?Ž›Â&#x;’Ž ȹ ’Â?‘ȹ ›ǯȹ ŠÂ&#x;Â’Â?Čą ˜••’—œ |

questions about God, and more broadly, religion.

Collins noted that the university must be reœ™˜—œ’Â&#x;ÂŽČą Â?Â˜Čą Â?‘Žȹ œ‘’Â?Â?’—Â?Čą Œ˜—Â?Â’Â?Â’Â˜Â—Čą ˜Â?Čą ÂœÂ?žÂ?Ž—Â?Č‚ÂœČą Š››’Â&#x;’—Â?ČąÂ˜Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ’••Â?Â˜Â™Ç°ČąÂ‘Â˜Â ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž›ǯȹ Â?žÂ?Ž—Â?ÂœČąÂ‘ÂŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČą Â?’쎛Ž—Â?Čą ’—Â?Ž›ŽœÂ?ÂœČą Š—Â?Čą Â?ÂŽÂœÂ’Â›ÂŽÂœČą Â?‘Š—ȹ Â?‘Ž¢ȹ Â?Â’Â?Čą ’—ȹ Â?Â‘ÂŽČąÂ™ÂŠÂœÂ?ǰȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹž—’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?Â˘ČąÂ–ÂžÂœÂ?ȹ›Ž–Š’—ȹŠĴž—ŽÂ?Čą and responsive to the tides of the times. While Â?‘Ž¢ȹ ‘ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČą •’Ĵ•Žȹ Š‹’•’Â?¢ȹ Â?Â˜Čą Œ‘Š—Â?ÂŽČą Â?‘Žȹ  Š¢ȹ ÂœÂ?ždents come to them, the university has a responsibility to help guide the interests of students by posing good questions. Father Collins takes ÂœÂŽÂ›Â’Â˜ÂžÂœÂ•Â˘Čą Â?Â‘ÂŽÂœÂŽČą Œ‘Š••Ž—Â?ÂŽÂœČą Š—Â?Čą Â‘ÂŠÂœČą Œ˜—ęÂ?ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČą in the value of the liberal arts and theology in ™˜œ’—Â?Čą Â?Â‘ÂŽÂœÂŽČą Â?Â˘Â™ÂŽÂœČą ˜Â?Čą ’—Â?˜›–ŠÂ?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽČą šžŽœÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœÇŻČą —ȹ Â‘Â’ÂœČąÄ™ÂŽÂ•Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ‘Â’ÂœÂ?Â˜Â›Â˘Ç°Čą ŠÂ?‘Ž›ȹ Â˜Â•Â•Â’Â—ÂœČąÂ˜Â‹ÂœÂŽÂ›Â&#x;ÂŽÂ?ČąÂ?‘ŠÂ?Čą there is “something intrinsically social about the liberal arts in that they are about understanding the human experience and engaging the fellow human.â€? Meaningful endeavors into these areas of study are done among others, creating a dialogue between members of the various faculties and their students alike.

Father Collins thinks that the communal dimension of the liberal arts themselves and the ways that students might be introduced to them point to the value of a core curriculum. Engaging ’—ȹŠ—Â?ČąÂ?˜œÂ?Ž›’—Â?ČąÂ?Â’ÂœÂŒÂžÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂœÂŽÂ›Â’Â˜ÂžÂœČąÂ–ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ÂœČąÂ˜Â?Čą intellectual discourse requires shared materials. “Right now there is no course in the College that everyone has to take,â€? he noted. The closest universal course at Georgetown is “The Problem of ˜Â?Ç°Č„Čą ‹žÂ?Čą ÂŽÂ&#x;Ž—ȹ Â?‘Ž›Žȹ Â?Â’Ä›ÂŽÂ›ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂœČą ÂŽÂĄÂ’ÂœÂ?Čą ‹ŽÂ? ŽŽ—ȹ œŽŒÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČą ˜ěŽ›ŽÂ?ÇŻČą ‘ŠÂ?Čą ÂŒÂ˜Â–Â–Â˜Â—Čą ÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ›ÂœÂŽÂœČą Â?ŠŒ’•’tate, Collins believes, is the easier continuation of conversations begun inside the classroom outside the classroom and vice versa. Problem of God is especially suitable in such a role because Â’Â?ÂœČąÂœÂžÂ‹Â“ÂŽÂŒÂ?ČąÂ–ÂŠÄ´ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?‘Ž˜•˜Â?Â˘Ç°ČąÂŠČąÂŒÂ›Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂŠÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŒÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Č‚ÂœČą Žœž’Â?ČąÂ’Â—ÄšÂžÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇŻČą Â?ČąÂ˜Ä›ÂŽÂ›ÂœÇ°ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂŠÂ—ČąÂŠÂ?ÂŽČą where Collins fears many question the intellec-

68

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

tual value of religious inquiry, critical questions that students need—and indeed want—to grap™•Žȹ ’Â?‘ǯȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Č‚ÂœČą Žœž’Â?ČąÂ’Â—ÄšÂžÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ?’›ŽŒÂ?•¢ȹ impacts the creation of this dialogue between all members of the community. A commonly asked question, according to Father Collins, is “how do you foster a conversation outside the classroom inspired by one inside the classroom?â€? Enhancing the strength of the core curriculum through more common classes can only help orient students towards serious intellectual engagement ˜Â?ČąÂŒÂ›Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•ČąÂšÂžÂŽÂœÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ÂœČąÂŠÂ?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ‘ŽŠ›Â?ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Č‚ÂœČą mission. The communal aspects of writing, analysis and discussion that shape and inform the liberal arts and theology prepares students, ’—ȹ Â˜Â•Â•Â’Â—ÂœČ‚ČąÂ&#x;Â’ÂŽÂ Ç°ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ•Â’Â?ŽȹŠÂ?Â?Ž›ȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ workforce and more importantly, in enriching the whole person.

The principles that inform and shape GeorgeÂ?Â˜Â Â—Č‚ÂœČąÂ–Â’ÂœÂœÂ’Â˜Â—ČąÂŠÂ›ÂŽČąÂ?‘Žȹ‘ŽŠ›Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?Â›ÂžÂŽČąÂŠÂŒÂŠÂ?ÂŽÂ–Â’ÂŒČąÂŽÂ—deavors in the liberal arts and theology. The act of engaging in these great questions sparks the growth of students throughout their four years Â˜Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ ’••Â?Â˜Â™ČąÂŠÂ—Â?ȹ’—ȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ’Â›ČąÂ›Â˜Â•ÂŽČąÂ’Â—ČąÂœÂ˜ÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ?Â˘ČąÂ‹ÂŽÂ˘Â˜Â—Â?Čą the front gates. The opportunity Georgetown —’Â&#x;Ž›œ’Â?¢ȹ Â‘ÂŠÂœČą ÂŠÂœČą Šȹ Žœž’Â?Čą ’—œÂ?Â’Â?žÂ?Â’Â˜Â—Čą Â?˜ž—Â?ÂŽÂ?Čą alongside the United States is profound. While the unceasing changes of time have shaped the  ˜›•Â?Čą Â?›Š–ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ•Â•Â˘Čą ÂœÂ’Â—ÂŒÂŽČą Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Č‚ÂœČą Â?˜ž—Â?ing, the principles at the core of the mission have remained. Father Collins embodies this type of learning in all of his classes, whether sparking conversation in a discussion section or framing issues for students in his lectures. The cultivation of students with deep, intellectual questions is what Georgetown has done and will continue Â?Â˜ČąÂœÂ?Š—Â?ČąÂ?Â˜Â›ČąÂ Â’Â?‘ȹ Žœž’Â?ÂœČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ™Â›Â˜Â?ÂŽÂœÂœÂ˜Â›ÂœČąÂ•Â’Â”ÂŽČą Šther Collins at the front lines. Â’ÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂŽÂ•Čą Â•ÂŠÂ›Â”ČąÂ’ÂœČąÂŠČąÂœÂ˜Â™Â‘Â˜Â–Â˜Â›ÂŽČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Ž˜›Â?ÂŽÂ?Â˜Â Â—Čą ˜••ŽÂ?ÂŽČąÂ˜Â?Čą ›Â?ÂœČąÇ­Čą ÂŒÂ’ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÂœČąÂœÂ?žÂ?¢’—Â?Čą ˜Â&#x;Ž›—–Ž—Â?ÇŻ

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

This article is unavailable for public access at this time.

Endnotes The Forum ŗȱ

ȱ ¢ǰȱ ¢ ȱ ȱǻ DZȱ ǰȱŘŖŖŖǼǰȱŝŖȬŝŗǯ

2

Frederick Wilhelmsen, “Great Books: Enemies of Wisdom?” Modern Age, Summer/Fall, 1987, 331.

řȱ

ȱ ¡ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ě ǰȱŘŖŖŞǼǯ

4

Wilhelmsen, 329.

śȱ

ȱ ǰȱȃ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱǭȱ ȱ Understanding (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 2006), 303.

Ŝȱ

ǰȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǯȱǻ DZȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ 1991), 299.

7

Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, Preface, 11.

Şȱ

ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱǯŚŘǼ

9

Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, xi.

10

(Preface CPR pg. 25)

11

Kant. “Theory and Practice,” 62.

ŗŘȱ

ǯǰȱŞŗ

ŗřȱ

ǯǰȱŞŗ

ŗŚȱ

ǯǰȱŞŖ

ŗśȱ

ǯǰŞŗ

ŗŜȱ

ǯǰȱŞŚ

ŗŝȱ

ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢Ȅȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱǻ ȱ DZȱ 1956), 44.

18

Michael B. Oren, ǰȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¢DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗŝŝŜȱ ȱ ȱ , ǻ ȱ DZȱ ǯ ǯȱ ȱǭȱ ¢ǰȱŘŖŖŝǼȱǰȱŗŖŞǯ

ŗşȱ

ǯ

ŘŖȱ

ǯ

Řŗȱ

ǯǰȱŗŗŖǯ

ŘŘȱ

ǯǰȱŗŖŞǯ

23

Paul Constantine Pappas, ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗŞŘŗȬŗŞŘŞ, ǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱŗşŞśǼ

24

Oren, Power, Faith, and Fantasy, 109.

Řśȱ

ǯ

ŘŜȱ

ȱ ǯȱ ĴǰȱDaniel Webster,ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ǯ ǯȱ ȱǭȱ ¢ǰȱŗşŝŞǼǰȱŗŖŗǯ

74

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

27

Daniel Webster, ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ǰȱŗŝşŞȬŗŞŘŚ. Charles M. Wiltse and

ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǯǰȱ ǯȱŗǰȱǻ ǰȱ ǯ ǯDZȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗşŝŚǼǰȱřřśǯ

28

Daniel Webster, ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗŞŖŖȬŗŞřř. ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ £ ǰȱ ǯǰȱ ǯȱŗǰȱǻ ǰȱ ǯ ǯDZȱ ¢ȱ ȱ of New England, 1986), 86.

Řşȱ

Ĵǰȱ ȱ ǰȱŗŖŘǯ

30

Wiltse and Berolzheimer, Speeches and Formal Writings, 101.

řŗȱ

ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŘşȬřŖǯ

32

Wiltse and Moser, Correspondence, 332-333.

řřȱ

Ĵǰȱ ȱ ǰȱŗŖŘǯ

řŚȱ

ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱřŖǯ

řśȱ

ǯǰȱřŗǯ

řŜȱ

ǯ

řŝȱ

ǯǰȱŚřǯ

řŞȱ

ǯǰȱŚśǯ

39

Oren, Power, Faith, and Fantasy, 110.

ŚŖȱ

ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŚŞǯ

41

Oren, Power, Faith, and Fantasy, 110.

42

Alexander DeConde, ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱŘ ȱ ǯǰȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ǰȱŗşŝŗǼǰȱŗřşǯ

Śřȱ

ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱśŜǯ

The Chamber ŚŚȱ

ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ¢ȱ ę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ DZȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŘŖŖŖǼǰȱřŖŗǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ longer be room in them except for either democratic freedom or the tyranny of the Caesars,” but years later says “A tyranny of the Caesars was a scarecrow which could frighten no one.”

See Melvin Richter, “Tocqueville on Threats to Liberty in Democracies,” in The Cambridge Companion to Tocqueville, 245-275 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2006), 253.

Śśȱ

¡ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ¢ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱǻ DZȱ ǰȱŗşśŗǼǰȱŚŗŞǯ

46

Tocqueville, Democracy, 7, 662.

Śŝȱ

ǯǰȱ¡ ǯ

48

Tocqueville, Democracy, 650.

Śşȱ

ǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ DZȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱŗşŞşǼǰȱ ǯŗŖDZȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ by its nature.”

śŖȱ

ǯȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ Ě ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ¢DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ¢ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ Ǽǰȱ ǯȱ 41 (1996): 1-19, 1.

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

75

Tocqueville Forum Endnotes |

51

Tocqueville, Democracy, 661. As Pierre Manent argues, the location of the problem also in ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ of Guizot and Monstesquieu, each of whom stop at the level of institutional reform. See ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱǻ DZȱ ȱǭȱ Ĵ ę ǰȱŗşşŜǼǰȱśǯ

śŘȱ

ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱȃ ȱ Ȅȱ ȱ ȱ ǯ

śřȱ

ǯǰȱśŗŜǯ

śŚȱ

ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ DZȱ ȱ ǯȱ Press, 1987), 232.

55

Tocqueville, Democracy, 507. Cf. 603: “equality makes the passion for material enjoyments and the exclusive love of the present predominate in the human heart.”

śŜȱ

ǯǰȱśŖŜǯȃ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ losing it,” he states.

śŝȱ

ǯǰȱśŖŞǯȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǰȱśŜǯ

śŞȱ

ǯǰȱśŗśǯ

59

Tocqueville, Democracy, 608.

ŜŖȱ

ȱ ǰȱ DZȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ǯȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱǻ DZȱ ȱ ǰȱŗşŞŞǼǰȱřŜǯ

Ŝŗȱ

ǰȱ Ĵ ǰȱŘśŝǯȱ ǯȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǻ DZȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗşşŞǼǰȱŘŗŜȬŘŗŝǯȱȱ ȱ

ȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ long for freedom for its own sake.

62

Tocqueville, Democracy, 617.

63

Tocqueville, Democracy, 663.

ŜŚȱ

ǯȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗşŞŖǼǰȱŗŞŖǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ power which puts the administrative machine in motion can change without the machine ǯȄȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŘŝŖǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱŘŚŘǯ

65

Tocqueville, Democracy, 664.

66

Tocqueville, Democracy, 663.

Ŝŝȱ

ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱȃ ę ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱȃ ȱ ȱ dz ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȄȱ ȱ ¢ȱȃ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱŗŗŘŘ ŗȬŜǰȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱŘŖŖŗǼǯ

68

Tocqueville, Democracy, 485. Cf. Tocqueville, Old Regime, 87, and Roger Boesche, “The ȱ ȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ Ǽȱ ǰȱ ǯȱřȱǻŗşŞŗǼDZȱŚşśȬśŘŚǰȱśŘŖǯ

69

Tocqueville, Democracy, 662-3.

ŝŖȱ

ǯȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱǻ DZȱ Princeton Univ. Press, 1995), 111. Manent says mild despotism is a combination of French centralizing tendencies with American servility to public opinion.

76

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

71

Tocqueville, Democracy, 663.

72

Tocqueville, Democracy, 515.

ŝřȱ

ǯǰȱŜŜřǯ

ŝŚȱ

ǯǰȱŜŖśǯ

ŝśȱ

ǯǰȱŜŖŜǯ

ŝŜȱ

ǯǰȱŜŜřǯ

ŝŝȱ

ǯ

ŝŞȱ

ǯ

ŝşȱ

ǯǰȱŜŜŘǯ

ŞŖȱ

ǯ

81

Tocqueville, Democracy, 662.

ŞŘȱ

ǯDzȱ ǯ ǯȱŜŜŗǯ

Şřȱ

ǯ

ŞŚȱ

ǯǰȱŜŜŘȬřǯ

Şśȱ

ǯǰȱŜŜśǯ

ŞŜȱ

ǯǰȱŜŜřǯ

87

Tocqueville, Democracy, 519.

ŞŞȱ

ǯȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ¢ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ¢ǰȱŗşŝŗǼǰȱŘŚşǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ to be feared.”

Şşȱ

ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗşŞŖǼǰȱŗŝřǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱȁ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȂȄ

şŖȱ

ȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǼȱŚŖǰȱ ǯȱřȱǻ ¢ȱŗşŝŞǼDZȱřşŘȬŚŖśǯȱ ǯȱ ǰȱȃ ǰȄȱŘŚşǯ

şŗȱ

ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯŚǯ

şŘȱ

ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱȃ ¡ȱ Ȅȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯŗǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯŘDZȱ ȱȃ ȱ ȱ ě ȱ ¢ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ even the “smallest things, those required by humanity, are done or given for money…[and] ȱ ȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȄ

şřȱ

ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯŘǯ

şŚȱ

ǯ

şśȱ

ǯ

şŜȱ

ǯǰȱ ǯŘǯȱȱ ǯȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱǻ ǯȱ ȱ ǼȱŚřǰȱ ǯȱŚȱǻ ber 1990): 741-761, 749.

şŝȱ

ǰȱ ȱ Ĵ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱǻ ¡ DZȱ ¡ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱŘŖŖŞǼǰȱ 22.

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

77

Tocqueville Forum Endnotes |

şŞȱ

ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯŘǯȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǰȱśŜś ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱǻ DZȱ

ĴǰȱŗşşŝǼǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǰȱŗřŖś ŘŗǰȱŗřŖŚ ŘŖǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ theme of ambitious characters in Considerations on the Causes of the Greatness of the ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗşŜśǼǰȱşřǯ

şşȱ

ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯŘǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱȃ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ almost all tyrants have been demagogues,” Aristotle writes. Cf. Aristotle, Politics, 1310b15.

ŗŖŖȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯŝǯ ŗŖŗȱ ǯǰȱ ǯŗśǯ ŗŖŘȱ ǯ ŗŖřȱ ǯǰȱ ǯřǯ 104

Boesche, “Fearing Monarchs and Merchants,” 753.

ŗŖśȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱę ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ¡ ȱ ȱǻ DZȱ ǰȱŗşŗŘǼǰȱ ǯŜřǯȱ 106

This is why he needs to appoint a “vizier” to do the work of ruling for him. Cf. Montesquieu, ǰȱ ǯśǯȱ ǯȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱŝŚŚDZȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ comes lasting, despots leave the violence to those who rule in their names, while they fall into lethargy or “apathy” interrupted only by ceaseless rounds of sensual pleasures.”

ŗŖŝȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯşǯ ŗŖŞȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯşǯ ŗŖşȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯŗŖǯȱ ǯȱ ǯŗŚDZȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱȃ ǰȱ ǰȱ Ȭ ȱ ǯȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ě ȱ Ȃȱ ¢ǯȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǯŗȬřǰȱ ȱ ǰȱŚŖŖǯ 110

Montesquieu, Spirit, V.14. Thus there is no unity in this order. Cf. Montesquieu, Consideration, 94: “if we see any union [in despotism] it is not citizens who are united but dead bodies buried one next to the other.”

ŗŗŗȱ ȃ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ě ȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ Ƿȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢Dzȱę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱ Ě ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ Dzȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ǰȱŗŘşǯ 112

This is a term used by Dionysus of Syracuse to describe the harsh measures necessary to keep a populace subdued. See Plutarch, “Life of Dion,” in Lives of the Noble Grecians and ǰȱŘ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ¢ ȱǻ DZȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗşşŖǼǰȱŝŞŚǯ

ŗŗřȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ Ĵ ǰȱŞǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ę DZȱȃ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ dzǯȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ dz ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¢ȱ ě ence has come a deep-seated jealousy, which devours me.”

114

Boesche, “Fearing Monarchs and Merchants,” 746.

115

Cf. Tocqueville, Democracy, 661-2. Other important causes of the new character of the regime will be the “universal moderation” of the social state (although as we have seen this is also connected to materialism), as well as the new perfection of “administrative proceed-

78

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

ǯȄȱ ȱ ȱ ě ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ǰȱȃ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ dz ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ dz ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȄȱ ŗŗŜȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ DZȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱŘŖŖŘǼǰȱŜşǯ ŗŗŝȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯşǯȱ ŗŗŞȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯŘǯ ŗŗşȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱŘśŖǯȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ material enjoyments it could provide; not from fear, but bribery.” Cf. Richter, 256.

120

Cf. Krause, “Despotism,” 241: there will be no “courageous opposition.”

121

See Tocqueville, Democracy, 509, 662: enjoyment of material well-being is “moderate and tranquil,” and “passions are naturally contained…[and] pleasures simple.”

122

See footnote 58. cf. Pierre Manent, “Tocqueville, Political Philosopher,” in The Cambridge Companion to Tocqueville, trans. Arthur Goldhammer, 108-120 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2006), 115.

ŗŘřȱ ǰȱ ¢ǰȱśŖşǯȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ Ĵ ǰȱŗśŖȬŗǯȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱŗŞŚŗȱ he writes, “One cannot let a nation that is democratically constituted…take up easily the ȱ ȱ ę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ dzǽ Ǿȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ making railroads and by making prosper…the well-being of each private individual.” ŗŘŚȱ ǯ ǯȱ ǰȱȃ ¢ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȄȱThe Baltimore Evening Sun (Baltimore: The Balti ȱ ȱ DZȱ ¢ȱŘŜǰȱŗşŘŖǼǯ ŗŘśȱ ǯ ŗŘŜȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱAt the Limits of Political Philosophy (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1996) 218. ŗŘŝȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱȃ ȱ Ě ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ¢DZȱ ȱ ȱ of Democratic Tyranny,” ȱ ȱ ȱ , 41 (1996), 6. ŗŘŞȱ ǰȱŗŗǯ 129

Paul Kramer, “The Water Cure: Debating Torture and counterinsurgency—a century ago,” ȱ ȱ ǰȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱŘśǰȱŘŖŖŞǼǯȱȱ

ŗřŖȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ Ě ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ¢DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ anny,” 6-7. ŗřŗȱ ǰȱŗŗǯ 132

Kramer.

ŗřřȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ Ě ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ¢DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ anny,” 12. ŗřŚȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱȃ ȱ Ě ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ¢DZȱ The Problem of Democratic Tyranny,” 11. ŗřśȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ Ě ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ¢DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ anny,” 10. ŗřŜȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱȃ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ Accessed 23 February 2009. ŗřŝȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ Ě ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ¢DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ anny,” 7.

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

79

Tocqueville Forum Endnotes |

ŗřŞȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱȃ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ǯ ŗřşȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ¡ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱBrainyquote.com, Available Online, Accessed 17 February, 2009, Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯ ¢ ǯ Ȧ Ȧ Ȧ Ȧ ¡ ȏ ȏ ǯ . ŗŚŖȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ǰȱ Ĵ ȱ ǰȱ ǯǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ǻ DZȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱŗşŗŚǼǰȱŘşǯ ŗŚŗȱ ǯǰȱŘşȬŚŗǯ ŗŚŘȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯȱ ǰȱȱ ǯǰȱǻ DZȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ ǯǰȱŗşŚŞǼǰȱŗşǰȱřŗŚǯ ŗŚřȱ ǯǰȱřŗŚǯ ŗŚŚȱ ǯǰȱřřŚǯ ŗŚśȱ ǯǰȱŗşǯ ŗŚŜȱ ǯǰȱŗşȬŘřǯ ŗŚŝȱ ǯǰȱŘŝǯ ŗŚŞȱ ǯǰȱşǯ ŗŚşȱ ǯǰȱřȬŗŜǰȱŗŝŗȬŘŗřȱ ȱŘřŝȬŘŜŖǯ ŗśŖȱ ǯǰȱŘŜřǯ ŗśŗȱ ǯǰȱŘřřǯ ŗśŘȱ ǯǰȱŘŝŗȬŘşŖǯ ŗśřȱ ǯǰȱřśŘǯ ŗśŚȱ ǯǰȱřśŞȬřśşǯ ŗśśȱ ǯǰȱŘŜŘȬŘŜřǯ ŗśŜȱ ǰǯȱŘŞŚǯ

The Sanctuary ŗśŝȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱŗŗǰȱ ǯȱŗȱǻ ȱŘŖŖŞǼǰȱ Ĵ DZȦȦę ǯ Ȧ Ȧ Ȧ ȏŝŖŚŞȦ ȏŗȏŗŗȦ ȏ ŚŘŚŝřŞŜŜȦȱǻ ȱ ȱŘŝǰȱŘŖŗŖǼǯ ŗśŞȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ĵ Ȃ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱȱ ȱ ¢ǰȄȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱŗŗǰȱ ǯȱŗȱ ǻ ¢ȱŘŖŖŝǼǰȱ Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯ ǯ Ȧ ȏ ȏ ¢ȏŘŖŖŝǯ ȱǻ ȱ ȱŘŝǰȱŘŖŗŖǼǯ ŗśşȱ ȱ ĵ ǰȱ DZȱ ȱŗşŘŝȬŗşşŝȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ǰȱŗşŞŝǼǰȱŗŚŞȬŚşǯ ŗŜŖȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ DZȱ ȱ Press, 2008), 143. ŗŜŗȱ ȱ ĵ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱ Press, 2000), 8-9. ŗŜŘȱ ĵ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱŗşşǯ 163

Baldovin, Reforming the Liturgy, 67.

164

“Many protagonists of liturgical reform seemed to think that if we only did everything ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ -

80

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

fective‌They failed to notice that the actio [active participation] does not consist only or ™›’–Š›’•¢ȹ’—ȹÂ?‘ŽȹŠ•Â?Ž›ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂœÂ?Š—Â?’—Â?Ç°ČąÂœÂ’Ä´Â’Â—Â?ȹŠ—Â?ȹ”—ŽŽ•’—Â?ǰȹ‹žÂ?ČąÂ’Â—ČąÂ’Â—Â—ÂŽÂ›ČąÂ™Â›Â˜ÂŒÂŽÂœÂœÇł ˜–pared with the merely external busy-ness which became the rule in many places, the quiet “followingâ€? of Mass, as we knew it in former times, was far more realistic and dramatic: it was a sharing in the action at a deep level, and in it the community of faith was silently and powerfully mobilized. Of course, to say this is not to impugn “active participationâ€? as ȹ‘ŠÂ&#x;ÂŽČąÂ?Žę—ŽÂ?ȹ’Â?DzȹÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŒÂ›Â’Â?Â’ÂŒÂ’ÂœÂ–ČąÂ˜Â—Â•Â˘ČąÂŠÂ™Â™Â•Â’ÂŽÂœČąÂ Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂ?Â‘Â’ÂœČąÂ™ÂŠÂ›Â?’Œ’™ŠÂ?Â’Â˜Â—ČąÂ‘ÂŠÂœČąÂ?ÂŽÂ?Ž—Ž›ŠÂ?ÂŽÂ?ȹ’—Â?Â˜Čą –Ž›ŽȹŽ¥Â?ÂŽÂ›Â—ÂŠÂ•ÂœÇŻČ„Čą Šľ’—Â?Ž›ǰȹ ™’›’Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â’Â?ž›Â?¢ǰȹŞĹ&#x;ČŹĹ&#x;Ĺ–ÇŻČą Ĺ—ĹœĹ›Čą Čƒ Â?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂ’ÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂŠČąÂ›ÂŽÂŠÂ•ČąÂ™ÂŠÂ›Â?’Œ’™ŠÂ?Â’Â˜ČąÂŠÂŒÂ?ÂžÂ˜ÂœÂŠÇ°ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂ–ÂžÂœÂ?ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂœÂ’Â•ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇŻČ„Čą Â˜ÂœÂŽÂ™Â‘Čą Šľ’—Â?Ž›ǰȹ ŽŠœÂ?Čą ˜Â?Čą Š’Â?‘ǰȹÂ?Â›ÂŠÂ—ÂœÇŻČą ›Š‘Š–ȹ ÂŠÂ›Â›Â’ÂœÂ˜Â—ČąÇť Š—ȹ Â›ÂŠÂ—ÂŒÂ’ÂœÂŒÂ˜ÇąČą Â?—ŠÂ?Â’ÂžÂœČą Â›ÂŽÂœÂœÇ°ČąĹ—Ĺ&#x;ĹžĹœÇźÇ°ČąĹ?Ĺ˜Ç˛ČąČƒ ŽȹŠ›Žȹ›ŽŠ•’£’—Â?Čą more and more clearly that silence is part of the liturgy. We respond by singing and praying, to the God who addresses us, but the greater mystery, surpassing all words, summons ÂžÂœČąÂ?Â˜ČąÂœÂ’Â•ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽÇŻČą Â?ČąÂ–ÂžÂœÂ?Ç°ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂŒÂ˜ÂžÂ›ÂœÂŽÇ°ČąÂ‹ÂŽČąÂŠČąÂœÂ’Â•ÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ Â’Â?Â‘ČąÂŒÂ˜Â—Â?Ž—Â?Ç°ČąÂ—Â˜Â?ČąÂ“ÂžÂœÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽČąÂŠÂ‹ÂœÂŽÂ—ÂŒÂŽČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂœÂ™ÂŽÂŽÂŒÂ‘Čą and action. We should expect the liturgy to give us a positive stillness that will restore us.â€? Šľ’—Â?Ž›ǰȹ ™’›’Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â’Â?ž›Â?Â˘Ç°ČąĹ˜Ĺ–Ĺ&#x;ÇŻČą 166

“The positive content of the old eastward-facing direction lay [in]‌the priest and people together facing the same way in a common act of Trinitarian worship‌making the cosmos a sign of Christ‌ underlined very early on by the custom of placing a cross on the east wall of Christian meeting-houses‌The new celebration facing the people, a change which has taken place with amazing unanimity and speed, without any mandate‌[has the danger of making] the congregation into a closed circle which is no longer aware of the explosive ›’—’Â?Š›’Š—ȹÂ?Â˘Â—ÂŠÂ–Â’ÂœÂ–ČąÂ Â‘Â’ÂŒÂ‘ČąÂ?Â’Â&#x;ÂŽÂœČąÂ?‘Žȹ žŒ‘Š›’œÂ?ȹ’Â?ÂœČąÂ?›ŽŠÂ?Â—ÂŽÂœÂœÇŻČ„ČąČą Šľ’—Â?Ž›ǰȹ ŽŠœÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Š’Â?‘ǰȹ 140, 142.

Ĺ—ĹœĹ?Čą ČƒÇ˝ Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›ÇžČąÂ’Â—ÂœÂ’ÂœÂ?ÂœÇłÂ?‘ŠÂ?ČąÂ?Â‘ÂŽÂ›ÂŽČąÂ’ÂœČąÂœÂ?Â’Â•Â•ČąÂŠČąÂ™Â•ÂŠÂŒÂŽČąÂ?Â˜Â›Čą ŠÂ?’—ȹ’—ȹÂ?‘Žȹ•’Â?ž›Â?¢ǯȄȹ Š•Â?˜Â&#x;’—ǰȹ ÂŽÂ?˜›–’—Â?Čą the Liturgy, 78.

168

Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, Sacrosanctum ConciliumÇŻČą ŠÂ?Â’ÂŒÂŠÂ—Čą Ç°Čą ÂŽÂŒÂŽÂ–Â‹ÂŽÂ›ČąĹšÇ°ČąĹ—Ĺ&#x;ĹœĹ˜ÇŻČąČ—Čą 30.

Ĺ—ĹœĹ&#x;Čą ‹’Â?ÇŻÇ°ČąČ—ČąĹ™ĹœÇŻ Ĺ—Ĺ?Ĺ–Čą ‹’Â?ÇŻÇ°ČąČ—ČąĹ˜Ĺ™ÇŻ Ĺ—Ĺ?Ĺ—Čą Šľ’—Â?Ž›ǰȹ ŽŠœÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Š’Â?‘ǰȹŞŚǯȹ Ĺ—Ĺ?Ĺ˜Čą ‹’Â?ÇŻÇ°ČąĹžĹœÇŻČą Ĺ—Ĺ?řȹ Šľ’—Â?Ž›ǰȹ ™’›’Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â’Â?ž›Â?Â˘Ç°ČąĹ—ĹœĹžÇŻČą Ĺ—Ĺ?Śȹ Šľ’—Â?Ž›ǰȹ ŽŠœÂ?ČąÂ˜Â?Čą Š’Â?‘ǰȹŗŚĹ&#x;ȏŗśŖǯ Ĺ—Ĺ?śȹ Šľ’—Â?Ž›ǰȹ ™’›’Â?ČąÂ˜Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â’Â?ž›Â?¢ǰȹŗĹ&#x;Şǯ Ĺ—Ĺ?ĹœČą Â›ÂŠÂŒÂŽÂ˘Čą ˜ •Š—Â?Ç°Čą Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČą Š’Â?‘ȹǝ ÂŽÂ Čą Â˜Â›Â”ÇąČą ÂĄÂ?˜›Â?Čą Ç°ČąĹ˜Ĺ–Ĺ–ĹžÇźÇ°ČąĹ—Ĺ˜Ĺ?ÇŻČą Ĺ—Ĺ?Ĺ?Čą ÂŽÂ&#x;’—ȹ ÇŻČą Â›Â Â’Â—Ç°ČąČƒ žÂ?‘Ž—Â?Â’ÂŒČą Â˜Â›ÂœÂ‘Â’Â™ČąÂ’Â—Čą ™’›’Â?ȹŠ—Â?ȹ’—ȹ ›žÂ?‘ǰȄȹ ŠœÂ?Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ•Čą ÂžÂœÂ’ÂŒČąĹ™Ĺ™Ç°ČąÂ—Â˜ÇŻČąĹ—ČąÇť ÂŒÂ?Â˜Â‹ÂŽÂ›ČąĹ˜Ĺ–Ĺ–ĹžÇźÇ°ČąÂ‘Ä´Â™ÇąČŚČŚÂ’Â’Â–Â™ÇŻÂŒÂ‘ÂŠÂ?Â Â˘ÂŒÂ”ÇŻÂŒÂ˜Â–ČŚÂŠÂ›Â?Â’ÂŒÂ•ÂŽÂœČŚÂ?Â’ÂœÂ™Â•ÂŠÂ˘ Â?Ž–ǯÂ?Â˜Çľ žŽ›¢ ¢™ŽƽŠ›Â?’Œ•Žœǭ žŽ›¢ — Â?ÂŽÂĄĆ˝Â“Â˜ÂžÂ›Â—ÂŠÂ•Ç­ Žœž•Â?Âœ Ć˝Ĺ—Ĺ˜Ĺ?Ĺ– Ĺ?Ĺ— Ĺ—Ĺœ ĹžĹ™ĹœĹ?ĹžĹ?Ç­ Â?Ž– ž–‹Ž›ƽŗŚǭ ŠŒ” Â˜Ć˝Â“Â˜ÂžÂ›Â—ÂŠÂ•Â’Â?Ç­ ŠŒ” ˜ Š›Š–ƽ žŽ›¢ Â˘Â™ÂŽĆ˝Â“Â˜ÂžÂ›Â—ÂŠÂ•ÂœČŠ Â?Ž– Ć˝ Ĺ–Ĺ™ĹœĹ™ĹœĹ›ĹœĹ&#x;ČŠÂ’ÂœÂœÂžÂŽĆ˝Ĺ™Ĺ™ÇąĹ—Ç­ Â?Ž– Ć˝Â’Â’Â–Â™Ĺ–Ĺ–ĹœĹ™Ĺ?Ĺ˜Ĺ—Ĺ™Ç­Â“Â˜ÂžÂ› —Š• Ć˝ Ĺ–Ĺ™ĹœĹ™ĹœĹ›ĹœĹ&#x;ȹǝ ŒŒŽœœŽÂ?Čą ÂŠÂ›ÂŒÂ‘ČąĹ˜Ĺ?Ç°ČąĹ˜Ĺ–Ĺ—Ĺ–ÇźÇŻ Ĺ—Ĺ?Şȹ ˜ •Š—Â?Ç°Čą Šľ’—Â?ÂŽÂ›Č‚ÂœČą Š’Â?‘ǰȹŗŚŗǯ Ĺ—Ĺ?Ĺ&#x;Čą Â˜Â‘Â—Čą ŽŠ›Â?Ç°ČąČƒ ÂžÂ–Â–Â˜Â›ÂžÂ–Čą ˜—Â?Â’Ä™ÂŒÂžÂ–Ç°Čą ˜ž—Â?Čą ŠÂ?Â‘Â˜Â•Â’ÂŒÂœČąÂŠÂ—Â?ČąÂ?‘Žȹ Â˜Â–ÂŠÂ—Čą Â’Â?ÂŽÇ°Č„Čą ›ŽŠÂ?—˜žÂ?‘Â?Čą •˜Â?Ç°ČąÂ™Â˜ÂœÂ?ÂŽÂ?Čą ÂžÂ•Â˘ČąĹžÇ°ČąĹ˜Ĺ–Ĺ–Ĺ?Ç°ČąÂ‘Ä´Â™ÇąČŚČŚÂ“Â˜Â‘Â—Â‘ÂŽÂŠÂ›Â?ÇŻÂ‹Â•Â˜Â?œ™˜Â?ÇŻÂŒÂ˜Â–ČŚĹ˜Ĺ–Ĺ–Ĺ?ČŚĹ–Ĺ?ČŚÂ?›ŽŠÂ?™ž‹•’œ‘’—Â?ȏ‹Ž’—Â?ČŹ heard-john-heard.html (accessed March 27, 2010).

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

81

Tocqueville Forum Endnotes |

ŗŞŖȱ ǯ ŗŞŗȱ ǰȱ ĵ Ȃ ȱ ǰȱŗřŚǯ 182

Thomas E. Woods, Sacred Then and Sacred Now (Colorado: Roman Catholic Books, 2008), 19.

ŗŞřȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱǻ ¢ȱşǰȱŘŖŖŝǼǰȱ Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯę Ĵ ǯ Ȧ ȦŘŖŖŝȦŖŝȦ Ȭ Ȭ Ȭ ȱǻ ȱ March 27, 2010). ŗŞŚȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱŗřŚǰȱ ǯȱŗŚȱǻ ȱŗŝǰȱŘŖŖŝǼǰȱ Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯ commonwealmagazine.org/step-backward-0 (accessed March 27, 2010).

185

Baldovin, Reforming the Liturgy, 133.

ŗŞŜȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱȁ ȱ ȱ Ȃȱ ȱ ę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱŗşŝŖǰȄȱ ¢ȱŝǰȱŘŖŖŝǰȱ ǰȱ Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯ ǯ Ȧ ¢Ȧ Ȧ ŗŜ ę Řǯ ȱǻ ȱ ȱŘŝǰȱŘŖŗŖǼǯȱ ŗŞŝȱ ǯ ŗŞŞȱ ǰȱ ĵ Ȃ ȱ ǰȱŗŚŘǯȱ ŗŞşȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ǯȄ ŗşŖȱ ǯ ŗşŗȱ Ĵ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȄȱ 192

Baldovin, Reforming the Liturgy, 79.

ŗşřȱ ȱ ǰȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯ ŗşŚȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ę ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȄ ŗşśȱ ǰȱ ĵ Ȃ ȱ ǰȱŗřŖǯ ŗşŜȱ ȱ ǰȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯ 197

Woods, Sacred Then, Sacred Now, 27.

ŗşŞȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯ ǯ Ȧ Ȧ Ȧ ǯ ȱǻ cessed March 27, 2010). ŗşşȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ǯȄ ŘŖŖȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ę ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȄ ŘŖŗȱ ȱ ǰȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯ ŘŖŘȱ ǯȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯȱşŖǰȱ ǯȱŚȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱǻ ǯǼȱ DZȱ Ĵȱ ȱ ¢ȱǻŗşşŝǼǯȱ ŘŖřȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ (1956), 394. ŘŖŚȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯȱşŖǰȱ ǯȱŗǰȱ ǯȱřǯ 205

Fergus Kerr, After Aquinas: Versions of Thomism. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing (2002), 97.

ŘŖŜȱ ǯǰȱşŞǯȱ ŘŖŝȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗŖşǯȱ 208

Brian Davies, The Thought of Thomas Aquinas. Oxford: Clarendon Press, (1992), 231.

ŘŖşȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯȱşŗǰȱ ǯȱřǯ

82

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

ŘŗŖȱ ȱ ¢ ǰȱ ȱ ǵȱ ȱ ¢ǵȱ ȱ ǰȱ DZȱ ¢ȱ ȱ Notre Dame (1988), 192. Řŗŗȱ û ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ĵ ǯȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱǻŘŖŖśǼǰȱŘŚǯ ŘŗŘȱ ȱ ¢ ǰȱȁ ȱ ȱ ę ȱ Ȃȱǻ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱȃ ȱ Ȅȱ Symposium, 22nd ǰȱŘŖŖşǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǼǰȱŗŖǯ Řŗřȱ ǯǰȱŗŘǯ ŘŗŚȱ ǯǰȱŗŖǯȱ Řŗśȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯȱşŗǰȱ ǯȱŚǯ ŘŗŜȱ ¢ ǰȱȁ ȱ ȱ ę ȱ ǰȂȱŗŘǯ Řŗŝȱ ǰȱ ǰȱşŖǰȱ ǯȱŘǯ ŘŗŞȱ ǯǰȱ ǰȱ ǯȱşŜǰȱ ǯŗǯ Řŗşȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȯ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ London: Allan Wingate (1949), 4.

220

G.K. Chesterton, “Christendom in Dublin,” The Collected Works of G.K. Chesterton, San DZȱ ǰȱŗşŞŜǰȱśřǯ

ŘŘŗȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱȃ DZȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¢ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ence Vol. 27 No. 1 (Winter 1998): 5. ŘŘŘȱ ǯǰȱŗŗǯȱ ŘŘřȱ ǯǰȱŗŘǯ ŘŘŚȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǯDZȱ ȱǭȱ Ĵ ę ǰȱŗşşśǰȱŘŗǯ 225

Schall, op. cit., 9.

ŘŘŜȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ȱ Rouge: Louisiana State UP, 1987, 36. ŘŘŝȱ ǯǰȱŘŖŖǯȱ ŘŘŞȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱşŖȬşŝǰȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯDZȱ Regnery Pub., 1996, 20-21. ŘŘşȱ ǯ

The Parlor ŘřŖȱ Ĵ ȱŘŘDZŘŗǰȱ ȱ DZȱ £ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ¡ DZȱ ¡ ȱ ǰȱŗşşŞǯ Řřŗȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ¢ȱ ¢ȱ ĴȱǻŘŖŗŖDzȱ ȱ ǰȱŘŖŗŖȱ Ǽǯ ŘřŘȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱǭȱ ȱ ǰȱŘŖŖŚǼǰȱ ǯȱ 5, Sec. 32. Řřřȱ ȱ ǯ ŘřŚȱ ǯ 235

Locke, Ch. 19, Sec. 220.

ŘřŜȱ ȱ ǯ Řřŝȱ ǯ

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

83

Tocqueville Forum Endnotes |

ŘřŞȱ ǯ ǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱŗş ȱ ȱŘŖ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ǯ ǯȱ ǰȱŗşŜśǼǰȱŗřȬřŖǯ Řřşȱ ȱ ǯȱ ŘŚŖȱ ǰȱ ǯȱȃ ¡ ǰȱ ǯȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ ǰȱ DZȱŗşśśǼȱ ǯȱŘŖȱȱ ŘŚŗȱ ǯȱȱ 242

Larkin. “Church Going.” p. 28-9

ŘŚřȱ ǯ ŘŚŚȱ ǯ ŘŚśȱ ǯ ŘŚŜȱ ǯ ŘŚŝȱ ǯ ŘŚŞȱ ǯ ŘŚşȱ ǯ ŘśŖȱ ǯ Řśŗȱ ǯ ŘśŘȱ ǯ Řśřȱ ǯ ŘśŚȱ ǯ Řśśȱ ǯ ŘśŜȱ ǯ Řśŝȱ ǯ ŘśŞȱ ǯ Řśşȱ ǯ ŘŜŖȱ ǯ ŘŜŗȱ ǯ ŘŜŘȱ ǯȱȃ ȱ ǯȄȱ ȱ ȱǻ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ DZȱŗşŝŚǼȱ ǯȱŗŝ ŘŜřȱ ǯ ŘŜŚȱ ǯ ŘŜśȱ ǯ ŘŜŜȱ ǯ ŘŜŝȱ ǯ ŘŜŞȱ ǯ 269

Larkin. “Sunny Prestatyn.” The Less Deceived p. 35

ŘŝŖȱ ǯ Řŝŗȱ ǯ ŘŝŘȱ ǯ Řŝřȱ ǯ ŘŝŚȱ ǯ

84

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

Řŝśȱ ǯ ŘŝŜȱ ǯ 277

Larkin. “Aubade.” Collected Poems ed. Thwaite (Marvell Press and Faber and Faber, London: 2003) p. 190-1

ŘŝŞȱ ǯ Řŝşȱ ǯȱ ŘŞŖȱ ǯ ŘŞŗȱ ȱ Ĵȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ȱ DZȱ From Academy to University, 1789-1889 (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, ŗşşřǼǰȱŘşŚDzȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¢ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ǯȱ ¢ǰȱ ǯ ǯȱǻ ǰȱ Alabama: Portals Press, 1976), 256-257. ŘŞŘȱ ȱ ǯȱ Ȃ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¢ǰȱŗŞŘŖȬŗşŘŖȱǻ DZȱ ¢ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ǰȱŘŖŖŘǼǰȱŗŜǰȱŘŖȬŘŗǯ ŘŞřȱ ǯǰȱŘŚǰȱŝŝǯ ŘŞŚȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱřŗDZŞȱǻ ¢ȱŗşŖřǼDZȱŚŖŞȬŚŖşǯ ŘŞśȱ ȃ ǰȄȱ ȱ ¢ ȱŗŞDZŗŘǰȱ ¢ȱŘŖǰȱŗşřŝǰȱŘǯ ŘŞŜȱ ȱ Ĵȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱȃ ȱ ȱȁ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȂȱŗşřśȬŗşŚŗǰȄȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ȱŘDZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¡ ǰȱŗŞŞşȬŗşŜŚȱǻ ton, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, forthcoming). ŘŞŝȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ African ancestry and later on by the proclamation of him as a black American was also Ě ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱŗşśŖ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¢ǰȱ ǯ ǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȭ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ £ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ in Georgia records to have been of mixed ancestry. Foley published a book in 1954 on Ȃ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ clergymen in America that spanned the years 1854 to 1954 in which a chapter focused on ȱ ¢ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱȃ ǰȄȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ Ȃȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¡ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ę ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ¢ȱǻ ¢ȱŗşŜŖ Ǽǯȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ȱŗşŝŖ ǰȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ proclamation of him as a black American.

288

Wesley Christenson, “Students at Georgetown: A Special Report,” Georgetown Today 2:3 ǻ ¢ȱŗşŝŖǼDZȱŜȱǻ ǰȱ ǯ ǯDZȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱŗşŝŖǼDzȱ ȃ ȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¢Ȧ ěȱ ȱŘDZřǰȱ ȱŗŚǰȱŗşŞŖǰȱŘDzȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǯǰȱȃ Ȃ ȱ ȱ age,” Georgetown Today 5:4 (March 1973): 10 (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Printing Department, 1973).

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

85

Tocqueville Forum Endnotes |

ŘŞşȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ¢ǰȄȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ ¡ȱśǰȱ ȱŗşŝǯ ŘşŖȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ¢ǰȄȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ ¡ȱśǰȱ ȱ ŗşŝDzȱȃ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ Ĵ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ¢ȱŗŜǰȱŗşŝřǰȄȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ University Relations, Box 5, Folder 196. Řşŗȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ¢ǰȄȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ ¡ȱśǰȱ ȱŗşŝǯ ŘşŘȱ ǯ Řşřȱ ȃ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ Ĵ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ¢ȱŗŜǰȱŗşŝřǰȄȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ University Relations, Box 5, Folder 196. ŘşŚȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ŚDZŗǰȱ ȱŗşŝŚǰȱŜǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ Box 5, Folder 197. Řşśȱ ¢ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ǯȱ ¢ǰȱ ǯ ǯDZȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȅȱǻ ǰȱ ǯ ǯDZȱ ȱ ǯȱȱ ¢ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱ ȱ Ĵ ǰȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Relations, Georgetown University, 1973), 3. ŘşŜȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ǰȱ ȱŘŖŘȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱŜǰȱŗşŝřǰȄȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ Relations, Box 5, Folder 196. Řşŝȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȄȱ ¢ȱ £ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱŗşŝřǰȱŗŜǰȱŗŝǰȱŘŘǰȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ Relations, Box 5, Folder 197. ŘşŞȱ ȃ ȱ ¢DZȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ǰȄȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ǯȱřǰȱ ¢ȱŗşŞşȱ ǻ ǰȱ ǯ ǯDZȱ ȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱ Georgetown University), 1, 3, 1, in Georgetown University Archives, Bicentennial Files, Box 19, Folder 4 (“Bicentennial Almanac, Nos. 1-6”); Black Georgetown Remembered, DVD, ǯȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱǻ ǰȱ ĵ ȱǭȱ ǰȱŗşŞşǼǯ Řşşȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱ Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯ ¢ ǯ Ȧ ¢ȏ Ȧ ǯ (accessed April 1, 2010). řŖŖȱ ǯ řŖŗȱ ȱ ¢ȱ Ĝ ȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱŘşȯ ¢ȱŘǰȱŘŖŗŖǰȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȄȱȃ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȄȱ Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯ ǯ ȦŘŖŗŖȦ ǯ (accessed April 1, 2010). řŖŘȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ing World (Thousand Oaks, California: Pine Forge Press, 2007), 25. řŖřȱ ǯǰȱŘřǯ řŖŚȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ǰȱȃ ȱ ȱȁ Ȃȱ ǵȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ Epistemological Stranglehold of Racial Categorization,” Critical Sociology 28:1-2 (2002): 108. řŖśȱ ǯǰȱŗŗřǯ řŖŜȱ ǯǰȱŗŖŚǯ řŖŝȱ ¢ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ¢ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ sity Press, 2007), 73.

86

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

| Author

řŖŞȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱǻ ǰȱ DZȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱŘŖŖŜǼȱŜǰȱ Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯ ǯ Ȧ Ȧ ¢ȏ Ȧ Ȧ ¢ ǯ ȱǻ ȱ ¢ȱ 12, 2010).

309

Box 6, Folder 1

řŗŖȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ¢DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱǻŗŞŚŖȬŗşŖŖǼ. Georgetown Press, 1963. řŗŗȱ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱ ǯȱMemorial of the 1st Centenary of Georgetown College D.C. 1891. řŗŘȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǰȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ǯǰȱŗşŘşǯǼȱřŝŚǯ řŗřȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ¢ȱ ¢ DZȱ ȱŗŘ ȱ ǰȱ ŗŞŚşȬŗŞśŖǯȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ǰȱŘŖŖŞǼȱȱşŝǯ 314

Polk, 69.

řŗśȱ ȱ ǯȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ǰȱ ¢ȱ ǯȄȱ DZȱ ȱ 15th, 2009. Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯ ǯ Ȧ Ȧę ȏ Ȧ ¢ Ȧ řŗŜȱ ȱ ǯȱ ¢ȱ ǯȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǰȱŘŖŖŗǼȱşŗǯ řŗŝȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ǯȱThe Mexican War 1846-1848ǯȱ ȱ DZȱ ǰȱŗşŝŚǯȱ ǯȱŞśǯ řŗŞȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ Ȃ ȱ Ĵ ǰȱŗŞŚŜȬŗŞŚŞǯȱ ǻ DZȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ǯǰȱŗşşşǼȱŗřřǯ řŗşȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǯȱ ¢ȱ ¢ DZȱ ǰȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱǻ ȱ Rouge: Louisiana State Press: 1985) 5. řŘŖȱ ¢ȱ ǯȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ Ȭ ǯȱ ȱŗşth through 27th, 2009. řŘŗȱ ȱ ǯȱ £ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¡ ȱ ȱ ǯȱǻ ȱ DZȱ ǰȱŗşşŞǼȱŚŖśȬ 407. řŘŘȱ ǯ 323

Stevens,133.

324

Frazier, 406.

řŘśȱ ȱ ¢ȱ . Memorial of the First Century of Georgetown College, D.C.ȱǻ ȱ DZȱ P.F. Collier, 1891) 45. řŘŜȱ ȱ ǯȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǯȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¢ ȱ ǯȱ ǻ Ĵ DZȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱŘŖŖřǯǼȱŜŜǯ řŘŝȱ ȱ ǯȱ Ȃ ǯȱȃ ¢ȱ ȱ ¡ ǯȄȱBoston College Magazine. Accessed: April 2, 2009. Ĵ DZȦȦ ǯ ǯ Ȧ ¢Ȭ Ȭ ¡ Ȧ 328

Frazier, 257.

řŘşȱ ȱ ¢ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱǻ DZȱ ȱ ȱǭȱ Co., 1878) 20. řřŖȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ DZȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱ ȱŗŝŞŘȱ ȱ ŗŞŚŝǯȱ ȱǻ ǯ ǯǼȬȬ ȱ ¢ǰȱŗşŜŗȱ ¢ǯȱǻ ǰȱ ǯ ǯǰȱŗşŜŗǼȱ ǯȱŘŖǯ řřŗȱ ǯ řřŘȱ ǰȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ¢ǯȱǻ Ĵ DZȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ 1997) 20. řřřȱ Ȃ ǯ

Utraque Unum — Summer 2011 |

87

Tocqueville Forum Endnotes |

řřŚȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ǯ 335

This indicates that Taylor and his forces have already advanced past beyond the Rio Grande, and have set up camp in the northeastern border town of Matamoros, Mexico. ǰȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ě ¢ȱǻ ȱ ¢Ǽȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ does later.

řřŜȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ Ȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Palma, where he defeated the Mexican forces that outnumbered his men. řřŝȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ certain. This use of language was often used as a “formal nicety” (Allgor, interview) during this time period; this could be an alternative explanation for the language used. řřŞȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢Ȃ ȱ ǯȱȃ ȱ ¢ȱ Ȅȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱę ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯ 339

This may be a subtle reference to the reluctance on the part of both Madison and Taylor, who ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Ȭ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯ

řŚŖȱ ¢ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ Dzȱ ȱ ¢ȱ ȱ ȱ ¢ ȱ ȱ related through marriage.

The Observatory řŚŗȱ ¡ ȱ ¢ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱŘŖŖŝȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǯȱ ington: Georgetown University, 2007. 15. řŚŘȱ ¡ ȱ ¢ȱ Ĵ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱŗşşŜȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǯȱ ington: Georgetown University, 1996. 3. řŚřȱ ŘŖŖŝȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱśşǯȱȱ řŚŚȱ ¢ ǰȱ ǯȱȃ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱ ǯȱ ǯȄȱ ȱ ¢ ȱǽ Ǿǯȱŝȱ ǯȱ 2010. Print. řŚśȱ ŘŖŖŝȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱȱśŜȬŝǯ řŚŜȱ ǯȱȱ řŚŝȱ ŘŖŖŝȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱȱśŝȬŞǯ řŚŞȱ ǰȱ ǯȱȃ ȱ ȱ ǰȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȄȱ ȱ ȱ ȱ ǯȱŘŚȱ ǯȱŘŖŖşǯȱ

88

| Utraque Unum — Summer 2011

Tocqueville Forum Events |

Tocqueville Forum Events Forum lecture “God, Notre Dame, Country: Rethinking the Mission of Catholic Higher Education in the United States�

February 3, 2011 – 6:00 PM – 7:30 PM Dr. Michael Baxter Visiting Associate Professional Specialist in Theology, University of Notre Dame Film Screening Pre-Screening of Rediscovering Alexander Hamilton February 7, 2011 – 7:00 PM – 9:30 PM Michael Pack Producer, Manifold Productions Forum Lecture “God and the Founders: Madison, Šœ‘’—Â?Â?Â˜Â—Ç°ČąÂŠÂ—Â?Čą ÂŽÄ›ÂŽÂ›ÂœÂ˜Â—Č„ February 24, 2011 – 5:30 PM - 7:00 PM Dr. Vincent Phillip MuĂąoz Tocqueville Associate Professor of Religion and Public Life, University of Notre Dame Forum Lecture “Grand Strategy: An American Foreign Policy Problemâ€?

March 15, 2011 – 6:00 PM – 7:30 PM ‘Žȹ Â˜Â—Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ‹Â•ÂŽČą Â‘ÂŠÂ›Â•ÂŽÂœČą ’•• Brady-Johnson Distinguished Fellow in Grand Strategy and Senior Lecturer in Humanities at Yale Annual Celebration Founders Day Celebration March 25, 2011 - 4:00 pm - 5:30 pm Fr. Stephen Fields, S.J. Associate Professor of Theology, Georgetown University The Georgetown Chimes

Jack Miller Center - Veritas Fund Post-Doctoral Fellow Lecture April 12, 2011 - 6:00 - 7:30 PM ›ǯȹ Š›Š‘ȹ ˜žœŽ› Post-Doctoral Fellow for the Tocqueville Forum Forum Lecture “Human Rights between the Scylla of Relativism and the Charybdis of Fundamentalismâ€?

April 18, 2011 – Monday – 6:00 pm - 7:30 pm ›˜Â?ÂŽÂœÂœÂ˜Â›Čą Š——Žȹ ŠŠ•Š—Â?Čą ŠÂ?•Š›¢ Professor of international politics at the University of Oslo 4th Annual Schall Award sponsored by the Maibach Fund “Truth and the Human Personâ€?

April 28, 2011 – Thursday – 8:00 – 9:30 PM Msgr. Robert Sokolowski Elizabeth Breckenridge Caldwell Professor of Philosophy, The Catholic University of America Recipient, The Schall Award for Teaching and

ž–Š—Žȹ ŽĴŽ›œ Forum Lecture “Energy and America's Future: An Alumni Reunion lectureâ€?

June 4, 2011 - 2:00 – 3:30 PM ‘Žȹ Â˜Â—Â˜Â›ÂŠÂ‹Â•ÂŽČą ÇŻČą Â˜Â˘Â?Ž—ȹ ›Š¢ Former US Ambassador to the EU and former Special Envoy for Eurasian Energy

TO CQ U EV I LLE F O R U M AT G E O RG E TOW N U N I V ER S I T Y

www.TocquevilleForum.org

|

Ph ..