Royal Institute of Philosophy

The Significance of Common Culture

Author(s): Roger Scruton
Source: Philosophy, Vol. 54, No. 207 (Jan., 1979), pp. 51-70
Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of Royal Institute of Philosophy
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3750191 .
Accessed: 04/06/2014 14:03

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .
http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.
JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of
content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms
of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.

Cambridge University Press and Royal Institute of Philosophy are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize,
preserve and extend access to Philosophy.

http://www.jstor.org

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
The Significanceof Common
Culture
ROGER SCRUTON

The doctrineof a 'state of nature' is at best a metaphor.Neverthelessit

enables us to describewithvividnessthe distinctionbetweenthose goods
whichmightprecede,and thosewhichcan onlyresultfrom,the formation
of society. I suspect that the goods which establish our well-beingas
rationalcreatures(over and above whatevergoods mightbenefitus as
animals) belong exclusivelyto the latterclass, so that a rationalcreature
is necessarilya zoonpolitikon.
Even Locke did not doubt thatproperty,forexample,is an institution,
despitethe factthatthe rightto propertyis foundedin a naturalrelation
between a man and the product of his labour.1Property,therefore,re-
quires society,and, as withany institution, the advantageswhichit yields
to an individualwill depend not merelyupon his naturalabilities,but also
upon his priorsocial standing.This is as trueof educationas it is ofprivate
property.The availabilityofeitherwillstemfromtheprivilegesintrinsicto
a social order,and inevitablythe politicianwill seek to protector erode
those privileges,to quell or to fosterthe resentmentwhich they might
provoke.Now politicalphilosophyis, at least in part,the elaborationof a
theoryof human naturein termsof whichthe sphereand aims of politics
may be described.Any theoryof human naturewhich does justice to the
factswill not confineitselfto the philosophyof institutions, and will not
regardthe sphereof politicsas delimitedby specificrightsand privileges
such as thoseI havejust referredto. It mayhave to recognizethe 'political
accessibility'of manythingsmorebasic to rationalnaturethanthe institu-
tions of propertyand education,thingsin respectof which therecan be
no rightsand privileges.It mayhave to makeroomfora politicsofculture,
where cultureincludes everythingthat an anthropologistmightwish to
subsumeunderthatterm.
It is necessary,however,to distinguishculturein the sense in which a
man may possess more or less culture(cultureas the outcomeof a special
processof educationwhichmaynot be open to everymemberof a society)
fromculturein the sense in which different membersof a societymay
undercertainconditionsbe said to partakeofa 'commonculture',whatever
the relativestateof theireducation.I referto a 'common' culture,rather

1 JohnLocke, 'Second Treatiseon Civil Government',in Two Treatisesof

P. Laslett(ed.), 2nd edn (CUP, Cambridge,
Government, I967).

54 1979
Philosophy 5'

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Roger Scruton

than to a 'low' or 'popular' culture(thereare as many ways of referring

to the phenomenonas thereare theoriesto explain it). I do not mean to
deny that a society might sometimescontain a 'culture' which is not
truly 'common' to all its members.But I do mean to imply (and later
argumentwill show) thatcultureis essentiallysomethingshared.
It is a tenet of German romanticphilosophy,and of much English
literarycriticism,influencedas it has been (throughColeridgeand Arnold)
by that philosophy,that there is an essential connectionbetween high
culture(as one mightcall it), and commonculture,and thatthewell-being
of societyis as much affectedby the stateof the one as it is by the stateof
the other.I shall have littleto say about thatcontention,but it is possible
thatmy argumentswill show more clearlywhat it means.

Practical Knowledge

In both senses of the word, cultureis a matterof knowledgeand under-

standing,and is to be gained or lost not throughtrainingbut through
upbringingand education.Moreover,it is clear thatemotionhas much to
do with culture,and thatthe educationin questioncannotleave the feel-
ings of its recipientuntouched.I do not acquire a culturedoutlooksimply
throughbeing able to recite the works of Shakespeare,nor do I enter
into a common culturewith my neighboursimplybecause I am able to
offeran anthropologicaldescriptionof whathe is doing when he praysin
church or mourns at the death of a relative. Culture, in both senses,
belongs to practicalratherthan theoreticalknowledge.It is not simplya
matterof knowingthatcertainthingsare true: it involvesthe organization
and adaptationof one's acts and feelings.
So much is obvious. Or at least it must be obvious to anyonein whose
thoughtthe Aristotelianidea of practicalknowledgehas a place. It is a
peculiar fact about the liberal traditionthat it has so oftenreplaced the
idea of practical knowledgewith some theoreticalsubstitute.Perhaps
the most strikingexamples are Bentham's hedonic calculus, and Mill's
Utilitarianism,where practical reasoning becomes little more than an
abstractcalculationof results.But there are more recentinstances.For
Lord Snow it seemed quite obvious that,since thereis one high culture,
whichconsistsin knowingall about poetry,theremustbe another,which
consistsin knowingall about science. So that,to be trulycultured,one
must,like Lord Snow, knowall about both.2It is surprisingthatcontem-
poraryphilosophers,discussingthis issue, have said so little about its

2 Sir Charles (later Lord) Snow, 'The Two Culturesand the Scientific
Revolution', i959 (CUP, Cambridge,
RedeLecture 1959).

52

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
 The Significanceof Common Culture

intellectualbasis.3 It was leftto a literarycritic(whose rough and ready

concept of 'life' at least lies firmlyon the side of the practical) to
demonstratethe absurdityof Lord Snow's conceptions.4Whateverthe
value of a scientificeducation,science is in all probabilitynot a part of
culture.For the descriptionof the world as a collectionof naturalkinds
obedientto causal laws is unlikelyto providea formofpracticalknowledge,
in the sense in whichculture(as I shall describeit) may providea formof
practicalknowledge.
That thereis,primafacie,a distinctionbetweenpracticaland theoretical
knowledgeoughtnotto be doubted.But whyshouldwe speak ofknowledge
here? I take it thatpart of the distinctionbetweenthe theoreticaland the
practicalis thatin the formercase we are dealingwith questionsof truth
and falsehood,whereas in the lattercase we are dealing primarilywith
somethingelse, witha notionof rightnessthatis in some way irreducible
to truth.And it mightseem thatnotionslike knowledge(withits implied
backgroundof objectiveassessment)can be applied only where we may
also speak of truth.Perhaps the principaldifficulty, therefore,which the
notion of practicalknowledgepresents,is the difficulty in makingclear
what is meantby 'correctness'whereone cannotspeak of truth.But there
are otherdifficulties, and it is withthese otherdifficulties
that I shall for
the mostpartbe concerned.
One distinction,made familiarby Ryle, is the distinctionbetween
knowingthat(the object of whichis a proposition)and knowinghow (the
object of which is an action). I know that my bicycleis made of steel; I
also knowhow to ride it. But thatdistinctionis not the one whichwe are
seeking.'Knowledge how' denotesa skill,and one mightsay thatthereis a
distinctionbetween true practicalknowledgeand 'knowinghow' which
correspondsin partto the distinctionAristotlehad in mind in contrasting
virtueand skill.5In the firstof these there is more to success than the
matchingof means to end. There is the rightknowledgeof the end itself.
Ordinarylanguageis unlikelyto provideus withthe conceptwe require.
None the less, it is worthpointingout thatwe do use theterm'knowledge'
in otherways, to denote what seem to be practicalcapacities,capacities
which cannot be evaluated in terms of the truthor falsehoodof some
propositionwhichtheycontain.For example,we speak of 'knowingwhat
to do'. Knowing what to do is not a matterof knowingthe truthabout a
situation.In thatsense one mightbe as knowledgeableas possibleand still
not know what to do, perhaps because one is so much the furtherfrom
3See, forexamples,
theremarks byStuartHampshire,
in 'A RuinousConflict',
TheNew Statesman(4 May I962), and by RichardWollheimin Socialismand
(The FabianSociety,
Culture London,i96i), 17-i8.
4 F. R. Leavis,Nor Shall mySword(Chatto& Windus,London,1972).
5 I am greatlyindebtedhere and elsewhereto unpublishedworkof John
Caseyon thetheoryofvirtue.

53

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Roger Scruton

makingup one's mind (which phraseseems to suggesta more than acci-

dental connectionbetweenknowingwhat to do and deciding).And again
knowingwhat to do cannot be consideredsimplyas a matterof knowing
how. For theaccumulationofskillsmayalso bringone no nearerto making
up one's mind, even thougha certainconfidencein one's skillsmayfor
thatend be necessary.
There is anotherpopular referenceto knowledgewhich seems to have
somethingto do withthepractical:knowingwhatone is doing.A man may
be said not to know what he is doing,even when what he is doing is an
intentionalact,notbecause he knowsit,butundersomewrongdescription,
but because his activitymanifestsa practicalconfusionabout his ends or
means. We have no troublein our daily lives in recognizinginstancesof
this confusion,and we cannot always (or even typically)reduce those
instancesto cases of ignoranceof the truth-valueof a proposition.
Someone mighthere wish to pointout thatwhen we say, of a workman
forexample,thathe does not know what he is doing,we are referring to
a deficiencyin skill. He does not know how to carryout the given task,
even though,in some othersense,he knowsquite well what he has to do:
whathe is aimingat. But thatis nottheonlyoccasionupon whichwe would
say of someonethathe does not knowwhathe is doing.There is the more
puzzlingcase wherewe mightsay this of someonewho had no deficiency
in skilland yetwas employedin a taskof whichhe had no properunder-
standing-as we mightsay of a politicianor an administrator, thathe does
not knowwhathe is doing.
We mightspeak here of a difference betweenknowledgeof means and
knowledgeof ends, and knowledgeof ends has two sides-roughly cor-
respondingto knowingwhatto do (at the outset),and knowingwhatone is
doing(whenone has begun). It is somethingofa simplification to makethis
divisionintoends and means, since it does not apply to rationalbehaviour
with the neatnessthat is oftenassumed; none the less it is an honoured
distinction,and one which locates as well as one can at the outset the
philosophicalproblemsthat I wish to discuss. I wish to say something
about what 'knowledgeof ends' mightconsistin-something about the
kind of practicalknowledgethat is roughlylocated by the two locutions
to which I have referred,when they cannot be replaced by the simpler
notionof 'knowinghow'.
Whateverelse it is, practicalknowledgein the sense I am consideringis
essentiallythe propertyof the individualand can be understoodonly in
termsof his individualpredicament.To know what to do (for example)
involvesknowingwhat I should do. That referenceto the firstperson is
ineliminablefromthe idea of rationalagency.I know what to do notjust
by knowingwhat a person answeringto a certaindescriptionshould do
(even if it is a descriptionwhich I uniquely satisfy),but (typically)by
makingup my mind and actingaccordingly.

54

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
 The Significanceof Common Culture

This mightleadonetothinkthatpractical knowledge is simplyidentical

withdecision-withtheforming of intentions. But thatis surelynotso,
eitherfromtheobjectiveor fromthesubjective pointofview.If we can
talkofknowledge at all itis becausedecisionscanbe evaluated, anda man
who claimsto knowmay be convictedof ignorance.A falseclaimto
knowledge is refuted by theworld,notby thewaytheworldis, but by
thewayitturnsoutto be. It is surelythemainquestionofethicsto deter-
minewhatthis'refutation' mightconsistin, to determine, thatis, the
content ofgenuineknowledge, whenknowledge is ofends.
Moreover,it is too simpleto represent even the subjectiveside of
practical knowledge as an intention,sincea manmaysometimes knowwhat
to do and yetfailto do it. This is also a well-known problem.For if
practical knowledge is to be trulypractical(thatis,ifitis to be connected
witha specific formof actionand notreducibleto an act of intellectual
judgment, or 'holdingtrue'),thenitsconnection withactionmustbe non-
contingent. And yetat the sametime,becauseof weaknessof will,the
connection cannotbe universal.
Despitethosefamiliar difficulties,
thereremainsa strongtradition in
moralphilosophy whichstillsees decision(or 'choice')as containing the
wholeofpractical knowledge. Kantwouldnothaveapprovedoftherecent
representatives of thistradition-ofSartreand Hare-but all the same
he endoweditwithitsfundamental concept, theconceptofautonomy. To
expressthethought ofthistradition in a nutshell:decisionto actis neces-
saryforpracticalknowledge(of ends); commitment is sufficient.And
commitment meansnothing morethana reinforcement ofthesamedecision,
eitherby decidingat thesametimeon a universal principle(Hare),or by
decidingnotjust to do thisthing,but also to be themanforwhomthis
decisionis theonlyone(Sartre).In otherwords,decisionbecomespractical
knowledge whenaccompanied bya second-order decision,eithera decision
alwaysto actlikewise, or elsea decisionto be a certainkindofman.
Now it is wellknownthatboththoseviewsfindit verydifficult to step
out ofthesubjective side ofpracticalknowledge intotheobjectiveworld
ofrealassessment. Theredoesnotevenseemto be anyobjectiverightor
wrong:theonlystandard is thatofautonomy and indeed,
(or'authenticity')
to speakof 'knowledge'is to employa metaphorredolentof discarded
moralnotions.I shall beginby concerning myselfexclusively withthe
subjective of
side practical knowledge. But I shallsuggest, an
too, account
ofsomething objective, something thatmightlead us to acceptthatthere
reallyis sucha thingas practicalknowledge, evenwhenknowledge is not
of meansbut of ends.Philosophers such as Hare have failedto see the
possibility of an objectiveethicspartlybecausetheirdescription of the
subjective sideofrationalagencyis so impoverished.

55

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Roger Scruton

KnowingWhatto Feel

One featurethat is left out of considerationby Hare, though not by

Sartre,is thatof emotion.To speak again in termsof our intuitivenotions
of thesethings:just as thereis 'knowingwhatto do' so too is there'know-
ing what to feel'. The feelings,like the will, are capable of education.
It is no easy matterto say what we mean by 'knowingwhat to feel', or
how that process of educationmightbe broughtabout. But Aristotleis
clearly not the only philosopherwho has thoughtthat the important
thing,ifone is to lead a fulfilledand properlife,is to feeltherightemotion,
on the rightoccasion,towardsthe rightobject and in the rightdegree.
If we are to speak of knowledgeat all here it must be possible to des-
cribe-as in all cases of knowledge-a subjective state, an objective
rightness,and some non-accidentalrelation between the two.6 In the
case oftheoreticalknowledgethesubjectivecomponentis usuallydescribed
as somekindofbelief-characteristically, a certainbelief.A beliefthatcomes
and goes, a belief that is merelyprobable, a belief in respect of which
one has to make up one's mind afresheach time one entertainsit-such
beliefsfall criticallyshort of knowledge.For they do not enable us to
attributeto the subjectthe rightkind of authority.Let us beginby asking
whetherthereis any analoguein feelingsforthe certaintythatmay qualify
belief. It might be better in this connectionto speak of something's
'beingsettled'forthe agent.But I shall continueto use theword 'certainty'
in the hope thatthe discussionwill make clear whatis meantby it.
We all have some idea what it is to be uncertainwhat to feel,as when
some sudden crisis overtakesus and we find ourselves bereftof ready
emotion.This stateof uncertainty might,in its extremeform,bear some
relationto the statevariouslydescribedas 'dread' or 'anxiety',a peculiar,
objectless state, which is normallycontrastedwith the 'innocence' of
directand open feeling.7The uncertaintyto which I refercomes about
because, while we may knowwhat we oughtto feel-in the sense of what
the good man would feel-we do not feel it. As a resultwe feel alienated
fromourselves,fromour thoughts,motivesand gestures.Somethinglike
thismighthappen at the deathof someoneclose. One knowswhat griefis,
but,beingovercomeby the disaster,griefseems impossible:relief,indeed,
seemseasier.The experienceis recordedby EmilyDickinsonin thefollow-
ing verses:

6 The need forthis 'non-accidental'

relationis established,
I think,by the
examplespresentedby E. L. Gettier,'Is Justified True BeliefKnowledge?',
in Analysis(i963).
7 The opposition of 'dread' and 'innocence'is alreadysuggestedby Kierke-
gaard,in The Conceptof Dread, Tr. W. Lowrie (PrincetonUniversity Press,
Princeton).

56

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
 The Significanceof Common Culture

We waitedwhileshe passed;
It was a narrowtime.
Too jostled were our souls to speak.
At lengththe noticecame.
She motioned,and forgot,
Then lightlyas a reed
Bent to the water,struggledscarce,
Consented,and was dead.
And we, we placed the hair
And drewthe head erect,
And thenan awfulleisurewas,
Beliefto regulate.

Dr Johnsonreferredto griefas 'a species of idleness'. Clearly,thatis not

Emily Dickinson'smeaning.The 'awfulleisure' to whichshe refersis the
punishmentwe must expect when, overtakenby a calamity,we do not
knowwhatto feelin the face of it.
Now, knowingwhat to feel is not a matterof knowingwhat one ought
to feel,anymorethanknowingwhatto do is just a matterofknowingwhat
one oughtto do. In thenormalcase,atleast,knowingwhattofeelmustinvolve
feeling:it is not a kind of opinion about feeling.If it werejust thatthen
we should have no special reasonto value it. It will be concededthatthere
are men who know what theyought to do, and what theyought to feel,
while seldom knowingwhatto do, or what to feel. Despite the richnessof
theirtheoreticalawareness,theyact and feel in ignorance.What remedy
remainsto them?
It is now widelyacceptedthatall emotioninvolvesboth understanding
and activity,and indeed thatnothingimportantis leftto an emotionwhen
those two have been removed fromit. It followsthat it is possible to
educate an emotion,to the extentthatit is possible to educate the under-
standingand activitythatare involvedin it. It is perhapsonlya vestigeof
Cartesianismwhich preventsus fromseeing this,and fromseeing that a
man ignorantof the art of emotionis a man who is in a significant way
confused.8 Emotions,therefore, are teachable,forone mayteacha man both
a way of understandingand an appropriatereaction; togetherthese will
constitutea feeling.For example,one may teach someone how to under-
stand another'sutteranceas an insult.An insultmay not be obvious,and
becomes obvious onlywhen a man recognizesthathe is beingtreatedin a
high-handedor contemptuousway; thatrecognitioninvolvesthe acquisi-
tion of conceptsof justice, rightand denigration.The thoughtinvolved

8 Cf. also JohnCasey,'The Autonomy ofArt',RoyalInstituteofPhilosophy

Lectures,Philosophy and theArts,G. Vesey(ed.) (Macmillan,London,I973).

57

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Roger Scruton

in recognizingan insult is thus extremelycomplex,and I do not think

that any philosopherhas succeeded in givinga satisfactory account of it.
But it is a thoughtthatis, so to speak, publiclyavailable. With sufficient
understanding a man can learnto recognizewhat is insultingand what is
not. But he must also acquire the appropriatereaction:how and when to
treatthe insultwithcontempt,withaggression,withviolence.A man may
react violentlywhen he should have been contemptuous,or he mightbe
contemptuouswhen he should have been amused. He must therefore
learnthe artsof angerand resentment, so thathe can measurehis response
in accordance with his understandingof its object. There is no doubt
that we all of us have, at least in the case of those emotionswhicharise
out of and manifestour perceptionof social realities,a sense of what is
and what is not appropriate.Thus we criticizea man forbeing unreason-
ably angryover an accident,or resentfulof another'sgood intentions,or
proud of having eaten a hundredsausages. It is a small step fromsuch
criticismto the distinctionbetweenthe man who knowswhat to feel and
the man who does not. The educationof the emotionshas thatknowledge
as its aim, and while thereis a sense in which I cannotbe held to blame
for my presentlack of knowledge,and for the presentconfusionof my
feelings,I certainlycan be held to blame forallowingmyself,or another
forwhom I am responsible,to slip intothe uneducatedhabitswhichthose
feelingsexemplify.(Which is whyKant's attemptto eliminatefeelingfrom
the sphere of moral assessmentought to be firmlyrejected.) It is hardly
surprisingthatthe principalconcernof honestparentsis to see thattheir
offspringacquire the proper feelings-sympathy,pride, remorse and
affection.I teach my child notjust to avoid firebut to fearit, notjust to
consortwith othersbut to love them,not just to repairwrongdoingbut
to sufferremorseand shame for its execution.There should be nothing
puzzlingin that.
There is a distinctionto be made at this juncture which, while not
essentialto my argument,bears on it indirectly.We ought to be able to
distinguishbetween emotionswith a universal or abstract,and those
with a particular or concrete, object. A few remarks about that
distinctionwill help to isolate more clearlythe emotionsthat I wish to
discuss,emotionslike love and griefwhich have a special place in deter-
mining the quality of individual life. These emotions have particular
objects. Others, such as contempt,admirationand indignation,have
universalobjects. If I feel contemptforJames,forexample,it is because
of somethingthatis true about James; if thatthingwere true of William
then I should feel contemptforWilliam too. The object of my contempt
is the particular-James-as an instanceof the universal.What I despise
is James'scowardice,say, or childishness,and I would feeljust the same
towardsanyone else who showed the same defect.Or if I did not feel
just the same, thentherewould have to be an explanation,an explanation

58

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
 The Significanceof Common Culture

in termsof the intentionalobject. Merely to say 'I despise Jamesforhis

childishness,but not John, although I can see no relevantdifference
betweenthem' is eitherto misusethe words or to speak insincerely.9 It is
not difficult to see how one mighteducate such 'universalized'feelings.
Having shown a man what is contemptiblein one instanceof cowardice,
and havingbroughthim to feel contempttowardsit, one will necessarily
have broughthim to feel contempton like occasions. In educatingsuch
emotions one is educating a man's values, and providinghim with a
sense of what is appropriatenotjust here and now but universally.
It is moredifficultto see how we mighteducateemotionsofthe particu-
lar variety,emotionslike love, hatred,and erotic desire, which impose
upon the subject no universallogic, as it were, no obligationto respond
likewiseon like occasions. Althoughthere is no doubt some featureof
Jameswhichis thereasonwhyI love him,I am notobligedto love William
as well,just because he sharesthatfeature.
The importantpoint about such 'particular'emotionsis theirintimate
connectionwith one's sense and conceptionof oneself. These emotions
lack the postulated objectivityof their universal counterparts,which
abstractfromthe individualsituationand attachthemselvesto impartial
notions of what is just and right.While it is I who feel contemptand
indignation,I do so in obedience to an imperativewhich is applicable
beyond my presentsituation,in accordance with a universallaw. Such
emotionsseem to abstract,not onlyfromthe particularity of theirobject,
but also fromthatof theirsubject: it is onlyaccidentallyI who am feeling
thisindignation-thecall to indignationmighthave been addressedto and
taken up by another.The emotionis, as it were, impersonal.Learning
its properexerciseinvolvesacquiringconceptionsofjustice, appropriate-
ness and rightthat propose themselvesas universallyvalid, and which
remove the object of emotion fromthe sphere of any merelypersonal
resentmentor dislike. One might say, therefore,that the education of
these universalizedemotionsis an essentialpart of moral development.
It is not so with love, likingand delight.From the point of view of
individualexistencethese emotionsare indispensable.I cannotregardthe
call to love someone as addressedonly accidentallyto me withoutlosing
all sense of myselfas an agent in my situation.These emotions-love,
hatred,griefand the rest-are irremediablypersonal. The obligationto
feelthemcannotbe shifted;if a man triesto shiftit,thenautomatically he
puts his personalityat risk. It may seem strangeto talk of 'obligation'
here,and of a personal'risk'; in using such languageI am tryingto sum

9 To makethisdistinction betweenuniversaland particularemotionsfully

clear is not easy. I have exploredthe matterat greaterlengthin 'Attitudes,
Beliefsand Reasons', in John Casey (ed.), Moralityand Moral Reasoning
(Methuen,London,i971).

59

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Roger Scruton

up a verycomplicatedphenomenon,a phenomenonso oftenexploredby

Shakespearein his tragediesand sonnetsthat it would be presumptuous
at thisstageto describeit moreconcretely.But my remarkswill become a
littleclearerif we address ourselvesto the questions: 'What is it, in the
case oftheseessentiallyparticularemotions,to knowwhatto feel?And how
is that knowledgeacquired?' I shall approach those questions fromthe
subjectiveside: my interestwill be in the kind of certaintythat would
have to be involved.I wish to describehow the questionwhatto feel can
be settledforme, in the case of an emotionwhichis, as it were,inalienably
mine.

The Value of a Common Culture

Let us returnfora momentto the case of grief.Griefis not an easy thing

to feel; everyman has a reason to avoid it, and may well tryto avoid it,
even in the presenceof its properobject, which is the death of someone
loved. A sortof busyinganxiety,a hasteto clear away the debrisand turn
to somethingnew, is a familiarreactionin the face of death. So too is the
'awful leisure' that is consequentupon that avoidance of emotion.Such
anxietyis the naturalconsequenceof not knowingwhat to feel,at a time
when it is importantto feel something,and yetwhen one has, as it were,
no precedent:thefeelingconcernsme, here,now; it is not detachablefrom
the imperativesof my individuallifeand presentsituation.
NowVa commoncultureprovidestwo thingswhich are relevantto this
predicament: a way of understandingthe world in terms that invite
emotion(a non-scientific or 'intentional'mode of understanding),
together
witha recognizedpatternof appropriatebehaviour.It can tell one how to
see the situationwhichbesetsone, where'seeing' is a matterof recognizing
the appropriateoccasions of emotion.It can also tell one what to do in
response to that perception. Consider-to take an ancient example-
Elpenor's plea to Odysseusin Odyssey,XI, 66-78:

Now I beseechyou,by all thosewhomyou leftbehind,by yourwifeand

by the fatherwho rearedyou as a child,and by Telemachus your only
son whom you left withinyour halls, that you will, sailing fromthe
kingdomof Hades, put in with your good ship at the isle of Aeaea.
And theremy lord I beseechyou to rememberme and not to leave me
there unwept and unburied,lest I should become a cause of divine
wrath against you. But burn me there with all my arms and raise a
mound forme by the shoreof the greysea in memoryof an unfortunate
man, so that those yet to be will know the place. Do this forme, and
on my tomb plant the oar that I used to pull when I was living and
rowingbeside my companions.

6o

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
 The Significanceof Common Culture

Odysseussharesa commonculture,in my sense, with his band of

hetairoi,andElpenorremindshimofsharedbeliefsand practices.In the
hurry leaveCirce'spalaceElpenor(whohad fallenwhiledrunkto his
to
death)had been givenlittleof the sympathy whichwas his due. Now,
however, Odysseuscan bewailhim.Thereis something thatit is correct
to do in responseto thisdeath.Odysseuscan burnElpenor'sbody,he
can mournhispassing,and erecta monument fortheeyesof'thoseyetto
be'. His doingthesethingsis connected, in a waythatis immediate to
Odysseus'perception, withOdysseus'ownloveforhisfamily and respect
forthefather whohad rearedhim.The commoncultureembracesthese
complexfeelingsand obligations and makesthemalive together in the
singleepisodeof a servant'sdeath.Indeed,it would be impossibleto
givea statement ofall thatis suggested to Odysseusby Elpenor'swords:
to attemptthatwould be to attemptto describethe entirecommon
culture.
All thisis ofcoursesubtlysuggested by Homer:butitstruthto lifeis
surelyunquestionable. It is notsimplythatElpenoris askingto be buried:
he is askingtoo to be mourned.'Do notleaveme',he begs,'unweptand
unburied'(aklautonkai athapton).Now of courseI am not suggesting
thatOdysseusdid notknowwhatto feelwhenElpenorfellfromtheroof
ofCirce'spalace.I wishonlyto suggestthatthereis an intimate and per-
haps inextricableconnection betweenthatknowledge and the practical
knowledgeenshrinedin the practicesto whichElpenorrefers.If we
acceptthe accountof the emotionsthatI have been suggesting, thenit
mustbe thatthereis an intimate connection betweenknowingwhatto
feeland knowingwhatto do. So thata practicewhichintimates to one
whatto do mightalso be instrumental in determining one'sknowledge of
whatto feel.This is especiallyso if the practiceis, as it were,wholly
occasioned,and whollyexhausted,by the properobjectof the corres-
pondingemotion.To explain:the properobjectof griefis the deathof
someoneloved.A practice whichtellsonewhatto do solelyandexclusively
on theoccasionofsucha deathis a practicewhichtakesitsmeaningfrom
the emotionof grief.It existsas an imperative in thosecircumstances
wheregriefis appropriate. If the ceremony is of therightkindit serves
to directthe subject'sattention to thosefeaturesof his situationwhich
makegrieftheappropriate reaction.In tellinghimwhatto do itinsistently
bringshimbackto thepointofwhathe mustfeel.But,beinga ceremony,
of universalapplication, it remindsthe sufferer of his participation in a
commonlot. It tellshimwhatto feel,whileat thesametimerendering
his feelingobjective,
independent ofhis ownsituation. His griefbecomes
partof a continuing activity in a publicand objectiveworld;it ceasesto
be a privateanxietyto be borneby himself alone.That 'awfulleisure'of
whichEmilyDickinsonspeaksis overcome.The privacyof griefis re-
movedfromit, the subjectbecomesaware,not as a theoretical insight,

6i

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Roger Scruton

but as a practicalmatter,that this emotion,the griefwhich he feels,is

also somethinguniversal,somethingthat it is rightand proper to feel,
thatotherstoo would feelto the extentthattheyengagedin like activities
and obey like ceremonialconstraints.To participatein a commonculture
is thereforeto be giftedwith a certaintyin one's feelings,a certainty
which the uprooted,alienatedand disenchantedmay not have, and may
not want to have. By certaintyI do not mean crass impetuousness:there
are occasions when any man must hesitate. Certaintycomes when the
matteris, in the last analysis,settled for the agent, when he sees his
situationin termsof objectiveimperativesratherthan subjectivechoices,
imperativeswhichrecordforhim the factof his sharedhumanity, evenin
the midstof a predicamentthatis uniquelyhis. In this way the question
what to feel becomes 'settled' in a mannerthat no mere 'authenticity'
could achieve. The question is, then,why that certaintyshould be con-
sidered valuable, and also whetherit is available not only to Odysseus,
but also, forexample,to Leopold Bloom. (Which was, I think,the main
pointof Joyce'scomparison.)

Individualism

To show the value of practicalcertainty(or, at least,of certaincertainties),

is to make the bridgefromcertaintyto knowledge.It is to move out of
the sphereof subjectivechoice intothatof objectiveassessment.To speak
of practicalknowledgeis to presupposesome practicalanalogue of truth,
some basis for assessment.For the purpose of this analogy,the salient
featureof truthis that it constitutesa kind of success, success in belief
or assertion.(Hence the view, made familarby Dummett,that assertion
aimsat truth,and derivesits naturefromthataim.) But ifwe are to speak
of knowledge,success cannotbe an accident-it must be the sign of some
authority;the man withknowledgeowes his success to his own reliability.
In lookingforthe practicalanalogue of truth,therefore, we mustlook for
a notionof success in action which is at the same time capable of being
achievednon-accidentally.
In thecase of 'knowledgeofmeans',or knowinghow,thisis notdifficult.
Success here lies in the end attempted;and the non-accidentalachieve-
mentof the end is whatwe mean by skill.That is all thereis to 'knowing
how'. The case of 'knowledgeof ends' is more difficult to describe: the
notion of 'success' here indicatesa gap in accepted theoriesof practical
reason,a gap which philosophershave been unable, or unwilling,to fill.
The unwillingnessstemsfromKant, who tookso seriouslythe idea of the
'autonomy'of practicalreasonthathe could not acknowledgea validityin
practicalreason that was not, as it were, internalto it: in particular,he
could not acknowledgethat the rightnessof practical thought could

62

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
 The Significanceof Common Culture

derive fromthe success of its application. In that he was consciously

opposing the 'ancient' systemof philosophy(meaningAristotle),which
proposes some idea of happiness,well-beingor fulfilment, as the corner-
stone of practicalreasoning.Roughlyspeaking,the practicalequivalentof
truthmustbe some such idea of fulfilment, of findingsatisfactionin what
is achieved. Clearly,there is more to rationalfulfilment than achieving
one's ends, fornot all those ends will bringsatisfaction:practicalknow-
ledge consistsin the abilityto aim at those which do. In otherwords,for
thereto be practicalknowledge,the satisfaction whichis the outcomeof a
man's activityshould not be accidental (a dispensationof fate) but the
naturalresultof his state of mind and character.A fortunateman is not
necessarilya happy one.
This is not the place to describe the kind of fulfilment to which I
refer;10nevertheless,theremay well be a part to be played in it by the
certaintiesof common culture.For it is difficult to imaginehow a self-
conscious being can be fulfilledwhen he is at variance with his own
emotions.A large part of happinesslies in the vanquishingof guilt,and
in the achievementof a proper organizationin one's feelings.It is true
that not everycommon culture will provide that freedomand control;
but a commoncultureis the kind of thingthat does so, and the healthy
cultureis the one thatsucceeds. To partakeof such a culture,to be educa-
ted in the constraintsand perceptionswhichit embodies,is to transform
certainty intoknowledge.It willnotbe an accidentthata man who partakes
of such a culturewill be fulfilled.His sufferings will be external-such
calamities as the death of someone loved; he will not also sufferin
his own self-opinion,or experiencehis personal life as somethingalien
and confused.His sufferings, in other words, will be misfortunes,not
faults.
Now much moreneeds to be said if thatbridgefromcertainty to know-
ledge is to be constructed.We should need to knowmoreabout the nature
of happiness, and more about the characterof human emotion. But a
smalldigressionmayshowmoreclearlywhythecertainties ofculturemight
in the end be indispensable.Consider,then,the view of human nature,
sometimesknown as individualism,which sees all human fulfilment in
termsof the freedomof choice of the individual,and the subjectiveside
of practicalknowledgein termsof the willed 'authenticity'of the agent.
Of course,the dangersforsocietywhichthatnotionenshrinesare by now
familiarenough. It is importantto realize,however,thatthe dangersfor
theindividualare equallygreat.Accordingtothedefendersof'authenticity',
certaintycomesonlythroughthedeliberateadoptionofan aim orpurpose-
a sort of ideologicalimpositionof the will, wherebyall one's futurecon-

10 Butsee my'ReasonandHappiness',RoyalInstitute ofPhilosophy

Lectures,
Natureand Conduct,
R. S. Peters(ed.) (Macmillan,London,I975).

63

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Roger Scruton

duct will be governed. There results from this neitherthe objective

fulfilment whichis the aim of knowledge,nor even the subjectivecertainty
which is its initialreward.For, howeverauthentic,a choice can lead to
certaintyonly if it is thoughtcapable of succeeding,only, that is, if it
accompanies some understandingof the world as an arena of rational
activity,an understandingthat enables the agent to envisage how the
world mightbe affectedby what he chooses to do. Let us considerwhat
thatmightinvolve.
In discussingElpenor's appeal to Odysseus I referredto an intentional
(as opposed to a scientific)mode of understanding.By that I meant an
understandingwhich representsthe world throughthe concepts which
informour aims and attitudes,conceptswhichcharacterizethe 'intentional
objects' of our states of mind. That such an understandingis possible,
and that it is not necessarilyidentical with the kind of understanding
fosteredby science,should be evident.Considerthreestripsof material,
one of wood, one of an artificialfibrewith similarstrengthand cutting
properties,and anotherof some isotope of the same artificialmaterial,
which has none of the plastic propertiesof wood, being softand flabby.
A scientificclassificationwould assimilatethe second to the third. But
such a classificationwould have no part to play in the practicalunder-
standingof thejobbing builder,forwhomthe firstand second would fall
under concepts proper to his aims, being for practical purposes indis-
tinguishable.Nor is the contrasthere merelythatbetweena naturaland a
functionalkind.11Concepts which play an importantpart in practical
thinkingmay have their basis, for example, in aesthetic experience.
It used to be the practiceforstone merchantsto class together(as 'orna-
mentalmarbles') such stonesas marble(a carbonate),onyx(an oxide) and
porphyry(a silicate),whilelimestone(chemicallyidenticalto marble) had
An intentionalmode of understandingis one
no part in the classification.
whichfillsthe worldwiththe meaningsimplicitin our aims and emotions.
Not only is it indispensableto us as rationalagents,it may also be irre-
placeable by any understandingderivedfromnaturalscience.
thatone mightbegin to make sense of
It is in termsof these reflections
the claim thatscience is not a partof culture.As I describeit, cultureis a
process which endows the world with meaning,which enables us to see
and describethe worldso thatit alreadybears the markof the appropriate
action and the appropriateresponse.Now a rationalbeing standsin need
of such a process of description,a process which,so to speak, bringshis
emotions togetherin the object, which enables him-as the Idealists
mightsay- to findhis identityin the world and not in oppositionto it.
11 See thediscussionofthesematters in H. Putnam,'Is SemanticsPossible?',
and 'The MentalLifeof Some Machines',in Collected Papers,II (CUP, Cam-
bridge,I975), andalso D. Wiggins,'Locke,ButlerandtheStreamofConscious-
ness: and Men as a NaturalKind',in Philosophy (I976).

64

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
 The Significanceof Common Culture

Culture,farfromcreating theseparation betweensubjectand objectthat

is characteristic of scientific thought,represents the worldas entirely
circumscribed by theagent'ssenseofwhatit is liketo experience it and
act on it. That thoughtis immensely to express.For one thing,
difficult
it involvesbeingfullyclearaboutthedistinctions betweena naturaland
an artificialkind, between theoreticaland practical reason,betweendeci-
sionandprediction, and
emotion belief.Butthe struggle to expressit is as
mucha partofphilosophy nowas everitwasfor the The Leavi-
Idealists.
site view can be put thus: the understanding whichderivesfromart
engagesimmediately withthe-forms of practicalknowledge, whereasthe
understanding whichderivesfromsciencedoes not. Sciencecan trans-
formourknowledge ofmeans,butis irrelevant to theknowledge ofends,
and thedangerinvolvedin payingtoo muchrespectto it is precisely the
dangerof elevating meansoverends,and of losingthe essentialbalance
betweenthe two whichour rationalnaturedemands.Some such con-
clusionmightbe true; at least,its possibility is the markof a serious
philosophical question.
The practicalunderstanding to whichI referis not giventhrough
choicebutrather, I suggest, through conceptsand perceptions whichare
therein thepubliclanguage,and whichit does notmakesenseto think
of as theproductsoftheindividual will.A patternofhumaninteraction
mayenshrine a conception ofthevalueofcertainthings,becauseit leads
itsparticipants toperceive thosethingsin a certainway.This perception
maynotbe availableexceptin theactivity itself,or through an imagina-
tiveact of participation (as in poetry).Elpenorreferred, forexample,to
a connection betweenOdysseus'own longingforhis wifeand family,
andtheneedto erecta sepulchre toElpenor.The reality ofthisconnection
is not stated:it is presentin the languagewhichElpenoruses, and if
Odysseusresponds to ititis noton accountofan explicit thoughtso much
as an immediate perception. The funeral riteis perceived, notas fulfilling
a specificaim,but as lyingat thepointof intersection of manyexisting
satisfactions.These satisfactions are to be foundin humanrelations and
cannotbe imposedon themfromthe outside,as willedexternalaims.12
If one wereto tryto encapsulate thesharedperceptions of Odysseusand
hishetairos in a formula or recipeonewouldmisdescribe theirexperience.
Was Odysseusperforming theritein orderto giverestto Elpenor'ssoul,
to
in order escape divine displeasure,in orderto appeasehis ownfeelings
towards his wife and father,in orderto remember Elpenor-or what?
It is thephrase'in orderto' thatis heremisleading: the actionis nota
to
means theseends, but an embodiment or reminder of them.It is chosen,
a
as work of art be as
might chosen, theappropriate signof endswhich

12Cf. the argument in M. Oakeshott, 'On PoliticalEducation',in P. Laslett

Politicsand Society(Blackwell,Oxford,1956).
(ed.), Philosophy,

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Roger Scruton

cannotall be clearlystated,and whichare not,in any real sense,pursued.

But the motives referredto are not for that reason irrational.On the
contrary,we have here an instanceof practicalknowledge,of the ability
to achieveorderwheretheremighthave been chaos.
Now, since Durkheim introducedinto social thoughtthe notion of
anomie,ithas been commonto associateindividualismwitha particularkind
ofspiritualdisease. It did notneed Durkheimto pointout whatwas already
evidentto Burke and Hegel; but the inventionof this appealing concept
enabled social scientiststo observewhat had been apparentto othersfor
a century.Until the individualfindshimselfconfrontedby some social
equivalent of his own self-determination, he findshis desires,emotions
and projects dissipatinginto empty space. Some political philosophers
have been preparedto argue that this failingwould disappear in a view
which recognizeda communalgood greaterthan the sum of individual
goods.13 But that doctrine-which saves the ideal of liberalismwhile
seemingto dispensewithits consequentdisruption-is surelyinadequate.
What is wrongwith individualismis its account of the individualmoral
life.There are feelingswhichare peculiarlypersonalor individual,in that
they are in no sense directedtowardsthe social order,and in no sense
transferablefromtheirpresentsubject and object. But-as my example
was designedto show-even withthesefeelingspracticalknowledgeseems
to demand the recognitionof a public reality.If thereis such a thingas
practicalknowledgeit applies to all aims and emotions,and it is a know-
ledge that in all probabilitycannot be achieved by individualfiat,but
depends on concepts,activitiesand perceptionsmade available in a com-
mon culture.If I am rightin thinkingthat practicalcertaintyis an int-
egralpartof rationalfulfilment, and thatit comesonlythroughperceptions
that are shared, then it becomes difficultto see how we mightforma
coherentpictureof the well-beingof the individual,except in termsof
the healthof the communityof whichhe formsa part.There is something
alreadydeeply contentiousin the idea of a fulfilledrationalagent whose
styleof lifeis entirelyof his own devising.Certainlythe cult of 'authen-
ticity'should not lead us to accept its ideal of freedomas an obvious one.
If we rejectit, thennothingof liberalismremains.In particular,we shall
have to abandon the attemptto erode whateveris 'established',whatever
has a vested power to overcome opposition,which is the single most
strikingfeature of liberal thought.14Which is not to say that we
must acceptall that is established,or refrainfromestablishingan order
that is new. But we must never lose sightof the factthat,whateverwe

13 This has been suggestedby R. P. Wolffin The Povertyof Liberalism,

againstthetenorofwhosearguments theseremarksare directed.
book,forall its anti-liberal
14 And is the adoptedstanceof Wolff's preten-
sions.

66

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
 The Significanceof Common Culture

postulateby wayofan ideal,theidealitselfmayhaveno lifeoutsidethe

whichprovidedtheconceptsand perceptions
socialarrangement ofthose
whopursueit.

The Political Accessibilityof a Common Culture

Now, someonemightwonder,whatconceivablesignificance is it to us,

livingin this'stinkofdivineputrefaction', as Nietzschedescribedit,that
thereshouldbe a defunct formofpractical knowledge? Afterall,modern
Europe is not the ancientAegean: nobodydoubtsthat Homer lived
in an organicsociety,and thattherewereconsolations availableto him
whichare not availableto us. Why then should we be expectedto
give any practicalor politicalweightto arguments of the kindI have
sketched?
I chosetheHomericexamplebecauseofitsclarity, and becauseHomer
was secondto none as an observerof humannature.But, of course,I
havetracedonlyone pathfromtheprivateto thepublic,onethreadin the
net whichbindsindividualstogether and formsfromthema common
culture.I do not meanto implythatthatis the onlythread,or thata
commonculturecannotexistin a societywithverydifferent beliefsand
practices fromHomer's.Nor is it veryinteresting, at thisjuncture,to be
told thatthe customsand observances of Englishlifeare mere'empty
forms'(in comparison, forexample,withthe 'customand ceremony' of
MaoistChina).For we do notknowwhatis meantby the'emptiness' of
a formoflifewhichneither leadstoitsextinction norremoves itsconsoling
power.My argument has been concernedto explorethe value to the
individual oflivingin a societywheretheconstraints ofa commonculture
are observed.Exactlyhow such a culturearises,and whatit includes,
are questionswe can onlynowbeginto answer.
Nonetheless,itmightbe asked,in whatdoesthe'politicalaccessibility'
ofcommoncultureconsist? I shallconcludebysayingsomething in answer
to thatquestion.Let us considera viewofhumannaturewhichwe might
call minimalutilitarianism, theviewwhichseeshumanbeingsas bundles
of desires,each of whichcan be understood and satisfied independently,
and noneofwhichhas anymoreessentialconnection withhumanfulfil-
mentthananyother.On sucha viewit oughtstillto be possibleto divide
humansatisfactions intothosewhichit is thefunction ofpoliticalactivity
to secure,and those whichbelong to the sphere 'privatechoice',where
of
a policyofnon-interference might be held to be desirableor evenobliga-
tory. I takeit thatwe all of us feel the naturalattractiveness of a view
which takessuch concrete steps to delimit the realm of individual rights,
and to secureit (philosophically) fromthe encroachments of the state,
while none the less imposingon the stateresponsibilities beyondthe

67

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Roger Scruton

maintenanceof law and order. But how do we distinguishbetweenthe

desires which fall withinthe politicaljurisidictionand those which fall
outside it? To definethe realmof politicalinterference merelynegatively
is, of course, a standard liberal manoeuvre: there are desires which a
'politicalsystem'or 'the state' or (to use Mill's more contentiousword15)
'society' can legitimately thwart-in particulardesiresthe satisfactionof
whichinvolvesdoing harmto some othermemberof the community-but
none which it is obliged to further.Even Mill recognizedthat some de-
sires-for example the desire for health and the desire for education-
could not be regardedby the membersof a communityas merelytheir
own concern,withoutthereceasingto be a community (in the sense of an
entityover and above the accidentalconglomerationof individualmen).
So clearlythere is a real question as to the political provisionfor the
satisfactionof human desires. Whetherone considersit the duty of the
stateto provideforthis satisfaction is not in issue. It is of course possible
to hold thatthe sphereof politicalsignificance is widerthanthe sphereof
state authority.Some philosophers,believingthat the legitimateactivity
of the statecan onlyresidein the enforcement of a code ofjustice, would
look to other lesser institutions,or to the 'civil society' itself,for the
satisfactionof the determinateaspirationsof individualmen.16But this
issue, of the legitimateactivityof the state,and of the relativeautonomy
of its subject institutions,is not relevantto our question.Whateverone's
theoryof legitimacy,the question of political accessibilitywill remain.
For thisis a questionwhichmustbe answeredifthevalue of anyparticular
arrangement is to be discerned.I regardas 'politicallyaccessible' all those
featuresof lifewhich may be destroyedor furtheredby politicalarrange-
ments, which are essentiallyconnected to the well-beingof individual
men, and which can thereforebe ignoredin politicaldecisiononly at the
cost of losingsightof whatis being done.
One criterioncommonly offeredfor distinguishingthe politically
accessible among human desires is the criterionof need. The politically
accessible desires arise from needs (for example, for food, health and
shelter).These desiresare politicallyaccessiblein the sense that to ignore
them is to lack altogetherthatsense of social responsibility withoutwhich
therecan be no legitimategovernment. But thereis a crucialdifficulty pre-
sented by his concept of a need. Roughly speaking,a thing needs a
commodityif it could not flourishwithoutit. The concept of a need is
connectedwith that of 'flourishing'.17 But men, it is clear, can 'flourish'
in two quite different ways. A man may flourishas an organism,or as a

15 J. S. Mill, On Liberty
(i859), passim.
16See forexample,F. A. Hayek,The Constitution
ofLiberty(Routledgeand
KeganPaul, London,I960).
17This pointhas beenarguedin unpublishedworkby Sira Dermen.

68

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
 The Significanceof Common Culture

rationalagent,and what he needs forthe firstof these-food, shelterand

health-will not be sufficient for the second. To flourishas a rational
agentis to be happy,and the contentedanimalis distinctfromthehappy
man. 'Allow not nature more than natureneeds/Man's life is cheap as
Beast's', says King Lear, who goes on to cryout: ' . . . but fortrueneed-
/You Heavens, give me that patience,patience I need'. In those lines is
encapsulateda whole philosophyof rationalagency.No animal has ever
needed patience,but a rationalbeing needs it, forwithoutit he cannotbe
happy but at best onlyfortunate.
But now the boundarybetweenthe politicallyrelevantand the politi-
callyirrelevantdesiresbecomesverymuch harderto draw. If we consider
that our needs as rationalbeings are just as proper objects of political
concern as are our needs as animals, then a certainholism of outlook
becomes almostinevitable.We can no longerassume thatthe satisfaction
or dissatisfactionof one set of desires is quite independentof the satis-
factionof any otherset withoutfirstpossessingourselvesof some theory
ofhumannaturewhichwillmakeexplicittheconnectionbetweendesireand
rationalfulfilment. In otherwords,once we abandon the view of human
naturethatI have describedas 'minimalutilitarianism' we naturallymove
towards a more complex notion of what a man needs, and the idea of
practicalknowledge,includingthe knowledgeof what to feel that I des-
cribed in the centralpart of this paper,will play an importantrole in our
political thinking.I have suggestedthat practicalknowledgecannot be
construedas a merelyindividualmatter,and is not reducibleto a species
of 'commitment', whetherof the Harean or of the Sartreankind. It comes
about througha process of self-realization,in the Idealist's sense, of
seeingtheworldas the properarena of one's subjectivefeelings.One must
surely accept, at least in part, the Hegelian doctrine,advocated in the
ofRight,and reiterated
ofMindand in thePhilosophy
Phenomenology so
forcefully by Bradley,thatsuch realizationis a progressiveaffair,proceed-
ing outwardsthroughfamily,class and corporationto the state. Some-
where(and perhapseverywhere)in the course of thatoutwardmovement,
the constraintsof a commoncultureare adopted,and its rewardsenjoyed.
A man's culturecannot,therefore,be regardedas a 'politicallyinacces-
sible' part of him,of no concernto the politician,a mere quirkof private
life.For it determineswhathe is, whathe feels,whathe does and how he
sees himself.This is as true of the eclipsed and fragmentedculturethat
we have inheritedas it is true of its greaterhistoricalantecedents.Once
it is clear thatthe whole processof our rationalinteractionwiththe world
mightdepend upon concepts,perceptionsand feelingsthat are inherited,
it becomes impossiblefora politicianto take a merelypassive attitudeto
that inheritance.Whateverhe possesses by way of a desireto meddle,to
restore,to destroyor uphold, must directitselfas explicitlyand unreser-
vedlyto thataspect of human activityas to all those aspectswhichrepre-

69

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Roger Scruton

sent the more arbitrary,

and more dispensable,arrangements
of contract
and institution.18

College,London
Birkbeck

This paper,originally
18 preparedfora conference
on PoliticalThoughtin
ExeterCollege,Oxford,JanuaryI977, owesmuchto initialconversationswith
Dr JohnCasey,whoseideashaveinfluenced itscontent.I am also verygrateful
foradviceand criticism
fromMr MarkPlatts,Mr Anthony Savile,Miss Moira
Archer,Dr MalcolmBudd and ProfessorDavid Hamlyn.

70

This content downloaded from 150.135.239.97 on Wed, 4 Jun 2014 14:03:07 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions